“Oh no.”

“What?” Barnabas was so anxious—he was barely holding it together.

“I think I felt a drop.”

“Shit.”

“I didn’t think to bring an umbrella.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Can’t you, like, magic us some kind of rain shield?”

“If only.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a wizard.”

“I only know how to do horrible things.”

“Yeah, right. All those years in that tower, all those books—you’re telling me you didn’t do some research of your own?”

“Well, I tried,” Barnabas admitted.

“So, what can you do, then?”

“You know, mix poisons, wither crops, start fires, break things. I’m pretty good at hexes. Move things around, fill jars with unpleasant feelings. I don’t know. A bunch of awful things, mostly.”

“Mostly.”

Barnabas sighed. “Well, I taught myself how to make plants grow faster, and how to heal cuts. And how to make a few counter-potions and healing draughts. But not that many.”

“I think you’re under-selling yourself. But anyway, we could—maybe—learn together?”

“Okay.”