Precense' house was a five-story monster hitched on the edge as if about to jump into the void. Boridianverie was closer to the center hole than Cypur had thought. Absolutely nerve-wracking as Precense carried him up the winding hill. It was a vertical drop down one side of the house.

Each floor of the house was a different shape. Square, rectangle, oval, dome, and triangle buildings from bottom to top in that order were made of every material possible to make a house. Wooden slabs, metal beams, glass windows, concrete, brick, and other materials that Cypur had never seen before mixed and mashed together like a messy patchwork. On the second and fourth floors was a balcony sticking out on one side or the other of the house. Cloths hung precariously over the edge.

"How can you even live here?" Wescherlie whispered.

Precense shrugged. "It's the best living place I have been given. Suppose I make the most of it. Either this, or exile. Although, you could say," He chuckled, "this is exile."

Wescherlie peered up at him. "You don't look like that type."

It was true. Precense didn't look like the type of Sorcerer that would go around breaking the law. Rather, Junior Bounty Hunters should be on the watchlist, but citizens like Alsinda had influence and the police listened to them. So, bounty hunters slipped by the law.

Cypur knew most of the population of Junior-ranked Sorcerers spent their given free time for bounty hunting instead of research or practice. Such acts went back centuries. Citizens had always been on the lookout for some extra money somewhere. Even if that was borderline illegal.

I think my legs are coming back. He could say something to Precense, but it was kind of nice to be carried.

At last, the winding path came to an end. An arched doorway made of wood with a heavy padlock hanging on the handle welcomed them. Thick rusted chains garnished the lock and sat in coils on the ground.

"Tremfien," Precense said. The padlock vanished and the chains clanked as they fell to the ground. Lock magick, but not the kind Cypur had heard before. It was never just one word.

The door opened with a whisper of warm breeze creeping out from inside. "Well," Precense said, "welcome to my home, I suppose. Can you stand?"

He let Cypur down. Warmth fell like a blanket around his body, and an orange light glowed on overhead. The vaulted ceiling above made it clear that the shapes of the house were not what they seemed. Twisted stairs snaked to the second floor and further to the fifth. Cypur could see all the way up from where they stood. It was like a chute or a tunnel where the landings of each floor coiled along the sides.

Precense hung up his cloak. "It's one of the oldest structures, quite beautiful—"

"When Sorcerers say 'beautiful' it never sounds sincere." Wescherlie pushed the door closed.

"Wescherlie!" Cypur hissed. Precense had saved their lives and she was going to be that way? You never said things like that to a Sorcerer! It went against all their being!

But Precense didn't seem offended. "This time, it's sincere. When I first came here, it wasn't. Oh no," He shook his head, and his shoulders shook as he laughed, "not one bit. Come, to the living room. Down that way," he said.

A long hallway stretched to the right and seemed to go on forever, but that was just an illusion. The fake hallways rippled away to become a door. Running from the hinges were long, deep scratches on the walls. Some of them were deep and some had burnt the wood. Magick tingled up Cypur's arms, tickling, teasing, and telling him someone or something had recently been this way. Wescherlie touched the scratches.

Precense shoved himself between her and the wall, pushing her away. "Oh, Wescherlie, Cypur, come in or the draft—"

"Cypur," Wescherlie hissed, tugging at his sleeve. "We need to talk."

Precense' gaze flittered from Wescherlie to Cypur. He composed his face, but the worried expression stayed in his down-turned lips.

"Pardon, can we have a moment?" Cypur dragged her from the door into the hall, far from Precense. Wescherlie chewed her lip and wrung her hands. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I don't know. It was angry," she whispered and dropped her gaze to her sneakers, shuffling them along the floor. He waited. "The one that left the claw marks."

Claw marks? He didn't think they were claw marks. Rather, it was just one way of looking at them. But it was the most convincing. "What is it?"

"Seven stones and seven maidens," she whispered. He didn't know why she was reciting that now. Then he remembered he didn't give the brooch to her yet. "Listen I," She lifted her gaze and her purple eyes stared into his as she bit her lip.

He dug into his pocket and took out the brooch. "It's in here, safe and sound. Here. Take it, alright?" He handed it to her. "And," He turned to Precense, but he had disappeared. Cypur searched the hallways and heard a kettle somewhere. Cutlery clanked against dishes. "And I'm sorry."

Wescherlie's eyes went round. "What for? You were afraid you'd kill someone on accident. I get it. I understand. Besides, I almost had the net. Really." She rested a hand on his shoulder. He reached for hand, noticing how pale and white his skin was compared hers. Only Rauvurens had such dark skin.

"Cookies and cream," she said with a smile. "That's what we are."

Cypur hid a smile in his hand. "Makes me hungry." Then he furrowed his brows. "Are you okay? Is there something you need to tell me?"

Like the flip of switch, she was back. Crinkling her nose, she gave a big grin. "Let's go see if he's getting us treats."

He followed her back as she skipped to the door. She seemed fine, but he didn't miss it when she paused briefly to stare at the scratch marks on the wall. Maybe it was a Rauvuren thing he didn't understand. But at least now she had her brooch back.

At the entrance of the room, he tried not to react to the magick repairs going on inside. Swirls of yellow or green light were fixing up half-torn books, torn cushions, a scratched-up sofa, and an overturned table with a broken leg. Pictures knocked from the walls slipped back onto their hooks and settled.

Cypur tried not to think about Precense' problems. He had enough of his own anyway. Besides, Sorcerers didn't worry about other Sorcerers unless it had something to do with them or they could gain something out of it.

Wescherlie took to the rug before the fire to dry off her wings. She unfurled them, wincing a little. "Stone the Rauvuren, she swore. Stone the Rauvuren," she groaned. "You know why I say that?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Because that's what Humans used to do to us way before I was even a thought in a womb."

"A thought in a womb?" Cypur sat on the sofa after it mended. He had never really thought of self before conception. He had read some of those ancient philosophy books, ones that Humans brought with them all the way from their home planet Earth. Over three thousand years ago, Earth years, there lived a philosopher called René Descartes who said the words, 'I think therefore I am'.

He told this to Wescherlie and she laughed.

"Do you think in a womb? No. But you exist. It's backwards. It should be I am therefore I think. Rainy the Cart, or whatever his name is, is wrong."

Cypur bristled. "You can't say that! He was one of the most thoughtful Humans. And that says a lot coming from a Sorcerer. He's not wrong."

Wescherlie shrugged and took off her shoes and socks to dry. She sat cross-legged on the floor.

"My opinion, Sorcerer guy. And don't," She held up her hand, stopping him. He wasn't even going to say anything! "Don't try. You can't convince me." She puffed her cheeks.

He clicked his tongue. "Damn," he muttered.

"No, I don't give a damn. It's mine." Wescherlie fluttered her wings and closed her eyes. The orange flames danced across her black feathers.

Well fine. Don't listen. He squared his jaw in a scowl and busied himself, smoothing the wrinkles in his cape. One moment they seemed to be doing quite well, but then philosophy somehow hit too close to home? It didn't make sense. Sorcerers loved being challenged about their life philosophies. Maybe not Rauvurens or not her?

But, whatever. He shrugged. It wasn't important.

* * *

When Precense returned, Cypur had fallen asleep. He woke with a start at the hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Precense smiled down at him.

"How long was I asleep?" He saw Wescherlie sitting on a chair at the coffee table, munching on a cupcake. She smacked her lips and licked her fingers one by one.

"About an hour. She said to let you sleep."

"Good morning, or noon," Wescherlie said, "He bakes, Cypur. You should consider."

Precense shot her a glare and she shrugged. Cypur was still groggy with sleep to think about what that was.

Soon, he joined her at the table, fingers sticky with sugary cupcakes. Precense served cold, iced coffee with milk and sugar. It was like breakfast, but when Cypur checked the clock, the hands were frozen at three.

"How do you tell the time in here?" he wondered out loud.

"You set your own times. I base it off of whatever the day looks outside Boridianverie." Precense snatched a cupcake from the plate and sat on the sofa. His hair lengthened. Green and yellow highlights appeared. That was the Precense that Cypur knew. The picture was up in the auditorium at Academy along with many others.

He didn't just invent new spells and become one of the youngest Professor-ranked Sorcerers to ever exist. He was also a master at debate. Cypur wanted to be as good as him, studying the recorded dialogue, figuring out the best way to smack an opponent silent with words. Maybe he wasn't good at a physical fight, but he had confidence in word battles.

"My team won aesthetic debate all rounds this year," he said lifting his head. Precense arched a brow and leaned forward. "I study your dialogue." Cypur straightened his back. "To be the best like you." He'd always wanted to meet Precense although different circumstances would have been better.

"Well," Precense gave a sheepish smile, scratching his neck, "I'll say, I am flattered, unexpectedly. Wasn't looking for compliments today." He started to fan himself, but there was no blush on his cheeks. "It's hot in here, don't you think?"

"Nah," Wescherlie slouched in her seat, "just you. Can I go wash my hands?"

"Me, too." Cypur got to his feet.

"Down the hall, left, right, yellow and green door. Holler if you get lost."

Cypur left the room with Wescherlie joking about Precense' blush behind. They seemed so at ease with each other now, unlike when they first met. She noticed his look.

"We have something in common, so I feel better about him. And you know the stone in the brooch? He thinks he knows something. So, since he wanted something in exchange for letting us stay a bit, I lent it to him."

Cypur stopped before the bathroom. "You lent it to him?" It seemed like something quite important. Why would she give it up so easily?

"Relax, he's going to give it back later once this is all over."

Cypur let her go first because it was a one-person bathroom and no privacy with the toilet. Maybe Precense was researching ancient objects? A lot of questions and debates did come out of the scepter's usage two years ago. Not many citizens knew much about it prior, so they had turned a blind eye when the blue feline race Kathula were looking for it.

Stop thinking about other citizens. Cypur shoved all those thoughts to the corner of his mind as he switched places with Wescherlie. He was dubbed a crazed fugitive, running with a Rauvuren and now it seemed like Alsinda was after his golden magick as well. Now that they were here, he realized he could ask Precense about a red-bladed dagger. If the maker was found, Cypur could bribe them to tell the truth about Gallen because he had to have gone there, right?

"Sorry," Precense said. "I don't know any." He shifted in his seat. "I don't even know anyone who might."

"It's okay." Cypur pursed his lips. It was a long shot, but it was a try. If Precense didn't know anyone, could Cypur risk going up to random citizens asking for a red-bladed dagger maker?

Too risky. They could turn me in. Poof. He erased the thought.

"Why are you living on the edge? Literally, too," Wescherlie pipped up. "You said you would tell us."

The two of them laughed, but Cypur didn't get it. What was funny? Then he realized. The edge. He lived on the edge.

A snort escaped his lips and he blushed. "Well, I, it's not that funny, but..." he trailed off as both Wescherlie and Precense laughed at him. He hated being laughed at, but right now, it was kind of okay. Somehow, he felt good and comfortable in his own skin. He laughed at himself along with them until his cheeks hurt.

"Hey," Wescherlie said, jumping up. "You didn't have those before!" She was pointing at the side of Precense' head. A crown of braided hair was appearing there, looping around his head. It turned yellow and shaded into forest green, lightening to lime and back to yellow again.

Cypur let out a breath. "Beautiful," he said without thinking and blushed when Precense and Wescherlie glanced at him. "I-I, well, it is," he stammered. "I like those colors together."

"And you're pretty yourself." Precense smiled, but then flashed narrowed eyes at Wescherlie as she squirmed in her seat as if trying not to laugh. What was going on between those two? While he was asleep, it seemed as if they'd got quite comfortable with each other and probably over that brooch.

Without me. He's my idol. A pang of envy pricked his chest. He wanted to exchange unspoken words with Precense, too. Maybe he could ask about Precense' best win? That was one topic Cypur was familiar with, but Wescherlie wasn't.

"Pre—"

A shadow dropped over the table. Cypur's lifted his eyes. Behind Wescherlie, a large shadow with a rounded top appeared—the same one he saw in Narrentry Woodland. It blinked open its yellow eyes.

"What are you looking at?" she said and turned her head. The beast's mouth opened to a row of sharp teeth. Wescherlie's opened in shock as she sucked in her breath.

But she didn't get a chance to scream. A lolling tongue licked her face.