#bircjosta

Fourteen pairs of eyes settle on him instantaneously. Despite the fact that he’s never known such a thing, Angus imagines it’s to the effect of fourteen parents staring him down. He isn’t a huge fan of it. “What?” he says, and takes a nervous sip of his hot chocolate because there’s nothing else to fill the silence. “What is it?”

“Ango,” says Magnus, in the tone of voice he uses when one of the Hammer and Tails’ dogs has wandered off. “Tell me you’ve had a birthday party.”

“Even a weird kid like you’s gotta have at least one of ’em under his belt,” Merle interjects. “Right?”

The discomfort in Angus’s expression is reaching Kravitz levels of obvious. “Uh… no? I mean, I got presents from my grandpa when he could afford it, but most of the time we just—”

“Okay,” Taako interrupts. “This is ridiculous.”

He gets up from Kravitz’s lap, which looks a bit like a spider unfolding its tangled limbs, and sways precariously on his feet before he regains his balance. “You dipshits know what we gotta do now.”

Magnus is already perked up. “Oh, yeah.”

“Sorry,” says Angus, “what are we doing?”

Taako levels a finger at him. He’s actually pointing at something just over Angus’s shoulder, but the sentiment is there nonetheless.

“We’re givin’ you the fuckin’ birthday party of a lifetime,” he says. “And you’re—you’ll never see it coming.”

Angus does see it coming.

For one, he catches Magnus creeping toward the residential dome with a crate full of fireworks. To his credit, Magnus stays mostly poker-faced as he explains that he’s gathering explosives for one of Lup’s post-regenerative experiments. He’s so taciturn that Angus doesn’t have the heart to say anything about it.

For another, the Reclaimer suite’s availability evaporates into thin air. The Birds hem and haw and claim it’s an administrative decision, and Angus nods and politely agrees because he really is touched by the amount of effort that’s going into keeping him out of the loop. They even put up caution tape—RENOVATIONS IN PROGRESS! it says. He assumes it’s a clever means of explaining away the occasional drilling, grating, and scraping sounds he can make out behind the door.

They do the best they can to keep him away from it. Lup and Barry invite Angus to their lab for a day, which granted is a privilege Angus can’t bear to pass up, so he goes and learns an inordinate amount about something that is definitely not necromancy, especially if Kravitz asks. Davenport takes him sailing, and Angus learns how to steer a ship with confidence, even if he can’t quite keep up with the captain’s rapid fire nautical-speak. He leads his first seminar at Taako’s Amazing School of Magic. The students snicker until Angus politely but ruthlessly shoots down their proposals for new spells, and suddenly their young professor is deserving of significantly more respect.

He’s out on the lawn one day, practicing some spells of his own, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Angus jumps and almost loses his footing on the artificial grass, and the Director—Lucretia—winces and jerks back. “Sh—sorry,” she stammers. “I knew sneaking up on you was a bad idea, and… well, funny thing, I just did it anyway.”

She looks different, he thinks, especially now that he knows how young she used to be. The bags under her eyes are more pronounced—she’s been working day and night to kickstart the newly established Bureau of Benevolence and, Angus suspects, to avoid confrontation with the Birds. Even Magnus, who’s forgiven her unconditionally, seems a little touchy when Lucretia’s name is mentioned. Angus doesn’t blame her for wanting to stay away.

“Hello, ma’am!” he says, because he hasn’t quite figured out how he feels about Lucretia’s decision, but he knows she’s a good person, and there’s no reason why he can’t spare her some common courtesy. “Can I, uh… can I help you with something?”

Lucretia balks a little at that, and her hand tightens almost imperceptibly around her new staff. It’s considerably simpler than the Bulwark Staff; made out of smooth, elegantly polished red wood with a subtle gloss. The tiny outline of a duck sits at its base—a Burnsides Original. “Oh. Um—mind if I sit?”

Angus doesn’t. She lowers herself to the grass, and he sits cross-legged beside her and looks through the transparent dome overhead as she situates herself. The sky is pale and bright, starting to fade with the gradual advance of evening, and the shadows around them grow longer as the sun sinks toward the horizon.

It’s a lonely hour of the day, he thinks.

Lucretia looks over and smiles faintly. “You know about the birthday party, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” says Angus, truthfully.

Her shoulders slump as she breathes out a small sigh of relief. “Thank the gods. I realized as soon as I said it that if you didn’t know, I’d be spoiling the surprise, and… well.” She shakes her head. “I should have known, anyway. You’re too smart to be caught off guard like that.”

“Well, ma’am, I am the World’s Greatest Detective!”

“That you are.” Lucretia’s smile returns, softer; lacking the weariness he’s so accustomed to seeing. “Anyway, I, uh… I’m not going to be there, because—”

It isn’t polite to interrupt, but Angus wants to spare her the agony of explaining. “I know,” he says.

Something like gratitude shimmers briefly in Lucretia’s eyes before she continues. “I just wanted to give you this.”

She reaches into the folds of her robe and produces a parcel, neatly wrapped in holographic paper and topped with a tiny bow. Angus takes it, and she nods encouragingly at him. “Open it.”

He does. It’s a journal—the cover is a deep, vibrant blue inlaid with white thread, which glimmers subtly when he tips it from side to side. Angus thumbs over the creamy paper and cradles the cover in his palms, and as he does so, it falls open to the first page. There, in Lucretia’s delicate calligraphy, is a message.

For your observations.Happy birthday to the smartest, bravest young man I know.

Madam Director

He looks up at her, struck dumb. “This is…”

“It’s just a little something,” says Lucretia, who looks suddenly but unmistakably shy. “I saw that little notepad of yours and I just thought you could use something a little nice—”

She breaks off when Angus hugs her. His arms, he notices, can now fit comfortably around her midriff, and the ridges of tiny ribs poke into his chest.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he whispers.

He can feel her nod against him, and slowly, hesitantly, she returns the embrace. “Of course.”

Taako rouses him bright and early with a shower of sparks over his bed. “Up and at ’em, Agnes!” he says. “Early morning magic lesson! We’ve got work to do!”

Angus is still bleary-eyed when his mentor drags him from his dormitory on the Bureau. He stops to tap one shoe against the pavement, fitting it completely over his foot, and then he’s off again, struggling to keep pace with Taako’s long strides.

“Sir,” he says, around an inadvertent yawn. “Where are we going?”

“I just said it was a magic lesson. Keep up.”

“But,” says Angus, peering under the brim of Taako’s enormous hat, “we usually practice on the quad, and we just passed the quad.”

Taako thrusts a hand at him and practically bats his inquiry away. “Less questions, more—more walking, let’s go!”

And that’s how Angus knows.

They arrive at the Reclaimer suite not five minutes later, and sure enough, the caution tape is gone. “Just need to pick up some shit,” Taako mumbles, digging around for his keys. “Won’t take a minute, and then we’ll—we’ll be off to the races, yeah?”

Something shuffles behind the door, followed by a bit of muffled whispering. Taako looks a little bit like he wants to die, but credit where credit is due—he soldiers on, undaunted. “C’mon, kid.”

The key slides into the lock, the door swings open, and an explosion of light and sound nearly knocks Angus off his feet.

“Happy birthday, Angus!” several voices shout in unison, and then the roof explodes.

A flurry of fireworks swirl around them, and Lup’s scream of delight almost drowns out the chorus of popping and fizzing. “Look at that!” she yells. “Perfect execution! Boom! Hope you were filming that, babe, ’cuz that’s never happening again!”

Barry holds up a Lucas Miller official patented Fantasy Camcorder™. “Got it!”

Angus blinks the stars out of his eyes and looks around the room. Apart from Barry, Lup, and Taako, he spots Magnus, Davenport, Carey and Killian arm-in-arm, Ren, Avi, and Merle, with a suspiciously plant-shaped gift sitting next to him. The room is draped with fantasy fairy lights and streamers, but what catches Angus’s eye isn’t the decor, or the mountain of presents in the corner of the room. It’s a cake—mounted at the center of the room, taller than he is, with a fondant rendition of a very familiar-looking hat and magnifying glass at the top.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WORLD’S GREATEST DETECTIVE! it says.

“Oh, wow,” says Angus. “This is a complete surprise. I never expected—”

“We know you knew,” says Taako.

“Oh, thank gods.” Angus drops the facade of shock, but his smile stays put—it’s wider and brighter than the plane of magic itself.

“Thank you,” he says, and can’t quite swallow back the emotional break in his voice. “Thank you guys so much.”

“Anytime, little man,” says Lup. Her hair is slightly singed, but her grin is almost as large as his. “It was our pleasure.”

“Speaking of which,” says Merle. “It is your birthday, right?”

The room goes silent.

“Shit.”

“Fuck—”

“Watch your fucking language!”

“How could nobody check, how did we miss that—”