Page 31 of Gladiator Moon

So, with my wings retracted, the sprite swaddled as securely as a newborn babe, and the prince dressed in plain farmer’s clothing, we make our way down the alley toward the wizard’s home. We find a side entrance, then knock on the heavy oak door. Apparently, wizards are open for business 24/7, though this world has closer to twenty hour days and utilizes a five-day week, per the prince. So, they are expected to be open 20/5. That seems excessive. Then again, these aren’t simply people waving wands and performing party tricks. They are healers, advisors, protectors, and, when necessary, avengers. They care for the sick, settle magical disputes, defend towns from outside threats, and deal with dangers most ordinary people never knew existed. In many ways, they are the doctors, shamans, and guardians of this world. Becoming one is not easy. Wizards are highly trained, rigorously tested, and expected to carry the weight of their communities on their shoulders. And yes, they can only be male.

That said, I don’t know what to expect, though with luck, I can influence him as needed. And with that thought in mind, I knock again.

Chapter Ten

The door creaks open.

A door that is a foot smaller and a foot narrower than most doors on Earth. Within it, there stands a diminutive young wizard in a robe and pointy hat similar to Baltazar’s. He looks like a teenager out trick-or-treating as something from Harry Potter. I even catch sight of a gnarled, branch-like stick that glows faintly. His wand, I presume.

He bows immediately upon seeing Prince Pickles. And I mean bows, like his forehead scrapes the interior floor tiles. I note he has an aura (which means he is indeed mortal), and so I immediately reach out to his mind but find only a jumble of thoughts in what I assume is the native language here on Grandar, since I don’t understand a word of it. I presume the language magic only works on spoken words. Anyway, the steady stream of gibberish clutters his mind enough for me not to be able to read it or control it.

“You are a mind reader, vampire?” he says, when he stands to his full four-foot height. “And a mind controller, too, I see; indeed, you have thoroughly manipulated our prince here.”

“I am both, and I did. I found you through his help.”

“I suppose that’s why he’s dressed as a pauper, and why you cradle a bound wood sprite as if she were a human baby.”

“Yes,” I say. “I’ll cut to the chase: there were a number of things that had to happen for me to be standing here with you now rather than fighting for your king’s pleasure.”

“The king and his subjects. You are playing a dangerous game, vampire.”

“No more dangerous than forced to fight for my life against creatures three and four times my height and strength.”

“Agreed. I assume you seek safe passage back to your home world.”

“You assume correctly.”

“You seek a temporary lifting of the spell that keeps you from using your teleporting abilities.”

“But of course.”

The little wizard, who goes by Azul, shakes his head. “’Tis a very powerful spell, vampire. It is well above my pay-grade, if you will. I cure toe fungus, ear itch, and finger boils. A spell like this would need the assistance of the Dark One himself. In the least, his most powerful demons. I must turn you away. And no, you cannot command me to forget this encounter; indeed, I will be forced to report your visit to master Baltazar himself immediately, lest I be tortured unto death. I hope you understand.”

“I understand. Will you give us a head start?”

“No, even now, I am drafting a preliminary telepathic message that will appear before my master within minutes.”

“How soon will he be here, then?”

“No time at all. Do you see that fireplace over there?” He points to a rather deep one set within the far wall at the back of his house. It is blackened with soot and composed of thick bricks. “He will appear in there shortly.”

I nearly facepalm. “The floo network!”

“Say again.”

“It’s from Harry Potter.”

“I do not know of that which you speak. A hairy gardener?”

“A boy wizard, actually. Exists in stories only. Though the author, J.K. Rowling, was obviously a creator. Somewhere out there, a world really exists where Harry, Ron, and Hermione are living their best lives.”

“Methinks I would like to meet this boy wizard.”

“You and billions of fans on Earth. Except on Earth, he exists in story format only.”

“Well, Master Baltazar has confirmed receipt of my magical message and will be here shortly. I need only to light the fireplace. Why are you shaking your head? Ah, I see. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that part about needing to light the fireplace.”

“Probably not.”