Benedict Jacka - Fated

It was a slow day, so I was reading a book at my desk and seeing into the future.

There were only two customers in the shop. One was a student with scraggly hair and a nervous way of glancing over his shoulder. He was standing by the herb and powder rack and had decided what to buy ten minutes ago but was still working up the nerve to ask me about it. The other customer was a kid wearing a Linkin Park T-shirt whod picked out a crystal ball but wasnt going to bring it to the counter until the other guy had left.

The kid had come on a bicycle, and in fifteen minutes a traffic warden was going to come by and ticket him for locking his bike to the railings. After that I was going to get a call I didnt want to be disturbed for, so I set my paperback down on my desk and looked at the student. Anything I can help you with?

He started and came over, glancing back at the kid and dropping his voice slightly. Um, hey. Do you-?

No. I dont sell spellbooks.

Not even-?

No.

Is there, um, any way I could check?

The spell youre thinking of isnt going to do any harm. Just try it and then go talk to the girl and see what happens.

The student stared at me. You knew that just from these?

I hadnt even been paying attention to the herbs in his hand, but that was as good an explanation as any. Want a bag?

He put verbena, myrrh and incense into the bag I gave him and paid for it while still giving me an awestruck look, then left. As soon as the door swung shut, the other kid came over and asked me the price for the second biggest crystal ball, trying to sound casual. I didnt bother checking to see what he was going to use it for about the only way you can hurt yourself with a crystal ball is by hitting yourself over the head with it, which is more than I can say for some of the things I sell. Once the kid had let himself out, hefting his paper bag, I got up, walked over and flipped the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED. Through the window, I saw the kid unlock his bike and ride off. About thirty seconds later a traffic warden walked by.

My shop is in a district in the north centre of London called Camden Town. Theres a spot where the canal, three bridges and two railway lines all meet and tangle together in a kind of urban reef-knot, and my street is right in the middle. The bridges and the canal do a good job of fencing the area in, making it into a kind of oasis in the middle of the city. Apart from the trains, its surprisingly quiet. I like to go up onto the roof sometimes and look around over the canal and the funny-shaped rooftops. Sometimes in the evenings and early mornings, when the traffics muted and the lights faded, it feels almost like a gateway to another world.

The sign above my door says Arcana Emporium. Underneath is a smaller sign with some of the things I sell implements, reagents, focus items, that sort of thing. Youd think it would be easier just to say magic shop, but I got sick of the endless stream of people asking for breakaway hoops and marked cards. Finally I worked out a deal with a stage magic store half a mile away, and now I keep a box of their business cards on the counter to hand out to anyone who comes in asking for the latest book by David Blaine. The kids go away happy, and I get some peace and quiet.

My name is Alex Verus. Its not the name I was born with, but thats another story. Im a mage; a diviner. Some people call mages like me oracles, or seers, or probability mages if they want to be really wordy, and thats fine too, just as long as they dont call me a fortune teller. Im not the only mage in the country, but as far as I know Im the only one who runs a shop.

Mages like me arent common, but we arent as rare as you might think either. We look the same as anyone else, and if you passed one of us on the street odds are youd never know it. Only if you were very observant would you notice something a little off, a little strange, and by the time you took another look, wed be gone. Its another world, hidden within your own, and most of those who live in it dont like visitors.

Those of us who do like visitors have to advertise, and its tricky to find a way of doing it that doesnt make you sound crazy. The majority rely on word of mouth, though younger mages use the internet. Ive even heard of one guy in Chicago who advertises in the phone book under Wizard, though thats probably an urban legend. Me, I have my shop. Wiccans and pagans and New-Agers are common enough nowadays that people accept the idea of a magic shop, or at least they understand that the weirdos have to buy their stuff from somewhere. Of course, they take for granted that its all a con and that the stuff in my shop is no more magical than an old pair of socks, and for the most part theyre right. But the stuff in my shop that isnt magical is good camouflage for the stuff that is, like the thing sitting upstairs in a little blue lacquered cylinder that can grant any five wishes you ask. If that ever got out, Id have much worse problems than the occasional snigger.

The futures had settled and the phone was going to ring in about thirty seconds. I settled down comfortably and, when the phone rang, let it go twice before picking up. Hey.

Hi, Alex, Lunas voice said into my ear. Are you busy?

Not even a little. Hows it going?

Can I ask a favour? I was going through a place in Clapham and found something. Can I bring it over?

Right now?

Thats not a problem, is it?

Not really. Is there a rush?

No. Well Luna hesitated. This thing makes me a bit nervous. Id feel better if it was with you.

I didnt even have to think about it. Like I said, it was a slow day. You remember the way to the park?

The one near your shop?

Ill meet you there. Where are you?

Still in Clapham. Im just about to get on my bike.

So one and a half hours. You can make it before sunset if you hurry.

I think I am going to hurry. Im not sure Lunas voice trailed off, then firmed. Okay. See you soon.

She broke the connection. I held the phone in my hand, looking at the display. Luna works for me on a part-time basis, finding items for me to sell, though I dont think she does it for the money. Either way, I couldnt remember her being this nervous about one. It made me wonder exactly what she was carrying.

You can think of magical talent as a pyramid. Making up the lowest and biggest layer are the normals. If magic is colours, these are the people born colour-blind: they dont know anything about magic and they dont want to, thank you very much. Theyve got plenty of things to deal with already, and if they do see anything that might shake the way they look at things, they convince themselves they didnt see it double-quick. This is maybe ninety per cent of the adult civilised world.

Next up on the pyramid are the sensitives, the ones who arent colour-blind. Sensitives are blessed (or cursed, depending how you look at it) with a wider spectrum of vision than normals. They can feel the presence of magic, the distant power in the sun and the earth and the stars, the warmth and stability of an old family home, the lingering wisps of death and horror at a Dark ritual site. Most often they dont have the words to describe what they feel, but two sensitives can recognise each other by a kind of empathy, and it makes a powerful bond. Have you ever felt a connection to someone, as though you shared something even though you didnt know what it was? Its like that.

Above the sensitives on the magical pecking order are the adepts. These guys are only one per cent or so, but unlike sensitives they can actually channel magic in a subtle way. Often its so subtle they dont even know theyre doing it; they might be lucky at cards, or very good at guessing whats on another persons mind, but its mild enough that they just think theyre born lucky or perceptive. But sometimes they figure out what theyre doing and start developing it, and some of these guys can get pretty impressive within their specific field.