The soft magic that stole into the home through the open door made our eyes heavy and breaths slow. Macy was tripping over her own two feet to get to the cider, and Twain was drooling over his desk, soaking papers. I watched them from the armchair by the fireplace. There, yet not; I was above, stuck in the ceiling, or the clouds, or swinging by the moon. Moment by moment, the magic got heavier in the small space of the cottage.

“My oh my, aren't you dears sleepy?” we were asked. In the doorway a tall man with an old beard stood and pointed a wooden cane at us. “I’d have thought that you would be asleep by now, actually.”

Twain let out a shout that was deafening in the drunk atmosphere.

“Unfortunately, we don’t go down as easy as you’d like us to, Mr. Freedmen!”

Mr. Freedmen smiled and asked, “May I come in?”

I answered first.

“You were going to anyway, weren't you?” I snark, and Mr. Freedmen smiled while nodding. He stepped fully inside and was seemingly unaffected by the heavy magic.

“Would you like a mug of cider, Mr. Freedmen?” Macy politely asked him. She poured her own mug and spilled droplets everywhere.

Mr. Freedmen answered, a smile pulling at his face, “I would love some cider. Thank you, Macy.”

Twain angrily piped up, “Get us all drunk, come in completely uninvited, then take my cider why don’t you, Sir!” 

“Let him be,” I scolded Twain.

“Oh, you're not worried at all, Patty? What if he decides to play one of his little tricks and send us to France or Indonesia like he did that one time? Huh? What ya’ gonna’ do?” Twain retorted.

Mr. Freedmen nodded along with Twain and shook his bony finger. “Twain has a good point, Patty. You should listen to your friend more often.”

Twain swore at him and again told him to leave.

Macy handed Mr. Freedmen a mug of cider without spilling any of it this time. He responded, “Thank you, my dear.”

Macy bowed her head politely and looked at each of us. “I'm going to bed. Don't wreck the house,” she warned, then walked up the stairs without looking back.

Mr. Freedmen, Twain, and I all watched her leave for a moment. We had something like a moment of peace before we tensed up like sown threads. 

“I think you know why I'm here tonight, men,” Mr Freedmen murmured, staring into his mug.

I was too tired to play his game, so I said, “No, why don’t you explain, sir.”

Mr. Freedmen’s face turned plume purple.

“The State knows it was you two who stole the Queen’s magic. They are after your heads, and you have the audacity to ask me to explain!”

“Mr. Freedmen, if we'd not taken her powers, your life and thousands of other people’s lives would have been sewn together into an Excalibur Stone! And you know it, too!” Twain said.

“I do know that,” Mr. Freedmen said smugly, his anger controlled again. “That’s why I’m going to repay my debt to you,” He said while he tapped his cane on the floor, spelling out something in morse code. 900 Hilton Street, London. He was tapping 900 Hilton Street, London. I asked myself why before I realized with a stony breath.

Twain shouted in alarm, “Surely, Mr. Freedmen—,” but was cut off by the ground quaking, threatening to break open like pottery.

“You’ll find quality help in London, men. Protect yourselves!”

I meant to shout, “Mr. Freedmen, please, let’s talk about this!” but a forceful wind had swept through the door. With a loud crash, the cider pot fell to the floor and spilled, and the clutter of books and magical gadgets tumbled to the ground. I remember the air smelled of autumn mist wafting through the room. Then my drowsiness took hold of me completely and I fell unconscious. 

When I woke up I was in the sky. Twain, Macy, and I floated peacefully on a current of wind, hundreds of miles above the English countryside. I jumped a little bit, bumping into Twain, and waking him.

“I have the worst headache,” he mumbled, then when he saw the height, silently screamed himself pink.

I couldn’t help but tease him, “Morning, beautiful.”

“I’m going to kill that ass,” Twain cursed Mr. Freedmen quietly as to not wake Macy, but it didn’t matter.

“Why? It’s pretty up here. And he saved our lives,” Macy said behind us, awake. Twain and I turned to look at her. “I think that’s London in the distance.”

“You’re right, Macy,” I agreed, then asked, “Do you guys know where 900 Hilton, London will land us?”

“As far as I’m concerned, if we’re away from the Queen’s hunting dogs, I’m good anywhere,” Twain spoke uncensored.

Macy scolded him. “You’re no help, Twain!”

“Doesn’t the Queen live in London?” I reminded them.

We grew into an uncomfortable quiet then, just riding the wave of magic. Below us farm fields rolled by along with rivers and country dirt roads. London grew ever closer in the distance; its lights winking greetings at us. I almost fell asleep again, but Macy kept shoving me awake to keep me on guard. She was paranoid, but always made sure we could handle a situation. Who knows if Mr. Freedmen stopped us from being found or not.

When we finally slid down the wave of magic in the footway of 900 Hilton, London, we stayed quiet and alert. Twain, the best fighter of us, stayed in the front, while Macy kept her eyes on the street. It was always moments like these where I was unsure of what to do, but I stood there and watched the door swing open. The room was alight with candles, and an arm snaking around from behind the door ushered us inside.

The door was shut behind us by an old lady wobbling on a moldy wooden cane. She looked hurried out of bed wearing slippers and a pink nightgown and cap. She said, “You dears don’t have much time. Mr. Freedmen was defeated.”

“Do you know what to do?” I asked her.

The elder made a hard face.

“My son, Canneo, is waiting for you at the docks. You have to flee the country! I’m staying here to cover up your scents from the hellhounds, so you must go on your own. Now, listen closely to what I’m about to tell you,” the lady warned, then told us the directions to get to the docks on our own.

“Thank you so much,” Macy said to the lady on the way out of the door.

We were rushing, but she still found the time to pull a piece of saltwater taffy out of her pockets for each of us.

“You’ve been up all night, dears. Also, please give this to Canneo. He forgot it when he left,” she asked, pulling a white paper envelope from her pocket along with more candy for him. In big black letters it read ‘Go Go Powder.’ Macy grabbed it and shoved it in her pocket before we all ran outside. We had little time to get to the docks.

The old lady came out with us, too, and started casting glamor spells on the street. Twain, Macy, and I were about to round our first corner in the city when behind us we heard the crumble of buildings. Three hellhounds, as tall as the shops and homes around them, tore the street up and crushed the elderly lady under their paws. They were terrifyingly powerful with the strength of armies and remorse of devils as they blended in with the shadows all around them. Like they all shared one mind, the hellhounds turned simultaneously to look at us before pouncing halfway down the block. They caught our scent and wouldn’t let us go without a fight.

We all screamed and ran, Macy leading with me close to her heels. Twain was last and was casting any battle spells he could think of at the monsters. The hellhounds left ruins in their wake as we dodged the flying boulders of buildings. I turn around to assist Twain in defense, but no sooner am I hit in the head with a chunk of cement. I miraculously stayed conscious and started shouting spells. Distantly, I could feel the power of Twain’s magic stopping my bleeding, Macy trying her best to enchant the hounds from her further distance.

In the confusion of my blood and pain, I lose Twain. One moment he was there and another was the head and jaws of a hound.

It took us too long to get to the docks, so when we did we’re covered in dirt and wounds. I already began to ache with how much I missed Twain, but there was nothing to do about that unless we wanted to die. Neither of us were ever as strong as he was.

Macy dragged me to the boat, and we jumped on screaming for someone to start it. It did, and Macy opened the white envelope sprinkling Go Go Powder on the boat’s tail. The boat seemed to fly through the water, leaving the hellhounds far behind on the docks. Macy fell to her knees by exhaustion and relief, her chest huffing rapidly.

I rushed up front to the wheel, and saw a boy a little older than me. Empathy wells inside my throat. “Canneo! Canneo, those hellhounds killed your mom!” I told him. He looks at me, reads my face. I walked closer to grab the ship's wheels from him, understanding. I realized some time later on, but Canneo must have been one of the most powerful magicians of the century. Someone with strength like Mr. Freedmen’s. He lifted himself up above the deck, floating for a few seconds, and flew to the hellhounds which had jumped into the water behind us. Like a great star collapsing, he shined bright, then he was gone along with the hellhounds. Great waves lapped the boat while tears rolled down my cheeks. He acted before he even began to cry.

Macy was crying by the time she walked up to me and buried her head in my shoulder. “We lost Twain, and Mr. Freedmen. That lady never even told us her name nor was I able to thank her son!”

Tears ran down my cheeks too, but I didn’t hug Macy back. My grip stayed tight on the ship’s wheel while I stood still looking to the sky and waited for the rest of the stars to collapse. Instead, a body fell from the heavens and landed with a crunch on the port deck. After a moment of surprise from the both of us, we rushed to the dirty corpse.

He was covered in even more dirt than Macy or me. His lip was busted, and his arm bent backward. His ear was missing and his clothes were in scraps, but we still recognized him. It was Twain. Macy and I put our hands on his chest and plugged every healing spell we knew into him. He awoke with a gasp and then began to cough. Tears ran from his eyes.

“Oh my God, Twain! How are you alive?” Macy screamed in his face before he gently pushed her back.

“Those hellhounds threw me like a ragdoll into the air, and I just came down. The only thing I could do was cast a cushioning spell before I landed.”

“It’s good to see you, Twain,” I exclaimed and patted his back.

Twain’s eyes sparkled with life. “It’s good to be here, Patty.”

Turning the mood as if nothing happened, Macy asked, “So, where are we going?”

“I’d say Rome,” Twain answered.

I walked back to the ship’s wheel and gave it a sharp pull right. The boat lurched on the current. Our path was set.