For a moment, Aria stopped and shielded her eyes. Auras spilled across the open space, and Aria could barely see through to the people that made the light. Some auras stretched high in bursts of white, a sign that telekinetics worked to hang banners. For a memorial, those banners would be grey.

Aria blinked rapidly. Her eyes would adjust but only a little.

Pan sighed. “It’s, perhaps, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Aria squinted. Vaguely, she saw Pan’s hand over her heart and assumed that Pan still looked at the cake. Aria couldn’t really see it. She stood and blinked and prayed for the excitement to die down, so she could exist freely.

A sudden tug on Aria’s arm guided her away from the light. It was Pan, and they were headed for the cake, of course.

Turned towards the wall, the aural light started to dim, and Aria felt her eyelids relax, just in time for a distraction to enter her peripheral vision.

Chara, their healer mentor, beckoned. Chara was seventy-eight years old. An edge of white lined her aura. It signified a perpetual use of her power.

“Oh, no. We’ve been spotted,” Pan said, but she followed Chara’s gesture just the same.

As they got closer, Aria could make out Chara’s white hair, loosely tied back from her shoulders.

“Welcome back, Aria. Did I just catch the two of you making a beeline for Sotir’s cake?” Shades of yellow played in Chara’s aura.

“Sotir’s?” Pan asked.

“Yes, it’s his birthday, but since today is also the memorial, we thought we’d have a small cake after the ceremony,” Chara said.

Pan’s aura shifted suddenly into a pale yellow and dimmed.

Aria opened her mouth to respond to Chara but startled as a sudden green-yellow lumbered into their conversation. Spy.

She smiled wide, raised on hand from her walker, and put a finger to her lips. “It’s a surprise. So, don’t tell. He’s done a lot for Scaldigir, and if you ask me, I’d rather be celebrating him than remembering this…” Spy said, with a gesture to the room and a flash of disdainful green.

Chara’s mouth fell open. “You’re as bad as Pan.”

Spy just waved her off.

Aria expected to see lavender trickle through Pan’s aura, but she still saw that dim yellow. No other emotion trickled through.

Spy continued, “After we get done with the memorial, we’re going to celebrate him. I don’t think he’s ever had a party, not while he’s been arcane. He’ll be what…twenty-six? Twenty-seven?” Spy frowned. “How time flies.” A paused followed. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Pan’s aura oozed a brighter yellow. The first pale shade spoke of fear; the second spoke of regret, embarrassment, and guilt. “Me too,” Pan whispered, sounding not at all enthusiastic.

Aria heard it. Spy and Chara didn’t.

Spy gestured at the table. “The cake came out beautifully. When we finish with business, we’ll wait for the uninvited to file out, then we’ll all shout surprise.”

Aria smiled weakly. She raised a finger. “Uh…Spy. In theory, it’s a wonderful plan, but what about the whole surprise part? Sotir… can see the future. He’ll know.”

Spy made a face of mock exasperation. “Tell me about. It’s been tough, but his old mentors insist we’ve maintained the surprise. Sotir is out with some of the arcane men, and they’re distracting him. Plus, with all this commotion, he’ll never guess.”

Chara folded her hands and sighed. “He’ll certainly be surprised at our audacity to throw him a surprise party immediately after a memorial for the victims of reapers.”

“He knows,” Pan said. “There’s no way he doesn’t.”

“Have a little hope,” Spy scolded. Then, without warning, she hurried away.

Chara waved for them to follow. “Come with me. We’ll grab the refreshments. The majority of these aren’t for Sotir’s party, so don’t expect anything too fancy.”

Pan hung back and motioned for Aria to do the same. When Chara had a small lead, Pan began to walk, Aria followed, careful to keep her view on Chara’s light and not the too strong auras at the edge of her view. Aria looked straight ahead.

Pan leaned close to Aria’s ear. “Do you think this is a gift giving occasion?”

“No. I don’t see why it would be.”

“I didn’t get him anything. Aria, I didn’t even know it was his birthday,” Pan whispered. “Don’t you think I should have known?”

Aria frowned. “Why? Because you spend so much time with him? Or because…”

Pan shushed her. “Don’t say anything. I feel bad enough. Plus, she might hear our bickering.” Pan pointed discretely at Chara.

They left the atrium and entered the dim hall. At least, Aria found it dim, away from the other arcanes’ light. Her eyes had finally started to adjust to the manic glow. Now, she had to adjust again. She followed Chara. Along the walls, Aria saw faded colors, the remnants of people who had passed through.

She glanced down and saw her own aura. It had regained its dust blue and white edges. Aria rarely saw emotional colors in her aura. She saw her base shades, the ones that described her personality. In a trust building exercise, Pan once described Aria as eminently rational. So, Aria assumed that explained her static aura. Still, she remembered other colors in her younger years. What had happened to them?

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

In contrast, Pan’s aura moved for her emotions. Pan’s base of blue-grey and purple had given way to the guilty shades of yellow, but it would be back. Along with it, would come swirls and patterns of other emotions. Angry red happened to be the most common, but at this moment, Aria saw a hint of altruistic gold.

Aria saw gold on few people. Navy officers and rescue crews served as the key supply. It signified their strong desire to do right by others. Aria liked that about Pan. Pan had some gold. Aria wished she saw more of it.

That gold is for Sotir.

Chara led them into the kitchen. The room accommodated a large island, with metal countertop. On the counter, Aria saw food. It glowed. The scene reminded Aria of a spring festival, painted in one of her childhood books. Everything glowed in warm shades of purple, green, and cream.

“Fancier than I thought. It looks delicious,” Chara said. “Probably even better with your eyes.”

Aria looked at the ground.

“Let’s see…Aria, you take this exotic cheese plate.” Chara picked up a metal tray.

Aria took the tray. She could see the cheese and crackers. Their details ran together beneath cream light. They looked perfect, not like a photograph but like a painting.

Chara picked up a bowl of fruit; each piece blazed like a little star. “I’ll take this bowl since it’s a bit heavy. And, Pan, you can take…” Chara looked up.

Aria followed Chara’s gaze.

Pan already held a tray of tarts. The sweets emitted a shine of gold. Aria could tell that these were noble tarts.

Chara’s aura showed a quick flush of yellow. “Be careful with those.” Chara turned and faced the exit. “Alright, follow me back to the foyer.”

Pan put her nose over the tarts and inhaled deeply. “Oh, our blood will be charged with sugar tonight.”

Aria wanted to laugh. Pan’s aura waved with pure pink and the lavender of mischief. Pan took two steps, and the tray fell from her hands.

Devastation swept through Pan’s aura in shades of red, blue, and yellow – hues of frustration, sadness, and anxiety. The colors blotted out Pan’s features, but Aria could imagine her friend’s horrified face.

The tarts seemed to fall in slow motion. At first, they stayed with the tray, and gold aura shimmered like a halo around the whole lot, completely unaware of what was about to happen. Then, the tray flipped. Each tart found its own trajectory and started on it. Time sped up, and the whole mess landed on its head.

Pan put her hands over her mouth.

“I told you to be careful,” Chara warned.

“I know. I just.” Pan fell to her knees. “Would you believe it wasn’t my fault?” She held up her left arm. “It’s my stupid bum arm. I’ll lose use of it by the time I’m sixty.”

Chara walked back. She replaced her bowl of salad on the island and knelt by Pan. “No, you won’t.” She grabbed Pan’s arm, and white blazed over the limb. “You have a long time before any degenerative effects of arcanemorphosis catch up with you. Kat has had neuropathy in right leg since her teens, and she’s still walking without aid.”

Aria loved to watch a healer work. She wanted to say…what about me? It felt so nice to be healed.

Chara worked.

Pan sighed. She waited through the healing, and her aura grew calm. “I killed the tarts.”

Aria smiled. “They were noble things, shining in gold.”

Pan’s eyes widened. “Gold?” A flicker of disappointment ran through her aura.

Aria nodded. “Gold. I think they might deserve a state funeral. We can make it a double memorial.”

Chara planted her hands on her knees and rose. She shook her head. “You two.” Chara grabbed some towels. Her aura swirled with a combination of colors that suggested pity. “I’ll clean up the mess. Pan, would you get the salad? Your arm should be fine now, but if you drop it, no one will complain.”

Pan nodded. She picked up the bowl. “Where should we take these?”

Chara said, “For the memorial refreshments, there’s a long table set up on the wall opposite to Sotir’s cake. Take them there.”

They turned from the kitchen and walked the hall, side by side.

“She missed you,” Pan said.

“I guess, but we don’t always see each other even when I’m around.”

Pan shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean she missed you while you were away. I meant she missed a chance to give you healing. She didn’t offer you any, and I know you could use it because you often can.”

Aria felt her face warm. “I never asked.”

“No, but you should.” Pan’s aura gleamed red. “And, all those comforting words about us being fine in our sixties. Complete lies. Chara will be gone, and she’s the only healer that we can steal extra treatment from. We don’t know anyone else well enough.” Pan’s aura remained red, but it showed some of its lavender too. “Start an affair with a healer now. Doesn’t have to go anywhere serious. I’m already tangled up, so it has to be you.”

Aria felt herself blush. She followed the rules of no intimate relationships among arcanes, even if it would put her in a wheelchair.

To become arcane, every man and woman had to survive arcanemorphosis, playfully dubbed arcanerty. Arcanemorphosis occurred just after the start of puberty and landed every arcane in the hospital for two to six weeks. In previous decades, half those children died. Now, the survival rate surpassed ninety-five percent. Of course, no one had done a thing about the neuropathy and diminishing mobility as arcanes aged. It hit most arcanes between their seventies and nineties, long after they’d been useful to Scaldigir.

I’m thinking like Pan, Aria scolded herself.

At the end of the hall, she caught a glimpse of flames, white to her eyes. The flames arced over a series of candles and retreated, leaving small flickers in their wake.

“So, what do you think, Aria?” Pan whispered. “Is fire starting a good power or a bad power?”

Aria felt herself frown. “Pan, not this again. There’s no such thing as good and bad powers. Every power is useful.”

So, their mentors said, and Aria parroted.

Pan leaned close and whispered, “Fire starting is a common power. Like other common powers, that would suggest it’s good. Right? After all, the only trouble with common powers is learning how to shut them off and be precise. And, there’s always someone to help with that because they’re common.” Pan pressed the salad bowl against her waist and held up a finger. “Yet, fire starting, when you begin with it, can be very destructive. Take for instance the special room a fire starter has to occupy for a few months. Telekinetics might levitate everything willy nilly, but it rarely results in anything worse than a broken vase or...bone.”

“So, fire starting is a bad power now?” Aria asked.

Pan classified all powers into good and bad. Pan asserted that good powers were usually common, could be turned off and controlled, and enhanced the user’s life. Healing, telekinesis, ice shaping, and fire starting – until now – fell into that category. Bad powers were the opposite.

Pan continued, “Fire starting is somewhere in-between, I think. Hard to learn, but eventually, fire starters learn full control.” She stared at the fire starters, with an analytical expression.

Aria sighed. “We can’t change what we got.”

“No, we can’t.” Pan’s aura turned a somber blue-grey.

Aria didn’t say anything more. They arrived at the mouth of the hall. Her eyes teared. She had adjusted to the lower light. Now, she had to transition back.

A subtle glow stepped into their path. “Can you see where you’re going, Aria?” The stern voice belonged to Brynn, their third mentor, a seventy-nine-year-old telekinetic.

Brynn held a staff that she used as a cane. Her hair fell straight to her waist, in streaks of black, grey, and white. Her aura hugged her body. It shimmered in shades of deep blue.

Aria answered, “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Well, don’t drop it.” Brynn pointed to the cheese plate.

Pan’s aura flared orange and red.

Brynn tapped her staff on the floor. “You two need to change. Something grey.”

Aria felt judged. She began to walk towards the hall. Her arms started to feel tired. “Yes. We’ll change.”

“Panphila? You too?” Brynn asked again.

“Yes. Of course. I have more grey in more wardrobe than the average person. I spend half my waking hours at memorials.” Pan started to follow Aria.

“Not as if it’s a choice.” Brynn smiled and walked in the opposite direction.