“I want to sell magic,” said Greg.
Taz, sitting opposite him, elbow on the table, head in hand, blinked. He then, in a tone both confused and perfectly understanding, said, “What?”
“I want to sell magic.”
“D*sney already does that.”
Greg titled his head. “Wait, are they actual magic?”
Taz shrugged.
“Anyways,” Greg continued, “I’m talking about selling stuff like enchanted items, spellcasting services, summoning contracts, possessions. Technology and science can accomplish so much these days, but there are still things that only magic can do.”
Taz sat up in his seat and started tapping the table with one of his naturally sharp nails. He stared off into space while he thought over Greg’s proposal.
This was a Big Deal, maybe. Greg proposed exposing the existence of magic to the public. While Taz didn’t particularly care for the possible ramifications for society at large, he did care that his friend might be putting himself in danger. What if the government decided to take action, treating Greg as some perceived threat or asset to be exploited? He had no defense against bullets or even something as mundane as a pair of handcuffs. Taz wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of violence either. And humans, well, actually, all sentient beings, were stupid. Rather than back off when faced with losses against an unknown foe, they double-down and keep throwing bodies at the problem. Sunk Cost Fallacy if he remembered correctly. Defaulting to escalation over de-escalation.
No, violence, in this case at least, would not be the solution.
Damn it. This is going to be a political thing; I just fucking know it. There’s going to be scheming and sabotage and slander and all sorts of annoying shit to deal with. Ugh.
Taz did not voice any of this out loud, for he knew Greg would have already considered it. Greg was naïve, but not stupid. Awkward, but thoughtful. So, instead of asking questions, Taz simply said, “You’ll need to take some precautions first.”
Greg nodded. “Yes. That’s why I want your help with contracting a demon and a ghost. One for defense, and one for knowledge. Wherever we set up shop, I’ll need your help with warding it as well.”
---
Greg had learned recently that ghosts were not spirits. They were the actual souls of the departed. They resided in various afterlives, depending on who they worshiped in life and whether they were accepted in death.
Greg had asked Taz whether he could contact the late cultists, his friends. Unfortunately, they had not worshiped any deity, and therefore went to the place where all souls not bound to an afterlife went: The Veil Beyond, a separate plane of existence that not even gods knew what lay beyond. It was a one-way trip.
---
Taz agreed, then suggested he first bind a ghost of knowledge to him. Actually, he suggested binding two, one knowledgeable in matters of the occult and unmundanity in general, and the other in social matters. Having advisors for both the arcane and social situations would benefit him immensely. Greg concurred with this assessment, and the two quickly dove into their archives to prepare for the possession and binding.
---
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
A space had been prepared in the living room; a crystal ball (internet, $30) placed at the center of a large chalk circle lined with esoteric symbols and logographs. Red wax candles (crafts store, $20) burned bright in the darkened room.
Taz had explained that the seemingly nonsensical scribblings were in fact, only somewhat nonsense. Magic, as Greg understood it, is governed by two key factors: Intent, the caster’s impression of the spell, and Impact, the observer’s impression of the spell. For the purposes of discussing magic, impression refers to both the expectations, understanding, and perhaps most important of all, plausibility of the spell.
Taz had previously described magic as being akin to quantum mechanics; observation changed the result. That was only sort of true. Observation wouldn’t prevent magic from manifesting, but it would change it. Magic was strongest when unobserved. The caster’s Intent is contested against any observers’ Impact. In short, it’s much like how kids play imaginary games and argue back and forth on why their action figure is stronger than the other’s. If one kid is not even aware of the other, that kid can argue all they want about how awesome their action figure is.
All this to say, the seemingly meaningless squiggles on the floor that Greg would have to clean up later actually meant something because a bunch of people in the past decided what they should mean and ever since that’s just been how it’s been. It works because they said so, and it works better because it’s always worked, and everyone agrees that it works.
Anyways! Back to the séance!
Greg sat cross-legged before the crystal ball, athame (internet, $40) in hand. In his lap sat a small selection of his occultic knowledge: a booklet he had printed out at a local shop ($22, binding included).
With a shaky breath, he raised the blade to his palm.
His hands trembled. He couldn’t do it. The instinctive, primal revulsion towards self-harm was difficult to overcome.
Taz spoke up. “Greg.”
Still staring at the knife edge, flickering candlelight glinting off the steel, he responded, “Yeah?”
“Do you want me to help?”
Greg, confused, asked, “How?”
Instead of answering, Taz simply said, “Do you trust me?”
Without hesitation, Greg said, “Yes, of course.”
Taz repeated, “Do you want me to help?”
Greg took a moment, then responded, “Yes.”
“Alright.”
A moment later, Greg’s fears were smothered. Instead of an impossibly tall wall, they were no more than a speedbump he could simply step over. He was still aware that it was a bad idea to cut oneself, but it was no longer a debilitating obstacle. It reminded him of the sensation of overcoming a phobia. Before treatment, it’s almost impossible to face the fear. Afterwards, however, one can acknowledge and move past it.
Greg wasn’t sure how Taz had done it, but he appreciated it. Maybe he’d ask him later, but for now, he had decided to trust in his friend.
With a steady hand, without which he was sure he would have maimed rather sliced, he slid the blade across his palm and held it out over the ball. A steady stream of blood ran down its surface. Greg felt the faintest beginnings of light-headedness, so he quickly began reciting the words he had memorized earlier.
It was somewhere between a eulogy and an invitation. At least, that’s what Taz had said. Greg thought of it more as posting a job offer than anything. He had requirements, pay, and a vague job description, just all worded fancifully.
Almost immediately, there was a response.
Taz watched as Greg’s eyes began to softly glow with spectral light, a soft mist pouring forth from them.
A wispy form materialized across from Greg. It was not human. It was not humanoid.
It was a fox. A rather large one.
The fox was curled up on the floor, apparently napping.
Greg cleared his throat.
The fox’s ears twitched, then it began to wake. It rose and stretched before blinking its eyes open. Its eyes met Greg’s.
“Greetings, child. Your calling was quite pleasant, and I have seen your character and judged you to be worthy of my tutelage.”
Greg wasn’t sure how to respond to that, other than a simple, “Thanks?”
The fox preened. “You are most welcome, child.” The fox sat up, facing Greg. “This one is- was known as Nurmueth, advisor to the duchess of Raon Sìor-Uaine nan Gràs.”
Greg inclined his head and said, “I am Greg, fledgling occultist and aspiring business owner.”
Nurmueth asked, “You wish to make use of my knowledge for your business?”
“Yes, and more. There are many things I do not know, not just of the occult. With your assistance, I would better protect myself and those important to me, as well as secure a livelihood.”
Nurmueth paused, then nodded, “This is acceptable. I will aid you, though I reserve the right to break our contract at my choosing.” Then they added, “And I am interested to see what this realm is like.”