《The Apartment》


 The Apartment (Ch 1)

    So you might be wondering how I got an apartment in a building that doesn¡¯t exist?


    Well, the truth is, I don¡¯t really know. By all rights, it shouldn¡¯t have been possible. I shouldn¡¯t have found the listing, I shouldn¡¯t have seen the ¡°For Rent¡± sign, I shouldn¡¯t have even been able to find the building.


    And yet, somehow, I did.


    Let me back up a bit.


    My name is Sam Evermore. Lots of jokes at the pub about my last name, but it is what it is. I¡¯m what¡¯s known (and will become apparent) as a baseline human. I¡¯m 33 and am a kind of technical consultant. Means I work weird hours, encounter a lot of different kinds of folks, and, sadly, don¡¯t get paid the best.


    Being fair, I¡¯m not complaining. My firm isn¡¯t a bad one. It just doesn¡¯t pay as well as other firms might. As far as why I stick with this firm, well a lot of that just comes back to job security and the hours. If nothing else, my bosses are sticklers for hours. Oh you can be on salary, but don¡¯t you dare work overtime without approval. I¡¯m told by some of my mates at the pub that such an attitude is actually really weird.


    I don¡¯t mind it though. Even with the occasional weird hours, I pretty much have a job for as long as the firm exists (and it¡¯s been around a LONG time) and I never really have to worry about finding clients or looking for another job. But as I said, the downside to that is the pay. It isn¡¯t great and this area is a bit expensive.


    Oh, I should mention that I¡¯m in New England, so while there isn¡¯t quite as much history here as there is in some parts of the world, there¡¯s definitely a lot of history and historical pride that goes with the area.


    But as I was saying, my apartment building apparently doesn¡¯t exist.


    Or rather exists, but outside of the normal perception of things.


    Naturally, I didn¡¯t know this when I was apartment hunting. I just happened upon the listing (for a place down the street that does exist as it turned out), saw the sign and figured it must be the place. The listing gave the street, but not the specific address, so I figured I¡¯d just drive it and see what I found.


    The building itself looked halfway abandoned, several of the windows being blackened from the inside, a serviceable but probably early 1900s cast iron type fence, and a majority of the brickwork covered in some kind of ivy. It was three stories tall and sat a bit aimlessly amidst the other buildings. The only real signs of it being in use was that the sidewalk was clean and the wandering ivy kept clear of the door. The sign stating the need for a renter looked new enough that I figured it was worth a look. My place at the time was a converted house that leaked heat in the winter something awful, so getting into something brick wouldn¡¯t necessarily be a bad thing.


    I wasn¡¯t keen on the building, but figured I¡¯d give it a look. At worst, it would be a years renting and then I¡¯d move on, right?


    Well, I called the number on the sign and the front door opened after the third ring.


    ¡°Yes?¡± came the crackly voice from the person in the front door, simultaneous to coming through the phone.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to see the place for rent,¡± I said, giving my best client-facing smile. I hated using it, but unfortunately, clients love to actually meet the person doing the work. The smile itself was equal measures of disingenuous and disarming.


    As I said, I hated wearing it, but it had gotten me through many a client-facing meeting with a minimum of questions, so it was a necessary tool of the trade at this point.


    ¡°Lose that ridiculous smile and come inside, I¡¯ll show you up,¡± said the figure.


    I tucked the smile back into its metaphorical pouch and stepped towards the door.


    The figure resolved in my vision to be an elderly man. He might have been mistaken for being sharpei that someone had combined with a prune. He walked with a cane that he insisted on holding by the shaft instead of the top. It seemed an odd habit to say the least, but I ignored it. Many of my clients were peculiar folks who did things their own ways, so I often saw strange habits.


    Slowly, the elderly man, presumably the landlord, since I couldn¡¯t imagine him being the superintendent, led me up the stairs to the third floor. It was a third floor walk up, no elevator. That would be annoying, I remember thinking, when it came to moving, but in this area, you take what you can get, and if the rent was decent, it was worth the inconvenience.


    There were several doors that I could see from the second floor landing, but I didn¡¯t pay them too much mind except to notice that the place seemed to remind me of an old bed and breakfast once you got past the landing. The walls around the stairs were red brick that looked fairly faded with the passing of time, but in otherwise good shape. The stairs themselves were stone and the rail of rather delicate looking (but firm to the touch) wood. The rail looked to be both worn and new in the same instance. The same way a really old cast iron skillet that¡¯s been well cared for looks - obviously used and not new, but still possessing that sheen of having just come from the foundry, freshly oiled.


    The lights on the landing of the third floor clicked on as the elderly man¡¯s cane reached the landing. There were five doors here. Each seemed to be fairly standard, except that they all appeared to be very different from one another. It was as though someone had gone to a thrift shop or perhaps antique store looking for carved wooden doors with matching door knockers. It wasn¡¯t a bad look. Just an unusual one.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I was perfectly prepared to overlook it though. Might be a fun conversation piece for friends or a date.


    The old man walked to the first door on the right and pushed open the door with his cane.


    ¡°Have a look around,¡± he said. It seemed a bit like a command, but also like the voice of someone who is tired of having to show the place to everyone who passes by.


    I went inside and had to stop myself from gasping. The apartment inside was like something out of a tv or movie set, which is to say, it was unnaturally big. The living room into the open kitchen alone was about 500 square feet and looking down the hall showed a probably equally sized pair of bedrooms and a rather nice (at a glance) bathroom. The whole thing must be at least 1000 square feet, which, in my area, means about $2+ a square foot in monthly rent, aka on the higher end of what I could notionally afford.


    ¡°What¡¯s the rent like?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Depends on your currency,¡± came the old man¡¯s reply.


    I blinked at this and looked over at him.


    ¡°Currency?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, currency. No one stays for free,¡± was all that he said, his face expressionless (although it was hard to tell through all the wrinkles).


    ¡°Dollars,¡± I said, deciding to turn my attention away from the wizened face.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­. Dollars,¡± I heard him said, before muttering a bit inaudibly.


    I continued looking around the place. It was radiator heating, which looked to be as old as the building, but still holding that same sheen of having just been installed. They were slightly odd-shaped, reminding me of 1920s art deco. There wasn¡¯t any obvious air conditioning, but it looked like there were enough windows that I shouldn¡¯t have too much issue, especially with the light summers that we usually get compared with the rest of the country.


    ¡°Make it a thousand,¡± came the old man¡¯s voice.


    I had to force myself not to immediately accept. That was an outrageous price for this amount of place. There had to be some catch.


    ¡°Utilities included?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Of course, but if you need anything apart from heat, electricity, and water, that¡¯s on you,¡± was his only reply. His voice sounded happier than it had before.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it. How soon can I move in?¡± I confirmed in an instant. This place was too good to pass on and even if there were some issues that would rear their head, for that price, I could figure a way to deal with them.


    ¡°As soon as you can sign the contract,¡± came the pleased reply.


    ¡°Ah, yes. How long is that for?¡± I remembered.


    ¡°Month to month at a minimum. I won¡¯t rent for less time than that,¡± was his reply.


    My heart practically sang.


    ¡°Fantastic. I just need to get a moving service arranged then,¡± I said, grinning an honest grin.


    ¡°Whereabouts are you coming in from?¡± the old man asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m living about 10 blocks down the road,¡± I said, expecting nothing of it.


    ¡°In ordinary housing? You must be braver than you look,¡± the old man said, giving me an appraising look.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing special and I don¡¯t need very much,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Yes, but for beings like us to be in ordinary housing. That¡¯s dangerous that is,¡± the old man straightened a bit, but was still eyeing me up and down.


    ¡°Um¡­ ok. So, uh, anything I should be aware of with the neighbors?¡± I tried to steer the conversation a bit. I¡¯m used to clients having odd ways of saying things, so it wasn¡¯t all that unusual to have strange words turn up in conversations.


    ¡°Not really. Although you might want to invest in some quality silencers. This place echos a bit without them,¡± he appeared to scratch his chin with his free hand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t anticipate being loud,¡± I said.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not for you, although we do appreciate if you can silence yourself. It¡¯s for the rest of the floor,¡± the old man said, gesturing with the curiously held cane.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow,¡± my eyebrows crinkled.


    ¡°Just good practice. Your neighbors can be a bit loud at times, through no fault of their own,¡± the old man admitted.


    ¡°Oh. Well, I¡¯m sure I can live with it,¡± I said, smiling again, wondering if it was too late to consider backing out of my verbal acceptance.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry though. These walls are spellproofed and about as invulnerable as plat-tin-ium coated granite,¡± said the old man, making platinum (after a bit of decoding mentally) sound oddly foreign.


    But the word that caught my mind was ¡®spellproofed¡¯.


    ¡°Spellproofed?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes. You don¡¯t seem to be one of the creatures, so that means you must be some kind of mage, right? Rather remarkable to be living amongst baselines without proper protection,¡± he said, waving vaguely with his free hand.


    ¡°Not exactly. I¡¯m a technical consultant,¡± I replied, guessing that he meant something about my job.


    ¡°Much the same thing, although much less exciting in the baseline world I¡¯m sure,¡± the old man said, he too was now smiling.


    He reached into his worn looking cardigan and withdrew a small sheaf of papers, quickly sorted through them and pulled one out.


    Still not stepping into the apartment, he proffered the paper towards me.


    ¡°The lease,¡± he said.


    I pulled a pen out of my pocket.


    ¡°Oh, no. That won¡¯t do. Inks not a proper signing instrument,¡± he said, pulling the paper back.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have anything else with me,¡± I said, tucking the pen back into my pocket.


    ¡°Come now. Even old mages still have blood,¡± the old man said.


    ¡°If I didn¡¯t know better, it¡¯d sound like you believe in making some kind of supernatural pact,¡± I suggested, smiling at the mere thought. The smile was not returned.


    ¡°I only deal in proper contracts. Either sign it properly or don¡¯t bother me,¡± he snapped.


    I looked around the place again. It seemed impossibly big for the amount of money he was asking for. I quietly guaranteed myself that I¡¯d never find anyplace half as big for this amount of money. At least not until the next big real estate crash.


    ¡°Fine, but I¡¯ll need to borrow a pen,¡± I concluded.


    The old man handed over the paper and a strange looking pen. It wasn¡¯t particularly notable. It just seemed oddly warm to the touch and looked to have been made from some kind of onyx or obsidian.


    The lease seemed exceptionally straightforward. Rent was due on the first of every month, utilities and the property were taken care of by the superintendent of the property. There was no dedicated parking. Rent increases would require a new lease to be signed. And (this part was set off from the rest and bolded) all tenants were to respect all other tenants, on forfeiture of your lease.


    It was an odd final statement, but I¡¯ve signed worse in my time.


    I went to sign it and the pen stun my fingers. I nearly dropped it or tossed it away, but somehow didn¡¯t or couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Ouch,¡± I managed.


    ¡°You must not have signed a contract in a while,¡± the old man said.


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t, but I shouldn¡¯t think that would be a problem,¡± I took the pen from my hand and looked at my fingers. There was a tiny pinprick of blood on my thumb.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m bleeding on your pen,¡± I apologized, ready to hand the pen back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Just sign,¡± the old man said, gesturing at the document.


    I signed, my signature slightly reddish and seeming to shimmer just a tiny bit when I finished. I handed the document and the pen back to the old man, who tucked both into his cardigan.


    ¡°Welcome to the building. See to it that I get that check for the end of the week,¡± he said, and turned to head back down the stairs.


    ¡°What about the keys?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Keys? Oh, right, you¡¯ve been living among baselines. No keys here. The door will recognise you,¡± the old man said.


    I could only watch him slowly walk down the stairs and looked back around the apartment, with equal parts of confusion and wonder filling my mind.

 The Apartment (Ch 2)

    So where was I? Oh right, I¡¯d just signed my lease on an apartment in a building that apparently didn¡¯t exist.


    So I wandered back to my car and called a few friends. Almost every one of them called me crazy for having signed on the spot. But what first really tipped me off about the building was that several of them looked it up on their various map apps and said that I was crazy or lying about where it was.


    ¡°It¡¯s just an old pile of bricks with a bunch of trees,¡± Sean had said.


    I remembered thinking him crazy for that, but hey, it didn¡¯t matter. I¡¯d signed a lease, now I just needed to get my stuff moved and let my current landlady know.


    My landlady was sad to see me go (apparently having tenants who don¡¯t trash the place and pay their rent on time are valued, who knew?), but she reminded me to file for my change of address with the postal service.


    And from that point on, I started having trouble.


    First, the post office seemed agog that I wanted to change my mail service to the new address, claiming that it hadn¡¯t been in service for a number of years. I even got a phone call wanting to know if I needed them to hold the mail until I was finished building. That was my second big hint. I told them no, just leave it in the mailbox on the fence. There was only one for the whole building, but most of my mail was junk mail, so I wouldn¡¯t miss it if someone else happened to get some of it.


    Next, the cable company said that not only do they not service that address, but that they won¡¯t service it. I kept asking why not, but they just kept saying that it¡¯s something to do with the city and I should talk to the landlord about it. It sounded crazy, but I figured I could get by with a WWAN for now until I get it sorted out.


    Thirdly, every moving company I called, immediately after I said the address, hung up as though I were a prank caller. I tried re-calling several of them, but they just hung back up again as soon as I said the address. So I resolved to just rent a truck and haul the stuff over myself. I remembered that 3rd floor walk-up and decided to ask my friends for help. Sadly, Jake was working overtime at the hospital, Sean was out of town doing something, Sara was 8 months pregnant, and Tim, Sara¡¯s boyfriend/father of her soon-to-be child, was a pencil (which is to say that I sometimes wondered if he was even capable of lifting a pint, let alone a box of books).


    In short, it translated into - I was moving myself by myself and it was not going to be pleasant. I was already half exhausted by the time I got the truck half loaded. I had it for a week, but I figured I¡¯d be half dead before this was over.


    If there¡¯s one thing I despise, it¡¯s moving. I end up sore all over and in places that I didn¡¯t know had muscles and tendons.


    As I pulled up outside of the building, I looked up towards where I estimated my apartment was (having only glimpsed out of the windows in my fast walk-through). This was not going to be fun.


    I did notice that the ¡®For Rent¡¯ sign was gone and in place of the sign, a few bits of chain hung in a curious pattern. It was decorative, but not obvious.


    I started wrestling the first arm load up the stairs, which seemed to echo slightly at every step. Upon reaching the door, I immediately fumbled for keys before remembering the strange words of the old man. Grasping the door, I turned the knob. It opened easily and swung inward. I all but collapsed with the first load on to the nearest surface (which turned out to be the kitchen counter).


    I was already imagining the climb with the rest of the stuff from the truck when I heard a light knock at the door.


    I looked over.


    A woman who could have been a Futurama Amazonian (albeit not quite so tall) was looking through it and a short thin man could just be made out behind her to one side. He reminded me of Tim, but looked more capable.


    ¡°Hello, neighbor. Welcome to the building,¡± the woman said, waving slightly.


    ¡°Hello, uh, thank you,¡± was all I could manage as I tried to take the both of them in visually.


    She was garbed in a fairly standard spaghetti strap top and yoga pants, neither of which did anything to hide her rather obvious musculature. She wasn¡¯t flat chested, nor was she overly buxom or curvy. She just¡­ was feminine and there was no ignoring it.


    ¡®Goddess be praised, I¡¯m not going to die having to move all this by myself,¡¯ I immediately thought.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you might be willing to lend me a hand getting moved in,¡± I asked, hopeful.


    ¡°We¡¯d love to,¡± the short thin man spoke up in a slightly gravely voice of one who has just come away from a death metal concert and sung all the words along with the singers.


    From what I could see of him, he seemed to be almost the polar opposite of the woman. He was the kind of person who put you in mind of an accountant or a born bureaucrat. His hair was slicked back and his skin was fair. He bore no facial hair and looked entirely uncomfortable in his jeans and t-shirt, as though a suit and tie would have suited him much better.


    ¡°We?¡± the woman looked at the man with a grin.


    ¡°Yes. We. It¡¯s good manners,¡± the man said, with a gaze that could have re-frozen the ice caps in summer.


    She punched him lightly, but he appeared to not sway even a fraction of an inch, as though he were made of stone.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Over the next hour, we unloaded the truck and I learned a bit more about them.


    She was Lucy. She had a much longer more formal name, but said to just stick with Lucy. Only official people ever ask for her by anything other than Lucy. She lived next door with her cat, Milov. She worked at a shop somewhere downtown (which was walking distance for this place or an easy bike ride).


    He was Warren. He declined to provide any further name and lived across the hall by himself. He was not exactly a bookkeeper, but was associated with staffing and accounting somehow. He didn¡¯t really say except as little hints. He also didn¡¯t say where, but I ignored that bit. We all have our secrets for one reason or another and we were all just meeting one another.


    Much to my surprise, Warren carried just as much as Lucy, despite looking like a lone reed about to face a hurricane.


    When I mentioned that I was moving in from just up the road, the pair exchanged glances.


    ¡°Really? Out in town? You must be either very powerful or very stupid,¡± was Lucy¡¯s tactless reply.


    ¡°What she means is that it¡¯s unusual to chose to not already live in a building like this,¡± Warren said in more gravely tones.


    ¡°Well, you make do with what you can find,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Yes, but around baselines? Don¡¯t they get suspicious?¡± Lucy prompted.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t look or smell like one of the usual tenants we get here, so that means you¡¯re probably some kind of mage, right?¡± Warren piped up, still attempting to hold to some standard of manners.


    ¡°I¡¯m just a technical consultant,¡± I said, feeling confused, like there was something I was missing.


    ¡°As a job, sure, but magic¡¯s more than just a job. It¡¯s practically a calling,¡± Warren said.


    ¡°Well, since you ask, what are you two?¡± I tried, hoping to get some hint as to what they were talking about.


    ¡°I¡¯m a noble lycanthrope of the Third House,¡± Warren said, bowing slightly.


    Lucy rolled her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m an unbound Jinn,¡± Lucy said, a kind of a smile crossed with a smirk on her face, like the feeling was there, but not fully shown.


    ¡°Very funny,¡± I tried.


    ¡°No, really,¡± Lucy said, before snapping her fingers and a small puff of reddish smoke burst from her fingertips.


    It took me several moments to register what I thought I was hearing. My mind headed into my boxes of books and searched for one it knew to be there¡­ Bulfinch¡¯s Mythology¡­ no, that wasn¡¯t right. One Thousand and One Nights, no that wasn¡¯t right either. But somewhere in the mix of all that, my mind went back to my Dungeons and Dragons monster manuals. Strangely, this was a help.


    ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re like a genie?¡± I tried to not make an immediate Aladdin joke.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking, yes. But don¡¯t think about that baseline joke in asking for wishes,¡± Lucy said, shaking a finger pointedly, but with a tight grin on her face.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± I said, sticking my tongue out at her finger.


    ¡°And I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve been around other lycanthropes or not, but no, I am not hairy wolfman and no I do not get to decide when I change,¡± Warren said, clearly lacking the humor that Lucy and I were sharing.


    ¡°So what do you become?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He turns into a dire weasel!¡± Lucy exclaimed.


    Warren¡¯s glare could have frozen a volcano, but seemed to do absolutely nothing to Lucy.


    ¡°She is correct, at least in terms of the modern parlance. We are a noble house, stretching back over 500 years,¡± Warren said rather proudly.


    ¡°So you¡¯re a giant weasel and you¡¯re a non-wish granting genie, got it,¡± I said, waiting for the punchline, figuring they were both putting me on for some reason.


    ¡°Alright, well, we told you what we are, now you tell us. What kind of mage are you?¡± Lucy prompted, her face betraying nothing but an honest interest.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a mage or magician of any kind,¡± I said, expecting this to still be some kind of joke.


    ¡°Really? Well, you don¡¯t smell like a non-baseline, so you¡¯ve gotta be a mage. The only other thing you could be would be a baseline and you couldn¡¯t be one of those,¡± Lucy said.


    ¡°Why not?¡± I was intrigued to see where this is going.


    ¡°Have you never lived in a safe house before?¡± Warren asked, his face contorting a bit.


    ¡°Noooo¡­ can¡¯t say that I have,¡± I said, still not following where this was headed.


    ¡°You, a mage, have never lived in a safe house? Wow, I¡¯m surprised you were able to be that suppressed,¡± Lucy said, her face clearly astonished.


    ¡°How so?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Well, everyone knows mages have to blow off energy or else they tend to accidentally start setting fire to stuff,¡± Lucy said, gesturing widely.


    ¡°Oh well I usually exercise for that,¡± I decided to try and play this game.


    ¡°Oh, not like that, silly, but you know what I mean,¡± Lucy said, sticking her tongue out at me this time.


    ¡°A safe house is one of the few places that people like us can live without dealing with the mundane baselines,¡± Warren said, as though reading from a manual.


    ¡°Well, I try not to be too mundane,¡± I tried, still hoping to get Warren to smile.


    ¡°Mundane would be welcome. Unfortunately, we get a lot of unusual around here, even for the average safe house,¡± Warren said, glancing over at Lucy and then around the rest of the apartment.


    ¡°Anyway, could I bother the two of you further to help me get the rest of my stuff? I¡¯ll order us some food and beer,¡± I asked, hoping to return to this fun dialog later.


    ¡°Certainly. Although you will likely need to go pick it up and neither of us drive,¡± Warren said, answering for the pair.


    ¡°Why? Does nobody deliver to this area?¡± I was a bit confused.


    ¡°Not here, certainly,¡± he answered almost blankly.


    ¡°Something to do with it being a safe house?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Something like that, yes,¡± was Warren¡¯s deadpan response.


    ¡°Well, either way, I¡¯ll get some pizza and beer arranged for. Requests?¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°Extra cheese and an IPA,¡± Warren moved to the door.


    ¡°Can we get it with half triple pepperoni and spinach?¡± Lucy asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not, although I can probably just make it a whole one, just for you, Lucy,¡± I said. ¡°And to drink?¡±


    ¡°Are they still making those alcoholic fizzy drinks in a can?¡± she asked, appearing to be quite happy about getting a whole pizza to herself.


    ¡°Indeed they are. Any particular flavor?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nope. Just something nice and bubbly,¡± Lucy said, almost bouncing out of the door and down the stairs.


    --


    Three hours, many boxes, three alcoholic beverages each, and at least two slices of pizza in each of us (although Lucy had managed to get through half of her pizza, while Warren and I had split one), I could reasonably say that at least for this move, things weren¡¯t so bad. And my neighbors, while apparently quirky, were definitely helpful.


    ¡°So, anything I need to be aware of with this place?¡± I asked.


    They looked at one another.


    ¡°Not really. It¡¯s a well-run building, or so I¡¯m told,¡± Lucy said, shrugging, a motion that seemed to test the tensile strength of her shirt without apparent effort or concern.


    ¡°Indeed. And while my change does tend to be on the, uh, louder side of things, please don¡¯t worry about me. It¡¯s all rather normal, for better or worse I¡¯m afraid,¡± Warren said, having loosened considerably after his second can.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. I do tend to listen to my music a bit loud at times, so if that¡¯s ever an issue, just knock on my door,¡± I said.


    Lucy and Warren left a little while later after some minor discussion about the general area around the building and I was left with my piles of stuff in my new apartment.


    I still couldn¡¯t help but wonder what the catch was with this place.

 The Apartment (Ch 3)

    Ok, so I¡¯ll admit I was definitely blind to a lot of this place¡¯s happenings at first.


    Admittedly a bunch of that was intentional. Ya¡¯know, it happens. You just figure that people are messing with you with some kind of running joke or meme.


    Anyway, when did I figure out that I wasn¡¯t living someplace normal with quirky, but otherwise normal people? I¡¯m glad you asked.


    It was the first new moon, two weeks after I moved in. So far, I¡¯d mostly been settling in, trying to figure out what an alternative to this WWAN card would be that wouldn¡¯t cost me a small fortune, since apparently the cable company couldn¡¯t or wouldn¡¯t service this place.


    It was weird. I just keep talking to different people. Several of them refused to acknowledge the address was even an option in their system. Others said it was there, but was hardlocked due to a special code and I¡¯d have to talk with their legal department via mail if I wanted answers. Others further said that the address was blocked by the city and I¡¯d have to take it up with the relevant department.


    In short I was chasing my tail and still being blind to a lot of the obvious hints. So the great big obvious decided to pay a visit.


    The screaming started about the time that the sunset. And I don¡¯t mean like a single scream and then it ended. No, this went for so long, I wondered how the person making it was even still making sound.


    I tore open my door to the hallway. The sound was clearly coming from Warren¡¯s apartment. If anything, just opening the door made it 10 times louder. I wanted to wince at it. It sounded like the kind of scream that a person might make while being slowly quartered by wild tortoises while being held over fire kept at just below cauterizing temperature.


    I went over to the door and tried to open it. The door didn¡¯t budge even a fraction of an inch in the frame.


    The screaming continued and I turned to go back into my apartment to grab my phone and call 911. Lucy was standing behind me. She gestured towards my apartment and we both retreated inside.


    ¡°I have to call 911,¡± was what I managed.


    ¡°Why?¡± Lucy asked.


    I looked over at her, my phone already in hand, like she had just asked why a vehicle couldn¡¯t be driven home after having been struck by two trains going opposite directions.


    ¡°It¡¯s his monthly change. Didn¡¯t the super tell you about getting silencers?¡± Lucy said, matter-of-factly.


    I did recall the old man saying something about that, but I¡¯d never really thought about it. It was just another one of those ¡®details¡¯ that I¡¯d skimmed over.


    ¡°Well, yeah, but¡­¡± I started as the scream seemed to intensify for a moment, despite the fact that any normal person would have long since run out of breath and passed out from whatever pain this must be causing Warren.


    ¡°But nothing. I can dampen it a bit, but I¡¯m no mage, so silencing isn¡¯t one of my tricks,¡± Lucy said and snapped her fingers.


    A bit more red mist appeared and the volume of the scream dampened considerably. It was still audible, but at a fraction of a fraction of what it had been.


    It was strangely enough in this moment that I finally got that I was living someplace not normal. I like to think I took it pretty well.


    I looked at Lucy. She looked at me.


    ¡°So you¡¯re really a djinn?¡± I managed after a few moments.


    ¡°Yup. Keeps things interesting, but not as interesting as with Warren around. I was a bit surprised to find a lycanthrope in a safe house,¡± Lucy said, flopping down on my couch. I heard it creak slightly as she did so.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± I asked, still trying to wrap my head around all that I had heard, but hadn¡¯t actually bothered to process in any sort of detail.


    ¡°Well, most lycanthropes tend to stick with their own. Prepared spaces for dealing with the change, that sort of thing. And Warren coming from a noble house, well, that means something,¡± Lucy gestured vaguely.


    ¡°What? Like kicked out maybe?¡± I took a stab in the dark.


    ¡°Exactly! It doesn¡¯t happen as much as it used to, but it does still happen,¡± Lucy said. ¡°By the way, any more of that strawberry fizz? He¡¯s going to be about another hour or so before he¡¯s done screaming and I¡¯d just as soon not wait it out in my place.¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Over the course of the next hour, Lucy filled me in on all the details I¡¯d managed to gloss over. I did my best to not look too shocked or amazed at the various details.


    Apparently safe houses were a kind of for-rent haven for all beings supernatural and even magical people. Even fae (hence no ironwork on the staircase or the doors). The exact mechanism was a kind of artifact that every safe house had. It wasn¡¯t hard to make, but it was special enough that the makers of them didn¡¯t have enough for all the different places that all beings supernatural might want to reside (especially among baseline humans). So the safe houses got a kind of perceptual filter on them. A kind of ¡°if you know it¡¯s there, you know about it, but otherwise, it¡¯s just a kind of blindspot¡±.


    I asked about how it works with cameras (since I had since looked it up on a few map apps and seen just as Sean had said - a pile of old bricks and some trees). Lucy wasn¡¯t sure about the details, but it¡¯s more or less the same with baseline tech. It¡¯s not perfect, but it¡¯s still a kind of camouflage that is uninteresting enough to anyone looking that they aren¡¯t going to stop and look.


    Which of course made me question how I¡¯d managed to find this place.


    It wasn¡¯t until Warren had stopped screaming and a light, polite knock at the door that I got my second helping of obvious.


    The being on the other side of the door was unlike any that I¡¯d ever seen in pictures. There could be no doubt that it looked like a weasel (or perhaps a dry otter), except enlarged to Warren¡¯s normal size and looking rather more carnivorous (given the rather more obvious teeth and claws). If I hadn¡¯t known, I might have mistaken him for a strange derivative of a giant honey badger (something that would have been equally terrifying to find on your doorstep).


    But there was also no doubt that it was Warren, even though he appeared to be incapable of speaking. It was the way this dire weasel carried himself. There was a kind of slicked back pride and capability that was undeniably felt about it/him.


    However, this image was not helped by Lucy, who hopped up from the couch and dashed over to pet weasel-Warren. Despite the fur and clearly different form, Warren appeared exasperated by the act, but stood there, letting Lucy do her thing, simply looking at me as one does when they are faced with a force of nature that they can do nothing about, but clearly still feel wronged in some way.


    Lucy and weasel-Warren wandered off shortly after, all of my bubbling questions for Warren needing to wait until he had a voice capable of speaking to me with.


    As the door shut behind them, I chose this particular moment to have a mini panic attack.


    Somehow, I had now figured out that I, a baseline human, had managed to find a rental in a building that didn¡¯t exist because of magic, living next door to a magical being and across the hall from an actual lycanthrope. All kinds of questions flooded my mind.


    What if I was found out?


    How had I found out about this place in the first place?


    Why was I able to see it?


    What was this artifact?


    Weren¡¯t weres or lycanthropes the type to feast on stray humans?


    What was to stop weasel-Warren from killing me?


    Who or perhaps what else might be in this building with me?


    Would I even make it through the month?


    These were just a fraction of the questions that went through my mind, which was at least partially busy looking up gruesome horror images from movies and various books and pointing them out as ¡°look, see, this will probably happen to you, or maybe like this¡±. Helpful bits of wisdom and caring like that.


    I didn¡¯t start to calm down until one particular thought hit me.


    Did it matter if I was baseline or not since I had found this place?


    Well, the lease hadn¡¯t said anything against it. In fact, the lease had been very explicit - all tenants were to respect all other tenants.


    And given that I had signed in what I now realized was my own blood, if even a fraction of a fraction of what was in my library about magic and wizards and the supernatural was true, then that meant that a contract like that couldn¡¯t be broken. Not easily and certainly not without serious repercussions. And I¡¯d wager that lease forfeiture was just the start on a contract like that.


    So I started taking stock of what I knew, or thought I knew.


    Somehow, I was able to see this place. Check.


    This place was called a safe house and it was made possible by some kind of artifact, of which there are a number of, but not too many. Check.


    My next door neighbor is a djinn. Well, only kinda check there because I need to go read up on something more than the Wikipedia listing and my D&D monster manual.


    My across-the-hall neighbor is a lycanthrope that is apparently some kind of noble who is cast out for one reason or another (or possibly on holiday). Again, only kinda check because I still have no idea of all of what I¡¯m dealing with.


    The old man I met is apparently not the landlord, but the superintendent of the property. And thinking back to the way he was holding his cane, it made me wonder if there¡¯s something else going on there too. I won¡¯t worry about him for now. Supers and landlords are best kept at a distance. Useful when you need to deal with them, but otherwise, nope.


    Silencers¡­ Ok, so I probably can¡¯t get my hands on whatever it is they¡¯re talking about, but what if I came up with a non-magical solution? I mean, I¡¯ve worked with clients on creating quiet zones away from equipment before. Usually, the solution involves a lot of insulation. That¡¯s probably not going to work here (not to mention would be outside of my budget). So what¡¯s that leave?


    --


    ¡°It¡¯s a what?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a prototype silencer,¡± I said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a stereo that you appear to have hooked up to an o-scope, a computer, and a couple of microphones. Cheap ones by the looks of it,¡± Warren said, looking at the set-up skeptically.


    ¡°Look, if it works, all you have to do is leave it plugged in,¡± I tried.


    ¡°I¡¯m not fond of the idea of someone being able to listen to my private words,¡± Warren said, a small scowl forming.


    ¡°That¡¯s why it¡¯s one way. Those mics feed the o-scope the waveform so it can generate the negative. It¡¯s technically called acoustic damping, but you crank up the volume enough on the stereo with decent quality speakers, and it¡¯s basically induced silence,¡± I explained.


    ¡°Won¡¯t it lag behind me?¡± Warren asked.


    ¡°A bit, but only once you pass a certain decibel range, it¡¯ll kick in,¡± I said.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t like it,¡± Warren muttered.


    ¡°Try it for a cycle and get back to me. If it works, I¡¯ll see if I can make you something a bit more refined,¡± I tried a client facing smile.


    Warren looked over it again and back at me.


    ¡°Very well. And Sam¡­ thank you.¡±

 The Apartment (Ch 4)

    The last week has been¡­ well, in short it¡¯s been interesting. Perhaps a bit enlightening, with shades of creepy. Or would be if I hadn¡¯t learned a few things.


    Firstly, I managed to get an internet service. It turns out that the ¡®magical¡¯ folks have their own connection form.


    I was talking with Warren and Lucy about the costs of getting internet service and the difficulties and Warren suggested that I just get a sigil modem instead of a baseline one.


    I of course had to prompt him to explain a bit, not really to his surprise. As near as I can tell, Warren and Lucy have more or less decided that I¡¯m apparently some kind of wild mage. A kind of uninitiated one. Basically having just gotten by on my wits and lacking a lot of the ¡°right¡± knowledge. So far, it¡¯s been best to let them believe that. After all, I still think it would be downright weird between them and me if they actually believed me to be a baseline.


    Apparently wild mages aren¡¯t entirely unusual, but they tend to get found after a couple of discharges of unexplainable magic. For me to be a wild mage and not initiated, well, it¡¯s not unheard of, just definitely not the norm. Most just tend to live away from baselines or, and this is apparently more common, are a part of the baseline-tracked homeless population. Less questions asked that way for most of them and since most believe themselves alone or unable to access the right resources, they stick to the outskirts of baseline society.


    Using that as a metric, I¡¯m apparently very well versed in baseline society and am surprisingly well adjusted for having been living among baselines as a wild mage. But anyway, getting back to my internet service¡­


    Warren explained that sigil modems are basically what most safehouse users need to get for access to the mages network. The mages network is basically the internet for more magical folks. It talks with baseline stuff pretty well, but adds an extra layer of security for when one is looking at the various baseline sites.


    I swear¡­ it¡¯s so weird to think of my day to day tech gear and everything as baseline. I promise I won¡¯t keep thinking about it too much, but it¡¯s hard to not delineate between baseline gear and well¡­ you¡¯ll see in a moment.


    A bonus to the mages network is online shopping through the various alchemy, magical, and equivalently non-standard shops. And interestingly, all of them deliver to safehouses. This shouldn¡¯t really surprise me, but after all the trouble I had in getting moved here and trying to get various kinds of service, it was a surprise.


    As it turns out, Warren has one, but Lucy doesn¡¯t. Lucy apparently doesn¡¯t need one, although she didn¡¯t really explain why and Warren just shrugged. It honestly didn¡¯t look that different from a standard modem. Slightly bigger and the glowing runes that covered the solid, not meshy, case were the only obvious differences. Oh and the fact that it wasn¡¯t plugged into the wall at all and lacked any obvious input for signal.


    Apparently the mages network was akin to my WWAN, except much better service and significantly cheaper.


    Which of course brought me to my next question for Warren.


    ¡°What¡¯s the usual currency for mages network, and most of those shops for that matter?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Pretty much anything, but baseline currency is reasonably popular, mostly because it¡¯s still easy enough to translate it into other currencies. Or at least follows enough of them that it¡¯s rare for a shop to refuse baseline currency,¡± he replied matter-of-factly.


    ¡°What else though?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had a few alchemy shops offer exchanges for fur, fallen fangs, nail clippings, and similar¡­ biological products,¡± Warren grimaced.


    My mind tried not to linger too much on this. Apparently, Warren had the same idea.


    ¡°Meteoric iron, purified base metals, and anything with any degree of rarity is usually welcome. At one point, I heard of some shops trying to get ahold of some of the lunar regolith that was brought back from the Apollo missions. High alchemy and magic shops strictly. Nothing the likes of us could afford,¡± Warren continued.


    ¡°Really? I thought you were from a Great House,¡± I pried a bit.


    ¡°A noble house and yes, there¡¯s a difference. Besides, circumstances are not always as they seem,¡± Warren chastised as though reading out from a ledger.


    ¡°I guess what¡¯s the exchange rate on any of that stuff though,¡± I wondered aloud.


    ¡°For the lunar regolith? At the time, a cubic inch would have been worth more than 100 cubic inches of meteoric iron. These days, a cubic inch would be worth about 10 cubic inches of meteoric iron. And for your reference, meteoric iron is probably equivalent to the baseline gold standard. Gold isn¡¯t exactly as useful as baselines love to claim, especially when it comes to non-baseline uses,¡± Warren explained.


    ¡°What kind of mon¡­ currency do you use, Lucy?¡± I asked, looking over at her. We were lounging in Warren¡¯s place. It was rather comfortable, but everything was noticeably spartan in terms of being smart but highly utilitarian. One couldn¡¯t help but notice that almost everything was also very sturdy or hard wearing too.


    Lucy sat up a bit from her usual sprawled form.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Oh I mostly stick to baseline currency, but if I¡¯m pressed, I can usually provide a bit of elemental fire. It¡¯s easy enough for me and most alchemy shops run low on it a lot,¡± Lucy shrugged.


    ¡°So the baseline descriptions of djinns being a kind of fire elemental is true?¡± I ventured.


    ¡°In a way. Air and fire is the best description that baselines have, but even that¡¯s not exactly right. There¡¯s lots more to it,¡± Lucy looked over at Warren, which is to say that she looked over at Warren¡¯s head, clearly debating if she wanted to give his hair a ruffle or not.


    There was apparently some kind of dynamic between them that Warren tolerated, but that hadn¡¯t been explained to me.


    ¡°Milov is back in your place if you want some fur to play with,¡± Warren said, not bothering to acknowledge the gaze.


    ¡°But yours is so fluffy,¡± Lucy bemoaned.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you could get Milov altered to look more fluffy,¡± Warren suggested.


    She reached over and play struck him on the arm.


    ¡°And I¡¯m sure you could loosen up,¡± she said.


    ¡°Fat chance of that,¡± I commented.


    Lucy smiled and Warren just rolled his eyes.


    So¡­ following our hangout, I sat down with Warren¡¯s sigil modem and I ordered one for myself. It wasn¡¯t cheap, but since it promised FIOS level of speeds for little more than a bacon sandwich a month in terms of price, it was a more than fair exchange in my estimation.


    I know, I know. Not weird or creepy and I still haven¡¯t explained. I¡¯m getting there.


    Well, I met one of the residents of the 2nd floor. I say resident because well¡­ how do I put this easily without it sounding like a trope¡­ She¡¯s a vampire. There. I said it.


    I know, I know. It¡¯s very tropy. Oooo I have a lycanthrope for a neighbor and a vampire downstairs. Ooooo lookatme. Hahaha. Moving on.


    In short, she¡¯s about the last person I¡¯d ever suspect of being a vampire. She looks like the average little old lady with a cane. It apparently is a stylistic choice that she prefers and claims that she gets better service because of it, plus always have a baseline-society acceptable weapon always at hand.


    She reminded me of one of my ex¡¯s grandmothers. Not really a familial matriarch, but definitely having the respect of those around her. Definitely not one who bothered with taking crap off anyone. Not abusive, but still rather set in her role in life.


    Apparently, contrary to popular baseline opinion, vampires do not actually live forever (or until killed). They¡¯re also not really undead. They¡¯re actually a lot more like lycanthropes and mages. They tended to live a long time, yes. They had many unusual habits or dietary requirements, true, but on the whole, that¡¯s mostly where it stopped.


    I honestly didn¡¯t take her at her word until she bared her fangs at me and took a heavy sniff of me.


    ¡°You¡¯ve some nice smelling blood for a young wild mage, lad. Almost like a young baseliner,¡± she had remarked.


    ¡°Thank you, I think,¡± I replied, wondering if my door was strong enough if she got hungry.


    ¡°Be sure to take care of yourself. I know all the trouble that you mages can get into and well, unless you invite someone in, you won¡¯t be able to get help in this building,¡± she explained.


    As it turned out, each apartment was¡­ well, warded was the best descriptor I got. Part of that is that no one can enter if you don¡¯t want them to. It was like having the door to the TARDIS, except on a whole new level. Certainly still possible to breach, but that usually involved either a lot of magic, a lot of force, or both. Or a null-field, whatever that was.


    So while I am living upstairs from a vampire, it more or less is very¡­ reassuring to know that those fangs won¡¯t be finding my neck in my apartment anytime soon.


    For a short time after I was around her, I found myself picturing those fangs again and again. There was something about them that reminded me of frilled shark¡¯s teeth. Still very definitely not something I wanted anywhere near me. I ended up needing to hug and pet Milov for a bit.


    Milov, for his part, was a standard orange tabby, fluffy and loved all the attention I could give him. His tail could have passed for an orange feather duster though, as fluffy as it was. Lucy joked that she could just get him to walk through some places in the apartment for treats and his tail would do all the dusting. His purr was practically an engine rumble.


    Lucy was pleased that Milov took to me almost immediately. Warren was apparently not liked by Milov and this being the kind of building it was, it was almost impossible to get a pet sitter. So¡­ hint hint¡­ it was likely that Lucy might ask me to take care of Milov at various points.


    When I pointed out that I wouldn¡¯t be able to get through the door, she reminded me of the obvious solution.


    ¡°Well, I could drop him and enough of his stuff with you in your place if I need you to watch him. It¡¯s not like it¡¯s that far and I haven¡¯t seen any dogs or cats over in your place,¡± Lucy said.


    ¡°Where might you go?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It might be nice to go back and see the area I¡­ uh, came from. Or even just go on a solo vacation for longer than a few days,¡± she said, eyes glazing over as she described the second part, her mind clearly already having a few places in mind.


    ¡°Is that safe?¡± I stupidly asked.


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t it be?¡± she half-grinned, half-glared at me.


    Realizing what a fool I was for even suggesting that she, who was built like an amazonian fable, wouldn¡¯t be safe in a baseline environment, I fumbled for a rational or even semi-plausible idea.


    ¡°Well, couldn¡¯t¡­ couldn¡¯t someone bind you?¡± I tried, remembering her words about being an unbound djinn.


    She appeared to give this some consideration, the glare and the grin erased with reasonable thought. This was apparently a potential reality/risk she hadn¡¯t given too much thought previously. After a few moments, she responded.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t think so. The amount of¡­ well, materials as it were that you¡¯d need to bind me at this point would probably be a lot more than most sorcerers¡¯ clans could put together easily.¡±


    ¡°Which I¡¯m guessing has something to do with your accumulated elemental ability and age?¡± I ventured.


    She affected a look of faux-anger.


    ¡°Did you just imply that I¡¯m old?¡± she thrust her nose up. ¡°Well, I shan''t be asking you to watch Milov after all, then.¡±


    ¡°Oh noes¡­ whatever shall I do?¡± I replied in a suitably sarcastic plaintive tone.


    ¡°Hrmf,¡± was her reply, before grinning again.


    ¡°You¡¯re quite right. Elemental beings like djinns get more powerful with age and with more exposure to our core elements. And as you can probably guess, I¡¯m probably one of the older beings in the building, relatively speaking,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have assumed that, but good to know. I won¡¯t ask how old though, because even a baseline knows better than to ask a lady her age,¡± I remarked.


    ¡°Quite so. One of the few things baseline society got right,¡± she said as she picked up a rumbling Milov.


    And so that was more or less that. I¡¯ll now occasionally get asked to watch Milov (oh no, whatever shall I do) and I¡¯ve learned a bit more about the building and new world that I apparently live in.


    I¡¯m hoping to get Lucy and Warren over to the pub in the next week or so, so they can meet some of the friends who didn¡¯t/couldn¡¯t help me move in. Probably not Sara or Tim though, seeing as they¡¯re dealing with the newborn.


    I¡¯ll try and keep you all updated.

 The Apartment (Ch 5)

    Ok¡­ so our trip to the pub was¡­ well, informative. Not exactly the info I wanted, but enlightening all the same.


    Everyone knows how hard it can be to get a group of adults together, even for a round at the pub. Well, it took some doing, but I managed to get Sean, Jake, and (reluctantly) Sara, Tim, and their newborn. Not ideal for a pub environment, but hey, you take what you can get. Warren was going to meet us there and Lucy and I walked down together.


    One of the things I love about New English towns is the walkability and here was no exception.


    What I wasn¡¯t counting on was Lucy pointing out all the places that seemed entirely normal, but completely weren¡¯t, if you knew who and what to ask for.


    You know those ¡°Historical House¡± placards you see around? Well, the metal ones with the crimson borders are the non-baseline places. We passed four of them on our way to the pub.


    The first was an unassuming two story house that was from 1830-ish. It was apparently one of the local Reformation Clerics, an order that apparently predated the founding of the Catholic Church by something like three centuries. Exactly why Lucy mentioned their founding in this manner was a mystery to me, but I figured it had some connection, even if it wasn¡¯t obvious. Most places with a safehouse had a Reformation Cleric nearby. They were apparently one of the better organizations for doctors in the non-baseline world.


    Lucy even suggested that I might stop in for a scan, just so they have me on file for the area and in case they have to use a restorative on me. They apparently could even tell exactly what I am, based on some kind of¡­ signature. Lucy said the word about twice, but it was no word I¡¯d ever heard of and there isn¡¯t an easy equivalent that Lucy could think of. So we just left it at that.


    Truthfully, just knowing it was there was good to know, but as much as I wanted to know why I had managed to find a building that didn¡¯t exist with people that are myth, legend, and otherwise impossible as far as baseline humans are concerned, I also didn¡¯t necessarily want to be found out. At least not yet.


    Next was an old timey printing place. It was a standard tourist stop on an unassuming corner. They had their sign out and they had the old style printing equipment lined up near the windows. Pretty standard stuff. Well, as it turns out, it¡¯s also one of the local libraries for non-baselines. They have access to almost every book and while they are a tiny shop, they can get almost anything they don¡¯t have immediately available. Lucy still grumbled about how there had been a three week wait for the last HP book though. Admittedly, I laughed. Even the non-baselines were fervent followers of baseline literature, even if only for a solid chuckle.


    Third was another house. This was a three story that sat up a bit and had a bit of an overgrown yard. Except¡­ except now that I came to really look at it¡­ the yard looked less and less overgrown. The more I stood there and looked, the more I seemed to notice. The house was narrow, but clearly well cared for. And the yard¡­ it reminded me more and more of a wild garden. I mentioned this to Lucy.


    ¡°Well, it kind of is. This is where one of the local witches lives and she makes a lot of her living making herbal treatments for baselines and us alike,¡± Lucy responded.


    ¡°A witch? Like a hexing kind?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nah, more like the disappointed school matron kind. Definitely always be on your best manners around her,¡± Lucy warned.


    ¡°Or what? She¡¯ll turn me into a newt?¡± I joked, thinking back on my Monty Python.


    ¡°No, dear. I¡¯ll just be very disappointed in you,¡± came a commanding female tone that sounded like it was whispered in my ear, but was so clear that it might have been a boot camp sergeant very clearly enunciating at full volume from across the compound. All the other sounds seemed to get muted in that moment of words.


    To my credit, I froze like a statue. One doesn¡¯t not hear that kind of voice and not immediately question ¡®what did I do¡¯ or ¡®what did she find out about¡¯ or even ¡®what didn¡¯t I do¡¯.


    I turned my head slowly to look towards the voice, but there was no one there. I nearly jumped when Lucy tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards the house. Sitting on the side porch to the house in a rocking chair was someone who could certainly have been mistaken for being a recently retired school matron from about 100 years ago.


    She looked about 50, although my judge of female age has never been good. Even sitting down, I could tell that she was tall and judging from what I could see of the tightly laced boots she wore, those likely made her even taller. Lucy¡¯s mention of school matron was on the money though because I almost instantly wanted to avoid her gaze.


    Unlike the fantasy witches, she wasn¡¯t unpleasant to look at, but she wasn¡¯t a model either. Her features were bone sharp and her eyes were the sort that could spot bad penmanship at 100 paces. She wore no hat and appeared to be sticking with a basic grey dress that seemed to highlight her figure, making her appear more like a dull polished knife rather than a woman. Her hair was greying at the temples, but was a dark blonde.


    ¡°Run along now. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll have time to talk later,¡± came the whispered voice in my ear again.


    Suffice it to say that Lucy and I both turned as one and continued our way to the pub. Lucy confided later that she wasn¡¯t sure how the witch did that voice trick, but that it was more than effective.


    The last place was a spices and tea shop near the tourist district. I was a bit skeptical when Lucy pointed it out, but she promised it was the real deal. Apparently, it¡¯s what passes for the local alchemist and apothecary for non-baselines, although they do keep the normal baseline goods on the counters. They apparently also handle the various deliveries and orders for the area.


    We were almost at the pub when I finally had to ask.


    ¡°How has nobody spotted out any of these?¡± I asked Lucy.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she looked puzzled.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t exactly hidden. What¡¯s to stop baselines from spot them and, well, people like, uh, us?¡± I managed, trying not to give anything away.


    ¡°Oh¡­ well, I think mostly it¡¯s that people see what they want to see. A kind of built-in denial. Like, if you put a sign over an impressive looking stone building that says ¡®Bank¡¯, then that¡¯s what most people expect it to be. And if you give people something specific to look at, they tend to ignore the little details,¡± she tried explaining.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Ok, well, I mean, that works for shops, but what about accidents? I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s all concealed magic and nobody¡¯s never seen a lycanthrope, and similar,¡± I pressed.


    Her explanation for the shops did make sense. When you make a sign, people tend to believe it. You fill a cheap beer bottle with another kind of cheap beer, most people would figure it¡¯s what¡¯s on the label, not what it actually is and even if they did notice a difference, they¡¯re more likely to figure that there¡¯s just something wrong with it, not that it¡¯s a different beer entirely.


    It almost made me laugh a bit thinking about that while Lucy was thinking about her response. We baselines sure could ignore stuff like nobody¡¯s business. I¡¯ve walked past that print shop at least a dozen times. Same for the witch and her garden and I sure couldn¡¯t have told you there was anything odd about either one of them.


    But at the same time, I had to wonder how much else I¡¯d missed in seeing, just going about my ordinary life.


    ¡°Well, we all try to be careful and I guess when the odd things do happen, we deal with it. I mean things do happen, but they usually aren¡¯t taken seriously. Most baselines think of magic and everything as some kind of fake fantasy that only exists in entertainment. Do you remember that news article about 10 years ago now, where some unknown critter that didn¡¯t match anything ¡®normal¡¯ washed up on the beach? Or when those shoes with feet still in them were showing up in Canada?¡± Lucy tried explaining, using finger-quotes on the ¡®normal¡¯ to clearly indicate that her normal and the baseline normal were very patently different.


    As it happened, I had seen and read several articles on both. There was general confusion in both of the reported new items. The feet were more of a criminal concern, but they had more or less disappeared from the news reports after about a week. The strange critter, which I had figured was some deep sea critter that by matter of tides, bad luck, and perhaps being half dragged and eaten, had ended up on the beach of Long Island.


    We reached the pub then, so I honestly had to start putting those thoughts aside, but I did have to admit, people of the modern age did tend to see the unbelievable or have strange experiences and more often than not, it was ignored, cast aside as a fantasy, and generally ignored within about a week as though it hadn¡¯t happened.


    Sara, Tim, and their newborn were waiting when we arrived. Sara took a long look up and down Lucy and clearly wanted to ask questions, but refrained from doing so. I already knew one of them would have been asking if Lucy and I were dating. She loved to meddle like that. I still had no idea what she saw in Tim, but given that he¡¯s the child¡¯s father, there must be something there that I¡¯m missing.


    Tim for his part gave the usual soft handshake that puts you in mind of someone who has never had a callus in his life and never lifts anything heavier than a toothbrush (let alone a baby). Lucy appeared to look the pair over with a kind of amused look on her face. She explained later that she was rather surprised herself that those two would be pairbonded, given what she perceived to be Sara feeling intimidated in our combined presence and Tim¡¯s¡­ well, just kind of sense of being present, but forgettable the instant he left your sight.


    Lucy and I ordered our drinks and cooed over the baby appropriately. Lucy didn¡¯t seem too enamored with the child and I certainly wasn¡¯t, but social obligations and conventions were there to some degree. In any case, it was at least a mutual social item between baselines and non-baselines it seemed.


    We made some small talk - I talked a bit about the general updates in my office (I never talked specific business because NDAs are a pain), Tim spoke a bit about his work (some kind of support agent role for a pharmaceuticals company), Sara talked a bit about the baby (she being on maternity leave still), and Lucy talked about her job at a nearby glassblowing shop. Sean showed up after a bit as did Jake. Both had been held up at their workplaces, as per the usual adult complaint.


    We managed to talk a bit more before Sara¡¯s baby started to cry and Sara and Tim opted to say their goodbyes for one day and go home, rather than subjecting the pub to the extra crying.


    Warren turned up shortly after they departed and sat down with a blank face, it took several moments for Sean and Jake to actually register that there was a new person at the table that they didn¡¯t know. I made the introductions of course, Warren retaining his stoney blank face and Sean and Jake suddenly looking uneasy or perhaps more uneasy.


    That was the one item that confused me from the whole evening. Sara, Sean, and Jake all appeared ill-at-ease with Lucy or the combo of Lucy and Warren. I didn¡¯t find out why until later.


    Warren, for his part, ordered a round for the table and an extra tall Long Island for himself. Usually, bartenders refuse to deliver such things (or at least in my experience they have). In this case, there wasn¡¯t even a pause, before they started pouring. This meant that while the rest of us were in the process of finishing off our pints (Lucy was on her third can of whatever sparkling alcoholic flavored seltzer), Warren received a liter glass of Long Island Iced Tea. If we hadn¡¯t watched it being made, we might not have believed it to be alcoholic, but there was no doubt about it.


    Warren, for his part, seemed to appreciate the quantity of alcohol in the glass before him and appropriately sipped at it, even though after half the glass, he should have been almost visibly drunk.


    The rest of the evening that Sean and Jake were present for seemed somewhat stilted, which was unusual for the pair. Especially since Sean was known to hit on any woman who wasn¡¯t wearing a wedding ring and even that wasn¡¯t usually enough to stop him. Initially, I chalked it up to Lucy and Warren being newcomers, but as the conversation went on, it just felt odd.


    At the end, before Jake and Sean headed out, Jake pulled me to the side and asked if it was such a good idea for me to be involved with them (meaning Lucy and Warren). As far as I could tell, Lucy and Warren had been perfectly companionable all evening, and not half as much trouble as Sean could be when he had only two pints into him. Jake didn¡¯t really explain except to try to suggest that Lucy and Warren seemed like some kind of trouble. He didn¡¯t bother elaborating, so I was left more than a bit confused by this.


    I ended up with 4 pints in me (which I sadly would definitely feel in the morning as well as right then), Lucy had polished off 5 of those canned seltzers, and Warren finished off his extra tall Long Island, without so much as a hint that the alcohol was affecting him in the slightest.


    We began our walk home and as we were passing the print shop, Warren mentioned wanting to stop for a book. Given that it was 10 pm, I thought surely it was too late, but Warren rang the bell in an interesting pattern that I guessed was related to indicating non-baselines at the door.


    A younger man, probably about 23, came to the door after a few moments, looking thoroughly frustrated and annoyed.


    ¡°What do you want, Warren? I¡¯m in the middle of something,¡± the younger man said curtly.


    ¡°I¡¯m here about one of my holds. What¡¯s the trouble? Anything we can help with?¡± Warren prompted.


    ¡°I doubt it. Neither of you does traditional magic,¡± the younger man said, before his eyes landed on me. ¡°You¡­ what are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Sam. I live next door to Lucy and Warren,¡± I proffered my hand out. He simply looked at it until I lowered it.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked. I asked what are you,¡± the younger man half-way glowered.


    ¡°He¡¯s a kind of wild mage,¡± Lucy piped up.


    ¡°So he¡¯s even less helpful than either of you two. Come on in then and get your bloody books,¡± the younger man said, turning away and leading us into the basement, which was lined with all manner of books and what I could only describe as grimoires and scrolls. It was like walking into a fantasy painting of a library.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I can certainly give it my best shot,¡± I ventured, the alcohol making me a bit more forward than I might normally have been.


    ¡°I highly doubt it, unless you know anything about R-grade scroll spells,¡± the younger man said, wandering over to what was apparently his desk, with a rather complex looking drawing on a scroll-like parchment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t, but I know someone who can certainly do the job,¡± I said, looking around the area for a moment before seeing what I wanted. Grabbing it and setting it on the desk next to the younger man, I looked at him and waited a moment.


    ¡°Is this some kind of joke?¡± the younger man asked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.


    ¡°Certainly not. Walk your¡­ goose totem through the spell. Don¡¯t skip over anything,¡± I explained.


    The younger man looked over at Lucy and Warren, who both shrugged simultaneously, and so he appeared to begin talking to said goose totem. Warren, having picked up his book, led us back up stairs and we were in the process of closing the door when we heard the younger man exclaim.


    ¡°Of course I forgot that rune, why in the red thunders would I have forgotten it?!¡±

 The Apartment (Ch 6)

    In which I have finally (maybe) figured out how I can see this place.


    Yes, yes, I¡¯m titling things like that now. I don¡¯t know, it seems to fit the topsy-turvey that I find myself in.


    Based on what I¡¯ve learned so far:


    Magic is real and magic users (usually mages, but there are others) are usually born of families of mage lineage. Occasionally, there¡¯s an old bloodline that pops up from a dormant bloodline, but that¡¯s a rarity. And it¡¯s worth mentioning that Lucy estimates that there¡¯s probably only a few hundred mages in the world, wild and initiated. Hardly the sort of thing one needs a grand conspiracy to hide.


    Next - lycanthropes are real. They tend to live in dens (no, really, that¡¯s what they call them). They tend to be wealthy, but quiet and keep to themselves. This is apparently the result of some battle back in 1357 between Eastern and Western families and a resulting concordat which established a kind of permanent ¡®how we shall act¡¯. Warren has said that there have been several attempts to break the concordat, but that they have been deliberately and very thoroughly put down. The concordat council is apparently very heavily invested in baseline business these days and so is equivalently invested in ensuring that while their people should still get to be their people, no unreasonable exposure is made. Again, no grand conspiracy to hide, just a kind of¡­ mutual understanding on a need for privacy and not the ¡®we should be ruling the world, not hiding¡¯ front.


    Most of both of which I¡¯ve already described. Now for some of what I haven¡¯t touched on (or have only vaguely touched on). It helps that I got access to the equivalent of magical Wikipedia.


    Sorcerors, warlocks, and various types of magicians do exist and are largely under the above ¡®magic users¡¯ title. Again - they¡¯re pretty rare and while they aren¡¯t overly smug about it, they do occupy a kind of niche in the world. Like the lycanthropes, they police their own, rather heavily or so I¡¯m given to understand. Rennet, the bookshop mage (apparently he¡¯s an apprentice by their standards), was actually surprised that I hadn¡¯t been visited by the equivalent of the wizard investigators, what with me being a ¡®wild¡¯ mage. Which of course leads back where I started the story in terms of figuring out why I can see this building when, as far as I know, I¡¯m a baseline.


    I suspect Rennet reported me to said wizard investigators, since the trio that showed up outside my door were very clearly here on official business and while they did not look like the comforting sort, they reminded me more of social workers than grisled police detectives. Even if one of them was smoking a cigar (which curiously smelled like strawberries and not the usual tobacco smell).


    ¡°Are you Sam Evermore?¡± the lead one asked. In as far as I could tell, the lead was a woman. Unlike the local witch, this¡­ woman didn¡¯t look like a woman or rather straddled non-binary to such a point as to be difficult to distinguish. The plain brown clothing that looked semi-anachronistic put me in mind of Capt. Reynolds. Close cropped hair, brown eyes, and skin that was neither sun warmed nor pale.


    ¡°I am. And you might be?¡± I asked, standing there with the door open, but very clearly blocking the way in.


    ¡°We are the local magic users¡¯ enforcement team. May we come in?¡± the lead asked.


    ¡°Not yet. Please tell me what this is about,¡± I prompted. Most of my limited experience with baseline police was to treat them with care. They could be helpful, but even helpful police will still arrest you if you¡¯re caught on the wrong side of the line and since I was in an environment where I knew nothing about what laws or rule sets I might be likely to break, like visiting a foreign country 200 years ago, I didn¡¯t want to put myself at an obvious disadvantage.


    ¡°You have not registered with us,¡± the lead said, flatly.


    ¡°I was not aware that I needed to,¡± was my equally flat response.


    ¡°All magic users are required to register, in compliance with the Charter of 1856,¡± she said. It put me in mind of a lawyer or perhaps a prosecutor, one who is about to say that ignorance of the law is no excuse.


    ¡°How and where was I to be informed of this requirement given my recent discovery of magical society?¡± I asked after a moment.


    The two in back looked at one another. Apparently they had been expecting me to claim ignorance in some other way, not in committing to not having been even asked to register. The lead looked over her shoulder at the one to her left.


    ¡°You said you¡¯d visited him already,¡± she half-way snarled.


    ¡°I¡­. might have done,¡± came a kind of simpering response from a man who looked like a linebacker. It was very clear that he was being called out on something that he¡¯d claimed to have done, but very evidently hadn¡¯t. If he hadn¡¯t been wearing a sort of brown leather duster, he might have looked more at home in an American football jersey with pads and a helmet. His strange smelling cigar smoked slightly.


    The lead looked over her other shoulder at the other attendee. A woman, at least more obviously so, but not showily. She looked to be middle-aged, but was clearly younger than the man and the lead. Her clothing was the same semi-anachronistic garb that the lead was wearing.


    ¡°Tran, signature trace,¡± was the command the lead ordered.


    Tran pulled a small tablet out with a massive number of runes on the outside of it and tapped at it a moment.


    ¡°Sam Evermore is correct. He has not been in contact with an agent,¡± Tran replied after a moment.


    The lead¡¯s head snapped around back to the linebacker.


    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss this back at the office. You know my rules,¡± the lead snarled in such tones that even Sam felt a chill in the air from the very words.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Turning back to Sam, the lead appeared to soften a bit.


    ¡°As a newly discovered magic user, it is our job to help you come to understand the rules and guidelines of the non-baseline world that you now are a part of. Would you be available for an interview?¡± the lead tried a not-as-flat voice, but it didn¡¯t work on her and despite the softening of the voice, I wasn¡¯t thrilled about it either. By the sound of things, they were here to haul me in for failing to abide by their rules.


    ¡°Look, I haven¡¯t had a scan done. I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m even ready to be interviewed,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°That¡¯s still perfectly acceptable. We would still like the opportunity to trace your lineage if we can, so that we have it on file when your scan is recorded,¡± the lead said, in a no-nonsense sort of way. It reminded me of a principal or school master. The sort who hates all the paperwork, but understands that it must be this way or else chaos reigns.


    ¡°Alright, but I¡¯ll only allow Tran in,¡± I said, pointing to the younger woman.


    This was clearly not part of the normal procedure, as evidenced by the linebacker¡¯s scowl and the lead¡¯s shifting expressions, but it wasn¡¯t as though they had much choice, at least for now. Tran looked a bit surprised, but overcame it quickly.


    I stepped back a bit and Tran stepped up to the door and through the doorway into the apartment. I closed the door on her two compatriots.


    ¡°Now, that¡¯s done with, how about some tea?¡± I offered, walking towards the kitchen


    ¡°Thank you. I suppose I should begin interviewing you. So what kind of mage are you?¡± Tran asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Well what kind of magic can you do?¡± she tried.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. What kinds are there?¡± I wasn¡¯t stalling, but I definitely didn¡¯t want to give any more than I had to.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s elemental, scrolls, enchanting, and, uh, torquay,¡± she explained, stumbling over the last one.


    ¡°The first three sound pretty self-explanatory. What¡¯s that last one?¡± I filled the electric kettle to the 2nd mark and set it to going.


    ¡°It¡¯s a kind of¡­ catch-all for extraplanar magics that don¡¯t follow one of the other three, at least in as far as we understand them,¡± Tran explained.


    ¡°So a djinn would fall under elemental obviously, but where would a lycanthrope fall under?¡± I tried.


    Tran looked at me in a funny way and cocked her head to one side.


    ¡°A lycanthrope isn¡¯t magical,¡± she said, as if reciting from a book.


    ¡°Could have fooled me. I shouldn¡¯t think a transformation like that would be possible except with magic,¡± I could tell that there was more there that wasn¡¯t being said, but decided not to press it.


    ¡°In any case, I don¡¯t know that I fall into any of those 4 categories,¡± I explained.


    ¡°You¡¯re not being very helpful,¡± Tran tried to fall back on the lead¡¯s temperament.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to be helpful when you don¡¯t know anything about who or what you supposedly are,¡± I pressed back.


    Tran sighed a bit.


    ¡°Look, is there a way I can get the scan done and then contact you lot? I might not even be a wild mage, at least not by your standards,¡± I offered up, the hot water finishing bubbling and I began pouring into a disposable cup. I always kept a few around for guests.


    ¡°I suppose that would be acceptable. And in the meantime, we do have a questionnaire you¡¯re supposed to fill out,¡± Tran appeared to take this better than I think her lead might have.


    ¡°Can you sent it to my WizMail account?¡±


    ¡°Certainly. What¡¯s the address?¡± she appeared to perk up at this sign of cooperation.


    ¡°[email protected]</a>,¡± I spelled it out. ¡°Although I¡¯m still not sure what the .epr stands for.¡±


    ¡°Earth Primary Realm,¡± she called out as she entered the address into her tablet. ¡°It¡¯s a hold-over from the initial creation of the network over top of the baseline internet.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, I am certainly familiar with those,¡± I said.


    ¡°So what do you do, at least as far as what baselines consider a job?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m a kind of technical consultant. I work for Edin, Nurem, and Guten,¡± I offered up.


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re a good firm,¡± Tran responded.


    ¡°Are they involved in non-baseline work at all?¡± I asked, hoping for a connection.


    ¡°Not that I know of, but it¡¯s not impossible,¡± Tran said after screwing her face up in a few moment¡¯s concentration. ¡°What makes you ask?¡±


    ¡°Just trying to figure out why my ¡®magic¡¯ discovery happened recently,¡± I managed to not lie or be too patently vague.


    ¡°Well, we don¡¯t actually know what triggers it. Sometimes, it¡¯s environmental, sometimes, it¡¯s magic, and sometimes, well, it just happens,¡± Tran shrugged.


    A peal of thunder sounded outside.


    ¡°Oh, looks like we¡¯re going to get some rain after all,¡± Tran said, looking towards the windows.


    ¡°I can appreciate the rain, but I don¡¯t go outside in t-storms,¡± I smiled, handing her the disposable cup with a bag of a cinnamon tea that wasn¡¯t too obtrusive, but wasn¡¯t lacking in flavor/scent.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s usually good advice, but why not?¡± Tran looked over at me.


    ¡°I am kind of lightning rod. I¡¯ve been hit a few times and have had enough close calls that I stay indoors when there¡¯s lightning,¡± I explained.


    Tran¡¯s face screwed up in concentration for a few moments and then it was as though a lightbulb went off over her head.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been hit by lightning several times?¡± she asked, almost excitedly, gesturing with the rather full cup of liquid as though it weren¡¯t almost scalding temperature.


    ¡°Yup. Got the scars to prove it too,¡± I smiled a bit.


    ¡°Well that means you¡¯re probably some kind of elemental mage then. That¡¯ll make all the paperwork much simpler,¡± Tran was now grinning as though I had just let her in on some fantastic secret.


    ¡°Really? How so?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Well, elemental mages tend to have a kind of focus. Lightning is rare, but not unheard of. But the key difference is that lightning can even affect baselines. Usually baselines just end up burned, soaked, frozen, or otherwise damaged if they come into contact with one of the more pure elements,¡± Tran tried to explain, still clearly very excited.


    ¡°Wait¡­ you said that lightning can affect even baselines?¡± I asked, still a bit in disbelief.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. It¡¯s not very common though and the effect usually wears off, but it¡¯s kind of like getting your perceptions re-wired for a few hours. A bit like Mage Fungus,¡± Tran was calming down more now and started to sip at her tea.


    ¡°Mage Fungus?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°What? Oh, right, uh, right, uh, I think the baseline equivalent would be LSD crossed with a magic mushroom, except it¡¯s less drug trippy and more ¡®miracle berry¡¯, except instead of your taste buds getting rewired, it¡¯s more like all your senses getting rewired, so you can see what¡¯s already there, but in a different way,¡± Tran seemed to have trouble explaining it since it was a kind of base knowledge that didn¡¯t seem to have an obvious parallel.


    We ended up talking a bit more about generalities, but that was my first real origin on why maybe I could see this place. Either I was some kind of lightning mage (via some kind of means that I still didn¡¯t understand) or I was a baseline with some lightning in my veins.


    I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s the scarier option - that I am a lightning mage or that I¡¯m a baseline who¡¯s been hit by enough lightning to be able to beat the runic/artifact bell-curve. I ended up doing a bit of research. I already knew that I was in the minority in having been struck by lightning twice as well as having multiple near-hits (I always hated the term near-miss), but I wouldn¡¯t have suspected that it¡¯d do anything, other than give me some interesting scars.


    Tran had recommended I get the scan done soon and to get the questionnaire done immediately afterwards. For once, I was inclined to agree. Perhaps it was time for me to find out for sure.


    But at least for the moment, I had some inkling on why I could see this place.

 The Apartment (Ch 7)

    In which I finally go see the doctor (relatively speaking)


    Ok, well, I ended up filling out the questionnaire. It was mostly a bunch of familial history and questions that seems straight out of Warehouse 13. ¡°Have you ever encountered and/or summoned an extradimensional entity or one that you suspect might have been?¡± sort of thing.


    Essentially trying to figure out what kind of ¡®wizard¡¯/mage I am. Being fair, I had to put down a lot of ¡®I don¡¯t know¡¯s. It sucks on their side, but I suspect they¡¯re at least reasonably pleased that I am cooperating. I can¡¯t say that I am, but maybe it¡¯s better to try to play by the rules until it¡¯s time to break them.


    I ended up having Lucy over while I was filling it out. I swear, I don¡¯t know how she does it, but she goes through those fizzy canned cocktails faster than anything else. Even potato chips wouldn¡¯t hold a candle to how fast she goes through these.


    While she was lounging to some music (big band is her favorite) and I was filling out the questionnaire and asking her to define certain phases for me (much to my own dislike), I decided to ask her something.


    ¡°The other night, Jake seemed to give me the impression that he thinks you and Warren are trouble, but he wouldn¡¯t say why or what,¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Oh¡­ that¡¯s a baseline thing,¡± Lucy said after a moment¡¯s thought.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Well, did you ever get around someone who, for some reason or another, maybe no reason at all, they just felt wrong to be around?¡± Lucy tried.


    I thought about it. I come into contact with a lot of people with my job, so it¡¯s hard to know sometimes.


    ¡°I guess maybe once or twice, but I just figured it was nerves. Client meetings can be that way,¡± I explained.


    ¡°Well, for baselines, that¡¯s how they feel around any of us non-baselines. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a pheromone thing, well, in Warren¡¯s case it might be, but it just seems to be something that makes baselines want to steer clear of us. Sometimes, it happens among non-baselines, but not as often and usually it¡¯s more of a kind of negative variant of us,¡± Lucy gestured broadly with her hands, while lowering the volume with her big toe on the knob.


    ¡°So¡­ like a water elemental might put you on edge?¡± I suggested.


    ¡°Something like that, except there¡¯s more to it than that. It¡¯s hard to explain, but it¡¯s a kind of ¡®greasy air¡¯ kind of feeling when you¡¯re near a negative variant, except that¡¯s how almost all baselines feel around us non-baselines,¡± Lucy continued.


    ¡°Almost all?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Well, we can hardly ask everyone how they feel about us, now can we?¡± Lucy smirked.


    ¡°Fair enough. Uh¡­ this questionnaire is taking forever and so much of it feels useless,¡± I slouched back in my seat and glared at the monitor.


    ¡°Well, why don¡¯t you just go get a scan done and maybe that¡¯ll help you fill the rest of it out?¡± Lucy asked.


    ¡°What¡¯s their wait time like and do they accept baseline currency?¡± I asked, figuring that if it''s anything like a standard doctor, it¡¯d be a few weeks at best (unless it¡¯s an emergency), and currencies are not always universal, even with the prevalence of baseline currencies.


    ¡°It¡¯s mostly just walk-in. There¡¯s few enough of us that there¡¯s never more than a few minute wait and even then it¡¯d be an emergency. As far as cost, it¡¯s about $50 in baseline currency, unless you¡¯re registered, in which case, it¡¯s just like taxes,¡± Lucy finished off the can she was currently holding and appeared to settle into the couch a bit further.


    ¡°Wait¡­ so you guys have magical socialized medicine and the baselines don¡¯t even manage socialized medicine?¡± I asked, not quite agog, but definitely finding it to be somewhat hilarious.


    ¡°Yup. Mostly just as a matter of convenience really. The clerics all belong to the same order and it doesn¡¯t make sense to have regional differences or even more expensive spells on hand when even basic restorative spells are more than sufficient. And while the clerics are something of a monopoly, most of them are old enough to know that a drachma today at the expense of 30 drachmas later or even having to answer to the Council later because someone died publicly, well, they just ended up asking the Council to charge a set fee, make sure everyone registers, and if there¡¯s side work to be had, they¡¯ll take it, but they don¡¯t have a need to be wealthy,¡± Lucy explained in a not-at-all-clear sort of way.


    ¡°So¡­ huh¡­ ok, let¡¯s back up. How does one go about becoming a cleric? I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s similar to becoming a priest or a nun in having a ¡®calling¡¯,¡± my mind was racing.


    ¡°In a way, but it¡¯s also familial ties and aptitude. One thing is guaranteed and that¡¯s that no cleric is permitted to be wealthy,¡± Lucy said, cracking open another can, this one reading ¡®Moscow Mule¡¯.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that? Some vow of poverty?¡±


    ¡°Nothing like that. It¡¯s more of a traditional thing. Wealthy clerics tended to pick and choose who they wanted to help. This way, all clerics are required to treat anyone who comes to their door.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing there¡¯s some catch or bonus that compensates for that limit.¡±


    ¡°That house they¡¯re staying in is Council property is and is as nice as the Council can make it. Comfortable and well stocked at all times, but never showy.¡±


    ¡°So they¡¯re eternal tenants then?¡± I tried.


    ¡°Not as such. They have to keep the place up, doing yard work and the like, but that¡¯s their only real expense aside from their own living expenses. The house can never really be owned by the cleric, but is on a sort of permanent loan to them. Saves the paperwork of selling it to the Order and then having the Council sort out individualized payments to the order as a result,¡± Lucy continued to gesticulate.


    ¡°Standard bureaucracy then,¡± I smiled a bit, glancing back at the monitor with the questionnaire.


    ¡°You got it. Between baseline and non-baseline societies, that¡¯s one thing that we most definitely have in common,¡± Lucy grinned again.


    ¡°Well, no time like the present then,¡± I volunteered, standing up and grabbing my various items to fill my pockets.


    ¡°I just opened this can though,¡± Lucy put on a mock sad face.


    ¡°You better finish it then or it¡¯ll go flat before we get back,¡± I replied, sticking my tongue out at her.


    ¡°Fine, but it¡¯s a waste of perfectly good alcohol,¡± she stuck her tongue out back at me and proceeded to noisily slurp down the rest of the can.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask, does alcohol affect you, like it would a baseline? I¡¯ve noticed you drink a lot,¡± I tried to tactfully ask and utterly failed.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Not really. Or at least I don¡¯t think so. Like, I don¡¯t get drunk. It¡¯s more like¡­ a baseline having a piece of chocolate cake. Lots of sugar, lots of energy, and that sort of thing,¡± Lucy stood up to her impressive height.


    Admittedly, she still slightly intimidated me with her ¡®muscle woman¡¯ form, but at the same time, there was something undeniably adorable about her, potentially as sexist as that may sound. What was it? I have no idea, but it made her fun. And I suspect that she mostly enjoyed my company because, comparatively, Warren was a sort of stick in the mud, tending to focus on practicing quiet meditation.


    Which I suppose was a nice contrast to screaming his lungs out during the transformation. The acoustic dampener that I¡¯d built him had worked a charm and now, Lucy and I were hardly aware of his transformations except when he came to either of our doors in full form. From what I gathered, he was quite surprised it worked as well as it did, and true to my promise, I had talked with some technician friends of mine and done up something good and custom (and especially unobtrusive). Now it looked like a grandfather clock that only tracked the cycle of the moon and had some unobtrusive microphones throughout the paneling.


    Warren had of course paid for it, but, while he may be a stick in the mud normally, he certainly wasn¡¯t tight with his money. I think the technician friends of mine who did the work nearly had strokes just looking at the commission value. I¡¯m at least used to seeing numbers like that, but usually they¡¯re on big major company contracts for things like production equipment and CNC machines, not on ¡®hey I need to you build this small one-off thing that will go in my apartment¡¯.


    Apparently, Warren was so taken with it, he¡¯d even written to his family that they should look into their own versions.


    Lucy and I talked more about the clerics and their order on the way down to get my scan done.


    Unlike the delineation between priests and nuns, the Reformation Order (or just Order) took all kinds, but was tougher to get into than a mercenary company¡¯s private bank vault. If you were a mage, you had to be registered and have a certain minimum skill set (akin to being a vet, but with an entirely different sort of schooling). If you were a cryptid/magical ¡®beast¡¯, you had to demonstrate certain magical talents in addition to the skill set. There were a whole set of magical contracts that one would get bound to in order to become a cleric, and, like my lease, the penalties for breaking them are severe and applied in so exacting a way that no one who doesn¡¯t wish to be virtually exiled even thinks about breaking them.


    According to Lucy, albeit via Wiznet rumors, the penalties for breaking a clerical contract means you¡¯re marked so that even baselines can see your crime and while it may look like a tattoo, if you¡¯re part of Council society, it¡¯s apparently a) instantly recognisable and b) a crime to provide any more than the most basic of services to them. It¡¯s a form of shunning (as primitive as that may seem), but since the contracts are a kind of intelligent spell that shows no bias and relies on both the Council¡¯s awareness of the contracts and the person¡¯s inner awareness of the contents of the contracts, the contracts will self-execute and report their breakage if it happens.


    This means that there¡¯s no opportunity for corrupt officials or feelings to get in the way. The contracts know only the contract and the awareness of what is within the spirit of the contract and what is clearly not. This means that looking for loopholes is considerably ill-advised since the contract will decide for itself if the loophole is valid or not.


    And while this is not a perfect system, it is generally considered a necessary byproduct and to be more efficient and less apt to corruption than involving people in the mix. That having being said, the contracts understand the concept of morals and so do not adjudicate everything in black and white, but rather that they focus only on those items which they expressly cover.


    While it is technically possible for a contract breaker to appear before the Council for relief, as far as Lucy knows, only one person has ever successfully appealed their case and it resulted in the related contract being rewritten.


    The cleric was not a cleric in the sense that I was expecting. Notionally, with a title like that, I was expecting robes, possibly armor, or something equally anachronistic. No, this gentleman, while clearly older (probably in his 80s at a guess) was dressed more as a farm hand, wearing firehose jeans (that had a few stains to them), worn red leather lace-up boots, and an almost ridiculous bright orange tshirt that proclaimed ¡®I Like Ike¡¯. His beard was white, but close cropped to his face and while balding, still retained a substantial amount of white hair, combed in a sort of tuft that seemed at odds with the rest of him. He wasn¡¯t especially heavy, but he didn¡¯t look especially fragile either. Simply well-worn might be the best turn of phrase to describe him.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going Lucy? Who¡¯s your friend?¡± the cleric bellowed from the expected rocking chair on the porch of the otherwise unobtrusive house.


    ¡°It¡¯s going ok, Mitch. This is Sam, my next door neighbor. He needs a scan,¡± Lucy grinned up at him.


    ¡°Oh, is that all? Well, welcome, young man, er¡­ uh, Sam, was it?¡± Mitch asked, looking me up and down.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. And I¡¯m not registered yet so I¡¯ll have to pay,¡± I managed a customer facing smile and reached out a hand to shake his.


    He gripped my hand and shook it twice with a firm handshake.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look like one of the standards. Wild mage?¡± Mitch mused.


    ¡°We think so, but that¡¯s part of what I¡¯m hoping the scan will sort out,¡± I continued my customer facing smile, feeling nervous, if only because this was the sort of make or break point as whether I am a mage or a baseline.


    ¡°Well, come on in and we¡¯ll get you scanned. Lucy, I think there¡¯s a few cookies if you want them while you wait,¡± Mitch said, gesturing to the small table next to the rocking chair. There was indeed a small plate of cookies and a sweating glass of iced tea next to it.


    Mitch led me inside and gestured into a room that appeared to be filled with symbols and rings and looked like something out of a magical anime.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to strip down, but it is certainly advised, just so we don¡¯t accidentally get a false reading,¡± he said.


    ¡°So¡­ how does this work?¡± I asked.


    He looked at me a moment before answering.


    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve had a newbie come through here. Well, the room is a kind of full spectrum scanner. Essentially, we can look at every part of you, from your atoms to your aura to your essentia. It¡¯s a painless process, but some people are still nervous about it,¡± he explained.


    ¡°Essentia?¡± I tried.


    ¡°Um¡­ well, the best way I can think to describe it for an uninitiated would be something akin to mana except it¡¯s the more generic term for it whether I¡¯m looking at mages, summons, or creations,¡± Mitch shrugged a bit.


    ¡®Just like being at a regular doctor,¡¯ I thought as I stripped down and piled my clothing on a nearby table.


    ¡°Impressive looking scars. Lightning by the looks of it,¡± Mitch said, gesturing to the lichtenberg figure running across my back.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯m a bit of an accidental lightning rod,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Well, nothing we can do about that, but we¡¯ll have to see what the scan says,¡± Mitch replied jovially.


    I stepped into the scanning room.


    --


    Thirty minutes later (although I didn¡¯t realize it until Mitch prompted me to leave the scanning room), I walked out.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s the most relaxed I¡¯ve ever seen someone get scanned,¡± he said.


    ¡°How could I not? It was like being suspended in a jacuzzi, except no water,¡± I replied, starting to dress. ¡°So what¡¯s the result?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?¡± Mitch asked, his face crinkling a bit.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s go with the good news first,¡± I decided, slipping on my underwear and pants.


    ¡°You¡¯re in pretty decent health. Blood pressure is a bit high and you could probably stand to have some minor treatments for your cholesterol, but you¡¯re in no danger of dying naturally anytime soon,¡± he said, looking over a wall hung scroll that looked like it had a mix of greek, norse runes, and what looked like Chinese moving across it.


    ¡°So what¡¯s the bad news?¡± I asked, ready to hear the worst.


    ¡°You¡¯re not magic. I don¡¯t know what you are, but you¡¯re not magic. Which means that while you aren¡¯t a wild mage or one of the standard creatures, I don¡¯t know how you can even be neighbors with Lucy, let alone standing here in front of me,¡± Mitch said, his face almost somber.


    ¡°One of the Mage police mentioned that it might be due to having been hit by lightning,¡± I offered up.


    ¡°That¡¯d be on a baseline and only for a few hours at most. Unless you were struck by lighting outside the safe house, you shouldn¡¯t have even been able to see it,¡± he explained, still looking somber.


    ¡°So¡­ what now?¡± I asked, unsure of what else to ask.


    ¡°Now¡­ I¡¯m not sure. At the very least, you don¡¯t need to worry about registering as a mage. But you may end up becoming the first registered baseline in our history. Either that or become the first official user of the ¡®Other¡¯ designation,¡± he admitted, cracking the tiniest of smiles.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a first time for everything. Even in magic,¡± I tried to smile like I was giving a client expensive news that wasn¡¯t pleasant, but was better than the alternative.


    ¡°Indeed on that. But for right now, I think we should have a chat on the porch, assuming you don¡¯t mind Lucy knowing,¡± he nodded through the window where I could see that the iced tea and the cookies had vanished.


    ¡°She¡¯ll find out sooner or later. Might as well do it now,¡± I shrugged, pulling my shirt on.


    ¡°Good. Let me get us some more tea and cookies. This may take a while,¡± Mitch said, before disappearing into what appeared to be his kitchen.


    So there I was left wondering, once again, how it was that I¡¯d managed to find the building that didn¡¯t exist, filled with beings who weren''t baseline. I was certain I wouldn¡¯t be finding out the answer today, but hoped the cookies would at least be tasty.

 The Apartment (Ch 8)

    In which I have no answers and more than a few questions


    Well, the last few weeks of my life have been¡­ well, interesting would be the understatement of the century.


    Not only did I have an official Council representative show up on my doorstep, a high ranking member of the Reformation Order (apparently Mitch, the cleric I saw previously is considered especially low ranking), a few members of the aligned magicians organizations, and a few other distinguished persons who I can¡¯t even be bothered to remember.


    At one point, I seriously considered starting to just pretend that I wasn¡¯t at home. Seemed like every couple of hours, someone new and ¡°important¡± was turning up.


    The Order wanted to do a higher resolution scan (as if that¡¯s even possible, considering the description that Mitch gave me of it looking through my atoms and essentia). The magicians wanted to talk to me about having me participate in some experiments. And the Council rep¡­ well, they were interesting.


    --


    I was so sick of the knocking at the door that I finally opened it.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I bellowed.


    It had been 8 days since my scan, and it hadn¡¯t gotten any less busy and it was getting on my nerves.


    It took me several moments to realize that where there should be a person, I wasn¡¯t seeing anyone. At least until I looked down. What my D&D memory helpfully provided back to me was that this was probably a gnome.


    Standing probably a foot high and carrying a scroll that appeared to be almost as big as they were, they looked not even like a child, but more like an oversized Ken doll, at least in terms of their proportions.


    They weren¡¯t the oddest thing I¡¯d seen so far, but this was the first of¡­ whatever this group actually was, so it probably wouldn¡¯t do for me to be excessively rude as yet, nerves or not.


    ¡°And you are?¡± I prompted, since the little figure appeared to be waiting for something, probably surprise, but given that I wasn¡¯t surprised, I pressed forward.


    The almost throaty grumble that came up sounded like the voice of a fantasy dwarf, rather than the often imitated tinny high pitched voice that is normally associated with such small beings.


    ¡°I am Representative Odarth of the Council. I am here to see a Sam Evermore, Seer Baseline,¡± the little figure spoke.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d been called a Seer. For some reason, it¡¯s the classification that the Order and the Council had agreed to qualify me as. Much to my dislike, I had no say in this (or at least hadn¡¯t so far).


    Notionally, and as far as Lucy and Warren could/would tell me, combined with Wiznet, Seers were an archaic classification. Before the utilization of the current 4 prime categories, there were practically hundreds of categories, subcategories, and resultant classifications and they varied hugely, depending on what part of the world you were in. Almost no standardization.


    Seers were apparently something of a joke classification. A kind of boogeyman (which is surprisingly under the lycanthrope category by the same, along with Bigfoot, who is/was likely a lycanthrope exposure event) that was told to non-baseline children that certain baselines could still come after them, no matter how well they hid.


    The mechanism as to how seers came into being through was a mystery, even to the non-baseline community.


    Seers were more along the lines of baseline hunter leaders, intent on hunting down non-baselines. They¡¯re usually regarded as monster hunters, paladins, or something equivalent, at least in baseline culture, vice being the ¡®seers¡¯ who watch the future for kings and emperors from a place of safety. This was because seers could see through the various illusions, camouflages, and similar magical disguises that were the most common means of avoiding being hunted.


    By the same token that seers were used to track the non-baseline community, the non-baseline community took the same opportunity to eliminate what seers they could. It was not family friendly in the slightest and being fair, I couldn¡¯t really blame them for doing so with the self-described ¡®monster hunters¡¯. The seers of that age really were little better than serial killers. Selective serial killers who were celebrated by their communities, but serial killers none the less.


    And so with my emergence, there was apparently huge concern that they would need to make a decision regarding whether to leave me alive or not. This is, as you can imagine, quite a hamper on one¡¯s interest in going out in public and even talking to anyone you¡¯re not familiar with.


    You might even say that I had a couple breakdowns in the quiet of my apartment, particularly given that a small but vocal section of Wiznet was calling for me to be executed immediately and even willing to put up materials to find me.


    How¡­ not comforting to see that the bigotries that we baselines have towards one another are also reflected in the non-baseline community.


    In any case, I now had a small gnome (or something to that effect standing outside my apartment).


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Do you have any identification to that effect?¡± I asked. Given the threats, I wasn¡¯t about to let just anyone walk in.


    ¡°None that would be visible on your scale, I¡¯m afraid. I am here to deliver this official message to you from the Council, if you are Sam Evermore,¡± the gnome said, profering out the scroll in such a way that they should have tipped over forward from the effort.


    Moving to the kitchen, I grabbed my tongs, gave them a perfunctory click-click and went back to the door. Carefully, I took hold of the scroll from the gnome and brought it in. The apartment barrier didn¡¯t appear to sparkle at all (a telltale that I¡¯d learned to start watching for, indicating the presence of a spell). Related fun fact - only I can see that telltale. No one else (or at least Warren and Lucy) can see it.


    Carefully, I unrolled it.


    To: Sam Evermore, Seer Baseline


    From: High Council of Aligned Beings


    It is our duty to inform you that due to your unique status, we had begun deliberations as to your status moving forward within the non-baseline community. Due to the loaded nature of previous Seers, these deliberations have been restricted to only the highest levels of the Council.


    These deliberations are now concluded.


    You have accorded yourself with respect and engendered no malice within your local baseline community. Even going as far as to provide unique opportunities for baseline technology to be used in conjunction with non-baseline needs.


    To this effect, we do hereby grant you all the rights, privileges, and protections of a non-baseline citizen. While there is some community resistance to this effect, we shall endeavour to assist your transition into our community.


    As the first Seer Baseline to be granted this status, you will be under increased scrutiny. This is for your own protection as well as that of your fellow citizens.


    Our official representative, Odarth [which was a kind of hyperlink looking name, which was odd given that this was a scribed document] will deliver this message and act as the primary local representative for the Council. He will provide the relevant details on how to contact him.


    At the bottom was a series of signatures that looked so substantial and complex, I was half-surprised that none of those were spells. There was also a very heavy looking wax seal, the likes of which seemed to be so complex that you could keep looking at it and finding more details.


    No, there was no doubt as to the authenticity of this document at least.


    On habit, I tapped Odarth¡¯s name, strangely, the document shifted a bit to allow for a small picture and description to appear.


    Odarth¡¯s species was in fact listed as Gnome and the picture did appear to match the small being still standing outside of my apartment patiently.


    Out of curiosity, I tapped the name again, and the description and picture vanished from the scroll. I think I was more surprised by this functionality (although pleasantly surprised) than at finding the gnome at my door.


    I looked back at Odarth.


    ¡°So you¡¯re my Council representative?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°That¡¯s correct. Although I¡¯m more like an assistant than any kind of political being,¡± Odarth said in that same deep baritone that seemed completely to not match their size.


    ¡°Oh. An ombudsman?¡± I asked.


    ¡°In a manner, yes. Although, I do many things, including collecting taxes,¡± Odarth said. ¡°Look, may I come in? I believe the formal part of this is over now.¡±


    I eyed him a moment. This was no less unnerving than inviting that one wizard investigator into my apartment, but I decided that it was still in my best interest to play the hand I¡¯m dealt.


    ¡°You may.¡±


    The gnome stepped through and I watched the barrier shimmer rather significantly.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got spells on you,¡± I said, matter of factly.


    The gnome looked a bit surprised.


    ¡°A few, but mostly just utility things, like keeping my feet on the ground and official monitoring. Is that a Seer ability?¡± Odarth asked.


    ¡°No. Not really. Just something I¡¯ve learned,¡± I admitted only in the smallest truth.


    ¡°Hmmm. Well, anyway, I am not in the interest of harming anyone who is in good standing with the community and frankly, I¡¯m given to understand that you are on exceptional terms with the whole building, particularly given your creation of a lycanthrope acoustic dampener,¡± Odarth said.


    ¡°Seriously? That¡¯s what everyone remembers?¡± I asked a bit incredulously.


    ¡°Well, it has earned you a fair bit of credit with the lycanthrope community. And that it can be dynamically tuned to an individual and operated entirely without runes is quite impressive. Although I will say that there are some rune mages who are a bit upset by this development,¡± Odarth admitted, clambering up a chair.


    ¡°Like¡­ want to harm me kind of upset?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No, nothing like that. Just a bit upset that they no longer have a lock on acoustic damping,¡± the gnome said, setting into sitting on the edge of one of my kitchen chairs.


    ¡°This is probably going to sound rude, but I don¡¯t think I ought to offer you any tea, given our¡­ uh¡­ scale differentials,¡± I managed, after a moment¡¯s thought.


    ¡°No offense taken. I am quite accustomed to dealing with scale differentials and while you were not surprised by me, I take it I am likely the first of my kind that you¡¯ve met,¡± Odarth said in a voice that suggested that they knew they were right, but were saying it for the look of the thing.


    ¡°You would not be wrong in that,¡± I admitted.


    The rest of our dialog went fairly smoothly. There were a few things that I would need to fill out for the Council as a new citizen and a few registrations that I¡¯d need to arrange for in order to get the various services through.


    ¡°Which of course brings us to taxes,¡± Odarth began to wrap up.


    ¡°I presume you take baseline currency,¡± I indicated.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Odarth said, rather cheerfully.


    ¡°What¡¯s the Wiznet portal for payments?¡± I prompted.


    Odarth blinked for a few long moments.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand,¡± he looked puzzled.


    ¡°Do you only deal with hard currencies or could I simply do an online funds transfer?¡± I asked, slowing my roll a bit.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ve never really thought about it, but I guess I should see about asking the Council to set something up like that,¡± Odarth seemed a bit half-dazed at the suggestion.


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be too hard. After all, you have an online marketplace. Surely, you could use the payment portal system behind that. Or even piggyback on a baseline payment portal system,¡± I suggested.


    Odarth nodded, still with a semi-dazed look on his face. I know the look. It''s usually the same look that my clients get when I point to a rather obvious solution that will cost them a fraction of the time and effort that a custom solution or the old-fashioned solution costs them.


    Odarth left about 10 minutes later, still appearing to be doing figures in his head.


    --


    Since then, I am apparently both some kind of genius and madman. Hence all the visitors.


    Seriously though, at this rate, I may need to look at starting my own technical consulting firm just for dealing with non-baselines. Who knew that being a baseline with high tech baseline ideas or even just a fresh eye could turn into so much?


    In any case, I¡¯ll just have to see where it all goes, assuming I don¡¯t get any more spells in the mail. But that¡¯s an entry unto itself.

 The Apartment (Ch 9)

    So as I said, my receipt of spells in the mail and figuring out that I can see the presence of spells with my apartment¡¯s spellproofing (for reasons that are still mostly unclear, but can mostly be attributed to my Seer status) was another story.


    So, now I¡¯m qualified as a certified boogeyman of the non-baseline community. The equivalent of a baseline nightmare made real, although largely based in reality and not just fantastical creations (although one might successfully argue that I¡¯m experiencing of all those fantastical creations as well).


    This meant that while I wasn¡¯t quite ready to understand, I was less cautious that I should have been.


    The scroll in my mailbox was a surprise, but I had gotten used to encountering odd things since moving into this place. Honestly, I figured it was some kind of official documentation from either the wizard investigators or some such.


    From what I gather, I was lucky to have waited to open it just outside my apartment.


    My scream, from what I understand, was so loud that Warren¡¯s acoustic dampener tried to kick in and failed. I honestly don¡¯t remember even much beyond trying to open the scroll. Or rather, I remember a searing pain that flowed up my arm and through the rest of me like a bolt of lightning (something I have some experience with).


    Except that this pain stuck around and tried getting to know my bone marrow, chatting up my blood cells, and groping my every nerve. To even describe the pain would be an understatement other than to say that it was pain on a scale that I hope never to feel again.


    I practically collapsed when Lucy disintegrated the scroll out of my hand. [Which is to say that she disintegrated the part that I was holding.] I was surprised to find Warren and Lucy next to me, but given that I was recovering from whatever the spell was, I wasn¡¯t surprised that I¡¯d missed them arriving, time having no longer become a constant to me in my current state.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Warren asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it¡¯s nothing good. That¡¯s for sure,¡± Lucy said.


    I was still dazed at this point.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get him into his apartment and then figure out how to pick that¡­ thing up,¡± Warren recommended.


    I was in no position to object as Lucy picked me up and carried me into my apartment.


    In my dazed state, I was watching Lucy as a kind of constant. Believe me, it¡¯s weird to be picked up and carried like a bride by an Amazonian like Lucy, but I wasn¡¯t about to object.


    ¡°You¡¯re sparkly¡­¡± I mumbled as we entered the apartment.


    Lucy blinked.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked.


    ¡°When we came in¡­ you sparkled for a second,¡± I managed.


    ¡°You must be having some kind of aftereffect of whatever that was,¡± she said, setting me down on my couch.


    Warren was still standing at the door.


    ¡°So how do we collect this without touching it?¡± he prompted.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± came an unexpected elderly voice. It was the little old lady vampire from downstairs. ¡°I¡¯m pretty magic resistant, so if it¡¯s not specific, I shouldn¡¯t be affected.¡±


    It took her a moment to finish climbing the stairs, but she stepped authoritatively up to the fallen remainder of the scroll and picked it up. Some of the residual magic appeared to crackle at her fingers, but it seemed to die there, as a tesla coil finding a connection in which to earth itself.


    According to Warren, he saw her flinch slightly at it before grimacing.


    ¡°That¡¯s a death spell. Rather painful one at that. Someone wanted our Seer dead,¡± she said, rather matter of factly. ¡°Good thing I picked this up. It¡¯ll work on anyone while it¡¯s open.¡±


    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t seem to be affecting you,¡± Lucy remarked.


    ¡°Well, anyone alive, dearie. I¡¯m not exactly alive and death magic where vampires are concerned is practically extinct,¡± the old lady said, smiling slightly, her fangs evident.


    ¡°Will he be ok?¡± Warren asked in his plain tones.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The old lady took a long sniff and looked at the scroll again.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. It didn¡¯t finish, so that¡¯s a point in his favor, but I can¡¯t say whether he¡¯ll survive it,¡± she said.


    ¡°What can we do?¡± Lucy wasn¡¯t anxious, but there were definitely telltales of it in her voice.


    ¡°Send for Mitch. This is his area. If I can get a sample of his blood to taste, I can tell you more about what damage has been done,¡± she said.


    I was definitely ok with sending for Mitch, the cleric, but even in my dazed state, I wasn¡¯t thrilled about giving the vampire any of my blood.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, dearie. I just need about a teaspoonful. I¡¯m a resident of this place too and I¡¯ve no interest in getting kicked out,¡± she said, apparently noting my concern.


    I pressed for us to wait until Mitch showed up. This seemed acceptable to everyone. However, I noted, as the old lady came in, the spellproofing barrier seemed to erupt in a shower of red sparks, centered on the scroll in her hand.


    ¡°Sparks¡­¡± I said, it still hurting to even contemplate moving.


    ¡°What¡¯s that, dearie?¡± she asked.


    ¡°He said something about seeing sparks when I brought him in,¡± Lucy suggested.


    ¡°Hmm¡­ might be some aftereffect that I¡¯m unfamiliar with. Shouldn¡¯t be anything to do with the spell though. But I can¡¯t say that I know anything about Seers. Before my time,¡± the old lady said.


    We sat (well, I was laying) in quiet while Warren called Mitch to get him over immediately.


    ¡°So who might do this?¡± Lucy asked, pointing at the scroll.


    ¡°No one local. The runes are South American formulation,¡± the old lady said, glancing at the scroll again, still not having put it down.


    ¡°Do you really need to hold it?¡± Warren asked, as he hung up.


    ¡°Best if I hold onto it. I might be all that keeps it from going off some more, especially since we¡¯re inside the barrier now,¡± the old lady said, gesturing around the apartment.


    There was nothing said further about her holding onto it.


    ¡°South American formulation?¡± Warren prompted after a few quiet moments.


    ¡°Yes. They have a particular runic pattern. Something the wizards will have to narrow down, but given the materials involved in making this, it will either be exceptionally easy or unimaginably hard to locate who did this,¡± the old lady vampire murmured.


    Before anyone could ask what she meant, Mitch turned up outside the door, his face red and being clearly out of breath. I waved for him to enter and he did so, coming straight over to me. His small bag sparkling a bit as he did so.


    ¡°What happened?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Got a scroll. Someone not like me,¡± I mumbled, and pointed in the direction of the old woman.


    Mitch looked over and she held up the remains of the scroll, the designs clearly visible on what remained. He frowned and his beard seemed to frown with it, if a beard could seem to have its own¡­ mood.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to run a fast scan on you,¡± he said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a small tube. It was covered in glowing runes, but looked more like a party light stick than medical equipment.


    I wasn¡¯t going to object and given that I had three other tenants there with me, I¡¯m not sure I could have done anything to object.


    Mitch clicked the tube and began to wave it over me for a few moments.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t realize this was Star Trek,¡± I smiled slightly.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Mitch asked, somewhat engrossed in what he was doing.


    ¡°Tricorder,¡± I said, nodding at the tube.


    It took a moment before he took my meaning, but he smiled slightly at it, even if his beard remained frowned.


    ¡°Not quite, but something on that order,¡± he said, finishing and start looking at the tube for what I presumed were the results.


    ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t appear to have left anything other than traces. Whomever did that knew what they were doing,¡± Mitch said.


    ¡°Get me a little of his blood. Maybe that will tell me more,¡± the old lady chimed in.


    Mitch didn¡¯t even hesitate for a moment, his fingers diving back into his pack and pulling out a standard 10cc syringe. He wasted no time in finding a vein and filling the syringe with barely a drop of blood left on my skin (which he covered with a small bandage immediately).


    The old lady vampire took the syringe and injected it into her mouth. It wasn¡¯t a surprise, but it still seemed to freak Lucy and Warren out at seeing it. I was still too out of it to really register all of what I was seeing and processing. A bit like having had one whiskey too many.


    She seemed to shift it around her mouth as a sommelier might with a fine wine or whiskey. Less of a drink and far more of clearly processing whatever she was tasting (although for a vampire, I found out later that tasting is just the start).


    ¡°Intracellular damage. Not excessive, but definitely enough that he¡¯ll be sick or sore for a few days. Strange though,¡± she said.


    ¡°What is?¡± Warren prompted, still flatly, as though this might have been a common occurrence.


    ¡°Normally I can taste the iron. In this, I can barely taste it. It¡¯s like missing salt or having far too little salt. And I¡¯m not certain if it¡¯s the spell that did this or not,¡± she said.


    ¡°Well, I can at least fix that,¡± Mitch said, pulling out another syringe, although this one appeared to be slightly glowing.


    ¡°What¡¯s dat?¡± I asked, still processing at a much slower rate.


    ¡°A regenerative. It¡¯ll help repair whatever damage was done. You¡¯ll still end up being sore though,¡± he said.


    ¡°Sokay¡­ I¡¯ve got sick days,¡± I mumbled.


    Without a moment more, Mitch stuck me with the glowing syringe and injected me with something that, instead of being cold, was quite warm instead.


    A few hours later, the wizard investigators turned up. All three of them. I was not impressed, but I waved them in and they took the scroll, without touching it, into a kind of anti-magic container. The lead, her face no less firm than the first time we met, said that this would be pursued and the creator punished to the fullest extent.


    When I asked what that meant, she simply said that deathspells, regardless of their target, were illegal and users were sentenced to 100-fold equivalent pain. Given how my nerves and muscles felt at the moment, I was in no position to object, even if I did find such a punishment to be barbaric.


    And that was my first and hopefully last introduction to getting spells in the mail.


    And while the last few days have been even more interesting, they don¡¯t involve my role as a Seer. At least not directly.


    No, my next tale (or tail if you prefer the pun) is about two days ago, when Warren had some¡­ family (I guess that¡¯s what you could call them) come to visit.

 The Apartment (Ch 10)

    So as I previously mentioned, ignoring some of this ¡®Seer¡¯ classification that the Council has lumbered me with, Warren had some company show up.


    Well, I say company, because they aren¡¯t exactly family, but are definitely on the ¡®family¡¯ spectrum (at least in my book, not exactly sure how it works for Warren).


    A little history before we dive in though and it¡¯s important.


    Warren is from a Noble House, which is not the same as a Great House.


    Both of these ¡®houses¡¯ are lycanthropic, but it effectively has to do with the last major lycanthropic conflict as to which one someone belongs to. I realize this is a drastic oversimplification and given that there¡¯s been over 600 years since their last open battle (albeit not a major one), the distinction is rather muddied unless you¡¯re on the inside of it.


    The Noble Houses were the ones who sided with the wizards, witches, and similar magic users of the era, as well as even vampires and a few other groups of¡­ I shouldn¡¯t use the word supernatural, but it¡¯s all that comes to mind other than ¡®non-baseline¡¯. Basically a comparatively massive alliance of the non-baselines.


    The Great Houses were only half-way aligned with baselines, which is to say that they had baselines involved with their armies, but otherwise had no plans to support baseline humans.


    The Great Houses dreamed up some scheme to eliminate all non-lycanthrope non-baselines and form their own territory. In order to do both, they had to effectively exterminate all other non-baselines and broker some kind of treaty with baselines to get themselves sufficient territory.


    As you can imagine, this did not go over well with the Noble Houses, to say nothing of the rest of the non-baseline community. And this being pre-internet (and even pre-wiznet) days, this news came passed almost as rumor right up until the first major engagements. And based on the recorded histories, the baselines of the era were largely hesitant to get involved, but there¡¯s always some ruthless idiot who figures that this is some shortcut to power. Said ruthless idiot¡¯s name isn¡¯t recorded (although there are plenty of Wiznet conspiracy theories as to why), but the Great Houses got some recognition and that was enough for them to start leveraging it into a war.


    Midway, when the Great Houses started to lose ground, the baselines overthrew said ruthless idiot and defected to the Noble Houses. There was a lot more to this happening, but as an overview, this is the best I can simplify.


    From there, the Great Houses ended up getting ¡®beaten to a pulp¡¯, the survivors separated and watched closely. As with most of that time, when your leader says do something, you do it or you are punished (or killed). And most of whom were captured were little more than footsoldiers. The leaders of the Great Houses are rather graphically described (and illustrated even) with their deaths.


    In the end, the Noble Houses and the non-baseline community reverted to obscurity, the baselines forgot, and the remains of the Great Houses remained proud, but clearly beaten.


    So¡­ when I found out that the Noble House Warren had a guest from a Great House show up, I had a bit of concern. I was even more concerned (and confused) upon finding out it was his fiance¡¯.


    I was on my way to take my trash down to the communal bin in the basement (still not exactly sure how that works, but I¡¯ll go into some of this place¡¯s mysteries another time) when I heard Warren actually raise his voice. Firstly, this is remarkable in that he never raises his voice except to scream his way through his transformation. Second, I was in the hall and the door was closed.


    ¡°Mesphyr, we¡¯ve been through this. I am not going back until my father and mother accept the order,¡± came Warren¡¯s voice.


    ¡°We can¡¯t get married without their blessing and you cannot be serious that you intend to keep living in this¡­ tenement,¡± came a proud female voice with edges so sharp, you could hear the high society in her tones.


    ¡°And I¡¯ve told you, we¡¯re not getting married. I don¡¯t care WHAT scheme this is of Dremo¡¯s, but I refuse to partake in it,¡± Warren said again. He was clearly not having whatever this was. As much as I didn¡¯t want to eavesdrop, I couldn¡¯t resist. This was the most I¡¯d really learned about Warren¡¯s past since I¡¯d moved in.


    The door was flung open at that point and there I was, standing like an idiot in the middle of the hallway with a bag of trash. Looking back at me was a half-red-faced Warren (it didn¡¯t suit him) and a very prim looking woman who looked as though she¡¯d just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    There was something about the way she was dressed that spoke of ¡®old-money¡¯ and the way she held herself that definitely put one in mind of her being a Category 5 Hurricane and all the rest of us are at her mercy. She wasn¡¯t especially tall, but her heels definitely gave her some height. By the looks of her, she had some sort of slavic heritage. Exactly what, I had no idea, but there was a definite feel of far Eastern Europe, far Western Asia about her.


    She looked me up and down a moment before continuing, speaking to Warren.


    ¡°Dear, we aren¡¯t alone,¡± she said.


    ¡°Good. All the more excuse to have you leave,¡± Warren said, noting me, but more clearly under control now.


    ¡°Come now. We still have much to discuss, Warren, dear,¡± she said and reached out a hand towards him.


    Warren uncharacteristically snarled and halfway snapped at her fingers well before they got close.


    ¡°No. You will leave now. And don¡¯t bother coming back,¡± Warren growled, his temper clearly rising again.


    Mesphyr, to her credit, could at least take the hint. She stepped with only a minor clattering of heels into the hallway and the door shut behind her immediately.


    ¡°Well¡­,¡± she tossed her head a bit, her hair not moving even a fraction, before looking back over at me. ¡°Enjoy the show?¡±


    ¡°Yes, actually. I don¡¯t know anyone who¡¯s actually made Warren get angry before,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Then you clearly haven¡¯t known him very long,¡± she said and began walking down the stairs.


    I followed, still intent on throwing away the trash bag.


    ¡°Why are you following me?¡± she demanded after we passed the 2nd floor and were on our way to the 1st, stopping in her steps.


    ¡°I¡¯m not. But this is the only way to the trash bin,¡± I said, gesturing with the bag.


    She glared at the bag a moment before looking back at me.


    ¡°And just who or what are you?¡± Mesphyr demanded after a long inhalation (probably trying to get my scent).


    ¡°I¡¯m Sam,¡± I smiled, and stuck out my hand.


    She looked at the hand as though it were some new form of lower lifeform. I lowered it after a moment.


    ¡°And what house do you belong to?¡± she asked.


    ¡°None of the above,¡± I simply parroted (Warren having warned me about such things, although I hadn¡¯t been sure why).


    She glared a moment before reverting to a stiff upper lip that any British aristocrat would have been proud of.


    ¡°Well, I am from the Great House of Ibraev and I will thank you to stay out of my business with Warren,¡± Mesphyr clearly enunciated.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. In the meantime, could you keep going? I don¡¯t have all day to deal with garbage,¡± I muttered, failing to miss the double meaning.


    She however caught the double meaning and was clearly incensed by it.


    ¡°How dare you!¡± she sputtered out.


    This caught me a bit by surprise, given her ¡®noble¡¯ bearing, but I am used to keeping a straight face in the face of clients, so I donned my work persona and resquared my shoulders.


    She seemed to take this in stride and while she looked almost ready to drop her own noble persona, she also seemed to catch herself, as though remembering her station in life versus what she perceived my own to be.


    ¡°I won¡¯t forget this insult,¡± she said after a moment, a knife in the dark on the edge of her words.


    ¡°Insult? The only insult is you wasting my time,¡± I decided I was done in dealing with this harpy.


    Without another word, she turned and stomped (which is impressive given those heels) out of the building. I ignored her and took my trash down to the basement as intended. On my way back to my apartment, I tapped on Warren¡¯s door.


    He opened it and seemed rather relieved that it was me.


    ¡°So who was that?¡± I prompted him.


    ¡°Officially, my fiance¡¯. Unofficially, a tiresome pest of a woman who I want nothing to do with,¡± he said, waving me into his place.


    ¡°So just don¡¯t let her in next time. If I¡¯m remembering how the apartment magic works, it¡¯s not like she can force her way in,¡± I said, sitting down in one of Warren¡¯s nice antique leather armchairs.


    Warren looked at me a moment as an entomologist looks for distinguishing features in a common beetle.


    ¡°Such¡­ behavior would be unbecoming of someone in my station,¡± he said after a moment.


    ¡°Except you¡¯re not exactly occupying that station, at least from what I overheard just a moment ago,¡± I admitted.


    Warren ignored this admission.


    ¡°True, but notionally, that is a temporary situation. She, however, is a more permanent situation,¡± he said, pulling out two beers (despite it only being 10 on a Saturday) and handed me one.


    ¡°Arranged marriage?¡± I guessed. Warren nodded.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know such things were still done. Although, I suppose I shouldn¡¯t be surprised anymore,¡± I said, before taking a sip. It wasn¡¯t a particularly special beer, but it was a good regular one and one that fitted the current weather, which was the start of a crisp New England fall.


    ¡°We were betrothed at birth. Some ridiculous idea that we could mend the gap between the Great Houses and the Noble Houses,¡± he said, before taking a long sip himself and carefully sitting down into the other of his leather armchairs.


    ¡°Oof. Yeah, wading into that kind of politics is something I¡¯ve never wanted to be a part of,¡± I mentioned.


    ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s all lycanthrope high society stuff anyway. We¡¯re not supposed to discuss such things with outsiders,¡± Warren gestured a bit vaguely.


    ¡°Well, at a guess, the rest of your day is shot. So, now what?¡± I indicated, trying to shift the convo a bit.


    ¡°Not sure. I have a few letters to write and my pantry has gone missing again, so I need to go get some takeout,¡± he said, not quite reverted to the normal ¡®Warren¡¯ that I¡¯d come to expect.


    My ears caught part of that and it stuck in my head.


    ¡°Your pantry has gone missing¡­ again?¡± the very words banged against my common sense of ¡®what he just said can¡¯t actually be a thing¡¯.


    ¡°Indeed. I expect you¡¯ll deal with it soon enough. I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t had to deal with it yet,¡± Warren said.


    ¡°I think I need to know more,¡± I indicated.


    Up next - the missing pantry, what actually happens to the trash, and the house artifact (aka - what makes this place work).

 The Apartment (Ch 11)

    ¡°Wait¡­ what do you mean your pantry is missing?¡± I prompted Warren, who gave me a usual blank look.


    ¡°Have you not lost your pantry for a time since moving in?¡± Warren asked flatly.


    ¡°No¡­.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ Well, you probably just didn¡¯t notice it. It¡¯s a side effect of the building,¡± Warren responded.


    I was still utterly confused. My pantry was little more than a small closet with built-in narrow shelves. Except for it being attached to the kitchen, it might have ended up a decent place to store clothes.


    I could lie and say that I do a lot of my own cooking, but it just wouldn¡¯t be true. I cook when I feel like it, but hey, cooking for yourself gets really boring really fast. Not to mention - Warren and Lucy tend to do a lot more cooking and usually about 100x better than I can fry up some eggs (and with about half the mess too).


    I walked over to the door to Warren¡¯s pantry and pulled open the door. What was beyond was very clearly not a pantry, but even attempting to describe it would fail to do it justice.


    I will attempt it anyway, since it¡¯s important.


    It was like seeing into forever. Points of light swirling in a kind of hazy multihued nebula. And the more you looked in any one direction, the more you saw. Everything within appeared to be moving, but not fast enough to see, at least not without concentrated watching. Like clouds on a slow day, I could just make out the scant shift of the lights and the rays which seemed to bend and twist through the haze, illuminating and obscuring at the same time.


    Beyond the doorframe was all of this. The floor simply stopped. No ragged edges, but looking more as though the sharpest cutting tool ever dreamed up had simply sliced the pantry from the apartment, leaving a chasm into some other realm.


    I started to reach out a hand towards this other realm and found my arm caught by Warren. I looked at him questioning, tearing my eyes away from the view.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± was all he said.


    It was enough, but at the same time I needed to know more, no¡­ not more, I needed to know everything.


    I stumbled back to the armchair I had been occupying, my mind a jumbled vortex filled with what I¡¯d just seen.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± Warren asked, breaking into my thoughts.


    ¡°What? Oh, I guess like a¡­ nebula except¡­ more¡­ stuff,¡± I said, words failing me.


    ¡°Interesting. I wonder if that¡¯s because you¡¯re a baseline or if because you¡¯re a seer,¡± Warren commented, still in that same flat tone.


    I looked up at him as he closed the door to the pantry and came back to the other armchair with a fresh beer in his hand. I glanced at the other one of his. It was already empty.


    ¡°Why? What do you or Lucy see?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Darkness. A void of the deepest dark. Utter nothingness,¡± he said, in the tones of a practiced philosopher.


    I pondered this a moment.


    ¡°What do you think it means or represents?¡± I asked.


    He blinked and looked at me.


    ¡°I think it represents that my pantry is gone and won¡¯t be back for three days,¡± he said, flatly.


    ¡°But why does it happen? Where does it go? What¡¯s the difference between inky blackness and a nebula so filled with details that it might as well be real?¡± I asked aloud, not expecting any real answers.


    Warren was silent, aside from sipping his beer.


    Lucy took this opportunity to pop over, looking her usual bright and bubbly self.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on with you boys?¡± she chimed.


    ¡°Well, I took my garbage out and ran into Warren¡¯s fiance¡¯,¡± I managed to get out before Warren could interject otherwise.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Oh¡­ her,¡± Lucy¡¯s face crumpled like an empty beer can in a Marine¡¯s hand, but only momentarily. ¡°Well, we can¡¯t all have nice days. What else is cooking?¡±


    ¡°Not Warren. His pantry is missing,¡± I promptly said, much to Warren¡¯s minute scowl.


    ¡°Is it that time again? Huh, well, I¡¯ll look for mine to go missing next week sometime then,¡± Lucy said, flopping down on the hardwood floor with all the grace of a hippo doing the samba.


    ¡°So this happens to everyone? We all lose our pantries for a few days every so often and have it replaced some¡­ other realm?¡± I was incredulous.


    Lucy looked at Warren confused.


    ¡°He claims it looks like we¡¯re in a nebula instead of the void that you and I see,¡± Warren said flatly, before draining the rest of his beer.


    ¡°Is that a seer thing or a baseline thing?¡± Lucy asked, looking between us.


    ¡°Got me. All I know is that I could stare into it forever,¡± I said.


    ¡°And will try to walk into it before long as well, if I had to guess,¡± Warren commented.


    ¡°Alright, fair. But if you could see if, you might try to reach out and touch it too,¡± I responded.


    We all sat for a few moments in silence, the only sound being the antique grandfather clock that Warren had off to one side.


    ¡°On the subject of strange building things, what happens to the trash? I know we don¡¯t get trash pick-up here,¡± I queried before taking another swig from my beer, still my first since earlier.


    ¡°I don¡¯t actually know. I think the artifact takes care of it,¡± Lucy said, her face uncrumpled by this point.


    ¡°Where is this artifact that I¡¯ve heard so much about?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s right next to the trash room,¡± Lucy said and sprang to her feet as though propelled by springs. ¡°I can show you.¡±


    Obediently, I finished my beer and followed Lucy down the stairs, Warren waving us onward.


    When we reached the basement, we moved past the room marked ¡°TRASH¡± to a door that was unmarked. The door opened at a touch and inside a rather bare looking room was a small pedestal with a curious looking vase. Even before I entered the room, I could see some of the inscribed runes.


    ¡°Celestial?¡± I wondered aloud.


    ¡°Close. It¡¯s a derivative of celestial runes, but I¡¯m surprised you knew that,¡± Lucy said, walking up to it.


    ¡°I may have played around with using some of the different rune scripts for secret messages as a kid,¡± I admitted, stepping up beside her, but definitely avoiding her gaze.


    The vase up close didn¡¯t look like much aside from the runes, which seemed to glow slightly less than they did on my Wiznet modem.


    ¡°I was honestly expecting something more¡­¡± I was at a loss for words again.


    ¡°Eldritch? Supernatural? Mind-warping?¡± Lucy prompted with a slight giggle.


    ¡°In truth, yes. Not plain like Dead Space, but also not a 4-D object that hurts to even look at either,¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°Nope. Just a weird looking vase on a perfectly smooth pedestal top,¡± Lucy said. ¡°Try to pick it up.¡±


    I looked at her.


    ¡°Won¡¯t that break the binding to the building?¡± I asked, more than a little hesitant.


    ¡°Nope. Something about the binding anchors the artifact unless you break the binding first so you can move it,¡± Lucy said, rather assuredly.


    ¡°Ok, but if I get into trouble on this, so will you,¡± I said, shaking a finger at Lucy, who stuck out her tongue at me.


    I put a hand on either side of the vase¡¯s base and lifted. It didn¡¯t so much as budge. It was like trying to move stone pillar.


    ¡°See? Told you,¡± Lucy smirked.


    ¡°Yeah yeah,¡± I replied and slid my hands back along the surface unintentionally. ¡°Wait¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You said perfectly smooth surface, right?¡± I asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s what they said. Otherwise it doesn¡¯t work right,¡± Lucy said.


    ¡°They?¡±


    ¡°The Installation Wizards,¡± Lucy said.


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding,¡± I wanted to eyeroll so badly, but I couldn¡¯t do that to Lucy.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s what they¡¯re called,¡± Lucy looked a bit puzzled. ¡°Computer thing?¡±


    ¡°Computer thing,¡± I responded.


    ¡°Anyway, what makes you ask?¡± Lucy prompted.


    ¡°It¡¯s not perfectly smooth. I can feel it,¡± I said, running my fingertips just the barest over the top of the pillar again, next to the vase. ¡°Feels¡­ just barely scratched.¡±


    Lucy and I got down close and looked, even breaking out our cell phones for extra light. Lucy tried feeling the same section.


    ¡°Are you sure? I can¡¯t see or feel anything,¡± she said.


    ¡°Baseline sense of touch is pretty sharp,¡± I said, running my fingers over the scratches over and over.


    ¡°Guess I never noticed,¡± Lucy said.


    ¡°Oy¡­ what are you two doing in here?¡± came a voice.


    Lucy and I looked over and it was the super, the old man I met when I first came here.


    ¡°Sam hadn¡¯t seen the artifact so I thought I¡¯d show him,¡± Lucy raised herself to her full height.


    ¡°Nothing much to see. It works,¡± the super said, leaning on his cane.


    ¡°I think there might be some scratching on the pillar. It¡¯s not the perfectly smooth that Lucy says it¡¯s supposed to be,¡± I prompted.


    The super looked at Lucy, me, and the vase in that order.


    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s possible, but how might you know that?¡± the old man eyed me suspiciously.


    I held up a hand and wiggled my fingers.


    ¡°I felt it,¡± I said, feeling ridiculous even saying it.


    The super seemed to consider this.


    ¡°Sounds like a baseline thing, but worth looking into,¡± he said. ¡°Now out, out. I know you¡¯ve got places to be in other than my cellar.¡±


    ¡°By the way, what happens to the trash?¡± I asked as we stepped outside the artifact room and the super shut the door.


    ¡°Atomized and sent to a pocket dimension,¡± the super said, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that cause mass retention issues in this dimension?¡± Lucy asked.


    ¡°Nah. We empty it now and again. If you look it the right way, it''s supposed to be fairly pretty. Like big clouds,¡± the super said, still clearly shooing us upstairs.


    And it was at that point that I figured out that the nebula that I thought I was seeing was in fact a great big pile of garbage. And neither the super nor Lucy could get me to stop laughing for a solid five minutes at the irony.

 The Apartment (Ch 12)

    Ok, so sorry for disappearing so long, but the weird became normal and then became weird again. I¡¯m still working on my place in this¡­ ¡®non-baseline¡¯ society as a Seer.


    So let¡¯s see where I last let everyone in on the story¡­ I had been issued my magical gun, I had left my firm and was working exclusively within the non-baseline community as a kind of consultant, oh and I figured out why the pantries in our building apparently kept disappearing.


    I¡¯ll start with that last one first.


    The wizards involved in installing and maintaining those apparently didn¡¯t like being called out, but they came all the same. It was very apparent that none of them wanted to be there. It was actually rather funny in a way.


    These were not fantastical wizards. No, truthfully, if they hadn¡¯t arrived via an apparently heavily enchanted coach (no horses though), I probably would have simply taken them to be older businesspeople. The lead could have passed for a CEO or member of a Fortune 500 board, given his very expensive suit, close-cropped hair, and very grey goatee and hair. He wore the kind of face expected of someone who has been forced into politics for years and so didn¡¯t frown, but was clearly not enjoying being here or being party to this exercise.


    ¡°Are you the Seer?¡± he¡¯d asked without ceremony.


    ¡°I am,¡± I smiled. I had actually been expecting them and so had met them at the front door to the building along with Lucy and the Super.


    ¡°So you believe you found an imperfection in our artifact guarding this building?¡± one of the others piped up, a comparatively younger man to the CEO but still decently older than myself. He was not as primly cut in his suit and looked beyond annoyed at having to be here.


    ¡°I do and I also think it¡¯s associated with the link between this building¡¯s garbage storage as well,¡± I commented.


    ¡°We shall be the judges of that, Seer,¡± came a third voice. This was from an older woman. She wasn¡¯t especially beautiful nor did she appear to be particularly older or ¡®hag-like¡¯ in the accordance with fantasy fiction. She too reminded me of a politician or perhaps a chemist. Someone who is much more at home behind a desk or lab table vice being out in public. Her pant-suit was similarly well tailored as the others, but did not appear comfortable by the way she shifted in it over the course of the visit.


    ¡°This way,¡± indicated the Super and we all went down to the artifact room.


    It took almost an hour for the wizards to get out all of their equipment from their bags and briefcases, so I had some time to talk with the CEO.


    ¡°I¡¯m still new to all this, so I hope you¡¯ll indulge me a bit,¡± I started.


    ¡°Of course. We¡¯ve been watching you with great interest. I believe you¡¯ve been of great assistance with some of the high magic experiments that are being conducted in this area,¡± he responded, not shifting his eyes away from the other wizards.


    ¡°So what¡¯s with the coach? Wouldn¡¯t a baseline car enchanted be less high magic?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Well, yes, but when one reaches a certain standing in the community, there are certain expectations. And there¡¯s older magic built into that coach which far exceeds what any of us here could manage, even as a group, even if we had the right spells,¡± he admitted, pulling what appeared to be a cup of coffee out of his jacket pocket and taking a long sip.


    ¡°That¡¯s very impressive, on both counts,¡± I said, trying not to stare at the coffee.


    ¡°Oh this? A minor enchantment I cast on this suit years ago. Trick is that I often forget to reload it with more materials,¡± he grinned slightly, gesturing with the cup. ¡°But as for the coach, the accumulated magic and essentia over the years make it impossible to reproduce, or nearly impossible to say the least. And it¡¯s far better than any baseline vehicle in terms of comfort and amenities in any case.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it,¡± I smiled slightly.


    Lucy and the Super were watching the action from their own position and one of the wizards came up to the CEO and myself.


    ¡°We¡¯re ready to take this one offline for scanning. The building shouldn¡¯t be visible for more than a moment,¡± the woman said. She was a different one from earlier, but reminded me of my vampiric downstairs neighbor. More of a grandmother who would look entirely at home in a kitchen with the traditional apron, vice the loose silvery dress she wore now.


    ¡°Very well, proceed,¡± said the CEO.


    The rest of the wizards appeared to activate several runes on each of the sets of equipment around the artifact before turning back to the artifact and beginning to draw a runic circle of some sort from each position. I could already see where each segment was going to match perfectly with the next one all the way around.


    To say that there was a visible effect, however mostly translucent, would be an understatement. I glimpsed the garbage dust nebula at the core and then a smooth sort of ripple in the air that seemed to spill outward from the artifact. The kind of thing that puts you in mind of seeing water mirages except at close range.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    I swayed a bit at this, but mostly just to try and keep my balance with what my eyes were seeing versus what was actually being experienced. After a moment, the effects seemed to die away.


    ¡°Artifact offline. Taking measurements,¡± one of the wizards announced and reverently stepped forward and picked up the vase/artifact as though it hadn¡¯t been anchored to the pedestal.


    One set of wizards began to scan (using some manner of tools, I couldn¡¯t begin to guess) the vase. The other set began to scan the pillar, using more portable versions of those same tools (or so I guessed).


    It took about another fifteen minutes before one of the team scanning the pillar came over to the CEO and myself.


    ¡°We think we may have found what the Seer reported, but we¡¯d like a confirmation,¡± the younger annoyed man said. He seemed less annoyed now, but still carried a certain arrogance with himself.


    I stepped forward without even pausing. The wizards looked at me like I was about to endanger everyone in the building, themselves included. I didn¡¯t give this a second thought. With my lack of essentia, by their own terms, I was a kind of void when I stepped into their spaces. Which made me perfect for going places where other non-baselines couldn¡¯t. It also meant that, except for certain expressed types of magic (like the apartment barriers), I could walk through common essentia barriers like they didn¡¯t exist.


    I stepped up to the pedestal, being careful not to step on the runic circle and began running my fingers over the top of the pedestal. It took me a moment and I had to close my eyes, but I found it.


    ¡°There,¡± I indicated and drew my finger along the infinitesimal ripple or scratch.


    The younger wizard looked over at the CEO, who nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s where we found a minor imperfection. Let us re-scan that section at higher resolution,¡± he said.


    I stepped back from the pillar and rejoined the CEO.


    ¡°So you can do that by touch. Is that a Seer ability?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Nope. Just a baseline ability,¡± I said.


    ¡°Hmmm, interesting,¡± he murmured as the younger wizard came over with a tablet of sorts.


    ¡°There is a substantial mark. Almost impossible to see and very difficult to measure, but it is present. In theory, it should have not allowed the building to be protected at all,¡± the younger wizard said.


    ¡°It seems I will need to have a word with the group that installed it,¡± the CEO said, his face clearly displeased by this revelation. ¡°Can we fix it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but we will need everyone¡¯s help and, uh, well, it may help to have the Seer help us,¡± the younger wizard looked embarrassed to admit it.


    ¡°Very well. Mr. Evermore, I presume you don¡¯t object to helping us,¡± the CEO said, removing his jacket.


    ¡°Just a minute. What does this ¡®help¡¯ entail?¡± Lucy piped up. She and Warren had become quite protective of me.


    The younger wizard looked between Lucy, myself, and the CEO.


    ¡°We can reset the pillar, but in order to re-pair it with the artifact at the same time, we need to fix the pillar and reactivate the pair in one go. We don¡¯t have the necessary wizards on-site to do both separately,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Not enough essentia,¡± chimed in the CEO. ¡°And this assumes that there¡¯s nothing wrong with the artifact itself.¡±


    ¡°Why not have the Super or me help?¡± Lucy drew herself up. I got the impression that she didn¡¯t like these kinds of wizards and would gladly punch them hard.


    ¡°You two have essentia. Mr. Evermore does not. Even though you two can channel your essentia, it would likely impact the building if it wasn¡¯t properly controlled. Mr. Evermore won¡¯t have that problem,¡± the younger wizard tried explaining, the arrogance seeming to be running out of steam in the face of the Amazon who was very probably older than everyone else in the room (although whether he realized this or not, I couldn¡¯t say).


    ¡°There¡¯s going to be a reaction when he puts the artifact on the pedestal. It¡¯s probably how the defect got there in the first place,¡± the CEO explained, calmly.


    ¡°And what will that do to me?¡± I asked. I appreciated having Lucy there, but in the face of my client-facing persona, I could usually ask the right questions and get true answers.


    ¡°In theory, nothing. No essentia, no reaction to you. If you were a normal non-baseline, that wouldn¡¯t be the case,¡± the younger wizard admitted.


    ¡°If you¡¯re worried that we might be about to harm your Seer, I can assure you, we have no such aspirations,¡± the CEO addressed Lucy.


    Lucy gave the CEO a hard look for a moment before I touched her shoulder and nodded when she looked over at me.


    It took almost another hour before we were ready. The artifact was perfectly in line with its creation and so was placed into my hands. The wizards gathered around the runic circle and I waited at the edge.


    More runes were drawn and the wavey reality came back, making the room appear to sway as though drunk. I had to close my eyes more than once just to keep myself from feeling motion sick. Based on the shimmering colors I could see within the runic circle, I could tell that there was some serious essentia being poured in.


    ¡°Now,¡± came the hoarse voice of the pant suited wizard.


    Without so much as a pause, I stepped forward and set the vase/artifact onto the pillar.


    There was a small shimmering of sparks that I knew I could see that most people couldn¡¯t (even probably these wizards), but I ignored it.


    I immediately let go and stepped back.


    ¡°NO!¡± yelled one of the wizards.


    I looked at him. He hadn¡¯t been particularly noticeable until now. He looked at home on a board of directors, but didn¡¯t seem all that special otherwise. It wasn¡¯t until I looked for another moment that I spotted his other hand holding¡­ something. Something the rest of them weren¡¯t holding. I didn¡¯t wait to find out. I ducked behind the pillar. Within the runic circle and in the presence of so much essentia, even a suicidal wizard wasn¡¯t likely to cast something too wild in here.


    It turned out I was wrong. Whatever spell he was charging got cast straight at the pillar and the essentia erupted around the artifact, making it swirl like fire and fog myself and the pillar from view.


    What happened outside of my view was that apparently the Super stepped up to the offending wizard and apparently ejected him from the casting circle, the other wizards already in motion to adjust for the missing link.


    There was a hiss link steam and then all of the whirling essentia that was driving the room mad around me vanished into the artifact.


    I looked around and saw the other wizards looking over at the clearly unconscious wizard who had attacked me. The Super was standing over him and Lucy was eyeing the wizards, her own fingers already bleeding telltale fire.


    ¡°Well, if that¡¯s what it¡¯s like to be an Installation Wizard, I¡¯ll pass next time, thanks,¡± I said, loud enough for the room to hear.

 The Apartment (Ch 13)

    So¡­ as it turns out, the ¡®suicide¡¯ wizard might be part of the ¡®group¡¯ (a term used fairly loosely in this context) that sent me that death scroll.


    I also found out that the Super is technically a troll. But I¡¯m getting ahead of myself.


    So, with the ¡®suicide¡¯ wizard unconscious, the remaining wizards set about taking him into custody and the CEO set about examining me. His skill was rather far from Mitch¡¯s, but he had a similar scan stick which could at least let him know whether we needed to send for Mitch.


    Lucy was still leaking telltale streamers of fire from her fingertips and I got the distinct impression that if anyone did anything to me or hinted at it, they¡¯d either end up burned or possibly even as ash. The CEO was even being very cautious, splitting his eyes between scanning me and watching Lucy, who was standing very close.


    It¡¯s more than a little unnerving I gather to see someone leaking rivulets of fire onto the floor. Alas, my headspace wasn¡¯t in the right place, so I was feeling¡­ well, I think punchdrunk would be the right term. It all seemed a bit funny, even though it had no right to be.


    Something that got explained after the scan (which revealed more or less that the essentia and pillar had shielded me, since such a spell normally locks on to someone¡¯s essentia and takes over from there), the wizards normally reside all over the world. An artifact fault requires a very special group of wizards and so they had been assembled here. The one who attacked me (or tried to at least) was out of South America, a guild member of the local wizards¡¯ ¡­uh.. Well, they¡¯re not exactly a cult, but they¡¯re¡­ more or less, they¡¯re a kind of non-baseline supremacists. But because of the way they¡¯re structured, they haven¡¯t really been a threat. Mostly a kind of radical group that the larger community laughs at.


    This being the 2nd (and very proven) attempt on my life, the CEO assured me that he would be following up with the Council to take action. Odarth turned up (no idea how he knew to or if he was just in the area) and upon being told, he too assured me that the Council wouldn¡¯t let this pass unpunished.


    I¡¯m not sure why, but the words of the gnome seemed to carry more weight than those of the CEO.


    Now, getting back to my other point, the Super is apparently a troll. Not a ¡®monster¡¯ like in the fairy stories or a being of minerals. But apparently in this context, a troll is something like a step up from an orc. Without further context, this doesn¡¯t really help matters, but I¡¯ll do my best.


    Think of the average fantasy orc, but picture one that¡¯s impeccably dressed, clean to the finest detail and could pass for Henry Cavil (except for being half-again wider and ranging from very tan to very green). That¡¯s what my local orcs look like, but that¡¯s a separate story.


    A troll is the next version of that. Normal young trolls (young being measured in decades, not centuries) stand about 7¡¯ tall and could be mistaken for strongmen crossed with sumo wrestlers. The kind of beings who look almost giant-esque (and probably were mistaken for being ice giants in Scandinavia once upon a time).


    The Super is a particularly old troll and so much of his height and mass has hugely reduced to look more baseline. But he still retains a lot of that trollish strength. The cane that I had seen him with previously was mostly for balance.


    Based on some of the conversations that followed, if he hadn¡¯t been a troll, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to pull the errant wizard from the line-up. In theory, he shouldn¡¯t have been able to do it anyway, but since the wizard was busy casting at me, he wasn¡¯t fully anchored like the rest of them (before that anchoring was transferred to the vase/artifact and the pillar and by virtue of connection - the building).


    The rest of the wizards weren¡¯t exactly in shock, but were definitely displeased at this betrayal by one of their own.


    By the time the errant wizard woke up, he was very firmly bound in some¡­ unique looking cuffs, the runes of which looked to be essentia trapping. Basically, if he tried casting, the cuffs would trap the essentia intended for the spell. He tried to sputter out something about how I was not to be trusted and how all baselines were coming to get us (the us in this context being non-baselines) with me at their head, but the CEO blackbagged him, which shut him up immediately. (I learned later that said blackbags are practically soundproof and while not commonplace, were a necessary tool, given some of the failure modes of some spells.)


    Odarth had summoned the local wizard police and the three turned up with all speed. They weren¡¯t happy about the cuffs or the blackbagging, but it seemed to be more of a dispute on how to get him into the police cuffs and blackbag rather than just keeping him in the existing set.


    Warren wandered down at this point, finding the mix of wizards, wizard police, gnome, a leaking Lucy (who was calming down and so only partially dripping fire at this point), the Super, and myself with almost a look of amusement.


    ¡°Seems it¡¯s been an eventful day. Did you get it fixed?¡± he asked, glancing over at the pillar with the vase.


    ¡°It should be fixed, but we¡¯ll need to come back with a different team to confirm it. This one is rather strained given today,¡± the CEO managed, starting to pack up some of the gear into a suitcase.


    The other wizards began to follow suit in deactivating and disassembling the various constructs, including rubbing away the runic circle around the pillar.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The wizard police and the errant wizard left with some speed. Odarth seemed at a bit of a loss on what to do, so he too left.


    ¡°It might be best if you started carrying that gun more often, even if I don¡¯t like it,¡± Lucy said, her voice closer to her normal register than it had been.


    ¡°That¡¯s probably a wise decision,¡± the Super concurred.


    ¡°Perhaps, but then I have to deal with the baseline side of carrying it as well,¡± I mumbled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯ll make sure the Council helps fast track such things with a minimum of questions,¡± the CEO said, his face looking weary and his form stooping a bit.


    So that was a day all by itself.


    Let¡¯s see¡­ what else has happened since then and since I last provided a proper update¡­ well, I could go into how I learned a lot about orcs and young trolls (first hand experience), Lucy¡¯s most recent date (which I found rather interesting albeit strictly as a watcher), my first time up-close and personal with our local witch, or a small adventure that Rennet (the print-shop wizard) took me on shortly after I received my gun, but before I actually had any idea what it was capable of.


    I think I¡¯ll start with Lucy¡¯s most recent date.


    Lucy, being an ageless djinn, doesn¡¯t, mostly of her own volition combined with the whole ¡®non-baseline vs baseline¡¯ pheromone/vibe thing that they have going, date. Therefore it is rather commendable that the young man who attempted to buy her a few drinks and then get her to plan to go on a date with him even tried.


    Lucy, for her part, took it well. She hadn¡¯t been on a proper date in years. I found it quite amusing watching her sort through her closet, trying to figure out what she wanted to wear.


    Even though they were going to just a basic Indian restaurant, Lucy probably would have been halfway into a ballroom gown with corset, extra wide brimmed hat with feather, and a matching drape. If I were less of a good friend (or not being at least somewhat fashion conscious within the modern era), I might not have talked her out of it, just for the sheer hilarity of it.


    This isn¡¯t to say that she didn¡¯t still look stunning in it. She did. She probably could have caused a few car accidents just walking down the street in such an outfit and not just because of the ridiculousness of the outfit.


    Instead, I talked her into a not too revealing (and more comfortable) dark grey pencil dress with a slit to just above her knees on both sides and an appropriate set of flats (heels being something she just hadn¡¯t bothered to master by that point). I joked with her on the latter, but given her normal height, I didn¡¯t figure she needed the extra height.


    I walked her to the restaurant and wandered off to the nearby pub, where Warren and I would meet up (and Lucy might come by depending on her date).


    As it turned out, the young man (young meaning that he was about 25, compared with her indeterminate age) was hugely nervous at having asked said amazon to dinner. According to Lucy, it was a bit endearing at first, but got annoying quickly. Mostly because he seemed to bounce from one end of the spectrum of being afraid of her to the other, being almost misogynistic or patronizing, suggesting that he should order for both of them and similar 50-ish sentiments.


    Lucy tolerated it through dinner and even a bit of dancing, which the young man didn¡¯t seem to have time or inclination for. So they came over to the pub where Warren was in the process of finishing his 2nd Long Island Iced Tea and I was finishing my own dinner of steak, baked potato, and salad (sue me, I like my traditionals).


    The young man appeared much less at ease (apparently more so than earlier) sitting at the bar with myself and Warren. He kept eying the two of us as though we were going to hold him at gunpoint for his wallet.


    For my part, I didn¡¯t much care for him. He reminded me of Jimmy Tavers from my high school days. Jimmy was always just a little too good for the rest of us. And while Jimmy was smart and even known to be clever from time to time, I didn¡¯t get the impression that this young man had gotten the same brains or wit. Even if he had once upon a time had both, he was far too lacking in both in the face of Lucy, Warren, and myself.


    Lucy was ¡®done¡¯ with the date by this point, ordering herself three of the alcoholic seltzers that she loves. The young man appeared to ignore this as a ¡®hint¡¯ and decided to suggest that the two of them should go back to his place.


    I¡¯ve known Lucy to giggle before, but this was no giggle. This was a full on rip-snort laugh that could probably have been heard clearly from across the street (as well as throughout the bar).


    To say that he looked insulted was an understatement. He tried the usual blathering, but it wasn¡¯t helped by the fact that he was stammering his way through his verbal assault of Lucy and of Warren and myself (in front of the whole bar no less). Conversations stopped to listen to this fool attempt to proclaim that Lucy should be honored.


    Lucy grinned at this. Not a fun grin, but a clearly predatory one. I should know. I was wearing the same thing and I didn¡¯t look over, but it wouldn¡¯t surprise me to know that Warren was also wearing one.


    His stammering got worse, particularly as he noticed me looking at him. At this point, he seemed to realize that the date was over and he should leave. It was at this point that the bartender/bouncer made him pay his tab and then banned him (immediately before ejecting him).


    I¡¯d say the rest of the bar clapped, but they didn¡¯t. Mostly everyone just went back to their conversations or various observations of the comings and goings. One of the perks of being in a semi-tourist town I suppose.


    The three of us finished up and walked back to the building. Lucy was quite energized, but was mostly put off by how entitled the young man had acted.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been practically ordered around like that before I was unbound,¡± she exclaimed, punching the air.


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Warren prompted.


    ¡°Self-confident people are often very vain and, in my experience, very set on who holds power. More often than not, it¡¯s them who holds the power, particularly over the rest of us. I¡¯d say that I¡¯m more surprised that he apparently ignored his senses about non-baseline vibes. What was he hoping for?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Probably a quick bedroom romp,¡± Lucy rather accurately guessed.


    ¡°Probably. Oh well, his loss,¡± I said. ¡°Now, whose freezer are we going to raid for ice cream?¡±


    ¡°Not mine. All I have are drumsticks and klondikes,¡± Warren said.


    ¡°I still have a few mixed pints from my last foray into the Ben and Jerry¡¯s section,¡± Lucy suggested.


    ¡°Clearly you two need to up your game. Alright, we¡¯ll raid mine,¡± I said, rather affirmatively.


    ¡°Oh? And what makes you think we¡¯ll just go along with that?¡± Lucy asked, no venom in her words, just a casual reference to the earlier discussion point.


    ¡°Because I have all the fixings for hot fudge sundaes and banana splits. Plus, if you give me a few minutes, I can probably see about some frozen yogurt and assorted toppings,¡± I grinned at her.


    ¡°Oh well, if you insist,¡± she grinned back.


    And that¡¯s where it ended. I¡¯ll see what I can do about properly recording my missteps into an orc/troll bar, the local witch, and Rennet¡¯s adventure (with me tagging along). But that depends on what happens between now and then.

 The Apartment (Ch 14)

    I was pouring back through my notes for the last few weeks/months (no idea why I still have my grocery list from 4.5 weeks ago where I wanted to try and find tahini paste and garlic stuffed olives) and realized that I never told you about my gun and my having become my own business.


    Well, first, the business -


    Since getting ¡®outed¡¯ as a Seer and Baseline, I ended up starting my own non-baseline troubleshooting business. It was definitely a bit weird to leave my company and start my own, but Warren had a friend, a fellow lycanthrope of some sort but not the same kind as him, who helped walk me through it. It¡¯s apparently more of a challenge to become a business with baselines than with non-baselines, but you have to be legitimate with both if that¡¯s how you deal in baseline currencies.


    Luckily for me, being a consultant is a nice vague enough description that no baseline government or audit will look too closely (and usually can¡¯t because NDAs are a legal beast unto themselves).


    So¡­. since starting my own business, I¡¯ve begun troubleshooting for archwizards and witches, begun dialogs within the lycanthrope communities on common issues and baseline technologies to support them, and even started consulting on the whole non-baseline logistics system.


    Honestly though, it¡¯s a little weird to be working piecemeal clients and go to running my own business and suddenly working with Big Important People in the non-baseline world.


    From what I¡¯m able to gather, a number of the council are actually glad to have a Seer counted among the midst. Since I¡¯m¡­ well, not exactly immune to illusions, but definitely heavily resistant to them as well as having a major background in being a baseline, I¡¯m able to go more places and use my ultimate power - baseline-equivalent common sense - to solve longer term problems.


    I know, I know. I¡¯m glossing over a LOT and I¡¯ll get more of the details described eventually, but I need to tell you all about the gun the Council sent me.


    Thanks to my connections with the Wizards, the Council, and Odarth (gnomish ombudsman extraordinaire), it¡¯s both concealed carry and targeted strictly for non-lethal. Again, I don¡¯t pretend to know how they got a Colt M1860 conversion, but there¡¯s no denying it as a weapon and as a solid deterrent.


    Between the runes and elemental magics carved all over the bloody thing and whatever these rounds are, I¡¯ve been promised by the Wizard police that using this will stunlock any hostile for long enough for them to turn up. Naturally, I don¡¯t believe them, but I¡¯m not about to tell them that.


    I had Lucy take a look at the rounds (and the gun itself). Or rather I tried to. Lucy took one look at the thing and backed off several steps and even half-way hid behind a wall until I put it away.


    I did get an explanation though.


    ¡°Think about the most terrifying thing you can given form. Something so utterly horrible that you are viscerally repulsed to even see it. That¡¯s what I see when you pull out that¡­ thing,¡± she explained.


    I asked what that was for her.


    The old stories of djinns being bound to vessels is at least partially true it seems, because what she saw was a binding vessel with the magical equivalent of open shackles. Even without knowing what djinn servitude is like, I can certainly guess that it¡¯s no picnic.


    I tried with Warren and he saw the pistol for what it was, but seemed to perceive it as a kind of silvered weapon (surprise surprise, silver does actually affect lycanthropes, but it¡¯s like an allergic reaction, made worse by their metabolism). Wouldn¡¯t kill a lycanthrope, but would most likely put them into a near comatic state for a while.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I even tried our vampiric neighbor downstairs. She also could see it for what it was, but apparently could sense that something about how it was made would be like a stake through her core. (Fun fact - it¡¯s not called a heart once you¡¯re a full vampire. It¡¯s your core, since you don¡¯t have organs like baselines would - not that you really need them.) Again - wouldn¡¯t kill her, but would definitely stop her for a solid while.


    She also pointed out a rather interesting fact that now that it¡¯s in my possession, only a baseline can move it. Something about how the runes react to my essentia (or rather lack of essentia).


    This could be a problem since I¡¯m now going to be walking around with it all the time, but given the two attempts to kill me, it¡¯s probably safer to take my chances.


    And I know I promised a story about going on an adventure with Rennet before I knew all of this, but I haven¡¯t written it yet, so patience is needed there.


    But enough about my gun and back to my newfound work.


    Well, as I just mentioned, my lack of essentia actually makes me perfect to help troubleshoot really complex magics with archwizards and witches. They don¡¯t have to worry about my essentia getting sucked in at the wrong places while they¡¯re trying to fix their spells. Apparently magical R&D is a lot of trial and error, with major emphasis on the error.


    But they¡¯re working on apparently better and better containments. Which I¡¯m more than happy to help with.


    Pocket universes take one only so far and I¡¯ve actually spawned a few new ideas among the wizards. Like ¡°if you¡¯re going to create a pocket universe, why bother to keep all the same physical rules? Why not make pi equal to 3?¡±.


    I know I know. I¡¯m stealing a bit from my Pratchett, but the wizards looked at me like I¡¯d just given them the most amazing ideas. As I said, my ultimate power seems to be common sense and asking dumb questions that for whatever reason just never got asked.


    One of the archwitches (archwizard who is female?, I still need to ask around about what the correct delineation is) offered to craft me a shield spell as payment. Believe me, I definitely considered it, but I decided against it. A bit too much deus ex machina for me. I did settle for a bracelet of shielding though. If I activate it, it looks a bit like a tower shield. Trouble is that it needs essentia crystals since I don¡¯t have essentia and those are E X P E N S I V E. Like several gold bars for each one kind of expensive and even then they¡¯d be used up within 5 minutes.


    Well, I say gold bars, but that¡¯s just to get it back to baseline levels of expensive. Technically, there are alchemists who can make gold bars by the truckload. They don¡¯t just because gold isn¡¯t actually useful even in alchemy. It¡¯s not bad if you need a bit of quick baseline cash, but it tends to attract the wrong sort of attention, so the alchemist agreed as a group to not make gold except for experimental reasons (and even that¡¯s pretty restricted).


    Speaking of which, the alchemists are exceptionally interesting. As per usual, we have one here in town (a few blocks from our pub) in the back of a ¡®medical¡¯ pot shop. I don¡¯t indulge so I never paid it much mind. It would explain the interesting set of smells though (as well as the extra two chimneys and the ventilation system).


    Plus, fun fact, they already have a so-called ¡®philosopher¡¯s stone¡¯. Or at least something analogous to one. It can fully transmute matter from one form to another. The problem, as with most, is that doing so takes a LOT of energy, depending on how complicated the change is. Just something as simple as changing a jug of hydrogen into a jug of helium can take a full essentia crystal. So they don¡¯t do too much actual ¡®transmuting¡¯ and do more ¡®arcane chemistry¡¯.


    It¡¯s been a learning experience coming to terms with alchemy in that sense. There¡¯s so many more factors to consider compared with baseline chemistry. Sometimes, the ingredient source is that much more impactful - for example, scale scrapings from a Sicillian dragon nest react wildly differently versus scrapings from a Cuban dragon nest. So the alchemists have to keep a rather more astounding level of recordkeeping.


    Which is where I came in. Migrating all of that into a computer is difficult, but also giving them an interface to add new materials with scancodes, encrypting their database against baselines, and even giving them a mechanism to quickly and efficiently log and edit their recipes was just all part of the service.


    Did it still require a lot of work? You bet. But there is something to be said for us baselines - we know about complicated inventory systems and customizable software for logging.


    I doubt it¡¯ll spread too much (unlike the lycanthrope ¡®anti-scream¡¯ box), but the alchemist did promise to get me a nebula in a bottle in addition to my fees.


    In short, I¡¯ve been busy and definitely getting to know my local community of wizards, witches, alchemists, lycanthropes, and more. But that¡¯ll have to be all for now. I can hear Lucy in the hallway and I promised to go for waffles and fried chicken today.


    I haven¡¯t forgotten about the adventure with Rennet or with trolls and orcs, but I¡¯ll get there. Assuming I don¡¯t perish from waffle overdose.

 The Apartment (Ch 15)

    As I promised, my adventure with Rennet.


    Well, I¡¯d only just received my Council issued firearm (I hadn¡¯t even really done much more than open the box to look at it) when Rennet turned up.


    Rennet was the local bookshop wizard who I helped out with a bit of statue duck troubleshooting. While being somewhat younger and looking far more like a wizard than the still to be met Installation Wizards, he still had a kind of arrogance that one normally wears when one is used to being the smartest person for 50 miles.


    Or at least that¡¯s what Rennet most likely likes to think. Which means that my little trick most definitely embarrassed him, even if it was essentially in private.


    And the whole initial mess with the Wizard Police was also most likely his doing. So that would make his being wrong twice. All the more reason for him to not want to deal with me. But one morning, Rennet turned up on my doorstep all the same, looking rather sheepish (and a bit singed).


    ¡°Rennet. I don¡¯t believe I have any books checked out at the moment or on hold,¡± I said, placidly sipping my coffee, but clearly not inviting him in.


    Rennet appeared to take a moment to process this immediate dialog.


    ¡°That is correct, but I have a need for someone with your talents,¡± he shuffled his feet in what looked like carpet slippers (but were barely visible from the robes).


    ¡°Ah, professional services consulting. You are aware of my rates?¡± I asked.


    It¡¯s something I learned very early on in my career. Never but NEVER agree to anything without discussing price. And reminding people that requests came with a cost tended to pre-empt a lot of those sorts of conversations. It also usually set them to thinking about balancing the costs of employing me now, later, or not at all.


    The wise usually took a moment to calculate this, the foolish didn¡¯t bother. Rennet in this case was foolish.


    ¡°I cannot pay your normal rates,¡± he said.


    ¡°Well, you and I are not well enough acquainted for me to give you a discount. So I suspect you have something else to gamble at enticing my interest,¡± I responded, looking into my coffee and taking a long sip.


    The coffee was a fermented goblin base. The goblins are apparently masters of fermenting, so much so that the various species, including humans, have exchanged recipes with them over time. So when I say that it was a good cup of coffee, it would be like saying that a 50 yr old bottle of scotch was only ok.


    The goblin merchant that I¡¯d obtained the coffee (and a few other things) from had needed me to design a new separation and sorting system that could accommodate goblins (them being a bit bigger than gnomes, but not by much). In lieu of my normal commission, I¡¯d opted for some of the more choice ingredients.


    Oh and speaking of which, I¡¯d never learned haggling before coming into this world, but when it¡¯s favors for favors and goods for services, it comes into play exceptionally quickly.


    So while the merchant wasn¡¯t too happy at paying my price, he at least gets the satisfaction of knowing that I¡¯ll definitely be buying more from him.


    Anyway, back to Rennet. Rennet pulled out a book from his robes and showed it to me.


    It was a ¡®timelost¡¯ copy of the history of Seers.


    Hmmm?¡­ Oh right, so timelost books (or really timelost anything) are items that somehow or another got lost in the passage of time. Not truly lost or displaced from their normal continuum, but no longer wholly there. In the modern age, keys are most frequently timelost items. Various other items are commonly timelost.


    As to how Rennet managed to get a copy of this (seeing as there were only supposed to be about five in existence across the whole of non-baseline recorded history), I¡¯m not exactly going to speculate. But it had the hallmarks of being timelost, which is to say that it glowed around the edges slightly. This effectively meant that I could technically ¡®own¡¯ the book, but when I¡¯d go looking for it, I probably wouldn¡¯t be able to find it on my shelves until far later than I wanted it and/or in a completely obtuse place (like under the coffee table or under the kitchen sink).


    ¡°Do I want to know how you got that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had this copy for some time in my collection. Never seemed important until now,¡± Rennet admitted, still holding the book up as though a kind of shield.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Alright, you¡¯d better come in then and tell me what this favor is then,¡± I gestured and stepped back to watch Rennet¡¯s entrance.


    Strangely, only the barest hints of sparks came off of Rennet¡¯s entrance and none of them from the book.


    ¡°Are¡­ are you low on essentia?¡± I guessed, still sipping my coffee, but refusing to take my eyes off the wizard now in my apartment.


    ¡°Is it so obvious?¡± Rennet asked, almost immediately annoyed.


    ¡°Only to me. The barriers here seem to let me know how well energized spells and a person, well, being is.¡±


    ¡°Hrmph,¡± Rennet managed, glancing back at the door, but turning and placing the book on the coffee table.


    ¡°So what do you want to see me about?¡± I re-prompted.


    ¡°Do you know what a Prism is?¡± Rennet asked.


    ¡°Not in the sense that you do, so please elaborate.¡±


    ¡°A Prism is¡­ well, the short answer for both our sakes is a kind of illusory matrix where the normal dimensions don¡¯t exactly come into play, at least in the same way. They tend to be used to hold artifacts of moderate power and usually the research notes on creating said artifacts,¡± Rennet tried.


    ¡°Basically you found a magical MacGuffin in one of these Prisms, but you need my help to get it out,¡± I attempted to fast forward to the end.


    ¡°Well, in a way, yes and no. I don¡¯t actually know what¡¯s in this Prism. Nobody does. Lost Prisms turn up from time to time. They end up as timelost even more than books and keys,¡± he responded, looking at his shoes.


    ¡°Rennet, did you actually have that book in your collection or did you manage to pull it from the Prism in question?¡± I asked, suddenly suspicious.


    Rennet looked up in shock.


    ¡°How¡­?¡± the words halfway dying on his lips as he realized he¡¯d given it away.


    My only response was a tight smile and another sip of my coffee.


    ¡°Well¡­ yes. I did retrieve it from the Prism in question. It was the only thing I managed to grab before I got chased out,¡± Rennet went back to looking at his shoes.


    ¡°And you got chased out by?¡± I prompted, already regretting that the book wasn¡¯t likely going to be enough to cover my normal rates, but having agreed to it in any case.


    ¡°The Prism¡¯s Guardian. I¡¯m not exactly sure what it is, but it is quite dangerous,¡± Rennet said.


    ¡°Why not take someone more adequately versed in essentia and magic to deal with said Guardian?¡± I asked, feeling played.


    ¡°Usually Prisms are guarded against other wizards and whatever regional beings there are. Without knowing more about this one, I can¡¯t say who else might be useful. But Seers are a¡­ well, a blindside for a lot of wizards. We don¡¯t really have you built into our spells. Same really goes for baselines. Or rather once you get past the surface with accounting for baselines,¡± Rennet babbled.


    It was good to know that I was very definitely the minority. It was already making my life interesting.


    ¡°So where is this Prism?¡± I asked.


    ¡°In the basement of my shop,¡± Rennet perked up, looking a bit brighter.


    ¡°And how did you come by it? Oh, and forgive me, coffee?¡± I offered.


    ¡°Yes please. That smells like Greeb¡¯s Stout Reserve and I¡¯d be honored to have a mug with you,¡± Rennet looked much more self-assured now.


    I set about pouring him a mug with the inscription for the local university and handed it over. He took a long deep breath of the coffee.


    ¡°Oh¡­.¡± the look on his face was almost rapturous.


    ¡°So where did you get this Prism?¡± I re-asked.


    ¡°Oh¡­ well, I, uh, got it from a traveling merchant,¡± he fumbled.


    ¡°Fell off a truck, did it?¡± I asked rhetorically. Rennet went to answer, but I waved him into silence. ¡°In short, you know almost nothing about it except what it is, it has a guardian, and it contained a copy of one of the rarest books in the whole of non-baseline history. And that doesn¡¯t strike you as odd?¡±


    ¡°Not really. Most Prisms contain guardians, tend to end up misplaced, and it¡¯s not as though one would store junk in one,¡± Rennet looked almost offended.


    ¡°Really? How many Prisms have you made and lost?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Four. But I haven¡¯t actually lost them. I just can¡¯t find them at the moment,¡± he said reproachfully.


    I looked at him skeptically, but continued to sip my coffee. It wasn¡¯t the sort that one let get cold.


    ¡°So what do you need me to do?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Accompany me back into the Prism tomorrow. I¡¯m a bit worse for wear at the moment, but I need to know what¡¯s in there as soon as possible,¡± Rennet said.


    I gave it a bit of thought. I was still getting used to running my own business, so I looked over at my calendar. Somehow, the rest of the week was free. How¡­ fortuitous for me I suppose. Oh well, might as well see about having an adventure.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll be at your shop tomorrow, but I¡¯ll be bringing that,¡± I nodded in the direction of the box with my new firearm.


    Rennet looked at the clearly marked box with a bit of alarm.


    ¡°Do you think that¡¯s necessary?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Do you think you¡¯d have gotten out of that Prism if you¡¯d run out of essentia sooner?¡± I replied.


    He took a moment to consider this.


    ¡°I can¡¯t promise that it¡¯ll be any good in the Prism,¡± he tried.


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to. I¡¯m telling you that I¡¯m bringing it,¡± I said, finishing my first cup and walking over to pour another mugful.


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s not unreasonable. I have some preparations to make myself,¡± Rennet admitted before half-way downing the rest of his mug.


    ¡°If that¡¯s how you drink Greeb¡¯s Stout Reserve, I shant give you anymore,¡± I chided him.


    Rennet looked offended for just a moment and then embarrassed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m running on fumes. It¡¯s no excuse, but I shouldn¡¯t like to keep you any longer and I should head back to my shop. I expect a few tourists will want to see the printing presses today,¡± he hung his head a bit.


    Without any further ceremony, he set down his now empty mug and hurried out of the apartment.


    I glanced between the book he¡¯d left and my work station. I knew the book would keep, but I just couldn¡¯t resist. I grabbed it and went over to my work station. My Wiznet mailbox was already filling with new inquiries on services, so I put in a block for tomorrow¡¯s adventure.


    Sipping my coffee and determined to ignore my mailbox for a bit longer, I opened the book. It was time to start learning about what there was to know about Seers.

 The Apartment (Ch 16)

    Onward with my adventure¡­


    So the rest of my day ended up being research via Wiznet on Prisms and Guardians. There¡¯s a couple of treatises about them, but nothing digital.


    It¡¯s quite an annoyance that I¡¯ve encountered. Even for advanced as the non-baseline folks can be at times, there¡¯s some areas that have very definite blindspots. And getting digital copies of older non-magical treatises is one of them.


    Although, to be entirely fair, even baselines have trouble with that one. I can¡¯t tell you the number of times where I showed up to consult, only to find half of the ¡®user documentation¡¯ was on sticky notes at best (and in one case in an obscure file format that only existed on that particular operating system and incapable of being hooked up to a printer).


    So the long and the short of Prisms, in addition to what Rennet already told me, they¡¯re essentially a kind of bag of holding, except in a semi-crystalline form. This makes them almost always immediately identifiable unless surrounded by other crystals. As a general rule, there¡¯s usually a phrase or ¡®lock¡¯ of some sort to keep just anyone from accessing them.


    However, from there, it gets a bit weird.


    The interior of a Prism is effectively timeless. This wasn¡¯t to say that time didn¡¯t still pass, but relative to the outside world, the passage of time is¡­ well, think of it as the passage of time within a Prism is a fraction of what it is in the world. Or something like that.


    One of the treatises I managed to get a preview of suggested a time differential of 1 year in the real world to 1 second within a Prism. BUT¡­ and here¡¯s the real trick, that¡¯s only on objects. On biological beings (of which all baselines and non-baselines are usually counted), the passage of time within a Prism is more like 1 year within to 1 second outside.


    So essentially, you could store a whole army¡¯s worth of food inside a Prism and never worry about it spoiling within your lifetime. But you could hide out in a Prism for half a lifetime and less than a full minute will have gone by when/if you emerge.


    It¡¯s practically paradoxical, but magic appears to have a lot of little caveats like that.


    In practice, wizards and others tend to store alchemical mixtures and huge libraries within Prisms. That way they can make a big batch of a given mixture and not need to rebrew it within 6 months when the one they have on the shelf is bad. It also means that their books are almost always as fresh and new as the day they were added to the collection.


    But, like most equivalent academic professions, wizards are exceptionally competitive, especially in researching and developing new spells. So as you can imagine, there¡¯s a lot of¡­ shall we say, espionage. Such a much nicer word than ¡®spying¡¯.


    A good Prism as a result tends to be almost jealously guarded in general and often includes a Guardian on the inside.


    Guardians¡­ well, they¡¯re not exactly automata, but they¡¯re not exactly biological either. For the purposes of magic, they¡¯re objects, but for the purposes of interaction, they¡¯re more like a¡­ well, according to the research I¡¯d done by that point, like djinns. Like Lucy.


    Which would certainly explain why Rennet looked a bit singed.


    Upon reading this, I was wondering if I could get away with simply copying the book on Seers and giving it back to Rennet.


    Sighing, I resolved that I shouldn¡¯t. I¡¯d agreed to wade into this mess and whether I liked it or not, I couldn¡¯t really refuse the work. Just being inside a Prism was invaluable experience and for a Seer who¡¯s getting their magical consulting business going, it doesn¡¯t hurt to have the extra experience. Although, it is still important to still get paid too.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The one bonus I could see is that this was a bound djinn. Which effectively means they have essentially no free will. So yes, it does mean they¡¯re a slave, but because of the binding process, they don¡¯t really process it. At least officially. Based on Lucy, I¡¯d wager a wizard who had no experience being on the other side of the equation wrote that.


    If I had to guess, djinns who are bound into Prisms as Guardians are more like comatic patients. Able to hear and comprehend, but entirely unable to act on their own. Or having their bodies acting on whatever orders were put in place to have them serving as intelligent Guardians as their consciousness is powerless to act against it.


    Which frankly, sounds worse than slavery. But I won¡¯t get on my soapbox for now. Mostly because while wizards of our modern era don¡¯t bind djinns that way (officially) anymore, the mechanism to release djinn Guardians would require unmaking said prisms, which would basically kill the aforementioned djinn. And I promised to get off my soapbox¡­


    So, jumping on ahead to the next morning, I had my nice shiny firearm from the Council in its holster and a loadout of the ¡®special¡¯ rounds they¡¯d sent along with it.


    Rennet was looking nervous when he let me into his shop and we proceeded to the basement.


    The Prism was set up in what I¡¯d come to recognize as a containment circle. While it wasn¡¯t unusual to have a containment circle, I was surprised to see the Prism in the center of it. I looked to Rennet questioningly.


    ¡°So this Prism is¡­ special. It takes essentia to enter it. Took me almost a year to figure that out. And given the amount of spells and preparation materials around here, I didn¡¯t want to take any chances,¡± Rennet said, gesturing at the rest of the room.


    I looked between him and the Prism.


    ¡°If it takes essentia, how were you planning to get me inside?¡± I prompted him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve accounted for that,¡± he said and pulled out an essentia crystal. A small one, but still an essentia crystal.


    As you¡¯ll recall from one of my earlier entries, this would be like pulling out half a gold bar (or the equivalent in cash). In short, this was an affirmation that Rennet wasn¡¯t holding back on the expenses.


    Oh and for comparison, that book I got from him is probably worth a lot more than a dozen large essentia crystals, simply because it¡¯s one of four or five ever drawn up.


    I took the crystal and palmed it for a moment to look at him.


    ¡°So what kind of Guardian are we facing?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a djinn, like Lucy, except much more powerful,¡± he shrugged a bit.


    ¡°That¡¯s.. not very helpful. Can you give me anything else?¡± I prompted. It was something, but it wasn¡¯t enough.


    ¡°Well, the general basis for Prism djinn Guardians is that they¡¯re bound to the Prism. Prisms are by their nature very powerful magic and usually soak up essentia passively from the world around them. Not a lot and not all at once, but it¡¯s not usually a problem. The fact that this one needs essentia to enter it means it¡¯s that much more powerful,¡± Rennet tried, shuffling those carpet slippers again.


    ¡°More powerful? Why wouldn¡¯t it be less?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Think about it like a black hole,¡± Rennet suggested. He apparently had been doing a bit of reading up on how to talk to me at a guess.


    ¡°Makes sense I suppose. What about getting out?¡± I asked. He had only given me one crystal after all.


    ¡°I have an extra with me if we need it, but I didn¡¯t need it to exit last time,¡± he gestured at a pouch halfway hidden on his robes.


    ¡°You were also under fire last time. And frankly, I¡¯d feel safer if I had both crystals on me. Not to say that I don¡¯t trust you, but given the recent developments, it¡¯s safer for us both. If I don¡¯t need it, I¡¯ll happily give it back,¡± I said, providing no room for negotiation.


    Rennet looked unhappy for a moment, but his face quickly conceded and he handed over a second small crystal. I tucked it into a zip pocket on my cargo pants.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± I gestured to the crystal, which seemed to glow all the more ominously at the suggestion.


    ¡°Might as well. I¡¯ll need you to repeat the entry phrase with me and then use the crystal,¡± Rennet said, stepping up and placing a hand on the crystal surface.


    ¡°What language is this?¡± I asked, pointing to the inscriptions.


    ¡°Babylonian. I think. It¡¯s definitely an Assyrian derivative, so my pronunciation is close enough to get in,¡± Rennet seemed almost annoyed I hadn¡¯t touched the crystal yet.


    ¡°And if we need to talk to the djinn?¡± I asked.


    ¡°We won¡¯t. Get in, get what we can, get out. That¡¯s the deal,¡± he said, very firmly.


    ¡®Always up for library robbing,¡¯ I said facetiously in my head.


    I placed my hand to the surface of the Prism and held the crystal in my other hand.


    ¡°After me,¡± Rennet said.


    ¡°Ah pikh¡±


    ¡°Bith arkey¡±


    ¡°Ah pikh¡±


    I crushed the essentia crystal and saw the essentia flow into my hand and then out the other into the Prism. Rennet¡¯s hand against the crystal was also glowing slightly.


    And the basement around us dissolved in a wash of light and I found myself standing in an M.C. Escher house next to a portal and an almost sick looking Rennet.


    Oh, and in front of us was an Amazonian blonde who was holding two rather fierce looking fireballs.

 The Apartment (Ch 17)

    Let¡¯s see, where was I, oh yes - facing almost certain ¡®Death by Fireball¡¯.


    Well, apparently Rennet¡¯s reflexes were a lot better than I realized because he threw a shield in front of us almost immediately.


    The Amazonian blonde with twin fireballs clearly didn¡¯t like this but hadn¡¯t opened fire (ha-ha) yet.


    ¡°Identify,¡± was the only resounding word that apparently left her lips, but came from everywhere.


    I didn¡¯t find out until later, but part of that is the magic of Prisms and the magic of Binding. As far as Prisms, most wizards apparently plan to be able to get cooperative research partners from all over the world (and even sometimes beyond it) and so having a ¡®magical¡¯ means of perfect (or near perfect) translation certainly helps.


    The blonde bombshell could have been speaking an origin language that was some dead combination of Latin, ancient Assyrian, and Xhosa and it (the translation magic) still would have managed to compensate.


    The voice from all around was due to the Binding. If nothing else, it really and truly marked her as the Guardian. Although, to be fair, the fireballs made that announcement quite clear in any case.


    Rennet was looking panicked and appeared to be trying to decide whether to run or try and scarper around while shielding us both (or even just himself).


    I decided to skip all the magics and the running fight and put on my best customer-service persona.


    ¡°I am Sam Evermore, Seer and Non-Baseline Consulting Agent,¡± I grinned tightly, doing my best to keep my eyes off the fireballs and off her bosom.


    To Rennet¡¯s apparent surprise, the Guardian¡¯s fireballs evaporated and she appeared to stand still, processing this. After a moment, her eyes appeared to focus on me again.


    ¡°Error¡­ Council Errata Decree Number 243 - All Seers are declared to be enemies of Non-Baseline entities,¡± the Guardian said, not moving, but I could tell that if we didn¡¯t clear this up in a hurry, I was going to be a prime candidate for an involuntary BBQ.


    ¡°Council Errata Decree 243 was repealed in 1853,¡± Rennet managed, still holding the shield, gulping heavily.


    The Guardian appeared to consider this and looked at Rennet.


    ¡°Identify,¡± came the same resounding tones of the Guardian again.


    ¡°Council Wizard Class G Rennet von Hammerung,¡± Rennet gave a rather more full identification than I knew about him.


    The Guardian appeared to process this before speaking a few words that made the light of the whole of the Escher-esque world around us shift slightly.


    ¡°Truth spell,¡± Rennet mumbled to me.


    ¡°State the current year in accordance with the Hyperion system,¡± the Guardian demanded.


    I looked over at Rennet since I had no idea.


    ¡°25D23,¡± Rennet said.


    The Guardian cocked her head and looked slightly astonished, but was apparently looking up the protocols (again, found out later).


    ¡°This unit has not been accessed since 14R45,¡± the Guardian indicated.


    ¡°About 1096,¡± Rennet translated.


    ¡°Current orders regarding new ownership,¡± Rennet went on to inquire.


    ¡°Pending¡­. Instructions found - Council Wizards of not less than Grade II may take new ownership if system dormant for greater than fifteen solar cycles,¡± the Guardian said.


    ¡°I¡¯m only Grade IV, but I would have been a Grade I under the old system,¡± Rennet mumbled.


    Apparently it was enough for the Guardian though.


    ¡°New ownership not recognized. Class G Grade IV Wizard Rennet von Hammerung not authorized new ownership. Seer Sam Evermore not authorized new ownership. Defense protocols active,¡± the Guardian appeared to process almost regretfully and two fireballs reignited in her hands.


    ¡°If you have any ideas, now would be a good chance to use them,¡± Rennet said. ¡°Otherwise, we need to get out of here.¡±


    I might have said something to the effect of ¡®I don¡¯t like doing this, but I will¡¯, but I didn¡¯t. I simply pulled the heavy magical firearm out of the holster and pointed it directly at the Guardian. There was a small twinge that was just visible of the Guardian.


    ¡°Weapon recognized - Classification - Unknown, Capabilities - Unknown - Defense Protocols continuing,¡± the Guardian said flatly.


    ¡°Can you handle two fireballs?¡± I asked Rennet.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°Only just,¡± he was apparently looking at me like I was nuts, but I wasn¡¯t looking at him. My eyes were locked on the Guardian.


    ¡°Good, because I don¡¯t know what this will do to her,¡± I said, pulling back the hammer.


    In all the normal stories, there was a hush as I did this. In truth, there wasn¡¯t. The woosh of her fireballs and the background sounds of the chamber made it almost impossible to hear the hammer click into place.


    I pulled the trigger.


    The flash of blue and purple fire that stormed out of the barrel didn¡¯t make the Guardian flinch even a little as far as I could tell.


    However, once the projectile it included hit the Guardian and threw her on her back, well that¡¯s where it all changed. The fireballs detonated when she hit the floor, fire expanding throughout the staircases and the windows that weren¡¯t windows. Hallways that were both halls and walls shifted as the fire billowed and crashed against Rennet¡¯s shield, which flickered slightly, but held.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Rennet¡¯s disbelief was apparent in his voice.


    ¡°My little present from the Council for being a Seer on good terms with them,¡± I said, keeping the weapon pointed at the now prone Guardian.


    What Rennet couldn¡¯t see in this moment, but I could, a storm of magics was rippling all around the Guardian. It moved and shifted like waves, but seemed to keep crashing against her form as though getting pushed back somehow.


    ¡°Rennet, do you have a spell seeing spell handy?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No. I¡¯d need to draw up the runes. Why?¡± he asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s something interesting going on with the Guardian and I don¡¯t know what,¡± I said, my eyes still locked on the magical chaos that seemed to be surrounding the Guardian.


    ¡°Is she going to get back up?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The information I got about these is that they¡¯re non lethal, but they¡¯re powerful enough to stun a Titan.¡±


    ¡°Why would they give you that? I mean, you¡¯re a Seer¡­¡± Rennet said before trailing off and realizing what he was saying.


    ¡°Rennet, shut up,¡± I said, seeing the Guardian start to move again.


    It was a slow process, but she slowly sat up and appeared to look at her hands and the surroundings before looking accusatorily at me.


    ¡°Wh¡­ what¡­. What did you¡­. Did you¡­ do¡­ do¡­ do¡­ to me¡­?¡± she stammered out, but her voice singular, no longer the full resonant.


    I chuckled inwardly at the obvious joke, but kept my game face on.


    ¡°I shot you,¡± I said flatly.


    ¡°No¡­. no¡­ you did something¡­. else¡­¡± she managed, looking at her hands and back at me.


    I just looked blank and kept my weapon aimed at her. I¡¯m not a firearm user by nature, but in the face of weaponized magic, it seemed my best defense.


    ¡°You¡­ you broke the Binding,¡± Rennet all but whispered. ¡°How¡­ that¡¯s¡­ not possible¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡­ you did¡­ h¡­ how?¡± was all that the Guardian could manage.


    ¡°Are you going to continue to fight us?¡± I asked, gesturing with the weapon.


    ¡°I¡­. I don¡¯t know¡­¡± her hesitancy was clear and it was enough for me.


    I holstered the weapon. Rennet wasn¡¯t certain yet, but I walked through the shield over to the fallen Amazon.


    I stuck out my hand to the very confused looking Guardian.


    ¡°I¡¯m Sam Evermore, Seer,¡± I said, returning my winning smile to my face.


    ¡°I¡­. I was Abethia Ructas,¡± she said, taking my hand.


    Despite our apparent height and weight difference, I still pulled to lift her to her feet.


    ¡°Well, you appear to be again. Now, I know you probably have questions, and Rennet is set on pillaging the content of this Prism, but I¡¯d like to make sure that we¡¯re all on the same page before we all try going our separate ways,¡± I said.


    Her eyes appeared to flash with a kind of memory and she reached out to grab the firearm out of the holster.


    It all happened so fast that I barely followed that happened. Her hands brushed the handle of the weapon and there was a kind of flash. Not like a flash of lightning, but more like a flash of darkness.


    In the next moment, she was cradling her hands and looking stunned at me. I did my best to not look surprised. Rennet behind me was apparently looking equally stunned, having lowered his shield spell.


    ¡°I¡­ I need¡­ I need to leave. I want to leave,¡± she said.


    ¡°Sam, no. It hasn¡¯t been in the world in almost a millenia and who knows what that Binding break did. It might break the Prism if it leaves,¡± Rennet interjected.


    ¡°Rennet. Shut up. For one thing, this former Guardian is a she, not an it. For another, Djinn Bindings and forced caging, which is what you¡¯re proposing continue, was outlawed by your Wizard Council over 300 years ago. I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t want me to call the Wizard Police to come pay you a visit,¡± I turned my head to look at Rennet piercingly.


    He appeared to shrink a bit under my gaze. I continued.


    ¡°If it breaks the Prism, so be it, but you¡¯ll still have been witness to the first Binding breaking without unmaking the Prism at the same time. I¡¯d say that¡¯s still valuable.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± he started.


    ¡°No buts. A forcibly caged djinn has been freed. I believe it is Council policy for the local representatives to take over from here. And since there¡¯s no obvious further danger to you, I¡¯d suggest you grab what you can in case it does break when the three of us leave together,¡± I interrupted.


    Rennet clearly wanted to argue the point some more, but the temptation of whatever journals and books could be located within the Prism was more enticing.


    The former Guardian and I sat on one of the stairs near the portal together while Rennet scampered off to loot whatever he could carry. We sat in silence mostly. She appeared to be internally processing everything all at once.


    I have no idea what sorts of revelations she was having, but she didn¡¯t break into tears or appear angry. Just stunned and still coming to terms with everything.


    I took the time to appreciate the Escher-esque interior, complete with a clear lack of sightlines and having the environment shift, depending on your exact perspective and even continue changing. The only constant was the portal.


    A scuffing sound was audible after about fifteen minutes. A heavily weighted Rennet followed, carrying a stack of books and scrolls that looked ready to topple in an instant. I chuckled a bit to myself and grabbed the top quarter of the stack and tucked it under my arm.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± I pointed to the portal.


    ¡°Will¡­ will you help me?¡± the former Guardian asked, looking specifically at me and avoiding looking at Rennet as much as she could.


    ¡°Of course. Now let¡¯s see about getting out of this place and we¡¯ll see what we can manage,¡± I said, a genuine smile this time.


    The former Guardian stood on one side of me and Rennet on the other. Rennet didn¡¯t look happy, but he didn¡¯t look unhappy either. In fact he mostly just looked tired under the weight of his load.


    And the rest is fairly boring. We went through the portal without needing the extra essentia crystal. I dropped the stack I¡¯d taken from Rennet, waiting for him to put his stack down and gave him his crystal back. The former Guardian was now speaking a language neither of us comprehended, so I settled on gestures for her to come with me outside where I could call our Gnomish ombudsman and Lucy to figure out what to do next.


    As I said, fairly boring compared with the rest, but it was a rather interesting first trip out with my firearm and I ended up with a new friend in the process.


    Let¡¯s see¡­ oh right, well, I¡¯ll have to wait and tell you about my trip to an orc and troll bar another time.

 The Apartment (Ch 18)

    Ok, so it¡¯s been a minute (and then some).


    Lots of life has happened since my last update, so let me see where I left off¡­


    Let¡¯s see, there was.. Uh.. Rubius¡¯ freedom and all that story¡­ Hmmm? Oh right, she/they ended up changing their name from Abethia. Not entirely certain the meaning behind it, but Lucy thought it made perfect sense. So who am I to judge?


    I still owe the story about going to an orc and troll bar.


    I got involved with the local witch (and not in the fun way).


    And I got a flatmate. Sort of.


    So¡­ I guess I¡¯ll start with Rubius.


    So it turns out that the female exterior was a somewhat enforced look by whatever wizard sealed her/them into the Prism. Since they don¡¯t DNA, at least not in any way that regular baseline science would register, it¡¯s all just¡­ magic. Which isn¡¯t really much of a bonus all things considered, but again, being mostly baseline, who am I to judge?


    And I will most likely keep repeating that. I¡¯ve been repeating it to myself a lot these last few months. It¡¯s a kind of coping strategy that went well with my breakdown.


    Yes, that¡¯s right. Yours truly, Sam Evermore, Seer to the Council, Survivor of a Death Spell, and Shatterer of Prisms, had a breakdown. But more about that later.


    So firstly, the aftermath of having broken a guardian free of its (their?) Prism.


    The Council was by and large horrified/amazed to say the least. Apparently, they didn¡¯t like that I actually used the weapon they sent me, but they more or less ordered me to stay out of any other Prisms until they authorize me otherwise.


    Naturally, this hasn¡¯t stopped any number of wizards, including Rennet, from reaching out to me about other Prisms with equivalent uncontrolled guardians. So I finally got around to setting up a kind of¡­ consulting request page. It¡¯s just a bit of basic pages, but it gives the wizards a direct ¡®here¡¯s what I will, won¡¯t, and legally can¡¯t do¡¯ along with a required small deposit for anyone who actually wants or needs my services. Nothing that I¡¯ll get rich on, but suffice it to say that I¡¯m not hurting for work or money.


    Rennet¡¯s Prism did end up collapsing about a week after our trip and broke into some exceedingly expensive components, but he didn¡¯t seem overly broken up about it. Apparently, he¡¯d hardly noticed it, given that he¡¯d managed to pull no less than 25 equivalent piles of books as tall as he was from the Prism before it had done so.


    I was tempted to ask for a few books as a bonus payment, but given that I couldn¡¯t read any of the covers or spines, I doubted there was anything I¡¯d have gotten any use out of. Apparently, even Rennet was having to rent a special magical translation system in order to get some use out of the books.


    Luckily, he was able to get said system on the cheap, being the local librarian and being able to submit some of the more standard texts for other wizards to review as well. The bounty on found texts that are outside of the standard is apparently very high indeed, but it usually requires a broad distribution in order to get it. Think¡­ Project Gutenberg except for magically preserved texts and tablets. Apparently, there¡¯s even some urns that are wholly a unique part of the database.


    But that¡¯s about it on that bit.


    The ombudsman came around rather quickly and set about getting Rubius an appropriate place. Naturally, the first couple of discussions were a bit difficult. Lucy and Rubius did a bit of¡­ well, let¡¯s just call it magic, even though Lucy explained the process as a kind of¡­ supplanting of knowledge by will, but not actually learning, but also having always been learned. Yeah, it doesn¡¯t really make sense to me either. I guess you could call it a kind of willful implanting of someone else¡¯s memory of knowledge, but it¡¯s apparently more involved than that.


    It helped get Rubius to speak something closer to English, but that was just the start. Getting her/them up to speak on colloquialisms, technology shift, legal status, and just the nature of the world into which they were entering was an entire crash course unto itself.


    Just the walk between Rennet¡¯s and the apartment was something of a challenge as Rubius hadn¡¯t ever seen anything like a car and wasn¡¯t entirely certain what to make of them. Even with a bit of translational memory, it was still akin to taking someone who¡¯d never seen the ocean and teleporting them onto a raft in the middle of an ocean and expecting them to thrive.


    Luckily, Lucy took Rubius in for the first few nights while our Gnomish ombudsman sorted out the paperwork and figuring out how to best inform Rubius and this bit of the world at large.


    As I mentioned as part of my previous entry, pretty boring by most accounts, but still interesting all the same.


    Oh and just because it is worth mentioning, I asked Lucy how she wanted to be referred to, given the revelations with Rubius. She indicated that she¡¯s fine with being who I know her to be and to leave it at that. And then she stuck her tongue out at me, complete with a small flame on the end. She always knows how to make me laugh.


    So, Rubius got a place of their own, another building a few towns over, had the ombudsman running interference (since talk tv and news shows also run 24/7 in the non-baseline community), and mostly focused on coming to terms with their new existence.


    Not very exciting, right? Well, it¡¯s not exactly like I can barge in and demand they involve me. (I get enough of that from wizards to know how rude it is.)


    So, here¡¯s the story I¡¯ve been promising for a while now: going to a troll and orc bar.


    As mentioned, the Super for my building is an older troll, who could pass for a pretty jacked baseline. He wore a necklace that made his skin pass for baseline, because otherwise he was almost snowy white skinned. In his prime, he probably could have passed for an ice giant or something approaching one.


    Not all trolls are the same color and within the joint bar, they tend to take off their necklaces and leave them at the front door. It¡¯s practically an entry requirement. Luckily, it¡¯s not actually a requirement, so I didn¡¯t need to borrow one to get through the front door.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    That being said, Lucy seemed intent on getting me to this particular bar. Why? Apparently they serve an amazing lava flow, featuring actual lava.


    Nope, I¡¯m not fireproof and I don¡¯t have anything in my kit even now to make me more than minutely flame/heat resistant. At least nothing that doesn¡¯t qualify as baseline type protection.


    Anyway, Lucy assured me that it was the best bar in the city and I just had to stop in since I had just gotten my ¡®license¡¯ to be a Seer to the Council. I was pretty skeptical, but Lucy was buying the first three rounds, so I wasn¡¯t about to turn that down. Hello expensive cocktail menu (or at least midgrade sipping alcohol).


    Well, my/our first mis-step was entering and when the attendant asked for our necklaces and coats if we had any, I turned to Lucy since I had no idea what she (the attendant) meant.


    The attendant looked like a baseline female coat check attendant, albeit maybe a bit curvier than one might expect at something like a higher end restaurant or the theatre. According to Lucy, this is generally how orc women appear in camouflage. Something to do with how orcs are built means that they are almost exclusively heavier set than baselines. Not necessarily fat, but also not necessarily rippling with muscle.


    It is also worth mentioning that unlike fantasy orcs of baseline fiction (which it turns out orcs use as a kind of comedy, even though it seems like it should be insulting), orcs could outdo fantasy vampires for being stylish. My downstairs old lady vampire passes for a grandmotherly type and so that level of style just doesn¡¯t suit her. Plus she prefers jogging suits and mumus.


    Anyway, back to orcs.


    So Lucy got to explain to me and the attendant that she¡¯s a djinn and I¡¯m a Seer and we¡¯re here for the drink specials. The attendant froze for half an instant and looked me solidly up and down. Based on the aftermath, I think she was trying to discern if I was holding Lucy hostage somehow and what degree of trouble I was about to cause.


    She nodded almost imperceptibly and tapped a button and the inner door opened.


    The club, and I will have to explain the kind of club in a moment, beyond the inner door was pleasantly filled, but not overly loud.


    You know those 1930s set movies where the actors go to a gin and jazz joint, everyone is drinking, smoking, having quiet conversations, dressed fancy, someone feminine singing to provide ambiance? Well, other than smoking and the clothing nominally associated with that kind of setting, you¡¯re almost spot on.


    I suddenly felt entirely underdressed and almost wanted to go back to the apartment for a complete change of clothes and possibly even a trip to a tailor or five with a blank check.


    Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately, Lucy was there to tug me along to an empty section of the bar, where a young troll was in the process of turning something into a pulp. The rest of the bar was sparsely filled, most of the guests apparently preferring tables to sitting at the bar.


    The young troll, easily 7¡¯ tall, a silvery blue and dressed in a velvety green waistcoat that appeared to barely fit him, looked us over, his eyes looking away for a moment and then back to us.


    ¡°And what can I get you folks this evening?¡± he rumbled in a baritone that could have been mistaken for well tuned tuba backfiring.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to see your baseline safe cocktail menu,¡± I asked, having been coached by Warren as I was dragged out the door by Lucy to remember my limits (since Lucy didn¡¯t exactly have any).


    ¡°And you?¡± he rumbled to Lucy.


    ¡°An extra tall lava flow, extra lava. And this night is all on me,¡± she said brightly.


    ¡°Hey now! I thought you said only the first three drinks,¡± I faux protested.


    ¡°Well, becoming a Seer to the Council is big deal, so I expect to celebrate,¡± Lucy stuck her nose in the air.


    As joyful as it seemed, the room near us seemed to quiet slightly and chill slightly. Not that I¡¯d really have noticed since winter was just ending, so I was still wearing something approaching warmer clothing.


    The troll bartender looked at us both again and after a moment, smiled broadly.


    ¡°Certainly! Here you are, sir,¡± as he flourished a menu from underneath the bar.


    It was surprisingly well documented and apparently well used. I learned later that part of that was that younger trolls and orcs (measured in baseline terms, not in orc and troll terms) typically had to learn to drink like baselines and so they had to learn the drinks as part of fitting in.


    This is also how I learned that orcs love brandy cocktails and trolls are rather partial to ouzo. Not the ones I¡¯d have guessed, given the rather fancy surroundings, but who am I to judge?


    I ended up selecting a coffee and ouzo cocktail that included fennel syrup.


    Lucy¡¯s smoking concoction emerged from the back just as my cocktail was slowly decanted into a tall stemmed glass. Both arrived almost simultaneously and given the rather potent look of Lucy¡¯s, we settled on an air clink of our drinks.


    And with that came the next mis-step.


    I¡¯d just finished my third sip of what was proving to be an amazing cocktail, when my bar stool spun and I was face to face with an immaculately dressed red orc who was easily 4 times my mass and wasn¡¯t even that much taller than me standing up. His suit coat was probably more expensive than my couch given how well it was cut on him.


    ¡°I say, did I hear correctly that you¡¯re a Seer to the Council?¡± he asked, his voice blending with the ambient singer as easily as a french horn might.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s correct,¡± I said, glancing sideways at Lucy. The orc caught the glance and looked over at Lucy.


    ¡°If you need help, you¡¯ve come to the right place,¡± he said to her, his french horn chilling into low trombone territory.


    ¡°He¡¯s my neighbor and we¡¯re here to celebrate,¡± Lucy said, rather defensively.


    Even with as slow as I can be at times, even I had picked up on what was being said or rather not said.


    ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t know what I don¡¯t know. Other than our building¡¯s Super, I¡¯ve never met a troll and now you¡¯re the first orc I¡¯ve ever met. Nice to meet you, Sam Evermore,¡± I said, putting on my best client-facing smile and extending the hand that was not holding the drink.


    The orc eyed me suspiciously for a moment and then broke into a wide grin and started laughing. The nearest couple of watchers joined him.


    After a moment, he reached out and clasped my forearm and gripped it for one almost bone crunching moment, which I tried to reciprocate but wasn¡¯t built for it.


    ¡°I know who you are and I¡¯m pleased to have you here, Sam. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet a Seer who isn¡¯t a paladin or a fanatic,¡± he boasted loudly, the french horn voice returning. ¡°I¡¯m Wilkins and this is my bar. Viktor - their tab is on the house tonight.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± I heard the troll bartender say behind me.


    ¡°That¡¯s very generous of you,¡± I said, half cradling my partially crushed arm and trying to decide if it would be uncomplimentary to take another sip of my liquid painkiller.


    ¡°Think nothing of it. Just, uh, don¡¯t cause any trouble, eh? Or at least no trouble that doesn¡¯t come naturally?¡± he grinned and spun on a well-crafted heel and seemed to glide away.


    With Lucy¡¯s help, I got turned back around (the stool being a bit stiff for me).


    ¡°What did he mean by that last bit?¡± I asked Lucy.


    ¡°Um¡­ did we come on brawl night?¡± Lucy asked the bartender Viktor, avoiding my gaze.


    ¡°Indeed. Part of why we were a bit surprised to see you both here,¡± he rumbled.


    ¡°What¡¯s brawl night?¡± I interjected. ¡°And is it what it sounds like?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Viktor and Lucy said together.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been in a brawl before and it¡¯d be a shame to do it in here and ruin all these fine furnishings,¡± I tried, already having more than a little sinking feeling.


    ¡°Oh I wouldn¡¯t worry about that, sir. It¡¯s more likely that they¡¯ll want to try themselves against a Seer. Think more¡­ contest of wits that often ends up having a few more¡­ spirited discussions,¡± Viktor said, picking up an orange and placing it in something that looked like some kind of manual mincer/pulper.


    Over the course of the next 20 minutes, Lucy and I both were pulling on our drinks something solid. I certainly wasn¡¯t built for a spirited discussion and I could tell that Lucy had forgotten about the brawl night.


    And the mis-steps from there, well, that will just have to wait a few days when I can get my hands on some more ouzo.

 The Apartment (Ch 19)

    Well as it turns out the only place to get ouzo is aforementioned bar, so I¡¯m out of luck for a week or so. In the meantime, I was able to lay my hands on some craft akvavit from upper Norway, so that¡¯s good enough.


    Anyway, back to brawl night.


    Lucy was feeling guilty at not having remembered. I was feeling very confused, but all the same welcomed based on Wilkin¡¯s behavior. And the bar was about to become the sight of brawl night, which apparently involves contests of wits which tend to devolve into spirited debate.


    As it turns out, contests of wits could be almost anything, from bluff dice to ¡®you¡¯ll never believe this¡¯ to trivia to riddles and even to the standard bar games that are good for getting a drink off someone.


    What makes it troll/orcish is that it¡¯s pretty common to get punched over it.


    Oh and the most important game - Drink That.


    Depending on your tolerances, Drink That can be nigh impossible or downright close to deadly.


    For Lucy, being a djinn, she¡¯s a kind of impossible opponent for Drink That. For me, being a baseline without even half of the tolerances of any of the beings in the bar, I know now that Drink That requires me to have a referee on what the other folks want me to drink.


    And before you ask, college was long enough ago that I do not handle my alcohol that well (not that I¡¯ve ever been that good at it other than the usual pint or four).


    So naturally, Lucy and I were the pair to beat in Drink That.


    Anything that I couldn¡¯t drink (aka would be lethal or highly poisonous other than just plain alcohol), Lucy would drink solo. Otherwise, 50/50 split.


    So where¡¯s the ¡®wits¡¯ you ask? Well, Drink That is played in conjunction with the other games. Each round you win, you¡¯re subjected to a round of Drink That. Naturally this means that the better your wits, the more you drink, and the more likely you are to not be so full of wits. You can of course refuse to drink, but that¡¯s something of an automatic forfeit.


    And trolls and orcs are pretty naturally competitive, so they¡¯re not one to take the loss easily. But then, neither am I. Too many rounds of Monopoly in my background.


    So Lucy and I finished our drinks just as the feminine singer lowered her voice by about two octaves and two social classes to call out ¡°BRAWL NIGHT¡± almost as a kind of belch.


    I¡¯d not actually bothered paying her much attention, but she was an orc. Built similarly to the door attendant, but sans camouflage so her heavy-set almost Amazonian figure could have given Lucy a run for her money. That said, the singer was a kind of polished red. Not like Wilkins who had been more a kind of ruddy red color, but more like the kind of red that you¡¯d expect to find in a ruby worth more than you¡¯d make in a good year. Maybe a garnet, but part of that might have been a trick of the lighting.


    Lucy and my first opponents were a pair of trolls. I¡¯d like to say that I remembered them, but alas, by the time we¡¯d reached the evening, all I can distinctly remember is that they were trolls.


    We settled on the basic bar game of penny pick up, where whomever picks up the last penny loses. Since we were playing in teams, Lucy and I won handily, both trolls already being halfway into their cups.


    Winning resulted in a hearty slap on my arm (which ended up bruising the next day) and a lava flow, which Lucy rather graciously accepted and drank quickly. The trolls were a bit put off that I wasn¡¯t drinking, but when I pointed out that I was just a baseline Seer, they seemed to understand (which is to say that they took it for what it was, words, but seemed all the more determined to make me drink something).


    So we played another round which Lucy and I won again. Lucy got the hefty slap on the arm this time and she punched the particular troll in the shoulder, earning a guffaw from the troll in question. This time, we got a pink martini, so I could tell it was aimed at me, in a kind of trollish humor, but I had zero problem drinking it right away. It was rather tasty, but I can¡¯t remember what was in it.


    Our opponents headed on and someone else arrived in their place. The aforementioned singer. Meanwhile, one of the first ¡®spirited debates¡¯ was happening on the far side of the room. Strangely it seemed rather well confined to just the two beings involved without the expected splintering of tables, chairs, or glasses.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The singer was by the name of Martha and before we asked, no she was not related to Wilkins, she¡¯s just a similar color. The thought hadn¡¯t occurred to me, but looking back it was rather obvious.


    ¡°So what brings a Seer and a Djinn to my lounge?¡± she asked, the far less feminine voice appearing to be her norm. It contrasted rather sharply from the rather fine dress she was wearing (which was something out of classic noir film).


    ¡°Good drinks, good company, and a personal victory,¡± I settled on, the pink martini already making itself felt.


    ¡°Fair enough, but on brawl night? You must be a braver or more foolish Seer than I¡¯d have suspected,¡± Martha smiled, her distinctly orcish smile broad and toothy.


    ¡°Why not both?¡± I prompted, having already figured out that this too was a kind of contest of wits, albeit not entirely like the aforementioned lighter banter.


    ¡°Why not both, indeed. So tell me - how is it that you came to be a Seer?¡± she challenged me.


    Lucy seemed rather silent at this point, uncharacteristically for her, having apparently decided that this was a challenge between myself and Martha.


    ¡°And how is it that you came to being a lounge singer?¡± I countered.


    ¡°Years of training and a lousy job market,¡± Martha said flatly.


    ¡°One too many times caught outside by lighting,¡± I answered, matching her flat tone.


    She seemed to consider this for longer than I¡¯d have expected, sitting back slightly.


    ¡°And how is it that you find yourself with him?¡± Martha rather pointedly asked Lucy.


    Lucy¡¯s face screwed up for a moment before taking the meaning.


    ¡°Good neighbors and good friends only. It¡¯s not every day you meet someone who can see who we really are and still find it perfectly normal,¡± Lucy decided on, apparently trying to decide on whether or not this would be a win or a loss as far as a Drink This would be concerned.


    I¡¯d say a predatory look crossed Martha¡¯s face, but that¡¯d be false. Just a look of acknowledgement of Lucy¡¯s comment and then a kind of mental dismissal. Of what, I have no idea.


    ¡°What brings you so far from your clan?¡± I prompted.


    The look on Martha¡¯s face was one of momentary shock at my knowing about orc clans, but it passed just as quickly as it came.


    ¡°Education and a desire to be somewhere where it¡¯s not family everywhere I look,¡± she said simply.


    ¡°Ah, the Alabama problem,¡± I threw in there as a bit of a dig, but didn¡¯t wholly mean it too harshly.


    ¡°Something like that. And what brought you to this area? You do not speak like a native,¡± she turned it back on me just as quickly.


    ¡°Work and a love of cold weather,¡± I admitted.


    She raised an eyebrow as if to suggest that this seemed like hardly enough reason to come here.


    ¡°But I suppose with becoming a Seer, I¡¯ll probably change things up a bit. At least on the work front,¡± I pressed.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised the Council didn¡¯t offer you residence in Ottawa then,¡± she replied.


    ¡°They did. But I thought this area was more to my liking for now. Besides, then I¡¯d have to update my address and deal with moving and who wants to go through all that?¡± I gestured broadly.


    Martha took the motion as an opportunity to grab my right hand and hold it with her own for a long moment.


    Her hand was rougher than I¡¯d have expected for a lounge singer, but that¡¯s also apparently the norm for most orcs.


    She seemed to concentrate for that long moment before releasing it and nodding.


    ¡°I hope you do well as a Seer then,¡± she said, gesturing to one of the wait staff, a comparatively thin troll who was probably only just 30, to bring Lucy and I each a tall mudslide.


    Lucy practically bounced in her seat at the mention of the drink and seemed to watch the bar for said mudslides approaching like a cat watches a particularly incautious mouse.


    Nothing else was really said over the course of the few minutes, but several more ¡®spirited debates¡¯ broke out and so as a small group, we watched from our safe distance. It wasn¡¯t clear what was the cause, but it seemed friendly enough since one of the opponents was pummeled into the floor, picked up and slammed back down, before being picked up, dusted off, and a drink thrust into their waiting hand.


    Our mudslides arrived and Martha rose and walked away.


    ¡°She was clearly hitting on you,¡± Lucy flicked my nose with a kind of painless fire bubble, greedily drinking her mudslide.


    ¡°Maybe, but you know I¡¯m terrible at all of this sort of thing. In the time you¡¯ve known me, how many dates have I managed to go on?¡± I countered.


    ¡°Not enough and that¡¯s entirely my point,¡± she stuck her tongue out for a moment and then dove back into her mudslide.


    Sadly, it was after this point in the evening that it starts to dissolve in terms of what I recall. I had the same problem in college, which is more or less why I don¡¯t drink like my roommates did/could.


    What I can say is that I had a roaringly good time, apparently being talked into doing the orc version of karaoke, which could be an entire chapter unto itself, so I¡¯ll let you work that in your imagination. Troll karaoke is beyond me, being more like a mix of Gregorian chant, Mongolian throat singing, and something that I¡¯d swear is either a bear or a volcano.


    Luckily, I didn¡¯t have to worry about a tab, because I¡¯m pretty certain I wouldn¡¯t have been able to sign a check in any case.


    But alas my final mis-step of the evening? Or shall I say, the morning after? I woke up snuggling Warren.


    No, that¡¯s not a mistype.


    According to the mostly impervious drinker Lucy, I got it in my head about halfway home (hooray for having a walkable town) that Warren was adorable when he was changed and I clearly needed to give him brushies (even though it was nowhere near a full moon).


    We arrived back at the building and between knocking until Warren answered the door, a bit annoyed obviously and Lucy doing the equivalent of ¡®he¡¯s your problem until morning¡¯, Warren decided to be practical and just deal with it.


    He was the little spoon.


    And that was my first adventure to a troll and orc bar.


    I¡¯ll hopefully get back to some of the more recent stories once I text Martha on when the next brawl night is and once I deal with my roommate, the latter of which will be either very interesting or very boring.

 The Apartment (Ch 20)

    I have two more likely short stories for you folks, and then it¡¯s back to the grind. One of the curses of being a Seer to the Council and a magical consultant to boot means I am almost constantly in demand. Not a bad problem to have, but at the same time, being my own boss in it all stinks.


    I think my next client involves a trip to another plane. Some kind of disruption that they need a Seer to help with.


    I feel more like a tool than a consultant, since I do little more than turn up, look at something and tell them what I¡¯m seeing. Which I suppose is a useful skill unto itself, given that I¡¯m able to see parts of magic and essentia and all that is more or less invisible, but still¡­


    Anyway, so hopefully you remember my story of having sort of met the local witch. Three story house on the way to the pub, somewhat overgrown looking yard that isn¡¯t really a yard but a kind of garden. All being tended over by a terrifying woman who tended to put everyone in mind of a kind of head mistress at a private school.


    As it turns out, my guess of her being about 50ish wasn¡¯t entirely wrong, but her actual age isn¡¯t really relevant other than to give you an idea.


    Given my first interaction with her was on my way to the pub and involved her whispering in my ear despite being physically 80 some feet away, I wasn¡¯t entirely certain what to make of her.


    She normally makes various herbal tinctures, rubs, oils, and similar mixtures in a kind of old-world style health and wellness way. Similar to the over the top way you see some of the super overdone ¡®x for focus, z for longevity¡¯, except that she did actually infuse a bit of magic into her non-baseline stock to actually give it some additional potency.


    Even so, her baseline stock was still pretty potent and most of it actually validated by modern science. Nothing on the order of ¡®take this and it¡¯ll cure your cancer/infection¡¯, but more like natural remedies to simpler life things - like poison oak, reducing allergy symptoms, or even just a basic supplement for hair/skin treatments. Imperfect, but still having more impact than nothing. And while I don¡¯t exactly buy into that kind of thing as a cureall, I¡¯m not above giving it a try.


    Instead of melatonin pills or gummies, she recommends grapes and even has some that she¡¯s grown specifically for that purpose. As someone who has a bad habit of waking up at 3am and tossing and turning for an hour until falling back asleep, anything to help sleeping and isn¡¯t addictive I can get behind.


    So placebo or not, I¡¯ve become a regular customer to her in the time following the Prism expedition.


    And I¡¯ll still say she is still just as scary as when I first pseudo met her.


    She won¡¯t hear of someone badmouthing her products, but she also won¡¯t hear of someone claiming obvious medical falsehoods (e.g. claiming that a ¡®special tea¡¯ of peppermint and ginger will cure a throat infection). So even the more unruly of baseline tourists either avoid her shop or end up staring at the floor, mumbling ¡®Yes, miss¡¯ in more ashamed voices than most have used in years.


    Anyway, a few months ago, after the Prism expedition and before my breakdown, as I was picking up a few herbs and ingredients (it is hard to be locally grown herbs in cooking after all, especially magically enhanced ones), I heard her clear her throat in my direction. How I managed to discern this, I¡¯ll never know, but since I was the only one of three customers she had at the moment, I opted to not keep her waiting.


    Oh right¡­ her name¡­ well, she doesn¡¯t give out her actual name. Not 100% certain why, but it has something to do with her witching. As far as I¡¯ve been able to tell in my time since ¡®becoming¡¯ a Seer, there doesn¡¯t appear to be a particular power in a person¡¯s name, but as I¡¯m still more or less a kind of baseline, I shouldn¡¯t be surprised if there is.


    Anyway - she goes by Miss Skuld and true to the baseline name¡¯s origin, she keeps a cat by the name of Grimalkin.


    I didn¡¯t catch this once we¡¯d actually been introduced until Warren had insisted we go see a show by the local Shakespearean troupe. I¡¯d like to say that it was a good show, but it was all I could do to keep from laughing.


    So in stepping up to Miss Skuld, it was akin to being called before the teacher or even the principal, as you can well imagine. Your mind automatically races through all the things you might have done, have done, or were thinking of doing at some point and wondering if you accidentally did do some of them.


    She seemed to observe me for a long moment before she spoke in that quiet, but commanding voice of hers.


    ¡°Sam, I have a project that could use your assistance,¡± Miss Skuld said in a way that was something of both a request and kind of command.


    Let me start by saying that I¡¯m not exactly anti-authority, but I definitely buck when given orders instead of requests. It¡¯s a kind of reflex feeling that I get which means that if I¡¯d ever thought about joining the military, I¡¯d have been thrown out within a month for getting mouth or being outright disobedient.


    So to hear this and not immediately snap back at the command part of her statement, my will was definitely put to the test.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°In what capacity, Miss Skuld?¡± I prompted, since it wasn¡¯t unheard of for me to be asked for not as a Seer, but just as a friendly baseline.


    ¡°As a Seer. There¡¯s something that worries me about my garden and I think foul play may be in effect,¡± she replied and for the first and only time, she seemed nervous or perhaps even furtive at even mentioning it.


    ¡°What would I be looking for?¡± I asked, trying to think of what she could be referring to, since I was clearly no horticulturalist and regularly managed to kill potted mint.


    ¡°Just¡­ something unusual. Hold on a moment please,¡± she said, as one of the other patrons came up to the counter, an herbal tea of some flavor and a bottle of herbal oils intended for perfumery and colognes being purchased.


    The other customer seemed to take this moment to leave, having not found whatever it was they were looking for. Given the haircut on them, I presumed it was some manner of Karen, looking for Oil of the Manager or Essential Pyramid herbs.


    Once the purchasing customer had left, Miss Skuld went to the door and locked it, turning around a sign that indicated she would be back in 20 minutes.


    Naturally I was slightly confused by this, since she indicated that this was about her garden, but when she gestured for me to follow her into the back of her shop, I followed along.


    It was an older house, with a shop front on the front and main floor and the residence split between the back and the top floor. So you can further imagine my surprise as she opened the door to her basement and a stunning array of light seemed to spill out.


    Knowing more about what I do now, I should have been substantially more cautious, but I didn¡¯t, so I simply followed her into the mass of light.


    Once my eyes adjusted, I found myself in a field, seeming transported ala Howl¡¯s Moving Castle door style to an almost ridiculously sized garden of all manner of plants, some of which looked familiar, others of which looked utterly foreign.


    The world beyond the garden seemed to be naught but trees. Where-ever this garden existed, it seemed to only be connected to the regular world via that portal in Miss Skuld¡¯s backroom.


    ¡°Welcome to my garden. Few have ever been here. Even fewer have walked away from it,¡± she said, gesturing and seemingly less threatening, despite the hidden threat in her words.


    ¡°Why even fewer?¡± I asked, it being important to my ongoing survival, which at the end of the day, is worth a lot more than good relations with the local witch.


    ¡°Because not everyone who comes here has proper intentions or even an invitation. You have both, so you need not fear this garden. Or at least not normally,¡± she pointed at a few piles of greenery that started moving.


    It was a few moments, but the greenery piles rearranged themselves into a kind of golem, the likes of which I¡¯d never heard of and probably would never have seen if not for this visit. They were not overly large, but they were not lithe either. Underneath the leaves, I could see vines and branches that bent and shifted as they moved, most of them moving to care for the vast garden around us.


    There was a slight aura of magic around them, but from the little I¡¯d come to know about golems, that was most likely normal. Except for one. One seemed different from the others.


    Where the others seemed to move with calm purpose, a silvery flicker of magic around them, this odd one seemed to have a kind of irregular stuttering movement.


    By some means that I didn¡¯t catch, Miss Skuld called the errant golem over to us. It started to, but then it stopped, as though it were being given other ideas.


    ¡°Come here!¡± she commanded in such a tone that every golem halted what they were doing and turned toward her. ¡°Just this one.¡±


    She pointed at the golem in particular and the rest of the golems stood still, waiting for something.


    The errant golem remained frozen in place, its vines and greenery twitching as though conducting some kind of internal battle.


    In a motion that I barely caught, Miss Skuld cast some kind of liquid from a phial that she¡¯d apparently had on her on the golem.


    The aura seemed to resolve and the golem¡¯s internal battle seemed to die away and it moved to her and knelt before her.


    ¡°As I said, there¡¯s something wrong with my garden and I need to know what. I cannot simply keep resorting to stabilizer,¡± she said, examining the golem for something.


    ¡°From what I could see, it was as though something were disrupting the magic of the golem, making it incapable of acting as commanded,¡± I said, trying to think back on my consulting days with robotic assembly lines.


    ¡°Is this the work of another being?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t even know about the magics involved to try to give you any kind of answer,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Are there any others that appear affected at least?¡± she didn¡¯t seem pleased by this answer, but was willing to accept it for now.


    I looked at each of the other golems that I could see. None of the currently very still golems seemed to have the same issue.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. It¡¯s definitely something magical though. What else could disrupt it like that?¡± I decided on.


    ¡°Not much. This place is¡­ disconnected from most of the more obvious impacts,¡± she rose from the golem and I knelt down to look over the golem myself.


    It took several minutes before I found anything, but I did find something.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I asked, pointing to what looked like the mark of a lightning strike, albeit on what would have been either a oak trunk or a femur.


    ¡°A lightning scar. That¡¯s¡­ unlikely,¡± she inspected it more closely now that I had pointed it out.


    ¡°Why? That¡¯s how I came to be a seer,¡± I suggested.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean. There shouldn¡¯t be any extreme weather here,¡± she said, pulling out a small tool and scraping at the mark.


    The golem shrieked as though in pain at her ministrations and collapsed, seeming to dissolve from a being into just a collection of wood, vines, and miscellaneous leaves, almost no two alike.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­ well, whatever it is, it isn¡¯t welcome here and I¡¯ll have to deal with it,¡± her voice resolute.


    ¡°How do you deal with something that can corrupt your own magic?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I¡¯m open to suggestions,¡± she rose and placed her hands on her hips.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve got me here. Can¡¯t exactly corrupt magic or essentia if there¡¯s nothing there to corrupt,¡± I said.


    ¡°Your price?¡± she prompted, knowing that for as good a customer as I was, I wasn¡¯t free or even cheap.


    ¡°Saffron. 10 lbs worth. As potent as you can grow it and separated into 5 gram vials,¡± it taking me several moments to arrive at that price in my head.


    She hesitated. Such a price was hefty, even in the baseline world, making it that much higher in the here and now.


    ¡°Done, but I will have to grow it first, you understand,¡± Miss Skuld extended a hand.


    ¡°Of course. Now let¡¯s see about solving this mystery,¡± I shook her hand, sealing the bargain.


    The rest of the story¡­ well, that can wait until next time.

 The Apartment (Ch 21)

    So when I last left off, I¡¯d just made a deal of sorts with my local witch to figure out what was happening with her garden that was impacting, at a minimum, her golems.


    But just to get an oh by the way out there - I still keep in touch with some of my baseline friends, but since they can¡¯t exactly come around and have a beer with me and I¡¯m not into hitting on everything vaguely feminine, it¡¯s not exactly like I¡¯m missing them either.


    Back to the garden¡­


    I¡¯d just gotten Miss Skuld to agree to give me what would probably be a lifetime supply of saffron (not really, but close enough to it) for work as to be determined. And it being of magical potency, that¡¯d mean that I could use an even smaller amount on bigger batches of food.


    Hey just because I¡¯m a bachelor doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t cook. It just means I cook less frequently. Besides, I do try and share some meals with Lucy and Warren on a rotating basis, so it¡¯s not all ¡®once-a-month cooking¡¯.


    Ack I keep getting distracted. It¡¯s what I get for writing on an empty stomach. I keep thinking about my next curry with garlic naan.


    Back in the garden, I had just seen the impact of something errant that Miss Skuld didn¡¯t know how to combat or even particularly identify. Which is why she brought me in.


    Having worked in the private sector for a long enough time as what amounts to being a professional consultant/troubleshooter, it helps to know what I¡¯m dealing with, and since this was all new, I decided to start from the beginning.


    ¡°You said that this place is disconnected. How do you mean?¡± I started with.


    She gave me an appraising look, but then decided on something.


    ¡°This is an extraplanar¡­ bubble. In theory, infinite, but restricted by my control of it,¡± she said.


    ¡°Extraplanar¡­¡± I repeated, remembering having heard that term before.


    ¡°It¡¯s connected to my shop via the portal that we passed through,¡± she continued.


    ¡°Permanently or does it take energy to maintain the bubble and the portal?¡± I jumped a bit ahead in my thinking, continuing to try to remember when I¡¯d heard the term extraplanar before.


    ¡°The bubble has been formed and so it would take energy to¡­ uh¡­ pop it as I believe you would ask next. So the shop and the bubble are permanent fixtures, but you are correct that the portal requires a slow constant connection,¡± she explained, gesturing around and the sky seemed to shimmer slightly as she did so.


    ¡°What kind of magic is this? I know I¡¯ve heard the term before but I can¡¯t remember where,¡± I prompted.


    ¡°A neophyte like yourself would probably know it as ¡®torquay¡¯,¡± she seemed to stop herself from scoffing.


    My mind ran back to when the Wizard Police first visited me, thinking I was an unregistered magician.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Extraplanar magics that doesn¡¯t follow elemental, scrolls, or enchanting categorization.¡±


    ¡°A gross oversimplification, but that¡¯s long since a subject of debate,¡± she waved a hand dismissively.


    ¡°Wait, why is it a gross oversimplification?¡± I saw a thread of a possibility there.


    Her face screwed up a bit, showing more emotion in one moment than I¡¯d have thought her capable of showing.


    ¡°Do you know why witches and warlocks are so rare, even in non-baseline terms?¡± she asked in response.


    ¡°Bad publicity associated with the titles in both baseline and non-baseline worlds along with various cases of such people being ostracized because they simply wanted control over their own lives?¡± I guessed, albeit a bit wordily.


    She smirked.


    ¡°Well, yes, but also because witches and warlocks tend to be users of specific torquay magics that even in non-baseline community are considered abominations or unforgivable uses,¡± her prim and proper form seeming to slouch slightly with this revelation.


    ¡°Such as?¡± I prompted, having a guess where this was going, but asking anyway.


    ¡°Summoning sentients from another plane to do our bidding, claiming a territory and its resources for ourselves exclusively, even necromancy,¡± she elaborated.


    ¡°Ok, I can kind of get the first one and the last one, but I¡¯m not sure I get the middle one,¡± it was my turn for my face to squish in thought.


    ¡°Magic is about a give and take, ebb and flow. It moves around naturally. The same for resources, although depending on what kind of resource you¡¯re talking about, the movement may need to be aided along by willing hands. So when someone takes a section of that and carves it out for themselves and only themselves, people get fussy,¡± she straightened, having noticed her fading posture.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°A bit like someone holding up a stream to use it all for themselves and impacting the folks downstream?¡± I suggested.


    ¡°Something like that. Very oversimplified again, but yes,¡± she nodded.


    ¡°Would that apply to an extraplanar case?¡± I asked, gesturing around us.


    ¡°Not in the same way. As I said, witches and warlocks are fairly rare, so extraplanar space is pretty unbothered and unregulated,¡± she gestured to a picnic table that I¡¯d swear hadn¡¯t been there a moment ago.


    As we moved to sit, my thoughts kept thrumming in my head that there was something obvious here, but it¡¯d have to wait until I knew more about what I was dealing with. After all, it¡¯s never as simple as¡­ that¡­ right?


    ¡°Any chance this would be the work of another witch or warlock?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Without knowing what¡¯s wrong, it¡¯s hard to say. It would be¡­ unlikely. Not impossible though,¡± she cocked her head to one side.


    ¡°So you said you made this bubble. Does that mean you made everything in here too?¡± I decided to pivot, trying to find a more obvious root cause.


    ¡°I made the bubble, but everything contained within is from an elemental plane or grown here,¡± she said, sitting up and making this seem more like an audit than troubleshooting.


    ¡°Ok, so unless something got siphoned off here that shouldn¡¯t have been in that elemental plane, we¡¯re looking for something that got in unwanted,¡± I summed up.


    She nodded wordlessly.


    ¡°Unless it¡¯s something simpler,¡± I added, the caveat never hurting to add.


    She seemed to frown at this.


    ¡°Such as?¡± she prompted.


    ¡°What shields this place from external elements getting in? I don¡¯t pretend to understand extraplanar magic or how extraplanar interactions happen, but say a bit of lightning leaks into the extraplanar and heads this way,¡± I suggested, trying to lead her a bit.


    She gave this a few moment¡¯s thought, appearing to compare it against an internal spellbook or use cases.


    ¡°The bubble is supposed to be as close to an absolute shield as it¡¯s possible to make. At least by myself,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t it an absolute shield, then?¡± I pressed, seeing another thread worth pulling.


    ¡°No such thing exists. Even among the greatest magicians, a shield against absolutely everything doesn¡¯t exist. Or if it did, it would require so much essentia and other materials as to be undesirable to maintain for any length of time,¡± she waved a hand over the table and the illusion of wizards shoveling piles of essentia crystals into a kind of engine played out on the wood.


    ¡°So what doesn¡¯t it protect against?¡± I asked, smiling at the illusion.


    ¡°Sufficient elemental energy could momentarily breach it, but I made it to be self-closing even if that were to happen,¡± she said, waving the hand again and the illusion faded.


    ¡°This still sounds like an awful lot of power being needed to maintain this bubble,¡± I said.


    She froze for a solid moment, appearing to recognize what I had just deduced. After that moment, she sighed heavily and sagged, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward.


    ¡°I know I shouldn¡¯t admit this, but you¡¯re under contract so I am duty-bound to tell you,¡± she started.


    I simply nodded.


    ¡°Torquay magics don¡¯t always¡­ require an energy source. Or rather, don¡¯t rely on a fixed kind of energy source the same way that more conventional magic works. It¡¯s part of why we¡¯re not liked,¡± she explained.


    I nodded again, needing to know more.


    ¡°Conventional magic practitioners are more like batteries. They can only do so much before they run out of energy. Torquay practitioners don¡¯t have that problem,¡± she continued.


    ¡°They draw the energy from other sources,¡± I guessed.


    She didn¡¯t bother looking surprised, but there was a moment¡¯s hesitation.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking, yes,¡± she nodded.


    ¡°So where did you get the energy to make this place?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°All around. Extraplanar areas are¡­ well, they¡¯re not exactly empty, but they¡¯re not exactly full either,¡± she tried explaining.


    I distinctly got the impression she was not used to needing to explain all of this to anyone, let alone someone like me.


    ¡°So essentially there¡¯s a lot of¡­ free energy around and you used that to establish and power your bubble,¡± I stated, seemingly more fact than opinion.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded.


    ¡°How long ago was that and when did this issue start happening?¡± I continued.


    ¡°I first made the bubble 20 years ago. This has happened intermittently over the last 15, but has been getting worse of late. I can tolerate an errant plant now and again, but my gardeners are a different matter entirely,¡± she said.


    ¡°Is there any chance that you¡¯re that person blocking the stream and using all of it to the detriment of the folks downstream?¡± I asked.


    She took a full minute to consider this.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she finally admitted.


    ¡°And what would happen without the bubble?¡± I asked.


    ¡°My garden would cease to be. It would be like asking what would happen to Earth without atmosphere,¡± she said a bit more haughtily than I believe she meant to.


    I gathered my thoughts for a few moments and put on my best client-facing ¡®I¡¯ve got news that you won¡¯t like¡¯ face.


    ¡°So far, I can see it being one of three things: first, it could be some kind of errant discharge from your portal. Some kind of incompatibility between the energies maybe. Next, it may be a build-up of some kind of energy on your bubble that¡¯s reaching a kind of critical mass more and more regularly. This bubble acting as a kind of ¡®rock in the stream¡¯. And lastly, it might be something from the metaphorical downstream reaching out to get the flow going again.¡±


    She considered these thoughts, apparently giving this more directed thought than she¡¯d prefer to have to give it.


    ¡°The first is not impossible, but unlikely. The last is possible, but there¡¯s not a good way of countering it or them without knowing more. For the middle, let¡¯s argue that it is that. How do we deal with it then?¡± she decided.


    ¡°That depends on what we¡¯re prepared to and what we can plan for,¡± I said. ¡°Moving the stone will only do so much. It won¡¯t stop it from happening, but it might make it less of an issue, if my hunch is right and the little that I¡¯ve picked up about extraplanar mechanics today is confirmed.¡±


    ¡°That would be acceptable, but what would a more permanent solution entail?¡± she prompted, determined to get her saffron¡¯s worth out of me.


    ¡°That will depend on if moving the stone does anything. If it does, then we know and can prompt change. If it doesn¡¯t, then we know what didn¡¯t work,¡± I admitted, trial and error being common enough place in even the best troubleshooting.


    ¡°So what would you have me do?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You said you created this bubble permanently, but you never said if you tethered it in place,¡± I gestured slightly vaguely at our surroundings.


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t,¡± she said, her face showing her confusion.


    ¡°Except you did,¡± and pointed my finger at her portal.

 The Apartment (Ch 22)

    Let¡¯s see¡­. Ah yes, I was telling my¡­uh.. Well the neighborhood witch that she¡¯d likely created a kind of magical dam in an extraplanar region and so she¡¯d have to do something about it.


    Or at least that was my guess. Now we just had to figure out both the hard part and the easy part.


    The easy part would be switching off the portal. The problem was going to be A) knowing how long to leave it switched off and B) being able to reconnect.


    Unlike modern electronics, the magical community is rather¡­ slow about adopting certain technologies and patterns and so the concept of pairing (like most of us know about with bluetooth and wifi) was¡­ not exactly foreign, but definitely something that didn¡¯t come as a natural progression.


    So not only would the portal have to be reconfigured at the ¡®sending¡¯ end (thank Terra for what are effective 2-way wormholes - suck it SG1), said portal would have to have something to home in on. And given that Miss Skuld had never actually turned the portal off since she activated it, that made things extra problematic.


    But I was being paid in very expensive herbs, so it was on me to figure it out.


    As I said, first it needed switched off so it could be re-runed, which would take a few hours at a minimum and would require a bit of research to determine the right runes to create a means of ¡®pairing¡¯.


    Then those same new ¡®pair¡¯ runes would have to be added to this far side. This would help, but again, both would have to be offline and whomever was on the ¡®inside¡¯ would be stuck there until the portal was re-established. And guess who the lucky winner on that one was?


    Yeah, really¡­


    But again, that¡¯s how being a consultant works. Dirty jobs and at the mercy of clients who need your help, but given the circumstances, short of calling a few wizards who were better with runes, it was not going to be an easy solution regardless.


    ¡°How certain are you about my portal being the issue?¡± Miss Skuld asked as we looked at the arch that formed this side of the portal.


    ¡°Sufficiently based on what you¡¯ve told me that I¡¯d find it very hard to believe that it wouldn¡¯t impact something,¡± I replied, sipping on a cider she¡¯d thoughtfully provided from her garden¡¯s fermenters.


    ¡°And that¡¯s a tried and true technique is it?¡± she asked, rather more cheerfully than the harsh school mistress facade she normally wore.


    ¡°Oh yes. Turn it off and on again is practically the very first step. If you can replicate a problem after you¡¯ve done that, that¡¯s when you know you have a real problem,¡± I smiled slightly.


    ¡°Except we already know that it¡¯s a problem or have you forgotten my poor golems?¡± she seemed slightly hurt.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. But in short, it is a best standard practice at deliberately taking steps to fully reset a system from a base state or as close as you can get to it.¡±


    She considered this and nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to close my shop for the day then. I¡¯ll have to get some spellcasting ingredients and a tracer in case this doesn¡¯t work as simple as turning it off and on again,¡± her face already returning to the grey, neutral stone that was her normal.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to get some provisions and some camping equipment in case this takes longer than we expect,¡± I concurred with breaking for the day. ¡°Do you know if there¡¯s a good cross-planar communicator?¡±


    ¡°In theory, yes. But they are research institute issue only and they are exorbitantly expensive to operate, let alone borrow,¡± she said, matter-of-factly.


    ¡°How expensive are we talking?¡± I decided to ask before realizing it.


    ¡°Three 25 gram essentia crystals grade 8 or better per minute,¡± she said without even a pause.


    I swallowed heavily. That was the equivalent of my fee of saffron every 10 minutes. I could afford some luxuries and some back-ups, but nothing of that magnitude.


    ¡°Then I guess I¡¯ll just have to do without and we¡¯ll have to be adequately certain of the pairing runes,¡± I said, shrugging, trying to not imagine being lost in the extraplanar realm for an indefinite future.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can provide a means of making it auto apply. I don¡¯t know how good your runes are and I¡¯d hate to make this any harder than necessary in trying to guess between your runes and my own,¡± she said, in the tones of one who is already certain that your penmanship is not up to standard.


    Being fair, she was absolutely correct.


    I knew some about runes, but only enough to get into trouble. A bit like being able to read a bit of code, but not enough to actually fix it and more likely to just make a mess of it and/or break it.


    I finished the cider and set the wooden mug back onto the table where we had been sitting, pondering a solution.


    We rose as one and walked to the portal. I looked at it as closely as I could without my eyes watering. It seemed to be fairly standard, but was clearly formed by some very special vines which had the runes engraved on them. Certainly nothing I¡¯d want to have to try and recreate.


    She appeared to think for a moment at the edge of the portal and turned around, looking out at the garden.


    I turned with her, in case there was something my senses had missed.


    Seeing nothing, I turned to see what direction she was looking in. In doing so, I saw her raise her hands to full extent and a strange kind of warping seem to emanate from her fingertips.


    You know that heat waves on the road, making you see water at a distance? It was the same kind of strange bending of air and light, except up-close.


    Of course, being around a djinn who can leak fire from their fingertips when adequately upset, I was not overly concerned, but I knew better than to say anything until Miss Skuld was doing whatever it was she was doing.


    It took about 30 seconds, but the bending light faded and nothing appeared to have changed.


    ¡°May I inquire as to what you just did?¡± I asked as we turned back to the portal together.


    ¡°My golems will now protect you if it becomes necessary and they will respond, to a degree, if you command them,¡± she said.


    ¡°Protect me from what?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°From if you¡¯re wrong,¡± she said and we stepped through the portal.


    ¨C


    We said our goodbyes from there and I left through the front, deciding to hail a rideshare to the local sporting goods store that had a grocery next door.


    I thought hard about her last statement.


    I couldn¡¯t deny that she was right. I was effectively toying with magic concepts that didn¡¯t have to follow my simple baseline logic. And if there was some malicious force at play, it was someone either targeting her or potentially targeting me by proxy.


    Alternately, there was also the strong risk that in doing this, I could be stuck in her garden for days, week, or even months if we couldn¡¯t manage to do this right. At a minimum, someone of equivalent or better extraplanar skills would have to find me, create a portal to me (even a one-time portal would be problematic), have a homing signal to get us back to the right plane, and then portal us back. Such a specialist would be worth a lot more than me, but seeing as this was her garden and not lightly created, I didn¡¯t suspect that she¡¯d be looking to maroon me in extraplanar space.


    The rideshare was nice and quiet, which is always a benefit, and I wandered through the camping section of the sporting good store.


    For an outing like this, where good weather was a guarantee and I could probably get by with very simple items, the biggest challenge was going to be cooking and keeping anything cool.


    I hadn¡¯t asked whether it would be ok for me to have a small fire or not or if there was a means of refrigeration. I decided that the simplest answer would be no on both, at least for anything other than a root cellar or some equivalent (since she did have to keep the fermenters somewhere).


    And while essentia or similar powered ¡®field equipment¡¯ existed, that got expensive and was usually reserved for teams of wizards on expeditions.


    So MREs, dried/freeze-dried foods, and self-heating chemical packs were going to be my friends in this. Imperfect, but without having a better idea on what I was looking at, it was better than surviving on purely fruit and veg (which I know some people manage to do, but I¡¯m not them).


    Water wasn¡¯t going to be a problem and given the cider, neither was alcohol if I did end up there for days on end.


    Power could be a problem for entertainment, so I grabbed a small solar panel with USB charging and included battery.


    I decided on a camping hammock with straps instead of bolts and grabbed a few other odds and ends for hygiene. I thought the clerk was going to swallow their eyes at seeing my fully stocked cart and when I declined any bags, but they dutifully checked me out and I pushed the cart outside and around the corner, just enough to be out of line of sight of anyone except in the immediate before I started loading it all in my bag.


    Yes, that¡¯s right dear readers, I have a Mary Poppins/Dr. Who ¡®bigger on the inside¡¯/D&D ¡®bag of holding¡¯ backpack. And I love it. It¡¯s the first and best thing I invested in when I kicked off my fully independent consulting. Anything that goes in is stacked according to some kind of internal warehousing and if you go looking for something, the enchantment on the bag listens and will lift up whatever it is that you¡¯re asking for. I have a hard time believing that I¡¯ve never had anything like it before or what I would do without it.


    Once I finished up at the sporting goods, I decided to skip the grocery, since most of what I could come up with was items that either needed freezing/refrigeration or needed some kind of intense heat source. Since I would likely be lacking both, I would simply do without.


    Caffeine was going to be a ¡®problem¡¯ but I had some cold beverage instant caffeine type flavored water mix that I could get by on, so that was sound enough for me to press forward on.


    Another ride-share to the corner nearest the apartment and into the apartment I went, vanishing from the world outside and realizing that I hadn¡¯t gotten the herbs I¡¯d gone to Miss Skuld¡¯s to get in the first place.


    Oh well, my pasta with meatballs and marinara sauce would just have to do without.


    That is, until Lucy and Warren found out about my plan for the next day and possibly longer if things didn¡¯t go right. But I¡¯ll get to that later.


    For now, it¡¯s a beautiful day and I intend to spend it doing as little as possible.

 The Apartment (Ch 23

    Alrighty sports fans, I¡¯m back. As it turns out, when a wizard says they mean to send you on a long term expedition, they mean the equivalent of several decades and they become rather upset when you solve their mystery in a matter of weeks.


    But I get paid either way and I wasn¡¯t going to be there for longer than a month in any case.


    It¡¯s funny to see a grand wizard who has paid for long term leases of equipment and apprentices find out that you¡¯ve solved their mystery and had two pots of jasmine tea in an afternoon. All the usual steps - Anger, Denial, Mourning, and Acceptance.


    Well, the usual steps minus Bargaining. After all, my price was set out in the contract up front and if there¡¯s one thing wizards don¡¯t toy with lightly, it¡¯s contracts. I hear the wizard orc baliffs are anything but kind.


    So where was I¡­. oh that¡¯s right, about to go camping in Miss Skuld¡¯s pocket dimension/garden.


    As expected, Lucy was not a fan of me going to an extraplanar dimension without some way of getting back, but neither she nor Warren had any suggestions of what I could take for insurance on that count other than my firearm and everything I¡¯d already bought.


    Warren was as blank as ever, giving me the impression that he also disapproved, but wasn¡¯t going to be too open about it.


    I suspected that Warren wasn¡¯t a fan of witches and warlocks, but I would guess that this was more of a generic bias than a specific one against Miss Skuld. Not that this makes it any better, but a passive dislike/disagreement is a far cry from active harassment.


    ¨C


    The next afternoon, I went to Miss Skuld¡¯s house/shop and rapped lightly on the door (no, not that kind of rapping, I haven¡¯t got even a proper sense of rhythm to attempt that).


    Miss Skuld opened the door a few minutes later and ushered me inside, seeming a bit furtive, which, for her, was unusual.


    Her face seemed a bit strained, like she was running on caffeine and willpower. It was an odd look for her, given her usual composure.


    ¡°Were you able to get everything you needed?¡± I asked, deciding to focus on the matter at hand.


    ¡°I was. Here is the scroll you¡¯ll need for the garden side,¡± she said, pulling out a small roll that could easily have been a few sheets at most.


    To give you a relative idea of what I am used to, most scrolls tend to be actual proper scrolls - 20 inches across and 10-20 yards long.


    I didn¡¯t bother to hide my shock at seeing such a small scroll.


    ¡°Another benefit of being a witch. My scrolls don¡¯t need to be as large as most,¡± she commented, the hint of a smile lurking around her lips.


    ¡°What do I need to do to activate it?¡± I asked, taking it and unrolling it just a bit to see the runes within.


    ¡°Just thumb the marker after we¡¯ve disconnected the portal. The spell and the local essentia should take care of the rest,¡± she said, leading me rather quickly back to the portal. ¡°Are you fully prepared for this?¡±


    ¡°As ready as I¡¯ll ever be,¡± I said.


    ¡°Oh and take this also. It¡¯s no communicator, but it¡¯s what I could afford to borrow,¡± she said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a familiar science fiction looking hologram bee.


    I took it and looked at it. Plenty of runes that didn¡¯t make any sense to me and it seemed to glow a bit.


    ¡°A tracer?¡± I guessed.


    ¡°Quite so. At a minimum, I¡¯ll be able to put together a one way, one time use portal if I must, but I¡¯m going to hope it doesn¡¯t come to that. My garden has too much work put into it to abandon it now,¡± she nodded.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find a way to make it work. And if you need help, I can make a few calls before I go,¡± I offered.


    ¡°NO!.... Uh¡­ no, thank you,¡± Miss Skuld seemed very put off by the idea.


    ¡°More witch/torquay user stuff I¡¯m not a party to?¡± I continued guessing.


    ¡°Something like that yes. Also, most wizards aren¡¯t a fan of extradimensional portals in their backyard, so to speak. Especially semi-permanent ones.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. Well, let¡¯s get to work then,¡± I said and stepped through the portal.


    ¨C


    On the far side, the garden was almost exactly as we¡¯d left it. A small table and chairs had remained and a barrel of water with a small tap at the end rested nearby.


    The golems as one looked up to observe me for a moment and then went right back to their work. It was a little unnerving, but it helped if you thought about it like being in a robotic factory, where the robots can actually move and do more than just a singular task.


    It was still an impressive sight.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Certainly an industrial farm could provide far more in terms of quantity, but not in variety and quality. Between the various flowering plants/trees and just the sheer amount of greenery, it was hard to pick out just where the garden ended and the tree perimeter began.


    I stared for a long moment before wandering over to the table and set my bag down. At a minimum, I wouldn¡¯t have to worry too much about bad weather while I was here, but at the same time, I would still be stuck here if this wasn¡¯t as simple as we both hoped.


    Even with my time in the non-baseline world to date, I still know very little about the difficulties of magic, other than it being a lot like tech support from my side of things.


    It helped to be ignorant of an awful lot, but at the same time, it meant that I got a lot of exasperated looks when I needed an explanation for what I was seeing.


    There was a small sound, like the whisper of a well kept door hinge accompanied by the grinding of stone.


    I looked over and saw the portal by which I had entered was no longer glowing.


    I unrolled the scroll to its full size, about 6 feet long. It was done in a runic script I¡¯d never seen before, but it was immaculate.


    The marker was at the very bottom and was shaped like a very ornate doorbell. I might have laughed, but I¡¯d seen far more intricate versions on the many wizard scrolls that I¡¯d dealt with. This would be the first one I¡¯d activated without the help of an essentia crystal though.


    Thumbing the marker as Miss Skuld had mentioned, the scroll lit up and began to float away from my hands.


    Since this was unusual, but not entirely unexpected, I let go and stepped back a bit.


    The edges of the scroll seemed to catch fire, but without burning. The fire seemed to flicker almost tempermentally before beginning to stream to the portal¡¯s edges.


    If not for the intricate designs already present along the whole of the portal, I probably could have made out the changes that were being made by the fiery magic. As it was, all I could see was the flames burying themselves into the artistically formed wood and seeing the wood move in ways undreamed of by anyone save perhaps HR Giger or HP Lovecraft.


    It seemed almost impossible, but it kept going.


    After 10 minutes worth of the magic streaming into the portal and reconfiguring it, I decided to sit down with a wooden mug of water.


    The barrel of water proved to be ice cold and as delicious as any water I¡¯m ever likely to drink.


    It was almost odd to sit and watch the magic work, but there was nothing else for it. I had no idea how long this would take, so there was no point in being uncomfortable for the duration.


    After two hours, during which I read, drank more water than I should have, and worked out with one of the golems a bathroom solution, the stream of flames finished and the scroll rolled itself back up and dropped to the ground with a light ¡®plop¡¯.


    The portal remained silent and likely would for some time, I surmised, so I decided to continue reading.


    I¡¯d managed to locate a book some months prior, a treatise by ¡®The Winter Warlock¡¯ on torquay manipulation. I¡¯d picked it up on a whim (and because it was in the bargain bin at Rennet¡¯s).


    As it turned out, it was a rather well thought-out thesis on comparing torquay manipulation to ¡®standard¡¯ magics, pointing out the key differences as well as pros and cons between both. It even went into attempting to dispel some of the myths surrounding torquay manipulation.


    When Miss Skuld had mentioned it being an oversimplification of ¡®other magics¡¯, she wasn¡¯t kidding.


    The extraplanar manipulation chapter alone was nearly incomprehensible excepting that I had a LOT of experience with Prisms and so it made a kind of absolute sense.


    The extraplanar connections actually connected to N+1 type dimensions, and yet were all part of the same extraplanar dimension. The author described it as a kind of hypercube combined with Escher-esque sensibilities, which made perfect sense or seemed to.


    For your benefit, imagine a room built by Escher connected with other rooms in the same house, also built by Escher. In theory, you can get from room to room, but first you have to be able to leave the room you¡¯re in. And even if you can get to a different room, you¡¯re still in the same house and you¡¯re still just as internalized in this new room.


    And all of this assumes you can even find the room exits (or looping exits).


    Compared with standard plane concerns, it¡¯s wild, but having ventured into Prisms, I can honestly say that I¡¯m anything but surprised.


    Torquay powers in a non-extraplanar environment were actually pretty tame by comparison. Oh you still got fireballs, portals, and runic magic, but it was nowhere near as potent as a good rune wizard might be with the right kind of prep.


    A torquay witch or warlock could work the front lines or logistics, but a well equipped wizard could work an army.


    That said, torquay users were comparatively anomalous, appearing at semi-random in the population and often being frightened and alone when they started learning their abilities. Which is largely why when a torquay user starts wielding fireballs and summoning creatures from other realms, there¡¯s an understandable backlash by the baselines.


    This isn¡¯t to say that wizards don¡¯t have a similar problem, but given that their magic tends to be far more compartmentalized and generational, it¡¯s not unheard of for them to have some idea of what they are well in advance of coming into their magic.


    By the time I was about a third of the way through it (speed reading because I didn¡¯t want to get too bogged down in the details for the moment), I was starting to get hungry and the portal hadn¡¯t so much as flickered.


    Checking my watch, it was going on 5 hours since I¡¯d crossed over and the portal deactivated, so I decided some dinner was in order.


    I also decided that it would probably be worth going ahead and figuring out my sleeping accommodations.


    With the help of one of the golem gardeners, I got two posts with support arms sufficient to be able to strap my hammock up embedded near the table.


    The light showed no signs of darkening, so I decided to treat this like a trip to the Arctic during the midnight sun. I¡¯d never been, but I did my best to remember what little I could remember from my job hunting several years back before I joined the consulting firm (pre-Apartment times).


    It only took a few minutes to get my hammock set up and some food arranged. The helpful golem even brought me some fresh vegetables and fruit (some radishes and a bowl of golden cherries).


    Between that, the beef jerky, and two mugs of cider, I was certainly feeling quite comfortable in this place. It wasn¡¯t home, but it wasn¡¯t entirely like camping either. It almost felt too simple, but that was just my brain backfiring at the whole scenario.


    I finished out my evening listening to some punk-core and setting up the folding/roll-up solar cell that I¡¯d brought with.


    Sleep took me not long after and I remember dreaming about a windstorm on a submarine. No idea why, but it made dream logic sense.


    When the thunderclap erupted through the bubble and woke me from a dead sleep then, I was obviously far from prepared, but I managed to scramble for my firearm all the same. The golems all were staring in the same direction and started moving, some appearing to be guarding me, others moving towards whatever it was that they were sensing.


    I stared into the distance where the golems appeared to be heading and saw a flicker of something. Not like a flame, but also not like lightning. It wasn¡¯t something fast, but it also wasn¡¯t slow.


    What was obvious at least was that it wasn¡¯t Terran and that most likely meant trouble.

 The Apartment (Ch 24)

    So when I left off last, I was facing off with¡­ something or someone (at least in far as I understood) while temporarily stranded in Miss Skuld¡¯s pocket garden in the extraplanar realm.


    Based on the little bit of reading that I¡¯d managed to cram in, the extraplanar realm is considered to be a lot like the void between heliospheres/nebulas, etc. Comparatively empty and more often than not forgotten or ignored, but still filled with lots of general materials and dangers.


    The first part of that is most likely what allowed Miss Skuld to build her garden here. After all, as the meme says, it¡¯s free real estate. <eyebrow waggles>


    No, being fair, there¡¯s essentially minimal texts on extraplanar spaces and so equivalently, at least as far as Earth-side non-baselines are concerned, effectively no governance. That said, if an Earth-side non-baseline were to be caught using extraplanar spaces for illegal use, I doubt very much whether the associated authorities would care too much about the where it was happening vice the fact that it was happening.


    I suppose that¡¯s one benefit to the way their legal system works and the fact that it¡¯s a unified system instead of one broken up into hundreds of different facets and interpretations. Undesirable to be sure, given how slow the non-baseline communities can be to deal with baseline innovations/changes and even changes within their own communities, but certainly a bit better than dealing with extradition laws, etc.


    That said, there are other planes and other legal systems, but generally speaking, whatever realm you hail from is the legal system you are covered under.


    In theory this could lead to a alt-planar entity doing something that¡¯s legal by their standards and not by Earth-side standards, but that¡¯s something for the lawyers to fight about and one that is most often solved with banishment from a given realm.


    Anyway, enough about inter-realm legalities and back to the essentially living lightning or whatever it was that was in the garden bubble with me and the gardener golems.


    As previously noted, several of the golems had moved to be prepared to defend me and several others had moved to intercept the¡­ whatever it was.


    The not-quite lightning/not-quite a flame appeared to study the surroundings and the golems before coming to study me from a distance.


    It didn¡¯t appear immediately hostile, but rather confused by the surroundings, as though the Earth-like surroundings were unusually foreign to it.


    It did seem to understand what I was in terms of being a living being compared with the golems, but seemed confused by me all the same.


    The only reason I think I can say that is that after a semi-cursory glance at the golems, it appeared to focus on me. I do not have a good way of explaining how I determined this other than to say that something in my ¡®Seer¡¯ sense told me it was looking at me.


    While the golems moved to bar its progress, it appeared to ignore them, arc-stepping in predictable, but closing the distance to myself.


    It being a kind of lightning or appearing as such, it took me quite some effort to not raise the weapon in my hand.


    Since the Council gave it to me, I¡¯ve only had occasion to fire it twice and I was in no rush to use it again. And something about the¡­ being¡­ told me that it wasn¡¯t here to hurt, merely to understand.


    It appeared to arc-step through a golem at one point, leaving the golem shuddering a bit.


    ¡®Ah this is our culprit,¡¯ I guessed internally. ¡®Or at least one of them.¡¯


    Having closed the distance between myself and it, it stopped suddenly as the golems around me appears to change formation and began emitting a kind of energy.


    It took me a second of taking my eyes off the being to figure out what the golems were doing.


    The shiny ripple of a shield effect filling in around me was all the clue I needed. If nothing else, it appeared to provide all the information that the being needed. It considered me and the shield a bit longer and then seemed to wink out of existence.


    The golems held their position until I tapped one of them and asked for the shield to drop.


    The helpful golem from earlier indicated that the intrusion was over and apparently relayed this message to the other golems.


    The one that had been arc-stepped through seemed to continue shuddering and half-frozen in place. I asked the helpful golem to secure the hurt golem, both from themselves and from the garden.


    Together, the other golems surrounded the hurt one with a mix of stones and wood timbers. It seemed adequate.


    I¡¯m sure that Miss Skuld would not be happy at the loss of another gardener, but that was perhaps the price to be paid for knowing what I had just been a witness to.


    I returned to my camping set-up and set about some cold caffeine and checked the time. 4 am. Not enough time to get back to sleep properly, but too early for the likes of me. Perfect. I hate it.


    I wasn¡¯t ready for breakfast, so I settled on simply having some cold caffeine and listened as the gardeners went about their work.


    It still struck me as odd how silent this place was. No bird song, no whisper of wind (although there was a bit of wind that did come through every now and again), no insects (at least that I could hear). Just a kind of stifling silence that seemed to fill the ears with cotton and made every sound that did happen that much louder.


    I even turned down the sound level on my phone (which I noted was charging quite nicely with the solar charger that I¡¯d brought) to account for how quiet it was.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    I¡¯d like to say that I sat there alone with my thoughts in that stillness, but that¡¯d be a lie. I can only manage that kind of stillness and alone with my thoughts if I have a pipe of tobacco and a glass of whiskey. As I had neither, sitting still with thoughts was not going to happen.


    So I settled on an audiobook that I¡¯d been putting off, sipping my cold caffeine, and sitting back in my hammock, flipping absentmindedly through one of the non-baseline information books that I¡¯d brought, scanning for useful info or possibly hints of something that might let me offer new services.


    Not that I was lacking for work, but it never hurts to enhance the repertoire. After all, we can¡¯t rely on the wizards to always need an intelligent essentia void to help them out.


    I¡¯d like to pretend I didn¡¯t get bored of that too in short order, but that too would be a lie. I got restless and went back to the torquay treatise and started looking for any hints of what I¡¯d experienced. But as I¡¯ve mentioned before, extraplanar spaces, much like their governance, tend to be woefully ill-documented. Or at least ill-documented in the few books that I¡¯d been able to acquire at short notice.


    Nothing came up and I couldn¡¯t think of anything remotely similar that I¡¯d come across that would be even similar.


    Given how it had ¡®departed¡¯, it made me think that it wasn¡¯t actually a being, but rather some kind of¡­ drone or hologram. Something two-way that whomever was on the other end could find out what this place was/is without risking themselves.


    Given the comparative harmless effects of the golems themselves on it, that would make sense and would also explain a foreign energy impacting the local space.


    It was still a guess at most and there was a lot that I couldn¡¯t prove with it, but it was something to go on.


    I called over the helpful golem (still no idea how I managed to pick it out compared with the others, but that¡¯s how it works I guess).


    ¡°Can you allow me to talk with the¡­ intruder next time?¡± I asked.


    Via some hand gestures and some diagraming in the dirt, the short answer that I got from the golem was ¡®no¡¯. The longer answer got back to the limited programming for protection, not translation that Miss Skuld had left behind.


    I wasn¡¯t thrilled with that answer, but it was expected. And then I remembered what a huge lootwhore I am and dug into my bag. Among the many pockets, I finally found what I was looking for - a translator ring. As long as I wore it, I could understand almost any language - there being some obvious exceptions, but they weren¡¯t common enough to warrant inclusion in the enchantment (at least not unless one wished to spend the extra essentia crystals, which I hadn¡¯t run into the need to do.


    ¡°Can you protect me while I talk to it when it comes back?¡± I tried instead.


    The golem indicated that that would be acceptable and possible under the current directives, pointing to the directives scrawled in the dirt.


    I had no reason to believe it would come back based on it having ¡®met¡¯ me, but at the same time, I had no reason to believe that it wouldn¡¯t be back.


    As it turned out, about noon or so my phone believed (the light level having changed not at all), as I was deciding on my pick of nuts, bread, fresh fruit, and veggies, the sky seemed to shudder and ripple ahead of a renewed crack of thunder.


    Every golem still free immediately moved as they had previously, half moving towards the point of intrusion and the other half moving to protect me.


    ¡°Guide the intruder towards me,¡± I ordered.


    The helpful golem appeared to consider this, but accepted the order, communicating this by unseen means and the golems surrounding me spun up their energy shield. The others began to form a kind of tube, at the far end of which the not-flame/not-lightning flickered. It was larger this time and seemed more substantial, but still did not seem to know what to make of me.


    It did seem to understand that it was to come directly towards me, not through the golems and so it closed the distance, stopping at a reasonable distance in advance of the shield and seeming to ignore the energized, but passive golems around it.


    I held up my hand with the translation ring on it and the¡­ whatever it was seemed to understand.


    The sound of a tesla coil filled my ears for a moment before the translation ring kicked in.


    ¡°...are you that you use this place without regard for others?¡± came the translated demand.


    From the context, I could guess that this was some ¡®downstream¡¯ being who was unhappy about the damming effect that the bubble created.


    ¡°I am a representative to the creator of this space, not the creator of this space,¡± I decided to open with.


    The not-lightning seemed to consider this and ignore it.


    ¡°You have caused damage, issues, casualties because of carelessness. This space¡­ ours,¡± it stated.


    ¡°Incorrect. This sphere of space has been claimed rightfully by the primary creator of this space. There is no governance to counter this claim unless you wish to submit this to a primary realm legal system,¡± I hate to play that card, but it seemed the safest tact to take.


    ¡°Negative. This space¡­ ours. Vacant, disperse, relent,¡± It said.


    ¡°On what authority or basis do you make that claim?¡± I tried.


    A bolt of energy struck out from the not-lightning and impacted the shield, which flickered for a moment and then stabilized.


    I gestured to the firearm on my hip.


    ¡°Might does not make right. If you attempt that again, I will defend myself,¡± I said simply.


    The not-lightning appeared to flicker a bit extra as though frustrated with me.


    Silence aside from the grinding sound of the intruder¡¯s existence reigned for a minute.


    ¡°Is there a compromise you will accept? This bubble is moving now,¡± I decided to try moving the conversation along.


    ¡°Compromise¡­ no. Relinquish. Threat not accepted as valid,¡± it said.


    A second bolt of energy hit the shield which did more than flicker this time but fully died for a solid second before coming back.


    ¡°Understand that I do this only to maintain my own existence,¡± I said, unholstering the firearm and pointing it at the not-lightning.


    It was at this point the wards on the firearm kicked in and the not-lightning seems to get a bit of a hunted look, as though understanding what the firearm was and just how trapped it was as the golems around it spun up their shields, protecting themselves from the not-lightning.


    ¡°Threat¡­ invalid,¡± it said, as a kind of statement as though it believed that I was not going to defend this space against it.


    I didn¡¯t bother to respond other than to pull the trigger.


    The not-lightning appeared to shatter and the translation in my ears simply muted as the shards each individually apparently screamed incoherently before shattering further out of existence.


    I lowered the firearm and put it back in the holster.


    ¡°Threat eliminated, return to normal status,¡± I instructed the golems and they returned to their duties.


    Given the timeline between the two and the expected recovery time of whatever it was on the far end of the¡­ drone, assuming I hadn¡¯t just killed whatever it was, I probably had several hours until the next appearance. That meant I had some time to hope that Miss Skuld would get the portal working.

 The Apartment (Ch 25)

    It took more than a few hours before the portal started flickering again, but the not-lightning hadn¡¯t returned as yet.


    I still wasn¡¯t certain of what to make of it. It seemed to be some kind of entity of the realm, but at the same time wasn¡¯t. Or at least didn¡¯t seem like it.


    The fact that it/they had resorted to violence to make a claim to the space at least indicated that they weren¡¯t all that dissimilar from the average baseline.


    The language barrier could present a problem, but with any luck, I would be able to tell Miss Skuld about it and leave it to her to solve. Although, knowing my luck, she wouldn¡¯t be able to see it and so I¡¯d be stuck acting as a seeing-eye aide and potentially man-in-the-middle translator.


    Since the golems could see it or react to it at least, that helped, but they were still highly susceptible to whatever it/they were.


    But as I mentioned, the portal started to flicker. Having been stuck here for over two days (I know I know, hardly any time at all), I was ready to get back to my email, my alcohol, and my djinn and werewolf neighbors. I didn¡¯t realize how much I¡¯d gotten used to the two of them being around until this point. And it wasn¡¯t as though it were a major shift. Just¡­ dull in their absence.


    Unlike the clean silvery light that the portal had been previously, this portal was a quarter of the full dimensions and seemed to spark and fizz with a reddish light. It was maintained for a solid minute before a scroll was ejected through it and it died away a minute later.


    I opened the scroll or I should say scrolls. The first was a note to me. The other was apparently another prepared spell.


    Sam


    - We¡¯re working to get the portal going again, but the pairing mechanism doesn¡¯t seem to be working. We¡¯re going to open a temporary link to get this message and additional linking scroll to you. There seems to be some kind of interference. Not sure if there¡¯s anything happening on your end. No way to be sure that you¡¯ll be the one to get this, but hopefully you¡¯re still safe. If we can get the spells to pair, we¡¯ll try another connection in two hours. Please use your scroll before then.


    -Miss Skuld


    I unrolled the spell scroll and found it to be as incomprehensible as ever. Even with all my experiences to date with rune magics, I still had no idea what/how it all worked other than executing a code like a computer program. A code that I had no idea how to read or use if it failed.


    There was also a small essentia crystal to allow me to cast it.


    To date, I¡¯ve only ¡®cast¡¯ about 15 spells. In each case, I was given an essentia crystal and specific instructions on how to use it for the purpose of the spell.


    Perhaps the strangest one was where I was told to chew on it like a lifesaver or a jawbreaker, swallow it, wait 30 seconds, and then whistle Beethoven¡¯s 3<sup>rd</sup>. I did say it was strange.


    Any way around it, here I was again. No particular rhyme or reason on this, but the job needed doing.


    I went with the most common method and crushed the essentia crystal in my hand as I chanted a fairly standard incantation of ¡®code execution¡¯ (otherwise known as a kind of ¡®run program.exe¡¯ except wrapped in a bit of flowery language and including some words that were probably from languages that were so dead that even history had forgotten the language had even existed.


    I say that because I¡¯ve definitely tried to figure out what I¡¯ve been saying half the time and only about 9/10s is actually translatable, at least by any modern means (including my translation ring). The strange words seem to be important, but not specific to being of a known language or as being something the ring can translate seemed to put that both in doubt and call attention to them.


    I¡¯m sure if I spoke with the Council, I could probably get an explanation, but so far, I¡¯m perfectly happy to keep my involvement with them to a minimum.


    Oh right, the scroll.


    It more or less dissolved from my hands, acting like a kind of living flame, except with the coloration and appearance of an oceanic foam.


    It flowed to the portal and began making small changes all around. It wasn¡¯t obvious what all was happening, but whatever needed to happen was happening.


    The remnants of the essentia crystal evaporated as they normally did when they were used up and so I was left holding the message scroll that the other scroll had arrived with.


    The foam didn¡¯t seem to be stopping, but for all I knew, it would be doing this until the portal reconnected. Trying to connect from both sides perhaps. It would certainly make it easier if you can listen for an outgoing signal and connect that way when you have something to lock onto.


    I wandered back over to my hammock and tried to decide if I wanted to read more, listen to another audiobook, or if I wanted to eat¡­ again.


    My supplies weren¡¯t short and there was certainly plenty of garden supplies. I just wasn¡¯t hot on the idea of eating my weight in cherries, blueberries, and golden raspberries (even if I could).


    And there were reasonable limits on what I felt like I could do.


    It felt so weird to be so disconnected. Not impossibly, but a kind of marooned kind of disconnected. Even if it was only for a few days.


    And frankly the golems weren¡¯t much for company. As near as I could work out, none of them was programmed for much beyond defense of the space and the necessary skills to garden and store the various fruits of their labors.


    I considered this last bit for a long moment before deciding on what I would do.


    I would have a drink. Or maybe three. With any luck, in about two hours, the portal would re-open, I could debrief on the not-lightning, and see about a bacon cheeseburger, onion rings, and an extra tall beer (or maybe even a Long Island).


    Asking the one golem who had been my kind of ¡®point of contact¡¯ for a large mug of wine or cider got a slightly confused look (at least as far as a chunk of wood with vines on it can get). I handed over the mug that Miss Skuld had given me previously and asked to have it refilled with an alcoholic beverage.


    This was still met with confusion as though there was some additional command or statement needed.


    I tried asking what the problem was.


    The problem was a matter of choice.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    As it turned out, if you could make alcohol out of it, Miss Skuld had had the golems do just that with almost anything that was about to spoil. As a result, there was nigh on a ridiculous amount of choices. That being said, we¡¯re not talking about a space with near infinite space (well, not exactly, but I won¡¯t get into that). So it wasn¡¯t as many choices as you might think and she hadn¡¯t had too many years to build it up. But still¡­


    So that was how I ended up selecting a pomegranate and mango wine that had been cask aged for the last three years.


    Yes it was delicious and no I won¡¯t detail how strong it was other than to say that after a full mug, I had trouble standing up.


    I still managed it when I saw the sky of the garden flash again and the golems go into alert mode.


    Checking my watch, I still had another fifteen minutes before Miss Skuld had said they would try again.


    Having severely steady nerves, I walked to where I had stood before, allowing the golems to surround me and spin up their shields once again as some sort of not-lightning once again appeared.


    This one seemed different though. It moved less like lightning and more like a flame. More stable, but still very flighty. It was also more substantial compared with the previous entity. It appeared to recognize me and approached, stopping a reasonable distance away and making no apparent moves to attack.


    ¡°Are you returned or are you another?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡­ am another. Student came before. Master now,¡± was the translated crackle of flames that filled my ears.


    ¡°I apologize for any harm that came, but they did threaten me,¡± I decided to try and stick with diplomacy.


    ¡°You not creator of this place,¡± it said more than asked.


    ¡°I am not. I represent them though,¡± I said in earnest.


    ¡°This realm. Free flow of magic. Oceans of current. Current blocked. Overflow damages. Seeking solution. This place problem. Current flowing again. Different problem,¡± it indicated, seeming to be working to simplify what it could in order to communicate with me.


    ¡°Do you seek this place to be anchored to stop the new flow problem?¡± I asked.


    It appeared to think for a long moment, in as much as a flame can appear to think before flashing green for a moment.


    ¡°No,¡± it said. ¡°Flow necessary. Assurance of no anchor future want.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a user of this realm so I cannot give that assurance. The primary creator is attempting to do just that,¡± I tried.


    ¡°Satisfactory. Student injured. Recovery expected. Damage unexpected. Cause?¡± it simplified again.


    I gestured to my holster. The not-a-flame looked at it but didn¡¯t appear to know what it was.


    ¡°Explain,¡± it indicated.


    ¡°A weapon of my realm, enhanced with magic. Intended to hurt, not kill,¡± I said, also simplifying.


    The not-a-flame seemed to take this rather well (or as near as I could tell).


    ¡°Student say fear making. Death maker,¡± it responded.


    ¡°Magic fear making,¡± was my simplified response. It seemed odd that I was getting used to this method of speaking so quickly, but it was working and that was good enough.


    ¡°When place creator come again?¡± it asked after a few moments consideration.


    ¡°Very soon,¡± I said and gestured at the dormant portal gateway.


    ¡°I wait,¡± it said, rather matter of factly. ¡°Guards not needed,¡± remarking about the golems as though they had been noticed, but immediately dismissed.


    I asked the golems to withdraw a little and to lower their shield. They obeyed and took two steps back, their energy shields falling away, but their gaze never leaving the intruder.


    The not-a-flame and I observed one another for another five minutes before the portal crackled, drawing our mutual attention.


    The portal crackled like a log on a fire before humming into a silvery sheen which slowly filled the whole of the portal gateway, the ocean foam finally falling away, revealing all new features beneath it. The sound of the portal died and the silvery surface stabilized.


    Although the first person to come through the portal wasn¡¯t Miss Skuld. It was Lucy.


    Lucy seemed hesitant, trying to gather her senses and trying not to leak fire, something she only did when she was upset. She spotted me and the not-a-flame separated by apparently not enough and she raced over to me, her fists flaring with near primal energy. She was clearly ready to defend me from this not-a-flame.


    Miss Skuld¡¯s entrance was barely noticeable by comparison. She arrived, spotted the trio of us immediately and moved like a queen in her palace. She paid me no mind, but appeared to be trying to figure out what the not-a-flame was.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked it.


    A word or sound that my translation ring had no idea what to do with was passed, but Miss Skuld and Lucy seemed to understand it.


    ¡°This is my space and I have created a kind of moving anchor to this place,¡± she said.


    ¡°Anchor bad. Moving good. Flow problem. Preventing study,¡± the not-a-flame said.


    ¡°I understand and I didn¡¯t realize when I created this place. Since we¡¯re still moving, this shouldn¡¯t be an issue now,¡± Miss Skuld said, perhaps more apologetically than I¡¯d have expected from someone who looks like they might rap your knuckles for writing with your left hand.


    ¡°Assurance of movement,¡± the not-a-flame Master said.


    ¡°I will assure it as well as I can. This portal is to do just that,¡± she gestured at the portal.


    The not-a-flame Master looked at the portal again.


    ¡°Adequate. More talk needed for future,¡± it said.


    ¡°I can support that. We will need to work out a schedule,¡± Miss Skuld indicated.


    Some more words passed that my ring ignored.


    This time though, Lucy responded, in more words that my ring ignored. Her fists were no long wreathed in flame, but she was still very much on edge.


    The not-a-flame seemed to understand though.


    ¡°Meeting to have with this one,¡± it said, gesturing at me.


    ¡°Why me?¡± I interjected, feeling like I was missing a lot of the conversation.


    ¡°Strong. Independent. Valuable,¡± was the response.


    ¡°They, uh¡­ recognize you as a primary liaison, being semi-independent and valuable to both sides in keeping diplomacy,¡± Lucy whispered to me.


    ¡°I suppose I can accept that,¡± I said aloud, without intending to.


    ¡°Good. Then we accept,¡± Miss Skuld announced. ¡°Please do not damage my golems anymore.¡±


    ¡°Damage unintentional. Student causing problem. Nothing further,¡± was the reply and the not-a-flame seemed to diminish with a kind of pop that one expects when removing the plunger from a wet, but drained toilet.


    The golems relaxed and returned to their duties after a moment and so too did Miss Skuld and Lucy relax.


    ¡°So, anyone want to tell me what all that was?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°I think we all need a stiff drink before we go into that,¡± Miss Skuld announced and gestured to one of the golems. No words were exchanged, so I can only guess that she made a selection from the spirits via her gesture and some kind of magic that wasn¡¯t immediately obvious.


    ¡°No kidding,¡± Lucy said, nearly collapsing onto the nearby bench.


    ¡°Already ahead of you. That pomegranate and mango wine packs a punch,¡± I commented.


    ¡°It should. I trained the yeast myself,¡± Miss Skuld said, sitting down opposite Lucy and gesturing for me to sit alongside her.


    After our drinks had arrived and as a group, we¡¯d consumed at least a third each, Miss Skuld opened the floor.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say that I¡¯d ever expect to run into one of your kind out here,¡± Miss Skuld said.


    I was confused for a long moment before Lucy spoke up.


    ¡°I can¡¯t remember the last time I even heard of a discorporeal djinn, let alone one living in a place like this,¡± Lucy replied, a healthy (or perhaps unhealthy were she baseline) way through her mug of the pomegranate-mango wine.


    ¡°Did it say anything to you previously?¡± Miss Skuld asked me.


    I relayed the meeting with the ¡®student¡¯ that had been described and how it had acted and what my translation had gotten. Moving on, I went through all of what the ¡®master¡¯ had indicated. The looks on Lucy¡¯s and Miss Skuld¡¯s faces were a mixture of grim and surprise.


    ¡°Have you ever heard of a discorporeal djinn colony or school?¡± Miss Skuld asked Lucy. Lucy simply shook her head.


    ¡°Then it seems we have found a new pseudo center for them. They seem organized, but potentially problematic,¡± Miss Skuld surmised.


    ¡°Discorporeal djinn are dangerous. Little more than outlaws living on the ragged edge. It seems impossible they would live in a place like this,¡± Lucy retorted as a golem refilled her mug.


    ¡°And yet these are organized and willing to make a deal. A deal which we are already fulfilling,¡± Miss Skuld calmly replied.


    Lucy didn¡¯t like that response, but didn¡¯t have anything to say back.


    ¡°So what does that mean for me?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It means that at a minimum, you and I need to visit here once a month and meet with this ¡®master¡¯ as you call them. It will likely be more negotiations or even just a kind of status meeting, but if it saves me the trouble of needing to create lightning proof garden golems, I¡¯m ok with that,¡± Miss Skuld said.


    ¡°Sam. Please. Don¡¯t agree to this. Discorporeal djinn are dangerous,¡± Lucy clearly wasn¡¯t happy about any of this.


    ¡°Lucy, I can defend myself. I did so once already,¡± I said, tapping my holster.


    Lucy appeared to think about it for a long moment, but didn¡¯t have an immediate reply.


    ¡°Miss Skuld, as much as I¡¯ve enjoyed your hospitality in this realm, I think I¡¯m ready to return back to civilization,¡± I said standing up, if somewhat unsteadily.


    ¡°I understand. Let¡¯s get you packed up and back. You and I will almost certainly be seeing enough of each other very shortly,¡± Miss Skuld nodded, finishing her mug and standing up.


    It took another 15 minutes to get my gear stuffed back into my bag of holding, but when we stepped back through, we were all once again in Miss Skuld¡¯s shop.


    I seem to recall I have another few stories to tell, but I¡¯ll have to sort through my NDAs and see which ones are probably going to be most interesting. After all, being the equivalent of an IT help desk for wizards isn¡¯t exactly exciting, but it definitely pays the bills.


    Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯m going to attempt some saffron wine.

 The Apartment (Ch26)

    Ok so it''s been a hot minute. Business got really busy and I still have a few stories to tell (along with a new one that is the feature for today).


    The saffron wine (I know, what kind of troglodyte am I, right?) is still fermenting and even when its done, I''m probably going to need to age it for a year, so who knows what it''ll taste like in the end. I''m just hoping it doesn''t taste like soap.


    My roommate has become ever so annoying, but more on them either later or in a future edition. For right now I want to tell you about the recent Council job.


    So I''ve mentioned the Council a bit. They''re your standard science fiction/fantasy council. Members of each group vie with each other over various resources, territories, legal matters, and are for the most part useless except for keeping the status quo. I know. I''m not a fan either, but given the general need for secrecy around magic and werewolves and all, I get it.


    I mean... I''ve seen the ugly heads of racism and transphobia waving proudly in the wind when I go for a walk, so I figure the last thing we (the world) needs is to start getting into magic vs anti-magic folks. And especially since I''d be really REALLY caught in the middle as a Seer.


    Although the conspiracy theorists would probably have a ball with the centuries old Council working secretly behind the scenes of the Baseline world.


    Anyway, enough on that. I got a call to come to the Council chambers. Being the one and only Seer and them being the governance as well as police, judge, and jury, it''s a bit like getting a Congressional subpoena. You can technically ignore them, but it really won''t go well for you if you try it. And the Council has the ways and means to make you show up (unlike a Congressional subpoena) whether you happen to be in the shower or half-way around the world conducting an important experiment.


    I technically had 6 hours in which to respond, so I took my time getting cleaned up, put on a reasonable suit as well as having a working ''go bag'' at my side, grabbed a quick bite, and walked down to the street where, mystical magic indeed, a Council coach was waiting. Seriously though, I have no idea how they do it or why they seem to send them for me, but I''ve just stopped questioning it. A short 30 minute ride in an admittedly comfortable coach (comparable to riding in the back of a Bentley or so I''m told) and we were there.


    Now you''d probably expect the Council chambers to be ostentatious old school or in a skyscraper or something similar. You know, the kind of thing that can be done when you have centuries to work with, alchemy, and magic to deal with all the fiddly bits.


    You''d probably never expect it to be a rather understated pub in the south of France, squished between a cafe and a bakery. I know I know. A bit cliche, but hey, cliches have to start somewhere and who knows- maybe this is where they got it from.


    Given that the interior mostly presents as the standard old world pub that was founded and built ~1069, it''s every bit as dark, dingy feeling, and not someplace for tourists. No, for the most part, the tourists get kept out on the pavement, sipping the admittedly great house wine and perhaps having a light snack before pressing on to somewhere else. So the arrival of my coach wasn''t unnoticed, but given its normal appearance to the area as well as the glamours involved, I was just another visitor.


    Once inside, there''s a door in the far back off to the side with a three-way lever and a catch. Think if you will on the door to Howl''s Moving Castle. Similar, but a bit less user friendly. Which is probably a smart idea given that the average tourist or local still wouldn''t be welcome in Council Chambers.


    The staff know me and so wave me through and one even gets the door for me. I always try and have a glass of wine and tip (heckin American, am I right?) before I head home, so I like to think I''m reasonably welcomed. Although that might just be good customer service.


    Through the door is effectively a two-way wormhole/portal to the actual Council chambers, which should put you in mind of something out of a Tolkienian dwarf city. Yes, it''s a very very well crafted set of rocky chambers buried into the rock of the French Alps. This effectively makes it impregnable and nigh impossible for baselines to find even if they have some kind of hint (or at least without modern technology and even that''d be a challenge). And yes this also means that once you''re inside, you''re effectively trapped and so is everyone else. So the security, essentia damping, spell trapping, and just about every other measure that can be taken is present.


    For wizards, that means that just being in the Council chambers is exhausting because you''re constantly losing essentia at a low but noticable rate. For werewolves, it means transformation is impossible (and your immunities and strength are brought down to baseline levels). For the djinn, it means elemental warding on everything to the point that even a mega blast of Lucy''s fire would probably not even singe the odd errant hair on the floors. For orcs and trolls, they''re put onto the same baseline specs as werewolves. Even vampires are brought to heel by the magic involved.


    So it''s rather funny to me in going to the Council chambers because all that fancy warding and magic essentially brings everyone else to my level. That said, they aren''t so moribundly paradigm locked as to ignore the obvious. Or at least they aren''t entirely that way anymore.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    My first trip to the Council chambers saw to that and every trip since they''ve been improving. Why - you might ask. Because as prepared as they are for swords, magic, and generic strength of arms more at home in the 1600s (and even simple muskets and all), they were woefully underprepared in terms of neutralizing the rather more modern weaponry (no, not firearms, I''m talking about all those ones that are or have been a matter of high warcrimes or Mutually Assured Destruction). But as I mentioned, they''ve been getting better. And the security checkpoint, while looking like a club entrance with a set of bouncers who were probably gargoyles and the only beings not under the impact of the magic dampening, is every bit of detection and neutralization as is possible.


    That said, they have given me express permission, on occasion, to test the security measures. And they pay rather well for it too. After all, if I can do it, then they know they have a problem because there''s still enough unhappy members of the non-baseline community who would put realistically more thought and effort into making it happen. But that gets back to the problem of their status quo, so it''s neither here nor there, at least for this particular trip.


    The gargoyles like to see me too. I''m not sure why, but they''re apparently friendlier to me than anyone else. Even the Council members and the support staff.


    Stepping through the checkpoint and hearing the scans going at the top of my hearing range and finding nothing, the inner door opens and I enter the fine but rocky chambers beyond. I''m more of an Art Nouveau type myself, so while I can appreciate the Art Deco approach to the stone cut-outs, it''s not really within my taste.


    An aide, a short woman (whom I know to be a werewolf entirely unrelated to Warren or his ''betrothed'') is waiting for me there. As we walk to the chamber where my attention is apparently needed, we talk about the latest transformation sonic dampener that''s been making its way through the werewolf community. Apparently, it''s so successful that it''s a wonder Warren and his family haven''t been charging more and using it as a political means to elevate their house. Much of the werewolf community is waiting for that shoe to drop and they refuse to believe it isn''t coming.


    I grin a little bit inside because the royalties for my improvements may be small, but well worth every bit invested. After all, since I''m working for myself now, I''ve got to have something stashed away for retirement. And while I do now qualify for the non-Baseline equivalent of a pension/social security, I don''t mind having a bit extra to ensure I''m adequately comfortable.


    Just as we''re about to reach the chamber, a faint glimmer catches my eye. I''m getting used to not ignoring those, usually because it''s a sign that my ''Seer sight'' has noticed something. And anything that''s faint like that usually means that it''s some kind of glamour, typically something high grade. As such, I stop in my tracks and look in that direction. A section of stone wall is there with no distinguishing features.


    Did I mention cliche? Yeah. There''s a lot of folks who can''t get past the obvious.


    So what do I do? What I do best of course. I walk right up to the glamour, the glimmer of which is seeming more obvious by the moment and reach through it to.... a bit of wood. To the aide, I guarantee that it appeared that I walked up to a stone wall and managed to stick my hand straight into the wall without apparent effort or magic. Given this, she whistled very loudly. Within a matter of moments, we had three Council members: 1 wizard who could have been a high school principal, a troll who''d have looked at home in a viking battle tale, and a woman who was probably a vampire and loved the stereotype; as well as two gargoyles and a djinn for security.


    "Why is there a glamour here?" I asked.


    Shaken heads all around and more or less a general agreement that a glamour shouldn''t be possible this far into the chambers, especially a stable permanent one.


    The vampire probed the apparent rock wall glamour and found it to be utterly hard.


    To say this was confusing to everyone but me (albeit not unheard of though) would be an understatement.


    So, I continue to make a mess of things, and to my best to stick my head through the surface to see what kind of structure I''m dealing with. It''s a door with a very antique looking handle (think polished cast iron). Unfortunately for everyone else, the door appears to swing inward. I go ahead and try the handle. The door opens easily with nothing discernable on the other side. I relay this to the increasing number of folks standing around me as I''m half inside the wall glamour, half out.


    "Our business will wait. Find out where this door leads first," the wizardly principal states matter-of-factly.


    Hefting my bag onto my shoulder, I stroll on through the door and into a kind of vaguely white space - a bit of that vaguely interdimensional gradient when science fiction shows or fantasy shows are trying to save on the graphics effects budget and depict either a mental space or something heavenly/beyond ''mortal'' comprehension.


    After a few moments waiting in place, the door shutting itself behind me, but remaining in place, a desk and attendant coalesce in front of me.


    "Good day, sir. Checking in, I presume?" the attendant smiled.


    It took me several seconds to register the attendant, primarily because each time I blinked, the attendant changed to a different person. In one eyeful they were an old man with liver spots, in another they could pass for an adult film star, and in further blink, a middle aged woman who''s name could only be Karen.


    "I''m afraid not. Could you tell me where I am?" my mouth managed to automatically engage while my brain worked on the mystery of the attendant.


    "I''m not permitted to provide that information without knowing more about yourself, sir," the attendant said smoothly.


    "Sam Evermore, Prime Plane Terran, Council authorized Seer," my mouth responded, still on automatic, my brain trying to comprehend the now lithe young man dressed in a running outfit of some kind.


    "Very good, sir. And what year?" the attendant asked.


    "I''m sorry?" I managed out of reflex.


    "What year are you coming to us from?" the attendant repeated.


    "2023."


    "By which calendar, sir?" the attendant continued.


    This one took a bit longer for my brain to process.


    "European Gregorian," I tried.


    The attendant looked at a pad which hadn''t been there a moment previous and frowned slightly, their elderly face covered in wrinkles.


    "I''m sorry, but I don''t have that point of reference available. Do you have an alternate calendar measurement available?" the attendant asked.


    Already I could tell that this would be a rather interesting adventure. I only hoped that I would be able to get back, ideally with answers.

 The apartment (Ch 27)

    So where was I? Oh right. Standing in front of an attendant who wasn¡¯t the same from blink to blink, trying to figure out how to tell them what time period I¡¯m from.


    ¡°For my own frame of reference, could you give me any usable calendars to pick from?¡± I tried.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, sir. Without knowing more about your specific plane and time period, I might accidentally contaminate the timeline,¡± a child of some sort said (and I categorize them as that, because it wouldn¡¯t matter in the next blink anyway).


    I thought for a long minute. I hadn¡¯t run into temporal shenanigans as yet, but I suppose it was only a matter of time. Magic being magic and all.


    On a whim, I reached into my bag and pulled out my ever useful translator ring and put it on.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that is unlikely to work here, sir,¡± the attendant, now a ¡®girl-next-door¡¯ with outfit to match, said smoothly.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try it anyway. 2023 A.D by European Gregorian Standard,¡± I smiled and said again.


    The face of the attendant was one of shock, a look that persisted between forms. They¡­ it¡­ whatever kept looking at me rather disturbed.


    ¡°Did I say something wrong?¡± I probed.


    ¡°I¡­. I simply haven¡¯t heard ANYONE use that timescale in all my time here,¡± the attendant admitted after a long moment and a return of the customer service composure.


    ¡°I am going to presume you mean the standard that my translator provided, not me,¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Yes, yes of course. May I see it?¡± the lizardman who most certainly wasn¡¯t from a famous spacefaring TV show asked.


    I held out my hand and the lizardman come dryad waved their hands (or what I¡¯ll presume were their hands) over the ring and a series of energized runic rings seemed to materialize in the air over it, moving with my hand.


    ¡°Ah¡­ I see¡­. So simple and yet¡­ so versatile. How strange though¡­ this shouldn¡¯t work for you. Why does it?¡± the golem attendant asked.


    I simply pointed to a small crystal placement on the band, rather than explain.


    ¡°Ah Essentia. But crystalline. Why? Oh. I see, you have an Essentia charge, but you do not generate it. How facinating. I must speak internally about acquiring something similar,¡± the man who could have passed for any number of adult movie stars said (as he lacked the clothing to match).


    ¡°Now where were we?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh, yes. Checking you in. How long will you be staying with us?¡± the fantasy court wizard attendant asked.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning to stay. I was asked to investigate where this was since I was the only person who could see how to reach here, where-ever this is,¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°Ah, an accidental arrival. They do happen on occasion. You are¡­ in simplest terms, you are nowhere and everywhere, but you are also nowhen and everywhen. This is a place of all times, no time, and everytime. It was never been, never is, and never will be, but has always been, always is, and ever shall be,¡± the attendant rattled off with amazing speed.


    Luckily, I¡¯m used to clients rattling off technical information like this, so my mind was already hard at work in dissecting the whole of the statement, even if I wasn¡¯t entirely aware of it.


    We stood in silence for a few moments as I digested this. As I said, my first experience with temporal shenanigans.


    ¡°What happens if I walk back through the way I entered?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You will presumably be returned to your own timeline in your previous starting location,¡± the attendant said, a bit hesistantly.


    ¡°But?¡± I knew there was more to it.


    ¡°But there is some room for error, so returning you to precisely when and where is a matter of fine determination. And most beings who reach us here do not desire to simply return. Most prefer to end up some other when or some other where.¡±


    ¡°Not accounting for standard time lapse, of course,¡± I commented, trying a bit of levity.


    ¡°That depends on the individual or group as the case may be, sir. Most beings from similar regions to yours do prefer what you consider to be the linear flow of time,¡± the attendant, now looking like a doppleganger, said.


    ¡°Based on a generic understanding, would this be construed as a fifth-dimensional space, plane, or construct?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes. How wonderful your mind to have caught on, sir. Most beings can¡¯t quite grasp that concept, at least not in the timescale you managed,¡± the attendant grinned a toothy grin with far too many teeth in a mouth that seemed to open just a bit too wide.


    ¡°So let me sum up, I found an entry way to this place hidden behind a glamour in a place that is supposed to be nigh impossible to use a glamour. Through that entry way, I have entered into a fifth-dimensional construct which is imprecisely bound to the associated planes of what I understand within the bounds of my senses and this place serves as?¡±


    ¡°As a place of service if you will, sir.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s maddeningly unhelpful,¡± I grumbled.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir, but that¡¯s what I can tell you. Would you like to finish checking in?¡± the attendant said, turning a book which hadn¡¯t been there until now towards me.


    My mind had caught on something.


    ¡°A place of service, you say?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°From whom to whom?¡±


    The attendant had a flash of being hunted run across their face and it was gone in a blink and a new face.


    ¡°Why, to your benefit, sir.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t answer my question though. If this is a place of service as you say, it could just as well be a full service hotel or a prison come labor camp. This book of yours could very well be an acceptance of indentured servitude,¡± I kept my hands away from the book, despite wanting to point at the thing.


    I don¡¯t want to claim that I¡¯d caught it immediately, but having spent a few weeks in dealing with the exact meaning of words with wizards and lawyers, you learn to appreciate either exacting specificity or you come to hate it. I¡¯m part of the latter, but in the moment, I had zero intention of committing myself to anything without enough specifics.


    The attendant looked a bit forlorn.


    ¡°You¡¯re quite right, sir. And the truth of the matter is that it is both and neither,¡± the attendant said.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to explain that,¡± I was lost now. A prison come labor camp is nothing like full service hotel, at least not from my perspective, except in general terms of food provided, a room to sleep in, and some manner of associated activities.


    ¡°Because, as you have indicated, this is, by your metric, a fifth-dimensional construct, this place tends to be a reflection of your own mind. To that effect, it is a kind of full-service hotel for some and a prison come labor camp for others,¡± the attendant explained.


    ¡°If this is a construct of my own mind, why is it so blank in here?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°Because you have not signed in and so the construct does not conform to your mind yet.¡±


    ¡°Am I able to meet other people within this construct?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Certainly not. You might contaminate the timeline in doing so,¡± the attendant looked aghast, as if I¡¯d just suggested genocide.


    ¡°So I can only meet people who come with me,¡± I said.


    ¡°Quite so and only if their version of the construct aligns with yours,¡± the attendant said.


    ¡°So I¡¯m here alone.¡±


    ¡°Not quite. I¡¯m here, sir and the construct which creates me is here,¡± the attendant tried, brightly.


    I decidedly frowned and might have even glowered a bit.


    ¡°Which still brings me back to how is this any different from a prison, one where I am the only prisoner?¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡± the attendant looked confused.


    ¡°Any being, given enough time within their own company, even within the scope of their imaginations, will eventually be subjected to the fact that they are still alone and unless they can and do leave, they are almost certainly likely to become ill in a way that I cannot hope to describe in a few meager sentences,¡± I glared at the attendant but didn¡¯t raise my voice.


    The attendant seemed to consider this.


    ¡°This would perhaps explain why some beings have rendered themselves non-functional,¡± the attendant said, a bit too cheerfully for my liking.


    ¡°This does not trouble you?¡± I was a bit shocked, but I tried not to show it.


    ¡°It does not concern me. It was their own choice,¡± the attendant said blankly.


    ¡°Did any of these being arrive dressed with chains or bonds?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, quite a few have. Are you informed as to why?¡± the attendant acknowledged.


    ¡°Those were prisoners. They came with some manner of form or writing or demarcation as to how long they were to request to stay,¡± I surmised.


    ¡°Quite so, but I fail to take your meaning,¡± the attendant looked blank.


    It was my turn to try and size up the attendant. It was an impossible task, but I tried it anyway as it/they changed from one form to another to another and another.


    ¡°Whenever and where-ever those beings came from, they were sent here to be imprisoned. For good or ill. And I¡¯d wager every single one is dead,¡± I half-way snarled.


    ¡°I cannot confirm that summary,¡± the attendant tried dodging the statement either way. ¡°But I can confirm that it would be highly irregular for that state of affairs, should it exist, to exist for long.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± my dislike for the attendant abating slightly.


    ¡°The entrances to this construct move,¡± the attendant said simply.


    It took me a moment to consider what this meant and I was reminded of a creepy-pasta I¡¯d read some time ago.


    ¡°Doors in the woods,¡± I murmured to myself.


    ¡°That is something that has been mentioned by some of the visitors, yes,¡± the attendant was smiling again, but carefully not showing teeth.


    I mused on it a bit. Doors to nowhere. Doors to an everywhere and an everywhen. The only constriction being that you could only ever return within your own timeline, but¡­.


    ¡°Hold on a second. You mentioned not wanting to contaminate the timeline,¡± I said.


    ¡°Quite right. Without the appropriate flow of the timelines, a fundamental disruption might, will have, always, never occurred,¡± the attendant said in a flurry of words that made the gears in my brain feel like I¡¯d gone full reverse while at forward highway speeds.


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying that a disruption always has occurred or always will occur or only might occurred and only might occur?¡± I tried, trying desperately to wrap my head around the problem that I already was seeing.


    ¡°Something on that order, yes, sir,¡± the attendant declined to explain.


    ¡°I know why then,¡± I said after a moment¡¯s thought.


    ¡°Really, sir? I would seriously doubt that, given the limits of your sensory confines,¡± the attendant seemed to puff up a bit at the suggestion.


    ¡°Those who prefer the procession of linear time and leave, to when are they sent?¡± I asked.


    ¡°As close at the construct is capable of, accounting for the procession of linear time as they described,¡± the attendant admitted.


    ¡°So for the period of time in which they are absent from their timeline, their affects on that timeline are null,¡± I followed on.


    ¡°That¡¯s correct, sir. They are not within that timeline or plane in the strictest sense while they are here,¡± the attendant said, looking puzzled.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve missed the fundamental. Because their affects on that timeline and plane are null for that time period, their absence is a fundamental impact to the timeline and plane. Because they cannot have otherwise had an impact on the things they were, will, might have had impacts on, simply by existing,¡± I explained, what little temporal mechanics I remember from various science fictions helping me as best I could hope for.


    The attendant still looked puzzled.


    ¡°How so, sir?¡±


    ¡°Consider this book. If it were to disappear for a time and then to suddenly reappear, would the between time not have any impacts?¡± I gestured vaguely at the book which was still set for me to sign in.


    ¡°That is impossible,¡± the attendant said simply. ¡°That object is a product of this construct. It could not simply disappear. The information contained has always been.¡±


    ¡°But the absence would have an impact,¡± I tried again. ¡°A soldier on the battlefield stumbles in here and stays for a week, a month, a year. When he returns, he discovers his side lost, possibly because he wasn¡¯t there. If he had returned to the instant at which he left, then what?¡±


    The attendant seemed to consider this for a long moment before their eyes going wide.


    ¡°You are quite right. We have overlooked this practice. We did not perceive because it was outside of our doing but was entirely our doing,¡± a voice that was more on the order of a god delivered judgment echoing from all around.


    The attendant looked blank and the space seemed to swirl around us, the desk, the book, everything seemed to hum with a kind of energy I was unfamiliar with, but strangely could sense. It wasn¡¯t my ¡®Seer¡¯ sense tingling, but it was something definitely off normal.


    Several minutes passed, at least by my gauge.


    The everything of the space seemed to stop humming and re-settled. The attendant looked at me anew.


    ¡°Welcome sir. Checking in?¡± they asked.


    ¡°No. Can you tell me what just happened?¡±


    ¡°Forgive them. They are a simple being,¡± came a voice like thunder. ¡°I/we have fixed the disruption based on your/their observation. Such a solution from one so unlike this one.¡±


    ¡°So what of all those prisoners?¡± I asked the space at large.


    ¡°Returned to their own places and times so their absences are not noteworthy,¡± the rumbling voice said.


    ¡°Did they still die?¡± I decided to press.


    ¡°That was/will be their choice,¡± the voice indicated.


    ¡°So they appear to have died by strange means upon their re-entry into their own times and places?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Are there any fewer now than there were or will be?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good at least.¡±


    ¡°You indicate this to be a pleasing state of affairs. Why?¡±


    ¡°Civilizations which exile prisoners rarely seek their deaths, for one reason or another. If it appears most commonly that they are dead upon their return from a time outside of time and a space outside of space, then all that those outside perceive is that they entered and died. Those few who survive are the rarities, not the rule and the equivalence of exile or death via the doors of your existence is tested,¡± I attempted to explain, having zero idea if any of this was getting across to this construct, being, whatever it was.


    A long silence persisted.


    ¡°It would seem that this too would be an impact to the temporal nature of your perceptions,¡± the construct rumbled.


    ¡°But notionally one far less disruptive than the one that existed previously,¡± I admitted. ¡°I¡¯m still not fond of allowing this to be a prison come labor camp. Especially one where those within are segregated from one another in the name of protecting the timelines.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a better solution?¡± the voice thundered, albeit unintentionally.


    ¡°Not one that I can give you in this moment. At least not one that wouldn¡¯t involve disconnecting entirely, which would effectively eliminate that. Impact will happen regardless. But how much impact is acceptable?¡± I asked. ¡°Interference will always happen as long as there is a connection.¡±


    The space seemed to dim slightly, as though substantial thinking was occurring, before brightening again.


    ¡°Some impact is acceptable and minimizes disruption,¡± the voice said.


    ¡°Figured it out already?¡± I asked, grinning slightly.


    ¡°I have always been thinking of it, will have been thinking of it, might never/always have been thinking about it. There is not benefit in full disconnection. Temporal manipulation is necessary, but within reason to limit the impact,¡± the construct said.


    ¡°So will you be checking in after all?¡± the attendant tried again.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I will. Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get back to,¡± I said and stepped through the door.

 The Apartment (Ch 28)

    I''d forgotten about the possibilities of inaccuracies until I began to step back through the door which got me here. Which is how I think I got a glimpse of possibilities.


    Flash


    I''m on the edge of a tall building. Said building appears to be on a half-moon of an island. A thunderous cry of "Justice" is uttered from all around, from a vast count of people in uniforms unfamiliar, but clearly of some maritime military tradition. A nearby platform holds some few figures. An execution platform I think. Sirens sound and all eyes crane around, seemingly or perhaps thankfully ignoring me, to the sea beyond the inner crescent. A mass of galleons and similar sailing vessels stand there, skulls and crossbones being wildly evident.


    Flash


    I am in a desert canyon. Two vehicles which can only be described as ¡®mechs¡¯ strike at each other. There is no clear winner, but it is obvious that the skill of one far outstrips the other. And yet, I can¡¯t help but sense that the lesser skilled will win. As if this is not a contest of mechs or even of skill, but rather of will.


    Flash


    I am in the cockpit of some spaceship. How I discern this so immediately? I am sitting at the control console and looking out into a field of stars. There are others around me, but they pay me no notice. They have no uniforms, this being some manner of motley crew. A tall man, dressed mostly in brown and having shaggy hair and a devil-may-care attitude that he wears utterly, walks in. He is the captain. He leans down to look out the forward field of stars.


    Flash


    I am in the cockpit of a different ship. This one is very clearly headed towards a space station that I can only describe as massive. A star that is clearly not Sol boils in the background. There are many other ships around, but none close enough for me to judge them.


    Flash


    I am standing in a grand office, the likes of which could perhaps be described as ornate, but doing so would do it a disservice. The office was far more than that. It gleamed and shone and yet, it all seemed to pale in comparison to the center of the office.


    The woman who was there seemed to be all at once more powerful and ornate than this office. Just standing there, I could hear majestic violins being in her presence. She wasn¡¯t a model, nor was she unremarkable. Her dark skin seemed a contrast for the black furry hat and similar matching coat, as odd as that sounds perhaps. At her waist, a sword hangs. Her face is calm and her demeanor regal.


    If for no other reason than I can feel it, she seems to see me.


    ¡°Go, traveler, and know you have visited where few have come unbidden,¡± her strong voice reaches me.


    Flash


    I am standing on the edge of a field of battle. The distinction may seem inane or inaccurate, but there were at least no weapons in my immediate vicinity, so I¡¯ll make that distinction all the same.


    The weapons seem a mix of thunderous railguns, judging by the lack of fire and smoke, and compressed lasers, the long beams of which flicker across the battlefield in moments before winking out.


    It¡¯s chaos and I cannot hope to be away from here fast enough and yet, I know there is something more.


    A rumbling I hadn¡¯t noticed getting louder is now louder still. I try and determine the direction and look all around. It takes me only a few moments to discover the source.


    A tank. Or some semblance of one. The vehicle rumbling in the direction of this battlefield is perhaps a tank only to my mind because it has tracks and at least one turret. No, this monstrosity carried three turrets and the tracks were big enough to crush an F150 and not notice it.


    It put me in mind of some sci-fi future gone wrong. Or perhaps gone right, for now at least.


    It stopped moving and sat there for a long moment, the compressed laser no longer firing and the thunderous railguns silent if only for this moment. The only sound across the whole of the battlefield which reached me was the rumble of this tank, which could have been an immodest shopping complex.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Flash


    I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m standing in the corner at the local medical. This at least seems familiar. The doctor who gave me my scan isn¡¯t there, but the one who is there carries the same air about them. The room is covered in paperwork, the exact purpose of which isn¡¯t obvious since this isn¡¯t the scanning room, which was covered instead of runes.


    It¡¯s then I notice the bed and its occupant. Lucy. Perhaps a bit older now, but she¡¯s there.


    She¡¯s sweating heavily, something I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen her do. She look far more human than ever before.


    She¡¯s holding¡­ she¡¯s holding my hand and groaning.


    I look at myself.


    I¡¯m not measurably older, but I don¡¯t appear to notice myself. Hold on a second¡­ The not measurably older me that is holding Lucy¡¯s hand doesn¡¯t appear to even glance in my direction, focusing instead on Lucy.


    The doctor is positioned in such a way, it doesn¡¯t take a genius to guess what¡¯s happening.


    ¡°One more push,¡± I hear the doctor command.


    A groaning, choked grunt from Lucy takes over the room for a long moment.


    I strain to see if I can see (although questioning if I want to see) and hear, but as I move even a little, the world dissolves away.


    Flash


    I see Rennet bargaining with the djinn we/I rescued. Except, we¡¯re not in Rennet¡¯s shop. We¡¯re in the Prism. And she¡¯s very clearly not the free djinn but rather the Guardian.


    Rennet seems to be pleading with her. It¡¯s impossible to tell what¡¯s happening though, the sounds being damped from my vantage point within the Escher-esque surroundings.


    I look long at Rennet. He is harried, his robes mildly scorched, and looking hunted, but refusing to remove his eyes from the Guardian. She seems utterly implacable, a mountain in the face of a mild rain storm.


    Rennet appears to try one further gambit of logic. I can only guess at what he is attempting, but he raises a hand, tentatively, to draw a rune of glowing essentia in the air.


    The Guardian¡¯s action is immediate and swift. Rennet is thrown back by a wave of force that is near impossible to even sense, but somehow I know it is there. Cast to the ground or what passes for ground in this Prism, Rennet struggles to get up, but can¡¯t. A great force seems to be pressing on him.


    Even with the acoustic damping I can hear him scream.


    I want to look away, I need to look away, but¡­ but I can¡¯t.


    Rennet¡¯s feet appear to slowly being crushed and dissolved. There¡¯s blood, but only a little and this too dissolves after a few moments.


    I¡¯d say that I¡¯m surprised at Rennet¡¯s screams ending, but he does run out of breath like the rest of us. And for just a moment, I wonder if that¡¯s the whole of the penalty for his attempt.


    It isn¡¯t.


    Rennet¡¯s screams are renewed and I see his body seem to crush inward, as though forced into the fetal position involuntarily, the robes being compressed to his thin form.


    I want to help.


    I try to move and the world dissolves once more, Rennet¡¯s screams still filling my ears.


    Flash


    I¡¯m standing in Warren¡¯s apartment. Warren is standing there looking at me. He is¡­ older. Much older.


    ¡°It is good to have seen you again, old friend,¡± he murmurs.


    I want to say something, but I can¡¯t.


    ¡°Go now, lest this have never been,¡± he says.


    All I can do is nod and the world dissolves.


    Flash


    I¡¯m back at the counter with the attendant who isn¡¯t the same at each glance.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I asked reflexively.


    ¡°Possibilities. Some of what will, has, won¡¯t, and always be,¡± the attendant said, a semi-blank look on their aged face.


    ¡°Can I go back to where and when I was?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I/we are attempting to do so. For some reason, it is¡­ problematic to do so. The possibilities and the potential for inaccuracies,¡± the attendant replied, their voice a sing-song. ¡°All timelines, all space. All things. So much to account for and your own time and space a merest fraction of all.¡±


    Some echo of Rennet¡¯s screams still hung in my ears.


    I try and move. I manage to do so without the world around me dissolving.


    I look for the door, find it and try to go through it again, if only to try and get away from this¡­ place.


    Flash


    I watch from the beach as an asteroid falls. The planet is going to die. I feel as though I know this and I am merely witness to these events.


    The dull roar of the asteroid in the atmosphere is obvious and yet it vanishes. I do not hear, nor see the impact, but I know it to have happened.


    The ocean begins to retreat. Slowly at first, but faster and faster, revealing vast masses of sealife, rocks, and even small bits of wrecked boats, long since forgotten even this short distance to the beach where I stand.


    What is becoming is no mere tsunami. It is an end.


    I shift my weight and the world dissolves once more.


    Flash


    I hear voices.


    ¡°Why is there a glamour here?¡± I hear myself ask.


    There¡¯s a murmur of voices, all of which sound familiar.


    I look around, I¡¯m within the Council chambers, albeit on the far side of the crowd. Seemingly unnoticeable. I stay silent.


    I see myself walk halfway through the rock wall glamour.


    ¡°Our business will wait. Find out where this door leads first,¡± the wizardly principal states in that same dull tone of voice that I remember from before.


    And I watch myself disappear into the rockface, carrying my bag.


    I decided to take this moment to cough.


    Every person turns around and looks at me.


    ¡°Well, that was something,¡± I say.


    ¡°Is that all the further it goes?¡± the wizardly principal asked.


    ¡°Not exactly, but I¡¯ll need a few minutes to try and describe what just happened,¡± I admitted, and tried moving.


    No dissolving, no flash. I think I¡¯m back now.


    I walk towards the rock wall where the glamour is.


    I reach forward and find only hard rock.


    ¡°It¡¯s gone,¡± I say, more to myself than anyone else.


    ¡°What is?¡± the vampire prompts.


    ¡°Possiblities,¡± is the only answer I can give after a moment, the glimpses of Lucy and Warren heavy in my mind. ¡°Just¡­ possibilities.¡±


    It wouldn¡¯t be answer enough for long, but it was all that I had in the now.

 The Apartment (Ch 29)

    Something I¡¯ve been keeping from all of you. The story of how I got my roommate (so to speak).


    As it turn out, I¡¯ve already told you most of it. Now I just need to tell you the rest of it.


    After recounting my experiencing possibilities and the construct, the Council members seemed somber but open to what I was explaining. After all, they had just seen me walk through what appeared to be a solid wall and emerge behind them in a heavily magic controlled space.


    I¡¯d like to also recount what they called me there for, but there¡¯s about a half-dozen NDAs between me and being able to do that (besides, you wouldn¡¯t believe me anyway).


    Finishing out my day, I went upstairs and had a glass of wine while I waited for the carriage.


    Something was gnawing in the back of my mind.


    Perhaps every science fiction where time travel happened and the effects that followed. From butterflies to whales to killer robots to phone cleaning middlemen.


    Perhaps it was that at any moment, I still expected for the world to dissolve in a flash and still to discover that I¡¯d never really left the construct.


    I¡¯d like to say that I was taking this well. I wasn¡¯t. Temporal mechanics were never my thing, but again, I¡¯ve read enough science fiction to know that when temporal mechanics come into play, nobody gets what they want. At least not unless at a cost to everyone else and even then it¡¯s debatable.


    It might be the wine talking, but this was a pretty solid wine.


    The carriage was going to be a bit, so I asked for a small plate of panisse and a small bit of sauce to dip it in. I know. I¡¯m a ridiculous American, but I know what I like. And a little bit of fried food and alcohol to dull the senses a bit was just what I needed.


    My mind fell back to my encounter with Warren. Werewolves don¡¯t age at human rates. Something like 1 to 3 if I remember correctly. They¡¯re not the most long lived (djinns and vampires still get that record, or not depending on how you count them). Warren was all of about 90 if memory serves. In order for him to be that old in my possibilities, I would have needed to have been¡­ at least a hundred years out of place. Probably more since weres were a bit heartier than the average baseline and weres don¡¯t seem to be quite as violent/territorial as they perhaps once were.


    I tried to remember anything else I might have seen while standing before him. Anything that might be worth knowing. After all, 100 years is not nothing, especially to a tech head.


    I gave myself a mental slapdown and poured another half a glass as my panisse arrived. No, I needed to focus on Warren. I didn¡¯t need to find some means of ¡®get rich quick via time travel¡¯.


    He¡¯d been old, but clearly still him. I¡¯m not sure how I knew, but I did.


    From his point of view, I must have seemed a ghost. But he knew that I¡¯d be there. And he remembered who I was. So he was clearly still there mentally and he¡¯d been prepped.


    That at least meant that I could tell him. But how¡­.


    The natural solution came to me as the carriage arrived and I polished off my panisse and wine with alacrity, quickly passing the necessary Euros to the waitress and climbing into the waiting carriage. Time delayed mail.


    It worked for the famous time traveling car, so I saw no reason it wouldn¡¯t work here. And with magic, I could ensure that he could only receive it once I¡¯m gone.


    I tried to remember if there was a kind of magical Western Union. I doubted it, but who knows. I wouldn¡¯t doubt that there¡¯s a niche for it. The problem would be whether or not it would be worth being that alternative vice the baseline sort. Especially since you¡¯d need access to a pocket dimension or five just to manage all the deliveries you might make.


    A thought for another time perhaps.


    I thought on the scene with Lucy. Or perhaps someone who looked very much like Lucy.


    The me hadn¡¯t appeared to be that much older, but Lucy had. She¡¯d aged and relative to a djinn, that¡¯s saying something. And the more I thought about the room in which we had all been in¡­ yes it had looked like the local medical, but the walls¡­ they were different.


    The local medical had all manner of scrolls and scripts and runes across the walls and all to keep the place clean at a moment¡¯s notice and to assist with all manner of procedures. Surely that couldn¡¯t be blocked with a simple layer of paperwork.


    No, the paperwork along the walls was perhaps a sign of something. Another string of reality? One where Lucy wasn¡¯t a djinn? One where we had become more than friends? One where one of her dates had gone wrong? One where, for all the world, I was there as her friend?


    It wasn¡¯t hard to imagine, nor was it readily dismissable. I hadn¡¯t seen anything. Not really.


    I wasn¡¯t the type to try and read into my friendship with Lucy, but I knew she enjoyed having me around. A few too many times leaking fire under stress will give that impression.


    Of all the stories she¡¯s told me (some of which I may tell with her permission), it¡¯s always seemed like she¡¯s had a fondness for the people who travel with her. Not necessarily through space but through time.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I suspect her near immortality came burdened with a kind of loneliness. Perhaps a bit like a famous Scotsman immortal. And yet, she was always bubbly. Always cheerful. Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was just her.


    Either way, I resolved to give her a great big hug and see about trying my hand at some homemade brownies to gift her with.


    I¡¯m a terrible baker by the way. So my usual baking involves opening a mix, adding the necessary liquids, and placing in the oven and trying to not blame manufacturers if I manage to forget it in the oven (which I¡¯ve only done thrice).


    Arriving back at the building, I climb out of the carriage and look at the building. It seems the same as it ever was. A kind of structure that just seems to defy the world.


    Not because it is fancy or incongruent or anything like that. It just¡­ seemed like a kind of brick testament against time.


    I looked at the yard surrounding and contemplated whether it¡¯d be worth starting a small allotment planting of my own. The super would probably agree to it. Although our local witch might object a bit.


    After all, if I want to play in the dirt, so to speak, I probably need only ask and she¡¯d be happy to have me visit her garden again.


    Which reminds me, I¡¯m due to stop by in a week and try and continue negotiations between her and¡­ well, I never actually got a name, but whatever those folks were who were having issues with her garden bubble. I¡¯m owed some more saffron too.


    I walked upstairs, it having been a not insignificant day, and opened my door.


    Inside was a surprise.


    Imagine if you will a goat. Take away all the fur, horns, and structure and put instead a kind of tanuki or raccoon dog for the uninitiated in its place. Keep the temperament and appetite of a goat. Now make it the size of a Great Dane and give it boundary issues like a Labrador (or a toddler who¡¯s never been told no).


    Given that this¡­ being was sitting, cat loaf style, on the floor of the apartment near the door, they were kind of impossible to miss.


    ¡°Oi bruv, got anything real to eat? I¡¯m half-starved,¡± was the first statement out of the strange being¡¯s mouth.


    I reflexed and checked that this was in fact my apartment. It was.


    ¡°Sure¡­ but can I ask how you got in here?¡± I asked a bit hesitantly.


    ¡°Dunno. One minute I was munching away and then I¡¯m here, without so much as a by-your-leave,¡± the being said. ¡°I¡¯m Dhramuthi, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Sam,¡± I replied, wondering how that mouth was managing all those consonants without spitting all over everything.


    ¡°There¡¯s a letter over on the table. I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s about me. Where¡¯s that food?¡± the being who¡¯s name I¡¯ll shorten to Muthi said, not exactly trotting, but not exactly walking regularly into the kitchen.


    Being the bachelor that I am, I didn¡¯t have a lot in my apartment. Sue me ¨C I¡¯m not the greatest cook in the world and while I can do cooking, I tend to cook for just me. At least unless I¡¯m having Warren and/or Lucy over for dinner. And even then we try and coordinate.


    Arm midway into the fridge, I paused.


    ¡°What do you eat?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Anything and make no mistake on that,¡± Muthi said, resting their head on the counter top.


    I pulled out the pizza I¡¯d had the night before and portioned out two pieces onto a plate and stopped again, looking at Muthi.


    ¡°On the floor is fine, bruv. I¡¯m used to it,¡± Muthi nodded.


    ¡°Just because you¡¯re used to it doesn¡¯t mean it should be that way,¡± I replied almost on automatic.


    Muthi seemed to consider this.


    ¡°Maybe, but that¡¯s a conversation for later,¡± they said, and took the plate out of my hands with their teeth, dropped it reasonably carefully onto the floor and began devouring the two pieces of pizza ¨C spinach, pepperoni, garlic, bacon, and mushrooms in case anyone is wondering.


    I went over to the table with the aforementioned letter and opened it.


    Sam,


    My apologies for leaving you this surprise after your assistance with my construct, but unfortunately, they are a creation which technically has no home in any timeline.


    They are exceptionally resilient and useful so hopefully you can keep them around.


    For reference, the answers to your expected questions:


    1) Yes they are essentia generating (something I believe you to call magical).


    2) No there are no others.


    3) They are about 7 of your solar revolutions, if I understand your counting scheme correctly.


    4) They most likely will live to be about 30 of your solar revolutions.


    5) They aren¡¯t as smart as one of your kind, but they aren¡¯t lacking either.


    I am aware that this will be an impact to your timeline, but I can no longer keep them within. They are unique and as such I cannot continue to host such a being exclusively within. It unbalances the model, you understand.


    I hope this finds you in the right timeframe and the right timeline.


    And it was ¡®signed¡¯ in a way that made my eyes water just looking at it.


    I looked up from the letter as Muthi belched.


    ¡°If that¡¯s just a sample of the kind of food I can get here, I think I¡¯ll stick around forever,¡± Muthi proclaimed before doing that odd sort of walk back into the living room area and half-throwing/half-flopping themselves onto the couch.


    ¡°Do you know how to use the bathroom?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Sure. I had to use it once already. Not sure your bathroom is rated for me though,¡± Muthi said lazily.


    I groaned internally and went over to the bathroom, sure of finding flooding and all manner of mess. I have worked in food service before and humanity is bad enough. I could only imagine what this¡­ being had managed.


    As it turned out, a large purple crystal seemed wedged in the toilet. The water hadn¡¯t gone anywhere it wasn¡¯t supposed to and there was no mess to truly be seen.


    I donned a disposable glove and pulled out the crystal. It hummed slightly.


    I exited the bathroom and Muthi looked up, seeing the crystal in my hand.


    ¡°Whatcha doing, bruv?¡± they asked, seemingly out of morbid curiosity.


    ¡°This seems like it might be similar to an essentia crystal,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Probably cuz it is,¡± Muthi said.


    I blinked.


    I blinked again.


    ¡°Would you mind repeating that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Probably cuz it is an essentia crystal,¡± Muthi said slowly.


    I looked betweeen Muthi and the crystal. By mass alone, I could tell this was enough essentia to power this apartment and all my fun magic toys for a month if I had a way to channel it. The purple color told me that it was probably double that.


    I tried to process this.


    For helping a construct of some n-th dimension (still not sure on whether it was 5<sup>th</sup> dimensional or not), I had been given a ¡®unique¡¯ being who excreted essentia crystals.


    I suddenly was reminded of the farmer and the goose laying golden eggs (along with all the folks who not just might, but would kill to get their hands either on a being like this or to be rid of a being like this).


    A call to the Council and probably the ombudsman too was in my future, that much was certain.


    Muthi was clearly sentient and sapient, so I couldn¡¯t exactly own them, but I could probably get them designated as being under a kind of guardianship.


    Either way, I¡¯d have to work it out. But there was one question I needed answered first.


    ¡°How often do you use the bathroom?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Everyday. Why?¡± Muthi lazed on the couch, stretching a bit.


    ¡°Always like this?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°Nah. If I¡¯m getting real food, it¡¯ll be bigger,¡± Muthi said. ¡°Could you turn on some kind of entertainment? There¡¯s not much to do and I want some background noise for my nap.¡±


    I clicked on the tv to a documentary and was soon listening to a humming combined with whistling that was apparently what Muthi sounded like while sleeping.


    I meanwhile looked at the crystal in my hand and contemplated.


    This was not as simple as it appeared and I wondered if this was actually payment or repayment for my actions with the construct. Still, looking at the crystal, it could always be worse.


    (And yes, that is foreshadowing for next time)

 The Apartment (Ch 30)

    Well, whether or not all good deeds are punished or not, here I am.


    My first call, naturally was to the gnomish ombudsman. He¡¯s a good sort and I¡¯ve mentioned him before, but never very much.


    While he could dress exactly the part of a garden gnome and fit into any standard garden (with a supplementary beard), he doesn¡¯t and will swiftly kick your ankles in for making such jokes.


    No, instead he dresses more like an Englishman out of time ¨C black suit with carnation, handkerchief that is never actually used, bowler hat, cane for affectation, and a seemingly perpetual cigarette (which never seems to smell).


    With his close-cropped black beard and similarly smartly cut hair, he seems ripe to dress as a very tiny version of a piratical Black Beard (but I¡¯ve never mentioned this).


    All of the above having been said, he has a good sense of humor provided he¡¯s not the target. He¡¯s also a fierce ombudsman to have in your corner, having served as a union rep previously, so you can absolutely depend on him to accept no nonsense when it comes to making the right calls for the right reasons and making sure everyone is being adequately protected.


    Dhramuthi woke up from their nap, took one look at the ombudsman, and tried to eat his hat. After a brief bout of laughter and ankle kicking, one briefly chewed hat was back in the ombudsman¡¯s possession.


    ¡°Under the current paradigm, I don¡¯t believe I can declare something like ¡®ownership¡¯ of a sentient/sapient being. Especially one who probably has enough smarts to vote in baseline society,¡± I said, handing over the letter to the ombudsman.


    ¡°Agreed, but a simple magical creature who is that smart is usually a simple enough case. We can place them under the Familiar clause,¡± the ombudsman said after a moment¡¯s scanning of the letter.


    ¡°The familiar clause?¡± I prompted, the double meaning escaping me.


    ¡°When essentia users create a creature unique to them, that¡¯s called a familiar. I know you¡¯re not that dumb,¡± the ombudsman explained.


    ¡°No, I was just forgetting the double meaning.¡±


    He nodded sagely.


    ¡°Anyway, Dhramuthi can be placed under the Familiar clause. This makes you their guardian indefinitely and nontransferable. Unless¡­, you¡¯re not a golem, are you?¡± the latter part of the question went to Dhramuthi, who¡¯d decided to start cat loafing again.


    ¡°Nah, bruv. More chi-mer-a,¡± Muthi said, sounding out the word.


    The gnome frowned.


    ¡°Chimeras are a bit tricky when it comes to the legal structure of creations. They¡¯re not exactly familiars, but they aren¡¯t covered explicitly by the obvious cases.¡±


    ¡°You mean to tell me that nobody¡¯s been trying to make smarter animals through intermixing species?¡± I asked, a bit facetiously.


    ¡°Smarter¡­ not really. Maybe the odd henchbeing, but those are usually done under the radar and have a very short life expectancy anyway ¨C being measured in months, not years. More capable warlike chimeras ¨C absolutely. That¡¯s been going on since the dawn of magic, sadly.¡±


    I gave it some thought.


    ¡°What¡¯s the exact language on the familiar clause ¨C the definition portion I mean?¡± I asked.


    From thin air (a twinkling of magic showing me that it wasn¡¯t actually thin air), the ombudsman pulled out a thin tome and handed it to me, holding onto the corner for a moment and making it grow from his size to the properly massive affair that it was.


    ¡°Page 253 if memory serves,¡± he said.


    It took me a moment, but the chapter title was in fact Familiars and Bound Magic Creations.


    As much as I am thankful for not having become a lawyer, I swear that I have had to deal with more tomes of law than I ever dreamt of before. And unfortunately, weaselwording is practically a byword in industry. Something I do rather well (but try not to unless its to my benefit).


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Hmmm? Oh right, the definition:


    It shall be established the following definition shall be what describes and is embodied under the title of Familiar: a unique essentia generating or essentia bonded creation which may be summoned, constructed, or imbued by the creator in such a way as to bond it to the creator. This creation is an extension of the creator and may possess up to equivalent intelligence as the creator.


    I frowned. So did the gnome. Muthi went back to the couch and managed to get the remote to work well enough to watch some Springer-esque type show.


    ¡°So they¡¯re not bound to me. That¡¯s a problem,¡± I said.


    The gnome looked at the definition again and seemed to think hard.


    ¡°Unfortunately, that¡¯s a big chunk of created beings. Golems are typically created to serve and I do not get the impression that Dhramuthi serves,¡± the gnome said.


    ¡°Da¡¯ straight,¡± was the reply from the furry mound on the couch, who was engrossed in learning ¡®who the father is¡¯.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t exactly want to leave them without protection. Any chance they¡¯d fit under the Djinn amendment?¡± I asked.


    The gnome frowned for a moment and then brightened.


    ¡°You know, they just might. Page 12957,¡± the gnome said, touching the book in a particular spot and the pages moving to the aforementioned page.


    It shall be held that the beings known and categorized as bound magical creatures capable of wholly independent thought and not dependent on the creator for essentia (colloquially known as Djinn) shall be provided full and equivalent freedom to exercise as free beings and citizens within the whole of the governance of the Prime Plane.


    Attempted to retain bonds (magical or otherwise) with a Djinn or equivalent magical creature, which can demonstrate wholly independent thought AND are not dependent on the creator for essentia, said bonds being categorized as unilateral, will be prosecuted under Chapter 31 Section 481 Involuntary Servitude.


    Bilateral bonds into which the two beings enter shall be handled according to the appropriate regulations.


    I thought for a long moment.


    ¡°That¡­ that should do it,¡± I said, a bit hesitantly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not certain,¡± the gnome said, pointing to the first paragraph.


    ¡°Muthi isn¡¯t dependent on me for essentia, especially since I don¡¯t have any. And they¡¯re definitely capable of independent thought, although I can¡¯t say I¡¯m fond of what they find entertaining¡­¡± I said, gesturing as a fight broke out between two women.


    ¡°Yuir just mad it ain¡¯t you, bruv,¡± came the reply from the couch.


    ¡°And besides, it specifically says ¡®colloquially¡¯. The following paragraph is what really matters. They definitely fall under that ¡®equivalent magical creature¡¯ case,¡± I ignored the furry lump¡¯s commentary.


    ¡°That covers them under the rule of law as an independent being at least. But that would require you two to enter into a contract of sorts for them to stay with you as a matter of guardianship, if that¡¯s what we think is necessary,¡± the gnome said.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the thing. They actually generate essentia crystals. So I would very much argue that guardianship is necessary. And I¡¯m not trying to be greedy,¡± I explained and pulled out the purple essentia crystal that had been clogging my toilet.


    The crystal being slightly malformed compared to the standard that the gnome was used to seeing was almost certainly the immediate sign that he needed. He frowned all the same.


    ¡°An independent magical being who produces essentia crystals from baseline food and you want control of them?¡±


    ¡°Ehhhhhhnt,¡± I sounded off like the buzzer in basketball. ¡°I want to ensure they don¡¯t end up getting disappeared by somebody who¡¯s going to ¡®goose with the golden eggs¡¯ them. Or worse ¨C try and recreate them and end up killing them in the process.¡±


    The gnome was still frowning, but stroked his beard.


    ¡°You make a valid point,¡± he said, apparently still thinking.


    We sat in relative silence for a minute or so, the only sounds being the latest round of drama from the tv.


    ¡°Djinns have an equivalent essentia generation, but nothing so substantial. I think under the circumstances, let¡¯s have them become your roommate. That bonds them to you and you to them reasonably, their essentia generation we¡¯ll keep quiet, but the proceeds of which can be used to cover the associated rent, utilities, food, and all expenses associated with the continuation of their existence. This allows you a reasonable access to their welfare. But I believe that I should argue that those proceeds, outside of the necessary expenses, should also be placed into savings on their behalf,¡± the gnome intoned in that formal way he had of speaking.


    ¡°If you can draft something up for us along with whatever we need for getting Muthi into the register, then I¡¯m game to see that through,¡± I said, knowing that I was almost certainly biting off more than I really should in the longer term.


    ¡°If you¡¯re certain. Dhramuthi, do you agree to becoming the roommate of Sam and allowing him to support you in your daily affairs? You will still have the rights of an independent being and will not be beholden to him in anyway other than as necessary for the expenses of living,¡± the gnome walked over to the furry mound, which was clearly trying to decide if they should try for the hat again.


    ¡°Its all good, innit?¡± Muthi decided to ignore the apparently delicious looking hat and went back to watching tv.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes. Sam, I¡¯ll draft something up and have it to you within the next few days. Please don¡¯t do anything too precipitous in the meantime,¡± the gnome said.


    ¡°Thanks for coming round so quickly,¡± I smiled politely and led him out, helping him reshrink and then thin air away the tome of law on the way.


    After the door shut, Muthi looked away from the TV to me.


    ¡°What¡¯s his deal?¡± they asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of a kind. A lot of people pay lots of money for one of a kind,¡± I try explaining.


    ¡°Figure one of them might feed me better than you?¡± Muthi asked, raising the equivalent of an eyebrow or what I guessed to be one.


    ¡°Not really. Those kind of folks are more interested in the trophy, not the condition in which they keep it.¡±


    ¡°Hmmf. What¡¯s for dinner then?¡± Muthi said, having apparently decided the matter being settled.


    I chuckled.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t thought that far ahead. What sounds good?¡± I admitted.


    ¡°I¡¯m chill, bruv. Just make sure there¡¯s plenty,¡± Muthi wiggled on the couch as though scratching an itch.


    I gave it some thought. A pet, sorry ¨C roommate- that eats anything, especially leftovers, and always pays rent sure wouldn¡¯t go amiss. At the very least, I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about food poisoning. All I have to deal with is an enjoyment of bad daytime television.


    That last bit was perhaps going to be a problem, but for half-rent being always paid and an excuse to get extra takeaway, I¡¯m not going to turn it down at least.


    And that¡¯s how I got my sort-of roommate.


    Let¡¯s see, what other stories have happened recently that I¡¯m not under NDA to disclose¡­ Hmmmm¡­ well, I could tell you about my trip to deal with the equivalent of magical PhD students. That should be good for a laugh, at least to anyone who¡¯s done tech support for a university.


    Anyway, more next time.

 The Apartment (Ch 31)

    To putting the Muthi situation aside for the moment, after all, it¡¯s been an ongoing saga, so we¡¯ll get back to the ¡®fun¡¯ there, along with the attempted heist.


    Yes, heist. Someone was actually dumb enough to plan one.


    Anyway, how many in the crowd have done tech support? Yup, about as many as I expected. What is it about us that makes us such a target for ¡®you restarted this machine when it wasn¡¯t working and now it is, now you must solve all the problems¡¯?


    Being fair, it¡¯s a nice steady income, especially in the non-baseline community. But clientele¡­ well, they follow that famous tv doctor¡¯s rule: ¡®Everyone lies.¡¯


    The trick that I¡¯ve discovered is what they¡¯re lying about and why. For master mages, it¡¯s usually something they¡¯re researching to try and get ahead of some competitor, so they think they¡¯re being clever by lying. Or they think I won¡¯t understand what they¡¯re attempting.


    The latter is usually fair, but at the same time, telling me that I won¡¯t understand the equivalent of multifactor database dynamic filtering with automatic report generation using a proprietary code base and a really esoteric naming convention, well, you¡¯d be wrong.


    If I had a nickel for every time I¡¯d run into something like that, I¡¯d have about 45 cents. Obvious joke about how it really shouldn¡¯t be that common, but it is. Believe me when I say that more often than not, I don¡¯t care. It¡¯s my job to get the Mack truck out of the swimming pool, not ask how it got there.


    As you can imagine, doing ¡®magical¡¯ tech support for a university is every bit as dull as you might imagine.


    Resetting orbs that ¡®glitched¡¯ into only showing the locker room of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders (sometimes modern day, others in the early 1990s depending on the ¡®user¡¯), overcharged rune scrolls set up to prank someone, dealing with the odd round of ¡®why isn¡¯t this infernal machine working¡¯. [P.S. we all know what machine that is.]


    And given that I¡¯m expensive on my regular charge, the university and I have a deal. They provide me a certain billable minimum per month and I agree to provide whatever necessary support they need (within reason and allowing for my other work).


    Why would they agree to essentially fund me, you might ask?


    Well, when one of the most senior wizards accidentally created an unfiltered essentia trap which would have gone critical in about another 30 minutes and taken the university to some pocket dimension from which there may or may not have been any return (to say nothing of essentia), it gives a few tons of lead to the scale in terms of balancing contractual terms.


    It was a rather hilarious event though, in retrospect, and proves that even senior wizards can screw up and when they do, there¡¯s usually a minimum safe distance involved.


    It was one of my first ¡®agree to do the job and whatever you want paid, we¡¯ll pay it¡¯ verbal contracts. And given that it was the University¡¯s Dean and high-most magician making the agreement on my recorded line, I certainly wasn¡¯t about to turn it down, even if I had been burned in my previous office for going out of scope a few times.


    And more or less as soon as I agreed, I had to chalk out a runic-recall (think teleport, but less ¡®take you apart and put you back together¡¯ and more stuffing you into a pocket dimension for a fraction of a second in one place and opening and yanking you back out on the other end), which got activated as soon as I stood in it.


    When any university dean does actual work, you know something is going very wrong and since they were the ones who ¡®recalled¡¯ (¡®summoned¡¯ worked to, but I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll have to explain that one in a later episode) me, I knew it was bad.


    Luckily, it was still 8 a.m. and my coffee mug full of coffee was still with me (as were all my clothes). Not all transport methods retain objects and clothes, so I was grateful to have kept both (although I suspect it had more to do with the sheer amount of essentia the dean had dumped into recalling me).


    Now I won¡¯t claim to have acquired anything other than my Seer sight, but I know how to read a room and know this was bad.


    Standing in my average t-shirt, jeans, and percussive maintenance boots, I¡¯ll admit having felt out of place around the berobed wizards, but when you¡¯re there to clean up their mess, you could be dressed in frilly lingerie and they still wouldn¡¯t care.


    ¡°So what are we dealing with?¡± I asked, straight to business.


    ¡°An unfiltered essentia trap. Anyone or anything, uh, normal that tries to get close gets sucked dry,¡± one of the wizards said.


    It was obvious which of the senior wizards it was by the embarrassed look on their face. I ignored the ¡®normal¡¯ comment.


    ¡°So what do I need to do to shut it down?¡± I prompted.


    The assembled wizards looked aghast.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just shut it down! Do you have any idea what that would do?¡± at least two of the senior wizards said in near simultaneity.


    ¡°Keep this college from finding itself in some pocket universe with no way back? Or perhaps simply destroy all of the local ecosphere?¡± I guessed rather loudly. I wasn¡¯t here to play games or deal with hurt feelings. I was here to do a job.


    ¡°I¡¯m told you can channel essentia. Could you channel it into a runic scroll in the process of shutting it down?¡± the dean asked.


    I gave it a bit of thought.


    As a baseline, while I don¡¯t generate essentia, I can channel it. It¡¯s a weird trait that carries over and something in that is what gave me Seer sight (we think).


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Naturally, I¡¯d gotten some practice at it, but nothing like this order of magnitude.


    ¡°What kind of scroll did you have in mind and what kind of potency are we looking at?¡± I pointedly asked the dean.


    ¡°Class 7 at the moment, probably Class 9 in another 10 minutes,¡± one of the few female wizards answered.


    I frowned for obvious reasons, but I¡¯ll need to give you some context.


    The potency Class scale works similar to how an earthquake scale works. So a Class 7 is already seriously bad news. A Class 9 even moreso. The average spell tops out at a Class 4 with only the most powerful spells needing anything greater (and usually over a broad area of effect and controlling wizards).


    The spells needed to ¡®re-cement¡¯ the system hiding my apartment building ¨C Class 6 ¨C to give you a sense of scale. Yeah, this was rapidly becoming bad news. But then that¡¯s why they wanted me with a ¡®get it done and we¡¯ll pay whatever it takes¡¯ surcharge.


    ¡°I have a scroll of light!¡± suggested one wizard, digging at his bag.


    ¡°Not enough and too showy. No, we need something directed or something transplanar,¡± I said simply.


    The wizards seemed to stop and think as a group, undoubtedly thinking through what they could lay their hands on readily.


    Needless to say, it was my own suggestion that seemed to break them from their silence.


    ¡°Assuming we can¡¯t channel this into making a massive essentia crystal, what about a laser?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a way to channel that much into making a crystal. Not on hand,¡± the dean spoke up first. ¡°But we should be able to change that scroll of light into a directed beam. It¡¯s still a problem in terms of being enough though.¡±


    ¡°We just need to make it intense enough to handle it along with containing any plasma that it ends up generating in the process,¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°Fair point. Get out your quills and fix your scroll. I want this man ready in under 5 minutes,¡± the dean barked at the senior wizard who¡¯d volunteered their scroll.


    The wizard in question sat down almost on the spot and began scratching out runes on the scroll.


    ¡°Now, tell me how to turn it off,¡± I demanded of the still very embarrassed looking wizard.


    He glanced up at me and immediately back down at my and his shoes.


    ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t build in a way to turn it off yet,¡± he admitted.


    As one, I could feel the whole room want to slap him up the backside of his head. I resisted the urge and took a long swig off my coffee, wishing I¡¯d had the forethought to put whiskey in it.


    ¡°What¡¯s the rig made of?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Grade 3 copper laced silicon with platinum-iron-cobalt ink used for the runes,¡± the wizard said, matter-of-factly (almost proudly for moment).


    ¡°And just what form is that silicon in?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°Glass of course,¡± was the almost flippant response before the wizard¡¯s face sagged, realizing exactly what I was going to do. ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± was all I had to say back.


    They turned their eyes pleadingly to their colleagues and the dean, but were met only with disapproving glares.


    I already knew nobody in the room liked what I was about to do, but they also were willing to accept the fact that one of their own had screwed up and so a smaller breakage and ego tempering now was better than having to find another university who would take them all.


    Within another minute, during which, I finished my coffee, I was handed the scroll. I left my mug next to the recall point and allowed myself to be hurried several buildings over to where the wizards stopped as one.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go any further, but it¡¯s the 3<sup>rd</sup> door from here on the left. It should be obvious,¡± the dean said.


    I just nodded and continued the light jog that we¡¯d been doing down a hallway with widely spaced doors. Behind each one was normally a wizard¡¯s workroom, which could be as much or as little as they needed it to be (wizards tending to follow the ¡®bigger on the inside¡¯ principle).


    To say that it was obvious at this point would be an understatement. While I can¡¯t see essentia, I could definitely see the effects and the currents of such a strong pull, so there was no doubt as to where this trap was.


    Reaching the door, I opened it easily and walked in.


    As promised, the intricate glass structure with almost dark runes compared with the massive ball of energy being barely contained was almost disturbingly obvious.


    I looked around the room. It didn¡¯t appear that there were any secondary dimensions to worry about (bigger on the inside can cause problems to what I had in mind).


    One thing that hadn¡¯t been mentioned was that the glass structure was moving. Like a watch.


    I remembered my tech support rule 0 ¨C Everyone lies ¨C including master mages.


    Walking up to the structure, which hurt to look at directly at the moment, I tried to see what I could discern.


    Given the amount of essentia being channeled through the device, I had no doubts as to the wizard¡¯s abilities in creation. Just in their abilities to temper their runic programming.


    One of the moving arms of the device was clearly one of the collection points.


    I looked around for elements, especially liquid.


    I didn¡¯t find what I was looking for, so Plan A was back on the table.


    Grabbing a metal tube which had clearly been used to help create this masterwork in glass, I swung it at the first collection point. It shattered and the device groaned, clearly unhappy with that.


    I looked for any other collection points and found two more, smashing each one in turn.


    The device was still humming, but I couldn¡¯t see the obvious flow anymore. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to at least keep it from going critical for now.


    That part of the job being done, it was time for the next part. I looked up at the ceiling¡¯s skylight and pointed my hand holding the scroll like a sword.


    The next part I hated and still hate. Why? Because it¡¯s like being struck by lightning, except a lot slower and a lot more jarring than the average electric fence (although thankfully without the concomitant reflexive bladder/bowels emptying).


    Grabbing a loop of primary conductance or what I guessed to being one, the trapped essentia erupted through me, looking for a way out. Finding the scroll, it locked in that line and sent a blade of light that could have boiled away a space shuttle into nothingness through the skylight and hopefully into deep space, away from anything important.


    I would like to say that I had it aimed well, but other than my initial estimated attempt, I wasn¡¯t in control.


    About a minute after I felt the scroll burst into flames and turn to ash at my feet, I managed to remove my clenched fingers from the loop.


    It no longer hurt to look at and the glow was conspicuously absent. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was still collecting, but at the time, I was still having trouble hearing, seeing, and even standing up straight. To say it hurt would be an understatement.


    I might liken it to having gone through labor, but that would be a false equivalence. More along the lines of having every muscle in your body clench and cramp involuntarily for a whole minute, with the associated pains that follow such involuntary actions.


    The wizards were standing in the doorway by this point, looking at me somewhat shocked. That is except for the dean, who simply nodded sagely.


    ¡°Make sure that damn thing is disabled until further notice,¡± the dean ordered the assembled wizards and in the midst of the rush by the wizards to the device, managed to lead me away.


    ¡°You¡­ you realize my bill is going to be substantial,¡± I croaked out, about halfway back to the recall point.


    ¡°As it should be,¡± was the dean¡¯s placid response as they helped me stagger. ¡°Alas, we need someone on hand to stop these sorts of things before they reach this point.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s a job offer, I¡¯m sure we can work something out,¡± I managed.


    ¡°I do have to ask. Could you have stopped it without breaking it?¡± the dean queried.


    ¡°Given time or the right elements sure.¡±


    ¡°And what would you have suggested if asked to consult on it before it got switched on?¡± the dean pressed.


    ¡°Smaller scale to check the runic structure and lead jacketing on the collection points,¡± were the only two thoughts that managed to make it to the top of my brain, which was still doing loop-d-loops.


    The dean and I managed to walk the rest of the way to the recall point in near silence.


    ¡°Draft up your bill and a service contract. I¡¯m happy to look at both,¡± the dean said, handing me my mug and centering me in the recall point.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be expensive,¡± I mumbled.


    ¡°Good help usually is,¡± the dean said, a tight grin finally making its way across his lips.


    And he sent me on my way.


    And that¡¯s how I got started doing tech support for the local university.

 The Apartment - Ch 32

    ¡°What¡¯s it like being so close to a vampire? Why does she look like a grandmother? Does she shapeshift?¡±


    I get this and all manner of other questions about my elderly neighbor. And yes she definitely qualifies on that elderly label.


    So let me give you a bit of a rundown on her as she gave it to be one of the first times we actually properly sat down and I wasn¡¯t holding a death spell.


    For starters, vampires can¡¯t take over the world. They require too much in the way of resources to sustain that all the rest of the world would have to do is simply sit on their hands for a decade or two and all the vampires would die out.


    Not that there¡¯s that many to start with. But I¡¯m getting ahead of myself.


    Perhaps the best way to think about vampires is as a kind of incomplete lich (which is tangent I¡¯ll address in a moment). Vampires, as it was explained, are a relatively simple kind of undead sapient who retained their memories and control of themselves in the process of becoming undead. However, as a result of becoming unliving and due to the nature of naturally generated essentia relative to the energy requirements in sustaining an unliving indefinitely, vampires have to feed. And more specifically, they have to feed on sources of essentia.


    Because blood is the common carrier of essentia and there¡¯s a lot of folks with trace amounts who never actually demonstrate non-baseline talents, it¡¯s ¡®easy¡¯ for a vampire to get by on these folks, albeit while drawing a lot of attention because of all of the people they have to attack to sustain themselves.


    As a result, if a vampire gets hold of an undiscovered non-baseline wizard or torquay user, they tend to be very attached to them (since such a person can keep a vampire sustained or at least mostly fed, provided the vampire isn¡¯t greedy). Unfortunately, the average vampire had the same reaction to an undiscovered non-baseline as most baselines would have to a sundress or a cool glass of water after few hours in the sun.


    They just can¡¯t get enough.


    And so they usually end up killing (accidentally) their non-baseline. The ¡®solution¡¯ to this in several cases was the creation of harems or something equivalent so that a ¡®good¡¯ vampire could circulate through their group, making sure no one person got more attention than they should from the vampire, but the vampire remained fed.


    But there¡¯s always the question of why they should do this and why wouldn¡¯t they fight back?


    The simple answer is mostly that because what few vampires live to old age (or at least far in excess of what most baselines would consider, myself included), they tend to be warehouses of knowledge and possess not unreasonable amounts of wealth.


    And given the choice of marrying Vlad, son of the pig farmer down the street, and dealing with the cult of domesticity in 1650, joining a convent, or the old well-off librarian or banker who can afford a large house and many servants, well, is it really a surprise?


    Now this is not to say that all nobles or similar well-off folks of those ages were vampires. Just a healthy percentage (probably no more than about 5%, which is still quite a sum in my book).


    Usually, these households were fairly quiet and the secret of the test of blood to join the house and of the blood to maintain the house had to be maintained, but eventually it usually slipped out and some paladin or Seer would come along and lead some kind of destructive campaign, dissolving the house and more often than not, destroying the libraries that many vampires keep.


    Getting back to liches for a moment ¨C liches don¡¯t exist. Or at least nobody¡¯s ever proved that they can become one, despite a substantial number of wizards being very close to making it possible.


    It¡¯s a bit like trying to make cold fusion ¨C there¡¯s plenty of folks who want to believe and who want to make it possible, but they¡¯re on the fringe and they usually end up poisoning or otherwise killing themselves in the attempt to become truly immortal, sustained by naught but some manner of their own essentia generation and the world around them.


    But because they¡¯re wizards, they love their books. I could gesture vaguely at the local wizard librarian and various pop-culture depictions, but I think you probably get the idea.


    Vampires are like that with books too. I think it has something to do with living for so long that it¡¯s not about the having the knowledge, but rather having it all written down and accessible for years to come.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    So consequently, the modern vampires are both thrilled and shocked by the internet. Thrilled because with various sites available and all manner of modern methods, they can read and learn and absorb all manner of information in their long years. Shocked because of the impermanence of the internet compared with books.


    And so the modern vampire is still very much an old-school technology user, willing and capable, but much more happy to receive a tome vice a PDF.


    Of course, so am I. I got and get enough PDFs. If it¡¯s something that someone actually printed or took the time to write down, it¡¯s far more worthwhile. That said, it¡¯s certainly easier to access the average 200 year old London cookbook via PDF rather than demanding a copy be printed out just for me (although I could do that as well).


    One service I have started ¡®marketing¡¯ to the various vampires who are open and accepted members of the non-baseline community is a digitization of their libraries. Given that more than a few of their books should have been stolen by the British Museum, it¡¯s quite a challenge. But in the process of having the book re-drafted, recreated, and remade, much as monks used to do with Bibles pre-Gutenberg, I¡¯ve managed to convince a few that they need to digitize their libraries in the process.


    It¡¯s a very slow process, as anyone in book preservation and digitization will tell you, needing color correction for the aging manuscripts, careful turning of pages, and as high resolution on the scans as possible without damaging them to the point that they cannot be used for the recreation process.


    Perhaps one bonus of the process though, is that the vampires are more open to remaking their books more readily (some of them, not all books are equivalent) and in even allowing the books to be unbound for easier digestion by both the scanning and the remaking.


    The book makers I¡¯ve started working with, rune wizard apprentices who need to pay the bills somehow, are fairly skilled, but definitely on the end of the spectrum where they like to focus on what they¡¯re doing and not what they¡¯re actually copying over. Which tends to be perfect for copying over what used to be a tome of ¡°Laird Mallory¡¯s Conqueste of the Vikinging Shieldemaidens Volume V¡±.


    Yes, even the unliving remember what it is to have those urges. They¡¯re undead, not dead.


    And yes, reader, you wouldn¡¯t believe what utter perverts most vampires are.


    Anyway, we¡¯re straying a bit.


    How does a vampire get made in the first place? Well, there are a few necromantic wizards around. Always have been, always will be. They¡¯re a bit like morticians for the non-baseline community. Nobody really likes having them around, but they¡¯re a kind of necessity. And more than a few of them work as coroners and morticians, so it¡¯s not odd for them to be surrounded by dead bodies 90% of the time.


    Every so often, even more so before the world started getting more connected with mail services and the internet, some necromantic wizard would decide that they wanted an undead who could do more than shamble and required constant attention.


    And so vampires were created. Their abilities tweaked a bit over time ¨C allowing for minor shapeshifting, command of other undead, enhanced strength, and even ability to ingest common foods. Yes, that last one was a major achievement. Apparently, in being able to deal with all the acids, bases, and various fleshy poisons that we baselines eat on a nearly daily basis *glances at coffee cup*, having an undead able to do the same without becoming violently ill is an accomplishment.


    Their freedom was never really conditional. Mostly an oversight that the vampires, even the early ones, never corrected the wizards creating them on. And given that said early vampires typically ended up killing their creators via overzealous feeding, the lessons were never really absorbed.


    My neighbor, a Lady by age and marriage (rather than birthright), was born 1373, died in childbirth 1401, and raised as a vampire in 1402, approximately 5 weeks after she died and some 200 miles away from that village.


    Despite her creator¡¯s insistence, she never adopted a more young appearance and was perhaps the creator¡¯s first ¡®big¡¯ mistake in necromancy.


    However, her creator at least understood the basics of what he¡¯d created and so did what he could to feed her. Given that she became the housekeeper and given free rein to maintain the household as she saw fit, she was content for a time as she came to terms with being a vampire, not least of which included becoming literate and acquainted with the basics of non-baseline society.


    Her creator died some 10 years later and without a ready source of essentia, she quickly found herself starving and fought to find a way to keep fed.


    She came dangerously close several times to either starving or being discovered, but having her background as a literate housekeeper, she managed to become housekeeper in a noble house, with access to their library and the people of the area, she began supporting both the house and the local doctor, ¡®disposing¡¯ of the blood taken from particular folks and ¡®ensuring¡¯ that some of them needed to be visited a bit more on the regular from the doctor.


    She wasn¡¯t as careful with this as she should have been and was eventually found out, caught drinking blood from a large vial.


    The people of the age were superstitious enough and while she could have silenced the average person, she was caught by the lady of the house.


    And so she ran, finding work as a physicians assistant some distance away and continuing to try and keep herself fed just above starving while trying to find a necromancer.


    It wasn¡¯t for another 30 years that she would find one and another 10 before she found one who would take her in, wizards being a skeptical lot, especially of unbound creations (which is in itself laugh, given the nature of vampires).


    However, once she found one who took her in (and brought with her a few tomes of her creator), she moved from being a mere housekeeper to being more of a librarian, not only to the necromancer ¡®master¡¯ (her word, not mine), but to the local noble house. And so she became a bit more known to the non-baseline community.


    Given her sapient and unbound status, she was considered an independent being, but still a woman, so the rules were still stacked against her. Since she was undead, the non-baseline community didn¡¯t have a particular way of dealing with her, but did at least see its way into providing some manner of support network. Perhaps because she was a woman and because of European sensibilities at the time.


    What¡¯s the upshot of all this? Well, she¡¯s fed but on a kind of lifeline. And being dependent isn¡¯t something that any vampire does well.


    So when she came to me and asked me for help in finding a new way to both keep her books and keep her fed, I decided it was a challenge worth taking. After all, if all the necromancers in the world haven¡¯t solved it, who¡¯s to say I can¡¯t?


    Alas, I didn¡¯t realize what I was in for. As per usual.