How did it start? It started about a year, and eight or nine months ago–eight months, it was September. It started with a crime, a crime of all things. I took one of my regular walks to the local library. I’d taken to physical books when the doc said that I should stay off of screens before bed. I put my books in the return slot and went to browse the shelves. I was browsing the fantasy section as usual, when I saw it. I felt inexplicably drawn towards it. I think I was scared. Scared of stagnating. A little voice nagged at me. It said that I needed to be more, do more, to understand who I was; that I just needed to get on with my life and live it: that I needed to stop worrying so much. My worry was the reason why I stole the book. It was an introductory book on wizardry.

  Magic wasn’t outlawed, but it was regulated. You needed a license to study and use it. Sorta like how you needed a license to buy a gun or drive a car or fish in certain places. In retrospect, I should have just checked it out. It would have been a bit taboo, but I don’t think the librarian would have cared. Oh well. I slipped it into my bag and left after checking out my books. I went to my stretch of the local woods to practice.

  I started small at first. Just simple little spells. Hardly more than light and glitter–smoke and mirrors. I went out to the woods about once a week to practice and work on my fort. It was only a toy at first. Like a yo-yo or a three by three. Something to play with for a while and then drop. Then three things happened.

  First, I started to get good at it. Really good. I was slinging magic missiles like David, and firin’ fireballs like Goliath. I was jumpin’ high in the air and catching myself with ease. I was fast on my feet and light as a feather. I reached a point where I was spending more time making targets than blowin’ them up. I began to memorize and master the basics: every incantation, every motion, every spell.

  Second, I started having dreams? delusions? visions? Fantasies seem apt–if not a bit on the nose. I started imagining I was a wizardess. Her life was easy. She floated through it, freely and with ease. She was effortlessly pretty; she turned heads when she walked through the street. Her jet black hair cut sharp lines into her ruby red cloak. I was addicted. I started going out to my fort twice a week and then four times a week and then almost every day after school I could. Though there was a clear separation–at least in the beginning–between me and her. I was a guy and I knew it. I liked lifting heavy things, fucking about in the woods, nerdy video games, superheroes, and other guy stuff. It was just a product of my bisexuality, right?

  Third, he showed up. He appeared behind me, watching me during one of my usual practice sessions. He took a step forward deliberately crunching the thick carpet of dead autumn leaves. “You’re really quite good for an amateur you know.” My head swiveled immediately to face him. I stared at him like a deer in headlights. Panic set in; I was instantly sick to my stomach. He wore a periwinkle denim cloak and had a goatee with a long curly mustache and a short but thick beard under his chin. His most recognizable feature was his grey-stormcloud eyes which in that moment shined like silver. It was none other than the legendary archmage and the father of modern magic: Jack Baneheart.

  “Relax kid, I’m not here to rat on you. I actually came here to ask you a favor.” He paused briefly to gauge my reaction and then continued when it wasn’t anything but surreal denial. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the recent jailbreak in Ceromaunt.--” Ceromaunt was a large city where Medusa Maximum Security Prison for Magical Menaces was located. “--Normally it would be my job to round up those dangerous evildoers, but I have a potentially earth shattering prophecy I need to keep a very close eye on for the next while, so I can’t. I’ve been looking for some young talent to get a start on it for me and I think you might be a good fit.”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  I hardly managed to stammer out, “But si-sir Ceromaunt on the other side of the country.”

  He tossed me a whistle which was shining and glittering with magical energy: “This is tracking the energy signatures of the escaped criminals. Just blow into it and it will instantaneously teleport you to their locations. When the job is done it will send you home.”

  “I’ll do it,” I responded, gripping my fist with determination. I didn’t exactly know where my sudden conviction came from; I didn’t know a lot of things about myself back then.

  “Great. Just know that what you’re doing isn’t exactly legal. I’ll pay for you a disguise and I’ll get an alibi for your parents,” Archmage Baneheart responded.

  He met me a week later and got me $200 for my disguise–he said to, “Get creative with it, since it’s the season and all,”--and he explained to me that he had one of his underlings set me up with an internship at the local library which I could use as cover. That Definitely didn’t cause me any problems later.

  I scoured various stores, costume shops, pop up chains, strip malls, eBay, and Amazon until at last I assembled my costume. A vermilion cloak, a jet black wig, a black shirt-dress combo that went down to my knees, leggings, a voice modulator mask, split toe boots, and a big purple witch hat. For the last part of my costume I called my goth best friend Terry, “I have an emergency.”

  “What kind, man?”

  “Gay-Wizard Emergency. Just…can I come over.”

  “Yeah, just come in through my back window. This sounds too urgent for my Mom’s small talk to slow you down.”

  “Thanks man.”

  I hopped his fence and slid through his window into his basement bedroom. He held up our favorite album and asked, “Cork Tree?” I nodded and he put it on the record player. I spilled my guts to him…he took a few moments to process what the fuck I had just said, “So where do I fit into all this,” he asked.

  “I need a makeup guy,” I appealed.

  “Just put on your suit. I gotta see what I’m working with.”

  “Were you gonna watch or…”

  “I Guess I’ll turn around Juuust for your sake.”

  I got changed and announced that he could look. He instantly asked, “Are you sure you’re cis,” his voice was soaked in sarcasm.

  “Shut up; also no, but we can discuss that later.”

  He sat me down on his rollie desk chair and got to work. When he finished he held a hand mirror up to my face. I was stunned, startled, speechless. My eye bags were gone, my lashes were all done up, my eyebrows were black and not quite so bushy, and my eyelids were a reddish-orange color which complimented my outfit nicely. I felt so…pretty. “Thank you,” I said in a feminine voice thanks to the modulator mask.

  I heard footsteps all of the sudden: “Sweetie, who's in there with you,” his mom asked. I panicked and felt my hand drawn to the flute in my pocket. I pulled it out and he gave me The Nod?. “Nobody Mom. It was just a meme I saw,” he shouted back, throwing my clothes into his laundry basket and shutting the window. I blew into the flute and was whisked away like a fart on the breeze.