“Why should I help you?” she snapped. “You threatened to have your town run me away! You tried to steal the mushroom from my trap. And now you’ve bonded with the Beast that I should have bonded with.”
“I didn’t bond with it! It bonded with me!”
“But that’s not how it works. Did you touch it? You would’ve felt a spark—maybe a pinch? You must’ve—”
“I didn’t,” he insisted. All he remembered before passing out was the teeth.
“Is it Gravaldor?” Selby squeaked.
“No, Gravaldor looks like a bear,” the girl answered, rolling her eyes. “His Beast is—”
“I don’t want to know what it is,” Barclay snapped. “Just get the Mark off me!”
The girl crossed her arms. “I don’t know how to remove a Mark. Most people don’t want to! Most people want—”
Barclay didn’t think he could hear more of this, or he might be sick again. He grabbed Selby’s shoulder. “Come on. We’re going back.”
Selby cringed as Barclay touched him, and Barclay swallowed and dropped his hand.
“What if the Beast gets out?” Selby murmured.
“I…” Barclay’s mouth went dry. Then he, Barclay Thorne, Dullshire’s hardest-working but most troublesome apprentice, would become another cautionary tale. Another Lore Keeper who brought destruction with him.
The girl shook her head. “Beasts can’t come out of their Marks unless you summon them. Or unless they break their bonds. But that’s very rare! If it was going to happen, you’d know. The Mark would start to turn black.”
If Barclay could see the tattoo’s color changing, that would give him time to escape Dullshire if he needed to. He could run into the Woods and let the trees swallow him whole. Then, far, far away, Dullshire would be safe.
But he would be gone, alone in the Woods with a deranged Beast.
Barclay didn’t mind having responsibilities. In fact, every year of his apprenticeship, he looked forward to Master Pilzmann assigning him new ones. It had begun with chores—Barclay learned to chop firewood, to feed Gustav, and to fetch water from the well. As he grew older, Barclay began interacting with customers and tending to the mushroom cellar. Now he led foraging trips all on his own.
Each time, Barclay had known that he was ready for the new responsibility. Even when it was hard or he was tired, he liked how much Master Pilzmann relied on him. Whenever his teacher called him exceptional, Barclay felt a flutter of pride in his chest. No one else in town thought of orphans like that.
But this responsibility was far greater than anything else asked of him. If a Beast lived in Barclay’s skin, then it was Barclay’s responsibility to make sure it stayed there. It was his responsibility to keep Dullshire safe… no matter what.
“We’re going back,” Barclay said. Though his words were firm, his voice shook.
“They’ll let you go back?” the girl asked. “You said they’d chase me away for being a Lore Keeper. So what will they do to you?”
Barclay’s heart filled with dread. Dullshire didn’t make exceptions. At least, not for Barclay, who didn’t have family to fight for one.
“They won’t know,” he murmured, as determined as he was terrified.
Then he grabbed Selby’s hand and led them through the maze of gray trees. It might have been Barclay’s imagination playing tricks, but as the wind blew and the branches prickled, it seemed as though every tree now leaned away from him to clear his path. As though the wilds recognized one of their own.
* * *
It wasn’t until the boys arrived at Master Pilzmann’s house that Barclay remembered he was returning from his trip empty-handed. They’d failed to find the Mourningtide Morel, and judging from the ominous clouds darkening the sky, the first snow was coming. Now Master Pilzmann would have to wait until next year.
The house was strange-looking on the outside. When Gravaldor had attacked seven years ago, his foot had smashed the back of the house, so Master Pilzmann had needed to rebuild those walls. Several years later he’d added a second story for Barclay’s bedroom and for storage. Each addition had been built of something different, making the home like a quilt of brick, stone, and wood. And like all houses in Dullshire, Beast-warding charms dangled from each of the windows, ropes and beads and chimes that reeked and rang and warned stay away, stay away.
Barclay and Selby entered around back, where a flyer had been pinned to the door.
ATTENTION RESIDENTS OF DULLSHIRE
As of today, the twentieth of Winter, four new rules have been issued by the mayor’s office:
Rule #1192: sneezing is hereby prohibited in the town square.
Rule #1193: all pets must be examined by sentry officials for any Beast magic, especially ducks.
Rule #1194: Rule #827 has been revoked. Carrot cake is reinstated as a birthday cake option.
Rule #1195: no babies are to be named Kuthbert with a C—only with a K.
The boys took down the flyer and pushed open the door to the pantry. Inside was crowded with baskets and crates, each filled with different types of mushrooms. The whole place smelled like mushrooms, and mushrooms—for the most part—smelled like dirt. This was the only room in the house not up to Dullshire’s typical standards of cleanliness, and it was also Barclay’s favorite. He liked the smell, and he didn’t mind the filth.
The boys crept through the door to the living room. They found Gustav curled up on the rug and asleep in front of the fire.
Master Pilzmann made a noise of greeting from the kitchen, where he was wearing a burlap apron and washing mushrooms in a bucket of water. He was exceptionally tall—the tallest man in town. He constantly needed to hunch below doorframes, and his drooping gray mustache reached down to his chest. For special occasions Master Pilzmann wore a strange round hat that even made him look like a giant mushroom.
“You’re back late,” he told the boys, so absorbed in his washing that he didn’t look up from the sink. “I was getting worried.”
Barclay carefully adjusted the straps of his bag so that it covered his wound, then attempted—and failed—to smooth down his messy hair. “We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to take so long. It’s just that…” He swallowed. He hated lying. “We couldn’t find the Mourningtide Morel.”
It’s not a lie, he told himself. We’re just not telling him the whole truth. The thought didn’t make him feel good, but it did help him keep his voice steady.
“Is that so? That’s not like you, Barclay,” said Master Pilzmann. He didn’t sound angry, but Barclay still felt a twinge of guilt. He hated letting Master Pilzmann down.
“I’m sorry,” he managed. “It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he said. “Well, remember to take off your shoes—I just mopped. And supper’s on the table. Mushroom soup. It’s probably cold by now, but it’s still good.”
Selby made a disgusted face.
“Mrs. Havener at the library stopped by today to let me know that they’ve purchased several more books. She said something about adventure and history, and she seemed very excited for me to tell you, Barclay.”