The Doorway
<<THUD>>
Bone into glass.
The ornate iron latch opened. Spider silk tore from the frame, stuck desiccated insects to feathers as the woman lifted the dead crow. Its broken neck rolled the sleek head in limp arcs across her bony hand.
She pulled the distorted green glass window shut and wiped the bird’s glossy plumage with her long fingers.
A light knock on the heavy door coincided with the bird’s corpse touching the pewter plate on the cluttered table.
The hag looked up with a thoughtful expression.
The coat’s tattered hem skimmed the worn floorboards as she answered the summons. Fingers retreated into the frayed edges of her sleeves, concealing fingernails resembling the dead bird’s curved beak.
The Doorway presented a woman, richly dressed, young, but old enough to be aware of the transient nature of her currency. Perfume rose from her like morning mist. Perfume and confusion.
“The milliner’s shop is newly built. Yet this room…” Her delicate face creased as her gaze travelled the old, dark space.
“This room has always been here. Come in,” the hag’s invitation rasped. “Sit. Tea?”
The visitor perched on the edge of aged furniture, acres of forest green brocade rustling, gilt embroidery glinting.
The hag busied herself with hot water and crockery. She carried one simple cup across the small room and coaxed, “Drink, then share what brings you here.”
“I am informed you deal in potions.” The cup stalled beneath the visitor’s mouth. Rouged lips twitched. Her pale blue irises, ringed in bands of midnight, transfixed the steaming brew.
“You think me a hedge witch?” The amber afternoon sun, set drifting dust and the ashen disc of the hag’s eye, alight.
“No.” Certainty disturbed the steam. A trickle of awe disturbed the voice. “I believe you deal in potions of great power. I have need of such an item.”
“And what would you offer?”
“What would you ask?”
A liquid smile crossed a mouth once kissed by beauty. “I would ask the same of you as any petitioner, Lady Amelia. The correct answer,” said the hag.
“The correct answer requires the correct question.” The aristocrat snapped, bridling beneath lost anonymity, she reclaimed rank. Impatience.
“I do not set the terms of the trade.” The hag’s smile dried. “Be certain you wish to proceed. Once the bargain is struck, the terms are irrevocably binding.”
“As a deal should be.” Vapour unfurled from the cup. Disdain from the woman. “You know who I am, I wager you know what I am here for, tell me what I must pay for it.”
“Whatever amongst all that is yours to give, you prize most. Please be truthful, My Lady. The pact will keep itself. Redress any perceived imbalance,” the hag warned. Her head moved, just the faintest of twitches, and the long grey plait slithered from her shoulder and down her back.
“My eternal soul is my most cherished possession. Its worth far exceeds any bargain that is yours to offer.” Lady Amelia looked along her nose, brought the full weight of her lineage to bear.
“Not oft presented so swiftly or without duress.” Warning glinted in the hag’s hazel eye.
“My soul, not my life.”
“The difference is understood,” affirmed the hag.
“Take your prize.” Lady Amelia rose. Lowered untouched tea towards her seat. “And give me mine.”
“Lady Amelia, do you of your own free will, pledge your most valued possession, your immortal soul, in exchange for contents of this vial?” The hag rolled her wrist, and her concealed hand emerged from the stained sleeve. A slender vial rested in her palm, transected by an endless lifeline, and half-ringed by long black fingernails.
“As long as it is what I came for, and not a cruel trick, yes,” Lady Amelia pledged, taking the vial with confidence and a careful thumb and forefinger.
“Foolish child. You cannot treasure what you do not believe in.”
Clouds gathered in the hag’s sightless eye. Condensed. Breached. Flowed through the intact eyeball to extend inches into the room, drawn like unravelling fibres from an unseen distaff. As Lady Amelia stood, frozen, her perfect eyes stretched wide and staring, the cloud thread spun into a fine silver chain.
It approached her. Sought the vial in her hand, wrapping it, raising it towards her neck. As the fluid silver links reached her, the glass bottle became a pendant. The chain laid the pendant in the hollow of her throat… and she dissolved. Streaming out in fog and mist from the neckline and cuffs of her fine clothes as they remained standing, retaining her outline.
The vapour trails consolidated and headed towards the hag.
On the reciprocating path, the hag also broke apart, leaving the coat, the long grey plait and the pale eye etched into the air.
The two women re-formed within the separate fabric shells. Silent. Instantaneous.
The green dress now occupied by a hazel-eyed woman. Immaculately groomed.
The grey coat by a wizened hag. One dark-ringed blue eye nestled beneath wisps of grey hair.
The door opened. The woman in green left with a creak of brocade and whalebone, without a backward glance.
The Doorway closed.
On the table crowded with jostling stoneware and jars, the crow shook itself. It stood on the dented pewter plate and cawed. The hag opened the ornate iron latch and threw wide the green glass window.
