"I'm glad the storm stopped," Germain observed the next morning, stopping into the living room.

"Yeah, but the yard's a mess," Billy mumbled. He gestured wildly before returning his attention to his book. "Sticks everywhere. It looks like we cut down a forest out there."

Germain doubled back. "Oh, do you want help picking up?"

Billy shook his head. "Nah, you enjoy your day with the Flamels. Where are you going anyways?"

"Sight-seeing. Are you sure you don't want to go? We're going to see the quainter side of America," Germain said, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

Billy looked up. "If you find it, you let me know what it looks like. Mac and I are going to clean up the yard, I think."

"What am I going to do?" the Italian asked, tromping down the stairs.

"We've got a bunch of sticks in the yard. I figure we'll spend the morning picking them up." Billy smiled at Machiavelli.

The Italian was unmoved by his charm, moving to look out the window. He turned to the Frenchman. "Where are you going?"

"Well, Black Hawk left early this morning to pick up some supplies or something of that nature... and we're going into town to do some exploring since we haven't actually looked around yet. I think the girls want to go shopping?" Germain clapped Billy on the back and maneuvered the Italian out onto the porch. "I'm going to look into buying a piano. Can you keep The Kid occupied for the day?"

Machiavelli nodded. He leaned in to the Frenchman, speaking softly. "While you're in town, could you pick something up for me?" He continued without waiting. "There's a candy shop downtown. Can you buy some horehound candy?"

"Horehound candy?" Germain scratched his head. "Sure," he agreed affably.

Billy knocked at the edge of the door frame. He settled his arm on Machiavelli's shoulder, noting that the Italian had shot up considerably in the last week, the top of his head now hovering around Billy's chest. "If you want to go, Mac, I can clean up here by myself."

"No, I want to be with you," Machiavelli said, touching Billy's hand with his own. He looked away quickly. They both waved to Germain as the Frenchman climbed into his SUV and drove off.

"Now about the sticks..." Billy trailed off as the scent of serpent filled the air around them. Machiavelli held a hand out, long fingers splayed. Abruptly all the sticks in the yard rose up in one mass.

Billy watched astounded as the gigantic stick monster dragged itself across their yard and fell apart in their wood pile. "What was that?"

"A tulpa," Machiavelli answered. He huffed slightly, tired but not exhausted. "You can make them out of anything. It is a bit draining to do, but not too bad this time since it was such a short distance." He clasped his hands together.

"Will you teach me how to do that sometime?" Billy asked, ducking his head shyly. Machiavelli sat beside him on the front steps, nodded.

"Sure. But not right now." They both watched as Georgette stalked along the edge of the woods. "Where's Billy?"

"Black Hawk took him for his car ride. And before you ask, I don't know where Black Hawk went." Billy glanced sideways at Machiavelli. "Now that our morning is blown wide open, what do you want to do?"

Machiavelli leaned back, looking up at the streaks of clouds in the sky. He knew that Germain wanted him to keep Billy occupied, so that meant he had to bring the American somewhere that he couldn't easily return from. "We should go on an adventure," he said slowly. "We never get time alone together anymore."

"Is that why you didn't tell me about your magic stick pickup?" Billy asked carefully. He got up. "Let's go on a hike, Mac. I know a place where you can jump into the lake from a high rock. We'll go there." He stood up decisively. "Change into your swim shorts. I'll pack a lunch."

~MB~

Machiavelli snuffled and opened his eyes. He blinked and rolled over. Somehow he'd ended up lying on the picnic blanket. "Billy?" he called. The Italian looked around.

"Hey, Mac," Billy's voice floated down from somewhere above. Machiavelli looked around, trying to locate the American. He called out again. "I'm up here, Mac," Billy said, dropping out of the tree. The outlaw landed catlike on the ground and grinned at Machiavelli somehow, around his book which was clenched between his teeth.

"Reading your book?" Machiavelli asked, keeping his face neutral. He pulled himself up and didn't wait for the American to answer. "Why'd you let me sleep?"

"Oh, well, you were tired. I figured after your tulpa stunt you'd need to recharge a bit," Billy said, sitting beside him on the blanket. He dug through the picnic basket. "And then we went on our hike... so here, have the rest of your sandwich."

"And then we'll go swimming?" Machiavelli asked around his sandwich. "Because I'm not tired anymore."

Billy ruffled Machiavelli's hair roughly. "Sure, Niccolò. We'll get it all done." He stuck his book back in the basket. "We can go now, if you want." The Italian scrambled to his feet, helping Billy to toss the remnants of their lunch in the basket. He quickly balled up the blanket and tossed it in as well.

"Where is the rock?" Machiavelli asked, skipping beside Billy.

"Not far," Billy said. He pointed. "Actually, it right around the bend here."

"We were that close all along," Machiavelli yelped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Billy wrapped his arm around the Italian, pulling him close. "But then you wouldn't have taken your nap. And I wanted you to get some sleep." They came around an angle in the road and the boy saw the rock for the first time.

Machiavelli slowed to a crawl as he approached the edge of the rock. He carefully peeped over the edge. "We're going to jump off of this?"

"It'll be fun," Billy called. "Don't worry about it, the water is plenty deep." He was already pulling off his t-shirt.

"I don't know..." Machiavelli hesitated. He looked back at the American. "And you'll hold my hand?" Billy grinned, knowing he had won. He nodded.