by Emma Gomez
In the city of Lumenfall, magic wasn’t rare. It was regulated.
Every spell had to be registered, stamped, and signed off by the Guild before it could be used in public. Fire had paperwork. Illusions required permits. Even small charms, like keeping milk from spoiling, came with a fee and a warning label.
That’s why Lira never registered hers.
She kept her magic quiet, folded into ordinary things. A coin that always landed heads when she needed it. A locked door that forgot it had ever been locked when she touched it. A flicker of warmth in her hands when the nights got too cold.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing illegal enough to notice, unless someone was looking too closely.
Which, unfortunately, someone was.
A Guild inspector arrived on a rainy afternoon, coat sharp, eyes sharper. He stood in her tiny shop of repaired objects and broken clocks, scanning everything like it might confess.
“You’ve had unusual luck reports in this district,” he said.
Lira smiled politely. “People confuse coincidence with magic all the time.”
He didn’t smile back.
He placed a small glass orb on her counter. “This detects unauthorized enchantment. If there’s nothing here, it will remain clear.”
The orb was empty for a moment.
Then it shimmered, just enough to make the inspector’s expression change.
Lira sighed. “That’s embarrassing.”
He raised a brow. “You admit it?”
“I admit the orb works,” she said. “That’s not the same thing.”
The glass pulsed again, faintly warmer now, like it had recognized her.
The inspector stepped closer. “Unregistered magic is confiscated. You know the law.”
“I know the law,” she said softly. “I also know what happens when people don’t have small ways to fix their lives.”
A pause.
Outside, rain tapped the windows like impatient fingers.
The inspector looked at her hands, ordinary, ink-stained, steady.
“What is it you’re doing with it?” he asked.
Lira hesitated. Then she reached under the counter and pulled out a broken pocket watch. The glass was cracked. The hands had stopped years ago.
She turned it over gently.
“I give things a little more time,” she said.
The inspector didn’t speak.
Lira closed her fingers around the watch.
Very quietly, the second hand moved.
Once.
Then again.
The inspector stared at the orb. It had gone still.
“That’s it?” he asked.
Lira shrugged. “Most people think magic has to be loud to matter.”
He exhaled slowly, like he wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed or relieved.
After a long pause, he reached into his coat and withdrew a small form.
He slid it across the counter.
“You’ll need a minor-use permit,” he said.
Lira blinked. “Just that?”
He turned to leave. “Yeah. Just try not to make it interesting enough for me to come back.”
The bell above the door rang as he stepped into the rain. Lira looked down at the form. Then at the pocket watch. It ticked once more in her palm.
Not all magic needed to change the world, she thought.
Some of it just needed to give it another minute.
Art by Josh Lippet, “Living“
About the Author
Emma loves knitting almost as much as she loves writing. She enjoys the rhythm of both, stitching yarn into patterns and words into stories.