Report by: Roost Brenner

For centuries, the legends of werewolves have woven a tapestry of power, mystique, and both noble and horrifying tales. Each sighting brings with it a unique narrative, adding to the rich lore that surrounds these enigmatic creatures.

Yet, a new phenomenon has emerged, casting a different light on the age-old legend. While many have feared the possibility of succumbing to lycanthropy, resorting to charms and superstitions to ward off the transformation, some have willingly embraced the furry lifestyle.

In an unexpected turn, for a growing number of individuals, being a werewolf is more than a mythical affliction—it’s a choice. For some, it’s a form of enjoyment, a way to express their inner selves in a manner that defies societal norms. They revel in the transformative experience, finding liberation in the embrace of their wild side.

For others, the decision to adopt a furry persona is pragmatic, even economical. In a world where housing costs continue to rise, some individuals have chosen the path of the werewolf as a means to save on rent. By living in more remote areas or communal spaces where their unique lifestyle is accepted, they bypass the financial burdens that come with conventional living arrangements.

This growing community challenges our preconceived notions of the supernatural, blurring the lines between folklore and personal identity. It prompts us to reconsider what it means to belong, to express oneself, and to find solace in a world that often demands conformity.

As society continues to evolve, so too does our understanding of what it means to live authentically. The werewolf, once a creature of fear and fascination, has now become a canvas for self-discovery and self-expression. Whether a fetish, a family pet, or a chosen way of life, these individuals are rewriting the narrative, reshaping the story of the werewolf in a world that’s ever-changing.

Hosted by Roost Brenner

In a world gripped by the sudden onslaught of zombies, the cause remains shrouded in mystery. However, a seemingly mundane daily habit may hold the key to your survival.

Point 1: For those who find solace in the glow of their phone screens, there’s good news. Your digital companion could be your ticket to safety in these dire times.

Point 2: It turns out, zombies are drawn to swift and regular movement. Those engrossed in their phones have inadvertently stumbled upon a life-saving strategy. The focused, deliberate pace of a phone-scroller contrasts starkly with the erratic movements that draw the undead like moths to a flame.

As strange as it may sound, your smartphone could be your best ally in evading these relentless pursuers. By maintaining a steady, purposeful gait, you drastically reduce the chances of attracting unwanted attention.

In essence, your device becomes a digital shield, a talisman against the encroaching threat. With each swipe and tap, you create a bubble of safety, allowing you to navigate through the perilous landscape with a measure of protection.

So, remember, use your phone when you’re out and about—whether you’re driving, walking, or even running. It’s not just a means of connection; it’s a tool for survival. Because, let’s face it, when it comes to outrunning zombies, they’ve got the upper hand in speed. Keep your focus on that screen, and you might just make it out of this alive.

Report by: Roost Brenner

(No, the reporter nor this is not real. I can’t believe i actually have to put this in here.)

In the realm of comic book lore, supervillains have long captured the imagination of readers and viewers alike. But what drives these nefarious characters to wreak havoc on the world? Recent research sheds light on the psychological profiles of supervillains, revealing two distinct archetypes.

The first category comprises overt or narcissistic supervillains, characterized by an unrelenting focus on personal gratification. For them, the desire to stand atop the proverbial podium as the best, the most powerful, is the guiding principle. This breed views others through a lens of superiority, deeming them lesser beings. Everything that doesn’t align with their vision is deemed inferior or tainted.

On the other side of the spectrum lies the empathic supervillain, a far rarer breed. These individuals have been scarred by a world that has shown them little kindness, compelling them towards extremes. Driven by their empathy for those who have suffered similar fates or worse, they seek to right perceived wrongs, though their methods often lead to further pain and chaos. They become unwitting conduits of the very torment they’ve endured.

What sets the empathic supervillain apart is their deep-seated belief that their actions, no matter how destructive, are ultimately “for the better.” This conviction, while rooted in a genuine desire for justice, is tainted by a skewed moral compass. Many operate in a state of unawareness, blinded by the noble intentions that cloak their malevolent deeds.

The question that arises is why the empathic supervillain remains such a rare phenomenon. One hypothesis suggests that the weight of their past traumas, combined with the belief in their own righteousness, creates a self-imposed isolation. They perceive themselves as solitary crusaders, fighting a battle that only they can understand and address. This alienation often precludes the possibility of seeking help or gaining insights from others.

In a world that often demands shades of grey, the supervillain’s dichotomy illuminates the complexities of human nature. Both archetypes are driven by a desire for control and influence, but their paths and justifications differ vastly. As we delve deeper into the minds of these formidable foes, we may uncover a more nuanced understanding of the human experience, one that challenges preconceived notions of good and evil.

Interview 1: Mr. smith (note his real name. shown from the back his hair green grass .)

Tell us what happened when you encounters Mr X

Mr Smith : Well I told him he was crazy, I mean who reverses gravity, how are you supposed to throw a football correctly.

Roost: ahem, I see, please go on, tell us of your encounter.

Mr smith says: Well, I told him he was crazy then he just looked at me. And then he picked up my car and smashed it flat right in front of me. Or at least he thought it was my car, I laughed when I realized whose it was.

Roost: did you know the owner?

Smith: oh, yeah it was my good for nothing boss’s car. He told me I can’t have more days off. You see I’m a marketing person and need at least 200 days a year to recharge my creative juices.

Roost: I see. Please go on.

Mr. Smith: well I said it was funny that he totaled my boss’s car. And then he, (the man reached up and touches his hair.)

Roost: go on, tell us what else happened.

Mr Smith: he looked at me and smiled a little, then he said something before firing some kind of ray at me.

Roost: and then that’s when this happened? Roost points to the top of the mans head.

Mr Smith nods, “yeah, I was loosing my hair but now I have to mow it every two weeks.

Roost: you mean trim it? It looks like he gave you your hair back, but it’s green.

Mr Smith: “Well,” Mr. Smith looked down to the ground before continuing, “the color wasn’t changed, this is actually grass, I meant it when I said I had to mow it.”

Roost raised his eyebrow then pointed to the man, “well tell us what the man said.”

Mr Smith could be heard giving an audible sigh, “he said, you know humor is subjective, and you look like a good subject, then he fired that ray on me.”

Roost: “well that’s all the time we have today. please join us next time when we dive into another exciting, story. I’m Roost Brenner, goodbye.”

A Fairy’s Fairy tale
(Yes, even fairies can tell tales. This was a short story I did while waiting for my car getting getting new tires)

In the heart of a verdant glade, bathed in the gentle glow of a fairy ring, Ioniaar sat perched upon a moss-covered rock. A congregation of fairies, brownies, and tiny woodland creatures encircled her, their eyes wide with anticipation. They knew that within the lilting verses of her tale, adventure and friendship would unfurl.

“Once, in a time long past,” she began, her voice a melodic cadence, “there dwelled a man whose heart was as kind as the dawn’s first light. He found me, fragile and wounded, and tended to my hurt with care.”
As she spoke, the enchanted assembly hung on every word, their imaginations painted with the vivid strokes of her story. They could almost feel the man’s presence, hear the resonance of his steps. See his shadow fall across them as the tale was told.

“He fought valiantly against the monstrous machines that threatened to fell my beloved trees,” she continued, her eyes gleaming with remembrance. “And in the evenings, he would prepare a feast of barley and grain, mushrooms and seeds. The flavors danced upon my tongue, a testament to his skill and love.”

Ioniaar paused, her gaze drifting to the memory of a small branch being transformed under the man’s careful hands. “He would whittle away at a secret creation, and each time I asked, he’d simply smile and say, ‘It’s a surprise.'”
The fairy’s voice softened, carrying the weight of the days when sorrow eclipsed the man’s features. “Then came a day when a letter arrived, and I saw the shadows cloud his eyes. ‘There are men coming,’ he told me, and I understood the weight of his words.”

The forest, once a sanctuary, became a battleground. The man stood defiant, defending the ancient groves against those who sought to plunder its riches. When the battle subsided, the man’s gaze met hers, a silent understanding passing between them.

“Five days later, he gathered his belongings, his clothes folded with a heavy heart,” Ioniaar continued, her voice a wistful whisper. “And as I asked why, he gave me a smile filled with sorrow. ‘It’s time for me to leave. I have others to protect,’ he confessed.”

With a gesture both solemn and tender, he reached into his bag, unfurling a small wooden figurine. Ioniaar took it in her hands, feeling the familiar grain beneath her touch. The notched wing spoke volumes, a testament to the man’s artistry and affection.

“I watched him depart from the forest,” she murmured, her wings brushing away a tear. “And as I wiped my eyes, I knew he was kind, not cruel. His burden lay where he was bound, a duty he could not evade.”
As the tale unfurled, her audience hung on every word, their hearts entwined with the tale of a man who had become a legend in their sacred woods. When Ioniaar concluded her story, a gentle sigh seemed to sway through the glade, carrying with it a sense of reverence.

“He never returned,” she concluded, her voice carrying the weight of the years. “That kind man who mended my wings and protected our home.”

In the quiet moments that followed, one by one, her woodland companions expressed their gratitude. They knew the tale was more than a story; it was a tribute to a selfless soul who had left an indelible mark upon their hearts.

Later, in the solace of her tree, Ioniaar turned to greet the small, beautifully carved wooden figure resting on a bed of soft petals. She gave a bow in full fairy form. It was a mirror image of herself, her wings etched with care. A warm smile graced her lips, for it was a token of remembrance, a testament to the bond they had shared.

And in the stillness of the night, beneath the silvery glow of the moon, Ioniaar whispered a final sentiment to the rustling leaves and ancient trees: “Thank you, kind man, wherever you may be. Your spirit lives on in the heart of this forest, and your kindness is etched in every leaf and blade of grass.”

(A little explanation: For many parts of my writing, I will use a double letter. That is done as an indication for a different sound. Not all languages use the same type of notation. For Ioniaar, her name would be pronounced Eye-oh-NE-Air.)

Bram put the glasses he had worn under the magnifying glass. He could see the scratches in the metal around the rims. The lenses were polished dark glass. He had theorized that they were probably made of obsidian. Next to him sat the book that his friend and fellow hunter was using to identify the things they had seen. The two of them relished the thought of coming across something unusual. To Bram, the stranger, the better.

Their business was always slow when it rained, so the shop was quiet. It was still before noon when the bell on the repair shop entrance jingled as the door opened. The light from outside was dimmed by the rain clouds and showers pattering against the front window pane since he opened the shop. Bram raised his eyes to see a woman walking in carrying a small box. He closed the book and slid it beneath the counter. She hurried to placed the box on the only available space she could find, where the book had been.

“Do you repair clocks?” the woman asked as she pulled back her hood, allowing her short-cut blonde locks to show. Bram watched as the woman feverishly attempted to fix her hair. He could hear her mumble, “I hate wearing that thing. I wish I could remember where I put my umbrella.”

Bram gave a simple smile before saying, “let me see it.”

She opened the box to show what used to be a cuckoo clock. It wasn’t anything fancy. The device was a newer clock, almost all electronic. The damage was much more than if it had simply fallen from the wall. Bram could see the wires and small gears and motor, making him ask how it was broken. The woman’s reply was a bit odd.

“I don’t know. I was outside and came back in to find it, and my floors scuffed.” She looked toward him with a subconscious fear. “I don’t know. I wish I did. I was only outside for a minute.”

Bram became concerned, “Is everything alright?” He leaned in, whispering, “do you need help? I can call the police if you need.”

The woman shook her head, “No. thank you. This morning I thought I saw a horse in my yard and went out to look. I took my umbrella and when I walked up to see if the animal had a bridle…. I, uh…”

Bram motioned for her to continue.

The woman turned to look around, “I only remember being in the house and seeing this on the floor.”

Bram moved some of the pieces, he pulled out one large section, but as he turned it over, his eyes went wide. On the back was an imprint he had not expected. He quickly started looking at a few other parts. He looked up to see the woman’s green eyes almost pleading as he picked up what remained of the figure. Most cuckoo clocks have a small bird. This one was different. Instead of a bird, it was a tiny winged fairy.

He held it up, inspecting the small form. But, unfortunately, the plastic figure was crushed and broken. He showed the pieces to the woman, and she gave a sheepish smile before asking. “Can you save her?”

Bram felt her plea tug at his heart as she spoke. The tiny fairy figurine has almost been pulverized. Bram looked at the manufacturer and recognized them as one who was still in business. He tapped away at his keyboard and found the small figure as a replacement item. He sighed, shaking his head, “No, but I can order a new one. They make replacements for this clock.” He then joked, “apparently, they must break a lot. I can order one if you like.”

The woman smiled, her eyes lighting up with hope when Bram told her the news. She asked how much it would cost, and Bram started working on the price.

“So, this is just your clock?” Bram asked, trying to make conversation.

The woman chuckled, “It’s mine. Well, my husband wanted a fish clock. You know that one that sings when you walk by it. But I can’t stand those things.” She looked a little embarrassed as she continued, “I had painted that little fairy up the way I thought she should be. I don’t know why. The colors they use on them just don’t seem right. I have one just like her on my shelf at home. She’s up high. It’s silly I put her there so she could see everything.”

Bram slowed his actions as her words sank in. The evidence before him was now causing his brain to put things together. As an engineer and tinkerer, he never believed in magic, that was until he bought the glasses and book from a man he had come across at the flea market. He nodded before he spoke.

“I can ask my partner to paint her if you like. it’ll be extra.” Bram said as he again examined the back panel of the clock.

The woman shook her head, “no, I’ll do it. I want her a certain way. It’s silly. When I do, it makes me feel good.”

Hearing a noise from the backroom, Bram turned to briefly look back, hearing Foster’s familiar voice griping that he stacked the boxes too high again. He turned back to the woman. “I’ll write you up. I should have the parts in about a week. Were you in a rush?”

The woman seemed to think for a moment before saying that she wasn’t. Bram asked then for her name.

“Cynthia Chandler,” the woman replied. She then looked at him, providing her address and phone. Next, he offered her a list of the repairs.

Bram remarked that it would probably be better to buy a new clock. But Cynthia didn’t even consider that. Instead, she mentioned that the clock had been in her home for several years and that she liked seeing it.

“Okay, we’ll see if we can put it back together. We’ll get it as close as we can, but it may not look the same.” Bram told her.

Cynthia agreed and asked how long it would take. When he told her about three weeks, she seemed to slump. “I guess if she comes back working, it’ll be okay.”

The woman then asked how much she needed to pay, and Bram told her she only needed to pay when she picked it up but warned her not to leave it for more than thirty days. “Of course, by then, it’ll go up for sale in the shop.”

Behind him, Foster loudly opened the door, “Hey, did that guy that brought in the coffee grinder come back yet? I almost tripped over it.” He looked up to see the woman standing before the counter, her eyes wide, staring back in surprise. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I was just asking if a customer has come back for something yet. But, unfortunately, things have been piling up a bit.”

Bram chuckled, handing her a receipt, “sorry, it’s been busy the last few weeks. But, we can have this repaired for you. We’ll call you when we’re done.”

The woman took the receipt and thanked them. Bram remained quiet as the woman walked to the door. He grabbed Foster’s wrist as he reached into the box. He only released the man as the door closed. Foster picked up what remained of the figure and looked at it.

“Oh, thank god, it’s not one of those fish clocks. I hate those things.” Foster looked at the small figure that used to be a fairy. “a fairy cuckoo clock. Haven’t seen one of those before.”

Bram leaned back, “Me neither, but apparently, they make them.” He showed the screen as it displayed the image of the clock. There was even a parts list included, which to Bram seemed odd. He turned to his partner.

“Ian, the fairy part isn’t the most interesting. Take a look at the back of the clock.” Bram said, pulling the book he had hidden from beneath the counter.

“It’s actually made of wood, not plastic. It looks like it just needs to be sanded and painted once we put it back together.” Ian said as he looked at the piece.

Bram flipped open the book telling his friend, “That’s not the interesting part. Turn it over.” He finally found the section on unicorns and was reading as Ian looked at the wood piece.

Ian did and could see the hoof print clearly visible, “what, did a horse step on this or something?”

Bram huffed, “It’s something alright.” He then pointed to the page showing it to Ian. “it says here that unicorns can make magic creatures obey them. And sometimes humans.” He grabbed the piece of wood from his friend. “This is a unicorn hoof print, I’m sure of it.”

Ian looked to his friend, “so what’s that mean?”

Bram smiled, “she said that this happened this morning. So, if it did, then the unicorn is probably still in the area.”

Ian scoffed, “we know that. But where? this town’s a big place.”

Bram smiled, holding up the estimate sheet he had just written for Cynthia. “I think it was at her place this morning. That gives us someplace to start.” He pointed to the back room, “Get the gear, and we’ll close up early today. I don’t think anyone’s going to be coming in anyway.”

Ian looked to the back room, “what about that coffee grinder?”

Bram gave a heavy sigh, “that guy hasn’t been back for over two months. Just put a price tag on it and put it upfront. Then, if he wants it, he can buy it back.”

Ian shook his head as he headed in the back and returned only a few minutes later. He put the grinder out and handed Bram his pack. He paused for a moment, “Hey, Dennis, you really think we should be messing around with this stuff? I mean, neither of us believed in magic before you bought that thing back here.”

Bram thought for a moment, “let’s face it, Ian. We are not going to be rich working in a repair shop.” Then, he held up the tattered book, “this and the stuff in here, that’ll make us rich and famous.”

Ian reluctantly placed his pack over his shoulder, seeming to have second thoughts about what they were doing. Dennis smiled, “Hey, if we don’t find the animal in the next few days, I’ll give up, Alright?”

Ian nodded

Bram chuckled, “come on, let’s go unicorn hunting.”

Ian shut the lights off and locked the door. Neither of the men saw the dim glow from the wood the distinct shape of the hoof outlined. The glow coalesced and became a small glowing form. The small man stood on the wood, his hands on his hips, “tch, what’s a sprite got to do to get some repairs done around here.” He looked to the pile of broken wood, “oh well. I should get started. Those two will take too long.” He picked up the remains of the plastic fairy. “Well, my dear, I hope the new one is a pretty as you.”

Ron shook the manager’s hand as he smiled. The interviewing manager greeted him with a similar gesture. The man introduced himself as Justin Keller and had worked for the Alias hardware for over twenty years. Although recently, they had gone global and had lost several warehouse operators due to retirement and workflow. Ron sat when the man offered, and they started talking. The manager was impressed by his former vocation, having the added experience of warehouse management. He only took on ghost hunting and writing after the paper plant closed down.

“I heard it was difficult keeping things running there. I mean, the mill in Auburn must have been something. Too bad it closed.” Justin remarked.

Ron nodded, agreeing with the man, but the realization that his former employer had been out of business for some time. The only other experience Ron had was working on his own for the last few years. And that was not much of an existence. He was beginning to feel that the interview was nothing more than motions until the man across the desk said, “Do you remember how you kept up at the mill? I know it’s been a while.” Ron watched as the man looked to his resume on the desk, “do you think you could make things work as refined here as you did there?”

Ron nodded. The work he’d done back where he used to live kept him busy, but it was a challenge he enjoyed. The opportunity he experienced had him matching wits with others from around the world. And he was able to do it.

As Ron was about to speak, the door to the office flew open, and a man rushed in, yelling, “it’s happening again. The damn machine is acting funny. You have to do something about it.”

Ron turned to see the man, the expression of fear prominent. Justin looked to the man in the doorway, “uh, I’m in the middle of something. I’m sure it can wait.”

The man in the door shook his head, “we’ve replaced the machine every time. It’s not the machines. This one’s making those, uh noises. Just like the others. I think it might be the uh, the uh, you know.” Ron turned to see the man motioning his head toward the machine.

Justin held his hands up, “I’ll look at it when I’m finished. Please close the door.” He motioned for the man to leave, which he did, reluctantly.

Ron looked back to Justin, and the manager could see the quizzical look on Ron’s face. Finally, the man leaned back in his chair. “You have to forgive my shift supervisor; we’ve had some issues with some of the vending machines breaking down.”

Justin moved forward, his hands clasped together as he placed them on the desk. He looked toward the door, “we’ve replaced them each time, and it happens again. I think it the way they are manufactured.”

Ron thought for a moment, “I’ve had to fix things like that before. What kind of noise is it making?”

The smile disappeared from Justin’s face as he paused. He looked down at Ron’s resume, tapping it before he answered.

“I’ve never heard it, but others say it sounds like voices arguing. It usually happens before the machine breaks down.” Justin began to laugh. “Some think the warehouse is haunted.”

Ron looked back to the door before turning back to the man across the desk. He could see a glint of hesitation, even fear, in the man’s eyes.

Ron took a moment then smiled, “well, I might be able to help you with that too.”

The manager looked curiously toward Ron as he told him how he wrote many articles on ghost hunting, even making a semi career out of it. Then, he noticed Justin interested and went for the kill, “I’ve yet to find any evidence of ghosts. But, I can tell you I have seen some strange things. All of which, I can….” Ron paused for emphasis, “explain.”

A smile appeared on Justin’s face as he stood, “so, you’re not afraid of ghosts?”

Ron shook his head.

The manager laughed, “well, since my last few operators quit because of the so-called ghost, when can you start?”

Ron joined the man chuckling himself, “well, in a couple of days, I have to get a few things situated on the home front. But I can start as soon as that.”

The manager nodded, “we’ll make it Monday then. Take the next few days and get things set on your end, and I’ll see you then.”

Ron shook the man’s hand and turned to leave. His mind was now more at ease. At least it was from the financial problems of the bookstore. He now had a chance to focus on his new job. Justin showed him around a bit and even showing Ron the “haunted” vending machine. Ron was surprised to find it turned out to be a new doughnut vending machine. He had several angry stares from others in the room when he asked, “does it do things when they restock it?” Justin tapped Ron’s shoulder in approval as he pulled him along to show him the rest of the facility.

It was several days later, and Ron found himself working a double shift. The second shift manager had left for, as he put it, “sanity time.” The warehouse was closed, and the last shipment was stocked and logged. Ron had finished ahead of time and was waiting out the clock.

While he waited, Ron decided to do a walk through and found that most had left for the day. He could only find one additional person. And she was rushing to pack up.

“You leaving?” Ron asked.

Charlotte had been working for the warehouse for only a few months. And Ron watched as she hurried to pack her things. She only paused to stare at Ron.

“You’re not staying here alone, are you?” Charlotte asked. There was an almost squeak in her words.

Ron shrugged his shoulders, “I’ve got another two hours. I could use the money.”

Charlotte looked to him before she returned to her packing. She threw her bag over her shoulder and started toward the door. Her hand was on the knob when she spoke with concern, “this place is haunted. You better not stay.”

Ron smiled, “you may not know this, but I used to write articles on ghost hunting. So far, I’ve found no evidence of them being real.”

Charlotte gave him a glare, “be safe. There’s evil here. I don’t want to find you splattered all over like in some horror movie.” Her statement made Ron laugh, and she rushed, closing the door behind her.

It was almost time to leave, but Ron still had about a half-hour before he could close things down. To pass the time, he did another walkthrough. He used a flashlight to check the high windows since it was night. But, as he was heading back to the office, he heard noises from the breakroom. His curiosity piqued; Ron stopped to investigate. He listened to the machine clanking followed by words. But, Ron recognized the phrase.

Is that brownie? Did they just call the machine a rusted pile?

Ron moved closer and heard the rattling louder and the words more prominent. The phrase he thought he heard now sure, and Ron pounded on the machine.

“Hey, whoever you are, stop messing with the machine,” Ron said, his voice full of conviction.

Ron then heard a word he recognized, “amadan.” He had been dealing with the brownies back at his place and wondered why Josclyne always tapped Erant when he said it to Ron. The word meant idiot.

Hearing this, Ron tapped the machine again, “did you just call me an idiot?”

There was silence for a few seconds before Ron heard what sounded like scurrying up the back of the machine. Ron rushed back, shining the flashlight behind the machine. He was surprised to see two sets of dark emerald eyes now staring back at him. And if Ron were was any other person, they would have mistaken them for mice. But, Ron knew the difference between a mouse and a mouse disguise.

“Look, whoever you are, why are you messing with the machine?” Ron asked.

The two creatures only stared back.

Ron thought for a moment, Josclyne had tried to teach him some brownie words, and Ron said, “carnid, no wait, caraid, that’s it.”

His words caused the creatures to move closer until one spoke, “you know what we are? You can see us?”

Ron nodded, “yeah, been dealing with a couple like you back home. why are you trying to break into the machine?”

The small person now stood on the bracket holding the machine to the wall. As the other joined him. Ron could see a small man and woman; he knew from dealing with the others like them that all things had two sides, more of each, a sort of yin and yang. The man stepped forward, “hey, how can you see us?”

The words of the brownie sounding more normal than he’d been used to with Erant. But Ron decided to answer, “well, according to one of your fellow brownies, I have eyes, not of this world. Whatever that means.”

The other brownie looked closer at Ron, “aye, yes, he does. We hope you’re not expecting us to leave now, are ya?”

Ron shook his head, “you have everyone thinking either this place or the machines are haunted.”

The woman smiled, “then they’ll leave us be.”

Ron smiled at her logic and asked again why they were messing with the machines. The woman stepped forward, “who’s asking?”

Ron smiled, “I forgot, there is a protocol, forgot to introduce myself. My name is Ron Wilt. I’m new here.”

The woman looked at him, “and ya are not afraid of us?”

Ron shook his head, “No. But I respect what you can do.” He leaned forward, “I’ve seen it firsthand.”

The woman smiled at him, “and what makes us want to trust you?”

With a sigh, Ron replied, “that’s up to you.”

Within a moment, the small man brought his hands up, and a spark of electricity shot from the wire nearby, its singular brightness striking at Ron but was absorbed by the ring he wore around his neck. Seeing this, the brownies looked at each other. “You should be on the ground. How did you do that?”

Ron had disbelief and a hint of anger in his eyes as he stared back at them, “I see that some don’t play as nicely as others. I’ll have to remember that.”

The woman snapped back, “Are you a sorcerer? What charm are you wearing?”

Ron tugged the chain exposing the fairy ring he wore. As the small wooden ring came into view, the brownies stepped back.

“A fairy ring?” The woman then jumped forward, hanging on the edge of the machine. “You are friends with a fairy?”

Ron nodded.

The small woman looked back before jumping again to the bracket on the wall. “then you are a friend. Our apologies. We do not mean you harm. I am Tollona, and this is Masho”

Ron acknowledged them and asked again, “why are you messing with the machine?”

Masho crossed his arms, they have the most delightful pastry on one of the shelves, but the blasted machine keeps us from getting it.”

Ron moved to the front of the machine, “Which one?”

“Third up from the left side,” Tollona said.

Ron looked, “the crullers?”

“That’s the one,” Masho replied.

Ron smacked his lips, “those do look good. Let me get you one. My treat.” He then placed money in the machine and pulled the doughnut from the front. He held it as he returned to the back of the machine. He looked around before handing it to the two.

“I can’t get you one every night, but at least you can enjoy it for the moment,” Ron said.

Tallona remained as Masho took the doughnut back to the small hole in the wall. “Ron Wilt, I see why you earned a fairy ring. Consider us friends; we’ll try not to disrupt this place so much while you’re here.” She then turned with a smile. “May I ask if there is another of that ring?”

Ron nodded, “yes, but she, we own a shop together.”

“Then why are ya here?” Tollona asked.

Ron replied, “well, it is a book store. We do sell a lot of fairy-themed items, but it is difficult to keep it running.”

Tollona nodded as she turned away, disappearing into the shadows, “well, friend, we welcome you to this dwelling. Try not to make too much of a mess of it.”

Ron laughed, saying, “well, it seems like everything’s normal here. Can’t wait to tell the others about this.”

Sasha opened the small bag, its symbols glimpsed in the dim light of morning. As she tugged the opening, a subtle “caw” came from within.

               “Finder of things, small and great. Hear my plea for me to know. Spirit of flight and haven, I call forth my familiar raven.” Her words floated like mist in the air as the dust sprang from the small pouch. It coalesced on the sill before her. “Malik, I need your services. I was hoping you could find the two of them, hopefully together. And, please bring me word if they are using magic.”

               The raven nodded, giving a caw as he turned to dust flying through the crack in the window as the woman opened it. She watched as he again returned to his form of her favorite friend. Seeing his dark silhouette racing against the morning sky, Sasha smiled, “you have served me for many years, friend. I could never turn you away.”

               The witch seemed to be in thought, her eyes looking to the small pad she carried. It’s torn and worn cover showing its great use. “Now, what was his full name again?” Sasha said as she opened the tiny book. When she flipped through, the pages seemed endless and more numerous than a small book of its size should have. After nearly a minute, Sasha stopped and flipped back a few pages. The small marker was now visible as she opened it fully. The page now showing the knowledge she sought.

               “Milano Enrique Linus Tribin Simmons. But he prefers Melts.” The witch smiled. “His owners must have thought it cute to name him with such a pedigree. But, of course, they didn’t realize that no animals are ever truly owned by humans.”

               Her words seemed amusing as she reached over to her desk, taking a small piece of paper from a carved wooden box, its lid closed as she moved away—the wooden work seeming alive as it anticipated her actions. Next, the woman took a small pencil, its center filled with charcoal as she wrote.

               She spelled out the cat’s name in full, along with Melts. And folded it neatly, she whispered words to the small piece. “My message sent; on air, you fly. Please be quick with your reply.” The small paper charring and, in a flash, turned to smoke. Then, as if drawn by unseen currents, it was whisked away toward the window, disappearing around the frame.

               Sasha turned to see her reflection in the mirror, the white patches now much more prominent and something beneath the hair twitched as she wiggled her ears. The witch sighed, “they’re getting worse. I can deal with the hair color change, but the ears.”

               The woman parted the hair, and beneath the fluffed mane now turning white as snow that she kept covering the small cats’ ears were noticeable.

               “I should have never tried that spell with asking Wend.” The regret in her words filling the small room. She raised he top lip, “thank goodness my teeth hadn’t changed. It’d be much harder to hide them.”

               Sasha turned to sit at her desk, and she flipped through the small book she carried. She stopped and read the words before concentrating.

               “Form of a feline, I no longer need. Bring back the human and leave me freed.” The witches’ words filling the room like echoes all around, and the small cats’ ears shrank, the white patches as well, but, as the words faded and the spell finished, remnants of the white patches along each side of her head remained.

               “I can’t believe this isn’t working. That should be the counterspell.” Sasha closed the book and placed her head down on the desk, “it was supposed to be a simple test. I can’t believe I cursed myself.”

               It was a few minutes as Sasha read through the small book before she walked to the mirror again and inspected the spots where the ears had been. She saw nothing, the only evidence of them being there was the mottled white patches that showed where they had been. She pulled gently at the hair and its snowy white color before sighing. “I guess I’ll head into town and pick up some hair dye to touch up the spots a little later.” She then looked toward the window.

               Sasha’s eyes gave a stare of remorse as she spoke, “Malik, I hope you find something for me today. I don’t know how long I can keep reversing the spell.”

* * *

               Ron straightened his tie as he looked in the mirror. He had a job interview this morning and was already running late. Also, Linda needed help with the flat tire on her car. “At least it was in the driveway,” Ron muttered as she dragged his hand down the tie to flatten it against his shirt.         

               Linda was already at the shop. Although she was busy, the activity wasn’t enough to guarantee the profits needed to keep the store open. And Ron had not heard from the magazine for some time. In fact, he had not seen any recent payments from them either. So when he called to find out what was going on, he was only reaching voicemail. That fact added up to something he didn’t want to fathom, and that was that the company he was sending his articles to was possibly now out of business.

               He and Linda relied on the additional income to offset the bookstore and keep it open. But, even with the recent success, they both noticed the slowing of customers now arriving at the shop. And the latest two months of the periodical he was working with had missed shipments. That and the missing payments lead Ron to believe that he would probably have to start a different line of work if they wanted to keep the shop.

               Ron grabbed the small portfolio on the table by the door. He opened it to see his updated resume on top. Underneath were samples of articles he had worked on. But he chuckled as he looked at the email he had printed out from the company. What are you doing? This is a Warehouse job. They’re not going to be interested in ghosts or anything of the like. Although I still haven’t found any evidence that they even exist.

               Ron closed the portfolio and looked in the mirror one more time before he opened the front door. The morning sun warmed his face as he walked to his truck. He opened the door and paused. Ron sided his eyes and turned to look toward the trees across the yard. For a moment, he stared and then shook his head as he climbed in. He heard himself muttering as he started the engine, “I don’t know why. It felt like someone was watching me.” As the truck Ron was driving headed out of sight, a single blackbird flew from the trees and followed.  

Roween flew quickly toward the fairy ring. She had been there only days earlier. Nearby, a Hawthorn tree grew. The tree was a source of power for fairies from long ago according to Roween. Although fairies no longer relied on them, it was still within a fairy’s nature to protect and visit them. Unlike most tall trees, the Hawthorn was one of the oldest in the forest, making it one of the first. The trees revered by all, even finding their way to become sacred to humans. Although many didn’t know, some still knew the old ways.

The fairy turned to see the others following closely behind. She knew they would be of use when confronting the unicorn trespassing in her forest. Although she was concerned, they might become a burden if the conceited animal were to control them.

Roween slowed her wings fluttering as her hand touching a nearby maple. It’s words singing in her mind’s ear.

“I know, my friend. I know the steed. Take hope, my friend. We’ll not let it feed.” Roween whispered as Fastel and Bastia clung to the same tree.

“It’s eating. Inside the fairy ring.” Bastia said.

That was before they all heard the unicorn, “ugh, these are rotten. I cannot eat these. The soft flesh would stain my wonderfully beautiful fur.”

Roween gave a smile. She could see the others smiling as well. The nearest apple was too far from the ground for the unicorn. The tree was letting them fall from previous, and other animals took some for food. The apple tree was giving in its nature, but as of yet, had not bestowed such grace on the white hooved beast now beneath its shade.

“You are not fair, you foolish tree. Your fruits are tasty and crunchy. I would much enjoy them for my feast.” The unicorn looked up, “Ah, I see my new friend has made it to the top.”

The horn of the creature pointed to a single fruit, “that one there looks very tasty. Bring it to me?”

The brownie under its influence looked around, touching several fruits, and insulted by the sparkling beast when incorrect. “No, you simple creature, the one I am pointing, That one.”

The creature moved his head horn in the direction of the one it desired, but its direction was still a mystery to the small brownie under its gaze. Finally, in its frustration, the unicorn stomped in anger and lost its concentration allowing the brownie to pause, shaking her head. Her mind was now hearing her own thoughts again. It was only a moment before she hopped away and out of the creature’s gaze.

“Arragh! Am I not delightful enough to hold any in my power?” The unicorn groused.

Roween smiled. She was more powerful than any brownie or unicorn. But she knew that if the creature ate apples within a fairy ring, it would steal the power there. And that would make it more powerful and more challenging to resist, even for her.

The unicorn was startled, throwing itself back on his hind legs as Roween flitted before him. A moment later, around its eyes glowed, and Roween yawned in mockery. Her eyes were blinking as she gave an innocent smile.

“Your gaze does nothing, can’t you see. So, stop your huffing and leave my trees.” Roween said, her voice stalwart lacking its usually musical tone.

The unicorn took offense and charged the fairy. Roween quickly flew out of the way as the unicorn rushed past its horn piercing nothing but air as it landed in the brush. Its weight making a thud as she tripped on the tangled vines crushing the wild fruits along the way. Roween watched as she floated nearby the white mane of the unicorn filled with prickly pods. The wild berries it crushed nearby now stained its fur. But, Roween knew what she was up against and did not take amusement in her foe’s misfortune. She still needed to get the beast away from the fairy ring and any apples that may fall within.

“Leave this place, find another. Leave, make haste, bother no other.” Roween again gave warning.

The unicorn huffed, its nostrils flaring as he stared at the floating fairy before him. The display and standoff were registering in the minds of those all around, the nixie even saying. “This would make a good tale, two creatures of beauty in the same place. Most humans would find it palatable.”

Fastel snorted, “a human would be entranced like any of us.”

The brownie shook its head, “humans don’t have magic. So they would not try to please the creature as we would have. Instead, they would try and capture its beauty for themselves.”

The nixie nodded, “you are right. Too bad we don’t have any humans nearby.”

Bastia said nothing as he watched the two standing their ground. He knew as well as any that what was transpiring was nothing more than a full battle. He looked to Fastel, “My friend, I think she may be able to resist if he eats within the ring. But, as for us, I fear we would become a hindrance.”

Fastel nodded, “you are right. We need to be careful and get this beast away from this place.”

They watched as the unicorn rushed forward, its horn aimed to strike. Roween gracefully dodged, but the creature turned. Its total weight now shifting toward the apple tree, and as it rushed back toward Roween, it missed again. Its path was one of fortune for itself and with its full weight striking the apple tree. The unicorn was stunned, but they all watched as the tree’s limbs swayed and shook. The unicorn recovered as it felt several light impacts across its back. In a daze, it turned its head.

The creature took a moment as it spied several fresh apples now on the ground nearby. Their small round forms were now rolling across the forest floor and into the fairy ring. This was noticed by Roween as well, and she waved her hands. Magic flew from her fingers, and the fairy ring lit brightly. Within moments light lifted from atop the mushrooms into the sky. The unicorn rushed forward, and when its horn stuck the light, it was deflected away.

The unicorn was stunned, and it huffed and snarled. It could see the apples now within the circle. Even with its anger, its power was not strong enough to enthrall the fairy. The creature stomped the ground, and as it did, its hoof slipped. In a rage, it bowed its head, nipping at the imaginary attack one to find a surprise.

In its mind, he yelled, an apple, and its mine.

Roween’s eyes darted to the sight of the unicorn’s gaze as it bowed down. She could hear its teeth crunching the fruit as it rose, the creature’s voice filled with satisfaction, “an apple near a fairy ring is just as good, my dear.”

The unicorn laughed as its eyes glowed. “Release the protection and allow me my feast.”

Roween felt her mind wander but only for a second. She then used her magic to make the protective ring stronger. The unicorn tried again, but the fairy only crossed her arms, giving a smile.

“Blasted winged usurper, I would have power over you now.” The unicorn looked around. “This place will be protected now. I have lost my opportunity. You have won this time winged one, but my beauty will win another.”

Roween said nothing as the unicorn trotted away. It only looked back for a moment. “Enchant all you want, my fairy friend, I will have power from that ring in time. not all creatures of the forest can resist me.”

As the unicorn disappeared into the forest, Roween joined the others waiting nearby. She told them that there would be another ring around this place, never allowing that conceited creature to have the apples. They all agreed.

“but what of the others? That creature can control many more now that it has more magic.” Bastia said.

Roween, though, didn’t have an answer. She knew as the others did, that unicorns do not fear other magic creatures. They would always find a way to control them. She told them that even humans could be controlled for a short while, but she knew of no other beings that could resist a unicorn’s gaze. The fairy floated nearby as they all thought, then Fastel sighed, “too bad those hunting the creature could not be trusted.”

The fairy turned to look at the nixie, her eyes glowing with a spark of inspiration, “They are not here now, but maybe we’ll see. I have an idea how. Leave it to this fairy.”

With concerned gazes but the others looked to Roween, her smile followed by, “I have friends, and battles they’ve won. Please leave it to me. They’ll get things done.”

Roween then turned and flew in a larger circle around the trees and fairy circle, her magic glowing all around as the light of day started to fade. The faint illumination was now filling the forest with subtle green and white. Finally, she stopped hovering near a tree, her words heard only by those who could hear the magic.

Sasha Placed the large hat on her head, adjusting it in the mirror. She looked and spoke, her voice filled with the sense of command, “Of Earth, Fire, Water and Wind, no one enters this house without permission.”

As her words ended, the windows shut and doors locked. The lights turned off, except for the one where she stood. Sasha looked out the window above the door, “it’s grey today. I hope it’s not going to rain.”

She looked to the small table, its tiny frame seeming dwarfed by what she called a handbag. It’s size more than what an average person would typically carry. With a single finger, she lifted it as if it was filled with air. As she exited the door, the bag brushing against the heavy oak frame, the sound of the wood bearing the impact like a groan of a house creaking. The sudden pause caused the witch’s shoulder to snap backward.

“Ugh, forgot, new house.” Sasha touched the wood, “Sorry new friend. I’m used to my old place. I’ll make it up to you. How about a good dusting when I get back?”

There were several creaks as the house seemed to respond, Sasha’s face filling with a smile. “Good, I promise I’ll do it as soon as I can after I return.” She then tapped the brim of her hat, “of course. I have to do a little touch-up first.”

Sasha walked out, closing the door, and turned to find a cat sitting on the walkway before her. It had black fur, white patches around its nose and paws, and one behind its ears. The cat’s eyes blinked slowly as it looked up to meet hers before giving a single meow.

A simple “hmmm” escaped Sasha’s lips before she looked around. She could sense strong magic from the feline as she looked around. Seeing no one, she spoke softly, “Well, I’m not looking for a new familiar right now, But I’ll keep you in mind. Tell me your name, and, if I am, I’ll give you a call.”

The cat gave several meows and other sounds before Sasha chuckled “is that really your full name? My word, I’ll have to write that down. You did say it was Milano Enrique Linus Tribin Simmons?”

The cat meowed once more, “Call you, Melts? Huh, that is a strange name.”

Sasha pulled out a small pad, the cover worn, but you could see several symbols faded across its entirety. The woman wrote, and as she did, she gave a laugh, “Oh I see, Melts. I get it.” The first letters of the cat’s names spelled MELTS. She looked to the cat, “That’s clever. I’ll remember to give you a call if needed.”

Moments later, the cat turned to look toward the sidewalk. Sasha followed his gaze to see someone standing there looking back. The man had been watching them for a bit. “Don’t mind me, I was just speaking with this cat; do you happen to know who’s it is?” The look of concern in his eyes bringing Sasha’s wit to show, “He’s a great conversationalist, but he’s not mine.”

The man blinked his eyes for a few seconds before he chuckled. “No problem. You were engaging the cat; you weren’t actually talking to it. You didn’t know if it was feral or dangerous.” The man puffed up his chest before yelling, “Hey, cat! Stop bothering the lady and get lost.”

The cat tilted his head, looking back at Sasha, who whispered, “you better leave, don’t want him thinking anything.”

The cat bowed his head and scampered off into the bushes.

The man gave a smile of pride and waved to Sasha as she headed to her car. As she pulled out of the driveway, she smiled back at the man as he waved again. She spoke to herself as she put the car in gear, “I hope Melts wasn’t offended that cat seemed pretty powerful.”

The oversized handbag shifted as Sasha turned the corner, her destination clearly in view. She deftly parked and got out, finding herself standing before what used to be the house of Raymond Terrell. She had heard through others that the now-disgraced psychologist was a sorcerer. She had come to possibly investigate a cure for herself, only to find a vacant lot. Her eyes scanned the entire area. She was about to step forward, her hand swung out to start a stride, but she froze, feeling the sting of protection magic. The unfamiliar energy itched like a thorned bristle, and she stepped back to investigate further. Sasha looked around before reaching into her bag. She pulled out a small pouch and poured its contents into her hand.

The dust gathered in a small pile as she brought it up to her lips.

“Dust of knowing, dust of dreams, show me the things that go unseen.”

She then blew gently across the dust as it left her hand. The bits glittered and swayed, regardless of the wind. It settled in several small spots, but the dust then seemed to evaporate, as the stones below where it gathered glowed dimly. The dust was burning away like smoke in the wind.

“That is strong protection magic. I’ve never come across this before.” Sasha said as she looked around the overgrown lot. “It’s too bad Wend isn’t here. She’d know what these were from.”

A feeling of loss filled the air around Sasha as she remembered her friend. Wend, whose real name was Jennifer, had guided her when she found she could do magic. She had chosen the name Wend; it was a tribute to Hatcher, the witch who trained her. Wendell was his pet mouse, which he used to find anything, literally—like the small furry creature Wend searched for knowledge.

Sasha could hear birds in the tree, and she walked over. She reached into her bag, pulling out an unusually long cloth bag. She looked around before returning to the tree.

“Excuse me, would you answer some questions?” Her words seemed almost musical.

The birds went silent as they all looked toward her. Sasha smiled as one of them flew down to perch on the branch nearest her.

“Can you tell me what happened here? I understand there was a house. Could you tell me who did this?” Sasha asked

The bird gave a loud chirp, a call almost seemingly insulting.

“Who’s asking?” Sasha asked before responding. “Oh, my name is Satch. Can you tell me what happened here? There is supposed to be a house.”

The bird gave several chirps, and Satch looked serious, “there’s no need to be insulting. I’m just looking for information.” She then opened the bag and poured out some birdseed. “I’m willing to pay.”

Moments later, the branch was weighted with birds, and Satch smiled.

“Can you tell me everything you know about what happened here? And, who or why there are protection stones strewn all around the place?”

Moments later, all of the birds were chirping and singing. Satch held her hands up, one at a time. I can’t understand all of you when you’re yelling at the same time.”

The birds’ small heads looked at each other, low chirps and tweets between them before the one on the right started chirping again. Then, each took their turn as Satch held seed out for them. When not speaking, the birds happily partook of the delicious treat.

When the birds had told their stories, Satch now understood. “There were people here who did this?” She then took out two small pictures, “were any of them these people?”

The pictures were of Ron and Linda.

The birds said nothing as they inspected the images before one of them chirped with surprise. Satch then asked, “When were they here?”

The bird continued its singing and chirping before Satch looked disappointed, “So they were here after this was done? But who did this?”

The birds looked at each other, and the one on the right chirped again. Its statement registering with concern in the witch’s eyes, “you don’t know, but they took all the magic? And they are the ones who left the stones.”

The witch poured more seed from the bag, its fullness not seeming to deplete before tossing it toward the tree. “As per my promise, I’m paying you in full. Thank you.”

As Satch turned, she heard several chirps and paused, “What do you mean they didn’t enter?”

The bird told her of Ron and Linda doing the same she had before pulling back and leaving. With this knowledge, Satch went back to her car. She closed the door, her large hat hit by the frame. Satch lowered her head to show the white patches now more prominent than they were yesterday. Satch seemed in thought as she looked at her hair in the mirror.

“If they can detect magic, maybe they can help me with my little problem.” She sighed as she pulled her hand down. “Until then, I guess I’ll just have to dye them again.”

The moving truck scraped against the mailbox as it tried backing into the driveway of the tiny house. The neighbor walking her dog was watching and alerted the driver to what he was doing. The man could be heard gruffly saying, “why do people pick such small places to park. Cut some of these damn things down, why don’t ya.” The man motioned, noting the row of trees across the front of the yard.

A woman in a hat rushed from the house, yelling, “don’t hit the trees,” startling the driver, and the mailbox fell to the ground as the post gave way.

“Lady, I’m not responsible for that.” The man yelled as she picked up the post. She nodded, looking at the wood, and could see the bottom of it rotted from neglect. She placed it to the side and wrote on a small paper pad. Behind her, a woman walked up, and the woman with the hat, seemingly concentrating, spoke, “is that a Datsun?”

The woman walking her dog jumped in momentary terror before her new neighbor turned to look her in the eyes. The string of ornaments, seeming eclectic and mismatching hanging around her, drawing the woman’s eyes from the seemingly large hat her new neighbor wore. The woman with the pad wore a hat with charms along the inside rim as well.

Seeing the sparkling baubles on the headwear, the woman with the dog reached up to touch the hat. Only to have her hand swatted away as the woman with the hat finished writing. “Hi, I’m Sasha.” She said, looking at the older woman with the dog before saying, “sorry, I don’t like people touching my clothes.”

The older woman seemed embarrassed, “and you should, I’m sorry, forgive me.” She looked to the brim again, “They all seem so shiny.” Finally, the older woman smiled, offering her hand, “I Mrs. Henpey, Doris Henpey. I live two houses down.”

The other woman returned a smile. “Sasha Rajas, please call me Satch.”

“Satch? That’s an unusual nickname.” Doris responded. Making Sasha nod.

They spoke while the driver continued to maneuver the large trailer into position as he stopped several people waiting in nearby cars now gathered in the front yard. One approached, “Miss, we going to start unloading. You have that paperwork you said you were going to show us?”

Satch nodded as she handed the man a paper of where to put the items being delivered. She then told him, “If you want, just put them in the room, and I’ll take it for there.” She then gave an innocent smile. The man smiled back and taped the brim of his baseball cap before yelling orders to the others. Finally, she said goodbye to Mrs. Henpey and headed inside.

Several hours had passed, and the workers had left. The truck no longer filled the small driveway, and Sasha parked her car. She walked over, picking up the rotted post, and looked at the hole. She then looked around to see if anyone was looking before placing the post on the broken part. She had it standing with a bit of force but looked around again before pulling out a small bag. She opened the small pouch and, with two fingers, pulled out a pinch of its contents. She sprinkled it across the ground around the post and spoke whispered words.

Within seconds stones of all sizes rolled slowly toward the loose post, building a pile around it to help keep it vertical. The rocks stopped halfway to the mailbox, a conical tower neatly constructed of interlaced stone and pebbles.

“There, that should hold till I get a new post,” Sasha said as she dusted off her hands and headed back inside. As she walked inside, the whole house was full of activity, and small clay people worked to move the furniture where she wanted it. She stepped over a small troop of them that unrolled the rug in the hallway. She sat in her curiously decorated chair and reached for a copy of an old newspaper. She read the article, and the headline read, “Local couple thwarts kidnapping, Saves perpetrator from fire.”

Sasha smiled as she leaned forward. Her chin was now resting on her interlaced hands. “He was a real sorcerer. There’s no way they walked out of there unless….” The woman paused, motioning for a small troop of clay figures to place the end table further back. She then sat back in her chair, “they have to have magic. Guess I’ll find out when I see them.”

She then stood and inspected the mirror as it was hung on the wall. The nails seating themselves into the plaster securely. She looked at her reflection and brushed her hair back with her hand to see blonde streaks not appearing on each side of her head. Their location and shape were closely mimicking what could have been the ears of a cat. “Tch, I’ll have to dye them again,” giving a sigh of frustration, “I still can’t believe I got that spell wrong. Where is a good ol’ witch when you need one?” the woman said jokingly.

Sasha heard a tap and turned to the window. Outside, a raven perched on the sill, tapping the glass. “Oh, I almost forgot you were out. I have to remember to dis-spell you this time.” She smiled, opening the pane, as the bird graciously hopped inside.

“Sorry Malik, I hope you weren’t waiting too long. Tell me what you’ve found,” Sasha said as she pulled out a small colored pouch from her pocket. She pulled a small looking glass, and the bird started into it. Sasha could see the words within the loop in the glass, and its small hollow handle softly echoed the phrases from the portal.

“Ah, so he was following that funny old man,” Sasha looked up as if in thought. I wonder if he was tracking the magic? The words ended, and the witch spoke, “you’ve been a good familiar, Malik. I’ll make sure to throw in some treats while you’re resting.” Sasha pulled at the string around the bag as the bird stared toward her. As she opened it, the bird turned to dust, which was quickly drawn toward the pouch, filling it.

Sasha then placed the bag in her pocket, saying, “maybe they can help.” Before heading into the kitchen, as she turned the corner, her voice could be heard saying, “kettle, I don’t hear any water boiling.” A moment later, the kettle handle flipped over, turning on the stove, and a blue flame seeped from around its bottom. Within seconds the kettle’s whistle was heard throughout the house.