Blurb: Miss Hattie, Granny Bonnet, Mistress Morl, Madam Tiln. Catherine Morland's life is changing fast. Wizards and demons aren't too much to handle if one has a good cuppa. If NA and Howl's Moving Castle met.

Notes:
Have I ever mentioned that Catherine and Henry are my faves?
I also love Howl’s Moving Castle. As any remarkably sane and level-headed person does.
After watching the movie a few times, I read the book. Then I read a few more books by the same author (Diana Wynne Jones).
Fanfiction is, by its very nature, not exactly original.
This was obviously started well before Marci posted her inspiration for September, but there are parts to this story that tie in very nicely to it. And I take full credit for that because I can.

The House with Kaleidoscope Doors

Chapter 1: Hat Thief

It was just the way that life worked that the eldest inherited the family business and the younger children had to shift for themselves. The eldest daughter of a seamstress took over her mother's needle and thread. The eldest son of a preacher mounted the steps of his father's pulpit. Other children fell in line. The second child of a butcher might marry a farmer who supplied livestock; the third child might apprentice to the baker in the town; the fourth might enlist in the army. By the time the sixth or seventh child chose a career, they could do nearly anything they wanted, so long as it did not displace their older siblings.

So it was that Catherine Morland ended up sitting day after day in her mother's hat shop on a prosperous street in Market Chipping, learning the craft, the business, the fashion and seasons, while her younger brothers and sisters grew up and went elsewhere. She wanted to join them, but there was always too much to learn. Instead, she would sip her tea and read at night after setting aside her latest creation. The stories were always wild and incredible, far-flung adventures with plucky heroines and dashing heroes, tricky demons, cruels wizards, epic quests, and always -- always! -- true love won in the end. It satisfied her to have that mental getaway while everyone else had a physical escape.

In keeping with tradition, people began to call her Hattie at an early age. Catherine doubted that half the people working in the hat shop even realized that Hattie was not her real name.

The worst part of it was that her sister, Sally, was a whiz at running the shop. Her big eyes took in every detail, and her memory recalled it with perfect timing. Did Mrs. Simmons buy a new dress recently? This bonnet will complement it well. Was Miss Elizabeth's favorite beau seen walking with the tailor's daughter? This arresting floral confection will cure his wandering eyes. Did Mrs. Leary have two grandsons in the army? This military-themed chapeau will demonstrate her patriotism.

Sally had apprenticed for over a year with a local dressmaker, but the woman eventually tore up the contract and sent her home. As much as Sally understood fashion -- both hats and clothes -- she could not make it, not quickly. Rather than try to keep working to improve her skills, the mistress had stopped trying. There were other girls in her shop, she explained, and Mistress Bella couldn't neglect her other charges for a wasteful hope.

So Sally joined Catherine at the shop in Market Chipping, minding the shop floor while Catherine ran the workroom. And it was there that Sally bloomed. She was aces at selling everything except the hats that Catherine made, but that was primarily because most of those were specifically commissioned and not meant for the shop floor. Buyers were always extremely pleased with “Miss Hattie's” hats, claiming that Catherine had captured exactly what they had wanted. But it was a sore spot between the sisters that they could not discuss.

.o8o.

It had been Catherine's hope when she was a little girl to marry the younger son of a florist who had a shop down the street. She loved flowers, loved everything about them from their colors to their scents, to the softness of their petals to the shapes of their leaves. As she grew older, she realized that she didn't love the boy however, at least not like that. And even if she did, the florist shop was promised to his eldest sister. So, over time, Catherine thought of him like a brother.

She had been sad when he had been apprenticed to the biggest bakery in town. He had moved out of the home above the florist shop and began sharing a room with another apprentice in the living quarters above the bakery. The location made the early mornings tolerable, and in winter the ovens kept him warm. But this meant that Catherine couldn't see him every day like when they were children. And as he was originally one of the most junior apprentices, his free time was rare and spent chatting with others in front of the ovens. So it was left to Catherine to visit him. As the heir to the hat shop, she could decide to visit old friends whenever she chose, either leaving the shop to the care of someone else, like Sally, or closing early.

. o8o.

Catherine strode the streets on the way to the grand pastry shop. She wore her favorite hat, a wide, straw brim with a rounded crown that she had worn for years, decorating it to suit her fancy then stripping it bare to redecorate it when another idea caught her imagination. Currently, she had wrapped a band of springy green colored silk around the crown and had adorned the front with a sprig of Peeking Ginny and a few feathers she had found in the hat shop's back courtyard. The little flowers had an outer layer of petals nearly the same shade as the silk with a dark purple heart at the center. Peeking Ginny had always struck her as a shy flower, reluctant to claim notice and hiding its glory, and that was close to how Catherine felt now. Two warships were in the harbor which meant that the streets were crowded with sailors. She admired their sacrifice as much as anyone, but at least one worker complained every day about the flirtation and harassment she had to endure walking home from the shop. That was the sort of attention that Catherine wished to avoid!

Speaking of avoiding people… Catherine glanced about and noticed that John Thorpe was walking down the same thoroughfare although on the opposite sidewalk. She surreptitiously tugged the brim down to hide her face and resolutely faced forward. He had recently begun appearing in the shop after coming once with his mother. He was full of compliments -- for her and himself! And his interest had sparked some whispered gossip among the girls that he would soon ask to formally court Miss Morland. Catherine didn't want to hurt his feelings but she'd rather do that than agree to any courtship with that vainglorious muttonhead.

Thorpe was headed in the same direction as Catherine so she began to slow her steps until he could move far enough ahead of her that she didn't need to fear that he would catch sight of her in his periphery. Just as she felt safe from detection, a bird swooped down through the air in front of her, forcing her to shriek and throw up her hands in response.

In the commotion, she knocked her hat from her head. She bent down to retrieve it as pedestrians ebbed around her. When she stood up, the troublesome bird was long gone, but John Thorpe was looking right at her.

Rather than waving half-heartedly or acknowledging him in any way, Catherine clutched her hat to her chest and ducked into an alley.

The alley was used by the adjacent businesses to store their trash and to receive deliveries. It was not the most reputable place for a young lady to be walking alone.

She crammed her hat onto her head and kept walking. Having started down this path, there was nothing to do but follow it until it joined a more public boulevard and hope that Thorpe had not bothered to follow her.

Ten yards in and she could hear someone behind her. The unknown person was still a way off but Catherine was too scared to check. She merely increased her pace and didn't look back.

“Miss Morland!” called out John Thorpe.

It was him. Catherine could not pretend otherwise. She had been hoping to avoid him in her store, but it felt squirmy and worse to be caught by him in this secluded spot. He was sure to say something stupid and fulsome, pausing only to glare at Catherine until she gratefully cooed back at him. And she really didn't want to deal with it right now, not him, not sending him away. She just wanted --

“Oh!” she exclaimed, having walked into something hard enough to bounce away from it in ricochet.

It was all the advantage that Thorpe needed. “Miss Morland! Fancy meeting you so far from your shop. It must be fate for me to see you today. What are you doing here?”

Catherine's mouth hung open but she had no excuse, no escape. “Umm…”

“Miss Morland is here with me,” came an unexpected voice behind her. She spun at the sound and saw a handsome, well-dressed stranger standing ridiculously close to her.

Instantly she realized that she must have bounced off of him. Oh no, she thought. One John Thorpe was bad, but two was worse.

“Miss Morland, do you know this man?” Thorpe asked.

“Uh.” It was kind of him to inquire but she felt like she was being forced to choose between the frying pan and the fire.

“I could ask the same question of you,” challenged the strange, stepping forward until he was almost touching Catherine's back.

“Miss Morland and I are good friends,” declared Thorpe, taking a few steps forward as well. “Very good. Quite cozy. She has never mentioned someone like you. And I am certain that I know everyone of consequence to her.”

“I can explain quite succinctly why she has not mentioned me before to the likes of you,” the stranger said then snapped his fingers.

John Thorpe suddenly stood rigidly straight. Catherine watched as the stranger flicked his wrist imperiously and waved away the other man who turned abruptly and began to march away with exaggerated steps.

Catherine could only think that she was in the presence of a wizard. How exciting! How terrifying!!

John Thorpe was not done, however. The wizard may have taken control over his body, but he was still free to run his mouth. He called out various challenges to which the wizard turned a deaf ear. He shouted that his great aunt was a witch, and she would hear of this and would not rest until their combined family honor was avenged. He yelled for Miss Morland to run away before anyone (such as himself) could accuse her of consorting with magicians.

That was the final straw, it seemed. The wizard tightened his fingers into a fist and Thorpe's tirade was cut off mid-syllable. The poor man kept marching until he blended into the crowd of the large avenue and kept going.

“I see why you were avoiding him,” the wizard said quietly now that it was just the two of them.

“You noticed that?” Catherine asked guiltily. She cast a discreet glance at the man beside her. He was still quite handsome, she found, even with his mouth set in disapproval at Thorpe's retreating back, and despite being a wizard. The books had always made wizards seem ugly, their physical appearances always marred to mirror their foul intentions. This man was also far younger than any wizard she had read about so maybe his looks would eventually age to reflect his villainy.

“On occasion I can see things that others may not," he said, catching her staring at him.

Catherine blushed and felt rather foolish. And vulnerable. There were tons of stories of witches and wizards who would steal unsuspecting people and eat their hearts. Of course, the people in those stories were always exceedingly attractive and, while Catherine didn't think she was ugly, she knew she was no more than average in looks. That plainness should insulate her from all but the most ravenous magician.

But then again, they were the only people in the alley now. There was no one else whose beauty could act as a distraction while Catherine fled to safety. And he was standing rather close.

With dread curiosity, she again peeked from under her brim at the stranger to find that he was staring intently at her. “If you'll excuse me,” she said, inching away from him. As young and handsome as he was, she should probably get away from him now.

“That's a very unique hat you have, Miss Morland. I've never seen one quite like it,” he told her, his eyes covetous. “Do you mind my asking where you got it?”

Any attraction was forgotten at his words and Catherine's fear shifted from her heart to her hat. She had no desire to lose either, if it was possible. She gripped the hat tightly and took another step away from him. “I never gave you leave to call me Miss Morland,” she said with another step. “And I have some errands to run.”

“Allow me to escort you,” he said. With one long stride, he closed the distance between them. “There are dangerous men about. And, if not Miss Morland, what would you like me to call you?”

“Ca--” Catherine began before she could stop herself. She pinched her mouth shut before she could put herself more in his power.

“Ca?” he smirked. “Cat? You look more like a mouse.” With that he took her hand and wrapped it around one of his arms and pulled her along.

“You don't know where I'm going?” she said, tugging on her hand.

“I have a way of getting to where I need to be,” he confided. She was not certain which of them had a better understanding of where she would end up.

Catherine's feet moved despite her best intentions.

After a block of the back doors of various shops, the wizard broke the silence. “I can see why you are not fond of him, little mouse. You are welcome for the rescue, by the way.”

Catherine frowned but didn't reply. Expressing gratitude or indebtedness to magicians was typically a fatal mistake.

“So, that charming hat you have, little mouse,” he said casually. “Where did you get it?”

Would he quit fixating on her hat? As she turned to glare at him, she spied something out of the corner of her eye, something trailing behind them in a dark and sinister fashion. She tightened her grip in worry.

The wizard noticed and followed her gaze. She felt him stiffen briefly and then relax again. His pace increased gradually and Catherine stayed at his side.

“Who, who is following us?” she squeaked. They were moving very quickly now and the air brushed against her cheeks but her legs didn't feel like she was going fast at all. Despite that, the figures were gaining on them

“Shadow demons, and they are following me. They are no one I would like you to meet.” He sounded distracted, like he was thinking up a plan to get them out of the alley in one piece. He adjusted his grip from her arm to her waist. “Get ready, little mouse.”

“Ready for what?” But he gave her no further warning.

The figures were right behind her, she felt one swipe the air above her head. She screamed but the noise came out all wrong. She shrank; she could feel the world getting bigger in comparison. The wizard's hand at her side dug in firmly as his magic transformed them both and suddenly she was indeed a little mouse squeaking while he was a hawk carrying her away from the lackeys that had been sent to capture him.

With a few strong flaps of his wings, they were well above the rooftops with sunlight beaming directly on their feathers and fur. Then, rather than being satisfied with having evaded his pursuers, he picked up his pace, dashing away as buildings, boulevards, and crowds cycled below him. It might have been exhilarating to travel through the air at great speed while clutched in the talons of a hawk had she been prepared for it, but Catherine's thoughts were nothing more than inchoate screaming.

Unexpectedly, they plummeted into another alley behind a building with familiar and distinctly colored brick. Catherine squirmed against the hawk's grasp and, rather than digging his talons into her hide, he relaxed his grip and she slipped free.

She fell and squeezed her eyes shut in fear. Another wave of magical transformation shuddered through her and her body changed again. Her four paws landed lightly on the cobbles.

Catherine tried to figure out what kind of animal she was now; it was better than wondering if the wizard would ever let her be human again. A glance at her fluffy gray tail made it clear to her: she had been turned into a cat!

“Look at you!” cried the wizard, obviously pleased with his handiwork and back in human form. He bent down to pet her back. “You are gorgeous, a magnificent little beast! And your fur is so soft!”

He rubbed under her chin and Catherine batted his hand away with a hiss. In an instant she was sitting like a normal girl on the dirty cobbles, her hat lying on the ground nearby and the hem of her skirt soaking up the contents of a puddle.

The wizard stared at her with wide eyes. “Well, that was interesting.” Apparently people normally had too much self-preservation to scratch him after he transformed them in animals.

Catherine wanted to say something scathing but worried she would only squeak or hiss. Instead, she glared back at him accusingly.

His mouth slowly quirked into a smile and his eyes darted to the cobbles by her hand.

She didn't know what game he was playing but she had had enough for one day. To that end, she kept her gaze fixed on him, refusing to budge, refusing to speak. He was a wizard. Surely his time was more valuable than hers, surely he would move first.

A loud bang from behind startled her as a door was thrown open and swung into the wall.

“Hattie, is that you?” came a breathless voice.

Catherine turned to the speaker, just glanced at him over her shoulder, and the wizard made his move. In a flash of feathers, he darted past her hand, snatched up her hat in his talons, and flew away. He screeched his thanks but it sounded like crowing to Catherine.

She shot to her feet. “Come back here!” she yelled, shaking her fist in indignation. “Give me back my hat, you thief!”

But the hawk had already disappeared past shingles and chimneys, her hat safe in his grasp.

The House with Kaleidoscope Doors

Chapter 2: Minding the Shop

“I cannot believe you were shouting at a wizard like that, without a trace of fear,” said Jamie. He plucked at the small platter of unsellable pastries on the table and placed an apricot crown in front of his friend.

“He stole my hat!” said Catherine, still fixated on the fact. “Of course I shouted at him.”

“Just be grateful it wasn't your heart, Hattie,” warned Jamie.

She made a sour face. “I don't think he was after such a plain thing,” she dismissed the idea. “My father himself gave me that hat. I must get it back.”

“Your father?” Jamie said. “But Mr. Morland died when we were just children. Shouldn't you have outgrown it by now?”

“You just don't know anything about hats! Quality hats can last a lifetime and I've taken very good care of it. Oh! To lose it now and like that -- to a, a, a lousy thief!”

Jamie could have consoled her with the thought that she had a store full of hats from which to choose a new favorite but her entire posture was closed off. She would not be over the loss for some time and nothing Jamie could do would speed her recovery. Instead, he sat in silence and gathered crumbs into a pile.

“I'm sorry, Jamie,” Catherine said after a while. “I was so excited to come here today and see you, but then a wizard happened and I just…” She huffed. “I just want to go home.”

He patted her hand. “I understand,” he told her. “Tell Sally I said, 'hello.’ And don't forget the sugar knots I made for you.” He pushed forward a pastry box and Catherine took it with a reluctant smile.

“Thank you, Jamie. You are a good friend.” Her behavior wasn't particularly deserving of a good friend right now.

“Old friends usually are,” he said with a crooked smile. “Otherwise you would never have kept me this long.”

.o8o.

Rather than risk the streets as a pedestrian where one might be accosted by magicians, Catherine rode a streetcar home. The first leg of the journey took her to the harbor where a few military ships were anchored. She stepped down from the streetcar and joined the people who were gathered to watch the sun glinting off the water, or to admire the warships at anchor.

Catherine paused to admire the colors of the water, seeking inspiration. It was beautiful but without her hat the wind kept throwing her hair back in her face. It was too annoying to remain long so she left.

Sally had been minding the shop all day and was alone when Catherine crossed the threshold. Sally gave a cursory recap of the customers and sales and asked briefly about Catherine's trip to the bakery. Catherine decided to omit any mention of the hat thief being a wizard to shield her sister from worry, but Sally took the wrong conclusion from the retelling.

“Do you think this criminal will steal other Morland hats?” Sally wondered. “On the one hand, our hats are so amazing that everyone wants them. On the other hand, who wants to buy something that is going to be stolen from you?”

Catherine tried to amend her story to dampen Sally's sensationalism but that only prompted Sally to ask probing questions that Catherine would rather not answer. In one last bid to change the subject, Catherine offered to watch the shop until closing if Sally wanted to step out.

Having been cooped up in store all day while her eldest sister went about at leisure, Sally jumped at the opportunity, shucking her shop apron and flinging it at Catherine, checking her reflection as she positioned her hat, and calling out a goodbye as she opened the front door.

The bells hanging from the door had stopped ringing their welcome cacophony before Catherine could muster her own goodbye in response.

With a sigh, Catherine glanced around the room. She rarely was up front these days, spending her time instead with teaching the new apprentices, meeting with wealthier clients about bespoke pieces, and reviewing the books and settling accounts with various tradespeople. Now, however, as she looked, she saw Sally's influence over everything.

It wasn't a bad thing! Sally had an astute understanding of how to sell hats. She probably could sell anything she wanted, Catherine realized, but the girl was stuck in a shop she would never inherit. Perhaps Sally might one day elope with one of Catherine's apprentices and the two could open their own shop in another town.

But that was a concern for another day. Right now, Catherine needed a new hat.

She wandered the floor, looking at the different hats on display. Sally had organized them based on similar themes. The prettier hats and fascinators for social events sat in the front windows to lure in customers. Wide-brimmed sunhats were grouped together on a table. Cloches were arranged around a gilded mirror. Military and patriotically-colored hats were likewise gathered around an army helmet that Sally must have found somewhere. No-nonsense bonnets had a corner near the back.

The sunhats most closely resembled the hat she had lost, so her first instinct was to choose one of them. With the right trimming, she was certain she could find a suitable replacement.

With a grimace, she pulled her hand away. It felt too cold to replace her father's gift. A sunhat would not do, she decided, and walked away from the table. There was a small exhibit of hats representing a more prosperous life. Typically, these hats were commissioned directly and never appeared in the showroom, but occasionally an apprentice attempted one and it ended up here. There were hats that a woman like Catherine might wear in a few years when her mother officially turned over the keys. But that was not now.

She spun on her heels, letting the room swirl into a disordered rainbow before settling her gaze on the bonnets. Catherine made a small face; a bonnet was beneath her position as well as something she associated with much older women. She looked about once more but there was nothing fitting for her in the showroom. Still, John Thorpe would never have looked twice at her in a bonnet, nor that pilfering wizard.

One bonnet stood out from the rest, the brim tapered so that the cheeks were nearly exposed. It was not as traditional as the others. With a jolt of recognition, Catherine remembered making it a year ago. If it was still available, it must not be very good. She snatched it up, intending to pick it apart and see what was wrong with it.

Just as she was about to forget the shop entirely and wander back to her workstation, the welcoming bells jingled, signalling a new customer.

“I am sorry, sir,” said Catherine automatically, “but the store is closing. You will have to come back another day.” She really wasn't cut out for sales.

Instead of leaving politely or apologetically, the man sailed around the shop, looking down on everything with a condescending glare. “What a pathetic little shop,” he averred.

Catherine felt her eyebrow quirk upward. Her grip tightened around the bonnet reflexively. “Excuse me?” Surely she hadn't heard that correctly.

“What a pathetic little shop,” the man repeated, emphasizing his words for clarity, “full of pathetic little hats. And the most pathetic, littlest thing in this shop is its worker.” By now he was standing in front of Catherine, looking down at her from his substantial height and overgrown sense of entitlement.

Catherine felt her blood boil. How could Sally deal with people like this? “The shop, sir, is closed,” she said in clipped tones. “And the exit is over there.” She pointed to the front door with the same hand that grasped her silly bonnet.

The man saw it and narrowed his eyes. “Oh, but you are making this too easy for me,” he smirked. With a flick of a wrist, figures began solidifying in the shadows and stepping forward. A wizard! The man was a wizard, and Catherine had just attempted to throw him out of the store! It had taken all her luck to survive meeting one magician that day, but she had no idea how she could escape from this second one.

Before Catherine could flee, the shadow henchmen captured her and held her in place. Her eyes were wild with fear but the magician found the whole situation rather amusing.

“I am not going to kill you,” the wizard said but the words provided no comfort. He plucked the bonnet from Catherine's hand and placed it on her head. “There, it suits you. More than you ever realized.”

The room grew darker, the shadows stronger, the wizard larger, until Catherine could not see anything else, until Catherine could not see anything at all.

.o8o.

Catherine woke up in a heap on the showroom floor. Everything hurt. As she struggled to get to her feet, she ransacked her memory for a hint as to what had happened.

Standing upright seemed impossible; her back wouldn't straighten. Just how long had she been lying on the floor?

Then she glanced at a mirror and nearly jumped out of her skin to find that she was not alone. An old woman was looking at her with worry and disbelief.

“Excuse me --” Catherine began, but the old woman moved her lips at the exact same moment.

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly as a horrible thought occurred to her. “Oh no.” She reached up and patted her cheeks and the old woman copied her gesture perfectly. Her cheeks felt like chapped parchment, as if they were as wrinkly as the old woman's.

“Oh no,” Catherine said again, realizing that this was not a stranger staring back at her through the glass.

With one voice, Catherine and the old woman in the mirror opened up their mouth and screamed.

.o8o.

Catherine stood immobile, gaping at the hag in the mirror until she couldn't deny it any longer. She was cursed, hexed!

After the realization sunk in, she slapped her hands lightly on her cheeks and began to scurry about, locking the door and dousing the lights. If anyone should see her looking like this, Catherine was sure she would die.

She repositioned the bonnet to further shield herself from being recognized and hobbled up the stairs to her room. No doubt she should have stayed behind to dust the shelves and sweep the floors, but she couldn't, not now! Whatever problems she had left behind, she would face them in the morning, when this curse had worn off and she was back to her regular self.

As she got ready to sleep, it was almost a relief to hang up that bonnet and to take off that pretty dress that was hanging so poorly on her temporary body. But that only exposed wrinkled, flabby flesh that brought tears to her eyes. Her night dress was flowy and fit her well in any form, which only made her feel more miserable.

All night long she laid in her bed waiting for the feeling of magic leaving her body, but it never came. Instead, she grew more and more uncomfortable, her mind raced, her heart pounded.

In an unguarded moment, she fell asleep, but when she woke up she felt stiff and old, even worse than before. She patted her cheeks again, finding them as wrinkled as when she had climbed into bed. The curse hadn't broken.

A cheery knock shook her from her reverie.

“Hattie!” It was Sally. “Time for breakfast!”

“I'm not going,” Catherine croaked. Even her voice was that of an old woman.

“Hattie? What's wrong?” asked Sally. “You sound ill.”

Catherine seized the idea. “Yes! Yes, I feel terribly ill. I will stay in bed all day and rest.” There was no way she could face her sister or the rest of the shop in her current form.

“Shall I send for the apothecary?” Sally called through the door.

“No! No. No thank you. No, I'll just get some sleep. I'm sure that's all I need,” said Catherine.

“Hattie, you really do sound awful. Let me come in there to check on you.”

Catherine could see the door knob turn slightly before catching on the lock.

“Sally, stay out of my room!” she said, thinking quickly. “What if I'm contagious? We'll have to close the shop if you get sick too. It's not ‘Morland's Hats’ without a Morland.”

That argument seemed to do the trick. The knob rattled back to its resting position and Sally sighed all the way through the door. “All right, but I'm coming back to check on you during tea time.”

Catherine nodded in acquiescence although her sister couldn't see. “I'll be here,” she promised and held her breath as she listened to the sounds of Sally walking away.

This was a promise she would have to break.

There were two ways to get rid of a curse. The first and easiest way was with time. But she had passed a whole night and the curse felt as strong as ever. Catherine realized as she got out of bed and tried to stand up straight, this curse had cut decades from her life. Either she now was so aged that she stood on death's doorstep, or the shock of going from a young twenty-something woman to an old crone left her body unable to cope. She could feel in her brittle bones that if the curse didn't end soon, she'd die of old age.

But if the curse didn't fade with time, it would need to be broken with magic. That would involve finding a witch or wizard who was kind enough to save her, and then putting herself at their mercy. Whatever they demanded of her -- whatever fee to pay, whatever errand to perform -- she would have to do.

But in searching for a friendly magician she would have to put herself in danger of being found by one with less than kind intentions, one with a crueller sense of humor than to turn her temporarily into a cat or mouse or to steal her hat.

Odds were not in her favor of having a happy ending. As slowly as she now hobbled about, she would need to get started right away in finding a savior. She went to her small writing desk and penned a letter to Sally. She mentioned that she needed to go on a trip, not knowing if she would ever return. It was a bit melodramatic, but the thin, shaky scrawl muted the danger. She ended with a request that Sally run the store in her absence, and that if Catherine didn't return within the month, to assume that she was dead and to inherit everything.

Catherine left the note on her bedspread and then looked about the room, trying to decide what to bring with her. Very little appealed to her right now; her clothes were all wrong for her now and she didn't want to carry a heavy burden on her quest. In the end, she dressed in the most worn and uninteresting clothes she had and put on her stoutest boots. She reached for her favorite hat reflexively but settled for the bonnet. At least the bonnet wasn't out of place on her head. As she tied the ribbon under her chin, she felt better slightly. Old women could be cantankerous and formidable, and Catherine would have to be the same in achieving her goal.

She slipped down to the kitchen and filled a small sack with provisions, moving as silently as a mouse while she could hear the noisy apprentices down the hall talking about bowlers and trilbies.

She eased the back door shut so that no one would hear and investigate, but didn't breathe easily until she was a few streets away. There was when a good-natured farmer took pity on her and offered her a ride out of town in his cart. As she bounced over the cobblestones much faster than she could have walked, she began to feel that she might be successful in her quest. Having no destination more specific than, “somewhere remote,” she rode in the cart for as far as she could before nibbling briefly on her rations, collecting a few flowers to decorate her bonnet, and then continuing on foot with only intuition for her guide.

The farmer had taken her a great distance, climbing the foothills so that she could see the boundaries of her hometown and the glittering sea beyond. But when it was Catherine's turn to walk, progress was much slower. After an hour of climbing the slope, the town looked no more further away than before.

By then, the sun was clearly in decline. The wind picked up and the temperature was falling. Catherine shivered. It hadn't occurred to her to pack a shawl when she had left home in the morning, but now she regretted the lapse. Where was she going to sleep tonight?

She kept trudging up the mountain -- it clearly felt like a mountain now -- trying to let the exercise warm her but the wind only grew more sharp.

In a fit of morbid melancholy, she sat on a large rock to rest and look down upon the faintly twinkling lights of her home, and imagined that this was where she was going to die.

The howling of the wind was the only sound. She thought it sounded mournful, like it was sorry for the role it was about to play in freezing her to death.

She sighed at how quickly and ridiculously her life was coming to an end. Just yesterday morning, she had left the shop to visit Jamie with no suspicion of impending tragedy.

Behind her, something sighed in sympathy.

Catherine straightened her back as well as she could when she heard that noise. It didn't sound like the wind, which was practically feral at twilight. She looked about her to see the source but it was all rocks and dirt and grass. There was no one else, not even a dog or mouse or anything. At least, not to her old eyes.

“Hello?” she called out timidly. “Is anyone there?” She would prefer freezing to death to being murdered.

The sigh came again, louder this time but still from an invisible source.

“Show yourself!” commanded Catherine with a tremor in her voice.

The sigh shifted into a hum.

“I said, 'Show yourself!’” She stomped her foot in frustration.

There was a small cracking noise and a house appeared out of nowhere. It looked quite cozy, with a steeply pitched roof and windows glowing with light from within. A plume of smoke curled out of each chimney and scented the air. The door was sheltered by an overhang and lit by a welcoming lamp.

As friendly as it appeared, the door was completely inaccessible. Spindly support legs kept the house level over the steep angle of the mountain, leaving the entrance several feet above the ground.

“Oh!” exclaimed Catherine. If only she could get inside, she was certain to spend the night comfortably.

The house heard her and rotated, its legs moving with insect-like precision, so that the door faced Catherine. Then a small porch extended from the threshold and a flight of steps unfurled like a tongue, stopping just short of Catherine's feet. The knob rattled slightly before the door opened and swung on creaky hinges, letting light and warmth spill down the stairs.

If Catherine was not sitting down, she would surely have fallen over in surprise and rolled all the way down the mountain.

Chapter 3: Meeting the Master

“Hello?” Catherine called out tentatively as she pushed open the door.

Truth be told, she was a little scared of what she might find inside, but she was more frightened of what would happen to her if she spent the night in the cold mountain air without even a shawl for warmth.

And the house was most definitely magic, which meant that it was a magician's house. And that meant that she had found someone to break her curse! Surely she could tolerate a pleasantly creepy home if it meant that she could be her real self again.

“Hello?” she called again as she crossed the threshold. She could feel a ripple of magic, no doubt checking her for hostile intent. If Catherine had a magical house with a habit of appearing to random strangers, she would probably have all sorts of protective spells on it.

“Hello,” answered a warm voice. Even though this was only in reply to Catherine’s own query, she still jumped in surprise.

“Wh-where are you?” Catherine asked, looking around in confusion.

“The fireplace,” the voice -- definitely female -- replied. “Come closer so I can see you.”

Catherine hesitated, trying to gather her courage. Sensing her indecision, the door softly shut behind her, narrowing her choices.

“Come in, come in,” the woman cajoled. “I've put the kettle on and you can sit near me and warm your human bones while we wait for it to boil.”

Catherine tried not to be alarmed by the offer. “My human bones?” she repeated. “Are you… are you not human?”

The creature crackled with amusement. “No, I am not. But I have been told that I am very human-like, and it was meant to be a compliment.”

“If you're not human, what are you?” Catherine took a small step forward. The stranger's friendliness was slowly eroding her fears.

“Oh, I'm a fire demon,” came the matter-of-fact reply. “I have to stay in the fireplace, if you must know. Otherwise, I'd burn down the house and my master would be very displeased.”

Catherine thought it was very understandable to get mad at someone who destroyed your home, however accidentally. She took a few more steps.

“And where is your master?” That truly was the person she needed to speak with.

“He's out for the night, he and his apprentice,” the demon answered. “They won't be back until sunrise and I was feeling lonely, and you would surely be frozen to death by morning. Won't you come closer?”

Catherine supposed there was nothing else to be done. With determined strides she went to the fireplace, the most ornate and large fireplace that she had ever seen. It was massive, practically a room within the room, really. The fire demon herself was tall, nearly as big as Catherine, and in the flames Catherine could clearly see arms and legs and a head.

“There you are!” the demon cried happily. “Have a seat. The brown chair is the most comfortable, or so I've been told.”

A whistling from the stovetop pulled Catherine's attention from the fascinating creature just long enough for her to spot the kettle.

“The water's ready,” sang the demon. Then she leapt up the chimney and disappeared. A moment later, a dainty, flaming hand popped out of the stove, gripped the kettle, and poured boiling water into a teapot. The hand disappeared and a second later the demon dropped back into her fireplace.

“I'm afraid you'll have to take it from there,” the demon apologized.

“I don't mind at all,” said Catherine, shuffling over to the teapot. She put some tea leaves in the pot to steep and placed it on a tray with a cup, then carried it over to the comfy chair.

As soon as she lowered herself heavily onto the seat cushions, the fire demon also sat on a piece of blackened brickwork. The demon lifted up what Catherine recognized as a crucible and held it to her lips like a cup.

“Can you drink?” Catherine asked in surprise. It sounded like a dangerous hobby for a creature of fire.

“No, but I am fascinated by human rituals, like drinking tea with people,” she said. “It is a great excuse to pause one's labors and discuss important things.”

Catherine snorted a laugh and poured the tea. She had listened to enough chatter during tea time to know that very few things of great importance were discussed.

“So how did you get that curse?” the demon asked curiously.

Catherine set her cup aside, grateful that she hadn't knocked it over. “How do you know that I'm cursed?”

The demon smiled and pretended to sip from her crucible. “Any magical creature could recognize it. I've seen lots of curses. Even my master is cursed.”

Catherine felt her hope fail. If the wizard who had captured this demon was not strong enough to remove his own curse, how could he save anyone else?

“Do not worry about my master.” Apparently it was much easier for the demon to read Catherine's expression than the other way around. “I know exactly how to break that curse. It requires another person -- an outside influence, if you like. Like you if you like,” she added pointedly.

“I'm not a witch! I can't do magic,” Catherine protested.

“There are things older and stronger than magic.”

“Such as?” Catherine prompted.

The demon paused, trying to think of how to phrase her words. “Love. And curiosity,” she said at last. “Curiosity is the root of all magic. And you strike me as a very curious person.”

Catherine demurred. She didn't think she was curious enough to thwart magic.

“Let’s make a deal, you and I,” said the demon, wiggling excitedly in her seat. “Stay and try to break my master's curse, and in return I will see to it that your curse is broken.’

Catherine's eyes lit up. “You can do that?”

The demon shrugged. “I make no promises, offer no explanations. But I know how it is done.”

"And you cannot do it yourself, right now?" asked Catherine.

"I cannot. And I cannot say more," the demon flickered.

It wasn't exactly what Catherine was hoping for, but she shouldn't expect to be so lucky as to have her curse broken right away. She wasn't so foolish and shortsighted as to cast away this opportunity. Besides, what would happen if she refused? Would the demon make her go back outside when she was currently so warm and comfortable? Without a feasible alternative Catherine agreed.

The demon smiled widely and chattered on. Catherine leaned back in the chair and felt herself grow drowsy. She was falling asleep, she knew, still wearing her boots and her bonnet but she was too content to care.

.o8o.

The front door was flung open and two figures entered, one walking on bandied legs while the other flapped to rest on the back of a chair.

From the fireplace, the demon roused herself and crackled to life. “You're home!” she announced happily. “How was your search?”

In the chair, Catherine began to awaken. Everything felt sore and achy. She didn't want to move so she simply sat there as the new arrivals moved closer to the hearth.

“It was fruitless!” exclaimed the old man and the bird shrieked in agreement. The man had a long gray beard and stooped over as much as Catherine did. “The girl has gone --” He stopped abruptly, finally catching sight of the unexpected guest in his comfy chair. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And how did you get in here?”

Catherine groaned as she tried to straighten her back. “My apologies, Master,” she began, “but your demon allowed me to stay.”

“Master?” the ancient wizard repeated, then looked at the others in confusion as the demon snickered and sizzled behind her hands. “Oh, I forgot.” With a flourish he removed his cloak and revealed himself to be a boy maybe a few years younger than Sally.

Catherine's eyes widened at the casual magic. The wizened old man was actually a boy, and the hawk -- She watched in amazement as the bird transformed into a man.

“You!” she said with a hint of accusation. It was none other than the handsome wizard who had stolen her hat!

“Me?” he said, coming closer to get a better look. Obviously he didn't recognize her.

“You… You… You look too young to be a master wizard,” she fumbled lamely. It suddenly seemed important to guard her identity from the man.

“You are too generous, Madam,” he told her with a wary expression as he took the seat next to her. "But I must repeat Allen's questions: who are you and how did you get inside?”

“Oh, I… Your demon let me inside last night.”

“Eleanor?” He turned his attention to the creature in the fireplace. “Did you invite her in?”

“Well,” the demon danced about, “she did order me to show myself when I found her wandering around the mountainside.”

The wizard swivelled his eyes back to Catherine. “How can a hedgewitch such as yourself control enough magic to command my own personal demon?” His tone was completely blank.

“I'm not a hedgewitch!” she flatly denied.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Madam,” he said, straightening a little. “Under what magician have you studied?”

Catherine felt her eyes bulging. It was like they were having two conversations at the same time. She had studied under her mother’s tutelage, but she had been taught how to make hats, not magical spells.

“I am not a witch,” she stated emphatically.

The three looked at each other then looked at her. They wore expressions of uncertainty, disbelief, and amusement.

“She's really quite sweet,” the demon said with a smile. “She doesn't even know she's a witch.”

The master stood up and started to pace. “That makes no sense," he said quietly, for his own ears. "I am seeking one hedgewitch yet another one turns up in my home."

Catherine knew enough about hedgewitches and hedgewizards from her books to fear them. They had all the power of trained magicians and none of the discipline. This was a dangerous combination and the danger was proportionate to their powers. Ignorance of one's magical abilities didn't prevent one from using them, merely from controlling and understanding them. Such people typically died at a young age, sometimes killing a great number of innocents at the same time. Still, they were preferable to trained wizards who used their magic with deadly precision to achieve their villainous goals.

The master paused in his pacing to stare at Catherine who quailed beneath his gaze.

“Who are you?” he asked again. It was a question she had not gotten around to answering.

Again Catherine was gripped by an instinctual need to hide her identity from him. Telling him that she was Catherine Morland felt suicidal but the only other name she had was Hattie and that was no longer fitting. She had left the hat shop to Sally; she had lost her hat to the wizard standing before her. Instead of her familiar hat atop her head she was instead wearing a -- “Bonnet! You can call me Granny Bonnet.”

The wizard didn't believe her but the fire demon danced for joy. “Granny Bonnet! There, Master, she has given you her name. You must let her stay now.”

The younger man seemed to rouse himself at hearing that “What? But I am the apprentice!”

“Relax, Allen,” cautioned the master. “No one is replacing you. But I cannot let an undisciplined hedgewitch wander the mountains; something bad would surely come of it. All right, Eleanor, I am putting you in charge of getting her a room. Allen, you can start basic lessons with her this afternoon to get a feel for what she doesn't know she knows, after she gets settled and you have some rest. This isn't a distraction I planned for, but if the two of you can watch over Granny perhaps I can have better luck with finding my little mouse on my own.”

“Little mouse?” Catherine repeated, suddenly feeling much better that he didn't recognize her. “You are looking for a mouse?”

“A very special mouse.” He provided no more details, becoming suddenly fascinated with her bonnet. “And what are you wearing, Granny?” he asked.

With a snap of his fingers, her ribbons untied themselves and her bonnet flew off her head and into his hand. She would have squawked in indignation if her body wasn't instantly racked with pain. She gasped and clutched her chest where her heart was no longer doing its job.

Her distress was obvious to the room. The wizard quickly kneeled in front of her, pressing a hand to her shoulder to keep her from toppling out of the chair. Warmth seeped from his touch, it felt calming but it was not enough. It was not enough!

“What can I do, Master?” the demon called frantically.

“Just a little more focus,” he ordered and the fire tamed itself into a low blue flame.

Catherine could feel the warmth spreading through her body and growing hotter, but it couldn't overcome the numbness in her extremities.

“It's the hat!” cried the apprentice who grabbed the bonnet from the wizard and roughly set it back on Catherine's head.

Her heart, which had been gently coaxed into beating by the wizard's magic, now thumped at a gallop. It was a painful acceleration but welcome as blood flowed forcefully through her veins.

She sat there panting and sweating while the sensation of pins and needles swept through her. When it began to fade she felt utterly exhausted.

The wizard removed his hand from her shoulder although he kept her fixed in place with his piercing gaze. “I did not see that coming,” he said quietly.

The crisis was now averted. Allen stepped back to give her some room. Eleanor darted about in the fireplace, trying to see her clearly. The wizard leaned back on his heels. Catherine sat still and tried to catch her breath. She knew that if she shut her eyes, she would fall asleep for a thousand years.

“Forgive me, Granny, but I have to ask where you acquired that hat.”

Catherine wanted to frown but her face was already grimacing and her body was too tired to put more effort into it.

“Forgive me, Master, but I don't think now is a good time for questions,” said the demon. “I have a room for her under the stairs. That way she won't have to go up and down the steps.”

“Very well,” he said, not pleased. He gathered Catherine in his arms and lifted her out of the chair. If he thought she was lightweight and frail, he was too polite to mention it.

A doorway appeared in the wall and rattled open to reveal a new bedroom as the wizard carried her over the threshold. She would have liked to have covered the distance under her own power, but that was impossible. And if that meant her choices were either to sit in the chair until her strength returned or to be put to bed like a weak kitten, she would rather go to bed as she had no more dignity to lose.

Under her drooping eyelids, she could see that the room was sparsely furnished although details seemed to make themselves apparent with every labored breath. At first the only thing she noticed was a small fireplace that stood in a corner with a miniature version of the fire demon pacing about in it and calling out notes. As soon as Eleanor said something about a bed, Catherine realized that a tiny cot was pushed against a wall. No, listening to Eleanor describe it, Catherine realized it was bigger than she first thought and more comfortable too. The comforter, which Catherine had initially believed was pulled up to the pillows, was actually pushed aside and waiting for her to be wrapped up. As the wizard began to lower her to the mattress, light from the window bothered her eyes. How could she sleep with the sun shining on her face? But then the light was muted, hidden behind curtains and shutters. The comforter was pulled up to her chin.

Her eyes shut.

Before Catherine knew it, she was asleep.

Chapter 4: Troublesome Doors

Catherine woke to the sound of birdsong and the hush of conversation. The words were nonsensical and she was so comfy in her bed, but something warned her to pay attention.

“You may have lost your mouse, but at least I have brought you someone else as a replacement,” came the higher-pitched voice.

“They are hardly interchangeable, not with a curse like this” said the second voice, lower.

"Did you not notice a lack of feathers despite all the magic you used to save her heart? If you cannot find your first choice, Granny Bonnet at least has the advantage of being here."

“I have not given up on my little mouse just because it's been a few days. And even if I had, Granny is too old," came the gentle protest.

Once Catherine realized that the wizard and the demon were talking about her, all drowsiness drained away and she listened intently.

“I don't think she's very old.”

“Well, you're a fire demon. I'm sure your ideas of young or old are quite different from mine.”

“She is younger than --” The first voice stopped abruptly. With the sound of falling soot, the fire demon dropped into the tiny fireplace in Catherine's room.

“Are you awake, Bonnet?” inquired the demon.

“Yes,” said Catherine with a voice rusty from disuse. She pushed back the covers and sat up, feeling weak. “How long have I been sleeping? It feels like I've slept for weeks.”

At least the pain and the crushing fatigue were gone but she was a little nervous about getting out of bed when every limb felt like it had forgotten how to work.

“It's only been a few days,” answered the fire demon helpfully. “Let me tell the master that you're up.” With that, she leapt up the chimney and disappeared.

A few days! It was unbelievable at first but perhaps that was how the curse worked. She wriggled and stretched, waking up muscles that had apparently had a small hibernation. As she swung her legs to the floor, Eleanor appeared in miniature again in the fireplace.

“The master wants to speak with you if you are up for it,” the creature said and there was a knock at her door. Before Catherine could grant permission to enter, there was a rattling sound and a cascade of colored light under the door, then it creaked open to reveal the wizard.

“Granny,” he greeted with a slight bow of his head, “it is good to see you awake again.”

Catherine nodded in return. “Yes, thanks to you all for looking after me.” She owed them probably more than she knew. “Allow me to join you out there in just a moment.” She wanted to get up by her own power.

He cast a side glance at Eleanor to alert him if aid was needed. “Then let me put the kettle on.” With those words he backed away. The door closed on its own a moment later.

Catherine groaned her way into a standing position while the fire demon watched from her vantage point in the hearth. Catherine felt weak but it was manageable, the sort that would fade with time and motion.

“Are you feeling better, Bonnet?” asked the demon. “You are definitely looking better.”

Catherine wondered what the demon knew of people and how much weight to give that comment. “I am feeling better,” she decided as she stretched her back, listening to the joints pop and crackle. “Although I wouldn't mind a mirror to see myself.”

As if at her command, a mirror appeared in the wall near her bed. “Will that suffice?” Eleanor asked.

“Oh,” said Catherine in mild surprise. She could get used to living in a magical house that was managed by a fire demon. “Oh,” she said again, taking stock of her reflection. The bonnet was still on, and should probably remain. It hid what was no doubt as rat's nest of hair and Catherine couldn't imagine how she could wash or even brush it without killing herself. But at least the wrinkles on her face were no more pronounced than when she had first been cursed.

“May I have a bowl of water to wash my face?” she asked the demon.

“I cannot work with water,” Eleanor admitted apologetically.

Catherine shrugged. It was just as well. A little water could not wash away the groves and lines in her skin.

Eleanor opened the door for her and was sitting fully grown in her seat in the main fireplace when Catherine walked into the main room. The wizard was puttering about the stove, arranging things on a tray and humming to himself.

“Do you need any help?” he asked belatedly, although Catherine supposed that the demon would have called for him if he was truly needed.

“I feel much better,” she said, and she meant it. “But I have been told that I slept for a couple days straight.”

“Four days,” he clarified, bringing the tray to the chairs arranged by the hearth. “No one dared to wake you with that curse upon you but, as I said before, it is good to see you with your eyes open.”

Four days? Catherine frowned. That was too long!

“I've given Allen the task of breaking your curse,” continued the wizard, “but his progress has been hampered for obvious reasons. And now I've sent him out for the first time in days and you wake up.”

He smiled in commiseration for their mutual bad luck and handed her a cup and saucer.

“While we are waiting for him to return, do you mind if I ask a few questions?” he prodded.

“No,” said Catherine. “That seems more than fair. Two heads are better than one.”

“Do you remember what you were doing when you got that curse?” He began. “Did you see the magician who cursed you?”

“Why, yes, I--” She stopped. She had what? She remembered being in the... the place where Sally worked. And she had come back from visiting Jamie earlier. And then someone came into the… the place, and he had insulted... the place or the things or Catherine herself? And then he was gone and Catherine had the bonnet and…

“Did you see that, Eleanor?”

The fire demon murmured over the lip of her crucible. “Her memory has gone sideways, addled with the curse.”

“I'm not addled!” cried Catherine, indignant.

“Not your wit, but your memory,” explained the wizard. “It makes the curse harder to break when you can't discuss it. This is in many ways standard, but it is much easier to just prevent you from speaking of it, forcing you to speak gibberish or losing your voice. Playing with memory like that is fairly complicated, which tells me that we're not dealing with a novice or a prankster. You've offended someone deeply. How, I wonder?”

Catherine sipped her tea in irritation knowing she could not answer.

“How did you end up wandering around the mountainside?” the master asked casually.

“I… I was…” The only thing that stood out was the shock of finding this house.

“How old are you?”

“I'm… I'm…” She remembered the cake Sally had made for her last birthday party, when she was… when she was older.

“How do you like your tea?”

“It varies through the day but for morning, I prefer black tea, strong, with honey and lavender syrup, just a little cloudy with milk.” The words came so easily that she clapped a hand on her mouth.

“I don't care for honey, but I love to burn dried lavender,” the fire demon contributed.

“How do you feel about the war?” continued the wizard.

“It's stupid,” Catherine admitted. “The king should care more about his subjects than imagined slights. He acts as if the suffering in every family is unimportant to him. It's a shame.”

“Are you fond of the shore?”

“It can be inspiring, the way the light plays on the water.”

“Did you never go to just splash in the water as a child?”

“Mama never had the time, and there were too many of us for Papa to safely take all of us at once.”

“I have one brother and one sister.”

“I have three of each.”

“There were seven of you?” Eleanor interjected. “However did your parents manage?”

“Mama would…” Her words trailed off as she tried to remember the detail that had appeared with startling clarity in her mind until she opened her mouth. Her mother did what?

“My father is a bit of a taskmaster,” the wizard said to distract her. “I know he had very valid reasons for being so strict, but it cannot change my memories of a cold father.”

“That's sad,” said Catherine. “My mother was always the stricter of the two, but she had to be. And I always knew I deserved any punishment I got. Papa, on the other hand, was the mischievous one, getting into trouble right along with us.”

They would have kept talking, with her accidentally giving away information that they might use to learn about where and how she was cursed, but the fire demon suddenly announced, “Allen is coming.”

Again Catherine distinctly heard the rattling noise, as if rocks were being spun in a tumbler. The light under the front door seemed to coordinate with the sound, stopping on something dark and dreary. With no additional warning, the front door flew open from a gust of chill wind and the young apprentice came in dripping with rain.

Eleanor jumped around in agitation and slammed the door behind him as soon as his ankles were clear.

“Terrible weather we're having,” the young man observed, shaking off his magical cloak and splattering large drops all over the floor.

The fire demon hissed at the water, not knowing whether it would be better for her to blast heat into the room to evaporate all the unwanted moisture or to flee to a different room entirely where nothing was wet.

Catherine stared at him, then out the window where the sun was shining too brightly for any clouds.

“Where did you come from?” she asked. Her curiosity was too strong to keep her in her seat and she was past Allen and at the door as quick as a thought. The damp apprentice tried to congratulate her on waking up -- her curse was his assignment after all -- but she paid him no heed.

“How does it work?” she asked before opening the door. The outside was not the rainy location Allen had just come from, but the sunny mountain near where she had first found the house. She shut the door with a twinge of disappointment.

“How do you do it?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she merely thought really hard on being able to find someplace else before she grabbed the doorknob again. As she held it, she could almost feel little notches. When she twisted the knob from one mark to the next, a rainbow of light rippled over her boots and the world spun around the house like a kaleidoscope.

The master said something like, “Bonnet, no! Stop!” which didn't make much sense to Catherine at the time so she paid it no heed. She opened the door to find a yawning black void.

The room seemed to tilt like the house had decided to spill its contents into that nothingness. Catherine felt her feet beginning to lose their purchase and slip forward. The blackness tugged at her dress and bonnet. She screamed, and the noise came out like a stupid, foolish girl.

With the rustle of wings the master was there, intervening, putting himself bodily between her and the non-existence, shutting the door with a forceful slam, glaring at her over his shoulder, pressing his mouth into a grim line.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed, wiping away tears. When had there been time to cry?

He shut his eyes and sighed. “This is a magical house, Granny,” he explained, keeping his voice kind. “It doesn't follow the same rules as the buildings you've been inside all your life. As a safety precaution, you should let Eleanor open the doors for you in this house, at least until you've gotten control of your magic.”

Catherine swallowed and nodded contritely. The wizard hadn't yelled at her, but she was sure she would feel better if he had. A firm scolding would at least explain why she was still shaking like a leaf. That encounter had aged her just as much as her curse. Whatever that infinite blackness was, she had no desire to experience it ever again. “I'm sorry,” she repeated.

She was still ready to burst into sobs so the wizard shepherded her back to her chair as Eleanor heated the kettle and Allen hopped about like a terrier trying to say comforting words.

Soon Catherine was ensconced in her chair with a blanket across her lap and a hot cup of tea in her hand. The urge to cry had faded but she was still trembling. The two men told stories of how their own magic had almost gotten them killed a few times but Catherine was in no mood to find the humor in such talk. At the bottom of her cup, Catherine realized that all she wanted to do was lie down but she was afraid she would fall asleep and never wake up again.

She tried to run a hand through her hair but knocked into her bonnet instead. The bedraggled thing rested haphazardly on her head with most on her flowers crumpled or missing. She probably looked a fright, which would be embarrassing if she wasn't already so ancient.

“Oh, my poor bonnet!” she whined in the middle of Allen's tale about a bull. “It's a mess!” She didn't need a mirror to know that. In fact, it was probably best that she didn't see how low she had fallen.

“Do you want to fix your hat, Bonnet?” inquired the fire demon, not too invested in the apprentice's storytelling.

Oh, what Catherine wouldn't have given to be back in her shop with no inkling that curses like hers even existed beyond the pages of a book, working away at her hats and training her own apprentices while Sally ran the shop! She'd even be content to marry John Thorpe if it meant she never had to meet the black void. But she had run away from all of that, left her gingham and satin behind, her grosgrain and feathers, her beading and mesh. No more felt, no more straw. No more brims and trimmings.

“What I wouldn't give for some coresolis or Alpine roses or troll's tears,” she said softly, thinking of the flowers she could weave in the cap or wrap around the crown. “And maybe some lavender and stregiss. Oh, and a great big pincushion if I can find it.”

“Are those all flowers?” asked the demon who never really got to appreciate anything verdant.

Catherine smiled. “Yes, all of them. I always loved flowers, could never get enough of them. I could make some decent sweetener for my tea and maybe I'd make you a dried posey that you could burn.”

Eleanor was excited. She danced about the hearth, crackling and twirling. “You have to, Bonnet. You have to make me a posey! I've never had one before. What is it?”

“Well,” chuckled the master, “it looks like things are back to normal here. And that means I must crack on. Eleanor, keep the house safe while I am gone. Allen, look after Bonnet. Bonnet,” he said with the ghost of a smile, “stay out of trouble.” As if she had any control over it!

With a shrug he transformed into a hawk and flew once around the room until Eleanor could open the door for him and send him on his way.

Catherine sat mutely for a while as the door swung shut magically. “Does he always do that -- leave so abruptly?” she wondered.

“Pay no attention to him,” said the apprentice, trying to distract her. “Let’s have Eleanor take us to a field of flowers and you can make her a posey.”

Catherine agreed and the front door swung open to a colorful new place. “What a beautiful garden!” she breathed. “However did you find such a place?”

She didn't wait for an answer. Any reticence or fatigue was forgotten as she got up and gravitated toward the doorway, pulled by a far less sinister force than that which had nearly dragged her into the void. Allen followed with a basket and shears.

For the first fifteen minutes, she was too busy calling out the names of flowers she recognized and marveling at the blooms she had never seen before to notice anything else. But at last she called Allen over to inspect a particularly fragrant patch of white blossoms. He was at her side quickly but she kept looking for something else, something missing.

“Where is Eleanor? Where is the door?” She felt a cold stab of panic. This was a far more pleasant place than the emptiness but she still felt abandoned.

Allen, however, was calm. “She's waiting for us to call the house back,” he said. “We only have one front door, you see, so if Master Tiln needs to come home but we already have the door open, he'll be stuck waiting until we're done. Eleanor likes to keep the door shut when we're separated just in case. But all we have to do is give her a shout.”

Catherine looked around, spinning slowly, searching for a sign of where the house might be, but all she saw was clumps of flowers and bushes swaying in the breeze. She couldn't even tell where she had walked that she could trace back her steps.

Sensing her unease, Allen prompted her to try summoning the house. She frowned and tried to remember how she had done it the first time when she didn't know there was a house to summon.

“Show yourself!” she spoke in a clear voice then watched in awe as the house reappeared and the door swung open.

They went inside briefly to explain why Catherine had called for the house so that Eleanor wouldn't worry, then went back outside. They wandered through the meadow for hours, periodically going inside so they could empty the basket. They stayed at that task until they were both wilting in the heat. She even wove necklaces which they draped over their shoulders, and another band which fitted around the crown of her bonnet. Sometimes Allen would ask her things and sometimes he would just observe. She knew he was trying to measure the bounds of the curse but she didn't mind.

Once the sun had set, Catherine began to organize the flowers, hanging bundles to dry by the mantle while Allen prepared a simple meal.

When Allen announced that supper was ready, Catherine made a moué and asked when the master would be back. The apprentice only shrugged as the fire demon said he would probably be gone for a few days; it was pointless to wait for him. As the two humans sat and chewed, Catherine tossed the promised posey to Eleanor. The flowers immediately began to blacken and curl but released a strong aroma.

“Oh, Bonnet, it's lovely,” enthused the demon. “How did I go so long on this planet without knowing such delight existed? You must make me another one for tomorrow.”

The apprentice clucked a toothless warning against spoiling the fire but they were all too content to commit to any sacrifice. If Catherine had thought the evening’s perfection was lacking in any way, she would not have complained about her curse but the absence of Master Tiln.

Chapter 5: Master Errol

The next morning, the master was still gone. Catherine sent Allen on an errand to bring back some honeys and sugars as she began to prepare syrups. At the hat shop, she was always giving assignments to the workers and it felt natural to do the same to the wizard's apprentice. Allen, used to being a gopher for his master, thought nothing of it.

She covered the stove with bubbling pots filled with various bouquets garnis infusing the water. The fire demon slipped away to another room to escape from the humid air as she worked and Allen likewise slipped away when he had returned from various shops in far-flung towns.

By noon, the liquid had condensed into syrups. Catherine bottled most of it and stored it in a cellar that Eleanor found. She climbed the stairs back to the main room and was just about to gather the pots to wash them when the front door swung open and a man who was not Master Tiln entered the home. A chill went through the room as the fire demon crouched low over the grate. Catherine yelped in surprise and Allen fumbled with the tea tray he had been preparing.

The man was older, well dressed, and clearly magical. Catherine immediately recognized him as the magician who had come to her hat shop and placed this hex on her. Instinctively she cowered and hid her face from him. Had he come to steal the last remaining moments of her life? Was he equally a threat to Eleanor and Allen? How had this evil man gained entry to Master Tiln's home?

“Allen!” the stranger barked without preamble. “Where is your master?”

Allen jumped to his feet before answering. “He's out, Master Errol. He left yesterday. He'll probably be home again in a few more days. Shall I tell him to return the call?”

The wizard raised his eyebrows at the tightly reined chaos of the main room. “You have been rather industrious in his absence,” he observed.

“Yes, sir.”

“And who are you?” the wizard asked Catherine with a sneer. “If you are the new housekeeper, Master Tiln is better off without.”

Catherine felt herself quaking with fear. Thus far, the man didn't recognize her. Her clothing had changed and the bonnet was still decorated with flowers that she had plucked the day before, but she needed to get away from him before he got a good look at her face.

“This is Granny Bonnet,” offered Allen in an eager tone. “She's... she's…”

“Surely the fire demon can put the charwoman in the laundry or a closet while I am here,” Master Errol said.

Catherine felt a wave of sick relief flood her to think that she could go. The laundry, the cellar, any place was preferable to where she stood. With weak, shuffling steps she walked to the nearest door and didn't raise her eyes until Eleanor had shut it safely behind her.

When at last she looked around, she momentarily thought that she was in the laundry, but it turned out to be a closet -- a very big, disorganized closet. Shelves ran around the perimeter, with boxes and hats piled on top. Below, clothing draped from hooks and rods. Boots and slippers were tossed haphazardly on the floor. A floor mirror in an ornate stand stood in the middle of the room and the only door was behind her.

She circled the space to orient herself and spied her precious hat resting high above her. As satisfying as it would be to reclaim her property, it would probably lead to trouble that she would rather avoid just now. She glanced about the narrow room, then whipped her gaze to the mirror so fast that she has a momentary headache. She was there in the reflection, but she was old Catherine, or rather, young Catherine.

She stepped closer, mesmerized by her appearance. The bonnet and dress looked out of place now but she had no attention for it when her face was unlined and her back was straight. She reached out a hand to touch the glass and recoiled when she realized her hand was still spotted and gnarled even though the reflection showed no sign of age.

This was a magic mirror, but how did it work? What was it showing her? Was this trying to show her that the hex was an illusion? Or was the mirror enchanted to show her what she wanted to see, regardless of what was true?

She stared at the mirror for a long time, but she was no more sure of what she saw. She would probably have to ask Master Tiln about it to get to the truth but didn't know how to do that without arousing suspicions.

Shaking herself free from the mirror's fascination, she moved away from it, circling the space and keeping her eyes averted.

"What is taking so long?" she muttered to herself, growing weary with being cooped up in the closet. There was no fireplace in the closet. No doubt it was meant to give the wizard his privacy, but it also meant that Catherine could not open the flue and eavesdrop on the visitor to find out if he was leaving yet. She told herself that she shouldn't be troubled. The cruel wizard would not stay long. Master Tiln was not present and therefore any visitors would have to call again later. As soon as he was gone, Eleanor would let her out. It was just a matter of waiting.

To pass the time while she waited for that arrogant windbag to blow away, she spied a wide-brimmed felt and snatched it from the shelf. A ridiculous orange feather entirely overwhelmed it and she plucked it off confidently. A hat like that would be a good hat for walking about. The brim would shield the wearer's eyes from the sun and the crown was deep enough to sit firmly on the head and not get blown off in the wind. The feather, however, was stupid beyond words. Orange, against that shade of grey? It was an offense to an artist like Catherine.

Without the feather the hat instantly looked better although it had only gone from ridiculous to plain.

Master Tiln, she knew, could transform into a hawk when he chose. She wondered if he had any hawk feathers lying around or if they disappeared when he transformed back into a man.

She checked the floor and found a small, dusty pile of feathers and lint. She selected a few and brushed them off, blowing away the dirt and arranging them in a fan. They would look rather handsome on the hat if only she had a needle and thread to sew them on, and a broach or ribbon to cover the quills. It would make an excellent traveling hat, much better than the foolish contraption he was wearing yesterday when he left the house.

Lacking interruptions, she found for a sewing kit and sewed the fan of feathers into position, pausing to check and admire her work as she went. Completed with that task, she wondered how she might find the materials to continue the project when the door popped open a few degrees. Catherine was too excited to return to the others to dawdle. She chucked the hat back on the shelf and shoved the leftover feathers in her apron, and sped out to join the others.

"Is he here?" she asked, before she was even back in the room, but Eleanor was back to her usual cheery blaze so the strange wizard must be gone. "Who was that odious man?" she added, feeling safe enough to speak honestly.

"That was Master Errol, a very great and powerful magician," said Master Tiln.

Catherine had not expected to see him back and she jumped in surprise to hear his voice. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out to him.

"Wards," he answered with a gesture that revealed a few feathers that had not yet disappeared. Catherine had remembered the ripple of the magical boundary when she had first crossed the threshold of this home. "Master Errol is not exactly welcome here. As soon as he arrived, I knew it. I came as quickly as I could, in case he wanted to cause something more nastier than his usual mischief."

"The old master only came to gloat about killing our mouse," huffed Allen. He had to spend the time in Master Errol's presence cowering, and was cranky for it.

"You don't know for certain that Master Errol has killed her," contributed the fire demon. "I don't think she's dead."

"Who died?" asked Catherine. That was the one part of the conversation she followed. Or it was the one part of the conversation that kept her from following the rest.

"No one died, Bonnet. They've just gone missing," said Eleanor.

"If she's not dead, then where is she?" countered Allen. "And why did Master Errol show up so smug? There's been no sign of her for nearly a week."

Catherine knew she was the mouse in question. But she also knew she was not ready to reveal that to anyone, especially if one wizard was trying to kidnap her and another was trying to kill her.

"If she's been dead for a week," she reasoned instead, "why did Master Errol wait until now to brag about it?" She didn't notice that Master Tiln seemed to perk up at her words. Instead, she muttered under her breath, "Although I cannot blame you for thinking the worst. I suppose a wizard must murder a large number of people throughout his career, not to mention all the hearts and livers he must eat."

There was a collective gasp and Catherine saw that everyone was gaping at her in shock.

"What did I say?" she asked weakly, already guessing the truth.

"Oh, Bonnet," said Eleanor, disappointment thick in her tone.

"You think we're a bunch of murderers?" Allen exclaimed. "We saved your life! Do murderers rescue people from mountainsides, or take old women to pick flowers?"

"Well, to be fair, you do think that Master Errol has killed someone," Catherine defended herself. "And you are trying to kidnap some poor girl."

Eleanor roared with laughter. "Kidnap her! Oh, Bonnet, where do you get such ideas? You're a magician yourself, have you ever eaten a human heart, or abducted someone?"

"I didn't know I was magical," Catherine defended herself. The idea did sound ludicrous with Eleanor laughing at her. "But it happens in gossip and it's in the books I read."

"I don't think gossip is meant to be taken seriously," said Master Tiln.

"But in the books, the wizard is always the villain. He's always trying to separate the young lovers, to steal their hearts," said Catherine.

Allen gave her a pitying look, sorry for her sake that her tremendous age had not brought her any wisdom. "Granny," he said in a voice that mortified her, "story books?"

"Well you must admit that some wizards are bad," she huffed. "What do you want with the missing girl anyway?"

"We are not trying to kidnap her, Bonnet," said the master. "We are trying to protect her from Master Errol."

"But who is she to Master Errol?" asked Catherine. "What has she done to him that he wants to kill her?" She had tried to throw him out of a hat shop, she admitted to herself, but that was hardly excuse for murder.

"It's not what she's done, it's what she's going to do," Allen said cryptically.

Catherine thought that was ridiculous. "How does anyone know what she's going to do?"

"Augur and prophecy," Allen said simply. "You'll learn about them soon enough, provided we can find her in time."

Catherine didn't doubt that Allen knew what he was talking about, but it made no sense to her. She shot a frustrated look to the master to beg for more details.

"Some magic takes time," explained Master Tiln. "My old master has been working for years on a special spell and now that he is less than a week away from having it come to fruition, this little mouse has appeared and threatens to upset his plans."

"But I, I thought she's just a mouse -- a girl," Catherine corrected herself. It was getting harder not to slip up that she was the girl in question. "You said she was a hedgewitch. How can she know how to thwart that evil wizard?"

"Did I say that?" mused the master. "The trick about hedgemagicians is that they can do magic whether they realize it or not. And I have seen her do magic, myself. Complicated magic, so she knows far more than she realizes."

"How is that even possible?" Catherine gaped at him. "What sort of magic did she do?"

"Ooh, yes," enthused Eleanor from her niche in the hearth. "Tell us the story. I want to hear it again."

Master Tiln looked momentarily conflicted. Now that Master Errol had been temporarily dealt with, he needed to get back to his search. But another quarter hour of rest might be best. Then he spied the collection of dirty pots and pans on the stove, and decided.

"Granny, if you'll make the tea, I can tell you about the mouse," he said.

Eleanor clapped in giddy expectation, sending sparks up the chimney and then lowered comfortably on her blackened bricks. Tiln claimed his usual seat. Allen settled himself on a stool near the fire; as the senior apprentice, he should probably have the second best seat, but he was raised to be courteous to anyone who looked as old as Catherine.

Catherine busied herself with the tea tray by the stove, warning everyone to keep quiet and wait for her. The last thing she wanted was to miss details of the wizard's story because she was too busy with the tea. A quick glance was followed by a longer one, but something was missing.

"Allen, did you move my syrups?" They had spent most of the day yesterday gathering flowers and herbs, and all of the morning boiling water and sugar. Master Errol had interrupted them, but perhaps Allen had moved the remaining bottles and jars to the cellar to keep them away from the unwanted guest.

There was no answer forthcoming so she turned to face them and repeated the question.

Allen slumped forward in something like defeat. "Master Tiln?" he wheedled.

The wizard sighed and stood up wearily. "Let's you and I check the cellar, Bonnet," he said before asking Eleanor to open the door.

"Did Allen put all of my syrups down here?" Catherine asked when they both reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm afraid that Master Errol noticed your syrups. He was rather impressed," Tiln told her.

Catherine grunted. "I can't imagine why. He doesn't look like a person who cares for any sweetness."

Tiln smiled at the observation and pulled one of the bottles off a shelf. "He took a sample of each, I'm afraid."

"He stole them!?" She regretted not making a poison to teach that thief a lesson.

"He wanted to study them," said Tiln. It was not exactly a denial. "When do you use this one?" He asked, offering the bottle to Catherine.

She unstoppered it then inhaled the soothing scents of chamomile and themory. "If the pressures of the workroom are too much and I can't stop thinking about problems, I sometimes put this in my tea before bed. It helps my mind to rest so my body can do the same."

"It's a calming draught," said Tiln, "with a little sleeping potion mixed in. What is this one for?" he picked up another bottle.

"That's for my morning tea," she explained, recognizing the thread that she had wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "I like a nice bracing cup at the start of the day. When the shop is very busy like for holidays, I offer it to the rest of the girls."

Tiln removed the cork, took a sniff of the liquid and exhaled. "It's a potion for fortitude and endurance. And this?" He pointed to another tied with a pink ribbon.

Catherine began to feel confused, like she was being congratulated for committing wonderful crimes. "That's what I drink when I can't come up with ideas for a new commission. I'll have a cup and go for a walk. I always see something inspiring and by the time I come home, I know exactly what I want to create."

"I believe that is a creative spark," Tiln corrected her gently. "Your syrups are all magical potions."

"That's silly," she scoffed. "I learned them from my father. Are you saying he was a hedgemagician too?"

As she said it, the idea went from laughable to plausible. Her father had attempted to teach his own recipes to all of his children, although Catherine was the only one who had a knack for it. He had also taught her about flowers and fabric, things not quite in line with her mother's rules for composition, but no one could find fault with the way customers gravitated toward the hats Catherine crafted using her father's odd ideas. And no one could compare to her either, because when any of her siblings or her mother's apprentices attempted to use the same materials, Catherine's results were patently superior. She always felt guilty for inheriting her father's talents as well as being poised to take over her mother's business; the revelation didn't make her feel any better about it.

"Oh, but that means you're not so hedge of a witch after all if you studied under someone," came a familiar but unexpected voice from the furnace in the corner.

Catherine jumped in surprise but she was gratified to see that the wizard did too. For a moment, she had forgotten all about Eleanor and Allen. She hadn't remembered that she was cursed into an unnatural old age, and she hadn't noticed before how close Tiln was standing to her. Even the despicable Master Errol had seemed to fade away for a bit. But it all came back at the fire demon's interruption and she inched away, feeling stooped and foolish.

Tiln likewise seemed to recollect that time was indeed passing. He grabbed the bottle of fortitude. "Let's go back up and have our tea. Then I must be off. I have a mouse to find."

Chapter 6: Lecture and Lesson

The story that Catherine expected over tea -- Tiln's version of how he had met her in the alley -- was cast aside when Eleanor excitedly told Allen that Bonnet had learned potions from her father.

The young apprentice was entirely too curious, digging into all sorts of details that Catherine didn't know she really knew, like when to use honey rather than different sugars as a binding agent, or how violets could mend a broken heart as well as inspire a new passion.

Too soon, tea was over. Master Tiln's cup was empty and, invigorated by the syrup, he wanted to get back to his search for the missing witch. Trusting that Master Errol did not already have the girl in his clutches, and eager to ensure her continued safety, he transformed into a hawk and flew away, leaving behind a rather disappointed Catherine.

"Oh," she huffed, "why is he always doing that, turning into a bird to dash out of here? I should think that a fire demon would be able to take him exactly where he wanted to be with no need to fly long distances."

"Yes, but that's the nature of his curse," said Allen with a shrug.

Catherine perked up at the mention of the curse. For so long, she had been focused on her own problem that she had forgotten she had promised the fire demon to help the wizard.

"What do you know about Master Tiln's curse?" she asked the other two.

Rather than answering, Eleanor leapt with a crack and disappeared up the chimney to hide in some other room of the house. In alarm, Catherine looked at Allen, waiting for him to flee as well. He only chuckled and sat down. "Demons!" he chided.

"What was that about?" asked Catherine when she realized that no additional comments were forthcoming.

"Master Tiln cannot discuss his curse, so his demon cannot either," explained Allen. "It's all in how they are bound together. But it’s a different relationship between master and apprentice so there's nothing stopping me from sharing what I know, if you want to hear it."

Catherine's mouth fell open. All the time she had spent with Allen, and she could have been quizzing him on the curse instead of wasting their breath dancing around topics she wasn't allowed to discuss?

"Allen!" she squawked. "Of course I want to hear! Tell me everything you know."

Obviously neither wizard nor fire demon had been able to impart the exact details of the curse to the apprentice but Allen was able to describe his observations and hypotheses while Catherine looked on in encouraging silence.

The first hypothesis was that Master Errol had cursed Master Tiln at the end of his apprenticeship rather than releasing him gracefully from their contract. Having been hexed by Master Errol himself, Catherine could readily believe him guilty of anything.

Allen also believed that the curse was reaching a critical point. While the curse must have been in effect for the entirety of Allen's apprenticeship, in the last six months Master Tiln had grown increasingly focused on finding someone. Allen's lessons were more and more neglected as the master had less and less time for them. And the wizard had more than once commented on ending their contact before his next birthday. Allen took it as an ominous sign that if this particular someone didn't break the curse by then, that it would be unbreakable.

"When is his birthday?" Catherine asked.

Allen pulled a thoughtful face. "In a few days, give or take," he estimated.

"Give or take?" she repeated. "But that could mean tomorrow!"

"It will probably match up with Master Errol's next visit," Allen surmised.

Catherine grimaced. A few days was barely enough time to understand the curse, much less to break it.

The last hypothesis was that the curse was slowly robbing Master Tiln of the ability to be human. It was not so much supposition as fact that Master Tiln could not appear as human outside of the house. Allen had been an apprentice for a few years and the master had never once been able to walk out the door without transforming. Even when he was home, he tended to sprout feathers when stressed. And when he was magically exhausted, he often reverted to a bird until he could rest.

"That can't be right," mused Catherine. She had met Master Tiln in an alley in Market Chipping, and he was very much a man although he did turn into a bird twice. "Maybe he can't cross the threshold as a man but then he can change back later."

"Granny, I have never seen Master Tiln as a human outside the house," Allen stated unequivocally.

"Yes, but what if it's more than just being outside," suggested Catherine. "What if it's only during the daytime, or in a certain location?"

Allen was already shaking his head. "No, no. Do you know how hard it is to understand him as an animal, how much it has impeded my education? He has no other choice."

"But what if I've seen him before," insisted Catherine, "in his human form, walking in an alley in the town at the bottom of the mountain?"

"Then I'd want to know if you saw anyone with him, because that's the person who can break the curse." The apprentice thumped his hand on the table for emphasis.

She refused to believe it. "You can't be serious!" She glanced at the fireplace, expecting to see Eleanor's knowing eyes but there was nothing but burning logs. "Whoever the master was with, I'm sure she has no idea how to cast spells or to break hexes or anything useful."

"Do you know who she is? Do you know how to find her?" Allen asked excitedly, taking exactly the wrong message from her words.

"Yes, I know her, but what if she doesn't want to be found?" Catherine countered. "What if she's afraid of wizards? What if she can't undo the spell?"

"Who's afraid of wizards?" asked Allen with a snort.

"Regular people are afraid of wizards! I was afraid," she told him. "I didn't know that I was magical, and if this girl is anything like me --" and Catherine could not believe her own curse let her say this much -- "then she is scared too. And even if she isn't terrified, she probably doesn't know the first thing about breaking a curse."

"But that's impossible," Allen argued. "Think of yourself, all the magic you can do without even realizing. You're a natural at potions and I'm sure she will just know exactly what to do, like an instinct. Some things are older and stronger than magic."

The words reminded her of when she had first entered the house and made a pact with the fire demon. So long as Catherine did what she could to break the master's curse, Eleanor would likewise attempt to break the curse that had aged Catherine. By refusing to help, was Catherine also be refusing to be helped?

"Such as curiosity?" said Catherine.

"Such as love!" said Allen.

Catherine sputtered at that. "They aren't in love with each other!" They barely knew each other, how could they find time to fall in love?

"You don't know that," Allen chided her, and wouldn't he feel foolish if he knew the truth! "Love is a natural neutralizer to dark magic -- curses and hexes, what-have-you -- and a natural amplifier to light magic. And don't your ridiculous stories always end in true love?"

"You just told me that those stories were rubbish," she pointed out. "Why should I believe the part about love?"

"Oh, even a stopped clock is right every now and then," he said with an eye roll, getting up to grab his magical cloak. "Don't worry about it, Granny. Just find that witch. Let love sort it out. I will fetch Master Tiln while you bring the witch here. Door!" he called out, banging on the mantle to call Eleanor from her hiding place. The fire demon appeared in a shower of soot and shifted the world around the knob before swinging it open onto the same sunny spot where the wizard had recently passed.

Recognizing the press of time, Allen was gone before Catherine could refuse anything.

Back in her usual hearth, Eleanor leaped about. "Bonnet, this is so exciting!"

"This is terrifying!" Catherine exclaimed. "What if you're all wrong? What if I like him but not enough? What if it's not love that we need to save him?"

"Don't panic, Bonnet," Eleanor soothed her. "It will take a little time for Allen to bring the master home. We have time to calmly talk about this."

Catherine sat down heavily, then immediately sprung up again. Tea! What she needed right now was a perfect cup of tea, something sweetened liberally with Creative Spark and a love potion.

"It cannot be love at first sight," she muttered more to herself than to an audience as she refilled the kettle. "He's already seen me three or four times, and the first time he turned me into a mouse and a cat, and then stole my hat. That's hardly a good foundation for love. And besides, I've been here for nearly a week and he hasn't recognized me. You'd think if we were fated to fall in love that he'd instinctively know that it was me in this old body."

"Do not judge him too harshly," said the fire demon. "After all, he's only been in your company for a few moments all told. He knows that you're special, Bonnet. He just doesn't know how."

"He thinks I'm ugly and old now, doesn't he?" Catherine asked. "I heard the two of you talking when I woke up."

"How much did you hear?" asked the demon. "Did you hear him talk about meeting 'the most amazing witch' and how he had been scouring the town for days, looking for a sign of you?"

Catherine covered her face with her hands and stood hunched and silent. Eleanor, satisfied that her companion was thinking about this information, sat flickering while Catherine could feel her own self wavering.

"But how will he even know it is me?" she said at last. "Twice he's asked me who I am and I couldn't answer him. Something prevented me."

"That was your magic protecting you," Eleanor explained. "True names have a power of their own and you wouldn't want to give that to anyone you don't trust completely."

"Be that as it may, he's going to come back here expecting to see my old self -- I mean, my young self, Hattie Morland -- and he's going to see Granny Bonnet instead."

"Then we must find a way for him to use more than his eyes to see you," Eleanor stated.

"Hearing won't work either because I sound as old as I look," grumbled Catherine.

Eleanor didn't respond right away. She stared meditatively at Catherine. After a few beats of silence, she spoke again. "Master Tiln said you transformed into a cat when he met you."

Catherine crossed her arms at the memory. "That is because he turned me into a mouse and flew off with me in his claws. Then he dropped me and turned me into a cat as I was falling."

"He said that he was walking with you when some shadow demons started to chase you," Eleanor said. "He transformed you both so he could get away from them -- they can't go into the sunlight. But he said that you transformed yourself into a cat, not him."

"But that's ridiculous," said Catherine. "I don't know how to turn myself into a cat! I didn't even know that I was magical at the time."

"Magic doesn't need to be understood to work," Eleanor told her. "That's what makes hedgemagicians so dangerous."

Catherine thought about it. "I can transform into a cat? And if I am the same cat that he saw earlier, the master will recognize me as Miss Hattie?"

The demon's smile was blazing. "That's a wonderful plan."

"Yes, but how do I make myself into a fluffy, gray cat? I may have done it before but that doesn't mean I can do it again on command."

"Everyone has natural talents and affinities, even magicians. You might be a cat person, just as Master Tiln is a bird person."

"How is it done?" she asked. "What do I need to do?"

Eleanor looked momentarily stumped. Fire demons and humans went about it so differently that none of her personal experience could be considered advice. "I remember something from when the master taught Allen how to do it. You start by imagining what the animal looks like, and then encourage your body to change shape to match the animal. Sometimes it helps to study skeletons."

Catherine wrinkled her nose. All those holiday dinners with a showstopping roast goose or lamb had not prepared her for this.

"There are some drawings in the classroom," offered Eleanor hopefully.

Catherine could sense the demon spinning the rooms of the house like a kaleidoscope behind the walls before finding the room she wanted and swinging open the door. Catherine went through the opening and Eleanor soon joined her in the new fireplace. It was a classroom and had clearly been neglected recently with dust on every surface, but it had also seen a lot of use.

"Go to the leftmost bookshelf," instructed Eleanor. "There's a portfolio of anatomical drawings."

Catherine did as she was bid and found the book easily. She placed it on a desk and began to page through it.

"Aha!" She found it. The sketch was detailed with notes on where to find the elbows and other helpful guides. "And I just try to make my bones arrange themselves like that?" she asked. There had to be more to it than that. What about muscles and claws, whiskers and fur?

Eleanor just shrugged. "Human magic is a little mysterious to me."

Catherine shook herself. It couldn't be that hard. It wasn't impossible if she had done it once already without even trying.

She stood there for who knows how long trying to get her body to shift. Not knowing how long it should take to figure out, or how difficult it truly was, she was constantly going from being terribly disappointed with her failure to being absolutely determined to succeed.

At a low point, she turned to Eleanor and asked, "How long did it take Allen to transform?"

The fire demon squinted through the flames. "I don't exactly remember," she hedged. "It was a while ago." Catherine got the feeling that it was more than an afternoon.

"Oh, this will never work," she gave up. "There must be something else. We need to think of another way."

Suddenly Eleanor stood at attention. "Allen has found him," she announced. "They need the door. Stay here. I'll make something up." With that, she leapt up the flue and back to the main room to greet the wizard and his apprentice.

Alone, Catherine could feel her heart begin to race with nerves. As soon as Master Tiln laid eyes on her, he would think this whole thing was a joke. If only she had proof that she was Hattie Morland. If only she could tell him that Master Errol had done this to her.

But she knew that as soon as she tried to speak, the memories would get all muddled in her brain.

The hat!

The hat! Like the cinder-girl's glass slipper, that was conclusive proof that she was the one he was seeking. If she could get the hat, even if she couldn't say that it was hers, surely Master Tiln could figure out what it meant.

But how was she supposed to get to it? It was hidden in the master's closet. To get there, she'd have to go through the main room and... and up steps probably... and poke her head in a lot of rooms, and she didn't have time for that.

She stared at the doorknob. She had been watching how Eleanor worked the doors and, while human magic was no doubt very different from fire demon magic, there had to be similarities.

Catherine rested her hand on the knob, not firmly grasping it but mentally preparing to do so. Then there was a slight tension that had to come from someone trying to open the door from the other side.

Not thinking twice, she grabbed the doorknob and began to turn. The house tumbled on the other side, rooms sliding past, forming and reforming until she was certain she had the right space. Biting her lip for false confidence, she pushed the door open.

She wasn't sucked immediately into an unending void. Instead, she entered the master's closet! Victory!

Laughter bubbled up in her chest and spilled from her mouth. She had done it. At that moment, she thought she could do anything. She had been doing magic nearly her whole life -- just potions, really, but still quite an accomplishment -- and was able to do more than she ever realized. What was supposed to be so difficult about shifting rooms around? Was it supposed to be hard to turn into a cat? Nonsense! She could do it. She had done it before without even trying. If she really wanted to or needed to, Catherine could do it in an instant.

But first, the hat!

She took a step forward and flailed as her limbs transformed and sprouted fur.

She stopped moving, sat on her haunches, and hung her head. She really needed to work on her timing.

Chapter 7: Revelations

It occurred to Catherine that in all the wasted advice that Eleanor had given on how to transform, the demon had mentioned nothing on how to transform back to her original shape.

She didn't have time to try much of anything though, because the door opened behind her. She fled to safety, hiding behind a pair of boots, and wondered how badly this was about to go.

Master Tiln had seen her, however, and he gasped in surprise. "You," he said in a voice of awe.

Catherine concluded that she must look the same as she had in the bakery alley. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? Sure, the location was wrong but she had turned into a cat.

"Miss Hattie, is that you?" he asked, bending down.

She peeked out at him from around the laces. Her body was unfamiliar and she didn't know what she was supposed to do. Should she act like a cat and meow at him?

"Miss Hattie, can you please come out?" His voice was calming, hopeful, coaxing. He didn't know whether he should behave as if she was a cat or a human either.

She put a paw forward and wondered why she was so nervous. He had seen her, he had recognized her. That was the hard part, right?

Oh no, the hard part was falling in love.

Deciding he needed more than kind words, he moved to the shelf and pulled down her hat. "I want to apologise for taking this," he said. "I couldn't stay after our first meeting; we had outrun the shadow demons but they were still chasing me. If I had stayed, they would have found us quickly. I took your hat so I could find you again. But it appears that it is you who found me."

Catherine walked over to him. Her hat was nearly within reach, if she wasn't a foot tall.

Master Tiln gasped again. "It is you." He was not looking at her, not exactly. He was looking at her reflection in the enchanted mirror.

Catherine turned and caught her own image, young and unblemished by time. This was how she was supposed to look. This was how her body was meant to be.

Just like that, she stopped being a cat, returning to her human form. Unfortunately, it was the cursed form -- old and stooped.

"Bonnet!" He was too surprised to hide the shock in his voice. But then he looked at her reflection again. "What happened?"

"I was cursed," she said simply. He already knew that much, or would realize it when he got over being gobsmacked.

"But you knew that I was looking for you."

"Yes, but I didn't know why," she justified. "I thought you wanted to eat my liver or steal my heart."

"Not literally," he said with a slight smile. He was more amused by her reasoning than Eleanor or Allen.

He was looking right at her, not at her reflection, and he was still smiling. Catherine glanced at her reflection and saw that she was blushing. Could he see the blush through all her wrinkles?

"No, not literally," she repeated, unable to meet his eyes. "The other two sort of explained it -- your curse and all -- but I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't really know if I can fall in love on command."

"Miss Hattie," he said, taking her hand, "my father was a powerful magician and I learned just as much from him as I learned from Master Errol. But if I should study magic for a thousand years, I don't think I could plumb all its depths. And I think love is very similar to magic in that respect."

Catherine looked down at her gnarled hand resting in his and thought of what she knew of love. Some girls in the hat shop had hearts that fell in love with startling regularity or speed. Usually, they fell out of love just as easily. Others had hearts with abysmal taste, fixating on someone who was all wrong for them, all wrong for anyone. Still others aimed too high; there were only so many princes to fall head over heels for a commoner.

But Catherine's heart had always been untouched. She had accepted the responsibility of inheriting the hat shop which meant that her husband would have to be a good fit for the business. While a few men had worked in the shop, she had never seen them as more than employees despite all her mother's hopes. But if Catherine was a witch, then she couldn't really keep the shop. And that meant her heart didn't have to think in terms of profits and costs. So if she felt an inkling for someone who could hold her hand and look at her like that while she looked like this , well, what was holding her back?

Still, she had to be sure. "This isn't a trick, is it?"

"One cannot force it, nor can it be diverted from its natural course." He seemed to know exactly what she was talking about. "And if it helps matters, let me say that my real name is Henry."

It did help matters. Considerably. "My name is actually Catherine," she told him.

There was magic all around them suddenly. She could feel it in her bones and joints, in the fading lines on her face, in the straightening of her back. It felt lovely, growing young again, but not so wonderful as the feeling of his lips on hers.

When at last they broke apart, they were silent with awe for a moment. Then Henry kissed her again, almost smiling too widely to do it properly. Catherine was too giddy -- they both were -- to keep at it.

"Do you think Master Errol knows?" With the curses broken, Catherine had no impediment to naming the villain.

Henry made a face. "Probably not. It would be unusual. But he will find out when he comes to collect on my birthday. And I look forward to seeing his disappointment."

"Your birthday," Catherine repeated airily as ideas tumbled around like beads in a kaleidoscope, much like the doors in this house. "Oh, I know exactly what I want to do to celebrate."

Henry quirked an eyebrow in unspoken question.

"Eleanor will hear me when I call for her, won't she?" Catherine asked, already backing away from him. "I have an errand to run and there's only so much time. If I call for her, she'll open the front door, won't she?" It was a question, but she didn't seem to tarry for an answer.

"Wait," called Henry. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the hat shop," she answered. The doorknob needed to be turned further than normal to move past the confines of the house. She had to angle her wrist just so before the pieces aligned perfectly. "I need my father's recipe book; I want to bake you a very special cake. And I need to see Sally. She needs to know what's going on and why I can't come back to stay."

Master Tiln tried to stop her but he couldn't cross the distance in time. She opened the door and stepped through, tripping over the threshold. With a groan from the magical house, the door shut with a slam behind her.

It was her room, her bedroom above the hat shop. Everything was as she left it, except the letter she had left for her sister was gone from the desk. She wasted no time in nostalgia but went downstairs. Sally would be in one of the rooms down there, and her father's book of recipes (potions really) was in the kitchen.

She headed first to the kitchen, figuring Sally would find her as soon as she was spotted in the house. The first few people to see her gasped or shrieked in surprise. She gave them a smile and sent them off to find Miss Morland who was on the shop floor.

As expected, Sally ran into the kitchen just as Catherine tucked the precious book under her arm.

"Hattie!" her sister cried in relief. "Where have you been? I was so worried about you! What happened?"

Catherine grabbed Sally's hands before they could wave all over the place. "It's complicated, but the long and the short of it is I'm a witch," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "I was cursed by an evil wizard but another wizard helped free me and I helped free him. And now I can't stay here anymore, I'm afraid. I'm a witch, and witches can't make hats. Not normal hats, anyway. Not the sort of hats people buy in Market Chipping. I can't stay, but I can visit. Do you understand?"

Sally stared wide-eyed and gaping. She was still standing mutely when Master Tiln rushed into the room.

"There you are, Mistress Morl," he greeted a touch breathlessly. "Next time, please exit through the front door. Eleanor doesn't handle it well otherwise."

"Who is this?" asked Sally, finding her voice. "A wizard? A good wizard or a bad one?"

"A good one," Catherine said confidently. "His name is --"

"Master Tiln," Henry interrupted. He had no qualms against sharing his name with Catherine, but it was not a secret he wanted to share with others.

"What did he call you?"

The question caught Catherine off guard. "What did you call me?"

"Mistress Morl," he repeated. "It's a fitting name for a witch. Unless you'd prefer Madam Tiln," he proposed.

Catherine blushed and there were no wrinkles to hide it.

"But Tiln is your name, isn't it?" Sally asked.

"We haven't talked about that," Catherine said. Not that love and marriage didn't go together, but it was all happening very quickly.

He didn't back down. "The offer stands."

"What offer?" cried Sally, who was still struggling to come to terms with Catherine's first announcement.

"I cannot stay here, Sally." Whether she was Mistress Morl or Madam Tiln, the regular, non-magical part of her life was over now. "I cannot be Miss Hattie. You have my letter, yes? The one I wrote before I ran away that left the shop to you?"

Sally nodded.

"Then use it," Catherine told her. "I won't come back to stay. The shop is yours. You are Miss Hattie now."

"But I'm not a hat maker," Sally said. "How can there be a Morland's Hats without a master hat maker?"

"Nan is the furthest along," said Catherine, thinking of her apprentices. "She still needs more time to hone her craft but she can grow. Or write to Mama in Kingsbury and see if she can poach an up-and-coming master from another shop there."

"Hattie." Sally's eyes started to fill with tears. "I mean, Ca--"

"Mistress Morl!" Henry interrupted. "Your sister's name, at least for now, is Mistress Morl. And it would damage her to have anyone hear otherwise. Do you understand?" Given that Catherine originally believed all manner of nonsense about magicians, it was probably wise to treat Sally as equally uninformed.

Sally sniffled and nodded and started to cry. Catherine hugged her.

"It's all right, Hattie," Catherine said, sniffling too. "This is just a little distance, no worse than when Phillip went to work for the weaver. I'll be back before you know it. You'll get so bored of my visits, you won't be able to stand the sight of me."

When the sisters had at last gotten hold of themselves, they separated and wiped their eyes.

"Are you ready to go?" asked Henry, looking prepared to stay as long as needed.

Catherine nodded a little too vigorously. She wanted to stay, but time was sliding past. As much as she thought she understood about magic and doors, she only knew how to cross distance; she had not yet begun to wonder how she might play with time to cherish moments with those dear to her.

She went to the nearest door -- to the pantry -- and called to Eleanor.

.o8o.

The main room of the magical house was decorated for a celebration. On the dining table, a tiered cake stood in the middle of white plates and gleaming silver.

Master Errol entered just as he had a few days before, with pomp and gloom. Allen was there, as well as the fire demon, and they both looked to him with deferential fear while he took in the festive scene and scowled at it. For a magician about to sacrifice his freedom or his humanity, it was a little too cheerful.

"Allen, I see you had the foresight to hide the charwoman before I arrived, but where is your master?" He kept his voice low and intimidating.

Allen swallowed. "He's just finishing up some preparations with Mistress Morl."

Errol's expression darkened at the new name. "And who is Mistress Morl?"

"She's, she helped me with the potions you admired," answered Allen, growing more uncomfortable with each minute in the master's presence. He trusted that the other two could handle Master Errol between them, but he didn't want to get in the way.

"Ah, so Tiln has found someone to take over your contract when he loses the ability to be your master," Errol deduced. "I would gladly have taken you on as an apprentice, Allen."

The young man smiled nervously at that. The thought brought him no comfort. He was rescued finally by the sound of movement and conversation on the stairs.

"And those, Mistress Morl, are the bedrooms," Tiln concluded as if he had been giving a tour. He descended the stairs and paused before offering a greeting to the newcomer. "Master Errol, welcome. You are right on time."

"Tiln." Errol inclined his head a hair's breadth. That slight motion and the lack of an honorific indicated that he would not be magnanimous in victory.

"Master Errol, allow me to introduce Mistress Morl," Tiln said as Catherine began to climb down the stairs. It wasn't until the top of her head cleared the upper floor that Errol's face drained of all color. "But I see you have met before."

"Miss, Mistress Morl," the elder wizard said, positively ashen.

"Master Errol," she nodded. "How did you like my potions? I confess, they were my father's recipes, but I've started to put my own stamp on them. I believe I've managed to turn his Calming Draught into a Sleep-Like-Death. Allen, have you offered our guest some tea?"

Master Errol pinched his lips. There was nothing he could safely drink here, or eat. And the presence of the witch restored to her youth -- glaring at him with distrustful eyes and a rictus smile -- was all the notice he needed that Tiln had broken his curse.

"No thank you," he said imperiously. "I cannot stay. I merely came to congratulate Tiln --"

"Master Tiln," the witch corrected him.

"Master Tiln," Errol repeated, "and to wish him many happy returns of the day."

"Thank you, Master Errol," Catherine replied and looked up at Henry quite happily. She had already mentally dismissed their guest and now all they needed to do was get him to leave. "It is a pity you cannot stay, but we would not want to delay you. I wish you safe travels."

"Oh, yes. Do be safe," Henry agreed overenthusiastically. "I should not wish any former instructor of mine to come to harm."

Errol glared at them both but they were well inoculated against any reproaches from him. He had cursed each of them and if they let him leave the house unscathed they were being more generous than he deserved.

"But you will understand," continued Henry, "if this is the last we see of you for a long while. We are to be married soon, and that is no time for unexpected guests."

To his credit, Master Errol didn't sneer. He inclined his head in something like agreement and turned toward the door.

"Master Errol," Catherine called, leaving her spot at Henry's side to pick up a small plate from the table. "I knew you would leave early, so I have this little treat ready for you to take with you."

This time, Errol's expression was more honest, but his voice was still cool. "I could not possibly accept, Mistress Morl."

"Nonsense!" Catherine said, forcing the plate into his hands. "It is especially for you. You don't have to eat it now. That's the whole point of taking it with you."

Errol was grimacing openly and trying very hard not to have the treat roll about on the plate.

Henry, having decided that he had spent as much time with his former master as he ever wished to spend, walked to the door and opened it wide. "Good day, Master Errol," he said. Good day and good riddance.

The older wizard didn't linger but left the house without adieu.

Henry shut the door with force and smiled at the others.

"May that be the last we see of him!" said Eleanor, standing tall.

Allen collapsed weakly into his chair. His knees had been threatening to fail as soon as Master Errol had appeared and he finally gave in to the urge. "I know you wouldn't have let him steal me as an apprentice," he said, "but he's just so intimidating."

"Mistress Morl," said Henry, "what was in that pastry?"

"What do you mean?" Catherine was all innocence.

"Did you poison him?" he asked bluntly.

"No! Of course not!" She had thought about it briefly, but decided against it. Master Errol probably wouldn't eat the dessert, and he might possibly give it to someone else, and Catherine didn't want that on her conscience. "I snuck out to Market Chipping this morning while you were busy and visited my friend Jamie who works in a bakery. Master Errol's treat is completely non-magical, completely safe."

"Ah, you didn't trust yourself not to magic a poison or some other unpleasantness in his parting gift." Henry's grin deepened. For knowing her such a short time, he certainly understood her well.

Catherine shushed him while the other two roared with laughter.

They gathered around the table -- Eleanor remained at her hearth but the table was positioned to make her place obvious. There was cake suffused with joy, and a posey for Eleanor to turn into ash and smoke, and loud singing, and funny stories until Allen was banging on the table and Catherine laughed so hard that she was crying.

It truly was a wonderful birthday party, the first of many.