“Sit your ass down, Riordan, and pay attention,” Frankie snapped, gesturing to one of the plush armchairs in the front room of her workshop. She’d intercepted Riordan before he could go do more meditation or energy moving or whatever it was he was managing to do to get more in touch with his current magic.

Still, annoyed at the change of plans or not, Riordan sat. He wasn’t dumb enough to ignore Frankie.

“How is your magic looking?” Frankie asked first.

Riordan shrugged. “I’m getting a better sense of the changes, but it’s still fucked up. My magic is all riled up and stormy after everything. The meditation’s helping when I can get it to work.”

Frankie nodded as if that was what she expected. Riordan wasn’t sure if she actually expected that, given he’d never heard of anyone going through this kind of change to their magical system, or if Frankie was just being accepting about the way things were.

Either way, she certainly sounded sure of herself when she said, “Then it is paramount you pick your paradigm now.”

Riordan blinked, trying to translate that into something practical and failing. “...What?”

Frankie leaned back in her chair, watching him carefully. “How do you think magic works, Riordan?”

Okay, so this was going to be one of those conversations. “Our souls gather energy. Our intention uses it to make changes on the world.”

“So magic works by thinking about it very hard?”

“No, that’s-- Intention is about will and focus, which are part of thinking, but more… instinctive? It’s the soul that guides magic, not the mind.”

“Is it? And with that instinctive method, how do you get a specific effect?”

Riordan opened his mouth to answer, paused, and closed it. He sat back slowly, mirroring Frankie’s body language and making himself stop reacting to her questions and really think about them. Frankie looked pleased at the change in his posture, but otherwise waited patiently for his answer.

“Intention is instinctive and emotional, messy and not entirely conscious,” Riordan said slowly, trying to find words for what he felt was true. “It is a desire, a wish, a prayer. Language limits intention, defining the boundaries of the wish with words, but words are lacking. Relying on language and conscious thought removes the potential of the intention, which is in itself a whole thing, a whole… concept laid forth at once. Intention is the language of the soul, I guess. Maybe I think that way because I’m a shifter, but it seems right.”

Frankie nodded in acknowledgement. “So you have this prayer you lay forth to the magic. What happens next?”

“Depends,” Riordan said wryly. “Either the magic does its best to grant the whole messy, contradictory intention, or there have to be limits placed. I think trying to cage intention with words is like taking a butterfly and pinning it to a board. It gets the job done, but the spell is dead. It’ll never again be more than that one thing.”

“Is it such a problem if a spell only creates a single reliable effect?”

Riordan growled slightly before waving a hand, annoyed at his struggle translating his feelings about magic into concrete words. Except, that was the whole thing, wasn’t it? Magic could be a tool, reduced to rules and spells and limits, but Riordan had walked and talked with spirits. He’d never again be able to imagine a magic that was so… sterile.

“It’s not bad, exactly. It’s too...small.”

“Small?” Frankie said, intrigued.

“We ask for change with our intention, right?” Riordan tried to explain. “If I limited my intention with words to the point that magic only did what I thought it should, then I have made the scope of magic potential smaller. Just look at me. What happened to me would have been impossible with spells. Not because magic can’t do it, but because we ask too small with normal spells. It’s not flexible enough to encompass everything.”

“You have also ended up with several non-inconsequential side effects. When we first met, you had ruptured your soul trying to break free of Phenalope’s track spell and were dying. Is that worth attempting the impossible?”

Riordan shrugged. “Yes. No. It’s-- Look, I was partially able to do so much, both good and bad, because unusual circumstances placed me in the spirit realm, where my view on magic is especially effective, if dangerous. I think what I’m trying to say is that if limits need to be placed on intention, they shouldn’t be placed on what could happen, but used to define what can’t happen.”

Frankie’s brows shot up. “Conditional casting?”

“Is that what it’s called? I have no idea. I just mean that I don’t know the best way to accomplish an effect, but I know some ways that would be terrible. Maybe all my bad ideas and poor choices are finally paying off in terms of experience with negative potential.”

“So if you structured a spell, you would use the spell structure to create channels, like a river bank, and then you’d let the magic flow through it?”

Riordan let that mental image sit in his head. It didn’t quite match what he was feeling. “Maybe less a river bank and more a garden hose. Flexible, aimable, and if you stick your finger over the end of it, you can change the way the water comes out. Lots of wiggle room, but still mostly controlled. My limits need to be adaptable.”

“So a spell needs to be crafted for each situation, with limitations on side effects that can be added or removed?” Frankie offered.

“Yeah, basically. Though crafted isn’t quite the right word. The positive effects of the spell would be more freeform intention and instinct. The negative effects would be bounded and restricted by the interchangeable limitations.”

“That would be quite flexible if you can manage it,” Frankie replied, “Though likely inefficient and you will still have additional side effects.”

Riordan wasn’t sure what he thought of that. He hated the feeling of brute forcing his way through magical issues. It was inefficient, inelegant, insane, a whole bunch of in-somethings that made him admire Quinn’s frugal magic.

“Do you think practice would help with those things?” Riordan asked.

“Absolutely,” Frankie replied without hesitation. “Instinctive casting, whether modified conditionally or not, relies on how well you have trained those instincts.”

“Instincts are something inherent though. How do you train that? Are they still instincts then?” Riordan frowned, disliking the word choice.

“Honed might be a better word than trained. Basically, with practice and experience, your ability to clearly encapsulate and define your intention improves, becoming less, as you put it, messy and contradictory. That will reduce side effects and increase efficiency.”

That concept meshed with Riordan’s feelings better and he relaxed slightly. She was basically talking about getting better at communicating with magic without emotionally rambling, which, yeah, would definitely reduce wasted effort.

“So, why are you asking all of this anyway?” Riordan asked.

“Because you are laying your foundations for magic, Riordan, and a good foundation is easier to build if you have a sense of what you are building towards.”

“Oh.”

Fuck, what could he say to that? She was right. Despite his best intentions, Riordan was still approaching magic with all the delicacy of a bull in a china shop. He just didn’t know enough to even begin to tackle these issues on his own. He had no idea what questions were the right ones to ask.

Which was why Frankie was asking them. Riordan wasn’t used to having an actual teacher for this shit. Especially a teacher who taught by asking the right questions rather than forcing their answers on him.

“What kind of shaman do you want to be, Riordan?” Frankie prompted, opening a new line of future thinking.

Riordan winced. He’d thought about this a few times, but his answer was still murky. He gave her what he had. “Not a head shaman. I know that much. And nothing that is about politics or diplomacy or psychology. I’ll work with people when I need to, but I don’t like it and I’m not good at it. If my-- my death magic is what it appears, then I’ll need to do what Quinn does, or something like that, because someone has to and it would be selfish to leave it to others if it doesn’t have the same side effects for me. But I don’t want that to be all I do or not even necessarily the main thing I do.”

“Hmm,” she acknowledged, nodding, “Do you still wish to be a soldier?”

That was another identity issue that Riordan grappled with, but it was at least easier to answer. “I don’t think I can be anymore. I’ll always be a fighter, physical or otherwise, and I’m not going to ignore my combat experience. A soldier answers to a command structure though. A mercenary works for pay, taking other people’s jobs. I need more control so that I don’t deny my personal responsibility anymore.”

“So not a combat shaman and likely not a subordinate shaman either, not unless you had another shaman you genuinely trusted.”

Riordan tilted his hand from side to side. “I want to learn combat magic, but it’s not what I want to do as my primary role. I just get the feeling it’s going to come up, especially if cleaning up death magic and death mages is one of the things I do. I could work with another shaman if I got to be in charge of my own assignments, at least when it came to the important stuff. I don’t mind doing magical chores for a pack--someone has to--but I don’t want to be prevented from doing what is necessary and right either.”

“So you do want to be in a pack?”

Riordan felt confused. That seemed like it should be obvious. “I’m a shifter.”

Frankie smirked at him. “And all shifters are exactly the same? Yes, most of us need a pack bond to remain healthy, but you’ve proven that you are capable of being on your own for long periods of time. And as you’ve pointed out, you aren’t a people person.”

Those were… fair points, but still somehow painful. Riordan let himself sit with that reaction for a moment before saying quietly, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Frankie’s smirk faded and she nodded, her eyes serious but not unkind. “No one should be alone if they don’t want it.”