The following day, Master Jabber was looking through the mess of papers on his desk, trying to find his yew wand. He had already pulled off and replaced all the cushions on his leather couch, checked his bathroom (he sometimes did magic to pass the time on the toilet and left it there), and checked the pockets of his spare robes. But he couldn’t find it anywhere. It wasn’t on his desk or in any of the drawers.

In frustration, Jabber bent to the ground and surveyed the floor of his office from beneath his desk. And then he saw it. The wand was on the ground, next to the corner floorboard near the door. What the hell was it doing there? Had it fallen out of his pocket?

Jabber stood and retrieved the wand from the floor, wiping dust from it on his maroon robes. Then he walked over to his chess table, where both the black angel and white demon sides were set. He wanted to watch a replay of the famous “Immortals” game of Engelsen and Lionkey while he drank his morning coffee. He had his chess book open to the proper pages but hadn’t been able to find his wand to enchant the pieces.

With satisfaction he pulled his sleeves back to reveal his bony wrists, lifted both hands into the air like a conductor, and with a dramatic flourish of his wand blasted himself backward into the wall behind.

He sat dazed for a moment, wondering what had gone wrong. Then he studied his wand more closely and noticed cloudy marks and white traces all along the thin wood. Bringing it to his nose, he gagged slightly at the smell. Sulfur. Goddamn Bella! Angelica’s hellhound had been chewing on his wand again.

Jabber picked himself up, hurried to his office bathroom, and immediately began scrubbing the wand with soap. The first step was to clean it of dried demon slime. Then he would need to light incense and read the minor prayer of exorcism before he could use it safely again. The whole time he muttered curses to Bella and made a pact within himself that he would finally put his foot down–either Angelica needed to restrain her hellhound or she couldn’t bring Bella into the laboratory any longer. This was a place of magic and lore, not a hellish kennel.

He was so busy washing the wand that he didn’t look into the oval iron mirror until he was done.

“Goddammit!” Jabber yelled at his image when he looked up. The hellhound’s twisted influence on his magic had transformed his magenta master robes into the thick black angel robes of his chess pieces. He even had magical translucent black feather wings and a faint glowing halo. The sparse white ring of hair on his balding head had been replaced by lush raven locks.

Stolen story; please report.

Instead of taking the robes off as had been his initial reaction, however, Jabber paused, liking what he saw in the mirror. He turned his head to the left and the right, and then turned around to see the ghostly wings on his back, gently fluttering in a non-existent breeze.

“I wonder,” he said musing as he left the bathroom to go grab his GOAT helmet. When he returned with the helmet placed firmly on his head, he was rather pleased with the effect. The image staring back at him was of a mighty dark angel, with power in his eyes, ready to defend the rights of all angelic beings.

Then with a chuckle he shrugged and walked over to his desk to drink his now lukewarm coffee. He figured the magic would only last as long as the chess game he had wanted to see. He could wait it out.

At that moment there came a knock on his door.

“Come in!” Jabber called.

Fokso entered, shutting the door behind him.

“Fokso!” Jabber smiled. “What a pleasant surprise! Sit down!”

“Good morning Jabber.” Fokso sat on the couch. He curled his nose in distaste as he gestured towards Jabber. “What’s with the costume?”

“Oh God, don’t even ask. Angelica’s hellhound chewed on my wand, got it all covered with demonic spittle.”

“Ugh, disgusting.”

“I know, I know . . . and when I went to use it, boom, the magic went haywire, I flew across the room, and found myself wearing this.”

“Why don’t you take it off?”

Jabber pursed his lips into a self-satisfied smile. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. It’ll fade away eventually . . . But what, um, are you doing here? You haven’t come by the laboratory in months.”

“All this angel stuff is actually what I wanted to see you about. What the hell are you doing wandering around town with that GOAT helmet?”

“What? This?”

“Yes, the helmet. I heard you were walking around St. Michael’s with it? Why would you want to do that?”

Jabber cackled in delight. “You have no idea how amazing it is. I put it on to get out of that lunch with Roseman. I figured he wouldn’t want to be caught dead at the same table as me, and it worked!”

“That’s not surprising,” Fokso said with a grimace. “I’m your friend and I can barely stand looking at you. What are you now? A Tatius supporter?”

“No, not at all, but this helmet, it’s like a magical shield. Whenever I wear it people are suddenly repelled from me wherever I go. It’s fantastic!”