text: I paced the halls of my two bedroom ranch home, nervous energy wearing a distinct path in the carpet with my shuffling feet. The day before I received an ominous letter in the mail. *I know what you are. I’ll arrive tomorrow to meet you*, it said in scrawling, beautiful cursive. The swooping ends of the letters convinced me that it was written old school style, with a quill and ink. My thoughts buzzed as to what that letter could mean. Was it something about my heritage? From what I knew, my family was your common hodge-podge of different backgrounds that was common to find in the United States. Was it about my occupation? I wasn’t sure that being an engineer was anything to write home about. The time inched by throughout the day as I awaited the promised visit from the mysterious stranger. As the clock ticked past noon, then the late evening hours, my apprehension grew. *Maybe this was all just some prank,* I thought throughout dinner, which was a simple array of frozen foods, as my mind was too distracted by anxiety festering with each passing hour. I glanced at the clock clicking quietly in the hallway. It was nearly midnight at this point. I sighed, cursing myself for getting so worked up about a mysterious letter. Weariness settled into my bones as I turned towards my bedroom door. The weight of the day finally slammed into me as the clock wound closer to midnight. As I shuffled past my office door, I halted. A knock resounded from my front door, a singular, swift rapt that echoed down the hall behind me. My eyes widened as I slowly turned back down the hall. I stared incredulously at my front door as I approached. Its solid wooden form blocked the sight of my front porch from view, save for the small peephole drilled at eye height. I leaned against the door, pressing one of my eyes to the hole to inspect my visitor before allowing them entrance. A small statured man with gray hair and an impressive beard rocked on his heels, whistling a tune to himself with his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a thick, gray wool coat and a fluffy argyle scarf to fend off the evening chill. My curiosity overtook me as I slipped the bolt out of the lock and slowly inched open the front door. “Hello?” I said apprehensively as the light from my home spilled onto the porch, illuminating the warm smile spread across the old man’s face. “Triston!” the old man exclaimed, his voice deep and oddly soothing. “I’m so glad I finally got a hold of you. You got my letter, I presume?” “The ominous note left in my mailbox?” I asked, surprise splashed across my face as I realized the old man knew my name. “Yes, I apologize for that,” he said sheepishly. “I was in a bit of a rush and was running very low on ink, so I scrawled the quickest message I could.” He slipped his hands out of his pockets and held them close to his mouth, blowing hot breath that billowed above him in icy twirls to warm them against the chill. I realized the man wasn’t an immediate danger and stepped aside to offer him entrance to the warm embrace of a heated home. He accepted gratefully, taking a step onto my welcome mat and kicking his shoes off to the side beside my own. “Did you want something to drink?” I offered as I headed to the kitchen. The exhaustion I felt just minutes ago had fled completely with the bewildering development. I knew I’d need at least one cup of coffee to get me through the night if I wasn’t going to sleep. “Tea would be wonderful if you have it,” he said as he shucked his coat and scarf, then gently hung them on the coat rack around the corner from the entryway. “I do, but it’s herbal, is that alright?” I said from the open concept kitchen as I slid the coffee grounds before my coffee maker and generously heaped a couple of scoops into a fresh basket liner. “Perfect,” he said cheerily as he plopped down on my worn cloth sofa. I nodded as I switched on the coffee pot, then moved to fill up the electric kettle. After starting the heating cycle, I joined the old man in the living room by sinking into the singular arm chair in the room. It was a plush monster that was easily my favorite seat in the house. “I need to know, what did you mean by ‘I know what you are’ in your note?” I asked, my hands clasped in my lap as I anxiously posed the question. “Well, you’re a magic wielder of course,” he said, the odd combination of words flowing so easily from his lips as if they meant nothing. “What, like a wizard?” I asked in disbelief. “I guess you could say that,” he explained. “Wizards in fairy tales aren’t really the same as what we are though. Didn’t your mother ever explain this to you?” “No, never,” I said, my apprehension growing. “How do you know my mother?” “You don’t recognize your own grandfather?” he cried, his tone a mixture of pained disbelief and grief. “Wait...grandfather,” I breathed, the room reeling around me as I registered who the man before me was. “But I...Mom said you died a long time ago, when I was just a kid.” “That might have been my fault,” said the old man before me as his eyes dropped to the floor in shame. “When you were about to enter mortal school...er...public school, I pleaded with your mother to send you to a school for magical beings instead. To be with your own kind, you know? It ended up becoming a wedge between us we couldn’t overcome.” Shock left my jaw unhinged as the story clicked in my mind. I vaguely remembered my grandfather from my preschool years, but after kindergarten, my mother told me he’d passed away. I realized now how strange it was that we didn’t have a funeral, and that she stripped our home of any trace of him. I couldn’t find the words to respond to my grandfather’s confession. The world as I’d known it was abruptly ripped out from under my feet. “So then...what are you doing here?” I asked breathlessly, my mind still not fully recovered from the slew of revelations. “I’m here to offer you some training, and a job,” he said as he raised his eyes and fixed his gaze on mine with determination.