But Barclay didn’t have parents. No exceptions.

“Don’t make me leave,” Barclay pleaded as Master Pilzmann picked up Barclay’s possessions and shoved them back into the bag. “I didn’t mean to hurt Falk. And the clocktower, it can be fixed, can’t it?”

“What happened to the clocktower?” asked Master Pilzmann sharply.

With a fresh wave of shame, Barclay explained the events of the festival.

Master Pilzmann shook his head. “If Selby had come straight to me, I could have…” A shadow swept over his face. “Well, I don’t know what I could have done, but I certainly can’t do anything now. After Selby’s parents reported you, the mayor came straight here. And if his mind wasn’t made up before, I’m quite sure it is now. The laws about magic… They’re very strict, I’m afraid.”

Then Barclay realized that Master Pilzmann wasn’t trying to evict him.

He was trying to save him.

“This is not your fault,” Master Pilzmann told him gently.

“Then why do they want me to leave?” Barclay’s voice rose to a shout. He would normally never shout at Master Pilzmann, and now he had done it twice in two days. Hopelessness seeped into him as the reality of his situation set in.

“I’m supposed to stay here,” Barclay whispered. “And when I have children, they’ll live here too. Just like my parents and my grandparents and my—”

“You were never supposed to stay here, Barclay.” Master Pilzmann closed the drawstrings of his bag and slipped its straps over Barclay’s trembling shoulders. “Do you want to know the real reason I kept turning you away when you asked to be my apprentice?”

“Because I’m an orphan who’s always breaking the rules?”

Master Pilzmann’s face softened. “I turned you away because you aren’t meant for this. You think staying in Dullshire is the life you were supposed to have if your parents had never died. There are other ways to honor their memories than following the same path they did. They’re proud of you, I’m sure, but they’d rather you find a path of your own.”

As if in response, a breeze wafted through the window, and it smelled like earth and pine—like the Woods. It made the hair on the back of Barclay’s neck stand on end.

“What happens if they catch me?” he asked, turning to the window that faced back toward the center of town.

Master Pilzmann paled. “You mustn’t think about that.”

“But I don’t even know where to go.” The next town down the road was no different from Dullshire, nor was the next or the next or the next. That only left one place for him.

The Woods.

“If you let them, your feet will put you on the right path.” Master Pilzmann ushered him toward the door. “Now it’s time to leave. You must leave, or—”

He was cut off when Barclay threw his arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I’ll miss you,” he choked out.

“As will I, my boy,” Master Pilzmann said with a quaver.