Strike at Midnight(47)

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’ve heard about that too. That’s why I’m hoping Briar can point me in the direction of one. A powerful witch won’t advertise, and we need one we can trust. I don’t want to go and knock on the door of a candy house to be eaten by a random witch who follows a meat-only diet.”

Rapunzel visibly shuddered and said, “I’ve read that the look of the witch depends on how they have used their magic. Good witches use their power for good intentions and by nurturing the world. They use their magic for good and so they stay as they are. Those who become corrupted by it end up like the old hags we’ve come to associate with many of the witches we’ve heard about.”

“Are you saying the hags can’t make themselves pretty again with magic?”

“For a short time they can. But it’s at a cost. Usually for an innocent.”

“Like virgin sacrifices?” I asked, and she turned to me with a smile on her face.

“Where did you get that?”

“I read it somewhere,” I lied, but I didn’t know where the hell I got it from.

“Maybe some do, but it’s more like taking the essence of another through blood or will.”

“Well, that’s disgusting.”

“That’s the path they’ve chosen.”

“Then what about evil enchantresses and the sorceresses? And the Snow Queen? Didn’t she exist like, years ago?”

“So the rumors say, but the rumors also claim she was evil too.”

“But she was also rumored to be a hottie,” I said, “not a hag.”

“At what cost?” she asked, and I had to admit she had me there. The Kingdom of Fera had supposedly seen a lot of snowfall when that woman had a bitch fit, but the details were sketchy, seeing as it happened before the banishment part of our history.

“Good point,” I replied. “But what about the shops and stalls in Lower City who sell potions and remedies and spells? Not all of those spells have good intentions. Why don’t the ones who make those turn into hags?”

“The magic isn’t strong enough, maybe? A lot of those sellers have potion recipes and spell books handed down through families who have witches in their family tree, but they’re not exactly witches themselves. And most regulated potions and spells usually wear off within a day. Nobody wants their business affected by turning to the bad side. Not when they only have patrons in Lower City.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “The nobility like to pretend magic doesn’t exist in Carena.”

“I suppose they can afford to invest in the ‘if it doesn’t affect me, I don’t care’ attitude. They don’t care what the lower classes get up to as long as it doesn’t interfere with their lives.”

I had to agree with her there, but then I was a biased ass.

“We’ll need someone stronger than a person who can mix a potion in a bottle,” I said, but then I realized I was actually thinking about taking a seasoned witch into the castle. With the prince. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea?

“He will be fine, Rella,” Rapunzel said with a face full of understanding.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, trying to wonder if my thoughts were projecting to everyone lately.

“You’re worried about your prince and taking a witch into the castle.”

“You’re talking out of your ass, Rapunzel,” I said, walking a little bit faster. But she hurried to keep up with me.

“It’s written all over your face,” she said, and I daren’t look at her, as my button had been well and truly pushed.

“What?” I snapped, not happy I was going to get shit from her too.

“You like him,” she dared to say. “It’s not hard to see. And you don’t want to take any problems to his door. That’s understandable.”

“He’s a prince,” I said, and I wanted to smack my own mouth for even saying it.

“And someone you don’t want to see hurt. That’s pretty evident.”

The look on her face was one of regret when I stopped in my tracks to confront her. But how could I argue with her knowing it was a lie? I didn’t want to see the idiot get hurt, and I was worried about dragging him into this, no matter how I tried to avoid the issue. He was like a kid at a candy stall with the smallest of things, and I didn’t want him getting hurt on my conscience. He had already nearly been kidnapped because of me, and I didn’t want him to be turned into a frog or a toad. Even he didn’t deserve that.

“Between you and me,” I finally admitted to her as we stood face to face in the middle of the lane. “I do worry. But trust me, if you met him you would worry too.”

She kept pace with me when I carried on with our walk.

“There have been plenty of people for you to worry about,” she chattered on, obviously braver now because I hadn’t snapped her head off. “And you do worry, I see that. It’s what made me like you in the first place.”

“Wow, you like me?” I asked with as much sarcasm as I could muster. But a lot of that was a front to hide any hint of pleasure I may have shown from her comment. Compliments never sat well with me.

“Very funny,” she said, waving me off. “But I remember when I first met you and I thought you were arrogant and rude…” She hesitated at my glare but kept going. “But then I saw you stop that guy from whacking the kid with his cane for taking a piece of bread, and you took the cane off him and whacked his rear with it instead…” She laughed. “Then you paid for the bread and told the kid to go and speak to a farmer you knew not far from the market, as they were hiring help. That’s what made me see beyond the bravado, and I liked you from that very moment.”