Timothy: What are you doing?

Lily: Now that Brother Alvah is dead, I have no reason to stay.

Timothy: You don’t have to stay, but you can’t come with me.

Lily: Why not?

Timothy: Because!

Lily: I’m sorry about your brother.

Timothy: I-it’s not that. It wasn’t your fault. I know.

I don’t even blame you for mourning Brother Alvah. But I can’t help you with that. Do you understand?

Besides, I won’t be able to be inconspicuous with someone as flashy as you around.


There’s just no way I can look out for you.

Lily: I’m a millennia-old immortal. You’re a teenage boy with a handful of cash, a bag of stuff, and an umbrella. You brought one change of clothes, and it’s a dress.

Which of us needs looking out for?

Timothy: Um . . .

Lily: Timothy. Make a contract with me. Become my Master. I’ll get a new look. You’ll give me a new name. And whither thou goest I will go; and whither thou lodgest I will lodge:

thy people shall be my people, and thou shalt be my God.