Gretchen slowly ascended the tower’s winding staircase, her left foot limping slightly. Today had involved more walking than she was expecting. More than she was accustomed to. Now, a hot point of pain lanced into her heel where her shoe had rubbed the skin raw.

A draft whistled through the tower’s gaping mortar joints, and the ivy that had so patiently sabotaged their integrity did nothing to buffer against the intrusion. The narrow, spiraling shape of the stairwell funneled and amplified the cold air until Gretchen felt as if she was fighting for each step against a relentless blizzard. She lowered her shoulder against the buffet and trudged on.

A seed of annoyance had steadily grown in her mind throughout the day. Now, tired and cold, it was starting to bear its fruit. She could handle being sore; blisters would heal. The cold, too, was fleeting and soon she’d be bathed in the cheery warmth of the hearth. But what she couldn’t push through were the feelings of impotence…and failure. Her uncle guarded her like she was a helpless child, rather than a wizard coming into her power. Something as trivial as finding a lost cat, for a wizard, was so easy as to be a waste of time: a tale not even worth the telling. And yet he hadn’t wanted her to do it. Hadn’t trusted her to do it. She’d never leave the tower if he had his way.

But, she hadn’t found the cat, had she? Her chance to prove herself capable, to show that she didn’t need to be protected. And she was failing.

She pushed the door at the top of the stairs open with more force than she’d meant to, and the thick oak slab thundered against the tower’s stone wall. Cold wind screamed up from behind her. A wizened, bearded face looked at her from a chair near the hearth, but said nothing.

She closed the door, gently this time, and—like magic—the cold was banished. A gentle warmth suffused through her limbs.

“Let me get you something for that foot.” The old man rose from his chair and went to a cabinet against the wall, its glass face revealing row upon row of neatly arranged vials. “Here you are,” he said, pulling out two vials. “Legionnaire Potion. Cures everything from ingrown toenails to trench foot and gangrene.”

“And the other one?” she asked.

“Alcohol.” He winked, the motion turning the wrinkled valleys of his face into deep chasms.

Gretchen shrugged. Then she threw back both potions in a single motion. The tastes of cherry and determination mixed with a malty earthiness in a combination that, well it wasn’t exactly great, but it was palatable enough after the day she’d had.

Already starting to feel better, Gretchen wondered if perhaps she was being too hard on her uncle. “Have you eaten?” she asked.

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The meal passed in a companionable, contented silence. It was only as Gretchen was about to take a bite of dessert—a heavenly smelling blueberry crumble with a chunky, buttery topping—that Barty finally spoke.

“So.” He looked over at Gretchen nonchalantly. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” The word had a little more heat than she intended, but she looked at him with a level gaze. “And yours, uncle? It was a lovely fall day today, it’d be a pity if you spent the whole thing trapped inside.”

“Oh, I got around well enough.” A blueberry fell from his fork as he took a bite of his own dessert. It rolled down the long expanse of his beard like a pebble down a mountainside and left a lilac stain in its wake. “Hmph.” He looked down and scowled. “I’m sure the little girl was pleased when you brought her cat back."

“Yes, of course.” Her annoyance flared back up as her pride warred against the knowledge that despite all his faults, her uncle only wanted to protect her. In the end, neither pride nor tolerance won. She just wanted to help the little girl.

“At least, she will be. Once I’ve found the cat. It was a successful first day for the investigation. I followed the cat’s temporal resonance across the Trade Quarter, through the market, and into a tavern called the Irrelevant Warrior. After a brief pause for lunch, which was delicious by the way, I learned that the cat had battled against a grotesquely mutated rat in the tavern’s kitchen. That’s where I’ll pick the trail back up tomorrow.” She nodded confidently, pushing her lingering doubts down deep.

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A deep frown creased his face. “Mutant rat? Can you describe the mutations?”

“It had two heads. And it was huge. Not like a normal rat, more like a dog. The tavern owner dispatched it quite handily, so there’s nothing to worry about there.”

“Hmm.” The wizard swirled a strand of his beard with a finger, eyes unfocused. After a moment of thought, his eyes locked onto Gretchen, sharp and piercing. “I don’t like it. How could you be foolish enough to make an oath? You should never bind yourself to a causal chain. This is exactly what always happens. You magically lubricate one stone-encrusted sword, and soon you’re beset by rival wizards and can never have another moment’s peace.”

“Oh please, that old Merlin tale is apocryphal garbage and you know it!”

“Yes, well, it has the shape of truth to it, does it not? You agreed to find a cat and now you’re battling monsters. Who knows where the flows of fate will take you next. But it doesn’t matter now, that bridge is already burned. The oath was made and must be fulfilled. I’ll go with you tomorrow and finish this ordeal up. Sever your connection to this chain of events once and for all.” He spoke with an air of finality, with the mien of a man who had been obeyed without question for hundreds of years.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Gretchen fumed. “First off, you’re blowing things entirely out of proportion. I never battled any monsters. It was just a rat, and it was already dead. And secondly, I’m not just some apprentice you can order around. I’m your niece. And I’m not a child. I will finish this case on my own.”

“But that’s exactly why I need to look out for you.” His eyes had lost their intensity and now glistened softly. Pleadingly. “You’re my niece. My family. My only family, now.”

The thunderhead of Gretchen’s anger shattered against the frail reality of the broken man sitting before her. She let out a long, slow breath, relaxing the muscles she hadn’t even realized she was tensing.

“Barty…” she searched for the right words. “I get it. You’re my only family, too, you know. And I’d fight tooth and nail to protect you. But you’ve trained me well. I’m not just some lowly apprentice. I’m a capable wizard, even if I don’t have the title yet. I understand the implications of causality and the dangers it poses because you taught me. You’re the greatest wizard in the Greatest City Known To Man, and you’ve taught me how to handle these types of situations. Now you have to trust me to handle them.”

The wizards eyes were downcast, staring at his forgotten dessert plate without seeing it. He swirled his fork idly through the remains, smearing purple juices across the plate’s surface.

“Okay,” he said, and the word seemed to pain him. “You’re right. I do trust you. I—I just let my worry get in the way of that. I’m sorry.” He smiled at Gretchen, and it was like the fresh light of dawn after a stormy night. “So, shall we practice conjuring some fireballs? Just in case.”

She swatted him playfully with a napkin then went about clearing the table. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

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Bumblebee liked the storage room in the back of the tower, the one by Bartholomew’s office. The humans didn’t use it except to store a bunch of junk that they hadn’t touched in decades. Plus it was far enough away that he couldn’t hear them argue, like they’d been doing earlier tonight. And so, when Bumblebee had first come to stay with the humans a few years prior, he had claimed the room for his own.

Large bed sheets were strewn about the room, piled high with dust that was meant for the various busts, paintings, and pieces of furniture that hid, meek but pristine, beneath the linens. The sheets looked like nothing so much as a snow-covered landscape to Bumblebee, a rolling topography buried in the unending winter of decay.

The room contained a large bookshelf which stood only half-full. Some random crystals, a handful of books and scrolls, and a few insects in glass jars were the only items the wizards stored on its shelves. Figuring this lackadaisical usage meant they didn’t really need it, Bumblebee had claimed the shelf as well and turned it into his home.

The void behind the books on the top shelf served as his bed chamber, while a silk cravat—decades out of fashion, though the wizard had just purchased it a year prior—acted as his bed. Unfortunately for the old man, the wizard had “misplaced” the neckband only a week after purchasing it. Bumblebee had never slept better.

He wasn’t sleeping now though. Not yet. Instead, Bumblebee reclined against a purloined scroll that served as his sofa, and he waited for the humans to drift off into their own slumbers. When eventually he was satisfied that they had retired for the evening, Bumblebee floated up to the storage room’s small transom window. The moon shone through the window’s lead-lined glass, casting a checkerboard of shadows across the room’s dusty hillscape. He slowly eased the window open and slipped out. The night air was cold, but something dark burned deep within him.

Justice would keep him warm this night.