The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Four
By Raine Monday

Lydia dreamed.

Stone arches and the walls of a castle stretched around her, torchlight flickering on marbled hallways. A palace? Why was she in a palace?

She reached out to one of the walls and felt the rough texture of the stone. She remembered the whispered conversations about her lineage, the blood of Eburovices, that flowed through her veins, a people conquered long before by the Romans, and now, she, a conquerer's daughter, faced her form of conquest.

"Esmerelda!" the voice echoed from below, the stone staircase stretching downwards. That voice, Her Father's voice, the voice of a man who made other kings quiver in their robes and made her heart race at what he wanted from her.

Her heart pounded in a wild rhythm as she tried to catch her breath. She placed a hand on her heart, attempting to slow her breathing, make it shallow, the corseted gown she wore as much a hindrance as a cage.

What he wanted, he would never have. A marriage to a Norman Noble, perhaps, or something worse. She wouldn't allow that to happen, couldn't let that to happen. Not just because she didn't want to marry an old man but because of what it would mean to untold thousands of people who would die—

"Esmerelda!" the voice called again, closer this time. "Stop running, and speak to me!"

Lydia dashed up the stair. If she could get to her chambers, perhaps Ril, the court wizard, could somehow help her escape this fate. He was her staunch ally and advisor, and he would help her to—

"Lydia?" A soft voice came from beside her. Who's voice was that? Not her father's, not William the Conquerer, no, it belonged to another man, a kinder man, a man with laughing eyes and a neck beard she liked to tug when they—

"Babe, are you awake?"

Lydia blinked the dream away. "Tommy-Tom?"

"Yes, hon." He caressed her face softly. "That must have been some dream."

Sitting up, she looked around the room. Sitting up, she looked around the quaint room that held an old-world charm unique to The Whispering Inn. Heavy oak beams lined the ceiling, evidence of the inn's ancient architecture, while the walls were adorned with warm, handwoven tapestries depicting scenes of lush forests and mythical creatures, a nod to the town's mystical nexus. The furniture was of dark mahogany, polished to a soft sheen, with a four-poster bed at the center, its posts carved with intricate patterns of leaves and vines, and draped with sheer, gossamer curtains. A rustic, yet elegantly carved wardrobe stood in one corner, next to a fireplace where the remains of a log still smoldered, filling the room with a faint, comforting scent of woodsmoke. The settee by the fireplace was upholstered in a rich emerald velvet, looking out through a leaded glass window that revealed the fog-shrouded world of Willowbrook outside. Every detail of the room, from the plush, forest-green carpeting to the soft, golden glow of the oil lamps, whispered of an era long past and a world steeped in enchantment.

Lydia put her hand to her head. "What time is it?"

Thomas got up and pulled the curtains back. "Looks like early morning. Hard to tell though, there's still fog."

Lydia wiped her eyes, and scratched the side of her face. "Oww, Jesus!"

She looked down at her hands. The left appeared normal, but the right…

Her extended nails were painted a dark blue, and each curved a bit like a claw. The hand was wrinkled and old, with veins and color spots stretched across the surface. The knuckles bulged as if she'd suffered for years with arthritis. Heavy rings adorned each finger in different colors, amethyst, ruby and jade. The wrinkled skin extended up her forearm until it mixed in with her usual, unblemished, unveined, unwrinkled skin about halfway up.

"Oh my god!" she cried, and stood up, wanting to see herself in the mirror. She almost fell over though, because there was something not just wrong with her left foot, but her leg also seemed to be affected. She pulled up her sweats pantleg, and found her lower leg looked hideous, the skin wrinkled, veins etched from her calf downward. She pulled the sheet off her left leg, and found it unaffected.

Lydia looked up at Thomas. "We have to get out of here!"

Thomas nodded, "I know. But the door is locked. I also tried to break the window, but no luck."

Lydia stood, but it was quite obvious her left leg was a few inches shorter than her right. "I'm turning into a monster!"

Thomas shook his head. "No. I refuse to believe that." He took her hands in his own. "We'll get through this Lydia, no matter what it means."

She nodded, tears spilling from her eyes.

Someone knocked at the door, and David the Vampire entered. He carried two trays with lids. "Breakfast!"

"Why are we here?" Thomas said. "We want to leave, right this minute!"

"I'm sorry, but that isn't possible."

"What do you mean?" Lydia said.

"I think I can answer that," A woman said, stepping into the room.

The woman carried herself with the regal grace of a bygone era, her stature tall and commanding despite her advanced years. She was attired in a flowing dress of marigold silk that draped elegantly around her frame, the fabric catching the light with every subtle movement, as if woven with threads of sunshine. Her white hair, the color of moonlit snow, was styled in an elaborate bun atop her head, not a strand out of place, each lock sculpted like a work of art. Around her neck hung a necklace of topaz and citrine, each gemstone cut to perfection, complementing the warm hues of her dress and casting a soft glow against her skin. Her fingers were adorned with rings that matched her attire, with bands of gold encircling delicate fingers still surprisingly nimble and strong. Her eyes, a striking shade of pale azure, held within them the spark of undimmed intelligence and the fierceness of a spirit untouched by time, surveying the world with an air of wisdom and a hint of playful mischief.

"I'm Agatha Wainwright, and we have been waiting a very long time for you, dear." She shut the door, and stood in front of them.

Even though Agatha was a few inches shorter than she, Lydia felt the weight of her gaze as she took in her changed hand and foot.

"It's always a bit different," she said, sitting on a stool. "Please, eat your breakfast, and I can tell you what is happening."

Thomas shrugged, and glanced at Lydia, who nodded. She sat on a chair, Thomas had pulled over for her, and they both took the covers off their meal.

Eggs, bacon and potatoes all steamed aromatically into the room. Lydia found she was ravenous again, and began to eat heaping mouthfuls. At first she tried to eat with her non-changed left hand, but then gave up and ate with her right.

"The Emergence steals quite a bit of energy as it passes through you," Agatha said. "You'll find yourself very tired with little to no exertion and nearly constantly hungry."

"What's happening to her?" Thomas said. "Her hand, and foot…"

"Let's first talk a bit about Sælicbrook, or Willowbrook as we've named it."

Lydia nodded, still eating.

"Sælicbrook exists on a plane of reality slightly different from your own. I'm sure you sensed it as you entered town.

"It was a bit misty," Lydia said, trying not to speak with her mouth full.

Agatha cleared her throat gently, the timbre of her voice holding the gravity of ancient secrets and the warmth of a seasoned educator. She peered at the two newcomers through her light blue eyes, which sparkled with an inner light that seemed to reflect the wisdom of the ages.

"Children," she began, her voice imbued with the cadence of a well-practiced lecture, "you find yourselves in Sælicbrook, a place of much more significance than you can presently comprehend. This is not merely a stopping point, but the very heart of the cosmos' intricacies—a Nexus."

She gestured gracefully with her hands, adorned with jewelry that seemed to glow with an inner flame. "Imagine the universe as a vast tapestry, with threads that represent the myriad realms of existence. Sælicbrook lies at the crux of it all, binding these threads together. It is here that the worlds of magic and the mundane, of spirit and science, meet and mingle in silent congress."

Her eyes swept over the quaint, cobblestone streets visible from the window, then back to her audience. "Our town is unique, an architectural mosaic from ages and realms beyond. It resonates with the potential of creation, a place where every stone and every wisp of wind hums with the power of the planes."

Agatha straightened her posture, her yellow dress rustling softly. "We, the Guardians of this Nexus, my Coven, maintain the balance and the continuity of passage. We are the silent sentinels, the shepherds of souls across the boundless stretches of existence."

A brief smile flickered across her face, softening the sternness of her demeanor. "It is no common occurrence for travelers from your realm to cross into ours unguided. To arrive here speaks to a spiritual potency within you—an energy, perhaps long dormant, now awakening."

Leaning forward, she looked at them with a profound earnestness. "Your presence here is no accident, my dears. It is a confluence of destiny and hidden power. Welcome to Sælicbrook, the crossroads of worlds. Here, you will find your true purpose."

"I did notice it wasn't on Google Maps," Thomas said.

Agatha gave a wry grin. "Yes, we do a lot to obfuscate our position here in your physical reality from the science-based devices and such. In fact, we have a whole legion of elves that do nothing but blind science devices from capturing any of our presence. We need to maintain our presence, but we definitely don't want anyone from your realm attempting to cross over, unless they have a reason.

"We don't have a reason," Lydia said. "And we'd like to go back, please." Lydia held up her changed arm. "I don't know what's happening to me, but we want none of this."

Agatha nodded, sighing. "Well, Thomas can go back, of course, but you, my dear, we need you desperately, I'm afraid. Sælicbrook recognized that and has imposed a geas upon you that I'm sorry to say wouldn't be resolved even if you were to travel back to your realm.

"A geas?" Lydia said. "So this is just an illusion?"

"Oh, no, my dear. You are literally being rewritten from the ground up. We aren't certain why certain individuals like you are rewritten in so dramatic a fashion, but our needs are great, I must say."

Lydia felt tremors in her stomach at the thought of being rewritten. "What do you mean?"

Agatha sighed. "It means we are under attack, I'm afraid. And you are the only person who can save us."

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