Before the bozrac left, it asked Mrs. Crass, “If you had to sacrifice your life to end his, would you?”

“Absolutely,” she answered immediately.

“Aye, I bet you would,” Finn said.

“Find Kafe Mean and kill him!” she yelled.

The demon disappeared.

Mrs. Crass spent the following days pacing, terrified the bozrac might fail. She had never seen Kafe Mean again, and she only had a hint of her former powers. Her desire to kill Kafe was fueled primarily by revenge; the return of her power was only an added bonus.

Excitement flooded her when the small monster reappeared four days later. The demon purred as it approached.

“Your life is apparently worth as much as his,” said Finn, still purring. “Some men don’t die easily.”

Mrs. Crass glared at the cat, not understanding. “So … is he dead?”

“The entity Kafe Mean is dead surely. But I don’t think that was what you truly desired,” said the bozrac.

“Is he dead?” she asked again.

“The thing named Kafe Mean is dead. Names have power, Leynstra, and sometimes people go to great lengths to protect that power. ‘Kafe Mean’ was just a familiar that the storyteller had created long ago just for you. As it died, the creature called Kafe Mean left a message for you.”

The bozrac ran into a shadow, where it disappeared. Smoke rose from the outline of the creature, creating letters hovering in the air.

The letters K-A-F-E M-E-A-N floated in front of her. Then, ever so slowly, the letters moved. The K shifted right, and the F shifted left. M-E-A-N shifted as well, with the letters slowly drifting to different positions. Even before the letters had halted, Mrs. Crass began to wail.

“No. No! Noooo!” she yelled. “That’s impossible! How? But, but, how? He didn’t know! He couldn’t know!” she said, tears pouring down her face.

“But he did. The storyteller figured you’d find a way to track him down. He thought of it from the beginning,” said the bozrac.

She cried at the ease that the storyteller had twisted her plans. He had a Fake Name—Kafe Mean—from the very beginning. It was all part of his plan. He had figured that, just in case someone held a grudge against him, he would give out an alias. King Zolf had warned her that the man, this Great Traveler, went by many names. It was so simple, but she had been duped. The stupid simple trick had cost her the one chance she had at vengeance, her only chance. The bozrac had killed Kafe Mean, but that was not the storyteller she needed to kill for her freedom.

The creature continued to purr as it hopped onto the table, helping itself to some leftover chicken.

Mrs. Crass collected herself but continued to curse under her breath.

The bozrac chuckled. “He’s clever, that one. But you agreed to a death, which I provided. Now, do you have my second task yet, or do you need more time?”

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

Mrs. Crass felt a jump in her heart. “Wait! You mean you saw him? Describe him to me!”

The bozrac described the man. It was him. It was the storyteller.

“But you told me to kill Kafe Mean, which was the name of the familiar that traveled with the storyteller. No one can hide their true self from a bozrac, as you know too well,” it said.

“How could the storyteller create a familiar?” she asked.

“He didn’t make it himself. Someone made that familiar for him. He must know a conjurer with massive power to create a familiar that complex,” said Finn.

“No matter! You know then who the storyteller is? Right? You know who he is, so you can kill him? Right?” she asked.

“Is that your next request then? Would you like me to kill him? You could’ve saved me quite the legwork if you had mentioned this from the beginning,” said Finn.

Mrs. Crass wanted to answer yes. She tried to tell the demonic cat that this was exactly what she wanted, but she could not. A flash of violet came from her eyes, and she groaned. She had failed. The Dark King had given her both her freedom and one chance for revenge. If she had succeeded, she could keep her powers and her freedom. If she had failed, her life and soul belonged to him. Her life and soul now belonged to him … unless.

The bozrac asked again.

She stood, unable to answer.

She fought in silence for three days straight. The bozrac sat, watching her struggle, often purring as she battled the curse that she had allowed to be placed on her by King Zolf.

Mrs. Crass knew her will had been tainted. She felt her free will tearing away from her. For three days she did not move. She did not eat nor drink. She fought against an invisible wall of will. She battled the spell Zolf’s necromancers had placed on her, as it sapped her freedom. She cried, weeping without moving as she fought.

Finneus had periodically asked her about his second task during the three days. The bozrac knew she could not answer. The creature delighted in her suffering and her inability to utter the single word yes that would solve all her problems. Mrs. Crass gazed at the creature. The bozrac seemed patient with her. It happily bounced around the room. It had only occasionally disappeared, only to reappear and ask her again, “Have you decided what my second task will be?”

After three days of agony against the continuous pull of the spell, she collapsed.

Mrs. Crass’s will snapped.

She had tried to ask the bozrac to kill the storyteller, but the words never came out. She had a frustrating dichotomy within herself. She could feel her old thoughts and still had her prejudices and quirks, but she could also detect the underlying drive of the Dark King’s will flowing through her and becoming her entire purpose in life.

Late one night her goons came in after an evening at the tavern. One vomited in the corner, and she woke up to the retching noise. She knew better than to yell at the imbeciles. She was livid. She still had enough of herself to strike out against idiocy. Mrs. Crass had warned them repeatedly about her thoughts of overindulging in ale, yet they had continued to ignore her warnings. Her rage overcame her. She translocated them out of the city. She had not had power like that for decades. Her power had returned. They would have at least a four-hour walk back. More than likely they would pass out on the street before they made it home. That would show them to have more manners, she thought. Giving her will to the Dark King had returned her full powers.

It was then the witch realized her final request for the bozrac. The creature had failed her, but she could not fail the king. The demon taunted her with its very existence. She hated it, but it could be used. Finn listened to her second request with a blank expression.

“You need to kill the next Chosen,” said Mrs. Crass.

“Aye. But I wonder, what’s in it for you?” asked the cat.

“Nothing is in it for me, but everything is in it for him. The next Chosen has the potential to kill the Dark King. King Zolf has killed Chosen for the last two centuries. However, somehow, in the last twenty years, all the Chosen have eluded him. Whenever the next Chosen is discovered, you kill. No tricks. Just death. Once dead, I grant you complete freedom,” she said.

That caught the cat’s attention.

“When I find and kill this next Chosen of yours, you’ll let me free? Are you willing to bind your words in blood? I won’t kill you, but I need to be sure that you are not lying to me,” asked the cat.

“Yes,” she said.

The cat licked its lips and plunged into Mrs. Crass. Despite being over a league away on their walk back, the two goons could hear her screaming.