A clock on the wall that showed it was just past ten a.m. That meant he’d out cold for fifteen or sixteen hours straight. Would Casey be upset that he was lying abed long past a normal rising time...? The geas promised a whole new world of pain because he’d been slothful.
He sat up, worried, but immediately spotted a note on the bedside table beside a bottle of ibuprofen tablets and a glass of water. He must have been truly exhausted not to have woken when the man entered the room. Casey’s handwriting was neat block printing without any flourishes — surely, it wasn’t written in the Eastland alphabet, but he could tell no difference.
Casey’s words settled his anxiety and, therefore, the geas.
Simon,
Sleep as long as you want. You need rest.
Shana’s girlfriend made us breakfast burritos. There’s one on a plate in the fridge for you if you want it. To heat it up, put it in the microwave and push the number 2. Feel free to help yourself to anything else you want.
I set the Keurig up for your coffee. Just push the button with the sticky note next to it.
If you’re ready, come downstairs. No hurry. You need to take it easy.
— Casey
It was unusual for anyone to care about Simon’s comfort. He found himself smiling at the written words and their implied concern.
The coffee was an easy and welcome treat. He had seen Casey make it before, and he could intuit what the ‘Keurig’ was. A ‘sticky note’ turned out to be a little piece of paper with a tacky adhesive on the back, with an arrow pointing to the right button — he started the coffee machine, then spent a minute studying the note.
What did they use to make the glue? Was it some sort of resin or a wax? It seemed potentially very useful. Curious, he stuck it to several surfaces. It adhered better to the smooth metal or polished stone of Casey’s countertop than to the plaster walls or fabric.
The paper itself was a fairly expensive shade of purple; stationery in that color would be worth a small fortune back home. With that in mind, he carried the note into Casey’s sleeping quarters and left it on the desk where it wouldn’t be harmed by any stray moisture or food in the kitchen.
Back in the kitchen, the ‘Keurig’ machine groaned, hissed, and spat steam while dispensing a mug of coffee. The fragrance of the brew filled the air.
Was he allowed sugar?
He decided he was; he could picture Casey’s surprise and mild offense if he’d assumed he wasn’t. The man was generous to a fault. Simon disliked unsweetened coffee, so he put two spoonfuls of snowy white sugar in the bitter drink. It tasted slightly burnt and a little weak, but he wasn’t going to complain; any coffee was better than no coffee in the morning.
Before the geas, he would not have hesitated to add a condiment, even an expensive one like sugar, when staying as a guest. He was once the foster son of a nobleman, and now his envoy, and there was a well-understood level of normal hospitality for men of Simon’s social status. Especially when a host attempted to make him feel lesser, Simon had asserted an expectation of courtesy and manners.
It felt like a small victory against the spell when he resisted its influence and did not ask permission.
He thought that, slowly, his world was righting itself. He was finding equilibrium. Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.
Well... they’d be okay if he could eat. The coffee did little to take away the bite of his hunger. Unfortunately, he had no idea what a microwave looked like, and he was starving. Coffee in hand, Simon opened the refrigerator and found the burrito on a plate on the top shelf.
A few foods, including melons, would make Simon ill, causing a rash, a tight chest, and a swollen throat. He unwrapped the burrito to check for anything problematic and discovered it was filled with pale eggs, extremely yellow cheese, fried potatoes, and deliciously seasoned minced meat — probably pork. These things were safe for him to eat and perfectly edible cold, but better hot. A small container of a red-colored liquid turned out to be a sweetened, vinegary chili sauce good enough that Simon, the foster son of a spice trader, took note of it. would be a valuable trade good; peppers did not grow well in Eastland's perpetually wet, cool climate.
Simon’s curiosity got the better of him as far as the ‘microwave’ went, and he only took one bite of the burrito before he picked up the ‘Android tablet’ from the kitchen table. What was Casey talking about?
The tablet and the world of information it could access were truly miraculous. The device seemed able to answer all his questions, with more accuracy and less irrelevant blather, than any oracle he’d ever met.
After looking at a few pictures of ‘microwave ovens’ on Wikipedia and reading a description, he located the device on the kitchen counter. Then, he skimmed the articles he found for any hazards to be aware of — like ley energy, it seemed microwaves did not react well to metals. There were also issues with food exploding: Microwaving eggs in the shell, or any sealed containers, wasn’t recommended.
Having determined that simply ‘nuking’ the burrito was safe enough for a novice to the technology, Simon made a mental note to return to the article later to follow some of the links. The science was fascinating, but he only understood a small fraction of the terms. Diving into the details promised to be an intriguing evening’s reading.
After putting the tablet down, Simon followed Casey’s instructions. As soon as he pushed his finger against the ‘2’, the microwave lit up inside, hummed, and whirred. The smell of cooking food filled the air. The plate spun around on a small, rattling turntable, and hot, bubbling juice quickly ran from the burrito. His mouth, he realized, was hanging open in amazement.
There was a loud ding, then the device went dark and quiet.
Huh. Surely that wasn’t enough time ...?
He nearly burnt his fingers when he retrieved the burrito. It had been enough time.
Outside, Casey’s truck rumbled to life. Simon blew on the steaming end of the burrito, then took a wary bite. It was almost too hot.
Food in hand, he walked to the window. Through the driver’s side window, he could see Shana’s gloriously colorful hair, and he watched as she pushed all the snow into a giant mound at one end of the property. A small vehicle turned in from the road and parked in a newly cleared area, and he realized she was making space for customers.
At least eighteen inches of snow had fallen, and a thick, fluffy blanket of white lay across the land under a bright sun and cloudless sky. Vehicles passed by regularly on the road. It was hard to believe yesterday’s weather had been so miserable.
“Snow’s melting fast,” Shana said as she hung her coat on the hook behind the office door. I can’t wait for spring.”
Casey looked up, then poked the red ‘disconnect’ icon on his cell phone’s screen with a bit more force than necessary. Owning a business in this part of the world meant unavoidable interactions with people he truly disliked. Talking to Shana was far more enjoyable than the conversation he’d just had with a handyman for the upstairs windows. He said, “Remember that time we got nine inches in April?”
“That’s what he said,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. He’d walked right into that one, and Shana never missed a chance for an innuendo.
“Good thing we don’t have an HR.”
She shrugged, unrepentant. “You know you love me.”
“Hey, I’ve got Gus Bright coming by to give me a quote on fixing the windows.” Talking to Gus had involved several patronizing comments and a veiled reference about Gus being happy to work with people of Casey’s ‘political orientation.’ The local conservatives would sometimes use ‘politics’ as a euphemism for ‘queer’ and then discriminate against LGBTQ+ folk for ‘political activities’ since political affiliation wasn’t a protected class.
“Bright Contracting? You sure?”
“Unfortunately, Gus was the only handyman with an opening on short notice. Avery’s hired them for his house a couple of times, and it was fine.”
She snorted. “Avery hired them because he had a crush on Tara Bright. Gus only sent her once, then came himself the next three times. Anyway, I don’t understand what he saw in Tara.”
“You know he doesn’t care about appearance.”
“Yes, but she hated everyone and wasn’t shy about saying so.”
“He likes a challenge,” He said with a grin, though it was true. “And as far as the Brights go, Gus was the only person I could find who was available.”
The reality was that the local labor pool was limited, especially for emergency repairs after a bad storm. Fixing the windows required more ability than Casey possessed. Avery had some decent carpentry skills, but Casey assumed he would be out of commission for weeks.
“Probably because nobody wants to hire him... he’s a drunk.”
Casey sighed. “I know. I won’t pay him for anything that isn’t completed, and I’ll order the materials myself so he can’t skim anything off the top. I’ll keep an eye on him while he’s here, don’t worry. He does do decent work when he finishes it, even if he chugs beer the same way Avery drinks Red Bulls.”
“Hm. I can’t believe the wind broke the glass. We didn’t hear much in our apartment.”
“Yeah, it raged pretty good.” He’d simply told Shana that the glass had ‘broken yesterday afternoon’, and she’d assumed it was weather-related. Lying to her felt icky, however, and for a moment, he actually opened his mouth to tell her the truth.
Would she believe him? He wasn’t sure. It was a crazy story. For now, he said nothing. Seeing was believing; maybe he needed to figure out some dramatic demonstration of magic as part of the grand reveal of Simon’s story.
To change the subject, he said, “Hey, those sports cards we listed last month aren’t moving in the Shopify store. Would you object to me liquidating them on eBay?”
Shana peered over his shoulder at the spreadsheet. “There’s, like, five hundred of them. We’ll want to pull the individual listings and do a few big lots. Right now, the vintage Barbies we listed last week are going crazy. Every last auction is getting bids. We’ll need to time the trading card auctions for the end of the Barbie-pocalypse so I don’t get behind on shipping.”
“Oh, about that. I’m hiring Simon. Packing up lots would be a good place for him to start.”
“Full-time?” she said, all business for the moment. Casey knew not to trust that crisp tone. Her mind was working a mile a minute, and she knew him too well.
“Yeah.”
“Can we afford it?”
“We need to. Avery projected that if we had a second person to help with listing, they should generate a net positive cash flow due to increased sales.” Casey shook his head and straightened up, unfolding his legs from their criss-cross position in the chair. “Simon’s sharp as a tack, and he needs a soft place to land. He’ll be reliable, I can guarantee it — I’m not sure he’s capable of flaking on us.” He couldn’t keep an unhappy frown from his face as he said this, but fortunately, Shana wasn’t looking in his direction. He thought they’d have to be very careful not to abuse Simon’s labor.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Shana peered out through the office door, where they could see a customer browsing through a rack of winter coats. Near the cash register, Freddie sorted a giant tub of costume jewelry from an estate sale by color and type, affixed price tags with meticulous precision, and hung everything up for sale on several peg boards.
The customer occasionally glanced in Freddie’s direction. She wasn’t quite staring, but she was curious. Casey pushed his wheeled office chair backward with a kick of one foot so that he could better observe the scene. In general, the customers loved Freddie, but every once in a while, somebody would give him shit. That was often because they assumed he wasn’t competent to do his job. In reality, Freddie was more accurate at running the register than Casey, and he also knew where every last item in the entire store was. He had a remarkable ability to turn chaotic shelves into orderly displays in moments, with enthusiastic ownership of whatever task they assigned him.
Freddie, for the most part, could also handle the typical patronizing crap on his own, and he got annoyed if the other staff tried to intervene. He said that if they helped him, it looked to customers like he needed help — and he didn’t. However, some people were just terrible human beings, and they would deliberately cause him trouble. Everyone on the staff in earshot would step in to defend him and present a unified front when that happened.
“What are Simon’s qualifications?” Shana said, drawing Casey’s attention back to her.
“A quick learner and hard worker.”
“So, nothing relevant on his resume,” she translated.
“Shana, he’d never even seen indoor plumbing until a few days ago. Simon’s education, by our standards, is pretty non-traditional. He’ll surprise you in some areas and have huge gaps in others. He’s also crazy smart and picks things up remarkably fast.”
She gave him a look that was simultaneously full of curiosity and questioning Casey’s sanity. He wasn’t going to be able to BS his way through this. “What, is he another escapee from the cult?” She paused, considered, and then said dubiously, “With those ears?”
“Not a former cult kid this time.” He looked back, lifting an eyebrow and daring her to argue when he said. “Mojo thing.”
Simon wasn’t the first or last person that Casey had asked her to hire because his Gift said so. She looked unhappy about it, but she said, “Okay. Have him bring me his Social Security card and ID. I’ll get things started.”
“Err.” Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not going to be that easy.”
“Casey Osbourne ...” Her tone held a warning. She ran the store by the book and never hired anyone under the table. He and Avery might own the business, but personnel decisions were normally her domain. Aside from certain hiring suggestions (or vetoes) prompted by Casey’s Gift, they stayed out of her way and let her do her thing.
“Seriously. Shana. Mojo thing.”
She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him. “He’s cute if you like the anorexic-waif-with-pointy-ears look. He likes men. He likes you. Is this a boyfriend thing?”
“No!” Casey said a bit too sharply. Then he slumped in his chair. “It’s a complicated story, and I’m not sure what’ll be worse — if you believe me or if you don’t.”
With perfect timing, Simon walked through the office doorway. His hair was damp from a shower, and he was no longer (at least for the moment) squinting from pain. While he was limping, it wasn’t nearly as severe as the day before. His shoulders were not up around his ears with tension, and there was more color in his cheeks.
In truth, Simon looked good. After that mental observation, Casey firmly reminded himself that the elf was entirely off-limits. His Gift, however, disagreed. The sight of Simon made it sing. It insisted Simon belonged here and that he should be a part of Casey’s life... in all the ways.
Simon also heard the tail end of the conversation because he said to Shana, “Casey has behaved honorably, and we are not having relations beyond friendship.”
Shana snorted. “Honorable. That’s one way to describe him, yes. Never known Casey to be shy when the attraction’s mutual, though.”
Casey and Simon traded a look. Casey shrugged. He wasn’t looking forward to her inevitable doubt, but it felt icky to lie to her; she was one of his best friends. Uncertainly, he said, “... Maybe I should just tell her the truth.”
“Yes,” Shana said, glancing significantly in Simon’s direction. “Please do. This is going to be good.”
He should have planned this, Casey thought. Before telling Shana, he needed more proof of the incredible story. There was no way she’d believe him, and his words were rushed when he said, “So... anyway, we won a magic book in a storage auction, and the Book tricked me into summoning Simon through a portal and bound him to me. He has to do what I say, and he’s forced to like me. It’s completely fucked up and unfair to Simon, and I’d totally date him otherwise, but he can’t consent, and it’s just a mess.”
He took a deep breath when he was done, then paused to gauge her reaction.
“... What?” Her eyes narrowed almost as much as Simon’s had last night during his migraine. She opened her mouth as if to laugh, then closed it, and after a second said, “Come again?”
Casey had grabbed a baseball bat last night when he’d felt the strange woman magically watching him. When she’d refused to take a hint and leave, he had reached for Power while thinking of the bat as a weapon and had seen it light with rainbow swirls of energy. He’d then thrown the energy at her, and the bat had been left with char marks up and down its length.
Could he do the same thing on a smaller, safer scale to demonstrate to Shana that he was telling the truth? He had to do something, or she’d think he was just fucking with her.
Until the Book of Needs had used him to open a portal and bind Simon, he’d been nearly oblivious to magic’s existence. When he opened his mind in the right way, following the paths that the Book had shown him, now he could sense energy all around.
Quickly, he picked a pencil out of the mug next to his computer and reached for the power. Tapping the magic was harder when he wasn’t angry. What Simon had called the leys also felt more chaotic and not as strong compared to yesterday. However, after a moment’s effort, it worked. The pencil visibly glowed in his hand with corruscating swirls of iridescent light. Shana made a small, surprised sound and leaned forward to look.
Simon said, “Be careful with that, Casey. Pencils don’t work well because—”
He looked up at Simon’s words, and as he did, he felt a snapping surge. For an instant, every bit of the enormous potential of energy that he felt all around tried to rush through his body and into his fingers. Burning heat washed across his hand. He dropped the pencil. Before it even hit the floor, it shattered into splinters with a sharp sound like a small firecracker.
Shana jumped and yipped in surprise. Outside on the sales floor, Freddie raised his voice and asked, “Everyone okay?”
Casey improvised, “It’s all good. Just testing an old cap gun!”
Simon hadn’t startled as much as they had. With his customary look of pain on his face, he advised, “Casey, that was fairly dangerous to do without training, especially with a focus object made of multiple materials. There might be a need to start smaller. The traditional item to practice that type of magic with is a perfectly round piece of wax about the size of a pea, because it won’t hurt anyone too badly if you blow it up. Use a feather when you graduate to uneven shapes. Then, stick the feather in the wax pea to practice with mixed materials. Once you can reliably levitate both without melting the wax or blowing everything apart, you’re ready to move on to more complicated objects.”
Simon added, after a brief moment of silent introspection while they both stared at him, “I spent half my childhood staring at a tiny bead of wax and wishing something would happen. For you, the greatest problem will not be making things happen — it will be avoiding injury while doing so.”
“More to the point, what the fuck,” Shana said after Simon was done. She nudged at a charred spot on the carpet with her toe. “Magic, you said?”
Casey bent over to examine a chunk of the pencil, now embedded in the drywall. Perhaps he was lucky that the baseball bat hadn’t detonated. The shrapnel would have been deadly. A wave of energy had exploded out from it with enough force to knock him on his ass and blow the windows out, but it hadn’t hurt him.
“Yeah, Shana, magic.”
“Huh.” Shana turned her attention to Simon. “you stab Avery?”
Casey looked up from prodding the pencil splinter with a finger. Before Simon could answer that rudely sharp question, he said hastily, “In Simon’s defense, Simon came through the portal terrified out of his mind, extremely provoked, with a sword in hand, and Avery pepper-sprayed him, then tried to clobber him with a chair.”
Simon added, “And I’m truly glad I didn’t kill Casey’s brother.”
Shana moved towards the office door, steps quick. Casey said, “Simon’s a good dude, Shana! He believed he was fighting for his life.”
She reached the room’s exit, but instead of leaving, she firmly shut it. Casey realized that the customer was almost close enough to hear their conversation. Shana said, “Why don’t you both tell me the story from the beginning? This is crazy.”
Casey opened his mouth, intending to start with a description of the Book of Needs and the spell that had opened the portal. Simon spoke first. “Everything began six months ago when I was condemned to death for a crime I didn’t commit — I was accused of impregnating a noblewoman betrothed to a powerful man. My arrest and trial conveniently gave her true lover time to flee the land. For that supposed crime, I was branded with the Devil’s Mark and Hunted like a beast by men who find sport in killing other men.”
Casey sat back and let Simon talk. Shana’s expression was still skeptical, but as he spoke, something in Simon’s demeanor changed. He stood taller, shoulders relaxing, movements more fluid. While he didn’t smile, his expression was bright and alert, and his voice pleasant. He looked confident in a way that Casey hadn’t seen before.
When he was done, Shana shot Casey a keen look. “I’d say you two were shitting me, but this tracks with Avery’s version of events, plus that book is fucking freaky. Every time I go down in the basement, it’s moved.”
Simon looked up at her sharply, green eyes going wide. “It can do that?”
“It’s got at least some telekinetic ability,” Casey countered. “It threw a bit of a temper tantrum after you left last night.”
“The spells binding the souls to the Book of Needs are far more restrictive than those holding me. It should have a limited ability to perform magic on its own. It can shape and manipulate your energy, but if it’s working as intended, you are the one providing the actual Power for the spell. And, technically, it is supposed to act only in ways that are beneficial to the bearer.”
“It’s been super helpful so far,” Casey noted sourly.
“‘Helpful’ is somewhat open to interpretation for any Book of Needs. This one is behaving in ways that are difficult to explain, however.” Simon folded his arms. “My point remains. Either the souls bound to it are extremely powerful, or the bindings have been weakened, or both.”
“She. One soul.” Casey shook his head. “She said the others, the child souls, were stolen and taken back to your world, except for one that was bound to a necklace.” It was his turn to talk, and he briefly related what had happened yesterday after Simon left.
Simon looked very thoughtful when Casey was done. “... and she implied they had a half-elven son with this lord?”
“That would be my takeaway.”
“I’d like to speak to this ghost again. Depending on her answers, I may have a few questions for her or a very large number of questions.” Then, with slightly more levity than he’d previously voiced, Simon added, “I do regret missing the end of that exchange. You’ve courage, Casey.”
“He’s a brave idiot.” Shana’s expression questioned his sanity. “You cussed out the ghost of an ancient elven witch?”
“And I’d do it again.” Casey didn’t see what the big deal was. He’d watched Ghost Hunters. A few noises and flickering lights were not scary. If she needed his power to truly act, then he wouldn’t give it to her without some sort of assurance that she was acting in good faith.
Simon glanced down at his feet — in the direction of the basement, Casey realized. “The binding spells on the Book would have been deliberately weakened to allow the mage to steal the children’s spirits. This explains a lot about what we’ve seen it do. It is likely a very dangerous artifact without the normal limits and controls one would expect on a Book.”
“Fabulous,” Shana said. “So what now?”
“I believe Casey’s overall approach is correct.” Simon glanced up at him. “She wants our help. We need to lay down ground rules and expectations, then enforce them, with consequences. I can’t imagine isolation is enjoyable for any being, so walking away seems to be a good starting point. If that fails, there may be ways to coerce her to cooperate with us.”
“We don’t force anyone to do anything they don’t want to,” Casey interrupted, tone sharper than he’d intended. Shana gave him an alarmed look, and Simon went pale from his hairline to his collar. Casey apologized quickly, “Sorry, Simon, I know you don’t mean it that way.”
Simon ungritted his teeth long enough to say, “I meant it exactly like that. That Book is dangerous. The Spirit within has proven hostile and treacherous, with an agenda of her own.”
Casey started to object. Bullying any being was anathema to everything he believed in.
Simon interrupted, tone sharp and eyes narrowed, “You believe in consent for all things, but she does not. Forcing her to undo that which she cast upon us, and preventing future harm, is merely righting a wrong.”
Casey said, “I hear you, Simon, but I still don’t like it ...” he trailed off, and he knew he was hunching his shoulders unhappily.
Simon rested a hand on his arm briefly. “You’re a good man. She would be an enemy by any standard, yet you seek to defend her right to free will. If ...” Simon, too, failed to finish his sentence. He bit his lip and then concluded, “She was likely driven mad a long time ago.”
There was something forlorn in Simon’s voice that Casey didn’t quite understand. Shana gave him a long, searching stare before asking, “You okay?”
“I have not been ‘okay’ for a very long time,” Simon admitted while still staring down between his feet.
“Hey.” Casey put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. The man was wearing a thick grey cable-knit sweater that Casey had found for him. Under the heavy fabric, Simon’s collarbone was sharply defined. “You’re safe. You’ve got a job, a home, and a future here. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”
Had it been anyone else, he would have offered a hug. The elf looked like he needed one. However, the geas would have required him to accept the embrace. Casey stepped back and asked, “Do you want to take it easy today? You’ve been through hell. Perhaps it’d be good if you just rested.”
“I would prefer to have something to occupy my mind,” Simon said this with his usual flinch at resisting Casey’s implied wishes. “If you’ve work for me to do, I can start today.”
“Okay. Shana, can you get him started with packing up some eBay orders?”
Shana said, “Hm, Simon, you don’t have an email address or a phone, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Simon said. “What’s email?”
“Email is a letter sent electronically,” Casey said.
“How do you send the paper through the wires?” Simon asked, with a puzzled tilt of his head.
Shana giggled. “You’re going to be fun. I can tell.”
That, Casey thought, hadn’t been a joke on Simon’s part, and Simon didn’t smile back at her. His face was stiff, and he avoided their eyes.
Shana had many skills, but reading people well wasn’t one of her strongest gifts. In what Casey hoped was a tactful explanation, he said, “The letter itself is electronic. Like the Wikipedia pages I showed you, only you can send them directly to someone, and only you and the people you address them to can see them.”
It was an awkward explanation, but Simon’s eyes lit with comprehension. Shana, realizing Simon’s question had been serious, suddenly fell silent. Then she said, “Casey, can you get him fixed up with a phone? He’ll need one to create logins and two-factor verification for the company accounts. I can handle the email end of things.”
“Yeah, sure. There’s a few in the cage downstairs that will work.” He glanced over at Simon, gave him a reassuring smile, and gripped his shoulder briefly on the way out the door. Simon and Shana, he hoped, would be just fine without him for a few minutes... probably. Hopefully. He turned back, knowing his expression was worried and unable to help himself.
"Shoo." Shana flipped her fingers at him. "Get to work, boss."
"Yes ma'am!" He saluted, then hurried away, trusting that Shana would have some discretion in her teasing and questions.