Too tired to care Yavine leaned her head on the cool metal of the bus stop shelter, gasping for breath. The rear lights of the last bus of the night faded in the fog.

“Shit. You motherfucker, Frank,” she hissed.

Probably spilled the soda on purpose, so she’s be late leaving her shift. Think he can swing by in his wreckage of car and give her a ride home while getting handsy. Again. At least he was a little more discreet at work. Once she’d pointed out all the cameras.

Well, some of the ones in dark corners were just fakes, but she wasn’t telling him that.

“For crissake, any other ride but his lame ass,” she hissed under her breath.

She put her hand on her front, realizing she still had her work vest on, shiny buttons and all. That’s stand out! She practically ripped it off, hearing some of the buttons ping off the street. Who cared now? Maybe he would get her fired for shoving him out of the doorway so she could leave.

She looked at the remains of her vest. Ooo, gooddamn it, she’d have to pay for another. She tossed it hard into the street. It fluttered and dropped into a flooded pothole. Misty drips began to fall, further cementing the worst night ever. It was a bus shelter, but the roof and sides had been busted out for weeks. She hunched up, closing her eyes trying to think through who might be available to help her out. How far she’d have to walk.

Shhhhuufff thunk! Exactly the sound of a bus door opening.

Her eyes popped open to see an open bus door, dirty and scratched up, the interior dimly lit and not Frank driving. She stepped right in, the door nearly catching her ass. It lurched forward in little increments, settling into a rocking motion more like a train. The driver’s boney hand opened over a broken old fashioned coin till. The buttons from her work vest spilled into the box, clattered down into the deep well.

The driver sat hunched over in a dark enveloping hoodie and old jeans. They gestured backwards, a clear suggestion for her to go sit. She cast a glance out the front to see the white bony rears of pale horses drawing the bus on. Weird became downright alarming.

She sat in the first seat that wasn’t broken. Across from her sat a small woman dressed in black, clutching a small box.

She smiled cheerily at Yavine, her plump face reminding her of sunshine and cookies baking. Something frighteningly at odds with the dim eeriness of the bus.

“First time summoning a bus?”

“Uh, I guess?” Yavine grabbed the seat as the bus lurched through a pot hole.

“Didn’t even know you did, right? Take a treat, sweetie. Maybe I can help you.”

She held out the box, which did smell of fresh baked cookies and old books. Yavine hesitantly reached it. It felt like fluffy gauze. Her fingers found some cards and she drew them out.

“Hmmm,” the old woman took the cards, studying them. After a moment, she reached in the box, pulling out a cookie.

“You’ve had a rough night, hon. Eat that. I promise, it is safe.”

Yavine gave up on caution. Something in her felt as if it broke, having a moment of kindness.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Your job sucks,” the woman added, “It’s not worth worrying about. You’ve got an interesting opportunity now that you’ve opened the door. That is, opened by summoning the bus. You every think much about magic?”

“I wanted to be a fairy when I was little.”

“Eh, fairy’s are fickle little blighters- but handy in a fight or a cave. Your talents run more along witch styles. There’s a lot of choices.”

“What I’d really like, is to go home, get some sleep. Find my phone.”

“Phone? Oh, technology is easy. Reach in my box here and think about your phone. You’ll find it.”

She reached in the box again. Almost immediately, her phone was in her hand. The battery, however, was dead.

“The batteries never do well with that trick. Whose the skeevy guy with the greying beard? Drives a beat up Camaro?”

“Frank. Coworker. Skeevy as hell.”

“Eh, Hell wouldn’t take him. Look hon, you could just go home, forget all this. Frank is going to get caught out by the cameras for harassing all the ladies he works with. You probably will be fired, but you can collect unemployment and the investigation will prove it all. Then you keep going on with shitty jobs, trying to get through college with not enough sleep. Or..”

“Who are you to know all this?”

“Nadine Worchesky, recruiter for Knights Night. I seek out young folks who manage to manifest magic and get them connected to schooling opportunities. Part of the problem with magic, is if it isn’t trained it seeps and leaks out of folks able to manifest it, but not taught how to manage it and creates no end of disaster.”

“Magic isn’t real!”

“One of the more insidious ways magic has been allowed to fester in the world far too long. That’s a camouflage it uses. But it’s a lot like pollution. You don’t realize how much it affect everything until you start trying to clean it up.”

“So, like a whole other world-“

“Pfft- no. It’s there. Been there. Right in front of everyone. People just don’t see what they don’t understand. They fill in reasons and shrug it off. You’ve done it. I’ve done it, and I know better! But I’m trying to figure out where to suggest you go. The cards think you are rather talented. You could manage any of several career options.”

“I got no clue.”

Dreaming. She was probably dreaming.

“Hmm,” Nadine reached into her box, staring intently at Yavine.

She pulled out a brochure and smiled at it.

“I hadn’t thought of that, but that might do. And you don’t have to decide anything right away. Except,” she stared sternly at Yavine, “You go home, forget all this. Or you take this brochure and go there.”

Yavine reached out but she pulled the paper out of reach.

“You touch this, you are committed to going there.”

“But I don’t know what it is!” Yavine protested.

“Zen Pagoda. A martial arts school but also trains students in manifesting and controlling magic, for those who can. They will also support any mundane studies you are interested in. And more. Housing and food is included, but you do commit for at least five years.”

“It sounds too good.”

“You can even call your parents,” Nadine suggested, “If you want.”

“Uh, no, not really. Maybe drop them a text.”

This time, Nadine let her take the brochure. Immediately, the bus stopped, the doors opened.

“Already?” Nadine turned to the bus driver.

“I can hear just fine, still, ya old biddy. Some of us are quicker on the uptake than you.”

The driver’s voice resonated deeply, richly and was rather reassuringly kind.

“Why you-!” Nadine protested, tossing a cookie that a bony hand snatched from the air.

“It’s your cookies that salvage you,” the driver chuckled, “Go on, Yavine. I knew Zen Pagoda was where you need to go. Follow the lights after you go through the gate here. See you around sometime.”