Chapter Text
Deacon was sweating. The sun was high in the sky, the birds were chirping happily from their shady little hideouts within the canopy of the trees, and all was fine and dandy. Except for Deacon, of course. That was how life always went.
Trapped inside the death suit that was his metal armour, Deacon waved about his sheathed sword in a fruitless fight against the overgrown thorns and brambles of the undergrowth. He was well inside the forest now; he had shade from the trees. There were bright spots of sunlight here and there where the canopy thinned, but all in all, he was pretty shaded.
But that said nothing for the humidity that smothered the forest. Heat was all around him. His body produced sweat uselessly in the hopes of cooling him down. No such luck, though. Deacon’s body was hot. The forest felt like a furnace. He had no idea how Chase managed. He had no idea how he managed in the past. He made this journey once every year usually, but it had never been this challenging. Deacon was this close to stripping in the forest.
And who would care? He knew he wouldn’t. And if Chase wanted to complain about it when he saw him, then maybe he should move back into the city with him like Deacon kept suggesting every year.
Deacon soon made it out of the forest. There was a short path made of worn cobblestones that stretched from the forest’s edge to the large courtyard two very different cottages shared. Both were in pristine condition, but the cottage on the right was shrouded in an air of darkness. Sunshine didn’t seem to be able to penetrate the cottage’s immediate surroundings. Its rough exterior was built entirely of almost pitch black stone. The slate of the roof was a similar colour. The other cottage was the very example of a fairy tale cottage, smooth walls painted a buttercup yellow with small circular windows.
Deacon turned left to the yellow cottage when the path branched. It was only until he had lifted the silver knocker when the enchantment wore off. But it was already too late. Deacon could hear the grumpy footsteps from inside the cottage and then the creaky swing of the door to reveal a very unimpressed man with hair as dark as night and glare as sharp as the edge of a knife.
“Ah,” Deacon began, mentally cursing the enchantment again, “hi.”
The man narrowed his eyes. He placed the mug of tea he was holding to the side and crossed his arms.
Deacon had a habit of smiling whenever he was dying inside. Like now. God darn it. He absolutely hated the enchantment the witches placed on the forest. It casted a fog of illusion and confusion on the people within its radius. It kept people lost and dazed until they were harmless enough for the witches to deal with. Which was all fine and dandy, you know, safety first and all. But. But Deacon was harmless! And he came here every year! Surely the witches could have made an exception for him?
But apparently not.
“For the last time,” Nox spat out between gritted teeth, “he lives over there.”
And ‘there’, the evil witch of the kingdom was, waving energetically from where he stood at the fence that separated their cottages. Too energetically, even for the late afternoon, Deacon would argue. The evil witch was beaming at Deacon. Dressed in a light teal waistcoat and a billowing shirt, and hair adorned with flecks of solidified sunlight, Chase Everett Hollow was sunshine incarnate.
“Hey Deacon! Morning Buddy!” Chase called, fiddling with the flimsy latch on the gate and then hopping over to them. He beamed at Buddy and seemed to vibrate with the urge to just reach out and touch Buddy. Deacon looked on in horror – Chase hadn’t been this bad when he came nine months ago. What was this?
And then, as if feeling the visible disgust on Deacon’s face, Chase turned to him. “Deacon! Dorkin! Hey! Oh my gosh, how are you! It’s been–” his smile dropped. “It’s not been a year yet.”
Deacon sighed. “No, it’s been nine months.”
“Then why are you here?”
Deacon glanced at Nox, who still had his arms crossed but his hostility seemed to have mellowed a touch in Chase’s presence.
“I need your help.”
“No,” Nox said, acting very much like the evil witch he was not, and went to shut the door in Deacon’s face. “Goodbye.”
“Wait!” Deacon cried out, his mild dislike towards the witch momentarily forgotten in light of the more pressing matter which sent him here in the first place. Thankfully, Chase’s quick reflexes allowed him to jab a foot in the doorway.
The door closed on him with a visible CLUCK.
Clunk?
Nox opened the door again, looking down towards the foot that had so rudely interrupted his dramatic exit and then up at the person who it belonged to.
Chase had a massive grin plastered across his face. “Handy, isn’t it? I polished my shoes with some iron-ing salve just last night!”
Buddy shot him a muted glare and then waited for Chase to withdraw the offending appendage. When he did so, Buddy began to swing the door shut with renewed vigour.
CLUCK.
Clunk?
Clunk? Again?
Deacon watched on with increasing levels of concern.
“Handy, isn’t it?” Chase said again, gesturing to his knee-high boots. “I also polished the boot leg with some iron-ing salve last night too!”
Nox’s glare was much stronger this time round, and he repeated the same actions as he did before, widening the door gap to allow Chase to step back.
Then, for the third time, Nox moved to slam the door shut. And then, again, for the third time, Chase shot his leg in the path of the closing door.
“Careful! If you slam the door shut, you’re going to break my leg, you know.” Chase sang, absolutely unconcerned about the very imminent danger he was willingly putting his leg in. “I didn’t polish my thighs with iron-ing salve last night!”
And just before the door slammed hard onto the meat of Chase’s thigh, it stopped abruptly. The force of the motion created a breeze so strong it ruffled Chase’s meticulously arranged hair and also knocked over the wooden birdhouse at the side of the cottage.
Chase grinned like his leg hadn’t just escaped amputation. “See! I knew you liked me!”
Deacon watched his cousin with growing despair. Honestly. He swore to god, Chase wasn’t this bad when he last visited, although it seemed as though the other witch was much more receptive to Chase’s advances… Anyways – Deacon shook himself – he was here on official business. Important business.
“Chase, and uh,” Deacon’s voice died inside his throat at the sight of the good witch’s glare, “Sir good witch.”
Nox narrowed his eyes.
“I– we need your help. Honestly. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t our last resort.”
That seemed to pique Chase’s curiosity. He tipped his head to the side and studied his mousy cousin. There was an air of seriousness about him that Chase wasn’t used to. He had also bulked up a bit and now filled in well into the armour that used to dwarf him just a few years ago.
Chase’s imploring eyes seemed permission enough for Deacon to carry on. Nox stood leaning on the door jamb, expressionless, but not turning away.
“Do you remember Prunella?” Deaon asked, testing the waters.
Chase’s eyes lit up. “Prunella!” he exclaimed, “How is she! How tall is she now? She was just–” he brought his hand to the middle of his abdomen, “– around this tall? Anyways! How is she!”
Deacon grimaced. He rubbed the back of his neck. Ah, maybe he shouldn't have started with that. “Well, you see,” he brought both his hands together to leave a gap about the width of a small ball, “she’s about this tall now.”
“Wha–”
“Uh, she got turned into a frog.”
A mild breeze tickled the sliver of skin that peeked out where their trousers ended. Somewhere nearby, the wooden bucket they used to collect rainbucket exploded.
“What?” Chase said, face slack with shock. Behind him, Nox seemed much more attentive. His folded arms had disappeared, and now he was leaning his head on his hand in thought. Deacon spied the knobbly end of his wand poking out from the holster wrapped around his thigh.
Now that both witches' attention was fully on him, he began to explain. “We think there’s a rogue magician in town. Things have been going missing, turning, getting bigger and getting smaller. Those were little things. People didn’t notice, and when we did, we didn’t realise. Who was going to complain if Albert’s aubergines suddenly grew thrice their size in one night? We thought that maybe a good harvest was coming.”
“And?” Nox interrupted, picking at his nails, “get to the point, Spotty.”
“And,” Deacon ground out, “Prunella got turned into a frog. There. The end. Are you happy?”
“No.”
Deacon groaned, and no, he definitely did not stomp his foot into the mud in frustration.
“So, Prunella got turned into a frog? That’s it? There’s a rogue running around and they turned Prunella into a frog?” Deacon turned to look at Chase, whose eyebrows were furrowed and faint train tracks appeared across his forehead. “Has she been turned back yet? Is she okay?”
Deacon pursed his lips and then walked around the yard searching for something to sit on. It was going to be a long day if Chase started with his questions. “No, she’s not been turned back yet. There’s more to the story.”
“Yes. Like why you’re here bothering us” Nox said, sitting on a chair he somehow magicked up. He had not, truthfully – doing so would be a waste of magic and his energy – he had only dragged a chair from the sitting room to the door.
At this point, Deacon wasn’t quite sure why he was playing into Nox’s little games. He had been in this exact clearing once every year, starting from when he was just a puny pre-pubescent boy. He didn’t have to, he supposed, but Nox’s mirth irritated him like lemon on an open wound. Especially so, when Chase would leave Deacon’s side to hop up to his new best friend.
“There’s something I haven’t told you yet… We can’t. Andrew – Prunella’s dad – recently started to sell frogs next door–”
“Next to Mrs G’s bakery?”
“Yes, next to his wife’s bakery, Chase. But yeah, that’s why we can’t turn Prunella back. We don’t know which frog she is.”
“And how do you know she was turned into a frog?”
“One of her friends saw. They told us.”
Nox narrowed his eyes even further until they were just slits. “A child? And you believe that child?” He crossed his legs, the action causing the wand in his holster to glisten from the soft sunlight. God, Deacon wished he could just snatch that wand and undo the spell himself. Then there would be no need to come here begging for help.
His frustration had been simmering all this time, and Nox’s pretentiousness had just caused it to boil over. “Yes, I believe the child!” Deacon shouted, shooting upright from where he sat on a little wooden stool. “And so does the entire town! And so do her parents! She’s been gone four days now, so if she’s not been turned into a frog, then what? What else should we think! What else can we think! So much for you being the good witch–”
“Deacon!” Chase’s sharp bark echoed in the forest clearing, but despite the speed, the damage had been done. Deacon met Chase’s eyes and saw raw anger in them. He took a step back. His hands raised upwards unconsciously to protect himself, but Chase paid him no heed. He had turned back to look at Nox, whose eyes were wide with vulnerability for one second and then an angry glaze of tears the other.
He slammed the door. The sound rang in the clearing and it deafened Deacon. His heart dropped.
That was it.
He fudged it. Deacon had messed it up again, like he always did.
“Buddy!” Chase ran to the door and pounded his fists on the wood. He pressed his face against the wooden slats in a feeble attempt to see inside, but he saw nothing. “Buddy!”
“C-Chase,” Deacon began, stuttering, breaths coming in out in out of his chest too quick, “I’m sorry–”
“Shut it!” Chase snarled. He went to peek in the circular window that would usually give him a view into the kitchen, but that window was clouded. He tried again with the window that showed the sitting room – no luck. That was completely blacked out. The third window Chase tried was at the side of the house, showing a peek into the hallway. It was a strange window, one that sunk into the walls, but it created a curved ledger for Chase's fingers to use as a hold as he tippy-toed up to peek. But the moment Chase’s hands gripped its ledge, the window flew up towards the second storey of the cottage.
“Deacon!” Chase yelled, feet dangling six feet off the ground. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him. “Deacon!”
“Chase!” Deacon cried back, immediately rushing over to his cousin’s aid. He was stuck on the ground, gravity refused to release its hold on him, and he had no magic to convince it otherwise. He stretched his arms out and cast his head skywards to see where Chase was properly. Jittery energy made him dart left and right as he tried to follow the floating window’s whims. “Chase! What do I do! What do I– ”
Chase’s fingers slipped off the ledge one by one. He cast a nervous glance at the window – nope, still clouded – and then chanced a look down towards the ground. Papery thin relief blossomed when he saw his human cushion cousin right under him.
He didn’t last much longer. Plip, plip, plip, he could hear as his fingers lost contact with the ledge. It didn’t take longer for his pinky to be the last finger standing. The pinky, also Chase’s weakest finger. (In Chase’s defense, he never foresaw an event where he would need better grip!) His pinky didn’t even put up a fight. The moment it was just his pinky, it forfeited and surrendered its hold on the window.
And down Chase went. Falling, tumbling, through the air. The wind whipped at his face and ran naughty fingers through his already untidy hair. He fought to keep his eyes open, but the furious wind forced them shut. The last thing he saw was Deacon’s outstretched arms and freckles stark across his too-pale face.
“Oof!”
Chase’s body collided with Deacon’s and they both crumbled to the ground like paper soldiers. Air rushed out of Deacon as Chase’s weight crashed into him. It took them a second to regain their bearings, groaning and rolling around on the ground, but otherwise with no serious injuries.
“You okay?” Chase asked, a breathless smile on his face. He got to his feet and offered his hand to Deacon, who took it up with a relieved eagerness.
Deacon brushed off the dirt from his clothes and inspected his body, twisting and turning to see if there were any grotesquely broken limbs or blooming bruises. None. Just a few scratches and the leftover adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“What was that?” he asked, but Chase ignored him, striding out of Nox’s garden and into his own with purpose hot on his heels. Deacon had no choice but to follow.
The inside of Chase’s cottage was… different. It was exactly as expected from what Deacon knew of its exterior – dark colours, a distinct coolness in the air, and corners that seemed to shun light. The only abnormal thing in this entire house was his cousin Chase.
Chase’s fluffy blond hair looked out of place against the dark violet of the wallpaper. Chase didn’t belong here. He was meant to be the good witch! But Deacon kept his mouth shut, remembering how Chase had snapped at him earlier.
“What now?” he asked when he eventually worked up the courage. No longer was Chase the little cousin who followed him around like a lost duckling. This was Chase Everett Hollow, the evil witch who was capable of destroying a kingdom for breakfast if he so fancied.
Chase was rummaging through his kitchen. It looked like a tornado had torn through the room on a good day, but on days where Chase ventured into the kitchen for one thing or another, the kitchen would begin to protest. Cupboards switched places and the tiles on the floor slid backwards and forwards like a giant sliding puzzle. Last year, when Deacon was taken by some false sense of bravado, he stepped foot in the kitchen and was promptly propelled back out the kitchen and through a window by the sheer velocity the tiles moved at.
“Ugh!” Chase grumbled, waving his hands about distractedly to swat at the flying utensils that were making a half-hearted attempt at stabbing them. Deacon watched on silently, in concern, but never making a move to intervene. Chase was more than equipped to deal with this. If he stepped foot in the kitchen again, he might not make it out with all his limbs.
Finally, after shoving his entire body into the cupboard under the sink, Chase emerged with an armful of treats. All chocolate. Chocolate muffins, chocolate cookies, chocolate slabs… There was no need to guess who they were for.
“What now, Chase?” Deacon asked again when he was sure Chase’s attention wasn’t diverted away by angry kitchenware or elusive snacks. “Prunella could be running out of time.”
Chase nodded. “And she is. I told you before, haven’t I? Children take to magic too easily, and vice versa. If she forgets what being human feels like, then that’s it for her.”
Panic flared up inside Deacon. “Then we need to hurry!”
“We do,” Chase agreed, fumbling with the doorknob now that both his hands were occupied with creating a makeshift basket for the snacks. Deacon went to help. He stared sullenly at his cousin, who was now halfway down the path to Nox’s. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Anything more specific about Prunella’s situation? Is she being kept in a good state? Fed? Watched?”
Deacon frowned. “I think so. We can’t tell which frog she is, but Andrew is keeping them well-fed. Probably more well-fed than the average person, actually. I’ve never seen frogs triple their size in one night.”
Chase’s steps came to a halting stop and he froze. “Triple? Are you sure?”
“I mean, yeah?” Deacon’s eyes searched Chase’s face and found it blank with an unreadable expression. “It would have been funny if it weren’t for the situation. I reckon Andrew could probably win the town fayre with those frogs.”
“Okay,” was all Chase said as he headed towards Nox’s cottage.
.
Despite Chase’s apprehension, when he placed a hand on the wall at the side of Buddy’s cottage, the walls pulled apart to make a human-sized hole just big enough for Chase to fit through. Chase fought the smile growing on his face. Clearly, Buddy wasn’t that angry. Chase had tried the front door earlier but that was locked, probably to keep Deacon out in case his knightly bravado got to his head.
Buddy’s cottage was predisposed to light, but Chase still found him hiding in one of the sitting room’s gloomiest corners, created by a mismatched pair of a settee and a loveseat. Chase’s loveseat, which Buddy had magicked into his cottage because he claimed the oversaturation of bright colours was going to blind him.
Buddy was tucked into his corner, both knees brought up to his chest, arms circling them in a self-imposed prison. “Hey,” Chase whispered, setting one hand on Buddy’s knee and laying his chocolate-y offerings on the floor where Buddy could see them. Chase made a show of plonking his bottom on the floor and shuffling next to Buddy. He knocked his shoulders into Buddy’s side when he made no attempt of devouring the treats like he usually would. “Deacon didn’t mean that, you know?”
“Mn,” Buddy said, but still not moving.
Chase’s face lit up in a smile. Progress! He picked up a triple chocolate muffin from his selection of offerings, peeled back the parchment, and offered it to Buddy. When Buddy only turned his head away so that he didn’t have to see Chase’s olive branch, Chase nudged him some more with the muffin.
“If you don’t want these muffins, I’ll just have to use them as bait for the bears in the woods..” Chase sang under his breath, breaking off a small nibble of the muffin’s crust for himself.
Buddy snorted. “You’ll kill the bears.”
“I’ll enchant them! Make them harmless to bears! I’ll imbue them with a friendship potion!” Chase pouted. Jeez, he only wanted to cheer Buddy up, but Buddy couldn’t resist tearing holes in his logic even when he was upset.
At what felt like long last, Buddy’s shoulders began shaking with barely contained laughter. The image of Chase dancing with the bears in the woods was too much for his gloom to handle. When he regained his composure, he took the muffin from Chase’s still offering hand and bit down into it viciously.
“So?” Chase said.
“So what?” Buddy echoed.
“You’re coming with, you know that, right?” Chase tilted his head to peer at Buddy. Buddy met his eyes. “Deacon said the frogs were tripling in size, Buddy. I’m worried.”
Buddy chewed thoughtfully. His eyes strayed to the upper right, a mannerism Chase was familiar with whenever Buddy was deep in thought.
“Layers?” Buddy eventually said.
Chase nodded grimly. “Yeah, it sounded like it.”
That seemed to be all the encouragement Buddy needed to get out of his moping. He brushed off muffin crumbs from his fingers, which dissolved into golden sparkles before they reached the floor. Chase watched as he brought out a teal messenger bag – Chase’s too, before Buddy appropriated it from his wardrobe – and began to stuff stacks of blank parchments and ink and quill and chocolate and blankets and almost the entire cottage into the bag.
“Layers, huh.”
Chase agreed all too much. Magic layers were another layer of complexity they didn’t need (excuse the pun). Layers made the magic unstable, and unstable magic was volatile. Chase said as much in his public musings as Buddy packed.
“Or it means someone skilled is the perpetrator.”
Chase frowned. Yeah, that. “Or it means someone skilled is the perpetrator…” Chase sighed. He picked a chocolate cookie off the ground and rolled it on its side. The cookie travelled too far than was logical, and had gradually transformed into a purple wheel by the time it hit Buddy’s foot. “But why would a skilled magician turn a child into a frog? It doesn’t make sense.”
Buddy’s feet came into Chase's view. He looked up. Buddy was all packed and ready, and had even managed to disappear into his room for a quick change of outfits whilst Chase was lost in his thoughts.
“Come on, you little idiot, let’s get a move on before that girl stays a frog forever.”
Chase took the hand Buddy offered and pulled himself up. Buddy must not have expected the sudden tug, however, and they ended up close enough to see the specks of colour in each other’s eyes. Chase’s heart lurched at the close proximity. Nox’s breath smelled like mint.
“Right.” Chase cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”