"Maybe she's counting on the condition not working," I told him.

"And I specifically mentioned it. No, if you want to get involved, try it yourself," he replied. "If I had your power, I'd go for it," I said to him as we walked through the darkening forest. "Then go there and shoot her. You have your service weapon, and you haven't used it," Adam said sharply. "That wouldn't help. As soon as I pulled it out, I'd be in the air," I countered. Adam stopped, turned to me, and said, "But otherwise, you would do it?" "Well... only if she refused to return them and wanted to continue harming people. It's like killing a serial killer before they kill anyone else," I said a little uncertainly. Adam nodded in a somewhat approving way and then continued back to the village. After a moment of silence, he suddenly said, "You deserve a little of that power." But then he was silent again for a while. In the village, they were already lighting lamps for the night, and everything was strangely magically lit by flames. Adam stopped in the small square and pulled his cube out of his coat. He said to it, "Do you see any traces of those two souls?" The cube once again floated in the air as I knew it would and began scanning the surroundings. This time, it was done quickly, and a cone of light came out of it, illuminating a small house. "Good, that's enough," Adam said to the cube, stretched out his hand, and the cube returned to him. "Let's see how they're doing," he said to me and walked towards the house. We knocked on the wooden door, and after a moment, the master of the house opened it hesitantly. "What do you need, gentlemen?" "I'm a wizard, I'd like to see your livestock. Horses and chickens, I need to check two of them," Adam explained. "Well, come on in. With wizards, you don't really have a choice, do you?" he said. Adam smirked slightly and said, "True, I can open the stable doors myself," and the farmer let us in. The house was, as you might expect, poor and medieval. Inside, he had a wife and four children, all eating together at the table. There was also a place for the father and his unfinished meal. "I'm feeling generous, here's a small compensation for pulling your dad away from dinner," Adam said to them as the farmer put something on. He was only wearing a linen shirt, and the autumn evenings were cold. Adam put his palms together in an X, then moved each one in the opposite direction. A thick raw steak appeared between his palms. "I killed the wolf around here, apparently it was bothering you. This is a piece of its energy transformed into that of a cow," he said, slowly walked to the table, and put the meat on it. The farmer was already waiting for me at the door. Together, we went out to the large stables that belonged to the whole village. Everyone had their own horse there. The farmer led us to his stall and unlocked it. Adam looked at the brown horse and said, "How long have you been here?" "Hard to say, they don't keep a calendar here," the horse replied, and we could hear it too. "So, what about seasons?" Adam continued. The farmer immediately offered, "We've had him for three years." "Where were you from? Where did they get you?" Adam asked him. "In Prague, I offended an old woman there, and she was a witch," he said. "That checks out," Adam said and continued, "How did she get you?" "She threw me out the window," the horse said. "And the name?" "David Štěrba," the horse said. "Is that him?" he asked me. "Emm, Štěrba. Yeah, that's probably him. I didn't pay much attention to his name, but probably. But why has he been here for three years, it happened yesterday," I said. "That's the thing about time travel. She jumped back three years with the soul and offered it in the form of a horse. Do you realize now that Muribana can kill you before you even find out about her?" Adam said to me. "That's true," I said, and finally realized why someone as powerful as Adam still respected Muribana. Then he said to me, "So you see, he's not dead. He's just a horse, and you have Muribana's guarantee that he'll be human again after a while. I think we're done here," Adam said to me and then thanked the farmer, "Thanks, sir. That'll be all. Sorry for disturbing you." "Not at all," the farmer said and politely escorted us out, where we left him. Then we walked together back to the path where the road and the car should be in the normal world. Adam made the magic elevator again, and we were back in the beautiful modern world. A crop circle around us and the car in front of us. We got into the car, and I was on my way back to the Czech Republic when I asked something I probably shouldn't have: "I still don't understand. Muribana can have anything, why does she need this trade? Why does she need to sell enchanted livestock, and what can these people offer her?" "Do you really want to know? It's worse than anything you've seen so far," he warned me. "Okay," I said, starting to get scared.

Adam then began, "The story of the gingerbread house also has a certain basis in truth. When the witch overdoes it, and her spells start to devour her body. It can't be reversed, like I told you. Eating children is considered a suitable alternative treatment, as they can slowly heal you from the magical damage. So, yes. The Middle Ages had an overabundance of children, which is why she likes that time and leaves these people in it. It was expected that half, maybe a quarter of them, wouldn't reach adulthood, and a good horse that understands you and does what you tell it is worth one newborn." "Oh my God," I said in complete shock and disgust. Then we were both silent. We arrived home late in the evening, but I still couldn't sleep.

Well, I returned to work shaken, BUT in the morning, we weren't dealing with any murder at the station. It was simply gone. The child-eater must have kept her word. I didn't believe it, so after work, I went to the house and rang the bell. A young man opened the door, who looked like the one I was looking for, and I decided to ask, "Ehm, ehm, are you Mr. David Štěrba?" The kind and friendly man said to me, "Oh yes, what happened?" "Do you have a wife?" I asked him. "Yes, I do. So, is it about her?" he tried to understand. "Could you please ask her to come and show herself to me. She looks... ehm, she looks like someone we're looking for. Based on a photo... I saw the person in real life, and I have about three people who look similar on their IDs," I quickly made up a story. David turned to the house and called his wife. I last saw her and him with shattered skulls. It was really them. I turned pale and said, "I'm very sorry, the lady looks completely different in reality. Excuse me. I apologize again, goodbye," and disappeared as quickly as possible. If the murder didn't happen, why do I know about it? And Adam knows about it too. Back home, I sent Adam a message asking if he remembered what happened yesterday and signed it. Adam replied that he did and sent another message: "She kept her word, didn't she? And you encountered a paradox." "Definitely. Why do you and I remember it?" I asked him. "There's a lot of physics and brain biology involved, you wouldn't understand. I can't think of a way to simplify it this time, it's probably not even possible. Subatomic particles, which make up everything and to which our brain is sensitive, have several histories at once. Quantum physics, you know." And I wrote to him ironically, "Thanks for the reassurance." The following I only know from what Adam told me later, and I'm telling it to you again, Mr. Malý, so take it with a grain of salt and feel free to fill in the missing pieces if it hinders the flow.