The Wolf & The Witch
The City of Almavedic

Este, the malefica, stood in front of the witch and the wolf. They could not see her, but she could see them. The wolf was looking down, lost in an anger, and the witch was crying against the wall. Este had sat in both of their spots before, chain and all, lost in tangled knots of doubt and anger, chains around both her neck and her heart. And what was tangling their hearts so much? It was obvious to Este: love. But love was never intended to be fair, or easy, and the malefica doubted very much their love would survive.

She sighed, and decided to be nice to the young couple. “Drop the chain.”

Anna paused, and frowned, and cursed under her breath, and let the slack out, but did not drop it.

Twenty-seven years ago Este’s father, Megolte, a wolf, killed his wife- Este’s mother. Este and her sister, Eastor, fled their home, and had not been back since. Este ruled one side of the land of apple trees, and Eastor ruled the other. One during the day, the other at night. But, in truth, it was their father, Megolte, who ruled this land, not the sisters. But that was about to change.

Este’s father was still alive, and still wore his wedding ring. It was a special ring made by their mother that prevented witches from using their magic anywhere near him- miles. It was a very powerful ring, and dangerous for many different reasons. It was that ring that had prevented the sisters from killing their father and retaking their home, and the metal cuff locking the wolf and the witch together was the key to reclaiming her city. Because, however pathetic this crying witch was, that cuff would allow her to use magic near the ring, and it would also allow them to walk straight through the walls of Megolte’s estate.

“I’m going to make the two of you a very generous offer,” Este said, and looked down at the wolf and the witch, in the pitch black. “You are going to enter the city of Alma and take the wedding ring off my father’s hand. But do not kill him- I get to do that. My father is the alpha and rules the city. The ring on his finger dispels all magic near him, and it would normally prevent you from getting close to him. But not with that cuff of yours.”

Neither the witch nor the wolf spoke. Neither looked at each other. They both looked down, lost in tangled knots.

“We know there are four couples with cuffs,” Este said, looking down. “One couple is nearly at the border. They’ll cross soon if they haven’t already. My sister has another couple in her custody. And another couple was sent to Alma a week ago, and did not succeed, and have not returned. Dead, I guess. Or behind bars. On top of that all of you damn couples have angered Beth, and now is not a good time to anger her.” Este then realized they would not know who she was, or else they wouldn’t be here, so she clarified, “The witch of dust. I’m not too fond of the bitch, and she would be out of my hair if I killed you. So take my offer. Maybe luck will-“

“Go to hell,” Claire said. Blackness was all she saw, so she kept her head down, and did not move.

Lestat looked in the direction of the malefica, and shut his eyes. His heart was eating at him- listening to her cry hurt, like chains, like daggers, like the cold, and there was only one reason it hurt, and that reason bothered him, and worried him, and he wasn’t sure what to do or how to stop it. He needed to get this cuff off, and be done with Claire. He did not want to like this witch. He did not want his heart tethered to this witch. “Go to hell,” Lestat reiterated, to the malefica, and leaned back against the wall.

“Oh I definitely will go to hell,” Este answered and stooped closer, and hovered overtop them in the darkness. “But not tonight. And you definitely will go to that city. Tonight. I guess, from there, it’s up to you- sulk, wallow, argue, and die. Or take a ring off an old bastard’s finger. Do it at night and I will be there the second that ring leaves his finger. Allow me to kill him, and leave the city standing- don’t burn it, and I will return your horses, your belongings, and take you to the border- instantly.”

*

Alma was a large, dingy city, dim, with flickering lanterns, and narrow stone streets. But very busy- lots of shops, lots of people. They walked many streets, simply looking, watching, listening, thinking- side by side, in silence. Many of the blocks they walked were houses, some three-stories, mostly wooden. They passed taverns that were loud and bright, even in the middle of the night. There were brothels, also loud, but a little less bright. Near the heavily guarded gates were the markets, some open at night- selling food, alcohol, tools, bowls, and slaves. Also near the gates were the stables, and, past those, what looked like military barracks. One entire street sold nothing but weapons- pikes, swords, shields. Lestat noticed- the actual wolf population was fairly low in this city- most were normal men. And it was lucky for the witch and the wolf that it was a populous city, because no one looked at them, and no one noticed them. They were ignored like the vagrants and bums they were.

And even in the middle of the night men, and wolves, paraded their women around- some naked, some at the end of chains. Although that wasn’t always the case- there were also quite a few women hanging freely off of their wolves, and off their men. There were also quite a few wearing as little as possible, trying to get the attention of the men and wolves that passed by. And there were at least two women, who passed them, with male slaves of their own.

They found Megolte’s estate easily enough, and, as Lestat expected, it was highly guarded- by both men and wolves.

So they continued walking and eventually stopped near a dirty rain gutter. They stood side by side, cuffed together. They hadn’t spoken a word, not one, in over five hours, and it was still the black of early morning, and they still had no plan.

Claire had no problem killing wolves. She wasn’t sure how to go about it, and doubted she could do it wearing this cuff, but still- her heart was ready to kill wolves. She watched, and noticed a merchant throwing out rotten apricots, and an idea started forming in her head.

Lestat also watched, and noticed a shop keeper carrying crates from a storehouse to the store, back and forth. Swords, and spears, and he noticed, in the dark, that the owner did not pull the storehouse door closed all the way before locking his store for the night.

The wolf walked to the left, towards the storehouse, and the witch walked to the right, towards the market stalls and rotten apricots, and they both stopped at the end of the cuff. They looked back at each other.

She didn’t speak. He did. “I want to go to that storehouse. He left the door open. If nothing else we need weapons.”

“I know what I’m doing,.” She turned, to go towards the markets, and he didn’t budge. She turned back. “I don’t know what your plan is, and I don’t care. Lets’ go.”

Lestat followed a few steps, then stopped again. This damn witch. This goddamn witch. Lestat was a cold man- he had killed many men, and many wolves, and quite a few witches. Some in cold blood. And his heart had never wavered, and it had never cared. Yet it seemed to care an awful lot about this damn witch’s tears- he felt like he was dragging his heart around through the dirty streets of this city with every step he took beside her.

Lestat could not go forward with his heart like this- half in, and half out, of his chest. He needed to end every possibility of ever having feelings for this witch, so her tears no longer bothered him, so her lies no longer bothered him. “We need to talk,” he said, and looked at her hazel eyes, and held them.

“My plan takes time. Let me get what I need, then you can cuss and fuss at me while I work.”