Reality is like a river, flowing over the lives of everyone inhabiting either Otherworld or Earthrealm. The actions we take are like pebbles tossed into the stream, they create ripples, maybe even alter the direction of flow. This is what those who study the craft call common magic. Someone builds a bridge and two cultures are connected. Someone digs a well and an arid land grows crops. Reality is altered. Common magic is part of everything we do to varying amounts. If you are not performing common magic, you are probably dead.

Then there is special magic. Most of the time common magic is taken for granted, it’s so familiar we don’t recognize it as magic at all. Special magic is different, it really feels magical, and it is more akin to simply standing in the river. Some people create little whirlpools and eddies just by being. We see this as charisma, or some sort of social magnetism. You know that boy who is so smooth even as he stands still energy ripples around him. You know the girl who walks into the room and all eyes are suddenly on her, light seems to pool around her feet and play in her hair. You know that person who is always fun, always lucky, always making others laugh. There is something magical about them. Special magic is what makes a butterfly beautiful or a bumblebee stay in the air. It makes sídhe irresistible, and gives them their language. Elves are able to make anything and outrun horses. Humans can learn to do anything. That’s right. Remember when your mother told you that you could do anything you wanted when you grew up? She wasn’t lying. That’s part of our special magic as a race. We may not all be able to do everything well, but most of us can learn just about anything. Or adapt to just about anything.

Valentine had adapted quickly. When we pulled in the driveway he was sitting on our front porch with his arm around Éan.

"How was the movie?" I asked cautiously.

"Totally unrealistic," Valentine sneered.

"Oh but it was wonderful Dillon! It was so funny, and everyone was still scared - but they loved it!"

"Unrealistic and funny. You guys know that it was a low budget B-horror flick right?"

Valentine shifted his weight a bit, perhaps embarrassed, "Hungry Dead was actually quite accurate in its portrayal of vampire, although it probably should have been called Hungry Undead."

"It doesn’t have the same ring," Éan commented.

"Please tell me you didn’t see Hungry Dead II," I laughed.

"It was like a documentary about zombies!"

"Well with that recipe for success what could have gone wrong with the third installment?"

"It was ridiculous. People were running around, getting bitten and instantly turning into whatever had attacked them," Valentine complained.

"Did you know," giggled Éan, "that most girls think you can counter a revenant infestation by taking a shower alone in a dark house?"

We all laughed. Valentine stood and stretched, "So dinner tomorrow Éan?"

"Sounds lovely. Good night Valentine."

"Good night? You’re leaving her here?"

"Well it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to spend the night with a girl I’m courting."

"Pretending to court!" I drew him aside, "Look, I think we can reform her - we have to try at least, but my housemate is a normal. She’s not draoi, and she’s not Otherworldly. I took her to the fae quarter tonight and she was almost enthralled by a faerie song!"

"Did they have any elven blades there? You should replace that pocket knife of yours."

"I like my Grandfather’s knife, and that’s not the point! I can’t keep Éan at my place, how will I protect Sia if she goes off reservation?"

"She won’t."

"Awful trusting after one date lover boy."

"Dillon, you were right. Éan and I are connected. And not casually. It’s like we were meant to be together. Do you think you can keep things together for one night?"

"One night, I guess so."

"And tomorrow you can help me with the binding."

"Binding! No. You always told me bindings were evil. I’m not participating in some form of magical compulsion."

"Don’t worry, that’s not really what I had in mind. But talk it over with Éan, it was her idea." Valentine flipped me his charm as he walked away.

"Éan? You want me to perform a binding on you?"

"What’s a binding," Sia asked.

"A binding is a magical construct that compels an individual to behave in a certain manner regardless of their personal will."

"So you could make a person do whatever you want?"

"It’s complex magic, and quite unlikely that you could be bound without your knowledge, but yes. A powerful draoi could make you into a slave, or even a puppet. There is a hitch though, because of the way you have to knot the threads of Draft you can’t bind someone to your own will, only to someone else’s."

"That sounds terrible."

"Not all bindings are like that," explained Éan. "Think about your laws: you agree to be bound to your government to avoid anarchy."

"Social contracts are totally different than bindings. If our government makes an imprudent law we can choose to leave that jurisdiction, oppose the law through political methods or even civil disobedience. The social contract is a two way street. Bindings are permanent and one sided."

"They don’t have to be. I want to change, and gain your trust. The fastest way is to submit to a binding. We can restrict the binding to certain aspects of my psyche, so Valentine can keep me from hurting anyone, but he won’t be able to make me fetch him coffee."

"What you are talking about is difficult Éan. I don’t know if I can do it. I certainly can’t work out the details by tomorrow."

"Not by yourself, but Valentine and I worked out the general theory of how it could be done earlier tonight. You and I can work through the details. Besides, from what I hear no one can figure out custom plaits like you."

It was true, I was fast when it came to working out complex magic. Valentine had years of experience working for him, but he mostly applied it with a heuristical approach. I on the other hand used a working knowledge of applied mathematics, modeling threads and even braids of Draft with a finite element analysis algorithm which iteratively searched for a magical construct that could be reproduced with a fair amount of consistency.

Ten years ago my method wouldn’t have been possible. Even five years ago I wouldn’t have been able to match Valentine’s intuition, but processing power on personal computers had skyrocketed, allowing me to design plaits quickly and accurately. Plaits more complex than anything Valentine could conceive. Programming computers was my common magic speciality.

Éan explained the theory to me twice before I understood. It was actually quite brilliant, and I could see a few points that wouldn’t have occurred to Valentine, so Éan had clearly contributed. After a third time through the explanation I set my laptop on the kitchen table and went to work. My software usually only takes a few minutes to set up and runs for maybe an hour or so before finding a good solution. It took longer this time, however since I had to modify my source code slightly. Once I was done I started the program and leaned back in my chair stretching. Éan was passed out, her head pillowed on her folded arms on the table. Sia was stirring on the couch.

"What time is it?" she yawned.

"Almost one o’clock. I’m done here for a while, but I could go for a cup of coffee."

Sia smiled, "Java Mama’s?"

"Let’s go."

Java Mama’s was our local coffee shop. It was just off the interstate, and had a parking lot that could accommodate the big semi-trucks that often stopped. It was open twenty-four hours and propriated by a chubby cherubic woman named Ruth. Ruth could make anyone feel at home and often sat down at your table to chat. We left a note for Éan, not wanting to wake her, and drove to the favorite watering hole.

Java Mama’s wasn’t a restaurant, although they usually had donuts. Other than that there was the coffee. The best coffee in the world. Ruth didn’t believe in designer coffee, she poured regular and decaf, and offered cream and sugar. Those were your only choices, but it didn’t matter. It was the smoothest, richest coffee I’d ever tasted. Sia and I sat down in a window booth and waved at Ruth.

Being draoi wasn’t something that one advertised. It’s the type of revelation that loses friends and makes you look crazy. Sia had taken it in stride, but Sia was special that way. Even so, I never lied about it, but there were a few people nosey enough to get it out of me. Ruth was one of them.

"How’s the wonderful world of wizardry," she asked setting two chipped mugs down on our table.

"We went to the fae quarter tonight," Sia offered happily. "I was bewitched by a faerie," she whispered with a grin.

"Sounds lovely!" Ruth replied. She didn’t really believe, but wasn’t judgmental either. "I wish I had an faerie or three to help me with the dishes."

"Well, if you can get them they work for buttons," Sia nodded sagely.

"You’d know," I teased, "how many buttons did you give away tonight? You are going to have to replace that shirt. It’s no longer decent."

"What do they look like, the faerie?"

"Faerie is actually a pretty broad category, sometimes used to mean anyone from Otherworld, sometimes just sídhe. Sídhe are probably what you mean, most like the faeries described by J. M. Barrie. They are quite beautiful, with feather-like wings and musical voices. Small, but having powerful magic."

"I’d so like to meet one."

"Disney has taken the edge off of sídhe. They can be wonderful and sweet, but just as easily cruel. They usually aren’t wicked, but they care more about music and dancing then about a human’s welfare. That’s what happened to Sia, a sídhe got excited and sang. It wasn’t malicious, but could have easily hurt her."

"So is it dangerous? Being around all this magic?"

"Of course. But it’s no more dangerous than cooking on a stove. You can get burnt if you aren’t careful, or don’t know what you are doing. But if you follow a few basic rules its fairly safe."

"Faerie-a-ly safe?" Sia laughed.

"You’ll have to excuse her, she’s still a little euphoric from the faerie song."

"Punchy is more like it. You’d better get her home and in bed."

I paid the bill and took Sia out to the car. Her earlier experience coupled with exhaustion had left her silly and giggling. For a moment I thought I’d have to buckle her seat belt for her, but she got herself fastened into the passenger seat and shut the door. We pointed our headlights toward home.

As Sia alternately snored and giggled on the way home I briefly considered cleaning her brain again. Unfortunately anything more than what I had already done would be difficult and dangerous. She’d sober up after a good night’s sleep anyway so I decided to let it go.

The roads were empty, and became more so as I turned off of the macadam and onto the tar and chip side roads. The only ones to share these roads were the occasional opossum, which would stare vacantly into our headlights with their dead black eyes before going about their business. Moonlight filtered through the leaves patterning the pavement with a monochrome variegation that shifted constantly. It gave the impression that the gentle breeze was blowing the moonbeams themselves.

The atmosphere was peaceful, and as Sia slipped into a light sleep I considered the binding that was being designed on my laptop. The concept was brilliant, and while I had some misgivings about the morality, Éan’s desire to change filled me with even more hope than any spell could. Sure, she was nominally a monster - a lurk under your bed and eat your fear monster - but she wanted to be a good monster. I liked her, and thought I could trust her with or without the spell. What’s more, I was beginning to think that the intricate connection between Éan and Valentine would develop into romance. I had nursed a crush on Valentine for the first few years we had known each other, and I still thought he was sexy in that mysterious-and-powerful way, but I knew that there never would be anything there. We weren’t right for each other. I was glad that Éan might be, that he might finally find someone. No one could ever replace his Isolde, but I was sure he could love another just as much.

Our road was a narrow affair full of hills and curves. It followed a creek, more or less, as it wound through farmland and forest in such a way that our house wasn’t visible until we were almost on top of it. When we rounded the last bend I cried out in surprise, waking Sia. Our sleepy little cottage sat with a gaping hole where it’s front door should have stood.

I accelerated up our short driveway only to screech to a halt and throw the car into park. Sia was fully awake now, and rapidly sobering. She fumbled for her phone as I sprinted into the house. Maybe not my smartest moment, but luckily those responsible were gone. The kitchen was in shambles, the table overturned, and the cutlery spilled across the floor. There was blood too. Not a lot, but it doesn’t take much blood to make a crime scene look like a massacre. Especially when that crime scene is a white kitchen, linoleum floors and laminate counters do not absorb blood at all.

By some miracle my laptop was still running, although its screen was cracked in an ugly pixelated spider web. Worst of all, Éan was gone. I still had Valentine’s charm in my pocket and I pulled it free funneling, in my terror, too much Faith into the small item. It actually hovered above my palm, flickering first toward the kitchen floor before spinning eastward. It was her blood on the floor, but she was alive. Taken. But by whom?

Sia came in behind me chattering away on her cell. She mouthed "police" and I nodded. The police were a necessity, although if the criminals were truly after Éan they were out of police jurisdiction. They were the responsibility of Draoi. I punched the speed dial for Valentine on my own phone. He answered groggily and I spoke quickly.

"I need you here now," I explained hanging up before he could respond. I didn’t have much time, I needed to collect as much evidence as I could before the police arrived. I brought out my chalk and started drawing symbols on my kitchen floor. I needed to know who had taken Éan, where and why. If they hurt her it would hurt Valentine as well. That concerned me. But what really frightened me was the blood. The Witherwraith had put up a fight. Whoever or whatever took her was crazy strong, and fast to be able to take her out in the brief time we were gone. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t want to know. Unfortunately I needed to know. I drew a large circle around the symbols I had sketched, and Intended the circle into existence. I took a deep breath, and opened my senses to the traces of Draft left in the room. Trying to remain calm I inspected the evidence, a sort of eldritch fingerprint left in the Draft, but it was a futile effort. Calm was a distant memory as I opened my mouth to scream.

Next Chapter: Chapter 6