Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eyeing the darkening horizon where that sudden light had blazed, Richard couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that somehow, some way, Alan was in the middle of that mess.

“Thank you, Agent Haughn,” Edna said graciously into her own cell phone, as she and Sam casually organized a mini-evacuation with a determination that reminded Richard of Moses parting the Red Sea. “No, actually, I’m not that surprised. Remind me to tell you the story of how my first date with Richard went. It was interesting.”

Recalling an interrupted purse-snatching, an idiot with a tire iron, and the confusion as he used his date’s hairspray as an improvised robber-deterrent, Richard blushed.

“Good,” Edna went on, fierce. “Get the evidence to nail them to the wall. I’m sure we’ll be able to help- oh? Just a moment.” She gave Richard a warm glance. “Agent Haughn would like to know if we’d be willing to kidnap a certain agent and his family.” She paused. “Theoretically, of course.”

“Of course,” Richard agreed, bemused. “The more the merrier.” He looked across the airport lounge where Samuel was surrounded by a small swarm of dark-eyed kids he’d organized into demolishing hamburgers and a fruit bowl. Sam himself was working phone and laptop, keeping tabs on the mini-army Edna had set moving to get Maria’s kids here, grab any of what few clothes and personal items they wouldn’t leave without, and clear out Anne’s condo properly this time.

Edna had insisted on going with him for that, bless her. His wife had a soul of steel; this was going to be painful to Alan, he knew it, but everything Special Agent in Charge Haughn had uncovered so far about the Shays was more proof Alan could not be here while the investigation went forward. They owned too many people, inside the government and out.

But not Haughn, Richard thought gratefully, still unsettled by both what Haughn had honestly admitted he’d known had been going on, yet couldn’t stop, and what the agent had managed to finally get proof of in the wake of a wrecked warehouse, an attacked firehouse, a now-exposed child slave camp Haughn had been led to by one of Alan’s street contacts, and various other scenes of destruction. That didn’t even get into the shiver in his soul Richard had felt, searching through what had been left of his son’s life here. Too many memories with Anne’s face….

Though he’d deliberately sought out some of those haunting images. He’d had to take so little the last time, to get Alan away and safe. Now… there were framed photos wrapped and tucked into his briefcase, where sunlight or streetlights showed Anne and a growing gold-eyed boy making trees and walls and erratic boulders their own personal playgrounds. One in particular had been in Alan’s room, glass marred with fingerprints; a younger Anne, face flushed and eyes dancing from the effort as she balanced at the top of a concrete wall, the wide golden eyes of a baby peering over her shoulder from a sling.

All of those photos would find their way to Alan’s new room, as soon as they were home and safe. He owed his son that. Even if seeing Anne’s smile hurt.

And in a way, it had hurt even more to watch Edna stare at those moments of life and danger, and shake her head with a rueful smile. “That explains so much about the boy….”

Then she’d gripped his shoulder and told him it was alright to cry, so long as they got this done. And what they’d found because she had-

Richard shook off that odd thrill of Alan’s crazy secret compartments, and focused on now. “Has he found that family? Theoretically or not-”

His cell beeped.

Hey! Phone still works. Awesome!

Simon, Richard sighed, and put in his own call. “Should I ask why you’re surprised the phone still works?”

“Richard!” Simon sounded sincerely glad to hear from him. And more than a little tired. “Well, it’s a long story… the important thing is, we found the kids. They’re okay.”

Richard braced a hand on the back of a lounge chair. Because Alan was alive. Alan was alive, those brave youngsters were alive, that was what mattered-

And I am going to ground him until he’s twenty, for the love of god-!

“Richard, just breathe,” Simon said calmly. “We’re okay. It was a little dicey, we ended up picking up some unusual help – you know Agent Dominguez, yes? He’s okay, too. And Sarah, and Matt. We’re all fine. We just need to – er – work out a few logistics….”

“Logistics nothing.” Malachy’s voice, flat and final. “Drakon, forget the car. We need to go.”

“But,” Dominguez tried to protest.

“The cops can haul your ex-partner in later,” Tiburon’s voice cut across them all. “We all did a great and wonderful thing, and if there were any justice in the world we’d spend the next week on the beach with hot lovelies in designer swimsuits and enough cold drinks to float on. Given there is no justice, we need to exfil out of here before someone sends the Air Force to investigate the massive explosion and heat pulse.”

“Explosion?” Richard said warily.

“Air Force?” A stranger’s voice put in, in a very odd accent.

“Oops?” Simon sounded too gleeful to be innocent.

“Ah.” The stranger’s voice went very dry. “Explain the Air Force later. When… Simon… says oops…. Yes, by all means, leave the traitor for someone else to deal with.”

Traitor? Richard wondered. But Biegen’s fate wasn’t really something he cared about right now. “I’d like to talk to Alan.”

“Give us a minute to get everyone settled….”

Richard waited impatiently to the sounds of a van-sized group of people pulling together and scrambling on top of each other. No sound from the engine, odd; he did hear air rushing past, so they had to be moving-

“Dad?” A quick breath. “I mean, Mr. Silversmith, we’re okay-”

“Dad is fine,” Richard said firmly, clinging to that sound of exhausted breathing. Alive. In one piece. Alive. “Dad is just fine.”

“We can’t stop what we’re doing now,” Sister Thomasina said sharply. “Think of the children!”

“I am thinking of the children!”

Mrs. Silversmith’s voice, and that roused Alan out of his exhausted doze on Morgan and Aladdin faster than a gunshot. Airport lounge, chairs pushed together so they didn’t need to lose contact, Maria snuggled up with a bunch of the ak-al’ab nearby, who were trying to look small and quiet and asleep so the adults would never see the ambush coming. What was his dad’s wife doing with Sister Thomasina-

“My children,” Edna went on, voice as politely cutting as Alan had ever heard it. “Who are now targets, thanks to your church and its abominable disregard for law and common decency, you smug, hypocritical, overgrown penguin!”

Eep.

But Sam’s hand was on Alan’s shoulder, one finger pressed to his lips in the universal plea for silence. Mom’s being awesome! he mouthed.

Oh yeah? This he had to see.

“Your children?” The sister was standing rock-solid, arms folded in her habit, scowling as she looked over street rats and – Alan would be the first to admit – a pile of people who looked like they’d spilled out of an Arabian Nights costume party. Which he was totally blaming Yunan for, because it was the magi’s fault, completely. Sure, Ja’far had been the one muttering about radioactivity and needing to change their clothes, but damn it, Yunan did atomic reconstruction like other magicians did little fire spells. He could have just swept anything radioactive off what they were wearing.

But no. A king – and his Household – has to look impressive. Alan smiled ruefully. Poor Drakon.

“Since when have you cared anything about the poor and the downtrodden, Edna Silversmith?” Sister Thomasina went on. “Much less anything to do with Anne Ryans’ son-”

“That was my mistake,” Edna said, just as rock-solid and immovable, as Richard moved to stand beside her like a polite lawyerly siege engine. “I let what I felt about one woman, and my own mistakes, color what I did to an innocent boy. I was wrong. But you….” Edna’s eyes narrowed. “You let him believe he had to protect you, and your law-breaking, when it could have cost him his life!”

Sister Thomasina was shaking her head, mild reproof in every line of her face. “You can’t say-”

“Yes, I can.” Edna never raised her voice, but it cut like a razor. “I know my husband. So I know his son. Alan wouldn’t have gambled other lives to save someone he was responsible for, unless he had no other choice.” A manicured finger stabbed the nun’s direction, like a shot to the heart. “You let a teenager believe he was the only hope a little girl had. I hold you just as responsible as anyone for this – this barely averted atrocity!”

Alan blinked. Eyed Sam, who was grinning behind his hand. Glanced over at his teachers and their assorted allies; Ja’far was still poking an out-cold Callimachus once in a while, but aside from that even Simon seemed to be content to sit back and watch the show.

Morgan’s hand touched his shoulder, kitten-paw light. Alan let himself relax. It was going to be okay. Somehow.

“Of course I can’t tell you and your conscience what to do,” Edna went on dryly. “I can only point out that SAC Haughn will be investigating the Shays’ organizations – legitimate and otherwise – very closely. Very, very closely. And given the Star of the Sea charity is known to have accepted their donations in the past, and some children served by that charity have now turned up in a building the Shays organized for slave labor….” She trailed off, eyes icy.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t tell Mrs. Silversmith what she wouldn’t dare, Sister,” Alan stuck in. Because damn, he could still feel the tears drying on his cheeks from where he’d broken down crying on the carpet, knowing they were all alive. And damn, he’d seen his own mother take people apart like that when she had to, and he wanted to applaud. “You didn’t see what the Shays did to people. What they’ll keep doing, if people don’t stop them. You’re bringing kids here to save them? They’re helping you bring kids here so they can kill them.”

Both women were looking at him now. Alan did his best not to shrink back against Morgan and Sam, because this was his responsibility and nothing here was actually going to eat him. Even if they were kind of scary.

Morgan sniffed the air, eyes watchful; a careful non-reaction that had Alan glance toward the lounge door for her. Everyone knew he’d be jumpy back here in Boston.

So the tired gray-haired guy in an FBI-plain dark gray suit found himself facing a whole crew of interested onlookers. Somehow, Alan couldn’t feel sorry for him.

“Sir!” Drakon sat up straight, the brassy scale mail of a Partevian general rustling faintly. He reddened, as if he’d just remembered what he was wearing, and cast a scowl at Yunan that should have been arrested for assault with a deadly on the spot.

SAC Haughn raised a peppered brow, looking his younger agent over from red cape to pointed-toed armored boots. Spared a glance for Sarah and Matt, in her simple Sindrian white dress and the kid’s Heliohapt-style open-sided tunic. Stared, just a moment, before slowly scanning the rest of the assorted rescuers.

Alan didn’t even try to hide a grin. Malachy looked even more stoic and scary than usual in the white tunic and bronze armor of a Reim gladiator. Tiburon was grinning like an exhausted golden jackal, all Heliohapt’s white and gold wrapped in a Sindrian green-edged white robe. Ja’far had an almost perfectly neutral assassin’s smirk, carrying off a Sindrian court official’s green headscarf and white linen with resigned grace. And Simon, of course, was the most flamboyant of them all; violet hair still caught back with his own silver and leather tie, but glimmering in white robes over the gold-edged purple tunic of Sindria’s lost king.

Haughn, Alan noted, did not miss the swords. Any of them. Or their small trio of desert-lost kid dress, even behind Sam doing his best to look utterly ordinary, and just coincidentally block casual stares at Maria and the others. And definitely not Yunan, as the magi in the floppy hat did his best to look like just another part of the airport greenery.

Mom always said SAC Haughn was sharp.

Haughn… sighed. Closed his eyes a moment, as if hoping this would all vanish while he wasn’t looking.

Alan stifled a chuckle, feeling his own blush burn. When the Guatemalan street rats are the most normal looking guys in the room, you may have a problem.

Richard cleared his throat. “I can explain everything,” he said smoothly. “And what I can’t, I’m sure Mr. Cavins will.”

“No,” Haughn said firmly. “No, I don’t think I want you to explain anything.”

“Sir?” Drakon frowned, obviously concerned.

“Agent Dominguez… Domingo,” Haughn sighed. “I know this was in no way your fault, and if someone had laid hands on my family, I’d probably have done… whatever you managed to get yourself into.”

Drakon’s blush deepened.

“But the fact remains that someone,” Haughn eyed the room at large, “just managed to take a flamethrower to the pit of copperheads I’ve been trying to sneak up on with nets for the past four years.”

Why does everybody look at me when someone says stuff like that?

“Mr. Ryans,” Haughn said dryly. “Somehow I knew you’d be up to your ears in this.”

“My son is a minor,” Richard started, shoulders thrown back and ready for a fight.

“I know. I know,” Haughn said tiredly. “But if it hadn’t been for both the Ryans and a certain landfill, I never would have known where to start looking. And… I can’t thank Anne, anymore.”

Alan sat up straight, meeting the man’s gaze no matter how tired he was. “She wasn’t sure we could trust you, you know.”

“From what I’ve found out about Agent Biegen so far, I can’t blame her,” Haughn said bluntly. “And from other informants. I caught a certain young man called Pablo taking his cousin out of a Shays-owned facility. He didn’t want to talk, but she apparently made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Something about a rescued unicorn.” That drew a smile from the agent, tired or not; but it vanished again with his next words. “Apparently the Shays have ways of… making people forget certain things.”

Against his back, Alan felt Maria stiffen. He drew a breath, and nodded. “It’s why we had to find everything with a paper trail. The kids tried to help. But they couldn’t remember who hurt them.”

“Well, my office and Child Services now has at least two dozen illegal kids and three missing locals in the exact same boat,” Haughn said bluntly. “We may not know what happened but we can at least show it did happen.” He paused. “If I can keep it from happening to my agents.”

“It shouldn’t work if you’re not in the same room,” Ja’far said clinically. “And not at all if you’ve searched them well. They apparently need some chemical help to pull it off.”

“Thank you,” Haughn said gruffly. “That’s what I needed to know.” He stared at his younger agent. “Domingo. Take your family and get out of town.”

“Sir-”

“This isn’t a request.”

Alan tensed, feeling Simon’s eyes narrow from across the room as their principal prepared to defend one of his Generals.

“You’re a witness, Domingo. All of you are,” Haughn said flatly. “You can’t be investigating your own case. More important, you’re one of the agents I know I can trust, but your cousin Ernesto is in this up to his eyeteeth. And we both know all Homeland Security has to do is breathe counterterrorism, and all of you could end up in custody who knows how long. If you’re lucky. This is a mass murder case. The Shays have every reason to make sure there are no inconvenient witnesses left standing. I want you, your family, and everyone in this room out of Boston.”

“Because if the Shays have every pay phone in town bugged, who knows what else they’ve got?” Alan put in.

“They what?” Both agents rounded on him.

“It was why we couldn’t call,” Morgan said quietly. “Every phone we came near had their traps on it.”

“Traps?” Haughn said darkly.

“Probably part of what you don’t want explained, sir,” Drakon sighed.

“No,” Haughn agreed reluctantly. “No, I don’t. But you will write up an explanation, Agent Dominguez. And take depositions from everyone involved. After you’re out of town.”

Alan breathed a sigh of relief.

“Everyone but you.” Haughn eyed Sister Thomasina as if he were measuring her for shackles. “Your Order would throw ten kinds of fits if you disappeared, which means you’re the safest person here. You, I intend to talk to. In detail.”

The elderly nun drew herself up straight. “Save the subtle threats, Agent Haughn. I am not afraid.”

“Sister.” Haughn’s Boston accent was even flatter than usual. “When I threaten you, it won’t be subtle.”

“Stop it.” Alan was on his feet, even if Morgan kept a hand bracing him. “Just stop. Don’t you get it? This is how the Shays have kept this going all these centuries! They find a wedge, they find where people don’t trust each other, and then they split everybody who’d stop them apart. So stop it.” He met Haughn’s gaze. “She did what she thought was right. You don’t have to like it. Just respect it.” He took a breath, turning toward Sister Thomasina-

That wasn’t just Morgan’s hand bracing him. Aladdin’s was, too.

“My mom is dead.” Alan wasn’t going to let his voice shake. “She never got to do what she planned. So maybe you ought to think about that, Sister. Because Mom was a reporter.”

And here’s where I bluff.

“And I have her notes.”

It wasn’t a lie. He did. At least all the ones that still existed. Mrs. Silversmith and his father had seen to that; and if he was angry they’d cleaned out the condo then he was going to be angry about it later, someplace he could take it out on a few rocks instead of people. Because maybe he didn’t like his father’s wife, but she’d been honest: Boston was too hot for him to stay, and leaving anything behind was an invitation to have it destroyed, or worse. And if Richard was his father, then they were going to act like responsible parents and get everything he still owned out of the death zone.

So he had Anne’s notes. And his own.

Now I get to see what Sister thinks I’d do with them.

Judging by how she paled, it wasn’t good.

From that hiss of Richard’s breath, his father found that the absolute last straw.

“It’s a good thing we’re going home, Uncle Simon,” Aladdin put in, before anyone could explode. “I learned a lot. But Boston’s been kind of… really not fun.”

“Remind me to tell you about Antarctica sometime,” Simon reflected. “Although at least in Antarctica, no one was shooting at me.” He rubbed his hands together, and gave Drakon his best devil-may-care grin. “And I told you, our home is your home, as long as you need it. You are coming, aren’t you? My students could use a proper character study for an Honest FBI Agent-”

How you could hear the capitals in that, Alan wanted to find out.

“-they always overplay the role.” Violet brows arched, he glanced at Maria’s little kid-pack. “Plus, we need someone to help us train up all these little Hamlets. Hopefully with far better survival instincts than their namesake, everyone dies at the end is just the wrong way to end a good story! And given what happened last season - well, the next game our Mascot will prevail through the power of adorable! And overwhelming numbers.”

“How have you not ended up wearing a straitjacket?” Drakon wondered, face slipping from anger into honest, rueful curiosity.

“Well, don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually not crazy,” Simon shrugged. “I just look crazy because most people are woefully under-informed about what actually constitutes reality.”

“...Scary thing is,” Alan said ruefully, “he’s actually right.”

If this were Heaven, then the couches were almost as bad as those on Earth. The rukh had a case of the giggles. And there was an odd lingering smell of pizza.

“Don’t try to get up too fast, Magister.” Phaenomena’s voice, tired and relieved. “You’ve been out for almost two days.”

Callimachus blinked, taking in the brightness of the rukh fluttering through the odd little Arabian nest of a room, the neutral expression on Ja’far’s face, the quiet smirks Malachy and Tiburon were trading, and the grin on Simon Cavins, as he sat sideways, curled up against a pile of tasseled cushions. “We’re not dead.” Which means they want something.

“No, you’re not,” Simon agreed. “Aladdin was very insistent that you not be dead, by the way. Pulled out some totally unfair stories about Sinbad and a certain assassin... well, I suppose those were fair, but that assassin didn’t go after children in Sinbad’s care. So I’m still very angry at you. Very.” He took a deliberate breath. “But when you thought you were dying, your last act was to try and warn us what the Shays were capable of. And that... that makes me think you deserve a chance. I’m holding you to that archive access, by the way. We’re learning a lot.”

Callimachus winced. He’d spent centuries gathering those tomes, carefully sorting false information from true-

“You could learn a lot, too. If you wanted.”

Which meant Cavins had his complete and undivided attention, and the man knew it. Grrr.

“From what your companion tells us, all you’ve really wanted was to bring magic back to the strength of the legends,” Simon went on. “I think you saw what we’ve managed of that.”

The alchemist nodded, not trusting his voice.

“I have magicians in this school,” Simon stated. “Magicians, and magoi-users, and people who just want to know enough about magic to treat it with the respect it deserves: a difficult, intricate art that can help us all do what might otherwise be impossible.” He pointed at Callimachus, then Phaenomena. “Magician. Magoi-user. I want to hire you.”

“To work with... teenagers,” Callimachus stated, almost hoping he hadn’t read the man accurately.

“And younger children. And a few adults, as we pick them up,” Simon agreed. “I did say I was still angry at you. What’s redemption without a bit of penance?”

It made a frightening amount of sense.

“Aladdin’s a very nice kid, but he still has hopes anyone can be redeemed,” Simon mused. “I wasn’t at all sure about you, but Boston demonstrated that you at least have standards.” He grinned. It had an edge of teeth. “Though it also demonstrated that you have problems with the ideas of restraint, appropriate limits, and innocent bystanders.”

Ja’far snorted at that one.

Callimachus almost winced at the burning irony. When the man who’d played Sinbad the Sailor thought someone needed a refresher on restraint....

“Lucky for you,” Simon said gleefully, “I just happen to have a facility devoted specifically to teaching mini-psychopaths how to function in the world at large without getting arrested. Much.”

Phaenomena stifled a yelp. Callimachus blinked. “A high school.”

“Exactly!” Simon beamed. “Training in appropriate social behavior, resources for socialization, plenty of after-school and during-school opportunities to blow things up and otherwise work off stress - you’ve never been to a modern high school, have you?” The grin sharpened again. “I’m told it’s comparable to the Ninth Circle of Hell. Though I try to make mine more along the lines of the first two circles. Hopefully more like the First,” he added thoughtfully. “Teenagers don’t need any more lust in the mix.”

An educated actor. Callimachus felt the world tilt.

“Oh, and don’t worry,” Simon mused. “You will have appropriate supervision. Until we’re sure you can be trusted around students. Who can be idiots. Provocative, infuriating, incredibly foolhardy idiots.” He tapped his fingers together, Gleeful Evil. “And if you can learn to keep your temper and not fry the lot of them, you’ll be quite well rehabilitated, in my book.”

That... was a truly terrifying thought.

“Instructor Tiburon says he could use a hand training certain people in lethal combat techniques,” Phaenomena put in, hand resting on his. “He’s going to be spending more time training Hancock students, so he’d like someone to help him take on adults used to brutal hand-to-hand.”

And that uncoiled a knot in his gut Callimachus hadn’t fully realized was there. Phaenomena thought this could work. That they would be useful here. Wanted - even if not fully trusted. Yet. “And if we say no?”

“Then you get to walk away, with the knowledge that if we find you on our grounds again, we will kill you,” Ja’far said steadily. “And you never find out what’s on the other side of a tower door.”

Callimachus nodded, considering that. Glanced at his compatriot; Phaenomena might defer to him in magic, but she read people better than he ever had.

She looked steadily back. And winked.

“If you want this to work, we’ll have to have a good cover story,” Callimachus said plainly, looking over them all. “What I saw....” God. What he’d seen. “That boy... he appeared to be... is he really the Fire Prince?”

“If you mean, are Amon and Amon’s king the source of the legends,” Tiburon spoke up, “then as far as we can tell, yes.” The swordsman gave him a level, almost amused look. “And I’m glad it’s Alan who holds Amon’s contract, because that young man would really rather not blow things up or set them on fire unless there’s no other alternative. I am going to have to teach him to get past that, you weren’t the first and you won’t be the last to try to kill him - but all things considered, I’d rather teach a nonviolent teenager to defend himself than try to get a violent one to tone it down.” Tiburon smiled. “He does love fire. That’s a good place to start. And I think I know where I can borrow a handy artillery range.”

“Well.” Callimachus took a slow breath, considering that. “Myth or not, you can’t muster that power long, or Alan would never have allowed the Shays to hold him as long as he did. Which means we’ll need to keep magic out of public view until we have far more students trained in the ways of the rukh. So.” He arched a brow at Simon. “What will I officially be teaching?”

The principal grinned. “How are you at physics?”

Drakon regarded the small folder of folded notes on the Silversmiths’ kitchen table; reached out to tap a finger on the half-dozen plastic shapes Alan had told Aladdin were called flash drives. “So this is it.”

“Everything I know about that Mom had, that wasn’t in her obvious research.” Alan shifted in his chair, gaze dropping for a moment. “There’s probably... other stuff in there too. She was always working a half-dozen stories at once. Could take a while to sort through.”

Aladdin shifted a little closer, so Alan could feel the warmth of him near enough to lean on. Caught Morgan’s eye as she leaned in from Alan’s right, and smiled. Not that Morgan was fooled. They both knew if Alan was letting them scrunch in this close, he was probably worried out of his mind.

And I can’t blame him, Aladdin reflected. Maria was right by Morgan, looking almost calm. If you couldn’t feel the twitches of lightning rukh tickling her fingers. And why wouldn’t she be upset? The Dominguez’ were the people Alan had rescued out of the tower, and the Silversmiths gathered around the other side of the table were Alan’s birth family. And she was, well... an evil man’s daughter.

But Alan’s not like that, Aladdin knew. We just need to tell her that.

Lucky for all of them, they’d managed to keep Maria away from Bertram. Aladdin was hoping they’d be able to keep that up until Mrs. Silversmith had decided what she planned to do. That lady was almost as scary as Sarah.

“I think he’s saying you might have information on totally innocent people in there, dear,” Sarah observed, glancing toward the other room where Matt was hopefully ensconced with cartoons and the younger children. “So poke through it carefully.”

“Well... I wouldn’t say completely innocent.” Alan rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look harmless. “But - yeah. She didn’t tell me everything she was working on. So I can’t tell you what not to look at.” He swallowed, and sighed. “I’m going to have to trust you.”

Drakon scowled.

“Oh come on, I know I can trust you.” Alan’s smile had just a hint of mischief. “You followed Simon through man-eating monsters to get your family back. You’re one of the good guys.”

“Man-eating monsters.” Richard’s voice was suspiciously calm.

Drakon winced. “From what information I was able to get before Simon... short-circuited the computers, those appear to have been-” He had to stop, and shake his head. “A side-effect.”

Fingers interwoven and clenching, white-knuckled, Sam cleared his throat. “Monsters were...?”

“Ja’far thinks they were using Life Magic to make some kinds of odd medicines,” Aladdin told him. “And the easiest way to do it was make things that were almost-alive creatures to grow it.”

“Insane as it may seem, that’s consistent with the files I managed to get,” Drakon gritted out. “The radioactivity appears to have been essential for maintaining the lifeforms’ stability inside the tanks. Outside the labs - apparently they made a practice, every few months, of removing a small creature and leaving it in various shipping facilities to decompose. So there were traces of possible dirty bombs to find.”

“My god,” Richard breathed. Stared at Alan. “And you think this has been going on for centuries.”

“This, specifically? Probably not,” Alan shrugged. “I mean, Madame Curie didn’t even start poking radioactive stuff until the 1890s, right? But if you mean this, taking people to drain out their energy, to kill them slowly.... Yeah. That’s been going on a long, long time.”

“Anne found evidence of that?” Richard grimaced. “If she’d only told someone-”

“No. She didn’t.” Alan took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to tell you this so it makes sense, so - I guess I have to show you. Sam? Hand me a lock. Any lock.”

Morgan stirred. “Are you sure?”

“We’ve got to trust someone sometime,” Alan said quietly. “Better to start with the good guys, right?”

And you’re starting with you, Aladdin thought, wishing he was that brave. Because the Silversmiths know you. You’re letting them know what you can do, so they won’t be afraid of the rest of us.

Alan took the padlock Sam scooted across the table, held it up in clear view. Set it down, and planted a finger on the edge of the dial near the solid arc of steel. His lips moved, Aladdin felt the flow of magoi-

Snick.

Richard and Sam were both staring at the open lock. Edna’s gaze rested on it a moment, then went to Maria. Considering.

“The villagers said we were witches,” Maria whispered. “But we are not! Witches deal with evil spirits, they hurt and harm - we are not them! We just, when there is fear on us, when we are angry....”

“Things happen,” Alan finished. “Fires in wastebaskets. Stuff shorting out. Dust-devils in people’s eyes. It’s not malice. It’s accidental magic.” He shrugged, a faint smile on his face. “The... lock thing started out as that, too. I didn’t realize it was anything strange. Until I ran into Aladdin.” He looked down again. “But Mom knew. She knew, and... she never told me....”

“Alan,” Richard said softly.

“I’m - going to get a handle on that, now,” Alan got out. “Simon - Principal Cavins actually knows about this stuff. And Ja’far, and Yunan; they’ve seen magicians and magoi-users before, they can help the kids, help Maria, so they learn how to do magic on purpose. Not by accident.” He looked up. “They’ve got to learn that. Because the Shays are still out there, people like them are out there, and these kids are targets.”

Maria winced. “People like my father.”

“You’re not him.” Alan turned to look her in the eye, blazing with determination. “Maria, you’re not him. You did the best you could, you got away from him-”

“I knew he was coming! I knew he was coming for you!” Maria was shivering, rukh around her flashing gray as night storms. “I came, I came to save you - and he took Señora Anne...!”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Edna moved around the table, opened her arms so the girl could lunge at her and hold on. “You did the best you could with what you knew. That’s all you could do.” Her gaze rose to Alan’s. “That’s all any of us can do.”

Alan held that look, and nodded.

And for just a minute that made Aladdin want to burn something with fire, because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, the things people did to Alan, that they’d done to Alibaba, and got to walk away, because his friend didn’t believe in revenge....

“Yes; though I don’t know what Sister Thomasina thinks she knows,” Richard said bitterly. “I knew Anne. She might have made life uncomfortable for the wealthy and the corrupt, but she’d never hurt children. How could she think you would?” He rubbed his knuckles between his eyebrows. “Alan, why didn’t you come to me? Even to ask?”

“Ah, lawyer?” Alan said wryly. “You’re legally bound to report criminal actions or be disbarred. You want me to quote the statutes, or just leave it at, you have to report lawbreaking stuff? You could lose your license if you don’t.” He held up a hand, ticking off a finger at a time. “Crossing state borders as an unaccompanied minor. Airplane... I don’t know, is it ticket fraud if they didn’t know you were on it? Unlawfully stowing away on a passenger jet, whatever they hit you with for slipping TSA security, arson. Major property damage. And how. Arson. Causing a public disturbance - we did a bunch of those. Arson, unlawful entry, breaking and entering, destruction of property, arson, vandalism, endangerment of a minor, probably several minors-”

“Don’t forget possession of burglary tools,” Sarah put in, amused.

“Aaand I was hoping people would miss those... Assault. Multiple counts. Battery, likewise. Assault with a deadly. And-” Alan winced. “Shay’s Folly would have been multiple homicide. Except it was their monsters that... ate who was left there.”

Richard was pale. Sam was dead white. “They ate them?” he croaked.

“We killed them all,” Morgan said firmly. “And burned out the slime that was left. It’s over.”

“Unless they have more labs,” Drakon sighed. “What a nightmare.”

Richard was kneading a headache with his fingertips. “You’re saying that we actually live in a Simon Cavins grade-B action horror movie.”

“Told you he wasn’t crazy.” Alan grinned. “More like action crossed with Sinbad, though. So the good guys win. As long as we keep practicing.” He took a deep, deep breath. “So... what do you want to do now?”

“By practicing I take it you mean continuing with,” Richard hesitated, “the course of study Principal Cavins assigned you.”

“They shot at us,” Alan said practically. “We need to know how to duck.”

“They-” Richard shook his head, and looked Aladdin in the eye. “Simon said you were from another world.”

“I am,” Aladdin said simply. Two other worlds, but there wasn’t any point in confusing people right now. “But now I’m here. And I can’t go back.” Unless he went through a dungeon and stayed in Alma Torran, but-

My family wouldn’t be there. I’d miss them.

“Simon’s going to be a good uncle,” Aladdin smiled. “Ja’far says he needs the practice, in case someone finally gets him to settle down and get married.” Which he hadn’t seen a chance of with Sinbad, no matter how Sindria’s king had flirted with Kougyoku... but this time around, maybe. Simon was gentler than Sinbad. Less wounded.

I’m just glad he only got the really old memories, Aladdin thought soberly, thinking back to the careful, careful poking he and Ja’far had done after they’d gotten back here and were rested enough to be gentle with their magic. Baal’s pretty sure he blocked everything after Sinbad met Madaura; Mariadel, whatever she called herself. I hope so.

As it was, Simon had been more than shaken enough, muttering about needing to invite his parents to take their vacation here so he could hug them. A lot. Because Sinbad had loved his parents Esra and Badr as fiercely as Simon loved Althea and Barney Cavins - and had lost them, all too soon.

I’ve got to meet them. They must be awesome.

And maybe they’d have more ideas than Ja’far on how to beat Simon over the head - um, talk to him about doing things for his people without asking. Because honestly. The rukh had been pretty quiet about it... but he and Yunan were magi. Aladdin could track down giggles in the rukh around the Generals, and Alan and Morgan-

And himself.

It’d been so subtle. Simon had just helped them get settled in the plane when everyone was half-asleep already, eyes crossing and the world blurry and too loud, especially the engines. He’d been trying to get comfortable in his seat, leaning it back so they could maybe sleep, and Simon’s hands had just... rubbed across his shoulders, in a kind of small-circles pattern that had gotten at some of the tired knots....

And had made the rukh perk up and poke, with a collective, Neat!

It was such a tiny, tiny change in magoi flow. But tiny things over a long time had a way of adding up.

It’s like what Callimachus has on himself, Aladdin knew now. Like some of the things Ja’far had worked into his rukh. Only it’s older. More complete.

Yunan hadn’t recognized it. Baal had - and Aladdin had a strong suspicion Amon had as well, and wasn’t planning to say anything.

It’s the old spell. From Alma Torran. The one that let human magicians stay around a long, long time....

And Amon and Baal both had millennia-old pent-up fury about losing their kings way too soon. Nope. Aladdin would just bet the Djinn weren’t going to say anything.

Which wasn’t the right thing to do... but right now, Aladdin wasn’t sure what was the right thing to do. Because Drakon still had a familiar mixed in with his own rukh, and if the agent ended up in serious physical danger Bararaq Barasikh was probably going to wrestle him for the body’s magoi first and worry about potential transformations later. At least with Simon’s spell on him the agent was a lot less likely to die. Which gave them some time to think, and hopefully work out a spell that would keep Drakon human permanently.

Sarah wouldn’t mind; Sahar didn’t then, she loved him so much, Aladdin thought. But this world’s a lot more dangerous for someone who looks different... and Drakon didn’t have a son in Sindria. What would Barasikh waking up do to Matt?

Ouch. Talking to Yunan and Ja’far about that definitely had to come before thumping Simon about anything.

Besides. Knowing Sinbad, and from what he knew of Simon so far - it wasn’t like there would be a shortage of times to thump Simon.

“Ladies, gentlemen, students!”

I want to kill him, Callimachus thought darkly, eyeing Simon’s back as they all stood before the auditorium of assembled teenagers. Well... maim at least. I doubt I’d have much luck with “kill”. Not with his warriors around him.

Although Ja’far had a slightly pinched look around his eyes Callimachus was coming to recognize as the Life magician’s own “must maim later”. Why was he not surprised?

“I hope your Labor Day weekend was as much fun as ours,” Simon went on. “No, don’t wake those three up, they’ve earned the nap. Especially not you, Dash. If you’re lucky you’d only wake up Aladdin and get plastered to the ceiling. If you’re not you’d half wake up Alan and that would be fatal. At least to your uniform-”

Ja’far poked him.

“As I was saying,” Simon sailed gallantly on, “last weekend was... busy. Interesting, but busy. You may have noticed the tower is currently missing. We’re going to work on that, because now that we’ve figured out the time distortion possible inside there is no way I could survive a concerted attack by our local geeks and magicians determined to fight for extra study time.”

Over in the shadows of the stage, Callimachus saw Yunan clap a hand to his face in disbelief.

Why? The chance to study time distortion... I wonder how it affects the moments of astrology? If the stars here are what matter, that shouldn’t change them, but if stars there make a difference - dear god, what if that’s one of the reasons behind errors in natal charts? If you have to account for rising stars that aren’t visible from Earth....

“I honestly haven’t come up with a summary yet of everything you probably want to know about what happened,” Simon said bluntly. “Let’s just say, if you think you see us putting up certain... defenses... around Hancock, you’re right. Some of my people managed to run into some very unpleasant individuals from an even more unpleasant family, and if they’re not smart enough to take our warning to back off, your teachers are taking measures to be sure they will not be disrupting class time. One way or another. And speaking of unpleasantness....” He waved at the alchemist.

Gritting his teeth, Callimachus inclined his head to the assembled youngsters.

“Stay calm, Magister,” Phaenomena murmured at him from the stage wings. “They can smell fear.”

Hah. As if I’d be afraid of high school students.

Then again, these were Cavins’ students.

“Everyone, this is Mr. Carl Marks,” Simon announced, drawing on one of Callimachus’ more well-grounded identities. “As far as the Department of Education is concerned, he’ll be teaching physics, astronomy, and a few other interesting subjects. As far as you’re concerned - he is assigned to be menacing!”

What.

“You might consider him our newly-hired Snape,” Simon went on.

I’m going to kill him.

“He’s definitely our school’s Token Evil Teammate,” Simon said cheerfully. As if he couldn’t hear an alchemist’s teeth grind. “I know, I know; previously that honor’s been held by Vice-Principal Ja’far. I’m sad to say, though, that as of this weekend Ja’far has lost some of his previously Evil credentials. Though I’m not sure he’s realized it yet. I mean, if your first reaction on meeting an injured enemy is to make sure he lives – well, that definitely moves you across the alignment chart to Neutral at least.” Simon jerked a thumb at the alchemist. “Him, though – Neutral Evil. Definitely.”

I’m going to mangle him first. Then kill him.

“In all honesty, people, Mr. Marks is going to be a key part of your new safety training curriculum,” Simon said candidly. “He will be helping you work on your observation, improvisation, and nonstandard physics procedures! Under almost near-combat conditions.” The annoying man tapped the podium. “So, if he makes any hostile moves, you dodge. And let one of the Dungeon Monitors know, preferably immediately.” He ruffled a few pages. “Ah. Yes. I need to explain Dungeon Monitors, don’t I? Especially given our very own giant tower monster playground is currently missing. Currently. Don’t worry, we’re going to fix that, even if I have to help someone drag it back from another planet! With that in mind,” he rubbed his hands eagerly, “Ja’far, wake our sleeping beauties up, they’re going to be our first victims….”

Seated in his home office, Richard riffled the small sheaf of papers Simon had sent home for anyone planning to be involved in the dungeons, and gave Tiburon a look that said the stack ought to be at least three times thicker, with hazard to life and limb written all over it. “So you’re not just planning to teach my son self-defense. You’re deliberately taking him and other students into an… actively hazardous area.”

Tiburon sat attentively in the visitor’s chair, determined to keep this civil. And accurate. Do not growl at the man for slowing you down, he told himself. You figured in convincing-time into the itinerary. The artillery range will still be there when you’re done. “An area where magic, magical creatures, and various magical hazards are present, yes.”

Richard winced. “Why? Haven’t they been in enough danger already?” He rapped the pages on the desk. “What possible experience do you have dealing with these… hazards?”

“Several years’ worth,” Tiburon said plainly. Not all years in this world, but that’s another matter. “And yes, they have been in danger. That’s why they need the experience, under controlled conditions. So that the next time a dragon decides to strafe the school grounds, it’s not just up to one young man to stop it.”

“Why should there even be a next time?” Richard said seriously. “That… tower, is gone.” And good riddance, his tense shoulders said. “You can’t seriously think someone ought to bring it back.”

“It’s not up to me, but yes, actually, I do,” Tiburon stated. “As I said. It’s a place where the students can get experience with magic under controlled conditions. They need that chance. Before they run into more creatures like those the Shays had on hand-”

“If there are monsters out there we should call the government,” Richard cut him off. “Call in the army. Call in an airstrike. That’s what they’re there for!”

“Yes, because that works so well in all the Godzilla movies,” Tiburon said dryly. “Mr. Silversmith… Richard. As I understand the situation, after several thousand years in which magic’s been a relatively weak force in the universe, it’s now becoming exponentially stronger. Which means even if a tower never rises again,” and I’d never count on that, Yunan has ideas about proper guidance of the world, “then inexperienced magicians, people who never knew they were magicians, might accidentally set off magical reactions that can create catastrophes. Giant monsters included. And that would be without the malevolent, trained magicians we know are already out there. Like the Shays.”

“If magicians are the problem-”

Tiburon’s eyes narrowed. “In case you’ve forgotten, Aladdin is a magician. So is Maria. So are most of her little ones.”

“All the more reason to bring this to the authorities and get them officially recognized,” Richard stated, eyes just as hard. “The Shays could never have gotten away with… what they did… if it weren’t for the fact that no one knew they could do it. Bring it out into the open, get it legally recognized, and we can arrest them like any other criminal.”

“Richard….” Gently, gently, keep your temper, the man has a reasonable question. “How do you prove you can’t do magic?”

The lawyer frowned. “I don’t see your point.”

More like you don’t want to. “If you’re a magician, known to have supernatural powers,” Tiburon said plainly, “how do you prove you didn’t start something on fire? Or give someone cancer? Or pick a lock and steal the missing super-secret data that will get even a suspected thief landed in federal prison for espionage?”

Richard stared back at him. “That’s not how the American justice system works. We don’t charge people with crimes without evidence. All we have to do is train people to pick up the forensic traces of magic-”

“Who’s going to train them?” Tiburon cut him off. “Every sane magician I know of is scared to death of the government. Any government. You want to try telling Ja’far he should put himself at the mercy of elected officials? He’d disappear faster than ice cubes on an August sidewalk. And if he goes, Simon goes.” Tiburon shook his head, trying not to shudder at the thought of a Simon-and-Ja’far-shaped hole in his life. “And that will open a Pandora’s box you really don’t want to touch, believe me.”

“You can’t just live outside the law forever,” Richard said quietly.

“None of us want to be outside the law,” the swordsman stated. Well, most of us don’t. “But bringing magic to official attention while the only trained magicians we have would bolt – that won’t help anyone. Simon has a plan for us to become completely legitimate. But it will take time.” He took a breath. “Time to train magicians who aren’t terrified of people finding out what they can do. Time to train perfectly ordinary people how to deal with magic when they don’t have any themselves, so they know it’s not something to be afraid of. Time to build all our students a place of sanctuary, so when it does come out in public, they have someplace to go when people panic. Because people always panic.”

And if people find out exactly what Full Equip can do too soon, they’ll do worse than panic, Tiburon thought grimly. Do you want an airstrike called on your own son?

No. He’d better not even hint at that. Alan and Simon both needed time to master their Equips, for everyone’s safety. And for their own sanity.

“If it helps,” Tiburon shrugged, “I can promise nothing we’re getting up to tonight is illegal. It shouldn’t even be dangerous.” Well. Not to Alan or Simon, at least. Or to innocent bystanders. As long as they kept a good distance.

That poor, poor artillery range….

“Augh!”

Thump.

Must not snicker, Alan told himself firmly, listening to Simon swear at various scaly additions and their effect on balance. Morgan was biting her lip, eyes bright; Aladdin was giggling under his breath. Tiburon was rolling his eyes and patiently sitting on the minivan’s bumper, while Malachy looked over the short grass of the artillery range, rustling with night lizards and burrowing owls. Must not. Working out how Equip works is always kind of tricky.

Hard not to when Ja’far was cackling. Evilly.

“Fighting spirit my foot,” Simon grumbled, eyeing blue scales as his tail twitched. “I used to know how this worked!”

“Different life, different rukh,” Alan pointed out, Amon’s Vessel still resting under his shirt. No point in burning magoi in a Full Equip until Simon could at least stand. “What you remember from back then helps, you know what you’re aiming for, but the way you moved your energy back then isn’t the way it’ll work this time.” What was the best way to- right. “It’s like magoi manipulation. How you do it now’s not how you did it then, right?”

“I actually don’t remember how I did it then,” Simon admitted, leaning a scaled hand on Ja’far’s shoulder as he tried a few unsteady steps. “Sinbad learned that… much later than those memories of his that I do have.”

Not sure whether to be relieved or terrified, Alan thought. Aladdin had done some very careful poking, with Ja’far’s help, Simon’s willing permission, and Yunan watching in case any flux of power went wrong. Together they’d managed to track down what that mess of magic in the Folly had stirred up of Sinbad’s memories. Alan hadn’t asked for details; as far as he was concerned, what a guy had in his own head was the ultimate privacy. Even sharing a little headspace with a Djinn shouldn’t rob somebody of that. But Simon had volunteered a few of the highlights: winning Baal, winning Vaalefor, starting up his trading company in Reim with Rashid’s help, taking in a very humbled and desperate Drakon and getting him to stand proud again, dragon-form or not. Apparently Baal had managed to block off anything past then.

Which had left Ja’far white-faced, and almost in tears of gratitude. You don’t want the details, he’d said, even when Simon asked flat-out. Mariadel enslaved Sinbad. She broke him – broke you – and our path was always shadowed after that.

Which had made Yunan start, as if he hadn’t known anything about this, and Alan had had a hard time telling Amon that no, they really shouldn’t drag out a little flame to set Yunan’s hat on fire. He wasn’t sure he was up to giving Yunan just a gentle reminder on how magi were supposed to be helpful and non-cryptic before they up and decided a King Vessel couldn’t be saved. Because yes, Yunan had saved his life and helped them save Sinbad and the whole world-

But given Amon’s level of sheer snarl every time the blond magi came in view, his Djinn had definite opinions about what Yunan had known about the consequences of the spell sealing Aladdin in to fix the rukh. Had known, and hadn’t told any of them.

Because the world was more important than two souls. Even if those souls were his friends.

“Thank Solomon you don’t remember,” Ja’far muttered. “Magoi techniques from back then aren’t worth what happened to you after Partevia.” He shuddered. “But Alan has a point. Try to focus more on now, not then.”

Simon’s listening to me for advice on Full Equip. Alan shook his head. That’s scary.

Then again, he had no idea how Sinbad had worked it out the first time. It was possible that what he’d managed to hammer out with Amon was an improvement. And if that were the case, he really did want to light Yunan on fire. Just a little. Aladdin hadn’t known what a magi was supposed to do, and he’d been dumped halfway across the world by the closing portal. The fact that Alibaba had been left alone with a flaming dagger and his own guesses wasn’t his friend’s fault.

Yunan knew better.

Knew better, and yet he wasn’t here. That they knew of. He might be watching from a distance. Alan would be kind of surprised if he weren’t. Yunan still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Simon wasn’t Sinbad. That this was a new world. That they had another chance.

The magi had just been so tired when Alibaba had met him. Tired of watching empires rise and fall. Of seeing people tear themselves apart without strong kings. Of seeing kings chosen, and all the bloody wreckage that resulted. Of knowing Al-Thamen was out there, tormenting innocent lives, and nothing he could do seemed to stop them.

Guy needs a vacation. Big time. Alan waited until after Morgan had snapped yet another picture of Simon’s flailing, then tapped her shoulder. “No pouncing the poor guy while he can’t fight back.”

Magenta eyes gleamed. “But it twitches.”

Simon froze, glancing their way. Malachy grinned. Tiburon thumped a hand against the minivan’s open door, trying to muffle his giggles.

Ja’far had a suspiciously straight face. As if his fingers were just itching to get in on the pounces.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Simon glanced behind him, Equip-aqua brows drawn down as he tried to twitch it deliberately. “Baal, think about walking doesn’t help, I don’t normally have a center of gravity that low unless I’m in drag-”

“Dragon drag?” Tiburon’s eyes gleamed, almost as cat-intent as the Fanalis.

Which broke them all down laughing, Alan wasn’t sure why....

:This is safety, my king.: A stroke of long-nailed fire. :I know you are not used to it.:

Safe. Alan took a deep breath, catching Aladdin as the young magi giggled and clung to him. We’re together, and we’re safe.

Which meant it was okay to laugh while Simon thrashed around trying to figure Equip out. They had time. They could play.

I bet even the Djinn could use some R&R, Alan thought. The only time they get to see the world is... well, emergencies.

:Given Solomon’s strictures are loosened, we can see much more than that, if we so choose,: Amon mused. :And if our king allows us.:

You can? Alan thought, surprised. I mean, sure, go ahead, I know how much I hate being bored... this isn’t going to do anything weird, is it?

:The third eye was once normal for all humans of Alma Torran,: Amon said loftily. :Not that you have much of their heritage in your tangled family tree.: An ancient chuckle. :You are - how do humans put it in this world? Ah. A “back-alley mutt,” I believe.:

Hey, don’t knock us mutts, Alan thought back, as Simon scrambled back to scaled feet. We may not look pretty, but we’re tough.

:So you are.:

Alan watched Simon frown and concentrate, taking a few stalking steps. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the guy was trying to get in a tail-swing as jaunty as Godzilla in a good mood.

No, wait. This was Simon. He definitely was.

Which led to a few thoughts on other Equips, and ow.

Morgan frowned at him. “What is it?”

“Was just thinking I was luckier than I thought,” Alan quipped. “On the other hand, I just thought about what it must be like to Equip Belial, and ow my brain.”

“Belial?” Malachy frowned.

:Ah yes. The Ushumgallu do look different, do they not?:

“You think a tail is bad? Try four eyes, four arms, and wings,” Alan informed the Fanalis. “I have no idea how Hakuryuu managed to figure that out in just a few months.” And that was Amon being cagy and thoughtful. Eep.

“He was really, really stubborn,” Aladdin said, not laughing anymore. “Do you think he’s out there somewhere?”

Alan traded a glance with Morgan. She knew more than he did of how Hakuryuu had been while Alibaba’s soul had been… out, so to speak. “If he is, I know we’ll find him,” Morgan said firmly. “Or he’ll find us.”

“Hmm. Sometime you’ll have to give me details,” Simon reflected. “I know you say he was a friend, but Ja’far doesn’t toss around words like world-ending disaster lightly.” He shrugged. “For now, though… how exactly does flying work?”

I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.

:Why not?: A snap of amused flames. :He’ll survive.:

Alan flicked his fingers, loosening his wrists up. He might have been grinning. “Well… mostly it’s just learning how to miss the ground.”

“Learning how to-?” Simon saw the grin, and Ja’far’s prudent step to one side. “Wait-”

Amon!

Flames blazed over him, and he leapt even as Simon tried to dodge.

Not fast enough.

“Oof,” Tiburon winced as fire and lightning flashed overhead. “That had to hurt.”

“No, not that much,” Aladdin thought out loud, standing by Ja’far as they both watched their friends finally, finally relax. “It’s just like you and Alan in a good spar. They’ll be fine.”

“They’ll probably have less bruises.” Leaning back against her uncle, Morgan shaded her eyes to watch orange streaks and blue sparks against night clouds. “I want to be up there.”

I want my Vessel back, Aladdin heard in that wistful sigh. And couldn’t argue one bit. Morgan with flames would be awesome. “Just wait until they come down.”

Which got him skewered by looks, from Malachy’s curiosity to Ja’far’s wary interest. The magi grinned, and tugged at his braid. “I, um… don’t want to spoil the surprise?”

Okay. That was fun, Alan had to admit; descending not too far from Simon, just in case his principal was a little shorter of magoi than he’d thought. Though if we try this in a lightning storm, he’s going to have the upper hand. Unless Ja’far’s magoi-storing tricks can work for us, too….

:An intriguing thought.: Amon hmphed. :But if the Medium cannot be recreated, why should we need more power than a King can- ah. I see.: A silent breath. :Do you truly think the Shays would risk their own exposure to government eyes by bringing Simon’s school to official attention?:

I hope not, Alan thought back. But it’d be so easy for them to use someone like Biegen to go after us, and use that opening to pick off anyone who got separated. Heck, ordinary sleazeballs call the SWAT teams on people for fun. I’d just bet the Shays could do it on purpose. All it’d take would be one baby magician panicking, and a SWAT team calling for help, and everything would go to hell so fast….

:It is not an unreasonable worry,: the Djinn said gravely. : In a world where only a genius magician such as Yamraiha could store magoi, a kingdom under our protection would be well safeguarded from such evils. In this world, our enemies will soon learn they have access to more power than they ever imagined. And purely mundane weapons are far more dangerous than any we faced in that past life. If Hancock is to shelter under our power, even the powers of two Kings – it would not be unwise to take precautions.:

Damn, Alan thought ruefully, touching down. I was hoping you’d say I’d been around Ja’far too long.

:No.: A sudden sense of stubborn silence, and an upheld, halting hand.

Alan frowned, but held onto his Equip, even as Simon fell flat on his back in the short grasses with a silver shimmer and a sigh of relief. “Fun,” Simon concluded, gazing up at the night. “But kind of a mix of live steel and oh god that’s a long drop, fun.” He shook his head, purple hair swishing a bit of clover flowers. “Huh. I wonder… oh, it is? Thanks, that means I’m no crazier than usual.” Simon lifted his head just enough to look at the others, settling on Alan. “Baal says the whole dragons aren’t a problem kind of scary push in our heads? Safety measure.”

“Safety measure?” Ja’far sputtered.

“Makes sense,” Malachy mused. “Don’t fight if you don’t have to. Don’t escalate, unless you have to.”

Morgan blinked at Alan, wide-eyed and interested. “It’s a safety measure for everyone else.”

Kitten-blinks. Alan froze, having second thoughts about his current shirtlessness. Who needs dragons? I will be dead of the cute.

And Aladdin was giggling behind his hands. That was just not fair.

Tiburon cleared his throat. Waved a questioning hand.

Alan shrugged. “I think Amon’s trying to get a read on how much magoi he has to work with. Without dragons and mini-fusion bottles.” Oh. And oy, how could he have forgotten? “Did you bring the bag?”

“Kind of heavy, but.…” Aladdin jumped up onto the minivan’s bumper, reaching in the back to drag out a blue-and-white satchel Yunan had found who knew where. Shouldn’t have been too many UConn Huskies fans in Boston. “Yunan says it should be safe now.”

Alan grinned, waving Morgan toward the bag. “All yours. I mean, I know it’s not flowers, or chocolate, but….”

Curious, Morgan unzipped it. Stared, and tapped a finger on hard metal, covered with a dark sheen of ash.

“Meteoric nickel-steel.” Alan shifted his weight from foot to fiery foot; hoping that was a surprised hesitation over there, not an unhappy one. “Some of what was in those slimes was cobalt isotopes. Easiest thing to do was make all of it that, and then hammer the cobalt into stable elements. Nickel, iron, just a little bit of carbon-”

Almost too fast to blink, he had an armful of happy Fanalis trying to squish his ribs.

Thank goodness for Equip. Alan hugged her back, and smiled hopefully at Tiburon. “I kind of thought maybe you or Malachy might know somebody who could make stuff for good Vessels?”

Tiburon and Malachy glanced at each other, knowing and amused. Reached out, and plucked Aladdin up by the shoulders to turn him the other way.

“Hey!” the young magi protested. “They were just about to get to the good part!”

Good part? Alan thought, slightly alarmed. What good-

Which was about when he realized that Morgan had figured out that power or no power, someone in Full Equip still had ankles to tangle.

Ack!

Sitting on top of living fire, Morgan grinned. So less breakable this way.

Later she’d get more lessons from Aunt Shionne on how not to hurt pridemates who didn’t have Fanalis resilience. For now – it was nice to not have to be careful. There’d barely been a flicker of fire when Alan hit the ground, and the way he was looking at her, wide-eyed and blushing, it hadn’t hurt any more than getting hit with a pillow.

…Which was another good idea. For later.

For right now, she was going to take a lesson from the pictures she’d snapped of Ja’far watching over Sinbad. Because the ex-assassin had apparently found the one sure way to get Kings to sit still.

Curling up on top of him, she purred.

My Somali firecat Djinn Warrior, Morgan thought happily, resting her chin right on his shoulder so he would feel the vibration in his bones. Loyal, and brave, and he brings me weapons!

Steel wrested from the enemies’ own grasp, and the offer of a place in his Household. After he’d shown off what he could do, tossing fire around the sky like feathers.

Aunt Shionne was right. Even if she hadn’t known him and loved him forever, she couldn’t let him get away. He was just too cute.

Fingers stroked his hair behind his ears, crown to the nape of his neck; smooth and sure as a cat arching under a friendly hand.

Alan held very still, all his eyes wide. That was....

Soft. Strong. Warm; life-warm, not fire. But no strong flow of magoi. Fanalis are tough, but-!

:We will not harm her.: A reluctant grumble of amusement, like a log crumbling in a fireplace.

But - she’s right on top of me, Alan thought, half-panicked, as those wonderful fingers came back, smooth and strong as silk. And I’m on fire, even if she’s Fanalis I could hurt her-

:You will not, my king.: A mental flick of disapproval, like a hot spark touching his nose. :My power is yours to command. And you would never command me to harm one you care for.: A crackle of a laugh. :Learn from those you love, my king. Be gentle in your strength.:

Be gentle, Alan thought, glancing at his fire-armored fingers. I’m not Kouen; I never had his kind of power. But the power I have, is mine. I am the fire, and I choose when to burn.

Carefully, he leaned into the next stroke. Just a little.

Morgan’s fingers halted. Started another slow stroke, just as carefully. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm.” Alan leaned in, just a little more. Full Equip was so odd. He could feel more than just fingers. There was the blood-heat, and the currents of air, and the swirling rukh near and inside her....

Beautiful. “It’s nice,” he murmured, warmed by more than fire. “Just - surprised me. Because usually, Djinn, people running screaming....”

“No, they didn’t,” Morgan said firmly. “Not always. I know you remember.”

He did. Sindria’s love for their flamboyant King. Kouha’s misfit soldiers and magicians, sheltering behind their Prince’s giant blade. The confidence of the men and power behind Kouen, before the Empire had been crushed….

“You’re still afraid of what people will expect.” Morgan’s sigh vibrated his ornaments, tickling his ear with a stray strand of fiery hair. “No one expects Balbadd’s lost prince here. Not even Uncle Tiburon. He knows who you were; he wants to find out who you are.” She lifted her head, looking him in the eye. “We all do.”

Alan swallowed dryly. “What if what I am’s not enough?”

“Then you’ll get stronger,” Morgan said simply. “We both will. Because Aladdin is our friend, and we missed him as much as he missed us. I know you felt it too. Turning around, looking for a smile you never saw. Laughing, and listening for a laugh that wasn’t there.”

Learning to open every door, because behind one of them…. “Yeah,” Alan said softly. “I missed him.” He grinned, and shifted to his side, so when he released Equip he wouldn’t have Fanalis-strong pointy elbows breaking his ribs. “So… how do we go pounce him?”

“D’awww.” Simon leaned back against the minivan, grinning, as Aladdin fell to the grass in a paired pounce attack. “It’s like having our own little tiger cubs.”

“Siberian tigers,” Ja’far said, half under his breath, almost leaning against Simon’s side.

Malachy eyed the pair of them - so close yet so far - and cast Tiburon an arched brow. They ought to get over it and cuddle already.

“Not everyone’s comfortable with a Red Lion’s level of skin contact,” the swordsman said practically. “Especially with Hollywood the way it is these days. Everyone assumes touching implies sex. No wonder you wanted out of there, Simon. When it comes to the important things, you’re sane.”

Simon blinked. “I’m honestly torn between, ‘Of course’, and, ‘How dare you call me sane?’”

“You are,” Malachy said steadily. “Didn’t need me out here to watch you play with lightning. What do you want?”

Simon let out a deep sigh, fingers drumming against painted steel. “Help. You’re a father. I’m... not. At least not anytime soon. Alan and Aladdin - they’re very mature, very willing to take care of themselves. But this world’s more complicated than Balbadd, and they deserve someone willing to be a good parent.” He shrugged, honestly rueful. “I’m not asking you to take the job! You’ve got three wild cubs of your own, and damn it, I volunteered. But I could really use advice.”

Malachy thought that over. Nodded once. “First rule. Most important. Love them.”

“That’s not hard,” Simon reflected.

“Wait until they descale a fish right in the middle of your income tax,” Malachy advised. “Second? Very simple. Never tell them to do something you know they won’t do.”

“Okay, so it’s a bit like being a director,” Simon said, half to himself. “Which can be highly satisfying at the end of the week, but in between times you’d rather be fighting a dragon. I think I may meep.”

Malachy smirked. “Third. Never assume. Never. When you find them with the car upside-down in a creek, ten gang members smashed through the walls, or a whole bison gutted to roast on the front lawn, the first thing they’ll say is, ‘But you didn’t say we couldn’t.’”

“But that’s- um. Er….”

“Long story short,” Ja’far said with great relish, “just imagine what you got into as a kid. And add magic.”

“Oh.” Simon blinked, a little pale. “So that’s what Dad meant.”

Malachy arched a curious brow.

“He always said, ‘I hope you have a dozen kids just like you’.”

Malachy smiled. Ja’far snickered. Tiburon hugged himself, trying to hold back the cackles. “You poor bastard. Normally they only wish for one.”

“Although that is an idea,” Simon mused. “I should call them. Ask for advice.” His voice dropped. “Make sure they’re all right.”

Malachy nodded, sobered. He’d already dropped word into the clan grapevine to be on the lookout for the Shays and their minions. Hopefully the Bostonian magicians wouldn’t be swift to work outside their comfort zone – but the elder Cavins would be possible targets.

But it was Ja’far, of all of them, who shook off the gloom and gave Simon a look. “Simon? I love your parents. They’re amazing. But the last time Althea and Barney raised a kid we got you.”

Malachy snorted a laugh.

“Given who they had to work with,” Ja’far reflected, “it could have gone so much worse… but have I told you about Alibaba?”

“Obviously, not enough.” Tiburon’s grin was all white teeth. “Let’s get our cubs home for some sleep. Then… I think we need to have a long talk.”

“So Richard’s still got his head buried in the sand?” Simon leaned back in his own kitchen chair, calculating what it might take to get Ja’far to just throw in the towel and rent an apartment next to his. Maybe with Tiburon a door or so over. Or maybe they could ask Malachy if anyone in the neighborhood might be selling a house. Sharing the same apartment would be too pushy, even he’d admit that; but in the same building? All of them would feel better being near enough for emergencies. “Damn. I would have thought... he’s a lawyer, he’s faced evil in and out of the courthouse. And he’s dealt with law enforcement-” Er. Oops.

Three looks across his kitchen table. Amused green, patient red, and exasperated gray.

“Damn it.” Simon rubbed at a threatening headache. “I hate to say it, but some things were a lot simpler when kings were the law.”

“You don’t want to go back to a time like that,” Malachy said quietly.

“I said it’d be simpler, not better,” Simon admitted. “I guess it didn’t really hit me how out of the ordinary what we’re doing is. At least until I had memories to compare it to. I keep thinking Alan shouldn’t have to deal with Richard on top of everything else... and I guess that’s because when Sinbad was his age, there - wasn’t anyone left to tell him you can’t be responsible for yourself.”

Ja’far flinched a little, and sighed. “I know that mindset. Believe me, I know.”

“So how did you handle it, this time around?” Tiburon leaned forward, curious.

“Badly,” Ja’far bit out. “And it wasn’t the same. Everyone in the Magnos Clan knows we have to hide from the law. Avoiding law enforcement when there’s a magical problem to deal with - it’s what we do.”

“Hmm.” Tiburon nodded, eyes dark. “I have to admit I’m not sure how much more we can do, Simon. We know he doesn’t have Alan legally-”

“We know that?” Ja’far pounced.

The swordsman hesitated, and nodded. “Edna and Alan talked a bit on the plane back. I overheard – well. Enough. Part of the reason our good lady was bristling so much was she never expected Alan to land on her, ever. Anne had all the parental rights. Signed, sealed, notarized.”

Simon muttered a few words that would have had Rurumu washing his mouth out with soap. Or worse, giving him a disapproving look. Even a young grumpy assassin had been cowed by the Look. “That’s why Richard’s not thinking straight. He doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on with Alan, and he knows it.”

“But he wants to protect his boy,” Malachy said quietly. “So he doesn’t want to break the law farther.”

Tiburon raked fingers through his hair, white-blond roots flashing. “At the moment, it doesn’t matter. Until and unless Alan goes through the legal hoops to get himself emancipated here in Florida, there’s not a court in the world who’d take him out of his father’s house.”

“If they did, they’d put him with Child Services,” Malachy agreed. “Disaster.”

Tiburon grimaced. “And bloody how. We know Alan. He’s not quiet, he’s not compliant, and the first time foster care tried to get him to ignore someone else being abused he’d end up arrested. Again.”

Which would be cause for concern, Simon thought, if Richard had actually done anything that hinted he’d treat Alan less than well. So far, he hadn’t.

But when it came to fathers and family, Tiburon had his own scars. Lord Gabriel Alexander St. Claire the Third, former heir to the Most Honorable The Marquess of Oakham, hadn’t died just because he’d disinherited himself and run off to America to become a blade instructor. He’d just been buried, as deep as Tiburon could manage, under a smile, sharp edges, and silence. Put that together with what Ja’far had told Simon that Sinbad’s motley crew had found in Heliohapt, a young prince not sure if he’d be king or slain, who’d become yet another lost soul taking refuge in Sindria-

Well. Ja’far had needed years to stop flinching at some things that resonated with his past life. Given Alan was almost as bad a fit for law as Tiburon had been for politics – no, Simon wasn’t surprised Tiburon was a bit touchy.

“Richard isn’t a bad man.” Ja’far stirred his lemonade with a finger, ice clinking against the sides of his cup. “I’ve seen bad parents. He’s not horrible. Just-” The ex-assassin sighed. “He’s a rooster trying to raise a golden eagle. He means well. It’s just not going to work the way he thinks.” A thin, vicious smile. “I think Alan’s lucky, though. Edna’s a bit more... practical.”

And how, Simon thought. “So you think she’ll poke him into developing a good framework for beginning magical laws?”

“I gave her what Ja’far’s written down of Magnos Clan customs for a starting point before we left,” Tiburon nodded. “Including the penalties for attempted love potions. Because you know some of our kids will get that idea.”

“Love potions.” Ja’far rolled his eyes. “A skilled magician can invoke some of the physical symptoms of infatuation. Sweaty palms, racing heart, blushing; you can make someone have all of that, if you put in enough power. But magic can’t make you love someone.”

“Madaura’s Holy Mother Fan,” Tiburon said dryly.

“…Damn it.” Ja’far looked like he wanted to stab something. More than usual. “Psychological and neurological manipulation, from what Alibaba described later…. I don’t think anyone’s up to creating that kind of Magic Tool anytime soon. And that wasn’t unbreakable. Our three proved that.” His fingers rubbed across his sleeves, as if he wanted to draw Bararaq Sei and let fly. “I should have killed Mariadel for what she did to Sinbad. Before she ever picked up a new name. It would have saved a lot of grief in the long run.”

But how badly would it have hurt you? Simon wanted to ask. Though – not now. He didn’t want to pry at wounds unhealed from a lifetime ago, not with company here. Even Malachy and Tiburon might be too much.

Not to mention that had been a grimace of understanding from Tiburon, and that did not bode well at all. “You don’t think we should have left the Shays alive,” Simon reflected. “We couldn’t just kill them in cold blood.”

“I could have,” Tiburon said under his breath. “But given Biegen saw our faces, and who knows what other evidence didn’t get incinerated - no, practically, we couldn’t. Damn it to hell.”

Malachy rested a hand on top of Tiburon’s arm on the table, fingers kneading restless muscles. “Problem?”

“Part of the problem,” Tiburon said reluctantly. “Alan… well. He may claim to be just a kid from the back alleys, but he is a prince, heart and soul. He knows how to put up a mask. And he’s done his best to convince his father he’s fine, nothing really bad happened, everything’s solved now.” The swordsman paused, one hiss of pure frustration. “Alan is not fine.”

Damn. “Tell me,” Simon requested.

“It could have been worse,” Tiburon shrugged. “From what he’s told me, what Sarah says happened - they barely laid a hand on him. It could have been much, much worse.” He took a deep sip of iced lemon. “But they put him in a situation that could have killed him, and he knew it. Worse, they made other innocents watch. That… doesn’t go away. Not overnight. Not even for someone as tough as Alan.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Simon said soberly. “Remind me to tell you how jumpy I was after Ja’far first pulled me out of… a very bad situation. There were Russian mobsters involved. And blood.” And he’d decided right then and there that forget the cameras, forget the damn adrenaline-pumping interesting opportunities for filming; he had to be more careful. Because some of that blood had been Ja’far’s, and the magician hadn’t even cared, blood was nothing so long as his friend was alive….

His own blood didn’t scare Simon. Ja’far’s? He’d been terrified.

I found him; I found him after so long, when I didn’t even know I’d been looking. I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again.

“It takes time to smooth off the sharp edges, after a shock like that,” Simon went on. “But it’s easier if you’re not alone. And Alan’s already being dragged over hill and dale by two of the most loyal friends in the world. He’ll do better than any shrink could ever dream. He’s not alone.” Simon gave the swordsman a warm smile. “We’re not alone.”

Green eyes blinked at him, wide and surprised, before Tiburon dropped his gaze, fingers tracing drops of condensation on the glass.

Hit a sore spot. Simon tried not to wince. Well, at least I hit it on purpose. This isn’t Heliohapt, and he’s not getting chased out of it. He’s home. We’re home. “Of course, parkouring all over the coast with a Fanalis and a curious magi could drive a shrink to drink in completely new and different ways. Especially if they find the dragon. I’ve heard some very odd rumors from our local firefighters.” Simon raised a deliberate brow. “You don’t think they’d go out after brushfires to find the dragon, do you?”

“I don’t think Alan would do anything that reckless,” Tiburon finally smiled. “Not without calling us first, this time.” He took a breath. “But I do think it’s a good thing you made ‘Dungeon Monitor’ an official title.”

“Well, of course,” Simon said practically. “It’s just like any production. A go-fer gets stuck with any job. A grip can tell someone who wants him to make coffee to go to hell. No one’s going into a Dungeon if they don’t understand there are official limits on what a Dungeon Monitor is expected to drag them out of. Anything less than that, a careless student is just going to have to take their lumps and suffer the bandages.”

“Good,” Tiburon nodded. “Because Alan needs to hit things. And we can’t get him to relax and not be responsible. The only way to let him take a break is to put him into situations where he can trust his friends to watch his back. Situations where he knows other people trust him. And they’re not watching for the next thing he’ll do that they don’t approve of.”

“Lawful Good versus Chaotic Good always is a mess when the fight’s over,” Simon observed. “The paladins and wizards keep harping about law while the rangers and sorcerers are trying to sneak out the back door of the orc’s den… what?”

“Richard the Paladin.” From Ja’far’s pink face, he was desperately trying not to laugh. “That’s… closer than you know. Let me tell you what Rashid did for us all once, by just showing up to have a drink with a friend….”

Mother, Father, Svitlana,

This year at Hancock promises to be even more interesting (if potentially life-threatening) than the last. The energetic upswing the clan has noticed appears to be an accelerating trend, at least in the local vicinity. Exposure to the concentration accessible here has had... side effects. I’ve enclosed photos so you can judge for yourself.

Yes, those are freckles. Simon has declared them cute. I haven’t stabbed him. Yet.

Photo #2 is our current physics teacher; Mr. Stafford is on sabbatical, for his health. (Mental health. No, it was not Simon’s fault. This time.) I find that ironic, given I strongly suspect Stafford may be a reincarnation of Matal Mogamett. But then, some things are best left buried.

If you would look into any rumors or history of an alchemist known as Callimachus, I would appreciate it. I think he’s had enough exposure to our local Kings to have had some of the venomous edges taken off, but we would all appreciate more information.

Yes, I said Kings. Simon has a protégé.

(If you let the Elders read this, you probably want to leave your earplugs in for at least the first five minutes of hysteria. Or until after you tell them it could be worse. Seriously, of all the souls that could have been reborn into this age....)

Photo #3 shows the King and part of his current Household. Or maybe all of it at the moment; we’re not sure if any of the little ones he rescued will feel compelled to follow him personally. You’ve met Simon, so you can probably guess - he’s the young man getting hugged from both sides in his sleep.

You can probably also guess the young lady is a Red Lioness. Meaning you’re probably wondering about... Simon’s nephew.

(Blue hair. Anyone would believe he was Simon’s nephew. Hopefully, anyone will.)

I would love to have a very long talk with you about this boy. For now - see the attached diagrams and components list. Along with the estimated power requirements. It’s not easy, but it works.

Also note that the “buffer” can be activated as a stand-alone on someone who has already passed the Clan’s adulthood rite. I don’t know of anyone else who reacted as badly as I did, but it... really helped smooth over some painful edges. I’m doing much better lately. Though part of that may just be reduced stress, given I now have some help in Simon-wrangling.

I’d like you to meet that help.

I will admit here and now that I have ulterior motives. Simon intends to expand a certain set of elective study options. For now, we’re calling them “nonstandard physics”. But at the moment Hancock only has two people qualified to teach the, er, higher math portion. Simon and Tiburon can teach the applied biofeedback techniques, and the young King actually knows a fair amount of both - at least the theories behind it, even if his own application can be shaky.

In short, we need more teachers. And you managed to get these critical life skills through my skull, even when we all knew I was starting from scratch. Would you be interested in a visit, to consider it?

I’ll also admit to a second ulterior motive. I know whose birthday is coming up, and... I don’t want Svitlana to hurt the way I did.

Your grateful son and brother,

Ja’far Zmiinyi Zvezdilin

P.S.: Be careful opening Simon’s enclosure. He won’t let me see everything that’s in it. Says you deserve a surprise. The mind reels.

P.P.S.: And Alan added his own note. That one should be safe. I think.

Mr. and Mrs. Zvezdilin,

The enclosed documents ought to be enough to let all of you get visas. I’ve put your job category down as - well, roughly, traditional ethnic art instructors. After all, if what you do doesn’t count as an Intangible Cultural Heritage, what does?

I know the thought of coming to a new country is not one to be considered lightly. People, customs, climate - everything is different here. And I won’t deny that Chernobyl is not a word to be casually tossed into conversation here, any more than it is in the Ukraine.

But if it comes up, it is different here. When your countrymen hear the name, they remember the Soviets, and lies, and death; and all your clan is tainted with that brush. When Americans hear it - we think of a horrible accident.

I know, I know; it’s far more complicated than that. But that’s what most of us think. We wouldn’t blame anyone from being from Chernobyl any more than we’d blame them for being from Fukushima, or Three Mile Island. You were there; you survived.

Americans are incredibly fond of survivors.

I could ramble on for hours about how much help your son has been, and how we all rely on him, but they say a picture is worth a thousand words. So - be amazed. Ja’far finally figured out a way to make me stay put.

- Simon Cavins

Nestled into the packets of documents was a glossy photo. The golden light of late afternoon slanted in through a window edged with green drapes; shimmering over subtle black diamonds in the fabric, casting highlights on various odd chests and wardrobes, and lightening the plushy green doll of a cactuar with a glass of tequila sitting on a high shelf next to ninja climbing claws.

In the lower third of the photo was a somewhat threadbare tan couch, obviously mended with scraps of glittery costume fabric and possibly fishing line after sharp objects had poked and slashed it. And lying on the couch was a very bemused actor and principal in white and violet robes, purple hair loose and straying off the arm of couch as he lifted his head to look at the immovable weight holding him down.

Wrapped in Sindrian robes, Ja’far was curled up like a green-and-white cat, sound asleep.

Mr. & Mrs. Zvezdilin, Svitlana Zvezdilin,

Ja’far’s saved my life, more than once. I hope I can do as much for him. And he’s a really cool teacher. So... most of what I want to say, I can’t put in a letter. I just wanted you to know, even if you just decide to visit, we’ll be glad to see you.

- Alan Ryans

“Okay, this definitely qualifies as weird.” Prescott polished his glasses, put them back on to glance over the wrecked, empty tennis courts. Empty of everything except the whole school population; there wasn’t a student who wanted to miss this. “The tower is creepy and scary and trying to kill you - and we all want it back.” He shook his head. “Are we as crazy as the principal?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?” Michaela grinned at him, turning a long hunk of beautiful wood in her hands; pale tan and pink, streaked with darker brown. “Sugar maple,” she said at Alan’s curious eyebrow. “I looked it up - people use it in recurve bows because it’s strong and stiff. That should make a good wand, right?”

“It should,” Aladdin nodded, trying to look sober and respectable and dignified. “Though I haven’t really made too many wands yet... but it’s always good to have one you can hit people over the head with!”

Not fooled, Alan gripped Aladdin’s right shoulder as they stood in the rubble, letting Morgan hang onto his left. Because sure, Dungeon-raising was going to be awesome magic and something Aladdin ought to know how to do – but there was a fine line between close enough to watch and close enough to get rocks falling on your head.

Granted, Simon was likely to dance right across it. Which was why Ja’far and Tiburon were hanging onto him. Drakon and Malachy were both busy keeping their kids contained – harder for Drakon than the martial artist, Matt was as slippery as an eel and twice as squeaky.

At least Shionne and Sarah had seemed to hit it off, if the shared amused grins at their boys were any indication. That and the plans for building barbecue pits on school grounds.

The better to get fresh-cooked monster, Alan grinned. “I wonder if any of Baal’s treasure has cookbooks in it?”

Standing by the shattered rim where Baal’s tower had first erupted, Yunan gave him a wounded look.

“What?” Alan said innocently. “Maharagans are great. How could we not have festival food?”

Shaking his head, Yunan raised his green-leafed wand, and looked upward.

Huh. I was expecting something flashy.

It didn’t look like a major spell at all. Just a thickening of the rukh, until even the football players could see the silvery light, focusing down and through-

Stone erupted, streaking for the sky.

Yunan sighed, as Baal’s tower rumbled into place, ball lightning flickering at the tip, vine-sculpted stone solid as if it’d been there forever. “I’m not sure how well this is going to work, Simon. I think we can keep it stable, dungeons are meant to stand as long as they’re needed, but if you mean it to remain without its Djinn you’re going to have to bring Baal back inside once in a while to check on the dungeon-”

Whatever else he meant to say was drowned out by cheers.

Morgan patted Aladdin’s shoulder, relieved. “It worked.”

Alan frowned, noting that the magi wasn’t moving. Was staring, actually, at the flow of rukh about otherworldly stone that Alan knew he only half-saw. “Something wrong?”

“I was just thinking.” Aladdin stared at ornamented stone, gaze fixed on the star-shimmer of the gate. “If we can reach through reality to call a tower here all the way from Alma Torran, do you think we could…?”

Alan listened. Halfway through the jumble of words, whipped out his pad and started taking notes. Because some of this he remembered, and some of this Yunan ought to know, and if they got this right-

Please let this work. There’s somebody we all want to see.

I hope Aladdin’s alright. Ugo let his little creatures help prop him up as he limped across the sanctuary. Pulling himself together this time wasn’t taking nearly so long as it had after Judar’s attack all those millennia ago. Then again, this time he might not have a few spare centuries to draw his scattered rukh back into one form. Aladdin was out there, possibly still in the hands of enemies. Amon had not returned. And the few messages he’d gotten from Baal’s dungeon had been terse and confusing-

Shimmering rukh-birds scattered, as if blown by a sudden wind.

Ugo frowned, watching light bloom into a shining circle. Whatever that was, wasn’t made by his power. If that was Callimachus again, the enemy was about to find out the hard way how far a Djinn out-powered a magician-

“Ugo!”

His heart melted. Ugo cupped a hand around one edge of that mirror-light from elsewhere, seeing it shimmer into familiar faces. “Aladdin.” Well, and whole, and smiling at him in pure relief. With a familiar fierce redhead on one side, a blond with Amon’s aura on the other, and looking over all their shoulders.... “The men behind you look very familiar, young magi.”

“Simon Cavins, in this life, sir.” That familiar soul smiled at him, Baal’s aura a faint crackle of sparks in his own. “With your permission, I’d like to stand as Aladdin’s guardian until he’s eighteen. The country we’re in tends to get a bit touchy about teenagers wandering around without a supposedly sane adult to be held accountable.”

“He’s okay, Ugo.” Aladdin’s blue eyes were bright with joy. “We’re all okay.” Reaching out, he hugged his friends. “They’re okay, and I know what you did for them, and thank you.”

“It was the least I could do, for good friends,” Ugo nodded. Alibaba and Morgiana. So the shield-and-bind on rukh-fragments does work. Thank Solomon.

“Amon says the last-ditch plan worked out okay,” Alibaba put in. “Though from me? It could use a few tweaks. If anybody else has to use it again. I really hope not.”

“I can’t hold this long,” Ja’far warned, hands glimmering at one edge of the image. “We have power, but it’s like trying to juggle dishes and baby crocodiles. And no, Simon, I’m not doing that for your film.”

“Aww....”

“Is it okay?” Aladdin asked. “If they look after me for you? I don’t know how often we can set up an Eye of Rukh like this, but... we’re going to try to make sure you’re not left alone again.”

“It’s more than okay, little magi,” Ugo said softly. “Knowing you are well - everything is okay.”

“Yeah, but - Alan said you probably read all those books while I was sleeping. And we’ve got a way to fix that!” Aladdin bounced in the image, picking up a very strange open box of some kind of brown material-

Ugo felt the shimmer of space and time, and held out a hand to catch the little thing that fell through the light. “What is this?”

“Electronic books!” Aladdin grinned. “So... be careful with Lightning and Heat magic with it, okay?”

“We wrote up a manual in the best Tran and Common we could put together.” Alibaba - no, Alan now - shrugged. “And we got the best Proto-Indo-European to English dictionary out there to add to it, so I’m kind of hoping you can figure out how to translate it yourself. Aladdin says you can change size if you want, so... have some word-puzzles!”

New books. Books in an entirely different language he’d have to learn, but still. New books.

“And I put in a letter, and some pictures, and-” Aladdin gulped, looking at the strain on Ja’far’s face. “I promise we’ll see you again. I promise!”

“I know you will, little Aladdin.” Ugo smiled, even as the spell winked out. “I know you will.”