“I was a squid. I was an embarrassment. I was humiliated, humiliating, and altogether a blemish for the family. Mother and father constantly worked to teach me magic, have me understand the elements, spirit, and how the were interwoven. They tried to teach me to draw power, to channel that power.
I was nothing short of a spectacular failure. I was labeled as a minor talent when I could make really good use of tarot cards. Nothing concrete- but I could make small predictions. However, I am positive that the label of a minor talent was nothing more than mother and father pushing favors so that I labeled as able to do magic. Afterall two wizards always produced magical offspring.
Like I said I was a failure.
At one point I fled from another fight with my parents and stumbled upon a man chain smoking. He looked at me quizzically, piercingly, more than that… he looked almost through me. He told me that I was the wrong techniques to make use of my gift. I did not believe him to be anything other than crazy, I questioned him. What did he mean, what gift? He continued looking at me strangely and let out a deep laugh. Then he said he could help me. Then he flicked my forehead.
I have never felt such pain, and I have beheld dragons and heard one speak my name. I have seen Outsiders, vampires of several courts and some not even of a court but from a portal to hell itself, I have seen gods and looked at the fae. Nothing from beatings, magical attacks, an ogre throwing me through a wall has hurt more than that flick.
My entire body felt on fire and I thought my brain was going to boil inside my skull. I doubled over in pain and either lost consciousness or blacked out from the experience and still do not recall what happened. I awoke in an alley nearby. That man left a note and a cigarette. I don’t smoke.
When I woke up, I felt better than I ever had before. I called the number left on the note- what the hell, right? The same guy picked up, I got a name. Mr. John Fumus. He told he would teach me magic. I balked and didn’t believe him. Over the freaking phone he walked me through making a blast of wind. I have never done anything like that before. It was fantastic. I could do magic. Real magic!
I Mr. Fumus explained that I was a magical anomaly. The magic used by the White Council was tangentially related to my magic. But mine was a more primordial magic, the magic of Dragons. With so few dragons remaining in the world, I was extremely lucky that Mr. Fumus found me.
I left home. I mean, I completely left. Ran away from home. Mr. Fumus was in New York City. The rural farm from upstate could rot for all I cared.
At New York, Mr. Fumus met me. He said that I was his apprentice (me, a squib (thank you J.K. Rowling) was an apprentice) and he would teach me magic and more. I agreed, Then I learned he was a friggin dragon.
A real dragon. Big, gold scales, fire, teeth. The whole package. Monstrously huge and terrifying. Smauverovax.
I used the same type of magic as him. I’m not a dragon, I don’t get all the other dragony things like wings and being a friggin dragon but I cast magic the same as him. Albeit much weaker. And worse. And not very refined. Yet.
I trained. And trained. And trained. Months, then years. Smauverovax was tireless and I took to it like a duck to water. I learned he was a protector of NYC which was a huge hub of the supernatural world. I became an operative of his, I saw his horde, not even Nigel has seen that (I think). I met you [to Tauriel] and I learned more about the horrors of the world than I ever imagined or wanted to.
Red court, black court, white court, ogres, trolls, fae, warlocks (rogue wizards essentially), hellmouth vampires, slayers, immortals, angels, demons, the fomor, outsiders, olympian, and more. New York has more monsters and things of nightmares than Poe, King, and Lovecraft combined. (Even the angels are things of nightmare. They take no prisoners and have little concept of mercy.)
I live in The Lair most days. My family, I assume, knows I am alive and that I have gained magic. They would likely still consider me a minor talent, but I don’t care. The white council has been my biggest problem. They want me. Not to hurt or kill, mind you. They want me on their side, a spy against the Smauverovax.
Can you believe it? They want me to spy, after acting as if I was beneath them for years. For abusing me, threatening me, ostracizing me. Now they want my help? They can go fuck themselves. Oh, I can be nice to wizard or two, and polite to the Wardens. But the Council can go fuck themselves.
Oh, we better be going. Want to scope out the waterfront before our meeting with the reds. We better go while we still have enough light. If I have to see one of their real forms again, I’m probably not eating for a week.”