There was a wet squish as Humphrey settled against my forearm. His toad face looked comforting, and despite being slimy, I appreciated it. I wouldn’t pet him like Maggie did. But I appreciated it. 

“You wouldn’t be the first one that boy has tricked,” he said soothingly. 

“Your wish, child,” Maggie stated once more. It was a direct remark that once more reminded me of my mother. Though, unlike my mother, she didn’t immediately break into scolding me. I expected her to laugh or chastise me once I’d stopped crying. Or to point out the obviousness of my failure to see that I was being tricked. Which was also infuriating as I had been so sure I was being tricked, but let him do it anyway. It wasn’t even that I didn’t know I was being tricked. It was that my comprehension of how and why I was being tricked was totally out of scope. How was I to know he was tying me to a troll in a reflection world? “No one comes to the strange witch’s home,” Maggie continued. “Having been tricked into a deal with a dubious merchant without having a wish they want to be granted with that magic.”

Well, when she said it like that. I wiped my face before blowing on the top of the mug. Part of the problem was that I had too many wishes and not enough words for them. Some of them were such intangible feelings that I couldn’t even articulate them. A half of my heart wanted to spill everything out to Maggie. If anyone would understand a desire for something else, wouldn’t that be a witch? But I picked up the clay mug of tea, or I hoped it was tea, and sniffed at it. I already seemed so weak, and I didn’t want to seem weaker. I felt so small in the face of such a comfortable home. She looked at me with such casual confidence that my desire for something close to freedom felt empty. 

If I had to pick the single wish that had led me to drop my robin’s egg stone into Auden’s velvet bag, which one would it be? That was simple. 

“What I wish is to guarantee a happy ending for someone.” Even if things couldn’t work out for me, I wanted them to work out for her.   

Maggie snorted and leaned forward to pour a bit of the flask into my mug. It stank sweetness then and partially ruined the lovely pine scent that had been comforting me.

“There aren’t guarantees for anything in life, girl.” The flash of Auden’s teeth returned to mind and my temper flared desperately. Guarantee, my ass. “Someone…” She hummed out the word. “Is that someone you or someone that you love?” 

I was annoyed at the thought that it mattered. Was it a terrible thing to want a happy ending for yourself as well? Just another reminder that it would be even more selfish to want anything for myself. A future where I was able to achieve the things I wanted, to have the things I wanted, and to love the people I wanted… Apparently, that was madness. 

“Someone else.” I practically snapped out the answer. Then I softened. “Someone else.” I could be angry at a lot of things in the world. But I couldn’t be mad at Ella, or the thought of a good, safe future for her.

Despite the heavy scent of the tea, I dared to take a sip. It was so sweet, it made my teeth hurt. But the freshness of pine washed it pleasantly away and it warmed me up from my core. I didn’t feel better, though, and neither did I feel quite as miserable as I just had. 

“Why me?” 

“Bad luck,” Maggie said and I heard Auden’s echo in it. “Good luck. Maybe.” Too much in life depended on luck. The luck of where you were born and to whom you were born. “A bit’s in the blood and in the heart. And you have something you want and something to give.”

The words sounded pretty, but they also sounded like everyone else who lived in the world. I would think everyone had something to give and take. Ella’s sisters, for instance, had a whole lot in the world that they wanted. And I’m sure they had something to give, too. If not money, then the last shreds of their humility, maybe. I figured Maggie was talking about the stone that was not a tithe. But she picked up the handkerchief and considered it instead. 

“Not everyone can make something out of something else. And not everyone can care about that something they make.” Care about it? I didn’t care about the things I made. I didn’t have the talent my mother did, and I didn’t take the time that she did. The things I made started out messy half of the time, and I had to redo them to fit her standards. These handkerchiefs weren’t even worth that much. Even the one Maggie was holding had a loose thread at the branches of the willow sticking out. “Giving of yourself to create something has a deep craft to it. Not something people with eyes like us can miss easily.” 

Then why didn’t witches pick up every craftsman in the world? I found myself skeptical of the words.

“And it’s not enough just to want something. There’s a secret spice in there, too. No one really knows what.”

“If everyone knew,” Humphrey added, “then everyone would be able to do it.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Maggie stated and I blinked at her. “The troll, I mean.” I didn’t understand. Wasn’t this whole explanation about why I had to do it and the fact that the village was facing a drought otherwise? She motioned for Humphrey and he moved away from my arm to hop over to Maggie. “It’s been nearly twenty years since the last tithe was given. It would take some time for it to entirely dry up the waters here. Probably another fifty or sixty years. You could likely live the whole rest of your life before this land was ruined. Live and die and then your tithe wouldn’t matter anymore. Someone else would likely take up the guardianship.” 

That selfish part of my heart was relieved. I couldn’t deny the appeal of that alternative. I could just finish the dress, give it to Ella, go to the ball, and no magic had to be involved whatsoever. I’d tell the local law about Auden, say he was a crook, and have him chased off. No more mention of Maggie, or witches, or trolls. The last drought had come and gone while the farms survived. It wasn’t a bad option. 

“But if you wanted to, for whatever reason is your own. You take your promised tithe to the bridge and offer it there.” That seemed awfully simple. 

“You’re terrible at instructions,” Humphrey chided the witch. 

“I’m not a teacher,” she replied. Neither of them elaborated further on how it was done. And I didn’t want to ask them. Then it would feel like I was asking to do it, or assuring them that there was a chance I would. I didn’t want to make that promise. 

“You ought to be careful,” Humphrey continued. He spoke as though I was going to do it. “Time passes differently there. Sometimes, it only passes when there’s something to cast a reflection. Sometimes there’s always a reflection.” In a way, I understood that. You only saw yourself when you looked down into the waters. But sometimes there was always a reflection: of the sky and the clouds and the sun. Though this entire reflection world sounded mad still. 

“She doesn’t have to go,” Maggie reminded him. “And it’s getting late. Your mother will be worried about you if she realizes you’re gone.” It was fairly obvious to me that I’d never told Maggie about my mother, or that I hadn’t told her that I was leaving. But it didn’t seem worth fretting over how she knew this information about me. Aside from the fact she may just know everyone who lived in the village, it was becoming plain to see that witches seemed to know things about others without ever asking. 

I stood up, and it was evident that I was being dismissed after a fashion. 

“Take this,” Humphrey said and placed his toad toes onto the book. “You’ll get more use out of it than this old lady will.” That seemed rude but I supposed toads didn’t have to follow any social niceties. “Or you can use it as kindling.” He laughed and his cheeks puffed out in a croak. 

When Maggie didn’t say anything to argue with him, I picked it up. She didn’t even look at me as she began to clean up the table. 

“Uh,” I started as I moved towards the door. It opened without me doing anything at all. “Goodbye?”

“Goodnight, Esther,” Maggie said warmly and it shut behind me by itself as well.