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I Bind Thee To Me - Collected version.

This collects chapters 1-4
"Shit shit shit, fucking idiot," Ethia said as she dragged the poor fools body back inside her home.
Her spider, Edwin, opened his sleepy eyes and upon seeing the corpse snapped all eight open. "What the hell are you doing? Did you fall off a broomstick? You can't bring a dead human in here!"
"Edwin, shut the Fuck up and grab me the Grimoire," Ethia shot back in a screaming tone. The home was enchanted to mask the sounds within, but that one might have gotten out.
"Witch, I know you didn't just raise your voice at me!" The Spider replied.
"Edwin, I'm not fucking around here, I need to bring him back."
"Bring him back? We don't have half the materials to- why is he so special?"
Ethia dropped the poor boy on the wood floor. Not that he minded; he was very much dead. She pulled at her bangs as she usually did when she was nervous. "I can't get into it. I just need this. Can you-" she collected herself and then calmly said "Can you please help me. Please."
Edwin looked her up and down, glanced at the boy, then looked back to Ethia. "Alright, if we're doing this, let's do it right." Edwin was roughly the size of a Pomeranian with big, hairy, black legs and eyes that shown like rubies. He danced down from his perch in the high corner of the ceiling and webbed the Grimoire Insidious, Ethia's big black spellbook.
Ethia dragged the thief's body into her potion room and began just grabbing random primers off the wall. Rat's tail, newt eye, frog's breath, unicorn shit. She grabbed anything she halfway remembered would go into the spell.
"What are you trying to do here, turn him inside out?" Edwin said, adjusting his reading glasses. "Put the unicorn crap back. When have we ever used that?"
"We used it last week," Ethia replied
"No, that was pegasus hoof," Edwin said as he turned the pages in the spellbook without looking up." Remember? We were animating objects. Animation spells have a base with animal feet.”
"Ok fine. What do we need?" Ethia said, throwing her hat off her head. It began to glide to the floor and then just before reaching the ground, spun onto a nearby hook.
"To take a deep breath, Edwin said, pointing a hairy leg at the young witch. "Now, how alive are we making him?"
"What do you mean?" Ethia said, exacerbated.
"I mean, do we need any lights in this house, or is it just the body we need?" Edwin said, knocking on the thief's temple.
"No, I need him like, fully alive. I need to undo a hex on him," Ethia explained.
"Ok, ok. It's gonna take a little doing. What specifically was the spell you cast?" Edwin asked. Ethia grounded the toe of her boot into the floorboard. "He stole something, and I just put a conditional spell on him. Nothing big."
"The wording honey, otherwise, this homunculus isn't gonna be able to do much of anything," Edwin explained as he flipped through the Grimoire Insidious.
Ethia looked down and mumbled.
"What?" Edwin asked.
"I said 'The moment your eyes meet with your soulmate, you shall die.'" Ethia recited.
There was a pause in the house. The only sound came from the bubbling cauldron and even it seemed to respect the sudden news by dying down a bit.
Ethia furrowed her brow. "So, what do we do?"
"Hang on," Edwin said. "I'm trying to think of the perfect joke."
"Edwin please."
"Ok ok. We'll circle back to it. Grab the phosphorus and the bat wings," Edwin said, shaking his head.
"You need to measure it out based on weight: 1 part bat wing and 2 parts phosphorus for every 100 pounds," Edwin glanced at the boy. "I'd say two wings, and four oz of phosphorus. Better throw the whole bat in there just to be sure."
Ethia complied. It went like that for the next half hour and once the cauldron had come to a sticky green brew, Ethia took a spoonful and put it to the lips of the thief.
They waited. A couple minutes went by and the witch and her familiar had begun to wonder if the potion had worked properly.
Then the boy gasped for air, looking around frantically. His arms and legs fully jelly after being dead for near on an hour.
"Oh, thank the coven. He's alive," Ethia said, smiling. She then kicked her heel over a switch and a trapdoor sprung, causing the boy to fall to the dungeon below, wailing as he plummeted. As the trapdoor closed, Edwin eyed Ethia judgmentally.
"Shut the fuck up, this is about as 'meet cute' as it gets for us."
Edgar woke in pink, fluffy, handcuffs, dangling from the ceiling. It was dark, too dark to make out anything in the room he was in save the walls: made from brick and mortar and visible only by the light from a door on the other side of the room.
Panic rose in his chest as he looked frantically around for anything his still adjusting eyes could say; anything he could remember.
“Hello!” he cried out and felt his voice echo off the walls of his would be dungeon.
“Hello?” he cried out again only this time he could hear footsteps in the direction of the door. Descending footfalls echoed in the chamber and the sound of locks twisting open sharply emanated from the wooden door.
And then there was a groan. “Fucking.” Another groan, almost like a slam. “Door. Never.” Slam. “Opens on-” The door swung open to reveal a woman. Edgar recognized her as the witch. In just the sliver of light granted, he could see she was tall and wearing a bathrobe and pajamas; a small night cap adorned her head if slightly askew. Dark, short hair framed her face which positively glowed in the borrowed light.
She made a tired gesture with her hand and a few lanterns lit of their own accord, as if she had given them permission to add light to the darkness. It illuminated different tools and strange organic bits that were left on tables. Edgar only then became aware of the smell of death.
“Evening!” the woman said as she dragged a wooden chair over to where Edgar was hanging. “You’ll excuse me, I just woke from a nap. How long have you been up?”
“I just woke up, too.” Edgar said, placed at an odd ease by the nonchalant tone of his captor.
“Sorry about keeping you dungeon style, hanging there. I don’t have cuffs that attach to walls.”
“Yeah, shouldn’t they be like iron instead all pink and frou-frou like this?” Edgar asked.
“They were on SALE! I’m not gonna get manacles forged by a blacksmith on Etsy for $300 when Oh La La sells perfectly good ones for twenty.” She said.
“Ok, next question: why am I hanging from them?”
“Mmm!” She had been sipping something out of a mug that read ‘I’m a real witch without my coffee.’ “Right, you stole from me.”
“Oh, this is gonna turn into some Don’t Breath shit, isn’t it? Where’s the turkey baster?”
“I don’t get that reference.” The woman said flatly. “Anyway, I -wait,” she moved her hand, and in a moment, the soft skin on her had hand turned to several tentacles. Another wave and it returned to its original form.
“Whaaaaaat the fuck.” Edgar said, the ease replaced now by very real fear.
“I’m a witch. I do magic. Less ‘saw woman in half’ more ‘curse you for stealing from me,’ which I did.” The woman must have been holding a brass teapot somewhere behind her, because it seemed to appear from nowhere. “Do you remember this?”
Edgar did, and more than that, he remembered hearing footsteps above him when he had taken it and scrambled to get to the window, but it had closed shut. He had run to the door, slammed through it and heard someone calling out something. He looked back only once and remembered seeing the woman. Then he felt his feet give out.
“You put me to sleep. With magic.”
“The loooooong sleep my guy. You were dead. I brought you back.” She said pointedly.
Edgar pushed through that. “Why?” he asked.
The woman began to look for split ends in her hair where there were none. “The specific curse I used was that you would die upon seeing your soulmate.”
Her eyes met his. “And then you looked at me and died.”
Edgar felt his breath catching, a cold sensation filled his feet and hands, and he began to feel dizzy. Sweat was forming on his forehead and the lights in the room began to blur. The witch stood up and brought her mug to his lips.“It’s just tea,” she said. “Trust me, it’ll help.”
Edgar sipped, and tasted orange and mint. It did help a little. “Thank you. So, what happens next?” She gave a big sigh. “Yeah I’ve been giving that some thought. At the very least I thought I’d tell you. If we are...then both parties should know.”
“But I don’t feel anything for you.” Edgar said and immediately backed up. “I mean, I just met you. My first impression of you is that you killed me.”
She shrugged, “Sorry, don’t steal from witches. If it was a guy with a gun you wouldn’t be here right now.” She began to pace. “I don’t immediately feel anything about you now either. Just awkward about the whole thing.”
“You could just let me go,” Edgar suggested.
“I think I might,” she said. “But you still took from me. That cannot stand. And I dunno, I may be a powerful practitioner of the occult, but I am also a profoundly lonely person,” she looked at him from over her shoulder, mischief filling those cat-like eyes.
Something fluttered in Edgar’s chest, “No, I get it. I can just hang out here,” Edgar said dryly. A sound escaped from the witch; it might have even been a laugh.
“I’m not gonna keep you forever, but I’m still kind of miffed you took my teapot. It has greater value than what you could pawn it for,” She drummed her fingers on the teapot and looking at it now, it seemed to have some kind of draw to it, like looking at the northern lights.
“What if I apologized?” Edgar asked.
“It wouldn’t-”
“What if I apologized and meant it?” Edgar asked. A plan began to form in his mind.
“It’d have to be some apology,” She said with a raised eyebrow.
“Give me a chance,” Edgar pleaded. “What’s your name?” Her cat-like eyes positively glowed, “I am Ethia Dumare: Saud of the 8th, Sister of the Coven of Twisted Knives. And a Virgo.”
“My name is Edgar,” he said. “And while I regret I have taken your teapot, Ms. Dumare, I cannot apologize as it has lead me to meeting you. Still, I ask you to forgive the action and I promise I shall not steal from you again.” To her credit, Ethia received the apology with almost no perceptible reaction. She took it with grace and poise that the elder sisters would be proud of. Beneath the surface, however, something primal tugged at her heart and burned her cheeks. It was her truth that she had been alone for some time with only Edwin as company (the house preferred to collect E first names it seemed). She considered, then snapped her fingers. Edgar floated down to the floor and felt solid ground under his feet once again.
“I have come to a decision,” she said. “Hold out your arm.”
“Oh, you Are gonna fucking kill me,” Edgar said taking a step back. Where would he go? The door was behind her. He died the first time with less distance to escape. Fucked, thy name is Edgar.
“I will not. I used some big fucking bats to bring you back,” she said extending her hand. “Please.” It was the please that did it for Edgar. Behind the weird, the magic, the dungeon - she was a girl. A person. Someone who in her own self had vulnerabilities and the capacity for both good and evil. He didn’t know it at the time, but she could have easily made him, and yet she didn’t. How disappointed her sister would have been to see her so polite and a lesser.
Edgar held out his hand.
She began to speak.
And then shit got weird.
Now hear me this. I place upon you a bond. In the fire and the dark I bind thee to me. For trespass taken must be repaid, three tasks of you are all that remain. To walk freely in night once more, place thine hand upon my damnable door.
“There. All good,” she said. The furniture and tools stopped floating. The wind in the basement had disappeared. Her eyes, filled with a dark pleasure, no longer glowed the heavy orange they once did.
“What was that?” asked Edgar.
“I don’t know if you’re playing me or not. Maybe you are sorry. Maybe you’re just telling me what I want to hear,” she said, walking towards the door. Edgar followed her up the stairs.
“I did mean-” Edgar began.
“Ah ah.” She placed a finger to her lips to silence him. “These are the rules: to atone for your crime, I’m going to have you do some favors for me. Just 3. After which, we’ll see if you truly were sorry. Every night you must put your hand on my front door. You don’t need to come in, just touch it once, sometime after sundown, and if the door is open it means I have work for you.”
“What happens if I don’t touch it?” Edgar asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.
“Then any Magic I have cast will lose its effect on you.” She looked back with a filthy Filthy smile.
“That way I know you won’t run when I need your help,” she chuckled.
They reached the next floor and Ethia walked Edgar to the door. “Go ahead and touch it now. Make sure it works,” she instructed. Edgar’s did so and when he removed his hand, there was a glowing purple outline of where it once was.
“Perfect,” Ethia said, clearly pleased. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” She opened the door and Edgar stepped back out into the night, saying nothing.
“Oh, one more thing,” Ethia called out.
Edgar turned toward her obediently.
“What were you stealing the teapot for anyway?” Ethia asked.
Edgar looked her straight on, not 1 foot from where he had originally died earlier that evening and said, “Payment on an engagement ring.”
“Look, this will sound bad...”
“Edwin I swear by fire and blood.”
“Is it worth getting worked up This much over a boy that-“
“Hon, you’re shaking the rafters. All I’m saying is you just met him; nothing has actually happened yet-“
Ethia had kept it together until the moment the door closed. With no one but her familiar to witness, she then unleashed a despair so palpable that the house itself shared in her anguish. The upstairs flooded with the green slime of unrequited love, the wallpaper caught fire with disappointment and the living room was swallowed by a sinkhole of deep melancholy and loneliness.
Edwin, who had been overhearing the entire exchange from start to finish, came over to witness the poor witch in her sorry state, sucked air through his teeth (or at least made the sound for it) and prepared for what came next.
“Edwin, he’s my soulmate. Confirmed by Magic. And he’s in love with someone else.” Ethia said. Her face was in her arms, forehead pressed onto the dining table.
“Do we know that though? I mean, I don’t mean to kick you when you’re down but your Magic-” and then Edwin saw the gaze of the young witch that pierced through his soul. Edwin didn’t believe in a god (spider or otherwise), but he believed in Ethia. And she frightened him.
“Ok,” he scuttled cautiously up to his young mistress. “Here’s what we know: The boy is your soulmate, and we don’t really know what that means, and he is bound to come back here every single night otherwise he will die and he’s only gonna stop coming when he finishes three tasks that you assign him.”
“Yeaaaah,” Ethia said not looking up.
“Dear, look at me,” Edwin said putting a hairy leg onto her hand.
Ethia looked up, her eyes puffy from tears.
“Do you wanna make this work?” Edwin asked.
“I mean, I’ve ruined it by existing. He already has someone and it’s not gonna work out because destiny picked a stupid witch as his mate.” She said, her voice croaking.
“Ethia. Do you want to make this work?” Edwin repeated. His answer was her sob. No one knew better than him; she had been alone for too long. The other sisters lacked her heart, but all she had netted from having one was the sadness you could hear in the silence of her home.
Edwin puffed himself up on his back four legs. “Ethia, I have stood by too long and allowed you to pick other people over your own happiness.”
The witch looked up, a fresh tear rolling down her face. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score!” Edwin said, gesturing with his front four arms.
“Edwin, that’s terrible, I’m not gonna homewreck someone’s relationship.” Ethia whipped her face and waved a hand. The freezer door opened and the ice cream pint stood up, jumped to the silverware drawer, grabbed a spoon and made its way to Ethia. Best use of Pegasus hooves yet, Ethia thought.
“No, you’re a good gal. Don’t make him cheat just...make him reconsider. Show him you’re the one he’s meant to be with. I mean look at you! You’re the Witch of 6th street! Saud of the 8th and My personal favorite of people-”
“You don’t know other people-”
“IRRELEVANT!” Edwin held out a single dainty leg. “I only need to know you, and what I know is that you are gonna have this boy come by and see you every night! You are gonna have a lot of opportunities to show him what I already know to be true. Now, let’s start planning!”
Ethia laughed and wiped her face once more. “Ok. Where do we start?”

Edgar went back to 6th st that night with running mind and slow feet. Shit like this couldn’t just happen to other people; it had to happen to him. He hadn’t told anyone about it, certainly Not Kim. How would that conversation even go? “Hey babe, turns out I love you but there’s someone I’m meant to be with so this just isn’t gonna work out also I deadass DIED LAST NIGHT.”
That would do it, he thought. He’d been thinking about the door all day, the handprint he had left on the ashen wood. He considered the door and all of its curves and bends and realized he was thinking more of the girl than he was the door.
It would happen just like that: her cat like eyes suddenly appearing in the things that took his gaze while day dreaming. The brief chuckles he swears he could hear. Maybe he didn’t come back. Maybe this was Hell. By why did Hell send someone who smelled so sweet?
“Agh!” He smacked his own head as he turned the corner. Was he bewitched? Was it just a game? A line meant to confuse his feelings and fuck up what he had with Kim? He wanted these to be true, desperately wishing that he’d imagined it all or he was just being messed with.
But in the pit of his stomach.
I bind thee to me.
He shook his head. “No.”
But yes. Here he was. The door he had imagined, the grass where he fell still held his shape, as though a recurring reminder that “Oh yes, we remember you. We remember what happened.”
And the door was open. He took one step off the sidewalk and onto her property.
The door opened more, as if all too accommodating for him to come in. Yes, come into the house, to the girl you are bound to.
In more than one way.
He was in the entryway. He quickly tapped the door, and though he felt the wood but for just a moment, the print of his fingers remained there in the eerie purple glow.
“Edgar darling is that you?” He heard from within the house.
“Y-” swallowing. Where did his words go? “Yes, Ms. Dumare. I saw the door open.”
“Peeeerfect. Come on up the stairs, I’m just having a bath.” The voice flowed from the stairs. Equal parts “Yes” and “Fuck!”
What would a good man do in this instance? Wait until she was done? Close his eyes? He was in a relationship. This was getting close to something dishonest.
And then he took the first step, and the others were easy. As he moved through the house, noting it had been cleaner than when he arrived yesterday, 8 black eyes followed him as he moved slowly up the stairs.
He found her in a bathroom on the second level in an enormous claw footed tub. To his relief, the surface was covered in bubbles. A sinister part of him whispered that it was ok to look at a naked woman who was not his girlfriend, as long as he couldn’t See anything.
Bargaining aside, the bathroom was very nice, the smell of honey and apple permeated through the room. She had her head draped back and a comb was moving through her hair on its own.
She eyed him
Looked at me
and smiled, “Why hello dear Edgar. How was your day?”
“I-“ swallowing. Stop it, man. “It was good. What’s the job?”
“So formal,” she leaned forward in the tub, the hairbrush following, as bubbles, erm, clung to her and obscured. “Very well Mr. Edgar, your task tonight is simple, and restorative at that.”
“What do you mean?” Edgar asked cautiously.
She giggled, “You are to replace the items I used to bring you back into the land of the living. Look there, on the counter. I’ve made you up a list.”
Edgar paused to enter the bathroom but did so, beelining his steps and gaze to the paper that lay there. He went over the list and decided nothing here would be procured from a local bodega or grocery store. Maybe some stuff in Little Korea.
“Don’t be intimidated, Mr. Edgar. You can find everything on that list from a friend of mine,” Ethia said. Was her voice more...sultry? Had it always been?
“Who might that be?” Eyes on the paper, kid. Don’t look up.
He could still hear the smile as she told him, “Why, the Wellerman of course. He’s usually down by the wharf on Wednesday evenings at midnight.”
“The witching hour,” Edgar said.
“Ah! He jokes. Good. Yes. The witching hour for the witch’s goods. I’ve also left you with something to procure them with. Purple bag that should be,” she made a gesture with her hand and there was a sound that came from downstairs, “right by the door.”
“Perfect. I’ll leave right away,” Edgar said. He got to the threshold of the bathroom, almost made it, too.
“Oh, just one more thing Edgar dear,” she said in a chime. “Could you grab me that towel, hanging over there?” Edgar looked at her; she was smirking in such a way that he didn’t want to linger on and looked at the towel. “You could just magic that to you, couldn’t you?” He asked narrowing his eyes.
“Ah, so do you claim to know how Magic works now? In all of its abundance, I can do it all now, can I?” she said, furrowing her brow.
Edgar went to the towel, held it open, and looked away. The tension in his neck was astronomical. He felt the towel come from him and he stepped back. She had wrapped herself modestly and looked and him with that same smirk.
“I understand there is someone else,” she said, moving to the mirror, “and I know our position is a complicated one to be sure. But please, know I shall never ask you to make a move that would dishonor the poor woman who you’ve pledged your heart to.”
“Oh,” was all Edgar could muster
“But understand this: it does not mean that I myself have forgotten the position we are in. I am acutely aware of it and am open to discussing it any time you choose,” she said. The cat like eyes had returned, full of mischief, and they stirred dark things within Edgar.
“You are also correct; I could have just gotten the towel myself,” she snapped and her towel had become an evening gown, her hair dried, and a small amount of makeup had appeared onto her face. She bit her tongue with her canine. “That will be all. Wish the Wellerman well for me.”
Buddy Barker stood on the dock of the bay, watching the tides roll in and out. He was the only one out so far in wait for the Wellerman to come, but that would not remain the case. The Wellerman's services were known to many and essential to some. He was determined to enjoy the peace as it lasted. He did his best not to hear everything in the mile radius and focus only on the sound of the waves and the smell of salt. He allowed himself to close his eyes and reach into a deep-down peace.
"Fuck's sake," Buddy said slowly opening his eyes. The sound of the weight on the planks told him 200 lbs and based on the stride 5 foot 11 inches. The smell told him male, but the trace of honey and apple made him think he had been in the company of a lady. He smirked. A lady, or another man with a penchant for sweet smells. He reminded himself of Jasper, another in his pack. Base scent will give you information but what is layered will give you understanding.
What else? Ah...the touch of Magic. Our boy here is enchanted. No warlock, too faint to cast it himself. Maybe the lad was running an errand, and Buddy wondered if maybe the boy had any control over himself. A witch may not be bothered to do her own shopping and take a John off the street and a few incantations later she has her grocery shopping done without having to leave the house.
He came into view now, the lad. Tan skin, lighter hair but not blonde, eyes...to dark to tell yet. A jacket over a green shirt, paired with jeans and sneakers. No great muscle there, indeed the boy seemed built for the quiet, the shade. He came closer, the eyes were blue, and he had a list- a List! Not bewitched, just whipped. He looked around, anxiously searching.
"He's not here yet," Buddy said looking down at the planks.
"Oh ok," the Lad replied.
The sound of waves filled the quiet, it's ebb and flow making up for the chit chat that was absent on the night air.
"I'm Edgar."
"I don't care." Buddy exhaled, his breath visible in the night air. He came off that way sometimes. There to do a job and the focus made him seem misanthropic. He'd heard it before said by Sarah, and not that it mattered what Sarah said to him, but maybe it's because she was the one that said it that he then replied with. "I'm Buddy." Edgar looked up, gave a half smile and nodded. "Nice to meet you Buddy."
"Pleasure." It was a night with no moon, it had to be for Buddy to be here. The only lights were the lanterns from the street above which cast long shadows on the two men.
"What's he like?" Edgar asked.
"Mmm?" Buddy said. "The Wellerman?"
"Tall like...like 6 ft? 7?"
Another deep exhale from Buddy. "No not like 7 feet. You'll see what I mean."
"I just want to know when I see him," Edgar shrugged.
"There is no possible way you could miss him. If you're looking for him, you will see him," Buddy said.
A car drove by, filling the silence for but a moment and then passed.
"Is she worth it?" Buddy asked.
Edgar looked surprised. "Can you read my mind?"
Buddy cocked an eyebrow up as a response.
Edgar looked at his list and fumbled with the purple sack of coins. "She's not like anyone I've ever met." New smells, new sounds. The heartbeat picked up. Some pheromones emitted.
"That a good or bad thing?" Buddy asked.
"It's a bad thing," Edgar replied quickly. "There's another girl."
"There's a few other girls."
"I mean-"
"I know what you mean," Buddy said. He glanced sidelong at his human company. He reminded him of Buddy a decade ago. Unsure, worried, confused. None of the confidence that came with knowing your place in a pack. "What's the story?"
"What?" Edgar asked.
"It'll be awhile until he's here. What's the story while we wait?"
Edgar sighed. "I've been dating this girl for 6 months. She's good, you know? She's a good listener, she's smart, and she's funny. It felt like she was the one."
"Sounds good so far. How's the other girl involved?" Buddy asked.
"I need money, for a down payment on a ring. I make shit for a job-"
"Where do you work?"
"A warehouse."
"Mmm. Sorry, go ahead."
Edgar did. "There's this house on a street on my way home. Lots of antiques inside. I pass by every day. I asked a few friends about it and they said the lady that lives there is a total shut in, that she was this mean girl, and I mean, she isn't; she was actually very nice and that's a whole other thing-"
"Stay on point. How'd you meet her?" Buddy said.
"My friends kept pushing me, I think they had some problem with her. They said she bought up these antiques and turned a profit from selling them. I don't know why I let them talk me into it, but that's on me. I snuck in her window and took something that belonged to her."
"I know. I felt awful. I was doing it for love, but that's not an excuse. Anyway she, uh, knocked me out and told me that I needed to make amends and so," he gestured to everything. "Here I am."
"Mmm. You like the witch," Buddy said.
"Yeah...wait, how did y-" Edgar started.
"But you're with another girl and that's complicated. How long ago did you meet her?"
"Mmm," Buddy seemed to consider "So, what are you going to do?"
"Make amends. Then ask my girlfriend to marry me," Edgar said. Pulse spikes. New scent. A lie.
"Hey fuck you, Buddy," Edgar shot back.
"Look, I don't care. I mean it. I could not spare a shit. But this other girl has you. You can lie to me, her, your girlfriend and yourself, but if you want to actually deal with whatever's got you all mixed up, you're going to have to see the truth."
"Why are you telling me this if you don't care?" Edgar asked. Buddy shrugged, "I don't know. Fill the time. We're two John's out waiting for a Wellerman. We don't owe each other anything. Why would we lie?"
Edgar stayed quiet for the remainder of the time. His head filled with what if's and wants. More people joined. Different shapes, a crew of strange shadows began to fill up the dock space. He felt surround by the new weird in his life. Witches, Magic. Edgar didn't even believe in true love, if he was honest. He believed in love, he loved Kim, loved the way she made him feel, but he didn't think there was one person you were built for. What if the person you loved died (and didn't come back in his case) and you fell in love again? Which one were you meant for? No, you have a more likely chance of loving a certain someone, but he didn't buy into the idea that there was someone made for you. It was a free for all. Find a person you Can love and make them the one.
Now he wasn't so sure.
The air filled with the smell of sugar and out of the mist a small black boat piled high with different rags and bones, trinkets and treasures, came out into view. The boatman wore a broad brimmed hat that covered his face and a poncho for the cold. His white hair curled from underneath the hat and he stood Tall. The Wellerman threw some rope onto the dock and secured his boat.
"Righto, form up a line." He said in an impossibly deep voice. The Wellerman saw Buddy first who seemed to purchase something called 'silver rain'. He paid in coins Edgar had never seen and received a wooden box. Buddy gave a quick nod to the Wellerman, winked at Edgar and took off into the night.
Edgar approached the Wellerman. He loomed over Edgar, a spine that stretched and bent low to see him, the eyes glistening in the moonlight in a deep sunken skull. Edgar presented the list to the Wellerman, who merely said "Mmm." The sound reverberated through Edgar like a bass note. A few moments later he presented him with a satchel of goods.
Edgar turned to leave and then said, "Ethia Dumare wishes you well."
"Do' she now?" He said and with a long arm dug out a small white flower from somewhere in the boat. "Give her this fo' me would ya?" he requested. "It's Snow Drop."

Edgar took the small flower gingerly from the Wellerman and began walking back to the Witches house.

He was rounding out over onto 1st street when his phone rang. The screen bore on it Kimberly-Anne Contreras
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