Category: Writing

This piece precedes The Mercadian Heist as it is so far (parts 1, 2, 3), but it comes out as the muse dictates...

=== Six Months Ago ===

Armond Dekseyer was many things, but he knew at his core that he was a good person. Sure that good person was wrapped in layers that presented other less desirable personas to the world. He could be seen as a confidence man, a grifter, a con artist, a thief, and perhaps, occasionally, a rogue. He admitted to himself that occasionally, he might not be the best person he could be, but on the whole, he was not bad. There were far worse people in Mercadia, and he should know, he had worked for many of them.

Some of them were terrible people. Fiends and murderers that would kill their own mother to get ahead in the world. Not Armond. He sent his mother flowers every week, ensured her accounts were always full of credits, and that she had nice neighbors to talk to. It took some effort to take care of one’s mother… but she was the only mother he was ever going to have, and he sure as hell had no plans to provide her with any grandchildren, so it was in everyone’s best interest to keep her busy with other pursuits.

She didn’t need to know that her son was planning on robbing a bank. That would not make her happy. However, it would make Armond happy. So very, undeniably, overwhelmingly happy. Because the money on the barrel was insane. As in, this couldn’t be a real kind of money. It simply couldn’t be real. The number was breathtaking.

But what if it was real? What if that amount of money was there because it was ready to be picked up by the first person willing to put out their hand and simply take it?

Armond had to talk to Wick and think this through. Put feelers out, perform the due diligence, and get the vibe on the deal. This wasn’t from some random fixer on the street, this had come to Armond from a highly trusted source. Someone that he couldn’t even talk about without causing some problems, but that was how good the deal was. A job that could put his crew on the next level. But he had to start with his partner, the dwarf technomancer Wick.

Armond looked at himself in a nearby storefront, adjusting his collar and his cravat. He scratched lightly as his chin, and grinned knowingly when he noticed the young lady behind the counter of the store within. She instantly blushed.

Armond winked and continued on his way. The crowds shifted and parted, the market stalls of Midtown were bustling nearly all day, every race that one could probably imagine walked the market district as vehicles, carts, and lorries were strictly prohibited. Armond was probably on the more common side of the crowd spectrum, being nearly human, he blended in with most mixed crowds. His skin was of a darker tone, not from sun, although he did appear to be nicely tanned all the time. His skin tone was from the same blood that gave him his oversized lower incisors that jutted past his lower lip. One would think that a human with uberogre blood his veins would be a terrible combination, but for Armond, it rewarded him with a some unexpected result of being devastatingly handsome. It was part of his success. Others trusted beautiful people more readily, and yes, that may have been parlayed into some personas that may have preyed upon that trust.

But Armond knew he was a good person. Deep down.

He excused himself from the path of a couple Sylvian women, and the solitary Dryad that walked between them. One of the women nodded politely in his direction.

“Good morning,” Armond smiled kindly at the three of them, lingering on the younger Sylvian for a split second.

“Oh good morning, sir.” She blushed as well, quickly lowering her gaze to the flat pavers at her cloven feet.

Armond grinned even wider, showing all of his teeth with mirth. It was shaping up to be a good day. He turned down his alley, heading to the backstreets of Midtown. The suppliers and shippers moved their wares to the markets through the backstreets in the larger vans and lorries that would not fit on the quaint market avenues even if they weren’t prohibited, and if you travelled far enough, the bustling backstreets coalesced into their own diverse markets and economies. Including the ones that were of a less reputable type.

In other words, Armond’s kind of crowd. He nodded at a couple of friendly acquaintances clustered near the Powder & Burnt entrance and turned down the alley that lead to the stairs to underneath the pub. He knocked lightly at the heavy wooden door and let himself in. The locks were enchanted, and Wick had long ago given him the lock iron shaving to keep in his bootheel.

“I thought I heard your good cheer coming down the stairs,” Wick grumbled from his massive work bench. “A rising gorge in my midsection, kind of like heartburn.”

“And good morning to you as well!” Armond smiled widely, holding his arms out as if he wanted a hug.

“Fuck off.”

Armond laughed all the more brightly.

“What put you in such a good mood? Besides some random maidens uncontrollably smiling at you,” Wick asked. He left his googles over his eyes, continuing to move the soldering gun over whatever circuit board project he had in front of him. Small wisps of smoke followed the tip of the gun as Wick waved it around, touching it to lead after lead in quick succession.

“I am glad I have you in my life to keep me grounded, my friend,” Armond walked around the piles of crates, buckets of parts, and scattered piles of technology that were intermittently spread between the door and the center of the workshop where Wick continued soldering. “You should put that away, I have a new offer in hand.”

Wick looked up, pushing his googles up with one thick knuckle. His dwarven eyes were sunken, but they glittered brightly like jewels in the deep. “Aye, do you? That is why you are in such a good mood.”

Armond leaned against the expansive stone and iron workbench with one hip and let his straight face play the unspoken game.

“Well, spill!” Wick said as he dropped the solder gun and pushed his googles up his forehead impatiently, he tapped a few commands on his nearby laptop absentmindedly with the other hand.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand.” Armond stated matter-of-factly, keeping his face straight.

“That is… good money,” Wick acknowledged.

“Each!” Armond’s grin reasserted itself like the sun piercing through clouds.

“What?”

“I figured it will take a six man crew.”

“Each!?” Wick’s eyes continued to widen.

“And a safe delivery bonus of a million that I intend to expand our little enterprise.” Armond’s smile was nearly touching his ears at witnessing his friend’s reaction.

Wick was beside himself. “Two and half million? What are we stealing? The Jewels of the Counsel Chamber? The testicles of the fucking Underking himself? My gods. What is worth two and half million credits?”

“A single item. A bag to be precise. A leather satchel with two tongs and gilded brass closures, along with a simple shoulder strap.”

“What is in the bag?”

“That I don’t know. I do know that it is not heavy, enchanted, or dangerous. In fact, the way it was presented to me, it seemed to be nothing more than a bag of documents.”

“Blackmail.”

“Has to be, right?” Armond nodded. “This is from our friend, the Judge.”

“Interesting,” Wick raised his fingers to his thick beard, scratching at his cheek. “So it is either blackmail against our friend or for our friend to use. So drop the other blasted boot, Armond. A simple bag does not fetch that price, there has to be something else.”

Armond finally looked uncomfortable.

“Oh great, that face,” Wick smirked. “Dungeon? Dragon? Both? No, let me guess. It is lodged directly in the ass of a god himself. We have to crawl in there with a crowbar and a flamethrower-“

“-It’s in a bank.” Armond interrupted.

Wick looked confused. “So? Trivial.”

“A central bank.”

“More difficult, still not impossible.”

“The Mercadian Central Bank.”

“Yeah, no fucking way, Armond.” Wick pulled his googles back down and started on his next solder joint. He tapped a few keys on the clunky laptop and sighed heavily.

“You just said you had no problems with a bank, central or otherwise,” Armond said, waving his arms at the obvious contradiction.

Wick dropped the solder gun without a thought and pushed his googles up again, more wearily this time. Yet his eyes were smoldering in their pits, and his face was shifting to red at the incongruence of having to explain something obvious to someone who knew better.

“Armond, I am your friend, but this is making you sound like a stupid snipe-toothed little half breed… you are mildly suggesting that we go into the most secure, highly protected, and! And! …most used bank by nearly every single investor, noble family, and some of the greatest crime families in the city, and you… are just suggesting it is a walk in the park! Like stealing a handful of coins out of an alms box!”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god, you are knackered,” Wick put stood up abruptly and strolled over to the icebox. He pulled a beer out without offering one to Armond, and popped the top of the bottle with a smooth assured tap against the workbench edge. “So you won’t need one of these, but I will as I obviously have to explain to my good friend, Armond, who has more looks than brain cells…”

“Oh come on, you are being hurtful now.” Armond feigned a look of injury.

“Fine. Fine. You are smart. So you should know better. No wonder the offer is so big. Someone wants us, a six man crew, which by the way, we don’t have! And break into the Mercadian Central Bank. The only bank in the entire city that has both electronic and enchantment monitoring, at least three types of guards, including the damn Gargoyles in the rafters, and the vault is nestled in a phase shifted void locker in the center of the bank! On top of all that, like icing on the mother-fucking cake, I have heard that they have a deluge system to literally wash away anything, including unfortunate customers, into a holding tank until the cops show up, which given the bank’s status is probably measure in seconds, not minutes.”

Armond walked silently to the icebox and freed a beer from its confines without asking for permission. He pulled the beer cap against his left incisor and the cap careened into the corner waste basket.

“Did I get all of it?” Wick added sarcastically.

“You forgot the rune deck for the vault.”

“Rune deck? No shit. Fancy bank with fancy systems. And let me guess, the bank manager is the only one with the deck.”

“That’s right.”

“So we have to get our hands on a rune deck… make it to the phased vault entrance without being noticed? With gargoyles overhead, guards all around, tellers and customers, bank staff, and all backed up with the latest and greatest in tech. I bet each teller has a panic button, and every corner has a camera.”

“Fourteen cameras in the lobby, another twelve behind the tellers, and three vantage points on the vault entrance. Not sure what cameras are upstairs, obviously couldn’t get up there as a customer,” Armond said with the air of an educator. “Two to three guards on duty depending, including an old dwarf with an all-sight in his left eye socket. Everything else is as you rattled off.”

Wick slapped the workbench in exasperation. “Holy shit, you already started casing the place? Please tell me you have not agreed to this yet. We don’t even have a full crew!”

“I haven’t. I wanted to talk to you first, do some research second, and then feel out the source. If we do something this big, we need to know that we can trust the benefactor.”

“And what makes you think we can do this? Like actually do this, Armond?”

Armond took a heavy swig of the brown ale in his hand. “I know we are missing the crew… but something just tells me that we can do this. Call it a little whispering voice deep down in my gut, Wickie. I can feel it.”

“I hate those gut feelings of yours,” Wick scratched at his beard again. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Your gut tends to be right, too. Doesn’t mean that I have to be happy about it.”

Armond punched the air with his the free hand. “Yes! Today is coming up golden.”

“We need a crew. Six men?”

“Yes,” Armond agreed.

“We need to feel out the benefactor. That’s your job.”

“Yes,” Armond agreed again.

“And it appears that I have a bank to case.”

“Yessssss,” Armond smirk shifted to a wide grin again. “You rock, Wick.”

======

A few days later Wick and Armond gathered around the work table in Wick’s workshop under the Powder & Burnt. The bar itself was empty, but that should be expected as it was mid-morning. Only the overly desperate or the exceedingly dedicated were getting drunk at this time of day, and those patrons did not typically visit the P&B. In its basement, Wick’s expansive worktable in the middle of the galaxy of crates, tech, and parts was remarkably clean. Wick already had floor plans laid out on the stone surface when Armond had walked in. Armond, as always, was impressed with his friend’s dedication and hours. He had no idea if Wick slept, and if Wick did, Armond had no idea where.

“Before I start, what did you find out on our benefactor?” Wick started.

“Our judge was tight lipped. Refused to say… but he made it clear that he was already in possession of the funds, and that for all intents and purposes, he was the client.”

“So our judge friend fucked up, and he doesn’t want to tell us.”

Armond shrugged. “I told him three more days and we would give him an answer. He wanted you to know that he wanted to start with us, given our history. He knew you and I would do it right.”

“He has you played, Armond.” Wick grumbled. Armond knew it was only friendly ribbing.

“Eh, maybe. But we did help him not just once, but twice, with that little habit of his, and we did it seamlessly. He thinks he can rely on us.”

“Can he?”

“For now, I think he can,” Armond said truthfully. “Vatsitz?”

“Deng-deng. Street slang from sophisticated Armond. How rare. Sometimes I forget a street rat is under all that pomp.”

“Koom te deng, Hammaman. What did you find out?”

“I wish I could say it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but it isn’t.”

“Was it worse?” Armond’s right eyebrow lifted involuntarily.

“No, about what was expecting. Being in the circles we are, I hear things. The things I heard seem mostly true.” Wick pointed at the floorplan. “Old koom I knew, a real hammaman, had these on hand when his clan dropped in the vault stones.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Oh, yes, I can. He is dead. His kids had no idea these were in his collection. I, uh, liberated them.”

Armond was impressed. “Nice.”

“His daughter was exceptionally nice. A little on the young side, but well built for a dwarf. I would crawl through a latrine to see that backside up close.”

“Stop it, you grizzly old pervert. You are well past that age. You should only be interested in liberating shiny rocks at this point in your life,” Armond teased. He ran his hand over the plans, flattening the curve of the aged vellum. “These are old, things could have changed…”

“Maybe the electronics on either end, but I bet the wiring and the channels are the same. Why rerun wire that works or change out a pathway? There would be no sense. The cameras can even change position, but the wires probably have never changed. And the vault… well that is the same since the bank was erected. A void locker that size? The bank was built around it.”

“Gargoyles would probably be grumpy if something did change. They like their routine.”

“Aye. Don’t they. They also hate water… and that’s why we should flood the place.”

Armond looked sharply at his partner barely comprehending what he just said.

Wick continued, “Think about it. We get a three way benefit. We clear the guards, we clear the customers, and we clear the ‘goyles. The only thing left would be the tech, and I can get that dialed… tech is my thing. Heck, I bet at least half these systems are based on my clan’s work to begin with. That leaves a remarkably small number of things to handle…”

“Controlling the doors, getting the rune deck, and…” Armond trailed off.

“Getting the deck to the vault and the bag out of the vault in under a minute.”

“What.” It was not said as a question.

Wick picked at his teeth with an overgrown thumbnail. “I knew you would like this part. Once the rune deck is wiped, that starts a timer. See these runes here? Those are on the void locker pillars, meaning that the vault has a rudimentary time aspect. It will count down, and once it crosses the limit of the rune, it will pop up on every single teller position. They have the matching runes at eye level on their teller window pillars.”

“No way to circumvent it?”

“Rune magic, Armond. Solid as an old mountain. Carved runes are immutable. Unless you can get a runehammer to them faster than they can count down. Which is impossible. Those runes will only ever see the open air again when the bank is torn down. Sealed behind brick and iron currently. Void lockers are powerful enchantments, not to be trifled with.”

“They will know they were robbed.” Armond’s face fell a bit, somehow still managing to appear dashingly handsome.

“And that’s the beauty of popping the water. The bank was designed with this absurdly complex and powerful deluge system. And I mean a flood, torrential and inundating amounts of water… if the bank tellers are dealing with this deluge of fire suppression, I doubt any of them will be at their teller windows minding the vault status. That would be silly.”

“And giving us a chance to melt right into the madness.” Armond’s smile reasserted itself.

“Aye. Speaking of melting into the madness. I have muscle lined up.”

“Please tell me Frick said yes.”

“He did. Jumped at it, didn’t ask what the pay was,” Wick smirked, his best version of a wide smile. “He offered to bring Garbles in if we need him. I am not one for Sylvies, but Frick is not all that bad.”

Armond nodded in the affirmative. “Yes we need two for the doors. Garbles is perfect, not much to say, and stays that way. I love the troll work ethic.”

“So that leaves me running the tech dips, you doing the social work with the manager?”

“Obviously.”

“You said crew of six?”

“That leaves the driver and the fingers.”

Wick’s eyes went wide. “You knew about the runes.”

“I did. Parlor trick really. Tell you some other time.”

“And you made me sit here and explain it,” Wick made a face.

Armond chuckled. “Your voice is just so warm and inviting.”

“Fine. Driver… let’s see… uh we got Terrence? Or Nocke?”

“Terrance, Terrance? Is he the one that does the high speed stuff? Likes to sing at top volume?”

“Oh yeah, crazy shit man.” Wick laughed, his mouth still appearing to be mostly downturned.

“If we are going high speed, that means we fucked up along the way. I rather we disappear. Nocke is a fine choice. Reliable driver, help us evaporate.”

“That leaves the pinch out of the vault itself. Who are the fingers?”

“Well… what about Rashammonka?”

“Dead.” Wick shook his head.

“No shit?”

“Yeah, old lady killed him accidentally. Or at least that’s the story. Probably did it on purpose, he got around. More portholes than keys.”

“Ok… gross. Thanks for that. Stammin?” Armond tried.

“Went legit.”

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah, works up at the ‘Hill now. Doing well under Counsel Eseldi, you know, the old tree elf.”

“Good for Stammin. He was good. That’s a loss. Hmmm…”

Wick brightened. “What about Jack-de-jack?”

“Prison,” Armond replied shaking his head. “In for a tenner.”

“That old goblin finally got pinched himself? Shocker.”

“No, arson.”

Wick laughed out loud. “Let me guess? Fucking brownies.”

“Yeah, fucking brownies. Burned the entire building down. Unfortunately, it was an apartment.”

“Guy hated brownies though. I get it.” Wick chuckled it out to a fading sigh. “Well shit. I would say you since you are a talented pinch, but you have to handle that rune deck personally.”

“Yeah, I know. I know. We need to find some light and talented fingers.” Armond sighed heavily. “Alright, you keep on the tech, I will find us someone.”

“Where?”

“The place where fingers like to go walking. The wild nightlife of well-to-do Mercadia. Where else?”

“Do we have enough time?”

“Judge said we have time. Said that bag was deadholed in the vault. Not going anywhere. Even if I find a greenhorn, we can train them up a bit with some little stuff before we drop them into the cauldron.”

“If you find someone. That is a big if.”

“Come one, Wick. When have I ever let you down?” Armond smiled proudly, tapping his chest with both hands.

“That one time with the Priest’s daughter.”

“Oh you had that coming my friend. Who am I to stand in the righteous fury of a father that was a man of the cloth and just so happened to know how to fistfight?”

“He was a former prizefighter, asshole. I am still missing this tooth because of it.” Wick lifted his lip, and he definitely did not have a tooth in the black gap.

“Gives you character, Wick. A presence.” Armond grinned his own white impeccable toothy grin as he headed towards the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah. Like I need that. Fuck off, Armond.”

“Already am, my old friend.”

This portion follows The Mercadian Heist and The Mercadian Heist, Part II

The day took forever to trod along its proscribed, droll route. The dead end suitor shoved off after the appropriate amount of empty courting, the staff buzzed about trying to make Jax’s mother, Mayzeri Deanna Armas, happy and mostly failing. Her mother was a force of nature in her own way, and if one had any wish to preserve themselves, they would need to find a safe distance and appear compliant to her whims and wishes.

Jacqueline Deanna Armas, known to Jackie to her friends and Jax to her colleagues, had learned early on that if you wanted to hold your own against someone of her mother’s ilk, all you had to do was smile, nod in the right places, and let her carry your side of the conversation as she saw fit. Most of the time, that worked.

Today was no exception. Jax nodded where she needed to, smiled where she was expected, and kept her mouth shut otherwise. She absolutely had to find out what was in the leather bag sequestered under the false decorative top of her armoire. The bag was simple in design, with two brass buckles holding the flap down, and the leather itself was well worn, weathered by either time or stress, but cared for along the way. It appeared to be a good bag.

Its shape was held firmly in her mind, and she ran her imaginary fingers over the leather, fingering the belted closures, wondering what was held within. Jax risked breaking the silence to find out. “Mother?”

Mayzeri looked up from her piles of court papers strewn across the dinner table. “Yes, Jacqueline?”

The staff hated when her mother used the dining hall for her work. Work that was better suited for the parlor or the office, and not where the smallest spill of food or drink could risk a verbal assault from the Lady of the House for something that was wholly out of their control.

“May I be excused for the evening? I wish to go to bed after having a day like today.”

Mayzeri raised an eyebrow. “A day like today, love? A day where you have to do your part for the success of your family in securing your future? Unfortunately, my dear, that will be every day for the rest of your life. That is the role of a woman in this society. Fight for what you are owed.”

Jackie sighed inwardly at the bait, but she knew it was expected to question. “What are we owed, Mother?”

A hint of smile at her mouth as she leaned back over her papers, “The world, my dear one. We are owed the world. We just have to stand up and take it. Good night.”

“Good night Mother,” Jackie pushed away from the table and nodded to Mr. Graves, the butler, as he opened the door for her. “Good night, Mr. Graves.”

“Good night, miss!” He smiled kindly.

Jackie pulled her dinner dress up to her calves and took the stairs at speed. She felt like a criminal in her own house. Never mind the fact that she had robbed a bank this morning. It was stealing her time back from her mother that made her a real criminal. She kicked off her shoes, picked them up with the free hand and practicing her silent run, praying all the while that the household staff where elsewhere. She turned the corner of the hall that had her room door off of it, spun inside her door, and locked it quietly from the other side.

Her sanctuary was calm, quiet, and empty. Mekka, one of the housemaids that was assigned to this side of the house, must have already been in here. The fire was crackling lightly in the hearth, and the bed was already turned down. Harrisa, her lady’s maid, would not be expecting Jax to ring for at least another hour, so she had time.

She tossed her shoes near the footing of the changing blind in the corner, pulled a chair to the armoire, and shifted the trestling of the false top to the side to free the bag from its hiding place. She pulled it down gingerly. When she had picked the bag up in the Mercadian Central Bank she had a felt buzzing in her hands, like there was an angry bee in the leather satchel. And now, here, she felt that buzzing again. She sat on the edge of her bed staring down the bag in her hands as if she was making a choice that would end the world.

Jax paused.

Should she open it? Would Armond be angry? What if there was something inside that was dangerous? A construct that could was beyond her understanding? She was not a magical person. Magic did not run in her family at all. There was an old rumor that she had a great-great Aunt on her father’s side that had a touch of it, and she had gone mad, living alone with a great number of cats and a live-in female friend.

Jax was mature enough to know exactly what her great-great aunt was, and mad was not it. That aunt probably had been a very kind and passionate person who knew exactly what she wanted out of her life. Just like Jax knew what she wanted out of hers. She wanted the same thing, in a way.

She wanted choices. And maybe a cat. Maybe a lover… someday.

So what if there was something in the bag she wouldn’t understand? Armond would not have sent her home with anything dangerous. It was just a leather bag. A simple satchel with two brass buckles, and simple shoulder strap. If it had been dangerous, it would be in a iron box, or void locker, or something even more exotic. Whatever was in the bag was valuable, but not dangerous. She squeezed her braid, feeling the jeweled comm concealed in the many dark strands, and thought briefly about trying to reach out to Armond.

Jax heard her mother’s voice in her head, “We are owed the world.”

Damn right we are, Jax agreed. She had carried this bag from the the most secure vault in all of Mercadia all by herself. She had carried it out of the Mercadian Central Bank and through the city, under the watchful eyes of many sorts. Whatever was in the bag did not warrant a second glance from any number of magically-aware beings that she had crossed paths with. No troll or goblin had stopped her. How many Sylvians had she walked near? Not a single one had batted an eyelid in her direction. She had been a simple teenage human girl carrying her bag on her way to somewhere.

Jax made her choice, undoing the buckles and pulling at the straps. She took a deep breath and held the bag open tentatively, expecting something to happen.

Nothing happened.

She sat it on her knees and looked into the dark of the bag.

Wands?!

At least twenty. Of all shapes and sizes. What the fuck where wands doing locked up in a bank vault? Wands were focus objects for very specific types of magic users. Magic users often made their own based on their preferred specialty or focus of magic. And everyone knew that wands were about as useful to another person as a used through pair of shoes. Nothing special about shoes. They won’t make you walk any faster, or do your walking for you. They are just shoes. Used ones are doubly useless at that. Kind of gross to use someone else’s shoes. It was kind of gross to use someone’s wand. It would help focus in a pinch, but it would be off and not nearly as useful as your own.

Useless fucking wands.

Jackie shook the bag gently, and the wands all woodenly clicked and thunked together like a bundle of sticks. She literally had kindling on her knees. Useless, stupid, …worthless sticks!

Jackie felt a flair of anger. Why had she risked a bank robbery at the most secure bank in all of the city, just so Armond could get his hands on a bag of used, nasty, wands. Like what the fuck is going on here!?

There had to be something else in the bag. She ran her hands over all the edges of the leather, hoping to feel a hidden zipper or a secret fold, something that held a piece of paper with a secret, or a Elvish map to a dragon’s hoard hidden somewhere deep in a mountain. But there was nothing else.

It was just a bag. She rifled through the bag’s contents, her hands brushing all of them, and nothing changed.

Full of useless wands. Jackie leaned back, shaking her head in wonder at the monumentious stupidity of it all.

“Pick me up.”

Jackie screamed, throwing the bag off her lap. It bounced off the rug, and the wands scattered across the floor, sounding just like sticks being scattered from a woodpile. She held her breath, both hands over her mouth. She exhaled raggedly, her hands were shaking. She almost pulled her enchantment out and spoke the trigger word to disappear. Almost.

Her own voice was shaky in her ears, “Who’s there?”

The voice was soft, genteel almost. Like a soothing balm given voice and action. “Just a useless wand.”

Jackie nearly repeated her scream. But she tempered her urge, feeling her emotions running through her veins like fire.

“Good. You have control,” the voice reassured.

Jackie’s eyes surveyed the room of wands, and her eyes fell on one near the middle. She knew it was that one. A dark brown one about the length of her forearm, twisted like a grape vine, one end smoother than the other. No carvings, no jewels, no inlays or fitted handles like some of the others. It was plain. Utilitarian. Unassuming.

“Yes.”

“H-h-how?” Jackie stammered. She didn’t know what she was asking. Well she kind of knew. She kind of was asking all the questions, all at once. How did she hear it? How did it talk? How could a simple wand be anything more than a shoe? Did everyone hear it? Could it talk to anyone? Was it sentient? Was this a curse? Oh my god, is the wand a person? Can you even transmute a person into a wand? What the fuck? What the fuck is happening? What the fuck is happening to me? Am I crazy?

Oh my god, she thought, maybe my great-great aunt was crazy and not just a lesbian.

“Stop.”

Jackie stopped.

“Deep breath. Count to five. Release. Count to five. Breath in again. Repeat five times.”

“What?” Jackie tried.

“Do it!” The voice said with authority. An authority that Jackie respected, so she followed the instructions.

“Feel better?”

She did. Her mind was calm, and the questions had started to take priority while the emotional responses had faded to a dull roar in the background. “Yes.”

“Pick me up.”

Jax did not move. “Why?”

“So we can communicate better. This takes effort.”

Jackie lightly stepped on to the carpet, and gathered all the scattered wands, making a point to not touch the obvious one trying to steal her soul or take over her body.

“That is ridiculous.”

“Ok. Stop. How are you doing that?” Jax asked, shoving the other wands back into the leather bag. “Invading one’s thoughts is impolite.”

“As a wand, think about this for a moment, a wand is not interested in stealing a soul or taking over a body. What use is either to a wand? I am a wand.” The voice said it as if it was the most absurdly obvious thing that could ever be said in the history of the world. “And the way that I communicate is profoundly easier and faster.”

Jax squatted down near the wand, still lying askew on the carpet, looking over it carefully while she shook the last of the wands into the bag, settling them back into place. “I think I am mad.”

“Not yet.”

“Great help,” she sighed. “But to everyone else that can’t hear you, witnessing me talking to a stick, I think it would be obvious.”

“Its temporary.”

“The madness?”

“The talking out loud part. You will learn to converse more directly in the future.”

“And that is why you need me to pick you up?” Jax tried.

“No. You have to learn things on your own.”

“Then why would I need to pick you up?”

“Because you need to make a copy of me, put the copy back into the bag, and then give the bag to whoever bought your crew to steal me in the first place.”

“I am not a wizard, I am thief.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Jax said, returning the obvious matter of fact tone the wand had used earlier. “Only magic-touched folks can use magic. Most barely. Only the great ones are able to actually use it use it, in the way the stories are told. I am not one of the former, and definitely not one of the latter. I am not magic folk.”

“That’s a lie.”

“What’s a lie?” Jax was caught off guard.

“Everyone can use magic. Anyone. All living things are tied to the fabric of the universe. Why would magic only exist for a select few? Magic is not sentient. It cannot make decisions about who gets to use it. It is energy. Pervasive. Everywhere. All things are bound in it and by it.”

“So what are the Trials for?”

“The Trials as you call them are to keep the lie alive. Why would power invite competition, Jacqueline?”

“But everyone would know it was a lie, eventually, right? It only takes someone to come along and do it without the schools, the training, and the rest of it. Some hermit wandering in from a lonely mountain and using magic as if it was the most natural thing, that is all that it would take,” Jax paused and curled her lip into a sneer. “…And I hate that name.”

“Its what your mother calls you.”

“It is. And now you know why I hate it.”

“Pick me up, Jackie.” The voice was softer now, understanding.

“It’s Jax.”

“Pick me up, Jax.”

She reached out, letting her fingers graze the wood, expecting a great shock or a wave of power to wash over her. Nothing happened.

“Of course nothing happened. I already explained, come on.” It sounded annoyed.

Jax grasped the wand in annoyance herself and lifted it straight to her eyeline. “There! Are you happy?”

“My happiness is irrelevant. Now. Grab one of the junk wands out of the bag.”

“Junk wands?”

“They are meant to be decoys. To hide me from anyone looking without knowing what to look for.”

“Ok. This one?” Jax had pulled out a smaller, thicker, lighter colored wand with a single scratched jewel crowning a false hilt.

“It doesn’t matter. Now focus on what I look like. What the wood feels like. The weight of it in your hand. Think about how you feel the interaction of it through your skin, your fingers, your sight, your smell. Take a few minutes and create a representation in your mind. Include the most detail you can think of. Most important of all… think of what makes me ‘real’. Whatever that means to you.”

“Ok, then use a magic word or an incantation?”

“Of course not, I can explain why those exist later,” the wand was sighing even though it lacked lungs, air, and throat to sigh through. “Magic is old. As I said, is a part of reality, just as the interactions between things very large and very small are relatively the same throughout nature. It is only at the extremes where things are strange and incongruent. But the vast majority of the universe is made up of a single great fabric. Magic permeates that fabric. All you have to do is find a thread of it and grab on.”

“But how?”

“And that is why I am here. To show the way.”

“Wait. You are a dowsing rod?” Jackie wanted to laugh. “But for magic. Not water.”

“I AM NOT A DOWSING ROD,” the voice was borderline hysterical in denial.

“Says the dowsing rod.”

“Stop it. Now use your imagination. And close your eyes.” The voice had returned to the teacher voice.

Jax closed her eyes, and made an image in her head of the wand. Similarly to how she had imagined the bag earlier in the day. She ran her mental fingers over the wand as she actually ran her fingers over the wood, feeling the grain, the texture. She smelled the deep oldness of the wood, an aged wax, something far off like a campfire and baking bread coming from deep in a forest full of light. Birds were in the trees, singing songs that were wound of magic, the vines vibrated as they climbed the trees, seeking the warmth of light above. The mists of the morning wound among the roots of the old ones, touching their bark hesitantly, sharing messages from the sky and the wind. Everything was alive.

She felt it in her heart, the tug, the pull, and the connection to the world around her. Her breath slowed, the pulse in her fingertips faded from her consciousness, and she understood the wand in her right as she held what the wand that wanted to become in her left. She understood all she had to do was make the movement.

She had to move with intent, like one would take a step forward with their body. It is just a moment of thought, and then a moment of action. The brain interpreted for the body, and the body made motion through a complex series of chemical reactions and coordination that the brain knew nothing about. Likewise, she felt the magic, the feel of what she wanted, and she just… moved forward.

“And you are done,” the voice came along as if in a dream.

Jax opened her eyes and her left hand held exactly what was in her right. It was indistinguishable.

“Mostly. If you know what to look for. But for your first attempt, that is a great result.”

Jax set them both down and rolled them back and forth on the carpet without looking, trying to mix them up. She stood and looked down at both of them.

“The real one is on the right,” she said with no hesitation or delay.

“Yes.”

“How did I know?” Jax tugged on her braid as she did done since a child, considering what needed to be considered. Her mother called it her ‘thinking face’.

“Because you know what is real. Intuitively. Any person that understood the basic nature of things would know. But the trick is that you will put the fake one in the bag, and no one will be able to have a basis to compare. No one will consider that a duplicate will have been made in such a short time, and no one will suspect the thief of pulling one over using magic. It is… ahem… the perfect crime.”

“Funny.”

“See you just communicated without saying anything out loud. You are a fast learner.”

“I did?” Jax said aloud.

“And you ruined it. Just practice, it will come naturally… eventually.”

Jax stood on the chair and shoved the closed bag back into its hiding place, carefully shifting the false top back into place. She pushed the chair back into place, and sat on the edge of her bed, with the wand spanning her two hands.

“What are you?” Jax tried again, focusing on saying her mind without vocalizing.

“I am a wand.”

“You are not just a wand. Just like my necklace is not just a necklace.”

“I don’t know what I am. There was a day that I knew what I was, and I was a wand. I have always been a wand. When did you become everything that makes you up who you are now?”

Jax shrugged. “Along the way, I suppose.”

“You feel that you came to be who you are sometime as a child, and then you had some experiences, and then someone died or someone left, and then you had more, but different experiences, and then one day you are in your bedroom having a conversation with a wand. I am like that too. Except much more static. I am a wand. My experiences don’t matter. One day I wasn’t, then the next I was. I have been the same since.”

“But someone created you?”

“No.”

“Bullshit!”

“That is not language becoming a lady of station, Jax.”

“So one day, you were just a wand. Where? Growing from the smart ass wand tree?”

“My first owner laid his hands on me, and I saw through his eyes that I was lying in the bottom of a crater on a pillar made of melted glass, and the trees all around the crater were on fire, as the stars wheeled overhead, leaving streaks in the sky.”

“Pillar? Fire? Crater? What about that sounds like he didn’t create you?”

“He did not. If he had, I would know. When I came to be, I knew everything that I know. That including the knowledge that he did not create me.”

“Circular reasoning, as my tutors had ever heard it.”

“I am what I am meant to be for the purposes I am meant to serve. I am an intelligence, but I am finite. I am a wand.”

Jax felt like she had a million more questions.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“You want to know. Everything. You want to be more than you were lead to believe was possible. You want to have power, but not for power’s sake, instead to make your life exciting. You want to live a life worth living. And the answer is yes.”

“What was the question, then?” Jax tried.

“Will I teach you?”

“Huh.” Jax sat back and laid the wand across her lap. Her eyes looked inwards, thinking about what she truly wanted. She swallowed heavily. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”

This portion follows The Mercadian Heist.

Jax wandered home, taking a surreptitious route, winding from where the cab had dropped her, through the bright market squares and flower-lined wealthy home rows of Holmton, walking leisurely with one hand draped over her newly acquired bag. All the while, she maintained a facade of calm composure outwardly, although her insides were a raging fury of adrenaline and shock.

She had just robbed a bank.

Everyone on the crew had a part, yes. Armond did his thing with the bank manager, Garbles and Frick managed the street and the bank entrances, while Nocke had parked in the back so that Wick could hack the bank’s systems from his oversized laptop. But in the end, it was Jacqueline Deanna Armas that had robbed the most secure bank in Mercadia. The bank had investors and clients in every single upper crust of the city, if not all the other major cities of the nation.

Jax smiled lightly. It was not every day a common pickpocket had the opportunity to rob a bank. She pulled the crystalline earwig from her ear knowing it was well out of range from the sistered commbugs. She briefly studied the jeweled facets of the magical totem, before pushing into the depths of her braided hair.

Now, all she had to do was wait. Three days. Maybe more. Three days with a simple leather bag, with it’s brass buckles, weighing near to nothing, and for some reason that she had yet to figure out, the sole target the bank was robbed in the first place.

Armond had said what was in the bag was worth more money than she could imagine. Being the daughter of a former Consul of Mercadia meant she could imagine quite a large sum. Wait. Had she just robbed the bank that her family was a customer of? Did that mean she had robbed herself? Her mother would die if she ever found out.

The smile turned into a grin. The chemicals coursing through her bloodstream were shifting to euphoria.

Jax turned up her street in Hallrton, one of the wealthiest districts of the ‘Cade. She had not told anyone where she lived, but the crew knew that she was not a street rat. Armond could smell money, so he knew that she came from somewhere above the three rivers. He had guessed a couple mid-town districts, but Jax kept a straight face and ever only shrugged noncommittally. Armond would probably die if he ever found out she hailed from Hallrton.

Hallrton was perched on top of the hills that faced the capital buildings, just far enough to be on their own estates, but close enough that the commute was short for the people that ruled Mercadia either through policy, power, money, or fame. The cream of society called Hallrton home, and those that didn’t, wished they did. Armond had no idea that his pickpocket protege was from the highest layer of the cake.

Jax walked quietly along the fence line of her family estate, twisting her family charm on it’s silver chain against her chest. She muttered the activation word, and felt the noise of the world fade away. Anyone that looked her direction would see only the wind, a dream, and the mists of a forgotten memory. She reached her favorite spot to jump the fence, climbed the roguish elm tree lightly, stepped across the branches and dropped to the grass on the other side of the iron fencing. The fence wards would not have triggered, because the charm she wore made her invisible not only to the world, but to the magic that so many people blindly trusted.

She remembered being a small child, nestled in her grandmother’s lap and fingering the necklace laying against her Mammin’s chest gently, twisting it back and forth out of curiosity.

“What is this, Mammin?” The young Jacqueline had asked.

Her grandmother had held it out for her to look at carefully. “This is your family crest, my little one. A symbol of your family that stretches from you, the youngest, through your mother, through me, through my mother and grandmother, all the way back before this city was ever built. This heirloom was created by one of our mothers back when magic was new, and the world had not opened it’s eyes yet. A dark time that lead people like her to create power that she could use to protect her family.”

“How does it protect us?” Jacqueline asked timidly. She held the sides of the ornate ring of rings gently, in awe of her Mammin’s storytelling voice.

“Within this necklace lies the heart of an old friend that our foremother saved from a dark enemy. In saving this old friend, she pledged to be of service to our foremother, and her descendants for all time. She gave herself willingly to this necklace, and bound herself to it. See, this friend was not some common person like you or me, it was one of the First Ones, a being of incredible strength and beauty. She was this symbol here in the center. Do you know that is, honey?”

“It looks like a bird, but the bird is on fire? Oh, that is a Heofon?”

“That’s right. Heofons were spirits of the sky, majestic and powerful. This Heofon was called Skuggwa, and she was the master of both light and shadows. When the wearer calls out her name and invokes the necklace, our friend hides the person wearing it, but only if they carry the blood of our foremother.”

“So she hides you in a shadow?”

“Kind of. It is like everyone else forgets you are there. Even magic forgets who you are.”

“Wow.”

Jacqueline’s mother called from the doorway of the parlor. “Stop bothering Mammin, Jaqueline dear. Come get ready to see your father. We are having company tonight from the Council.”

In a whisper Jacqueline asked her final question, “Mammin, will you show me someday?”

Grandmother winked, and Jacqueline knew that her Mammin would.

Many years later, after Mammin had passed away, Jacqueline knew it was hers. So she took it from her grandmother’s things and had hidden it away. No one ever knew and no one had ever asked about it’s whereabouts. Mammin had mentioned that her mommy did not care for such things, so Jax guessed that it was hers through implication.

Simply put, it was hers to inherit because no one else gave a shit.

It was a beautiful work on it’s own, whether it was a magical artifact or not. A silver chain terminated at pendant of rings of gold, dangling flat against the chest, nestled gently against each other, silent and shimmering. The ring of rings never made a sound. Jax loved it as much as she had loved her Mammin. In her mind, they were one and the same. The necklace was a part of her grandmother, and now it was a part of her.

All of her foremothers were with her, and that was a comforting thought.

Jax entered through the servant’s entrance of the Great House, climbing the back stairs from the kitchens, unnoticed and unseen. A couple of the hands bustled past her on the stairs, but they knew to stay to the inside rail as not to have a collision with one of the staff hustling upwards to serve the house. Jax exited on to the second floor of the family rooms, and silently made her way to her own. She was not going to be missed, as her mother was off on business in the City Center, and the help knew better than try to pry Ms. Jacqueline from her rooms before she was ready to exit them. Terror awaited any servant bullish enough to rouse the teenager before she was ready.

She closed the door, and lowered her charm using the safe word, sighing heavily in her darkened room. No one had come and opened the drapery, so as far as the staff knew, she was asleep still. Jax glanced at the door and nearly fainted. It was two in the afternoon! The clock face did not lie. Yeah, that was going to make her mother angry. Her euphoria shifted towards a mild amount of dread.

She quickly changed back into her nightgown, shoved her re-worn clothing back into the laundry, and hid the purloined bag on top of her armoire, ensuring the trestling that formed the false top was shifted back in place to cover it. Curiosity was killing her to find out what was in the bag, and Armond had not said anything about not looking… but right now, time was not on her side.

Jax jumped back into bed and rang the bell. Five minutes later her lady’s maid and one of the housemaids entered ready to prepare Lady Jacqueline for her day.

“Good morning, my lady,” Harrisa, her lady’s maid, ducked formally.

“Good morning, my lady,” Mekka echoed as she moved to push the drapes back. Light flooded the room and the three of them squinted briefly.

Jax adopted her regal persona, the one that she copied rigorously from her mother’s behavior with the staff.

“Good morning, Harrisa. Mekka, how is William?” Jax smiled, noting that neither of the ladies noted the fact it was not actually morning.

“Very well, my lady, and thank you for asking after him. The horse kick turned out to be a minor injury. Doctor says he will be up and back to his ways in a day or two.”

“Fortunate,” Jax smiled graciously. “I had heard from Mr. Garret that he had taken a full blow, and those never bode well. It seems our prayers helped avert disaster. Praise the Lord Within.”

“Indeed, Miss. Praise him indeed!”

“Ms. Jacqueline, why is your hair damp?” Harrisa frowned, waving Mekka towards the empty fire grate. Mekka started to clear the ash without another word.

“I think I had a fever, Harrisa. Hence the late wake time, my apologies,” Jax glanced over at the clocked and feigned surprise. “Oh, my! It is after two!”

“Oh, I wish you had rang. Your mother will be cross to learn you were ill and no one checked in on you,” Harrisa’s eyes turned downward.

Jax knew Harrisa was imagining the verbal lashing from mother. “Nonsense. You are checking on me now, and I feel quite well. Sleep is what I needed to recover.”

“Should I send for the doctor?” Harrisa’s frown did not mellow. She was deeply worried.

Jax knew she had to nip it in the bud. “Come feel my head, I assure you I am quite well.”

Harrisa crossed to the bed and pulled the blankets back, looking over Jacqueline’s thin lithe form with a critical eye. Harrisa was only a handful of years older but you would think she acted like a mother more often than not. She raised her wrist to Jackie’s forehead and held it for a minute.

“You seem to be normal enough. Go, undress and I will have Mekka take the laundry down.”

Jax climbed out of bed, went behind the changing blind and stripped down, going through the motions of letting another person help her get dressed. It irked her to have to submit to the social structures that seemed to be designed to keep young ladies under lock and key.

“Would you like us to draw you a bath?” Harrisa fished lightly.

“No, no. I am famished.”

“We can fetch some luncheon from the Kitchens. Mrs. Patsy shouldn’t mind.” Harrisa said.

Mekka made a sad sound. “Look Ms. Harrisa, the dress my Lady wore yesterday has a tear in it.”

“Oh that is a shame. We will have to send it off for mending, I think that is beyond my abilities. There is a whole strip missing.”

Jax winced in her solace behind the screen. When had she torn her dress? She screamed internally. She was glad no one could see her face, because a small measure of panic was hauling hell across her features. She spoke up, trying to steady her voice, “Oh it is torn? I do not recall tearing it yesterday.”

“No worries, Miss. We will have it repaired. Here, pull this on.” Harrisa called out as she slung an arm around the divider, it was the ruby a-line with the high waist. If it was paired with the gold belt, that meant a suitor was coming over later.

Sure enough, a gold belt was draped over the partition wall.

Jax sighed, “Who is it this time?”

“Master Reginal,” Harrisa replied calmly.

“Master Boring is what you meant to call him.”

“Miss Jacqueline.” Admonishment and a hint of smile.

“Miss Harrisa. You know it. I know it. He is dreadful.” Jax pulled on the dress, and stepped around the partition.

Mekka supressed a smile as she bustled off with the laundry. Harrisa looked after the maid with a critical eye. “She better learn to control her impulses or she will never be a Lady’s Maid.”

“Stop it, Harrisa. You are my Lady’s Maid only because my mother fancies us friends.”

“Are we not friends?” Harrisa asked cautiously. Her face was strange for a moment.

Jax smiled kindly. “Of course we are. A trustworthy Lady’s Maid is cherished one.”

Harrisa’s face relaxed and she looked relieved. “I thought you were about to dismiss me.”

“Nonsense. I have few that I trust, Harrisa. You are high among them.”

Jax pulled the belt around her waist and Harrisa clasped it at the back, as she tied off the corset backing, pulling at Jax’s ribs like a hug from death itself.

“Well maybe I should dismiss you as it seems you are trying to kill me through suffocation. Not so tight!”

Harrisa shook her head. “If I don’t have what little God Within You provided your chest on full display, your mother will be after me for misdressing you. And that means this corset has to be as tight as it can be. The last thing I need is a dressing down from your mother.”

“All this for Master Boring?”

“Your mother will be back for Master Reginald’s visit. She hopes for a proposal soon.”

“She hopes for nothing. I rather find a tall place and jump from it.”

“Maybe the impact would help your curves be more accentuated,” Harrisa grinned pulling the cords tighter.

“I think this is it, fortunately. My mother’s prodigious gifts were not passed down. Master Boring should go find a girl with, uh, more to offer.” Jackie was athletic and thin, not the softer curvaceous types that were in fashion at the moment. Her mother often complained that her daughter spent more time being active than some of the tenant farmers. Jackie sighed, “I think I would prefer a life of art, books, and if God Within wills it, severe solitude.”

“Well, you will just have to grin and bear his company until your mother can find a better suitor. She is trying. Rumor has it that she is in City Center for exactly that reason today, so you should be kind to the poor fellow. He thinks he is welcome here.”

“He is most definitely not.” Jax made a face. “Seriously, so boring. Dull. What’s more boring than dull? Dead? Corpse-ish? He would erode a mountain into a plain with his dullness.”

Harrisa barked a laugh.

“No seriously, I think he is so boring that the Lord Within may erupt from my chest and tell him to shut up in hopes the universe he created would be less dull.”

“At least your funny,” Harrisa commented.

“And pretty. And smart. And absolutely not, in any way, dull.” Jax added.

“You are not that. For certain,” Harrisa paused cautiously. “Are you certain that you are well? We could just claim that you were ill.”

“Thanks for trying to save me, Harrisa. But my mother is my mother, and we must meet her expectations, right? That is the only thing that explains why you have lashed me into this dress so tightly I am more of a marionette than a human being.”

Jax turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Her elfin features were brightly lit by the afternoon sun, her blue eyes looked over her shape from top to bottom, noting that she did had a figure thanks to the corset, even if it was a diminutive one. Her silver necklace dropped down to her neckline, the golden rings hidden below her vanishingly small amount of cleavage, but it was enough to make her mother happy. Her long dark hair was still braided and looked clean and managed to survive under her mother’s critical gaze.

“This is well enough,” Jax nodded. “Let’s head to the Kitchens before my mother gets home.”

“The staff won’t appreciate that.”

“I will be like I am invisible, Harrisa. I will eat swiftly. No need to make a muss in the sunroom or the study just for me. Make an excuse, say I had a quick fever, just need enough to recover my strength before I am subjugated to the evils of severe capital boredom all to improve the position of the family.” Jax faked a gagging sound.

Harrisa shrugged, accepting the suggestion. “No time to dawdle, Miss.”

It was only an hour later when Jackie’s mother, the venerable Mayzeri Deanna Armas, one of the few women solicitors, and the only presiding district judge that was a woman, bustled into the household like a hurricane. The staff was swept up in her presence, as if all the activity in the house was electric, bouncing between each interaction. But Jackie knew that is just who her mother was. She was a force of nature, not a person. Jackie barely made it to the sitting room at the garden entrance, had just taken her seat, pretending to hold a book as if she had been there all day.

“Oh stop pretending you are reading that book, Jaqueline. You have the bloody thing upside down,” her mother rolled her eyes, blowing into the parlor with a wake of poor confused, harried, and disheveled staff behind her.

There was no point making up a story, and the truth about the last hour was better than the other thing earlier in the day. “I was eating with Harrisa. Apologies.”

“Apology accepted. Thank you for looking your best, Jacqueline,” Mayzeri noted in a rare show of appreciation. “I have had a morning, to say the least.”

“Oh?” Jax asked, putting the book down hastily.

“I was downtown, on business for you and the Council, and the Mercadian Central Bank!-,” she huffed as if she was fit to burst from her clothing in a rage, but lowered her voice in another example of her fierce control. “The bank was robbed!”

Jax put her hand to her chest in what hopefully looked like natural shock at such a revelation. “No?! That is the safest, most secure bank in all of Mercadia!”

“Obviously, not any more.” Mayzeri at down across from Jax, throwing her accoutrements in a small circle about her like rubble scattering out from the eye of a hurricane.  

“How much was stolen?”

“That is the insane thing in this entire event! NOTHING. The thieves accessed the vault and walked away with nothing. I suppose that is a saving grace in all this, I mean honestly, if my constituents knew that our bastions of government and societal health were at risk, who knows what could result!”

“But how did they know it was a robbery? If nothing was stolen, couldn’t it be just a mistake?”

“Oh I said the same, to the bank manager. But the he insists they lost all of their security systems for the duration of a suspect fire alarm today. The fool claims that a new investor did something to him, but won’t say much more, but given the fact that we was found unconscious and covered in ice, it is obvious that he is correct. They were robbed. The entire thing resembles a sick joke.”

“But is it a robbery if nothing was stolen?” Jax tried again, innocently.

“Indeed? They need to double check their systems and improve their security. The old dwarf that was in charge of their security has already been released. Awful gentleman, had a mechanical eye which gave me the creeps,” Mayzeri said with a shiver. “The Chief Inspector told me the only evidence they have is a fake name of a supposed investor, a description of him, and nothing else. And of course, the gargoyles saw nothing. The one thing they are supposed to do…”

“That doesn’t sound like much to go on.” Jackie inwardly sighed. Armond would never be caught based on a description. Laughable. It was indeed the perfect heist.

“They will be draining the sluice tanks of the vault and see if anything was captured by the deluge.”

Jackie remembered the tear in her dress and the strip of missing cloth. She felt a small panic arise in her chest, sending her heart aflutter.

Mayzeri squinted at her daughter noting the change, “What’s wrong?”

“It is just so exciting! A bank robbery!”

Mayzeri scoffed. “Yes, too exciting for my blood as well. Well, at least I have something good of it. I know you are not overly fond of Master Reginal, and I may have found another potential match. He is of good family, not as wealthy as us, but a good potential trade match with a couple provinces to the south. His mother is putting together some details for me to review.”

Jackie huffed. “Two questions then.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Jackie started, but her mother cut her short.

“Playing the field, my dear. Reginal is from an absurdly wealthy family, and would open up lines of commerce for us that would immediately impact the family businesses. You must tolerate it, because when others know that the inheriting scion of the Briari family is sniffing around my daughter, they realize they must move faster to secure their place in line. Your father made us powerful in Mercadia, and in his terrible absence, I seek to make our family indispensable. Your father came from money, not I. My position is special, yes, but it only affords me flexibility. Your marriage affords us security.”

“So it’s not done, then?”

“Oh you should make it seem that way if it progresses. But no, nothing is done. It seems his parents have had some, uh, difficultly getting him to even think about marriage.”

“Mother, have you met him?” Jax asked sarcastically.

“He is a bit dry.”

“Understatement of the year,” Jax whispered.

The footman announced, “Master Reginal for the Lady Jacqueline.”

In a surprise moment of levity, they simultaneously giggled at the fortuitous timing.

“Promise?” Jax tried.

Mayzeri nodded. “Promise for now. There is always a chance…”

“No.”

“He might be lovely, deep down. Give it a chance, Jacqueline,” Mayzeri turned her head to the footman. “Show him in, Miles. Fetch a service for us from Mrs. Patsy if you would be so kind.”

“Yes, my Lady.” The willowy Sylvian footman ducked his small antlers in a formal bow and turned back through the doorway.

Master Reginal wandered in a moment later, a bouquet in one hand and the other held out for a formal bow. “Lady Deanna Armas and Lady Jacqueline, how splendid that I was allowed to call upon you both this afternoon.”

Jacqueline recoiled inwardly at the flat monotone voice, and for a split moment realized that is what made her boss Armand attractive. It was his voice. It was like butter made of heavy breathing. As if the God Within wanted to test her, she heard a light chittering noise from her braid.

It was the commbug. She had forgotten all about it. Someone was in range and calling. Her stomach dropped.

“Master Reginal, how lovely to see you again,” Mayzeri smiled widely with her closed-lipped politician mask firmly in place. “Jacqueline, welcome our guest and escort him to our garden view.”

The light chittering noise came again. Jackie smiled forcibly and stood a little to quickly.

“Of course, Mother. How are you today, Master Reginal?”

“Reginal, please, Miss Jacqueline,” He bowed lightly, and raised the bouquet. “These are for you. I hope you like ghost lilies. My grandmother raises them and the local hobs hate it.”

“Why is that?” Jackie replied, taking the flowers, pretending to examine the delicate petals.

“Ah, ha, it is known that Hobs love ghost lilies. They use them like a cat uses catnip. They dry them out, crush them up, and, if you can believe it, snort them.”

Jackie made a face before leading the young man to the garden enclosure outside the sitting parlor. “Snort them? Like snuff? How strange.”

Reginal followed behind and he sounded a little less boring for once. “More like how alcohol affects us. They get drunk. And let me tell you that they are obnoxious dead sober, so drunk hobs are the worst version of themselves. They carry on, hurl insults, and act as the depraved little creatures that they are. They fornicate right in plain view.”

“Don’t hobs bring good luck?”

“That is nonsense. All the hobs that live in our gardens are nasty little things. They hate our patch of Ghost Lilies, because if any of them get close, they are electrocuted. My mother electrified the whole pond. The lilies of course are floating in the water, so they are well protected.”

Another footman appeared, approaching with a tray of tea and biscuits. He laid the tray carefully on the table, nodded in respect, and left without a word.

Reginal continued, “Do you have a hob problem here in your own gardens?”

“These are my mother’s gardens, and she would never tolerate a hob infestation,” Jax smiled tightly as the distracting chittering continued from her braid. “I apologize for the interruption, but will you excuse me for but a moment?”

“Of course, Miss Jacqueline. I shall wait here enjoying your mother’s good taste.”

Jax turned back, and the moment she crossed the threshold her mother descended. “And where you going? You have a guest.”

“I need to relieve myself, Mother. Don’t fret, I shall be fast.” Jackie bustled through the door, and in the hallway she plied the enchanted jewel of a commbug from hair and pushed it into her ear impatiently.

“Enjoying the beautiful weather, Jax?” Armond sounded like a kid in a candy store. Joyful and excited, even though his words seemed mundane.

Jackie looked down both ends of the hallway and then whispered hastily, “I can’t talk right now, boss.”

“I am making sure you are safe and sound.”

“I am,” Jackie felt unease well up within. “How are you in range? I am nowhere near your part of town.”

“Oh, that’s my little secret for now, Jax. Can’t let all my employees know just how resourceful I am, that’s when the problems start. See you in three days?” Armond asked, his voice bright as ever.  

“Yes. Now, I need to go!”

“Hasty, hasty.” The earwig fell silent.  Jackie yanked it out again and pushed it safely into the weave of her braids, absentmindedly giving it a light squeeze. Apprehension? Was that what she was feeling? Something was itching.

She had to look inside the bag tonight.

With her mind set, she turned on her heel to deal with Master Boring. She could be expected to be regaled with tales of absolutely nothing, followed by stories of even less, and then all finished off with an expectation of a future that would make her want to weep for the whirlpool of dull she was caught within. All while her mother watched.

With expectations. Gag.

Deep down, she knew that escaping the future intended for her was the only option she could live with.

“I seem to be dealing with ever-escalating existential dread.”

The thought given utterance careened through the room, knocking gently on the UV filmed window and the galvanized radiator below it. Next to the radiator, framed by a wall of tacky yellow and white birds upon Einsteinian shapes that never seemed to coalesce, the therapist nodded dutifully from his oversized corduroy chair, scratching his secret notes with a well-chewed pencil on ivory paper.

“Have you tried being in the moment? Focusing on the now.” The therapist, Donnelly, asked. He was a stereotype given life, animated by an ironist of a god, and gifted the sense of humor of a week-old cod. Flies should have been buzzing about him if he had lived a hundred years prior, but these days, even dry boring people seemed to have successful careers.

“The moment is dread. How can one avoid the dark when one is literally wedged inside of it?” The Client shot back. The therapist knew his name of course, but did not invoke it, because there were consequences to using a name like that. Dire ones. The client was just The Client, declarative.

Donnelly would have frowned if he had the capability to grimace in The Client’s presence, but instead nodded thoughtfully. The Client saw through the ruse, but let it slide.  It had been quite a stretch between sessions, after all.

“So what should I do, Doctor?” The Client followed.

“Talking about it is a good start… but I should note that working through the emotion, while it is occurring, is always the healthier approach. I am curious why you feel such dread.”

“You don’t?” The Client leaned up from his position on the taupe couch, the cushions just as dreary and conflicting as the wallpaper.

“Should I?” Donnelly frowned this time, and deep down The Client appreciated the candor.

“You should. The world is shit, Dr. Donnelly. Filled with misery, death, and despair. People are born to slavery, wage slaves all their lives, fighting others over what should be well accepted basic principles, and are so closeted in their fears and dread, they think the only way to get ahead is to fuck over anyone that even tangentially gets in their way.”

“Oh, I don’t think it is quite that bad…” Donnelly started to protest.

“Oh, but it is! You show a man an empty bowl, and tell him that if it is filled he will be able to eat. The man will agree. But if you add that his neighbor will also eat, he argues that only he should have the food, his neighbor is responsible for his own. YET, YET, it is not the man that is filling the bowl, but someone else! If I fill the bowl, it is his own achievement and it belongs to him!?” The Client waved his arms from his prone position as if directly a choir hanging from the ceiling, which itself was again both taupe and terrible.

“I would posit that most men would not make such an argument.”

“But they would. Ask them if they should starve, they say no. Ask them if they should be unhoused, they say no. Ask them if they should be uncared for when ill, they say no. But introduce one other into consideration, and they will claim it depends on the situation. They do not believe that the society that very much enables an individual to survive should allow them all to survive. It is a wonder that the human race ever survived getting out of Africa. It is a miracle. Honestly, the fact they even managed to thrive was a huge mistake from the start.”

“Ok, so people are terrible. Let’s set that aside. People themselves would not be the cause of your existential dread, as you put it. So what is causing your dread?”

“The world is dying. All the splendor of the early days of man have all but exhausted themselves. Species disappearing faster than they can be discovered. Entire ecosystems collapse because some fat fuck out there wants another hamburger.”

“Now you are just getting preachy,” Donnelly sniffed haughtily.

“And you are being obtuse.”

Donnelly ignored the insult and continued, “The world is a vastly complex system of intertwining and contrary forces, greater than one single person’s understanding of it. The individual buying the hamburger does not think about the rest of world, he is thinking on his hunger.”

“He should be thinking about the size of his gut and if he will ever see his dick again,” The Client groused.

“And the world is fine. Ecosystems bounce back, species evolve into new niches… give it a few hundred thousand years after the human race is gone, and the world will be an amazing place again,” Donnelly said. He sniffed and rubbed a mindless fingertip below his nose, brushing against his wiry gray mustache absentmindedly trying his best not to think about his own mortality.

“You know, I don’t know why I come here, it’s not like you help me.”

“I do help you,” Donnelly countered. “When was the last time you had a panic attack?”

“You know the answer,” The Client waved it away.

“Answer the question.”

“Fine. 1991.”

“And what happened?” Donnelly pressed.

“I rather not talk about it.” The Client’s face soured and he leaned his head back, covering his eyes with his thick muscular forearms.

“Mt. Pinatubo exploded.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fire, destruction, cooling of the earth by a degree…”

“And… nearly nine hundred people died, and another twenty to thirty thousand displaced, millions of animals killed, agriculture disrupted… a cascading effect on the world for another decade afterwards.”

“It was a bad panic attack, ok?” The Client said defensively.

“And the reason that you have been my client since then, right?” Donnelly pushed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. My mother made me do it.”

“Should we talk about your mother?”

“If you as so much as whisper her name in here, I might have another panic attack. Don’t get all Freudian on me, as I know it is total bullshit.”

“Well, I won’t invoke your mother. Last thing I need is a visit. But I do help you. Even if you may not realize it at the time.”

There was only silence from the large man reclining on the couch. Donnelly took the lack of continued argument as a subtle compliment.

“Let’s take a different tack. Why do you think humans are so terrible?” Donnelly tried.

“That’s a tough one,” another protracted silence, followed by a heavy sigh. “Because they were made to be terrible, but it was the best attempt compared to everything that came before, so… kind of a win, I suppose.”

Donnelly looked over his notes. “You are concerned for the planet, for the animals and their ecosystems, you think humans are uncaring menaces and that they hate each other as much as they hate themselves, but that does not explain your dread. Why do you feel responsible for it?”

The Client sat up forcibly as if yanked by invisible marionette strings. “I never EVER said that I felt responsible!”

Donnelly tented his fingers over his notebook, chewed pencil between two of them. “That is the most forceful response we have had today. I think you may feel responsible. Think about it. Why would that be?”

Waves of emotions crossed The Client’s face, like shadows of cloud between his face and the sun. Doubt, concern, belief, fear, anger, grief, then acceptance raged across his features individually, each distinct and of its own. “By the Father, I think you are right.”

“Go on,” Donnelly waved.

“I never… I mean the Owled-One said something like that once, but I thought she was being petty. Maybe she was right? Maybe she was trying to tell me something important, but I was so offended by her rejection, riled and angry, I failed to see it?” The Client put his sandaled feet on the faded carpet, and ran his hands through his hair as he processed the discovery. “Then, the anger, the rage, was it displaced? It’s my fault? By the Father, it’s my fault! Shit! I can’t believe I have never seen this before.”

“Be careful with shouldering blame, it may not be all yours to carry. You can still feel grief, even a sense of accountability, but you are in no way culpable for the world as it is today. As I said, the world is a complex, interwound, highly volatile intersection of forces greater than any individual, even for those like you.”

“I gave them the skills, the training, the desire to push forward… I mean the Owled-one helped, as others did here and there. But the inevitable outcome of the forge is the machinations of man at a grand scale. That is it! I am filled with dread because the fucking humans are using the things I taught them to destroy everything around them. I feel responsible, and that is the dread… and the panic attacks to boot.”

“This is a marvelous breakthrough,” Donnelly waved a hand towards The Client. “But you are not to blame. A parent cannot blame themselves when their child dies of their own accord? Does the mother blame herself when her son dies on a foreign shore? Should she? He made his own choices, took his own path, right?”

“I suppose. But the sense of it… Doctor. I gave them the tools! I gave them the training, and put them to work all that time ago, and I have been standing by, just watching in horror ever since…” The Client nodded to himself, his mind working through the complexities and implications. “I am going to have to think about this a little. Maybe from home.”

“That is a brilliant idea. Your mother has been looking forward to you spending some time back on The Mountain. At least that is what she said to me last time we saw each other, which was years ago…” Again it wasn’t just any mountain, it was The Mountain, declarative. “And we are about of out of time, anyway.”

The Client wiped at his eyes, and Donnelly noted a sense of relief in the sunken hollows of The Client’s face.

“Yes,” The Client slapped his knees as he stood up. His muscular frame rose of the couch gracefully, preternaturally as a dragon rising through wisps of clouds. “When should we visit again?”

“It seems time works differently between us, but when you are ready, just reach out like you have in the past. Don’t wait so long next time, eh?” Donnelly joked. “I may not be alive.”

The Client narrowed his eyes as if taking the Therapist for the first time. “Ah, you are older. How long has it been for you?”  

“Eleven or twelve years now, I think.”

“Blink of an eye, eh?” The Client smiled.

“For some more than others.”

“Goodbye Dr. Donnelly, and you can use my name, it is… acceptable this time. Thank you.”

“Of course, you are welcome… Hephaestus. Give your mother my best.”

The God turned and the world shifted subtly, one moment there was a massive brute of a man standing in front of the door, and the next, nothing but the smell of hot ash and smelting iron in an empty room. The Therapist leaned back into his chair and glanced at his watch. He had at least an hour before the next clients were going to show up, but at least they always brought some treats to discuss their marriage over… and they typically used the door.

Donnelly glanced at his door, and lightly grinned at the reversed lettering on the glass of his office door.

Dr. Ephram Donnelly, Psy.D. Therapist to All