“We don’t have that much time! How the hells am I supposed to cast an incantation that makes magic itself forget who molded it! Earhav will still know I’m the one who did it!” Spidena threw her hands in the air, her pacing frantic.

  “He won’t. Because Conquestorov will have a new master who will tell him to keep his bill shut,” Ben argued, his hands on his hips. He was acting far calmer than he actually was, mostly because he knew if he added to the panic it wouldn’t help matters.

  “Oh, and who is this brand new helpful master? You? We have enough big magic around us!”

  “Give him to Paulav. Paulav loves the duck.”

  Spidena paused her movements. Evidently the suggestion was a little more tolerable. But then she shook her head. “That would put Paulav in danger. Besides, the cost of that kind of magic would be enormous!”

  “What would we need?” Ben pressed as Paulav leapt down from his driver’s bench to join the conversation.

  “We don’t have time for this! We need the pixies!” Spidena rounded back to the caravan where Filif was dangling off the back, his small feet kicking in the air as he tried to climb down on his own. “Filif! Why couldn’t you bring the pixies? Were you able to at least find them?”

  Dropping down on the ground and falling onto his back with a soft thud, Filif righted himself, and with a quiet croon rolled to his feet.

  “You okay?” Ben asked.

  Filif dusted his sleeves off then nodded with an appreciative smile at Ben.

  When the sprite didn’t answer Spidena’s question, Ben gently grasped her shoulder and turned her around to face him once more.

  “Pardon me, but…” Paulav cleared his throat, his hands clasped in front of himself. “If it means COnquestorov gets to live… I am fine if I become his friend.”

  “Master,” Ben corrected.

  “I don’t like the sound of that. Best friend?”

  “Master,” Spidena reiterated, the unhinged glint in her eye making Paulav stop from objecting outwardly again—though Ben could practically hear the merchant whispering in his mind ‘Bestest friend’.

  With Paulav’s permission received, Ben drove the urgent matter onward. “You said it yourself, we don’t have much time. Come on. What would the cost be?”

  “The cost of transferring the master the duck is tied to? I’d need something rare! Something made of pure magic to start with!”

  Filif suddenly hopped up and down, his hand waving in the air to get their attention.

  When everyone looked down, the sprite proceeded to reach atop his head, and pluck a lovely shime mushroom from his cap and offer it to Spidena. It had a long curved white stem, and a small brown cap. There were also four others growing out of a bunch of Filif’s moss-hat, but the sprite only offered the one.

  Regardless of the seemingly meager offering, Spidena’s eyes went wide. “This… Filif I… That is incredibly generous of you.”

  The sprite smiled happily.

  “Right. You have an ingredient with pure magic. What else?” Ben continued, keeping his tone even.

  “W-well…” Spidena frowned, and her eyes lost focus.

  Ben assumed she was seeing or feeling something he wasn’t able to as a mere dodder.

  “Water for the magic to flow to someone new. A knife of bronze to cut the magic path to the original master. Blood and sweat from Paulav—if he is alright with this. But… We need something worth six years of effort. Earhav paid for five years of effort and ingredients. We need an ingredient that was tended to for six years by a human. Approximately an hour a day spent on it.” Spidena’s eyes snapped up to Ben, once again sharp. “Earhav is probably already on his way!”

  “If we change the connection, won’t he have a problem tracking us here on the road?” Ben persisted, though he could hear how tense his voice sounded as he struggled against his rising doubt that Spidena would be able to pull off such a spell.

  “Um… How much blood do you need… exactly?” Paulav interrupted.

  Spidena didn’t answer straight away, her eyes wandering off yet again to something unseen. “A bit more than a teaspoon.”

  Paulav paled. “Ah.”

  “Alright. Paulav. Do you have any bronze knives?”

  The merchant swallowed, visibly struggling to overcome the idea of bleeding over a teaspoon.

  “I, uh, I have a bronze letter opener. Wonderful design on the handle.”

  “That would work,” Spidena nodded hesitantly.

  “Alright.” Ben strode over to the caravan and climbed in swiftly.

  “It’ll be in the second drawer of the middle cabinet on the right!”Paulav hollered belatedly.

  “The one with the little drawers?” Ben shouted back as he faced the cabinet that was similar to one often found in apothecaries.

  “That’s the one!” Paulav confirmed.

  “Got it!” Ben pulled free the bronze knife that was nestled on bottle green silk.

  He then returned to Spidena and Paulav.

  “There could be extra cost at the end of this if I don’t get this right, or—” Spidena shot a withering look at Ben. “—Or if Paulav is actually a dodder.”

  The merchant lifted his hand solemnly. “I swear it on my life. I am a seeb.”

  Ben handed the bronze knife to Spidena, then pulled out the water skin he had strapped to his side that morning for their journey under the sun.

  “Water, bronze knife, pure magic, and Paulav can go for a quick jog around the woods for sweat before we give him a cut. We just need one more thing.” Ben stared down at Spidena who was wringing her hands.

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  “That one more thing is the hardest one! What has received six years of care from a human that we have access to?”

  “Paulav, do you have any potted plants?” Ben ventured while turning to Paualv.

  The merchant winced apologetically and shook his head. “Sorry to say I haven’t.”

  “See? Pointless!”

  Ben fixed his gaze on Spidena. “Maybe try being actually helpful.”

  Spidena’s cheeks darkened in color, her eyes narrowing. Her head tilted as she readied herself to make a fiery retort, making the large pile of hair atop her head shift.

  Ben’s eyes snapped up. There was their answer. “Your hair.”

  Spidena’s face fell. “What?”

  “Your hair. It takes you at least an hour a day of cleaning, combing, oiling, styling. And given how long it is, I’m willing to bet you’ve been growing it and taking care of it for longer than six years.”

  “I-I’m not going to shear off my hair!”

  “I doubt the spell needs all of it! But you tell me!” Ben allowed his exasperation and frustration out as he stared down wide eyed at the witch.

  Spidena’s jaw screwed itself shut as she glared up at him… Until her eyes lost focus. She was checking to see just how much of he hair was required.

  “Two and a half feet!” she exclaimed horror filling her face.

  “That’s not that bad. Your hair is pretty curly so it’s probably longer when straight,” Ben shrugged, eyeing the mass atop Spidena’s head.

  She backed up a step.

  “N-no! There has to be something else…” she trailed off, her eyes searching that unknown entity that would tell her of another option. “If someone gives a whole finger nail I’d only have to cut off four inches.”

  “Right. You deal with a bad hairstyle for a few months, or someone gets tortured while we rip a fingernail out. No,” Ben argued, taking a step closer to Spidena.

  “A few months of bad hair? The magic requires two and a half feet because six years is how long it took me to grow it this long, you idiot!” Spidena spat furiously.

  “You can use what hair I have. I take good care of my hair,” Paulav offered kindly.

  Spidena’s gaze swiveled to the top of the merchant’s head. “Alright. That’s three inches.”

  “I’ll contribute too,” Ben assured.

  Spidena’s attention cut back to him. “You don’t take care of your hair. That won’t work.”

  Ben shrugged. “I could clip my nails short if that helps. I clean them pretty regularly.”

  “Do that, then. All of us cut our nails, Paulav shaves his head, and maybe I won’t look like a boy when this is done,” Spidena growled.

  Ben couldn’t quite tell if she meant what she said. However, the pinch of threat regarding a powerful warlock about to descend upon them as they tried to steal the loyalty of his magic duck motivated him to say, “Alright. I’ll start working on my nails. Spidena, you cut Paulav’s hair, then he can run alongside the caravan and we can get his sweat. When that’s done, I’ll cut Spidena’s hair, Paulav will cut his nails, then we’ll get his blood. Agreed?”

  “I hate you.” Spidena all but spat.

  Ben looked at her coolly. “I’m not the one who meddled with an evil warlock in the first place. Now, let’s get going. I’d like to not be turned into a slug or anything else like it if Earhav catches us.”

  Paulav darted to the caravan to retrieve some scissors, while Filif started hunting through the ditch along the side of the road for something. Most likely some odd or end to chew on that another traveler had discarded…

  Spidena continued to scowl at Ben, but he ignored her, and when Paulav returned, they set to work.

  *

  The time had come.

  Spidena’s hands gripped her skirts.

  They’d collected half a teaspoon of sweat from Paulav—the merchant had very little hair left atop of his head making him look significantly more intimidating—and all their fingernails had been shorn off to the quick. By the end of these tasks, Spidena announced that they would still need to cut two feet of hair. Which was a greatly improved number that came about because it was revealed that Ben had long neglected cutting his toenails. Allegedly the magic had seemed to be a little forgiving as the finger and toe nails hadn’t necessarily been as doted over as Spidena’s hair—and the witch was grateful beyond words for it. Still, upon discovering the talons that Ben called toes, Spidena had mimed retching.

  “Say what you want, but this is saving your hair,” he’d cast off over his shoulder, unbothered as he ripped them down.

  Spidena had looked away and instead focused on harvesting Paulav’s sweat. When she’d finished, the merchant had mopped up the remaining sweat with a dark blue handkerchief, and leaned against the caravan to catch his breath.

  But now, it was Spidena’s turn.

  *

  With the scissors in hand, Ben approached where Spidena sat.

  “Don’t give me bangs. I hate bangs,” Spidena insisted tightly.

  Ben smiled dryly. “You think I have big plans on how I’m going to style your hair as I do this?”

  Spidena gulped, and Ben’s grin dwindled.

  There were tears rising in her eyes, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.

  “It’s just hair,” he murmured a little more gently.

  “You don’t get it,” Spidena croaked.

  “That much is obvious.”

  Whirling around in the chair to face him more directly, Spidena tried to look fierce when she stared up Ben, but her quivering lips weren’t doing her any favors.

  “I’m not pretty. I know I’m not. I look more like a boy than a girl. Except for my hair.” She gripped her hands into fists and looked ahead of herself. “I know being pretty doesn’t matter with everything going on, but I… I… Never mind. Just do it. And don’t you dare make fun of me or I will shave my head to turn you into food for Wolf.” Spidena’s heart was in her throat, her shoulders hunched.

  Ben didn’t move.

  Spidena started to worry he’d give her some half hearted compliment out of pity. She looked away. Embarrassment burning her cheeks. When his warm breath brushed her ear, and in whispered tones he said, “You were right the other night. I was feeling… attracted… to you. And…” During his pause Spidena shivered involuntarily as the hairs on her arm lifted pleasantly. “I don’t think that feeling had anything to do with your long hair.”

  Cold air touched Spidena’s neck, signaling that Ben had stood back up.

  Then she heard the first snip, and a great weight fall away from her head.

  She closed her eyes. She wanted to cry, but she also felt… Tingly. All over, and the warmth in her cheeks had turned from embarrassed to something softer and more pleasant… And had spread throughout her arms and chest.

  Letting out a shuddering breath, the witch was forced to admit to herself that Ben had once again achieved the utter impossible… And made her feel a brand new wave of lust for him.

  Which was annoying.

  But it did offer the perfect distraction as he proceeded to cut off the hair she loved so much.