Her blood wicks into the paper, forming first a spider web of thin, crimson rivulets. Then, before her eyes, letters materialize, her blood as ink.

The letter reads:

Hi Alecto,

I must admit I have thought long and hard on how to introduce you to my world. This would not have been my preference, but as circumstances change, so must methods.

First, magic is real. Vampires, werewolves, demons, and witches all reside among us.

Whether you believe me or not, I will be brief because if you are reading this, the gears have already begun to turn. Don't fret, this is not the only note I have left you.

If you are reading this for the first time anywhere but the offices of Abernathy and Jones, my plans have gone drastically wrong. If, however, Wilson Abernathy now sits across from you, you need to draw up a contract with him.

Wilson is not only a reliable attorney, he possesses the ability to produce magically binding contracts. You need to get him to sign a binding retainer entering him into your service. Offer money; he likes money, and we have more than enough. If my estate is not yet in your hands, offer the location of one of my dead drops. There he will find ten troy ounces of gold bullion.

[address to a storage locker and what looks like a 4-digit code]

Do not sign away anything but money or gold, not just now but ever. Ensure the contract includes his services as an attorney and as a witch, contingent on further payment.

The key also in this envelope opens a safety deposit box in the Melbourne vault. In the box, you will find another note.

Try not to be followed.

Sorry for the first of several nasty paper cuts.

Love, John

She looks up at Wilson Abernathy in a new light. Who is this man, then, who is apparently a witch and a steward of a glorified ARG of her Uncle

"Do you have access to any unambiguous proofs of the existence of magic?" 

Wilson's tone carries a hint of surprise as he speaks. "Give me a moment. My practice isn't flashy, I can't conjure fire or vanish into thin air," he says, reaching for a sheaf of cream-colored paper from his desk. He dips an elegant quill into a silver inkwell, adding, "I do, however, have one party trick."

With several swift, practiced strokes of his quill, he completes his task and turns the paper towards Alecto. Her eyes are drawn to the margins, filled with intricate cuneiform writing, clearly transcribed with painstaking care beforehand. In the center of the sheet, written in a crisp, clear hand, the letter reads:

Contract made on this day, [DATE], between the undersigned parties:

PARTY A: Alecto Collins, hereafter referred to as "the Performer" PARTY B: Wilson Abernathy, hereafter referred to as "the Initiator"

TERMS OF AGREEMENT:

1. The Performer agrees to execute the following action: a) Stand upright b) Click heels together once
2. The aforementioned action shall be performed by the Performer immediately upon the Initiator's utterance of the phrase "There's no place like home."
3. In consideration for this performance, the Initiator agrees to provide the Performer with one (1) piece of barley sugar confectionery.
4. Upon completion of the described action and the exchange of the specified confectionery, this contract shall be considered fulfilled in its entirety.
5. Both parties acknowledge that this agreement, once executed, leaves no lingering obligations or responsibilities on either party beyond the scope of this document.

By signing below, both parties indicate their understanding and acceptance of the terms outlined in this agreement.

Alecto Collins Wilson Abernathy The Performer The Initiator

Date: __________________ Date: __________________"

The bulk of the text was evidently prepared in advance, the names 'Alecto Collins' and 'Wilson Abernathy', along with the current date, are written in fresh, still wet, ink.

Alecto thinks for a moment. What worlds are there, and what does signing this contract imply.

First world, magic isn't real. Signing the contract is irrelevant.

Second world, magic is real, her uncle was in on this. In which case, signing this contract would directly contravene her uncle's advice. It appears harmless, given what context she has, but she hasn't anywhere near enough context to actually be certain that her uncle actually meant "don't commit to magically enforced contracts unless you're only paying tolerable and fungible prices in them." And not say "he has the ability to devour the souls of anyone who makes a physical motion as a result of his contracts." or some such similar abstract side channel to the core principle of the contracts. The counterargument is that her uncle did apparently trust Abernathy to some extent. Was that trust magically enforced, or a relationship backed up by present force? She wouldn't have thought so, but there's a lot about this situation she wouldn't have thought, so. 

Third world, magic is real, but her uncle wasn't in on this or at least Abernathy isn't relaying an actual message. In this world, she has negative reason to trust the contract. Evidence against that: why? If the magic just needs a signature, why reveal magic exists. If the magic has a sense of justice to it such that she needs to know it's a magic contract, why not a sense of justice sufficient to require knowing what that contract does? Well, she supposes there's a version of this world where Wilson is a bad actor and also the contract in front of her is magical and it's what it seems, and this is just the first step forward to some more complex entrapment. Sje thinks in this case that she probably benefits more from knowing magic is real than from the costs of taking one step further into a social trap she's looking out for. 

She would like to be in the second world. The first world doesn't matter. But even in the second world, this is questionable. 

"My uncle specifically wrote that I should not sign any contract with you that had a price other than money or gold." 

"Jonathan was a smart man," Abernathy says, a fleeting smile crossing his features.

He shrugs and takes the sheet back. "How much change do you have in your pockets?" he asks, striking through sections of the contract with fresh ink.

She has no Australian denomination less than ten dollars on her person, but she has three pound coins in her purse and 6.5 riyal in various small change courtesy of an impulsive desire for icecream while waiting for a flight transfer. All things considered, she'd rather use the riyal for this experiment. 

"If this suits you, please counter-initial the changes and sign below," Wilson says, passing the document back with one hand while offering a fresh quill dipped in red ink with the other.

The contract now bears numerous modifications: sections have been struck through, and cramped additions squeeze between lines. Each change is marked with Wilson's elegant initials.

Contract made on this day, [DATE], between the undersigned parties:

PARTY A: Alecto Collins, hereafter referred to as "the Performer" PARTY B: Wilson Abernathy, hereafter referred to as "the Initiator"

TERMS OF AGREEMENT:

1. The Performer agrees to execute the following action pay the following fee WA: 6.5 riyal a) Stand upright b) Click heels together once WA
   
2. The aforementioned action fee shall be performed by due WA from the Performer immediately upon the Initiator's utterance of the phrase "There's no place like home."
3. In consideration for this performance fee WA, the Initiator agrees to provide the Performer with one (1) piece of barley sugar confectionery.
4. Upon completion of the described action and the exchange of the specified confectionery, this contract shall be considered fulfilled in its entirety.
5. Both parties acknowledge that this agreement, once executed, leaves no lingering obligations or responsibilities on either party beyond the scope of this document.

By signing below, both parties indicate their understanding and acceptance of the terms outlined in this agreement.

Alecto Collins Wilson Abernathy The Performer The Initiator

Date: __________________ Date: __________________

That barley sugar candy is a worse deal than icecream bought in the Dubai airport, but what can she expect, she's buying it from a lawyer.

She will sign the contract, having no idea what consequences she might have forestalled with this insistence.

"There's no place like home," Wilson says, a brief touch of smugness coloring his tone.

The effect is immediate. Alecto feels a cold pressure at the back of her neck and an intense, almost irresistible desire to fish out her foreign change and present it to the owlish man in front of her.

She will resist to the greatest extent possible without actually harming herself, and then relent, giving him her change. 

Well fuck. Magic is real. Or there's an alternative explanation, but "the mind control ray used to implement this is totally technology." Would be nonetheless sufficient to make her aware that the world contains wonders and horrors beyond her imagination.

"My uncle also suggested that I should hire you on retainer for your services both as a lawyer and as a witch. Do you have standard rates? And is it permissable for me to see the analogous contract you had with my Uncle." 

Wilson nods and hands over a leather-bound folio containing several contracts similar in design to the one Alecto signed earlier, except that the symbols encircling the margin are embossed in gold leaf.

These contracts document Jonathan's initial retainer with Wilson, along with several amendments. The first amends the remuneration from negotiated in-kind services to an eye-watering amount of money, and the most recent amends the confidentiality clause to include limited disclosure to Alecto in the case of Jonathan's death.

arcane terms pepper the contracts, but a few stick out. Jonathan originally agreed not to 'scry' or 'charm travel' within the offices of Abernathy and Jones; this was removed in a later amendment to be replaced with his agreement not to surveil other clients.

The folio also contains older, more mundane documents. One of these older documents has an elaborate house crest: three bees encircling a stone tower that looks more at home in the 1400s than in modern-day Melbourne. It appears to be a family tree. Down one branch, each generation has one member of the family with a small bee drawn next to their name, each bee looking different, clearly scribed by a separate hand.

Wilson puts aside a notepad.he had began writing in while Alecto investigated the contents of the folio "I tailor retainers to each clients individual capabilities," he explains. "For you, I propose a provisional arrangement: $20,000 upfront, plus negotiable service fees, for one year."

How much money does she actually have right now, inheritance included but disregarding plans for extracting money from her father. 

The emergency credit card her uncle gave her has a $30,000 limit. After questioning Wilson, she learns the estate she's set to inherit is valued between fifty and sixty million dollars, with modest real estate holdings in Melbourne, London, and Tucson, Arizona.

She's honestly more worried about losing access to the ?magic lawyer? than by the cost of him, then. But she can't force him to stay; there's a clause right there about exit rights (and what a good and desirable clause it is too.). She'll just have to be a good and desirable client. She'll read the contract in close detail, asking any questions she has, but taking this deal is a foregone conclusion - she needs allies, ones more topical to the problem at hand than her miscellaneous internet and university friends. She'll sign the contract. 

Also, apparently her Uncle owns land in a city she's barely even heard of. She makes a mental note. 

The contract she signs is nearly identical in design to the one bearing her uncle's signature. The moment her pen lifts from the paper, a cold chill wraps her bones from head to toe, momentarily intense before fading to a subtle presence.

"How would you like to settle payment?" Wilson asks. "Sadly, the state has yet to release your uncle's estate, so funds will have to come from elsewhere".

It can go on the credit card. Her personal savings could cover it, but that'd take time to liquidate. So would the gold.  If she's not solvent by the end of the month, she has bigger problems. (Her father would have to be also dead, or out of contact, at a minimum).

"I'll pay on my card, for now." 

After the payment goes through. 

"The contract is now officially in effect?" 

"After briefly glancing at his phone, the only piece of technology present in his office, he says 'It is. My services are at your command. What can I do for you, Ms. Collins?'"

She pulls herself up to her full height of seriousness and importance. 

"I have three questions off the top of my head. In order of difficulty: First, where, in your opinion, can I most effectively convert gold bullion into currency?" 

She pulls the mystery coin out of her pocket. She takes care not to touch it, holding it by the handkerchief it was wrapped in. 

"Second, Have you the faintest clue what this coin represents? Someone planted it on my person at the airport." 

"Third, what in the names of the hopefully fictional nine hells sort of mess did my uncle get himself into?" 

As soon as she sets the coin on the desk, Wilson snatches it up, momentarily forgetting her other questions.

"Not good. We are being watched," he says, standing from his desk, coin in hand. "Will you allow me to dispose of this?"

"If doing so is in my best interests, do so." 

Well, it's not like she hadn't considered the possibility. And the disregarded it, because who can use a limp of solid silver as a surveillance device? Witches, apparently. 

When the coin has been disposed of, she asks: 

"Do you know what they could see? Could they hear?" 

Wilson steps into the hall briefly to hand the coin off to his secretary, instructing her to incinerate it. He returns to the room, leaving the door open.

"I don't know the specifics of their practice," he says. "What I do know, however, is that through those coins they can see and hear practically anything. Having one on your person is not good for your health"

"That's a problem, then." They probably know the password to her phone, if they were paying attention. Her password manager would have concealed everything else, at least. She starts fiddling with her phone to change her password. "At least I feel that planting it in such an unsubtle way implies that there's not any other magical surveillance of that quality, because otherwise it would have been better to simply remain entirely unnoticed. Unless your next advice is a ten step program for magical information security that includes several potential leaks I couldn't possibly be anticipating right now."