Chapter Three

That Friday, Lynn dragged me out into the woods. She’d put on her warmest cloak, while I hid under the big, baggy one I wore every day—even in the summer. We stood at roughly the same height, but with her hiking boots on, she actually edged over me a bit, her curly red hair at the perfect angle to bap me in the face as she led me through the forest road. Tall endelwood surrounded us, forming a thick canopy through which only the morning mist could descend. As the leaves had turned red, the autumn mist had grown thicker and colder, and now we were headed straight into it, with only the road to guide us.

“Do you even know the way?” I asked, cringing at my own deep, droning voice.

“Of course, I know the way!” Lynn said. “Remember when Mum came down with pneumonia? Well, Dad didn’t like that one bit, so he took me and Rhea to the witch’s hut and got some medicine. She was real old, but real nice, you know? Anywho, it’s just around the bend.”

Sure as she’d said, a path split off from the main road and wound its way through the endelroots, leading to a cozy grove surrounded by of endelwood trees, their vines hanging down like a green and yellow curtain. A few birds lighted on the branches overhead, chirping at each other as we approached. The hut soon appeared: an A-frame house with plaster walls between exposed timbers, squat to the ground. A thin plume of smoke wafted its way up from the chimney in the rear, while a young woman no older than me whacked the weeds back with a scythe just outside, wearing brown overalls and a short-sleeved shirt. As we approached, she looked up, flushed, and scampered inside the hut.

Lynn and I exchanged a look, then walked up to the thick, oaken door. I knocked, tentatively, and someone on the other side hollered something unintelligible. A few minutes passed, but the door eventually opened, and the same young lady stood before us, now wearing a tight, black, ankle-length dress and a pointy, black hat. Now that we saw her up close, we realized that we towered over her—she didn’t even come up to our collarbones, and we weren’t tall by any means.

“Come in!” she said, her voice sounding a bit strained. “Sit! Sit, please, there’s plenty of space.”

“Thank you,” Lynn said, stepping inside. “Is Lheonara the Witch here? We were hoping to speak with her.”

I joined Lynn inside, glancing around the little home we’d walked into. It looked nice enough, with a wooden slat floor and a selection of handmade, plush furniture I recognized as my second cousin Lindana’s work. Books and boxes sat piled up haphazardly on the shelves that covered every wall, except for a bare spot with dozens of sketches of plants and mushrooms tacked up on it. I sat on one of the couches, nestling in its velvet cushions, and Lynn sat beside me.

“Uh—so, no, Lheonara isn’t here anymore,” the young woman said, disappearing into a rather messy kitchen and emerging with a wooden plate stacked with old, chipped teacups. “I am—well, I was her apprentice, but she… died a few weeks ago.”

We gaped at her, unsure what to say.

“I’m so sorry,” Lynn said, “we hadn’t heard. She was good to the village—she saved my mum’s life, a long time ago.”

I nodded along, silent for fear that my booming, monotone voice might shatter this tiny person’s eardrums.

“Yes, she was a good friend,” the woman said, sitting down across from them and resting the teacups on a squat coffee table between the couch and her armchair. “But we had a long time to prepare for it—she and I made all the arrangements well ahead of time. She lived a good life—far longer than most. Er—my name is Verona, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Lynn said, ever the extrovert. “I’m Lynn McReid, and this is my husband.”

“Yes,” I said, “nice to meet you.”

“And you are?” Verona asked me.

Blinking, I looked over to Lynn. “I’m her husband.”

“Indeed,” the witch said, “I just didn’t catch your name, is all.”

Cringing, I looked off. “Yes, well, my name is… er… Rondren McReid.”

Verona shot me a strange look, scanning me from head to toe. “Well, Lynn, Rondren, what can I do for you today?”

I cringed when she said my name, earning another odd look from the witch. She kept on staring at me—I couldn’t keep sitting through this mess. Why did Lynn have to make such a fuss about this? Why couldn’t we just go home?

Oblivious to my misery, Lynn scooted ever closer to the coffee table and poured herself some tea from the kettle, dumping four or five teaspoons worth of sugar in. “Yes, well, you see, it’s my husband. He’s been a bit off lately.”

Verona cocked an eyebrow. “I’m assuming this isn’t just trouble in the bedroom, then?”

My wife and I went red.

“No—no, no, no,” Lynn said. “We’re fine with that. No, it’s just his… er… mental state. We’ve seen the Mind-Healer many times in the past, but he’s just gotten more and more… morose, I suppose.”

Lynn paused, looking at me for permission, and I nodded my head quietly.

“He’s one of the town watchmen,” she said in that tone she always used right before she began to ramble. “That job just has him sitting up all night with this blank stare on his face, and when he comes home, he just falls right asleep, and he doesn’t go out during the day unless you make him; it’s the craziest thing, and it is so different from how he used to be, because I knew him from a really young age, and I really, really love him, and we’ve been best friends our whole lives, and I hate seeing him like this. He’s so obviously sad all the time, and he just denies, denies, denies. I—I don’t want to be the kind of person who tries to ‘fix’ my partner—the Mind Healer says that’s not my responsibility, and I respect that—but he’s been really resistant to help for a long time, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s something deeper that he just isn’t telling me—or maybe something he doesn’t even know, because he just doesn’t talk about or think about his feelings, no matter how much I ask him.”

As Lynn spoke, she became more and more frantic, her speech speeding up until by the end she seemed out of breath and exhausted. Verona stared at me for a while, scanning me up and down, squinting with those sparkling, green eyes of hers.

I had to look away. It was too much. Unconsciously, I slipped myself further inside the protective dome of my oversized cloak, until I was hardly anything but a tuft of hair poking out of a mound of green cloth.

“Well,” Verona said, “it does sound a bit serious. Mostly, I see village folk asking for medicine—or cures for impotence—I can supply both of those, but many of the Old Remedies are long lost.”

She stood up and wandered to a shelf, then picked out an ancient book with strange markings on it—a language I didn’t know. Its cover seemed to shine in the candlelight, and it bore an image of clusters of red and white spheres being circled by smaller, blue spheres. A book of Magick, I supposed.

“Yes. Long ago, the ancients could create chemicals—tinctures—which could alleviate ailments of the mind to some extent. Most can no longer be manufactured, as the ingredients require materials we no longer have. I am familiar with the synthesis of two SSRIs—er, mind potions—that might help you, Rondren, but they can have some serious side effects if used improperly. I’d like to get to know you a bit more personally, so I can see if this is the best way to help.”

“Of course,” I said, dreading the inevitable grilling ahead of me.

“Let’s start off with this: why are you hiding under that cloak?”

That caught me off-guard. “Uh… I don’t know,” I said. “It’s comfy?”

“It looks far too big,” Verona said.

“Well, I mean, I like big, roomy outfits. I guess. I mean, why not? It’s comfy.”

“You tripped on it several times on your way in.”

“Did I? I don’t really notice anymore.”

“Because you wear that all the time?”

I didn’t like where this was leading. “What’s it matter what I wear? It’s got nothing to do with me, and frankly, it’s none of your business.”

It’d been years since I’d snapped like that—I surprised myself. In fact, I surprised everyone in the room. They all stared at me, and I shrank back into the cloak, willing myself to keel over and die.

 “Okay,” Verona said. “I’ll be frank. I’ve got a hunch about you, but there are plenty of different possibilities, and I don’t want to assume. You might have, for instance, had something terrible happen to your body when you were younger—perhaps sexual, perhaps physical, but it might have made you want to cover yourself up so no one can touch you like that again. You might have simply learned as a child that hiding is a good way to stay safe from danger. Or—and this is the one I’m leaning toward—you might just have… body issues.”

I blinked. Raising my head out of my cloak, I stared at the young witch before me. She was so pretty, so dainty—and even though I was scrawny for a guy, I still looked massive in comparison. So utterly huge, so unbelievably bulky.

“Am I right?” she asked.

I looked away.

Lynn suddenly hugged me, practically pushing me over with the sheer force of her love. I curled up even further.

“Ronny,” she said. “What’s wrong with your body?  You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever known. Is—is this about your height? McRinner is wrong, there’s no shame in being short! I like being able to look you right in the eyes.”

In truth, my height was one of the few bits of myself I appreciated. But I didn’t say a word, just letting myself go numb.

Verona stood up, taking a good look at me, and taking a deep breath in turn. “Mrs. McReid, I think your husband and I ought to have a one-on-one consult, if that’s okay. Would you mind if I took him upstairs for a few minutes?

Lynn blankly stared between the witch and me, then shrugged and sipped on her tea.

“Wait,” I said. “Isn’t this going a bit too fast? I don’t think any of this is… I mean, I’m just a normal… person, and I don’t need some secret consultation or anything—I’m not… I’m fine, alright?”

“Are you sure?” the witch said. “Because you don’t have to come with me. If you’re happy with the way things are, I’ll be happy to send you on your way. But if my hunch is correct? Well, Mr. McReid, I think I know a way to help you. So, I’m going to go upstairs, and if you want to know what kind of Magicks I can use to help you… well, all you have to do is follow me.”

With that, Verona got to her feet and started out of the room, purposefully dragging her feet with every step. I just sat there, frozen, as I watched her begin to pass through the door to her kitchen. My wife elbowed me, and I stiffened, shooting to my feet. Wrapping my cloak tightly around myself, I trudged after the witch.

For some reason, I simply knew I’d regret this.

Well, I'm certain nothing of emotional significance is going to happen in the next chapter. If you're enjoying this story, please consider chucking wads of cash in my face as I walk down the street! Alternatively, you could support me through Patreon! At the very least, that option won't land you Felony Assault charges!