Atticus lifts his chin with a smile. "I never gave it," he replies.

He relaxes his wrist, and the flames immediately begin to die down. Still there remains no discernible connection between the practiced movements of his hand and the fire that now dies upon the log. He keeps the umbrella held above his head and takes a few steps towards Billy, apparently unperturbed by the ax in his grip. "Atticus Vedici," he says at length, and holds out his hand.

"You are?"