The tiny wooden cottage looked about as homely as a witch’s atelier ought to, Joe thought warily, which wasn’t saying much. It wasn’t like she was an authority on the matters of how and where witches should live, even the ones that could almost pass for normal human beings. Still, the long, long night had knocked some sense into the girl, so she kept her guard up and her hopes down.

That combination almost never hurt, y’know?

The cottage was nestled deep in the woods smack in the center of Sandora, right beneath a majestic maple tree. It towered over the cottage like an old guardian, branches spread over the thatched roof protectively. There was a pretty little garden lying in front of the entrance, obviously tended to with love and care over the years. Joe could spot a few vegetables growing over the side, along with some strangely colorful fruits that she couldn’t recognize at all.

All in all, the witch’s self proclaimed ‘atelier’ painted a very pretty little scene in the middle of the forest. One could almost pass it off as one of those impossibly beautiful places printed behind the pictures postcards.

Nero ducked his head and stepped into the cottage with an ease that left Joe gaping. Throughout their batshit crazy little trip, the girl had some inkling that her bodyguard and the infamous Witch of the West weren’t exactly strangers to each other. Which meant Nero had been lying to her back in the Winsten manor. Which in turn meant that the guy had some ulterior motive.

Which might also perhaps mean that, this time, Joe was entirely on her own in this mysterious game of ‘Who-knows-what-I-know’.

Or well, hadn’t she always been on her own ever since she landed in this weird world? Just when did she start blindly believing in the words of people around her? Just how did she end up being so comfortable depending on strangers left, right and center? Joe shook her head as she entered the cottage. A few more weeks of this touchy-feely stuff, and you’d think that Joanna Stuart had finally become one of them.

The girl remembered the strangely gullible, smiling face of Lucia. The measured amusement in Nathan’s eyes. The simmering anger in Ted’s movements. Mathilda’s calloused, yet gentle hands. Nero’s smooth lies. Nero’s awkward giggles. And the wide-eyed, palpable fear on the bandits’ faces when that giggling Nero had nonchalantly blasted away their innards right in front of her eyes.

Joe didn’t know what to believe in anymore.

“There isn’t much, but make yourself comfortable, I guess.” Sandy ushered her inside, and lightly gestured to the lone couch near the window. “You look like you’re ready to drop dead, girly.”

“Uh, thanks.” It was an old-fashioned couch, and Joe couldn’t for the life of her imagine how the woman had managed to get the thing inside her home through that narrow excuse of a door.

She plopped down ungracefully into the softness of the couch and sighed in sheer relief; never mind the technical details right now. Not ever grim reaper could drag her away from the couch anytime soon.

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A hard-boiled egg, two slices of coarse honey-bread and a cup of strange-smelling tea later, Joe finally felt less like a zombie and more like a proper human again. She had contemplated the situation for one solid minute, before throwing caution to the wind and shamelessly wolfing down the food without a second thought. Besides, if the Witch of the West wanted her trapped (Lady Joanna’s words, not hers), there were more creative ways than poisoning her food.

Nero himself ate silently beside her, eyes set straight ahead and never speaking a word. He had wordlessly handed her the satchel as soon as she’d entered the cottage, and then proceeded to pretend that she didn’t exist. Joe was this close to tearing her hair out of frustration; she never understood how he could act almost friendly one second and like a total stranger the next.

Whatever. Free food was free food, the girl thought. She had shoved all nagging things at the back of her mind, and concentrated on the breakfast laid out in front of her.

But now that her stomach was full and her exhausted body at ease, Joe finally felt the full brunt of the stare that the witch had been burning a hole at her back with. The girl straightened up and daintily dabbed her lips with a handkerchief, and then realized that the whole ‘high class lady’ act had long been rendered useless by her impressive eating manners. Or the lack thereof.

As if on cue, the villainess snickered in her head. Joe hastily shoved the cloth down and cleared her throat purposefully.

“I am grateful for the hospitality, madam witch –err, I mean, Sandy.” And with that, all the nervousness was back at full force. “Pardon my unannounced visit to your ‘atelier’ this early in the morning; I had something very important to discuss with you, madam.”

Sandy’s stare was unimpressed and mildly humiliating. “I can imagine that.”

“What I mean is –” Joe fumbled with her words— how do you even ask this stuff eloquently, dammit?!— before giving up entirely and blurting out, “What I wanted to know is, just how did you come to be called as the Witch of the West? When had it started? More so, why are they calling you a witch if you cannot even use magic?!”

Why is it that the people of this kingdom call you mad? – is what she really wanted to ask.

The witch hummed thoughfully. “Eh, anything else?”

Joe fidgeted nervously. “A-Also, I would like to get to know more about the thing you call ‘magic’. More specifically, the magic that is said to have been wielded by a man able to freely manipulate space and time.”

Sandy merely kept staring.

“Erm— I have tried to find any possible leads about the man from the royal library…” Joe hastily added. “There seem to be no written records, and on the top of that, he seemed to have existed centuries ago. I-It is just that I thought you might know something about the past, being a very famous witch and all.”

Now that she had laid her intentions out bare, they sounded so damn lame. The witch apparently thought the same thing, because the unimpressed stare was stuck to her face like a default expression. Her grey eyes bore into Joe with a lazy intensity, and without the barest shred of curiosity.

Joe felt her heart sink into the stomach.

“So let me get this straight, girly.” The old woman’s scratchy voice was now a lazy drawl. “You saunter in my cottage stupidly early in the morning in casual clothes and disheveled appearance, eat breakfast that I prepare, and start questioning me in my own home?”

The girl sputtered. “No, I mean— I am not trying to interrogate you or something like that!” Why did the woman have to phrase her request in such a menacing way?! And the breakfast! Joe wouldn’t act like she wasn’t grateful for the hospitality, but it was the witch who had laid it out for her in the first place!

“Then what is this?” The witch watched her with disinterest. “You had been asking me non-stop questions all the way to my cottage. Did you perhaps expect that you would be welcomed everywhere with open arms, just because you’re born a noble? Given whatever you asked for free?”

That was just small talk, dammit! Joe wanted to bang her head on the wooden table, only it would simply give her a bigger headache. Had she really come off as that ill-mannered and hostile?!

“I don’t expect anything of that sort from anybody, madam.” She answered with gritted teeth. So much for good manners. “I would only expect that you treat me without discrimination on account of my birth, if not for any other reason, then at least because I am, in fact, a guest in your home.”

There was a sly spark in the stormy grey eyes. “Oh? Then do tell me, miss guest. What gifts have you brought along for your gracious host?”

‘Gracious my ass.’ Was what Joe wanted to say, but now was not the time for caterwauling. She silently unclasped her satchel and fished out the gifts. In the hindsight, her carefully chosen tokens of gratitude seemed such a waste on this lady.

It couldn’t be helped, Joe thought. There was no way for her to know a witch’s tastes and distastes.

Sandy was eyeing the gifts with disinterest. Obviously, a witch dwelling in a flashy place like Sandora wouldn’t be too impressed with the likes of a fancy hairbrush, or a box of cookies (In Joe’s defence, the cookies were the best things she’d tasted since she had landed in Triciella). Her expression, however, shifted to that of a mild childlike curiosity when Joe pulled out the final item.

The bouquet of pixie rose was thankfully intact.

The old woman unceremoniously yanked the bouquet from Joe’s hands. The grey eyes widened in wonder as a myriad of emotions fluttered across her wrinkled face. It was quite evident that she was enamoured with the exotic flowers, Joe thought happily. It was probably a good idea to have Mr Rowell prepare a bouquet of these pixie roses. The girl made a mental note to personally pay him back for the favour.

But contrary to Joe’s belief, Sandy merely twirled the gift in her hand and set it down on the wooden table. Gently, so as not to accidentally crumple the delicate, sparkling petals. This time the witch turned her attention towards the innocent box of cookies.

“Very delectable.” Sandy popped one cookie into her mouth, and her expression morphed into one of pure bliss. Joe felt a rush of pride sweeping through her. Miranda’s cookies had actually got praised by the Witch of the West of all people!

“Tell me, girly. Did you bake this yourself?”

Joe couldn’t help the grin. “It was made by a maid who works in the Winsten Manor. They’re delicious, aren’t they? No one can make them as well as Miranda!”

The witch flashed a crooked smirk. In the hindsight, it should have sent alarm bells ringing in Joe’s mind, but alas, it didn’t.

“Ah, indeed.” The hairbrush was picked up next. It was a sleek little thing, with a beautiful dragon carved on wooden surface in the handle. Joe had ended up buying it on a whim from a trinket shop in her impromptu trip to Riseindell, but had never got around to use it.

Whatever made her think that it was a good idea to gift it to the Witch of the West? Riiiight, it was those shitty rumours.

Why, Joe could have just swiped a bottle of good wine or two from the cellar, and wrapped it up as a nice little gift! But then again, there had been another rumour floating around, that the witch of the west couldn’t handle alcohol at all (Lucia’s words, not hers). And Joe really didn’t want to be trapped in a witch’s house in the middle of a forest where the witch herself was three sheets to the wind.

So between the two rumours, at least the hairbrush was a safer bet.

“But why a hairbrush?!” The villainess whined.

‘Isn’t that the question of the hour?’ Joe thought wryly. The old woman, unaware of her inner musings, delicately turned the accessory around in her hands. A finger traced the dragon carved on the wood.

“Such a beautiful little thing.” The witch purred. “Tell me, did you make this yourself ?”

‘Do I look like someone who can make a hairbrush?’ Joe thought, puzzled. “Err no. I bought it from a trinket shop in Riseindell. I err— thought you might like it.”

Another mysterious smirk. And this time, Sandy picked up the bouquet of pixie roses. Her grey eyes practically sparkled as she spotted the wisps of fairy dust. A waft of heady fragrance filled the little cottage room.

“Such a rare, rare thing.” The hag’s voice was practically cooing, as if she was fussing over a cute grandchild nestled in her arms. “And smells so fresh as well! Ah I shall need this one in my cottage at all costs!”

But then her eyes returned to Joe’s face, narrowed with suspicion. “Tell me, did you grow this?”

Joe, for all her glorious idiocy, was beginning to sense a pattern here. “I—I didn’t. It was Mr Rowell, our gardener, who grew these flowers in the Winsten manor garden. ”

There a beat of silence.

“So let me see… ” Sandy ran a hand through her graying hair. “You gifted me some delicious cookies that someone else baked. And a beautifully crafted hairbrush that someone else made. And a bouquet of such rare pixie roses, that someone else has grown.”

There was an ominous glint in her eyes. “Isn’t that right, girly?”

Joe felt ice creeping up her veins.

That deceptively gentle voice was telling her exactly what the witch had thought of her ‘gifts’. Joe wanted to dig herself a hole in the ground and bury her head in embarrassment. This was no modern world. And she had realized too late, that her modern sensibilities won’t do jack diddly squat around here.

This wasn’t the way of life where you could just buy some fancy item from a gift shop or some inexpensive little trinket for your presents. Joe had failed to read between the lines. No, scratch that, she hadn’t been even aware of the fact that there was something between lines at all.

What the Witch of the West wanted wasn’t some thoughtful gift from a visitor. She demanded something that Joe had prepared herself.

“I will ask you again, girly.” The witch watching her as if she was a particularly unappealing scrap of paper stuck on the walls of the cottage. “What did you get me as a gift? I am not the kind to answer questions from strangers for free. Tell me, what is it that have you prepared for me in exchange for my services?”

Translation: I’m not interested in this stuff. Gimme something more entertaining.

The girl bit her lip in frustration. She should have fucking known that the meeting with the witch wouldn’t go as smoothly as she’d hoped. Of course not! But she had never imagined that it would escalate into new heights of nastiness. Everything was spiraling out of control. If she didn’t manage to sate the witch’s demands, the entire journey would end up being for naught.

Think, dammit! Joe grimaced and went over her options. She had absolutely nothing on her that she could call a proper gift. Not a penny that she’d earned either. Hell, who was she kidding, even her current clothes were borrowed from someone else!

Thinking back, she actually hadn’t done anything worthwhile in this whole trip at all. It was just constantly tripping over her feet and being a useless idiot in general. Except for taking down a few weak bandits. Maybe.

Hmm—?!

“The bandits!” Joe blurted out suddenly. Inspiration had struck her like a bolt from the blue. That was it! “I-I mean, the group of bandits that have been prowling near the Grimm Canyon! You did say that they were being a huge inconvenience lately, didn’t you? E-Exactly that! Well, you’ll be pleased to know that they’ve been taken care of now. Right down to the last one!”

Curiosity returned to steely grey eyes for a small heartbeat. Sandy finally lifted her face to look at Joe with mild interest. “Oh, what’s that about?”

Joe suddenly found it very difficult to speak. She cleared her throat, strangely wishing that Gracie was here. “Nero and I had encountered those bandits when we passed the canyon. Th-They ambushed us in the darkness of the night. And I— I admit that it was Nero who took care of the most of them. I would have probably, no definitely died without him. But it’s true that I fought against the bandits as well!”

“And I took care of a good number of them all by myself!”

How’s that for a service?! Joe thought gleefully. And then she immediately blanched at herself in disgust. Just how far had she fallen that she would use human lives for her personal gain?

Joe was vaguely aware of Nero’s heavy stare burning a hole in her back.

No. Now is not the time to act humble, the girl told herself fiercely. It was undeniable that she would be nothing but a dead meat against the bandits all alone. She fucking knew that she wouldn’t be standing here on her own two feet, if it weren’t for Nero. Hell, the guy would have probably finished with the brutes much earlier if she wasn’t busy being a distraction to him.

But now was not the time to dwell on it. If she needed the witch’s approval, Joe had to pitch in for herself. This was her last resort. Joe knew it with a certainty down to her bones, that she wouldn’t budge from this place until she got her answers today.

The old hag merely turned to Nero with an inquisitive look. Joe could sense the silent question in her expression. The bodyguard shrugged. “It’s true, Sandy. I was there when she took down a couple of them herself.”

There was a low whistle from the witch, which wasn’t very witchlike at all. Her sharp eyes had something else now, was it— approval? Joe didn’t dare hope. “How many did she kill?”

The younger girl balked. W-What did that matter here?!

“Eleven” Was Nero’s smooth reply, as if he was talking about the number of Christmas presents instead of dead bodies. “Quite a large amount for a girl of her stature.”

He counted?! Joe whipped her head around to gawk at her burly bodyguard incredulously. Nero had enough luxury in the battlefield to actually count how many people she’d killed? How the hell did his brain even work?!

Sandy tapped a finger on her chin. “Interesting. Looks like you’re in luck, girly.” She nailed Joe with what could only be described as a mollifying look. “I accept your little ‘gift’.”

Joe stared back at the witch in mild disgust. “You’d actually call that a gift?”

“And why not?” The grin was now truly beginning to resemble a shady witch. “Gifts are gifts, aren’t they? Very well. In exchange for your service, I shall answer exactly eleven of your questions, and no more.”