Messer’s ship, ‘The Snipe,’ was moored at the docks. It was in a better state than usual: The sails had been swapped for ones without holes; the garbage and debris, at least on the upper deck, had been cleared away; and a pair of sailors stood by, waiting to load supplies.

  Oliver’s spirits rose when he saw the police inspection boat pulled alongside it, and sank again when they left.

  His half-brother, Rafe, emerged from the hatch and descended the gangplank. The taller lad didn’t notice Oliver until he was on top of him.

  “Is Dad here?” Oliver asked, but Rafe only acknowledged with a shove.

  Stalling for a minute, Oliver hoped his stepfather would appear. He would rather deal with that man before he had the chance to fill up on drink.

  But he knew where Messer was, knew where he was expected to meet, so he headed over to the entrance to the next pier. An old cargo vessel sat there. Mastless and crusted to the wharf with barnacles, it hadn’t moved in years. Light spilled from a row of windows cut into the upper deck, and the sound of chatter and clinking mugs grew at his approach.

  Oliver hated ‘The Spitting Dolphin’ with every fiber of his being.

  The bouncer stopped him, but Messer's boy, ‘Ollie,’ lifted his face and was let through.

  Still early in the evening, there were plenty of open seats, but he went straight for one in the darkest, loneliest corner of the room.

  Messer was sitting at the bar with one hand on a mug and the other on a woman’s thigh.

  He wasn’t sure if he recognized her. He tried not to get to know any of his stepfather’s women.

  When the barmaid came by, he remembered the coin Ms. Scaggs had given him and handed it to her. A few minutes later, he was staring at a bowl of fish stew. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all…

  And then Messer came over. He was tall and strong, his features handsome and thoughtful, nothing like the man himself.

  Messer waited for ‘Ollie’ to take a bite, then picked up the bowl directly, wolfed it down in two gulps, and slapped the remnants back down in front of him.

  “Thanks boy, but next time just hand me the coin, will you?” The way his stepfather’s eyes rolled, he could tell the man was drunk, but his speech stayed sharp and clear as ever.

  Messer continued, “Besides, I’m working on something big. If it pans out, it could mean more work for us all. Restore our good name and all that.”

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  “I already have a job, Dad.”

  Messer glared back.

  “Sir,” ‘Ollie’ corrected.

  The woman, the one from the bar, finished stumbling over. She steadied herself by putting a hand on Messer’s shoulder. “Who’s your little friend?” she asked.

  Messer cleared his throat and smiled, speaking pleasantly, “Miranda this is Ollie, Ollie this is Miranda.”

  Smiling as Messer’s hand ran down her back, the woman raked her fingers through his cropped brown hair. “Pleased to meet you, Ollie,” she said without looking.

  “You have a room, yes?” Messer asked, and she nodded, giggling.

  “Then would you mind terribly if I took Ollie there? He’s been doing some work for me, and we need to talk.”

  The woman batted her eyes and headed up to the second floor. Though Messer didn’t spare him a glance, ‘Ollie’ knew he was meant to follow.

  The room was tiny, not much more than a bed and dresser.

  She showed them in, asking, “Do you need me to come back?”

  “Well, that depends.” Messer made a show of running his hand over his belt buckle. “What have you got for me, boy?”

  ‘Ollie’ pulled a bundle of rags out of his pants and unwrapped an assortment of silverware, half a dozen pieces.

  Messer narrowed his eyes. This was not enough. ‘Ollie’ reached back into his pants and pulled out a silver candlestick.

  A smile curled onto his stepfather’s lips. “Stay,” he said, batting eyes at the woman. “I cannot stand to be without your company, even for one single second.” He settled onto the bed, pulling her alongside him as she sat down.

  ‘Ollie’ got up to leave.

  “Not yet. Boy,” said Messer.

  The woman looked over her shoulder, at Messer, and giggled as he shifted his gaze from her eyes to her rear and back again. He spoke, this time letting his voice slur, revealing how drunk he really was, “Would you believe my runt here got a job with Scaggs?”

  “What the witch?—Wait, he’s your son?”

  “For some reason, I am reminded of a joke. A witch and a fairy walk into a bar.” He burst into laughter as if he had just told the punchline… But then he had, hadn’t he?

  The woman giggled. She hadn’t really heard the joke, hadn’t processed it. She was just laughing because he was laughing, but did that really matter?

  Messer turned his gaze to ‘Ollie.’ “Don’t be impolite, boy, tell her what working for the witch is like.”

  He didn’t want to say anything, but the two stared at him until his stepfather subtly made a fist.

  “She’s nice.”

  “Nice?!” the woman’s face went sour. “I’d be freaking out if I were you. I had to walk by her place one time.” She feigned a shiver.

  He wanted desperately to be back there now, scrubbing soot and sleeping on the street would be better than this. “I guess she is… well, her place is kind of spooky.”

  “How’d you get a job with her anyway?”

  “Runt’s got a spark,” said Messer.

  “Oh wow… Can I see?” the woman asked.

  His stepfather answered for him, “For you my dear, anything.”

  Feeling his gut twist, ‘Ollie’ held out a hand, and the woman inched away. He closed his eyes and felt for his spark. Electricity sputtered from his fingertips, about the same as the static discharge one got from rubbing their feet on carpet.

  “Oh,” the woman sighed. “I thought it was going to be, you know, bigger.”

  Messer smiled apologetically. “Nah, it’s more of a curiosity than anything.”

  Was he just a joke now? a punchline who stole silverware from the one person who actually seemed to care? Oliver felt tears behind his eyes, he wanted—needed to cry, but he would not, could not, give that man the satisfaction.

  “Well, can you do any magic?” she asked.

  ‘Ollie’ shook his head and looked away, wishing shame alone would swallow him whole as his stepfather deposited Ms. Scaggs’ silver into a bag.

  “A little less useless, boy. Keep it coming. I’ll be back on the eighth.”

  “Sir.” ‘Ollie’ nodded, hoping this would end the conversation. He winced when he realized this was the same day as the wizard’s estate sale. Thankfully, his stepfather was too distracted with the woman’s thigh to notice his reaction.

  “Go sleep on the ship. Below deck tonight if you like.” Messer winked at him.

  Taking that as a cue to leave, he heard a burst of giggles, of pleasure, behind him, just before he left the room.

  Once Oliver was outside, he took one look at his stepfather’s ship, then turned and walked straight home, to his place beside Ms. Scaggs’ wall.