“Back in Ironhenge,” I start explaining. “We have a different approach to child-rearing.” Hollyhock crosses her legs and leans back to listen.

“People are allowed to marry whomever they want, but having a child is a different matter. It originated from a mandate a few hundred years ago, blood-feuds, personal slights, or what you call ‘beef’,” I try the colloquialism she taught me. “Between families and houses, had almost destroyed the entire magic society. It coincided with the Byzantine-Ottoman Wars, though I’ve heard that certain events were directly intertwined. Anyway, a truce was called and what was considered drastic measures were taken. Families and houses were broken up. Cerebral altering magic made them forget each other, that they were related. Loyalty to blood was erased. From then on, no matter who you are, if you have a child they will be erased from your memory.”

Hollyhock, the assassin, looks horrified.

“You...take babies...away from their parents?” She asks.

“Well, there is a grace period of a year, so that child is healthy, but usually by the time that they can walk they’re taken. Plus I don’t take anyone. It’s done by an organization called the Copper Cloves. They created the spell and only they know how to perform it, obviously, the members are incognito and the whole thing is kept tightly under wraps.”

“The secret organization responsible for taking kids and wiping parents’ memories of them...is called the Copper Cloves?” She asks.

“The secret organization responsible for, I’m guessing dozens of murders...is called the Bay Leaves?” I ask. She tips her head.

“Touché.”

“Thank you.”

“Look,” the assassin raises her hands “far be it from me to judge your culture and way of life. But that sounds completely fucked up.”

“It’s been that way for so long, that we just accept it.”

“Okay, but you know that it’s fucked up, right?”

“Dead ass,” I try another colloquialism. She shakes her head.

“No, it’s one word: Deadass. Not dead ass.”

“Deadass,” I correct myself. She nods in approval.

“Why do people even bother having kids then?”

“People be fucking,” I say with a shrug. She bursts out laughing and I must admit, it is nice to see her smile. The assassin wipes a tear from her eye.

“So you have no idea who your parents are?”

“Well, no. But, I always suspected this one couple,” I answer. “They have this little shop where they made special candies. I went there a lot as a kid. They’d give me free samples sometimes.” Fond memories spring to mind, picking out which treat I wanted to try next, and the smell of sugar in the air. “All I’ve been told is that my ancestors were from a place called Taiwan.”

“Heard that it’s nice this time of year,” she comments.

“Really!? I’ve always wanted to see it!”

“Oh, sorry. That’s just a thing people say when someone mentions a place. I’ve barely ever left Oleander City.”

“Ahhh.” I figured as much.

“So what was your childhood like? Hopefully better than mine,” she adds with a small smile.

“I would say so. We were raised in shifting cohorts; based on evaluations by our rotating mentors, we get placed in different cohorts that they think would benefit us best. If there’s potential we continue in an apprenticeship with…” I realize I’m rambling.

“I’m sorry, I must be boring you. Talking about school.” She gives a dismissive wave.

“No, no it’s dope. I wanna hear about this. Tell me about your magic world, regale me,” she says with a grandiose gesture with her hand.

“What do you want you to know?”

“Why can you do magic and I can’t,” she asks with no hesitation.

“You could,” I answer. “Every living thing has the potential to do magic.”

“I haven’t cast any spells lately, is it ‘cause I’m low in fiber?” She jokes. I laugh a little bit.

“I’ve heard of a few people who were innately capable of magic learning to do so. It would take many years of practice, elevating your perceptions of everything. I think in your case-”

“Nah,” she interrupts me “sounds like too much work. I already trained once in my life. Did you have to do that?”

“Not exactly. Most of us at Ironhenge have the ability to manipulate magic from a young age.”

“Why?”

“Well, the most commonly accepted theory is that while developing in the womb, the mothers’ magical energy also reaches us.” Gently, I cup Hollyhocks face. “When the brain is forming,” I say while running a finger down the center of her head, stopping at her forehead. “Magic energy pools here in the parietal lobe.”

“Part of the brain that deals with the senses,” Hollyhock replies, looking at me past my hand. Clever assassin.

“Correct. Exposure to magic makes the brain form a special little lobe to perceive it, and then from there, one can recognize the magic in themselves,” I explain, dropping my hands to my side.

“So you have magic ‘cause your momma had magic. Seems rigged.” I shrug.

“Well, it’s just a theory, it hasn’t been proven or disproven yet.”

“Why don't you do an MRI on a person with magic and a person without it?”

“What the hell is an MRI?” I ask. The assassin shakes her head.

“Never mind,” she waves the question away. “Hmmm. What’s something fucked up you could with magic? Like, could you make someone’s heart stop?” I ponder the question briefly.

“While I see how you’d find that useful.” She tips her head in acknowledgment. “It wouldn’t be that simple. It would depend on a person’s aura.”

“Do tell.”

“As I said before, everything living thing has magic. Our forms keep the magic we naturally create around us called “auras”. They differ in color, size, density, and movement for all of us. Without a trained eye, they’re invisible. Needing to be drawn out to be seen, so normally they surround us like a second skin; protecting you from minor magical...I guess you’d call them afflictions.”

“Okay, that’s terrifying to think about.”

“But, unless you were depleted your aura would reflexively stop anything from trying to pierce your body.” I tap my chin in thought as I theorize. “It would take a significant amount to get through it though. Would it be worth it as a one-off shot?”

“I don’t know, depends on how much you need them to be depleted,” Hollyhock says.

“I’m getting off-topic. What else do you want to know?”

“What’s your aura look like?” She asks. I raise my hand and let a little of my power seep out. The deep purple magic floats away like smoke. “Our auras radiate off us, like how we radiate heat.” I watch a small plume of my magic rise into the air between us. “Until it slowly comes undone by the entropy of existence.”

“Bleak,” Hollyhock comments.

“I was going for “dramatic” but whatever.”

“What does my aura look like?”

“Excellent question. Let’s find out.” I move closer to her on the couch. Pressing my hand against her chest, feeling her heartbeat inside her. Slowly close my eyes.

“You looking for auras or copping a feel?” She says, no doubt with a smirk on her face.

“Hush,” I snip back. She hums an agreement. Truth be told, I’d only need to feel her pulse, which I could do somewhere else. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

The heart of an assassin beats underneath my hand, speeding up at the physical contact. Cute. When it settles into a steady rhythm, I pulse magic between beats until I feel the push of her aura resist a bit. Like antibodies rushing to fight a virus, it surges from within her to phase pass her bones, muscles, and skin.

I open my eyes.

The first thing I notice about her aura is how bright it is, pure orange. Many people have shades of different colors in their auras, specks revealing the impurity of their energy. But hers, like mine, is one single color.

It’s dense around her, almost the width of two fingers. Hard to see through. I wonder if this is how all auras look when released for the first time or if just hers is exceptionally strong. But the most jarring of all is its movement. Her aura forms large spikes, constantly shooting out at her surroundings seemingly at random. It would take a master’s level of control to shape her energy to perform in such a way, but since that’s not what’s happening; her aura is naturally this...hostile.

The spikes advance and retreat in rapid motions, sinking through the couch, the table next to us, and one goes through my head. But since it’s intangible I don’t feel anything and the furniture suffers no damage.

I watch her aura for a moment.

It’s said that our auras always reveal who we really are, deep down inside. Hers, attacking everything around her is fitting given her line of work. But the brightness of it astounds me, for someone who works in a surreptitious manner to be this bright is baffling. Though, I suppose it’s not really up to her.

It’s a shame that fate decided that she should be here, living this life. If she were born and raised in Ironhenge, with an aura like hers, she’d make an excellent sorcerer.

“What do you see?” Hollyhock asks. I realize I’ve just been staring at her in silence.

“It’s a vibrant orange. Pure in color, very rare.”

“Orange? Really? Never thought of myself as an orange person,” she comments.

“It’s not like having a favorite color. It’s a portrayal of your soul almost. Who you are, in your core,” I clarify.

“I’m just surprised that it’s not completely black.”

“You joke but black auras exist. Exceptionally rare. And those who have them are said to have unmatched magical power. But there hasn’t been one in almost a millennium.” Hollyhock scoffs.

“Well, who needs them? I say purple and orange are good enough, she suggests, offering her fist in a sign of hospitality. We touch knuckles lightly and she flashes a smile at me.

The assassin and trade stories as time goes by. I hardly notice the hour until she yawns loudly.

“I hope you don’t think I’m boring, but I’ve had an eventful twenty-four hours and I’m exhausted,” she says while standing. In an unexpected display of flexibility, she stretches her back and arms in one smooth motion. “Plus, if I learn any more about this magical world of yours, I think my head might explode,” she adds.

“This magical world of ours,” I remind her. “Magic has been around you all this time, you’ve just never known it.”

“Shit, you’re right...It would explain a thing or two I’ve seen.” She turns around and looks at me expectantly. I don’t know what she wants so I sit, raising an eyebrow at her.

“What?”

“You’re sitting on my bed,” she explains. I look down at the couch.

“You’re going to sleep here?”

“This ain’t a mansion and I only got one bed. You’re the guest so you get it.” She beckons me to rise with her hand. “Up, up, up!” The assassin demands. I stand, placing myself right in front of her.

“Don’t tell me the big, bad, Bay Leaf assassin is afraid to sleep in the same bed with a woman,” I tease. In Ironhenge, communal rest areas are common. Sleeping next to a total stranger isn’t unheard of, but I’m assuming it’s different here. She steps closer, her arms akimbo. I match her posture to further annoy her.

“I ain’t never been scared to sleep with a woman.” She raises her chin a bit and so do I. “How ‘bout you?”

“Yes, scared that she’s all talk and,” I step closer ”no action.” Our faces inches apart.

“I think you know.” Not to be outdone, the assassin closes the modest distance between us. Her chest brushing against mine. “I’m about that action.”

I may not know everything about this outside world, but flirting is universal. The room is silent but her actions say enough. She tries to keep a cool face but I catch those smoky quartz eyes of hers flit down to my lips. It’s only for a split second, but that’s all that needed in moments like these.

But moments like these are so easily disturbed, shattered by a knocking on her door.