Hilda - The Challenge Read Online Free PDF Page B

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she had created in William's truck. It had been the only tangible
memory he had left from their encounter.
    Hilda relaxed a bit. She had been tensing up
more and more, with the unwanted and unexpected visitor in her
house, but now, over dinner and through the talking, she was
feeling less upset about him.
    "William," she asked as they were well on
their way through the food. "Do you want some wine?"
    "I'd really like some, yes." He was instantly
curious to what this world had to offer in wine.
    Hilda nodded, made her wand appear, and with
that she produced two glasses of wine. She shoved one over to him,
and then magicked up a bottle of water to dilute her own.
    "Why are you doing that?", William asked.
Wine with water was like cursing in a holy place to him.
    "I don't take well to much alcohol," Hilda
confided. She almost whispered it, which was totally unneeded, as
the goldfish as well as the house were already aware of this
fact.
    "Okay," William whispered and put a finger
over his lips. "I won't tell anyone."
    "No problem if you do, everyone knows
already," Hilda whispered back and took a sip from her wine.
    William tasted the wine. "Jeebus," he said,
"that is a fantastic wine. Where I come from, you pay through the
nose if you want to get a bottle that comes close to this."
    "You think so?", Hilda asked, charging her
plate again.
    "Oh yes, I am certain." William took another
sip in appreciation.
    They finished their food, after which Hilda
offered him another round. "There is plenty, I think. If you want
two plates, that's no problem either."
    "I don't want to be impolite, but no thank
you. I am almost bursting at the seams," said William.
    Hilda looked over the table to inspect him
and his clothing, and decided he was exaggerating again. No signs
of ripping in his clothes. "Okay." A flick of the wand later the
plates were gone and the wine glasses were filled again. The wicked
witch had already made a load of burning candles appear earlier, as
darkness had taken over the outside world.
    William looked at the woman with the long
grey hair and the jet-black eyes, who sat there toying with her
glass, staring into it. She had a pretty face, he had already
agreed on that with himself long time ago. Not a ravishing beauty,
but definitely pretty. He was fascinated by the way she expressed
herself, sometimes hard as a rock, yet occasionally she struck him
as uncertain or immature. But, he thought, that could come from her
not having people staying that often.
    The candlelight made her features look soft,
so very unlike how she was.
    "What are you looking at?", Hilda asked
without taking her eyes from the glass.
    "You."
    "Don't."
    "Why not?", William asked.
    "I don't like it when people look at me. Not
like that."
    "Not like what?", William dared to ask.
    "Like I am a person worth looking at for the
looking. I am not. I am a witch, and I want people to look at me in
awe. Or with fear. Not for..." She could not find the proper word,
or didn't want to find it. "Just so you know."
    "Fair enough," William agreed. "Maybe you
want to tell me what's on your mind then? You've mentioned
something like that a few times already, so it must be something
big."
    Hilda looked at him and sighed. She reached
over the table and picked up a piece of paper from the small
mountain that was there. "Here."
    William took the paper, looked at the emblem,
felt the consistency of the paper and wondered what it was made of.
Then he read the calligraphically written note, all the way down to
'to the death'. "Oh, right. I would not feel too tickled with that
hanging over my head..."
    "I've had more of those before. Got out of
them alive," Hilda said, trying to make it sound as if it was not a
big deal.
    "And yet you are worked up about this one,"
William said.
    It was exactly the thing she did not really
want any ordinary to know. But then, she reasoned with herself,
William was not your average ordinary. He was, after all, the
person who had been