The Scryer
ut of Quintessential Quodpot and down through a maze of small side streets, Jina followed Fenowith to their next destination. Along the way, he picked up a couple of overstuffed breakfast burritos from a street vendor. He offered one to Jina, but she still wasn’t hungry. It was just as well, though, because the burritos were gone by the time they reached the next block, both devoured by Fenowith in less than a minute.
As they passed by O’Biggle’s apothecary, Jina craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the Quodpot arena, and she almost walked into Fenowith when he stopped mid-stride.
“Oh — burp — hang on. I just remembered I’m out of fluxweed seeds. You don’t mind if we stop here for a sec, do you?”
“No, no problem,” said Jina, not bothering to take her eyes off the stadium, imagining what it must look like on the inside. “I’ll wait out here.”
“Okay. I’ll just be a minute.”
Fenowith entered the apothecary, sidestepping a skinny man on his way out, who was shaking his head and muttering, “They’re crazy! Why, I remember when dragon liver was just sixteen Sprinks an ounce!”
Dragons? Did that guy just say something about dragons? Jina conjured up images of the fearsome beasts in her mind’s eye, marveling at the thought that such amazing creatures were not just a fantasy — dragons were real!
Jina walked a few paces down the lane to get a better glimpse of the Quodpot arena. With her back against a wall and her eyes fixed firmly on the arena, she soon began to daydream, imagining what it would be like to play such an amazing magical sport. She didn’t even notice when the wind picked up and pulled her hood back, ever so slightly, and she jumped when a smooth male voice chimed in beside her.
“Ah, the Empire sure were on fire last season. Too bad they choked in the Golden Cauldron, eh?”
Jina surveyed the man, who surveyed her right back. Recognition then seemed to dawn on his face, along with a gleaming smile. “Say! You aren’t, by any chance, Hecate Grimwar, are you?”
“Um,” said Jina, feeling a bit strange being referred to by that name. “I —”
“Well, now! I thought I recognized you! Ah, I never forget a face. Hi there, I’m Buzz Bourbon.” The man thrust out a hand, and Jina thought she caught a whiff of something like bourbon on his breath. “I write for the Scryer . . . because ‘Inquisitive minds want to know,’ you know? Heh-heh!”
She didn’t shake Bourbon’s hand; rather, she had a sudden inclination to back away.
“You don’t mind answering a few questions, do you?” A small pad of parchment and a slick black feather quill sprang from out of nowhere and hovered beside Bourbon. “Ah, what am I saying? Of course you don’t!”
“Well, actually I —”
“Twenty-One, June, Mystic District, outside O’Biggle’s apothecary with Hecate Grimwar, daughter of He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named,” he dictated, and the floating quill began to scribble something down on the parchment. “So, Hecate, what’s it been like being the daughter of the most powerful dark sorcerer in the Western Hemisphere, hmm? Troubling? Scary? Exciting? Useful?” He winked and nodded.
Now Jina really did begin to back away. “Um, I really — I, uh —”
She eyed the floating quill as it began scribbling something else down.
“Really what, dear?” Bourbon probed. “Really miss Daddy, and can’t rest until you get some closure? Really hated Daddy, and happy as a hinkypunk now that he’s gone? Really glad Daddy’s out of the way so you can step in and take his place? Oh, those are some awfully big shoes to fill, love.”
Jina kept trying to walk away, but Bourbon followed.
“Um, I don’t think I should —”
“Hey, there’s nothing to worry about!” he said. “Look, we’ll make it nice and easy — all yes or no questions. I’ll just fill in all the gory details later. So, how about it? Are we ready now? Yes or no?”
“NO.”
“Ah, see? Now wasn’t that easy? Let’s talk about your mom, shall we? I mean, of course, your father is the big star and all, but your mother — well, then I guess your mother is the moon in this regard — which makes sense, seeing as she is a bit looney. What do you —”
Jina felt her face flush, and she snapped, “My mom is not looney!”
“Oh, come now, of course she is,” said Bourbon. “Stark raving lunatic, your mum, and you know it. Or did you think it was normal for an expectant mother to pound potions all day, throwing all caution to the wind, carrying you in her belly along with all her devious draughts and experimental concoctions? It’s a wonder you grew at all in there, from what I hear, despite whatever clock-stopping dark magic she discovered back then. And tell me, is she still feeding you dirt, or was that just when you were an infant?”
“I — I have to go now,” said Jina, scowling as she spun around and started walking fast in the other direction, but Bourbon stuck to her like glue.
“Wait! Just a question or two before you go. About your mother — lunatic or not — the prevailing presumption, still to this day, is that she was, in fact, the driving force behind your father’s descent into madness. From your own perspective, as their daughter, would you say that this is untrue?”
“No, look, it’s been —”
“No? So you do believe that your mother was indeed responsible for your father’s abrupt transformation into a deranged psychopath.? And how does that make you feel? Does it not bother you?”
“No, that’s not what I —”
“No? So you really are troubled by your mother’s role in all of this. My poor girl! I imagine you must be tormented continually . . . always wondering if the atrocities of the past decade could have been avoided, had only your mother and father never met . . . seeing yourself, their offspring, as a constant reminder of their wicked union, perhaps even as a kind of symbol for all of the unspeakable horrors we have suffered under your father’s regime. Am I incorrect to assume all of this?”
“No, I — I —”
Then, to Jina’s intense relief, a familiar voice cut through the air, at once melting the reporter’s cheerful exterior, like salt on a slug.
“HEY! Get away from her, you vulture!”
Fenowith waved his wand up at Bourbon, who took a defiant stance. “Oh, come now. Hecate and I were just having a little chat.”
“Well, now you’re done. Go on! Get out of here! Scram!”
Bourbon looked affronted and crossed his arms. “It’s a free country, and I’ll go where I please.”
Fenowith gritted his teeth. “Then it’d better please you to go in the opposite direction of where we’re going, or you’re going to have to deal with me.”
Bourbon threw a very nasty look at Fenowith, then turned on his heel and strode off, followed closely behind by his trusty quill and parchment, which still seemed to be taking notes.
Fenowith glared at Bourbon one last time before turning to Jina. Unrolling the newspaper Harriet the eagle had delivered earlier that morning, he held the front page up for her to see. The newspaper’s title and slogan read:
The National Scryer
Inquisitive Minds Want to Know
“Here, look at this,” he said, pointing to the lead article. “Recognize that name?”
Jina scanned the enormous lead headline:
You-Know-Who-Else Vanquished at Last
Questions Abound, Mystery Hero Still Unknown
When she got to the byline, she frowned as she read the name aloud, “Buzz Bourbon.”
“Bingo,” said Fenowith.
“Can I see that?” Jina asked, and he handed her the newspaper.
Her eyes fell upon the lead story’s full-color photograph, the sight of which chilled her to the bone. The man in the picture looked back with a fierce, penetrating stare. She had seen those exact same sky blue eyes just an hour or so ago — only then, she’d been looking into a mirror.
Jina shuddered as she gazed upon her father’s face for what was, for all intents and purposes, the first time in her life. Although his eyes seemed colder and more distant, their color and intensity made them otherwise identical to hers. The striking similarity gave her a distinct feeling of unease, and it was quite a relief to see that the family resemblance pretty much ended there. In fact, everything else about his appearance seemed to be the exact opposite of hers. He had large shoulders, a thick neck and a big square jaw, a long bulbous nose, bushy eyebrows and golden blond hair, about half of which had gone gray. Indeed, he seemed much older than she had expected — not quite as old as Marley Rusthorne, perhaps, but not so far behind. Jina was also surprised to find that her father — the most twisted and evil of all dark sorcerers — was quite handsome, in a rugged and rather cavalier sort of way.
After staring at the photograph for some time, Jina shifted her attention to the accompanying article.
Phoenix, AZ. A crater and some bits of charred remains are all that’s left behind of the darkest sorcerer of our time: Morgod, whose reign of terror came to an explosive end last night in the high desert. The abruptness and inexplicability of his defeat have left many people wondering: what on earth happened, and to whom do we owe our thanks? For the moment, it seems no one knows the answer to either question.
MACUSA President Marion Posthurdle issued a statement early this morning, calling the event “the most important turning point in the course of wizard history yet seen in this century”. As usual, Posthurdle described “He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named” as “a powerful wizard . . . leaving his mark” and “a great rival,” stopping short of acknowledging the criminality, insanity and utter inhumanity of his villainous career.
Following the MACUSA press conference, Auror Gideon Humphrey (a vocal critic of Posthurdle and seven-time winner of the Scryer’s own Most Talented Patronus Award) voiced his disapproval of the President’s speech, calling him “a spineless twerp”.
Other officials from the Auror Agency say Morgod’s followers are in a state of disarray and panic, with many — Continued on page A2.
Morgod. Jina repeated the underlined name in her mind, wondering just how painful it would be to speak aloud — and resisting a crazy urge to find out. She flipped the newspaper to take a glance at the front page’s lower portion, and she was just about to turn the page, when another photograph stood out to her — one that featured a woman who looked remarkably like . . . her.
Jina made a small gasp. Could this really be who she thought it was? A quick read confirmed her suspicion.
EMERALD TABLET STOLEN
Mulcedra Prime Suspect,
Alchemists in Uproar
New York, NY. MACUSA President Marion Posthurdle issued a formal apology to Egyptian authorities and wizards around the world this morning, after a priceless artifact was pilfered from the Smithsonian Museum of Magical History in Washington D.C. The Emerald Tablet, a five-thousand-year-old relic on loan from the Great Library of Alexandria, was taken from its display late last night.
Portraits who witnessed the crime from a nearby gallery have identified the thief as none other than Mulcedra, the reclusive wife of He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named, whose current whereabouts are unknown as usual. While she left few clues and had no discernible motive, the Magical Investigation Agency does acknowledge that the timing of the theft roughly coincided with her husband’s fall last night, occurring shortly after the mysterious incident that triggered the notorious dark wizard’s defeat.
“It’s a great, great loss,” museum curator Richard Riedel said at a morning press conference, lamenting that the crime casts “a dark cloud that dims even this brightest of days.”
The missing artifact is considered by many to be the cornerstone of the three schools of ancient magic, most notably — Continued on page A3
Jina studied the black and white photograph of Mulcedra, noticing right away that (despite the haughty looks she kept making) her mother was rather pretty, albeit in a dark and roguish sort of way. Jina wondered if she might be catching a glimpse of what the future had in store, as her own features seemed to take after her mother in every way. Mulcedra even had the same curious white streak in her hair, only longer and on the opposite side. Her eyes were the same shape and size, just embellished with liner and shadow. She had the same short nose, just slightly longer; the same thin lips, only painted with dark rouge; the same youthful face, but with more womanly proportions . . . only . . .
“Fenowith,” said Jina, flipping the paper and frowning with confusion at what appeared to be a substantial difference in age between her mother and father, “is this a recent picture of my mom?”
Fenowith craned his neck. “Oh. Yeah, she’s always looked like that.”
“What do you mean? How old is she?”
“Um, twenty-something, I think. I don’t know. Pukwudgies aren’t so good at math. Doesn’t look a day out of Ilvermorny, though, does she? They say she uses some kind of dark magic to keep herself young — or looking young, at any rate.”
Flipping back to the photograph of her father, who was clearly middle-aged, Jina wondered about the unknown circumstances that had brought her parents together so many years ago — just another drop in the cauldron of questions brewing and bubbling inside her head. Before any reached her lips, however, Fenowith changed the subject and ushered her down the lane once more.
“Okay, now look, I got three rules for you, kid. Rule number one: don’t talk to strangers. Rule number two: if strangers talk to you, don’t tell ’em who you are. Most people won’t know anyway, so just say you’re Jina Whatever if anyone asks. Rule number three: please, please, please, please, please don’t mention my little errand here to anyone, unless they ask. The last thing I want to have to do is explain to Winona Whitewolf — or worse, Marley Rusthorne — how I left you out on the street while I went to go buy some stupid fluxweed seeds. Oh, brother, was that ever a dumb move!”
Promising that she would obey Fenowith’s rules, Jina decided to walk close beside him for good measure. She tucked the newspaper under her arm, thinking back to what Buzz Bourbon had said (and written) about her father. Her chat with Fenowith the night before had left her under the impression that both of her parents were alive and well, but now she didn’t know what to think. By Buzz Bourbon’s account, it sounded as though her father had in fact died the night before. If that was true — if her father was dead — how exactly was she supposed to feel about it? From what little she knew, her father had been an evil, feared, and very much hated man. Perhaps the thought of his demise should make her feel relieved or even happy. What she felt now, however, was only confusion.
And what was all that nonsense about her mother? Was there any truth to it? Had she really been off committing crimes while her daughter lay injured in a hospital bed on the other side of the country? And if she had stolen that Emerald Thingy after all — why? Why was it so much more important to her than her own flesh and blood? Was she really a deranged lunatic, as Bourbon claimed, somehow responsible for turning her father to the dark side? And was Jina herself really some kind of symbol for all of that wickedness — a living, breathing reminder to people everywhere of all the misery and mayhem her wretched parents had ever inflicted on the world?
Part of Jina wanted very much to broach these subjects with Fenowith, but instead she just bit her lip, trudging along beside him with a troubled frown and the National Scryer tucked under her arm. At least one thing was certain: she was going to finish reading those two news articles the very first chance she got!
A few minutes later, the bell above the door to Major Marjory’s Magical Menagerie jingled, as Jina and Fenowith stepped inside the shop — or at least, it appeared to jingle; it was impossible to hear above the noise of all the animals.
“Hello, there!” a man’s voice called above the racket. “I’ll be with y’all in just a sec.”
Jina craned her neck and saw a large man standing behind the front counter, smiling beneath a tremendous white beard, an enormous butterfly with wings the size of dinner plates clinging to his arm.
“Well, a happy, happy day to ya, missy!” he said, placing the butterfly on a perch and stepping out from behind the counter. “A happy day indeed! So, I reckon ye’re here to find yerself a nice little familiar for school, am I right?”
Jina found her voice. “Um, sorry . . . a what?”
“Why, an animal companion o’ course! We got the best pick of Ilvermorny-approved familiars in the whole Mid-Atlantic, plus a whole lot more. Can I interest you in a whangdoodle or two?”
The man gestured toward a cage containing several skunk-like creatures with tiny hooves and long horns.
“Just got ’em from the breeder this mornin’. Can’t take ’em with you to school o’ course, but they’re great havin’ ’round the house, ’specially for de-gnomin’ — though nothing beats a good ol’ crup, if y’ask me. We do have a new litter of cruppies too, if ye’re interested.”
“We’re just looking today, thanks,” said Fenowith.
“O’ course! O’ course! Just gimme a shout if you need anythin’. Name’s Marjory — Major Jeromey Marjory at your service!”
As Maj. Marjory tended once again to his mammoth butterfly, Jina wandered amongst the jumble of cages, tanks and pens, browsing the store’s inventory of strange and fascinating creatures. Among them were more giant insects, like foot-long praying mantises and dragonflies with arm-length wingspans.
Many of the animals became more excited and showy as she walked by, as if to say, “Pick me!” A gaggle of flamboyant fwoopers fluffed out their long, multicolored feathers and sang what sounded a bit like show-tunes. The jarveys did a well-choreographed sort of dance, while nearby clabberts drummed a festive rhythm on the bars of their cages.
Jina stopped for a moment before a long narrow aquarium, to study a pair of large turquoise fish that swam endlessly back and forth along the length of the enclosure.
“Ah, I see you’ve found the lap fish,” said Maj. Marjory, who had just stridden up beside her, .
“Do they do that all day?” Jina asked.
“Oh, sure, if you let ’em. Even in a large body o’ water, males and females always pair up ’n’ swim to and fro like that, meetin’ back up in the middle each time. If you didn’t happen to notice, they always brush fins when they pass each other by.”
“Ah, right. So, I guess that’s why they’re called ‘lap fish’ then, because they like swimming laps?”
“Oh, no, dear,” said Maj. Margory. “It’s ’cause they really like to sit in your lap, ’specially on rainy days.”
Jina blinked and was about to respond, when she felt something brush up against her leg.
“Oh! Hi there!” she said, smiling down at an enormous black cat, who gazed back up at her with bright blue eyes. His long fluffy tail swished about as he rubbed up against Jina’s legs, and he responded to her greeting with a hearty meow.
“Can I pick him up?” Jina asked Maj. Margory.
“Oh, go right ahead, dear. He’s not really one o’ ours anyway.”
“He’s not?” Jina scooped up the great cat, who began purring.
“Nope — just turned up this mornin’, lookin’ for food. We cast a Kinship Div’nation Charm on ’im to try and locate ’is family, but it turned up nothin’. Kinda threw us for a bit of a loop — I mean, he musta been someone’s at some point, given ’is prosthetic there.”
Inspecting the cat’s front left paw, Jina found it to be made of dark black wood, with leathery pads and articulated joints that he was somehow able to move. She gently squeezed each of the toes, revealing very sharp metal retractable claws.
“So what’s your story?” she asked the big black cat, scratching behind his ear and feeling a collar buried beneath his long, luxurious fur. Digging around, she found a silver tag with a single word engraved upon it.
“Pim-an-der,” she said, reading the tag out loud.
“What’s that you got there?” Fenowith asked as he waddled over to Jina, evidently done playing with the five-headed Gila monsters.
“This is Pimander, my new best friend,” said Jina, giving the cat a hug.
“Hey!” Fenowith bellowed in mock offense. “I thought I was your best friend.”
Jina laughed. “You’re both my best friend. Pimander’s just newer.”
“What, you’re calling me old now too?”
“Ha-ha. You know what I mean.”
Fenowith checked his watch, which appeared to have a dozen or so hands and no numbers.
“Hey, listen. If you like this place, you’re going to love the zoo. We’ve got plenty of time. Want to check it out?”
Jina beamed. “Yeah. Of course!”
“Great. Let’s go. Oh, but, sorry to say, you’re going to have to say so-long to your new best friend.”