Hey Mucus,

I'll be with Kelly's family on Christmas, but she lives in Tennessee, only a couple hours from where you are with the Parkers. So we'll swing by on Christmas Eve. See you then.

Mark

The letter was in Luke's pocket, as a sort of good-luck charm, when they went into town. It was cramped in the Parkers' station wagon—Luke and Jackson had to ride in the very back, and Mrs Parker sat in the backseat with her three daughters, the baby on her lap. Mr Parker drove, and Lunsford had the passenger seat. All week, the girls and Jackson hadn't been able to stop talking about how great it was that their Uncle Heath was staying with them for the whole holiday break; apparently he usually only came for a day or two, and his extended visit was a special treat.

Now it was December 23, and they were making a final run to town before settling in for their family festivities. It was tradition that no one left the house on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, that they would spend those two days all together, so preparation was necessary. Mrs Parker had some groceries to purchase, while Mr Parker and the kids were going to pick out their tree. The letter from Mark had arrived only the day before, and Luke had realized with panic that he did not have a gift for his brother. Everyone else being so busy, Luke confided his worry to Lunsford, who had immediately agreed to help him find a gift while they were in town.

Luke was glad to have Lunsford there. Mr Parker was a veritable Santa himself, a long-time aficionado of the entire Christmas season who walked around booming carols all day. Jackson and his sisters were a whirlwind of excitement, helping to decorate the house, pestering Mary for treats as she cooked, performing elaborate invented "snow dances" to encourage a white Christmas. Luke joined in occasionally, but was finding it difficult to adjust to a new set of holiday traditions. It didn't bother him to watch Mr Parker, but every time he saw Mrs Parker, he missed his mother.

Seven months ago. Only seven months—Luke found that hard to believe. The worst part was to realize how little he had even thought about his mother since school had started. Magic and mystery and studying and intrigue had pushed from his mind the fact that he was an orphan, that last Christmas it had been him and Mark and their mother stringing popcorn, hanging the old glass ornaments from a special set that their mother had gotten when she was a girl, each one with a meaning and a story. Now he was hundreds of miles from that house, and their mother was in the ground, and Mark could never know that Luke was training to be a wizard. It all made him feel tired, and he watched the antics of Jackson and the girls from the safety of an armchair, legs curled beneath him. He smiled to see them, but felt little desire to participate.

And that was why he was glad for Lunsford's presence, because Lunsford seemed nearly as out of place as Luke felt. Mrs Parker was a gentle soul, but years with Mr Parker and their growing children had brought her out of her shell, and she sang and danced through the kitchen, swatting at the kids (and her husband) when they tried to sneak a taste of whatever holiday treat she was concocting. But Lunsford, though he clearly adored his family, was as quiet and introspective around them as he had always been at school. Luke found that comforting, a sort of anchor for his tumultuous inner life in this holiday atmosphere.

Several times he was on the verge of asking what had delayed Lunsford's arrival. Luke had stumbled out of the fireplace into Mr Parker's waiting arms, but there had been a space of almost two minutes before Lunsford had appeared: not enough to cause concern, and no one else even seemed to have noticed, but it caused little alarm bells to sound in the back of Luke's mind. Upon arrival, Lunsford had immediately composed himself and greeted his family with smiles and embraces, but Luke had been watching and had seen the man's face as he appeared. He had stepped out of the green flames looking confused, angry, and very tired.

What did she say? Luke wanted to ask. What did you say?

But he couldn't bring himself to actually speak those words. Instead, he had decided to make it his personal mission to give Lunsford as happy a Christmas as possible. He had nothing to give the man as a gift—but unlike with Mark, this didn't make Luke panic. It was different, somehow, with Lunsford, if only because Lunsford was an adult. Adults sometimes gave each other Christmas gifts, Luke knew, but he himself would feel presumptuous giving a present to any adult other than his mother. Mark was technically an adult, but he had cheerfully decided that that didn't count—he was a brother, and he and Luke had always given each other gifts.

Vicksburg was not large, but its main street was beautifully decorated. Each streetlamp had a large wreath with twinkling white lights and a big red bow, and long garlands were strung between the buildings to cross the street above the cars and pedestrians. Almost every shop had a Christmas tree in its front window, all of them different, all of them wonderful. The big Baptist church on the corner had a large Nativity scene (though not as good, Luke thought, as the one outside the church at Emerald Hill), and the little park was full of wire sculptures lined with lights that made beautiful glowing pictures after dark; the Parkers had all gone to see them a few days ago, following other families along the paths among the reindeer, snowmen, and Santas made of rainbow lights.

Luke and Lunsford wandered in and out of shops at their leisure; Luke enjoyed being one anonymous face in the animated throng of Christmas shoppers, and Lunsford appeared to be in no hurry, letting Luke set the pace and musing with him over the trinkets and toys. One store had a large display of Christmas ornaments, hammered metal in various shapes that could be inscribed with names and dates. The shop was crowded, and the passage of the shoppers set the ornaments rocking in the air currents, turning and flashing in the light. Luke stopped to watch them for a moment, almost mesmerized. He found himself speaking.

"My mom had this really old set of ornaments," he said. "Glass. They were a present from her grandma, I think, when she married my dad. There were twelve, and she kept them in a special little box, and every year she let me and Mark take turns hanging them so we each got to hang six. We both always wanted to be the one to hang the bird. Mark's a lot older than me, but he still always wanted to hang the bird. I mean, it didn't really hang, it had a little clip on its feet that you could clip onto the branch, and it perched there. There was a real feather in its tail. And every ornament meant something different. That made them all special. But we both really liked the bird."

None of the shoppers had noticed his quiet speech, but Luke could feel Lunsford just behind him, and his gut twisted. He had never shared anything so personal with this man, who was more than his professor but not quite his uncle, not really a friend but not really family, either. After a moment more of watching the shining ornaments, Lunsford asked: "What special meaning did the bird have?"

Luke had to think for a moment. His mother had always recited the meanings as she took each ornament from the box, a singsong chant that had rhythm but no rhyme. An angel for guidance, a house to shelter you, a rabbit for hope, a teapot for sharing, a little bird for—

"Happiness," he said. "The bird was for happiness."

The ornaments blurred before his eyes, smears of silver and golden light, and Luke bowed his head, ashamed to be crying in the middle of a store. Mark would call him a crybaby and punch him in the arm. His mother would have babied him, pulling him close, asking what was wrong, a comfort that he both craved and disdained, particularly when Mark was watching.

Lunsford put a hand on Luke's shoulder. It wasn't the rough, affectionate but tentative touch that Lionel Parker sometimes gave, a quick shake of the shoulders or a pat on the back. There was nothing complicated about this, nothing to puzzle over, nothing to figure out. Lunsford understood grief, and his simple touch, the adult bulk of his presence behind Luke, was enough.

A few shops over, in an antique store that smelled of dust and wood polish, Luke bought a pocket-watch for his brother. It was tarnished and had a few parts missing, which made it inexpensive enough to be within Luke's budget, and Lunsford swore that Mr Parker would be able to fix it up. It went into a little box which Luke carried in a paper bag, feeling very proud, all of his worries—and a lot of the heaviness he had felt about the Christmas season—blown away. It was a gray day and cold, and Lunsford bought them hot chocolate from a man who had a little cart on the street. They warmed their gloved hands on the tin mugs and walked through the park, watching children run through the wire sculptures. There were even some kids about Luke's age, but he felt removed from them, and couldn't imagine playing the way they did. Though he could understand their games, he felt nothing but faint nostalgia (the same feeling he would experience in later years when he saw his childhood toys). He wondered what combination of magic and grief had made such a change in him.

"So you know about Doctor Yancey."

The statement from Lunsford was so abrupt, breaking in on Luke's thoughts, that he almost spilled his hot chocolate, and he took a sip quickly enough to scald his tongue, stalling for time. But Lunsford was watching him, and all he could say was the truth.

"Well, yeah." He held his cup close beneath his chin so that the steam washed up over his face, warming his cheeks. Lunsford did not look angry, only curious, so Luke found the courage to say, "So that's what she told you after I left? In Zander's office?"

"Hm." Lunsford chuckled down at his own cup. "You're pretty observant. Tell me, were you awake at the restaurant in Red River?"

Luke hung his head, no longer needing the steam to warm his flushed cheeks. "Yeah. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay." Lunsford squeezed Luke's shoulders with one arm briefly as they resumed walking. "Just don't do it again."

Luke smiled, but then another thought struck him and his shame returned forcefully. His inclination was, of course, to not remind Lunsford of that moment, but Lunsford had been so understanding that Luke couldn't bear to carry the weight of more guilt. "And I'm sorry for…well, at Andi's party, when I…"

Lunsford raised a hand, quieting him. "We all say hurtful things at times, mostly because we don't understand the other person's situation. Remember that, Lucas. There are a lot of unknowns to take into account before we can make judgments."

Luke nodded vigorously. "So…how many people at Emerald Hill know about…about her?"

"Principal Zander, of course, and Ms. Redding, myself and, I think, maybe ten other professors. And one student." He nudged Luke with an elbow. "Mostly just the teachers who are part of the defense plan for the school, should it ever come to that. They need to know, so they would follow her orders immediately."

"Her orders? What about Zander?"

"Well, of course Principal Zander has authority. He worked for the Administration, did you know that?"

"No. What did he do?"

"He was in the National Security branch. Protecting our borders, arresting criminals, working to develop new…" Lunsford cleared his throat, his eyes darting to one side in a surreptitious glance at the cheerful park around them, and Luke was reminded suddenly where they were. It wasn't the same as being on a New York City street, where Doctor Yancey had spoken to Luke and Jackson openly about magic; this was a small rural town, and they did not have the privacy of anonymity. "New techniques," continued Lunsford in a normal tone of voice, "for use in Strategy classes."

"Sort of like police?" Luke was careful, vetting his sentences before they left his mouth to be sure that he made no overt reference to magic.

"Yes, very much like that. He was there for thirteen years. Then he applied for a job teaching at the school, because that's where his passion has always been—teaching. He was hired to teach Advanced Strategy. But he has always been a consultant for the Admin."

Luke watched Lunsford carefully. The words in themselves sounded admiring, but the way Lunsford said them was flat, a simple list of facts. "Uncle Heath," said Luke—the first time he had called the man this to his face, so it was sure to get his attention—"why don't you like Principal Zander?"

Lunsford looked startled. "Perception like yours, Lucas, is a sort of magic in itself. It's almost dangerous. …But it's a fair question. It has to do with this whole story, with Doctor Yancey and all. But that's not something I'm ready to talk about yet. I haven't even discussed it with Lionel, and he's my closest friend. It's…" He laughed suddenly. "It's one big ridiculous grown-up mess, is what it is. But I'll tell you one day," he added, forestalling Luke's offense at being excluded from "grown-up" matters. "I will. I promise. When you feel like you're ready, ask me again. I'll tell you."

And he shook Luke's hand, a very formal gesture that surprised and pleased Luke. They returned their empty tin cups at the hot chocolate cart and made their way to the corner of Main and Spruce Street, where they had arranged to meet the Parkers. They didn't have to wait long; within minutes a cheerful honking announced the family's arrival. There was an enormous Frasier fir tree tied to the top of the car, and before it had even come to a complete stop, Jackson was leaning out the back window and waving with both arms. Pushing aside fragrant green boughs, Luke climbed into the back of the station wagon, over Jackson's outstretched legs in their snow-crusted tweed pants.

"Isn't it a great tree?" Jackson shouted, rubbing his hands together. "We've gotta trim the bottom when we get home or it won't stand up in the house. Dad always lets me help. Wanna help, too?"

"Sure," said Luke, dusting a rime of snow from his boots. There was a musty old flannel blanket in the back with them, and he pulled it over his legs. He showed Jackson the watch he had bought for his brother, and Jackson enthusiastically agreed that his father would be able to fix it without any trouble. Then he suddenly got quiet, and Luke recognized the expression of deep thought on his friend's face. "What?" he said.

In the other seats, the rest of the family was singing "O Christmas Tree" loudly and off-key, the sort of activity that Jackson would normally join with gusto, but the large aura of his cheer had dissipated, leaving a smaller, pensive boy. He looked at Luke, and in the winter light his gray eyes looked translucent, like mirrors Luke could almost see through. Luke was shocked by the change, and for the first time he understood at least part of the reason Jackson had been chosen by the sphinx; there were untapped depths in his boisterous friend. He wondered—a flickering minnow of thought that was gone in an instant—what Jackson would be like as a grown man.

"I didn't get you anything," said Jackson.

"Oh," said Luke, collecting his scattered thoughts. "Aw man, Jack, that's okay. I didn't get anything for you, either."

"But you got something for Mark."

"Well, yeah. He's my brother." The instant the words left his mouth, Luke realized his mistake. He winced visibly, but Jackson didn't move, watching him with those strange shiny eyes. "I mean…come on, Jack, I get to see you every day. You're my best friend. I don't get to see Mark at all."

And just like that, it was gone. The familiar grin spread over Jackson's face as he wrapped his arms around his knees. "I'm your best friend?"

Luke grinned back, and kicked Jackson in the shin. "Of course you are."

This instigated a brief but spirited wrestling match in the back of the station wagon, ended by the mother, who reached back and swatted randomly until she had landed enough blows to make her point.

Snow flurries were falling by the time they arrived at the house on Sundown Lane. The daughters helped their mother bring in the bags of groceries, and Luke and Jackson assisted with the trimming of the base of the Christmas tree. It was their job to throw themselves across the tree as it lay on the ground, digging into the crusted snow with boots and gloved fingers to hold it as still as possible while Mr Parker sawed a six-inch piece from the bottom of the trunk. Lunsford watched, standing under the eave of the house with hands deep in his pockets, smiling as Luke and Jackson shoved and shouted, and he and Mr Parker carried the tree into the house after the lower branches had been trimmed. Mrs Parker had made hot tea with honey, and the children sat on the floor wrapped in blankets with their warm mugs, watching Mr Parker and Lunsford set up the tree in the old metal stand with the chipping paint.

The entire evening was spent decorating the tree, and Luke found himself enjoying it very much. The ornaments and lights were different from those of his previous life, but the smell of the tree was the same, that deep fresh tang that seemed to travel all the way to his brain when he inhaled, only increasing in potency as it gradually lost the last of the outdoor chill. Lunsford even got in on it; being the tallest person in the house, he was assigned the job of putting the star on top of the tree. The den had a high ceiling, however, and Lunsford had to stand on a chair to manage it, leaning at a precarious angle while the others shouted instructions.

When the star was successfully attached, Luke nudged Jackson. "Isn't it upside-down?"

"Yes," said Mrs Parker, who had heard him. "When Lionel and I first married, we didn't have much money, and this was the only star we could afford for our first Christmas tree. A factory defect. It made us laugh. Now it just wouldn't feel like Christmas with a right-side-up star."

Mr Parker put an arm around his wife's shoulders and kissed her cheek.

Later, as the girls were clearing away the dishes from dinner, Luke brought the broken pocket watch to Mr Parker, who put on a pair of reading glasses to look closely at the gearwork. "Well," he said, "it's missing a spring here, see? So that little bar can't turn. And a few of these gears are pretty rusted."

"Oh." Luke was crushingly disappointed. "I was gonna give it to my brother."

"And so you shall!" Mr Parker grinned and clapped Luke on the shoulder. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to? Jack," he shouted, "go get my wand."

Rapid-fire footsteps and several thumps sounded from elsewhere in the house, accompanied by a cry of frustration from Mrs Parker. In a moment Jackson appeared, trailing a bedsheet from his shoulders like a cape, his head looking lopsided from a half-finished haircut. "Here Dad!" he yelled, dropping the box on the kitchen table and fleeing back to his mother.

Mr Parker extracted his wand and passed it over the innards of the watch several times, muttering spells opaque to Luke, who watched with fascination. There was a sighing breath of air and a metallic twinkle, followed by several small movements among the gears and springs and a few tiny clicks as everything fell into place. The missing spring was there, the rust was gone. Lionel closed the back of the watch and wound it, and when he handed it to Luke it was ticking smoothly.

"Wow," said Luke with feeling. "I had no idea you could do that! How did you just…make the stuff appear? How did you know what to say?"

"I didn't have to." Mr Parker winked. "A true education in magic, my young friend, doesn't tell you what to say. All the magic you'll ever be able to summon is already right here." He tapped Luke's chest. "What they're teaching you is how to call it, and how to channel it. Once you've got the hang of it, there's really not much you can't do. So pay attention in class, huh?"

"Yes, sir." Luke grinned.

Then came the grand unveiling of the tree, for which they turned off all the lights in the house and sat in hushed anticipation while Mr Parker fumbled for the plug. The tree burst into multicolored brilliance, copious amounts of tinsel giving it—to Luke's eye, at least—an almost otherworldly shimmer. The children applauded and the adults murmured appreciation. Jackson declared it to be the best tree the family had ever had. "He says that every year," whispered Margaret to Luke.

Christmas Eve dawned clear and cold, the sort of crystalline winter day that seems too bright to look at directly, with fresh snowfall blanketing the world in white and limning every twig with brilliance. While the adults were still waking up over coffee, the children climbed into coats, hats, scarves, gloves, and boots and ran out into the bright morning. They began a snowman, which enterprise dissolved into a snowball fight, eventually retreating to the porch soaked and shivering.

"When will Mark get here?" asked Jackson, his voice slightly muffled beneath the clean sweater he was pulling on.

"Dunno," Luke said. "His letter just said on Christmas Eve. So any time, I guess." The thought brought on a swooping sensation in his stomach, not unlike what he had experienced his first time on a broom.

The mother had just called the family to lunch when Rachel, passing by a window that looked out on the driveway, suddenly squealed. "There's a car!" she shouted. "A car! Luke, it's your brother!"

Mr Parker entered the kitchen and clapped his hands. "Everyone remember," he said loudly, "Mark and…Kelly?" (He looked to Luke for confirmation, and Luke nodded.) "Mark and Kelly know nothing about magic or Emerald Hill, so absolutely no mention of those things." The girls nodded solemnly; this was something they were used to. Even Jackson looked subdued, and Luke knew that he was remembering that afternoon in Mark's little cabin in the Appalachian woods.

Luke pulled on his coat and stepped out onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind him; he wanted to greet his brother alone. Mark's letter had seemed normal enough, but Luke was still worried about the long-term effects of the memory-altering charm.

Mark swung his long legs out of the car and stood there for a moment, leaning on the open door and looking at Luke. "Hey kid," he said at last.

Luke jumped down the porch steps and ran through the snow, throwing his arms around Mark in a tight hug. Mark chuckled and returned the embrace, ruffling Luke's hair. "Man, you look…different. In a good way, I mean. You look older."

"So do you," said Luke. "Thanks for coming, Mark."

"Hey, it's Christmas." Mark gave Luke a little push and stepped aside to close the door, just as a young woman came around the car. "Luke, this is Kelly. Kelly, my kid brother."

Kelly had long dark hair and large gentle eyes the color of chocolate. "It's so nice to meet you, Luke," she said, shaking his hand. "Mark is very proud of you."

"Hi," Luke said. "Come on in, everyone's waiting to meet you."

They were not staying the night and had no suitcases, but Mark grabbed two small packages from the backseat, wrapped in the gaudy paper their mother had always favored. Inside, the Parkers were polite and welcoming, and two extra chairs had already been pulled to the table for lunch. Mark and Mr Parker talked about forestry, and Kelly charmed Margaret and Rachel with stories of her family's three horses. Luke just sat back and soaked it up. His worries had apparently been for nothing; Mark showed no recognition of either Lunsford or Jackson (in person, though Luke had certainly mentioned Jackson in his recent letters), no discomfort, no change in personality or temperament.

The only strange moment came after lunch. Mark hefted the two gifts and handed the larger one to Luke. The smaller one he gave to Jackson, who looked both stunned and delighted. "Wow!" Jackson cried. "Thanks, Mark!"

"Well, open it before you start thanking me," said Mark.

Mrs Parker insisted that all gifts must be opened by the tree, and so the family gathered in the den. Jackson had barely plopped to the floor before he had torn the paper from his package, and opened the little cardboard box. Then he gasped, and lifted into the air a red yo-yo that gleamed in the light from the tree. "It's called a Trickmaster," said Mark.

Luke watched Mark carefully, but Mark was just smiling, looking pleased with himself but not duplicitous. Had a memory leaked through? Luke couldn't tell. Jackson was clearly awed. "Wow," he said again. "It's so cool. Are you gonna teach me that trick? Luke said you can hang it from your fingers and make it swing through."

"Sure," said Mark, and Jackson bounced over to him with a whoop of joy.

Luke had always been more methodical about opening presents, and carefully peeled at the wrapping paper until he had removed the entire piece without tearing it. He sat without a word, looking at the box in his lap. He remembered it vividly, could have described it minutely. A rectangular tin box painted red, with a glass window in the top showing the interior, which had been crisscrossed with little tin walls that divided it into twelve squares, and each square held a glass Christmas ornament. Angel, rose, rabbit, teapot, pine cone, Santa, house, fruit, flowers, heart, fish…and there was the little bird with the dyed green feather for a tail, nestled in an old scrap of handkerchief.

He looked up, but Mark was absorbed with Jackson and the yo-yo, though the color in his cheeks suggested that he was avoiding an emotional moment. Mr and Mrs Parker were smiling, but it was Lunsford who held Luke's eye. Only he could guess how deeply Luke was affected by the gift.

Without comment, Luke carefully opened the box and began hanging the ornaments. He didn't speak his mother's old chant, but it was in his head as he took each familiar shape from its square and gave it a place among the lights and tinsel. And when the bird was the only one left, he walked over and handed it to Mark. Mark held it for a moment, then gave a quiet snort of laughter and stood, clipping it into a branch near the top of the tree.

Only then did Luke take the little bag from under the tree and give it to Mark. Inside was the box containing the repaired pocket watch. Mark sat beside Kelly to open it, and when the watch was revealed, he looked stunned. "Woah," he breathed, running a thumb over the glass face. "Luke, man, how'd you afford this?"

"Do you like it?" Luke asked, feeling anxious.

"Well, yeah! Of course! I've never owned anything this bitchin'! Uh, I mean," he fumbled, glancing at the Parkers, "I mean, so cool. It's really great, Mucus."

"Don't call me Mucus," said Luke, but he was grinning.

Mark and Kelly left shortly thereafter; they had to drive several hours to return to Kelly's house in Tennessee. Luke followed them out to the car to say goodbye, while the family gathered on the porch.

Mark started the engine and stepped back out, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning against the car. It was already nearing sunset, and white plumes billowed from their mouths with every breath. "Hey," said Mark, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," said Luke. "Maybe I'll see you this summer?"

"Sure thing. Keep writing. It's good to hear from you." Mark waved up at the Parkers on the porch, and said more quietly, "I feel better, now that I've met them. These are good people."

"Yeah, they are."

"So stay out of trouble, huh?"

"I'll try."

Mark stepped forward and pulled Luke into a brief, rough hug. "Check you later, kid."

As the taillights meandered to the end of the driveway and turned into Sundown Lane, Luke felt a curious sensation of stretching in his chest, as though part of him had gotten into the car along with Mark and was being pulled along, farther and farther. He stood there a few minutes more, until his toes started to feel numb.

In the den that evening, after dinner, Jackson was practicing his yo-yo trick and Lunsford was reading in an armchair. Luke sat on the floor, counting the twelve special ornaments again and again. Then he said, "Uncle Heath? How come Mark remembered about the yo-yo?"

Lunsford lowered his book. "You didn't write to him about it?"

"Well, yeah, but before. Not since…since I last saw him. Do you think he remembered?"

"No, it's not as simple as that. Sometimes memories that made a strong impression can leave a sort of residue. He probably saw the yo-yo in a store and bought it on an impulse, without realizing why."

"Oh. That's good."

"Mm-hm." After a pause, Lunsford added, "Mark really loves you, Luke."

"Yeah, I guess he does."

"And no matter how much the two of you change, that's something that will never change."

Luke smiled, then crawled across the carpet to help untangle the yo-yo string from around Jackson's fingers.