On the first sunny day in twenty, Arnold’s Accoutrements was, for once, packed. Vincent was actually busy, furiously ringing up sales for village people picking up odds and ends and traveling mystics shopping for essentials, while Barnabas lurked in a corner, pretending to examine some candle wicks. He was trying to wait until the crowd thinned to go up to the counter, but it didn’t seem like that would happen soon. He moved one table over and looked at the incense. He supposed he could actually buy some. The black one with the green wrapping that smelled like the woods, perhaps. He would probably get punished, but it might be worth it. He grabbed a box.

Barnabas heard a thud and gripped the box tighter. He slowly turned to look out the front window, to which was stuck a bloody, spreadeagle bird, missing the front half of its body. He sighed. He’d be blamed for this for sure. Someone screamed, customers rushed out the door, and Barnabas was left alone with Vincent. He braced himself.

“The usual please. And this.” He pushed the box of incense forward.

Vincent stared at him for a few moments. “Did you do that?”

“No.”

Vincent reached behind him and handed Barnabas the little paper sack. “Best get going, then.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Do you want to sneak out the back?”

“They won’t do anything to me. They’re too afraid of the old guy.”

Vincent shrugged. “Still be uncomfortable though, right? The people in this town have really perfected the judgmental stare.”

Barnabas didn’t know what to say, but he found himself smirking a little. Vincent opened the back door.

“See you next week, Wizard-Boy,” he said, and smiled.