Burned by Benedict Jacka

was standing and the shape of her futures. She’d been hanging back so that she could get me alone. It happens often enough that I’m used to it: lots of people are afraid that if they talk about magic where they can be overheard, they’ll be seen as crazy. They’re usually right. ‘Something I can help you with?’
    ‘Is it…’ The girl hesitated. ‘Is it true you sell focus items?’
    ‘Just like it says on the sign,’ I said. ‘Focus’ is an obscure enough term that I can put it up on the front of my shop without getting hassled.
    The girl reached across the rope to touch something on the magic item shelves. ‘Is that what this is?’
    I crossed the shop floor to see what she was looking at. Her fingers were resting on a twisted wand of rowan wood, maybe eight inches long. ‘Good eye.’
    ‘What does it do?’
    I raised my eyebrows. ‘Depends who’s using it.’
    The girl gave me an uncertain look. She was small, five feet at most, with light brown skin and curly black hair. The futures shifted and I could tell she was trying to figure out what to say. ‘Is it true what they say about you?’
    ‘Some of the things. You’ll have to be more specific.’
    She hesitated. ‘Does your magic actually work?’
    I blinked at her. ‘You’re new at this, aren’t you?’
    The girl looked embarrassed. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you show me what you can do? I might be able to help.’
    Futures flickered, there and gone. In most, the girl said something and did nothing. But in a few – just a few – she chose to trust me, and in those futures I saw her standing before me, concentrating, a tiny pearl of blue light hovering in the palm of her hand. It was only a glimpse, then it was gone, the futures vanishing as she turned down the other path. But it was enough.
    ‘Sorry.’ She cast her eyes down, took a step towards the door. ‘I’ve got to go.’
    ‘Water magic, huh?’ I said. ‘How many times have you been able to call up that blue light?’
    The girl had been halfway to the door; now she froze. She turned and stared at me, eyes wide.
    I checked the futures. ‘Five?’
    The girl jumped. ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘I’m not reading your mind.’
    ‘How did …?’ She swallowed. She didn’t finish the sentence but I could tell she was afraid.
    I shook my head. ‘You really are new. No one’s taught you, have they? You have no idea what’s going on.’
    The girl didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. ‘Okay,’ I said. I walked away from her, back behind the counter, and sat down. ‘Go lock the door – there’s a switch below the handle. Then grab that chair and bring it over.’
    The girl hesitated, and I watched to see what she’d do. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in this sort of situation, and I’d found through trial and error that the best approach is to ask the kid in question to do these things themself. Partly it’s to reassure them that they can get away if they want to, but a lot of it is forcing them to make the decision: trust me, or not? The futures shifted, then settled. She did as I asked, then sat down in the spare chair in front of the counter, hands clasped in front of her.
    ‘Okay,’ I began. ‘Let’s start at the beginning. You can think of magical talent as a pyramid. The bottom of the pyramid, and the largest section, are the normals. After that you have sensitives, then adepts, then mages…’
    We talked for nearly two hours. I told her about the basics of how magic worked, exercises to develop it further, what she could expect as she grew into her power, whether she’d turn into an adept or a mage, and how to tell the difference. Then I gave her a brief rundown on magical society: the Concord, Light mages and Dark, and how they worked. Most of all, I told her how important it was not to draw the wrong kind of attention. Novices are vulnerable, and the younger they are, the more danger they’re in if they’re noticed.
    At last I noticed that the