The bag Alaster packed was still sitting on the wooden chair beside his bed. The sun was rising enough to give the first hints of the day as it cast subtle shadows in his cottage. Alaster sighed, not wanting to get out of bed. His stone home always felt cold on mornings like this until he built a fire and heated the water for his tea.
Alaster tossed the covers back, sat up on the edge of his bed, and stretched. He looked at his old tapestry bag once again. He needed to leave soon to ensure that Constantine Booker did not come looking for him. Still, for some reason, he could not bring himself to leave his home.
Groaning as he stood, Alaster flicked his finger toward the fireplace. Flames flared around the logs he had placed there the night before with a whoosh as they quickly spread amo
