Prettyinpinkgal: Eyyy, it's Howl's POV!

I know I said that this would be the ball chapter, but things spiraled out of control with this and, well, I needed some Howl introspection. Apparently, I love Howl's introspection. I couldn't stop writing it. And we didn't even make it to the ball scene. Further notes will be at the end of the chapter.

A big thank you to Windy E for the review! I couldn't send you a direct reply to your review, but I wanted to make sure I acknowledged it here. Thanks for your support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, except those that do.

DESTINY

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: IN WHICH HONESTY IS DANGEROUS

Howl shifted, trying to sneak a peek of himself in the elegant mirror for sale behind the counter. The women in front of him weren't making this easy; they kept darting this way and that, finding new materials to show him and finding mannequins to dress up so he could view multiple options at once. Then, of course, was the fact that while he tried to sneak peeks of himself, the younger women (and a couple of the older) kept trying to sneak peeks at him. So he'd have to try and pretend he wasn't trying to look at himself, because that seemed vain, and that wasn't something they needed to know about him. Finally, one floated out of the way just enough so he could survey the dark hair he sported. It was pitch black, dyed freshly this morning. He was fond of it, but he much preferred the blond look. This was a little too close to his natural mud-brown shade, a little too much like Howell Jenkins of Knighton before he'd experimented with hair dye just before college. It had more than tripled his success rate with the ladies, that dye, and he made it a constant in his life once he arrived in Ingary. Magic worked much better at dying hair without ruining its healthy glow.

He'd made a few other tweaks to his appearance as well, of course. He wasn't the Witch of the Waste; he didn't change entirely. But he bought several new suits so he wouldn't wear any old recognizable ones for several days, and he let himself grow out a slight hint of a beard - magicked to match his hair, of course - so he'd blend in a little, though he kept it neatly at a five o'clock shadow appearance rather than a mountain man's burly length. He considered changing his eye color too, but several women had claimed he possessed a striking gaze. No need to deprive them of that.

From the swift glances he made at his reflection, he was more than satisfied. Yes, the hair color was just a tad too similar to his real shade, but he liked the way it fell against his scruff. And he supposed the dark hair did make him look a little more serious - the type of look that moved away from dashing playboy to handsome businessman. Or a novelist. No, not a novelist - although he liked to think he was clever and sensitive enough to be one. But novelists were so broody and never had any fun. Neither did businessmen, he supposed, but he liked the idea of looking like someone important and able to provide. Women tended to look at something like that now that he reached that certain age.

Except Sophie. Sophie wasn't looking for someone to provide for her, despite being Ingarian. Even with the new hair color and scruff, she'd taken a look at him and, instead of staring at him with doe eyes and a flush, she'd merely rolled her eyes and turned back to the bacon Calcifer was pouting under.

Which was odd. You'd think she'd love the new look. Sophie herself was always serious, or at least more so than most women he'd met. No, that wasn't true. He'd met women soon after university who'd been a challenge for him. He didn't always go for the simpering maidens. Especially after trading his heart, he found that the chase of the more stubborn ladies gave him a hint of more spark in his chest cavity than he usually had. He chased after the feeling, delighting in it. Until he won them over and suddenly there was no more spark, no more hint at being human. It wasn't that he didn't feel any emotions at all, ever, but he never had a thrill anymore, of a heart beating overtime with excitement. Not unless he chased and chased.

But Sophie was different.

And that wasn't to say she was "different than all the other girls," although perhaps he'd thought so earlier on in their acquaintance. He'd met stubborn women, beautiful women, feisty women, quiet women, sweet women...But Sophie was a unique blend of all those traits. A woman as fiery as her shouldn't also have such a meek streak. A woman so beautiful shouldn't also be so modest. And a woman as irritated with frivolousness shouldn't also be so nice to someone like him.

He hadn't planned on kissing her. Usually, he planned his conquests to some extent. He supposed he was a bit like an actor - dressing the part, knowing the lines, perfecting the timing, able to improv but keeping his eyes on the end goal - and Ingary had felt like a stage, if he wanted to throw around some Shakespeare. But Ingary hadn't felt like a stage lately, even excluding the death threats. And Sophie certainly wasn't an actress. Even when she pursed her lips and pretended to ignore him - a la the reaction to his hair - he could still see the irritation painting her cheeks red or the laughter sparkling in her eyes. Even when she wasn't snapping at him or making a sarcastic comment, she was always so emotive. Megan had always told him he was so dramatic - some exes had said the same - but Sophie was too in a different way. Despite that similarity - perhaps the only one between them - she had a stubbornness where he was weak, a thoughtfulness where he could be slapdash. What a strange pair they made.

And were they a pair? He wouldn't have put a label on it before. He wouldn't have clung to the title of paramour, lover, suitor - even boyfriend - but while part of him wanted to slide out of any possibility of being labeled, and therefore attached (like a chain, like a curse) to any woman, part of him wished he could kick himself into action and establish that with her. She was a woman once engaged, but she'd never been courted, and he knew she'd never been kissed prior to him. He felt odd at that idea. A part of him wished to flee from something that was turning so serious, so suddenly, and another part was absolutely euphoric and triumphant. Some alpha male piece of him wanted to declare that she was his, that Sophie Hatter, woman extraordinaire, chose him. He hadn't expected that. They hadn't even kissed since that day almost a week ago. But they'd exchanged glances. It was hard to do much more in a castle crowded with people, many of whom were her relatives. Plus, he had his magic business to run, they had the flower shop, and in between it all they were trying to reclaim the dog-men's missing pieces as well as Fanny from under the Witch's nose. But the barricades were high on the Witch's end. Nothing would break them unless he was right in the Waste, and despite wanting to end this hostage crisis, Howl had no desire to actually walk right into the Witch's clutches. Sophie never brought it up to him, either, although Lettie sometimes suggested it.

In his darkest thoughts, late at night when he and Calcifer spoke silently to each other, conversation bespelled so no one would wake, Howl had a sinking feeling he'd end up in the Waste one of these days anyway.

After all, Midsummer was only thirteen days away.

"How's this, sir?" a blonde with thick red lips asked. She was pretty, he could appreciate that. But while he smiled and assured her that she and her coworkers did a marvelous job, he had little desire to stick around and watch those nice pink cheeks turn a darker red or hear the light laughter trickle from her mouth. Instead, once she and two others boxed the gown up for him, as well as a pair of shoes and jewelry, Howl simply paid an exorbitant amount and left after bowing a good day.

His pockets were uncomfortably light, though he usually carried little on him, and for a moment he was disappointed he couldn't get that elegant little mirror behind the register. But Sophie probably wouldn't appreciate it. He couldn't see it in her functional little room, so tidy and organized with only a little bit of fine fabrics draping the little table by her bed. But if she eventually moved into his room, he could see it going right by the door, perhaps above the -

All right, that's quite enough of that, he told himself sharply. It was one thing to be a little (a lot) more heavily invested in this not-quite relationship than any other he'd ever had. It was another to think about Sophie moving in with him - well, into his room, specifically. He'd never lived with any woman except his mum and sister. He'd stayed overnight, sometimes even for several days if things were particularly fun between him and a girl, but moving in with a woman was crossing one of the many invisible borders he'd set up for himself. He always thought his dishonesty was one of his biggest traits, but really he slid out of serious things because he was too honest with himself. If things began getting serious with any girl, he'd quickly realize it was no longer fun and games, but something heavy, and he hated seeing women cry more than he had to. So he made sure to never get to that point. But it was more than just the girl's emotions involved. Really, he didn't mind the idea of something serious, but every time he thought he might see something with someone, they grew closer and he realized that the spark was gone again. If he stayed longer, and then he left, she'd be more hurt. After so long, especially heartless, he'd more or less given up the idea of really, truly finding something serious.

And now that there was a hint that with Sophie Hatter, he might have found that, he was terrified.

His words with her, especially the day of their kiss(es), had come out more honestly than ever before. He'd kissed her unexpectedly - no games, just desire. And when he prepared to be slapped, she'd come to him and pressed her lips to his in a messy novice sort of way that he cherished, because he knew what she was like. No, not just that. He knew her. Not entirely, of course, but he could truly say that he knew her. He knew when she was biting her tongue, when her sharp words were out of fear and dishonesty, when she was truly angry, when she was delighted.

Her kissing him meant there was no games with her, either. Even more precious than her confiding in him minutes before (she'd trusted him...him!) was the fact that she made this move with pure desire and honesty. She'd chosen him, even if just for the minute, despite knowing more than any other woman before her just what his flaws were, how obnoxious he could be, that his reputation and actions were the very things that should have turned her away. And she wasn't like the women who quickly played the heroine role of bodice-rippers, throwing all restraint to the wind. She accepted his deepening their kiss, his hands on her, but did not use him to seek more of that devious pleasure brewing between them like many women did, wanting to explore what their governesses or mothers or aunts warned them about pursuing. She'd been so sweet and shy, though eager, and he knew that this was not about her being young and wanting to try something exciting. This was about her wanting to be with him, though she didn't cling to him as he'd (hoped) expected she might.

Lord, but his mind was a mess. He wanted her and feared her and wondered why the devil he wanted nothing more than to cast her out of his house as well as lock the two of them in his room for the rest of their lives, all at the same time. He had bigger things to worry about, really. The Witch had taken pieces of two men, Sophie's stepmother had been kidnapped, and the clock ticked ever closer to Midsummer Day. Plus, there was his little contract with Calcifer.

And here he was, contradicting himself even in his own mind, thinking of her more often than his fear.

It was just because the rest of it didn't quite feel real, surely. Ingary was still the stage he played on. But when she was near him, when her eyes drifted off as she scrubbed the counter and he knew she was thinking of her stepmother, or when she read books she'd borrowed from the library about hearts, whispering to Calcifer while the others talked - everything felt more real.

It wasn't just a spark in his chest anymore. But he wouldn't call it a flame, either. In some ways, the emptiness in his chest felt more heavier than ever when he was around her, and yet his veins thrummed with life just bantering with her, or even when he saw the little ginger (red-gold) head poke her head through the shop door and ask if someone could pluck some violets for a customer. There was no thrilling dates between them, no grand gestures or songs written. It was mundane, yet he treasured it even while he grew frightened.

Speaking of thrilling dates...

He glanced at the parcels, then smiled.

"Good afternoon, friends!" he bellowed as he opened the front door before realizing the room was considerably more bare than usual. His first thought was seeking out Sophie. "Where is everyone?"

Michael chirped, writing down the conversions for a spell Howl had given him earlier that morning, "Mrs. Fairfax begged to run the shop. She said she felt stir-crazy. The men are helping her. They keep darting between here and the garden. I think she's trying to keep them lively."

"And our lovely ladies?"

Howl was amused to see Michael look up and try to restrain a scowl. "My lovely lady is sitting out on the bench in the courtyard of Vale End, talking to her sisters."

Howl nodded, then was struck by inspiration. If Sophie was alone with her sisters, maybe she was confiding in them. Perhaps he'd hear a little more about how she was feeling about their pseudo-relationship.

"Michael," he said, "I think we need some steaks. Pick up some, will you?"

"I'm almost done-"

"Sophie will be annoyed if we don't have enough when she goes to cook."

Sophie hadn't been preparing steaks for dinner, he knew, but Michael had too much of a moral compass for what he was about to do. Once Michael left, scared into action by the thought of a grumpy Sophie, Calcifer piped up, "What are you planning?"

"What, me?" Howl asked, blinking, before gathering a few ingredients and metal and throwing them together. Soon, he felt the pulse of magic, and he could hear Martha say, "So you do like Suliman, over the Prince."

"I think it was his personality that really was in the dog-man," Lettie said. "At least, I'm guessing so. It's hard to know how I feel about him, since I don't know the full him yet."

"Save that for your wedding day," Martha snickered.

"Martha," Sophie groaned, but let out a laugh. Howl's heart made Calcifer shift, glaring up at him.

"Speaking of men: Do you think Howl will break his curse, Sophie?" Martha asked.

"He'd better," was all she said.

"You said he had till Midsummer?" Lettie asked. "I still don't know why he can't just trade himself in for Fanny and the pieces of the Prince and Wizard Suliman."

He could imagine Sophie bristling. "The Witch can't be trusted. She took the Royal Wizard and Prince Justin and scrambled them together for a reason. I doubt she's just doing so for fun. If they were ordinary people, maybe. But they're powerful. And Howl's a powerful wizard too, in his own right. Besides, even if he just traded himself for Fanny's safety, do you really think the Witch would keep her word?"

"But-"

"I saw a woman die, Lettie," Sophie snapped. "She won't just keep her word."

Lettie acquiesced, but then said, "Sophie, you're awfully defensive of him."

"Am I?" she answered airily.

"You said you weren't in love with him."

"I don't know if I'm in love with him," Sophie said, so quietly that the hearing spell almost didn't catch it. "Besides, isn't love blind? I feel I see him awfully clearly. He's obnoxious, dramatic. He loves the sound of his own voice, and he makes me want to hit him sometimes. But...but then he lets that little veil fall and he's...kind...and...stop looking at me like that!"

"What's happened? Sophie, something happened between the two of you!" Martha cried.

"I..."

"He's even taking you to a ball," Lettie said thoughtfully, with a little less antagonism than before.

"It's just politics..."

"Did he kiss you?"

"I've got to get dinner started!" Sophie declared.

The two girls complained about this, but then Lettie, after a moment, began saying, "Martha, are you and Michael-"

Howl heard nothing more, because he managed to disassemble the spell just at that moment, the same moment that Sophie opened the castle door.

"Oh," she said, coloring and shutting the door with more power than necessary, rattling the frame.

"I've got your dress," Howl said, unable to keep from grinning. "You should be ready for the ball, Cinderella."

"Who?"

"Sophie," Calcifer called out with a cackle, "you're getting soft!"

Sophie looked at the hearth bewilderedly, giving Howl just enough time to start scattering the mechanics of the spell. But she turned back and caught sight of what he was doing.

"Is that...?"

Clearly, she paid far too much attention to the magic lessons.

Her eyes met his, and he was a little too dumbstruck by the color of them to come up with a proper excuse. Then she turned colors, shifting from light pink to dark red, her hands clenching and eyes burning. Her soft lips curled with anger and humiliation.

"You were listening?"

Howl dropped one of the metal pieces from the backyard, hands up in the air pacifyingly. "Calcifer, you are the worst," he said matter-of-fact, sending a faint smile at Sophie.

"I think that title belongs to you," Calcifer sniped back.

"You snooper!" Sophie screamed, grabbing something blindly - thankfully just a wrapped loaf of bread - and chucking it at his head. He dodged it with a nervous laugh.

"Sophie, darling, cariad - "

"Shut up!"

A book this time, pages fluttering. Howl caught it before it smashed into his torso.

"Darling, you really don't have a very good throw - "

"Gah!"

A frying pan this time. Howl didn't have the hands to catch it and merely winced, using the bread and book to block it before it fell to the ground with a clang.

"Why would you do that?" Sophie yelled.

The door opened. It was Justin and Suliman, bearing flowers from the edge of the Waste.

"Get out!" she screamed at them.

The door slammed shut.

Howl watched as she whirled back at him. No longer was Calcifer even laughing; Howl suspected he'd slunk beneath the logs, realizing this was a far more violent reaction than he'd anticipated. After all, if Howl died, Calcifer died. But for a brief moment, Howl wasn't even afraid of her. He was captivated by the flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes glittered, and how her hair flamed around her, wisps separated from her braid. She was beautiful, his feisty little mouse. He'd never been so stupefied or so turned on in his life. He'd never considered himself that sort of fellow, but maybe he liked a domineering sort of woman.

And then, as if coming back from a gun going off near his ear, the world started spinning again, and she began yelling at him once more.

"Why on earth would you do that?" she demanded, stamping her foot in such an unladylike way that he wanted to scoop her up and have her ankles wrap around his waist. "That's incredibly humiliating! My secrets are my own, and you've no right to start eavesdropping for...for...I don't know what! Especially after ignoring me the past few days!"

Howl regained his tongue. "Ignoring?"

She snorted. "I'm quite ignorant about most of these things; I admit it. I probably should've guessed you'd drop me soon. I just expected..." She paused. "I must've just expected you to wait a few more days before doing so," she continued airily.

"Drop you?" Howl sputtered, mind whirling. "What do you take me for? I've been spending hours at shops, trying to get a very lovely gown for you!" He gestured over at the boxes with the loaf of bread.

She set eyes on the packages for the first time. He watched her hesitate, then round on him again. "Yes, I'm sure those are for me," she grumbled. "Don't worry, I won't send any angry aunts over you. Mrs. Fairfax's the closest thing I have to an aunt, and she doesn't even know anything happened. Not that...not that anything important happened."

Had he been less upset - less mortified, less defensive, less bewildered - he might have been amused at her attempts to sound dismissive and dignified. But for the first time since what felt like ages ago, when she'd wound up lost and assaulted in Wales, he was angry. He was downright furious.

"Nothing happened?" Then he got angrier because he sounded like some bloody parrot. "I'm taking you to a ball, not some other girl! I've been thinking of nothing but you for the past month, let alone the past week! If I've been neglecting you, it's because this castle is infested with so many people, many of whom are your relatives, and I'm too much of a gentleman to shove you up against the wall in front of them!"

She colored more deeply, eyes watery and embarrassed and averting from him. She moved to walk away; no doubt the mouse was off to hide in her little hole.

Like he'd let that happen.

She let out a shout when he grabbed her wrist, but he only tightened his hold. He shouted at her, "I understand that everything you think of me is all my own doing, but you ought to know-!"

She was shaking.

She wasn't crying, but her eyes were a little more watery than before, sparkling in a way he didn't like at all.

He looked down at her wrist, where the three-quarter-length sleeve ended, where his hand wrapped around her. She was such a powerful presence, magically and in personality, scrubbing and commanding with a ferocity matching a bull, that he hadn't thought in a while how small she was. He slowly unwrapped his hand and slid it down to her fingers, a too-late masquerade of gentlemanly conduct. Really, he wanted to see what he'd done without her pulling away.

There was a small pale band where his hand had gripped her.

It might even bruise.

Howl pulled away, her unmoving fingers sliding from his grasp, dropping limply to her side.

He swallowed hard, his eyes meeting hers.

He hated the sparkle that remained there.

But then she swallowed too, and after a moment, she said, visibly struggling to keep her voice steady, "I threw a frying pan at you, so I think we're even."

He hadn't expected that.

"I'm going to clean the bath. With so many people here, it's getting filthy. Especially," she quipped, though it was milder than her usual delivery, "since you had to dye your hair a darker shade."

She walked past him, going up the stairs. She heard her close the bathroom door behind her, though the fumes from the cleaning probably couldn't be good in a closed space. He hoped she at least opened a window.

Howl stared at the floor, his mind, for once, not whirling.

Then he heard the door fling open and boots pound against the stairs as she rushed down.

"Howl!" she called, peeking over the railing.

He whipped around, eyes meeting hers. Her face was red, and she said, "If you don't want me, just say so."

He nodded. "Certainly," he rasped.

She seemed to wait for him to say it, but when he didn't, she flushed harder and said, "Were you telling the truth, that you've...thought of m-me the past month?"

Stop talking, his old instincts demanded.

But he said, almost absently, but truthfully, so truthfully it hurt:

"It's causing Calcifer a lot of irritation, actually."

"It's true!" Calcifer shouted from under his logs. "It keeps flopping around like some little fish!"

Howl winced; that was more honesty than he'd wished.

But Sophie bit her lip, trying to hold together the smile that was escaping nonetheless. She didn't give an open-mouthed smile very often. When she did, it was breathtaking.

"Heartburn, Calcifer?" she asked, her voice a little higher than usual. As soon as she said the words, though, she raised her eyes heavenward, as if begging, "Please smite me now."

"That was a very Howl-ish comment," Calcifer grumbled.

"I know," Sophie said, sounding mortified. Then she met Howl's gaze, looked away quickly, then determinedly met it again. "I almost hurt you more than you hurt me," she said, using her no-nonsense voice again, though it was still softer than usual, like a squeaky mouse. "Stop worrying. I know you're sorry. I am too." She jabbed a finger toward him. "So stop worrying."

Then she gave him a small smile, just a glimpse of it, before she rushed up the stairs again.

It was not until the door slammed shut again that whatever spell she'd put on him wore off, and he staggered over to the hearth and dumped himself into a chair. Green slime seemed imminent.

"Well," Calcifer said, "that went well."

Howl opened his eyes in a stupor. "You can't be serious."

"She got mad, you got mad, and then you both got over it. Isn't that good?"

"It shouldn't have even gotten to that point!" Howl protested, digging his fingers into his scalp, messing up his well-styled hair. "I hurt her." He tasted the words on his tongue again, acidic. "I hurt her."

"Not intentionally, and it wasn't as if a little pinch on the wrist was on the same level as nearly being brained by a frying pan," Calcifer helpfully pointed out. "I know humans are fragile, but-"

"I need my heart back," Howl said abruptly, ignoring Calcifer's glare at interrupting him. "If I have my heart back, I'd be able to regulate my emotions better, wouldn't I?"

"Honestly, the fact that your heart's detached probably is why you're handling the end of the curse as well as you are. You ought to be petrified," Calcifer said, musingly, "but Sophie's distracted you so much, and your body has a hard time focusing on multiple strong emotions at once."

"I thought you wanted this contract over with, too? You were the one who first approached Sophie about breaking the curse, as far as I remember."

"Sure, but I can look at the bright side. She's getting close to breaking it, but she's got to work up her confidence. That's her biggest downfall: She doesn't trust herself."

Or me, Howl thought, though the smile she gave him at the end of their fight seemed to make him feel a little like that wasn't entirely true.

"Watch it!" Calcifer sizzled, shifted yet again.

"Sorry," Howl said unrepentantly.

"We can worry about the contract later. First and foremost: the Witch's curse." Calcifer eyed him, blue flame spurting. "I'm glad I was able to see the two of you by yourselves. You're usually so sneaky about it, I can't always get a clear picture."

"What are you talking about?"

"The terms of your curse. I've figured it out."

Howl sat up straight.

"Honesty."

Howl raised a brow.

"I've been wondering why it was that the terms of the curse were so murky, but it's because it wasn't an event, it was a trait: honesty. You're hardly ever honest except around Sophie, specifically when you're alone. And even then you fib quite often. At least, you used to. You both exploded because you're so honest now."

"What good are feelings if that's the result?" Howl said bleakly. He wanted to crack a joke or go on a dramatic poetic tangent, but he hadn't the energy. Then Calcifer's words sunk in. "You think my being around Sophie is triggering my honesty - my honesty, what an odd thing to say - which in turn is triggering the curse?"

"If you get too honest, you'll be sucked right in."

And the way the embers popped and crackled further instilled the notion that there was no doubt.

Howl and Calcifer thought long and hard together. Too many times, Sophie's smile came back into view, her shy and anxious questions replacing the fiery picture of the little witch's tantrum.

But Howl then thought of being caught up by the Witch. And not only that: Being caught up by the Witch and having no ability to help the others who'd been ensnared by her. He thought of Sophie, devastated by the loss of her stepmother.

"Well, then," he said at last, a false, cheerful smile on my lips. "My shining dishonesty will be the salvation of me."


Meanwhile, a warm southern breeze flitted through the air, tangling the hair of two men as they sat on the stoop.

"Do you think we can go in yet?" Prince Justin asked dimly, staring at the horizon.

Suliman shrugged dully back, and they both lapsed into silence again.

Prettyinpinkgal: I could've ended the chapter on a somewhat dark note, but nah, I just had to include the little bonus scene at the end.

I didn't expect to write Howl and Sophie's confrontation, especially in such a dark way. But I felt it was necessary. First of all, in the book, Sophie nearly throws acidic weed killer on him. In this chapter, she downgraded (?) to a frying pan (and a book, and a loaf of bread). So the fact that Howl loses his temper, with it somewhat being a culmination of all that's going on even outside of their dubious relationship, and that he grabs her too tight hopefully didn't put anyone off too much, since it's obvious that they both went too far and both are aware of and regret it. I also really wanted to show that there's a reason Howl is afraid of getting angry, and with the amount of stress they're under, it's understandable that both their tempers would escalate to this.

But now that the terms of the curse is revealed, and Sophie is the one who seems to trigger Howl's honesty along, what will happen in future chapters, I wonder?

I wanted to let you guys know that while I am trying to write as frequently as possible right now while the creative juices are flowing, I doubt I will finish the story by the end of the month, and January is the start of my student teaching. As such, I will most likely be unable to update during that time. Would you prefer I write a lot and then just update as I finish each chapter, or should I write a lot and then spread out the updates over the coming months instead of binge-posting this month?

As always, thank you for reading. Please take the time to leave a review!