I get off the train at 59th and Lexington and head up the stairs, stopping just long enough to give a young homeless girl a dollar bill infused with luck.
By noon, she’ll have enough money for a room with a hot shower, some new clothes, a real meal, and a bus ticket back to Georgia. And yes, that’s what she’ll use it for. I scribbled a little suggestion on the bill to make sure. Her eyes will never notice it, but her unconscious mind will. I usually don’t like to do stuff like that, but if I didn’t, she’d still be in the City next Wednesday, at which point she’ll be hit by the M60 bus. How do I know?
Because that’s what I do. Economancy. Money magic.
You’ve probably done a little Economancy yourself. Ever throw a penny into a fountain or a well? If you found yourself having good luck that day, there might have been a water spirit there who appreciated the offering. There’s more to Economancy than that, of course. A lot more. But take my word for it: to me, reading a stock ticker is like reading the tea leaves, and the scatter of coins outside a homeless person’s change cup is like casting the bones.
And just who am I? Sorry, you don’t get my real name. You can call me Jeslyn. It means “wealthy”.
So anyway. I’m feeling pretty good about myself after my little good deed, so of course that can’t be allowed to last.
I get above ground and I immediately notice that there’s no one on the street. Usually I have to weave through the crowds to get to work, but not this morning. I turn around and look down the stairs and yep…Ms. Georgia is gone. I walk the half-block to my office and find no one in the lobby. When I check the elevator, the only button is for the thirteenth floor.
My building doesn’t have a thirteenth floor. And I know better than to go there.
I go back outside and I look around, and I see a river of ghostly white fire flowing down Park Avenue, about five feet above the ground and as thick as a subway train. Finally, something familiar.
The Park Avenue Ley Line. I shouldn’t be able to see it like this without trying.
(If you’re wondering, a ley line is a river of magic energy. One of my jobs as an economancer is to help negotiate use rights and draw up contracts for the Park Avenue line. I never touch it myself. Why not? The same reason you don’t plug an appliance directly into a nuclear reactor.)
I walk over to Park Avenue to get my bearings. I look uptown and I see the Avenue and the ley line stretch out of sight, pretty much like they always do. Then I look downtown, and…jackpot.
The ley line is flowing into Grand Central…and I can see Grand Central from here. It’s not surrounded by buildings. That famous picture with the sunlight shining through the big windows would still be possible. A little further down, the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building stretch miles into the sky. The Chrysler Building’s famous windows could admit aircraft carriers and they’re lit up so bright you could see them in Jersey.
Dammit. I don’t know how it happened, but somehow, between the subway and the street, I wandered into the soul of New York City.