Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thursday, November 1, 1979

“We do not need to explain ourselves to muggles,” the so-called Minister of Magic said dismissively. She stood, her grey eyes cold as she turned to the door of her purple-covered office. Her green robe fluttered as she moved. “No matter their parlor tricks.”

A bristling Stephen Strange felt the Ancient One nudge his foot with hers. Stephen took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Next to him, the ancient woman spoke with all the calm of ordering tea: “The treaty between witches, wizards, and sorcerers was signed in 1689, and has been in effect since 1692. Perhaps you wizards have forgotten the terms. I—and my Order—have not.”

“Nor have the witches’ covens,” the brown-haired man to the left of the Ancient One spoke in a gravelly voice.

Bagnold scoffed. “Covens? You have some quaint notions. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You female wizards can call yourself witches until the stars fall; that does not erase the existence of real, nature-powered witches. And not a one of us missed Magick itself shuddering last night. As the disturbance centered in one of your enclaves, I doubt you did either.”

Bagnold flushed. “I will not be spoken to in this manner! Not by ones with delusions of power! Janice! Get security!”

Stephen bit his tongue as he wrested with the desire to show the brunette ‘delusional’. The Ancient One laid a hand on his arm. “That won’t be necessary,” she said serenely. “We’ll leave. But consider this: your precious secrecy is at our indulgence, not yours.” The bald woman stood, brushed off her yellow robes, and stepped to the door. Stephen and the witch, Daniel Harkness, followed.

---

Soon the trio were walking away from a phone booth through the heart of nighttime London. “I’m sorry for my temper,” Stephen said as the Ancient One wove a spell of concealment.

“Oh, I wanted to shove our ‘fake magic’ down her throat too; I always do.” The Ancient One drew her sling ring and opened a portal to the London Sanctum. “Though as wizards seem to get worse over time, I was surprised by the depth of your reaction.”

“I’d never had the pleasure of meeting wizards before,” Stephen said as they stepped through the portal, into the Sanctum’s entryway. A woman in street clothes walked past him. She grabbed a coat off the coat rack that ran along the left wall and disappeared out the front door. “I learned how to contact them, of course, but nothing worth doing so came up before I was yeeted back in time.”

“Yeeted?” Harkness asked as the Ancient One closed the portal. The crimson Cloak of Levitation peeled off of Stephen’s shoulders and flew off into the depths of the sanctum. “Never mind. We can’t risk a magic battle with the wizards. That could expose magic in the worst way.”

“Depending on how much my temporal displacement effected, aliens may bring magic to light in thirty-two years. Not that everyone believed or knew right away. But between that and the advance of technology, it was just a matter of time.” Not that Loki had been a good way to out magic; part of the reason Stephen had fought openly was to better magic’s image.

Harkness snorted. “So your leader warned us after your arrival. Hopefully, if that repeats, we’ll be seen defending the planet en masse rather than get caught off guard and acting on the sidelines. That’s a better way to reemerge.” He frowned. “You would think wizards would have responded to an attack on one of their capitals.”

Stephen shrugged as they walked into the sitting room. Warm, crème walls and brown carpeting dominated the room. A pair of sorcerers huddled over a tome in the corner. “It was before I trained, but my understanding is they shrugged it off as a non-wizard matter. Loki’s classification is closest to sorcerer. Given his strength, you would think that wouldn’t matter, but apparently they didn’t care as long as their buildings stood.” He sat in one of the brown leather sofas. “So what are the odds that Hamir and Watson had better luck?”

“Depends on who’s at their Archives and if they are as all hands on deck as their ministry seems,” Harkness said. “I think that they aren’t here is a good sign.”

“We can hope,” the Ancient One said.

---

Hamir and Watson did not return until late night/early morning. Stephen, who was still on New York time, bad been exploring the London Sanctum’s library when the portal opened. He returned to the sitting room, joined by Harkness and the Ancient One, neither of whom appeared to have slept either. “If I never see another wizard until the day I die, it’ll be too fucking soon,” Jane Watson said after they had gathered.

“That good, huh?” Harkness said dryly.

The blonde witch glared at him. “The Ministry Archivist made us spend hours filling out and revising various forms only to make it clear that he never intended to give ‘muggles’ access.”

The Ancient One sighed. “So we need to appeal to the ICW.”

“Perhaps,” Hamir said. “But we know what happened.” The Ancient One raised an eyebrow at the one-handed man. “Wizards went in an out of the office all day, and their spells to prevent our eavesdropping are not that good. We heard enough to later sneak into their library and read back issues of their paper.”

“We need to keep closer watch on the wizards,” Watson said crisply. “The British ones managed to conceal a terrorist group that, among others, targeted nonmagicals. The ideology is that only ‘pure’ wizard blood should exist. Last night, the terrorist leader attacked a mixed-blood wizard family, and explosively botched killing the kid in some sort of ritual. The public was told it was merely a rebounded killing curse. The wizards seem to think that’s the end of it.”

“The wizards were terrified of this leader,” Hamir added. “Even presumed dead, the paper just called him You-Know-Who.”

“And do we know who?” Stephen asked.

Hamir shook his head. “We only got so far into the back issues before we had to leave, but does it really matter?”

“Probably not, though I’d like to have it to press their minister on the issue. And since breaking—sneaking—into their library is not the treaty violation that raiding their archives would be—”

The bald woman abruptly cut off and her blue eyes locked onto something over Stephen’s shoulder. As everyone else followed her gaze, Stephen turned around. The Cloak of Levitation, wrapped into a ball floated their way, a basket handle above the Cloak’s folds. As the Cloak passed Stephen, he got a look into the basket it carried.

“That’s a baby,” Stephen said as he gaped at the sleeping, dark-haired child. At least a year old, the kid slept fitfully as the Cloak gently bobbed the basket up and down. Given that the others had crowded around the floating Cloak, Stephen’s statement was unnecessary, but— “Why do you have a baby?”

A flurry of impressions came across his bond with the Cloak.

“You took it off a porch?”

More furious impressions filled Stephen’s mind as the other humans reacted to Stephen’s last statement.

“Ah. The Cloak witnessed wizards abandoning the kid on a doorstep and decided to bring it to us.”

Exasperation rolled off the Cloak as it unfurled enough to point a fold directly at the fresh cut on the babe’s forehead. Over the right eye, the jagged wound looked rather like a lightning bolt.

“Yes, yes. I’m checking it out,” Stephen said as he started to reach for the child. Immediately his magic senses warned him off direct contact with it. The cloak sent its own warning as Stephen shifted his movements into a diagnostic spell. As Stephen studied the glyphs in front of him, Watson cast her own spell.

Stephen frowned. The baby—a boy—was under a charm to sleep through the night. He also had a powerful compulsion centered on him. Its intent was to prevent the boy’s future caretakers from mistreating him.

Physically, anyway—and only after a certain point.

A corruption littered the spell. A twisting of intent, that Stephen realized almost guaranteed what mistreatment the compulsion allowed. Stephen resisted the urge to growl and reported his findings to the others. “The corruption comes from tainted energy in the wound on his forehead. It’s mostly isolated by protective magic, but some influence remains. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Neither have I. But…” Watson bit her lip. “It almost feels like soul energy, just… malevolent.”

Stephen hastily stepped aside as the Ancient One rushed forward and cast her own diagnostic. As she stepped into his spot, she refined her diagnostic with spells that focused on the soul. “It is soul energy,” she finally said. “Just corrupted beyond recognition by a ritual designed to mutilate one’s own soul. Of all the ways to seek immortality, it is the foulest, most personally costly. I suspect this babe might be the intended sacrifice of that botched ritual last night. But without knowing the child’s name or why he ended up on the doorstep, I can’t be sure.”

The Cloak shrunk into itself as it continued holding the boy’s basket.

“What is it?” Stephen asked.

The Cloak slowly unfolded. As it did so, it gently set the basket on the floor, and revealed a large, parchment-made envelope that had been tucked in the basket. The Cloak handed the Ancient One the envelope.

The Ancient One raised an eyebrow at the Cloak as she broke a spell on the envelope. She opened it and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Dear Mrs. Dursley,” she read.

“Halloween night, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, attacked your sister and her husband. Sadly, they were both killed. However Lily’s death whilst protecting young Harry powered a powerful charm that rebounded Voldemort’s attempt to kill him. Harry is now famous for surviving an unsurvivable curse. The blast stripped Voldemort of his power, though as the prophecy about Harry is still active, one day he will return. Further, several of his followers are still at large. Harry will be a recognizable target if raised in the Wizarding World. Therefore, I have decided to place him in your custody. Suitable documents are enclosed. I implore you to look past your jealousy of Lily’s magic and let the boy into your heart. That will power Lily’s protection to the fullest.

“Sincerely,

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

“What is wrong with the wizards?” Harkness asked.

---

It took another two hours and several more spells before the five witches and sorcerers devised a plan to safely remove and destroy the parasitic soul shard from the boy. Neither Earth nor dimensional energy was ideal, but by blending their powers correctly, the best parts of each would gently extract a curse it appeared the wizards were unable to mend. The procedure required near-surgical precision. So Hamir was appointed the one to direct the energy.

He stood facing the north on a complex chalk-drawn array they spent thirty minutes placing in the Sanctum’s workroom. Watson, Stephen, Harkness and the Ancient One took their places. The Cloak carefully placed Harry’s basket in the center of the array before floating off to the side.

Each of the five began raising energy that they fed into the array. Purple Earth met orange dimensional and swirled around Harry. The energies merged and transmuted into a bright blue-green. Hamir carefully directed the joined energy into a tentacle that rose out of the swirling base and attached to the boy’s injury. Soon, dark red bruises appeared on the tip of the energy. Harry woke and screamed. Several more minutes passed before the appendage quit extracting red splotches. Hamir withdrew the tentacle and sent the energy to the part of the array that would destroy the soul energy. In seconds and tendrils of black smoke, it was over.

The Cloak swept in and lifted Harry from his basket, gently bobbing him and patting his back. Harry continued to cry into the folds, with calls for Mumma and Dada between sobs. “They’re not here kiddo,” Stephen said sadly as the Cloak floated over to him.

“What now?” Watson asked. “We can’t just return him to a random wizard with no idea who threatens the boy’s life, and I don’t feel comfortable placing him with his relatives based on Dumbledore’s note.”

“We can’t just keep him!” Stephen blurted in response to the Cloak.

“Why not?” Hamir asked. “We have other children on Kamar-Taj.”

“No, I meant the Cloak and I. It wants us to raise him in New York. I’m not sure I’m father material, and the Cloak—"

If the Cloak had eyes, they’d be glaring at Stephen.

“—Can’t do everything for me,” Stephen said.

“No, but it’s on to something,” the Ancient One said. “With a prophecy—real or presumed—on the boy’s head, he needs training in his wizard abilities. Kamar-Taj is limited in what he could learn, and would prevent magical schools from detecting him. New York City would hopefully be far enough removed from Britain that enemies wouldn’t think to look for him there.”

“The Sanctum has similar wards.”

“And apartments nearby,” the Ancient One pointed out dryly. “It would do you good to get out among the general populace of this time. However, we should not reject the family based on the acts of one wizard…”

---

Petunia Dursley turned out to outright fear magic yet jumped up and slapped the Ancient One when informed of Lily Potter’s death. She then burst into tears. The slender, long-necked woman threw herself into her husband’s arms. Vernon Dursley, who had looked delighted at the Potters’ deaths, comforted his wife. He patted her back and murmured into her ear. Stephen idly wondered if the man’s walrus-like mustache tickled.

The group sat in the Dursley’s sitting room, a small tidy space done in blues and browns. The love seat held the Dursleys. Stephen and the Ancient One occupied the two chairs. The Dursleys’ child, a boy about Harry’s age, played in a playpen in the corner.

“If that’s all you freaks want, get out.” Contrary to his wife, Mr. Dursley hated magic and had no fear of what Stephen or the Ancient One could do. Perhaps it was the Ancient One’s admission that the wizards considered them basically muggles. Or perhaps it was their mundane clothing. Dursley seemed a man who relied on the familiar and routine.

Stephen suppressed the desire to stash the man in portal space for a few minutes. Surely the false sensation of falling would teach him, if not respect, to hide his hate. But it would justify his opinion of magic, he thought. If not make it worse. Hell, he may come out of the portal an enraged bull…

Stephen sighed and turned his attention to Harry as he stirred. He slept against Stephen’s chest in a wrap carrier the Cloak had transformed into. Harry stretched and turned, but did not wake. Stephen rested a hand on the boy’s back.

Petunia Dursley pulled herself together. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from a nearby box. “What happened? Is that their boy?”

Dursley jumped to his feet. “WHAT!? IF YOU EXPECT US TO TAKE IN A FREAK—”

Dursley’s booming voice woke Harry from his sleep and scared both him and the Dursley boy into tears. Stephen quickly busied himself gently bouncing Harry as the boy again called and looked around for his parents. Petunia Dursley, who had jumped out up to grab her son, froze and stared at the boy. After a few seconds she shook herself off and went to sooth her son.

Both boys seemed to pick up and echo the other’s distress, but finally cried themselves out. Harry just leaned listlessly against Stephen’s chest as Dudley—the Dursleys’ boy—made motions towards his playpen. Petunia set him in the playpen and the boy grabbed a couple toys to bang together. Then she gave her husband a hard look. “What happened?” she asked quietly.

“We’re not sure,” the Ancient One said. “When the wizards established their enclaves, the witches—the Earth witches, that is—and sorcerers elected to stay in the greater world. Information exchange has been… slow. Most of what we know comes from the letter—note, really—left with the boy. One of our number witnessed wizards place him on your step last night and realized he needed immediate magical attention.”

Petunia again glared at Dursley as the man turned red. He visibly wrestled with his temper. “They just assumed we’d take the freak? And that a short letter was an appropriate death notification?” The man’s disgust was apparent.

The Ancient One said, “The wizard who decided this, Albus Dumbledore, strikes me as… not having the most sense.”

Petunia scoffed. “The man lives in his own world. He ran Lily’s school. I was worried about her going away with the awful boy down the street—everyone knew Snape was a bad influence—so I wrote asking if I could come along, attending only the normal classes. He wrote back that it was impossible to give me magic. How he got placed in charge of children is a mystery.”

The Ancient One frowned. “That is troubling. But if you cannot care for Harry—”

“We won’t,” Dursley said.

“We are prepared to offer him a home.”

Petunia frowned. “What kind of home? And can I see this letter?”

The Ancient One pulled the slip of parchment out of her pocket. “Stephen here, and his partner, would look after Harry.” She handed the note over.

Petunia nodded quietly and didn’t inquire about the partner as she read the note. Doubtlessly, she assumed a lover, not a sentient artifact he battled threats with. “The boy got Lily killed?”

…That was not the first thing Stephen expected the woman to get out of the letter, but he supposed it was a valid point of view. A confused looking Dursley leaned over and read the note his wife still held. He turned redder. He looked at his son and closed his eyes. “The nerve!” His hissed voice held more venom than his yelling. “We’ve been made legal guardians without our knowledge or consent?”

“Mrs. Dursley has. It seems Dumbledore has placed protections based on blood ties around the house.”

That tore it. Dursley stood and stormed over to the Ancient One. “MAGIC’S BEEN PLACED ON MY HOUSE!”

Both boys started crying again. “VERNON!” Petunia yelled. “If you can’t keep calm, go to work. I’ll handle this.” She went to collect her boy.

Dursley glowered a moment before stomping toward the door. “Get it done.” He slammed the door behind him. A minute later, they heard his car drive off.

“Do you wish to take Harry?” the Ancient One asked softly as Petunia returned with her son.

She shook her head. “He’d never be safe with Vernon,” she said sadly.

“Are you safe?” Stephen blurted. He realized instantly that it was a mistake. Petunia’s eyes hardened and glared at him. “That came out wrong. I meant—”

“You meant is he a threat to me or Dudley,” Petunia said icily. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I suppose it’s fair enough the way he acted. It’s the magic, you see. James and his friends—anyway, Dudley and I are safe.”

The Ancient One studied Dudley a minute before she nodded. “You both lack magic cores. But what if a future child has magic?”

Petunia’s expression turned to granite. “That’s not possible.”

“Wizard magic runs along bloodlines. If your sister had it, it’s likely you carry it.”

“I said it’s impossible!” Petunia closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Stephen was reminded of a patient during his OBGYN rotation who’d been told she couldn’t have children. Next to him, the Ancient One seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Her breath hitched before she apologized.

“Right.” Petunia said. “Moving on. I presume your… sorcery is capable of protecting the boy. What do we do about legal guardianship?”

“We know a notary public. She can have the necessary papers drawn up. Though if you’d rather someone independent notarize your signature, we can arrange it.”

Petunia nodded. “That might be best if someone comes questioning.” She looked at Stephen. “You and your partner are capable of protecting the boy?”

“Yes. I will also take him to the states for added security.”

“Good. The recent wizard troubles are not unknown across the pond, but the threat is far less.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Can it be done today, or do we need to schedule an appointment next week? It’d be best done while Vernon’s at work. Also… the protections you mentioned. Is it possible to alter them to protect Vernon, too?”

“They will fail without Harry’s long-term presence. We can, however, place our own. But will your husband be okay with that?”

“Does Vernon need to know?”

The Ancient One frowned. “It’s not impossible,” she said slowly. “But wards take better when all residents that are capable of understanding what they’re for fully consent to them.”

“Can the consent be grudging?” Petunia asked. “And can you remove the wizard wards and conceal us from all wizards, even Dumbledore?”

“Yes, to the last two. And the first…” The Ancient One bit her lip and stared at the wall over Petunia’s head a moment. “It’s not ideal, but I do believe it will work better than ignorance. Certainly better than objection.”

A satisfied smile settled on Petunia’s face. “Then I can work on Vernon.”

---

Six weeks later, Stephen sighed as he boarded a flight to JFK with Harry snuggled in his arms. The Cloak, transformed into a baby’s blanket, hugged the boy. Stephen didn’t used to be a nervous flyer. But as much as he hated the hassle of airport security in the future, he had grown accustomed to it. A year where the tech was less advanced and people didn’t fly planes into buildings made for laxer security. It was not non-existent, especially out of Heathrow. Still, the differences made Stephen’s brain itch.

Unfortunately, he needed Harry to pass through immigration to have the proof of entry necessary to finalize his adoption in the states.

Stephen slid into his row and sat in the window seat. As he adjusted Harry on his lap, Harry’s new stuffy, a black dog he’d named Foo, fell out of the boy’s grip and tumbled onto the floor. Stephen leaned toward the aisle to pick it up, and encountered another hand. The woman who filed onto the plane behind him handed him Foo. “Thanks,” Stephen said.

“You’re welcome,” the woman said as she sat next to him. “I remember traveling when my Teddy was that age. Though Harold and I never dared cross the pond with him.”

Harry turned to take the stuffy from Stephen, and the woman gasped when she saw the scarring cut on Harry’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But what happened?”

“My cousin and her husband were killed in a car accident,” Stephen recited the story Petunia Dursley had helped come up with. “Harry survived with just the cut and an inability to understand where his parents went. He’s gotten used to me while we’ve been getting the necessary papers in order.” And thankfully the Order had taken care of that on both ends. “But I’m not the same.”

“So, he’s going to live in the states with you? That’s probably for the best.”

Stephen blinked. That was an odd thing to say. The woman held out her hand. “Abigail Tonks.”

Stephen took it. “Stephen Strange.”

---

By the time Stephen got Harry through immigration and customs, they were both tired and cranky. Stephen had hoped that Harry, at least, could nap on the flight. Instead, the takeoff had energized him—“FWY! FWY!”—and the sight of passing ground, and then sea, out the window transfixed him for all eight hours. Harry had been sad to disembark. “Bye, Bwoo.”

Stephen wasn’t sure why Harry had named the plane Blue, but he supposed it didn’t matter. At least he hadn’t been distressed the whole flight. Now that would have been exhausting.

He wound his way through the terminal to where he was supposed to meet his ride. Stephen raised an eyebrow when he saw Diana Blake. She was the current second in command at the New York Sanctum, and would not normally assign herself to shuttle people around.

Diana greeted Harry with a wide smile. “So, you’re the tyke that’s lured Stephen out of the Sanctum,” she said as he tried to grab a handful of her braided dreads. Stephen intercepted Harry’s hand which prompted tears. “Let’s get him to the car,” Diana said as he bounced Harry. They turned past a man giving them dirty looks and left the terminal.

It took a few minutes to reach Diana’s blue car. Stephen strapped Harry into the not yet required child seat—another thing he wished future developments existed for—then took his seat in the front. A sketchpad sat on the passenger side dashboard. The minute Stephen closed the door, Diana raised some strong privacy wards.

“What’s up?”

“Jonas had a massive vision while you were flying.” Diana turned the car on and looked over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking spot. “It was a lot of random things all over the place timewise. Among other things, he said the longer this boy is kept away from the wizards’ enclaves, the better. He recommended having his wizard-magic home tutored if you can. He didn’t get any idea of how to get a tutor.”

“Naturally,” Stephen said dryly. The future existed in a state of perpetual flux which left the best prognosticators hit or miss. Even Stephen’s own knowledge could not be trusted, given the changes to the past. “What else was there?”

“Take a look at the last sketch.” She gestured at the pad on the dashboard before she turned into traffic.

Stephen flipped to the indicated page. He then turned it so the long edge was horizontal. Six small sketches filled the page. In the middle was a face that appeared to be a hybrid of a lion and human. Above that, sat a wormhole, a black and white version of the rip in the sky Stephen had seen when the Chitauri invaded in 2012. The top two thirds of the page to the right had the Twin Towers. The bottom right two thirds held a side-view of a creature that looked like a serpentine mix of whale and turtle, with way too many armored spines on its body and shell. The lower left side of the page was a humanoid figure in armor. The bottom of the helmet gave the look of a perpetual roar. A band of metal covered the top of the helm, with far-apart, narrow slits for eyes. The band swooped up and around, almost meeting at the back in a triangle. Vertebrae-like ridges spilled down both sides. The top left sketch looked like an elf in a flight suit.

“The wormhole’s from the Chitauri invasion. The lower left is a Chitauri warrior. The thing to the right that looks like an armored monstrosity is a Chitauri leviathan. The other two aliens, I’ve not seen before. Though the elf-looking one is likely from Alfheim, from what we learned after the Chitauri attack.”

Diana nodded. “I guess we can expect more alien contact after the attack you lived through. I hope it’s friendlier.”

He thought about Harkness’ words about witches and sorcerers visibly fighting the Chitauri. Magic could do a lot, but it had its limitations. And there are no guarantees there will be the Avengers to help thwart a Chitauri attack this time…

“Hopefully,” Stephen said, “this all remains in the realm of visions.”

---

Stephen sighed as Harry fell asleep in his crib. The two-bedroom apartment he had authorized the Order to procure for him was nice. Nice enough that he’d have to get a day job on top of his stipend, but he had known that. Still, a building that had existing protections was a boon—he’d put his own up on the apartment itself of course. But the building wasn’t just another layer of protection—its wards would camouflage his.

Stephen stepped out of Harry’s room and went into the stocked kitchen to make salt water. It was best he start as soon as possible.

Little did he know that it would be over nine years before his alerts detected wizards in the hall.

Or that they’d head straight to his then-neighbor, Joe Maxwell…

Wednesday April 19, 1989

“But his blood runs through my instrument/And his song is in my soul,” Joe sang along with the radio as he shampooed his hair.  “My life has been a poor attempt/To imitate the man.  I’m just the living legacy/To the leader of the band.”

As Joe ducked under the shower, he thought he heard his apartment’s doorbell.  He shrugged it off.  Anyone by this early probably had the wrong place.  While his building’s walls weren’t completely soundproof, the neighbor next to Joe’s bedroom had never complained about his radio being loud enough to hear in the shower—and she never hesitated to complain about anything.  The music was no louder today than any other.   He stepped out of the warm spray and began soaping himself up. “—Got tough.  And Papa, I don’t think I said/‘I love you’ near enough.  The leader of the band is tired—”  He heard the doorbell again, followed by a frantic pounding that did not let up. 

There was no way the neighbors wouldn’t complain about that. 

Joe cursed as he ducked under the warm spray.  One quick rinse, and he turned off the water and strode through his apartment. As he walked, he threw on his terrycloth bathrobe.  Water dripped and stuck the navy cloth to his skin.  Once decent, Joe unlocked and threw open the door.  He fully intended to chew out whoever it was.

Instead he froze. 

Aside from the boy next door, Joe rarely encountered a witch or wizard beyond passing them on the street.  He never expected a witch at his door, much less two.  An adult and child, maybe ten years old, stood huddled together in the hall that ended at Joe’s apartment door.  Another apartment’s door was a yard away, along the wall on Joe’s left. 

Both witches were barefoot in wet nightgowns.  The girl wheezed as she looked down.  The woman had soot and burns on the side of her face and along her lower right arm.  Her right hand clutched a wand.  Her left hand held Joe’s morning paper, which she thrust at him.  Joe absently took it.

 “I’m sorry Joey, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want anything to do with me, but I didn’t know what else to do but track you down.”  Joe’s eyes focused on ones the same hazel-brown as his own, and realization hit.  “If you don’t want to help me, I’ll figure something out, but please—”

“Bree!”  Joe exclaimed as he found his voice.  His shocked eyes drifted to singed hair that Joe knew should appear the same dark brown as his with red highlights and a looser curl.  “Bree, is that really you?  What the hell happened?”

“My hu—” Tears welled in Bree’s eyes.  “Marcus, nearly drowned Liz.”  Sweat beaded on her skin.  “I had to curse him to get her out of the pool.  I don’t know what—”

“Dad said he wanted to scare magic out of me.”  The girl’s voice whistled as she spoke, face down.  “Don’t you remember?”

A knot formed in Joe’s stomach.  His parents had never done anything of the sort, but he knew full well how some thought squibs—real or suspected—should be treated.  And if Bree thought the girl a squib too, she may think to leave the girl with him.

“Lizbet Josina!” Bree said.  “That does not make it okay, and I don’t know what possessed your father to think otherwise, much less that I’d agree.”  As the girl continued to stare at her feet, Bree reached out and lifted her chin.  Joe’s breath caught as he saw grandmother’s green eyes.  “Lizzie, all children deserve safe and loving childhoods.  You deserve that, regardless of magic.  You understand?”

Liz nodded hesitantly.  “Is that why you hexed him again?”

Bree sighed.  “I should have apparated us out then, instead of starting that duel.  That—” She shook her head and turned to Joe.  “I kept my personal Gringotts vault.  It’s not much, but there’s enough to set us both up in the No-Maj World if Marcus removed me from our joint vault.  I just need more cloth to transfigure into decent clothes and a place to do it in.  Also… I don’t remember as much about that part of our childhood as I would like.”

The knot in Joe’s stomach relaxed.  Bree hadn’t just inherited their parents’ strong stance against anyone who’d mess with their magicless child.  She intended to follow their parents’ lead of moving to the No-Maj World for their child’s education. 

“I realized years ago that I was a self-centered bitch to you.  But—”

“Bree, you’re my sister; of course, I’ll help.  But Liz isn’t a squib.”

 Bree blinked in confusion.  “You’re that sensitive?  I thought it was just strong wards and intense magic you can sense.”

Joe shook his head.  “My sensitivity varies, but it grew into sensing cores before Grandma Geraldine rejected me.”  In fact, if his building’s wards didn’t quiet things on that front, he’d have known there were witches at his door, especially the girl.  “Actually, Liz’s core feels active now.”

Bree paled.  “We need to get her to a healer.  Sometimes magic will act to slow a serious disease.”

“Perhaps I can help.”  Both Joe and Bree jumped.  Bree whirled to face the black-haired man in red pajamas who stepped into the hall two feet behind her.  Instead of his usual slicked-back style, his hair was rumpled, which made his grey sides more prominent. 

Joe had always found Stephen Strange, well, strange.  And it went beyond his sensitivity telling him that the man was neither no-maj nor wizard.  Joe got that feeling about others, including a couple other residents of this building, though Stephen Strange was unique compared to them.  Also, Strange always had a transfigured, powerful magical item on him, though it seemed he had left it in his extra-warded apartment this time.  Joe could not place his finger on what else was different about the man.  Perhaps he was just put off by the sense that Strange was dangerous, but not a threat—at least not to him. 

He was a better next-door neighbor than the woman in 411, at any rate.

“Who are you?”

“He’s my neighbor.  A decent one, though I don’t know how I missed him opening his door.” 

“I put notice-me-nots on both Liz and myself.  No no-maj not of our blood should see or hear us.”

Huh.  That explained Bree holding her wand in plain sight.  Or, come to think of it, why no one was yelling about the earlier pounding.  “He’s not a no-maj,” he told her, his sense of Strange kicking into overdrive.  “Mind, he’s not a wizard either, but while whatever he is feels on-guard, he doesn’t feel like he wishes us any harm.”

Strange raised one black eyebrow.  “Interesting observation.”  He turned to Bree.  “I’m a sorcerer.  Instead of an internal magical source, I draw from other dimensions.  I also have a fair knowledge of anatomy, if you’d permit me to scan your daughter.  But first, is she asthmatic?”

Bree looked puzzled.  “Asthmatic?”

“Asthma is a condition where the airways constrict.  Her wheezing sounds similar.”

Bree shook her head.  “She’s done that since I got her out of the water.  I thought it was the stress, but it should have calmed down by now…”  Bree’s eyes widened and she paled.  “You don’t think she breathed in water?”

Strange frowned.  “Fluid in the lungs is usually an intermittent crackling sound.  But if her magic’s isolating it somehow…”  Strange looked from Bree to Liz.  “Do you remember breathing in water?”

“Maybe?  I wanted to cough like when your drink tickles your windpipe, but I couldn’t move, and then Mom broke Dad’s spell and I could breathe, and then—”  Tears spilled from Liz’s eyes and she fell silent.

Joe took a minute to register what she had said.  “Your father’s spell!?  How did he expect accidental magic to compete  with a trained wizard’s?” 

Liz sank further into herself while Bree’s face darkened.  Bree closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath.  Joe didn’t catch it, but he didn’t want to be this Marcus—ever.  His sister sighed and turned to Liz.  “I know a spell that’ll clear anything that’s not supposed to be in your lungs.  It won’t be comfortable, but I’m going to cast it to be sure.  You ready?”

Liz looked anything but ready, though she nodded.  Bree shot a red spell into Liz’s stomach.  She doubled over as if punched in the gut—and coughed up water onto the tan carpet of the hallway floor.  As the water spewed out, Joe felt Liz’s magic relax.  He said so.  After the girl caught her breath, she stared down at the puddle. 

“Lizzie?”

“He really nearly killed me.”  She sounded surprised, as if that had not fully sunk in before.  “He—” Liz broke into huge sobs and threw herself into her mother’s arms.  Joe found himself at a loss for he could say to his new-found niece.  Bree also seemed at a loss as she silently stroked Liz’s hair. 

“I can clean and cover those burns, if you wish,” Strange said quietly.  “But as big as the one on your arm is, I recommend a hospital.”

Bree shook her head.  “The Dragon’s Fire curse can’t be healed.  Residual magic interferes with healer’s spells.  Unless your sorcery works differently?”

Strange shook his head.  “Every method of healing by magic that I’ve read up on is a crapshoot that can have worse consequences.  I recommend a mundane hospital if your ways are out. You’re at risk of infection.”  He frowned.  “Your type of magic may usually act to prevent such things—certainly, my son doesn’t get sick as often as other kids—but if the wounds repels magic, I would not count on yours doing anything.”

“Your son?”

“The boy’s a wizard,” Joe said.  “He’s still young for official parental notification, but I assume a sorcerer would recognize accidental magic for what it is.”

“Among other things.”  Harry Strange popped out of their apartment.  Unlike his father, he was dressed for the day—jeans and plaid button up—though he was in just white socks.  He had gelled his hair back into a popular style.  Large blue glasses framed and emphasized his green eyes.  Harry’s right hand held what looked like a green tool box with black handle, and his left arm held some clothes against his body, with a beat-up pair of sneakers in his hand.  Strange turned toward the boy.  “I noticed that Liz seems about my size before you sent me for the first aid kit.  I thought she might want to borrow an outfit.”

Strange nodded as he took the clothes and box.  “Good thinking; now finish eating breakfast.”

Harry nodded and turned back to the apartment, his shoulders slumped.  Joe couldn’t blame him.  The spectacle in the hall had to be more exciting than breakfast.  “Wait!” Liz pulled away from her mother.  Her sobs had calmed, though tears still spilled from her cheeks.  “Thanks,” she said with a half-hearted attempt to smile.  Then she burst into sobs again.

Joe cleared his throat.  “I suppose we should take this into my place.”

---

Joe buttoned his left sleeve as he braced the phone’s headset against his right shoulder with his head.  Across the brown and yellow kitchen, Strange wrapped loose gauze around Bree’s arm. 

“District Attorney’s office.”

“Hey Denise.  It’s Joe Maxwell.  Can I get you to tell Levinson that I won’t be in in time for our meeting?”

“Oh, he’s right here.  Just a sec.”

“That’s not nec—”

“Hello?”

Joe suppressed a sigh as he went to button his right sleeve. Harold Levinson was a fair boss.  Joe would just have just preferred more time to figure out what he could tell him. “It’s Joe.”  He fumbled the button.  It was always more troublesome than the other, even when he was not juggling a phone call.  “My sister may need to go to the hospital, and I’m not sure when I’ll be in.  I won’t make our meeting.”

“I thought you didn’t talk to your sister.”  Joe could hear the frown in Levinson’s voice and wanted to groan.  Of course Levinson would remember that.  He was big on family and had been disappointed that Joe didn’t really talk to his sister.  What was he supposed to come up with when even the parts he could say sounded like a lie?

“Things changed.”  Joe wrangled the stubborn button into place.

“That’s great.  When did that happen?”

“This morning.”  He could hear the surprise in Levinson’s silence.  Joe grabbed the headset with his right hand and rolled his neck to stretch the muscle that’d held the phone.  “I don’t know enough to tell you anything more yet,” he lied.  “But she needs help.”

Levinson was quiet for a long moment.  “Normally, I’d tell you to just take the day, but with the Marks case headed to trial and Gunther and Chandler being pains in everyone’s asses before the press got a hold of the girl’s disappearance…”

“I read the headline, if not yet the body,” the coiled yellow phone cord stretched as Joe stepped away from the kitchen wall and grabbed his vest, which along with his suit jacket he laid on the table next to the morning paper.  The headline—Gunther’s Girlfriend Missing—faced the ceiling.  “Is the leak bad?”  He slipped the vest over his left shoulder before grabbing the phone with his left hand. 

“Bad enough.  Though I hope it at least generates leads.”  Levinson sighed as Joe slipped the vest over his right shoulder.  “Come see me when you do get in.”

“Yes, sir.”  Joe hung the headset on his wall-mounted phone.  He buttoned up his vest and frowned at the paper.  Unless the woman had taken off herself, this would end badly.  For all that Gunther and Chandler worried about scandal, money did not make one invulnerable. 

“I’ve done everything I can,” Strange said as he taped off the gauze on Bree’s arm.  “I still recommend the hospital.”

“No,” Bree said.

“No-maj hospitals aren’t bad,” Joe said.  “And I’ll be with you for any questions you have.”

Bree shook her head.  “I don’t have no-maj money yet, and—”

“I’ll pay,” Joe said.

Bree shook her head again as she leaned against Joe’s kitchen sink.  “I want to get us set up in the No-Maj World as soon as possible.  There’s too much to do to take the time.”

Joe frowned.  “Even though Liz isn’t a squib?”

Bree closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s best we don’t go back home for a while.”

“A while?”  Joe felt like he’d been punched in the gut.  “After what you said happened, why would you ever return to that man?”

“NO!” Liz exclaimed, standing in door of the room.  Harry’s clothes hung loosely on her, but fit well enough.  Joe absently wondered if Harry had intentionally picked a tee shirt that had a wizard on it.  “I DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN!”

Bree glared at Joe before turning to her daughter.  “By home, I meant the Wizarding World, not our house,” she said firmly.

“What?”  Liz suddenly looked lost.  “Why?”

Bree sighed.  “Do you remember when you asked why your grandparents didn’t like me?”

“They thought you were with Dad for his money.  What does that have to do with it?”

“They were more hostile before I married your father.  In an effort prove myself, I volunteered to sign a pre-marriage contract that in a divorce I’d only leave with the assets I brought to the marriage.  The contract they had drawn up also specifies I give up custody of any children.  No exceptions.  I was idiot enough not to contest that.  I was sure we were too in love to ever need the contract, you see.”  Bree smiled bitterly as she walked to her daughter.  She reached out and stroked Liz’s hair.

“After last night, I can’t risk you with your father.  There is nothing in the contract about us being married but living apart.  However, if he can track me down to deliver a divorce petition, I can only delay so long before I’m legally compelled to sign divorce papers.  We have to be invisible to the Wizarding World, at least until you start school.  I don’t think you’d be at physical risk then, but I’m not sure returning to him would be in your best interest.  Which, with your uncle teaching at Ilvermorny…”

Liz’s face fell.  “He’ll tell Dad, and then—I can’t go to school with Sara and Michelle.”

“Liz, honey,” Bree said sadly, “writing to your friends could leave a trail that tracks us down.  I won’t let it happen before you are school age, and if you’re still determined not to see your father again, you won’t contact them until you are a legal adult.” 

“They won’t ever forgive me.”

“If they’re truly your friends, they’ll understand in time.  I can’t guarantee that means you’ll reconnect as before.”  Bree reached out and pulled Liz into her arms.  She sighed.  “I won’t force you to avoid Ilvermorny and your friends, if you wish to return once you have proof of magic.  But please consider staying.  We have five months to look into the smaller schools and correspondence courses—”

“Good,” Liz’s voice was muffled against her mother’s body.  “I can’t face Dad that soon.  Even though—” she broke off into tears as Bree stroked her hair.  “Ilvermorny records all magical births in the states.  Why didn’t Dad just ask Uncle Julius to see if I’m listed?  And can he look into the other schools to find me?”

“I don’t know, honey.  I knew your Dad was jealous that your Uncle could boast about the… showy accidental magic of your cousins, but if he was truly concerned… I don’t know why he did it.  As far as alternate schooling, I’m hoping that our no-maj identity can use Maxwell as our last name.  Your Apparition license and other official documents will need to say Byrnes—”

Joe bit back the urge to exclaim.  Byrnes was a wealthy and politically powerful family, when Joe left the Wizarding World.  It was a common enough name, that Bree might not mean those Byrnes, but it would explain her reluctance to go up against them. 

“—But with luck, we won’t need to, uh, ‘correct’ your name until then.”

“If I may,” Strange said.  Bree jumped, having apparently forgotten they had an audience.  “A seer advised that I home tutor my son’s wizard magic.”

Bree shook her head.  “I wasn’t good enough with Potions and Herbology to fully homeschool Liz.  Ads for tutors are circulated among the schools, as well as the general papers.  I doubt Julius is looking for more Potions students, but I can’t risk that.”

“No, I don’t know how to go about finding tutors, or your schools for that matter.  If you help me, I can make inquiries under my name.  Your husband’s family may recognize your maiden name, but I doubt mine will bring them running.  Or an inquiry on behalf of two children.”

“Sneaky,” Joe said.  “I like it.”

Bree frowned a minute before nodding.  “I was going to get Liz’s wand today, to minimize our contact with the wizarding district.  I’d rather not have to guide the boy another time.”

Strange nodded and checked his watch.  “Harry generally doesn’t leave for the bus for another five minutes.  I’ll call him in sick and get dressed.  Will a suit suffice?”  Bree nodded and Strange turned and carried his well-stocked first aid kit out of the apartment. 

Joe turned to his sister.  “Bree…”

“I actually go by Sabrina, now.”

“Joe.”  He held out his hand.  “It’s nice to meet you again.”

Br—Sabrina laughed and shook his hand.

---

Joe had not set foot in Gringotts since the day he withdrew what little money he had and enlisted in the army.  Sixteen years later, not much had changed.  Mostly, he had forgotten how much magic surrounded Gringotts.  To distract himself from his incoming headache, he focused on looking around him.  The interior of the New York Gringotts branch was white marble with green marble accents—a border along the walls, and a large, sixteen-pointed compass rose in the middle of the floor.  To the left of the door they entered—the top of the stairs from the no-maj entrance—were the teller windows.  A goblin was stationed at each one. Each wore a three-piece suit.  Unlike wizard suits, the goblins were current with no-maj fashions. 

They got into the winding line and waited for their turn.  Harry kept throwing side glances at the goblins, clearly curious, but not wanting to stare.  “They’re goblins,” Joe murmured.  “They run the Wizarding World’s entire banking system.”

Harry blinked.  “That must make them important.”

“Much more than most witches and wizards give them credit for,” Joe said.  “They often have little patience for humans as a result.  That is no excuse not to treat them with respect.”

“There are tensions between wizards and those that control a major part of their economy?” Strange asked. 

“There hasn’t been a war with them in centuries,” Sabrina said.  “But witches and wizards tend to think ourselves superior due to their shorter stature and lack of wands.”

Strange snorted derisively.

“Goblins have their own magics and make formidable warriors,” Sabrina continued.  “Which makes some dismiss them as savages.”

“Humans of all stripes are capable of savagery,” Strange said.  “From what I’ve seen of wizards, they are no different.”  The group stepped forward as another customer walked up to a teller.  “When you say their own magic, do you mean an internal core like wizards have, or do they draw from an outside source like wi—Earth witches and sorcerers,”

“Earth witches?” Joe asked as he absently noted a magic core get in line behind them.  It was a goblin, by the feel of it.

“As I draw energy from other dimensions, there are those who draw from the Earth itself.  Those of us who stayed outside of the wizards’ enclaves tend to call them witches and your type of magic-wielders wizards regardless of gender.”  Strange frowned suddenly.  “I know I don’t need to formally announce my presence to wizards to acquire what Harry needs for his education.  What about the goblins?  Do you know, or should I ask the teller?”

“No formal agreement with the Sorcerer Supreme exists, but the curtesy is appreciated.”

Joe turned.  Like most of her species, the goblin stood stood four-feet tall with ears that stuck out sideways.  Her grey hair was pulled up into a bun and a pencil was stuck through it.  Her three-piece suit was royal blue with matching tie that contrasted nicely with her white shirt.   Her shoes were black penny loafers with silver coins in them.  Joe thought they were the English sickle.  She held a clipboard in her right hand. 

Strange recovered first.  “Stephen Strange, master of the mystic arts.”

“Freyun.  Bank manager.”  She bobbed her head to them.  “If you’ll accompany me to a private room, I can attend to your group’s needs.”

Sabrina blinked.  “Thank you.  With all the business we have, that’ll help greatly.  But why would you offer before hearing it?”

“Rarely do our wards detect a sorcerer.  Historically, their business tends to be more interesting than the norm.  Unfortunately, a couple of my… less disciplined tellers seem to agree and are distracted from their current customers.  It’s more efficient to improve the service now and talk to them later.”

Joe glanced to the line of tellers.  The one on the far end began furiously writing something as if to telegraph busyness.  The other distracted teller was apparently better at looking normal.  “Did they just hear us?” he asked. 

Freyun’s smile was all teeth.  “While our stature may be lesser than humans’, our senses are anything but.  Now, if you’ll follow me…”

Freyun turned off to the side and lead them to the door on the left of the teller station.  As they passed through, a witch still in line said something—loudly—about new bloods and boorish behavior.

The door closed behind Strange, and Freyun lead them down the hall to a conference room thirty feet away.  The room held a round ebony table with six matching, green-cushioned chairs.  She walked around the table and sat in the far one.  Either it was built for a goblin, or automatically adjusted to her height.  Joe sat across from her as Liz and Sabrina sat to his right and Harry and Strange to his left.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” Freyun said.  “I’ll gladly attend to all your business, but first, the wards recognized more than just the sorcerer.  One of the rest you is similar to a magic signature we are to look out for.  Are any of you aware of any unfinished business?  Also,” she turned to Strange, “might I enquire as to the nature of the artifact?”

Strange blinked and gestured to the front pocket of his suit where a crimson handkerchief sat.  “The Cloak of Levitation.  Currently disguised as a pocket square—er, handkerchief.”

Freyun raised her eyebrows.  “That certainly explains the strength of the reading.”  She sounded almost reverential. “It’s an honor to have such an old and distinguished artifact present.”

The handkerchief seemed to straighten in pride.  A fond smile crossed Strange’s face.  “I’m honored it chose me.”

The room fell silent a moment before Sabrina cleared her throat.  “The other alert could be a notice that my husband has taken me off our joint vault already.  I was hoping to get my royalties transferred to my personal vault and make a withdrawal first.”

Freyun nodded.  “Full name?”

“Sabrina Bronwyn Byrnes, formerly Maxwell.”

Freyun wrote the name on her clipboard with a silver fountain pen.  She waited a moment.  “Your name’s not it.  What about you, sir?”  She looked straight at Joe.

“Not if it’s a full magic signature; I’m a squib,” he said.  “Valerian Josiah Maxwell,” he added to be polite.

“It wasn’t you flagged.  It’s likely a false hit.”

“Maybe not.”  Strange frowned.  “The Maxwell siblings said Gringotts has branches all over the globe.”  Freyun nodded.  “My son was born to wizards in England.  The story of his adoption after their death is… complicated. His non-magic aunt told me little beyond her fears for his safety and to expect wizards to seek him out after he turned eleven.  It’s possible he has a savings account and/or inheritance that got lost in the chaos.”  Strange tapped his finger on the table.  “It’s been nine years.  Do dormant accounts get turned over to the government?” 

Freyun nodded.  “Not as fast as in the mundane world.   The latest treaty between wizards and the Goblin Nation requires vault contents to be turned over to the appropriate wizarding government after a century of disuse. 

“A mundane placement for a wizard is unusual,” Freyun continued.  “It’s possible that given the attitudes wizards hold towards non-wizards, any funds were ordered held until he started his schooling.  I don’t know if the English goblins would place an alert, though…  We can look through our records, though we’ll need proof of his birth identity before he can claim anything.”

Strange nodded at Freyun.  “I have all the paperwork for his aunt’s guardianship, as well as the transfer of custody to me.  It includes a glamour-ridden copy of a birth certificate and the parents’ death certificates.  Could we make an appointment for Harry and I?  Perhaps this time a week from Friday?”

Freyun scribbled on her clipboard and nodded.  “That’ll give us plenty of time to locate any accounts and contact you with the results.  I’ll just need his birth name to start the search.”

“Harry James Potter,” Harry piped up.  Freyun wrote the name down.  She watched the pad a moment.   

“Oh dear.”

---

Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen saw writing scroll up the paper Freyun had on the clipboard.  He wanted to kick himself.  He had grown too complacent with his custody over Harry.  It made sense that the wizard who placed Harry with the Dursleys might want to track him down.  “Is there a problem?” Stephen forced himself to remain calm.  There was no point in provoking a confrontation.  Or to give himself away if it was something else.

“It was the boy’s magic signature.  There’s a fraud alert on his trust,” Freyun said.   “Does the name Albus Dumbledore ring a bell?”

Stephen nodded.  “He’s the wizard that placed Harry in his aunt’s custody.”

“What?” Sabrina said.  “He’s the headmaster of Hogwarts.  What is he doing placing children?” 

Freyun frowned wrote on the clipboard, than scrolled the pen up it in a manner not unlike a tablet computer and stylus.  “It seems his role in the English wizards’ civil war and his honorary positions within their government allow him the influence to make it happen.  The Friday after the Potters’ death, Dumbledore presented documentation appointing him proxy in magical matters for the boy’s guardians—allegedly Petunia and Vernon Dursley.  He withdrew the month’s stipend for the boy’s care, converted it to pounds sterling, and had a check cut and sent to Mr. Dursley through one of our mundane subsidiaries.”

“The Dursleys are Harry’s Aunt and Uncle,” Stephen said.  “Though he never told them to expect money when he left Harry with them.  Or mentioned anything about a proxy.  Did the check indicate what the money was for?”

“Unknown.  I take it you never received the money?”

Stephen shook his head.  “We agreed to no contact when I took Harry.  And his uncle… was not involved in the process.”

Freyun snorted in apparent disapproval.  “When Dumbledore tried to withdraw the next month’s amount, his paperwork registered as invalid.  That triggered the alert.”

“Harry was in my legal custody well before then.  Would this paperwork reflect that?”

“If it was appropriately spelled, which seems to be the case.”  Freyun noted something on her clipboard.  “Dumbledore later tried to… induce a vault keeper to alert him of activity on the trust.  His deputy headmaster handles Hogwarts finances now.”

“So, he’s trying to track me down?” Harry asked.  “Dad, why are you unhappy about that?  I mean, I know bribery’s wrong, but that doesn’t seem to be all that’s upset you.”

If only I was sure induce meant bribe, son.  Stephen stroked his beard as he considered his words.  “I never met the man, so I have only his method of placing you with the Dursleys to judge by.  And, well, that method did not convince me that he had your best interests in mind.”

Harry bit his lip in thought.  After a moment he said, “You promised to tell me the full story of my adoption when I started my wizard training.”

So I did… Stephen thought. 

“Is this Dumbledore what you meant?”

“He’s part of the story.”  He studied Harry, and the curious look in his eyes.  “And while you have some time before your training actually begins,” Harry’s shoulders slumped slightly, “I think I should go ahead and tell you tonight.” 

Excitement glittered in Harry’s eyes. 

---

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to work?” Sabrina asked Joe softly as they walked down Arcane Avenue.  Strange and the kids were a few steps ahead of them, the kids in front. Harry openly gawked at the sights as Liz explained them in the context of California’s magical communities.  Strange was composed, but his eyes also took in everything.  Joe didn’t need to do that; the avenue hadn’t changed that much in sixteen years.  His blurred memory rapidly came back.  “You now know that I secured my funds and our documentation without running into problems.”

“And I’m glad of that,” Joe admitted, as they passed a Byrnes’ Emporium. “But I can stick around a while.”

“You already have.”  Sabrina turned to face Joe.  “I won’t drop out of contact again.”  Joe wondered if he was really that transparent.  “If that’s what you truly want after everything I did.”

“Bree… Sabrina, you were fourteen and younger.  And I cost you a lot.”

Sabrina snorted.  “The Wizarding World’s lousy attitudes about squibs and the No-Maj World cost me.  I just blamed you.  And let Grandma Geraldine cast you out.”

“It sounded to me like you tried to talk her out of it.” Sabrina turned in surprise.  Joe gave her a wry grin.  “She never mentioned that I didn’t wait around for her to kick me out, did she?  I heard enough to know that she wouldn’t budge and didn’t trust that wouldn’t obliviate me into another person first.  And we did need her money for Mom’s treatment.”

“It didn’t do any good,” Sabrina said bitterly.  “Her injuries… We buried her next to Dad.”  Joe blinked back tears.  He’d suspected as much when his mother never contacted him.  Even if she’d been told Joe was obliviated, she’d have checked on him, but he’d hoped he had just never noticed her… 

“Grandma Geraldine forbade me from owling you.  As soon as I could support myself after Ilvermorny, I moved out and cut contact with her.  I’ve wanted to write to you since, but always felt too ashamed.  That I didn’t deserve you.”

Joe didn’t know what to say to Sabrina’s confession.  Part of him was angry that she had thought only of herself when she stayed out of contact.  But had she?  Their parents had moved them partially into the No-Maj World on the assumption that it was a better world for Joe to make his living in.  She could easily have assumed no contact was best for Joe.  Or thought he didn’t want contact, as he’d assumed about her. 

“And I was afraid that you wouldn’t want me.  I th—” Sabrina sighed.  “You were there when I needed you this morning, and I feel like I took the coward’s path about you until I did.”

It was Joe’s turn to sigh as they passed Taylor’s Tailoring.  “I missed you too.  And I never forgot where the public owlery was.  I told myself a clean break was better.  I’m not sure that’s true, anymore.”  Though the distance had made the in-your-face magic of the Wizarding World more wistful than painful.  Or perhaps that had been finding his path in life… “I—”

“Wait a moment,” Strange called to the kids as he stopped at the next shop.  Liz and Harry stopped and walked a couple steps back to the window Strange was looking at.  Joe and Sabrina passed the open door of what used to be a used bookshop and joined them.  The other side of the glass windows were lined with black cloth.  Large silver-lined purple paint read, Melvin’s Memory Marbles.  Smaller paint read, View your memories without removing them from your head!

Strange turned toward Sabrina.  “Why would anyone remove memories from their head?  Or wish to view their own memories?”

“Memories fade over time, and can be subjective.”  A purple-robed wizard stepped out of the shop door they had passed.  “The process of drawing a memory out sharpens it, allowing the witch or wizard to objectively examine it in a pensive for missed details.  However, the removed memory must then be replaced in the head or otherwise stored so as not to fade entirely.  My new marbles can sharpen and display memories like a pensive, without the need to remove them in the first place.  And that’s not all.”

The wizard, Melvin presumably, tossed a one-inch clear, colorless ball at Strange.  He automatically caught it.  The ball turned silver.  A cubic foot of air over it shimmered into grey mist.  The area then cleared into an image of two men walking up a stairwell.  On the right, was Strange in odd, navy blue robes with an abundance of leather belts.  A crimson cloak completed the ensemble.  Next to him, was a brown-haired man in navy blue hospital scrubs…

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance that they’re harmless?” Nicodemus West asked as they climbed the stairs to the roof of Metro-General hospital. 

“It’s unlikely that they’re completely harmless, but there’s a fair chance they don’t mean harm to us.  Just because we’ve had some violent visitors, lately—” A bleep interrupted Stephen who pulled his phone from his pocket.  A picture of stars and clouds filled the screen.  It read 09:45 Sat April 13 until he tapped the icon for the message from Wong.  Unknown.  *Don’t* antagonize them.  Stephen ignored Nic’s snort as he pocketed the phone. “I forwarded the pic you texted me to the rest of the Order.  So far no one knows anything about our guests.” 

The pair reached the top of the stairs.  Stephen pushed open the door to the roof.  They stepped out into the night.  New York’s skyscrapers and the 9/11 memorial lit up the night.  “How’d you know they were up here, anyway?” Strange asked as they walked past the industrial AC units.  Cigarette butts littered the roof.  “Take up smoking again?”

“Really?  Of all possible reasons—” They turned a corner and spotted the creatures Nic had contacted Stephen about.  About three feet high, they looked like birds with hot pink fur instead of feathers, and had vicious-looking beaks and claws.  All five stood facing each other in a small circle with a ball of green and violet energies swirling above them.  “They weren’t doing that before,” Nic said.  “What—”

“They’re raising mystical energy.”

“No shit, Sherlock.  What for?”

Stephen said, “I can’t tell without getting closer. Possibly not without disrupting them.”

“Why does that sound like a bad thing?”

“Because disrupting that much energy, even if it’s raised for benign reasons can be explosive.”

“And if their reasons aren’t benign?”

“Our best bet is for me to seize and ground the energy.  But that is a course I should only pursue if I know they’re hostile.”  Stephen began to slowly walk toward the birds.  “You might want to return to your office.”

Before he could take another step toward the birds, the closest one’s head exploded into a mist of blood and brain matter.  Sniper, he realized as he watched the bird’s body collapse into—and knock over—the bird on its left.  The ball of energies began to expand.  Stephen cursed and rushed forward, with his hands outstretched, orange energy around them.  The orange energy reached out and around the birds’ energy as the sniper killed the bird on the first’s right.  The remaining birds’ struggle to regain control of the energy interfered with Stephen’s attempts to seize it.  Desperately, he shifted his efforts to containment.

The bird that had been knocked down, stood.  With a screech it rushed at Strange.  Another bird died, leaving just one and Strange holding the energy.  Suddenly, Nic West was between Strange and the rushing bird.  The bird slashed him with a large claw.  “Nic!” Stephen called as his former colleague fell to the roof.

The energy ball exploded outward. 

The bird and Nic West vanished as the area filled with multi-colored light.  Stephen felt like the cloak was fighting a hurricane, when suddenly, the energy was gone.  He stood on top of the day-lit roof of Metro-General, and looked around him.  The skyline had changed, the most notable being the Twin Towers standing to the south.

Several portals opened around him on the roof.  Stephen held his hands up as sorcerers surrounded him. “So was I blasted into an alternate universe, or yeeted back before September 11, 2001…?”

 Joe blinked as the scene fell away into grey mist before the orb was inactive in Strange’s hand.  Melvin looked shaken.  “I’m sorry sir,” he said, “in the absence of active magic, they’re supposed to pick a happy memory to display.  But…”  He looked around the street.  “Maybe we should take this into my shop.”

The group had not attracted attention from any of the crowd, except maybe some grumbling as they were stepped around, but Joe was inclined to agree.  It was best the authorities not get word of that memory.  Sabrina nodded and stepped into the store.

---

Stephen’s hands hurt.  They always did, in that dull not-strong-enough-for-ibuprofen way, but this Melvin had thrown the ball harder than Stephen had thought.  He had not redirected any of the dimensional energy he used to steady his hands to cushion the blow.  So now his hands screamed at him, as he tried to keep them steady without the energy that activated the damn still-silver marble. 

He did not keep them steady enough, given the concerned glances Harry gave him.

Stephen silently counted as he followed the group into the store.  The windows that appeared to be blocked with cloth from the outside were completely transparent from the inside. The register was on the glass display case in front of the window, just a couple feet from the door.  All the better to waylay unsuspecting pedestrians, Stephen thought. 

The rest of the shop held more glass cases, holding a variety of marbles in decorative boxes.  A poster on the back wall said: Don’t lose your marbles!  Keep your memories together.

“Your marbles record the memories they play?” Sabrina Maxwell asked sharply.

Melvin looked distinctly uncomfortable.  “Well, yes.  People might want to share memories, after all.  But the marbles can be erased!”  He said hastily.  “It just takes some doing, and most people may want to sort through several memories.”

“Perhaps,” Stephen said, trying not to let his full annoyance show, “someone could explain what about my memory has you spooked.  It’s not a pleasant one, but that doesn’t explain your reactions.”

Joe Maxwell cleared his throat.  “If I remember correctly, MACUSA has strict laws about meddling with time without authorization.”

“Authorization?” Stephen repeated in disbelief.  Aside from the very bureaucratic way that sounded, “No one should meddle with time.”  As he felt a phantom of several impalements at Dormammu’s hands, everyone stared at him.  Stephen resolutely shoved the memories away.  Creating that time-loop was the exception that saved the Earth, damn it.  “Hey, I was trying to prevent that shockwave, not ride it.”

“We get that,” Sabrina Maxwell said.  “But your interaction with this time means that you have changed things.”

Stephen snorted.  “That shockwave changed more than I could hope to.”  He hated getting into this, but he could only hope the truth calmed them—or at least convinced them the future was wide-open.  “I was blasted into ’79, but I have an eidetic—what’s commonly called photographic—memory.   There are historical changes at least another forty years before my arrival.  While most are just events happening on different dates, others are entirely different events.  And as time goes on, the differences grow.”

“Right,” Sabrina Maxwell said flatly.  “Unless you want to explain that ad nauseam, keep the time travel quiet.  MACUSA’s reach is long.”

Well, he was supposed to keep Harry anonymous, and Stephen supposed the Ancient One would not appreciate him fighting his way away from the wizard's officials.  “Got it.”  He turned to Melvin.  “You said something about deleting the recorded memory?”

“Uh, right.”  He pulled his wand from his sleeve, and touched the tip to the marble.  After a minute the silver color faded until the marble was colorless again.  Melvin stepped back and wiped his brow.  He then held out a hand.  Stephen handed him the marble, and then steadied his hands.  “Can I ask about the magic you used?  It’s not standard Wizarding fair.”

Stephen was tempted to just say “No, it’s not” and leave.  He sighed.  “I’m a sorcerer.  We stayed in the greater world when you wizards established your separation.”

Melvin’s eyes widened.  “No-maj’s are aware of magic?”

“Not currently.  The future was... complicated.  And I knew Nic West personally.”

Melvin looked ready to press the matter when Harry asked, “Mister, can your marbles retrieve memories from babyhood?”

Melvin frowned.  “I don’t know.  In theory, yes, but you need an idea of the memory, and infantile amnesia is strong.  It depends on the stories one has been told.  Their details and accuracy mainly.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped.  “Your birth parents?” Stephen asked softly as he suppressed a scowl. 

Harry nodded.  “It’s not that I don’t love you, Dad—”

“Hey, you have the right to know what they were like.  It’s just what you most know is their murder.  That’s not a memory you want.” 

“Oh.”  Harry focused down at the floor. 

“Was it his first birthday?” Liz asked. Stephen looked at her.  “When they died.  You said it’d been nine years since they died, and he’s nearly eleven.  That suggests his first birthday was with them.  He could concentrate on presents or the like.”  She trailed off and looked like she wanted to hide behind her mother.  Stephen sighed and turned to Melvin.

“How much?”

---

Harry was quiet that evening after Stephen finished his story.  “You okay?”  They sat on a blue and green plaid couch in their tan family room. 

“Yeah,” Harry said.  “It’s just… a lot.”  He kicked his feet against the floor as he stared at them.  “Do you know what this prophecy says?”

Stephen shook his head.  “It’s only important insofar as Dumbledore and this Voldemort value it.  Prophecy’s are merely a snapshot of a future constantly in flux.  Plenty never come to pass—for all we know, you were to be the cause of Voldemort’s downfall, which happened because he came after you and botched his ritual.”

“But he believes there’s more, so I’ll have to face him someday.”  The Cloak floated over and wrapped around Harry in a hug. 

“If they find you before he’s neutralized.”

“They?”  Harry turned to Stephen, puzzlement on his face.  His green eyes widened.  “Dumbledore believes it too.  You think he’d reveal my location to force a confrontation?”

“I don’t know, but I prefer to act as if he will and be wrong than vice versa.”

Harry nodded and turned back to the floor.  “This is why you’ve had me studying meditation and the Order’s fighting style, isn’t?  To protect myself if I’m found.”

“In part.  There are other threats out there, and it helps if you can delay until help comes.  I also have a spell on you to alert me if you’re in danger.  Neither are a guarantee you won’t get hurt, but I’m trying to ensure that you are as safe as possible while still having a childhood.”

Harry brought his stocking feet up on the couch and hugged his knees. The Cloak adjusted to wrap around all of him. “We’re not telling the Maxwells this, are we?  I like Liz and all, but we just met.”

Stephen sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa.  “I don’t know,” he said as he stared at the ceiling.  “It’s likely you’ll have your wizard training with Liz, and my instants say they can be trusted, but you’re far more important to me than sparing their feelings.  And the more who know about you, the likelier this’ll get out, even if they don’t spill the beans.  On the other hand, they could be allies…  I think we’re going to wait and see.”

“Allies?”

“We don’t know much about wizards,” Stephen said.  “But at least the British ones seem to think their government trumps non-magical law.  If they find out about you before you’re of age, we want to be able to push back if they try to seize custody of you.”  He turned and met his son’s worried eyes.  “I won’t let them of course.  But fighting them should be a last resort.” 

Harry lurched at him, and wrapped his arms around Stephen.  Guess he’s not too old for parental hugs after all, he thought as he hugged back.  At least not at home, he added wryly as he imagined this scene at the bus stop.

“Doesn’t matter what they do or want,” Harry said.  “You’re my dad now.  Always.”

Monday, July 31, 1989

“Why would you want a job with us?” Joe blurted as he read Catherine Chandler’s résumé.

The woman in front of him looked unimpressed. Tom Gunther’s very much alive girlfriend—she’d turned up shortly after her disappearance hit the papers, and boy did Joe now wish he knew the details of that—had brown hair that hung loose in front of her left ear and brushed back behind her right. Her blue eyes were serious and focused. Joe was no expert in women’s fashion, but her clothes looked as current and expensive as he’d expect from a socialite.

“Sorry, but we don’t get very many grads from your schools here. And fewer who’ve already worked corporate law. You realize this is a pay cut?”

“I find corporate law lacks meaning. I believe I can do some good here.”

If that wasn’t rich girl logic, Joe didn’t know what was. He’d have never come to the DA’s office if firms the likes of Chandler & Prasker didn’t sneer at his Westfield Law diploma. Still, if she were any good, they could use her help. Joe said, “Well then, I’d better get this to Moreno. You can wait over here, Radcliffe.”

He took several steps before he realized that he’d called her by her undergrad’s name, rather than her surname. Oh well, I could have called her worse…

---

Joe sighed as he finally returned to his apartment. It had been a long day, even for a Monday. And to top it off, he was late. Stephen had assured him that it was fine when he called, but he was still late.

Truth be told, Joe was still a little confused at how he wound up a guest at Harry Strange’s birthday dinner. With Sabrina tutoring the kids in the afternoons and evenings, Joe had found himself over at the Stranges’ on the nights he got home early enough. The next thing Joe knew he was rapidly becoming a friend of the handsome neighbor he’d barely nodded at for four years. He’d even picked up some meditation tips from Stephen to help shield his mind. Joe didn’t get headaches from too much magic in the No-Maj World, but the new mental discipline had made his office feel quieter.

He entered his apartment just long enough to shed his tie, briefcase, and suit jacket before he grabbed Harry’s gift—a book on magical sports and a couple packs of baseball cards—before he went to the Strange’s apartment. The Cloak of Levitation opened the door for him the minute he raised his hand to knock. He awkwardly thanked it as he stepped into the apartment.

Growing up in the Wizarding World, especially as the son of a Brooklyn Auror, he’d been taught to be leery of objects that thought for themselves. Even portraits were suspect if you didn’t know the person in the portrait. But the Cloak… as Joe got to know it, the friendlier and less threatening it became.

Liz and Harry sat in front of the TV, a video game system in front of them. Harry seemed to be talking Liz through a game that involved penguins cracking ice blocks to get an egg down a maze. Joe followed the Cloak into the kitchen. The scent of cooked cheese filled the air, along with spices that made Joe think of fall. He was just in time to see Stephen pull a pumpkin pie out of the oven and set it to cool next to a Lasagna. Stephen turned and saw Joe staring at it. “The birthday boy’s dinner and cake requests,” he said with amusement.

“Ah.” Joe nodded and set his gift in the middle of the Stranges’ round kitchen table. Truth be told he wasn’t fond of pumpkin pie—even the unspiced pumpkin pie that his college girlfriend once made for him. She had been correct that it was the spice he was thinking of when he had told her he didn’t like pumpkin, though.

And took his assertion that he still didn’t like pumpkin way too personally.

“It’ll take a couple of minutes to toast the garlic bread, and then dinner will be served,” Stephen said as Joe gave Sabrina a hug.

“Great. I was afraid I’d keep you all from it.”

“You’re not that late,” Liz said as she and Harry wandered into the kitchen. “What kept you though?”

“I had to show a new hire some things.” Joe said as Harry washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

“That’s great!” Sabrina said. “I know you’re short handed.”

“Yeah, hopefully she’ll work out.” Joe pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

“You don’t sound hopeful,” Liz said.

Joe sighed. “She comes from money,” the frown Liz got reminded Joe that, technically, his niece did too, “and says she wants to do good. Which, if true, she’ll be fantastic. It’s just the last two like that didn’t work out. It’s not fair to judge her judge her by them, so we’re giving her a chance, but it’s not hard to feel cautious. We’ll find out soon enough.”

Liz frowned. “What does coming from money have to do with it?”

Joe sighed. “The schools rich no-majs attend open the door to jobs that start off paying more than we ever will. So, when someone who already worked a couple years at one of those jobs apply, either they’re committed to doing good—or at least being able to say they do good—or they’re just not that good an employee. I will say Chandler had a better focus on getting down the ropes than the one who polished her nails every day, so she has that going for her.”

Liz nodded at that and went to the sink. Joe caught Sabrina’s gaze where she sat at the table. She clearly wanted to say something, but she just turned her to Harry as the boy sat across from her. She asked about the pizza party the boy had had with school friends on Saturday.

“It was great!” Harry said. “The restaurant had a Pac-Man machine and Angelo beat the high score! And—Whoa!”

A ball of flames erupted over the table. When it vanished, a red and gold bird the size and shape of a peacock landed on top of Joe’s gift. It dropped an envelope from its beak in front of Harry. Liz slowly approached the table from the sink.

“Are you a phoenix?” Joe asked as he stared at the bird. He’d read about them as a kid, but he never thought he’d see one. The bird bobbed its head as Harry reached toward the envelope.

“Don’t,” Stephen said. Harry jumped and turned to him as waved his hands and orange glyphs appeared in front of him. “There are spells on it. A desire to trust the sender.” At Stephen’s words, Sabrina pulled out her wand from an arm sheath that returned to invisibility the minute she had the wand free. “And something about location.”

Sabrina waved her wand in her own diagnostics. “A tracking spell. Set to go off when the letter’s opened. “I can dispel both spells without activating them.”

“Please do,” Stephen said.

Sabrina waved her wand in a more complex motion and the letter glowed yellow for a minute. “It’s safe now.”

Harry picked the letter up. “Mr. H. Potter. Unknown room. Unknown address.” He looked up puzzled. “Who’d send me a letter to my birth name, now? And want me to trust them? That’s creepy.”

“We’ll have to open it to see,” Stephen held out a hand. “I can do it if you want.” Harry handed the letter to Stephen without a word.

Sabrina gasped as she saw back of the envelope. “That’s the Hogwarts crest!”

“He can’t go to Hogwarts!” Liz exclaimed.

“He’s not,” Stephen said at the same tine Harry said “I’m not.”.

The phoenix cried indignantly and crushed Joe’s gift with its talons. Then it leapt into the air, straight for Harry. It had almost grasped the boy’s shoulders when bursts of red and orange light hit it. The bird burst into another ball of flames—

And fell to the table as a pile of ash.

“Did you kill it?” Liz asked.

“That was a stunner,” Sabrina said as Stephen said, “That shouldn’t have.”

Angry chirps filled the room as a chick’s head popped out of the top of the ash pile. The bird glared back and forth between Stephen and Sabrina as it chewed them out.

“Right.” Sabrina said weakly. “Phoenix.” She turned to Stephen. “But we’ll want to be careful about mixing our spells from now on.”

“Agreed.”

“But why would the phoenix even attack me?” Harry asked. “They’re herbivores with healing powers.”

“They also make fanatically loyal pets,” Joe said. “Though given the timing…” He locked his eyes on Stephen’s. “Why is Harry attending Hogwarts important enough that someone would try to kidnap him?”

“Not sure.” Stephen slid a scarred forefinger under the wax seal. “But I have a strong idea of who feels that desperate.” He pulled out a stack of parchment. “Acceptance letter…” He tossed the letter aside. “Supply list… Huh. We might want to see if any of the books are useful.” He set the list in front of him. One last slip of parchment remained. Stephen read it, front and back. He flipped it over and back again while he muttered something that sounded like “The fuck?” under his breath. Sabrina opened her mouth to say something when Stephen began reading aloud:

“Dear Petunia,

“I apologize for the magicalness of this delivery. Unfortunately, the wards I erected based on Lily’s sacrifice have left owls unable to find Harry after your rather rapid move. It truly warms an old man’s heart how thoroughly you must have taken the boy in. I have never seen or expected anything like it.

“That said, I can’t believe you were so reckless as to move. You had no way of knowing if the protections would move with you—”

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“Language!” Stephen said.

“Sorry, Dad.” Harry sounded neither sorry nor scolded. “But if that’s Dumbledore, he never told my aunt there were protections! How could he expect that they wouldn’t move?”

“Maybe he thought it was obvious that he would lay them,” Stephen said and he turned back to the letter. “Indeed, not all of the protections moved with you. How could you risk him so?

“Please respond via Fawkes as soon as possible. It is a matter of his own safety that Harry attend Hogwarts this fall. I would hate to have to remove Harry from your custody, when he has found such a loving home.

“Also, your move invalidated my ability to procure Harry’s trust payments for you. Please contact me to reestablish the proxy.

“Sincerely,

“Albus Dumbledore.”

“Well,” Stephen said as he set the letter down. “That raises more questions for me than answers.” He glanced at Joe and Sabrina. “Though, I need to explain some things, if Dumbledore’s gone from placing Harry without his aunt’s consent to potential kidnapper.”

---

“Yeah,” Joe said as he handed the note that had been left with Harry back to Stephen. The party had relocated to the family room, with a silencing spell on the kitchen with the still-furious phoenix chick on the table. “If Liz had been left with me under such circumstances and that explanation, my first action would be to look for a job that relocated us out of the country.” He glanced at Sabrina. “I’d have kept her, but if I knew a sorcerer, I wonder if he’d keep her safer from these Death Eaters.”

“Actually, his aunt was more worried about her husband attempting to beat the magic out of Harry.” That statement clearly alarmed both the Maxwell siblings more than Stephen had expected. He didn’t press the issue as he returned the letter and documentation to his lockbox. “The question now,” Stephen gave a significant glance to the kitchen where the phoenix and their uneaten food sat. “Is what to do about Dumbledore—and if he’ll be a threat to more than Harry.” He turned to face Sabrina. The woman had yet to say anything, but her rage was palpable. “I would never have proposed joint tutoring without mentioning this, if I thought Harry was at any substantial risk.”

“Yeah, I figured,” the woman said tightly. “But she’s been seen by the phoenix, so it’s too little too late.”

“You think the phoenix will go after her if it can’t get Harry?” Joe asked. Stephen winced at the thought.

“Dumbledore is a known Legilimens,” Sabrina said. “I think he’ll take the image of all of us out of the bird’s mind the minute it returns. After what I’ve heard tonight, I don’t trust Dumbledore not to try to act through us.”

Stephen sighed. “Right. So, I need to adjust my protections to block phoenixes as well as unknown wizards. Hopefully, they’re all similar enough in signature to the one in there. Anyway, anything else I need to adjust for?”.

Sabrina waved her wand and a pulse of wizard magic bounced off of Stephen’s wards. “House elves… Maybe. You’re close, but not quite on the range wizard wards against them operate. I can layer the protections I know with yours… Secure Joe’s and my own places… It’s out of the apartment, I’m worried about.”

Stephen nodded, unsurprised. “I was thinking I’d need to make an anti-phoenix amulet for Harry. Probably obsidian. Can you work with that? Or do you need something else? I’ll buy the necessary supplies for five amulets. In the meantime…” Stephen glanced at the kitchen as he grabbed a notebook. “Phoenixes live on mountaintops, correct?”

“Yes, but…”

Stephen hastily scrawled out a note. “'I’m Petunia’s distant cousin and have already made schooling arrangements',” he said as he wrote. “I doubt that’ll deter him, but I doubt anything will. I’ll be ready to plan and enact the new protections after a quick jaunt to Everest.”

The Cloak wrapped itself around Stephen’s shoulders as he walked back into the kitchen.

“What’s a house elf?” Harry asked. “How are they different from regular elves?”

Joe scowled. This would not be an easy thing to explain. Though the Stranges already knew that the Wizarding World was deeply flawed.

“I don’t know if there ever were regular elves,” Sabrina said. “House elves…” she trailed off.

“They’re slaves,” Liz said bluntly. “Under a species-specific enchantment. It binds them into service of their masters, and compels them to fear freedom. Too many who find any mind-control magic abhorrent against humans think house elf slavery is okay because ‘they like it’. But it’s only because they’re forced to.” Liz’s hands were clenched and she glanced at her mother sheepishly. “Sorry, but you were taking too long.”

Sabrina gave her a fond smile. “You did well enough.”

---

Joe had just finished handing Chandler her research assignment when a knock sounded on his open door. He looked up and saw one of the secretaries, Jasmine. “There’s a Sabrina Maxwell here to see you?”

Joe blinked. “My sister,” he said.

“Told you,” Sabrina said from behind Jasmine. She pushed her way around the other woman.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked as he caught a glimpse of her face and eyes tight with worry. He stood up and walked around his cluttered desk, then looked at Chandler. “Uh…”

Whatever her motives for joining the DA’s office, she was quicker on the uptake than the nail polish Olympian. “I should get started,” she clutched the files to her chest as she rose from the chair in front of his desk. “When did you need this?”

“As soon as possible,”

“Right. Will do.” She asked Jasmine to show her something on the way out of the room, and closed the door behind Sabrina.

Joe hugged his sister. “What’s up?” His brand-new amulet—hidden against his heart—tickled his senses as it got close to Sabrina’s. “Is this about last night?”

Sabrina sighed. “I’m still annoyed at Stephen, even though all he did was act to keep his kid safe. But no… It’s Liz. She’s not socialized with anyone her own age except Harry since we relocated. Even if Harry weren’t determined to keep up his no-maj schooling, that’s not healthy. Since we’re arranging tutoring around his school schedule anyway, I’ve looked into how to add her to the district register. I also looked up the curriculum. Was it hard to catch up with science at that age? How much extra studying did that take?”

Joe sighed as he grabbed a rubber band off his desk. He stretched and rolled it around his hands as he thought back. “Science was always my toughest subject,” he said. “Math and English just always made more sense. I think that has as much to do with my aptitudes than lack of a science foundation in my wizard schooling. You’re worried about overloading Liz?”

Sabrina nodded. “She doesn’t need the no-maj grades the way some do, but she’s an achiever. I’m worried that if she doesn’t do well at everything, it’ll hurt her.”

“Sometimes we learn more from our failures than successes.” Joe pulled the rubber band too hard. It broke and snapped against his left hand. He shook it as he asked, “Have you talked with Liz about this?”

Sabrina nodded. “She doesn’t want to be alone in the apartment while I’m working and Harry’s at school, but she’s not enthusiastic about making new friends.”

“Maybe see how she feels about studying ahead. Get a feel for how much help she’d need with science.”

---

“Well, Mister Strange,” Ragnuk of Ragnuk & Ricberts, the law firm Freyun recommended, said, “currently, the law is on your side as wizarding law recognizes no-maj custody. And you’re in the jurisdiction of MACUSA so technically any British custody orders are invalid without going through our courts.”

“Technically?”

The goblin grimaced. “Albus Dumbledore has something of a cult of personality around him. An overzealous Auror may well try to enforce a British order without going through the proper channels. I recommend discreetly registering the adoption with MACUSA so that any attempted actions against the boy’s birth name are flagged. Should Dumbledore then sue for custody in MACUSA, our firm would be glad to represent you. The question is do you want representation for any action he takes in Britain’s Wizengamot?”

Stephen leaned back in his chair and studied the goblin. “What advantage is there to that?”

“Little, as Britain is Dumbledore’s power base. Even if you win there, you will have revealed the boy’s location, and his next move will be to sue you here.”

Stephen shook his head. “My priority is my son’s safety. I just want the law on my side if he is found out. How soon can you register the adoption, and how much to retain you personally if Dumbledore does take things to MACUSA’s courts?”

Ragnuk gave him a toothy grin. “My fees are reasonable. Though you will find wizard attitudes toward goblins in court less so. Fortunately, one of our human associates would be perfect for this case. Let me check her schedule, see if she can meet with us…”

---

Stephen sighed as he left Ragnuk & Ricberts. He would breathe easier when the adoption was discretely filed with MACUSA. He had the full might of the Order behind him if Dumbledore tried anything too egregious. But every extra layer of insurance could only help.

He walked down Arcane Avenue to the bookstore. At the least, acquiring the Hogwarts booklist would give them an idea of how the curriculum compares to Ilvermorny, which Sabrina based her Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration lessons on. An act that their Potions and Herbology tutor or tutors would likely follow.

If we ever find anyone.

So far their ad had garnered lackluster response. Apparently magic tutors, quality ones anyway, expected wealthy wizards, not “No-majs who can’t let go”. They did get a promising letter the other day. One Julia Pulaski had the qualifications for both subjects and was willing to work around the school schedule. Stephen and Sabrina were meeting her tomorrow.

Stephen slipped into the store and grabbed a basket. He absently walked the shelves, looking for his targets. He found the Charms section with The Standard Book of Spells—by the wrong author, no grade 1 listed. They did have Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, though. He grabbed the book, and after a moment’s hesitation, grabbed the other charms book.

On the way to the Transfiguration section was Fiction, an organization that still made no sense to Stephen. He planned to just pass through when a display caught his eye. Deep Blue by Sabrina Byrnes. He hummed as he picked it up. Sabrina had mentioned that she had just submitted her last manuscript when she switched the vaults her payments went to. She had also been voraciously reading fiction to get a better feel for the mundane world. Why not the same in reverse?

Stephen picked up the paperback book and read the blurb:

Set during the settling of the American west, Jane is a no-majborn witch who dreams of making it big in duel shows. She refines her show-spells endlessly with no time for love. Then the handsome Percy Blane crashes into her life. Now the pair are on a mission to locate and retrieve a priceless relic stolen by a no-maj gang before the Statute of Secrecy is broken…

Huh, Stephen thought. Then he shrugged and put the book in his basket. If nothing else, it would give him an idea of what apparently sells in the Wizarding World. He turned to browse the other titles in the fiction section. He shouldn’t get too many, but a few more wouldn’t break his budget.

---

September came and went with little fanfare. The New York Ghost did report on Harry Potter’s failure to start Hogwarts, but it was a small blurb that apparently attracted little interest among The Ghost’s readers.

The Ancient One had assured Stephen that that was not the case overseas. The Daily Prophet had questioned the boy’s absence, and published numerous letters containing various ideas or conspiracy theories. The most popular was that Dumbledore was home schooling the boy, which raised questions about Hogwarts’ quality.

Oddly enough, Dumbledore released no statements. Ragnuk suspected that he didn’t want to admit to losing the “Boy-Who-Lived” before he had to. Stephen didn’t care, so long as it kept him from Harry. He feared the day that he opened a paper that declared his kid kidnapped.

It was early November when that fear came true—for Sabrina.

It was the first Saturday when Julia Pulaski, a stout woman with short, gray hair, showed up to her tutoring session with a tabloid. She shoved it at Sabrina and said, “Explain this.”

Sabrina took the paper and read the read the cover. Her face paled as she flipped to the third page. After a minute, she handed the page off to Stephen. She turned to Pulaski. “Do you really think that if I were out to control Liz, I’d let her go to no-maj school or take lessons from you?” Stephen looked at the paper—Witch’s Voice—and quickly read the article.

Byrnes Heiress: Kidnapped or In Hiding?

Marcus Byrnes’ daughter was to start Ilvermorny this fall. Little note was made of her failure to show. People just assumed Byrnes hired tutors or sent her overseas. That changed when he got into a duel with his younger brother, Julius, at the Byrnes’ annual Halloween benefit gala. The Byrnes family refused to comment on the duel or its reason.

Guests, however, claim that a screaming match erupted between the brothers prior to their duel. Julius allegedly called Marcus an abusive moron that didn’t deserve children and said that if asked, he could have told Marcus that the girl was not a squib.

One can only surmise that the girl was Marcus’ daughter, Lizbet. Young Lizbet and her mother, popular romance novelist Sabrina Byrnes, were noticeably absent from the gala. Inquiries with their neighbors reveal that neither have been seen since April. Marcus Byrnes told them that Sabrina had run off with Liz. An Auror report was not filed until late July, when an Ilvermorny representative, likely assistant principal Julius Byrnes, would have noticed the failure to deliver young Lizbet’s letter. This reporter can personally attest that powerful anti-owl wards are on both Lizbet and Sabrina Byrnes.

What could have happened in the Byrnes house that the wife would take these steps? Is Julius Byrnes correct in asserting that his brother was abusive to his presumed squib daughter? Did Sabrina take desperate measures to protect her daughter? Or does she seek more control over the Byrnes fortune by being the only one to guide her development? The former Miss Maxwell was originally a cashier at a Byrnes’ Emporium before she married up. Perhaps she’s grown unhappy with just a wife’s allowance.

Anyone who has seen either Lizbet or Sabrina Byrnes, please contact your nearest Auror Department. Below are pictures of each, frozen for convenience.

The pictures were old, but accurate enough to Liz and Sabrina’s current appearances. Stephen sighed and set the paper on his end table.

“Hell,” Sabrina continued as the kids wandered over from the kitchen. “Do you think I’d let her carry her wand around New York?”

“I suppose not,” the retired school teacher said. “But why remain in hiding? If he were concerned the girl was a squib, why not return when you had proof of magic?”

“Liz having magic does not erase what he did.” As Sabrina spoke, Stephen saw Liz pick up the paper.

“Then divorce him. It’s not fair to keep her from her potential as a pureblood.”

“My potential as a witch will never flourish if a divorce forces me under the roof of the man who nearly killed me.” Both Sabrina and Pulaski jumped. It seemed neither had noted Liz’s approach. “I asked not to attend a school.”

“Surely you exaggerate your father’s actions—”

“He banished me into a pool and held me down with his wand. Only my magic kept the water in my lungs from drowning me. But that’s not flashy, so he held me down until Mom found us and cursed him. I will not return to him, whatever you do.”

Pulaski sighed and looked at Sabrina. “And the no-maj school?”

“She needs socialization,” Sabrina said at the same time Liz said, “It blends me in.”.

Pulaski hummed softly. “And how did you come to team up with Stephen?” Her voice held a suspicion that Stephen didn’t like.

Harry scoffed. “It’s not Sabrina my dad likes.”

“My brother lives next door.” Sabrina said levelly. “You’ve seen him here before.”

“The squib? Hmm. Yes, that makes sense.” Pulaski closed her eyes and sighed. “I’ll keep your secret,” she said after a long moment. She opened her eyes and turned to the children. “Now, we’d best get started.”

---

“Can we trust her?” Liz asked after lessons ended and Pulaski had departed.

Sabrina sighed. She exchanged a worried look with Joe where he and Stephen sat on the sofa. He’d come by an hour before lessons ended and had been brought up to speed. “We don’t have much choice,” she admitted as she stood up from her chair. The Cloak of Levitation ceased its throw blanket imitation and floated off the couch. “We’re more likely to be found if we try to relocate. Hey,” she wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, “whatever happens you’ll be all right.”

Liz pulled out of her mother’s reach. “I meant what I said about not returning to him.”

“Liz, honey…” Sabrina’s heart sank as the Cloak gave Liz a quick hug. “I can’t promise anything, but we’ll face whatever comes together.”

For as long as possible, Sabrina thought glumly.

“Who drew up the contract?” Joe asked. Sabrina looked at him in confusion. “The pre-marriage contract—”

“Duh,” Sabrina said, annoyed. “Why are you asking?”

“I’ve been reading up on wizarding law. I’m by no means an expert, but not all contracts are unbreakable. Now if Ragnuk & Ricberts drew it, they can’t review it—conflict of interest—but if not, it might be worth having them take a look.”

“That…” Sabrina bit her lip as she mulled it over. “That might work, except I don’t have a copy of the contract in my vault. And the last thing I want to do is get spotted at a law firm if Pulaski does keep silent.”

“I think she will, at least for a while,” Stephen said. “She was disturbed by Liz’s account of the drowning.”

“She was also disturbed by a pureblood out of the Wizarding World,” Liz muttered. “Like, my being here was okay when she assumed I was half-blood. And I don’t like how she called Uncle Joe ‘the squib’.”

“We don’t have to like her for you to learn from her,” Sabrina said. “And we’ll plan for the possibility that she does tell. Would the contract be filed with MACUSA?”

“It might be,” Joe said. “Or it could be somewhere in the Byrnes’ possession. Perhaps they only intended to file it in the event of a divor—Did you read the whole contract?” he asked sharply.

Sabrina nodded. “I wasn’t quite stupid enough to sign without reading.”

“Then a memory marble should tell us the exact wording.”

---

The minute Stephen finished explaining things on Tuesday, Ragnuk threw back his head and laughed. “I heard that sorcerers in the Wizard-World brought interesting times, but I had no idea. We’d gladly take a case against the Byrnes family, though I must first double-check that we didn’t write that contract. I don’t think we did, but as their in-house council specializes in business, it would have been smart for them to go elsewhere. Provided there is no conflict, I’d gladly meet your friend to discuss taking her on as a client. Let’s make an appointment for me to drop by your place in a couple days.”

---

Joe was exhausted from a long day at work. As he walked through his building’s lobby, he saw a short man waiting for an elevator. His eyes practically slid right off him, but then Joe registered the magical core. He looked again, and realized that he approached a goblin with a see-nothing-unusual charm active. Huh. So, this was Ragnuk. The elevator opened as Joe stopped to wait, and the two entered. Joe pushed the fourth floor button.

The goblin got off first and confidently turned to the hall approaching Joe’s—and Stephen’s—apartment. He seemed to be following a beacon that Joe could feel but not see. The goblin slowed when he realized Joe was behind him.

“I’m in 412,” Joe said. “And I think you’re meeting my sister next door.”

The goblin raised an eyebrow. “You see me.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m told I’m not an ordinary squib.”

“No,” the goblin said thoughtfully. “No, you are not. We should talk sometime.” He held out a hand. “Ragnuk, son of Bogrod.”

Joe clasped the hand without hesitation. “Joe Maxwell.” Something niggled Joe’s brain about goblin formality. “Valerian Josiah Maxwell, in full,” he added.

Ragnuk beamed. “Pleased to meet you, Josiah. Would you be the same Valerian Josiah Maxwell with the Mundane District Attorney’s office?”

Joe blinked. “I would.” And damn if his full name didn’t garner more than a few double-takes and questions in the no-maj courts—or daily life.

“You prosecuted an embezzlement case a couple years ago that was against the former employee of a Gringotts mundane subsidiary. I didn’t get to see the case myself, but my partner, Ricberts, was impressed.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “The Peterson case. I wondered why there were wizards and goblins in the gallery.”

“It’s not often that mundane criminal law intersects with the Wizarding World. The case drew legal interest. And, of course, Gringotts wasn’t happy with the embezzlement. I am curious, though. My understanding is that mundane law often offers lesser sentences for a guilty plea. How is it determined what goes to trial?”

“It depends. In Peterson’s case, he rejected the offer.”

“Well, that was foolish of him.”

Joe shrugged. “The case was strong, but some people just can’t bring themselves to admit guilt, no matter how overwhelming the evidence. Other times, they feel the odds are worth the roll of the dice. Does the Wizarding World never plea bargain?”

The door to Stephen’s apartment opened and Stephen stepped out. “You might want to continue the conversation, under wards,” he said, clearly amused.

---

While Sabrina conferred with Ragnuk under privacy wards in the kitchen, Joe sat on the couch with Stephen. His briefcase and tie sat on the floor to the right of the couch. The kids were on the floor playing video games. They seemed to be trying to clear columns of jewels. The Cloak of Levitation was hovering behind the kids, apparently engrossed in the game.

After catching up on each other’s day, Joe and Stephen lapsed into a companionable silence. Stephen read a novel while Joe pulled a legal pad and the Carson deposition out of his briefcase. Cathy Chandler had done a thorough job of it. In fact, it seems to have sealed the case against Sipowicz. Joe scribbled notes down on his legal pad as he thought of his next moves.

The silence from the kitchen ended with the sound of chairs sliding back. Joe stowed his work in his briefcase as Sabrina and Ragnuk entered the family room. The goblin bid them farewell and left.

“How’d it go?” Liz asked.

Sabrina sighed and sat on the couch. “He doesn’t think the contract can be easily broken, but he thinks there’s a chance. He did point out that it doesn’t specify that your father gets custody, just that I don’t. We can appeal to your uncle or grandmother to seek custody.”

“But I’d still have to see him!” Liz protested. “Just because Uncle Julius is mad at him, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t let him see me.”

“That doesn’t mean he would either.”

Liz scowled and folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to leave New York,” she muttered. “I like it here.”

“What about me?” Joe asked.

“You’re one of the reasons I like it here.”

“I meant could I seek custody? Being a squib it’d be a tough sell, but if you wish it, they could go for it. And if not, it would delay things.”

Sabrina frowned. “Are you sure you’re ready to take on guardianship of a kid? It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I know. But I’d do it if something happened to you. Look, I’m not saying you have to agree here, but it’s worth thinking about.”

Sabrina nodded thoughtfully.

“Why is it such a big deal that you’re a squib?” Liz asked. “I mean, it’s basically the same as no-maj, and I know wizards don’t like them either, but… it seems different.”

Joe sighed. “It is different. Wizarding society is built on the presumption of superiority. No-maj born wizards don’t challenge the status quo the way squibs do. We remind them that even the pureblood lines may lose magic. That… is a threat that makes a squib a family’s greatest shame to far to many people.” Joe stared at the floor as he thought back.

Sabrina nudged his foot with hers. “Grandma Geraldine doesn’t know what she missed out on.”

Joe scoffed. “I don’t think she’s cares. But… I’m glad you two do.”

---

“Did you always want to be a romance writer?” Harry asked Sabrina over dinner one January evening.

Sabrina glanced at him, as she spooned corn onto her plate. “I always liked making up stories,” she said. “I wasn’t always sure I wanted to do the work of perfecting them to share,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t just not, if that makes any sense. As far as the romance part, it sells well in the Wizarding World—the No-Maj World too, though the bodice-rippers I’ve read are a different beast than what I’ve crafted.” Across the table, Joe blushed. Sabrina supposed it was the thought of his baby sister reading—or writing—explicit sex. “I’m actually looking into the fantasy market here and trying to figure out if I could try to publish something under that umbrella that wouldn’t be considered a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Why do you ask?”

Harry shrugged. “I read Deep Blue yesterday, and I wondered what it takes for a person to decide they wanted to do that for living—We’d had to write a short story for Language Arts class, and it was harder than I thought it’d be. A full book of that… It seemed like you must have really wanted to tell that story.”

“I guess you could say that. Not necessarily that story, but stories in general.”

“How’d you get one of Sabrina’s books?” Joe asked. “Owl order?”

“I bought some wizard-fiction back in August,” Stephen said. “I was trying to get a broader impression of the Wizard-World.”

“As a book set in the 1870s would be perfect for,” Sabrina said dryly, which prompted the kids’ chuckles.

“I was curious about what you write; sue me.”

“Could I borrow it?” Joe asked.

“Certainly.”

---

Joe sighed as he closed his apartment door. He walked through the family room into the kitchen and pushed play on his answering machine as he set Deep Blue on the table. He was curious about what type of tale Sabrina would write, though he wasn’t sure about romance. From what he remembered of the Wizarding World, it wouldn’t be explicit, which would be weird to read from his sister. Still, it wasn’t really a genre he was drawn to.

He grabbed the stack of mail he’d tossed next to his briefcase that evening. The first one was a bill. “Hey, Sarah,” the machine played as he sorted. “We’re on our way. Be ready on time for once in your life.”

Did he even listen to my greeting? Joe thought as the caller hung up. Even if the caller missed the words, he doubted he sounded like most Sarahs. He tossed another bill on the first. The next was junk mail, followed by a letter from one of his old army buddies.

“Joe, its Bradford West. Cathy Chandler was just admitted to Lang General with a gunshot wound. It’s unclear what happened, but they found her DA badge in her pocket. She’s in surgery. I thought you’d want to know.”

Shock froze Joe. It had to be Denton. He—and Cathy—knew how dangerous the case was. They had discussed it, and Joe had worried about it. But for something to actually happen… He dropped the mail and rushed for his coat and keys.

---

There was a magical creature near Lang General. Joe had started to pick up the signature as he and the detective—a tall, burly trained wizard with a close-cut afro—followed the nurse to Cathy’s room. For a minute he the thought it was in her room. Though when they entered the small room, he realized the signature came from ground level.

Cathy looked pale. She was clearly exhausted, but her eyes were open. She also looked cold; the open window couldn’t be doing her any good. “Joe,” she mumbled weakly.

“Hey, Radcliffe. How’re you doing?”

“I’ll be okay. Just tired.” Her blue eyes focused on the detective. “Who…?”

“This is Detective Columbo. He’s investigating your shooting.”

“Columbo? Like the TV show?”

Darius Columbo sighed the sigh of a man who got that question far too often. “I’m not one for a ‘one more question’ routine.”

Cathy nodded. “It was Denton and two of his men. I’d just returned to my place when they grabbed me, forced me into a car. He knew that I put Sweeny and his family in witness protection, and thought I’d know where they were. As the car slowed, I let him think I was willing to deal, then slugged his stomach and grabbed his gun. I jumped out and ran behind a dumpster in some alley. They fired at me; I got a couple shots off—I think I hit one in the arm. I thought I spotted a clear path out of there, but got hit in the back. I don’t remember anything else. They must have thought I was dead. Who found me?”

“You were found on the front steps of Lang General,” Columbo said. “It’s unlikely you found your way here yourself.”

Cathy nodded. She didn’t seem surprised. “I think I’d have remembered that. I must have a guardian angel.”

“Do you know where the shooting happened?” Columbo asked.

“I think it was a few blocks away. I didn’t recognize the last couple of turns.” Cathy yawned widely. “I think I need to go back to sleep.” She closed her eyes.

“Of course, ma’am.” Columbo slipped his notepad into his suit pocket. “I’ll be in touch.”

After he left the room, Joe sat in the seat next to the bed. He took Cathy’s hand in his. “I’m sorry, Cathy,” he said as he squeezed her hand.

Cathy’s eyes fluttered back open. “What for?”

“I recommended you for the Denton case.”

“I told you I could handle it.”

Joe smiled faintly. “You did.” And she had—repeatedly, as Joe warned her of the risks, in fact. “And I knew you could. But having something actually happen…”

“Joe, I’m going to be fine.”

“Good.” He sat beside her searching for something else to say. “I should let you get your rest.”

Cathy smiled weakly. “And get going before the nurses kick you out.”

Joe chuckled. As he stood, the magical creature drew closer. It felt like it was climbing the wall. He turned to the window.

“Joe?”

“Did you hear something?” he asked. The magical creature drooped as he walked to the window. It scurried away as Joe looked out the window. He caught a glimpse of it—him—as it entered an alley. It glanced back at the window before vanishing. “Nothing’s there,” Joe closed and locked the window before he left the room, his mind a whirlwind.

Had the creature been after Cathy or had it just been wandering around the building? It occurred to him as he reached the elevator that maybe it had found Cathy and brought her to the hospital. That would explain why she wasn’t brought inside, but why stick around? Concern for the random human he came across?

If only he knew more about magical creatures. He’d never heard of one that looked like a man with a lion’s face.

Friday, April 6, 1990

Joe hesitated as he held up his hand to knock on the Stranges’ door. It was well after midnight. He didn’t want to wake anyone, no matter how much he wanted to talk to Stephen. He had said Joe could drop by anytime, if he needed to, but was it even best they talk before tomorrow anyway? If not now, when? He didn’t want this conversation in front of an audience.

Joe sighed, and turned to his apartment.

The door opened. “What is it?”

Stephen was dressed in blue jeans and red shirt. Good, I probably didn’t wake him… Joe thought as his mouth went dry. His nerve had suddenly slipped off elsewhere. “It’s late. I can come back later.”

Stephen rolled his eyes and stepped back from the door. “I just finished up something. I can stay up long enough to find why you’re lurking at the edge of my wards. Did something happen at the mayor’s reception?”

“No,” Joe said automatically. “Yes. It’s complicated.”

“Then get in here and uncomplicate it. You look good in a tux, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Joe walked over to sit on the sofa. Stephen sat in the chair adjacent to the couch. The Cloak was on the floor in front of the TV. It half-floated as if around a sitting person. In its front folds, it manipulated a game controller as a muted round of Penguin Land played on the screen. The Cloak appeared to be doing better than Joe had when he’d tried the game. “I met someone tonight,” Joe started glumly as he gathered his courage.

“And that’s a problem?”

“No. It’s…” Joe sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’d never felt such an instant connection to anyone before. Part of me could see myself marrying her someday.” That truth slipped out before Joe could catch it. Stephen looked confused and uncomfortable at admission.

“A bigger part wanted to be dancing with someone else,” Joe finished.

“Someone who didn’t want to be dancing with you?”

“Someone I couldn’t have taken to mayor’s reception, even if I had realized my feelings before. You said things were, uh, better, in terms of gay relationships in your time?”

“Ah.” A glint of realization, and something else—Could it be hope?—entered Stephen’s eyes before he turned to the Cloak’s game. “Yes. For some of us, anyway. I do see things getting better in this time, just… they’re still bad.”

“I know.” The photos of the last gay-bashing case he’d been involved with flashed through his mind. “And I always thought that liking both meant I didn’t have to worry about those problems. But…” Joe licked his lips, took a deep breath, and, “Would-you-be-interested-in-seeing-me?” came out in a rush.

Stephen smiled slightly, before he gave Joe a serious look. “I’m not uninterested, but… aside from the practical concerns of us dating in this day and age, getting involved with me has its own complications. How old would you say I am?”

Joe blinked. What—Oh. “You look early to mid forties. I take it that sorcerers, like wizards can live longer due to their magic?”

“Not to the degree wizards do. At least not without handling magics that have a cost. The incident that threw me and the Cloak into this timeline…” Stephen’s gaze unfocused as he looked slightly to the side of Joe. “The temporal energy saturated my system, and by all we know, it should have killed me. Yet, after over a decade of careful monitoring, not only is it not harming me, I don’t seem to have aged a day. The energy is breaking down and will clear my system in another thirty years or so, but we have no way of predicting how my body will react. We don’t know if the effect will last until it completely clears my system. I may fall below some threshold where I begin to age, either normally or rapidly.

“Unfortunately, we also don’t know that the effect’s not permanent.”

“Unfortunately?” Joe asked.

Stephen laughed bitterly. “I have no wish to die anytime soon, but I have less wish to watch you, Harry, and unborn generations of friends die of old age while I remain at a standstill. I don’t know how the Ancient One endures it.”

“The Ancient One?”

“The current Sorcerer Supreme, my Order’s leader. She’s… effectively cursed by other magics that prevent aging. There is a cost beyond having outlived her compatriots for over seven hundred years, but the details of the curse and magics are not mine to share—even if it had been this timeline I learned them. Anyway, as much as near immortality would suck for me, it can’t be easy to have a partner that still looks forty-six when you hit eighty or higher. And maybe I’m bringing this up a bit early, but I am interested in us being serious.”

“I am too. I… I won’t say the possibilities are easy, but life is full of hard possibilities.”

“It sure is.” Stephen nodded. “Speaking of which… assuming nothing’s changed radically, we’re still a few years away from it becoming illegal to fire people for being gay. How conservative is your office?”

“I don’t think Moreno would fire me, if that’s what you mean. He might worry about how I’ll play to some judges and juries and stick me shuffling papers, if I got publicly outed though. I’d rather not be out at all, though. What about you?”

“Half the doctors I transcribe for don’t even know who I am. And the Order doesn’t care as long as all parties are consenting adults. However, I don’t want some overzealous bigot trying to take Harry away. It just takes the wrong social worker… With the uncertainties of life and the fact I’m not invulnerable, I have a couple from my Order that are to be his guardians if I can’t. Hopefully that keeps him out of a foster home while I battle in court, but I’d rather he not have to go through that.”

Joe nodded. “So if we do this, we have to be discreet. And need to agree what that means.”

---

“So did you and Joe agree on going out?” Harry asked the next morning over breakfast.”

Stephen nearly spat out his bite of eggs.

“Sorry. I got up for a glass of water and heard you talking.”

Stephen swallowed his eggs and took a sip of his coffee. “And decided not to get the water, apparently.”

Harry shrugged. “You two needed to talk.” He stared down at his plate. “You said something about some people trying to take me over it?”

“Some people would. But that doesn’t mean they’ll find out. If Joe and I start seeing each other, we’ll keep it quiet.”

Harry scowled as he pushed his scrambled eggs around with his fork. “It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to hide for my sake.”

“The world’s not fair. You don’t mind if I see him?”

Harry shrugged. “I mean it’s weird, you seeing anyone, but I like Joe. And the way you’ve been the last couple of months was kinda dating anyway.” Before Stephen could ask him to clarify that statement, Harry changed the subject. “Before I went to bed you mentioned guardians if something happened to you?”

Stephen nodded. “The Lopezes.”

“Oh. Is that why I had playdates with Bella and Miguel when I was younger?” Harry finally took a bite of his food.

“In part. It was also good to socialize kids your age, and any slips about magic wouldn’t be a problem. Granted, you were young enough that they’d likely be brushed off as imagination by parents not in the know, but…”

“But it was nice that they were in on the secret.”

“It was,” Stephen said.

---

“Joe!” Cathy Chandler called as he rushed trough the bullpen to his office.

“Later, Radcliffe!” he called back as he slipped his tan coat off.

Cathy followed him into his office as he set his briefcase on the desk. “Levinson’s looking for you,” she said as Joe hung his coat on his coat rack.

“Tell me about it. I was due in his office,” Joe glanced at the clock, “fifteen minutes ago.” He opened his briefcase and fumbled for the relevant folder. “I slept through my alarm, then got caught in traffic.”

“Late night?” Catherine asked as she leaned against his filing cabinet, arms crossed in front of her. “You were still dancing with Erika Salvin when I left.”

Joe blinked and looked at her. “You know her?”

“I know she works for Procter & Brannigan,” she said pointedly.

“So?”

“So? They represent Phillip Taylor. Remember him? The guy we’re grooming for the grand jury indictment?”

Joe sighed. He turned back to his briefcase and found the file. “They have like a hundred attorneys at that firm, and we didn’t discuss work.” He slipped off his grey suit jacket and shoved the folder under his arm and closed his briefcase.

“Aren’t you worried about a conflict of interest?”

“Why… Ah. I’m not seeing her again,” Joe said as he turned to the door.

“Good.” Catherine looked and sounded more disapproving than glad. “Because Evan Brannigan would do just about anything to derail the case against Taylor, and we’ve worked too hard on that.”

---

At the time Joe made it home, and then to Stephen’s, he expected to find Sabrina tutoring the kids. Instead, when the Cloak opened the apartment door, it was to the scene of both kids sitting on the plaid couch. Liz had her arms crossed over her chest, as she scowled at her mother. Sabrina stood next to Stephen in front of the couch. Harry sat to the left of Liz and looked equally sullen.

“What’s going on?” Joe asked.

“Liz and Harry had a bet on when we’d go out,” Stephen said gravely. “For money neither of them currently has.”

Joe blinked. “When? Not if?”

Liz scoffed. “Please. You’ve been obviously into each other the past few months. You relax when you think we’re too busy in the kitchen.”

“Ah.” Joe felt himself blush.

“Harry heard us talking last night—this morning actually. And couldn’t wait to let Liz know he’d ‘won’.”

“Not entirely,” Harry muttered. “He made the first move.”

“Was there another bet involved here?” Sabrina demanded.

“It’s just friendly wagers,” Harry said. “We’re not going to make a big deal out of it. Or try to collect before we’re older.”

“It is never a good idea to bet money you don’t have,” Stephen said. “Less so, when you have magic that could bind you to the promise regardless of your mutual intent.”

The kids exchanged alarmed looks.

“When it comes to magic, never make promises that you can’t keep at the time you make them,” Sabrina said. “Usually, nothing will come out of it, but when something does, the consequences can be horrific. Once, my great-uncle…”

---

Erika’s stomach churned Sunday afternoon as she handed over the ticket that Cassut had given her. She wasn’t sure that she could even act well enough that Joe would believe the upcoming meeting a coincidence, much less successfully change his mind. What would Brannigan do if she failed again? He’d been clear in his belief that no man turned down sex—ever.

Erika took her stub and made her way through the stadium. Joe’s rejection had stung, but he’d been resolute…

“If only I’d met you a year ago,” Joe said wistfully.

Erika blinked in disappointment as they danced in the almost-empty dance floor. The pair were close for simple dancing; the front of Erika’s red dress brushed Joe’s tux. “I thought you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I’m not. But… I’ve realized that there is someone I want to date.”

“I thought we were hitting it off,” Erika said.

“I have honestly never felt such an instant connection with anyone,” Joe said, his look more sincere than any Erika had received in her life. “In another life, I could see us growing old together.” Erika’s stomached churned with a mix of pleasure and guilt. “But with the feelings I already have, it’s not fair to you.”

Indignation swept through Erika as she wrapped her arms around Joe’s neck. “Don’t you think I should be the judge of what’s fair to me? You don’t even know if this other woman even likes you, do you?”

Joe’s blush answered that question for her. But as accurate as she’d been, his face also turned resolute. Sensing that further pushing would just push him away, Erika sighed and stepped back. At least the reception had mostly cleared out, and few remained to witness this. She pulled a business card from her pocket. “I’ll wish you luck,” she said as extended the card. “But keep me in mind if things don’t work out…”

For her sake, Erika hoped she would meet a Joe that’d been rejected. But if she did, what would she do? As she neared her seat, she noticed that Joe was already seated. He looked as cute in jeans and his black leather jacket as he did in a tux. A man sat on Joe’s right, between Erika and Joe. As she made her way down the aisle, Joe turned her way with the same sincere look of interest he gave her last night—aimed at the man.

Damn it. Erika wanted to cry in frustration. This was going to be a colossal, uncomfortable waste of time.

Well, at least I like baseball, she thought. And hopefully the time’ll let me figure something out…

---

“Well, that was awkward,” Joe finally broke the silence as he drove back to their building.

Stephen laughed. “Sitting next to the woman you met Thursday night was not what I pictured when you suggested a game.”

“Me neither.”

“She’s pretty,” Stephen said as Joe glanced at him. Stephen didn’t notice as he scowled at the street. “And she seem smart.”

“She is,” Joe said. “But she’s not who I want.”

 “That’s not what’s bothering me about it. At least I don’t think so. Coincidences happen everyday, yet this one feels odd.” Stephen sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I’m just on edge. I’ve not dated a man since well before I went into the past. I’m out of practice, on top of the changed social atmosphere.”

“I’m not exactly an expert my self.” A police cruiser turned out of the alley Joe just passed and flipped on its lights and siren. “What did I do?” Joe asked as he pulled over and lowered his window.

Instead of one officer just walking up to his window, both officers approached with guns drawn. “EXIT THE VEHICLE AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON THE DOOR!” an officer called. Joe and Stephen exchanged startled looks before they started to comply. Joe found himself partially pulled out as he apparently moved too slowly for the man in uniform. “Turn and put your hands on the car.

“What’s going on?” Joe demanded as he found himself braced against the doorframe. The cop behind him didn’t answer as he quickly frisked Joe. “Take it easy! I’m with the District Attorney’s office.”

Across the car, the cop that had slammed Stephen against the hood, finished his frisk job and pointed his flashlight into the front seat. The officer behind him found Joe’s ID. He released Joe. “I’m sorry, Mr. Maxwell. We got a tip on a 2-11 getaway vehicle that matches your car.”

Joe took a deep breath. “It’s okay,” he said, willing himself to believe the words. “Honest mistake—”

“Hey!” the cop across the car called. To Joe’s shock, he held up a small baggy filled with white powder. “It was in the glove box.”

“BULLSHIT!” Stephen exclaimed as Joe said “COME ON!” He wasn’t naïve to the fact that some cops were less honest than most, but surely they wouldn’t try to hustle a DA? “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Mr. Maxwell, you’re under arrest for possession of narcotics. You have the right—”

Joe tuned the officer out as he was cuffed. His mind whirled as he tried to figure out what was going on. It wasn’t a shakedown if they intended to arrest him. The only one who’d been in his glove box lately was Stephen. Even if Stephen had a drug problem, he couldn’t have dropped the drugs without Joe noticing. Perhaps a mechanic at the last oil change?

But how would drugs accidentally wind up in the glove box, not the floor?

---

Monday dawned bright and cheerful, a complete mismatch with Joe’s mood. A phone call officially suspended him, and his picture ran in the paper under the headline “DA Nabbed In Drug Bust”. Joe tossed the article onto his coffee table and stalked over to his record collection. Fleetwood Mac was currently on his stereo, but Joe was in the mood for something harder—and angrier.

He pulled a Black Sabbath album out, then decided it didn’t fit his mood either. He idly flipped through all his records. Nothing seemed to speak to him. Joe sighed and flopped down on his striped chair and stared at the damned article.

The doorbell rang.

Joe closed his eyes and ignored it.

Whoever it was knocked.

“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” he called.

“It’s Stephen. Can we talk?”

Joe sighed as he debated sending him away. Instead, he got up and answered the door. “Well, the good news is that outing me won’t hurt my career after all.”

Stephen was also dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, though Stephen’s was navy blue not grey. He shot Joe his most unimpressed look as he entered the apartment. “How bad is it?” he asked sympathetically.

Joe just gestured at the paper and flopped back into his chair. Stephen sighed and sat on the navy couch across from him. “What… What if we said the drugs were mine?”

Joe glared at him. “They’re not.”

“No. And I’m glad you know me well enough to realize that, but my career won’t be ruined by drug charges.”

Joe opened his mouth to tell the idiot off when a knock came from his door. “I don’t want any!”

“Joe, it’s Cathy.”

Joe sighed and opened the door. “Well, this is a red-letter day, huh? I finally got my picture in the paper.”

Joe’s humor was oh for two when it came to impressing visitors today. Cathy rolled her eyes as she pushed her way into the apartment. She walked past Joe, and hesitated as she saw Stephen. “Cathy, this is Stephen,” Joe said as he closed the door with his foot. “Stephen, Cathy.”

“The neighbor?” Cathy asked as she approached Stephen, hand held out.

“I live one door over,” Stephen said as he stood and took her hand. “So, Cathy…?”

“She’s one of our top investigators,” Joe said as he returned to his chair. “Congratulations, Stephen. You made the police report.”

“I did more than read the report. I talked to both the arresting officers. The tip turned out to be bogus. There was no robbery, no getaway car, so the search was illegal from the get-go. The evidence will be suppressed and we’ll have the charges dropped by the end of the day.”

“Oh, thank god,” Stephen said.

“Don’t you two get it? The damage is done.” Joe seized the paper and shook it. “This—The headline—is what people remember. I’ll just be another dirty rat who beat the system on a technicality!” He wadded the paper into a ball and threw it. “Damn them!” Joe stood and paced over to his window behind the sofa as he tried to catch his breath.

“Stop it!” Cathy scolded. “Moreno won’t abandon you over a blatant set-up.”

Joe scoffed. “Perhaps, but I’ll be pushing papers, not trying cases. Lawyers in mud-splattered suits don’t do too well with juries.”

“You don’t know that; I’m still investigating—”

“SAVE THE PEP TALK!” Joe whirled around to face her. “I’M OUT TO SEA ON A CARDBOARD BOAT, AND WE ALL KNOW IT!”

“JOE!” Stephen stood and walked around the couch to stand next to Joe. He held out an arm as if to touch him, and then lowered it.

Joe sighed and leaned over his couch. “Sorry, but it’s too late.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I know what it is to have everything I’ve ever worked for turn to ash,” Stephen said quietly. “I understand that you need to rage and grieve. But you need to understand that we’re on your side. And unlike my hands, things are not impossible to fix here. Improbable, perhaps, but—”

“But what?” Joe asked miserably. “‘DA framed’ is not as sexy a headline as ‘DA crooked’. And even if it were, what’s the proof? We said so? There’s no way of telling who planted the drugs.”

“Well, assuming it’s not the cops themselves—” Joe gave Stephen a sideways look at his words. It wasn’t an impossibility, but not an accusation to throw around without proof if he wanted to remain at the DA’s office. “—It was someone in the parking garage during yesterday’s game.”

“How do you figure?” Cathy asked.

Stephen shrugged. “Joe had me get his parking pass out of the glove box as we were pulling up. I had to root for it. If there had been drugs then, not only would I have noticed them, I would have said something. Hopefully not too accusatory as I know him better than that, but ‘you’re being framed’ isn’t the natural conclusion.”

“Thanks,” Joe said dryly.

“Did you valet park?” Cathy asked as she pulled a small notepad from her purse.

Joe shook his head.

“Okay, what level and section were you in?”

“Cathy… Thanks, but you’ll never prove anything.”

“I won’t deny it’s a longshot, but I’ll exhaust every possibility before I call it quits. Trust me, Joe.”

---

“They find who framed you yet?” Liz asked as she and Harry entered the Strange apartment.

Joe sighed, as in his distraction, his side of the game filled up with jewels. Granted, the Cloak had been winning anyway. “No kiddo,” he said as he set the video game controller on the floor next to him and slowly got to his feet. He’d started to feel less flexible since he hit his thirties. “They’re not going to. I appreciate Cathy’s efforts these past couple of days, but the odds aren’t with her.” That still stung, but at least he wasn’t taking his rage out on those around him anymore. Mainly, because he’d gone numb to the rage. He knew it was still there, but he felt disconnected from it. And from most everything else at the moment.

“Can’t magic do something?” Liz asked as Joe sat on the couch next to Stephen. Liz plopped in between them.

“It’s not about what magic can do as what can be proven to those without magic,” Stephen said. “I have thought about conducting a magical trace and calling in an anonymous tip if I get a result. But that doesn’t mean anything will come of it. It’s unlikely to get that clear a fix on who broke into the car, and even if I did, people seldom just confess.”

“But isn’t it worth a try? Why haven’t you done it?”

“For starters, I’m not about to break into a police impound lot.” Stephen gave Joe a very pointed look.

Joe caught sight of Liz’s face. She was so earnest that he try. “I’ll spring the car tomorrow,” he promised.

---

“What do you mean I can’t get my car?” Joe tried his best to keep calm. Yelling at the clerk would not help matters—no matter how much the stringy-haired, gum-chewing, smart-mouthed brat seemed to ask for it.

“Civil forfeiture,” the clerk said. He looked Joe up and down from across the desk. “You’d think a DA would have heard of it.” That attracted too much attention from the others in the dark, dingy room.

“This is neither a federal nor organized crime case. The car’s not eligible.”

The clerk shrugged. “Take it up with the courts.”

Joe closed his eyes and counted to ten. The rage he’d gone numb to was coming back. “I will,” he said darkly. “In the meantime, can my friend get his stuff from my car?”

The clerk laughed.

Joe’s hand balled into a fist as Stephen’s hand landed on his arm. Stephen gently squeezed it. Joe sighed and turned to him. “I need to go to the law library.”

---

Erika’s hands shook as she flipped through the phonebook. She had no idea what, if anything, Cathy was short for. Or even if it started with a C or K. Erika was pretty sure that Chandler wasn’t married, so that cut down the Chandlers to just the C and K initials and names that could be shortened to Cathy.

Please don’t let her go by her middle name, or a random nickname that nothing to do with her actual name, she prayed. Or have an unlisted number…

Erika set the white pages on the ledge of the café’s phone booth. She grabbed her coin purse and started calling. Erika ran her fingers over the rough wood wall as the first call rang out. She got one wrong number, two answering machine messages with the wrong name, some kid who wouldn’t say anything about his parents except that they were unavailable, and a call that just rang ten times, before she had luck with Chandler, C. R. “Hello, you’ve reached 555-8291. Please leave a mess after the beep. BEEE!—”

“Hello,” the woman from the recording spoke.

Erika’s mouth went dry. “Hello,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat. “I’m looking for the Cathy Chandler who works as an investigator for the DA’s office.”

“Why are you looking for her?” The woman asked.

Erika relaxed. If this wasn’t the woman, she had to be related. “It’s about Joe Maxwell—”

“No comment,” the woman said flatly.

“I’m not a reporter!” Erika said, afraid the woman—Cathy, she was certain—was hanging up. The line stayed open, though. “Look, the drugs were planted by a private investigator named Cassut. And—” Erika took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “And I have Evan Brannigan on tape admitting to being behind it.”

“Brannigan?” Chandler asked sharply. “Not Phillip Taylor?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Brannigan’s afraid that if Taylor is indicted, something will come out that he doesn’t want Mr. Proctor or the world to know. I’m not sure what. I have suspicions, but—Whatever it is, it’s big and it’s damning. I—My name’s Erika Salvin.”

“The woman from Proctor & Brannigan that Joe danced with at the mayor’s reception.”

“Yes. I…” Erika closed her eyes and resumed tracing the rough woodgrain to center herself. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like that.” She felt her throat go tight. “It—Two years ago, I lost a good friend, the closest I’ll ever have to a brother, to AIDS.” Erika could almost hear Chandler’s confusion at the change in subject, but pressed on before the woman could say something. “When Josh got bad, I got desperate. I tried to bribe a CDC official into admitting him into a clinical trial. Any trial. It was his only hope, but the official—Mr. Brannigan smoothed things over, made it all go away.” Tears slid down Erika’s cheeks as she stumbled over her words. But as more of her story spilled, the easier it was to tell it. It felt rather like draining an infection. “I was so grateful I didn’t initially realize that he was holding it over my head. And even when I did, the favors he asked weren’t illegal or unethical…”

“Until that night. I was supposed to get close to Joe, see if he could be bribed or otherwise slowed down. Distract him with a new relationship, get into his head, that sort of thing. I swear I was only going to dance with him few dances at most. I planned to be just annoying enough I could report no luck while looking like I’d done the effort. But then Joe made me laugh for the first time in years.” Erika took a tissue from her purse and dabbed it at her eyes. She sniffed and continued. “I felt a real connection, and I didn’t want that to end, and—Well, I tried to figure a way to persuade him he wanted more than an evening’s dancing at an otherwise dull party. It was stupid to think I could have him and not do Brannigan’s bidding in regards to him, but I wanted to believe it possible. The whole—”

“Please insert another twenty-five cents.”

Erika sighed at the recorded voice. She didn’t think it’d been three minutes yet. She pulled more coins from her purse and dropped them in the phone as she forced herself back on track.

“Anyway, Brannigan was furious that I went home alone. Said I didn’t try hard enough. That it didn’t matter what Joe wanted or said he didn’t want out of the night. And—Well, Cassut found out Joe had tickets to the ballgame Sunday and got me one next to him. I was supposed to use the ‘coincidence’ to snare him. Only when I claimed I’d struck out, Cassut mentioned a plan B. Then the paper the next morning—If destroying decent men is supposed my life now, I’d rather I got in trouble back when I messed up. So, when Brannigan burst into my office while I was dictating notes tonight, I confronted him about the drugs. Claimed that I was confident I would have eventually cracked Joe. He said there wasn’t time. He also made some veiled threats that I thought was just him yanking my chain again. But when I tried to go home, I spotted Cassut lurking around my place. He—I—I don’t think the tape or I will make it to your office if I wait ‘til morning,” she blurted, her tears now full on sobbing.

“Where are you?”

“The phone booth inside the Raven’s Wood Café.”

“Okay, get yourself some coffee or food or anything that can keep you in the café awhile. I just got out of the shower, but I’m headed straight there as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

---

The coffee did not help Erika’s nerves. Nor did the pie slices, despite her sweet tooth. By the time Catherine Chandler walked through the café door, Erika had jumped at her own shadow thrice. With a sigh of relief, Erika put down enough money to cover her bill and tip and walked up to meet her.

“Sorry it took so long,” Chandler said as she held out a hand.

“I wasn’t that long,” Erika said as she took the hand. She knew that was true, though it had felt like forever. She had been half-convinced the café’s clock was broken. However, Chandler’s brown hair was still damp and she seemed to have skipped makeup.

And she looked about as beautiful as she did at the mayor’s reception, damn her.

“Come on. I’m parked around the corner.”

Erika nodded and followed Chandler outside. They turned right, and passed the café’s windows, and then a small alley. On the other side of the alley, was a beat-up Crown Vic parked in front of a small boutique that Erika liked to frequent. From the mannequins, they had new stuff in.

“Oh, Gi-irls.”

The creepy sing-song tone was new, but Erika knew that voice behind them. “Cassut.” Her blood froze as she stopped.

“Uh-uh, Chandler, hands away from the purse. We wouldn’t want to get into a shootout here, now would we?” Erika’s heart sank. Cassut had been sent to dispose of her. And not only had she not saved herself, she had dragged another innocent into her mess. “Turn around. Slowly. Both of you.”

Erika’s knees almost gave out as she turned. Chandler wobbled as she came out of her left heel. She grabbed Erika’s arm as she slipped out of the shoe, and then lifted her right foot to remove that shoe.

Cassut stood four feet away in the entrance of the alley. A pistol with a silencer was in his hand, pointed at them from his hip. “If you’re done stalling,” he said sarcastically as Chandler, still holding her right shoe, stepped in front of Erika, “come into the alley.”

Erika’s legs grew roots where she stood. Chandler took a step forward, and then leapt at Cassut. She swung her left arm out and batted the gun aside. At the same time, she jabbed the heel of her right shoe into his neck. The car door next to Erika burst open. Chandler’s heel badly scratched Cassut’s neck and he cried out and fell back. “Go back inside; call the police,” Chandler called as a short blonde man erupted from the car.

“No need,” a deep voice came from the blonde man. “Sir, Ma’am, step apart—"

Cassut shoved Chandler back and raised his gun again. As Erika thought she heard a lion’s roar, Cassut collapsed onto the ground, the gun landing beside him.

Erika stared blankly at him. “Police. Drop the shoe ma’am.” Erika looked across the the car and saw the lanky driver holding up a gun and a detective’s badge. The gun was pointed at Chandler.

Chandler complied. “He tried to get us into the alley at gunpoint.”

“I know,” the deep voiced detective said as he stepped toward Cassut. “I spotted it just before you rushed him. We still needed you to stand down.”

“I—Of course. Of course.” Chandler stepped back and leaned against the detectives’ car. Her feet seemed as unsteady as Erika felt.

“Cover me,” the white detective said to the driver. He holstered his gun and carefully reached for the gun Cassut dropped. Cassut’s glassy eyes turned toward him. They seemed to dim as the blonde man picked up Cassut’s gun.

Chandler abruptly went grey, then green, and then grey again. She turned and threw up on the street.

---

“…Spotted Cassut lurking around my place. He—I—I don’t think the tape or I will make it to your office if I wait ‘til morning.” Sobs sounded on the tape from Cathy’s answering machine.

“Where are yo—”

Levinson stopped the tape. He and Joe were in Moreno’s office to discuss Joe’s suspension. Joe had felt like he was going to his doom, when he’d put his suit on and gone in. He couldn’t think of any reason for them to call him in besides that. (“Congrats on beating the charges, here’s what you’ll toil away at the rest of your time here.”) He had not expected to hear that Phillip Taylor’s lawyer was the mastermind behind his frame-up. The tape had been excruciating to hear—Erika’s fear and desperation had been palpable, but despite the occasional jumbled words and sniffles, it explained things more viscerally than his bosses could.

“We can play Ms. Salvin’s tape if you want,” Moreno said.

“That’s all right,” Joe said. “I want… It’s not that I don’t appreciate knowing who decided to blow up my life. And I’d love to know Brannigan’s dark secret to know why. But my picture with the word drugs went out thousands upon thousands of potential jurors. Is this enough to undo that?”

“If your photo runs again in the article about Brannigan framing you, it’ll mitigate most of that damage,” Moreno said. “And someone at the Times happens to owe me a favor. But perhaps more importantly, the judges will get the full story and not view you as less than forthright.”

Joe closed his eyes and nodded as he sighed with relief. Tension ebbed out of his back. “That’s good. How did Erika know Cathy was investigating my case?”

“She didn’t,” Levinson said dryly. “But apparently you told Ms. Salvin that she was our top investigator…”

“The woman you were talking to is very beautiful. Is she your date, or did you meet her tonight, too?”

“Who?” Joe asked as Erika nodded toward Moreno and the mayor. “Oh! That’s Cathy Chandler. We work together. She’s the best investigator. What about you? You have a date I’m stealing you from…?”

Joe blinked back the memory. “Huh. I guess I did. Have this Cassut and Brannigan been arrested yet?”

“Brannigan will be any minute now,” Levinson said. “Cassut is dead.”

“He either followed or tracked Salvin to the restaurant she called Cathy from,” Moreno said. “When Cathy went to pick her up, he accosted them with a silenced pistol. Cathy managed to kill him with her shoe.”

Joe blinked. He had to have misheard.

Moreno chuckled. “That was my reaction too. Cassut got close enough that she swung her heel into his neck in a bid to get him to drop the gun in pain. Apparently, the tip of that heel was a small enough surface area that it’s possible to swing with enough force to minorly stab a person. Or as Cathy managed, rupture the carotid artery. He bled out, mostly internally.”

“That’s… How’s Cathy?” Joe asked when he couldn’t unpack his reaction to Cathy’s killing a person. In self defense, sure, but still she killed a man.

With her fucking shoe.

“Shaken. Shocked he actually died, but physically unharmed.” Levinson said. “Officially, she’s on leave until the police investigation’s done, but it’s open and shut with a detective just a tad slow to spot Cassut’s gun for a witness. Unofficially, we’re sure she can use the time to come to terms with what happened.”

---

Joe didn’t return directly to his apartment. He knew Stephen would want to hear his news as soon as possible, but he had something he needed to do. Fortunately, he had enough cash on him for the extra trip. Moreno had promised to make phone calls to the civil enforcement unit, but there was no telling how long his car would be tied up.

The address was swanky enough that he half expected to be waylaid by a doorman the minute he exited the cab. There wasn’t even a lobby attendant. Instead, he was able to go up and find 21E without challenge.

He pressed the doorbell and waited. “Who is it?” Cathy called.

“It’s Joe.”

He heard the chain being undone, and then the door opened. Instead of her usual business attire, Cathy wore grey sweatpants and a blue long-sleeved shirt. She wore a quartz crystal pendant around her neck. It felt like it had come from a magical environment. The hair she normally wore down, was pulled back into a sloppy pony tail. “How are you holding up?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Joe asked. “Moreno said that you had to kill to protect yourself and Erika last night.”

A grimace crossed her face. “I’m okay. I might not wear heels for a while, but I’ll be fine.”

Joe chuckled awkwardly. “That part’s a little hard to wrap my mind around.”

“Mine too,” Cathy said wryly. “I mean, Isaac told me it was possible, but I didn’t actually expect it to happen. I was just hoping to disable him at best, and give Erika time to get to safety at worst.”

“Isaac?” Joe asked. “The new guy in the computer room?”

Cathy laughed and stepped back from the door. “Isaac Stubbs, my self-defense instructor. He’s big on anything can be a weapon in a pinch. Come on in. Would you like some coffee? I just made a pot.”

“Coffee would be great,” Joe said as he entered the condominium. Her place was done in whites and light pinks. Cathy shut the door behind him, and then headed toward the kitchen. “Anyway, I’m back at work Monday. They’re trying to get my picture to run in the paper tomorrow and again Sunday to undo most of the damage.” Joe sighed and sat on one of the two two-seat, pastel floral print couches that faced each other in her living room. An elegant coffee table sat between the couches. “Though being a holiday weekend, I expect some who read about my arrest will miss it. Still, I owe you an apology as well as my thanks.”

“Apology?” Cathy asked as she walked over holding two mugs, one of which she handed to Joe.

“You were there for me, and I did appreciate it, but I felt so angry and hopeless at the situation… You and Stephen were right about there being a chance to turn things around, but I didn’t do anything to help you find a way.”

Cathy turned to sit on her other couch. Joe’s breath caught as he spotted a scar in front of her left ear. As far as scars went, it wasn’t as bad as it could be—thin, white, with the skin slightly raised. But something about it didn’t seem accidental.

 “My efforts weren’t that successful,” Cathy said. “It was Ms. Salvin’s conscience that cleared you.”

“Yes. But you tried, and that means a lot. And… Stephen had had an odd feeling about running into Erika. Maybe if I had been willing to go over the day with you, you could have sought her out instead of the reverse. Perhaps the whole mess with Cassut could have been avoided.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I’m just glad things worked out.” Cathy took a sip of her coffee. “Can I ask what your friend meant about knowing what it was like to lose everything?”

Joe frowned at his coffee. Stephen’s hands weren’t exactly something the man kept hidden, but the story Joe knew was pre-time travel, and he had to think of what Stephen told people of this time. “He once had a dream of being the world’s best neurosurgeon. Then his hands were crushed in a car accident. You might have noticed the surgical scars—” Cathy’s eyes widened and her left hand lifted up towards her face, “—But probably not the loss of dexterity.”

“That’s rough,” Cathy said. “He’s a doctor, then?”

Yes, he just has no degree in this timeline… “No. I gather he had a tough time coming to terms with things before he found his current path.”

“Ah.” Thankfully, Cathy dropped the subject as she took another sip of her coffee. “Speaking of scars,” Cathy reached up and brushed her left cheek. “I’d forgotten that I’d pulled my hair back. You must have noticed mine.”

Joe nodded. “I won’t say anything about it if you don’t want.”

“It’s not that… I mean, I don’t want people gossiping on it, but I’m not ashamed of it. Not anymore.”

“Would it be out of line to ask what happened?”

“No,” Cathy’s eyes grew distant. “Did you know I disappeared this time last year?”

Joe nodded. “Your boyfriend at the time hassled us and other city offices about police not doing enough to find you. I wasn’t privy to the investigation, but got impression when you showed up, it wasn’t just a misunderstanding.” He had come to suspect that whatever happened was part of her inspiration to change careers.

Cathy smiled as she set her mug down on the table. “It wasn’t me taking off and not telling anyone, if that’s what you mean. You could it say it was a misunderstanding in that the guys who jumped me thought I was someone else. They slashed my face and dumped me in Central Park. My father got the best plastic surgeon in the state after I returned, but that cut was too deep to address with just one operation. By the time it was ready for the second, I’d gotten used to it as a symbol of my survival. Of coming out stronger.”

Joe frowned. “They dumped you when they realized you weren’t who they thought?”

“No. It was a short attack. I was found by...” Cathy reached up and touched her quartz pendant, “some transients who took me in, and after some nursing, returned me to the city.”

That was one of the most improbable things Joe had heard since he started at the DA’s office. And he had started with narcotics cases. Addicts could be the best liars on the planet, but they could also come up with excuses from Pluto.

Cathy chuckled bitterly. “Detective Hermann didn’t think it likely either. To be fair, I got vague and hostile because at the time I was too grateful for their help to fully question why they didn’t take me to the hospital, much less tolerate it from someone else. I’m not surprised he thought I was lying.”

“I’ve seen equally unlikely things turn out true. But you have to admit it sounds like a lie.” Like the best you could come up with at the time and got stuck with, Joe thought as his gaze returned to the crystal pendant. Perhaps because the truth was something more unbelievable… He set his coffee down on the table. “That’s a nice necklace. You had it long?”

Cathy got a sappy smile in her face. “I just got it. A friend gave it to me to celebrate becoming stronger.”

“Must be some friend,” Joe said.

“He is. I met him shortly after the events of last year.” Cathy picked up her coffee and took a sip.

 Joe sipped his own as he thought about what to say next.

“Moreno tell you I’m suspended?”

Or he could let her bring the subject up. “Just until the investigation is completed. He said it was open and shut. He and Levinson also suggested that you might need the time to… equilibrate.”

Cathy snorted. “Poor Levinson seemed afraid I’d break down crying on him last night.” She sighed and tapped the edge of her mug. “I won’t say that it’s not upsetting that Cassut died, but mainly I’m glad it wasn’t me. That I’m not just the victim again. And as far as coming to terms with his death, I think I’d rather stay busy than let my mind dwell.”

Joe nodded. “That’s fair. Still, if you decide you want more time, just let me know.”

“Thank you.”

---

“You’re kidding,” Sabrina said flatly.

“No. I’m not,” Joe said. They were at the Stranges’ apartment having a combined Easter/celebrate Joe’s exoneration meal.

“I’m no stranger to framing articles about myself,” Stephen said as he spooned himself more green beans. “But not one about having been framed for drug possession.”

“About my name being cleared,” Joe clarified. “And coming out on top. Among other things, it’ll be a reminder not to be so quick to give up—and of those who stood by me, even when I didn’t seem to appreciate it.” He cut himself another bite of ham. “I’ll hang it up in my office next to my Westfield Law diploma.”

Stephen sighed. “You do you.” Joe blinked at the odd wording. “What you say makes some sense, though I think I’d just want to put this behind me.”

“Behind me, but not forgotten,” Joe said.

Wednesday, May 30, 1990

Joe and Stephen sat across from each other in a booth.  A block away from their building, Danny’s Sports had become their weekly haunt.  Sports memorabilia was plastered on the walls, and a large television tuned to ESPN sat on a table against the back wall.  Stephen scowled as a commercial touting the wonders of Burch Tower played. 

“Not a fan of Burch Tower?” Joe asked.

Stephen hesitated and then he set his hand on the table and sketched a privacy glyph.  Joe raised his eyebrows as he felt the magic encircle them and dampen the sound around them.  “There was no Burch Tower in the other timeline.  I’m not sure there was even a Burch Development Corporation.”

“And that bothers you?  You said this was essentially a different world.”

Stephen sighed and slumped back in his seat.  “Do you remember the lack of the Twin Towers in the memory you saw?”

 “Before you were sent back?” Joe frowned, an uneasy feeling in his gut.  “I did notice the change in the skyline, but what does that have to do with Burch?”

“Directly?  Nothing.  But…” Stephen’s eyes unfocused as he looked over Joe’s shoulder.  “On September 11, 2001, nineteen terrorists hijacked four commercial jets departing from the east coast.  The first two planes were deliberately crashed into each of the Twin Towers.”

Joe stared at Stephen feeling rather like he’d been punched.  “My God.”

“The third hit the Pentagon.  The fourth crashed in an empty field after a passenger revolt.  Cell phones weren’t ubiquitous yet, but enough people had them that the passengers got word about hijacked planes crashing into buildings.  Investigators later determined that that plane was headed either to the Capital Building or the White House…”  Stephen rapidly blinked back tears.  “Anyway, both towers collapsed.  Neither was close to empty of workers, and police and firefighters had gone in to aid the evacuation.”  Stephen closed his eyes and sighed.  Joe reached out and placed his hand on his.  “In that time, the Twin Towers were still in the top five tallest buildings in the world.  Burch’s tower intends to massively dwarf them all.”

“You think it’ll be the target this time,” Joe felt cold.  “A bigger death trap.”

Stephen opened his eyes.  “The target, yes.  The terrorists wanted to make as big a statement as possible.  But Burch Tower is a different design.  It could well last longer than the Twins did.  It’s…”  He frowned and bit his lip.  “The Twins, in my time at least, were designed to withstand a hit from a Boeing 707.  The planes that hit the towers were 767s…  I don’t know if that model’s in production yet, but there are definitely bigger planes than 707s in use.  I want to think Burch would have accounted for greater impacts in the design, but nothing is invulnerable.”

The waitress, Sarah, came by with their food.  Stephen canceled his glyph, and gave his thanks.  After she left, he replaced the glyph.  “I think what’s really bothering me is the reminder that I can’t really do anything about what I know may happen.  Even if a 9/11 attack does come, there’s no way of knowing the date.  Events that have repeated have been as far off as four years.”

“Maybe I can pass along a warning about the possibility,” Joe said.  “It won’t go far without a specific threat, but if we come up with a likely sounding anonymous tip, perhaps it’ll do something.”

“It’d have to be one hell of a tip to overhaul airport security across the country.  And, as it turns out, a group of men learning to fly jumbo jets with little interest in how to land raises red flags.  The tip was still winding its way through the interagency bureaucracy when the attacks happened.”  Joe sighed and stared at his plate.  “Sorry,” Stephen said.  “I do appreciate the thought.  It’s just…”

“Unlikely, I can help.  I know.  Maybe as we get closer to when it may repeat, we’ll think if something.”  Even as he spoke, Joe doubted they would think of anything.  Some things were just too big for two people alone to stop.

“Maybe.”  Stephen smiled sadly. 

“So, aside from the future-terrorist implications, what do you think of Burch’s monstrosity?” Joe asked, eager to switch the course of their conversation.  “Because Luz Corrales has a point about the effects it’ll have on that neighborhood.  I just don’t think her proposed class-action suit will go anywhere.  Too many powerful backers in Burch’s corner…”

---

“So why the sudden interest in Quodpot and Quidditch?”  Joe asked as he and Stephen left the bookstore on Arcane Avenue one Saturday in late June.  Stephen held a paper bag filled with books.

Stephen chuckled.  “Harry’s been mad about Quidditch since Sabrina repaired that book you got him.  Those are for his birthday this year.”

“And Quodpot?”

“The Ghost’s profile on Emberson indicated that concussions from the quod exploding are common.”

Joe nodded.  “The teams’ healers clear ‘em right up.”

“So I gathered.”  Stephen glanced around at the throng of wizards walking around them.  “Before arriving here in ‘79, it was commonly known that repeated head injuries can cause a condition called Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy.  CTE’s a progressive, fatal condition that is marked by dementia and personality changes.”

Joe’s eyes widened.  “The paper commented on Emberson’s increased eccentricity in his retirement.  You think he has this CTE?”

“I can’t diagnose a man on anecdotes.  But it got me wondering if wizard-healing mitigates the risk.  Nothing I’ve read on wizard-healing goes into long term effects.”

“A biography and a game stats book won’t go into healing.”

Stephen laughed as they started to pass the pet store.  “No.  I’m trying to get a better feel for the game, so I know what questions to ask when I write the league healers directly.  I figured if I’m going to have a conversation, I might as well know all the injuries and potential risks the players face.”

“So, you’ll probably want to see a game at some point.  I remember there being a team in Brooklyn.  I’m not sure where—”

“REOW!”

Joe felt something hit his back as Stephen’s eyes widened.  Sharp claws that did not pierce his skin but poked in painfully climbed up his shirt and onto his right shoulder.  He turned and saw red and cream fur on his shoulder as a snarling animal the size of a bobcat exited the shop.  Solid black with long ears, narrow face, and tufted tail, Joe realized he was seeing a full-blooded kneazle.  He’d not seen one since he was a kid. 

Or ever appreciated how big their teeth were. 

The kneazle stopped when it saw Joe but glared up at the animal on his shoulder, who crouched down into Joe’s neck.  “Shadow!”  A witch in canary yellow robes exited the shop.  “You know better than to chase the kittens!”

The kneazle instantly slumped down and turned to look to the witch.   

“I don’t care what she did.  You’re the adult.  Now go inside.”

The kneazle slunk off inside. 

The witch turned to Joe and Stephen.  “And you!  You’re smart enough to know you should leave him alone by now.”  She reached a hand up to Joe’s shoulder.  “I’m terribly sorry for the disturbance, sirs,” she said pleasantly as she attempted to pick up the kitten on Joe’s shoulder.  The kitten dug its claws in and scrambled over to Joe’s other shoulder.  “Damn it Daisy!”

As Joe reached up to help dislodge the kitten, a thought that was as much feeling as word popped into his head: /NO/LIKE/DAISY!/  Joe blinked.  He’d heard that kneazles could selectively communicate with people, but he’d never experienced it.  A glance at Stephen’s wide eyes confirmed he heard her too.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the witch said.  She again reached for the kitten.   Daisy twisted out of her and Joe’s grip.  Daisy fell to the ground and quickly climbed up the front of Joe’s jeans to his waist.  She was the size of a six month kitten, but with clear kneazle blood, she could well be younger.  She didn’t have the tufted tail, but aside from the “speech”, she had the narrow face and long ears.  Her body was cream, with red paws, tail, face and ears.  Her eyes were a beautiful sky blue that pled up at him.

The witch pulled out her wand and shot a blue spell at Daisy.  She peeled the now immobilized kitten off of Joe.  “I’m terribly sorry she bothered you; Daisy’s going through a rebellious phase.”

/NO/LIKE/DAISY!/

The witch sighed.  “See what I mean?  Have a good afternoon,” she turned back toward the store.

Joe caught a faint grumble aimed at the shopkeeper: /No/like/you./

“Wait,” he called before the witch could reenter the store, half-surprising himself.  As the witch paused curiously, Joe turned to Stephen.  “Our building allows cats, right?”

“You’re kidding,” Stephen said flatly.  He met Joe’s serious eyes and sighed.  “Yes.”

Joe turned to the witch.  “How much?”

The witch looked utterly unimpressed.  “It’s your funeral.”

---

Ten minutes later, they walked out of the pet store.  Joe held a bag of food and care instructions in one hand, and Daisy in a carrier in the other.  “So, I’m presuming you’re going to change Daisy’s name,” Stephen said.

/No/Like/Daisy./

“Yeah she won’t be Daisy much longer.”  Joe looked down into the carrier.  Daisy peered back up at him with those sky-blue eyes.  “How about Skye?”

/No./

Joe hummed thoughtfully.  He tried to come up with other names, but all he could think of were women that he knew.  That would just be weird.  Perhaps another flower?  Rose? Clementine?  Those did not seem to fit, and judging from the unimpressed look Daisy gave him, she agreed.

“Well Daisy, do you have a name in mind?” Stephen asked.

Daisy visibly wilted.  /No./  /Just/know/Daisy/wrong./

“Well what things do you like?” Joe asked.  “Perhaps we can find a name there.”

/Stories./ /Moonlight./ /Hunt/mice./  /Play/feathers./  /Pounce/Shadow/tail./ 

“Stories,” Stephen mused.  “Any characters you like or identify with?”

/Not/enough/name./

“Luna means moon… or Diana is the Roman goddess of the moon and the huntress,” Stephen said.

/No./…  /Better./

“Artemis,” Joe said.  It seemed right to him.  “She’s the Greek equivalent to Diana.”

Daisy was quiet for a minute.  /Yes./  /Fits./  Artemis looked satisfied as she curled into a ball and took a nap.

---

Death Eater Escapes Azkaban

Yesterday, the British Ministry of Magic confirmed that a Death Eater by the name of Sirius Black has escaped their “escape-proof” prison.  It is unknown how Black escaped, however the last several nights before his breakout, he was heard muttering, “He’s at Hogwarts.”  As the betrayer of the Potters, Black is presumed to be after Harry Potter.  

The Boy-Who-Lived failed to show up to Hogwarts last year, but Black is presumed not to know this.  Guards will be stationed at the school until Black is caught.  Black is considered dangerous.  Those traveling to Britain are urged to reconsider.

Harry set down the July 13^th copy of The New York Ghost next to The New York Times.  That paper’s headline was about protests at the excavation site for Burch Tower.  “Do we know what this Black looks like?”  Harry fought to keep the apprehension out of his voice. 

“Not yet.”  His dad plated his own omelet and sat across from him.  “I’m going to check with the Ancient One about the coverage in the UK.  Hopefully, they printed a picture.  I’m also going to ask Ragnuk if he can get the trial transcripts.  I’d like to have an idea of what Black’s capable of, just in case.”

Harry nodded.  “But he’s unlikely to make his way over here?”

“At least for now, he seems to be fixated on the wrong area.  That could change at any moment.”

---

When Joe returned to his apartment after work Monday, August 13^th, Artemis leapt onto his table and demanded pets.  Joe raised an eyebrow as he set his briefcase down and complied.  “I thought you were hanging out at Stephen’s today.”

Artemis and the Cloak of Levitation had become fast friends.  As a result, Artemis spent most of Joe’s workdays next door.  Not all, the now housecat-sized kneazle hybrid had the independent streak kneazles were known for and wanted days alone.  But Joe distinctly remembered dropping her off that morning. 

/Cloak/stupid./  /Want/here./  /Stephen/portal./  As Artemis turned her head for ear scritches, Joe got an image of the Cloak playing video games and ignoring Artemis.  He had the impression that it was the result, not the cause, of whatever argument the two had had. 

Artemis stepped forward and nuzzled Joe’s stomach.  /What/wrong?/ 

Joe sighed.  “Just a long day at work.  I never like having to deal with Elliot Burch.” 

/Monster-tower/guy?/  /Why?/

“He helped us put a bad guy named Max Avery in prison,” Joe said as he scratched Artemis’ back.  “Now he thinks Avery is paying to have equipment sabotaged and the opposition to his tower whipped up.  It’s worth looking into, but…”  He thought back on the meeting.  “I always feel like that guy’s trying to pull a fast one whenever he opens his mouth.  And I don’t want our office to look like we’re taking a side in the tower controversy.”

Joe closed his eyes as Artemis purred against him.  “I’m going to be going over to Stephen’s in a few minutes.  You want to come?”

/No./  /Cloak/stupid./

“Okay.”  Joe stepped back.  “What do you want for dinner?” 

/Beef./

Joe opened his fridge and pulled out the appropriate container—the shop’s preservation spells only lasted until opened—and ladled out a serving of the beef stew into a cat dish.  He absently noted that he’d need to get more soon as he put the remainder of the food up.

He set the food down for Artemis and went to go change.

---

“So what did the Cloak and Artemis argue about?” Joe asked ten minutes later. 

“To hear the Cloak tell it, Artemis was absolutely wild.  I think what happened was it wanted to cuddle and she wanted an energetic game.  They’ve wanted different activities before, but never to a full-fledged spat.  How was your day?”

“Long.”  Joe closed his eyes and leaned into Stephen’s shoulder.  “What about yours?”

“There should be a special place in hell for doctors that dictate their notes while eating.  Not as severe a place as the guys you deal with, but a special place all the same.  Perhaps one where they have to listen to and type up their own damn tapes.”  Stephen sighed and shifted next to Joe.  “There was also a minor potions explosion while Pulaski was tutoring the kids.  She got the kitchen repaired and cleaned up well enough, but I’m getting leery of them progressing to the more volatile potions in a couple years.”  Another sigh, and Stephen leaned his head against Joe’s.  “At least Pulaski now sees value to my insistence they use the exhaust fan.”

Joe snorted.  No-maj solutions were always deemed inferior to wizarding ones.  Or, as ventilation spells were not part of potions lessons, unnecessary.  It would be interesting to see if Pulaski would insist on a magical equivalent to the fan from here on out.

As the two fell into silence, Joe heard Sabrina wrap up her lessons with the kids.  Stephen groaned.  “I don’t want to cook tonight.  How do you feel about ordering pizza?”

“Sounds good to me.”

---

The next evening when Joe asked if Artemis was joining him at Stephen’s she said yes.  /Miss/Liz./  /Miss/Harry./  /Miss/Stephen./  /Miss/Sabrina./ 

“Not the Cloak?” Joe asked. 

Artemis sniffed and refused to answer as she leapt off the table and stood next to Joe’s feet.  Joe didn’t say anything else as he left his apartment.  As he closed the door behind them, the Cloak opened the door to Stephen’s place.  It and Artemis looked at each other for a minute, both tense.  Then they both relaxed, and Artemis leapt up into the Cloak’s folds.

---

The next evening, Joe and Stephen were in their usual booth at Danny’s Sports.  “Devin Connor’s throwing a costume party on Halloween to benefit the city’s homeless shelters and outreach programs.  An Order contact can ensure I buy tickets, if you would be interested in attending.”

“Devin Connor?” Joe asked.  “The reporter who discovered the Gabriel Crime Syndicate?”

“Thought that might interest you.”  Stephen looked smug.  “He also covered some events I’m interested in.  Realistically, neither of us are likely to get a chance to talk to him in depth, if at all.  But it’s a good cause and should be a fun evening.”

Joe smiled.  “Yeah.  It should be.”

---

Joe’s good mood lasted until the next morning.  Sitting at his table, Artemis on his lap, Joe flipped through the paper.  He found an article titled “DA Probes Corrales Group”.  Joe groaned and quickly read the article.  It didn’t say Luz Corrales was guilty of anything, but the writer knew details about the background checks on the group’s newer members and suspected ties to Max Avery.  Everything but the fifty-something-so-far members with confirmed ties to Avery was in there.  Still, the clean donors would back off.  The campaign against Burch Tower was as good as dead. 

And while the reporter clearly talked to someone in the DA’s office, Joe didn’t think that was who leaked the story. 

/No/like/Burch./ Artemis agreed.

Joe sighed as he scratched her head.  “I should have seen this coming.”

---

The day didn’t get better from there.  The ringers from Avery kept growing, and two cases he was likely to take to trial hit roadblocks: a missing witness for one and a damn good motion to suppress evidence for another. 

He sighed.  If anyone could find the witness, it’d be Cathy.  And for the countermotion, he’d need to check on the detective’s notes and grand jury testimony.  He’d also need to research the precedent.  Joe looked up at his clock.  It was only two, and he was ready for the day to be done.  He decided to get up, take a walk around the office.  Maybe he’d see if Jasmine had the Carlisle deposition typed up yet. 

He was at Jasmine’s desk when he heard the commotion.

“YOU SET US UP!  LAUNCHED SOME BOGUS INVESTIGATION AND THEN LEAKED IT TO THE PRESS!”  He turned and saw Luz Corrales at Cathy’s desk.  He remembered Cathy mentioning that she went to law school with Corrales, but that they weren’t exactly friends.  Apparently not exactly friends meant friendly enough for Corrales to feel personally betrayed.  “I KNOW HOW THE GAME IS PLAYED!”

Joe picked up the deposition folder.  As he turned and approached Cathy’s desk, she said something to Corrales, that Joe couldn’t hear.

“WHO’S GOING TO GIVE MONEY TO A GROUP BEING INVESTIGATED BY THE DA!?  EVEN OUR ATTORNEYS ARE BACKING OFF!  WE’RE GOING TO HAVE TO DROP THE CLASS ACTION!  CONGRATULATIONS!  YOU JUST GAVE ELLIOT BURCH HIS MONSTER!”

“I wouldn’t be quite so self-righteous if I were you, Ms. Corrales,” Joe said.  “We’ve been running background checks on some of your new members.  So far we’ve about found seventy with ties to Max Avery.  And there’s still a lot of names on that list.”

Corrales turned and looked at Joe and then back at Cathy.  She scoffed.  “I should have known.  Your kind all sticks together.  The Old Boys Network.  Only now they let a few little girls play, too.”  Corrales turned and stormed out of the office.

“Next time they need a name for a hurricane,” Joe said,  “I know what I’m going to suggest.”  Cathy didn’t look amused.  Joe sighed.  “I feel bad for her too, Radcliffe.  But she didn’t look too hard into her membership’s rapid growth.”

“Would you have?” Cathy asked dully.  “That tower’s a menace, and the growth occurred as Luz got a bigger audience.”

Joe frowned.  “Are you alright?  You sound hoarse.”

Cathy sighed.  “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.  I’m fine.”

“That’s good.”  Joe turned toward his office. 

“Joe?”  He turned back to Cathy.  “Elliot… proposed last night.”

“Burch?”  Joe almost squeaked.  “I thought you dumped him months ago.  After you found out he was behind the harassment of those tenants.”

“I did,” Cathy said flatly.  “But he showed up at my place and…  Anyway, he said he’d do anything for me.  Do you think that includes halting the tower as a marriage condition?”

Joe opened and closed his mouth a few times before his brain would turn over again.  “Go home and get some sleep, Radcliffe.  You’re not thinking clearly.”

---

Stephen was already cooking when Joe finally arrived at the apartment.  Artemis detangled herself from wrestling with the Cloak and hopped up on the sofa for pets.  Sabrina closed the door behind him with a sigh.  Joe looked back at her.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  I’m just going to have to find a new place when my lease is up,” Sabrina groused.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  Logically, she knew this wasn’t his fault.

“That’s not ‘til the end of April, right?” Joe asked.  Sabrina nodded.  “Why?”

“Burch Tower.”  Sabrina opened her eyes.  “We might not be in the five-block-rent-through-the-roof radius that Luz Corrales talks about, but we’re close enough that the landlord expects to get people willing to pay more to live close to the Tower.  We all got the notice to vacate by end of lease today.  Apparently they want to spruce the place up and don’t expect any of us to afford the new rent.”

She sighed and flopped on the couch.  “There was speculation it was coming.  June and July leases didn’t get renewed.  It seems the news about Corrales being dirty just emboldened them to make it official.”

Joe winced.  “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“It kind of feels like it is.”  Joe sat on the sofa next to her.  Artemis plopped into his lap.  “I mean, it was Moreno who decided Burch’s suspicions about Avery’s men were worth looking into, and even though they’re panning out… I’m convinced it was Burch that tipped off that reporter.  It feels like we’ve been used to do his bidding, and that does not sit well.”

“So, the news was correct?”

Joe sighed.  “So far, well over a hundred of the groups’ newer members have ties to Avery.  Judging by Corrales’ reaction in our office this afternoon, she had no idea.”

Sabrina felt little solace in that.  Her donation was wasted whether Corrales was guilty or not. 

---

Joe sighed as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling of his office.  His conversation with Sabrina last night played in his head.  Could they have handled the Burch/Corrales matter any differently?  They couldn’t ignore likely criminal activity, bu—

Fury filled Cathy Chandler’s magic of life as she made her way toward Joe’s office.  His door slammed open.  “We’ve been conned!  It’s not Max Avery who’s been paying people to sign up with Luz!”

Joe blinked at her.  “What are you talking about, Radcliffe?” he demanded.  “Who else could it be?”

“Someone who has a vested interest in making sure Luz looks tainted,” Cathy said as she furiously paced back and forth beside his desk, a dot-matrix printout in her right hand.  “Someone who could put Max Avery’s old goons on his payroll and not even blink!  And someone subtle enough to launder his money through a numbered account in the Cayman Islands so it can’t be traced back!”  Cathy slammed the papers in her hand on his desk.

Joe stared at her as his brain puzzled through her statements.  And then—  “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Burch!”  He stood and reached for his phone.  He pressed the first speed dial.  “Put me through to Moreno,” he said when Moreno’s secretary answered.

“Can you wait?”

“No.”  Joe cast his mind and came up the perfect punishment for Burch’s stunt—and the one statement that would get Moreno on line immediately, if for no other reason than to ask if Joe had lost his mind.  “We’re going for an injunction against Burch Tower.”

Five minutes later, they were in Moreno’s office.

---

“We missed you last night,” Stephen said as he let Joe into the apartment Saturday morning. 

“Missed you too,” Joe said as the door closed behind him.  “Unfortunately, my workload increased at the last minute.”

“I’ll bet.”  Stephen leaned in and gave Joe a quick kiss.  “We caught your boss’ press conference last night.  Burch really manufactured the Luz Corrales scandal?”

“That’s what it looks like.  All two hundred-something of Max Avery’s goons on Corrales’ membership roles were drawing paychecks from the Cayman Islands.   And Avery wouldn’t know the Caymans from Staten Island.”

“So the tower’s finished?” Harry asked from the floor where he sat in front of Saturday morning cartoons. 

Joe sighed.  “Possibly.”  He thought about it a minute.  “Probably.  The injunction’s temporary while we investigate, but that stunt won’t play well with Burch’s backers, and the opposition to the tower will have the chance to reestablish itself.  It’ll be months before it’s decided one way or another.”

“So Liz and Sabrina may still have to move?”

“That depends on their landlord,” Stephen said.  “And if the landlord does relent, Sabrina might not want to give them anymore money than she has to.”

“What if someone decides to build a fancy tower near here?” Harry asked.  “Would we have to move?”

“The building went co-op a few years back,” Stephen said.  “We’re technically stake holders in the building’s management.” 

Harry turned to them.  He looked puzzled.  “But we don’t own this unit?”

“You’re thinking of condominiums.”  Stephen gestured at the TV.  Harry obediently turned it off, and Stephen began explaining their co-op’s structure to him.

---

Joe had honestly expected that the Burch Tower issue would be litigated over the next year or two.  He’d underestimated just how unpopular Burch’s stunt made him with certain people.  Someone in the city’s Department of Buildings found cause to yank the Tower’s permit in late October.  With the current public sentiment, it was unlikely Burch would get another. 

Halloween was a cool day, with a cooler night. Still, it was clear and beautiful.  Joe and Stephen talked idly about sports as they walked from the parking garage to the hotel hosting Devin Connor’s party.  Joe was a midevel knight.  Stephen simply wore his sorcerer’s robes—something Joe had given him a hard time about until Stephen pointed out that it was a rare chance for the Cloak to be a cloak in public. 

As they walked up to the door, Joe felt the presence of a magical creature.  He turned right, and realized he had seen that creature before.  Just a glimpse as it scurried into the shadows, but enough for Joe to recognize him.  A man with a lion’s face, the creature wore a black hooded cloak.  The hood and night shadowed his face enough that the lion’s face almost looked like a mask.  Long, golden brown hair spilled out of the corners of the hood.  His fur covered hands were the same golden brown with pointed black nails.  Black pants, white ruffled poet shirt, and worn brown boots completed the creature’s look. 

A human woman walked next to him, arm linked with his.  Not a witch or sorceress, as Joe would have thought, but a no-maj dressed in a period gown of pink and white that made Joe think of Marie Antoinette.  Long brown curls hung over her left shoulder and a white owl mask was on her face.  As the pair approached, Joe got a better feel for the woman’s energy against the background of the city.

“Radcliffe?”  He barely managed to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Joe?” Cathy responded as the pair reached them.  “Are you going to the Devin Connor party, too?”

Joe nodded.  “You remember Stephen?” he asked as he gestured beside him.  “Stephen, you remember Cathy.”

Stephen nodded.  “From when you were framed, yes.  I thought her name was Chandler, not Radcliffe.”

“Ah.”  Joe felt himself flush.  “She went to Radcliffe.  It kind of stuck in my brain as a nickname.”

“I see.”   Stephen reached out to shake her hand.  “I hope that’s not too annoying for you, Ms. Chandler.”

“I’m used to it,” Cathy said as she shook Stephen’s hand.  “This is Vincent Wells.”  She gestured at the lion-man, who extended his hand.

Stephen took it without hesitation.  “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you.”  Vincent’s voice was softer than Joe expected, given his tall muscular frame.

“You two know each other long?” Joe asked casually as he shook Vincent’s hand.   

“We met a year and a half ago.  And we both follow Mr. Connor’s work, though Vincent’s more of a fan than I am.” Cathy changed the subject.  “What about you two?”  She turned to enter the hotel.  “Fans of Mr. Connor, or the cause?”

“A bit of both,” Stephen said as the rest of them followed.  “I’d certainly love to hear more about his time in Kathmandu, and a couple of his stories have me wondering if he knows anything about a group called MACUSA.” 

Joe was surprised.  Not that Stephen had picked up on Vincent, but that neither Cathy nor Vincent reacted to the Magical congress’ acronym.

“MACUSA?” Vincent asked as the elevator opened. 

Stephen shrugged.  “Just something I’ve heard about in relation to those stories.  I don’t suppose it’s that big a deal.  Jus—”

“Please hold,” a voice called just as they entered the elevator.  Joe automatically held the elevator door with his hand as Judge Henry B. Stone, dressed as a stage magician and his wife, who was dressed as his assistant, rushed up to them.  “Thank you,” he said as they entered the elevator.  “It’s good to see you out of the courthouse, Mr. Maxwell,” he said as the doors closed. 

“Likewise sir.”  Joe took the chance to introduce Stephen and the others and derail the disastrous MACUSA talk.  But seriously, does Vincent live under a rock? he thought. 

---

Devin Connor was greeting guests as they walked into the ballroom.  He had a close-cropped beard and was dressed as a pirate, complete with eye-patch.  Two burly clowns stood on either side of him, checking tickets and not hiding the fact they were security in the least.  “Sir, is that a real sword?” the right clown approached Joe. 

Joe blinked, than glanced at the sword at his waist.  “No, it’s plastic.”

“I need to see it.”  The man held out his hand. 

“Kevin,” Connor said as Joe pulled the sword free, “Even if the threat turns out real, I doubt that Gabriel would send a swordsman after me.”

“Which would make it perfect,” Kevin responded, as he poked at Joe’s sword and someone came over and whispered in Connor’s ear. 

“Gabriel’s still after you?” Vincent asked sharply. 

Connor shrugged as he turned.  “Threats pop up now and then, b—Vincent!?” he asked.  He smiled as he gaped at the lion-man.

“I should have expected you to recognize the costume,” Vincent said mildly. 

“Of course!”  Connor recovered a little too quickly.  Though everyone present who didn’t know Vincent was a magical creature likely wouldn’t notice.  It certainly raised Joe’s curiosity.  “Man, it’s so good to see you,” Connor said as he walked over and hugged the lion-man.  “How’s everyone?  Father?”

“Well,” Vincent answered as Connor stepped back from the hug.  “Proud of the work you’ve done.”

Connor seemed saddened at that news.  “I’m not so sure he’d feel that way if he knew that I kind of accidently fell into it.”

“But you embraced it.”

“I suppose.  Look Vincent, about how I left…”

“We understand your reasons.  You were not wrong to be upset.”

“Yes.  I was.  Father was right not to favor me over you and the other children.”

“But not to be harder on you,” Vincent said.  “He was too afraid of favoring his own blood to treat you fairly.  Even he sees that now.”

Conner shook his head.  “The way I handled it was still wrong.  You—”  The elevator chimed and more costumed people walked out and approached the ballroom.  “Can we talk after the party?  I had no idea how good it would be to see you again, but I think we’ve held these good people up long enough.”

“Of co—” Vincent abruptly cut off and glanced over at Cathy. 

Cathy smiled.  “I’m good with staying.”

“This is Catherine,” Vincent said.  “She’s the most special person in my life.”

Connor raised his unpatched eyebrow.  “Then I’m most thrilled to meet you, Catherine,” he said as he shook her hand.  “You must tell me how you met my brother later.”

Connor’s greeting to Joe and the others was a bit perfunctory, as they were rushed into the party.  Judge Stone and his wife headed straight for the food buffet, and Joe and Stephen drifted to the right as Cathy and Vincent walked off to the left.  As the pair walked out of earshot, Joe heard Cathy say, “Father’s son?”

With nothing further to hear, Joe turned to Stephen.  “That was interesting.”

“On many levels,” Stephen agreed.

---

Joe sat in a chair at the edge of the room, plate of food on his lap and Stephen seated at his left side.  He watched Cathy and Vincent on the dance floor and resisted the urge to scowl at them.  “You don’t approve?” Stephen muttered softly as a privacy field surrounded them. 

Joe shook head.  “I’m jealous we can’t be there dancing next to them.  It feels cruel, given that Halloween’s literally the only night they have.  But it’s one more night than we have.”

“But we have places we can go to dance,” Stephen said.  “We just have reason to avoid them.  I don’t think there are any magical being bars.  And definitely not ones for those who never heard of MACUSA.”

“Yeah, I’m still trying to figure that out,” Joe said.  “Vincent could be a fantastic actor, but I know Cathy well enough to know she’d never heard of it.  And I get the impression they share a lot.”

“I agree.  And while I can imagine a witch or sorcerer  taking him in, they likely would know about of the wizard-world.  They certainly would have taught him at least enough to disguise himself better than ‘Halloween costume’.”

“Is that why you brought up MACUSA?  To warn him that not all of us buy that?”

“And to see if we could drop some pretense,” Stephen said.  “I genuinely wonder if Devin Connor knows anything about the wizard-world.  I suspect he knows about Kamar-Taj, too.” 

Joe raised an eyebrow at that.  “Wh—”

“Joe?”

Joe looked at the approaching woman as Stephen subtly dropped his spell.  Her royal blue evening gown would be suitable for any black tie party, but the equally blue cape and pointed witch’s hat would not.  Her auburn hair was shorter than six months ago, but still curly.  And her energy… it still felt unique to her, but it had shifted.  It made him think of the few Earth witches Stephen had introduced him to.  Expect, if each of those witches were a mature oak, than Erika Salvin was a fresh seedling.

“Erika,” Joe said.  “It’s, um, good to see you.”

“Is it?  I’m glad.”  She nodded at Stephen.  “Mr. Strange.”

“Ms. Salvin.”

Erika sat in the chair next to Joe.

“I never got the chance to apologize for the circumstances of our first meeting.” 

“Coming forward says a lot about it,” Joe said.

“I’m glad.  But I still owe you an apology for that night.  And to you and Mr. Strange for that awkward ballgame, especially if I read that situation correctly.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked. 

Erika hesitated.  “I saw your face when you told me why you weren’t interested, and again before you noticed me at the game.  I can’t read Mr. Strange as well, but he seems on the same page as you.”  Joe blushed furiously as he felt Stephen stiffen next to him.  “I’m glad things worked out for you.”

“Thanks,” Joe said awkwardly.  “And you?  Have things worked out for you?”

“Well enough.  I’ve got a position at a new firm and do volunteer work for an AIDS advocacy group.  Additionally, I’ve done some grief counselling and other work to reclaim parts of myself that I hadn’t realized I’d lost.”

---

After the party, Joe and Stephen hung out at Stephen’s place for a while.  While Harry slept, and the Cloak read a book in the kitchen, they danced in the family room to the radio as it softly played seventies’ love songs.  Currently, they were on “Your Song” by Elton John.

Stephen tried to enjoy the moment, but… “She still has feelings for you.”

“Huh?” Joe said as the final chorus came on.

 “And you can tell everybody/This is your song…”

“Ms. Salvin,” Stephen said.  “I think she was sincere with her apologies and well-wishes.  But I also think she wishes she could have a shot at you.  It’s… conflicting.  Part of me wanted to threaten her off, though you’ve never given me cause for jealousy.  And really, she was making it clear that she didn’t intend to pursue you.”

“I’m sure the witchcraft didn’t help,” Joe murmured as the radio shifted from Elton to Rod Stewart.  He stepped a hair closer to Stephen. “You’re always slightly on guard around any magic user you don’t know well.”

“Occupational hazard,” Stephen said.  “But a costume wouldn’t trigger that.”

“No.  Th—You didn’t notice that she’s started learning Earth Magic?”

“No…”  Stephen frowned as he thought through his two encounters with Erika Salvin.  “Actually, she did feel a bit Earthier than before.  But that’s such a small shift, she’d have to be the babiest of witches…”  He turned them clockwise.  “We really ought to explore the depths of your sensitivity.”

“Why?  I’m not planning to learn any type of magic.”

“Whatever your gift is, it’s more unique than you seem to realize.  And I have the feeling it may prove important someday.”

They fell into silence as the chorus played, “You’re in my heart/You’re in my soul.  You’ll be my breath/Should I grow old.  You are my lover/You’re my best friend.  You’re in my soul.”

Joe turned his head and nuzzled his cheek against Stephen’s.  Stephen turned toward him, and soon they were kissing.  Quick pecks at first, and then longer and deeper kisses.  They stopped dancing, and—

“That was Rod Stewart with ‘You’re in My Heart’,” the DJ said.  “And rounding off our seventies hour, here’s Paul Simon with ‘50 Ways to Leave Your Lover’.”

Joe groaned as he leaned his forehead against Stephen’s shoulder.  “Talk about a mood change,” he said.

“One of these songs is not like the others,” Stephen agreed.  He reached over and flipped off the radio.  “My mom loved Paul Simon when I was a kid.  For the longest time, I misheard that song.  I thought the line ‘Drop off the key, Lee’ was ‘Drop off Keely’.  I pictured the Gus on the bus driving it as he dropped his girl off in desolate spot and sped away.” 

Joe laughed.  “That gives the song a darker meaning.”