Hilda the wicked witch
by Paul Kater
Published by the author at Smashwords - Copyright 2010 Paul Kater
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Contents:
1. The Wicked Witch
2. O'Malley's
3. Hocus Pocus.
4. The necklace
5. Charging the ball
6. The hunt commences
7. I told you to stop
8. The route home
9. Cops and witches
10. The bookstore
11. William Connoley
12. Going home

1. The Wicked Witch

The noise echoed away through the street. From behind curtains people carefully looked out onto the street, most of them staying out of view. The motorcycle gang was back in town, and usually that did not bode well.
"Dammit, Skull, when are you going to fix that stinking carburetor!", one of the men yelled as he got off his Harley. The woman that usually was behind him had already jumped off to get herself to safety. Bubba was angry, and when he was like that he did not pay attention to anything. Several kicks in her side had taught her that.
"Yo, Bubba, I thought I had done so!" Skull kicked the innocent and abused engineblock. "I'll look at it later, I need a piss and a drink first."
"Yeah!", the rest of the gang joined in. They trotted off towards the nearest bar, which was by default also destined for an involuntary remodeling. The six big bikes remained in the middle of the street, unattended. Nobody would touch them.
In Bantrey's Bookshop, the proprietor looked out of the window. "Oh dear. They are back."
William Conolley stepped up to the window and saw the motorcycles. "They?"
"The motorcycle gang. It is run by someone they call Bubba," Bert Bantrey said. "The obnoxious yellow machine is his."
"I see," said William Conolley. "Now... about this book..." He returned to the table where a large, leatherbound book lay open. The sides of the pages had a thin golden lining, the paper was old and yellow, and the font of the text had more resemblance to the patient copying-work of an old monk than something a modern printer would produce. "I do want this book, but the price you ask for it is outrageous, my good man." He carefully tapped a page, making sure he did not touch the text or the gold. The book was old enough to be handled with respect.
Bert Bantrey sighed and looked at the book. "I know, the price is high, my dear friend, but it is worth it. Every single penny. I cannot lower the price unless I want to cut into my own flesh. I mean... look at the leather. Look at the printing. Feel the paper and its original pattern..."
William Conolly slowly was pulled over. The price, he knew, was not at all over the top, but his merchant spirit did not want to give in so easily. He slowly paged through the book a bit more, looked at the pages. Held one against the light, to see how the pattern of the paper was perfect everywhere. He mumbled something to himself, then look Bert Bantrey in the eye.
Bert already sensed that he had won. A smile was on his face, his hand was already in the position to be shaken. "Come on, Bill, do it. You know you want it. It has your name all over it, in your favourite typeset. The smell of the book is irresistable and you bloody well know it."
William shook his head. "You are one mean person, Bert, but I am going to buy this book from you."
The woman stood in front of the mirror as the motorcycle gang parked their monstrous machines. She had no knowledge of them, as she was very far away from them. She looked at the silvery glass, touching the necklace she wore. The mirror showed an image of a young woman with black hair and a fair skin, who was walking along a field covered with flowers.
"Yuck," the woman spat. "All those colourful things. I'd forbid them, if I had a say in it."
The young woman in the mirror seemed to sing as she picked flowers.
"I'll have you gasp for air, once I get that apple to you," the angry woman said as she turned away from the mirror. Her long grey hair floated over her dark red robe, her black dress rustled as she walked over to a table. She took up a small silver stick and an apple.
With the stick pointing to the apple, under her breath she mumbled a few phrases. "And I hope I got it right this time," she ended her short monologue.
Then, the apple and the stick in her hand, she turned to the mirror again and started to approach it, as she built up her concentration. The apple was pulsating, as if a light lived inside it that was fighting to get out. "No, no, not yet my little killer friend," the wicked witch (for that was who she was) said. "Only a few minutes more, and then you can do what I have made you for. You will stick in that stupid girl's throat and make sure that she is not getting in my way to take control over this country." A loud cackling laugh filled the room, its echoes making even the furniture shudder.
She pointed her wand at the mirror and started speaking a spell that was going to take her to the meadow where the innocent wench was dancing and trampling through the flowers. The incantation was gaining strength, the magical aura around the wicked witch formed exactly the way she wanted it to do, so it would project her to her victim.
In Bantrey's Bookstore, the two men shook hands on the sale, and then, as their habit was, they both slapped the page that was open.
The wicked witch unleashed the built-up power from the wand. As it hit the mirror, the mirror exploded in a million tiny fragments! The power around the witch was disturbed by quantum-physical laws that she had no knowledge of, and she disappeared from her room. Instead of ending up with her apple in the meadow, however, she materialised somewhere entirely different...
In O'Malley's Bar, the pina coladas were the drink of the day. Skull and Bubba, together with their friends, were having a great time. The barkeeper was tied up on a stool in the corner of his own establishment, the large mirror had been taken down - in tiny bits - with the aid of a winebottle, and the whiskey flowed liberally. The gang had the bar to themselves. The other customers had left the place as the gang had entered, which was usually the safest and healthiest option. The runaway clientele would return to pay for their beverages later. If there was something to come back to, of course.
"Hey, Bitch, come over here!" Julius shouted to his girlfriend. The girl, with long black hair that desperately needed a wash, and equally black pants under a purple shirt, waddled over to him, not taking the brandy bottle from her lips.
Julius slapped the bottle from her hand, pulled her against him and started slobbering in her neck, which he considered his personal interpretation to a kiss. Bitch screamed with laughter, let him at it for a while, then calmly reached out and whacked a bottle over Julius' head. The slobbering ended right the same moment, and Julius descended to terra firma. "Always told you that booze gives you a rotten head," Bitch grinned, kicked her lover and went looking for another bottle.
The general level of sound and noise the gang produced inside the bar prevented them from hearing a rather loud sound that happened outside. In an alleyway that was rather close to where they had all parked their bikes, an alley that ran next to Bantrey's Bookstore. The sound from the alleyway was not just that, it also manifested a very fierce gust of wind, strong enough to blow the bikes over. As was to be expected, it did just that.
"Oh my," Bert Bantrey said when the windows stopped shaking and the floor was without tremors again, "did you hear that?" Quickly the two went to the window again, and were there just in time to see the last bike roll over and play dead.
"Uh-oh," William said. "The motor people will not be happy with that. Perhaps I should load my acquisitions into my truck and make miles..."
"Let me give you a hand, old boy," Bert said, "you'll damage your back with that pack!"
Together they lifted the large crate with books and carried it outside, where William opened the truck. The crate fit in the compartment like a hand in a glove made to order. The precious leatherbound book lay on top of it, wrapped in a fine cotton cloth.
The two men shook hands again, and then William got in and drove off quickly. Bert did not waste time either: he went inside his shop, turned over the sign in the window, so it told the world the shop was "closed", and locked up.
"Where the hell am I?", a voice came from the alleyway. A woman, dressed in black, wearing a long deep red cape, came from the alley. Her long grey hair stuck everywhere, she had bruises on her face and her dress was as dirty as the alleyway's floor. And that was quite dirty...
The witch looked at the apple that no longer pulsated. "Crap. All that gone to waste." She flung the apple away. It ended its flight in the sound of broken glass. The witch nodded. At least that was satisfactory, she thought. On the ground, in the street, she saw six strange things, with wheels, handlebars and lights.
"Hey... you are too early for the ren faire!", someone on the other side of the street laughed.
The witch looked at where the laughter came from. She was not partial to laughter, and even less if she was the reason for it. She pointed her wand, mumbled something, and the couple that had been walking along suddenly stood next to her, frozen. "Now this is interesting," the wicked witch said as she looked at the clothes of the two people.
Both of them wore blue pants, like usually the men wore when they would go out riding. They wore also blue jackets of the same fabric, and white shirts that looked skintight. They also wore identical footwear, which looked comfortable.
"So this is how you dress here." The witch nodded. She waved the wand. For something simple as this, there was no need for a spell. The clothes of the frozen woman had moved to the body of the witch. The clothes of the witch lay on the ground. Another move of the wand and the clothes had changed into a convenient large bag to carry around, which she slung over her shoulder. The witch then stared at the naked body of the frozen woman and then tapped the navel piercing. "Fascinating," she said. "You'll stay here until the sun sets," she told the two silent figures.
From behind windows, people had seen what happened. None of them wanted to get involved.
The witch looked around, her long grey hair blowing in her face. "Oh, crap, that again." She snipped her fingers, and her hair hung down in four long, thick braids. "Now to find out where I am," she grumbled. "There is something fucking wrong here. This is not a meadow with stinking flowers..."
She started walking down the street.

2. O'Malley's

The witch paced along. As she passed a large shop, she noticed her reflection in the window and she stopped to take a look at herself in her new outfit. As she took in her image, a gasp escaped from her lips. In her own world she had not been bad looking, but here, wherever here was, she looked absolutely stunning.
She stepped up as close to the window as she could, examining her face. It was fine-lined, her black eyes were still there also, but she was... young. And slim. Her nose was smaller. The wart, she noticed with pleasure, was however still there. With a smile she touched it. After admiring her new self for a while, in which there did not seem to be any life in the street, she turned her head. A sound had drawn her attention. It sound like ruffians having a good time, and she appreciated the company of such people.
It did not take her long to determine where the noise was coming from. It came from the other side of the street, from a house that had no more glass windows. Grimhilda, Hilda for friends, the wicked witch, nodded with a nasty grin and stepped onto the street.
The man in the car, who happened to have to go through the street, got quite a scare when he saw the denim-clad woman step into the street only yards before his car. Although he slammed his brakes and yanked the steeringwheel around, it was clear to him: this will be a hit. He closed his eyes and the car stood still. Slowly he started breathing again. He opened his eyes and looked out the windshield. The young woman stood in front of the car, holding some kind of silvery stick pointed at him.
Hilda had sensed the vehicle approach, unconsciously. There were many good things about being a witch. As she stepped onto the hard street, her magical instincts kicked in. Within the blink of an eye her wand was in her hand and spewed a stream of protection towards the oncoming metal cart, forcing it to a halt.
Curious, she walked around the cart. It was like nothing she had ever seen. No horse in front of it, although there was a sound coming from the front as if there was a wild animal housed in it. There was one man inside it, eyes closed. Oh, he was opening them again. She reached the door and tapped the window with her wand. The window fell apart, glass bits falling into the man's lap.
"What is this?", she asked him.
"What? This? It is my car. But you should be dead! There is no way in hell I could have braked in time to avoid you."
Hilda frowned. "You are one of the men the King has sent out to find me and kill me? Even here? Damn." Another tap of the wand made the door fall out of the car and the seatbelt evaporate. "Get out of your cart, you foe."
The man started shaking. His day had already started lousing, sleeping too long, having a fight with the wife. And now this. "Am I still sleeping?", he asked as he clambered out of the car. "I must be."
Hilda looked up at the man. "Maybe you are. Maybe you are not." Then she poked the tip of her wand under the man's chin, pressing harder than needed. "Now speak. Did King Herald send you after me? Where are your companions? No way he's sending one man alone!"
Stewart tried to swallow, but the silver stick made that very difficult. "I know nothing of King Herald, woman. I am just trying to get to work."
A lone bicycle rider came through the street. Taking in the strange scene, he stopped. "Hey, someone having a problem here?", the man asked as he looked at Hilda and her threatening pose against the man with the damaged car.
"Communtatus rana," Hilda said, swooshing her wand at the cyclist for a moment. A second later the wand was under Stewart's chin again, the bicycle dropped to the ground and from under the helmet crawled a frog.
Stewart saw it happen, his eyes became large. "What the fuck are you? A witch?"
Hilda frowned. "He didn't tell you? How sloppy." Annoyed, she withdrew the wand, leaving a white spot in Stewart's skin. "This is not getting us anywhere, is it? Okay, just tell me how Lamador got you here and how he'll get you back, then I can go that way and leave this crazy place."
"Lamador? Who's that? Your King Herald's brother?" Stewart was sweating from every pore by now, looking at the frog that was helplessly crawling about, croaking in despair.
"Lamador, my stupid foe," Hilda said, tapping his forehead with the wand to emphasise every syllable, "is King Herald's sorcerer. And if you don't know that, then they erased your brain well." She then took four long steps away from the car and the man. "Aaargh... this is so bad!", she then yelled. "This is total disrespect to the Wicked Witch, sending such amateurs after me!" She pointed her wand and drew up the charge.
"Deliquesco!" Nothing happened, except for Stewart holding his breath.
"Damn it... I hate Latin. Fluxum!" Again, nothing happened. Hilda's face got an expression that was feared by the ones that knew her. To Stewart it just looked slightly amusing.
"Dissolve!" A crackle shot to the car from the wand, making it and the man leaning against it light up for a moment.
"It's not working, is it?", Stewart now grinned. His voice still echoed through the street as he and his car turned liquid and splashed onto the street.
"It works alright," Hilda grumbled. "English just takes a few seconds longer." She turned towards the bar. "Right." She walked off, leaving the frog and its bicycle to take care of their own trouble.
Bluto lay on the bar, singing a sailor's song that had more profanities in it per line than anyone would deem possible. Each line seemed to be a strain on his vocal chords, as he had to take a healthy swig of the bottle in his hand. After that, a belch sounded as the intro to the next part of the lyrics.
His bald head was tattooed with hearts and anchors. His broad shoulders were barely covered with a sleeveless leather vest of undetermined colour. His mountainous belly was, for a change, not hanging over his jeans. As he sang, the spurs he had on his boots scratched new lines in the bar's surface.
Patrick O'Malley, the owner of the establishment, was still tied up in his corner. He had wished at least a dozen of times already that he could just faint and not witness the downfall of his empire.
Bubba had ripped the green cloth from the pool table and tied that around his neck. "Hey, guys, ain't I looking like a fuckin' leprechaun king now?", he laughed, emptying the bottle of beer and then giving it its first and last flying lesson.
"Hey, ho, leprechaun king, we follow you and we do our thing," Julius yelled. He had regained consciousness again after the expression of affection by Bitch. Who counted one more bump or black spot when supplied with love?
"Oh, how grand. A party. Can I join?"
The sudden sound of a female voice made even Bluto look up from his comfortable position on the bar. "Well crap on me," he muttered. "A plaything."
Hilda took in the pathetic state of the bar and smiled. This was a good place to be. The few people inside made her heart swell with pride. This was her kind of style, and she admired their attire.
Bubba, the cloth still around his bull's neck, walked up to Hilda and looked her up and down. "Welcome, dear lady," he mocked, making a bow and extending a hand towards the bar. "Please join us in our celebration."
Hilda felt even better now. People who recognised her status and paid proper tribute to that. Regally she nodded and walked past the big man, who smelled like beer and fried meat.
The gang watched the slender woman with the long braids walk to a table that was still upright. There were two chairs next to it that looked safe also, so she selected one and sat down. "You can bring me some wine," she said to Bluto, who stared at her from the bar.
Bluto's mental processes, never the fastest, failed completely now.
"Hey," Bubba roared, "get up and get the lady some wine!" His eyes sparkled. This was going to be a lot of fun, he knew, an afternoon and probably also a night of pleasure.
Bluto grunted something inunderstandable and hoisted himself off the bar. He rummaged through the bottles and found something that looked appropriate. Then he located one of the large beerglasses that still was in one piece. He stared at the cork in the unopened bottle. For a moment he gazed around, clueless. Then he solved the situation by hitting the top of the bottle on the bar, glass giving way.
The contents of the bottle was a bit too much for the glass to hold, so he resolved that by pouring the remains down his throat. Bluto picked up the glass and marched over to the table. Slamming down the glass, spilling quite a lot of the wine, he said: "Here you go." After peering at Bubba, who was looking how Bluto would handle this, the fat-bellied man added: "Your majesty."
"Thank you, dear man. Not there, but getting closer." Hilda patted Bluto on the wrist as if she was petting a dog. Then she lifted the large glass and drank half of it down in one go. That earned her a round of cheers from Bubba's group, and the leader of the pack yelled that Bluto should open another bottle for her and keep it at the ready.
Bubba then grabbed the other chair, turned it around and sat on it, his arms folded over the backrest. "So, sweetcheeks, where did you come from? Care to play with the big boys, do you?"
Hilda looked the man up and down. "And you are?"
Bubba looked around, his boys all laughing along with him. "I'm Bubba. I run this place."
"Bubba..." Hilda sampled the name. "That does not sound like a name that terrifies people, I must say."
The laughter stopped. Bubba's first. His already rather unpleasant face worstened by several degrees. "You are about to piss me off, woman," he said, grabbing Hilda's wrist. "People here are terrified of me, and with reason. And you should be too."
"Kindly take your hand off me, before I make you." Hilda's tone was cold, her eyes, black as night, seemed to shoot fire.
Bubba let go of her. "One of them psychology tricksters, right? Let me show you what we do with psychology tricksters." He rose and towered over her.
As Hilda was looking up at the big man, he reached down with a speed that was astonishing for a man his size, grabbed the witch by the arms and tossed her over his shoulder, her arms squeezed tightly against her body. She could not reach for her wand and for several moments was helpless and confused about the sudden change in atmosphere and situation.

3. Hocus Pocus.

Bubba pranced around, with the witch on his shoulder. The men and the bikerbabes all laughed loudly, cheering him as he slapped her behind several times with his large free hand. "Let's give this bitch a lesson," Bubba yelled. The bulge in his pants made it obvious what kind of lesson he had in mind.
Hilda had found back to herself by then, which was unfortunate for Bubba. With a simple spell, she changed the fabric of her pants that covered her behind into a bed of sharp needles, each one covered with a rather harmless, yet very painful poison. Its effect was known to last for several days. She braced for the moment that he would drop her, which only was seconds away.
Bubba howled as his hand was pierced by the plenitude of needles. He yanked his hand free and shook Hilda off his neck. Before the witch hit the ground, she had her floating spell in place, hovered for several seconds in which she changed the needles back to denim, and drifted to the floor, feet first.
"I told you to take your hand off me, you brute," she hissed, "but you wouldn't listen! I also told you that I would make you. There's your proof." She flicked her hand, the wand appeared. "And now you back off against the wall. All of you."
Bubba missed most of her words, as his brain became enveloped by the agony in his hand. Rage grew in the few spare parts that were not yet affected by the pain and with a roar that would make a caveman shiver, he threw himself at the woman with the silver stick. His only desire was to crush her, take her apart and leave her on the floor as an example that no one should mess with Bubba. Immense was his surprise when he hung in the air, suspended, not moving. He was trashing about as if he was in water, but the action only exerted him. When finally he gave up, panting and still hanging in the air, the rest of the gang decided that it was about time to assemble near the wall that the grey haired woman had pointed at.
Hilda patiently waited until the group had moved itself. She stepped up to the floating man and gave him a gentle push, making him slowly revolve around and around. He could not stop the motion. He could do nothing at all, except watch, listen, be angry, hurt and float.
Then the witch sat down at the table, drank some more of the wine and looked at the ruffians again. "What am I going to do with you," she asked them. "I thought I could use you." Her finger traced rounds over the rim of the glass. "It looks like I was mistaken, though.
Patrick O'Malley was glad he had not fainted. From his stool, gagged and bound, he saw how the small woman toyed with the motorcycle gang as if they were mice. What a story he would have to tell. Although... who would believe him? Instead of insurance money, he suddenly thought, there would be a nice room waiting for him in the psych ward somewhere, with cushioned walls and therapy.
Bubba was getting sick of the slow rotations that he was still in. He tried to talk, but found he couldn't. The witch looked at him. "No. Not now." She smiled a sly smile.
"Who are you? What you want of us?" Julius took a risk, he knew, but he had to know.
"I am known," the witch said, "as Grimhilda. I had hopes for you. To help me get back to my own world. A world that I understand. But this...", she waved her hand across the room, "tells me that you are not the quality of material I am searching for. I'm afraid that quality is a word lost on you altogether." She shook her head, her braids flopping around slowly. Then she tucked her wand away.
"Go away. Leave me alone. I do not want to see you again, do you hear? If you cross my path once more, my wrath will be upon you!" The volume with which she was speaking had increased to an intolerable level. Everyone except Hilda clamped their hands over their ears. The bottles that had survived so far, all burst and splashed their contents to the floor. The echo of her voice only slowly ebbed away. "Now go. You have disappointed me."
Bluto was the first one to take some steps towards the door. He turned and looked at Bubba. "Coming, boss?", he asked.
Hilda snipped her fingers. A collar appeared around Bubba's neck, with a rope attached to it, as a leash. "Here. You can take him," she said as she handed the rope to Bluto.
In depressed silence, the gang left the bar called O'Malley's, Bubba sailing after them like a giant and angry balloon.
Hilda sat down at the table again, as if nothing had happened. She looked at the wine in the beerglass, and then mumbled: "That should be far enough." She wiggled her nose.
Out in the street Bubba's levitation ended with a loud thud and an even louder tirade of curses.
Hilda nodded. That was what she had aimed for. Then she looked around in the dishevelled bar and her gaze rested on Patrick O'Malley. "You are clearly not one of them," the witch said, slowly getting up and approaching the shivering man on the stool. "You're too clean. Too skinny also." Her wand appeared and Patrick's ties went away just like that.
He gasped for air as Hilda stood there, a hand on her hip, the wand in her other hand touching her cheek. "Damn, lady, can I hire you as a bouncer?", was the first thing Patrick dared to say.
Hilda let out a small sigh. "Tsk, tsk, tsk... I am so sorry. That was the wrong opening." She turned on her heel, walked to the table where her shoulderbag was waiting and picked that up.
Patrick got off the stool. "I beg your pardon?"
Hilda did not look at him, she just shook her head. "Sorry. As I said. Bouncer..." As she spoke the last word, she pointed the wand at the barkeeper, over her shoulder.
Patrick felt as if he tripped over something and fell to the floor. From which he bounced up again. And fell. And bounced up again.
"I may come and visit you again... bouncer..." Hilda said, as she walked out of the bar.

4. The necklace

During all the happenings in the bar, that Bubba and his group had no knowledge of, the bikers helped Bubba to his feet again. They managed to get the rope off the collar, but the collar itself seemed determined to stay put, no matter hard they yanked at it.
"I'm gonna kill that bitch," Bubba fumed, "but not today! To the bikes!"
Great was their dismay when they saw their precious motorcycles laying on the street, but their fear of the grey-haired woman in the bar was still larger than their desire for retribution, so they picked up their machines.
As Bubba was engaged in that, he saw something on the sidewalk. It was a necklace, and it looked fancy. "Hey babe, get your ass over here," he barked at his sweetheart, who to the rest was known simply as Angel. Bubba picked up the necklace. "Here. Got you a present. Put it on and get on the bike."
With all of them seated, they fired up, and with squealing tires and roaring engines, they raced out of the street and a few minutes later they disappeared from the town. For now.
Hilda came out of the bar and saw the last motorcycle turn around a corner. She nodded, understanding that the strange two-wheeled machines and the big men were connected. "Hmmm," was all she said. She walked through the street, that still was void of other life as the inhabitants of the homes were not sure yet that the bikers had gone.
After a while she found a small park with a bench, where she sat down. She opened the bag and looked inside it. Somewhat disturbed, she looked again. "Vomotio torquis," she mumbled, but nothing happened. She repeated the command, now with more urge, but the result was similar. "Come on, throw up the necklace, damn you," she mumbled somewhat louder. Again nothing happened. "I hate Latin," she shared with the bag.
Hilda got up, laid out the bag on the bench and swirled her wand over it. The bag turned back into the clothes she had worn on arriving in this insane place. Quickly she went through the things, but did not find the necklace. A new stream of Latin, most words not available in any bible, flowed from her lips.
"Hey, got a problem?", a young man wearing a cap and chewing gum asked. He had been walking through the park, shortcutting to the place of some friends. Curiously he peeked at the things on the bench.
"Go away." Hilda was not in the mood for friendliness. Never was. Especially not now.
"Hey, I'm just trying to be friendly, you know," the young man muttered, shrugging. He walked on, whistling a tune very out of tune.
Hilda's eyes became slits as she pointed the wand at the back of the man. "Why bother," she then grumbled. She turned her clothes back into the shoulderbag and sat down on the bench again. "Necklace. Where is it. I must have it." These three short sentences kept churning in her mind. The necklace was her source of real power. That would be able to tell her how to get back to the real world, and then she would be able to get rid of the obnoxious black-haired girl with her friendly face, her songs and her manners.
The only place where it could be, if not in the bag, was in the alleyway where she had arrived here. Hilda got up and followed her route back, past the bar where a number of voices inside mumbled over the sound of the bouncer, then she passed the bookstore that still was closed. Wand in hand, she started looking for the necklace. It somehow worried her slightly that the wand did not immediately pull her towards it. Maybe it had flown away a bit further into the alley...
Hilda went deeper into the small sidestreet, the light of day disappearing rapidly as she progressed. Her wand lit up the space, but there was no tugging in her wrist that pointed out that the necklace was near. "Where are you? Necklace, where are you?" Hilda forced friendliness into her voice. If she did not, the necklace would never respond. "Hello, necklace?"
But no matter how friendly she spoke, how pleading her words, the necklace was and remained silent. She walked back to the main street, where the alley began.
"Desidero torquis," she said, moving the wand about slowly as if she was dowsing. There had to be a sign, she knew it. The necklace had been around her neck when she came here, it had gotten lost here, so there had to be a trace.
A pair of ladies came walking down the street and saw Hilda. "Are you looking for something?", one of them asked.
Hilda shot upright. "My necklace. Do you have it?" Her tone was sharper than she had wanted.
The two women backed up a few steps. "My, my, touchy, aren't we? No, we don't have your necklace. What did it look like? Maybe we can help you find it."
"Are you witches?"
One woman's eyes became wide. "The nerve!" She grabbed her friend by the arm and rapidly walked past this strange woman who was clearly out of the most necessary of marbles.
Hilda felt hurt by that. She folded her arms over her chest and looked at the two women walking off. A single thought later, the high heels under the shoes of the woman who had been appaled broke. The collapse was accompanied by a scream and a falling woman.
"No one's going to fuck with me, here. They'd better know it."
Hilda went back to her searching, and this time there was the slightest tremble. She went down on her knees, scanning the floor. Yes, it was certain. The necklace had been here. It had rested here, on the ground. But where was it now? A cold shudder ran across her spine as she looked at the road, seeing the scratchmarks where the motorcycles had been.
"Oh no," she moaned, seriously despairing for a moment. "They did not take my necklace. They didn't. They shouldn't." Lying on elbows and knees, her forehead resting on the concrete, she sighed and let the bad feeling take over for a while. It would feed her anger and give her the power needed to go after the gang.
An elderly man with the features of an ancient mage, stopped near her. "Are you not well, child?"
Hilda sat on the ground and looked at him. "I'm okay. I lost my necklace. Now I need a crystal ball and a broom."
The old man frowned. "I would not know where to purchase a crystal ball. But down the street, on your left, there's a supermarket that has excellent brooms. My wife gets hers there, and she's very satisfied with them."
Hilda felt a kindred spirit. "Your wife... is she... magical?" She used the word with care. Perhaps this man was as much the mage as he appeared, and she knew better than to mess with ancient mages. They could whoop her ass and make no fuss about it.
"Oh yes," the old man smiled. "She's been magical from the first moment we met. She's my witch and will remain mine."
"Oh, I believe you, ancient one," Hilda said respectfully.
"Ancient one?" The man smiled. "Not many people call me that. I do like the sound of it though. It's much better than old fart." He chuckled. "So, for the broom you find the supermarket. Maybe someone there knows about the ball too. Take care now." He nodded and walked off, flipping his cane.
Hilda watched as the man left. He had to be one hell of a sorcerer if he could wield a magic staff like that. Then she got to her feet, picked up her wand and shoulderbag and started off into the direction the ancient one had pointed out. To the 'supermarket'.
It did not take her long to get there: her new long legs carried her rapidly. She arrived at a large building, with giant glass windows. Oh, if only she could have a magical mirror the size of that, Hilda thought, she'd be the envy of every witch in the world. She stared at the goods that were on display behind the window, wondered about the function of many of them. She then wondered if this was the proper place, or if the ancient one was pulling a prank on her. She looked at the large colourful sign over the glass. It did say 'supermarket'. She found a door, also made of glass, was stunned at how it opened by itself (powerful magic, undoubtedly the work of the ancient one), and went inside the store.
The store proved to be a maze. Aisle after aisle with products on long metal shelves. Lights from long white tubes instead of candles. It confused Hilda. In the end she just grabbed someone by the coat, showed her wand and said: "Take me to the brooms."
The man who fell victim to the witch was under her spell instantly. He nodded and in rather a mindless state he walked her to the section of household materials.
"Where are the brooms?", Hilda asked, looking around at the objects assembled.
"These are the brooms," the man said. He pointed at the long coloured sticks, the coloured bristles.
Hilda's eyes became slits again. This could not be true. Witches of this place would ride on that?! "Be serious. I want a proper broom."
Despite her wanting something a bit more traditional, the man took one of the colourful things and handed it to her. "This is a proper broom, my lady."
"How can this be? It isn't even made of wood!", Hilda cried out, attracting the attention of several employees.
"Is there a problem?", a girl from the store asked.
"Yes. This man is under my spell, and yet he tells me that this is a proper broom." Hilda held the broom in front of the girl's face.
"Well, he's right. That is a broom." The girl wondered what had gotten into this woman. "I know. I work here and I have one of those. They're great." It would never hurt to advertise the merchandise.
"So you have one of them." Hilda eyed the girl and asked her wand if the girl was telling the truth. The wand confirmed that. "Good. I believe you. Then now I need a crystal ball." She pushed the man away and waited for the girl.
"Crystal? We don't carry crystal, ma'am. But we have some nice glass ones!"
"It has to be crystal. Glass does not work. Don't you know that?" Hilda became impatient. She got impatient rather quickly, most of the time. This time it was very quickly. She had to go after her necklace.
The shop assistant looked confused now. "Our glass ones work," she tried.
"I don't think so. Tell me where there is a shop that has crystal balls and I will go there at once," Hilda said, her wand swaying, rendering the girl's resistance to zero.
"I'll take you to it," the girl said, and started walking to the exit.
As they left the store, the theft-alarm started beeping, but it was no match for the wand. The beeping stopped, and after some minutes so did the smoke.
Hilda and the girl had been walking for more than five minutes. Twice they had been interrupted by someone from the store, who demanded that the girl would return to her work and the broom should be paid for, but these two had proven to be only minor nuissances.
"How far is that place with the crystal?", Hilda asked.
"About half an hour," the girl said, "as I don't have a car. Unless you want to call a cab."
"A car. Yes. I have seen one of those," said Hilda. "They are not trustworthy. We'll fly instead." She mounted the broom. "Sit in front of me."
The girl, even while under a spell, stared at the witch. "You're kidding me."
"Sit In Front Of Me!" Hilda's voice became irresistable. The girl mounted the broom also, in front of Hilda. They drew quite some attention, as the street where they were was rather a busy one. People stopped and stared at what funny thing was going to come next.
"What kind of retarded place is this," Hilda muttered. "Never seen a witch in your life?" Angered with all the attention she threw an invisibility spell and then made the broom lift off. "Speak where the place with the crystal balls is, girl," she then commanded.
The girl, terrified and holding on to the broom, stammered an address.
The broom made a sharp turn and headed up and over the roofs of buildings, high over the streets and the bustling traffic. Unseen.
"We are flying," she then remarked.
"Yes. Of course we're flying. What else did you think I'd want a broom for? Sweeping?" Scorn dripped from every single word.

5. Charging the ball

The broom swept downwards in a sickening spiral. The poor girl had to put in all her strength to keep her lunch in place. The landing however was very gentle.
Hilda held the broom. "Where are the crystal balls?"
The girl pointed to a Swarovsky store. "In there."
Hilda looked at the window. There was crystal. She looked at the girl, snipped her fingers and said: "Absolvo." Immediately the spell broke. The girl felt she was free, turned and ran off as if the devil was on her heels. She'd probably prefer him over Hilda.
"Still got the touch, girl," Hilda prided herself. Then, broom in hand, she entered the large store.
As soon as she stepped into the place, a large man with a square chin stopped her. "You are not allowed to carry that object into the store, madam," he said.
"Good," Hilda said, pushing the broom into his hands, "then you carry it for me." She walked on a few steps and then looked at the security man. "Coming? It won't fly without me."
The man, a Star Trek fan, raised an eyebrow. "Could you come with me, please?"
"Are you taking me to the crystal balls?", Hilda asked.
"Certainly," the man said. Up until that point he had done everything well. The moment he reached out to push Hilda ever so gently towards a special room, that was when things started to go bad. You do not touch a witch. You definitely do not touch a wicked witch. And least of all you'd want to touch Hilda.
The wand was out before the eye could follow. The security man seemed to solidify beyond human standards, he literally became petrified.
Hilda looked at him and assumed her broom would be safe in his stone hands. "Thank you for holding my broom," she said, patting the statue on the arm. Then she went on the search for crystal balls, a chore where her wand could not help her.
It took her about ten minutes to locate the balls. "Hair of a unicorn, these are small," she said as she saw them. With a simple incantation she changed the glass into air and reached into the cabinet, picking out the largest of the crystal spheres. "Pretty though..." She tapped it with the wand and sampled the sound. "Good quality too. I guess this will have to do."
A saleslady then came into the section where Hilda had decided on her choice. "Ah, madam, I see you have already..." Her voice faltered when she saw the glass missing from the cabinet.
Hilda held up the ball. "I am taking this."
"Excellent choice, madam," the saleslady said, still wondering about the cabinet. "I'll take it and have it wrapped for you."
"No. I said that -I- take this. You take nothing." Hilda held up her wand.
The saleslady stepped back. "Are you threatening me?"
"Threaten? I do not need crude means like that. I am telling you, that suffices in general," said Hilda. "Now let me get to my broom and no harm will be done."
"Broom?" This threw the saleslady so much that she did not attempt to stop Hilda as the witch breezed past her. The saleslady had no idea how lucky she was.
As Hilda walked through the Swarovsky store, she tucked the ball in her shoulderbag and made the wand disappear again. Her hurry attracted some attention, but a spell handled that.
The stone man still guarded her broom. One of the other security people stood next to the statue and was busy talking on the phone about the remarkable find he had done. "No, man, honest to God, he's turned to stone... No, dammit Marty, I am not drunk! I'm on duty here! Send over the cops or so, and an ambulance-... Marty, you asshole, we don't need a sculptor here. I'm telling you, Stephen has changed into a statue and I need help with that!"
Hilda heard the conversation. She shook her head at the weird man who was talking to a small piece of metal. Then she picked the broom from the statue's hand and walked out of the shop. She did not mind the alarm going off, nor the man with the phone coming out after her. Long before he could reach her, she had already mounted the broom and flown off.
"Marty... you are not going to believe what I just saw," the man said to his partner on the other end of the line.
Hilda was high in the air, on her broom. She was looking for a spot where she could consult the crystal ball, somewhere quiet. She found a small patch of land with trees. Not large, but then she did not require that much space. She guided the broom downwards and landed beside the small foresty spot. The witch looked at the broom and shook her head. An impossible thing, she thought to herself, but so far it worked. It just cornered poorly.
Hilda walked among the trees and put the broom up against one of them. She looked at the surroundings. "Back to basic. How authentic." Her face betrayed that she did not agree with the words she just had spoken.
She kneeled down on the sand and lay her bag on it, in front of her. She took the small crystal ball and started a time-consuming ritual to charge it. A ball not properly charged would give the most insane answers, she knew. Fitting for this place, she added a thought, while a grimace hurtled over her face.
By the time the ball was charged, the sun was setting. A dark shadow fell over the town and also over the group of trees. Hilda grabbed the wand, stuck it in the soil and snipped her fingers. A bright light came from the wand.
"Now let's see if this sucker works," she mumbled.
The ball was on the bag, charged and potent. The witch held her hands over it and as silently as she dared she repeated a chant to activate the visionary powers she had summoned and put into the small sphere. The world around her grew dark. Nothing existed, except herself, the power and the crystal ball that she was working on.
A small light started to shine inside the crystal and Hilda had to pay extra care now, be amazingly gentle and chant the nuances of her song in the most subtle of ways, otherwise the whole exercise would have been in vain. One wrong intonation, one slight faltering of voice and volume, and the power of the spell would rupture the crystal ball, rendering it useless. It would end up as being merely a ball made of crystal, not an actual crystal ball.
The bright spark spread through the hard mineral, slowly revolving, shining its light against the inside of the sphere. It was an amazing feat to witness, time and again, even for the wicked witch, how the light would just stop moving as it reached the limit of the ball and not go out further as light usually did. Patiently she worked on, chanting, empowering, soothing the structure of the ball so it would not crack under the strains that she was putting on it. A larger ball would have been easier, the pressure inside would have more substance to spread around in, but alas, things were as they were. The quality of this little object would have to make up for the reduced size.
Hilda closed her eyes as she projected the ultimate burst of energy right into the heart of the sphere, where the light lived and danced. She held her breath, summoning all the powers she could reach to make this work, dedicating her whole being to the work. The ball existed of pure white light now, energy flowing freely, in near obscene amounts. Then it was done. All the light vanished, darkness fell over the witch and the sphere. Hilda kept her eyes closed and was ready for the cold that was going to flow over her. It was inevitable, as so much energy had been pulled away from the environment.
The frosty cold hit her as she had taken the crystal ball in both her hands. She pressed her little gem against her heart and fainted, as the drain of energy, the lack of food and the sudden harshness of the icy wind that whistled around her took their toll.
Hilda awoke with an abundance of smells in her nose, the sensation of a soft bed beneath her and warmth on her face.
"Well, look who's awake," a voice said. "Tilly, I think it's time for some food and coffee for someone."
Hilda opened her eyes and quickly looked around, throwing off the blanket. Surprise and recognition caught her and prevented her just in time from throwing around a powerful stunning spell. She was in the house of the ancient one, the man with the white hair and the large wizard's staff.
"Ancient one?", she whispered, not understanding how she had gotten there. "Did you bring me here?"
"Haha, hear that, Tilly? She's calling me ancient one. I did tell you!" The old man got up from his chair.
From behind the table that he'd been sitting at, an old woman got up as well. She had a round face, grey hair with still some black streaks in it and large friendly eyes.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, miss," she said, "let me get you something to eat." As she went out of the room, the old man helped Hilda get up and led her to a chair. Soon after that, she was eating a good meal and sipping the dark, strong smelling stuff that the ancient ones called coffee. As she was stuffing herself in what appeared to be a frenzy, the old man told her how she had gotten onto the stretcher in his livingroom.
"I was taking the dog out for a walk, you see. Always do that in the evening. Good to get some fresh air before going to sleep, and it's good for Wilbur also. Wilbur's the dog, you see." He took a swig from his coffeecup. "So we were going down the road when Wilbur was pulling me over to the trees where you were lying. What were you doing out there all by your lonely self, anyway? You looked as if you had been thrown out of a freezer."
Hilda dropped her fork and knife. "Where's my ball?" As the old man frowned for a moment, she got up. "I need my ball. Where is it?"
"Oh, you mean the crystal ball? We kept that safe for you." The old woman, Tilly, picked it from a small jar and handed it to Hilda, who grabbed it from her hands. The wicked witch probed the power inside the sphere and found it to be working and all fine. Relieved, she tucked the ball in a pocket of her denim jacket.
"I need this ball. I charged it, and I have to keep it close to me. You understand."
The two old people looked at each other and smiled. That was enough for Hilda to know that they did indeed understand. Old mages, she knew, often did not need words to communicate.
Before she could ask, the ancient one said: "We also have your broom here, so no need to get all excited about that either."
Hilda nodded. "I appreciate that. But, of course, as you know, the ball is more important. A broom is just a broom."
"Of course, dear," Tilly said. "Would you like some more food? Or coffee?"
"Yes. Coffee. It charges me very fast. I must know the recipe for this brew, if you can share it," Hilda said, pushing the cup towards the wife of the ancient mage.
The old man looked at Hilda. "Do you really not know how to make coffee?" Astounding sounded in his voice. Hilda immediately knew that she was trouble. Clearly the making of this brew was a knowledge very common here, telling that she did not know how would make her be the laughing stock of these people.
"Of course I do. But this one is special," she tried to save her butt from pending mockery.
Tilly laughed. "Yes, you have that right. The trick is to buy more Arabica and mix that to the regular roast."
Hilda, having emptied her plate, felt like a fool, a novice, a beginner. The coffee was clearly a liquid, and these people knew how to roast it.

6. The hunt commences

Hilda got up. "Can you give me my broom? I have to find my necklace in order to find a way to get back home."
The two elderly people exchanged glances again. "Of course, dear, just follow me and I will hand you your broom."
Hilda snatched her shoulderbag from the cot near the wall and walked through the corridor, following Tilly. The broom was waiting outside for her, leaning against the wall next to the backdoor. When she saw it, she was even more convinced that these people were magical: they had put the broom up in the correct way, with the bristles up.
"There you go, child," Tilly said. "Do take care. I am sure you'll find your necklace."
"Indeed," said the old man. "After all, you have your ball again."
"Yes." The wicked witch held the broom close to her body, energising it for flight. "I have to thank you for your generous help." The words were hard for her, but she had to show courtesy, or these people would make her life hell, she was convinced of that.
"Good luck, young woman," the ancient mage said. "Godspeed."
Hilda was not sure what he meant, but it had to be a good thing, so she nodded. Then bowed. Carefully. She took two steps backwards, as the rules of obedience prescribed, then she turned and walked off, to a place where she could question the crystal ball.
The two people looked at the grey-haired young woman as she walked down the street.
"Poor deranged kid," Tilly said. "Perhaps we should have called the doctor or something."
The old man shook his head. "She'll be fine. She's just a bit crazy, nothing really dangerous, I am sure about it."
Tilly shrugged. "Come back inside, ancient one, it's time for your arthritis pills."
Hilda walked away from the house of the two old magicians. She was surprised how well these two had their magical abilities under control, even with probing she had not found anything. Their shields had to be phenomenal. Her mind was already racing, going over the right spells to seduce the crystal ball in telling its secrets, as she was looking for a good place to sit and actually perform the seeing.
She passed a tavern that had a sign "Coffee" outside the door. Intrigued by the drink, she went inside and found a small table at the back, a bit secluded and out of view. She had barely sat herself down, when someone came to her table.
The waiter frowned at the broom, but did not feel obliged to make a comment about that. "What'll it be?"
"Coffee, of course," said Hilda, wondering why the man bothered to ask. "It says outside that you have this."
"Sure. What kind? Regular, strong, mocha, latte?"
"Do you have the kind with extra Arabica added to the normal roast?" This was her trick question.
"Nope. Just regular, strong, mocha and latte."
"Bring me regular. You may go." Hilda waved her hand.
Another frown later, the waiter left her alone, wondering what kind of weirdo had come in just now.
Hilda took the ball from her pocket and placed it on the table. She thought it best to wait until the servant had brought her beverage. Then she could seal off her area and start her quest with the crystal.
The waiter came with the coffee, put it on the table and looked at the ball for a few seconds. The look that this earned him from Hilda was convincing enough to make him retreat to the main area of the restaurant.
A snip of her fingers was then all it took to separate her table from the rest of the place. Hilda sipped the coffee. "Urgh. No Arabica. There is no witch or wizard at work here, I know that." She was grateful that herknowledge of this strange land was growing so rapidly. If the unfortunate would happen and she could not return to her own land, this would not be a bad place to linger for a while after all.
She closed her eyes for a moment, her hands on the table, thumbs up and palms facing the crystal ball. Slowly she envisioned her necklace, interspersing it with the desire to have it back. Show me, crystal ball, where the necklace is. Where is my property, my means to return to my homeland...
Patiently she worked up the power, drawing energy from the coffee that went cold and white, and from the strange light in a ball that was over her head. When warmth spread in her palms, Hilda opened her eyes and looked at the crystal. There were images forming. A fog, swirling and dancing in a mesmerising manner. Hilda leaned over the table, until her wart was almost against the ball. The images were there, very clear, but hair of a unicorn, so small.
In the ball Hilda saw movement. Hair was flying, there was wind and motion, and a roar she had heard before. It was like the roar of the caged animal in the cart. Then, and there her heart jumped, she saw her necklace. It was found. It rested on skin, which was good. That would keep it charged. "Where is the skin," she mumbled, "where is the movement, the roar... show me..." Her voice dropped so low that only a mere crackle came from her throat, but the crystal ball understood her.
The necklace, her dear and wanted necklace, was around the neck of one of the women from the sad gang who were travelling on their two-wheeled contraptions. Hilda had her self-control grab her instinctive desire and fight it while it was twisting to get away from her, urging her to go out, jump on the broom and charge upon these miscreants.
Calm on the surface, but seething under the skin, she looked around for clues where the travelling gang was. There were wide roads with white lines on them. There were wide open spaces to the left of the road, and hills to the right. There was a smell of flowers. A slight revulsion tried to take over, but she ignored it. More and more little signs came to her, in the tiny images that unfolded before her inside the little crystal ball. Announcements on poles on the side of the road, in screaming colours and large letters. Fenced in cattle here and there. More and more she became familiar with the area, with its position compared to where she was now. This part of the planning was crucial: staking out the proper territory where the hunt was going to be staged. She had to get this right the first time.
Crystal balls are quite fickle. Charging the ball itself is already hard work. Storing all the energy in such a sphere is difficult and can even be dangerous, as the slightest unevenness in the crystaline structure may cause a rupture in the object and unleash the energy that's been stored in it already. Add to that the effect of crystal splinters flying all around at high speed, and you have an idea of the problems of that phase already. Then there is the area in which you use a crystal ball. It has to be free of unwanted energies, powers that can interfere or influence the imagery that the ball is able to show. Worst of all, as you may understand, is the fact that something a ball just refuses to work.
Hilda however was a professional. She knew witchcraft , and witchcraft knew her. They went back a long time together, and her powers did not let her down. She slowly developed a feel for the place that the gang was riding through. There was no mistake possible, she knew where she had to go. Slowly she sat up again and let her hands slide to the sides of the small table. The images in the crystal ball dissipated, turned into the grey fog again for a short while, and then they faded entirely.
"Very good, my little precious one," Hilda said as she tucked the ball in a small pocket of her shoulderbag. "We shall rise up and find this person Bubba and his bride. We'll retrieve the necklace. And then..."
The shield that she had put up had hidden all her actions from the people in the restaurant. The cackling laughter that she uttered was not held back by the shield. Hilda had not taken that little fact into account; she'd never had to.
With the coffee gone bad there was no reason for her to drink it. She got up, dropped the shielding and was stared at by at least a dozen people.
Hilda stared back at them. As this was not meant to become a stand-off, she just picked up her broom and started walking through the main area of the restaurant, eyes diverting as she passed the people who were directing said eyes. There was one person who did not divert his eyes and that was the waiter.
"Miss, you forgot to pay. One regular coffee."
That halted Hilda dead in her tracks. Pay. She knew what it was, but she was not used to it, and she was not inclined to pick up the habit in this strange place. But she was in a hurry too. Conscience and urge were battling. Conscience won. She manifested a gold coin and put it on a table. "This should cover the expense. But never stop me again," she warned the man. Her nose wiggled. With a look that prophesied doom she walked out of the restaurant.
As the waiter stared at the coin, several people got up, trying to see what this weird woman with her broom was upto next. The waiter tried to walk to the door and found that his shoes were firmly attached to the floor.
Hilda mounted the broom and shot into the air. Far below three cars crashed into each other, as their respective drivers had a moment of lack of attention for traffic, seeing a woman and her broomstick mocking the most basic law of nature they knew.
Higher and higher she rose, flying in wide circles, peering out into the distance. The biggest mistake most beginner witches made was to think that flying a broom was easy. Hilda knew that the actual going up and making the broom move was not, indeed. But finding your way when you are high up in the sky, where everything looks different and there are no clues of where you are, was a completely different ballgame. Many a young witch had drifted off to the big seas and wasn't heard or seen ever again.
The wicked witch was experienced in these things, and it did not take her long to see what route she had to take to catch up with the brutes on their roaring contraptions. She urged the broom to a speed that was only feasible for the best flyers. A tremble, a shake, a cough. Everything like that could mean an end to the flight at velocities like these. But it was necessary. Hilda wanted to retrieve what she wanted so desperately.
After a while of flying, things started to look familiar. The large sign, green, with big black letters. A field with cattle. A large red sign with 2 connected golden arches. And then, finally, in the distance, there were the six monster-carts with only two wheels...

7. I told you to stop

Bubba was angry. He was riding on the back of his own machine, behind his woman, Angel. His hand was giving him tremendous pain, making it impossible for him to ride his own bike. This was so humiliating. And then there also were the large bruises on his face and chest from when he had fallen to the ground in the middle of the street. The collar was still around his neck, as well as a few cuts from the attempts of Julius to cut the damned thing off him.
The few times he allowed his woman to ride his bike with him in back, he had the opportunity to squeeze Angel's boobs. But even that small pleasure was not granted to him, as he needed one hand, the good one, to hold on to her. And the other hand... These thoughts, and not many other, revolved in his brain.
Gollem, one of the silent types, gestured that he would need to fuel up soon. Bubba nodded. Talking was impossible, with the raging of the engines and the wind blowing in their ears.
"Hey!"
Bubba did not respond. He didn't even register the word that was yelled at him. The whack against the back of his head registered all the better though. With a growl he looked to the left, and what he saw there made him squeeze his arm around his woman so tightly that he pressed all air out of her. That in turn triggered her to bang on his hand, so he would let off again.
"Stop. Or I make you stop." Hilda was flying next to Bubba's bike, just out of reach of his hand, in case he had any plans with that.
"God-fucking-dammit! It's the bitch!", the leader of the pack yelled. "Speed up!" His outburst was received by all ears. Heads turned, eyes went large, accelerators were twisted and speed picked up. From the bikes, as well as the broom.
Hilda sighed. She had stretched her boundaries by actually telling them to stop once, and they did not listen. Battling the wind, she grabbed hold of her wand and fired off a spell to a spot half a mile further down the road. Then she slowed down, seeing the motorcycles speed away from her.
At a more normal pace, one that allowed her to breathe more normally and did not make her braids stand out in straight lines behind her, she flew on. This was a very quiet road, she knew. Nobody else would get hurt. Not that it mattered.
After half a mile, she made the broom drop to the surface, picked it up and walked over to the street, where all motorcycles stuck in the semi-liquid asphalt. Also their riders were stuck in it. The asphalt did not let them get out of it, it seemed to suck at them harder the more they fought it.
Hilda hung her broom in the air. It was showing off, she knew, but these people seemed to need that. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and placed her hands on her hips. "I told you to stop." She made it sound as an accusation.
"Get us out of this shit, you bitch," was the first thing Bubba could think of as a greeting.
"Witch," Hilda corrected him.
"What?"
"Witch. I am a witch. Also a bitch, I grant you that, but that comes in the second place. Hmmm... Perhaps a bit closer than that. But that's not why I am here. I want my necklace back."
"First get us out of this fuckin' muck, bitch witch," Bubba relayed the feelings of his companions and himself to her.
"The necklace. It is around the neck of your unworthy woman." Hilda pointed at the treasure, which unlocked itself and floated to its rightful owner. Without her having to lift another finger, the necklace settled itself around her neck. The weight of it comforted her. Things would be well now. She could go home and leave this asylum.
"Right. You got your fuckin' necklace. Now get us out!" Bubba was almost out of himself with rage.
"You did not give me my necklace. I had to pick it off her myself. I am not getting you out of it. Good luck." Hilda turned and took her broom, when she heard a strange click. In a reflex she cast a protective spell, and was not a second too soon with that.
Smokey, one of the gang members, had pulled out his gun. He had switched off the safety, which was what Hilda had heard. As the witch turned back to the group that was stuck in the slimey asphalt, Smokey aimed for her head. He knew that from this distance he could not miss, and fired.
Hilda stared at him, while the bullet stuck in her protective shield, several inches away from her face. "You should not have done that. You have just made me angry."
"Hey lady, can't you just get us out?" Bluto waved at her. "We don't mean you any harm, me and Julius and Bitch here."
Hilda recognised the big man who had supplied her the wine, in O'Malley's bar. He had also been the one to take Bubba out on the leash when their mighty leader was afloat. "You went with them. That means you feel you belong to them."
"Hey, you sent us away with them, remember?" Bluto tried. "You even put his leash in my hand."
"Bluto, keep your stinking trap shut, you blabbering idiot," Bubba vented his suppressed feelings. "You just want out and leave me here to rot and you want your own gang."
Despite their distance in the goo, they tried to punch each other's lights out.
Hilda raised her eyebrows. She could not believe what she saw and heard. Slowly she reached for her wand, took the crystal ball in her hand and slowly spoke her spell: "Commutatus vestitus praecantrix."
The shoulderbag changed back to her witch's attire. The denim clothes fell on the ground. Her braids were gone and her long hair hung down her back. In her black clothes with the wide dark red cloak she looked regal. And all the fearsome bad witch she was.
The group in the liquified asphalt had not noticed her change. They all were cheering Bubba and Bluto still trying to hit each other. Everyone was joining in the brawl, hitting everyone they could reach.
"Stop." Hilda's voice thundered, and had the intended result. After waiting for the shouting of the men and women on the half-hidden bikes to end, she stepped forward to where the road stopped being solid.
"This was the second time I had to tell you to stop," Hilda said. "You are incorrigable. You act like children. You don't listen. You shout, you fight. I loathe you." She picked her broom from the air behind her again and hung it where she could easily sit on it.
"Do you now, bitch," Smokey mumbled and in a move fast as lightning, or at least he hoped it looked like that, he raised his gun and fired. He tried to anyway, but his finger did not move. And then the rest of his arm did not want to cooperate. "FUCK!", he screamed, as needles seemed to sting in his entire arm. He dropped the gun and saw it slowly sink into the concrete where his own legs and groin were stuck also.
Bluto then made a mistake. He could have known that his action was not the smartest. He took his heavy iron chain bracelet and flung that at Hilda. "Get your bloody magic hands off my brother!"
Hilda caught the chain effortlessly and looked at it. "Again," she said with a sigh, "you disappoint me. The second time also. You are not worthy of my attention or powers." She bent down and tapped the denim clothes with her wand. "Commutatus vestitus domesticus." Instantly she was dressed in the inconspicuous clothes again. Another moment later, the black and red shoulderbag was in her hand again. She put the crystal ball in the hidden pocket and made her wand disappear. Then she mounted her broom and rose several feet in the air. The motorcycle gang stared at what happened before their eyes.
Hilda looked at the pathetic group in the road, shrugged and flew off.

8. The route home

Hilda sat under a tree, the broom leaning against it. She had figured out by now that witches in this idiotic place were less common and accepted than in the real world, so not using too many tricks was the best way to stay out of sight. Her fingers caressed the necklace that she had been missing for so many hours.
"I am not going to be so careless again, precious," she said.
The witch looked around the park. There were many people here. Ordinary ones. Some were walking dogs. Some were dressed oddly and were running around for no apparent reason. They could not be messengers, as they did not carry things. None of the people seemed to have an occupation. They all just... lounged around. This world was strange. No doubt about it.
"Hey, miss, what are you doing there?" A rough but still friendly voice interrupted her musings.
Hilda looked up and saw a big black man. He wore what looked like a uniform and he wore a kind of cap on his head. A large stick hung from a leather belt. "I am trying to think of a way to get home again."
The policeman nodded. "Fine, but not on the grass, okay?"
Hilda looked around her. "Yes. On the grass, of course, as I am sitting there."
The policeman bent through his knees. "All fun aside, miss. You're not allowed to get onto the grass here. So sit on a gravel path, or pick a bench out there, but you have to get off the grass."
Hilda raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "This world is truly insane, do you know that? Normal things are unheard of, and unheard of things are normal."
"You're telling me, miss. I only do my job upholding the law." The officer stood up again and waited for Hilda to get up as well. He did look at her as she took the broom, but as there was nothing dangerous attached to it, he was cool with it.
Hilda mounted her broom, causing the policeman to frown for a moment. "Have a good day," the witch said and lifted off.  It did not make the officer's day good. And the frown was there to stay.
The wicked witch flew over the town, covered with an invisibility-spell, looking for a decent place to plan the next step to find her way home. She found her temporary residence in an old abandoned building. It was large, spacious, and the high fences around it made sure she had all the privacy that she needed. It was not a very fancy place to begin with, but that was not something insurmountable with the aid of magic.
Soon it looked like the good room in her own house, at home. She missed the mirror, but that would take too long to prepare. Desperate times asked for desperate measures.
Dressed in her normal clothes, she placed the crystal ball on the table. The wand went next to it. Hilda sat down on the grand chair and spun a magical web through the room, mixing Latin (which worked fastest) and English (which was more failsafe but a bit slower) until she had the perfect atmosphere for consulting the ball using the power of her necklace.
The necklace was a special one. It had been made in ancient times, even before proper candles, someone had told her long ago. Rumour had it that her necklace had been crafted by dwarfs, which probably was a cartload of cattlemanure. It was however a certainty that the necklace had magically been energised by a very powerful wizard. Used in the right way, and handled by the right hands, the magical electricity sparkled from the gems, and that was the power Hilda needed now.
The preparation was done. Magic was afoot and also over the table. There was a piece of paper, and a quill. While Hilda mumbled her incantations and spells, the crystal ball started showing images. The necklace crackled its energy in blue and green. The quill rose up and started writing ancient signs on the paper. Hilda felt her energy draining as the magic needed for this quest was immense.
Finally the quill had written enough and laid itself down. Hilda brought down the energy she had summoned, whilst trying to remember the pictures of a cart and a large box that the ball had shown her. She knew she had to eat something soon. The last decent meal she'd eaten had been at the house of the ancient one, and that was quite a while ago already.
After undoing the magical web, she walked into another space of the building. There was a lot of debris that could be easily transformed into food. It would taste bland, but that was the least problem. Using her wand, she made some of the stuff float into her chambers and cast the transformation spell. She glared at the result. In her own world food that was prepared this way did not look really appetising, but this looked downright disgusting. The smell was gross. She tried some of it and spat it out again. "This world is wrong. Sick. Bad. I must find a way to go home." There was no other option for her to silence her hunger than by going back to the town of lunatics...
With her broom in hand and wearing the clothes of the locals again, Hilda walked through the streets. Attracting too much attention was not a good thing here. Flying a broom meant attracting attention. Her mood was shot to hell, her stomach growled, her feet screamed at her. Not a good starting point for a wicked witch to operate from.
After a few streets she still had not found a place that could supply her with food, so she stopped a person on the pavement. "I need a meal. Take me to such a place." The wand convinced the woman that she had stopped to walk Hilda to a restaurant, and only then the wicked witch let the spell wear off. The woman was totally confused how she had ended up at the restaurant.
Hilda entered the restaurant, located a table in a corner and marched towards it. She put the broom in the corner and sat down in such a way that she could oversee the place.
"Miss," a waiter said, "this table has been reserved."
"Good," Hilda said, "you can bring me a meal."
The waiter needed a few moments to wrap his brain about what was happening. "Miss, I think you did not understand. This table is prepared for guests who will be here shortly. Could you please sit at another table?"
"No. I sit here. And you are going to bring me food. I am hungry, and my mood is deteriorating rapidly."
"But, miss, please," the waiter tried one more time.
Hilda took out her wand. "Look, boy, you appear to have no enemies. Be nice to me, bring me food, and you will continue to have no enemies. Otherwise you will be dead and have no enemies. Have I made myself clear?"
The waiter hesitated just a moment too long.
"Oboeditus. Tracto cartula." As there was no movement in the waiter, Hilda shook her head. "I hate Latin. Obey. And take care of the bill."
The waiter smiled. "I'll make sure you will have the daily special, miss." He walked off, to return about ten minutes later with a few plates. "Enjoy your meal, miss. I have already taken care of the bill for you. My pleasure, miss."
The wicked witch dug into the food as if it was the first decent meal she had seen in her entire life. This was much better than the degraded grub she had managed to make from the things in her new building.
At the door, there seemed to be some confusion. Hilda followed the proceedings with interest, as the man that led the incoming party was obviously in distress. He kept pointing at the table in the corner, and the waiter was persistently trying to accept them a few other tables. "How sweet," the witch snickered. "He stands up for little ole me. I should leave a coin for him." She didn't, though. She had gone wrong with Latin again, and that had ticked her off.
As she had finished eating, she got up, grabbed the broom and walked to the problem-group at the door. She tugged the waiter's sleeve. "It's fine. Let them have the table."
The waiter smiled and made a deep bow, making Hilda giggle as she left the restaurant. Out in the street she looked to the left and right. There were no secluded spots from where she could fly off. "Oh heck. Why bother." She mounted her broom and kicked off. Somewhere behind her there were some screeching sounds followed by a crashing thud. 
The wicked witch landed her broom at the entrance of her new residence and walked inside. There she changed into her normal clothes and set to work on interpreting the information she had gotten to find the way back to her own world. The image of the cart with no horse worried her. As well as the large box that apparently was inside that cart. Hilda already knew she'd have to find that cart, because it held part of the solution.
Using her wand, she magicked up a cup of coffee, the exact same stuff she'd had at the home of the ancient ones. That was good, fortifying and reassuring.
She picked up the first sheet of paper that the quill had written on, and started reading.
"There is the cart of the man William Conolley,
The wares he owns are packed quite thoroughly,
The book of tales, the book of dreams,
Contains the solution, or so it seems
You must find the cart, the book, the man,
And make them tell you all they can,
From there the path will make you roam
And find the trail back to your home."
"You are not going to make this easy on me, are you?", Hilda said to the quill that lay silent on the table. It was not impressed enough to respond. She turned to the next page, which was an attempt to a map. "Call this information?", Hilda snapped, waving the sheet at the quill. "Thanks for nothing." The next page'd better be better.
"A hint for you, my dearest witch,
To find your man without a glitch,
The bookstore of the town you're in,
Should definitely make you win.
The use of magic is forbidden,
Or from the town you will be ridden.
Good luck, enjoy, and have some fun-"
Then Hilda saw the last line change into something new, before she could read the original...
"The cops are here, you'd better run."

9. Cops and witches

"Cops?" Hilda frowned. "Hair of a unicorn, what are cops?"
"Hello, lady inside the building. This is the police. We know you are in there. You are in danger, the building is not stable. Please come out as soon as you can, or we will be forced to come in and get you." The sound boomed through the room, and probably all the other rooms in the building.
Hilda understood that she had just received an answer to her question. She rose from her chair and walked to the open window. Outside the fence that was erected around her new home, there were four carts without horses. Blue lights were flashing on top of them, and there were at least ten men in black uniforms. She recognised those, as the man in the park, who had told her not to be on the grass, had worn something similar.
Hilda magically enhanced her speech, and at the same volume as the police megaphone had been, she boomed back: "I am not in danger. Go away and leave me be."
The men in black covered their ears and dove for cover at the sound of her words.
"Pathetic," she muttered. As she was about to turn and pay attention to the papers again, the police voice came back.
"You in the building. We are not joking. We will come in and take you out by force if you do not cooperate."
Force? Now there was a word that Hilda understood. "You want a show of force? Yours against mine? Very well. Where do you want to duel?"
The police voice remained silent for a considerable amount on time, as the keepers of the law were discussing how to go about this crazy person in the condemned building.
"We do not want to duel. We just want you out of the building. It is not safe there for you."
"I do not need a handful of people in carts to tell me what is safe for me," Hilda responded. "I am safer in here than you are out there." She tapped her wand in her palm, waiting for them to make a move, so she could make a countermove. And let them hurry please, she had better things to do than to muck about with insolents.
"This is our last warning. Come out now and there will be no repercussions, lady. We'll let you walk and there won't be charges for breaking and entering an unsafe building."
Hilda did not understand most of that. She had not broken the building. It was safe enough for her also. Yes, she had entered it, but that was for obvious reasons, her belongings, few as they were, were inside. But the words of the police cops that they would let her walk did sound like a good thing. No hassle, no problems. It would be a shame to lose this home, but there would be another one somewhere.
"You say you will let me walk. Will you also let me fly?"
"Whatever you want, lady. Just come out without making trouble."
"I shall come out. This I promise. You can leave."
Hilda sighed. Seriously too bad. She changed into the local's clothes again, made the shoulderbag from her own clothes. She folded the quill and the papers and put them in the bag. Carefully she stored the crystal ball in the hidden pocket, put her necklace around her neck and then she turned the chair and the table back into the rubble, the way she had found it in the room. After all that, broom in hand, she walked out of the building, towards the fence.
From behind it, she saw that the men and the carts with the flashing lights were still there. "Do you not trust me?", she asked. "I told you I would leave this building. I promised. I also said you could leave."
One of the officers stepped up to the fence, looking at the person in denim, who held a broom. "Are you by chance the same person with the broom that was in the park the other day? The one that sat on the grass?"
Hilda stood proud. "That, indeed, was I."
"Maybe you should come with us, to the station. We would like to run a few checks on you and find out what you did to our partner. The poor guy was babbling about a woman with a broom who flew off on it. If you were that woman, we'd really love to know what you slipped him."
The tone of the man was turning into something Hilda did not like, and she was usually a very good judge of things like that. Also, she understood, she was attracting a lot of attention. That was good in the real world, but in this one, odd and inexplicable, it was not. Again she felt as if she had ended up in a horrorstory.
"Come on, lady, you have nothing to fear," the policeman tried to encourage Hilda.
"Indeed," the wicked witch agreed, "it is not I who has something to fear." Her wand appeared. "Subverto plostrum." Nothing happened. "Subvertos plostrum?"
There was silence. There was also wonder on the faces of the policemen, who until then considerend themselves safe on their side of the fence.
"I hate Latin..." Hilda shook her head and mounted her broom. "Carts overturn! Cops stick to the floor!" Again it took a few seconds, but the result was satisfying.
As if they were grabbed by  giant hands, the policecars were lifted up, turned over and then crashed onto the ground. The policemen wanted to run away to get themselves to safety, but they could by no means move their feet. They were pinned to the earth they were standing on.
Hilda kicked herself free from the ground and flew off. Screams of the policemen, stuck in place, followed her, but only as long as she was in yelling range.
Far outside the town, Hilda landed her broom in field of wheat. A simple snip of the fingers was enough to make some open space for her to sit and study the papers again.
"The bookstore of the town you're in, Should definitely make you win. Right. That's something to work with," she said to herself, ignoring the noise that came from far away. "A bookstore. The bookstore, even. If there is only one, that should be quite easy to find."
Hilda looked up. The noise was becoming a nuissance. She got to her feet and looked round. In the distance, and coming closer, was a large loud monster. As so many things in this unruly world, it was made of metal. A large cylinder, consisting of many separate rods, was in front of it, rolling slowly like the wheel on a watermill, chopping the wheat down. A large yellow bulk was behind it, and in front of the bulk, over the rotating cylinder, was what looked like a very small hut with glass all around.
"No witch can concentrate with that," Hilda muttered. She took her wand and slapped out a spell. "Silencio."
The combine harvester obeyed promptly. Farmer O'Toole frowned. "What the heck..." The ignition did not respond. He looked over all the controls, switches and gauges, they all checked out, the machine was in perfect condition. It just would not start.
The radio announced that working crews were still trying to get a group of motorcyclists out of the road where they had been found.
Hilda sat down and looked at the second page, the one that pretended to be a map. "Oh. Wait." She turned the page around. "Trying to be funny, right?", she grumbled at the quill in her bag. What had first resembled only some scratches and wobbles, now looked like the view of a street. A street, Hilda noticed, that she knew. It was the street where she had first met the miscreants, in the bar where she had left the bouncer. It occurred to her that there was indeed a bookstore in that street.
"Okay..." She got up as she heard a loud clanging noise. "Now what..."
Farmer O'Toole had descended from the harvester and opened his toolbox from where he had gotten a hammer. He started pounding the engine, hoping it would somehow come back to life again once it had been abused enough. "Shit, shit, shit, you stupid thing," he yelled at the refusing block of metal.
"You got it," Hilda giggled, and wiggled her nose.
With a mushy 'splot' the hammer, and also farmer O'Toole's arm disappeared in the engine space. Where once had been an engine, now there was a full and fresh load of still warm horse droppings...

10. The bookstore

Shielded by an invisibility spell, Hilda landed in the alleyway next to the bookstore. After releasing the shield she walked into the bookstore, one particular line from the quill's poem reverberating through her head. "The use of magic is forbidden." It worried her, and that was a bad sign. Witches of her standing never worried. This place was getting on her nerves.
She stared at the sharp sounding bell at the door, that made Bert Bantrey's head rise up from behind a stack of books. How easy would it be to make that bell go silent.
"Ah, dear lady, please excuse my appearance. One moment please..." Bert scrambled to his feet. He grabbed hold of another stack of books that was on the verge of collapsing, and after steadying that part of his assets, he turned to Hilda again. "Welcome to Bert Bantrey's Bookstore. I am Bert Bantrey. Please state your wishes, and I will do my utmost to fullfill them." He ended his little talk with a quick bow.
"A gentleman at last," Hilda smiled benevolently. "I thought this world had seen no civilisation, but it appears I have to revise my opinion about that." She nodded regally, something that looked quite odd with her denim attire, the red and black bag slung across her shoulders and the broom in her hand. And yet, it suited her.
Bert was accustomed to strange customers, even people calling themselves witches, asking for grimoires, books of shadows and other impossible things. This was the prerogative of owning the only bookstore in town and its surroundings. "So, with what can I be of assistance?" There was something enticing about this woman that fed his male feelings, his urges. It was something that not many women managed to evoke.
"I am looking for a man who has a book," Hilda said.
"For a book, dear lady, I am your man," Bert smiled, waving his arm around the store. "And I own many of them. Therefore I assume that makes me a whole lot of man." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
The gesture was lost on the witch. "I am looking for..." - Hilda rummaged in her bag and took the papers - "...William Connoley?"
Bert's hopes of capturing this lady's heart shattered on the floor, in front of his feet. He could almost hear the shards clatter. Bert however was not one to be thrown out of the ring that easily. "Dear lady, I am convinced that you and I can come to an agreement. Whatever it is that my friend William has, I have it too."
Hilda could smell the stream of stale pheromones that flowed from the man. It almost made her gag. "There must be something that William Connoley has that you do not have," she said. "My paper states that."
"Hah, dear lady," Bert said, leisurely stepping towards her. "William and I go back a long time. I know what he has for sale, as he obtains most of his merchandise from my store. He is, how could I put it, almost my personal travelling sales-representative."
Hilda closed her eyes and tried to keep her calm. Magic is not allowed. Magic is not allowed. The words spooked her. This, she knew, was going to be very difficult. "I have to know where William Connoley is." She spoke the words slowly and clearly, as friendly as she could. Without magic, she had to stay in control and put up with any misfit that came on her path, in the annoying way that ordinaries did everywhere.
"Can I first offer you some tea? Or coffee, perhaps?" Without knowing it, Bert had spoken a magical word.
"Coffee. Yes. Coffee is good." Hilda was grateful for this break. "Do you-", she started, but did not ask about the extra Arabica. This man would not know, he was not magical.
"Do I what, dear lady?", Bert asked, his charm offensives blasting and his most dazzling smile on his face.
"Oh. No. Nothing. Just... coffee." Hilda emphasised her wish by nodding a few times and repressed the revulsion.
"Very well. Please, browse around, make yourself comfortable on the sofa if you want. I'll be back soon. With the... coffee..." He spoke the last word as if he tried to turn the sound into an aphrodisiac. 
To Hilda it was the ultimate turn-off, something that made her want to scream and turn the man into a toad and flee from this place. Instead, she just nodded and turned to the long lines of books. Instinctively she located the books about magic. Randomly she took one and looked through it, after placing her broom against a rack.
Bert came back with two cups of instant brew, and his heart jumped for joy to see the woman still standing there, obviously entertained by a book, as he heard her grin and giggle. "Dear lady," he said, in a voice as husky as he could muster, "your servant." He had intended to add: "And your coffee", but the first two words startled Hilda, and that was the start of bad news for Bert. As he said "your servant", she had already closed the book and was turning towards the man behind her. Quickly. With the book at face-height.
The impact of the big, bound book against Bert's skull was shocking. He uttered a muffled "oompf". His head turned away from Hilda, his body following suite. The two cups of instant coffee suddenly became either very hot or very heavy, because he dropped them to the floor. 
"No magic," Hilda told the unconscious man, whose body was obeying the laws of gravity. She looked at the grimoire that had had this dramatic effect. "At least I assume that hitting someone with a book about what they call magic here was not included in that line, otherwise I am majestically screwed."
Carefully she stepped over the body that lay in a heap on the floor and found her way to the small kitchen annex toilet. Locating a bucket was not difficult, but filling it became a problem. There was no pump or well inside the small space, and through the tiny dirty window she could not see anything that resembled one either.
"The use of magic is forbidden, or from the town you will be ridden." The words laughed at her, taunted her. She could not fill the bucket using magic, nor with anything she recognised. Drawing on all her willpower, she walked back to the store and looked at the motionless body. "And I thought you were a gentleman. Goes to show."
A very unhappy Hilda paced the bookstore. She had gone to the door that had the "Open" sign shown to this crazy world and turned that around, decreeing that the store was "Closed". At least that would give her some peace and time to think. Waiting until the man regained consciousness was not her preferred option. He might not take the course of past events very well. Hilda could not be bothered by that fact, but she still needed to know where William Connoley was, and this was the place where she could find out. Provided the quill had not played a trick on her. Bert, after being treated to a taste of solid magic, was probably not eager to help her out.
In the kitchen Hilda had found a packet of cookies covered in chocolate, and she was working on reducing the contents, when suddenly an eerie sound rang through the store. The wicked witch ducked behind a stack of books, wishing that the sound would go away. Her wish was not granted, the sound persisted. It also did not move through the store, she noticed, so she got up and went around to locate the source of this noise and silence it once and for always. A large book she had picked up would serve her well in that, she hoped.
The phone rang and blinked. That is how Hilda found it on the counter. "Magic is not allowed, eh?", she snorted. "Really."
She put down the book and examined the device with its noise and its blinking light. There was a small window on it, and there was a text on it. William Connoley. Hilda stumbled backwards, pressing herself against the shelves of books, holding a hand over her heart. This demonic device bore the name of the man she needed to talk to! She then saw the small blinking button that read 'talk'.
Hilda looked at the device and said: "Talk!"
It didn't.
"Talk!!"
It remained unimpressed.
Boldly she stabbed at the flashing button. "Talk, you abomination!"

11. William Connoley

"Bert? Are you there? It took you long enough, dear friend!"
Hilda stared at the demon device and wanted to damage the quill. Magic is not allowed my ass, she thought. "Who are you, demon?", she said, making the wand appear and pointing it at the telephone.
"Hello? Who is that? Is Bert there?", the device spoke.
Hilda glanced at the body, whose mind was still unavailable. "Bert is... indisposed."
"What? You mean he is sick? Too bad for him. I assume you are watching the shop for him then. I am William Connoley. Bert's friend."
Hilda poked the demon device with her wand. "You are his friend?" She tried to connect two dots that were just too far apart. She had been convinced that William Connoley was an ordinary, a human, not a small demonic device that flashed lights and spoke with a feeble voice. "I don't understand. He talked like you were far away, and you are lying here on the table."
William needed some time to let this sink in. First there was the surprise of hearing a woman answering the telephone. A woman! In Bert's shop! And then there was the added sensation of hearing her speak as if she was skyhigh, on some drug. Bert should get rid of his habit to attract weirdos, but for now he'd have to do with this person. He decided to play along.
"Okay, listen," the device said. "I am not inside this telephone. I am far away, and I am using the telephone to talk to Bert. Well, to you at the moment."
"You are using magic," Hilda stated, feeling more and more inclined to retire the quill indefinitely.
William decided not to go into that discussion. "Listen. There is a book I need. Someone wants to buy it, and I know that Bert has it. I am sure that he's fine with it, that I sell it for him. And we'll split the profits."
Hilda's eyes grew almost saucer-like. She knew that she was far from being a good person, but taking prophets apart was something even she would not dream of doing.
"The book," the demon device said to her before she could respond, "is either on the table to the left of the sofa, or on the shelf to the right of it." The voice went on describing the book to her, and then asked if she could find it.
Hilda slowly moved away from the device, her wand not wavering from it, her eyes on it as long as she could see it. Then she stepped over Bert and found the book on the table, as the demon had said. She picked it up and carried it to the device, holding it up so the demon could see it. "I have it here," she said, to make sure she was in the clear with the voice.
"Fabulous. Now, I guess it is rather quiet in the store, so if you flip the sign on the door and bring it to me, we're in business. I am at 349 Granby Drive, near the Pinewood Turnpike. Do you know where that is? Bert's car usually is round the back, the keys should either stick or else you find them in the glove compartment."
Hilda reached for the crystal ball and placed it next to the demon. Slowly she said: "349 Granby Drive, near the Pinewood Turnpike", waving the wand over the ball in a complex pattern.
"Ah, good. You're writing it down."
A small light happily danced inside the crystal ball. It would be able to guide Hilda to the place that the demon voice had dictated. "Yes. I can find it," she confirmed.
"Good. I suggest you take the phone with you, so you can call me in case you get lost. I'll be waiting for you in the coffeeshop across the street." The voice stopped, and the light left the demon device.
Hilda looked at the thing, now dead as a stone. She picked it up and shook it. Nothing happened. Hilda shrugged, dropping it in her bag. The voice had said to take the demon device along, so why not. 
She looked at the book the demon device wanted her to bring. It was large and heavy, too awkward to take along on the broom. Shaking her head at Bert and seeing where not using magic had gotten him, she shrunk the book and tucked that in the shoulderbag as well. If the demon device used magic, she was at liberty to do that also.
Then the wicked witch walked through the store, the crystal ball in hand, to collect her broom. As she was going there, she noticed the big book that she had dropped after whacking Bert senseless with it. She picked it up and checked it, to make sure it was not damaged. Carefully she put it on the table, picked up her broom and left the store.
Hilda stepped into the alleyway, cast her spell of invisibility and rose up into the sky. Once she was at an altitude she thought safe, she dropped the spell and consulted the crystal ball. The little dancing light pointed where she should go, so she turned the broom and followed the indications of the small guide in her hand.
The flight was not fast, as she had only one hand to steer the broom, but after about fifteen minutes the sphere already indicated that she should start her descent. Approaching the ground, Hilda saw many places to touch down unnoticed, so there was no need to hide her presence. She dropped down like a brick, between two high buildings with no windows. Things were going well for a change!
Hilda swooped the broom up just before the bristles would brush the ground, a maneuver that she was good at and enjoyed. Then the door was thrown open, some three feet in front of her.
After the crash, the wicked witch found herself sitting on the ground, staring at the door that slowly swung back into its opening, as the little stars slowly dissipated from before her eyes. Her face hurt, her knees hurt, but she did not care about that. Her gaze dropped to the ground next to her and she got a shock. Her broom had broken in two parts. The brush was cracked, most bristles had fallen out. The plastic stick was flattened most of the way.
"No," she whispered. "NO!"
Only then she heard the muffled sound from the other side of the door. The door itself slowly swung open again, and Hilda jumped to her feet, wand in her now free hand and ready to strike.
A big bald man, holding his nose, was uttering curses like a pirate. In short, the message that he wanted to relay was that he wanted to know what blubbering idiot had slammed the door into his face.
"It was you," said Hilda, her voice cold enough to make ice crackle. Her dismay about losing the broom was evident. "You opened the door."
"Yeah, I fucking well did, as I had to go through it, dumb broad. Did you smash into it? Good. I hope you hurt like fucking hell!" The bald man was not pleased.
"You broke my broom, you... you... ordinary!" Hilda was close to fuming.
"So? You broke my fucking nose, bitch," the man retorted, blood streaming from his fingers to make  his take on this even clearer.
"Oh, poor man, are you hurting?" Hilda's voice changed to sugar-sweet. "Let me fix that for you, will you?" Her eyes in slits, her wand directed at the man's broken nose, she hissed: "Communtatus rana!"
The effect was instantaneous, and to Hilda's delight.
The workman's clothes fell on top of the frog. The animal croaked. It was not so delighted.
Hilda took a deep breath. Then she held out her hand. "Veni cristallum." The crystal ball jumped up and landed in her palm, after which she looked at it. She was not far from the man she had to see. Worrying about the broom would not help now, so she started walking.
Only several minutes later already she turned into a street and a memory hit her. She had seen this street in the ball, as she was asking it to show her where to go! The houses to the left and right were there, the horseless carts were there. And there, further down the road, was the cart that had the box with the answer! Hilda ran towards the cart, but its doors were closed. She peered through the windows, pressing her hands and nose against them, but there was no sign of the box.
"Calm down, Grimhilda," she told herself. "This place is getting to you, but you have come so close, don't lose your grip now. The man is in a house of coffee, he said. Find the house of coffee and you'll find the man." She slipped the crystal ball in her bag where it was safe. A passer-by looked at the woman who was talking to herself for a moment, shook his head and continued on his way without a word. Which was the best thing he could have done, and he didn't even know it.
As the voice from the demon device had said, there was a coffeeshop across the street. Hilda stepped on the asphalt, then stopped. She made sure none of the horseless carts were approaching before she hurried to the other side.
A few ordinary people that were walking there looked at her awkward behaviour but left her in peace, which was exactly perfect for Hilda. Without hesitation she walked upto the door of the coffeehouse and entered. As she did so, she inflated the book and held it in her hand. She was quite certain the bookman would recognise her through that.
William Connoley looked up as the woman with the long grey braids walked in. He blinked a few times as he did not trust his eyes. Had she really pulled that large book from her shoulderbag just now? He got up and walked over to her.
Hilda saw the broadshouldered man walk up to her. It had to be him. He had a friendly face.
"Hello, I am William Connoley. You are the person I talked to on the phone?", the man said.
Hilda liked his voice. It was the same as the one from demon device, only better sounding. Warm. She grabbed inside her bag and took out the demon device. "This. Yes. You were talking through it. Do you want it back?"
"Back?" William doubted if he should talk to her much longer. "It is Bert's phone. He's the one who will want it back. Just keep it with you until you see him again. Ehm, would you like some coffee?"
"Coffee. Yes, I need some coffee," Hilda said, pushing the large book in the salesman's hands.
It was the first sensible thing William had heard from her. Relieved, he led her to his table and ordered another round of coffee. As they were waiting for the order to arrive, William looked at the book. "You did not wrap it..."
Hilda looked at the man, fire in her eyes. "You wanted the book. I brought the book." What was he going on about? She was, after all, a powerful witch, not a shop's wench.
William nodded, hoping she'd calm down again. This woman obviously had a terribly short temper. "You got here remarkably quickly," he said, "Bert's car usually does not go that fast. Where is it anyway? The street's quite full."
Hilda shrugged and decided to wing this one. She was tired from being on the run, and her patience was slowly cracking up. "It broke when someone hit it with a door."
"It... broke?"
"Yes. In two pieces."
"Oh..." Something seemed to crawl down his spine for a split second.
The waitress brought the coffee and was treated to a nod from the witch.
William sat back and studied the strange woman who was sipping the hot coffee. She was a very remarkable person, he thought. Intriguing. Her behaviour, the haunted look in her eyes, the way she spoke. As if she did not belong here.
"How was Bert when you last saw him?", he asked Hilda, as the uncanny feeling that had gone through him lately reared its tail again.
"He did not say much. He was knocked out."
"Strange. Only a few days ago I saw him and he looked fine," William said.
Hilda shrugged and drained the last drops of coffee from the cup. She felt more empowered again, better and ready for anything. She turned towards William Connoley. "You have something I need."

12. Going home

William looked at the woman. "I have something..."
"Yes. Something that I need." Hilda was positive and determined, and she radiated that. She also wanted it ten minutes ago.
"And what might that be?" William Connoley was paying full attention to her and confused as hell, but he was not going to let her know that.
Hilda picked up the man's uncertainty as if he was waving a banner. "I don't know. I'll recognise it when I see it."
"Ah. And who told you this?" William was more than curious to know how she could be so convinced, as he had never seen her before. She hadn't even introduced herself to him yet. The feeling licked his heels again.
"Nobody. But I am certain of this. I got your name, and the - ehm - source is reliable." Hilda had to be very careful now, not saying things that might chase away this extraordinary ordinary man. This man, after all, was the key to her return. Angering him could have the adverse effect, and she was becoming desperate to get out of this world. The insanities were stacking up against the walls of her awareness, and she was not sure how much more of that she would be able to take. There had to be a point where either the insanities themselves, or the walls that they were leaning against would crash down upon her.
"I'll tell you something. I will go to my truck, wrap up this book, and take it to the person who is buying it. You sit tight and have another coffee. After the sale I come back here and we'll talk about what you are looking for. I am very curious, believe me." William smiled his most reassuring smile and patted the woman on the hand. The feeling now not only licked his heels, it was tugging at his hair also.
Hilda stared at the hand and fury was firing up over this impudence. An ordinary was not to touch a witch - but this was not your average ordinary human, she reminded herself, and forced herself to calm down. She had to battle the pressure down, but she managed it, be it just.
William sensed how Hilda tensed up and quickly withdrew his hand. "I am sorry. It seems that touching makes you feel uncomfortable."
"If it is okay with you," she said slowly, swallowing and fighting for control, "I will go with you. I am going to stay in the background. You will not have to worry about me being there." Hilda was humiliating herself tremendously and she knew it, but it was the only way.
William smiled. "Very well. You can come along with me. And you can tell me about yourself, if you want. Your name for instance." He reached for his wallet and put a few dollars on the table, to pay for the coffee.
Hilda picked up one of the pieces of paper and looked at it for a few moments. It was green. It had letters and numbers on it, and the drawn picture of a person in awkward clothes. With a shrug and an expression of not understanding on her face she put it down.
"Is something wrong with it?", William asked.
"No... no..." She shook her head, wondering why he did not put copper or silver on the table. Hilda had no idea that her actions made William more and more interested in her. The weird feeling was by now enveloping him, giving him the sensation that he was in the middle of a docile thundercloud.
"Right. Let's go then and wrap this beauty up." He got to his feet, the large book in his hand and gestured to the door, letting Hilda go first and making sure he did not touch her again.
They left the coffeehouse, and as they were crossing the street to get to the truck, the witch turned to William. "You can call me... Hilda." She cringed on the inside. For a witch, giving someone your name meant giving them control over you.
"Nice to meet you, Hilda. Just call me William."
They walked to the house, after the book was nicely wrapped, and the sale was done very quickly. Then they returned to the truck.
"Now, can you tell me what you think I have that you need?" William leaned against the car, smiling at the woman and keeping a safe distance, his hands in his pockets.
Hilda looked at him for a while. Then, in silence, she took the papers with the poems from her shoulderbag.
William looked at the paper and the writing, and then whistled. "Amazing. That looks ancient. And the writing... did you do that?"
"Yes. You could say that. It was my quill anyway," she said, and then looked at the poems. "You must have a book of tales, a book of dreams. A special one."
William looked at her in wonder. "May I see that?" He held out his hand and waited. Reluctantly Hilda handed him the paper with the first poem.
As he touched it, William felt a flow of power shoot through his arm. He shivered, then it was gone.
He read the poem carefully. "A most extraordinary poem, Hilda. What does it mean?"
She took a deep breath. "It means what it says. You are the man William Conneley and you have something. In your cart. It can help me to return home."
"A book of tales, a book of dreams," he nodded. "Now, don't tell me-" A glint of revelation swam over his face.
Hilda raised her eyesbrows again, not knowing what she should not tell this man who was, for now, her sole hope in this turmoil. She watched how he took a piece of metal from his pocket, bracing herself for anything. It proved quite a strain, as she was barely hanging on to her wits by now. Her return could be so close and yet it was all so uncertain.
William hesitated for a moment. "For some reason," he said, "I have been waiting for you."
"Waiting for me?" This surprised her. She was used to people waiting for her, witches from her level did not wait for people. But in this strange world, where everything was turned upside down and inside out, this commonplace fact felt... wrong, almost. "You don't even know me."
William nodded. "True. And still..." He raised his hand, put the key in the lock and opened the backdoor of the truck. "I bought a book from Bert. A few days ago," he said. "I don't know why I had to have it. I just had to. People wanted to buy it from me, for much more than what I paid for it, but, and you may laugh at me now, the book did not want me to sell it. It did not allow me to. As if it was trying to tell me that I should save it for someone. Perhaps for you."
Hilda looked at the man. This was the first person who started to make some kind of sense to her since she had arrived here. She nodded. "Some books are like that. Special books." Her heart pounded in her chest, the rush of anticipating what might come was almost making her nauseous.
William climbed into the back and opened the cover of the storage space where the crate of books was that he had gotten from Bert. On top was the special book, still wrapped in the heavy linen. "Hilda... come in here. Please?"
The witch climbed into the truck also and sat on the small bench, staring at the package he had in his hands. It seemed to scream at her. She suppressed the urge to yank it from his hands. The book was so close, it beckoned her to take it. Read it. Use it.
"Could this be it?" William unwrapped the book and handed it to the strange woman. Somehow this seemed the proper thing to do. He sat down and watched how she hastily opened the book, paging through it, as he slowly folded the linen wrapping.
The pages in the book, bewitching as they had been in Bert's store already, now seemed to come to life for real, in the hands of this strange woman. He had looked at it, read the ancient fairytales, and loved them. The drawn images with the stories were exquisite, detailed. The wording was intense, yet soothing where needed.
She looked at William, after taking in several of the pages that told the stories of her people. "This is it." She held up her hand. The wand appeared. As she expected, the man's eyes became large.
"I am a witch, William. I am not from this world. Your book... talks about my home."
William Connoley simply nodded. He had not known it, but it did not come as a surprise to him. Ever since he'd owned this book, something had been haunting him, pushing and pulling at him. Now, he understood, he was about to witness what it had been all about. The culmination of the pulling, the refusals to sell the book. Electricity seemed to permeate the air inside the truck's rear cabin.
Hilda closed her eyes and lowered the wand, slowly touching the book with it. The pages started moving, and the further to the back of the book they paged themselves, the brighter the light was that shone from them. The magical movement slowed, and ended when it reached the page that was written in the old language of the witches. A tear appeared in the eye of the witch and violently she brushed it away. Her trembling finger traced the words as she read the page, her lips moving in silence. The page told her that she was going home.
She tapped her shoulderbag and was dressed in her regal robes again, the denim lying on the floor. Almost apologetic, Hilda looked at William, who sat quietly, eagerly watching the witch. She looked at the page again and slowly recited the words. The power that emerged from them, she magic she invoked from them, made the back of the truck tremble.
William, awestruck and hypnotised by the happenings, barely noticed the shift in atmosphere that spun around his truck. Time out there and time inside the back of his car were out of sync, shifting, sliding, tumbling. He stared at the woman, whose hair had become undone, who was now looking so entirely out of place here in her majestic clothes, sitting on the low bench in the cramped confines of the truck's rear cabin.
Hilda raised her voice, as the spell commanded, making the magic even more powerful, unstoppable. And that was how Hilda wanted it, how it had to be. It should not stop. The power was to carry her home, to where she wanted to be.
Before she spoke the last words, she looked at the man. Touched his hand for a moment. "Goodbye William." Then she cast the ultimate spell. There was a rupture in the fabric of space inside the truck, a rift that crossed dimensions and realities.
William Connoley, travelling book-salesman and keeper of the portal between the worlds, saw shimmers of a room, with a large dark wooden table laden with mysterious utensils, a chair, glasslike shards on the floor, veils, small windows, shelves with jars, and many other things he had never seen before. The vision, blurred as it was, only lasted seconds, but it burnt itself into his memory. Then a bright flash of light took away his eyesight momentarily, while an invisible rollercoaster-like sensation filled his stomach with a most unwelcome and sickening feeling.
There was a roaring sound, and suddenly smoke billowed out of the open door, chasing William into the street, coughing and gasping for air. His eyes burnt from the grey fumes.
The smoke lifted. Hilda opened her eyes. She inhaled the air she knew so well. Heard the sounds she had longed to hear and smelled the environment. A sly smile played around her lips. "Right. Now... I need an apple and a new mirror. And then I'm off to find that black-haired girl with her stupid songs..."
At Granby Drive the smoke had gone as quickly as it had come. William stared into the back of his truck. The strange woman, Hilda the witch, had disappeared. Where she had been, only remained a small crystal ball. He picked it up. Despite the sunshine he saw a small light dancing in the ball's centre.
He smiled. "Goodbye, Hilda."

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About the author:
I am an IT consultant who loves reading and writing.
I've been an amateur-author since years, writing SciFi, Fantasy and lately also Steampunk. My home is  in the Netherlands.
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