Stories from the Concrete Jungle

Part One - The Foundling

He had seen the boy countless times. He always sat on the same tree stump on the edge of their property, always crying, always looking like he had run like his life depended on it. Nicholas had never really ever questioned it, only watched from his treehouse, or from the porch, or from the window, as the boy ran through the woods and sat on the same tree stump, his shoulders twitching as he cried, his scrawny body heaving with sobs.

Nicholas didn't question it the first time it happened, or the second, or even the tenth time, nor did he ever bring it up to mama and papa. He knew that sometimes, people who were struggling were attracted to his house. His mama, who was widely known for being able to mix up little spells and potions to help people help themselves, always had strangers finding their way to their home. So maybe, this boy, who was clearly struggling, had found his own way there for help.

But Nicholas, who was still an apprentice in his witchcraft, could never do anything for the boy. So on the days the boy did appear, and appear he frequently did, he only watched from afar.

Until the first day snow fell that autumn.

"Mama," Nicholas said that day as he sat at the kitchen table practicing his spellwork. Snow had started to fall earlier in the day, so mama had made him and his sister play inside.

"Yes, honey?" Mama replied, corking a bottle of herbs she had just mixed, and shaking it together.

"There's a boy outside, on the edge of the forest. Can I invite him in to play with me?"

Mama sat the bottle down hard enough that Nicholas flinched as she leaned into the window to find the little boy in the cold.

"Or is he a demon?" Nicholas asked as his mama watched the boy.

"Oh, poor baby," she muttered under her breath. "No, honey, that's a little boy who needs our help. Nick, bring me a blanket and stay with your sister; I'll be right back."

Mama tugged on her boots and heavy jacket with the furry hood as Nicholas ran for a blanket, tugging it from the couch and hitting his sister with it. He didn't care when she squealed at him; he only cared for the boy in the cold snow, crying.

He watched from the back door as mama marched out in the growing snow drifts to the boy on the stump. She leaned over him and wrapped the blanket around him; she crouched to the ground and swept her hands over his face, pulled him into a hug, and then, to little Nicholas's immense delight, shepherded the cold, crying boy towards their house. Since he and his sister were both homeschooled, it wasn't very often Nicholas made friends outside the coven his family belonged to. So mama walking with the sad boy to his house delighted him immensely.

Mama opened the back door, letting in a flurry of snow into the house, and the boy walked in. He was taller than Nicholas was, and much skinner too, with a shock of brown hair, dark eyes, and a bruise on his cheek.

"Nicholas, this is Noah," Mama said, patting Noah's shoulder. "Noah, this is Nicholas. He is the one who saw you."

Noah stood awkwardly, one hand clasping his elbow, shifting from one foot to the other, looking from Nicholas to the ground.

"Hi," Noah said quietly.

"You're really tall," Nicholas said, waving Noah over to the table where, with a flick of his wrist, the books shut and flew to the book shelf. Mama snapped her fingers and shook her head no. No magic. "Do you know how to play checkers?"