Henry woke up with a jump, startled, his alert eyes darting all over the place… and found no one. He scrambled up, his heart thumping loud.

"Grandma?" He hurried down the stairs, hands never leaving the rails because that was how Mom had taught him. "Grampa?! Hook?!"

Empty. The house was empty, as if its inhabitants had just been written out of existence. The very thought of it made his hands sweat cold, and as he wiped them on the sides of his coat, something caught his eyes – the book. He crouched to look at it, holding his breath, fingers lingering tentatively on the downturned spine, flipped it over so he could see the paper… and pulled his hand away as if bitten.

He closed his fingers into a fist and gritted his teeth, staring at blank page after blank page, pages where his family's stories, his stories used to be. He almost lost it right then and there, his hands shaking, but then something stronger yelled out from inside him, something that told him to believe.

And so he closed the book, stood up, put it back over the counter and took a deep breath, and he asked himself what to do and when his mind came blank, he went to the second best question, which was what would his moms do?

A plan, his inner Regina answered nonchalantly. You could be in danger.

Go out and look for someone! retorted his inner Emma.

This time around, genetics was louder than upbringing and good sense. He went out the door, skipping the steps two at a time, and ran out into the equally empty streets.

"Hello?! Is anyone here?" He called. He went through the main street and even into Gold's shop, where he found nothing but an eerie vinyl still spinning. And then he heard a thud and a clash and a distinct voice from far away, so he dashed outside to search for the sound, ignoring the thought of a careful approach.

"Oh, motherfucking goddamn - aghhhh"

With how loud the woman was being, Henry had no trouble finding her. The first thing he noticed was the hair, because how could he not – it was ashen blond, all but white, caught in a sloppy bun. The second thing he noticed was the big scary sword hanging on her back, which matched well with the third thing he noticed - a thin scar that ran from cheekbone to ear. If that didn't alarm him enough, then the blonde's next words did the job.

"Someone's head is going to roll for this," the woman hissed.

Scary Sword Lady was shielding her eyes with her outstretched palms, visibly uncomfortable. Her vibrant green eyes were squinted. Henry cleared his throat, not wanting to startle her, not quite sure if she'd already noticed him either.

"Uhmm…hello?" He began tentatively. "Is there anything I could help you with?"

"Migraine," the stranger mumbled. Her accent was rather thick.

"I, ah," Henry knelt on the ground and bent over his backpack. "Think I may have a pill somewhere…"

"A pill," she repeated, then forced her eyes slightly more open and turned her head around. "Cars, lampposts, billboards and traffic signs –"

"Gotcha!" the boy triumphantly lifted a little yellow bottle. It was snatched from his hands before he could protest.

" – and aspirins, thank the gods old and new for that." She uncorked the flask with a single movement of her thumb, spilled three or four capsules over her palm and took them all at once, chewing the tablets and scowling at the bitterness. Henry was quite sure this was not how aspirin was meant to be taken, but he did not dare raise any objections.

Now more energetic, the woman started pacing around. He chased after, head full of questions, trying to pick which one to ask first. If she was bothered by that, or otherwise by the complete absence of any other human being, she didn't show it. In fact, the only thing she did show any concern over was her headache.

He winced when Scary Sword Lady knocked the door at Granny's off its hinges with a single hard kick, and hung back as she barged in and went through the objects in the counter. Henry finally decided it was safe to take a seat when he realized what she was doing – brewing what looked like a liter of really, really strong coffee. This time, prudence won over impatience, and he peacefully waited until the other was done with her drink to try and start a conversation.

"So…" he began, once the blonde had drunk her third mug dry. She'd been so kind as to serve him also, but he hadn't touched the drink. "Ah…um. I'm Henry. Henry Mills." He extended his hand timidly.

That seemed to snap the woman out of her thoughts. "Cirilla of Cintra," she answered, and her gloved hand shook his with a firm grip. "Well met, Henry Mills. Now, I've got a few questions for you."

She's got a few questions?!

"You see, I'm looking for someone… someone special. Someone like me. And since you and I seem to be the only human beings in town, and there must be a story behind that, a story probably linked to the reason I'm here, then I assume you, smart lad that you are, can lead me to whom I seek."

Careful, now, both his inner moms warned. He swallowed dry, thinking hard. This person was dangerous, and this person was serious, and he had to figure out a way to keep her talking without revealing much about himself.

"Someone like you…?" He trailed off.

"A jumper. A planeswalker. A whatever-you-call it. Someone who can cross the realms. Who can travel between time and space." She took a sip from her cup, then put it down and looked at him straight in the eyes. "Might you know any such person?"

The author. She's looking for the author.

He didn't drop his gaze. He took a deep breath and did his best to hold his ground and appear unimpressed. "Maybe. Why?"

Abruptly, the woman burst out laughing. "Oh, I like you, kid. You have some spine." She smiled again, but it did not quite reach her eyes. Henry fiddled with his thumbs under the table.

"You see, Henry Mills, when you're like us, there's…a few rules. Nothing set in stone, but unspoken courtesy, if you will. There are variables and constants and you can play with the former all you want, but mess with a constant and you make ripples." With her index finger, she drew a spiral in the air. "Now, your friend, he messed up big time, you see. Something he did made a lot of ripples, echoing over and over the realms. And when the fabric of space-time twists like that, inconvenient things happen. Luck turns into misfortune in a nearby land, a planeswalker emerges two centuries before planned, and if I am passing by –"

She suddenly slammed both her open palms on the table, so hard his teeth clattered. "I. Get. Migraines. Sometimes those are very bad migraines. Sadly, there is no such thing as a space-time police in charge of punishing people for being so rude. What there is, however, is a very pissed off me, who wants to kindly pass on this headache, with her fists. So, can you give me a pointer, or shall I go look by myself?"

He rubbed his nape with his hand nervously. "I can give you a pointer… actually, we may be after the same person so… you help me, I help you?"

She bit the thumb of her leather glove and pulled it out with her teeth, then used her free hand to remove the glove from the other side and pocket both of them in her belt. "Talk, and we'll see. Tell me what happened."

He took a deep breath, changed his mind about his coffee and took a sip, and then he told her as little as he could, as much as it was needed.

"The man you're looking for, we call him the Author. He has a magic quill which he can use to…rewrite history. He was supposed to register the stories around the realms of fairy tale, but he abused his power and changed them instead, so that the villains would get the happy endings."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Villains, happy endings, realms of fairy tale…the places I end up in." She sighed. "Sounds like he grabbed space-time and flipped it inside out. What a literal pain."

"Wouldn't reverting things back to how they were fix it, though? The ripples and uh, your headache." Henry suggested sheepishly.

She lifted her eyebrows and stared at him nonchalantly. "Not really, no. Changing things back implies changing things again – more ripples, more distortions. Pointless, really. This isn't about setting things right – there isn't really a right and a wrong way of things to be. This is about me, my headache, and my desire for petty revenge."

"Oh…" he replied, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "…oh. It's just, my family is gone and…I guess I could use a bit of help."

He gave her his best puppy-eyes. She stared back blankly, inexpressive, for a full three seconds. He fidgeted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to squirm.

"A contract, then." She leaned back. "I don't give out contracts to just anyone, but you bought my goodwill with a box of aspirins. So, let us negotiate. What is it that you want from me, exactly?"

Henry chewed on the side of his cheek. "Well, I need to find the Author and somehow convince him to change things back. You come with me, and you get to… punch him in the face? It's a win-win."

Cirilla shook her head. "Nope. That's not how it works at all, kiddo. We're sealing a witcher contract here. I need to know what my job is. Besides, your information is entirely optional and useless in the bargain – I can find the Author regardless."

He took his time to consider it, thinking back to all the times he'd seen his mom close a deal. He could use this woman's help, yes, but how? His eyes darted to the sword and the scar. He would like to have those on his side. At the same time, though, her fickle and explosive attitude wasn't one he'd like to have on the lead.

"I'll need you to be… a bodyguard, of sorts. Just follow me along while I try and get my family back, and ward off the bad guys if needed – uh, without killing, please."

The woman frowned. "An escort, then? That's what you want?"

He nodded. She tapped her chin with her index finger. "An escort, and a nonlethal one to boot. Mmmh. Can do."

Henry took another sip of his coffee before asking the – maybe literally – million-dollar question. "And what would you want in exchange? My mom, Regina, she has money, I'm sure she won't mind paying you a lot – "

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Sometimes I take money. Not today, though. Today, I'm looking for something a bit more fun." She grinned viciously at that. "For this contract, I will want that which you have, but do not know."

That which I have, but do not know.

He thought about it. Trying to guess the price was of course pointless, because his discovery of whatever-it-was would then render his contract null. So he tried instead to think about moments in his past in which he was unaware of something he had. Some things came to mind immediately –Christmas gifts, surprise birthday parties and at one occasion even an infestation of head lice. And then a dangerous thought crossed his mind.

That which he had, but did not know. One year back, that would have been his mom, Emma. That which he had but did not know could be anything, yes, but also someone – a mother, a brother, an uncle. Cirilla was absently using a spoon to poke at the sugar on the bottom of her coffee mug. Henry frowned, rolling the words over and over in his head.

"That which I have, but do not know," he said finally, calling her attention. "No. No deal, not like this, but… that which belongs to me, but I do not know, I can give you that."

She straightened up and leaned forward to look him in the eyes. "That which belongs to you, but you do not know, eh? Most people wouldn't notice the difference."

"I've been around magic long enough to learn that wording matters."

She laughed at that. "You're sharp, kid. Very well. We have a deal."

The sentence was punctuated by her offering her hand, this time bare.

"We have a deal," he agreed, and they shook on it.