*Wattys Winner 2022*
Charles Abbot is finally living the life he has always dreamed of. At only 25, he has managed to turn his unique magical ability of copying memories into a profitable business. However, his comfortable life is shattered when he...
A young blonde girl was crying in the middle of the street.
Mud spattered her face and britches. Her tangled hair fell in messy clumps around her reddened cheeks.
None of the high-class folks spared her a second look. A child alone without their mother? That would normally be a cause for concern. But a poor child without their mother? That was just a reality of the day.
And so no one paid her any heed... except for the woman with shining black skin who lurked in the shadows. A thief.
The thief stared at the little girl for a long time before finally approaching her.
"You all right?" she asked quietly.
The blonde child looked up at her with wide, shining eyes. "N-no. I can't find my mother." She pointed towards an alley. "She told me to wait here for her... said she had to do something. But... it's been hours. And I haven't eaten anything all day and I'm... I'm scared... I'm scared something..." She started crying again.
The thief didn't say anything for a while. She stared at the little girl, then glanced around uncomfortably. "I don't know where your mother is, but I can get you something to eat."
"You can?"
She nodded and reached for the little girl's hand. "Come on—" she started to say, but suddenly her words were cut off.
Had anyone been paying attention, they would have seen the thief's eyes bulge and her fingers claw at her throat. They also would have noticed that the little girl was no longer crying. Instead, she was moving her fingers like a puppeteer.
The thief let go of the girl's hand and started to run, but her gait was clumsy from the lack of air and she stumbled straight into the arms of a well-to-do gentleman.
"Are you all right?" the man asked, surreptitiously waving an uncorked vial of silver liquid under her nose.
The thief only responded by collapsing more fully into his arms.
The blonde girl walked over to the man. "Oh dear," she said, "looks like she's fainted, Mister Abbot. We should call a carriage and take her home."
"My dear Juliette," Charles said, pocketing the sleeping potion with a smile, "that is such a considerate idea! Let us do just that!"
And that was how the gentleman and the child captured the thief and no one saw a thing.
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An hour later, Charles was sitting in the parlor with James and Juliette, watching the lightning cage as if it were some sort of spectacle.
Juliette had crafted it with her magick—after she had taken a proper bath and washed the mud out of her hair, of course. The cage was made entirely of lightning, and the bolts sputtered, sparked, and hissed, casting crazy colors across the parlor walls and ceiling.
