The police officer sitting in front of me was a pretty lady. The one who connected all the wires and electordes to my body—not so much. Still, they were both quite polite, considering the fact that I’d been found at a murder scene, with what could be considered a murder weapon. That is, if someone had absolutely no imagination whatsoever.

  This knife had to be used post-mortem. It was the only thing that made sense. And yet, here I am again, in trouble way over my head.

  “Ma’am, please state your name and profession for the record.” Her voice was completely devoid of any interesting tones. Maybe it was a requirement for these lie-detection interrogations. Who knows? I might even get used to it.

  “My name is Alexa May, and I am a professional artist and mage for hire,” I said cheerfully. It always brought me a little joy to say those two things out loud. The machine let out a bleep that meant absolutely nothing to me. I wasn’t lying—but how would a machine know that? Sometimes, there's magic in mundane things too.

  “Are you 24 years old?”

  Are more interesting questions yet to come? Or am I going to bore myself to death here? Maybe I should just portal out after all.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Please answer in full sentences, ma’am.”

  Also, what’s up with the “ma’am”? Do I have a child I don’t know about? That would be a first for womankind. Score.

  “Yes, I am 24 years old. But I prefer to think of myself as still young.”

  “Please just state the facts.” She was getting angry. Finally—some emotion. I work too hard for them sometimes.

  “Sure.” I’d forgotten myself for a second there. “Sure, I will, officer.” There—much better. Much more full.

  “Are you currently living in downtown Boston?”

  “Yes, I am currently living in downtown Boston—among other places.” I just can’t help myself. I wonder how long until they’ve had enough of me.

  “Ma’am, this test is for your own benefit. We need to verify that what you're saying is true.”

  She really was trying. I had to give her that. Such a shame she wouldn’t remember any of it. I’d just prefer to know what reality has cooked up for me this time. I’d already spent two days in jail, and now this test. He could have arranged for my release already—this stupid, ungrateful god. The lighting in here was also terrible for my complexion. Don’t they have better lamps?

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” I said, giving them some peace of mind. “I live in Boston most of the time, but sometimes I move to its twisted version and spend some time there.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, glancing at the needle and the readout from the machine, clearly surprised.

  “I mean, for this particular case, I was hired as a mage—not as an artist. Though I multitask pretty well.”

  “So you use magic? How does it work?”

  “Well, usually pretty well for me. Not so much for those in my way, if you know what I mean.” I winked. She didn’t get it.

  “Please keep to the facts. How did you end up at the murder scene?”

  Oh, we’re already forgetting the magic part. Reality is working fast this time. He could have conjured something by now to get me out of here—but hey, a girl can’t be too lucky, can she?

  “I was following a lead for a case I was hired for. I didn’t expect to come upon a corpse.”

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  “What was the case?”

  “Well, you’re not going to like it very much, but I was hired to steal something.”

  That raised an eyebrow or two. Score. Two to zero, in my favor.

  “So you’re a thief as well?”

  “Yes, sometimes. When I’m hired, I need to steal a few things. But don’t worry—nothing people miss too much.”

  “Please provide an example.”

  Damn, she’s persistent. I love when they are.

  “I was hired to steal the Crystal Heart of the deceased.” Is she going to ask or not?

  “Crystal Heart? What is it?”

  She did. Three to zero. Reality, you better start cleaning up this mess.

  “In this other world I visit sometimes, people create shadowy versions of themselves during sleep. Those versions kind of live there. Some of us—the more gifted ones, I must say—” I pointed to myself. She needed to know I was including me, no room for misunderstanding. “—create shadows with Crystal Hearts. These contain magical powers. If you're compatible with a heart and manage to absorb it, you create a Domain that allows you to keep increasing your power.”

  I paused. “I should add that you exhibit some of those powers as soon as your shadow develops the heart, but you can’t really control it until you get your hands on it. You know?”

  She didn’t. She was forgetting everything I said, second by second.

  “Whaaat? John, you understand any of that?” she asked the other officer.

  John was eye candy. Such a shame we met under unfortunate circumstances.

  “I think we’ve got to release her. This leads nowhere.” Yeah, keep talking like that, John. I like it. This is going great so far.

  “Ma’am, please describe how you ended up in Mr. Browney’s suite with a knife in your hand.” She was not having it, apparently.

  Time to tell my story, then.

  “Sure. Whenever you like,” I said and sat more comfortably. This one’s going to be strange for them. I hope John enjoys it.

  It started on Wednesday. I had just returned to my office from a trip to Ideworld to look around for some nice Heartstones—which are, hmm, how do I best describe them—basically maturing Crystal Hearts. You can use them to enhance your own Domain. But it was a bust. I didn’t find anything interesting, so my mood was pretty sour.

  “Ideworld?” the lead officer interrupted, frowning.

  Ugh. I can’t keep repeating myself like this, can I?

  “Ideworld is a shadowy version of our world—think of it like a parallel dimension, the kind you see in movies. Everything’s similar but... off. People there are just shadow versions of how we think of ourselves here. The landscape is also shaped by thoughts and emotions—not just human, but mostly. That’s the gist of it. Capiche?”

  “Please stick to the facts.”

  Oh, my good buddy Reality. Am I not trying?

  Anyway...

  As I said, I didn’t find anything interesting there. I was back at my desk, working on a design for a book about chickens flying airplanes—a children’s tale—when I heard a knock at my door. I went to check, opened it like a good, hard-working citizen, and there he was: a big guy. I mean big. He barely fit through the door frame, and the moment I opened it, he invited himself in. He just moved me aside like I was a piece of furniture. Can you believe it? I couldn’t.

  “Hey, I’m not a chair. Don’t move me around like that!” I said, irritated as fuck. “What do you want?”

  He just looked around, checking for bugs or hidden cameras. He even had the nerve to look under my beautiful unicorn carpet. What did he think I had hidden there, a trapdoor? Hmm… maybe a trapdoor would be a nice side project.

  Eventually, he sat down in the guest chair behind my patron-client desk, and I followed, taking my usual seat across from him. A girl’s gotta look professional, despite the circumstances, you know?

  “I came because your site says you’re a painter—but also a mage.”

  If he remembered that much, his mind was open enough to believe magic existed. That already said better things about him than it does about most people. You guys really need to believe more.

  “Yes, I’m a mage. Domain of Artistic Creation. What do you require?” I asked, turning on my full professionalism.

  “I’m looking for someone able to locate and retrieve a Crystal Heart for my boss. Can you do that?”

  To be honest, I’d never tried it before—but I knew the basics. So I played the part. Perfectly, I might add.

  “Sure. Done that plenty of times,” I lied smoothly.

  The lead interrogator sighed. What does she know about professionalism? Ugh.

  “There are rumors the Delanyo Corp building is pretty messed up in the Shadow World.”

  That’s the other name magic-aware people use for Ideworld. Oh, I should also explain—we call ourselves Aware, and people like you Sleepers. Fitting, right?

  She sighed again. Honestly, this woman needs a nap.

  “Messed up?” I asked.

  “Yes. Shadows acting violently, inflicting pain. Bodies being mutated. My boss hired initial scouts, but now we’re looking for a professional Heart Thief. He believes someone high up in the company—most likely Mr. Browney, based on our early assessments—developed a dark Crystal Heart. My boss wants it.”

  “Who exactly is your boss?” I asked. Because someone looking for dark Crystal Hearts? Not exactly a "beacon of righteousness" vibe.

  “He would like to remain anonymous.”

  That was it. No more explanation from Mr. Brick Wall.

  He wore a good-looking suit, so his boss was probably rich. He was built like a truck, too—but I had no clue if he had a Domain of his own. So I had to be careful with my words—which, if you haven’t noticed, is really hard for me.