The youngest didn’t think that was fair. But what to do about it? Of the two, she was the weaker. So she sought their eldest sister to sacrifice her for power. But found neither her’s nor the druid’s blood anywhere.

In desperation, as her envy and hatred for the other sister grew with the other’s power, she dug up the ivy and claimed the teacher’s soul and blood magic for herself.

Cursing the other to die.

The other died alone, running away from the younger. Leaving the younger to name and claim their coven as she pleased.

“I am Grucia,” said she.

Beware Grucian witches.”-

For a moment, my audience said nothing.

Did I get too dramatic? I mean, I was trying to throw them off. I can’t exactly say that I read that stupid story in one of Gran’s books on the history of witches. Not if they’re still witch phobics.

“Well?” I grinned. “How was my performance?”

“Is that it?”

I stared at Agent Miller and slumped my shoulders in annoyance.

“You know, that’s world class storytelling there. And I can’t even charge you.”

“Do you even know how old that story is?”

I shrugged. “What year is it?”

Mr Abel’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Agent Miller. Who didn’t look away from me.

“You don’t know what year it is?”

“Sir, I basically live under a rock.” I put down my water. “The only reason I’m in town at all is cuz I’m trying to track down a thief.”

“A thief?”

“Yeah. Bozo came in and stole one of our kids.” I leaned over the table. “I want him back.”

“He stole… a goat?”

Agent Miller’s voice clearly said, ‘Are you insane?’

A goat? Oh, kid. Got it. Yeah, close enough. I can’t tell them the little guy’s a goblin.

“Yes, a kid. A prize winning, never to be replaced, kid. I want him back. So, I live in the middle of nowhere and I don’t know what year it is. Tell me the year and I’ll tell you how old the story is.”

Agent Miller made a sound and Mr Abel put a hand on his shoulder. Probably to interrupt whatever rudeness was about to come out of the other man’s mouth.

“It’s the year 1487.”

14… hmm… 

“Two hundred years. Give or take twenty.”

“So, if your story is correct-” Agent Miller mused.

It is, I just can’t tell him that.

“Then the coven has been around for at least that long. Do you have any other stories about it?”

I huffed a laugh and was glad that the waitress chose to show up, interrupting us.

Could I tell him stories about the Grucian coven? Yeah. Gran had three whole books on them. They were diaries of some sort, written who knows how long ago. And my memory has gotten really good since I started memorizing just about everything, so I could probably quote a bunch of it.

I could tell them more.

But I wasn’t going to.

There’s only so much I can turn into a story. If I started dropping raw information, they may figure out I have another source other than old stories.

The waitress put a plate of pasta in front of me. Huzzah! Pasta goulash swimming in cheese! I could die right now and be happy!

I took my first bite and melted.

I haven’t had pasta in ten years!

For a long time, all I could do was focus on eating. I only became aware of how they were staring at me when Mr Abel suddenly chuckled.

“What?”

He handed me a napkin.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one with bad table manners.”

I flushed. Not sure if I appreciated his candor or if I was offended by it.

I decided to laugh with him. What the heck? Why not?

“Sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to use table manners.” I wiped my mouth.

“Since you’ve finished your meal,” said Mr Miller coldly. “Would you answer my question?”

Question? Oh, right.

“I know lots of stories, Mr Agent Miller,” I told him as the waitress put a bright red piece of heaven in front of me. I watched it, just a little distracted. “Maybe a couple more that mention the Grucian coven.”

I stabbed the cake and took a bite.

And choked.

Mr Abel half stood. “Is something wrong? Do you need a drink?”

Have you ever had something so sweet it might as well be sour? Holy freaking crap! I wasn’t sure if I was going to die happy or drown miserably!

I snatched my water cup and downed half of it to wash away the sweet.

“Is it possible to take this with me?” I choked.

I may never order cake again, but it was the first one I’d had in ten years. I wasn’t going to waste it, darn it!

“Of course.”

Mr Abel signalled for the waitress to bring a to-go box (they have paper to-go boxes here?! Really?!) and I scooped it in.

By then, Mr Miller looked annoyed.

“Miss Aka,” he said coldly. “Please focus.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll go home and write it down for you. What do you want it for, anyway?”

He stared at me hard.

“We’re Hex Hunters,” said Mr Abel cheerfully. “It’s part of our investigation.”

Hex…? What?

“Pretend I’ve been living under a rock. What are you?”

“We investigate-”

Agent Miller interrupted coldly. “In this case, we’re witch hunters.”

All my alarm bells went off at once. Crap. Crap, crap, crap, dung on a stick! I don’t know what my face did, but Mr Abel stood up again.

“Miss Aka, are you alright?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m ok. I just-” If I’m going to be suddenly sick, I should make it look good. “I don’t think that cake was a good- Blrgh!”

I leaned over and gagged.

“Where’s the restroom?”

The kind waitress from earlier helped me to the restroom and I locked the door before dropping to my knees.

Witch hunters.

Dang it all!

Think, Aka, think.

I could just stick the key in the lock here and go home. But then the key would be stuck here. And if they’re witch hunters, would they know how to tell if someone used magic?

Technically, I’m not actually using magic myself. Unless I cast a ‘don’t see me’ spell. Since the key comes with the spell.

But they know my face now, so if I disappear they might think, ‘Hey, she’s a witch’. And if they think that, they might look for me.

And if they’re looking for me, it might make it harder to find baby prince goblin.

Harder to find the baby, easier to kill me.

Ok. Calm down, Aka.

We’re going to go back out there and pretend everything is cool. You just had an upset stomach.

I still felt pale and shaky when I returned to the table. Mr Abel kindly stood up to pull out my chair.

“Are you alright?” he asked anxiously.

“Sorry,” I apologized weakly as I sat back down. “I haven’t eaten anything so rich in a very long time. I guess none of it settled well.”

“Waste of money,” Mr Miller grumbled.

I shot him a disgusted look. If there were only two males left in the world, this bozo and Croix, I’d take the goblin first. I really, really, don’t like this guy. Time to end this interrogation and skat.

“Anyway, I’ll write down the stories-”

“Not good enough.”

I paused and stared at Mr Rude.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get me wrong, we’ll take anything written you can provide. But we’ll need more from you.”

More? What the-?

“Why isn’t it good enough?”

They looked at each other. Agent Miller finally pulled three playing cards out of his pocket.

“We consulted a fortune teller. She told us once we found you, we need only keep you around and wait. I’m assuming that means the coven will come to us.”

“Me?”

I looked at both of them. They were joking, right?

No… no, they weren’t joking.

“I have so many questions about that. Starting with, why me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ok… how do you know it’s me? Did she say ‘look for the girl with the guitar and the funny name’?”

“No.”

He put one of the playing cards on the table and pushed it to me.

The title of the card was enough to make my stomach churn. The Witch. Oh, gosh, I was dead. … Then my eyes froze on the face.

Brown hair. Blue eyes. A flirtatious and beautiful smile.

It looked exactly like my Mom. Like I do now. Though I didn’t realize it until I had a third thing to compare us to.

I touched it with trembling fingers. Then I grasped Mom’s pendant around my neck, fighting tears.

“I have no doubt we found the right person.”

I wiped my nose on that awful, frilly sleeve and looked into the cold eyes of the witch hunter. Then I tapped the card.

“Can I have this?"