(Kind of the prompt, if you tilt your head just right)

In all of my years of work as a witch, I’ve never come across something as strange as this. They make an odd band: A young woman clutching the hand of a small child and handsome Faerie glaring daggers at his companion, a winged wood sprite who reciprocates the look.

I sigh and close the book I’m reading with a sharp snap that sends up a cloud of dust.

“What seems to be the matter now?”

“I was promised—“ the Faerie begins before being cut off by the sprite.

“YOU were promised nothing! That liar over there—“

I raise my voice. “Quiet! I’m asking the girl!”

The two exchange a glance that could cut through steel but step away from the scared-looking woman—more of a girl, really, she can’t be much older than twenty—and her place by the door. She hugs the small boy next to her as if she’s afraid he’ll be hurt.

“I’m called Iria. I made a… a contract with them. The—the fair folk, I mean.” Her eyes dart between me and the two creatures, and she seems a bit frightened of the name. “From the Faerie, my husband’s health… and for an end to drought—“ the Faerie gives a disdainful laugh— “from the sprite.”

“And as payment, what did you promise in return?”

“My boy. Cedric.” Her voice falters, and as if on cue, the little boy clinging to her arm begins to cry. “I made two different contracts and promised him to them both.”

“Oh. Oh, no…” Trading a child is always a severe bargain to make, and I’ve never once imagined that two conflicting contracts might be made. “Could you please go make us some tea, Waffles?” I say to the cat lying on the windowsill. She blinks slowly and pads off towards the kitchen.

“You named your cat Waffles?” The sprite asks scornfully.

I raise one eyebrow. “Waffles is neither a cat nor mine.”

The Faerie yawns. “Could we end this now? I grew bored long ago.”

“This discussion should be relatively short,” says the sprite, reaching toward Cedric’s hand. “It’s obvious the child’s mine, so I’ll take what I’m owed, thank you—“

Before he can take the boy’s arm, the Faerie steps between the two. “Excuse me, I’ve more right than you to that end of the bargain,” he hisses. “All you did was summon rain. Any common pixie could do such a thing.”

“I ended an entire drought! Don’t you know how hard that is?” His black eyes glimmer with spite. “Oh—wait—you don’t, don’t you? Haven’t done a day’s work in your life, if I’m correct. Spent every day in the court, hiding behind—”

He is violently interrupted when the Faerie leaps up, overturning his seat, sending the teapot and cups flying every which way and tackles him. The girl gives a muffled scream.

“Enough,“ I say, but my voice is drowned out by the crash of what I believe is the sound of the sprite hitting a large mirror, which then crashes to the floor. “Enough!” I shout, and a peal of thunder from the oncoming storm accompanies my words.

They freeze, at first suprised, then a bit sheepish, as if they’ve forgotten I’m there.

“You two have dared to come into my house, terrorized this poor girl, started a fight as if you were two young children, and worst of all,” I slam my hand down on my table, making them both jump, ”you’ve broken my fourth favorite tea pot. Are you gentlemen going to listen to me or shall I turn you both into crows?”

The sprite mumbles agreement while the Faerie simply glares at the ground. I smile. Sometimes, it’s rather nice to be the most feared witch around.

“Good. I’d hate to have some poor farmer have to hear your cawing every day. What are your names?”

“My name is Cynemaer. And my ‘friend—‘“ the Faerie’s voice turns sarcastic and almost a bit bitter— “is Leigh.”

Hm. So they do know each other. This could be more than it seems. “Thank you. I’ve heard each side of your argument quite clearly. Are you sure you wouldn’t accept anything else as payment? A memory? A talent? The ability to hold your tongue, perhaps?” I glance meaningfully at the the sprite.

Anger flashes across his features, and I cut him off before he can retort. “I thought not. Now, what if you raised him together? An agreement where you could both teach him magic. It would prevent bloodshed and would work out better for the boy.”

The Faerie, Cynmaer, considers this, then half smiles. “A bargain we all benefit from. I’ll agree to this.”

The sprite crosses his arms. “I don’t trust him. There must be some loophole. What if he just takes the child anyway?”

I snap my fingers, and paper and pen appears. “I’d create a contract. Neither of you shall harm the other, or the boy, or else you’ll forfeit your rights to him. Oh, and you’d have to keep him near enough to his poor mother for her to visit him regularly. You’ve put her through enough.” The girl’s looks shocked, then beams at this addition, and I smile.

“Fine. I concede. I’ll sign this contract of yours,” the sprite decides.

The Faerie nods. “As do I.”

“Lovely!” The quill scratches the paper with a very final sounding flick. “You two are free to leave now, and I hope I won’t have the misfortune of meeting you again. The young lady may stay for tea.”

The girl kisses her son’s face before tentatively handing him to the Faerie. “You won’t hurt him? And I’ll—I’ll see him soon?”

He looks down at the girl and something softens in his black eyes. “Daily, if you wish. I’d never dream of mistreating him.”

They hold a hushed conversation together before the Faerie takes the child’s hand and leads him out the door. The sprite glances back in my direction, but follows him.

I sit down with a sigh. Finally, rid of those idiots. They’ll learn to work with each other. From the way they spoke, they have a long history together, but the only way the contract will work is if they learn to work together. Which reminds me—

I run to the door and lean out. The trio is still only a short ways down the garden path. “Congratulations!”

The Faerie stops and turns, confused. “On what?”

I smirk. “Why, your new marriage!”

The door is locked and bolted before they can figure out the meaning of my words and how they connect with the contract.

I do love my job.