Londra's childhood occupied her mind as she and Konas made their way to the mysterious character Peri Pinkle told them of. With Siffa's youth about to be cut short by her abduction to Fairyhome, she couldn't help but ponder it. The promises of those carefree days led to her current occupation.

She remembered them fondly. Londra had grown up far from Cordon Heath, in the hilly river lands to the southeast. Her circle of friends was small but thick as thieves. Games of make-believe sprawled out over the town and into the hills beyond. Though they were the daughters of farmers, merchants, and artisans, they dreamed of much more.

Fishing that cherished scrap of cloth out of her pocket, Londra admired the design as she walked.

On her shoulder, Konas noted, "That means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. My friends and I each made one back when we were girls."

"What does the sigil mean?"

"Nothing. None of us were spellcasters, though we all wanted to be. We made these for pretend, and held onto them as reminders of that dream."

"Did you all become spellcasters?"

"Couldn't say. Childhood friends are like that sometimes. You drift apart as you grow older. I don't even know if they kept their sigils. I saved mine because it reminds me of where I started, and why I chose this vocation."

Her Vesper swished his tail. "Then there might be some magic in that sigil after all. Remember, symbols are important. The more belief you put in them, the more power they possess."

I hadn't really considered that.

"Maybe Konas. Maybe."

The path beneath Londra's feet soon crunched with dead leaves, out of season in late spring. A sign they were nearing their destination. Two hours remained until Siffa would be spirited off to Fairyhome.

The avenue of skeletal trees they trod opened up unto a huge crack in the ground. An earthquake had split the landscape open some years past and the cottage that stood in this spot had crumbled into the earth's maw. All that remained was the house's well, jutting spire-like up from the miniature canyon, a small island of grass and dirt ringing it. A rickety bridge of wooden planks connected it to the regular road. Taking a deep breath, Londra stepped out on the boards. They groaned under her weight.

Mindful of her balance, she crossed the precarious catwalk to the well. Konas followed behind, almost weightless on the aged lumber. He hopped up on the well's lip and they both peered into its shadowed depths. Faint echoes rolled up out of it.

"Well, go on. Do as Peri Pinkle told us," he said.

Londra nodded. From her bag, she withdrew a pouch of fine tobacco. Not a smoker herself, the narcotic made another decent fairy bribe. Or so she hoped. She dropped it into the darkness of the well and waited. No splash came.

Konas poked his nose in. "Maybe she's not home?"

As if in answer, a massive colony of bats burst out of the well. Londra jumped back, nearly falling into the shallow ravine below them. Her contractor yipped and hid himself under his tail in fright. As the leatherwings dispersed, a larger form shot up after them. It rolled in the air and sank back down again, coming to rest with a flourish.

"You know," said the figure, "I don't normally come out for just anybody. But for such fine smokables as these, well, how could I resist?"

Londra regained her balance and Konas peeked his head out to regard their guest. An imp, no larger than a child, stood on the well's edge. Her skin was pale as paper, her bobbed hair black as ink, and two small devil horns poked up from forehead. Decorative bat wings jutted from her back. She dressed like a combination of tramp and exotic dancer, bent top hat on her head and dirty overcoat over a dark corset and fishnet stockings. The only clean things about her were the white gloves on her hands. With her caricatured proportions and button-like pie-eyes, the imp resembled a cartoonist's fevered fetish drawing. She clenched an already lit cigarillo in her shark-teeth smile.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Now, now, now. Who's come to visit little ol' me at my well?"

Mistress and contractor shared a glance. "Are you the one known as Pusher Hildy?" inquired Londra.

The imp doffed her hat and bowed. "At your service, my fine Guildlady."

Pusher Hildy blew her a kiss and winked. The Guildswoman grimaced but soldiered on.

"Pusher Hildy, you can guess I'm here on official business. A Fairy Vesper aristocrat called The Lady of Rags has abducted a girl and I have until sunrise to bring her home. I was told you might be able to reveal the location of the gate to Fairyhome. Can you?"

The imp reclined on nothing, floating in the air, and took a long drag on her smoke. Her exhalation twisted into gothic shapes.

"You must be real desperate to come to me. Ol' Winnakin never would have done that. Heck, he did his best to keep me down in that well. But you ain't like him, are ya?"

"So people keep telling me. Can you tell me where the gate is or not?"

"Oh, I can. But not for free."

"I already gave you that tobacco."

"That was just an audience fee, to get me out here. You want more, you got to pay more."

The imp's grin turned sour as she rubbed her thumb, index, and middle finger together. It didn't take a Guild officer to tell her intent was sinister. Londra responded by shoving her talisman in her face.

"And what's to stop me from binding you to this well forever? Or bottling you and keeping you in my desk, you foul little spriggan?"

Said spriggan shrugged at the threats.

"Nothing. But then I don't tell you squat and that poor little sweetheart gets whisked off to Fairyhome. You know I've met the Lady of Rags before. Nice gal. She'll take reeeeaaalllgood care of the brat."

The imp blew smoke in Londra's face.

She hated to admit, but Pusher Hildy had a point. Time was a factor, and this was their best and only lead. Whatever the cost, she could worry about it once Siffa was back with her fathers. Winnakin would have understood.

"Fine. Name your price."

"Mistress, no!" said Konas.

"Konas, trust me."

Sitting cross-legged, long black toenails poking out of her fishnets, the pusher smelled the air. "What's your name, Guildlady?"

"Don't tell her!"

"Konas, please. I am called Londra Albot. So what will it be? More tobacco? One of my teeth? My soul?"

"No. Nothing like that, Londra Albot." Hildy sniffed again, catching a scent she liked. "But your payment does *sniff* need to be *sniff* something personal."

She pointed to Londra's pocket, where she had stuffed her childhood sigil, her good luck charm.

"That'll do."

Londra pulled out the rolled up sigil, ran her thumb across it. After all these years, the threads were fraying bare.

"Done," she said.

"Londra!"

Konas jumped on her shoulder, shooting Pusher Hildy a dirty look, and nudged his mistress to turn.

He whispered, "Londra, what are you doing? I told you that scrap of cloth has power. All the more because it's personal to you. You can't simply give it away. Not to someone," He sneered at the imp, who winked and flashed him some leg, "like her."

"Personal or not, Konas, we don't have time to negotiate. This is her price. And an old bit of fabric is a small price to pay to bring Siffa home."

The white-furred Vesper caught his mistress' conscience in her gaze and demurred.

"If you don't mind paying it, then I shan't argue with you."

Londra smiled and pet her contractor behind his huge ears.

"They said I would have to make sacrifices for this job," she said tossing the sigil to Pusher Hildy.

The spriggan caught her prize and inhaled its aroma with all the grace and dignity of a back-alley pervert. Her pie-eyes rolled up in ecstasy.

"There, I paid your price. Now tell me where the gate is."

"Of course. Just let me squirrel this away for later." Pusher Hildy stored Londra's sigil in the innards of her filthy coat. "On the edge of the Cedar Spirit's forest you'll find a circle of standing stones. When the stars are right, one can pass straight through to Fairyhome by stepping into it. That's your gate."

"How can we trust you're telling us the truth?" asked Konas "By revealing the location to us, they'll bar the gate to you. You won't be able to return to your home realm."

"Oh, I have other ways in." The imp checked her nails and took another deep drag on her cigarillo. "Now I would hurry if I were you. Those megaliths are on the other side of town and sunrise is on its way."

Fishing out her watch, the Guildswoman confirmed she had spoke honestly. Little over ninety minutes left before their deadline. She and Konas needed to make haste, but she wouldn't let Pusher Hildy off so easy.

Jabbing her talisman in the pusher's face, drawing a genuinely surprised expression, Londra told her, "Stay in this well. If I learn you've gotten up to any mischief, you'll find I'm more like Winnakin than you thought."

The imp's grin returned. "I look forward to it, Guildlady."

Throwing her arms out spread-eagle, she fell backwards into her well, leaving only the stench of vice and smoke behind. As they departed, Londra thought she heard giggles echoing up the stone shaft.