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The front door of the castle slammed shut behind Sophie and Percival as they tramped out toward the mansion drive. Howl paused for a brief moment, staring at the door thoughtfully as if he expected it to burst open again. When he was satisfied that it wouldn’t he turned to Michael.
“Fetch that silver bowl hanging over the sink and fill that pitcher there with water,” he ordered.
“Why?” Michael asked, already reaching for the bowl.
“I’m going to teach you a very useful spell, m’boy. Quickly now,” Howl said, punctuating his urgency with a clap. The corners of his mouth quirked into a devious smirk.
The spell was rather easy and Michael wondered why Howl hadn’t taught it to him sooner. Howl sprinkled dried herbs into the bowl and crushed them with a silver rod as if it were a mortar and pestle. Then he poured the water in a clockwise motion over the herbs. The liquid rippled and darkened as the bowl filled. The reflection of Howl and Michael staring into the bowl quickly morphed into a moving image of the derelict mansion with its mildew and broken windows and grimy statues. They saw Sophie’s bent figure hobble down the driveway grumbling to herself and Percival following dutifully behind her, carrying the bucket of weedkiller.
Michael gasped and looked up to Howl with wide-eyed horror.
“This is a spell for snooping!” He exclaimed in a half-whisper, realizing why he hadn't yet learned it.
“What did you expect with those materials?” Calcifer said from the fireplace.
“We can’t snoop on Sophie, she’ll be furious!” Michael panicked.
“Sophie is already furious, so consider that danger conquered,” Howl said, gesturing to the image in the water but recoiling his arm quickly as his long sleeve nearly dipped into the bowl.
“But Howl, we can’t-”
“But nothing,” Howl said, holding his hand up to cut Michael off, his sleeve dangling dangerously near the surface of the water. “With the Witch of the Waste involved we need to know what this Percival knows and Sophie seems to be the only one he trusts round here. Though I suppose you wouldn’t be the least bit put out if the witch struck me dead.”
Howl lifted his chin and looked very hurt.
“I just don’t think we should spy,” Michael said with a sigh. “It’s not right.”
“What is right and wrong when death is on the line? Would you truly curse me to such a fate? After all I’ve done for you, Michael?” Howl complained.
Michael sighed again. Howl was being dramatic and Michael knew it. Still, Howl struck where it stung the most.
“Very well,” Michael said resignedly.
“Good. Now shush; we need to hear what they’re saying,” Howl said.
They both leaned over the bowl and watched and listened as Sophie grumped to Percival. Her voice sounded murkier than normal but it was still easy enough to understand.
“She thinks I’m gadding out gadding when I go to Wales!” Howl grumbled as he heard her grievances. “Does she not realize I’m fighting for my very life? And for Calcifer's!”
Michael wasn’t sure how to answer since it also looked to him as if Howl was off gadding. After all, Miss Angorian was very beautiful and Howl was unlikely to resist courting her.
“It sure looks like gadding from where I sit,” Calcifer chimed in, which filled Michael with relief.
“You're ganging up against me now, are you?” Howl complained. “At least Michael here is on my side.”
Michael made an uncomfortable noise of non-commitment.
“Come on m’boy. She wants us to look respectable, let’s give her respectable.”
Howl shot up and gathered materials in his arms; powders and wooden dowels and an old metal tray that Sophie had polished to a glistening shimmer.
“Confound it, this thing's too clean” he said to Michael, trying to smudge the tray with gold and black powder. “Sophie wasn’t content to terrorize our home and destroy my hair. She had to muck about with our spells as well.”
Michael was relieved to hear Sophie ask what the witch wanted with Percival so he wouldn’t have to agree with Howl. Instead he made a shushing sound and pointed to the water.
Howl watched the conversation unfold as he absentmindedly dripped oil onto the powdered tray and mixed it all into a paste with a dowel. The tip of his sleeve accidentally dipped into the oil. When Howl pulled his arm up his sleeve shimmered from the gold powder stuck to the fabric with oil.
“Botheration,” Howl muttered, shaking the dust loose- with magic, Michael suspected from the way it sprinkled cleanly away and no oil stain remained.
Michael's ears perked when he heard a familiar name.
“Lettie?” Michael asked. “Oh, Howl, Percival is talking about your Lettie.”
“She is certainly not my Lettie,” Howl said a bit too quickly and sharply. “Shush now, I’m missing the conversation.”
Michael clamped his mouth shut.
As Howl watched the conversation he drew a few odd symbols into the powder-paste with the wooden dowels. It looked rather sloppy for he wasn’t minding his work; he was too busy listening to Percival.
“Lettie asked him to bite me? How cruel these Hatter women are!” Howl exclaimed. Gesturing excitedly he nearly tipped over the tray and knocked his sleeve against the bowl. The image in it rippled and shook.
Michael shot his arms out to the bowl to steady it, so engrossed in the conversation he no longer felt guilty about snooping.
Michael looked up at Howl who, with folded arms, stared into the bowl. His face was turning a dark shade of crimson.
They both watched in silence as Percival described Lettie's crying over Sophie.
“She was sad about thee curse,” Michael whispered.
“No,” Howl said darkly.
Percival continued to recount Lettie’s words. “...the worst of it is she’ll think she’s safe from Howl…”
“Well she isn’t, is she?” Calcifer said, leaning out of the grate.
Michael kept his eyes fixed on the water, too afraid to catch Howl's eye.
Howl huffed through his nose and slammed the dowels on the tray in a zig-zag sort of shape. They made loud clack when they hit the metal and splattered oily bits of powder across the workbench and onto Michael and into the bowl.
“Watch it, the spell!” Michael said, trying to shield the bowl with his arm.
Howl only huffed again, though a bit of his good humor returned when Sophie nearly splashed weedkiller across Percival.
And then Sophie started to list Howl's faults. At least this was familiar territory.
“Sophie thinks I’m impossible? Ha! At least I’m not a perilously clean old bully.”
He and Michael watched Sophie march down the drive.
“Is she leaving?” Michael looked up at Howl concernedly. “She can’t just-”
“Michael, finish this spell,” Howl shoved the metal tray so it skittered across the workbench.
“I don’t know how,” Michael said, catching the tray before it fell off the edge.
“Have you paid attention at all to your lessons? Just seal it with oil, then slide the dowels to meet in the middle,” Howl said annoyedly.
Michael did as he was told while Howl grumbled at the water.
“Don’t take your feelings out on Michael,” Calcifer said.
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” Howl said.
"You can’t hide your emotions from me, Howl Jenkins,” said Calcifer.
Howl humphed and folded his arms, watching Sophie complain about his suits. He fingered the seams of the patchwork triangles in the black (but really blue and silver) suit he wore. He wondered if Sophie would stay if he let her cut the suit up again.
Difficult, old woman, he thought.
Then Sophie said something that shocked even Howl. He looked up to Michael, who kept his eyes on the oil he poured in the metal tray. Unsatisfied, he flicked his gaze to Calcifer who flickered impassively in the fireplace.
“She thinks I don't like her?” He asked, indignant. “Did I not take her in asking nothing in return? Have I not provided for her? Helped her? Seen her needs were attended to-”
“Michael did most of those things,” Calcifer pointed out.
Michael’s mouth twitched into a grin.
“-and she has the gall to think I don’t like her? That impossible woman! If she would just let go of that silly curse, why then I’d be able to tell her how I feel-” Howl threw his arms up, his black sleeves flailing about and knocking over a jar of herbs.
“Be careful!” Michael cried.
Now finished with the spell on the mansion, Michael tried to clean up the spilled herbs. Forgetting about the oil on his hands he ended up with the brown, dried leaves suck all over his palms.
“Oh bother,” Michael muttered, as much for Sophie as for the mess. He wiped his hands on the nearest tea towel.
“The scarecrow,” Howl said, when he saw the scarecrow hopping up the road.
He nearly dashed for the door to rescue Sophie. But when he saw her working her magic to move the queer thing away he stayed in place, transfixed on her odd and powerful magic.
“How she never knew of her power is beyond me,” Howl marvelled.
“She had no confidence,” Calcifer said.
“You think I can’t see that?” Howl snapped.
He and Michael watched as Sophie turned round and gaped at the mansion's fresh exterior.
“The open window was a good touch,” he said to Michael, proud of himself.
“She won’t fall for it,” Michael said.
“Just watch,” Howl grinned.
His face fell when he saw he was wrong. They both watched Sophie March toward the front door scowling.
“Michael, the spell,” Howl hissed fiercely, breaking into a cold panic. “Put it away!”
“What’s happening?” Calcifer said.
But neither Michael or Howl paid him any mind. They both stood up. Michael took the tea towel he was holding and rapidly swiped it back and forth across the metal tray. Howl plunged the silver rod into the water of the bowl to break the image. Just as Michael began snapping the wooden dowels in half and just as Howl had begun to swirl the rod counterclockwise in the herbed water, the front door of the castle swung open.
Howl and Michael both whipped their heads round in time to see Sophie storm inside, followed by a very worried looking Percival.
“Keep behind me, Michael,” said Howl.