If I haven’t already given you obsessive-compulsive nightmares, let me tell you about the -cubi. Those intense sexual dreams allow them only the slightest entry into the world, and most of the time, they prefer to flirt (so to speak) with the edges, because they feed off that need. They’re naturally neuter, taking on form based off the desires of their summoner, and the stronger that will, the better formed they can be. Most of the time they’re nuisances because most of their summoners end up losing their will once sated, and they slip right back to where they… uh… came from. It’s those unfortunates who for whatever reason cannot reach a comfortable level of satisfaction that end up drawing too much attention.

“An army base,” I guessed.

She shook her head.

“It’s not a convent is it?” I asked Maggie.

She laughed aloud. I had always suspected nuns. “Seminaries and sentinels?” she mocked me. “Where are we?”

I groaned. “College town. That means only one thing.”

She nodded.

“Roommates,” we said together. I finished the dregs of my drink with a sigh.

If you’ve ever had to room with anyone you weren’t sleeping with (and in this case, I mean the kind of intimacy that comes with sexual relations) you might have noticed that it can have a deleterious effect on your aforementioned romantic life. From experience, sisters can be the worst. (They notice EVERYTHING.)

So get a bunch of hormone addled youngsters together in a competitive environment that has them ready to learn while their bodies say, “Let’s start reproducing!” (Just add alcohol! Oh wait, I used that joke already.) Then make it so they have someone they’re not really comfortable with near them. Sure, if you’re particularly motivated, you find ways to make it work. (Why do I suddenly have the urge to keep a package of wipes with me wherever I go in this town?) If you’re only partially motivated you get frustrated.

Hence, -cubi. Truth is, I’ve heard stories about frustrated wizards and what they summon up that would curl your toes. Wait, maybe that’s not the phrase I’m looking for… or maybe it is. [wink]

I flagged Ed from where he was telling one of his favourite stories (if you haven’t heard the one about the seventh best thing to do with honey, you’re missing a particularly sticky situation) and indicated Maggie. He raised his eyebrows. I shook my head. He waggled his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes. A couple of manly grunts would probably have gotten the impression across faster, but he was across the room and entertaining a coed. Instead of keeping him honest, I was going to get myself into trouble.

Maggie looked at me. “You done with your smoke signals or should I just wait in the car?”

I handed the bartender his tip along with the bill to cover the bill, and strode out. I bet myself I could guess what Maggie was driving today faster than she could point to it.

She had a thing for flashy cars. I couldn’t tell you makes and models without the ‘net nearby, but I can do my own basic maintenance. I drive a foreign made car about a decade old. Reliable. I try to avoid religious wars, so I won’t tell you if I’m using a Mac or a PC, either. I do suspect a few different OSes have paranormal influence, but people in the know have told me most of it is a rumour. (Alright, it’s only one of the reasons I want to learn exorcisms.)

She didn’t like the colour red. It had too many associations to it, she told me. So she’d have a white or green car, it would have been recently washed…

I strode over to it while she was busy getting her keys from the shiny little black thing she calls a purse. She didn’t even mention how clever I was to guess.

Forget all that white witch and black magic you hear. Magda’s a practical witch. She uses her powers for good, sure, but she also uses them to get what she wants. “You have to be able to live the life you want to lead. That’s the point of focusing will,” she explained to me, once. “Besides, being poor and selfless doesn’t get me any rewards that make me want to continue doing things. I can be far more generous when I’ve got things to give.”

One of my teachers would argue the point, but I have to admit, it makes some sense.

I got into the car, adjusting the seat a bit for my legs. She spun out of the driveway and drove like a maniac down the street, breaking uncountable numbers of laws as she did. I finished putting my seatbelt on with a pointed click. Remember what I said about healing magic – I also didn’t have the kind of spell power that would let other cars bounce off me.

She laughed. “First, do no harm.”

“Second, do no harm, third, do no harm, but by the time you’re in fifth, you’ve driven past harm and are into really sorryville,” I muttered.

“I heard that.”