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predictable averages; magic’s unpredictability bent their bell curves in half.
    Oh, you could get insurance against magic, but that was expensive, since no actuarial table could predict ’mancer strikes. And ’mancer claims were insanely variable; rebuilding a burnt house was a fixed cost, but ’mancers could turn apartment complexes into fried chicken.
    So most folks opted for the cheaper “Acts of God and magic” coverage. Samaritan could deny any claim, no matter how expensive, if Paul or his boss Kit could ferret out evidence of ’mancy. That was Paul’s whole job, tracking down ’mancers to save Samaritan some dough.
    “Magic doesn’t matter in health insurance claims.” Paul’s voice was taut with fury as he tried to comprehend what Imani had just told him. All of Aliyah’s pain had been part of some crazy asshole’s plan ? Someone had almost killed his daughter intentionally ?
    “So… they’re not rejecting her because this is ’mancy?”
    “Samaritan Mutual has to cover any injury, regardless of source. They just have to think it’s a worthy treatment.”
    Imani sighed with relief. “Then make her worthy, Paul.”
    She squeezed the back of Paul’s neck affectionately – a cruel touch that reminded him of the intimacy they’d once shared – before withdrawing.
    Paul slumped by Aliyah’s bed, trembling with rage. He knew Imani was right: he needed to help Aliyah. Aliyah’s treatments would probably cost half a million before this was done; ’mancy or no, it’d take all his skills to wrestle that kind of funding out of Samaritan. He had to focus .
    But… someone had burned his daughter. On purpose . Back when he’d thought Aliyah’s pain had been an accident, Paul had wished that God had existed, just so he could punch Him in the face. Now someone was responsible – if Kit thought the fire had been started by a ’mancer, then it was a ’mancer – and Paul’s job was hunting down evidence of ’mancy.
    He couldn’t abandon Aliyah to chase a criminal, that would be irresponsible, but… was there a way he could use bureaucromancy to find this bastard? Or would his flux backfire and destroy the evidence that might help track this murderer down?
    Paul had no clue. He knew how to find ’mancers, not how to be one…
    “…Daddy?”
    It was the first time she’d spoken since the fire. Her breath was paper-thin, her voice thick in her misshapen mouth.
    “Yeah, love?”
    “…Is it true, what Mommy said?”
    Oh, God . What could he tell her? That he’d lost faith after killing the illustromancer? That he’d taken a shit job as penance, and now she might be burned forever, thanks to Daddy’s bad choices?
    “What did Mommy say?”
    “That a ’mancer burned me.”
    He thought of the Beast in his office. He couldn’t control his magic. If he pushed through approval for Aliyah’s work, her anesthesia might malfunction. Maybe Aliyah’s funding would rob the medicine from a hundred sick toddlers. Experimenting with lives at stake was irresponsible, reckless, mad.
    It was the only way to save her.
    “Yes, sweetie.” He squeezed her toes. “A ’mancer burned you.”
    “They’re bad.” Her eyes were cold and clear. “All the ’mancers. Bad men.”
    “Yes,” he agreed, settling into the role. “Yes, they are.”

Four
Samaritans at Samaritan
    O n the subway , riding to work, Paul went over the police reports one more time. It had been a risk, extracting the information – he’d sat in his hotel room, scribbling information requests on the Herald Square complimentary notepads until they’d expanded into full case files. He watched, delighted, as report by report, his ’mancy brought him everything the government knew about the person who’d set his home on fire.
    Then the flux had hit, and the ceiling collapsed on him. Not the whole ceiling, just a posterboard-sized chunk of termite-infested plaster, but enough to remind Paul that maybe he shouldn’t fuck around.
    But he