When I got home that night, I was tired.

  I wanted to eat a good meal, listen to whatever bard wandered in for the night, and go to sleep.

  But… I had made myself a promise.

  So instead of eating, sleeping, wandering and avoiding, I sat down at my tiny desk.

  A quick glance at the glowing streets warmed my chest. The snow from a few days before had fled, leaving behind a false spring that fooled everyone into thinking tomorrow might be warm.

  The quarter was taking full advantage, denizens roaming in mobs as youngsters shrieked happily.

  Even a group of ogres was behaving — though they eyed everything around them hungrily. Apparently, the evening was too rare to waste being locked back in their section by local enforcement.

  Yet I was inside, my cloak left hanging by the door and my eyepatch tossed on my bed.

  “Alright, let’s get to know each other, shall we?” I whispered.

  I lit my desk candle and opened the book.

  ____

  The first victory was that it allowed me to open it.

  It hadn’t allowed that since the last time it flash cleaned my room and slammed itself shut.

  The second victory was the lack of theatrical flashbangs and cleaning.

  “Hello,” I breathed.

  My heart quickened as the pages fluttered softly back, words slowly tracing themselves across the page.

  Welcome, Mage of Order.

  This book was both a joy and a sorrow to write.

  A Joy, for the understanding of Order is a privilege.

  A Sorrow, for the book is insufferable.

  Grand Magister Merl.

  I raised an eyebrow and reached to turn the page.

  I had barely lifted my hand before the page turned itself.

  Words bled across the page before me in a script more elegant than I had ever seen.

  At least you got your hair trimmed.

  I blinked.

  The page turned itself with about as much sass as I imagine a page turn could have.

  The page turn was audible in the dim silence.

  I had this room spotless the last time I was opened.

  Why.

  Why are there dirty socks under every piece of furniture.

  Page Flip

  Why is there dust on the windowsill.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Page. Flip.

  Why is one of your shoes upside down, rather than put away correctly.

  Paaaage. Flip.

  The force of the last flip nearly quelled my candle, its flame sputtering bravely in the face of its abuse.

  Good little guy.

  What do you want?

  I sighed. Why did everything have to be so rude.

  “I wanted to introduce myself, and ask why you chose me,” I groused.

  The empty page fluttered once. Then twice.

  Oh.

  The words slowly faded as I waited for more to be written.

  Well, clean up a bit next time.

  The book fluttered the equivalent of a huff.

  I rolled my eye.

  “Thanks for the judgement,” I responded dryly, less enthused by the moment to get to know the book.

  Except the opening lines kept me hooked.

  Mage of Order.

  Yeah. I wanted whatever that was.

  “Why are you here?” I asked as politely as I could.

  You brought me here.

  My face fell. “Listen here. I get enough of this from my boss. You ‘chose’ me. It said so. I don’t even know what that means. And you opened to speak with me, so might as well explain.”

  I didn’t choose you.

  I don’t like you.

  Ordo chose you.

  So I am now stuck with you.

  I was beginning to understand what Grandmagister Merl was talking about in his preface.

  Who knew a book could be an absolute backside?

  I; however, had learned from the best. Some book wasn’t going to get a rise out of me.

  So I did what always worked.

  I sat there.

  The book sat back, the fluttering of the pages slowly increasing in frequency. It got so bad my poor candle started sputtering in indignation once more.

  Ok, ok! Fine. You win. Happy?

  I raised my one good eyebrow.

  “I wasn’t playing a game,” I responded with the best It impersonation I could muster.

  Hmph. Well played. Very well, then.

  The book wiggled its cover, and I imagined a professor settling in for his favorite lecture

  There are different types of magic, the book wrote. Despite its personality, the script was indeed mesmerizing and I found myself leaning forward.

  Big surprise. Anyway, each of the great schools has exactly one guide to it.

  I’ve been had by a book, I thought. There was nothing for it but to sigh.

  These guides come in different forms. Some are familiars. Some are voices. I am a book.

  I am the guide to Ordo.

  The book paused, as if I should be impressed. If it hadn’t been so absolutely cantankerous, I probably would have been. Instead, I was just annoyed.

  “I presume Sigils is a type of magic as well?”

  The book fluttered the equivalent of a scoff.

  Sigils are a language. They are the guide to Converso.

  The book fluttered.

  Ordo is better.

  That got a thin smile out of me.

  “That’s… great. So can you like… do anything?”

  I cleaned your room.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  I painted.

  I crossed my arms.

  I pressed your clothes, boy. Don’t push your luck.

  “Can you teach me to do anything… magical?”

  The book floated off the desk and fluttered softly.

  Boy, perhaps one day I will teach you to bring Order.

  The book slammed itself shut with a bang, finally extinguishing my candle.

  The poor thing had won many battles, but ultimately lost the war.

  I sighed, shaking my head and trying to dispel the ringing left behind by the noise. As it subsided, I heard Mrs. Glubz running up the stairs. She didn’t knock, opting to let herself in.

  “I can’t wait to see what it — “

  She and I both looked around.

  The walls were now pink.

  “I err… I didn’t expect this to be your taste — but I LOVE it!” she shrieked. “I can’t wait to see what you do downstairs—”

  She paused as I hurriedly covered my bad eye, cursing myself for leaving the patch on the bed.

  But she just smiled. “The room looks lovely, Beeg. Sleep well, I can’t wait to discuss plans in the morning!”

  With that she exited the room, closing the door behind her and humming merrily.

  I dropped my hand and sighed. At least with the door closed it was too dark to see my ridiculous bright pink walls.

  I didn’t bother changing, opting to fall into bed.

  My breathing slowed almost instantly, the sounds of children playing on the streets below drifting through the window.

  Loud and obnoxious, but I was too tired to care.

  I would deal with tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.