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Rain pattered outside the candlelit walls, little shadow droplets fell to the cool earth below. The air heavy with moisture and burning incense, mellifluous chime rang softly in harmony with the night drizzle. Somewhere within a modest cabin, inside a dark kitchen with unwashed plates and cannikins and a mishmash of all sorts of glass vials, a young woman lay asleep. Buried among crumpled parchments full of scribbles — of herbs, creatures bones and a sketch labeled solanum lycopersicum — her eyes fluttered open at the loving stroke of a furless feline, and a gentle knock on the door.
The invitation had come that night. A very rare occasion it was for the young woman, being invited. It would have been far more of a pleasantry had that invitation been one to an ecstatic dance in the woods or a choir with the dead. There was a dance, and there was a choir, but the invitation was one to a ball. Grand festivities were never something she sees herself ever attending — unless those hosted by the other side, of course. But what was more surprising than an unwonted invite was the person who had come to hand it, in which the young woman couldn’t help but to raise an eyebrow of suspicion.
“I must admit. This is highly uncalled for. I should like to think you know why you’re here.” she remarked, her voice somewhat guttural and dead. The man standing in front of her looked nervous with his cloudy grey eyes darting minutely, taking careful observations of her house. But whatever insecurities he had he concealed them well, as if trained for years on how to do so, which he indeed must have been considering who he was.
“Are you the witch?” he asked. “The one everybody calls the harbinger of misfortune?” His voice was honeyed, but unlike those who cannot be trusted it was tinged with naivety, or perhaps more of innocence than anything, which was a wonder why he was even here tonight.
“I prefer to consider myself a soothsayer, but any epithet is fine.” She stroked the sphinx cat now curled up on her lap. “Sobriquets are the humans’ way of turning the unfamiliar to the familiar. I could not be bothered to correct them. ”
“And are you not human?”. There was pity in his eyes as he looked at her. She didn’t like it.
“You should know better, dear prince. It was your mother who banished magic in the first place. And people like me along with it. Not that there are many of us left.” Thunder boomed, and sudden wind blew the candles away. As he stood in the darkness, his golden blond hair wispy under the moonlight penetrating the window, he said “I need your help.”
There was something grave in his tone that fazed her enough to reconsider his presence. Appearing unconcerned, she brushed the sole of her robe to rid her attire from grime and dust. “For me to attend your fancy ball? Have you run out of wealthy petties to woo?”
“No. I need your magic. Something has happened to my sister, and now she’s missing. I have reasons to believe there is a larger concern at play, and that she’s a part of it.”
Slowly, the woman lifted her dark eyes to meet his. “You have no sister.”
His silence only made it all obvious. Even the least shrewd person could see he was hiding something. Better yet, he didn’t want this meeting known, especially not by his mother. The mystery of it all was nothing short of alluring to her. She could not resist the call to use magic. His request was a paradox in itself. She tore the envelope open, her feminine fingers holding out the card. She didn’t need light to know its content.
Smiling, in an almost cruel curve, she spoke. “This ball, I won’t have to dance, will I?”
“That is entirely yours to decide.” A small smile crossed his face for the briefest of moment, before the solemn and worried lines reappeared.
“Go now.” she ushered nonchalantly. “The border is no place for anyone after sunset.”
Surprisingly, he obliged. As he headed for the door, lifting his hood over his head, he looked back. “You haven’t told me your name.”
The witch flicked her fingers, and candles lit the room once more. The smell of incense were thicker than before, but heavier was the shadow that surrounded her like a veil made from midnight.
“Annika. My name is Annika Graile.”