The Bewitching Hour

✧ chapter fourteen: the sentimental sort

Lance is noticeably grouchy as he tosses another hay-bale onto the back of the wagon. His brother Marco slaps him across the shoulder blades once their father is safely out of earshot.

"Cheer up, kiddo," he mocks. "You shouldn't take it so personally."

"Do you have any idea how much fish I've given that cat?!"

"Maybe you gave it bad fish. Maybe you got it sick."

"...Maybe."

Lance doesn't know what, exactly, he did or did not do, but Yorak's familiar has started to ignore him. Worse, it has started avoiding him like a plague. It's not something he would have complained to his family about, normally, seeing as his parents wouldn't want him interacting with the cat anyway, but it's not his fault. Rachel spotted him chasing after it and yelling. And then she went and told the others because she thought it was funny. He got an earful about it over the dinner table after their parents had gone to bed.

His siblings, of course, do not know the real reason that Lance is so bothered by his predicament. If Kitty were any other cat, he probably wouldn't take it personally. Animals can't speak and it's useless to try and understand their motives. But Kitty is different. He is a direct conduit to his warlock master. And if Yorak's messenger has taken to disliking Lance, then what of Yorak?

He feels foolish for having thought it now, but Lance had hoped they would become friends. Maybe he could have talked some sense into Yorak, could have convinced him to call off his blood oath.

He never meant to offend the familiar, but it can't be helped. It was fun while it lasted, he thinks.

The sun beats down on his bare shoulders and he wipes sweat from his brow with a scrap of fabric. Spring has been unusually warm this year and at this rate, summer will be here at any moment. Normally Lance would be delighted by this. He was born in the summer and he's the type to enjoy it. But when the town is so affected as it is by a drought, the heat will bring with it its own share of problems. Lance has been awake for only a few hours and he's already managed to stress himself out.

"That should be enough," Farmer McClain says when he returns from the house with two water-pouches in his hands and observes his sons' work. "Drink up." He tosses one of the pouches at Lance and the other at Marco. Marco empties it in what seems like a matter of seconds. Lance is awfully thirsty, but each sip is as guilty as it is refreshing. Not everyone in town has their own well.

Hopefully, Farmer McClain (and his wife and Luis, too) can successfully trade the crops for some of the supplies the town needs during their trip to Jitan. The whole family has been hard at work producing a high-quality yield. So hard at work that there's little else to do now that most of it is packed into wagons. Marco tries not to sound too eager as he glances sideways at Lance.

"So, uh... what do we do for the rest of the day?"

"I suppose you boys have earned a break." Marco hollers and is quickly interrupted by his father. "But don't think you're getting a vacation! You'll still have to look after the place while your mother and I are gone. Feed the animals, tend the fields, help take care of your niece and nephew, keep up with your chores—"

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. I'll make sure Lance behaves."

"Why are you singling ME out?!"

Lance doesn't get an answer, but, then, he didn't really want one. He remains in place beside his brother, waving at the wagon as it disappears, until it is a dot in the distance. Marco darts off without warning.

"Where are you going?"

"I've got plans!"

"Since when?"