Aftermath

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

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

AFF warning: H solo

000O000

Chapter 6
In which Sophie plays with fire

The day exploded in a brilliance of white pain for Howell Jenkins. For reasons he couldn't remember, he was on a small cot looking up at the underside of a set of stairs. He cradled his head and and would've cried from the sheer discomfort he was in, if that hadn't meant making noise. Even the logs spitting in the fireplace next to him were too loud. His muscles screamed out instead. Certainly there would be a logical reason why he was on this horrible, lumpy mattress? If so he would have to think of it once he'd dealt with his body, which was threatening to empty its contents through any possible exit. Experience had taught him that standing up in such a situation was a foolhardy endeavor, so he rolled to the floor, leading with his face. The fire flared briefly and then went out with a loud hissing noise. Howell didn't care. He focused on getting his tired self to the bathroom as carefully as he could. Medicine, he thought. If he could keep it down, it would make the bad pain go away. His vanity fled at the extent of his pain and he could've been in a house full of girls without caring as he crawled slowly across the floor. As it was, there were no witnesses to the result of distilled spirits on his system. It was only once he had made his destination and dealt with the deluge of bodily functions that he realized fully what no fire meant. Freezing cold water streamed down on his face, bringing with it the sharp tang of reality. Howell gasped and struggled for breath from the shock.

He stepped out of the path of the shower head, cold water still spraying on his thigh. “V-v-very fun-n-ny, C-calcifer,” he said, shivering uncontrollably. “C-can I get some hot water n-now?” He hugged himself and considered giving up. Howell hadn't had a bath last night nor could he remember a shower the previous morning. He ran a hand along the stubble on his chin. Nah, he answered himself. “Calcifer?” There was no fire demon and no hot shower. His mind jump started and he set some portion of it to figure out how to get hot water on demand whenever Calcifer was gallivanting about. Technology tended to fail in the presence of magic and his home would kill any of the heaters from Wales, so the solution needed to be found using evocation spells like Calcifer did.

Still, he needed to get clean right now and the painkillers were kicking in, so Howell forced himself to imagine mountain waterfalls as he scrubbed off the dirt and scum of the day before. When he was done, he looked over the ruined beauty spells on the shelf. That woman didn't know her own power, he thought. Well aren't you supposed to teach her? He asked himself. Hm. Howell looked at his reflection in the large mirror. A test of the taps gave hot water again. Those roots were definitely showing, he mused. The pain and guilt over Mrs. Pentstemmon was no less, but Howell was done with black. Bravely, he reached for the packet labeled 'Hair.'

Emerging blond and mostly human after a full two hours, Howell caught just a few words of the conversation Sophie and Calcifer were having at the hearth. A frown crossed his brow, 'jealousy?' Were they speaking of him? What happened last night? His last memory was of Calcifer and the prostitute. Dear God, Howell thought, paling. Don't let him have told her about that! He'd made Calcifer promise before they even got to the inn that he wouldn't ever speak of brothels, not with her. Howell was in enough trouble for threatening the Prince.

Well, he thought with a bit of a laugh, a new day, a new set of mistakes to make. “Good morning Sophie, Cal.” They nodded to him. Sophie picked up some sewing and Calcifer reached for another log. Their actions were a bit too calculated, too coordinated for his comfort. Howell walked over to the workbench, pleased to see a cloth draped over Michael's mirror. Someone was thinking. “I'd like to start with your training, Sophie.” He looked to see her reaction. It was muted, to say the least. Her beautiful gray eyes looked between him and the fire.

Calcifer cleared his throat. “Well, we were trying to plan a little outing ourselves.”

Howell kept his face deliberately blank, but felt his gut twist. Maybe he was just a tad jealous. Would it be the two of them? “Where's Michael?”

Sophie was the first to talk, but she and Calcifer both replied that he had run to Cesari's to get supplies for a picnic lunch. Sophie added that they had opened the flower shop early and had good trade, but she closed it for the rest of the day. The look in her eye made him feel quite small, as if he was a shop manager checking up on his lazy employees. Unfair! He hadn't even asked about that. He waved a hand, dismissing it. Howell moved some papers around on the workbench and opened a few drawers to check for supplies. He'd start her off simple and try to explain things better than he did for Michael.

Howell didn't consider himself a great teacher, like Mrs. Pentstemmon, but he could size up another person's talents well enough. Michael had talent and perseverance; he would grow up to be a serviceable wizard. Sophie, if he pushed his emotional feelings out of the way, had great potential. He probably wasn't the right teacher for her, but there wasn't anyone else he knew or trusted that was. Howell felt a familiar guilt for not living up to his own potential, for using his magic for pleasure rather than putting it into service, like Ben had. That would change, had changed, but the guilt remained. Maybe because Mrs. Pentstemmon hadn't lived to see it and that too was his fault? Howell felt a swell of grief and turned so that Calcifer and Sophie couldn't see, if they had been looking his way, which, he noticed from the corner of his eye, they weren't. Perhaps he'd gone back to blond too soon? His sister once told him that grief was like an ocean, vast and placid much of the time, but likely to blindside you in waves. In the past few days, he'd felt extremes of emotion. Briefly, he longed for the contract again. No, he told himself, you just have to deal with it, grow up. Surreptitiously, he wiped his eyes.

“Well,” Howell said, drawing attention back to himself. “I think we can get in a first lesson before you all go out.”

Sophie looked confused for a moment before putting away her project and walking toward the bench. “I'm not sure--”

“This is no time for doubts. First thing is to clear your mind of negativity as best you can. You may want to take notes. This is a very simple lesson, but it's basic to the magic I can teach you.” Howell sorted out several small piles of herbs and pulled a small brazier from under some papers.

Sophie looked like she was trying not to interrupt, but as soon as he stopped talking she began with her questions, “Isn't this a spell like Michael's? Shouldn't I look at it first?”

“No, this is one I teach you,” Howell said. “If I may?” He looked at her, amused by her begrudging nod. “Fine. Here is a pinch of pennyroyal; be careful of this if the spell to follow is related to fertility, but it's fine as a base for most other spells. You can build the herbs up in the pan if the metal's cool or pile them together on a paper to add all together. It's not as important to this spell, the way it will be to other ones.”

She was getting an annoyed look on her face. “Why are you making this so difficult? Can't you speak plainly?”

Howell took this affront with patience. In the practice of magic, not much could disrupt him. “Then a pinch each from these others: pine, violet, coltsfoot and mountain columbine, respectively.” He took a pinch from each and tossed them into the brazier. Just to be showy, he lit the coals by calling a flame to his index finger. He blew softly into the firebox and watched as the herbs blackened. “Now add a touch of your will to it,” as he spoke, the herbs went from charring into a burst of fragrant fire, disappearing into smoke.

Sophie snorted. “And other than stinking, what purpose does it serve?”

“Other than being your first lesson, you mean?” He looked at her arched brow and sighed. He'd promised himself he'd explain everything. “This is a preliminary spell. It serves no functions other than to purify the area the next spell will be performed in and to focus your will to the task at hand.” The wisps of smoke dissolved in a purple cloud and he waved that away. “Would you like to try your hand?” He hadn't meant for it to sound like a challenge, but she clearly took it that way. He sighed and backed away. When he looked to the fireplace, Calcifer was gone, but the door to the yard opened and as she was pondering the ingredients, the fire demon entered in his human guise. He and Howell nodded, neither one wanting to disturb Sophie as she looked over the arrangement of herbs. The wizard's quick eye caught her reaching for the first ingredient and he cautioned her, “Just a pinch, Sophie.”

“I know how to cook, Howl.”

“Of course, darling, and I'm delighted you do.” He briefly patted his stomach, which had gained almost a full eighth of an inch since she moved in. “But you need to be careful, even with a simple spell.” His words seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect for she tossed the next few herbs directly into the hot brazier. “No!” He reached for her hand, but was too late.

“Now burn, darn you,” she said to the pan. It responded with enthusiasm, emitting large quantities of flame and a thick choking smoke. The door opened, sending whirls of air moving the smoke all about, effectively blinding everyone in the room, everyone except Howell. He had prepared for any calamity, this being her first lesson. Howell took hold of her hand as she coughed. “Stop,” she hacked the words out, “laughing,” -cough-”at me.”

Howell tried, but she looked like a raccoon, with smudges all around her eyes and seeing Michael and Calcifer blundering about in the mess made him laugh even harder. He pulled her close, rationalizing that it was to give her the clean air inside his protection spell, but knowing it was just to hold her tight. She breathed in gasping lung fulls before looking up at him. He wiped a mirth induced tear from his eyes and kissed her sooty nose. Without thinking, she giggled and reached up to rub the black from his lips. They locked eyes and his heart gave a thump of happiness. “You can clean this up, can't you?” she asked, though it was almost a statement rather than question. There was a note of awe in her voice that Howell approved of. Without answering, he directed the smoke up through the chimneys and out the still open door. She pushed away from him grumbling, “Show off.”

Howell let her go and brushed the dark smears off of his suit as best he could. Though it felt like an eternity ago, Michael had mentioned only last week that Howell needed new clothes and, looking down, he was inclined to agree. He'd have to beg for his own money, of course. Michael was becoming too cunning at managing their finances and he doubted Sophie would be any freer. He'd not seen the bag of money from the King since he snuck a few coins out for last night. Howell could tear the place apart to find their hiding places, but he suspected they were doing the right thing.

Sophie stood glaring at the brazier and Calcifer came up to Howell. “Nothing by halves?”

Howell nodded. He looked at the streaks on Calcifer's face and clothes. “Are you going to wash up?”

Calcifer shuddered. The thought of water all over him seemed to be a bit much. Howell laughed and tried to brush the clothes, but Calcifer stepped away. He held up a hand and smiled. “Watch this,” he said. He closed his eyes and moved his right hand along his face, from his green curls to his chin the dirt disappeared. He looked for Howell's reaction, like a child who'd ridden a bicycle without training wheels. Howell was speechless. If the Witch's fire demon could've wielded her magic that effortlessly, they'd all be dead. As it was, she'd managed some pretty impressive stuff, like hiding her core in the wooden guitar without burning the thing, but it took so much out of her that she was unable to mount a real challenge to Howell at the end.

“Cal, that's great!” As Calcifer cleaned himself, the wizard turned to see Sophie, still sooty and annoyed, trying to do the spell again. “No,” Howell said, hastily. “Please, I'll need to clean that. You've done enough damage for one go.”

Sophie seemed to be trying on emotions for a few seconds, by turns chagrined and then angry. Howell raised an eyebrow in silent challenge for her to turn this into his fault. When she couldn't she deflated somewhat and decided to retire to the bathroom, muttering that Calcifer could wait on his picnic. Michael managed to clean off the packages he was carrying and ask Howell what had happened.

“The usual. Our Sophie attempted to burn down my home,” he answered.

Calcifer added his own spin, “The great Teacher is one to talk.”

Howell looked hurt. “Well I did try!”

Michael moved his boxes to the table. “Oh, before I forget, Martha said to let Sophie know her mum's coming round here later to deliver her ring back. Suliman's seeing to it.”

Howell looked between the mirror and the boy. “Really? Well that's one less thing to worry about.” He ran his hand through his hair. How long to wait, he wondered, before the wedding? It was clear from this incident that her family didn't approve of him, but surely they'd want him to make an honest woman of her at some point? Maybe not. You never could tell with those Hatters.

The object of his thoughts emerged from the bathroom mostly clean. There were some streaks of red along her dress, but she'd scrubbed the rest away. She held the fabric away from herself. Howell walked toward her, hoping to convince her to remove the dress, but Calcifer reached her quicker.

“Allow me,” he offered and must've made some sort of face, because Sophie laughed and pushed at him slightly, but allowed him to work his cleaning trick on the stains.

“Are we going?” Michael called to the room in general. “I'm hungry.”

“Of course,” Sophie said, almost jumping away from Calcifer. “Let me get a blanket.” She smiled and hummed as she gathered a bundle of things.

Howell suddenly felt quite left out of their circle. He sat at the table and sighed dramatically, but they didn't notice as they gathered a hamper with the packages and Sophie's things. Calcifer and Michael lifted everything and Sophie turned to Howell before they left. “You can come with us, you know.”

“That's hardly an invitation,” he complained.

“Well it's the only one you get.” Sophie put her hands on her hips. “And it's better than you deserve.”

Michael stopped in the doorway, causing the basket to fall as Calcifer was jerked backwards. Sophie hurried them both along with her hands as Howell sat there wondering what he'd done to get her riled up. Well, aside from the spell, which he was not taking the blame for, what had he done? That she knew about? His small conscience, which had been getting quite a workout since her arrival, reminded him of all the things he'd done that she didn't yet know about. He wanted to follow but, still smarting from her attitude, he shouted, “Someone has to stay here and clean up now that I don't have a cleaning woman anymore!”

“Suit yourself,” she sniffed and was gone.


Summer in Ingary was much like summer in Wales, one reason Howell had settled here instead of in any of the other nations in this world. Still, even Wales had nasty hot days. Today it was Ingary's turn to melt. Being closer to the Wastes probably didn't help. A thought had been percolating in Howell's brain for days now. It sat politely on the edge of his awareness, but as he'd stripped off his jacket and even his shirt in the yard, the idea hit him full force. The castle needed more mobility. It all hinged on Calcifer, of course, but the idea of moving quickly to a cooler clime was tantalizing Howell. He kicked a scrap of alloyed metal. It was about as large as a car bonnet, so he ought not to have kicked it, but the materials he'd been working together made it surprisingly light and he suffered only a stubbed toe rather than a broken foot. “Good,” he murmured to himself as he felt the return of his family. They'd been gone for nearly two and a half hours, not that he'd been counting the minutes or anything. The mindless work he'd been engaged in was soothing to his nerves and he'd quite forgotten how left out he felt. “Quite,” he said to himself and reached for his shirt.

“You really missed a nice afternoon. We saved you some food, though,” Sophie called as she crossed the yard. She stopped and stared as Howell finished slipping his shirt on. He hoped she might come close enough for a kiss, but she looked suddenly like a deer in headlights. Well, he thought, he was pretty sweaty; a bath was in order and with Calcifer finally back...

“I'll just get cleaned up, then,” he said and called for Calcifer to heat up water. “You'd better get inside, Sophie, out of this sun,” he said to her flushed face as she stood in the yard. He took her hand and she didn't resist as he brought her inside and sat her down. Calcifer danced in the fireplace, his flame bouncing between green and blue.

“That was great!” he told Howell and Michael chimed in, “He was too scared to take a swim.”

“Just as well,” Howell said as he walked on to the bathroom. “This model might sink. I've got some ideas, though. We'll all have a nice chat once I'm clean.”

“Mansion door,” Calcifer announced as knocking began. Howell sighed and stood back from the doorway in case he could still make a graceful exit into the bathroom. Michael ran to the door and opened it to the Smith's footman announcing Sophie's stepmother.

“Why the formality, Fanny?” Michael asked once she'd come to the door. She seemed to be squinting into the room, trying to find someone. “Oh, you want Sophie.” Michael said as he backed out of the way, inviting Fanny inside, but the woman kept looking.

“Is he here?” she hissed in a stage whisper.

“Of course,” Sophie replied as she approached the doorway, somewhat aghast and glancing back to Howell. He looked on impassively, wishing he'd been just a bit quicker about getting away. Still, she'd come to return the ring hadn't she?

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith,” he greeted her, walking toward the fire. “Won't you come in?”

“As the spider said to the fly,” she retorted, but did walk up the stairs. The room was cooler than the outside at least, even with Calcifer in the hearth. Sophie pulled out a chair but her stepmother waved a hand as if she wouldn't need it.

Howell bristled. He'd be a good host if it killed him. “You're looking well today. Won't you have a seat?”

“I'm here to give you this, from the Royal Wizard Ben Suliman.” She fished out a suede leather bag and tossed it to him, despite the close distance. He snatched it from the air and pretended to weigh it in his hand. “Oh, it's in there, believe me. He was so concerned for the Prince he could hardly sleep! Who do you think you are, Mr. Howl?”

Anger was rising within him again, but he kept control. Ben was worried, afraid even, that was something! “I'm the Wizard Howl, mentor and current guardian to your daughter,” he said confidently. This caused Sophie to snort, which irritated him. Why was she getting her dander up now? She'd agreed to marry him the day before! Michael brought Fanny a drink as she stood.

“I'm not staying long, only enough to see Ben's directions carried out,” Fanny sniffed, taking a grateful sip of the cool water. “Thank you, Michael, dear.”

“Then please have a seat,” Howell directed. He suddenly wanted a chance to change her mind about him or at the very least get her off his back! “Sophie dear, a shipment of vases arrived this afternoon, but I'm afraid some of them arrived broken. Could you and Michael check how many we've really received?” He waggled a finger behind his back, assuring that the box in the shop would contain several broken vessels before they got there. He needed Fanny alone, or as close to it as possible. Calcifer was a given and he'd never miss this. The fire had the decency and the sense to hide in the logs, however.

Fanny sat reluctantly across from the hearth where Howell leaned one hand on stacked up logs. Sophie and Michael went even more reluctantly into the broom closet that led to the Market Chipping flower shop. Sophie turned around, looking at both of them and admonishing them to behave until she returned. Fanny made a familiar sort of soft snorting noise and Howell nodded. The mood darkened once the peacemakers were gone.

“Well,” Fanny cleared her throat. “What are your intentions regarding my daughter?”

Howell considered telling her the many, many things he intended to do with Sophie once she let him and in fact smiled at the mental images that pressed into his mind, before gathering his wits about him and slithering out of question. “My intentions are all here in the bag.”

She turned her nose up at his answer. “Ben said you were to burn the hair in my presence, just to be sure.”

Howell opened the bag, turning out his ring and looking it over. It was the right ring, he knew that as she entered, but he wanted to keep the moment going. “Have you had a chance to look at this?”

Fanny nodded slowly, as if he was a fool. Of course the way he was feeling she wasn't far from the mark. He continued, “Did you perchance look at the inscription?”

“Yes, it looks like the words of a spell,” she retorted. “You are a wizard, after all.”

“I'm glad someone here remembers.” Howell directed his comment at the fire, which was keeping pretty close to mum. “No, Madam, this isn't a spell, it's Cymraeg or Welsh. That's a language where Wizard Suliman and I are from. He didn't translate it for you?” She stared at him and he couldn't be sure if he was reaching her or not. “It says 'I love you.' There's no evil intent there and there's none in my heart. If anything, the spell she cast on me is stronger than anything I could do to her.” He had to look away from the woman as he remembered being so close to death when Sophie spoke life back into his heart. He hadn't understood it at the time, but that was when he learned to love again.

“I'm not here to be swayed by your words, Wizard. I'm here to watch you burn the hair. Those are his instructions. Will you get on with it?” She sat ramrod straight in her chair, a faint line of sweat along her brow.


Howell would rather have been bathed and fresh for this discussion himself, but there you go. With the Hatter's involved, he lost all control of the situation. “Why do you trust him?” The unspoken addition to that was why she didn't trust Howell? It was the question he'd been working on the most. How had Ben managed to gain their undying admiration? He wasn't Horrible Howl anymore, not really. He'd apologized to several women and he wanted to marry her step daughter. How bad could she think he was?

“Well, Ben didn't court both of my daughters!” She looked fit to be tied and all Howell could think was that Lettie fell for the man who followed at her heels and sniffed her crotch. Would Lettie have felt the same if she'd been cursed due to 'Percival' instead of Sophie? It made him feel just a hair better. Fanny didn't stop there, saying “Two of them at once! Let's go on with you keeping Sophie an old woman, working her fingers to the bone when you should've removed the curse and sent her home! Put her in danger to save you and that demon of yours? I don't call that the behavior of a gentleman! She's a young woman and she deserves better than the likes of you! Then we can move on to the threats you piled up on Ben when he was just trying to help. Plus, she told us you didn't ask her to marry you so much as tell her she was engaged to you.”

That hit hard and Howell recoiled from the sting of the words as Sophie and Michael came back in the room, almost tentatively. Neither one spoke as Howell and Fanny stared each other down. Despite being seated, Fanny shad the upper hand; she raised all three of those stubborn girls, after all. Howell turned to Sophie, her eyes wide. Apparently she hadn't meant for that to get back to him. “Well?” he asked, his voice controlling the anger he felt at having his feelings exposed. He strode toward her. “Well?”

She looked away. Michael behind her seemed to want to disappear back up to the shop, but wasn't able to take his eyes away from the emotional train wreck that Howell felt like he was becoming. Sophie's face showed the stress, but she reverted back to the feisty girl he loved. “Well, what! You haven't asked me anything, so I can't say one way or the other.”

He cracked a smile. As much as he hated being pinned down, she loved to force him out in the open. Howell went down onto one knee in front of her. “Sophie Hatter, will you marry me?” He gazed up at her and began to sweat as she looked from face to face, or fire in Calcifer's case, and didn't answer. From the corner of his eye, Howell saw the fire demon flicker. Was that a shake of his blue head? It was distinct as the demon repeated the gesture a second time.

“You know how I feel about you,” she said to him, taking her time as if the whole room didn't hang on her every word. “But I can't say yes.” She took a deep breath. “Not yet.”

Howell stood and began a slow count down from one hundred as he controlled his breathing and tried to push back the buzzing sound in his mind. Why give him back his heart at all? It was nothing but pain. One hundred, ninety nine... She loved him. He knew that, had known that for some time. Ninety five, ninety four... He'd counted on her love to save him and it had. It saved them all. Ninety, eighty nine... Rejected? Totally and utterly rejected? Seventy nine, seventy eight, seventy seven... Calcifer? He... he shook his head? Was Howell jealous? Yes, now he was. They were worried earlier and they were right to be. Seventy one, seventy... Michael patted his shoulder as he walked by, but a numbness had reached Howell's mind and he didn't feel it, merely knew what it would've felt like. Sixty three, sixty two, sixty one... He could smash their brains, leaving the skulls intact. He could curse them all six ways to Sunday. Spells came unbidden to his mind. Fifty five, fifty four, fifty three... For this he was trying to be a good man? He could murder them all! Forty eight, forty seven... A nice purifying fire would bring this whole castle down, but then Calcifer would still live. Doesn't he have a long life ahead of him anyway? Thirty... Her mother was hugging Sophie and talking about moving her back home again. One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight... There are ways to keep them alive, but wishing they were dead. Water for Calcifer... a river, perhaps? The ocean? Eighty three, eighty two... Would one thousand years be a tad excessive for torture? Trapped underwater? Nine hundred ninety nine, nine hundred ninety eight... A tantrum might feel nice right about now. Nine hundred ninety, nine hundred eighty nine, nine hundred eighty eight... No. He was beyond tantrums. It was time to grow up. “Calcifer? Here, eat this.” Howell tossed his ring to the demon who caught it and swallowed. The smoke ring from his belch was vaguely heart shaped and Sophie seemed to catch on to what had happened a moment too late.


“Howl!” Her face fell and she turned away from her stepmother. “I'm not ready right now, Fanny.”

“I don't see why you'd want to stay here.” Her stepmother walked over toward Howell, “Well I'd like to go home 'sir,' but there's one more piece of business? He was quite specific about the hair.”

“Stop!” Sophie ran to intercept Fanny, keep her from Howell. “It wasn't Ben's. That is, we used my hair. There was no threat to the Prince at all. He lied.” She kept her eyes on Howell as he moved around the fireplace. “But he's not a bad man.” He felt the weight of her gaze, but kept his own eyes fixed on Calcifer.

Seven hundred fifty six, seven hundred fifty five... Calcifer. Under his own roof? Behind his back? 'A woman true and fair,' indeed! Seven hundred forty nine, seven hundred forty eight... My best friend? How classic! Seven hundred forty, seven hundred thirty nine... He can't love, not truly. He'd learn that, just as Howell had done nearly a decade before. Would it drive him mad? To want and not have? To see, but not experience? Seven hundred twenty eight, seven hundred twenty seven... Love. Rwy'n dy garu di.

“Um, Fanny?” Sophie said. “Don't mean to rush you, but this would be a very good time to leave.” Sophie's voice remained calm, but Howell heard the note of rising concern. He wished he could assure her that everything was fine, that he'd shake off her rejection in no time. Howell waited until Calcifer was focused on watching Sophie.

“Are you sure you'll be fine, darling?” Fanny asked. It was clear she was more than ready to leave but didn't want to go without Sophie. She managed to get her stepmother to the doorway and fairly pushed her out before turning back to see Howell's arms raise, his lips moving. “Michael, stop him!”

Howell felt movement behind him and remembered that Michael was no longer the tiny boy he'd found on his doorstep. That youth couldn't have tackled a dog, much less a man. This one could. Howell did what he'd never expected he'd have to- he raised one hand and Michael slid backwards across the floor, the workbench cushioning his landing as only a large piece of rock hard, oak furniture can do. The sound was satisfying to some dark part of his soul. That distraction wouldn't have stopped Howell's casting if it hadn't given Calcifer warning. The demon turned just in time. “Howell,” he said, his wispy hands raised in a plea. His reservoir of magic was far greater than the wizard's, just by virtue of what he was, but he didn't attempt to defend himself. Calcifer's orange eyes pleaded for faith and Howell lowered his arms, the power word bitten back, swallowed like bile.

“Go.” Howell's voice was a raspy whisper. “Just... go.” He choked back the anger along with the magic, but it festered there and both could come roaring back. He turned only enough to see Sophie crouched down beside Michael who rubbed his shoulder. It could've been worse. Much worse. “Go.” He walked to the stairs. Calcifer was gone from the hearth when he looked back, but he felt the magic lingering. He needed to wash his face at least. When he came out, Michael was gone and Sophie stood next to the stairs.

“It's not his fault, Howl,” Sophie said, her head lowering. “It's mine.”

“It usually is, woman,” Howell bit off the rest of his answer as he trooped upstairs. Once in his room, he charmed the door to remain closed. The buzzing in his mind provided a needed distraction and he pulled each strand of thought apart, writing down new plans until his hands cramped and his ink pot was nearly empty. The bad thoughts of the day were there, no better for having to wait, but no worse either.

Calcifer was gone. Sophie and Michael had both gone out but each had also returned. That was something, wasn't it? Howell didn't really want to know how it would be to live alone. He looked at one of his drawings. He couldn't do this without them. Well, he could, of course, but what would the point be? Howell stood and stretched. It was getting dark in Wales, so hours must've passed. He wandered to the window in time to see his niece Mari running inside as Megan's figure in the doorway reminded him of their own mother in summers long ago. He felt a pang of guilt at not checking with them after Midsummer's Day. What did they think about the Witch's visit? He couldn't stay to find out, not with Sophie rushing about to “save” his supposed girlfriend. No doubt Megan had explained away the Witch's power. It would be nice to spend some time with his family, though. Howell laughed as he undressed for bed, tossing scrolls and texts off the bed. Aside from spoiling his niece and nephew, it said a lot about the situation here if Wales looked like a nice time!

Calcifer.

Howell tried to impose some logic on this as he sat in bed. He'd heard of familiars, animals imbued with magic spirits who could be bound to witches and wizards. They were cared for and often grew quite fond of their masters, but that was presumably due to their animal half. Animals had loyalty or could at least be bought off with food. But demons? Full fledged demons? Free and guaranteed nine hundred, ninety nine years and three hundred and sixty some days of life demons? No. Why should Calcifer want to stay here? He really ought to be free, ought to want that. What havoc he would wreak out on his own was anyone's guess.

Howell shook his head. It was natural for Calcifer to feel something like love for all three of them. Michael, who he spent the better part of the past five years watching grow up? Calcifer might feel a paternal or brotherly love, like Howell did. And Sophie? A recent, but powerful member of the family, she was a natural love interest. And then... and then there was Howell himself. One tiny thought troubled Howell, a half remembered feeling of lips against his own. Was that possible? Through their contract they'd been thrown together in the most intimate way possible. While Howell didn't share Calcifer's thoughts, he had touched his magic, the essence of the demon himself. For five years, Calcifer had Howell's heart keeping him alive as well as access to the memories and feelings of a human male.

Howell sighed, pulling the covers high above his head. Tonight, being alone wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. It was... private. He had a lot to mull over. What would he do without Calcifer? If he didn't return? On a personal level it hurt to think of losing Cal. He loved the old blueface. Not in that way, he quickly amended, but as a friend. It would also mean a lot more work. He'd need to bind demons for short durations to get the new plans going, but that wouldn't work long term. Neither could Howell conscience keeping anything caged up or cursed when they should be free. Even the wards and simple everyday spells would require his attention, his power. Perhaps he'd have to limit the doors to two? Or have Michael and Sophie (if she would stay) alert him when they needed one so he could swap his energy around? Most of his magic was mixed in with the demon's. He'd hoped for, but never expected the contract to be broken, so almost all of his magic was tied in some way to the more powerful fire demon. Life was full of surprises...

Oh Calcifer! How could he have thought it was alright to go after Sophie? Of course, he was amoral, but... well, that was really the only answer. And didn't she trust Howell? Why would she prefer the heartless demon over him? He tormented himself a while longer before thinking over the body he'd shaped for Calcifer. He'd given him the option of sex as an apology, a payment of sorts for the years the demon had served him without any chance at having fun himself. Too real, he thought. It would serve them both right if the next model was a Ken doll. He remembered watching Calcifer using his anatomically correct shell. The way the body itself seemed to strain as he learned to please his partner as well as himself. Howell's body remembered all too well and he pondered what to do about his growing arousal.

He'd never fantasized about the demon before. Mainly due to the fact that there had been no body to imagine holding, but there was also the tight bond between them. They were like brothers, and while he didn't actually have a brother, he knew from puberty that fantasizing about your sister led to horrible guilt after the fact. Yet his body was reacting; there was no arguing with the fact and he could imagine that Calcifer would know exactly what Howell liked and didn't like, even the things he hated admitting to liking. He threw a quick silence spell around his room, in preparation for dealing with this erection.

He relaxed and pulled up thoughts of Sophie. Her soft hair sliding across his chest; moonlight shining on pink skin; her hands moving tentatively along his body, lower and lower... He touched himself as he imagined her warm skin wrapping around his, moving and gliding. A shy virgin unlike any other he'd taken. Howell hissed out a breath, losing himself to fantasy.

Would she be open? Welcoming of all the ways of pleasure he had experience in? If he introduced her to sex properly, would she trust him enough to try everything? Considering how little trust she put in him, even about magic, that seemed doubtful. Seeking more stimulation, he moved a hand up his chest, pinching and teasing. More. As he wetted his hand, he imagined showing her enough attention that she'd release the shyness about her own body that so many women had.

Sophie would become a tiger, moving without shame along his body. Wanton, as free with her desires as she was with her temper. She wouldn't be afraid to reach for him, licking his sensitive skin. He'd rub every part of her against him. He imagined her face glowing with sweat, milky white skin sliding along his. Sophie's mouth against his ear as she moaned his name, or this country's version of it. That hot mouth sliding down his body, tasting the salty sweat their bodies had created as it dried on his body. Her eyes would glint with private humor, lit behind with fire as she wrapped her mouth around his cock. Her tongue, oh that wicked tongue, he imagined it moving in silken strokes along the base of his shaft, driving him wild. Faster, he thought and no sooner had he wished it, than she was moving, increasing her tempo to please him. More! Faster!

“Oooh, so good,” he moaned softly, hips thrusting. His head thrashed from side to side as he neared release. He imagined her eyes glinting orange in the candlelight as her long tongue moved lower, ghosting across the puckered skin of his entrance. Only for you, he thought. He bit his lower lip as her imagined tongue changed back to his own long fingers. He felt his control slipping. His other hand moved to tease the tip of his penis, rubbing the fluid he found down the length and across his sac. Images flashed through his mind, images he had no control over. Goosebumps and tightening muscles heralded his release, but the names on his lips confused him. Guilt crept in as he conjured wipes from home. His thinking was muddled; that had to be it. Sleep.


A/N:Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

Cymraeg: Welsh (language)
Rwy'n dy garu di: I love you