Ivan led them up several flights of stone stairs to the dungeons. He assured them that the stairs up from the spring were unguarded since the stairs to the bathhouse were a different flight on the other side of the floor. Even so, Tahoe was on high alert.

They entered the stone hallways before Anna realized she didn’t have her borrowed shoes. She’d meant to tuck them into her shoulderbag. At least her socks still hung, damp, from her back pocket. She considered going back for them, but decided she’d rather not interrupt their progress just for the sake of shoes.

Ivan led them through the twists and turns of stone hallways and metal doors.

“How do you know your way around down here?” asked Tahoe.

“I used to play here as a child.”

“You used to play in the dungeons?” asked Anna.

“Sure,” said Ivan. “Hide and seek.”

Soon they came to a single door at the end of a short, hallway. It was a solid, dull grey steel with a narrow slot at the bottom and a small aperture at head height that could be slid open and closed with a simple latch.

“Are you sure she’s in there?” Tahoe asked. She sounded nervous.

Anna knew why the Witch of Money made her uncomfortable, but didn’t like the idea that the Witch of Money made Tahoe, of all people, nervous.

Ivan stepped up to the door and slid the aperture open. All Anna could see was darkness beyond.

“Mother, are you in there?”

A lingering, ancient groan rattled from the darkness, followed by a gusty sigh. “I was beginning to think you’d never come for me. Your poor, old mother, withering away alone, in the dark.”

“Yes. I’m sure it must be very difficult for you, sitting in a prison of your own making.” Tahoe muttered.

Ivan shot her a look.

Tahoe shrugged, unapologetic.

“What was that? Who’s with you?”

“Friends,” said Ivan.

“What kind of friends?”

“We’re here to break you out, mother. Does it matter?”

The Witch of Money grumbled inarticulately. “I hope you brought enough money,” she said eventually.

“Money?” Ivan looked back at them, a question around his eyes.

“Yes, you stupid boy. Money. That’s how these doors open.” A dull thunk trundled through the heavy metal door.

“The doors open with money…” said Anna. She saw that just above the handle was a vertical, coin-shaped slot.

“Of course, money. How else do you think prisoners pay off their debt to society?” snapped the witch.

“Community service,” said Michaela.

Anna looked at Michaela and saw she was grinning faintly. That little grin bolstered Anna’s courage and she found herself smiling in return.

“Well, I haven’t been down here since you converted the caves into dungeons, mother. I didn’t realize your ‘debt to society’ slogan was meant literally.”

The old witch grumbled again. Louder this time.

Ivan turned and looked at them. “Any ideas?”

“This doesn’t look like a problem I can stab,” said Tahoe.

Michaela shrugged. “I didn’t bring my guitar. It’s the only way I’ve paid for anything in this world.”

“Could you trick it?” said Anna. “You said your magic was about whimsy and distraction and illusion, right?”

The old woman cackled from the darkness. “You’ve come all this way, and you didn’t even bring any money? My sons are idiots.” She laughed again.

“I’m sure you love your mother dearly,” said Tahoe. “But maybe we should just…”

“No, no,” said Ivan. “This isn’t about her, remember? This is about Oscar.”

“What about Oscar?” the Witch of Money snapped.

“We’ve found him,” said Ivan. He looked at Anna and Michaela. “Right? You’re certain.”

Anna nodded. “I’m certain.”

Ivan cast his gaze about. “How much does it cost to open the door?”

“One thousand marks,” said the Witch of Money, boastful pride to her tone.

Anna didn’t know what that meant, but Tahoe whistled.

“That’s a lot of money. A queen’s ransom.”

“You’re damn right,” said the Witch of Money.

“I need something,” said Ivan. “Something vaguely coin shaped.”

Anna was struck with a sudden and giddy inspiration. She dug into her shoulderbag and found the greenish blue stone she’d picked up, weeks ago now, by a foggy side street. It was smooth and flat and vaguely coin-shaped. “Will this work?” she asked.

Ivan took it and held it up between thumb and forefinger. “Hmm…” He held it up as though to look at it in a better light, though the dungeon was uniformly dim. “What is this, do you suppose?”

“It’s a rock,” said Anna.

“Are you certain?” Ivan flipped the rock like a coin and it sung like a bell.

“Pretty sure,” said Michaela.

“No, no, no,” said Ivan. “You have to understand. This is no mere stone. This is a rare treasure. This is a thousand-mark coin.”

“Ha!” said the Witch of Money. “No such coin exists.”

“Of course it does,” said Ivan. “I’m holding it, right here in my hand.” He held up his fist, clenching the rock within.

Anna looked at Michaela, confused. Michaela frowned back.

“Oh,” said Tahoe. “Yes, of course. A thousand-mark coin. I’ve only ever heard of them. They’re very rare.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Michaela. “Right. A thousand-mark coin. It’s very lucky you happened to have one, Anna. Just what we needed right now.”

“How did you come across it?” asked Ivan. He flipped the stone through the air again, and this time it gleamed like golden metal.

Anna smiled as understanding dawned. “Wandering down a misty street, looking for poetry, whimsy, and misdirection,” Anna responded.

The Witch of Money snorted. “This is never going to work. Your cheap illusions can’t fool my enchantments.”

“You have to believe, mother.”

“She does want to get out, doesn’t she?” Michaela whispered to Anna.

Anna shrugged. If they couldn’t get the Witch of Money out of prison, she had no idea how to restore Oscar to his true form and stop the hostilities. Ivan looked at them, winked, and held up his hand, fingers splayed. Wedged between the tips of his middle and ring fingers was a coin of soft, polished gold bearing the stamped profile of a dignified elder woman and below that profile the denomination: 1K.

It looked real enough to Anna

Ivan plunked the coin through the slot. It slid with a scrape and fell with a clink. For several moments, there was nothing. No one said anything. No one breathed too loudly. Anna didn’t blink.

“I told you,” said the old witch, voice thin and defeated. “I told you…”

She was interrupted by a click, click, click from the door, like the spokes of a wheel increasing tempo, faster and faster, louder and louder, echoing within the door until it vibrated.

“Um, maybe stand back a bit?” said Ivan, taking two large steps back and sending the rest of them scurrying.

When the clicking stopped, the door burst open, slamming into the rock wall and bouncing almost closed again. Ivan hurried forward and pulled it open. It was at least two inches thick, but it swung easily on silent hinges. He snapped thrice quickly and a bit of light flickered to his fingers. He held it to the darkness and spread his fingers wide, casting the light into the room.

The Witch of Money sat cross-legged on the stone floor at the back of the room. She had long, grey hair that fell about her shoulders limply, a square jaw and wide dark eyes nearly twice as big as normal. She squinted at them, holding up a hand.

“Dim that light, child. You’re blinding me.”

Ivan closed his hand to a fist and the light dimmed.

The old woman got to her feet laboriously, using the wall to steady herself. She wore a simple brown smock. At first, Anna doubted this was the same woman who had attacked the pirate aeroplane with such fury. She had trouble straightening her back. She hobbled. She looked haggard. Ivan stepped into the room and held an arm out to her and she took it, leaning upon him. Anna could see she was barefoot and thin and she wondered if Bridgeford had been starving her.

Once out of the cell and in the hallway, the Witch of Money looked at them. “Children and thieves. What kind of rescue party is this?”

“Seriously,” said Michaela. “I’m not sure I want to help her anymore.”

“Mother, be nice. These young ladies found Oscar. And they’re helping us just because it’s right.”

“Hah,” the old woman scoffed. “Fools as well then. They should have demanded a fair price.”

Michaela threw up her hands and grunted, disgusted.

“And you.” The Witch of Money looked at Captain Tahoe. “I suppose you’ll want the curse removed?”

“I’ve grown to like being a fox.” Tahoe affected a tone of nonchalance.

The Witch of Money snorted. “Well, surely the sliding between masculine and feminine is confusing. I could—“

“No.” Tahoe clacked her teeth. She shot Ivan a glance and a smile. “I don’t want you to change me in any way.”

The old woman narrowed her eyes. “You cannot expect me to believe a pirate captain is breaking the Witch of Money out of her own prison based on the goodness of his heart?”

Tahoe shrugged. “I’m a mystery.”

Lady Sabina, the Witch of Money, looked between Tahoe, the girls, and Ivan, stunned beyond words. Eventually, she chuckled in resignation. “All right. What’s your plan for getting out of here,” the Witch of Money demanded.

“Well,” Ivan’s voice went high. “Our plan may have gotten eaten by one of the water lizards in the spring below.”

The Witch of Money looked up at her son, expression genuinely perplexed.

“I say we just walk out of here,” said Tahoe, hand on the hilt of her blade.

“You think you can cut your way through Bridgeford’s guards?” Ivan asked.

Tahoe shrugged. “I won’t have to. As you said, ‘children and thieves’. There’s not a one among them who’ll face off against Captain Tahoe. Especially if I make it clear there’s a place for them at Castle PAC when this is through. Bridgeford may have pressed them into service, but I’ll be offering gainful employment.”

The Witch of Money shrugged. “No worse than being in there,” she jerked her head at the cell.

“Does that mean you’re willing to consider my proposal on alternate sentencing?” Ivan asked.

The Witch of Money snorted and rolled her eyes. “Let’s get on with this.”

Captain Tahoe went first, hand on the hilt of her blade.

Ivan and his mother went next. The old witch leaning on the younger for support and grumbling crankily. Anna and Michaela went last. They weren’t much of a rear guard, especially compared to Captain Tahoe, but they weren’t as frail as Sabina, the Witch of Money. Captain Tahoe went several feet ahead of them, hurrying on silent feet, peering around corners, making sure the way was clear. After several minutes of this, they arrived at a new stairwell. Captain Tahoe put her fists on her hips and frowned.

“This is odd. I expected to run into opposition by now. Isn’t Bridgeford more competent than this?”

The Witch of Money grumbled, then nodded. “He is.”

“Something must have happened,” said Ivan. “Stick together. Watch each other’s backs.”

They ascended quickly and quietly, passing the general storage, laundry, wine cellar, and cold storage, all without seeing anyone. The stone stairs were cold against Anna’s bare feet. When the stairs switched to wood, Anna worried about splinters, but the wood was smooth.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

They climbed the last set of stairs to the ground floor of the bathhouse and that’s when they heard the commotion of conflict. Shouting and clattering. Stomping and clanging. Whistles and explosions.

“There’s fighting,” said Tahoe, and she drew her short, single-edged blades.

Ivan put an arm around his mother’s shoulders protectively.

“Fighting in the streets is dicey at best,” said Tahoe. “Stay close.” She nodded at Anna. “Where are we going?”

Anna cleared her throat nervously. “The Scarecrow at the end of Clayfield Street. On the other side of the post office. Almost to the edge of the trees.”

The ground floor was just as empty as the basements had been. Stacks of towels, scattered glass, and occasional slippers were abandoned throughout the halls. Ivan led them through the richly appointed hallways to a side door cleverly hidden behind a curtain and around a corner. The hallways on the other side of that door were bare and plain. Whitewashed plaster walls. Everything was clean and neat and orderly but extraordinarily plain. It was, Anna thought, a more honest representation of the bath house: careful meticulousness under a veneer of opulence.

Ivan knew these hallways as well as he did the lower and led them quickly to a service door in back. On the other side of the service door was a misty alleyway. Thick curls of fog slid about their shoes and a damp funk hung on the air. It was a narrow alleyway, the next building over only a reach and a half away.

It was still dark, morning having not yet arrived, and Ivan snapped his fingers to summon them light.

It was enormously quiet. Not a murmur nor a footfall nor the sound of wind high in the mountains reached them. It felt to Anna as though they were the only ones in this world or any other. There was nothing outside the fog-shrouded existence in which they stood.

“Which way to the post office?” Tahoe asked quietly.

“Clayfield Street is that way,” Ivan pointed. “Then it’s a straight shot.”

Tahoe shook her head. “The main street will be too exposed. We should stick to alleyways and whatnot as long as we can.”

Ivan nodded. “All right then, this way.”

The light of an explosion threw their shadows against the fog, sharp outlined and deep black. The rocking thunder rumbled Anna to her bare soles. A window down the alley cracked. Several people screamed in the distant fog. Anna’s ears roared in the silence that followed.

“Bridgeford has unpacked his artillery,” the Witch of Money grumbled. “That was a warning shot. A signal to his troops to shoot anyone not in uniform.”

“Maybe we should find a place to lay low,” said Tahoe. “It looks like we’re too late to stop the fighting anyway.”

The Witch of Money waved a hand. “Should have known you’d be a coward. Foxes always are. I’m going whether or not the rest of you are.”

Tahoe rolled her eyes and shrugged.

They slunk through the misty alleyways, Tahoe in the lead, one sword drawn, nose twitching. Ivan whispered directions, navigating with ease of familiarity, supporting his mother on one arm. Anna’s feet were achingly cold against the damp cobble stones and she resolved to put her socks on at the first opportunity, even though they were still damp.

Another explosion rocked the sky. They all winced and huddled for several moments before continuing. A triple rapport of gunshot echoed from several blocks away. There was shouting muffled by fog and distance.

A few blocks on, down a side street, a scuffle and a grunt took their attention and they came upon a group of children in worn clothes and smudged cheeks. They kicked a man wearing the white pants and gold stripe of a guardsman. The man groaned and writhed, covering his head with his arms.

“Filthy brats,” the Witch of Money muttered.

Ivan patted her shoulder. “Easy. Let me talk to them.” He stepped forward and spread his arms, his multicolored jacket seeming to shine. Or perhaps it really did.

“That is, perhaps, enough, boys and girls.” Ivan said.

The children, five in all, stopped and looked at him. Defiant and angry.

“He stole my mom’s necklace. The one dad gave her. Said it was for protection,” said one of the girls, the oldest of the lot. She had bright eyes, freckled nose, and a pair of pigtails. “He said awful things to her, mister. Threatened to shoot us if we didn’t do what he said.”

Ivan nodded. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. But it’s going to be dangerous out here tonight. More for you than him. Please go home.”

“Hey, you’re that guy,” said one of the boys. “The witch with the jacket.” His voice was high and faintly awed.

“Am I?” said Ivan, preening.

“Wanders about helping folks, then wanders off. Like a storybook,” said the boy.

Ivan grinned.

“Be nice if you stuck around,” said the girl.

Ivan cleared his throat nervously.

“Maybe you should run for mayor,” said the girl. “Do some actual good.”

Ivan clasped his hands behind his back. “Maybe I should.” Then he cocked his head. “Or maybe you should.”

The girl laughed. “All right, mister. I get it. We’ll go home tonight, but people are mad. And we’re not going to be quiet about it.”

The children scurried off, leaving the guardsman moaning on the sidewalk. The littlest among them, who’d stood off to one side a bit, took the opportunity to give the guardsman one, last, solid kick to the backside before joining the others.

“We should get moving,” said Tahoe.

Anna had taken the opportunity to wrestle her damp socks on and even though they were wet, it was better than bare feet as they hurried on.

More gunshots cracked off the night, echoing off walls. People shouted. Gunsmoke mixed with the fog. Anna’s nose twitched and she struggled not to sneeze. She took a breath and choked on it, coughing. That old fear threatened at the back of her head, but her throat did not close.

“Vivianna?”

“I’m fine.” Anna put a hand to her chest and took a careful breath to make sure. “I’m fine,” said again.

A block on, the Witch of Money stopped. “We need to hide.”

Tahoe turned and looked back at her, nose twitching, ears swiveling. “I don’t…” She stopped and hunched slowly.

Michaela grabbed Anna’s hand and squeezed.

“There,” said Anna, spying a door. It was a featureless wooden door painted black with a tarnished brass handle.

Tahoe got to it first and tried the handle. “It’s locked,” she said. “I could break it open.”

“Let me,” said Ivan. He stepped up to the door, said a word under his breath and turned the knob. It opened easily, silently, and he ushered his mother in, the rest following. Anna was last in, and she turned to close and lock the door: a button in the center of the knob and a sliding bolt halfway up.

She turned to join the others and found they were faced with a trio of scruffy men in the white and gold guardsman uniform. One of them had a pistol pointed at them. Tahoe had both swords out.

“This is our hiding space,” the guardsman said. “Get out.”

“There’s plenty of room for all of us,” said Ivan, tone genial.

Anna felt herself nodding and saw the other two guardsmen do the same. She wondered if Ivan had worked some magic.

“I said ‘get out’.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said the Witch of Money, stepping forward.

The man with the pistol sneered. “I don’t work for you anymore, old woman. That’s right, I know who you are.” He shifted so his gun was pointed at her head. “Don’t think I won’t blow your brains out if you don’t turn around by the time I count to three.”

The Witch of Money snorted derisively and snapped her thin, knobbly fingers. The pistol dropped from his grip. His arms snapped to his sides and his legs snapped together. He tipped backward as though he were a plank stood on end. One of his fellows put a hand on his back to steady him.

“What did you—“

“Shush,” said the Witch of Money. “They can’t hear, but they can feel vibrations. Everyone breathe shallowly.”

A faint rumble caught Anna’s attention and she turned to the only window in the room. A window that faced the same alleyway they’d left. Through the window she could see only paving stones, fog, and the building on the other side of the alley. For several moments more, nothing happened but that the sound grew louder, deeper, wider. Eventually the window shook, a high rattle against the deep rumble.

There were little ones first. Small figures of plastic sprinting along on awkward, unbending limbs, clicking quickly down the dim, foggy alleyway. They were but a vanguard. The mob followed soon after. Babydolls with big, bright, unblinking eyes and frilly dresses over poofy underthings, bare, porcelain feet meticulously painted and smudged with the dirt of the street. Thickly stuffed plush-furred animals on two feet and four, glassy eyes reflecting diffused light from moon and stars and, Anna noticed, a few yellow-orange spirits lights descending to dance among them. Stilted figures of action, armed and armored in plastic: robots and cowboys and samurai, two inches tall to two feet, some larger, hurried along on clunky joints and arrhythmic gaits. The horde grew in number and size, the toys becoming taller and broader. Some of the smaller rode upon the shoulders of their fellows. A horde of porcelain, fur, and plastic swarming down the alleyway, looking neither this way nor that, moving only forward.

Anna remembered the toys dismantling the fair and was glad they’d found refuge. For all the Witch of Money was a cantankerous old grouch, she’d almost certainly saved their lives.

For several moments, maybe longer, the mob of toys thundered past. Their steps like a storm. When it was done, it was in a moment. One moment nothing but toys clogged the view of the window, then they were gone, the rumble of their passing fading to distance and fog.

“Is that it?” said one of the guards.

“Shush,” said the Witch of Money.

Anna felt the deep rumbles a moment before she heard them. She peered through the window. Several moments on, a great teddy bear, nearly the width of the alleyway, lumbered along behind the mob; its great, brown, glassy eyes shone in the dancing light of the spirits. Its fur was damp and matted. Its face was placid, serene. Its claws rent casual gouges in the paving stones.

When it had passed, Anna counted several dozen heartbeats before anyone dared move. She unclenched her jaw from her tongue, grateful she didn’t taste blood.

“The way is clear,” said the Witch of Money.

Tahoe was to the door first. She opened it carefully, one sword drawn, looked up and down the alleyway, then nodded at the rest of them.

“Oy, what about him?” said one of the guardsmen.

Anna looked at the man still petrified by magic.

The Witch of Money shrugged. “It’ll wear off. Eventually.”

“But you could release him, right?” said Anna.

The Witch of Money looked at her, glowering. “He pointed a pistol at me.”

Anna shrugged, mimicking her movement. “You nearly blasted the aeroplane in which I was being kidnapped out of the sky. And yet I still helped rescue you from your own dungeon. Let him go.”

The Witch of Money drew herself up, standing as tall as her diminutive frame could manage. Her eyes glowed with faint lavender light. “Do not dare to…”

Anna crossed her arms. She didn’t know what the woman might do to her, but she wasn’t interested in allowing herself to be bullied. Michaela stood next to her, wrapping arm around her shoulders. The other girl’s presence made Anna all the more confident.

The Witch of Money took a breath, seeming to inflate. Her eyes flashed purple, then faded and she let the breath go. “Fine,” she muttered, snapping her fingers.

The petrified man collapsed with a groan.

“We should go,” said Tahoe, and slipped into the fog.

The Witch of Money followed her and Ivan followed his mother, but not before giving the girls a wink.

The alleyway was lit pale gold by the spirit lights, weaving and dancing above. Agitated almost.

“They’re thick tonight,” said Anna.

“Come on, let’s catch up,” said Michaela, taking Anna’s hand. They hurried after Ivan, Tahoe, and the Witch of Money. They came to the end of the alleyway to face the post office across the fog-choked street. The post office on this side of the fog looked much like it did on the other. White storm drain, brick flower boxes, a blue post box, and a simple bench. It stood alone, separate from every other city block in the valley.

To the right of the building, tree-blanketed hills of the valley drew near, and though she couldn’t see it through the dark and mist, Anna knew the scarecrow, Old King, Oscar Agayaba in disguise, hung near the tree line.

The others hurried across the street, though the fog.

But Anna paused.

A dark, shuffling movement caught the corner of her attention and she turned to find the man in the floppy hat. He stood, slouched against a brick wall, head down, mumbling quietly, incoherently. He looked to be little more than hat, jacket, and shadow, like the body within was so slight as to be nothing.

“Hello?” said Anna.

The man lifted his head so the brim of the hat tilted back some, but still she could not see his face.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” said Anna. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to…” But she couldn’t leave him behind. She felt he was important, his part yet to be played. “Come on,” she said, holding out a hand. The man straightened and mumbled and held out his hand, buried deep in the sleeve of his jacket. Anna took it and felt nothing but sleeve within.

Anna blinked in realization. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she said. “A doll transformed by a witch.”

He mumbled and nodded.

“Well, she owes me a favor,” said Anna. “I’ll get her to turn you back.”

“Vivianna?

Anna turned to see Michaela coming back. “We found him. He’s still there. But there’s a problem.”

“What problem?”

But Michaela looked at the man in the floppy hat. “You found him.”

“I think he’s like the dolls. Transformed from his regular body.”

Michaela’s eyebrow’s raised. “Okay. Well. Um, like I said, we’ve got another problem. Come on.”

Michaela led Anna around the post office where Tahoe, Ivan, and Lady Sabina stood, facing the well-dressed scarecrow. Anna kept hold of the jacket sleeve and it slouched along behind, hat tipped low.

The Witch of Money glowered when she saw Anna.

“Where’s the rest of him?” The Witch of Money demanded.

“What do you mean? I thought… the Witch of Puppets said she could block off a person’s mind and soul but could reattach them.”

“I’m well aware of how it works,” the witch snapped. “This stinks of Richard. Only he would be so crude as to lop off a body completely. I need all the pieces. You said you found him. You said you found Oscar.” Her voice broke on the name of her son.

An explosion filled the sky. And then another. Anna winced and staggered. The sounds of shouting and running, of plastic boots and porcelain teeth, permeated the fog.

“You said you found him,” the Witch of Money persisted. “Where’s the rest?”

Anna panicked. She’d thought she’d figured it out, saved the day, ended the story.

“I…”

“You lied to me. What is it you really want? What are you getting out of this? Are you an agent of her?”

“I just wanted to end the fighting before…”

“Well, you failed,” said the old witch. “How stupid. To think rescuing one little boy would end a conflict of decades. You really are stupider than I thought.”

Anna swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Her throat caught, her chest clenched, very near to a cough. She could smell the dust and smoke of explosions and gunfire. They irritated her eyes, ears, and mouth. She feared she’d begin crying in front of them.

A new voice came from the fog. “Why do you always have to be such a bully?” It sounded much like the Witch of Money but a little less cranky and a little more tired.

“Who’s there?” the Witch of Money demanded.

“Who do you suppose? It’s your big sister here to save you from yourself. Again.”

The Witch of Puppets strode from the fog. She was clad in stiff denim overalls over a plain, loose shirt. Her hair was bound neatly, her expression placid but just the hint of a triumphant grin.

“I don’t want you here,” said the Witch of Money. “You’ll just ruin everything again. This is your fault, you know. I never wanted to teach that stupid man, but you had to—“

“You’re the one who fell in love with him,” said the Witch of Puppets.

The witch of Money gasped, jaw dropped, eyes wide. “How… How dare…”

Anna felt a tug on her hand and remembered the man in the floppy hat. While the sisters bickered, Anna leaned toward him, peering under the hat, and he tilted his head back. She looked deep into the shadows and it was several moments before she realized there was no face.

Realization fitted together in her mind like a puzzle. She knew the role this innocuous character had to play. Oscar Agayaba had been split into the body of a scarecrow, a mind embodying a hat, and a soul… The little meadow beside the post office, before the foothills, grew steadily, quietly, brighter with a golden-orange light.

“They really are spirit lights.”

“What?” said Michaela, pitching her voice under the growing argument between the witches.

“You were right,” said Anna. “Spirit lights.” She pointed at the scarecrow and shook the sleeve of the floppy-hatted man. “He’s all here. He just needs to be put back together.”

“Oh,” said Ivan. “I see now. I knew you two were clever.”

“Impressive,” said Tahoe. “If either of you wants it, there’s a position for you with the Pirate Ace Coalition.” She stood next to Ivan, holding his hand.

“But how do we tell them?” said Anna, glancing at the sisters. “I’m not sure interrupting a pair of fighting witches is a good idea.”

Ivan shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve never been very good with conflict resolution.”

“I usually end conflict with my swords,” said Tahoe.

“Well neither of you is any help.” Anna looked at Michaela, hoping her friend had an idea.

Michaela shrugged. “You’re the best I’ve seen at standing up to bullies. Maybe it’ll work now.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Anna.

“I’ll be here,” said Michaela. “I won’t leave, no matter what you decide.”

Anna took a careful breath, let go of their hands, and took a step forward. She felt the others behind her.

“I figured it out,” she said, projecting her voice above their spat.

Both women stopped and looked at her.

“Have you now?” said the Witch of Puppets.

“What do you mean?” said the Witch of Money.

“I mean I figured it out.” She pointed at the scarecrow. “Body.” She gestured at the floppy-hatted man behind her. “Mind.” She pointed above at the spirit lights. “Soul. You just have to put him back together. You can do that, right? King Richard isn’t better than you at this, is he?”

“Of course we can do it,” said the Witch of Money. She cleared her throat and glared at her sister. “I suppose that’s what you’re here for, to gloat about me needing your help? Well I don’t. I can do this on my own.”

“Stop,” said Anna. “Just stop.” She was stunned when the Witch of Money did as she was told. “You are his mother. But you’re more interested in squabbling with your sister. My mother… she’s always done what she could to protect me, to help and support me. Even when I didn’t realize it. Unless you really are far more awful than I think, you’re going to accept your sister’s help and rescue your son.”

Anna took the jacket sleeve and pulled the man in the floppy hat to the base of the scarecrow. Up close, the scarecrow’s finery looked a bit threadbare, a bit dusty, like he’d been hanging there longer than he should have. She reached for the floppy hat, then hesitated.

“May I?”

The hat nodded.

She pulled the hat off the shadow and the jacket collapsed. The large, dark floppy hat shook faintly and she tossed it up to the scarecrow. The hat fluttered and flexed and shrugged itself upon the scarecrow’s head, knocking the top hat already there aside.

Another explosion lit the sky, closer than before, but Anna didn’t flinch. It seemed to her more like fireworks.

She shifted her gaze from the hat to the spirit lights. “It’s all right. Your mother is here. Your brother and auntie too. They’ll take care of you. It’s time to come home, Oscar.”

The spirit lights converged and coalesced, pushing toward the scarecrow and blending into it. The light grew brighter, whiter, until it hurt to look at and tears streamed from her eyes. Another explosion, this one with a whistling preamble and Anna blinked away the tears to see a blooming flower against the dark sky, red and green and yellow.

Fireworks.

Anna blinked away the after image to find she stood alone on the side of the post office, the old scarecrow hanging quietly above her and no fog to be seen.

Michaela was gone.

Anna reached into her pocket and withdrew the folded bit of paper where Michaela had written her information, but she knew before she looked it was useless. The paper had been soaked through and disintegrated. It was only so much mush.