Summer of '98

Bedlam was what it was. The nightclub was jammed with writhing bodies that formed a dark mass as far as the eye could see. Above the crowd, a swirling, purplish fog was savagely sliced by relentless multicolored laser beams. The noise was a physical force unto its own that buffeted you to and fro. Seamus couldn’t think of a place he less wanted to be.

He’d talk to Bel and get out. Maybe he’d convince Serena to come back with him. But where were they? His wand could point to the Cali crew, but there was no safe place to let it spin; someone would surely knock it down. He was getting pretty good at Sifting, but not good enough to ensure he wouldn’t rematerialize on top of someone else, or worse, inside them.

He pulled the mobile Asmo had given him out of his pocket. There was no way to hear a call over the din, but this phone had a new feature: you could use the keypad to type messages and send them to other mobiles. Seamus checked the screen: nothing. Bel hadn’t texted him back. He dearly wished he could shoot “Serpetias — where the hell are you?” in the air with his wand. The Muggles around him would think it was part of the light show, but the Spanish Ministry would be on his arse about it anyway.

Someone knocked into him. “Hey, watch it!” snarled Seamus.

“Pardon,” said the man, and then appraising Seamus with an amused expression, he said in accented English, “You are somewhat overdressed, are you not?”

“Somewhat,” grumbled Seamus.

He looked down at his clothes: black bespoke suit, black shirt, maroon tie. When he’d gotten the message from Bel summoning him to Ibiza, he’d just returned from Cedars-Sinai, still dressed in his barn clothes. He’d Scourgified himself, figured out where the nightclub lay in four dimensions, and grabbed the first thing in his closet that caught his eye. Seamus wasn’t sure why he’d chosen the suit; it just seemed right.

The mobile vibrated in his hand. It was a message from Serena.

“What do u want dork?”

Great. She was still mad that he’d taken Asmo away without telling her what had happened.

He typed, “Where r u?”

“VIP. I c u”

Seamus looked around. Damn. He couldn’t see over the crowd. Why were these Europeans so tall?

The phone vibrated again. It was Bel.

“Sift over.”

“Cant 2 crowded”

“You can. Theres room. Picture me.”

What the hell. The Muggles wouldn’t notice a thing. Neither would the Ministry. He’d only just learned to Sift the other day, but he didn’t need a wand to do it.

Seamus concentrated hard on a vision of Bel. He dissolved into swirl of glassy black gravel, caught a glimpse of the Subterrenus as he passed through, and reappeared in a swirl of red sparks.

When his eyes refocused, he realized he was on a carpeted platform fitted with sofas and lounge chairs, flanked by a mirrored wall, and reserved with a velvet rope — and several bouncers. Seconds later he was surrounded by Serena’s cousins, Jessica, Nicole, and Stephanie, tanned hardbodies in painted-on hip-huggers. Belly-ring, belly-ring, belly-ring. He’d long since ceased to care.

“Hey, cutie!” purred Jessica, running her long nails through his hair. She towered over him in her stilettos. Seamus impatiently stepped away.

“Geez, Jessica, get someone your own age!” sneered Stephanie. She took Seamus’ arm and said conspiratorially, “No one’s mad, you know. In fact, we all think it’s totally awesome that your dad has magical DNA.”

That’s because you haven’t heard the whole story, thought Seamus grimly. They thought it was funny that Asmo had been accidentally blasted sky-high by a little Skipper who couldn’t control her powers. They didn’t know Asmo also took a stunner to the shoulder because his mam had gone mad as a bottle of chips.

“Well, here’s the man of hour!”

It was Bel, dark hair shining, perfect white teeth gleaming against the backdrop of the dark nightclub, his tanned face, his black suit. On his arm was a curvaceous beauty who threatened to burst out of her red sequined dress. In his other hand was a bottle of champagne.

“How do you reckon?” asked Seamus suspiciously.

Bel was amused. It didn’t seem possible to smile any wider, but he did.

“You did a smart thing. That was thinking on your feet. I’m impressed.”

Stephanie kissed Seamus on the cheek, distracting him from wondering exactly what he had done that was so clever.

Bel turned serious, and pointed his champagne bottle at Seamus. “But I don’t want you to get caught with your pants down again.”

“With my what?”

Bel didn’t notice Seamus’ confusion. He gestured at a white leather sofa and said, “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a few minutes, and we’ll talk about giving you better access to communications.”

Bel led the starlet away, nuzzling her cascading auburn hair as he did so. Seamus felt vaguely repulsed. And you’d think he would ask after his cousin. Certainly he was getting updates from his uncle, but still — it was the normal thing to do.

“There’s Serena!” cried Stephanie.

Seamus looked where she was pointing. Serena was on the dance floor with Jessica and Nicole, the three of them pointedly ignoring the men who tried in vain to join their little circle. She looked nice in a loose-fitting, long-sleeved, shimmering gold dress that was fairly translucent and extremely short, giving the impression that she’d tossed it on as she left the beach.

“Dance with us!” said Stephanie.

“Naw, you go on,” said Seamus. “I’m to wait for Bel.”

Plus he had no desire to go back out there. He shouted after Stephanie as she walked away.

“But tell Serena to come up here!”

Stars, he was tired. Seamus collapsed on the white couch and closed his eyes. He wondered if he could transfigure some earplugs. You know what? He didn’t need them. He’s be asleep in a moment.

His day had started so pleasant, so happy. How the hell had it come to this?