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The customer was a woman of about forty, with stern yet elegant features, and the hat in her hands was one of Sophie's latest designs. The woman was examining it, admiring the way its blue-black cloth matched the fabric of her dress, and she seemed pleased with the black lace and neatly stitched cherries along the brim. However, there was a hint of doubt in her expression, and it was enough to warn Sophie that she might yet again lose a sale that day.

"It really is quite a charming hat," conceded the customer. She ran her gloved fingers over it as if not yet ready to part with it. "For all the nice little trinkets I have at home, though, I am wondering if I need it."

"Madame, if I may offer my opinion?" Sophie asked.

The client paused in her fidgeting to purse her lips. "Why of course, dear."

"I believe that hat is completely necessary to your style," Sophie said, guiding her to a mirror.

This intrigued the customer. She slipped the hat on her head and angled this way and that.

"My style?" she repeated. No other shopkeeper had mentioned it before. She looked down at the gray-clad young woman before her and wondered. "What do you mean?"

Sophie gave a small smile. "The hats pick their owner, madam, rather than the other way around." She gestured to her client's starched, blue-black dress. "If you'll pardon my boldness, you seem to be a rather conservative sort of person," Sophie admitted, "one who lives expensively, yet appreciates the simple luxuries. The hat that chooses you is tastefully ornate, and modest. Wouldn't you agree that this one perfectly suits your dress?"

The older woman nodded and turned her head slowly. "I see, I see." A smile broke through her stern countenance. "You are quite the saleswoman, young lady! Fine, I shall take it with me."

Sophie could barely hide her relief as she told her the price, and the woman opened her purse and carefully counted out the amount. Sophie went to get change, but when she tried to hand it to her customer, the woman gave her a long, thoughtful look.

"Keep it."

The Hatter girl could not disguise her astonishment. "Madam, it's far too much."

"You think I don't know that?" The woman eyed her pointedly for a moment before smiling once again. "Have a good day," she sent over her shoulder as she strolled towards the front door.

Sophie was astounded. However, habit saved her, and she quickly recovered her manners in time to return the farewell and thank her for her kindness. The customer paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"Tell me, girl," she said. The stitched cherries on her new hat seemed to glitter as she turned her head. "Do you have any siblings?"

Sophie blinked and bit her bottom lip. Her hand twisted slightly in the gray material of her skirt as she quietly cleared her throat.

"I am the eldest of three," she said with accustomed practice.

The woman at the door sighed and shook her head. "Such a waste..." she mumbled. Then she opened the door and carried herself outside, the words "such a waste" left lingering in the air behind her.

An hour had come and gone, Rose along with it. Little could Sophie forget the look of pure joy on Rose's beau's face when he had been told the news.

When the young couple had left, Sophie had been surprised to feel a small twinge of pain in her chest, like her heart was mourning a dream that her mind had long ago locked in its cupboards. She had patted the place above it and shook her head, "Silly thing," before moving to the back workroom to collect a few of the incomplete hats that Ariel had left her.

Solitude had never been a problem for Sophie. In fact, growing up with two sisters, she welcomed the moments she had all to herself. She passed the quiet hours in the shop in comfort. Customers came and went; some purchased something, others did not. She spent most of her spare time that afternoon sewing fabric leaves onto a felt hat of tangerine orange. It was a charming hat, and Sophie could not help but think it would suit someone silly, like her stepmother Fanny.

Fifteen minutes until four, Sophie started glancing towards the door. The time came and went; still no sign of the girls.

Sophie fidgeted. All the fun must have distracted them. After all, they were probably having fun, and there was a lot of traffic on May Day. Then four-fifteen came, four-twenty...

It was four-thirty when the first of the shop girls came back.

Ariel walked through the front door, unaccompanied and beaming.

"Ah, how fun!" she exclaimed, tossing her hat on a hat-rack. She immediately picked it up again, realizing that she had put it with the ones for sale.

"Oh, hello, Sophie," Ariel said when she noticed her. "Sorry for being late. Got stuck in an excruciatingly long line at Cesari's and didn't get through until about ten minutes ago. Saw your sister, though. Well, slightly." Ariel tapped her chin. "I think I glimpsed her hair through all of those gents who hang about her counter."

Her energy caught Sophie off guard after sitting in near silence. It always amazed her how quickly Ariel vacillated between bored and energized. After a moment, she had recovered enough to say, "Well, alright then."

Sophie smiled as she thought of her sister, Martha, and the attention she got at the pastry shop. She planned to visit her later that evening.

"But wait!" Sophie called, stopping Ariel when the shop girl began meandering towards the back room. "Are Henrietta and Charlotte with you? I assumed they might be."

"Oh, them?" Ariel shrugged and stifled a yawn. "We separated about half an hour after we left."

"I see. Ah, um, do you know where they might be?"

Ariel was slowly slipping back into her careless workroom attitude, but at this question she paused. Her fingers came up to tap her chin.

"Unfortunately not. You put Henrietta into quite a tizzy, so I got away from her as quickly as possible. You see, Sophie," Ariel shifted forward, "Henrietta usually shows us a pretty good time, but sometimes she gets into these moods, you know what I mean? It's as if she can't listen to reason, and I find it extremely annoying. That's why I'm thankful for Charlotte." She crossed her arms. "I don't know what she whispers in her ear, but it usually calms Henrietta down."

Sophie's frown furrowed her smooth brow with worry. "I see. Thank you, Ariel."

The freckled girl shrugged. She shortly headed to the back room, leaving Sophie to her thoughts.

Five o'clock came.

Rose arrived aglow with romantic thoughts until she wondered why the shop was so quiet. When Sophie told her she was an hour late, and two of the girls had not shown up, Rose was both repentant and indignant.

"I am so, so sorry, Sophie, I must have heard the time wrong! But they are practically treasonous!" she exclaimed. She would have marched out to find them, if to make up for her own error, had not Sophie stopped her.

Sophie decided. She realized that if Henrietta had any intention of coming back, she would have done so by then. It was possible that Charlotte was a victim in this situation, but she was free to make her own decisions.

It was all rather irritating. However, years of being an eldest sister had taught her how to be calm in trying situations, and it was with much reasoning and logic that she brought her final decision to Rose and Ariel in the back room.

"You two can go home now," she announced an hour before closing.

Of course, they immediately jumped to conclusions.

"Did we do something wrong?" Rose cried.

"Yup. Slight fever," Ariel declared, actually placing her palm against Sophie's forehead. "Just as we suspected."

Sophie protested and shooed them away, stating that she was perfectly healthy. "Besides," she explained. "I don't want you going home in the dark, especially on May Day. There are too many strangers in Market Chipping, and they could easily snatch you away."

Rose did her best to persuade Sophie otherwise, but one can do little to change a Hatter's made mind. Ariel was perfectly content with the decision. Not once did she conceive to argue with her supervisor. So without further ado, Ariel and Rose gathered their things and were swept out the front door.

And it was about five thirty-five when Sophie finally locked up the hat shop.

The evening air felt warm as she stepped outside. She stood there a minute on the steps, drinking in the late wash of sunshine as dusk prepared to settle over Market Chipping. It was the first time she had been out of the hat shop since early morning. The sky was a gentle blue, with occasional large, fluffy clouds ambling across it, and the western horizon had more than a touch of pink and yellow. A cool snippet of breeze was in the air. It twirled around and tickled Sophie's cheek as she reached up to adjust the ribbon on her plain straw hat.

A great quantity of people were still on the streets. Those of respectable families were retiring for the day, while different characters emerged from the workshops and the shadows of the alleyways. However, Market Chipping was a reputable town, so even the most disagreeable of these characters had a tendency to keep to themselves.

Sophie took a deep breath and stepped off the steps. Off to Cesari's then.

She caught the tram and let it take her halfway there, then traveled the rest of the way on foot. Sophie always made it a point to walk with her back straight, her eyes forward, and her chin at just the right height, not too high and not too low. Sophie walked in a manner that attracted as little attention as possible. She had the ability of walking invisibly down to an art.

She could see Cesari's across the square. Martha would be inside, her light hands passing out pastries on demand and her lips quirking up with that ever-ready smile. Now that Sophie was this close, she realized how very much she wanted to see her youngest sister. Rose was darling, but it wasn't quite the same.

There were many people between Sophie and Cesari's. She slowly started squeezing her way through the crowd in the general direction of the pastry shop.

"Um, excuse me. Excuse me, pardon me! I'm sorry, sir, might I get through? Excuse me, ma'am..." was Sophie's progress through the oblivious and excited group of people.

Near the edge of the crowd, Sophie spotted a blessed clearing that would make her path so much easier.

"Ah, thank goodness!" she murmured, picking up her pace. She was taking her first step out from the crowd when someone bumped into her from behind.

"Whoa! Sorry, lady!" came to her ears as she stumbled out into the clearing. Her hat went flying from her head as she tried to regain her balance.

Sophie's tight braid loyally held, but wisps of ginger hair stuck out all over her head. She attempted to smooth them down with her hands as she looked around. Her straw hat lay on the ground a few feet away, having miraculously landed upright. Sophie sighed in relief and walked towards it.

Crunch!

Sophie watched in dismay as a man's shoe punched right through it. The man stopped in surprise and picked it off the ground. Bits of straw floated through the air.

"Oh, um, sorry, miss!" he apologized when he saw Sophie standing there. "Really, I am. But I'm kind of in a hurry! Here -" He gave Sophie her hat and hastily pressed some coins into her palm. "Buy yourself a new one. Sorry!" He ran off with a wave, leaving Sophie standing there looking after him.

She briefly slid her eyes shut. For a moment, she had to battle her rising frustration. First the shop was losing business, then there were issues with the shop girls, and now her poor hat had been all but annihilated. Sophie was a tough girl, but a person can only deal with so much in an hour. However, when she opened her eyes and looked at the money that poor man had put in her hand, the corners of her mouth reluctantly twitched upwards in amusement.

"I sell hats for a living," she murmured. "Why on earth would I need to go out and buy one?"

Shaking her head, she tucked her ruined hat under her arm and slipped the money into her pocket. Then she glanced ahead to see if she could spot Cesari's.

The hair on her nape prickled.

Sophie froze.

Someone was watching her.

Her initial reaction was to look around carefully, but she had learned that sometimes the quickest way to dispatch a starer was to shame them out of their rudeness. So Sophie lifted her chin and gazed about, boldly, daring whoever it was to make themselves known.

She locked eyes with one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

And he was wearing one of her hats.

His gaze was full of self-possession and almost brazen the way he returned her stare. He wore an open-necked white shirt with billowy sleeves, and draping over his shoulders was a robe-like jacket with large black and red diamonds. His top hat, like the jacket, also had a black and red harlequin pattern, and even from a distance, Sophie could see that it was the one Rose had sold earlier.

Well, she hadn't been exaggerating when she said he was attractive, Sophie could hardly help thinking.

Her eyes must have somehow conveyed her thoughts, for he suddenly smiled alluringly and began walking towards her.

Sophie's eyes widened.

She hurriedly looked away from his side of the clearing and headed rapidly towards Cesari's. She could not believe that she, Sophie Hatter, had almost been accosted!

"What was I thinking, staring at him for so long?" she chastised herself, looking at the ground. "It's always been 'don't maintain eye contact,' 'avoid eye contact,' so why did I make eye contact?"

"Hey, my eyes aren't that bad, are they?" murmured a low voice next to her ear.

Sophie's heart practically leapt in her throat as she whirled around.

The man in the harlequin hat narrowly avoided getting slapped in the face by her braid. He looked down at her with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. Then his flirtatious side stirred.

"My, my, you are a dangerous little mouse, aren't you?"

"What do you want?" Sophie demanded. In her opinion, if there was any stranger to avoid having extended conversation with it was a handsome one. It was all too easy to be swayed from reason, or so she'd heard.

She took a step back as he leaned towards her.

"Me?" he asked innocently. His uneven blonde locks swayed off his shoulders against his cheekbones, and a red jewel that dangled from his left earlobe gave him a roguish semblance. "Why, nothing in particular. It's just that I noticed the incident with your hat." He gestured to the ruined head-piece under her arm, his voice still what Sophie suspected was his natural, even tone. "I wanted to give you my regrets. It was a rather unfortunate accident. And the man hadn't even the decency to stop."

"Well, your concern is noted," Sophie replied uneasily. She twisted the ribbon on her crushed hat and turned to walk away.

The man neatly blocked her path, and Sophie was instantly on guard.

"I just got a marvelous idea," he declared, flashing her a brilliant smile. "How about you come have a drink with me, and I'll show you a charming little hat shop I discovered today?"

"No, thank you," Sophie said firmly. She knew that he was talking about her own Hatter's and was only glad that she had been in the back room upon his visit. "And I already have a hat shop I frequent."

"It can't be better than mine," he teased, drawing closer. His presence made her a bit flustered.

"O-oh, it's much better, I can assure you," she weakly bantered. Then she took another step back. What is this foolishness? Sophie mentally chastised herself. She looked at the sunset. I need to get to Cesari's!

"Goodbye," Sophie said curtly.

"Allow me to be your escort this evening, then." He moved his arm from under the black and red jacket and offered it gallantly to Sophie. "It wouldn't be right to let a delicate mouse like you traverse Market Chipping alone this late in the evening, no matter how bold your stare might be," he added with a wink.

It was then that Sophie caught a lilt of something in his voice, something that was unfortunately very familiar.

He pitied her. He saw her plain gray dress and assumed that since she was alone, she must want company. And he thought himself the perfect candidate to do her a favor.

Rose was wrong, Sophie thought wryly, that arrogant hat entirely suits him.

Completely ignoring his offered arm, Sophie tilted up her chin and marched around him. "I can take care of myself," she muttered irritably. She was tired of people's pity. And if she was to accept anyone's favor, it surely would not a handsome, cocky man's who stopped previously engaged young ladies on the street.

Sophie was a few feet away when she imagined she heard him utter, "Of course you can."

Then suddenly, she was falling.

Absolutely nothing had been on the street before her. It was as if Sophie had tripped on thin air. However, if she had known any better, she might have identified it as magic that caused the mischief.

The ground was quickly rising to meet Sophie's shocked face when the man reached out and caught her wrist. Electricity, a power, as she would later describe it, rushed through Sophie's body from where their skin made contact. And then it disappeared, chased away by the rapid beats of her heart.

Her wrist still in his grasp, Sophie whirled around to face him. Their gazes locked again, but this time, Sophie looked carefully. His eyes were like marbles: beautiful, blue-green, glassy... Yet as Sophie stared into them, she realized that something was missing; she didn't know what but it was too important for her to trust him.

The man took her hand into both of his.

"Are you alright?" There was a twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. His expression quickly turned to surprise as she jerked her wrist from him.

"Do not touch me!" she snapped. The calm, objective Sophie was having a hard time controlling her emotions. A mixture of anger, attraction, and anxiety swept through her, and she was sure it had something to do with the power she had felt when he touched her wrist. "Just don't touch me!"

And with that, Sophie spun around and dashed off towards the haven of Cesari's, leaving a very intrigued stranger in her wake.

A breeze teased the blonde stranger's locks as his eyes followed the gray-mouse girl into Cesari's.

Any passerby who glanced at him might assume him relaxed, but a closer look would reveal a mesh of emotions. Curiosity, surprise and, well... His red and black jacket-coat swished behind him as he melded back into the crowd.

The target he sought was a jewelry store on a street that branched out from Market Chipping's main square. As a frequent customer, the man knew it well, but the jewelry did not interest him today.

He paused outside the store's window. Its broad, smooth pane almost perfectly captured the people walking behind him. That's what he loved about it. He stepped up to the mirror-like glass and overlooked the quizzical stares.

"Hmm." The blonde stranger examined his features in the reflection. His blue-green, thickly lashed eyes traced the cocky curve of his brow, down his straight nose, to the lips that had tempted many a woman from reason. He tilted his head and ensured that not a speck marred the clean-shaven edge of his jaw, and that his cheekbones were not giving him a hollow cast. He patted his hair and flicked a sparkling red earring.

The corners of his mouth turned down in puzzlement. The man continued staring at himself.

Then his gaze alighted on the harlequin hat.

He reached up and took off the accessory. Hiding it behind his back, he struck a gallant pose. A turning of this way and that, the sweeping of a bow, the well-accustomed execution of a wink. The stranger smiled at himself, tried his wiles on himself, and soon he stood there as before, a confused expression on his face.

He slipped the hat back on.

More than a few passerbys watched this handsome young man ogle himself in the jeweler's window. They saw him smirk and make gestures that would have made any young lady swoon in pleasure had he directed his attention at her instead. The hat came on and off: on, pose; off, pose; on, pose; off. This continued for several moments until the stranger finally left the hat on his head and stared at his reflection.

"I don't understand," he murmured. The normally self-assured, attractive man felt utterly perplexed. "I'm perfect! Why did she reject me?"

Sophie pressed against a wall inside Cesari's entrance, clutching her crushed straw hat to her chest. She fixated her wary eyes on the bakery's entrance, wondering if that flirtatious, incorrigible stranger would walk through those doors after her. She did not know how she might react if he continued to pressure her, but she might make a scene if he touched her again. Her wrist still tingled.

Minutes passed as she stood there, an inconspicuous wisp of a person amid a boisterous, colorful crowd. A steady stream of customers poured into the popular bakery, laughter in their mouths and food on their minds. Their feet shuffled in clustering lines that led to a great counter; their love of conversation and lack of urgency made it so that more people were coming into the shop but few were leaving.

Sophie would have watched the door longer. However, the sunlight glimmering through the windows had taken on dusky orange and yellow hues, and match-bearers began kindling lamps in the recesses to ward away the oncoming shadows. If she did not see her sister now, she would go home in the dark, not an appealing option, considering the gossip of wizards and rogues in the area.

Hopefully Martha can meet me, Sophie thought, a bit uneasy.

Stepping away from the wall, she tried to calm her trembling nerves. Her head felt exposed without her hat to cover it. She glanced back towards the doorway. Then a large gentleman sidled into view, and the crowd once more took possession of her attention.

Sophie took a deep breath and wove her way around the clusters of people, careful to avoid waving arms or heads suddenly tossed back in laughter. Crowds did not seem to like Sophie. Someone bumped into her. An elbow jarred her in the side. She crept up the line towards the counter. However, her inconspicuousness had its consequences. Squashed toes, cigar smoke in her face, nearly knocked over twice! While Sophie considered herself lucky to avoid conversation, how can a person not feel where their limbs are going?

"Well!" she exclaimed quietly in growing annoyance. She glanced around, half expecting the blonde stranger to reappear and offer her his "regrets" for these people's insensitivities. Of course, he did not, and she continued on with tacit frustration.

A large group of gentlemen had gathered around the counter when Sophie neared the front of the line. They riveted their attention on someone behind the counter.

"Hello, lovely, would you mind bringing me a loaf of fresh bread and two of those delicious pastries there?"

"Don't bother with him, dear! As you can see, I am the better-looking and much more charming customer -"

"You know, I came here for dessert; a smile of yours should do nicely."

"Hey, over here, Lettie - I mean, Martha!"

And so on went the banter. Sophie bit her lip in anticipation and stood on her toes, trying to see around the gentlemen.

"Excuse me." Someone tapped on her shoulder none too gently. Sophie turned in mild surprise to see a woman with a rather unpleasant glower.

"Yes?"

"Your behavior is distracting," the woman said disapprovingly. She lifted her eyebrow for emphasis.

Sophie tapped her boots impatiently. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'm not here to order," she replied, then turned back towards the counter. She ignored the woman's grumble. Sophie had not meant to sound rude, but she really did not have time to get into a discussion.

Finally, a rather young gentleman pulled away from the counter, lanky shoulders slumped. Thick brown hair peeked out from beneath his flat cap, which he tugged down over his glum, tawny face. Not paying attention to where he was going, he collided with her.

"Oof!" He glanced down at his arm to find it covered with bits of straw from Sophie's hat. "Hey!" he complained. "Look what you did to my suit!"

Sophie stared at him indignantly. Yet another person who bumped into her and refused to take responsibility!

"Excuse me, you mean what you did!" she huffed. "You should watch where you're going!"

The young man looked taken aback. He put his palms up in defense. "Hey, wait a second-"

"Sophie?" suddenly interrupted a feminine voice. "Oh, I'd recognize that tone anywhere! Let me see."

Sophie jerked her attention around the young man's shoulder to see a familiar and welcoming sight. Martha leaned on the counter in a space where the gentlemen had parted. Her lovely cheeks were flushed from running around getting orders. Golden hair piled elegantly atop her head, hair that Sophie remembered combing the tangles out of many a time, and wisps had come loose to frame her fair face.

Martha smiled at Sophie cheerily. "Sophie! I knew it was you!" she called over the noise. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Who's that?" someone asked.

"She's my sister!"

"Your sister?"

"Well," said a tall gentleman, clapping the increasingly mortified young man on the shoulder, "if she's Miss Martha's sister, then you had better start apologizing, Michael! You need all the help you can get if you want to court Cesari's beauty here, don't get on your potential in-law's dangerous side!"

Poor Michael flushed to the roots of his hair. Sophie almost forgot her agitation long enough to feel sorry for him when -

"Sorry," he mumbled in a clearly unrepentant tone. "But you got in my way, you know. Now if you'll excuse me, someone's waiting for me outside!"

Sophie fairly gaped at the retreating young man. If he had been hoping to gain her favor concerning Martha, then he had gone the wrong way about it!

Sophie heard one gentleman comment to his friend, "That boy's probably going out there to meet that Jenkins fellow."

"The sorcerer? Tricky fellows, those blokes."

"Yeah, especially this one. Poor Michael doesn't have a chance with the ladies as long as he's apprenticed to the Sorcerer Jenkins!" the first gentleman cackled.

Sophie felt a thin arm hook around hers. Martha eyed her crushed hat despite her smile and guided the two of them back behind the counter.

"Come, Sophie," Martha said, the flush in her cheeks now very similar to Michael's. "Let's go somewhere we won't be disturbed."

The protests from the gentlemen were nearly deafening.

"Oh, how cruel, darling! Before I get my bread and pastries?"

"What, you're going on break for her? What about me, and the long hours I pleaded with you earlier?"

"Your sister can go first, but it's my turn next, right?"

Sophie felt her own cheeks flare at their bold remarks. She seriously considered reprimanding them.

"Scoundrels!" she muttered in astonishment. "Do you often deal with this?"

"One way or another."

Martha's lips twitched in amusement as she leaned through the doorway to the kitchen. Sophie watched curiously as her little sister cupped a hand to her mouth.

"Mrs. Primrose!" Martha called, elegantly dodging aside as a worker hurried past her with a tray of fresh loaves. "I'm retiring from the register to take my break!"

Sophie heard several sharp intakes of breath. She glanced behind her to see several of the counter gentlemen wide-eyed.

"Ooh, lovely!" answered a deep voice. A wet towel slapped a counter. "It's too hot in here! You go enjoy your break, dear. I'll gladly manage the front for you!"

Sophie and Martha had to step back as Mrs. Primrose emerged from the kitchens. The full-bodied woman took up most of the doorway as she shuffled through it. Her gray-tinted hair piled atop her head similarly to Martha's, with quite a few hairs out of place, and she carried her shoulders in a way that made Sophie want to say, "Yes, ma'am!" to anything she might ask. Her broad face smiled pleasantly down at Sophie.

"Well, now, you must be that wonderful eldest sister we keep hearing about! Fancy that you would be the one to get Miss Martha on break. Ah, and these are my favorite customers!" Mrs. Primrose exclaimed, ambling up to the counter before Sophie could even give the customary greeting. Mrs. Primrose leaned on her elbows and waved a thick finger mischievously at the few remaining gentlemen. The woman gave Sophie the slightest wink before proceeding to address Martha's admirers.

"Yes, yes, I know, crumpets, Martha's gone. Now are you going to buy something, or are you going to keep holding up my line?"

The last glimpse Sophie had of the gentlemen was of them fumbling excuses as they struggled to squeeze through the crowd towards the exit.

Martha was still laughing when she settled the two of them in a storeroom.

"Haha! Oh, I'm sorry, Sophie," she said, sobering a bit when she saw her eldest sister's wearied and not very amused face. She laced her fingers together and twiddled her thumbs, a habit she had developed when she was a toddler. Sophie could tell she was lying if she suddenly stopped twiddling her thumbs. "It's always so funny when sweet Mrs. Primrose comes out, though," she continued, flashing Sophie a grin. "The boys act so terrified of her!"

Sophie wilted a little on the crate Martha had offered her, feeling her stiff façade slip as weariness crawled in and made a nest on her shoulders. Who knew May Day would be this stressful? She managed a small smile, though, at Martha's mirth.

"I am glad for Mrs. Primrose," Sophie commented. "You appear to have many admirers."

"Oh, they're not my admirers!" Martha laughed again. "At least some of them aren't. One or two you saw tonight were my friends, and they were only teasing, trying to embarrass me."

Sophie wasn't sure what to think of this. She had never had a gentleman as a friend, but if she did, she was certain he wouldn't yell like those at the counter. Her face reddened at the thought.

She observed her sister's fair hands. "And that rude young man who ran into me? Is he just one of your friends, too?"

Martha's thumbs stopped twiddling. She reached up to pat her golden hair. "Michael? Of course he's a friend! We're not, we haven't... I'm really sorry about how he treated you, by the way. He's not normally like that."

Sophie tucked away her observation for later. She was tempted to give Martha her opinion on the subject but decided against it. If there was any girl in Market Chipping who knew what she wanted, it was her little sister. Martha already had her heart set on having ten children! And, being considered the cleverest of the three Hatter girls, Martha was sure to make the right decision in choosing a husband.

Sophie's thoughts ceased wandering when she noticed Martha eyeing her crushed hat. One was never quite ready to discuss an exhausting day.

"Now, Sophie, what happened to you? I don't think I've seen you this flustered since we were children! Remember when Lettie sewed your boots to a hat and tried to sell them?"

Sophie frowned at the memory. Her first pair of heeled boots, tragically gone in a day at the cruel prank of her sister. Her eyes roved dejectedly before lighted on her hat. She tugged it from under her arm and held it up, thinking its misfortune was a good place to begin.

"Someone stepped on my hat," Sophie lamented. The ruined head piece flopped over. More straw snowed to the floor.

Martha took the hat from her. "I'm sorry," she sympathized, examining it carefully. "I was wondering why you were running around the pastry shop with an indecently exposed head. Where on earth are you going to find a new hat?"

Sophie did not miss her sister's tone. She glanced up and - just as expected - met with a teasing glint in Martha's gray eyes.

Sophie clucked her tongue. "Really, Martha, it wasn't at all funny!"

"Of course not," Martha replied with a straight face as she offered Sophie back her hat. "But it still doesn't explain why you snapped at Michael."

"If you must know, someone pushed me, which made me lose my hat," Sophie explained, "and then a gentleman stepped on it, barely stopping to apologize." Her mind fumbled here. She skipped her encounter with the blonde stranger. "Then when I arrived here, it was utter chaos. Michael was practically asking for it by the time we collided."

"Asking for it?" Martha exclaimed, delighting in her sister's matter-of-fact manner. Her thumbs twiddled faster. "I think poor Michael has enough problems without having to ask for them!"

"Well, if he truly wanted to lessen his list, he should have avoided running into me today!" Sophie muttered, smoothing out her dress. Her thoughts slowly darkened. "As if my problems haven't bred enough already."

Martha chuckled. "I've really missed our talks together."

Sophie's story continued haltingly. The eldest Hatter confessed the recent deficiencies with the shop's finances. As her story progressed, her voice became taut as she shared her troubles with the shop girls, especially Henrietta's rudeness and the incident that had occurred this day.

Martha was quiet when she finished.

"Sophie," she said after a moment had passed. "How much do you like working in the shop?"

The question startled Sophie. "Well, it's never really been a matter of liking -"

"Exactly," Martha interrupted. "That's exactly it!"

"What is?"

Martha leaned forward. She studied Sophie earnestly. "You know I like my job, right?"

Her eldest sister nodded almost immediately.

"But when Lettie worked here, she didn't," Martha continued thoughtfully, bringing up their other sister. "Our mother thought she was doing her best for us when she first apprenticed Lettie to the bakery and me to the witch Mrs. Fairfax, but she decided by tradition. While I may be the youngest of three and believed to be the one to prosper most," she rolled her eyes, "I'd much rather be in the bakery. Lettie felt the same. That's why we switched places. According to tradition, she's never supposed to come to much, yet today she's learning spells under one of the best witches in the kingdom.

"And you," the youngest Hatter girl continued in frustration, "you think you're born to be stuck in that hat shop. You're all caught up in this 'tradition' thing too, because you're convinced you'll never be successful since you're the eldest!"

"But that's just it," Sophie said calmly to the age-old argument. "I am the eldest. And that makes it my duty to supervise the shop now that Father has passed, with Fanny often gone."

Sophie picked at the little bits of straw on her lap. A wistful smile graced her face. "Besides," she continued, "I don't have anyone to switch places with. You and Lettie used magic to look like each other and switch apprenticeships. When your disguises wore off, everyone was fine. Who can I disguise myself as?" She laughed and held up - "A hat? Maybe I can ride away on someone's head to seek my fortune."

Martha groaned. "The point is Lettie and I were unhappy and we did something about it. What about you?" Martha placed a hand over hers. Sophie gradually ceased fiddling with the straw. "When are you going to do something for yourself? When are you going to follow your heart?"

Sophie felt the pressure of her sister's touch and was silent. Follow her heart? How was she supposed to do that, when she didn't know what it wanted?

A light rapping sound came from the doorway. They turned to see a worker leaning into the storeroom, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Um, Mrs. Primrose didn't want to bother you, Miss Martha, since you have a visitor and all, but there's been a sudden influx of customers. Rowdy ones." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I -er, I mean, Mrs. Primrose needs your help."

"Okay, I'll be right there!"

The worker nodded and ducked out of there.

Martha sighed and rubbed her thumbs together. "Hurry, hurry, hurry, that's all we do around here." She eyed Sophie. "We shall have to continue this later. As for your shop girls, you need to tell Mother what happened. Hopefully she'll fire that Henrietta or something. Is Mother home yet, by the way?"

"No, Fanny is still away on business," Sophie said in alarm, "but I can't tell her, Martha, she has so many other concerns."

"You don't need Henrietta to succeed," Martha replied sternly. "You're lovely enough on your own to get customers, and besides it takes wits, not looks, to run a business properly."

Sophie was a bit stunned. Martha reached into one of her many apron pockets and pulled out a wrapped bundle. A twirl of hair fell across her cheek as she gave it to her eldest sister.

"I saved this for you," she said with a smile. "It's mushed, but it should still be tasty."

Sophie tugged back the wrapping and gasped in delight.

"A vanilla crème cake! I haven't had one of these in ages!" She waved her sister over and embraced her with one arm, admiring the dessert. Then she groaned. "I forgot to buy you and Lettie May Day gifts!"

"It's all right," Martha grinned.

Sophie wouldn't hear of it. She tried to give her the money from the man who stepped on her hat, but Martha crossed her arms. "You can put those right back! Mother doesn't give you a wage. Hold on to them, or better yet buy yourself something."

Reluctantly Sophie complied, and the sisters began walking towards the door. Sophie thought that May Day had turned out rather pleasant overall. Work had passed peaceably mostly, and she had made it in time to visit Martha. Never mind that incorrigible stranger who had bothered her that afternoon...

She caught Martha's sideways glance.

"What?"

Martha paused them in the doorway. "That's the second time that I've seen that look."

Sophie stiffened. Too late did she realize it might be best to act coy.

"Aha, I knew it!" Martha cried, placing her fists on her hips. "All right, I'm not moving until you spill."

Sophie bit her lip. If she complied, there was no telling how Martha might react. But if she refused, her sister would continue to press her and possibly bring Lettie in on it. She shuddered to think of their schemes!

"Fine! Promise not to tell Lettie."

"Promise!"

Sophie grimaced when her sister's thumbs remained motionless. "Well, shortly before I arrived here, an outrageous gentleman walked up to me and he, why he was just!" Really, how to describe that man? Jumping straight to the point, Sophie lifted her chin, warmth creeping into her cheeks. "I was accosted."

Silence.

Her younger sister gaped at her.

Drew in a deep breath.

"Excellent!" Martha exclaimed eagerly. "He was handsome, wasn't he?"

Sophie was shocked. Deeply and utterly shocked.

"Martha Hatter!" she sputtered.

"What? I'm just saying!" Her sister giggled. She hooked her arm around Sophie's and marched them down the hall. "So this outrageous gentleman approaches you! How did you react? Did you hide? Swat at him? You seemed rather peaked earlier." She glanced at Sophie's face. "I see, you yelled at him."

"Martha!"

"Don't worry, I'll get the full story later," Martha said with confidence.

They could hear a roar of voices from the other end of the hall, rising in volume as they neared. Sophie withdrew more and more into herself with every step.

Mrs. Primrose looked relieved to see Martha, as were many of the male customers on the opposite side of the counter.

Martha flashed them all a smile before turning to embrace Sophie. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Sophie held her hat close and nodded. She perceived that her little sister was becoming increasingly distracted. "I'd better get going then. See you later."

"Good seeing you again! And watch out for wizards!" she heard Martha yell after she plunged back into the crowd.

So they all keep telling me.

She stood in shock, not realizing the sun had set so quickly. Then she wished she had brought a shawl. Thick warmth from the pastry shop uncurled from her limbs within seconds of her leaving the brightly lit doorway, and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill. Overhead, a heavy haze drifted between her and the stars. It made Sophie feel very alone. She nearly hugged the lampposts lining the streets, if only to have the likeness of a companion while scuttling home.

As she crossed Market Square, the spot where she had seen the blonde stranger lay empty like an abandoned stage. For a moment, she could picture him standing in the middle with his teeth shining in a cat-like grin. Rubbing her wrist, she shivered and hurried past, her thick braid thumping against her back where his gaze might rest if he was still there.

At the edge of the square, she stopped.

Oh dear.

Unfortunately, several men were wandering the street she needed to take. Many appeared to be local laborers, finally off work and out enjoying the last bit of May Day festivities, and a couple of off-duty soldiers, a watchman strolling with a casting eye.

But the sailors: they were who worried her most. There seemed to be a lot of them, probably visiting from the nearby seaside town of Porthaven. They were usually a fun-loving and boisterous folk, but due to a recent string of incidents their reputation had soured. As a young woman, it was not in Sophie's best interest to go anywhere near them. Her nerves grew unsettled as she scanned the sailors leaning against the buildings, staring at passers-by. Walking through there would be like passing through a gauntlet.

Sophie stepped back and searched around. There should be a detour nearby.

She hedged around an old vendor with his cart, avoided an approaching group of people, and ducked successfully into a side street. The noises of Market Square dulled, then faded into the background. Her boots clicked dully on the cool stone ground, echoing against the close-pressing establishments. She heard the gentle tinkle of a wind chime from some distant doorway. She immediately relaxed, feeling a bit ridiculous for panicking into going another route.

"Sophie Hatter, why do you do this to yourself," she muttered, shaking her head, voice muffled in the thickening air. "After all, no one ever notices you, so why would they…"

It started like a knot. A pinch in her stomach that tightened, then grew. But then, with aggressive speed, it transformed into what she could only describe as dread. A dread that manifested the mannerisms of a snake, curling in her belly and twisting around with every step she took. Sophie's brow furrowed with this fresh bout of anxiety as she peered into the murkiness.

There's nothing back here, she tried to reason with herself, and her fingers tightened along the brim of her broken hat. So why did she feel like she was going to be sick?

Further ahead on the right, there was a single lantern. It was hanging diligently beside the window of a jewelry store, a place Sophie had seen but never visited.

Sophie stiffened when the hunched shape of a man emerged from the shadows. He was touching the window with his hands. Though his back faced her, Sophie stumbled as close to the opposing wall as possible. Her breathing quickened. Just as she was passing him, her sick feeling took a sharper twist, and she slowed considerably as it threatened to turn her stomach inside-out. She held her fist to her mouth.

The shadow man straightened. Slowly he swiveled around, in an odd constricted way, as if his waist down had frozen in place. The faint fingers of lamplight that reached him illuminated angles of his purple suit and pale yellow vest. She could see the edges of an orange bowtie on his collar, and a top hat of lavender balanced upon his head. But it was not pastel colors and bow ties that had Sophie frozen in place.

On his face, he wore a white half-mask. Below that, there were no visibly defined features: no mouth, no chin... The mask hid two eyes like two shifting pools of tar, shuddering as they scanned her.

Sophie shrank. The shadow man's left arm quivered, and suddenly he began swelling. Arms and legs and chest - expanding like hot air balloons!

Sophie recoiled in horror as his limbs bubbled like oil, thrashing and convulsing. Black goop oozed out all over him and - wait, no, he was the goop! The blob man's new and deformed body burst out of his suit as he shot up to loom darkly over her.

The next second he was lunging.

A scream tore from Sophie's throat. She ducked under the blob man just in time for him to splatter against the wall behind her. Her sweaty palms snatched up her skirts from under her pounding heels, and she ran. Air whooshed past her as the blob man recovered and chased after her. Further and further they raced down the side street. Sophie's heart battered madly in her chest. Her frantic gray eyes looked wildly ahead into the darkness as she rushed on.

She felt something cold, wet, and slimy touch her neck. It slid around her braid and yanked her backwards towards the pavement. She tried to pivot mid air and landed hard, scraping her knee and palms. Quickly, she rolled on her back and threw her hands up in defense.

"Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone!" she shrieked, terror and something else spilling out through those words. The blob man recoiled, backing down for a second. It gave Sophie time to jerk herself to her feet and start running again, but she heard a sickening sludgy sound as he pursued with renewed vigor.

She had to shake him from her trail. Rapidly, she pivoted on her heel and took a right. Her clumsiness briefly pitched her into a wall. Then she went left, took another right, went left again. The sounds of her pursuer faded further into the distance until all Sophie could hear was her own panicked and labored breathing.

She eventually reduced to a brisk walk while constantly looking behind herself, a palm to her chest as she attempted to calm her heaving lungs. There was a stitch in her side. Her head ached. Her braid had unraveled after the creature had grabbed it and it hung in a wavy mass past her shoulders. She reached up a clammy, shaky hand to push it back.

She hadn't passed a single person in the back alleyways other than the blob man. Warily she glanced at every shadow. She turned down another street, the only one she could see, but a wall of darkness met her.

Sophie turned back and froze. The blob man was coming her way! Or at least, another one like him. This one was groping and sniffing his way on the ground, his purple tux glowing slightly from another lamp. He was rounder than the other one. When the second blob man saw her, he began bubbling.

"Not again," Sophie whispered. Her breath hitched in her throat. She plunged down the dark alleyway as she listened to the unforgettable, squelching sound of it launching itself.

The second time was much harder than the first. Sophie had already given the first run almost all she had, not to mention the long and tiring day had taken its toll. Fear and adrenaline were her driving force. But Sophie had a feeling it might not be enough to outrun her pursuer who, although slower than the first, still had speed and purpose enough to be close on her heels.

"Drat!" Sophie muttered between gasps. "I should have... exercised between… making all those... hats!"

Not to mention it was nearly coal black: no lamps, no moonlight. Sophie kept bumping into things and tripping as she struggled to find a way out. She ran past what she thought was a building when her peripheral caught sight of a glow. There, some light! People!

She dashed towards it in desperation. Her boots slammed into the cobblestones as she sensed the blob man getting closer. Once again, her heart jerked in her chest as something cold and wet touched one of her wrists swinging behind her.

She rounded the corner towards the light and rammed smack-dab into a large, hard, warm chest. Big, rough hands shot up to steady her as she stumbled back.

"Whoa, easy there, lass!" boomed the surprised voice of a man. Sophie jerked her head back around to see if the blob man had caught up, but a palm cupped her cheek and forced her gaze back to the front. Her vision spun.

It took a moment for her startled gray eyes to focus upon the clean-shaven face in front of her. The large man grinned.

"Well, lookee' here, mate, seems I've caught a little mouse!"

A second man, even taller than the first, leaned around his shoulder and flicked his gaze up and down Sophie's frame.

"Did you now?"

Sophie glanced back and forth between them with a painfully sharp mind. In a second, she took in the kerchiefs around their necks, their hair in loose ponytails, the tattoos on their arms, and the blue button-up togs.

Drat!

Sailors.

Sophie only had a moment to chide her stupidity when the sailor whose palm was holding her face stroked her cheek with his thumb. She smacked it away.

"Ho, ho, you've got a live one there!" chuckled the second sailor as Sophie hastily disengaged herself from the arm encircling her waist. She stumbled backwards to put distance between them and gingerly touched her scraped and stinging palms together. Her body trembled. The blonde sailor that she had slapped shook his reddened hand.

"I don't believe it, mate. My first rejectin'!"

The second sailor, a brunette, snorted. "What're you talkin' about? You was rejected the second your mum looked at 'cha."

"Ouch, mate, you're beastly."

Sophie risked another glance to see if the blob man had followed when a sound startled her. The blonde sailor had planted a hand against the doorframe beside her, and he leaned forward with a suggestive smile.

"Hey, couldn't help noticin' you ran straight into my arms, you lookin' for me?"

"No!" the eldest Hatter exclaimed before ducking her head. Avoid eye contact, avoid eye contact. "I-I'm in a hurry. My family is expecting me."

"She really is a lil mouse!" the second sailor exclaimed in amusement.

His friend leaned down to get a better angle of her. "Aye, how old are you, anyhow? You live in this town?"

"Please let me pass."

"Obviously not interested in you, mate," chortled the second sailor.

The first sailor sighed. "Robert, you green sprog, how'm I supposed to practice my wooin' when you keep discouragin' her? An' back away there. I think you're scarin' the lass with that bushy upper lip of yours."

"My 'stache?"

Sophie couldn't take it. Gripping her skirts, she prepared to run -

"Well, mayhaps she's cuter when she's scared."

Cute? Sophie's chin lifted with a snap, but to her shock hair was suddenly spilling over her shoulders. Horrified, she grabbed her head. Her braid must have come undone while she was running! Is that what this was about? Did they think she was trying to, that she -

"Pay no attention to that obnoxious cad." The first sailor offered her a burly elbow. "How about I make it up ta' you with a nice mug o' grog, eh lil lass? It always hits the spot."

"Now who's the cad? Ladies don't drink grog, Jim," scoffed Robert, "it's a proper cup o' tea she'll be wantin' at this hour. What do you say, mousie?" he demanded as he reached for her other arm.

A cool hand slid over Sophie's rigid shoulder.

The touch was elegantly authoritative with a hint of possessiveness. Within that touch, Sophie felt her freedom to escape these men. She felt hope that this bewildering day was finally going to end.

And barely a moment after, a dread ten times more intense than anything she had felt with the blob men gripped her nerves like drawn threads. Before she could collapse from panic, or the goosebumps on her skin could break out in a cold sweat, the owner of the hand spoke.

Sophie instantly calmed.

"There you are, sweetheart," the visitor soothed in rich timbre. "Sorry I'm late. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Startled, the sailors released Sophie. The pressure lifted from her shoulder as the three of them turned.

Sophie glanced up. Her heart seemed to skip a beat.

A tall woman in black gazed down at them.

Several streets away, in a place forsaken for the night, the blonde stranger hovered outside the jewelry shop yet again. The shop's broad window was dull, dimmed by a hazy sky without stars, but the man was not studying his reflection; his interest lay in the black goop splattered against the glass.

An unsteady breeze swept hair in his eyes, but he ignored it.

"There's more all over this wall," someone commented from behind him, "it's like they were attacking something."

The blonde stranger weighed this observation before smoothly turning around. He watched as his younger companion, shoulders tense, rubbed his night-dampened brown hair.

"But this doesn't make sense," the youth exclaimed. "I thought we had at least a few more months. Why is she here? Did she find us?"

The blonde stranger, too, felt troubled, in fact troubled twice over because he knew. It wasn't often that he made mistakes. He slipped off the harlequin hat and tapped the well-crafted brim, debating how to tell him. "Say, how about a short lesson?" he said with a half smile.

The younger man appeared exasperated, as if to say, "Really? Now?" but remained silent as the older man explained.

"We magicians are unique." He flicked his fingers and a puff of snow burst into the air. "Like snowflakes. Although there are thousands of them, no two snowflakes are alike. Magic is the same way. Think of it as everyone's magic having a distinct scent."

"Scent?" the younger man asked quizzically. "You mean like your hyacinth stuff?"

The blonde stranger arched a brow.

Even in the dark, the younger man understood that expression. "Ah, sorry, master. I meant cologne. Never mind." He scratched his ear. "I think I understand."

The blonde stranger studied his weary apprentice. Fruitless days of intense searching in Market Chipping had really drained them. Now that she was here, it was going to be impossible to search this town. "You see -" He paused at the sound of nearby noises. "Basically, Michael," he continued quickly to his apprentice, "I believe she's finally discerned my magic's scent. Traces of our magic can actually linger on nearby objects after we perform spells. That's how she's tracking us." He slipped the harlequin hat back on his head, suddenly feeling taller. He really liked this new hat. "I haven't taught you this yet, but I normally mask my magic when away from home and must have forgotten once."

Twice, actually. What he did not want to confess was his uncovered use of magic earlier that day: one impulsive spell to trip that stubborn girl so he could catch her, the other to improve a slight, unlikely, probably imaginary imperfection he thought he had seen in his reflection. Necessary sacrifices, of course, just ill-timed.

Abruptly, a loud, sludgy noise sounded from close around the corner, and Michael - the young man Sophie had bumped into at Cesari's and the man's apprentice - stiffened in dismay.

"Master, was that -"

"The April twenty-seventh incantation."

"Huh?"

"April twenty-seventh," the blonde stranger repeated. He moved to stand next to Michael.

"Oh, four days ago. Um, right. Was it the air spell?"

"Hurry, Michael."

"Yes, master, I'm trying!" The fifteen-year-old squinted and began chanting under his breath.

An air current whirled up beneath their feet to form a small funnel which quickly twisted around them and gained intensity with Michael's every utterance. The "master" held onto his hat with one hand as his jacket-coat whipped about in the wind. A gust, violent in its brevity, tried to urge him off-balance. He stood firm, but glanced at his apprentice, whose brow furrowed tightly in his concentration.

We'll need to work on control, the blonde stranger thought. He'd rarely interrupt a spell to give correction.

An unsettled expression crept over his face when he stared once more down the narrow street, and as the purple sleeve of a slime minion slithered around the corner, the men vanished in a whirl of air.

"Oof!"

Michael winced as he landed on his rump, but he avoided the temptation to rub the sore spot, having been trained better. Besides, he was in the presence of one more sensitive than a noble. Through the dark, he discerned the shape of his mentor crouching just a few feet away. He was peering over the roof's edge into haziness below. It was just like him, to be so indifferent after a powerful spell.

Wait. They were on a roof.

Michael sighed in frustration. "Pastries," he mumbled. He had hoped that transportation spell would land them, oh, somewhere on the ground.

He discovered it was worse than he expected after walking carefully across the tiles and joining his teacher's side. They were on top of the jewelry shop. The funnel had not even carried them a block! Looking down immediately distracted Michael from his failure.

Sludge monsters filled the street. In the fuzzy lamplight, even fuzzier from twenty feet up, they seemed like a thin purple stream spotted with ink, swelling and rippling.

Michael gasped quietly. "That's a lot."

"She's getting impatient," his mentor whispered.

Michael glanced at him and noted a wild gleam in his blue-green eyes. The apprentice leaned back warily. "Master H- Master Jenkins."

His mentor looked at him sharply. Michael stared right back. "Master," he pleaded in a whisper, "what are you planning to do?"

His esteemed Master Jenkins, the same wizard from Porthaven who shop girls had sighed over that morning, stood.

"We're leaving tonight."

"Huh? But you said -"

"Michael," Wizard Jenkins interrupted. His voice was so quiet, Michael had to strain to hear. "I can't risk it. This is the closest I've seen her get in years."

"Yes, but..." Michael hesitated. He did not want to leave Market Chipping yet, not because their searching had been unsuccessful but for selfish reasons. He blushed. These days with Martha had not been enough. If they left now, he may never get to see her again. However, his mentor's safety was more important than these feelings he had.

Michael gritted his teeth and shook his head, and his sore heart. "Ah. You're right. We should go. Before the sludge monsters discover us."

"Yes."

Wizard Jenkins gracefully stood. Michael was certain that had there been moonlight, his mentor's silhouette would have been beautiful and terrible to behold, like a heartless god more than a man. The blonde man tugged his harlequin jacket more securely over his shoulders and turned to leave. Unexpectedly, he stopped.

"Master?" Michael followed the older man's gaze over the edge of the roof. Something plate-sized and yellow was being passed among the blob men. Michael furrowed his brow in puzzlement and asked what it was.

"A crushed hat."

The wizard's expression was closed, indecipherable as an ancient spell. Does that hat hold any meaning to him? Michael wondered.

"Come," Wizard Jenkins ordered. He turned his back and walked easily towards the peak of the roof. "Getting back will be interesting, since I can't risk using my magic."

Michael buried any unfinished thoughts and followed. "Interesting" was the right word for it, since he was probably going to get them home. He just hoped whoever owned that hat was okay.

The tall woman's gaze shifted from Sophie to the sailors, who flinched at the odd hunger they saw in her expression, as if she could see what pumped beyond their blue togs and thick layers of muscle.

She gave a slight wave of her hand. The discomfort passed.

Ruby lips smiled.

"Come now, gentlemen, and introduce yourselves. I want to know the names of those who would accost this innocent young woman."

"Now now, miss. No, dearest Madame," laughed Jim apologetically. "Let's not be hasty. I'm loathe to even be thinkin' about contradictin' a lady, 'specially one as fine as yerself. But no accostin' was done here, I can assure yeh."

"Harhar, of course not. Far from it, actually!" Robert exclaimed. He lost confidence when the woman's shrouded head angled impassively. "Well, you see, this little lady here was, er... She's, uh, she's..."

"His sister," the first sailor cut in smoothly. "Cute, ain't she? Practic'ly a niece to meh." He extended a handshake. "The name's James," he said coyly, adding with a wink, "but you can call me Jim."

The woman raised a thin eyebrow. Robert nudged James sharply.

"Matey!" he hissed.

"What?"

"Yer pinky!"

James's ears reddened. After a moment, the short digit lifted. The visitor placed her hand in his with vaguely concealed amusement. After an awkward up-and-down motion, James pulled away with a wince.

"Gentlemen, I have a request," she intoned, voice expensive as silk. Adjusting her glove, she leaned into the nearby lamplight, showcasing a large sable coat with an equally dark fur tippet draped over her shoulders. A broad hat of the same material rested on her head, and Sophie glimpsed strawberry curls tucked up beneath it. "My lonely young friend and I are lost. Would you be so kind and escort us safely back to the main street?"

"You can count on us!"

Weather-beaten paws reached for them. Sophie cringed, but then the visitor wrapped her arm around hers.

"Oh my, don't be hasty, handsomes. It's what's ahead of you I'm concerned about."

"Fine sea beasts such as ourselves can defend from any position," Robert protested.

"Perhaps. But we're on land now. Go."

Sophie watched in astonishment as the sailors shrugged and complied, sauntering ahead with smug faces. Earlier, they had completely ignored her plea for space. This person had them under her sway in seconds.

Thus they trailed after their "scouts." A few minutes passed, and Sophie tightened her hold on her escort's arm. What if the sailors did not take them where they said they would?

"Watch," the woman whispered, placing a finger conspiratorially to the shadow of her lips.

Jim turned to look at them. "Sure you ain't missin' us too badly, ladies, bein' lonely and all?"

"The hole in my chest is positively aching," the tall woman replied. She waved her hand. The sailor turned back around.

Then something peculiar happened.

The sailors straightened their backs like soldiers and marched in step. Arms swinging stiffly at their sides and knees lifted high, they charged ahead into the darkness. Sophie could not understand it. Were they trying to be humorous?

Her escort used her arm to steer them down a different street.

"What if they realize we're missing?" was all the bewildered Hatter could say as curses splashed colorfully in the distance.

"We'll be long gone by then." The tall woman laughed at her victory, though Sophie heard a sigh five steps later. "A pity, though. They had such powerful chests..."

They traveled deeper into the city. The relief Sophie had attained dwindled the further they got from Market Square, the glow of lampposts cooling into crimson shadows. Sophie checked behind her and twisted her fingers in her dress, listening for signs of monsters or sailors.

"Madame," she finally blurted, planting her boots. "Pardon me, but I don't think we're headed in the correct direction."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and to be honest, we should return to the main street as soon as possible. We might be in danger."

"Hmm, why is that?"

"Well, you may find this unbelievable, but..." Sophie hardly believed it herself, she had never seen the like. "Earlier, something... It looked like a man but made of goo, a monster, and it chased me. There's more than one of them, too."

"Made of goo, you say? And you escaped?"

Sophie nodded anxiously. "I know this sounds ridiculous, but I swear I'm being truthful."

A breeze skimmed Sophie's neck, and she shivered as the visitor stared her down with pale, glassy eyes. The woman's pleasant demeanor had changed, a tension resembling anger lining her mouth. Oh dear, Sophie hoped she didn't think her a liar!

"I was hoping to transport us in my carriage, but I don't believe you'd like my horses," the woman finally said. "It's damp out here. Where do you live?"

"It's a little shop called Hatter's."

Surprise registered on the woman's face. "How ironic."

Waving a hand, she tugged Sophie's arm and stepped forward...

Sophie blinked up in confusion at her hat shop.

Sophie had a great sense of time. In running a business, the minutes count, and the hilly streets of Market Chipping made even quick trips feel like arduous journeys. However, the walk had passed in a strange blur. Sophie remembered turning down various streets and passing under stone archways, but her memory of it fogged like a passing dream. Had she blanked along the way? Was the weight of the day finally crashing down on her?

Touching her brow for her temperature, she nearly stumbled when her escort whisked the two of them up familiar stone steps, past those old, curving, black metal handrails, and through the front door before Sophie had time to stop and retrieve her key. Sophie stared at the door closing behind them as the woman released her.

"I thought I had locked that!"

Sophie was thankful that she had left the lamps lit as she scoured the rooms for signs of robbery, her heart thumping madly. Everything at least appeared to be where she had left it. Had Henrietta returned while she visiting Martha? Ugh, it would be just like her to leave the door open!

Meanwhile, her rescuer paced between the hats, tilting up this or that with a decidedly unimpressed expression. Of course, nothing here would suit her. Her hat had been the first thing the Hatter had noticed. Accompanying her rich, black clothing, the rim of her ostentatious hat glistened with fur, and a real ostrich plume curled around the top in decadent charm.

But Sophie disappointed herself for having any ill will towards her. Be grateful she rescued you. It's remarkable that a woman of her station paid you any attention at all! Who knows where you'd be otherwise.

Slowly placing a hat back on its rack - the silly, tangerine-colored one that suited Fanny - the woman faced Sophie. The lamplight finally clarified her features. Her face was beautiful, though carefully so, and under her coat a figure tall and slender, neckline scooping low. Sophie blushed.

Earlier, Sophie had peeked at herself in her business's prized tri-fold mirror. Her gray eyes had looked large in her face, her ginger hair frazzled despite her scalp-tight braid. Stress and exhaustion sallowed her features. Yes, she could definitely see why she had been "mouse" and this woman "dearest lady."

The visitor settled herself into one of their green upholstered guest chairs and crossed her ankles, intertwining her gloved fingers.

"Yes, it is a bit late, isn't it?" she commented, seeing Sophie glance at the clock.

Sophie became flustered with herself. She dropped into a curtsy.

"Madame, thank you for your kindness tonight."

"Those sailors were a bit boorish, weren't they?" the woman drawled. She started tugging her glove off, then thought better of it. A light kindled in her pale eyes. "I prefer certain men with class. A bit on the wild side, yet charming." She surveyed the room, seeming to weigh something in her mind. Sophie's unease grew.

"Miss Hatter," the tall woman announced, "I would like to make a special order."

"Of course," came the automatic reply. Sophie hurried to fetch a sheet of parchment and a quill. Should I let her pay for this? The parchment had the day's earnings scribbled on one side. She flipped it over and dipped the quill into the ink well. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want a heart."

Sophie nodded to herself. Several clients had indulged in such heart patterns in the past. She scratched a note.

"Our shop prides itself for having a variety of heart patterns. We can customize the brim or embroider hearts into materials of your choice. In fact, we can shape the materials themselves into -"

"I am well aware of my options," the woman interjected. "I want but one heart."

Sophie bit her lip. She had said too much. Did she mean for the actual hat, round and all, to be heart-shaped? Sophie could do it, but that meant going to the shed and re-shaping the molds...

"Sophie." The visitor leaned forward in her chair with an air of madness. "This heart is not something you can make."

Sophie lowered her quill. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Imposing as a castle tower draped in sable, the woman stood and strode to the center of the room, fur tippet swaying as she pointed at a flickering lamp.

"Do you ever think about magic?"

The tiny flame in the lamp swelled, rounding like a goblet and glowing brighter as it went. Its orange pigment heightened to yellow, then abruptly plunged into a deep shade of green. Blue, violet, red, orange again... It flashed through all colors of a rainbow before Sophie startled at a slender pillar of white fire, horridly smoking and nearly two feet tall. It whiffed out.

Sophie gasped when paper cranes burst out of the holder. They fluttered shakily in the tense air, in a little schoolhouse line towards the woman. Her clothed hands cradled them in almost a maternal gesture. When the last birds had settled on her palms, she crushed them into fragments and shook them like a linen sheet. A shimmering cloth materialized in her fists and tumbled into a gown.

The witch laughed at Sophie's stunned expression.

"Carnival tricks," she smirked. The silky sapphire dress dissipated into silver dust, and the woman's amusement followed. "I assume you've heard of the Wizard Howl? Of how he kidnaps girls and eats their hearts?"

Sophie shuddered. Yes, but horrible Howl had nothing to do with a special order hat.

"We usually base rumors on some truth, Miss Hatter. I suppose that's why they're feared. Howl lured me to his lair of a castle. I couldn't have been much older than you. I had enough magic then to escape with my life, but alas." She narrowed her glassy eyes. "I could not escape with my heart."

Sophie flinched. That wasn't possible. To live without one's heart? Wrapping her arms around herself, her ingrained customer service prevented her from taking several steps back.

There's the possibility this fine woman is quite mad, Sophie reasoned with hope.

"But how is it you are here and alive, when the wizard has your heart?" she ventured. She wished she hadn't.

"Why, the same way that Wizard Howl survives without his heart: magic. That's why, when I saw you -"

Suddenly, the witch winced and clutched at her chest, doubling over. Sophie gasped and rushed to her side. Her gentle touch to her shoulder sent a wave of nausea through her body, but Sophie ignored it again. "Are you all right?"

"Agh. I'm sorry, sweetheart." The witch grimaced, using Sophie's support back to the chair. She settled with a sigh. "It's this absence of my heart. I think the wizard is drawing my life energy from it. I don't know why he waited this long. If he devours it..."

The unpleasant words hung in the air, suspended like twitchy spiders in their webs.

Wringing her hands, Sophie tried to digest what this person was asking her. Steal her heart back from an evil wizard? Yes, Sophie wanted to show her gratitude for rescuing her from the sailors, however this request bordered on lunacy!

"I'm sorry, Madame, I truly am. But I can't help you. I'm not even sure why you came to me!" she laughed with a bit of frustration. "I mean, retrieve your heart from the Wizard Howl? I couldn't even defend myself from two sailors!"

"Oh, I don't want you to retrieve my heart for me," the witch corrected. "I want you to steal Howl's heart."

Sophie froze.

With a sigh, the tall woman lifted herself from the chair and straightened her gloves, then patted Sophie's arm and walked towards the door. She paused and waved her hand with a final comment.

"Please. Will you at least consider this fading woman's request?" her beautiful voice asked. "If we can use Howl's heart as a ransom, imagine all the lives we can save in the future, and those in his lair this very moment. I would go myself if he didn't recognize me."

"I'll consider it," Sophie answered softly, her brow furrowed. "But I beg your pardon, why do you insist I be the one to do this?"

"There's more to you than meets the eye, Miss Hatter. Your plain attire and ability to blend already advantages you over everyone else I tried to send."

Everyone else?

"But there is one simple reason. Howl tried to take you earlier today, and you escaped."

"What! When?"

Sophie covered her mouth, desperately thinking back through her day. Near Market Square? At Cesari's? No. Of course! Images burst into focus in Sophie's mind of orange lamplight, of white masks and purple suits, of oily men, their limbs dripping off thick globs...

"Blob men," she gasped, remembering their slimy touch. "They must be his. Of course ugly, old Howl would set those creatures to roam Market Chipping at night!"

"Ugly and old, is it?" the woman sneered. Then she looked very, very concerned. "They didn't touch you, did they? Did they touch you?"

"Oh dear, yes, is that bad?"

"How long ago did they touch you, thirty minutes? Forty? Oh, we've been talking for such a long time, but there's still a chance. How do you feel?"

Rather tired, now that she thought about it. Increasingly so. Sophie's eyelids fluttered as a wave of fatigue washed over her, like someone had thrown a great wool comforter over her head and inlaid her feet with lead. She sagged. "Oh dear. What's happening to me?"

"You're fine one moment, then you're exhausted the next. I've heard of this happening when Howl couldn't get a girl to his castle." The witch's loud voice fiddled anxiety up Sophie's spine. "They say his minions put a spell on her, a terrible spell."

Her words grew fuzzy in Sophie's ears. Sophie stumbled towards the green upholstered chair, her eyesight blurring. None of her dizziness could conceal the sharp prick of pain that stabbed her chest.

"I'm going to do what I can do to help you," the witch declared while still standing by the front door, "but it might not be enough since I don't have the full power that comes with my heart. I hope it isn't the same spell on you, because if it is, I'm worried. I only recall so many details."

By this point, Sophie had doubled over, clutching at her chest because the pain became so great. A war waged inside her against the magic. Her heart felt constricted, as if squeezed by an invisible snake. She had not the strength to cry for help.

She fell to her knees.

"The spell has an undiscovered purpose, but we know one thing. It only got much worse."

Pain seared Sophie's insides. And then it all went black.

For the first time in her life, Sophie Hatter fainted.

Light. The warm, pale light of dawn, when the sun peeks out from its covers of the night sky and teases the sleepy birds from their nests.

It crept across dew-speckled doorsteps and leaned calmly against closed shutters. The dawn strolled from east Market Chipping to the west, slowly warming even the chilliest of corners. It leapt on the breezes that flew to those taking a long, sweet breaths; the light pounded playfully on the eyes of hard workers and heavy drinkers. It tugged on those who needed to get up, open their shops, and face the new day.

Within an upstairs bedroom of a hat shop, a young woman curled under the covers. Her brow tightened in her sleep, and her reddish-brown braid lay limp against her pillow like a slack rope. The light came cautiously into the woman's room, sneaking around pale yellow curtains and across the hardwood floor. It climbed over a pair of boots. It shimmied up her bed covers. Then, as the sun yawned and gave its beams a big stretch, it flew over the woman and chased the last bit of night into the corners of her room.

Sophie open her eyes.

She felt for the world as if someone had pulled her out of a strange, deep dream. Not bothering to cover a jaw-popping yawn, she turned her stiff neck and languidly stretched.

"Ouch!" she yelped in confusion. Everything hurt!

Carefully unfurling her limbs, she discovered most of the soreness originated in her waist and legs, almost as if she had run a marathon. Which was, of course, ridiculous? She hadn't run in years!

Reaching for her blanket that had slipped down in the night, she flinched at the stinging pain. Her heart thumped loudly as she lifted her hands in front of her face. Angry red scrapes decorated her palms. She stared at them. Then her gaze shifted to the gray sleeves on her arms with their snug, conservative cuffs.

She had not put on her nightgown.

Now that she thought about it, she did not recall even climbing into bed.

The Hatter girl lay there, mystified. Well, this was fantastic. Her body bore mysterious aches, and she did not remember going to sleep. But even this list in her head did not help the foreboding swirling inside her as she nagged at her mind, feeling like she was missing an important factor.

She frowned, staring at the ceiling.

And then she remembered.

Sophie went very still.

Time slowed to a crawl in that little bedroom. Seconds passed like minutes. It seemed like there wasn't enough time in the world to process what had happened to her.

Where had she gone wrong?

I never should have left the hat shop so late.

But I was waiting for Henrietta and Charlotte to return.

It doesn't take long to get to Cesari's. Running into that blonde stranger was what took up so much time.

But he approached me. Besides, we barely talked. Chatting with Martha was what put me out so late.

Ah, but that was inevitable.

Sophie sighed heavily and buried her face in her pillow. No use denying it. If she had never gone down that dark alleyway by herself - how foolish! - then would she have avoided this entire mess? Seeing all of those men on the main street had scared her, but she never imagined monsters would be down the "short-cut" she had taken.

"Oh, what have I gotten myself into?" she groaned. She refused to cry. She had done enough of that when her father died.

The dawn-lit room remained quiet for a few minutes as Sophie lay in deep thought. She gazed at the red, dirty scrapes on her palms as shadows crept back over her form. Outside, clouds dragged themselves through the sky over the hopeful rays of the sun. Perhaps if she pretended that the unpleasant events of last night had never happened, then she might have a peaceful, uneventful day in the hat shop.

First things first: she needed to change her clothes.

The sheets rustled as Sophie slid out of bed. She grimaced all the way to her bureau, where she had conveniently placed a towel and a basin of fresh water the morning before. Her dress rubbed stickily at her aching skin, still damp from last night's run. She itched to tear it off.

Leaning down, she peeled off her stockings. As the left one slid off, she caught sight of her ankle. Sophie shrieked in surprise and landed on her backside with a loud thump.

"Oh no," she cried in disbelief, scrambling to get a second look. The skirt came up with a yank, and Sophie ogled her ankle with wide eyes. "Oh no. Oh no no, this cannot be happening to me!"

On her left leg wrapped a dark and gaudy mark about the length of a hair ribbon. The subject resembled a human heart wrapped in intricate chains, and hanging in those chains were tiny heart shapes, and dangling off those tiny hearts were small dots. At a closer glance, Sophie realized they might be tiny hearts.

"Oh darnation!" she exclaimed, holding her cheeks in her hands.

She pushed to her feet and lurched towards the water basin, the stressed muscles in her legs protesting. She dunked the towel in the water and leaned down and tried to wipe off the mark. It wiggled as soon as she touched it. She quickly yanked her hand away and stared at the mark, disconcerted. After a moment, she carefully pressed the towel to her ankle again. The mark shuddered on the surface of her skin. This time Sophie tried to ignore it, scrubbing as hard as should could. It refused to come off.

"Goodness, it's like a magical tattoo or something!" she muttered.

Her washcloth flung water everywhere, so she straightened to squeeze it over the basin and stiffened. A blank envelope sat on the bureau. Hesitantly, she put down the towel and picked up the envelope.

She opened it and slid out a piece of parchment. Inside, written in crisp, elegant script:

"Miss Sophie Hatter,

After you fainted, I cast a spell of protection over you to counter the Wizard Howl's evil curse. There is unfortunately still a marking on you. It is the symbol of his curse, and I could not remove it.  Keep it hidden.

I carried you to your bed, if you were wondering. You poor girl. I am unhappy to say that because of my decreasing power, I shall have to renew my protection spell on you in two weeks. During this time, we will meet at your hat shop.

Howl must be stopped. You can begin the search for his heart by finding where he has most recently frequented. The sooner you find the heart's location, the sooner we can deal with your own curse.

Until then."

Sophie stared at the letter in her hands. Instead of a signature, there was a simple drawing of an ostrich plume at the bottom.

Seconds later, the parchment crumbled to ash in her hands and dissipated to the floor. She flinched.

The tall witch had confirmed it.

"I'm cursed."

Sophie suddenly shuddered, curling her arms around herself. Awful, ugly, old, beastly Howl! Now why did he have to go and take that poor woman's heart, and the hearts of all of those other girls? And more troubling still, why did he even want her heart? She did not think she had a face that encouraged second glances. He must have been desperate.

Take a deep breath, Sophie told herself, trying to calm her panicky lungs. So the woman in black had written the letter. The curse might be deadly, but at least she had a witch helping her.

Whose powers are quickly waning, she added cynically. She knew little about magic, but that protection spell did not sound very strong. What would happen if it stopped working earlier than their appointed meeting time?

"Stop it!" she scolded herself, fighting tears. "You just have to think like Martha." She took another deep breath. "Okay, so at least you survived the blob men and... and Horrible Howl's heart eating."

Sophie closed her eyes and placed a hand over her chest. A tense moment passed.

Nothing happened. Sophie relaxed slightly and bit her lip. "All right, so you barely survived." She blew exasperated air. Nevermind. She was thinking more like Lettie than Martha. Her sisters! What would they think of all this?

The only person who knew about her situation currently was that witch, but although elegant in demeanor, her eyes had been so cold. Instinct told Sophie not to displease her. Sophie wondered, though, what the witch would be like if she had her heart back. Would she be different? Less... calculating? At the very least, Sophie hoped that she could one day approach the woman without feeling uneasy. Maybe that was how she could find Howl. Sophie determined that the first man she felt as sick as a dog around would have to be him.

If the witch did not get Howl's heart, then the witch might never retrieve her own. Sophie would die without a way to fight the curse; at least, she assumed she would die. The pain she had felt the night before had been terrible and real.

One-hundred and one questions surfaced in her mind.

Sophie paced. She had never gone on a quest before. Certainly she had read stories in her spare time about young people who left their homes, searching for enormous dragons or magical items. They had never described them as fearful. They had never claimed worries about unfamiliarity or impending doom before they set off on their quests.

She wanted to crawl in bed and hide under the covers.

She straightened her back instead.

That woman and I are in a mess, she mused. If faking courage is what it takes to get out of it, then by all means, I'm going to fake it!

With newfound determination, Sophie snatched up the wet towel again. She winced.

She should probably take care of these scratches first.

Sophie cleaned up as best she could as fast as she could, having no time to take a normal bath. She was going to be late!

She tightly braided her hair and donned a faded sea green dress. It was one of the simplest ones she owned, and she wanted as little attention today as possible. After slipping an apron over that, she checked her scratches. They weren't deep, but they were raw enough that she chose to wrap them in gauze.

She had found coins in the pocket of her gray dress, though for the life of her could not remember where she had gotten them. After putting them in her green dress's pocket and carefully lacing up her boots, she stood tall, fists on her hips.

"Time to face the day," she told herself firmly.

Steeling her mind, Sophie opened her bedroom door and walked purposefully down the polished wooden stairs. She went outside and crossed the cool courtyard into the building next door, and heard people talking in the workroom.

She paused by a gilded mirror hanging on the wall to paste on a quick smile. Her reflection winced back at her sorry attempt. After a bit of tweaking, she thought it looked convincing. For the first time in a while, Sophie was glad that her sisters had left home for their apprenticeships. They would sense something was off, and then they would prod. Sophie knew. She was worse than they were!

A woman's voice floated through the open doorway.

"... and then, with his eyes filled with the sincerest love I've ever seen in a man, Mr. Smith - I mean, Sacheverell," the woman speaking gave a dreamy sigh, and her listeners echoed it, "knelt before me and said, 'My dearest lady! A week ago, I scoffed at the idea of love at first sight. But before twenty-four hours had passed you,'" the woman became breathless, "'had flipped around my world entirely. I know it seems sudden, but my heart implores that I ask this of you!'"

There came the sound of a collective breath.

"'My sweet, sweet...' Sophie!" Fanny cried, spotting her in the doorway. She leapt off her stool and came at her stepdaughter in a flurry of skirts, rocking Sophie on her heels as she threw her arms around her.

"Oh, Sophie love, why didn't tell me you were here? To think, I waited forever to share that story with you and you waltz right in at the climax!"

"Fanny!" Sophie managed, a genuine laugh squeezing out of her. "You're making it d-difficult to breathe!"

What on earth was her stepmother doing here? Fanny always sent letters announcing her visits in advance. Fanny went on chattering in her ear. Sophie tuned her out as she buried her face in her stepmother's fragrant shoulder. They soon released each other.

"But Fanny!" Sophie said as the woman opened her mouth again excitedly. "I had no word! I wish I had known, I would have prepared for your arrival."

"No word?" Fanny exclaimed. "Why, I sent you two letters! How odd," she mumbled darkly. "Courier tricksters. You can't trust anybody these days."

"Perhaps Sophie misplaced them," Henrietta sniped.

Sophie looked over Fanny's shoulder at the blonde sitting behind the worktable.

"Henrietta," she greeted tersely.

The blonde lifted her chin.

Rose bounced on her stool beside Charlotte. "Sooooophiiee, she was getting to the best part!" she fussed, no doubt thinking about her own beau.

"All right, all right," Fanny said. "I might as well come out and say it since you're all here."

"Ariel's not here," Charlotte pointed out.

"She's not? Oh, but darlings, I just have to tell you now! We'll give her the news when she arrives. Ladies." Fanny took a huge breath, looking at each of them. "Ladies, I got married!"

Sophie froze.

"Married!" all the young women exclaimed.

"You mean we missed the wedding?" Henrietta cried.

Fanny slid off her left glove and laughed as the three shop girls climbed off their stools to crowd around. They "oohed" and "aahed" at the ring glinting on her finger.

"Can you believe it? That's a real diamond!" Fanny declared proudly. "Mr. Smith is rich, too!"

"Fanny..." Sophie mumbled. Her stepmother patted her hair with a free hand and clucked her tongue.

"Oh, it's not like that, Sophie. I honestly didn't know until after he proposed!"

Fanny was married. A twinge stung Sophie's chest. She was stunned... stunned but not shocked. In fact, she had always suspected this might happen. Those husband-hunting ventures were destined to turn out like this eventually.

However, she was concerned. Fanny could take care of herself, but would this Mr. Smith be a good husband?

Observing the joy in Fanny's face, Sophie concluded she should be more worried for Mr. Smith. She could only imagine what Fanny was going to do to his pocketbook.

"It's soooo beautiful," Henrietta gushed. "The gold band fits you perfectly. How charming of your husband to choose a heart diamond."

Hearts, hearts, hearts, what is with these hearts? Sophie thought in frustration, thinking of her curse mark. She glanced down at her ankle but stopped herself, hastily redirecting her attention around the room.

Her gaze collided with the pale, blue eyes of Charlotte.

The intensity of Charlotte's stare took her aback. The black-haired woman furrowed her brow, blinked, and then turned away. Sophie frowned. What was that about?

"Now ladies," Fanny announced, putting on her glove. "I have something very important to tell you. I think you should all sit down. Especially you, Sophie," she added gently.

Sophie tore her gaze from Charlotte to look at her. Henrietta snickered.

Slowly, Sophie lowered herself onto a stool next to Rose. She was leery of any more surprises. Then again, a needle cushion can always make room for another needle.

Fanny remained standing, an elegant visage as she encompassed them all within her gaze. "I shall start by saying this first, that you are all lovely young girls with your entire lives ahead of you. I know that after a few hours in here, you begin to feel bored, old, and lethargic." She smiled. "But it's not so bad. You have young men calling on you, and plans, and dreams for the future!"

Sophie pressed her lips together, watching a dust mote float to the ground.

"When I first hired Rose," Fanny continued, "she was working here when we still had Marianne and Bessie. That was two years ago? Two and a half?" Henrietta simpered as Fanny looked at her. "Henrietta, you and dear Charlotte have almost been with us a year now. Ariel came shortly thereafter."

And Sophie has been here almost nineteen years, Sophie wanted her to say.

"We have become like a family," Fanny said truthfully. She flashed a brilliant smile. "I did some research. I hope my decision will not put you girls in any straits, but just to be safe, I did a bit of planting here and there about my wonderful my hat shop girls and what hard workers they are."

"Oh Fanny, you didn't," Sophie said, suddenly realizing where this was going.

"So you needn't worry about a thing. I've already made up my mind." Fanny looked at Sophie. "I'm selling the hat shop."

The rest of the girls looked at her as well. Sophie was speechless.

"Sell the shop?" a voice exclaimed. Ariel stood in the doorway, her hand stiff near her mouth as if she had started to yawn and had forgotten about it. "Good morning, Mrs. Hatter, I am glad to see you, but do you mean that?"

"Of course she means it," Henrietta scoffed, leaning against the worktable and propping her chin in hand. "She wouldn't have said so otherwise. Also, it's "Mrs. Smith" now; she got married! She herself said the hat shop's boring." She pouted. "Who wants to blister their fingers all day anyway?"

"So you talked her into it," Ariel accused, her eyes narrowing.

Henrietta batted her lashes.

"No one talked me into anything," Fanny interceded, looking back and forth between the two with a brow arched.

Ariel sighed. "Great. Now my life is going to get much more difficult."

"On the contrary, I should think this would make everything all the more easier," Henrietta said smugly, and she and Ariel held gazes for a long, tense moment.

Rose rolled her eyes and leaned towards Sophie, cupping her hand around her mouth.

"Of course she would say it makes it easier. Henrietta thinks that doing nothing at all makes life easier."

Sophie felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as Rose ranted on. "And if I swore - which I don't - but if I did, I would swear that one day, Henrietta is going to marry a rich person just like she wants. And then she'll shop all day long because you know what? She's going to be miserable as a scarecrow, and none of her clothes will look good her! She will whine and complain, have twenty cats, and wear a large gold wig on top!"

"What did you say?" Henrietta shrieked, finally catching on that Rose was mumbling about her. For Rose's "whisper" did no good at keeping anything secret.

Sophie tried desperately to contain her amusement as Rose stretched and stood, slowly inching behind her.

Henrietta saw Sophie struggling and latched onto her new target. "I don't see why you are laughing of all people," she snapped. "You just had the only thing you were good for snatched out from under you. Now what are you going to do? If you start anything new, you'll probably fail."

"Henrietta!" Fanny exclaimed, shocked at Henrietta's behavior. Charlotte grabbed Henrietta's sleeve in warning, and Ariel stood beside Fanny and yawned.

Sophie finally laughed.

And laughed and laughed, not too hard, and not in joy. Like a wind-up toy that's been sprung, the emotions sort of spilled out of her.

She was sad because the shop was the only home she had never known.

She was confused because she had never dreamed she could do anything else.

And tired, because she never seemed to have a choice.

But she supposed - considering her curse, courtesy of the Wizard Howl - that selling the shop could be a good thing… The girls would be scattered and difficult to catch, she herself would have time to look for Howl's heart, and if she succeeded she could have a chance to start over. Her world was already turned upside down; establishing a new standing shouldn't be too difficult, despite her being the eldest of three. She was resilient.

So Sophie laughed. For Rose really had a witty tongue, and Henrietta's bickering was not as provoking as she thought it was.

"Henrietta," Sophie said. Her smile faded. "Do shut up."

Everyone's eyes widened.

Henrietta blanched.

"Excuse me?" she stuttered. "Mrs. Hatter, did you hear what she said to me?"

Sophie stood and dusted off her apron. "Fanny, I need to talk to you."

"Mrs. Hatter! Smith!"

"Don't aggravate my daughter, Henrietta," was all Fanny replied. She checked the wall clock. "The shop opens in fifteen minutes. Rose, go get my things and bring them to my room. I want Henrietta and Charlotte in here trimming hats. Ariel, you are to be at the front of the store readying it for customers, all right?"

The words were said cheerfully but without room for discussion. The other hat shop girls nodded and went to their tasks while Henrietta angrily gasped and opened her mouth.

"To work," Fanny warned with a stern glance. She followed Sophie out into the hallway.

Sophie allowed herself to be ushered to the privacy of Fanny's office. Her mirth had disappeared, leaving her with stubborn satisfaction and the tiniest bit of regret. Henrietta was certainly going to make things miserable for the rest of her time here.

Sophie watched Fanny open the drapes to let morning light flood the office, anticipating a scolding. She stiffened a moment later when Fanny turned to her and took a hold of her wrist.

"Don't you worry about Henrietta, love, I'll talk to her personally," her stepmother muttered, unwrapping the gauze on her hand despite Sophie's protests. "But let's first talk about this. Why did you not tell me you had hurt yourself?"

Sophie struggled with the subject change, and Fanny gasped when she saw the scratches. "Oh, Sophie!"

"They look worse than they are, really. You see, what happened was -"

"Too much hard work!" Fanny declared to Sophie's surprise. Fanny re-wrapped her hand and shook her head. "Look at you, love, you're positively frazzled. There's no pink in your cheeks! I'll tell you what. Why don't you take off today and next week?"

Sophie blinked at the sudden offer. If the shop was being sold, would they not they need her help?

But then again, she only had two weeks to find Howl's heart until she could renew her protection spell. The tall woman in black had said that Wizard Howl was drawing energy from her heart... or something like that. If she waited to get started, she might be too late. This could be the perfect opportunity.

Still, she needed to find out if Fanny was serious. Her stepmother tended to say things and then forget about them, like the time Sophie had asked her if she could receive a wage.

"What about the shop?" she ventured.

Her stepmother misinterpreted her question. "Oh Sophie, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I honestly think it's for the best -"

"It's all right."

"- and since I'll be living in a grand house now, you must come and live with me and my husband. Everything will be taken care of, we can even set up a little alcove like your old one here -"

"Fanny, it's okay."

"- but I'm not certain about that last bit. I know you appear to love the shop, but I think you've just resigned yourself to it since you thought you'd be working here the rest of your life."

The two went quiet, finally hearing what the other person had been saying.

"Oh."

Sophie spoke first, dazed by Fanny's words. She took the older woman's hands in her own.

"Fanny, I won't deny it. I am upset that you didn't even talk to me before you decided to sell the shop." She interrupted as Fanny started apologizing again. "I... I think it's for the best. Thank you for the break. Actually, I didn't intend to discuss the shop with you."

Fanny's bright pink lips made an "o" shape in response. "You didn't?"

"No." Sophie's mind churned. An idea came to her. "I'm going to find another job."

The room went silent.

Sophie steeled herself.

"Whaaaat?"

"Think about it," Sophie continued, out-of-sorts herself and scrambling. "I'll feel bereft without anything to do, and a job will put me in the way of more men!" she practically squawked when skepticism and stubbornness clouded Fanny's face. Fanny perked at this. "Well, you know, our shop isn't exactly the most masculine establishment. I haven't been able to, um, catch a beau. So on my week break, I could look for a job and - and - grandchildren!" she burst out, flustered. Oh dear, where had that come from? That wasn't what she had wanted to say at all!

But Fanny seemed to like it.

"My Sophie?" she said slowly, her eyebrows arching. "Husband hunting? Without proper training?"

"Job hunting," Sophie corrected weakly, her cheeks hot. To her relief and dismay, a joyous smile spread on Fanny's face.

"My Sophie, husband hunting!" Fanny said in awe. "Just wait 'til your sisters hear about this! I've only dreamed this day might come. That's the spirit, love, you go and steal their hearts!"

Sophie winced.

Fanny wanted to style Sophie's hair, but Sophie pointedly clarified she was going to search, not flirt. Fanny "tsked" and said she had much to learn. Before Sophie left the room, Fanny stopped her.

"Here," she said, lifting a necklace from under her collar. She unhooked it and passed it to Sophie. "This is a powerful charm I bought in Kingsbury. An elderly sorceress gave it to me. If you are looking for something, it will guide you." She winked. "How do you think I found my new husband?"

"Thank you," Sophie said, holding up the charm. It was... well, it looked like something a child had made. A finger's length, it appeared to be a small stick with mud in the cracks. A small orange orb was inserted in the center, and a tiny stone dangled off the bottom by a string.

"Just whisper to it who you are looking for, and the charm will do the rest," Fanny explained. "By the way, some charms are meant to be used, not seen." She looked helplessly at Sophie's high collar.

Sophie smiled. "I'll manage." Then she hugged Fanny with all of her might.

And so, after a few minute delay, Sophie was soon walking to the front of the hat shop, a bundle on her arm and a new hat on her head. She stopped when she saw the green upholstered chair. Memories of last night struck her painfully.

"Sophie," Ariel said from behind the counter. "Where are you going? Don't tell me Henrietta got to you."

"No," Sophie replied. She started walking again. "I'll be back later," she added, ignoring the first question.

"Well, good luck," Ariel said. A long, drawn-out yawn escaped her lips. "Watch out for wizards."

As Sophie waved goodbye, a thought occurred to her.

Everyone says that, but no one ever says anything about witches.

For some reason, the thought upset her, and Sophie marched down the steps like Henrietta had the other morning. I suppose things don't turn out the way we expect them to. But still, as father used to say, "When life hands you scraps, make a patchwork hat. We don't do quilts."

Slightly cheered, Sophie began her search for the notorious Wizard Howl.

"The first bullet hasn't been fired," an old man said when he came to pick up a protection spell. "The kidnapped prince is still out there. If someone finds him, then they'll stop this war."

Michael tried to focus on his potions, but his thoughts kept wandering to Martha. Was she safe? Would she go stay with her family? He hoped she had received his letter. She was probably pounding her frustrations into some lump of dough. The thought made Michael smile, but his heart felt sad. He desperately wished to be her protection, but he had nothing to offer her. No property. No money. No family. Well, Howl and Calcifer were family but... no, Howl would snatch up Martha's pretty self if she ever set foot on their doorstep.

The thought of her giggling on Howl's arm sent the boy into a deeper depressive spiral. If that ever happened, he would personally enlist in the army.

Knock, knock.

"Porthaven door."

Michael groaned. All morning long, panicked people had come in slews asking for protection charms. Could they please all stop and have lunch or something so he could finish this project?

"Yes?" Michael asked, tugging open the front door. He looked in confusion at the person standing there. "Miss Sophie?"

She seemed surprised, too. The eldest Hatter had a shawl wrapped about her head, and she hunched over a gnarled walking stick. Her outfit looked rather odd.

"You knew it was me?" she asked, straightening slowly. Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had created better disguises when he was ten.

"Yes. You didn't even cover your face," he pointed out. Miss Sophie frowned before swinging the shawl's end around her chin. Her gaze flickered past his shoulder.

"Is your master here?" she asked.

Heat flooded the boy's cheeks. His poor brain would be forever seared with the image of Howl sprawled over this lady in the doorway.

Great, now Miss Sophie looked embarrassed!

Well, this was awkward.

"No," he said. After she left, Howl had taken a four-hour bath, four hours! Then he hid in his room. He left two days later without saying goodbye.

Come to think of it, Miss Sophie was the reason behind a lot of the weird things going on. Michael eyed her suspiciously. He liked Martha's older sister, but his teacher came first.

"He won't be back for a few days." There, that should deter her.

To his surprise, the woman appeared relieved, and she brushed past him into the shop without a moment's hesitation. Michael hastily shut the door before any more needy customers could swoop in. He stumbled after her, wishing his growth spurts would give his clothing budget a break.

She was greeting Calcifer. The fire demon seemed to like her. That was a good sign, right? Michael noticed that Miss Sophie held the satchel she had left.

"Here," she said when he approached. She handed him a letter.

"Why do you have Jenkins' mail?" Michael asked while he studied it, genuinely confused. Uh oh. This mail came from the capital. Howl would not be pleased.

"I accidentally took it," Miss Sophie admitted. Her expression changed drastically. "Of course, everything would have been in order had that master of yours not so uncouthly rushed me out the door!"

Michael cringed. Martha had been right about the tempers of Hatters. Miss Sophie's flashing gray eyes even resembled Martha's! He wondered if Miss Sophie had any news of her youngest sister.

Not that it mattered. With all of those eligible, well-to-do men at her counter, why should Martha keep up with him?

"I finished your charm," he told her with a sigh. "I'll go get it for you. It's upstairs."

As he tripped with his too-long legs again, he sighed a second time. Why indeed.

Sophie watched with concern as the boy trudged to the second floor.

"Calcifer, is Michael alright?"

"Eh, he's okay. Just pinin' after your sister who he ain't seen in weeks."

Sophie bit her lip and tried to imagine what that might feel like.

"Hey, you don't look so good either. Sumthin' happen?"

She stared at him incredulously. "Haven't you heard about the war?"

"Sure. I don't see what's the big deal, though. You humans all love to fight. Anyway, glad you're back," he moved on. A wicked glint was in his eye. "I was afraid you'd been scared off. Ready to break some curses?"

"Actually, I'd like to speak with you about that." She wasn't in the mood to discuss the upcoming war. "As you've surely noted, Mister Jenkins no longer wants me here."

"Who said he doesn't want you?" Calcifer snickered, serving only to further bemuse Sophie.

"Well, him forcing me to leave made it rather obvious," she huffed. "But what am I to do? I'm afraid I'm no longer inconspicuous."

Calcifer's fiery lips quivered. "Well, ya could always kiss him."

Sophie glared. Calcifer threw back his fiery head and cackled loudly, his laughter sending out puffs of hot air that scattered the ash.

"Oh be quiet, you addle-brained fire, Michael will hear!" Sophie exclaimed. Drat it all, would she never stop blushing? "I'm glad this is so amusing to you. Kisses are the last things he needs. In fact, he - oh, stop laughing!"

She crossed her arms in annoyance and waited for the fire to calm and her imagination to stop doing ridiculous things. In all honesty, her heart still suffered from the sobriety of the war and her situation with Madame Giselle, so it did not take her long.

"Like that," Calcifer finally said. Sophie eyed him irritably.

"Like what?"

"Like that. Like you came in a few days ago. Opposite of lying low. Be brassy."

"Brassy?" The young woman tested the word. "Do you mean loud?"

"More like angry… but nah, just act like you own the place." Calcifer chuckled again. "Jenkins is actually quite the coward, so come in confident and he can't touch ya."

"Oh Calcifer. I don't know. I've run a business. I can't be so ill-mannered." Sophie felt her insides twist uncomfortably.

If fires could shrug, this one did, and left Sophie to her own devices until Michael returned from upstairs. The sight of his forlorn face sparked a tiny idea...

For the thousandth time of his young life, Michael realized he did not understand women.

"Jenkins won't like that," he managed to say.

"How do you know?" Miss Sophie replied. "Have you asked him?"

Michael reluctantly shook his head. He just knew. The boy had never seen his mentor clean anything except himself during the whole three years he had lived there.

"We can't pay you," he said. Now this was true. Michael had a hard enough time saving their earnings for groceries so Howl did not go spending it frivolously.

"That's quite alright. I don't want compensation. I'd like a bargain."

Michael desperately wished she would sit down. She was making him nervous with all the pacing she was doing. Martha paced, too, only she twiddled her thumbs, unlike Miss Sophie, whose entire hands fiddled. He glanced wearily at Calcifer. He swore the fire demon was enjoying himself.

"Michael." She finally stopped moving. "How would you like for Martha to visit?"

Michael froze and privately swore not to breathe until she finished explaining.

"My family just sold our business, and I have nothing to do. Since my sister obviously cares for you, I'd like to help you." She smiled gently. "Wouldn't it be nice if this were someplace you could bring a lady?"

"I dunno, seems like we got enough of that problem," quipped Calcifer. As Miss Sophie turned to retort, Michael daydreamed a little. He'd wear a crisp new suit. The polished table would shine, and Martha would sit beside him on the clean bench and drink tea while he showed her his potions.

Yes, please! Michael felt increasing excitement the more he thought about it. He could always invite her over on the days Howl wasn't there.

"All I ask in return is the ability to use the Kingsbury door," Miss Sophie added.

That was all? There should be no problem with that.

"Alright then," Michael said before he could change his mind. He stood awkwardly, unsure of how to seal a bargain with a lady, but Miss Sophie decided for him by shaking his hand. Michael laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head.

"Nice goin,' kid."

"Calcifer!" Michael cried, jumping. Oh no, he had forgotten to ask Calcifer! However, Calcifer did not seem to mind. He actually seemed happy almost.

"Where are your cleaning supplies?"

Michael frowned at Miss Sophie's request. "What, now?"

"Of course! I only have a few days head start if I'm going to get this place properly cleaned."

And clean she did.

"What have I done?" Michael groaned, burying his face in his pillow.

Underneath him, he could almost feel every scratch and scrape of Miss Sophie's broom against the floorboards. His bedroom had become the haven of all manner of magical paraphernalia that he had salvaged before Miss Sophie piled everything onto two tables against the wall. How was he supposed to do spells now? He didn't know where anything was!

He supposed she was efficient, considering she had cleaned the entire wooden-beamed ceiling the first day. Her broom caught on fire after dusting a long-forgotten chemical up there (sodium crystals, he believed). At first, it felt exciting to help. By the third day, however, Michael realized he had been mistaken about cleaning.

It was actually an unbelievably dirty process that made one want to bathe forty-seven times.

It was also complicated, and its standards confused him immensely. For example, why did they have to wash the sink last? Michael did not consider himself a slob, but what was the purpose of mopping the floors if they were only going to get dirty?

Then there were the mice. Girls always scream so loud. After that, the boy had to tell the neighbors that Miss Sophie was his sister to ease their concerns. Perhaps this was wishful thinking, but it helped correct the rumors that a wicked witch was visiting. Not that such rumors were unfounded. The manner with which Miss Sophie cleaned was fierce, after all. Michael feared for the subject of her thoughts. After a ferocious attack on a stain, Michael spelled her bucket with endless clean water and escaped upstairs until the cleaning storm blew over.

Now what to do.

He rested his cheek against his pillow. He should probably practice that wind spell again.

"Michael!" Calcifer wailed. "Michael, help, she's torturing me!"

The boy groaned and launched himself towards the stairs. Now what?

He leaned over the rail to see Calcifer dodging the frying pan that Miss Sophie was trying to set on him.

"Come on, stop being ridiculous!" Miss Sophie admonished. "You're a fire! Aren't you used to this sort of thing?"

"I'm only in this... form... because I choose to be!" Calcifer retorted between ducks and pants.

Miss Sophie leaned back for a moment, appearing weary herself. "You don't have to be a fire?"

Calcifer scoffed and huddled on his log, eyes keeping watch. "I could be anything with energy!" he said. "Animals, plants - I can even be one of youse!"

"You can be human?" Miss Sophie asked curiously.

"Yeah, but I won't."

"Why not?"

"Because humans have to take baths!" Calcifer exclaimed, as if that were the most obvious reason in the world. Which, coming from a fire demon, it sort of was. He stuck out a flaming tongue and leaned back with a smirk. "I'm grandest in my raw form. More powerful. More - gah!"

His flames spluttered flat when Miss Sophie slammed the frying pan down on him.

"Stop being such a baby!" she said between yelps of Help! and You tricked me, ya harpie! "I already tried pleading with you, but you proved impervious to my distress. Michael!" she called, looking up to see him on the stair. "Would you mind helping me?"

Michael's jaw snapped closed. "Wow, I thought only Master could do that," he breathed, inching close. Miss Sophie's small smile took a triumphant edge before she asked him to fetch anything edible.

The boy admitted he was starving. His stomach ached hollowly as he handed her a loaf of bread, two apples, and some butter.

"Will this all be filling enough?" she asked politely. She asked him to slice up the bread and the fruit.

"That's all there is," Michael admitted sheepishly. "Jenkins forgot to leave grocery money this time."

"What!" Miss Sophie was aghast. She placed her hand on her hip. "You mean to tell me he left his growing charge without food for three days?"

"Four," Calcifer piped up. "And hey, what about me? I gotta eat too, ya know."

The eldest Hatter tsked and muttered something that sounded unpleasant.

"Hotter, hotter, please," she instructed Calcifer. She took the bread slices from Michael's hands and set them in the pan. "Let's see if we can't make the crispiest, most delicious toast."

Ten minutes later, the pan hung to dry and the three of them were munching on fried, buttered bread and browned apples. Miss Sophie found some honey. Michael hummed in pleasure at the sweet flavors he was enjoying. He felt like a new person. He would put up with any of Miss Sophie's cleaning if she cooked like this!

The shop looked like someone else's. There was so much room. The wooden floors were shining. He could actually see out the window straight to the harbor.

Michael turned to Miss Sophie appreciatively.

"Wow, this place looks neat. Thanks, Miss Sophie. I'm amazed you finished in only three days!"

"Oh, I'm far from finished," she snorted, dusting her hands on her apron. "I haven't even started on the upstairs."

Michael swallowed. "Upstairs?"

"Maybe I'll have a look to see what I'm up against."

"No!" Michael yelped as she headed for the stairs. He tripped in those blasted pants again but blocked her from taking the first stair step.

She seemed surprised. Now on the receiving end of her questioning yet amused stare, Michael was feeling the squirms of embarrassment.

"It's okay, Michael, I'm just looking."

He shook his head slowly, slightly wide-eyed. He could not explain it, but there was no way a girl could clean his room. Ugh, what an unmanly situation that would be!

"Miss Sophie, I really don't believe this is necessary," he attempted in his best business voice.

She crossed her arms. "Oh, but I think this is really necessary," she replied in a business tone much scarier and authoritative than Howl's. Michael swore to never attempt to cross her. Thank goodness, she relaxed, is she giving up?

Suddenly, she gasped and pointed towards the living room. "Oh my goodness, Calcifer!" she exclaimed.

Michael startled. Calcifer? What was wrong? He darted around her and hurried to his friend.

"Calcifer! Are you okay?"

"I'm great!" the fire demon cackled. "But you just got duped!"

"Huh?" Michael turned to see Miss Sophie had vanished. "Huh? Wait!"

The front door suddenly opened. The boy turned to see that his teacher had returned.

"Finally!" he cried out in excitement and relief. "Master, she's - " Michael clamped his mouth shut as horror filled him. Oh no. What was Howl going to think?

The aforementioned magicked off his coat and closed the door. A tired smile broke out on Howl's face, but it disappeared as soon as he saw the shop's interior. His slow, ascending footsteps echoed against the twice-scrubbed walls.

Michael froze. This is it. This is the end. Please don't notice the missing spiders.

"Michael," Howl muttered, turning on him (I'm going to die!). He was staring very, very intently at him. "Did someone come here while I was gone?"

Michael squeezed his lips together and glanced at Calcifer.

"There aren't as many rooms as I thought, but oh dear, this bathroom!"

The femininity of the voice was unmistakable. His teacher shifted those unbearable eyes towards the stairs just as Miss Sophie stepped into view. The two of them stiffened at the sight of each other.

Michael hovered uncomfortably. This was too weird. They had gotten along alright last time. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he shouldn't have let her clean?

"Ah, the esteemed Mister Jenkins," Miss Sophie said coolly. Despite her handkerchief-bound hair and dusty dress, she moved with the poise of a noble woman. Michael glanced at Howl. A mild, almost reluctant smirk graced his lips.

"Miss Sophie," Howl said with a slight bow as she approached.

It surprised everyone when she brushed right past him.

"Oh, what to do? Look at the time," Miss Sophie said airily, strolling down the front steps. "Don't worry. I know. You're closed."

Without a farewell or pleasantry, the woman disappeared behind a slammed door.

Howl let out a dry laugh. He turned with a flare and stomped up the stairs. "Make hot water for my bath," carried his voice in an almost growl. A moment later, they could hear the bathroom door shut.

Calcifer let out a low whistle. "Women do requite."

"I don't understand women at all," Michael moaned. Maybe there was a war starting outside, but it sure made a lot more sense than what was going on in here.

For the first time in days, Sophie felt free to admire the magnificence of Kingsbury's buildings. They towered proudly on either side of the streets, mitigated by the friendly waves of their banners. Sophie liked to imagine them as the expensive dollhouses of wealthy children, in which she and the other citizens lived as toys. This way, the city seemed less frightening.

But at this moment, there was no chance of Sophie being scared. The feeling which bloomed in her chest was delightfully empowering, which many yearned for but lamented a lost opportunity to experience.

Sophie was feeling the thrill of successfully executing a well-planned comeback.

The eldest Hatter laughed at the memory of Jenkins' eyebrows shooting straight up to his newly washed ceiling. She knew it was inappropriate, but she would bet money that Jenkins had probably never had someone walk out on him like that. It was horrible etiquette. She really did not know what had gotten into her. All of those soap bubbles, maybe. The twenty-minute walk between Jenkins' shop and her step-parents' home eventually settled her enthusiasm.

Fanny lived with her new husband, Sacheverell Smith, in Kingsbury's Rose Garden District. Their townhome was an elegant three-story structure, reminiscent of Market Chipping's homey architecture with arch-topped windows, gingerbread siding, and slate grey paneling that reminded her of Mr. Smith's sideburns. To Sophie's great relief, Fanny's carriage was absent from the driveway. She quickly took the path around the side of the house. Rose bushes brushed her sleeves as she stopped to slip her key into the back latch.

The eldest Hatter startled when the key suddenly pulled away from under her fingers as someone else's hand opened the door.

Ann stood on the other side, a surprised expression on her face.

"Miss Sophie!" the maid quietly exclaimed. "You're back early! Cecilia's in the kitchen; you've got to be quick!"

Sophie's eyes widened when Ann grabbed her wrist and tugged her inside. The two women fled upstairs. They reached the second floor just as off-key humming hit their ears.

They glanced at each other and smiled. Cecilia was an elderly maid who had worked for the Smith family for thirty years. Fanny's disapproval would prove a pitiful flame to the fire of Cecilia's displeasure should Cecilia ever discover the girls' rendezvous. Propriety ran thick in that old maid's veins.

"Mrs. Smith is out on an errand," whispered Ann, adding, "Put your dress in the third floor hamper so I can get it before anyone sees."

"Thank you," Sophie whispered back. She had never needed a maid and frankly decided she would never get used to it.

Ann was the only one who knew about Sophie's cleaning job, since Fanny would never approve. Sophie had caught Ann kissing the milk deliverer, and Ann had caught Sophie sneaking out, so they had come to a sort of truce in the past three days.

As for Sophie's new bedroom...

Well, Fanny had been true to her promise. It was truly was as snug as her old cubbyhole. Fanny had stuffed a four-poster bed into the small space, and Sophie had to either shuffle around the foot of it or roll across the bed whenever she wanted to access her small balcony (which was often). As for the bed itself, Sophie always hesitated to slip beneath the peach comforters at night, not because of the lace that itched her skin, but because when she had settled her head against the silk pillow, she could not avoid noticing the fanciful cherubs painted upon the ceiling.

She swiftly gathered a change of clothes and hurried to the bathroom down the hall.

It took her several minutes to peel off the filthy clothing layers. Her aching muscles unknotted as she slipped off her boots, stockings, heavy dress, pantaloons, and chemise. At the end, she exhaled gratefully, and she rubbed the goosebumps on her bare shoulders before shivering her way to the tub.

She cranked the knobs until the pipes shook and hot water gushed and swirled down into the ivory basin. Waiting for the water to rise, Sophie reached up to untie the handkerchief still holding her hair. Her fingers loosened the knot. The cloth slid away, and her reddish-brown hair tumbled down in dusty crimps and waves over her shoulders.

She tiptoed past the steaming bath towards the gilded mirror hanging over the sink. The sight of herself caused her to clutch her head and gasp.

Cold porcelain dug into her bare stomach as she slanted over the sink to get a closer look.

Minutes later, no amount of rubbing or washing had changed the facts.

A streak of silver hair was on the left side of her head.

'"Howl?"

"Hn?"

"Tell me you love me."

Her fingers twiddled with a button on his vest.

Howl glanced down at the woman resting on his torso. A smirk played at his lips.

"You tell me first."

Her red mouth softened with a smile. She bared her teeth and laughed. Howl joined in, his chest rumbling against hers. Two pairs of marbled eyes met each other beneath the sky, and the perfumes of the flora wafted over Howl's and the Witch of the Waste's resting forms.

She sat up and leaned over him. Her tumbling red curls cast shadows across his face. Howl reached up to twist one of them around his finger.

"You are mine forever," the Witch of the Waste whispered, descending on him. Howl slid a hand around her waist. Their kisses were hungry. Methodical. Empty.

After a few minutes, she pulled back.

Suddenly, her skin paled.

It swelled, then bulged.

Sweat poured from her skin. Eyes blackened, malice thickened.

Teeth sharpened into a bitter smile.

Howl felt the earth cave beneath him, and he yelled out as the flowers twisted into iron chains and began tying him down, down…'

A gasp ripped out of Howl's lungs.

His bare feet slammed into the obstacle-ridden carpet as thick shadows dove and snapped at him. In moments, his wooden door was cracking against the hallway in a sharp staccato that rang against the thick silence of the castle.

Stumbling outside, Howl lunged for the balcony railing and clutched it in belay of the castle heaving beneath him. The moving castle was groaning, creaking, panting, climbing. Howl's blood surged through his veins - surging, not pulsing, for there was no heart to pump it - and his lungs drove elucidating oxygen to his brain, so that the stars suddenly glittered piercingly in the sky.

Fear in a heartless man differed little from that in any whole, mortal one, and this driving, dragging force consumed Howl's senses.

His instincts urged him to leap over the railing and fly towards the blackened mountains.

Within minutes, Howl's own heartlessness restrained him. The cavern in his chest numbly endured fear's crashing waves until the lack of purchase eased the fear away from its meaningless pursuit of his heart and into a slow release through his limbs.

His consciousness shuddered at the lingering dominion of the dark dream, but Howl's awareness gradually returned to him. Chill winds raced across his nightclothes as Howl stared down at the newly awoken scales on his forearms.

He cursed ever having gotten involved with that witch.

Some hour later, during the graveyard shift, he slipped back inside and took a bath.

The night shadows hovered as he consumed himself with distraction. Creams for his wrists - chamomile, sage, and comfrey. Toners for his skin. Potions for his hair. A haircut, he decided, with a dash of strawberry dye.

At the conclusion of the bath, Howl leaned his palms against the mottled sink and waited for his bath-wrinkle powders to take effect. His reflection gazed back at him. Straight, champagne-blonde hair framed defined cheekbones and romantically lashed eyes. He should have been good enough.

She is something else, Howl sulked, thinking of Sophie. Until when Suliman's locator charm had set off, he had been planning on pursuing the girl. That second time she fled him had stirred his desire for the game, her long braid trailing behind her as she raced along the harbor's edge. He would have discovered her fancy: sweet words, flowers, gifts. He would have broken her heart - perfectly, poignantly, inevitably - and forgotten her.

Then Sophie smashed his game.

First, Howl never, ever, conducted his business within the safety of the shop. It was risky and frankly a headache when the woman knew where he lived. Then yesterday he discovered that Sophie had been cleaning his magic shop for three entire days. Why? He had no idea. Not on his behalf, she had made that apparent. And this made her suspicious.

Why would a woman, with undetermined affiliations with the Witch of the Waste and Madame Suliman, stick around if not for his pleasurable company? A spy for Suliman? A puppet of the witch? Michael was too young for her. Calcifer was not exactly pleasant company.

Ah yes, Calcifer.

The fire demon was being annoyingly tight-lipped. Howl could only trust that his friend had good reasons for allowing Sophie back into the shop. Thankfully, the girl did not seem to know his true identity, if her shock at learning he was Sorcerer Jenkins was anything to go by.

He laughed. Imagine her face if she ever learns I'm the "wicked" Wizard Howl.

Howl wanted answers.

He was going to start by learning about Sophie's curse.

There it was again: that uncomfortable, tingly feeling on her scalp that counseled that she was being watched, but as usual no one was there.

Sophie set down her water bucket she had just emptied outside and squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples with fingers calloused from years of sewing. These past few nights must be getting to me.

Since discovering the silver streak in her hair, nightmares had been visiting Sophie regularly when she lay down to sleep. Many of them were unsettling flashes of images and emotions that escaped memory when she awoke. Twice she had dreamt of blob men and ran immediately to the bathroom afterwards to wash their phantom oils off her skin.

Once, she dreamt of Howl. It had been frightful.

Her mind had taken her to a monstrous castle with bulging eyes and sawtooth doors that crashed closed behind her. A thick gloom smothered her senses. Wicked Howl's face had thrust into her vision: hideously wrinkled and blotchy, eyes glowing green, and a cruel smile above a necklace of bones.

Sophie had screamed. He had silenced her by holding up a beating, bloody heart.

'"Run, and I will find you.'" Howl's illusion had circled behind her, and Sophie had fallen as tremors struck her ankle. '"You will not escape me again."'

She had awoken frightened and angry and for the rest of the day had imagined beating that horrible face with a broom. This nightmare made her reevaluate her deal with Madame Giselle. While Sophie had no idea what she would find in Howl's castle, she dreaded that the reality might be far worse than her present imaginings. She would have to be ready for it.

After all, today she had finally discovered a way to locate Howl's moving castle.

It was so obvious; she felt embarrassed for having ever forgotten it. The front door of Jenkins' shop was a magical portal. She had seen the countryside through it. Foolishly, she had agreed to help Madame Giselle when she had neither horse nor wagon to navigate Ingary's rocky terrain, but now she had direct access to the hills where Howl's castle roamed. If only she could find time when both Michael and Sorcerer Jenkins were distracted...

Until then, she would simply continue cleaning.

Sometimes she thought she worked so hard because she had nothing else to do.

"Sophie," Calcifer hissed, quietly, as she passed him to pick up her broom, "when are you goin' to quit cleanin' and start on lookin' for clues?"

"I am looking," Sophie protested, glancing at Michael out of the corner of her eye. She was not sure how much Calcifer wanted the boy to know. "If you'd like me to hurry, then please tell Mister Jenkins to relinquish the bathroom. It needs immediate attention!"

At that moment, someone threw the upstairs bathroom open with a "bang!"

Sophie hastily walked to the marble-tiled sink and began refilling her bucket. Her heartbeat had taken off like cattle thundering to the grain. She pretended to be absorbed with her efforts even when Jenkins passed so close behind her that his cologne swept her senses like an aromatic cloud.

Throughout the week, Jenkins had hardly spoken to them. He only entered the shop to either grab something from the workstation or disappear upstairs for ages-long baths.

His disregard placed her on edge, because Sophie worried that he might kick her out at any moment. The indifference felt strange after the many times he had chased her. Hah, he had probably finally realized how boring she was.

The front door creaked, and Sophie turned in time to see Jenkins exit through the Porthaven door.

She shook off her disappointment and rolled up her sleeves.

Now was her chance!

Swiftly, she gathered up her bucket, her soap, her broom, and set off up the stairs like a natural disaster.

The bathroom was an absolute emergency. Sophie hated traveling all the way back to her step-mother's home just to relieve herself, so this bathroom must be cleaned; she would tolerate its filthiness no longer!

The bathroom greeted her arrival by spewing forth steam like some malcontent beast, guarding fiercely its slime, its collateral horrors, daring her to come closer with weapons of cleansing.

Fearlessly, Sophie faced the challenge. This beast's steadfast allies had been continuous moisture and lazy men. Now that Sophie had the latter out of the way, she hefted her cleaning supplies and prepared to do battle. Until the plumbing fixtures called "sink" and "toilet" were completely spotless, she was not leaving!

At least, that was what Sophie had been bolstering herself to do, until a creak sounded from down the hall and she realized that Jenkins' bedroom door was standing ajar.

Curiosity gripped the sensibility in her.

Sophie swallowed and glanced about.

Calcifer had said that his contract was with Jenkins. It was extremely likely that Jenkins was hiding important clues in his personal chambers.

Sophie gnawed her lip as she considered her situation. Did she not have an obligation to exploit every opportunity presented?

Oh dear.

She was about to do something very improper.

Cleaning supplies left on the floor, her boots made flat tapping sounds as Sophie crept past a locked, magical balcony towards the open portal at the hall's end. A glance back, an empty hall, a forward step, and then Sophie was inside.

The young woman's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.

Then…

No.

This was preposterous.

This could not be a bedroom.

It was too otherworldly.

It was positively another realm!

Details were being made clearer to her through the shadows.

Sophie gasped with girlish excitement and clutched her apron.

Surely all extraordinary things voyaged here for sanctuary! Shyly, Sophie ventured further in, almost forgetting whose room this was, so awed was she by its grandeur, for the entire room shined like polished brass. The wide ceiling drizzled and draped magnificent things. Baubles and gleaming stones beaded the myriad of ornamental hangings. Sophie saw creatures. She saw eyes and painted tribal masks. There were gilded books and exquisite instruments hidden among many remarkable items. She simply could not take it all in. This room was like a dragon's treasure trove.

Sophie knew at this moment that it would be both impossible and undesirable to clean such a room. The most she could do was organize the artifacts and perhaps give the bedding a good washing. The bed also looked a little lumpy...

"My my, someone is being nosy."

Sophie screamed.

Sorcerer Jenkins was actually in the bed, propped lazily on one elbow in the shadows!

"I... I... I saw you go out!" Sophie gaped at him.

"I meant you to," Jenkins replied. "It's just as well. Couldn't keep your fingers out of everything, could you? You've already done your worst downstairs, dragging poor Calcifer and Michael along with your insatiable urges to clean." At this, the sorcerer slid out from under the covers and stood. His hair looked freshly chopped, and it shimmered like champagne. "You know, I am a sorcerer. Are you surprised I can actually do magic?"

Sophie wanted one of these giant hanging squids to envelop her and smother her mortification.

A blink later, he was gone. Sophie stared nervously about, but she spun around at a beckoning knock.

Jenkins now grinned at her from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, blocking her escape.

"You can stop proving it now," Sophie snapped, desperate to save face. "Everyone already knows you're a sorcerer!" It was true, they knew all the way over in Market Chipping. "But this doesn't change the fact that your shop is the dirtiest place I've ever seen."

He shrugged. "Sorry to offend. A bit offended myself, actually. Why were you snooping in my personal chambers?"

"I wasn't snooping!" she protested, despite knowing she had been doing just that. "In fact, it just so happens that I'm your new cleaning lady."

Jenkins arched a brow. "Who says you are?"

"Calcifer," Sophie answered firmly. "He's… disgusted by how dirty it is in here."

"Interesting. He's never complained about it before."

Sophie nervously tucked a bit of hair back under her headscarf and looked ruefully past Jenkins' harlequin-patterned jacket sleeve. She had feared an encounter like this might end with her permanent dismissal. She hoped that Jenkins would at least let her out of this room first. She shifted her gaze to the green jewel hanging off Jenkins' ear. She probably could never look him in the eye again. "Well, it's... true," she stammered. "Now if you'll excuse me - I've got a job to do!"

Jenkins tactfully stepped aside. There was nothing left to be said. Sophie swept past him, shame-faced, and retrieved her broom before fleeing downstairs.

Howl returned to his bed and quickly took stock of his bedroom. What a bold, nosy girl. He needed to keep a closer eye on her than he had expected. He snorted. Cleaning lady, huh?

Satisfied that nothing had been altered, Howl lifted his fingers and studied the thread of Sophie's hair captured between them. Ginger? Red-gold? After a moment, the hair flared a bright white, and it curled in on itself until it had twisted into a single knot.

Howl narrowed his eyes. A tether spell.

He immediately reached out to mentally communicate with Calcifer. Their connection was a byproduct of the contract which he and the fire demon shared. Fortunately, they still had privacy. The only thoughts they exchanged were the ones they shared intentionally.

'Calcifer, get ready to talk.'

When Sophie came downstairs in a mood, Calcifer could only guess who-knows-what had happened while she was upstairs. Thank goodness he had been down here, minding his own business, and dissociated entirely from whatever Howl had done.

Thus the fire demon felt understandably startled when Sophie abruptly turned on him and smashed a freaking frying pan down on his head.

Seriously, who does that?

It was at precisely that moment when he received the mental summons from Howl.

'What! Now?' Calcifer mind-replied, struggling against Sophie's iron-stiff hold on the frying pan. He could easily flare his power, but he did not want to burn the girl.

'Yes, now,' Howl replied crossly. 'Problem?'

Calcifer ignored Howl and shouted at Sophie, "Hey, you can't just do whatever you want! I refuse to be exploited!"

"How would you like a bucket of cold water in your face?" she retaliated.

"If you kill me, Jenkins dies, too!" Calcifer warned, trying to shock her into getting off his back. Literally.

A lady-like gasp? An expression of agony? Nope. Sophie actually applied more pressure! "Tempting…"

The glint in her eyes took Calcifer aback. What the heck did Howl do to her? He struggled against his new iron ceiling, but Sophie was forcing him down into the logs. The fire demon could feel his form spreading thin under the pan, and the pressure building, and the heat intensifying. If it were just himself, he could deal with it. However, this fire demon had one unfair disadvantage: he was carrying a beating, precious burden within his flaming belly.

Calcifer burrowed his belly down in the safe, warm ashes, even as Sophie's pan squashed his upper half against the logs. Stars, she was murdering his pride with this domestic treatment!

"I never should've let you in!" he yowled.

Sophie fell silent in the sizzling air. Calcifer scowled until he glanced upwards and saw the reason:

Howl.

"Calcifer, you're being so obedient," the wizard drawled.

Well drat, Calcifer thought to himself. Although he did not desire Howl's suspicion, he felt it worse to have the wizard's disrespect. "Not on purpose," Calcifer protested, "she bullied me!"

"And not just anybody can do that."

Calcifer flicked a glance towards Sophie.

Howl got the message. "Calcifer doesn't like anyone but me to cook on him," he told Sophie. She appeared ready to resist until he slid his fingers over hers. That did the trick. Sly dog, Calcifer thought when Sophie immediately shied away.

Howl retrieved a long, wooden spoon for prodding the food, and Calcifer grimaced at every scrape, knock, and echo. 'I so hate you right now.'

'Breaks my heart to hear that.'

Calcifer snorted.

Howl turned to Sophie, who was looking a jot ruffled. "If you're so anxious to be of use, then hand me two more slices of that bacon and six eggs."

Calcifer mentally objected, 'I thought you said ya wanted to talk.'

'A task that can be achieved without words.' His blonde friend scattered something in the pan, and Calcifer blinked as a light pink dust floated before his eyes.

Howl was testing Sophie for tether spells.

'Ah. So ya finally figured it out.'

'How long?' Howl demanded.

'That first day she came here.' He grimaced as Howl's irritation surged over him like a strong wind.

He knew he deserved it.

After all, tethers were serious business.

There were three kinds of magical tethers: body, heart, and soul. These tethers bound people to one another. Long-term bonds were rarely beneficial to both parties involved, and selfish manipulation from either person could breed devastating results. Since Sophie's tether came from the Witch of the Waste, her situation already seemed dangerous.

What now remained was determining exactly what type of tether Sophie shared with the Witch. For that, Calcifer needed Howl's help. The wizard hated being pressured into anything, so Calcifer had improvised.

He had first encouraged Sophie to invade Howl's inner hideout. Calcifer knew that Howl, with his distaste for quarrels, could not turn her out, so the situation developed as Calcifer predicted: Howl had avoided the shop. Undoubtedly, the sight of a woman standing there, spoiling their bachelor's hub with her feminine ways, had brought to mind all sorts of souring words like "domestic" and "commitment." The romantic gusto had flown right out of his friend!

Which was fortunate, because this meant Howl could finally see the situation clearly. Though Howl no longer lugged about a heart, he still retained his former humanity. He would not turn down a person in trouble. Especially not a pretty one.

Two more eggs passed. Howl cracked them with a single hand. 'Show off,' Calcifer thought, before Howl tossed him the shells. His scorching tongue whipped out and made a feral swipe to gather the fragments.

After handing Howl the last of the bacon, Sophie stomped over to the cherry wood cabinet by the sink and began stockpiling dishes for the table. Howl observed her from the corner of his vision before devouring a small piece of egg.

'Is the magic powder working?' He leaned down to give Calcifer a better angle.

The fire demon studied him. Eyes glowed: the physical manifestation of their heart tether. Howl's skin also faintly shimmered pink, which signified a body tether. 'Yeah.'

Howl plucked up the pan full of crisping bacon and eggs and walked away. 'Good.'

"Wait a sec!" Calcifer sputtered aloud. "You're gonna eat when I did all the work?!"

That good-for-nothing, lump of -

"Michael, come inside for brunch!" Sophie called out the front door.

Ungrateful humans! He hoped they all got indigestion! They soon forgot all about him. Don't mind the confined little fire demon, he groused, watching them serve each other and sit down to eat together. Beh. Whose idea was this anyway? Who came up with, "Let's sit around and shove food in our maws while we stare at each other?"

Oh yeah, humans.

With their weird social conventions.

It was probably the most awkward meal Calcifer had ever witnessed.

Everybody was so tense. For one, Sophie was obviously ignoring Howl. She affixed her eyes on her food, which she was sawing into smaller pieces. Maybe to make it taste better or something, Calcifer had no clue.

Howl was trying to play it casual. He had placed himself in the perfect position to watch Sophie for tether manifestation signs, yet he drew attention to himself by not eating his bespelled brunch. This was because Howl manifested his own tethers strongly, and Calcifer knew the blonde wanted to avoid any physical alterations that might spoil his appearance.

Then there was poor Michael, the already awkward youth, rambling about some tooth talisman he had created. When the boy finally realized he was being ignored, he began scarfing down his eggs with dripping bites.

Family dinners were not bright in this group's future.

Calcifer rolled his eyes and leaned forward to peer at Sophie. Her tether had yet to manifest. Maybe her body held a higher tolerance to the magic powder?

'It could be the metabolism of her blood,' Howl suddenly mentally suggested. 'The magic might not have circulated her system yet.'

However, the longer they looked, the firmer their conclusions that Sophie held neither a heart tether nor a body tether.

There was only one other choice.

Calcifer let out a curse.

Sophie turned red, and Michael bolted upright. "Calcifer!"

"Ugh, sorry!"

"What's the matter?"

"Nothin,' forget about it!" Calcifer sizzled across his log in agitation. That rotten Witch! She must be in some sort desperation to have cast this curse. 'Howl, it's a soul tether!'

'Looks like.'

'It ain't voluntary, though.' Surprise filled Calcifer when Howl did not answer. 'You think it's voluntary?'

'I don't know,' Howl answered, irritated.

'No way.' The fire demon shook his head, recalling his many observations of Sophie at work in the shop. 'She'd never agree to somethin' like that. Too stubborn. Like one of them Nether guardians. But nice.'

'I've met Nether guardians. There are no nice kinds.'

Soul tethers did not have to be accepted by both parties, but they worked easier that way. Wizards first created them two centuries ago, for the Battle of the Waste against the Alberian Invaders. The military wizards used soul tethers to transfer their magic and life energy into their wounded comrades. This miraculous tactic increased stamina until the Ingarians could push the Alberians back over the border. But warfare often brutalizes even the most principled of men. Near the grueling last months of the Invasion, the wizards began using the soul tethers against their enemies. The Council of Magicians intervened, and by the following year, they banned soul tethers.

Nowadays, the use of any tether - soul, heart, or body - was deemed aberrant and the caster subject to lawful consequences.

The Witch of the Waste had created a soul tether with Sophie, and Calcifer had a pretty good idea why.

It was a good thing Sophie had found them when she did.

'Sophie needs to stay here,' he notified Howl.

Howl promptly stood and gathered his plate. 'Out of the question.'

Sophie wiped the moisture from her brow.

The shop was unusually silent. Michael had left earlier for the harbor to bless some fishing boats before an evening storm. Calcifer had dozed off, and somewhere upstairs was a hungry sorcerer doubtlessly languishing amidst his trinkets. If he felt hungry, then he had better come get something himself. She did not understand why he had gone through the trouble of preparing brunch only to feed his food to Calcifer.

Together was the quiet downstairs, an unattended front door, and Sophie. She would not waste this opportunity.

The young woman carefully propped her mop in a corner and crept past the crackling hearth towards the shop's entrance. The front door was a nice wooden one, with a curly little handle, and its black hinges gave it a cast of strength. There was a crescent-shaped window overhead. The light pouring down shifted in hues and shades when Sophie turned the magic knob from the blue blob to the green.

The eldest Hatter glanced behind her, adjusted her hat and headscarf, and then slowly opened the door to the Waste. Her nerves trembled in anticipation when a chilly wind rushed to sweep her body.

Wizard Howl's roaming grounds at last!

The unprotected, wild moorlands called the Waste sprawled at her feet. Craggy hills with wildflowers swishing in their pockets, clumps of grass, and rocks lay scattered beneath a murky sky smeared by clouds. Howl was out here. Somewhere. Such an unnerving notion! What should she do when she found him? Should she ask for his heart?

I'll decide if I get there. How can I be this close and not try?

Her boot lifted her skirts, and with a breath of courage, Sophie stepped onto the little porch just when someone grabbed her from behind.

She gasped as firm hands spun her around to face a stony-faced Mister Jenkins.

"Taking a walk, Miss Sophie?" Without pausing for her answer, he shifted her to the side and reached over to shut the door.

Caught again! Sophie thought despairingly, watching Jenkins' deft fingers twist the knob to Kingsbury. She wrapped her arms about herself when the window overhead darkened and cast the foyer into shadow.

"You are not to use the green or black portals," Jenkins ordered.

Sophie's brow furrowed. What was wrong with the portals? No one had mentioned such a thing. "Why? Where does the black one take you?"

Jenkins turned and gave her such a narrow-eyed look that even she, an eldest sister, felt quelled by it.

Oh dear!

"Do you understand how nosy you are?" he remarked peevishly. "You will not be told that information. Now. We both know you've been here long enough."

His tall form shifted, and the blood drained from Sophie's face when Jenkins pulled open the door again.

Kingsbury was already enmeshed in twilight. She had forgotten that, unlike her sprawling hometown of Market Chipping, Kingsbury had tall, iron-tipped buildings which swallowed the sunset from view, before the sun even dropped beneath the natural skyline. The fading rays of dusk streaked the barbered trees lining the streets. Sophie could see the lamp attendants prowling the streets, preparing to illuminate the dim sidewalks.

Those disobedient hands of hers began trembling. Sophie smoothed them down her waist and tried desperately not to panic. Jenkins finally wanted her gone for good and it was her own nosy fault. Now she would suffer her royal send-off by walking home, alone. In the dark. If she had only paid attention to the time...

She looked up and searched the sorcerer's handsome face for even a drop of leniency she might exploit. Jenkins' pale eyes had clouded with dispassion, and the tightening of his mouth signified the guarding of his countenance.

No, what could she possibly say that might sway him? She was a Hatter, through and through. If nothing else, she must cling to her pride.

Poor Calcifer would have to find someone else to break his curse.

And yet... Sophie struggled to even take that first step into the darkness before her. Dread was the glue holding her in place. To her humiliation, Jenkins drew near and lifted his arm for her taking. Sophie shrunk from the implications of that white-clad arm. "I have no difficulty escorting myself out, if that's what you're suggesting!"

Jenkins stared at her. Comprehension emerged in his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration before saying, "You misunderstand me."

"...What?"

"I am headed out for an evening stroll. Considering our synchronous departures, I presumed we might accompany one another until we part ways." Because Sophie continued to regard him with uncertainty, he sighed and clarified, "Walk with me, Miss Sophie. If not for company, for protection. With that surly expression, I have little fear that anyone would attempt to accost us."

Was he implying that he had not, in fact, dismissed her but had only meant to point out the time? She heaved a short, disbelieving laugh which turned into a surprised, "Oh!" when Jenkins smoothly closed the gap and threaded her arm around his. She clutched his elbow as he steered them onto the sidewalk.

"Mister Jenkins, I sorely hope this isn't another attempt to have a drink," she muttered.

"Your lack of faith in my character wounds me, ma'am," Jenkins objected with surprising remorse.

The sounds of clacking heels soon punctuated the evening air. Sophie and her escort walked by several characters, including purposeful business owners, swift-footed couriers, and mellow individuals with flat caps tugged low over their brows. A few automated carriages rumbled past, each expelling acrid smoke that stung Sophie's eyes.

Any person glancing the couple's way briskly redirected his gaze elsewhere. Jenkins' presence seemed a warding talisman against unwanted eyes tonight, and a potent, almost tear-jerking relief flooded Sophie's veins when she realized she would arrive safely home tonight with no repeats of May Day's events. She shyly glanced down at Jenkins' arm, which was bent at an angle to accommodate the grip of her hand. This was her first time accepting a promenade from a man outside of her family, and there was an intimacy about the act she was markedly unprepared for. Did the women in her life not realize that one could feel the man's warm muscle underneath his shirtsleeve, right down to its strength and shape beneath one's hand? If asked, would Rose, Martha, or Fanny deny that the positioning of the escort necessitated that the woman was tucked against the man's side?

How this made her perceive Jenkins' height; she barely reached his chin!

She also realized that walking beside Jenkins gave her the most puzzling sense of security beyond the natural protection of an escort. Uncertain if these feelings were suitable, Sophie thought it best to amend her clearly romanticized perception of the situation before she embarrassed herself further. She attributed her feelings to gratefulness, no matter the spirit in which Jenkins' escort had been given.

Jenkins' cultured voice interrupted the flow of her thoughts.

"Do you have a destination of particular interest?"

My, what a roundabout way of asking for directions. Aloud, she answered him, "The Rose Garden District."

"You're visiting relatives?"

"Ah, no. I live there."

"I see. You were only visiting Market Chipping for the May Day festivities then."

"Not exactly..." Sophie felt uncomfortable explaining it. "My family recently moved."

Jenkins smirked down at her. "For your sake? Off to the metropolis to seek your fortune, Miss Sophie?"

'...according to the tradition of the youngest child, who is destined to prosper,' Sophie finished. She expected that he would query next about her orientation in her sibling line-up. Everyone liked to ask. She briefly explained, "We sold our shop," and waited for him to infer her meaning, which might not be very explicit, but she was hardly going to spell out for him she could no longer fulfill the only role society determined she was best suited for. How could she possibly manage her family's business if their business no longer existed?

All Jenkins said was, "Hn." A few moments later, surprise filled Sophie when she realized she was short of breath. The sorcerer had quickened their pace.

Three soldiers loitered on a street corner directly ahead of them.

"This way," Jenkins muttered, fluidly redirecting her down a side-street.

It was dimly lit. Sophie started becoming alarmed.

"Mister Jenkins! Why ever are we walking so fast?"

"Do you walk this whole way every single day?" he asked her instead.

"Of course, how else am I to?"

"Do you ever consider running?"

Sophie pinned down her hat as he rushed them past closed-down apothecaries and candy stores. "Of course not! How unseemly you must think me!"

"How about flying then?"

"Flying! That's not... Perhaps, in a plane maybe. What do you mean?"

"Let's start with running."

She gasped when he put on a burst of speed that might have tripped her had he not quickly grabbed her about the waist. Their left hands joined, and their feet pounded in unison across the pavement. "Wait! Stop!" she cried.

He simply laughed. "Hold on!"

Suddenly, Sophie felt a thrilling energy charge the air. Every inch of her skin prickled in anticipation. Mister Jenkins's arm tautened around her. And then...

She lost her hat.