Chapter 22: A Witch Has Them for Dinner

The witch was too afraid of the dark to dare go in Dorothy’s room at night to take the shoes, and her dread of water was greater than her fear of the dark, so she never came near when Dorothy was bathing.

--L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

When attempting to sneak around territories of (probably not-so friendly) giants, it helps that a vimana makes no sound. The vehicle was roughly boomerang shaped. At its center was the steering wheel, and the sole window, a wide oval. The back points moved the ship forward. Picture a great pair of scissors, opening and closing. Each close provided it momentum to skip along the sky.  

Inside, Grace and Goldtalon sat on seatbelt-and-handle-free benches while Bennu tried steering. The pilot’s seat looked like the cockpit of an airplane, the head of a pirate ship, and the front of an automobile, all jumbled with some incredible odds and ends. A kind of planetarium took up the craft’s upper quarters. Radiant, multicolored orbs representing planets and stars seemed to float, but actually rotated due to strips of magnetized iron along the walls. Fox would no doubt hate that.

“You guys comfortable?” Bennu turned his head to speak when he should have been steering away from Bonegrinder’s windmill.

Grace eyed curious sundial-type devices on the walls. “Reminds me of this real tall cuckoo clock in the basement of the Ambrosius Institute. I think Will Henry built that, too. But please watch where you’re going! You drive like that; you’ll crash into the ground again!”

As a nine-headed ogre waved to them, Bennu lowered his head, fixing his claws back on the wheel. He ignored the mass of levers whose knobs were covered in runes. To either side were dashboards covered in blinking buttons, which he also avoided.

Some buttons had their own buttons. Goldtalon took interest in touching some shinier ones. Grace asked him to stop, and his paws immediately snapped to his lap. There was a glazed look in his eyes. Grace attributed it to the same daze she struggled with since the bird city rejected their help.

At last, Bennu set the vimana so it hovered equal with the cottage’s high porch. Grace and Goldtalon hopped the distance, easily pushing through the still-ajar door. In the waking world, places have the common decency to be the same size on the inside as they appear from outside. After Dr. Bezoar’s shopping cart, and O’s expandible Dojo, Grace learned this should not be taken for granted in the Astral. The interior consisted of a series of hallways longer than the entire length of its outsides, stilts and all. They were open, unseparated by doors. All looked identical, but darkness had a lot to do with that.

It was not the black in Schrodinger’s boxes, full of potential energy. Nor was it comparable to the dull, muggy twilight of the Silent Forest. The dark Grace and Goldtalon now navigated was sharp and cold. What is more, no matter which direction they pushed, they always came up against wind. Not once was a breeze to their backs.

Wind bore echoes, so their every breath or footfall duplicated down the passages. If something dangerous lurked beyond, it must be aware of them by now. But so should their friends. The one advantage was, after getting used to them, the echoes helped Grace find her way in the lightlessness.

 “Schrodinger?” called Goldtalon. “Fox? Diana?” The griffin’s whines became thunder.

“Shhhh.” Like the stateliest librarians, Grace put a finger to her lips, even though Goldtalon obviously could not see the gesture. His voice died halfway through a whimper, but Grace’s noise shot before and behind them.

Around the corner came a groan. Sustained, miserable.

Grace gripped the scruff of Goldtalon’s neck. They kept equal pace. While unsure at first, the voice became increasingly familiar, even without complete words. “Diana,” Grace tried to whisper, “are the others around?”

“Think they’re still being fed.” Being already blindfolded, dark did not extra hinder Diana. With no guidance, she managed to find Grace’s hand, which she held as tightly as one could with sweaty, loose skin. The other hand tapped her bloated stomach. “Couldn’t take so many gingerbread men. Not a single breadcrumb. Really hope this is the bathroom.”

Beyond indigestion, Diana appeared fine. To be safe, Grace left Goldtalon with her. The griffin did not complain at being separated. Grace had heard a voice down the way. She meant to stalk carefully. Then, the wind constantly at her face shifted behind her—pushing the girl in the direction she already planned to go.

Outside, the cottage seemed level. One floor, at most. The slope at which Grace slid went down, down, down, and also down. There was light ahead. Her eyes needed to adjust, but she would not be surprised if she was back at the base of the jellybean stalk.

“What an appetite on you…must be the stones summoned by those poltergeist outbursts, hmmm?” A stranger’s voice was high and pleasant, but with a strange grating. “I know of this scroll you speak of, Miss… sorry, I didn’t catch your name, dearie.” 

“Well.” A girl’s voice, evidently talking with her mouth full. “People call me Fox, because I make them.”

“I did not ask what you are called.” The woman’s voice took on sudden sternness. There was that grating sound again. “I asked your name. The true name your parents gave you, the one kept in the Book of Life. After all, dearie, don’t you want the scroll mailed to your address if it passes my way again? Nephelokokkygia and I frequently receive each other’s mail by mistake. Why, a few months back, I had to mosey down to their gates to query after my express package of severed hands.”

“Well, okay. My birth name’s Tatum Esther…” Fox said in-between inhaled morsels.

“Don’t say any more!” Grace ran to Fox, putting a hand on her shoulder.

The older girl sat on a chair better sized for a toddler. But then, the table she sat at was so tall. Fox had to stretch her maximum length to reach the plate set before her. It was piled high with hash browns, apple sauce poured over them. There were also triangle-shaped cookies stuffed with jams which went untouched. With her hands, Fox unthinkingly shoveled hash browns and apple sauce into her mouth, hardly stopping to chew.

The long, rectangular dining room was illuminated from behind where Grace stood. Turning slightly, she saw a lamp. Made from a human skull. She looked again, and the grisly lantern had been replaced by a blackened oven, just big enough to comfortably swallow both girls. Grace refused to turn back again. The light-source might transform into something even worse.

Appraising the rest of the room—which was very large with a lot going on—Grace got her first look at the woman Fox had been talking to. Grandmam did not have a hunchback, but the Irishwoman was twisted by age, occasionally needing a cane to walk (even before she started getting sudden shakes). But the seated figure was so bent, her spine resembled a question mark.

No doubt anyone’s back would wind up deformed from wearing a dress stitched out of stone slabs. That could not possibly feel comfortable. The woman was also big, taller sitting down than Goldtalon was standing up. Between her size and the dress, it seemed miraculous her wicker rocking chair did not collapse.

The giantess’s skin also resembled stone, all cracks, no part smooth. Neither her shriveled ears nor little red eyes would be especially useful in sensing intruders. She had her nose, though, twisted like a stubborn tree sticking out of a craggy cliff. It never stopped snuffling. A common cold would likely disable her. The tip was already blue.

“You’re upset, girl.” The woman had not turned to Grace. That did not matter. Grace knew she, not Fox, was being addressed. “I can smell emotions on you. A bouquet of homesickness, indignation, sorrow, regret, frustration, impatience, and do I detect a hint of love?” She grinned, and if her skin was rock, her teeth were metal.

Grace kept as quiet as she could in that cabin of echoes. Her focus was to get Fox—still eating applesauce hash browns, grinning those few times she came up for air—then find Schrodinger. She located the tabby, at least. In a far corner, he eyed a canine snoozing on a pink pillow. The dog was not as large as the Aniwye, but far bigger than Goldtalon. What looked like metal spikes grew out of his back. In sleep, he made a sound like “Rucculu” or “Ruzulu.”

A mighty breath pushed Schrodinger into a corner. The grimalkin tried gripping the floor with extended claws, but never succeeded in remaining in place. An untouched bowl of caviar and dead mice scooched along with him whenever he was forced backwards. The canine’s exhalations were strong as gusts, yet the bowl never flipped or spilled its contents.

In a flash, Grace remembered one ingredient needed to cure the zombie fungus was “Freedom wanders with a dog whose home is unsolid.” A house on stilts hardly made a solid home. Why’s it matter, though? Saving the bird’s city isn’t our quest anymore.

“I’m always eager to welcome guests to my meals,” said the woman in stone. “Sadly, they never stay long. Leaves me ill when they leave. We can have interesting conversations till then. Please, sit by Tatum Esther, Miss…”

Grace remained standing. There was movement behind her.

Goldtalon, in charge of blind Diana, trotted in. A silver platter slid down the table to him. An entire horse carcass. (Of all food options.) He was not put off by how rotten the meal was. What meat remained had the consistency of jerky. With his hunger, he could not afford to be a picky eater. The griffin began by crunching on the bleached, brittle skull. Grace considered asking him to stand down, but became distracted steering Diana from the oven.

“Don’t be rude,” pressed the woman. “Let’s not stay strangers. What’s your name, girl?” 

“Can’t you smell it?” It took several tries for Grace’s words to even meet the air. Her mouth felt parched, but she had no time to fiddle for her already-depleted waterskin last refilled at the Dojo. “I mean, if you could smell what I felt, why not that?”

 “I call smell almost anything.” The woman sniffed. “But, by some quirk of magic, names are the hardest thing to pry out of someone. Against their will, at least.” Whereas every sound in the cabin had its echoes, her voice uniquely traveled alone.

Grace already knew revealing your name to someone could give them power over you. It was why O went by a single letter. Grace adjusted the dress from the tengu-woman. The green fabric was thin, and in places nearly sheer, but it kept her warm in the chill. It also never seemed to get stained or dirty. She scrambled to think of an alias.

“G. My name is G.”

The old woman laughed, with a long snort to cap it. “Just ‘Jee’, nothing else?”

“Okay, call me G-G.”

“Jeejee, fine. At least you respect my intelligence enough not to say your name’s ‘Nobody.’ That has been done to the point of cliché. Can’t much blame me for trying to cast a spell of enslavement, though. I am evil, after all.”

“What’s your name?” Grace hoped for a distraction while trying to pull Fox from her seat. The older girl was larger and heavier, and resisted leaving her place. At least no rain of stones was there to be fended off. “Now you’re being rude.”

“I won’t have myself accused of that! I’d gladly remove your heart with witchcraft, so cunningly you’d continue living, and never feel pain again. I’ve done all kinds of despicable deeds, and shall continue to. But I’ll never be accused of rudeness.” The witch’s stone face somehow became even stonier. “Let’s compromise—that ought to satisfy nobody. I won’t say what I’m called in my native tongue, but in English it translates ‘Spear-Finger.’ Some call me ‘Granny,’ as well. Welcome to my house, Jeejee.”

“Granny Spear-Finger,” Grace enunciated.

While they talked, the witch slid a plate the length of the table. The skinny index finger on her left hand pointed directly at the mass of food. No mistaking, instead of a fingernail, she had a stone speartip.

The feast—because it seemed that way with Grace so hungry—included a neat stack of thin, yellow teacakes that could have come directly from her mother’s oven, a fat slice of red velvet cake, soda bread dotted with raisins, glazed barbeque brisket, thick ham slices, crispy bacon, and a mountain of mashed potatoes mixed with kale and saturated with butter. To the side sat a glass of bubbling red soda, maybe strawberry. But no napkins or cutlery. Apparently, Grace was expected to eat with her hands, which adults always insisted were bad manners.

“If you’re worried about it being poisoned, well, just look at your friends.” Granny Spear-Finger sniffed Fox, who now savored apple sauce like it was a rare delicacy that should not be swallowed right away. Then she sniffed the direction where Goldtalon was beating a dead horse.

 Diana stood apart, along a wall away from both the flaming oven and the dog with hurricane breath. She clutched her belly, whose groans echoed into minor quakes.

A bowl persisted in following Schrodinger around. He ate nothing.

The witch’s twiggy nose returned to Grace. “Why would I poison your food, specifically, Jeejee?”

“You’re trying to fatten me up.” Grace was reminded of far too many stories about would-be cannibals. It was hard to resist what was offered, though. The last thing she ate was bits off the jellybean stalk. Before that, sushi and ice cream. There had been talks of finding food in Nephelokokkygia, but they were hastened into congress before they could even visit a restroom.

“It’s called hos-pit-al-i-ty.” Granny Spear-Finger corrected with the tone of an etiquette teacher. “Whether I intend to dine on your flesh later shouldn’t have much bearing on what you choose to do at present. Why not enjoy a delicious meal, provided for free?”

“But if you eat me after,” replied Grace, “once I’m fattened up, that is, it wasn’t free at all. I’m still paying. I can’t trust anything. You already admitted you were an evil witch.” 

“What’s your point, Jeejee?” Granny Spear-Finger turned up her nose. “Don’t witches have a place in society? Why else would they be dreamt up in lore and fable? Like my sisters around the world, I behave in the way expected of witches, without the boring self-righteousness of human villains. No, I’m honest, and so balance and temper the work of you good people.

“Heroes need villains. We unite people who would otherwise fight each other. You can only become heroic when you have something equally wicked to counter. For every quest, there must be a decent number of monsters to keep things from becoming too easy. The greater danger you face, the greater champion you become.”

Grace shook her head. “You say ‘you,’ when talking about heroes. But I’m not. Me and my friends are just going home, and don’t want any more trouble. Honestly, they wouldn’t have suffered so much except for me. A ‘champion’ wouldn’t do that.”

“Ha,” Granny Spear-Finger slapped her thigh with her speartip. “And you still say you’re not a hero, Miss Jeejee?”

Grace did not know how to respond. This was the strangest woman she had ever met, including Dr. Bezoar and Lady Mondegreen. Nothing she said made sense. Not for someone wanting to get back to real life. That was probably Granny Spear-Finger’s intention! Confuse Grace so she could not help her friends, and cook them all in her oven. The girl steeled herself to leave. Even though, in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to clean her plate and drain her glass.

Schrodinger was blown across the room into her knees. “Been trying to guess the witch’s name,” he whispered out the side of his mouth. “Can you remember Bezoar Wilhelmina von Gruff had a stone, which she said fell off the dress of a witch?”

As the pain in her legs subsided, Grace nodded. Dr. Bezoar mentioned the witch by name. It started with a “U”. Maybe a “V”?

Schrodinger gave a half-smile. “I need you to keep her talking. Likes to talk, that one. Before you, she interrogated Fox about the scroll, the quest, the plague raging through Nephelokokkygia—how did all that go, by the way?” He saw Grace’s scowl.

“Anyway, it starts with Ut…Utl…just keep her busy, Gr…” He must have remembered not to use her full name, as he typically did with everyone. (Indeed, this was the first time he used Fox’s nickname.) Even something whispered might echo back to the witch.

Grace looked around, trying to think of something to talk about that did not involve food. Her stomach already wore out that particular subject. Her eyes darted anywhere except the blackened oven. Fox’s messy face, Diana pressed against a wall, Goldtalon cracking bones to get marrow, Schrodinger shutting his eyes in concentration, the witch’s long sniffing nose, the canine on his pink pillow.

“Is that your dog, then?” Even as the question came, Grace knew it was lame.

“No.” Granny Spear-Finger’s hands curled into fists. Nails lashed her wicker armrests. Her giant face twitched. “He’s my grandson. And he’s not a dog. He’s a wolf: a vargr from the House of Laufey. Our family has good reason to swell its stomachs with pride. Our ancestors survived Ragnarök, when the stories of so many gods definitively concluded. He’s a terrible beast, but still happy to spend time by granny’s side, and politely do as she asks. Even if he leaves a persistent draft…”

 “Utlunta!” Schrodinger shouted. “The witch the satyress mentioned!” His eyes flared as he hopped onto the long table, proceeding to Granny Spear-Finger. “Your true name is Utlunta. Whatever hold you had on my companions is null!”

Fox looked up from her plate. Despite eating since before Grace arrived, it was still piled high with food. “Ah God, what’s in my stomach?” Readjusting her goggles, she pulled up her new coat’s hood. Stones started falling from above. “Let’s get out of here!” The toddler chair scraped beneath her. Fox locked elbows with Grace, trying to steer her away, as if their positions were not reversed a few seconds ago.

Schrodinger hopped down from the table and ambled to Diana. He kept one glowing eye on the sleeping wolf.

There was still Goldtalon, continuing to gnaw on a horse’s hoof. He turned to Grace and belched when she gingerly tugged the elbow of his wing.

“Let’s go,” she said, and he was ready to follow.

Granny Spear-Finger, known in her own language as “Utlunta,” laughed. Not the melodramatic cackle expected from a hag. Instead, it was a schoolgirl giggle, which proved significantly more disturbing. “Come here, griffin,” she cooed. Goldtalon straightaways loped to her, all but laying his head on the arm of her chair. His orange eyes glazed over.

“You didn’t eat my food,” she addressed Grace, “but this creature did. Even if the hungry young beast could have abstained as wisely as you, there’s still the issue of his medical condition making him easy to handle. His mind is infected by the parasitic Root of All Evil, which is actually a fungus, not a plant, and thus has hyphae, not roots.”

“What?” Grace yelled over the wind from the wolf-grandson’s nostrils. “That’s impossible!”

“My nose tells a different story. I’m no especial friend to birds—though my grandson occasionally hunts alongside ravens. But I saw your scroll delivered to Nephelokokkygia on a vimana. There was a mix-up with a package I was meant to receive. Stupid pigeon post office! Anyway, I keep informed about my neighbors, even those beyond the Outer Gates. Do you know how Radixomniummalorum bokor spores wound up in the bird city? Aitvaras, an enemy of mine, bribed an idiot in the Simurgh with a bicorne from the moon. Unbeknownst to either, the hat contained what Ostara’s been digging up. Being so empty-headed themselves, the dread effects never affected them directly, but could spread through contact. Then, it’s just waiting ’til contradictory commands cause the infected’s loss of sanity, and, well…pop!”

Grace’s knees knocked together. Her lungs burned. Even for a room with wind blowing constantly, she failed to get sufficient air to her brain.

“Let me demonstrate,” Utlunta clapped. “Griffin dear, stand on one leg.” Though he became unbalanced, Goldtalon did as ordered, holding the pose even as his entire body wobbled from effort. “Now, do a handstand.”

She only had to say it to have Goldtalon staggering into that position. While clearly strained, his expression showed no distress.

“Gol…Griffin.” Grace remembered not to use his name, even if he was already being controlled. “Come with me. We’re going home. Your…new home.” He snapped to her side. They moved to the doorway into the dark halls. Schrodinger, Fox, and Diana were together already. Grace turned just to certify the witch had not gotten up from her chair, but should have been watching the far wall.

Bennu’s biography features a reoccurring pattern of crashing. Okay, two crashes do not make a pattern exactly, but it is hardly nothing he piloted the vimana straight through a wall. It took everyone by surprise. Including himself. “Sorry for the mess,” he said weakly. “Since we split, nine hours and twenty-three minutes have passed. Thought you wouldn’t want to wait much longer.”

The wolf that was somehow Utlunta’s grandson woke with a snarl. His breath blew Schrodinger and Fox against the oven. Being near so much iron made her sick, but they avoided being burnt. Diana, too, barely missed a disaster, avoiding being crushed by the scissoring back horns of the vimana. While she had no idea it was coming her way, her mismatched feet tripped her.

The ship side door was still open. The phoenix yelled, motioning for the companions to get inside. Fox grabbed Diana, and Schrodinger came at their heels. None had time for surprise at the strange craft’s appearance: an escape had presented itself.

Grace pushed Goldtalon to run after them, fast enough to get out of earshot to Utlunta’s orders. The wolf stepped off his pink pillow and blasted a gulf between them and the hole in the cabin.

“Come here, girl.” There was no sternness in Utlunta’s voice. Actually, she sounded apologetic. Her mouth was a tight chasm. “Don’t you want to know how to free your pet from his affliction? Scroll says there are eight ingredients. Your friend let slip you have half. Don’t you wish to see your quest through to the end, Miss Jeejee? It’d feel so…disappointing otherwise.”

The space between Grace and the witch was still the length of the dining table, but that seemed much shorter than before. In fact, the whole room felt smaller, including the hole Bennu made. Grace hoped to edge away to the ship, leading Goldtalon by the scruff of his neck if she had to. The wind from the wolf never relented, however. From the doorway, Fox started throwing stones at the grandson, which he swallowed.

“Step closer, my dear.” Granny Spear-Finger spread out her arms.

Grace marveled how long they were. Three or four steps nearer, and they could snatch both her and Goldtalon. She should have run. At least tried to. Instead, the girl stood in place.

“What are you doing?” Fox screamed out the side door. “Get over here, you two!”

Goldtalon started trotting, but Utlunta ordered him back. “Have you gone a bit deaf, dearie? I said ‘closer.’” She did not need to know Grace’s name to get her to move right where desired. The ogress rose from the rocking chair too light to have supported her weight. The scraping of her stone-stitched dress not only caused horrible noises, but made sparks. She stretched her question mark shaped back.

Grace pushed Goldtalon behind and moved around the corner of the table. It really was much smaller than before. There was no space for plates and platters. Only the spread Grace refused to touch, plus a glass of red soda. She tuned out whatever cries her friends made, confronting Utlunta.

The huge witch leaned down so they were face-to-face. The blue tip of her twisted nose (it made O’s pink beak seem like nothing) was half an inch from Grace’s own. “The last four ingredients should be on the moon.”

“Oh…okay,” Grace stuttered. “Where?”

“The first item is close to Ostara’s domain, though I doubt she’s aware of its importance. You’ll know her palace by smell. Trust me. Beyond that, there’s a crater. And in it, a nest. There you’ll get the best—at least deepest—sleep of your life. Even further out is the territory where a three-legged toad wanders, who keeps the third ingredient. Furthest from the goddess’s stronghold, there should be a lush garden. Not counting some mold, it should be the only greenery on the lunar surface. A canine lives there, with his exiled master.”  

“Thank you.” Grace tried to pull away. Granny Spear-Finger caught her between one thumb and finger, which was enough to encircle the girl’s entire arm.

“A spell’s nothing unless you understand the meaning.” Utlunta’s metal teeth gnashed. “Otherwise, it might as well be a cake recipe. Here’s my educated guess, and correct me if I forgot what’s written in the scroll. ‘Delight can be found in the smiles of spiders’ is our first verse. Now if there’s one thing zombies don’t do, it’s laugh. The first thing tyrants do upon seizing power is to kill all the comedians. Genuine joy breaks anyone free from the drudgery of forced servitude. If only for the length of a chuckle.

“‘Peace from the rheum of Death’s brother.’ It seems silly that sleep would help counteract what is itself a kind of sleeping death. Remember, though, the brain of a true sleeper never stops working, blending past, present, and—some say— future in the timeless Astral dimension.

“But things can’t all be delight and rest. Unhappy emotions are just as much a part of living. ‘Sorrow in lament of ever-young frog.’ If you can get a zombie to shed some salty tears, you’re making progress. The victim of this infection has realized what a shame and loss it’d be continuing only serving their master.

“‘Freedom wanders with a dog whose home is unsolid.’ Well, isn’t setting the victim free the whole point? Further, to roam and explore the world beyond what the slaver says is or isn’t possible allows victims to grow beyond arbitrary, artificial constraints.” 

“‘Want flows through flesh-hungry branches bearing no fruit.’ Zombies aren’t meant to want things. They aren’t even meant to feel hunger. Radixomniummalorum bokor affects the soul, but it also alters the body into something unnatural. What’s more natural than eating? Speaking of which,” Utlunta pointed at the plate laid for Grace.

“‘Balance achieved by a philosopher’s sword.’ I see Ridil already hanging on your hip, Jeejee. Without ‘balance,’ how could one find harmony between ‘delight’ and ‘sorrow,’ ‘peace’ and ‘want?’ The art and science of living means having to cope with conflicting drives. The exact opposite of the numbness zombies supposedly experience.”

“‘Strength held in the cradle of Land-and-Sky’s ruler.’ Now you’ve got a medium between emotions, I imagine it takes one big push to make this brew potent enough to overthrow the Root of Evil. Any mental workings that haven’t been sorted so far will be aided by ‘Enlightenment kindled by a sunbird’s plucked quill.’”

            “Okay.” Grace could not break Utlunta’s hold, but turned to see where the vimana full of her friends should be waiting. Instead, the hole in the wall had filled in.

“Funny thing is,” Utlunta said with another giggle, “From what your friend said, you’ve gathered the last four ingredients first. This quest is occurring back-to-front! Can’t think of a time that’s ever happened. But it’s your choice to do things your own way. Everything is choices. Right or wrong, left or right, chicken or fish, every decision, major or minor. Except for chicken. You have to eat them on sight or the nasty little birds steal your valuables. I smell a bit of Aitvaras’ ash on you, Jeejee. You know, he once stole a siren’s egg from me.”

“He’s why I didn’t have to complete the quest.” Grace looked down at her arm, numb from shoulder to wrist. Utlunta’s namesake nail was poised right over a vein. Ready to spill blood if she struggled, even wiggled. “Now there’s no choice. I have to save my friend.”

But can I? Unless Bennu crashed again, and the ship was not set off course by the wolf, the only exit was through the dark halls where echoes betrayed every position. She could not rely on her griffin’s strength this time. The witch could just order Goldtalon to step aside, or even hurt himself. If they were going to survive this encounter, Grace would have to let Utlunta continue talking. Villains always seemed to fall for that, letting secrets and clues slip.

“I have a choice of my own,” said Utlunta. “It’s not clear what I’ll settle on. Should I eat you, and if so, by what manner? I could devour you right here, Jeejee. I’d start with my favorite: the liver. Your death would be quick that way. Maybe I’m in the mood for a hunt, let you run a bit…provide an ounce of hope before making the kill. Then again, what if I’m not hungry?

It’d be rude to waste good meat. Perhaps I’ll feed you to my grandson. The growing cub always needs more sustenance than seems handy.”

“If you let me go,” Grace choked out, “and eat me later, when I’ve grown and put on more pounds, wouldn’t that be a better meal? Here, I’m more of an appetizer. You and your grandson won’t even want to eat my griffin, because you’d get spores.”

“Would you promise to take good care of your liver till I come calling?” Utlunta smiled with iron. The nail above Grace’s vein pulled back ever so slightly. “And put up no fights, escape attempts, or beggings for mercy?”

“Yes.” Grace’s parched throat strained. “Just let me go to the moon for the ingredients I need to save my griffin. You made a big deal about heroes and villains and making choices, but if the Easter Bunny wins, and turns everyone into zombies, well, that would be a boring world, right?”

“You’re right, Jeejee.” The witch finally relinquished Grace’s arm. The tan limb had gone pale. “Much more interesting to simply let you out the front door. If you wind up encountering Aitvaras, direct him my way. I vowed when I finally caught him, I’d rip off his chicken legs and glue them to the bottom of my cottage!”

“Ew,” Grace said reflexively. She did not feel much hope that Utlunta would sincerely let her and Goldtalon leave. It must be a trick. Soon as her back turned, the witch would have her! She turned on her heels anyway, circling the edge of the now very short table to where Goldtalon stood like a statue. She stroked his cat ears and motioned to the only exit—back through the hall of echoes.

The wolf grandson did nothing to stop them. He snapped his mouth shut, ending his barrage, and rolled around. Trying to find the most comfortable position on his pillow.

“Wait!” Utlunta’s scream hit Grace’s back. The witch again sat in her wicker chair, rocking. The friction in her flinty dress set off more sparks as they jostled. “To help fatten you up till I catch you again, take your meal!” She pointed her speartip to the plate of tea cakes, red velvet, raisin soda bread, barbequed brisket, ham slices, bacon, and mashed potatoes.

Some tin foil appeared, and crawled to the spread, delicately folded everything into itself before collapsing to something thinner than paper. Meanwhile, the red soda poured itself into a thermos that floated across. Each fluttered into one of Grace’s hands.

“Still not poisoned.” Granny Spear-Finger beamed. “You have my word as Utlunta, Iron Witch of Ettinheim. They are, however, magical. The more you eat, the more there’ll be. Don’t ask where the second, third, or eighth servings come from, though, or the spell stops dead! I’ll see where you go from here, Jeejee. Or smell you, anyway.” 

Instead of a maze of dark halls beyond the door, there was one clear passage to the tall front porch. Bennu piloted the vimana level with it. Grace and Goldtalon easily jumped the gap. The phoenix pushed a rune-covered lever. The side door closed smoothly.

Schrodinger rubbed against their legs. A veritable choir of relief and gladness sounded from all directions. Even Diana admitted how overjoyed she was that everyone was safely together. Granted, she said this facing the wrong direction.

“I guess that’s our last adventure up here,” Bennu said with a nervous laugh that dissolved into a slight groan. “Let’s get our feet back on solid ground.” The vimana hovered above a jellybean branch, but at another lever push, it arced down into some clouds.

“Wait,” Grace began, but stopped and bit her lip. Utlunta might have just been trying to trick her, talking about Goldtalon being infected. Such deception was just the kind of thing a self-professed villain would do. Yet, the witch never attacked during that long discussion about the cure, when Grace was easily in range of those metal teeth. In the end, she let them go. At least so long as the girl remained a poor meal. What did Utlunta have to gain from lying?

Grace told her friends they needed to go to the moon, or Goldtalon might die.

Fox swore.