“I can’t see. Go lower,” Chan said, squinting between the paper in his hand and the rooftops below them. Most had addresses painted or taped on.

Mihn craned her neck around like a haunted doll and gave Chan a death glare. “I know you didn’t just give me an order, Channie.”

Shivering, Chan forced a grin. “And what if I did?”

Mihn narrowed her eyes, and Chan had just enough time to deeply regret his sass before Mihn surged up onto her hands and knees, launching Chan off her back.

“I’m sorry!” he screamed, clinging desperately to her waist as his legs dangled off the carpet and into the air. “Pretty please with a cherry on top, will you fly lower, O Boss Lady?”

“That’s more like it,” Mihn growled, flopping back onto her stomach and urging the carpet lower, swooping deftly around the other carpet travelers in the air. A few of them looked at the stacked Rangers curiously. One pair of tweens peering off the back of their parents’ Ultra King flying carpet snickered and pointed as Chan pulled himself fully on top of the carpet again. His heart was going a mile a minute. 

Beneath him, Mihn said, “This wouldn’t have happened if you just got your lenses fixed, idiot.”

“Eh, it’s not a big deal. There! 5223. Land, please. Pretty, pretty please.”

Mihn maneuvered the carpet over the street. It bustled noisily with scooters, vendors, children, and screeching birds. The smell of too many sweating bodies, rotten and cooking food, and sewage combined to form a stench that drifted right up to them. 

Mihn lowered the carpet and hovered seven feet above the sidewalk until the crowds parted beneath the carpet’s shadow enough for them to land. Chan climbed off of Mihn, joints popping. He extended a hand, and surprise melted his heart a little when Mihn took it, allowing him to help her to her feet.

“Ugh. You turned me into a pancake.”

Chan grinned cheekily and winked. “You know I love pancakes.”

Mihn rolled her eyes and then the carpet, shoving it at Chan. Her expression shuttered as she looked past Chan, folding her arms securely across her chest.

Chan turned. The address in Injae’s spidery handwriting was the same as the address scorched in stone before them. There was no window or sign, just a red door set in soot-stained gray brick. This was deep downtown in an old quarter of the city, literal centuries of life having made their mark. The buildings were squished together for miles in each direction, only the crumbling and warping of time making spaces between them large enough for a rat to slip through. 

Chan missed the quiet and fresh scent of Anjeon. Mihn looked ready to crawl out of her skin. He heard her grinding her teeth.

“Well, this is the place,” Chan said. He gripped the door handle and pulled. “Let’s go.” 

As soon as the door opened an inch, cloying, sweet air poured out. Chan found it preferable to the city’s stench. However, Mihn stiffened, her shoulders going up.

“I’m not going in there.” Still with arms folded, she kicked the door shut. “Neither should you, Channie.”

Chan let the door slam, sighing. “Mihn–”

“That place reeks of magic. It’s dangerous. No.”

“Of course it reeks of magic. It’s a witch’s shop. That’s why Injae sent us here.” 

Mihn scrunched up her face, but didn’t respond.

Chan pulled the door open again. “Okay, you stay here. I’ll go in myself.” He stepped over the threshold, dark, sweet air wrapping around him as he did so. Light pouring in from the door shut to a sliver before suddenly blooming again in time with Mihn’s angry stomps. 

Chan looked over his shoulder to meet her scowl. It said, You’re an idiot, so I guess I’ll watch your back.

Chan smiled. Mihn huffed.

His vision rapidly grew accustomed to the dim lighting–softly glowing bulbs were placed seemingly at random throughout the deep, narrow shop. He propped the carpet roll upright against the wall beside the door. 

“Hello?” Chan called, turning to face the shop again. The word got barely a few feet away before dissipating in the air, absorbed in the mountains of stuff everywhere. Shelves teetered near the walls, barrels squatted throughout the space, baskets rested precariously on everything, shiny gemstones and vials of glittering liquid and packets of herbs overflowing.

There was a rustle and thump after Chan’s voice was swallowed by the shop. A few seconds later, a young man in huge round glasses, ripped jeans, and a dark hoodie appeared from behind two barrels stacked atop each other labeled Pure Hygrim Nectar.  

“Oh, uh, hi,” the young man said in a velvety voice. He rubbed at one squishy cheek, leaving a streak of yellow behind. “What’s up?”

Chan smiled politely at the apprentice. “Hello. Is Hanji here?” 

The young man nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.” His eyes flicked away from Chan to the shadowy figure that was Mihn, brows furrowing the tiniest bit.

Chan fought to keep his eyebrows from shooting up to his hairline. This was the Hanji who Injae called the best she’d ever seen? Injae, who had been interacting with witches for literal centuries?   

Don’t judge a book by its cover, I guess. 

Because this cover was… Chan only had one word for him: adorable. From Hanji’s soft, smooth cheeks to his big round eyes, from his oversized shoes to his fluffy black hair, the witch was nothing if not adorable. He didn’t ooze power in any way, shape or form.

Chan rearranged his mind so he was projecting the proper respect befitting the greatest witch of the age, instead of projecting I want to smoosh and snuggle you. “Great. We need your services.”

Hanji leaned his weight on one leg, insouciant. “Tell me about the job.”

Chan took a breath. Make it sound interesting. “We work at Anjeon Magical Wildlife Reserve, and a magical… bundle? Something that draws unicorns to it in a frenzy was placed outside the boundary. Their behavior… it's like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Hanji’s sharpening eyes gave Chan hope. “Sounds like a basic lure,” he said. “Though for it to target unicorns,” he clicked his teeth. “Tricky. Impressive. You want me to neutralize it?” At Chan’s nod, Hanji shrugged and said, “No problem. Just bring it here and I’ll take care of it some time this month.”

Chan clasped his hands together briskly. “Actually, we can’t take it out.” Hanji immediately stiffened, hands visibly fisting the fabric of his over-large hoodie sleeves. Chan kept speaking. “The unicorns will follow, and we can’t have a herd thundering through the city.”

Hanji waved him off, hoodie sleeve flapping. “Just fly it. Half a mile in the air, and the unicorns can’t sense it.” 

Chan was already shaking his head. “We did. Nearly a mile up and it was still affecting them. Other magical creatures were following along, too.”

“Oh really?” Hanji definitely sounded interested now, one hand painting more yellow streaks on his chin. “Not just unicorns then?”

“Correct.”

“You should have said that before. That’s a clue.” He turned away, pushing up his sleeves as he rummaged in one basket, then another.  

Hanji’s words held no sting in them, but Mihn still grit her teeth. Chan heard it over the sound of Hanji’s rustling. 

The witch suddenly held something that glinted up in front of his face and severed it with a pair of scissors the size of Chan’s arm that he pulled out of his hoodie pocket. (Magical hoodie?) A few murmured words later, and he was turning back to Chan.

Hanji placed a golden string in Chan’s palm. “I’m not going all the way to Anjeon to see your thing, but I definitely want to work on it. Wrap this around the lure and bring it here.”

“Um–”

Before Chan had a chance to politely insist that Hanji come with them, Mihn exploded.

“Listen, you pampered, entitled witch,” she snarled, stalking past Chan with heavy footfalls and considerable heat. “You better get your head out of your ass and come with us right now because like hell we’re going to take that lure out of Anjeon and risk all our creatures being in danger!” 

Mihn was full-on shouting by the end, shoving her face into Hanji’s until the witch was bent backward into the Hygrim Nectar barrels, tears at the corners of his wide, wide eyes. His fingers scrambled at the lid.

Now was clearly not a good time for Chan to giggle, smile, or press a kiss to the back of Mihn’s flushed neck, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her back a few inches to give Hanji some breathing room.

Mihn whipped her head toward Chan. “We can’t trust this witch, Chan. This?” She snatched the golden thread from between Chan’s fingers and threw it in Hanji’s face. “Who knows what this does!” She bared her teeth at the witch and growled, low and shaky. “Like hell I’m going to be your little errand girl and deliver your filthy magic into Anjeon.”

Chan’s urge to giggle faded away with every word out of Mihn’s mouth. There was something else going on. Beneath his palms, Mihn was trembling ever so slightly. 

Chan was intimately familiar with Mihn’s rage, having made a study of it over their years together. An angry Mihn might spit, turn red, punch something, and yell and deafening levels, but she never trembled.

Was she…scared? What in the Dual Dimensions could make competent, strong, unyielding Minh afraid? 

Chan’s own heart shook, and a droplet of cold spread through him. Did he even want to find out?