Birds of a Feather

by

Charles Von Rospach

Originally published in WitchFantastic!, Daw books, January, 1995,

edited by Mike Resnick and Martin Harry Greenberg

"Kevin, why do you want to be a witch? Why not be something nice, like a fireman?"

"It's my costume, and I don't wanna be a fireman! I wanna be a witch!"

"Boys can't be witches, son. Only girls can be witches."

"That's not what they said on the TV."

I stared at my son, trying to decide how to respond. That familiar little burn started up in my stomach, reminding me that in a little while, I was going to be miserable.

The phone rang, effectively ending the debate. I reached for it. "Go talk to your mother about the costume, If she says it's okay, then I won't argue about it."

"You're not going to be home for trick or treat tonight, are you?"

"I don't know yet, Kevin."

"You always leave when that phone rings. We never have fun any more. You're always gone." He looked at me, then turned and stomped out of the room.

Dammit, he's right, too. But someone's got to pay the bills, and when you work for yourself, your life isn't always under your control.

Ah, the joys of being your own boss. I'm 42 years old, and I make a pretty good living, if I do say so myself. Worked the rat race for 15 years until I got tired of it and got out. Now I only need to do those jobs I want to do, except for the ones I need to do to keep the creditors happy. Consulting is just another rat race, which is something none of the books tell you. It's not always fun. I might need to lose ten or fifteen pounds, and I may be working on an ulcer, but for all the headaches and uncertainties of consulting, it's better than the alternative. Sevne years ago, on my last 'real' job, it was fifty pounds and two ulcers, plus a marriage on the rocks, and ultimately, therapy to get it all straightened out. Life could be worse, but I wish it didn't seem like I was always having to run out on Kevin on special nights. I probably ought to get better at saying no.

I thought about it, but in the end I answered the phone before the machine grabbed it. "Jason Chilson, computer consultant." With my other hand, I reached into my pocket for my antacids. Life might not be perfect, but it could be a lot worse, too.

"Mr. Chilson?" My name is Andrew Barnheart. I'm afraid I have need of your skills tonight. I've lost some data that I need back tonight, and I've been told you're the one for the job."

I took two more antacids, just on general principles. "Okay, Mr. Barnheart. Give me the details and I'll see what I can do."

"Call me Andy. It's a Macintosh, a FileMaker database. I have some data I need to complete a project that has to be done immediately, and about an hour ago, the system crashed. Now I can't open the database, because it says the indexes are corrupt. My backups are in a safety deposit box at the bank, and I can't get to them until Monday. That's too late for this project. I've tried everything I know, but I'm afraid I'm just making it worse. I need an expert, and I've been told you're it. Frankly, I'm a desperate. Can I convince you to help?"

I relaxed a litte. In general, Mac projects aren't bad, adn can be fun. It's amazing the number of ways people can play with that machine. If it's just index corruption, I could get it done and be back in time to take Kevin out trick or treating.

"I think I can help you, Andy. By the way, who gave you my name?"

"That's a little difficult to explain,"

I rolled my eyes. He must have contact with one of my special customers. You see, a while back Santa Claus's system crashed on Christmas Eve. The elves were so happy with my work they told their friends the Brownies, and they told the Leprechauns, who told the Tooth Fairy, who told....

Well, you get the point. I work with a lot of unusual clients. They pay well, and on time (except for the Tooth Fairy, but the reward I got for helping convict her made up for it), but their jobs are never routine.

But hope springs eternal. Maybe this job will be different. I took another antacid, though.

Andy met me at the door to his house. He lived in the kind of neighborhood I only see when I make house-calls. Looked the part, too, that polished lawyer-doctor look, every hair in perfect position, silver metal-rimmed glasses perched on a nose with just a hint of too much tennis combined with too little sunscreen, jeans with freshly pressed creases in them. One of those people who is clearly well-out, but without being ostentatious.

He ushered me to his office, which was down in the basement. Office isn't exactly the proper word for it, though. Sitting in the middle of the room was a large wooden desk with an office chair. On top of the desk was the Macintosh. That part was normal. The desk, however, was surrounded by a pentagram with unlit candles at each point of the star. To my left was a recliner chair surrounded by another pentagram, and in the far corner of the room was a large bird cage with a large, white bird inside. The bird stared at me for a second, then pointed a foot at me and cackled.

I sneezed.

Andy pointed at the bird. "Morgana, cut that out!" He turned back and faced me. "I'm sorry, Jason. that's Morgana le Fey, my familiar. She has, unfortunately, picked up a few minor spells of her own, and she thinks it's quite funny to pull her little tricks on strangers." Morgana cackled again. I sneezed.

Something told me this was going to be a long night.

"I know this all looks very strange, but let me try to explain what's going on. I'm a witch, and Morgana is my familiar."

"Andy, excuse the stupid question, but how can you be a witch? I thought women were witches."

He laughed. "Witchcraft has nothing to do with the X or Y chromosomes. Different types of magic -- witchcraft, sorcery, whatever -- are defined by the style of the spells used. It's true that in the Olden Days, the Guilds tended to be a bit, shall we say, exclusive, though, and that perception has persisted. Things are a lot more progressive today." He turned and walked over to the desk.

"In my own case, I've been doing a lot of research into the mechanics of witchcraft and spellcasting, and have found that it's all technique. If you have the right physical components, make the proper movements and speak the proper phrases, the spell will work every time. The problem is trying to keep all three pieces of each spell straight and not screwing one of them up. If you get part of it wrong, usually nothing happens. Sometimes, though, something happens that you don't want, which can get interesting, so it's important to try to minimize potential problems.

"One of the things I've done is pre-record the spoken component of each spell and store it as a sound file on the Macintosh. These are stored in a database along with descriptions of the physical component and the necessary movements. All I have to do is bring up the proper spell in the database, bring out the items I need and push a button. The computer speaks the spell, and I wave my hands at the proper time. Less chance of getting it wrong that way."

"As long as the computer doesn't crash."

"Yes. That was how Morgana learned that sneezing cantrip. I did all my testing with very simple spells. Unfortunately, I forgot that cockatoos are good mimics. Worse, they're intelligent animals, and she quickly figured out that if I waved my hands like this," he made a quick gesture, "and said the magic words", his mouth spit out something between a gargle and a cackle. From the corner of the room came a sudden sneeze and a disgusted gurgle. "that she'd sneeze. She quickly figured out how to return the favor." He looked at me. "Just be glad she never figured out the one that makes people burp. I chose a cockatoo for a familiar over a more common animal because I hoped she might be of more use in my spellcasting, with her grasping ability and her speech. What I ended up with was a three-year old." There was a cackle, and he sneezed. "A spoiled three year old with a bad sense of humor.

He stared at the bird. "She's my problem, too. Once a year, on Halloween, a witch has to renew the binding spell on their familiar or lose control over them. The spell has to be cast before dawn, or I lose her and have to wait a year before I can get another one, and then I'd have to start training it from scratch. If we don't get that spell out of computer tonight, I'm screwed."

"You can't be a witch without a familiar?"

"No, not that bad. Almost. A familiar is not only a necessary partner for more powerful spells, but helps make spells stronger. Think of them as an auxiliary battery, giving the system a little more boost."

"That's terrible, Andy. Let's see what I can do for you. Mac databases are generally pretty straightforward."

"Great!" He looked happy for the first time since I'd gotten there. "Before you go to work, I'm going to set up a few precautions. There shouldn't be any real problem since you aren't trained in magic, but this way, if something does go wrong you shouldn't get in trouble. it is, after all, Halloween, when the power is highest and the natives, shall we say, restless. Better safe than eternal damnation, you know."

Having come this close to going to Hell with a demon whose computer I'd messed with, I knew better than he thought. "Do whatever you think is right, Andy". Hell, do it twice, Andy. I won't mind.

Andy sneezed. "Morgana, cut that out! Damned bird. Okay, you go sit down near the Mac. Take whatever tools you'll think you might need, because once the protective barriers are up you can't leave the circle. Don't touch the computer yet. I'm going to set up a spell of protection around the pentagram. That'll keep everything out until the spell is broken. Whatever you do, don't knock over one of the candles or scuff out the chalk lines, and if something asks for permission to enter, whatever you do, don't say yes. And while you're in there, don't eat or drink anything, or you might accidentally set off a physical component of some spell. And please don't interrupt me in the middle of a spell."

He got to work, lighting candles, waving his hands around erratically and making noises that made me wonder whether he kept a throat specialist on retainer. The only thing computer folks have to worry about was carpal tunnel. It sounded like he was attempting to dismember his vocal chords from the inside. Every so often, Morgana would chuckle and I'd sneeze. I was quickly learning to hate that bird. Visions of fried chicken started wandering through my head, making my stomach grumble.

That started the burn. I reached for an antacid. Then I put it back down. Eventually Andy wound down and looked at me again. "There. That should protect you from everything short of a nuclear blast."

"A what?"

"It's a figure of speech, Jason. We've never had anything that nasty happen. Honest. Don't worry."

"If you say so. By the way, are antacids considered eating?"

He looked at me blankly for a second, then his eyebrows scrunched together. "You know what? I have no idea. It's never come up before."

"Do you think they'd be okay?"

"How interested are you in being a test case?"

"No thanks. I think I'll survive without them."

He laughed. "Smart boy. Now I'm going to go protect my chair, and then I'll shut up and let you get to work." He repeated the protection rituals around the recliner, this time from the inside of the pentagram. When he was done, he picked up a book, sat down, and said, "We're all set. let me know if you need me." and started reading.

I noticed that he was reading MacBeth. That figured. I sat down and got to work on the database. Since he had backups and only wanted that one piece of data, I didn't try to get fancy. After verifying the disk structure was okay, I opened up the database with one of my editing tools and started looking for sound resources. The "hack and slash" school of data recovery, but it'd get me out of the house before my stomach imploded, and home in time for some quality time with Kevin.

Computer work seems glamorous to those on the outside, but it's really about 20% knowledge, 75% sweat and gruntwork, and about 5% fear and stress. I spent the next 20 minutes finding the pieces of data that looked like sound. Each one got pulled out of the file, and then I'd get Andy's attention and play it back on the Macintosh. Andy would listen, and when he was sure it wasn't the right one, I'd stop it, throw it in the trash and move on. Andy would then growl something that must have been the witch's equivalent of "reset state", and go back to MacBeth.

Other than that, the only other sounds were the occasional sound of Andy's pages rustling or his chuckling at some part of MacBeth or other, and the continuing attack on my nose by Morgana, the bird from hell.

Rustle. Chuckle. Achoo. "Morgana, cut that out!" Andy was right. She was a three year old. Tell a kid "No!", and he'll go ask mom. Tell a kid "No!" when you can't make him, and he'll do it 20 times just to spite you. They haven't figured out the linearity of time, or that parents have memories and might punish them later. Now is all that matters.

I wanted to kill that bird. She was the only one in the room enjoying life, and I resented it. The bitch of it was, she knew it, too. And that made it even more fun for her.

I had to go to the bathroom, too. Why me?

I hit paydirt on the 18th try. I played the resource back to Andy, and instead of hearing "Nope. Kill it", I got silence for about 45 seconds, followed by an excited Andy saying "That's it!" I killed the voice.

"Great! Let me package things up so you can set it off when you're ready, and we'll be all set. Why don't you pull down all these damn invisible walls so I can take a quick break first, though."

Andy spent a couple of minutes reversing whatever spells he'd set up, blew out the candles and then walked over. "You can have your antacid now, too."

I gratefully reached for a couple, then walked over to my tormentor's cage.

"Morgana, do you know how close you are to being lunch right now?"

She looked at me through the bars with her big, brown eyes, and said "Morgana loves you!" with all sincerity.

Just like a child. People without kids wonder how they survive without being drowned by their parents. It's that kids have an ability for a well-placed guilt trip. I turned my back on the bird and started walking back to the Mac. Behind me, Morgana chuckled. I sneezed. Bastard.

I went back to the computer and packaged up the sound resources so they could be used easily, which only took a minute. That's one of the things I like about the computer. When it works, it's really simple and powerful.

"Okay, Andy, we're all set over here. I'm going to try the entire sound once, just to make sure there isn't any corruption. Do me a favor and don't make any false moves, okay?"

"Great!" He came over and stood next to me. I fired off the sound, and the Macintosh started making noises like a hive of angry honeybees attacking a rabid beaver. I was amazed that humans could do that to their voices and survived.

The chant went on for a good two minutes. Towards the end, I heard a familiar rustling from the far side of the room. I prepared to sneeze. Suddenly, Andy looked over at the bird. "Morgana! Stop that!"

Too late. The spell ended, and there was a small explosion down at my feet. I jumped back and looked down.

Lying on the floor next to the desk was a large black cat. A very large, very black cat. It opened its eyes and stared at me. Very yellow eyes.

Andy couldn't decide who to look at. His gaze kept shifting from me to the cat to the computer to Morgana. Morgana chose this moment to turn her back on us and start preening. The cat stood up and walked over to me, rubbed against my legs twice, laid down on my right foot and promptly went back to sleep.

"Well, I'll be. I didn't know she could do that." He shook his head in disbelief and turned back to me. "Jason, we have a bit of a problem. Morgana seems to have conjured you up a familiar."

"A what? I'm not a witch!

"I know that. You know that. Morgana knows that, too. But nevertheless, you have a familiar for the next year, and if you want him beyond that, as long as you continue to bind him to yourself."

"But I don't want a familiar! Can't you send him back?"

"Sorry, it doesn't work that way. He's stuck with you for the next year, and you're stuck back. It's not a real cat, after all, any more than Morgana is a real cockatoo. That's just the physical aspect they use to present themselves. If you try to leave him behind, he'll find you again. And it's not a good idea to upset familiars too much." he sighed. "At least yours can't spellcast."

Over in the corner, Morgana chuckled. The cat sneezed, woke up and stared longingly at the bird. I was tempted to open the cage. Very tempted.

"Andy, my wife hates cats. How do I explain this to her?"

"I dunno. Look, I'm sorry. If I knew Morgana could do this, I would have taken precautions. This kind of spellcasting is unprecedented. If there was something I could do, I'd do it. Honest.

"It could be worse. He'll only be around for a year. If you don't rebind him, he'll disappear next Halloween."

"Is he box trained?"

"How should I know? Why?"

"Because our last cat, the one my wife swore would be the last one to step foot in her house, used to spray the furniture."

"So?"

"So she had him neutered. Can you neuter a familiar?

Andy looked at me puzzled for a moment, and the started laughing. "The hell if I know! If the answer is no, I wouldn't want to be the vet who tries it, though."

"Well, I guess I'll think of something. Andy, if you don't mind, I'm going to leave you to your binding spell and get home. I can still take my kid trick or treating if I hurry. He's going to be a witch this year, and he'll be thrilled to know he'll have a cat for a prop." I picked up the cat. It didn't wake up, but it started purring. "I think I'll call him Merlin. After all, we know what Merlin ended up doing to Morgana le Fay, right?"

Andy laughed again. Good thought. I'll have a little talk with my fine feathered friend later tonight, after I do my own binding."

I grabbed my bag and headed toward the stairs. At the base, I turned around.

"Hey, Morgana?" The bird stopped preening for a second and looked at me, then turned her back again.

I raised a hand and made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a gurgle. Morgana sneezed. She started to turn around, slipped and fell off her perch, falling to the floor of her cage with a thud.

Andy looked at me. "Quick study", he said with a grin.

I smiled back. "I had a good teacher."