There are days when a magician has to
be a magician, when the world needs magic too much for you to relax.
I walk through the city – it is small, as cities go, and the
magician who has made it her home is swamped past capacity. Arisha
doesn’t object to my being here to help: some would. So I walk, and
let the magic out. Some days it is easier than breathing to be a
magician, but not on a Friday the 13th with a full moon
thrown up with it. Magic is borne of need and desire, and the desire
all about me is for the stories to be true: for accidents and random
luck, for a poor showing of miracles.
I ignore that, focusing on bindings and
what the world needs. Holding one vehicle together, making sure
ladders do not break. I have, in my day, made walls against creatures
from Outside the universe to guard the world against harm, forced
ancient powers to turn away from courses as old as time. It is a
mistake younger magicians make to believe that this is not as
important. A falling ladder could shatter a life, ruin a family,
twist the myth of the day into something awful in their heads.
I lose track of the number of black
cats I’ve saved from harm by the time evening rolls around. Jay is
walking along beside me in worried silence; he is bound to me, and
from far Outside the universe. I’ve been drawing on his strength
slowly and steadily because he is tough and because he wants to help.
We’ve walked over half the city, and the bindings I’ve made are
holding or Jay would have said otherwise: he can see bindings as
easily as humans see light, and even bend them if he has to.
I get hot dogs from a stand and eat two
while Jay wolfs down four.
“Honcho? A lot of people are puthhing
at the bindingth,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
He rolls his eyes. “Not jutht yourth.
It – it’th like they want the world to break, to show them...”
he trails off, looking lost and confused.
I find a park bench and sit, and Jay
plops down beside me. He’s not sucking on his thumb, which he does
not during stress, but I can feel he’s getting there, unease
humming through the bindings between us. “Humans do weird things,
Jay. Sometimes people want to believe in a world bigger than the one
they know, if only for a day, no matter if that world is all bad luck
and missed chances, crazy-minded people and harm to everyone. We
hunger, and sometimes we don’t know what we hunger for.”
“Oh! Like a hot dog. Becauthe you
don’t know if it ith too thpicy until after you eat it,” he says
proudly.
“Everyone does give it different
toppings,” I say, “but sometimes they forget it’s a hot dog
underneath all that.”
Jay nods seriously to that and gets off
the bench, fighting back a yawn. “Then we need to make sure the hot
dog is well cooked, right?”
I stand and stretch slowly. “I think
you’re taking this metaphor a little too far.”
“You mean the fool moon and the bad
luck? Becauthe,” he adds firmly, “food ith too important to be a
metaphor.”
I smack him on the back of the head
just before he could duck and he lets out an indignant squack that I
waste magic on that. I continue to walk, circling toward the end of
the city and the suburbs. Arisha would have questions about how I had
kept going for so long that I have no desire to answer. There are
magicians who would want me dead for being bound to Jay, and I don’t
know if she is one.
We leave the city before we need to
find out, and Jay doesn’t ask a single question about it since he
doesn’t like saying the name Arisha at all. The bindings we made
hold, dissolving as the moon begins to wan the next morning. I am
certain there are people who will take the lack of weirdness as proof
of weird but we did what we could in one small part of the world even
if it was not enough.
I wake the next morning to Jay shaking
me on my bed in the motel room. There are precisely thirteen dead
mice piled outside the motel room door. I have no idea if this is the
black cats thanking me or issuing a warning. I have Jay get rid of
the bodies by unbinding them and removing stains as well and get the
local paper. The headline is about Friday the 13th in the
city and how bad luck ran rampant.
I put the paper down, head back to the
motel room, and go back to bed.
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