Carl put his hand on the door and took a deep breath. The Butcher was not forgiving. Timidly, he knocked.

No one answered, but the torches beside the door were lit, so someone had to be within. The circle of their flickering light made the rest of the grounds that much more foreboding in the moonless night.

"C'mon," he told himself. "She's depending on you. You can do this. It's your time."

Shaking hands opened his thin book and found the spell for opening doors. He placed one trembling hand on the knocker. The high-pitched squeak that was supposed to be his voice read, "Agor!"

Except it didn't. Sometimes when he read things aloud, the letters jumbled up. What came out was something that sounded like, "Broga!"

The door jumped in its hinges. The boards wiggled & writhed in place, shaking themselves apart. The massive door fell towards him, and he dove to the side.

When the cloud of dust subsided he looked up to see himself watched by two enormous eyes. The eyes were attached to the body of a frog—a frog made of wood. A frog as tall as he was. And the door was gone.

Carl said, "Oh, good grief!"

The mouth of the giant frog opened a little, and he saw rows of big teeth, and what looked like a tongue beyond.

Carl felt uncomfortably like an insect in front of the wooden creature, and he grabbed one of the torches off the wall. He brandished it in front of himself.

The frog reacted instantly to the flame, leaping away into the darkness, higher than the trees.

"Are you here about the decoys?"

Carl jumped. In the doorway was the Butcher.

"M-Mr. Schwartz," Carl stuttered. "You're home."

The high wizard patted his pouches of spell components impatiently. Carl knew there things in those pouches that could kill him in grotesquely painful ways. Schwartz wasn't called the Butcher because of his love of meat.

"Decoys, sir?"

Schwartz frowned. "You don't remove pests?"

Carl swallowed hard. "Um… no. Actually, I was hired by your housemaid, Drewetta, to… uh…"

Schwartz's voice boomed loud enough to shake the windows. "To what?"

Carl's squeak returned to his voice. "To get her old job back or to…" Carl's voice lost the last of it's potency and the next words came out barely stronger than a whisper. "Or to defeat you in magical combat. Sir."

There was a pregnant pause.

Schwartz howled in laughter. He doubled over and slapped his knees. "That's a good one!"

Carl laughed too, wondering how far he could get if he ran. All the way outside, or only two steps? Will they even find my body?

Schwartz wiped tears from his eyes. "I haven't laughed that hard in years." He pointed to his right. "They're in my workshop. I want them gone tonight!"

Carl tromped what he figured would be his death march down the hall with the Butcher close behind, grumbling.

"They can't be removed! Can't be disintegrated! Not any amount of my magic can get rid of them!"

Inside, Carl could hear crashing, breaking, and strange quacking.

Carl leaned into the door, pushing it inward just a little. Inside, something moved. It was small, the size of—

A wooden bill jabbed at him though the opening, trying to bite his fingers. Lifeless eyes on the head burned with hatred. Stiff wings flapped furiously, holding the beast at the crack. Another joined it, then another, trying to get out, to get at them.

Carl slammed the door. "Duck decoys? How'd you get them?"

The Butcher frowned ominously. "I made them. They're for a duke who loves to hunt. These would move as real ducks. The Duke was going to trade me a recipe for the perfect mayonnaise."

Carl blinked. "Mayonnaise?"

The butcher clenched his fists. "I have the perfect meats. I have the perfect breads. I will have the perfect mayonnaise to go with them in the perfect sandwich, or someone will die. Soon. Maybe someone who won't remove the decoys."

Carl swallowed. "And you've been unable to remove them? Did you try fire?"

The Butcher snorted. "Ha! If it were only so easy! They have wards infused in them to protect them from the elements. Every scrap of wood in my house has them. All of it could withstand the strongest inferno worst rain, or even lightning."

Carl thought like mad. "Are you capable of transporting an object within those walls? Any object at all regardless of how far away it is?"

"Of course I can! Anything within five leagues!"

Carl put on his boldest face. "Then if you agree to return your housemaid to her position, we have an accord."

The Butcher's eyes narrowed to slits. "Fine."

Carl smiled what he hoped wasn't a nervous grimace. "Then if you would be so kind as to transport your front door inside that room, I can remove the ducks."

"The door?"

"Yes. Right now."

The Butcher stared at Carl, then shrugged. "You have my curiosity." He removed a small piece of shiny metal tightly wrapped with a wick, which he lit.

He threw it in the air and shouted, "Trawsgludo!" The metal flashed so brightly Carl had to look away for a moment. When he glanced back, the metal was gone.

"Well?"

Carl swallowed. "Wait for it."

The sudden commotion beyond the door surprised them both. Objects shattered and ducks wailed. It grew silent.

Carl smiled. "Just like they were insects."

"What? What did you do?" The Butcher moved toward the door.

"You don't want to go in there."

"I'll be the judge of what I want." The Butcher opened the door and stepped inside.

Carl slammed the door and threw the lock. Thankfully, the Butcher's screams were short.

Carl thought, "Well, she can't get her job back, but technically I beat him in magical combat, so the contract is fulfilled."

He smiled. "Wonder where he kept his spellbooks. He won't be needing them now…"

Charles peered cautiously out from the side tunnel in which he'd taken cover. The first thing he saw, naturally, was the dragon; even dead, it was an impressive beast. Around it lay the weapons and armour of a hundred unsuccessful knights, some so old that it crumbled to the touch - the true reason for the oft-repeated legend of a dragon's hoard.

And, on the floor, unmoving, lay the Albert the Mage. Albert Dragonbane now; even posthumously, the feat of slaying one of these great beasts gave one the coveted title.

Charles blinked. Had he imagined it, or - glancing nervously at the dragon again, Charles hurried across to Albert. The mage was still breathing! Still alive!

Carefully, Charles lifted the body of the mage he had followed for a bet. The lads will never believe this story! he thought, even as he checked the older man's pulse. Still there.

The healing magics had never been Charlie's strong point. What he could do, and very well indeed, was invisibility; which had kept him alive throughout Albert's titanic battle. And now, he realised, it was up to him to get the older mage out, to where someone able to heal him from his grievous wounds could do so. With care, he lifted Albert Dragonbane and slung him over his shoulders.

Now, which way is out?

Carefully, Charles carried Albert out along the path he'd come in by; but there were many junctions to navigate. It was only when he found the remains of a long-dead fire that he finally admitted that he was lost. Must have been left by one of those unlucky knights he considered. Though, he added as he spotted something lying on its side in the shadows, what sort of knight goes around accompanied by a little wooden duck?

And then he heard a terrible roar, a scream of heart-rending pain from inside the depths of the Earth. His first thought was Impossible! The dragon's already dead!

And then he realised - the dragon must have had a mate. The mate must have just returned to find the scene of carnage that Charlie had so recently left. No wonder it was angry.

Think, Charles, think. What do you know about dragons? He cast his mind back to his lectures at the School for Magery, and remembered Albert's lecture just last week…

"Dragons are extradimensional creatures, existing in a seven-dimensional universe that is a superset of our own three-dimensional one - not counting time, which we and dragons experience in the same manner. This gives dragons an impressive array of magical abilities. For one, while they cannot leave our normal three dimensions, they can reduce their overlap with it, effectively changing size. No-one know what the maximum size of a dragon is, but they can shrink themselves to the size of a human thumb quickly and easily. This is why dragons are normally fought in caves; the cave limits the maximum size of the dragon. The second ability that this gives a dragon is the ability to see around apparently solid objects. Never try to lose a dragon in a maze; it can see you, and it can go through far smaller tunnels that you can."

"Aside from this, dragons also possess an incredible variety of natural weaponry as well. They have massive claws and teeth, and are furthermore capable of releasing and igniting an impressive display of flammable gas - the 'fire breath' so beloved of roving storytellers. They also have an incredible sense of smell."

Fire breath. Claws. Teeth. It can see me, it's probably already coming. It can shrink to fit the tunnel. If I turn us invisible, it can come here and then follow us by scent. It doesn't need to see us to incinerate us.

We're dead.

Charlie put down the mage and ruffled through the older man's pockets, hoping to find something he could use to defeat an angry dragon. All that he found was a small flask of sulphur, a scroll entitled "Habits of the Greater Dragon", and a flask of water.

Think, Charles, think. What can you do with -

He spotted something on the cave roof, reached up, and snapped off a piece. Saltpetre… probably crystallised from bat droppings. I think I have an idea…

With that he cast invisibility on himself, on Albert, and on a hollow wooden duck…

When the dragon rounded the corner ten minutes later, it was approximately the size of an eagle. It slowed to a stop on the cave floor, and began to snuffle along the ground like a bloodhound. In moments, it had picked up the scent and was hurrying along the cave… when it heard a sudden clatter from the cave wall next to it. With a twist of its head, it faced the sound and released a barrage of fire that could cook a knight in his armour…

What it hit was an invisible, hollow wooden duck, filled with a mix of sulphur, saltpetre and charcoal from the fire. A mix whose explosive properties Charles had found quite accidentally three weeks previously in his alchemy class (it turned out there was a reason for the "no open flames" rule). The explosion did no more than stun the dragon momentarily… but the rockfall which it triggered buried the dragon under several tonnes of rock.

Several metres away, Charles dismissed his invisibility spell. The ceiling fall had been unexpected, but lucky; he'd been counting on the explosion alone to kill the dragon.

"Charlie?" Charles jumped and turned around; behind him, Albert had woken up. "I knew that was you, boy! Whenever something goes wrong you're never far. Aren't you still supposed to be confined to campus after that explosion incident?"

"Um… er…" began Charlie, but before he'd gotten any further he noticed that the old man had slipped into unconsciousness again.

He sighed, and picked up Albert once more. Now I've just got to find my way out of these caves…

How fearful this prophesied night, laced in shadows pierced with slivers of burnt orange, ripping into the darkness like a dragon's fiery claw. The ground begins to shake as thunderous hooves fast approach the township of Velderon; its people huddled together, gauging the approach of their doom by the graduation of sound, the momentary countdown to a charred oblivion.

Awaiting at the edge of town was a lone figure, a former wizard known only as Xandulun.

It was known throughout the village township that he was once a lowly apprentice to the dark and aged Council of Wizards, until such a time he left the pursuit of the Black Arts and devoted himself entirely to the study of "White Magic" which held for him the enticement of knowledge to the secret powers which lay behind the veil of our human existence. Black magic, the Wizard Council's sorcery of choice, worked only through the collaboration betwixt the grey wizard's and their demon counterparts. The wizards, under the authority of the dark principalities removed Xandulun from their council, casting him out from their order. It could be said, that the gift of foresight could not be numbered amongst the sovereignty of the wizards, for they would not have extricated Xandulun from their midst, if they only knew of the holocaustic inferno that would soon engulf them.

Xandulun was often praised as a good man by the townspeople of Velderon, due to his great empathy and kindness, which he would often manifest toward them. His life was lived in stark contrast to the wizard's insatiable desire for power, who used the dark forces to enslave the good people of the village kingdom.

And now as it was prophesied for thousands of years, the dragons were emerging from their caverns beneath the earth's core, where they had dwelled since the new days of earth's first beginnings. And through their reemergence, it needs be they must scorch the earth to acclimate its outer shell to the volcanic environment they have lived in for many millennia in order to make the planet's surface a livable environment. The abyss from which the Dragonhorde flooded the skies was only miles from the village, which now lay directly in their path.

The sweltering heat from the dragon's breath was felt by the townspeople of Velderon still miles away. The grey and aged Council of Wizards had prepared to challenge the Dragonhorde at the Silesia River and defeat them through the amalgamation of their combined powers as they had envisaged this moment since the founding of their powerful order thousands of years past.

The wizards were shielded from the intense heat that was searing forth from the dragon's mouths through spells empowered by the demons they served. Moments hastened quickly until finally the Dragonhorde were upon them, incinerating the rocks, trees, grass and evaporating the river, including a tiny wooden duck decoy that was floating by at the time.

With great haste, the wizards implored the authority of their mystical powers, calling upon the demons beneath the earth and the dark principalities of the air to empower their spell and cast the dragons back into the bowels of the earth, sealing the entrance forever.

Unbeknownst to the wizards and their demon counterparts, the dragons were immune to magic. The wizards and their demons were horrified, but only for an instant, before being devoured by the dragon's incinerating fire. The approaching speed of the dragons was not impeded as they moved with seemingly unstoppable force toward the village of Velderon.

Xandulun saw the inferno approaching and with great speed girded himself about with the spiritual knowledge of time fragmentation. He had learned of this spell while peering into a black mirror and communicating with spirits of other planes who taught him of this craft which was yet untried. It was his intent to use this craft to pull the Dragonhorde out of time and send them back to the formation of the earth, when the planet was new and it's surface a sea of molten rock.

With velocity the speed of lightning the Dragonhorde swooped downward from the sky, screeching with an ear piercing sound that vibrated the bones and held their victims motionless with fear. Xandulun was unprepared for their descent and let out a mantra cry he often used during meditation and communing with spirits of the outer plane.

Instinctively he held up his hands and cried out in a loud voice, "Exme, Tridulun, Ex-sa-me, Ian Soondulun, Viva-ce, Ekcre, Xunvundelay."

Xandulun may have unknowingly opened a connection to spirits of other times and planes, which added the needed power to the spell. The motion of the Dragonhorde began to slow as they were pulled out of time. Xandulun fervently fought to remember the rest of the spell in order to cast them into the time of earth's beginning, but he could not. The dragon on point, still moving at an infinitesimal rate of speed continued the cessation of movement, finally slowing to an abrupt halt, while still perched in midair, inches from Xandulun's face.

The Dragonhorde were now living monuments, encased in time, translucent in their physicality, so that the townsfolk could easily walk through the image of their once corporeal form. The dragons were now frozen between two ages, unable to move, imprisoned for time without end.

Xandulun was unable to complete the spell and thereby powerless to fling the Dragonhorde backward in time to earth's age of fire. Yet it seemed better this way, for the townspeople of Velderon were hopeful now. The terror had passed and the people had a symbol this day that epitomizes the following most somber truth; that any righteous and brave soul, may if they will, deliver others in distress, by conquering first their own fears, which is by all means…the enemies of us all.

The flashing red and blue crawled on the shop windows like maggots on a carcass.

"Are you sure you don't want one of these?"

Officer Cassie LaPorte stared down at the hand of her new partner, a grizzled map, lined and weathered with hard edges and rough energy. He offered her the butt-end of a Glock 9 mm, shiny and black like a piece of hard candy.

"I can't carry, I'm sensitive… thaumaphasia." The word settled in her throat like an apology, and that angered her.

He grunted and re-swaddled the spare in the small of his back. "Suit yourself. My last partner carried; just couldn't hit a horse in the ass with the tail between his teeth."

Cassie stiffened. Obviously Roholt had little emotional attachment to his partners, at least the spell-casting ones. That was fine. Cassie faced the glare of a jaundiced eye before; she was young, she was a woman, and she was a witch. Now she was a cop, so it was unanimous, she was hated in all quarters. But appearances to the contrary, she was as steeled as a bag of six penny nails.

Roholt tipped his own gun twice toward the alley like a top hat, then marched off.

Cassie walked up to the front door of the shop and paused, her hand on the old cold blackened brass of the handle. The cold was electric and heightened her senses. She mentally ticked off her spells, then opened the door. An old fashioned bell jingled and she cringed, but all else was quiet, dust-covered, and death-like.

The shop was called Hex, Tome, Knack and Other Bric-a-brac. The interior was narrow, the outer walls lined with dust-smothered tomes. A narrow aisle ran straight to the back between glassed-in cases, tables, and displays of antiquarian fodder. The lights were out and everything was crouched in shadow. Cassie felt like a decoy. She listened. A distant crackle, like the forgotten too-familiar chirp of a cricket in the corner caught her attention. It came from the back room. She murmured some words of warding and moved forward.

The door to the storage room was ajar, and a faint glow outlined its angles. Cassie could hear a muffled voice speaking in the repetitive chant of incantation.

Slowly she pushed the door and looked inside. The store room was larger than she anticipated and littered with crates and more cases and shelves. But in the middle of the room, poised above an old man on the floor, was a man dressed in robes and a cowl and clutching an antique statuette. Cassie realized it was just some punk, a gang member. Only hoodlums wore wizard hoods: that's how they got their name. But this wasn't some wannabe, he was speaking real sorcery.

Training kicked in. She began to speak a spell of disruption. In a moment the punk would be babbling on the floor under her power.

And then the thug cracked the old man across the brow with the statuette and ended his spell with a shrill exclamation. A void opened in the air behind his head and a hideous thing appeared. It floated and was larger than the man. It was a ball of red tentacles, sticky and constantly writhing, like a pail full of worms. And from moment to moment underneath the tentacles mouths filled with needle-like teeth and eyes of odd disproportionate sizes would appear and then disappear again, as if a hundred disassembled faces were palpitating behind a curtain.

Cassie's spell was lost. She had been surprised by the horror in the room and now she was panicking. This was way over her head. She knew the smart thing to do was to pull out and call for backup.

Then she heard Roholt bark from the other side of the room.

"Police! On the floor. Now!"

The punk turned at the sound and pointed with the statuette. The thing sailed across the room. Roholt fired, then screamed. Frozen, Cassie stared as the thing cracked Roholt's ribs like a cage of brittle lath. Roholt's head had lolled to the side, his eyes fluttered, and his tongue hung out dripping saliva. The worm-like tentacles both suspended his body in mid-air and worked methodically to pluck his organs out, like a child pulling apart a clockwork toy. Chunk-by-chunk it fed bits of the police officer's intestines, liver, kidneys, lungs to the ravenous mouths that surfaced in the mass of tentacles like hungry piranhas each tentacle pausing only long enough for the odd eye to examine briefly each morsel.

The speed of the death buffeted Cassie. Nausea punched her in the gut; a cold sweat slapped her in the face. She wanted to run. She wished she'd taken the gun. It wouldn't have misfired like she had.

Then she noticed how the hoodlum's motions telegraphed the motions of the beast, like a puppeteer's fingers weaving in the air. The implication hit her with another wave of sickness. This hideous thing was just a giant meat puppet. The punk was actually directing its every move. This wannabe piece of shit had murdered her partner; the thing was just his weapon of choice. And then she saw the chance to save herself.

She glanced from side to side looking for something heavy to use as a weapon. She reached out and snatched at a dusty wooden duck from a box of junk on a shelf. Charging, she threw herself with all her might into the room and swinging the decoy, she cracked the thug across the head just as he was turning… surprised. Her body rammed into his, but he collapsed to the floor like a bag of bones completely unconscious.

Cassie looked up ready to face the writhing death with everything she had, but all she saw was a shrinking ripple in the air like a cooling current of convection.

And with that Cassie knew that she would carry Roholt's death with her every day from then on.

Justin sat at his cluttered desk, watching the servant who was building up the fire in his tower chamber. "Jen, you could do that so much easier if you'd let me teach you a few things."

"No sir, and you know the cook would have my head if she thought I was using cantrips in the kitchen," the girl replied pertly. She rose to dust his shelves, handling odd knickknacks carefully.

"But it's so easy." He wheedled, stepping up to catch her around the waist. She giggled, holding the wooden duck decoy, and turned to steal a kiss. "It's all in the wrist – see?" With a show of drama, he flicked his fingers at the half melted candles on the mantle, then frowned. "Let me show you that one again." Irritation turned into badly hidden panic as none of his hand waving created a single spark. He strode to the fireplace. "This is just wrong! You haven't been… oh, no." Justin staggered back to his chair, holding a small, crudely made doll.

"What is it, sir?" Jen peered at the queer thing curiously. "Is that was went wrong?"

"It's a poppet. Someone's cursed me with a poppet, and crippled my magic, dammit!" His voice rose to a howl. He slammed it onto the desk.

Jen backed nervously towards the door. "I'll finish cleaning later, should I?"

He waved a hand at her absently, staring at the doll. She grabbed her rags and bucket. "Wait. Jen, please."

She paused by the door and looked at him nervously. "I'm sorry," he said, "but this is a disaster. I don't know who would have done this."

A loud knock at the door startled them both. "The king wants to see you. Sir." The sneering courtier sniffed and walked out without waiting.

Justin sighed and swept the poppet into a cluttered drawer. "I think I may be about to find out, however."

He hurried, as the king's temper was always chancy. "Wizard Justin, we have a task for you." The king gestured grandly at the cowled stranger by his throne. "We have a challenger, one who thinks he can demand our throne from us. We know, of course, that you are more than equal to any challenge. As your king's champion, are you prepared to put this man in his place?"

Justin bowed and declared, "I am at your majesty's disposal. Would this stranger care to show his face before honest men?"

The tall figure swept the cowl back, smirking. "If I thought there might be any such here, Wizard Justin," he said with a wealth of sarcasm, "I would not have bothered to come. I do challenge you to a wizard's duel."

"I accept. We shall meet in one hour in the courtyard. I am sure his majesty can find you someone to stand as your second – unless you have any friends who might do you the service?" Justin made a show of looking around the room. "I thought not. One hour, then." Justin bowed deeply to the king, turned on his heel, and walked out.

He fled back to his tower room. "Jen, Jen! You've got to help me!" He burst through the door. The girl jumped back, alarmed. "You're the only person in this pile of stones with even a spark of magic, and I'm about to go into a wizard's duel at the king's command. I need you for my second, please!" He grabbed her arm and looked at her pleadingly.

"Your second, sir?" She looked bewildered. "Don't you need another wizard for that? That's what my mum's stories say."

"Not necessarily, but it does help. You could be a wizard, Jen." He grinned broadly. "In fact, would you like to be? Wouldn't you rather be my apprentice than scrub floors?" He kicked her bucket. "Help me and the king would be willing to grant us much more than that!" His face fell. "I'm not sure we can win, though. The only magic the curse leaves me are illusions, and those are hard to pull off against someone who expects them."

"Sir?" Jen said hesitantly. "What kind of illusions? Like, fire and bugs and things the way it is in the stories?" He nodded, distracted. "I may have an idea."

The courtyard was empty when the king's champions walked in, though many couriers peeked out of windows. Wizards' duels were never a safe spectator sport. The challenger stood arrogantly by the entrance, leaning on a carved staff.

"I was about to give up on you, Wizard Justin. I expected no better from the champion… here." He waved his hand, encompassing everything in sight, including the terrified priest pressed against the wall behind him.

"I'm not surprised you were about to give up, stranger. I expect no better from you." Justin sneered, bolstering his bravado. He strode to the center of the yard. Jen trailed behind, staying out of his way. "Let's settle this before you give up altogether." He struck a theatrical pose, swinging his staff up to guard.

The challenger laughed, and lunged at him. The next few minutes were a blur of light and shadow as the two sparred, but Justin fell steadily back. The stranger scowled. "You make this too easy, whelp. I am tired of it." Lightning crackled from his hands, but Justin leaped back and escaped.

As the stranger stalked towards him, Justin yelled "NOW!" and Jen threw the firepot she'd hidden in her skirts. Instantaneously, Justin threw an illusion of the fiercest fire he could conjure as the oil soaked ground under the challenger's feet burst into flames.

The man hardly had time to shriek before he had become a living pillar of flame, and the pair ran for safety as the priest prudently fled.

Jubilant, Justin swept Jen off her feet. "Already my apprentice has defeated a master wizard – no one can disbelieve that they're burning up when their feet are on fire!"

"OK girl, how'd I get myself into this mess? I was working a computer potion to make myself stronger, more agile in order to prove myself. I don't want to fail." And, Using The System was forbidden.

"I never listen. I really screwed up BIG THIS TIME."

NOVA calls for assistance; all she hears is, "meow."

"Am I in another dimension? It looks the same to me. BUT… I'm…tiny. I have… 4 feet and… THEY'RE ALL FURRY. Where's a mirror damn it? Oh MY, I'm supposed to be a tall red-headed woman/witch not a chocolate brown tabby. No-no-no . I'm asleep and this is a bad dream."

"Salmon, I smell salmon, yummy."

"Prurr?"

"What's all this? I live in a house with some crazy humans?"

"Listen," I say. "I'm not a cat! I'm a witch. Look, I screwed up and I'm in your cat's body. God knows what your cat is doing in mine. See, I'll pull my fur out. What normal cat does that?"

"I'll wake you up every morning at the same time, even with your idiotic time changes. What cat knows that? "Your computer, I'll hit the delete key on you. That I can do. PLEEEEZE listen to me. You've got to help me get back to my world. I don't belong here, pleeeeze. I don't want to die here."

All that comes out is a screechy MEEEEEEEEOW.

"This is not good."

"MY" human, a model maker and wood carver looks at me with a questioning face. "Nova, what's wrong with you? Why are you pulling your fur out? You're a beautiful tabby."

"Hey wife, why it is the most beautiful women are the nuttiest? Answer me that. You're incredibly beautiful and I think you're nuts"

"She's a girl and so am I. Get used to it", comes a reply with a laugh.

He mumbles something about having this crazy cat that keeps playing with his computer, pulling her fur and waking him up at 1 AM and 5:30 AM every morning.

"Get this; she wants me to follow her to the computer! Wacko beast."

"I no wacko. I'm a witch and I want back home NOW. Boohoo."

"MEOOOOOOOW."

"He's designing some sort of decoy for his computer controlled manufacturing work. I heard him mention that a hunting club liked his one-off decoy of a Mallard. He's making a bunch of duck decoys for them.

Maybe, just maybe, if he leaves the computer on I can either work a spell, or if I must, leave him a message? The second idea is dangerous. Only select humans are to ever know of our existence. The first has never been allowed. The nature of the computer is such that the emphasis needed in the voice incantations is not possible. He doesn't have voice activation. All I can do is meow, growl and purr. Sort of like life only less so."

The head wizard said no computers until we can make it "understand" what is said, what is IMPLIED, and is safe. Yes, we are still in the "stone ages."

"Give the humans time and we'll be able to use their tools in way they never imagined. But Now, NO, and I mean it, NO Computer spell casting." He pointed his wand especially at our table. We were the class screw ups. We all knew it. Remembering, I had to giggle.

"Purr!"

I think about the fact the human knows my name. Co-inkiy-Dinks?

It's late. "Let's see, spell casting words, push ENTER. Careful your paws are big, you goof." The lights blink and the computer reboots.

"Run, hide."

"He's still asleep. That was close. Ok, let's just play with His system. Let me carve my name on his stupid duck decoys."

"Pretty bird"

"Yummy"

" What?

"When I get on the computer maybe I can figure out what to do. I'll have to try a basic spell: move a pen. I need to see how this is going to work if at all. I sat on his desk while he worked. I have a good idea now. We have WYZARD's Operating Systems in our world. This is a piece of mouse. Of mouse? I meant cake."

"OK tomorrow when he runs the first prototype my name should be on the bottom of the duck decoys. I hope it works. I'm tired and need to stretch. He's warm, let me curl up beside him. It's 3 AM. I bust his chops in a few hours. HA!"

"Purr!"

I'm in the kitchen eating and I hear: "Hey wife I must have been tired, I put NOVA's name is on the bottom of the duck decoys. I think I'll leave it".

"Ok that works. Now go out go to your coffee shop while she goes to her job. Good, go. Now I'm free to work this."

"Ok let's try the pencil move again."

ENTER

"It moves!"

"Ok, now a book off the shelf. Damn the whole shelf fell down. I have to figure out how to fix this mess. What was the room cleaning spell?"

"He's home, hide! I'm going to be stuck here and die a CAT. Why me? Boohoo."

A yowl is all that escapes my fanged mouth.

"NOVA, You damned cat. What's got into you?"

That evening NOVA sneaks into the computer room again.

"OK I have to do this. No usual screw ups. Remember THE spells. I spent all day alone repeating them to myself. I will paw them in; add the new side bar notes and all the while thinking the spell at the same time, WITH FEELING."

ENTER

"NOVA?"

"NOVA!!!!!!"

"You did it. We figured you'd be the ONLY one to do it especially after we explicitly said not to.

"OR, as usual, you'd be stuck where ever you put yourself," said WYZARD, "Probably for ever"

"Sorry, but your clothes are in tatters. The cat never got used to your body."

"What's with that duck thing?"

The dead wooden eyes of the mahogany mallard seemed to track her as it floated slowly down the meandering river. Dorothea shook her head. The water was calm and gentle here, but just beyond this small, sweet oxbow of the waterway, sharp rocks formed violent rapids. Some poor huntsman just lost his favorite duck decoy, she thought.

"Isn't duck a gamy bird?" asked the old knight as his steel garb squeaked up to her. His huge battleaxe clanked against his back. The old Paladin wore an all-encompassing suit of armor. Small reddish-brown spots of rust marred many of its creaky joints. "I suppose," she replied.

"Grrr Arrraghh," came the roar from the lion-man upon the forgotten path they trekked through the woods. Its mangled mane hung in dreadlocks. It bounded upon four legs until it came to her, then it stood, shakily, upon just two. It opened a fanged mouth to speak. "I sniffed out the trail."

If she could have mastered the four winds, she would have whisked herself home. She was just a simple magic user, the castle's potion concocter, student alchemist at times, and midwife when required. (She knew the herbs that stilled the mother's pain of childbirth without injuring the one to be born.) Prince Brodigan had offered his knights and wizards for their task, but Sir Caspian said he had his own fellowship. Some group – four strangers lost in this enchanted forest. A dark, cold and unpleasant place. Or no longer lost as the lion-man had sussed the way.

"Then we should go," said the fourth member of their fellowship, a clerk of the chancery. He wore a blue suit with golden buttons and even golder epaulets. A dark Inverness cloak hung down his back.

Dorothea slipped her maroon hood over her blonde hair, and wrapped her cape about her shoulders. We left no breadcrumbs, she thought as they moved.

Four heavily muscled gorillas led them into the witch's chamber. The beasts' wide leathery wings flapped reflexively as they pushed the company to their knees. They had been captured outside the witch's tower. The witch stood before them. A handsome woman, Dorothea thought, but something seemed just left of center about her. The woman wore a flowing black dress. The loose clothing failed to hide the womanly curves beneath.

"I have followed your journey through my eyes of the forest." The witch rubbed a wooden statue of a ruddy falcon. Dorothea recalled other statues they had seen in the forest: not just the duck, but the 'make believe' squirrel, complete with acorn, that the lion-man had pointed out to her.

The clerk stood up. "We require a love potion."

"I have nine. What do you offer in recompense?" the witch asked. Her skin was pale, so pale, so nonhuman; it had an olive complexion.

"Forty pieces of Elven silver," replied the clerk. "Rare in this hinterland."

"I've seen silver before. And greater treasures!" the witch snarled. "But that may do, nonetheless." She took a vial from a pocket within her long gown.

Dorothea took the flask and threw its contents upon the witch. "You will love Sir Caspian and wish him no harm!" she commanded with all of her magical power, force and will. The witch cackled back at her.

"But I do love him, my sweets, and I do wish him harm. I have loved since we went upon our own quest in a desert land far away to defeat the Old Wizard Under the Mountain. We fell in love as we trekked and fought our way through. He said his heart was mine. Forever. And today he takes that trollop for a trophy bride?"

Dorothea felt her lips shift into a frown. Not only had the charm failed, but she tried to imagine her lord with this creature before her. What times or perils had thrown them together? What monsters and trials had allowed love to bloom? Though it seemed not to have flowered…

"Clarissa is a princess," replied the clerk. He spoke the truth; the girl was Brodigan's daughter, and the King's niece.

"A genetic misconception. Her father's lust for a serving wench, no doubt."

"She is a princess!" replied the clerk. The witch raised her clawed talons. Dorothea stepped forward.

"I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dogs too." Dorothea felt the cone of force form, the magical call to the four daughters of Aeolus.

"Aire! Slán agat orm," Dorothea whispered, infusing her fear and hope with the ancient words. Her quickly spun counter-spell shunted the effects away from her. Barely. Her companions had been blown across the room, and into the back, brick wall. How could she combat such magic and power?

"I confess to you our plan failed." Dorothea paused, glancing at the clerk. "Failed miserably. We hoped to make you love our lord, and wish him well. I see you don't. And that you do. We believed your magics would work, would suffice. For love should not be about harm. Or jealousy. Or hate. Can you say true love cannot do what your charms can do?"

"Yes, my lovely, I can; however I may not. Tell me my dear, have you loved?"

"Yes."

"Not one of these?" the witch asked disdainfully.

"No. A squire, nearly a knight. He is on the Crusade."

"Oh, the Crusade. Most impressive. What if some Saracen seraglio girl or Jewess finds his eye? Is more comely? Has his true love?"

"Then, " Dorothea started, closing her eyes, forcing away briny tears, "his love was not true. I will…" She gasped for a breath. "Will wish him well. Happiness at least."

"Your words fail to convince; however I can see the conviction behind the syllables."

"Give dear Caspian this for a wedding present." She handed her a wooden duck, much like – if not the same – as the decoy she saw on the trail. "Have him keep it in his hunting den, not the master bedroom.

"Now Go!"