Aside from Uncle Zell, my favorite relative is Grandma Bathilde. She was always very sweet to me as a girl, holding my sticky hand through a lush green field of flowers. She would open the petals of some, so glittering, giggling fairies flew out. Cold silvery dust would fall from their clear gossamer wings and into my greedy hands. She would show me the rush of waters in the brook, told me the name and ailment for every herb. She even liked hearing all the fancy words I learned from Madame du Barry's memoirs, like 'coxcomb' and 'superannuated.' I really would like to see her again, someday.
--from the diary of Pearl Solstice
The old wizard watched swarms of people walk by. Young. Old. Rich. Poor. Observant. Scatter-brained. What would they do? What would they say? He chuckled at the memory. It was strange to marvel at their bulging eyes and gaping mouths when they saw him cast bright flickering spells. It was strange how many mortals expected their seers and witches to be gaunt and hollow-cheeked, as if less flesh brought you closer to the next world than this one. It was strange to see their faces when you shifted your shape from human to wolf, or a flame into ice-cold water. In my experience, he recalled, All the best magic-makers know how to live.
No amount of luscious flesh would make him a clown. Here he was, looking like a plump company manager, with red-brown age spots and tight gray suit. Silver-white hair was combed neatly around his soft tan face, matching the color of his slim rectangular glasses. He glanced at his silver watch. Any minute now...!
A tall figure hobbled toward him, its shadow cooling him from the hot sun. He looked up at the figure, studying the short black hair, the coral dress and high-heeled sandals. He erupted into laughter. The Prince!
"So, how was it, Hinata-Sama?" asked the wizard, "It must be a rare treat to walk among the commoners, without being gawked at!"
"It was...fine."
He snorted. The Prince was a tall, ruggedly handsome man, and his "disguise" was that of a woman. A woman with muscular arms and a lined masculine face.
"Ah, Grand Seer," the Prince sighed, flailing "You've got to let me out of this disguise! The potion's wearing off, see?"
"Oh, dear," chuckled the wizard, "So it is!"
The Prince sat down, fanning himself with some loose papers.
"I suppose I can't hide forever," he said, "But any day I can leave the Palace is a good day."
"You have to be kidding," laughed the wizard, "You're a thirty-four year old man who's never had to work for anything! No cooking. No cleaning. And definitely no yearly taxes!"
"Is that a cocktail?"
"Ohhh, you're impossible!"
"But I'll never become Emperor," groaned the Prince, "My dad's gonna live past one hundred."
"Come, now! That's impossible!"
"It's too much, really," the Prince sighed, leaning back, putting his hands behind his head, "I don't want him to die-- I just...I've waited for years!"
"You wouldn't rely on my magic," the wizard snapped, "An Emperor has more responsibilities. He has more reason to be seen. Otherwise, he's just a fairytale!"
The Prince leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.
"Then maybe I'm not cut out for it. Maybe I should take up working like all those...salarymen!"
"Now, now, those are people you're talking about!"
"Oh, but it's not fair! Isn't there anything else you can get me? An herb? A crystal? The bones of an ancient poet?"
The wizard frowned, studying the Prince for a while.
"What?!" the Prince demanded.
"You're a very ugly woman."
"Get out!" he shouted, his eyes blazing ominously, "I'm having a conniption fit!"
"Bonjour! Konnichiwa!"
The wizard froze. His skin prickled into ice-cold goosebumps. His eyes darted around the park, searching out the voice's owner.
"Your Imperial Highness," asked the wizard, "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
The wizard lit up. A white grin shot across his face, and he jumped to his feet.
"That voice! It's hers! It's my...!"
A small, fat white woman toddled down the stony path, heavy suitcases levitating behind her. Her cheeks and nose were smeared in more blush than a clown's. She ignored the stares, smiling her gap-toothed smile. The wizard rushed over, wrapping his arms around her.
"Bathilde! I never thought I'd see you again!"
She hugged him back, causing bright crystals to clatter like cymbals in her purse.
"Ah, Hajime," she cried, "How I miss that time, casting spells by day, harvesting crystals by night...!"
"Meeting cave-elves and nagi!"
"Traveling through time and space!"
"And dreams!" they cried in unison, before bursting into laughter.
They looked up, noticing confusion twist the Prince's face.
"Not a very fishy queen," Bathilde remarked.
"I'm a Prince!" spat the Prince.
"Is that it?" She turned to Hajime and whispered, "Not a man queen, but a strange witch? Or a wizard dressed as a witch?"
"That's the Prince of Japan," replied Hajime, "I work for the Imperial family, helping them disguise as needed."
He turned back to the Prince.
"Your Imperial Highness, this is Beraude Bathilde, my old friend from France. She's a half-elf witch."
"Huh," said the Prince, "I'm surprised you've never mentioned her before."
"I'm practically your nanny," chuckled the wizard, "You never let me mention her!"
The Prince shrugged, and his shoulders broadened, bursting through his dress. His feet swelled back into their normal size, causing the shoes' narrow heels to snap under him. He curled his legs up on one side, blushing bright-red as he struggled to cover his shoulders.
"I see," remarked Hajime, "The potion's completely worn off. You might need some fresh clothes."
He reached into his coat pocket and tossed the Prince a folded suit. The Prince caught it and rushed into a nearby store, ankles wobbling as he did. Bathilde giggled into her hand.
"Ah, what a funny man!" she noted, licking her lips, "Handsome, too."
"Down, girl!" Hajime snorted, sitting back on the bench. "Now, Bathilde, what brings you to Japan?"
Bathilde adjusted her glasses, considering how to word her answer.
"I'm getting on in years," she said, "Less and less of my friends are still around, and I need someone to...hold my power."
"You have family, don't you?"
"Yes. I've divided their inheritance equally."
Hajime rubbed his chin, chuckling softly.
"And how do you plan on transferring this power? Sexually?"
Her eyebrows shot up.
"It can be."
"But it won't be."
"Correct. I've made myself clear-- I'm too old for blanket tango. Besides...." She folded her hands. "I'm half-elf. I'm older than a magical human ever will be. You see, we're...delicate."
"You're not delicate. If anything, you're the strongest witch I know!"
Bathilde nodded.
"I'd agree with that," she replied, gazing down at the grass, "If we were still young and strong."
"Age only strengthens our power. Even a few years ago, I wouldn't have been able to make a disguise potion that strong! And now the Prince made a convincing woman."
She grinned.
"For a little while."
Hajime wrapped one arm around the back of the bench, watching water drip from his fingertips onto a dry brown patch of grass. A woman stared, only to run away once he waved.
"See, this is where our magic collides. Your kind is all about youth and strength, herbs and crystals. Mine is more...subtle. Slower. All stone and clouds. Not as pretty."
"It's efficient."
"Yes. But since it's so different, are you sure you want me to inherit some of your power?"
"Of course. It'll be a process, getting everything moved over-- but there are many ways of transferring." She blinked. "I'd like to do it the old-fashioned way."
Hajime's jaw dropped.
"The...Mind-Maker Method?!"
Bathilde nodded. Hajime's face went white. He collapsed to his knees dramatically, before digging his hands into the stone-covered path. A strange, guttural sound crept from his throat-- a mixture of a gasp and a sob.
"I'm sorry," he grunted, "But I can't abandon the Imperial Family. They've saved me from...a lot."
"You don't have to, ma bichette."
"Wh-What are you talking about?"
The witch cackled.
"Bathilde! Please don't...!"
Too late. She plucked a silver-white hair from his head, causing him to wince.
"Thank you, dear. This will do nicely for my perma-golem."
"Your what?"
"My golem. Except this one will last longer, to cover the month you'll leave your beloved...Prince Charming."
Bathilde looked toward the nearby store, at the Prince staggering out into the street. Except now, he was surrounded by a crowd of people. People with flashing cameras that burnt his eyes, people with questions that hurt his ears. Women (and some men) squealed and begged for his autograph. Children tugged at his trousers. Mon Dieu, she thought, shaking her head, He's practically a celebrity! Poor Hajime Hamamura...he needs a break!
"Won't he notice the difference?" Hajime asked, dabbing his forehead.
"Not if we're lucky. How'd that spell go again?" She pulled a small black book from her pocket, then flipped through it. She pressed a finger to one French spell, reciting:
"Creature of clay, mud, and fright,
Face this world and fight!
Take the shape of whom who are to save,
So we can rest in the Goddess' grace!"
Hajime frowned.
"I've never made a golem that complicated."
Bathilde pulled a tiny glass bottle from her pocket and tucked the hair inside.
"Neither have I."
"So you're just gonna...?"
Bathilde pressed her finger to his lips.
"Ah, it'll be fine! As long as we keep everything hidden, there will be nothing to fear!" She smiled. "Besides, your Prince isn't exactly a scholar."
"Are you calling him stupid? Only I can do that!"
His tone was joking, and he laughed as he spoke, so Bathilde laughed along with him.
"Listen to me," she murmured, shifting the banter into a serious discussion, "Consider it an honor to have some of my power. When you create the golem this time, think of it as-- an extension of your skills."
Hajime rubbed the back of his head.
"Ah, I don't know," he huffed, "I'm still a little nervous."
"About what?"
"The golem. And the transferring...where's this going to happen?"
"Ideally, a cave."
As if on cue, he pulled out a long, ancient map from his pocket. She unrolled it, squinting at the angular black ink, at the slick curving lines of land and sea.
"Hajime, I forgot how to read Japanese. You'll have to translate."
The old wizard smiled, running his finger along the wrinkled paper.
"Well, these are hidden caves, used by witches and wizards. They each have unique names for their purposes. So, if you want a transferring one...." He tapped a finger to an oval shape, "This one's good. The Wakasayama, youth-mountain, like the sumo wrestler's name."
"How cozy. It's absolutely...ideal!"
"Elves always think in ideals," he chuckled.
Bathilde's cheeks blushed a soft pink.
"Which is why I thought of you."
"My granddaughter will take another piece of my power," Bathilde noted, snapping her fingers at her suitcases until they vanished into her inn room, "Her name is Pearl Solstice. If you hear the name, let me know."
"Amma's daughter, right?"
"Oui. Shy and sweet, just like her mother."
"If she's anything like Amma, I can't wait to meet her."
"We've got a lot to do, but for now, ma bichette...." She ran her hand along his face, his arm, his belly, "Let us relive what we had, all those years ago. You inhale my citrus perfume, I inhale your peppermint cologne, a string quartet whispers softly...."
"I wrap my arms around you," murmured Hajime, caressing her shoulders, "And you retreat behind my eyes and watch an endless world glisten with light between the crumbling bones."
"What an idea, ma bichette!"
"It will be more than a thought," he replied, winking, "Just wait."
Without warning, his plump body shrank and shifted into that of a gray dove. She did the same, shivering as her warm skin burst into smooth, cool feathers. He chased her into a nearby tree, cooing and fluttering around the crumbling branches. They nestled together, unaware of the fierce dark eyes that flickered beneath them.