Irving Wishbutton and the Domain of Sagas: Irving Wishbutton, #4

Chapter 1

Copy That

After mulling it over for most of the afternoon, he was even more convinced that it was the right move. His narrative was too long for one book. With over 120,000 words staring back at him and many more to go to wrap up the story, he needed to break what he had into two volumes and add a third. It was the most sensible solution to bringing the Wishbutton saga to a close.

He pulled up the original Wishbutton file on the computer and located the chapter where Irving helped Tyler switch her mind out of the Triceramedusoid and back into her own noggin. He selected all the chapters beyond that and pasted them into a new document. He saved it as Book Two, pleased that he already had 38,245 words of that volume completed. He switched back to the original document and renamed it Irving Wishbutton Book One. It clocked in at a little under 70,000 words. He reread the last chapter and felt it lacking as an ending. He’d need to tweak it or add another chapter, possibly an epilogue. He’d let that decision simmer in his head for the rest of the day.

Tomorrow was Sunday, and he had a few hours in the afternoon scheduled for writing. He’d try to resolve the first book and then continue on with the second.

He could shop the first book around to agents, but he liked the idea of finishing the second and submitting them as a set. That route also had him putting off the inevitable rejections he’d receive. His fragile writing ego would appreciate delaying that as long as possible. He smiled at his strategic procrastination and closed both documents.

Grabbing his glove, he went downstairs to enlist his son in throwing the ball before they went out for dinner. He smiled at his daughter brushing their golden retriever Echo and reminded his wife they’d want to arrive at the restaurant before five to avoid having to wait for a table.

****

It pained me to have Raggleswamp involved in any way. It felt wrong inviting him up to my room. Despite what the others thought of the pesky villain, I didn’t count him as being part of my inner circle. Yes, he’d been the one to take me to see Sarya down in the Tomb of Tomes, but that didn’t excuse how many bad deeds he had done up until that moment. Probably just felt guilty about the aqua wolves attack he’d launched at the fairy.

Raggleswamp intertwined his stubby fingers and flexed them as he prepared himself rather dramatically to throw down the spell. He rolled his shoulders and shook off a shiver, ending with unkinking his neck with a quick twitch to the left. I got this. My writer has really been developing my mastery of dark magic. What you want is child’s play.

But it won’t corrupt me or give me bad luck, right? I thought about how my own author had briefly let me house and use bad wishes. He had intended for those wishes to have a grave consequence. Fortunately, he’d abandoned that plot point before causing me any harm. I was thankful to no longer have such foul magic taking up room in my wishjacket. I ran my fingers across the elaborate stitching at the edge of my collar.

Raggleswamp noticed my attention to my clothing. He squinted knowingly. Guess your magical garment can’t do everything for you. You need the help of others. Enlisting me was wise.

He was a villain through and through. Of course, he wasn’t from my narrative. Only a character from my own story could do me in here at the academy. He wanted to ruin Harmstrike’s plans. Raggleswamp didn’t care to see the dean succeed. I suspected he was motivated out of petty jealousy more than anything. Letting the dean win would inflate Harmstrike’s villain status and diminish Raggleswamp’s.

It’s not going to subtract any bit of my soul to make one, is it?

Raggleswamp swept his hands upward and bent his fingers into a spellcasting configuration, basically pressing his index fingers to his thumbs and fanning the other digits out and back. The toll of employing dark magic will weigh only on me. I have no worries about that. I can handle having my essence tainted and marred. He smiled, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Gives me an edge. I like my soulstuff marked with a little chaos. Now, can I get this over with? I really would love to head downstairs and indulge in some of those fine pastries your friend Val was whipping up. We shouldn’t tarry. Your knight friend looked primed to pounce on them as soon as they came out of the oven. Sir Gared has a debilitating sweet tooth.

Fine. Do it.

Raggleswamp shrugged. Hey, you’re the one all gung-ho to do this. You ask me, this isn’t going to fool the dean. He’ll sniff out the true you.

Not if your magic is as good as you constantly brag it is. I didn’t do a good job of hiding my frustration.

Raggleswamp bristled at my comment and slapped his long tail hard against the floor. I almost expected him to storm out. Instead, he waved his arms about and uttered his spell in a low growl.

A purple cloud of magic formed a few feet above the villain’s shifting fingers. It churned about in mid-air, sending out bright-red rebellious projections across its surface.

Raggleswamp smirked and pointed a thumb at me. The magic shot forward, hitting me square in the chest and knocking me onto my bed. I clawed at my torso as the magic disappeared into my skin. I stiffened, afraid the villain had changed up his spell and was offering me doom and not a helping hand. Would the magic squeeze my heart until it burst or flood my lungs with gunky arcane tar?

Raggleswamp’s gleeful expression was hard to read. He could be happy about executing his spell properly, or he could just be relishing my discomfort and eventual demise.

The magic leapt out of me and coalesced into the rough approximation of a human. It had gained mass from being inside of me. I didn’t feel any lighter and wondered how the magic could’ve grown so quickly. It took up three times as much space as it had before entering my body. Had it taken some intangible part of me? Something I couldn’t spot missing like my soul?

As the magic became more rigid and defined, the facial features resolved into focus from dark blurs to distinct and recognizable expressive landmarks―the hawkish turn to the nose, the barely-there eyebrows resting on a meager speed bump of a brow. A thick nest of brown curls spilled down, hiding most of the ears. Its smile, initially thin and crooked, grew quickly welcoming as color swelled in its lips and spread slightly to the cheeks.

In just seconds my exact duplicate stared back at me, his green eyes wide open and engaged. Everything about him was identical to me, even down to the frayed thread acknowledging the missing button just below the actual wishbutton, as well as the elaborate druidic symbols stitched on the collar and on the sleeves. For some reason his red wishbutton and purple stitching glowed with more intensity―perhaps because of the supercharged nature of having just been spawned from magic. The tails of his jacket flew about as dribs and drabs of the excess magic dissipated into the air.

My clone smiled and held out his hand.

I marveled at how exacting a copy he was. He even sported the tiny scar almost lost in the creases radiating from the corner of my right eye.

I grabbed hold of his open palm and shook it firmly, as if having the stronger grip would further establish I was the original.

Having this clone be my stand-in on campus would free me up to sneak off to the real world and bring back my author. Having him with me to write whatever I needed seemed like the best way to face the dean. It would put me on a more level playing field with Harmstrike.

Raggleswamp bowed with flair and twirled one hand with indulgent showmanship. May I present your doppelganger, Irving.

My clone applied added energy to our handshake. "I am Irving Wishbutton. Pleased to be you."

I ended the handshake and felt suddenly conspicuous. Nice to meet you, too.

My doppelganger pointed to his chest. This is my wishbutton. It’s broken, and that lets me use the wishes housed in my jacket. Other agents can’t.

I glanced over at Raggleswamp. Why is he telling me stuff I already know?

He’s soaking up background from you. My magic quickly handles the physical duplication, but he needs to learn about you by imprinting.

I stiffened. What do you mean?

Well, he’s sifting through your thoughts right now. When he first appeared, his head was filled with very few details. He started scanning your memories the second he was whole.

My sister Tyler is very resourceful, my clone declared. She’s girl-next-door cute and quite the bookworm.

"How long will that take?" I didn’t like the idea that this thing was poking around in my head and rummaging through my memories. Raggleswamp hadn’t mentioned this end of the bargain.

Raggleswamp said, A few hours, a day at the most. He flexed his fingers and held them up. Might want to get the other spell in place for you.

Wait, he has to stay near me to do this? Can’t we leave him here for a few hours while he soaks up whatever he needs?

Raggleswamp shook his head. Afraid not. There must be proximity to the source. He smiled. Luckily, he fixated on you. If he’d imprinted on me, we’d have an Irving with my glorious memories and infernal agendas. Can’t say I’d like that degree of villainous competition running loose.

Raggleswamp spouted off the second spell before I could protest further. This produced a mass of pink energy resembling a jellyfish by way of wispy cotton candy. The magic swept toward me. Rather than drill into my chest like the other spell, this one traveled over every inch of me until I was covered in a thin pink film. The magic didn’t hinder my breathing or affect my senses despite it shrouding every nook and cranny, including my eyes and nostrils.

Um, is this really necessary? I squirmed, more from the idea of what enveloped me rather than any actual discomfort.

Raggleswamp laughed. Absolutely essential. You want the cloaking spell to hide all of you, don’t you? He added, I only deal with top quality magic, unlike the invisibility wish you tossed out there to help you sneak into the infirmary. That didn’t exactly work out for you, did it?

I ignored him.

Allegro is a true ally. I feel awful about what happened to his son. My clone frowned and almost looked on the verge of tears as he wrestled with one of my harsher memories.

The film flashed yellow, then orange before seeping into my body. This produced a brief numbing all over, but the effect didn’t last long.

Raggleswamp pointed at me. Simply concentrate, and you can fade out of existence.

I willed myself to disappear.

My clone stared at me, his expression shifting from grief to horror. What—? Where did Irving Prime go?

Raggleswamp waved at him dismissively. Relax. He’s still there.

I said, I’m here. Don’t worry. Just simple invisibility magic at work. We can’t appear together.

Raggleswamp rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Nothing simple about it. The enchantment is complex and intricate, requiring a high level of skill to generate from yours truly, but I wouldn’t expect someone who relies on magic spawned from a wee plastic button to appreciate that.

My stand-in sighed and then furrowed his brow in concentration, once again mining my thoughts. Emberhounds are quite vicious.

I asked Raggleswamp, Does the magic affect my voice? Can I select who hears me and who doesn’t?

No, it just cloaks your presence. People won’t be able to see you or detect you on a spiritual level, either. One would have to be a pretty powerful mage to catch a whiff of you in your present state.

If I stay hidden too long, I won’t lose touch with reality and break apart or anything, right?

Raggleswamp grinned. Ah, why didn’t I think of that? Could’ve been done with your troublesome self if I’d weaved that into the casting. He paused and stared at where he’d detected my voice. For a second I almost thought he could see my worried expression. No, I need you, Irving. Ours is an unsteady alliance, but an alliance nonetheless. I want to get to the root of the Harmstrike threat as much as you do.

I willed myself to reappear. My doppelganger smiled at me, confirming I could make myself whole and visible and wouldn’t drift apart into nothingness.

Raggleswamp eyed the clone. Give him a few minutes and let’s take him out in public. See if he can fool any of your friends.

Only my closest friends, along with Raggleswamp, would know that this Irving was a fake. It was essential that the dean see me honoring my end of the bargain. I had to play nice and attend class, no longer snooping about for the dean’s authors or Dean Harmstrike would harm Sarya. The fairy was trapped in the Tomb of Tomes now that her writer had died. Any in that circumstance could be injured or possibly killed by the dean despite not even being from Harmstrike’s story. I didn’t know why this was the case, but Professor Warhinder’s fear made it clear the dean could and would inflict tragedy on those he kept under lock and key in the tomb.

I opened my bedroom door and motioned for my clone to lead the way.

He walked out. My father has a connection to the Wellwishers. He used to work for them as a whim wrangler.

Raggleswamp hustled out as well. I closed my door and again turned invisible.

Chapter 2

Soulful Misgivings

Our trek from Smudge Hall to the nearest campus eatery had been delayed by a brief stop in the kitchen to grab Gared and snatch a few pastries from Val. The knight hadn’t been fooled by the Irving stand-in at all.

Raggleswamp opened the dining hall door and let the clone enter first.

I stuck close to him.

My sister switched minds with a Triceramedusoid. I really doubt I can fix that, but I will try. My clone marched deeper into the hall, ignoring my friends seated at a long table to our right.

Before I could grab his elbow and steer him toward my crew, Gared stepped in and did just that. He pointed at Roon and whispered to the doppelganger, Roon and Morris saved us seats, Irving.

Raggleswamp made sure I was through before letting the entry door close on a couple of elves who were too busy exchanging giggles and pecks on the cheek to notice. The villain snickered when they smashed into the door. Both elves brushed themselves off and laughed at their clumsy act. I almost went to open the door but thought better of it. I needed to get comfortable with being incognito. I’d be spending a lot of time out and about invisible and had to resist such exposing temptations.

Roon was feeding Morris. The boy was some sort of slug with no arms or legs. She spooned soup into his tiny mouth.

Gared pulled out a chair and sat my copy down. The Golden Knight took a seat next to Raggleswamp, who made sure he squirmed his way into a spot beside Roon. The villain liked the vampire, especially since she had vouched for him as being a worthy ally when I’d filled everyone in on why it was so important to get to the bottom of Harmstrike’s mysterious plans.

I situated myself behind my clone.

He looked at everyone and extended his hand to Roon. I’m Irving Wishbutton. Pleased to meet you.

Roon didn’t shake his hand but looked at Raggleswamp. You two actually went through with it? This is the fake Irving?

Raggleswamp grinned. Guilty. Nothing gets past you. He’s still . . . acclimating.

My clone smiled. I had bad wishes for a time, but my author thought better of it. Would you like to see me engage a wish?

Gared stood and eyed the nearest line. I’ll return with some proper edibles. Delicious curly fries and wings agreeable to all?

Roon shook her head and held up a shake that I was sure had some sort of blood as its main ingredient. None for me. I’m good.

The clone again spouted off. Would you like to see my magic in action? I can demonstrate my totem pole wish. I have the three-headed one ready to go.

Morris shuddered. What’s wrong with him? He talks weird.

For the longest time, Morris had gone by the name Cocoon Boy because of his tendency to retreat into a cocoon when life around him grew too intense. He’d emerge a minute or two later a completely different and bizarre character. Since joining my dungeon run team over a week ago, he’d transformed far less. He’d admitted to me that my friendship and belief had helped him gain some much needed confidence. His current state of a slug didn’t seem like a worthy version, and I could tell from Roon’s indifference to feeding him that she wanted to see him cocoon as soon as possible.

Roon eyed my clone, clearly switching to her full-on detective mode. She investigated strange happenings in her narrative with the help of her undead brother, who happened to be a zombie. I wondered where Marcus was. He usually stuck close to his sister. They were allowed to associate with each other, unlike most students. The dean had a strict policy of forbidding us from hanging out with members of our own cast unless there was a curse or the characters’ stories were tightly intertwined.

Perhaps sensing no one wanted to see him press his wishbutton, my clone changed the subject. My mother is the villainess Teardrop. She had to embrace evil to save her family.

I leaned in and spoke, hoping it would sound to any nearby like my words came from my doppelganger. I’m right here, cloaked thanks to Raggleswamp’s magic. This other me has to absorb a lot more of my memories to be convincing. I’m stuck with him until then.

Morris’s eye stalks jiggled and honed in on my location. He’s a bit dull.

My clone said, I infiltrated Teardrop’s lair and rescued my sister.

Roon said, He’s only talking about details from your story. Does he know anything about the academy and us?

Before I could answer, my stand-in wagged a finger at my friends. My father has a portal rod he uses to travel across dimensions. That’s nifty and useful.

Not so far. Hopefully soon. He’ll need to be in the know about the happenings here more than in my story.

Gared returned, depositing his plunder on the table before scooting his armored bulk into his chair. A feast befitting teenagers in the throes of the munchies is a welcome sight, I say.

I licked my lips, annoyed at how hungry I was. I couldn’t pick any of it up and eat. Levitating curly fries and wings would surely draw too much unwanted attention. I tamped down my hunger.

Two tables over, I noticed how an armored shadow monster with three menacing horns jutting from its broad forehead stared at my clone with interest. Had it spotted my clone’s still lips while I’d been talking? I tried to place the creature, afraid it might run to the dean and spill that it had witnessed something strange with me. No telling if Harmstrike had moles willing to gossip about my comings and goings—I feared he did.

Gared sat up and walked over to the creature. From his expression, it was clear the knight suspected the same. He dropped to one knee and put a gloved hand on the creature’s left forearm, clamping down hard enough to prevent him from fleeing but not so hard as to appear brutal or uncivil.

I walked over to hear him converse with the eavesdropper.

His voice was melodic and faint, a sure sign he was using his silver tongue magic. Sir Gared had the power to make monsters do what he said. He’d used it for evil when I’d arrived at the academy, but, thanks to his author making Gared the hero and his brother the villain, the knight had become a steadfast do-gooder and my close friend. Dear Hornok, old friend and slayer of the meek, you witnessed nothing unusual with Irving today. He simply conversed with his mouth full, and you thought he spoke with his lips sealed shut. No need to run to anyone, and certainly not the dean, to report such, yes?

The creature stiffened, and his eyes glazed over. He mumbled, Nothing wrong with that at all. Irving was just using poor manners.

Gared smiled. Yes, he displayed dreadful etiquette. Not only that, but he risked choking when he didn’t properly chew his food. Everyone knows you masticate each bite forty-six times before swallowing. Maybe give your tablemates a refresher on this, yes?

Hornok lifted a forkful of some grey meat with drooping tentacles attached and tipped it toward the two burly insect monsters he’d chosen to dine with. Rusk and Tavsk, a reminder that one must be ever vigilant with one’s chewing. Grinding up a morsel forty-six times is the responsible action. It’s a mealtime courtesy more of us should do, really. He plopped the meat into his mouth and chewed with a demonstrative effort. I stopped counting after a dozen exaggerated chews.

Gared stood and walked back to our table, bumping into me almost as if he’d known I’d shadowed him. He whispered, Feels good to work my magic, Irving.

I nodded. His acts had been wholesome and compassionate lately. How he’d just handled Hornok seemed a return to his wicked self. Had his author decided to split the villainy in his narrative between him and his brother yet again? If so, could I fully depend on him?

****

My clone ate more than his fill. Raggleswamp explained it away by stating his magic delivered copies with empty stomachs.

Roon coaxed Morris into cocooning shortly after my clone finished off his second helping of fries. The doppelganger continued sharing details about his narrative self. I think all of us tuned him out slightly because his ramblings were a little annoying. At least Roon had convinced him to speak barely above a whisper to keep any other onlookers from noting my odd utterances. I stayed quiet, fearful another diner would notice my voice didn’t match up with any moving lips whatsoever. I didn’t want Gared to work his magic again.

Morris emerged from his cocoon resembling an alien canine, a wiener dog with a green hide. He had antlers instead of floppy ears, and his front paws were covered in gloves that morphed into different tools seemingly on a whim. Morris stared at his left hand, now a weighty hammer. He thumped it against the table twice before concentrating and changing the tool into a spoon. He wasted no time using the utensil to finish off his soup.

My clone put his soda down and wagged a finger in my direction. Roon was a zombie but is now a vampire. Her author wrote her brother out of her story and . . .

Roon lunged across the table and smushed her hand against the clone’s lips. She glared at him. Not a detail that needs to be shared. Say it in your head, nimrod.

It was unnerving seeing the degree of animosity and frustration she directed at the clone. I knew it really wasn’t meant for me, but it hurt just the same. I couldn’t blame her. My clone shouldn’t be sharing anything about our trip to rescue Marcus from Revision Ravine. We’d brought him back illegally and had kept the dean unaware of our rule-breaking so far.

Raggleswamp nudged the vampire. It’s all good. He’s really going through a lot of academy details now. He might get up to speed even before we leave here.

Roon removed her hand slowly and sat back down. She briefly exposed her fangs at my clone but didn’t do anything else.

My stand-in muttered his next few revelations too softly for any of us to hear, but I did catch something about how much he enjoyed spending time with Sarya. Thankfully, Roon didn’t seem to register that one.

So you’re really gonna go through with the next part of your plan? Morris asked.

I decided to risk talking. Just the same, I kept close to my clone. Tomorrow morning. I only have Heroic Deeds in the afternoon, so that should give me plenty of time.

Gared spoke between mouthfuls of wings. A trickle of hot sauce meandered down his chin. We shall be there. Tiberius and Morris have even volunteered to assist.

I grimaced. I don’t think we need to have that many tagalongs. I only agreed to you. It’s just a recon mission. I’m not going to go for the rod until I’m sure the dean’s not monitoring my dad. I looked around, hating that we were talking about this in such a public place.

Morris said, The space dog and I are back-up to your back-up. We’ll keep our distance, Irving. You won’t even notice us. I already scoped out our hiding place and yours. I drew a map. Wanna see? He reached a gloved paw into the pocket of his absurd doggy vest.

Not really. So weird that the map stuck with him through his transformations. I wondered briefly where it had been socked away while he’d been an unclothed slug.

Morris flopped back into his seat and gave Roon a forlorn look. I didn’t like disappointing him, as he’d been a character many had ridiculed and sold short until I’d shown him some faith and kindness.

Look, that’s fine, I said. Don’t get involved if the dean shows up, okay? Just run back to the others and tell them what happened.

Gared jabbed a thumb at his own chest, tapping his ornate breastplate with extreme confidence. That’s right. He’s got the cavalry right here. I’ll be the one rushing in to whisk him to safety.

That’s not happening, either. I’m going to be invisible. If anything, the dean might ask you what you’re doing there, but I doubt it. You walk by that dorm on your way back to Hero Row all the time.

That I do. It’s the perfect subterfuge.

I didn’t feel like arguing. They were making far too big a deal of a simple scouting mission. As I couldn’t fight my hunger anymore, I decided to risk feeding my invisible face. I munched quietly on several curly fries, hoping the topic would change to something else.

A deep-throated voice interrupted the relative quiet. Brother, a pleasure to see you here.

Vincent, Gared’s evil sibling, waltzed up. I darted out of his way, narrowly avoiding his shoulder spikes.

Beside him, Lord Salreedus, an oversized and bombastic snake, slithered up as well. As he approached, the undulating villain knocked a skeleton warrior out of his seat with the flick of his tail. The bony warrior picked himself up and palmed the hilt of his short sword, almost looking ready to pull it out and sink it into the scaly scoundrel. Instead, his dinner companions, a cloud creature and an old man with purple scabs covering the left side of his face, calmed him down and drew him back into his seat.

Gared stared down his brother but did not stand.

Vincent glared at Gared with his one good eye.

Lord Salreedus said, Let us wreak havoc and spill blood here and now.

The snake liked to spout off bloodthirsty threats but never seemed to act on them.

The serpentine dark lord continued, Rend their meek frames. Twist them and crack open their torsos and sup on their delectable insides. I have a spell for that. The villain shivered in anticipation.

Everyone in the dining room was silent, staring at the oversized snake as if expecting he was about to embark on his reprehensible threat. A few in the back turned away and resumed eating―clearly they’d encountered Salreedus’s bluster before and knew it was a hollow threat.

Only a few feet away from us, a fairy with leathery wings and snow-white skin stared in horror at the villain.

Roon left our table and comforted the shaking fairy.

Gared said, Enough of your ramblings, Salreedus. He glared at the snake.

Lord Salreedus stiffened and sucked his forked tongue back into his mouth. He snapped his jaws shut and stared at Gared.

The Golden Knight’s silver tongue at work again.

Vincent nodded at his brother. That’s right. Shut down anyone who dares draw attention away from you. Pathetic.

You’re not supposed to be here. We aren’t to associate with our cast. You know that.

Vincent smirked. "Oh, I’m fully apprised of what can and can’t be done here at this quaint