Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

lap.
    “How old are you, my child?” Sophie asked.
    “Fifteen last May Day,” said Michael. “Calcifer sent fireworks up from the castle. Didn’t you, Calcifer? Oh, he’s asleep. You’re probably thinking I’m too young to be engaged—I’ve still got three years of my apprenticeship to run, and Lettie’s got even longer—but we promised one another, and we don’t mind waiting.”
    Then Michael was about the right age for Martha, Sophie thought. And she knew by now he was a nice, steady lad with a career as a wizard ahead of him. Bless Martha’s heart! When she thought back to that bewildering May Day, she realized that Michael had been one of that shouting group leaning on the counter in front of Martha. But Howl had been outside in
Market Square
.
    “Are you sure your Lettie was telling the truth about Howl?” she asked anxiously.
    “Positive,” said Michael. “I know when she’s lying. She stops twiddling her thumbs.”
    “She does too!” said Sophie, chuckling.
    “How do you know?” Michael asked in surprise.
    “Because she’s my sis-ter—er—sister’s granddaughter,” said Sophie, “and as a small girl she was not always terribly truthful. But she’s quite young and—er… Well, suppose she changes as she grows. She—er—may not look quite the same in a year or so.”
    “Neither will I ,” said Michael. “People our age change all the time. It won’t worry us. She’ll still be Lettie.”
    In a manner of speaking, Sophie thought. “But suppose she was telling the truth,” she went on anxiously, “and she just knew Howl under a false name?”
    “Don’t worry, I thought of that!” said Michael. “I described Howl—you must admit he’s pretty recognizable—and she really hadn’t seen him or his wretched guitar. I didn’t even have to tell her he doesn’t know how to play the thing. She never set eyes on him, and she twiddled her thumbs all the time she said she hadn’t.”
    “That’s a relief!” Sophie said, lying stiffly back in her chair. And it certainly was a relief about Martha. But it was not much of a relief, because Sophie was positive that the only other Lettie Hatter in the district was the real one. If there had been another, someone would have come into the hat shop and gossiped about it. It sounded like strong-minded Lettie, not giving in to Howl . What worried Sophie was that Lettie had told Howl her real name. She might not be sure about him, but she liked him enough to trust him with an important secret like that.
    “Don’t look so anxious!” Michael laughed, leaning on the back of the chair. “Have a look at the cake I brought you.”
    As Sophie started opening the box, it dawned on her that Michael had gone from seeing her as a natural disaster to actually liking her. She was so pleased and grateful that she decided to tell Michael the whole truth about Lettie and Martha and herself too. It was only fair to let him know the sort of family he meant to marry into. The box came open. It was Cesari’s most luscious cake, covered in cream and cherries and little curls of chocolate. “Oh!” said Sophie.
    The square knob over the door clicked round to red-blob-down of its own accord and Howl came in. “What a marvelous cake! My favorite kind,” he said. “Where did you get it?”
    “I—er—I called in at Cesari’s,” Michael said in a sheepish, self-conscious way. Sophie looked up at Howl. Something was always going to interrupt her when she decided to say she was under a spell. Even a wizard, it seemed.
    “It looks worth the walk,” Howl said, inspecting the cake. “I’ve heard Cesari’s is better than any of the cake shops in Kingsbury. Stupid of me never to have been in the place. And is that a pie I see on the bench?” He went over to look. “Pie in a bed of raw onions. Human skull looking put-upon.” He picked up the skull and knocked an onion ring out of its eyesocket. “I see Sophie has been busy again. Couldn’t you have