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.

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

AFF Warning: Nightmare CxS, M/F, voyeur


000O000

Chapter 7

In which Howell learns there is no place like home

Sleep is great medicine and Howell felt better as the misty morning began in Wales. The weak light streamed in his window exposing the mess he'd left his room in, with papers, blankets, books and clothing strewn about. A small cobweb had appeared on the ceiling near his window. He smiled at the sight. This was still his space. Maybe living alone wouldn't prove that difficult? His smile disappeared soon after he started to sort through it all. What was he thinking? Alone? Never. He'd never survive. The time in his life when he'd felt most alone was when the police showed up at their home in Wales.

“I'm sorry to bother you this early, are you Mr. Howell Jenkins?” The two men stood in the doorway and he couldn't remember which one of them told him, all he could remember was the shock, the numbness as it spread through his mind. He was sure there was more that followed, police reports, mortuary visits, funerals and the like, but he went through them all in the same daze. His sister, Megan, finally came home, just after the funerals. He'd called her right away, but the Jenkins could be every bit as stubborn as the Hatters and she didn't forgive quickly. She did come, though. She and Gareth moved in just before Neil was born. That week was the only and last time he'd been on his own. Between Mrs. Pentstemmon's place in Ingary and his family's home in Wales, he was never alone. Once he set up shop in Porthaven, he saved Calcifer. Then he wasn't even alone inside his own head. Michael moved in soon after. Guilt passed over him in waves. Calcifer and Michael. The two who were closest to him and he hurt them. Worse was what he could've done, would've done. They didn't know, (he thanked his stars for that) but it didn't ease his poor, overworked conscience. Calcifer and Sophie... that was a different feeling.

Howell sat down, careful not to crush any of the papers. Most of them related to the new castle he had in mind, some were spells and some notes were his new theory about how to handle Sophie's power. He organized them mindlessly. Luckily, one of the papers had an answer to the hot water problem, short and long term. He could have a hot shower this morning and get out to Wales before anyone else woke up.

His hopes were dashed as soon as he hit the stairs. The smell of bacon frying at first made him smile, thinking that Calcifer had returned, but a stretch of his power revealed that the demon was still away. He didn't know if that was a good thing or not; jealousy being what it was.

“Good morning, Howl,” Sophie said from over the log fire as he hit the bottom step. Howell stopped, scowling and unsure. She smiled sweetly and went back to cooking. He hadn't wanted to talk to her, but here she was. The pretty dress she'd been wearing was replaced with one of her old granny dresses and she had an apron on, but the view she gave him as she leaned over the fire reminded him how badly he wanted her. And she had stayed... she didn't have to do that. Dammit, he thought. It wouldn't kill him to say something.

“What are you doing?” With the amount of food she was cooking, it looked like she was planning to feed an army.

Without turning around to look at him, she answered lightly, “A complicated love spell. What does it look like?”

He made a low noise and turned to go clean up. She called to him, “Howl? I'm...” She trailed off her words and took a breath. Howell waited, trying to look anywhere but at her beautiful face. “I'd hoped you'd be a little less upset. At least don't be angry with Michael.” She sat, almost crumpled, on the stool next to the hearth.

Howell thought for a few seconds, trying and discarding cruel things to say. Finally he settled on, “Why would I be mad at Michael? He was only following your orders.” He felt his anger returning and his voice took on a dangerous edge. “Don't EVER command him against me again! He's just a boy.”

Sophie shot up to standing, her eyes alight with the challenge of a shouting match. “So I should let you attack Calcifer? And I wasn't the one who threw him! You weren't yourself!”

“Myself? No, but I thought you liked monsters. Or is that only demons? He can't love you. Not really. Ironic isn't it? You fell for me when I was heartless and now you kick me away... Oh, Hell's teeth, woman!” He stormed into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door, missing the look of shock on her face.

One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight... Howell took deep breaths as he counted and felt a type of calm descending. He looked at the papers in his hand, his focus improving as the numbers in his mind reduced. The spell he'd planned was limited by the reservoir they had in the castle to store water, but it would have to do. A short shower then, he thought.

Once clean, dry and dressed, Howell stared at his reflection. It was time for new clothes. Anything, really to get his mind off of Sophie. Sophie and Calcifer? If so, he was at fault for building the damned shell in the first place. Why couldn't he do anything right? Howell sighed and prepared himself for another confrontation with Sophie.

Which explained why he was so surprised when he bumped into Michael as he exited the bathroom. “Sorry, Howl,” the youth mumbled in a sleepy voice. It still amazed the wizard how tall the boy had gotten. It certainly wasn't due to the good food he ate. Howell stepped away from the entrance to the bathroom, the apparent destination Michael was heading for.

“No, I owe you an apology,” Howell said gently. The youth looked at his face, and then away. He didn't answer, but seemed to accept it. “How's your shoulder? I'll make you some salve for it.”

Michael shrugged. “No need, I made some.”

“You did? Good lad.” There was a touch of pride in Howell's voice.

“It's not as strong as yours. I think I need to use fresher ginger? Ours has gone all woody.” He rotated his arm. “And it didn't smell so good. We didn't have the camphor so I swapped it with that vapor leaf.” The talk of magic made both of them smile and Howell felt that the worst of it was over. He hated for innocents to get hurt and if anyone in his home could be called innocent, it was Michael.

“Just so it worked.” Howell looked around and Michael answered the unasked question.

“She's out in the garden. Cal- well, he's out there, too.”

Howell crossed to the workbench as though that information didn't sting his chest so. “I have a few new spells for you to work on. Remember, they don't always read straight.”

Michael rushed over, taking the papers up as soon as Howell put them down. “I thought I was supposed to start on power words?” His face fell once he saw Howell's look.

“Not yet.” Howell could still remember the acidic taste of anger from the frustrated magic. Power words could wait. “These are important to our next project.” He tapped the papers. “This one looks simple, but give it a shot--”

Michael's face was getting redder by the second and he interrupted Howell, “You don't want to teach me them, is that it? She's right about you, holding me back! Why don't you let me do anything?”

It was all Howell could do not to shake his student. “Who? Sophie? Damn her eyes!”

Michael looked startled for a second, surprised that he'd actually yelled at his teacher or at the conclusions jumped to, it wasn't clear to Howell. “No! I didn't mean that. She didn't, I mean Sophie'd never... My Lettie and I were... I shouldn't have... Aw, Hell.” Michael turned and went into the bathroom, slamming the door. Howell felt a little sympathy for that poor door, then realized he sounded like Sophie and sighed. There was no way he could face Ingary today. Too many Hatters in it. He walked to the doorway and put his hand to the knob, intending to turn it to black. Instead he found purple coming up and he opened it onto the very scene he really didn't want to see. Sophie stood some distance away with her hand resting on the outstretched arm of Calcifer's human costume. They were looking into each other's eyes. They were too far away for him to hear words and there was some small comfort in that. Howell could only take so much pain in one morning. He closed the door and turned the knob for home.

Cymru.

The land of the Red Dragon is home to what is left of the Britons. Howell's family had deep ties to the land and he felt the pull whenever he returned. Wales was a deeply religious culture and it was in the religion that the language was saved despite English attempts to crush it. His mother had once told him of a shadow queen, a witch, in their lineage, but his father took more pride in the works his ancestors did in the church and in politics to keep Welsh nationalism going. He looked around the cemetery as the rain drizzled down his jacket. With his hands in his pocket, he hunched down to look at the headstones. Generations were buried side by side in this ancient place. Power crackled here and there, but he let the knowledge of it slide through his mind. None of that mattered today, he hadn't come to dwell on the old ones. With a swipe of his hand over his mother's name, Howell rose. He made his way through the stones and shrubs until he came to his old car. He shied from most technology, but he'd rebuilt this engine with friends back in his school days. In fact, much of the car was cobbled together, and it ran like a charm. It turned over on the third try and he scowled to see how low the petrol had gotten. Well, it ran like a charm when it ran.

As he eased it into the garage at his sister's home, Howell heard the front door bang open. No one had been home when he'd first come back. It was summertime and Howell kept both calendars going in his head. Ingary and England both kept some of the same festival days and the Solstices and Equinoxes were the same, but many of the holidays varied and he couldn't keep track of the kid's school calendar on top of all of that. The schools in the UK ran year round with breaks, and he'd come back on a normal day. His heart had sunk when he realized his favorite little girl would be gone for hours, so he'd fished out his keys and went for a drive. Now he braced himself for his sister's fury. “Hylô! Shw mae, Megan?”

“Howell! Mae pen tost ‘da fi. Paid siarad Cymraeg! Sorry to disappoint if you came to spoil Mari or bother her with your made up stories, but the kids won't be home for sometime. I don't imagine you've come here to see me. So why am I blessed with my little brother's presence?” She stepped back and waited while he locked up the garage, but seemed to be getting angrier as he didn't respond. “Don't you dare bring home that horrid woman! And no more of those charity cases either! When I told Gareth about her behavior--”

“Yeah, I know,” Howell didn't need to hear how his brother in law took the Witch's attack. He turned back from the garage door. “Look, Megan, she wasn't... it wasn't like that, no matter what she said. She was unstable, yeah?” He paused, his newfound honesty battling against his nature. She wouldn't understand if he told her. “It's over now. I'm sorry she involved you.”

“I was worried about you!” When Megan said it, it was like a reproach rather that a statement of concern. Her glare bore into him. “You're not well are you? You've gone mental, right? All that learning wasted. You're going loony. Oh, don't think you're moving back here, Howell! Gareth would blow a gasket!”

“No and no, Meg,” he said, smiling and raising his hands in surrender. He pointed at the house, saying, “Cwrw?”

She stood staring at him for minutes that felt like hours. Finally she shrugged and stalked back to the front door of the little yellow house. He knew better than to think he'd been forgiven, but he was family and she wouldn't deny him a beer. He jingled the keys in his pocket as he walked, a silly, but reassuring tie to home. This was not the neighborhood he'd grown up in. That one was always so full of life. On a summer's day kids would swarm about, ganging up into teams to play ball or running off to find adventure. After their parents died, Megan and Gareth had him sell the old place so they could buy this new one. He never really liked these sorts of 'up and coming' communities. They sat on the edge of town and taunted it with how little they fit in, but Megan wanted a house here, felt that she deserved it, and he was pleased that she was happy. Like Howell, she'd made a new life. There was precious little to connect her to their old one inside. No pictures of their parents graced the mantle, though Gareth's family sat on a bookshelf, looking large and dour. Howell made himself at home in the TV room, listening to the clinking of glasses in the kitchen. She wasn't getting him a glass was she?

Megan indeed carried two glass pint mugs in one hand and two bottles in the other. Howell tried to read her face, but she kept it closed, keeping her emotions in check. She wasn't really a harridan, he knew he just brought out the best in her. “What's this, a fancy beer?” He read the label 'Imported from America.' He eyed it suspiciously and put the glass on the side table.

“Your problem is you don't know how to be grateful!” She started in on him and again he wondered how she could always be so wrong about what his problems were.

Howell interrupted her as she began her litany of his failures, “Meg, I've found the love of my life and now I may have blown my chances with her.” Once she looked at him fully, he kept that eye contact, hoping to reach the girl who used to be his ally, his protector.

She looked serious, then blew a strand of dark hair away. “Always with the melodrama, Howell. I'm sure it isn't that dire. Tell me about her.” She sipped her glass, obviously preparing for an amusing tale.

“Well, she's smart and talented,” he began. “And she's stayed with me through some tough times...” He considered how to phrase things. “But... she has a meddling family and I think they've put things in her head, poisoned her against me a bit.”

“What sorts of things?”

He hoped she wouldn't laugh. “They think I might be a bit... fickle.” Howell tried to put on a hurt face, but her laughter, once going, was infectious. “Yeah, I know,” he sputtered between laughs. His heart lightened to see her happy, even if it was at his expense. His sister had to grow up young and she seemed to overdo it, the same way she did everything.

“You,” she said. “You are receiving your just desserts, boy!” She pointed a slender finger at him and laughed again. “How many women in this town would love to hear you say those words! It's an embarrassment how you behave.” She stopped herself, as if she could say more about it, but was waiting for him to respond. To cover for it, she reached for her knitting bag next to the couch.

“That was years ago,” Howell said softly, taking a swig of the tasteless beer. He didn't want to think about apologizing to half the population of Wales in addition to Ingary.

“Oh, the school teacher? Was that years ago, Howell? And why is it after dating you she skipped town? Everyone just loves to tell me and Gareth about how you carry on! But you just skip away, happy as a lark.” Her eyes narrowed and he had to admit that it did look pretty damning. Her needles clicked in a familiar way before he answered.

There wasn't much he could say against it either. “She wasn't quite what she claimed to be,” was the best he could manage.

“Oh, but don't let me stop you. This woman you're “magically” in love with, in what, a week or so? She doesn't love you, then?”

He shook his head sadly. “No, that's not it. She loves me fine. But, there's others, see. They... well there's another bloke who lives with us, and she's... I don't know.” It was too complicated to get into and Howell wished he hadn't come at all.

“Does this woman have a name?” Megan's voice was soft, as if she understood some of the hurt he felt.

“Sophie Hatter,” he sighed. Tears began to creep to his eyes in the silence. What would he do if she preferred Calcifer? He didn't have to make another monkey suit for the demon, that was one thing. How would she like it if her lover was a ball of fire... he sighed. Somehow, he didn't think that was the real problem. She didn't prefer Calcifer, she just didn't prefer Howell. 'Not yet?'! What the Hell did that mean? Belatedly he noticed the knitting had stopped. His sister rose stiffly.

“You're welcome to stay a little longer, but I want you gone before Gareth gets home.” There was fury in her voice and it took him by surprise. “I don't appreciate your elaborate jokes, Howell. I've been the butt of them too many times.”

“Jokes?”

“That doddy old woman you live with? That's the Sophie you want me to believe you're all broken up over? Ha, ha. There, I've laughed. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to weed the backyard.”

“No, Megan, no! She is, I mean, that's not... that was her aunt...” By this time the back door had swung shut and he was talking to himself. “Damn.” He picked up his beer, but after thinking about it, walked to the kitchen and poured it out. The kitchen was the only room in the house, aside from the master bath, that didn't have carpeting. Howell preferred his own cozy castle to this place and decorated it, in so far as he had, sparingly in direct contrast to his sister's home. In fact, his whole life was pretty much in direct contrast to hers. She was a materialistic, ambitious, undereducated shrew, he thought angrily. Megan had married her first boyfriend, a lout of a man, after getting pregnant in school, throwing away her learning, throwing away the future her parents had hoped for her. Howell usually tried not to judge her so harshly, but it was hard when she spent so much of her time judging him harshly.

He heard the front door swing open and his brother in law's voice bellowed out, “Megan!” Howell considered fleeing out the back door, but then he heard the cheerful voice of his niece call out “Mam!” and he decided he might as well stay. Megan came in the from the back and he stayed in the kitchen letting her break his presence to her husband. He knew she mentioned him because Mari came flying into the room, nearly bowling him over with a tackle hug. “Wncwl!” He also heard the raising tone of adult voices and with a look of agreement, both he and Mari snuck out to the backyard. It had been a drizzly day, but neither one of them cared if the swings were a bit wet.

He looked up at the window that he used in the moving castle. Of course it wasn't a two way thing. Here it was just a window and he couldn't see if anyone on the other side knew or cared where he was. He pushed her as she chattered on about what was happening in her life. She gamely tried to push him in the swing, though he made himself too heavy for her to move. She turned her attention to a small patch of weeds where she was trying to grow a garden and he forced some blooms to see her smile. It made him think of Sophie though and when he grew serious, Mari asked why.

“You remember the woman I brought with me the last time?”

Mari shivered and he reached for her hand. “ Mae ofn hi arna' i,” she said.

Howell smiled a little sadly. “Not her, but there's need for fear on you, cariad. That witch's dead now.”

“Did you kill her?” she asked, her eyes wide and shining.

After a moment, he nodded. “With some help. She was a very bad person.”

“What about the hen wrach?” she gasped. “Did you turn her young again?”

He nodded. At this age, Mari probably thought his stories were exotic and exciting, but she never doubted his truthfulness. “She's beautiful,” he said and felt a stab of sadness in his chest. Mari hugged him. He heard the screen door creak open and Megan came out first, wringing her hands in front of her. Gareth loomed up behind her, his hair lit like a halo from the kitchen light behind. Mari tore across the yard to jump into his arms. The two men exchanged looks and Gareth nodded to Howell. Megan looked like she'd snap in two if the wind blew in too hard.

“Won't you stay for dinner, Howell?” Gareth asked, although with his size, most anything he said sounded like a demand. Mari turned to look at her uncle and pleaded with him. Neil appeared, sweaty from cricket practice and Megan chided him. After looking up at the window, Howell agreed.

Conversation centered on the kids and how their day went. Mari was chided to speak English since her father didn't understand Welsh. Neil said he hadn't beaten the computer game yet, but was close and could he have another? Megan promptly sent him up to do homework and clean up for bed. She was a fair cook, but Howell barely tasted the food he ate. He thought of Sophie and how he should alter the hearth in his new design so she could do more interesting cooking. She was creative and might appreciate that. Without meaning to, he sighed deeply. Megan looked at Gareth and the large man cleared his throat. “Fancy joining me down at the pub, Howell?”

He smiled. So she was worried about him! “Thanks, but no. I'd better head home.” Of course he didn't want to go home, but he could hardly tell Gareth that he'd rather gnaw his own arm off than share a pint with the man.

Gareth reached a meaty hand across the table, clouting Howell's shoulder and Megan grabbed Mari to clear the table. “Look, Howell,” his brother in law said in as soft a voice as he was able. “We don't always get on, but if you need a place to stay...” He spread his hands out and shrugged. “Just say the word. You know, when you're not here I've only Meg to fight with.”

Howell sat back, not knowing what to say. He could hear his sister and niece doing the washing up. It might not be that bad to come home. He missed the land, the language, the people, but could he live without Ingary? Without magic? Without Sophie? “Thanks for the offer, Gareth.” Howell shook his head. “I hope not to need to. Still, if the pub offer's open... any games on tonight?”

His brother in law nodded, a smile splitting his face. “Cup's on and cricket I think. You up for going out after all?”

Howell nodded and Gareth laughed. The noise seemed to be the cue for the family. Neil came downstairs and Megan and Mari finished and came in. Gareth rose. He waited by the door for Howell to say his goodbyes to Megan and the kids.

“Nos da, wncwl!” Mari said. He kissed her forehead and rubbed noses with her before shaking his nephew's hand and thanking his sister. Megan looked at her husband and brother as if the idea of the two of them alone was a recipe for disaster. Howell wasn't sure about it himself, but the offer of alcohol was one he wouldn't pass up. Not today.

Later, as Howell eased the door to the moving castle closed, quietly as he could, he was feeling comfortably pissed. Not drunk, nothing so base, just humming along in a pleasant way. He wasn't able to hold his liquor that well, truth be told. Especially not when he was in the company of a giant of a man who viewed every activity to be a competition. Howell's mood was sanguine, relaxed and that proved to useful, since the thing he wanted most, to enter his home unnoticed, was not to happen. Instead he walked straight into Calcifer and Sophie. “Ah,” he said.

“Howell, we have to talk,” Sophie started.

Strangely, Howell thought, people never 'have to talk' about nice things. “Could we talk in the morning, my love?” he asked hopefully.

“You've got this all wrong, Howl,” Calcifer said. His usual caustic tone just didn't sound the same coming from a human mouth, Howell considered.

“How's that shell holding out?” he asked. It wasn't designed to last long. He'd give anything to see how the Witch of the Waste had built Miss Angorian's version. Either it was done differently or the materials were better since she lasted weeks in Wales, which was pretty difficult for a magical creation.

“Oh, fine. I think there's some stress lines and I expect to see myself come leaking out any day, but it's still working for now.” Calcifer stretched his arms out and looked down to his hands, first one side, then the other. Howell was proud of his distraction and was nearly to the stairs.

“Howl,” Sophie said. Her voice was gentle, but that made it all the worse for Howell. He stopped and looked at her. “There's nothing between us. Nothing at all.”

Howell's heart stopped. He put a hand up to it and wondered if that was a normal thing for a heart to do. Probably not, he decided, but before he could panic it began again. “Nothing?” Just a few days ago he had it all mapped out. This little family would sail off toward its happily ever after... He was solid in her love for him, and now- nothing?

Calcifer nodded his head eagerly. He walked up and took Sophie's hand, patting it absently. She dropped his when she noticed Howell staring. She walked away, back to her chair by the hearth, and he was left with an emptiness. Luckily the effect of the ale anesthetizing his senses was enough to keep him from another cursing mood, but he felt a touch of melodrama coming on. “Well, thank you for the notice,” he said.

“I bought you this,” Sophie walked back holding out a parcel, but Howell felt too numb to take it. She stood for a second, then untied the strings and pulled back the paper for him. “It's from a new shop in Kingsbury and everyone says the sleeves are very much in style.” Howell saw a peek of blue and white cloth. “I'll do the fitting for you,” she said, then blushed. “Or, um I suppose you can do it for yourself.”

A silence fell on the room as Howell nodded, but made no other acknowledgment of the gift. It was bought with the reward money, no doubt, but she had worked without any compensation, so Howell assumed it was fair. Plus, she'd spent it on him. It wouldn't kill him to thank her, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words.

Calcifer turned to Sophie, whispering, “Why isn't he happy?” She shook her head. “Howl, you twit, why aren't you happy?” he asked. “You thought we were doing those things, but we're not. We only wanted you to be jealous, so you wouldn't stop loving Sophie.”

“What!” Howell bellowed. He had to think that the alcohol had befuddled his mind. Had Calcifer and Sophie really plotted behind his back to toy with him? With his feelings? The parts of his mind that still functioned went into overdrive, trying to sort through the myriad levels of hurt. Yes, he'd leapt to the wrong conclusion. Fine. Maybe she still loved him. But... “Why in heaven's name did you do something as asinine as that! Hell's Teeth! Will no one trust me? You!” Howell pointed at the fire demon. “You orchestrated this whole thing, didn't you? Damn your eyes!” He thought of Gareth's comment about having someone other than his wife to argue with and he pulled himself back. Calcifer was a demon, he couldn't understand human emotions, even if the look on the human shell's face was testimony to his ability to feel some of them.

He turned to Sophie, still holding the parcel and a look of shame. “And you! Why don't you think? How much clearer could I have made it? I will not ask you to share my life again!”

“I do,” Sophie said quickly. “I want to.”

“Well I don't!” Howell shouted. “My whole family against me? I thought it was bad enough that your people were meddling with us, but you? Both of you? Take my damned heart back out, why don't you! I don't want it anymore!” He stomped upstairs and into his own room. He tore his bookshelf apart to find the little booklet on calming techniques for wizards and witches. It was an elementary text in his training, but he was glad he'd held on to it. It would take more than counting backwards, that much was certain. He went through the book, front to back. When he lay down, trying to find his 'safe place,' sleep claimed him.

They watched flowers unfolding in the evening air. A strange scent, from one of the many plants that Sophie's magic had hybridized, reminded Howell of the need to create a hand cream for her. It was a pity she'd worked so hard in her young life. Years of needle work created calluses and the housework she'd taken on for him took its toll. He would use this fresh scent to bring out her own natural perfumes. None of that mattered right now, he reminded himself. She had forgiven him, or he had her. It didn't really matter right now... Sophie was holding his hand and they spoke of flowers and love. Actually Howell wasn't completely sure what they were speaking of at the moment, but a mellowness settled on him and he was certain everything would all be alright. With a kiss on his cheek, Sophie took her leave, “I'll be right back, darling.”

Howell continued to walk the primrose path, the scents of Spring releasing with every footfall. He listened to the birds sing and an announcer describe the action on the pitch in Swansea. His mellow feeling progressed into excitement as Howell turned to the TV hiding in the grass. The Whites' back line looked fantastic and he felt the thrill of running as Jones, the centre took a barnstorming run just inside of the line. In his mind, the pitch was always muddy and slick and his heels dug in on each stride to keep from grounding. On the screen Howell could see a collision coming. The prop, the number one clear on his black jersey, was in position and almost airborne in his attack on the lithe backer. It was like watching a movie where an old lady is crossing the street in front of an oncoming car. In the game, it would all be a blur, all confusion; one second you're running and the next you've lost connection with the earth. The slam knocks the wind out of you and all you can do is wait in the hang time for the inevitable, bone jarring reunion with the ground. You want to lay there, to recover, but there's no time! Panic sets in as you roll out of the way of the oncoming packs. Forwards aren't chosen for their sweet natures and they're running in at speed to ruck for possession in an all legs pushing match. A kick to your pretty boy face may be illegal, but not unheard of and Howell could well remember when he didn't get out quickly enough. He was caught up in the moment, but some part of him found time to comment, “This doesn't belong here.”

A voice answered him, “Neither do you.”

Dread filled his bones as he recognized that voice. “Brigham?” Howell turned to see the rugby union forward standing behind him, watching the game. He wasn't as tall as Howell remembered, but then there'd been that growth spurt in his late teens, after Brigham had already moved. His blond Mohawk added height with its chemically induced nose thumb to gravity, but he wasn't quite as intimidating when they matched size. The man's face wasn't handsome to start with, but it had taken on nightmarish quantities of metal piercings. Nightmare... something in the word broke through and Howell realized he was only dreaming. He was able to swallow his fear and answer his former teammate, drawing confidence from Sophie's promise to return. Brigham couldn't do anything to him with Sophie by his side. “You're the one who doesn't belong. Get along. Go back. You have no power here. This is my dream.”

“Fuck you, Jenkins.” Brigham took his eyes off the small screen as the crowd roared at the successful try. “You don't belong anywhere. You're like me now.”

He couldn't have struck a lower blow. Howell reeled back, his face pale. “No! I'm not! I, I wouldn't,” he protested.

Brigham smiled a sadistic grin and held up one hand. Checking off the list with his fingers, he said, “You're not gay, but you're sure not straight. You're not from Ingary, but you're not Welsh anymore. You use and abuse girls, then skip off without guilt--”

Howell had looked about for Sophie as Brigham spoke, but his head snapped back. “Not any more!” he shouted. “I'm not heartless like you.” This was his dream, after all!

“Really? That's not what she thinks.” Brigham pointed to the television. On its small screen he saw a tight shot of Sophie's face. Stern disapproval turned into a look of pain, Disobeying the laws of reality, her eyes seemed to look right at him. Howell screamed, searching about for the real Sophie, the one who could put this to right. When he looked back the camera had panned to reveal more of the room she was in. He didn't recognize it, but then all inns had similar bland walls. The shot also revealed more of Sophie than he was comfortable with. As her naked chest heaved, Howell attacked Brigham, pushing him away with brute force born of anger. That he should have anything to do with Sophie, with this life Howell was leading, it was beyond infuriating. “Hiding behind a girl now?” The man's voice took on a falsetto quality as he taunted, “Oh, if you'll only love me, I'll be good. Cross my coal black heart.”

Howell backed away to charge again until the television screen flickered. Larger and clearer than before, it showed a full shot of Sophie kneeling on a bed; it showed the room around her, and the man lying underneath her. He forced himself to calm down. He'd need more than a breathing exercise for this. A dream, he thought, nothing more. Why his subconscious was doing this to him was a mystery, but it was only a dream. He tried to close his eyes, but the image was still there, sered into his mind. Howell couldn't look anywhere else, the telly was now a door frame, a frame with a chunk torn out of it. Though they looked straight at him neither one of them moved.

The fire demon in his human suit was lying across the bed, his head thrown over the side, orange eyes watching Howell, upside down. “Oh, Sophie,” Calcifer's voice cried and his eyelids fluttered. Had Howell not known it was a dream, the sound of those words might have broken his heart. The delight, the passion, it was Howell who had given those to the demon. The bonding of their power had affected each of them, making them more like friends than the relationship of servitude he'd read about before going out to the Plains and watching falling stars. Calcifer's amoral nature altered his and Howell's soft hearted nature had likewise changed the fire demon. “This is only a dream,” he said, though it was sounding hollow the more he thought it. His voice seemed to be what the couple were waiting for, though it could have been Sophie's loss of virginity and the resulting discomfort adjusting to Calcifer's size that was the cause. Howell watched her hips begin to twitch, small movements, as if testing out the sensations.

She kept her steely gaze on Howell, but addressed smiles and moans to Calcifer, “You're so hot. You're burning me up inside. Mm, Calcifer. More, yes... deeper. Oh, you monster!” She moved her hands in the curly hair on his chest. His fingers snaked up her flanks, holding her waist and guiding her up and down, moving her gently, back and forth. Howell imagined the soft feel of that skin under his own fingertips. Tears formed in his eyes, but he shook his head. This was a dream. Only a dream. He tried to turn away, but a whimper from Sophie made him look back. She was flushed and beautiful... and fucking a much too handsome Calcifer.

The slow rhythm used with the whore wasn't fast enough for Sophie and she let the demon know, controlling the act ably. Her powerful body moved and Calcifer's hips joined in with a rocking motion. His hands left her waist only to cradle the curves under her breasts. “Sophie,” Calcifer's voice held a trace of neediness, a sound that hurt Howell as badly as the passion had. “Ooooh, Sophie.” She let Calcifer lick her fingers with his bluish tongue, watching him curiously at first, then she closed her eyes and bit her red lips. Switching hands as soon as one was done, she traced her wet fingers over her own breasts, her nipples, before raking her nails along Calcifer's chest, urging him on with both words and action. Sophie moaned with true abandon. Howell felt his body reacting to the sight of her so hot and bothered. Frustration, helplessness and horniness all fought for dominance within his chest.

He slowly became aware of hands moving under his t-shirt, drawing lazy circles around his own nipples. A sigh of pleasure escaped his lips before his mind comprehended what was happening. A man cradled Howell from behind. Strength seemed to flee him and for an embarrassing second he felt helpless, unable to stand without those strong arms that teased along his stomach and downward, rubbing the tight front of his jeans. He shuddered, excitement and revulsion warring within him. An open mouth grazed softly on his back and he heard Brigham's voice telling him to relax, “C'mon Howell. When was the last time, eh? Paid â phoeni!” Was this a memory or was he still in the nightmare? He couldn't tell, but he had to fight it either way.

“Gad lonydd i fi! Get the Hell away from me!” He wrestled the man off, aware of phantom hands pressing in on him. Howell threw himself from side to side to be free of those as well. His anger blossomed into a full fledged rage and he howled his pain at the couple on the bed as well as the man who dared try to touch him again. Power flooded his body and he blasted light at the shadows that still reached for him. Through the laughter, screams and moans of his dreamworld came the subdued sound of saner voices in the hallway, first Michael's then Sophie's.

“Howl?” Loud knocking and a door Howell couldn't see creaked. “He's having a nightmare, be careful.”

“Is this for attention, do you think?” She had to nearly shout over the din.

He was caught again in the phantom hands. They held him in a tight, painful embrace, forcing him to watch Calcifer and Sophie as they panted their way together, laughing and groping each other, lost to their audience of one.

“No, it's happened sometimes, not often.” Michael's voice sounded miles away from Howell. “But, um, I'd better go inside first. He can... it can be dangerous,” Michael said, his voice cracking, but sounding mature at the same time. “Back up quick Sophie! See those things? Keep away from them. Let's get out and I'll put a spell up.”

“Wasn't this like with his tantrum, those shadows? This is another one isn't it? His eyes are open.”

“No, I'm telling you it's more like a nightmare. He's, for a wizard it's... I don't know. I'm not powerful like you two, but when he gets like this... I don't think he can get out of it without us.”

“What's happened before?”

“Calcifer knows more about this. I've been with him since I was near eleven and it's only been one other time. I tried to help and those shadows, they tore me up a bit. Frankly, they scare me. I don't know what to do. Sophie, please. I think you can help. He'd do anything for you. You know he would.”

Howell watched helplessly as the Sophie in front of him began to lean backwards, arching her body and clutching at the inside of Calcifer's thighs. She moaned, her face contorting as if with pain. “Oh, yes,” she gasped. “Mm, so hot... Yes!” Flames roared from her open mouth. She screamed in time with the shadow creatures dancing around the room. Calcifer's human form broke open, fire flickering through the fissures, but he kept hold of her shaking legs. Telling her he was coming, he moaned his release, even as flames consumed both their bodies. Howell's throat was raw with pain and smoke filled his nostrils. His legs were encased in the shadows and he was unable to move, but his upper body strained to get to them, to save them. Impotent, he unleashed his anger at the phantoms around him.

Michael's voice cursed from outside the dream. “Hurry, Sophie! Do something!”

Hands fell away suddenly and the scene changed. He faced a tall mirror; the reflection of himself looking cool and handsome in a new blue and white suit. “All your fault, of course,” his calm self told him. “You foul everything you touch. You say you love them, but you can't stop yourself from fucking it all up. Pitiful wretch. You'll lose them and you know it, too. You'll lose everything.” The heartless man sniffed, saying, “Yum, is that bacon I smell?”

Cold water hit his face, startling Howell out of his dream. A familiar voice cut through his shock. “Hand me the towel now.” Rough fabric dabbed at Howell's face and he felt himself leaving the garden of hell. Hands pressed down on him, stopping his thrashing, but he knew these were welcome arms and relaxed into them. He felt a soft kiss on his forehead before his vision returned. Words from a fairy tale occurred to him and he almost laughed but his body wouldn't respond. Sleeping beauty indeed!

“Howl? Are you alright?” Michael's worried voice and Sophie's concerned look greeted him and he drank both in. The nightmare was over. The shadows receded.

“Oh, thank the stars,” Howell sighed.

He looked again at Sophie who sat on the side of his bed. Her face held love and concern, but she quickly covered it with annoyance. “You make a good deal of racket. Shall I get you some milk? I can warm some up for you.”

Howell shook his head, his own annoyance flaring in response to hers. “No, you hardly need another excuse to play with fire, do you?”

Sophie stood, her indignation creating a beautiful flush on her cheeks. Immediately, he wished he could call back those words and accept what may have been a peace offering. In a calmer tone he said, “Sophie.” In the space of time it took him to gather his courage to apologize, she was gone.

Michael still stood, towel in hand. He looked between the door and the wizard. “You're both quite nutters. You know that, right?”

Howell nodded, then reached for the boy's hand. “Thank you, Michael.” The emotion in his words made the boy blush. “I mean it. You've been a godsend to me and I don't think I've ever told you that.” He waved his hand. “Sophie... eh, we'll work this out. Calcifer? I'm not sure. We'll see. But... well, thanks.” They dropped hands and Michael shifted his feet, his blush deepening. “And I would, you know. I'd do anything for each of you.”

“Did you...” Michael scuffed his feet. “You weren't were you? Um, faking?”

Howell shook his head, his face showing the truth of it. “No. I wish I was. But, yeah, I heard. It... well I hope you never...” Blessedly, the details of this nightmare began to blur, though the fear stayed fresh. Losing them, losing his family...

“I dream of my dad sometimes.” The boy walked a step away, as if the distance would make it easier to share. “That's not a, not a nightmare or anything. But... sometimes I don't want to wake up; it seems so real. More real than other dreams. I know it's wrong, but I want it to go on forever.”

There didn't seem to be anything to say, so Howell only nodded. Michael walked to the door. “Goodnight Howl.”

“Goodnight again, Michael.”

“Are you going to be alright?” The earnest face gave Howell a bittersweet feeling. Youth.

“Yes, thank you. Get some sleep. We've got work to do tomorrow.” Howell knew he wouldn't follow his own advice. There were his plans to draw up, to keep his mind occupied and keep him from facing his fears.

000O000

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.

I'd have had Mari and Howell speak strictly in Welsh, but that would make things tough on both the writer and the readers who are likely to be non-native speakers, so I opted to do it this way. Gareth is also Welsh, but in their generation, not that many people grew up speaking it, that's why Megan is opposed (in addition to rebellion against her Welsh nationalist parents). Today the kids are learning the language in school but it's still a struggle for the survival of Welsh.

Cymru: Wales

Hylô! Shw mae, Megan: Hello! How's things, Megan

Mae pen tost ‘da fi: I have a headache

Paid siarad Cymraeg!: Don't speak Welsh!

Cwrw: Beer

Wncwl: Uncle

Cariad: Beloved

Mae ofn hi arna' i: I'm afraid of her

Hen wrach: old woman (crone)

Nos da, wncwl: Good night, uncle

Gad lonydd i fi: Go away

Paid â phoeni: Don't worry

Rugby shorthand:
The forwards are the larger players whose job is comparable to American linebackers or tackles. Backs are the lighter, faster players comparable to American running backs. Each position has its own number (players don't get their own numbers) and is known by it's shorthand, like hooker, tighthead prop, loosehead prop, centre (inside and outside), etc. Swansea University's rugby team is called the Whites.