JACULUS AWOKE WITH A SHOUT, SWEAT DRIPPING DOWN THE BACK OF HIS NECK. He threw off the blanket, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his face.

It was the dead of night, white fingers of light from the full moon clawing through the windows. He had been trapped in a nightmare, where Abiathar had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and tossed him outside. Abiathar had screamed that he was sick of him, and he no longer wanted Jaculus to live with him.

That thought had terrified Jaculus more than he had wanted it to.

He pulled his knees to his chest, lip trembling. He knew it was nonsense. Abiathar wouldn’t abandon him, right?

Right?

Abiathar had no real reason to keep him around, besides the fact that he enjoyed his presence. Suddenly his fears felt very, very possible. Jaculus covered his face, unable to keep himself from whimpering.

He wanted to run into Abiathar’s bedroom and beg for affirmation that it was all just a silly dream, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Abiathar must be asleep. He didn’t want to bother him.

Another rush of fear. He couldn’t take it anymore.

Jaculus leapt up, stumbling down the hallway. He paused in front of Abiathar’s bedroom door, wringing his wrists. He pushed through the crack in the door, finding Abiathar asleep in his bed, covers pulled over his motionless form.

“Abiathar?” Jaculus rasped, “Can we talk?”

Jaculus took another step forward, at his bedside. Abiathar’s face was pressed into his pillow, a halo of brown hair spread over his bed. “Abiathar?”

“Huh?” Abiathar mumbled, rising up.

Jaculus gasped as Abiathar finally met him face-to-face.

Abiathar’s face was covered in thick, severe scars, stretching across his cheeks, forehead, and jaw. His skin was discolored and broken, the only thing untouched was his bright eyes.

Abiathar’s mouth twisted into a frown as he fully woke up, realizing Jaculus had saw him. “Jaculus, I-I-” He turned around, throwing his hands over his face.

Jaculus blinked, reaching out to touch his arm. “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to hide your face from me. I don’t care what you look like.” Slowly, he crawled beside Abiathar, feeling him tremble as he wretched his fingers away from his skin.

“My aunt was a witch,” Abiathar murmured, his voice hush, “My parents didn’t want me practicing magic, but my aunt wanted me to follow my natural ability. We practiced spells on her kitchen table. One night, I wanted to show her something special, so I began to prepare a spell from the advanced section of her book. I did something wrong, and the spell malfunctioned.” Abiathar glanced down, the remnants of his eyebrows furrowing. “The potion exploded right as I leaned over it. The doctors said it was a miracle I didn’t lose my eyes. Shortly after, my parents pulled me out of school. I couldn’t face anyone without something covering my scars. From that day on, I took magic seriously, studying restlessly until I mastered my craft. I never wanted to make a mistake like that again. I was one of the youngest people to gain the title of witchmaster, learning things that people twice my age still struggled with at the expense of my social life. To be honest, these past few days have been the longest time I’ve spoken to another person and left the house.

Moonlight caught the raised part of his scars with a soft reflection, adding a glow to his earnest, sad expression. Abiathar grasped Jaculus in a hug, squeezing him against his chest. Jaculus’s nightmare no longer brought him any fear. He knew that Abiathar would never abandon him.

“I’ve been so used to being alone and hiding, it actually feels good open up to someone,” Abiathar whispered.

    “The mask was kinda creepy, too,” Jaculus said awkwardly.

“It’s a tradition among witchmasters,” Abiathar said, shly touching the back of his neck, “We wear masks of our spirit animals. It allows our magic to flow more freely throughout our bodies.”

 
Abiathar glanced up at the window, face lighting up. “It’s a full moon, isn’t it? I must show you something, Jaculus!”

Abiathar leapt out of bed, taking Jaculus by the hand. He swept him across the house, still in his pajamas, and into the garden. The sky was breathtakingly clear, no cloud to obscure the moon hanging above them. Abiathar’s eyes seemed supernaturally bright, silver stars gleaming in his iris.

“When the moon reaches its full power, so do we witches,” Abiathar said, squeezing Jaculus’s hand. Jaculus was beginning to enjoy his crooked, misshapen smile. “We can finally summon our spirit animal to this plane. Would you like to see him?”

Encouraged by a enthusiastic nod from Jaculus, Abiathar stepped forward, falling under the light of the moon. Silver energy gathered before him, joining together to creature a crystalline structure. From this structure, a creature was borne, a large, mystical stag. He watched Jaculus with cool, focused eyes, letting his muzzle brush Abiathar’s palm. Abiathar kissed the stag’s head.

“Touch him,” Abiathar urged.

Hesitant, Jaculus stretched out his fingers, instinctively bowing his head. The stag submitted, craning his neck to allow Jaculus to stroke his mighty head. He radiated power, far more power than Abiathar. Chills ran down Jaculus’s spine.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Abiathar murmured, settling down on the grass. He looked just as spellbound as Jaculus did. Jaculus sat beside him, letting his head slump against Abiathar’s shoulder. He yawned, the late hours of the night finally catching up with him. As the stag laid down in front of them, Jaculus felt his eyes start to droop. He gave Abiathar a lazy smile.

This was where he belonged.