You have written entire accords,I tell myself.You can manage a little note.
I flip to a clean sheet and begin to write.
To any paper mage who is reading this…
The words wobble. The letters lean drunkenly, as if they are wearing someone else’s shoes. My hand cramps halfway through the sentence, muscles protesting this strange, physical version of a task I once did by thought alone—ink coaxed into perfect lines with a flick of will.
I pause, appalled.
Paper mages are fussy about many things, but our handwriting is practically a religion. If any of them saw this scrawl…
I tear the page out, fold it twice, and tuck it to the back of the pad like a shameful secret.
“Absolutely not,” I mutter, flexing my aching fingers. “We are not starting our request for assistance withthat.”
I draw a steadying breath, adjust my grip, and try again. Slower this time. My hand still shakes, but the lines smooth out. The letters start to look likemineinstead of a stranger’s—still imperfect, still too human, but recognisable.
In neat handwriting—neat enough, at least—I write:
To any paper mage who is reading this,
My name is Harper. I am a paper mage, and I am being held by the Ministry of Magic. I need help.
It is strange that I can ask perfect strangers for help, yet I cannot bring myself to ask my friends. The human condition is odd at times; in this instance, though, I am seeking professional assistance—paid tenfold—instead of putting the people I care about at risk.
They do not need to know my entire story, but I know that we paper mages are inherently nosy, and they will get the message.
I close the notepad and set it back on his desk.
It does not matter if Lander finds the note; it will already be too late.
Paper mages are extraordinarily powerful. Because in this century they act as impartial keepers of records, and are exempt from prosecution and sector rules: no law binds us, and no one is foolish enough to try. We may live wherever we choose.
When I studied the treaty, I discovered why. Paper mages were granted full diplomatic immunity precisely because they work with every derivative. Every official document in the country is passed through their hands.
Though we are magic users—and should, in theory, fall under the Magic Sector—we remain neutral, drafting contracts for vampires and shifters alike. Those contracts are so airtight that breaking them can be fatal. Everyone knows better than to cross a paper mage.
Perhaps I have started a tug-of-war between a powerful faction and the Ministry; if either discovers who I truly am—and how much power I hold—things will become interesting.
I will fight for my freedom if I must, using their own lawsagainst them.
Ten minutes pass before Lander returns.
“Come on,” he says, beckoning. “The interview can wait.”
I hop from the chair and follow him through more corridors. After five minutes, he stops, opens another door.
“You’ll stay here.”
I do not ask where ‘here’ is. I step inside.
An apartment, with the kitchen to the left, a generous L-shaped sofa, a bedroom and a bathroom to the right. Double doors open onto a courtyard paved with white tiles; colour splashes everywhere in pots and hanging baskets. Not all black, thank the stars.
“No food in the cupboards,” he says. “I’ll bring something shortly. Anything in particular?”
“I am not fussy. Whatever is easiest. Thank you.”
He nods. “All right. Get some rest.”
