- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
the newspaper on the other hand is a research failure on my part!
Minerva Golding and the Wand of Silver (Harry Potter Deconstruction)
- Thread starter DragonCobolt
- Start date
- Mature Novel Fantasy
Chapter Four: Bound and Bonding
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Minerva stepped into the guest room of the Blythe household and took a moment to marvel at it. This guest room was twice the size of her bedsit. There was a water closet. There was a window that was open to the fresh night air beyond the building. The electric lights were covered with tasteful shrouds that softened their harsh glow to something warm, welcoming. The door shut behind her and she whispered. "This is quite spectacular," she murmured, softly.
"It is."
Minerva started. She had thought that the house fae of the Blythe household had left her to examine the room without stepping in after her. The sight of her gloriously perfect, nude body made Minerva's heart thump faster than she had expected. A faint tingle of confused nerves shot through her as one long white finger pushed against the latch of the door, clicking the bolt shut and locking it. Titania's eyes, swirling black on black, looked to Minerva and she smiled.
"And I of course, live to serve, Miss Golding."
"I, uh…" Minerva gulped. "I don't...I don't need any service right now."
"To the contrary, you do." Titania took a step forward. Then another. Minerva stepped back again and then again, not sure exactly what it was that was happening here. Her cheeks felt too hot. She felt her knees bump against the side of her brand new bed, the cushy mattress threatening to sweep her off her feet. Her hand grabbed onto the headboard, feeling its sturdiness as Titania continued to prowl towards her. Like a hunting cat. Graceful. Dangerous.
"I really-" Minerva started, then silenced as Titania put her hand to her cheek. Her fingers were cold, and she tilted Minerva's head back with a tiny push of her palm against her chin. She cradled Minerva's face with the tenderness of a lover and sighed, with exquisite pleasure.
"Miss Golding, do allow me to serve you," Titania whispered. "We fae know what you humans desire, better than even you."
"I…" Minerva felt her words choke on her throat as Titania leaned forward, down. Her mouth was as cool as her fingers. Her tongue was exotic ice, sliding along Minerva's mouth, pushing into her. Minerva's toes curled as the cold turned to blazing heat in her mouth – liquid gold dripping into her belly. The heat between her thighs was intoxicating and impossible and overpowering. The fae woman continued the kiss, on and on and on, her free hand reaching forward to pluck at a button here, a button there. Minerva leaned in...and as she leaned in, Titania drew her back. One hand held her head, the other plucked at her collar, and Minerva felt the shoulder of her blouse slipping along her skin, leaving it bare as Titania crooned softly.
"Oh but you are a delicious morsel."
"What is...happening?" Minerva asked, her head spinning.
"Nothing at all, morsel," Titania purred. "Simply enjoy it."
"My court was conquered by the Blythe's men at arms in the year 1598 and I swore an oath to the King of England and the Blythe-Smythe family to serve them and the Stuart Dynasty – and, after the Hanoverians took control, the Blythe half of the family were on the winning side, then, took my bound word and carried me on through the Georgian era-"
"Are you a slave?" Minerva asked, her hand going to her mouth. The sweetness on her tongue tasted foul.
Titania arched a silvery eyebrow. "Aren't we all servants and masters?" she asked, voice wry. "The fae under me serve me. I serve the Blythe. The Blythe serve King George. King George serves his God. Thus it is."
Minerva turned her head aside. She wiped at her mouth, wishing she could wash it off with some water. Her voice was soft. "I...I didn't know you...had…" She trailed off. Gathered herself. Squared her shoulders. "That you had to follow my orders!"
Titania cocked her head.
"Do you still wish to be with me?" She asked. "Sexually?"
"No!" Minerva exclaimed.
Titania inclined her head. "As you wish, my lady."
She stood, then slipped back into the shadows, before Minerva could say anything more. Minerva drew her thighs against herself, and felt as if she had crawled through mud, muck and mire. She laid in bed and found that sleep remained just as illusive.
***
The Lord Nelson pub was as quiet and drear as Minerva had expected when she had asked the operator to patch her through. The barkeep, Norman, spoke to her through the Blythe's remarkably fancy new telephone. He sounded clearer than she had ever heard on one of these things. "This is the Lord Nelson, hours are…" He rattled them off and then finished with: "What do you need?"
"Norman?" Minerva asked. "It's Minerva."
"Golding!" Norman said, cheerfully. "I haven't see you or Petunia 'round here for a while. Want to sell us some more of them matchbooks?"
"Not right now," Minerva said. "I was wondering, could you give a message to...well, anyone living at our tenement? I just need Petunia to know that I'm staying with some family and I'm safe. Tell her they're Sableknights."
"All right," Norman said, cheerfully. "Got it jotted right down here."
"Thanks, Norman," Minerva said. "Goodbye."
She and he hung up and she breathed a slow sigh of relief. Now, at least, Petunia wouldn't fret herself to pieces. She brushed her fingers through her hair, then stepped to the door of the small sitting room that Virginia had brought her too. She found Virginia was still out there, looking up and down the corridor like a watchdog. "All right...are you sure it's safe for me to be out of my room?" She asked.
"Mostly!" Virginia said, grinning. "Mom and Dad are out, and my brothers all have work – well, except for Roland, but he's out shopping. He's heading to Hexgramatica too, worse luck." She shook her head. "But that's why we have the grounds."
"The grounds?" Minerva asked. "But we're in the middle of London?"
Virginia took her hand and yanked her down the corridor. They came down a flight of stairs, past a kitchen full of dishes that seemed to be busy cleaning themselves, and then burst outside through a back door that should have led into an alleyway. Instead, it led into a vast, sprawling expanse of greenery, with a hedge maze in the center, grassy fields surrounding, a small game forest and a hill beyond, and past it all, through a hazy shroud that seemed more sky than surface, the rest of London loomed. Virginia laughed as she saw Minerva's face.
"You're so mundane, it's grand," Virginia said, shaking her head. "So, we got the hedge maze, the forest – don't worry, it's all mundane critters in there, ever since grandpa killed the last manticore we had in there – and sometimes, we have a game of football in the grass when other wizarding families come and visit. Though, that's not quite what you think football's like – see, we got our own rules for it. Makes sense, ya know, since, well, the average footballer doesn't have magic. But we do, so, we have to have magic rules for the magical game!"
Minerva shook her head while Virginia tugged her past the hedge maze, clearly intent on showing her just about everything close up. "Virginia, there's something I still don't quite understand," she said, not having the courage to bring up Titania, or what had happened last night.
"Gina, please!" Virginia said, grinning at her. "I prefer Gina. Virginia makes me feel like my grand aunt. A hundred and ninety years old and still rapping my knuckles whenever I visit." Her palm rubbed her knuckles, as if she remembered the feeling intimately. "And I'm guessing you're going to be asking that question a hell of a lot, eh Minny?"
Minerva snorted. She was amused at how Gina had offered a nickname, then just assumed one for her. It was almost charmingly thoughtless. Like so many things about Gina. "Well, all right. Here's a basic one for you to mock me over: Why am I not a witch?"
"Because you're a wizard," Gina said, sounding faintly confused, her brow knitting. She paused and leaned against the small brickwork base that served as the potted root for the hedgerow that marked this part of the gardens. "Obviously?"
"Yes, but, well, in the stories and such, witches are women that ride around on broomsticks, with black cats as familiars, and who cast spells. Boil boil, toil and trouble and all that," Minerva said, chuckling.
Gina chuckled. "Ahhh, right!" She snapped her fingers. "All right, witches are...like…" She searched for a word. "They're like those peasant woodsmen they have in the back-country. They can do a bit of carpentry, maybe sew up a cut or set a broken bone, may be hunt a little, maybe trap a little. But it's all hearth knowledge, stuff they picked up from their da or their granny. Wizards?" She stood up a bit straighter, arms crossed over her chest. "We wizards actually know the processes behind it. We don't just trust in old tales and stories, we've taken things apart and put them back together again. It's a white way of casting magic, you know?"
Minerva arched an eyebrow at her.
Gina blushed. "W-Well, scientific, I mean!" she said, having clearly caught what she had said. "Sorry. I didn't mean, you know, you."
"Gina…" Minerva shook her head, then smiled, letting Gina off the hook for now. "So, wizards are like scientists and witches are like craftsmen?"
"More like Luddites," Gina said, brushing her hand through her brilliant hair, nose in the air. "No one's actually a witch anymore. I mean, I suppose some of the more poor families, the ones that can't afford to show their face in Hexgramatica, they might still have witches. But you're not a witch – you're doing all your studying properly."
Minerva nodded...then her head lifted. "Wait, okay, you say that you wizards play football?" she asked, then laughed. Then, growing a little nervous. "Do you follow Tottenham?"
Tottenham was Minerva's team. She wasn't sure if every other Jew in London was a fan of theirs – getting three Jews into one room would produce five opinions, after all – but the other teams fans sure acted like it when they got drunk and mean. She tensed herself as she gauged Gina's reaction.
"Fraid not, when it comes to mundanes, I'm more for the Arsenals. Gotta back a winner!!" Gina huffed, but she didn't seem to be offended or insulted or any of the other things that Minerva might have expected. "But lets be honest, neither of those mundane losers wouldn't last a second against the London Dragons!" She pulled her wand and flicked it once, twice. "Awer Kemb Bollr!" Her wand glowed and the air above her glittered with purple and green sparkles, which flashed, then transformed into a perfectly regulation football. It landed right on Gina's head and she bonked it up into the air, then started to kick it with her feet, joggling it in the air with no small amount of skill. She grinned wickedly, holding her wand in her off hand. "Think any mundane team could handle this?"
She started to chase the ball down the green – but her wand flicked in her free hand as she spoke in time with her footsteps, giving a cadence to her spellcasting that seemed to add a driving pressure to it. "Drit!" Step. "Kemb!" Her foot swung, thunk! The ball sailed forward. "Drit!" Her wand thrust and the earth ahead of the ball humped upwards, forming into a curving wave, like the cresting water at the edge of a beach. The ball hit the weave, which twisted and then straightened into a ramp that sent the ball whipping off at a right angle from where Minerva had expected it to go. It shot between the entrance of the hedge maze, vanishing, and Gina thrust up her arms. "Goal! Goal! Goal!" She shouted, bouncing. "And then the crowd goes wild! Gina! Gina! Gina!"
Minerva couldn't help but to start laughing. She shook her head as Gina lowered her arms. "So, basically, no spell can directly affect the ball – no making it burst into flames, no replicating it, no using illusions to mask where it is. Oh! And no spells on other players." She pointed her finger at Minerva, importantly. "Or else it's just a duel with a ball! But you can use spells to affect everything around the ball. So, creating walls of fire? Slicks of ice? Thorns? Vines! Throwing gremlins?" She laughed. "Ah, it's ever so much fun!"
Minerva laughed. "And how many people die horribly?"
"Not that often," Gina said. "They have healers on the fields. But, it can get pretty dicy. The Dragons lost a player in 22 when the Screaming Sikhs made this clever little wall of skulls and spikes – some were illusions, but some were real, and poor Daniel Schrier-Kostly went head first into the real one while leading the ball…" She shook her head a bit sadly. "One of the best, Dad says."
Minerva winced. "And you play this sport for fun?"
"Well, yeah!" Gina said, excitedly. She started to jog towards the hedge maze. When she came back, she had the ball between her feet again, and was kicking it about. "It's got all the best things about being a wizard. Excellence in body, mind, creativity, with teamwork and competition thrown together. Dad says it's the next best thing to a jolly old war!"
"How can anyone call a war jolly after the last one?" Minerva asked.
Gina kicked the ball up, then caught it between her hands. "I mean… the wars before that one, I suppose," She looked a bit pensive. "Dad sometimes gets a bit misty, thinking about Jack and Tommy and Clarence and George and Xander." She bit her lower lip. "They were all the uncles I was gonna have, you know?" She looked down at the ball. Minerva tried to imagine having a whole branch of the family she'd never see, never meet. Even with her extended family scattered by her grandparents flight from Russia, she still knew that they were out there, in Poland and the Ukraine. She stepped over and squeezed Gina's shoulder, gently.
"It's okay," she said.
"I know!" Gina said, brightening up right away. "Sides, it's not like there's gonna be another."
"Even with Hitler?" Minerva asked.
"Pff, he's a big blowhard," Gina said, shaking her head. "Never happen. Never in a million years. Besides, we got France and England and the Russians, and last time, the Americans pitched in. And Canada and India. And…" She paused. "Shit, a bunch of Africans too. All versus Germany and perhaps Italy. Italy! It's not even a contest!" She grinned, slightly. "And that's not even next to what the German wizards have gone through – they got drummed worse than we did, I doubt they have much pull on their mundane government."
"What makes you say that?" Minerva asked. "Ars Magica seem like they'd be happy enough to wear armbands and go around shouting about it."
"Yeah, but they're not that crazy," Gina said. "At least, I hope not." She considered. "If they are, then I'll have to kick Roland in the slats and get him out of there. It's my job, I'm his twin sister." She smiled. "Anyway, I'm starving. Want a bite to eat?"
"Definitely," Minerva said, laughing. Gina's confidence was infectious enough to make the future seem eminently beatable.
***
The days that followed were a furtive time of reading, studying, and listening to the wireless to wile away the hours when Minerva couldn't stick her nose out of her chambers for fear of being found out by the sprawling Blythe family. She minded it less than she expected, though the wireless seemed to spit out a new bit of grim news every day. The stations she listened too spoke seriously and with a censorious tone on the passing of new 'racial laws' by the rubber stamp government that Hitler had put into place ever since he had dissolved the democratic rule of law in his country. BBC commentators wagged their chins at great lengths about the backwards cruelty of it all...but she felt less comforted by that then she thought.
It took just a few twiddles of the dial to bring up one of the private stations that talked up Mosley and Hitler and their 'new ideas for a new century.'
While the world's news was grim, she did find something to bring her hope and joy. It seemed that not having to force herself to work constantly let her focus more than she thought possible on the school books that she had been given, and she learned everything she could from them, practicing a cantrip here, a cantrip there. She learned new words every day, and each of them having a different magical construction.
Kemb. Change. The root word of so many spells, since so many spells were simply about rearranging objects into a specific new organization.
Cidak. Attack. Destroy. The root word of far more spells. It was the killing word. The stunning word. The word that could conjure nightmares, or scatter magical defenses apart.
Awer. Air. Foda. Food. Wif. Woman. The words seemed to be endless, and ever so much more specific and narrow – and the more specific they were, the more potent, the more they could be refined and made to do precisely what one required. And that didn't even touch on wand movements, on runic structures, and on the interplay of all three. One could speak words, touch a rune, wave a wand, and produce a different effect, even if you were using the same words and the same rune and the same wand twitches - all because of subtle changes in the precise connection between words, in order of casting, in order of arrangement of the runes…
Even in generalities, it was enough to make Minerva's head spin. But digging into the specifics of each left her almost giddy with excitement.
It all...made sense.
There was mathematics. There was logic. There were repeatable outcomes from repeatable actions. And all of it could be learned. Studied. Written down. It was like after a lifetime of desperation for a droplet of water on her tongue, she was being given draft after draft of the purest, cleanest water in the world. But in the midst of her studying, Minerva remained focused on the one goal that she had never forgotten.
Petunia.
When she laid in bed, buzzing with thoughts about alchemical reagents and magical combinations – she thought of Petunia. She thought of her twisted leg and her crutch. She thought of her hobbling through life, working her fingers to the bones. Sometimes, when she thought of that, Minerva curled up and began to cry into her pillow, quietly to keep from being overheard by Virginia in the room nearby. She cried and cried and cried – here she was, comfortable and well fed, in a room full of books…
Sometimes, when she thought of it, she would simply clench her fists and think.
I will figure it out. I will. I will.
But, as tantalizing as the knowledge was, the generalities and the hints all left her without the information she needed for actually fixing Petunia. It seemed to be a more complex form of healing magic than what she could learn in Arcana Restoriva I, the introduction to healing magics.
And when she wasn't studying in her room, she was spending time with Virginia Blyhe III. Gina. The girl had been born with a mouth, and she had never once found a reason to shut it. Gina talked about her family, about her goals, about boys she found cute, about girls she found insufferable, about her hopes for Hexgramatica – and all of those hopes were entirely around football. She took Minerva in a walk through the gardens, showed her the scrying pool, told her all about the magical history of the place – or at least, what she could remember.
Through it all, Titania hovered in the background. Ever helpful. Ever serving. Ever obsequious.
Finally, on the 19th, one of the last sleepy Sundays of the month before they would be sent off to Hexgramatica, to learn more than what books and tomes could offer, Minerva finally got up the courage. It was while Gina, in her brash and bold way, had simply assumed that Minerva would be up for braiding her hair simply because she was there and Gina always assumed that everyone was ready for anything. Minerva, sisterless and motherless from an early age, tried to remember what her bubbe had done for her and worked her fingers through Gina's long fox's mane while Gina said: "I think I might want to be Glintfaire, but, really, it's all down to the test. My older brothers say the test is a big deal, but they won't say any damn thing about it but how much of a big deal, it is so annoying!"
Minerva chuckled. "I'm glad that we're both as in the dark on the trial temporalus is." She twined another few strands together, working slowly. Carefully. "Gina, can I ask you about Titania?" She asked, her voice just as cautious.
"Oh, it doesn't count," Gina said, cheerfully. "I mean, the boys get away Scot-free, getting to claim they're virgins all the way to the altar despite being surrounded by house fae since they're born, so it doesn't count as a sin or anything if you do whatever with a fae. It's not like actually being with a woman, not like they're human or anything."
Minerva felt cold. "Gina, that's a horrible thing to say!" she said, the words bursting out despite herself. She wished she could yank them back – she was living here at Gina's sufferance, and...and she liked Gina. But that was part of why the words came out.
Gina blinked, tilting her head a bit – trying to not jar Minerva's fingers. "Wha?" she asked, sounding honestly confused. "She's not! Fae aren't! They're fae, not humans."
"Well, I…" Minerva frowned. "You know some people out there would call me not human." She worked her fingers through Gina's hair, maybe being less gentle than she might have. "And, well, I'm going to say that I don't give a fig what the wizarding world says about anything, for me? Human is human, and if she walks and talks like a human, she is a human. Even if she's also a fae." She frowned. "And I never thought that anyone would still own slaves in this day and age."
"Slave!?" Gina squeaked. She jerked her head away from Mina, swinging herself around. "I'll have you know, the Blythes were abolitionists back in the day – my family voted along with the rest of the block to turn slavery to trash here. Why! There are some Blythes in America who fought on the Union side and smashed the Knights of Copper to ash and kindling! We're not slavers!" She said, glaring. "It's...it's different with house fae."
"Is it?" Minerva asked. "How is it different?"
"Well!" Gina said, looking confident. She paused. Her eyes looked searching. "W-Well, they...surrendered to us. Back in the day. Gave us oaths and such."
Minerva arched an eyebrow at her. "Surrendered. So, you…"
Gina's cheeks turned almost as red as her hair. "W-well, the...there was some fighting, I suppose. But it's different."
"How?" Minerva was implacable.
"B-because it's the rules, okay?" Gina's eyes flashed. "They're beings of rules, it's all they know, I doubt they'd want it... A-and I think I can do my own hair! Goodnight!" She stood, then strode out of the room. The door slammed.
Minerva sat in the bed, her hands drawn against her lap.
The door opened again and Gina, her cheeks burning, scowled. "T-This is my room." She said.
"I know," Minerva said, standing up. She and Gina were quite close as she walked to the door. "I don't…" She started. "I don't...I don't think you're a slaver." She whispered that, quietly, her hang going to Gina's cheek, cupping it. "Your family captured Titania four hundred years ago. It's not your fault." She blushed as Gina's cheeks heated as well – their eyes meeting. They stood...very. Very close. "It's not." Minerva whispered.
Gina drew away. "I know. It's just…" She brushed her fingers through her hair. The anemic, half-done binding of hair together came undone in a flash. In the most quiet, meek voice that Minerva had ever heard from Gina, Gina whispered: "I need to think about this."
Minerva nodded, then slipped out. The door closed and she sighed softly, then hurried down the corridor to her room. She slipped in before anyone noticed, feeling the comfortable embrace of the glamour surrounding her once more. She leaned her head against the back of the door, eyes closed. Her knees were trembling. She felt as if she had braved a machine gun and a trench raid, her heart was fluttering so fast. She let out a ragged sigh and exclaimed: "Well!"
Then, laughing, she said: "Well, that, that, that went better than I expected."
She sat down on the bed with a squeak.
Minerva rubbed her palms against her face.
Then she groaned as ice cold fear slammed into her gut. She let herself sprawl backwards on the bed. "Broomsticks!" She moaned softly. "Broomsticks!"
"You require some cleaning?"
Minerva jerked right up again. Titania had entered the room, carrying a small tray of dishes. She was still nude. Still lovely. She set the tray down, bringing out small crackers, a tea cup, which she filled with rich liquid. Minerva blinked at the display. "I-I...I didn't ask for this," she said.
"No, but you have definitely earned it," Titania said, her smile gentle and playful.
"...you heard?" Minerva asked.
"The rules are I cannot speak or think disloyalty, nor act against my master," Titania said. "Fortunately, I am doing neither. I am simply serving an honored guest." Her eyes glittered – dark black swirls that made Minerva want to sink into them once more. She smiled back at the fea, taking the tea cup. She sipped, and tasted the plentiful sugar mixed within, and sighed slowly.
"Thanks, Titania," she said.
"Now, what about broomsticks?" Titania asked.
"I need to afford a broomstick," Minerva said. "I need to buy one before I go to Hexgramatica, but I've been so busy studying, and I got distracted by Petunia's leg, and…" She shook her head. "And I can't exactly go hunting for a job while hiding out here, I don't want to get caught by the less friendly Blythes!"
Titania chuckled. "If you wish a broomstick, and you cannot afford one made in a wizardly factory, then you will have to take the alternative route, the one still open to one who has the right perspective." She leaned over. Her long, long silvery hair brushed along the floor with a soft whisper. "You could make your own, as witches have done."
She smiled, then turned and walked from the room. Minerva watched her go. She opened her mouth. Then she closed it. She considered everything she knew, and she began to tap her knuckles against her chin, her brow furrowing more as she considered. And thought.
And slowly, she started to smile.
Her fingers thumbed through her Thamaturgy books and she started to read carefully. Her lips moved as she peered down at the book. "Objects imbued with will become...a foci through which you can exert magic. Thus, the earliest broomsticks, wands, familiars and more were made." She turned a few more pages. "Recursive spells capture a chunk of will, but it is only through intense emotions that will can be contained." She flipped back again. "The five emotions most respected are Eros, Philia, Storge, Agape, Ludus, Philautia, as written by…" She closed the book and lifted her head. She spoke now entirely to herself. "A flight spell is a simple spell. It's just making it last that is tricky and thus, why, wizards have broomsticks." She rolled onto her back, then scrambled to her feet.
The room in which she had spent the last month…
There was only one thing in it she felt she could say she loved.
Minerva stepped over and placed her hand against the side of where she had read so many books, studied so long. The writing desk. The writing desk. It was obvious to her as she admired the gorgeous mahogany and brass thing – the writing desk had clearly been made a century or two before, and it was just something that the Blythes owned without thought. Just another thing in their house of things. But to Minerva, it was where she had first realized the linguistic underpinning of magic, and been delighted to see a tiny part of herself in the world she was in. To Minerva, it was something precious beyond the inlaid decorations and the many cleverly carved shelves and nooks and crannies that could hold pens, papers, notebooks and more.
It was also damn comfortable. The writing desk was large enough for her to spread her arms on and was attached to the chair that sat across from it by this clever folding arm. If it ever needed to be moved, the chair could be swung into the desk and folded down, but she had never seen the need. She settled her rump into the chair, feeling the faint creak of the folding arm taking her weight. Her feet rested on the little rest beneath the desk and she slipped her palms along the twin stacks of drawers that framed her legs, feeling each and every one of the little brass rings.
"But is it enough?" Minerva asked.
The room had no answer.
Minerva shrugged. There was only one answer.
She didn't have money. She didn't have a broomstick. No broomstick? No admittance into Hexgramatica. And, well…
Minerva thought of Titania and the old wizarding families. She thought of blood will out and Ars Magica. She thought of Tweed and his cheery tales of British wizards stamping down on the Indian Mutiny. She thought about all of that…
And Minerva realized there was only one response, even if she would never, ever, say it aloud to anyone else.
"Fuck wizards," she said.
Then she got to work. Her wand tip glowed as she scrawled glittering runes onto the sides of the desk, kneeling and working with a feverish abandon. The channels to draw the power and trap it. The reinforcement, to ensure the desk would stay intact. The empty slots for her word to be spoken into. Then, at last, a little bit of extra flair she thought of. Wind could be buffeted, air could be warmed. All of that seemed logical enough – and more, she had plenty of space to work with. As she scrawled runes, she tried to imagine doing this kind of runecraft on a broom.
Minerva looked at her wand, and remembered all the wands in Lolipan's – and then remembered all the specialized tools at Dartmouth and Sons – specialized tools could do something hand tools never could. She pouted. "...okay, maybe building these in factories has an advantage."
She took a step back and watched as her new 'broom' started to glow faintly. Now, she simply needed to speak the right words. The only problem was, she wasn't entirely sure what the right phrase was. She had the word for flight – Flyht – but was it Kemb Flyht or the other way around? The arrangement had to be right, and the books hadn't laid out the specific order for this kind of a spell because...well, it was a bit beyond her, high-level stuff. Minerva closed her eyes as she felt a sudden upswelling of frustration and sorrow. She had worked hard and she hadn't fully prepared herself – and now she was standing here with a partially enchanted writing desk and…
Minerva shook her head.
She had come this far.
She would try.
She pointed her wand and whispered. "So Kemb Flyht…" She said – and tingling on the tip of her tongue, she knew she didn't quite have enough. The spell felt as if it was already beginning to fall apart before she even had it done. But then, in desperation, she threw in another word. A word of power all her own. "Emmet."
Hebrew for truth. It was the word that the Rabbi of Prague had scrawled on the forehead of the golem, to bring him to life. She was no Rabbi. She was not taught the Kabbalah. She barely knew the wizardry the English called 'casting white.' But she placed the word down and she prayed that God would not mind so much.
The desk before her rattled, then trembled, then lifted into the air. It hovered before her shins, floating there as gently and serenely as if it had never known gravity. Minerva smiled, then slowly, she reached out and touched the side of the desk. It brushed against her, like a skittish cat, and the drawers opened and shut with a nervous flutter.
"Oh my," she whispered.
Minerva sat in the attached chair. She felt the bountiful loftiness of the desk under her. She placed her palms where she had placed them many times before this week – as if she was going to lean forward and study a book. She leaned forward and the desk skimmed forward and bonked into the wall across from the bed with a thunk, rebounding away and skimming as she lurched in the seat, laughing.
"Hah!" Minerva said, her eyes sparkling. "I did it!"
The door to the room opened as Gina hurriedly stuck her head in. "Minnie, a glamour is a glamour but-" she gaped, her jaw hanging open as she watched Minerva fly her desk around the bed in a slow, careful loop, the desk banking as gracefully as a desk possibly could.
"I did it!" Minerva said, laughing and kicking her legs against the underside of the desk. "I'm going to Hexgramatica!"
"It is."
Minerva started. She had thought that the house fae of the Blythe household had left her to examine the room without stepping in after her. The sight of her gloriously perfect, nude body made Minerva's heart thump faster than she had expected. A faint tingle of confused nerves shot through her as one long white finger pushed against the latch of the door, clicking the bolt shut and locking it. Titania's eyes, swirling black on black, looked to Minerva and she smiled.
"And I of course, live to serve, Miss Golding."
"I, uh…" Minerva gulped. "I don't...I don't need any service right now."
"To the contrary, you do." Titania took a step forward. Then another. Minerva stepped back again and then again, not sure exactly what it was that was happening here. Her cheeks felt too hot. She felt her knees bump against the side of her brand new bed, the cushy mattress threatening to sweep her off her feet. Her hand grabbed onto the headboard, feeling its sturdiness as Titania continued to prowl towards her. Like a hunting cat. Graceful. Dangerous.
"I really-" Minerva started, then silenced as Titania put her hand to her cheek. Her fingers were cold, and she tilted Minerva's head back with a tiny push of her palm against her chin. She cradled Minerva's face with the tenderness of a lover and sighed, with exquisite pleasure.
"Miss Golding, do allow me to serve you," Titania whispered. "We fae know what you humans desire, better than even you."
"I…" Minerva felt her words choke on her throat as Titania leaned forward, down. Her mouth was as cool as her fingers. Her tongue was exotic ice, sliding along Minerva's mouth, pushing into her. Minerva's toes curled as the cold turned to blazing heat in her mouth – liquid gold dripping into her belly. The heat between her thighs was intoxicating and impossible and overpowering. The fae woman continued the kiss, on and on and on, her free hand reaching forward to pluck at a button here, a button there. Minerva leaned in...and as she leaned in, Titania drew her back. One hand held her head, the other plucked at her collar, and Minerva felt the shoulder of her blouse slipping along her skin, leaving it bare as Titania crooned softly.
"Oh but you are a delicious morsel."
"What is...happening?" Minerva asked, her head spinning.
"Nothing at all, morsel," Titania purred. "Simply enjoy it."
Titania ravages Minerva, awakening in her pleasure - but, near the end, it is revealed that Titania is bound by a geas, spoiling the mood somewhat!
Her blouse's shoulder slipped aside. Minerva mumbled. "I...y-you should...stop…" She knew this was wrong. Titania was a woman. This went against everything that was natural. But her bra trickled to the floor and her nipples were two rosy points that drew Titania's mouth like a loadstone drew iron filings. Minerva moaned her objection. "Stop…" But as she moaned, she arched her back, pressing herself against Titania, who heeded her request, her commands, not at all. Her cool hand cradled Minerva's other tit, squeezing her gently. Then more firmly. Then she rolled and tweaked Minerva's nipple, the pressure sending a warm jolt straight to to space between Minerva's legs. She gasped and bucked her hips, while Titania kissed from breast to breast, sucking. Nibbling. Drawing her head back without releasing her teeth from Minerva. It should have hurt.
"Oh God," Minerva moaned.
"Miss Golding," Titania purred, drawing her mouth fully away. Her hands continued to stroke Minerva, sliding down to her hips. Minerva felt her panties slither down her thighs as the fae woman stooped – her knees bending, her heels lifting. She remained on her toes as she watched Minerva's sex come into view, the thick snarl of her pubic hair drawing her nose. She buried her face against the downy softness, breathing in. "You have such a lovely cunt."
"T-Titania!" Minerva gasped. "Y-You can't call it that!"
"Can I not?" Titania grinned. Her hands cupped Minerva's ass, then she leaned forward…
Minerva had not expected any of this.
She had triply over not expected…hell, she had never even dreamed of what Titania did next. Her dark tongue slipped from her mouth and lapped from base to clit of Minerva's sex, teasing her folds. Then she leaned in, kissing Minerva's sex with an open mouthed moan, her tongue plunging in and in and in and in – uncoiling longer and thicker than it was humanly possible. Minerva's mouth opened and she clutched onto the fae woman's hair, her hips bucking despite herself. The gold in her body felt as if it had been set slight, and it blazed through her eyes, turning her vision white as she moaned inarticulately. "Oh fuck!"
Her back arched.
Her hips spasmed.
Minerva Golding came. The pleasure that burst through her was so similar to the times she reached between her own thighs, but so much finer as well – Minerva knew what each stroke of her finger against her sex might do. This was unexpected. This was overpowering. Her knees went weak, but Titania had the strength to hold her up despite her willowy build. She had more strength than that. Sliding one hand down and then spreading Minerva even more, she began to feast on Minerva's cunt and ass. She licked at one, then ducked forward and tongued the other – her wet lips bringing more bliss to Minerva than Minerva had thought possible.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes Titania! Oh, yes! Oh God! Oh God!" Minerva moaned and trembled and clenched her hands on the hair of the woman eating her out as she came again, then again. She had never imagined sex could feel like this – that it could involved this. And it went on and on and on and on. The cresting didn't reach an upper limit, there was no gentle fading to blackness, there was merely more and more pleasure as the fae woman's tongue delved into her again and again and again – and as she added her fingers to the mixture. Long. Cool. Knowing. They found places inside of Minerva's body that she hadn't even known had been a choice, a possibility.
Minerva's throat felt raw as she trembled and twitched and sobbed out. "P-Please! No more!" She tossed her head to the side, tears streaming down her cheeks as the fae left one last blazing lick against her, then withdrew, leaving Minerva feel as if she had been wrung out. She gasped and trembled and closed her eyes. The fae clicked her tongue and then swept down into the bed. Her long and limber body enfolded Minerva, arms to belly, chin on shoulder, mouth a warm breath against her ear.
"No more, my little sweeting," Titania crooned softly. "Your dew will keep." Her hand cupped one of Minerva's breasts. Her fingers were elegant and she wrung from Minerva a needy whine as she gently teased and tugged on her nipple. "Mmm, but you do make such sweet music."
"Hnn!" Minerva felt as if the noises being ripped from her throat were anything but musical – raw, animal want. Grunting need. She had never felt more soiled, nor more pleased, in her life. She turned her head – and despite her confusion and her conflict, she leaned into Titania, kissing her ferociously. Her tongue and the other woman's pressed together and for a time, Minerva was allowed to explore – and then Titania unwrapped herself. Legs, arms, hands, all left Minerva as the fae woman slipped from the bed, stretching her nude body with languid feline disregard. Minerva's voice felt raspy as she spoke. "Titania…"
"If that is all, my lady?" Titania asked, starting to door.
Minerva's hands slipped under her. She pushed herself to her hands and her knees. She felt wrung out. But she also felt a hunger in her. One that she had felt flickering many a time before – even if she had never allowed herself to fan those flames. But she needed no fan now. Titania had taken care of that, with careless abandon. Hell, Titania had tossed about kerosene onto the fires, they raged. An inferno. Minerva's voice came out as a growl.
"Get. Back. Here."
Titania turned.
"You order?"
"I order," Minerva said.
Titania stepped to the bed, then slipped onto it. Her knees drew up under her and she laughed as Minerva's hands, seeking and wanting, reached out and cupped her almost flat chest. She squeezed, firmly, sliding her hands so that her fingers could find and tweak Titania's nipples, feeling their aching hardness. Minerva leaned forward, kissing one breast, then the other, tasting the fae woman's silvery skin. She was cool to the touch. And yet, licking her only made Minerva's heat grow brighter. Titania chuckled, softly. "Have you ever been with-" she bit her lip as Minerva took hold of her nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting – roughly. "-mmm, a woman?"
Minerva didn't respond. She sucked harder on her other tit, and the fae arched her back, pressing more into her.
"I see not," Titania crooned.
Minerva pushed her backwards. The bed's silk sheets rumpled beneath her, and Minerva kissed along each sleek inch of Titania's muscular belly, pausing to circle her belly button with her tongue. Then she kept kissing down. Down. Down. She kissed along the hairless spot where pubic hair should have grown, then hesitated, looking down at the cool folds of the fae's sex. She watched a gleaming droplet of her arousal slipping down, beading against the sheets. Her eyes were glazed and her own body sang out with the need – but Minerva hesitated. She had read enough stories, enough tales, even if the bard hadn't included the fact in his own Midsummer's tale. Her eyes closed and she drew her head back. "Does this count as...eating...of the fae?" she asked, raggedly.
"Oh it does, my little sweeting," Titania said, her voice a quiet purr. "But, ever since I was bound in service to the Blythe household, my ability to lay geas has been shackled." She twitched her thighs a bit wider. "Feast away."
The urge to lean in and lick and lick and lick and lick was so overpowering that Minerva was three licks in before she stopped herself. Each lick bloomed with the flavor of Titania – exotic and delicious and so very sweet. But she forced herself back, lips dripping with glowing, faeish juice, and whispered. "S-Shackled? Bound?" she asked, lifting her gaze up.
Titania's face had shown her pleasure – but in an instant, that pleasure faded. Her fingers were down, almost touching her own clit, but they drew back slightly as she murmured.
"Oh God," Minerva moaned.
"Miss Golding," Titania purred, drawing her mouth fully away. Her hands continued to stroke Minerva, sliding down to her hips. Minerva felt her panties slither down her thighs as the fae woman stooped – her knees bending, her heels lifting. She remained on her toes as she watched Minerva's sex come into view, the thick snarl of her pubic hair drawing her nose. She buried her face against the downy softness, breathing in. "You have such a lovely cunt."
"T-Titania!" Minerva gasped. "Y-You can't call it that!"
"Can I not?" Titania grinned. Her hands cupped Minerva's ass, then she leaned forward…
Minerva had not expected any of this.
She had triply over not expected…hell, she had never even dreamed of what Titania did next. Her dark tongue slipped from her mouth and lapped from base to clit of Minerva's sex, teasing her folds. Then she leaned in, kissing Minerva's sex with an open mouthed moan, her tongue plunging in and in and in and in – uncoiling longer and thicker than it was humanly possible. Minerva's mouth opened and she clutched onto the fae woman's hair, her hips bucking despite herself. The gold in her body felt as if it had been set slight, and it blazed through her eyes, turning her vision white as she moaned inarticulately. "Oh fuck!"
Her back arched.
Her hips spasmed.
Minerva Golding came. The pleasure that burst through her was so similar to the times she reached between her own thighs, but so much finer as well – Minerva knew what each stroke of her finger against her sex might do. This was unexpected. This was overpowering. Her knees went weak, but Titania had the strength to hold her up despite her willowy build. She had more strength than that. Sliding one hand down and then spreading Minerva even more, she began to feast on Minerva's cunt and ass. She licked at one, then ducked forward and tongued the other – her wet lips bringing more bliss to Minerva than Minerva had thought possible.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes Titania! Oh, yes! Oh God! Oh God!" Minerva moaned and trembled and clenched her hands on the hair of the woman eating her out as she came again, then again. She had never imagined sex could feel like this – that it could involved this. And it went on and on and on and on. The cresting didn't reach an upper limit, there was no gentle fading to blackness, there was merely more and more pleasure as the fae woman's tongue delved into her again and again and again – and as she added her fingers to the mixture. Long. Cool. Knowing. They found places inside of Minerva's body that she hadn't even known had been a choice, a possibility.
Minerva's throat felt raw as she trembled and twitched and sobbed out. "P-Please! No more!" She tossed her head to the side, tears streaming down her cheeks as the fae left one last blazing lick against her, then withdrew, leaving Minerva feel as if she had been wrung out. She gasped and trembled and closed her eyes. The fae clicked her tongue and then swept down into the bed. Her long and limber body enfolded Minerva, arms to belly, chin on shoulder, mouth a warm breath against her ear.
"No more, my little sweeting," Titania crooned softly. "Your dew will keep." Her hand cupped one of Minerva's breasts. Her fingers were elegant and she wrung from Minerva a needy whine as she gently teased and tugged on her nipple. "Mmm, but you do make such sweet music."
"Hnn!" Minerva felt as if the noises being ripped from her throat were anything but musical – raw, animal want. Grunting need. She had never felt more soiled, nor more pleased, in her life. She turned her head – and despite her confusion and her conflict, she leaned into Titania, kissing her ferociously. Her tongue and the other woman's pressed together and for a time, Minerva was allowed to explore – and then Titania unwrapped herself. Legs, arms, hands, all left Minerva as the fae woman slipped from the bed, stretching her nude body with languid feline disregard. Minerva's voice felt raspy as she spoke. "Titania…"
"If that is all, my lady?" Titania asked, starting to door.
Minerva's hands slipped under her. She pushed herself to her hands and her knees. She felt wrung out. But she also felt a hunger in her. One that she had felt flickering many a time before – even if she had never allowed herself to fan those flames. But she needed no fan now. Titania had taken care of that, with careless abandon. Hell, Titania had tossed about kerosene onto the fires, they raged. An inferno. Minerva's voice came out as a growl.
"Get. Back. Here."
Titania turned.
"You order?"
"I order," Minerva said.
Titania stepped to the bed, then slipped onto it. Her knees drew up under her and she laughed as Minerva's hands, seeking and wanting, reached out and cupped her almost flat chest. She squeezed, firmly, sliding her hands so that her fingers could find and tweak Titania's nipples, feeling their aching hardness. Minerva leaned forward, kissing one breast, then the other, tasting the fae woman's silvery skin. She was cool to the touch. And yet, licking her only made Minerva's heat grow brighter. Titania chuckled, softly. "Have you ever been with-" she bit her lip as Minerva took hold of her nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting – roughly. "-mmm, a woman?"
Minerva didn't respond. She sucked harder on her other tit, and the fae arched her back, pressing more into her.
"I see not," Titania crooned.
Minerva pushed her backwards. The bed's silk sheets rumpled beneath her, and Minerva kissed along each sleek inch of Titania's muscular belly, pausing to circle her belly button with her tongue. Then she kept kissing down. Down. Down. She kissed along the hairless spot where pubic hair should have grown, then hesitated, looking down at the cool folds of the fae's sex. She watched a gleaming droplet of her arousal slipping down, beading against the sheets. Her eyes were glazed and her own body sang out with the need – but Minerva hesitated. She had read enough stories, enough tales, even if the bard hadn't included the fact in his own Midsummer's tale. Her eyes closed and she drew her head back. "Does this count as...eating...of the fae?" she asked, raggedly.
"Oh it does, my little sweeting," Titania said, her voice a quiet purr. "But, ever since I was bound in service to the Blythe household, my ability to lay geas has been shackled." She twitched her thighs a bit wider. "Feast away."
The urge to lean in and lick and lick and lick and lick was so overpowering that Minerva was three licks in before she stopped herself. Each lick bloomed with the flavor of Titania – exotic and delicious and so very sweet. But she forced herself back, lips dripping with glowing, faeish juice, and whispered. "S-Shackled? Bound?" she asked, lifting her gaze up.
Titania's face had shown her pleasure – but in an instant, that pleasure faded. Her fingers were down, almost touching her own clit, but they drew back slightly as she murmured.
"My court was conquered by the Blythe's men at arms in the year 1598 and I swore an oath to the King of England and the Blythe-Smythe family to serve them and the Stuart Dynasty – and, after the Hanoverians took control, the Blythe half of the family were on the winning side, then, took my bound word and carried me on through the Georgian era-"
"Are you a slave?" Minerva asked, her hand going to her mouth. The sweetness on her tongue tasted foul.
Titania arched a silvery eyebrow. "Aren't we all servants and masters?" she asked, voice wry. "The fae under me serve me. I serve the Blythe. The Blythe serve King George. King George serves his God. Thus it is."
Minerva turned her head aside. She wiped at her mouth, wishing she could wash it off with some water. Her voice was soft. "I...I didn't know you...had…" She trailed off. Gathered herself. Squared her shoulders. "That you had to follow my orders!"
Titania cocked her head.
"Do you still wish to be with me?" She asked. "Sexually?"
"No!" Minerva exclaimed.
Titania inclined her head. "As you wish, my lady."
She stood, then slipped back into the shadows, before Minerva could say anything more. Minerva drew her thighs against herself, and felt as if she had crawled through mud, muck and mire. She laid in bed and found that sleep remained just as illusive.
***
The Lord Nelson pub was as quiet and drear as Minerva had expected when she had asked the operator to patch her through. The barkeep, Norman, spoke to her through the Blythe's remarkably fancy new telephone. He sounded clearer than she had ever heard on one of these things. "This is the Lord Nelson, hours are…" He rattled them off and then finished with: "What do you need?"
"Norman?" Minerva asked. "It's Minerva."
"Golding!" Norman said, cheerfully. "I haven't see you or Petunia 'round here for a while. Want to sell us some more of them matchbooks?"
"Not right now," Minerva said. "I was wondering, could you give a message to...well, anyone living at our tenement? I just need Petunia to know that I'm staying with some family and I'm safe. Tell her they're Sableknights."
"All right," Norman said, cheerfully. "Got it jotted right down here."
"Thanks, Norman," Minerva said. "Goodbye."
She and he hung up and she breathed a slow sigh of relief. Now, at least, Petunia wouldn't fret herself to pieces. She brushed her fingers through her hair, then stepped to the door of the small sitting room that Virginia had brought her too. She found Virginia was still out there, looking up and down the corridor like a watchdog. "All right...are you sure it's safe for me to be out of my room?" She asked.
"Mostly!" Virginia said, grinning. "Mom and Dad are out, and my brothers all have work – well, except for Roland, but he's out shopping. He's heading to Hexgramatica too, worse luck." She shook her head. "But that's why we have the grounds."
"The grounds?" Minerva asked. "But we're in the middle of London?"
Virginia took her hand and yanked her down the corridor. They came down a flight of stairs, past a kitchen full of dishes that seemed to be busy cleaning themselves, and then burst outside through a back door that should have led into an alleyway. Instead, it led into a vast, sprawling expanse of greenery, with a hedge maze in the center, grassy fields surrounding, a small game forest and a hill beyond, and past it all, through a hazy shroud that seemed more sky than surface, the rest of London loomed. Virginia laughed as she saw Minerva's face.
"You're so mundane, it's grand," Virginia said, shaking her head. "So, we got the hedge maze, the forest – don't worry, it's all mundane critters in there, ever since grandpa killed the last manticore we had in there – and sometimes, we have a game of football in the grass when other wizarding families come and visit. Though, that's not quite what you think football's like – see, we got our own rules for it. Makes sense, ya know, since, well, the average footballer doesn't have magic. But we do, so, we have to have magic rules for the magical game!"
Minerva shook her head while Virginia tugged her past the hedge maze, clearly intent on showing her just about everything close up. "Virginia, there's something I still don't quite understand," she said, not having the courage to bring up Titania, or what had happened last night.
"Gina, please!" Virginia said, grinning at her. "I prefer Gina. Virginia makes me feel like my grand aunt. A hundred and ninety years old and still rapping my knuckles whenever I visit." Her palm rubbed her knuckles, as if she remembered the feeling intimately. "And I'm guessing you're going to be asking that question a hell of a lot, eh Minny?"
Minerva snorted. She was amused at how Gina had offered a nickname, then just assumed one for her. It was almost charmingly thoughtless. Like so many things about Gina. "Well, all right. Here's a basic one for you to mock me over: Why am I not a witch?"
"Because you're a wizard," Gina said, sounding faintly confused, her brow knitting. She paused and leaned against the small brickwork base that served as the potted root for the hedgerow that marked this part of the gardens. "Obviously?"
"Yes, but, well, in the stories and such, witches are women that ride around on broomsticks, with black cats as familiars, and who cast spells. Boil boil, toil and trouble and all that," Minerva said, chuckling.
Gina chuckled. "Ahhh, right!" She snapped her fingers. "All right, witches are...like…" She searched for a word. "They're like those peasant woodsmen they have in the back-country. They can do a bit of carpentry, maybe sew up a cut or set a broken bone, may be hunt a little, maybe trap a little. But it's all hearth knowledge, stuff they picked up from their da or their granny. Wizards?" She stood up a bit straighter, arms crossed over her chest. "We wizards actually know the processes behind it. We don't just trust in old tales and stories, we've taken things apart and put them back together again. It's a white way of casting magic, you know?"
Minerva arched an eyebrow at her.
Gina blushed. "W-Well, scientific, I mean!" she said, having clearly caught what she had said. "Sorry. I didn't mean, you know, you."
"Gina…" Minerva shook her head, then smiled, letting Gina off the hook for now. "So, wizards are like scientists and witches are like craftsmen?"
"More like Luddites," Gina said, brushing her hand through her brilliant hair, nose in the air. "No one's actually a witch anymore. I mean, I suppose some of the more poor families, the ones that can't afford to show their face in Hexgramatica, they might still have witches. But you're not a witch – you're doing all your studying properly."
Minerva nodded...then her head lifted. "Wait, okay, you say that you wizards play football?" she asked, then laughed. Then, growing a little nervous. "Do you follow Tottenham?"
Tottenham was Minerva's team. She wasn't sure if every other Jew in London was a fan of theirs – getting three Jews into one room would produce five opinions, after all – but the other teams fans sure acted like it when they got drunk and mean. She tensed herself as she gauged Gina's reaction.
"Fraid not, when it comes to mundanes, I'm more for the Arsenals. Gotta back a winner!!" Gina huffed, but she didn't seem to be offended or insulted or any of the other things that Minerva might have expected. "But lets be honest, neither of those mundane losers wouldn't last a second against the London Dragons!" She pulled her wand and flicked it once, twice. "Awer Kemb Bollr!" Her wand glowed and the air above her glittered with purple and green sparkles, which flashed, then transformed into a perfectly regulation football. It landed right on Gina's head and she bonked it up into the air, then started to kick it with her feet, joggling it in the air with no small amount of skill. She grinned wickedly, holding her wand in her off hand. "Think any mundane team could handle this?"
She started to chase the ball down the green – but her wand flicked in her free hand as she spoke in time with her footsteps, giving a cadence to her spellcasting that seemed to add a driving pressure to it. "Drit!" Step. "Kemb!" Her foot swung, thunk! The ball sailed forward. "Drit!" Her wand thrust and the earth ahead of the ball humped upwards, forming into a curving wave, like the cresting water at the edge of a beach. The ball hit the weave, which twisted and then straightened into a ramp that sent the ball whipping off at a right angle from where Minerva had expected it to go. It shot between the entrance of the hedge maze, vanishing, and Gina thrust up her arms. "Goal! Goal! Goal!" She shouted, bouncing. "And then the crowd goes wild! Gina! Gina! Gina!"
Minerva couldn't help but to start laughing. She shook her head as Gina lowered her arms. "So, basically, no spell can directly affect the ball – no making it burst into flames, no replicating it, no using illusions to mask where it is. Oh! And no spells on other players." She pointed her finger at Minerva, importantly. "Or else it's just a duel with a ball! But you can use spells to affect everything around the ball. So, creating walls of fire? Slicks of ice? Thorns? Vines! Throwing gremlins?" She laughed. "Ah, it's ever so much fun!"
Minerva laughed. "And how many people die horribly?"
"Not that often," Gina said. "They have healers on the fields. But, it can get pretty dicy. The Dragons lost a player in 22 when the Screaming Sikhs made this clever little wall of skulls and spikes – some were illusions, but some were real, and poor Daniel Schrier-Kostly went head first into the real one while leading the ball…" She shook her head a bit sadly. "One of the best, Dad says."
Minerva winced. "And you play this sport for fun?"
"Well, yeah!" Gina said, excitedly. She started to jog towards the hedge maze. When she came back, she had the ball between her feet again, and was kicking it about. "It's got all the best things about being a wizard. Excellence in body, mind, creativity, with teamwork and competition thrown together. Dad says it's the next best thing to a jolly old war!"
"How can anyone call a war jolly after the last one?" Minerva asked.
Gina kicked the ball up, then caught it between her hands. "I mean… the wars before that one, I suppose," She looked a bit pensive. "Dad sometimes gets a bit misty, thinking about Jack and Tommy and Clarence and George and Xander." She bit her lower lip. "They were all the uncles I was gonna have, you know?" She looked down at the ball. Minerva tried to imagine having a whole branch of the family she'd never see, never meet. Even with her extended family scattered by her grandparents flight from Russia, she still knew that they were out there, in Poland and the Ukraine. She stepped over and squeezed Gina's shoulder, gently.
"It's okay," she said.
"I know!" Gina said, brightening up right away. "Sides, it's not like there's gonna be another."
"Even with Hitler?" Minerva asked.
"Pff, he's a big blowhard," Gina said, shaking her head. "Never happen. Never in a million years. Besides, we got France and England and the Russians, and last time, the Americans pitched in. And Canada and India. And…" She paused. "Shit, a bunch of Africans too. All versus Germany and perhaps Italy. Italy! It's not even a contest!" She grinned, slightly. "And that's not even next to what the German wizards have gone through – they got drummed worse than we did, I doubt they have much pull on their mundane government."
"What makes you say that?" Minerva asked. "Ars Magica seem like they'd be happy enough to wear armbands and go around shouting about it."
"Yeah, but they're not that crazy," Gina said. "At least, I hope not." She considered. "If they are, then I'll have to kick Roland in the slats and get him out of there. It's my job, I'm his twin sister." She smiled. "Anyway, I'm starving. Want a bite to eat?"
"Definitely," Minerva said, laughing. Gina's confidence was infectious enough to make the future seem eminently beatable.
***
The days that followed were a furtive time of reading, studying, and listening to the wireless to wile away the hours when Minerva couldn't stick her nose out of her chambers for fear of being found out by the sprawling Blythe family. She minded it less than she expected, though the wireless seemed to spit out a new bit of grim news every day. The stations she listened too spoke seriously and with a censorious tone on the passing of new 'racial laws' by the rubber stamp government that Hitler had put into place ever since he had dissolved the democratic rule of law in his country. BBC commentators wagged their chins at great lengths about the backwards cruelty of it all...but she felt less comforted by that then she thought.
It took just a few twiddles of the dial to bring up one of the private stations that talked up Mosley and Hitler and their 'new ideas for a new century.'
While the world's news was grim, she did find something to bring her hope and joy. It seemed that not having to force herself to work constantly let her focus more than she thought possible on the school books that she had been given, and she learned everything she could from them, practicing a cantrip here, a cantrip there. She learned new words every day, and each of them having a different magical construction.
Kemb. Change. The root word of so many spells, since so many spells were simply about rearranging objects into a specific new organization.
Cidak. Attack. Destroy. The root word of far more spells. It was the killing word. The stunning word. The word that could conjure nightmares, or scatter magical defenses apart.
Awer. Air. Foda. Food. Wif. Woman. The words seemed to be endless, and ever so much more specific and narrow – and the more specific they were, the more potent, the more they could be refined and made to do precisely what one required. And that didn't even touch on wand movements, on runic structures, and on the interplay of all three. One could speak words, touch a rune, wave a wand, and produce a different effect, even if you were using the same words and the same rune and the same wand twitches - all because of subtle changes in the precise connection between words, in order of casting, in order of arrangement of the runes…
Even in generalities, it was enough to make Minerva's head spin. But digging into the specifics of each left her almost giddy with excitement.
It all...made sense.
There was mathematics. There was logic. There were repeatable outcomes from repeatable actions. And all of it could be learned. Studied. Written down. It was like after a lifetime of desperation for a droplet of water on her tongue, she was being given draft after draft of the purest, cleanest water in the world. But in the midst of her studying, Minerva remained focused on the one goal that she had never forgotten.
Petunia.
When she laid in bed, buzzing with thoughts about alchemical reagents and magical combinations – she thought of Petunia. She thought of her twisted leg and her crutch. She thought of her hobbling through life, working her fingers to the bones. Sometimes, when she thought of that, Minerva curled up and began to cry into her pillow, quietly to keep from being overheard by Virginia in the room nearby. She cried and cried and cried – here she was, comfortable and well fed, in a room full of books…
Sometimes, when she thought of it, she would simply clench her fists and think.
I will figure it out. I will. I will.
But, as tantalizing as the knowledge was, the generalities and the hints all left her without the information she needed for actually fixing Petunia. It seemed to be a more complex form of healing magic than what she could learn in Arcana Restoriva I, the introduction to healing magics.
And when she wasn't studying in her room, she was spending time with Virginia Blyhe III. Gina. The girl had been born with a mouth, and she had never once found a reason to shut it. Gina talked about her family, about her goals, about boys she found cute, about girls she found insufferable, about her hopes for Hexgramatica – and all of those hopes were entirely around football. She took Minerva in a walk through the gardens, showed her the scrying pool, told her all about the magical history of the place – or at least, what she could remember.
Through it all, Titania hovered in the background. Ever helpful. Ever serving. Ever obsequious.
Finally, on the 19th, one of the last sleepy Sundays of the month before they would be sent off to Hexgramatica, to learn more than what books and tomes could offer, Minerva finally got up the courage. It was while Gina, in her brash and bold way, had simply assumed that Minerva would be up for braiding her hair simply because she was there and Gina always assumed that everyone was ready for anything. Minerva, sisterless and motherless from an early age, tried to remember what her bubbe had done for her and worked her fingers through Gina's long fox's mane while Gina said: "I think I might want to be Glintfaire, but, really, it's all down to the test. My older brothers say the test is a big deal, but they won't say any damn thing about it but how much of a big deal, it is so annoying!"
Minerva chuckled. "I'm glad that we're both as in the dark on the trial temporalus is." She twined another few strands together, working slowly. Carefully. "Gina, can I ask you about Titania?" She asked, her voice just as cautious.
"Oh, it doesn't count," Gina said, cheerfully. "I mean, the boys get away Scot-free, getting to claim they're virgins all the way to the altar despite being surrounded by house fae since they're born, so it doesn't count as a sin or anything if you do whatever with a fae. It's not like actually being with a woman, not like they're human or anything."
Minerva felt cold. "Gina, that's a horrible thing to say!" she said, the words bursting out despite herself. She wished she could yank them back – she was living here at Gina's sufferance, and...and she liked Gina. But that was part of why the words came out.
Gina blinked, tilting her head a bit – trying to not jar Minerva's fingers. "Wha?" she asked, sounding honestly confused. "She's not! Fae aren't! They're fae, not humans."
"Well, I…" Minerva frowned. "You know some people out there would call me not human." She worked her fingers through Gina's hair, maybe being less gentle than she might have. "And, well, I'm going to say that I don't give a fig what the wizarding world says about anything, for me? Human is human, and if she walks and talks like a human, she is a human. Even if she's also a fae." She frowned. "And I never thought that anyone would still own slaves in this day and age."
"Slave!?" Gina squeaked. She jerked her head away from Mina, swinging herself around. "I'll have you know, the Blythes were abolitionists back in the day – my family voted along with the rest of the block to turn slavery to trash here. Why! There are some Blythes in America who fought on the Union side and smashed the Knights of Copper to ash and kindling! We're not slavers!" She said, glaring. "It's...it's different with house fae."
"Is it?" Minerva asked. "How is it different?"
"Well!" Gina said, looking confident. She paused. Her eyes looked searching. "W-Well, they...surrendered to us. Back in the day. Gave us oaths and such."
Minerva arched an eyebrow at her. "Surrendered. So, you…"
Gina's cheeks turned almost as red as her hair. "W-well, the...there was some fighting, I suppose. But it's different."
"How?" Minerva was implacable.
"B-because it's the rules, okay?" Gina's eyes flashed. "They're beings of rules, it's all they know, I doubt they'd want it... A-and I think I can do my own hair! Goodnight!" She stood, then strode out of the room. The door slammed.
Minerva sat in the bed, her hands drawn against her lap.
The door opened again and Gina, her cheeks burning, scowled. "T-This is my room." She said.
"I know," Minerva said, standing up. She and Gina were quite close as she walked to the door. "I don't…" She started. "I don't...I don't think you're a slaver." She whispered that, quietly, her hang going to Gina's cheek, cupping it. "Your family captured Titania four hundred years ago. It's not your fault." She blushed as Gina's cheeks heated as well – their eyes meeting. They stood...very. Very close. "It's not." Minerva whispered.
Gina drew away. "I know. It's just…" She brushed her fingers through her hair. The anemic, half-done binding of hair together came undone in a flash. In the most quiet, meek voice that Minerva had ever heard from Gina, Gina whispered: "I need to think about this."
Minerva nodded, then slipped out. The door closed and she sighed softly, then hurried down the corridor to her room. She slipped in before anyone noticed, feeling the comfortable embrace of the glamour surrounding her once more. She leaned her head against the back of the door, eyes closed. Her knees were trembling. She felt as if she had braved a machine gun and a trench raid, her heart was fluttering so fast. She let out a ragged sigh and exclaimed: "Well!"
Then, laughing, she said: "Well, that, that, that went better than I expected."
She sat down on the bed with a squeak.
Minerva rubbed her palms against her face.
Then she groaned as ice cold fear slammed into her gut. She let herself sprawl backwards on the bed. "Broomsticks!" She moaned softly. "Broomsticks!"
"You require some cleaning?"
Minerva jerked right up again. Titania had entered the room, carrying a small tray of dishes. She was still nude. Still lovely. She set the tray down, bringing out small crackers, a tea cup, which she filled with rich liquid. Minerva blinked at the display. "I-I...I didn't ask for this," she said.
"No, but you have definitely earned it," Titania said, her smile gentle and playful.
"...you heard?" Minerva asked.
"The rules are I cannot speak or think disloyalty, nor act against my master," Titania said. "Fortunately, I am doing neither. I am simply serving an honored guest." Her eyes glittered – dark black swirls that made Minerva want to sink into them once more. She smiled back at the fea, taking the tea cup. She sipped, and tasted the plentiful sugar mixed within, and sighed slowly.
"Thanks, Titania," she said.
"Now, what about broomsticks?" Titania asked.
"I need to afford a broomstick," Minerva said. "I need to buy one before I go to Hexgramatica, but I've been so busy studying, and I got distracted by Petunia's leg, and…" She shook her head. "And I can't exactly go hunting for a job while hiding out here, I don't want to get caught by the less friendly Blythes!"
Titania chuckled. "If you wish a broomstick, and you cannot afford one made in a wizardly factory, then you will have to take the alternative route, the one still open to one who has the right perspective." She leaned over. Her long, long silvery hair brushed along the floor with a soft whisper. "You could make your own, as witches have done."
She smiled, then turned and walked from the room. Minerva watched her go. She opened her mouth. Then she closed it. She considered everything she knew, and she began to tap her knuckles against her chin, her brow furrowing more as she considered. And thought.
And slowly, she started to smile.
Her fingers thumbed through her Thamaturgy books and she started to read carefully. Her lips moved as she peered down at the book. "Objects imbued with will become...a foci through which you can exert magic. Thus, the earliest broomsticks, wands, familiars and more were made." She turned a few more pages. "Recursive spells capture a chunk of will, but it is only through intense emotions that will can be contained." She flipped back again. "The five emotions most respected are Eros, Philia, Storge, Agape, Ludus, Philautia, as written by…" She closed the book and lifted her head. She spoke now entirely to herself. "A flight spell is a simple spell. It's just making it last that is tricky and thus, why, wizards have broomsticks." She rolled onto her back, then scrambled to her feet.
The room in which she had spent the last month…
There was only one thing in it she felt she could say she loved.
Minerva stepped over and placed her hand against the side of where she had read so many books, studied so long. The writing desk. The writing desk. It was obvious to her as she admired the gorgeous mahogany and brass thing – the writing desk had clearly been made a century or two before, and it was just something that the Blythes owned without thought. Just another thing in their house of things. But to Minerva, it was where she had first realized the linguistic underpinning of magic, and been delighted to see a tiny part of herself in the world she was in. To Minerva, it was something precious beyond the inlaid decorations and the many cleverly carved shelves and nooks and crannies that could hold pens, papers, notebooks and more.
It was also damn comfortable. The writing desk was large enough for her to spread her arms on and was attached to the chair that sat across from it by this clever folding arm. If it ever needed to be moved, the chair could be swung into the desk and folded down, but she had never seen the need. She settled her rump into the chair, feeling the faint creak of the folding arm taking her weight. Her feet rested on the little rest beneath the desk and she slipped her palms along the twin stacks of drawers that framed her legs, feeling each and every one of the little brass rings.
"But is it enough?" Minerva asked.
The room had no answer.
Minerva shrugged. There was only one answer.
She didn't have money. She didn't have a broomstick. No broomstick? No admittance into Hexgramatica. And, well…
Minerva thought of Titania and the old wizarding families. She thought of blood will out and Ars Magica. She thought of Tweed and his cheery tales of British wizards stamping down on the Indian Mutiny. She thought about all of that…
And Minerva realized there was only one response, even if she would never, ever, say it aloud to anyone else.
"Fuck wizards," she said.
Then she got to work. Her wand tip glowed as she scrawled glittering runes onto the sides of the desk, kneeling and working with a feverish abandon. The channels to draw the power and trap it. The reinforcement, to ensure the desk would stay intact. The empty slots for her word to be spoken into. Then, at last, a little bit of extra flair she thought of. Wind could be buffeted, air could be warmed. All of that seemed logical enough – and more, she had plenty of space to work with. As she scrawled runes, she tried to imagine doing this kind of runecraft on a broom.
Minerva looked at her wand, and remembered all the wands in Lolipan's – and then remembered all the specialized tools at Dartmouth and Sons – specialized tools could do something hand tools never could. She pouted. "...okay, maybe building these in factories has an advantage."
She took a step back and watched as her new 'broom' started to glow faintly. Now, she simply needed to speak the right words. The only problem was, she wasn't entirely sure what the right phrase was. She had the word for flight – Flyht – but was it Kemb Flyht or the other way around? The arrangement had to be right, and the books hadn't laid out the specific order for this kind of a spell because...well, it was a bit beyond her, high-level stuff. Minerva closed her eyes as she felt a sudden upswelling of frustration and sorrow. She had worked hard and she hadn't fully prepared herself – and now she was standing here with a partially enchanted writing desk and…
Minerva shook her head.
She had come this far.
She would try.
She pointed her wand and whispered. "So Kemb Flyht…" She said – and tingling on the tip of her tongue, she knew she didn't quite have enough. The spell felt as if it was already beginning to fall apart before she even had it done. But then, in desperation, she threw in another word. A word of power all her own. "Emmet."
Hebrew for truth. It was the word that the Rabbi of Prague had scrawled on the forehead of the golem, to bring him to life. She was no Rabbi. She was not taught the Kabbalah. She barely knew the wizardry the English called 'casting white.' But she placed the word down and she prayed that God would not mind so much.
The desk before her rattled, then trembled, then lifted into the air. It hovered before her shins, floating there as gently and serenely as if it had never known gravity. Minerva smiled, then slowly, she reached out and touched the side of the desk. It brushed against her, like a skittish cat, and the drawers opened and shut with a nervous flutter.
"Oh my," she whispered.
Minerva sat in the attached chair. She felt the bountiful loftiness of the desk under her. She placed her palms where she had placed them many times before this week – as if she was going to lean forward and study a book. She leaned forward and the desk skimmed forward and bonked into the wall across from the bed with a thunk, rebounding away and skimming as she lurched in the seat, laughing.
"Hah!" Minerva said, her eyes sparkling. "I did it!"
The door to the room opened as Gina hurriedly stuck her head in. "Minnie, a glamour is a glamour but-" she gaped, her jaw hanging open as she watched Minerva fly her desk around the bed in a slow, careful loop, the desk banking as gracefully as a desk possibly could.
"I did it!" Minerva said, laughing and kicking her legs against the underside of the desk. "I'm going to Hexgramatica!"
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
With a non-standard, unlicensed, unapproved, bewitched desk.
The Civil Aviation Authority will have some choice words.
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Oh shit.
That is definitely a Word of Power. I am sure this won't have any repercussions or knock-on effects whatsoever.
Since the spells to kill a man and a woman are different, does that mean it's possible to survive the killing curse by being trans or nonbinary? That seems like the sort of thing you'd do.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, that's not the killing curse, that's just a stun spell!
- Location
- Minnesota
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Not a no
It's the same spell Vane used in the first chapter, so I assumed it was a killing spell, but on rereading it looks like Vane stunned James and Lilian before killing them with a different spell.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Correct!
- Pronouns
- They/Them/She/Her
I mean, we did already have this in the previous chapter:samdamandias said:
One of the characters may have stated a view that being a Jew vs. not being one is just a mundane difference, but... well, is it any surprise that the Enlightened, Civilized users of magic appropriate to the Superior White Race might in fact understand the universe considerably less well than they think they do?DragonCobalt said:
Love the world-building, and the characters. Found a few typos...
place when he dissolved
magical connotation.
(So she has other, forgotten, goals? Interesting...)
courage to ask the question burning in her mind.
("It was while" is unneeded.)
(Also, there are two uses of "simply" in the next phrase. Either one could be removed.)
on what the
The magic writing desk is cool, but I can't help but notice it isn't a broomstick, which is the apparatus required of students.
(I'm sure that won't cause any problems.../s)
Also, it isn't hers, just as much as those wee beasties that got her in trouble with the groundskeeper. Fortunately, Gina is on her side.
I bet if she had asked either Gina or Titania, she could have obtained the necessary bits to make an actual broom. And Titania could likely offer pointers on making it - she's probably seen a lot over the years...
Huh, reckon she could offer some healing pointers too, if Minerva only thought to ask for help...
her to.
losers would last
listened to spoke
place when he dissolved
that than she wished.
day, each
magical connotation.
Not having to constantly work let her focus more than she would have thought possible on the school books that she had been given,
word of many
But even in
(So she has other, forgotten, goals? Interesting...)
It would apparently require a more complex form of healing magic than she could find in Arcana Restoriva I, the introduction to healing magics.
than books
courage to ask the question burning in her mind.
Gina, in her brash and bold way
("It was while" is unneeded.)
(Also, there are two uses of "simply" in the next phrase. Either one could be removed.)
both in
on what the
I can't afford
The magic writing desk is cool, but I can't help but notice it isn't a broomstick, which is the apparatus required of students.
(I'm sure that won't cause any problems.../s)
Also, it isn't hers, just as much as those wee beasties that got her in trouble with the groundskeeper. Fortunately, Gina is on her side.
I bet if she had asked either Gina or Titania, she could have obtained the necessary bits to make an actual broom. And Titania could likely offer pointers on making it - she's probably seen a lot over the years...
Huh, reckon she could offer some healing pointers too, if Minerva only thought to ask for help...
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Chapter Five: Shadows of a Red Coven
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Gina watched as the desk completed another circuit around her room. Minerva slowed by leaning back in her seat and gave her the thinnest of thin smiles. Gina's face showed no sign of her reaction - not until a tiny crack of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, blooming into a full on grin. "Oh that's grand," she said, her cat-green eyes gleaming as she hurried forward to rub her palms along the desk. "Blimey!" She beamed at Minerva. "You made your own broom! Out of Mum's old desk!"
"H-Heh, yeah, I suppose I…I didn't think about who owned it," Minerva admitted.
Gina flipped her hand. "Pfft, who gives a toss. It's yours now! You made it fly." She rubbed her chin. "Mum might get a little cross, but…" She trailed off, then beamed. "We can fly together to the Astral Station at the Fleet Market and catch the straight ticket to Hexgramatica! It'll be famous!" She threw her arms around Minerva, almost dragging her out of the desk and to the floor next to her.
"You're not mad?" Minerva squeaked.
"Pff, mum might get a bit mad, and father will definitely throw a fit, but it's not like they ever use this room. They won't notice it's missing for years - and by then, who'll get mad?" Gina whipped out her wand. Minerva had gotten a few glances at said wand and remained impressed by its…sturdiness. It had extra jacketing around the midsection and the tip looked like a bulbous steel nail.
Gina flicked her wand once, twice, then spoke with confidence: "Subtrahe Miċelnes So"
The wand glowed.
And the desk trembled and then shook from side to side. "What the-" Gina frowned and stepped close. "Oy! Shrink!" She prodded the desk.
One of the drawers slammed out and bonked into Gina's shin. Minerva let out a yelp as Gina clutched her shin. "Hey!" She shouted, glaring at the desk. "This is why they don't make brooms with arms!" She glared at Minerva now.
"I'm so sorry," Minerva said, hurrying to the desk's side. She caressed it gently. "She's just trying to help. Even if she's being a little…pushy."
"Pushy!" Gina exclaimed. "It's my mum's desk!"
"Yes, well, it's my broom now," Minerva said. One of the folding trays that was meant to be extended to give additional space for holding cups, inkwells, and parchment unfolded itself and brushed against Minerva's hip, like the desk was attempting to hug her. She petted the top gently. "Now, will you let Gina cast on you?"
The desk shivered against her, then clattered and opened its drawers in a rising pattern of clicks and thumps that somehow managed to sound affirmatory. "I've never met a broom that's this bossy," Gina said, frowning. "Maybe that's why wizards use brooms and not whatever dang thing you choose." She rubbed her shin. "Ow."
"You've had worse kicking a football around, Gina," Minerva said, grinning at her.
Gina snorted. "I don't take it on fields, I give it,' she waved her wand, and said the words once more. "Subtrahe Miċelnes So!"
The desk glowed, then shrank and shrank and shrank - growing smaller and smaller with each twitch of Gina's wand, until, at last, it fit on the palm of Minerva's hand. She smiled and slid the desk into her purse, caressing it with her finger before closing the purse back up again.
"The perfect crime!" Gina said, spreading her arms, as if to demonstrate.
Minerva glanced about the room and saw the massive, obvious missing space where the ornate, beautiful, and ancient writing desk had sat. She arched an eyebrow. "Of course, Gina," she said.
The two of them stuck their heads out the door and peered up and down the corridor. Gina nodded. "We're clear," she said, quietly. "Mum and Dad are both getting ready to see Parcival off, and that means Roland's in his room getting ready to trip. Then we just get out, then you can 'meet' me in the sky, and that's our first meeting, got it?" She flashed a warm smile at Minerva, while Minerva nodded. With a confidence that she used in all things, Gina started forward and swaggered down the corridor. Minerva followed, her bag stuffed with books - Gina, it seemed, had used her same subtraction spell to shrink all of her belongings down to fit into the boy style trousers she wore.
They came down the flight of stairs to the main floor - and there, standing in the center of the hall to the door, was Roland Blythe, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Haaa, Roland!" Gina said, backing up, clearly trying to hide Minerva. This resulted in her bumping into Minerva, who almost tripped down the stairs.
"I knew it!" Roland exclaimed.
"Oh, this is Minerva!" Gina said. "I met her yesterday-"
"You think I'm an idiot?" Roland asked, scowling. One thing Minerva had to say, at least he wasn't in his actual Ars Magica getup - he was dressed rather similarly to his sister. Which seemed to be at least half the problem as she could see the way he looked her over and shook his head. "The house fae running around doing tasks that no one asked them too, food missing from the larder-"
"I like a snack once and a while," Gina cut him off.
"You've been hiding this this…this…" Roland narrowed his eyes at Minerva.
"Minerva," Minerva said, coldly.
"Minerva who?" Roland asked.
"Schross-Sableknight, I'll have you know," Gina snapped
"You? You're a Sableknight?" Roland narrowed his eyes further. Squinting almost. "Wait, there aren't any Sableknights left - not our age, at least."
"She's Sleeperborn," Gina said, tossing her hair.
"Oh, so, what's her actual name?" Roland snapped.
"It's none of your business," Minerva said, cutting into the conversation. She walked down the stairs, almost getting into Roland's nose. She scowled at him. "Your sister invited me here and I've done my best to stay out of everyone's way. Now, I'll be departing, having caused…no trouble at all." A guilty twinge hit her at the feeling of the desk in her purse. She could feel it buzzing, like the desk wanted to get out and start bonking Roland right in his face.
Roland frowned at her. He looked as if he suspected - her features weren't exactly Anglo-Saxon. But they weren't so obviously Jewish that he looked like he was ready to accuse her of anything.
Then he sighed and the frown collapsed into just…looking tired. "Hell," he said, rubbing his palm against his face. "Just get out of here before Dad or Mum hears about this." He gestured to the door.
"Awww, you remembered you're not a prig all the time!" Gina said. "Only most!"
"Out!" Roland snapped, glaring at her.
Minerva hurried to the door. She opened it and Gina hustled out. She glanced back at Roland - and tried to not imagine him in pressed black, with a silver pin on his breast. She gave him a polite nod. "And…Roland?" she asked, feeling almost giddy with relief at having gotten away.
"Yeah?" Roland asked.
Minerva considered saying think about finding new political friends. Instead, she tried: "Thank you."
Roland waved his hand. "Ah…" he said, then actually gave a rueful smile. "It's not like we don't have enough food in the larder."
Minerva smiled, then closed the door.
Outside, Gina was stretching her arms and groaning softly.
"What a git," she said.
"He's…" Minerva frowned. "I hope the nice part of him wins out over the nasty, mean part."
"Yeah, like I said, a git," Gina said. "So, basic rules on flying!"
"Don't do it in broad daylight in the middle of London?" Minerva asked.
"Don't get caught," Gina said, reaching into her pocket.
"Which means," Minerva said, grabbing her wrist. "Don't do it in broad daylight in the middle of London."
Gina pouted. "You're no fun…"
As the nearest underground station had recently been relocated and the new nearest was a nasty walk away, MInerva said: "I guess we take a bus?"
"A bus?" Gina snorted. "Right, sorry, forgot, you're Sleeperborn."
She lifted her wand up, and twitched it slightly. "Cidak Charm Man," she said, then flicked it out - and Minerva goggled at her as a nearly invisible bead of light whipped from her wand. It hovered in the air, twitched left, then twitched right, then finally did a corkscrew and zipped through a windscreen of an incredibly nobby auto, which immediately pulled out of traffic and came to a stop beside Gina and Minerva.
The window rolled down and a handsome, older looking black gentleman looked out, smiling warmly at Gina. "Do you two need a ride?" he asked, curiously - his accent was remarkably odd to Minerva. She took a moment to place it - he was American.
"Is this your auto?" Gina asked, sounding clearly a bit shocked.
"Bought and paid for, ma'am," the American said, nodding.
"Then yes!" Gina beamed. "We need to be driven straight to Waterloo Station, posthaste."
Minerva held up her hand for a momentary pause, then took Gina's arm, whispering to her. "Did you ensorcell him?" She whispered.
"Only a little, I mean, who wouldn't want to give two pretty young things like us a ride?" Gina beamed at her, then slipped into the front car, her voice growing warm and welcoming. "So, what brings a yankee to London?"
"It's, heh, it's a funny story actually," the American gentleman said as Minerva shook her head. She slid into the back seat and goggled as she noticed Gina was actually caressing the man's shoulder, quite openly.
The car smoothly drove into traffic as the man - Gregory Klamath Utah Smith - regaled Gina and Minerva with the series of improbable adventures, wartime excitement as a member of the millions that had been sent 'Over There' by the New World Colossus. "And then I came back and married Francine, just as she asked," Gregory explained as he took a right. "But…well, she wasn't long for the world - it was lung cancer, you know." He shook his head. "Now, the inlaws are trying to scrape back everything she left me."
Gina's eyes were wide and her flirtatious tone was intermingled with actual delight as she said: "Well, I hope you keep it all," she said as the car came up to Waterloo Station - the biggest, busiest train station in the entirety of London. It looked from the outside like a cathedral of glass and steel. Gregory smiled warmly at Gina and Minerva.
"And I hope you two ladies have a good year of schooling," he said. "What school was it you said you were going too?"
Gina smiled. "That would be telling, Mr. Klamath Utah Smith." She reached out and touched his nose with a giggle, then slid from the car.
"Sorry about her," Minerva said as Gregory shook his head in bemusement.
"No need to apologize, ma'am," Gregory said, then lifted his left hand in a little salute - it was only then that Minerva noticed it was concealed behind a glove, and several of the fingers were unusually stiff and blocky. She gave him her warmest smile, then slid from the car as Gina stretched her arms. As the auto drove off, Minerva grabbed onto Gina's arm, her voice low.
"What on earth was that about?" she hissed. "You cast a spell on him!"
"Yeah, but he enjoyed driving us," Gina said, looking completely bemused. "And imagine taking a bus!"
Minerva shook her head again as Gina led her forward into the station. Trains were coming and going at a steady clip, but the majority of them seemed to be in the midst of loading and unloading. Minerva, who had never been to Waterloo Station in her life, gaped at the sheer number of them and the intense stink of steam, coal, and people.
"There it is!" Gina pointed as Minerva tore her eyes from the teeming masses of Londoners that were getting on and off trains. She whistled slowly as she took in the Astral Express. It wasn't just a train. It looked as if it had come from the 1960s, not the 1930s. Sleek and curved around each edge, with a steam engine that was contained behind baffles of steel and chrome and brass. The wheels gleamed, while the passenger cars looked as if they had been freshly painted and polished, with windows that looked in on pullmans berths that looked as comfortable as Minerva's old bedsit. She whistled softly as Gina dragged her forward yet more. They came to one of the numbered lines, where a large stall was set up to take, tear, and return ticket stubs.
Minerva frowned at Gina, but Gina waved her hand. They both came to the teller at the line labeled 4 and the man at the station peered down at them. "Virginia Blythe III and Minerva Schross-Sableknight," Gina said.
The man looked from them, then down to his notepad. He flipped a paper, then nodded. "Go on through," he said, clearly bored out of his mind.
"Is he a wizard?" Minerva whispered as they walked through the line, an even more bored looking cop nodding to them as they strode on by.
"No, but someone in the Ministry slips them the names that they're letting through and adds a little spell to dull any curiosity they have about it," Gina said, shrugging. "There's not enough wizards for any of them to be ticket tellers, honestly."
"We wizards do seem to love that bit of spellcraft, don't we?" Minerva asked, her voice dry.
"It's ever so useful, doubly so if a Mundane sees something they're not really supposed to," Gina said, missing Minerva's tone entirely. Then, to Minerva's surprise, a voice called out to her.
"Minerva! Minerva Sableknight!"
Gina looked around, then gaped in shock as, striding through the crowd, looking impressive as one can be in his school uniform, was Harry Arthur-Perry. He was just as tall as Minerva remembered, but he had done a shave, a haircut, and a comb making him strikingly handsome - if more cold and distant than the mussed mess that he had been before. He beamed down at her, while Gina started to gibber like a mental patient.
"I'm so glad you made it," Harry said.
"H-H…Ha…" Gina stammered.
"Hello Harry," Minerva said, casually. She wished she could have felt half the bubbling in her belly as Gina seemed to be. Or a quarter. It felt so…so…so rude to Harry to not be throwing herself at him. Instead, she gestured to Gina. "And this is Virginia Blythe, we're…mates!" She slid her arm around Gina's shoulder, squeezing.
"H…Hi!" Gina said, her eyes shining. "Oh my goodness, you're Harry Perry!"
"That I seem to be, yes," Harry started.
"Is it true you and your uncle went all over Europe battling monsters and beasts!?" Gina said, her eyes shining. "I've heard you've cast more magic in battle than anyone but a veteran! And not even some of them! Is it true your uncle broke the back of the Roter Hexenzirkel in 32?"
"Y-Yes, uh…it was in the papers…" Harry looked somewhat discomforted. He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. Minerva arched an eyebrow - Harry hadn't mentioned any of this. Of course, she wasn't sure if she could blame him. He continued. "It was all a bit much, but, well, it was a…a learning experience."
A shrilling whistle blew and a conductor, his voice pitched to carry, called out: "The nine AM to Sheffield is departing in five minutes. Five minutes for the nine AM to Sheffield."
"That's us!" Gina said. She reached out to take Harry's arm, but before she could, another girl had snagged it. And this girl was also familiar to Minerva: Charlene Cindercarus-Colette. The brunette girl beamed at Harry as she pulled him bodily towards the train car.
"Come on, Harry, we have to get a berth!"
"I, ah-" Harry stammered, shooting a glance Minerva's way - one that read somewhere between helpless and hapless.
Gina muttered under her breath. "Oh boy, Cinderella has her hooks in him."
"I don't think they'll sink too deep," Minerva muttered. At Gina's dour expression, she chuckled. "Did you have your heart set on snagging Harry Perry?"
"He's the son of a famous war hero, the adoptive son of the head of Ars Magica, he's bloody gorgeous to boot, and he's had more adventures since he was twelve than any of us have…ever!" She said, shaking her head. "Basilisks? Slain. Hippogriffs! Tamed! He's traveled beyond the Silver Veil, he joined the Ordo Phoenix before he was sixteen, he was with his Uncle when they captured the Dogstar Killer!" She turned to face Minerva. "Do you have any idea about how famous and amazing he is?"
"I…had no idea," Minerva said, dazedly. "He…didn't seem to like talking about it."
"And he's humble too!?" Gina groaned. "I just want to chew his knickers off, I swear."
"Gina!" Minerva exclaimed.
The two walked past the conductor, who gave them both a nod. They came into the train and all thoughts of Harry vanished from her mind as she stepped into a massive, gorgeous ballroom hall. A chandelier glittered overhead, while there was enough room for three parades to go by in unison. Stairs went up to the second story, while doors led left and right. Glittering, lovely house fae walked by, dressed in naught but their smiles and their exotic skin colors - gold, silver, white, ebony black - holding trays of refreshments, while men and women of Miranda's age stood about, laughing, chatting. She saw Harry in a knot of them, looking miserable.
"Is it true your uncle took on sixteen witches at once?"
"You really slew a basilisk by yourself? At thirteen?"
"I-It was nothing, it was nothing." Harry said, again and again - though he looked quite poorly to Minerva.
Then Minerva saw Katarina. The burly woman made her heart skip and flutter - she was dressed in nothing but her button up white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. She had a wand tucked into her belt, but something about it looked off. She was also glowering at Harry with a venom that Minerva hadn't seen last time.
Of course, last time, she only had eyes for you… Minerva realized as Katarina took a glass from a passing fae and downed it with a quick gulp, before she started to walk purposefully towards the besieged Harry.
"We should find a room before all the nice ones are taken," Gina said, not even noticing the brewing storm. Minerva felt like she was frozen in amber. She forced herself to shake, then started forward.
Katarina was building up speed.
Minerva got between her and the crowd. She placed her hand on one sleek, muscular arm. The feel of Katarina's warmth sent a warm buzz along Minerva's spine as she frowned and said, primly: "Oh. You."
"Minnie," Katarina said, her voice cold. Furious.
"Tell us about the German adventure!" A boy said, laughing.
The glass in Katarina's hand shattered. Glass and blood slid along her knuckles and she barked out a fierce, braying laugh. "Adventure! Hah! This is an adventure, yes! Yes! What an adventure!" She said, as Minerva felt her arm trembling. Minerva tried to hook her arm around Katarina's arm, but the burly woman was already stepping forward. "Tell them how your brave uncle worked with the Sturmabteilung and Röhm! Tell them how he dropped some wards and blocked up the escape ways so that the brown shirted men could go in with their machine guns and shoot women and children!"
Her voice was getting hotter and louder with every word. Other students stepped away from Harry, who was looking stricken. Minerva yanked back, hard, on Katarina, her voice soft and firm. "Katarina," she said, softly. "Katarina, your hand."
Katarina opened her hand. Glass stuck from the palm. She closed it, then let herself be dragged away. Minerva looked back and saw that Harry's hands were shaking. He lifted a quivering hand to his face, his eyes hollow. In the ringing silence of the dining hall, his voice was a dead man's rasp. "I-I…need to…t…..t….to…" He turned and he walked away, head ducked forward.
The silence remained until the door shut.
The corridors leading to the chambers within the passenger cars were just as opulent and large as the ballroom - all of it was so impossibly massive and so impossibly stable, but Minerva had no thoughts for that. She was torn between cold fury and a deep sickness - she had known that Harry's adoptive father was a fascist. But not quite so…on hand with the stormclouds gathering in Europe. But she knew that he didn't like his uncle, nor his actions. And it didn't take a psychologist to tell that Harry had been distressed, not delighted by his…
Adventures.
Minerva shook her head and tugged Katarina into one of the passenger compartments. It was less of a pullman's berth and more of a mobile hotel room, with adjoining chambers and a large window looking out at the city of London as it rolled by - the train clearly picking up speed. There was the faintest feeling of motion. Minerva thrust Katarina down into a comfortable chair in the sitting room of the passenger car, and sighed intently.
"Open your hand," she said.
Katarina looked surly. But she opened her hand. Minerva dragged her chair over, sitting down. She leaned in close and frowned as she examined the jagged chunks of glass thrust into the tough callouses. She started to pluck them out, careful to withdraw them with as little pain as she could. There was a small ashtray on the table, which served well enough as a container to hold the blood glistened glass. As each tinked in, Katarina's fingers twitched.
"Tell me about the…Roter Hexenzirkel?" Minerva said, looking up at Katarina. Katarina looked aside. "Your…father was a member, wasn't he?"
Katarina nodded. "Ja," she said, softly. "They backed the KPD." At Minerva's arched eyebrow, she added. "The communists."
"Ah," Minerva said. "And the…" She puzzled at the German. "The Red Witches?"
"That's them, yes," Katarina said, softly. "They tried to block the Nazis wizards. Did a good job of it too. Most German wizards would rather have drunk rattlesnake venom than work with Hitler. Only good thing you can say about the bastards." Minerva stood, rummaging around. When she returned, it was with cloth and a glass of water. She daubed the cloth into the water, then began to gently clean the wounds. Before her eyes, Katarina's skin was already scabbing over. The blood had stopped flowing entirely. Minerva drew her hand back, eyes widening.
"They thought an Austrian upstart was an affront to their Prussian hexenverking, bah!" Katarina shook her head, her hand still held out for Minerva to examine. "But did they work with the KDP? Did they do a thing when the brownshirts came for the communists and the queers? No. they said 'ah, well, we may not like their methods, but, they had it coming, did they not.'' She growled, her eyes bright gold.
"I'm sorry," Minerva whispered. Then, more firmly. "Your…your hand is on its way to mending. I got the glass out and it…"
Katarina looked at her hand, flexing her fingers. The scabs were thin pink lines. Her grin was wry. "This being the advantage of the blood of Remus, yes?"
"You're…not…" Minerva wasn't sure how to say it.
Their eyes met.
Gold flashed as Katarina growled. "I am being a werewolf, yes."
Minerva's skin prickled with gooseflesh. The vivid image of Katarina taking hold of her chin, between thumb and forefinger, rooting in her place and…
Biting her?
Sinking her teeth into her throat…
Drawing blood and a soft sigh all at once, and…tearing and-
Minerva stood, flushing. "Your hand's fine," she said, her voice flat. "I just needed to make sure you didn't bleed over the carpet." She turned to go, her cheeks having two tiny pink dots on them. Katarina watched her, then arched an eyebrow.
"That is all?"
"Yes, that is all," Minerva said, walking to the door.
"Then why are you not using healing magic? Much faster, then plucking each thorn from my paw with your gentle fingers, Minnie…" Katarina's voice was husky. Taunting. God above, did Minerva hate that taunting voice. Her cheeks burned.
She had no answer.
She opened the door, slipped out, then closed it.
"A day!?" Minerva exclaimed as Gina pressed her face against the glass of the window, watching the countryside roll by.
"Yes!" Gina siad, turning back. She had chosen a room for her and Minerva, and it was just as opulent and impossible as every other part of the train.
"I thought this train would get there in five minutes, considering every other impossible trick you wizards have pulled off," Minerva said, clicking her tongue. "Twenty four hours would get us to bloody Greenland!"
"Pff, Iceland maybe," Gina said, chuckling. "But no, we take a turn through the Fae and Astral, before we come to where Hexagramatica is situated - it's in some…" She waved her hand. "Pocket something something that keeps it from prying eyes and such."
"Ah, but of course," Minerva said. "I suppose that's why the train's so fancy."
"Well, it's like this because we're in it," Gina said, casually. She turned to face her. "So, did you know that big kraut?"
"A-After a fashion," Minerva said.
"Did you notice her wand?" Gina grinned.
Minerva's brow furrowed. She had noticed her shoulders. Her bicep. Those gold, gold eyes. That long straight blond hair. The fierce, wicked smile. The strength in that hand. The…she shook her head before her imagination kept going. "N-No, I didn't," she said.
"She had a Kaiser-14 issue German Imperial Army wand," Gina said, her eyes shining. "They made those for their soldiers. Think she was in the war?" Then before Minerva could respond. "No, no way, she's not nearly old enough. Must have been her Da's. Still, those wands are pretty rare - they were mostly turned in after the War and lots of them got melted down."
Minerva shook her head. "I didn't notice," she said.
"Well, she definitely has a bone to pick with Harry," Gina said.
"What do you know about those German witches that Vane Villamont supposedly defeated?" Minerva asked.
"Everyone says they were going to destroy our Masquerade - reveal us to the mundanes," Gina said. "Villamont is an absolute prick, but you have to protect the Masquerade, eh?"
"Yeah…" Minerva frowned. "I have to admit, I doubt that."
Gina considered for a bit, clicking her tongue. "Yeah," she said, quietly. "I think if Vane Villamont said the sky was blue, I'd doubt it. What did the Kraut-"
"Katarina," Minerva said.
"Katarina?" Gina grinned at her. "Are you and she friends or something?"
"No, she's quite infuriating," Minerva said, immediately.
"Well, yeah, but still," Gina said, shrugging. "What did she say about, like, her side of things?"
"The Red Witches just wanted to stop Hitler," Minerva said. "And Vane Villamont definitely seems to be a fan of old Adolph."
Gina snorted. "Yeah, that all lines up - ugly, ugly business." She sighed. "Maybe she and Harry will have a duel."
"If they'd actually talk to each other, I think Harry would rather team up with Katarina against Villamont," Minerva said, quirking her lips up. "Still, how long do we spend in the Fae? And how long in the Astral?"
Gina sighed and leaned back in her seat. She put her feet up on the chair across from her, not even bothering to remove her shoes. She slouched. "Only two in the Fae, pity to say."
"I don't know, I've been interested in the Astral Plane since I read my introductory textbook on it," Minerva said, her brow furrowing.
"Those textbooks were written before the War, since they're all basics," Gina said, frowning. "The Astral Plane isn't what it used to be. That's why the train has those." She pointed at the thick, heavy curtains. "Blackout curtains, like during the War. They're going to be drawn by the fae when we enter the Astral and won't open until we reach Hexgramatica."
Minerva shivered. "I…thought the War only impacted the Astral, like, near the big battles. Like Ypres and the Somme and Verdun," she said, the names feeling weighty on her tongue.
Gina grinned, but it was a grim one. "Nah. It's only dangerous around Yrpes. It's fucked everywhere."
"Gina!" Minerva exclaimed.
"I'm just quoting my father!" Gina placed her palm to her chest, her face purely innocent.
"You are the living end," Minerva muttered.
"Thank you!" Gina beamed. "Now, shall we hit the dining car?"
"I think I will check on Harry," Minerva said.
"Oh yes!" Gina exclaimed, sitting up.
"Alone," Minerva said, firmly.
"Aww!" Gina looked like her puppy had been kicked in front of her eyes. "I can restrain myself!"
Minerva did not respond. She simply arched an eyebrow and looked incredibly serious. She held this mask of solemnity in silence, the only noise being the ticking of the clock and the very distant rumbling of the engines and rattle of the rails.
Both girls burst into peals of laughter.
Minerva found Harry's room through the simplest expedient of asking a house fae. The nude man smiled and gestured, and Minerva came to the room. It was on the second story of the third passenger car, requiring her to walk up a flight of stairs on a train, something that remained deeply surreal to her. She came to the door and found it was closed up. Minerva lifted her hand to knock, then frowned as she heard a clattering noise within.
She leaned close, pressing her ear to the door.
Harry's voice, muffled a bit through the thick wood, said: "Charlene! W-We…"
The sound of a giggle came then. Minerva bit her lip, then tried the knob. The door hadn't been locked. She opened it a crack and peeked in, to see if she needed to rush in to rescue Harry from Charlene Cindercarus-Colette. Instead, she saw that Harry was sitting in a large, comfortable and red upholstered chair. His hands gripped the arms and he looked faintly stricken - but he didn't push the other wizard away as she…knelt before him.
Minerva, her cheeks burning, stepped away.
She hurried to her room.
Gina, who was adjusting a wireless set that Minerva hadn't even noticed before - it had been so covered in rococo decorations that she had mistaken it for a damn wine cabinet - lifted her gaze as Minerva stepped into the room.
"Is Harry okay?" she asked.
"Yes, fine!" Minerva said, cheeks still burning.
The wireless started and an inane commercial for soap started playing. It chased Minerva as she hurried to the private bedroom she had. She closed the door, stumbled to the bed, then threw herself face first into it. Her hand moved before she could stop herself.
"Oy…" she whispered, then closed her eyes, feeling…wrung out.
Languid.
"Oh Minerva," she mumbled into her pillow. "You really are losing your mind."
For all the ominous words from Gina, the transition from mundane world to the Fae was less marked than Minerva had expected. The view through the window showed brilliant golds and greens, like the carefully organized fields and towns of England had been replaced with something primeval and pristine. But the trees grew too thick and close to show anything but hints of darker forest beyond - and then, a short few hours later, the curtains closed. The darkness beyond them seemed to still creep around the edges of the window - and the…strange temptation seemed to come to both Gina and Minerva at the same time: The temptation to draw the curtains back, to see what was beyond them.
The urge got the wireless running. THey sat and listened to the news - and it was a measure of how badly Gina wanted distraction. The League of Nations was accepting the Soviet Union. The Soviet General Secretary was recorded, and her voice came through the speaker in clear Russian, before a posh Englishwoman dubbed in the translation. "We will lead the world into a better and brighter future - new Soviet sciences and new Soviet traditions will be an example to the world…"
After the news, when both were too tired to keep their eyes open, Gina bade Minerva goodnight and both of them stepped into their bedrooms. The bedrooms, thankfully, had no windows, no curtains to tempt and tug at. Despite that, Minerva laid in her bed, tossing and turning - her mind consumed with the window and the curtains and whatever was beyond them.
Finally, though, she slept.
Sadly, that didn't provide comfort from confusion and fear.
In her dream, Minerva was wearing red and the trees were thick. The cottage she came to was misty and cold and when she opened it, there was a great wolf within. It spoke Yiddish, like her grandmother.
Are you quite Kosher, my dear?
The wolf led her, somehow, to the balcony of a penthouse, where Harry stood. He was shirtless, and held a rose in her hand. He took her hand and Minerva felt cold running along her arm. Then, quietly, he whispered: You have to find the huntsman.
As dreams did, she was then running, wearing the red shawl and nothing else. The cold breeze of the forest caressed her thighs and the braying of wolves chased her to the huntsman's cabin. She raised her knuckle to knock - but she heard the thock thock of an ax on wood. She stepped around the cabin. Katarina was there, ax in both hands, muscular back fully on display, glossy with sweat. She brought the ax down and the log she hewed into split as Minerva stepped forward. Her foot cracked on a twig and the huntsman turned. Katarina grinned.
"There you are…" she said, her voice more clear than any other.
Minerva couldn't stop herself. Her fingers tugged at the cloak. The tie fought her. "What big arms you have…" Her lips formed the words.
"The better to hold you down with, my dear…"
Then…
Hands.
Holding her.
Forcing her arms up. Ripping her cloak aside. Hands cupping her breasts. Squeezing. Tugging. Teeth, sinking into her throat. Then tearing and-
When she woke, it was with hazy memories of blood and lust. The words: The better to hold you down with, my dear… echoed in her mind. Minerva lay in her bed, sweating and trembling and muttered under her breath. "My imagination is a hack."
Breakfast was held in the large dining car. Students laughed and drank coffee and chatted and smoked. THe smell of cigarettes and pipe smoke was thick as hell. Gina and Minerva found a table - and then their table was occupied by the huge smile and cheerful attitude of Katarina Wolf.
"Good morning," she said, nodding and lifting her mug of coffee. The large windows of the dining car showed wild forest - what had to be the 'pocket world' that Gina had referred to. The train tracks were curving around a bend, and…there, with shocking rudeness, was a lake. And beyond that lake? A castle. Vast. Glittering. Familiar. She had seen it, in the vision given her by her mageogram.
Hexgramatica.
"What a nasty pile of gothic rubble," Katarina said.
How do I say it? Minerva thought.
"It's nicer on the inside, I hear," Gina said. "So, is it true you have a Kaiser-14?"
Katarina laughed. "It is being my father's, yes," she said, casually - any tension about the prior confrontation forgotten. If Katarina noticed the glares sent her way by a few passing students, she let them slide off her shoulders like water.
"Can I see it?" Gina asked, smiling as Minerva tried to not think of teeth. Or hands. Or wolves.
Katarina grinned. "Say please, red hair."
Gina chuckled as Minerva felt an explosion of jealousy at the little sparkle in Katarina's eyes as she looked at Gina. "Please, pretty please, I've heard so much!"
How do I say it? Minerva thought, working her fingers into fists under the table.
"Here you are," Katarina said, withdrawing the wand from beneath the table and laying it out. The Kaiser-14 made wand was broad based and didn't taper at all, looking more like a steel baton than a spellcasting implement. But what was most curious was the hilt. It was not a fencer's grip, nor a pistol grip. Instead, it was a thick baton grip, with a set of five rings attached to it. Each ring had a raised, brutal looking spike on it - and Minerva realized precisely how it was meant to be used when Gina picked it up and slipped her fingers into those rings, beaming.
"Blimey!" she exclaimed, holding up the wand. "It's heavy!" She mimed punching at the air with the spiked knuckles that were built into the wand.
"Of course it is being heavy," Katarina said, grinning. "It is a trench wand."
How do I say it!? Minerva practically screamed in her mind. How do you say you've imagined kissing? Imagined more? To a woman? Let alone, how do you say it to a woman like Katarina? And how would Katarina react?
Minerva knew how she'd react.
She'd grin and…
And then kiss and…
Minerva's cheeks burned as she started to cut into her breakfast - it had taken some careful investigations and a few whispered, polite requests from the fae servants to get her hands on some kosher food. She chewed, while Gina started punching at the air, grinning brightly, going on about how very amazing the trench wand was.
Through it all, Katarina watched Minrva, with hunting eyes.
Minerva kept eating in silence as the train, at last, slowed.
They had arrived at Hexgramatica.
"H-Heh, yeah, I suppose I…I didn't think about who owned it," Minerva admitted.
Gina flipped her hand. "Pfft, who gives a toss. It's yours now! You made it fly." She rubbed her chin. "Mum might get a little cross, but…" She trailed off, then beamed. "We can fly together to the Astral Station at the Fleet Market and catch the straight ticket to Hexgramatica! It'll be famous!" She threw her arms around Minerva, almost dragging her out of the desk and to the floor next to her.
"You're not mad?" Minerva squeaked.
"Pff, mum might get a bit mad, and father will definitely throw a fit, but it's not like they ever use this room. They won't notice it's missing for years - and by then, who'll get mad?" Gina whipped out her wand. Minerva had gotten a few glances at said wand and remained impressed by its…sturdiness. It had extra jacketing around the midsection and the tip looked like a bulbous steel nail.
Gina flicked her wand once, twice, then spoke with confidence: "Subtrahe Miċelnes So"
The wand glowed.
And the desk trembled and then shook from side to side. "What the-" Gina frowned and stepped close. "Oy! Shrink!" She prodded the desk.
One of the drawers slammed out and bonked into Gina's shin. Minerva let out a yelp as Gina clutched her shin. "Hey!" She shouted, glaring at the desk. "This is why they don't make brooms with arms!" She glared at Minerva now.
"I'm so sorry," Minerva said, hurrying to the desk's side. She caressed it gently. "She's just trying to help. Even if she's being a little…pushy."
"Pushy!" Gina exclaimed. "It's my mum's desk!"
"Yes, well, it's my broom now," Minerva said. One of the folding trays that was meant to be extended to give additional space for holding cups, inkwells, and parchment unfolded itself and brushed against Minerva's hip, like the desk was attempting to hug her. She petted the top gently. "Now, will you let Gina cast on you?"
The desk shivered against her, then clattered and opened its drawers in a rising pattern of clicks and thumps that somehow managed to sound affirmatory. "I've never met a broom that's this bossy," Gina said, frowning. "Maybe that's why wizards use brooms and not whatever dang thing you choose." She rubbed her shin. "Ow."
"You've had worse kicking a football around, Gina," Minerva said, grinning at her.
Gina snorted. "I don't take it on fields, I give it,' she waved her wand, and said the words once more. "Subtrahe Miċelnes So!"
The desk glowed, then shrank and shrank and shrank - growing smaller and smaller with each twitch of Gina's wand, until, at last, it fit on the palm of Minerva's hand. She smiled and slid the desk into her purse, caressing it with her finger before closing the purse back up again.
"The perfect crime!" Gina said, spreading her arms, as if to demonstrate.
Minerva glanced about the room and saw the massive, obvious missing space where the ornate, beautiful, and ancient writing desk had sat. She arched an eyebrow. "Of course, Gina," she said.
The two of them stuck their heads out the door and peered up and down the corridor. Gina nodded. "We're clear," she said, quietly. "Mum and Dad are both getting ready to see Parcival off, and that means Roland's in his room getting ready to trip. Then we just get out, then you can 'meet' me in the sky, and that's our first meeting, got it?" She flashed a warm smile at Minerva, while Minerva nodded. With a confidence that she used in all things, Gina started forward and swaggered down the corridor. Minerva followed, her bag stuffed with books - Gina, it seemed, had used her same subtraction spell to shrink all of her belongings down to fit into the boy style trousers she wore.
They came down the flight of stairs to the main floor - and there, standing in the center of the hall to the door, was Roland Blythe, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Haaa, Roland!" Gina said, backing up, clearly trying to hide Minerva. This resulted in her bumping into Minerva, who almost tripped down the stairs.
"I knew it!" Roland exclaimed.
"Oh, this is Minerva!" Gina said. "I met her yesterday-"
"You think I'm an idiot?" Roland asked, scowling. One thing Minerva had to say, at least he wasn't in his actual Ars Magica getup - he was dressed rather similarly to his sister. Which seemed to be at least half the problem as she could see the way he looked her over and shook his head. "The house fae running around doing tasks that no one asked them too, food missing from the larder-"
"I like a snack once and a while," Gina cut him off.
"You've been hiding this this…this…" Roland narrowed his eyes at Minerva.
"Minerva," Minerva said, coldly.
"Minerva who?" Roland asked.
"Schross-Sableknight, I'll have you know," Gina snapped
"You? You're a Sableknight?" Roland narrowed his eyes further. Squinting almost. "Wait, there aren't any Sableknights left - not our age, at least."
"She's Sleeperborn," Gina said, tossing her hair.
"Oh, so, what's her actual name?" Roland snapped.
"It's none of your business," Minerva said, cutting into the conversation. She walked down the stairs, almost getting into Roland's nose. She scowled at him. "Your sister invited me here and I've done my best to stay out of everyone's way. Now, I'll be departing, having caused…no trouble at all." A guilty twinge hit her at the feeling of the desk in her purse. She could feel it buzzing, like the desk wanted to get out and start bonking Roland right in his face.
Roland frowned at her. He looked as if he suspected - her features weren't exactly Anglo-Saxon. But they weren't so obviously Jewish that he looked like he was ready to accuse her of anything.
Then he sighed and the frown collapsed into just…looking tired. "Hell," he said, rubbing his palm against his face. "Just get out of here before Dad or Mum hears about this." He gestured to the door.
"Awww, you remembered you're not a prig all the time!" Gina said. "Only most!"
"Out!" Roland snapped, glaring at her.
Minerva hurried to the door. She opened it and Gina hustled out. She glanced back at Roland - and tried to not imagine him in pressed black, with a silver pin on his breast. She gave him a polite nod. "And…Roland?" she asked, feeling almost giddy with relief at having gotten away.
"Yeah?" Roland asked.
Minerva considered saying think about finding new political friends. Instead, she tried: "Thank you."
Roland waved his hand. "Ah…" he said, then actually gave a rueful smile. "It's not like we don't have enough food in the larder."
Minerva smiled, then closed the door.
Outside, Gina was stretching her arms and groaning softly.
"What a git," she said.
"He's…" Minerva frowned. "I hope the nice part of him wins out over the nasty, mean part."
"Yeah, like I said, a git," Gina said. "So, basic rules on flying!"
"Don't do it in broad daylight in the middle of London?" Minerva asked.
"Don't get caught," Gina said, reaching into her pocket.
"Which means," Minerva said, grabbing her wrist. "Don't do it in broad daylight in the middle of London."
Gina pouted. "You're no fun…"
***
As the nearest underground station had recently been relocated and the new nearest was a nasty walk away, MInerva said: "I guess we take a bus?"
"A bus?" Gina snorted. "Right, sorry, forgot, you're Sleeperborn."
She lifted her wand up, and twitched it slightly. "Cidak Charm Man," she said, then flicked it out - and Minerva goggled at her as a nearly invisible bead of light whipped from her wand. It hovered in the air, twitched left, then twitched right, then finally did a corkscrew and zipped through a windscreen of an incredibly nobby auto, which immediately pulled out of traffic and came to a stop beside Gina and Minerva.
The window rolled down and a handsome, older looking black gentleman looked out, smiling warmly at Gina. "Do you two need a ride?" he asked, curiously - his accent was remarkably odd to Minerva. She took a moment to place it - he was American.
"Is this your auto?" Gina asked, sounding clearly a bit shocked.
"Bought and paid for, ma'am," the American said, nodding.
"Then yes!" Gina beamed. "We need to be driven straight to Waterloo Station, posthaste."
Minerva held up her hand for a momentary pause, then took Gina's arm, whispering to her. "Did you ensorcell him?" She whispered.
"Only a little, I mean, who wouldn't want to give two pretty young things like us a ride?" Gina beamed at her, then slipped into the front car, her voice growing warm and welcoming. "So, what brings a yankee to London?"
"It's, heh, it's a funny story actually," the American gentleman said as Minerva shook her head. She slid into the back seat and goggled as she noticed Gina was actually caressing the man's shoulder, quite openly.
The car smoothly drove into traffic as the man - Gregory Klamath Utah Smith - regaled Gina and Minerva with the series of improbable adventures, wartime excitement as a member of the millions that had been sent 'Over There' by the New World Colossus. "And then I came back and married Francine, just as she asked," Gregory explained as he took a right. "But…well, she wasn't long for the world - it was lung cancer, you know." He shook his head. "Now, the inlaws are trying to scrape back everything she left me."
Gina's eyes were wide and her flirtatious tone was intermingled with actual delight as she said: "Well, I hope you keep it all," she said as the car came up to Waterloo Station - the biggest, busiest train station in the entirety of London. It looked from the outside like a cathedral of glass and steel. Gregory smiled warmly at Gina and Minerva.
"And I hope you two ladies have a good year of schooling," he said. "What school was it you said you were going too?"
Gina smiled. "That would be telling, Mr. Klamath Utah Smith." She reached out and touched his nose with a giggle, then slid from the car.
"Sorry about her," Minerva said as Gregory shook his head in bemusement.
"No need to apologize, ma'am," Gregory said, then lifted his left hand in a little salute - it was only then that Minerva noticed it was concealed behind a glove, and several of the fingers were unusually stiff and blocky. She gave him her warmest smile, then slid from the car as Gina stretched her arms. As the auto drove off, Minerva grabbed onto Gina's arm, her voice low.
"What on earth was that about?" she hissed. "You cast a spell on him!"
"Yeah, but he enjoyed driving us," Gina said, looking completely bemused. "And imagine taking a bus!"
Minerva shook her head again as Gina led her forward into the station. Trains were coming and going at a steady clip, but the majority of them seemed to be in the midst of loading and unloading. Minerva, who had never been to Waterloo Station in her life, gaped at the sheer number of them and the intense stink of steam, coal, and people.
"There it is!" Gina pointed as Minerva tore her eyes from the teeming masses of Londoners that were getting on and off trains. She whistled slowly as she took in the Astral Express. It wasn't just a train. It looked as if it had come from the 1960s, not the 1930s. Sleek and curved around each edge, with a steam engine that was contained behind baffles of steel and chrome and brass. The wheels gleamed, while the passenger cars looked as if they had been freshly painted and polished, with windows that looked in on pullmans berths that looked as comfortable as Minerva's old bedsit. She whistled softly as Gina dragged her forward yet more. They came to one of the numbered lines, where a large stall was set up to take, tear, and return ticket stubs.
Minerva frowned at Gina, but Gina waved her hand. They both came to the teller at the line labeled 4 and the man at the station peered down at them. "Virginia Blythe III and Minerva Schross-Sableknight," Gina said.
The man looked from them, then down to his notepad. He flipped a paper, then nodded. "Go on through," he said, clearly bored out of his mind.
"Is he a wizard?" Minerva whispered as they walked through the line, an even more bored looking cop nodding to them as they strode on by.
"No, but someone in the Ministry slips them the names that they're letting through and adds a little spell to dull any curiosity they have about it," Gina said, shrugging. "There's not enough wizards for any of them to be ticket tellers, honestly."
"We wizards do seem to love that bit of spellcraft, don't we?" Minerva asked, her voice dry.
"It's ever so useful, doubly so if a Mundane sees something they're not really supposed to," Gina said, missing Minerva's tone entirely. Then, to Minerva's surprise, a voice called out to her.
"Minerva! Minerva Sableknight!"
Gina looked around, then gaped in shock as, striding through the crowd, looking impressive as one can be in his school uniform, was Harry Arthur-Perry. He was just as tall as Minerva remembered, but he had done a shave, a haircut, and a comb making him strikingly handsome - if more cold and distant than the mussed mess that he had been before. He beamed down at her, while Gina started to gibber like a mental patient.
"I'm so glad you made it," Harry said.
"H-H…Ha…" Gina stammered.
"Hello Harry," Minerva said, casually. She wished she could have felt half the bubbling in her belly as Gina seemed to be. Or a quarter. It felt so…so…so rude to Harry to not be throwing herself at him. Instead, she gestured to Gina. "And this is Virginia Blythe, we're…mates!" She slid her arm around Gina's shoulder, squeezing.
"H…Hi!" Gina said, her eyes shining. "Oh my goodness, you're Harry Perry!"
"That I seem to be, yes," Harry started.
"Is it true you and your uncle went all over Europe battling monsters and beasts!?" Gina said, her eyes shining. "I've heard you've cast more magic in battle than anyone but a veteran! And not even some of them! Is it true your uncle broke the back of the Roter Hexenzirkel in 32?"
"Y-Yes, uh…it was in the papers…" Harry looked somewhat discomforted. He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. Minerva arched an eyebrow - Harry hadn't mentioned any of this. Of course, she wasn't sure if she could blame him. He continued. "It was all a bit much, but, well, it was a…a learning experience."
A shrilling whistle blew and a conductor, his voice pitched to carry, called out: "The nine AM to Sheffield is departing in five minutes. Five minutes for the nine AM to Sheffield."
"That's us!" Gina said. She reached out to take Harry's arm, but before she could, another girl had snagged it. And this girl was also familiar to Minerva: Charlene Cindercarus-Colette. The brunette girl beamed at Harry as she pulled him bodily towards the train car.
"Come on, Harry, we have to get a berth!"
"I, ah-" Harry stammered, shooting a glance Minerva's way - one that read somewhere between helpless and hapless.
Gina muttered under her breath. "Oh boy, Cinderella has her hooks in him."
"I don't think they'll sink too deep," Minerva muttered. At Gina's dour expression, she chuckled. "Did you have your heart set on snagging Harry Perry?"
"He's the son of a famous war hero, the adoptive son of the head of Ars Magica, he's bloody gorgeous to boot, and he's had more adventures since he was twelve than any of us have…ever!" She said, shaking her head. "Basilisks? Slain. Hippogriffs! Tamed! He's traveled beyond the Silver Veil, he joined the Ordo Phoenix before he was sixteen, he was with his Uncle when they captured the Dogstar Killer!" She turned to face Minerva. "Do you have any idea about how famous and amazing he is?"
"I…had no idea," Minerva said, dazedly. "He…didn't seem to like talking about it."
"And he's humble too!?" Gina groaned. "I just want to chew his knickers off, I swear."
"Gina!" Minerva exclaimed.
The two walked past the conductor, who gave them both a nod. They came into the train and all thoughts of Harry vanished from her mind as she stepped into a massive, gorgeous ballroom hall. A chandelier glittered overhead, while there was enough room for three parades to go by in unison. Stairs went up to the second story, while doors led left and right. Glittering, lovely house fae walked by, dressed in naught but their smiles and their exotic skin colors - gold, silver, white, ebony black - holding trays of refreshments, while men and women of Miranda's age stood about, laughing, chatting. She saw Harry in a knot of them, looking miserable.
"Is it true your uncle took on sixteen witches at once?"
"You really slew a basilisk by yourself? At thirteen?"
"I-It was nothing, it was nothing." Harry said, again and again - though he looked quite poorly to Minerva.
Then Minerva saw Katarina. The burly woman made her heart skip and flutter - she was dressed in nothing but her button up white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. She had a wand tucked into her belt, but something about it looked off. She was also glowering at Harry with a venom that Minerva hadn't seen last time.
Of course, last time, she only had eyes for you… Minerva realized as Katarina took a glass from a passing fae and downed it with a quick gulp, before she started to walk purposefully towards the besieged Harry.
"We should find a room before all the nice ones are taken," Gina said, not even noticing the brewing storm. Minerva felt like she was frozen in amber. She forced herself to shake, then started forward.
Katarina was building up speed.
Minerva got between her and the crowd. She placed her hand on one sleek, muscular arm. The feel of Katarina's warmth sent a warm buzz along Minerva's spine as she frowned and said, primly: "Oh. You."
"Minnie," Katarina said, her voice cold. Furious.
"Tell us about the German adventure!" A boy said, laughing.
The glass in Katarina's hand shattered. Glass and blood slid along her knuckles and she barked out a fierce, braying laugh. "Adventure! Hah! This is an adventure, yes! Yes! What an adventure!" She said, as Minerva felt her arm trembling. Minerva tried to hook her arm around Katarina's arm, but the burly woman was already stepping forward. "Tell them how your brave uncle worked with the Sturmabteilung and Röhm! Tell them how he dropped some wards and blocked up the escape ways so that the brown shirted men could go in with their machine guns and shoot women and children!"
Her voice was getting hotter and louder with every word. Other students stepped away from Harry, who was looking stricken. Minerva yanked back, hard, on Katarina, her voice soft and firm. "Katarina," she said, softly. "Katarina, your hand."
Katarina opened her hand. Glass stuck from the palm. She closed it, then let herself be dragged away. Minerva looked back and saw that Harry's hands were shaking. He lifted a quivering hand to his face, his eyes hollow. In the ringing silence of the dining hall, his voice was a dead man's rasp. "I-I…need to…t…..t….to…" He turned and he walked away, head ducked forward.
The silence remained until the door shut.
The corridors leading to the chambers within the passenger cars were just as opulent and large as the ballroom - all of it was so impossibly massive and so impossibly stable, but Minerva had no thoughts for that. She was torn between cold fury and a deep sickness - she had known that Harry's adoptive father was a fascist. But not quite so…on hand with the stormclouds gathering in Europe. But she knew that he didn't like his uncle, nor his actions. And it didn't take a psychologist to tell that Harry had been distressed, not delighted by his…
Adventures.
Minerva shook her head and tugged Katarina into one of the passenger compartments. It was less of a pullman's berth and more of a mobile hotel room, with adjoining chambers and a large window looking out at the city of London as it rolled by - the train clearly picking up speed. There was the faintest feeling of motion. Minerva thrust Katarina down into a comfortable chair in the sitting room of the passenger car, and sighed intently.
"Open your hand," she said.
Katarina looked surly. But she opened her hand. Minerva dragged her chair over, sitting down. She leaned in close and frowned as she examined the jagged chunks of glass thrust into the tough callouses. She started to pluck them out, careful to withdraw them with as little pain as she could. There was a small ashtray on the table, which served well enough as a container to hold the blood glistened glass. As each tinked in, Katarina's fingers twitched.
"Tell me about the…Roter Hexenzirkel?" Minerva said, looking up at Katarina. Katarina looked aside. "Your…father was a member, wasn't he?"
Katarina nodded. "Ja," she said, softly. "They backed the KPD." At Minerva's arched eyebrow, she added. "The communists."
"Ah," Minerva said. "And the…" She puzzled at the German. "The Red Witches?"
"That's them, yes," Katarina said, softly. "They tried to block the Nazis wizards. Did a good job of it too. Most German wizards would rather have drunk rattlesnake venom than work with Hitler. Only good thing you can say about the bastards." Minerva stood, rummaging around. When she returned, it was with cloth and a glass of water. She daubed the cloth into the water, then began to gently clean the wounds. Before her eyes, Katarina's skin was already scabbing over. The blood had stopped flowing entirely. Minerva drew her hand back, eyes widening.
"They thought an Austrian upstart was an affront to their Prussian hexenverking, bah!" Katarina shook her head, her hand still held out for Minerva to examine. "But did they work with the KDP? Did they do a thing when the brownshirts came for the communists and the queers? No. they said 'ah, well, we may not like their methods, but, they had it coming, did they not.'' She growled, her eyes bright gold.
"I'm sorry," Minerva whispered. Then, more firmly. "Your…your hand is on its way to mending. I got the glass out and it…"
Katarina looked at her hand, flexing her fingers. The scabs were thin pink lines. Her grin was wry. "This being the advantage of the blood of Remus, yes?"
"You're…not…" Minerva wasn't sure how to say it.
Their eyes met.
Gold flashed as Katarina growled. "I am being a werewolf, yes."
Minerva's skin prickled with gooseflesh. The vivid image of Katarina taking hold of her chin, between thumb and forefinger, rooting in her place and…
Biting her?
Sinking her teeth into her throat…
Drawing blood and a soft sigh all at once, and…tearing and-
Minerva stood, flushing. "Your hand's fine," she said, her voice flat. "I just needed to make sure you didn't bleed over the carpet." She turned to go, her cheeks having two tiny pink dots on them. Katarina watched her, then arched an eyebrow.
"That is all?"
"Yes, that is all," Minerva said, walking to the door.
"Then why are you not using healing magic? Much faster, then plucking each thorn from my paw with your gentle fingers, Minnie…" Katarina's voice was husky. Taunting. God above, did Minerva hate that taunting voice. Her cheeks burned.
She had no answer.
She opened the door, slipped out, then closed it.
***
"A day!?" Minerva exclaimed as Gina pressed her face against the glass of the window, watching the countryside roll by.
"Yes!" Gina siad, turning back. She had chosen a room for her and Minerva, and it was just as opulent and impossible as every other part of the train.
"I thought this train would get there in five minutes, considering every other impossible trick you wizards have pulled off," Minerva said, clicking her tongue. "Twenty four hours would get us to bloody Greenland!"
"Pff, Iceland maybe," Gina said, chuckling. "But no, we take a turn through the Fae and Astral, before we come to where Hexagramatica is situated - it's in some…" She waved her hand. "Pocket something something that keeps it from prying eyes and such."
"Ah, but of course," Minerva said. "I suppose that's why the train's so fancy."
"Well, it's like this because we're in it," Gina said, casually. She turned to face her. "So, did you know that big kraut?"
"A-After a fashion," Minerva said.
"Did you notice her wand?" Gina grinned.
Minerva's brow furrowed. She had noticed her shoulders. Her bicep. Those gold, gold eyes. That long straight blond hair. The fierce, wicked smile. The strength in that hand. The…she shook her head before her imagination kept going. "N-No, I didn't," she said.
"She had a Kaiser-14 issue German Imperial Army wand," Gina said, her eyes shining. "They made those for their soldiers. Think she was in the war?" Then before Minerva could respond. "No, no way, she's not nearly old enough. Must have been her Da's. Still, those wands are pretty rare - they were mostly turned in after the War and lots of them got melted down."
Minerva shook her head. "I didn't notice," she said.
"Well, she definitely has a bone to pick with Harry," Gina said.
"What do you know about those German witches that Vane Villamont supposedly defeated?" Minerva asked.
"Everyone says they were going to destroy our Masquerade - reveal us to the mundanes," Gina said. "Villamont is an absolute prick, but you have to protect the Masquerade, eh?"
"Yeah…" Minerva frowned. "I have to admit, I doubt that."
Gina considered for a bit, clicking her tongue. "Yeah," she said, quietly. "I think if Vane Villamont said the sky was blue, I'd doubt it. What did the Kraut-"
"Katarina," Minerva said.
"Katarina?" Gina grinned at her. "Are you and she friends or something?"
"No, she's quite infuriating," Minerva said, immediately.
"Well, yeah, but still," Gina said, shrugging. "What did she say about, like, her side of things?"
"The Red Witches just wanted to stop Hitler," Minerva said. "And Vane Villamont definitely seems to be a fan of old Adolph."
Gina snorted. "Yeah, that all lines up - ugly, ugly business." She sighed. "Maybe she and Harry will have a duel."
"If they'd actually talk to each other, I think Harry would rather team up with Katarina against Villamont," Minerva said, quirking her lips up. "Still, how long do we spend in the Fae? And how long in the Astral?"
Gina sighed and leaned back in her seat. She put her feet up on the chair across from her, not even bothering to remove her shoes. She slouched. "Only two in the Fae, pity to say."
"I don't know, I've been interested in the Astral Plane since I read my introductory textbook on it," Minerva said, her brow furrowing.
"Those textbooks were written before the War, since they're all basics," Gina said, frowning. "The Astral Plane isn't what it used to be. That's why the train has those." She pointed at the thick, heavy curtains. "Blackout curtains, like during the War. They're going to be drawn by the fae when we enter the Astral and won't open until we reach Hexgramatica."
Minerva shivered. "I…thought the War only impacted the Astral, like, near the big battles. Like Ypres and the Somme and Verdun," she said, the names feeling weighty on her tongue.
Gina grinned, but it was a grim one. "Nah. It's only dangerous around Yrpes. It's fucked everywhere."
"Gina!" Minerva exclaimed.
"I'm just quoting my father!" Gina placed her palm to her chest, her face purely innocent.
"You are the living end," Minerva muttered.
"Thank you!" Gina beamed. "Now, shall we hit the dining car?"
"I think I will check on Harry," Minerva said.
"Oh yes!" Gina exclaimed, sitting up.
"Alone," Minerva said, firmly.
"Aww!" Gina looked like her puppy had been kicked in front of her eyes. "I can restrain myself!"
Minerva did not respond. She simply arched an eyebrow and looked incredibly serious. She held this mask of solemnity in silence, the only noise being the ticking of the clock and the very distant rumbling of the engines and rattle of the rails.
Both girls burst into peals of laughter.
***
Minerva found Harry's room through the simplest expedient of asking a house fae. The nude man smiled and gestured, and Minerva came to the room. It was on the second story of the third passenger car, requiring her to walk up a flight of stairs on a train, something that remained deeply surreal to her. She came to the door and found it was closed up. Minerva lifted her hand to knock, then frowned as she heard a clattering noise within.
She leaned close, pressing her ear to the door.
Harry's voice, muffled a bit through the thick wood, said: "Charlene! W-We…"
The sound of a giggle came then. Minerva bit her lip, then tried the knob. The door hadn't been locked. She opened it a crack and peeked in, to see if she needed to rush in to rescue Harry from Charlene Cindercarus-Colette. Instead, she saw that Harry was sitting in a large, comfortable and red upholstered chair. His hands gripped the arms and he looked faintly stricken - but he didn't push the other wizard away as she…knelt before him.
Harry is taken advantage of by the lustful Charlene while Minerva watches!
Minerva's eyes widened and her hand went to her wand. She hissed, under her breath. "Wif Kemb Subtrahe." Her body glimmered, then thinned and thinned and thinned, until she was nearly invisible.The compression felt no more or less uncomfortable than sitting or standing, and it left her free to gape as she leaned in and watched as Charlene drew her head back and away from Harry's lap. His belt was undone, his pants had been opened and his…his cock thrust into the air as Charlene caressed him. Her hand gripped the base of his manhood, her tongue darting out to tease along the tip of him.
He was uncircumcised.
Every other manhood Minerva had seen had been properly cut. This looked…
Different.
Was this why it didn't kindle her the way it should have?
Minerva didn't know. She flicked her tongue along her lips as Harry groaned, his hand reaching down to gently caress Charlene's brown curls. "We shouldn't…" he whispered.
"Shhh, Harry," Charlene purred. She leaned forward, her hair dragging through his fingers. Her mouth closed around his tip and she pushed forward, beginning to take inch after inch of him. As she did so, her hand reached down and played with the top of her school uniform. It spilled open and, as it spilled open, her breasts came free. Full and luscious and tipped with rosy red nipples, Charlene actively played with her own breasts, tugging on her nipples as she managed, with a grunt, to place her lips against Harry's base, her throat stretching slightly as she took him entire.
"Oh God," Harry gasped. His hands clutched Charlene's hair, fingers curling through her tresses. His hips bucked, as if he couldn't control himself. Charlene cupped his balls with one hand, squeezing. Pumping. She drew her mouth back, then, with such a lewd slurping noise that Minerva wondered if she might faint. When her lips popped free, a thick line of gleaming spittle and…and cum connected her lips to Harry's member. She licked her lips, lewdly, and groaned.
"You taste so good, Harry," she said, slipping herself from the floor to the chair, which creaked under their weight.
"Please, I…" Harry seemed to not know what to say. Charlene took full advantage of that. Her hand reached down and her skirts rumpled up. For a delicious, tantalizing flash, Minerva was able to clearly see the cleft of her ass, the gleaming folds of her sex, the carefully maintained curls of her brown pubic hair. She started to rock her hips back and forth, one hand on Harry's shoulder, the other keeping her skirts hiked up. The movement of her hips slipped her…her cunt against his cocktip.
"Charlene, we should really-" Harry started.
She rocked her hips down. His member speared up into her, spreading the folds of her cunt. "Shh, just enjoy it," she whispered.
"W-What about, ahem, ah, ah, protection?" Harry sounded like a man reaching for flotsam in a typhoon.
"Shhh…" Charlene leaned in, kissing him.
"... well, that might be one way to solve a shortage of wizards," MInerva muttered under her breath, incredulously.
Minerva's hand had crept along her belly, inch by inch. She watched, raptly, as Charlene's ass jiggled slightly as she adjusted herself. Then the skirts swept down, concealing the point of joining. That didn't hide everything, though. Far from it. Charlene's top was still open, and Harry had lost his attempt to resist what she was offering. His palms cupped her. So strong. So forceful. The idea of someone strong and powerful taking hold of Minerva's breasts and…squeezing them…
She almost mewled. Her hand had slipped further down and, cheeks burning, her finger rubbed against her own crotch through her skirts. THere were so many layers of fabric between her finger and her center that she felt more frustrated than titillated, but the idea of actually pushing her hand under, of hiking her skirts up, of tugging her panties down, it was…it was too much. Minerva tortured herself with her finger and watched, raptly, as Charlene started to buck her hips, riding Harry with soft moans.
"Ah, your cock is so big," she whispered. "Your pureblood cock is driving me wild, Harry. Ah. Yes!" She leaned forward and kissed him. Harry's hands rumpled her skirts, gripping her ass as he fucked up against her, the chair squeaking now.
Minerva bit her knuckle to keep from moaning in frustrated need.
Part of her wanted to be Charlene at this moment. Harry was sweet and…she should want that, yes?
Harry cupped one of Charlene's bared breasts. He rolled her nipple, then tugged more fiercely, and Charlene threw her head back, moaning in pleasure. Her hips moved faster. Faster. The chair squeaked more insistantly and Minerva felt her teeth almost draw blood as she trembled and bucked her hips, desperately. But there was too much cloth. The barrier was too much for her to…to…
Harry groaned.
Charlene gasped out. "Yes! Fill me!"
And Minerva knew he was emptying himself inside of her, behind those skirts.
The two collapsed against one another, Charlene panting quietly. Forehead to forehead, she murmured sweetness to Harry.
He was uncircumcised.
Every other manhood Minerva had seen had been properly cut. This looked…
Different.
Was this why it didn't kindle her the way it should have?
Minerva didn't know. She flicked her tongue along her lips as Harry groaned, his hand reaching down to gently caress Charlene's brown curls. "We shouldn't…" he whispered.
"Shhh, Harry," Charlene purred. She leaned forward, her hair dragging through his fingers. Her mouth closed around his tip and she pushed forward, beginning to take inch after inch of him. As she did so, her hand reached down and played with the top of her school uniform. It spilled open and, as it spilled open, her breasts came free. Full and luscious and tipped with rosy red nipples, Charlene actively played with her own breasts, tugging on her nipples as she managed, with a grunt, to place her lips against Harry's base, her throat stretching slightly as she took him entire.
"Oh God," Harry gasped. His hands clutched Charlene's hair, fingers curling through her tresses. His hips bucked, as if he couldn't control himself. Charlene cupped his balls with one hand, squeezing. Pumping. She drew her mouth back, then, with such a lewd slurping noise that Minerva wondered if she might faint. When her lips popped free, a thick line of gleaming spittle and…and cum connected her lips to Harry's member. She licked her lips, lewdly, and groaned.
"You taste so good, Harry," she said, slipping herself from the floor to the chair, which creaked under their weight.
"Please, I…" Harry seemed to not know what to say. Charlene took full advantage of that. Her hand reached down and her skirts rumpled up. For a delicious, tantalizing flash, Minerva was able to clearly see the cleft of her ass, the gleaming folds of her sex, the carefully maintained curls of her brown pubic hair. She started to rock her hips back and forth, one hand on Harry's shoulder, the other keeping her skirts hiked up. The movement of her hips slipped her…her cunt against his cocktip.
"Charlene, we should really-" Harry started.
She rocked her hips down. His member speared up into her, spreading the folds of her cunt. "Shh, just enjoy it," she whispered.
"W-What about, ahem, ah, ah, protection?" Harry sounded like a man reaching for flotsam in a typhoon.
"Shhh…" Charlene leaned in, kissing him.
"... well, that might be one way to solve a shortage of wizards," MInerva muttered under her breath, incredulously.
Minerva's hand had crept along her belly, inch by inch. She watched, raptly, as Charlene's ass jiggled slightly as she adjusted herself. Then the skirts swept down, concealing the point of joining. That didn't hide everything, though. Far from it. Charlene's top was still open, and Harry had lost his attempt to resist what she was offering. His palms cupped her. So strong. So forceful. The idea of someone strong and powerful taking hold of Minerva's breasts and…squeezing them…
She almost mewled. Her hand had slipped further down and, cheeks burning, her finger rubbed against her own crotch through her skirts. THere were so many layers of fabric between her finger and her center that she felt more frustrated than titillated, but the idea of actually pushing her hand under, of hiking her skirts up, of tugging her panties down, it was…it was too much. Minerva tortured herself with her finger and watched, raptly, as Charlene started to buck her hips, riding Harry with soft moans.
"Ah, your cock is so big," she whispered. "Your pureblood cock is driving me wild, Harry. Ah. Yes!" She leaned forward and kissed him. Harry's hands rumpled her skirts, gripping her ass as he fucked up against her, the chair squeaking now.
Minerva bit her knuckle to keep from moaning in frustrated need.
Part of her wanted to be Charlene at this moment. Harry was sweet and…she should want that, yes?
Harry cupped one of Charlene's bared breasts. He rolled her nipple, then tugged more fiercely, and Charlene threw her head back, moaning in pleasure. Her hips moved faster. Faster. The chair squeaked more insistantly and Minerva felt her teeth almost draw blood as she trembled and bucked her hips, desperately. But there was too much cloth. The barrier was too much for her to…to…
Harry groaned.
Charlene gasped out. "Yes! Fill me!"
And Minerva knew he was emptying himself inside of her, behind those skirts.
The two collapsed against one another, Charlene panting quietly. Forehead to forehead, she murmured sweetness to Harry.
Minerva, her cheeks burning, stepped away.
She hurried to her room.
Gina, who was adjusting a wireless set that Minerva hadn't even noticed before - it had been so covered in rococo decorations that she had mistaken it for a damn wine cabinet - lifted her gaze as Minerva stepped into the room.
"Is Harry okay?" she asked.
"Yes, fine!" Minerva said, cheeks still burning.
The wireless started and an inane commercial for soap started playing. It chased Minerva as she hurried to the private bedroom she had. She closed the door, stumbled to the bed, then threw herself face first into it. Her hand moved before she could stop herself.
Minerva pleasures herself while exploring her sexuality - and finds it queer as a two dollar bill
She reached down, thrusting fingers beneath the hem of her skirts and then slipped them under her panties. Her pubic hair felt warm and soft against her fingers and then her own center felt so…wet. So needy. The first touch wrung from her a moan of such needy, desperate want that she felt her cheeks burn with shame. She buried her face against the pillows, to moan into them as she skipped preamble and build up. Three of her fingers buried themselves into her folds, stretching her - stretching her like… Harry would stretch her.
… right?
She tried to imagine herself in Charlene's place, what she would see, and it didn't work for her. It couldn't be Harry… maybe he wasn't right for her. She tried to imagine somebody else, someone… generic, the vague and indistinct but presumably real man she'd find one day, whose features could be a pleasant blur, but it wasn't working.
Her mind drifted, to the answer she had always sort of suspected and always, firmly, rejected. Titania, then, that surreal first night… but no, she was… not human, didn't count. Gina said it didn't count. Someone else, somebody…
She pictured, just for a moment, dear Petunia, and immediately withdrew from it. She couldn't, to even think of her that way was too much. She'd not do that to her, she'd have to leave her out. She loved her too much to picture her that way.
Her imaginary world settled on a pair of strong hands grabbing her lapels, sharp teeth and hot breath nearing her neck, an infuriating, entitled, intoxicating presence. Her thumb found her clit and rubbed fiercely as her hips bucked.
She would have to do. Minerva didn't have to care what she'd think of it.
The cresting pleasure that buzzed into her was like a wave. No, like a tsunami. It crashed into her and Minerva lost all control, her hips twitching up, thrusting against her own hand as she twitched and clenched and her eyes went blazing white. She gasped out a nameless groan that could have been anything - and her brain whirled with a confused swirl of hands and fingers, of teeth biting, of nipples being tugged.
The last image that settled as her hips bucked again and the washing rush of her joy hit her again was a hand cradling her mouth, a thumb thrusting into her tongue, a crooning voice. Yes, just like that, fraulein, cum for me like that…
Then…
She felt as if her strings had been cut. She slumped to the side, shuddering and panting as she withdrew her hands from between her thighs. The gleaming arousal that glittered on her hand, that drew spiderweb connections between them as she spread her fingers apart, was as much a testament to her shame as the burning of her cheeks and the sick, dark pleasure in her belly.
… right?
She tried to imagine herself in Charlene's place, what she would see, and it didn't work for her. It couldn't be Harry… maybe he wasn't right for her. She tried to imagine somebody else, someone… generic, the vague and indistinct but presumably real man she'd find one day, whose features could be a pleasant blur, but it wasn't working.
Her mind drifted, to the answer she had always sort of suspected and always, firmly, rejected. Titania, then, that surreal first night… but no, she was… not human, didn't count. Gina said it didn't count. Someone else, somebody…
She pictured, just for a moment, dear Petunia, and immediately withdrew from it. She couldn't, to even think of her that way was too much. She'd not do that to her, she'd have to leave her out. She loved her too much to picture her that way.
Her imaginary world settled on a pair of strong hands grabbing her lapels, sharp teeth and hot breath nearing her neck, an infuriating, entitled, intoxicating presence. Her thumb found her clit and rubbed fiercely as her hips bucked.
She would have to do. Minerva didn't have to care what she'd think of it.
The cresting pleasure that buzzed into her was like a wave. No, like a tsunami. It crashed into her and Minerva lost all control, her hips twitching up, thrusting against her own hand as she twitched and clenched and her eyes went blazing white. She gasped out a nameless groan that could have been anything - and her brain whirled with a confused swirl of hands and fingers, of teeth biting, of nipples being tugged.
The last image that settled as her hips bucked again and the washing rush of her joy hit her again was a hand cradling her mouth, a thumb thrusting into her tongue, a crooning voice. Yes, just like that, fraulein, cum for me like that…
Then…
She felt as if her strings had been cut. She slumped to the side, shuddering and panting as she withdrew her hands from between her thighs. The gleaming arousal that glittered on her hand, that drew spiderweb connections between them as she spread her fingers apart, was as much a testament to her shame as the burning of her cheeks and the sick, dark pleasure in her belly.
"Oy…" she whispered, then closed her eyes, feeling…wrung out.
Languid.
"Oh Minerva," she mumbled into her pillow. "You really are losing your mind."
***
For all the ominous words from Gina, the transition from mundane world to the Fae was less marked than Minerva had expected. The view through the window showed brilliant golds and greens, like the carefully organized fields and towns of England had been replaced with something primeval and pristine. But the trees grew too thick and close to show anything but hints of darker forest beyond - and then, a short few hours later, the curtains closed. The darkness beyond them seemed to still creep around the edges of the window - and the…strange temptation seemed to come to both Gina and Minerva at the same time: The temptation to draw the curtains back, to see what was beyond them.
The urge got the wireless running. THey sat and listened to the news - and it was a measure of how badly Gina wanted distraction. The League of Nations was accepting the Soviet Union. The Soviet General Secretary was recorded, and her voice came through the speaker in clear Russian, before a posh Englishwoman dubbed in the translation. "We will lead the world into a better and brighter future - new Soviet sciences and new Soviet traditions will be an example to the world…"
After the news, when both were too tired to keep their eyes open, Gina bade Minerva goodnight and both of them stepped into their bedrooms. The bedrooms, thankfully, had no windows, no curtains to tempt and tug at. Despite that, Minerva laid in her bed, tossing and turning - her mind consumed with the window and the curtains and whatever was beyond them.
Finally, though, she slept.
Sadly, that didn't provide comfort from confusion and fear.
In her dream, Minerva was wearing red and the trees were thick. The cottage she came to was misty and cold and when she opened it, there was a great wolf within. It spoke Yiddish, like her grandmother.
Are you quite Kosher, my dear?
The wolf led her, somehow, to the balcony of a penthouse, where Harry stood. He was shirtless, and held a rose in her hand. He took her hand and Minerva felt cold running along her arm. Then, quietly, he whispered: You have to find the huntsman.
As dreams did, she was then running, wearing the red shawl and nothing else. The cold breeze of the forest caressed her thighs and the braying of wolves chased her to the huntsman's cabin. She raised her knuckle to knock - but she heard the thock thock of an ax on wood. She stepped around the cabin. Katarina was there, ax in both hands, muscular back fully on display, glossy with sweat. She brought the ax down and the log she hewed into split as Minerva stepped forward. Her foot cracked on a twig and the huntsman turned. Katarina grinned.
"There you are…" she said, her voice more clear than any other.
Minerva couldn't stop herself. Her fingers tugged at the cloak. The tie fought her. "What big arms you have…" Her lips formed the words.
"The better to hold you down with, my dear…"
Then…
Hands.
Holding her.
Forcing her arms up. Ripping her cloak aside. Hands cupping her breasts. Squeezing. Tugging. Teeth, sinking into her throat. Then tearing and-
When she woke, it was with hazy memories of blood and lust. The words: The better to hold you down with, my dear… echoed in her mind. Minerva lay in her bed, sweating and trembling and muttered under her breath. "My imagination is a hack."
Breakfast was held in the large dining car. Students laughed and drank coffee and chatted and smoked. THe smell of cigarettes and pipe smoke was thick as hell. Gina and Minerva found a table - and then their table was occupied by the huge smile and cheerful attitude of Katarina Wolf.
"Good morning," she said, nodding and lifting her mug of coffee. The large windows of the dining car showed wild forest - what had to be the 'pocket world' that Gina had referred to. The train tracks were curving around a bend, and…there, with shocking rudeness, was a lake. And beyond that lake? A castle. Vast. Glittering. Familiar. She had seen it, in the vision given her by her mageogram.
Hexgramatica.
"What a nasty pile of gothic rubble," Katarina said.
How do I say it? Minerva thought.
"It's nicer on the inside, I hear," Gina said. "So, is it true you have a Kaiser-14?"
Katarina laughed. "It is being my father's, yes," she said, casually - any tension about the prior confrontation forgotten. If Katarina noticed the glares sent her way by a few passing students, she let them slide off her shoulders like water.
"Can I see it?" Gina asked, smiling as Minerva tried to not think of teeth. Or hands. Or wolves.
Katarina grinned. "Say please, red hair."
Gina chuckled as Minerva felt an explosion of jealousy at the little sparkle in Katarina's eyes as she looked at Gina. "Please, pretty please, I've heard so much!"
How do I say it? Minerva thought, working her fingers into fists under the table.
"Here you are," Katarina said, withdrawing the wand from beneath the table and laying it out. The Kaiser-14 made wand was broad based and didn't taper at all, looking more like a steel baton than a spellcasting implement. But what was most curious was the hilt. It was not a fencer's grip, nor a pistol grip. Instead, it was a thick baton grip, with a set of five rings attached to it. Each ring had a raised, brutal looking spike on it - and Minerva realized precisely how it was meant to be used when Gina picked it up and slipped her fingers into those rings, beaming.
"Blimey!" she exclaimed, holding up the wand. "It's heavy!" She mimed punching at the air with the spiked knuckles that were built into the wand.
"Of course it is being heavy," Katarina said, grinning. "It is a trench wand."
How do I say it!? Minerva practically screamed in her mind. How do you say you've imagined kissing? Imagined more? To a woman? Let alone, how do you say it to a woman like Katarina? And how would Katarina react?
Minerva knew how she'd react.
She'd grin and…
And then kiss and…
Minerva's cheeks burned as she started to cut into her breakfast - it had taken some careful investigations and a few whispered, polite requests from the fae servants to get her hands on some kosher food. She chewed, while Gina started punching at the air, grinning brightly, going on about how very amazing the trench wand was.
Through it all, Katarina watched Minrva, with hunting eyes.
Minerva kept eating in silence as the train, at last, slowed.
They had arrived at Hexgramatica.
TO BE CONTINUED
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ThatGazzer
Minds Eye Bind
- Location
- PNW
- Pronouns
- They/Them
And you said you would spoiler the steamy bits. smh
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
To state the obvious here. Even more so than in Rowlingverse, the masquerade does not refer to hiding wizardry from the mundane population. Ensorcering mundanes is both common and expected, seeing as how even those without formal education in magic are allowed to do it.
To break the masquerade means exposing mundanes to magic consensually, in any relationship that does not position wizards as undisputed masters.
I do wonder what this means for earlier atrocities and conflicts. What did colonization do to the Astral. Was it fine because the rate of murder remained below the sustainable level. What about China's massive civil wars.
Or is atrocity just irrelevant to the state of the Astral plane, and was it the industrialization of magical warfare that did it, both in production and useage.
(The latter might explain why there is no recovery, as military-magical complex maintains it's profitable production methods).
It's quite interesting to see how magical society has very little autonomous magic.
It's all fae, all the time, everywhere.
Nothing just happens, everything is done by a fae, they're always in the room and like a good aristocrat, you ignore them.
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
Nothing good!
I haven't had any plans to really get into that, but I figure there's actually an astral plane before the astral plane that the pre-war europeans remember, which was significantly nicer than the one that they thought was "normal."
This continues to be extremely my kinda thing. Thanks for writing it, DC! My only complaint is that I would like more of it. Do any of you know of other fantasy stories set in the early to mid 20th century?
I'd really like stuff that matched the vibes of DC's work, which I might characterise as hopeful antifascist action. Well, truthfully I'd call it horny, hopeful antifascist action
, but it's the last two that are more important to me for recommendations.
Here are two that I've read:
- Daniel O'Malley's The Rook (only a few scenes in this or its sequel are set in the early 20thC, but they were very memorable and the third book (which I don't think I've read) is partly set in WW2).
- Naomi Novik's A Deadly Education (not set in the right time period, but some similar vibes and the magical world has a victorian vibe)
And three that I've read about:
- Ian Tregillis' Bitter Seeds
- Catherynne Valente's Deathless
- Scott Hawkins' The Library at Mount Char
- Ari Marmell's Hot Lead, Cold Iron
I'd really like stuff that matched the vibes of DC's work, which I might characterise as hopeful antifascist action. Well, truthfully I'd call it horny, hopeful antifascist action
, but it's the last two that are more important to me for recommendations.Here are two that I've read:
- Daniel O'Malley's The Rook (only a few scenes in this or its sequel are set in the early 20thC, but they were very memorable and the third book (which I don't think I've read) is partly set in WW2).
- Naomi Novik's A Deadly Education (not set in the right time period, but some similar vibes and the magical world has a victorian vibe)
And three that I've read about:
- Ian Tregillis' Bitter Seeds
- Catherynne Valente's Deathless
- Scott Hawkins' The Library at Mount Char
- Ari Marmell's Hot Lead, Cold Iron
- Location
- Phoenix, Arizona
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I just wanted to comment that I love this particular little bit of worldbuilding.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
I hope we get to see a whole series of wands.
The astrologer's wand, whose spells emit a friendly red glow, put to work in submarines and night fighting
The Zeppelin wand, compact, light and with a little safety cage to cast any sparks or glow emitted when casting.
Little nub of a wand, shortened so that you can do some dramatic casting from inside your tank or battleship turret without smashing against the hull.
Liberator wand. What looks like a pipe and some prime tobacco are actually a magical core and container. Undetectable when seperate, but light it off and you have 5 minutes of prime spellcasting power (and then you need remove the ashes and reload).
One interesting thing to note here, is that just as with Lolipan's mass production, wands are turned from Harry Potter's "extension of the self (through shopping)" into a gadget. An important gadget that determines much of your life, but still an interchangeable, mass produced thing. Kinda of like, a smart phone.
Like, in Rowlingverse a military wand wouldn't make much sense. Every wizard one would conscript or recruit already has a wand that is suited to them, so you don't need to set up military mass production. It would be counterproductive even, because it's a new want they're unused to.
Here, the large scale production of military wands implies both a much greater diversity in wand design and specialization, and the possibility of acute wand-poverty among the lower wizarding classes.
And not just the Rowling style deprivation where Goblins and other non-humans aren't allowed to have them, but also economic deprivation. In order to conscript wizards, the nations of the world had to provide them with wands to make them useful.
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Poor Harry, the man was not giving enthusiastic consent! I dunno if Charlene is an exception for pushiness, but I shudder to think about what kind of peer pressure the boys will put him through if they think of his adventures as some sort of example. But then again, that rebellious streak may come in handy.
- Location
- Austin
- Pronouns
- She/They
So Stalin isn't the general secretary of the USSR in this timeline.
- Location
- Phoenix, Arizona
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Oh shit, I didn't notice this, too distracted by Trench Wand.
Let's throw out some wild guesses as to who this mysterious female general secretary could be! Perhaps Nadezhda Krupskaya (though she's probably pretty old in that case!)! Possibly Inessa Armand (if she didn't die of cholera in this timeline!)! Maybe Alexandra Kollontai (if she wasn't exiled to Norway as ambassador)! Aleksandra Artyukhina, maybe! If we're going really alt-history, maybe the left-SRs didn't revolt and it's Maria Spiridonova! That's most of the prominent female Bolsheviks/left-wing opposition figures I can think of, or it could be an OC!
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- He/Him
