As my Arrogant One stormed out of the room, Dragon gazed after him, a confused look on her reptilian face. “What is bothering the elf? And how can he say I know nothing? He did not even listen to my hypothesis.”
“Don’t worry about him.” I raked my hand through my hair and sighed. “Let’s hear your theory regarding the recent events involving my Gypsy’s sketch.”
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/12/09/6486/
Dragon furrowed her scaly brow and cleared her throat. “Well, as you know, the Gypsy lad was at the window sketching the Ring-necked Pheasant he and Cleric observed by the bush next to the deck.”
I nodded.
Dragon pointed to the table where a chess board was set up. “While the Gypsy lad was sketching, the elf – engaged in a chess match with his cohort, your Bounty Hunter – accused me of snoring. He threw a chess piece at me upon which he had evidently cast a spell of enlargement, as it was considerably bigger when it hit me than the other pieces on the board.”
Again, I nodded. “Is there a point to this story? I think we all saw what was going on.”
Dragon narrowed her eyes, and a wisp of smoke drifted from her snout. “Do you wish to hear my theory, or not?”
“Yes, of course.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Please continue.”
Dragon nodded and smiled smugly. “When the elf retrieved the chess piece, he did it by magic, having it first shrink and then return to his hand. However, he did not do it with a simple counter-spell, negating the enlargement spell. Since he threw the rook by physical means, there was no spell to counter to retrieve it magically. So instead of first removing the spell that had enlarged the rook, then casting a retrieve spell, he cast a single spell that both retrieved the rook and shrank it.”
I frowned. “I fail to see how that has anything to do with my Gypsy’s sketch.”
Dragon sighed. “Do you remember when the elf and his cohort were repairing the shed roof?” https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/10/14/a-small-problem/
I nodded. “Boy, do I!”
Dragon smirked. “I thought you might. Well, when the elf cast the spell to shrink the building materials, so they could be more easily lifted to the roof, your proximity to the objects targeted by the enchantment caused you to be caught in the spell. You shrank along with the actual target of the spell, the roofing tiles and supplies.”
I rubbed my chin. “Are you saying that my Gypsy’s sketch was caught in my Arrogant One’s spells?”
Dragon nodded.
I shook my head. “How could a mere shrinking spell or retrieval spell bring the picture to life?”
Dragon pursed her reptilian lips and gave me a condescending look. She changed her tone of voice and spoke slowly, as if addressing an obtuse child. “Because it was not just the shrinking spell or the retrieval spell that affected the drawing. It was also the animation spell the elf had cast to bring his chess pieces to life. The combination of the three spells – the animation spell, the shrinking spell, and the retrieval spell – caused the picture to come to life, escape the paper on which it had been drawn, and fly around the house in the form of a miniature pheasant.”
I sighed. Her explanation corresponded with what my Arrogant One had already explained to me, but it was good to have Dragon’s confirmation on his theory. Remembering the elf’s desperate wish for secrecy, though, I merely nodded and acted as if this was the first time I was hearing it. “Okay, that makes sense. Thanks.”
Dragon nodded and curled up again in front of her illusory fireplace. In seconds, she was sound asleep again and snoring loudly, making a sound similar to the purring of some giant cat.
Later, as I sat in my office attempting to do some writing, I thought about my Arrogant One’s dilemma. For some time now – several months, if the elf was being truthful – he had been noticing a problem with his magic. There was a fluctuation in his ability to cast spells, with results falling along the full spectrum from perfection to nonexistent to unexpected. If it was not a physical ailment causing his predicament, then what was the source of the trouble?
Methinks I need to talk with my Arrogant One. I shook my head. Did I really just say methinks? I’ve been spending way too much time with my characters. Soon, I’ll be saying things like forsooth and mayhap and dost.
It took me almost an hour to track down my Arrogant One. How do my characters manage to disappear so completely in a 12-room split-level? I guess that’s a mystery to be solved some other time.
“Do you have a few minutes?”
My Arrogant One looked up at me and started to sneer. I raised an eyebrow, and crossed my arms over my chest. The elf blushed and ducked his head. “Of course, Mistress. What is it you need?”
“I thought we’d go have a private chat in my office and try to figure out a few things.”
Once we had settled ourselves behind the closed door of my office, I steepled my fingers and waited. My Arrogant One squirmed for several moments, scowling at me. Finally, he blurted out, “Why am I here? What is it you wish to discuss?”
“I want to try to understand what is happening to your magic. I want to find the source of your problem and see if it is possible to alleviate it.”
My Arrogant One furrowed his brow and chewed on his lower lip. Finally, he nodded. “How do you propose to do that?”
I shrugged. “I’m not really sure yet. Do you remember the first time you had a problem with your magic?”
The elf shook his head. “No. I thought it had been several months, as I told you, but my companion, your Bounty Hunter, postulated it has been longer.”
I frowned. “Okay. Tell me exactly what has been happening.”
He paused, tilting his head and fiddling with his cloak. When he answered, his voice was tinged with impatience. “As I previously explained, sometimes, my magic seems to work flawlessly. If I am, for example, creating an illusion, it is perfect in every detail. No one would know it is merely an illusion unless I told them.”
I nodded, trying to encourage the elf. “But other times . . .?”
“Other times, I cast a spell, and it is as if someone with no magic ability at all recited the words of an incantation. They are just words, possessing no power within them. Nothing happens. Nothing!” My Arrogant One’s face crumpled, and I thought I saw tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He bowed his head and composed himself. When he raised his head and spoke again, his voice was so soft, I could barely hear.
“I do not know what is worse – when nothing happens, or when something unintentional happens, as with the Gypsy lad’s sketch coming to life, or you being shrunk with the building materials.”
I nodded. “Think back. When was the last time your magic worked flawlessly?”
My Arrogant One squirmed in his chair again. “Well . . .” His face reddened.
“Well?”
“It was about a month ago. I . . . I created several illusions that were perfect in every detail. The others – not just my friend, your Bounty Hunter, but all your other characters – congratulated me on the fine job I had done.” He ducked his head and shuffled his foot, obviously not eager to give me the details of his illusions.
I ignored his discomfort. “Okay, think hard about that time and about the two times you spoke of when your magic had unintended results – when you shrank me, and when you animated my Gypsy’s sketch.”
The elf tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “I am not sure I understand your intention. What, exactly, do you wish me to think about?”
“Was there anyone present when your magic produced the unintended results who was not there when your magic performed flawlessly?”
The elf thought a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh! You believe that someone may be interfering with my magic? Causing my spells to malfunction?”
“It’s a possibility, isn’t it?”
My Arrogant One stood and started pacing. His eyes narrowed, and he tugged at his robes. He muttered to himself, obviously trying to remember, but after a few moments, he sighed, shook his head, and threw himself back into the chair. “No. The most recent time, when I created the perfect illusions, all the others were there. No one was absent.”
I sighed and raked my hand through my hair. “Then you must think back. You must try to remember the first time your magic failed.”
Once again, my Arrogant One stood and started pacing. This time, it was longer before he threw himself back into the chair. “I cannot be certain, but it seems it started once we returned from that other land, that land to which the wish listeners lured us.”
I remembered that odyssey, a tale that had taken nine weeks of blogs to relate to my readers.
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/05/27/lost/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/06/03/our-little-odyssey/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/06/10/stranger-and-stranger-looking-for-the-way-home/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/06/17/the-search-for-home-continues/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/06/24/new-allies-or-new-enemies/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/07/01/next-leg-of-the-journey/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/07/08/the-way-home/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/07/15/preparing/
https://margecutter.wordpress.com/2018/07/22/home/
“Are you sure?” I stared at him. “After our return?”
My Arrogant One frowned, and rubbed his chin. “Yes! Yes, I . . . I think I remember! It was not long after our return when my friend, your Bounty Hunter, challenged me to a chess match. I am a superior player, and I was soon bored. I attempted to animate the chess pieces, just for fun. Nothing happened. I cast the spell again, and nothing happened again. The third time I cast the spell, the chess pieces remained unchanged, but some of the furniture came alive. Two chairs and a small table were chasing us around the room when – quite fortuitously – Dragon entered the room and dispelled the magic. After that, my power seemed to ebb and flow with no discernable reason for the instability.”
“And that was the start of your problems? You are quite certain? I ask because I know that some of the others have claimed for many years that you are not as accomplished at magic as you claim. Are you quite certain you had no problems before we were trapped in that land?”
The elf turned beet red. “I had no problems before that, I assure you. The others denigrated me because of their jealousy.”
I sighed. “Well, maybe something that happened in that other land affected your power.”
My Arrogant One shook his head. “I cannot think what that might be.”
I frowned. “I know you do not wish to discuss this with anyone else, but I really think Dragon may be able to help.”
Before the elf could interrupt, I raised my hand and continued. “Dragon is the most powerful of my characters in the use of all types of magic, not just illusion. She can detect things in the traces of a magic signature that might lead to a solution for you. And, if it was anything that happened in that other land, Dragon is the only one who might be able to enlist the help of the Lord of the Forest, the unicorn who aided us in returning to this world.”
My Arrogant One sat, his eyes narrowed. He chewed on his lower lip as he obviously weighed the value of Dragon’s help against the humiliation he would feel at admitting to her or any of the others that he had lost control of his magic. Finally, he rose and nodded. “Very well. I will speak with her.”
I stood and walked with him to the door. “We’ll both go to her. Dragon owes me a few favors, and she may be more amenable to helping if the request comes from me.”
Will Dragon agree to help my Arrogant One find the cause of his problems? Will she be able to track down the source of his the fluctuation in his magic power? Be sure to come back next week and see what happens. We’ll leave the porch light on for you!
“Stop snoring!”
“Stop snoring!” My Arrogant One looked up from the chess board he was studying, took a rook, and chucked it at Dragon, who was sleeping in front of her illusory fireplace. As he released the small chess piece, the elf mumbled an incantation. By the time the rook bounced off Dragon’s thick, scaly hide, it was big enough to rouse her, though – luckily for my Arrogant One – not nearly big enough to do any damage.
Dragon opened one eye and dark smoke spewed from her snout. She gave the elf a baleful look. “What?”
Evidently, my characters’ excitement over the anthology containing two of my stories (
“Oh, Mistress! I am glad you are here.” Cleric beckoned me from across the room. She was by the big picture window, binoculars in hand, studying some birds in the snow by the bush in front of the deck. “Come look at these birds. I do not recognize them!”
“You can.” My Gypsy turned to us and held out his sketch pad. “I drew a picture of one of them.”
“I hope they come back.” Cleric looked out the window, a wistful expression on her face. “Oh, look!” She brightened as she pointed to another bird. “A Dark-eyed Junco!”
Cleric, my Gypsy, and I gaped at the picture. Before any of us could say anything, my husband, Miles, entered the room. His brow was creased, and anxiety tinged his voice. “Honey, I think you better come upstairs, right now.”
Miles raked his hand through his hair and grimaced. “There’s a bird flying around the kitchen. I don’t know how it got in the house – no one has opened any doors or windows.” Miles paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not all. This bird is . . . well, it’s strange-looking. It’s very colorful, and it has long tail feathers, but it’s no bigger than a robin. It almost looks like a miniature pheasant!”
The elf nodded and made a sweeping gesture toward my Bounty Hunter. “My Chancellor.”
My Arrogant One squirmed out of Dragon’s grasp and bounded toward the door. My Old Dwarf jumped up, brandishing his axe and blocking the elf’s path. “Tha lass be wantin’ fer ye ta be conversatin’ wit ’er, elfie.”
“I do not think Mistress Writer is in the mood to celebrate.” Cleric fidgeted with her belt and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
The Young Hero chuckled. “It is pronounced phys-i-cal ther-a-pist. I looked it up on Mistress Writer’s magic box, the one she calls a computer. A physical therapist is someone who can help relieve a person’s pain and help them gain mobility through physical means, like exercise or massage, as opposed to the use of surgery or a lot of medicines.”
The Gypsy shrugged. “Mistress Writer has never been in favor of us utilizing the skills, materials, and processes of our world on her or others from this world. Maybe she is afraid things that work in our world would have adverse effects on someone from this world.”
A few moments later, Dragon stood by the laptop and waved her clawed hand. The image on the computer appeared on the wall, big enough for everyone to see. She clicked on a few keys on the computer, and they began to read the book.
“Shhhh!” I poked my head out of the laundry room and scanned the hallway. Hearing Dragon snoring in the conference room, I returned to Miles and took one end of the fitted sheet he was trying to fold. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want her to hear us.”
A short while later, I was in my office with the door closed. My Old Dwarf shouldered the door open, turning the doorknob with one hand while munching a ham he held in his other hand. He plopped down in a chair next to me. “Be ye busy, lass?”
“Good. Then we kin be chattin’.” He took a big bite of the ham, then continued talking around the mouthful of food. “Lass, I be worried aboot tha big beastie.”
Dragon stared at the image for several long minutes. “It states that the anthology explores the topic of journeys.”
I tilted my head and rubbed the back of my neck. “Well, no. Each story, essay, and poem in the anthology is a unique interpretation of the concept of a journey. Each author has their own understanding of the topic. I, myself, have a second story in the anthology that involves a cowboy’s journey from grief, guilt, and blame to understanding and acceptance, and on to romance.”
Dragon snorted and returned to an angry shade of red. “Because, as you once told me, I am not right for the part? You claimed I was too noble, too experienced, too good, too playful. You claimed your new dragon did not have my knowledge, my compassion, my sense of fair-play, or my humor.” She glared at me.
Dragon nodded. She began to shimmer and slowly shape-shift into her accustomed guise of an elf maiden.
Dragon looked around cautiously. She stuck her head through the open conference room door and looked, first down the hallway toward Mistress Writer’s office, and then up the stairs toward the front entry. She sniffed the air, then tilted her head and cocked her ears, listening carefully. “I think they are gone.”
She turned back to the conference room, where the companions had gathered. Sorceress nodded. “Yes. Mistress Writer and Master Miles left the house about 15 minutes ago. They said they would be gone all day. They told Cleric they are going to spend the day shopping, and then they plan to go to a restaurant and maybe to a movie after that.”
“I don’t know! Let me check. Maybe they came back when we were patrolling another area.” Nolan picked up his walkie-talkie. “Hey, Davis, you there? Over.”
Johnson cut him off. “I heard. Contact Pruse and McFadden. They’re at the end of the street. Tell them to tail this new car.”
Before Nolan could say anything, he and Johnson saw the garage door open again, and another car leave, identical to the first two. This time, they got a good look at the driver, who smiled and waved as the car drove slowly past them.
Suddenly, they heard a commotion behind them. The rabbit was loping down the side of a house on the opposite side of the street, coming straight toward them. The dwarf was hot on its heels, still cussing and yelling and waving the axe around.
The dwarf and the rabbit always seemed to disappear between two houses on one side of the street, only to reappear a few seconds later, a little further down the road, running from between two houses on the other side of the street. They kept leading the law enforcement officials further and further down the lane, heading east, away from the house under surveillance.
Later that afternoon, Mace and Gloria met with federal agents. They threatened to press charges against the members of the task force. Gloria was almost hysterical. “They broke our front door, and they tore our entire house apart! They kept saying over and over and over that the jig was up, that they had heard everything! They claimed that right before they broke in they had seen and heard me talking with three people from my neighbors’ house. They’re wrong! I was alone in the house when they broke in!”
As Miles pulled the car into the driveway, I commented, “I hope my characters had a nice, quiet day today and didn’t get into any trouble.”
“Are they still out there?”
My husband, Miles, shrugged. “I’m not sure. They’ve become so much a part of the scenery, I don’t even notice them anymore.” He took the potato peeler and started working on the mountain of spuds. “We better get dinner in the crock pots, so we can go rake the leaves. In the past two weeks, I think every tree and bush has shed every one of their leaves.”
“Honey, you know if I could, I’d send them all back into my manuscripts. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to do that. I still don’t understand how they all fell out of my manuscripts and ended up here, so I have no way to reverse the process.”
In contrast, his compatriot, the Arrogant One, drew himself up, rocked back on his heels, and grasped his cloak in both hands. When he spoke, it was in an annoying high-pitched screech, a peculiar combination of arrogance and petulance. “They have no right to accuse us of anything. We are entirely innocent of all transgressions.”
“We all agree that we have done nothing to validate Mistress Writer’s lack of faith in us in this instance. However, this has not always been the case.” The Foreman narrowed his gray eyes and glared at the Arrogant One. “Some of us have caused Mistress Writer and Master Miles much grief in the past. It is no wonder they do not believe in our innocence.”
The Arrogant One turned beet red and opened his mouth to reply, but Sorceress cut him off, holding up her hand like a cop stopping traffic. “This is unproductive. Does it really matter whether Mistress Writer blames us? Does it even matter whether we are innocent? If these law enforcers remain in the area and continue to observe the activities of Mistress Writer and Master Miles, sooner or later they will discover us.”
“An’ why would thet be so bad?” The Old Dwarf rubbed his shield with a soft cloth, buffing it to a shiny finish. He smiled as he saw his bearded face staring back at him. Then he stood, picked up his battleaxe, looked at his friends and scoffed. “Wot could tha law enforcers be doin’ ta us iffin they be discoverin’ us, anywho?”
The Gypsy nodded. “It would not be pleasant for them, trying to explain who we are and whence we came.” His arm snaked out, and his stiletto flew across the room, scoring a perfect bulls-eye on the target mounted on the far wall. “I propose we do something to rid the area of these intruders.”
The Young Hero’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “Surely you do not propose murder!”
“There will be no violence.” Dragon’s tone of voice left no room for debate. “We must employ some other means to get these people to abandon their investigation and leave the area, and we must do it without involving Mistress Writer or Master Miles.”
“Yup, they’re still there.” I jerked my thumb toward our neighbor’s yard. Deputies Whitewash and Dawg, along with several men in suits, seemed fascinated by something they had apparently spotted in one of our trees. They all stood there along the property line, focusing their binoculars on the bare tree at the edge of the yard.
“Excuse me, ma’am, sir.” Deputy Whitewash waved at us and beckoned us closer.
The Arrogant One drew himself up, rocked back on his heels, and grasped his cloak in both hands. He looked down his nose at Dragon and the others. “Of course I can manage. I am, after all, an illusionist extraordinaire!”
“Are you all sure you haven’t done anything?”
My Gypsy glanced over at my Foreman’s pumpkin, shook his head, and chuckled. “That does not look very scary.” The lad examined the pumpkin he was carving. His tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated. He took his silver stiletto and carefully carved a few more slivers from the jack-o-lantern’s nose. He cocked his head, giving his work a critical appraisal. He nodded in satisfaction. “This is how a Halloween pumpkin should look. As for your question, Mistress, I believe the Foreman is correct. Our answers will not change, no matter how often you ask.”
The dwarf paused and squished his eyebrows together as he looked at the large, orange rock he was painting. After a few minutes of deliberation, he carefully brushed some black paint on the rock, creating a reasonable facsimile of a jack-o-lantern . . . if a jack-o-lantern was supposed to look like a sick rabbit. Looking up at me, he continued the discussion. “Dinna ye be sayin’ thet tha people wot be skulkin’ about tha neighbor’s yard be tha same difference as our king’s guard? Thet they don na be jest tha law enforcers o yer little town here, they be tha law enforcers o yer whole country?”
Dragon had shrunk to the size of a Chihuahua to work on her pumpkin, which she was decorating by magic. She did not look up at my question, but black smoke poured from her nostrils. “Do you really think me so foolish as to allow the inhabitants of your world to see me unless I fully intended them to do so?”
I sighed and continued pacing around, as my characters continued to work on their projects. I stopped next to my Young Hero, who was trying to make his jack-o-lantern even scarier than the one his best friend, my Gypsy, was making. “What about you? Have you been riding your pony off the property?”
I walked over to Cleric, who was creating patterns to sew ghost and witch pillows. “I don’t suppose you can think of anything you may have done? Maybe when you and Sorceress were out collecting botanicals for your spells?”
Sorceress put another dab of paint on her black cat pumpkin, then looked over at me. She agreed with Cleric, and her tone, like my Foreman’s, was edged with annoyance at the questions. “Even if someone had seen us gathering plants and flowers, I do not think they would have paid us any attention. We did not go on private property or take anything from the areas you have warned us about – state or county parks where gathering specimens is illegal.”
“Don’t remind me.” I scowled and looked at the illusory figures he was conjuring for Halloween. “You haven’t created any illusions that may have been seen by any of our neighbors, have you?”
My Bounty Hunter looked up from the scarecrow he was stuffing with straw. The corners of his mouth twitched. “I can vouch for that. We have been working on the shed roof. Even at other times, the elf is usually with me, and I have seen him do nothing that would attract the attention of the neighbors or the gendarmes.”
Cleric nodded. “I remember Mistress and her spouse buying lots of candy to give to visitors. I remember children dressed in costumes, some beautiful, some scary, some strange, coming to the door for these sweet treats. I remember a few decorations being placed around the front door. But I have never really understood the meaning of the day.”
“This holiday has its roots in the ancient celebration called Samhain, marking the end of summer and harvest, and the beginning of winter. 
It was believed that on that night, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred, and the ghosts of the dead returned to earth. Some believed it to be the time when magic was at its strongest, with witches, demons, and other creatures able to openly walk the earth. I think I read somewhere that the practice of wearing costumes – which people still do today on Halloween – came from the ancient custom of people disguising themselves so that they would not be recognized and harmed by the creatures that walked the earth. Of course, Halloween has changed greatly over the centuries, as other religions and cultures tried to change it and adapt it to their beliefs and customs.”
As I was admiring my Old Dwarf’s latest effort, Miles entered the conference room.
“Nothing, really, I guess. It’s just that those cops . . . detectives . . . investigators . . . agents . . . whatever they all are . . . are still lurking all around the neighborhood. There were two people in a county sheriff’s car at the end of our street, and they actually followed me to the supermarket!”
“I could take care of it for you.” Dragon’s voice dripped with sweetness, and the expression on her face was pure innocence.
