Chapter Three
For five minutes she did nothing but stare at the package. She placed it on her sideboard, stepped back, crumpled her hands around her middle, and opened her eyes wide.
She brought up a sweaty, shaking hand and pressed it against her mouth.
The package started to sizzle. Her smoke-addled nostrils were too burnt and overworked, but she noticed the smoke curling up from underneath the manila-colored paper.
With a violent twitch, she swatted the package, knocking it off her wooden dresser.
She jerked away as she stared at it on the floor. It was no longer smoking, and somehow the dresser was unmarked.
Her heart pounded like a hammer against stone. Her breath was short and sharp, her chest punching out quick and tight against her white work shirt.
The packet didn’t burst into flames, but she still rushed to her kitchen and grabbed the fire extinguisher by the cooker. She raced back into her hallway and stood over the package with the nozzle of the fire extinguisher extended towards it. When nothing happened, she slowly put the fire extinguisher down.
Drawing in a breath and locking it in her chest, she got down on her hands and knees and looked at the packet.
Wincing, she jabbed a finger at it. It didn’t burst into flame and it didn’t gobble her up. So she brought out her hands and grabbed it.
She flinched, expecting the worst, but the cardboard didn't burn her; it wasn't even warm to touch.
That was when Henrietta Gosling got the courage to open it. She sat down, bringing her knees in, and then, with the care of a surgeon pulling back flesh, she tore into the manila packet.
Still shivering, she turned it over, giving it a shake to dislodge whatever was inside.
A hairpin fell out. Yes, a hairpin.
She sat there on her bottom and stared at it.
There was no note, no message, only a drab brown hairpin.
What was going on here? Why had this packet been tucked behind the u-bend at Sizzle Café? Why did it have her name on it? What in God’s name was a dull hairpin doing inside?
These were questions she couldn’t answer, and perhaps no one could. For all she knew, the envelope wasn’t addressed to her at all. Perhaps it was intended for some other Henrietta. A Henrietta who was desperately after a hairpin, and didn't mind if she had to pick it up from a public bathroom.
Minutes ticked by, but she didn’t move. She sat on the hallway runner, the bare skin of her legs scratching against the carpet. She stared at the hairpin, and she wondered what the hell it could mean.
After her bare legs started to chill and her crumpled body began to fatigue, she drew herself up.
She gave the hairpin one last wary stare before turning away. She walked several steps, then spun to check on it once more.
Nothing.
Chewing a nail, she decided she needed a shower.
She was going mad. That had to be it. Maybe some hot water and some clean clothes would help her see reason.
It was when she was shampooing her hair that she smelt the smoke.
Yes, more smoke. It took her a while to notice it; her nose was raw and cracked from her ordeal at lunchtime.
When she caught a whiff of burning wood, her body gave such a jolt she almost fell over her taps.
She flung the shower door open, jumped out, and barreled out of the bathroom. She sprinted, wet feet catching against her hallway runner, until she reached the hairpin. It was smoldering. Thick wisps of smoke tracked along the carpet, curling up and filling the hall.
The smoke alarm in her kitchen began to blare like a klaxon.
She stood stock still.
She made no move to pluck up her fire extinguisher.
Why?
Because there was something in her hallway. To be precise, a man.
The same leather-jacket-wearing man who had wandered into Sizzle Cafe at lunchtime.
She was naked, sopping wet, and her carpet was smoking.
She was terrified.
“Get out, get out, get out!” she screamed until her voice cracked with strain. Doubling back, she clutched her hands around herself and ducked into an open doorway to her side.
There was a whoosh, and her carpet caught fire.
The man in the leather jacket didn’t move. He was standing half a meter from the flames, but didn’t appear bothered. With a slight frown, his brow crumpled with confusion, but that was it.
“Get out!” She grabbed the first thing she could reach, which happened to be a heavy book on Swedish verbs, and threw it right at the man's head.
Her aim was poor, and rather than hit the man, the book fell on top of the flaming rug.
“Excuse me,” the man said, as if Henrietta had been quite rude.
“Get out,” she screamed, her voice a keening cry. Not only did she have a home invader, but the fire was picking up, burning with more ferocity as the wood underneath began to roar and crackle.
“Why have you left your wand against wood when I specifically told you not to?” He crossed his arms, the leather of his jacket creaking like an old hinge.
Still hiding behind the doorway, she grabbed up another book, this one on French architecture, and tried to fling it at him again. Once again her aim was terrible, and she managed to hit the fire extinguisher instead, toppling it over and making it roll towards the flames.
If she kept throwing things at him, she would end up taking the rest of the house with her.
Yet she wasn't going to stop, because there was a creepy man in a creepy leather jacket standing in her hallway talking about hairpins.
“I told you explicitly that if you put it near wood, the wood will burn.” He had an authoritative, peeved edge to his voice.
“I don't know what you're talking about!” She grabbed another book.
“I clearly wrote on the inside of that packet that if you leave your transformation wand near any type of wood, eventually the wood will burst into magical flames. Look, you have ignored me.” He shook his head and looked disappointed.
Good god, he was mad. If she needed any more evidence of the man's lunacy, considering his dress sense, then talk of magical flames and transformation wands was the nail in the coffin. “Just get out, please, get out.”
“Now why would I get out? I have only just found you. I have been looking for you for entirely too long, and I am not about to leave now.” He glowered at her, the flames almost touching his feet as they licked and leaped across the carpet. “Are you going to stand there, dripping against your wall, or are you going to come and put this fire out?”
The smoke was now so thick, she had to slam her dripping palm over her mouth.
She had to get away.
She backed off, darting down the hall and into the kitchen. As she passed the open bathroom door, she grabbed at the robe over the back of it and swung it over herself, shrugging into it as her feet pounded over the hallway floor.
She reached the kitchen, seizing the doorway and using it to pivot herself so she didn't lose any speed.
Her gaze locked on the knife rack, but she hesitated. She wasn't the kind of girl to grab up a kitchen knife and threaten a home invader. She was more the kind of girl to fling open the kitchen door and run like crazy until she could get the neighbors to call the police.
So she turned and headed for the door.
Except there was a problem. The man was now in front of it. She’d left him in the hallway, and she’d run the whole way to the kitchen, only pausing to grab her toweling robe, and yet somehow, somehow he was now in front of her.
It was such a shock that she brought herself to a stuttering stop, grabbing onto the kitchen table to steady herself so she didn't fly face-first into the guy.
She must have looked like a surprised fish – her mouth was wide open, her jaw as slack as loose fabric. If she’d been in any other situation, she would’ve laughed at herself.
There was no time to laugh at anything now, not when a creepy home invader
was rushing around her house at the speed of light.
Her mouth still open, she backed away from the kitchen table.
“If you keep your mouth open like that for too long, a spider may crawl inside,” the man pointed out, his voice matter-of-fact.
It was the creepiest thing she’d ever heard. It gave her a full-body shiver, and she clutched a hand onto the collar of her toweling robe, pulling it around herself tighter and tighter.
She turned on her foot and ran from the kitchen, heading back to the hallway.
When she reached the flaming rug, it was no longer on fire. What was more, the man was standing on it again.
It was the same man, it had to be. It was the same leather jacket, the same scuffed boots, the same large clothes, and the same thick stubble. It was even the same bemused and bored expression.
She started to shake, and it was a bad, shuddering type of shake. It was the kind of shivering that she couldn't control, the kind of quick snapped movements the body gave when it was dealing with the most horrible of shocks.
She began to back off again, except now her heart was beating so fast that it sent cold blasting through her neck and lungs.
She stumbled, keeping her eyes on the man, her mind reeling with surprise and fear. “What's happening?”
“We are getting to know one another.” The man shrugged. “As we will be spending a lot of time with each other in the future, it is natural to spend some time introducing ourselves.”
Getting to know one another, spending a lot of time with each other in the future – oh god. There was no doubt that this crazy, ninja-quick home invader wanted to kidnap her.
She screamed, and it was loud and desperate, the kind of keening cry that no one could mistake for a joke.
The man looked at her nonplussed and then cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”
“Please, please, leave. I won't call the police, I won't tell them what you've done. Just leave.”
The man looked bemused, but that was it. He didn't start cackling, and neither did he snap forward, bring out rope, and tie her up. “I do hope you are not this emotional when it comes to fighting.”
She slammed a sweaty hand on her chest and she wheezed. He hoped she wouldn't be this emotional when she was fighting? Did this mean he was going to kidnap her and use her for some kind of cage fight? Was that a thing? Did men in leather jackets kidnap confused women and force them onto the boxing circuit?
Standing there, her knuckles white as she clutched onto the collar and waist of her bathrobe, her imagination ran wild.
“After it has taken so long to find you, I had hoped you would be everything that legend promised.” He narrowed his eyes and appraised her with an unimpressed look. “I must admit, unless you are acting, you do not seem like a brave and capable warrior woman.”
“Warrior woman?” she repeated, disbelief constricting her voice into a timid squeak.
“Yes, warrior woman.”
It was all too much. She choked as hot, fat, salty tears streamed down her face.
If the man had looked unimpressed before, now he rolled his eyes in obvious disdain. “You are actually crying?”
Of course she was crying. It had been a big day, and to top it all off, it appeared she would be kidnapped and forced into cage fighting. So yes, she was crying, because she had a lot to cry about.
The more the hot sticky tears trickled down her face, the less and less impressed the man looked.
“Well how long are you planning on crying for? We have a busy night ahead of us. I have already located a witch, and unless we deal with it, we will be remiss of our duties. If we are remiss of our duties, the Sacred Balance will be affected, and if the Sacred Balance is affected, well,” he took a heavy and pointed breath, “Then the universe will cease to exist.”
The universe will cease to exist?
She whimpered. This man was utterly insane.
“You are whimpering now, but you have stopped crying, does that mean that you are ready to go and transform?” He narrowed his eyes and shot her a cautious look.
She wanted to run away and call the police. No – she needed to.
“You're planning on trying to run again, are you?” He asked perceptively.
She took an enormous swallow and took a shuddering step backwards.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I have been training all my life for this,” he kept shaking his head, “I was promised a warrior woman, a Witch Hunter, and all I get is an emotional woman past her prime.”
She choked back her tears. “Excuse me, past my prime? I'm still in my 20’s!”
He chuckled. “Most Witch Hunters of old were 16. It is a good age for witch hunting.”
“... Just get out of my house,” she begged, but this time her voice was firmer. Maybe it was the snide comment about her being past her prime, or maybe she was calming down enough to get a handle on her fear.
“I have already told you, I can't do that; I am your witch watcher, I am here to guide you along the path. I am here to deliver your transformation wand, and I am here to help you do what is necessary.” He nodded low, and it was a notable move. It was slow and delicate, and seemed to belie a great deal of respect.
“... Who are you?” She didn’t let go of her bathrobe for one second as she anchored her hands on it.
He watched her. “You have no idea, do you?”
She shook her head.
“Okay, well be sure to listen carefully this time. My name is Brick, I am a warrior monk. I grew up in a warrior monastery, with my warrior monk brethren. When I came of age, I was given a holy task. My holy task was to watch over a Witch Hunter.” He nodded her way.
“Sorry, Brick? Is that your name?” She looked at him with narrowed eyes. Of all the things he’d said – of all the crazy he’d spouted – the possibility that his name was Brick trumped it all.
Brick looked at her with narrowed eyes and cleared his throat. “Do not interrupt me. It took me some years to find you, but now I'm here, it's time we start to get down to business. We have a lot of witches to hunt, and you have a lot of training to undergo. Now I have introduced myself, it's time for you to take up your transformation wand, get changed into something more magical, and go out and fight the witches.”
Henrietta blinked at him. She couldn't think of an intelligent reply, and she couldn't even think of a semi-stupid question to ask. All she could do was blink.
She couldn’t process what he’d said. It was all fanciful, all fantastic, and all entirely impossible.
As Brick watched her, an expectant look on his face, she realized she had to react in some way. So, despite the fact he was a creepy home invader, she shrugged back and began to laugh. “Okay, sure thing, Brick. I have another idea. How about I call the police, and you get the hell out of my house?”
Brick scrunched up his brow and looked quizzical, as if he was thinking over that possibility, and then he shook his head. “You are not an active listener. You seem to have ignored everything I have told you. I have a sacred imperative to help you fight the witches, so I am going to pass up on your offer to get the hell out of your house. Instead I am going to teach you how to transform with your transformation wand, and then you are going to go out and fight the witches.”
It was her turn to shake her head. Her dripping hair sent trickles of water playing down her neck and back and several droplets even splattered onto the wall beside her.
Brick gave a heavy sigh. “We do not have much time, Warrior Woman Henrietta; we must get some witch hunting done before the night is through. Recognize that these are dangerous creatures, and if left alone, the witches will bring much misery and destruction.”
She kept shaking her head.
“Why are you shaking your head? Are you denying the fact that the witches are one of the most dangerous and insidious enemies on the planet?” He crossed his arms and got a stern look on his face.
“You are mad,” she admitted with a nervous chu
ckle.
Brick's eyebrows crumpled. “I am mad? You're standing there, as a Warrior Woman, ignoring your duty, and dripping water onto your floor.”
“Why don't you get out of my house, Brick?”
Brick paused, shrugged, shook his head, and took a massive sigh. “I see I am going to have to give you a demonstration. Very well then.” With that he reached into his leather jacket and somehow pulled out a massive crossbow. It was huge, and couldn't have fit into the pocket of his jacket, and yet he whisked it out, and the moment he did, she shuddered back from shock.
“Please, please, please don't.” She crumpled a hand over her mouth and whimpered.
“Don't what?” Brick shrugged.
Before he could wait for her answer, he did something.
He shot the roof.
He brought the crossbow up, directed the top of it towards the ceiling, and then he fired. No bolt came streaming from the crossbow. Instead it was a surge of blue energy and flame.
She screamed, clutching a hand to her chest, whimpering as she stumbled back, feet snagging on the carpet and sending her tumbling to the floor.
She didn't sit frozen in fear for long. She crawled backwards, eyes locked on the blue flame playing over her ceiling.
Though it looked powerful, it didn't burn through the plaster. Instead it somehow formed a mandala, circular-like pattern with symbols playing around the edges. It was around this that the flames and electricity crackled.
She’d never seen anything like it. Crossbows shoot bolts, not mysterious blue flames and symbols.
She shuddered and screamed and whimpered, but no matter what she did, the symbols and flames didn’t disappear. Neither did the ceiling burst into flames.
The flames were cold.
She stared at the specter; she couldn't drag her eyes from it.
“How do you like the demonstration? Do you feel ready to go fight the witches yet?”
She scampered backwards. “What's happening, what is happening, what's happening?”
Brick brought his crossbow down, looked it over, and gave an easy shrug. “It's nothing to worry about. It's a magical magnification field, used to increase the effect of magic practiced within it.” He paused, watching her expression. “It won't damage your ceiling.”
“What is this? What are you? Who am I? What's happening?” She couldn’t form a coherent sentence, she couldn't push her words out, she couldn't force her thoughts to make sense. All she could do was stare at those dancing blue flames.
“Why is this happening to you? I have already told you that, as I have already told you who I am and who you are. All that is left is for you to pick up your magical transformation wand, write the words “Witch Hunter” clearly in front of you, and be sure to dodge all your furniture whilst the process takes hold. Then we will go out and fight the witches.” He ticked off the list on his large, thick, scarred fingers.
She didn't move. She fixated on the blue flaming symbols on her ceiling until they dissipated.
Brick was patient for a while, then started to tap his foot. “Warrior Woman Henrietta, we do not have much time. I assure you, there are already witches in this town, and we must begin our sacred task of eliminating them this night.”
She tore her gaze from the ceiling and locked it on him. “I....”
Brick plunged his hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a large heavy Akubra hat, despite the fact the hat couldn't have fit into his pocket in the first place. He tugged it onto his head and then nodded at her.
He pushed his hand into his pocket again and brought out the hairpin.
The second she looked at it, she gave a violent shudder.
Brick noted the move and nodded in approval. He walked over to her and handed her the hairpin.
She didn't run away from him, she didn't even stumble backwards. She looked at the hairpin and shivered.
“Take it, Warrior Woman Henrietta, and grasp hold of your destiny.”
Her lips wobbled on the word destiny.
He stood there, the hairpin still in his hand as he held it out for her to take. When it became obvious she wasn't going to play along, he rolled his eyes. He flicked his head to the left. “Oh my god, do I smell smoke?”
She twisted towards the kitchen.
That would be when Brick leaned down and tucked the hairpin into the front pocket of her bathrobe. The move was too fast; aside from having a magical crossbow, Brick was lightning quick. So by the time she looked around, the hairpin was already in her pocket.
She snapped backwards, stumbling away from him.
She looked down at her pocket.
“Pick it up and then write the words “Witch Hunter” up in the air with it,” Brick encouraged her, nodding and smiling.
She stared at him like the crazy man he was, and continued to back off.
Her back brushed against a door, and she brought up her hand and opened it, without turning from him for a second.
The door led to her bedroom. Her bedroom had a small patio that connected to the side of the house, and a set of French doors that led out into the garden.
Still, it was her bedroom, and the idea of leading this Brick fellow into it was terrifying.
She flinched as she entered her room, especially when she saw Brick following after her.
“You are crazy, this is crazy,” she said, her voice high and fast. Her throat was tight, her hands were sweaty, and she was still holding onto the edges of her bathrobe with a stiff-knuckled grip.
He crossed his arms and sighed, appearing disappointed in her. “Henrietta Gosling, take up the transformation wand from your pocket and use it to write the words “Witch Hunter” in the air.”
He sounded like a teacher, or a principal, or her own father; his voice had an authoritative, commanding and yet disapproving edge to it.
She replied by shaking her head, her wet hair sending tendrils of dripping fringe slapping into her face and cheeks. She kept backing into her room, and that leather-clad man kept following her. There was such a keen, intelligent, watchful edge to his gaze that she couldn't help but stare at his eyes.
“Why does this have to be so hard?” He brought up a hand and planted his thumb and fingers into his brow. “None of the legends of Witch Hunters and their warrior monk assistants ever mentioned problems like this.” He let out a grating groan, then darted his gaze towards her pocket. “Can’t you feel its power?”
She wanted to shake her head. She didn’t.
She could feel something. Feelings she’d never felt before. Quick, powerful, tight, and racing. They promised a lot of power, power she’d never before imagined.
Maybe her expression changed, maybe her gaze drifted down to the hairpin, because he cracked a smile and nodded. “That's it, pick it up now.”
She shook her head and backed off into her room until her shoulders banged against her dressing table and she knocked her hairbrush onto the floor. It tumbled over her inexpensive and fake Persian rug and came to a rest close to her dog basket.
Her dog, Barney, was fast asleep in the basket, as he was now so old that he only arose for food and a pat.
Having a hairbrush dropped right next to him made Barney open an eye.
Far from rushing up and barking at the home invader, he blinked a sleepy eye at Brick, then let out a yawn and closed his eyes again.
It got Brick's attention, and a calculating expression twisted into place on the home invader's face.
It sent a quick, sick feeling shooting through her, and she jerked over to Barney's basket.
She was too late. Brick, with his lightning fast ninja-like skills, darted across the room and grabbed Barney up in the blink of an eye.
She yelped. “What are you doing? Put him down now!”
With a satisfied smile, he shook his head. “I can see that you are the kind of woman who requires encouragement to get started.” He scratched Barney under the chin.
Heart rocketing around, she took sever
al tight steps towards Brick. “You put him down now, you hear me?”
Brick shrugged. “I can hear you, though I am not going to put him down. I am going to keep him here until you do what I have told you, and you rise up to take hold of your destiny.”
“Give me back my dog!”
“Not until you have transformed into a Witch Hunter.” Brick kept scratching Barney under the chin, and the dog could not look happier.
She stood there, surveying her bedroom, trying to look for a weapon, anything she could use to defend herself and get her dog back.
Brick watched her eyes and shook his head again.
He patted Barney on the head several times, then opened his jacket and managed to tuck the dog into his pocket. Barney fit. Barney fitted fine. When Brick closed his jacket again, it was as if nothing was there. There was no massive bulge as the small corgi pushed up against his jacket. The leather sat straight against Brick's chest.
She crumpled her hands over her mouth and gave a scream. “What have you done?”
At the sound of her scream, a muffled bark filtered out from Brick's jacket.
“Your dog is fine, but if you want to see him again, for the love of god and all that is sacred, pick up the hairpin and write the words “Witch Hunter” in the air.” Brick looked desperate now, and the frustration pulled at his already lined face.
He was mad, this was mad, but he had stolen her dog and somehow hidden it in his jacket. So she let her shaking hand descend to her pocket and she let her fingers close around the hairpin. The second she did, a jolt of energy passed through her. It felt as if she’d stood on a live-wire. She managed to keep hold of the hairpin, and she brought it out to stare at it with wide, shocked eyes.
Though it was mad, she brought the hairpin forward and she began to write the words Witch Hunter.
With a shaking, trembling hand she finished writing. The second she did something occurred.
First a loud keening sound filled the air. It reminded her of getting too close to a high-voltage power line, and it began to pluck at the hairs along her arms and the back of her neck, making them stand on end. Within seconds that noise dissipated and was replaced with a swooshing sound. Henrietta looked down to see a circle appear at her feet. It was like the circle the magical crossbow had shot onto her ceiling; it looked like an intricate mandala, surrounded by symbols that flamed an electric blue and green.
The second the circle formed, energy crackled all around and up over her feet, legs, and the rest of her body.
At the sight of it, she screamed. As the energy plucked and played along her skin, she tried to swipe it off her as if it were insects.
“Calm down, Warrior Woman Henrietta. You will be fine,” Brick said, a calm edge to his voice as if he were a parent trying to assure a child after a nightmare.
She didn't stop screaming; blue and green energy was covering her, swimming and swarming over her skin with alarming speed.
Within seconds, something else began to happen. Henrietta started to float. At first it felt like a light sensation picking up through her feet and legs, then she looked down to see her bathrobe fluff out as if a strong wind shot up from underneath her.
Her feet lifted off the ground.
She screamed even harder now.
“Floating is natural.” Brick gave a hearty laugh.
She screamed louder.
As she floated, the symbols at her feet grew wider, and the color of the blue and green more vibrant. There was now so much energy crackling around on the floor and over her that her entire room was illuminated with a glow.
Brick walked over to her window and pulled the curtains shut. “I don't think the neighbors need to see this.” He chuckled.
Her arms became stiffer and pulled straight at her sides as her legs were yanked down. It was as if she was a puppet being manipulated by a strong hand.
“Don't worry, the magic is stretching you out so it can get your measurements. You do want your clothes to fit.” Brick flicked her a casual smile as he tucked his hands into his pockets.
She was beyond screaming now; her throat was so dry and cracked that the only sound she could make was a harsh low whimper.
Something appeared over her skin. The light below her changed as well. The blue and green energy snapped to white. As it did an energy covered her. In a wisp of sudden smoke, her bathrobe disappeared. Before she could clutch her arms around her body to cover her nudity, she felt a peculiar sensation; clothes were forming over her. Not just any clothes. As she looked down in abject horror, she saw the most fantastic of costumes appear out of thin air. It was blue and white and gold, and it looked as if it was made out of a material spun from sunshine.
The pin still in her hand elongated. In a snap and click it went from being a drab hair ornament to a long wand with a crystal on top.
The circle at her feet disappeared and the floating feeling started to dissipate.
She drifted down to her feet and the white glow illuminating the room twinkled out.
She was immobilized with fear, her mouth open and her heart beating hard in her ears. All she’d done was write with a pin, and now she was wearing a fantastic costume and holding a wand with a crystal on the top.
Brick stood there, looking proud. There was an easy smile curling his lips, his eyes were sparkling, and after a short, thoughtful pause, he started clapping. “Well done, well done.”
Her face scrunched up in shock, and she dropped her head to survey her clothes. If she’d thought Brick's costume was ridiculous, then her own was 100 times worse.
She had shoulder pads, actual shoulder pads. She had thigh-high boots on, too. She was wearing a long, flaring jacket that pinched in at the waist. Unlike Brick's, it wasn't made of jet-black leather; it was blue and white and shimmered like crystals. It was the gaudiest thing she’d ever seen. Underneath she wore an old-style flared dress, complete with a bodice, but with a skirt that ended up around her thighs.
It looked like something she’d bought from an adults-only store.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell am I wearing?” She tried to tug at her hem to lengthen the skirt, but it was a thankless task.
Brick looked at her then rubbed his hands together. “You are wearing a classic witch-hunter costume. Classic, with certain modern improvements. Ever since it was pointed out to us warrior monks that it is appallingly hard to run in a long skirt, we shortened it for the sake of efficiency in battle.”
She shifted her head until she looked at him, and as she did her jaw dropped open. The warrior monks shortened her skirt for proficiency in battle.
She didn't have the words to express how she felt right now.
He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Okay, now you're dressed, it’s time to go out and fight the witches.”
“I am not going anywhere dressed like this.” Her voice was as high as a train whistle.
“Why not? Those are the perfect clothes to fight witches in. I must say, that jacket is a stylish cut, too.”
She pressed two white sweaty fingers into her brow and tried to find the words – any words – to explain what was happening to her.
She had written in the air with a magical pin, and she’d somehow transformed into this ludicrous outfit in the middle of her bedroom. What was more, she’d trashed the place.
As she looked around, she saw her curtains had come off their rails, somehow the door had fallen off her wardrobe, and all the trinkets on her dressing table had fallen onto the floor.
From somewhere within the confines of Brick's jacket she heard a soft bark. That made her snap her head around. “You give me back Barney right now.” For some reason she planted her hands on her hips. It was a powerful and assertive move for timid Henrietta. It felt good though.
Brick brought up a finger and wagged it at her. “You will earn your dog back when you defeat the witches.” He turned and headed for the door.
“You get back here.” She stomped forward, her heels pier
cing the carpet and leaving tiny indents. They were like sky scrapers, but weirdly she had no trouble balancing in them. Which was fantastic considering how unco she was.
Brick kept backing off, then he brought his hands up and clapped them again. “It's time to begin. Follow me.” He turned and disappeared.
He actually disappeared.
Three seconds ago he’d been standing in the middle of her bedroom floor. A moment later he was standing outside her French doors.
She stumbled back and gasped.
“Come on,” he called to her from the other side of the doors, waving her forward. He tapped at his wrist as if to indicate that they didn't have much time.
At first Henrietta rushed forward, then she stopped. She looked down, and she remembered what she was wearing. Was she going to follow this crazy warrior monk across town while dressed like she was out of a bizarre adult movie?
No. She was not. As soon as she made that decision, she heard the soft pining bark of Barney filter through from Brick's jacket.
She clutched her fingers into her palms and she steadied her jaw. How dare he come into her house, steal her dog, and run around like a ninja.
With that, Henrietta Gosling, dressed in clothes she’d never before worn and would never ever consider wearing again, ran to her French doors and pulled them open. She followed the crazy warrior monk called Brick out of her garden and into the night.
The Enchanted Writes Book One Page 3
