Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In Which Howl and Sophie Make Their Escape

~

The crowd in the moving castle proved slow to disperse. Sophie, still holding both of Howl’s hands, grew irritated. Any other time, the eclectic gathering and celebratory atmosphere would have felt wonderful to Sophie, but at that moment, she wished she could take a broom and sweep everyone out the door. Even Michael and Calcifer. Just this once.

Voices filled the rafters and an overwhelming mix of scents thickened the air—wood smoke, seasoned chicken, sweat, floral perfume, and the burned tang of recently destroyed fire demon. Sophie and Howl inched away as best they could in a room packed with ten people including Calcifer, but Fanny didn’t let them get far.

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” Fanny said, staring Howl down in the fierce manner unique to a mother armed with a silk hat, a parasol, and no small amount of experience with men.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Sacheverell Smith,” Howl said grandly. He released one of Sophie’s hands and offered Fanny a bow with his hand to his chest. “I am Howl Pendragon. It’s my honor to make the acquaintance of Sophie’s luminous stepmother.”

“Oh,” Fanny said, her demeanor melting. Her hands fluttered. “How charming. You may call me Fanny, of course.”

Sophie’s jaw tightened, as did her grip on Howl’s hand, but she found herself relieved to see Fanny smiling at Howl. Fanny had wanted to fight him only hours ago. Sophie had still been an old woman then, and she’d believed Howl was in love with Lily Angorian. So much had happened in a few short hours. Minutes, really. The scope of her changed reality muddled her stomach.

Fanny appeared to be thinking along the same lines. She touched Sophie’s elbow. “I’m so happy to see you yourself again. Will you be comfortable here now, or do you want to come home with me? You’re more than welcome, you know.”

Sophie exchanged a glance with Howl. He kept silent and waited for her to answer.

“No, thank you, Fanny,” said Sophie. “I want to stay here.”

Howl wrapped her hand in both of his.

“I thought as much.” Fanny smiled grandly, her cheeks rosy. “But I’m just down the road if you need me for anything.”

Meanwhile, Prince Justin urged Wizard Suliman toward the front door, insisting Suliman accompany him to see the King at once. Wizard Suliman wouldn’t break away from Lettie. Poor Lettie resisted Mrs. Fairfax pulling her toward the exit through the broom cupboard. Michael and Martha lured Fanny away and introduced her to Calcifer. Much to Prince Justin’s visible dismay, a delighted Fanny distracted Mrs. Fairfax from Lettie, calling out, “Annabel! Annabel, have you met the fire? He’s very polite.”

“Here’s our chance,” said Howl. He backed toward the front door, pulling Sophie. He turned the knob orange-down and opened the door, then they fled out onto the mansion’s front terrace. The peculiar light of midsummer evening saturated the trees and statues in silvery dark blue. Night-blooming flowers and damp grass scented the breeze.

 The door shut on the light and chatter of the castle room behind them, but Fanny’s footmen looked up expectantly from the lantern-lit coach in the driveway.

“She’ll be along—!” Sophie called out hastily as Howl rushed down the terrace to the French doors she’d noticed the day before—when Howl cast the listening-in spell on her and Percival, fixed the mansion, and overheard Percival accuse Sophie of being in love with Howl.

They swept into an elegant, high ceilinged parlor, furnished with a sofa, chairs, and a table in front of a hearth stacked with birch logs. The doors shut behind them. The white curtains on the windows admitted only a hint of silver-blue light. She trod on Howl’s foot when he stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, again holding both of her hands.

“I’m not sorry,” said Sophie, giving Howl’s foot a light kick, still thinking of the events of the day before. “Snooper!”

“You’re still angry with me?” said Howl in a tone of anguish.

“Yes,” said Sophie firmly. She couldn’t have him thinking she’d turned back into a little grey mouse. She pulled one of her hands free and pointed a finger in Howl’s face.​ “Don’t you go and try anything like that again!”

As always, the wizard proved impossible to pin down. He didn’t answer. He enclosed her hand gently in his, his tattered black sleeve dangling in shreds. Just as lightly, he pressed the back of her hand to his lips.

“I mean it,” said Sophie, but her voice faltered.

“I know you do,” said Howl. “I’m many unflattering things. A fool is not one of them.” He proceeded to kiss the back of each of her fingers in turn.

“Wickedness,” said Sophie, nearly unable to speak at all.

“Yes.” Howl gave her a pitying look. “I did warn you, when you first moved yourself into the castle.” He reached around her shoulders and pressed his face into her hair.

Her own face settled against Howl’s shoulder, just above where she’d pushed his heart into his chest minutes before. She pressed her hand to that spot, and wrapped her other arm around his waist. For the first time in a long time, she completely relaxed.

He didn’t smell of any of his usual flower perfume spells. He hadn’t taken the time for such things that day. Rather, the charred ends-of-the-earth odor of the Waste permeated the remains of his suit. She had to reek of it herself, but Howl only pulled her tighter. He sagged against the back of the sofa and his arms draped heavily across her shoulders. His heart beat rapidly in her ear.

What concerned Sophie the most was the lack of any dramatic comments aimed at making her feel sorry for him or fear for his imminent demise. He’d never had a better opportunity, after all. He’d struck his head on the floor, had his heart squeezed by a demon, and he’d stopped breathing. Really, how was he on his feet at all? “Howl? Are you well?”

“I’m fine.”

“‘I’m fine?’” screeched Sophie. She seized his shoulders. “Now I know you’re ill.” She searched his face, but there wasn’t enough light to tell if he’d turned blue again. She frantically prodded his head for a lump or worse, and thankfully found nothing.

“Sophie—”

Nonetheless certain he’d keel over any second, she dragged him by the arm toward the doors to the terrace. She had to get him in front of Calcifer.

Howl pulled her firmly to a stop, turned her to face him, and held the side of her face with his hand. “You still underestimate the magic in your voice, don’t you? You healed my head when you gave me back my heart. I doubt I have so much as a bruise anywhere on me now.” He paused. “You were scared.”

“Of course I was scared.” She stomped her foot, but relief stole her strength. “Hmm. You haven’t eaten since you drank half of Wales. That must be what’s wrong with you.”

A tremor of a laugh went through him. “Not even the most dedicated Welshman could manage such a feat, Cariad.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes. “What does that word mean?”

“What do you think it means?” He bent closer to her, still holding her face.

“I think….” Sophie thought she’d heard him use the word cariad before. She took quick mental stock of all the insults Howl had thrown at her since she’d arrived at the castle, and dismissed them, for now. She lifted her hands to the sides of his face, and kissed him. He returned the kiss, threading his hands into her hair. She supposed she couldn’t entirely fault Howl’s heart for beating so fast when hers was behaving the same.

“You’re well on your way to Welsh fluency,” said Howl when Sophie pulled back to breathe. He swayed, shifting his feet. “And you might be right about the food.”

“Oh, might I be?” Sophie sang. Then she said firmly, “Sit down and I’ll fetch some—”

“Not a chance. If you go back in there I’ll never get you back from their clutches. Having to rescue you once today is enough, thank you.” Howl lifted his hand and rapidly drew a shape in the air. A breeze stirred, then a selection of the wine, chicken, and honey puddings from Mrs. Fairfax appeared on the table, as did a vase holding blue hibiscus flowers from outside the moving castle.

Sophie picked up an empty wine glass and held it toward him. “Water.”

“Far beyond my trivial powers, I’m afraid,” he said in a weary, hopeless voice. He made a show of collapsing onto the sofa, sleeves flailing, arms and legs sprawled every which way.

“Howl,” Sophie said threateningly.

“Botheration,” he muttered. He took the glass, which filled to the brim with water at his touch. He drank it with a long-suffering expression. “What next, Sophie?” he said when he finished and set the glass aside. “Am I to go to bed on time and cut down on bacon and go for a light run in the mornings?”

Sophie perched on the sofa and threw her arms around his neck, at last convinced there was nothing seriously wrong with him. He wrapped his arms around her and they shifted until they both stretched out comfortably—Howl’s head on the little pillows and Sophie’s head on his shoulder.

“No more cleaning,” Howl said in a voice dulled by the need for sleep. “Or mending. There’s magic for that.”

“No more spiders, then,” Sophie said. “You don’t have an excuse for having them anymore.”

“If there’re no spiders, there’s no reason for you to sleep under the stairs.” He paused. “If you don’t want to.”

“Hmm.” Sleep weighed on Sophie, as well. “That snoring from this morning better have been an act.”

He shifted and touched her chin until she tilted her head up, and he kissed her, lightly. Then they settled, and as the last slivers of light faded from around the windows, sleep claimed them both.

In Which a New Day Dawns Rather Abruptly

~

“HOWL JENKINS!” Calcifer’s voice roared so loud, the dishes on the table rattled together.

Sophie woke from a deep sleep with such force that she spiraled off the sofa, tripped on the table, and stumbled to her hands and knees on the wool rug.

There’s gratitude for you, Sophie thought, shoving herself to her feet, but her annoyance quickly flared into alarm. The only other occasion she’d heard Calcifer yell like that, was when Howl’s family in Wales had been under attack by the witch.

At the same time, Howl leapt from the sofa and hit the floor as unceremoniously as Sophie. He sprang up, clutching his chest, and swiveled toward the fireplace.

Sophie looked, too. The birch logs sat undisturbed, illuminated only by the peach-gray light of sunrise filtering through the white curtains.

Howl spoke in a voice shadowed by echoes—speaking to Calcifer from afar as he had from Mrs. Pentstemon’s funeral, Sophie suspected. He said irritably, “You know where we are, Calcifer. There’s no need to shout like that.”

Flickering blue and green light filled the fireplace from within the chimney, and grew brighter. Calcifer swept down into view and settled among the birch logs. The bark hissed and peeled, and Calcifer grinned even more wickedly than normal.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come in unannounced,” Calcifer said in his crackly voice.

Sophie cleared her throat and braced her hands on her hips, but her face warmed.

“A king’s messenger arrived at the mansion door and he refuses to leave until he’s spoken to Howl directly.” Calcifer danced about on the logs, releasing a fine woodsy scent into the room. “He and Michael have been locked in a brutal battle of niceties, and I think Michael is starting to crack.”

“Oh dear, poor Michael,” said Sophie. “How does the King know about the mansion?”

“Ben Suliman, I should think,” said Howl, leaning on the back of the sofa with his hands clasped. “I gather from what little I overheard last night that he remembers everything from being a dog, not to mention being Percival.”

“I heard him mention Prince Justin’s memories, too.” Sophie lifted one hand to her forehead.

“Dreadfully messy sort of magic.” Howl sighed, and continued in a lamenting tone. “It’s too much to hope that Prince Justin doesn’t know everything Suliman does, as well, so the Market Chipping entrance won’t be a secret anymore, either.”

“Little does it matter,” Sophie said. “You have nothing to slither out of anymore.”

Howl gave her a doleful look. “And yet, there’s a king’s messenger assailing my apprentice.”

He glanced down at himself, made a face, and swept his hands through the air. The tattered black suit blurred and reformed, blue and silver and pristine. Darker blue than it had been, which suited him now that his eyes had become a darker green. Curiously, it seemed he couldn’t do much to change his hair or face without the spells in the bathroom, but the night of sleep had done him good, thought Sophie.

She felt a breeze and glanced down. Her gray dress—which hadn’t come out of the waste unscathed—looked new again and the color took on a pearlescent blue and violet shimmer.

Soon, she mused, she would like to pick out a new dress for herself, perhaps something bright. Or maybe she’d make one herself. She could collect her sister while Lettie was still in Market Chipping, and they could visit the town shops together and talk. Despite her preoccupation the night before, Sophie did indeed want to be there for Lettie as she sorted out ‘Percival,’ Prince Justin, and Wizard Suliman. Poor Lettie.

“Right.” Howl held out his elbow to Sophie. “Let’s rescue Michael.”

“There’s more,” Calcifer said in a careful tone.

“Oh?” Howl waited.

“The portals held when Sophie broke our contract but many of the defenses fell, including the old misdirection spells on the portal from Wales,” Calcifer said. “Your nephew is here.”

To be continued...

Chapter Text

In Which Michael Receives Unexpected Visitors

A Little Earlier that Morning

In the silvery darkness of dawn, Michael came out of his room holding a flickering light above one hand. The illumination spell gave the appearance of white flame encased in glass, like a delicate lantern floating above his fingers. The door to Howl’s room stood open. He tiptoed across the landing, covering the light with his other hand.

“Howl?” Unsure of what to expect now that the curse was off Sophie, Michael also whispered, “Sophie?”

There was no answer. Michael raised his light and saw that the room was empty—and cleaner than it had ever been, after the invasion of Mrs. Sacheverell Smith and Mrs. Fairfax. He grimaced and shut the door.

He stepped gently on the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots. On the first floor, Calcifer flickered low and green among the glowing embers. A fresh wave of relief washed over Michael, seeing those curly green flames now that Calcifer was free. The very idea of coming downstairs to a hearth without Calcifer formed a lump deep in his belly.

“Sophie?” Michael glanced under the stairs, but the bed there hadn’t been disturbed since he’d tidied up and gone to his room. The light glinted off her collection of trinkets from the townspeople of Porthaven and Kingsbury, including the protection charm Howl had made from dried flowers and given to her in disguise.

“They never came back from the mansion.” Calcifer lifted his blue face above the ashy debris just high enough to reveal narrowed orange and purple eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Couldn’t sleep, after everything that happened yesterday.” Michael looked about the room. It seemed odd, in a way, that it appeared the same as it had yesterday morning. Howl’s, Sophie’s, and Calcifer’s lives had dramatically changed since then, but the room was the same, and Michael was the same. Not that he objected. He had Martha, and he still had Howl, Sophie, and Calcifer.

But it was only dawn. How much would daily life change now? What did the return of Royal Wizard Suliman mean for Howl’s own appointment by the King? Were Howl and Sophie getting married? Having children? If so, would Howl still want to teach?

Would they still want Michael here at all? They would, wouldn’t they?

We don’t want you here, boy, the Porthaven villagers had said, turning him out from place after place, before Michael had found a haven on Howl’s doorstep. You’re bad luck. No one wants you.

His mouth went dry. The illumination spell flickered as his hands trembled.

“Michael?” Calcifer crackled.

He forcefully hauled himself out of the memory and refocused on Calcifer. “Too much to think about. Are we opening the shop today, do you think?”

Before Calcifer could answer, the click of the door latch and the creak of the hinges drew their attention. The door only opened an inch. A strong breeze scented with rain and mud came through. Michael froze, his heart in his throat, but he reminded himself that the witch and her fire demon were dead. The danger was over.

“It’s the Wales door,” Calcifer said quietly, sinking low into the embers again.

“What? How?” Michael tip-toed toward the bench, in case he needed to break open a defensive spell. Other than Howl, no one had ever come through the Wales portal except Ms. Angorian, the witch’s fire demon—

“Uncle Howell?” called a young voice. Little fingers wrapped around the edge of the door. The face of a boy around ten years of age peered into the room, water dripping from his dark hair.

“Neil, hello,” Michael said, recognizing Howl’s nephew from the strange house full of strange things—not to mention Howl’s horrible sister. Michael flicked his hand over the bench, leaving his illumination spell floating among the jars and books. “It’s all right. You can come in.”

Neil stayed half-hidden behind the door, staring across the room. “You look familiar.”

“I was at your house with Howl the other day. I’m Michael.”

“Oh, that’s…right. Is my uncle here?” Brow furrowed, Neil craned his neck, looking all about the room. Another strong gust of wind sailed inside, carrying a thin curtain of rain that speckled the floor.

The chill crawled up the back of Michael’s neck, and an irritated hissing sound rose from the hearth. Michael said, “Howl’s not here at the moment, but please, come in.”

Michael noticed that the stark nothingness between Ingary and Wales had thinned. Beyond Neil’s shoulders, he could see the garden gate, and the houses, and the lights on the horseless carriages, but not clearly. It all appeared dull and cloudy, as if sunken in murky pond water. In the past, Howl must have had defensive spells in place that kept his family from stumbling on the portal. Some of them must have fallen, probably when Sophie broke the contract between Howl and Calcifer.

Howl needed to know.

“Should we wake Howl?” Michael whispered, leaning against the hearth.

But Calcifer stayed quiet and hidden deep in the embers.

At last, Neil shut the door. He was soaked through, wearing those tight blue leg-coverings Michael had been subjected to while in Wales, and a brown long-sleeved shirt with buttons down the front.

“Sit here.” Michael directed Neil to the chair by the hearth, ignoring Calcifer’s hissing and grumbling. He stacked several fresh logs around the sullen demon. Adjusting the last piece of wood, he leaned as close as the heat would allow and whispered, “Be nice!”

“What?” asked Neil, standing stiffly next to the old chair.

Michael straightened and chuckled uncertainly. “I don’t know when Howl and Sophie will be back, but you’re welcome to wait.”

“Who’s Sophie?” Neil still didn’t sit. He folded his arms.

“She was the old woman with us at the house that day.” Michael hesitated. Howl had never told him what to do should his family find their way through the door, but Howl obviously cared about his niece and nephew a great deal. Besides, surely the days of blackening Howl’s name were over? “Sophie’s not really an old woman, though. That was a curse.”

“A curse?” Neil asked, puzzled.

“Yes, but it’s broken, now. Sophie’s actually a little younger than Howl. They’re….” Michael looked hopelessly at Calcifer, who continued to pretend to be a simple green fire. No help at all.

Neil blinked. “That’s ridiculous. Curses aren’t real.”

Michael was dumbfounded. While in Wales, he’d gathered Howl’s family knew little, if anything, about his life in Ingary. About Howl, as a person, for that matter. But surely they understood magic?

Neil stared at the workbench, where Michael’s lantern spell floated aimlessly over the clutter. He appeared as baffled as Michael felt. He lifted a hand to his head. “That woman who attacked us yesterday. She pulled at us, as if she had strings hooked into us. It hurt, too.”

“She was a witch,” Michael said. “A powerful one, and the one who cursed Sophie. But she’s dead now.”

Neil glared. “Witches aren’t—” He stopped his own protest, his expression growing thoughtful, then resigned. He paced, fidgeting. “And that door?” He pointed. “I’ve watched Uncle Howell leave the house, from my window upstairs. He always turns back to the house, and then….” He shook his head. “And then something always distracts me.”

A misdirection spell, thought Michael.

“I’ve tried to follow him before,” Neil continued. “I’ve searched all around the garden. Today I had to find him, so I looked again, even though it was storming. But I gave up, opened our front door to go inside, and….” He held a hand out to the room. “Where am I?”

Michael chose his words carefully. “This is Howl’s house in Market Chipping, Ingary. The door opens to several different places, depending on which way you turn the knob, including the world Howl came from—Wales.”

“World,” Neil repeated dully. He wandered over to the window and stared out at the street. “It’s not raining.”

“You’re not in Wales,” Michael said gently. Maybe they didn’t understand magic in Howl’s homeland? Even though Howl was born there? Even though the carriages moved without horses and the magic boxes lit up with moving pictures? But Howl’s nephew was clearly putting the pieces together, much the way Michael puzzled out a difficult spell. “Turn the doorknob to purple-down and look outside. It won’t open to Wales or the village outside the window.”

Neil gave Michael a look full of challenge, marched over to the door with determination, turned the knob, and yanked open the door. The already-warm, humid air of the place of flowers wafted inside. The castle meandered along blooming hedges, facing south east. Neil squinted in the golden, midsummer morning light shining straight in the doorway. Clearly noticing the castle’s movement, he gripped the door with one hand and the door frame in the other.

“Where is our house?” Neil asked, breathing fast.

“Turn the knob black down,” Michael said.

Neil shut the door, turned the knob, and opened the door. Rain and wind hit him in the face, and he shut the door again. He stood there a long moment with his hand on the knob.

At length, Neil wandered over to Michael and finally sat down. He leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees and stared into the green fire. Calcifer kept his face down, but he radiated extra heat, and Neil was drying quickly.

Michael carried a stool over from the bench and sat.

Neil said, “Yesterday, after Uncle Howell chased that woman—that witch away, he came back to check on us. I’ve never seen mom so angry. Well, she was confused and scared, really, and that makes her angry. She told him to leave and never come back. The door cracked when she slammed it on him.”

Michael winced.

A burning log split, sending up a shower of angry sparks.

“Mari hasn’t stopped crying and won’t speak to anyone. He has to come back and talk to mom. He has to. For Mari, at least.” Neil paused, frowning. “Who are you to my uncle, exactly?”

“I’m….” Michael was struck by how much Neil resembled Michael at ten years old, sitting in front of Calcifer for the first time, waiting for Howl to come back. “I’m Howl’s apprentice. I was orphaned when I was around your age, and he took me in when no one else would have me. I’m nowhere near as powerful as Howl, but I’ll be able to make a living as a wizard, thanks to him.”

Neil pondered for another long, quiet moment. “Uncle Howell teaches you magic? Real magic?”

Michael said, with an awkward chuckle, “I didn’t realize there was any other kind.”

“Like card tricks. Never mind.” Neil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why not us, then?” Frustration edged Neil’s voice. “Why has he never told us any of this or taught us magic?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t pried,” Michael said helplessly. “I don’t understand it. Magic isn’t anything to hide, and Howl is one of the most powerful wizards Ingary has ever seen. Your mother would be proud if she knew the real Howl.”

Neil looked at him dubiously. He sat up straighter and tried to sound wiser than his years as he said, “Mom has known him all her life. She obviously knows him better than either of us.”

“Maybe that was true once,” Michael countered. “She doesn’t know him now. She doesn’t know Wizard Howl, who gave me a home, who works for the King, and who once chased a falling star to catch it and save it from falling to its death. At great personal cost.”

Now Neil looked skeptical enough to possibly get up and walk away.

“Truly.” Michael lifted his foot and shoved one of the logs, sending sparks flying. “Calcifer. Say hello.”

“What are you—” Neil began.

Calcifer lifted his blue face, orange eyes, and purple smile.

Neil stood up so fast, the heavy old chair groaned backward across the wood floor. He leapt behind the chair and grabbed it like a shield.

“It’s true I owe Howl my life,” Calcifer crackled. “Sophie, too, now. But even in this world, most people don’t know the real Howl. He prefers it that way. You know that, Michael.”

“Surely that will change now,” Michael said. “He has his heart back. The witch is dead, and he has Sophie.”

Calcifer twisted gently back and forth, shaking his head. “There’s a deep wound beneath his love of disguise. I felt it when I possessed his heart. Wounds like that don’t just go away, Michael, even in the hands of someone like Sophie.”

“But—” Michael began, but he couldn’t argue Calcifer’s point. Only minutes ago, Michael had stood there fearing Howl and Sophie would turn him out. That fear came from old wounds, not from anything Howl or Sophie had done or said. Even understanding that wasn’t enough to make the fear go away—the bundle of nerves continued to take up space in his chest. “You’re right, Calcifer.”

The sound of a fist pounding on the door filled the room. Neil jumped and turned his chair-shield halfway between Calcifer and the door.

“Mansion door,” Calcifer said, blazing higher, his tone unalarmed.

“Stay near Calcifer, just in case,” Michael said to Neil. He went to the door, turned the knob, and opened it.

The orange and pink sunrise haloed the mountains on either side of the shadowed valley. A man wearing a red and blue palace uniform stood on the mansion terrace, in front of a coach emblazoned with the golden royal crest.

“I bring a message for the Royal Wizard Howl from His Majesty the King and Prince Justin,” the messenger boomed. “I must speak with the wizard at once.”