Alright. Wizards could get an entire goddamn book to themselves, but here are the broad strokes. First, no human can do magic on their own. I’ve been told that this is the way it’s always been. There are no archmagi or sourcerors or anything like that. Every wizard who has ever existed has needed to make what’s called a ‘Pact’. If you think this sounds unfair as hell, then I agree, but it’s the nature of the world. If it makes things any better, I’ve yet to meet a supernatural creature who didn’t also depend on humans. The thing is, there are a whole shitload of humans in the world, and not that many fairies, demons, and undead.
Basically, think of it like this. Humans are a source of energy, like gasoline. But we can’t use it for anything. A supernatural creature is like an engine. You put gasoline into it, it converts it into usable power, depending on the kind of creature. I’ve heard that there used to be all kinds of things that could do this. Things from other worlds, sapient objects, classical monsters, gods, elemental spirits. But they’re things of myth and legend, now, and no living wizard I’ve met has made a deal with one. The only things that still make pacts with humans are the things that feed on us. (Fang Fen: For good reason. A parasite takes. A symbiote shares. And nobody wants to be a parasite.)
Typically, the power that a human gets from a supernatural creature is appropriate to what that creature is. Sometimes, it takes the form of spells, like the sort of thing you’d get out of Dungeons and Dragons. (Alfred: Or the works of the Hermetic Order. Don’t denigrate us by comparing us to a bunch of greasy nerds with orange fingers.) (Atina: I know for a FACT that you were into White Wolf, you poseur.) (Polly: Those games were so fucking racist. Especially about the Fae.) Sometimes, it’s just some kind of passive improvement. The problem here is that the power comes with a lot of hooks attached.
First, the power can be withdrawn at any time. I’ve never met a supernatural creature that didn’t reserve the right to take back their power. Some agree to only do so if certain agreements are broken, but they could always break that contract. Second, there’s usually some poison pill clause to allow them to fuck with someone who’s accepted their power. It may be just pain, or control, but it’s part of the negotiations. Fairies usually prefer taboos to control, forbidding things instead of compelling behavior. A demon will almost always demand some level of control over you. Undead… Well, they can be a mixed bag. Regardless, becoming a wizard means giving up your autonomy.
And as to power… Power is a mixed bag too. Some people are naturally powerful. Some people are nearly worthless. As far as I can tell, I’m one of those who’s nearly worthless. I might be able to achieve some neat card tricks if I made a pact with someone strong, but I’m never going to be one of those types who throws tsunamis or shakes mountains to their core or shit. I don’t know why. Alfred’s told me there are dozens of different identified factors that make people stronger or weaker. Birth can play a role, the time of year and where it was. The way you behave. But the thing is, different people can have different responses, and there’s no in-depth genetic analysis of this stuff available, so it’s mostly guess-work, and trying to get stronger could just as easily make you weaker.
So far as I know, when someone dies, it destroys the pact. This means brain-death, incidentally; No tricks with stopping your heart to break out of a pact. On the other hand, as long as the supernatural creature is alive, the one who makes the pact with them won’t grow old. Conceivably, you could live forever like this, save for the fact that if the pact is broken, you revert to your true age. (Alfred: This isn’t quite correct. Technically, a spirit could prevent this rapid, sudden aging. But, when a relationship has gone on long enough for this to be a factor, it seldom breaks… cleanly.)
Alfred: There’s one thing I don’t talk with Atina about much, because it doesn’t get brought up much. See, a person is not limited to a single pact. The human soul is a surprisingly hardy thing, and theoretically, there’s room for up to seven points of attachment; Seven links to the supernatural. The problem here is twofold. First, the simple realities; As Atina has said, pactmakers have a tight grip on those they give power to. It’s rare that one would be willing to let themselves be jilted or share their human with another. And second, there is the problem of feedback. Balancing power like that takes a spectacular level of dedication, and focus. The consequences of failing to do so could be lethal. I’m one of the few wizards under 40 who is attempting to take on a second pact, and that’s only because I was given the first as a child.
There are seven connections, and they are often associated with the seven Chakras. I’ve theorized that the Chakra a pact is made with influences that pact in some way, but as so few wizards have even two pacts, let alone the theoretical seven, I’m unable to figure much more about it. More than three enters purely into the realm of speculation.
Atina: You may ask yourself, by the way- Why magic? Why throw a fireball when you can use a gun? Why a flight spell when planes are freely available? The truth is, magic is hardly inherently superior to technology, and while most supernatural creatures aren’t good with it, wizards are just fine with most technology available to them. Magic’s just another tool in the kit, really; And most notably, it’s one that most humans have no idea how to deal with. That’s its main advantage: Getting one over on humans. Technology often serves a similar purpose for dealing with supernatural creatures. The ultimate advantage of being a wizard, as far as I can tell, is that you’re not limited to one or the other; You can switch-hit. Maybe you’re not as good as someone who specializes, but you’re flexible.
The official name for a Bard is a ‘Player’; As in ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely’. They draw heavily from English, Literature, and History. These skills, derided by the world at large, are the primary survival traits of those who can figure out the fairies. Think about the very first kind of stories we’re told as kids: Fairy tales. Stories about how to avoid monsters, and about the mistakes other children have made. How to trick things. Those who pay attention to the stories are the ones who can survive among the fairies. I call them Bards, and because most of them are RPG dorks, most of them immediately catch on to the fact that this is an insult. And even better, most of those immediately catch on that I’m testing them, and take it with good humor. (Alfred: You are, however, still banned from the weekly gaming meet-up. Not that I’d ever expect you to go.)
Among the three, Bards are the most likely to have a romantic relationship with their pactmakers, and as far as I know, humans and fairies can interbreed. They’re actually even fairly stable relationships. A lot of Bards end up married to their pact-maker, which is why the name ‘Player’ only really applies to Alfred. (Polly: You know, a bad attitude can be conducive to bad results. I should talk with Atina about taking it for granted that Alfred’s going to move on…)
Typically, the way a Bard makes their first pact is through a hookup. They meet someone fascinating and unusual. Plays, book convention, LARPing, antique shows, the usual havens. They get laid, and they realize that there’s something strange about this person. Something that seems just a little bit too familiar from the stories and plays they’ve read. Despite the Shakespearean allusions, these aren’t always fairies out of English literature. There’s a world of strange creatures out there that feed on human thought. There’s actually a small population of Yokai in Binghamton, though they tend to blend in with the local courts. I’ve even heard that there are entirely different court systems in tropical regions, where it’s more ‘Rainy’ and ‘Dry’.
Anyway, the flattered fairy might make an offer, or the human might. One way or another, the two wind up in a pact together. This is something of a status symbol for the fairy, and most of the powerful members of a given court will usually either be looking for a human to make into a Bard, although they’re selective. And no, the King and Queen of the court are not married, and yes, they look for wizards too. These people are known as ‘Consorts’. (Polly: Though some of us do call ’em the King and Queen’s Piece o’ Side-Tail behind their backs.) (Alfred: I wish you wouldn’t, no matter how admittedly funny it is.)
Polly: For my money, the most useful thing a Fae gets from a wizard is the simple and uncomplicated connection. Humans are a lot more… stable, than fae. Even someone like Alfred brings a lot of stability into my life. You always know that they’ll be willing to put on dinner that night, that they’ll have a stable life that can cancel out a lot of the over-dramatic weirdness that we encounter. It’s nice, y’know?
Of the three, Bards tend to be in the best shape. Whether this is because of the LARPing, or the fact that most fairies tend to be fairly physically active, or even the aforementioned ‘has a significant other’ thing, the consequence is that they tend to be pretty physically formidable. Alongside this is the fact that fairies often give people abilities that enhance what they already have, rather than something entirely new. This makes Bards rather dangerous fighters- don’t trust that whole squishy wizard stereotype. They’re not always supernaturally strong or fast, but they tend to be big into Society of Creative Anachronism style shit, so they actually know how to use the ridiculous weapons they carry around.
To my understanding, there are two broad types of power that a Bard will use: Stunts, and Productions. A stunt is something that can be done in the blink of an eye, instinctively- They tend to be fairly standardized, even rote. They don’t require any spoken words, gestures, or anything else. Productions are the more elaborate stuff. They usually require some chanting, waving, a whole big… well… production. The way that Alfred describes it, all of the trimmings help the Bard to gather power for the magic. Illusions are apparently a big thing for them, too.
Alfred: Illusions are a frequent form of Fae magic, it’s true, although generally, they’re more often Production than Stunt. My ability to use them in a fight to feint is considered highly unusual, and is something of a function of my first pact. I’ve had a lot of time to practice them. The difference between stunt and production is usually a matter of complexity; A Production can take anywhere from a few seconds to hours, the only important thing being that it is not instantaneous. My Dreamwalks and the other potions I sometimes make are examples of Productions.
Generally speaking, a Production is much more flexible, since you don’t need to know it by rote. There are still some fairly significant limitations. It must be something in touch with the one I’ve made a pact with, and not against their values; For example, Atina once asked me to make a potion to reveal when she was being lied to, and it was quite impossible. Revealing deceptions goes against what my powers are about, after all. And yet, the dreamwalk lays bare the truth in an admittedly roundabout and confusing way.
Nobody ever said mastery of the mystical arts would be easy.
As far as wizard schools go, the College of Liberal Dark Arts is where the Bards usually gather. I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about its internal workings and politics. (Alfred: I’d explain them, but frankly, it’s a bunch of tedious political backbiting, and I don’t usually get involved with it. Because of the divisions in the fairy courts, the wizards who work with the fae tend to be similarly divided.)
Typically speaking, a Bard does not have any direct power in the courts, unless they are a champion. They are able to act through their pactmaker, but do not have any say of their own. Functionally, this doesn’t make much of a difference, as a team of fairy and pactmaker are often fairly closely aligned. A Bard often acts as sort of an enforcer for a given fairy, doing the things that fairy can’t be seen to be doing themselves.
Wizards will on occasion become Champions, or much more rarely King’s Men, of the four courts. They’re generally the only humans ever put in a position to do so, with the exception of yours truly. The process of becoming a Champion is fairly simple- You simply need to convince one of the fairies to rely on your services in court, and succeed in defending them. I know that the Department of Liberal Dark Arts has a few of them, including Alfred, although none of them are part of the Fall Court.
Alfred is what’s known as an Iron Knight- A champion of summer, someone who’s earned the right to carry iron-bladed weapons. Bare iron would be bad for his magic, but unlike most fairies, he can wield it, although not in a contest. It’s considered a way of making sure that he can’t be manipulated by any fairies, among other things.
HFM: While being partially a method of protecting their champion, the Iron Knight is also a threat. Ultimately, they are the Summer King’s way of reminding the other Kings and Queens that, should he choose, he has a warrior on hand who could cut down the fae. A reminder that when it comes to settling an argument, violence always exists as the final option. Hardly persuasive to watchers, but difficult to fight with words. Of course, the Winter Court maintains a counter, because violence can always be felled by more skilled violence. And those who live by the sword are fated to die by the sword. (Alfred: Look, Atina, I just find this kind of thing a little threatening, you know?) (HFM: I’ll try to tone it down.)
Alfred: As it happens… The first case that I ever had was when I was eighteen, just before I went to college. There was a Sidhe woman who had been accused of poisoning her previous lover with iron shavings poured into his food. This would have been bad enough, but as it turns out, the man who she’d tried to poison was the King himself, necessitating a rather brutal trial by combat against the King’s Man at the time, a vicious troll- A battle to the death, no less.
No one else would help her; The battle would be a serious one, and the King’s Man was famous for his brutality and violence, taking great pleasure in devouring his foes after crushing them to a pulp, and doing the same to those they defended. He was not a very pleasant person, all things considered, but he felt that he was fighting on the side of justice. So often the way that justice seems to justify such things, eh? (Atina: I really shouldn’t let him go on about his cases like this. His sense of humor is Shakespearean.)(Alfred: Thank you.)(Atina: Not a compliment.)(Alfred: And yet I choose to take it as one.)
The fight was a hell of an entry into the trial of combat. I was fighting with a single long-bladed rapier, as I’d been taught since childhood, which proved to be wholly insufficient for the task at hand- That is, killing a troll several times my size. The battle seemed quite hopeless, until the troll began to showboat for the crowd, setting down its cutlass. I managed to grab hold of it, and using the two weapons together, removed the troll’s head. That’s when I started my first relationship, with the fae who I had just saved. Of course, eventually, we drifted apart, but I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for her. (Atina: She offered to bake you a ‘good-bye’ cake, didn’t she? Did you ever try it?) (Alfred: Of course not. I mean, she was a fairly awful cook, so even if it wasn’t poisoned, I feel I made the right decision.)
Polly: Hey, what about the way you two met? (Atina: If there is a god, and he is kind, I am never sharing that information.)(Alfred: *Several heavily scratched out sentences appear here, ‘Singles Night’ the only two words remaining even close to legible.*)
Wherever you find autopsies, you find Postmortologists. Biology, medicine, these fields tend to have access to bodies. You may be asking yourself what that has to do with learning magic, but you have to understand that many undead take a few days after they die to ‘rise’ again. So, let’s say you’re of an inquisitive mind, studying medicine and biology, and the corpse that you’re preparing to autopsy suddenly sits up and screams at you. What do you do?
If you said ‘Start interviewing it and asking it questions’, congratulations! You’re a strong candidate for becoming a Horse. Mind you, it’s not always a newborn Undead they meet. If Lady Ann Willing were to be in a car accident, she’d be mistaken for a mundane corpse. Most Undead don’t give off many signs of life unless they’re actively trying to. One way or another, though, most med students wind up on the path to Lichdom by getting the wrong academic adviser. (Fang Fen: That’s hardly fair. Very few wizards become Liches, even among Postmortologists.)
Med students usually don’t have quite as much prosaic knowledge of fantasy and horror. When they meet one of the dead, they don’t know what to ask for, and they don’t know what’s fair, so most of them end up in fairly onerous pacts. The luckier ones wind up with one of the more moral and caring undead, who are merely patronizing and superior, rather than actively malevolent towards them. Generally speaking, the one constant is that the wizard is expected to provide what the Undead needs. Often from their own bodies. I’m not quite clear on the details, but apparently it tastes better?
Fang Fen: How to describe this… Imagine a normal human tastes like a normal meal. Some are good, some are bad, some are merely bland. The chi of someone with whom I have made a pact is like a meal, cooked by someone who loves me. It may be made well, it may be unappetizing, but in all cases it is better than it would otherwise be, because of who made it. Richer. More filling. More energizing. It is a strange thing, because in a way, it defies the idea that consumption is a zero sum game. Both can get out more than they put in. Perhaps I should start searching for another young man for a pact… (Atina: Don’t ask me to be your wingman.) (Polly: I wouldn’t mind. We could make a girl’s night of it.)
Atina: Now, I know you may be asking. “Why Postmortologist”? My only answer to that is that someone, somewhere, must have thought it sounded cooler than “Necromancer”. I call them Horses because they get ridden a lot. (Fang Fen: She had the misfortune of learning about my preferred method of feeding first. She’s never forgiven me.)
Where the fairies often enhance someone’s abilities, a pact with the undead frequently enhances the body directly. While it’s hardly universal, most Undead are able to change the body in some way appropriate to their own physical needs. Jiang-Shi, for example, are able to purify the chi of those who they make a pact with, or enhance someone’s sense of self and spiritual balance. Unfortunately, this is seldom ever useful, which may be part of why Fang Fen hasn’t made a pact lately. (Fang Fen: There is no need to get personal here, Atina.)
This is part of an overwhelming tendency towards symbolism. Thaumaturgical magic using body-parts- Blood for vampires, flesh for ghouls, and that kind of thing- is a frequent example. You’ll see some wizards who are capable of manipulating their own flesh. Others who can hold their breath for impossibly long times. All of it tends to be just a little bit disturbing. It’s difficult to nail them down to a standard theme. The most peculiar thing about Horses, however, are Liches.
See, a Postmortologist can become a Lich. It only happens if they commit a very specific kind of chemical suicide, although I don’t think the specific chemicals matter as much as they think they do. If you die with a pact in the right way and the right frame of mind, the pact is severed, but you arise as a Lich; Essentially, a corpse version of yourself. Liches feed off of brain activity, making everyone in the room a little bit duller. This makes them exactly as annoying to deal with as you might expect.
It’s a rare Wizard who’ll take their own lives in the hope of becoming independently powerful. But Liches are damn powerful, not least because they’ve been on both sides of the deal. Functionally, a lich’s own power is multiplied. Unfortunately, the kind of person who becomes a Lich is seldom very altruistic. (Fang Fen: To say the least. That Dean Morton is a distasteful man. Did you know that he once propositioned me and called me an ‘enchanting saffron dove’? It was the single most nonsensical compliment I’d ever received.) (Alfred: And the man is a pig at university functions. He doesn’t even need to eat, but he usually takes home at least an entire steamer tray of hors d’ouevres.)
The upsides are substantial, though. Liches are known for offering some of the widest variety of powers, not least because they often understand their own power on a more intellectual level. I’m told that Dean Morton’s pacts have been with many different kinds of students, but invariably produce impressively capable Horses. He himself seems to have retained much of his power from when he was a mortal wizard, though I’m not sure who his patron was. (Fang Fen: In truth, I don’t know either. He doesn’t talk about it much, nor do any of his contemporaries from that period.) In short, while most undead enhance different parts of the body, a Lich enhances the mind, and the ability to cast spells. There’s a reason competition for that scholarship is so cutthroat.
Alfred: It is worth noting that this, in and of itself, is useful, but it would be most potent in combination with other pacts. Unfortunately, Dean Morton does not maintain pacts long enough for an individual to take advantage of this; Probably to keep anyone from approaching his position of power. However, those he grants his pact to do prove to be extremely potent wizards later in life- Maybe some lingering effect of his patronage? Though that would be odd, as it suggests a permanent change, something pacts don’t generally do. I need to sit down and have a chat with some of his alumni…
The Department of Postmortology is like most academic institutions. Headed by a withered and out-of-touch tyrant, the Horses of the school wait their turn for power in vain. Tenure is more of a metaphysical principle than a simple financial incentive at this school. The only way that a new position in the department’s professors opens up is if someone dies, or someone leaves. This may sound grim, but the rate of turnover below the rank of dean is actually fairly high; Dean Morton hasn’t died in the past hundred and fifty years, despite the best efforts of God and Man, and he looks ready to go the distance and see the heat-death of the universe personally. In light of his endurance, most professors are happy to just get in their tenure, make enough discoveries to distinguish themselves, and then go somewhere else where the ranking academician isn’t immortal.
Because of Dean Morton, the Department of Postmortology actually holds a greater-than-average sway in its undead population. Relatively few departments of Postmortology- so far as Alfred has told me- actually have Liches among their number, and his status as an actual undead, and an ancient one, gives them unusual political power. For this reason, students of the Department of Postmortology are often able to secure a better class of pact, resulting in very few who are ‘blood dolls’, or the equivalent for breath or chi or brain activity or what have you.
The downside is that individual Postmortologists rarely have much say with the one they’ve made a pact with. The undead almost always take the attitude of being older and wiser, and stubborn as they are, they’re seldom likely to take advice.
Fang Fen: Atina is not entirely fair here- But when is she ever? The truth of the matter is that a youthful, vital wizard provides something that the Undead desperately need, which is passion. Youth and fervor, something to believe in, so often go hand-in-hand. While the Undead may seem staid and conservative, the injection of fresh blood (Atina: What a fucking metaphor) is often just what the more hidebound need to put themselves into a new frame of mind. It would be far worse if we were not challenged with new ideas and concepts frequently.
I know that Atina often jokes about us being parasites. But in truth, most of us do not wish to simply live off of others. In most cultures, the old are respected for being bastions of knowledge and wisdom. It sometimes makes me very sad that the same no longer seems to be true. We have much to offer, but our wisdom is so often disregarded as superstition and behind the times. (Atina: Don’t guilt-trip me in my own case-files.)
Oh, god, this was a fun one. Okay, so, most of the time, pacts are relatively informal. You could fit the details of most on a single page. You wouldn’t even need to use both sides. But about three months ago, I had this kid walk in. Wet around the ears, he couldn’t have been more than 19, pre-med. So, he tells me that he needs a contract written up, and explains that he was sent to me, specifically, all the way from Syracuse.
Turns out that a particularly notable contract attorney had died a few months back, and come back as a zombie. The kid had been the one to do the autopsy, and when the lawyer came back, he’d quickly gotten a feel for the whole pact thing, but insisted- insisted!- that the kid have his own legal representation. So I ask to see what the contract is. And the goddamn thing came in its own binder.
The lawyer had written in countless minutiae. He had covered every eventuality, and believe me, it was tedious as hell to read through. But due diligence always wins out. I spent a weekend poring through the damn thing in exacting detail, red-lining it, noting important clauses, and offering advice on counter-offers, until I’d compressed the whole thing down to a five page document for the kid to read through.
I’m hoping any day now that they’re going to make a buddy cop show out of it. “Shakes and the Deadman” or something.
The Deal with the Devil. Did you know that there’s an entire genre of books and short stories about this concept? Faust, Needful Things, The Devil And (Insert Name Here), one of the most recurring themes of American literature is the man who makes a deal with the devil and then tries to get out of it. Honestly speaking, as a lawyer? I think most of these stories are shit. It’s someone making a completely fair deal and then trying to get out of it. You could argue they’re made under duress based on a bad situation, but I personally think that when you get into a deal with the devil, you know what you’ve done.
So, Harbingers. Most of them are in the hard sciences, and I mean the real hard sciences. Mathematicians make up the vast majority of the people who become Harbingers. There are some economists, too, and statisticians. That scares the shit out of me, because I don’t know how exactly they make these deals. I’ve asked everyone I know, and none of them are very clear either. The one unifying thing that every Harbinger shares is that they were all into numbers. So, is it cause, or effect? Do Harbingers come from sciences that seek answers, that seek the truth, and so turn to darker sources of information than phone polls and simulations? Or is there some number out there, or numbers, that when properly read or invoked, open a portal to mankind’s darker urges?
I don’t know. And that scares the shit out of me. Every time I do arithmetic I feel like I’m walking into a minefield without a metal detector.
So I call them Warlocks, because that makes them really annoyed and frustrated, and people are a hell of a lot less scary when they’re annoyed or frustrated. They insist that they’re not selling their souls to the demons; merely renting them. And, in honesty, they’re probably right! Demons don’t eat souls, not exactly. They just… occupy them. A demon is sort of like a friendship cuckoo. If you have a relationship with one, a friendship, or something like that, then they grow stronger. The stronger you are, the more you focus on them, the stronger they become. It creates a feedback loop. This could be positive. It rarely is.
Demons are like drug dealers. Prostitutes. Shift managers at fast food restaurants. They make your life all about them, so all you think about is them. They devour your time and your energy. They make your life hollow, so that the only thing that gives you meaning is… them. And the scariest thing for me is that they really love the law. They love human law, the way it works, the contracts and the agreements. They love the fucking obsession that most lawyers have, the workaholic attitudes, the tunnel vision. What the fuck does that say about lawyers? (A number of responses from Polly, Fang Fen, and Alfred are scratched out here.) (Atina: It was a rhetorical question, you asses!) On the positive side, I’ve never met one who was interested in making a pact with a lawyer. But then, I haven’t met many.
Strangely enough, Warlocks are the ones most likely to have a Dungeons and Dragons-esque list of spells that they have to memorize and expend. (Alfred: It’s called Vancian magic.) They’re big on spellbooks, on knowledge, and all that jazz. And the way I understand it is that it’s all about the price that’s paid. The fact that they need to memorize a spell, that the spell ‘goes away’ after they cast it, that they have to predict what they’re going to deal with so they can be ready for it… All of this crazy shit combines to make being a Warlock a royal pain in the ass.
The upside is that they’re amazingly flexible. There’s no theme shit, there’s no ‘handful of tricks’; Demons are one of the most potent sources of magic, in this sense, because they don’t fool around. They give you power, in vast amounts, to make up for all of the downsides. That’s the thing about a price, the higher it is, the more valuable the pact has to be for someone to accept it. They’re also very good at destructive things. These are the people I would expect to throw lightning, to hurl fireballs, to conjure up storms and to call down the wrath of god. They’re often paranoid to a fault on top of all of that.
The downsides are, nonetheless, enormous. Often, a demon will require the human to come to them every time they want to prepare a new set of spells. That’s a daily basis, more or less. The spells often involve complicated and ridiculous gestures and faux-dead language incantations. Some of them even actually consume physical materials- I’m fairly sure solely as a way to make it more difficult for the wizard. All in all, the purpose of a demon’s pact seems largely to be ensuring that a human doesn’t use magic unless completely necessary.
Alfred: It’s worth noting that demons are extraordinarily jealous pactmakers. I’ve never heard of someone having a pact with a demon and any other supernatural entity, particularly not another demon.
The Department of Infernal Affairs is a fairly insular group, all things considered. They don’t interact much with the other two schools of wizardry in the city, and mostly keep to their own little games of power. The one thing they do that is worth noting are their ‘warnings.’ See, whenever they think the world’s about to end, they start contacting everyone in the city. There was the time in 1969, 1988, 2012, and then just recently they got their panties in a bunch in mid 2015, talking about the War to End War.
So what’s it all about? Histrionics? Is there actually something behind it all? I mean, come on, if the apocalypse were to happen, wouldn’t we know about it? The one thing… The one really scary thing is that they saw the Cuban Missile Crisis coming. Dean Morton tells me that they freaked the hell out about that, at a time when most of the public wouldn’t have known just how close we were to nuclear war. Maybe they were just being paranoid then, too. I sure hope so.
I have one outstanding case involving a Warlock. This guy came by my office, about three weeks before Jenny walked in. He was freaked out, looking over his shoulder the whole time. He gave me his card, and it turns out he’s a TA at the college, name of Michael Gray. Told me that he wanted to talk to me sometime. I offered to do so, and he told me that I was being watched, and that he wanted to talk alone, and that if I ever needed his help, I could meet him at the Department of Infernal Affairs.
Still haven’t contacted him. (Alfred: Huh. I don’t know the guy.)
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