How You See the Same Sky

When your superiors give you a mission, you listen.

When that mission has you out on extremely short notice to meet a strange magus in the street, you sigh, gather your best bodice, and figure it out.

And when that strange magus is the only person alive or dead who can really get under your skin, you take a deep breath, adjust your collar, and try not to lose your cool right there.

I received the letter while working in my brother’s workshop, with little more instruction than to ‘meet a mystic conspirator at the given location around noontime’. I’ve done more with less before, but without a name there’s a ping through me that feels like I’ve finally made that mistake that gets me done in. Nonetheless, I wasn’t going to show that.

“Luci-aaaa…” A voice cut me out of my thoughts at that moment.

“Hm?”

“Got a secret admirer?” my brother Isa finally picked his nose up from his work, some kind of tiny flying machine or other, and peered over my shoulder. In a panic I stuffed the paper in my pocket and turned straight heel.

“As if you’d ever get to know if I did,” I put my hands on my hips and narrowed my gaze at him. His brown eyes twinkled with a sense of curious mischief, and my eye caught his hand wandering towards my waist.

“I meant that!”

“Fine, my bad for being curious,” he laughed, placing his hands in his own pockets. “Though , let me guess, you do have to get dressed up and head out for the day and hopefully I’ll be able to do without my favorite lab assistant, right?”

I had to admit, he had a talent for remembering my patterns, even when I didn’t want him to.

“...There you have me,” I rolled my eyes. “You’ll live I’m sure.”

“I’ll live but I will not thrive.”

“Boo-hoo.”

I hardly spent any time getting dressed before I was out the door, I needed not the delicate and put together appearance of a noblewoman in that moment, just something to have the eyes rolling off my back. The midsummer sun reminded me of every part of my body that clothing touches, only relieved by the breeze rolling off of the waterways just under my feet.

Venetian summers held the air like soup, which while annoying, everyone was so focused on keeping themselves cool rather to let wandering eyes fall upon a woman walking alone. People filled the streets as they always did at this time of day, talking business while waiting for the gondolas by the bridge. It was a hobby of mine at the time to listen in, catch the whispers of business on the brink and unification with the nation-states of the south.

It was never my hobby to care, though.

My position made it so that my superiors had to work in the shadows , any work getting out about a job and suddenly the entire noble class is up in arms. It was something I’ve grown used to, and I try not to let my mind wander beyond what’s needed to keep me alive in any scenario, but I couldn’t help it this time. Especially considering the… collaborator.

A magus? Surely there’s a reason behind that…either we’re terribly desperate or …

The thought turned around in my head until I walked into the alleyway as directed, and at first I didn't see a thing.

My first emotion was fear. That ‘oh, no’ factor when you think you’re about to be taken out in that moment with ten thousand things left unresolved.

Then, I heard a voice.

“Hey, you’re here early! You’re the Ksirafai girl, right?”

The next emotion was panic.

“Do not speak so loudly-”

Turning around faster than I ever have before, I saw...a sore thumb sticking out in the crowd. Thick black robes in the middle of summer, a face so pale I was surprised it hadn’t burned in the sun already, messy auburn hair, and two round, silver eyes that stared up at me.

“Alright, I’ll hush! Well, are you?”

Third emotion was total, utter confusion.

“H-How do you know that word..?”

“Your boss told me,” they shrugged. Their italian was blunt, accented with something that I could only assume came further north.

“They would never.”

“I never said they knew they told me.”

There was a smile on the magus’s face, a slick sort of “gotcha” moment that I didn’t understand.

“Don’t you worry, your secret’s safe with me,” their voice carried a casual lilt to it, sticking out a lackadaisical hand to shake. “Alcmena Viriga Bacchis, Adeptus of House Bonisagus. Alcmena for the road, Viriga for spite, Bacchis for the paperwork. You?”

I swore my superior’s name under my breath. House Bonisagus. It was a name I dreaded to hear. This person wasn’t just a magus, but the worst, most vulgar kind.

“You’re a hermetic?!”

“ ‘You’reahermetic’ is a weird name, but I suppose what do I expect from Venetians?”

“I- no-” I was stumbling over my words in utter disbelief.

“Yes, I am, that is what ‘Adeptus of House Bonisagus’ means. Weren’t you types supposed to be quick on the uptake?”

I blinked. They were, by all means, right. I was to be working with a member of the Order of Hermes, the very organization my organization was founded to counteract. Arrogant, frivolous magi who kept a chokehold on the arcane arts and used them without rhyme or reason to who was already there.

But I certainly wasn’t a fan of that fact.

“I’m...Lucia.”

“That’s it?”

“All you get to know.”

They paused.

“That’s fair! So I need you to kill my colleague-”

In a frenzy I pulled them further into the alleyway, yanking them by their wool collar and stared into their soul.

“ Will you hush! That’s incriminating!’

“How else am I supposed to convey this information!?”

“Quieter!"

“...Alright that’s fair!”

In went a deep breath, and I was at peace again.

Alcmena gulped and for a second they were still in my arms. In any other context, for any other magi, I’d turn their own cape to iron and end them here.

But I had to hear them out at the very least. So I relented, though I did not let go.

“Sooo…” they begin. “I know a man, who I just caught giving out Order secrets to chum up with higher ups-”

“And why would I care?” I sigh, gripping tighter. “Our ilk doesn’t care much for the affairs of wizards.”

“If you let me finish,” Alcmena put up a finger. “It’s with a very influential local family and it involves giving incredibly dangerous grimoires to a noble.”

Alcmena leaned real close.

“Do you want rich people to have, in your people’s words, ‘dangerous and completely not-fun fireballs that we don’t like because we’re fools and jesters’”

“That’s not what we say.”

“But have I communicated my point?”

“...Yes frankly that’s terrifying,” finally I relent. “You’ve the right woman for the job.”

I dropped Alcmena and when they hit the stone, it seemed like they had no weight at all.

“Wowee!! How’d you get those arms?”

That time my eye roll was reflexive. “All cards on the table? I regularly choke nobles and magi to death - it requires some arm work.”

Alcmena’s voice cracked.

“Oh thank you god-”

They made an awful sound when I kicked them, but eventually they stood back up. With all those layers, their own body would have killed them from overheating before the bricks did so much as a scratch, but they seemed quick to get back on their feet. Taking a deep breath and pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose, I found myself needing to be very clear and very concise.

“Right, here’s how this is going to go,” I began. “You take me to your victim, in a place that isn’t in broad daylight or where I would raise suspicion, you do not run your mouth or have that K-word leave your lips, you do not cast magic, you just let me in, let me do my work, and we never speak again. Does that need any explanation.”

Alcmena placed their hands on their hips and nodded. “Hoo-ee, you’re some real kind of professional, aren’tcha. I need to pat myself on the back for good hiring choices. Aha - Sounds good, less risks for me if I keep my wand out of this.”

A rebuttal tossed and turned in my head, but I opted against it. In truth I really wanted this over with as soon as physically possible. So I sighed, cracked my neck, and asked my last questions.

“Right, so, who is this individual and where can I find him?”

With a sheepish smile, Alcmena pulled out a book from - well, I admittedly I never found out quite where.

“Cander Lanvine bani Bonisagus, appearance of the following,”

They pointed at a well rendered image of a man with stern features, long blonde hair, and glasses covering most of his face. His expression was best described as a shit-eating grin, his smug aura mocked me.

“Typical magus fair. Noted. And his whereabouts…?”

The smile carried more guilt than ever before.

“Sooo, you Daedalan-types like adventure, right.”

Not a moment was spared between my thoughts and my words, the two acting as one.

“Oh father, which art in heaven help me.”

As they started walking, there was a second where I debated just not following. Alas, a Ksirafai must always do her job, so I followed.

The magus brought me to a house that displays itself on the street, the unyielding type lived in by those who have the Medicis on a first-name basis. While I was no stranger to these places, I was used to sneaking in unaccompanied. On this mission, however, by the time we arrived I had my ear rattled off by Alcmena about this, that, and the other thing.

The Order of Hermes, known for its pretentious and long-winded magi, I suppose. It’s how they seem unassuming as they crack reality around their knee for us to go back behind and clean up. Humble scholars, and nothing more, even as lightning flickers from their fingertips or the world of creation bends around an incantation. My eyes wandered to Alcmena, and I couldn’t help but wonder.

What can you do, little wizard?

Finally, after too much fluff, they decided to contribute something useful.

“There’s to be a party here tonight, Cander’s to expose their kid to magic and make things difficult for all of us,” they mused, the lilting tone I became accustomed to became stern and almost cold.

“I see, you want me to kill in public, quaint,” I said, walking up to the building. Pressing my fingers up to the wall, I sent a pulse of energy through the perimeter, printing an image of the layout into my mind - simple practice, really. Alcmena raised an eyebrow in a way I’m sure was meant to be out of sight.

There’s a difference between my ilk among the Daedalans and Hermetics like Alcmena. To those of the Order of Reason, magick is a tool to be used to benefit humanity, to be used subtly, sparingly, and within reason. Hermetics cast spells for no purpose but their own, wild, unyielding, and with no concern for anyone else.

My breath shaped my body, my body fueled my energy, and through energy, anything can be changed, memorized, or brought to a new purpose.

All to one’s will. And only when necessary.

They had no reason to judge me.

“I’ll get prepared and meet back here,” I say, looking back over to them.

“Ah, of course, I always ask my assassins to be showy,” they say. “And with her tools.”

I didn't have the energy to reprimand their comment that time.

Preparation was always second nature. Get into a good dress, hide appropriate weaponry, feed a lie to Isa, who doesn’t really mind at all as he has that strange boy over again. I could tell him I’m off to kill a wizard and he’d say ‘go for the throat’ without realizing it.

As I was going through the motions, there was a moment where I’m holding my puff in my hand, staring at myself in the mirror. A beat of stillness, and a question lingers in the empty space.

How the hell did I get into this situation?

By being dutiful as I always was, I reckoned. It was a job, my superiors had a reason to have me on the job, to even entertain the wills of a magus, even if I didn’t know about it yet. Even if I never got to know.

I don’t think I ever did know why they took on Alcmena’s first job.

The thought drifted away into the seas of others as I slipped a knife holster into my garter and walked out the door.

Parties were never my scene either.

Their only benefit is to get lots of bodies lost in a crowd, but when you’re looking for two people in particular, that goes out the window with the rest of it. Even with eyes trained to spot the sparkle of magi, reconnecting with Alcmena is a nightmare.

The live music had already begun to ring out of tune when I arrived, melding into the chorus of voices and footsteps pretending to know how to dance. Candle lights from the chandeliers flickered and reflected after the shimmering ballgowns of the ladies and the doublets and shined boots of the men. Nobility would call an affair like this subdued and classy, but the whine of the violins in my ear wafting over the gossip made it a sort of sensory nightmare.

In the sea of gossiping bodies, I was a lone sailor on a raft trying as I may to get something done. Look the part I did not, half of my energy was being taken up by keeping blue billowing sleeves in order and moving with grace despite the thick satin of my gown.

For a split second, my train of thought ran along the track of wondering why anyone would wear such things, especially for fun.

I had a simple enough plan - find Alcmena, coerce Cander upstairs with me, and leave no trace. I’ve done it before, it would’ve taken an hour if everything went well. The layout of the place was deceptively simple, the entire ground floor was for the purpose of entertaining guests, the upstairs bared for the family’s more private affairs and for people to get away from the incessant noise. Noise I yearned to be free from.

For a moment I wandered, increasingly manic, anything to find the wily little spellcaster that was indirectly paying me to do all of this nonsense.

But I didn't find Alcmena.

I heard them.

With a clamour of surprise and a clap of some ungodly force, two robed bodies ripped themselves through up the stairs, to much commotion. The feelings of nobles don’t faze me but their eyes as witnesses do. Adrenaline pumps through my body as fear sets in.

I had nothing to distract them. I just had to be quick. At the time I didn’t know that the distraction had already been covered for me, I only knew that I had to move.

A breath hides my body into the crowd, and up the stairs I go. I hear Alcmena scream.

“Come back here and face me like the demon-touched coward you are! God may be swift to punish you but I am faster-”

Turning the corner into the empty hallway, my eyes lay on two magus, Alcmena making pursuit and Cander scrambling to avoid their fury. This alone was what could now be described as a shitshow - but it was about to get worse.

I saw an instrument of magick come out and my voice broke my cover.

“Do not-”

Ksirafai had to be prepared for every situation. One mistake and it’s all over.

I felt my foot push off of the teeth grit as I pulled off my glove. One thing I needed to grab - and I could fix this.

Ksirafai had to take care of impulsive magi who tried to ruin their work.

That’s what any Daedalan did. Clean the floor of a hermetic’s squabbles for some peace of mind for the rest of us.

Silver eyes stared at me wide as saucers as I descended, fingers reaching out to grab something, anything around Cander’s neck. Women have their necklaces and brooches, men have their collars and the occasional pendant…

...Hermetics have those awfully stuffy capes.

Cander said something I didn't bother to listen to, and I feel the cloth grip in my fingers.

Everything moved slowly in that second. Taking a deep breath, I focused on that feeling of rough fabric in my hands, my body mid-air, gravity falling into me as I moved.

The breath shapes my body.

My body fueled my energy. And through that energy, anything can be changed.

What’s rough can be smooth, what’s cloth can be metal. What’s meant to protect can be a downfall.

I pulled back with a pulse of that same energy and they turned to iron in my hands. Smooth, cold iron chains. I was used to that.

I could work with that.

The rest was natural, even as the momentum of movement sent me flying. I just had to complete the motion - and so I pulled.

The neck snapped and I hit a wall.

In a daze, my eyes fluttered open to see that no one else had followed us up here. It was just me, holding a still-clean thread of chains, the body laying next to me, and Alcmena staring down at me. They spoke only a single word.

“What.”

“I could ask you the same!” my breath heaved, lungs desperate for air. “What was that stunt for?” “Had to send a bastard to his maker,” they said, and began to wave their wand. I leaned forward.

“What did I say about not doing magick for this-”

“You broke your own rule, got plenty of stunts up your own sleeve, eh?” they said, drawing a symbol in the ground with the wooden instrument.

“Do not equate necessary sorcery with destructive magick-” I spit but was cut off.

“Hoo miss, you forget that words have meanings! Chains don’t come out of nowhere and death is the definition of destructive,” they tapped their wand on the rug and I watched a glowing hole form in the floor. Unceremoniously, they kicked the body of Cander into it.

“See you in hell you filthy infernalist! Can’t spin that one back on me, ” they said, closing up the hole fast as they opened it and looked back at me with a smile. At the time , I’d continue to argue what they said until the sun came up the next morning, calling it preposterous and another example of the self-centered nature of magi.

Now, though, especially when thinking about the wink they paired it with, perhaps it was an omen.

“You’re quick with that ‘necessary sorcery’ though, chain-iron maiden. Ever thought about being a Hermetic?”