Something I’ve been keeping from all of you. The story of how I got my roommate (so to speak).

As it turn out, I’ve already told you most of it. Now I just need to tell you the rest of it.

After recounting my experiencing possibilities and the construct, the Council members seemed somber but open to what I was explaining. After all, they had just seen me walk through what appeared to be a solid wall and emerge behind them in a heavily magic controlled space.

I’d like to also recount what they called me there for, but there’s about a half-dozen NDAs between me and being able to do that (besides, you wouldn’t believe me anyway).

Finishing out my day, I went upstairs and had a glass of wine while I waited for the carriage.

Something was gnawing in the back of my mind.

Perhaps every science fiction where time travel happened and the effects that followed. From butterflies to whales to killer robots to phone cleaning middlemen.

Perhaps it was that at any moment, I still expected for the world to dissolve in a flash and still to discover that I’d never really left the construct.

I’d like to say that I was taking this well. I wasn’t. Temporal mechanics were never my thing, but again, I’ve read enough science fiction to know that when temporal mechanics come into play, nobody gets what they want. At least not unless at a cost to everyone else and even then it’s debatable.

It might be the wine talking, but this was a pretty solid wine.

The carriage was going to be a bit, so I asked for a small plate of panisse and a small bit of sauce to dip it in. I know. I’m a ridiculous American, but I know what I like. And a little bit of fried food and alcohol to dull the senses a bit was just what I needed.

My mind fell back to my encounter with Warren. Werewolves don’t age at human rates. Something like 1 to 3 if I remember correctly. They’re not the most long lived (djinns and vampires still get that record, or not depending on how you count them). Warren was all of about 90 if memory serves. In order for him to be that old in my possibilities, I would have needed to have been… at least a hundred years out of place. Probably more since weres were a bit heartier than the average baseline and weres don’t seem to be quite as violent/territorial as they perhaps once were.

I tried to remember anything else I might have seen while standing before him. Anything that might be worth knowing. After all, 100 years is not nothing, especially to a tech head.

I gave myself a mental slapdown and poured another half a glass as my panisse arrived. No, I needed to focus on Warren. I didn’t need to find some means of ‘get rich quick via time travel’.

He’d been old, but clearly still him. I’m not sure how I knew, but I did.

From his point of view, I must have seemed a ghost. But he knew that I’d be there. And he remembered who I was. So he was clearly still there mentally and he’d been prepped.

That at least meant that I could tell him. But how….

The natural solution came to me as the carriage arrived and I polished off my panisse and wine with alacrity, quickly passing the necessary Euros to the waitress and climbing into the waiting carriage. Time delayed mail.

It worked for the famous time traveling car, so I saw no reason it wouldn’t work here. And with magic, I could ensure that he could only receive it once I’m gone.

I tried to remember if there was a kind of magical Western Union. I doubted it, but who knows. I wouldn’t doubt that there’s a niche for it. The problem would be whether or not it would be worth being that alternative vice the baseline sort. Especially since you’d need access to a pocket dimension or five just to manage all the deliveries you might make.

A thought for another time perhaps.

I thought on the scene with Lucy. Or perhaps someone who looked very much like Lucy.

The me hadn’t appeared to be that much older, but Lucy had. She’d aged and relative to a djinn, that’s saying something. And the more I thought about the room in which we had all been in… yes it had looked like the local medical, but the walls… they were different.

The local medical had all manner of scrolls and scripts and runes across the walls and all to keep the place clean at a moment’s notice and to assist with all manner of procedures. Surely that couldn’t be blocked with a simple layer of paperwork.

No, the paperwork along the walls was perhaps a sign of something. Another string of reality? One where Lucy wasn’t a djinn? One where we had become more than friends? One where one of her dates had gone wrong? One where, for all the world, I was there as her friend?

It wasn’t hard to imagine, nor was it readily dismissable. I hadn’t seen anything. Not really.

I wasn’t the type to try and read into my friendship with Lucy, but I knew she enjoyed having me around. A few too many times leaking fire under stress will give that impression.

Of all the stories she’s told me (some of which I may tell with her permission), it’s always seemed like she’s had a fondness for the people who travel with her. Not necessarily through space but through time.

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I suspect her near immortality came burdened with a kind of loneliness. Perhaps a bit like a famous Scotsman immortal. And yet, she was always bubbly. Always cheerful. Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was just her.

Either way, I resolved to give her a great big hug and see about trying my hand at some homemade brownies to gift her with.

I’m a terrible baker by the way. So my usual baking involves opening a mix, adding the necessary liquids, and placing in the oven and trying to not blame manufacturers if I manage to forget it in the oven (which I’ve only done thrice).

Arriving back at the building, I climb out of the carriage and look at the building. It seems the same as it ever was. A kind of structure that just seems to defy the world.

Not because it is fancy or incongruent or anything like that. It just… seemed like a kind of brick testament against time.

I looked at the yard surrounding and contemplated whether it’d be worth starting a small allotment planting of my own. The super would probably agree to it. Although our local witch might object a bit.

After all, if I want to play in the dirt, so to speak, I probably need only ask and she’d be happy to have me visit her garden again.

Which reminds me, I’m due to stop by in a week and try and continue negotiations between her and… well, I never actually got a name, but whatever those folks were who were having issues with her garden bubble. I’m owed some more saffron too.

I walked upstairs, it having been a not insignificant day, and opened my door.

Inside was a surprise.

Imagine if you will a goat. Take away all the fur, horns, and structure and put instead a kind of tanuki or raccoon dog for the uninitiated in its place. Keep the temperament and appetite of a goat. Now make it the size of a Great Dane and give it boundary issues like a Labrador (or a toddler who’s never been told no).

Given that this… being was sitting, cat loaf style, on the floor of the apartment near the door, they were kind of impossible to miss.

“Oi bruv, got anything real to eat? I’m half-starved,” was the first statement out of the strange being’s mouth.

I reflexed and checked that this was in fact my apartment. It was.

“Sure… but can I ask how you got in here?” I asked a bit hesitantly.

“Dunno. One minute I was munching away and then I’m here, without so much as a by-your-leave,” the being said. “I’m Dhramuthi, by the way.”

“Sam,” I replied, wondering how that mouth was managing all those consonants without spitting all over everything.

“There’s a letter over on the table. I’m pretty sure it’s about me. Where’s that food?” the being who’s name I’ll shorten to Muthi said, not exactly trotting, but not exactly walking regularly into the kitchen.

Being the bachelor that I am, I didn’t have a lot in my apartment. Sue me – I’m not the greatest cook in the world and while I can do cooking, I tend to cook for just me. At least unless I’m having Warren and/or Lucy over for dinner. And even then we try and coordinate.

Arm midway into the fridge, I paused.

“What do you eat?” I asked.

“Anything and make no mistake on that,” Muthi said, resting their head on the counter top.

I pulled out the pizza I’d had the night before and portioned out two pieces onto a plate and stopped again, looking at Muthi.

“On the floor is fine, bruv. I’m used to it,” Muthi nodded.

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean it should be that way,” I replied almost on automatic.

Muthi seemed to consider this.

“Maybe, but that’s a conversation for later,” they said, and took the plate out of my hands with their teeth, dropped it reasonably carefully onto the floor and began devouring the two pieces of pizza – spinach, pepperoni, garlic, bacon, and mushrooms in case anyone is wondering.

I went over to the table with the aforementioned letter and opened it.

Sam,

My apologies for leaving you this surprise after your assistance with my construct, but unfortunately, they are a creation which technically has no home in any timeline.

They are exceptionally resilient and useful so hopefully you can keep them around.

For reference, the answers to your expected questions:

1) Yes they are essentia generating (something I believe you to call magical).

2) No there are no others.

3) They are about 7 of your solar revolutions, if I understand your counting scheme correctly.

4) They most likely will live to be about 30 of your solar revolutions.

5) They aren’t as smart as one of your kind, but they aren’t lacking either.

I am aware that this will be an impact to your timeline, but I can no longer keep them within. They are unique and as such I cannot continue to host such a being exclusively within. It unbalances the model, you understand.

I hope this finds you in the right timeframe and the right timeline.

And it was ‘signed’ in a way that made my eyes water just looking at it.

I looked up from the letter as Muthi belched.

“If that’s just a sample of the kind of food I can get here, I think I’ll stick around forever,” Muthi proclaimed before doing that odd sort of walk back into the living room area and half-throwing/half-flopping themselves onto the couch.

“Do you know how to use the bathroom?” I asked.

“Sure. I had to use it once already. Not sure your bathroom is rated for me though,” Muthi said lazily.

I groaned internally and went over to the bathroom, sure of finding flooding and all manner of mess. I have worked in food service before and humanity is bad enough. I could only imagine what this… being had managed.

As it turned out, a large purple crystal seemed wedged in the toilet. The water hadn’t gone anywhere it wasn’t supposed to and there was no mess to truly be seen.

I donned a disposable glove and pulled out the crystal. It hummed slightly.

I exited the bathroom and Muthi looked up, seeing the crystal in my hand.

“Whatcha doing, bruv?” they asked, seemingly out of morbid curiosity.

“This seems like it might be similar to an essentia crystal,” I murmured.

“Probably cuz it is,” Muthi said.

I blinked.

I blinked again.

“Would you mind repeating that?” I asked.

“Probably cuz it is an essentia crystal,” Muthi said slowly.

I looked betweeen Muthi and the crystal. By mass alone, I could tell this was enough essentia to power this apartment and all my fun magic toys for a month if I had a way to channel it. The purple color told me that it was probably double that.

I tried to process this.

For helping a construct of some n-th dimension (still not sure on whether it was 5th dimensional or not), I had been given a ‘unique’ being who excreted essentia crystals.

I suddenly was reminded of the farmer and the goose laying golden eggs (along with all the folks who not just might, but would kill to get their hands either on a being like this or to be rid of a being like this).

A call to the Council and probably the ombudsman too was in my future, that much was certain.

Muthi was clearly sentient and sapient, so I couldn’t exactly own them, but I could probably get them designated as being under a kind of guardianship.

Either way, I’d have to work it out. But there was one question I needed answered first.

“How often do you use the bathroom?” I asked.

“Everyday. Why?” Muthi lazed on the couch, stretching a bit.

“Always like this?” I pressed.

“Nah. If I’m getting real food, it’ll be bigger,” Muthi said. “Could you turn on some kind of entertainment? There’s not much to do and I want some background noise for my nap.”

I clicked on the tv to a documentary and was soon listening to a humming combined with whistling that was apparently what Muthi sounded like while sleeping.

I meanwhile looked at the crystal in my hand and contemplated.

This was not as simple as it appeared and I wondered if this was actually payment or repayment for my actions with the construct. Still, looking at the crystal, it could always be worse.

(And yes, that is foreshadowing for next time)