“I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK TO THE WITCHMASTER,” ALIZA SAID TO THE RECEPTIONIST, WHO NODDED SLOWLY AND STOOD UP FROM HER CHAIR.

High ceilings stretched over her head, cream-colored marble blocks accented with gold. There was a fountain in the center of the room, depicting a woman bathing with a dragon-like spirit. The floor was startlingly reflective, showing Aliza her own face wrought with tense emotion. The receptionist, a small woman with greying hair, led her to a massive door that overshadowed everything else in the room, the sculpted wood just as extravagant as the fountain, if not more.

Inside, it was dimly lit, the yellow light from outside bleeding onto the pale floor and illuminating her path. Tall wooden chairs formed a semicircle around the door, gemstones shimmering on their bases and animals carved into the sides. Two blue eyes burned in the darkness, watching every step Aliza took. The figure leaned forward, revealing a white wolf mask.

Aliza performed a solemn bow, unable to give him the same warmness as Abiathar. “Witchmaster Vedast,” she murmured.

“Why have you come here?” Vedast asked, lifting his head, “Don’t you realize I am busy?”

“I have information that I thought you might need.”

“Then spit it out, witch.”

She rubbed the sweat from her palms. “It’s about Witchmaster Abiathar. He’s holding a higher spirit in his home. It’s a young one, with dark hair.”

Vedast tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. His eyes seem to light up. “A child, you say? That is information that I did indeed need.”

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“What did you put on this chicken?” Jaculus asked, poking at his plate with a fork. Abiathar had suggested that they sit at the kitchen table, bent on teaching him table manners.

“Ah, just a pack of spices I got from the store. Nothing special,” Abiathar said, shrugging. He nibbled on his own piece of meat, which had been cooked. “Do you like it?” he said cautiously.

Jaculus nodded, his eyes almost misty. “I love it. It...it kinda tastes like what my parents used to make.”

Abiathar fell into a flustered silence as Jaculus rubbed his face, his bottom lip trembling. He reached across the table, trying to touch his arm. “Were they nice?”

“They were amazing,” Jaculus murmured, letting his eyes droop to the table, “I miss them.”

Jaculus’s face was stormy, finally bringing up his chin to meet Abiathar face to face. “Thank you for letting me stay here, Abiathar. I don’t know what I would have done if you wouldn’t have taken me in.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I actually enjoy your company. I’ve spent so long living alone, it kinda feels good to share the house with someone other than my helper spirits.”

Jaculus shuffled his hands in his lap, “Abiathar, can I show you something?”

“What is it?”

Jaculus stretched out his fingers, revealing a small round object. “My parents gave this to me. My mom said it was sacred to us.” He tapped the black marks inside the glass orb, “She said the lines are a parent and a child. It represents love.” Jaculus rubbed the bandage on his leg, looking shy. “I almost lost it a few days ago, but I managed to get it back.”

“It’s beautiful,” Abiathar whispered.

“I want you to have it,” he said, clenching his fist.

Abiathar’s eyes widened. “I can’t accept this, Jaculus. This is something important to you.”

“But you’re important to me too.”

Abiathar let the orb roll into the palm, placing it in his breast pocket. “Thank you, Jaculus. I’ll treasure it.” He sat impaitently in his chair, only to stand up and grab a pillow from the couch. With a flimsy, light flick of the arm, he hit Jaculus on the shoulder.

Jaculus looked at him in mild alarm, eyes still watery. Abiathar rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just thought you might want to play again.”

Jaculus grinned, standing up to challenge Abiathar. “You call that a hit? Here, let me show you.”