Unplottable

3 - Aisha

"Bad karma, my ass!" Aisha held the door of her apartment ajar, ready to slam it shut, but decided she had left something important unsaid. "Look here, honey, I give you two hours to completely vacate this place. If you are still here when I return, you'll be in trouble - and I mean really in trouble. Should you leave any of your belongings behind, you can look for them in the trash cans downstairs. Touch any of my stuff, and you're dead!"

This said, she slammed the door and stormed down the stairs of her run-down tenement house in East Side, New York, fighting the tears. Bad karma - the guy had nerves indeed. Who did he think he was? So he was good-looking and an actor (an unemployed actor, she corrected herself), so he had managed to trick her twice, in the same way: Just like the first time they had been a couple, he had lived off her meagre income, using her as his means of support while meeting other women. Aisha swore under her breath as she came to a halt on the landing between the second and the first floor. Damn the man - he had sworn it would be different this time, but it hadn't. Well-meaning friends had told her that he was two-timing again. When she had confronted him, he had told her that unfortunately, she was just too ugly and to unfeminine for him, and, what's more, that she was bad karma.

Aisha sat down on the stairs, ignoring the darkness and the less-than-enjoyable smell, trying to compose herself. Never again would she fall for a pretty face, she swore to herself. She dabbed at her eyes with a used Kleenex she found in the pocket of her leather jacket and tried to figure out what she would do in the two hours she had given her ex, fool that she was! She considered taking the subway to her band's practice room and spending the time playing away on her drum kit, thrashing out her frustration and rage. Too bad she had left her stick-bag and cymbal-bag upstairs. Should she go back up again and face her ex again? Should she go to the practice-room nevertheless, hope there were some old sticks lying around somewhere, try to make do without her cymbals? Nah, she decided and took her mobile out of her jacket's pocket.

The person to call in such a situation was your best friend, and Aisha's best friends were the other members of her band, the Magic Mushrooms. After considering matters briefly, Aisha opted for Varlerta, because she was a woman: She would offer Aisha a shoulder to cry on as well as the comfort derived from consuming things - probably she would order pizza, get out a bottle of wine, or similar. Later the two women might find a tacky black and white movie on some obscure TV channel or go out to a club to have some fun - possibly the best way to forget about two-timing actors.

So much for best friends: Varlerta did not answer the phone in her apartment in Brooklyn; Varlerta's mobile said: The person you have called is temporarily not available. With a sigh, Aisha tried Pat's and Roary's apartment, also in Brooklyn. All she got was their annoying answering machine on which the two musicians sang: "Hey, how're you doing- sorry you couldn't get through - why don't you leave your name - and...." Angrily, Aisha terminated the call. She did not want to leave a frigging message, she wanted to talk to her friends, now!

Two unsuccessful calls later, she knew she couldn't get hold of Pat or Roary on their mobiles either. Aisha gnawed her bottom lip. She wanted to get out of this building before her ex came down the stairs, carrying his things (and probably some of hers) and finding her crying on the stairs. Too ugly and too unfeminine - the words still rang in her ears. She wanted to be far, far away. Where could she go now?

Her family lived in Washington, D.C., and even if they had lived in the same cities, she would never have gone to them in such a situation. In their eyes, she was doomed to eternal damnation for being a rock drummer, for leaving her short-cropped hair uncovered and for living with men of her choice. If she complained to them that once more, her choice had been a bad one, they wouldn't exactly be sympathetic. Aisha contemplated calling some of her colleagues at the library where she had a part-time job, but decided against it. There were two or three friendly women among the staff, but all of them were married, dependable, ordinary. In their company, Aisha felt like a misfit. Well, where didn't she feel like a misfit? With her band, she decided, because the others were a bit weird, too, and did not seem to mind the way she was. Aisha rose and slowly walked down the stairs. She wanted to see her band members, and, damn it, she would see them! Most likely, they were having a quiet little beer in the Basilisk Bar right now, a wizard club in East Village. She wiped her face with her jacket sleeve and slammed the battered front door behind her.

Outside, dusk was falling, but it was not dark yet. The summer air smelled of rotting trash and of blooming flowers, of car exhausts and of Indian spices. Aisha walked to the subway station, only mildly uncomfortable with the fact that she was on her own. She might be ugly and unfeminine, but at least she did not look like a suitable target of an attack, she thought with slight bitterness. Everybody could see that she was far from rich, and if she gave people her evil stare, they usually left her alone, maybe sensing her Wen Do training and the butterfly knife in her pocket. Of course, the best way to ride the subway at night was to have Roary and Varlerta with her, she contemplated as she rode down the escalator. People didn't know them for a wizard and a witch, but somehow they smelled that the two of them were dangerous. Aisha smiled as she remembered an occasion on their last tour when some son-of-a-Crup, as her band mates said, had slapped Varlerta's butt in his audacity. The guitar player had only turned and looked the man in the eyes. "Last warning," she had said kindly. The man had left the club immediately.

Aisha sighed. She knew it was no use to wish for something she would never have. She did not even want to be a witch, really, considering the recent troubles of the magical world - it was just that every now and then, magical powers would have come in handy.

Glad to get a seat on the crowded Green Line, Aisha squeezed past a conspicuously self-assured hip hopper. The young man held his legs wide apart, giving his private parts a good airing, Aisha thought angrily. This left her with the choice of rubbing against him or keeping her legs on the side. She sighed and pressed against the wall. Varlerta would have taught the guy manners, she thought, using the wand hidden in her sleeve if necessary.

Unwilling to think either of the man she had left or the man who was taking up so much space beside her, she dreamed herself back to the short tour from which the Magic Mushrooms had just returned. They had played a couple of small 'normal' and wizard clubs all across the US. Pat had a seemingly inexhaustible fund of acquaintances in the local music business all over the country, most of them either his ex-band-members, his ex-lovers, or cousins or brothers of ex-lovers. Like Pat, they were all 'normal' people - Muggles, Varlerta and Roary would say, and the clubs they ran were 'Muggle' clubs. Roary on the other hand seemed to know virtually all American witches and wizards. The two of them had done the booking together, placing the Magic Mushrooms with local bands in local clubs to promote their most recent album. Financially, the tour had not been profitable, of course - without Varlerta's Ensouled Ford Anglia, which flew with amazing speed and on unbelievably little gasoline, it would hardly have been possible.

Money, or even success had not been the point of the tour. Most importantly, Aisha had thoroughly enjoyed it. On tour, with her band, she could be who she wanted to be - not an underpaid, ugly, culturally messed up little Muggle female, but a rock drummer who went on stage with the music and the people she loved most, who travelled in a flying car and met interesting new people every night.

After the obligatory opening gig at the Basilisk Bar in New York, the band had flown to Baltimore in Varlerta's Ensouled car. There they had played in a gay bar called Allegro, belonging, of course, to the lover (brother? cousin?) of one of Pat's numerous ex-lovers. Aisha had found the place friendly and easy-going; seeing posters which announced a drag show, she had asked Roary why they hadn't taken Lucullus' band on tour with them. Lucullus and the Death Eaters were the Mushrooms' competitors and sometimes their musician pals; within New York's witch and wizard community, they were simply the 'other' magical off-mainstream band. Aisha found Lucullus and the others a bit bizarre, not because of their scintillating trans-gender flair, but because their magical habits were rather unpredictable at times. The Allegro, however, looked like a place where Lucullus' band would have enjoyed themselves, she said to Roary. The radiantly handsome wizard singer of the Magic Mushrooms had only replied casually that he did not believe Lucullus and the Death Eaters would ever play for Muggles.

Next on the band's list were a nice non-wizard club called the Electric Banana in Pittsburgh, as well as the Grog Shop in Cleveland, Ohio - a cosy little club that was special because both 'normal' and a few magical people had come to see the band there. After that, they had played in the Clutch Cargo's in Detroit and a moderately bizarre, unplottable wizard bar in Minneapolis, which for some obscure reason was called the Oz. Aisha smiled to herself when she thought of the cute wizard DJ in the Oz; when the night was turning into early morning, he had even played some Rai and Arab pop on her request, scaring off most of the remaining customers.

Aisha enjoyed plain, music-oriented clubs like the industrial-looking Cog Factory in Omaha, Nebraska, where the audience was clearly 'Muggle,' clearly into alternative rock, undoubtedly there for the music. The Mushrooms had covered for a local Muggle band, all-male, all-normal, but consisting of four tolerably talented and experienced musicians, men who even held back on the sexist jokes when they saw that the band visiting from New York had a female guitar player and a female drummer. Emo's in Austin, Texas, fell into the same category: It was a place to play, to meet other musicians, to have a serious talk about drum hardware with perfect strangers, and to absolutely flatten Varlerta on the pinball machine. (With a smirk, Aisha thought that magical powers weren't the same as all-round talent after all.) The band had played on the smaller stage on a quiet Monday night, enjoying the warm night in the beer-garden afterwards.

These two belonged to the kind of club where you roughly knew what to expect when you went on stage: If you met the audience's taste, they would cheer politely and buy a good dozen CDs after the gig; if you didn't, well, you'd better keep smiling, keep playing, and have a couple of quiet beers afterwards. Of course, the Mushrooms had been booked in the other kind of club, too, the bizarre, bewildering places: Take the wizard club bar in Reno, Nevada, a place called the "Holy shn...", much to Varlerta's displeasure. This was one of these places where everything seemed possible, where Varlerta and Roary conspicuously kept an eye on 'their' Muggles, Pat and Aisha. They had told her to watch out for herself in magical company.

"You probably know there's a conflict going on between the supporters and the opponents of a wizard called Voldemort," Varlerta had said to Aisha during the tour. "I even believe you are aware of the fact that both Roary and I play somewhat prominent roles in that struggle. This is why I fear for your safety. Supporters of Voldemort may want to hurt me, or Roary, by kidnapping or threatening you or Pat. By all means, we have to prevent such a thing. That's why I ask you to never under any circumstances trust any witch or wizard you don't know. If we are in a wizard club, keep close to us so we can protect you."

Aisha did not like to be supervised, even by her best friends, so on the whole she preferred the 'Muggle' clubs to the more extravagant locations where witches and wizards came to see the Mushrooms. Being on tour, playing in a different venue each evening, was exciting in itself. As Drifter, the Ensouled flying Ford Anglia, made travel so much easier and cheaper, this time the band even made it to the East Coast. Aisha had always wanted to play in Seattle; seeing old Nirvana posters on the black-painted walls of the downtown club Graceland, she felt awed to go on stage there between two local bands. Then there had been another of these slightly scary clubs were Pat and she were surely the only 'Muggles' inside - the Witch On The Stake in Salem, Oregon. In San Francisco, they had played in a Scottish pub called Edinburgh Castle, a name which induced Varlerta to tell several lengthy and sentimental stories of her own school days and of the first time she had been to the venerable city of Edinburgh.

Aisha let the different venues appear in front of her inner eye, blocking out the dreary reality of the grimy and smelly subway. Their last gig had been in a former bowling alley transformed into a club, Mr. T's Bowl, situated in some obscure part of LA. (At least Aisha found it obscure, as she was anything but a local there.) This show had gone particularly well. The Mushrooms had gotten their groove back, almost as if Varlerta had never been away. Never mind that the guitar player would go back to Hogwarts in a week - Aisha did not want to think of that right now. She got off the subway, drifting out of the station with the crowd. Almost without thinking, she made her way through East Village, aiming for a small, badly lit side street.

The entrance of the Basilisk Bar was not marked by any sign or other means of announcement. Among witches and wizards, word got around, Aisha reckoned; Muggles who did not know about it were not among the location's target group of customers. She descended the crumbling concrete stair and opened the heavy, dented steel door that led into the underground club.

The door witch, glistening with glamour charms and expensive jewellery, gave her Muggle customer a curious look, but did not keep her from entering. More likely than not, she recognised Aisha. The Basilisk Bar was home turf for the Magic Mushrooms. In the good old days, before Varlerta had gone away to become a schoolteacher at Hogwarts, that weird place in Scotland, the band had played there approximately every other month. At first, Aisha had not felt comfortable there: For the crowd of the Basilisk Bar, magic was not only a casual habit, but also a means of proving they were more extravagant than the average witch or wizard on the street. Explosions, humans transforming into different species or various show gimmicks like gravity reversal spells were considered perfectly normal there. Some of the magical customers only had a weird sense of humour, Aisha had come to understand. Others, however, apparently held the belief that Muggles stupid enough to enter magical territory were legal prey for them. On Aisha's first gig in the Basilisk Bar, Roary and Varlerta had warned her never to accept food or drink there from anyone unless the two of them had proclaimed it safe.

Aisha shouldered through a curtain of small, jingling bones into the club's main area, a low, rectangular room containing a stage, a bar and a few tables which were unsuitable for holding even a drink if you did not know the right spell. At one of them, Aisha spotted Lucullus having a quiet drink on his / her own. Relieved that the floor for once was the floor, and that nobody was yet floating around, Aisha walked past the singer of unspecified gender, nodding a greeting. Lucullus gave her a warm smile and beckoned her closer.

"Aisha, my little Muggle drummer, how nice to see you here. What brings a girl like you to a dangerous place like this, and what's more, all by herself?"

Quickly, Aisha looked around for her band mates. They weren't sitting at the bar; maybe they had gone into one of the more private niches in the back of the room? She turned there to have a look, but her sight was obstructed by a temporary change-of-perspective-spell. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable. The Basilisk Bar was home turf, true, but she had never been here without the rest of the band.

"The others are back there, you know, Varlerta and Roary," she hurried to say, underlining her answer with a vague gestures towards the back of the room.

"Yes, I know, Varlerta and Roary," Lucullus replied; his / her gentle voice seemed to run down Aisha's spine like a bundle of feathers. "I also know that you are mistaken - they are not here."

Aisha swallowed, trying to ignore the goose bumps that had sprung up on her lower arms. "Oh, I'm sure they will come any minute - they said they would meet me here."

"No, they didn't," Lucullus replied, sounding velvety as ever.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Aisha saw two tall, leather-clad wizards block the bone-curtained exit. Suddenly she realised she might be in real danger. Fingering the butterfly knife in her pocket, a weapon that would be of no whatsoever use here, she tried to think of the quickest way to get out of the wizard club without further complications. She knew that some witches and wizards were mischievous, even vicious, but she had never considered them a threat: Many of them treated her with respect, because she was a musician, while others ignored her completely. Would they harm her now that she had come to the notorious Basilisk Bar on her own?

Aisha scanned the bar area for potential allies, but among the bar's customers, she could see none of her more friendly witch or wizard acquaintances. It would have been a comfort to spot, say, the drummer of Lucullus and the Death Eaters, a friendly and open-minded drag king witch: René(e) would surely not have approved of evil wizards hurting a fellow musician. Lucullus, on the other hand, was virtually unpredictable: If someone decided to harm Aisha, be it for fun or for politic reasons, maybe Lucullus would interfere. On the other hand, he / she might just as well pretend not to notice, or might join them - there was no way to tell ahead of time. Aisha backed up a step, craning her neck to see whether the wizards by the bone curtain had moved at all.

Now there were four of them, wands in their hands, faces set with determination, and they were closing in on her! Aisha could practically feel the outpour of adrenaline in her body. Desperately she looked around for help. Why had she never realised that she had so few friends among the regulars of the wizard bar? Lucullus sipped his / her corrosive-looking drink, winking at her. Close to panic, Aisha backed off in direction of the bar. When she bumped into someone, she almost screamed out loud. The wizard turned; his eyes widened when he looked at her.

Aisha could have cried with relief: The wizard looked familiar! She certainly remembered his friendly, slightly lined face which was framed by greying hair. Before she could remember her manners, she had gripped his arm. Trying not to voice her fear aloud, she said, almost shouted:

"Mr. Lupin!! It's - it's so nice to see you here!"

The wizard stared at her; then he wrenched his arm from her grip. With a little smile that was anything but friendly, he asked coldly:

"Am I supposed to know you, Muggle?"

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