Helen got up and dusted herself off. The flat seemed comfy and well kept, but there wasn't much else to it. The living room consisted only of a table and a single tall, wooden chair in which the man was sitting. "Does he just sit there for hours on end?" she thought humorously.

"Oh; pardon me," said the man.

He waved his magic wand and caused another identical chair to appear opposite of him. Helen walked up behind the chair. She reached out her two hands and touched the chair's headrest.

"I meant for you to sit in it," said the man suddenly.

Helen felt taken aback, and was quite frustrated with the man. "I know perfectly well how to use a chair, oh great and powerful one," she found herself saying as she sat down.

"Er, yes," he said his brow furrowing. "Your questions?"

"Are you a magician?" She followed up speedily.

The man paused momentarily before answering "In a manner of speaking… I am not a performer or illusionist…"

"I sort of figured you weren't the type to pull rabbits out of hats," said Helen snarkily. She felt a great deal of pleasure in being a smartass to this person who had found it inconvenient to answer any questions the first several times they met, and whom she suspected had tried to give her amnesia. "I meant to ask if you were a real magician, or sorcerer."

"Yes…" he said. He seemed to be picking up on Helen's attitude towards him. "The preferred term is wizard. I can indeed perform actual magic…"

"Like sparkly lights and flying on broomsticks?" asked Helen, as she put her elbows on the table. She was feeling more and more comfortable as she stared him down. She couldn't even form coherent thoughts about what she thought about him. All she felt as she spoke was an indescribably casual feeling of malice. "What's your name anyways? Merlin? Mordo? Gandalf?"

"My name is Jake Rawlins. I'm a…"

"Sounds familiar," said Helen blandly. "But why so secretive Mr. Rawlins? How come I've never heard of real magic before? How many people know about you and all of those other weird suits… or robes, whatever?"

"Not very many, and if this is how muggles usually behave when they're made privy to…" said Rawlins, as he began to show signs of irritation.

Helen giggled. "What'd you just call me?" she asked. She was drunk with the malice that was the result of all of her pent-up frustration. "What was that silly, stupid word that you used?"

Rawlins sighed. "I think you could use a drink; well…" he said, his eyes narrowing at her. "…not a drink drink. At this rate…" he said, lacing his phrasing with an odd strain of disdain.

He flicked his wand towards what seemed to be a kitchen. A medium-sized pitcher floated back towards them, followed by two glasses. They stopped above the table. The pitcher poured itself and floated away, as the glasses fluttered down in front of each of them.

"What's that?" Helen asked, pointed at the dark orange liquid in her glass. "Magical moon juice?"

"It's Pumpkin Juice," said Rawlins. "You don't have to drink it if you don't want to. It's not poisoned," he added, in response to a defiantly contemptuous look from Helen.

"Odd," said Helen. "I never suggested that it was poisoned…"

"Nope," said Rawlins, who sipped from his glass while looking at Helen in a demeaning fashion.

Helen grimaced at him, as he licked his lips mockingly. Helen was thirsty, and so she took a sip as well, never having believed it to be really poisoned. It was pleasantly sweet and fantastically refreshing. It was more consistent than normal juice, but far, far less so than a shake or smoothie; it did indeed taste clearly of pumpkin. Helen would have enjoyed it far more had she been in a better mood, but the drink did manage to wash away her feelings of spite.

"Are you perhaps feeling more agreeable now?" asked Rawlins.

Helen couldn't answer. It had felt good for the malevolence to have lifted, but it now left her without the emotions to respond to Rawlins; still defiant and cross, without the malice, she felt unable to attack him further even though she still thought she wished to.

She continued to glare at him, as she sipped from the glass, making her conversely less troubled and more discontent.

"Is that better? Let's continue then. I…"

The table began to shake. Rawlins looked at Helen. She was trembling, and her grimace seemed to be growing darker and darker. Suddenly, she buried her head into her arms. Rawlins stood up. He could hear her silently weeping into her shirtsleeves.

"Should I leave you be, Miss?" asked Rawlins tentatively.

"You… you… you…" Helen continued crying quietly.

"Miss…" began Rawlins.

"YOU!" shouted Helen. "YOU DIDN'T TELL ME ANYTHING!" She sobbed loudly as she exclaimed. "YOU WOULDN'T TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT WAS HAPPENING! YOU WOULDN'T TELL ME WHAT WAS HAPPENING AND NOW SH-SHE'S DEAD!" Her voice broke apart on the word dead, and she continued to sob uncontrollably.

Rawlins looked piteously upon her. After a minute with her crying showing no signs of letting up, he took his wand out and tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up, still sobbing and sniffling. He pointed his wand at her face and a tiny fountain of water drizzled on her face. A spark of anger suddenly rose within her at the thought of such a solution that was used for calming children was being used on her. But it did calm her down, and when her anger evaporated quicker than it came, she felt somewhat better. Mr. Rawlins pulled a handkerchief out of thin air with his wand and gave it to Helen. She wiped her face and as she did so, her resolve strengthened and her misery hardened. Once she stopped drying her face, she looked directly at Mr. Rawlins.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then allow me to explain to you," he said.

Tune in next time for the EXPOSITION CHAPTER!

Yay.