Corbin looks in the fruit bowl on the counter. There are two ripe apples, both shiny and red. He slowly picks one up, turns it over in his hands, and takes a bite. “Woah…” Corbin says softly as he sits down at the table across from Donovan. “Do apples normally taste like that? Or did you magic them to make them taste better?” he asks, waving a hand around the way Donovan does when he casts spells. Donovan smiles. “Most of everything inside this house has at least a bit of magic inside of it, little crow.” He takes a bite of his eggs and toast. “Right…” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin. “So, we need to figure some things out. About you. And what’s going to happen in the foreseeable future.” Corbin nods. “I can leave today, don’t worry. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as possible,” he says, looking down at his hands. The apple suddenly doesn’t taste as crisp or sweet as it had just moments before. Donovan thinks for a moment, and finally says, “Actually, I quite like having you in my hair. This might work.”
“What might work?” Corbin asks, looking back up. “All of this. Having you here. It might make things work a bit better. Smoother. I’m not sure, though, so I would need to test it,” Donovan says, standing up and walking over to the bookshelf. He thumbs through the titles, eventually pulling two thick books and a notebook off the shelf. “Here, read this,” Donovan says, opening the first book and sliding it towards Corbin. “The Ballad of Reading Gaol, by Oscar Wilde: I know not whether Laws be right, Or whether Laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol, Is that the wall is strong; And that each day is like a year, A year whose days are long,” Corbin reads. He flips the book over to look at the cover. “Um… Mr Delina? Why did you give me a collection of Oscar Wilde poetry?” he asks. Donovan looks down at the book. “Oh. Apologies. My mistake. I meant… this,“ he says, handing Corbin a different book.
Corbin reads a few passages of the book and looks up at Donovan. “So… you want me to stay with you so you can research where magic came from? How would I help with that? I don’t know the first thing about magic! I didn’t even know it existed until… well, yesterday,” Corbin says, eyes darting around the room. “True. But keep reading,” Donovan says, pointing to another passage of the book. Corbin scans the page. “Okay, let me get this straight: you want me to stay here while you study magic because you think that the presence of a, and I quote, ‘young, innocent soul’, will help you get answers faster?” Corbin scratches the back of his neck. “So you’re gonna use me as an emotional support human?”
Donovan smiles and sits down. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it, yes,” he says with a sigh. “You’re more than welcome to say no,” he adds, picking up his fork. “Feel free to leave whenever you’d like. But if you do decide to stay through today, then I’m going to assume you’re with me till the end. But until tonight, it’s your choice. Stay, or go. You can go home, if you’d like.”
“No!” Corbin exclaims. “No,” he says again, a bit calmer. “As long as you promise to not pull a Hansel and Gretel on me… I’ll stay.” Donovan stays quiet for a moment, thinking deeply. “A Hansel and Gretel?” he finally asks. “What is that? Some sort of mortal slang?” Corbin smiles. “You’re telling me that you’re a wizard and don’t know a famous fairy tale? Hansel and Gretel, by the Brothers Grimm?” Donovan shakes his head. “No, and I’m not a wizard. I’m a sorcerer. But either way, no, it doesn’t ring a bell. When was it written? I’m not that well-versed with modern tales.”
“I think it was, like, December of 1812 or something,” Corbin replies. “It’s not modern, Mr Delina, it’s, like, two hundred years old!”
“Well, excuse me. For me, two hundred years is modern. So if you’re calling 1812 old, then I suppose I’m ancient. Is that right?” Donovan asks, crossing his arms. Corbin’s eyes open wide. “N-no! No, not at all. I just… I didn’t mean…” He drops his head, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be… rude, or anythin’,” he says softly. Donovan goes to reach out, but thinks better of it, pulling his hand back as he remembers what happened last time. “Corbin,” he says softly. “I… I was joking. I know I’m old, it’s alright.” Corbin doesn’t look up. He picks at the bed of his nail, chewing on his lip. “Corbin,” Donovan says again. “Corbin, look at me. I’m not mad. You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise.” Finally, Corbin forces himself to look up. His eyes are glassy. “That wasn’t a funny joke,” he says, cracking a small smile. Donovan smiles and looks down with a soft laugh. “No, I suppose not.” Donovan grabs his plate and brings it to the kitchen sink. He turns on the water, washing off his plate.
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