1.

Sophie couldn't help but wonder, somewhat irritably, where all the time had gone. One moment Michael and Martha had announced their engagement, and there had seemed so much time to perfect the details of their ceremony - then she had blinked, and everything had fast-forwarded to a month before, then a week before. Now there were three days left.

Three days.

Martha's gown wasn't finished, Michael hadn't even looked into finding a suit (Howl was supposed to have taken care of that, she remembered, beating the breakfast eggs a bit savagely), and the castle, which was to hold the reception, was neither clean nor festive at present. But here was Martha, sitting at the table as calm as you please, finishing the last batch of invitations that should have been sent off a month and a half ago. Shouldn't she be just a bit worried too?

"Maybe we ought to rethink the number of people we've invited," Martha mused, scribbling on an envelope. "I keep coming across names I don't know."

Sophie winced. The guest list was the only thing so far that was finished. "Michael added a few," she said, dropping the eggs onto her sister's plate.

"Yes, but won't it be easier for you if the list is shorter?" Martha took up another envelope, seeming not to notice Sophie's sudden stillness by the stove. "Fewer mouths to feed, I mean."

Sophie tried not to feel guilty about her earlier judgement. "Don't be silly," she said, pulling up a chair and placing her hand atop Martha's. "We'll feed all the mouths that come and send them home with leftovers. I want your wedding to be everything you dreamed it would be."

Martha patted her sister's hand as if Sophie were the one being comforted. This sort of thing still caught Sophie by surprise; it was all very confusing now that Martha had grown up. "I'm just saying, Sophie, that this is very elaborate for what it actually is. All I need for a wedding is Michael and a priest." Her tone was light, but Sophie didn't miss the way Martha didn't quite meet her eyes when she said it. The unspoken accusation was: You're the one who wants a big ornate wedding.

Sophie didn't have much to say to that, in large part because it was true. She removed her hand and returned to the hearth, which was much too sedate without Calcifer in it. She hadn't seen much of Calcifer, or Howl or Michael or anyone, for that matter, since the whole thing had begun. And blast it, I miss them, she thought, dropping the egg shells into the fire.

Fanny came bustling in a few minutes later and whisked Martha and the invitations away with talk of lunch and the cake and Mr. Smith's aspirations of helping Martha in every possible way, and Sophie was faced once again with an empty, quiet castle. This was just as well; she needed to let off some steam. She tied up her sleeves and went in search of the broom.

...

Sophie swept and mopped the main rooms until the floorboards shined. She opened the windows to let the sunlight in and set out fresh flowers and, when these things were done, she went upstairs and repeated the process in her bedroom. The cleaning so greatly improved her mood that she considered going up to Howl's room, at least to open the windows, but she didn't want to slip back into a dark frame of mind. She left it alone.

It would have been nice to have some sort of errand to run, but there was none today; Howl and Michael, wherever they were, were in charge of arranging for the decorations, and Martha's bakery was, of course, in charge of the cake; and while they had ordered most of the groceries needed for the reception, it wouldn't do to cook the stuff three days in advance. No, there was nothing to do now but to settle in that chair before the (decidedly empty) fire and work at finishing Martha's gown.

Sophie wasn't sure exactly why she wanted to avoid this - or why she had doomed herself to do it, when Fanny or Lettie could have and had both offered. She was good at sewing. Even difficult jobs had never troubled her like this, and Martha's gown was so simple. She'd insisted on simplicity, and that was fine with Sophie, who had always felt that too much lace and frill ruined the effect of a nice dress... so why this dread when she retrieved it from her work room? Why this disgust when she draped it across her knees? Sophie was sure she didn't know.

She worked in silence until the afternoon turned golden and faded away, pausing between the penultimate and final stitches to watch the street lamps being lit and wonder where everybody was and what they were doing now. She crossed the room and shut the windows, latched them for the night, and built the fire up tall before she returned to the dress. After racking her brain over what blessing to sew in, she finally settled on something personal enough to warrant a whisper, finished the last stitch, and went up to bed.

The dress lay there in the chair, folded neatly and faintly quivering with its cause, which was, at Sophie's request, to keep Michael from slithering out of her little sister's happily-ever-after.

...

The sun dawned next morning with a vengeance, too early and too bright. Sophie, tangled in the covers, felt numb all over with the cold, and little wonder - she'd left her window open overnight. She kicked herself free and stumbled to close it, very aware of the ache in her head and the gritty quality of her eyes which meant she hadn't slept long or well enough. Her very muscles felt tired, but there could be no lazing about today. She only had two days left to pull all the pieces together.

Halfway through her icy shower the water went warm, and she rushed downstairs afterward to find Calcifer in the hearth. "You're welcome," he said stiffly, catching sight of her on the stairs. "Now, can I have something besides these ashy egg shells? No one's thought to feed me much of anything in a week."

Sophie put some bacon on a pan and fed most of it to Calcifer, following up with two whole eggs and a bit of orange.

"Whose hearth have you been living in, if you don't mind my asking?" At Calcifer's look, she explained, "You said no one had fed you. If you'd been off alone I expect you would have found your own food." Calcifer gobbled up a piece of orange peel and seemed to consider the question, or rather the answer he wanted to give Sophie.

"Last night I went to Suliman's place. He and Howl are trying to find a spell to enlarge this place for the reception." Here he smiled a bit smugly and drew himself up to his full height. "They needed my help - for some reason, whenever they try it on Suliman's house, all the air goes out of it. Bit of a problem."

"A bit," Sophie said. They were still working on spells? What about the decorations? Michael's suit? "Did you happen to see Michael while you were there?"

Calcifer shook his disembodied head. Sophie tried not to look - or feel - too alarmed. They could handle things, she told herself. Trust them or not, she couldn't do it all.

"Where are you going?" Calcifer called after her.

"To pick up all the food we ordered," Sophie told him, putting on both her traveling cloak and one of Michael's. "Please warm up the house before you go. It's frigid in here."

Calcifer frowned at the door after she had gone. He didn't think it was all that cold, but then, he was a fire demon. He sighed, flaring up brighter and warmer and feeling pleased that he had at least gotten a good breakfast out of it.

...

It took Sophie the better part of the day to collect everything, partly because she had to make multiple trips and partly because all the shopkeepers insisted on talking to her about the wedding. The bakery was the absolute worst; Martha wasn't there, but all of her girlfriends were, and they wanted to know what the gown looked like ("Well...it's rather white,"), how the house was coming ("It's quite clean now,"), and how they'd managed to coordinate Michael's suit (Sophie danced around this question, not knowing herself if Howl had even found a suit yet, much less if he had tried to match it to the dress.)

To her surprise, Calcifer was still in the grate - and it was still freezing in the house. Sophie set the basket of breads down rather harder than she'd meant to because her arm muscles sort of gave up halfway through bending and asked as patiently as she could, "Calcifer, would you please warm the room up a bit?"

He looked annoyed. "It can't still be cold. I've hardly let up since you left."

"I'm sorry, but it is cold in here," Sophie said. Her voice was hoarse from talking all day, and her throat hurt. Calcifer seemed to notice this. He watched her put the food away and come slowly to the chair, moving the dress so she could sit. Then he watched her hands shake as she repaired a rip in Michael's cloak and finally asked her, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," she said, not glancing up. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well," said Calcifer, and hesitated. Normally he didn't like to get in the middle of them, as most of their quarrels were childish and solved themselves, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about this one - as if they were all teetering on a cliff without being aware of it, with two separate futures to fall into. "I wasn't sure if this wasn't harder for you than you're letting on," he finished, somewhat doubtfully.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Planning the wedding. Handling it. Considering what's happened."

"Don't be silly," she said. Yesterday she'd said it to Martha, and today she was saying it to Calcifer. Would she say it to Howl tomorrow? No. She probably wouldn't even see him. That was silly in itself; didn't he and Michael come home to sleep? But that would mean they got up at dawn or not long after. It was unlike them, but perhaps the wedding had necessitated it. Perhaps they were quite as busy as she had been... wondering, as Sophie had been wondering, how it would feel to sit idle again when this was all over...

"Sophie," Calcifer said. "Sophie, you're not going to sleep there, are you? Put the needle away. You'll prick yourself."

There was not much use in talking to her now. Calcifer pulled himself from the fireplace and carefully knocked the needle out of her lap before settling in and setting himself, yet again, to the task of warming the house. He didn't like to see her shiver.

...

Howl and Michael came in some time before noon, involved in a discussion about neckties that broke off halfway across the room as both noticed the temperature and began hurriedly shedding their outer layers.

"Calcifer, are you trying to ignite the place?" Howl called, opening the windows. "It's hot as Hades in here. Shrink before you roast us all."

Calcifer shrank, looking troubled. "I didn't think it was cold, but Sophie keeps asking me to warm up the house."

"It would be Sophie, wouldn't it," Howl sighed.

Michael glanced into the kitchen, around the back of the chair, and into Sophie's work room. "Where is she, Calcifer?"

"She's just finished her bath," said Calcifer with a glance upward. "Howl, there's something I should tell you about Sophie..."

"What?" said Howl from within the pantry. There was a bit of banging around, and he reappeared with a basket of breakfast meats. Michael, looking greatly cheered by the sight of food, fetched him the frying pan. Howl hooked a stool with his foot and dragged it to the hearth, where he proceeded to plop down and load the pan with little round sausages.

"Wait," said Calcifer, dodging it. "I want to talk to - "

"There will be plenty of time for talking after breakfast," Howl interrupted, pressing in. "Either help or get out of the hearth." Calcifer gave a cry but didn't leave; he bent his head down, like old times, and flared up bright to hasten the cooking. Even so, there turned out to be too little time for talking. Sophie appeared on the stairs just as Howl was cracking the first batch of eggs.

"Mohpee!" said Michael. He swallowed his sausage and smiled sheepishly. "Do you want some breakfast?"

Sophie shook her head. She moved slowly to the table and sat there, looking clean but a bit wilted, as if her head were heavier than usual. At her lack of an answer Howl glanced over his shoulder, but as her back was to them, he couldn't garner much from her expression.

"Sophie, please say something," he said. "You're making Michael nervous." This was not exactly true - Michael was deeply absorbed in his meal - but it got Sophie to turn around.

It was not her expression that startled Howl, but her face itself. She was rather gray, with red-rimmed eyes and a pink nose, and as he looked at her, she bent her arm and sneezed into the crook of it, miserably and wetly.

"Bless you," said Michael to Sophie.

"Thank you," muttered Sophie to Michael.

"This is exactly what I was trying to tell you before," said Calcifer to the wizard. "But you wouldn't listen to me, would you? You never do."

"Sophie!" said Howl. "You look dreadful. What's happened to you?"

"Nothing's happened," said Sophie thickly. "It's only a cold."

"Only a cold, she says." He set his simmering frying pan down upon the stone fireplace and crossed the room in what seemed to Sophie entirely too little time and took her face in his hands. "My dear Sophie, either you have no concept of colds or your optimism has gotten the better of you."

"How's the temperature?" asked Calcifer.

"Slightly cooler than yours," Howl answered him. To Sophie he said, "I know the flu when I see it. It's bed for you today."

"Bed!" exclaimed Sophie. At least she meant to exclaim. What came out of her mouth was more of a sleepy "Bed...?" Howl had already taken her arm and begun to lead her to the stairs, with Michael, greasy-fingered from the sausage, at her other arm, when her brain caught up with the rest of her. "Stop," she said. "I can't just lie about all day. There's too much to be done."

"Sophie," said Howl, "if you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything."

"My little sister is getting married tomorrow," Sophie reminded them. "To you," she added to Michael, with such an accusatory note that he released her arm and took a step away. She gave the arm in Howl's possession a good yank and nearly toppled over - her balance left something to be desired. "I don't suppose either of you have done half of what you should've. Michael, do you even have a suit yet?"

"I...um," stammered Michael, just as Howl said confidently, "Yes, he does. And so do Suliman and I."

"Really?" said Sophie and Michael at once. Michael flushed a deep cranberry and took another step back at the look he received from Howl.

"Yes, really," said Howl. "I'm going to pick all of them up today. But you," he quirked one eyebrow at Sophie, "are going to lie down."

"I can't!" said Sophie. "In case you've forgotten, I'm in charge of cooking for all those people. What are you going to do, tell them all to bring a bag lunch? And what about the decorations? This place isn't fit for a reception!" Sophie found that ranting at them gave her energy, rather like the cleaning had, and she mopped at her nose with a sleeve as she continued hoarsely, "Michael, I'm surprised. I expected this from Howl, but not from you. It's your wedding."

Poor Michael did not quite know how to respond to so many accusations at once. He went pale and solidified, looking between Howl by the stairs and Calcifer in the fireplace as if hoping one of them would come to his rescue. "Sophie," he said weakly.

"Why did you expect it from me?" said Howl. He had a strange look on his face.

"Because you can't be counted on for much of anything, of course." To everyone's surprise it was Calcifer who said this. All their faces turned to where he was hovering, free of the fire in the grate. "You're fickle and undependable and irresponsible, even if you don't actually eat girls' hearts, and I'm not sure you can love anyone properly even though you've got your own back." He delivered this monologue with a small, peaceful smile, all the while holding Sophie's gaze across the room. Sophie felt the inclination to contradict him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it - hadn't she been thinking the same things?

"Well," said Howl after a long, uncomfortable pause. Sophie thought he looked rather ill himself now. He looked to her with some difficulty, as if his eyes and her face were opposing magnets. "Take a nap, at least. I'll go out," he said when she tried to interrupt. "I'll pick up the suits and the decorations you need, and we'll all work together to finish it tonight. Fair enough?"

"All right," said Sophie, but he was already gone, pulling the door to. Michael stared after him. So did Sophie. Then they both left the main room, Sophie to her room, Michael, possibly, to his. Calcifer was gone too - he might have slipped out through the chimney while they were staring. No one saw him go.

...

By sheer force of will, Sophie pulled herself from sleep an hour or so before dusk and climbed from the bed. Her room was dim, full of soft shadows that blurred the outlines of her furniture. She passed by the mirror briefly and inspected her reflection: definitely sick, but at least she had her hair back to its proper color. And the wrinkles were gone, that was a plus. She didn't think she would ever be able to take her youth for granted again.

From the hallway she could hear indistinct clinking sounds below. Michael tripped by the end of the staircase, bent double, drawing with a bit of chalk on the clean floorboards. Sophie started down, trying to think of a diplomatic way to tell him she'd just mopped, when Wizard Suliman's voice said, "All right, Michael, that should do it."

"Ben?" said Sophie.

Both of the men looked up. "Well hello, Sophie," said Suliman. He sounded surprised. Michael, trying to wipe the chalk off on his trousers, transitioned from smiling to repentant in a blink.

Sophie stepped carefully over the line Michael had just finished. She could see now that it was part of a magic circle, and a complex one at that. It spanned the entire room and was quite dizzying to look at. Sophie shook her head to clear it and looked up to speak to Suliman, only to find that he had crossed the room and was standing quite near, just as Howl had done. I'm blinking too long, she thought.

Suliman led her to the chair before the fireplace and helped her to sit, as if she were still old and creaky. "You're doing the enlargement spell," she said, to prove she knew what was going on.

"That's right," said Suliman in his grave way. "We need Howl and Calcifer, though. They haven't come back yet."

Sophie wondered if the two had found each other, or if Suliman would have to make do with one or the other. She looked around and realized Michael had disappeared again. She called for him and heard something in the kitchen clang to the floor. He shuffled back into the room, looking hangdog.

"I'm sorry about what I said before," Sophie told him. She meant it, but the headache blooming behind her eyes made it difficult to speak kindly. She pressed a hand to her temple and tried to fix a convincing smile on her face. "Will you forgive me?"

Unobservant Michael noticed nothing, bless him. He beamed at her. "Forgive you for what?" Wizard Suliman smiled gravely at them from the corner, looking unsure of what to say or do, until the front door opened in a rush of cold air and a large package walked in.

Upon closer inspection, the package had legs (with shaking knees) beneath it and arms (with white-knuckled hands) around it. This strange creature bent down and straightened to reveal Howl's head, whose face was flushed and winded-looking. "The decorations are there," he said, gesturing to the box with a jerk of his thumb, "and here are the suits, as requested." He lay the bag down on the table, which was pushed against a wall, and looked, of all people, to Sophie. Michael and Suliman looked at her too.

Sophie, lacking any great epiphanies, coughed hard and sore-throatedly into her arm. She stood up, feeling a bit off balance. "I'm going to start the cooking," she said, or attempted to say - upon trying it, she discovered that her throat was full of some sort of fluid. She waved her hand at their puzzled looks and excused herself to the kitchen.

While Sophie scrubbed her hands pink and tied a rag over her mouth, the wizards in the other room began the final preparations for their spell, which, Sophie knew now, generally involved finding the right place to stand within the circle. "Didn't Calcifer go out with you?" said Suliman from across the room.

"He'll be back any moment," said Howl, whose voice was closer. "Anyway, I think we can manage without him. You start it, Suliman."

Sophie chopped her carrots in a steady rhythm, clunk, clunk, clunk, that made Suliman's strange words from the main room sound like poetry. She finished with the carrots and started potatoes just as Howl's voice joined Suliman's, followed, at length, by Michael's. This must be some spell, she thought to herself, and then the kitchen went cold and dark, and she stopped thinking.

Next moment she was outside in the cold street of Market Chipping, with her chin on a thin shoulder and someone else's too-yellow hair in her eyes. Everyone was breathing rather heavily. "Miscalculation," muttered Howl. "Damn. I thought we had it."

"Blood," gasped Michael.

Sophie lifted her head to see where he was pointing - down between them, on Howl's fine shirt and on Sophie's apron. It was startlingly red and glittering in the flickering light of the street lamps. "Howl, you're bleeding," she said.

"Not me." He fumbled for her apron's tie and pulled it over her head to bunch the rough fabric on her left arm. Of all the things to be aware of, Sophie could feel the trembly strength of his slender fingers through it, and she knew he was more afraid of the blood than she was. "It's all right," she told him.

He just looked at her. In the dark, she could only see half of his face, and that dimly, with dark hallows for eyes and disheveled hair.

In the house, a light flared bright, and there was a strong sucking sound, followed by a little pop.

"I think it's safe to go back in," said Suliman.

"Let's see," said Howl. Michael went hesitantly in, then Suliman, then Howl and Sophie, who were still somewhat tangled together.

Calcifer, back in the grate, was looking haughty. "It wasn't that big a discrepancy," he said to Suliman, who was nearest. "I've put it right."

He had. The room was now four times its usual size and twice its usual depth, with a high, domed ceiling that sloped into a sort of inset rectangle. "Very good," said Suliman.

"Yes," said Howl. "Thank you."

"Who's bleeding?" said Calcifer, ignoring him altogether.

"It's me," said Sophie, remembering. She pushed the reddening apron - and Howl's hand - away to see the cut. It was long and thin and not as deep as she'd thought. "The knife must have slipped. I was chopping potatoes."

"You'd better get that sorted out," said Suliman pointedly. Howl lifted his head and a sort of wizardly look passed between the two of them, in which Suliman pursed his lips and Howl's eyes widened, then narrowed in understanding.

"Yes, let's," he said.

Sophie followed him up the stairs and into the bathroom. It still smelled faintly of Howl's old perfumes, though he used much less of them now. He held out a hand for Sophie's, turned on the water, and held her wrist beneath the warm stream.

"I need to talk to you," said Howl. He wouldn't meet her eyes, but Sophie could watch the top of his head in the mirror, bent beside her own tired face. It was a bit like an out-of-body experience.

"You aren't talking," Sophie pointed out. Howl turned the water off. He looked at her now, full in the face but with a sort of reluctance, as if afraid she would see too much in his eyes. Then, to her amazement, he smiled.

There was something very Howl about that smile, and the lack of apology in it - after all that had happened! She could feel the color rising to her face, and knew that was why he laughed. Somehow, the knowledge cooled her anger into something cold as an iceberg and twice as sharp.

"Why Sophie," he said innocently. "There's no need to look so sinister! You're in front of the door, so I can't possibly run."

"Who says I wanted you?" Sophie said. "I haven't got anything to say. Ben seemed to think you had something to say to me."

"Ah," said Howl, waving a finger. "Wizard Suliman is formidable, Sophie, but he's no mind-reader. He sees that you are unhappy, and he assumes I am the cause. I am, aren't I?" he asked conversationally.

"For your information, I'm perfectly content," said Sophie. She shoved him as an afterthought. "No," she cried while he scrambled for a hold on the sink. "I'm more than content. I'm ecstatic. I'm delighted. I am radiantly happy to plan my youngest sister's wedding, and when Lettie and Ben decide to marry, I will be thrilled to do it all again! And do you know why that is?"

"No," said Howl, straightening up. "Pray tell."

"Because," said Sophie, in hardly more than a whisper, "because, you see, Howl, when you are the eldest of three, taking care of the younger two is all you're ever really good for. I don't know what I'll do when they're both gone."

This was a sort of revelation for Sophie - it brought tears to her eyes, which she blinked furiously away - but Howl was unmoved. He folded his arms across his chest and said quite calmly, "As I've already told you, that eldest of three business is nonsense."

Sophie looked at him. It was easy for him to say - he was the youngest of two, in a world where such rules probably didn't even apply. Of course Howl would think everyone was as lucky as he was, that everyone could make their own fortune, as he had done. But Sophie couldn't travel from world to world; she was stuck in this one, soon to be alone and, when it came down to it, useless.

She was crying in earnest now. How foolish I was, she thought, to ever believe that I could live happily ever after. Howl didn't know what he was saying that day - didn't know or didn't think she would take him seriously. But she had. She'd actually believed she could change her fate and live on in the castle with Howl and Calcifer, to share in their adventures and their failures not as a crone but as the lady of the house, possessor of Howl's recently reclaimed heart.

Fool.

"Sophie," Howl began, but she pretended not to hear. She opened the bathroom door with a nod, went to her room, and locked herself in. After awhile, Howl gave up talking outside her door, and she was able to sleep.