The whispered words of the girls about the female slipper and blood at the scene echoed in Elara’s mind. Her heart, which had only just begun to settle into a semblance of a normal rhythm, now hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She kept her head bowed, the coarse fibers of the cheap male wig scratching her forehead.

“They found a slipper. My slipper. And my blood. Of course it’s my blood. It’s on the concrete and must be under their fingernails…” She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the memory back. It was a futile battle as it all rushed back with the force of a tidal wave.

A sad laugh bubbled in her throat that she quickly stifled. “The police will find my blood, but my body shows no wounds. They’ll find my slipper, but I have no injuries to explain the blood loss. I’m not a suspect; I’m a freak. Maybe the healing was a good thing too, I’ll just say… what would I say?”

“Haa! I’m finally running mad.” She banged her head against the table. “Something useful better be in here.”

With a trembling hand, she finally opened the book. The spine creaked in protest, releasing a cloud of dust motes. The text inside was dense, and frustratingly vague. Unfortunately, it spoke of just the meanings of telekinesis, clairvoyance, premonitions— nothing that felt like the physical reality of her experience. The blue haze, the searing heat of the water…

“Looking for parlor tricks or the real thing?” a voice murmured beside her.

Elara jumped, slamming the book shut with a loud thwump. Her head snapped up. Leaning against the end of the bookshelf was a young man. He was tall and lanky, dressed in worn jeans and a faded band t-shirt, with a shock of unruly black hair that fell into his eyes and ears. He held a thick, leather-bound book under one arm and his expression was a mixture of casual amusement and keen interest.

‘Damn it. Did he see me panic? How long has he been standing there?’ Her disguise felt flimsy, transparent. She consciously deepened her voice, a low, rough approximation of what would seem masculine. “I’m just studying.”

“Studying in this section?” He raised his brow and took a step closer, his gaze flicking from the book to her face, lingering for a moment too long on her eyes. “That’s not for a standard curriculum.”

“It’s for a paper,” she lied, her voice tighter than she intended.

“On?” he pressed, a small smile playing on his lips.

“On… the sociological impact of perceived paranormal events in post-industrial societies,” she blurted out the first academic-sounding nonsense that came to her mind. “But it’s all myths and rumors, none are real.”

He let out a soft chuckle, “Right. But they sound fascinating. And you know, most of the books in this section are garbage. Self-proclaimed gurus and debunkers talking in circles.” He gestured with his chin to the book she was holding. “But that one, for instance, spends two hundred pages explaining why psychics are all frauds, then another hundred speculating that if they were real, they would probably be able to bend the world. Groundbreaking.”

“And I suppose you know which ones aren’t garbage?”

“I have a better-than-average sense for it,” he said, his smile widening. He extended a hand. “I’m Leo and you are?.”

She hesitated, then reached out and shook his hand, her own slender fingers swallowed by his grip. She hoped her hands weren’t too obviously feminine. “El— Eli,” she corrected herself, the name feeling foreign on her tongue.

“Eli,” Leo repeated with a smile. “Well, Eli, if you’re genuinely interested in the paranormal stuff, you’re looking in the wrong sub-section. Psychic phenomena is one thing. What you probably want is…” He trailed off, his eyes scanning the shelves behind her before he pointed to a lower row on another shelf.

He walked over and crouched down, running his fingers along the spines.

“What makes you think I’m looking for that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Leo glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Call it a hunch.” He pulled a slim, dark green volume from the shelf. It had no title on the cover, only a strange, embossed symbol that looked like a knot of interlocking waves and flames. He blew a layer of fine dust off the top and stood, handing it to her. “This one’s more… practical.”

Elara took the book. It was lighter than it looked. “Practical how?”

“Less theory, more case studies. First-hand accounts. People who claim to have… manifested things. Altered their reality. Healed. Manipulated elements and so on. Sounds a little more real than plain rumors. I’ll call it bullshit on a norms” he smirked.

‘Healed. Manipulated elements.’ Her breath hitched at those words. “Why are you helping me?” She clutched the book to her chest .

Leo shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Like I said, I have a better than average sense for it. And frankly, it gets lonely being the only one who believes this stuff might have some real shits.” He nodded toward the book. “Take a look. If it’s useless, you can just return it. I’ll be around.” He wink then turns and ambles off, disappearing between the shelves.

Elara stood frozen for a moment, the green book pressed against her chest. As much as she wants to be happy he was there to help, the encounter felt surreal. ‘A hunch? He just happened to be here and knew the book I’ll need? This is how people in horror movies get murdered.’

She sank back into the chair and placed the green book on the desk. Slowly, she opened it. The pages were not printed but appeared to be photocopies of handwritten journals, sketches, and typed notes.

Her eyes scanned the cramped, frantic handwriting of one entry:

“The fever broke on the third day, and with it, something else broke inside me. The physician said my son would lose the arm, that the gangrene was too advanced. I held the rotting flesh in my hands and I wept. I begged any power that would listen. Then, I felt a warmth, a golden light that poured from my palms into his skin. I watched as the blackness receded, as the swelling went down, as new, pink skin knitted itself together before my eyes. The physician called it a miracle. I know it was something else. I had given him a part of my own life…”