Three days before the Summer Festival, Alex found himself sitting in the mayor's office, trying not to think about the fact that he was glowing brightly enough to read by while the most powerful person in the city explained why she needed him to accidentally save her career.
Mayor Patricia Hendricks was a woman in her fifties who looked like she'd been running on coffee and determination for the better part of a decade. Her office was a study in controlled chaos—stacks of documents competed for space with coffee cups at various stages of consumption, and a wall-mounted whiteboard was covered in what appeared to be contingency plans for municipal disasters ranging from "Traffic Light Malfunction" to "Spontaneous Sinkhole" to "Circus-Related Temporal Anomalies."
"That last one is new," she explained, noticing Alex's stare. "We added it after reports of a walking circus tent and several instances of impossible mathematics in the accounting district."
"That might be my fault," Alex admitted.
"I know. That's why you're here." Mayor Hendricks leaned forward with the expression of someone about to ask for a miracle. "Mr. Sterling, I'm going to be completely honest with you. This Summer Festival is either going to save my political career or end it. We've had budget cuts, venue problems, three different catering companies cancel, and as of yesterday, our main entertainment—a tribute band called 'The Reasonable Beatles'—broke up after a philosophical disagreement about whether 'Yesterday' is about nostalgia or regret."
Dr. Martinez, who had been quietly taking readings from the corner of the office, looked up from her tablet. "The probability distortion field is already responding to the mayor's stress levels. I'm reading increased likelihood of positive resolution, but also some concerning spikes in what I can only describe as 'creative chaos potential.'"
"What does that mean?" Mayor Hendricks asked.
"It means," Alex said with growing familiarity with his own impossible existence, "that something spectacularly unexpected is about to happen, and it'll probably work out better than anyone planned."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Not really. That's kind of the point."
Riley bounced into the office with her characteristic enthusiasm, having somehow convinced the mayor's security that juggling while walking was a normal form of identification. "Alex! Great news! I've been coordinating with the festival committee, and we've got everything set up. Socrates is going to give philosophical advice at the wisdom booth, Spinoza is designing custom cotton candy flavors based on people's childhood memories, and the acrobatic accountants are offering free tax consultations while performing aerial routines above the main stage."
"What about Danny and his cat situation?" Alex asked.
"Oh, that's the best part! We've arranged for him to do lion taming demonstrations, and the committee was so excited they didn't ask whether we actually have any lions. Danny figured he'd just... work around that detail."
Mayor Hendricks blinked slowly. "Work around the detail of not having lions for a lion taming demonstration?"
"Danny's very creative," Riley assured her. "Also, Mrs. Whiskers has volunteered to help, though she hasn't told Danny about that yet."
Alex felt that familiar warm sensation in his chest, accompanied by his usual brightening glow. "Mayor, I should probably warn you—when I try to help with things, they tend to become... bigger than expected."
"Bigger how?"
"Well, the last wedding I accidentally helped with turned into a viral video that launched a small business empire. The divorce mediation I attended resulted in the couple deciding to get married again and hire me to officiate. And Marcus's tax office spontaneously expanded into an aerial arts studio where federal law apparently rewrote itself to be more helpful."
Dr. Martinez nodded enthusiastically. "The quantum mechanics of Alex's influence suggest exponential scaling based on the number of people involved. A city festival with an estimated attendance of thirty-seven thousand could result in... well, unprecedented positive outcomes."
"Or unprecedented chaos," Mayor Hendricks said faintly.
"Both," Alex, Riley, and Dr. Martinez said simultaneously.
Mayor Hendricks stared at them for a long moment, then reached for what appeared to be her emergency coffee cup—a industrial-sized mug that read "MAYOR: PROFESSIONAL PROBLEM SOLVER AND AMATEUR MIRACLE WORKER."
"You know what?" she said after taking a long sip. "At this point, unprecedented chaos sounds better than predictable failure. Mr. Sterling, you're hired. Try to accidentally make this the best Summer Festival in the city's history."
"I'll do my best," Alex said. "Though just to be clear, my best usually involves things going spectacularly wrong before they go impossibly right."
"As long as they end up impossibly right, I can live with spectacularly wrong."
Alex's phone buzzed with a text from Socrates: "The tent has begun practicing festival setup. It appears to have developed opinions about proper stage arrangement. Also, Harmony has been giving flying lessons to the sound equipment. This may be relevant to your planning."
Alex showed the text to Riley, who grinned. "Oh, this is going to be amazing. The sound system learning aerial arts? The festival is going to be unforgettable."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Mayor Hendricks muttered, but she was smiling as she said it.
Dr. Martinez packed up her equipment with the satisfied expression of someone who'd just collected invaluable data. "Mayor, you might want to have your emergency services on standby. Not for anything dangerous—Alex's chaos is remarkably benevolent—but they may need to assist with unusual traffic patterns, spontaneous community improvements, and possibly some minor violations of conventional physics."
"Minor violations of physics?"
"Nothing harmful! Just things like cotton candy that tastes like childhood memories, tax forms that provide emotional therapy, and possibly some equipment that's learned to fly. Standard Alex Sterling event phenomena."
As they left City Hall, Alex reflected on how his life had become a series of conversations where he warned people that hiring him would result in beautiful disasters, and they hired him anyway.
"Alex," Riley said as they walked toward their car, "I've been thinking about what Socrates said about your influence expanding through connections."
"What about it?"
"Well, you've now been hired by the mayor of the city. That's not just a personal connection—that's an official municipal connection. If your influence really does spread through relationships and commitments..."
Alex stopped walking as the implications hit him. "You think I just accidentally became connected to every city service?"
"I think," Riley said with a grin that suggested both excitement and mild terror, "that you just accidentally became part of the civic infrastructure. The question is: what happens when a catalyst of beneficial chaos becomes officially responsible for municipal wellbeing?"
Dr. Martinez, who had been eavesdropping while pretending to calibrate her instruments, looked up with wide eyes. "According to my preliminary calculations... something wonderful and completely unprecedented."
Alex looked back at City Hall, then at his glowing hands, then at the circus tent that was visible in the distance, apparently practicing some kind of synchronized dance with the city's traffic lights.
"I have a feeling," he said, "that this Summer Festival is going to be very, very interesting."
His phone immediately rang. The caller ID read: "EMERGENCY SERVICES COORDINATOR - URGENT BUT PROBABLY DELIGHTFUL."
Alex Sterling, accidental municipal consultant and professional catalyst of beneficial civic chaos, answered the phone and prepared for whatever impossible thing would happen next.