Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000O000

Chapter 1

In which Howl tries to be a good man

In the land of Ingary, which has seen its fair share of odd happenings thanks to the high number of witches, wizards and magical creatures that call it home, some quite extraordinary events happened one Midsummer's Day. That day saw the end of the Witch of the Waste at the hands of an enchanted scarecrow, the happy reunion of two men with their long separated, mixed up body parts and the bludgeoning of an ancient fire demon under the roof of one of the greatest wizards in all of Ingary or indeed the world.

The Wizard Howl, or Howell Jenkins as he forever remained in his own mind, then had to placate the even more formidable Hatter family and get used to having his heart back where it belonged. The former task was eased by the assistance of his beloved, Sophie Hatter, who, despite being an unwed adult of the opposite sex, refused to be removed from under his roof. He dared to hope she might also help him with the latter, considering it was she who had held his heart in her hands and willed him to keep living. His young apprentice, Michael had asked to accompany the crowd back to the home of Sophie's disapproving stepmother due to his attachment to the youngest Hatter girl, Martha. (Who Michael still called 'his' Lettie for some reason.) The real Lettie, the middle daughter and until recently the reluctant focus of Howell's considerable charm, didn't uphold her stepmother's argument that Sophie should come home with them as Lettie was under the weight her own crush on another wizard, one part of the previously co-joined men, Wizard Ben Suliman. The King of Ingary's brother, Prince Justin was the other half, but he declined the invitation to the Smith mansion as he needed to let his brother know the happy outcome of his botched rescue attempt.

In the wizard's private retreat, two long fingers swirled scented oils in the bathwater as Howell's multi-track mind pondered the events of the day, calculated possible outcomes, weighed additional responsibilities and kept track of the multitude of spells keeping his almost ideal household going. It had been a busy day, to say the least, but that evening found him relaxing in a tub full of hot water, courtesy of a fire demon, formerly under contract to the wizard but now a free agent. Howell's right hand rubbed a circle on the left side of his bare chest. He scanned the shelves of bottles and packets of neatly arranged and forever ruined beauty spells and sighed. Sophie preferred things "natural" he knew, where his inclination was to disguise himself. Ironic then that she'd been the one to come into his life hidden. A beautiful young woman hidden as a shriveled old crone, she seemed bent on turning his life upside down. Howell slid down under the surface of the water keeping his eyes open to look at the clean bathroom from a different vantage point. A distorted image of the familiar room floated past him. His life was like this now, familiar, but distorted. Howell blew bubbles and watched as little goldfish swam from them. He poked them with his finger and smiled as they popped. Simple illusion, but it always made him laugh, producing more bubbles, more goldfish. The water felt lovely and he sighed as he reached up to pour more hot water. A burst of cold hit his scalp and, shivering, he cursed Calcifer. His best friend, the amoral demon was sending him a not so subtle message to finish up. Since the tub was still soothingly warm, Howell sat up and began the real task of cleaning himself before bed. He'd missed his usual routine in the morning, so it was important to feel clean and beautiful again before seeing Sophie. Happily ever after, he thought, should really begin with their first night together. Howell rubbed the washcloth down one arm and then the other. She'd looked so lovely in her rage against their common enemy today. His little May Day mouse. He'd lost her that day in Market Chipping and found her again today, Midsummer's Day. Howell washed his chest and stomach, the cloth stopping as he moved his hips to get more comfortable. If tonight was to be her first time, he wanted to be clean all over.

Once done, dry and happy with his reflection, Howell finally felt ready to see Sophie. An hour, not too long he hoped. Emerging from the bathroom like a butterfly from its chrysalis, Howell casually threw back the hanging sleeves on his black suit before noticing that he was not being watched by his beloved Sophie at all, but by the orange flaming eyes of Calcifer. "Ah," Howell said, crossing the room without any further attempts at seduction.

"Howl, we need to talk," the blue fire said.

"Can it wait? I was hoping..."

Calcifer made a face. To anyone else, it might have looked quite as evil as it was intended, but Howell had, until this very afternoon, a bond with the demon that merged them magically. They knew each other's nature as well as any two creatures could. There was no malice in the creature. Simply put, Howell thought, Cal was what he was, powerful and inhuman, but not evil. "I'm sure I know what you were hoping and I also know that we need to talk now," Calcifer said.

Howell sighed as he perched himself gracefully on the stool near the hearth. "Fine then, but be brief."

"Well, that's something. The great wizard Howl will talk to me." Calcifer ignored the look that passed over Howell's face and hurried on, "I don't have to stay here, you know."

Howell smiled fondly. "Of course, but you came back and we appreciate it."

The fire settled slightly. "Well okay. I'm willing to share my power and keep the place going so long as I'm here." They both knew that would be the case regardless. As soon as Calcifer returned, his power added to Howell's just as it had done under the contract. The demon gestured around his hearth, saying, "But I'm not going to be trapped here like I was. You know I want to go where and when I want to."

Howell resisted the smile that he felt. So that was the big thing Calcifer wanted to get off his chest? He had as much trouble with confrontation as Howell if that was the case. "Granted," Howell said.

"Well... good. Just so we know that," Calcifer looked uneasily at the curtained area under the stairs that had until today been Sophie's nook. "Well, uh, then there's Sophie. I need to know... what your plans..." he waved his spindly fire arms, "you know... for the future." He flinched from the look on Howell's face.

"What is that to you?"

A silence fell on the room that made Howell realize he'd given the wrong answer. He looked around. "Where is she?"

"Gone to bed, lover boy." Calcifer's voice was naturally cynical, so Howell took no offense at the tone. Still, he was confused. When he'd left she seemed as smitten as a man could hope for, after all. She'd implied that she was his as much as he was hers.

"In my room?" he asked, his tone still somewhat hopeful. A snort answered him from behind the heavy sheets that divided Sophie's sleeping area under the stairs from the rest of the living area before Calcifer could. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Howell called out loudly to her before he could stop himself.

Sophie stuck her head out from between the curtains, ginger hair falling around a pretty face with a somewhat familiar look of moral superiority. Howell inhaled sharply, still surprised to see her face unlined and lovely after nearly a month of looking at her as an old woman. He recovered himself. "You don't need to stay in that small space anymore, Sophie." He offered her his hand as he stood up, but she gave him one of her odd looks and kept her hands clutching the drapes.

"I don't mind," a wariness crept into her voice, "just where did you intend for me to sleep?"

Had he misunderstood? Earlier she'd seemed solid in her love for him. Earlier she'd agreed to move upstairs. He looked at Calcifer when he heard a log spit as it burned, a sound that meant the demon was laughing to himself. The fire demon had gone into hiding. Sophie risked her life for Howell's happiness and she'd stood up to her family to remain with him, that put some confidence into his voice as he looked into her beautiful blue-gray eyes. "In my bed."

Sophie's face flushed, though in anger or embarrassment Howell couldn't tell. "Don't you try that on me, Howl Jenkins! I know all about you. I know how you are with young women and don't try to deny it!" Her hands seemed to clutch the fabric even tighter around her face. "It may not be hearts or souls, but you do steal, don't you?" She referred to the erroneous rumors Howell had spread about himself to keep people from seeking out the castle. Michael had been too effective and Sophie spent untold hours looking for the hearts of his 'victims.' Howell would've laughed, but the look on her face and the sudden absence of Calcifer from the hearth checked his humor. The night wasn't cold, but with the fire gone, a strange chill descended.

Perhaps he should give up, go to bed alone, but... No, he couldn't let this be, he thought. This was to be the start of their lives together! "And what exactly are you getting at?"

"Well," she seemed to realize that she was now completely alone with him. Completely. Alone. "I mean... with girls... virgins..." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

The heart within Howell's chest was unused to sudden shocks and it gave him a sharp, painful complaint. Oh. Denial dropped away and for a second his usually busy mind cleared. He reached his hand up to his chest but tried to keep the grimace from his face. Calcifer told her, he thought. While Howell was in the bathroom, they must've talked. It made sense now. Calcifer would think she deserved the truth. So there it was. How much did he tell her? Everything? There was the truth and then there was the truth. Howell spent his adult life fleeing unpleasantness. Today the Witch laid him bare. She and her fire demon struck everywhere he was vulnerable and with Sophie's help he'd survived. Surely he was ready to confront this as well? Howell stopped shifting his feet; planting them firmly, he looked directly at her. "Yes." He hoped his voice gave the illusion of strength.

Sophie's face crumpled and ducked back behind the fabric. Howell stood only a few feet away, unsure what to do. There goes happily ever after, he thought. His reputation was that of a brutal womanizer and one half of that was accurate. Heartless Howl courted a woman until she fell in love with him, then he lost interest and abandoned her. That part Sophie had known and that part was spoken of within the castle, but what he and Calcifer left out of the discussion, originally in deference to Michael's youth, was that Howell always took a token of the woman's love with him, her virginity. The crying girls, the crazy aunts, all of the complainants when he left one "true love" after another, they all had reason to be upset. He never argued, in fact he arranged never to be present for the aftermath and Calcifer resented it. Howell knew wherever his demon friend was right now he was laughing up a storm.

"Sophie," he said, knowing his voice sounded pitiful, "please come out." He'd always hated those sheets she'd put up, but now he wanted to tear them to shreds. He took the few steps necessary to touch the fabric, but then couldn't move. "Sophie," he repeated. Her breathing was audible, close to him, fast and worried. His fingers twitched as he took one side of the drapes in his hand. "Sophie, stop this."

"Or what? Slime again?" The voice was muffled slightly.

Howell smiled at that memory. He'd forgiven her for causing his tantrum the week after her arrival. Once the gray left her hair he understood why his had chosen to turn 'red gold'; at the time he'd been too disgusted to puzzle it out. On her, it was lovely. Howell let the rough fabric fall from between his fingers. With a wave of his right hand, the barrier between them was no more.

Sophie had indeed been standing mere inches away from him, but she now backed up against her bed with a look of panic on her face. Howell watched her as if that fear had nothing at all to do with him. Why should it? She was perfectly safe from him. He'd never hit her had he? Never harmed her at all, despite all her provoking. Sophie in her terror was every bit as beautiful as she'd been when she gazed calmly on him in love. She wore a chemise typical of this world, a white gown with an inset yoke that rose up to a high necked collar with tiny pearls, currently unbuttoned. It was worn under dresses as well as for bed. There was the faint outline of her slender body underneath, her breasts hidden behind crossed arms. Her hair was still in its braid, except where the afternoon's excitement had freed up strands that lay framing her face in such casual beauty that he longed to run his fingers through it. Howell took one step closer, nothing separated them. Time seemed to be slowing down as his pulse and breathing sped up. Her eyes darted around him, possibly hoping Michael or Calcifer would appear. Interesting wasn't it, he thought, that she didn't resort to magic to protect herself? She was a talented and wild witch, after all. She'd stood up to the most powerful witch of their time but perhaps she realized how dangerous it would be with him? To start using magic against him would free him to do the same. Or, he dared to hope, perhaps she didn't want to stop him, perhaps she wanted this to happen as much as he did?

"Sophie," his voice darkened with passion. Almost giving in to his need, he grabbed her shoulders and searched her face for any sign of permission. Her eyelids fluttered and she tilted her face up slightly, just enough. Howell brushed his lips lightly across her tightly pursed mouth giving featherlight kisses until she relaxed. His hands moved up, cradling her face. She pressed her body against his, eyes now fully closed. Had Sophie been one of his many conquests, Howell would've pushed on but he wanted a lifetime with her and that meant building trust, keeping his desires under control. Still, he was only a man. He had to enjoy his advantage, so he tried to soak in every detail about her, the feel of her skin, the scent in her hair; he memorized her face as she responded to his kisses, her sweet lips touching skin near his mouth, oblivious to the smile on his face. Her arms were free and her hands tentatively moved around his waist. With a peck on her nose, he gently moved her away. "Come Sophie." Howell saw the confusion as she opened her eyes. "Come upstairs with me." He ran his hands down her neck, her shoulders, arms. Taking her work calloused hands from his sides, he held them to keep her from running away.

"You bewitched me," she tried half-heartedly. Sophie looked down when he laughed.

"I think you have that backwards." Howell lifted her chin with his right hand and let his left arm ease over her shoulder, guiding her out and around, toward the stairs. "Your virtue's safe," he leaned his mouth close to her ear. "Please," he breathed, "Let me hold you." Her body trembled quickly, but she smiled and didn't resist his lead until they stood in front of his bed.

"Howl?"

"Sit here." He crossed the room to his crowded dresser. Howell looked over the whole room for a second, calculating which spells to keep and which to remove. A quick look out his window showed a rainy night in Wales, but he turned his attention back to his current plan and picked up a hairbrush. He looked back and Sophie still stood at the foot of his bed, a look that threatened to turn stubborn on her face. "Here," he put his hand on her back and eased her down with his other hand already in her hair.

"Howl," she began, but he ignored her as he sat behind her on the bed and began to work his fingers through the ends of the braid, loosening it before drawing the brush through. "Those girls..."

Howell sighed and kissed the back of her head. "Cariad," he began, "that was before--"

"My sister. Howl, you... you wouldn't have..." her voice faltered as he continued to brush, silent. "Well?" Her body language showed her conflicted feelings. She was perched on the very edge of the bed, tense, ready to flee, but enjoying the attention of the brush, of his hands.

Howell sighed, burrowing his head through her hair and nuzzling her neck. His arms pulled her closer, further onto the bed. "My love," he began again, trying to find a way out of the discussion, "you smell so good."

Her neck arched to give him more skin to nibble, though her voice didn't allow him such a break. "About Lettie, Howl. You stop trying to... ooooh," she moaned as he hit a sensitive spot on the nape of her neck. Howell pulled her up to the pillows, turning her without resistance. He settled her along his fully clothed body. One of his arms cradled her head and the other hugged her around her waist as she lay facing his chest. Without conviction, she added, "you're a bad man, Howl Jenkins."

"Wicked, or so I've been told," he murmured to her hair. An Ingary girl in a Welshman's bed, he thought, what could be better? He wanted to feel her against him, but reminded himself to take it slow. He shushed her next comment. "I promise we'll have our talk," he said, "but not now." Having her so close, he was sure he couldn't possibly drift off, every nerve in his body seemed to want to tell him about her movements, but the events of the day took their toll. The family, the Witch, the demon, the dying, the proof of love, all of the excitement took its toll and their bodies succumbed to sleep.

000O000

A/N: Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

Cariad: Beloved