An Ear for Magic by Esi Aboagye
3800 words, ~19 minutes reading time
Issue 8 (Summer 2025)
The crooked streets of the Lower Fifth Quarter had long been home for Vera and many other witches, but she could tell the wavering streets were unnatural for Rhyland. He had a tendency to walk in straight, rigid lines, forcing him onto the cobbled streets or into Vera’s side.
The first migrant witches had been very particular about where they would reside in the once hills, valleys, and plains of Verdant. They chose the Quarter because it was where magic was most alive in the city, where it clawed through the marrow, bone, and sinew of the earth, hugged her crust and clung to the skinny, cobbled streets that followed the leylines. Those first witches believed earth should only be cleaved along hallowed leylines, sculpted around the path of magic and not through. And so the Lower Fifth Quarter had a decidedly different feel compared to the rest of the city.
The narrow streets could unexpectedly widen, circle back, or be hampered by overgrown foliage that meandered into the pedestrian paths. The accompanying houses, buildings, and shops were lopsided, crooked, and leaning. Yet there was something noble about the holistic nature of the Lower Fifth Quarter. The rest of the city was structured, sanitized and, some witches would say, sterile. It followed grids and suffocating things like ‘city ordinances.’
Vera found it strange to be walking through the streets with a non-witch. Even if that non-witch was Rhyland. Especially on the night of a double full moon. The evening sky was not as dark as it should have been.
“I just need directions,” Rhyland said. “I’m sure you can point me to the right place and I can figure it out from there.”
“It’s not that simple,” Vera said, “and stop talking so I can concentrate.”
Rhyland sighed loudly but stopped talking. Escorting the non-witch seemed more and more like the wrong thing to do, the longer Vera was guiding him. But as a good shopkeeper, Vera could not abandon a customer when they accidentally manifested wings. And Vera and Rhyland had known each other for years, even if they weren’t particularly close. There were only a finite number of people you could spend a childhood with and his presence made Vera nostalgic.
Magic was louder on the double full moons, and the White Market’s location shifted depending on where it was the strongest.
That night, magic swelled easterly towards one edge of the Fifth Quarter. Even if they kept a brisk pace, Vera had to be careful the magic tide didn’t jump elsewhere. Its pull was constant, and she normally ignored it so she could live her life. But the White Market materialized where the magic tide peaked and for once Vera followed her instincts.
She’d only been to the White Market a few times but knew she was heading in the right direction as the number of witches crowding the streets grew.
The White Market was where witches went for ‘unusual’ ingredients or to solve ‘unusual’ problems. And a man manifesting wings was definitely an unusual problem.
Rhyland had gotten so uncomfortable during the walk that he, in a fit of frustration, tore out a hole at the back of his shirt and now his budding wings proudly poked through.
“Does it hurt?” Vera asked.
Rhyland let out a mirthless laugh. “It prickles, actually.”
That night, the threshold between the street and the White Market was a high iron-wrought arch. Past it, was a manicured expanse of greenery and neat pathways filled with stands and booths. Witches meandered down the paths, carrying little baskets as they chatted, paused at manned stands, or listened to the live musicians. String lights and the double moons illuminated it all, like a quaint festival, if not for the pale big-top tent that loomed over everything.
“I don’t remember there being a park here before,” Rhyland said, turning his head every which way. Finally, he looked up. They were at the intersection of the Lower Fifth Quarter and Witch’s Way. “Witch’s Way isn’t a street.”
“Wherever the magic tide is highest on double full moons is where we’ll find the Market,” Vera said, glancing at the dual moons. By the time they set, the Market would be gone.
Rhyland squinted. “How come we never came here when we were kids? You came over a ton on double full moons. Don’t tell me you lose all your street cred by taking a non-witch here?”
Vera unsuccessfully held back a laugh. “People mostly come here when they have problems.”
“We had plenty of problems—”
“Problems of a magical nature, Rhyland,” Vera said. “Now, let’s go see the consultant before the magic tide shifts and we have to chase it.”
Vera gestured for Rhyland to go first and he did so reluctantly, stubby wings twitching as he walked through. Crossing the threshold, Vera first noticed the scents of roasting meat from a few food stalls. Hawkers called out, advertising their treats or trinkets but their voices were drowned out by a weak whining warble Vera recognized as a mockery of a siren’s call.
The teasing music was a cheap trick some witches played to get unsuspecting witches to crowd their tables. It was insidious and those distracted often found themselves drawn towards certain booths. Well, Vera knew better than to fall for their tricks..
Unexpectedly, Rhyland veered, eyes glazing over as he plodded past Vera towards a booth. A wizened older man was perched behind a table with a series of face down cards. He looked at Rhyland first and then at Vera, frowning.
“Hey!” Vera barked. She grabbed Rhyland’s arm and he swayed, half-colliding against her. He righted himself slowly.
“Whoa,” he said, blinking himself out of his stupor.
“You didn’t say you have an ear for magic.”
“I don’t!”
“There are lots of witches here that would take advantage of people like you. Who would have thought? A non-witch with an ear for magic. Hold my hand. You need a tether or else I’ll lose you.”
Rhyland gave her an incredulous look, and then he flushed.. “Isn’t that a little fast? I mean we used to be close but now we’re just—”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Vera quipped. “Either you hold my hand so I can tether you or some witch is about to hurl another siren’s spell at you and wipe your life savings.”
Rhyland grumbled but slid his fingers through hers.The last time they’d held hands had been as children, Rhyland’s small hand clammy in hers. Maybe walking home together from school or when Vera intertwined their fingers before dashing across the street. Despite the distance of time his now adult hand felt right in hers. Like coming back to the Quarter after a while away; his grip held the unwavering familiarity of home.
“You never talked about being a witch in school,” Rhyland said as Vera steered them through the ambling crowds.
Vera shrugged. “What is there to say?”
“It’s a part of you, isn’t it? Doesn’t that make it worth saying?”
“Non-witches don’t really—”
Rhyland laughed. “We don’t understand?”
“No, it’s more like you don’t try to understand.”
Rhyland’s voice was soft, “Oh, but I’ve always tried to understand you, Vera.”
Vera frowned as she led the way. It was true she wasn’t an easy person to know. She didn’t like answering questions and sometimes Rhyland was easier to be around because he already knew most of the answers. But she didn’t like how Rhyland sounded as if he knew her. He didn’t. No one did.
They bypassed aisles of hawkers before finally arriving at the consultant’s tent. It was a large obtrusive white structure in the centre of the park, with a line of unusual patients trailing from the entrance.
A woman held a crying baby, except it wasn’t making any noise. It was silent as if its voice had been muted. The woman looked tired as she mindlessly rocked the baby, her brow furrowing every time she looked down.
There was a girl wearing a pair of thick spectacles with a third eye protruding from the centre of her forehead. It was staring right at Vera. Kind of rude.
There was another person who looked invisible except for a dark orange jumpsuit they were wearing.
They joined the line and waited in silence, Rhyland’s hand in Vera’s until it was finally their turn.Vera let go, pretending not to notice Rhyland’s glance.
“The consultant will take a look and we’ll find out what to do,” Vera explained as they stepped forward, crossing her arms over her chest. But she was worried. She’d agonized over the spell patent for weeks, and her future was banking on it. If she’d made a mistake somewhere and had crafted a bad spell, she’d be ruined.
Rhyland went through the open flap of the tent first, urging Vera onward and shaking her from her thoughts. Going through the tent flap deadened the noise of the outside world. It was dark enough that Vera’s eyes needed to adjust.
“Sit, sit,” the consultant said, as if it was just the three of them in the whole world. Their voice was soft and low, still genderless, ever unhurried. It was at once hard to place and a voice Vera would recognize anywhere. But it was still too dark to see the consultant. Lights flickered on in the tent and the air shuddered, Vera’s ears popping as a material shift transformed the inside of the tent.
It was now a cozy kitchen with a small round wooden table, a steaming blueberry pie in the middle. The red-and-yellow checkered floor and honey-coloured cabinetry made the space seem homey and comfortable. It looked lived in with little scuffs on the wall, a few dishes in the sink, and a shopping list on the fridge. Vera knew it was the best of glamours despite how real it looked.
The consultant now looked like a grandmother, wispy white curls giving her a maternal halo. Her worn apron was dusted with flour and the stains of crushed blueberries as if she’d just prepared a fingerlicking meal for her grandkids.
“Now why don’t you two tell me the matter? And please, before the pie cools. I just got these blueberries from my garden and, if I say so myself, they’re the best batch of the season.” The consultant blinked and smiled, her rheumy eyes filling with recognition. “Oh Vera, you’re back? Is it that nasty business with Sandra again?”
“No, we just… he has a problem and we’re here to see why. I was supposed to sell him a pair of wings. Artificial. State of the art. But now he has these... things,” Vera said quickly.
Rhyland turned his back, awkwardly flexing the stubby wings.
“Oh my, an involuntary manifestation,” the consultant said in her warbly grandmother’s tone. “You’ve been yearning, young man.”
“What?” Rhyland turned back around, looking frightened. “Does that mean something bad?”
“Everything in moderation, dearie. Witches and non-witches with an ear for magic don’t have the privilege of yearning. You start doing that and unfortunate things like this start happening. You wanted them too much and now you’ve got them. It has nothing to do with you, Miss Vera. They’ve probably been under the surface for a while, getting ready to sprout.”
Vera huffed. She was relieved but stunned that a non-witch could have an involuntary manifestation.
“So, what do I do now?” Rhyland asked. “Can you get rid of them? I wouldn’t know what to do with a permanent pair of wings.”
The consultant walked closer and she placed her hands over Rhyland’s back.
“Well, that won’t do. See, these wings are a part of you now, Rhyland.”
Rhyland frowned. “I… don’t think I told you my name. Right, Vera?” His wings twitched in the consultant’s hands.
The consultant smiled gently. “The only things I know about you are the things you want me to. Anywho, dearie, neural networks are already forming. There’s delicate bone structure here, tendons, blood vessels. It would be an amputation and who can tell what kind of nerve damage that would cause? Why mutilate the finely made? Well, that’s that I suppose.” She patted her apron as if ready to dismiss them. “The pie is almost done cooling and neither of you have taken a slice. You’ve got to eat to keep yourselves nourished!”
Vera said, “But how is he supposed to deal with this? Will they fall out like baby teeth? Or will they always look like that?”
The consultant hummed. “Why don’t you two take a seat? The pie is getting cold.”
Vera and Rhyland awkwardly sat down as the consultant cut them each a generous slice.
“Doesn’t this remind you of—?” Vera started.
“My grandma’s kitchen?" Rhyland finished.
Vera nodded as she started to eat her pie. It tasted just like Rhyland’s grandmother’s blueberry pie, too. She always added some rhubarb and Vera couldn’t believe she was feeling emotional over the hint of rhubarb. It was strange that at some point she’d had Rhyland’s grandmother’s blueberry pie for the last time and hadn’t known to savour it.
But Rhyland wasn’t eating. He was staring at the consultant. The consultant left the room, announcing that she would be back after hanging her laundry to dry.
“I can’t believe this is the inside of the tent,” he whispered. “It even smells like her kitchen.”
“It’s not real,” Vera said. “It’s just a mirage playing at our emotions. They know where we felt safe and they replicate it. Makes us all sappy.” Made them more likely to follow the advice of a consultant.
Rhyland nodded in understanding and began to eat his pie, his eyes misty as he took short quick bites. “And of course it tastes just like hers did.”
When they finished their slices, Rhyland collected their plates and washed them, leaving them to dry on the dishrack. Vera pretended not to notice when Rhyland sniffled as he faced the sink. She didn’t feel they had the sort of friendship where she could bear witness to his grief. It had been almost ten years since she’d been with Rhyland in this kitchen, his grandmother always nearby until she wasn’t anymore.
“Hey,” Vera called out, knowing that the consultant could hear them even when they weren’t in the same room. “What are we supposed to do about his wings?”
The consultant materialized in the room. She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze. “Is that any way to talk to your elders, young lady? Rhyland will have to nurture them, exercise them, and take care of them. Then he can fly, just like he’s always wanted. I think that’s all I can offer the both of you right now. You know better, Vera, considering you’ve been here before.”
“We need better advice than that,” Vera snapped.
“And that’s all the time we offer for cases like these,”the consultant said softly.
“Thank you!” Rhyland said, as the room went dark. They found themselves back in the dim tent, the air a little stuffier than it had been before.
“Now what?” Rhyland asked.
“Now you deal with it,” Vera said with a huff.
Rhyland came by Vera’s shop every other day. First, he came to ask for some custom shirts. Vera had already been working on a shirt prototype for people with wings, so she sold him a set and he made some orders for more. Then, he wanted different styles of shirts, some to sleep in, and then fancier ones to dress up a bit. At one point, Rhyland had grumbled about his work demanding business casual outfits despite his accommodation for his involuntary manifestation.
Once or twice a week, Vera had to massage and oil Rhyland’s wings. The first few times he’d sheepishly confessed his roommate was allergic to his spawning plumage and he had nowhere else to turn.
Vera wasn’t sure how she ended up helping Rhyland. She picked at his pin feathers, gently sponging the delicate membranes and finally lathering them with the tacky oil that made his crisp white feathers gleam. At first, it had seemed too intimate to speak until Rhyland mentioned his grandmother or the classroom bully Vera had beat up for Rhyland or some new NuNewPop band, and she found herself talking too.
Being behind Rhyland, against the vulnerable space of his back and being put in charge of something as important as nurturing felt almost special. Any witch would have helped a witch with an involuntary manifestation, out of pity if nothing else. Even though Rhyland was a non-witch, it felt natural to support him. Vera couldn’t figure out why.
Although Vera had grown up with witches, her family had been low-tier, and they couldn’t handle tapping the network. They did small magic without the network, happy for any small amount of magic in their lives.
But magic had buzzed in Vera’s veins for as long as she could remember and it called to her. Instead of joy for Vera, her parents had expressed thinly veiled jealousy. As if Vera’s talent was an unfair gift. As if they’d been in competition with their own child. Rhyland had known very little about her parents’ emotional absence, couldn’t have known that his uncomplicated friendliness had been a childhood balm.
To her parents, Vera stopped talking about her magic studies and her eventual degree. Never mind the shop. She didn’t try to be vulnerable in front of anyone even if she sometimes slipped up with Rhyland. So, Rhyland’s trust in Vera stung at a foreign, tender part of her. She didn’t want to betray that trust.
After about a month, Rhyland’s wings had grown stunningly angelic, their rustling a constant accompaniment wherever he went. The wings were an outdated classical style, white and crisp and perfect. The off-white ivory plumage folded neatly against Rhyland’s back but his full wingspan was at least twice his height, so large they could only be expanded outside.
“I think they’re done growing,” Rhyland announced one night at dinner. He came over a few times per week for Vera to shampoo his wings and pluck out any pin feathers. Though, he was learning how to manage on his own. In return, Rhyland often cooked her a meal. By now he was used to Vera’s kitchen, his large wings delicately tucked into his back as moved around the kitchen easily.
That evening, he made a sumptuous vegetable lasagna with handmade noodles that took him over an hour to make. Vera hadn’t interrupted even once, watching his cooking talents in stunned silence.
“Are you sure?” Vera asked between mouthfuls of lasagna. It was really good and she told him so.
Rhyland laughed. “Thanks, my grandma taught me this recipe. I feel like I was just in her kitchen and then I remember it was the consultant’s.” His smile dimmed.
“So now what?” Vera asked, trying to take his mind off the sad subject.
“I think I can get up on the skyways now. They’re finally big enough to support my weight.” The gleam in his eyes was bright.
No wonder magic manifested around him. What a dangerous thing it was to want.
The dinner table was quiet for a beat, with only sounds of chewing and the warm feeling of Rhyland’s hope.
“Do you know how to fly?” Vera asked. “All commercial wings are preprogrammed with speed limits, barometric pressure fluctuations, inclement weather affordances, wind adjustments, spatial awareness, and proprioception. Some of them also have built in bubbles to protect from being so high up and birds–” Vera stopped talking.
Rhyland looked crestfallen, his wings unfolded and drooping onto the tiled kitchen floor. It was as if Vera throttled him with common sense.
She held up her hands in a show of peace. “I spell patents, okay? Of course I’m thinking about the logistics.”
“Why didn’t you say any of this a month ago?” Rhyland whined. Now his wings looked really sad, deflated further to the floor.
Vera shrugged. “You didn’t ask me. And when I tried to cheer you up, you got super defensive.”
“It’s not like I asked for this to happen to me.”
“That’s true,” Vera said. No one would have asked for this.
From the beginning, Rhyland always said he wanted to fly to get places faster and escape the ads desecrating the city’s free transit. He wanted to experience life unfiltered and ad-free. But Vera knew it was more than that. There was no way he had an involuntary manifestation without something prompting magic to hear him.
And over the months, Rhyland changed. Vera didn’t know when it started but he stopped slouching and started making eye contact with her. His use of his wings transformed from an awkward shuffle to a graceful glide, His wings fluttered when he laughed and slumped when he frowned. He’d always been expressive but it was easier to notice now.
Eventually, the day came when Rhyland felt ready to fly on the skyways. There were hubs that ported fliers down from the skies to the surface. Before he went into the port that would take him up he gave Vera a shy smile.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said.
He took a deep breath and stood a little taller, gaining at least two inches as he finally stood straight. He looked up, his eyes bright. “I can still get up there.”
Vera reached out and hugged Rhyland, squeezing as tight as she could for just a second. Until the space between them disappeared. Then she let go. “Then we’ll all have dinner. Just like usual.”
“Just like usual,” Rhyland said. “Wish me luck.” He started to step away but something in Vera made her take a step forward. Closer.
“And thanks for…trusting me with all of this,” Vera said. “I’m the only witch you know but it still must have been hard on you.”
Rhyland frowned, his wings inching downwards. “Vera, I didn’t go to you because you’re a witch or because I was going to buy magic wings from your shop.”
“You didn’t?”
Rhyland laughed. “Oh Vera, has it taken you this long to realize we’re friends?”
Vera cracked a smile. “How about you stop stalling and go through the port?”
Rhyland gave Vera a wave before walking into the pod that would transport him to the skyway port. A worker guided Vera to the observation deck where others were watching their loved ones emerge onto the skyways. It was set up with high resolution real time cameras. Vera watched as Rhyland crouched and fully unfolded his wing, the wingspan dwarfing him as he leapt off the ledge. His white wings beat effortlessly, pushing Rhyland easily through the skyways. He had done it.
Vera watched proudly as her friend graced the Verdant sky, the only white wings among all the fliers.
