"There's someone here to see you."

Shay looked up from his work just long enough to raise his eyebrows at the nervous intern that had come to bring him the news. Then he went back to the flask of pewter he'd been pouring over before the interruption. After thirty seconds, however, the intern still hadn't left.

"What do you want?" he asked. "I'm trying to get this finished."

"There's someone here to see you," the intern said again.

Shay shook his head. "No," he said. "There isn't."

The intern shuffled his feet uncertainly and pinched his face together in worry. He was a pudgy kid, late teens or early twenties, with a pudding bowl haircut and thick eyebrows. The worried look really wasn't doing him any favors. "I'm sorry," he said. "But he specifically asked for you."

Except that Shay was new to the city. He had cut ties with most of his friends when he moved, and his family was either dead or on another continent. It was extremely unlikely that someone had actually come to see him. "What was the name they gave you?" he asked, because the intern was even newer than him and hadn't had a chance to learn how things worked here yet.

"He didn't," the intern admitted. "He described you. I… suppose I could have made a mistake."

Shay put aside the flask and stepped out from behind his desk. "I'll go see what's going on," he said. "Get back to… whatever you're supposed to be doing."

"Getting coffee," the intern said glumly, and disappeared in the direction of the breakroom. Shay watched him go for half a second, then took the stairs down to the library. The stone steps curved around the perimeter of the tower, and by the time Shay reached the first floor he was both annoyed by the interruption and slightly dizzy. That was the problem with towers- they were traditional, sure, but the stairs were a pain and the stone walls kept it constantly cold inside.

Eventually, he reached ground level and walked across the thick stone floor to the security checkpoint near the door. It was half past two in the afternoon, and on most days this would have meant the whole ground floor was deserted, apart from the security guard that watched over the door. In fact, for a few seconds Shay thought it was still deserted- it wasn't until he was only a foot or two away that he heard voices and realized the guard wasn't alone.

"…think it's a little too big on you." That was obviously the guard's voice. He was a friendly enough guy, and possibly the closest thing to a friend Shay had managed to make in the half year since he'd moved to the city.

"It is not! I like it." That voice, on the other hand, was completely unfamiliar. It also obviously belonged to a child, possibly the first child Shay had ever seen in the tower.

"Can you even see anything while you're wearing it?"

"Nope!"

Shay rounded the corner to the sound of the small child giggling and the guard chuckling appreciatively. The child was maybe four or five years old, even smaller than Shay had expected, kneeling on the swivel chair behind the guard's desk and peeking out from under the brim of the guard's hat. It was in fact far too large for him, although judging by the size of his smile this didn't bother him at all. The guard was sitting on a folding chair next to the little boy, chuckling as the kid tried to adjust the hat to let himself see while wearing it.

"What exactly is going on here?" he asked slowly, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. "Gist?"

"Ah!" The guard turned to look at Shay, giving the kid's chair a little push as he did so. It spun around lazily a couple of times (the kid laughed like a mad thing), then settled, facing Shay. "Cormac, you have a visitor."

"What- the kid?"

Gist frowned. "You don't know him?"

"Never seen him before in my life." Shay looked around for somewhere to sit, and found a second folding chair leaning against the wall. He shook it out and sat down in front of the kid. For a second, he felt weirdly nervous; he didn't have any children of his own, no nephews or nieces or neighbor kids. This was very probably the first conversation he'd had with someone this young since he was a toddler himself. "Hi," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. "I'm Shay Cormac. I heard you've been looking for me."

The kid nodded, but in an absentminded kind of way- he was still preoccupied trying to fix his borrowed hat. "Yea!" he said. "I saw you."

"Um…" What was that supposed to mean? "You saw me and followed me? Why?"

The little boy finally gave up on the hat and pulled it off his head. Instead of handing it back to Gist, he hugged it close to his chest like a comfort blanket. "I didn't follow you," he said stubbornly. "I just saw you."

Shay looked pleadingly at Gist, hoping for some kind of guidance; were all small children this nonsensical? Gist returned the look with a meaningful nod, then leaned forward and tilted the child's chin up, just slightly so that Shay could see the boy's eyes. They were blue, and very, very pale. Gist didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. Those eyes explained everything.

"Oh," Shay said. Well then, that changed… everything. "Do you want to tell me more? About what you saw, maybe? Or just your name?"

"Arno," the boy said. He smiled shyly at Shay. "Arno Dorian."

"Arno." What was that, French? "What did you see me do, Arno?"

The kid took a deep breath, clutching the hat so tightly his fingers started to turn white. "You killed my daddy," he said. "Please tell me why."

-/-

There was no question of Shay going back to work after that. Arno wouldn't say anything else after accusing Shay of murder, so eventually Shay and Gist left him to amuse himself with the swivel chair and the guard hat, and shifted to the other side of the desk for an emergency consultation.

"Have you ever heard of this kid's dad?" Gist asked. He wasn't smiling, unusually for him.

"No," Shay said. He glanced sideways at Arno, then back to Gist. "I've never heard of anyone called Dorian."

"Not yet," Gist said.

"Yea," Shay agreed glumly. "Did you see his eyes?"

"Hard to miss," Gist said. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," Shay said firmly. "I'm going to send him home, and do my best to forget. I'm not a murderer."

"But Arno said-"

"I know what he said. That's why he has to leave. The less I know about him and his father, the less chance any of this has of coming true."

Gist nodded and pulled out his phone. "I'm looking him up," he said, thumbs already tapping his search into google. Shay craned his neck to watch what popped up. 'Arno Dorian' returned nothing but a few obviously unrelated results, but when Shay suggested Gist just search for Arno's last name, something popped up at once.

"Charles Dorian," Gist read aloud. "He's got his own Wikipedia article."

"So does that animated gecko that does commercials for car insurance," Shay said. "Everybody has a Wikipedia page these days."

"Not like this one," Gist said. His eyes scanned the page in quick, back and forth motions while Shay waited patiently for the security guard to finish the article. His attention wandered back to Arno, who was still watching Shay in absolute silence. It was… well, there was definitely something creepy about the way that kid kept staring. Probably it was the eyes.

"He's a high mage," Gist said at last, pulling Shay's attention back toward him. "Works with the government mostly, it looks like." He frowned and tapped his phone screen. "Most of the stuff he works on is really technical, you'd probably have a better chance of understanding it than me." He frowned at Shay.

"Let me see?"

Gist passed the phone over to Shay, who scanned it as well. The work listed there was extremely high level- Shay was impressed even before he got to the bottom and saw the last entry on the list. "He was the lead on the Aurum project," he said. "Holy shit."

Gist kicked at his ankle and jerked his head meaningfully toward Arno. Language. Right. "What's Aurum mean?"

"It's Latin for gold," Shay explained. "They were the ones that figured out the lead to gold thing."

"Oh." Gist looked impressed at that, which didn't surprise Shay- people had been trying to turn lead into gold since the field of alchemy was first formed, but it hadn't been until five years ago that a reliable method was actually discovered. Most alchemists were people like Shay, working in mage towers like this one on enhancing less interesting metals for durability, appearance, things like that. Turning one metal into another was a much more difficult skill, and lead to gold was… it was something else entirely.

"I'm surprised I've never heard of him before," Shay said.

"Some people like their privacy," Gist said. "Better to be unknown than have paparazzi chasing you around all the time." His eyes went back to Arno. "Especially if you have a kid to worry about."

"Yea," Shay said. "The kid."

The three of them stared at each other for a minute. "I can call his father if you want," Gist volunteered. "You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. Since Arno said… what he said."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

But he didn't leave, not quite yet. First, he sat down next to Arno and leaned forward slightly so that they were almost on eye level. Arno was so much shorter than Shay that it was impossible to get them exactly on the same level, but they were close now. "Arno?" Shay said. "We're going to call your dad now so he can come pick you up. But first I just want to tell you that I am never going to kill your father. Never."

"Yes you will." Arno sounded absolutely certain, which annoyed Shay slightly. "I saw it, so it's going to happen."

And the worst of it, Shay thought as he left Arno with Gist and hurried back upstairs, was that the kid was probably right. Someday, for some reason, he was going to kill a man he had never met. Because that was the thing about psychics- no matter how ridiculous their predictions sounded, they were usually right.

-/-

Christopher Gist had been through a lot in the first thirty five years of his life. He had faced down a wild tiger in a Chinese forest once, spent a month guarding a very strange man (Gist suspected he might have been a vampire) during a research expedition to the Bermuda Triangle, and fought a herd of zombies across the Scottish highlands (twice- that was the incident that first taught him to always burn all zombie corpses. Otherwise you just look like an ass when they come back when you're about to be paid).

This job was supposed to be a break. One year with nothing more exciting than alchemists and the occasional businessman from the company's executive board until he went to find something more interesting to do. But now there was a toddler psychic sitting in his chair, wearing his hat, and casually predicting the death of his father, who just so happened to be a high mage.

A high mage. There were like what, half a dozen of those guys in the entire world? Gist's father had once told him high mages had more magic in one pinky finger than most people had in their entire body. Gist wasn't any good at magic himself, but he was fairly sure that wasn't actually how magic worked. Still, it was a decent metaphor. High mages were in an entirely different class from… everyone else, basically. And this one had a psychic for a kid. Father and son dinners in that family must be fun.

"What's your dad like?" he asked eventually, turning in his chair to face Arno.

"I dunno," Arno said. "He's my daddy."

"Is he nice?"

"Yea." He smiled, but the expression didn't last long. "I'm gonna miss him."

"Are you sure?" Gist asked. "About Shay killing him?"

"I saw it," Arno said. His voice sounded tired and suddenly old. "This morning, I had a vision, and I saw him kill daddy. So… I had to come see."

"Why? Did you want to try and stop him?"

"That's not how it works when I see stuff. Sometimes I try to change it, but it makes stuff worse."

"So… why?"

The boy looked like he was about to answer, when the door at the base of the tower opened to admit a harried looking man in a business suit. His socks were different colors, as though he had dressed quickly.

"Arno!"

"Daddy!" Arno tumbled off his borrowed chair and ran toward the new arrival, who was presumably his father. The man was a few years younger than Gist, but his face seemed set in a permanent expression of slightly worried concern. Maybe it was a side effect of whatever important work he did for the government, or maybe that was what happened when your son could see the future.

"Arno," he said again, sweeping his son into his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing." He peeked over the edge of his father's shoulder, giving Gist a wide eyed look that meant please don't tell him. "I saw something and I wanted to come see."

"What have I told you?"

"Don't run away anymore," Arno recited tiredly. His father nodded, ruffling his hair.

"That's right," he agreed. Then he turned to Gist. "Thank you for calling me."

"Of course," Gist said. "It's my job."

"Still. I am sincerely thankful. If you ever need anything from me-"

"Oh, no sir," Gist protested. "I couldn't." It would be strange to ask for a favor from a dying man. The sooner Arno and his father went home, the better things would work out for all of them.

But Dorian insisted on leaving his business card for Gist before carrying his son. Gist studied it for several seconds (the card read 'Charles Dorian – High Mage' in a clear, flowing script. There was nothing else apart from a phone and email on the back. It didn't need anything else), then tucked it away. Just in case.

-/-

Shay couldn't work for the rest of the day. The fifth floor, where he had worked since being hired on at the company, was by far the least interesting. This was where all the routine work happened, the treatments and spells that prepared various metals to last longer or look better. It was all commercial, just a way to inflate the company's profits. Everyone started on the fifth floor, and if they worked hard and showed talent they were moved down to the other floors, where the more experimental and interesting work took place. Shay had no idea what happened on the other floors, but there were explosions sometimes.

He stared at the flask of pewter he was supposed to be enchanting. When he was done (if he ever started), it would be sturdier than natural and more resistant to tarnish. It was dull. And… he was supposed to kill someone. There was no way he could keep his mind on his work with that thought fighting for dominance in every corner of his brain. He did not want to be a murderer. Not ever, and certainly not the father of a tiny little boy that stared at him with big blue eyes and a nervous face.

"It's after six."

He looked up, suddenly realizing he had been staring at his pewter for ages without actually doing anything to it. The room had emptied out around him, until he and the intern were the only people left on the fifth floor. He hadn't even heard the others leave. "It's… after six?" he repeated.

"You didn't notice?"

"I was distracted."

The intern hesitated and moved a little closer. "So your visitor…he was your visitor, wasn't he? I know you weren't expecting him, but I couldn't help noticing." He tapped the side of his face next to his right eye. "You know. Psychic. I thought he might have had a vision of you or something."

"He did," Shay said, but didn't elaborate. The intern seemed to take this as some kind of cue to keep talking.

"I've never actually seen a psychic though. I guess I never thought about them being kids. Whenever you see them in… I don't know, movies or whatever, they're always wise old men that live on mountains or something."

"Well, they have to come from somewhere," Shay said, just to say something.

"It's still weird," the intern insisted. "Like trying to picture a baby Yoda. I mean, can you imagine? You're about to have a kid, and then you look and they just have those creepy blue eyes…"

"Don't most babies have blue eyes?" Shay asked. "I think I read that somewhere."

"It's a different kind of blue," the intern said. "Pale. Like ice."

"Cold," Shay agreed. He shook his head, and started gathering his things. Clearly he wasn't going to get any work done today. The intern followed at his heels, ignoring Shay's scowl.

"Do you think he'll be back?"

"I sincerely hope not," Shay said.

"It would just be fascinating, you know? How many people get to know a psychic? He-"

"Listen-" Shay stopped on the stairs, somewhere between the third and second floors. "Intern. What's your name?"

"Warren."

"Warren. If, on the highly unlikely chance that boy comes back, you are not, under any circumstances, to be an ass about it. Don't bother him, don't ask a million questions. He's a little boy first and a psychic second."

"Sorry." Warren ducked his head and didn't say anything else as they kept spiraling downward. He muttered some excuse and disappeared when they got to the parking lot, which would have been great except that meant Shay didn't have anyone to distract him. Without an idiotic intern to distract him, there was nothing to do but worry about the sudden appearance of Arno and Charles Dorian in his life, and the trouble it was sure to bring.