Heart and Soul

Stood there outside of Styx I began to grow increasingly uncomfortable. People were staring, their curious gazes digging into my skin. Dropping my head slightly, allowing a curtain of hair to disguise my face I took a quick glance around. To my left I could follow the cobble stone road up the hill into the darkness where at the top a glowing red light promised danger, to my right I could see a court yard where three roads met. It was there that the crowd had gathered, the edges of market stalls visible only just.

Deciding to find safety in numbers I headed down the street. As I walked I noted the number of shops, although all set into houses like Styx, with the silhouettes of chimneys poking from the top, each shop seemed to extend quite far back.

A few looked closed, though from the flicker of movement in the windows, I knew there were people in there. Slowing as I passed a pet shop I couldn’t see any dogs or kittens like you might expect, instead there were snakes, rodents and insects and even some unfamiliar birds sat in giant metal cages towards the back. Each of their beady eyes followed me as I passed, a tingle creeping down my spine.

Head down, I continued on ahead until I reached the out skirts of the crowd. By now I could hear the market folk chanting their deals. “2 for a wish or 10 for a dream, get ‘em while they’re cheap,” one man shouted as the crowds jostled around him.

Here, surrounded by people I felt more anonymous, only those that passed directly near me, stared. I noted their clothes, paired with the house style and cobbled streets you could have told me that I was in 18th Century London and I’d have believed you,, the harsh stench in the air didn’t help with that either.

Someone walked past me, knocking into my shoulder. Stumbling, I ended up next to a short man in a red coat. Arms full of newspapers he eyed me closely for a moment before jumping into his sales pitch, “Nightly News Ma’am? Just for you a special price. One strand of hair is all it will cost you! Ma’am? Nightly News?” He insisted as I walked past him. Having been used to people like this up in the normal world, I looked away and ignored him.

A flick of his wrist left me frozen, heart still beating and eyes darting wildly from side to side, but my limbs were stiff. “Hmm.” In surprise he took two steps forward until he was in front of me. “That doesn’t usually work. You don’t have any magic.” He accused, before once again flicking his wrist and releasing me from his hold, “should you be down here?” He asked in genuine confusion and curiosity.

I hesitantly stepped back away from him, eyeing him closely as I went to walk away. Distracted by a potential customer he went back to selling his paper. I went to walk away but something stopped me. I listened to the man talk for a moment and wondered how often he was here, how well he knew this part of town and if he could maybe help me.

Turning I waited until he had finished berating a passer-by before tapping him on his shoulder to gain his attention. Turning his head, his slicked back, dark as night hair shimmered in the fake light above. For a second my brain couldn’t work out what was wrong, before I realised that the man with the shimmering skin in front of me had his head turned to face me, but his body in the opposite direction. Momentarily catching my breath I held out a shaky hand, a strand of hair captured between two fingers.

Turning his body to meet his face he accepted the hair and handed me a newspaper with a nod. I folded it and tucked it under my arm, “I’m sorry to be annoying, but, could you help me? I need to know where I should go? I don’t know where to go here, do you know? I need-“

“A drink.” He informed me with a meaningful look, as strangers pushed past me. My head snapped towards them as I peered up at them from the corner of my eye, “try the Willow, it’s two streets over.” He insisted, capturing my attention, “tell Madon that Zimba sent you. She’ll set you up with what you need.”

I nodded, listening intently, trying to remember everything he said, “thank you!” I mouthed as a customer walked up to him. He nodded his head and I turned to walk away. I’d only taken a step when the back of my head stung, I turned, holding a hand to my scalp.

Zimba stood with two strands of hair hanging from his fingers, “for my trouble.” He assured me, before stuffing them into his pocket and beginning his sales pitch.

Rubbing my scalp I turned away with a scowl on my face and edged around the crowd. Heading down the streets Zimba had pointed to, I could finally see the Willow.

Lit up ahead of me, it’s sign hung from a metal pole above the aged wooden door. The sign, a picture of a willow tree, once again swung in the non-existent wind. As I stared at the picture, I could have sworn it was moving.

Reaching the door I could already here the clinking of glasses and jolly voices leaking from the old, wooden framed windows. Taking in a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever crowd lay on the inside, I shouldered open the door and walked in.

The pub had a low ceiling, supported by the occasional dark wooden beam. The room was empty and the noise now gone, replaced with the slow and steady dripping coming from behind the bar. To my right was the only patron, an elderly man with a ginger tuft of hair on his otherwise empty head. He hugged a small bag close to his chest as his beer glass raised to his chapped lips and back to the table without any help.

He didn’t make eye contact, he simply stared at the candle in front of him, captured by a flicker of movement I looked to the bar. She hadn’t been there before, her piercing blue eyes watching me with a calculating ferociousness.

Her dirty blonde hair had been swept up into a pile on her head, and her face although youthful showed signs of age. I walked towards the bar, her gaze never wavering, “Hi Madon,” I began, but before I could blink she was leaning over the bar, her face inches from mine. A knife I hadn’t noticed her carrying was buried an inch deep in the wooden top of the bar.

“How do you know my name soul-stealer. Your kind isn’t welcome here.” I blinked and stumbled backwards, steadying myself on a bar stool.

I gulped and eyed up the knife, well aware that although further back I was still in ‘stabbing range’. “Zimba sent me. He told me to tell you that he’d sent me. He said you’d help me.” I rushed, finishing on a plea.

She rocked back on her heels, pulling the knife from the bar and sliding it back into the sheath on her thigh in record time. She dropped her long multi-coloured skirt back to the ground and turned away, her face still visible in the mirrored wall in front of her.

She reached up and grabbed a glass from the shelf above the bar and then began filling it up from the tap. Slamming the glass down on the bar, it’s content sloshing over the side of the glass, she took a step back and leaned one arm on the beer pump as she dried her hands on a cloth.

“That’s all you’ll get from me, soul-stealer. A drink and that’s it. I can’t believe Zimba sent you to me, he should know better than that by now.” She seethed through gritted teeth as she threw the cloth down under the bar.

Visibly nervous, I picked up the glass and took a sip, pulling a face at the fermented flavour. “You’re lucky I haven’t hung you from your soulless neck by now, you drink up and you get out.” She instructed, before turning and going to walk away.

“I’m not a soul-stealer like you keep saying. I’m human. Well, a witch, technically. I had my soul stolen last night by one of those soul vampires. I’m here to get it back, I’m going to-“

She laughed long and loud and came stomping back towards me I could see in her eyes that she was contemplating how long it would take to get her knife out again, “Well that’s a new one. Please, I know your kind better than that, living up in that big house surrounded by evil, working for that-that monster.” She spat. “At least know your facts, if you’d just had your soul taken, you’d be unconscious or dead by now. Now you’re testing my last nerve. Drink up. Then get out.”

“Please, I’m telling the truth, I’m just trying to find somewhere safe to track the creature that stole my soul. It did happen last night and I don’t know why I’m alive still, but I am, please help me.” I pleaded as I unzipped my bag and pulled out the book with dusty pages and my candle.

As I did so, the man from the corner had stood up and walked across the room, leaving the glass on the bar. Dropping three very pointy teeth onto the bar he nodded to Madon, “Night Darcy.” Distracted for a moment she nodded and forced a smile, raising her hand slightly. The old man shuffled towards the door, but paused half way, he half turned before he spoke, “If it helps Darcy, she’s telling the truth.” With that he turned back around and shuffled out of the door.

Staring after him I focused back on Madon or Darcy, as he’d just called her. Her piercing blue eyes were watching me this time, a slight frown creasing her brow. Her mouth twitched as through she was thinking. “Zimba sent you, you say?” She asked again, her voice untrusting.

I nodded, wordlessly, eager not to annoy her again.

“If you are a witch,…..?” She paused tilting her head slightly.

“Annika.” I interrupted.

“Annika,” she acknowledged, “…like you claim. Then you’d know that you can’t perform a tracking spell without magic and without your soul, you have no magic.” She challenged as she stood in front of me and leaned both arms onto the bar.

“Wrong,” I stammered, my voice a ghost of its usual strength, “You can. If it requires ingredients and words, no magic is needed, just practise.” It was silent for a second, I held my breath.

“Correct.” She said with the slightest hint of a smile. I released a long breath and watched as she dropped a set of keys onto the bar. “Room number three, go through that door, up the stairs and it’s second on the right. Sleep the night, I’ll help you with the spell in the morning. I know what it’s like to lose something like a soul, it can take its toll.” She said with conviction, a hint of pity in her eyes.

Gladly I grabbed the keys, “thank you.” I mumbled. Finally, someone selfless. Holding in unshed tears, the stress of the day suddenly taking its toll, I turned towards the door she’d pointed at. “Night then.”

“Goodnight Annika.” Madon wished as she smiled at me for the first time. A kind smile, I thought to myself.

Pushing through the door I headed up the dimly lit stairs and gratefully made my way to my room. Fumbling with the keys I unlocked the door and walked in. I didn’t take note of the room, simply slung my bag down besides the bed and then fell face forward onto the welcoming mattress and was asleep in seconds.