Page 21 of Bite of the Gargoyle

“My name doesn’t matter,” she answers. “Though I will say it is good to see you in the flesh.”

In the flesh…?

“Do you…” I cough a few times to clear my throat and then look scrupulously at this old witch. Based on the fact that she just mentioned a spell, I’m fairly sure that’s exactly what she is. And I don’t have any experience with witches—something I find concerning at the moment. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes. You are the prophecy,” she answers. Then she goes silent as if she’s done explaining herself.

“What prophecy?”

“Never mind that just now,” she responds. “First, allow me to tend to those scratches of yours. I did tell the rope snakes to be gentle—” She laughs at my wide-eyed response and continues, “My rope snakes have a mind of their own, you see, and they only bring to me those whose are vitally necessary.”

I chew on that for a silent second, images of myself in a large cauldron, surrounded by turnips and potatoes dancing through my head.

“Why is my presence necessary?” I demand.

My name is a bit notorious in certain parts. Perhaps she wants my services and is simply going about getting them in the most unconventional way possible? If that’s the case, I’m charging her double. Perhaps triple.

“For now, I need only for you to lie still.”

She approaches me with a bowl and a rag. The thing reeks of garlic and berries, but I don’t protest when she dips it in the concoction and starts dabbing it on my mud-stained wrists.

As soon as the liquid touches my skin, the mud sizzles away, and the scrapes beneath them (no doubt from the thorns) begin to heal. I watch the skin seal itself back together as if it’s being stitched by an invisible surgeon. She applies the liquid over my entire body then, unceremoniously dumping it on me, even as I sputter, but her hand on my arm immediately calms me—magic no doubt. When she finishes, she takes off her ratty, old cloak, revealing a purple frock underneath, equally soiled and ripped. She lays the cloak over me.

“Rest now,” she says. “You’ve had a long day, and before that, a long night. We’ll talk when you wake up.”

“I’m not tired—” I start, but then she lifts the bowl to my nose. I inhale, and the next second, I’m out.

***

I wake up in a hammock, which is pinned to the ceiling. Lifting my head, I’m struck with a monstrous headache. Placing a hand soothingly on my forehead, I look down at myself and notice that I’m now dressed in a brown, mildly shapeless frock with a string around the waist.

Swinging my legs down, I plant my feet on the dirt floor. There are sections of the floor that are covered by wood, but the whole place has an unfinished and patchy feel to it.

“You’re up!” a voice calls from a chair on the other side of the room. “You might have a bit of a headache. I apologize for that, but there was no getting ‘round it, I’m afraid.”

It’s the old crone. The witch.

I don’t question her, not right away. That’s mostly because I can smell meat cooking from the iron pot over her fire and I’m so hungry, all I can think about is the emptiness of my gut.

“You’re hungry?” she asks.

I nod, and she hands me a wooden bowl with a metal spoon. Inside the bowl is some type of soup. I can see pieces of meat bobbing in it, beside root vegetables.

“Thanks,” I say, still wildly confused but too hungry to care. The woman wears a coy smile on her face as she watches me eat.

“Are you finished?” she asks when she hears the scraping of the spoon against the bowl.

I nod again, and she takes my bowl and promptly chucks it out the kitchen window.

“What—”

“The trees do the washing here,” she quickly explains with an unconcerned shrug. “It gives them something to do.”

I don’t know how trees can manage washing dishes but I don’t bother asking. I have more important mysteries to solve at the moment like what in the hell I’m doing here.

The silence that descends is charged with potent energy as I trace back her words from before she knocked me out. The words scrape against my skull until I grab onto one single memory and lock eyes with the strange woman.

“You said I was the prophecy,” I start, unsure of the words even as they leave my lips. “And your invisible ropes brought me here.”

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