The next morning I woke early to my mother pulling me up and into a chair. 

“Good morning, dear.” Her voice was bright and clear.

I mumbled something that sorta resembled ‘Good morning’ back to her. She handed me a small bowl of the stew she had been heating, and I took a sip. 

“Did you eat yesterday?” she asked me, as she often did when I was away for more than a day.

“No,” I grumbled sleepily. 

She came back over to me, a small cloth in hand, and began dabbing it at my face. “Well, after you finish that one, grab yourself another bowl.” The cloth stung occasionally as she brushed and scrubbed it against my face. “You look like you were run over by a cart,” she commented.

“It was six carts,” I mumbled back.

She gave me a small smile at the simple joke. As the cloth brushed across my lip, I gave out a small painful yelp.

“Where did you get that?” I griped at the small handful of cloth, glaring at it as though it were a snake that had bit me. 

“Your father left some whiskey behind from yesterday. Now shush, this’ll help it heal faster,” she chided me. 

I glanced over at a small, likely mostly empty, cask and a bottle sitting on the table and then looked back to give her a grimace. I didn’t want my father’s leftovers scrubbed all over my face.

“I don’t care about it healing faster.”

She ignored my complaint and continued scrubbing. As she finished up, she said, “Don't come home with blood all over your face, then,” and walked back over to the pot of stew sitting atop the fire. 

For a while we stayed like that, a tranquil quiet enveloping us, only interrupted occasionally by my little brother’s snores. I slowly sipped at the stew until the bowl was empty, and my mother brought me another fill of it. 

“Has anyone been by for me?” I eventually asked her. 

“Not since the last one.” 

No one had come by asking for rats to be trapped, then. It seemed a good day to go place some traps in a few hidden corners around the city. Rats didn’t sell particularly well. But they were still a source of meat that was otherwise hard to get. Attempts at perfecting traps for them was something I’d been working on for years. I had even been considering putting together a proper pen and have a go at raising some. It seemed a gamble on whether it would work out, but was still perhaps more reasonable than hunting and finding a witch. 

Pulling out my pipe and finding a pinch of char I’d been saving, I made my way outside. I needed a good smoke. Mum, meanwhile, called out through the door to come back that evening and eat something. My pipe thankfully didn’t need a match, as I’d burned a rune into it that just needed a bit of mana to get it smoking. Matches were an additional expense I didn’t need when char was already a bit too pricey for me to get regularly. After a quick puff, I pushed mana in the rune and the char caught fire. A bit later and I was finally able to smoke as I began a leisurely walk around the city. The char was a bit too tar-flavored for my taste. 

I found myself stopping at the market and leaned against an out-of-the-way brick wall. My family lived near the edge of the slums, so it wasn’t a long walk. My thoughts kept drifting back to yesterday, to the fight at the orphanage, and then the argument with Fabian. Despite the efforts of the char, my mood sunk. Why couldn’t things ever be simple?

It would be awkward, but I’d go back to them, as I always did. Probably tomorrow, I reasoned to myself. Sometimes I hated just running back to them as though nothing had happened. But then, besides my family, what else was there to go back to? Fabian, Daven, and Nole were all I had. We were a crew of our own. We stood together through the worst of it and had each other’s backs when it mattered. Fabian was an ass, sure, but he was my ass. ...well, perhaps not exactly my ass. Our crew would get past this fight just like all the previous ones. 

As I smoked and brooded, watching the people move from stall to stall yelling and bartering, an exasperated-looking woman came trudging up near me. She leaned up against the wall a few feet down from me and pulled out a pipe of her own. I watched her as she proceeded to search the pockets of her dress for something. She looked to be in her thirties, at a guess and judging by her dress, I assumed she was likely a wife of one of the merchants here. Even from here, I could tell she smelled like soap and flowers, so possibly fairly wealthy merchants. I also noticed the long elven ears that poked through her dark-brown hair, which meant my guess at her age was probably off.

The woman caught my stare and asked, “You happen to have a match?” Her voice was high and clear, with a tinge of mirth. 

“No, sorry,” I apologized. 

She glanced at my pipe, likely seeing the rune-work along it, and shrugged before turning back to her search again. 

“Aha!” she exclaimed as she pulled out a matchbox. Her own pipe was quickly lit. She sighed in satisfaction when she finally took a long puff. 

I was about to simply start ignoring her when she turned back to me saying, “So you’re Nathan, right? The rat catcher? I believe my daughter’s mentioned you a few times.” 

Looking her over once again, I replied, “Sorry, I don’t think I know you?” 

“Right, of course. I’m Isabel, simple fish merchant. Or my husband is anyways. I just catch them all while he does all the merchanting. He’s a terrible fisherman,” she winked at me, and her smile suggested she was holding back a chuckle. “Heard about you catching rats at that Baron’s mansion last year. You wouldn’t believe some of the rumors that popped up.”

“Really?” I inquired. I didn’t recall hearing any rumors, but perhaps that was just because she was a merchant and I wasn’t. She was likely to hear all kinds of things I wouldn’t over in the slums. 

“Lots of people wondering why he’d hire some rat catcher from the streets,” she paused, “if you don’t mind me saying so.” I just shrugged. She covered her mouth and continued in a whisper, “That one’s been strange since his wife died. A house staffed entirely by young elven girls?” She seemed quite put off by the idea. It made sense, given her own long and pointed ears. “No guesses needed to what that means. And then he randomly brings in a young boy from the streets to ‘catch rats...’” I grimaced at the insinuation and she seemed to then realize what she’d just said. “Not that I’m saying you… err. I mean, that’s just the rumor that went around, is all.” She awkwardly brushed the brown hair away from her face. 

I frowned. How had I never heard any of that? Did anyone I knew hear such a rumor and simply not tell me? “No, I mean it was sorta weird. He did hire me to catch rats, which I did,” I insisted. “The place had plenty of them. But I also couldn’t figure out why he hired, you know, me. Seemed to me like he’d have his own person already to do that sort of thing. I just assumed maybe they had fired someone. Not that I could have asked him. Never saw the man the whole time I was there.”

She nodded, and it at least seemed that she believed me. “I believe you, I promise. I hear a lot of rumors, and don’t believe half of them. I really didn’t mean to suggest anything. It just… kinda slipped out that way.” She paused a moment, seeming to ponder something as she puffed on her pipe some more. “I don’t know whether I should mention it, but there has been a new rumor about you recently.” 

I eyed her. “What sort of rumor?”

“Well, you want to be a girl, right?”

I sucked in a breath and immediately began coughing up the deep breath of smoke I had inhaled into my lungs. She came up beside me, gently patting my back. 

As I began to slowly catch my breath again, I dumbly coughed out, “W-what?”

Fabian, it had to have been Fabian. That fucking bastard. Was he spreading this around, telling anyone and everyone about me now? No, wait. Think. That didn’t make sense. How would she already know? Why would merchants even care? I was just some street kid. 

I glared over at her and nearly yelled out in anger, “He put you up to this, didn’t he? Fabian told you all this and paid you to come fuck with me. How much did he offer you?”

She tilted her head slightly and calmly said back, “No sorry, I’ve never met your little friend, Fabian.” 

She was lying, she had to be lying. Right? This didn’t make sense. But then, Fabian wasn’t really the sort to pay someone to fuck with you. He’d want to do it himself, or rather, he would want to just come fight me in person. Then how did she know? Daven? Nole? Something wasn’t adding up. I looked over at her, and she stood staring back at me, just silently waiting. I thought she looked almost amused, though I wasn’t sure. She was clearly waiting to see what I’d say next, waiting to see if I’d figure it out. It gave me the impression that perhaps she was, in fact, being honest. Then something clicked from the last thing she said. How would she even know who I was friends with? Either someone had told her quite a bit about me, or...

“You’ve been following me,” I said plainly. 

“Perhaps.” She smiled. 

I was completely befuddled. “Why?” For how long? Clearly it was since last night, at least. 

She just smiled again, an insufferable smile that said she wasn’t telling. What reason would she have for stalking me? And then why just randomly confront me now, right here at the market? I was nobody, just some random kid on the street. I caught rats for money. I was never going to be anybody, particularly since my father would never-- 

I stared into her bright blue eyes as my hand wrapped around the handle of my knife. My father was an Inquisitor. I pulled it out of my pocket and then felt her hand wrap around my wrist. Before I could pull away, before I could move to the side or do anything at all, I felt the blade pressed against my throat. My eyes closed, expecting the end, but instead, she spoke. 

“Well, that took you long enough, though you certainly took a complicated route to get there. I was starting to think for sure that I was just going to have to spell it out for you.”

I pried my eyes back open to see her face just a few inches from mine, and hyper-conscious of how my throat moved against the knife as I spoke, I carefully croaked, “Y-You’re a witch.”

“Yes, I am, little Bell. And you make a terrible detective. I mean, really. A fish merchant who doesn’t smell like fish? An elf named ‘Isabel?’” Yeah, ok. Perhaps I had been a bit dense. But, where had I heard ‘little Bell’ from before?

“I’m--I’ll--” I began loudly. 

“Don’t scream,” she said. “I’ll slit your throat if you try. And while you won’t believe it, I don’t actually want to kill you. Right now anyone who sees us is just going to think we’re having a nice long kiss.” She gave me a wild smile, her eyes boring into my own, just a few inches away. 

“What do you want?” 

She leaned further towards my right, and melodramatically whispered into my ear, “A wish for a favor.”

She was mocking me. My mouth, apparently forgetting the situation I was in, immediately went off in anger. “That’s bullshit! You don’t seriously expect me to fall for some nonsense like that? It’s not real, and even in the children’s tale, the wish is distorted into something the person doesn’t want. Besides, what could you possibly offer--” No, she already knew exactly what I would want, the only thing I would ever even consider. It’s what had started this whole rabbit trail from the start. 

“Even if you expect me to believe that -- That you can do that, which I don’t. There’s no way that I could ever trust you to go through with it. So let's just end this charade here. Just -- Just kill me. Get on with it,” I stammered, nearly whimpering. 

“You’re right,” she said, and I tensed, waiting for death to take me. But instead, she did something that confounded me once more. She removed the knife from my throat and backed away from me. “You have no reason to trust me.” Her voice held an edge of sadness, but the small smile never really left her face. 

“You -- What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a choice.” 

She tucked my knife into one of her pockets. I gulped and then felt along my throat where the knife had been. No blood showed on my hand, thankfully. 

“I don’t understand.”

She smiled. “I know, so I’ll be blunt for once. It’s two different choices, really. You can’t trust me to turn you into a girl in exchange for what I want, so we’ll start with the smaller choice. I want you to spend the day with me.”

“You want me to spend the day with you?” I asked incredulously. 

“Yes.”

“Why would I possibly ever want to spend the day with you?”

“My great company?” she said with a cheeky smirk. Just before I responded she held out her hand and with a small sigh, continued, “Since your brain still seems to be addled over there, let me spell it out. You want to be a girl.” I flinched slightly. “What I’m giving you is a gamble. Spend the day with me, get to know me, and decide whether you want to take the gamble on me turning you into a girl. I have no reason to do anything to you in the meantime. After all, I have something I’ll want you to do in return.”

“And if I just want to walk away, if I want to turn around and leave right now?”

“Then I’ll let you go, and you’ll never see me again.”

“You’ll just let me go?” I asked, unconvinced.

“I’m a witch of my word,” she asserted.

“That phrase doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” 

She just continued to smile back at me. Was I really contemplating this, consorting with a witch? Even talking to her could get me hanged. How overconfident must she be to be having this conversation beside a bustling market? She was completely mad, though that was mostly a given. Still, the question was, was I considering this? I didn’t even know what she wanted me to do in return yet. She obviously thought I’d accept, otherwise why propose it in the first place? I shouldn’t, really shouldn’t. But if there was a chance, if I could figure out a way to guarantee that she would pull through... Damn it. 

“Fine. I’ll… spend the day with you.” 

Part of me couldn’t believe I’d said that. Spend the day with a witch? What was wrong with me?

“Great! You won’t regret it, little Bell,” she said, with a small pat on my head. I was definitely going to regret this.

It was a few minutes later, and we were walking together, her leading me through another part of the market. She was smoking on her pipe again, and despite the weirdness of how strangely normal it all felt, I pulled my pipe back out again as well. My thoughts were jumbled and kept circling. I should just run and leave. I should find a way to turn her in to the Inquisition. I should see if I could get what I wanted and then turn her in. 

I should… I didn’t know what I should do. So I kept following her, as she seemed to browse, but never stopped long enough to pick up anything. 

“Where are we going?”

“Well, let’s see, how do you feel about dresses?”

I nearly choked once again, but somehow managed to pull myself together. I couldn’t help but glance around in a slight panic at the people and stalls we were passing.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” I accused.

“I do enjoy your reactions. Though I was serious about the question. How would you feel about trying one on?” She stopped walking and turned around to face me. The urge to panic rose within me once more. 

I stared back at her skeptically. “Why? Is that your plan? Treat me as a dress-up-doll and hope I throw myself at you in love and appreciation for it? Because let me just tell you what I think of --”

“No no, don’t worry, that wasn’t what I had in mind. I just thought you might enjoy the opportunity. It’s completely up to you. It doesn’t have to even be a dress. Women can wear other things, too, though dresses are certainly the standard on this side of the planet. So?”

I knew my face had to have been as hot as a furnace at that point. How could she even talk about something like this so openly in front of so many people? I wasn’t sure if it was what she had intended, but in a weird way, it helped make my feelings seem almost normal. 

“I -- I've never... I mean, I've thought about it, but -- but I wouldn't,” I stuttered out. Really, I would look ridiculous, wouldn’t I? What would the point be? It wouldn’t be real, just a costume that I’d have to take back off. But still, the witch didn’t seem to care. She was a witch, she probably didn’t care about anything, and I was curious. What could it really hurt? “Yeah, ok. I’ll try it. Just -- Just don't make fun of me?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m not heartless.”

Right, good. I could do this. It would be simple. I -- Wait, “Was that a joke?” ‘I’m not heartless.’ I blinked at her once and then my face squinted into a glare. Was she seriously poking fun in her promise to not poke fun at me? 

She just snickered in response. 

FlitterPuff

I'm back at work, and things are busy! So writing has dramatically slowed down, unfortunately. I'm currently working on Chapter 4. When it's done I should be putting up Chapter 3 here, so let's hope I have the energy to work on it next week. Give me your strength, dear readers! As before, do leave your thoughts on the chapter in the comments, and I hope you enjoyed it.