Barclay, now alone amid such a large crowd, felt twice as terrible as he had that morning. No doubt Master Pilzmann wanted to scold him for his behavior last night. Maybe Barclay would even be fired as an apprentice, and then what would he do?
Not ready to face his fate, Barclay headed somewhere else: the gloomy graveyard tucked behind a hill outside of town. Barclay tensed as he reached the gate in the wall that surrounded Dullshire. A large banner hung over it.
WELCOME TO DULLSHIRE
NO BEASTS
NO MAGIC
NO RIFFRAFF
The gray trees of the Woods loomed to the west. Barclay walked down a path in the opposite direction, and he swore he could sense someone—or something—watching him. The frosty wind made his skin prickle.
The graves of Franz and Alice Thorne rested side by sidebeneath the shade of an elm tree. Barclay visited them frequently, often with a book. But this time he hadn’t come to read.
He sat onThe Extensive Historyand leaned back onto his father’s tombstone.
“I made a mistake,” he murmured. “I broke the most important rule, and I’m scared.”
Barclay told his parents the entire story of what had happened in the Woods. If he was going to spend his life lying to everyone he knew, then this was his only time to be honest.
But saying the words didn’t relieve the weight on his chest. If anything, it made him feel worse. His parents had been killed by Gravaldor, and now their son had bonded with another Beast from the Woods. It would have been better if the Beast had eaten him.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it back. I wish…”
He wished they were here so that they could help him. So he’d have people who cared for him no matter how troublesome he was. So he, like Selby, could have a home to run back to when he got scared.
He missed them. So much.
Barclay didn’t have friends to ask for help either, other than Master Pilzmann and Mrs. Havener—and he’d disappointed both of them in the last twenty-four hours. Would they be able to fix this? Barclay doubted that they knew anything more about Lore Keepers and Beasts than he did.
“Why can’t I belong here?” Barclay asked his parents.
Nothing answered except the wailing of the wind.
When he’d returned to town, he intended to go straight to Master Pilzmann’s and beg his forgiveness. He avoided the festival and its cheerful passersby, and he clutched the charm in his pocket, feeling deeply alone.
“What are you carrying?” a voice asked him sharply.
Barclay jumped, dropping the massive copy ofThe Extensive Historyon the ground. He scrambled to pick it up—he hated to ruin such a new book.
Once he’d lifted it, he looked at his companion. Only, there were not one but three boys, all a few years older than him. Poldi, Marco, and Falk. Falk was the leader—the biggest, meanest of the bunch—and he wore thick gloves good for punching and leather boots good for kicking.
Barclay glanced down the street, but it was empty except for them. Empty was not a good sign. Normally, he would run. But he couldn’t while carryingThe Extensive History, and he couldn’t lose it. He’d already hurt Mrs. Havener’s feelings once today.
“I asked you what you’re carrying,” Falk grunted.
“It’s a book,” Barclay answered stiffly. He considered adding,Not that you’d know, would you?But he thought better of insulting him, considering Barclay couldn’t flee afterward like he usually would.
“Look at the size of it! I’m surprised a twig like you can carry it.” Falk took a menacing step forward, as did his two backups. “Think you’re better than all of us, reading bookslike that? You think you’re so smart, but if you were smart, you wouldn’t be a lousy mushroom farmer, would you?”
Barclay was used to these insults, and he knew—no matter what he carried—Falk and his gang would find any excuse to torment him if they saw him walking past.
So he took a careful step back and said, “I’m just going home. I don’t want to fight you.”
“I bet you don’t. You hate that I’m better than you at it.”
Barclay was good at a lot of things, but only because he had to be. Dullshire would hardly tolerate a rule-breaking orphan if he weren’t. But that was also why Falk hated him, since Falk’s strength was his one and only skill. A fact which Barclay, admittedly, often reminded him of.
