Hell Hath Frozen Over

Chapter 3

"You know," said the witcher, "it could be worse."

Dandelion just stared at the man. He didn't say a word.

"Really?" he finally said through clenched jaws. "And just tell me, Butcher, how exactly could it be worse?"

"Well, it could be limp and little instead of big and upright. So, you got that going for you, which is nice."

Dandelion immediately pulled up his trousers, covering himself.

"I cannot believe that you're not taking this seriously. I've clearly been cursed. I need your help – not jokes."

"Come on, Dandelion. Look at this from my point of view. It's pretty damn funny. And ironic. You gotta admit."

"Perhaps, I will see the humor in it afterwards – though I highly doubt it. But, for now, I would simply like you to fix this for me. May I remind you that I have a wedding coming up. How am I supposed to consummate the marriage with – with this?"

"A man who's so renowned for his skill in lovemaking, like yourself? I'm sure you'll have no troubles. Who knows? You might even be able to plant your seed."

The witcher smirked, but Dandelion didn't respond. He just glared at Geralt. Eventually, the witcher broke the silence.

"Fine. You want me to get serious? Okay. This -" he said, pointing at Dandelion's crotch, "- didn't just happen by accident, did it? Let me guess – you've been screwing around on Priscilla, haven't you?"

Suddenly, the bard's countenance changed.

"Not technically."

"Not technically?" said Geralt, with contempt in his voice. "This isn't a curse, then. It's karma."

"Oh, please! You're the last person who should be moralizing. How many times did you screw around on Yennefer?"

"A lot. Our relationship was also a disaster - from pretty much the very beginning. Is that what you're saying you want with Priscilla – what I had with Yen? Because if so, then just keep screwing around on her."

The two men stared hard at one another for several moments before Dandelion finally sighed, his anger evaporating.

"No, that's not what I want. At all. And I don't blame you for screwing around on Yennefer. She's a harpy. Will you let me at least explain what happened?"

Geralt nodded, and the two of them sat back down at the table. Dandelion poured them both a tall drink.

"Look, I'm not going to lie. I may have had one or two – okay, a few dalliances in my lifetime. But I always did it for the good of the relationship."

Geralt laughed. "This ought to be good. Okay, tell me, O' Wise One, just how was stepping out on your girlfriends good for the relationships."

"Simple," said the bard with a smile. "My philosophy has always been – if I don't care enough about the woman to not sniff around, then obviously the relationship isn't that strong to begin with and I should move on anyway. It's better to end the relationship early – even if it's painful - than to string the poor girls along. That's only the kind and respectful thing to do."

The witcher just shook his head. "You're all heart."

"Yes, well, the bottom line is - I didn't step out on Priscilla. She actually called it quits with me."

"You're kidding?" Geralt was completely shocked by that revelation. "When?"

"About three months back."

"Wait. I'm confused. Three months ago, you split up and now you're getting married? What the hell happened?"

"If you'd shut up already, I'd tell you."

"Fine, fine."

"A few months ago, things were perfect between us. We couldn't have been happier. Well, I couldn't have been happier. I was living with the love of my life. The business was going well. Things were great…I thought. And, then, out of the blue, she changes. Starts bringing up the idea of marriage. Constantly nagging me about it."

"And let me guess – you told her, 'Why buy the cow when I have the milk for free?' Right?"

"Please! I am a master of the seven liberal arts! Do you actually think I'd use such a plebeian turn-of-phrase?"

Geralt raised his hands, "Forgive me."

"You're forgiven. So, no, what I said was -" and Dandelion paused to raise his eyes to the ceiling and bring his hand to his heart "- that a love as pure and wondrous as ours was like a majestic eagle, soaring in freedom above the clouds. And that to put a common label on it – like marriage – was to clip its wings. To shackle it in chains. To imprison it in a rusted cage. Did she really want to imprison our love?"

The witcher just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that was much better than what I said. Despite your eloquence and erudition, I'm guessing she still didn't take it well."

Dandelion shook his head.

"Shocking."

"It didn't matter what I said. She wouldn't stop with the marriage talk. And the more she brought it up, the more I pushed back. The more I didn't like the idea. Eventually, one night, things blew up between us. She said that if I wasn't willing to marry her, then, obviously, I didn't truly love her and we were wasting our time. Told me she was through with me."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it. So, even though, technically, the Chameleon is mine, I followed her wishes and left. I ended up at the Kingfisher that night. Got completely hammered and woke up the next morning with a red-headed bar-wench named Tiffani."

Geralt suddenly hissed through clenched teeth, like he'd just been stung by a wasp.

"You didn't."

Dandelion nodded. "It's worse than you think."

"Don't tell me," said Geralt, "She spells it with an 'i' on the end?"

Dandelion nodded.

"Oh, man. That's not good."

"You're telling me. I know that now, but at the time, she was great. Just what I needed. She was fun with no expectations."

"Hell, Dandelion. You're closing in on fifty, man. You know better than that. A woman with no expectations? That's like…finding a unicorn. They all have expectations."

"I know, I know. Anyway, I stayed with her for about a week, but deep down, I was miserable. I realized that I truly did love Priscilla. So much so that I was willing to marry her. So, I bid Tiffani adieu and went back home. Asked Priscilla to marry me, and she said yes. So, in the end, I always considered the break-up to be a good thing. It made me realize exactly what I had to lose." At that point, Dandelion raised his finger in the air. "But, technically, I didn't cheat on Priscilla. She and I weren't a couple at the time."

Geralt nodded. "Alright. Fair enough. That's technically true. Though, I doubt Priscilla - or any other woman on the planet - would view it that way."

"No doubt. And that's why I never told her."

"So, when did your troubles, uh, sprout up?"

"I first started noticing some changes about six weeks ago. At first, I was in denial. But, eventually, things started getting worse and worse. To the point that, last week, I couldn't deny what was plain to see."

"How did Priscilla not find out during that time?"

"Well, I had to stop having sex with her, obviously. Of course, that caused her to become suspicious. I made up one excuse after another. That I hurt my back lifting some boxes in the storage room, things like that. Eventually, though, she accused me of having an affair. Said if I wasn't getting sex from her, then I had to be getting it from somewhere else. Which was quite hurtful, I must say. I mean, how dare she accuse me of such a thing!"

"Well, to be fair, that's not a completely irrational deduction on her part. So, I'm assuming you think Miss Tiffani is behind your predicament."

"Definitely. Who else could it be? Believe it or not, I've been faithful to Priscilla all this time. So, it can't be anyone else."

"I don't know, Dandelion. I've met some of your ex's. You have a real gift for pissing women off. I'm betting a few could carry a grudge for years."

Dandelion shrugged. "Hey, it's to be expected. I'm a passionate guy. Is it my fault if I bring out strong emotions in my women?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You're probably right, though. Tiffani is the most likely culprit. How did she take it when you told her that you were going back to Priscilla?"

"Whew – not well. Said that I would regret it. That no one treated her that way and would get away with it. That I would rue the day. Yadda, yadda. I honestly didn't pay much attention at the time. But now?"

"Did you go and confront her about it?"

"Sort of. I had to be subtle, because if she wasn't responsible, I didn't want to reveal to her…you know. So, I went to her place and knocked on her door. When she answered, I said, 'I know it was you. What can I do to get you to cure it?'"

"And?"

"She just glanced down at my crotch and gave me the evilest smile. Said, 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Then, she slammed the door in my face."

"Definitely sounds like she knows about it. You were with her for a week. Do you think she's a witch, or did she hire it out?"

At that point, Dandelion leaned back in his chair and exhaled long and slow. To the witcher's eyes, the man looked completely beaten down.

"I honestly don't know, Geralt. I didn't see anything suspicious while I was there. But I was also drinking heavily during that time. And, anyway, I'm a poet. I run a cabaret. What do I know about sorceresses and witchcraft and curses? That's your area of expertise."

He took another drink and asked, "So, can you help me? Do you think you can break the curse?"

"I don't know. As you can probably imagine, I've never actually dealt with a curse exactly like yours before. I could probably come up with some kind of ritual, but…"

"But what?"

"There could be consequences. There almost always are."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, exactly. Curses are very tricky."

"So, are you saying I could die?" asked Dandelion, and then his eyes went wide. "Or, worse, become impotent?"

Geralt shrugged his shoulders. "That's why it's always best – and safest – if I can go to the source. If I can go to the person responsible and have them cancel it."

"So, you're going to visit Tiffani?"

The witcher nodded and asked, "Where does she live?"

Dandelion gave him the particulars, including the address of a building in the Bits – a run-down district in Novigrad - and then Geralt stood up from the table.

"So, what should I do while you're dealing with her?"

The witcher looked down at his friend. "You're a grown man, Dandelion. You can do what you want, but if you want my advice, then sober up and go home. Come clean with Priscilla – about everything. I mean, you are about to marry the woman."

Upon hearing that, Dandelion lowered his head.

"Yennefer and I never worked because we always held back from one another. Always had a guard up around our hearts. I think, deep down, we both believed that the other would always leave in the end. It's why she was always trying to invade my mind. She didn't trust me." Geralt shook his head. "Which just pissed me off and made me not want to tell her anything. But a lack of trust - holding back and keeping secrets…that'll destroy your relationship, Dandelion."

The bard nodded his head but still didn't look up. He then let out a mirthless laugh.

"I really am in a mess of trouble," he said as he brought his eyes up to meet his friend's. "If I'm even considering your relationship advice."

The witcher gave him a nod and a smile. "Indeed."

"Thanks, Geralt – for doing this. You're a pal."

Geralt nodded again. "I'll let you know as soon as I've got any news. If you're not at the Chameleon, then I'll come here."

Dandelion walked Geralt to the door and locked it behind him, and as soon as the witcher stepped out into the hallway, he knew he was in trouble. To his left were three unpleasant-looking scoundrels. All armed with clubs or axe-handles and glaring at him. To his right – towards the stairwell – were four more, including the innkeeper.

"Think you can just waltz into my tavern and do as you like?" snarled the innkeep, as he tapped the end of a Billy club in his open palm. "You're about to learn what happens to trouble-makers around here."

In less than a second, the witcher took in his surroundings and made a decision. He had no doubt that, with his Signs and swords, he could slice through the seven ruffians like a hot knife through butter. But the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was kill. He hadn't drawn his sword against anyone in almost two years, and frankly, he didn't miss it. Plus, he knew there would be trouble afterwards. The city-guards or the sheriff would arrive; there'd be an inquest; and he might get thrown into a jail cell and miss the wedding.

He glanced again towards his left – towards the three – gave himself a quick nod of his head, and immediately began sprinting in their direction. Halfway there, he shot his left hand forward, letting loose with a powerful Aard Sign. The telekinetic force blasted the three off their feet, and the witcher – without missing a beat – leapt in the air over all three. He could hear shouting and cursing coming from behind him, but he didn't bother to turn around. His focus was right in front of him – on a window at the end of the hallway. He didn't know exactly what was below, but it didn't matter. A leap from the second story was child's play for him. A second later, the witcher cast another Aard, blowing out the window, and then he jumped through the opening. As he was sailing through the air, he cast a Quen Sign. It was then that he looked down to see where he was headed. He only had one thought.

"Ah, shit."

An hour later, the witcher stepped into the Chameleon. Within five seconds, it seemed as if the entire cabaret had come to a stand-still. Even the band on the stage had stopped playing. Suddenly, Geralt heard a deep, booming, and familiar laugh coming his way.

"Just what in the hell have you been crawling around in?" asked Zoltan. For Geralt was covered from head to toe in mud and muck. "Whew!" exclaimed the dwarf as he got closer, waving his hand back and forth in front of his face. "You smell like the devil's taint."

"Pigsty," was all Geralt said in response.

Zoltan smiled widely and then yelled over his shoulder, "ViLula!

Suddenly, a cute chambermaid appeared, also wearing a wide smile.

"Yes, Zoltan?"

"Be a dear, and draw a bath for Master Geralt."

She looked Geralt up and down and laughed. "Come with me, please."

oOo

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," said Vivienne as she stood on a balcony, looking out over the courtyard of the luxurious Royal Ambassador. The hotel was located on Chancellor's Square in the new Political District, east of the city.

Marissa sat on the balcony railing, kicking her legs back and forth. Despite the cool, fall evening, she sported a sheen of sweat on her skin from dancing. Faint notes of music could be heard coming through the partially open doors behind them.

"Because you knew it would be more fun than sitting all alone in some dark, lonely, room," she said after a laugh. She then took a long drink a wine. "I just don't understand why you don't think this is the best. The Royal Ambassador ballroom. Beautiful music. Fantastic wine. Dancing with handsome, rich, virile men. What's not to love?"

"Perhaps, because you've only been doing it for six months, dear cousin, instead of two years."

"Pshaw," snorted the younger woman. "Six months, two years – it wouldn't matter. I'd never tire of this."

"Well, I guess that's where we're different, then," Vivienne said after a sigh. "I've come to realize that there must to be more to life than high-society soirées, late-night parties, and masquerade balls. It's all become so…empty…and tedious."

"Even with men like Count Dufrene?"

"Especially with men like him."

Marissa took another drink of wine and peered intently at her cousin.

"You know, Vivienne, if you're a lesbian, it's okay. You can tell me. I honestly, wouldn't care."

She rolled her eyes before turning to face Marissa.

"Well, thank you, but I am not."

"Are you sure? Because in the last half-year, I've seen one gorgeous man after another pursue you. None with success."

"All those men just wanted one thing."

"I know," said Marissa with a laugh. "And isn't it so wonderfully fun!"

Vivienne couldn't help but smile at her cousin's joie de vivre.

"I'm glad that you're enjoying yourself. But I think I'm going to call it a night."

Suddenly, Marissa's smile left her face.

"You, uh, you wouldn't be upset if I stayed, would you?"

"Of course not. Give Count Dufrene my regards."

"Oh, I hope to give him more than that," she said with a laugh. "Don't wait up, Viv."

"I never do."

A few moments later, she walked down the steps of the Royal Ambassador Hotel and into a hansom cab. After telling the driver the name of the inn where she'd rented a room earlier in the evening, she sat back and thought more about the just-finished conversation with Marissa.

Vivienne wasn't sure if her cousin's inquiry into her sexuality had been in jest or not, but, honestly, she couldn't blame the girl if she'd been serious about it. For the truth was that Vivienne, indeed, had rejected every romantic overture that had come her way in the last six months. That hadn't always been the case, though. Almost two years ago – at the start of her adventure – she'd allowed several men to romance her as she traveled throughout the southern part of the Continent. In the beginning, after being liberated from her curse, every moment had been intoxicating. Tastes were sweeter; music was richer; kisses were more sensuous. The freedom had been overwhelming, and she'd let herself get swept away by the excitement and anticipation.

But somewhere along the journey, her feelings had started to change. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when or where or even why, but she couldn't deny that what had once excited and fulfilled her, no longer did. She had hoped that by bringing her cousin into the mix she would once again find that spark of joy. But it hadn't worked. While she certainly enjoyed Marissa's company and youthful exuberance, she still felt a bit hollow inside. For the past few months, she seemed to be asking herself the same question. Is this all there is to life?

But she didn't know what else to do. Because the moment that she stopped traveling, then permanence would come into her life. And that thought terrified her. She had to stay on the move, for as long as she was constantly running to the next locale, then she could keep everyone at arms-length. At least, emotionally if not physically. And that was vitally important to Vivienne, because who could ever truly love someone like her. Sure, men were drawn to her looks, but what would happen if they ever found out her secret.

Her secret – her curse – still haunted her two years later. Not literally, but in her mind and soul. In all those years of growing up with the curse, she had kept everyone at a distance, and she'd done it so well and for so long that it had become second-nature to her. A nature she just couldn't break. She'd still told no one – not even Marissa – of her past. In fact, she could count on one hand the number of people who were fully aware of the details – her parents, Guillaume, and the witcher. That was it.

But it wasn't just fear of rejection that kept Vivienne running. There were so many other matters that complicated her life. Deep down, she knew that she wanted true intimacy. To be loved completely and unconditionally. But, even if she could find a man that she could trust enough with whom to share the truth about her past, how could she actually start a family with him? What if, somehow, her curse was passed onto their children? She would never forgive herself if that happened. More so, it was possible that she only had five more years to live. Could she actually bring children into the world knowing that she wouldn't be there to raise them? She shook her head resolutely at that thought. How unfair to them – and selfish of her – would that be? No, she would never do it, she told herself for the hundredth time. With that thought, Vivienne stared up at the full moon and sighed, resigning herself, once again, to her fate. She would stay alone. Life was just simpler and safer that way.

It wasn't much later that the hansom cab stopped in front of an inn. After paying the driver, she approached the front door, and her eyes caught the name of the inn above the door – "The Chameleon." She gave a slight, sad smile at the irony before stepping through the entrance.

oOo

Geralt had left the Kingfisher Inn a half hour earlier, and he was now standing in a narrow alley with a couple of homeless drunks passed out behind him. He was hidden in the shadows between two houses in the Bits with a clear view of the building where Tiffani lived. He'd made some very discreet inquiries at the inn to discover that she was on shift that night. He'd even been able to get a good look at her from across the tavern. He'd thought that she'd definitely possessed a glint of 'bat-shit crazy' in her eyes. Though, he'd freely admit that his opinion of her was now quite biased given what he thought he knew of the woman. That said, her loud, maniacal laugh that he'd heard echoing across the room at one point had only served to solidify his opinion of the bar-wench. Regardless of all that, though, the most important factor was that he figured she'd be working until closing, which would give him at least a couple of hours to search her home for clues. He thought it unlikely, but he wanted to know if she was the one who'd actually cast the curse on Dandelion. If so, then he figured he'd find evidence in her abode.

The witcher looked up to the third floor of the building, and seeing that all the windows were dark, he stepped out of the alleyway and into the light of the full moon. He walked across the road to the front door of the building and entered – as if he actually belonged there. Inside, there was a single lantern that dimly lit the small entryway. He noticed doors to both his left and right and a stairway towards the back of the foyer. He moved quietly up the stairs, saw that there were two more doors – marked with numbers three and four – on the second floor, and then continued upward. On the third floor, he paused outside of door number six and listened for a long while. Finally, he slowly turned the knob, but not surprisingly, it was locked. He peeked over his shoulder across the hallway to the door marked five, and then, with both his knees bent, he pressed his shoulder flat against the door. The wood of the door and frame looked old and weak so he didn't figure he'd have much trouble with it. With his superhuman strength, he exploded forward with his legs, and the door cracked open near the knob.

He quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind him the best that he could. And that was when he heard the most annoying, high-pitched barking filling the room. About five feet away, in the middle of Tiffani's main living area, was a little beast that looked like it was more rat than dog. Each of its ears were almost as big as its head, and its entire body seemed to be shaking uncontrollably, like it was having some kind of seizure. It was baring its little, rat-like teeth in the witcher's direction, and it was yapping incessantly.

"Damn it," the witcher cursed under his breath. 'Why didn't Dandelion warn me she had a demon-dog?' The little rat was going to wake up the entire building.

The light of the full moon shone through the windows slightly illuminating the barmaid's home, but even without the light, he would have been able to see the little monster just fine due to his cat-like eyes. He immediately rushed at the dog – expecting it to try to escape. However, as he bent down to grab it, instead of darting away, it snapped at him. He quickly pulled his hand back while at the same time snatching the mutt's scruff with his other hand, which just made it go even more berserk. Its barking got louder, and it wouldn't stop trying to bite and scratch him – its front and back paws clawing the air between them. The witcher raised up the canine so that it was eye-level with him.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you ugly, little rat," he whispered in his most soothing tone.

At that point, the demon-dog pissed all over the front of his jacket and trousers.

"Damn it!" he cursed, aiming the stream of urine away from him. When he looked up, his eyes fell on a wardrobe on the other side of the room. He moved toward it with haste, opened the doors, and, while still holding the yapping dog in one hand, began a thorough search through the items on the top shelf and then through the clothes hanging from a rod. He didn't find anything damning, nor did his medallion twitch, so he tossed the dog inside and quickly shut the wardrobe doors before it could escape.

Being inside the wardrobe didn't discourage the little demon-dog in the least. Geralt could hear its rat-claws scratching non-stop against the door, and it's incessant yapping continued. Though, it was slightly muted, he thought thankfully to himself. He immediately went back to the front door and did his best to listen to the goings-on out in the hallway, but it was virtually impossible to hear anything over the canine's noise. So, he slowly opened the door and poked his head out. He exhaled in relief at seeing no one coming to investigate. The witcher was betting that the little mutt was rarely quiet and that the neighbors were probably used to its constant barking so he shut the busted door the best he could and started his search.

The witcher headed to the first room on his left, which was a kitchen and dining area. He was looking for anything that might have even a hint of magical properties. So, as he searched through the cabinets and shelves, he made sure to pay attention to his medallion. But it never vibrated. It appeared that he was in an ordinary kitchen. Tiffani had no special herbs, roots, or elixirs that indicated she might be dabbling in the arcane. There were just the typical food-stuffs lying about, like a large bag of corn meal and another bag of flour.

He headed back into the main living area and continued his search there. For the next ten minutes, he looked in drawers, under furniture, on shelves, around plants, and behind prints on the walls for any evidence that Tiffani was a sorceress. But he found nothing. No shrine, no talisman, no doll dressed like the bard stuck with pins, and no pentagram created out of dandelion flowers. At that point, he was sure of two things. The barmaid must have hired a witch to cast the curse, and her dog truly was demonic. For it was still clawing at the door of the wardrobe and yapping in its high-pitched, never-ending bark. In the last fifteen minutes, it hadn't stopped to even take a breath.

"Little monster must have nekker blood in it," he said under his breath right before he heard the floor creak behind him. He turned just in time to see a potted plant come down on his head. The pot shattered, both stunning him and covering him in dirt. Stars filled his vision so he immediately brought both arms up to protect his face, and a moment later, he was punched in the gut, which completely knocked the wind out of him. In desperation, he lunged at his enemy and was able to grab ahold of his arms with both hands. His brain was still foggy, but even so, he could tell his combatant was a big and powerful man. The two of them struggled back and forth – his enemy trying to find an advantage while the witcher was just attempting to hang on until his senses came back to him. He heard his opponent grunt with effort, and both of them went crashing into a wall, knocking knick-knacks and a vase full of flowers off of a shelf. They wrestled their way across the living room floor before next crashing into the wardrobe, its doors splintering into pieces. Geralt was able to find his footing first and pushed forward with all his might, causing the two men to move back across the main room and into the kitchen area. The big man suddenly pulled an arm free and took a swing at Geralt. The witcher ducked, and when he came back up, he head-butted his opponent right under the chin. Geralt heard the man grunt in pain and could feel his muscles slack for just a moment. He immediately pressed the advantage, lifted the man into the air in a bear-hug, and then slammed him down on the nearby table. The bags of cornmeal and flour exploded, their contents filling the small room and covering both men. His opponent was moaning in pain and not moving, but Geralt decided to give him a couple of sharp, right crosses to the jaw just to make sure he stayed down.

It was about that time that he heard voices out in the hallway.

"You all knock it off in there!" he heard a male voice yell out. "You're disturbin' my sleep! Don't make me get the landlord!"

Geralt quickly made his way to front door to see a man peaking his head into the room, holding a single, lit candle in front of him. The witcher instantly raised the hood of his cloak over his head to cover his face and hair and headed directly toward the nosy neighbor. The neighbor, seeing a figure covered in white approaching fast, yelled out in terror, but only a second before Geralt extinguished the candle's flame and shrouded the room back into darkness. He pushed past the neighbor and sprinted down the stairs as fast as his groggy head would allow, with the rat-dog's yapping echoing behind him the entire way.

A half-hour later, the witcher stumbled into the Chameleon. It was near closing time by then so the band had already packed up and there were only a few, final desperate drinkers hanging on until last call, but Zoltan was still on duty. The dwarf laughed out loud upon seeing the witcher walk through the door. For he was covered in potted soil, flour, and dog piss. But Zoltan suddenly stopped laughing when he saw the trail of blood on the side of Geralt's face.

"This got to do with Dandelion?"

The witcher gave a nod.

"Must have fought a whole passel of buggers for you to look like this."

Geralt shook his head. "Just one. Well, one and a little rat-dog."

"Then, shite, Geralt…and I hate to say it - but you must be losing a step."

The witcher nodded. "What do you expect? I'm out of practice." He touched the side of his head, causing him to wince. "Haven't you heard? I'm a landed gentleman now. Living a life of leisure."

"ViLula?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Draw another bath for the landed gentleman, if you'd be so kind."

"Will do. Follow me, Mister landed gentleman."