Points of reference:

TV : Doctor Who; Star Trek TOS-TNG-Voyager; Monty Python's Flying Circus; Fawlty Towers; Steptoe and Son; Yes Minister; The Good Life; Dead Like Me; The League of Gentlemen; The Fast Show; Space 1999; Boston Legal...

Radio: Doctor Who audio plays; Earthsearch; It sticks out Half a Mile; The Goon Show; Married (with Hugh Bonneville); Journey into Space...

Film: Daleks Invasion Earth 2150 AD; Hellboy; St Trinians (all of them); Life of Brian; The Meaning of Life; Monty Python and the Holy Grail; Star Trek franchise (almost all)...

Books: Starship Troopers; E.E 'Doc' Smith 'Skylark' series; Triplanetary; Grey Lensman; At the Mountains of Madness; The Case of Charles Dexter Ward; Captive Universe; The Dreams in the Witch House; Knock (Jules Romain); The Invisible Man; The War of The Worlds; The Stainless Steel Rat's Revenge; West of the Sun; Davy; The End of Eternity; Dracula; Brave New World; The Dog Who Wouldn't Be...

What used to be chapter 6 in "Evil Space Wizards":

In the last moments before I lost consciousness, my would-be assassin lifted his foot to smash my face in, and then his chest erupted with buckshot. The blast sent him tumbling forward right over and clear of me. He would have been dead by the time he hit the ground. My last thought was the realization that a battle which had quickly escalated beyond the bounds of what I would have thought fantasy was blasted short in a single shotgun round. I suppose it would have been spectacular, the way the last bastard died, but it didn't reflect the amount of grief he and the other two gave me. Had I not blacked out I might have pummelled the corpse.

Much later, I woke up in a room so big I could have moved all my stuff in and used the monumentally huge window as a front door. The height of that opening over the street might be an issue, but you could get ladders. Not that I was in any condition to use a ladder. Of my physical body I could hardly feel my arms, and received no sensation at all from my legs. Where my senses worked, it was even difficult to tell any temperature difference between my uncovered head and the rest of me under the covers.

The little woman perched on a stool at my bedside should have been surprised when my eyes snapped open, but she hardly even reacted. In fact, I fancy she was already looking at me, as if she knew I was awake even before I moved a muscle of my corporeal body. It was for me to do as much of a double-take as my stiffened neck allowed, as she was the spitting image of a face I knew, only in the wrong colours. Even more surprising, she took a mug of steaming hot chocolate from the table by the bed, and held it out my way. My arms were buried under the covers, yet she tilted her head forward expectantly. I took the weight from her, and she let go, completely unfazed to see it floating in the air over the clean sheets.

She took another mug from the bedside table and I remembered who she reminded me of. "Does the venutian flu change people's hair colour? I asked.

"You know Françoise, then?" she chuckled, playing with one of her red braids, "That's good to know. I knew she was shy about dying her hair."

"You –" I stammered, "She's a colleague of mine. You're her twin?"

"Roxanne," she said, "and you?"

"Marie."

"Enchantée." she took another mug of steaming liquid and lifted it a little before taking a sip. I mirrored the gesture. The chocolate burned my insides, but it left a gift on the way down. It was some of the best I'd had in a long time. The good stuff is expensive, you know, and after using it up I usually go a long time before daring to get any more.

"You were attacked by a branch of the wizard police early this morning. They're called Aurors."

"And there is a secret society of wizards then?"

She sipped more of her chocolate. "The community is international, and has been hidden from the general public for the last few centuries."

I nodded for her to go on.

"You were targeted because you are, more or less, an obscurial. Your innate magical ability is repressed, and manifests as an entity separate from yourself. That on top of that, you are a mutant, makes attempts to liquidate even more likely."

"So that's what he was going to call me before I buried his chin in his neck." I said, but immediately jumped on to "Not everyone can wield magic then?"

"No. People whose parents are wizards usually are also born that way, but muggle families regularly produce them as well."

"Muggles being regular folk, like you? I don't why I assumed she wasn't magical. But she didn't quite deny it.

“Not like me, but yes. Muggles are the vast majority of people, who knowingly or unknowingly hold together the canvas on which our other realities are painted." She smiled and looked up and away as she spoke that, before adding "My uncle said that."

"Should I expect more of it?"

She chuckled, "Not unless you want to."

"But you're not a muggle." I meant it as a question, but I failed to convey doubt in my voice. Yet she nodded.

"Me and Françoise are squibs, born to wizards, but without magical ability."

"Is it derogatory?"

"It's worse to be a muggle." she said, "The culture is very reticent to move anywhere remotely similar to the world at large. The most ignorant view the sciences as primitive forms of magic, for instance."

"Is it as bad as being 'human' in the eyes of some mutants?"

Roxanne contemplated her mug for a bit, as if it held some insight, before concluding, "It's worse. A muggle doesn't have legal personhood. Your mutants merely consider the small folk to be biologically obsolete. They don't look on them as less than sentient."

In the silence that followed, I got to the bottom of my drink, and so did she. We shared a look that said, 'where were we?'

"Would you like to distract yourself with a few chouquettes I made? It would save time if I could first tell you all you really must know, and then we can discuss details."

"Well, if you put it that way..."

She grinned, but did not move from her perch, instead lifting a hand and snapping her fingers.

"Mireille!" she called, and there was a soft 'pop'. A tiny, slightly shrivelled creature appeared on the bed. It had big pointy ears, and huge eyes that would put any potential inhabitants of the distant outer planets to shame.

"Bring our guest the tray of treats from last night." and seeing the little beast's flaps droop in disapproval, added "And pepper in a few of your own. I'm sure she will find both adequate."

The creature vanished, and almost the same instant reappeared, settling a tray full of chouquettes of wildly varying sizes and textures (if you can even imagine chouquettes having any variety) on my lap. Roxanne wasn't kidding when she said she wanted to distract me.

"I saw the end of your battle, from when you killed an auror with your car. There had been a shield covering the car park and the Intermarché; he must have been maintaining it. I saw your duel with the last one, and how you obviously had no idea what you were doing. I knew then why they attacked you. The accepted means of containment for failed wizards is killing them. I knew you were a mutant when you destroyed my other spare bedroom in your sleep. Mireille should have stopped you, but she detected no magical activity at the time. It's the same with my sister, and every other mutant – every one that isn't a wizard themselves. They have the same magical presence as muggles: none."

"And these 'Aurors', they systematically kill people like me?"

Her head tipped to one side. "Not quite. Most failed wizards die before adulthood. It's less common among simple muggle-borns now – at least this side of the Atlantic, because there are means of detecting untrained magic. Where there is trouble is most often with your particular profile, a mutant with repressed magic, and even then, not all are even noticed. You seem stable, how was your magic held in check so long?"

"I was mentored by Charles Xavier for a year. He taught me to calm what we thought were side effects of my powers."

She nodded. "There was no shame, no particular conflict? You weren't made to feel there was something terribly wrong with you?"

My mouth was full, but the question was so alien that I would have been without words anyway. I shook my head slowly.

"I didn't think so." said Roxanne, "Many live perfectly normal lives because their obscurus is treated with the same love and empathy as would any aspect of a particularly temperamental mutant ability. But every now and then, because people are people, there are slip-ups, and the Aurors never go out of business."

"But I 'slip-up' every month," I protested, "every month I am given a place to let my demon loose. Somewhere safe, where no one will be harmed. Yet they said I killed six people yesterday..."

"Oh? Six people..." she faltered. I think she wondered if she'd made a mistake rescuing me, but quickly suppressed the idea. "What is a safe place, usually?"

"Generally an open, empty space or a designated high-security bunker.

Somewhere withdrawn where I can dissociate myself from the... obscurus, and let it spend its energy on inert matter. Sometimes there's a..." I trailed off as the events of the previous days fell back in my memory. "I had my second outbreak of the month yesterday, unexpectedly, and it took place in a safe zone in the woods, but there was no working means of cloaking it. The

Aurors must have seen the carnage going down in real time. But I still don't accept that I might have harmed anyone. I know when someone is near. It breaks my focus, wakes me..."

"All right." she put a hand where my arm would be under the covers, "I trust you. Keep eating – do you like them, by the way?" Mireille conjures them perfectly made, but I am still learning; do you find any to be significantly less good? The chouquettes, I mean."

"Uh, oh yes," I said, "No, I like them all equally. Not fussy, me."

Roxanne nodded, satisfied, and was silent, thinking what to do next. Then she lit up. "While you were quiet I had a muggle doctor come to take a look at you. Since he can't fix you I've sent for a wizard from Paris. She'll make your back as good as new. In the meantime, if there's anybody you need to call..."

Geese, chickens, unlocked doors and a lack of secure offerings for my water-rat to stay beside my house all popped up together. I had let my dear creatures out before driving away, of course, but by now I should have called my friend the closest farmer to ask him to send a boy round to feed and generally look over them while I was out. It must have shown on my face rather obviously, as Roxanne immediately looked almost as worried as I felt.

"Do you have a phone?" I asked. It seemed a stupid question once out, but she didn't flinch.

"Actually, yes I do. There are even wizards who use them, instead of the special breed of owl favoured by tradition. I will bring it to you now, if you like."

"Yes, that would be splendid, thank you."

She jumped from her perch and vanished completely from view, only to reappear once she arrived at the door of the bedroom. There were two doorknobs, one at standard height, and one suitable for a dwarf such as my host. When she turned the bottom one, the other turned with it.

"When you are fit again, and I'm sure you will be, we will discuss plans to take you to London. You know how to use a focus. We should get you one. And if possible I will try to arrange for your discreet integration as a wizard.

It wouldn't be the first time, and there are much less conspicuous powers than yours to hide."

With that, she left the room. When I finished the tray of chouquettes

Mireille appeared to offer me more. I nearly declined, but in the end accepted. I realized I had several phone calls to make, and it wouldn't hurt to have some sort of stress food to go with them. The little elf-eared spirit was delighted.

Minutes later, Roxanne returned, and left me to get through my business.