It was a dark day. Most people refused to go out in such weather, many shops were closed, but Arnold’s Accoutrements was always open. There were no customers; the clerk was reading a book at the counter. He didn’t even look up when Barnabas opened the door.

“Hello.”

Vincent, startled, did look up at that. “How long have you been here?”

“A while. I need these.” Barnabas indicated an assortment of candles and dried herbs. “And the usual, of course.”

“Right.” Vincent closed his book and set a package on the counter, and Barnabas paid quickly and left.

It hadn’t started raining yet, but the clouds looked dark and heavy, and Barnabas suspected he wouldn’t make it back before it started to pour. He sighed and began the 40-minute walk back to the crumbling tower he slept in but would never, ever call home. It was cold and dark and oppressive, and no matter how hard he tried to be quiet, the doors always creaked. Once, when he’d been younger and more optimistic, he tried to magically suppress the creaking on the back door. It was not successful.