But now, how was she to sneak in without the old man’s noticing? She certainly wasn’t going to spend the night outside waiting for him to nod off or for the boy to return. It was damp out, which just added to her foul mood.

She peered in at the window and to the other room where he sat in his high-backed chair, his feet up to the grate at the hearth. Smelly old man, she thought to herself.

Alyssa edged her way up onto the windowsill eyeing the old man sitting there with some equally smelly old leather-bound book propped up on his knees, a bony finger tracing lines on the page, and a steaming cup of brew at his elbow.

She dropped softly to the floor and sat crouching, looking for some sign from him that he had noticed. She hoped to avoid him all together.

He didn’t move but for his finger hissing along the lines of the book.

He must be up to something wicked, she thought. He was a wicked man playing at some wicked game she wanted to be no part of. She would content herself with just planning how to get past him and out of this room. Another day, she would sit in the warm sun and dream of his demise, perhaps poison, and make a slave of that boy, too. Oh, the poison of revenge.

Alyssa hunkered down in the cornered shadows, eyeing him sharply in his wicked old green leather chair. Any movement could bring him to notice her. So, she would just have to remain still and try to wait him out.

Globes and crystals and dried herbs hung from the rafters. Jars with things in them that had blackened over the years teetered in stacks all about the room. She found them repulsive, and fascinating, both fascinating and repulsive. She could not help but to gaze into the jars from time to time. Some made her hair stand up on end as she looked into them and imagined what they could be, some shrunken things with fangs, some things that could have been delectable had they not been swimming in a womb of his poison. The whole room was that way.

To Alyssa, the room served no particular function as far as she was concerned. It had no shelves, no window with a view to someplace lovely and fair, no hearth with a cozy carpet, no soft furniture to sit upon, no little mice running in and out. It was all dark panels of cherry wood, spindly sticks of furniture, and a cold stone floor.

It was a room, she thought, which must match his soul -- deprived, cold, but with a door opening to someplace pleasant, some pleasant place in his soul she imagined he rarely went, some place she imagined to be like the adjoining room where he sat.

An inviting room where a dancing fire let out a warm invitation. With the dried herbs he occasionally threw in, it smelled sweet like heather and clover sun-warmed on a hill. In the weave and woof the dense woolen rug pranced fanciful creatures like phoenix, dragon, and griffin about stony castle walls flying flags of cobalt and emerald and scarlet. Shelves of books and pretty objects flashing silver and gold climbed the walls, and velvet couches stood ready, inviting her to come lie upon them.

She wanted to lie by herself on the couches in that room. She’d had enough of men and boys this evening. She would not lie on the cold floor of this room one minute more. It was too much, too inviting. Even if he were there, Alyssa would come in and tolerate him.

Strange, that, that his presence should be less repulsive than the dark, dank, musty, moldy room she was in.

Strange.

She suddenly realized how alien this room was to her. She could not remember when she had first come here, neither could she remember coming to him. By the same token, neither could she remember not living in these cottage rooms or having him to come back to. But someday, her eyes narrowed, that would all change and this would be her house and he would crouch on the floor with the jars instead of her. Someday, however that should be.

Alyssa stood and stretched her long legs.

He, too, stretched out in his chair, and grumbled a bit in his discomfort.

She did not care about him. If he pestered her, there were other rooms where she could go. But, she hated his playing cat and mouse with her. What thrill did he find in his deprecating tones, his pet names, his chasing her to grab her up to cuddle and fondle?

"Ah." His voice clawed at his throat to come out. He said turning part way around to her, "Puss."

How repugnant. She had a name and he could just use it.

"My little pussy." He closed the book softly with a finger in the pages and waved a yellowed hand for her to come to him. "Come here and sit on my lap."

She thought she would not, and she thought she would not even speak to him if he refused to use her name instead of that vulgar pet name. She put on an air of nonchalance and walked with her head erect, not even looking at him. She took even mincing steps that took her just out of his reach. Alyssa walked on lending a cautious ear to the sound of his movements, his groaning to try to rise from his chair.

"I said come here." He used that tone with her and growled out some words in that language he used. "Lamek tarna unktn krack!" And with the last croak of his voice, the heavy wooden door Alyssa was heading for slammed shut.

She hissed and leapt around glowering at him with green eyes like arrows that, if they could, would shoot him through the heart so he would be dead and then she would put him in the jars.

"I said come here, Alyssa." She didn’t like the way he said that, but she didn’t move. "What did you bring for me tonight? Some news of a newborn child? It should be a girl. No more boys. A boy will never do. They are such nasty little things." His eyes like muddied pools had nearly lost all their color. He took one hobbling step closer.

She tensed. He stood between her and the doorway to the other room and the open window. But, she had to be quick before he could pronounce his words again.

"Come to me."

Her head began to swim. His eyes grew larger, swirling, and lurching closer. But, her minds eye turned to something familiar.

He

She could almost remember something, something that happened when she felt this way. Did she fall into the pools of his eyes?

He was

Was it a dream that took her back to a time before these rooms?

He was enchanting--

Alyssa, as his familiar, came and went as he willed her, wandering in at the village doors in search of what he needed for some little night magic, some dread. Through her eyes, he could see all he needed to see of the village.

For that, for her eyes that served him so well, the people stoned her, threw their trash at her, feared and hated her. They all turned and ran instead of cross her path. But, through her eyes, he could see all he needed to see of the village.

She blinked and the dizzy feeling she felt looking into his eyes wavered. That was all she could muster, another blink.

"Come here, my sweet Alyssa."

But, she blinked and blinked until her mind returned to her.

He was enchanting her, and she would not have it. She leapt forward while he leaned over her, ready to grab her up in his old, feeble arms. He nearly toppled.

She crouched hissing and spitting under a table.

He began speaking the words. "Ahndoo a therna "."

She had to be quick. Turn away.

"Traughie mudth"."

She was blind with fear. She began to shake uncontrollably, her tail twitching without her willing it.

"Geardach"."

She could just barely remember to speak the words back to him. "Anoon ah terna trougie muud Ge’arach skree."

He flinched. In her mind, she felt him flinch, and she leapt up from under the table, clawing at a shelf, dislodging a crystal ball, sending it bouncing off the table with a crack and onto his head as he tried to rise.

But, he did not rise. The ball thudded into his head like a ripe melon, and he crumbled to the floor, blood seeped out along the grout between the stones of the floor. The smell of it was old like briny seawater.

Slowly, she backed away from him, her head swimming again with the dregs of some foul enchantment. Alyssa wanted to run and leap out the window, but her paws seemed to trip at every step till she fell. Her breathing came raspy.

It seemed the dust of the room collected about her, swirling in dance and plucking the black hairs out of her body. Her bones creaked as though they were splintering, and her skin felt as if it were being flayed from the meat of her body. She howled in pain, writhing for what seemed hours till, at last, she lay naked on the cold stones, a woman with raven hair and green eyes.

Then, she remembered what she could not remember before. There was a boy, a very tall, enchanted boy who had wooed her from the safety of her mother’s home so many years ago. But, she never saw him again.

That was so very many years ago that Alyssa’s mother was now dead and no one in the village knew of her. Her old mother’s home was gone. Alyssa had no place. But with the old wizard dead, she was able to solicit the help of the boy from the town to help her clean up the old cottage.

"Where’s that black cat I used to play with here?" he asked one day when the cottage was put in order.

"Here, my boy. Have some tea," she said and gave him a witches’ brew while she sat down to tell him.

Copyright ©2002 Jefferson Hunt.  All Rights Reserved