Right. Let’s make this quick. I’d much rather be back with Elaine fending off her witchy doom than here listening to an inebriated sprite whine about…

Huh.

That’s odd. No Madame. Do you see her? No? Hmm.

…

Yes, yes. I know it’s morning and all sensible fairy tale denizens should be in bed sleeping off their hangovers rather than starting in on a new one. But what, in the course of our story, has led you to believe that our charming fairy has that much sense?

I’d at least expect her to stumble in for her morning coffee. If you can call it that. **shudder**

Not that our friendly barkeep is complaining about her absence.

Or, no. I guess he is complaining. Quite a bit. Goodness.

Apparently absentee fairies who leave their scrying spells still activated on his bar are something of a nuisance. The sort of nuisance that requires the use of multiple four letter words and a lot of scrubbing.

Not that the scrubbing seems to have made much headway. If you stand just here you can still clearly see Elaine in the corner of the puddle. And there’s Ms. Yaga leaning in with her sharp pointed teeth and… And looking fairly terrifying and…

And, you know, we should probably get back there. Like, now.

Shall we?

***

Back in the curious forest home of one Ms. Sybil Yaga, aka the Witch of the Semi-Overgrown Thicket Just Off Water Mill Road, we find our fearless girl backing, um, fearfully away from the looming specter of lethal iron teeth.

Seriously, iron teeth? Who thinks of these things?

What? Sorry, sorry. Where were we? Oh, yes.

Backing. Elaine is backing away. But our fearsome woodland witch is not to be deterred. Ms. Yaga matches our girl step for step as they circle slowly around the gloom-drenched room, each locked in a deadly dance toward a grim and fearsome doom of epic fairy tale proportions that could—

What do you mean I’m being overly dramatic? That was a perfectly reasonable description. It—

Fine! Fine.

Elaine backs away and Yaga follows. Elaine bumps into a shelf and one of the skull’s eyes light up with fire. Elaine shrieks and jumps away from the burning skull only to find herself backed up against the giant mortar and pestle with no where else to go.

Better?

Good.

Stupid critic…

Elaine cowers back against the mortar as the Witch of the Semi-Overgrown Thicket Just Off Water Mill Road leans in and… sniffs.

“You don’t smell stupid, but scents can be misleading.”

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In spite of the obvious threat, our girl stiffens a bit at that. “Hey! Now that’s just rude—”

Around the room, the other skulls suddenly light up as well, their eyes flickering through the gloom, and start chattering their bony teeth at her. Our brave heroine wisely snaps her own teeth shut.

Sybil leans in again. “You smell **sniff** like a thief!”

“No! I’m not! I—”

“Did you come on your own? Did someone send you?” The witch’s gaze narrows dangerously. “Was it that piebald pansy of a piper?”

“No! I mean yes. I mean—”

The flames flare higher and now seem to be flickering in Sybil’s eyes as well.

Our valiant girl hasn’t survived numerous fairy tale mishaps for nothing. Clearly she knows when it’s time to duck and cover. Flinging an arm over her head, she drops to the floor and shrieks, “It was the dragon!”

A heavy silence fills the room. Then…

“Dragon?”

Elaine cautiously peers up from beneath her elbow. “Um. Yes? Mistress Mellifluous of Mount Moon. She’s the egg’s mother. She sent me to find it for her.”

Sybil’s eyes narrow to tiny flickering slits. “So you’re not actually a thief?”

“Um. No.”

“Dammit! I need a thief.” With a muttered string of curses, our Witch of Water Mill Road snaps her fingers and the flames die out, plunging the room back into its pre-flaming-skull gloom.

“What…”

My thoughts exactly. Goodness. Talk about histrionics.

Sybil waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s just a bit of theater. Always good to keep it in practice.”

Elaine finally lowers her arm and raises slowly back to her feet. “Um. Why?”

“Because making small children pee themselves is entertaining.”

“No.” Our girl takes a deep breath, clearly forcing herself to be patient with the obviously batty and seriously dangerous woman. “Why do you need a thief?”

Yaga rolls eyes. “To steal something, of course!” She gives our fair maiden another sniff and frowns. “Maybe I was wrong about the stupid part.”

Elaine valiantly grits her teeth. “Look. I have a very angry dragon mama who would like her egg returned as quickly as possible. Is there any way—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, you can have the egg.”

Oh. Well that was easy.

Elaine appears to agree. She blinks in obvious disbelief. “I can?”

“Of course.” Sybil marches back to the kitchen table. “As soon as you steal my treasure box from the Piper’s tower.”

“I… what?”

The Witch of Water Mill Road plucks a cookie from the plate and begins munching unconcernedly. “Steal back my treasure box and you can have the egg. Cookie?”

Our girl absently takes the proffered treat. “It’s… in a tower?”

“Yep.” Several crumbs tumble out to fleck Sybil’s warty chin. “Blasted Piper locked it up tight. Only way in is through the window at the top. So some climbing skills would come in handy.”

“Climbing… That’s not… Look, I’m really not a thief—”

“Or I could just use the egg to make a really nice quiche.”

“—but I know where to find one!”

“Excellent! I knew you were a resourceful one. I could smell it.”

“Um. Right.” Elaine stuffs the cookie in her mouth, clearly attempting to avoid commenting.

“This thief have some decent scaling abilities? That tower’s no joke.”

“Yeah, **crunch-crunch** she sheems preddy athledic.”

“Perfect. You run along and fetch your accomplice, and then I’ll take you to the tower.”

“Uh.” Elaine swallows the masticated lump formerly known as cookie. “About that…”

Sybil raises a surprisingly threatening eyebrow. “Yes?”

“She… um… might be in jail. I think. I hope.”

Our witch briskly waves that off without a flinch. Clearly, liberating incarcerated felons is all in a morning’s work for our dear Ms. Yaga. “Not a problem. I’ll send Tom with you. He’s good at getting into tight spaces.”

“Tom?”

Sybil reaches over and plucks up the cage holding the tiny man. “Otherwise known as the pain in my ass.”

Tom throws another rude gesture in the witch’s direction. “I’ll nae be doin’ your biddin’, ye old hag!”

“Ye’ll do me biddin’, you little bed bug,” Sybil mocks, clearly unfazed, “or you’ll find yourself dancing on my hook for fish bait. Remember your last encounter with a salmon?”

“Och, aye! Ye need not remind me, woman.” Our miniature friend shudders. “Still fecks my dreams right nasty, that.”

Sybil gives the cage a firm little shake, setting Tom on his backside and eliciting a string of unintelligible curses, before handing it over to Elaine. “He’ll behave. The little bastard owes me. Off you go now! Oh, and take another cookie.”

“Right.” Elaine hesitates in the doorway, cage in one hand, cookie in the other. “So if I find this thief and we fetch your… box… you’ll give me the dragon egg?”

“Absolutely!”

“And if we fail?”

Sybil grins. “I’ll have about a week’s worth of quiche in the larder.”

“Right.” Elaine starts out the door. “Jail break it is.”

***

Meanwhile at the Withershins Inn…