

Hilda the wicked witch

by Paul Kater

Published by the author at Smashwords

as a member of the Alexandria Publishing Group.

Copyright 2010-2014 Paul Kater

First edition: July 2010.

Second edition: October 2013.

Third (revised) edition: March 2014.

License Notes - Smashwords Edition.

Thank you for downloading this free e-book. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support.

***
1. Bantrey's bookshop

2. A bar called O'Malley's

3. Hocus Pocus

4. The necklace

5. Charging the ball

6. The hunt commences

7. I told you to stop

8. The route home

9. Cops and witches

10. The book store

11. William Connoley

12. Going home

About the author

***
1. Bantrey's bookshop

The noise of engines being switched off died away, and as there was so much of it, that took some time. Hiding behind curtains people carefully looked out into the street, doing their best to stay out of view. The motorcycle gang was back in town, and usually that did not bode well. They also didn't like to be stared at.

"Dammit, Skull, when you gonna to fix that stinking carburetor!" one of the men yelled as he got off his Harley. The woman that usually was behind him had already jumped off to get herself to safety. Her man Bubba was angry, and when he was like that he didn't pay attention to anything, as several kicks in her side had taught her long ago.

"Yo, Bubba, I thought I done so!" Skull kicked the innocent and abused engine block. "I'll look at it later, I need a piss and a drink first."

"Yeah!" the rest of the gang joined in. They trotted off towards the nearest bar, which was by default destined for an involuntary remodelling. The six big bikes remained in the middle of the street, unattended. Nobody would dare to touch them.

-=-=-

The proprietor of Bantrey's Bookshop hurried to the window. "Oh dear. They're back."

William Connoley stepped up to the window and saw the motorcycles. "They? No friends of yours I assume?"

"The motorcycle gang. It's run by someone they call Bubba," Bert Bantrey explained. "The obnoxious yellow machine is his property, although I'm not sure how he obtained it."

"I see," said William Connoley, who wasn't very interested in motorcycles. "Now... about this book..." He returned to the table on which a large, leather-bound book lay open. The sides of the pages had a thin golden lining, the paper was old and had turned yellow over time, and the writing had more resemblance to the patient copying-work of an old monk than something a modern printer could produce. "I do want this book but the price you ask for it is outrageous, my good man." He carefully tapped a page, making sure he didn't touch the text nor the gold. The book was old enough to be handled with respect.

Bert Bantrey sighed and looked at the tome. "I know the price is high, my dear friend, but it is worth it. Every single penny. I cannot go any lower unless I want to cut into my own flesh. I mean... look at the leather. Look at the writing. Feel the paper and its original texture..." William Connoley slowly was dragged into the sale. He knew that the price was not at all over the top but his merchant spirit didn't want to give in so easily. He slowly paged through the book a bit longer, looking at the words. He held the book up against the light for a moment, to see how the pattern in the paper was perfect everywhere. He mumbled something to himself, then looked Bert Bantrey in the eye. Bert already sensed that he had won. A smile was on his face, his hand was in position to be shaken. "Come on, Bill, do it. You know you want it. It has your name all over it, in your favourite typeset. The smell of that book is irresistible and you bloody well know it."

William shook his head. "You are one horrible person, Bert, but I'm going to buy this book from you."

-=-=-

In a world that no bookseller nor motorcycle gang member would believe true, a woman stood in front of a large mirror. She had no knowledge of people haggling over book nor of the motorised machines, as she was unreachably far away from them. She intently looked at the silvery glass, touching the necklace she wore. The mirror showed an image of a young woman with black hair and a fair skin, who was walking along a field covered with flowers.

"Yuck," the woman spat. "Look at that thing go. I'd forbid the existence of them, if I had a say in it." The young woman in the mirror seemed to sing as she picked flowers. "I'll have you gasp for air once I get that apple to you," the woman said as she turned away from the mirror. Her long grey hair floated over her dark red robe, and her black dress rustled as she walked over to a table. She took up a wooden stick and an apple. With the stick pointing towards the apple, under her breath she mumbled a few phrases. "And I hope I got it right this time," she ended her short monologue. "Because I hate Latin." Then, apple and stick in hand, she turned to the mirror again and started to approach it, as she built up her concentration. The apple started pulsating, as if a light lived inside it that was fighting to get out. "No, no, not yet, my little friend," the wicked witch (for that was who she was) said. "Only a few minutes more, and then you can do what I've made you for. You will stick in that stupid monster's throat and make sure that she is not getting in my way again!" A loud cackling laugh filled the room, its echoes making even the furniture shudder.

The witch pointed her wand at the mirror and started speaking a spell that was going to take her to the meadow where the innocent wench was dancing and trampling through the flowers. The incantation was gaining strength, the magical aura around the wicked witch formed exactly the way she wanted it to do, so it would project her to her victim.

-=-=-

In Bantrey's Bookstore, the two men shook hands on the sale, and then, as their habit was, they both slapped the tabletop, next to the book.

-=-=-

The wicked witch unleashed the built-up power from the wand. As it hit the mirror, the mirror exploded in a million tiny fragments! The power around the witch was disturbed by quantum-physical laws that she had no knowledge of, and she disappeared from her room, but instead of ending up with her apple in the meadow, she materialised somewhere entirely different...

-=-=-

In O'Malley's Bar, the piña coladas were the drink of the day. Skull and Bubba, together with their friends, were having a great time. The barkeeper sat tied up on a stool in the corner of his own establishment. The large mirror had been taken down with the aid of a wine bottle, and lay in tiny bits. The whiskey flowed liberally. The gang had the bar to themselves; the other customers had left the place as the gang had entered, which was usually the safest and healthiest option. The runaway clientèle would return to pay for their beverages later. If there was something to return to, of course.

"Hey, Bitch, come over here!" Julius shouted to his girlfriend. The girl, with long black hair that desperately needed a wash, and equally black pants under a purple shirt, waddled over to him, not taking the brandy bottle from her lips. Julius slapped the bottle from her hand, pulled her against him and started slobbering in her neck, which he considered his best interpretation of a great kiss. Bitch screamed with laughter, let him at it for a while, then calmly reached out and whacked a bottle over Julius' head. The slobbering ended that same moment, and Julius descended to terra firma. "Always told you that booze gives you a rotten head," Bitch grinned, kicked her lover and went looking for another bottle.

The general level of sound and noise the gang produced inside the bar prevented them from hearing a rather loud, whistling sound that happened outside. It came from an alleyway that was rather close to where they had all parked their bikes, an alley that ran next to Bantrey's Bookstore. The sound from there was not just that, it also manifested a very fierce gust of wind, strong enough to blow the bikes over. As was to be expected, the gust did just that.

-=-=-

"Oh my," Bert Bantrey said when the windows stopped shaking and the floor was without tremors again, "did you hear that?" Quickly the two ran to the window again. They were there just in time to see the last bike roll over and play dead.

"Uh-oh," William said. "Your motorcycle people will not be happy with that. Perhaps I should load my acquisitions into my truck and make tracks..."

"Let me give you a hand, old boy," Bert said, "you'll damage your back with that pack! And then I'll lock up. Safety first." Together they lifted the large crate with books and carried it outside, where William opened the truck. The crate fit inside the compartment like a hand in a glove made to order. The precious leather bound book lay on top of it, wrapped in a fine cotton cloth.

The two men shook hands again, and then William got in and drove off quickly. Bert did not waste time either: he went inside his shop, turned over the sign in the window so it told the world the shop was Closed, and locked up.

-=-=-

"Crappedy crap. Where am I?" a voice came from the alleyway. A woman, dressed in black, wearing a long, dark red cape, came from the alley. Her long grey hair stuck everywhere, she had bruises on her face, and her dress was as dirty as the alleyway's ground. That was quite dirty...

The witch looked at the apple that no longer pulsated. "Suck an elf. All that energy's gone to waste." She flung the apple away: it ended its flight with the sound of breaking glass. The witch nodded. At least that was satisfactory. On the ground, in the street, she saw six strange things, with wheels, handlebars and lights.

"Hey... you are too early for the ren faire!" someone on the other side of the street laughed.

The witch looked at where the laughter came from. She was not partial to laughter when she was the reason for it. She pointed her wand, mumbled something, and the couple that had been walking along at a safe distance suddenly stood next to her, frozen. "Now this is interesting," the wicked witch said as she looked at the clothes of the two people. Both of them wore blue pants, as usually the men wore when they would go out riding. They also wore blue jackets of the same fabric, and beneath those were white shirts that looked skin-tight. They even sported identical footwear, which looked quite comfortable.

"So this is how you dress here, although I still don't know where here is." The witch nodded as she waved the wand. For something as simple as this there was no need for a spell. The clothes of the frozen woman moved to the witch and the witch's clothes fell to the ground. Another move of the wand, and her own clothes had changed into a convenient large carrier-bag that jumped up and settled itself over her shoulder. The witch then stared at the naked body of the frozen woman and tapped the navel piercing. "Fascinating," she said. "Now, you'll stay here until the sun sets." The witch looked around, her long grey hair being blown in her face by a playful gust of wind. "Oh, not that again." She snapped her fingers and her hair hung down in four long, thick braids. "Now to find out where I am," she grumbled. "There is something very wrong here. This is not a meadow with flowers, and where's that girl..." She started walking down the street.

From behind their curtains, people had watched everything. None of them wanted to get involved. This one woman looked even more worrying than the motor gang.

***
2. A bar called O'Malley's

The witch paced along the street with its strange, stone houses, and the odd stone street. As she passed a large shop, she noticed her reflection in the window. Curious, she stopped to take a look at herself in her new outfit. A sound then drew her attention. It sounded like a bunch of ruffians having a good time, and she usually was interested in the company of such people, although that kind of people wasn't always interested in her company. It did not take her long to determine where the noise came from. Its origin was on the other side of the street, from a house that had no more glass windows. Grimhilda the wicked witch (Hilda for friends) understood what had happened there.

The man in the car, who happened to drive along at that moment, got the scare of a lifetime when suddenly a denim-clad woman step into the street mere yards in front of his car. Although he slammed his brakes and yanked the steering wheel around, it was obvious: there was no way he could avoid hitting her. Hilda saw the strange, metal contraption come closer at high speed. She popped up her wand and threw a bolt of magic at it, to stop it. Immediately the car stood still. The driver, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart pounding between his ears, started breathing again as the expected thud didn't come. Instead he was flung forward, with his seat belt yanking him back into his seat. After all that shocking movement he opened his eyes and looked through the cracked windshield. To his surprise the woman stood in front of the car, holding some kind of stick pointed at him. Nothing had happened.

There were many good things about being a witch, Hilda thought. Her magical senses, achieved by long years of training and use, had made her react to the threat before she had actually seen it. Curious, she walked around the metal cart, which was like nothing she had ever seen. There was no horse in front of it, although there was a sound coming from the front of the thing as if there were a wild animal trapped in it. There was one man inside it, with eyes closed. Oh, he was opening them again. Hilda tapped the window with her wand. The window fell apart, glass bits dropping into the man's lap.

"What is this abomination?" she asked him.

"What? This? It is my car. But you should be dead! There is no way in hell I could have braked in time to avoid you."

Hilda frowned. "You are one of the men the false King has sent out to find me and kill me? Even here? Curse him!" Another tap of the wand made the door fall out of the car and the seatbelt evaporate. "Get out of your cart, you foe!"

The man started shaking. His day had already started lousy: first by sleeping too long and then having a fight with the wife. And now this happened. "Am I still dreaming?" he asked as he clambered out of the car. "I must be." He sounded as if he hoped he was.

Hilda looked up at the man. "Maybe you are. Maybe you are not." Then she poked the tip of her wand under the man's chin, pressing slightly harder than needed. "Now speak. Did King Herald send you after me? Where are your companions? He would not send one man alone. Certainly not one as craven as you. Not even with something like this." She kicked the car.

The man tried to swallow, but the stick made that very difficult. "I know nothing of King Herald, woman. I'm Stewart Jones and I'm just trying to get to work."

A lone bicycle rider came riding through the street. Taking in the strange scene, he stopped. "Is someone having a problem here?" the man asked as he looked at Hilda and her threatening pose towards the man who was leaning against the damaged car.

" _Communtatus rana,_ become a frog," Hilda said, swooshing her wand at the cyclist for a moment. A second later the wand was under Stewart's chin again. The bicycle dropped to the ground and from under the helmet crawled a frog. She didn't have time for more people to keep her from finding out where she was.

Stewart saw it happen, and his eyes filled with fear. "What the hell are you? A witch?"

Hilda frowned. "He didn't tell you? How useful an ally, isn't he?" Annoyed she withdrew the wand, leaving a white spot on Stewart's skin. "This is not getting us anywhere. Just tell me how Lamador brought you to this place and how he intends to get you back, then I can go home that way as well. I must leave this crazy place."

"Lamador? Who's that? Your King Herald's brother?" Stewart was sweating from every pore by now, looking at the frog that was helplessly crawling about, croaking in despair.

"Lamador, you dumb person," Hilda said, tapping his forehead with the wand to emphasise every syllable, "is King Herald's sorcerer. A powerful sorcerer he is too, and if you don't know that, then he erased your memory well." She then took four long strides away from the car and the man. "Aaargh... this is so frustrating!" she exclaimed. "This is total disrespect of the Wicked Witch, sending such amateurs after me!" She pointed her wand and drew up the charge.

" _Deliquesco_!" Nothing happened, except for Stewart holding his breath.

"Crappedy crap... I hate Latin. Fluxum!" Again, nothing happened. Hilda's face adopted an expression that was feared by the ones who knew her. To Stewart it just looked slightly amusing. Still he didn't dare to grin.

"Dissolve!" A crackle shot from the wand to the car, making it light up for a moment.

"It's not working, is it?" Stewart now grinned. His voice still echoed through the street as his car turned liquid and splashed onto the street.

"It works fine," Hilda told the shocked man, "it just took a bit longer because it wasn't in Latin. I hate Latin." She then decided that he was no longer worth her attention and turned towards the bar. She walked off, leaving the man, the frog and its bicycle to take care of their own troubles.

-=-=-

Bluto lay on the bar, singing a sailor's song that had more profanities in it per line than anyone would deem possible. Each line seemed to be a strain on his vocal chords, as he had to take a healthy swig of the bottle in his hand. After that, a belch sounded as the intro to the next part of the lyrics. His bald head was tattooed with hearts and anchors. His broad shoulders were barely covered by a sleeveless leather vest of an undetermined colour. His mountainous belly was, for a change, not covering the top part of his jeans. As he sang, the spurs he had on his boots scratched new lines in the bar's surface. Patrick O'Malley, the owner of the establishment, was still tied up in his corner. He had wished at least a dozen of times already that he could just faint and not witness the downfall of his hard earned empire.

Bubba had ripped the green cloth from the pool table and tied that around his neck. "Hey, guys, ain't I looking like a fuckin' leprechaun king now?" he laughed, emptying the bottle of beer and then giving it its first and last flying lesson.

"Hey, ho, leprechaun king, we follow you and we do our thing," Julius yelled. He had regained consciousness again after the expression of affection by Bitch. Who counted one more bump or black spot when supplied with love?

"Oh, how grand. A party. Can I join?"

The sudden sound of a female voice made even Bluto look up from his comfortable position on the bar. "Well, crap on me," he muttered. "A plaything."

Hilda took in the pathetic state of the bar and frowned. This was a strange tavern. The few people inside made her wonder what was going on here. At least their attire was somewhat more familiar to her than what she'd seen here so far. Bubba, the cloth still around his massive neck, walked up to Hilda and looked her up and down. "Welcome, dear lady," he mocked, making a bow and extending a hand towards the bar. "Please join us in our celebration."

Hilda relaxed a little. These people clearly recognised her status and paid proper tribute to that. She nodded and walked past the big man, who smelled like beer and fried meat. The gang watched the slender woman with the long braids walk to a table that was still upright. There were two chairs next to it that still looked safe, so she selected one and sat down. "Do you have tea?"

That caused a silence. "Tea," Bluto repeated, as if he had no idea what it was. Given his alcoholic disposition, that might actually be true. "No tea here." This could turn into something fun!

"Then bring me some wine," she said to Bluto, who stared at her, "but dilute it." Bluto's mental processes, never the fastest, failed completely now.

"Hey," Bubba roared, "bring the lady some wine, and throw some water in it!" His eyes sparkled. This was going to be a lot of fun, he knew, an afternoon and probably also a night of pleasure. Bluto grunted something unintelligible and hoisted himself off the bar. He rummaged through the bottles and found something that looked appropriate. Then he located one of the large beer glasses that was still in one piece. He stared at the cork in the unopened bottle. For a moment he gazed around, clueless. Then he solved the situation by hitting the top from the bottle using the side of the bar, glass shards jumping away.

The contents of the bottle were a bit too much for the glass to hold, so he resolved that by pouring the remains down his throat. A splash of water went into the glass as well, spilling most of its contents on the floor. Bluto picked up the glass and marched over to the table. Slamming down the glass, spilling even more of the wine, he said: "Here you go." After peering at Bubba, who was looking how Bluto would handle this, the fat-bellied man added: "Your majesty."

"Thank you. I'm not majesty and I don't aim for that. I'm quite pleased with who I am." Hilda patted Bluto on the wrist as if she was petting a dog. Then she lifted the large glass and drank a quart of it down in one go. The strange trip had left her thirsty. That earned her a round of cheers from Bubba's group, and the leader of the pack yelled that Bluto should open another bottle for her and keep it at the ready.

Bubba then grabbed the other chair, turned it around and sat on it, his arms folded over the backrest. "So, sweetcheeks, where did you come from? Care to play with the big boys, do you?"

Hilda looked the man up and down. "And who might you be?"

Bubba looked around, his boys all laughing along with him. "I'm Bubba. I run this place. I run this whole bloody town!"

"Bubba..." Hilda sampled the name. "That is a very odd name, I must say." She looked at his tattoos and messy appearance. "Do you expect people to be scared of you?" she asked as she pointed at the pool table cloak.

The laughter stopped, Bubba's first. He got up and kicked the chair to the side. His already rather unpleasant face worsened by several degrees. "You are about to piss me off, woman," he said, grabbing Hilda's wrist. "People here are terrified of me, and with reason. And you should be too."

"Take your hand off me, before I make you." Hilda's tone was cold, her eyes, black as night, seemed to shoot fire.

Bubba let go of her. "One of them psychology tricksters, right? Let me show you what we do with psychology tricksters." He towered over her. As Hilda was looking up at the big man, he reached down with a speed that was astonishing for a man his size, grabbed the witch by the arms and tossed her over his shoulder, her arms squeezed tightly against her body. She could not reach for her wand, and for several moments she was helpless and confused about the sudden change in atmosphere and situation.

***
3. Hocus Pocus.

Bubba pranced around with the witch over his shoulder. The men and the biker babes all laughed loudly, cheering him as he slapped her behind several times with his large, free hand. "Let's give this bitch a lesson," Bubba yelled. The bulge in his pants made it obvious what kind of lesson he had in mind. Hilda had by then gotten over the shock of this unbelievable treatment of a witch, which was unfortunate for Bubba. With a simple spell she changed the fabric of her pants into a bed of sharp thorns, each one covered with a rather harmless, yet very painful poison. Its effect was known to last for several days. She braced for the moment that he would drop her. It was only seconds away. Bubba howled as his hand was pierced by the plenitude of pins. He yanked his hand free and shook Hilda off his neck. Before the witch hit the ground, she had her floating spell in place, and hovered for several seconds while she changed the thorns back to denim. Then she landed herself safely on the floor, feet first. "I told you to take your hand off me, you brute," she hissed, "but you wouldn't listen! I also told you that I would make you. There's your proof, it was my pleasure." She flicked her hand, making the wand appear. "And now you will all stand against the wall. All of you."

Bubba missed most of her words as his brain became enveloped by the agony in his hand. Rage grew in the few spare parts that were not yet affected by the pain, and with a roar that would make a caveman shiver he threw himself at the woman with the silly stick. His only desire was to crush her, take her apart, and leave her on the floor as yet another example that no one should mess with Bubba. Immense was his surprise when he found himself suspended in the air, unable to move. He was thrashing about as if he were in water, but the action only exerted him. When finally he gave up, panting, the rest of the gang decided that it was about time to assemble near the wall that the grey haired woman had pointed out. Hilda patiently waited until the group had moved itself. It pleased her tremendously that her magic seemed to be stronger here than at home. She had only intended to deflect the man's attack and there he hung, floating, suspended in the air. She stepped up to the hovering man and gave him a gentle push, making him slowly rotate around and around. To his annoyance, Bubba found he could not stop the motion. In fact he could do nothing at all, except watch, listen, be angry, and - float. And al that while his arm still felt like it was on fire.

While Bubba struggled. the witch sat down at the table, drank some more of her wine and looked at the ruffians. She sighed. She didn't want this, nor did she have time for this. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked them. "I thought I had found people I could use." Her finger traced rounds over the rim of the glass. "It looks like I was mistaken, though.

Patrick O'Malley now was glad he had not fainted. From his stool, gagged and bound, he saw how the small woman toyed with the motorcycle gang as if they were mice. What a story he'd have to tell to the papers! Although... who would believe him? Instead of insurance money, he suddenly thought, there would be a nice room waiting for him in the psych ward somewhere, with cushioned walls, therapy and a free straightjacket.

Bubba was getting sick of the slow rotations. He tried to talk, but found he couldn't do that! The witch looked at him. "No. Not now," she said with a fake smile.

"Who are you? What you want of us?" Julius knew he took a risk, but he had to know.

"I am known," the witch said as she rose, "as Grimhilda the Witch. The Wicked Witch. I had hopes for you. I thought you could help me get back to my own world. A world that I understand. But this..." - she waved her hand across the room - "tells me that you are not the quality of material I am searching for. I'm afraid that quality is a word lost on you altogether." She shook her head, her braids flopping around. Then she tucked her wand away.

"Go away. Leave me alone. I do not want to see you again, do you hear? If you cross my path once more, you'll find out what happens when the witch is annoyed!" The volume with which she was speaking had increased to an intolerable level, and the last words sounded like thunder. Everyone except Hilda clamped their hands over their ears. The bottles that had survived so far, all burst and splashed their contents onto the floor. The echo of her voice only slowly ebbed away. "Now go. You have disappointed me."

Bluto was the first one to take some steps towards the door. He turned and looked at Bubba. "Coming, boss?" he asked.

Hilda snapped her fingers. A collar with a rope attached to it appeared around Bubba's neck, as a leash. "There. Take him," she said. "I have no use for him."

Bluto took the leash. In depressed silence the gang left the bar called O'Malley's, with Bubba floating along like a giant, angry balloon. Hilda sat down at the table again as if nothing had happened. She looked at the remaining wine in the beer glass and then mumbled: "That should be far enough." She snapped her fingers again. Out in the street the spell around Bubba ended with a loud thud and an even louder tirade of curses.

Hilda nodded. That was what she had aimed for. Then she looked around in the dishevelled bar and her gaze rested on Patrick O'Malley. "You are clearly not one of them," the witch said, slowly getting up and approaching the shivering man on the barstool. "You're too clean. Too skinny also." Her wand appeared and Patrick's ties dissolved just like that.

He gasped for air as Hilda stood there, a hand on her hip, the tip of her wand in her other hand touching her cheek. "Damn, lady, what a performance. Can I hire you as a bouncer?" was the first thing Patrick dared to say.

Hilda let out a small sigh. "Too bad that you're not the right material either. That was entirely the wrong question." She turned on her heel, walked to the table where her shoulder bag was waiting, and picked up her belongings.

Patrick got off the seat, his limbs tingling as his blood started flowing freely again. "I beg your pardon?"

Hilda did not look at him, she just shook her head. "Remember. You started, by mentioning a bouncer..." As she spoke the last word, she pointed the wand over her shoulder at the barkeeper like a trick shooter.

Patrick felt as if he tripped over something and fell to the floor. From where he bounced up again. And fell. And bounced up again.

"I may come and visit you again... bouncer..." Hilda snorted as she walked out of the bar.

***
4. The necklace

The motor gang had no knowledge of all the happenings in the bar. The bikers helped Bubba to his feet after his unfortunate and painful crash into the street. Then they managed to get the rope from the collar but the collar itself seemed determined to stay put, no matter hard they yanked at it.

"I'm gonna kill that bitch," Bubba fumed after he'd kicked away his man. They had taken off enough of his skin in their attempts to free him. "Not today but she's gonna have it! To the bikes!"

Great was their dismay when they saw their precious motorcycles lying in the street. They knew who'd done that but their fear of the grey-haired woman in the bar was larger than their desire for retribution, so they cursed and muttered as they pulled the heavy machines back upright. While Bubba was engaged in that, he saw something on the sidewalk. It was a necklace, and it looked fancy. "Hey babe, get your ass over here," he barked at his sweetheart, who to the rest was known simply as Angel. Bubba picked up the necklace. "Here. Got you a present. Put it on and get your ass on the bike." With all of them seated they fired up and with squealing tires and roaring engines they raced out of the street. A few minutes later they had disappeared from the town. For they'd be back, but not for a while.

-=-=-

Hilda emerged from the bar and saw the last motorcycle turn around a corner. She nodded, understanding that the strange two-wheeled machines and the big men were connected. "Hmmm," was all she said. The street that still was void of other life. The inhabitants of the homes were not sure yet that the bikers had really left, so they stayed inside just to be on the safe side.

The witch started walking until she found a small park where she sat down on a bench. She opened the bag and looked inside it. Somewhat disturbed she looked again. " _Vomotio torquis_ ," she mumbled to make her necklace appear, but nothing happened. She repeated the command, now with more urgency, but the result was similar. "Come on, spit out my necklace, you," she mumbled somewhat louder. Again nothing happened. "I hate Latin," she shared with the bag. Hilda got up and laid out the bag on the bench. She popped up her wand and swirled that over the bag, which turned back into the clothes she had worn on arriving in this insane place. Quickly she went through her things but the necklace wasn't among them. A stream of witchy mutterings flowed from her lips, and they didn't imply good things.

"Hey, got a problem?" a young man wearing a cap and chewing gum asked. He had taken a shortcut through the park and now he curiously peeked at the odd wad of cloth on the bench.

"Go away." Hilda was not in the mood for friendliness. Especially not now the necklace had disappeared.

"Hey, I'm just trying to be friendly, you know," the young man commented as he shrugged. Then he walked off, loudly whistling a tune very out of tune.

Hilda's eyes became slits as she pointed the wand at the back of the man. "Why bother," she then grumbled. She turned her clothes back into the shoulder bag and slumped down next to it. "My necklace. Where is it? I must have it." These three short sentences kept churning in her mind. The necklace was a source of power, designed for grand acts of magic. The necklace had probably gotten her here, and it would be able to help her get back to the real world. A world she understood. A world that sometimes even understood her. Once back there she would be able to deal with the obnoxious black-haired girl with her friendly face, her songs and her evil manners. Not many knew what fiendish thing that girl had in mind, and Hilda knew she was the only one who could put a stop to that.

She thought back to her arrival. The only place where the necklace could be, if not in the bag, was in the alleyway where she had arrived. Hilda got up, took her bag and followed her route back, past the bar where a number of voices inside mumbled over the sound of the bouncing man. Then she passed the bookstore that still was closed and reached the alley. With her wand in hand she started looking for the necklace. It worried her that she didn't seen it, nor that the wand didn't immediately pull her towards it. Maybe it had flown away a bit further into the alley... Hilda went deeper into the small side street, the light of day disappearing rapidly as she progressed. After a short spell the tip of her wand lit up the space, but there was no tugging in her fingers that indicated that the necklace was near.

"Where are you? Necklace, where are you?" Hilda forced friendliness and patience into her voice. If she did not, the necklace would never respond. "Hello, necklace?" But no matter how nicely she spoke, how pleading her words, the necklace was and remained absent. "Crappedy crap." It was safe to vent her feelings with the necklace clearly gone. The witch walked back to the main street. " _Desidero torquis_ ," she said, "where is the necklace?" She moved the wand about slowly, as if she was dowsing. There had to be a sign, she knew it. The necklace had been around her neck when she came here, it had gotten lost here, so there had to be a trace.

A pair of ladies came walking down the street. They probably had missed the entire motor-issue. "Are you looking for something?" one of them asked.

Hilda looked at them. "My necklace. have you seen it?" Her tone was sharper than she had wanted. This world with its strange people and odd vehicles made her irritable. That and the absence of her necklace were getting to her already.

The two women backed up a few steps. "My, my, touchy, aren't we? No, we don't have your necklace. What does it look like? Maybe we can help you find it."

"Are you witches?"

The eyes of the woman who had spoken grew large. "The nerve!" She grabbed her friend by the arm and rapidly walked past this strange woman who was clearly missing most of the necessary marbles.

Hilda felt hurt by that. She folded her arms over her chest and looked at the two women walking off. A single thought later the high heels under the shoes of the woman who had been appalled broke. The collapse was accompanied by a scream and a falling woman. "No one's going to muck around with me here. They'd better know it." Hilda then returned to her search. She waved her wand over the street and to her delight there was a slight tremble this time. She went down on her knees, scanning the floor. Yes, it was certain. The necklace had been here. It had rested here, on the ground. But where was it now? A cold shudder ran across her spine as she looked at the road, seeing the scratch marks, as silent witnesses, where the motorcycles had been. "Oh no," she moaned, seriously despairing for a moment. "They didn't take my necklace. They didn't. They shouldn't." Lying on elbows and knees, her forehead resting on the concrete, she sighed and let the bad feeling take over for a while. It would feed her anger and give her the power needed to go after the gang.

An elderly man with the features of an ancient mage, stopped near her. "Are you not well, child?" he asked, leaning on his stick.

Hilda sat on the ground and looked at him. "I'm mostly well, but I lost my necklace. Now I require a crystal ball and a broom, otherwise I'll never retrieve it."

The old man frowned. "I wouldn't know where to purchase a crystal ball, but down the street on your left, there's a supermarket that has excellent brooms. My wife gets hers there, and she's very satisfied with them."

Hilda felt a kindred spirit. "Your wife... is she... magical?" She used the word with care. Usually she could sense magic in people, but this place was so strange that her feeling about this might be off. Perhaps this man was as much the mage as he appeared, and she knew better than to mess with ancient mages. Some could whup her ass and make no fuss about it.

"Oh yes," the old man smiled. "She's been magic to me from the first moment we met."

"Oh, I believe you, ancient one," Hilda said respectfully.

"Ancient one?" The man smiled. "Not many people call me that. I do like the sound of it though. It's much better than old fart." He chuckled. "So, for the broom you head down to the supermarket. Maybe someone there knows about the ball too. Take care now." He nodded and walked off, flipping his cane.

Hilda watched as the man left. He had to be one hell of a sorcerer if he could wield a magic staff like that. Then she got to her feet, picked up her wand and shoulder bag, and started off into the direction the ancient one had pointed out. To the supermarket.

-=-=-

It did not take her long to find the supermarket: her feeling of urgency gave extra speed to her legs. She arrived at a large building, with giant glass windows. Oh, if only she could have a magical mirror the size of that, Hilda thought, she'd be the envy of every witch in the world. In the real world of course, not this madhouse. She stared at the goods that were on display behind the window, wondering about the function of most of them. She then pondered if this was the proper place or if the ancient one was making a jest on her account. She looked at the large, colourful sign over the glass. It did say Supermarket. Feeling more confident she looked for a way in and discovered a part of the glass wall that opened by itself (powerful magic, undoubtedly the work of the ancient one), and went inside the store.

The store proved to be a maze. Aisle after aisle had things on long, metal shelves. Lights came from long, white tubes instead of candles. It confused Hilda. After searching for a long time and finding nothing, she grabbed someone by the coat, popped up her wand and said: "Take me to the brooms." The man who fell victim to the witch was under her spell instantly. He nodded and in rather a mindless state he walked her to the section of household materials. "Where are the brooms?" Hilda asked as she looked at the objects assembled. Nothing looked like the brooms she usually used.

"These are the brooms," the man said. He pointed at the long coloured sticks with the coloured bristles.

Hilda's eyes became slits again. This could not be true. Witches of this place would ride on those abominations?! "Be serious. I want a proper broom."

Despite her wanting something a bit more traditional, the man took one of the colourful things and handed it to her. "This is a proper broom, my lady."

The witch picked one of the brooms from the rack. "How can this be? It's not even made of wood!", Hilda exclaimed, attracting the attention of several supermarket employees.

"Is there a problem?" a girl from the store asked.

"Yes. This man is under my spell, and yet he tells me that this is a proper broom." Hilda held the broom in front of the girl's face.

"Well, he's right. That is a broom." The girl wondered what had gotten into this woman. "I know. I work here and I have one of those. They're great." It would never hurt to advertise the merchandise.

"So you have one of them. The wife of the ancient one also has one." Hilda eyed the girl and asked her wand if the girl was telling the truth. The wand confirmed that. "Right. I'll believe you as you're from this mad place. Now I need a crystal ball." She pushed the man away and waited for the girl.

"Crystal? We don't carry crystal, ma'am. But we have some nice glass ones!"

"It has to be crystal. Glass doesn't work. Don't you people know anything?" Hilda became impatient. She got impatient rather quickly most of the time, but this situation made everything worse even faster.. She had to go after her necklace. "You're not a witch, are you?"

The shop assistant looked confused now. "I'm not a witch," she tried. "And our glass ones work."

"I don't think so. Tell me where there is a shop that has crystal balls and I will go there at once, because this shop isn't much help any more," Hilda said, her wand swaying, rendering the girl's resistance to zero.

"I'll take you to it," the girl said, and started walking to the exit. As they left the store, the theft-alarm started beeping, but it was no match for the wand. The beeping stopped, and after some minutes so did the smoke that had appeared after Hilda's magical action.

Hilda and the girl had been walking for more than five minutes. Twice they had been interrupted by someone from the store, who demanded that the girl should return to her work and the broom should be paid for, but these two had proven to be only minor nuisances. "How far is it to the shop with the crystal?" Hilda demanded to know.

"About half an hour walking," the girl said. "I don't have a car. Unless you want to call a cab."

"A car?"

The girl pointed at one of the strange, metal, horseless boxes on wheels. "Ah. I have liquefied one of those," said Hilda. "They are not trustworthy. We'll fly instead." She cast a powerful, draining spell and made the broom float. Usually one would take some time to teach a broom how to fly, but this moment was not a usual moment. She mounted the broom. "Sit in front of me."

The girl, even while under a spell, stared at the witch. "You're kidding me."

" _Sit In Front Of Me_!" Hilda's voice became irresistible, so the girl mounted the broom, in front of Hilda. They drew quite some attention, because the street where they were was rather a busy one, but Hilda wasn't concerned about that. People stopped and stared at the proceedings, waiting for what funny thing was going to come next, while cars stopped against other cars. "What kind of retarded place is this?" Hilda muttered. "As if they've never seen a witch in their life." Angered with all the attention she threw an invisibility spell and then made the broom lift off. "Say out loud where the place with the crystal balls is, girl," she then commanded.

The girl, terrified and holding on to the broom, stammered an address. The broom made a sharp turn and headed up and over the roofs of buildings, high over the streets and the bustling traffic. Unseen. "We are flying," the girl remarked.

"Of course we're flying. What else do you think I'd want a broom for? Sweeping?" Scorn dripped from every single word.

***
5. Charging the ball

The broom swept downwards in a spiral which was sickening for inexperienced flyers. The poor salesgirl had to put in all her strength to keep her lunch where it belonged. The landing however was very gentle. With the broom in hand Hilda questioned her 'consort'. "Where are the crystal balls?"

The girl pointed to a Swarovsky store. "In there."

Hilda looked at the window. There was indeed crystal on display behind the huge glass panes. She looked at the girl, snapped her fingers and said: "Absolvo." Immediately the invisibility spell broke, as did the enchantment that was over her involuntary companion. The girl felt she was free, turned and ran off as if the devil were on her heels. She'd probably prefer him over Hilda after this experience.

"What a pathetic world this is," Hilda said to herself as she shook her head. Then she entered the large store, taking the broom with her.

As soon as she stepped into the place, a large man with a square chin stopped her. "You are not allowed to carry that object into the store, madam," he said. He pointed at the broom. Hilda put it in his hand.

"Good," said the wicked witch, "then you carry it for me." She walked into the store and noticed the man wasn't following her. She looked at the security man who remained where he was. "Come along. It won't fly without me, although you're welcome to try."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Could you come with me, please?"

"Are you taking me to the crystal balls?" Hilda asked. What she'd seen inside the store so far wasn't very encouraging.

"Certainly," the man said. Up until that point he had done everything well. The moment he reached out to push Hilda ever so gently towards a special room for complicated customers was when things started to go bad. You do not touch a witch. You definitely do not touch a wicked witch. And least of all you'd want to touch Hilda. The wand was out before the eye could follow, and the security man solidified beyond human standards. He literally became petrified.

Hilda looked at him and assumed her broom would be safe in his stone hands. "Thank you for holding my broom," she said, patting the statue on the arm. She popped her wand away and went to search for crystal balls, a task that her wand could not help her in. It took her about ten minutes to locate what she was here for. "Crappedy crap, these are small," she said as she finally located a few. With a simple incantation she changed the glass panel that kept the balls from curious fingers into thin air. Hilda reached into the cabinet and picked out the largest of the crystal spheres. "Pretty though..." She tapped it with her wand and sampled the sound. "Good quality too. I guess this one will have to do."

A saleslady then walked into the section where Hilda had decided on her choice. "Ah, madam, I see you have already..." Her voice faltered when she saw the glass panel missing from the cabinet.

Hilda held up the ball. "This is a good one. I'll take this."

"Excellent choice, madam," the saleslady said, still wondering about the cabinet. "I'll take it and have it wrapped for you."

"No. I said that _I_ take this. You take nothing." Hilda held up her wand.

The saleslady stepped back. "Are you threatening me?"

"Threaten? A witch doesn't need crude means like that. I'm telling you, that suffices generally," said Hilda. "Now let me get to my broom and no harm will be done."

"Broom?" This threw the saleslady so much that she did not attempt to stop Hilda as the witch breezed past her. The saleslady had no idea how lucky she was.

As Hilda walked through the store, she tucked the ball in her shoulder bag and made the wand disappear again. Her hurry attracted some attention, but a spell handled that as well. Hilda noticed she was getting a bit weary, as she had to use so much magic in this crazy place.

The stone man still guarded her broom. Another security person stood next to the statue and was busy talking on the phone about the remarkable find he had made. "No, man, honest to God, he's turned to stone... No, dammit Marty, I am not drunk! I'm on duty here! Send over the cops, and an ambulance-... Marty, you ass hole, we don't need a sculptor here. I'm telling you, Stephen has changed into a statue and I need help with that!" Hilda listened to the conversation for a while. She shook her head at the weird man who was talking to a small piece of metal. Then she picked the broom from the statue's hand and walked out of the shop. She didn't mind the alarm going off, nor the man with the phone coming out after her. The only thing that mattered was the crystal ball in her bag. Long before he could reach her she had already mounted the broom and flown off. "Marty... you are not going to believe what I just saw," the man said to his partner on the other end of the line.

-=-=-

Hilda hovered high over the large town. She was looking for a spot where she could consult the crystal ball; it had to be somewhere quiet. After a while she found a small patch of land with some trees. It was a perfect spot, as she did not require that much space. She guided the broom downwards and landed near the small, forested area. The witch looked at the colourful broom and shook her head. An impossible thing, she thought to herself, but so far it worked. It just handled very poorly in corners. Hilda walked among the trees and propped the broom up against one of them. She looked at the surroundings. "Back to basics. How authentic." Her face betrayed that she didn't entirely agree with the words she just had spoken, but there was no one around to point that out. And that was a good thing, considering Hilda's mood. The wicked witch kneeled down in the sand and laid down her bag in front of her. She took the small, crystal ball and started a time-consuming ritual to charge it. A ball not properly charged would give the most insane answers, if it answered at all. Insane answers would be fitting for this place, she thought, while a grimace hurtled over her face.

By the time the ball was charged, the sun was setting. A shadow was crawling over the town and also over the group of trees. Hilda grabbed her wand, stuck it in the soil and snapped her fingers. The wand lit up, giving the space around enough light to work in. "Now let's see if this ball works," the witch mumbled.

The ball lay waiting on top of the bag, charged and potent. The witch held her hands over it and as silently as she dared she repeated a chant to activate the visionary powers she had summoned and put into the small sphere. Her awareness of the world around her faded. Nothing existed except herself, the power, and the crystal ball that she was working on. A small light started to shine inside the crystal. Hilda had to pay extra attention now; she had to be amazingly gentle and chant the nuances of her song in the most subtle of ways, otherwise the whole exercise would have been in vain. One wrong intonation, one slight faltering of voice and volume, and the power of the spell would rupture the crystal ball, rendering it useless. It would end up as being merely a ball made of crystal, not an actual crystal ball.

The bright spark spread through the hard mineral, slowly rotating. It shone its light against the surface of the sphere. It was amazing to witness how the magical light would just stop moving as it reached the limit of the ball and not go out further as light usually did. No matter how often she did this, it was awe-inspiring to the wicked witch. Patiently she kept working, chanting, empowering, soothing the structure of the ball so it would not crack under the strains that she was putting onto it. A larger ball would have been easier, the pressure inside would have more substance to spread around in, but alas, things were as they were. The quality of this little object would have to make up for its size. Hilda closed her eyes as she projected the ultimate burst of energy right into the heart of the sphere, where the tiny light lived and danced. She held her breath, summoning all the powers she could reach to make this work, dedicating her whole being to the magic. The ball existed of pure white light now; it almost set the area ablaze with its white light. Energy flowing freely, in near obscene amounts. Then it was done. All the light vanished, even that from the wand. Darkness fell over the witch and the sphere. Hilda kept her eyes closed and was ready for the cold that was going to flow over her. It was inevitable, as so much energy had been pulled away from the environment. The frosty sensation hit her hard as she took the crystal ball in both her hands. She pressed her little gem against her heart and fainted, as the drain of energy, the lack of food and the sudden harshness of the icy wind that whistled around her took their toll.

-=-=-

Hilda awoke with an abundance of smells in her nose, the sensation of a soft bed beneath her and, above all, warmth on her face.

"Well, look who's awake," a voice said. "Tilly, I think it's time for some food and coffee for someone."

Hilda opened her eyes and looked around, slowly pushing the blanket away from her. Surprise and recognition caught her and stopped her just in time, otherwise she would have thrown a powerful stunning-spell. She was in the house of the ancient one, the man with the white hair and the large wizard's staff. "Ancient one?" she whispered, not understanding how she had gotten there. "Did you bring me here?"

"Haha, hear that, Tilly? She calls me ancient one. I did tell you!" The old man got up from his chair.

From behind the table that he'd been sitting at, an aging woman got up as well. She had a round face, grey hair with some black streaks still in it, and large, friendly eyes. "Welcome back to the land of the living, miss," she said, "let me get you something to eat." As she went out of the room the old man helped Hilda get up and led her to a chair at a small dinner table. Soon after that she was eating a good meal and sipping a hot, dark, strong-smelling liquid that the ancient ones called coffee. As she was stuffing herself in a frenzy, the old man told her how she had gotten onto the stretcher in his living room.

"I was taking the dog out for a walk, you see. Always do that in the evening. Good to get some fresh air before going to sleep, and it's good for Wilbur also. Wilbur's the dog," he explained. He took a swig from his own coffee-cup. "So we were going down the road when Wilbur was pulling me over to the trees where you were lying. What were you doing out there all by your lonely self, anyway? You looked as if you had been thrown out of a freezer."

Hilda dropped her fork and knife. "Where's my ball?" As the old man frowned for a moment, she got up. "I need my ball. Where is it?"

"Oh, you mean the crystal ball? We kept that safe for you." The old woman, Tilly, picked it from a small jar and handed it to Hilda, who all but snatched it from her hands.

The wicked witch probed the power inside the sphere and found it to be alive and fine. Relieved, she tucked the ball in a pocket of her denim jacket. "I need this ball, you know. I charged it and I have to keep it close to me. You understand." The two old people looked at each other and smiled. That was enough for Hilda to know that they did indeed understand. Old mages who were partnered often did not need words to communicate. They shared the magical link.

Before Hilda could ask about it, the ancient one said: "We also have your broom here. Your bag is there near the bed, I put your little wooden stick in it, so no need to get worried about those either."

The witch nodded. "I appreciate that. But, of course, as you know, the ball is more important at the moment. A broom is just a broom. But thank you for bringing my wand."

"Of course, dear," Tilly said. "Would you like some more food? Or coffee?"

"Yes. Coffee. It charges me very fast. I must know the recipe for this brew, if you can share it," Hilda said, appreciating, pushing the cup towards the wife of the ancient mage.

The old man looked at Hilda. "You really don't know how to make coffee?" Astonishment sounded in his voice. Hilda immediately knew that she was in trouble. Clearly the making of this brew was a very common knowledge here, and telling that she did not know how would make her the laughing stock of these people.

"Of course I do. But this one is special," Hilda tried to save herself from pending mockery.

Tilly laughed. "Yes, you got that right. The trick is to buy some extra Arabica and mix that with the regular roast."

Hilda, having emptied her plate, felt like a fool, a novice, a beginner. This coffee was a liquid, yet these people knew how to roast it.

***
6. The hunt commences

Hilda felt satisfied and full as she got up. "I need my broom now. I have to find my necklace in order to find a way to get back home."

The two elderly people exchanged glances again. "Of course, dear, just follow me and I will hand you your broom." Hilda grabbed her shoulder bag from the improvised bed and walked through the corridor, following Tilly. The broom was waiting outside for her, leaning against the wall next to the backdoor. When she saw it, she was even more convinced that these people were magical: they had put the broom up the correct way, with the bristles up. "There you go, child," Tilly said. "Do take care. I am sure you'll find your necklace."

"Indeed," said the old man. "After all, you have your ball again."

"Yes." The wicked witch held the broom close to her body, quickly energising it for the flight. "I have to thank you for your generous help." The words were hard for her as wicked witches usually don't need help, but she had to show courtesy or these people could make her life hell. She knew that from experience.

"Good luck, young woman," the ancient mage said. "Godspeed." Hilda was not sure what he meant but it had to be a good thing, so she nodded. Then bowed. Carefully. She took two steps backwards, as the rules of obedience prescribed. She didn't follow them often, but in this case there was a good reason. Then she turned and walked off to a place where she could question the crystal ball.

The two people looked at the grey-haired young woman as she walked down the street. "Poor deranged kid," Tilly said. "Perhaps we should have called the doctor or something."

The old man shook his head. "She'll be fine. She's just a bit crazy, nothing really dangerous, I am sure about it."

Tilly shrugged. "Come back inside, _ancient one_ , it's time for your arthritis pills."

-=-=-

As Hilda walked away from the house of the two old magicians, she was surprised how well these two had their magical abilities under control. Even with careful probing she hadn't found any trace of magic in them. Their shields had to be phenomenal. Then her mind went racing. She went over the right spells to seduce the crystal ball into telling its secrets, as she was looking for a good place to sit and actually perform the seeing. She passed a tavern that had a sign stating outside the door that there was _Coffee_ available inside. Intrigued by that drink she went inside and found a small table at the back, secluded and out of view. She had barely sat herself down, when someone came to her table. The waiter frowned at the broom, but didn't feel obliged to make a comment about that. "Hi there. What can I get you?"

"Coffee of course," said Hilda, wondering why the man bothered to ask. "It says outside that you have this drink."

"Sure. What kind? Regular, strong, mocha, latte?"

"Do you have the kind with extra Arabica added to the normal roast?" This was her trick question.

"Nope. Just regular, strong, mocha and latte."

"Then bring me regular. You may go." Hilda waved her hand. After another frown the waiter left her, wondering what kind of weirdo had come in just now. As the waiter was on his way for her, Hilda took the ball from her pocket and placed it on the table. She thought it best to wait until the servant had brought her the beverage. After that she could seal off her area and start her quest with the crystal.

The waiter came with the coffee, put it on the table and curiously gazed at the ball for a few seconds. The look that the witch rewarded him with was convincing enough to make him retreat to the main area of the restaurant with haste. A snap of her fingers was then all it took to magically separate her table from the rest of the place. Hilda sipped the coffee. "Urgh. No extra roasted Arabica. There is no witch or wizard at work here, I know that." She was grateful that her knowledge of this strange land was growing so rapidly. If the unfortunate happened and she could not return to her own land, she'd have to linger in this place for a while after all, and knowing things like local customs would be important in that case. She dreaded the idea but she was mature enough to face that reality. Hilda closed her eyes for a moment, her hands on the table, thumbs up and palms towards the crystal ball. Slowly she visualised her necklace, interspersing it with the desire to have it back. _Show me, crystal ball, where the necklace is. Where is my property, my means to return to my homeland_...

Patiently she worked up the power, drawing energy from the coffee that went cold and white, and from the strange light inside a ball that hovered over her head. When warmth spread in her palms, the witch opened her eyes and looked at the crystal. There were images forming. First there was a fog, swirling and dancing in a mesmerising manner. Hilda leaned over the table, until her nose was almost against the ball. The images were there, very clear, but crappedy crap, they were tiny! In the ball Hilda saw a movement. Hair was flying, there was wind and motion, and a roar she had heard before. It was like the roar of the caged animal in the metal cart. Then, and there her heart jumped, she saw her necklace. It was found. It rested on skin, which was good. That would keep it somewhat magically alert at least. "Where is the skin," she mumbled, "where is the movement, the roar... show me..." Her voice dropped so low that only a mere crackle came from her throat, but the crystal ball understood her.

The necklace came into view. Her dear, lost necklace was around the neck of one of the women from the sad gang of ruffian fools. They were travelling on their two-wheeled contraptions. Hilda needed her self-control to take hold of her desire. She fought it while it was twisting to get away from her, urging her to go out, jump on the broom and charge upon these miscreants. This was not the time for rushed actions. Calm on the surface, but seething underneath her skin, she looked around for clues where the travelling gang was. There were wide roads with white lines on them. There were wide, open spaces to the left of the road, and hills to the right. There was a smell of flowers. More and more tiny details came to her, from the small images that unfolded before her inside the crystal ball. Announcements on poles on the side of the road, in screaming colours and large letters. Fenced-in cattle here and there. More and more she became familiar with the area, with its position compared to where she was now. This part of the planning was crucial: staking out the proper territory where the hunt was going to be staged. She knew she had only one chance for this so she had to get this right the first time.

Crystal balls are quite fickle. Charging the ball itself is already hard work. Storing all the energy in such a sphere is difficult and can even be dangerous, as the slightest unevenness in the crystalline structure may cause a rupture in the object, and unleash the energy that's been stored in it already. Add to that the effect of crystal splinters flying all around at high speed, and you have an idea of the problems of that phase already. Then there is the area in which you use a crystal ball. It has to be free of unwanted energies, powers that can interfere or influence the imagery that the ball is able to show. Worst of all, as you may understand, is the fact that a ball sometimes just refuses to work.

Hilda however was a professional. She knew witchcraft, and witchcraft knew her. They went back a long time together, and her powers did not let her down. The witch was certain that she knew the area that the gang was riding through. There was no mistake possible now; she knew where she had to go. Slowly she sat up again and let her hands slide to the sides of the small table. The images in the crystal ball dissipated, turned into the grey fog again for a short while, and then they faded entirely. "Very good, my little precious one," Hilda said as she tucked the ball in a small pocket of her shoulder bag. "We shall rise up and find this person Bubba and his bride. We'll retrieve the necklace. And then..."

The shield that she had put up had hidden all her actions from the people in the restaurant. The cackling laughter that she uttered was not held back by the shield though. Hilda had not taken that little fact into account; she'd never had the need. With the coffee gone bad there was no reason for her to drink it. She got up, dropped the shielding and was stared at by at least a dozen people. Hilda stared back at them. As this was not meant to become a stand-off, she just picked up her broom and started walking through the main area of the restaurant, eyes diverting as she passed the people who were directing said eyes. There was one person who did not divert his eyes and that was the waiter. "Miss, you forgot to pay. One regular coffee."

That halted Hilda dead in her tracks. Pay. She knew what it was, many ordinaries did it. She wasn't used to it, her witchy reputation usually took care of such trivialities, and she was not inclined to pick up the habit in this distorted place. Yet she was also in a hurry. Conscience and urge were battling. Conscience won. She manifested a gold coin and put it on a table. "This should cover the expense, but never stop me for such foolishness again, unless you desire to be a toad," she warned the man as she wiggled her nose. With a look that prophesied doom she walked out of the restaurant. As the waiter stared at the coin, several people got up and walked to the windows, trying to see what this weird woman with her broom was up to next. The waiter picked up the coin and then tried to walk to the door, to find out that his shoes were firmly attached to the floor.

Hilda mounted the broom and shot into the air. Far below her three cars crashed into each other, as their respective drivers had a momentary lack of attention for traffic, seeing a woman and her broomstick who mocked one of the most basic laws of nature.

-=-=-

The biggest mistake most beginning witches make is to think that flying a broom is easy. (Of course Hilda knew that the actual going up and down, and making the broom move was not hard indeed. That was something you learnt in the garden behind your parents' home.) Finding your way when you are high up in the sky, where everything looks different and where you often lack clues of where you are, that is a completely different animal. Many a young witch has drifted off to the big seas, or into some obscure mountain range, and hasn't heard from or seen ever again.

Higher and higher the witch rose on her broom, flying in wide circles as she peered into the distance. The wicked witch was experienced in these things, and it didn't take her long to see what route she had to take to catch up with the brutes on their roaring contraptions. She urged the broom to a speed that was only feasible for the best flyers. It was also a speed that required a lot of attention and focus. A tremble, a shake, a cough, anything like that could mean an end to a flight at speeds like this one, and sometimes even it meant an end to the witch in question, but it was necessary. Hilda needed to retrieve her necklace, the one object she wanted so desperately.

After a long flight, things started to look familiar. The large sign, green, with big black letters. A field with cattle. A large red sign with two connecting, yellow arches. And then, finally, in the distance, she saw the six monster-carts with only two wheels...

***
7. I told you to stop

Bubba was angry. He was riding on the back of his own machine, sitting behind his woman, Angel. His hand was giving him tremendous pain, making it impossible for him to ride his own bike. This was so humiliating. And then there also were the large bruises in his face and on his chest from when he had fallen to the ground in the middle of the street. The collar was still around his neck. His men had tried to use a knife to get the bloody thing off him but all their attempts had failed. Proof was in the few cuts he'd sustained from their attempts. The few times he allowed his woman to ride his bike with him in back, he had the opportunity to squeeze Angel's boobs, but even that small pleasure was not granted to him, as he needed one hand, the good one, to hold on to her. And the other hand... These thoughts and not many others went round in his brain when Gollem, one of the silent types, gestured that he would need to fuel up soon. Bubba nodded. Talking was impossible with the raging of the engines and the wind blowing in their ears.

"Stop!"

Bubba didn't react. He didn't even register the word that was yelled at him. The whack against the back of his head registered all the better. With a growl he looked to the left, and what he saw there made him squeeze his arm around his woman so tightly that he pressed all air out of her. That in turn triggered her to bang on his hand, so he would let off again.

"Stop. Or I make you stop." Hilda was flying next to Bubba's bike, just out of the reach of his hand, in case he had any plans with that.

"God-fucking-dammit! It's the bitch!" the leader of the pack yelled as he waved his sore hand. "Speed up!" Everyone noticed that Bubba was astounded. Heads turned, eyes went large and accelerators were turned. The bikes as well as the broom picked up speed. The broom kept up with them easily. Hilda was not pleased. She had stretched her boundaries already by telling them to stop, and they didn't listen. Battling the wind and the noise from the engines (on her own broom she wouldn't have that problem) she popped up her wand and fired off a spell to a spot half a mile further down the road. Then she slowed down, seeing the motorcycles speed away from her.

At a more relaxed pace, one that allowed her to fly normally and didn't make her braids stand out in straight lines behind her, she flew on. This was a very quiet road, and nobody else would get hurt. Not that it mattered much to Hilda's current state of aggravated mind. She was fed up with this place and the clothing that had looked so interesting at first was annoying her. She wanted to wear her own dress again instead of hanging it over her shoulder, and she wanted to wear it without attracting more attention than usual. After half a mile she landed the broom. With her transport in hand she walked to where all motorcycles were stuck in semi-liquid asphalt. Also their riders were stuck in it up to their thighs. The asphalt wasn't planning on letting them get out; it seemed to suck them in deper the more fiercely they fought it. Hilda made her broom hover in the air. It was purely showing off, she knew, but these people seemed to need that. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and placed her hands on her hips. "I told you to stop." She made it sound as an accusation, exactly the way she meant to.

"Get us out of this shit, you bitch," was the first thing Bubba threw at her as a greeting.

"Witch," Hilda corrected him.

"What?"

"Witch. I am a witch. Also a bitch, I grant you that, but that comes in the second place. Hmmm... perhaps a bit closer than that. But that's not why I am here. I want my necklace back."

"First get us out of this fuckin' muck, bitch witch," Bubba relayed the feelings of his companions and himself to her.

"The necklace. It is around the neck of your woman." Hilda pointed her wand at her property, which unlocked itself and floated to its rightful owner as angry eyes watched it go. Without her having to lift a finger, the necklace settled itself around Hilda's neck. The weight of it comforted her. Things would be well now. She could go home and leave this place of lunacy.

"Right. You got your fuckin' necklace. Now get us out!" Bubba was almost beside himself with rage as he fought the tenacious mass of liquid road once again.

The witch slowly shook her head. "You did not _give_ me my necklace, I had to take it off her myself. Of course there are more reasons why I'm not getting you out of this. For one, you never called me honourable witch. For another one, I really enjoy watching you struggle. Good day." Hilda turned and took her broom, when she heard a strange, metallic click. In a reflex she cast a protective spell and was not a second too soon with that. Smokey, one of the gang members, had pulled out his gun. He had flipped off the safety, which was what Hilda had heard. As the witch turned back to the group that was stuck in slimy asphalt, Smokey aimed for her head. He knew that from this distance he could not miss, and fired. The noise of the shot died away.

Hilda stared at him, while the bullet stuck in her protective shield, several inches away from her face. "You should not have done that. You have just made me angry."

"Hey lady, can't you just get us out?" Bluto waved at her. "We don't mean you no harm, me and Julius and Bitch here."

Hilda recognised the big man who had supplied her with the wine at O'Malley's bar. He had also been the one to take Bubba out on the leash when their mighty leader was afloat. "You went with them. That means you feel you belong to them."

"Hey, you sent us away with them, remember?" Bluto tried. "You even put his leash in my hand. That makes us friends, right?"

"Bluto, keep your stinking trap shut, you blabbering idiot," Bubba vented his suppressed feelings. "You just want out and leave me here to rot cuz you want your own gang, you traitor!" Despite their distance in the goo, the two tried to punch each other's lights out.

Hilda raised her eyebrows. She could not believe what she saw and heard. Slowly she raised her wand, took the crystal ball in her hand and slowly spoke her spell: " _Commutatus vestitus praecantrix_." The shoulder bag changed back into her witch's attire. The denim clothes fell on the ground. Her braids were gone and her long hair hung down her back. In her black clothes with the wide dark red cloak she looked regal and all the fearsome witch that she was. The group in the liquefied asphalt had not noticed the change. They all were cheering Bubba and Bluto who were still trying to hit each other. Everyone was joining in the brawl, hitting everyone they could reach.

"STOP!" Hilda's voice thundered over the miscreants. It had the intended result. She didn't need to wait long for the shouting of the men and women on the half-hidden bikes to end, and then she stepped forward. "This was the second time I had to tell you to stop," Hilda said. "You are incorrigible. You act like children. You don't listen. You shout, you fight. I loathe you." She picked her broom from the air behind her again and hung it where she could easily sit on it.

"Do you now, bitch," Smokey mumbled and in a move fast as lightning (or at least he hoped it looked like that) he raised his gun, set to fire another round. He tried to anyway, but his finger didn't move. And then the rest of his arm did not want to cooperate. "FUCK!" he screamed, as needles seemed to be everywhere in his entire arm. He dropped the gun and saw it slowly sink into the concrete where his own legs and groin were stuck also.

Bluto then made a mistake: he took his heavy iron chain bracelet and flung that at Hilda. "Get your bloody magic hands off my brother!"

Hilda caught the projectile effortlessly and looked at it, after which she dropped it on the ground. "And so you keep at it," she said with a sigh, "you disappoint me more and more. You are not worthy of my attention nor powers." She bent down and tapped the denim clothes with her wand. " _Commutatus vestitus domesticus_." Instantly she was dressed in the inconspicuous, denim clothes again. Another moment later the black and red shoulder bag was back in her hand. She slipped the crystal ball in the hidden pocket and made her wand disappear. Then she mounted her broom and rose several feet into the air. The motorcycle gang stared at what happened before their eyes. Hilda looked at the pathetic group that was stuck in the road one more time, shrugged and flew off.

***
8. The route home

Hilda sat leaning against a tree, the broom lying next to her. She had figured out by now that witches in this idiotic place were less common and accepted than in the real world, so not using too many tricks was the best way to stay out of sight. Her fingers caressed the necklace that she'd been missing for so long. "I am not going to be so careless again, precious," she told it. Then she had a better look at her surroundings. There were many people going around the park. Ordinary ones. Some were walking around with dogs, and for some obscure reason the dogs were kept on a rope. Some people were dressed oddly and were running around for no apparent reason. They couldn't be messengers; they didn't carry things and running around like that they wouldn't reach any destination soon either. None of these people seemed to have an occupation. They all just... lounged around. Hilda understood that she somehow had fallen into a very strange world.

"Hey, miss, what are you doing there?" A rough but still friendly voice interrupted her musings. Hilda looked up and saw a big black man. He wore what looked like a uniform and he wore a funny hat on his head. A large stick hung from a leather belt.

"I am trying to think of a way to get home again," she explained. No magic when it could be avoided, she reminded herself.

The policeman nodded. "Fine, but not on the grass, okay?"

Hilda looked around her. "Yes. On the grass, of course, as I am sitting there."

The policeman squatted beside her. "All fun aside, miss. You're not allowed to get on the grass here. So sit on a gravel path, or pick a bench over there, but you have to get off the grass."

Hilda raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "This world is truly insane, do you know that? Normal things are unheard of, and unheard of things are deemed the most normal of all!"

"You're telling me, miss. I only do my job upholding the law." The officer stood up again and waited for Hilda to get up as well. He did frown for a moment as she picked up the broom, but as there was nothing dangerous attached to it, he was fine with it. Just another of them new-age nuts. The long hair was a give-away.

Hilda mounted her broom, causing the policeman to frown for a moment. "I still think it's insane," the witch said and lifted off. It didn't make the officer's day, and the frown was there to stay.

The wicked witch flew over the town, covered by an invisibility-spell, looking for a decent place to decide on the next step of her plan, the plan that in the end should get her home. After searching for a long time she found an old, abandoned house with more rooms than she'd ever seen in one building. It was large, uninhabited, and the high fences around it made sure she had all the privacy that she needed. It was not a very fancy place to begin with, but that was not something insurmountable with the aid of magic. Soon it looked a little like the living room in her own house. She missed the mirror, but that would take too long to prepare as there probably was no skilled mirror maker here. Desperate times asked for creative measures. Dressed in her normal clothes, she placed the crystal ball on the table. The wand went next to it. Hilda sat down in the newly-made grand chair and spun a magical web through the room, mixing Latin (which worked fastest) and English (which was more fail-safe but a tad slower) until she had the perfect atmosphere for consulting the ball. Combined with the power of her necklace, this was a perfect recipe.

The necklace was special. It was something magical that had been created in ancient times, even before proper candles had been invented, someone had told her long ago. Rumour had it that her necklace had been crafted by a race of dwarfs now extinct, which probably was a cartload of cattle manure. It was however a certainty that the necklace had been magically energised by a powerful and professional wizard. Used in the right way and handled by the right hands, the magical energy would practically sparkle from the gems and that was exactly the power Hilda needed now. The preparation was done. Magic was afoot and also over the table. On the table there also were a piece of paper and a quill, that had been a piece of wood before Hilda had done her bit of redecorating. While Hilda mumbled her incantations and spells, the crystal ball started showing small images that changed rapidly, as if they fleeted by on a stream. The necklace crackled its energy in blue and green. The quill rose up and started writing ancient signs on the paper. Hilda felt her energy seep away; the magic needed for this quest was immense. Finally the quill had written enough and laid itself down. Hilda brought down the energy she had summoned, whilst trying to remember the pictures of a large metal cart and a big box. Those were images that the ball had shown her over and over again. She also knew she had to eat something soon. The last decent meal she'd eaten had been at the house of the ancient ones, and that was quite a while ago already.

After untangling the magical web the wicked witch walked into another room of the big building. She found a lot of debris that could be easily transformed into food. From experience she knew it would taste bland, but that was the smallest problem. Using her wand she made some of the material float into her chambers and cast the transformation spell. She glared at the result. In her own world food that was prepared this way did not look really appetising, but this looked downright disgusting. The smell was gross. She tried some of it and spat it out again. "This world is wrong. Sick, bad, wrong, anything you can think of and then some more. I must find a way to go home as fast as possible." There was no other option for her to silence her hunger than by going back to the town of lunatics...

-=-=-

With her broom in hand and wearing the clothes of the locals Hilda walked along the packed streets. Attracting too much attention was not a good thing here, and flying a broom meant attracting lots of attention. Her mood was down to the level of sunken caves, her stomach growled and her feet screamed at her. Not a good starting point for a wicked witch to operate from. After a few streets she still had not found a place that could supply her with food, so she stopped a person on the pavement. "I need a meal. Take me to such a place." The wand convinced the woman that she had to walk Hilda to a restaurant, and only then the wicked witch let the spell wear off. The woman was totally confused how she had ended up there. As the woman still tried to make sense of her situation, Hilda entered the restaurant, located a table in a corner and marched towards it. She leaned the broom against the wall and sat down in such a way that she could oversee the entire place. Usually she'd stick her broom to the ceiling, but that would doubtlessly attract attention here.

"Miss," a quickly approaching waiter said, "this table has been reserved."

"Good," Hilda said, "you can bring me a meal."

The waiter needed a few moments to wrap his brain about what was happening. "Miss, I think you did not understand. This table is prepared for guests who will be here shortly. Could you please sit at another table?"

"No. I sit here and you are going to bring me food. I'm hungry, and my bad mood is getting worse rapidly."

"But, miss, please," the waiter tried one more time.

Hilda popped up her wand. "Look young man, you appear to have no enemies. Be nice to me, bring me food, and you will continue to live and have no enemies. Otherwise you will be dead and have no enemies. Have I made myself clear?" The waiter hesitated just a moment too long. " _Oboeditus. Tracto cartula_." As there was no movement in the waiter except for a frown, Hilda shook her head. "I hate Latin. Obey. And take care of the payment."

A few seconds later the waiter smiled. "I'll make sure you will have the daily special, miss." He walked off, to return about ten minutes later with a few plates. "Enjoy your meal, miss. I have already taken care of the bill for you. My pleasure, miss."

The wicked witch dug into the food as if it was the first decent meal she had seen in her entire life. This was much better than the degraded grub she had managed to make from the things in her new building. At the door there seemed to be some confusion. Hilda followed the proceedings with interest, as the man that led the incoming party was obviously in distress. He kept pointing at the table in the corner, and the waiter was persistently trying to make them accept a few other tables.

"How wonderful," the witch grinned, "he stands up for me. I should leave a coin for him." She didn't, though. She had gone wrong with Latin again, and that had ticked her off. As she had finished eating she got up, grabbed the broom and walked to the problem-group at the door where she tapped the waiter's shoulder. "I'm finished. You can let them have the table." The waiter smiled and made a deep bow, making Hilda grin as she left the restaurant. Out in the street she looked to the left and right. There were no secluded spots from where she could fly off. "Oh heck. Why bother." She mounted her broom and kicked off. Somewhere behind her there were some screeching sounds followed by a crashing thud and screaming metal.

-=-=-

The wicked witch landed her broom at the entrance of her new residence and walked inside. There she changed into her normal clothes and set to work on interpreting the information she had received through her spells, to find the way back to her own world. The image of the cart with no horse worried her. As well as the large box that apparently was inside that cart. Hilda already knew she'd have to find that cart, because it held part of the solution. Using her wand, she magicked up a cup of coffee, aiming for the exact same stuff she'd had at the home of the ancient ones. That was good, fortifying and reassuring. Her version of it lacked many of these qualities, but it would do as it was hot and dark. She picked up the first sheet of paper that the quill had written on, and started reading.

"There is the cart of the man William Connoley,

The wares he owns are packed quite thoroughly,

The book of tales, the book of dreams,

Contains the solution, or so it seems.

You must find the cart, the book, the man,

And make them tell you all they can,

From there the path will make you roam

And find the trail back to your home."

"You are not going to make this easy on me, are you?" Hilda said to the quill that lay silently on the table. It was not impressed enough to respond. She turned to the next page, which was an attempt at a map. "Call this information?" Hilda snapped, waving the sheet at the quill. "Thanks for nothing." The next page had better be better.

"A hint for you, my dearest witch,

To find your man without a glitch,

The bookstore of the town you're in,

Should definitely make you win.

The use of magic is forbidden,

Or from the town you will be ridden.

Good luck, enjoy, and have some fun-"

Then Hilda saw the last line change into something new, before she could read the original:

"The cops are here, you'd better run."

***
9. Cops and witches

"Cops?" Hilda frowned. She couldn't remember ever having seen such a thing. "Suck an elf, what are cops?"

"Hello, lady inside the building. This is the police. We know you are in there. You are in danger, the building is not stable. Please come out as soon as you can, or we will be forced to come in and get you." The sound boomed through the room, and probably all the other rooms in the building. Several unseen parts of the building rattled ominously while in places dust descended from the cracks in many ceilings.

Hilda understood that she had just received an answer to her question. She rose from her chair and walked to the window that had no glass in it any more. Outside the fence around her new home there were four of the horseless, metal carts. Blue lights were flashing on top of them, and there were at least ten men in black clothes. She recognised those, as the man in the park who had told her not to sit on the grass had worn something similar. The wicked witch magically enhanced her speech, and at the same volume as the police megaphone had been, she boomed back: "I am not in danger. Go away and leave me be." The men in black covered their ears and dove for cover at the sound of her voice. "Pathetic," she muttered. As she was about to turn and pay attention to the papers again, the police voice came back.

"You in the building. We are not joking. We will come in and take you out by force if you do not cooperate."

Force? Now there was a word that Hilda understood. "You want a show of force? Yours against mine? Very well. Where do you want to duel?" She peered outside and counted the men. "There's only eleven of you out there!"

The police voice remained silent for a considerable amount on time, while the keepers of the law discussed how to go about this crazy person in the condemned building. "We do not want to duel. We just want you out of the building. It is not safe in there for you."

"I don't need a handful of people in carts to tell me what is safe for me," Hilda responded. "I am safer in here than you are out there." She tapped her wand in her palm, waiting for them to make a move, so she could make a counter move. And let them hurry please, she had better things to do than to muck about with insolents.

"This is our last warning. Come out now and there will be no repercussions, lady. We'll let you walk and there won't be charges for breaking and entering an unsafe building."

Hilda did not understand most of that. She had not broken the building. It was safe enough for her also. Yes, she had entered, but that was for obvious reasons; her belongings, few as they were, were in here. But the words of the police cops that they would let her walk did sound like a good thing. It would be a shame to lose this home, but there would be another one somewhere. "You say you will let me walk. Will you also let me fly?"

"Whatever you want as long as you don't jump to your death, lady. For all I care you come out on a unicycle. Just come out without making trouble."

"I shall come out. This is a witch's promise. You can leave now." Hilda sighed. Seriously, this was too bad. She dressed in the local's clothes and turned her own clothes into the shoulder bag again. She took the quill and the papers, and put them in the bag. Carefully she stored the crystal ball in the hidden pocket, put her necklace around her neck and then she turned the chair and the table back into rubble, the way she had found it in the room. After all that, broom in hand, she walked out of the building, towards the fence. From behind it, she saw that the men and the carts with the flashing lights were still there. "Do you not trust me?" she asked. "I told you I would leave this building. I promised. I also said you could leave."

One of the officers stepped up to the fence, looking at the broom-carrying person in denim. "Are you by chance the same person with the broom who was in the park the other day? The one that sat on the grass?"

Hilda stood proud. "That, indeed, was I."

"Maybe you should come with us, to the station. We would like to run a few checks on you and find out what you did to our partner. The poor guy was babbling about a woman with a broom who flew off on it. If you were that woman, we'd really love to know what you slipped him." The tone of the man was turning into something Hilda didn't like, and she was usually a very good judge of such things. Also, she understood, she was attracting a lot of attention. That was good in the real world, but in this one, becoming more odd and inexplicable every day, it was not. Hilda felt as if she had ended up in a horror story. "Come on, lady, you have nothing to fear," the policeman tried to encourage Hilda.

"Indeed," the wicked witch agreed, "it is not I who has something to fear." Her wand appeared. " _Subverto plostrum_." Nothing happened. " _Subvertos plostrum_?" There was silence. There was also wonder on the faces of the policemen, who until then considered themselves safe on their side of the fence. "I hate Latin..." Hilda shook her head and mounted her broom. "Carts: overturn! Cops: stick to the ground!" Again it took a few seconds, but at least the result was satisfying. As if they were grabbed by giant, invisible hands, the police cars were lifted up, turned over and then they fell back to the ground. The policemen wanted to run to get themselves to safety, but they could by no means move their feet. They were pinned to the ground they were standing on. Hilda kicked herself free from that same ground and flew off. Screams of the policemen followed her but only as long as she was within their yelling range.

-=-=-

Once far outside the town Hilda landed her broom in field of wheat. A spell and a simple snap of her fingers was enough to create a small open space where she could sit, and more importantly: lie down. The day had been long enough, she was tired and ready for some sleep. Part of the wheat was transformed into a bed and the witch made herself comfortable on it. With nothing but nature and silence around her it didn't take her tired mind long before she was out like a light.

The next morning Hilda felt wonderful. After a good stretch and a yawn she changed her bed into a nice chair and sat down to study the papers. " _The bookstore of the town you're in, Should definitely make you win_. That's something I can work with," she said to herself, ignoring the noise that came from far away. "A bookstore. The bookstore, even," she noticed. "If there is only one, that should be quite easy to find."

Hilda looked up. The noise that she tried to ignore was becoming a nuisance, so she got up and looked round to find its source. In the distance, but coming closer, was a large, loud monster. As so many things in this unruly world, it was made of metal. A large cylinder, consisting of many separate rods, was in front of it, rolling slowly like the wheel on a watermill, chopping the wheat down. A large yellow bulk was behind it, and in front of the bulk, over the rotating cylinder, was what looked like a very small hut with glass all around. "No witch can concentrate with such noise," Hilda muttered. She took her wand and slapped out a spell. " _Silencio_."

The combine harvester understood Latin, because it obeyed promptly. Farmer O'Toole stared at the dashboard. Nothing indicated a problem. "What the heck..." He turned the ignition switch but that didn't respond. The farmer looked over all the controls, switches and gauges; they all checked out, so the machine was in perfect condition. It just refused to start. The radio meanwhile announced that working crews were still trying to get a group of motorcyclists out of the road. where they had been found. It was still a mystery how the men and their machines had managed to sink into the asphalt.

With the noise taken care of, Hilda sat down and looked at the second page, the one that pretended to be a map. "Oh. Wait." She turned the page around. "Trying to be funny, are we?" she grumbled at the quill in her bag. What had first resembled only some scratches and wobbles, now looked like the view of a street. A street, Hilda noticed, that she knew. It was the street where she had first met the miscreants in the bar where she had left the bouncer. Then she remembered that she had indeed seen a bookstore in that very street! A loud clanging noise provided a new interruption, one that the witch could certainly do without. Once more she rose to see what was the matter.

Farmer O'Toole had descended from the harvester and opened his toolbox from where he had gotten a hammer. He had started pounding the engine, hoping it would somehow come back to life once it had been abused enough. "Shit, shit, shit, you stupid thing," he yelled at the stoic, lifeless hunk of metal.

"Shit?" Hilda giggled. "If that is what you want, that is what you get." She shot a spell towards the big machine. With a resounding splot the hammer and also farmer O'Toole's arm disappeared in the engine space. Where once there had been an engine now there was a full and fresh load of horse droppings. They were still warm.

***
10. The book store

Shielded by her invisibility spell, Hilda touched down in the alleyway next to the bookstore. Quickly she dropped the spell, as that drained her magical energy quite rapidly. Then she walked out of the alley and into the bookstore; one particular line from the quill's poem reverberating through her head. " _The use of magic is forbidden_." That worried her, and worry was a bad sign. Witches of her standing never worried. This place was getting on her nerves more and faster than anything had done so far, which didn't make life any easier for her. As she entered the store the wicked witch stared at the noisy bell over her head. How easy would it be to make that bell go silent, the witch thought. But the use of magic was forbidden,,. The same bell made Bert Bantrey's head rise up from behind a stack of books, where he was kneeling on the ground, sorting some new releases. "Ah, dear lady, please excuse my appearance. One moment, if I may..." Bert scrambled to his feet. He grabbed hold of a stack of books that was on the verge of collapsing, and after steadying that part of his assets he turned to Hilda. "Welcome to Bert Bantrey's Bookstore. I am Bert Bantrey. Please state your wishes, and I will do my utmost to fullfil them." He'd gotten up by then and ended his little talk with a quick bow.

"Finally someone with manners," Hilda nodded benevolently. "I thought this world had gotten rid of civilisation, but it appears I may have to revise my opinion about that." She nodded regally, something that looked quite odd as she wore the denim attire, the red and black bag slung across her shoulders and the broom in her hand. And yet, it suited her.

Bert was accustomed to strange customers, even people calling themselves witches, asking for grimoires, books of shadows and other impossible things. This was the prerogative of owning the only bookstore in town and its surroundings that carried material like that. "So, how can I be of assistance?" There was something enticing about this woman that fed his male feelings, his urges. It was a reaction that not many women managed to evoke.

"I am looking for a man who has a book," Hilda said.

"You are looking for a book, dear lady? In that case I am your man," Bert smiled, waving his arm around the store. "I own many of them. Therefore I assume that makes me a whole lot of man." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. He could have saved himself the trouble; the gesture was lost on the witch.

"I am looking for..." Hilda rummaged in her bag and took the papers "...William Connoley?"

Bert's hopes of capturing this lady's heart shattered on the floor, all around his feet. He could almost hear the shards clatter. The bookshop owner however was not one to be thrown out of the ring that easily. "Dear lady, I am convinced that you and I can come to an agreement. Whatever it is that my friend William has, I have as well."

Hilda could almost smell the stream of stale pheromones that flowed from the man. It nearly made her gag. "There must be something that William Connoley has that you do not have," she said, tapping on her paper. "The words here state that."

"Hah, dear lady," Bert said, leisurely stepping towards her. "William and I go back a long time. I know what he has for sale, as he obtains most of his merchandise from my store. He is - how could I put it - almost my personal travelling sales-representative."

Hilda closed her eyes and fought for every shred of self control. Magic is not allowed. Magic is not allowed. The words hung over her head like flaming swords. This was going to be very difficult. "I have to know where William Connoley is." She spoke the words slowly and clearly, as nicely as she could. She was without magic, she had to retain her self-control and she had to put up with anyone that came on her path, in the annoying way that so many ordinaries everywhere managed.

"Can I first offer you some tea? Or coffee, perhaps?" Without knowing it, Bert had spoken a magical word.

"Coffee. Yes. Coffee is good." Hilda was grateful for this break. "Do you-", she started, but did not ask about the extra Arabica. This man would not know, he was not magical.

"Do I what, dear lady?" Bert asked, his charm offensives blasting and showing what he assumed to be his most dazzling smile.

"Oh. No. Nothing. Just... coffee." Hilda emphasised her wish by nodding a few times and repressed the revulsion.

"Very well. Please, browse around, make yourself comfortable on the sofa if you want. I'll be back soon. With the... coffee..." He spoke the last word as if he tried to turn the mere sound into an aphrodisiac. To Hilda it was the ultimate turn-off, something that made her want to scream and turn the man into a toad and flee from this place. Instead, she just nodded and turned to the long lines of books. Instinctively she located the books about magic. Randomly she took one and paged through it, after placing her broom against a rack. Bert came back with two cups of instant brew, and his heart jumped for joy to see the woman still standing there, obviously entertained by a book as he heard her grin and giggle.

"Dear lady," he said, in a voice as husky as he could muster, "your servant." He had intended to add: "And your coffee", but the first two words startled Hilda, and that was the beginning of bad news for Bert. One does not startle a nervous witch. As he said " _your servant_ ", she closed the book with a loud snap and turned towards the man behind her. Fast. With the book at face-height. The moment of impact of the big, bound book against Bert's skull was shocking for him. He uttered a muffled "oompf" as his head turned away from Hilda, his body following suit. The two cups of instant coffee fell to the floor at the same speed as Bert did. Despite being smaller, the two cups made a bigger mess than the book store owner.

"I did not use magic," Hilda told the unconscious man, whose body was obeying the laws of gravity. She looked at the grimoire that had had this dramatic effect. "At least I assume that hitting someone with a book about what they call magic here was not included in that line, otherwise I am seriously in trouble." After putting the book back she carefully stepped over the body that laid in a heap on the floor, and found her way to the small kitchen annex toilet. Locating a bucket was not difficult, but filling it became a problem. There was no pump or well in the small space, and through the tiny, dirty window she could not see anything that resembled one either. These facts ended her attempt to at least clean away the coffee that Bert lay in. " _The use of magic is forbidden, or from the town you will be ridden._ " The words laughed at her, taunted her. She could not fill the bucket using magic, nor with anything she recognised. Drawing on all her willpower, she walked back to the store and looked at the motionless body. "And I thought you were a gentleman. Goes to show."

A very unhappy Hilda paced through the bookstore. She had gone to the door that had the "Open" sign shown to this crazy world and turned that around, decreeing that the store was "Closed". At least that would give her some peace and time to think. Waiting until the man regained consciousness was not her preferred option; he might not take the course of recent events very well. Hilda wasn't really bothered by that fact, but she still needed to know where William Connoley was, and this was the place where she could find out, provided the quill had not played a trick on her. Bert, after being treated to a taste of solid book-magic, was probably not eager to help her after that. In the kitchen Hilda had found a packet of cookies covered in chocolate, and she was working on reducing the contents when suddenly an eerie sound rang through the store. The wicked witch ducked behind a stack of books, waiting for the sound to stop. What would that be? Her wish was not granted; the sound persisted. It also didn't move through the store, she noticed, so she got up and went around to locate the source of this noise, to silence it once and for always. A large book she had picked up would serve her well in that, she hoped.

The phone rang and blinked. That was how Hilda found it on the counter. "Magic is not allowed, is it?", she snorted. "Then explain this to me." She put down the book and examined the device with its noise and its blinking light. There was a small window on it, and there was a text on it. William Connoley, it read. Hilda stumbled backwards, pressing herself against the shelves of books, holding a hand over her mouth. This demonic device bore the name of the man she needed to talk to! She then saw the small blinking button that read ' _talk_ '. Hilda looked at the device and said: "Talk!" It didn't. "Talk!!" The device was unimpressed and kept ringing. Boldly the witch then jumped forward and stabbed at the flashing button. "Talk, you abomination!"

***
11. William Connoley

"Bert? Are you there? It took you long enough, old man! Getting slow on your age?"

Hilda stared at the demon device and wanted to damage the quill. Magic is not allowed, is it? she thought. "Who are you?" she asked the little box. As a precaution she made her wand appear and pointed it at the telephone.

"Hello? Who is that? Is Bert there?" the device spoke.

Hilda glanced at the body, whose mind was still unavailable. "Bert is... not ready to talk."

"What? You mean he is sick? Too bad for him. I assume you are watching the shop for him then. I am William. William Connoley, Bert's friend."

Hilda prodded the demon device and its lights with her wand. "You are his friend?" She tried to connect two dots that were just too far apart. She had been convinced that William Connoley was an ordinary, a human, not a small demonic device that flashed lights and spoke with a feeble voice. "I don't understand. He talked like you were far away, and you are lying here on the table."

William needed some time to let this sink in. First there was the surprise of hearing a woman answering the telephone. A woman! In Bert's shop! And then there was the added sensation of hearing her speak as if she was sky-high on some drug. Bert should get rid of his habit to attract weirdos, but for now he'd have to do with this person. He decided to play along. "Okay, listen," the device said. "I am not inside this telephone. I am far away, and I am using my own telephone to talk to Bert. Well, to you at the moment."

"You are using magic," Hilda stated, feeling more and more inclined to retire the quill indefinitely. "Like a crystal ball, but then in a box."

William decided not to go into that discussion. "Listen. There is a book I need. Someone wants to buy it, and I know that Bert has it. I am sure that he's fine with it that I sell it for him. And of course we'll split the profits." Hilda's eyes grew almost saucer-like. She knew that at times she was far from being a good person, but taking prophets apart was something even she would not dream of doing. "The book," the demon device said to her before she could respond, "is either on the table to the left of the sofa, or on the shelf to the right of it." The voice went on describing the book to her, and then asked if she could find it.

Hilda slowly moved away from the device, her wand not wavering from it, and her eyes on it as long as she could see it. Then she stepped over Bert and found the book on the table, as the demon had said. She picked it up and carried it to the device, holding it up so the demon could see it. "I have it here," she said, to make sure she was in the clear with the voice.

"Fabulous. Now, I guess it is rather quiet in the store, so if you flip the sign on the door and bring the book to me we're in business. I am at 349 Granby Drive, near the Pinewood Turnpike. Do you know where that is? Bert's car usually is round the back, the keys should either stick or else you find them in the glove compartment."

Hilda reached for the crystal ball and placed it next to the demon. Slowly she said: "349 Granby Drive, near the Pinewood Turnpike", waving the wand over the ball in a complex pattern.

"Ah, good. You're writing it down, are you?"

A small light happily danced inside the crystal ball. It would be able to guide Hilda to the place that the demon voice had dictated. "No, I don't, but I can find it," she said.

William, on the other end of the line, frowned and shrugged. "Good. I suggest you take the phone with you, so you can call me in case you get lost. I'll be waiting for you in the coffee shop across the street." The voice stopped, and the light left the demon device.

Hilda looked at the thing, now dead as a stone. She picked it up and shook it. Nothing happened. The witch shrugged, dropping the silent, little box in her bag. The voice had said to take the demon device along, and as long as the box remained silent there was no reason not to. She looked at the book that the voice had told her to bring. It was large and heavy, too awkward to take along on the broom. She spoke a simple spell that shrunk the book to the size of a matchbox which also fitted inside the shoulder bag. Then she looked back at the man on the ground. "See, that's what happens if I can't use magic," she explained her action to the silent witness. Since the demon device had used magic, she was at liberty to do that as well. Then the wicked witch walked through the store, the crystal ball in hand, to collect her broom. As she was going to where it rested against the rack, she noticed the big book that she had dropped after whacking Bert senseless with it. She picked it up and checked it, to make sure it was not damaged. After all, books were precious. Carefully she laid it on the table, picked up her broom and left the store.

The wicked one stepped into the alleyway, cast her spell of invisibility and rose up into the sky. Once she was at an altitude she thought safe, she dropped the spell and consulted the crystal ball on where to go. The little dancing light seemed happy to guide her, so she turned the broom and followed the indications inside the small ball in her hand. The flight was not fast as she had only one hand to steer the broom, but she'd rather get there slower than reach the wrong spot in a hurry. After about fifteen minutes the sphere already indicated that she should start her descent. As a precaution she slipped the ball in her pocket. Approaching the ground Hilda saw many places where she could touch down unnoticed, so there was no need to hide her presence. She dropped down like a brick between two high buildings with no windows. Things were going well for a change! Hilda swooped the broom up just before the bristles would brush the ground, a manoeuvre that she was good at and enjoyed. Then a door was thrown open, some three feet in front of her.

-=-=-

After the crash the wicked witch found herself sitting on the ground, staring at the door that slowly swung back into its opening, as the little stars slowly dissipated from before her eyes. Her face hurt, her knees hurt, but she didn't care about that. Her gaze dropped to the ground next to her and she got a shock. Her broom had broken in two parts. The brush was cracked, most bristles had fallen out. The plastic stick was crumpled most of the way. "No," she groaned. "NO!" Only then she heard the muffled sound from the other side of the door. The door itself slowly swung open again, and Hilda jumped to her feet, wand in her now free hand, ready to strike. A big, bald man, holding his nose, was uttering curses like a pirate. In short, his message was that he wanted to know what goddamned idiot had slammed the door into his face. "It was your own fault," said Hilda, her voice cold enough to make ice crackle. Her dismay about losing the broom was evident. "You opened the door."

"Yeah, I fucking well did, as I had to go through it, dumb broad. Did you smash into it? Good. I hope you hurt like fucking hell!" The bald man was not pleased.

"You broke my broom, you... you... ordinary!" Hilda was close to fuming.

"So? You broke my fucking nose, bitch," the man retorted, blood trickling through his fingers to make his take on this even clearer.

"Oh, poor man, are you hurting?" Hilda's voice changed to sugar-sweet, which was a sign that she was terminally angered. "Let me fix that for you, will you?" Her eyes became slits as she pointed her wand at the man's broken nose, and then she hissed: " _Communtatus rana_!" The effect was instantaneous, to Hilda's delight. If you got Latin right in one it was priceless. The workman's clothes fell on top of the frog. The animal croaked. It was not so delighted. Hilda took a deep breath. Then she held out her hand. " _Veni cristallum_." The crystal ball jumped up and landed in her palm. She didn't pay attention to the frog, instead she consulted her ball on where to go from here. She was glad to see that she wasn't far from the man she had to meet. Worrying about the broom would not help now, so she started walking. Only several minutes later already she turned into a street and a memory hit her. She had seen this street in the ball, as she was asking it to show her where to go! The houses to the left and right were there, the horseless carts were there. And further down the road was the cart that had the box that held the answer! Hilda ran towards the cart, but its doors were closed. She peered through the windows, pressing her hands and nose against them, but there was no sign of the box.

"Calm down, Grimhilda," she told herself. "This place is getting to you, but you have come so close, don't lose your grip now. The man is in a house of coffee, he said. Find the house of coffee and you'll find the man." She slipped the crystal ball back inside her bag where it was safe. A passer-by looked at the woman who was talking to herself, shook his head and continued on his way without a word. It was the best thing he could have done with the witch on edge as she was, and he didn't even know it. As the voice from the demon device had said, there was a coffee shop across the street. Hilda stepped on the asphalt, then stopped. She made sure none of the horseless carts were approaching before she hurried to the other side. She was close, very close, and havoc was the last thing she needed now. A few ordinary people that were walking there looked at her awkward behaviour but left her in peace, which was exactly perfect for Hilda. Without hesitation she walked up to the door of the coffeehouse and entered. As she did so, she reached into her bag, found the book and undid the shrinking spell as she pulled the tome out. The witch was quite certain the book-man would recognise her when she would have the book in her hand.

William Connoley looked up as the woman with the long, grey hair walked in. He blinked a few times as he did not trust his eyes. Had she really pulled that large book from her shoulder bag just now? He got up. Hilda saw the man walk up to her. It had to be him. He had a friendly face, one of the few she'd encountered here. "Hello, I am William Connoley. You are the person I talked to on the phone?" the man said.

Hilda liked his voice. It was the same as the one from demon device, but better sounding, warmer. She grabbed inside her bag and took out the demon device. "Phone. This demon box? Yes. You were talking through it. Do you want it back?"

"Demon box? Back?" William doubted if he should talk to her much longer. "It's Bert's phone, he's the one who will want it back. Just keep it with you until you see him again. Ehm, would you like some coffee?"

"Coffee. Yes, I need some coffee," Hilda said, shoving the large book in the salesman's hands.

It was the first sensible thing William had heard from her. Relieved, he led her to his table where his own coffee had gone cold. He ordered a fresh round. As they were waiting for the order to arrive, William looked at the book. "You did not wrap it..."

Hilda looked at the man, fire smoldering in her eyes. "You wanted the book. I brought the book." What was he going on about? She was, after all, a respected and powerful witch, not a shop's wench.

William nodded, hoping she'd calm down again. This woman obviously had a terribly short temper. "You got here remarkably quickly," he said, "Bert's car usually doesn't go that fast. Where is it anyway? The street's quite full."

Hilda shrugged and decided to wing this one. She was tired from being on the run, and her patience was slowly cracking up. "It broke when someone hit it with a door."

"It... broke?" The man looked puzzled.

"Yes. In two pieces."

"Oh..." Something crawled down William's spine for a split second and he decided not to ask how someone could break a car in two by hitting it with a door, nor what kind of door that would have been. The woman was clearly deranged. How odd that Bert had let her take over the shop for a while. The waitress brought the coffee and was treated to a barely visible nod from the witch. William sat back and studied the strange woman who was sipping the hot coffee. She was a very remarkable person, he thought. Intriguing. Her behaviour was remarkable, and there was that haunted look in her eyes and the way she talked. As if she did not belong here. "How was Bert when you last saw him?" he asked Hilda, as the uncanny feeling that had gone through him a moment ago reared its head again.

"He did not say much. He was still quite unconscious."

"Strange. Only a few days ago I saw him and he looked fine," William said. "Unconscious??"

Hilda shrugged and drained the last drops of coffee from the cup. She felt more empowered again, better and ready for anything. She looked William Connoley in the eye. "You have something I need."

***
12. Going home

William looked at the woman. "I do? What could I have that you need. I don't even know you." His voiced trailed off in puzzlement.

"I know, and still there is something you have that I need." Hilda suddenly felt more positive and determined than she had felt in days. She also wanted what he had ten minutes ago.

"And what might that be then?" William Connoley was paying full attention to her and he was confused as hell, but he was not going to let her know that.

Hilda had already picked up the man's uncertainty; it hung around him like a brightly coloured cloak. "I don't know what it is, but I'll recognise it when I see it."

"Ah. And who told you this?" William was more than curious to know how she could be so convinced, because he had never seen this remarkable woman before in his life. She hadn't even introduced herself to him yet. The curious feeling licked his heels again.

"Nobody. But I'm certain of this. I got your name, and the, ehm, source is reliable." Hilda had to be very careful now, she shouldn't say things that might chase away this extraordinary yet ordinary man. This man, after all, was the key to her return home. Angering him could have the adverse effect, and she was becoming desperate to get out of this world. The insanities were stacking up against the walls of her perseverance and she was not sure how much more of that she would be able to take. There had to be a point where either the insanities themselves, or the walls that they were leaning against, would crash down upon her.

"I'll tell you something. I'll go to my truck, wrap up this book and I'll take it to the buyer. You sit tight and have another coffee. After the sale I come back here and we'll talk about what you're looking for. I am very curious, trust me." William smiled his most reassuring smile and patted the woman on the hand. The strange feeling now not only licked his heels, it was tugging at his hair also. Hilda stared at the hand and fury was firing up over this impudence. An ordinary was not to touch a witch \- but this was not your average ordinary human, she reminded herself, and forced herself to calm down. She had to battle the pressure down, but she managed it, be it just. William sensed how Hilda tensed up and quickly withdrew his hand. "I'm sorry. It seems that touching makes you feel uncomfortable."

"If it is not a problem for you," the witch said slowly, swallowing and fighting for control, "I will go with you. I am going to stay in the background. You will not have to worry about me being there." Hilda was humiliating herself tremendously and she knew it, but it was the only way.

William smiled. "Very well. You can come along, and while we're going there you can tell me about yourself, if you want. Your name for instance." He reached for his wallet and put a few dollar bills on the table, to pay for the coffee. Hilda picked up one of the green pieces of paper and looked at it for several moments. It had letters and numbers on it, and the drawn picture of a person in awkward clothes. With a shrug and an expression of inunderstanding she put it down. "Is something wrong with it?" William asked.

"No... no..." She shook her head, wondering why he did not put copper or silver on the table. Hilda had no idea that her actions made William more and more interested in her. The weird feeling was by now enveloping him, giving him the sensation that he was in the middle of a docile thundercloud.

"Right. Let's go then and wrap this beauty up." He got to his feet, the large book in his hand, and gestured to the door, letting Hilda go first and making sure he did not touch her again.

They left the coffeehouse, and as they were crossing the street to get to the truck, the witch turned to William. "You can call me... Hilda." She cringed on the inside. For a witch, giving someone your name meant giving them control over you.

"Nice to meet you, Hilda. Just call me William."

After the book was nicely wrapped it didn't take long to hand it to the new owner, and then the two people, who were connected by such a strange ripple of fate, returned to the truck. "Now, can you tell me what you think I have that you need?" William leaned against his car, smiling at the woman and keeping a safe distance, something she clearly appreciated. Hilda looked at him for a while. Then, in silence, she took the papers with the poems from her shoulder bag and handed them over. William smiled but as looked at the paper and the writing his expression changed into something serious. "Amazing. That looks ancient. And the writing... did you do that?"

"You could say that. It was my quill anyway," she said, picked the papers from his hand and then quietly recited one the poems. "You have a book of tales, a book of dreams. A very special book."

William looked at her in wonder. "May I see that again?" He held out his hand and waited. Reluctantly Hilda handed him the paper with the first poem. As he touched it, William felt a flow of power shoot through his arm. He shivered, then it was gone. He read the poem, slowly and full of attention.

"A most extraordinary poem, Hilda. What does it mean?"

She took a deep breath. "It means what it says. You are the man William Connoley and you have something I need. It's inside your cart, and it will help me to return home."

"A book of tales, a book of dreams," he nodded. "Now, don't tell me-" A glint of understanding swam over his face. Hilda raised her eyebrows again, not knowing what she should and shouldn't tell this man who was, for now, her sole hope in this turmoil. She watched how he took a piece of metal from his pocket, bracing herself for anything. It proved quite a strain, as she was balancing on the edge of madness. Her return could be so close and yet it was all so uncertain. William hesitated for a moment. "For some reason," he said, "I have been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" This surprised her. She was used to people waiting for her, witches from her level did not wait for other people, but in this strange world, where everything was turned upside down and inside out, this commonplace fact felt... wrong, almost. "You don't even know me. You said so yourself."

William nodded. "True. And still..." He raised his hand, slid the key in the lock and opened the backdoor of the truck. "I bought this book from Bert, a few days ago," he explained. "I don't know why I had to have it. I just had to. People wanted to buy it from me for much more than what I paid for it but, and you may laugh at me now, the book did not want me to sell it. It simply didn't allow me to. As if it was trying to tell me that I should save it for someone. And now I feel as if it was waiting for you."

Hilda looked at the man. This was the first person who started to make some kind of sense to her since she had arrived here. She nodded understandingly. "Some books are like that. Special books." Her heart pounded in her chest, the rush of anticipating what might come was almost making her nauseous.

William climbed into the back and opened the cover of the storage space to the crate of books. On top was the special book, still wrapped in the heavy linen. "Hilda... come in here. Please?" The witch climbed into the truck also and sat on the small bench, staring at the package he had in his hands. It seemed to scream at her. She suppressed the urge to yank it from his hands. The book was so close, it beckoned her to take it. Read it. Use it.

"Could this be it?" William unwrapped the book and handed it to the strange woman. Somehow this seemed the proper thing to do. He sat down opposite her and watched how she hastily opened the book, paging through it, as he slowly folded the linen wrapping. The pages in the book, bewitching as they had been before in Bert's store, now seemed to come fully to life in the hands of this intriguing woman. He had looked at it, read the ancient fairytales, and loved them. The hand-drawn images with the stories were exquisitely detailed. The wording was intense, yet soothing where needed.

Hilda looked at William, after taking in several of the pages that told the stories of her world. "This is definitely it." She held up her hand. The wand appeared. As she expected, the man's eyes became large. "I am a witch, William. I am not from this world. And this book, your book... it talks about my home."

William Connoley simply nodded. He hadn't exactly known it, but it didn't come as a surprise to him. Ever since he'd owned this book, something had been haunting him, pushing and pulling at his peace of mind, and now he was witnessing what it had been all about. The culmination of the unrest, the refusals to sell the book. Electricity seemed to permeate the air inside the truck's rear cabin. Hilda closed her eyes and lowered the wand she had popped up, slowly touching the book with it. The pages started turning themselves over, and the further to the back of the book they paged themselves, the brighter the light was that came from them. And all the book salesman could do was watch in wonder. The magical movement slowed and ended when it reached the last page. It was the one page that was written in the old language of the witches, the page that William had puzzled over and never understood. A tear appeared in the eye of the witch and violently she brushed it away. Her trembling finger traced the words as she read the page, her lips moving in silence. The page confirmed that she was indeed able to go home now. Hilda used her wand to change her shoulder bag. A moment later she was dressed in her regular robes again, the denim lying on the floor. Bert's phone fell next to the jeans. Almost apologetically Hilda looked at William, who sat quietly, eagerly watching the witch, enthralled with everything that was unfolding before his very eyes. The wicked witch turned back to the page and slowly recited the words once more. The power that emerged from them, the magic she invoked with the spell, made the back of the truck tremble. William, awestruck and hypnotised by the happenings, barely noticed the shift in atmosphere that spun around his truck. Time out there and time inside the back of his car were out of sync, shifting, sliding, tumbling. He stared at the woman who was now looking so entirely out of place here in her impressive robes, sitting on the low bench in the cramped confines of the truck's back cabin.

Hilda raised her voice as the spell commanded, making the magic even more powerful, unstoppable. And that was how Hilda needed it, how it had to be. It should not stop. The power was to carry her home, to where she had to be. Before she added the last words to the ultimate spell, she looked at the man who had helped her find the book, and she touched his hand for a moment. "Goodbye, William." Then she cast the ultimate spell. There was a rupture in the fabric of space inside the truck, and a rift developed that connected worlds and dimensions. William Connoley, travelling book-salesman and keeper of the portal between the worlds, saw shimmers of a room with a large, dark, wooden table laden with mysterious utensils, a chair, glass-like shards on the floor, vials, small windows, shelves with jars, and many other things he had never seen before. The vision, strange as it was, only lasted seconds, but it burnt itself into his memory. Then a bright flash of light took away his eyesight momentarily, while an invisible roller-coaster-like sensation filled his stomach with the most unwelcome and sickening feeling. There was a roaring sound, and suddenly smoke filled the cabin, chasing William into the street as he coughed and gasped for air. His eyes burnt from the grey fumes.

-=-=-

The smoke lifted. Hilda opened her eyes. She inhaled the air and smelled the familiar smells she knew so well. She heard the sounds she had longed to hear and she took the time to enjoy her own house, her coming home. A smile played around her lips. "I'm back." For a moment she looked around herself with the tiniest bit of hope, but the man who had the book wasn't there. Hilda let out a long sigh. She'd need a while to get over this maddening experience. Then she turned to her table. "Now... I need a new mirror. And then I'm off to find that black-haired girl with her songs and her snide plans. I hope I'm not too late for that."

-=-=-

At Granby Drive the smoke vanished as quickly as it had come. William stared into the back of his truck. The strange woman, Hilda, who had called herself a witch, had disappeared. Where she had been, only remained a small crystal ball and a phone. He picked up the crystal. Despite the sunlight he saw a small light dancing in the ball's centre. He smiled. "Goodbye, Hilda." He felt as if there was a sudden emptiness inside him, but that had to be his imagination.

Without him noticing, two black cats crossed the street, hid under his truck for a few seconds and then ran off to a nearby garden...

***
**About the author** :

Paul Kater was born in the Netherlands in 1960. He quickly developed a feel for languages.

After learning far too much about computers he started to make a living with them. During all that time he always wrote short stories, little things to entertain family and friends and also himself with. Since 2003 he's been writing more seriously, which ended in starting in the world of self-publishing.

Paul currently lives in Cuijk (the Netherlands) with his books, two cats and the many characters he's developed in the past years, who claim he is a figment of their imagination.

Visit the author at http://www.paulkater.com

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**About the Alexandria Publishing Group** :

The Alexandria Publishing Group is home to a select group of independent authors who certify that their work meets certain professional and quality standards. With self-publishing becoming more and more present in our technological age, it is very easy for everyone to publish books. The Alexandria Publishing Group strives to present books that are a pleasure to read.

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***
