"Cavanathus Ankantis!"

The earth cracked, trees bent, and bandits were sent flying, bodies breaking painfully upon impact. Qalhet's field of vision was filled with carnage.

"Bullshit. Garbage. Trash." Kursott sat in her wheelchair, peering through her binoculars which she gripped furiously with her aged, slender fingers. "Are you seeing this, Tursin?"

Tursin brushed his goatee with a finger and a thumb, "Yes... What was that, a class-120 thunder spell with a 30-meter blast?"

"Yeah, with no casting time and only a verbal component! That's the fifth time he's done that today!" She jerked the binoculars away from her face and spun her chair around to face Tursin. "He's not a normal caster, Tursin..."

"That much is obvious..."

The hill on which the two wizards watched from was a safe distance from the carnage below, but both wizards were nervous. Kursott College and Tursin Tech were the two most prestigious colleges on the continent, and Qalhet's divisive paradigm could be disastrous for enrollment. Why go to a fancy college if you can just bullshit your way through magic?

Bzzt!

A flash of light and an electric crackle announced the arrival of the halfling Dr. Bullfreckle, owner of a local medical practice, grandson of the great Elias Bullfreckle, and current president of the Bullfreckle Academy for Magically Inclined Youths. "Sorry I'm late, friends."

"Greetings, doctor!" said Tursin warmly.

"What's the matter, did your teleportation spell act up again?" Kursott said dismissively. It was no secret that Kursott questioned why Tursin was so friendly with Bullfreckle, who was on the fringes of arcane academia.

"Well, hello to you too, Kurse," Bullfreckle said, recoiling from Kursott's snarky comment. "No, I was actually busy consulting with a patient and coining a name for a new and mysterious disorder." It was an obvious brag, spoken at a volume where Kursott couldn't ignore it, though she did. She watched Qalhet chop a bandit in half with a fiery hand and then drop kick another off of a horse, unleashing a massive burst of electricity. The bandit hit the ground... and then he exploded.

"Woah, tell me more," Tursin said, interested in Bullfreckle's new discovery.

"It's a learning disorder specific to changelings: protea spontanea."

"Hmmm. I like the ring of it," Tursin said stroking his goatee in ponderance.

"It's bullshit. Bullshit like Qalhet's verbals... 'cavanthus', my ass. What does that even mean?" Kursott watched Qalhet ride a bandit like a surfboard. He then kicked the bandit into the air, and then the bandit exploded.

"Hey, Tursin likes it. I don't remember asking your opinion!" Bullfreckle was feeling a little bolder than usual. Kursott didn't care. She watched Qalhet twist and mangle a bandit like a balloon animal.

"Yeah, yeah, did you come here to watch this bullshit or not? He's about to dribble this guy like a rueball." She looked in disbelief through her binoculars.

Bullfreckle sighed and walked beside Kursott getting a clearer view of the carnage below. He was stunned by the demolished trees and great craters, not to mention the corpses... especially the bandit that was twisted like a ball of yarn. Qalhet repeatedly bashed this ball against the ground, until he lifted it over his head and shot it into a nearby tree, where it landed with a sickening crack. The tree was then struck by lightning. And yes, it exploded.

"This guy is sick," Bullfreckle said. He was nearly sick himself from seeing the gory mess left in Qalhet's wake.

"He's sick. He's bullshit..." Kursott lowered the binoculars from her face. "But he's damn good."

"Indeed," Tursin said grimly.

Qalhet, covered in blood and surrounded by the exploded remains of bandits and trees alike, stood victorious. He turned to face the trio who watched from high on the hill. He opened his mouth wide and his voice boomed with a joking tone. "Hey! Maybe you'll invite me to the Collegiate Spellcaster's Gala this year, huh?" His voice echoed through the valley. He loudly chuckled and then turned his attention to pulling out the six human teeth that were forcibly embedded into the soles of his boots over the course of this routine bandit ambush.

Kursott muttered under her breath, "Molitz willing, he'll be dead by that time."

"Are you going to kill him?" Bullfreckle asked.

"We don't have another option," Tursin muttered with regret. "Personal motivations aside, he's simply too dangerous to live... He's going to run out of bandits soon."

"Protea spontanea," the halfling doctor said confidently.

I sat silently. Confused.

"It's a rare disorder. Very rare. In fact, you are the first recorded person to have this condition. I just coined the name, so if you think it's a stupid name, let me know." Dr. Bullfreckle looked down at his clipboard and said slowly and quietly, "Proh-TEE-yuh spon-TAIN-ee-yuh," feeling each syllable dance across his lips and tongue.

"But how? Is this some curse? I've been going through this for two years!"

"Disorder. I ran you through all the tests and the cause of your disorder is your own body. No witch can hide a hex from a class-98 detect energy ritual cast by yours truly."

"What about a class-100? Like we talked about?"

"A 98 is 98% as effective and at a quarter of the cost. I'm not burning diamonds for this." He looked down at his clipboard again and sighed. "Onto the other news, I ran a genetics test. A simple class-20 just to get an idea if we need to run a more invasive test." He looked at me and paused.

"Oswald... you're a changeling."

I sat, stunned. I peered into the halfling's face to perhaps catch a glimpse of amusement, like what would spread across his if he was about to say "Gotcha!" But no. No amusement. Not even a slight smirk. His face was a rock and my spirit crashed against it like an ocean wave, dashed into a thousand tiny droplets. I was a changeling. The most distrusted. The lowest of the low.

"But my parents were both human! I'm a human!"

But I wasn't. As of that morning, I was seven foot tall charcoal-skinned infernal with glowing amber eyes and horns like a ram. I had a devil's tail, which flicked about almost as if it had a mind of its own. My tongue felt long and slender in my mouth, and when it wasn't used for talking it ran across my sharp teeth, exploring what felt like another person's mouth. Even as I sat there, I could feel my bones slowly shift, preparing for my nightly metamorphosis.

"I knew this would be difficult to explain. But yes, you are a changeling, but your powers were somehow delayed by twenty-eight years. Some changelings have their power from birth, some develop them as toddlers, but you... this delay is unheard of. Thus, protea spontanea. It's more of a learning disorder than anything else."

"A learning disorder?"

"I mean, shapeshifting is usually wild in a changeling's early years. Actually controlling it might take five to ten years of training, but in your case we don't know... It may take longer."

"And my parents? Are they changelings and just decided to never tell me? Am I adopted?"

"Don't ask me. That's a conversation between you and your parents." He flicked a brochure towards me. "Take this." The red brochure had a picture of a human-looking child with an abnormally broad smile. It was titled, "THE CHANGELING'S GUIDE TO BEING A NORMAL KID", which was designed to look like it was drawn on with a crayon.

"We usually give that to children."

--

The brochure was crumpled into a ball and thrown into a trash can somewhere between the doctor's office and my apartment. I walked down the city sidewalk swiftly, frustrated by the truth and the questions that remained unanswered. The afternoon sun beat on my dark skin and my infernal eyes burned in its radiance. Pedestrians looked at me, mere glimpses, and then avoided eye contact. Infernals were not common in this neighborhood, so my appearance probably brought some displeasure.

My first unwilling transformation two years ago was an elderly human lady, and I was mortified by what happened to my body. The wrinkles, the sags, and the obvious change between my legs. I called out sick at work, wrapped myself in a blanket and waited in bed, hoping for that nightmare to end. The next day I was olive-skinned hunk of a man with dark wavy hair and a chiseled face. The next, a twenty-something woman with sad eyes and long dark hair. In a couple weeks, I started to take on the qualities of humanoid species besides humans, so one day I could be a short human lady with curly red hair and the next be an orc with tusks that were so tall they took permanent real estate in my field of view.

Of course, I lost my job. There was no way I would be able to convince anybody that I, the silver-haired dwarf lady, was Oswald. Friendships broke down. I either stopped talking to people or they realized my condition was just too much for them to handle. To get by financially, I began taking odd jobs. On days where I had muscles to spare, I would help move furniture or load wagons. On days where I was small and easy to miss, I stole valuables from nobles and sold them to the local fence. On days where I had looks, I'd woo people out of their coins. On days where I didn't have any of those things, I sat in my cheap apartment and moped.

After two years of that, I was uncertain if I could continue eking out a living doing this. I lived a lonely life and had many dangerous close calls from biting off more than I could chew with odd jobs. I had not talked to my parents in four years at that point, and with good reason... they were narcissistic and controlling, the definition of strict. But if I wanted answers, and maybe some financial assistance, maybe they could help me. I was out of options. I had to message them, and that is what I was going to do. Just a minute's walk to the apartment, then I could write a letter.

"Heeeey," said a voice. I stopped in my tracks and turned my head to the dark alleyway it came from. "What's the hurry?" The voice fluttered between a masculine and feminine tone, like two people speaking at once through a single mouth. It was unsettling... yet alluring.

"Me?"

"Yes, you," the voice lightly chuckled. "Want to go back to that drab apartment?"

"Not really..." My whole body turned to face the monumental void of darkness that engulfed the alleyway.

"Why don't you come with me, then? I can teach you what a brochure can't."

I paused. How did they know about the brochure? "How long have you been following me?"

"Long enough to know your tragic story," the speaker said in a jokingly pouty tone. "Poor thing. A changeling, oh poor baby! Protein-ea spork-tanea!"

"That was a private medical consultation about a private medical matter! Who gave you the right to eavesdrop?"

"Oh, I didn't eavesdrop. I just know what you are thinking. Mind-reading is a good skill for a changeling to have... Let's you know what the people want. And I know what you want, my sweet Ozzy..."

They were probing my mind. They knew what I wanted. Again, unsettling... but alluring. I slowly opened my mouth and prepared to utter a single word. Everything that I wanted.

"Control," we said simultaneously, our voices overlapping into a chorus of tones.

"Yeeeeess. I can give you that control. I taught myself... and I can teach you. Once you gain control over your body, the power can be..."

Two yellow orbs flashed in the dark, side by side, and underneath a mouthful of sharp teeth reflected the dim light of the alleyway.

"INTOXICATING..." the sharp teeth spat out the word suggestively. Eyelids draped halfway over the yellow orbs to give an enchanting glare.

I shuddered pondering just who was waiting in the darkness.

"Don't write to your parents, Ozzie. You don't want them, you want control."

I nodded silently. I began stepping forward. Out of the sunlight and past the threshold between light and dark. Bathed in darkness, the eyes and teeth of the creature came closer and closer as I walked towards them. They moved forward to meet me until the two eyes dominated my view. The small black pupils danced across my face and the wide smile of the creature grew wider. I could smell their sweet breath, like citrus fruit and flower petals. A large, slender hand landed on left shoulder. The other hand gently combed my hair until it gently, yet firmly grabbed a hold of my right horn.

"Another changeling..." they whispered, bathing me in their sweet breath. "I've waited so long..." Their pupils stopped their dance and settled on my eyes. "You have a question. Ask me."

"What's your name? What do I call you?"

"Oh, Ozzie," they whispered. Their grin grew into a wicked smile, flashing more and more of their razor-sharp teeth. "You can call me anything you want..."

Darkness magic is a valuable tool. It can be used to conceal things without irritating the lungs like smoke does. While it could certainly be used in military applications as a replacement for a smoke screen, I mostly use it to hide before surprise parties. It can also keep things cool on a sunny day. I would be lying if I said I did not occasionally cloak a tub of ice cream in darkness to keep it nice and cold on a hot summer day. Since darkness is a subset of the "Destroy Energy" discipline of magic, it pairs easily with magic that outright negates thermal energy, allowing a spellcaster to keep machines running cool and chill drinks to near freezing temperatures in a snap.

So, why were the Inquisitors hoisting me by my collar and barking accusations at me? Well...

"You are in big trouble now, heretic!" a slender woman in a black robe hissed. She pulled me close and I could smell the garlic on her breath. "The Grand Inquisitor will hang you dead!"

"For what?"

"Dark magic... Summoning demons and the lot, I guess," said the other Inquisitor, a broad-shouldered man with slick black hair. He had a nonchalant demeanor, betraying either a lack of enthusiasm or a lack of understanding of his work. "Easy on the accused, Mally. He might slip out of our grasp if you keep tugging him like that."

"Oh, and you'd like that, you big loaf! If only your faith was as strong as your body!" Mally's claws dug into my collar tighter than before.

"I think I understand what's going on here..." I said.

Mally gripped harder and said, "You aren't going to find a way out of this."

They dragged me down the hall to a red door. When we reached it, Mally pushed me into her colleague's arms and produced a key from her robes. After fidgeting with the aged lock, she swung the door open and I felt her colleague's large hands give me a push into the dark room. Falling on my hands and knees, my eyes struggled to make out what this room was supposed to be.

Ker-chunk!

With a flip of a switch, my eyes were flooded with light. The electric lights hummed revealing an octagonal room with loaded bookshelves against seven walls and one wall vacant to allow for an entrance. A table and four chairs sat in the middle of the room.

"The College allowed us to use this room for your questioning." Mally sounded disappointed, as if she asked for a more dramatic venue. She walked around the table with slow and methodical steps. "Here, we shall be your judge and jury. If you try to escape, we will also be your executioners."

I got up off my knees and brushed the dust off. "I've been with Kursott's College for eight years and I've never seen this room before... What is this place?"

"Fittingly enough, it is where they keep their questionable texts. After we are done with you, I will decide what in this library must be burned. Kill two birds with one stone while I'm here, you see..." She looked over my shoulder and barked angrily, "Hyle! Put down that book! Your heathen mind is too easily tempted!" I turned to face the other inquisitor who gave a frustrated look at Mally. He held the aged crimson book gently in his large hands, like he was holding a puppy.

"Why do you get to read all the wicked books? Sometimes I think you just burn books because you don't understand them..."

Mally slammed her fist against the table, "If the Grand Inquisitor heard that, you'd lose your tongue! Must I try two heretics tonight?"

Hyle gave a deep, defeated sigh, put the book back on the shelf, and slowly walked around the table. Hyle and Mally sat down in the chairs on their side of the table.

"Sit!" Mally barked. I obeyed, pulling a chair opposite of the two inquisitors.

Mally reached under the table and produced a thick folder that slapped hard against the table. She flicked it open and read the first page. "Therus, Alton, accused of practicing the dark arts. Instructor at Kursott of eight years. No wife, no children, two living parents, one sister. No criminal record, no known aliases." She looked up at me. "Does this sound correct?"

"Yes."

"Alright, how do you plead?"

"What?"

"Guilty or not guilty?" If looks could kill, her face would be anthrax.

"Well, what am I being accused of exactly? I work with darkness but I do not practice 'dark' magic."

In a flash, she threw her body over the table grabbed me by the hair and whacked my head against the table. She let go and sat back down with a look of intense and frenzied anger. A drop of blood ran down my lips. Her lips peeled back to show her clenched teeth.

"No semantics! Guilty or not guilty!"

"Not guilty!"

"Hyle! Mr. Therus wants to do this the hard way!" She looked at him with an excited look, which Hyle did not return back to her. Hyle instead stared blankly at me with a look of what could either be a look of pity or a look of confusion.

Hyle put a single finger on the folder and slid it across the table to be right in front of him. The excitement on Mally's face twisted back into anger. Hyle quickly flicked through the folder, gently humming and occasionally raising an eyebrow.

"Let's talk about your courses, Mr. Therus," said Hyle, eyes fixed on the files within the folder. "Course titles include, Intro to Darkness, Advanced Darkness, and Art of Obfuscation. Tell us about those."

Mally's face was twisted into a look of pure frustration. Her eyes slowly panned from Hyle to me and they rested upon me heavily. Two burning stars of hatred and sadism disguised as piety.

"I teach courses about darkness. Darkness, as in the absence of light, not the dark arts."

Hyle nodded, not looking up from the files or saying anything.

"So, no summoning demons," I clarified.

"Right, right," Hyle nodded. He still didn't look up.

"Hyle! What. Are. You. Doing?"

"Look, if you want to nearly strangle someone to death and pass it off as service to the holy Primary, you can do it on your own time." Hyle lifted his head and looked at her. "We've been graciously allowed by the College to sort this out, so therefore we are here as guests. You strangling Mr. Therus here would be ill-advised."

Mally groaned. "They only allowed us to investigate him because they expected us to be satisfied with the results and not come back for more. This whole college is lousy with heretics, isn't it, Mr. Therus?"

"Uh, no?"

"Give me the names of four heretics and you will prove your innocence," Mally said as her scowl turned into a broad sadistic grin.

"I think we are done here," Hyle said. He shut the folder and stood up from his chair. Mally's claws dug into his black robe.

"We aren't done here, Hyle!" Her face was desperate.

"I say we are done. One Inquisitor's hunch does not make a case and I find this evidence inconclusive."

Mally screamed, threw her hands up into the air and stormed out of the room. The screams echoed though the hallways, but slowly faded to a distant, enraged whimper. Hyle gave a sigh of relief and leaned forward. "Always good to provide a service for a brother," he whispered.

"What?"

"C'mon, brother. Hail the Great Abyssal King," Hyle said with a grin.

"I'm sorry, I think you must be confused."

Hyle's smile disappeared. His eyes widened with realization. "Oh, uh. Well, uh, have a good day and may the Primary's blessings be upon you."

He stood up and walked out swiftly. Leaving me alone to wonder what the hell just happened. I turned to look at the aged crimson book that Hyle put back on the shelf and began to wonder...

Ah, thank you! Glad you liked it!

I feel the world freeze around me,
People stop, wait, and delay,
Heroes and villains, once sure of their actions,
Are now unsure of their ways,

The beasts who menace and devour,
Suddenly lose their appetite,
The sworn rivals put down their swords,
And finally give up their fight,

I know it might sound crazy,
But you'll just have to see,
How everywhere I go,
The world freezes around me,

I feel the writer's blood boil,
As I jump onto the page,
His fingers twitch and face turns red,
As I rob him of his brain,

"Why did I write this character?
He's a boring little fool!
I want to make people laugh and gasp,
Not sigh and yawn and drool!"

Yet the writer is mistaken,
He's the fool, not I,
For he tries to write around me,
Why does he even try?

I've made this world my home,
And I like it to be neat,
Not filled with noise and clamor,
And the marching soldier's feet,

He can start another project,
Because this project is now mine,
He's wrote himself into a corner,
And there's no writing out this time,

I much enjoy his anger,
I much enjoy his hate,
But I'd much prefer the silence,
When he gives up on this place,

The kingdom is all silent,
The peasants are a bore,
The knights are out all playing cards,
As the sleeping giants snore,

So give up, oh dear writer,
Let me have my peace,
Let me enjoy this boredom,
This banal and mundane feast,

If you come back here,
I might take a little more,
And turn your sci-fi setting,
Into an awful, lengthy bore

Ah, thanks! I do tend to let things like tense slip up after I write for a bit, but I'm glad you like it anyway!

Thank you! Sorry if it was a bit long-winded, but I'm glad you like it. I have just finished the second part, which is thankfully shorter than the first, should you be interested.

In the end, the wave of lucklessness that struck the mortal world came to an end after the Orderlies realized just how much luck was essential to keep the world working.

That doesn't change the fact that for a whole week, I had to live without the luck that has kept me afloat for years. Since my books didn't sell, I failed to pay rent that month. Since I was on thin ice with my landlord, I was kicked out onto the streets. I was able to sell enough of my furniture so that I could afford a super-cheap hotel room, but it left me with practically no material possessions. It turns out that my hotel room was haunted, and since I could see and hear ghosts more clearly than the typical person I was kept awake by the sounds of ghosts doing what most people do in cheap hotel rooms. It's exactly what you think.

One day, I heard a knock on the door.

Unwilling to leave my bed, I called out, "Who is it?"

Parsimony stuck his head through the door, as in actually phased his head through the actual door itself. "It's me."

"Come in!" I was glad to see him. It had been a week of no contact, I was worried something might have happened to him. That maybe the Superiors learned that he was stealing luck from mortals who probably deserved it more than I did.

"Is everything okay? Where have you been?" I asked.

He stood by the bed, took a deep breath and said rather matter-of-factly, "I got fired and then I spent a week in the Justicar's Court with them grilling me about what I've done."

The Justicar's Court is nothing less than life or death for an accused angel. It was essentially the Superiors' boogeyman. Any angel less than perfect would be discarded if it meant protecting the reputation of the angels. They alone had the means to truly kill an angel.

"But you're alive! I thought the Superiors would kill you... or banish you to Hell."

"Trust me, they tried. Fortuna looked after me. She vouched for me."

"Fortuna? Doesn't she know that you've been stealing luck?"

"Oh yeah, she figured it out alright. That's why I got fired. She just couldn't bring herself to see me get killed for what I've done. Now I'm just an unemployed, but thankfully alive angel."

"I'm glad you're okay... that we're okay," I planted a kiss on his cheek.

Flustered, he gave me a gentle push. "I'm okay, but you're living in a haunted hotel. I don't think that counts as okay."

"Well, you were right. My books didn't sell. Now I'm in a dirty hotel, awake at two in the morning listening to ghosts f-"

"FUCK YOU, MORTAL!" Parsimony and I were startled by the sudden noise as Fortuna filled the room with a burst of light, materializing at the foot of the bed. Her long arm extended towards me, pointing a thin finger adorned with golden rings. "Not only did you rob my best worker away from me and made him spill our secrets, I spent a week out of my already busy schedule covering up the largest scandal that our department has experienced in five-hundred years!"

"I-I didn't-"

"Oh but you did! None of this would have happened if you just let Percy go on his merry way without ever talking to him!"

"I'm sorry! Is it a sin to be a little curious?"

"It is, actually," both Parsimony and Fortuna said in unison.

"Oh."

Fortuna put her hands on her hips and sighed. "I say all of this. But I mainly want you and Percy to be happy. Don't get me wrong, I am upset. You've both violated some of the most vital angelic laws to ever be written. You've made a huge mess, and I've taken the time and effort to clean it up. You two better make it all worth it."

Parsimony and I silently nodded.

"Then it is settled. I give you both my blessing. It's not a whole eight portions of luck but it's enough for you both to get by. Percy, if I ever see you at the office, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Understood, ma'am."

"As for you, mortal, I have enough trouble without some random asshole leaking our secrets. Can you give me a break and get an actual job?"

"Is a demonologist an actual job?"

She winced. "Sure, I guess so... Heaven knows those demonology books fly off the shelves more than books about us. Anyway, goodbye."

With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared in a burst of light.

"It's no secret. Our department is being gutted," lamented Fortuna. Her heels clacked down the hallway and her curly red hair bounced as she went. Fortuna always looked a little on the rough side, especially since the affairs of mortals can be quite stressful, but with the recent budget cuts and changes to her department, her eyelids became dark cloaks of tiredness.

"So, what do we do?" asked Parsimony. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and ran his hand through his dark curly hair as he ran to catch up with Fortuna with his short legs. It was considered bad angelic etiquette to fly indoors, and Parsimony was always a clumsy walker.

Fortuna stopped, turned, and looked at Parsimony with tired eyes. "We do what we always do, Percy. No reason to change the way we do things."

Parsimony ground to a halt, nearly losing his footing. "We won't have enough magic to do it! We are on thin supply as is, we can't afford to just spend it on just any mishap that comes our way!"

"We are angels, damnit! And what do we do?" Fortuna twisted her mouth into a jagged smile, a signal for Parsimony to say the motto.

Parsimony gave a weak sigh. The motto of the Guardian Angels was burned into his mind the moment he joined their ranks. "We make miracles..."

Within the hierarchy of angels, Fortuna and the Guardian Angels were in a tenuous position. The Guardian Angels were considered separate from the highly-specialized Orderly Angels, which included subgroups specializing in anything from judging the sinful mortals, giving advice to mortal leaders, and giving orders to the lower-ranking angelic soldiers.

As such, the Guardian Angels were frequently understaffed and under equipped, as the Orderlies moved towards a paradigm of taking a more hands-off approach in guiding mortals, preferring to give simple advice rather than altering reality to fix the outcomes to the mortal's favor. The Superiors began taking the resources of the Guardians and giving them to the Orderlies, which meant luck shortages happened frequently. The Guardian Angels were understandably upset by this change. Without the means necessary to help the mortals, how could they manage to do it?

Within a week, the Guardians squandered what little magic they had left for the month. They operated on a first-come-first-serve basis, which meant the luck was spent on such trivial things such as gambling, finding missing socks, and businesses making slightly better profits than usual.

I learned of these changes as I usually do: Parsimony. While most mortals cannot see angels, those mortals who study angels may find it useful to specialize in the magic of perception. Thanks to my magical studies, I see angels, demons, ghosts, fairies... just about anything that would prefer to remain unseen. This unseen world is filled with strange characters, and Parsimony is one of the strangest. He is abnormally short for an angel and flutters on moth-like wings, signs of his half-angel-half-fae heritage. He is also the most talkative of any angel (or any fairy if we want to call him that) I have ever met. He was also once my Guardian Angel.

I suppose it was dumb luck that an angelologist would be assigned such a forthcoming angel as a guardian. I call it dumb luck because it was certainly not a miracle Fortuna would orchestrate; angels, if nothing else, are secretive creatures or are at least supposed to be. Perhaps it was Parsimony's fae nature that made him such a chatterbox. When Parsimony wrapped up with his other clients for the day, he stopped by to give me what little luck I needed and then we would talk for hours about his work and the office politics of angels.

Our talks were essential for my studies of angelic culture, but the more we talked, the more I just realized I liked having someone to talk to. While the world knew that angels existed, it wasn't a popular occupation to try to study them. Most people would think you would be crazy to try to study something so beyond mortal understanding, and as such I had very few friends. Only a handful of people bought my books every month, but it was enough to pay the rent and the necessities. I got by with the help of Parsimony and a little luck.

Then came the Day the Luck Ran Out.

"So, it's official. I've spent the last of the luck today." Parsimony fidgeted with his red tie. I had not received any luck that day, so it was clear I was left out. Parsimony's other clients, who were earlier on his route, were the lucky ones. I just wasn't the type of person the angels thought to give their own personal Guardian, so these kinds of inconveniences were an inevitability.

"Well, it's no problem, right? People get by without luck all the time! You only ever gave me a little luck, so I'll be fine!" I only half believed what I said. I didn't understand luck or how it worked. It was a fickle, volatile thing. It was magic given free reign to act in the favor of the user. No mortal could cast a spell to emulate for even a second what angelic luck does every second of every day.

"Well, we'll just have to see..." Parsimony said, avoiding eye contact. His eyes bounced back and forth around my cramped apartment, as if an argument or a tennis match was playing in his head.

"Are you okay? I mean, I'm going to be okay... Right?"

"There's something I need to tell you..." The knot of his tie bobbed as he repeatedly tugged it, trying to summon the strength to tell me the truth.

A deep breath.

"I haven't just been giving you a little luck. I have been skipping people and cutting people short on their deliveries for years so that I could give you all the luck I can spare!"

I didn't know what I was feeling at that moment. It was a strange mixture of confusion, anger, and appreciation. But was what he was saying true? It was hard for a mortal to quantify such an abstract thing as luck, and whenever I received it from Parsimony it was as simple as him waving a hand at me. I couldn't see the luck he gave, so I had no idea.

"Me? My life isn't glamorous or anything, so why am I supposed to believe that I am so lucky?"

"Let me be frank. Your life is a disaster. I don't say that to insult you, just that your path in life isn't what most people would consider successful."

"What... what do you mean?"

"You are an angelologist! Have you met a single person who has read your books or told you that they appreciated what you do?"

"No..."

"That's what I'm saying. It has taken a bonafide miracle for you to live a relatively comfortable life. Nobody buys your books on purpose! They read a title like The Community of Angels and think it's a romance novel or something! It has taken eight times the average amount of luck to get you to this point. Eight. Times."

I sat down on my worn secondhand recliner, the finest I could afford. I sucked in a breath and asked, "But why me? Why do I deserve all the luck?"

"I like you." Parsimony squeaked out these words quickly, as if he tried to sneak them past me.

"Like, like-like me?"

He nodded.

I was dumbstruck. It was taboo for angels to have affairs with mortals. Hell, it was taboo for most angels to even talk with mortals, especially Guardians. Now my Guardian was admitting to an unauthorized transfer of luck and that he had some sort of crush on me.

I felt anger, but I kept my voice down to a calm rumble. "You like me, you want me to succeed, but you refused to tell me that my business was built on a lie until it was too late?"

"That's not how Guardians are supposed to work. We make miracles, not give advice!"

"We're not even supposed to be talking right now, Percy! You couldn't break just one more rule and just tell me that my life's work is a one-way ticket to disaster?"

"I wanted to protect you. And I knew that this is what you wanted to do with your life. I feel like I would have failed my job if you did anything else besides what you wanted!"

"I never wanted to live a lie..." I leaned forward in the recliner, with elbows upon my knees and head down. My vision began to blur as tears filled my eyes. My life's work was a sham.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't think this would ever happen. I just thought we could continue like this forever and... Can we still be friends at least?" He placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle, yet firm squeeze.

I gave it some thought. Could we still be friends? He didn't mean to hurt me. In fact he was the only thing keeping my life together up until this point. Even if he didn't do all of that, he was still my best friend... maybe more than that. I had to go for it.

Wiping tears from my eyes I quietly said, "I never said no, did I?"

I looked up at Parsimony, whose cheeks were striped with tears. He remained silent, perhaps confused by my question.

"I never said I didn't like-like you," I gave a tired smile. I was still processing everything that happened up until that point, but I realized I couldn't stay angry at the angel who risked everything to make me happy.

"In fact, I never said I liked being an angelologist." I paused, taking a deep shuddering breath as I still recovered from crying. "You know what I like about it though?"

Parsimony finally spoke. "What is that?"

"That I met you."

TO BE CONTINUED