#edit: also sorry for not adding 'welcome to night vale' in the first place

[justanotherspeck]

Welcome to Night Vale: Ep. 100, Toast

[cecilspeaks]

165 - Charlie

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are written about on Wikipedia. Welcome to Night Vale.

Charles Rainier grew up in Becket, Massachusetts, nestled in the rolling small hills of the Berkshires. The fiery fall leaves, pristine winter snowfall, lush spring flowers and sparkling summer lakes belied the average life of young Charles. He went to school, passed his classes, he spent time with friends seeing popular movies and playing popular games. His family ate food together and generally got along. When he wanted to be alone, he went to a small pond, hidden in the woods, to fish. He studied sociology at Amherst College and graduated in the top 50 percent of his class. Nothing about his unremarkable upbringing indicated he would one day be standing in the middle of a desert, behind a roadblock, holding a rifle and a flashlight, and searching for fugitives from his own asylum.

Last month, a dozen inmates of the Night Vale Asylum escaped during a production of a play. As an attendee of that play, I would say that while the escape was clearly not part of the original draft of the script, it made for an exciting resolution. I mean, bout 30 minutes in Carlos and I were like, is there going to be a car chase or a shootout or something, I mean that play was bo-o-o-orring! And then suddenly, there was both! But the warden, Charles Rainier from Becket, Massachusetts, did not like the last minute edits to the plot, as he and the Sheriff’s Secret Police have yet to round up any of the inmates now on the run, somewhere in our vast desert. Night Vale citizens have expressed deep concerns about their safety. A scathing op-ed in yesterday’s Daily Journal by Leann Hart read: “Warden Rainier should never have been in charge of such an important institution. His unchecked irresponsibility will lead us all to be killed by psychopaths, who surely hide now inside our basements, our attics, our laundry hampers, perhaps inside our own pants pockets.” The editorial continued: “They wield knives, ropes, wrenches, candlesticks, or pipes. And when we least expect it, these crazed killers will leap out at us, screaming bout eating our faces or feeding us to rodents. Or whatever other evil actions those two very funny women are always describing on “My  Favorite Murrderrr”. Charles Rainier called Hart’s claims “neurotypical ableism”, saying that we become too biased from movies and TV shows that play up harmful tropes about mental illnesses. He added that none of the peoples inside were of immediate anger to any individual in Night Vale. The Night Vale chapter of the ACLU then responded, calling for in investigation into a public facility that would imprison people who had committed no criminal acts and were of no harm to society. Charles Rainier replied: “I said they wouldn’t hurt any individual. I didn’t say they were of no harm to society.”

But who were the people in the asylum? Carlos and I attended the production of the play “18713/NTSB”, partially to have a nice date night, just the two of us. But also because I was curious if I would see Amelia Anna Alfaro there. The air traffic controller has not been seen since 2012, after hearing voices from the missing flight, Delta 18713. There were rumors she was checked into the asylum. Other rumors, that she had gone off to find the missing plane, and other other rumors, that she was disappeared by a Vague yet Menacing Government Agency.

Amelia was not inside the asylum the night of the breakout. But Doug Biondi was there. He played the pilot of the missing plane in the play we saw. Doug was the impetus for this entire story, really, because it was Doug who, according to Sheriff Sam, had real information about the missing plane. Members of the National Transportation and Safety Board had also come to Night Vale to talk to Doug about what he knew, and Sheriff Sam obliged by sending those agents from Washington DC on an undercover investigation into the asylum. Yet, like Doug and the dozens of other inmates in that fearful place, they did not return.

According to to Doug Biondi’s journal, which Carlos and I found inside the asylum after the play, warden Charles Rainier developed a paradoxical logic for dealing with these inmates. He encouraged them to talk openly bout their feelings under the guise of healing them, but the more they expressed their thoughts and emotions, the more the warden used this information as proof of their insanity, and by extension, ineligibility for release. But as Doug elaborates, if inmates refused to talk, they were deemed uncooperative and of course, ineligible for release. Reading further into Doug’s journal, I realized it’s just like that novel, “Catch-22”, in that there’s a bunch of talk about airplanes. What stood out most to me, though, was the fact that every other inmate Doug mentions also talked about the missing Delta flight. Every single person in there either heard voices of the passengers, or had theories about what happened or were, in the case of NTSB agents, just open to find survivors of a missing plane. Doug railed against the collusion between the warden and the sheriff to imprison people simply because they knew something, anything, about flight 18713. “This is the last thing,” Doug wrote the day he escaped. “This nefarious conspiracy runs deep. Deeper than we can imagine. There are innocent people on a missing plane, and our government wants to destroy us for seeking the truth. Oh well. In other news, they fixed the TV in the rec room so I’m hoping to finally watch ‘Cheer’ on Netflix. Everyone says it’s super good.” Doug makes a compelling claim here, but he is wrong. About the conspiracy thing, not about “Cheer”, that show is super good.

So. Back in 2015, my devoted husband and devoted scientist Carlos, was heading a research project into a desert otherworld, a place very similar to our own. We spent almost a year apart while Carlos was in this alternate dimension performing experiments and drawing charts and pouring bubbling liquids back and forth between flasks. It was hard. We had only been dating a year when he left, but we kept in touch talking almost every day, sending each other text messages at night, like a kissy face emoji with a big red heart emoji. Or sometimes we sent racier messages, like [naughty voice] the safety goggles emoji with the police siren emoji and the first place ribbon emoji. Oh, sorry if that’s a little too graphic.

Anyway. Carlos made friends during his many months out of town, and so when he finally decided to return to Night Vale, some of those he met followed him. They came through a portal Carlos discovered in the Desert Otherworld: a one-sided door. It was difficult to find in a never-ending sandscape, but it is still there. And as Carlos said, once you know the way, you never forget it.

One of the people who came with Carlos through the portal in 2015 was Charles Rainier of Becket, Massachusetts. It was not easy for most of these new arrivals to find comfort or employment in Night Vale, but in just a few months, Charles had become friends with our new Sheriff and secured himself a job at the Night Vale Asylum. Few people looked deeply at the asylum, nor at Charles Rainier’s quick appointment as warden. Few people, in fact, looked closely at anything to do with mental disorders. It it almost as if we prefer not to see the mental illness at all. It is almost exactly like that. Well below the radar of public attention, Charles settled into his new position. And because there are no accounts of what went on in the asylum, and thus no stories of failure, it was inferred that he did a good job. But Carlos discovered something this week. In reading Doug Biondi’s journal, Doug makes passing mention of warden Rainier cautioning his inmates against listening to the voice of the pilot. The warden warns them that the pilot can control other beings with his mind. It is odd that the head of a mental health institution would patronize his patients with their own inner demons. Carlos at first thought the warden was manipulating the mental stability of his charges to stir up their fear and confusion in order to keep them there. We don’t know if the warden profited from retaining inmates or if he just felt an evil thrill from playing these games. But in Doug’s notes, the warden apparently said: “It is possible to escape the allure of the pilot. The power of his voice. Some have, but it is rare. And it is dangerous that you can hear him at all.”

Carlos remembered when he first met Charles Rainier, five years ago in the Desert Otherworld. Charles was so enthralled with Carlos’ stories of Night Vale. Charles Rainier could not wait to see this fantastic town and more importantly, to leave the terrible place in which he lived. He told Carlos that he escaped some – frightening people there. Charles Rainier said he had live in a commune for a couple of years. It began OK, they foraged and hunted their food, they helped each other and shared shelter inside the fuselage of an old plane. Everything was fine. They were alive, but soon the group became cult-like and aggressive, fashioning weapons and manufacturing enemies. The constant threat of violence toward other, towards themselves, shackled Charles’s every move. But he could not leave. Every time he tried, he heard a voice that called him back. So he trained himself to block out the voices. It took him weeks of determined practice, but finally he broke free. Carlos said to me: “Cecil, sweetie, my hypothesis is Charles Rainier was flying home from Detroit to Albany on June 15, 2012.” And I said: “What are you saying, honey-pop?” And Carlos said: “Babe, his plane blipped out of the sky and into the Desert Otherworld.” And I said: “Are you saying, kitty-cake, that Charles ws a passenger on Delta 18713?” But then Carlos aid: “You know, little piggy-pie, all this work talk is exhausting. Let’s have a glass of wine, sit out on the deck, and enjoy the nice weather.

[“Breathe” by Tanja Daub http://tanjadaub.bandcamp.com]

Listeners. I called Charlies Reinier, and I told him what Carlos and I talked about, and he confirmed what we discovered. He was indeed a passenger on 18713. They landed roughly but safely in the Desert Otherworld in June 2012. They ate their few food items and drank their water stores in two days. And soon they began spreading out to find civilization. But the desert was vast and seemingly uninhabited. They were too afraid to venture far from the plane, the only symbol of recognizable society. The pilot lead expeditions to find plant life and sources of water. He exuded calmness and clarity, and the passengers followed his example, occasionally finding peace in this unpleasant and frightening desert. Within a few months, they had developed a rhythm. They were finding food to eat, water to drink, the pilot seemed to know exactly where to hunt, exactly what to say, exactly how to behave.

Every passenger fell in line. They all had jobs to do, roles to fill, in this little commune. The fuselage kept them sheltered from the searing white days and the icy black nights. Sometimes they sang together, walked together, taught each other how to sew, how to cook, how to make tools. The passengers’ fear became comradery, which became unity, which became family. Which eventually became religiosity.

One day they were making salves from cacti, and the next they were crafting weapons. Charles hadn’t realized it at first, but every person on that plane could communicate telepathically. They could speak without talking – no, without learning. They were becoming a single organism separated into dozens of bodies. The loudest voice in their heads was the pilot. They had grown too complacent, and the pilot began to fill them once again with fear, fear of outsiders, of the rest of the world. They began to make barbaric expeditions hoping to find people or things to destroy. “I tried to escape,” Charles said to me. “I tried to escape over and over, but the voice was too strong. It was only when I thought about a little fishing hole down near Stockbridge that I would go to in summers by myself, to get away, to be alone.” Charles said he began to pantomime fishing, casting his imaginary lure on an imaginary line into and imaginary pond on hot desert sand. And when he did this, the voices quieted in his mind. He could free himself from the pilot’s voice, from the pilot’s control. I asked Charles why he and Sheriff Sam were locking away people just for knowing about the plane. He said: “Cecil, I locked up Doug Biondi before anyone else. He’s from that Otherworld, and he knows how to get back, and if he knows how to get back, he’ll join the 18713 and lead them into Night Vale.” Charles said he was protecting our little town from the threat of the passengers of Delta flight 18713. “If the pilot enlists Doug and gets into Night Vale, he’ll recruit who he can and destroy the rest.” “But why odes he communicate only through Doug? I-I mean why not Carlos or, or Dana Cardinal or Sheriff Sam themself? Why not recruit everyone who knows the way into Night Vale?” “I don’t know, Cecil,” Charles snapped back. “But I don’t will into existence by yapping about it either, so drop it!”

Listeners, Doug Biondi is about six foot tall. With an unsettlingly… long smile and dark nightmarish eyes. If you see him, contact the Sheriff’s office immediately. If you do not see Doug Biondi, then close your windows, hold your family close, and repeat a mantra that will clear your head of all outside thoughts.

Stay tuned next for a meditative oummmm. A single oummmmmm. For one full hour, uninterrupted by breath and commercial free.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

23:07 time traveler 30:32 pottery class

[deadlyeggs]

A Strange Town

This is a crossover fanfiction of King Falls AM (Credit goes to: Kyle Brown & Eric Kimelton) and Welcome To Night Vale (Credit goes to: Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor. ) Please check out the podcasts, if you haven’t already.

When an odd, cloudless storm hits both both towns, something happens to cause a connection between radio broadcasts.

Chapter 1 (Edited)

Ben finished whipping down the phones something that had become part of the routine before he and Sammy started the show. Since Chet had the slot right before theirs he didn’t want to even think about the gross and creepy things he had done with them, and most likely was still doing with them. He shuttered at the imagine, and tried to block out everything else he might have done in there just moments before him and Sammy were supposed to go on the air.

“All clean?” Sammy asked as he sat at his desk, a warm cup of coffee in his hand.

“Probably not” Ben replied, crumpling up the disinfectant rag and dropping it in the trash “I don’t think this will ever be clean enough, even if you poured bleach everywhere. These walls know things nobody should know. And god knows what he’s done elsewhere in here!” He gestured to the mug in Sammys hand.

“Okay” Sammy said slowly lowering the mug away from his mouth “I’m bringing my own mug from now on. To and from work.” He gave his friend a look of displeasure, watching him sit down. With a nod to each other they started the show. 

“Hello King Falls, thank you for tuning in. I am Sammy Stevens, and with my is my best friend, and co-host Ben Arnold.” Sammy greeted the listening audience “as I’m sure most of you know, we are due for one hell of a storm.  Be sure to stay safe, and away from windows. Keep tuned in to 660 on the radio dial.”

“And please” Ben chimed in “stay indoors. I know this goes without saying, for most people anyway, but no matter what your reasoning is once this bad boy starts, you do not want to get caught in it.”

“Yes, that too” Sammy agreed “I just hope it doesn't hit before we are done for the night. I do not want to be trapped here when it hits. If it hits.”

“What do you mean IF it hits, Sammy” Ben said “its bound to happen, everything points to it. Not to mention, I got a sever weather alert on my phone.”

Sammy sighed “you know how wrong that can be sometimes” he said.

“Yes, but, usually when there is a red screen staring you in the face, that means something is coming.”

“I never said it wasn’t coming. I know its fairly likely that it will, I’m just saying that there is a possibility that it might not. You can never really know what mother nature is going to pull. That being said...”

There was a loud rumbling sound in the distance. A soft trickle of rain began to fall, that soon became heavier and heavier. While the two hosts sat in the studio rain fell from the stars. Not a cloud in the sky, and yet it still poured. Neither of them aware.

“That being said” Sammy continued over the sound of the rain “it’s always better safe than sorry.”

 “So King Falls, how are you preparing for the storm, while Sammy and I are stuck all the way out here. Give us a call 424-279-3858.”

A bright flash of light filled the room, and in sync with the thunder both Sammy and Ben took off their head set and looked at each other.

“Did you hear that sizzling sound” Ben asked.

“I hope nothing was knocked out. Can you still hear us King Falls?”

Far off from King Falls, another radio host sat in his studio ad thunder roared over head of him. Rain splattered down onto the dry desert landscape as people looked out their windows, and up the the cloudless sky.

“Now this is where it gets really interesting” Cecil rambled on “when you rub the balloon against your body it starts to scream in terror. It doesn’t know what you are doing, or why you are doing it. Why would you do that to a poor innocent balloon in the first place, what did they ever do to you? Even if you did tell it your plans, it wouldn't understand. You’re just being mean. Stop it.  This concludes out children's fun-fact science corner.”

Cecil looked to the intern who walked into the room handing him a piece of paper “oh, thank you Heather” he said polity. He looked over the page “well listeners” he began “it appears that our newest intern Heather has handed me an important announcement. At least I can assume it’s important, it has large red letters I M P O R T A N T, and a little stick person frowning as its struck by lightning. That’s adorable, you can really see the pain, fear, and shock on his face. Did you draw that Heather? She’s shaking her head at me, and pointing to the page. Alright. Although the sky is clear, it appears to be raining and pretty hard. You are all asked to stay inside during this time.”

Within seconds he passed if off like it was nothing “so anyways. Carlos and I are trying to decide on a new way to rearrange our appartment. We keep going back and forth, and where our coffee table should be, or where to keep the collection of blood stones I have from my childhood, It’s just a mess, let me tell you. He wants to put his white board full of numbers he keeps changing in the kitchen. I say that will totally throw off everything, but he does have a point when he says it matches the refrigerate both of them have that off white color to them.” 

A loud crack of thunder roared through town, and almost instantly there was a sizzling sound coming from his headset.

“Hello” he asked slowly “can you still hear me out there, I’m having some technical difficulties.”

“Hello Ben asked slowly “who is this, and how did you get into our signal. Did you hack us or something? You picked a pretty shitty night to do it.”

“Hack you” Cecil repeated “no, I don’t think I even know how. “

“Oh yeah” Ben scoffed “because its so hard to hack radio signals, as if it hasn't been done before. Look man, if you’re going to say some weird shit, freak out some people hurry up and get it over with.” 

“I’m- I just report the news” Cecil explained “news, community calendar, daily events. You know, like the slowly approaching void, that will one day consume us all in never ending darkness. They say you never know when it’s going to happen but when it happens you bet I’ll be here.”

“Uh. What. What kind of news is that?”

“Didn’t you have a void scare a few days ago?”

“No.Because chances are it’s not going to happen and if it does it wont be in our life time.!”

Sammy spoke up “technically speaking, we are already in a void. Just on a rock, floating through the void of space.”

“That’s dark Sammy” Ben said looking at his friend “also don't let this strange guy get to you man.“

“I’m not, I’m just saying he is technically right, we are in a void. Just probably not the one he’s talking about. Right... uh.. “ Sammy paused. He didn’t know this guys name. “Do you mind telling us your name stranger?”

“I’m Cecil” he said “and trust my, I’m married to a scientist, I know there is a void coming, he wouldn't not tell me this stuff.”

“Hi Cecil. I’m Sammy, my friend, and co-host Ben can be very opinionated at times” Sammy said.

“Opinionated, ans stating facts are two different things Sammy! Fact: We don’t have to worry about being consumed by the void at any moment, fact if we were , we would not have any warning. Just poof we’re gone.” Ben looked at Sammy, and let out a long sigh. “So how did you get into out signal?”

“I’m not sure” Cecil said “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Well, maybe we can work this out” Sammy suggested “there has to be a reasonable explanation.”

“Oh you mean like hacking us” Ben remarked.

“Who would hack a radio station on a mountain” Sammy asked.

“Oh I don’t know” Ben began “I can list a few people off the top of my head, and a few reasons.”

“Does he sound like any one we know, Ben?”

“Wait” Cecil interrupted “wait, did you say mountain? Mountains don’t exist. It is illegal to even mention them. You had better be careful.”

“Mountains don’t- what do you mean they don’t exist” Ben said, raising his voice slightly “we- but. What about these facts now Sammy.”

Sammy looked surprised “Well, I mean. You’re joking right?”

“The existence of illegal things is nothing to joke about” Cecil said “you’d have to go get re-education, not to mention everything else. It is not a fun time.”

Ben paused, looking at Sammy before he started speaking again “right... Where are you from?”

“I am from Night Vale. You? You can’t be from Desert Bluffs.”

“No, no” Ben said “we are from King Falls. I’ve never heard of either of those places you listed.”

“Well I haven't heard of yours either.“

“Good. So we are on the same page there, neither of us have heard of the place the other lives.Supposedly.”

Another thunderous roar cracked over head, echoing on either side.

“Okay, that was weird” Ben said.

[victorluvsalice]

Forgotten Vows Friday: Another “Fixing You” Cut Scene!

As Chapter 9 has been delayed by my working on my shorts for Valice Shipping Week (starts this upcoming Sunday!), I figured I’d share another scene cut from Victor and Alice’s trip to Fixxler’s! This is from a earlier draft where Fixxler ended up demonstrating a few more spells to the pair, because damn it I worked hard on that magic system back in the day and wanted to show it off. As before, though, I realized this version threw off the pacing too much and edited it down, removing most of the magical demonstrations (the only one that survived to the end being Fixxler showing off Nile’s Blessing) and changing the order of some things (you’ll notice that Fixxler’s backstory appears before the whole ‘Travel Into Fantasy’ revelation in the finished chapter). Again, though, I liked the demonstrations themselves, so I moved the scene over to my “odds and ends” file to see if I could salvage anything from it later.

It’s later! Hope you enjoy this second look at how things could have gone in the shop. I’m not entirely sure of the context this time (as this was first-draft stuff) but I’m pretty sure Fixxler was just explaining about how he can’t teach them Slip Through the Veil, since it’s such a high-level spell. . .

"That's a shame," Victor murmured. "But – are there any other spells you could teach us? I've got a few pounds on me."

"And I've got time! There's a few useful ones I think everyone should know," Fixxler said, pulling out a matchbox with a flourish. "Here, this one's easy." He extracted a match, snapped it in half, then squeezed it in a fist.

A moment later, he opened it to reveal a little ball of glowing light. "Glowing Orb," he announced to the marveling pair. "It'll work with any piece of wood about that size – and you can go bigger for bigger orbs. They stick around until dismissed, or until you expose them to direct sunlight for long enough – about ten minutes. Good amount of light but very little heat. I use them in my lamps to save on oil – which I then spend on candles," he added, shaking his head at the nearest dribbly stick of wax.

Victor reached out and brushed the tiny glowing ball with his fingers. "That's. . .so if I always carry a box of matches, I – I never need to be stuck in the dark again?"

"If he's carrying matches, he doesn't really need magic," Hatter pointed out.

Yes, but damned if I'm going to tell him that. Besides, I'm all in favor of anything that keeps my loved ones away from naked flame. "Sounds like it," she said instead, patting his arm.

Victor swallowed. "Good." He glanced up at Fixxler. "C-can I try?"

Fixxler tossed him the box. "Go right ahead. It's mostly just a matter of concentration."

Victor caught the box clumsily, and fumbled inside for a match. A few spilled out onto the floor – he scooped them up, then chose one at random and broke it. He shut his eyes tight and squeezed the pieces hard, screwing up his face in concentration.

Then it smoothed out into shock, and he opened his fingers to reveal his own little ball of light. He stared at it a moment, before turning to Alice with a smile that nearly split his face. "I did it!"

"You did!" Alice laughed. "Congratulations!"

"Not much to it, right?" Fixxler agreed, flicking his ball away and leaning on the counter.

"No, it just – I felt the match almost melt away in my hand, and then there was this warmth. . . ." Victor bounced the ball on his palm. "This is – this is amazing. I've wanted to be a wizard ever since I was five. And after meeting Elder Gutknecht and seeing magic was truly real. . .if things had gone according to plan after Emily, I probably would have spent my and Victoria's honeymoon tracking down as many books on the subject that I could find."

"Do you have a suite we could rent, Dr. Fixxler?" Alice asked, three-quarters joking.

"The place barely fits me and Guide, I'm afraid," Fixxler admitted. "But you're welcome to drop in anytime." He grinned again. "Want to see another one?"

"Of course!" Victor said, bouncing in place like an eager puppy.

"Great! How about a drink?" Fixxler reached behind the counter and produced two glasses –

which he promptly spat in. Victor's excited smile faltered. "Er–"

"Just watch." Fixxler picked up the glasses and held them tightly. After a long moment, both flashed blue – and just like that, the spit was gone, replaced with clear water. Fixxler held them out. "Nile's Blessing."

Alice delicately took hers and looked in. The water was perfectly transparent, top to bottom. No matter where she looked, she could find no evidence of taint. And yet. . . . "I think I'd like my own glass, if you don't mind."

"Should have figured," Fixxler said, taking the water back and handing her an empty glass. "It's wonderful if you're craving a cup of tea but don't feel like going to the kitchen – but I wouldn't recommend it for parties." Noticing Victor still staring into his cup, he added, "I promise you, the saliva immediately evaporates the moment the magic takes hold. That water's probably purer than any you would get out of the tap."

"Yes, I'm sure," Victor nodded. "It's just – hard to get around how you did it."

"You could always try it my way," Alice said, before spitting in her glass. "At least you'd only be drinking your own." She wrapped both hands around it and concentrated. Water water everywhere, so can I have a drop to drink?

The blue flash that followed said yes. Alice grinned at her success and took a long swallow. As Fixxler had promised, it tasted just fine. "Ahhh. . .the children would probably love this one. Is there a similar one for food?"

"Eden's Blessing, yes," Fixxler confirmed. "Requires a plate – or anything that you could easily say is one – and fruit seeds. It can make just about anything, but it does tend to taste like whatever fruit you used. I had some very appley steaks and sandwiches when I was first starting out here."

"Hmmm – perhaps I'll stick to letting June do the cooking."

Victor finally worked up the courage to try a bit of his water. "Well, I certainly don't taste anything odd. . .a friend of mine Downstairs could make shadows move on their own and twist into different shapes," he added to Fixxler. "What's the name for that?"

"Sounds like Shadow Play – was he speaking or singing as he did?" Victor nodded. "Right, that's how it works. You can make your shadow and any nearby look like anything you want, but they revert back to their natural shapes shortly after you stop speaking. Good for entertaining, especially if you're not talented at regular shadow puppets."

Alice snorted. "How about the one you told me about?" she asked, curious. "Where you can go inside someone's head?"

"Travel Into Fantasy," Fixxler declared. "I'm a little surprised you don't have that as your natural affinity, given how strong this 'Wonderland' of yours appears to be. . . ." He shrugged. "Anyway, as I said, you get written permission from your subject, then just hold hands and concentrate as hard as you can until – well, until you fall over unconscious, hence my suggesting you do it at night. Lasts for a maximum of eight hours, unless someone outside manages to pull you apart first. Which, according to the book, isn't easy to do."

"I think most people would say pulling us apart is already a difficult task," Victor chuckled. "So you could have come with me that night, Alice."

"You did fine enough on your own," Alice said, making him stand a little straighter with pride. "And maybe we managed to get a touch of it working with the wea-pons. . . ."

She trailed off as a thought hit her square between the eyes. If she could get into Victor's head with that spell. . . . "Dr. Fixxler – can we both cast that spell? I mean, you wouldn't have suggested it to me if you didn't think I couldn't do it, I'm sure, but what about Victor?"

Fixxler gave Victor a golden stare. "Yes, I'd say so. You look about the same in raw magical talent – just you've got a freebie and he doesn't. Why?"

Alice grabbed Victor's free hand with her own. "Wonderland," she whispered. "I can take you to see Wonderland!"

Victor's face lit up even brighter than Fixxler's eyes. "You mean – the Vale of Tears? The Wonderland Woods? Looking-Glass Land? Tundraful? Cardbridge?" She nodded eagerly. "Oh, Alice!" He squeezed her hand between his. "That's–"

CRASH!

Everyone looked down at the shattered remains of Victor's glass on the floor, in the middle of a spreading puddle. "S-sorry," he mumbled, blushing. "I wasn't – I kind of forgot about it."

Fixxler shook his head, amused. "Fortunately the repair spell isn't very difficult," he said, gathering up the broken pieces. "Don't look so embarrassed – do you know how many bottles and beakers I break in a day? If it wasn't for Mend The Shattered, I'd be at the glass blower's daily."

"Sounds like another good one for us to learn, then," Alice said, she and Victor crouching down to help him pick up the glass. "Though – is there some sort of limit to how many spells we can learn?"

"Yes, though it's not too bad – about twenty-five, I'd say? You should be good for a while yet."

Victor frowned a little. "That's not a lot."

"Most people get just the five," Fixxler replied, putting his pile of jagged edges on the counter. "And low-level spells at that. Hence why I set myself up as an 'alternative medicine' man instead of an open magician. People get – tetchy when they learn they can't do the big flashy stuff." He sighed. "And as you're well aware, there's also usually a religious arse or two ready to condemn you to Hell if you let anything slip."

Victor gave him a sympathetic look. "You had your own Pastor Galswells?"

"Of a sort. . .I'm actually from Alabama, across the pond," Fixxler explained, letting his natural accent slip out for a moment. "Grew up in a rural town where most people of my – persuasion spent their days harvesting whatever the white people thought needed harvesting. One of the local ladies decided it was her duty to educate the poor darkies, and that's how I learned to read. Stumbled across my first spellbook when some old codger kicked it and his family sold everything for a song. Fellow must have had an interest himself. . .the minute I realized magic was real, I was determined to use it to better the lives of me and my kin. Started spreading the word and set up my first shop out in the sticks." He sighed. "Lasted about a week before it got torched, and I had to make tracks before I found myself hanging from a tree limb."

Alice and Victor both winced. "Oh dear. . .I'm sorry," Alice murmured. "You and June make it sound awful in the States."

Fixxler shrugged. "I hear the northerners are a bit less likely to bite a black boy's head off. Main reason I decided I could make my fortune over here instead – you lot seem ever so slightly more inclined to tolerate my existence."

"So long as you put on the accent?" Alice asked wisely.

"If a stupid voice keeps me in business. . .at any rate, I'm honestly not sure why my first place was burnt down. Both the black and white preachers were none too happy with me for indulging in 'dark arts,' and I could easily see one of them stirring up a mob to 'cleanse' me and my 'taint' from the town. On the other hand, I was also a black boy making good surrounded by plantation owners, and they don't tend to like that. Could have been a bit of both, to be fair."

"It's still horrible," Victor said. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." Fixxler waved a hand. "It's in the past now, and I consider it a valuable life lesson in learning when to keep this yap of mine shut. I've got a good life going over here now – can't really complain."

"Not that ever stops anyway," Alice joked. "For my part, I'm glad you're here. I don't know if I ever would have stumbled upon the right way to help Victor if it hadn't been for your help." She looked down at her glass-filled hands. "And to see my parents and sister again. . .I'm going to owe you a debt for the rest of my life."

"Well, I take either cash or favors," Fixxler said with a wink. "But it's really my pleasure. Especially if I get to meet the famed Elder Gutknecht."

"I hope mine's the right one," Victor said, feeling around for the last slivers of glass on the floor. "Did you want to go to Burtonsville or Oxford first?"

"Well, Oxford's closer," Alice mused. "On the other hand, I am kind of curious to see your hometown in person. And I might need the promise of seeing my hometown again to stand being in close proximity to your mother."

Victor laughed. "I might need that too. . .well, we have to talk this over with Dr. Wilson anyway, don't we? We can figure out where we want to go, and when, and in what order – ow!"

He jerked his hand away from a hidden spike of glass, sticking his stabbed finger in his mouth. Fixxler shook his head, amused. "You do that, and report back to me so I can make some plans for my shop," he said, setting a friendly hand on Victor's shoulder. "In the meantime, though, why don't I show you a healing spell or two?"

"Please," Alice said as Victor blushed. "With him walking into doors while distracted and me occasionally mistaking my wardrobe for a monster, we'll probably need them."