From ruby sparkling to inky violet Orc suede, exquisite shoes teetered in twisted stacks. Gossamer spider web scarves lighter than air tangled in the bedroom chandelier. Burbling with excuses and self recriminations the potential client hovered by my elbow as I took notes. A trio of three year olds raced into the bedroom, sprinting around the half made bed.

Laughing one waved a doll over her head while a second child followed close behind shrieking. From what I could tell the third kid was just in it for the run. A kernel of a headache throbbed in my forehead. This was so not going to work, I thought. Why did Minverus recommend me to this mad house? Discreetly I scratched my nose and one kid tripped and toppled his siblings.

Wails crowded the already overcrowded room. Someone zipped out an energy ball. Out of control, the firey orb careened against a wall. I whipped out my umbrella as my almost client intoned a binding oath. Burning embers showered around me. Unaffected I still admired the magical energy ribbons the mother summoned to bundle her runaway offspring.

“I am so sorry. Oh my fates. I will pay for any damages. They are normally not like this I swear but with the new baby and everything,” Grete said wringing her hands.

“No worries. It takes more than baby magic to frighten an old Morganna bumbleshoot. Take care of the youngsters now and I’ll follow my nose.”

A travelling mage can be a hard life for some. But over these last centuries I’d learned to travel with only my needs and taking in work only when necessary. I wasn’t broke enough to work a custom carpentry hex with screaming kids up to my neck. I tapped my nose for the closet door and bundles of sundresses and woolly parkas fell to my feet.

“Oh hades no,” I said.

Thinking of polite ways to turn down the commission, I backed away. I worked in enameling as a junior mage yet set it aside to go into teaching. After retiring I tried my hand at weaving and painting before I took up woodworking. Something about the cuts and the joins, the precision spoke to me. I loved a dovetail. Soon I was crafting bespoke magical cabinets.

A kitchen cart that always held missing ingredients or a portable bar that replaced social anxiety with effervescent conversations and mojitos, my work made me feel creative in a way I hadn’t known for decades. I only created what inspired me. Once my craft became a job the magic would faltered. Walking out of the bedroom I knew I didn’t want to make another closet for someone with too much crap.

Declutter spells were all the rage these days, I thought, I’ll make a few tidying spell suggestions, give her a bundle of sage, and be home for dinner. Heading for the stairs, I nearly crunched a ceramic bowl. Soft celadon glaze over a crazed blue foundation, the tiny bowl was a newly opened bud.

With a sleep grumpy baby balanced on one hip, Grete materialized in the hallway. I could see the avalanche of apologies ready to sweep over me. I held up the ceramic to stop her.

“Yours.”

Surprised, Grete blinked then nodded yes. I held the promise we often set aside to do more practical magic up to the light

“I used to sculpt before I joined the Seers, even attended Art camp. That where I made this funny little thing. I can’t wait till the kids are a little more independent so I can get back to arts and crafts,” Grete said, reaching for her bowl.

I stepped back as my imagination created a translucent 3-D model.

“Closet, no problem, but consider a bespoke art supply cabinet with endless storage and the ability to carve out guilt free alone time to create.”

Swirling my hand, the plans for the cabinet unfolded. Drawers, shelves, more drawers greeted her with a kiln and wheel Greta’s eyes lit up with wonder. Giggly the baby clapped.

“When can you get started!”