Mrs. President,

To help you understand the phenomenon that has occurred in Laconia, I enclose this account of the movement sweeping the country, the one that began in my hometown, what the press is now calling The Fantasy Coup. Most have come to accept that sentient nonhumans are real, but few comprehend the heavy issues involved, not only with the unmasking of the Elves, but the emergence of the demons, vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, shamans, nymphs, and dryads, grouped under the lump term “Magics”.

This will also illuminate the workings of the Official Magics-Humans Institute, the OMHI, for three decades now the only branch of the government working with us. Make no mistake: war could break out on a scale unrivaled by any one before it.

This is not a threat. I have spent my life promoting human welfare. I am human most of the time. Perhaps you remember a smaller outbreak in Laconia nine years ago, with tales of a vigilante rumored to transform into a wolf. That was I. I did not vanish from the public eye because I was a hoax. I married, and had a family. From one mother to another, please read this book. I was there from the beginning, and many of the key players were my friends.

There is a spell upon this book so that you will definitely see it, and no one else will until you tell them to read it. I realize the danger of relying on the president’s discretion, but right now, trust is necessary.

I will be referring to myself in third person, because the information here encompasses more than what I observed at the time. I have spent the past year compiling interviews in order to send this to you.

Thank you,

DAS

Bishop Steward of the Laconia Ward, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, knew very little about the member he was about to interview. There were rumors that he had some sort of illness, but there were no symptoms other than his being pale and withdrawn. He was a convert, and always sat in church with the Jangoral family, who had plenty of rumors surrounding them, as well.

Glancing at the file, he saw that this member had a deceased wife, a daughter, and a young son. The bishop wondered why he hadn’t seen them. There was something about the young man, too – a darkness; an air of gloom that the Sunday School class he taught remarked on.

Realizing that too long a pause would make the man nervous, Bishop Steward smiled and shook his hand as he sat down. “Brother Anghel, I’ve looked forward to having this talk.”

“Thank you,” Ferdinand Anghel mumbled. His white shirt was almost darker than his skin, bleak against jet-black hair, and he had cut himself shaving. He fumbled with the envelope in his hand.

Bishop Steward tried to make eye contact with Ferdinand’s blue eyes, but Ferdinand evaded them. “How is your family?”

“Doing well.”

“Your home teachers say you aren’t letting them into your house.”

“There are reasons for that.” Some said Brother Anghel never smiled with an open mouth, and so far, that seemed to be true.

“You have a son?” There was listed here a Rivki Anghel, who should be nine years old.

“He is adopted.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen him at church. We’d love to have him, and I’m sure the Valiant Primary class would be thrilled to have another student.” They were in great contrast: the Bishop’s bright tone with Ferdinand’s soft quiet.

“Rivk is, um, disabled.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What is wrong?”

Ferdinand sighed, leaning back in the chair, clutching the envelope like a proof of existence. “It is a very rare condition, and I won’t bore you with the details, but it essentially takes him years longer to develop than it does ordinary children. He has the body and aptitude of a three-year-old.”

“How wonderful of you to care for a child with such difficulties. This is a very caring environment, and I think –“

Cutting him off, Ferdinand spoke with unusual rapidity. “Please, no. Again, there are reasons that I cannot bring Rivki.”

“What about your daughter?”

“She is not interested in the Church.”

“Whom does she stay with while you’re here, then?”

With a groan, Ferdinand finally did look into the Bishop’s eyes. “She is married. Yes, I know I look like I’m no older than twenty-five. I appreciate your concern, but can we just establish that I have a full and honest tithing check in this envelope, along with a generous fast offering, and I am chaste, do not drink alcohol or caffeine, do not smoke, avoid all illegal drugs, take the Sacrament every week, and keep the Ten Commandments? I am doing fine, and the problems that are in my life are things you cannot alter. Will you please accept my tithing?”

“Brother Anghel, I am your friend. There is no need to be alarmed at my inquiries.” Bishop Steward took the envelope and looked at the check. If this was ten percent of his income, this was a man of genteel poverty indeed, clinging by his fingernails to the lower middle class. Didn’t someone say he was a novelist?

“If you knew why I am defensive, you would know why you couldn’t know. Open this box with the wrench you will find inside. It’s the age-old paradox, you see.”

“Could you give me a hint?” the bishop asked, trying to sound jocular.

Ferdinand appeared to say a quick prayer. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Will you promise not to hurt me in any way?”

“Why would I want to hurt you? You haven’t done anything illegal, have you?”

“No. This is in the strictest confidence.”

“I am the person the worst offenders in the congregation come to, and I help them repent. Nothing you can do will shock me.”

Ferdinand showed the bishop his teeth.

“Oh,” said the bishop, after a pause of incredulity. “I may understand now. And you still joined the Church?”

“Sister Calvin told me Christ accepted all.”

“That is true, though that’s an extension I never thought of. Are there a lot of people like you?” He felt a grim fascination with the idea.

“In this town, very many. I don’t know about anywhere else. Rivki was born like this.”

“Oh. Will he ever die?”

“Eventually, but I may be the only person who stays with him most of his life.”

“Oh.”

After Ferdinand had left, the bishop looked at the window glass, where Ferdinand had no reflection. Again, he said, “Oh.”

When Ferdinand left the office, he came across the Jangorals sitting on the couch in the hall. They had been waiting for him, since they carpooled their drives to and from church. Taylor Jangoral wrote in her journal while her two girls, Amaranth and Opal, listened to their father telling a story.

“And then the dragon started brushing his teeth, and he never had a cavity again,” concluded Derrick. “Hi, Ferdinand. Are you ready?” At the nudging of the church authorities, Derrick had trimmed his black hair to a more conventional length, but his dark skin and slightly unsettling modes of speech set him apart from most other members.

Amaranth gave Ferdinand a stick figure drawing of a family. “See, I drew Mom, Dad, Opal, me, you, Aunt Dianne, Uncle Matthew, and Sandi.” She had added fangs to Ferdinand and wolf ears to Dianne and Sandi.

Ferdinand smiled, ruffling her hair. “Thank you. What did your teacher say?”

“She says I’m very imaginative. I told her that it was a symbol.”

Taylor gathered her things together. “Opal, where’s your scrunchie?”

Opal fished it out of the pocket of her purple velour dress. “I wanted to have loose hair. Can we play with the snakes when we get home?”

“Sunday isn’t time for the shop. It’s family time,” Derrick said. Derrick and Taylor jointly owned Junglelaughter’s Pet Pavilion, a store that operated more by sympathetic magic than economic factors.

Ferdinand followed the Jangorals out of the modest, brick, rectangular church building. He wondered if all their children might become bizarre under the upbringing of himself, the Spirallis, the Jangorals, and the Fletchers, but, then, how could they avoid it?

It was a fifteen-minute drive to Pleasant View Apartments, owned by the Official Magics-Humans Institute. To the outside world, it was a community for the high functioning mentally ill. PVA’s actual purpose was a haven of tolerance and help for people who were Magics or wanted to live among them.

After saying goodbye to the Jangorals, Ferdinand unlocked his daughter’s door. He had sold their old home after his former housemate left, leaving him and Rivki alone. His apartment was next to hers. Poking his head in, he announced, “Dianne? Matthew? Sandi? I’m back from church. Is Rivki still asleep?”

Dianne, short black hair awhirl, appeared from the kitchen. Though in her thirties and showing it, she was still slim and athletic. “Good to see you, Dad. We took Sandi to the park and she caught a rabbit. She and I had it for lunch.” Dianne’s ever-patient and unruffled husband usually ate prepared meals from Trader Joe’s.

“How nice. Is Rivki still asleep?” Ferdinand came in. The Spirallis kept no dogs, but their living room was strewn with chew toys and hair-covered cushions.

“He woke up a few minutes ago. He’s playing Candy Land with Sandi and Matthew in Sandi’s room. We got him to stop biting when he lost.”

“How did you do that?” Ferdinand had managed a fair amount of education with Rivki, and he no longer bit in any vital place, but his instinct to chomp his rivals’ fingers had seemed incorrigible.

Dianne grinned. “Sandi bit him back. She’s quite the prodigy in both her forms.” At the age of eight, Sandi had been promoted to sixth grade, had the highest scores in the class, and frequently used words of five syllables.

She also was extremely unpopular, and had very little idea why.

“And you’re so very modest about it,” Ferdinand teased. He was proud of his granddaughter too.

Sandi was ahead of everyone else on the board. She felt insulted to be forced to play a baby’s game, but she made it more interesting by giving her father detailed descriptions of the quest her piece was on. “In the Licorice Wood, my piece was confronted by a gargantuan, monstrous, non-Euclidean abomination, made entirely out of gum. He tried to hit it, but it stuck to him like Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby. Finally, he bit it and chewed it into a giant bubble, which popped.” She tossed her dirty-blonde hair and moved five spaces forward. “It took weeks to clean the residue off, but he was triumphant.”

“Bit! Bit!” echoed Rivki, jumping up and down. In his enthusiasm he knocked his sunglasses off, then screamed. “Light. Light. Light.”

Matthew put them back on him. “Sometimes I think we should make you wear goggles again. Sandi, have you been reading HP Lovecraft again? I told you not to. You get nightmares and chew your pillow up.”

Sandi bowed her head in apology. “Sorry, Dad. But last night I wasn’t dreaming about Cthulhu.”

“What was it, then?”

“I wanna go!” Rivki shouted. Then the door opened, and he cried, “Daddy!”

Ferdinand swept up Rivki and hung him upside down. “Were you good? Have you had your breakfast? Did you sleep well?”

Rivki giggled, delight on his Middle-Eastern looking face. Though he was anemically pale, it was still plausible that his mother had come from Afghanistan. “I ate cow blood. It was an old mommy cow, and it tasted like it ate other cows.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Sandi pointed out.

Ferdinand flipped Rivki back upright and kissed him on the top of the head. “Daddy got another publishing deal. Isn’t that exciting?”

“So we’re watching a movie?” Rivki asked as he was placed back on the ground. That was the celebration of choice.

“Yes. What do you want to see tonight?”

“The Incredibles.” Hand in hand, they left the Spiralli’s apartment after saying goodbye.

“Grandpa, Mom, and I are very macabre, aren’t we, Dad? So are Opal and Amaranth. Does this mean I win?” Sandi rolled over and stared up at her dad upside down.

Matthew sighed. “Well, I’m the only ordinary person in your life, so I suppose you could say that. What was your nightmare about?”

“It was based on reality. A bunch of kids said I was ugly.” She waited for the denial.

“I wouldn’t say that you’re ugly, honey –“

“But you would say that I shouldn’t run for Miss America?”

“I’m not that mean. I don’t think anyone is.” As he spoke, he knew what a lie that was, and scratched his light-colored head in distress.

“Lots of people are that mean. I know I am. I told a boy that he looked like an escaped mental patient.”

“Sandi!” With a sigh and an adjustment of the glasses, he asked, “What did he do?”

He had looked like an escaped mental patient, Sandi thought. He had worn loose blue pajamas to school, and it resembled a hospital uniform. He couldn’t have been a physical patient, because he looked healthy, so he really did look like an escaped mental patient. She hadn’t meant it as an insult. She liked it when people were honest to her, and said what they really felt. “He said I was the ugliest nerd he’d ever seen, and then he pushed me to the ground. I don’t mind if people say I’m ugly, but I’d like if they told me specifically what was wrong. Nobody’s articulate enough.”

“Have you considered toning it down? Being less blunt and obviously intelligent?” Matthew asked. He had survived being a straight-A violinist in high school by discretion, which, for all her IQ, Sandi lacked.

Still lying on her back, Sandi turned into a juvenile wolf, black-gray with her ears pressed back. It was her way of saying, “That’s out of the question.”