A magical thief

Any use of magic outside the Council’s purview constitutes a crime against existence, which will be considered an act of aggression against the Alliance.

- Charter of the One World Alliance, article 2

I wish I’d been born in simpler times.

Before the Moon was broken, magical crime must have been so easy.

You could just walk into a city, make a big smile, tell people to give you all their money and make them forget about it. Or you could make a Lie where you are the tax officer, landlord, or whoever took their money back then.

Then you’d just move to the next city, and spend all your ill-gotten money on… whatever people bought back then. Leeches. Dirt. That kind of stuff.

In history class they claimed the Men in Silver kept order, that they lynched rogue mages, but I don’t believe it. Maybe they got the ambitious ones, the ones who tried to ask for a kingdom, or a whole cart of gold.

But who could have caught someone like me? Someone who just wants to have a good time on the wrong side of the law, and never work a single day in their life?

A pity it’s all so difficult now. No matter how good my Lies are, I can’t ask people to give me money, or they’d trace my bank account. Maybe I should charm some nerd into setting me up with a gray account.

And of course there is so much technology looking for mages. Cameras, theta detectors, patrolling drones - it just feels unfair. Why do they have to make life so hard for a poor criminal mage?

Still, I’m getting the hang of it. It’s all about finding cracks in the system, crimes they don’t even think about.

Like what I’m doing here, in a nice restaurant on the top of the vac-train station. We get a full view of the snow-covered city below, and a glass dome keeps us safe from the freezing winds. The woman who took me here - together with her sullen university-age son - has good taste.

“So, are you eating enough?” She asks us, sounding anxious. “Is the mess hall good? It was dreadful in Sovrasdon, in my time, but they say it’s better here.”

“It’s okay, mom,” the boy says, radiating awkwardness. “Food from the uni mess is fine, and I eat out sometimes. Also, I can cook, you know.”

“The mess hall is good, Miss...” I stop for a moment, realizing I don’t know her name.

I reach into the Else, and for a moment I see two different worlds - one where they don’t know me, and look in confusion at the stranger at their table, and one where I’m the kid’s friend, and he’s happy to let me deal with his mom. And of course I know her name.

I pull the second world close. It’s not the truth - I never met the boy before. All I know is that we’re close in age, the tattoos around his eyes proclaim student, looking for friends, and I’m friendly enough. So it’s almost a truth, it just needs a push through the Veil.

“...Miss Ravellon,” I hear myself say, even if I didn’t speak. Then the gap between possible worlds closes, and reality snaps back to normal. “But I tried your jam when you sent him a package, and it was so good. I wish my parents sent me food, too.”

The woman blushes with joy - she asked her son repeatedly if he received the jam, she looks really proud of it. The kid just seems happy I’m keeping up the conversation.

“Oh, poor you,” she says, still smiling, “where are you from? I can’t place your accent, sorry.”

“I grew up in Landfall,” I say, a lie I’ve used many times - it’s the easiest answer, so many people live in the capital. “I miss the climate.”

I’ve never even been to Landfall, but I bet I’d love its tropical climate. In reality, I grew up here in Rakavdon, but I hate the endless cold. We’re barely into autumn, and the streets are already covered in snow.

I take another bite of the cricket burger. It’s so warm and good I want to cry. My moms have tons of money, but we never ate out, except when we attended incredibly boring fancy events.

“Oh, moving must have been an adjustment,” she says, “it’s so cold and provincial here, I know. Why did you come up here to study, if I may ask?”

“I was always fascinated by the Relics, and the Precursor Studies faculty here is just the best,” I say, “so I decided to enroll and…”

I feel the jarring disconnect, the moment of confusion, as the boy frowns - fuck, I’m stupid, he studies aerospace engineering, and I said we met at university. The Lie stretches, threatening to snap.

“...and I took some engineering classes for my free choice credits.” I add, hastily, “You know, the reverse-engineering of artifacts is very important.”

I reach into the Else, and for a moment color fades from the world, making everything blue and brighter than it should be. In the impossible way of magic, I see many realities branching from each other - I reach for the one where what I said makes some sense, where the student and I really are friends.

For a moment, I glimpse something else in the Veil - a spot of color, dark red in the endless blue. But I’m too busy spinning my lie to focus on it.

“...wait, when did we…” the boy says, and I smile at him.

He’s a first year student, a few months into his first term. He wants to believe that he made new friends, and to show them to his mother. I don’t think what I said about reverse engineering made any sense, but people always fall for Lies they like.

I have a new sense of urgency, though. Did I use too much magic? Exactly how much can I get away with, before ThauCon detects it?

I hurry to take the last bite of my burger. Eating it in haste seems like a crime, but at least I’ve filled my stomach for free. And I’m committing a lot of actual crimes, so it’s time to leave.

I feel a pang of pain at the idea, though. I was enjoying the chat, despite the overprotective mother and the sullen boy. Abyss, I’m starved for some conversation. I didn’t have a lot of friends before going rogue, but it turns out few friends is very different from no friends.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, making a show of checking my phone. It’s a broken phone, without battery, but in the Lie, it’s working, and there’s a red urgent notification. “It’s my landlady. We’ve been without heating for a week, and she said she’d come check, and she just warned that she’s there now…” I shrug, apologetic.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Those people are the worst,” the mom says, “they just want to squeeze money out of you kids. If she doesn’t fix your heating, text me, I’ll put some fear of the Officers in her. I work for a law firm, you know? And you can’t stay without heating, you’ll catch your death! We’re not in Landfall, winter comes soon and is harsh, here! Here, take my contact!”

She looks at me, probably trying to send me a Stemlink message, then realizes I don’t have the implants, and she fishes a tablet out of her bag, displaying a contact signature. I thank her profusely and make a show of taking a snapshot with my broken phone. Her son rolls his eyes at me, and I feel a complex mixture of feelings. On one hand, she’s overbearing as fuck, and she’s a lawyer too, so me leeching some money off her is basically a public service.

On the other hand, she’s honestly concerned about the heating situation of a kid she’s never met before, and it's been a long time since anyone has worried about me. I hurriedly say goodbye and go away, with a lump in my throat.

I should stick to smaller Lies. I can get served at any busy restaurant, by making the servers believe I’ve already paid - I just have to change places often, to make sure no one spots the pattern. Making someone else pay for me was a stupid risk.

I take the elevator to the ground floor, close my jacket as tight as I manage, brace myself for a frozen hell, and walk outside.

The cold snaps on me - fuck, we aren’t even in winter yet, I should really consider moving to a milder climate, given I don’t have a real home anymore. Running away from home sounded much cooler, before I found out I’d need to get stuff like food and clothes.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But I feel safer as I walk away from the restaurant - no drones, no helicopters, no men in silver asking questions. Another victory for magical crime. Abyss, it feels so good - I can just walk to people and make them give me stuff. Who needs money? The world is mine.

It had to be even easier in the past. After all, mages did end up ruling over mundanes. And even after the Thaumocracy fell, a mage’s life had to be so easy, before modern tech.

Without all this electronic tracking, I’d just spin more lies, and make people believe that yes, I’m a university student, yes, I’m a tenant in the apartment, yes, I have a part-time job. I could slide back into a normal life.

My happiness deflates a little as I remember I can’t have any of those things. Whatever I do, I’ll never really be a student, I’ll never go with my friends to mess hall, or complain about landlords with my roommates.

I’m just being dramatic, I tell myself.

I could have a normal life I really wanted - I could walk back to my life.

I didn’t commit any violent crime, and they’ll forgive the light stuff if I turn myself in. I’ll just have to give up my magic, get silver tattoos on my face, and then scuttle back to my family.

And accept a life of people side-eyeing my tattoos, and whispering as I pass. A life of knowing the Else is there, full of power and possibility and secrets, but being unable to touch it.

***

I don’t go straight back to my hiding hole - I couldn’t find out much about how the ThauCon Agency tracks mages, but I know that they can follow a rogue’s trail for some time after they use magic.

So I take a long, winding walk through the small alleys by the old river port. It’s a nice part of the city, all narrow stone alleys criss-crossed by canals, and I’d actually enjoy the walk if it wasn’t so fucking cold. Some people say the frozen canals are beautiful, but those people probably say it from their warm houses in Landfall.

Soon, I’m bored, cold, and generally miserable. When I’ve nothing better to do, I start thinking about my life choices, and Abyss, I fucked up so much.

I’m so busy feeling bad, it takes me way too long to realize I’m being followed.

The guy who’s tailing me isn’t hard to spot. He’s a short, stocky young man, his skin brown, with an unhealthy grayish tone. He wears several layers of ill-assorted jackets and heavy boots, and the tattoos on his face are almost faded. He looks so disreputable, I can almost hear mama mumbling about good-for-nothing youths you should have nothing to do with.

How long has he been following me? I have a sudden flash of the same youth taking a huge portion of grilled grasshoppers at the restaurant, and my heart starts pumping faster. Did he follow me since I left the train station?

Is he a spotter for the Agency, or even a plainclothes agent? Did he see me use magic? But he looks conspicuous as fuck, He’s not even very good at tailing - he keeps peeking from corners and makes a scene of looking everywhere but at me. Surely a ThauCon agent would be more subtle?

My fingers itch to use magic. I could walk to him and spin Lie after Lie to make him tell me who he is. Or I could make an illusion of myself which keeps walking, while I hide in a side alley - well, in theory, my visual illusions aren’t super good, yet.

But if he’s following me because he’s with the Agency, using magic would be a stupid idea, even by my standards.

And why else would he follow me? I don’t look rich enough to be a good mark for a footpad, and I don’t think anyone wants my autograph - I have a famous brother, but I don’t look like him.

Maybe he’s a victim of some of my previous petty scams, even if I don't remember him, and he wants to beat the shit out of me. Fuck, that would be awkward. Fortunately, most people don’t really expect magic, and especially the Path of Lies, so they don’t realize what I do with them, even after the Lie fades.

But if I use magic on him again, he’ll understand what I am and call the Agency.

I force myself not to run, and I stop looking behind. Hopefully, he doesn’t know I’m trying to shake him yet.

Should I try to lose him in the labyrinth of alleys? Or confront him? Maybe I can convince him he’s wrong about me, using just a little bit of magic.

Then again, he’s really broad and muscular. If he’s not in a talking mood, he could squish me to a paste, so maybe I should take some precautions. I could defend myself with magic, of course. Like, in theory. But I’m not really good at summoning Elsefire, and even when I manage, I absolutely don’t have a good control over it, so it would be insta-murder or nothing, and I’m not feeling quite that criminal yet.

I’d better go somewhere more populated and try to lose him in the crowd. It’s time to go home anyway.

I turn into a larger road, and I go down the stairs leading to the tube station. It’s too early for rush hour, but even on a workday afternoon, the tube is never empty - since we live in a frozen hellhole, there are a lot of shops and services underground. Especially since the tunnel network is ridiculously vast: they dug tunnels like frenzied moles back in the seventies, before everything went to shit, and most were never used.

I glimpse my tail as I ride the escalator down. Our eyes lock for a moment, but he’s quick to look away.

I hear the distant hiss of a train getting to the platform, so I start running. If I’m really lucky, I’ll get onboard and he won’t.

I elbow my way through a bunch of giggling preteens, run past a sequence of faded Join the Agency! Stand Against the Dark Power! posters, and I get to the platform. I swipe my stolen tourist pass and the barriers let me in. The train is old, with flickering neon lights, half the doors broken, and covered in glowing graffiti. It looks like the setting to a horror movie, but I’d hug it, moldy plastic seats and all.

I walk in as soon as the doors open, together with a smattering of students - we’re not far from the university, after all. I sprawl over a couple of seats and affect boredom, keeping a watch on the doors.

The large young man gets inside, panting, just a moment before the doors close. Finally, I get a decent look at him: he’s short, but broad and muscular, so he’s probably twice my mass. From his shabby clothes, I’d guess he just walked to Rakavdon all the way from the arctic circle.

He’s also younger than I thought, maybe younger than me, and looks a little worse for the wear. He has an uneven blond buzz, his brown skin looks ashen, and he has a smattering of ear piercings. He has white tattoos circling his eyes, landfaller-style, but they’re shoddy and half-faded. They don’t give me much information: male, pansexual. As uninformative as my own. I hate when people do that.

He walks straight to me, looks around, and asks, “can we talk a minute?”. He has an accent I can’t place - Five Peaks?

His gray eyes are hard, but he sounds more awkward than hostile. I’d think he’s hitting on me, except in my scrawny, poorly washed, nervous glory, I really don’t think I’ll have strangers falling for me.

There are only three more people close to us, an old man who’s sleeping, and two students who’re either planning an awesome party, or preparing an exam about toxic chemicals. Stupid, I should have picked a fuller carriage - but my instinct has been to avoid crowds, lately.

“Can I help you?” I ask, with my fakest smile.

“Can we talk? Where people don’t listen,” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” I say, “I have to get home, and…”

“You don’t have a home,” he says, curt. “You sleep in the tunnels.”

I freeze, my mouth open. Fuck, how long has he been following me? The urge to pull a Lie is so strong I can barely stop myself.

I won’t risk using magic yet, but I must be ready for it. I lean against the Veil, until I start seeing blue and hear whispers at the edge of my mind - I’m an eyeblink away from reaching into the Else.

So how can I handle this, except with magic? Well, I should play to my strengths - being weird and inappropriate.

“You followed me? That’s rude,” I say, shaking my head with disappointment. “You should buy me dinner first. Actually, follow creepily home shouldn’t come before the third date. And I’m just not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment yet.”

I make a sad smile. Big sister always told me spouting bullshit doesn’t help, but in my experience it’s great to put others off-balance.

“I… I didn’t mean, I mean…” he says, raising his hands and blushing. If he’s an agent for the men in silver, he’s really bad.

“Oh, I understand,” I say, slashing him a big, friendly smile, “you followed me, but in a non-romantic way. Not like a stalker, more like a serial killer. Did you plan to stab me in a dark alley, or are you more the garrotte kind?”

“What the fuck?” He asks, his eyes wide, his voice squeaking. He takes a step back. I’m pretty sure I managed to creep out my creepy stalker.

“Well, you tell me,” I say. “If you aren’t a creep or a murderer, why did you follow me?”

“I just…” he says, looking around. The old man is still snoring, and the students are loudly checking the effective dose of several illegal drugs.

“Tell me,” I say, reaching past the Veil the tiniest bit to fuel a lie, one where I’m older and less scrawny and someone impressionable might be scared of me.

As I do that, his eyes go wide, and for a moment, I’m sure they flicker a dark, sullen red.

Abyss, he’s a mage, too. I didn’t even consider that possibility. Is he from the Council?

“You did that again,” he says, his eyes wide. “You shouldn’t, you know. It draws ThauCon. But it’s cool. How did you learn?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, my mouth dry.

“Cut the crap,” he says, his voice level. “You’re like me. A rogue… you know what. I saw you do your tricks, and I followed you. Yeah, that was kind of creepy. But I had to know. You’re not with the Syndicates, right? But you know stuff.”

He keeps his expression neutral, and looks around nervously, like a first-year student asking for meth.

And apparently, I’m the dealer. Because while I’m a far cry from a trained mage, I have a book.

Well, he doesn’t want to kill me right now. And if he’s a shill for the Agency, I’m fucked anyway. And I’m curious about him - besides being starved for any kind of conversation.

“I guess you won your private chat,” I say, “if you buy me dinner.”