Sandra rang the bell four times. It wasn’t until five minutes after their arranged time that Milo opened—

  “You look like shit,” she blurted. “You got shanked on the walk? People must hate magicians a lot, huh?” Maybe I shouldn’t drop my job so quickly for this kind of treatment.

  Milo slumped forward and caught himself two steps onto the porch. “Yeuh, I gotta get to the hospital.”

  “How far is that?”

  “Cuppa miles…”

  “Your speech is slurred. You’re in no shape to walk. Get in my car.”

  Sandra found herself supporting Milo into the passenger seat and helping him recline without jolting the knife in his shoulder. Luckily, he hadn’t taken it out, or it was likely he wouldn’t have been able to open the door at all.

  And I would have gone home, writing this whole thing off as a bust.

  Sandra pursed her lips and turned the key. Her engine kicked and thudded to life. It might still be a bust.

  “Don’t die on me, Bellhop.” Sandra muttered. Milo only groaned.

  Sandra drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Inside, she’d seen Milo wheeled into the emergency room on a stretcher.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “It helps to think out loud.”

  She adjusted the microphone in her lapel..

  “This is the first mage-trespasser I’ve seen who’s sane, or at least well-adjusted. For a while, it seemed likely that only magents trained to endure the effects of Sympathy on the ego could retain themselves. Milo Newman presents an exception to this rule. He lacks a bureaucratic background. He also lacks a spine, if I’m being honest. But he does not lack an understanding of the social contract. I believe that his existence presents a valuable opportunity to the Central Intelligence Magency.”

  She frowned. “Potentially, this is because of the Manual he’s following. I’ll borrow a copy soon. If he dies on the operating table, I’ll have to steal it.”

  Sandra adjusted her lapel again, signalling it to stop recording. The boss was right. Keeping a diary really does clear your head.

  Her forehead creases lightened, then tightened. On the sidewalk, Milo was waving with his left arm in a sling. He looks too cheerful.

  She parked the car beside him and rolled down the window.

  “Thanks, Sandra!” he grinned sheepishly. “I thought for sure you’d have gone home by now! But now I’m getting a burger and there’s nothing you can do about it! Except not cook it, I guess. You wouldn’t do that to me, right? I’m injured.”

  Milo gave his best impression of puppy-dog eyes. The problem is that it works.

  “Hop in,” she said. “I’m too tired to cook tonight, but I know a place.”

  Sandra took him to a diner. It was crammed into a strip mall between a dance class and a greek restaurant. It still blew Milo’s mind.

  “So, how do you like working at the department store?” he asked

  “Oh,” Sandra said, “I don’t. I’m in the shipping industry and sometimes sneak into delivery drop-spots to use the coffee makers. The car you saw earlier is a rental.”

  The rental part is even true, she thought. But the best lies do have a grain of the truth.

  She smiled politely at Milo as he took an ungainly bite of the jalapeno burger, sending grease down his shirt.

  “I really admire magicians,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be one. Ever since I was a little girl. But company training says most mage-trespassers, as in free magicians, are super dangerous.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Milo chuckled. “That’s true. There’s a reason I’m not keen to join any of the larger coalitions around here. The Arsonists were all driven insane in the pursuit of fireballs, and the Burglars’ Society…”

  His expression lulled as he peered into the distance. Sandra’s eyes sharpened.

  “Well,” he continued, “They’re not so nice either. The problem is that they’re trespassers before mages. Sympathy is a tool to them, not a fantasy.”

  That has the air of a regurgitated line.

  “I agree,” Sandra said. “I’ve even heard it said that magic warps the mind without military training. That’s obviously false, though.” she gestured to him vaguely, then squinted and wiped his face with a napkin.

  “Thanks,” said Milo, blushing. “It’s annoying setting the food down when I only have one hand to use.”

  Sandra hummed.

  “Well,” he said, “I don’t know about other mage-trespassers. But in my opinion, setting your sights low is the best way to stay sane. Like, I just wanted to skip the commute, you know?” his expression turned bitter. “I don’t even get to do that. But at least I’m not breaking into people’s houses and stealing their shampoo.”

  Despite herself, Sandra laughed. “That’s an oddly specific example. From experience?”

  “Yeah, from experience.”

  She cupped her chin. “You know, my b- I read somewhere that there was this one mage-trespasser who wanted to gain dominion over time. So he made his… Sympathy take the shape of a grandfather clock. Well, that was all well and good, but he also tried to sync its beat to time itself. So he started keeping time internally, counting off his own heartbeats, and- well. To make a long story short, when he finally ‘stopped time’, it was just his own heart!” she giggled.

  “Yeah,” said Milo slowly. “I suppose that’s kinda funny.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “But like,” he went on, “couldn’t this guy have just… faked it? The Blue Scene Manual says magicians can be injured by their own Sympathy, or even killed, but they have a resistance to the type of damage it deals. Like, I’m probably concussion-proof, even though a blade mows right through me. And I took a hammer to the back once, but it only stung.”

  Sandra froze in horror. Did the boss keep tabs on Harold’s body after it was sent to the morgue?

  “That’s… an interesting hypothesis. Can I take a look at this Blue Scene Manual?”

  Milo scratched his head. “If you have an interest in this sort of thing, yeah. I can lend it to you for a week. I’ve got everything up to the Impossible Milestone memorized anyway, and the Manual doesn’t teach much past that. But I’ve gotta give it back to my buddy next month. It’s not mine to begin with.”

  Sandra forced herself to sip her fountain drink casually. For that matter, weren’t there too many heart attack cases in Live Oak last month?

  The Blue Scene Manual - Wind Milestone Key Signs

  The Wind Milestone is a transitory state between the Earthly and the Impossible. Its manifestations are myriad, dependent on the Sympathy in question. It can be considered that the Wind Milestone encompasses phenomena that are halfway beyond the pale of Impossibility, but still constrained to reason if they were exhibited by a different inorganic structure.

  In essence, the Wind Milestone is used to describe superpowers; Sympathies which break the logic of the world by forging past their proscribed material limitations. Mundane ice cold enough to freeze fire. Burlap as strong as steel. Dull knives that cut bone. The Wind Milestone is so named for the tendency of magicians that have reached this Milestone to kick up dust storms when striking with their Sympathy at full power.

  “Bellhop,” Sandra whined. “This Manual is so stuffy! And rambly! How do you read this?”

  “Very persistently,” Milo said, sipping the coffee he’d ordered to-go. The doctor had told him to keep activity light, so he was pacing around the living room slower than usual.

  That settles it, Sandra thought. This Manual is just like all the other academic texts on this subject. Boring! Nothing notable about it at all. The reason Milo retained his sanity… it probably has something to do with “aiming low”. Which means I actually already knew how to retain myself and chase magic simultaneously.

  A nervous laugh bubbled free of her throat. Sorry for refusing your invitation to boot camp, boss. Looks like I’m just going to promote myself instead.

  Harold Kaster had reached the Wind Milestone. He was certain of it that night, crouched low in the reeds of an orchard. The currents blew over those trees- back and forth, swaying branches with dangling fruit, a rhythm in the making.

  His Sympathy ticked softly behind him, synchronizing to the sway. And then…

  Stopped.

  The branches jolted to a stop. An apple fell into Harold’s hands. Like nothing so much as Sir Isaac Newton discovering the new physics.

  There was an ineffable truth to it, Harold was sure. Things that go up fall down. Every action has a reaction. Things that move… stop. Why fight the flow of things? Far easier to move with physics than against it.

  Harold smiled. His blood passed sluggishly through his veins, asphyxiating him until the process became unbearable and he had to let his heart pump again.

  He’d never admit it to anyone, but this felt very good.