Prologue

The witch, wearing a long flowing cloak with the hood up, keeping her face in shadow, left her cottage, a woven basket hung over her arm.

A watching Ambrose and Orion glanced at each other and grinned. Now was their chance.

The young boys, one pale of skin with golden hair, and the other his opposite with ebony skin and dark crown, crept down from the tree boughs, careful to not snap any twigs or rustle leaves. People claimed witches could set spells to listen for intruders. They also muttered about how the spell-casting hags kept treasure troves hidden in their abodes. A wealth two orphaned boys could use to fill their hungry bellies.

Orion sauntered without a care across the tended cobble path to the front door, but Ambrose hesitated. A prickle on his nape led to him glancing behind at the forest. The witch should be long gone, yet a sudden disquiet had him whispering, "Maybe this ain't such a good idea."

Orion paused on the threshold of the house to peer back at him over his shoulder. "Don't be a yellow belly. T'will be simple. We go in, grab a few things, and leave. She'll probably not even notice."

"I'd notice if it was my things being stolen," Ambrose insisted.

"That's ‘cause you don't have much but the clothes on your back. You'd get cold right quick if you was naked," Orion said with a snicker.

"Bloody death tax. Took everything," grumbled Ambrose.

When the pox took his parents, it left him with nothing. His home, his few belongings, all seized by the tax man and him tossed to the streets to fend for himself. Alone and afraid, Ambrose spent those first few days in misery, huddled in alleys, scrounging for scraps. It was how Orion found him.

The same age as Ambrose, Orion knew how to survive and taught Ambrose. Begging for coins or food. Stealing a bite to eat when vendors had their backs turned. Not exactly how Ambrose wanted to live, but starvation had a way of changing a boy's morals.

"I'm going in. You coming?" Orion asked as he pushed open the door.

"Yeah." As Ambrose shuffled to join his friend, he couldn't help glancing around, still convinced someone watched.

The inside of the cottage proved as rustic as the exterior, but tidy. Fragrant herbs hung in bunches from the rafters. A stone hearth showed wood piled and ready for lighting. A pot hung from a hook over it. A table took up the most room and held a basket full of fruit.

Orion snagged an apple and bit in, the crispy crunch almost as appetizing as the juices that ran down his chin. Ambrose almost drooled.

"Delicious! Have one." Orion tossed him an apple.

Ambrose caught it but didn't eat it. He eyed his friend and said, "Whatcha think the witch'll do to us if she catches us stealing?"

"She won't catch us," a confident Orion stated.

"What if she turns us into frogs or something?" He remembered it happening in a story his mother used to recite to him before bed.

"Then we'll have plenty of flies to eat." Orion poked out his tongue comically before taking another juicy bite.

Ambrose couldn't resist. He crunched into his apple and groaned at the sweet, crisp taste.

"I'm going to grab some for later." Orion stuffed two apples into his pockets, plus a pair of plums. Fruit that should have been out of season. How did the witch get them?

"She doesn't look rich," Ambrose noted as he ate his treat.

"That's ‘cause she hides it. It's probably under the floor."

"It's dirt."

Orion frowned. "Maybe in the ceiling." They craned to look upward, but only herbs hung.

"We should leave. Those apples will tide us over until tomorrow."

"Not yet." Orion moved to the bed and the chest at the foot of it. He flipped open the lid to show folded garments and linens. He rifled through the pile before exclaiming, "Aha." He held up a picture frame, the edges of it gilded. Probably valuable.

Ambrose moved closer and gazed at the photo within, a recent thing that he didn't quite like, seeing as how he didn't understand how a box could spit out an image. Had to be magic. The picture was of the witch, recognizable by her beaked nose, but younger. She had her arm around a girl about their age with the same feature. A daughter most likely.

"I didn't know the witch had a child," Ambrose mused. Everyone stated she lived alone.

A subdued Orion murmured, "I saw a grave in the garden."

"Oh." For some reason, it made Ambrose sad. He knew what it felt like to lose someone close. Before he could say anything, Orion stuffed the picture frame back into the chest and slammed the lid shut.

"You're right. There's nothing here. Let's go."

It relieved Ambrose to hear that. Was it wrong to take a few pieces of fruit? Yes, but taking a memory? That would have truly been terrible.

As they whirled to head for the door, it opened, and the witch stood framed.

Both boys froze, mouths agape.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Um…" Orion appeared at a loss for words.

Whereas Ambrose blabbered, "We're sorry. We was hungry and had an apple."

"We can't give back the ones we ate, but here's the stuff we took for later." Orion emptied his pockets without prompting.

The witch pushed back her hood to show a face lined with age, her hair gray and tied back, her eyes intense and a strange mauve color.

"Do not apologize for eating because you're hungry. Thank you, though, for not taking the only picture I have of my daughter."

"We don't want to be thieves," Ambrose blurted out. "But no one will hire us on account we're too young."

"It's a crime how they treat orphans in this town." The witch shook her head. "And I can sense you have good hearts. I know someone who is looking for boys such as you. Hard-working lads to do special tasks."

"What kind of tasks?" Orion asked suspiciously, with good reason. There'd been a gent who'd offered to hire them but had been vague about the details. It turned out he'd wanted to use them in a way no young boy should ever be used. They'd escaped, but the close call left them leery.

As if she'd read their minds, the witch shook her head. "Never would my goddess abuse the innocent."

"Which goddess do you serve?" Ambrose's parents hadn't been very religious. They went to church every Sunday, but they'd not been true believers like some.

"I serve the Goddess Hekate. Have you heard of her?"

Orion shook his head, but Ambrose knew. "She is the goddess of magic. Why would she need us?"

"Because not everyone can hear her voice. How would you feel about being her messengers?"

"What's it pay?" Orion got to the crux of it.

"Enough for you to have a bed every night to sleep in. Food in your belly. Proper clothing instead of rags."

"Is it dangerous?" Ambrose blurted out because it sounded too good to be true.

"At times it might be. As her messengers, you might have to travel to perilous locations."

"Can't travel far on two feet," Orion pointed out.

"A good thing that transportation will be provided," the witch stated with a smile. "To start, you'll travel by carriage or train, but as you grow, should you stay in her service, then you'll have to learn to ride."

"I'd get to ride a horse!" Ambrose had always loved them but only ever sat on a pony once at a fair.

"Yes, a horse," the witch laughed in reply. "What say you, Orion and Ambrose?"

Rather than ask how she knew their name, they nodded, and Orion solemnly stated, "We accept."

From that day forward, they never went hungry again. On the contrary, they thrived and proved themselves worthy servants. They eventually became known as Hekate's hounds, her scions on Earth.