It was not an old lady who answered.
A wary, unlined eye of moss green peered through a crack in the door, widening as it beheld me, bruised and dishevelled, on the doorstep. The pastel pink door opened wider.
A breathtakingly beautiful young woman stood before me, shock written all over her stunning face. Like most women, she was shorter than me, the top of her head barely skimming my shoulder. A cascade of thick, slightly unkempt blonde hair fell to her narrow waist. Her feet were bare beneath the hem of her dress, the same shade of green as her eyes, which swept me up and down. They lingered on my cut knee and my hair. I didn’t even want to imagine what sort of state that was in.
“Sorry,” I said in a rush. “I wondered if I could use your phone? Mine’s broken, and I got separated from my friends. I’ll only be a minute.”
The woman blinked, pulling the door open wider. She glanced left and right, scanning the trees with those wide eyes.
“Come in,” she said. “Quickly.”
I stepped gratefully over the threshold, staring around eagerly. The door snapped shut behind me, and my shoulders sagged with relief. It was good to be indoors again, surrounded by homely comforts. I cast an admiring gaze around the interior of the cottage. It wasn’t exactly what I’d expected of the pretty young owner. I couldn’t spot a television, or even a microwave in the open plan living room and kitchen. Everything looked old, but well kept.
Movement sounded behind me.
“Who else knows you are here, human?”
5It’s Giving Hansel & Gretel
It took a minute for the weird word choice to register in my brain. I frowned at the fussy lace cloth covering a little round table nearby.
“What do you mean human?” I turned to find the woman watching me intently, hands braced on her hips.
“That is what you are, is it not?”
No, I was a Norwegian Forest Cat. Honestly, why couldn’t I find a normal person? “Well, I mean, yeah, obviously. Aren’t we all?”
My host gave me a small, sly smile. “No.”
She bustled past me, leaving a faint trace of rose scent in the air as she wove between the cluttered furniture, stopping before a shelf on the far wall. Crystals of all shapes, sizes and colours were displayed there, along with bunches of dried herbs and a few potted plants. She began to rummage through the contents of the shelf.
“When did you arrive?” She tossed the question over her shoulder, not bothering to look back.
“Yesterday, but, listen, I only need to use your phone, then I’ll be on my way—”
“Have you spoken with anyone else since your arrival?” The woman stalked to the table, placing down a matte black rock, before squeezing between a low coffee table piled with battered old books, and a faded, overstuffed couch. She knelt on the rug before an empty grate, her back to me, and busied herself with something I couldn’t see. Within seconds, flames crackled to life. “Tea?”
Something wasn’t right. I wrapped my arms around myself and edged silently towards the firmly closed door, one silent step at a time. “No, thanks. I just need to use the phone.”
“You look as though you could use a drink,” the woman said, eyeing me again, a hint of disapproval on her perfect face.
“Honestly, I’m fine.” I glimpsed a large, metal teapot suspended over the fire. Who made tea like that? Why didn’t she have a kettle? Did she even have electricity?
Frowning, I scanned the cottage again. Although it was crammed, there were no lamps, or plug sockets, or, come to think of it, not even a light fitting hanging from the low beamed ceiling. It did not look like a house with good Wi-Fi speed. I took another sideways step towards the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the woman said in a bored voice as she clambered onto a stool, opening a cupboard that I could have reached without so much as craning my neck. She began pulling jars and tins out, placing them on the counter. A moment later, faster than I would have believed possible, she carried a tray piled with thick slices of crusty bread, jars of jam and a slab of butter to the table. “Here. Eat.”
I eyed the food, my aching stomach growling. So, the cottage belonged to an eccentric loner. Did it mean I should refuse a half decent meal? No. No, it did not. I was starving. Sliding into a spindly chair, praying it would hold my weight, I began to spread butter, keeping one watchful eye on my host, who had returned to the fireside.
China clinked, and by the time I’d smothered my bread in a thick layer of jam and taken an enormous bite, the woman settled opposite, placing two dainty cups and saucers on the table. The delicate little vessel was a far cry from the oversized mugs I used to caffeinate myself at home, but I was gasping for a sip. My water rations hadn’t gone far. I eyed my meal. What if it was poisoned? Everybody knew not to accept food and drink from strangers. My stomach growled, louder this time. Maybe I was being overly cautious, after all, what were the chances that this tiny little woman in the middle of nowhere would have something sinister mixed in her jam? If I didn’t eat something substantial soon, there’d be no need of poison to finish me off. To Hell with it. I took a sip of my tea, groaning as I did.
“My name is Sage,” the woman offered, watching me intently.
“Aliza, with an A,” I grunted through another mouthful of food, wondering if it was wise to share such details. But, I reasoned, this was a woman as alone in the woods as I was, and barely half my height. If she tried to murder me, I was pretty sure I could put up a decent fight. “Do you live here alone?”
“For the most part, yes. I grew up with many sisters, so I enjoy the peace. I return home when I am needed.”
I didn’t have any siblings. My parents had struggled enough to conceive me, resorting to IVF in the end. They’d made the decision to stop at one and count their blessings, to avoid any further heartache. I couldn’t pretend to understand their desperation for a child, but I knew the disappearance of one, even a fully grown one, would be torture to any parent. I had to get home.
“Do you think I could use the phone now? My parents will be crawling the walls.”
Perfectly arched, pale eyebrows rumpled into a frown. “How would they do that?”
“It’s just a figure of speech,” I sighed. It was one thing to enjoy the solitude, but I couldn’t understand why Sage wanted to be so secluded, so out of touch with the world. “It means they’re worried.”
“They are concerned about your quest?”
I laughed into my tea, splashing it over my nose. “I guess you could say that, yeah. I need to let them know I’m safe.”
Sage smiled again, a tiny flicker at the corners of her mouth, as though she was unused to such showy gestures as smiles. “I am sorry to say, there is no way to contact the human world.”
There she was again with the human thing. What harm would it do to play along? Maybe it would make her more sympathetic towards me if I went along with her delusions. Maybe we could send out a carrier pigeon or something. Isobel would love her.
“If you’re not human, what are you?”
“Me? I am a witch.”
Okay. Definitely crazy, but at least that explained the crystals. I forced myself to smile. “Nice. Can you, like, do magic and stuff?”
