Date: Wed,  7 Aug 2002 12:49:23 -0400
From: Leo Huang <dylan@celticwarrior.com>
Subject: Tales of a Superhero Band Chapter 16

With thanks to Jordi, Aeoros, Rune and Mikey for being the coolest friends
on the net! Thanks for being there guys!

Especially dedicated to Justin, Jeremy and Louis. The three of you have
inspired more new parts of this story. Quidditch and lightsabers forever,
brothers! :D

Justin: "Since the day I met you, and after all we've been through... I'm
addicted to you. I think you know that it's true." - Simple Plan, Addicted

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Disclaimer: This story is fictional, and says nothing about the
orientations of any member of the boyband N Sync, or any other character,
celebrity or otherwise. If you are under 18 or 21, or live in a country
where it's illegal to read something like this, leave, though I seriously
doubt you will. If you don't like the idea of two guys in a relationship
with each other, or having sex with each other, what are you doing here in
the first place?

Though maybe none of the characters will be appearing, ideas taken from
these places will show up:

Star Wars, Copyright LucasFilms, Created by George Lucas
Buffy, Copyright 20th Century Fox, Created by Joss Whedon
X-Men, Copyright Marvel Comics, Created by Stan Lee
Charmed, Copyright WB, Created by Aaron Spelling

Harry Potter, Copyright JK Rowling (due to James' addition of Harry Potter
to his Dark Knight series, I find myself adding it in too, but the
character may never appear in the story. However, loving Quidditch as much
as I do... :D  )

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Irish Translator speech courtesy of http://www.whoohoo.co.uk
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Chapter 16 - Useful Wizard Magic

	I felt someone shaking me awake, roughly, urgently. "Dylan!"
	I felt so rested, so peaceful, sleeping like as though I had been
dead, completely dreamless. The thought struck me: I always had dreams! I
woke up with a shot, and whoever it was that tried to wake me shrieked at
my sudden movement, and darted across the room, clutching her heart. Her
long blonde hair was in a mess around her chiseled face, and her bright
blue eyes reflected panic in them. Her slender frame was trembling and she
was breathing heavily.
	"Malita," I said, recognising her instantly. "You okay, girl?"
	Her eyes were wide in surprise, and her breathing still heavy, but
she calmed down. "I'm fine. SCOTT!"
	Heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs as Scott hurried up. Like his
twin sister, Scott had blonde hair and blue eyes, but his hair was short
and a little spike, reminding me a little bit of Lance. I briefly wondered
how Lance was doing, but pushed it aside as Scott's muscular form came
through the room door, his beater's club held out as a makeshift weapon.
	"You okay, sis?" Scott asked. She nodded slowly, then pointed to
me. Apparently, Scott had thought Malita in danger when he rushed up, and
didn't notice me kneeling on the bed.
	"Good, you're up," he said. "We thought the whole lot of you were
dead."
	Malita nodded in agreement. "After that black thingy threatened to
kill you, we were worried about your family."
	"We woke up early this morning to check up on you guys," Scott
continued. "Usually your Aunt Sharon will be wide awake and making
breakfast, but there was not a sign of life at all in the entire house."
	"We've been trying to wake any of you for the past two hours,"
Malita said, brushing her hair back with her fingers. "But all of you were
like dead or something." She absently put a lock of hair between her lips.
	"And your house looks kinda wrecked, dude," Scott said. I never
really believed when Melvin said his twin siblings somehow seemed to read
each others' minds (Melvin had two sets of twins in the family, seventeen
year olds Desmond and Eileen, and twelve year olds Tara and Ciara.) but
seeing Malita and Scott jump seamlessly through the conversation made me
wonder at how close twins actually were.
	"What do you mean, kinda wrecked?" I asked as I got off the bed. I
slept in shorts and a tee-shirt, so I didn't bother to change into anything
yet. I followed Scott and Malita outside the room and saw what Scott
meant. Vases were in fragments, imploded by some force. Flowers were wilted
and limp, and talismans and other charms we had used were cracked and
useless, lying on the floor in tiny pieces. Candles were broken into
pieces, just like the crystals and rocks. The sticks we had carved Oghams
on were burnt to a cinder, and black soot covered most of the floor.
	I lifted my left foot of the ground and surveyed the damage done to
my socks, mentally knocking my head for forgetting to wear my
slippers. "This is a mess, all right." I didn't voice it aloud, since it
was meant to be a secret, but I couldn't understand why the bean tighe
hadn't cleaned up the house. Unless she was also affected by the magical
sleep that seemed to encompass everyone last night. The last of the damage
ended at the base of the stairs to the second storey bedroom level, as
though whoever had set off all the wards had finally spent too much energy
to make it up the stairs. The thought of someone powerful enough to enter
the house and get to the stairs despite all the protective magic was
disconcerting and I shuddered to think what would happen if he was more
powerful.
	"Have you woken anyone else?" Scott and Malita shook their heads in
unison. "No one else would wake up," Scott frowned. He raised a small,
slender fragment of what looked like a wand. The centre of the wand looked
to be stained red, like dried blood. "I found this near the stairs."
	"Is that a wand?" I asked, reaching for the broken wood. I turned
it over a few times, examining it while the twins watched patiently. I
glanced at the red-brown stain at the crack and something made the hair on
my neck tingle.
	"It's like human blood," Scott said. "But there's something odd
about it."
	I nodded, and examined the bloodstain more closely. My whole body
was vibrating slowly, and I resisted a strong urge to set the wood on
fire. Then I saw a telltale black spread through the blood, barely
noticeable even with the close examination. I felt the tingling in my body,
and I finally understood what it meant. "This is vampire blood!"
	"Vampire blood?" the twins asked in the same tone. Malita narrowed
her eyes. "But who would use vampire blood in a wand?"
	"A vampire?" Scott suggested. "Or a Wizard wanting to control the
undead."
	"A vampire is likely," I said, going over everything in my head. "A
vampire's own blood would be a powerful source of energy for the vampire,
an added power boost in a way. Also, vampires heal themselves easily over
time, and a wand with vampire blood would heal on its own after a
while. Someone who owns a vampire wand wouldn't care about a broken bit,
unless he didn't have time to put it back because he had to run away."
	"The sun rose," Scott deduced, looking around at the well-lit house
from the many windows and skylight in the living room area.
	"He had to leave quick," I said. "We kindred are vampire hunters,
we don't let our houses become vampire infested areas."
	"But did you invite him in?" Malita said.
	"A vampire as powerful as this doesn't need an invitation," I
frowned. "Only a reason to do it. That's why the precautions. But how did
he get in without waking any of us?"
	Scott thought about it for a moment, then reached for the wand
shard. I handed it over to him, and he held it out. He whipped his own wand
out from his pocket, waved it and muttered, "Prior Incantatem."
	The wand glowed for a moment, then showed an image of a robed man
disappearing outside the house. The man's hood was covering his head but I
caught a glimpse of pale white underneath it for a moment, indicating a
really ancient vampire. The cloak was singed, as though battered by the
wards and the sun. The image vanished, then another image appeared out of
the want, the same robed man appearing in front of the house, cloak
intact."
	"He Apparated to your door and walked in," Malita
observed. "Because of all the protection, he couldn't Apparate or
Disapparate to and from the house directly."
	"Can you freeze the picture?" I asked. Scott nodded and paused the
scene. I pointed to the figure's right hand where a flame seemed to float
over it. "What's he clutching over there?"
	Malita leaned in closer. "It looks like some sort of candle, or
candlestick, but it's a strange shape I can't make out."
	I nodded to Scott and he cancelled his spell. "He was clutching
something when he came that isn't his wand. If we can find out what it is,
maybe we can figure out how he got in. Malita, can you search the house and
see if you come across anything that looks like what he was carrying?"
	"Sure thing, Dylan," Malita said. She went to the staircase and
bent near the ground and started searching for anything that they might
have missed earlier. Scott and I walked past her as we made our way to the
kitchen. I grabbed a silver bowl that I saw on top of the fridge and rinsed
it under the tap, then filled it half full with water. I grabbed a clay pot
from near the sink and put a bit of coal from a bag under the sink into it.
	"Scott, can you help me look for crocus flowers in the back
garden?" I asked. "When you come back, light the coals and throw the
flowers on it." Scott started to turn when I added. "Oh, and ask before you
pluck the flowers." Scott nodded, raising an eyebrow curiously, then turned
and walked into the garden.
	I gazed at the base of the silver dish, slowly letting my eyes and
mind relax and quiet. I kept my gaze on the dish, but left my eyes
unfocussed. Slowly, images began to form in the water. I mentally tried to
focus on the time before the break-in, but for some reason, the picture
wouldn't change, and showed only Scott and Malita outside the house. Scott
was pounding on the front door, shouting if everyone was all right while
Malita paced worriedly on the porch. Scott sat on the bench on the porch,
slamming his fist into his palm. I caught a glimpse of something under the
bench, but the angle of Scott's leg blocked the item from sight.
	"Damn," he was saying as he stared at his shoes. "If anything
happens to Dy... them, I'll hunt the bastard down and kill him."
	"What's Dylan got to do with that?" Malita asked, pausing in her
pacing to look at her brother. Then she frowned. "You like him, don't you?"
	"So do you?" Scott replied without looking up. He twiddled his
thumbs a little. "And you're more likely to get him..."
	The back door closing disrupted my concentration for a moment as
Scott came in with a handful of crocus plants. I continued to stare at the
bowl, pretending to be in deep concentration. Scott quietly lit the coal
and crushed the plants between his palms, then threw them into the clay
pot. The fragrance and smoke started rather quickly, and I was grateful for
it. Scrying wasn't my strong suit, and crocus when burnt helps with
visions, especially of thieves or break-ins. Soon, the water began playing
images from the break-in, and I mentally pushed it further back. The image
showed the front door of the house, then the robed figure appearing, or
Apparating as Malita called it.
	The robed man was holding something in his pale white hands, and I
couldn't make it out clearly, but it looked like a fist of some sort,
probably a candle holder, judging from the candle attached to the fist. The
vampire waved his wand and caused a flame to light the candle. He placed
the hand under the bench in the porch and chanted, "Now open lock to the
Dead Man's knock! Fly bolt, and bar, and band! Nor move, nor swerve joint,
muscle, or nerve, at the spell of the Dead Man's hand! Sleep al who sleep!
Wake all who wake! But be as the dead for the Dead Man's sake!" The front
door opened quietly on its own, and the vampire entered the house easily.
	I shook my head and cleared the image away from my mind. Pouring
the water the water on the coals, I put out the incense. Scott was seated
opposite me, and he gave me a grin. "All that smoke reminded me of
Divination class in Hogwarts, but no one I know, not even Professor
Trewlawney, has ever scryed in a silver bowl of water."
	"Druidic scrying," I smiled back, winking at Scott, concealing the
fact that I knew about his crush. And his sister's. "Don't you learn that
in History of Magic or whatever?"
	"Yeah," Scott replied. "When we were learning about Cliodna the
druidess."
	I pretended to be reminiscing. "Ahh, the good old days in Eire."
	"You were never there," Scott teased. "But she's Irish all the
same, and does the Irish druids proud, I think."
	I faked a scowl. "You're just saying that. Bloody American."
	"Yeah, but my mom's Irish, and that's why she got us to Hogwarts
instead of Quiggley," Scott explained. "We go back to the States in the
Summer holidays, but this year we're staying with my uncle so we can take
part in the Quidditch, but our team signed up too late."
	"I think Aithne can help with that," I said. "After all, she's a
referee in the League. How long have you been in Hogwarts?"
	"I'm in the sixth year," Scott said. "Starting after summer, I'll
be in the seventh and final year."
	"You're sixteen?" I asked, slightly surprised. Both Scott and
Malita looked older than that.
	"Nope, eighteen," Scott replied. "Malita and I started a year
late." I was about to speak when Scott clarified, "Our birthdays are in
January, so that's why it seems like we're two years older instead of one."
	"Ahh," I nodded. "So, you had any exams or anything to do?"
	Scott leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm. "Yeah, I had
to take my OWLs, Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Had quite a tough exam, but it
wasn't a problem for me. I'm a Ravenclaw, and we're really smart. Malita's
a Griffindor, so she's supposed to be brave, but they haven't seen her
around insects before, I guess."
	"What are these exams like?" I asked, mildly curious.
	"Curse you Hedges and druids," Scott laughed. "No exams on magic,
and yet you know a lot more than we do sometimes. Like the divination you
did just now, it's a lot more effective than what we learnt in school. No
one in my class has ever seen anything ever! Old Professor Trewlawney is a
fraud.
	Our exams are different, depending on the teacher. Professor Binns,
our History of Magic teacher, for some reason felt like giving us questions
on old and obscure magics of the past. Had to learn about the Hand of
Glory, how it's made and the silly chant. 'Now open lock to the Dead Man's
knock!' and all that..."
	"'Fly bolt, and bar, and band!'" I recited. Scott nodded. "Yeah,
that's it. You learnt about that?"
	"No, that was what I heard and saw when I scryed just now," I said,
standing up. "Under the bench at the porch."
	The two of us rushed out the kitchen, passing Malita as we made our
way to the front door. Malita stopped her search and joined us outside. I
peered under the porch, and sure enough, there was a hand there, standing
upright, closed into a fist. A slight burn mark between the middle and
fourth fingers showed where the candle was once, now completely consumed. I
reached out to pick it up, but Scott stopped me.
	Malita looked horrified. "Is that a..."
	"Hand of Glory," Scott confirmed. He pointed his wand and did a
swish and flick motion, chanting, "Wingardium Leviosa."
	The Hand floated out from under the porch bench and levitated in
front of our faces. Scott made a face and slowly let it rotate. "Yuck. The
hand of a hanged criminal with all the blood and fats squeezed out and the
fat made into the candle."
	It was my turn to look horrified. "That thing is a dismembered
hand?"
	Malita nodded. "Yeah. When the candle is lit, the owner of the Hand
can enter a house without waking anyone up. And all the inhabitants will
sleep like the dead, and can't be woken up until the candle goes out."
	"So the vampire made it into the house, but the magic of the Hand
was limited because of all the wards," Scott pieced everything
together. "So he had to move slowly and probably had some sort of shielding
spell to help counteract the protection spells. But it was slow, and the
sun came up, so he fled in fear, and lost concentration on the shield
spell, and set all the wards while coming out of the house."
	"That makes sense," I nodded slowly. I shivered a little in the
cold Irish air, my shorts and shirt barely enough protection against the
cool breeze that drifted across the porch. Both Malita and Scott
immediately took their denim jackets off. Scott smirked at Malita when I
reached for his jacket, not knowing that I saw the exchange. "I don't think
your jacket can fit me, Malita. Plus, it's pink. But thanks for the offer."
	I felt a little twinge of guilt when Scott's face fell, but I
pushed it aside. I put his jacket on, glad for the warmth it provided. His
own body heat added to the feeling of comfort. I felt a hint of summer
attraction stir in me, but I shifted my thoughts onto another subject, not
wanting to get aroused in my shorts in front of the twins.
	"It was Agrippa in his Three Books," Malita was saying. Scott shook
his head violently. "I got 323% on my History of Magic exam. It's Secrets
Merveilleux De La Magie Naturelle Et Cabalistique Du Petit Albert that
describes how to make a Hand of Glory. It dates back to 1722. The earliest
English version of Agrippa's books were published in 1651, much later than
the original copies dating to 1533, 1531 and 1509 in various formats."
	Malita rolled her eyes. "Ravenclaws."
	I sat on the bench and listened as the two of them explained the
creation and uses of the Hand of Glory, and finally sighed with relief when
Malita torched the disgusting thing with her wand. I got off the bench,
ignoring the pins and needles in my leg. "I think it's time we wake the
others."




	Aunt Sharon wasn't too happy about what we had found out, but was
glad at least that the barrage of wards would keep our opponent away for a
spell while he recovered from the attacks. We had a relatively late lunch
with the Andrews twins as guests. For some reason, I had ended up sitting
in between them, and had a hard time figuring out who was hitting on me
more, Scott or Malita. It didn't help that Shane, Rachel and Casey were
sitting across from the three of us, and kept sniggering whenever Scott or
Malita "accidently" touched my hand while getting salt or pepper from
me. Many sets of brown Filan eyes rolled and twinkled whenever I fidgeted
as a leg (Scott's or Malita's, I couldn't tell) rubbed up and down
mine. Judging from the cheeky look on his face, I strongly suspect it was
Ryan, and I swore to strangle my brother if I found out it was him. All in
all, I was extremely glad when lunch was over. The twins said their
goodbyes and left to go home and let their muggle uncle know all was well.
	The rest of us gathered in the living room and chatted with each
other, catching up on the latest in our lives. Shane spoke only a little
about the new album Westlife was putting out, and how he had co-written
some songs with his friends. He didn't speak much after that, considering
that we could find out the latest in his life by picking up a newspaper or
magazine from the shop down the road. I related my own tales from the road
after Shane, including the encounter with Mystique, but carefully leaving
out all the little details about Justin and myself. Storytelling was
something we learnt to do since young, and it was fun to see them gasping
at all the fighting parts, or frowning as they tried to unravel the mystery
on their own. When I was done, Aithne (we were talking in order of age, and
Aithne was twenty as well, but two months younger than me) told me about
hearing on the news that a shape-shifting mutant had broken out of prison
in the states, but wasn't sure if it was Mystique or not. She related about
how she had gotten her letter from the League to join as a referee, despite
being a Hedge. She didn't have much to tell, so she let Seamus have his
turn.
	Seamus was nineteen, and was on attachment to a law firm to
complete his course in law. He compared his firm to Ally McBeal's, saying
his was probably just as weird, if not weirder, launching him into
hilarious stories about his absent-minded boss (the absent-mindedness
didn't extend to the courtroom, however) and several bimbotic fellow
students on attachment with him. He had us laughing for a long time, and
when he was done, we had to agree that we couldn't figure out whether Ally
McBeal was weirder than his own firm. Aithne cheered his decision last
month to get rid of his glasses and get contacts, saying that he looked a
lot less nerdy.
	Rachel dropped the shocking news to all of us that Leon, the
asshole I lived with, had proposed to her. The two of them were only
eighteen, and I was ready to knock some sense into her (it's my right as
her big brother) when she told him how she laughed so hard at the proposal
that Leon dropped the ring somewhere down the drain, and when he finally
got it out, she had left for the airport to come here without leaving a
contact number. I couldn't help but laugh, wondering how Leon would
react. The only thing keeping me from beating him up every time he annoyed
me was the fact that Rachel dated him, but now that she had finally broken
of with him ("For good," she promised), I had full permission to knock him
from Orlando, Florida to Seattle, Washington. Aunt Sharon congratulated
Rachel on dumping the "creep", and Ryan remarked about how Rachel was more
good-natured nowadays. She gave him a good-natured cuff on the head in
reply.
	Malcolm was next, describing with great detail his latest projects,
short of drawing his drafts again. His boss was pleased with his work,
naming him the youngest and most talented of all the architects and
interior designers in the office, a great compliment to the
eighteen-year-old, especially since Malcolm had never really attended a
"proper" school ("Summer Hill is a proper school," Shane argued). Malcolm
loved his job, and it was he that had designed the house they stayed in now
with the help of his father, my late Uncle James. Aunt Sharon never failed
to let him, and the rest of her kids, know that she was proud of them.
	Ryan blushed as he talked about his job. He was easily the most
clever of us all, and yet he had spent hours in the gym for the past four
years, and had the best physique, landing him in the role of an underwear
and swimsuit model. He recounted funny stories about fussy photographers
and annoying make-up artists, and an assistant who had tumbled
head-over-heels for him after she saw him in a skimpy G-string. Ryan
ignored our pestering to reveal his paycheck, but said that it was enough
for him to buy a new car every month, even if he wasn't working. But he was
also starting to move towards commercials and acting, and might become an
actor, but he would be signing up for drama classes first (paid for by his
agency, of course. They'd do anything for their seventeen-year-old
star). It was hard a hard concept to swallow at first, but Rachel and I
explained how we finally got used to having a younger brother that was an
underwear model and part-time chef.
	Casey grinned as he explained his latest project, designing an
animated television commercial for a soap company, and complained how his
boss was a slave-driver. ("Oi'm not givin' yer less work, lazy boy," I said
sternly. "You're gettin' paid too much already.") He complained about how
he was the only one that really worked from home, and so he had to do all
the chores and how sometimes he wished he had colleagues. I told him that
if he moved over to the States with me, he could work with Reuben. Nodding
thoughtfully, he said he would consider, and that he had a lot of respect
for Reuben's work, and also because Reuben was my business partner, along
with Melvin (except that he didn't do any designing, just the accounting).
	Throughout all the sharing, I couldn't help but feel a sense of
warmth in my body. I loved my family, large though it was even without all
the cousins, and I was glad for these sessons to bring us closer
together. Our family was our true source of power, even without magic or
kindred powers, and together we could stand against anything that
threatened us. We had an early dinner that night, all of us helping to
prepare the meal together. We decided that after what happened last night,
this would be a celebration to the combined strength of our clan. Aunt
Sharon prayed for a blessing on the food, and we ate hungrily and happily,
basking in the warmth of love that only a family can give. As we turned in
that night, Casey and I prayed together, thanking God for our
family. Somehow, last night's attack on our home had made us realise how
precious we were to each other, even if none of us had been harmed. I
stared out the window at the stars in the sky for a few hours before I
finally fell asleep, a sleep more peaceful than the complete nothingness of
last night's magical sleep.

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Comments, questions? Email dylan@celticwarrior.com