The witch stares at me for a moment.

“You’re an assassin?” She asks. I nod.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it? Well, assassin might be a much. Makes it sound more ‘exotic’ than it really is. Maybe ‘hitman’ is a better word. You know what? It doesn’t matter, the point is that I get paid to seriously injure and kill people,” I explain. The witch has a surprisingly calm face.

“Why are you telling me this? Seems like the sort of thing you’d keep secret.”

“Well, you did tell me you’re a witch. Pretty sure you're not gonna call the police.” I roll my shoulders and groan at the pain left in my body. “You got any other potions that’ll heal me up quick?”

“Yes, but they’ll taste as bad as the other one,” she answers. The taste from the first elixir is still in my mouth.

‘Not worth it.’

“I’ll just deal with the pain. Anyways, see ya around I guess,” I say as I head for the door.

“Wait, you’re just leaving?” She asks. I stop just before the old door that’s barely on the hinges. It’s not really a door anymore, I guess.

“Well since you saved my life I have things to do. Hopefully whoever tried to have me killed thinks I’m dead, and I can cause them to slip up. People always slip up when things don’t pan out.” I grab the doorknob. “And I really need a shower and something tells me the plumbing here ain’t great.”

“You can’t even stay for a cup of tea for the woman who saved your life?” The witch inquires. I’m about to say something sharp and sarcastic when I turn to look at her. She has a cute little pout like a sad puppy or something. Like me having tea with her is really something to get upset over.

…

‘Oh, what the hell?’ I let go of the doorknob and walk back over to the witch.

“Don’t see why my plans for gruesome revenge can’t be put on hold for a drink.” She jumps out of her seat with excitement, clapping her hands.

“Oh, great! I’ll get some. Please sit.” She starts to search through her various belongings. I sit back on the cot. “What kind of tea would you like?”

“I’m more of a coffee woman, really,” I reply.

“Coffee?” she asks with genuine bewilderment.

‘Of course, she doesn’t know what coffee is.’

“Never mind. I’ll take whatever you got.” The witch pulls out two teacups with plates from her small dresser. After she hands me a pair, she looks over a selection of skinny metal flasks with something scribbled on them. She eyes all of them before she picks two. Bringing the chair closer, she sits across from me. I hold out the cup and she tilts one of the flasks. More liquid than should be possible comes out of it.

More evidence that magic really exists and that this chick isn’t crazy. The tea she pours out fills my cup and it’s hot enough to steam. I’ve never been one for flowers, so I don’t what scents are hitting my nose right now. It is a lovely blend though. It reminds me of summer a bit. After she pours herself some we both sit back. I slowly sip and in my expert opinion, this is definitely some kind of tea. I can’t name what flavors these are except a hint of strawberries. The others are plants I’ve never tasted before. I’d ask but that’ll probably lead to a discussion of flowers and I’m not up for that.

“I just realized that I never got your name. Seems like we skipped a few steps,” I point out. She perks up at the realization.

“Oh, how rude of me. My name’s Hazel,” she answers. I stop drinking for a moment.

“You’re a witch and your name’s Hazel?” I ask her.

“Yes, that’s right.” I laugh a little.

“So I can call you Witch-Hazel?” I laugh at my own joke. “That’s a flower!” I sip my tea. “Or a plant or whatever.” Hazel frowns.

“Your name is Daisy,” she remarks. A twinge of guilt hits me. She thought my name was Daisy this whole time.

“Sorry,” I begin to apologize. “My name’s not Daisy. I lied on reflex. Comes with the territory I guess.”

“What is your name?” Witch-Hazel asks. I sip my tea as I wonder if it’s really a good idea to tell her my real name.

‘What’s the worst she could do, curse me or something? Actually, maybe she can. I should watch myself around her. Well, whatever.’

I lower the cup from my lips.

“My name is Hollyhock,” I admit. She narrows her eyes at me while a small smile comes across her face.

“Do you know what a ‘Hollyhock’ is?”

“I always assumed that since the woman who named me isn’t a native English speaker, that ‘Hollyhock’ is either something from her mother language or a butchered attempt at an American name,” I explain. Witch-Hazel opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but she decides against it. Sipping her tea instead.

“Maybe so,” she says coyly.

‘Is Hollyhock a thing?’ If it is, she’s not gonna tell me. I fish my phone from my pocket, only to discover that when I was stabbed in my leg last night, the knife also went through the screen. Reducing it to some kind of artistic statement rather than a useful device. ‘Guess I’ll search it later.’

Rather than get mad at the thought of all the apps I’ll have to redownload, I decide to keep the conversation going.

“So you’re a witch. Shouldn’t you have like, green skin, a big nose, and warts?” An image of a cartoon witch appears in my head.

“What you’re describing is an anti-Semitic stereotype. Made to reinforce the idea that Jewish people are, to put it mildly, heretics,” she educates me, sipping more of her tea.

‘Oh.’

“Really?” She nods.

‘Well, that’s fucked up. Gotta unlearn that.’

“Ok, so witches just look like people. Got it. Can you do anything with magic?”

“That’s an age-old question, debated by people much smarter than me. But there are rules to magic.”

“Rules, huh? We talking things you shouldn’t do or things you can’t do?” I finish my tea and Witch-Hazel refills my cup.

“There are things considered taboo: like raising the dead for self-gain or bringing certain elemental creatures to this plane of existence.” She finishes her tea and refills her cup. I try to keep a straight face as she casually mentions elemental creatures which I assume are amazing and the fact that she can raise the dead. “And then there are things that simply can’t be done. Much like the laws of physics, they’re the limits of magic.”

“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction,” I name one of them. I suppose those years being schooled are paying off.

“Ours are straight forward. ‘The more complex the spell, the more energy it takes,’” she cites. “Some spells have a lot of moving parts. If one doesn’t get the right amount of energy the results can be catastrophic.” I guess that makes its own kind of sense.

We sit in silence for a little bit before I have to ask the obvious.

“Sorry if this sounds rude, but what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? Here? This space is abandoned right?”

“I meant here in this city. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of witches running around in these parts so you’re not from here; I’m guessing. So what are you doing here?”

She heaves a deep breath, taking a moment to answer my question.

“The place where I grew up: IronHenge, is a …ancient place. Which is good for magical beings. They like things as they were. No need to change when a conjuration spell will do.” She does a vague gesture with her hand and purple smoke comes out her hand and lingers in the air for a moment. “We only pay attention to major world events. Wars and such, anything that might affect the flow of magic. The news that trickles in is...enlightening. This world is getting bigger, faster, more powerful. In the time of bows and arrows and swords: war wouldn’t have concerned us. But now you have weapons we don’t understand, and ways of delivering them beyond anything magic can do. If your world ever finds ours, I’m not sure we could survive.”

‘Whoa, that’s deep.’

“You came here to see how to defend your magical home?” She shrugs.

“That’s what I proposed to the High Council anyways. But they rejected my idea and I was bored out of my mind. So I kind of...snuck out.”

“You snuck out?”

“Yes! I’ve been dying to see the world outside of IronHenge and my first day out, I run into you! It’s all so exciting!” She exclaims. Exciting isn’t the word I’d used to describe this recent series of events but whatever.

“So you left your home to what? Explore? With no plan or guide?” Again, Witch-Hazel shrugs.

“You don’t always get to look before you leap,” she remarks.

‘I thought she was crazy for saying magic is real. Now I know she’s just crazy.’ I like her.

“So why’d you come here to the city of Oleander?”

“It was one of several places I picked. Then I pulled it out of a hat,” she reveals. I want to tell her she has extremely bad luck for getting Oleander City as her travel destination; easily the worst city to live in on this side of the country, she’s likely to get stabbed or worse before the day is over.

But her coming here did save my life, so I keep quiet. I finish the second cup of the best and probably only tea I’ve ever had in my life.

“Well, I’d wish you luck but you have magic so I’m sure you’ll be fine. I have vengeance to enact.” I get up again and she stands with me.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Can I come with you?” She asks. I pause a moment to make sure I heard her right.

“You want to come with me?” She nods. “Didn’t you hear the part where I said I’m an assassin or that I’m currently plotting revenge?” Ok, ‘plotting’ is a strong word, ‘seriously thinking about’ is more apt.

“You’re the first human friend I’ve made! You’re more interesting than anyone I’ve ever met and you can show me around your city. Please!” She begs. Witch-Hazel has a strange idea of what friends do. I don’t think giving emergency medical attention qualifies as bonding time.

“I’m not a tour guide and I’m not a babysitter either,” I say, pointing a finger at her. She closes the distance between us.

“I can take care of myself. Don’t forget who saved you,” she says with more steel than I thought her capable of. Underneath that fancy green dress of hers is a woman with a spine. I really like that.

I didn’t notice before because I was bleeding to death but she’s the same height as me. Her gray eyes burn into me with a fierce determination I’ve seen in only a handful of people.

‘God, she’s hot.’ I scan her face again. She isn’t flinching at all, I can’t talk her out of this. ‘Then again, having a witch by my side could be useful.’

“Fine,” I say. Just like that her stern expression is gone and she’s smiling ear-to-ear. She claps rapidly and purple sparks shoot from her hands.

“You won’t regret this! Oooooh this is going to be so much fun!” She says while she puts away her cups.

“Just don’t turn me into a frog or something if you get your pretty dress dirty.”

“Deal,” she giggles.

We exit the rundown building out into the scorching heat of summer. It takes me a little while to realize where the exact hell I am. We’re on Barley Street, a mile or so away from where she found me.

“How’d you get me over here?”

“I teleported us,” she says casually.

“You can teleport?”

“Well, ‘teleport’ isn’t really the best word for it but I knew you’d understand that so yes,” Witch-Hazel explains.

‘I feel like she just called me dumb or something.’ I decide not to say anything about it. ‘First things first. I have to make a call.’ I start walking to a more populated street, away from this health concern of an apartment complex. Witch-Hazel follows close behind. Out of the corner of my one good eye, I can see her looking around at the buildings. They’re not much to look at, so I’m guessing where she’s from is a proper village. I’d rather show her the nicer part of this city.

When we finally start to see people I put my arm around Witch-Hazel’s shoulder.

“Play along, hold me up, don’t say anything,” I instruct her. She complies and I start walking with an exaggerated limp. I put on my best ‘vulnerable hurt girl’ face and approach the nearest guy.

The look of shock on his face when he sees me reaffirms how bad I must look right now.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I use your phone?” I ask in my saddest voice.

“Oh my god! Are you ok?”

‘Dumb question.’

“We got attacked by a bunch of guys. We managed to get away but I need to call my mom!” I lie.

“Should I call 911?!” He asks.

‘What did I just say? Does no one listen?’

“My mom has my insurance information, I have to call her before I go to the emergency room. Please.” He reluctantly hands me his phone. I quickly dial the number I know by heart.

After a few rings the voice I need to hear answers,

“Who is this?” They ask.

“Mom, it’s me: Daisy!” Upon hearing my fake name, they relax.

“Oh, Holly. Why are you calling from this number?”

“I lost my phone,” I explain. It’s close enough to the truth.

“Ahhh ok, you good?

“No, I got attacked. Can we meet up?”

“Sure, usual spot?” With no concern about the fact that I was attacked.

“Okay, see you in a bit.” I hand the guy back his phone. “Bless you, sir,” I say to him. And although he still looks worried, he nods and goes about his way. Even though the gentlemanly thing would’ve been to make sure I get where I’m going.

When we get a block away I stop doing my fake limp and walk regularly.

“Do you always lie to strangers?” Witch-Hazel asks.

“Only when I need help. Not everybody would be as unfazed by who I am as you are. Especially in this city.”

“And why would that be?” There’s about a million ways to answer that.

“It’s a long story,” I simply say. We walk for a few blocks before I come across my favorite group of hoodlums. The kids are playing with the basketball I bought them. I have to remember to buy them a new hoop stand, theirs is barely held together with broken broomsticks and duct tape. Rye, the smart-mouth of the group, sees me first.

“DAMN, HOLLY! You looked like you got fucked up!” The nine-year-old says for his friends to hear.

“Yeah, I was in a fight; what’s your excuse?” All his friends cheer for my joke.

“What can I say? Yo mama likes it rough,” he retorts. Neither he, most of his little friends, nor I have mamas but the jokes still fly.

“That’s weird, I didn’t know she was into beastiality.” All his friends lose their minds with laughter. They quiet down when Witch-Hazel approaches. Their eyes look her up and down, and who could blame them? She’s sticking out like a sore thumb in that big dress of hers.

“Who’s the hottie?” Wheatley, the oldest of them, asks.

“She’s new in town and MY friend. So no scamming her, guys.” They give me dismissive looks. “I’m serious.”

“Yes, Holly,” they say in unison. I take the basketball from Rye’s hands and throw it through the hoop without looking.

“I’ll buy you guys a new hoop stand, ok? Stay in school.”

“It’s summer!” They all point out.

“You know what I mean!” I say as we walk away.

We get a block away when Witch-Hazel asks,

“So, you like kids?” I shrug.

“I have a soft spot for street urchins. I don’t want them winding up like me,” I reply. She doesn’t have anything to say to that, letting us walk in silence for a bit.

“Where are we going?”

“To Two-Lips diner,” I answer.

“What’s a diner ?” she asks.

‘She knows what is and what isn’t anti-Semitic rhetoric, but not coffee or a diner?’

“It’s like a smaller, shittier restaurant,” I answer. Maybe that’s an unfair thing to about diners in general when it’s this specific diner I have a problem with. As we walk past the small garden of tulips for which the diner is named. The cheap but reliable air conditioner blasts my face with dry cold air, sending shivers down my spine. As expected this early in the morning and in this heat, there are no other customers.

The checkered tiled floor and the red seat cushions gives the place a 40’s vibe. Windows are as dirty as they've ever been, dust blown by rushing cars make for poor views from the booths. Not that there's anything worth seeing anyway. I lead Witch-Hazel to the booth that I usually go to when I'm here.

She sits next to me instead of across. I'm not sure which I would've preferred. She picks up the menu and starts looking it over.

‘Wonder what kinda food she had growing up? What’s magic food like?’

“Are you going to order something?” She asks me.

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t recommend the food here.” I idly play with the salt and pepper shakers.

“Why not?” I don’t know how to explain to her that this isn’t a real diner and it’s just a front for what goes on in the basement. Anything I say will bring up more questions and possibly cause some trouble.

“They have a terrible chef here. If you’re hungry I’ll take you somewhere better but we’re just here for business.”

“Mhmmm, it’s always business with you, isn’t it, Hotshot Girl?” A voice says. I turn to see a waitress with a smug look. She called me by a certain online handle I use. I only have one good eye to look out of. I don’t know her pretty face from a can of paint and the ugly red waitress uniform does nothing for her, but I recognize the curves of her body anyway. Even with clothes on.

“‘Sup, Chica En Fuego?” It’s best we call each other by our usernames. Or at least that’s the rule I put on our relationship. If exchanging faceless nudes, spicy texts, and the occasional video chat with a girl you’ve never actually met can be considered a relationship that is. Either way, I make it a point to not look at her name tag. Which is hard considering her sizable chest.

“‘Sup? That’s all you have to say to me? You ghost me for a week, then you just pop up where I work? What kinda game you playin’?” She scolds me, very unprofessional for a waitress I must say. I didn’t even know she worked here.

“I’ve been busy,” I say, pointing to my bruised eye. She’s unconcerned. With her ‘charming’ personality I know she’s just been hired as eye candy by that scumbag manager. Smart move, really.

“You’re always busy,” She gestures to Hazel. “Who’s she?” Hazel no doubt senses the hostility and tries to diffuse the situation.

“I’m new in town and she’s just helping me get acquainted with your city.”

‘Acquainted. So fancy.’

Chica scoffs.

“I didn’t know you liked them scrawny,” she jabs. Rather than dignify that with a response I decide to take the high road.

“Can we some water please? Plenty of ice, it’s so hot out,” using the voice I used in some of our video chats. She shifts a bit, my voices stirs something in her.

“Sure.” She walks away before turning around. “Word of advice, honey,” she addresses Witch-Hazel. “She doesn’t know how to love.” Chica leaves on what is the most cutting remark I’ve ever heard from a waitress. I'm too surprised to say anything. I mean it’s true but no one wanna hears that shit in a diner.

“I don’t think I like this place,” Witch-Hazel simply says. She graces me with a small smile. It makes me feel a bit better somehow and I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Like I said, it’s a shitty restaurant.”

“What was going on between you two?”

‘Where to even begin with that?’

“It's ...complicated.” it’s honest at the very least. She shrugs with a knowing smirk.

“You’ll explain it to me one day,” she says with the utmost confidence. Like she knows it for a fact.

‘God, how can she be so cocky? And how come I like it so much?’

We hear the door opening and the person I’ve been waiting to see comes in. Sitting in the same booth, across from us.

“Larkspur, this is Hazel. Hazel, this is Larkspur my...co-worker.”

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

“Okay, now that this meet ‘n’ greet is over. Let’s get to business.”

“You’re lookin’ good, Holly,” they greet me. Larkspur is the most androgynous person I’ve ever met. Them being non-binary is a happy coincidence. Any masculine features they have are countered by feminine ones. Coalescing into one dark brown-skinned being that many people tend to overlook and in our line of work that’s a good thing. They’re wearing a purple tank top, showing off the many tattoos that complement the first one we both got.

A skull surrounded by, crowned with, and overflowing with bay leaves paints both our deltoids. Symbolizing who we are a part of, what we’re capable of and willing to do.

“Thanks.”

“Your last job give you that much trouble?”

“No actually, the client did this to me,” I explain.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You put me onto that job,” I accuse. Larkspur is a stoic person, it’s always been hard to read their face. The most minute micro-expressions they have when they lie are nowhere to be seen. They‘re telling the truth...maybe.

“After I finished the job, I went to get my payment and instead they jumped me!”

“Why? You do something to piss them off?” That’s a fair question to ask.

“No, I followed their instructions to the letter and they tried to kill me. They didn’t even say anything. The only reason I survived was ‘cause I heard one of them take the safety off his gun. Turned into a bloodbath real quick after that. And the briefcase was empty! After shooting and stabbing me, the least they could’ve done was have something in there,” I recount.

Larkspur grimaces at my story. It’s a lot to take in and I could be lying. If I were on the other side of this conversation, I’d think I was lying. But I’d have to be stupid to lie over such a small job. Then again, I’ve never been accused of being smart.

“And what about her?” They gesture to Witch-Hazel. “How does she-” interrupted by the fantastic service of our waitress.

“Two waters. Ice.” Chica leaves again. Hazel lifts her glass to drink and I put my hand over it.

“I wouldn’t do that.” She definitely spit in it.

“As I was saying,” Larkspur continues. “Who is this?”

“This is Hazel. She saved my life. After I got out of there, I was two steps away from kicking the bucket when she found me. Patched me up, let me rest at her place, and here we are.” Larkspur looks Hazel over. She sits there with her hands folded. I didn’t consider the fact that she might not understand everything that’s happening.

“I have to make a phone call,” Larkspur says, getting up. I guess they didn’t set me up but I have to make sure.

Hazel, bored, takes the condensation from the glass. All the water pools in her palm and starts to float like a bubble. With the flick of her index finger, it starts to change shape, turning into a flower of some sort. Little strands of purple energy guide the water. I’d be impressed with the display of magic if I wasn’t trying to find out who betrayed me.

She drops the flower as Larkspur comes back.

“You’re gonna have to come in. Boss wants to see you.”

‘Ugh.’

“Both of you,” Larkspur elaborates. I turn to Witch-Hazel.

“Look at you. One day in the city and you’re already meeting the leader of the Bay Leaves.”

Chapter 2 End.