Luck is also a kind of magic.
Mystbane
Rada came to see me. I grumpily opened the door for him and grumbled as I led him toward the kitchen. Alex had already made my cocoa and handed me the mug, giving Rada an apologetic look of encouragement.
Rada was here to discuss how the Behemoth could cover the city. I told him I didn't care what he did or how he did it, just to do it, but he insisted on telling me his genius plans. Less patiently than I should have been, I listened to him explain how he had assembled teams of a few men, each led by his most trusted aides, and divided the city among them.
"Splendid," I said without enthusiasm when he finally finished. "I knew you would manage to get it done for me."
"I don't know what you'd do without me," he said with a grin, "King of laziness."
I waved him off and took a sip of my cocoa. "I knew you'd like this job," I said. "Plus, it's brought you some extra clout, so you can't really complain."
"Did you hear me complain?" he continued to grin.
"Hrrrm," I grunted in reply.
Rada watched my morning's misery with amusement. Yeah, well, just because you're king doesn't mean you're going to have a sudden, mind-blowing personality development.
Rada's grin widened as he settled into the chair across from me. He leaned back, his confidence almost tangible. "So, what's next on the agenda, Your Majesty?" he teased, the sarcasm evident in his voice.
I rolled my eyes, taking another sip of the cocoa, savoring the warmth that contrasted sharply with my mood. "Don't push your luck, Rada. Just focus on making sure your teams know what they're doing."
He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes softening slightly. "You know, you really should get out more. This hermit act isn't doing you any favors."
"I get out plenty," I retorted. I was waiting for specific development so I needed to be ready on short notice. But he didn't have to know about this.
"Right," Rada said, clearly unconvinced. "Well, if you ever feel like a change of scenery, you know where to find me. We could use your… unique leadership style on the field."
I snorted at that. "My leadership style is just fine from here, thanks."
"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "But don't say I didn't offer."
Rada stood up, stretching lazily. "Just think about it." He gave me a mock salute before heading to the door. "I'll keep you posted on the Behemoth's progress."
"Yeah, yeah," I waved him off, but not without a hint of a smile. As much as Rada's presence grated on me, there was a certain comfort in his relentless optimism.
As he left, the room seemed a little quieter, a little more still. Alex cleared his throat. "He's got a point, you know."
"Don't you start," I warned, but my tone lacked the bite.
I finished my cocoa, savoring the last warm sip. I took a deep breath, feeling the need to explain myself. "Look, Alex, it's not just about being a hermit. I need to be ready to act on short notice. If something goes wrong, if a certain someone needs immediate attention, I can't afford to be out gallivanting."
Alex nodded, understanding dawning on his face. "I get that. But sometimes, stepping away for a moment can give you a clearer perspective. You don't always have to be on high alert."
"Maybe," I admitted reluctantly. "But right now, I need to be here. Just in case."
He nodded and left it at that.
(...)
Rolo paced grumpily up the worn steps, occasionally glancing up at the boy in front of him, trying to pierce him with his eyes. What was he doing there, despite his obvious dissatisfaction? Well, of course, I had asked him to do it. More naturally than that, it was not easy for them to collaborate.
"What?!" Rolo blustered, on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
I could tell he couldn't decide whether I was going mad or trying to make him go mad. If he knew how amused I found his face at such times, he would surely try to claw my eyes out in revenge.
"You heard me right," I said. "I want you to go over and help him with his research."
"Why me?" demanded the gremlin kid, his voice and eyes filled with elemental fury.
"Don't ask so many questions," I replied, bored, and with a wave of my hand, I motioned for him to go.
I was sure that Rolo felt an invincible desire to claw my eyes out. Since he couldn't do that, he retreated from the kitchen in a huff, and to show how deeply I had wounded his soul, he left in the morning without saying goodbye.
Moses fumbled clumsily with his key for a few minutes before managing to open the front door. With his usual slight embarrassment and kind smile, Mose invited his grumpy guest in. He must have been a little nervous—this was probably the first time he had invited anyone over except me. That is, Rolo was not invited by him, but rather I just told Mose that he would be coming over.
Although Rolo's mood didn't look rosy, Moses seemed determined to be an impeccable host and make a good impression. He patiently showed Rolo to his room, asking if he wanted anything to snack on or drink. Rolo looked at him as if he had gone mad.
"I'm not here to have a picnic," he said through gritted teeth.
Mose realized this was going to be harder than he thought.
"All right," said Mose slowly, with the same kind, diplomatic smile he always wore in unpleasant situations—a smile that instantly got on Rolo's nerves. "But I think a glass of lemonade would be nice, don't you?"
He left Rolo alone in the room to prepare the drinks. Rolo grumbled a bit more, but then, for lack of anything better to do, he looked around the room. The room was tiny, yet somehow disturbingly empty. No pictures, no posters, not even a wall clock. The only decoration was a single shelf above the bed, where the Harry Potter books were arranged in military order.
The bed was tiny and the mattress didn't look very comfortable. The blankets and pillows were covered in worn fabric of various colors and patterns, but despite their obvious overuse, they smelled delicately fresh. In front of the wall was an old chest of drawers, one leg propped up by a pile of newspapers. Rolo didn't look inside, but he could imagine how deafeningly it would creak with each use.
Rolo's eyes softened slightly. Mose's everyday appearance didn't show the squalor of his room—he didn't wear the most fashionable clothes, but neither did the fabric threaten to peel off him like the covers on his pillow.
There was also an old desk in the room, with pens and pencils stacked in a neat order on top, and drawers probably holding books. One had been left on the desk, and Rolo immediately spotted the library identification on the spine of the battered volume. He stepped over to the rickety chair and stroked the awkwardly battered nails that held the chair together.
Despite everything looking old and worn, the place was clean and tidy, with a strong magic about it—almost strong enough to drown out the slight, magical pulsations seeping from the chest at the end of the bed.
The door opened and Rolo almost—just almost—flinched as if caught in the act.
Mose entered, tray in hand, carrying two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. Mose swayed dangerously, and if Rolo hadn't taken the tray, he would have toppled over like a sack of potatoes.
For a moment, Rolo was angry at the other's obvious clumsiness, then his eyes widened slightly. He took the tray away with one hand and pushed Mose toward the bed with the other. When Mose finally sat down, Rolo sloppily placed the lemonade on the table and concentrated on the boy. Ignoring Moses's apology, he smoothed his palms over his hot forehead.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he demanded.
"I'm not sick," Mose stubbornly said, blinking slowly. He hardly seemed to have the strength to keep his eyes open.
"Isn't a fever illness?" Rolo questioned.
Mose said nothing, only shrugged his shoulders.
"Where are the antipyretics?" Rolo asked, and Moses shook his head.
"Rest," he ordered, and Mose finally gave in, pulling the blanket up to his neck and crawling into bed.
Rolo nodded in acknowledgment and left the room.
Moses's home was tiny, with only two bedrooms, a living room, a tiny kitchen, and an even tinier bathroom. The fridge was full—Mose had done his shopping that day—and his wallet lay on the kitchen counter. Rolo searched it methodically but found only two hundred forints in change.
Uncharacteristically, Rolo must have decided to do him a favor by popping down to the nearby pharmacy to buy some medicine. When he returned, he jumped out of his shoes and headed for the boy's room.
"Hey," he began, but the boy gave no sign of life. "Hey!"
"Get up!" he ordered more forcefully, and the long blond eyelashes fluttered. After a few moments, Mose frowned and opened his eyes.
Rolo poured a glass of lemonade, and with the drink, he pushed a pill into Mose's hand. The other took it willingly, then lay back down between the pillows, and he was asleep again. He breathed deeply, and for a while, Rolo just watched the beaming forehead and the tension in his features. Then he shrugged and decided it was none of his business.
He turned to the chest and opened the lid. He was surprised to find his bracelet warming slightly as the magic became familiar with its essence. The runes carved into the wood glowed, and Rolo's face faltered for a moment, fearing that the strong protection would not let him through. Then the runes appeased him, and their glow faded.
Rolo glanced at the sleeping mage, then climbed into the chest. He glanced around the magical subdimension in surprise as if a thousand tiny stars exploded in his eyes. Perhaps that was the moment he understood why I had asked him to search with Mose. There was no doubt that the knowledge lying deep within this chest was far deeper and greater than what Rolo had gathered. Everywhere he looked, there were huge bookshelves of ancient volumes.
Rolo trembled with excitement and the desire to get his hands on the knowledge. Then he saw something even more interesting. On the table in front of the red sofa rested a familiar box. Rolo stepped over and carefully looked around the tiny glass table—then thought for a moment and reached for the box. His fingers seemed to hit an invisible wall, unable to touch it—that's when he noticed the runes carved into the box.
Rolo's lips parted slightly, then he withdrew his hand. He realized it would be futile to try to get the chest. That night, at the ceremony, Moses had said he would guard the relic more than his life, and he meant it: this spell must have consumed all his strength. Indeed, Mose was right; he was not ill at all—he was suffering from an excessive loss of magic.
Rolo might have concluded that he had done enough staring and it was time to start looking. Half an hour later he returned to the room with a large pile of books. He kept half an eye on Mose, lest he die of magic loss in his presence.
By the time Rolo returned, Mose had successfully fought off most of his blanket. The kid sighed and moved to cover him back up. It was then that he noticed the bracelet on the other's limply dangling hand. The leather bracelet was identical to his own, differing only in color—Rolo's was black and Mose's was light.
With a rough movement, he threw the blanket over him. The bracelet proved that I had discovered what Rolo had been denying for some time. To avoid dealing with it, he returned to his books and his research on magical artifacts.
After another half hour of focused reading, Rolo showed some willingness to check Mose's fever. He touched his forehead again, but the beaded skin still burned feverishly. Mose looked paler, his breathing became heavier, and his heartbeat was irregular.
Rolo concluded that traditional remedies weren't helping, so he muttered a few magic spells, but Mose didn't respond to any of them. Rolo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. When he opened his eyes again, his heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, and his whole being froze.
Rolo took out his phone and immediately dialed the number. There was a low hum from the front door. Rolo ran outside and just caught the door opening and me stepping inside. I merely gave Rolo a glance and then gingerly took off my shoes.
"Shay," Rolo began in an almost desperate voice, "The idiot... I think he's dying!"
I stepped away from him. Mose was frowning wildly and looking like he was really dying.
"What's happening to him?" Rolo demanded, now standing beside me.
"Can you check his fever again?" I asked instead of answering.
"Almost forty," he whispered to himself. He probably didn't realize how much fright and desperation mixed in his voice. "It just keeps going up."
"Okay, now step away from under the chandelier," I said.
"What?" he growled and looked at me as if I'd gone mad. Well, it's too late.
With that, the screws gave way and the chandelier fell to the floor—exactly where Rolo had been standing a moment before. Normally, he would have simply jumped away, but now, as he stepped, he stumbled and hit the floor. He looked at the chandelier in confusion, then carefully stood up.
"What the hell is happening?!" he demanded.
"Mose is awakening," I said, surprising him.
When a mage's magic shows itself, we call it an 'awakening'. Indeed, Mose had been using blood magic and runes for some time, but he had never had enough magic to show what category his magic fell into.
"What does this mean?" Rolo asked.
Rolo knew this shouldn't be happening. Moses had too little tamed magic—too little to be a mage of any worth. But now he was discovering the power that mages call the core of magic.
"What is happening?!" Rolo snapped nervously.
"Get ready," I said quietly, ignoring Rolo's shouting, "It's starting."
As if my words had caused the chaos, the room shook. The ground wanted to turn out from under my feet, but I remained standing. Mose's eyes snapped open, staring unfocused at the ceiling. His lips parted in a silent scream as he helplessly tugged and grabbed at his blanket.
Rolo, seeing the other's suffering, wanted to step over to him, but I stopped him. If he touched him now, Mose would kill him unwillingly in the blink of an eye.
The furniture lifted from the floor, and the glass of the window began to crack. Then magic slammed the lifted things hard to the ground, and the window shattered with a loud crack.
Mose's body slowly went limp, his eyes closed, and his breathing and heartbeat normalized. I stepped to the bedside and put my hand on Mose's forehead. His fever was going down. His eyelashes fluttered and he looked up at me weakly.
"Shay..." he whispered.
"Yes, it's me," I said.
"Hm," he said and fell back asleep. I didn't think he understood any of it.
"Let him rest," I suggested to Rolo. "Everything will be all right now."
He didn't answer, but when I left the room, he followed me. We sat down in the kitchen. Rolo stared at the table for minutes.
"What the hell happened?" he whispered to himself.
"Mose is a mystbane," I declared.
Fortuneleech, luckthief, or mystbane is the name given to these rare creatures. Mystbanes sometimes appear in magical families as weak mages. Perhaps precisely because most of their magic is wild and uncontrollable, they suppress it within themselves, limiting their abilities. They are known for one thing: feeding off the luck of others. They drain others of their magic, or worse... their life force.
I could see Rolo wasn't going to settle for just that as an explanation.
"Where do you get that from?" he asked in disbelief.
"It's obvious," I said. "When he was afraid, angry, or desperate, he would unconsciously always suck in a little of other people's luck."
"Mystbanes usually don't awaken," I continued quietly. "Their awakening would usually be fatal. That's why I never told him that he had always belonged to my world."
"How long have you known?" he asked.
"Since I met him," I replied. "Even unmagical people have some tamed magic. And Unfortunate Mose is unfortunate because he unconsciously suppresses the part of his being that would take from others what he lacks."
I stood up.
"Take care of him for a while," I asked. "I don't think there's any problem, but stay."
Rolo was indignant. "Why me? Why not you?"
I raised my eyebrows mockingly, and instead of words, I gave him the answer with my eyes. He was offended, but I knew he would stay anyway.
Rolo sat in the kitchen, staring fixedly at the table top. I was sure he couldn't shake the image of Moses, pale and feverish, from his mind. The sudden shift from a feeble boy to a conduit of raw, untamed magic had unsettled him. He had seen magic before, but never in such an uncontrolled, raw state.
I went to put on my shoes.
"So, what now?" Rolo asked finally, breaking the silence. His voice was a mix of frustration and exhaustion. "What happens to Moses now that he's… awakened?"
"His awakening is a significant event. It means his magical core has fully manifested," I answered and stepped to the door. "That's both a blessing and a curse."
Rolo frowned. "A curse?"
"You saw it, right?" I questioned him even though I was sure of it. "Mystbanes are rare and their powers are double-edged. On one hand, they can harness a unique form of magic—powerful, but unpredictable. On the other hand, their need to feed off others' luck or life force can be dangerous, both for them and those around them."
"So for the time being touch him with caution," I added and opened the door.
When the door closed, Rolo was still sitting unchanged at the kitchen table. He knew, he had known for some time, but that didn't mean he would accept it easily. He convinced himself that his companion couldn't be an almost-unmagical retard.
Finally, grumbling, he stormed into Moses' room. It took him nearly an hour to tidy up the shattered room. When he had everything back to its original state, he sat down exhausted at the desk and continued his research. His eyes skimmed over the lines, but I didn't think he understood anything. He clenched his fists and his teeth barely gritted audibly.
I was sure Rolo had seen it. In that moment, the moment chaos erupted, he saw Moses suck in life force like a black hole — it was what saved his life. That was why Mose found me in high school. I attracted him like a lantern attracted moths at night, and Mose needed that light more than anyone else. We were natural opposites; Mose, who hardly had any glow, and me, who was always surrounded by a bright light.
"Are you all right?" Simon asked in a low, cold voice.
I felt the cold of his essence as he steadied me. I tried to grin encouragingly, but I wasn't sure if I succeeded, because Simon's expressionless face didn't change.
"Of course," I assured him, "I just need to rest a little."
The ghost nodded. In the end, however, he didn't leave me alone.