"Alright Roche. I looked over your abilities. Sadly your Patron is as vague and unhelpful as my own, so we will need to experiment a bit first." Raph said as two younger boys, maybe fifteen or sixteen, fetched various oddities and implements from a side entrance into the villa.

  Most of the goods made sense. Paper targets, basically large sheets of rough paper with marks on them to measure the accuracy of a firearm at certain distances. Seen them when I travelled up to Victorburg to try my hand at being a shootist one summer. Got sent home with a broken nose and a bruised ego.

  Folk didn't like some pig-fuck kid trying to show 'em up.

  Other tools, however, were more esoteric.

  A genuine crystal ball, a silver knife with a serrated edge and a hooked point, a small pot of glowing, red mud, and six small, boxes with increasingly heavy lock on them.

  "Thank you boys," I said tipping my hat to the youths as they scampered off to play.

  Ernesto smiled and waved as the pair departed. For his part the young scion seemed fit to sit and watch as his cousin, and now my tutor, I guess, got down to brass tacks.

  "First let's explore your non-combat abilities. I want to pin down exactly what your Skullduggery and Arcane Eye do. I assume you've already noticed they are more broadly useful than your Patron's terse description?"

  I shrugged, "The eye, sure. The Bastard didn't write shit about seeing spirits, and don't get me started on the whole 'gods asking little favors bit'. Seriously, don't ask," I said waving the forming question off, "But yeah. I can see mana, when it's in use or very dense, and I can see some of the critters that haunt the other side."

  "Really? Do you see anything around here?" He asked and gestured at the courtyard and sandpit.

  I frowned and squinted in the harsh afternoon sun. There was handful of the little jellies floatin' around, but none of beasts, or ghost I saw out in the dunes.

  "Not much, little fat jellyfish things. See those almost everywhere. I don't tend to see much in town."

  Raphael nodded, "Okay, watch my hands," Raphael said slowly drawing his slim rapier, and holding it out.

  I watched the blade as the man's finger tapped on the flat.

  One, two, three, four.

  A trickle of mana pulsed each time, rolling out in dying waves like ripples in a pond.

  "You're dumpin' mana in your sword. It's... rhythm, I guess."

  "Good, that's exactly right. I affect vibrations. Even a mundane sword blade can be incredibly deadly when vibrated fast enough."

  "Like a tuning fork?" I asked, listening close to the faint up. I instantly felt dumb for the comparison. You can't cut anyone with a damn tuning fork, can ya?

  "Exactly like a tuning fork," Raph said with a grin, "in that once infused my sword continues to resonate for some time after the initial charge. It does cut and pierce far better though. Anyway, my power is not important here. This is a demonstration. Now, what was that rhythm, Roche?"

  "Uh, four. One, two, three, four. Like that, like a dance, or somethin'." I said snapping in time to punctuate the beat.

  "Good, and the color?"

  I frowned. I didn't see color, not quite, not like I did the shape and movement, the size and speed. But, there was definitely something about the way the energy was moving. More like when things crossed in at night. A distortion in what was, not so much a thing itself.

  "No color, just the ripples."

  Every word I spoke convinced me I wasn't cut out for this. I never did learnin' when I was in school. To distracted by girls and all the world outside four wall to ever be a much of a thinker, let alone scholar. All the questions and observations made my skin itch.

  For his part Raph had a very odd look on his face. Dark brows climbed to the top of his mane of silky dark hair, full lips parted a bit, and his eyes narrowed in thought.

  "That's incredible," he finally said, "that's a lot more detail than I was expecting from someone so early on the path. It usually takes years for the senses to hone in that way. Normally mana sight is vague impressions until one is quite a ways up the ladder."

  "Really? Well helps that it's a mutation I guess, maybe more..." I grabbed at the back of my neck and rolled my wrist, searching in vain for words.

  "More intuitive? More natural? Yes. Like a monster's use of magic or a bird's gift of flight. I don't think I can teach you much about developing this. I suspect even my mother, who has the sight, even she would have trouble showing you how to use it. I think you simply need to see as much as possible, as many sights in this world as you can. That," Raph said stroking his smooth, sharp chin.

  Wait.

  Why was I starin' so hard at him?

  Well. Cause he was pretty. Like glass and silk...

  "Maybe some lessons in the arcane. A more formal understanding of magic and mana's manipulation might allow you to guess at another's spells or Abilities."

  "Oh uhum," I said clearin' my throat. Back on task.

  I supposed guessin' when a mage was going to set me on fire, before he did, was a nice trick. Then again, I might prefer a eatin' a few fireballs to the months and years it took to actually become a mage.

  "Next, come try these locks. Your Skuldugery, you manifested that before you had a Patron, yes? When your Path was just the start of a road, not an endless walk?"

  "Yeah, was a kid, a few years ago. I, uh, didn't know that was an Ability. Got tossed in the clink, never really grasped what I'd gotten from my eighteenth."

  Everyone got a first Ability at eighteen. Usually called a Blessing. The term was a holdover from the days when only the Gods gave out power for service in their name, but today, even folk who'd never whispered a prayer or drank in Divine mana from a Chantry font. It just happened, like your balls droppin' or your voice crackin'.

  "Right. Well, all the more reason to work on it now. Your first Ability is often the most powerful. Although, your is, ah," Raph shrugged, "it's not the most combat orientated," he said.

  Well no shit. Unless I suddenly learned to steal a man's heart from his chest or the secrets from his head, it was not likely going to do me any good in a shootout.

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  I took the box with the lightest lock, and turned it over.

  "Now, pick it. Take your time-

  Click.

  I frowned.

  "It just came open," I said taking off my hat to scratch my head, "didn't do shit. Was it rigged?"

  "No. No it was locked. Try the next," Raph said with a searching look.

  I tired the next one, picked the little empty box up and-

  It slipped. In a moment of completely uncharacteristic clumsiness I dropped the damn thing. It hit hard against the stolen tiles, and bounced.

  It landed intact.

  Intact, and open.

  "Okay, now that," Raph send stepping over and bending down to pick it up.

  Wow he kept real fit. A lot of-

  Wait. Stop. Don't look you moron.

  I looked.

  I looked long enough for the observing Ernesto to raise his brows. And smile.

  "This, this is interesting. This is, oh dear, this is really interesting," Raphael said looking from the box to me and back, "Roche I think you might've stumbled onto a rare gift, but I have no idea how to teach you to use it."

  "Uh what? Unlocking boxes by being a fuckup?"

  "Just, just try the very last one. Don't bother with the rest. I suspect it will give us the information we need," he said and handed the small, locked chest.

  I sighed and took the damned thing. This time there was a difference. The lock was heavy, likely fille with all manner of complex mechanisms and-

  I touched a hand to it.

  A pulse of mana.

  Yep. It was spelled. Maybe as well as the witchman's bound lock I'd gotten my scattergun and matrix from. Some wizard or Southern crafter had worked very hard to keep unwanted fingers out of this little wooden box. Enough that I was almost certain a wrong move would seriously hurt, if not outright kill the thief.

  I frowned and then dug into my pocket. I had a little folding knife I used my clean my nails and dig meat from my teeth. Cattleman's toothpick, some called it.

  My hands seemed to work on their own, and all considerations for my safety fell away along with the rest of the world as I slid the blade into the lock and wiggled it.

  Click.

  Something shifted, but it wasn't done. I felt a pulse of warmth from the box. Not the friendly kind provided by the Mother Sun, but something hot and warning.

  Don't you go messin' with my guts, the lock seemed to say.

  Ignored it, just as I didn't most warnings.

  My blade slipped again, and this time, something inside the box snapped.

  Pop.

  The heat grew worse, a lot worse, and the smell of smoke filled the air.

  "Shit, drop it!" Raph said peddlin' back as the box started to glow in my hands.

  I tossed the thing to the ground and dove.

  A pregnant second passed, my breath held tight. I was to get the fireball I had wished for, it seemed.

  Then...

  More silence.

  Click.

  And nothing else.

  I peeked over the edge of the sand pit where'd I dug in like a startled field mouse.

  The box was still and dark. Only the lock's faint red glow and the yawning lid left to hit what had almost been.

  "Ah, that could have been very bad," Raph said and let out a relieved laugh, "but now we know! Roche, your power is amazing. Again, ill suited for combat maybe, but absolutely amazing."

  "What did he even do? And, hey wait is that my mother's jewelry box?" Ernie asked finally sitting up and moving over to the spilled box. Sure enough a fistful of gold and silver bands and earrings and the like were scattered across the ground.

  "Oh," Raph said clearing his throat, "how strange cousin. I wonder how it got here?"

  "Hey," Ernie said, giving him a serious look, "it's your ass, Raphael. Literally. She spanked me for getting taken. Paddled me as soon as I got back."

  Huh. Ernie's mom sounded like a fun woman.

  "Oh please, your mother is kind. And she will not mind, we just tell her it was to help that man that saved her favorite son."

  "Hey, she loves all her sons."

  Raph shrugged, "She still doesn't speak to my father, Ernie. But, we are distracted, and bore Mister Roche with family talk. Apologies," he said grabbing up the goods and snapping shut the box, "I think, though I will have to ask an expert associate of mine, that your Skuldugery is what's called a Meta Ability. An Ability that affects another. In this case, I think it greatly enhanced both your All-Seeing Eye and your Cthonic Dexterity. Specially for the purpose of picking this lock. Likely it would also be powerful without either of those abilities, but they make it a far more potent power."

  Neat,

  But what the fuck did that mean for me?

  "And," I chewed my lip, "why is that so good? Is there something special about a Meta Ability?"

  "Very," Raph agreed with a nod, "As it grows, as your other Abilities grow, it will synergize with them for it's purpose. I suspect picking locks is the very least of what you will be able to do. I will not speculate further, however. I will write my friend, a scholar of the Paths at the University, see what he thinks. I will keep your name out of it."

  I sat and fished for a cigar, something about almost blowing myself up demanded a smoke.

  "So how do I get it to do all that?" I asked, striking a match off the side of the little brass box I'd gotten from Clarke and puffing. I inspected the ghostleaf roll and then caught Ernie looking at me like a hungry pup.

  I rolled my eyes, then took out a spare, and flicked it to him.

  He caught it with a smile, "Thanks." He gave the cigar a sniff, and a taste, and then a smile, "You've got expensive tastes Mister Roche. My uncle imports these, I've always wanted to try."

  "Eh, they're alright," I said, "you could say I won them playing cards with a pair of sharks."

  That was an apt description of the Hunter's Guild fiasco. Damn Alexander. Damn Clarke.

  "Sharks?"

  "Yeah. The kind that wear suits and smile while they chew you up," I said shaking my head and turning back to Raph.

  "Well, practice would be the best method," he replied, sitting in the chair at my side, "but that's obvious isn't it? Sadly for all my promises of training, your non-combat abilities are very far beyond my skill."

  I shrugged.

  "How Ice-Cold Blood? Got much use out of that?"

  "That the one that makes him heal? I saw Roche after he dealt with Hartwell. He covered in his own blood. So yes," Ernie cut in, "I should say he has."

  "Hmm. Yeah. That was a nasty fight," I admitted, "You know I didn't actually kill him. Had to let my pig Moxie finish it up." I drew in another puff and blew a ring into the air.

  A few seconds passed and I noticed the silence that had overtaken the two men.

  "Uh. What?" Raph said, his voice tight, his face pale, "Mister Roche... Your pig?"

  "Oh," Ernesto said with a knowing look, "i thought you were joking when you said that. But I have heard your ride a razorback hog. That's a uh, that's hard way to go. Even for a slaver and bandit."

  Well great. Here I was makin' friend then I went and reminded these fancy men of what I was. They was stiff. Like a pair of rabbits pinned under the gaze of a swoopin' hawk.

  They knew.

  I was a killer, and I hated myself for the fact.

  Had to.

  Because I also knew I loved it.

  "Not as hard as suffocatin' in a hot wooden box," I said before I could think better, "like you might've. Like them kids and girls might've," I turned to him, looked in the eye as a man does, "So, no, Mister Della Luna. If you ask me, no," I clenched my jaw and slowly shook my head, "it weren't hard enough."

  Ernesto winced, and Raphael blinked. The pretty man looked like I'd slapped them both full on the face.

  Instant regret.

  "Sorry. Just, just forget it," I said, ashing my cigar. Listenin' to the hiss.

  "No, no. You are right," Ernie agreed, "I am soft. I know this. I have a talent for business, for diplomacy, but, not much else. It's a point of pride, I suppose. I'd rather be the one with a pen than a gun. I only learn the sword from Raphael so my bodyguard's will not fuss so much."

  Rapheal said nothing. Just let moment pass. But I could feel his eyes. A little less of that friendly curiosity. A lot more of cool wariness.

  "Shall we, uh, shall we test your other skills then? Those suited for the work we must spare men like my cousin?" He asked the question, and his look said a little more.

  I don't judge you, Roche.

  I know.

  "Yeah, sure. Lets."