Unfamiliar Familiars

Chapter One

I’m sorry to break this to you but let me be frank. Magic isn’t real, at least not in the sense that you are thinking. Humanity has romanticized the idea of magic to the point that if you mention the words wizard, witch, warlock, or any number of other words that start with W, an image of a grizzled old man chanting and saving short people comes to mind. That just isn’t how the world works. My name is Alexander Keep and I’m the closest thing to a magic expert you are likely to find this side of mortality. I run a pet shelter.

December was a surprisingly slow time for Squawk and Wobble. With the holidays around the corner the thought of finding a new friend to gift to loved ones isn’t an unusual one. However most people would rather find a puppy or kitten than an old weathered pet. Better for photos and Salem Oregon wasn’t known for anything more than black cats anyhow. The lack of income was starting to show on the walls, as peeling paint and cracked floor tiles were starting to look less like a casual design choice and more like the shops theme. What can you expect when you sign that dotted line with morals instead of a business model. Right on cue a relaxed and coy voice glided over, sliding out from between the two towers of fish and lizard enclosures.

“I’m sure if you called the mob they would lend you enough money to fix everything up.”

“Then when I can’t pay back they put a bullet in me and you’re free to go right?”

An orange housecat thumped onto the table my register was set on and gave a smile that seemed too human to feel natural on its feline face. He strutted around for a moment before stretching out and laying across the till.

“A win win as far as I can tell, all your ‘residents’ get a nice home and I get to move on.”

“Ah. Your concerns for my animals is heartwarming Mason.”

The cat glared at me but didn’t move.

“My name is Maahes, not ‘May Suhn’ there’s no need to be rude when I’m the only one helping.”

If this seems out of the ordinary to you do not be alarmed. As far as I know this is extremely unusual, I just have had a long holiday season. About a month and some change ago, on Halloween, myself and a couple of my friends were having a party to relive some of our more *ahem* impressionable years. Emo-punk-rock-alternative music blaring, wash out hair dye, too much eyeliner, a few almost thirty year olds, and a spooky book of spells from Goodwill. It was fun, horribly embarrassing, but fun. Until that cheap thrift shop book-o-magic actually worked and we summoned magic beasts we call familiars. Since then ‘Maahes’, or Mason as I call him, has been stuck with me and trying to get me into trouble for entertainment. Now if the magic talking cat summoning makes you think I’m a hypocrite for saying that magic isn’t real just hold on a second.

“Sorry, Mason but I’m just a silly human and I can’t talk like olden folks do.” I said through a smirk.

The cat stood up with an amount of disgust that one can only expect from a cat and sauntered off the table. “No matter Warlock, should a fool such as yourself develop manners the world would end.”

I let out a mostly dignified snort and decided to postpone my store duties with studying. Pulling out the small fifty cent notepad I kept in my back pocket drew Mason’s attention back. He tried to hide it but the rapid flicking of his right ear gave it away. I paid him no mind and got to sketching. I was drawing gates, or trying to at least. Mason had explained to me that gates were a Warlocks magic. Forming gates and filling them with will drew creatures from his world to mine. After that a contract is written and a deal is struck, basically I pass my magic hiree to be through a union.

“That sigil is flawed. The symbol for light should be sharper. Performing this rite will summon a small ladybug not a firefly as you have inscribed.” Mason had circled around to where he could see the notepad and one of his paws was perched on my left shoulder as he gazed at it ignoring my inconvenience. “You think of these too linearly Alex. A sigil is a key to a gate not an equation. You must make sure the key is the proper shape or else you’ll just be opening strangers homes.”

“You’ve said that before and I think I’m starting to get it but why does it matter? After all I never had to bother with any of this when we brought you over.”

The cat shook its head, “What you three performed on Samhain was a ritual of binding. You aren’t ready to understand the differences yet, but the only reason you survived is because there were three of you.”

There’s the big difference between movie magic and the real stuff. Mason may be a jerk but he has told me quite a bit about magic, at least by my standards, since we got to know each other. From what I can gather calling giant pillars of fire or smiting debt collectors is, sadly, impossible. But calling up a lightning gerbil to do it for me is doable. Only it’s more like practicing law than chanting and flicking wands.

“Ardiente Pasión started 3 minutes ago. Are you sure you want to be bugging me?”

At the name of his favorite telenovela Mason sprinted into the back room faster than I had ever seen him move. Moments after his exit the door chimed and in came one of my regular customers. A kid that I had only ever heard called Corn. However, calling Corn a customer was a lot like calling people who went to museums archaeologists. He came in, looked at mice, talked to the bearded dragons, and left. My residents liked him though so I didn’t complain. I let him do his thing for a bit as I did what ‘Professor Mason’ said and practiced my sigils. At least I tried to until I got bored and felt a headache start to come on after twenty minutes or so. Instead I walked up to the kid while he chatted with the Dragons about his day.

“Hey Corn.”

He jumped and snapped his head toward me so fast that if anyone ten years older had repeated the gesture they would’ve died. A response like that is only shared between outlaws and prey. Something told me Corn hadn’t robbed any banks lately. Once his eyes settled on me and realized that he wasn’t getting shaken down for lunch money the kid visibly relaxed. Then his brain started catching up that an adult was speaking to him and the uneasiness returned.

“I’z only lookin’ Mr, sorry to bother I’ll go.” He glanced back at the lizards and gave a small wave while shuffling towards the door.

One thing I’ve learned though, kids and animals are alike in that they are both jumpy. Go slowly around them. “You can go if you’d like, but it’s about eating time for Porkchop if you’d like to feed her.”

Corn was at my desk in time to set Olympic records. He was about twelve if I had to guess and skinny everywhere except the face. He wore thick glasses, a t-shirt with a mushroom declaring him a ‘Funguy’, and an expression better fit on a puppy than a person. I liked Corn.

“What were you talking to her about?” I asked as I dug for a small container of mealworms I use to feed my older lizards. Prompted by the lack of answer I pressed, “I need to be kept up on the conversation or I won’t be able to chat with her later.” Once the topic hinted Porkchop might be inconvenienced Corn spoke easily, if not terribly willingly.

“I asked her if she knew how to fix glasses because mine got snapped.” He pointed to the spot on his nose, which under closer inspection, was held with sharpie and tape.

“I have some superglue here if you’d like me to help with that. I’ll get it ready while you feed the lizards.”

Corn nodded excitedly which had the unfortunate side effect of splitting his modern eyes in two. Superglue now I guess.

“How did your glasses break? Another attack?” Corn had very mild seizures from time to time, usually when he was scared. Unfortunately he was scared of the dark, bigger kids, crosswalks, and adults.

“Some kids at school broke them. They said I’d be better without them since I see scary things in the dark with them on.”

Not a seizure then, school brats being assholes. Don’t think that look at me, little kids can be dicks sometimes. “Some of my residents deal with threats by standing their ground. It’s okay to tell a bully that you aren’t someone to get pushed around you know. If things really turn south, feel free to use the shop as your base camp.”

Corn gave a weak nod and equally weak smile which I decided was as much as I was going to get. We made some small talk about his favorite school subjects, colors, animals, the important things to a twelve year old. Once the glasses were fixed enough that they wouldn’t snap with another quick nod, we fed the dragons. He left for home a bit later smiling a real smile, mission accomplished.

As usual the queen of perfect timing and her truck of a ‘dog’ arrived just then. Unannounced however, which was pretty odd for her. Miranda Terisi has been a friend of mine since second grade and was the person who hosted our gathering on Halloween. She is hot blooded and drop unconscious gorgeous, beautiful in an uncommon way that a lot of folks overlook until later. Short brown hair with an ever present flower, mildly athletic build which she often hid just enough, with piercing brown eyes that look common except in memory. She toes the line between cutesy librarian and terrifying attorney. The fact that she worked as an anthropological archaeologist at Willamette university didn’t clear things up either. She wore jogging sweats that hid her form well and nudged her toward terrifying attorney for the moment. Her companion, led by an unnecessary leash that was more for others peace of mind than restraint, was Simargl who we call Sam. At just over thirty inches tall and two-hundred pounds he was massive, bigger than even the largest malamutes that he looked like.

“Hey Miran how’re you and Sam doing?” I stood up from the curb in front of my shop and opened the door as a casual invitation.

“We’re enjoying the brisk air, you look like hell today though.” She said as they both trotted inside with a small glance.

I quickly looked myself over in the shop glass and understood Corn’s instinctive flinch. My mid-length brown hair was tousled and greasy from one too many days without a good shower. My eyes were sunken and dark, the perfect topper to my wrinkled clothes. I stand at just under six feet tall and right now I look like I belong under a bridge threatening goats. I shuddered at the refection staring back and walked after Miran who began speaking as soon as the door shut.

“I’m about to run some tests on our magic book and wanted to leave it with you until they’re done in case any other university staff gets interested in my sample sources.” She pulled the thin volume out from one of her oversized pockets and held it out.

Sam sat down and started relaxing with a few back ear scratches, “I believe Mason would appreciate listening to the conversation you are both about to have.”

Miran frowned slightly and raised an eyebrow at me, “What he say? I’m just seeing your cat laugh his tail off on the front counter.”

In addition to our newfound ‘animal’ companions we have each gained minor abilities, one of which is to communicate with our pals. However, it’s manifested differently in each of us. For example I can speak with them directly, convenient but slow, Miran gets feelings and images beamed into her brain, much faster but she needs to do some translating. Often enough she can follow along if she hears my side of the conversation though.

I took the book from her and slipped it into my jacket on my chair. “Apparently Mason is going to laugh at us for researching the item that changed our lives. His show is about to go on break so he should be out soon to give me more unreliable life advice.”

As I finished I heard light padding behind me. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“Are you begging your friend for money? New low Alex, just go to the mob like I said. Then you might find forbidden love like Brita.”

“Miran, would you like to trade? I let Sam stay here and run around with free food while you talk with Mason about his shows.”

“Hard pass, your petty issues aside Nova completed a ritual yesterday. Says he wants to show off tomorrow for ‘Witchy Wednesday’. I’m going to try my own tonight and wanted to tell you so you don’t get left behind because you don’t practice.”

Nova was the third of our little group. A natural genius, he graduated high school at fifteen and proceeded to speed through med school. At twenty-eight they’ve been out of residency for a year and are working as a full surgeon. However, that hasn’t stopped him from spending every free second working on ‘extracurricular studies’.

Mason started to cackle by the till, “Oho, ha, you’re the runt. Lazy and talent-less, I knew it, haha. Pygmy warlock needs the big signer to bail you out.”

“Maahes. Quiet, you are near breaking a statute.” Sam growled out. Which had the interesting effect of shutting up Mason.

Miran gave Sam a confused look and shot me a ‘we will talk’ glance before standing abruptly and walking to the door. She gave me an over-the-shoulder eye, “Catch up.” Then dashed out onto the streets again, Sam barely was able to woof a quick goodbye. That was unusual, Miran never rushed away that fast. If she showed up it was for a reason or twelve and she only visited when it was really important. I mean sure, Nova completing a ritual summon was big. But... was that really worth interrupting our days? And without her normal scheduling? Something made me feel that I was the secondary goal in the whole visit.

________________________________________________

My home is decent, I rent half of a duplex near four corners. The cost is cheap enough for Salem and my neighbor is a nice one, which is great because he owns the building. When I pulled into the driveway I quickly shoveled the steps to Mr. Jimbles’ entry before heading in my own to make myself some food. Up thirteen tall steps and in the door brings you to my living room. I have a very… bachelor decorating style. A movie poster from some giant radioactive lizards golden age and my old collection of Zoobook cards decorated my walls. The furniture has what I call an ‘avant garde’ style, only because that makes people think I considered how they looked together. A pair of mismatched couches, brown leather and blue cloth. Two chairs with different patterns, one disgusting yellow polka dotted lounge chair which I got for a killer deal at a thrift store and the other a wooden rocker with a christmas colored plaid cushion. Everything in the room beautifully tied together with a massive throw rug of an elephant. Avant garde! I moved off to the right, out of the living area and into my bar/kitchen, the builders graced me with an open floor plan when they forgot to budget for walls higher than your waist.

Where the living room is a Picasso painting the kitchen is more in line with what you’d expect. Mostly organized stone-looking counters and a bar made out of some sturdy oak wood where three, actually matching, bar stools sit. I don’t own many appliances to pinch pennies on the electric bill, so the only things set out were several glass jars with differing dry ingredients. Mason began adding his own touches to the furniture while I grabbed things for an ‘It’ll do casserole’.

“Are you going to waste the rest of your day or has Miranda’s warning motivated you to do something productive in your lair for once?”

“Don’t call it a lair. That’s creepy and perverted, I don’t have a lair I have a basement slash ground floor.”

“Warlocks have lairs where they practice their sigils and forge pacts with talented familiars like myself and gathering summons of power to smite their foes. So I concede you are correct. YOU have a creepy perverse basement. So when are you going to practice?”

I sighed loudly and hoped it helped Mason understand exactly how much he hurts my mental state. I thought about Miran’s warning earlier today. Nova succeeded in a ritual summon and Miran would probably do well on her attempt tonight as well. Was I willing to show up for our weekly magical check in meeting tomorrow empty handed without a fight? Glancing into my collected bowl of things I decided that ‘it’ll do’ and dumped the slop into the oven before turning to the ground floor stairs. Mason started scratching at the door and meowing before I arrived.

I call my ground floor a basement because that’s how I treat it. I generally keep it locked due to the large amount of occult drawings on the floor and highly suspicious substances lining my shelves which had become quite overloaded recently. A collection of more common things like copper, silver, some gold, ash, and smaller chunks of obsidian sat alongside more interesting things like hemlock, thermite, and cyanide. Why does a pet shop owner need hemlock, thermite, and cyanide? Never you mind, what are you? A cop?

I turned on the lights and moved toward my current workstation which consisted of a large tub of children's chalk and a small notebook sitting on bare concrete. I had torn the carpet up previously due to some animal fostering mishaps, it worked out in the end as drawing symbols on the floor is a big part of rituals as it turns out. In one corner I have a small, beat up, metal desk where I brainstorm lesser spells, called rites, and practice rune memorization.

“Run through the basics and when you get stuck I will give you the next step.” Mason is oddly clear and polite when it comes to training.

I drew a large Venn diagram on the floor, two intersecting circles. Mason normally has me inside one circle which he adds power to after I start it up. This is to insulate the rest of my home from damage when things inevitably go wrong. Its nice to see he cares. In this case two circles are needed, one for me to isolate the energy I want to focus, the other for the Summon. That’s the theory at least, I have yet to successfully summon anything more than anger, failure, and cat laughter.

I sat and cleared my mind. When you read that remember that this isn’t just the simple mindless zoning out that you’re used to. You need to craft a headspace where nothing is allowed that you do not specify. Controlled mindlessness. Blackjack players who count cards have a similar trick. They imagine walking into a house where each card the dealer has is represented by an item in the room. A red lampshade for the queen of hearts, a black stool for the jack of spades, etc. The concept is the same here, lock down your thoughts and build a place in your mind where only items you create exist. Mine looks like a wood cabin.

I opened the door to my center and cleaned house. Moved the restless thoughts into the back room, swept out the annoyances from the day, cleaned my worry for Corn off the dishes, and lit the fireplace with passion. Then I mirrored my real self and sat in the center of the room facing the warm stones of the fireplace that represented my values.

I manifested the runes I wanted. Fehu, the rune for wealth. Gebō, a gift given. Naudiz, a great need. Gold, an alchemical circle with a spot contained within and the goal of my summoning. Watching them pulse and swirl in my mind I moved my physical body to draw them around the summoning area, on the cardinal points, before retreating to my circle and building the will the spell needed. I felt the desire to save my store from financial ruin grow, the light from my mental runes near blinding, pressure building. A feeling like standing at the bottom of a pool, except the pool was in my head and it was growing. A tingling, burning sensation similar to hitting your funny bone on a chair raced across my skin. That’s my indicator that I’m reaching capacity for what I can hold. I released it. My thoughts and power shooting down the Worldvein, the river that flows to the ‘Other side’ where magic and beings like Maahes live. I pressed, pushing my desire along the path between existences before hitting a wall. The barrier on the edge of their world.

Masons voice slipped into my mind, “Your will to create this item must outweigh the laws of your universe.”

I thought about the poor creatures in my care and the building crumbling around them. In my headspace I thrust my hands out toward the symbols that represented saving my life’s goal. And screwed up again. Everything went white as the world became pain, sound, and light. The blast shot me backward into the edge of the circle where the shockwave rocked me several times as it bounced around the contained silo I had made. Every time the energy smacked into the barrier that Mason was holding strong it flared into light and a loud CRACK sounded like I was trapped in a massive bug zapper with a tornado. I would’ve felt bad for the flies I had fried until then if I could hold two thoughts together without feeling like vomiting.

I opened my eyes after what felt like hours, but was most likely a couple minutes, because Mason was standing over me watching, “Your desire must not be sullied with guilt, doubt, or other meaningless points. A Warlock is sure in every move they make.”

My face flushed as I was lectured by a cat. Then my embarrassment turned to anger, “I wanted that more than anything. What the hell do you know about emotions and desire anyhow? The only thing you want is for me to mess up and kill myself trying to do basic magic!” My voice crept into a yell as I crawled to my feet, one hand on my pounding head the other on a metal shelf with some rare empty space.

“Your failure, like every one before this, is your own fault. I could feel your call corrupted by shame and fear. You weren’t sure you could do it so you didn’t, no need to mess you up.” He flicked his tail and sauntered toward the stairs, “You’ll fall out of your coven on your own. I will watch until you die, no part of it will be my fault.”

I was shaking, partly from exhaustion as being part of an explosion really does a number on you, but mostly because a shit burying cat was talking down to me in my own house. “Shut your taint licking mouth you homicidal reject.” Mason stopped walking, take this you ass. “Yeah I blame you, who wouldn’t? You’ve been a horrible teacher this whole time and it’s obvious that you’re Sam’s bitch. You aren’t trying to kill me? That doesn’t add up. You are just waiting for the second I turn my back so you can bite and tear my neck open as a free pass home! Why make me stronger when that only reduces the chance of you going home? Why train me when at the end of the day you want to take me out?” I was shouting again, and sweating, being mad really heats you up. Wow, REALLY heats you up, my hand started to feel like it was burning on the shelf. No, that’s not right, my hand was burning. I jerked it away and looked at it, light first degree burns where I was leaning. I looked up at Mason who was still facing away from me. Waves of heat were flowing out of him, his fur pulled away from his skin and turned into fire. Then the basement burst into flames. The walls were rolling with fire, concrete turning black, my sweat dried instantly on my face. It was a scene out of a firefighters worst nightmare.

“Know that if I wanted, or was allowed to, your ability wouldn’t save you a second.”

I started to fall. Heat exhaustion combined with being a human crash test dummy isn’t great for staying conscious. As everything faded to black I heard Mason yell and saw the flames go out. Finally, so did everything else.