I have often wondered idly about the role of genetics in magic.  I have a lot of theories, but it’s not like I can manipulate time long enough to view it, and the few who I know who could live or have lived that long won’t be able to give me a straight answer.  Really, I think that even if they speak my language (and it’s really convenient how many can) they live in fear of some kind of giant ruler of knuckle-whapping that comes down on them if they even answer a “Yes/No” question without a twist.  Wielded by a cosmic nun, of course.  (Don’t ask about Dark Matter.)

I mean, I could take all the great things the Small thing was saying at face value, but that would be dangerous.

The fey are aliens. Honestly, I’ve read a ton of urban fantasy that goes on about how long those things on the Outside have lived in comparison to the short recording span of humanity.  I don’t believe it.  For one thing, I know from experience that for the things Beyond to come into what I think of as Reality they have some translation to be done — some synchronization to my universe.  The vampires do it by parasitic attachment to existing members of the Reality club.  What the Small one said about adapting to our dreams was very telling.  Power changes not just the world around us, but the worlds Beyond, which is why I’m not sure where it begins.

See, the general assumption is that Power, whatever its source, is some kind of recessive gene, and if you get two powerful types they come up with Power Junior.  I don’t really see it working like that.  Another school of thought says that Power is available to everyone with Will (thanks, Mr. Crowley) but it takes training to manipulate beyond the basic little things everyone seems able to do (like hitting all red lights.  You do that to yourself, you know.)  I’m a little better with that.  I’ve heard the “some people have more access to the untapped potential of their own minds,” and because that whole 90% of your brain theory is hogwash, doesn’t mean all of that needs to be thrown out.  After all, not all of us even strive to reach our full potential, and there seems to be some magic in that.

I can’t even tell you how I close Doors.  There just are no words for it.  If I could project the feeling I would, but even that changes.  Sometimes it’s just relief like being able to pee after holding it for an hour longer than you thought you should.  Sometimes it’s like buttoning something just below the inside of your ribcage, only completely not physical.  Sometimes I just know I have to wave my hands, and once I had to hum, and it’s all kind of based on gut instinct crossed with little urgings I hope are my talents talking to me and not just some cruel masochistic streak.  Since I get results, I’m good with looking like a crazy fool.

And this kind of stuff shows up in a family tree.  It’s all those stories of the weird cousin that I think got the whole “seventh son of a seventh son” kind of rule.  The black sheep of the family is usually the wizard.   And while I have suspicions about Gran, I don’t have anything solid.

And my sister, if she has any special powers, they’re certainly not being used for Good.  Twenty-some years later, and I still hold it against her when she blamed me for stealing the brownies in the refrigerator.  I make a point of bringing some to every Family gathering, just so she, “has enough.” …and she does the same for me.

Of course, the word, “chosen” when he spoke of my magic indicated that there was something with sentience involved.  Peredur had chosen me for something, that was sure, and I noticed how the Small had weaseled out of explaining the situation.

“See me clearly, and I speak crystal,” he said.

“Does not compute,” I retorted.  “Why three messengers?”

“Each bears a puzzle with a solution to guard or guide,” he shrugged.

“Synchronization into your world, in other words?” I guessed.

“You bear a mark which could prove incompatible.  By whose design, do you wonder?”

“Do you know, or are you just asking me to ask the questions?”  I retorted.

“You cast a wide net, but sometimes the answers are minnows.”  He smiled.

“I don’t like fishing.  Too many things I could be doing instead of waiting on a smelly lake for some fish to decide my bait’s worth the potential trap.”  I shrugged.  “I think too much, but that doesn’t mean I’m dangerous.”

“Why would Dragons use illusions in their currency?” he asked me.

“When they can bite out chunks of Reality instead?  You’re asking the wrong guy.  I just figured out what I could do to trap them.”

“Did you go too far, or not far enough?” he asked me.

My mouth felt dry.  “I didn’t kill her.”

“How do you destroy a legend?” he asked.

“Doloise was a new story,” I said.  “Artur, he had echoes of old stories, but he too was fairly new.  Ivan.  Ivan I think had old stories written all over him.  If he wanted me dead, I’d just keel over, and no one would know the difference.”

“An Ivan, a Jack, a Puck, names of power, perhaps?  What about an E?”

“I’m trying to at least leave it a capital letter in my world,” I smiled.  “Are you the second messenger?”

“No, but I’m a member of the family.”  He jumped down.  “Now, I’ve told you everything I can tell you freely.”

“Does that mean you could teach me but you’d have to charge?”  I couldn’t resist.    The elf didn’t get the reference.  “Hey, just because I’m bright doesn’t mean I’m not dense.  Astronomy taught me that.”

“The stars have their own answers, but they read from a much older book.  Goodnight, E.  Get some rest before your lady returns.”  He turned the corner around the bookshelf and disappeared.