Seri was in his garden, plucking lettuce for his pet snail when the night sky brightened in a green flare. He flew on top of his house to see where it had come from, but the light disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. 

“Magic,” Seri whispered, licking his lips. “Big magic.”

He looked up at the full moon illuminating all surfaces so much that it was hard to believe it was nighttime. Where were clouds when he needed them? He watched the darkness hungrily and his wings stretched out behind him, ready to carry him past the tree line should the light reappear. From flying over that area in the past, he knew a large house stood out there, even more secluded from the city than his. Did a runecaster live within? What were they doing at this hour?

The trees swayed with the chilling wind, reminding him that the summer was over. The horizon was draped in grays and blacks and no other light appeared other than an occasional glowbat briefly flicking above the woods before disappearing into the canopies. Seri's wings longed to join the glowing critters but instead, he glided to the ground, landing in a crouch. He reached down for the lettuce he'd dropped and noticed a piece of paper stuck between wild-rhubarb leaves.

"Thank you, wind!”

He snatched it up and ran through the side door into his unlit kitchen. While his eyes adjusted to the stark darkness, with a finger, he drew a set of locking runes on the door panel and tested the handle to confirm it didn't budge. The door mechanics were immobilized. His trusty locking rune never failed him. He navigated the dark house by memory until he got to a small windowless room under the stairs—the only room where it was safe to light a candle or two without the risk of being seen from the outside. In the glow of a flickering flame, he read the sepia-colored flyer he'd retrieved.

Glass Garden Diversity Council

presents

Annual Glassy Plains Cambion Festival.

Join us for a day of activities, music,

and our famous cambion heritage potluck.

Party on from noon till dusk.

Free admission. All are welcome.

Seri's nails automatically reached his teeth as he reread it and appreciated each little food drawing that decorated the paper. He didn't know what a potluck was, but he was sure it was awesome if it was made for cambions—or by them—and it was only a week away. Could he convince Aunt Agatte to take him there?

The slam of the front door carried through the walls. He stopped breathing to listen.

“It's me,” a familiar voice called out. Perfect timing!

“I'm coming!”

After shoving the flyer into his overalls, he placed the candle on the hallway corner table so his aunt could see where she was going but no light would reach the kitchen windows. Then, he ran to embrace her, breathing in the familiar scents of a flowery perfume that clung to her leather jacket.

She ruffled his hair in greeting. “Any minute now my shoulder will fall off from this weight.”

“Sorry,” he said, relieving her of the burden of a large canvas tote.

“I made you baked potatoes. I know how much you love those.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, “It's late so I won't stay long.”

He carried the weight to the kitchen and she followed a couple of steps behind. With the only source of light all the way in the hallway, shadows blanketed the room, making it seem even darker than without that candle.

Agatte checked and corrected the curtains that guarded the tiny gaps between the boards covering the lone kitchen window from the outside. “Don't forget to fix the curtains every evening. Even the smallest light could give you away.”

“I know. I don't light anything in here. When you're not here, I rarely ever use candles at all.”

Agatte's voice sounded worried as she said, “It doesn't hurt to be careful. You never know who's watching.”

“Don't worry, auntie. I'm always careful.”

“Yet, I'm always scared for you.”

He was tempted to check what she'd brought him, but he held back his curiosity and dropped the heavy tote on the table and retrieved another one from under the table to give her. The stones inside clunked against the empty pot.

She raised it up and down to weigh it. “You've been busy. Good job, kiddo. Did you wash the pot?”

“I did.”

She ruffled his hair again and turned to leave.

“Auntie?”

His heart hammered in his chest as he searched his mind for the right words. She glanced over her shoulder and waited, her silhouette black against the hallway glow.

“Uhm. I wanted to ask you... Uhm.” His hands felt sweaty so he rubbed them off on his overalls.

“Speak up, kiddo,” she said patiently.

“Yes. I'm sorry. It's just... I was wondering... if maybe... well, I'm sixteen already. And I know how to be careful. I'm always careful. And I...”

His throat closed up and he considered backing up. But he really wanted to go and who knew if an opportunity like that would ever fly into his garden again. Why wasn't he better at putting words together?

“Is this about learning how to cook again?” she asked. “You know well you're hopeless in the kitchen. Leave the cooking to me.”

“No, not that.” He took a long breath in and blurted, “Could we go to the Glassy Plains Cambion Festival?”

She switched her weight from leg to leg, hallway glow on half her face. “What's that now?”

“It's a festival with music and activities and potluck. There will be cambions there—it's for cambions, after all, and... But humans are welcome too so we can both go, and I think we'll have a blast, uhm, if we went there, uhm, together.”

She swallowed and looked away like she was searching for the right words as well.

“I think it will be safe,” he added, holding onto the straps of his overalls. "I won't be the only cambion there so...”