Any Other Name

By Ela Bambust

Jonathan Rosewood thought he was going to die when a truck hurtled toward him. But, saved by Afterlife Social Services, he's instead turned into a cat familiar and sent to the Waxing Weather Warlock School for the magically gifted.

Once there, he becomes fast friends with ferret familiar Simon and Fox Sarah. Together with their Witches and Wizards they train to protect the world from invasion by the things that exist beyond it.

As Jonathan navigates his new life and the horrors of first love, he finds himself at the center of a war that has lasted for centuries--and with more questions than answers. Why do some people have access to magic and others don’t? What really are the creatures he's being trained to fight? And why is 'he' a girl in cat form?

Any Other Name is a trans, queer young adult fantasy perfect for fans of Little Witch Academia and The Worst Witch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ela Bambust
• Release date: Jul 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005668617

Ela Bambust

Ela Bambust is, ostensibly, an author. What this actually means is that she spends a lot of time drinking coffee and stressing about the relationship status of fictional characters, before severely abusing an old and battered keyboard. Somehow, words come out the other end, and the result appears to be something approaching literature.When she isn't writing, she can usually be found stressing about writing, or bothering her cat, Samuel, but she's never far from a keyboard.Frustrated with the lack of good representation, she mostly writes Queer and Trans fiction where the focus is not exclusively on the hardships faced by members of the LGBTQIA+ community. Instead, she writes fantasy, romance, action, science fiction and, occasionally, erotica, where the protagonists just happen to be somewhat sideways of the norm when it comes to gender and sexuality, but always with a smile, a sense of humour, and the desire to leave the world, fictional and otherwise, a little brighter than how she found it.

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Any Other Name

Ela Bambust

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First Edition

This document was professionally typeset by Cassidy Marble [e-mail]

A Confession

I am a criminal. English is my victim.

Should you look to point blame at those responsible, my accomplices are these:

Noelle, a voice of madness in a sea of slightly more quiet madness.

Alexandra and Gwen, a hint of clarity on the cloudiest of days.

Juniper, a small cat.

Nicole, a touch of kindness in a world that sorely needs one.

They are still out there, wreaking havoc on language, and they can not be stopped.

Thank you all.

Crossing The Road

There are, at any given moment, several thousands of children with magical potential in the world. In fact, most children have some kind of attunement to magic, which is why the world is so much more colourful for them. Magic is a little bit like lice, in that you’re more likely to pick it up when you’re in kindergarten, but it’s not at all like lice in the fact that it takes a magical spark for that potential to come into its own. A magical spark is hard to come by, especially as you get older, which is why adults can often look so dull and grey. Many of them would benefit from a magical spark, which might open their eyes to how bright and colourful the world can be when you’re not looking at it through an un-magical lens. These people often become more jaded and scared as they get older, and while it’s a reasonable response to feel sorry for them, you’ll spend a lot of time feeling sorry if you start doing that.

Jonathan Rosewood was sixteen years old, and for him, the world was a dull grey. He adjusted his mask as he walked down the street, not really going somewhere, or escaping from anywhere. The walk he was walking was the kind where you put one foot in front of the other and keep moving because it occupies a little bit of your brain — like not walking into lantern poles or other people — that now doesn’t have the time to worry or stress out, which is why walking is considered a good thing to do when you’re in a bad place. However, there are limits to the therapeutic power of walking, and when your whole world is grey, all walking does is make the shadows a little less dark.

He walked in a little circle around the lady taking donations for a nearby shelter, trying not to think about whether or not he’d give her any money if he had any to give, and then felt a bit guilty for wondering about that. Was he allowed to think of himself as poor? He didn’t have a lot of money, after all. Sure, his parents were well off, but it’s not like they spent much of their wealth on him, and he was glad about that. After all, it would mean they were home more often, which was a situation he’d prefer to avoid as much as possible.

But then, he thought, if he didn’t have his parents, he would value money more, right? That would mean he wouldn’t want to give it away. He was lost in thought as he walked down the street, his footfalls a constant rhythm to his mind ticking away the minutes. His parents were home, because it was Saturday and Saturdays Were For Relaxing. For Mother, that meant two hours with a glass of wine, yoga and wine-assisted meditation, before being picked up and heading into work for some relaxing overtime. For Father, it meant tennis — digital, of course — weight-lifting and then two (2) power naps, followed by a conference call in the guest house out back, where he’d slowly get plastered on expensive whiskey and fall asleep in the guest bedroom.

Jonathan was waiting for it to be three in the afternoon, when his mother would leave and he’d have the house to himself. Not that there was much to do in it for him. His parents abhorred what they called frivolous distractions like television, board games, distracting literature, computers, art and friends, and so he spent most of his time at home lying down, usually with a copy of Essential Sensory Deprivation next to him so he could pretend to be studying the merits of his own lack of entertainment instead of blankly staring at the ceiling, willing it to be anything other than grey and drab.

But it was still more comfortable than not lying down. Despite the Rosewood household being a minimalist dream, his parents had, so far, not yet managed to make sheets and mattresses rough yet. Some comfort was allowed. Just a little bit. As a treat.

He quite looked forward to lying down for a bit. For someone who didn’t really do much but sit, lie, stand and walk, he had surprisingly wild dreams, all swirls of chaotic colours burning through and around each other, noise and movement all around. He used to think of them as nightmares, but lately he’d found himself enjoying them. They were a good distraction from, well, nothing. But getting to them meant going around the block one more time and then walking home, or finding something else to do.

A few years before, Jonathan used to go to the library when he had nothing better to do, on days like this, but he’d once made the mistake of telling his mother about it and had found himself on house-arrest for the rest of the summer. He’d gone once after that, after school, and had been caught. Any talk of him getting a phone at any point had shut down. Even now, he was the only kid in his entire school with a pager. He hated the thing, but if he didn’t respond to its message fast enough with a little ping, he’d never hear the end of it.

Why his parents even bothered, he didn’t know. It seemed they wanted him to live the exact same life they lived, but he didn’t get why. They didn’t seem particularly happy, weren’t particularly religious, and barely even talked about anything other than work. He had heard the word ‘synergy’ a lot more than any sixteen-year-old should.

Shaking his head, he rounded the corner and stopped for a moment. The sun shone on his face and for a very brief moment, there was some colour in the world. It was mostly yellow, sure, but the warmth of it, accompanied by a gentle breeze, was pleasant. Then the reality of his destination sank in again and, like a gritty, realistic action movie, the gentle yellows and oranges of the afternoon sun seemed to wash out, and reality became a little colder.

He walked a little faster. There was almost always a little moment like that, when he went out. A brief moment, like coming up for air, where things were a little better. But they were always worse after that, and once the moment had happened he made sure to hurry home before grey became dark and that unreasonable lump in his throat started to form for seemingly no reason. He wasn’t going to cry in public. His father had berated him for crying in private; if he did so in public and his parents found out, they’d probably make him sleep in the living room again so they could keep an eye on him.

His hands in his pockets, shoulders squared and eyes to the ground, he crossed the road and tried to bury his face in the collar of his jacket. It was eerily quiet when he almost bumped into a chair he realized was in front of a table. Already strange to see these things outside, but on a zebra crossing? He looked up and saw a woman sitting behind the table. She looked a little bit like one of those well-meaning middle-school teachers, who rewarded thirteen-year-olds with stickers (who would pretend not to be proud of them), all rosy cheeks and smelling faintly of incense and a minimum of two cats.

She was wearing what appeared to be a dress from the Fifties; the only thing ‘off’ about the presentation was a tattoo of an eye peeking out of her dress at her collarbone. She smiled at him, and indeed, her cheeks were rosy and round.

Hello, she said.

Um, Jonathan responded.

Please, sit down. My name is Charlie. Charlie Ferman. The lady’s smile was unwavering and eerily genuine. It wasn’t predatory or scary, just…disarmingly honest.

You’re in the middle of the street, Jonathan said.

The lady giggled, a sound like sleighbells ringing through the air on a Christmas morning. I don’t think that will be a problem, she said, and rolled her eyes at her surroundings in an exaggerated display. Jonathan looked. The world had stopped. Cars had all braked for some reason, he thought, until he realized that people, too, had frozen in place. A man was trying to get a pigeon from pecking at his hotdog, and it was hovering just a few feet from his face.

I don’t understand, Jonathan said. He sat down out of shock, more than out of any obligation to do as the lady asked.

Gosh, I do so hate this part, Charlie said. You’re dead. Jonathan looked at her.

No, I’m not, he said. I’d know if I was dead. I wouldn’t be talking to you.

Well, you’re not wrong. But you also kind of are, Charlie said with an apologetic little smile and then waved in the other direction. Jonathan only just now became aware of the fact that there was a sixteen-wheeler only a foot from the table. "You’re going to be dead, Charlie said. In just a few hundredths of a second. It’ll be fairly painless, if that helps. Would you like a sweet?" She produced a small piece of wrapped candy out of a little purse.

Jonathan took the candy absent-mindedly. Uh, he said again. What do…how…what…wh—

Yes, that does seem to be the prevailing reaction a lot of the time, Charlie said with a little smile. So I have some good news and some bad news. Please, eat it. Make you feel better. Jonathan unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth as she spoke. "I work for Afterlife Social Services, she said and clasped her hands together, like a school counselor explaining something to stubborn parents. Essentially, we find children with magical potential who are about to…hrm…pass on to the great beyond and try to…keep a little bit of that magic in the world. Don’t ask me why."

Why?

I just said… She smiled. "Cheeky. I like that. Well, it’s something to do with balance, but, and you haven’t heard this from me, apparently someone just doesn’t like things going to waste. Especially people."

People die every day.

"Well, yeah. That’s what the afterlife is for, dummy."

Is this a Jesus thing?

Um, Charlie said, "not quite. I’m not supposed to talk about it to people who aren’t fully dead yet. She scratched her head. Let’s just say there’s a bit more to it. More paperwork. But what we’re here to do today, you and me, she pointed at herself and then Jonathan, is kinda like, well, recycling."

Recycling of what?

Well, if I have it right — and I always do, I’m pretty good at my job — you’ve got some untapped potential, and well, while we can’t fully unlock it anymore, we can still do some good with it.

Magical potential? Jonathan frowned, chewing on the candy. Charlie leaned forward and frowned right back, but her frown seemed to be more like an apology.

It’s a lot, isn’t it? How are you feeling?

Confused, Jonathan said. Do you really work for an organisation named ASS?

Charlie stared at him for a moment, nonplussed, and then burst out laughing. No cute sleighbells, this was a full belly laugh, head thrown in her neck. After she’d recovered she dabbed at her eyes. Goodness. Hah! Yes, yes I do. Anyway, Johnny, she said, and immediately noticed his apprehension. Ah, sorry. I was trying something. It said in your file you don’t like your name, so I was hoping a nickname might…hrm, anyway. She cleared her throat and sat up straight again. We’d like to offer you the chance to not be dead.

Uh, Jonathan said, sounds good?

Well, there’s a couple of, uh, caveats.

I know about fine print, he said, remembering mind-numbing legal conversations at home, as well as studying for a fake bar exam he’d taken (and failed) at twelve years old.

Good, well, um, the big one is that you won’t be living with your family for a while, Charlie said and looked at him, waiting for a reaction. After a moment, he figured a shrug would have to do. He figured any place was as good as another. His parents would probably pick him up anyway. She shrugged back, smiling again. "The other is that we’re going to use your magical potential to help someone else."

How?

Well, I’m going to have to answer that question with two of my own.

Okay. Jonathan stared at her. None of this was really sinking in. None of this felt real. Was he hallucinating? Had he been hit by a truck and is this what happened when you died? Or was this somehow real?

Well, Charlie said, raising a finger, what do you know about witches? A second finger went up. "And have you ever heard of a familiar?"

Through The Gate

No, Jonathan finally said. And then, deadpan, can’t say I’m familiar. Charlie stared at him for a minute, blinking like she was processing what he’d just said. He could tell she was trying to figure out if he’d simply answered or if it had been a pun. Thanks to his parents, he’d learned over the years to cloak his humour in an air of plausible deniability. They didn’t really go in for comedy, and so he wasn’t allowed either. He obviously hadn’t been allowed backtalk either. The power of unacknowledged wordplay, delivered with a perfectly blank face had been his way of rebelling. Sure, it got him stern looks from his mother, and he knew his father would sometimes reduce his evening meal portions for it, but he wasn’t explicitly punished because there was no proof he’d mocked them.

Finally, Charlie’s face split into a wide grin, which he hadn’t expected. Well, she said with a little singsong tone in her voice, you will be. Then she hesitated and looked up. For legal reasons, that was a joke.

I’m confused, Jonathan said. Charlie shrugged to let him know that that was pretty much expected. She’d been throwing a lot of information at him and he himself was surprised at how much of it had stuck, all things considered.

Walk with me, Charlie said, and got up from the table in the middle of the road. Jonathan had almost forgotten where they were, a truck frozen in time just a few feet away. His apparent death or perhaps lack thereof no less threatening just because it wasn’t moving. Charlie saw him look at the vehicle. Don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere. And, I’m really sorry I have to reiterate, neither are you, unless you decide to go with me.

That feels like blackmail, Jonathan said darkly as he got up. Charlie walked down the street, people still in place. Someone had spilled some coffee on a terrace table and the droplets hung in the air like tiny brown gemstones.

It’s the opposite, really. I know it seems cruel, but try to think of this as a second chance. You would have died, and not because of us, she said, clearly trying to reassure him. While, of course, Jonathan enjoyed a healthy distrust of any adults, as was normal for sixteen-year-olds, he did get the feeling that she felt guilty about all of this somehow. But he also knew that adults didn’t like being pressed and that she’d deny it if he brought it up. Just…try to trust me. I’m offering you a chance at a life, with friends and something like a family. She rounded a corner and Jonathan saw her take one of the sweets out of the bag and pop it into her mouth, nervously chewing on it.

So what was that about witches and familiars? Jonathan asked. It was easy for him to keep up with her. Even at his age, he was a little taller than her, he realized now, and he’d long disliked how gangly puberty had made him. He looked like someone had tried to fill up a shirt with coat hangers, with more knees and elbows than was to be reasonably expected. Charlie swallowed her sweet and then looked up again.

Well, the world is, as you can probably imagine by now, not what you thought it was, she finally said as they came to a crossing. She didn’t look both ways, Jonathan noticed, and he wondered if she always moved through the world with time frozen the way it was. Besides, crossing the road without looking wasn’t exactly a glass house he had any right to throw stones in. "But let’s just say that there’s a lot of danger in it. And we need people who can defend it in ways that…well, for lack of a better word, normal people can’t."

You don’t have a word for non-magical people, Jonathan mused.

Of course not. Magical kids already feel alienated enough from the world they grew up in, the last thing they need is a slur for people who don’t have a privilege they were born with, Charlie said with a sigh. But yeah, it’s our job to find children with magical potential and help them achieve it.

Like me, Jonathan nodded. He saw Charlie look over to him, and realized that she might be wondering why he wasn’t more stunned or excited by all of this. He flashed her an apologetic smile.

No, Charlie said, and Jonathan felt his cynicism vindicated. And yes. Oh. He frowned. Like I said, we can’t really unlock your potential anymore. She hesitated, then shrugged. Because of the whole dead thing.

Right, Jonathan said, as if he’d already forgotten about that part.

"But you can become what’s known as a Familiar. She paused for dramatic effect, and while Jonathan appreciated a little bit of drama, he did very much like to get a little bit more of an inkling of what he might be saying yes to. Witches, Warlocks, Wizards; they’re all people with tremendous magical potential. But with a Familiar by their side, they can tap into a sort of shared pool of magic. It makes them more powerful, but only if the relationship is equal, reciprocal. Another pause. That word might be a bit long," she started.

I know what reciprocate means, Jonathan said quietly. He’d picked it up out of a book his parents had made him study. It’d had gears and a handshake on the cover. I can kind of take it from there.

Ah, Charlie said, anyway, as a Familiar, you’d become a mage’s…assistant, sort of. And together you’d be stronger! she finished cheerfully.

Like, for life? Jonathan asked suspiciously. Charlie chewed on her tongue for a moment, and then looked at him with a look he couldn’t quite identify.

No, she said, finally. The older magical people get, the more their ability to use magic drops off. Although in almost all cases, Familiars and their Mages stick together. It’s a pretty powerful bond. Jonathan nodded, even though he got the feeling there was something she wasn’t quite telling him.

So what’s the catch? he finally asked. There has to be something. Or am I going to be a glorified spare-battery-secretary? He grimaced at the thought of his life being essentially the same as it had been, being kept around.

We-ell, Charlie said, cocking her head, Familiars are…animals.

?? Jonathan said.

It’s because of the way magic works, you see, Charlie said quickly as she crossed another street. As she explained, Jonathan looked around. He didn’t often go down these streets in town — if he’d ever gotten lost, there would’ve been hell to pay — and he was trying to figure out where they were now. There’s an animal that connects the mage and the Familiar, and that’s the form the Familiar takes when they — in this case, you, if you decide to say yes — are close to their mage.

Huh, Jonathan said, blinking in what could only be called stupefaction. "So if I say yes — which, considering the alternative is truck, I feel like I should — I’d become whatever animal fits between me and…whoever I end up with?"

Yup!

And you don’t think that’s weird? Jonathan asked. Turning children into animals to make them best friends with another child to make them both stronger.

Well, yeah, Charlie said, but it’s better than the alternative.

Isn’t just going home an option for most kids? Jonathan asked. You’re already saving their life, right? The streets were completely alien to him now. There had been a few landmarks he’d recognized from driving through time in the back of his parents’ car, but this was all new. Charlie shook her head.

"There’s a lot of stuff I can’t explain to you right now, but you’re going to have to take my word for it that that would be a bad idea," Charlie explained. Jonathan hated feeling like ‘adults’ were keeping things from him, but in this particular case, at least, it didn’t feel like Charlie was doing it because she didn’t think him mature enough. She was hiding something, and that was also annoying, but in a different way. In a more cool ‘Classified Document’ kind of way.

So now what? he asked. And where are we going?

I figured taking a walk while I explain things would be a good idea, Charlie said. You like walking, as I understand it. For the first time, Jonathan blushed. People didn’t really take an interest in him, and even earlier he’d gotten the feeling like the only reason Charlie had been here had been because of his potential. Knowing what he liked felt…personal. Like he was important enough to know things about. We could’ve taken the car, but I like this view a lot more, anyway.

She stopped in front of a little wrought iron gate between two buildings and pulled out a small key from a ring. Turning it gently in the lock, Charlie treated the key with care. The lock clicked, and Charlie pushed the gate open. The little alleyway on the other side seemed wholly unremarkable, housing mostly old, forgotten trash cans, a paper bag with what he hoped wasn’t something living in it, and a lot of very dubious-looking stains.

Are you…taking me to get robbed? Not that I’m not keen on new experiences, Jonathan said, trying to make the sarcasm drip thick and heavy, but I think saving me only to get mugged in a dirty alley seems—

Oh hush, Charlie said with a smirk, Give it a minute. She stepped through the gate and nodded her head for Jonathan to follow as she stepped to the side. With his eyebrows raised, skeptical as ever, he stepped through. Other than the whole time-being-frozen thing, he still hadn’t been very open to the idea of magic. It all sounded silly, like something made up by a child. But as soon as he crossed the threshold, the two buildings on either side seemed to move away from him, and he got a strange sense of vertigo, like he was being lifted upwards by the scruff of his neck. The dirty trash cans moved off to the side, the stains slowly faded away, and the alleyway slowly became a boulevard.

At the end of it was a house. An old Victorian building, with lots of little towers, it looked like it hadn’t been so much built as cobbled together by an over-eager architect who hadn’t ever been offered the opportunity to stop. It almost hurt the brain to look at, because there was always something else to be discovered. Jonathan stood slack-jawed in the middle of the street.

Cat got your tongue? Charlie asked, and the smug satisfaction on her face was just enough to shake Jonathan out of his state of shock.

Whuh, he managed, and pointed.

Yeah! Charlie said, and took a step forward, urging him to follow. "I know, right?!"

What…what is…how…what…where?

That, Charlie said, a smile dancing on her lips like a spark in a fire, is home.

Jonathan blinked a few times and finally took some tentative steps forward again. What he’d just seen, the street stretching out, the house coming out of nowhere, in a place where there definitely hadn’t been enough room for a house, had been impossible. Either this was magic or he really had been hit by that truck. But now that he knew the impossible was possible…

Charlie? he said, softly as he slowly walked towards the house. He had to know. He had to see. Would his parents even miss him? He’d always been inconvenient. Maybe, here, he’d find purpose. Family.

What’s up, buttercup? she asked as she practically skipped down the street. Her energy was infectious.

I think I want to do it. Stay. Or go with you, I mean. I don’t want to go back.

"Rad, she said with a wide grin, then looked at the building again. This is the Unfamiliar House. You’re going to love it." He looked at the Unfamiliar House. He heard, coming from what he assumed was the yard, the sound of children playing. There were a few shapes in the windows. There was a girl sitting on a bench in the front yard, reading what appeared to be a storybook, her legs crossed, and she was clearly enjoying the sun. Charlie waved. The girl waved back.

Who’s that? Jonathan asked.

Th— Charlie began, and then the road exploded. A shape,