Stars Rise

IV. Frost and Fog

Like anyone the Fog twins had good childhood memories and bad, and a few that were both at the same time.

Those early memories like photographs remained only glimpses and snapshots: a family of four sitting around a kitchen table humming as they worked, a tune that occasionally turned to lyrics, to singing; a ring paced on a small hand and tears because it was scary when Mama reminded Malyssa and Daia every time to never, ever forget to take it off before leaving the table, leaving the kitchen; how the room felt warm and Mama and Dad kept the lights low sometimes, telling the girls no when they flipped the light switch.

With his smiling, chill way of keeping them from getting scared, Dad would keep his voice quiet and say, "There could be a camera we don't know about." Whispering, in case of microphones.

It wasn't that Mr. and Mrs. Alafoggiannis couldn't hold down a job. At times each had had three — it took that many to pay the rent, and zero of them had health insurance. Their first pregnancy brought twins, and the budget stretching thin for one now emptied their joint bank account. Diapers were damn expensive, and daycare when they both did work, and rent on the one-bedroom in the Inner Mission they had been holding down for the rent control and now seemed too small by far for two children and two grownups.

Only the jobs that used magic for a little advantage paid enough for them to get out — start their own business. A restaurant. Only the magic jobs kept their restaurant afloat.

Magical gigs were aplenty, but very illegal. Spells to multiply produce could end world hunger, but had been ruled illegal because of the unfair advantage it gave to point zero zero one percent of the population. And because of the other uses to which magicians could put their skills — currency manipulation, burglary, revenge killings, curses. Realistically, no one could stop a magician from doing anything she or he had learned to do and wanted to, but the blanket criminalization created a false sense of security and a level playing field.

Though it was difficult to catch and arrest a magician, once it was accomplished, officers of the law had learned, all that was necessary was to keep rings of any kind away. Without a ring, a magician had no power. It would be a terrible idea to sleep with a ring on because dreaming magicians could cast unconscious spells. And so, raids took place in the middle of the night. Magicians had no rights — cameras could be installed in their places of residence for a mere accusation of magic-use, allowing the officers to know exactly when they took their rings off.

After a long day of turning one apple into five hundred, one avocado into dozens, one potato into thirty crates, Mama and Dad would sit around in the dark teaching their daughters to help multiply produce to sell to grocers.

"Hold it in both hands and keep your eyes open," Talia Fog told her daughters. The bright red apple was so shiny it practically reflected little Dianthea's face; when she blinked, her doll lashes made shadows flash over the ruby skin.

"Try to notice every detail of the apple. Every dimple, every shade of red. Inhale it in, get its smell." Rosey, earthy, tangy, sugar. "Think about the soil it might haven fallen to when it left the tree and all its brothers and sisters around it, those left on the branch too. Now, you can't taste this one, because then every new apple we make will have a bite taken out of it." Mama gnawed toward Dian's little face and she giggled. "You can extrapolate from the smell, because smell amplifies taste anyhow."

Their whole lives she used big words even if her children wouldn't understand them yet.

"Imagine the flavor, remembering the taste of apples past. And that's all I can really tell you. Like all magic, you gotta discover how to do it yourself. Every spell is different for every magician — but it starts with creating a perfect, ideal copy of this first apple in your mind. Notice every detail, hold it in your mind's eye, and take a snapshot. Like capturing a photograph, or hitting print on a printer. All right now. Race your sister. Whoever produces a second apple first wins the prize. First to five gets a bonus."