I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.
- 'White Room', Cream -

Ars Magna #1
"Disarm"
by Matthew Cavazos

Her surroundings utterly humbled her senses.

She found herself standing amidst a darkness equal only to that of the vastness of space, if only it were devoid of the hauntingly beautiful lights of far distant stars.

The entire experience was more than unnerving and an odd mixture of claustrophobia and nausea overcame her as she violently doubled over and retched up her meager dinner. Her body continued to spasm uncontrollably until her stomach was completely emptied onto the unseen floor beneath her.

Goosebumps covered her entire body as waves of cold racked her flesh and yet she was soaked in her own sweat as some dangerously high fever raged within her skull and slowly cooked thousands of brain cells.

Sheila awoke after untold hours of unconsciousness and found herself smack dab in the midst of a bustling drinking establishment.

"Where...", she started to speak but passed out as a curled hand entered her field of vision and snapped its digits.

"Wake up."

She raised her drooping head from the tabletop and opened her eyes only to be assaulted by 40 watts of soft glowing torment. Squinting and letting out a strained groan seemed like her only logical recourse.

"C'mon, its not that bad", the voice across from her offered.

Sheila fidgeted in response and was quite surprised to find herself in a sitting, albeit in a slumped manner.

"You'll get used to it, eventually", the voice sounded so melodic, reassuring, and almost hypnotic.

"Trust me."

She could do nothing more than give a soft nod in return.

"Sorry I snapped you into sleep but I wasn't ready to get all Obi-Wan on you yet. Besides, I always think a lot better when I unsober myself into oblivion".

He paused for a second, thinking as he eased a silent burp that flooded her nostrils with the stringent taint of alcohol.

"So Sheila, where should I start? Maybe I'll just hit you with the info head on and make it quick seeing as how you're still a bit mindfucked from your first 'transition', alright?"

Her head, still bowed a bit, gave another groggy nod.

"That's a good girl. So back to the task at hand. So my name is Jo-- Magenta. Yeah, Magenta the Magician."

The name stroke a chord within her and suddenly the fogginess that plagued her since her awakening lifted. Hundreds of different thoughts flooded into her inner recesses and her body visibly shuddered from the influx of foreign information.

"What... what the-- the hell was all that?", she asked the young man that sat across her.

His dark eyes searched into hers and he nodded reassuredly, apparently pleased with himself.

"This is all just your mind putting something immaterial and devoid of actual physical existence into somethin you can understand. Right now you're mind is perceiving a pub and its telling all your body's sensors that you're sitting against a cold bench under a warm lamp smelling alcohol on my breath."

The thirteen year old's face contorted in disbelief.

"Well what this place truly 'is' is beyond human comprehension. Think of it as an archive of sorts that stores almost every intelligent human thought conceived by humanity since the dawn of man. This archive is commonly referred to as 'The Collective Unconscious'."

"Christ! Think of it in terms of -- of..."

"Fuck me, I don't know."

He thought again as his soft hands rubbed the uneven stubble that covered his chin.

"In terms of what, Magenta?", she tried using the name he gave her and it came out sounding childish, blood rushed to her ears reddening them in embarrassment.

"Have you ever taken a test where you didn't know the answer to a question and for some reason the answer just comes to you out of the clear blue? Well its like that only most people can only access it through their subconscious."

"Is it like 'The Matrix' or something?"

His face slipped from a look of deep thought to a dead stare.

She slid back in her seat slowly and lowered her eyes to the tabletop.

"I'm -- sorry."

"No, no its my -- I blame myself for trying to layer all this bullshit on you all at once. Let me try this again..."

"Well fuck me sideways Mr. Rule, but I do think she looks rather darling lying there in her little PJs" said The Snipe as she nudged her prim and proper companion in the ribs.

"Actually she'd look a lot more darling if she didn't have that encrusted blood coming out her nose like that, ew."

Rule cast a rather scornful glance at Snipe before he replaced the umbrella that lay by Sheila's side with an almost identical one, the only difference was the way the metal tip of the black umbrella gleamed in the darkness of the walk in closet where the girl slumbered.

"Speaking of fucking sidewa--"

British Rule held a single immaculately white gloved finger to his lips silencing the inane prattle of his female cohort. He turned back to Sheila and tipped his hat, bidding her silent adieu, then ushering The Snipe further into the closet and being engulfed in the welcoming abyss of the shadows.

"Magic is in everything. I shit you not. Magic has everything to do with the mind thats why they say knowing is half the battle 'cause if you know what the other guy is going to do then you can do something about it before he fucking does it, thus knowledge is power and it is in that power that magic lies."

Her eyes stared back at into his, blankly.

Johann sighed and leaned across the booth.

"Everything you need to know is already all locked into your skull but, and I suggest you do this sparingly, if you ever need me just find your focus, concentrate, and just picture this joint. I'll be here drinking something inebriating enough to make you look a little less like JB", a split second before she could say anything he snapped his fingers.