The Advertising Desk

“Hi!”

I almost jump out of my desk as I spin around. The boy standing in the middle of the office is eleven. Everyone else has gone home, and I know the janitors would never bring their kids to with work.

“Uh –.”

A stranger walks through the main doors. For a moment I think the hallway behind him shows a street instead. The man looks ordinary. “Jay,” he says.

“This is important, Honcho,” the boy says firmly.

The man lets out a resigned sigh.

“Can I help you?” I say weakly.

“You totally do the advertisements for AshleyHomeStore, right?”

“Ah – yes?”

“You have a hugey typo in your ad for jaysom bunk beds!”

“Pardon?”

“It should say jaysome!” And the boy grins. There is a terrible pride in his tone, but his grin – no one has ever smiled like that. Not me, not anyone I know. It hits with a force of innocent joy that takes my breath away.

Somehow, that doesn’t trigger my asthma.

“Jaysome,” I repeat. I can hear the e in his voice, and my own. The word is a possibility, a promise, a trust without end. It is too pure to be sacred, too – too jaysome to be terrifying.

“If I put that in ads, I could sell –.” I flatter. We could sell anything. I would get any promotion I wanted.

“You’d fix the typo really good,” the boy says firmly. I think his smile widens. I lose a few minutes.

The boy has left. The man remains.

“It’s all right,” he says.

I burst into tears. I don’t know the last time I cried.

He waits until I’m done. “Jay wouldn’t understand your tears. Nor what could be done with jaysome.”

He says the word differently. I hear the promise. And the power.

“You could bring down nations with that.”

The man nods. “Jay only has by accident.” His smile is gently rueful.

“What do I do?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

There are footsteps behind us. One of the janitors. Klaus, I think. Only he walks with a coldness in his eyes I’ve never seen. There is something feline about him, something wild and primal and severely pissed off.

“Wandering magician.” His accent is no longer one I know. There is a fury in his tone.

“I thought a fae might provide information.” The man turns. Whatever his smile holds, Klaus blanches at it. “This place sells jaysom bunk beds. Jay noticed the typo, and wishes them to fix it.”

Klaus goes still. Somehow, he pales even further. I can see through him.

“This,” the man called Honcho says, “might be a problem?”

“I can’t – we can’t be certain a glamour would stop everyone from seeing the word. Jay – jaysome – is too big, too real –.” Klaus falls silent. All the threat is gone. He looks small and miserable.

“A glamour so that Jay sees jaysom as jaysome could work. I will try and explain the details to him.”

“Try.”

“This is Jay. Even I can but try.”

Klaus nods. And steps – sideways, somehow, vanishing.

The wandering magician turns and looks at me. His gaze is steady. “Jay. A fae. Myself. This is a large step into a wider world than you knew.”

I nod. “It’s too big.”

“Sometimes. I can help you forget, though you’ll never quite forget Jay.” The man chuckles softly. “I don’t think even Jay could make himself forgotten like that.”

I take a deep breath. I nod.

“Forget,” he says, with a kindness that unmakes so much.

I almost speak, but it is too late to change my mind.

Until I wake, with the memory of even the forget in my head. And nothing forgotten. The magician knew. I don’t know how he knew I’d change my mind, but he knew.

I could return to work. Klaus might not be there. Or look like someone else. I check my bank account, finding over fifty thousand in savings. And an email, sender unknown.

‘For adventures,’ it says, and nothing else.

I resolve to share as much of those adventures as I can with everyone I meet. I am not Jay. But I think anyone can learn jaysome. I am to try.