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As Others See	By : Jedishampoo Category: +G to L > Howl\'s Moving Castle > Howl\'s Moving Castle Views: 3018 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Howls Moving Castle, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
As Others See - Part 3
By Jedishampoo
Rating: R overall, mostly PG-13. Some
language, sexuality, not too explicit.
Summary: A magical misfire ends with the
wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving
Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle
(book).
Author's Notes: This is mostly an excuse to play
with the people and characterizations involved. It's all so very, very, wrong,
I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for
their betas!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this
story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.
x x x
Howl woke from an incredibly
erotic dream. It had involved both Sophies. A Martha and a Lettie-- or two--
might have been involved as well; he couldn't be sure.
He lay stretched out on
Howl's bed with his head on Howl's pillow, studying the cobwebs criss-crossing
the ceiling beams, strands glowing silver in the pre-dawnlight leaking through
the gaps in the curtains. He tried to remember the dream. Sophie had-- wait, he
couldn't remember. Had there been a swing-set in there, or perhaps a mud
puddle? But the threads of the dream disintegrated as he tried to catch them,
fading like the aroused tingling in his limbs.
He flopped an arm onto the
bedcovers, sending up a spray of dust. He sneezed. He was alone.
The haziness cleared from
his brain, and niggling guilt returned. It wasn't guilt over the dream; one
couldn't help what the subconscious cooked up. One could only control what one
did. And Howl wasn't sure he'd done a single correct thing in over twenty-four
hours.
He'd heard it said that
night was a time for fanciful imagination, that known or unknown pleasures or
perils were enhanced by virtue of lurking just out of sight in the dark, and
that the cold, hard light of day banished all the mystery.
As a wizard Howl knew
better. Life held few such mysteries for him, so when he was presented with one
as he was now, in this world, he felt at a loss. Everything had gone wrong, and
he'd been able to do nothing to fix it. Powerlessness was an annoying
sensation.
He'd been restless last
evening after leaving Sophie, and so he'd explored the town a bit but had found
no delights to tempt his interest past a glance or two. Kingsbury as well had
offered nothing. Michael had even given Howl directions to Suliman's residence
and Howl had stopped by to offer his help. It had been past ten and Suliman had
declined sleepily but promised to be by first thing in the morning.
Howl wondered when first
thing might be. Probably not now, when the morning was still grey and even
the earliest birds had not yet ventured out to catch their worms. Probably a
couple more hours, at least. Waiting was hell. Howl did know he would get no
more sleep.
He swung his legs out of
the bed, then grabbed a blanket, shook it free of dust, and wrapped himself in
it. In the hall he could hear Michael snoring behind one of the closed doors.
Downstairs, Calcifer had his head bent but popped up when Howl came into the
kitchen.
"Hey there,
Calcifer," Howl said in a low voice. He dragged one of the kitchen chairs
over and situated it in front of the hearth, then sat and stretched out his legs
to warm his feet just like he often did at home.
Calcifer's round blue face
stretched and elongated, spreading tendrils of green flame upwards. A couple of
sparks crackled out from the logs, stopping just short of Howl's bare feet. His
yellow eyes opened a crack or two. "You're not here to talk about Sophie
again, are you?"
Howl chuckled. Perhaps he had
been a little long-winded last night when he'd returned to the castle, before
he'd finally gone up to bed. He'd spent an hour or so waxing poetic to Calcifer
and Michael about his own Sophie, trying to make himself forget the one from
this world. "Nope."
Calcifer yawned, a short
growlish crackle. "So are you ever gonna tell me what you did to make
Sophie angry?"
"No." Howl
crossed his arms. That made more sense than it should have. Calcifer was too
sharp. Howl briefly considered sharing his woes and his worries, then decided
against it. "I'm not sure she was angry, actually."
"Yeah. It's kinda hard
to tell with her, sometimes."
"Yup." Howl
chuckled in return. Half-memories of his dream floated just on the edges of his
consciousness, ephemeral as wisps of smoke, untouchable and yet adding to his
general feeling of keyed-up unease. He rubbed his fingers half-involuntarily,
lightly, at his lips. He had kissed her; that had not been a dream. That he'd
enjoyed it was undeniable and unsettling. Guilt and stimulation and restiveness
coiled and knotted hard in his stomach.
He had to stop worrying. He
wouldn't kiss her again, and that was the end of it. Because if he'd
done that, what was the other Howl capable of? Howl shook his head to
stop the discomfiting thoughts.
Calcifer was watching him
out of yellow eyes. "You didn't sleep long."
"No. Are you concerned
about me?"
Calcifer pffted a bit of
smoke. "Of course not."
Howl smiled. Good old
Calcifer. "So how early do they start around here?"
"Depends on what's
going on. When Sophie lived here, pretty early. Now, not so much."
Howl stretched his legs,
settling into a more comfortable position on the hard wooden chair. "Sophie
would be getting up right about now," he said, dreamily. "Making
breakfast, and tea. I'd never hear a thing. She'd come wake me if I didn't
smell the bacon soon enough, because otherwise--"
"You're doing it
again," Calcifer said in a long-suffering voice.
At this Howl laughed and
laughed, bent over in half, releasing much of his tension. "So I am. I
don't suppose you'd heat a kettle for me, would you?"
"If it'll shut you
up."
"I'm shut." Howl
boiled some water, steeped some tea, and drank. There, see? He could
relax. He'd used to be very relaxed, once upon a time. He was stoic. He was a
cool, still pond on a spring day. The sun was up now, shining happy light
through the windows, and yes, the birds were chirping. Soon, then?
No. He was stoic. He was--
"Sophie will be all
right," Calcifer said into the silence.
That wasn't helping. "Which one?" Howl asked,
bleakly.
"Both. Sophie's a
witch, you know."
This was new information.
Maybe it would explain-- but no, Howl couldn't blame her for that. That had
been all him. "Mine's not," he said.
"Are you so
sure?" Calcifer asked, a sly undertone coloring his growling voice.
Howl thought about it for a
bit. No, he decided at last. She was extraordinary in every way he found
wonderful. But she was no witch, just delightfully normal. "Yes, I'm
sure," he said.
"All right, then. If
you say so. Oh, guess who's here?"
The stair door swung open
with a whistling whoosh of air. Howl swung around to be greeted by the second
most delightful sight in the world. It was Sophie and Lettie, blowing in on the
sharp morning breeze, followed by a taller figure, grey-cloaked and grey-faced.
It was Wizard Ben Suliman.
Howl released a whoop of
delight. "Welcome!" he said to them.
The girls were fresh-faced
and bright-eyed and fall-colored, Sophie dressed in dark orange under her
cloak, and Lettie in red. Both of them wore their hair down, an informality
that only added to their prettiness. It wouldn't have mattered to Howl,
however, if they'd both been hags. He was too happy to see them.
At his greeting, Lettie
waved, then looked down at his bare legs and giggled. "You really don't
look very much like Howl, now. I like the black hair, though."
Sophie, however, barely
glanced at him, only quirked an eyebrow before turning away to hang up her
coat. Her unbound red hair whirled in a circle about her. "Shouldn't you
be dressed?" she asked.
"Does it matter?"
Howl asked. Who cared for appropriate clothing? He was going home!
"Sophie, you could have
waited until I'd had-- oh, you have tea," Suliman said, shedding his grey
cloak and plopping a black satchel upon the kitchen table. "Please,
please, let me have some."
"Sure," Howl
said, and fetched another cup. Upstairs he could hear Michael scrambling out of
bed and thumping about. "So did you figure it out? Are we ready?"
"Yes, yes,"
Suliman said, waving a hand at Howl and sitting down. Lettie joined him at the
table and Suliman smiled at her. Howl fetched another two cups. "I would
have liked to sleep, but these girls were knocking at my door before first
light, demanding we come over here."
"It was Sophie,"
Lettie said. "You were up anyway, Ben. You said you were just
finishing."
"I was," Suliman
said, and smiled at her again, rather stupidly, Howl thought. Then Suliman
turned his gaze to Howl. "You're right, Lettie. The resemblance is
less marked now. But shouldn't you be dressed, sir?"
"Yes, yes, fine!"
Howl said. Suliman's tone had suggested Howl was committing moral turpitude by
appearing half-naked in front of virtuous young ladies. He glanced over at
Sophie, who still resolutely had her back to him. Then he ran upstairs to find
the black suit from yesterday.
When he returned Suliman
was still sipping tea, Sophie was doing dishes, and Lettie was emptying the
black satchel. It contained only three things: a small, oval, vanity-sort of
mirror in an iron frame, and two� candles?
Lettie took the mirror and
one candle over to the magic bench. Howl raised an eyebrow at Suliman and tried
to conjure a question in his brain that wouldn't sound too stupid.
Just then Michael rumbled
down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Mr. Suliman! You're here
early," he said. "Hello Sophie, Lettie. Is--"
"Martha wouldn't get
up this early. You'll see her later," Sophie called over.
"Good morning,
Michael, Howl," Suliman said. His sharp face looked less grey than before.
He was obviously one of those people who needed a hot drink in the morning
before becoming fully human. "Glad you're here, Michael, because now I can
explain to everyone at once. The mirror is my anchor, a beacon back to this
room. One candle is for you, Howl, and the other is for Howl."
Howl picked up the
remaining slim, white candle from the table. It was about the length of his
hand. It smelled of blue-rose oil. "A timer?" he asked.
"Yes. I'll light them,
then go to your home and give one to Howl. Then I'll come back and do a backup
switch-spell. Right when the timers run out, you and Howl should perform your
own transport spells. Then we'll have Howl back."
Howl stared at the candle
in his palm. It sounded too easy, especially after all the trouble he'd had
yesterday. "You could have gone there any time?" he asked.
"Well, it took me a
while to realize that you probably could have sent me. I had a great deal on my
mind, and I don't often encounter this sort of problem," Suliman defended
himself. "I still had to devise timers, and an anchor. You can just do
your gol-powder spell to send me."
"Hmm," Howl said,
and shrugged inwardly. He couldn't be angry at someone who had taken such a
great deal of his valuable time to help him. It all made simple sense, too.
"Right. Thanks." He lay the candle on the table and set his hands on
his hips. Soon he would be back home, with Sophie.
The kitchen room, the
people here, all suddenly seemed surreal. The morning sunlight forced its way
through the windows only to become a yellow haze; the figures of Michael,
Sophie, Lettie and Suliman floated through it in slow motion, animated statutes
that were distinct but illusory. This place didn't really exist, and Howl would
wake soon and never see it again.
"I'll need something
to say."
"Huh?" Howl said,
snapped out of his odd, dreamlike state by Suliman's voice.
"A word, a phrase,
something to tell the people there. In case Howl isn't in the room when I
appear. So they don't panic."
"Oh." Howl had to
think for a few moments. The only things that leapt immediately to mind were
too� intimate. Too private to share with these people. He might have entrusted
Sophie with some of them, but she was still ignoring him with stubborn purpose.
"Tell Sophie-- tell her-- I said she'd make a great pilot."
"Hooo-kay,"
Suliman said. Lettie laughed.
"A what? That doesn't
sound very romantic," Sophie called over her shoulder in an accusing tone.
Howl was going home. What
did anything else matter now? "Well, there's more you can tell her,
then."
x x x
Howell awoke from a
dreamless sleep with a vague sense of unease. He was half-buried under a mound
of covers (were they gold? Ick.) and he was not alone. Sophie's warm body was
curled next to his, and in the misty, just-before-dawn light, her hair was an
expanse of glowing white, splayed across her pillow. She was snoring lightly.
Howell stared at the
distressingly clean ceiling for a few minutes, feeling an odd, and
unaccustomed, little cauldron of emotion boiling around somewhere under his
breastbone. Regret, and not-regret, anticipation and anxiety, tenderness and
tension; much of it centered around Sophie. Both of them. He wondered what he
was going to tell his Sophie at home.
Then he realized: he was
going to tell her absolutely nothing. He couldn't help what had happened, after
all. He was a wizard but he was only human. His guilt, and his memories,
were his own.
Being careful not to wake
Sophie, Howell rolled off his side of the bed and located the blue suit from
yesterday. He dressed and tiptoed downstairs into the living/kitchen area,
where only Calcifer was awake. The little fire demon hunkered over a log and
peered up at him, popping lazy floating sparks up into the chimney.
Howell considered turning
around and heading back upstairs, or even out, to avoid Calcifer. But truth be
told, he was feeling a bit more confident than he had last evening. He'd been
play-acting so well, he'd almost become a part of this world. Half of being a
wizard was deception; pretending utter coolness into existence. And he'd always
rather fancied himself a bit of a social chameleon when he'd needed to be.
Besides, Calcifer had absolutely no reason to mistrust him, especially since
Howell had spent the night and caused no major uproar.
"How's it going,
Cal?" Howell half-whispered at the grate.
"Not bad,"
Calcifer said. "I've been thinking."
"What have you been
thinking?" Howell asked, digging around in the cupboards for a teapot and
a clean cup. If he happened to find some brandy or something even better, well,
then that would be quite all right.
When Calcifer didn't answer
Howell turned back around to look at the grate, and was a bit startled to see
the little orange flame hovering only a couple of inches away, somewhere at the
level of his eyeballs. Before he could say or do anything Calcifer grew and
elongated, flaring green and blue like Howell's own Calcifer, then shrank back
into a flaming orange ball. The look on the demon's face was rather smug.
"Whoa!" Howell
cried.
"I've been thinking
that I was right. You aren't Howl," Calcifer said. "I can't believe
it took me this long to figure it out. Hey, Sophie!"
"Shhh! Don't wake
her," Howell said, waving his hands frantically. He lowered his voice.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know darn well
what I'm talking about. You're not our Howl. When Howl went somewhere
yesterday, he never came back. You did. What did you do with him?"
Howell's game was up. And
he'd been so close! He frantically searched his brain for a way to recover
whatever pieces he could. Surely he could make Calcifer understand, at least.
"Keep it down, will
you? I didn't do anything with him. It wasn't my fault. I'm just trying to get
home," Howell admitted. "C'mon, Cal. Help me out. I was going to
figure something out today. I think I know someone who can aid us."
"Help you out? After
you pretended to be Howl?"
"What was I supposed
to do?"
"You've got a point,
there," Calcifer admitted. And at least he'd lowered his smarmy little
voice. He flared green-blue again for a brief moment, then shrank once more.
"I can't send you back. I wonder where Howl is?"
Phew, Howell thought. Calcifer was
coming around. Good old Calcifer. "Most likely, he's stuck in my
world. And probably trying to get back here. I'll go, quietly, I swear. Really,
you've got to help me."
"What do you want me
to do?"
"Well, don't tell
Sophie right away, for one thing. There's no need to upset her." Howell
put on his most innocent, virtuous expression.
"I suppose you're
right," Calcifer said.
"I'm going to find
Wizard Suliman," Howell continued. "He-- I mean, she can
probably get me home."
Calcifer's yellow eyes
widened. "You gotta be crazy. You can't go to her! She'll--"
"Good morning! What's
all the ruckus?"
Howell and Calcifer both
swiveled. Sophie, dressed in her robe and slippers, was coming down the steps
and smiling at them.
"Nothing,
Sophie," Howell said, smiling in return. "Just chatting."
"Sophie, this isn't
Howl," Calcifer said, matter-of-factly.
"Calcifer!"
Howell moaned.
"What?" Sophie
said, forehead wrinkling.
"Shut up,
Calcifer," Howell said, and turned to Sophie. "We were just messing
about. How are you this morning?"
"Don't listen to him,
Sophie." Calcifer had zipped about, around Howell's outstretched hand, to
float near Sophie's shoulder. "Howl went somewhere, and this one was sent
back here. He's not our Howl. Want me to take him out?"
"Calcifer, you're a
dirty traitor," Howell said, and turned his hand palm-up, pleading.
"Sophie, I can explain."
"What? How?"
Sophie's voice was a strained whisper. As Howell watched, her pink cheeks
drained of all color, leaving her deathly pale, as white as her halo of hair.
"Your eyes are green. When?"
"Probably
yesterday," Calcifer blithely continued, watching Howell with that smug
expression, unaware of Sophie's intense distress. "Remember that spell
that went wrong? He's been here since then. Want me to fry him? I can fry
him."
"Sophie, I'm--"
"Oh. Oh, no." As
Howell gazed at her in some horror, her face seemed to fall apart, pretty
features distorting with anguish. She swayed a bit, then closed her eyes. She
sounded like she was coughing, but she was crying; streams of tears were
dripping down her cheeks. She whipped around and took off running back up the
stairs, making choking sounds. "Oh. Oh! Oh!"
She'd taken even Calcifer
by surprise. The flame's yellow eyes widened. "Sophie!"
"Now you've gone and
done it, Calcifer," Howell said. He backed into a chair and plopped into
it. He was sure he was going to be ill. He didn't know what to do. Usually by
the time a crying woman was involved, he was long gone.
He would have to run. He
could go like he'd always done, and leave Calcifer and Markl and their pet
witch to deal with the situation. It wasn't his problem, was it? Why hadn't he
run?
A door opened and the pet
witch in question waddled out. "What's all the ruckus?"
Howell only laughed
bleakly. Was the whole awful scene to be repeated?
"I didn't think she'd
do that," Calcifer said, somewhat abashed. He just hung there in the air
by the stairs as if he didn't know what to do, either.
Howell closed his eyes, and
tried to decide why he hadn't yet escaped. A slight, creaking noise broke the
silence, and a tap, tap, tap of tiny feet on the floor. There was a
small, odd wheeze. Howell opened his eyes to see a short, ancient-looking
white-and-brown dog at his feet. The dog narrowed its eyes and wheezed at him.
"Do you have a dog?"
Howell asked the witch, and then realized that it had been a completely idiotic
question. He looked at the dog and waved a finger at it to see if it turned
into something else. It didn't.
"Get 'im, Heen,"
the old witch said, plopping herself onto the sofa.
Then Howell was distracted
by giant thumping noises filtering through the ceiling, and after that,
pounding noises on the stairs. It was Sophie again, running back down the
steps.
"Out! Get out! Out of
my house!" she screamed at him. Her cheeks were pink again and still wet
with tears, but Howell could have sworn that her brown eyes were blazing with
red sparks. She fisted her hands and stomped over to his chair, then took a
swing at him. He only caught her hand just in time, before it connected with
his jaw. "Don't you dare touch me! Get out, out, OUT OF MY HOUSE! Or I will
have Calcifer fry you!"
"Get 'im,
Sophie," the old witch said, this time with a cackle.
"Sophie!" Howell
cried, raising both hands to block her blows. She was really trying to clock
him. But he couldn't hurt her in return, with magic or with force. The
dog ran in circles at Sophie's feet, wheezing in excitement. Perhaps that
motivation to leave could come right now? "Calcifer! Dog! Sophie!
Back off. I don't want to hurt you. Any of you."
"Just you try!"
Sophie screamed, and backed away a few steps. It was only to grab something
from the table, the first thing she could lay her hands on. Thankfully it was
only a teacup. She had great aim; Howell had to float it, as well as the next
one, safely back to the table. "What is going on here? Don't you
dare use magic in my house!"
It wasn't just the floating
trick; a bright, white, person-sized flash of light had appeared between them.
A grey-cloaked human figure stepped through the light. The door strobed closed
behind him. Howell was utterly and incredibly relieved to see that the figure
was Ben Suliman.
"Ben!" Howell
breathed. "Thank heavens."
"Howl," Ben said,
and turned as another item of kitchen china slapped into his coat. He was
holding what looked like a skinny white candle with sparks sputtering out of
one end. "Sophie?"
"Who are you?"
Sophie was screaming. "If you're a friend of his, then you can just get
out, too! Oooh!"
"Well, hello
there," the witch cooed.
"I'm here to help,
Sophie," Ben said in a kind voice and with a somewhat amused expression.
"I won't ask what's going on, since you're involved, Howl. But I've come
to get you home."
Sophie ignored Ben and
nipped around his tall form to Howell's chair, and started again with trying to
clobber him.
"You'll need him to
get Howl back, Sophie," Ben said, with every appearance of enjoying the
drama.
"No I don't!" she
yelled, and tried to kick Howell. "I'll get him back myself if I have to.
But you-- you Not-Howl. You will leave, or die!"
"Ben!" Howell
moaned, and used a quick bit of magic to halt her foot in midair only just
before it connected with his shin.
Ben sighed and reached out
to clasp Sophie's shoulder. She stopped yelling all in a rush and dropped her
hands to her sides, breathing heavily and glaring.
"What did you do to
her?" Calcifer asked.
"I just calmed her
down a bit," Ben said in a voice that was still gentle. "There's a
young man who looks much like you, Howl, back at the castle, who wants to
return here. He said something about you being a pilot, Sophie, and that he
misses you terribly."
"Howl," Sophie
whispered, and sank back onto the sofa next to the witch, a look of desolate
hope on her features. The dog threw itself onto her feet.
"About time somebody
did something," Calcifer said.
x x x
Howl waited. He stood on
the rug before the hearth and stared at Calcifer's logs as they pulsed with
orange light, forcing himself to keep still as a statue, to not pace or bite a
fingernail as he so dearly wished. Perhaps he did not appear as cool and
collected as he would have liked, for Lettie took turns watching Howl with a
sympathetic gaze and glancing at the mirror. Sophie, her chin in her hands,
stared at the sparking little candle.
"What a neat little
bit of magic," Michael was saying. He'd turned around a kitchen chair and
sat on it with his arms propped over the back. "All of it. I knew Howl
could create doors that went to other worlds, physical doors. But the dimensional
transporting! If it wasn't for the messed-up spell, you and Howl could just go
anywhere! Zip! I wish I could do it."
Howl continued to stare at
the slowly-disintegrating logs, only vaguely listening to Michael. He was glad
it had appeared easy, that he'd retained some sort of sorcerous stature in the
eyes of these people. Mostly, though, his thoughts were concerned with Suliman,
and home, and whether or not Suliman could come back any time now and
report on Sophie's well-being.
It had been what-- five
minutes at least? Surely something had gone wrong, Howl thought, and Suliman
was stuck, and they'd have to start all over again. Howl entertained a brief
mental picture of all the inhabitants of this world going over to his one by
one-- pop!-- until it was filled and he was left here alone.
Michael continued despite
the silence. "Maybe Martha and I could visit your world, Howl. See what
things are like there, find our counterparts--"
"No," Howl
interrupted, looking up. "Believe me, you don't want to."
"He's right,
Michael," Sophie said. Howl glanced over at her. It was the first time
she'd acknowledged his existence since she'd arrived that morning. "Worlds
are one thing. This-- this is just wrong."
Everyone was quiet after
that, and so Howl resumed his attitude of contemplation. After only a few more
moments he heard a fzzt, one of the loveliest sounds it had ever been
his privilege to hear. Suliman stepped through a white-bright portal back into
existence.
Howl barely restrained
himself from grabbing at Suliman's lapels. "Welcome back. Was he there?
Was Sophie there?"
Suliman nodded. "Yes,
and yes. There seemed to be a bit of an-- altercation going on, but all is fine
now."
Sophie spoke up again.
"An altercation?"
Howl, who'd at first
breathed a deep sign of relief, held his breath again at this last. A fight? In
his house? Unbelievable. "What kind of altercation?"
Suliman's grey eyes shifted
to the side, a strangely evasive expression on such a distinguished face, and
he held his hands up before him, palms out.. "I'm sure they can tell you
all about it in, oh, another twenty minutes or so. Let us know when we get to
the five-minute mark, Michael."
"Okay."
"But--" Howl
began.
"Oh, for heaven's
sake, Ben," Lettie said. She stood and walked over to touch Suliman's
elbow. Her dark eyes slid over to Howl, who was clenching and unclenching his
fingers. "You can't not tell us now."
Howl agreed. The room had
taken on that yellow, surreal quality again. If Howl had hurt Sophie, then Howl
would have to kill him. He hated killing people.
"Everything's all
right!" Suliman reiterated, waving his upturned hands for emphasis. He
sighed and sat at the table to nurse his tea, likely tepid after his trip.
"Sophie was-- she does look very like you, Sophie, except for her hair, an
extraordinary color on such a young woman--"
"Ben!" Lettie
warned.
"Yes, yes."
Suliman looked up at Howl, rather nervously. "Apparently, Sophie was
trying to throw Howl out of the house, and me as well. But I explained
everything and they're all ready to go. They're fine!"
"Sounds like Howl, all
right," Sophie put in, dryly.
"Throw him out?"
Howl said, flabbergasted. "Sophie wouldn't do such a thing without a very
good reason. What did he do to her?"
"They didn't say. It
seemed to be merely some sort of misunderstanding."
Howl clenched and
unclenched his fists some more, unable to think. He felt small, warm fingers
grasp his elbow gently, and whipped around. It was Sophie. She was looking up
at him with unreadable but not unkind brown eyes.
"Howl, come with me
for a minute, please," she said in a flat, quiet voice, and tugged at his
arm. "I'd like to speak with you in private."
Howl didn't know what else
to do at the moment except follow her. He nodded and Sophie led them down the
entryway stairs, turned the knob to yellow, and opened the door. It was a
sunlit flower field, pretty and serene in exactly the way Howl didn't
feel at the moment.
They took a few silent
steps away from the castle door, which here was set in a small shack not unlike
Howl's uncle's cottage. Howl breathed deeply of the scented air, trying to
release his nervous hostility. Sophie had probably merely discovered the other
Howl's deception, if indeed he had deceived her, and was asserting herself by
throwing the man out of the castle. Howl could respect that. He breathed again,
a great surreptitious gulp of air. He was going home soon, and perhaps he would
attach himself to Sophie's side and follow her about until she grew absolutely
sick of him, and even perhaps after that. It could be rather exciting.
Well, exciting until he was
arrested for murder, that was.
Howl halted when Sophie
did. She turned and touched his elbow again, then crossed her arms against the
light but chilly breezes. Her long hair swirled about her brown dress; she'd
not even grabbed her cloak. Howl took off the black jacket and handed it to her
silently. She slid her arms into it and stood there, looking down at the
yellowing grass under their feet.
Howl waited for her to
speak while the seconds ticked by in his brain. Finally, Sophie looked up and
met his eyes. "I just wanted to tell you. Whatever happens, I'll take care
of it. I'm used to it."
Howl sighed. "What do
you mean?" he asked. He had an idea what she was trying to say, but he was
a little stretched at the moment and felt like forcing her to elaborate.
She released her breath in
a frustrated pfft. "You know what I mean. Howl is not a completely
bad person. He can be sly, and vain, and he can behave very foolishly at times.
But he can also be very kind and caring. That he was even still there
says something about how he's changed. This last day has been quite strange all
around, and any number of things could have happened or have happened, and yet
I love him and so you probably shouldn't ever come back. If you can help it.
There."
She was ordering him away!
Like he'd ever really want to come back anyway. He must have appeared very
savage when they'd been inside. Howl crossed his arms and looked at her. He
couldn't quite resist quirking a grin. "Are you saying that happiness is
not overrated?" he said, quoting her words from yesterday.
She smiled a bit in return.
She seemed relieved. "Exactly."
Howl's grin became a laugh.
"Don't worry," he said, and on an impulse, kissed her on the
forehead. He was relieved that she didn't stiffen up or misinterpret the
gesture, and also that he felt nothing sexual for her whatsoever. It had
been a strange day. But one could only help what one did, after all.
"Goodbye. Good luck."
Sophie chuckled at that.
"Goodbye to you also," she said, and walked past him, back to the
door.
Howl shook his head and
followed her. He'd thought himself so insightful and intelligent yesterday,
figuring everyone out like he was one of those methodical people who took
clocks apart and put them back together. And yet she'd been the one to know
exactly what to say and do to make him feel better. Howl had better watch out.
There were only ten minutes
left on the timer when they returned. Enough time for Howl to roll up his
sleeves and get ready to work some magic. There were some questioning looks,
but both he and Sophie ignored them. Howl's nervousness was gone, replaced only
with happy anticipation.
"Three, two,
one," Suliman counted at last. The little candle spat a last shower of
sparks with a whoosh.
"Elos forthum,"
Howl thought, and then everything went black.
x x x
Howell stood near the magic
bench, watching the tiny yellow-white sparks as they sizzled, one by one in
seeming slow motion, from the ridiculous little timer-candle that Ben Suliman
had brought with him.
Sure, it was doing its job.
And Ben's plan should work, there was no doubt about that. The timer just
looked really stupid. And why had Ben given them an entire half-hour to
prepare? Time had actually slowed down, Howell was sure of it.
For a minute or so that
seemed like a lifetime, Howell watched spark after spark of magically-activated
blue-rose oil form at the tip of the candle, grow and then float off. It looked
like an icicle melting in the sun, upside-down (or was it right-side-up? Howell
couldn't decide). And for that whole minute that seemed like a lifetime, he
could feel five pairs of eyes staring at him. Calcifer was in his hearth,
looking a bit smug. Sitting on the couch were the witch, Markl-- holding the
dog-- and of course, Sophie.
She had her arms crossed
and was glaring at him. She was still under Ben's calming spell-- Howell had
been afraid to remove it-- but underneath he could tell she was furious and
hurt. Every emotion was evident in her big, glassy brown eyes. It made him
uneasy. He couldn't identify the exact feeling or the source of the uneasiness;
it wasn't the guilt he'd felt last night; that had been a sort of
thrill-of-the-forbidden kind of guilt brought on by the romance of the night
and fantastic sex.
A perfectly normal emotion,
that one was, for he'd made plenty of girls in his day. Oh, he'd been in love
with all of them for a short time. He'd been honest that way, at least, before
he'd run off, and without the slightest bit of guilt. For what was the point of
prolonging their agony or his when there was no true feeling involved?
Once he'd nabbed Sophie--
his-- he'd realized he no longer wanted that up-and-down. She was lovely. She
didn't take too much of his crap. She cared for him in her way and made him
feel secure, happy. And yet, she was wrapped up in all of this unaccustomed
negative emotion as well. He just couldn't quite figure out how. He could only
be glad that soon he would be doing what he should have done fifteen minutes
ago-- leaving-- and that he would be going home, where none of it would matter
anymore.
Sophie spoke up. "Why
did you pretend to be Howl?" she asked. Her voice was flat and dull,
lifeless, an effect of Ben's calming spell.
I am Howell, he wanted to say,
but he knew exactly what she meant. So he told the truth. "It seemed the
easiest thing to do."
"It was very cruel of
you," she said. Her screaming had been bad; this cool, reasonable tone was
worse, by far. It made him feel like he was sitting in a confessional.
"I didn't think any of
you would know," Howl admitted.
Sophie glared at him for a
few stretched moments over her crossed arms. "I should have known you
weren't Howl," she said, finally. "You're fat."
"Ah!" Howell
cried. He put his hands on his hips and glared back at her. "Now you're
just being nasty. I'm not fat." I'm not, he thought. NOT fat.
Quite FIT, actually.
Perhaps he would never
eat again. How
would she like that? Of course, she'd probably be ecstatic if he starved to death.
But then, he'd never see her again to give her either the satisfaction or the
guilt. When he returned home he planned to raise so many blocking spells, no
one from this world would be able to get through until he'd been dead at least
a hundred years. Perhaps he was cruel.
"He's not fat. Why did
you call him fat, Sophie?" Markl took the opportunity to ask. The
oppressive atmosphere in the room had kept the boy quiet up until then.
"I was being
nasty," Sophie said, jutting out her chin and crossing her arms more
firmly. She was so quiet and logical that Howell began to wonder if she really was
still under Ben's spell. Some people had the ability to grow more spooky-quiet
the angrier they became.
"You'll understand
when you're older," the old lady told the boy, and patted him on the
shoulder. She looked over at Howell with a roguish grin that made him cringe.
"So. You already have a girl?"
"Yes," Howell
muttered. "Her name's Sophie."
"Hmph," said
Sophie with a jutted chin.
"Too bad," the
witch chuckled. "Wonder if there are any more of you out there?"
"I certainly hope
not," Sophie mumbled, almost but not quite sotto voce.
Markl felt more free to
chatter now that others were doing so. "So it was that spell, huh? Wow. So
is there someone like me where you come from, too?"
"Sort of," Howell
said. He didn't feel like talking about it. Now that everything-- in a way--
was out in the open, he felt like a stranger again. The brief camaraderie he'd
experienced with this family late yesterday was gone. Still, he didn't really
want to be rude to the kid; he gave him a short conspiratorial smile.
"He's a pretty good apprentice, like you."
Sophie merely glared; she
didn't dare hmph at that one.
"Hah!" Markl
laughed, leaning forward in interest, short legs dangling over the edge of the
couch. The dog wheezed in his arms. "Wow. I can't believe I didn't know.
Or you, Calcifer. He even fooled you."
"Yeah, well,"
Calcifer said in a somewhat sheepish voice. "I figured it out, eventually.
Sorry, Sophie."
"That's all right,
Calcifer," she said in a flat voice that still somehow managed to achieve
a bit of that school-mistressy tone she'd had yesterday. She stared at Howell.
"Some people are very good at being fake and untrustworthy. They do it to
profit from others' misfortunes. My father called them con artists."
"Oh come on!"
Howell cried. Oh, come on? Now you're being nasty? He was quite the
master of rhetoric today, was he not? For some reason he could examine himself,
but not defend himself. "I didn't mean to come here. How could I
have possibly profited from-- uh. Oh." He'd just realized how she might
see it.
"Yeah, Sophie."
Thankfully that was Markl again, coming unknowingly to Howell's rescue.
"He only pretended to be Howl. Probably so we wouldn't be scared or upset
at what happened. Howl might have done that, too."
"Not like that,"
Sophie said.
Such quiet conviction on
her part made Howell wonder: how did she know, for sure? And what, exactly, had
been going on over in his world? Though apparently being a nice guy got things
done, sometimes. For that group over there had been the first to devise a
solution-- an amazingly simple solution, a go-between-- to this little
switch-problem. And what had Howell been doing? He told himself he'd tried to
get home. But what he'd really been doing was eating (which he'd never do
again), shopping and shagging his doppelganger's girl.
Silence reigned for a while
after that, a few moments in a purgatory of staring eyes, stretched into
another eternity. And then, suddenly, all at once, the pieces of the puzzle
clicked together in Howell's brain. He realized exactly why he was uneasy, and
why this was different from all those other times, and why he felt so guilty
and why he couldn't defend himself properly and why he hadn't simply run off
earlier.
It was because what he'd
done had been completely, utterly wrong. He'd started out wrong by botching the
spell (well, with Michael's help, of course). Then, the second he'd landed in
this world, he'd pretended to be someone he wasn't and had never rectified his
error. Despite Sophie's-- this one's-- school-mistressy, always-right,
fat-commenting ways, he'd done her a wrong.
He'd done things no
engaged-to-be-married man ought to have done, misunderstanding or not. And he'd
never apologized. Living his irreverent life had been so easy before because
he'd never seen it through to all its consequences. Magical battles with great
evil didn't count; those were part of the fun of being a wizard.
He should be a
different man from the one he'd been before he met Sophie-- his. He might not
change overnight (and clearly hadn't) but it was time to grow up, and finish
the job. Where to start, though?
Howell sighed. If there was
one thing he hated, it was being pinned down. But he hated being pinned down in
front of an audience even more.
"Right," he said,
and cracked his knuckles for courage. Why was magic so easy and all the normal,
everyday stuff so difficult? "Calcifer, you have an eye on the time, don't
you?"
"Yeah," Calcifer
said. "You've got eighteen minutes and fourteen--"
"Fine," Howell
said. He walked over to Sophie and gave her an ironic sort of bow, very quaint,
he thought. "May I speak to you in private for a minute?"
"I can go with you,
Sophie, if you want," Calcifer said in a puppy-dog sort of helpful voice
that was very guilty-Calcifer.
"No thank you,
Calcifer," Sophie said, then nodded and stood, and gave Howell an equally
sort of ironic curtsey in return. She was still wearing her robe and slippers,
but was dignified all the same. Then she followed Howell across the room like
an automaton. "Revenge for the fat comment?"
"No revenge,"
Howell said, though he'd considered it, earlier. She was usually right.
It was annoying. He chose a door and Sophie nodded. It was the empty bedroom.
Just then he realized why it didn't look lived in. It was hers but she didn't
sleep there. Dreamlike snippets of the previous night zipped through his brain,
unbidden. Howell shook his head. Back to business.
Sophie shut the door firmly
behind them; no pretense at propriety did she make, as his own Sophie might
have. They were way past that. She folded her arms across her chest again and
looked at him.
"What do you
want?"
"I want to say� I'm
sorry." It was surprisingly easy to say. Howell hardly choked on the words
at all. He felt quite virtuous.
She quirked an eyebrow at
him. "Do you?"
"Yes. I did the wrong
thing. I should have just said who I was from the very beginning, and then none
of the other� things would have happened."
"Well, yes. May I ask
you something?" At his nod, Sophie continued in her slow, eerily-dead
voice. "I just want to know how stupid you thought I was."
"What?" Howell
cried, staring. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been that. If she really felt
that way-- that was just wrong. "I don't think you are
stupid at all!"
Sophie closed her eyes and
shook her head. "No, really. In my head I've run through every moment of
yesterday, every conversation we had, trying to realize when I should have
figured it out." She opened her brown eyes-- Sophie's eyes, staring at him
with calm disgust. "And trying to remember every opportunity you might
have had to tell me the truth. And trying to decide why you didn't trust
me."
"That's not it at all,"
Howell said, cringing inwardly. She really knew how to go for the jugular. And
he'd thought she was soft. He was the one who'd been stupid. He'd
forgotten that she'd probably rescued her Howl as his Sophie had rescued him,
and to boot, she'd done it without any magical abilities whatsoever. She'd
dumped water on Calcifer. How had he forgotten that? "I didn't
think that. Things were simply� odd. Disoriented. Things just happened, and I
didn't know how to stop them. They sort of. Spiraled."
"Spiraled. Hmph,"
Sophie said. She stared at him even more closely, as if looking for truth. Or
perhaps she was looking for Howell. "Last night. I said and� did things,
that I would only have done with Howl. Because I love him, and trust him, and
because he loves me. Now I feel guilty, and I want to blame you, not keep
second-guessing myself. So tell me: should I have known, and if so, when?"
Howell stared back. Why did
she have to be so damned reasonable and logical about it? She was
like his mother, or his sister, if they had ever berated him in a completely
normal tone of voice rather than shrieking. And with her white hair and
inherent dignity, she was almost like a Mrs. Pentstemmon.
"I didn't give you the
opportunity," Howell said, firmly. "You shouldn't feel guilty at all.
I'm very clever in that way, resourceful when I need to be."
"My word, you're
cocky," she said with another quirked eyebrow. Her slippered foot tapped a
slow tattoo upon the floor. "Though I suppose I should have known. Very
well, then. Tell me how you could have done�that� to your Sophie-- whatever she
is to you?"
"My fiancee,"
Howell mumbled. The jugular, right. He certainly didn't want to say, well,
you were just her then. Because really, she hadn't been. She'd been a lot
of things. "I do love her, you know. I won't tell her. And I won't do it
again."
"You're a terrible
person."
"Listen," Howell
said. He couldn't take much more of this. He'd been trying to do the right
thing, and all she could do was guilt him further. That wasn't how this
apologizing-confession thing was supposed to work. Was it? "You can
keep going on at me, but I can't do anything other than apologize. I'm sorry.
If you like, I can throw myself at your mercy. I can lean over like this,"
here he bent his head down and shifted the hair from the back of his neck,
baring it. "And you can take your whack with the knife. Axe. Whatever. I
deserve it. All of it."
Sophie pffted an
exasperated breath above his bowed head. "Do stop being
melodramatic."
"Well, then, what do
you want me to do?" Howell asked. He was becoming lightheaded from bending
over.
"I want you to go
away."
"Going." Howell
stood and snapped his fingers at her. But now that he'd started this penitent
and utterly contrite thing, he could hardly stop. Perhaps he was
being melodramatic. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been accused of such.
"I just want you to know. If it makes you feel better. It wasn't�
meaningless."
Sophie's dark eyes widened
and her jaw dropped, leaving her mouth agape for a few seconds. Then she shut
it with a click of her teeth. "The nerve! You're only trying to make
yourself feel better. And you're only making me sick. Please don't speak to me
any more." She turned around, moving in slow-motion like she was
underwater, and opened the door.
She was right as usual.
Howell hated it. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"
"Do shut up,"
came her voice over her shoulder.
All that, and he wasn't
to be forgiven? Howell
shrugged off his disappointment and followed her out of the room. He'd done
what he could; if she didn't appreciate it then he was glad to be leaving,
anyway.
Still, Howell couldn't say
he didn't feel better for having gotten that apology business accomplished and
over with. The atmosphere in the main room no longer seemed so oppressive.
Sophie, carefully keeping her back to him, walked over to the little kitchen
area and began to straighten and adjust things that needed absolutely no
adjusting. Rather than feeling guilty any longer, Howell only found her demeanor
rather charming. The staring, interested eyes of the rest of the family (which
now included a dog) were more amusing than annoying; Howell winked at
that shameless old witch and she laughed out loud. Markl only looked confused.
"You've got eight minutes
and twenty-two seconds," Calcifer said.
"Thanks, Cal,"
Howell said, and went to the magic bench and cracked his knuckles again. The
eight minutes flew by in a blur of interested comments from Markl, and the back
of Sophie's robe as she resolutely pretended he wasn't there.
Finally, Calcifer counted
down the last few seconds: "Three, two, one." The timer spewed a last
little fountain of white, crinkly sparks.
"Ciao," Howell
said, tossing the spell at the bowl, then "forth--." And all
went black.
x x x
This time when everything
went black, Howl/Howell was conscious. It felt right, like doing magic should
feel, when it wasn't being flubbed/botched/blocked/interfered with. It
was an eternal trip, over in a second.
There was a whoosh--
x x x
Whoosh--
"--um."
Howell arrived home after what had seemed an interminable and yet instantaneous
trip with his hand still upraised, and the words still on his lips. He knew it
was home because he arrived in the small dark room he'd built himself, and
those were his books and bottles, and that was definitely the door to his
bathroom. If he went upstairs he knew that there would be his sister's house in
Wales out his bedroom window, just where it should be.
The crisp autumn sunlight
shone through onto where he stood at the bench. And like all the very best
entrances, he had an audience for this one. Standing or seated in various
places were Michael, Ben Suliman, Lettie, and yes-- there, standing by the
table, was his Sophie, glorious in her veil of red-gold hair and looking
amazingly lovely in an orange dress.
"Hullo,
everyone!" he said with a jaunty little wave of the hand he'd been holding
in the air.
"That's Howl, all
right," Sophie said, and then to Howell's immense surprise and delight,
she practically threw herself onto him, arms wrapping around his shoulders to
hold him tight. She gave him a quick, hard kiss, and Howell thought he might
die of happiness from the sweet taste of her cool lips. Then she stepped back
and smiled at him, the same besotted smile she'd given him the day she'd
returned his heart. The heart in question thumped against his breastbone once,
then twice. It was startling and it was fantastic at the same time.
"I can't be in the
right place," Howell said, and held out his arms for more.
Sophie stepped forward
again, hugged him for a brief, harsh moment, then stood back once more and
slapped him. Hard.
Howell stared at her,
raising a hand to his tingling cheek. He hadn't seen that coming. He'd
have stopped it first, if he had. It hurt. "Good heavens, am I to be
assaulted at every turn?" he finally asked her.
"You probably deserve
all of it," Sophie said with a glare and crossed arms.
That was the Sophie Howell remembered.
Not too nice and not too logical, just the way he liked her. Howell smiled, and
rubbed at his cheek. He had his own family, and they had their own camaraderie.
It may have been a somewhat contentious one, but it pleased him. Guilt was not
for him.
Still, that slap had been
in front of an audience, and Howell couldn't let it pass too easily. "Ben,
why don't you do that thing you did before? The thing that calms down the
hysterical ladies?"
"If you're home, then
my work is done and I'm out of it, Howl," Ben told him, shaking his head.
He looked at Lettie and stretched out a grey-cloaked arm. "Would you like
me to show you what else I was working on before all of this business?"
"That's gratitude,
Ben. Remember your head, and how you got it back," Howell pointed out. He
was glad to be here, and thankful for Ben's help, but that didn't mean he could
be mistreated or disregarded so easily.
Both Lettie and Ben ignored
him. Lettie smiled, rather stupidly. "I'd love to."
"Well then I'd better
go, also," Sophie said, giving Howell a look that could have been
described as a cross between 'Tasmanian devil' and 'frightened rabbit.'
"Michael, you'll finish cleaning up, won't you?"
"Sophie!" Howell
gasped. What had Ben told her? Howell would have to find out, later. But
now-- he didn't want to be alone. He wanted to talk with Sophie, and appreciate
her, and do whatever he could to erase the memory of the other one.
"You're not leaving already!"
"Why shouldn't
I?" she asked, with raised eyebrows.
Howell had been wrong,
before. This was not his same old Sophie. This Sophie had a bit of a new
attitude, more assertive than passively-confrontational. He decided he sort of
liked it. He wanted to know what had brought it on. He wanted to know everything.
But she wanted to leave. He couldn't let her.
He didn't want to beg. But
he knew he might sort of... have to. Today had been a learning
experience all around, with all sorts of adventures of the soul. And Howell
knew in his heart that she, of all people, most deserved to reap
whatever benefits he could offer. "Please," he practically whispered,
and then he coughed to strengthen his voice and his resolve to plead if he
needed to. "Don't go. I� missed you. I'd like you to stay for� a
while."
"What?" Sophie's
jaw dropped, not as much as the other's had, but her surprise was evident all
the same. She blushed a little, even curiouser and more exciting than her
surprise. "I-- well-- all right, I'll stay for a bit."
They stared at each other
for a few silent moments. Michael coughed.
"Welcome back,
Howl," he said, and reached out a hand to shake Howell's.
Howell grasped Michael's
hand and gave it a firm shake, feeling thankful in that moment that he had such
a sober and reliable young man as an apprentice and not a distractingly cute
young kid. Though he suspected that Michael might not be around all that much
longer. The thought gave Howell's stomach a tiny twist; he'd just gotten his
family back. "Did you miss me?"
"Oh. Of course,"
Michael said, stepping back and stuffing his hands into his pockets with a look
that said, you're spooking me and I want to go, anyway. "That other
guy-- Howl-- was pretty nice, though. But he wasn't you."
"Ah," Howell
said. Nice was just as he'd expected. And all for the best, considering
what havoc a wretch could have wreaked-- witness his own behavior. And this
boring black suit he was wearing.
Though Howell was
uncomfortably aware that something had changed in his absence. He was here with
Sophie and Michael and there was no Lettie or Martha. The lovely Lettie had
skipped out with Ben as if she hadn't a care in the world for hers or Sophie's
reputations, and yet before yesterday, their reputations had been Howell's
constant, frustrating companions.
And there was Michael even
now, making leaving and Martha noises.
"Oh, just go on,
Michael," Sophie said, cementing Howell's stupefaction. She looked at
Howell and shrugged. "Calcifer's here."
"Oh, yeah,"
Howell said, and turned to his hearth to see that familiar blue-green face
hovering there. His Calcifer was so much more cool. "Hey, Cal. Did you
miss me, at least?"
"Nah," Calcifer
said with a flap of his green flame-hair. "I figured you'd be back sooner
or later."
"Did you?" Howell
asked, and laughed. He was so very glad to be home, where nobody clung to him
and made him feel guilty.
Michael ran out and despite
Calcifer's presence, Sophie's face took on a bit of that nervous, twitchy
aspect she'd had before. She turned in a rush, sending her pretty orange dress
swinging about her ankles, and began to straighten the already-perfectly-straight
things in the kitchen. Howell experienced an uncomfortable sense of d�j� vu.
"So," Sophie said
over her shoulder. "What was it like there?"
"Difficult. You can't
know the day I've had," Howell said truthfully and with more of that d�j�
vu feeling.
"Ah." Her voice
was carefully casual. Howell thought it was charming. "So I hear there was
some sort of trouble when Ben arrived. What-- was that all about?"
Perhaps she was not so
nervous and not so cute as Howell had first thought. That question had been so
pointed he feared it might cut him open. He sat at the table, resisting the
urge to change clothes, or rather, escape. "A misunderstanding,"
Howell said, equally as careful as she.
"I'm not surprised,
mind you," Sophie said, still not looking at him. She took a deep breath.
"Did sh-- they know who you were when it happened? When you were�
switched?"
Howell's stomach gave a
quick short wrench; it did not feel like nostalgia, as it had when he'd thought
about Michael. It felt more like fear. Sophie wasn't asking the usual random
questions she asked when she was upset. This must be a new mood, one he didn't
recognize. A frightening insight that he did not know her as well as he'd
thought and could possibly lose her was creeping into his brain. He would have
to answer well. He'd already decided she deserved his good behavior, so he
couldn't back out now (or, as Sophie might have put it, slither out).
And he'd had lots of practice, this morning.
"Well�" he said.
"Actually, no. As I said, a misunderstanding. I didn't know right away
what had happened. They didn't know I wasn't him. I didn't want to lose that
advantage."
"My," Sophie
said, turning and giving him an odd look from her brown eyes. They were
particularly knowing; or else Howell was simply growing paranoid. Then she
turned back to her fidgeting at the kitchen counter. "You sound as though
they were enemies, rather than victims of circumstance. They can't have been
horrible. He was very� nice."
"So I hear,"
Howell said. He rocked his chair back and stretched out his legs, and looked at
Sophie thoughtfully. "How nice?"
"Very."
"Indeed," Howell
said. Now he was becoming angry. Sophie didn't fall for nice people. She
wasn't only trying to get information, she was needling him. And it was annoying.
"Tell me more."
"No."
Howell rocked the chair
forward, and its legs met the floor with a clunk. "You'd better
just give it up now, Sophie, and tell me everything, because I'll find out one
way or another."
"You have no
right to tell me what to do. I am your fiancee, not your apprentice or
your servant," Sophie said, swinging about to clench her fists at
her sides and glare at him again.
Her eyes were practically
glowing with anger, and her cheeks were pink, and her body language assertive;
Howell's annoyance fled and his heart-- that item which was only an organ in
his body and not connected with emotion at all-- clenched with that sudden fear
again. And something else. Sophie had always been a feisty sort of kindly
person but this-- this was an anger he'd never seen from her before. It was� exciting.
Fear and lust and anger
made even more a heady mix of emotion than guilt and desire and comfort.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and Howell forced himself to clasp his
hands in front of him and only stare at her. He'd used to hate quarreling, but
this was sort of exhilarating. And he would win. He would. "Tell me,
Sophie."
"No. You tell me.
You tell me what you did to those people. To her."
Enough was enough. Guilt
and good intentions would only take him so far, and now they were completely
useless. Howell jumped up from the chair and grabbed at her arms, holding them
at her sides, and kissed her.
And wonder of wonders-- she
kissed him back. Very well. There was aggression there, but also possessiveness,
and passion. Somewhere in Howell's burning mind he knew that it wouldn't be
like it had been with the other Sophie. It would be better.
He forgot Calcifer, forgot
his worry and his guilt and his anger. At some point he released her arms and
grabbed her waist to tug her closer, and she found an equally firm grip on his
shoulders. After a few blissful minutes of completely abandoned activity, just
when Howell thought he might go down on his knees and offer to be her devoted
slave forever, he felt a sharp pain in his shin.
"Ow!" Howell
yelled. She'd kicked him, hard, with her little ankle boot. He released her
altogether in surprise, and she jogged back, out of reach, and then ran over to
the closet to grab her cloak. Howell didn't try to stop her; he was still too
stunned. From everything.
"I'm going home,"
she announced, breathing a bit heavily. "You'll probably see me
again."
Little witch, Howell thought as he watched her
whip out the door and slam it behind her, sending leaves from the street outside
swirling through his castle room. And here he'd thought she'd been looking like
a frightened rabbit. How he loved her!
Ever had he fallen in and
out of love instantly; did his continued enchantment with his Sophie's ire in
all its forms mean that he'd changed? He thought so. And he had the perfect
woman for him.
Howell turned to see
Calcifer hovering above his logs, with a look on his blue face that said he'd
seen everything but was trying to pretend he hadn't. "So?" Howell
said to his old friend.
"You'll be the one
telling her everything, is all I'm saying," Calcifer said. "People.
You're so stupid."
"Yeah, I know,"
Howell said, and laughed. He knew he should be contrite, but he could be that
later. He'd done it before, after all. Sophie would keep him in line. Happy,
secure, yes. But right now he wanted out of these clothes, and he wanted a
bath. "Cal, I've got a favor to ask you."
Calcifer made a sighing,
crackling noise. "Hot water, I suppose?"
Howell laughed again and
stomped off into the bathroom.
x x x
Whoosh--
Howl felt like he was being
poured into something. And then, unlike last time he'd switched worlds and had
been knocked unconscious and vision had returned slowly and reluctantly, this
time it was instantaneous: the return of light and sight was quick and brutal
and sharp.
He was standing over a
table. No yellow surreal sensation here: all was utter clarity. It looked like
his magic bench. The bottles and books and packets had been rearranged
slightly, perhaps, but they felt right. He glanced down at himself and saw that
he wasn't wearing what he'd had on a few seconds (years?) ago. It was his old
blue suit, though the sleeves had been messed with and dangled from his wrists
a bit frothily. Ick. And he was wearing his best black boots! Who had that
other Howl thought he was? But further inspection revealed the red-and-silver
ring on his forefinger, where it belonged, reassuring.
Howl could feel himself
being watched. Hands held up for cautious defense, he swiveled his torso to the
right to see four pairs of eyes staring hard at him. There was red-headed Markl
(the correct one, Howl thought), Granny Witch and Heen on the couch. Calcifer,
round and orange and just right, hovered over the hearth.
Over in the kitchen Howl
spied a back that seemed familiar and a head of silver hair that was even
achingly more so. He knew it was Sophie, he could feel it, but she wouldn't
turn around so he could verify her existence with his own eyes.
"There's our
boy," the old lady said, and creaked to her feet. "Welcome back. I'm
going outside for a smoke."
"Master Howl?"
Markl asked. Howl gave him a quick smile. The robed shoulders in the kitchen
flexed in a well-known and well-remembered way as-- Sophie's--? hands messed
about with something on the counter. Howl's heart thumped hard for a moment,
filling his ribcage.
"Sophie?" he
called.
The hands attached to the
shoulders stilled and the form turned. Sophie's face was pale and stone-like,
but her eyes were huge and heartbreakingly beseeching.
"Is it
you?" she asked.
"I think so,"
Howl said and laughed out loud in sheer happiness. He strode over to her and
clasped her shoulders. Her eyes never left his face.
"Howl?"
"Hooray," Howl
said and kissed her. And there it was, that thump of his heart again and the
instant rushing of blood through his fingers and knees and toes, that whirl of
emotion that was so much more than simply physical. He was home!
But something was off;
Sophie was too still. She'd set her little fingers on his shoulders like she
might usually do when he kissed her, but they were holding him in a way he
might call vague. After a few moments of happy, distracted kissing Howl pulled
back a scant inch or two and stared at Sophie's wonderful face in his hands.
She stared back at him calmly.
"You dyed your hair
back already," she said in a flat voice.
"Uhhhh!" came
Markl's voice in an impatient groan. The old lady chuckled from the doorway.
"Hey there,
Howl," Calcifer mumbled.
The rest of the family was
apparently impatient for him to get this reunion over with, but Howl was trying
to concentrate on Sophie. Something was wrong with-- Oh, he thought as
he realized what it was.
"Sophie,
darling," he said. "Somebody's put a spell on you."
"Yes, I know,"
she said, her voice cool and collected. "It was Mr. Suliman. I believe he
was trying to be helpful."
"Ah," Howl said.
Ben had been rather evasive about how they'd resolved the tossing-people-out-of-the-castle
issue. Howl waved a finger at her. It had been a calming spell of some sort,
and the effect of removing it was instantaneous. Her cheeks, nose and chin
regained personality and emotion all at once, forming themselves into a very
unhappy face. Uh oh, Howl thought.
"Howl!" Sophie cried,
and kissed him, this time with quick passion, but the kiss was all too short.
She practically shoved him off, said "oh!" and then pivoted and ran,
thumping her way up the stairs.
"Sophie!" Howl
called, but she was gone. He stared around for a few moments, unsure whether or
not to follow her.
"She's being weird
this morning," Markl said. "I don't know why."
"Um," Calcifer
said. The normally-loquacious little flame was being strangely quiet. That was never
a good sign.
"Heh," Granny
chuckled again from the doorway to the side-yard. She was leaning against the
doorjamb, one hand holding her cigar outside. Every couple of moments she'd
take a drag and blow a cloud of blue smoke that spiraled into the wind.
"Just give her a few minutes. She'll be all right."
Howl set his hands on his
hips and looked at her. "What happened? What did he do? Tell me
everything."
She rolled her eyes in her
flabby face. "I'm not telling."
"Telling what?"
Markl said, jutting his chin in childish frustration. "What has everyone
been talking about all morning?"
"Granny,"
Howl warned. He so rarely called her that, he figured she'd know he was
serious.
"I don't know what
you're talking about," she said with a grin. "You boys shouldn't
worry your heads over nothing."
Howl sighed. He'd been gone
one day, and already a secret society of women had formed under his roof. Well,
truthfully, it had already been there. Howl knew he hadn't been king of his own
castle for several months now.
"Calcifer?" he
said, looking at the little demon.
Calcifer shrank down behind
one of his logs, peeping only his yellow eyes above it. "Well, it was
me who figured it out. This morning. Though I sort of suspected it last--"
"Master Howl, are you
going to tell us about it, what everything was like? Tell me about the spell,
and the apprentice like me," Markl interrupted, ignoring Calcifer and the
old lady.
"Hold that thought a
bit, Markl," Howl said, distracted by bits of white and gold flashing
about outside, past Granny in the open door. It looked like clothing was
raining down into the yard. "What is going on out
there?"
"Um," Calcifer
said.
"Sophie!" Howl
called and ran upstairs. He didn't want to give her a few minutes. He
wanted to know what was going on, wanted to confirm or deny anything the other
Howl, the sly one, might possibly have done. And then make it better if he
could, and move on. Everyone else he'd met in the other world was already
beginning to feel like a fiction: this was real and home and he wanted it to
stay that way.
Sophie was in his-- their--
bedroom. She had the window open and seemed to be tossing the entire contents
of his bed out the window. Howl leaned on the doorframe and watched her quick,
vengeful movements. It seemed something had happened, at least. He was
upset at Sophie's unhappiness, for a sweet and trusting nature betrayed was an
ugly thing. But he wondered why he didn't feel angrier for himself. It was
probably because he was not himself blameless. He'd caused it all in the first
place, he decided, by trying to perform the iffy, unknown spell. It seemed like
forever since he'd done it. Lots of things had happened in those intervening
hours. And he could only control what he did from here on out.
"Sophie, what are you
doing?" he finally asked, trying to keep his tone free from his amusement
and worry.
"What does it look
like I'm doing?" she asked in a snippy little voice. She didn't even turn
around. "I'm doing laundry."
Actually, she seemed less
upset than Howl might have thought she'd be. That was a good sign, right?
Sophie was stronger than most people, including himself, gave her credit for.
She'd dealt with plenty of danger and weirdness from him. And the now
was what was important.
"Ah," Howl said.
And then, "I missed you."
Sophie tossed the last
pillowcase out the window and spun to face him, arms crossed.
"Well, I would have
missed you, too," she said. "Had I known. I thought he was you."
Anger wasn't even an issue
for Howl, now. Sophie looked and sounded so peeved and adorable that Howell
wanted to laugh and hold her. But some deeply-buried, male survival instinct
told him it would be a very bad idea at that particular moment.
"That's not your
fault," was all he said.
"Hmph," she said.
Then she fisted her hands at her sides and stomped past him to the door.
"You need to pay more attention to what you're doing when you play with
your spells. I'm not going through that again."
Her motherly, bossy
attitude was so delightful, Howl's heart clenched in his chest with a keen
ache. He'd missed her more than he'd known until this very moment.
"Where are you going
now?" he asked.
"I'm taking a
bath!" she said, and crossed the hall. She threw open the bathroom door
and made to shut it in Howl's face, but he reached out an arm to wedge it open.
She ignored it. "Alone!"
Staring at her tense little
figure as she bent over and turned on the taps, something else clenched, lower,
in Howl's belly. Had it really been only half an hour since he'd had indecent
thoughts about her? It seemed like forever. She was so appealing and he loved her
so dearly and wanted to comfort her so much, he didn't know if he could keep
his hands off her. Howl suspected that whatever jealous anger he felt at the
other Howl was making itself known to him in other ways.
"That reminds me,
Sophie," he said to her back with a fond, feral little smile that she
couldn't see but could probably hear. "I had this dream about you last
night, sweetheart. It was lovely. There was a puddle, and--"
"Oooh!" Sophie
spun to face him at that, her silvery, fine hair whirling about her head. He
wanted to bury his fingers in it. Her chin was jutting out at him. She was
incredibly desirable when she was angry. Her cheeks went all pink. "Men!
You make me sick. All of you," she grated out, and with surprising
strength, pushed him out of the doorway and slammed it in his face.
Howl heard the lock click.
It wouldn't stop him for an instant if he really wanted to enter, and he knew
she knew it, but Howl decided that retreat was the better part of valor in this
instance. He didn't want to have to spend the rest of his days sleeping on the
couch in his own flying castle . So he removed the defaced blue jacket, then
sat on the floor of the hallway and leaned against the wall to talk to her.
"Did he hurt
you?" he called through the door, half-dreading the answer.
"No!" came her
muffled voice over the sound of running water. "Not really. That's what's
wrong."
Howl smiled to himself with
relief. "I don't blame you for anything, Sophie."
"That's nice,"
her snippiest little voice told him. There was only the sound of the water for
a few minutes. Then she said, "I'm just afraid-- what if-- Oooh! I can't
even say it aloud."
Did she mean, she was
afraid of being pregnant? "Nah, please don't worry about that,
Sophie. Please," Howl called to her. Howl himself wasn't worried. That
wouldn't happen in his bedroom, at least until he removed-- well, he
wasn't going to bring that up to Sophie now. It would take a bit too
much explanation for her current mood.
"Well, I'll know
better next time," Sophie called out. She turned off the taps, and Howl
could hear water splashing. "Though you'll make sure that doesn't happen.
Right?"
"I'll certainly do my
best, sweetheart," Howl called back quickly. Still, magic was a dangerous
business. Best to be prepared. They should-- He heard more splashes. She would
be naked. He thought about that for a moment, then remembered what he'd been
thinking about just before that. "We'll have to think up code words or
something, just in case. How about� 'elephants?'"
He heard her give a snort
of laughter, quickly muffled. That was definitely a good sign. Strong,
yes. But she turned it into another hmph all the same. "So.
What was she like?"
"Uhhh." Howl knew
exactly who she meant. He thought hard. What to say at this moment? Finally he
said, "Prickly?"
"Oh."
He didn't really want to
talk about her, and didn't think Sophie would appreciate it anyway. The other
Sophie hadn't been all that bad once he'd understood her a bit better. But he
couldn't say that. And it would be unfair of him to vilify her. If he did,
Sophie would only become suspicious, anyway.
Though Calcifer-- the blue
one-- had said something odd this morning... Howl wished he'd known what sort
of witch the other Sophie had been. He'd been concerned elsewhere and hadn't
picked up on it. He supposed, given time to think about it, he would have
realized�
"Sophie," he
called. "Have you ever thought that you might have it in you to be a
witch?"
"No!" Her
vehemence surprised him. She soon explained, however. "Look how much
trouble it causes, sometimes. You need someone normal around to keep an
eye on you."
"I do, indeed,"
Howl admitted. He wasn't offended. When Sophie was in a good mood she loved the
magic he did. Rather, he felt reassured. Sophie had rescued him from a harmful
contract, and saved Calcifer, and enchanted them both, and that had just been
her way. Her magic was all in herself.
"Does she know?"
Sophie called out, tentative.
"Yes, I think
so." Howl knew exactly what Sophie meant. And he didn't pity the other
Howl at all. He would get what he deserved. Probably, he'd get less than he
deserved, or more, depending on how one looked at it. Murder might do it, but
that was a bad idea no matter how one looked at it. Still, his heart ached
mostly for Sophie. If Sophie wanted it�
"Hmph."
"Do you want me to
kill him?" He kept his voice light, but the question was serious.
A few moments of silence
passed. "No, not really," Sophie finally answered.
"I would, for
you."
"I know."
Howl heard small feet on
the stairs, and then a thump and a 'hey!' from Markl.
"Leave 'em alone, kid.
You'll hear all about it later," came the old Witch's voice.
Then Howl heard a wheeze
from Heen, and more footsteps going back down the stairs. Calcifer's voice
mumbled, "That's what I'm afraid of."
Howl smiled to himself and
his heart did that melty-swelling thing that felt so odd and wonderful. He'd
have to thank the old lady later. How he loved his family. Michael and Martha
and Lettie and Ben and even Sophie had been interesting enough (too interesting
at times), but they would have worn him out if he'd spent more than a day
there. Life there seemed hectic, jumbled. That wasn't his life, and it didn't
suit him any longer. This one did, shut doors and sitting in hallways and all.
He hummed a few bars of the sad barmaid-and-solider song.
Sophie heard him. "Why
are you so happy?" she called, but her voice had lost that confrontational
air. Howl was glad.
"Sophie, darling, I
missed you," Howl sighed. "I'm so glad to be home."
"I'm glad too,"
Sophie called through the door, followed by a mumbled something that sounded
like every day an adventure.
Howl's abdomen and chest
ached. "Sophie, can I please come in?"
"Fine," she said
after a moment, with a sigh of her own.
Hooray, Howl thought. He jumped up and
threw open the door, and slammed it shut behind him. Sophie was buried under
bubbles but her shoulders and knees showed and they were all wet and gleaming
and her hair was dripping. She was the loveliest and most arousing thing Howl
had ever laid eyes on. She gave him a little smile.
"Elephants," Howl
said, and just sort of toppled over in the bathtub, splashing water
everywhere. Sophie shrieked and Howl's mouth and hands were filled with soap
bubbles and skin and all was made clean again.
END
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