Whimsen's head was still spinning as he shook off the lesser demonesses' tricks, but the frantic pounding of his heart gave him rhythm, gave him balance, gave him the will to force their echoing laughter out of his head and keep moving forward.
So far, the protections seemed to be working. That should have brought him comfort--it meant that Hette knew what she was talking about when it came to her warding spells.
But it also meant that whatever had captured her had to be even worse than the creatures he'd made it past so far.
None of it mattered, he told himself fiercely, clutching the little carved turnip close to his chest. Its hollow eyes, filled with the pale light of a single glowpebble, stared out over the barely-visible path. They illuminated wiry bloodred tendrils, alien flowers, and twisted, bulbous plants that looked almost... human-like.
So this was what happened during an eclipse. It couldn't end soon enough.
Whimsen swallowed. He wanted so badly to be back at the church, surrounded by the articles he knew meant comfort--his books, his bowl of soup, and his beautiful pipe organ. He didn't belong here.
But someone had to save the village witch. Today, it would have to be him.
He knew they were still watching him. But they kept their distance and held their tongues. The turnip's eyes had already glimpsed them and commanded it.
Sen prayed to Shatterbell, the Giver of Gifts, that its magic would also work on the one they'd called 'Tess'.
* * *
The cottage was totally overgrown. It took him a moment to identify the bulk of the greenery as stemming from a single source--Hette's old spiderplant, Raulf, long left to hang over the porch awning, had grown to truly titanic proportions. It and its progeny now covered the cottage, burying it under thick plant cover.
"Hettie?" Whimsen managed, his voice weak. He could still hear the distant laughter of those demons--or was it his paranoia?
The drumming of his heart kept him moving. He forced himself forward, approaching the doorway. The door looked like it had been clawed apart by wild beasts.
Turning the spelled turnip in wide arcs, trying to catch anything that might see him before he saw it, he stepped into the doorway and peered into the darkness of the witch's hut.
He glimpsed long shadows. Pale smiles, gleaming eyes. Some of them were surely just those horrid witch's carvings Hette had made. Naturally, his panic turned every one into a sinuous succubus, a snarling fiend. He saw Hette's coffee table toppled, her bed torn to shreds, and in the shadows of her closet...
Two bright golden eyes watched him.
Whimsen went still. He swallowed, focused on timing his breaths, and bent down low.
"Abacus?" he whispered.
An unhappy meow answered him.
"Abacus." A panicky laugh slipped out. Relief scattered his thoughts for a moment; it took him a second to recover them. "I... think it's good to see you."
The black cat's head tilted to the side.
"Right." He nodded, smiling weakly. "Just... stay there where it's safe, alright? Stay a cat."
Abacus slow-blinked at him.
Deep down, even though it was easy to forge, Whimsen knew this creature wasn't much less dangerous than the demons right now. At least it was a familiar face.
He kept his voice soft. "I'll find Hette, and we'll... we'll get out of here, alright?" He straightened. "Where is sh--"
A single piercing note chimed from behind him.
Whimsin whirled around. There was nothing there.
But a light, he realized, had appeared to the west of the house.
He hesitated, then took a step forward.
Something tugged at the hem of his cloak. He looked down to see Abacus there, one claw hooked in the cloth. The little familiar's ears were flattened. With how its fur was bristling, it could have been a very large soot bunny.
"I have to go take a look," Whimsen said, reflexively bending down to scritch behind Abacus's ears. "She might be trying to get my attention."
Abacus's tail twitched and flicked several times.
"Sorry, Ab." He smiled sheepishly. "I don't understand you like she does. You'll just have to wait. I'll bring her back to us." He held up the turnip, careful not to point it right at Abacus. "You see? I, um, came prepared."
The cat's tail flicked again. Whimsen was pretty sure this was Abacus's version of rolling its eyes.
Really, Sen,
it seemed to be saying.
"The eclipse will be over soon." He swallowed, turning away. "Just stay put. You know there's nothing you can do against these things." A familiar like Abacus, he knew, must never fall under direct moonlight without its witch present.
He didn't know what would happen, but he was pretty sure it would be very bad for him.
The not-cat's demon eyes glowed like moonlight as it regarded him.
He hurried off the porch and made his way to the source of the light. It was coming from the mill pond, but the thick foliage--interspersed with alien plant life he tried to keep clear of--obscured most of it from view.
So it was only when he was directly upon it that he realized the pond itself was what was glowing.
Whimsen stood still and gazed out over the shimmering pool. It was as bright and clear as a mirror, shining like silver in moonlight.
Rose silver. It held the light of the Lust Moon now, after all. Even with no view of the skies above--the trees were too thick here--still that moonlight shone as bright as if Eros were right overhead.
He could almost see designs spreading across the pond's surface, lines like spiderweb dividing it into triangles. The pond could have been frozen over.
He looked around. "H-Hettie?" he asked weakly.
Something brushed his shoulder.
He spun with a cry. Again, there was nothing there.
Another singular note rang out from behind Whimsen, as clear as a church bell.
The organ-player turned back to face the pool.
And from the shadows of the canopy, a woman descended into view.
Her figure was... Sen told himself it was obscene. Nobody really had hips like those, curving so drastically out from the waist to form a perfect heart shape with those absurdly round, luscious thighs. With her mottled olive-green skin, with those swirling streaks of gold and crimson running over her body, that curvy ass almost reminded him of a garden spider. It was... unnatural. Her brazen clothing--just some thin silks, barely even underwear--only made it harder to avoid ogling her.
Eight long horns rose from her head, segmented like the legs of an insect. Their black ebony hue complemented her bloodred hair. Her hair fell down past her shoulders like a waterfall of wine, one singular shimmering shape without a single lock out of place.
She had no wings, he noticed. Just a long, sinuous tail that lashed behind her like a whip, its end forming a loop that reminded him uncomfortably of a noose. Glimmering red and gold silk ribbons fluttered from her arms, hair and clothes, trailing from her clothes, as though the clothes themselves were just ribbons that just-so-happened to have gotten entangled in just the right areas to
almost
cover her lewdest regions.
