by Paul Kater
William rubbed his chin. As he moved, Hilda's eyes were glued to his hand for a moment, then she watched her glass again. "Has it appeared to you that perhaps this Labrador has gained power over king Herald, and that this king is only a puppet in the sorcerer's play?"
"Lamador. Not Labrador," Hilda said. She thought of what William had said. "You might have a point there," she nodded, "it would not be beyond Lamador to cast a spell over his king in order to expand his power even more."
She looked at William. "Is it warm in here or what?" The wicked witch touched her cheeks. "Ooh, very warm... I should go open a window or so..."
As she tried to get up, it was as if suddenly lead was delivered into her legs. She had to grab hold of the table so she could remain on her feet. "Oh, crappedy crap," she groaned. She had forgotten to dilute her last couple of glasses of wine and now she was paying for the price.
Hilda fell back in her chair and groaned some more. "All your fault," she said accusingly to William. "Without you I would not have drunk so much and talked so much and maybe found a problem to my solution- oh wait... that should be the other way round. I think."
The witch had for certain hit the bottle in the right way, which to her was the worst way imaginable: she was drunk.
Hilda shook her hand, hoping for a wand to appear. That could get the alcohol out of her. Alas, the alcohol had temporarily disabled her ability to summon the wand, so she was facing the ultimate catch-22.
"No... no... I don't want this..." She stared at William. "I don't want to feel like this, William. Make it go away, yes?" Again she struggled herself up from the chair, and this time she appeared to succeed, but attempting a step forward proved too daunting a task. Hilda stumbled and fell over the table, grabbing at anything that could give her some hold before she would slide down to the floor.
William had quickly reached out and caught her hand in his, holding her onto the table that way. He got up, holding her hand, and then wrapped an arm around her. He lifted the skinny witch up from the table and held her so she could stand up. It was obvious that without help she was not going anywhere but to the floor.
"No, William, you cannot hold me like that," Hilda muttered as she tried to pluck his arm away from her. She could just as well attempt to lift a mountain; her strength had left her completely. "I am a witch, you know, a very wicked witch."
"I think you are a very drunk witch at the moment, Hilda, and I should get you to bed," William calmly said. "So if you tell me where to take you, I'll make sure you get there safe and well."
"No! You cannot go into my bedroom!", she shouted, once more trying to free herself from the arm.
As the attempt failed again, she turned around in his arm, so she faced him. She put her hands on his shoulders. "Now listen- Oh... strong shoulders. Did you know you have strong shoulders, William?" She started giggling as she squeezed the man's arms. "You are strong, William, but you cannot carry a witch to her bed. No no no, you cannot- whoops!"
William had lifted her up in his arms and was walking towards the stairs. This was a tricky thing as there were no candles anywhere. Nor a lightswitch.
"Hello, house, can you supply some light here?", William gave it a try.
The house remained silent, and the book salesman took that as a no.
"Oh, lights," Hilda giggled as she let herself hang loose , sprawled in his arms. "Wheeee!"
She moved her hands a bit and suddenly colourful sparkles floated around them. It was not exactly the light William had hoped for but it would suffice to get the witch up the stairs.
"Hilda, you have to sit up a bit and put an arm around my neck," he said, "otherwise your head will hit the wall."
"Okay, okay," she mock muttered, pulling herself up on his arm. "But don't worry, I have a hard head William." Her speech was getting more and more difficult to understand. She snuggled against him, her arms around his neck, her head bobbing against his shoulder as he walked up the stairs. By the time he reached the small hallway on the top floor, Hilda was sound asleep.
"Great," William mumbled to himself, looking at the plenitude of doors that were still visible in the fading light of the sparkles that were dying away. "Which door..."
The house was not asleep. It opened the door to the bedroom of the wicked witch.
"Thanks," William whispered. He slowly went into the room, hit his knee against the bed and, having found it that way, he lay Hilda down. In a corner was a small floating stick with a single flame. William used that to light a candle.
With that light at hand, he straightened Hilda's dress as well as he could, pulled the covers over her after taking off her shoes, and then blew out the candle again. He left the bedroom, closed the door behind him quietly, and repaired to his own room.
All the strange events of the day kept him awake for a long time.
7. Household hassle
"I hate myself." Those were the first words that came from under the covers that were on the bed in Hilda's bedroom. They came, of course, from Hilda. They were spoken in a mere whisper, and even the whisper was too loud. "I hope this works."
A hand appeared. A wand appeared. A soft sigh of relief came from under the duvet. The wand was pointed downwards, a spell was murmured.
Seconds passed.
The covers were kicked away violently, something in which the witch was severely hindered by her dress. "I am going to kick that idiot out right now!"
Hilda, wrinkled clothes and hair rather in a mess, jumped from her bed, wand ready to fire. She stomped out of the bedroom and kicked the door to the guestroom open- to find the bed empty, the duvet folded back and the windows open. Fresh air and sunlight were streaming into the room. "Now what the hell..."
She looked around the room. William's clothes were still there. His bag was there. But the man himself was not there. It was quite difficult for Hilda to keep up her anger as the subject of it was not there to receive it.
The wicked witch turned and descended to the living room. As she was halfway down the stairs, there was the smell of fresh bread, fruit, flowers and tea coming up the same stairs to greet her. She stopped and looked at one of the pictures. It was an ancient image of a famous wicked witch, who on one occasion had not been wicked enough. Hence the picture.
"Do you know what's going on?", she asked.
The face in the picture looked apologetic.
"Urgh", reacted Hilda, and continued her journey down the stairs.
The sources of the smells she had already encountered were becoming stronger. As she stepped into the room, she came to a standstill, staring at the table. Bread, obviously warm and straight from an over. Flowers. Flowers?? A teapot floated over three candles to keep it warm. A basket of fresh fruit was on the table also.
William appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray with something hot. He wore his new velvet pants and an apron that Hilda recognised, but she wasn't sure when she had seen it last. She had no idea where the oven mittens came from. "Hello, and good morning. Come, sit, a decent breakfast will certainly help you."
"You!", she snapped at him, pointing her wand at him, her mood temperature dropping to sub-zero values..
"Yes? Is something wrong?" William did not wait for her to continue; he walked on to the table and put the hot pot containing vegetables on the table.
"What's all this? What have you done? And what happened last night?" Hilda was especially worried about the latter, as there was a worrying amount of nothing that she could remember of it after a certain point. And even that certain point was rather uncertain and fuzzy.
William took off the mittens. "Okay, in that order: 'all this' is known as breakfast. A bit lavish perhaps, but your kitchen is a maniac when it comes to making food. What I have done is make it, as far as your kitchen utensils let me do what I wanted. You ought to teach them to back off when they are told to. And last night nothing happened, except that you got drunk."
"And?", Hilda demanded further explanation.
"And
you almost fell, so I carried you to your bedroom and put you in bed."
"And?", she still wasn't satisfied.
"And then I went to sleep myself, hoping that you would not have a sore head this morning. Judging from how you are acting, that seems to be not the case."
"And that is all?" Hilda tapped her wand against her leg impatiently.
"That is indeed all. Now will you sit down for breakfast?"
"And how do I know that you are telling the truth?" Hilda was not one for believing everything just like that.
"Well, you don't. You'll just have to believe me." William pulled back her chair and waited.
The witch stared at him. "That is my chair."
"I know," said William. "I am just being polite. I'm holding it for you so you can sit down more easily."
"Leave my chair be. I can sit down by myself, thank you very much," Hilda grumbled. She walked to her seat with brisk steps and sat down, her mood not improving yet.
Her anger and frustration became overwhelmed by the sight and smell of the food that was on the table, and she watched the salesman like a hawk as he walked around the table and sat down himself. "You look ridiculous in that apron," she shared with him.
"You think so? I find it rather cute," he grinned, "never thought though that I would ever wear a yellow apron with bunny skeletons. But if you think it is ridiculous..." He took off the apron and hung it over another chair.
"William...", Hilda slowly said.
"Hilda?"
"You are not wearing a shirt."
"I know. It was too hot in the kitchen and I did not want to get stains on the shirt, so I took it off." William poured her tea.
"Oh." Hilda could not drag her eyes off his naked torso and blindly grabbed things on the table, almost burning her fingers on the hot veggies. "Crap!"
William frowned for a moment, then understood where the issue resided. "Oh, I see..." He got up, fetched his shirt and put it on.
"Oh..." Hilda sounded only slightly disappointed. The two goldfish on her cup grinned and the witch sucked her almost burnt fingers.
As they ate, Hilda's temper faded away with each fork-load of food. It was amazingly good. "You know how to cook," she said.
"I take that as a compliment," he said, "so thank you."
"Hm-mm."
As she had finished, she leaned back in her chair and looked at the man over her teacup. "I had every intention of kicking you out of the house when I got up," she said.
"Is that so? And what was- oh, I see. You thought dishonourable things of me." He winked at her.
"Yes. I did. Not sure if I should still do. I don't trust people just because they tell me to."
"Smart attitude, Hilda. I hope you believe me when I say you look charming?"
Hilda glared at him. "I look crumpled. And a mess. And you should have said so last night."
"I was going to, Hilda, but you did not let me. You were the one that said I should not look at you, which brought up the change of subject."
The wicked witch was caught in the corner and she knew it. She whispered a spell to the cup. Then she held it out and asked: "Can I have some more tea?"
As William poured her tea, the house announced: "There is an archer coming to the door."
Only seconds later there was a knock on the door that the archer had come to.
Hilda put down her cup and went to open said door, greeting the archer with: "What?"
"Here is a note for you, honourable witch." He held up a piece of paper. "And we would like our arrows back, please."
The witch muttered something under her breath. Then she flipped up her wand and made the basket with some two hundred arrows float to the archer, landing the basket in his arms and him consequently on his ass on the floor. "There you go." She slammed the door shut and returned to the table, from where William had witnessed the entire scene.
With a grim face she stared at the note. "Rats," she said, crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it on her plate.
"Big problems?", William asked.
"No. About rats bugging someone. Do I look like fucking pest-control? One of those things that gets sent to every witch in the area. There's always a sucker that will fly out and help. And that's not me."
William drank his last bit of tea and thought about how Hilda had been when he had first met her. Then she was by far not the bratty boisterous person she was here. She had been afraid, tired, misunderstood and confused, back in his own world. The world she called insane.
Hilda jumped up. "I don't know what you are going to do now. I am going to change and take care of business." Without waiting for an answer, she bolted up the stairs again, her mutterings fading as distance increased.
"Holy Bejeebus," William shook his head.
"I heard that! And I don't want to hear that again!", Hilda yelled from up the stairs. She went into her room, closed the door and sat on her bed, staring at herself in the mirror. A strand of hair hung over her face. She blew it away, but that only helped for a moment.
In anger she turned to her pillow and pounded on that for a while, until she had lost most of her anxiety. "Damn, damn, what did you do bringing him here," she asked her image, panting away. "He's the last one I can have around now, and I'm stuck with him."
Hilda yanked open her wardrobe door, grabbed a black dress from it and slammed the door. She looked at her mirror image again and said: "Stupid witch. Argh!"
In her black dress she told herself to calm down. "Okay Hilda, play it cool. You're in charge, you're in control. He is an ordinary, nothing magical about him." Mentally armed like that she thundered down the stairs.
The table was cleared. William was in the kitchen trying to wash the dishes, but the brush and the water had their own ideas about that, with a drenched man as the result.
"Fine, suit yourself if you think you know better," he snapped at the precocious kitchen, threw the rag in the water and turned to leave. The rag flew out of the water and hit him in the neck, water and foam streaming down his back and shoulders.
William closed his eyes and sighed. "How is it possible that she can handle this..."
"I don't," Hilda said, who was leaning against the doorjamb. "I let it handle itself. That's what it's there for."
William picked the wet rag from his shoulders and dropped it on the sink. "Thank you for telling me. After the fight."
She grinned. "It was amusing to watch."
"You...", William said, half threatening.
Hilda flared up. "What, me?" She stood up straight, waiting for him to try something.
William grabbed the rag and pretended to throw it at her. With a shriek she shot away from the door opening, out of the line of fire. The salesman dropped the rag again and almost collapsed for laughter.
Fuming, Hilda came back into the kitchen. She had her wand in her hand and murder in her eyes. "You went too far," she hissed, William barely over his laughing. "This time you really went too far."
The spell that shot from the wand picked William up. She carried him into the living room and stuck him against a wall. It happened so fast that only then William understood what was happening. He also understood that his speech was cut off and all he could do was wait.
"You do NOT threaten a witch like me, do you hear that?", Hilda yelled at William. She pulled him from the wall and slammed him into it again. "And you do not laugh at a witch like me either, do you hear that as well?" He slammed into the wall again. "I am not one to be taken lightly, William Connoley, and every ordinary here knows that. It is about time that you learn that too."
She lowered him so his feet were on the floor and then she released the spell. William thanked her by crashing onto the floor as if there was no bone in his body. He was unconscious.
"Hey. Get up." Hilda pushed the man's shoulder with her foot. "Get up."
William did not move, for obvious reasons.
Hilda waited a little longer. Her eyes got large and she kneeled with the man, only then
discovering that he definitely did not hear her. "Oh no, what have I done..."
Carefully she shook William's shoulder as she said his name, but William was temporarily out of order.
8. Making the rounds
Without taking her eyes from William's motionless body, she scurried to the table with the crystal ball. "Babs. Are you there? I need you. Now!"
"Hilly, what's up? You sound like there is a real problem."
"There is. There is a man in my house and-"
"What did you say???" Baba Yaga, Hilda's lifelong girlfriend, sounded scared, shocked and full of disbelief.
"There is a man in my house and-"
"Damn, girl! Who is it?" Baba Yaga now sounded as if she wanted to take the next broom over to see this for herself.
"He is unconscious, Babs, and I knocked him out. And now I don't know what to do with him."
"Uhm... can't you just put him outside?" The Russian witch always had a simple and useful solution at hand.
"No, I can't. Not this one." Hilda bit her lip and prayed that her girlfriend would not ask.
"Why not?"
Damn.
"Grimhilda... don't tell me that what I am thinking is what has actually happened..."
"Babs, listen, it is not what you think. He is visiting here and-"
"Whoa. Stop right there, Hilly baby. You have a MAN in your house. And he is VISITING. There are two things here that don't make sense already. Are you sure you're okay, Hilda?"
"Babs, please, I can't go into all this now. William is on the floor and he is not moving. I think he is still alive, and what can I do now?"
"Oh, he even has a name. My, oh my..." Baba Yaga gave her best cackle. Then she became serious, as she understood that Hilda really was having a problem. "If you can, get him on a bed. Feel if his forehead is hot, and if it is, cool it with a wet rag. And keep asking if he can hear you."
"Okay, I can do that. Thanks, Babs." Hilda waved the connection down and then took her wand again. Magically she lifted William and floated him up the stairs. She followed and opened the door to his bedroom, where she put him down.