Chapter Three: In which Howl longs for oblivion

Characters this chapter: Howl, Sophie, Mari, Morgan

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

From the moment Sophie pointed out that Mari was sulking outside of his bedroom window, Howl knew that something was wrong. It wasn't because Mari was hugging a pineapple—hey, in the world of a child, pineapples need love. But there was something about that pineapple that Just. Wasn't. Quite. Right. For instance, it was under a spell, and a spell that bore Mari's distinct magical signature at that. Of course, Howl had no intentions of telling Sophie this, though. Mari had probably just tried to ensorcell a brussel sprout into something a bit more enticing—and who could blame her? There was no need to get Sophie worked up over such an innocent experiment.

But even though Howl was considerate enough to spare Sophie the pain of needless worrying, he couldn't stop himself from feeling uneasy. Even if Mari had only tried to transfigure a vegetable (and he couldn't bear to let himself consider the possibility that she had done something worse), he couldn't rid himself of the fear that Megan had seen her do it. As he and Sophie got ready to take Morgan to Wales, he kept replaying in his mind the moment when Megan had stormed across the backyard and fetched Mari back inside. Sophie scrambled about the castle, piling nappies and blankets and bottles and powders into his arms—so many that they could have taken Morgan to Mars and back. But he just kept thinking of Megan and her furious gesticulations. If only he could have heard what she had been yelling.

Howl was still in this daze as they went through the portal into Wales. His mind was running like a hamster on a wheel, half of it trying to determine the likelihood that Megan had seen Mari cast a spell, and the other half of it trying to fabricate a plausible cover-up if that was actually the case. He was so preoccupied that he nearly forgot to change his clothes. Luckily, the sight of Sophie's full-length skirt lifting up and receding to a spot just above her knees brought his ruminations to a screeching halt. It was as though he had been wandering along a beach and fretting about some storm clouds gathering on the horizon, when suddenly, the tide had gone out, revealing a treasure in the sand at his feet. The gathering clouds of Hurricane Megan temporarily forgotten, Howl took a moment to admire Sophie's lithe, pale calves. He then (finally) remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and transformed his and Morgan's outfits, as well as changing Morgan's baby carriage into a modern-day stroller.

Somehow, this all led to an argument about whether or not grass is really green. Howl wasn't sure how they got from shape-shifting clothes to grass, or how it was even possible to argue about the color of grass, but he soon began to feel troubled. Not because of the argument (that was quite amusing), but because Megan didn't come out to stop them from "disturbing the peace," as she always put it. Megan never failed to chastise them for quarreling so openly—she claimed that, not only did it bother the neighbors, but it made her look bad when her brother made a public spectacle out of his marriage.

Today, however, Megan did nothing to interrupt their altercation, and it wasn't until her next door neighbour yelled at them to "pipe down" that Howl ushered his family inside. As soon as he stepped over the threshold of the little yellow house, he braced himself for an upbraiding from his sister. He felt that she must be lurking inside somewhere, and had probably just become so ashamed of him that she was no longer willing to associate herself with him in public.

But after they closed the door behind them, they weren't met by any of the grumbles or mutterings or insults that were so indicative of Megan's disapproval (and general existence). Howl could hear the telly blaring from the sitting room, but aside from that, the house was completely silent. Howl headed towards the sitting room—the door was open, and he expected to find Megan knitting or folding laundry on the couch, or Gareth drinking a beer, or Neil and Mari sprawled out on the floor. But the room was empty. The evening news was on—Megan always liked to have that playing in the background while she cooked supper. Howl would've thought she was just in the kitchen, but there was no sound of clinking dishes, or sizzling food, or running water—nothing.

Howl felt his chest tightening with anxiety, and quickly told himself that he was being silly. Everyone was probably just upstairs—maybe Megan was lecturing Mari about something in her bedroom—although that thought brought Howl back to the issue of whether or not Megan had witnessed Mari using magic. Every time the idea returned to his mind, it only made him feel worse. Of course, Megan had seen evidence of witchcraft and wizardry in the past—hell, she had experienced it firsthand when the Witch of the Waste had paid her a visit. And Howl had always managed to provide a rational explanation for it. But he feared that he could only slither out so many times before his sister pinned him down for good.

"Just what do you think you're looking at?" Sophie suddenly demanded, whacking him on the shoulder.

Howl realized that he had gotten lost in thought again, and that he had been staring off into space. Unfortunately for him, when he had zoned out, his unseeing gaze had settled somewhere around the telly, which was currently playing a clip from a beauty pageant. The television screen showed one young woman after another, strutting across a stage, and none of them wore anything more than a bathing suit and a sash. Howl wondered how he had gotten so caught up in his worries that he had failed to notice the near-naked ladies parading before his very eyes. Even more unfortunately for him, though, was that now that Sophie had drawn his attention to them, he took a bit too long tearing himself away—

"Did you even hear me?" Sophie asked, putting herself between him and the television set, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Sophie, cariad, I promise you, I wasn't even watching—"

Sophie's eyes narrowed, like those of a cat that is just about to unfurl its claws.

"I was thinking—"

"About what?" Sophie interrupted.

"About how beautiful you are!" Howl exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her towards him. "I was so enthralled by thoughts of your loveliness, so enraptured by your pulchritudinous form—"

"Pulchritudinous? Is that even a word?" Sophie raised her eyebrows in a mixture of amusement and disbelief. She had unfolded her arms, and her hands were now resting lightly on his chest.

"Why, of course," Howl said, leaning towards his wife until the tips of their noses brushed.

"It has more syllables than you have suits," Sophie remarked, her hands sliding up towards his shoulders and around the back of his neck. As she spoke, her breath warmed his skin, and little pricks of energy went racing up his spine, like bubbles jetting towards the surface of a glass of champagne. He tightened his grip on her, convulsively.

"Only words with more than four syllables can properly express how enchanting you are," Howl murmured.

When Sophie didn't immediately say anything more, Howl seized the opportunity to kiss her. But at the last second, she turned her head so that he ended up with his face buried in a mass of her ginger curls.

"Hmph," Sophie grunted, pushing him away and marching around behind the telly. "There aren't enough syllables in the world to properly express how full of it you are."

Howl spluttered, plucking a few strands of red hair from his lips, and rebelliously dropping them on the sitting room's brown and orange (and obsessively vacuumed) carpet.

"Sophie, darling, I do believe that your hair is attacking me," he told her, breathing heavily from being close to her.

"Good for it," Sophie snapped. "Aha! There it is!"

With that exclamation of triumph, Sophie bent down, grabbed the telly's black power cord, and yanked it out of the wall socket.

"This is your sister's house, Howl," Sophie reminded him, dropping the power cord at her feet. "Hardly an appropriate place to get distracted by thoughts of … my loveliness."

Howl opened his mouth to defend himself further, incredulous that Sophie was still upset about his wandering eyes. This was completely unfair—he honestly hadn't been paying attention (this time)! He wished that he could just tell Sophie what he had really been thinking about, but he couldn't divulge the truth now without getting caught for his earlier lie about Mari and her pineapple. And besides, knowing his Sophie, even if he did explain to her that he had been consumed by his fears about Megan (and therefore, for once in his life, had not been ogling the bathing beauties on telly) she probably still wouldn't accept that answer any more than she had accepted his attempts at flattery. Really, that woman could be impossibly jealous sometimes.

"Speaking of Megan, though, where do you think she's gotten to?" Sophie continued in a much lighter tone before Howl could say anything. He snapped his mouth shut, thankful for getting off the hook so easily. "It doesn't seem like she's home … or anyone else for that matter. And what's that smell?"

Sophie sniffed at the air, and then wrinkled her nose. For a moment, Howl wondered what she was talking about, but then he noticed it, too—a faint odour that reminded him of burning leaves, tickling his nostrils the way his colognes did when he sprayed them on too heavily. He recognized it immediately; it was the scent of a magical residue that's been left in the wake of a sloppily cast spell. Specifically, it was the kind of residue that Mari's glamours left behind. Howl was surprised that he hadn't sensed it earlier, but what surprised him more was that Sophie had been able to detect it. She and Michael had always been very much alike in their ability (or distinct lack thereof) to sense the presence of magic. Well, maybe one of them would learn after all.

Howl frowned and began pacing about the room, trying to determine where the residue was emanating from. Strangely enough, it seemed to grow stronger whenever he passed the sofa, even though he couldn't see any sign of it there. It wasn't until he walked behind the sofa that he spotted it—a shimmering, speckled pattern that looked like sugar, spilling down the back of the sofa and into a pile on the floor. Well, Megan certainly wouldn't like that on her carpet.

"Howl, are you going to tell me what's going on?" Sophie inquired. "Or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

Glancing up from the glamour's sparkling remains, Howl found that Sophie had come around the other end of the sofa and was now standing in front of him. From the look on her face, he realized that she must have asked him to explain the situation quite a few times now.

"Can you see anything there, Sophie?" Howl asked, inclining his head towards the magically stained floor.

"No, nothing," Sophie said, frowning at the carpet. "Howl, is something the matter?"

"I don't know," Howl answered, which was the truth. He then flashed a smile at her. "But it's certainly nothing that requires you to resort to domestic violence."

Stepping over the residue that lay between them, he kissed her on the forehead. He then turned on his heels, and began striding towards the hallway. His insides were twitching now, like a compass needle trying to locate true north, drawing him towards what was surely the sight of another glamour casting. He paused for a moment to check on Morgan, who was parked just inside the sitting room doorway—Morgan, who had fallen asleep shortly before they had left Ingary, and who was still slumbering on, blissfully unaware of … well, of whatever the hell was going on in the Parry house. The fronds of one of Megan's ferns curved over the stroller, casting feathery shadows across the infant's peaceful face, and Howl couldn't help but smile at the sight.

But Howl couldn't ignore the tug of magic, either. He continued on, crossing the hallway and entering the kitchen, where he came to a stop so quickly that it was as if he had run into an invisible wall. Sophie was grumbling something from behind him, but the meaning of her words failed to penetrate his mind, which was currently reeling from shock. Howl did not think that he could have been more horrified had all of his hair fallen out (although, in all fairness, he probably would have been).

For one, the kitchen was in a complete state of disarray. Megan's purse was lying on the countertop, tipped over onto its side with its contents spilling out—keys, spare change, a lipstick, and a few coupons that seemed to have fluttered down to the floor. And the floor itself was crowded with brown paper bags, vegetables, canned foods, a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread … It was bad enough to see that his ever-diligent sister had abandoned her groceries in the midst of putting them away. Even worse, though, was the magical residue that blanketed everything like a dusting of snow. The food, the bags, the purse—even Megan's keys were powdered with the glimmering leftovers of a spell.

Howl reached out a hand and gripped the door frame to steady himself. Well, just because a spell had been cast right on top of Megan's groceries … that still didn't necessarily mean that Megan had witnessed it, right?

"Uncle Howell?"

"Yes, Mari."

"Do you remember how, whenever I'd cast a glamour on something, the spell would break as soon as someone touched it?"

"Of course, Mari."

"Well, I think I fixed that problem."

Howl knelt down in front of his niece, whom he and Sophie had found shortly after his discovery in the kitchen. Mari was sitting in a patch of violets in the Parry backyard with, not one, but two pineapples now, as well as the spellbook Howl had leant her a few months back. She was smiling hopefully, but her eyes had the pitiful expression of a lost kitten. Just seeing her like that, Howl felt terrible, although it wasn't entirely because of how upset she seemed to be. It was also because of what he knew she was going to tell him.

"Mari, what exactly happened today?" Sophie asked, sounding firm, yet somehow soothing—a tone that made Howl stop fretting, for just an instant, because he was struck by thoughts of what a good mother she was going to be.

Howl comforted himself with these thoughts while Mari struggled to get a single, coherent word to come out of her mouth. If she had seemed like a lost kitten before, she now reminded Howl of a cat who was trying to cough up a hairball. Howl waited patiently for her to speak, and tried to arrange his face into a look of warm understanding, even though he was feeling so antsy that if Mari had been a fortune cookie, he would have smashed her into little crumbs by now in an attempt to uncover her secret. When he felt that he couldn't stand it any longer, he decided to hug her and to pat her on the back and to tell her that it was okay (even though it most certainly was not) and that he wouldn't be mad, when all of a sudden, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms about his neck so tightly that he feared she would choke him to death.

"Oh, mae'n flin 'da fi, Uncle Howell," she sobbed, and continued on in Welsh, shaking and crying all the while. "I d-didn't mean to … b-but Neil … Mam wanted t-to … to put him in a fruit salad! Sh-she was going to chop him up into … l-little pieces! And so, I had to … I-I had to …"

"Mari, Mari, calm down, cariad," Howl gasped, stroking her head and attempting to loosen her hold on his neck. "It's all right, it's all right, it's going to be okay, I promise …"

Howl continued murmuring several different variations of "it's okay" until Mari regained some of her eight-year old composure. He then pulled away from her iron embrace so that he could look her in the eye.

"Now, what's this about your mam wanting to put Neil in a fruit salad?" Howl asked, still speaking in Welsh so that Mari would be as comfortable as possible.

Mari sniffled, and began to tell her tale, speaking so rapidly that Howl could barely keep up.

"Well, Neil found my spellbook and he said he was going to show it to Mam, and so I tried to curse him with pimples to distract him, just so that I could get the book back, but then the spell went all wrong, and I don't know how, but he turned into a pineapple, and just as Mam was getting home from grocery shopping, too! I heard her opening the door, and so I took Neil and ran out back so that I could sneak 'round to the front of the house and go to your castle, but then I remembered that your door's been closed a good while, but I couldn't think of what to do, so I decided to try it anyway, but then Mam found me in the backyard and she yelled at me because she said the neighbours would think she's a bad mam if I do strange things like running 'round with pineapples, and then she asked me where I got the pineapple from and I told her I found it and then she said she wanted to make a fruit salad with it and I tried to keep her away from it, because I knew the spell would break if she touched it, and I didn't want her finding out about magic because I promised you I'd keep it secret, but she grabbed it from me anyway, but the pineapple still didn't turn back into Neil, and she was talking about slicing him into cubes and mixing him up with pieces of melon and grapes, and I was so scared that she'd kill him, and I knew I had to stop her and so—"

At this point, Mari finally paused to breathe. Up until now, her rushed confession had made Howl feel like they were all on a runaway train that was hurtling towards the edge of a cliff. As Mari inhaled, Howl envisioned their train shooting out over the abyss and hovering in the air for a split-second. He had to stop himself from closing his eyes in preparation for the inevitable fall.

"And so I said the same spell for pimples and Mam turned into a pineapple, too, and I can't turn them back."

Boom. They hit the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Uncle Howell," Mari wailed, sobbing and choking him again with renewed vigour. "I'll never do magic again, never ever ever ever ever. Just please turn Mam and Neil back, please please please, and then you never have to speak to me again or visit me again or eat my peanut butter cookies again or play house with me again …"

Mari went on like this for some while. Howl might have interrupted her, but he was too busy trying to prevent himself from being strangled. He looked up at Sophie, hoping for some sympathy, but she only gave him a puzzled look—of course, how could he forget—Mari had told him everything in Welsh, and Sophie hadn't understood one bloody word of it. Howl sighed as he finally pulled Mari off of him again. He was not in the mood to explain this to Sophie. One of his very worst fears had just come true, and he had no desire to relive that discovery by talking about it. In fact, all he wanted to do now was to go far far away from Wales—to Thailand, perhaps—and to have a beer—or twenty—and drop off into a nice, long coma.

mae'n flin 'da fi -- I'm sorry

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A/n:Just wanted to say, thanks to all of my reviewers so far, and again, thanksfor being so patient with me and my infrequent updates!

And if you're still confused by my references to Sabrina the Teenage Witch in my notes in the first two chapters, I'll explain that now. Basically, in what I think is one of the first Sabrina the Teenage Witch episodes, Sabrina accidentally turns Libby into a pineapple, and her powers are nearly discovered because of it. And that's where this story came from. ;-p

In any case, stay tuned! Chapter 4 will come out, even if it takes me another month ...