Over the next couple of days, Master Jabber experienced a full blown revelation in terms of the improvement in his quality of life. With his new GOAT helmet, the people he didn't like avoided him, and the people he would normally be frightened of, treated him with respect. All the little annoyances of his mundane affairs seemed to disappear under its protective aura.

One morning, without noticing, as Jabber was pulling away from the street in his two-wheeled gig carriage, he bumped into the side of a unicorn that had dark marks in the shape of a hellish skull with angel wings on both of its flanks. Its rider–a huge ogre of an angel in a sleeveless black leather jerkin–shouted and gave chase, screaming profanities behind him.

"Pull over, you wretched turd!" the he-angel shouted. "Stop your little pissant cart or I'll rip your balls off and feed them to my unicorn."

Jabber turned to see the unicorn's radiant eyes pulling up to his gig and the massive angel pointing to the curb with a forefinger the size of a hammer handle. An overpowering scent of cotton-candy rolled off the unicorn. Jabber's hands shook as he steered his horse to the edge of the road and stopped.

Putting on his GOAT helmet from the seat beside him, he stammered in fear, "I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't see you. If there's anything I can do . . ."

But the angel's entire demeanor changed when he saw the helmet. Instead of shouting, he gave Jabber a friendly, nice-to-see-a-fellow-cult-member sort of smile.

"Well, no harm done. Just be more careful where you're steering your gig."

"Of course, sir, thank you for the admonishment," Jabber said with a respectful salute.

The angel gave a friendly wave, kicked his heels, and rode off in a thunderous clap of sparkling pink clouds and rainbows bursting out from between the unicorn's buttocks.

The next day, Jabber was at the library of St. Michael's College of Thaumaturgy searching for a seat within the crowded reading room. Normally he had to satisfy himself with sitting in the middle of a crowded bench, or being pushed to the edge by unruly thaumaturgical students, chatting, laughing, and breathing too loudly as he tried to avoid them and concentrate. Now, however, with his GOAT helmet, the moment he sat down, the entire table emptied of students. One flabby undergraduate in a yellow sweater that was too tight for his larger frame, glanced at Jabber's goat horns and nudged the witchy looking demoness with long orange locks sitting next to him. She looked up and, seeing Jabber, seemed to go into convulsions of disgust. A few moments later they had packed their bags and left Jabber to his blessed, and pleasantly unexpected, solitude.

All in all, Jabber found that life was much easier when everyone knew that they should hate you. It made him seriously consider making the GOAT helmet a permanent fixture of his wardrobe.

***

One day after picking up a sheaf of parchment from the small stationer stall near St. Michael's, Jabber saw Charlesly Landcaster drive by in his white gig, heading down towards the intersection of Elysium Street and Tartarus Avenue, where a plethora of wing shops, coffee houses, restaurants, and various book, clothing, and supply stores served the students and faculty of the thaumaturgy college.

Jabber hadn't seen his friend since Fokso's party and so, with a mind to follow him into the shopping district and invite him to a cup of coffee, he set off at a brisk pace.

Some ten minutes later he frowned when he saw where Charlesly's gig was parked. His friend's spotted chestnut mare was tied to a hitching rail outside Joseph's Angel Wings. Assuming Charlesly had merely left the gig there for convenience's sake and was likely shopping in one of the stores nearby, Jabber planned to wait around until he returned.

But no, as Jabber neared Joseph's shop, he saw Charlesly sitting on a sofa near the window, an expression of bliss on his face as he chowed down on a plate of angel wings. Furious, Jabber rushed into the store and confronted him.

"What the hell is this?"

"Jabber!" Charlesly smiled in pleasure, and then added, "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Nevermind that!" Jabber said brusquely, his bushy eyebrows contorting in anger. "What are you doing here?"

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"What does it look like? I'm having some wings."

"I thought you were shunning this place."

Charlesly nodded in sudden understanding. "Ah, yes, you're right, I am shunning this place."

"I don't follow you," Jabber sputtered. "If you're shunning this place then why are you here?"

Raising his hand to dispel Jabber's fears, Charlesly said, "I told you I would shun Joseph's shop with you. I won't come in here with you as long as I live. I swear it." He covered his heart solemnly.

"That doesn't make any sense. Who cares if you're with me or not, a shun is a shun."

"What are you, my dark magical overlord or something? I'm not your golem. You can't control what I do on my own time . . . With you, yes, absolutely, a shun is a shun, but when I'm on my own, I go wherever the hell I want."

Jabber shook his head with frustration and looked around. In the hazy candlelight of the shop, there were patrons seated in plush velvet booths, reclining on sofas with grins on their faces, or gazing at themselves in the gilded mirrors. His eyes fell on Ronda, wolfing down an outsized seraph wing, a look of mindless pleasure on her face.

"Oh my Missing God," Jabber said, gesturing towards her.

"What is it?" Charlesly asked.

"That's Eridian's friend. She's eating angel wings!"

"So?"

"So she doesn't give a damn about her little imp in there. I saw her the other day in the chapel on Nescience street, she was pouring holy water all over herself. It's like she's actively trying to kill her baby."

"I thought it was an imp?"

"Imps are babies."

"Are they though?" Charlesly scrunched his shoulders and face in a half question.

"You know what I mean."

"What I don't know is why the hell you're wearing that stupid helmet. It's embarrassing. I don't want to be seen talking with you in that."

At the mention of the helmet, Jabber smiled. "What? This? It's amazing. I put this on, and shazam! No more irritating ignoramuses bothering me."

"It's offensive is what it is. I hope you're not planning on wearing that to Potions Club tonight. You know what GOAT stands for don't you? "

Jabber waved Charlesly's objections away. "Bah! It's not as bad as you think. You want to try it on?" The magician removed the helmet and offered it to his friend.

"No, I don't want that!" Charlesly pushed the helmet away. "What's wrong with you?"

"Come on, try it!" Jabber attempted to wrestle it onto Charlesly's head, while his friend resisted with all his might.

At that moment Joseph came over. "Is this man bothering you?" he asked Charlesly.

"Yes," Charlesly replied as Jabber stepped away from him, "as a matter of fact he is."

"What?!" Jabber said.

Joseph looked him up and down, taking in the GOAT helmet he was holding. "You insult my shop and my wings–fine, I can handle that," Joseph said. "But I won't let you disturb my customers. Charlesly is a regular and I have too much respect for him and my other patrons to let people like you into my shop. So take your demonophobic helmet and get the hell out of here. You're shunned!"

"I'm shunned?!" Jabber raised his voice in shock. "No, no, no . . . you're entirely mistaken. You're shunned! You are! I'll never set foot in this goddamn place again."

"Good! Now get the hell out of my shop and don't come back. You bigoted retrograde."

Jabber placed his helmet on his head and straightened his back to his full height.

"I will leave, Joseph, you can be sure of that. But this isn't the end of our little feud. No one shuns Master Jabber! You hear?! No one!" the magician shouted, his face turning red.

All around, the patrons stared. One man in a monk's cowl gazed at the scene with his mouth open, bits of half-chewed wing sticking to his lips. A woman with fake demon horns sitting in a corner booth hissed. Ronda just shook her head.

Ignoring them all, the magician continued angrily, "I don't know how and I don't know when, but you mark my words carefully–I will have my revenge on you. I swear on the Holy Name of Our Missing God that I will destroy you and grind your little shop to dust. Maybe not today . . . maybe not tomorrow . . . but one day you will regret the disreputable manner in which you have treated me." Jabber opened the door to leave. "Happy Sabbatical, Joseph!"

"Happy Sabbatical, Master Jabber!" Joseph spat out in reply, his face a tight grimace.

"Oh indeed," Charlesly gave him a salutary wave, "Happy Sabbatical, my good man."

"Happy Sabbatical, Charlesly," Jabber responded in a friendly, slightly embarrassed, manner. He paused a moment before leaving. "Are we still on for Potions Club tonight? We're doing some aphrodisiacs I hear."

"Of course."

"Wonderful."

With that, Master Jabber and his GOAT helmet exited Joseph's shop for what he hoped was the last time of his life.