The Circle of Thirteen (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 16)
Title: The Circle of Thirteen (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 16)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language
Summary: We are The Oligarchy...
Notes: Guess who's back! This next chunk is going to be particularly large, consisting of ten chapters over the next ten days. Nothing quite like writing about your old college town to bring out the overly descriptive paragraphs.
I own all of the characters in this chapter, but they are greatly influenced by JK Rowling.
Limited Commercial Interruption / Previous Chapters / I Was Me
Even though his heart was racing as he sprinted down the sidewalk of Superior Street, even though his breath was ragged in his chest and he was starting to feel a stitch in his side, Jason Madsen couldn't help but laugh.
Horns blared as he ran beneath streetlight after streetlight and crossed First Avenue against the Don't Walk signal. The headlights of a 2011 Contour brushed across his waist, and he felt a surge of power up his wand arm and through his body as he jumped high enough to slide safely across its hood. The squealing tires barely covered the sound of the three Muggles behind him, running full tilt in pursuit.
Perfect, Jason thought as he heard a metallic crunch and the plastic tinkle of headlights as the Impreza connected with the Contour's rear bumper. That should slow them down just enough.
Just enough for what? Just enough to get away? Did he even want to get away?
Part of Jason wanted to stop right there and turn to fight the assholes. It was only three of them, after all. Three Muggles against one wizard? It would be no contest.
Maybe he could even bait them a bit further. Carry the chase down to the canal. Plenty of empty space by the DECC and the aquarium. More room to spread out and stretch his wand arm. It wasn't like they didn't have it coming...
But Jason Madsen, whose mother was a witch and whose father was a Muggle, relented. He was stretching his luck enough as is. There were three of them, sure. But there had been five. The other two were currently sprawled in front of the Norshor, Harley riders with too much booze and not enough brains. Jason was sure he had heard the snap of the bald guy's ribs when he punched him, and the other, the dude with the beard, would probably be drinking his dinner through a straw for the next few weeks.
He had gotten lucky so far. The Department hadn't caught him in any of his previous excursions. But even a blind duck can get the bread occasionally.
Instead of taking a wide left onto the Canal Park bridge, Jason took a sharper left, turning onto the boarded walkway between the bridge and The Fetus, the vintage vinyl store that was always one of his first stops when he came home for Christmas break. Migizi Academy had been just like every other magical center in the world: Electronic devices went completely to pot when they got even close to magical interference. That meant no mp3s, no Pandora, not even an old CD player. Vinyl, however, was just fine. In fact, along with a radio, each dorm room had their own hand-crank record player. It wasn't the highest quality sound coming out of those ancient boxes, but Jason's dormmates always appreciated his taste in music, nonetheless. He had always made sure to come back from each trip home with a small stack of LPs.
The wooden pathway narrowed and doubled back behind the Fetus towards a larger commons area. Jason could hear the footsteps behind him. Could hear the voices yelling even as the blood pumping through him caused his ears to hum.
He flipped out his wand and pointed it behind him, tossing a Tripping Jinx at the lead biker just as the three turned the corner. He heard a grunt as the punk fell to the ground, the other two tumbling over him. Did any of them go over the railing to the street below? Jason didn't care. All he knew is that it bought him five seconds, ten tops. Which was more than enough to find a place to hide.
That'll do, he thought as he spied the surreal sculpture sitting in the middle of the plaza. Every few years, the Muggles that ran this town tore out one sculpture and replaced it with another. Like the others, Jason couldn't even begin to describe what it was supposed to represent. All he knew was that it was big enough and solid enough for what he had in mind.
Running towards it, he positioned himself so that the sculpture stood between him and the street. He lifted his wand over his head and tapped the top of his scalp. The Disillusionment Charm was one of the first nonverbals that he had learned at his old school in South Dakota, and as he felt the cold invisibility trickle down his body he felt a momentary sense of pride over just how well he had taken to this particular technique. Most of the students, even those that had gone on to study for the MiB, could only get their Disillusions to turn them into something like the Predator: more camouflage than actual invisibility. When Jason wanted to vanish, however, he vanished.
He knew it, too. He could barely contain his laughter as the three Muggles, three guys that were big and beefy enough to wet the pants of anyone not a wizard, ran past his sculpture and looked around the plaza in confusion.
"Where is he?" asked one of them. "Where the fuck is he?"
"Shut up!" the biggest one said.
"He can't get far," said the other one, staring the invisible Jason straight in the face.
"I said shut the fuck up!" the big guy yelled, holding up both hands. He was smart, Jason thought. Listening to see which way the footsteps took me. Although there were trees and grass, the plaza was purely man-made, built over Interstate 35. Even though they could hear and feel the hum of the traffic beneath their feet, it was late enough at night for the sound to be far from overwhelming. Jason held his breath, his lungs yearning to pant from his sprint.
I need them out of here, he thought. If I don't get some air soon...
He looked around the dark ground. There were rocks used to cover the ground around the shrubs and trees. Jason pointed at them with his wand, silently cast an accio. One of the rocks flew towards him, and he immediately depulsoed it in the opposite direction. With a satisfying clunk, the rock connected with one of the numerous park benches lining the pathway.
"That way!" all three Muggles yelled at once, tripping over each other as they sprinted towards the sound. Some people will always be walking, talking Three Stooges clones. Laughing quietly, he walked over to the edge of the plaza, leaning on the railing and watching the three bikers chase after no one. Once they reached the Lakewalk, they stopped, and the big guy listened for any noise.
Better give him what he wants, thought Jason, shooting off a Snapper Spell further down the shore. The trio were once again in hot pursuit, practically barreling over a tourist and his late-night-peeing dog as they reached the Lakewalk.
If I'm lucky, he thought, they'll be to Fitgers before they knew they lost me. If I'm really lucky, they'll be halfway to Erickson Park.
It could be a lot worse, though, he thought as he turned and walked along the railing n the opposite direction. All things considered, he got off lucky. There wouldn't even be enough evidence for the Department to get involved. Sure, he had used magic to put a little more power behind his punches. Sure, he had cast a spell that made his fist as hard as a concrete cinder block when he busted that bearded Muggle's jaw. But he for sure had made sure his wand was safely tucked into the sleeve of his military surplus jacket the whole time. No Muggles actually saw him use any spells.
Besides, they deserved what they got. It was true that Jason had gone to the Norshor, the city's biggest strip club, in order to have a little fun. Sometimes that fun involved an extra lap dance or two, and sometimes it involved rearranging a Muggle's face. And, yeah, he may have rubbed it in a little bit when he outbid Big Bearded Ugly for the hottest redhead in the place. What did the guy expect, though? The girl had a nice rack, an apple-shaped behind, and freckles in just the right places. She had a landing strip that matched the curtains, for Chrissake! How could Jason not do his best to get this girl for all she was worth? Lap dance, hell: he took the private room option.
And how exactly did Big Bearded Ugly find out that Jason's "best" involved an inconspicuous Wingardium on the guy's wallet? Dude had no evidence at all when he met Jason outside the club later that night. The way Jason figured it, the goon was just looking for any excuse to start a fight, and Jason was more than happy to oblige.
As he neared a set of steps that would take him down to the lake, Jason turned around and looked up the hill. The city of Duluth covered the massive slope, formed epochs ago by the lake. Or the glaciers. Or whatever. Jason didn't pay a lot of attention to geology in elementary school, and it wasn't exactly taught at Migizi. He thought it might be smart to just Apparate home, right then and there. His Trace had been gone for four years, but that still didn't keep Jason from thinking that the Department would sniff him out eventually. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could be in bed and the sooner he'd have an alibi. His parents would have been in bed hours ago, no one would know that he had even left.
Why are we still here, anyway? Jason thought morosely. Well, that answer was easy enough. They were here because his parents didn't want to leave. Mom the Witch came from the magical settlement outside St. Paul. She and some of her friends visited Duluth a year after they graduated from Migizi, and she fell in love with the place.
Fell in love with Dad the Muggle, too, a born-and-raised Duluthian who at the time was an econ student at UMD. They met on the canal, watching a barge head under the Lift Bridge. Mom never went back to the Twin Cities except to pack.
Sure, it was hard being a witch in Duluth, she often said to Jason. There were some witches and wizards in town. But it was far from a strongly-established community. Hell, they had to Floo out to Cloquet once a week, minimum, in order to pick up a lot of their wizarding necessities. Jason had often tried convincing the Madsens that they should move. Head to New York. San Francisco. New Orleans. Anywhere with a thick magical population. Hell, St. Paul would be an easier place to live than this Muggle-heavy part of the world.
Yet here they sat. Eking out a living in an area that wasn't made for them. Jobs were scarce enough in Duluth for Muggles. They were damn near impossible for wizards.
So the question was, why was Jason still here? That was one he had been asking himself for the last four years. Ever since his Trace was removed, and ever since he graduated from Migizi, he had been trying to find any reason to leave. He was twenty-two, for Chrissake! He felt like a loser for still living with his parents. Jobs were scarce, yes. They were even harder to come by for someone like Jason Madsen, who barely squeaked through his O.W.L.s and failed his N.E.W.Ts outright. Most magical companies along the North Shore demanded more skills than he had available. And he'd be damned if he was going to lower himself to Muggle work.
So why was he here? he thought as he descended the stairs. Why didn't he just pack a bag and catch the next Portkey out of town?
But as he heard the crash of the waves and felt the bitter early November wind, he knew why. It was the damn lake. Superior had a hold on him whether he admitted it or not. He supposed it probably had a lot to do with Migizi. The school definitely had a Native American heritage to it. The professors understood magic as a force of nature, and a lot of time and a lot of energy was spent discussing the students' connection to the air, the land, and the water.
The water.
Here he was. The cops were definitely there by now, making their report about the fight. The two bikers were probably already trussed up and tossed into the meat wagon, on their way to get x-rayed and wired and whatever. As the time elapsed, Jason was becoming more and more confident that the Department would catch on. This wasn't starting flower beds on fire. This wasn't Depulso-ing rocks through windows. This was the kind of thing that would send the Men in Black to the Madsens' front door.
Yet here he was, strolling down the Lakewalk, watching the moonlight reflect off of the waves of Lake Superior. To his right were three different Muggle hotels, the kind that were jam-packed in the summer, jam-packed in October: Everyone in Minnesota would see the autumn leaves turn in their own front yards eventually, yet they insisted on spending hundreds of dollars to see them change somewhere else a week earlier. It baffled the mind sometimes.
To his right came the tiny ship's cabin, now converted into a kitschy gift shop. To his right came the old red caboose, now an ice cream stand, closed for the season. To his right came a tugboat rested beside a patch of grass, the favorite spot for tourist-fed seagulls during the summer, and an old cement building which housed the Muggle Corp of Engineers' naval museum. Even though the lights were out, two plasma TVs glared out of the glass entryway, declaring what time the next ships would be coming into the harbor, or leaving for wherever the waves took them. To his right was the "world"-famous Aerial Lift Bridge, a jungle gym of steel girdering that connected Park Point to Duluth and Minnesota and the United States in general.
Eventually the Lakewalk gave out, ending in a cement retaining wall that stretched out in both directions. Jason leaned idly against the top of the wall, looking down into the dark water of the canal. In the daylight, this section of water would be sparkling with the colors of the rainbow, remnants of the fuel and oil that leaked from the dozens of barges, speedboats, and tour yachts that came in and out of this narrow path of water every day. Jason preferred the lake at night. Seeing all of that pollution, dumped by the Muggles over the decades, often made him sick to his stomach.
He blamed Migizi for that, too.
He turned to his left, where the retaining wall wrapped around a long cement pier. At the end of the pier was a black and white lighthouse. He saw two figures out at the end of the pier. They stood apart from each other, strangers in the night beneath halogen lights.
Insomniacs in the night, thought Jason, checking his watch. Three a.m. Bars closed an hour ago, and the rush of inebriated Muggles would want to get out of the cold as fast as possible. These two were probably just tourists from the nearby hotels, the ones who come to Duluth off-season on the cheap just to get away from their worries, and yet have a hell of a time sleeping their worries off with all the crashing waves and foghorns outside their window.
Jason didn't want any company right now. But he also remembered that he was still Disillusioned. He made his way down the pier, thinking it might be fun to poke one of the tourists' shoulders. Give them one hell of a scare. After all, there were plenty of ghostly legends around Duluth. Why not give them one to tell their cubicle buddies back in Minneapolis?
Ignoring the spot of chipped paint and graffiti on the light house that, so like the famous memorials in Godric's Hollow, faded into a wizard war memorial plaque as he approached (a small token of appreciation to the witches and wizards that had died overseas during the Prussian War of 1910), Jason chose the body to the left: a pudgy man in a turquoise Columbia that clashed horribly with his Packers stocking cap, green and gold puffball dancing in the lake wind. So I guess I'll be giving him something to tell his cubicle buddies in Green Bay or Superior or wherever in Sconnie he's from, he thought, lifting his invisible finger over the man's shoulder.
"Resorting to Muggle-baiting again, Jason?" said the other "tourist" from their right. Jason jerked in surprise at the sound of the woman's voice. "That's quite beneath someone like you, isn't it?" The man in front of Jason did nothing more than look idly towards the sound of the voice, then turned back to the lake as though she had been nothing more than a distance foghorn that had caught his temporary attention.
"I wouldn't speak, if I were you," the woman, her face still towards the Great Lake, said as Jason opened his invisible mouth. "I'm Hazy to him right now. You, however, are not."
Jason heard the chubby Packer fan humming quietly, completely oblivious to all that was going on around him. It sounded like an off-key version of Elton John. Or it might have been Slipknot. He wasn't exactly a great hummer.
Hazy... Well, that made sense, whatever it meant. Now that the woman fully had Jason's attention, he was amazed that he didn't notice her sooner. She was dressed differently, for one. Not like a Muggle, and not exactly like a wizard, either. She wore a black robe, baggy hood drawn up over her head.
"Some privacy would be nice," she said calmly. As if on cue, the Muggle Packer Backer yawned widely, turned away from the lake, and made his way back down the pier towards the museum and, eventually, his hotel room. Jason watched him go, still astonished about what had transpired in the last thirty seconds. The hooded woman turned her head and watched the Muggle make his way to bed, her face still hidden from Jason's view.
"You may speak now," she said finally. "It is your decision whether to stay Disillusioned. I know where you are either way."
"How do you know?" Jason asked.
"Secrets," said the woman, turning to him. Her face was still unseen, however. It was instead covered by a white cloth, as if a bag had been pulled over her head before the hood had been raised. Where eye holes would be were scrawled black symbols that Jason vaguely recognized (from his roommate's homework) as ancient runes.
"What do you want from me?" Jason asked, his wand poised in his hand. "How do you know my name? Are you with the Department?"
"So many questions," she said. "So many answers." Her hood completely covered her face, yet Jason knew that she could see him clear as day. See him, see through him, see in him. Those symbols on her eyes were tricky. Just when he thought he had a grasp on their shape, they shifted ever so slightly. He was reminded of a character from some comic book movie he saw when he was a kid.
"My name is Manbo," the woman (witch, Jason amended. If she ain't a witch, then I'm fuckin' Matt Damon) said. "I am the Mask of New Orleans, protector of Mexico and the Continental United States, of the Circle of Thirteen. I should say, also, that I am not from the Department of Magical Administration."
"Then what do you want?" Jason asked, amazed at himself that he hadn't either gone screaming for help or attacked this woman with every hex imaginable. What could he say? The witch just screamed intimidation. She didn't have to make a move, and he already knew that he'd be dead before he could raise his wand.
"I wish to make you an offer," she said, "for you are no longer one of the Protected."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that, from the moment I disappear tonight, your luck runs out," said Manbo. "Not as though you had any luck to begin with. When I disappear, the Department will be on your trail for an attack on two Muggles using magically-assisted weaponry. They may find other evidence of your past crimes, as well."
Jason's eyes widened. His mind flashed back to all of the various crimes he had committed over the years. Nothing major, of course. This was the first time he had actually assaulted a Muggle. But, still...
"Are you threatening me?" he said, his quiet voice shaking with rage. "You're going to blackmail me into doing something for you? You gonna turn me in?"
"Quite the contrary," said Manbo, leaning against the concrete barricade as though they were talking about the latest Quidditch score instead of threatening each others' lives. "As I said, you are no longer Protected. Two weeks ago, the Oligarchy discovered that The Next is not in the Americas. All candidates have been stripped of our protection."
"Protection?"
"Did you honestly think that you were smart enough to evade the Department?" said Manbo. "It takes resources far and above your own in order to get away with the numerous crimes that you have committed. For Merlin's sake, Jason, you were using magic for Muggle-baiting while you were still being Traced!"
"I'm just that good, I guess..."
"No, you guess that you have friends in high places," said Manbo. "We have been protecting you. Keeping ourselves secret as we cleared your name over and over again. Some of our associates have even been arrested for some of your more noticeable crimes. This is what it means to be Protected. But now, after tonight, all bets are off."
Jason paused, thinking. Whatever this chick was saying, it couldn't be true. There was no way that it could be true. How could someone like him, someone who nearly flunked out of Migizi year after year, be important enough for people to take the fall for him?
"So what did I do?" Jason asked. "Why am I not, um, Protected anymore?"
"As I said, The Next is not in America."
"Who's The Next?"
"Not you," Manbo frustratingly repeated. "Beyond that I will not say. Not until you make your decision."
"What decision?" Jason snapped. "You haven't asked me to do anything!"
"You are not The Next," she said once again. "But the mere fact that you were chosen to be Protected shows that you possess great skill, great power, and great potential. You could do great deeds in your future, Jason. The Oligarchy could help you achieve those deeds. We could help you and your family for years, even generations, to come. Your children's children's children will live in a better world because of your assistance, and their lives will be more comfortable because the world will know that you fought on our side."
"Sounds a bit like bullshit to me," said Jason. "Sounds like you're trying to talk me into some psycho cult."
"Not at all," said Manbo. "We are simply soldiers preparing for a war that has been centuries in the making. We have members in both the highest levels of government and the lowest dregs of the criminal underworld. And we want to make sure that you're on the right side when the war starts. You, as well as the rest of the world's Protected, will be valuable assets when the time comes."
"How can I be of any value?" Jason asked. "For Chrissake, I failed my N.E.W.T.s! I got a T in almost all of my classes my last year at Migizi. Why me? How can you possibly think that I have any use to you?"
"Almost all of your classes," Manbo said. "As you know, you did well in Defense. Almost despite yourself, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah," Jason said reluctantly. "I barely studied...."
"That is natural talent trying to come out," said Manbo. "Talent that we can refine and strengthen in ways that your professors could only imagine."
Jason hesitated. This woman kept speaking so highly of him. Until he heard her words of encouragement and of praise, Jason had never realized just how much those words had been missing from his life. Outside of his Defense professor, who would only grudgingly respond to Jason's successes in his class, his professors recognized him as a screw-up. Had he even seen disappointment in his Natural Magic professor's eyes when he returned to class for his sixth year? Had the thought of trying to press information into Jason Madsen's thick skull been that terrible of a thought?
And his parents... They loved him, and he loved them. But they rarely said "Our Jason is so smart" or "We're so proud of him." Instead it was "He tries his best," and "He's a nice boy," and "He'll come around eventually."
But this... This was his opportunity to actually do something. To actually be wanted...
"Look," he said, his resistance fading, "I have a tough time saying yes to anyone. And there's just something in me that screams warning when the offer's being made by someone in a mask..."
"And you have every right to feel that way," said Manbo. "And it is a request that I would deny to anyone besides a Protected. But very well..."
At that, she brushed the tip of her wand across her face. The white curtain with its shifting black symbols brushed aside as simply as a cobweb in a gentle breeze, and disappeared just as quickly. Jason's breath caught.
She wasn't what he was expecting. For one thing, she was young. Not much older than he was, in fact. At least she didn't look much older. When it came to wizards and witches, you could never tell true age. Her face was dark, as was the curl of black hair hanging down from beneath her hood. Although her skin tone placed her as African American, her actual facial structure was much more difficult to place. If she told him that her ancestry could be traced back to every continent he would only nod in unsurprised agreement.
She could also be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Except...
"Your eyes..." he said.
"Many of us wear our masks in order to protect our identities," she said. "Others, on the other hand, find them to be a little more functional."
"The runes," said Jason, understanding.
"They were my specialty at school," said Manbo, blinking dark lids over white, sightless eyeballs. "I lost my vision magically, which makes it impossible to fully cure. A mishap as a small child with my mother's potions that I will not get into. But in Runes I found the proper combination of symbols could return my sight to me. With a few slight enhancements, of course."
"Like seeing invisible people," said Jason. "Can you see me now?"
"Only with my mask."
Jason knew that he was invisible and he had been fine not being seen by anyone. But now looking this witch in the face, knowing that even if he wasn't invisible he still couldn't be seen, he felt uncomfortable under that sightless gaze.
"You can put your mask back on," said Jason. "I'm sorry if I--"
"As I stated," she said, once more covering her face with a wave of her wand, "I would not have fulfilled such a request for anyone beneath a Protected. But my time is short. I would like to bring you with me now. We do not require your final answer at this time. We just want you to hear more. Will you come with us?"
Again, Jason hesitated. He turned away, looking down the shore of Lake Superior and up the hill, in the general direction of his family's home.
"Your family will be compensated," Manbo repeated, the Runic symbols once again shifting across her eyes. "We will cover for your absence. Nor will that absence be permanent. You will return to them in time."
"When?" Jason asked, his stomach suddenly tight. Why was he nervous about this? Didn't he want to leave?
"That will all depend on what use we find for you," she said. "Which means it would depend on what capacity you choose to help us. Perhaps months. Perhaps days."
"And if I say no?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," said Manbo. As she spoke, Jason could hear the smile in her voice. "But I do not believe you will say no."
No, he wasn't going to say no. He did want to hear more. He knew that he was probably getting into something deep, something dangerous. Maybe something illegal. But since when had he ever cared about getting into trouble?
Besides, they wanted him. He was amazed at just what those three little words did to his heart when he thought about it. He felt lighter at that little mental announcement. Important. He wondered for the first time just how he'd look in one of those black robes.
"We'll be Apparating," said Manbo, offering her arm. "Have you Shotgunned before?"
"Yeah, once," he said, remembering getting a Shotgun from his mother back when he was taking Apparation lessons. Like the parent who sat their kid on his their and let him steer their car years before drivers' ed, she had wanted to give her boy some idea of what it felt like to have your body sucked through a pin-sized hole in reality before he started learning to do it by himself.
It had been far from a pleasant experience. But you gotta do what you gotta do, I guess....
I'll be back soon, Dad, he thought as he put his hand on Manbo's forearm. I'll make you all proud of me.
---------
Jason was sucked into darkness. It still wasn't a pleasant experience.
It had been dark in Duluth, but the halogen lights had been bright enough where Jason's eyes took a few moments to adjust to the sudden black.
"Where are we?" he asked, letting his wand slip from his sleeve into his hand.
"Nowhere," said Manbo, holding her wand aloft. "Lumos. And everywhere."
As the tip of the witch's wand glowed, Jason looked around. There wasn't much to see. They were in a small room, or cavern, or something. The walls were made of a dark gray rock, too rough to be synthetic, the corners too clean and sharp to be a natural cave. Except for Jason, Manbo, and a solid wooden door, the room was completely bare.
"This is the Landing Room," Manbo explained. "Any Apparition is done here or in three other Landing Rooms in the complex. We leave it dark to confuse intruders long enough for us to deal with them."
"Intruders?"
"Hasn't happened yet," said Manbo with a shrug as they walked to the door. She opened it, and the two stepped out into a long hallway composed of the same dark rock as the Landing Room. The hall, however, was lit by numerous torches lining the walls.
"So when do we get to talk?" asked Jason as Manbo tapped the door, which locked with a deep clack. "When do you get to tell me what you want with me?"
"Soon," said Manbo. "There is much for us yet to discuss. However, unfortunately, that time is not now. I am nearly late for a very important meeting, so I would ask that you wait just a little longer."
"Okay?"
"Alexei will show you to your quarters," said Manbo, pointing behind him. Jason turned around to see another dark-robed wizard who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The hood removed, the wizard had a pleasant, square face that hinted at an Eastern European heritage. From the top of his head do his upper lip, his face was covered in a black bandanna that reminded Jason of those old Zorro movies.
"Sleep tonight," Manbo requested. "There is food available, as well, if you are hungry. Alexei will show you the basics. Tomorrow we will sit down and talk, yes?"
"Sure," said Jason, turning back to Alexei, who motioned him down the shadowy hall. Manbo watched the two young men move out of sight, then turned back to the Landing Room. She unlocked it with a tap of her wand, opened it, walked inside, and disappeared with a pop.
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"We are the Oligarchy."
"The few shall rule the many."
"We are the Circle of Thirteen."
"The first to leave shall be the first to die."
"We honor the past."
"We serve the next."
The thirteen robed and masked figures, quite possibly the thirteen most powerful witches and wizards on the planet, seated themselves around the stone table. They were lit by an unknown light source, as the room in which they were seated had no visible walls or ceiling. The shadows themselves seemed confused, stretching in random directions.
The goat-headed wizard spoke first:
"I would like to hear the status report from the Americas regarding the elimination of their Protected. Quipu?"
"All eight Protected have been accounted for," stated the Mask of Lima, her skull wrapped from hairline to shoulder blades with rough, knotted rope. "Three have joined our ranks, four have had their memories modified, and one has been eliminated."
"The three that have joined us?"
"Quite powerful, Enki," Quipu replied. "Powerful warriors, all three. Prates, in particular, is both a skilled duelist as well as an animagus. A Great Black Hawk, in fact; nearly as deadly as if he were in his human form. We will be glad to have all three on our side when the time comes."
"Ya-O-Gah."
"Ten Protected," said the wizard bearing the bear skull mask, "all accounted for. Three have joined our ranks, three have been eliminated, and three have been modified to be depowered."
"And the tenth?"
"The tenth is a high-ranking official in Ottawa," said the Mask of Quebec. "I took a page from Altheda," nodding to the Mask of Sydney, whose face was hidden behind a miniature waterfall, "and placed her under an Imperius Curse. Very subtle, nearly untraceable, to be activated when she is needed."
"Assassination?"
"Or simply a swing vote," said Ya-O-Gah. "I left our options open. And, Manbo? You seem to have cut it close tonight."
"I do apologize," said Manbo. "Eighteen Protected. As of tonight, all eighteen have been accounted for. The last, Jason Madsen of Duluth, Minnesota, was transported to the barracks in New Orleans just minutes ago. I will meet with him further tomorrow and will pass judgment then, although I am confident that he will turn to our side."
"And how about the others?" asked Enki.
"Eight recruited," Manbo continued. "Eight modified. One, reluctantly, eliminated."
"That seems a small number dead," said Amit, the Mask of Cairo, from behind her crocodile mask. "You know that modification should only be done should the Protected's absence arouse suspicion..."
"I am not as quick to the kill as others at this table, Amit," said Manbo sharply. "I have modified them as such where they cannot fight us. They will not draw suspicion. That should suffice."
"Not if someone can break the Memory Charm," said Atrytone of Athens, green eyes shining emeralds in the darkness beneath her Velletri helmet. "As skilled as we are, Manbo, you know that our magic is not completely tamper-proof."
"Enough," said Yama, the Mask of Delhi. "Manbo's pacifist nature is known to us all. However, despite nearly half of her Protected being modified, the fact remains that the other half are now among our ranks. She brought eight Protected-level powers under her wing, under her guidance, and for that she should be commended."
"A similar choice may fall into your hands soon, Atrytone," said Sangoma, the Mask of Harare and the Circle's strongest Diviner. "More information has come to light since our last meeting."
The respectful silence that had fallen over the meeting during the previous exchanges deepened further at Sangoma's words. A tenseness fell over the witches and wizards. Over the last few years, the pool of Protected, the pool from which The Next would be found, had narrowed. At Sangoma's word, countless witches and wizards had joined the Oligarchy's ranks. At Sangoma's word, countless other witches in Africa, Australia, and Asia had died unexpectedly rather than become threats to the Oligarchy in the coming war.
In their previous meeting, just last month, Sangoma had spoken: The Next was not in North America or South America. Manbo, Ya-O-Gah, and Quipu had carried out the continents' sentences of conscription, modification, or death.
Europe or the Middle East: Who would be the next to fall?
"The location is clear," Sangoma explained. "The signs have been double- and triple-verified among my circle of Diviners.
"The Next will be found on the British Isles."
The members of the Circle looked around at each other. Many turned to the Mask of London, his black mask a negative of Manbo's white, eye holes showing blue eyes where Manbo's showed black Runes. His mask was one of the few which allowed this rare view of the wizard beneath, and the Circle could read anticipation and pride. None, however, saw any surprise.
Kitsune, Mask of Osaka, broke the silence: "Merlin. Dumbledore. Riddle. Potter. The Next."
"It seems appropriate, does it not?" said Gungnir, running his fingers along his golden beard. "It is where it all began."
"It is also more dangerous for us," said Dola, the Mask of Kiev, her feline eyes narrowing. "Thanks especially to Gungnir's failure in Poland."
"There was no failure in Poland," said Gungnir calmly. "The Protected is safe."
"At our expense," Dola hissed. "She knows too much."
"It was foolish of you to even conduct that operation, Dola," said Kitsune. "You and Atrytone both. You lost us a key weapon and handler, and put the Weasley girl in great danger. You should be thankful that Gungnir was even able to recover two Stymphalian Birds."
"It needed to be done," said Atrytone. "Lovegood was drawing too close for comfort. We had no idea that the Weasleys would be on the scene."
"Besides," said Dola, "if the prophecy were speaking of Victoire Weasley, then she was in no danger that night. If she had been killed, then she obviously would not have been The Next."
"Fool," Sangoma spat. "Do you know nothing of prophecy? Must I explain it to you again? They are guideposts. They are a sketch, not a photograph. They can be subverted. Why do you think we Protect in the first place?"
"The Next can be killed before our goals are achieved," said Yama. "This has happened in the past, and it could easily happen again. We Protect so that it does not. Victoire Weasley lives because we cannot afford her death yet, just as Antaeus Carrow died in order to save Theodore Lupin."
"In the end it does not matter," said Atrytone. "Victoire Weasley will be dealt with, yes? She is still in Romania...."
"You don't keep up as well as you should," said the Mask of London. "She has been back in England for a week now. Before the revelation by our Diviners, yes?"
"Correct," Sangoma nodded. "Victoire Weasley is still in play."
"How many are still in play, Prospero?" Enki asked. "How many Protected are there on the British Isles?"
"Twenty-three," the Mask of London replied.
"Twenty-three?" said Ammit. "Forgive me, Prospero, but that seems like an extraordinarily large number for such a small area."
"England is a power center," Prospero said simply. "We all know it. Is it surprising that we have more Protected-level wizards than anywhere else on the planet?"
"It is twenty-three," Sangoma repeated. "Twenty-three candidates out of what used to be thousands. Nor is our work done. My Diviners will continue to search. We will be able to narrow The Next's location to a county, a city, possibly even an intersection. And this will be a matter of weeks now. Not months. Not years. Weeks. Witches and wizards of the Circle, our time is nearly upon us. The time of The Next is nearly upon us."
A murmur of excitement greeted these words. How many years had it been? How long had they searched for their new leader? Over twenty years had passed since their mentor had passed from this world.
"Our time is near," Enki nodded. "Prospero, you know how important the next few weeks will be. Make sure your operatives are prepared. The Ministry, Hogwarts, Diagon and Mungo's. All of them. They must be extra vigilant in the coming months, for they are the only Protectors that remain."
"I will contact them as soon as the meeting is finished," Prospero nodded.
"And I, for one, would like full profiles on all of the Protected on the British Isles," Kitsune requested. "Now that the field has been reduced as it has, I think it would be prudent of all of us to learn as much as we can of those who remain. After all, one of them will be our leader soon."
"I agree," said Ya-O-Gah. "Now that I no longer have to focus on the Protected in Canada, I could offer assistance, if need be."
"There is still much to be done, for all of you," said Prospero. "In fact, I would place a suggestion before the Circle. I say we move up the time table for Project Beta."
"To when?"
"To as soon as feasibly possible."
The table exchanged surprised glances. "This is a radical move you are proposing," said Enki. "What basis do you have to propose such a shift?"
"I have many reasons," said Prospero, "not least among them the Victoire Weasley situation. She is a threat to our plans."
"She was unconscious for much of that night," said Gungnir. "She would not remember me, or my confrontation with Charles Weasley and Luna Lovegood."
"That may be true," said Prospero. "But she remains a loose thread. More importantly, she is a thread whose aunt is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in England, second only to the Minister himself. Do remember, also, that beyond Victoire Weasley, we have recently attacked and brainwashed Luna Lovegood and Charles Weasley, the Head's best friend and her brother-in-law. It doesn't matter how well we cover it up, it doesn't matter in what country and jurisdiction the attack happened, and it doesn't matter if she knows we even exist: Hermione Weasley is now an enemy to the Oligarchy. The longer we wait, the more resources she will place on sniffing us out, and that puts the success and effectiveness of Project Beta in great danger."
"Prospero has a point," said Dola.
"But to initiate Beta before The Next is found?" asked Ya-O-Gah.
"As Sangoma stated, the discovery of The Next is near at hand," Prospero explained. "I do not believe that the time between Beta and The Next will be that large. Perhaps a few weeks at the most. We can handle that."
"It will be more than a few weeks," said Ammit. "Remember, The Next may not come to us as a complete package. He or she will need to be educated and trained before they take full command. This could take more months still."
"Perhaps a steward," said Yama thoughtfully. "An elected member of the Circle could take the place of The Next in that short period."
"Blasphemy!" Quipu snapped. "To suggest that one of us could stand in the place of The Next is madness!"
"Merely until the time has come where The Next will take their rightful place," Yama explained. "Because, as Prospero stated, our time is short. I do think that Gungnir did the right thing when dealing with Weasley--"
"I disagree," Dola growled.
"--yet the fact remains that it has placed us in a precarious situation. Action needs to be taken, and soon. I support Prospero's request."
"I second the request," said Kitsune.
"Very well," said Enki. "All those in favor of accelerating the timetable for Project Beta and electing a steward in The Next's stead?"
Eleven of the thirteen members of the circle raised their wands into the air. The two remaining, Dola and Quipu, looked around the table and, reluctantly, raised theirs as well.
"I will voice my doubts," said Dola, "but I also believe that we should stand in a united front. So I will go along with the decision of the Circle."
"Very well," said Enki. "The decision on stewardship will be discussed in a future meeting. Take time to decide who you believe would be a worthy candidate."
"I remove myself from the nominations immediately," said Prospero. "Now that the Isles have been deemed the location of The Next, my hands will be full enough even without the initation of Project Beta."
"With good reason, Prospero," Enki nodded. "So the preparations for Project Beta will begin immediately. Atrytone, how much longer do you believe the package will take before it is ready?"
"The package is as ready as it will be," said Atrytone. "Movement, however, is another matter. I would request a month to transfer it. Perhaps longer."
"Then we will meet in one month's time," said Enki. "The agenda shall be nominations for stewardship and the final preparations for Project Beta."
"Do be careful, Atrytone," said Yama. "There are many highly intelligent witches and wizards who will oppose us. Already are opposing us. Make sure that the package is not discovered before we wish it to be."
"Do not worry, Yama," said Atrytone, her eyes smiling coldly in her darkness. "They will not see this coming. No one will see this coming..."
Limited Commercial Interruption / Previous Chapters / I Was Me
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language
Summary: We are The Oligarchy...
Notes: Guess who's back! This next chunk is going to be particularly large, consisting of ten chapters over the next ten days. Nothing quite like writing about your old college town to bring out the overly descriptive paragraphs.
I own all of the characters in this chapter, but they are greatly influenced by JK Rowling.
Limited Commercial Interruption / Previous Chapters / I Was Me
Even though his heart was racing as he sprinted down the sidewalk of Superior Street, even though his breath was ragged in his chest and he was starting to feel a stitch in his side, Jason Madsen couldn't help but laugh.
Horns blared as he ran beneath streetlight after streetlight and crossed First Avenue against the Don't Walk signal. The headlights of a 2011 Contour brushed across his waist, and he felt a surge of power up his wand arm and through his body as he jumped high enough to slide safely across its hood. The squealing tires barely covered the sound of the three Muggles behind him, running full tilt in pursuit.
Perfect, Jason thought as he heard a metallic crunch and the plastic tinkle of headlights as the Impreza connected with the Contour's rear bumper. That should slow them down just enough.
Just enough for what? Just enough to get away? Did he even want to get away?
Part of Jason wanted to stop right there and turn to fight the assholes. It was only three of them, after all. Three Muggles against one wizard? It would be no contest.
Maybe he could even bait them a bit further. Carry the chase down to the canal. Plenty of empty space by the DECC and the aquarium. More room to spread out and stretch his wand arm. It wasn't like they didn't have it coming...
But Jason Madsen, whose mother was a witch and whose father was a Muggle, relented. He was stretching his luck enough as is. There were three of them, sure. But there had been five. The other two were currently sprawled in front of the Norshor, Harley riders with too much booze and not enough brains. Jason was sure he had heard the snap of the bald guy's ribs when he punched him, and the other, the dude with the beard, would probably be drinking his dinner through a straw for the next few weeks.
He had gotten lucky so far. The Department hadn't caught him in any of his previous excursions. But even a blind duck can get the bread occasionally.
Instead of taking a wide left onto the Canal Park bridge, Jason took a sharper left, turning onto the boarded walkway between the bridge and The Fetus, the vintage vinyl store that was always one of his first stops when he came home for Christmas break. Migizi Academy had been just like every other magical center in the world: Electronic devices went completely to pot when they got even close to magical interference. That meant no mp3s, no Pandora, not even an old CD player. Vinyl, however, was just fine. In fact, along with a radio, each dorm room had their own hand-crank record player. It wasn't the highest quality sound coming out of those ancient boxes, but Jason's dormmates always appreciated his taste in music, nonetheless. He had always made sure to come back from each trip home with a small stack of LPs.
The wooden pathway narrowed and doubled back behind the Fetus towards a larger commons area. Jason could hear the footsteps behind him. Could hear the voices yelling even as the blood pumping through him caused his ears to hum.
He flipped out his wand and pointed it behind him, tossing a Tripping Jinx at the lead biker just as the three turned the corner. He heard a grunt as the punk fell to the ground, the other two tumbling over him. Did any of them go over the railing to the street below? Jason didn't care. All he knew is that it bought him five seconds, ten tops. Which was more than enough to find a place to hide.
That'll do, he thought as he spied the surreal sculpture sitting in the middle of the plaza. Every few years, the Muggles that ran this town tore out one sculpture and replaced it with another. Like the others, Jason couldn't even begin to describe what it was supposed to represent. All he knew was that it was big enough and solid enough for what he had in mind.
Running towards it, he positioned himself so that the sculpture stood between him and the street. He lifted his wand over his head and tapped the top of his scalp. The Disillusionment Charm was one of the first nonverbals that he had learned at his old school in South Dakota, and as he felt the cold invisibility trickle down his body he felt a momentary sense of pride over just how well he had taken to this particular technique. Most of the students, even those that had gone on to study for the MiB, could only get their Disillusions to turn them into something like the Predator: more camouflage than actual invisibility. When Jason wanted to vanish, however, he vanished.
He knew it, too. He could barely contain his laughter as the three Muggles, three guys that were big and beefy enough to wet the pants of anyone not a wizard, ran past his sculpture and looked around the plaza in confusion.
"Where is he?" asked one of them. "Where the fuck is he?"
"Shut up!" the biggest one said.
"He can't get far," said the other one, staring the invisible Jason straight in the face.
"I said shut the fuck up!" the big guy yelled, holding up both hands. He was smart, Jason thought. Listening to see which way the footsteps took me. Although there were trees and grass, the plaza was purely man-made, built over Interstate 35. Even though they could hear and feel the hum of the traffic beneath their feet, it was late enough at night for the sound to be far from overwhelming. Jason held his breath, his lungs yearning to pant from his sprint.
I need them out of here, he thought. If I don't get some air soon...
He looked around the dark ground. There were rocks used to cover the ground around the shrubs and trees. Jason pointed at them with his wand, silently cast an accio. One of the rocks flew towards him, and he immediately depulsoed it in the opposite direction. With a satisfying clunk, the rock connected with one of the numerous park benches lining the pathway.
"That way!" all three Muggles yelled at once, tripping over each other as they sprinted towards the sound. Some people will always be walking, talking Three Stooges clones. Laughing quietly, he walked over to the edge of the plaza, leaning on the railing and watching the three bikers chase after no one. Once they reached the Lakewalk, they stopped, and the big guy listened for any noise.
Better give him what he wants, thought Jason, shooting off a Snapper Spell further down the shore. The trio were once again in hot pursuit, practically barreling over a tourist and his late-night-peeing dog as they reached the Lakewalk.
If I'm lucky, he thought, they'll be to Fitgers before they knew they lost me. If I'm really lucky, they'll be halfway to Erickson Park.
It could be a lot worse, though, he thought as he turned and walked along the railing n the opposite direction. All things considered, he got off lucky. There wouldn't even be enough evidence for the Department to get involved. Sure, he had used magic to put a little more power behind his punches. Sure, he had cast a spell that made his fist as hard as a concrete cinder block when he busted that bearded Muggle's jaw. But he for sure had made sure his wand was safely tucked into the sleeve of his military surplus jacket the whole time. No Muggles actually saw him use any spells.
Besides, they deserved what they got. It was true that Jason had gone to the Norshor, the city's biggest strip club, in order to have a little fun. Sometimes that fun involved an extra lap dance or two, and sometimes it involved rearranging a Muggle's face. And, yeah, he may have rubbed it in a little bit when he outbid Big Bearded Ugly for the hottest redhead in the place. What did the guy expect, though? The girl had a nice rack, an apple-shaped behind, and freckles in just the right places. She had a landing strip that matched the curtains, for Chrissake! How could Jason not do his best to get this girl for all she was worth? Lap dance, hell: he took the private room option.
And how exactly did Big Bearded Ugly find out that Jason's "best" involved an inconspicuous Wingardium on the guy's wallet? Dude had no evidence at all when he met Jason outside the club later that night. The way Jason figured it, the goon was just looking for any excuse to start a fight, and Jason was more than happy to oblige.
As he neared a set of steps that would take him down to the lake, Jason turned around and looked up the hill. The city of Duluth covered the massive slope, formed epochs ago by the lake. Or the glaciers. Or whatever. Jason didn't pay a lot of attention to geology in elementary school, and it wasn't exactly taught at Migizi. He thought it might be smart to just Apparate home, right then and there. His Trace had been gone for four years, but that still didn't keep Jason from thinking that the Department would sniff him out eventually. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could be in bed and the sooner he'd have an alibi. His parents would have been in bed hours ago, no one would know that he had even left.
Why are we still here, anyway? Jason thought morosely. Well, that answer was easy enough. They were here because his parents didn't want to leave. Mom the Witch came from the magical settlement outside St. Paul. She and some of her friends visited Duluth a year after they graduated from Migizi, and she fell in love with the place.
Fell in love with Dad the Muggle, too, a born-and-raised Duluthian who at the time was an econ student at UMD. They met on the canal, watching a barge head under the Lift Bridge. Mom never went back to the Twin Cities except to pack.
Sure, it was hard being a witch in Duluth, she often said to Jason. There were some witches and wizards in town. But it was far from a strongly-established community. Hell, they had to Floo out to Cloquet once a week, minimum, in order to pick up a lot of their wizarding necessities. Jason had often tried convincing the Madsens that they should move. Head to New York. San Francisco. New Orleans. Anywhere with a thick magical population. Hell, St. Paul would be an easier place to live than this Muggle-heavy part of the world.
Yet here they sat. Eking out a living in an area that wasn't made for them. Jobs were scarce enough in Duluth for Muggles. They were damn near impossible for wizards.
So the question was, why was Jason still here? That was one he had been asking himself for the last four years. Ever since his Trace was removed, and ever since he graduated from Migizi, he had been trying to find any reason to leave. He was twenty-two, for Chrissake! He felt like a loser for still living with his parents. Jobs were scarce, yes. They were even harder to come by for someone like Jason Madsen, who barely squeaked through his O.W.L.s and failed his N.E.W.Ts outright. Most magical companies along the North Shore demanded more skills than he had available. And he'd be damned if he was going to lower himself to Muggle work.
So why was he here? he thought as he descended the stairs. Why didn't he just pack a bag and catch the next Portkey out of town?
But as he heard the crash of the waves and felt the bitter early November wind, he knew why. It was the damn lake. Superior had a hold on him whether he admitted it or not. He supposed it probably had a lot to do with Migizi. The school definitely had a Native American heritage to it. The professors understood magic as a force of nature, and a lot of time and a lot of energy was spent discussing the students' connection to the air, the land, and the water.
The water.
Here he was. The cops were definitely there by now, making their report about the fight. The two bikers were probably already trussed up and tossed into the meat wagon, on their way to get x-rayed and wired and whatever. As the time elapsed, Jason was becoming more and more confident that the Department would catch on. This wasn't starting flower beds on fire. This wasn't Depulso-ing rocks through windows. This was the kind of thing that would send the Men in Black to the Madsens' front door.
Yet here he was, strolling down the Lakewalk, watching the moonlight reflect off of the waves of Lake Superior. To his right were three different Muggle hotels, the kind that were jam-packed in the summer, jam-packed in October: Everyone in Minnesota would see the autumn leaves turn in their own front yards eventually, yet they insisted on spending hundreds of dollars to see them change somewhere else a week earlier. It baffled the mind sometimes.
To his right came the tiny ship's cabin, now converted into a kitschy gift shop. To his right came the old red caboose, now an ice cream stand, closed for the season. To his right came a tugboat rested beside a patch of grass, the favorite spot for tourist-fed seagulls during the summer, and an old cement building which housed the Muggle Corp of Engineers' naval museum. Even though the lights were out, two plasma TVs glared out of the glass entryway, declaring what time the next ships would be coming into the harbor, or leaving for wherever the waves took them. To his right was the "world"-famous Aerial Lift Bridge, a jungle gym of steel girdering that connected Park Point to Duluth and Minnesota and the United States in general.
Eventually the Lakewalk gave out, ending in a cement retaining wall that stretched out in both directions. Jason leaned idly against the top of the wall, looking down into the dark water of the canal. In the daylight, this section of water would be sparkling with the colors of the rainbow, remnants of the fuel and oil that leaked from the dozens of barges, speedboats, and tour yachts that came in and out of this narrow path of water every day. Jason preferred the lake at night. Seeing all of that pollution, dumped by the Muggles over the decades, often made him sick to his stomach.
He blamed Migizi for that, too.
He turned to his left, where the retaining wall wrapped around a long cement pier. At the end of the pier was a black and white lighthouse. He saw two figures out at the end of the pier. They stood apart from each other, strangers in the night beneath halogen lights.
Insomniacs in the night, thought Jason, checking his watch. Three a.m. Bars closed an hour ago, and the rush of inebriated Muggles would want to get out of the cold as fast as possible. These two were probably just tourists from the nearby hotels, the ones who come to Duluth off-season on the cheap just to get away from their worries, and yet have a hell of a time sleeping their worries off with all the crashing waves and foghorns outside their window.
Jason didn't want any company right now. But he also remembered that he was still Disillusioned. He made his way down the pier, thinking it might be fun to poke one of the tourists' shoulders. Give them one hell of a scare. After all, there were plenty of ghostly legends around Duluth. Why not give them one to tell their cubicle buddies back in Minneapolis?
Ignoring the spot of chipped paint and graffiti on the light house that, so like the famous memorials in Godric's Hollow, faded into a wizard war memorial plaque as he approached (a small token of appreciation to the witches and wizards that had died overseas during the Prussian War of 1910), Jason chose the body to the left: a pudgy man in a turquoise Columbia that clashed horribly with his Packers stocking cap, green and gold puffball dancing in the lake wind. So I guess I'll be giving him something to tell his cubicle buddies in Green Bay or Superior or wherever in Sconnie he's from, he thought, lifting his invisible finger over the man's shoulder.
"Resorting to Muggle-baiting again, Jason?" said the other "tourist" from their right. Jason jerked in surprise at the sound of the woman's voice. "That's quite beneath someone like you, isn't it?" The man in front of Jason did nothing more than look idly towards the sound of the voice, then turned back to the lake as though she had been nothing more than a distance foghorn that had caught his temporary attention.
"I wouldn't speak, if I were you," the woman, her face still towards the Great Lake, said as Jason opened his invisible mouth. "I'm Hazy to him right now. You, however, are not."
Jason heard the chubby Packer fan humming quietly, completely oblivious to all that was going on around him. It sounded like an off-key version of Elton John. Or it might have been Slipknot. He wasn't exactly a great hummer.
Hazy... Well, that made sense, whatever it meant. Now that the woman fully had Jason's attention, he was amazed that he didn't notice her sooner. She was dressed differently, for one. Not like a Muggle, and not exactly like a wizard, either. She wore a black robe, baggy hood drawn up over her head.
"Some privacy would be nice," she said calmly. As if on cue, the Muggle Packer Backer yawned widely, turned away from the lake, and made his way back down the pier towards the museum and, eventually, his hotel room. Jason watched him go, still astonished about what had transpired in the last thirty seconds. The hooded woman turned her head and watched the Muggle make his way to bed, her face still hidden from Jason's view.
"You may speak now," she said finally. "It is your decision whether to stay Disillusioned. I know where you are either way."
"How do you know?" Jason asked.
"Secrets," said the woman, turning to him. Her face was still unseen, however. It was instead covered by a white cloth, as if a bag had been pulled over her head before the hood had been raised. Where eye holes would be were scrawled black symbols that Jason vaguely recognized (from his roommate's homework) as ancient runes.
"What do you want from me?" Jason asked, his wand poised in his hand. "How do you know my name? Are you with the Department?"
"So many questions," she said. "So many answers." Her hood completely covered her face, yet Jason knew that she could see him clear as day. See him, see through him, see in him. Those symbols on her eyes were tricky. Just when he thought he had a grasp on their shape, they shifted ever so slightly. He was reminded of a character from some comic book movie he saw when he was a kid.
"My name is Manbo," the woman (witch, Jason amended. If she ain't a witch, then I'm fuckin' Matt Damon) said. "I am the Mask of New Orleans, protector of Mexico and the Continental United States, of the Circle of Thirteen. I should say, also, that I am not from the Department of Magical Administration."
"Then what do you want?" Jason asked, amazed at himself that he hadn't either gone screaming for help or attacked this woman with every hex imaginable. What could he say? The witch just screamed intimidation. She didn't have to make a move, and he already knew that he'd be dead before he could raise his wand.
"I wish to make you an offer," she said, "for you are no longer one of the Protected."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that, from the moment I disappear tonight, your luck runs out," said Manbo. "Not as though you had any luck to begin with. When I disappear, the Department will be on your trail for an attack on two Muggles using magically-assisted weaponry. They may find other evidence of your past crimes, as well."
Jason's eyes widened. His mind flashed back to all of the various crimes he had committed over the years. Nothing major, of course. This was the first time he had actually assaulted a Muggle. But, still...
"Are you threatening me?" he said, his quiet voice shaking with rage. "You're going to blackmail me into doing something for you? You gonna turn me in?"
"Quite the contrary," said Manbo, leaning against the concrete barricade as though they were talking about the latest Quidditch score instead of threatening each others' lives. "As I said, you are no longer Protected. Two weeks ago, the Oligarchy discovered that The Next is not in the Americas. All candidates have been stripped of our protection."
"Protection?"
"Did you honestly think that you were smart enough to evade the Department?" said Manbo. "It takes resources far and above your own in order to get away with the numerous crimes that you have committed. For Merlin's sake, Jason, you were using magic for Muggle-baiting while you were still being Traced!"
"I'm just that good, I guess..."
"No, you guess that you have friends in high places," said Manbo. "We have been protecting you. Keeping ourselves secret as we cleared your name over and over again. Some of our associates have even been arrested for some of your more noticeable crimes. This is what it means to be Protected. But now, after tonight, all bets are off."
Jason paused, thinking. Whatever this chick was saying, it couldn't be true. There was no way that it could be true. How could someone like him, someone who nearly flunked out of Migizi year after year, be important enough for people to take the fall for him?
"So what did I do?" Jason asked. "Why am I not, um, Protected anymore?"
"As I said, The Next is not in America."
"Who's The Next?"
"Not you," Manbo frustratingly repeated. "Beyond that I will not say. Not until you make your decision."
"What decision?" Jason snapped. "You haven't asked me to do anything!"
"You are not The Next," she said once again. "But the mere fact that you were chosen to be Protected shows that you possess great skill, great power, and great potential. You could do great deeds in your future, Jason. The Oligarchy could help you achieve those deeds. We could help you and your family for years, even generations, to come. Your children's children's children will live in a better world because of your assistance, and their lives will be more comfortable because the world will know that you fought on our side."
"Sounds a bit like bullshit to me," said Jason. "Sounds like you're trying to talk me into some psycho cult."
"Not at all," said Manbo. "We are simply soldiers preparing for a war that has been centuries in the making. We have members in both the highest levels of government and the lowest dregs of the criminal underworld. And we want to make sure that you're on the right side when the war starts. You, as well as the rest of the world's Protected, will be valuable assets when the time comes."
"How can I be of any value?" Jason asked. "For Chrissake, I failed my N.E.W.T.s! I got a T in almost all of my classes my last year at Migizi. Why me? How can you possibly think that I have any use to you?"
"Almost all of your classes," Manbo said. "As you know, you did well in Defense. Almost despite yourself, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah," Jason said reluctantly. "I barely studied...."
"That is natural talent trying to come out," said Manbo. "Talent that we can refine and strengthen in ways that your professors could only imagine."
Jason hesitated. This woman kept speaking so highly of him. Until he heard her words of encouragement and of praise, Jason had never realized just how much those words had been missing from his life. Outside of his Defense professor, who would only grudgingly respond to Jason's successes in his class, his professors recognized him as a screw-up. Had he even seen disappointment in his Natural Magic professor's eyes when he returned to class for his sixth year? Had the thought of trying to press information into Jason Madsen's thick skull been that terrible of a thought?
And his parents... They loved him, and he loved them. But they rarely said "Our Jason is so smart" or "We're so proud of him." Instead it was "He tries his best," and "He's a nice boy," and "He'll come around eventually."
But this... This was his opportunity to actually do something. To actually be wanted...
"Look," he said, his resistance fading, "I have a tough time saying yes to anyone. And there's just something in me that screams warning when the offer's being made by someone in a mask..."
"And you have every right to feel that way," said Manbo. "And it is a request that I would deny to anyone besides a Protected. But very well..."
At that, she brushed the tip of her wand across her face. The white curtain with its shifting black symbols brushed aside as simply as a cobweb in a gentle breeze, and disappeared just as quickly. Jason's breath caught.
She wasn't what he was expecting. For one thing, she was young. Not much older than he was, in fact. At least she didn't look much older. When it came to wizards and witches, you could never tell true age. Her face was dark, as was the curl of black hair hanging down from beneath her hood. Although her skin tone placed her as African American, her actual facial structure was much more difficult to place. If she told him that her ancestry could be traced back to every continent he would only nod in unsurprised agreement.
She could also be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Except...
"Your eyes..." he said.
"Many of us wear our masks in order to protect our identities," she said. "Others, on the other hand, find them to be a little more functional."
"The runes," said Jason, understanding.
"They were my specialty at school," said Manbo, blinking dark lids over white, sightless eyeballs. "I lost my vision magically, which makes it impossible to fully cure. A mishap as a small child with my mother's potions that I will not get into. But in Runes I found the proper combination of symbols could return my sight to me. With a few slight enhancements, of course."
"Like seeing invisible people," said Jason. "Can you see me now?"
"Only with my mask."
Jason knew that he was invisible and he had been fine not being seen by anyone. But now looking this witch in the face, knowing that even if he wasn't invisible he still couldn't be seen, he felt uncomfortable under that sightless gaze.
"You can put your mask back on," said Jason. "I'm sorry if I--"
"As I stated," she said, once more covering her face with a wave of her wand, "I would not have fulfilled such a request for anyone beneath a Protected. But my time is short. I would like to bring you with me now. We do not require your final answer at this time. We just want you to hear more. Will you come with us?"
Again, Jason hesitated. He turned away, looking down the shore of Lake Superior and up the hill, in the general direction of his family's home.
"Your family will be compensated," Manbo repeated, the Runic symbols once again shifting across her eyes. "We will cover for your absence. Nor will that absence be permanent. You will return to them in time."
"When?" Jason asked, his stomach suddenly tight. Why was he nervous about this? Didn't he want to leave?
"That will all depend on what use we find for you," she said. "Which means it would depend on what capacity you choose to help us. Perhaps months. Perhaps days."
"And if I say no?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," said Manbo. As she spoke, Jason could hear the smile in her voice. "But I do not believe you will say no."
No, he wasn't going to say no. He did want to hear more. He knew that he was probably getting into something deep, something dangerous. Maybe something illegal. But since when had he ever cared about getting into trouble?
Besides, they wanted him. He was amazed at just what those three little words did to his heart when he thought about it. He felt lighter at that little mental announcement. Important. He wondered for the first time just how he'd look in one of those black robes.
"We'll be Apparating," said Manbo, offering her arm. "Have you Shotgunned before?"
"Yeah, once," he said, remembering getting a Shotgun from his mother back when he was taking Apparation lessons. Like the parent who sat their kid on his their and let him steer their car years before drivers' ed, she had wanted to give her boy some idea of what it felt like to have your body sucked through a pin-sized hole in reality before he started learning to do it by himself.
It had been far from a pleasant experience. But you gotta do what you gotta do, I guess....
I'll be back soon, Dad, he thought as he put his hand on Manbo's forearm. I'll make you all proud of me.
---------
Jason was sucked into darkness. It still wasn't a pleasant experience.
It had been dark in Duluth, but the halogen lights had been bright enough where Jason's eyes took a few moments to adjust to the sudden black.
"Where are we?" he asked, letting his wand slip from his sleeve into his hand.
"Nowhere," said Manbo, holding her wand aloft. "Lumos. And everywhere."
As the tip of the witch's wand glowed, Jason looked around. There wasn't much to see. They were in a small room, or cavern, or something. The walls were made of a dark gray rock, too rough to be synthetic, the corners too clean and sharp to be a natural cave. Except for Jason, Manbo, and a solid wooden door, the room was completely bare.
"This is the Landing Room," Manbo explained. "Any Apparition is done here or in three other Landing Rooms in the complex. We leave it dark to confuse intruders long enough for us to deal with them."
"Intruders?"
"Hasn't happened yet," said Manbo with a shrug as they walked to the door. She opened it, and the two stepped out into a long hallway composed of the same dark rock as the Landing Room. The hall, however, was lit by numerous torches lining the walls.
"So when do we get to talk?" asked Jason as Manbo tapped the door, which locked with a deep clack. "When do you get to tell me what you want with me?"
"Soon," said Manbo. "There is much for us yet to discuss. However, unfortunately, that time is not now. I am nearly late for a very important meeting, so I would ask that you wait just a little longer."
"Okay?"
"Alexei will show you to your quarters," said Manbo, pointing behind him. Jason turned around to see another dark-robed wizard who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The hood removed, the wizard had a pleasant, square face that hinted at an Eastern European heritage. From the top of his head do his upper lip, his face was covered in a black bandanna that reminded Jason of those old Zorro movies.
"Sleep tonight," Manbo requested. "There is food available, as well, if you are hungry. Alexei will show you the basics. Tomorrow we will sit down and talk, yes?"
"Sure," said Jason, turning back to Alexei, who motioned him down the shadowy hall. Manbo watched the two young men move out of sight, then turned back to the Landing Room. She unlocked it with a tap of her wand, opened it, walked inside, and disappeared with a pop.
---------
"We are the Oligarchy."
"The few shall rule the many."
"We are the Circle of Thirteen."
"The first to leave shall be the first to die."
"We honor the past."
"We serve the next."
The thirteen robed and masked figures, quite possibly the thirteen most powerful witches and wizards on the planet, seated themselves around the stone table. They were lit by an unknown light source, as the room in which they were seated had no visible walls or ceiling. The shadows themselves seemed confused, stretching in random directions.
The goat-headed wizard spoke first:
"I would like to hear the status report from the Americas regarding the elimination of their Protected. Quipu?"
"All eight Protected have been accounted for," stated the Mask of Lima, her skull wrapped from hairline to shoulder blades with rough, knotted rope. "Three have joined our ranks, four have had their memories modified, and one has been eliminated."
"The three that have joined us?"
"Quite powerful, Enki," Quipu replied. "Powerful warriors, all three. Prates, in particular, is both a skilled duelist as well as an animagus. A Great Black Hawk, in fact; nearly as deadly as if he were in his human form. We will be glad to have all three on our side when the time comes."
"Ya-O-Gah."
"Ten Protected," said the wizard bearing the bear skull mask, "all accounted for. Three have joined our ranks, three have been eliminated, and three have been modified to be depowered."
"And the tenth?"
"The tenth is a high-ranking official in Ottawa," said the Mask of Quebec. "I took a page from Altheda," nodding to the Mask of Sydney, whose face was hidden behind a miniature waterfall, "and placed her under an Imperius Curse. Very subtle, nearly untraceable, to be activated when she is needed."
"Assassination?"
"Or simply a swing vote," said Ya-O-Gah. "I left our options open. And, Manbo? You seem to have cut it close tonight."
"I do apologize," said Manbo. "Eighteen Protected. As of tonight, all eighteen have been accounted for. The last, Jason Madsen of Duluth, Minnesota, was transported to the barracks in New Orleans just minutes ago. I will meet with him further tomorrow and will pass judgment then, although I am confident that he will turn to our side."
"And how about the others?" asked Enki.
"Eight recruited," Manbo continued. "Eight modified. One, reluctantly, eliminated."
"That seems a small number dead," said Amit, the Mask of Cairo, from behind her crocodile mask. "You know that modification should only be done should the Protected's absence arouse suspicion..."
"I am not as quick to the kill as others at this table, Amit," said Manbo sharply. "I have modified them as such where they cannot fight us. They will not draw suspicion. That should suffice."
"Not if someone can break the Memory Charm," said Atrytone of Athens, green eyes shining emeralds in the darkness beneath her Velletri helmet. "As skilled as we are, Manbo, you know that our magic is not completely tamper-proof."
"Enough," said Yama, the Mask of Delhi. "Manbo's pacifist nature is known to us all. However, despite nearly half of her Protected being modified, the fact remains that the other half are now among our ranks. She brought eight Protected-level powers under her wing, under her guidance, and for that she should be commended."
"A similar choice may fall into your hands soon, Atrytone," said Sangoma, the Mask of Harare and the Circle's strongest Diviner. "More information has come to light since our last meeting."
The respectful silence that had fallen over the meeting during the previous exchanges deepened further at Sangoma's words. A tenseness fell over the witches and wizards. Over the last few years, the pool of Protected, the pool from which The Next would be found, had narrowed. At Sangoma's word, countless witches and wizards had joined the Oligarchy's ranks. At Sangoma's word, countless other witches in Africa, Australia, and Asia had died unexpectedly rather than become threats to the Oligarchy in the coming war.
In their previous meeting, just last month, Sangoma had spoken: The Next was not in North America or South America. Manbo, Ya-O-Gah, and Quipu had carried out the continents' sentences of conscription, modification, or death.
Europe or the Middle East: Who would be the next to fall?
"The location is clear," Sangoma explained. "The signs have been double- and triple-verified among my circle of Diviners.
"The Next will be found on the British Isles."
The members of the Circle looked around at each other. Many turned to the Mask of London, his black mask a negative of Manbo's white, eye holes showing blue eyes where Manbo's showed black Runes. His mask was one of the few which allowed this rare view of the wizard beneath, and the Circle could read anticipation and pride. None, however, saw any surprise.
Kitsune, Mask of Osaka, broke the silence: "Merlin. Dumbledore. Riddle. Potter. The Next."
"It seems appropriate, does it not?" said Gungnir, running his fingers along his golden beard. "It is where it all began."
"It is also more dangerous for us," said Dola, the Mask of Kiev, her feline eyes narrowing. "Thanks especially to Gungnir's failure in Poland."
"There was no failure in Poland," said Gungnir calmly. "The Protected is safe."
"At our expense," Dola hissed. "She knows too much."
"It was foolish of you to even conduct that operation, Dola," said Kitsune. "You and Atrytone both. You lost us a key weapon and handler, and put the Weasley girl in great danger. You should be thankful that Gungnir was even able to recover two Stymphalian Birds."
"It needed to be done," said Atrytone. "Lovegood was drawing too close for comfort. We had no idea that the Weasleys would be on the scene."
"Besides," said Dola, "if the prophecy were speaking of Victoire Weasley, then she was in no danger that night. If she had been killed, then she obviously would not have been The Next."
"Fool," Sangoma spat. "Do you know nothing of prophecy? Must I explain it to you again? They are guideposts. They are a sketch, not a photograph. They can be subverted. Why do you think we Protect in the first place?"
"The Next can be killed before our goals are achieved," said Yama. "This has happened in the past, and it could easily happen again. We Protect so that it does not. Victoire Weasley lives because we cannot afford her death yet, just as Antaeus Carrow died in order to save Theodore Lupin."
"In the end it does not matter," said Atrytone. "Victoire Weasley will be dealt with, yes? She is still in Romania...."
"You don't keep up as well as you should," said the Mask of London. "She has been back in England for a week now. Before the revelation by our Diviners, yes?"
"Correct," Sangoma nodded. "Victoire Weasley is still in play."
"How many are still in play, Prospero?" Enki asked. "How many Protected are there on the British Isles?"
"Twenty-three," the Mask of London replied.
"Twenty-three?" said Ammit. "Forgive me, Prospero, but that seems like an extraordinarily large number for such a small area."
"England is a power center," Prospero said simply. "We all know it. Is it surprising that we have more Protected-level wizards than anywhere else on the planet?"
"It is twenty-three," Sangoma repeated. "Twenty-three candidates out of what used to be thousands. Nor is our work done. My Diviners will continue to search. We will be able to narrow The Next's location to a county, a city, possibly even an intersection. And this will be a matter of weeks now. Not months. Not years. Weeks. Witches and wizards of the Circle, our time is nearly upon us. The time of The Next is nearly upon us."
A murmur of excitement greeted these words. How many years had it been? How long had they searched for their new leader? Over twenty years had passed since their mentor had passed from this world.
"Our time is near," Enki nodded. "Prospero, you know how important the next few weeks will be. Make sure your operatives are prepared. The Ministry, Hogwarts, Diagon and Mungo's. All of them. They must be extra vigilant in the coming months, for they are the only Protectors that remain."
"I will contact them as soon as the meeting is finished," Prospero nodded.
"And I, for one, would like full profiles on all of the Protected on the British Isles," Kitsune requested. "Now that the field has been reduced as it has, I think it would be prudent of all of us to learn as much as we can of those who remain. After all, one of them will be our leader soon."
"I agree," said Ya-O-Gah. "Now that I no longer have to focus on the Protected in Canada, I could offer assistance, if need be."
"There is still much to be done, for all of you," said Prospero. "In fact, I would place a suggestion before the Circle. I say we move up the time table for Project Beta."
"To when?"
"To as soon as feasibly possible."
The table exchanged surprised glances. "This is a radical move you are proposing," said Enki. "What basis do you have to propose such a shift?"
"I have many reasons," said Prospero, "not least among them the Victoire Weasley situation. She is a threat to our plans."
"She was unconscious for much of that night," said Gungnir. "She would not remember me, or my confrontation with Charles Weasley and Luna Lovegood."
"That may be true," said Prospero. "But she remains a loose thread. More importantly, she is a thread whose aunt is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in England, second only to the Minister himself. Do remember, also, that beyond Victoire Weasley, we have recently attacked and brainwashed Luna Lovegood and Charles Weasley, the Head's best friend and her brother-in-law. It doesn't matter how well we cover it up, it doesn't matter in what country and jurisdiction the attack happened, and it doesn't matter if she knows we even exist: Hermione Weasley is now an enemy to the Oligarchy. The longer we wait, the more resources she will place on sniffing us out, and that puts the success and effectiveness of Project Beta in great danger."
"Prospero has a point," said Dola.
"But to initiate Beta before The Next is found?" asked Ya-O-Gah.
"As Sangoma stated, the discovery of The Next is near at hand," Prospero explained. "I do not believe that the time between Beta and The Next will be that large. Perhaps a few weeks at the most. We can handle that."
"It will be more than a few weeks," said Ammit. "Remember, The Next may not come to us as a complete package. He or she will need to be educated and trained before they take full command. This could take more months still."
"Perhaps a steward," said Yama thoughtfully. "An elected member of the Circle could take the place of The Next in that short period."
"Blasphemy!" Quipu snapped. "To suggest that one of us could stand in the place of The Next is madness!"
"Merely until the time has come where The Next will take their rightful place," Yama explained. "Because, as Prospero stated, our time is short. I do think that Gungnir did the right thing when dealing with Weasley--"
"I disagree," Dola growled.
"--yet the fact remains that it has placed us in a precarious situation. Action needs to be taken, and soon. I support Prospero's request."
"I second the request," said Kitsune.
"Very well," said Enki. "All those in favor of accelerating the timetable for Project Beta and electing a steward in The Next's stead?"
Eleven of the thirteen members of the circle raised their wands into the air. The two remaining, Dola and Quipu, looked around the table and, reluctantly, raised theirs as well.
"I will voice my doubts," said Dola, "but I also believe that we should stand in a united front. So I will go along with the decision of the Circle."
"Very well," said Enki. "The decision on stewardship will be discussed in a future meeting. Take time to decide who you believe would be a worthy candidate."
"I remove myself from the nominations immediately," said Prospero. "Now that the Isles have been deemed the location of The Next, my hands will be full enough even without the initation of Project Beta."
"With good reason, Prospero," Enki nodded. "So the preparations for Project Beta will begin immediately. Atrytone, how much longer do you believe the package will take before it is ready?"
"The package is as ready as it will be," said Atrytone. "Movement, however, is another matter. I would request a month to transfer it. Perhaps longer."
"Then we will meet in one month's time," said Enki. "The agenda shall be nominations for stewardship and the final preparations for Project Beta."
"Do be careful, Atrytone," said Yama. "There are many highly intelligent witches and wizards who will oppose us. Already are opposing us. Make sure that the package is not discovered before we wish it to be."
"Do not worry, Yama," said Atrytone, her eyes smiling coldly in her darkness. "They will not see this coming. No one will see this coming..."
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