Jessika is a Replicator, an experimental counsellor-mage who heals her patients by using her magick for replicating memories into tangible objects. She uses her powers for good instead of evil -- but when a mysterious package returns from her past, Jessika can only think in black and white terms. She's scared. She wants to run.
And she runs right into Skylar, the magical delivery person on her normal route. As the two of them bond over small triumphs and larger adventures in the magical city surrounding them, Jessika starts to feel safe again. She even starts to feel love again. Maybe even for Skylar.
But the past is a thing that conjures dangers, and Jessika fears the two of them may only have the spirit of the stairwell to keep them company.
“Hey there.” The delivery woman walked over to Jessika with a smile. Her magenta helmet was under her arm, along with a couple dozen letters. Many of them were green -- from the union, clearly -- but many others had the red font of the building’s late notices. “What’s going on?”
“Are you here for a delivery?” Jessika asked.
The woman furrowed her brow, then smiled as recognition dawned on her. “Oh, you! I thought you were familiar. But no, I don’t have anything. I live here.”
“Right. Of course. Um. So ...”
“Is the elevator broken again?”
“Again?”
“Yeah, there’ve been problems. Herb said he fixed them all, though.” The woman pulled out a phone and started to dial. Her hair was messy from her helmet, her skin washed out from the bright lights, but still a golden colour that made Jessika swoon.
“They’re not home,” Jessika said. “I tried already. I think it’s a curse, a holdover from the magic that used to be here. The elevator is working, but just not to this floor.”
The woman disconnected her phone with a shrug. “I should trust you on that assessment since I’m not magical at all. but I do know that the stairs will always work. What floor are you on?”
The woman gestured to the stairwell a few paces from the elevator. She held the door open with her hips as she waited for Jessika to catch up.
“Shouldn’t we ...?”
“Fill out a report? Did it yesterday. So come on. I’m heading all the way up to seven, so your floor can’t be too bad.”
“I’m on eight, actually.”
“Yikes. Well, we’ll take our time. I promise not to race you. Unless you think it’ll make the journey go faster?”
Jessika smiled. Though her feet already ached from standing at a grafting table the rest of the afternoon after Mirabelle left, she headed towards the door. What was another couple steps when she’d be going with this beautiful woman? Not too many at all.
“I’m Skylar, by the way,” she said, sticking her hand out as they stepped on the first step.
“Jessika. But you probably already knew that.”
“I knew you were a Replicator. But I have a lot of clients. Names blend together, but professions often don’t.”
“That makes sense.” Jessika tugged her bag over her shoulder, keeping it close to her. “Thanks, by the way. For earlier. I really appreciate you not causing a fuss.”
“Oh, not at all.”
“Were you able to get to your bosses in time?”
Skylar bit her lip in an unsure smile. “Kind of? My boss was just heading out the door, but he gave me his keycard to plug in a notice on the guy sending you the package. His activity is gonna be tracked now.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Not at all. Like I said, I know the drill.”
The conversation soon died. They were only on the second flight of stairs and Jessika’s knees were already aching. Her breath was heavy and constant. My God. I am so out of shape. I swear, after I’m done with Mirabelle, maybe I’ll hire an assistant, and I won’t have to spend all this time alone. Maybe I can go for walks again and ...
“So, can I ask a question?” Skylar said. They turned the corner for the third set of stairs.
“Yeah. I suppose.”
“What exactly is a Replicator? I mean, what do they do that’s different from a wizard or a psychic?”
“Or a therapist?” Jessika chuckled. “Not a lot, truthfully, except that I bring out what people have left behind. I produce objects that will link to memories or dreams. Wizards create spells out of nothing, and psychics predict the future, but I’m more rooted to physicality and the past. Make sense?”
