Frank was furious.

His brow furrowed, his teeth clenched, several of the veins on his face near fit to burst.

Then that brow smoothed out, his mouth relaxing, then turning upwards into a wide smile.

Frank was happy. And happier. And happier.

Then his smile turned upside down.

Now Frank was sad.

After a minute more of this, he let his face slacken.

Frank kept his eyes on the mirror in front of him for a few moments longer, then bent down to the sink to wash his face again, slightly dampening his hair as he did so.

Rising a second later, he stared into his silent doppelgänger, inspecting it once more for anything…missing…amiss. Not himself.

That was the thing with humans. Feelings and facts were as different as night and day, but people tended to find discerning one from the other near impossible at times. And Frank was feeling…

The door to the bathroom slammed open as three men entered; two freelancers and one that looked to be a lawyer or some such, the three joking about something going on in the eastern quarter as they proceeded to then go about doing what one did in a bathroom.

Waking Frank from his self-fascination, he quickly washed up once more before making his exit.

The Department of Central Processing was charged with the record keeping for not just the city, but the entire continent—what little humanity occupied of it, at least. Specifically, this part of the complex dealt with the registry information for non-mundane individuals residing within the territories.

Say what you would about the Department of Higher Understanding, but they obeyed the law to the letter, and it was here that they would have registered the boy from another world. That did not necessarily mean that the kid’s information would not be censored, that Department well within their rights to do so, but even a black line could tell you much about someone. Or at least tell you what they did not want you to know about them.

Despite the assertions of his shrew of a sister and Donny, Frank was no fool. The boy had bought in a lot of money for them, true, but Frank was not one to be so blinded by wealth that he would run right over the cliff’s edge in pursuit of it.

Heels clicking against the too polished marble floor of the building, his silent twin once again staring at him as he cast his eyes downward—Frank stalked onward towards the nearest line of people waiting to be serviced by the row of clerks at the far end of the lobby.

Thankfully, Processing was nowhere near as bad as I.A.A., where he was sure Donny and the boy would still be sitting in that glorified sardine can, even now.

‘And probably long after he had finished his business here,’ Frank mused as an unsympathetic smile crossing his lips.

A minute’s wait later and he was standing in front of a small service window through which a twenty-something blond explained why Frank could not get what he wanted.

“I’m sorry, but without proof of guardianship, there’s little I can do to assist you.”

“But he’s an orphan…all alone, with nary a soul in the world to look out for him?” he pleaded.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Cohen, my hands are tied.”

Rather than grouse, or throw a fit, Frank quickly observed the girl; pretty, but an equal to the several women around her, her clothing decent but of common make, with the what little jewellery she wore being of a similar, lacklustre nature—her hands, he noted, absent of any such embellishments.

Specifically, she wore no rings.

Frank smiled then, visibly and charmingly, his pearly whites on full display as he said, “Look, I just care about the poor boy; you know how dangerous this city can be…maybe we can figure out some way to help him?”

The woman’s eyes rose from the paperwork in front of her to look at him then, into his own mischievous blue irised orbs, one of her delicate eyebrows rising as she questioned herself as to what he meant by “We.”

…

It would be a good ten minutes later that the woman found herself leading Frank through to the hall of records, still questioning herself as to what the hell she was doing as they moved.

Technically, it was not illegal for him to be here, the records stored within this particular hall made available to most of the public for safety concerns—the people whose information lay within all potentially dangerous for various reasons. Police, lawyers, even freelances like the man beside her, could access this place, but only the censored archives.

The uncensored versions, while again technically not illegal to be viewed by the appropriate members of the public, needed various forms of authority or legal reason to do so, ones that the man beside her would be hard pressed to gain without legal guardianship or government approval.

It would only be a slap on the wrist offense to view any of them without such, but where the freelancer could come and go, the woman herself worked here, something this idiocy could see to an end if they were caught.

But she deluded herself with the fact that she would be reading the information, the man beside her only listening to her unknowingly talk out loud as she did so.

A perfectly human error to make.

As the woman lead him to an area that, while as clean as any of the others around it, somehow seemed not to be, the atmosphere radiating a sense of being old and stale, the section all but declaring out loud that few people ever perused the contents stored upon its aged shelves. Not for anything malicious or forbidden, but simply for never displaying information of any particular interest.

And it was there the woman retrieved a rather slim file pertaining to one ‘Thomas Goodwill, Registry Number: 192384-R68.’

The two of them leant over the cabinet the file was stored in as the woman read what information was recorded within, the first few pages only appearing to hold the kid’s most basic details. His blood type, family history and other such generic information —though the vague way in which it was written twigged something within her as she read it, some vague instinct that she could not name. What followed then was an even more vague and obfuscated report on what services he had provided to the Department of Higher Understanding.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Some thought exercises and some experimentation pertaining to the limits and extents of his particular abilities, and the length of time with which he assisted said department.

“What? That’s it?” Frank asked incredulously.

Even by the government’s standards, it was the very minimal that one had to include in any report.

“Isn’t it enough?” the woman asked, doubt further entering her voice, “To help him?” her words clearly mocking Frank’s reason from earlier. A reason that they both knew was not the one he was here for.

“Maybe, maybe,” he commented non-committedly, “but you never know what might be important to the lad—what I might need to watch out for him.”

“Oh, really?” And here I thought this was a way to get me to go out with you?” the woman then asked rhetorically, an edge to her tone as insecurity finally started to win out. “So, you only want this?”

To deny it would only have given the woman confirmation of what they both already knew was the truth, and to confirm it would only enrage her—so, Frank took the lesser known third option.

“Can’t I have both?” he asked her with his still present cheeky grin, adding a not so subtle hint of a leer as he did so, his hand then snaking its way around her waist.

Only for the woman to push him off, more for fear of being caught than not desiring the attention, the sound of someone approaching then sending her into a momentary panic.

As that person, another of the building’s clerks, passed by, she hurriedly attempted to casually correct herself of any dishevelment as she returned to reading the file, more for needing to hide herself from both the far too bold man and anyone else who might have been watching—a flush of pink washing over her face.

But as she read on, that hint of colour then drained from her.

“What?” Frank asked, concern lacing the question as he noticed the wide-eyed look on the woman’s face as she stared at whatever was in the file.

Biting back a word even some sailors would balk at, the woman shoved the file towards Frank while nonsensically yelling, “Better be a damned good dinner!” at him before stalking off in a fury.

Watching her leave with a look of utter confusion, Frank opened the file to see what had affected her so, to also then experience the same feeling of dread.

At the back of the file—placed as if it were some afterthought or unnecessary update—was a simple page, one whose text casually and politely invited him, and specifically him, his name written clearly and in full, to the Department of Higher understanding. Specifically, to the office of the woman who the kid had mentioned before, the one he had dealt with during his stay there.

The knowledge of who he was and why he was here could have been the result of a successful divination or some other related ability, the government and its various branches easily having access to people with such powers, but even if what people the government had were of a greater reliability, the accuracy of such powers were always questionable.

No, the more likely answer was that the paper had been cursed in some fashion. Which would be worse if that were the case. Though such things could easily be undone, subverted or simply transferred to someone else, a curse was both cheaper and, when they did work, completely reliable, the information that the paper had no doubt communicated to whomever had enchanted it leaving no room for interpretation as to its instruction.

They knew who he was, so the polite invitation was…not an invitation.

Looking back to the still visible woman rushing away from him, Frank scratched the back of his head in frustration before looking back at the paper, then around as he said to himself, “…Yeah…”

~~~

The room was a cacophony of noise and motion as people jostled and screamed as they attempted to gain the attention of the men standing in front of a large chalkboard.

Most auction rooms were not so…energetic.

‘A moment away from breaking into a full-out riot,’ Donny bluntly thought, the observation more accurate in its unflattering description than just a mere insult of the sight before him.

The crowd he now watched were not some high-society fops parading around in tuxedos and gowns as they competed with each other over some dusty relic, but were instead working-class schlubs like himself, who had to compete with the thousands of others like them within this city for any and every advantage that they could grab hold of.

This auction room, one of many that operated not just across the city but throughout the entire territories, was just a large room, rented more for the space it provided than for any convenience it could offer those within. Like with many of the buildings within the city, it optimised its use of space by building down as well as up, the room located two stories underground, though the ceiling was high enough that a series of tiny windows facing the street far above allowed some of the sun’s rays to filter inward.

To little affect.

Business here was apparently good enough that they could afford electrification, a series of glass bulbs, not cheap candles, provided the main illuminating to the room—not that it offered much to be seen, the only thing to look at being the huge blackboard and the rapidly changing writing upon it.

A lone chalkboard, large enough to cover the entire back of the room, sectioned off with large, chalk-drawn boxes—each displayed the offerings of the day. Magical goods, services, jobs…nothing noteworthy, of course. Anything of true value went to those with the real money—the established agencies, the city elites and so on.

“Me and Frank had come to places like this when we’d first started,” he told the boy. “Dropped it as soon as we realised the score. They offer a chance of something more, but in truth, all o’ this’s a mug’s game. The only reason people’re still stupid enough to keep coming here’s due to the ever-present desperation fuelling the hopes of these fools,” he explained, nodding his head to the near animalistic crowd, “And the offer of an actual bit of treasure from time to time. An odd exception that I’ve always thought’s intentionally…done to keep these schmucks on the hook.”

Donny needed a moment to stare down one of said schmucks as the man in question, bearing clothes so old and worn that even a beggar would look down on them, became offended at his overloud words.

After that man had turned away, Donny then turned to the kid, to first see that his words got through to the boy, and then to press home just how hard it was to get ahead in this business, and, more importantly, to emphasise just how much they had sacrificed because of the government’s screw up at the museum. One that their fair and just leaders could repeat again and again because they had all the power and experienced none of the consequences.

To then turn further to the side.

…and then turn back as he searched for the fool.

The boy was over at one of the counters. Not the one dealing with the payments and exchanges involved in the current auction, but the one dealing with the long-term storage.

Donny raced over before the little shit could do something stupid, but stopped short when he heard the kid say to the woman on the other side of that counter, “…so this basically all the stuff no one wants or needs?”

Realising the idiot was not entirely so, he slowed his pace, casually walking up to the boy’s side as he attempted to discern what he was up to.

Donny was still angry at the kid’s little play back at I.A.A., but he was not so infuriated that he could not see the kid was capable of thinking to some extent, so he was going to let things continue. For now.

Still wanted to smack the little shit, though.

“Do you have a list or something I could take with me? I’m not going to remember all of this,” the kid asked.

And much to Donny’s surprise, the woman behind the counter retrieved a small, cheaply printed booklet—more a bundle of papers, really—the thing obviously not made to last, but it was apparently enough to satisfy the kid. And again, to his surprise, the boy indicated to him that he did not want to talk about it, opting for subtlety here, unlike how he had behaved back at the I.A.A., and that they would talk about it later.

That did not please him. While Donny was all for keeping things close to the vest, by doing so here, it indicated the kid had another plan of some sort. He would not complain too much if whatever the kid was going to do worked out as his little play had—though Donny would prefer if it did not leave him looking the fool this time—but smarts were not always to be lauded. Plenty of thinkers in the city met with bad ends because of how intelligent they thought they were.

Once done confirming some things with the woman, the kid was free for Donny to once more begin his attempt to instil within the boy and his thick skull some idea of just how difficult their life was, only for his attempt to once more be stalled as a part of the crowd began swearing up a storm at whatever had come on offer.

Looking up, Donny was quick to realise why, the price for what was on offer such that even those who could potentially afford it would not even bother to consider a bid.

He snorted, lacking any sympathy for those still cursing, once more confirming that this was all a fool’s game.

Donny was about to resume his continually waylaid effort when his head shot back up in a double-take as he registered what it was exactly that had been offered.

Shouting out to grab the attention of the man at the board, Donny sent the kid and almost himself barrelling to the floor as he rushed to run over, raising his hand high into the air as he screamed his acceptance.

…

“There a reason for that,” Goodie asked as they exited the building some time later.

“The fact that you don’t know how valuable that was shows just how much you don’t know, kid.”

“I can guess why you made the purchase, but was it necessary to run my arse over in doing so?”

“Refer to previous answer,” Donny quipped, the boy giving him a lopsided look and frown in response.

“And weren’t we going to study magic or something?”

Donny had near dragged the kid out as soon as he confirmed the sale. Some people could get the wrong kind of emotional when they got showed up like just he did to everyone inside there, and bad things often followed that reaction.

He was about to explain…then someone called out his name.

“Donny,” a short, stout man called out, just having crossed the street, though whether the man’s intent was to talk to him or to head inside the building he and the boy had just left, he could not say.

“Rodent,” Donny greeted the man, his voice filled then with all the warmth and friendliness of a sharp knife.

“Hey, Donny…who’s the kid?” the man asked, nodding his head toward the boy.

Donny reached down and grabbed said boy’s hand, the limb having risen to shake the Rodent’s own in what would normally have been considered a right and civil act.

“You got something for sale?” Donny asked the man, his tone still as cold as ice.

“Well…,” the man called Rodent hesitated, “not at this very moment, but I’m sure…”

“Then beat it!”

Donny yanked the boy along with him as he made to leave, the Rodent thankfully not following after them, though he did watch the two stalk off.

“And that was?” Goodie asked, rubbing his wrist in an overly obvious way to draw Donny’s attention to it moments later.

“Someone you’re going to have to deal with, sooner or later. The Rodent’s a snitch.”

“For freelancers?”

“For everyone; which is why you don’t talk to him. The guy’ll sell you out for a dime if he gets the chance, so don’t let him.”

That said, Donny peered over his shoulder to reconfirm that the man had indeed not followed them, stifling a shiver that then threatened to run up his spine. The Rodent had a particular knack for getting involved with things, and with what he had already begun to suspect, Donny was beginning to see another pattern forming.

“Kid, let’s get something to eat…we need to talk about something.”