Hollyhock takes me back to her home. With no grace or ceremony, we lie on her bed. She curls into a ball, holding her pillow to her chest like before. She’s asleep in seconds. I’m envious of this ability of hers, to suspend her thoughts of the day and just...rest.

I stew on all that I’ve learned, including the undead man I met today.

‘Who could’ve done that? And why?’

There are a few magicians I know of that could perform such complex magic, but I can’t think of any logical reason for them to do so. If they ever left Ironhenge, I can’t imagine them coming here just to resurrect an alcoholic bike thief.

Though it’s unlikely that someone from one of the other Arcanniums did this, it’s more unlikely that there’s a powerful magician on their own out here.

I can’t think anymore, my head hurts.

I turn on my side to look at Hollyhock as she rests. Lying so still.

‘Did she learn to sleep like this? What advantage would that serve in her line of work?’

I scan down her form, the curve of her collarbone, where her chest barely rises and falls to let air into her body. Over her heart, or rather, just right of where it is, lies a tattoo. I can just make out the scar it covers. Long and thin, like a stab wound from a blade. Next to it, written in cursive are the words “Close, but no cigar.” With a smoking cigar covering it.

‘Life has been so hard on you, Holly. And yet you still turn it around with humor.’

I almost reach out to touch the scar but think better of it.

Lying on my back I look at her ceiling.

“Maybe I should make a sleep potion,” I say softly.

________________________________________________________________________

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I can feel that I’m in my third R.E.M. cycle. Or maybe it’s my fourth, I lost count after my second. It’s a strange imagining wherein I’m on a cliffside that I don’t think exists. The sun is low. I can’t tell if it’s rising or setting.

Very near the edge of the cliff stands a figure with their back turned to me.

Though I’ve only known her for a day, I recognize the silhouette as Hollyhock. She’s holding a gun in her right hand, and a bouquet of flowers in her left. The flowers are those of her namesake, vivid orange hollyhocks.

She turns back to look at me. Thick black smoke rises from where her neck should be in lieu of a head.

The headless Hollyhock readies her gun and grips the flowers tighter. Though she has no eyes, I feel her staring at me.

“So what’s it gonna be?” She asks.

I think the sun is rising.

________________________________________________________________________

I wake up but keep my eyes closed as I hear metal clanking and Hollyhock grunting. I slowly open one eye to watch her lift a bar of some kind with large black metal discs on it.

I don’t know how much it weighs, but the way it shakes the ground as she puts it back on the rack I’m guessing it weighs a lot.

She stands up and walks over to a thick cylinder bag hanging from the ceiling and chained in place to the floor. Hollyhock rolls her shoulders for a few moments then begins assaulting the bag with a barrage of punches. She gives a sharp exhale with each impact, hitting the same spot over and over. The impetus she possesses shakes the bag and the chains violently.

I examine her body as she exercises, wearing a tight black crop top or maybe it’s called a sports bra, I don’t know. Her orange shorts are tight on her juicy ass. The assassin bounces on her feet, staying on her toes. Despite being wrapped in muscle, she moves like she’s lighter than air.

My eyes are drawn to the power of her arms, the strength of her back, the length and the thickness of her legs. Wearing so little I can see more of her tattoos, but there are still more hidden from view under her clothes.

I push away the thought of pulling off what little clothing she has with my teeth.

‘Keep it cool witch-bitch.’

I watch her in silence as she delivers a few kicks.

The assassin pulls an earbud out and without turning to look at me says,

“I can practically feel you undressing me with your eyes.” With my ruse revealed I sit up to more fully see her.

‘Didn’t think my gaze was so heavy.’

“Hmmm, I think I went a bit further than that,” I reply with a tilt of my head. She pulls out her other earbud with a smile crossing her face.

“Care to share?” The velcro of her gloves tears into the air while she takes them off.

“Where’s the fun in that? I’d rather you guess,” I answer. A chuckle escapes her.

Hollyhock calls me over with a gesture of her pointer finger. Sliding out of her bed, I approach the assassin.

“If you want to watch me work out, you should get a closer look,” she says in as sensuous a voice she can make. “You ever throw a punch before?”

“Never needed to. Magic is very useful, and keeps my hands clean.”

“Hmm, I don’t doubt it. But.” She pulls me closer by the hips. “Out here that’s not exactly an option. As much as I’d like to see you shoot a fireball at a guy, I think you should do something more lowkey. I wanna teach you some self-defense.”

Hollyhock maneuvers behind me.

“Hold up your arms and make a fist.”

I oblige. She takes my hand and adjusts it.

“Put your thumb outside your fingers, not tucked between or under them. You can dislocate your thumb if you punch something like that. Now, punch as hard as you can.”

My fist hits the bag, barely moving it.

“Power comes from more than just moving your forearm,” she instructs. Her rough hand goes over mine. Her strong arm overtakes mine. “First, make sure your hand is in line with your wrist.” She points with two fingers. “It lets the force of the impact travel down your arm.” From my shoulder, her hand glides down to my hip. “You should turn in to the punch with your whole torso.”

Hollyhock presses herself against my back.

“You gotta use your hips, that’s how you get a longer reach.” Her words tickle the back of my neck.

I don’t understand all the social cues of this world yet, but I’ve been around the cauldron enough times to know when a woman is flirting with me.

So, of course, I let her do it.

I feel the curves and lines of her body as she presses deeper against me. All the softest and hardest parts of the assassin that I want to run my hands over embrace me.

“Try again,” she says.

I punch again and notice the difference.

“Now that’s how you throw a punch.”

“Well, you’re an excellent mentor, very hands-on.” I turn around to face her. “I learn better by example.”

“Well then,” she leans in closer. “I got a few other things I can teach you.” I wrap my arms around her waist so that our bodies meet.

“I have a lot more I could teach you,” I flirt back. She follows suit, wrapping her strong arms around my waist.

“Will those lessons be hands-on as well?” She says in a low voice, inching closer to my face.

“I only hope you can keep up, otherwise you’ll need supplementary assignments.” I get close enough to feel the heat from her face radiate into mine.

“I don’t know any more school euphemisms, so I’ll just…” The assassin leans in to close the small gap.

Just then her phone rings and the irritation on her face matches mine. She walks over to answer it.

‘Why do I even bother? Fate clearly amuses itself with these interruptions. How’s a witch supposed to get some when the mood keeps getting ruined?’

I fix my hair a bit.

‘If Floribunda was here she’d probably laugh her head off.’ A twinge of sadness pulses through me at the thought.

The assassin stands, silent, listening to whoever it is that called.

🌿💀🌿

“I wanted to know if you’re well enough for a job,” the voice of Tamara says to me. I instinctively reach for where I was shot earlier. There isn’t any pain at all, not even a dull ache.

‘Magic is scary.’

“Yeah, I’m at a hundred percent. You couldn’t get another Bay Leaf for this?”

‘Tamara has the worst timing in the world.’

“I could, but a job like this requires...what’s the word? Precision. That’s something you’ve always excelled in. Things will play out better if this looks like an accident.” On the phone, she sounds like a little girl, which is always weird to think about when she tells me to kill somebody.

“And how’s that?”

“You do this right, and we can have the DeadNettles having a problem with the Purlanes, from there we can pull a few strings. See who wanted you dead.”

“I’m in.”

“Good. Come in for details and gear.” She ends the call. I tuck the phone into the waistline of my shorts.

“Aight, I have a job to do, so we’ll pick this up later,” I say to Witch-Hazel. I start mentally counting all the weapons here in case Witch-Hazel explores the place.

“Okay, won’t take me long to get changed,” the witch replies. I pause at the implication.

“No, this is a solo kinda thing,” I explain.

“Why’s that?”

“...Did I ever mention I kill people for a living? I feel like I made that pretty clear. This isn’t some nine to five office job. This is dangerous shit I deal with.”

“How exactly do you plan on teaching me about this world if you hide from it? You and what you do is intrinsic to this world, and I’d like to see it,” she counters.

I narrow my eyes at her for a second.

“I’m sorry if this sounds rude as fuck but there’s no other way to ask this. What’s wrong with you?” She leans back and raises an eyebrow at me.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you one of those people that are like attracted to serial killers or something? Like, do you have a mental or personality disorder that attracts you to danger or something? You can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

The witch has a look of surprise, then she starts laughing.

“Gods and Goddesses! WOW! Okay. Do you always imply someone has a disorder when they’re around you?”

“I’ve told you mad times that I’m an assassin. I’m a trained killer. And yet you’ve been acting like everything is roses and sunshine. Why aren’t you scared?”

Witch-Hazel scoffs a bit.

“Yes, I’m aware of what you do. You’ve made that clear. But I don’t think you’re as ruthless as you say. You haven’t tried to kill me yet.” I don’t miss her emphasis on the word ‘yet’. “But, and I’m sorry if this sounds rude, I’m not afraid of you. I don’t find you that threatening,” she says.

I can’t hide the shock in my voice, “Excuse me?”

She shrugs.

“I’ve met creatures beyond your comprehension, so a nonmagical human isn’t something I’m worried about. Plus the first time I met you, you were bleeding out. Maybe you’re not as dangerous as you think you are,” she taunts. I know it’s a taunt, a dumb one at that. But knowing that doesn’t stop the rage building inside of me. A clash of my pride in what I’m capable of and common sense saying I don’t have to prove myself to her wars in my brain.

‘Do not bring her on an assignment.’

Magic is real, all logic I have is useless.

“Get dressed quick, I can’t keep the boss waiting.” I turn around to look through my dresser when I hear a WHOOSH of air. Witch-Hazel is fully dressed in one of the outfits she picked yesterday.

“Get dressed quick, can’t keep the boss waiting,” she throws back in my face. I can’t help but laugh a bit.

________________________________________________________________________

After I get dressed I meet Witch-Hazel in the car.

We drive in silence for a while before I find something to fill it.

“How’d you get here? To Oleander City, I mean. Did you teleport?”

“No, you can only do that to places you’re familiar with. Besides, that would take too much energy, the distance is too great,” she explains.

“Where’s Ironhenge in relation to here?”

“I have no idea really. From what I’ve worked out, it’s somewhere in the Eurasian Steppes but that’s a needle in a huge fucking haystack.”

“So if you didn’t teleport, how’d you get here?”

“I traveled via Ley lines. It took a couple of stops though, I got turned around in Brazil for a bit.”

“What’s a Ley line?”

“They are areas laden with magical energy, they’re all over the planet. They encompass the globe in a complex net. Some go all the way around, some only for a few hundred miles. Some are weaker than others. Performing magic on one rich with energy is much less draining, as you can draw from the earth,” she explains.