Witchmas

What's my Name Again?

Did you ever wonder why most pictures of Merlin and Gandalf and a hundred other "wizards" they all have long white hair and long stringy beards and great flowing robes? Because someone many years ago described a wizard like that, and it got passed down in the oral tradition, and then a priest wrote it down in his spare time in an effort to capture history and that made it so. Once something has been made so, it has to be so.

What I mean by that is once it was written down, that's how people began to believe in what a wizard was supposed to look like.

A smart magic user knows Faith and belief are the two most powerful weapons to enhance magic and make it possible, so they began to appear to expectation.

Get my drift?

A long time ago, wizards wore robes and beards and long ponytails, and when people started to think that's what all wizards looked like, we didn't have a choice. We had to tap into that belief so we could use the magic.

It's a self perpetuating myth and only the most powerful magical minds can break away from it.

Thank God for all the modern interpretations of what a magic user can look like, because honestly, a Marshal would have a tough time pulling off a robe. It seriously eats into our street cred.

Now a wizard can pretty much look any way he or she likes, but most go for simplicity. Wiccan's end up looking like hippies because it helps them tie into their earth magic. Dark Artists go Goth and Metal because that's where they believe their power comes from, and you get the gist of it.

Are there some folks still going around dressed in robes with long flowing white hair?

Absolutely.

I think after a couple of centuries of being alive I'm going to get pretty damn sick of shaving and there grows the beard.

Until then, I'm sticking with jeans. Faded comfortable soft jeans.

Leather jacket, bomber style. It covers up the shoulder holster really well. I tend to wear an oxford over a tee shirt. First because if I'm required to don a tie, I don't have to look too far and second because I think there's a certain gravitas that goes with the office, and since I'm not the best wizard out there, I want to at least look the part. Or part of the part as the case may be.

Yes, I'm well aware that the Marshal of Magic is supposed to be the best of the Battle Mages, but I'm just lucky, sometimes. Besides, when the Judge offers you the position, it's just not smart to say no.

I said I wasn't the best Wizard, I didn't say I was stupid.

And my tee shirt is made of a Kevlar blend. Combined with my warded leather bomber, plus pre-cog, I'm lucky enough to be bulletproof ninety nine percent of the time.

I stripped outside my truck and put on my Kevlar. Demon's don't respond to bullets except to get pissed off, but Kevlar can stop claws too.

Sometimes.

I chucked the book bag with the grimoire in it in the passenger seat and fired up the engine.

Find a demon. Stop a demon. Stow the book of magic to stop some crazy witches.

Anyone who ever said simple ain't always easy was one hundred percent correct.

I needed an Informer.

Elvis Rodriquez was the son of immigrants who set up a small shop in a neighborhood that surrounded MSU. His father was a professor of archeology in Mexico specializing in Mayan culture, and his mother was the proprietor of a small corner bodega specializing in jamon y queso blanco sandwiches. Her secret was pickles she grew and canned herself, and a spicy mayo that had taste and a hint of heat.