"Magic is Real After All" by Chelsa L. Dagley

      The night was cold, dark. The rain came in a steady downpour, and people wore masks of somber resignation as they went about their tasks. It was one of those nights that made you want to curl up in a cozy blanket, with only a candle and a cup of tea as company. When children would peer out of their windows, imagining all sorts of horrors winding their way through the cobbled streets.

   It was this quiet night, second month into winter, that Sarah spent serving in the inn. The common room was silent, with but a few strange customers filling the tables. The only light came from a small fire, that Sarah spent half the night just trying to keep lit. It was necessary to wear cloaks inside, the patrons found out, as the wind whistled through several cracks, and cold drops of water fell from various places in the ceiling.

   Sarah rubbed her arms briskly, stirring the fire back to life. She couldn't afford a cloak, but the cold was a familiar annoyance to the skinny girl. A loud crash came from the kitchen, and Sarah looked up at the yells of Boris the Innkeeper. From the sounds of it, he had dropped a pan. Sarah shook her head, ignoring him and reaching for the plate of food Cook had just set out on the counter.

   After placing the plate in front of a mysterious, hunched patron, she turned, but felt a strong hand grab her wrist.

   “Scuse' me sir, but Boris don't put up with -”

   Sarah was stopped by the look in the man's face; one eye was a twisted hunk of scar tissue, but the other bulged as it looked upon her; its blue color intensified in the fire light. He smacked his lips, smiling with no mirth.

      “Tell me girl,” his voice was the sound of gravel being ground together, “tell me what you know of magic.”

      Wrinkling her nose at the smell of his breath, Sarah responded with disdain, “There ain't no such thing, sir, so you betta let go a my arm if'n you know what's good fer ya.”

      “Sarah!” Boris yelled out, his boar-like face peeking out from the kitchens, “Everything alright?”

      The man thought better about mistreating this hulking man's serving girl, and let go of her arm. With a thump he got up, slapped some coins on the table, and shuffled out of the inn.

      “Is now, Boris.”

      He narrowed his beady eyes and ducked back into the kitchen. Everyone around the town knew not to mess with Boris or his workers, for he was ruthless when it came to punishment.

      Sarah nodded, satisfied. She picked up a pale of refuse set by the kitchen door and headed out back with it, her skinny arms straining with the weight.

      “Git!” She yelled at the starved mutt sifting through the garbage pile. It snarled and ran off.

      Throwing the trash into the larger pile, Sarah bent back up, stretched her back, and turned to head in.

      A ripple of color washed over the ground before her feet, and she stopped, gazing at the spot. Voices came to her then, and she looked frantically about, but couldn't find their source.

      “They say this place used to hold magic.”

      “That it was a powerful gateway.”

      “Where monsters and faeries alike dined, with no quarrels.”

      “There was witches.”

      “And warlocks.”

      “Yes, this place used to be very magical.”

      Sarah clamped her hands over her ears, but was unable to block out the whispers. The colors still rippled, washing away the dirty colors of the inn and street. Then, the inn began to disappear, replaced by a magnificent castle that was both brooding and welcoming.

      Large cat-like statues twisted in exotic poses along its walls. Fountains streamed red liquid, and there were stairs placed in obscure places, often leading to nothing.

      Sarah gasped, walking to the front. The doors were mahogany, with designs of devils and sprites coupling in wicked positions.

      She opened the doors, and was at once greeted by a tall, not-quite-human man. Something about him was wrong, though the more Sarah tried to place it, the more confused she became.

      He smiled, “Welcome, dear. Aren't you just beautiful?” His long fingers touched her dark locks lovingly, pinched her cheeks and caressed her lips. “But so skinny!” He gasped as if truly shocked by this. “And what are those dreadful things you wear?” He made a motion with his hand, up and down. “Much better.”

      Sarah looked at herself and parted her lips in silent horror. She now wore nothing but strands of silver on her shoulders, waist and ankles. Jewels dotted her chest and belly-button, and her nails shined the color of spun gold. Other than those small decorations, she was nude, and quickly she tried to cover herself.

      “Now now!” Scolded the man, grasping her wrists and placing them behind her back. “No need for modesty here.”

      “Please, what is this place?” Sarah pleaded, struggling against the man to no avail.

      “Did you not say there was no such thing as magic?”

      Sarah gasped, she had indeed.

      “Well, here you will learn how very wrong you were, in the most pleasant way possible.” But as he smiled again that wicked grin, Sarah did not believe that it would be pleasant for her at all.