Coincidence was poison. People detected patterns, detected causes and effects, even where none existed. Certain numbers were lucky. Others, unlucky. Talismans—say, rabbit’s feet or eye-shaped necklaces—would ward against evil. Knocking on wood was good, breaking mirrors was bad… the list seemed endless, and, even worse, arbitrary. Al almost empathized with skeptics who dismissed it all. Coincidence often meant nothing, often fed paranoia. Insanity often followed.

Still, events could connect in unusual ways. Bram, researching occult topics, once explained the concept of meaningful coincidences, of unusually connected events. That concept was called synchronicity.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Bram spoke of Humpty and, as if conjured, Humpty appeared. Al considered several explanations. Rumors were already spreading; without them, Bram would never have mentioned Vell’s suicide ghost. Given that, this encounter wasn’t so unusual. It arguably wasn’t even coincidental. Still—

“Uh, hey? Are you paying attention? That’s the wrong arm.”

He looked. Humpty was correct. Al tore off the limb, then shoved it into the opposite joint. Five stumpy fingers wiggled.

“Ah, much better.”

Glancing around the alley, Al continued his task. No one was nearby. Something fluttered overhead, perhaps a bird. He ignored it. Distantly, Vell buzzed with noise; he heard fragments of conversation, brief snippets carrying an obvious warning. Any moment, someone could arrive. They’d find him, kneeling, grasping at the air, and assume insanity or—well, the specifics were irrelevant. They’d interrupt his lead, his newest chance to interrogate the supernatural. He hurried.

Al grabbed another piece. The limb shuddered against his palm, its presence flickering like an ember on the cusp of snuffing out. Humpty was weak. His Anchor was likely the culprit.

Ghosts haunted specific locations: that was the popular belief. Technically, they haunted specific objects—or Anchors—that bound their existence. Wandering away from said Anchors would weaken them, forcing an eventually retreat. Lingering around, however, would strengthen them. Al recalled the previous night’s investigation, recalled the voice and the mirror. He recalled breaking the Anchor and releasing the spirit.

Briefly, Al also recalled that ghosts were weakened within the presence of multiple people, though neither Bram nor he knew why.

He continued working. Fixing Humpty was like solving a jigsaw puzzle; as pieces fit, the process accelerated until everything fell into place. Al admired his handiwork, then stepped back. The ghost stood.

“Not bad,” said Humpty, wobbling on his feet. “That took forever and I was snoozing near the end, but somehow someway you fixed me up! You’re much smarter than you look!”

“Thanks, I think?” He paused, looking down at the specter.

Humpty flickered with transparency. Although Al wasn’t particularly tall, he towered over Humpty, the ghost reaching half his height. During moments of stability, Al noticed the ghost wore a suit. Well, wore wasn’t quite right. Rather, the suit seemed plastered on, possibly carved directly from his body. He resembled a wooden puppet. Humpty was short, round, pale; put bluntly, the specter looked like an egg.

Al hesitated. “What do I look like, anyway?”

Humpty squinted and stared. Moments passed. Finally, he spun around, stopped, and knocked his head twice. “Like a real blockhead!”

Al frowned while Humpty roared with laughter. This continued until the egghead fell backward and flailed and begged for help, despite clearly being helpless. Al almost refused.

Patience, he reminded himself. He needed this lead. He might never get another.

“Why did you jump off that building?” Al asked, before assisting the ghost.

“Oh, that?” Humpty looked away. “I didn’t—actually, why wouldn’t I? And if you were smart, you would too, Mister—uh, who are you?”

“Al.”

“Just Al? Okay. You see, Mister Al, I wasn’t slacking, not in the slightest! I was vigilant, looking anywhere and everywhere, when I suddenly found myself swept up and struck down. The wind—no, the magpies! Yes, the magpies conspired against me, knocking me off my post! I’m a victim of circumstance, believe me!”

Al neither understood nor believed him. “I believe you. So, the wind—”

“The magpies—”

“Right. The magpies knocked you down. I believe you.” Al sighed. “Okay, but why were you up there? You mentioned looking for something?”

Humpty nodded. “I’ve been looking for Vell. Say, could you help me look?”

Could ghosts suffer concussions? It seemed increasingly likely.

“We’re already within Vell City. Deep within, actually. Did you not notice?”

“Oh. Oh, right. Apologies then. Sorry for all the trouble,” Humpty mumbled. The egghead quieted.

Al weighed his options. Breathing deeply, he inhaled night’s humid air. Investigations were rarely straightforward. His hopes for Humpty as an information source had diminished somewhat, but, in all honesty, Al hadn’t seriously considered encountering the specter. His nightly walks within Vell were just habit, just desperation. If anything, Al was lucky. He had expected nothing.

Still, opportunities to interrogate the supernatural were rare. Al wouldn’t waste this chance.

“Hey, Humpty?”

“Yes?”

“The skyscraper you fell from,” Al gestured towards the building, then approached its locked door. “Am I right in assuming your Anchor is near the rooftop?”

“Oh, you know about all that!” Humpty laughed. “Yes, that’s right! I considered asking but wasn’t sure you’d understand. I’d greatly appreciate a bit of help. Truth be told, I’m starting to feel faint.”

Al nodded, then withdrew his amulet. “I’ll lead you back. In return, however, I’d like you to answer a few questions. Sound fair?”

“Fair enough. Ask away.”

“Alright.” Gently, Al’s amulet tapped the lock. Click. “For starters, why were you looking for Vell City? Was your Anchor moved recently?”

“Perceptive, aren’t you? Yes, that’s right, I’ve been shuffled around recently. You wouldn’t believe how cruel my maker is, planting my Anchor in high places and forcing me to look for all sorts of things,” Humpty grumbled.

How clever. Al pondered the implication: an Anchor’s location, depending on the spirit, could severely limit movement. While certain spirits existed as disembodied voices, freely floating within their Anchor’s radius, others manifested with set shapes. They, as Humpty had demonstrated, were also subject to gravity. So, Humpty’s Anchor was elevated to prevent horizontal movement and trap him within the vertical, confining him to the skyscraper. Al was impressed by the shrewdness involved. He, however, didn’t miss the obvious question.

“Your maker?” Al asked, now grasping the door handle. Warmth lingered from earlier sunlight. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Oh, I was right then! Well, to keep things simple, maker means maker. The person that made me.” Humpty wobbled closer, then hesitated. “Uh, I’m not sure the title will mean much, but sure, I’ll ask the question. By any chance, have you ever met a Magician?”

***

“…yes, you’re exactly right! They are selfish by default,” Humpty exclaimed. “You really understand the absurdity of it all, don’t you, Mister Al? I’m sure the Mages you’ve met have given you plenty of grief.”

Al laughed. “Something like that.”

The duo chatted as the elevator ascended. The rhythmic ding…ding…ding… was almost welcome, its regular beats signaling the approaching rooftop. Humpty had kept his word, responding to Al’s questions. The answers weren’t perfect, and Humpty’s knowledge was lacking, but, fortunately, that didn’t matter. Humpty knew enough. The spirit knew his maker was a Magician, knew she lived within Vell’s northern area. He didn’t know the address, but he could identify the building housing her workshop. All Humpty needed was an overlooking view—for example, the skyline visible from the skyscraper’s apex.

Shifting topics, Al asked about ghosts and how they functioned. Humpty admitted he was mostly clueless.

“That isn’t fair, I think,” Humpty responded. “Why would I know everything about ghosts and spirits? I doubt you understand the inner workings of living humans, despite being one yourself.”

Al shrugged. “True. Still, you’ve met your maker. If she knows how to craft spirits from scratch, then shouldn’t she have explained—”

“She never explains anything! She moves my Anchor from building to building, commanding me to look for this and that, always trapping me far from anything fun. I almost enjoy my occasional stumbles. At least it’s a change of pace,” Humpty ranted. After brief silence, he continued. “You know, Mister Al, I can’t quite understand you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Well, initially I mistook you for an outsider, just another bystander among Vell’s crowds. That can’t be right. You can see me. You know about Anchors, know enough magic to unlock doors. You’ve also got that strange barrier around your head. I don’t really understand. Are you a Magician, or not?”

Al hesitated. “I’m not,” he admitted.

Humpty shrugged, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

The elevator stopped. Al stepped forward, guiding Humpty through the uppermost floor. They passed door after door, navigating dusty halls before reaching the final flight of stairs. The last barrier stood before them, locked as usual. Click. Al opened their exit.

Nothing seemed different. Al reunited with the familiar setting, the maze of iron boxes—mostly fans and ventilation ports—that formed narrow corridors underneath night’s open air. Gusts of wind, courtesy of the skyscraper’s height, blasted him, ruffling his hair while mixing brief hits of cold with summer’s heat. Humpty wobbled beside him, nearly falling over. Well, that’s one mystery solved. Nevertheless, Al followed his usual path, leading them beyond the machinery and toward the rooftop’s railing.

Something fluttered nearby.

“Hey, Humpty,” said Al, glancing around. “Didn’t you mention something about magpies?”

“Oh yes, yes I did! Avoid them, Mister Al, those conniving devils are always active, always ready to snitch and steal! Why, if I could only get my hands on those feathery bastards, I’d…”

While Humpty rambled, Al thought back. He’d never noticed birds perching here despite his regular visits. Are magpies even nocturnal? The city’s overflowing light could have broken their usual patterns, yet the situation still struck him as odd. Ghosts and magpies, both appearing in the same place on the same night. Coincidences happened, but Al couldn’t help but wonder if they were connected, if they somehow spawned from the same trigger.

“…and furthermore, all magpies should be stuffed into pies, you see—”

“Humpty,” Al interrupted. “Forget about the birds, shouldn’t you focus on finding your Anchor?”

“Oh, that? No worries, I already feel restored. No need searching for it now. Plus, you know, I can’t exactly search while you’re here. Can’t risk having it tampered with. I’m doomed if I lose it.”

“Right. Well, there’s the skyline. Get searching.” Al pointed forward.

Beyond rusted railing was Vell’s northern district, the territory containing Al’s target. Grasping iron, he steadied himself and observed. This was his vantage point, the point where Vell ended its upward assault and yielded to boundless space. This was his observation point, the point where, in observing everything, he searched for something—anything—that would break his cycle of daily boredom.

Observation sustains the Cosmos. In observing everything, Vell sustains its world.

Yesterday’s investigation had been pointless. Every investigation had been pointless. A wall separated the mundane from the magical, preventing all from entering. His grandfather’s notes were mostly useless: pages upon pages of nonsense had revealed little. Hunters and islands and moon gates, few things mentioned aided him. Nothing his grandfather had granted him, not even his amulet, unlocked the barrier before him. Nothing nudged him closer to his goal. Nothing, until tonight.

Humpty hopped onto the railing, wobbled, and began falling forward. Al caught the ghost’s arm, gripping it tightly. His left hand still grasped iron. The space within his right lacked all feeling.

“Ah, thank you!” said Humpty, now searching.

Several moments passed.

“Hey, Humpty,” Al began, suddenly curious. “You never mentioned your maker’s name. Do you know it?”

Humpty mumbled something.

“Huh? Repeat that, louder this time,” said Al. “What, worried about saying her name? It isn’t cursed or anything, is it?” He laughed.

“No, not cursed. Just unusual. She…doesn’t…” Humpty trailed off, voice faltering.

“Doesn’t what?”

Humpty mumbled again. Al continued asking, picking apart the jumbled speech over and over, slowly extracting word after word, nearing something resembling a complete explanation. An argument broke out. Al tried understanding, asking if something prevented Humpty from speaking.

“No! Nothing! Listen, Mister Al, I… I don’t…”

Another argument. Finally, Humpty conceded. Gathering himself, the ghost hesitated. Al waited—

Everything stopped. Existence flipped; up became down became up became still, gravity slammed bones and blood into place. Vell pulsed, its heartbeat slowing while Al’s accelerated. Vision went white. Hearing vanished, replaced with pressure that throbbed painfully, his head nearly splitting from something forcing him apart. Within that moment, eternity existed. On the brink of collapse, Al forced himself together.

Breathe.

Paralyzed, body burning, Al’s vision flickered.

Breathe!

Lungs expanding, air moving, Al recovered his senses. He didn’t stumble. He didn’t fall. He was fine.

“Alright, I’ll tell you,” said Humpty. “Just promise not to laugh.”

Al blinked. “What was that?”

“I said I’ll tell you. Just please, please, Mister Al, don’t laugh, don’t giggle, don’t tease, don’t taunt. I doubt she’ll hear you from here, unless someone passes along the message, but still. Promise not to laugh, and I’ll tell you. Deal?”

“Okay,” said Al, glancing around. “Uh, Humpty, did you see something strange?”

“Something strange? Oh, you’ve spotted a magpie, haven’t you! Steady yourself, Mister Al, those fiends won’t hesitate when striking. Stay sharp, otherwise we’ll both tumble over!”

“You didn’t see anything? Feel anything? Nothing at all?”

“Hmm,” Humpty pondered. “Well, the wind feels slightly faster. Don’t worry, Mister Al, just keep me stable. I’ve nearly pinpointed her domain.”

Nothing had changed. Something was different. Faint fuzziness played with his vision, quickly subsiding, leaving him unusually calm. Wind passed through his hair. Hallucinations were ruled out automatically. Al couldn’t hallucinate, his memory always recorded stark reality. Therefore, whatever feeling passed over him must have occurred from some outside source, supernatural or otherwise. Al wasn’t prone to fainting, and he hadn’t stumbled; Humpty had noticed nothing. Al had detected something. One possibility crossed his mind: had he sensed something that existed beyond the ghost’s perception?

Often, others assumed the natural and supernatural, should the latter exist, split evenly among two worlds, two realities, and that whoever accessed the supernatural would inherently perceive everything contained there. Al knew better. Perception demanded training, improving gradually, eventually allowing access to higher realities. That rule applied to all, even ghosts, even to Al’s memory. Al only recorded the reality he partook in.

Wait. That meant—

“I found it!” Humpty shouted, hopping once, pointing ahead. “Look, look, right there!”

Al shook his head. “Where? Next to the casino?”

“Close, but not quite. See those condos? See that building beside them, the one still under construction?”

He squinted. Humpty pointed past various structures, pointed past apartments and roof gardens, directing Al towards the horizon. Vell was impossible to contain within one view. Squinting harder, leaning forward, Al spotted it. A building missing its roof. The Magician’s domain. He memorized the shape and location, knowing that, should he somehow forget, his recorded memories would provide backup. He leaned back, helping Humpty down from the railing.

“When you arrive,” said Humpty, “Knock thrice upon the door, wait, then knock twice more. You might be greeted with silence. No worries! I would recommend knocking again, much more than thrice, very loudly, while shouting her name several times. That usually wakes her up.” Humpty extended his hand. “Good luck, Mister Al.”

“Thanks, Humpty. I’ll tell her you’ve been vigilant, maybe mention that you need a break,” said Al, extending his own hand.

They shook.

“Hold on,” said Al, nearly ready to depart. “You still haven’t told me her name.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I’ll tell you, just please remember my warning…”

So, Humpty told him. Al bit back a smirk.

***

…I’m heading out right now, no point waiting for another night. I think the Mage will be reasonable. Here’s a rough location and directions…

Waiting within the elevator, Al messaged Bram. His phone indicated the time: half-past midnight. Al wondered where Bram was around now, wondered whether he would respond before Al encountered the Mage. His determination wouldn’t falter. Tonight was the night, and Al would move forward alone if necessary. The elevator continued its descent.

His mind wandered. Naturally, it gravitated towards that something felt while Humpty searched. Ideas were considered. One explanation seemed increasingly reasonable and, pondering it, Al slowly became convinced. Perception could be trained. Perception could widen, opening senses to realities beyond those experienced by others, realities beyond even low-level spiritual forces, forces like Humpty.

Within that moment, Al’s perception had exploded. His answer contained another question.

Why?