A Saturday that held within it no typical Saturday laziness, errand running or relaxation, continued to reveal elements of magic that Peneloper had inadvertently surrounded herself with; or perhaps they were drawn to her for some reason. No matter, she continued to learn of layers and of the Lurics all the while Mr. Heavensley sat stock still, never revealing more of the train. It was like he was choosing to forget it and maybe he was. The pair were invited to the Luric residence for evening tea. The both of them obliged and left the diner, one half-asleep, the other fully awake and intent on finding out all there was to magical beasts and trains.

The peach shaped fowl had only one question on her mind as the group walked toward Chantham Luric's house; who had wanted her to see the train?

****

Chant's house was a few miles from the diner and we walked in a pack, Chant at the head, his sisters trailing behind him like coat tails, myself next to them, and Crispen in the back, covering his eyes from the evening sun, headphones around his head. He appeared hot but not a single bead of sweat trickled off his forehead. His skin remained pale and cool to touch. The boy of weathers was able to endure all of them. I shouldn't have found this surprising, but I did.

And then there was Chant and his sisters in front of me, marching to their own tune. Lyabelle had an arm looped around Rosen and Rosen had her hand clasped firmly around Chant's shirt. Every now and then the twins would look back and beyond me, their gazes settling on Crispen; they had gotten used to him but had wanted to know more about what sorts of magic he possessed. All the women present were in the same boat. Chant seemed unimpressed; he knew he was magical - apparently before any of us - but now that he found out it was a harmless sort of magic, he took no further interest in Crispen. He had wanted him to be safe, and for the most part he was, and this information sated my dearest friend.

As we walked around Nuttley, heading south onto Morrow and then Walnut Grove- where the cute little lot of cookie cutter two stories resided (one of which belonged to the Lurics) - I noticed a shift in the clouds. They where white overhead, big and fluffy Cumulonimbus. But towards where the sun was setting, the clouds took on a grey hue, dispersing themselves into a thin blanket of Altostratus. The closer they migrated toward us, or we to them, the darker and richer their grey became.

The coin in my pocket seemed to sense this change in atmosphere and came to life, a surge of electricity making it tremble. I took it out and saw the tiny sky above. The stars were swirling around until they settled on Ophiuchus- the serpent charmer. Was a storm on its way? I looked back towards Crispen; he had his eyes upward, though not a glimmer of excitement could be found within them. If a storm was coming, he would have delighted, right? After all, nothing went better with a little bit of Genesis in the Walkman then the accompanying rain. Something was very wrong with the storm that threatened to hit the town of Potter Oaks.

Chantham slowed his pace to match mine. "There's something on the wind. It's not natural," he said, confirming the dread that had begun to knot my insides.

"That's comforting," I mocked, the dread quickening, the clouds looking ever more ominous.

"It smells like Crispen does," Rosen said, turning her nose upward, disgust painted across her tan skin. "But worse, thicker."

Lyabelle shook her head in agreement, a handful of brown maple leaves in her hands. I wonder if she knew of the Grayflys that meticulously picked those leaves and allowed them to fall to the ground.

"Half-breeds can't see the glimmer of Reflection here, but they can sense it. They're very much in tune with nature," Crispen chimed in, headphones still over his ears. I was about to ask him how he heard me when he was listening to Genesis but I stopped myself before I sounded foolish. Crispen didn't need his ears to read my thoughts. Get it together, Peneloper.

"We should make haste," I continued, the clouds rolling toward us, waves of the unknown pressing forward, ready to release something upon Potter Oaks. Luckily for us, Chant's house could be seen on the horizon and with hurried gait, we made for the grey shingled, red brick security it offered us.

Inside we found a concerned Mr. And Mrs Luric. Lyabelle thrust her arms around her mother, Mrs. Luric mimicking the small child. Mr. Luric walked over to Chant and gave him a pat on the back.

"You sense it?" he asked quietly, taking into consideration he was unaware I knew the Luric's dirty little secret.

"Peneloper knows dad," Chant said, taking off his sneakers in the foyer and moving to the living room. His dad grimaced as he looked my way. Perhaps I was never to have known of their fur covered forays on full moons. It wasn't like I had wanted to know. These things just seemed to orbit me, the universe's unluckiest and strangest planet. Chant sat on the living room's blue sofa and motioned for me to take a seat next to him. Usually I'd be quick on the uptake but his dad stood like a brick wall between me and the couch.

Normally I would have easily maneuvered around him, his stern-faced countenance quite familiar, but now I found it directed anger towards me. He had definitely not wanted me to know they were half-breeds. Crispen moved effortlessly around the golem-made-flesh, Mr. Luric, and took up residence in a light gray recliner. He relaxed and released the foot rest, finding a comfort in the Luric house that was unusual even for the more regular house guests. I followed Crispen's trail and moved around Mr. Luric to sit beside Chant. He took my hand in his and squeezed, a smile on his face.

"Don't worry," he whispered, his hot breath on my ear, "Dad won't be mad for long. Other things, bigger things, are at work here."

He squeezed my hand again before he moved away, giving me back my personal space. Rosen and Lyabelle sat on the floor, each on either side of Chant's feet. Their parents stood front and center, tension filled the air, and the coin's tremors grew stronger. Whatever was coming was closer now.

"This is the peculiar child of the hill?" Chant's mother asked, eyeing Crispen with suspicion. Crispen stood up and extended a hand.

"Forgive my ill manners, Mrs. Luric. I'm Crispen Heavensley of Mire Hill."

Chant's mother took his hand and smiled wearily. I wonder if she found his scent as off putting as Rosen. Speaking of Rosen, she was immediate in her disgust.

"Blegh," she said, her tongue out, her eyes dazzling with venom. "How gross! Who speaks like that now? It's so overly sweet. I think I have a stomach ache now from hearing such words."

Lyabelle snickered, as did I- it was fun watching a nine year old berate Crispen in such a way. I guess even his spells had their limits; no matter how much charm he flung out there, it would not stick to and enrapture the heart of Rosen Lynn Luric. Crispen just looked at the girl, a blank stare holding back his thoughts from us to read. He bent over in the chair and focused on Rosen.

"You're very raven-like. Would you like to fly?"

There was a hint of malice in his voice as he said this and I couldn't help but laugh. The girl had successfully managed to grate Crispen's nerves. In that instant, I hoped Rosen would never change. Crispen shot me a glare, warning me to tread cautiously; I'm sure he would weave some magic over the house if he so wanted. But still, no manner of threat could keep my laughter in check. It wasn't until Mr. Luric called for us all to settle in his thunderous voice that I was able to keep my silence.

"Mr. Heavensley, have you any clue what disturbs us so?"

Crispen sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. He reached into his pant's pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. Marlboro Reds; him and Principal Gale would surely disagree on what brand of smokes were the best.

"Mind if I?" he asked, holding up the pack to the Lurics, waiting for their response. The collective sigh from the parents told of the same frustrations I had with Heavensley; he was always so vague and made certain to change the subject when he didn't want to discuss it.

"On the porch, Mr. Heavensley," Chant's mom chimed in.

Crispen got up and headed towards the screened in porch at the front of the house. I watched him with curiosity; I had never witnessed him smoke in front of me. He did so around me and from a distance, but never this close. It was peculiar, the disregard he held in his stance as he held a cigarette to his mouth. The sensuality of it all as he placed the smoke between his lips. But what was by far the strangest- which all the Lurics happened to also see- was the way he lit the smoke with no lighter or match. The tip had just burst into flames and started glowering red. Puffs of smoke wafted up and out into the air around him, but I never once saw him exhale. All of us sat in the living room studying Mr. Heavensley wondering what manner of fantastical creature could endure cigarette smoke. Lyabelle crinkled her nose.

"I hate smoke. Daddy, why'd you let him light one up?"

The girl had her hand over her mouth and nose, her eyes watery.

"He's a guest," her father stated, his large thick nose crinkling ever so slightly. I think he too, wasn't a fan of the smoke.

"I'll go make tea," Chant's mother said, rushing into the kitchen, a whining Lyabelle following at her heels. Rosen kept her gaze on Crispen, her shoulders straight, her eyes piercing. She was ready to attack if she needed to.

Chant's mother came back into the room carrying a tray of hot water and the usual bags of tea. I chose a chamomile and lavender green. I figured its relaxing effects would be welcomed. As I watched the green of the leaves color the water, Crispen came back in, the smell of smoke on his clothes. He took up the same seat again, found a mug and dipped a bag of blueberry white into the hot water. He didn't wait for the water to color as he took a few sips from it. All eyes were on him, waiting for the next words he would speak. I don't think Crispen liked being the center of attention though all he ever did was generate attention.

"I don't know what it is. I can feel it but I can't see it," Crispen started, his eyes fixed to the ceiling. "It's cloudy," he continued, steam sticking to his face. Then he turned to look at us, a hint of diamond in his eyes.

"Whatever it is, it's dangerous," he concluded; all our shared fear and uneasiness validated.