The brief time spent in line was spent, by and large, trying not to talk herself out of climbing into the sleigh. Fortunately(?), it was not long before the pair was off and Dezzie’s only reasonable method of escape would have been to physically leap from the vehicle and to the cold ground.

Even had she not been with Mr. Pettigrew, Desdemona suspected she would have had something of an idiotic grin on her face. The large (but normal) horses pulled the sleigh down the path with a smoothness and ease that rivaled that of a broomstick—the fact that it required no alertness from her was a bonus—and the bells laced to their harnesses gave a very pleasant jingle with each footfall. It was an entirely novel experience, and the witch decided she enjoyed it very much indeed.

Then there was the company.

The size of the sleigh meant that the pair had to sit very close together indeed, and even through the sleeves of her dress, the woolen cloak she wore, and his own clothing, Dezzie felt as if she could feel each hair on his arm as it remained pressed against her own out of necessity—it was that or drape their limbs atop one another, which was hardly appropriate!

“Do you think he hears much in the way of gossip?” Dezzie leaned in slightly to ask her captain at low volume, one gloved hand gesturing to the sleigh…driver. (was that the term?) “I mean, I’m sure some people talk about all sorts when they don’t really remember he’s a person; I know my mother makes that mistake with our cook sometimes.”

Fortunately, they hadn’t been reared wealthy enough to have an overabundance of staff—a cook and a maid, and a gardener every Wednesday—and so Dezzie herself had not made that same oversight.