“So, let me get this straight— a magician needs a full time job in the mortal world, otherwise, they cannot cast spells?” I asked.

“That is correct,” Kush replied.

“So, theoretically speaking, if I had more than one job, I would be more powerful?

“Yes, but you must also take into account the fact that if you work too much, you would be too tired for magic . . . not that I am one who would understand the nuances of you, being another person.”

“Why?” I now asked, curious beyond anything about why working a job and casting spells are related.

“Because your labor-power as a worker is what generates your magical output— your labor, when worked up, is what ignites the magical spark if you are attuned to the under-reality frequency. That is just how it is and how it has always been.”

“But you said one needed to be a full time in order to generate magical energy. Right? If I only worked twenty hours or thirty-eight, that would disqualify me from generating magic?”

“Twenty hours is too little to generate magical energy— in most circumstances, anyway. But you would be fine if you only worked thirty-odd something hours. Really, it is more about working a set number of hours repeatedly and for a good portion of your awake time than anything. As long as it is in the service of Circulation, then you will generate magical energy.”

“Circulation?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Yes. Circulation. An odd term. In fact, members of Full Time ourselves barely know what it means. We feel that it must harken to a specific aspect of the under-reality now lost. But the tomes we do have suggest that there is a sort of flow to magic in regards to how it is generated and spread across the twin realities. There is a sort of self-regulation involved, like an ecosystem. Maybe.”

“Maybe. But you don’t know for sure.”

“Correct.”

This was a lot to take in and I, for one, was lost. Not lost in the way of being unable to absorb all of the information; no, that stuff was simple and could be boiled down to ‘work yourself to the bone in this reality and the other.’ I guess I was confused on all of the circulation stuff and why magic and working yourself to death was so damn important.

At least you’re in good company. They are as ignorant as you— at least when it comes to this stuff. Remember this, though, ‘cause it will serve you well. Not all who calls themselves a Caretaker knows what the heck is going on. People put on fronts even here.

I nodded my head to both Felix and Kush. Just another thing for the Backburner bank of “Questions Not Yet Answered.”

“All of that said, can I cast magic now?” I asked.

“Not yet. You need to build up more before you can cast.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. I turned my back to Kush and walked away, back to the sales floors, he following me a second later, both of us evidently in work mode and not in the mood for anymore small talk.

But, that was the end of my fifteen minute break anyway, so I guess it all worked out. Punching back in, I re-equipped my phone-sized tablet to my wrist, synced up the barcode scanner, and returned to the floor, where I worked up magical energy. But as was the usual of late, I felt very little of my exploitation as a worker. Following frequency trigger after frequency trigger, I flowed through the motions of grabbing items, placing them in a bag, and confirming them into the order. After another couple of hours, I felt disassociated. Like I was watching a character on the world’s most boring TC show. And that character was me; if I were in cosmic mode, that did not help matters.

“Alrighty, thank you for your help, Marcus. Saved our butts!” a co-worker said to me at the expediting kiosk. “You can head back home. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Anytime.”

I returned my gadgets to the case, clocked out, and met Kush outside of the store.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Well, now?” I asked Kush, referencing whether now was enough of a laboring to use magic. It had been over two hours, after all, since my last check-in.

“I think so. But only one way to find out. Let’s return to the store and see if we can’t find a willing target.”

I smiled. I was about to cast a spell. My inner child didn’t just smile, he was doing a full-on tap dance routine complete with sparklers.

~ ~ ~

“A target?” I asked wondering if we were going to ice some fool.

Ice? What are you, a nineties-era rap man? Felix sassed.

“In a manner of speaking. No violence will be done today,” Kush replied.

Making our way over to the candy aisle, a place which never had many people, believe it or not, Kush found a chocolate bar and held it in his hands.

“See this bar? Take it from my hand without touching it. I don’t care how you take it from my hand, just take it without using your fingers to grab it; any spell or output. Just use magic. GO!”

Kush’s sudden “GO!” took me surprised and sent a pang of anxiety through me as it made me feel like I was being timed; yet, as the minutes went by and I stared at the chocolate bar, then my Delvendive, and tried to concentrate and feel, nothing happened. I was casting magic wrong, evidently.

After a while I finally asked, “So, if magic use like the Delvendive? Is it more about sensation?”

Kush smiled. “Yes. Good of you to remember. In fact, anything to do with the under-reality is about sensation. The flow of reality in relation to perception. My advice? Don’t over think.”

Don’t overthink? Easy for him, right, bud, he doesn’t have anxiety, and depression, like you!

I tried to ignore Felix, but his words, though meant in a supportive way— as I could tell by his tone— hurt me a touch more than perhaps he meant. I didn’t have depression or anxiety. What was Felix talking about? Hmmmmm . . .

But, back to the current issue— sensation and magic.

Kush was adamant about not overthinking. So what was the opposite of overthinking? Underthinking. But what was underthinking? Simplistic thinking? Yes. It was thinking inside of the box. Following instructions too closely; but what happened when one followed instructions too closely? Well, one was like a drone. A boring old drone who couldn’t think for themselves and had no imagination or incentive to be creative. By the books, in other words. But I was looking for a mental place where I wasn’t overthinking or underthinking. Sort of in the middle of the mental and intellectual flow; a place where I could use overthinking to make connections, then use underthinking to go deeper with those limited connections instead of merely following protocol. In this middle would be, ideally, that spot of sensation where I could sort the details without being lost in them— details like a candy bar.

What was a candy bar? Nothing obtuse. Just sugar and cocoa and the rest. Outside of the wrapper, there was nothing special or glossy to it. And the chocolate itself? Usually just flat pieces, except for those brands that had special molds to create indents and grooves, but those were limited. Chocolate was just that, chocolate. Nothing unique about it. Or, what was unique? That depending on where the chocolate came from it might have been extracted under slave-like labor conditions? If not actual slaves? Fair trade was more than a marketing label, after all. But that wasn’t any different than numerous other products— fruit, coffee, and meat being notable examples. All commodities held within them the germ of super-exploitation and I as a consumer only had such pull over those conditions since fair trade only covered a fraction of the abuse generated by the machinations of economics and— WHAP!

It hit me dead in the chest.

The candy bar.

It just flew up and out of Kush’s hand and smacked me in the chest, as though someone had tossed it weakly at me. Boom. One moment I was pontificating about global capitalism and the next? A chocolate bar jumps at me.

I stare at it on the ground. It remains there, unmoving, as a candy bar should behave.

It feels as if both Felix and Kush look at me differently than just a moment ago. Heck, I myself feel different. I feel . . . what’s the word? Great? Powerful? Felix’s suggestions help and ‘great’ and ‘powerful’ is exactly what I feel like. But it is more than that. I feel like a god. Really, like a god? Damn, son, you crazy.

“Okay, maybe not a god, but jeez, better than the most powerful CEO on earth!” I reply to Felix.

But Felix did not respond. He just chuckled and almost whispered, As you should.

“I did it,” I say to Kush.

He looks back at me unmoving. Though I cannot discern anything from beneath his wondrous hood, I feel as though he must be smiling. For he says, “Aye, that you did. That you did. And you feel powerful, yes? Yes. That will conclude our lesson for today.”

“But— but, why? That was just a tiny jump. I could do more.”

“No, you can’t. As a novice, you don’t know how to control your magical output. Just making that candy bar jump caused you to lose all of your magical energy.”

“But I worked for almost five whole freaking hours! What the fuck, bro?!”

“Firstly, do not call me ‘bro’ please. And secondly, this is normal. Learn discipline, Marcus. Focus your energies day after day and use your energies day after day. As you work, try and feel the energies build up within you and understand their relationship to you and your body. In time, and with practice, you will be able to do far more with far less energy.”

Although I understood what he was saying, it was frustrating to hear that my first taste of magic was so short lived. I had gone from being frustrated to elated to depressed all in the span of several minutes. I was about to argue with Kush more, maybe try and get him to teach me something else, but when I glanced back in his direction, he was gone.

“What now?” I asked Felix.

Go home. Rest. Maybe look for a second job?