The midpoint of the first month of spring soon came, and with it, the end of the term. The school had suffered irreparable damage. All classes had stopped as the grounds around the school were unstable because of the earthquake that hit town. The days drew out into drowsiness, and to satiate his boredom, Victor would often spend time in secret with Casey Cardnell, whose grandparents were Calne farmers who lived just out of town and owned acres of the surrounding land. Despite the reputation his father had gained as a supposed narcotic seller, and direct threats to Victor himself if he ever fraternised with the other youth of the town. He knew his father was a famous and good vintner. That was all that mattered. Regardless, he much enjoyed his friendship with Casey, who showed him certain sensitivity and understanding that nobody else would. 

During these days, Victor’s thoughts often fell to that of his uncle Gareth, who had been absent for nearly a year, it seemed, and his post at the Dragon’s Blood Inn was inconveniently vacant for some time. He had abandoned everything he had built in Calne, leaving Victor and his family with a terrible reputation amidst the town. 

As a result, teenagers and adults alike across the citizenry of Calne would spurn him publicly, spitting at, screaming at, or even running away from him on account of his family connection with the infamous, impious ‘magician’ Gareth Waltz when he was alone. Victor often wondered if his uncle once performed in a circus and was running away from a debt. Codswallop and nonsense rumours from deluded farmers, Victor thought. It didn’t seem to affect him, though, as he maintained his desire for a simple, humble life away from all the madness that his parents had fled from because of issues with the law. 

“Hey, Victor!” Casey was sitting atop a haystack, bathing in the morning sun. Half blinded by the sunlight, Victor looked up to her silhouette to make her out properly. She 76 was very fair of face, and of a small build which aided to her nimbleness, shown by the skilful way she hopped back down to Earth. 

“What are you up to today?” she asked curiously. She caught him wandering almost aimlessly around the meadows, looking for something to do. At least now he wasn’t alone in that endeavour. 

“Not much,” he told her. “Vacations are boring.” Happy-go-lucky Casey frowned a little at his response before a grin suddenly found its way across her face. 

“Hey, you want to prank old Farmer Janner?” 

“How do you suggest we do that?” Casey giggled to herself. 

“We can take his scarecrow and put it outside his house. He’ll have such a fright when he goes out to feed his chickens!” She could barely contain herself as she spoke, but Victor shrugged. 

“Aren’t we a little old to be messing around with scarecrows and farmers?” 

“Ah! You’re no fun anymore, Victor! You need to relax for once! What happened to ‘fun Victor’?” She moved closer and squinted at him as if trying to look through his eyes to see what was behind them. “Is he still in there somewhere?” Then she knocked on Victor’s forehead like a door, and Victor flinched, stepping back. 

“Come on, Casey! Don’t be weird.” 

Casey huffed. 

“Just trying to stop you being such a misery-guts all the time.” Victor rolled his eyes and climbed up onto the haystack, looking over the meadow towards the woodland nearby. Casey came back up to join him. 

“We should go to the woods,” suggested Victor. “Maybe we can find some trees to climb.” 

Casey pouted, “So you’re not too old to climb trees, but you are too old to take part in my mastermind plan?” Victor returned the grin she was trying so hopelessly to hide. 

Victor enjoyed the woods a great deal. The ground under his feet was damp, soft and mossy, and the canopies above sheltered him from the fierce spring sunlight, making for a calm half-light that resembled droplets of pure gold. It beats doing nothing inside the house. After a few hours of adventuring through the wild of the Calne woodlands, they reached the edge of the thicket again and the outskirts of the town. 

“You coming tonight?” asked Victor. 

Later in the evening, there was an event in celebration of Easter held at the Dragon’s Blood Inn, and Victor had volunteered to help the staff considering Uncle Gareth’s absence. 

“Sure. My grandparents are bringing some vegetables and beer. Two of the worst things, if you ask me.” She winced, and Victor gave a little chuckle. “Alright. I’ll see you there.” He set off back down the farm track, through the meadows and around the outside of the town. As he walked, the sun got lower, bleeding streams of deep reds and oranges across the west horizon that slowly turned to a fierce purple and eventually blue. By the time Victor had arrived home, a blanket of sparkling black-blue velvet had already spread across the sky, and the only light outside was the guiding silver shine of the moon. 

As relatives of Gareth, his mother and father had already left the cottage to help prepare for the event, but Edward had waited for him. 

“I think we ought to leave soon, sir,” he told him as he tidied his best shoes in the hallway. “I expect tonight shall be fun.” Victor smiled and nodded. Despite having to interact with those who needlessly feared and hated him, he was looking forward to it. 

The night roared on, and the Dragon Blood Inn heaved with the entire town. In a place that would usually house the seediest of people, the Easter celebrations have attracted almost everyone to the tavern just outside of town.

Victor was busy jumping from table to table; ensuring the tables were clean and people’s tankards and mugs were constantly full. 

His parents fraternised with some more civilised socialites of the town, though contained in their discussions. Growing up, they had told him they were all hiding from the law and so had to remain incognito. But often, he noticed his father especially would break his own rules. It worried Victor. Whatever trouble they had with the law, Victor wished for an honest and simple life in the country, like Casey and her grandparents. 

“Victor, we need another barrel,” came the voice of the publican from behind the bar. “Help Cotter, will you? There’s one outside.” He nodded and stepped out into the humid night. But there were no signs of Cotter, the kitchen boy. He walked around the back to find the barrel, and as he did, he felt fear well up inside of him. Beyond the horizon, toward the outskirts of time, there was a deep, moving orange. It was fierce and bright, and one word came to him. 

“Fire.” He stood still, feet stuck to the floor, and after monumental willpower he pulled his legs along and pushed himself into a sudden sprint, pushing through the door to the tavern. “Fire!” he repeated. “Fire outside! There’s a fire!” The crowd dispersed, rushing out to the door until the tavern was entirely desolate and everybody had lined up to watch idly. Towards the back of the crowd, Victor looked again, perplexed and scared. As he looked 81 deeper at it, the fires raged on beyond the Calne woodland. 

Inside, the music had stopped, and the joyous celebrations of Easter had come to a sudden, cold stop as onlookers wept with fear and uncertainty. They lamented how many fires they had witnessed in the last month now, as they become so worryingly consistent. Many said it was bandits. Others said maybe one hamlet on the other side of the woods had lost control of their solstice celebrations. And some said words that cut deep in Victor’s heart: Witches. Magic. 

At that moment, somebody pulled at his arm and forced him away from the crowd. Nobody noticed him being hurried away, and it all happened so quickly that he didn’t have the chance to object. But as he moved farther to the back of the tavern, he realised who had held him by the arm and his heart pounced. 

“Uncle Gareth?” His face weathered and hard, his expression seemingly colder than it had once been. He was considerably older than he used to be, as if he had experienced a lot in the last year that no man should experience. But as Victor recognised him, he smiled at him. 

“Easy, lad. It’s good to see you.” His voice was gruff and heavy, shushed to maintain secrecy, but with the same affectionate tone he had grown up hearing whenever he spoke to him. Out of all the people of his family and home, Gareth was who understood him the most. Not even Edward could properly relate to him. Ultimately, Gareth was blood. Waiting behind him, he noticed several figures cloaked in black like Gareth himself was, all of whom refused to share eye contact with Victor. They gave him a most peculiar feeling. 

“What are you doing here? You have been gone for so long? Where did you go?” Questions raced at him, but he knew it would make more sense to go one at a time, but the flurry of emotions he felt seeing his uncle again made him confused, angry, and overjoyed all at once. 

“We’ll speak more about this soon. I’m afraid I’m not staying.” The emotions in Victor welled more, and he tried his best to contain whatever was threatening to pop out of him, but before he could respond, his uncle continued, “I wish I could stay on a more personal visit, lad. But I’m here on business.” 

He subtly motioned to the surrounding men. “Men, as you already know. There have been too many fires lately, and we lost the last team looking into this. We came here to find them and bring them home. No mistakes. Anything else besides success isn’t an option. Let’s move.” 

Victor scrunched his face. What sort of work was Gareth doing, anyway? As he followed this line of inward questioning, he came to realise that he knew next to nothing about what his uncle did. 

Gareth put a hand on his shoulder. “I heard about what happened. Your father wrote to me. I hope you change your mind.” Before Victor could respond, his uncle and the men who flanked him reassembled and departed almost immediately, and Victor remained in the dark silence of the night.