It was the middle of winter. The forest was quiet and covered with snow, and Barnabas almost believed the wizard couldn’t touch him here—that the branches were just branches, the leaves just leaves, the wind just the wind.

“Hey. Wizard-Boy.”

Barnabas spun around, startled, to see Vincent standing a few yards away, wearing a purple scarf.

Vincent smiled. “What are you looking for?”

“Snow blooms. And fairy blood.”
“Fairy blood?”

“I’m evil, remember?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve never seen you out here.”

“I usually do my foraging on the other side of the forest.”

“I see.”

“The boss wants some winter bark, though, and the jorn trees are all over here.” Vincent toyed with the strap on his bag. “Mind if I join you?”

“Eager to watch me kill some fairies?”

“You kill them, then?”
“I’m supposed to.” He started walking. Vincent followed.

“I can go the other way if you don’t want me around.”

“Whatever.”

They walked in silence, heading deeper into the forest, until they reached a small clearing with a rocky pool at its center. Barnabas approached a particularly mossy tree and reached into his bag. He pulled out a bottle of honey and shoved it between the roots of the tree. He heard a giggle as a tiny fairy popped her head out.

“Barnaby!” she exclaimed before disappearing, then returning with two bottles and a tiny box. She kissed Barnabas on the cheek, then finally seemed to notice Vincent. “Hello, Cute Scarf Boy!”

“Hello. I’m Vincent.”

He was smiling, and Barnabas wondered if Vincent hadn’t seen a fairy outside of a cage before. Barnabas reached into his bag again and pulled out a bottle and a pouch, which he handed over. “Thank you, Jossey.”

“Sure, sure. I gotta go. Bye Barnaby, Vin!” She disappeared.

“So, you speak fairy?” asked Barnabas.

“A bit. I, uh, knew some mermaids, for a while.”

“I’ve never met a mermaid.”

“You’re not missing much,” he said, with a hint of bitterness. “Were you trading with your own blood?”

“Yeah.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Barnabas shrugged and continued walking. After some time, they reached a jorn grove, where Vincent made careful cuts to remove pieces of bark and Barnabas scoured the ground for snow blooms. His hands were getting cold, but he hadn’t found as many as he’d have liked.

“Hey,” said Vincent. “I’ve got an extra apple tart, do you want one?”

“Extra?”

“Well, I brought two, but I’m not as hungry as I thought I’d be.”

“No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Vincent ate his tart. Barnabas plunged his hands back into the snow. He finally found two more of the little white flowers and figured that would have to be good enough for the day.

“Are you sure you don’t want the other one?”

He kind of did. “Fine.” Barnabas wiped off his snow-covered hands and held one out to Vincent, who handed him the tart. “Thank you.”

“Sure. See you Wednesday?”

“Yeah.” Barnabas began the long walk back to the tower. This was not good. He should not have borrowed that book. He should not have let Vincent tag along. He unwrapped the tart and, upon taking a bite, it occurred to him that perhaps Vincent wasn’t trying to make friends at all, but had poisoned him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it, but nonetheless Barnabas hoped that wasn’t the case. Hope was a dangerous thing, though. He hadn’t dared to hope in a long time.