Cypur and Wescherlie soon arrived at the edge of Vrebrinfeld Lowlands and discovered a grig parked as if expecting returnees.

Wescherlie crossed her arms. "Well damn, aren't these always locked?"

"Maybe. But not quite. This is Rachelle's and I've seen the lock magick she used."

"But we don't have time to be playing 'guess that lock combo', do we, Sorcerer guy?"

"I have a good memory." Cypur lifted his finger to his lips, and she clamped her mouth shut. He backtracked through his memory until he came back to that moment where Rachelle used her grig last.

Which lock magick was she using? He had to slow it down more. He read her lips and got the spell. Easy. He pronounced the spell and the grig came to life.

"Whoa!" Wescherlie exclaimed. "Impress—"

Cypur jumped on, pulling her wrist to get on back. "We don't have time. Police are really fast here."

With a whistle, the grig shot away with Cypur's cape billowing behind him. But not for long. Wescherlie soon bunched it up.

"Your cape is in the way, Sorcerer guy!"

If they were going to be on the run together, that name had to change fast. "Cypur Cromlight, not Sorcerer guy."

"Well, you might think you're cool and all, but your cape is in the way, Cypur!"

He scoffed. "Just don't wrinkle it."

"Why isn't it torn? You were scraping it against the—whoa! Look out!"

A tree came up in front of them as he rounded a corner. Skidding the grig to a halting stop just before the tree, he whipped it down the street to his road. He didn't have much of an idea what to do, but home seemed a good place to stop.

"Where are we—"

"Shush!" he said. He didn't want anyone to find what he had found. A Rauvuren was as rare as a ruby, and as valuable. Especially one like her. Wescherlie was quiet all the way to his house, but only that far.

"Whoa! This is your hou—"

"Shush! Or you'll get us both caught and imprisoned for life." Cypur parked the grig at the side of the road. It was dark enough that Wescherlie blended in with the night. "Just wait here, okay? Be quiet. Don't go anywhere. I'm going to get supplies."

"You act like you know what you're doing."

I don't. Cypur admitted only to himself and headed inside. He knew he probably should get supplies and that wherever they were going, it would take some time to get there. Back in his home with no one inside, he had a moment to reflect on what happened in the lowlands.

Rauvuren Whatva. Yava? Or Trude? Cypur snuck up to his room and found his backpack. Rachelle killed Gallen? Had me kill Gallen. A murderer?

He couldn't believe it. His entire day was flipped upside down. He grabbed the snacks he had in his room and his dagger infused with magick. Next, he hurried downstairs and shoved in as many snacks and dried food that looked good enough.

He paused in the doorway and looked towards his parents' vacant rooms. He knew even they wouldn't be on his side.

I'm a runaway. I'm a defect. No one will believe me. With a heavy sigh, he went back out. Wescherlie was right where he left her. She hopped on the back with his knapsack and used it to block his cape from fluffing in her face.

"I was thinking, see, I know a place in Narrentry Woodlands we can go hide out that no one will find. Magick hides it still. Old magick."

Cypur slowed the grig. "Can you drive this thing there?"

Wescherlie nodded, but then shook her head when he offered the handle to her. "I can, but not very well. I might crash us. Just go to Vrebrinfeld, but by the woods. We have to go on foot from there."

He revved up the grig and zoomed off again when a squeaky voice shouted, "There they go! Get them!" Cypur briefly glanced behind. There were five in the same Zarkentauf city school uniform wearing matching capes that had the floral insignia of Junior Bounty Hunters.

"I thought I lost them yesterday!" Wescherlie hissed in his ear, and he scowled. He didn't think she had anyone on her tail. And Junior Bounty Hunters were big trouble. The Junior level Sorcerers would hire themselves out to snatch aesthetically beautiful things for their employers. They wouldn't stop until they had the prize.

Why did I have to help her? Clicking his tongue at himself, Cypur veered right, following the back alley hoping to lose them, but they followed.

"Damn, they're sticky!" Wescherlie said. The alley took them behind taverns, quirky shops, and places to buy potion ingredients with their signature musky smell, but most were closed and unaware of the mad chase in their streets.

"Hey, get over here, bastard!" a Leovra boy growled like his lion counterpart. "Faud-less Cypur Cromlight. Apprentice failure!"

Where did they hear that? He groaned. The whole world probably knew by now.

"What's a Faud?" Wescherlie asked.

"Later." Cypur veered off the to a main road. Soon, he found himself in a darkened cold street heading towards five bird statues stacked in a pyramid in the middle of an empty square. Somehow, he ended up in Ginnyfowl Town.

Sirens reached his ears then and he turned, dazed, watching the purple and yellow lights of the police coming.

"Are you kidding me?" Wescherlie whined. "Now the police, too?"

"Took the words out of my mouth," he grumbled.

"Excuse me! Cypur Cromlight, you are under arrest for the murder of ." The policewoman was using a Speecher to make her voice sound louder.

"Excuse me? At least she's polite about it," Wescherlie commented.

The policewoman went on. "Stop at once. I said, stop!"

Ignoring her, Cypur headed for the fields when a grig came crashing into them. Wescherlie yelped, thrown from the grig. Cypur clung to the handle as it spun midair. HE slammed into the tough, tall grasses that cut his cheeks and left scratches that quickly healed. Once he finally stopped, he stumbled to his feet, and gathered up his backpack when he smelled smoke.

"Damn it!" He jumped away from the grig and it exploded into flames. With a water spell, he put out the fire before it could spread.

Searching for Wescherlie, he followed the sounds of arguing when a surge of magick hit him, nearly making him lose balance. The sky glowed orange from sunrise, higher than before. Soon they would be too visible, and the police would find them.

"Get away from me!" Wescherlie's scream led him to a clearing scorched away in one clean circle indicating some form of spell was cast. Wescherlie had her hand outwards, and smoke came off her fingertips. Then she fell forward, exhausted.

"You're no match for us." The Leovra boy grew until he was taller than any of them. He cackled and growled, and his patches of fur bristled. "Let get them, boys!"

At that moment, a whip latched around Wescherlie, digging into her skin and her wings. Lightning zipped across the rope, making her cry out.

"Please, please, stop, please!" Wescherlie sobbed. "Don't kill my wings, please!" Her face moistened with tears. The Zarkentauf boys laughed at her plight. The Leovra picked her up by the hair and began dragging her around the ground.

How could they? Cypur gritted his teeth. He knew Zarkentauf City to be filled with entitled Sorcerers, but he didn't think they would be so cruel. Wescherlie kicked and struggled against the boys, unable to break free. Something stirred inside of him, and a surge of magick coursed through his veins, pushing at his chest. The Leovra boy morphed into a lion and lifted a heavy paw. Claws outstretched, sparking with green magick, ready for the kill. Wescherlie squeezed her eyes shut.

Enough is enough. A burst of golden magick sprung from his chest, pouring out in glittering sparkles. Pushed backwards from the force, Cypur fell. Golden magick filled his vision in blinding light, but a few seconds later, it vanished. Heart thumping, Cypur blinked his eyes, confused, adjusting to the normal lighting.

"He's dead!" a Zarkentauf boy shouted

Dead? Cypur found the unmoving body of the Leovra boy, shrunken to normal size. He couldn't be dead. Magick could harm a Sorcerer, but not kill them. Sorcerers did not die easily. But the Leovra boy was still. Soon the white sparkles of magick left his body and the rest of him disintegrated into ashes. There was a yelp as Wescherlie kicked the crotches of the other boys, scrambling away from them as they lay in pain with eyes widened in shock.

"We have to go," she said, pulling Cypur up by the arm. "We have to go now!" she hissed in his ear. "Come on!"

But he was in a daze. It was common knowledge. Magick couldn't kill Sorcerers. Couldn't that be an illusion? He stumbled forward, kneeling before the ashes, reaching out to the magick, trying to comprehend. His stomach felt empty, his chest hollowed, darkness leaked into the corners of his vision. Terrified of magick absence, he staggered to his feet, away from the death.

I killed him? Dread settled in his mind like a fog. But I didn't mean to. It wasn't me.

Police sirens blared, closing in on them. Now he would have two counts of murder on his belt. No one would believe him. The other Junior Bounty Hunters would say he did it because he was crazed with greed for the Rauvuren. His life would be over.

"Excuse me!" the policewoman yelled in her Speecher. "You are under arrest!"

Wescherlie's arm, sticky with sweat, looped into his, tugging him towards the wood beyond. She kept whispering to him, but he didn't hear her with his mind filled with the events just now. His magick had sprung from him out of control and killed. He whispered a lock spell, but it was the usual colorless magick again. He frowned.

Soon, the canopy blocked the sunrise and trees closed in behind. The sirens followed them into the forest, but soon their wails were too far away to hear.