In a dimly lit underground parking garage, a man and a woman approached from different directions. They stood for a moment, each pointing a gun and a wand at the other's chest. But they soon recognized each other, tucked their weapons into their coats, and began walking together toward the exit where the lift was.
"So, Roberts, any new information?" asked Robby Leach, the woman of the two. Middle-aged and plain-looking, she wore her half-bleached black hair in a net and wore a gray uniform.
"We have the location." The man who was called Roberts replied, adjusting the yellow sunglasses he was wearing. "All that's left is to get their cooperation at today's meeting."
"Good. So this is really coming to an end . . . " Leach muttered.
They walked past the parked luxury black sedans and the thick concrete pillars supporting the ceiling, approaching the glass doors. There, a group of guards in black robes and military uniforms, who had been hiding in the shadows behind the pillars, jumped out, pointing guns and wands at them. The last of them to slowly emerge was an old man with a very strange appearance, half of his face covered in ugly burn scars under a red beret, one eye replaced by a glowing red mechanical part, and a machine resembling a scorpion's tail clicking away on his head.
"Password?" the old man asked.
"Magic for all," Roberts replied, and the guards stepped aside to let them pass.
"Are all the guests here, Colonel Fubster?" asked Leach.
"Every last one of them," Fubster said, glancing at him through his red artificial eye. "They certainly seem to have a lot of questions . . . "
Roberts and Leach walked past the old soldier, through the glass doors that opened automatically, stepped into the lift and pushed the button for the top floor. As the rapidly ascending lift left the basement, bright sunlight poured in from all three sides of the glass, except for the entrance. Ahead of them was the bustling center of London, with skyscrapers rising everywhere and busy streets stretching between them. Soon the lift they were riding in went up and up and up, overlooking all the skyscrapers around them.
"Do you think they'll take us up on our offer?" Roberts asked. When the lift rose another level, a spiderweb of sunlight, partially obscured by rebar and walls, swept across his face. "Anyway, what we're about to do involves hundreds of felonies, and —"
"That's nothing to worry about," said Leach casually. "The law means nothing compared to people's interests. . . . I mean, look at Harry Potter — he let Lucius Malfoy go free, the one who killed and tortured innocent people — just to make it easier to catch other criminals. . . . They can have everything if they accept our terms. There is simply no way they would refuse."
"But they already have everything," Roberts muttered. "Their lot — the nobles, the rich, the powerful politicians. . . ."
"But none of them are wizards, are they?" Leach snorted. "We've seen how far people will go to gain power beyond their imagination. It's very easy to get them to give up their lives and betray their friends if you can make them magical."
"That's true," said Roberts approvingly. "Because that's exactly what I made them do."
With a cheerful chime, the lift stopped and a pristine white marble hallway opened in front of Roberts and Leach. At the far end was an antique mahogany door, guarded by two bodyguards in suits and sunglasses, the sound of chatter coming through the slightly ajar crack. They walked wordlessly down the hall and into the conference room. The large floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall let in an unrestricted stream of midday sunlight, making the room feel bright despite the fact that there were no lights on.
The people filling the room were all dressed in fine suits, and they all had that inexplicable air of people who had never known scarcity. Some were older, some younger, but they were all so engrossed in conversation, their eyes glowing as if they were back in childhood, that they didn't even notice the newcomers. The long mahogany table, packed with people, was empty only at the head and its sides. Leach and Roberts quietly chose seats on either side of the head and sat down to listen to the conversation.
"I could hardly believe my ears when you said someone called us because of magic," said the youngest and most arrogant-looking man of them all. "Actually, I still do. Who would have believed it if we didn't know that the Prime Minister sitting over there is such a boring person that he doesn't participate in such jokes?"
"The Prime Minister doesn't need to tell any jokes, Jervis," the gray-haired elderly man sitting next to the young man said in a low voice. "You can never tell a joke from his serious statements."
The arrogant-looking young man who had been called Jervis, the old man who had just spoken, and the plump gentleman sitting in front of them all burst out laughing.
"So, Lawson, you're telling me this is a serious meeting — that the Wizarding world really exists?" Jervis asked the gray-haired man.
"From what I've heard, yes. Still, I haven't seen any hard evidence yet . . . " Lawson said with an uncertain voice.
"And you, Douglas?" asked Jervis, this time to the plump gentleman. "Have you seen any evidence?"
The gentleman named Douglas shook his head.
"Then why are we here at all?" said Jervis aloud to no one in particular. All who had been whispering, each with a serious expression on their faces, fell silent and looked at the young man. "Are you trying to tell me that no one has ever seen magic with their own eyes, and if so, why the hell are we —"
"I've seen it, Jervis," said the Prime Minister, who had been silent and lost in thought, and all eyes were upon him. "There's a small and dirty oil painting in the corner of my office. . . . It's a painting of a man in a silver wig who looks a lot like a frog. The painting, so to speak —"
"What is this painting about? Don't ramble on," prompted Jervis.
"That picture is alive," said the Prime Minister at last. The people around the table went wide-eyed and murmured uncomfortably. "Whenever the magical world needs to contact me, the man in the portrait calls me. . . . My predecessors and I did everything we could to remove the portrait — hiring carpenters, architects, and even art scholars — but we failed and it is still there."
"That's it? A frame that won't fall off which holds a living painting! Sounds to me like a bunch of idiots who don't know how to do their jobs properly, not superpowers and magic," Jervis snorted. A few cold looks were directed at the young man, but he was unperturbed. "I think you'll need more than that to convince me."
"There's also a fireplace in my office, and on my first day in office a woman jumped out of it . . . and explained that she was the Minister of Magic, and that there were wizards and their secret societies hiding all over the world."
"That's not proof of magic!" cried Jervis again. "It's just proof that you might be out of your mind! When's your next psychiatric appointment?"
"Hey, young man," an impatient Douglas interrupted, "if you're not going to believe him no matter what he says, why did you ask him in the first place?"
"That's right, Jervis. Let's have a little more patience," Lawson said this time. "The wizard who presided over this meeting hasn't arrived yet. Perhaps he'll show us something when he comes up."
Jervis shrugged and sank back into his chair in boredom, and as soon as he was quiet, the others began whispering and telling each other what they knew.
"What's the new rumor about magic?" said the scrawny, mustachioed man sitting next to Douglas, pulling out his phone to check. "If magic is real, this world will never be the same again. . . . Which means there's going to be one hell of a storm in the stock market, and you're going to have some assets to clear out."
"I heard one thing myself," Douglas said. "The wizards can make teeth grow at will by magic. . . . They can also change the shape of existing ones and grow new ones if they're missing."
"That's good to hear." Lawson clapped his hands and smiled broadly. The old man had several teeth replaced with gold, including the front ones. "Unfortunately, the stock of the dental implant manufacturers is sure to go down the tubes . . . I also heard that they have a remedy that can cure all respiratory ailments in a heartbeat, something called Pepperup Potion?"
"Well, I guess I'll have to sell my pharmaceutical stocks then," said the quick-witted looking man, his fingers busily moving over his mobile phone. "From the sounds of it, you can also duplicate or create any object with your magic . . . with a flick of your wand! This type of spell is known as Transfiguration"
"This is getting ridiculous," Lawson said, rubbing his bald forehead. "At this point, maybe we should find out what you can't do with magic, not what you can."
"Can magic make you fly?" said Jervis urgently, who had been listening and feigning disinterest in the conversation. "I just inherited some airline stock from my late uncle, and I can't even sell it now because of that damned law!"
"I've heard that the wizards ride broomsticks or carpets to fly," said Douglas. "But not all of them, so I suppose there's still a preference for flying in comfort."
"My God, I never thought this would happen . . . " Jervis said. "I need to know for sure if magic is going to allow us to fly between continents, and if it's going to eliminate the need for airplanes!"
"Just airplanes? Maybe it will make all of us entrepreneurs redundant!" said Lawson gloomily. "Everyone would be happy at first. We'll be able to make everything magically appear, and eating and housing and clothing will be so easy. . . . But eventually, everyone will become complacent with the power of magic, and there will be no more innovation or progress, and the entrepreneurs who pushed these things forward will be brought down."
"Look, I don't mean to offend you, but I wonder if you're being a little too narcissistic," Jervis said, seeming to hold back a sneer. "What do you call innovation, taking hourly videos of your every move and bragging about it on the Internet? When famous people say something stupid, the whole world knows about it in seconds? I've made a lot of money investing in social media companies, and I feel at least a little guilty about it."
A few people listening to their conversation chuckled, and Lawson looked dejected. Then there were strange noises.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
The metallic sound echoed from the hallway, and as promised, everyone fell silent and turned to face the door.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
The footsteps continued, regular yet ominous, and the eyes of everyone in the room, now shrouded in silence, turned to the closed door. Finally, it slid open without a sound, revealing the source of the footsteps. The newcomer was wrapped in a dark silver-gray cloak, and the hands protruding from the outside of the cloak glowed faintly, as if wearing silver gloves. Beneath the cloak, a pair of intricate machines of cogs and iron skeletons, emitting a hissing steam, supported his body instead of normal legs. The face that peeked out from under the deeply pressed hood was not the usual flesh-colored skin, but as white as wisps of smoke. Eisenbein glanced to his left, then strode to the only empty seat, his heavy footsteps echoing each time his iron legs hit the marble floor.
"So, you're Eisenbein?" blurted out Jervis. Unlike the others, who seemed intimidated by the guest's strange and threatening appearance, he seemed undeterred. "Let me ask you a question — can magic make you fly?"
Eisenbein tilted his head a little to the side, as though he hadn't heard him. Then he pulled a long wooden stick from his arm and slammed it down on the table with a loud bang, causing the people who had never seen a magic wand before to jump to their feet to get a better look. When the Prime Minister cleared his throat, the commotion stopped and everyone settled back into their chairs.
"Now that you're all here, I think we can get this meeting started," the Prime Minister said, turning to Eisenbein. "Before we begin, I was wondering if you would like to demonstrate a little magic of your own. . . . Some people still don't believe it exists."
Without a word, Eisenbein grabbed his wand and swung it at the Prime Minister, who threw his hands up in confusion and his mouth fell open. It was easy to see what was wrong: His front teeth were growing at an alarming rate, pushing past his lower lip and down into his chin, making him look like a giant beaver. Everyone's mouth dropped open in surprise, or they let out a little scream.
"What a lame trick!" exclaimed a noble-looking gentleman, slamming the teacup he was holding down on its saucer with a clatter and grimacing. "With all due respect to your fine acting skills, Mr. Prime Minister, but I've had enough! Now I know this is all a joke on you —"
He was interrupted as the teacup he was holding suddenly turned into a gerbil. The gentleman was horrified to see the little creature dangling between his fingers, squirming and scurrying, and his face flushed red to the point of exploding. Eisenbein lowered his wand slightly from where it was pointed at the teacup and looked around the room to see if anyone wanted more magic.
The Prime Minister pointed at his front teeth, still growing as long as icicles, and tried desperately to say something, but his mouth wasn't working well enough to produce anything but gurgles. Eisenbein pointed his wand at his teeth and flicked it horizontally, and they snapped off like a pair of sharp knives and fell onto the desk. The Prime Minister stared in horror, looking alternately at Eisenbein and the long, hard, ivory shards of tooth that had fallen from his mouth. The room was completely silent, except for the squeaking of the gerbil still in the gentleman's hand, which faded when it finally managed to pull out its tail and escape.
"Well, I hope your doubts have been allayed by now." Instead of Eisenbein, Roberts, sitting beside him, broke the silence. "Let's get down to business. . . . We, the Dawn Breakers, were an organization that worked in secret for the benefit of us common folks who couldn't use magic. But things are different now, because the evil witches and wizards we have to deal with are well hidden in a cozy hideout."
"Recently we came very close to defeating the Wizarding world," Robby Leach said this time. "It is part of the agenda for this meeting — we want the rest of the world to enjoy the power of magic, not just a few wizards in hiding. To achieve this goal, we need the magical blood of those who are born wizards. More specifically, we need the blood of over five hundred different wizards. We once managed to secure the materials we needed, but at the last minute we were sabotaged by a terrorist group of wizards and witches. . . ."
"Leading these terrorists, who call themselves Dumbledore's Army, is a man named Harry Potter," said Roberts sharply. "He's treated like a savior in his own world, but in reality he's just an overly lucky man, and now he and his friends have barricaded themselves in a huge shelter under London with violent witches and wizards from all over Britain. . . . In order to defeat them, our organization must operate more openly."
"In short, we need the administrative power and funding of the people here," said Leach. "If we want to get into their underground shelters, we have to evacuate everyone in the neighborhood and keep passersby away. On top of that, we're planning on hiring about ten thousand well-trained mercenaries and acquiring all sorts of weapons, so we'll need the funds to do that."
"That's going to cost a lot of money, you know that?" said Jervis abruptly. Robby Leach raised an eyebrow at his rudeness, but didn't react further. "Still, if you really can create a miracle drug that can give everyone magical powers like you suggest, then let's just say . . . it's worth the investment. To be honest, I was pretty impressed with the magic show your boss just put on."
"Before I accept your offer to produce and deliver this miracle drug, there's one more thing to consider, and this time it's political," said a man sitting next to the Prime Minister. "My name is Charles Chorley, Junior Minister, and if I understand you correctly, you're suggesting that we capture our own citizens, no matter how dangerous, and lock them up to take their blood . . . "
"You should know who they really are," said Roberts grimly. "They have their own government, called the Ministry of Magic, and they behave like foreigners in this country. They pay no taxes to the British government, and they have no respect for our laws."
The businessmen gathered around Jervis murmured their agreement. They looked hungry for the magical power they had just witnessed.
"But it's another thing to capture them all, put them in concentration camps, and bleed them like cattle," said Chorley uneasily. "If this gets out, I'm afraid it might stir up the general population. The political situation in the country is extremely unstable with the recent cabinet changes and I'm very worried that it could lead to civil war."
"I don't think you fully understood what I just told you, sir. . . . Let me make sure you know what we're up against," Roberts said before gesturing to Leach.
Leach pulled out her wand and flicked it once, and thick files of paperwork appeared out of nowhere and were placed in front of each of the participants. Most of them opened them carefully, as if they were still getting used to the idea of magic, and began to read the documents inside. There were photographs of collapsed bridges, a politician impersonating a duck, gruesome corpses lying dead with their faces contorted in signs of torture, an unseasonable fog, and desolate landscapes of completely destroyed villages, along with brief descriptions. At first they turned the pages slowly with nervous fingertips, but as they read on they grimaced and sighed.
"So you're saying the wizards did all this?" the Prime Minister said, looking deeply shocked. "Even the hurricane in the West Country decades ago that caused the deaths of countless people?"
"That was done by their giants, to be exact." The murmur grew louder when Roberts pointed out. "Wizards are very cunning, and when they do something really bad, they often use magic to erase memories and hide evidence. They're the ones who split a newly built bridge in two and drowned innocent people . . . "
"People who die like that are pretty lucky," said Leach darkly. "In some cases, they use magic to inflict excruciating pain before killing them. These evil wizards look down on the rest of us commoners, calling us Muggles, and they like to torture and kill for fun, which is how my grandfather died. Perhaps some of your deceased family members were killed in this way, and the truth was buried."
The people sitting in the room whispered to each other in horror, or took out their mobile phones to call somewhere, worried about their families.
"Are you saying that the wizards are responsible for these weather events?" Douglas asked, holding up a photo of a city shrouded in thick fog with trembling hands. "They can even control the climate?"
"Oh, something like that, yes," Roberts said, a corner of his mouth curling up. "They can make it foggy in the middle of summer if they want. . . . That's the work of creatures called dementors, and they leave their victims in a state worse than death."
Leach added, "They suck the souls out of their victims so they can never die, never live."
People groaned or closed their eyes and crossed their hearts. Now there was none of the excitement or anticipation of the first time they'd seen evidence of magic, only a look of horror on their faces. Meanwhile, Junior Minister Chorley was holding a photograph of the politician posing as a duck, looking mesmerized.
"Mr. Chorley, do you recognize the person in the picture?" said Roberts matter-of-factly, and the Junior Minister slowly raised his head to face him.
"I do. . . . That's my father here. He was Junior Minister before me in the late nineties."
"But he resigned one day because he suddenly lost his mind and started quacking like a duck, didn't he?" said Leach, and Chorley nodded slowly with a sad face. "That happened when the wizards put a dangerous curse on him to control him and something went wrong. My grandfather was also a politician, and he was forced out of office by a similar insidious plot. These dangerous witches and wizards already have important people from all walks of life as their puppets, and they're pulling the strings behind the scenes, and now they want more." One by one, the others nodded as Leach said heatedly. "We're not just trying to take over the magical world to take away their power — it's a matter of our very survival! All this time, we've been fighting a silent but fierce war, and if we don't win this war, we ordinary humans and our descendants will be under the rule of these evil forces forever!"
One by one, the others joined in, and soon the room was filled with thunderous applause. Still, there were those who seemed undecided. They kept their eyes on their files as their colleagues cheered enthusiastically, then looked up cautiously when the applause finally died down. A middle-aged woman with blond hair was the first to speak.
"Does this mean we have to capture children as well? I've heard that some of the wizards have children in their shelters."
At her words, a look of concern flickered in the eyes of some of the people who had been so enthusiastic moments before.
"I don't care if they're children or adults, they're a different race from the rest of us," said Leach firmly. "They are born with a prejudice against us from an early age and are taught by their own parents to look down upon and outcast those who cannot use magic. Nevertheless, we promise to treat the children we take captive humanely. They will be given time to play and rest when they are not giving us blood, and we will provide them with regular medical checkups."
"You're putting up a good front, but in the end you're going to kidnap little children and steal their blood," Lawson said with a dark face. "Even those who are initially excited by the magical powers you offer will be skeptical when they find out where they come from. . . . This new world you're talking about is not sustainable at all!"
"Do you really think so?" said Eisenbein for the first time. The sound of his grim voice, somehow mechanical and muffled, as if he were speaking from beyond the receiver, drew the eyes of the people around the table to the head of the table. Yet none of them could read the expression on his face, shadowed beneath his hood. "What do you think sustains a world, Lawson? Freedom? Truth? Ethics? WRONG! Now, since you look like a smug entrepreneurial prat, tell me yourself. I'm sure you know the answer."
Lawson didn't answer, just gazing into empty air. Beads of sweat trickled from his graying hair and ran down his broad forehead.
"The answer is needs!" said Eisenbein, slamming his fist down on the table. His silver hand, ringed with a crude black stone instead of a jewel, struck the solid wood, causing it to crack and dent.
One by one, Eisenbein looked back at the horrified people around the table. His hazy face was still unreadable under the hood, but it seemed they could all sense the deep contempt in it. With unseen speed, Eisenbein drew his wand and pointed it at the Prime Minister. Without warning, the chair he was sitting in lurched backward, and one of his feet shot into the air as if suspended by an invisible cord. The fine leather shoes he was wearing fluttered in the air as the Prime Minister struggled not to topple.
"How could these shoes be made? Hand sewn and glued by children in some poor country under the dim light of a lamp . . . " This time, Eisenbein pointed the wand at the blonde woman sitting across from the Prime Minister, the one who had expressed skepticism about the child abductions earlier. With a sharp cry, her hand jerked forward of its own accord, and the diamond in the ring on her finger sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window. "Who do you think gave you this jewel that adorns your fat finger, madam? There are still over a million children in this world digging deep underground for diamonds with pickaxes bigger than they are, carrying sacks that weigh more than you . . . "
Eisenbein withdrew his wand, and the blonde woman slowly brought her sobbing, trembling hands back into position. Whenever the tip of his wand pointed at each person at the table, they ducked their heads in horror or shuddered. Slowly, the wand came to rest on Lawson. The old man's wrinkled face had turned pale and was now drenched in cold sweat.
" Let me remind you of something, bright entrepreneur. Faced with the needs of the masses, your arcane ethics and laws do not matter. Just remove the uncomfortable sights from their eyes, give them what they need, and the new world I will build will last forever. . . . Once everyone has experienced the power of magic, once it becomes impossible for anyone to live without it, nothing can threaten this new world. What if someone were to discover the truth, that children with magical blood are being locked away in factories and their blood drained from them?"
Eisenbein tore his eyes from Lawson and looked slowly around the table.
"But that doesn't matter, does it? Because you're the best example of that . . . Just close your eyes to the uncomfortable truth and erase the guilt with your own rationalizations. . . . You tell yourself that those children deserved it, that witches and wizards are inherently evil, and that you can live comfortably with the magical power you've gained from their stolen blood . . . "
A sickening silence fell over the room. The powerful men and women who controlled Britain and the world were now gripped by a sense of utter helplessness. The eyes that had once looked out over the city from their spacious offices, high and commanding, were now completely focused on the wand in Eisenbein's hand, frightened and agitated. Robby Leach twitched the corners of her mouth as if to stifle a fit of laughter, secretly watching as the rulers of a dying world embraced a very different order in a new world. Finally she smiled with satisfaction, having memorized every detail of the room, and tapped her fingers on the table to get their attention back.
"Now that it's been a while, let's bring this meeting to a close." Leach pulled out her wand and flicked it once, causing the papers in front of them to flutter and reveal the last page. "What you have before you is an agreement between our organization and yours, promising mutual cooperation and support. Before you raise your pen to sign, remember that the moment you write your name on this paper, you will be bound to this agreement by a magical force. Please read each paragraph carefully."
Those who heard the words began to read them slowly, looking extremely worried, as if the pact was about to cast a terrible curse upon them. Some of them looked like they were deeply sorry to have come to this meeting, but they did not show it, aware of the wand in Eisenbein's hand.
"Is what is written here correct?" said Douglas. "All profits from the sale of your miracle drug that grants magical powers will be distributed to those who have invested in this business? In other words, all profits will be monopolized only by the people in this room?"
"Yes, that's exactly what it says. We won't ask you for anything in return." Leach replied with a warm smile. "In fact, as it says right below, we only have one condition. If you make the drugs available to children who can't afford them, the unimaginable sums of income that will come from this business of turning everyone in the world into witches and wizards will be all yours."
The participants began whispering to each other, suddenly less intimidated by Eisenbein's imposing presence, as they calculated the winnings. At that moment, Jervis suddenly slammed his fist down on the table and jumped to his feet. His face was flushed, as if he could no longer stand his inherent rudeness and demanding temper.
"I've had enough! I've had enough of this weirdo threatening us and telling us what to do. . . . And now you want us to give away our precious drugs to young beggars?" Jervis shouted, slamming the desk again. " You think we're some kind of philanthropists? People will come from all over the world with sacks of money just to use magic, and you demand that we give the drugs away just because some kids can't afford them —"
Jervis's words trailed off. His arms flailed above his head and his body fell backwards. But he didn't hit the ground. . . . Before he knew it, his body was floating, gliding over the heads of his fellow attendees and past their chairs. Jervis desperately wriggled his arms and legs like a drowning man, trying to grab hold of someone's hair or the top of the table, but each time his body jerked sideways by itself as if mocking him.
No one thought to grab him as Jervis thrashed and flew through the air, heading for the window. All they did was watch anxiously for the tip of Eisenbein's wand, which had been held against Jervis during the commotion. The young man's body, now floating, seemed to glow brightly of its own accord, bathed in the golden sunlight pouring in from the wide window. Jervis let out another scream while covering his face with his hands to block out the blinding light.
Suddenly, his body crashed through the window like a cannonball and shot outward. Jervis's piercing scream as he fell was heard through the shattered window with the wind blowing in. Eisenbein lowered his wand, glanced around the waxen faces of the attendees, and ended the meeting by asking, "Any other questions?"