“Anyhow,” she continued, “After I found your name, I had to look at the potion recipe. You were rather difficult, my dear. Sprigs of hewullace…a golden fignut…the list went on and on. The complication of a potion increases with the mental capacity of a child, you see. It is clear to me that you are no dummy.”

I could only gape.

“After I had let the potion stew for precisely three-point-seven-nine days, out of it rose a mist that told me exactly where to find you and what the things troubling you were.” She bowed her head, a note of finality in her voice. “And now, love, you come with me…”

She smiled warmly, adjusted the strap of her bag, then pulled a large item out of it that looked like a bubble—transparent and shiny, with iridescent color. She blew on it and it grew until both the woman and I were standing inside it.

“Here we go…”

She snapped her fingers, and we disappeared.