Chapter Two: Ivy

Witch and Automaton

There are many things in life you can't expect until they happen. Sometimes, it's just a matter of wondering if what has occurred is a good or bad thing, luck or a curse.

Right now, it might as well be a curse.

"I'M HERE FOR THE JOB AS THE WITCH'S ASSISTANT!"

Anya stands there, her expression a mix of confusion and anger. A silence fills the air around them, and the woman keeps staring at the witch with wide, sparkly eyes. The poster is still held in her gloved hands.

"Wrong address," And with that, Anya shuts the door. Maybe escaping those situations is the best way.

And, hey, maybe now the stranger changed her mind and has no desire to "work" here anymore. Who would, if she closes the door in front of them? Probably no one. Only a crazy, desperate person. Not that there is any chance that Anya would really take someone, it's already a pain that somehow someone succeeded in getting a hold of the poster.

"Ugh, those damned posters…" Anya sighs. Poison looks up from his resting spot.

"Mrrrooow." Poison comments, his bright green eyes stare at the witch as if he were judging her. Typical Poison.

"Don't give me that look," Anya glares at the cat. "You don't do much besides eating away my food and puking fur balls all over the place."

"Mrroow." Standing up, with a flick of his tail, Poison disappears into the hallway.

Anya is interrupted by another knocking on the door.

"Oh, please don't-" stomping to the door and opening it, she is met by the same woman who knocked a few minutes ago, whom Anya had also shut out. Was she really standing behind the door the whole time, waiting a few minutes before she knocks again?

"Oh, the amazing and strongest witch of all Gravehaven-" The stranger kneels on one knee, bowing her head. She wears an orange hoodie, which is clearly too big for her, falling to her knees.

Anya's eyes follow her movement, but her head doesn't move; her mouth is slightly open, and she starts to wonder if she really just got a fever and has the weirdest fever dream.

"-I might have taken the first greeting too casually." The woman could also be much younger; her features look young, and what Anya notices is the woman's light blue hair, nearly fading into a more grayish color.

With an over dramatic tone, the stranger puts a hand on her chest, looking up, "I so desire to take part in being the witch's most trusted and most loyal assistant. So I shall beg for this job as I require money!" Standing up, clumsily stumbling a little, she bows again, her head down.

Anya slowly closes the door so she is barely visible as she starts stepping back, staring at the stranger as if she had grown another head in front of her.

Noticing it, the stranger jumps up, pushing the door open.

"Hey-ugh!" Before Anya can say anything else, the stranger jumps onto her, and they both fall onto the shop's wooden floor.

"Are you crazy!" Anya screams in anger, stuck to the floor as the stranger's grip on her remains, her head pressed against her chest. "Please, Lady Witch, I need this job! I need it!"

"I don't employ anyone!" Anya groans. "I don't need help!"

"B-but the poster!" The stranger looks up with big gray eyes. "It was meant to be in the trash," she tries to push her off by grabbing her shoulders, but surprisingly, she has a very tight hold on Anya. "Get off!"

After a long silence, when Anya starts to think the woman has fallen asleep on her, the stranger suddenly pushes off and sits herself cross-legged on the shop's floor. A sad look crosses her face as she starts playing with her hoodie's sleeves. Anya stands up, dusting off some dirt from her black coat before grabbing her hat from the floor and putting it back on her head.

Crossing her arms, Anya glares at the stranger. "Look, I don't seek any help or whatever. The poster you got? It should be in the trash. I don't know what your problem is, so please just leave." Her voice comes out more tired with a small groan at the end.

"…"

"I will not repeat myself."

"…but…you are my last chance…" the stranger mumbles, suddenly her face now hidden by her bangs. Anya frowns "If you need money, there are other people in the town who would gladly take you," she sighs. "Even-Gah!"

Anya stumbles back as the stranger jumps up and, with a big step, is now looking up at the witch. "I don't need money! Maybe I lied a little, sorry," she says as she sways in her place, not staying still. "I thought you would take someone who requires money, but I guess witches are really without empathy," She says in a weirdly excited manner.

"That's not-"

"You are the first witch I've met!" the stranger cuts in, bowing again, "And I can't tell you how long I searched for someone like you! Your Kind is very rare to find in big cities - even in towns! I got lucky with Gravehaven mhm mhm!" She nods to herself with a smile before her eyes focus on Anya again.

"If you want potions, you could have just waited until I opened the shop," she flatly answers.

The smaller woman shakes her head, "That's not it…uhm…just…look!" With a small hesitation and a small look at Anya, the stranger takes off her gloves, stuffing them into her hoodie's pockets.

Her hands are small and pale, just like her face. With long, thin fingers. The interesting thing about them now, and what catches Anya's eyes immediately, is the joints. Beneath the lifelike skin of her hands, the joints were left uncovered, narrow rings of brushed steel that caught the light when her hand moved. Each motion was seamless yet unmistakably artificial, a harmony of grace and machinery.

When she moved her fingers, the movement felt so human, but when looking closer, everyone would know that the person in front of them was not human.

“What…” Anya frowned, staring in disbelief at her hands as the smaller woman watched her closely, waiting for a reaction. Anya had met all kinds of people in her shop — demons, vampires, orcs, elves, fairies… more than she could ever count or remember. But none of them had ever been made of machines, if that was even the right word.

“I’m an automaton,” the stranger finally said, breaking the silence. “A clockwork automaton, to be precise.” She hummed cheerfully. “As you can see, I look very human.” She bounced lightly on her toes, smiling even wider. “My model was designed to look and act like a human. I was originally created to serve as a maid, but—” she glanced aside, hopping on her toes again, “—that was a verrry long time ago! And now that I don’t have anything better to do, I’ve decided to make my dream come true! And I need you to help me make it happen!”

Anya stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Can’t you pick some other random person off the street?”

“No!” The automaton pouted. “Please, Lady Witch! I really can’t do this without you!”

“What is it?” Anya snapped. “What do you even need me for?”

The automaton clasped her hands together, her voice softening. “I want you to cast a spell that will let me feel physical touch.”

That makes the witch falter a little. Her annoyance is still there, but her anger is gone. Why would an automaton want to feel touch? It's not really something Anya thinks a person like her would need to have. She already looks very human, extremely so. Does she really need the senses a human has, too?

Why?

"I'm sorry, but I'm not focused on making spells; my expertise is solely in potion making," Anya grumbles, arms crossed.

Anya inherited her magic from her father. It was fortunate, as she became the only witch in the family. Anthony didn't have much luck with magic, nor did he show much interest; he was always his own person, planning his future and knowing what he wanted. Unlike Anya, who always saw her brother as a symbol of perfection, she just stood beside it.

"But I heard of a spell that could make me feel touch!" the automaton pipes up, not giving up. "It was said that a witch could do such a spell—very experienced witch!"

"Again, I'm not experienced with spells," Anya replied flatly.

The smaller woman looks like she's about to cry as she stares at the witch, who would rather be elsewhere.

"Couldn't you... learn the spell?"

"That would take too much time away from my shop."

"I can help you with the shop!"

"Are you a witch? Can you make potions?"

"Well... no—"

"Then no."

The stranger whimpers, staring at the floor, and suddenly, Anya feels a small pang of guilt.

"Sorry, but I have a debt I need to pay, and the longer we keep talking, the less time I have to actually earn enough to save this shop."

"A debt?"

"Are you deaf?" Anya snaps.

"I guarantee that if you keep me as your assistant, I will bring so many customers into the shop that your debt will be paid," she says happily, a new confidence in her eyes.

Anya scoffs, "That’ll never work in a month."

Her eyes widen, surprisingly, with happiness as she starts singing songs. "We have a month? Easy peasy fish and chips!"

She can't mean it, but she looks so sure of her words. It makes Anya think—and that’s not a good feeling. It makes her consider accepting this deal—accepting help.

Oh, what would her parents say? She can't even imagine. Of course, Anthony has much more control over his life, is more successful, and Anya isn’t so much. Not at all. They’re probably already planning a bright future for their daughter, even though the shop is already lost to them.

But is it lost for her? Hell no.

Anya steps forward, causing the automaton to jump back, staring at her and waiting—waiting for her reaction.

"There are rules..." she begins, and the stranger's eyes already start to gleam.

"No playing with potions, do not disturb me in my backroom while I'm brewing. No stupid questions-" she glances at her—"I might consider that one, depending on the case. You will keep the customers happy and give them what they want. If a potion is out of stock, tell me. I will give you a book about the most important and frequently sold potions; you will read it and memorize it so you know what they are and what you’re giving the customers." Anya pinches the bridge of her nose. "And I guess I will spend my free time studying this dumb spell you need so much. As long as you keep your promise, I will keep mine."

She holds out a hand, her expression serious. “Let’s seal it, then. What are you waiting for?”

Instead of taking her hand, Anya is met with the biggest hug imaginable. Stumbling back a few steps, she tries to pry the smaller woman off—but it’s impossible. Well… at least now she knows where that unnatural strength comes from.

“Thank you, thank you so much, Lady Witch! I swear you won’t be disappointed!”

Anya grumbles, thoroughly uncomfortable, still trying to peel the automaton off her. “Just call me Anya,” she snaps. “Now get off!”

Ivy finally lets go and stares up at her. “Anya it is! Since the lady has given me her name, I shall tell you mine.” She places a hand proudly on her chest.

“I’m Ivy!”

“No last name?”

“Nope!”

“Hm. Makes sense, I guess.”

“Is it important to have one?” Ivy tilts her head. “If so, I did have a few in mind.”

“Not really,” Anya says after a moment’s thought, shrugging. “For… automatons, I don’t think it matters.”

“What do you think about Marshmallow?”

“Marshmallow?”

“As my surname!”

“…Can we just get going? I should’ve opened half an hour ago,” the witch mutters. Ivy hums thoughtfully, looking around.

“Do I start today?”

Anya walks to the door and flips the sign to OPEN. “Of course not,” she sighs. “I’ll give you the book today, and you’ll read it. Tomorrow will be your first day.” She turns back.

Ivy visibly deflates but doesn’t complain. Heading for the door, she glances over her shoulder and beams. “I will be on time!”

With that, Ivy leaves.

…

“Curse me,” Anya mutters into the sudden silence. A single potion drops from a shelf and shatters, orange liquid splattering across the wooden floor, making her regret everything even more.