Chapter Two Snippet - Optional route if Milo helps you escape (Patreon)

The apothecary district was just as small as Milo had described.  The alleyway in which we walked darkened as the lamplight above turned a deep cerulean blue and the walls crept with waxy vines of forest green.  There was an absence of noise here. The background whir of conversation and plodding feet faded away as we wound down an alley barely a shoulder's width wide before emerging into a circular den filled with the most resplendent colors I think I had ever seen.  Large flowers of the deepest mauve crawled up the far wall, stretching out to wrap around the arching branches of a white birch tree.  Beneath the tree was a grove of herbs, leaving the air aromatic and smelling like a meadow would after the first rain.  There were clay pots filled with the brightest flowering shrubs of yellow and orange and a large caged area where ripe and supple fruits hung from strong vines.  My eyes went wide at the sudden change.

A path of broken gems and glass wound between all of this, the small shards glittering and sending up little motes of iridescent dust.  The ground looked as if it glowed, as a thin shimmering fog settled about our ankles.

“Come on,” Milo said. “She should be home.”

A house sat in the very back, nearly obscured by the jeweled tones of life that sprouted up all around it.  By no means was it anything special. A large stone archway with a broken gate stood before it, the moss covered slate half walls that wrapped outwards looked crumbling in certain places.  The house itself was made of wood, stained-glass windows and circular portcullises inlay haphazardly against the walls. The chimney puffed sweet smelling smoke from a bent and whistling pipe and the roof was shingled with various shades of what looked like damp cedar.  The house was two strong winds from falling apart.  But I didn’t dare speak such a thought out loud.

Milo didn’t knock as he pushed open the front door.  A wave of heat barreled into us the moment he did, sweltering and smelling of cloves.

“Oh,” the worried tone sounded from somewhere within.

“Hazel?” Milo called out. He looked over his shoulder at me, his smile assuring, but I couldn’t help but notice how cautious his steps had become.  “Haze?”

A large crash spilled throughout the room followed by a muffled shriek.  The room itself was fairly dark, lit only by the filtered light coming in through the windows, and even that was murky at best. Splotches of smeared dirt and oil coated the glass in layers of grime, giving the room a dank appearance.

“What the hell has she…?” Milo didn’t get to finish his sentence as he side skirted a large crate with a fist size hole near one of the bottom corners.  What looked like nuts were spilling out of it and scattering across the floor.  The floor in which small brooms were sweeping like mad, sending the round pods scattering everywhere, knocking into piles of fallen hearth wood and upturned cauldrons.  When one of the brooms raced over Milo’s feet, trying to sweep his shoes, he kicked it across the room. The bundle of twigs and rough straw let out an unearthly scratch.

“Hazel!” he shouted.

From up above, there were more scratches before Hazel tipped her head over the upper landing, her brown hair falling from her poufy bun and her dark skin spotted with sweat and what looked like flour.  “Milo,” she said in relief. Her fingers were curled around the knotted oak banister, the only thing keeping her from tipping completely over the side.  “Oh, you brought a customer.” Her face tried to morph into a warm smile but as a broom knocked her from the side and she stumbled, panic was clearly written across her face.

“What did you do?” Milo asked, kicking at another of the brooms. They were no more than a foot tall, made of spindly looking twigs and fluffy stalks of wheat or thrush.  As far as I could tell they were trying to clean but instead were sending up motes of dust and other mixtures until the air was nearly cloudy with it.

“I needed help,” she protested.

“This doesn’t look like help.”

“I was desperate.” She yelped as one of the brooms crawled up her side, attempting to sweep the flour from her face. She batted the rough bristles away, holding the thing out to the side. It squirmed as it tried to sweep the motes of dust within the air.

“Well look no further,” Milo said with a grin that even I could see was tight. “I brought you a new shop hand.”