The woman did find him... Eventually. She had to admit, she was hunting a very special kind of insane.
First, she tried his home, but that was too obvious. Next, she checked the nearby pubs, the gutters, a canteen, and against her better judgement - a purveyor of "novelties". No luck, though her backside did get three separate compliments.
Finally, she found him in the kitchens of an inn.
Ladles and spoons were stirring by themselves as he waved his wand. He poured something from a bottle in one of the pots, then he took a long swing. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall.
"Isn't that cooking sherry?" the woman asked without preamble.
"Aye. A fellow has to get creative." He had a voice like gravel, but it was cheery in its own special kind of way.
"I'm sure we could find some wine around-"
He took another swing.
"Never mind. Here, I received this yesterday." She handed him the letter.
He read it while taking another swing of sherry.
"Ooooooh. Trouble," the man said in an approving tone.
"So?"
The man pulled off his chef's hat, tossing it behind him. Then he hopped over the kitchen counter. As he did, his white jacket grew wide buttons and transformed into a tan coat. His apron undid itself and zipped to his neck, changing color and finally tying itself into a black cravat. He wore a white buttoned up shirt and black trousers underneath. A wide brimmed hat appeared on his head.
"Sure. Hated this job anyway."
He took another swing of sherry.
-------------
Tara awoke the next day in a bed so soft it seemed made out of dreams and wishes.
The room did not look as she remembered. She rubbed her eyes. Her clothes were no longer disheveled, they looked as new as if bought the other day. Everything was cleaner - as if the room was newly furnished, not a speck of dust. The mattress was now a soft bed. The grime on the floor had disappeared to reveal golden, well-polished wood. The nightstand had now shiny iron handles, and the color matched the warm tones all around. Most intriguing were the walls, their tapestry revealed tens and tens of intertwining vines, curling up to the ceiling, with flowers and petals sprouting here and there.
In the middle of the room however, there was a new addition - not something already existing but improved. A table with three empty chairs. Silverware shone on the table - plates and cups and forks and spoons.
Song, her little companion was sleeping next to her, back turned to her, face toward the wall. Even though scrawny, he had a round face and full cheeks. He had blonde curly hair, that drooped over his forehead and nose for lack of care. His eyes were a beautiful blue, but not like the Impossible Man's -
Tara yelped, jumping out of the bed, startling Song who started and glanced about in her general direction, but staring right through.
Her instincts told her to grab the boy and climb down the window before the situation got any worse. But why? The situation wasn't bad, was it? Her wounds from the other day were completely healed, her "home" was in a better state than she had ever seen it, and this man hadn't tried to hurt her.
Tara suddenly felt tired, like she was spread too thin. It seemed like she was trying to keep her life together while everyone else came and started pulling on different threads of it, in all stupid different directions. Why wouldn't they just let her be?
