Chapter seven of Magician’s Misfortune

"Harry, one look at you is enough to drive a girl mad!"

“Harry, one look at you is enough to drive a girl mad!”

The demon has defeated the first group of magicians sent up against it. So the Office of Occult Affairs sends in a new team to support the old one. For Harry Eberhardt, one of the magicians, work isn’t just an opportunity to slay demons. Nope, it’s also a chance to score with women, colleagues not excepted. As Harry will tell you, “I drive women mad” in chapter 7 of Magician’s Misfortune, and so he does!

Magician’s Misfortune is my weekly serialized story about Harry Eberhardt, expert demon slayer working for the Federal Government, a true ladies’ man (at least in his own mind), and the assignment that takes him to Farnham. If you’ve not been following the story, you can start here at the beginning. And a new chapter goes up every Friday morning.

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Chapter six of Magician’s Misfortune

Amelia may be the descendant of Marie Laveau, but sometimes that's just not good enough

Amelia may be the descendant of Marie Laveau, but sometimes that’s just not good enough

Harry Eberhardt’s boss, magician Amelia Laveau, has just had her skull bashed in by a lamp wielded by a demon-possessed murderer. And she’s one of the best demon killers in the country. Harry’s seductive visions of success are about to suffer a severe blow. It appears that the Office of Occult Affairs is going to have to put out a sign reading “Needed: better magicians,” in chapter 6 of Magician’s Misfortune, my weekly serial about the nation’s magicians confronting a serial killer demon.

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Chapter five of Magician’s Misfortune

Scotch whiskey, used by the finer necromancers. Doc Helen. Sanderson's landlord, usually keeps about twice as many bottles as this around, not to mention her stock of bourbon

Scotch whiskey, used by necromancers with discriminating tastes. Doc Helen. Sanderson’s landlord, usually keeps about twice as many bottles as this around, not to mention her stock of bourbon

There’s a demonic serial killer loose who’s tortured and slaughtered a prostitute in Farnham. Harry Eberhardt is a demon slayer. This is just his kind of job. And that Amelia Laveau will be working with him makes it all the sweeter; Amelia’s a pro, and one of the few other magicians in the Office of Occult Affairs Harry admires. But this story isn’t called Magician’s Misfortune for nothing! Harry’s going to be dealing with “Working conditions” in chapter 5 he doesn’t want and doesn’t like, including colleagues and outsiders. And somehow matters come to a head with a lamp!

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Chapter 4 of Magician’s Misfortune

Harry's in for s surprise, but not the one he's figuring on.

Harry’s in for another surprise or two, but not the one he was figuring on.

Harry Eberhardt’s plan in going to Farnham’s only strip club was to conduct his investigation of the demonic murder of a prostitute while trying to seduce his colleague Eurydice “Deecee” Young. He didn’t know Deecee was a lesbian. And that’s not all that Harry doesn’t know. Clothing isn’t the only thing that’s going to be stripped down to “The bare essentials” in chapter 4 of Magician’s Misfortune, my ongoing serialized story that appears every Friday. If you’ve not been following the story, you can start at the beginning.

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Chapter 3 of Magician’s Misfortune

Harry contemplating his next seduction

Harry contemplating his next seduction

Harry Eberhardt: professional magician, government agent, and God’s gift to women. For Harry, even a murder investigation is an opportunity to score, not that he’s into corpses, mind you. Or the truculent female bartender and amateur magician “Nightfeather” Sanderson, who combines the prime drawback of not being all that pretty with the major character failing of not appreciating Harry’s charm. Still, as Harry would tell you, “There’s nothing like a girl,” and in chapter 3 of Magician’s Misfortune he sets his sights on a fellow professional magician who’s joining the investigation, a woman who appears to be available and vulnerable. But will Harry have any better luck with her than the murderous demon?

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Chapter two of Magician’s Misfortune

Harry likes to think of himself this way . . . well, without the mustache. ("Young Man Drinking a Glass of Wine" by Jan van Bijlert (1597-1671))

Harry likes to think of himself this way . . . well, without the mustache.
(“Young Man Drinking a Glass of Wine” by Jan van Bijlert (1597-1671))

So Harry Eberhardt has a case, a demon traveling the Interstates and killing people. It could be his ticket out of his government agency’s “Siberia.” “I’ll drink to that,” says Harry in chapter 2 of Magician’s Misfortune. That is, if he can get the sullen bartender to serve him a drink. Watch out, Harry, you may have more reasons to drink than you think!

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Starting a new story: Magician’s Misfortune

Meet Harry Everhardt. Harry is in his thirties, divorced, and works for the Federal Government. Harry’s unhappy with his job and in his off-hours has bad luck pursuing women. He has bad luck pursuing women on the job, too, which he does even though he’s not supposed to. When he’s actually working on the job, Harry is a magician. Nope, we’re not talking stage magic. Harry can read your mind, slay demons, and on one memorable occasion walked on water. Surprisingly, being a magician, especially a government magician, does not guarantee happiness.

Why not? Well, let’s follow Harry as he takes on a case. Turn to chapter 1 of Magician’s Misfortune, entitled “Welcome to my crappy world,” and join him on his latest magical adventure. You’ll be glad you did, even if Harry isn’t!

As with previous long stories, Magician’s Misfortune will run weekly, with a new chapter published every Friday morning.

In the story from the Decameron, a man uses magic to win the love of a married woman, but ultimately renounces it. I'm sorry to say Harry Eberhardt would not be so honorable. ("The Enchanted Garden of Messer Ansaldo" (1889) by the bewitching Maria Spartali Spillman (1844-1927))

In the story from the Decameron, a man uses magic to win the love of a married woman, but ultimately renounces it. I’m sorry to say Harry Eberhardt would not be so honorable.
(“The Enchanted Garden of Messer Ansaldo” (1889) by the bewitching Maria Spartali Stillman (1844-1927))

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Not quite the start of another story

Not where I am. (NGC 6503, photo taken by Hubble Telescope)

Not where I am.
(NGC 6503, photo taken by Hubble Telescope)

A long time ago (July 31) in a place far, far away (my home, which is not where I am at the moment), an author (me) laid down his pen (interpret this figuratively, unless you want to imagine me marking up my laptop screen) at the end of a story (Summer of the Netherfield Witch) and declared he needed a break (because writing is so debilitating, as opposed, say, to working in a coal mine). He left you all with a vague promise (you know, the type you can actually get out of) to put the blog back on schedule in September (because my sanity waxes and wanes with the moon), most likely with another of his serialized stories (because I like taunting you all with the “continued next week” announcements).

The wild haggis and how it is prepared as food (Photo credit: Wikipedia/Emoscopes)

The wild haggis and how it is prepared as food
(Photo credit: Wikipedia/Emoscopes)

Well, it’s September. Honest. If you haven’t noticed, take my word for it. And I am coming off a very trying month. No, it wasn’t the haggis I ate with E.J. on her birthday, though I understand why some of you might think so. And my acquaintance with the skunks and porcupines I’ve been seeing on the roads lately has stayed at the level of nodding acquaintances. No, I’ve been experiencing the world of care for the elderly in the United States. (Not me, personally, you understand; I remain eternally youthful; why, some would even say childish.) Best advice, folks: don’t get old. Admittedly the alternatives are grim, unless you so enjoy visiting cemeteries that you want to make a permanent career of it. But hold off getting old until our health insurance system for the elderly is changed from its 1960s model when Medicare was passed to something reflecting the realities of today. You might have to hold off for several years. Check out cryogenics, or at least practice holding your breath.

One summer vacation the author imagined he was talking to Merlin, though what he really wanted was to meet Merlin's hot date ("Merlin and Vivien" (1916) by W. Otway Cannell (1883-1969))

One summer vacation the author imagined he was talking to Merlin, though what he really wanted was to meet Merlin’s hot date
(“Merlin and Vivien” (1916) by W. Otway Cannell (1883-1969))

All of which is a long excuse as to why you won’t see a story starting today. (Also to occupy your time about as much as my stories do.) I’m hoping next week will see the start of one. I’ve got a pretty strong “in” with the author, and he’s nodding at me right now, saying “Next week.” (He does talk to himself. Also to other people. Also to imaginary people.) Honest. Take my word for it.

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Inspiration in a letter from the past

Just today I stumbled across a letter I had long forgotten, a letter I wrote my parents on their 39th wedding anniversary. That was over 23 years ago. They saved it.♥

There was one passage that explains a lot about why I write stories. I thought I’d share it with you.

Weekends were the best times with Dad. We’d go for a walk or a trip. Maybe Dad would have some wondrous story to tell about old days in Groton, or maybe he’d just explain what kinds of trees and plants we passed by. The hills and trees, the rails and roads, the past and the present of New England came to us those days. For me. the love of the countryside and history took root, and they’ve never left me. Even today, a walk or ride through the New England countryside invigorates me.

It’s still true today.Picture 001

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My fall from grace: getting a smart phone

Unlike early mainframes, mobile phone-computers do not come with women to do your clerical duties for you

Unlike early mainframes, mobile phone-computers do not come with women to do your clerical duties for you

My younger readers are laughing their heads off, while my older ones are nodding sagely, or perhaps ruefully. Smart phones are no longer cutting edge; they are the norm. But let’s be clear: a smart phone is not a phone. It is a mobile computer with a small screen that also serves as a phone.

Every generation seems to adopt one technology as its own, and eventually tries to avoid adopting any newer technology. In my lifetime, the VCR was the first notable technology that everyone quickly adopted, but some older people could never seem to master. The standing joke was the VCR with the flashing “12:00 AM” because the owner couldn’t figure out how to reset the clock. That was enough to baffle my father. It took the Internet, which I was using before it formally existed, to confound my mother.

When this si the nearest thing you can find to a pay phone, you're in trouble.

When this is the nearest thing you can find to a pay phone, you’re in trouble.

Me, I was technologically savvy, but I took my time getting around to acquiring a mobile phone. The reason was simple: I was a grad student, pinching my pennies. But pay phones became scarcer and scarcer. Eventually, my lack of a mobile phone led to a fiasco when trying to meet up with family members along an Interstate. My mother, who was one of the victims of that mess, bought me a mobile phone not long after.

Your old-fashioned flip phone was a nice, simple device. It made phone calls and saved phone numbers. Oh, it also could take pictures and be used as a alarm clock, but those were minor features. And by the time I received one, they were cheap. Which was just as well, because I destroyed mine about every two years. Phone #1 slipped out of my shirt pocket into a snow bank, and wasn’t found for four months. It was ruined. I left phone #2 in my pants pocket when I put it in the washing machine. When I opened the washing machine, I was greeted by a loud buzzing noise. That phone was ruined. Phone #3 met a similar fate, although it still worked afterwards, except for the sound . . . which meant it was no longer useful as a phone. Phone #4, in contrast, died on its own, possibly due to a failure in the “on” button. They were all “stupid” phone, because stupid phones were cheap, although phone #4 qualified as “semi-smart,” as it could handle simple sites on the Web.

Obsolete way to keep track of your phone numbers (Credit: Wikipedia/Cgord)

Obsolete way to keep track of your phone numbers
(Credit: Wikipedia/Cgord)

Well, phone #4 failed Friday. I went onto my carrier’s web site to find a replacement phone. Lo and behold, 9 out of 13 phones were Android phones, several of them no more expensive than the first stupid phone I had bought years ago. Now, I had avoided smart phones because they were expensive, but also because I didn’t want a lot of crucial information on a device I might easily lose. Intelligent, eh? Except for the fact that many of the phone numbers on #4 were only on that phone, and I’ve probably lost them. I was already storing critical information on my mobile phone; I just hadn’t thought of it that way. Once I accepted that, it made sense to get a smart phone.

Thought to be an early prototype of the smart phone

Thought to be an early prototype of the smart phone

My new phone arrived today. It comes from the same manufacturer as phone #4, and doesn’t look all that much bigger or different. Smart phones are no longer bricks. But it is a computer, even before it is a phone, and it did its best to force me to recognize this. It wanted my e-mail addresses, my Google accounts, my phone number (which it obviously has), and anything else it needs to make my phone an even more portable version of my laptop. Setting it up as a phone took 10 minutes once the carrier switched over the number. Setting it up as a computer has taken a few hours, since I’ve had to look up a bunch of rarely used passwords and have generated a whole slew of PINs for various apps.

In that time, I’ve already begun to appreciate how convenient a smart phone really can be. (Yes, I’ve gone over to the Dark Side. Not entirely, though.) I could run a fair amount of my life off that thing, between using it as a phone and a very portable Web access tool, let alone the other standard functions such as the camera. I’m sure the annoyances will come in their time, too.

Me. At least in my imagination.

Me.
At least in my imagination.

But there’s one big difference between the way I’ll use my smart phone and the way many younger people do. I won’t actually live on it. I won’t be checking it constantly during dinner, or constantly playing games or listening to music on it when I’m idle. Part of that is generational: I grew up when such things weren’t possible, so I don’t think in such terms. But part of that is genuinely who I am. I like to focus on the people in front of me when I’m with them. I don’t have a job that’s so important that I have to stay in touch around the clock, nor friends that expect me to, either. And I like to use my spare time reading, thinking, or writing.

Who knows? With the smart phone handy, my habits may change. My first mobile phone was supposed to be “for emergencies only.” Fah! That didn’t last long. It’s just too convenient to be able to phone from almost any location, or get phone calls the same way. So maybe I’ll be the next person you see on the subway, earphones on, phone in lap or pocket, oblivious to my surroundings. Feel free to stare — I won’t notice you at all!

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