“I need to talk to Sama!”

She glanced up at the voice, placing it, and raised an eyebrow. Quiffio met her eyes and gave her a nervous grin.

St. Paul only had a couple of Citybound, as Urban Druids among the halvyr did a good job of attending to the overall balance of the city and smoothing out conflicts with any neighboring spirits.

That said, there was always a need for special services, and people grabbing for Warlock Pacts if they couldn’t get magic otherwise. Quiffio was one of those people.

On the surface, he looked like just another vagrant, but he was a full Six, a Scout who could get into all sorts of places he wasn’t wanted, find out stuff people didn’t want him to know, and deal with matters quietly. He had a few places he would crash at when he needed to sleep, but in the city, the corner of a parking garage in a sleetstorm was as comfy as a feather mattress in perfect air conditioning to him, so it didn’t really matter much.

One of those places was the cozily warm roof of Master Vrune’s shop, which didn’t bother the Master Smith much. Sama had made his acquaintance when she’d run a barbecue for the dwarves, and he’d shuffled down the wall and come over salivating at the smell of QL 27 spare ribs on the grill.

He didn’t need to eat much, but when he did, eating fine was a thing. Sama was perfectly cognizant of that mindset, so he stopped in once a month on every second Thursday, and she made him a good, filling meal that literally lasted him an entire month... although he had a weakness for French fries, and could rate every restaurant that made them in the city.

“You give me ten minutes,” she told him over the din of the smithy, her voice carrying right to his ear. He folded up his ratty coat, and he and his dreadlocks slouched off to the corner, basically disappearing from the existence of everyone around. He was always perfectly clean and smelled like a new car, so there wasn’t a problem from the dwarves with him being there.

----

She set aside the nearly finished katana, only needing to go through one more round of tempering, and administered the final set of Runes. Leaving her tools on the bench next to her Anvil (the dwarves were welcome to use the Anvil, and sometimes did for side stuff if she wasn’t there), she walked up front, slid over the broad counter as if it was greased, and skated up to the Citybound Warlock.

“You’re not here for eats, so what’s the city want with me?” she asked calmly. St. Paul wasn’t aware of her magically, as she was a Null, and her physical presence here tended to be minimized with her lightfoot and stuff. That said, it would notice the effect of her activities on the economic and physical activity that made up its body, either creating jarring new circumstances, or smoothing them out abruptly, as was her wont.

“City says there’s a Hag in town,” Quiffio said back to her, getting to his feet easily. He was a lot faster and smoother than he looked, but few ever got close enough to tell. Citybound didn’t have any vices, because the city didn’t let them become addicted to anything that could interfere with their duties... but he still looked like a ratty bum.

“A Hag.” Sama frowned. “What section of the city? Northeast?”

“Yeah. City wants it gone. Kinda hard not to think of you.” He scratched at his old military knit cap absently.

“I got it. Thanks for letting me know.” The Hag had avoided getting near her. That meant it knew she was there, and didn’t want her sensing it.

Too bad for it that Sama wandered all over the city all the time, and knew exactly why the Hag was here. She might have run into it before it acted, especially since she ambled that way basically every night as part of her circuit. She covered a lot of ground on her nightly escapades.

“See you on Thursday.” There was only one Thursday that was important, and she waved him off as he melted into the side of the building and was gone, off to take care of some minor matter beneath the notice of the Druids, no doubt.

Druids had waves of power, while Warlocks had enduring flow. They were good at taking care of different problems; one did deeds, and the other did tasks, for the most part. If the Urban Druids weren’t around, the cities had to rely on Warlocks for everything, which was less than optimal.

The Mayor was an Urban Druid, to the dismay of many people who thought the city should obey them, rather than the other way around. St. Paul kept humming along smoothly with Ernestine of St. Paul in charge, however, so they could only grumble and keep enjoying life under the Shroud here.

With the occasional supernatural event to liven things up...

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Sama said her goodbyes to the dwarves, calling it quits early, and their very curious eyes followed her as she left, since that didn’t happen unless something dangerous was going on.

She had an auntie to go kill.

-------

She was a cute kid, tall and brown-haired, with laughing green eyes, good looking and developing early in ways to attract the male eye. Those eyes stopped when they traveled across Sama, almost thunderstruck at the sight of her.

She was almost run over by the kids behind her, and automatically moved out of the way despite herself. Her run to get on the bus was forgotten as she stared at Sama standing over there by the light pole, and despite herself, she departed from her duly appointed course to the bright yellow bus, and started moving hesitantly towards her.

She stopped right in front of Sama, staring at her in shock and awe, looking all over her, wondering what was going on. “Who... who are you?” she blurted out, wondering where all these intense feelings were coming from. “Have... have we met before?”

Sama held up a finger, waiting for the many cars and the one bus to pull away on its delivery route of getting the special children home from Madame Petri’s. She then reached out, pulled the girl’s heavy bag of books off her shoulder, and swung it over her own. “Come walk with me.”

Not having any idea where this level of trust was coming from, the girl fell in beside Sama as they walked away from her special school. “I’m Leslie Vanderbilt,” she offered hesitantly.

“I’m Sama Rantha. A pleasure to finally meet you face to face.” Sama extended her hand, and Leslie took it almost despite herself.

“You... what are you?” Leslie had to ask, staring at the Curse Brand over the side of Sama’s face.

“A Hagchild, like you.”

“A Hag...” Leslie slammed to a stop, gaping at her.

Sama coasted to a halt as well, and just looked back at her calmly.

“A-a Hagchild?” Leslie squeaked in disbelief. “You... me?” Her voice got tinier and shriller as she pointed back and forth.

“You can feel the link between us, right?” Sama asked calmly, harsh yet kind. Leslie nodded despite herself. “That’s the Hag Sisterhood bond. It’s the reason real Hags don’t usually tear one another apart, or scheme fatally against one another. Since we’re not depraved flesh-eating manrippers, it’s a more positive thing for us. Sisters on sight.” Sama held out her fist, and despite herself, Leslie bopped it with her.

“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,” Leslie blurted out, shocked. “Like, I could trust you with anything...”

“And you know I’m not lying to you.”

Leslie swallowed hard, and began to sweat visibly. “You, you...”

“Are here to protect you from your Hagmother, who is coming for you.”

Her already dismayed expression began to falter and crash. “What?!” she gasped, as Sama nudged her into motion again.

“See the nails?” Sama held up her black-nailed hands. “That’s not paint. See the teeth? Those are not a mutation. See the Brand?” She pointed to the Curse over the side of her face. “That’s the remnants of the Hag Curse, specifically derived from that of an annis, hence the blue-black color. See the utter lack of a chest?” Sama pulled at her somewhat sooty t-shirt, which had absolutely nothing to bounce back to. “Annis-blood Hagchild. Those are all changes left behind after I beat the Hag Curse.”

Leslie was trembling as she walked, wide-eyed, trying hard not to believe this, and finding herself unable to do so. She knew Sama would not lie to her. She could understand that Sama was a sometimes almost brutally blunt person with an incredible violent streak to her... but none of that would ever be directed at her.

“Touch it.” Sama reached out to Leslie’s wrist, grabbed it gently, and as Leslie’s lips trembled in revulsion and distaste, brought her hand up to touch the Brand.

“Ahg!” she squeaked, trying to draw away, finding Sama’s hand would not let her leap away off the sidewalk into traffic, keeping her upright effortlessly; Sama’s arm barely moved, like it was made of steel.

It wasn’t because she’d felt pitted, scarred, slimy, distorted skin... her thoughts were wild as she considered that what she’d felt had been hard and smooth and strong, like stroking sablewood... except for the Curse.

Just that touch had made her scream, and made her realize...

She held up both her hands as Sama let her go. “It’s... it’s...” she gasped in disbelief.

“Yes. And you have no time. Your Hagmother is coming for you, and your Curse is already reacting. You’d have two, three days before your Change is upon you. It’s time to fight.”

“I’m-I’m going to turn into a Hag?” she gasped in shock, disbelief, and horror.

“Only if you want to. What have your studies been in?” Sama replied, totally unperturbed by this chain of events. The blasé nature of her face and voice did more to calm Leslie down than any manner of ranting and proud speeches could.

“Plant magic. I-I rated high for Sorcery...” she stammered, proud yet terrified of the fact now.

“Your Hagmother is a Greenhag, so that’s not at all unusual.” Sama held out her hand, and Leslie took it despite herself. She could feel the strength and power in that hand, and trust. Trust right from the bones.

Hag sisterhood...

“I don’t want to turn into a Hag,” Leslie whispered, and Sama nodded.

“We’re going to the place which can stop that cold. But first, you need to take the power out of your phone.”

Leslie blinked. “Why?”

“Your parents are hard-core Imprusar, old money, old blood. Once they find out you are a Hagchild, they will murder you without a second thought. Your father was cuckolded, your mother will believe she gave birth to an abomination, and they are racist elitists. They simply will not countenance having a Hagchild for a daughter.”

Big fat tears began to spill down Leslie’s cheeks. She started to say something, and then could only burst into sobs and sniffles as she began to cry. Sama pulled her into a hug, giving her comfort and support... but they still kept walking.

Leslie handed over her phone. She watched as Sama’s golden-bladed fingers cut through it without effort, and cried some more...