Aftermath

Author's note and disclaimer:

Reposted by request.

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code. I found Howl's predation on young virgins to be curious and got to thinking about possible causes while also looking into the rocky road of his and Sophie's developing relationship.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

AFF Warning:
Each chapter should have something citrus flavored, see Chapters for warnings.

HxWitch of the Waste, Lemon, M/F, vaginal fisting, anal

000O000

Chapter 3
In which Howell goes courting


Howell walked back to the mansion entrance, anger twisting in his chest the closer he got to home. He'd meant the walk to cool down, but the more he thought of their glances and glares, the more outraged he became. What kind of monster did they think he was? It wasn't as if he didn't love each and every young lady he'd taken the virginity of! He did. He really hoped each one would be the right one. At least for a time. It was as close to real love as he had ever known... until now. Certainly that wasn't his fault? In fact the fault could be said to lie with the ladies. If they'd all been like Sophie or Lettie he wouldn't have kept on. No doubt he'd have been buried back behind the beehives in Mrs. Fairfax's garden instead. Then what of Calcifer? The poor demon had put his trust in Howell to protect him, keep him alive, he couldn't have done that from under the clover! Circular logic was making his head hurt, so when the living area was empty, he went straight to his room, staying there through dinner.

Hours later, Howell pushed back his chair as he heard Michael's door close for the night. Every conceivable surface of Howell's desk was covered with parchment, some with dolls and body parts sketched in the margins. Even the ones that weren't doodled on had odd symbols and formulae worked on them. Howell wasn't pleased with the result. He stacked them and waited for the faint moaning of the teenager next door to end before Howell opened his own door. He crept down the stairs, noticing new fabric covering Sophie's nook. A brief feeling of hurt hit him before he remembered how annoyed he was with her and her whole family. Howell walked confidently toward Calcifer and tossed him the stack of notes.

“Yum,” the fire crackled. “Hey, these are potent!”

“They should be,” Howell answered without looking at him. The new curtain was a nice print. It reminded him of the sheets on his own bed. His brow furrowed as a new and sharper anger hit him. “Sophie!” He strode toward her sleeping area. In the past when Calcifer held his heart, he also absorbed excess emotions, devouring them like he did anything else. Now anger flowed through Howell's body, his mind. It flushed out all normal thought and he wasn't sure how to release it. Hands formed into fists and he tore the drapes down. The sound of the curtain rings clinking to the ground resounded in the quiet room. Howell panted with anger, towering over her in his rage as she stopped moving, her brush stilled over her ginger hair. “Get up to my bed,” he said, his voice low, the barely restrained rage audible in it. Doors opened upstairs with two loud bangs.

“Howl, cut it out!” Calcifer called. “Don't make me come up there!” The fire demon could burn the house down if he touched wooden floors or beams without controlling his temperature. A part of Howell's mind noted this, but the rest was burning with his own anger and possessiveness. He stared down at Sophie who shivered; her eyes were wide but she didn't make any attempt to do as he said. Calcifer continued to taunt, “C'mon, you coward, leave her alone. Pick on someone your own size!”

Howell spun at that, danger flashing in his eyes. Electricity crackled between his hands, power words formed in his mind and throat. He stared hard at the orange flames that ran like a torrent up the chimney. Good memories of Calcifer danced in the fire and Howell was able to regain control. Slowly at first, but then the danger had passed. He shook his head, a small laugh falling weakly out of his mouth. “Thanks, Cal.” The demon sighed audibly and settled back into the hearth, his color normal again. Howell strode to the stairs, unable to acknowledge Sophie or his ruined sheets. He passed Michael on the landing, mouth open, moving but unable to ask the questions he wanted to. Howell managed not to slam his door through an act of will, though he really, really wanted to.

The only other woman to have stirred this much anger was the Witch of the Waste and then it had been on purpose, well her purposes anyway.

He'd been watching her all evening and she was well aware of it. It was a costume ball at the vacation home of a friend from Kingsbury. Everyone was dressed outrageously, but she flaunted all tradition. Only magic could've held that Rashputian dancer's dress on her tall frame. Jewels barely hid delicate skin under a sheer fabric top and little was left to the imagination under the slits in the skirts either. Scandalous certainly, in quiet, modest Ingary. Anywhere else in Ingary, that was. In the resort town of Lakesley, or certain social circles there, the stiff rules and morals were pushed aside in a frenzy of flesh and fun. Howell felt right at home. At home enough to stare blatantly at his host's lover and the charms she had drawn along her back and chest, hands and hips. They were rendered with a master's touch and accentuated every curve and muscle. His friend was a hedgerow wizard, a very successful one and Howell wished him every happiness... but this woman? She was out of his league. A witch clearly, but Howell had never met her or even heard of her before, he was sure of that. She'd introduced herself to him when he arrived, dressed modestly in a tuxedo. Here in Ingary, that qualified as a strange costume and she'd commented on it, but somehow her name fled him almost as soon as it was spoken.

That was a warning flag, but Howell didn't notice anything at the time except for her flaming red hair and haughty expression. Well, both were a bit higher than he was looking, truth be told, but he took all of her in over the course of the party. A hand on his ass tore his attention away from her dancing. Howell reached around and took the offending hand firmly in his. “Pendragon! You blond minx,” the cheery voice of his friend, Rollo was unaffected by the crushing squeeze Howell gave his hand before returning it. He wore a silk shirt, longer and more ornate than the typical smocks of Ingary workmen, with gauzy trousers underneath. “So, what do you think of her? Am I the luckiest wizard in the world?” They both watched her controlled writhing. It was hard to say if the band was under her spell or she was under theirs, so complete was the connection between the witch and the music.

Howell shook his head, “She's something, Rollo.” He couldn't tell his friend that, as a couple they were like a child and a jungle python. Rollo had been a student of Mrs. Pentstommen a few years before Howell came to Ingary and he'd been very helpful and a lot of fun. He owed Rollo, but couldn't find the words to warn him.

“Oh, no need for the ugly face you loser. I found her first, fair and square. I've been feeling the need to settle down.” He cracked a rogue's grin, eyes hidden by unruly red hair magically dyed to match his girlfriend's. “Maybe just three or four lovers on the side!” He nudged Howell's ribs. “Room for you there, of course. Or you could take home a consolation prize?” He gestured to the groups of women along the sides of the dance floor. Several of them were quite lovely, but they were all eclipsed by the mysterious witch who was finishing up her erotic movements with a crescendo that shook the walls.

Howell wanted her. He wanted her the way he'd never wanted any of his other “true loves.” Another red flag ignored. The ballroom was thick with magic, but that was to be expected when wizards, witches and their lovers were gathered at Rollo's. Beauty spells, love powders and misdirection charms abounded. Nothing stood out for Howell except her. She seemed to have sensed the effect she had on him because she came straight off the dance area, ignoring the shocked, but polite applause that followed her dance, and stood directly in front of Howell. He shifted guiltily his trousers just a bit too tight to hide his interest but his friend was oblivious, lavishing compliments on her that she completely ignored.

“Wizard Pendragon,” she smiled, putting her whole face into the effort.

“You are so hot!” Howell smiled in return, then remembering his manners, “Er, you must be hot, would you like a drink?”

She laughed like a million little wind chimes and reached her hand to Rollo, who stood as a dog next to his master. A drink appeared in his hand, a fizzy drink with pink foam running down the sides. She took it, giving Rollo a peck on the cheek. Howell knew power when he saw it and it made him want her even more. Her lips curled and she leaned forward, allowing him a closer look at her chest.

“I like you. You have talent. But you'll have to do better than that. You have to court me properly. Come back tomorrow night and bring me gifts. Treat me like you do other girls.” She effectively dismissed him, turning now to Rollo. “I'm tired. Stay up for the orgy if you like, but I'm going to bed.”

Rollo waved and winked at Howell as they left. It looked like they were dressed to be a matched set, but Howell couldn't shake the stomach clenching feeling that they were all wrong. She was meant to be his.

Looking around he could see no reason to stay and made his way out. In the main foyer there was a large fireplace with a painting of magical creatures cavorting in carnal pleasure and Howell stopped to look at it before he realized that he was being watched. He shook his head to clear it and realized there was a fire demon appraising him. Howell usually took care not to frown, lest wrinkles set in before their time, but he did so now. Another fire demon? He'd never marked Rollo as powerful enough to control a demon, much less contract with one. There were mages who dealt mainly in small spells, herbs and the like and then there were more powerful wizards like himself. Howell didn't disrespect the less powerful, but he did know their limitations. Men have done dumber things for love, he supposed and he had a similar contract, so who was he to judge? Worry set in though and he left, knowing better than try to engage the demon in conversation. Better if it didn't know he saw it.

He made it back to the dingy inn. Howell would've liked to stay at a better place, but he'd spent all of his money on food and wood for Michael and Calcifer, so he had to live 'on the economy' as it were. There were whores who made their business at this resort town inn and he exchanged health services for lodgings. Had he less pride, he could have stayed at a friend's, but he didn't want to be seen as unsuccessful in business. Who would hire a wizard who wasn't good enough to pay his own way? Which brought him to his next dilemma, what to get the witch who had everything? He waved at the madam, inquired politely into the health of the ladies in her employ and went to bed, alone.

By morning he was livid! Him, charmed! By noon he was amused. Him? Charmed? By afternoon he was sanguine and by evening he had a plan. It wasn't a smart plan, like running away, but the risk was small and he felt he owed it to Rollo to check this witch out again. This time she couldn't catch him unaware. He'd feel out her power and warn his friend before splitting.

Stopping outside the inn's trash pile, he forced some of the scraggly flowers to produce beautiful blooms and gathered a bouquet together. Howell picked up a few beetles from the ground and transformed them into jewels. These he attached to ribbons and wound them around the flowers. He admired his handiwork and moved on whistling. Courting on a budget.

When the young serving boy opened the door, Howell flashed a big grin. “Is Wizard Rollo home?”

The boy nodded his head, but his eyes were furtive. “Yessir, he's here sir,” he whispered. “But she asked to see you first.” Howell nodded and entered the foyer. He put his hands up to the fire, and only when he felt honest heat did he dare to check it out. No fire demon this time. Had he imagined that last night? Part of the glamour, perhaps?

Howell's stomach lurched as soon as she walked into the room, making an entrance through the archway. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her! Magic? All thoughts fled from his head as her odd green eyes met his. She was stunning in a dressing robe and very little else. Her red hair was piled on her head, curls dangling here and there and her skin glowed faintly, the charms painted on her hadn't faded and the contrast added an exotic touch. Touch... Howell no sooner thought the word than put it into action. She laughed as his desperate hands pushed the robe from her shoulders. Her throaty laugh grew louder when his mouth joined his hands, exploring her neck while he caressed her back, her ass. He pulled her body tight to his and she teased his eagerness. “You've dropped my gifts,” she said. He felt like some sort of cartoon caveman and fought to control his lust long enough to retrieve the flowers and jewels.

She stepped back from him, her body almost bare except for the strange markings and the jewels that clung to her nipples and bellybutton. Howell found his face at the height of her cunt when he went to his knees. The flowers almost stayed forgotten, but she pushed them into his hand with a slippered foot. “Uh,” he said stupidly. She practically had to wipe the drool from his chin as she leaned over to help him up.

“For me?” There was an almost innocent delight in her voice. Almost. Howell just nodded dumbly and handed them over. “Oooh, look at the lovely jewels! I love them. Thank you. Why don't you follow me... unless you want to fuck right here?”

That sounded like the best idea ever, but she turned and began walking away so Howell guessed it must have been rhetorical. He followed, each step getting more and more painful, as he watched the finely sculpted ass shake in front of him. Ingary fashion was not kind to hard ons.

She led him into a large room. Like most wizard homes, this one wasn't what it appeared from the outside. Rollo's family was wealthy and moderately talented all down the line, but they had the good sense to always hire the current Royal Magician to alter their homes to their pleasure. Where Howell liked his home small, they had gone for grandeur. There was a large bed that would've taken up the whole of Howell's room. The bed was well used, as its rumpled sheets attested. Rollo must've decorated the room himself as it had a decadent, but coordinated look. There were modesty screens for changing and cushions scattered here and there. A large roaring fire kept the room heated and the mirrored candles around the room reinforced the warm feeling. Howell stared at the fire for a moment. Something was important about that dancing blue flame, but he couldn't work out what it was due to the breasts that moved in front of him.

He moaned and his knees weakened as she removed the jeweled coverings seconds before his hands reached them. She laughed and walked backwards, making him follow until she could go no further due to the bed. “Those pants look so uncomfortable. Here, let me help you.” The witch reached her hands toward the laces, but Howell's patience was at an end. He converted his left hand to a claw and ripped the fabric along one side. He had no time for coy games and sighed as his cock gained its freedom. A moan echoed from elsewhere in the room and Howell briefly thought that was odd, but his attention returned to the woman in front of him. His claw tore front of his shirt before he pushed her backward and fell on top of her. She ripped the fabric further, pulling it off him and discarding the rags on the floor.

Howell tended to court young ladies, blushing virgins and he strove to give them a first time that was gentle, loving and satisfying. With prostitutes, he liked a professional relationship. Tell them what you want and let them satisfy you. If they orgasmed or faked it well, he was pleased, but that wasn't what he was paying for. This was somewhere in between. She began to instruct him in what she wanted and Howell strove to provide it though all he really wanted was to fuck her brains out. “No,” she took his claw in her hand, smoothing it back into a hand and placing that on one breast. “I like a strong hand. You can pull... yes, like that,” she said and once he was getting her nipple to harden, she pulled his face to her other breast. “Run your tongue around, then suckle like a babe. Yes, mmm, good.” She ground her hips against his thigh. About time! He jammed his dick against her. “No. No, slow down.” She moved her hand and he obeyed, pulling his hips back. Her hand then started to run through his hair, 'rewarding' him though he really wished it would go lower.

Howell's mind began to cloud as his tongue pulled on her taut breast. Her breathing responded to his attention, though a lovebite earned him a long moan and finally her hands began to roam his body. Howell took that as his cue. After giving both of her breasts a squeeze, he arched away from her. She praised his body with her eyes and her hands, finally reaching for his aching dick. The feeling of her smooth hands proved too exciting and Howell didn't want her to think he was a schoolboy. He took a deep breath and shook his head, first pushing her arms out of the way, then lifting up her legs and pushing her knees outward. Howell slid partway off the bed to get a good look at her curls of red hair. She watched him, almost warily until he lowered his head, tongue outstretched, to find her clitoris. She arched away when he gently teased it.

“Harder,” she panted and he rubbed his tongue against the nub of skin as his hands parted her thighs to get the skin to stretch, revealing more to his eager mouth. One of her hands reached for his and guided it up to her mouth. Her lips took his index finger and she sucked on it as if it were a cock, complete with flicks of her tongue along the sensitive finger pad at the tip. It had never felt that good before and he moaned into her, moving his tongue to the soft lips of her labia, his free hand taking over the rhythm on her clit. She worked more of his fingers into her mouth, wetting them thoroughly. He felt her muscles begin to quiver as his tongue moved around the entrance to her vagina. Suddenly his fingers were chilling in the warm air and her hand moved them down to join the others working her labia.

“Oh, yeah,” she purred. “In, in.” Her body moved aggressively when he put one finger in and she cried out. The moist skin slid in the fluids of her body and he put another finger in gently. “More! All of it!” Howell's fingers were slender, but long and he worked them slowly until she moved against him, forcing them in deeper. He watched her face, concerned at the grimace she made when he rubbed her clitoris with his fist inside her. “Deeper! More,” her voice commanded again, hoarser and darker this time. Her hips moved wildly against him and he imitated lovemaking with his hand moving to the rhythm of her movements. “Mmm, tongue,” she opened her eyes, communicating with them what her voice seemed unable to. He bent again to his task, harder to do with her body bucking wildly under him, so his other hand grabbed under her thigh and up to her waist, holding her, calming her slightly as he fist fucked her until she screamed. It was mostly academic to him, but he watched his hand move in and out, a proxy for the part of him that throbbed to replace it. Her body shuddered and she tapped his shoulder, then patted his head. “Good,” she said and with some effort he was able to ease out his wet fingers. She pulled his hand up and licked it, humming as she cleaned his palm, then each finger. “Fabulous, now you may do whatever you want.” She laid back, eyes closed, arms sprawled over her head; her red hair looking almost bloody against the pale silk sheets.

Howell nodded to himself, his need rising within. It wasn't a pretty thing, this need. It wanted to see her panting more, screaming more and it was ready except for one thing. Even as mindless as he felt, he reached a hand through a well worn path into a little pharmacy in Wales where an old chemist would find yet another few condoms missing from the locked case come morning. Once he'd settled his sheath in place, he raised her thighs so that her legs stretched up to his shoulders. She looked at him, her eyes seemed tired somehow. It took a little of his enjoyment away to notice how sad her eyes looked, so he closed his and plunged into her body. The warmth, the friction, it was like an old friend, but their foreplay has stretched her and his pleasure was reduced, despite the speed of his thrusts. She moaned, but he suspected she was trying to be polite.

Fuck that, he thought along with several other English and Welsh curses. Howell pulled out, to her apparent shock, and slapped her ass with the flat of his hand. “Ow!” She looked a bit indignant, but changed her tone when he followed the slap by moving her legs and giving her stinging bum a wide mouthed bite. She growled at him, twisting her body so she could look at him. With his arms controlling her legs, he turned her fully over.

“Oh,” she said, getting onto all fours and handing Howell a half empty jar of scented lubricant. He emptied the jar further and moved her the way he wanted. Howell didn't bother with foreplay, plunging into her tightness, she gasped as her body tried to accept his size, but he didn't wait for her. This was no virgin and he enjoyed how quickly she responded to his thrusts, screaming and pulling at the sheets as his hands moved back to her clitoris. The witch's body moved and pushed at his and even through the latex condom, her muscles generated the tight heat he craved. Alternately, she tried every trick to get him to come, moaning like a porn star, pulling at his balls, rubbing his inner thighs, even clawing at his hips with hands more animal than human, but he kept her to his rhythm and rode her until sweat soaked them both. When his body began to tighten, he moved his hands along her chest, back and ass. She moaned and moved harder against him, pushing him back, changing the angle, allowing him even deeper access. Her body shook with need. Howell grabbed at her blindly, trying to fight the thrill, but feeling it overtake him from his toes all the way to his scalp. With a cry and several more thrusts, he came.

“Oh God,” he said, arching back so that his dick was the only point of contact he had with her. She slid forward, her muscles pushing him out as she gasped for air. The bed was large enough for two people to lay side by side and never touch, so Howell let his body fall to the side, the hard mattress giving in to his body. Together they formed a V shape and both were still for several minutes. Howell felt like he should apologize. He'd never taken a woman that way except when he paid. His lips couldn't form the words, so he rested instead, remembering his condom when it began to get uncomfortable on his wrinkled penis. In the magical community, there's an odd attitude toward one's body and its produce. A protective attitude would be the best description and Howell took care to seal the condom and portal it to his home and the best incinerator he could think of. He knew it annoyed Calcifer to burn the latex, but the demon and the wizard both agreed long ago that it was better safe than cursed due to someone getting a hold of it. Curses were far more potent when sexual fluids were used. Not that any good wizard would use curses, of course, but there were disreputable ones, like the Witch of the Waste, who did. Howell didn't want some jilted girl to take a sample to her and get him slapped with a dick withering spell, so he took care of himself.

The Witch rolled over, looking at him, an evil cast to her eyes. “Rollo,” she said and smiled as if she'd just eaten a piece of candy. Howell wasn't sure she was saying the name for his benefit or not, but the magnitude of his transgression began to occur to him now that the heat of the moment had passed. His host, his friend had expressed an almost honest love for this woman. And Howell... here under his own roof? In his own bed? As horror began to show on his face, Howell heard the sound of shuffling and moaning coming from behind the dressing screen. A naked man, his head down, red hair covering his eyes, his hands and feet loosely bound with leather ties walked slowly out. Howell sprang up, his hand grabbing a pillow to cover himself as his brain began trying to find a way to explain this away before the Witch slid her body up behind his. “Stay. He wanted this, didn't you, Rollo?”

As dejected and defeated a look as Howell had ever seen graced Rollo's face as he nodded. It was then that he dared to look at his friend's groin, the upraised dick was purple and a ribbon ran around the base of the shaft and was lost in the dark hair around his scrotum. Howell winced to see it and his friend's slow progress toward them began to take on a horror of its own. Howell's brain rebelled, shaking off the remnants of the charms she'd place on him. Again, he realize! Was she really that powerful? How much of the lust had been his own and how much did she generate? He wanted answers, but not as much as he wanted to get the hell out of there. She put her arms around his waist like a band of iron and there he stood immobile and disgusted.

Howell's clothes were shredded and a degraded Rollo was almost to the bed. Shit! The fire spit and crackled loudly and Howell looked at it out of reflex. At first he thought Calcifer had come to laugh at him, but his eyes widened involuntarily as he recognized the fire demon he'd seen last night staring at him and licking its non-existent lips slowly. He'd seen Calcifer do that once, while Howell was preparing an animal before a spell. Crap. It creeped him then, but this time the demon seemed to be staring directly at him.

“Don't leave yet, child. The party's just getting started,” the fire hissed. It made no sense that it had a woman's voice. As stars they have no gender, but once connected with a wizard as intimately as the bonding required, they took on the same gender traits as their wizard. He remembered exotic green eyes and realized with a start that the demon wasn't Rollo's. Who the hell was she? There weren't many witches or wizards at his level and most of those had been trained by Mrs. Pentstemmon. He would've known of them, even if he hadn't met them. Oh Shit...

The Witch of the Waste nuzzled her head into his back. He still held the pillow uselessly. Fear, shame and horror are strong emotions and Howell felt them ebb away. As he was coming to his senses, he remembered why. “Calcifer,” he said. “I need some help here.” Power flooded into him. Howell pulled her arms off of him, to her evident surprise, and bowed to his friend.

“Sorry Rollo,” he said and he did mean it. “But it looks like you've got even bigger problems than I thought here.” He wanted to help, but looking out for himself was the highest priority.

With a flick of his hand, Howell converted to an energy pulse and tore off in a blaze of blue light. He warped through wood and plaster, bursting out into the darkness. The Witch screamed and soon two lights were crossing the sky. Howell called up dark clouds, zigging and zagging in his race to get home. The Witch's laughter roared through the night and hit him as strongly as if she'd punched him. Wavelengths, he thought and dropped out of the dark clouds, hitting plowed furrows behind a farm house. The ensuing bang disrupted her pulse and Howell transfigured into a puma before bounding toward the woods surrounding the fields. The big cat spit out dirt as he heard another bang. Howell watched to see what form she would take. He had to admit that this was, in its own way, fun. Sex and this? If he didn't know she was evil, she'd be his perfect date.

As he was grooming a front paw, hackles began to rise and Howell turned to the edge of the trees. A very human and very naked Witch began to move, her dance was just as sinuous, just as entrancing as it had been last night, but the effect was lost on him. He knew who she was; he had Calcifer's power backing his own and he had already slept with her. Howell considered that last factor. There was generally no attraction for him once he'd had someone and if her charms reflected and exaggerated existing desire rather than generating its own, she wouldn't have anything to work with. Still, she didn't have to know that. He applauded her economical use of magic. He padded toward her hesitantly, as if fighting a strong pull. The red haired beauty laughed lustily, but her voice now had an edge to it.

“So you have a fire demon as well? We could do great things together. No one leaves me, Wizard Howl,” she said. “Ever.” She gestured with her hands, trying to pull him to her with her will. Howell felt a spell try and rope him in. This was an improvement from earlier. If he could feel it, he could fight it. He continued toward her, keeping his form feline, his eyes meeting hers without anger. “You look good as a pussy,” she taunted. “We might have to play with that.” As soon as he neared her, Howell struck, five claws digging through her flesh and a jaw full of angry teeth following soon after. He prided himself as a lover, not a fighter, but he struck with anger on his friend's behalf. She fell back kicking and scrambling. Blood splattered the leaves and sticks that made her bed on the forest floor. He would've attacked again if he hadn't pulled back to see not the young woman he'd been seduced by, but an aged crone; her white hair tangled in the bloody leaves. Howell took a step away, his bloody paw raised, but shaking.

“Such trouble you are!” The voice came from the witch, but it was the fire demon's grating cackle. He backed away again. “Just when I had her the way I wanted! Do you know how hard it is to get the tattoos just right?” Now Howell started to back up in earnest, running away from the dying woman as her jaw, most probably dislocated, continued to move with the demon's voice. Just as he turned, he saw the witch rise up as if a puppet on a string. He didn't want to know any more than that.

By morning he was coming up to his own door and Calcifer opened it to let the tired cat slink in. Howell made himself crawl up the steps, throwing his now human body, poorly clad in stolen farmer's clothes, down in front of the hearth. “Dammit, Cal.” The wizard fought the darkness for a few more moments.

“I know,” the fire demon said. “I know.”

Michael came down the stairs in his over sized pajamas. “Is he home safe?”

“Not sure about safe,” Howell replied.

“What happened?” Michael's innocent face kept Calcifer from making the comment he wanted to and Howell was too tired.

“Help me to bed,” Howell said. “Answers later.” The young boy rushed to help him as Howell pushed himself up to his knees.

“Howl just courted the Witch of the Waste,” Calcifer said with a burp of foul black smoke. “And she's dying to see him again!”

“Trouble?” Michael asked Howell. The wizard nodded and then collapsed his weight against the teen and let himself be dragged up the stairs.

Howell shook himself from the memory and remade his bed with spare sheets and settled down with tears in his eyes. He rocked slightly, holding back the flood that threatened. He smiled sadly as he remembered Michael back before he'd hit puberty. Unless the boy was worn out, Michael used to cry most nights until sleep came. How he'd hated that sound. Howell could relate now that he had his heart back. His own parents died when he was starting university. He knew that was one reason he'd saved Calcifer. The little star seemed so afraid to die and Howell had the ability to do something about it. Their loss only a few years old, but with Calcifer by his side, pain and all other emotions dulled.

On his own now, a new pain flooded his system and he was trapped with it. He'd gotten out of control. Forget scaring Sophie, he could've hurt her! He clutched a pillow over his head and barely heard the soft knocking at his door. Howell sat up, setting the pillow down. He felt miserable, but a sudden surge of vanity forbade him to be seen as such.

“Howl?” Her voice was as soft as a whisper, but it sounded as sad as his own.

“Go away,” he said, his voice calm and even. The last thing he wanted to see was that fear in her eyes, ever again.

The door opened cautiously. He could have locked it, magically shielded it; he could've kept her out any number of ways. “You told me to come up, so which is it?” She stood, hands on her hips, her face hard to read.

He let some of the pain he felt come out in a raspy, “Come. Stay. Please, Sophie.” Seeing her now, Howell was sure he would die if he didn't get his arms around her. She closed the door and turned back to him. Her white shift was modestly buttoned up to its peak, a look that women rarely wore as the collar fell partly open over their outer gown in the day and at bedtime it was fully open to be less restrictive. To Howell it was beautiful, a balance between her love for him and her fear. Fear that she'd overcome to be with him. She walked to the side of his bed and he moved to make space. Perhaps he could do with less on his bed. He'd pushed his stuffed animals and trinkets off yesterday, but he'd have to show her he could compromise. Maybe the bedding was a tad excessive. He threw several blankets and a pillow to the floor.

Sophie hesitated when she saw he was only in an Ingary silk shirt and English boxers. Considering that was a nod to her delicate senses, Howell decided to draw the line. He answered her look with his arms, pulling her to the fluffy bed without resistance. “I'm so sorry, Sophie,” he crooned into her neck as soon as he was touching her. “I never meant to scare you. I have to learn...” His tears seemed to touch off hers and she clung to him. At some point they both slept, although he couldn't point to when and didn't notice as the candles burned out in their lanterns.