"By the age of five," began Pendragon immediately, "My son was able to light candlewick in utter darkness." He heaved his suitcase to the table and rested it gently thereon. "By your age," a scoff, "this will be like raising an infant all over again."
This, just as I had entered the backroom. I didn't know whether to be offended, impressed, or inspired. The information itself was interesting, as I had no notion of what magic would truly entail beyond the charms I had worn on my clothes. And that was all so passive.
I put my hands in my pockets nervously and rocked onto my heels as I awaited instruction.
As Pendragon spoke, he unpacked his new import of baubles and trinkets from his suitcase, and placed them with timely care beside their brethren upon the dusted shelves. "You," he began pointedly, "come from his mother's stock." It was as if he spat out her mention.
Again, I wasn't certain whether to be offended. It all seemed so personal, but I refrained from reacting. Even had he been cutting me down I wanted to hear every detail of this shadow world.
How different my life would've turned out if I quit my job at the Shop and shirked this change of pace. I can't even consider. Knowing what I know now I still wouldn't make a different decision back then. It was the right thing to do, even if I just thought it was cool.
Pendragon completed stocking his wares and finally turned to consider me. He rested heavily upon his cane, and pursed his face as if sucking on a sour candy. "Had you been raised properly, we would already know what sorcery you brand, and in which tongue."
"But I wasn't raised properly," I conceded. I felt like I needed to join into the conversation in order to progress it along into the lesson. I felt like my parents had done an all right job before they just kind of faded out of my life.
"No, you weren't. By wolves from the look of it," Pendragon sneered, "And that hair." He shook his head very disapprovingly and went on. "We'll have to discover your brand, first."
"All right," I mustered. I withdrew my hands from my pockets and crossed them over my chest, "I'm ready."
"Oh I doubt that very much," Pendragon laughed. He seemed giddy, excited.
I no longer felt confused whether to be offended. I was. My chin raised defensively and I very nearly shouted at Pendragon, "Tell me what to do!"
"Put yourself," instructed the old man slowly and venomously, "in utter, absolute, mortal danger."
"Kill myself," I corrected him.
"No. Put yourself in the path of something to do so. A train, a bus, jump from a building. Do not shoot yourself. We've learned that doesn't work." He paused, tracing the lines of confusion on my face, and replied, "No, I was wrong. This is actually easier with an infant. Simply leave it in a bath and watch. Someone your age, though, I'm afraid you'll have to be more proactive in the approach."
All of that horrified me. Especially the potentially drowned babies. I discovered later that he wasn't being entirely honest. Most children simply revealed themselves in one of a few ways during infantile tantrums. Any signs I displayed in my youth would have been disregarded as passing health concerns. Still, it worked as a very effective illustration for my instruction.
I breathed deep, and clenched my jaw to avoid stammering some incomplete thought.
"I can see you need some time to consider this," said Pendragon more gently than I expected. He approached me and said, "If there was something I could do to help you, I would. But if I was there to push you in front of a train, you'd know I could just as easily pull you out. You need to be alone." And then, with a pat on my shoulder, he opened the curtain to the backroom. "Here endeth the lesson."
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