FORMER WIZARD JOINED RAPTORS
GUARDIANS BEAT TWINS
WOLVES TOO STRONG FOR CRYSTAL PALACE
“These job postings are terrible,” I grumbled, leaning on Ana’s shoulder. We got a few looks from the other tram passengers, although I liked to believe it was due to the bulky suitcases covered in worldskein hazard warnings. Then again, there were two other passengers who were visibly toting magic, and neither the five-winged spective nor the teenager with a hemomancy implant got more than a cursory glance. “Why does every magical problem involve violence?”
Ana jerked her head up from her phone, nearly bonking my forehead with her chin. “What was that?”
“I asked, ‘why does every magical problem involve violence?’”
“Oh.” She exhaled, and I glanced up at her. Her expression was carefully controlled. “I hate it too, Tsu.”
“I know.” I nuzzled her cheek with my forehead. “Hey. You’re not feeling guilty for shooting that spective, are you?”
“What? No. Had to be done. Hey, why don’t you write up our intel dossier so that we at least get a little recomp from that disaster?”
Blergh. I didn’t want to make a public post about how we’d failed to reason with a lonely kid who had too much power and no developed sense of morality, but it was the objectively right thing to do for everyone. Nobody would be consigned to the Neverfound, and the next Orchard workers would be that much more well informed.
At the very least, though, I should unreserve the job. I navigated to my profile, rated it as UNCOMPLETED, and flicked back to the main menu.
WARRIORS LOST TO MAGIC
PREDICTIONS FOR ANGELS THIS SEASON
WALLABIES HAVE LIONS WORRIED
Oh, the algorithm had picked up on the fact that I wanted something more relaxing for our next job. Creepy and convenient. “Here, how about this one?”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Ana studied my phone, where the advertisement asked for help getting a spective back from the other side of a transfer portal. Her eyebrows creased as she shifted into business mode. “What’s the intel?”
“Client’s name is Erishen, male, twenty-three-year-old archeologist. He works with some kind of spective or magic user to help him focus on his work.” I frowned slightly at that, but hey, if he needed to warp reality in order to withstand the 9-5 grind I could understand. Heck, maybe the magic was all ancillary and what mattered was the company. I sure as hell wasn’t in love with Ana because of her wide array of enchanted weapons.
Ana picked up where I trailed off, scrolling down to the pictures of a jagged, irregular interdimensional portal. “Looks like this Erishen guy became a spective by accident, and his magic mixing with his work assistant’s caused the local worldskein to collapse.”
Yeah, that rip in reality looked like it had been spawned from some kind of context clash. The portal itself was organic-looking in shape, all branching tendrils and forks, while the space on the other side showed brightly lit treetops.
“So this is a no-magic mission,” Ana concluded. “That dimension looks lousy with loose spectivity; if I bring out my kit I’m as likely to blow myself up as whatever I’m pointing at.”
I waved her concerns away. “It shouldn’t come to a fight. This is a job someone else unreserved—search and rescue found Eri already, and him and his spective friend are alive and well. They just, uh, refuse to leave. But that’s right up my alley.”
Ana nodded slowly. “I’m still coming along,” she said, almost challengingly.
“Huh? Of course you are, Ana.” I punched her lightly in the shoulder, although I didn’t need to bother holding back. She had more muscle mass in her biceps than I did in my whole arm. “I’m not going to traipse off in some foreign universe without my stalwart protector.”
Ana’s hand sought my own, and I gave it a squeeze, pressing myself against her side. “Hey. Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. ‘Course.” Her eyes swept the team with the same detached calm that she’d displayed when she’d faced down a child made of molten wax and calculated every threat and counter in the room before the seeds of violence had ever been planted.
I somehow felt that everything wasn’t okay, but somehow it just felt… wrong to call her out on it. Who was I to tell her how she felt? So I just asked, “You want to go on a date after dark?”
She blinked. “What, really? You still want to…”
“Of course!”
Something uncoiled inside her, a tension that I hadn’t even noticed she’d been holding. “I want to too,” she replied, resting her head on mine.
We rode the rest of the way home in comfortable silence, gentle and warm and always in motion.
