Page 74 of Enchanted Village

If she said it enough times, maybe she would finally believe it.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Silas left Margaret’s pub and stepped out into Hex Hollow, brimming with fresh snow and dotted with visitors and villagers going about their afternoon shopping. Several villagers recognized Silas and tipped their hats to him or waved him over for conversation, which both thrilled and shocked him. He politely declined, referencing the need for him at the school, and hurried up the lane that led to Emberwind Academy.

Arriving at the castle, Silas went in through the front gates and wound his way until he reached his uncle’s office. With a soft knock, he waited until he heard the friendly call of “Come in!” before letting himself in.

The office was the same as it had been the other day, save for the fact that there was a coatrack casually wrapping gifts in the corner. Meaning, his uncle had charmed the coatrack, and it was using its now movable appendages to wrap presents. Not well, Silas noted, and with more than the appropriate amount of tape.

“Ah, Professor Birchwood,” Elliott said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

He gestured to an armchair in the corner where Wyatt sat, looking, somehow, more miserable than before. There was a knit blanket across his lap, and his eyes were downcast. He avoiding looking at Silas.

“Wyatt?” Silas asked, moving to sit in the armchair opposite the boy. “Are you all right?”

Wyatt didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the floor.

“Wyatt was sent something in the mail,” Elliott offered. “It . . . had an effect. I’ve asked Professor Neebers to draw up a potion to address the . . . issue, but that will take another hour or so. He asked to see you.”

Silas blinked from Wyatt to his uncle.

“Perhaps I’ll go check on that,” Elliott said, standing. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He stood up and left, leaving the office door open behind him.

“So,” Silas said. “What happened?”

Wyatt sighed and shook his head, then pulled the blanket off and revealed his hands, which had turned bright, fluorescent green.

“It was a powder,” Wyatt said, “that they coated the letter in. I’m lucky I didn’t scratch my face or anything, or my whole face would be like this.”

“Oh, Wyatt,” Silas said. “I’m so sorry. That’s . . .”

Terrible. Horrible. Marked by the cruelty of youth that lashes out. Still, for the life of him, Silas couldn’t imagine what would push the other students to do such a thing to Wyatt.

“That’s awful,” Silas finished. “At least Uncle—I mean, at least the headmaster has the potion you need. Soon, it’ll be like it never happened.”

Wyatt let his head hang. “Except that it did. And they know it, and they’ll do something like this again.”

He looked up at Silas. “You were never bullied, were you?”

Silas sat back at the question. As Wyatt had probably guessed, no, he had never been bullied. Silas had always been a tall child, who later grew into a tall teen and then into a tall man. It wasn’t that tall boys were never bullied, but there was something to the “pick on someone your own size” adage. Very few boys were Silas’s size, and they seemed to have no desire to find out if Silas really was as strong as he looked.

“Guess that answers my question,” Wyatt said, swinging his legs.

Silas grimaced. He couldn’t empathize with Wyatt, and he had a feeling sympathy wouldn’t be well received. He considered digging for wisdom, but he wasn’t sure what he could say.

Just ask, came his uncle’s advice from before. A different situation but just as applicable.

“How can I help?” Silas asked, leaning forward. “Say the word, Wyatt.”

Wyatt kicked his feet again.

“It’s going to sound dumb,” Wyatt said. “But I feel like one of Miss Nettle’s hot chocolates . . . I feel like that would heal me.”

Silas laughed, then realized Wyatt wasn’t joking. He was looking at him sheepishly, embarrassed but truthful.

“The headmaster tried to make me one,” Wyatt admitted, pointing to a mug that was still fairly full of brown liquid. “He said he could try again with another packet, but it’s just not the same. Might as well be sludge, if I’m honest.”