“Wait!” Scrivener shouted, still drawing Brigitte back. “He’s trying to cheat us, daughter. This demon has wonders at his fingertips. He can make you rich, can make you a princess-”
“No, nothing like that,” Azzie said.
“Ask for something big!” Scrivener said. “Or better yet, give your wish to me, and I’ll wish for enough to make us both rich, and then I’ll get you all the dollhouses you could ever dream of.”
“Will I still have to clean up after meals?” Brigitte asked.
“No, we’ll hire a servant,” Scrivener said.
“And will I have to milk the cows and feed the chickens and the rest of the household chores?”
“Of course not!” Scrivener said.
“Don’t trust him, Brigitte!” Azzie warned. “I’ll tell you what would be better. Just ask me to bring you something nice and I’ll surprise you. What about that, eh?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Scrivener said. “You must wish for a large estate at the very least.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Azzie said. “He always bullies you, doesn’t he? But I remember when he was mighty glad to have my help.”
“What are you talking about?” Scrivener asked. “I never saw you before.”
“That’s what you think,” Azzie said. “Brigitte, what color do you want your dollhouse?”
“Where did we meet?” Scrivener asked.
“What I really want,” Brigitte said, “is – ”
“Wait!” Scrivener cried. “If you ask for something insignificant, I’ll tan your hide, young lady.”
“I wish you’d stop shouting at me!” Brigitte cried.
“I can take care of that for you,” Azzie said, and made a gesture.
Thomas Scrivener opened his mouth but no words came out. He strained, his tongue waggled, his cheeks puffed in and out, but he could form no sound.
“What have you done?” Brigitte asked.
“Fulfilled your wish,” Azzie said. “He’ll not shout at you again. You or anyone.”
“That wasn’t fair!” Brigitte said. “I was talking to my daddy, not to you! You still owe me a wish!”
“Come on, Brigitte,” Azzie said. “Make a wish, then. I have to get out of here.”
Thomas Scrivener tried to speak. His face was purple, and his eyes bulged like hard-boiled eggs. He was one hell of a looking sight, and Brigitte started to laugh, then stopped abruptly. Something had appeared in the air.
It solidified.
And there was Ylith, appearing from nowhere, looking disheveled, with smoke coming out of the end of her broom.
“Azzie!” she cried. “Good thing you told me of this wish situation – and I remembered. Is there a problem?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Azzie asked. “I’m still trying to get this kid to name a wish so I can grant it and get out of here. But she and her father keep arguing about what it should be.”
Thomas Scrivener made pleading gestures to Ylith.
“What have you done to him?” Ylith asked.
“Well,” Azzie said, “Brigitte here said she wanted him to shut up, so I shut him up for her.”
“Oh, Azzie, stop playing around. Little girl, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
Brigitte considered. “When I was little I wanted to be a princess.”
“I don’t know whether Azzie can handle that,” Ylith said.
“I don’t want that now,” Brigitte said. “Now I want to be a witch!”
“Why do you want that?”
“Because you’re a witch,” Brigitte said. “I want to be like you and ride a broomstick and enchant people.”
Ylith smiled. “Azzie, what do you think?”
“One more witch, what does it matter?” Azzie asked. “Is that it, kid? You want to be a witch?”
“Yes!” said Brigitte.
Azzie turned to Ylith. “What do you think?”
“Well, I do take on apprentices from time to time. Brigitte is a little young, but in a few years …”
“Oh, yes, please!” Brigitte said.
“All right,” Ylith said.
“Okay,” Azzie said. “You got it, kid. Now let me out of here.”
“First give my father his voice again.”
Azzie did as was requested of him. Thomas Scrivener went to give Brigitte a good slap alongside the head. He found his arm held by an invisible force.
“What did you do?” Brigitte asked Ylith.
“It’s simple enough magic,” Ylith said. Turning to Scrivener, she said, “Be good to your little girl. In a few years she will be able to make mince pies of you. And you’ll have me to reckon with, too.”