Witches! Creepy forests! Sentient houses! Black cats! Candles! Delightful dogs! Magical battles! Smut! If you enjoy any or indeed all of these things, here are some fics of autumns past that you might enjoy (re)visiting.
As Soon Kindle Fire With Snow
Emma Swan lives alone and likes it that way. Still, she has needs. Needs that since she moved to the small town of Storybrooke have decidedly not been met. Then one snowy afternoon Killian Jones appears at her door, and Emma realises that he can give her everything she needs… and more.
This was my contribution to CS Cocktoberfest 2018. At the time it was the smuttiest thing I’d written. Possibly still is. Certainly I made a powerful effort with the smut. Also the notable first appearance of witch!Emma and the house that talks to her, plus my cat Hester in a supporting role.
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The Very Witching Time
Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.
2019′s Supernatural Summer contribution. Witch!Emma in her full glory, another magical house (this one with a magical garden) and hands down the most adorable version of Killian I’ve written.
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The Sleep of the Sun
It’s eighteen years after Emma and Killian defeated Cora and her plan to flood their world with dark magic, and the story moves on to their son Liam. A sweet and loving boy with the ability to shift into a dog at will, he is also more observant than his parents give him credit for.
And now, as Samhain approaches, something dark is brewing in the forest yet again...
Written for Pupstravaganza, this is a follow-up to The Very Witching Time. There is a third part to the tale that I planned to write for this year, but alas... SOME DAY I promise.
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come sit at our feast
“…for we all have stripes, and we all have horns, we all have scales, tails, manes, claws and thorns
and here in the dark is where new worlds are born…”
It’s Halloween, when all the weird and wondrous beasts of the world creep out of the shadows and throw themselves one hell of a party.
For Emma Swan and Killian Jones, witch and shapeshifter respectively, it’s a chance to kick back, get high, and watch the mayhem unfold…
The most truly Halloween-y story on this list, and properly weird.
Embrace the weird.
Written for the Halloweek Role Reversal to accompany @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713‘s amazing art which you can see in all its glory here.
Witching Wednesday is here and I am SO EXCITED to share this chapter!!
But first, THANK YOU to everyone reading and especially those of you who’ve shared stories of your dogs and how dog!Killian reminds you of them. I’m beyond thrilled to hear that! Please give me ALL THE DOG STORIES.
In this chapter we have Samhain traditions and Emma and Killian’s bond, Cora’s plan coming to fruition, a WITCH FIGHT, some pretty epic magic, and Killian being a very good dog indeed.
(there is also some graphic-ish violence, so be prepared...)
The brilliant art is by @gingerchangeling and the wonderful event is managed by @cssns. And I am kept sane by @thisonesatellite who is the best ever and SHE KNOWS WHY 💕💕💕
SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.
Those sweltering days that in the midst of summer seem endless eventually drifted, as they always do, into autumn, shortening and cooling to a delicious crispness until Emma with a happy sigh unpacked her sweaters from their cedar chest and aired them in the garden. As the weeks tipped into months she and Killian fell into a comfortable routine of days spent in the shop and evenings in the garden or before the wide stone fireplace in the living room, curled up on the sofa with his head in her lap as she read a book or watched a movie, absently stroking his silky ears. He slept beside her each night, his head resting on her hip and his paw draped over her waist, a pose that she found oddly protective, but though she rolled her eyes and told him she was perfectly safe in her own bedroom even if he slept at the foot of the bed, she secretly loved the warmth of him and his soft breathing at her back and the gentle way he licked her chin to wake her up whenever she was tempted to oversleep.
“All right, all right, I’m awake,” she groused one late October morning, wiping her chin and pushing Killian away. He sat back on his haunches and watched her with a bright, expectant smile.
“Is this because I promised you pancakes today?”
“Aye!”
“Crazy dog,” she said fondly, scratching his ears and dropping a kiss on the impossibly soft spot on his forehead just between his eyes. “All right, let’s go.”
“Aye!” he barked, leaping off the bed and racing down the stairs as she grabbed a cardigan to throw over her flannel pajama pants and tank top, shivering in delight at the chill in the morning air. She loved October.
Already Emma’s witchy-senses, as she called them, had sharpened in anticipation of Samhain and the Hunter’s Moon, set to coincide that year for the first time in more than three centuries. Magic shimmered in the air, carried on the brisk autumn breezes and rustling through the leaves that blazed brightly in shades of gold and burgundy, umber and terracotta, and a yellow like distilled sunshine. The sky that morning was blindingly blue, reminding Emma of Killian’s eyes, with soft wisps of white cloud and a vee of Canada geese soaring south on the crisp winds. Emma opened her door and breathed deeply, inhaling the air and the magic, until Killian’s whimpers grew too impatient to ignore. She turned to look at him, sitting under the table with an expression between a scowl and a pout.
A scout. A powl?
Autumn made her whimsical, Emma reflected.
That morning she had several loads of new merchandise for the shop: engraved Samhain candles and turnips carved with impish faces, magically preserved —Emma would have no truck with Halloween pumpkins— alongside dense loaves of dark-grain bread made from a recipe passed along the generations of her family, and jugs of apple cider to wash it down. After breakfast she loaded Killian with as many bags as he could carry (What am I, a pack mule? his wounded expression said) saying a quick spell to lighten the weight of them before hoisting at least as many of her own.
She smirked at him and he shrugged.
{Sure you can manage all of that, love?} he barked.
Whether it was that they had simply grown more attuned to each other or perhaps something deeper Emma wasn’t sure; she knew only that she heard Killian’s voice regularly now, speaking to her in clear, deep tones and full sentences. He had a British accent, she was amused to note, and an affinity for endearments.
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bags,” she retorted.
{Indeed. But it’s a long walk.}
A long walk through a forest ready burst at the seams with magic, he didn’t say, but she knew that was what he meant. Emma couldn’t recall a time when she had seen the forest magic so potent. The very air crackled with arcane energy, energy that could sharpen even our ordinary observer’s senses and attune them to the smallest shiver and twitch of motion through the trees. Energy that could, and did, awaken normally dormant creatures and pull them forth from their sanctuaries to be caught in the corner of that observer’s eye, or to slink along behind him with creeping footsteps only to vanish the moment he turned, leaving no trace behind save a whisper through the dry leaves and a lingering suggestion of menace.
The effects of this heightened energy did not confine themselves to the forest. In Emma’s garden the apple trees yielded triple their normal amount of fruit and her chrysanthemums bloomed wider than her hand. She herself was buzzing and restless, full of an odd, untethered anticipation, an expectation of something she couldn’t put a name to even when in exasperation she resorted to the scrying mirror and tarot cards she normally scorned as parlour tricks. For the past few nights she had struggled to sleep, tossing and turning for hours in her bed before giving up and spending the time in her workshop instead, magic almost igniting in the air as she blended and brewed and murmured incantations over bubbling cauldrons and Killian lay curled in a corner, watching her with amusement tinged with concern.
“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, despite her own lingering unease. “It’s just how magic is this time of year. Granted this is stronger than normal but it’ll calm down soon. In December I practically hibernate.”
{Just don’t overdo it, love. You still need to sleep sometimes.}
And Emma did sleep, eventually, once the importunate energy had been channeled and the dawn was breaking over the cliff edge, she would lean against Killian as he guided her up the stairs to fall into exhausted slumber and awaken mere hours later when his gentle licks reminded her that it was time to start another day.
Never once did it occur to her examine the intimacy of her relationship with this dog, or to find anything peculiar in the fact that she often forgot he was one. To her he was simply Killian, her trusted companion, and she could no longer conceive of her life without him.
She smiled at him now, as laden with their magically lightened bags they headed into the forest, side by side on the winding path in what had become their customary manner: Killian trotting slightly ahead and Emma a step behind, her hand resting on his neck, deep in his thick fur. The fur beneath her fingers stood up higher than usual, the muscles beneath it tense and vibrating when he growled deep in his throat at anything that troubled his canine senses.
That morning, those things were many.
“Hey,” said Emma soothingly, stroking her fingers down his neck. “It’s okay. I know it’s creepy but the covenant is still in place until Samhain, and there’s no reason it won’t be renewed. There’s nothing for us to fear in this forest.”
Her voice was calm and certain but Killian could smell the perfume again, faint but unmistakable, and dread settled heavily in his chest. Whatever demons may lie on the other side of the forest barrier, he thought, they couldn’t be worse than the one already loose on this side. As Samhain approached he found himself staying closer to Emma’s side as they walked through the forest, curling tighter around her as they slept, his senses ever alert for any threat to her.
Protect her, the garden magic whispered each time they left the safety of its walls, and each time he gave the same response.
{Always.}
There was nothing Killian wanted more, nothing he was more devoted to than Emma’s safety. In these past weeks with her he had come to understand his role in the events that would soon play out, had come to see how everything he had done in his life, every decision he had made and every path he had chosen had led him here, to this woman and this moment and this task. He knew what he would have to do and though it terrified him he faced it unflinchingly. Only Emma mattered, and he did not intend to fail her as he had failed already at far too many things, for far too many people.
And so he preceded her through the forest and he snarled at any danger. For the present it was all he could do.
When they arrived at the shop Killian stood patiently as Emma unloaded the bags he carried then went to curl up in his bed, now an actual dog bed she had magicked for him out of the old hessian bags and some woollen packing material. Emma freshened his water and rubbed his ears and he snuggled down thinking wryly that this was really everything a dog could hope for in life. Resting his chin on his paws he watched Emma as she busied herself with setting up the Samhain wares, arranging them on the shelves and tables and humming brightly.
The shop was busy as it had been all month; October was always its busiest time even without the forest’s energy, which managed to seep into even the stoic New England souls that inhabited Storybrooke. Their eyes were brighter, their conversations snappier, and they found themselves stopping in to buy warded candles and tumbling stones to place in their windows without conscious thought.
By the early afternoon Emma had sold all her bread and cider and most of her candles, and was absorbed in arranging the remaining turnips artfully alongside some bags of smoky quartz tumbling stones when the doors opened and Regina walked in.
Emma’s eyes widened. “Um, hi,” she said. “Mary Margaret’s not here.”
“I’m not here to see Mary Margaret.”
“Oh.” Emma stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and waited for Regina to say why she was there. When the other woman remained silent, she tried again. “Well… can I help you find something?”
Regina looked around the shop and an odd expression softened the harsh cast of her face. “You’re preparing for Samhain,” she said, and the wistful note in her voice struck a chord in Emma even as it failed to surprise her. She remembered the power she’d sensed when Regina had been here before, with her mother. At the time she’d attributed it all to Cora but now she realised Regina had some too. Not as much, but a significant amount.
“Do you practice?” she asked.
Regina nodded, reaching out a tentative finger to trace the carved face of one of the turnips. “All the women in my family do. But my mother— well, she doesn’t hold much with the household rituals. Calls it ‘kitchen magic.’”
“Well, it is!” exclaimed Emma, a bit affronted.
Regina’s lip twitched. “She said it was beneath us and only allowed me to study the High Magic, but my grandmother made sure I knew Samhain traditions.” She picked up a candle and inhaled its scent. “I like them,” she declared, her tone defiant. “They’re… well, they’re—”
“Soothing,” supplied Emma with a smile, filing away that bit of information about Cora and the High Magic. The tingle in her own magic felt it was significant.
“Yes.” Regina smiled back, a faint, anodyne thing but still a smile. “They make me feel connected.”
“Connection is important,” said Emma, surprised by the strength of the one she felt to this cold, haughty woman. As Mary Margaret had, she sensed something in Regina that had been suppressed all her life but was still fighting to get out. “That candle,” she nodded to the one Regina still held in her hand, “is a good one for reinforcing it. Put it in your window with just a simple incantation, and it’ll call the ancestors home.”
Regina’s wistful smile twisted into a wry smirk. “I’m not sure my ancestors are ones you’d want to call,” she murmured.
“Not even your grandmother?”
Pain flashed across Regina’s features and for the briefest moment she looked lost. She opened her mouth to reply when the door opened again to admit Mary Margaret and David.
Regina instantly stiffened, all trace of softness draining from her face and posture.
“Oh!” said Mary Margaret. “Regina! I, uh, didn’t know you were in town.”
“Just passing through,” said Regina. “I’ll… I’ll be going now.” She set the candle awkwardly on the nearest surface and turned to leave.
“Wait,” called Emma, picking it up again along with a bag of the smoky quartz and and offering both to Regina. “On the house.”
The other woman flushed and pushed them away. “Oh, I couldn’t—”
“I insist. To get you back in touch with the old rituals.” Emma held them up again and this time Regina took them. Gratitude flashed in her eyes, gone in an instant but no less significant for being brief.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, and left.
“What was that about?” asked Mary Margaret when the door had closed behind her stepsister.
“Call it Samhain cheer,” said Emma, turning to grin at her friends. “Did you bring the log?”
“It’s in the truck,” said David. “Are you sure we can’t—”
“Yes, I’m sure you can’t carry it for me,” interrupted Emma with a roll of her eyes. “You ask that every year and every year I remind you that I have ways of making things easier to carry. And anyway, this year Killian’s going to carry it.”
“Killian?” David regarded the dog with his habitual distrustful expression.
The dog in question looked up at the sound of his name and wagged his tail, letting his tongue loll from his mouth and giving David a look of pure innocence. David scowled and Killian wagged harder. He could tell the man sensed there was something unusual about him but couldn’t quite put his finger on what, and Killian took perverse enjoyment from being as dog-like as possible in David’s presence.
“Yep, he insisted,” said Emma cheerfully. David’s scowl deepened.
“How did he insist?”
“He just did. It’s a witch thing.” Emma patted David’s arm reassuringly. “He lets me know when he wants to help.” She exchanged a grin with Mary Margaret, who knew far more about Killian’s communicative abilities than her husband did.
“Huh.” David looked unconvinced, but Emma just smiled.
“The log?” she prompted gently.
“Yeah, I’ll go get it. Where do you want it to go?”
“Just in the storeroom is fine. Thanks, David!”
David headed out to the truck, muttering under his breath as he went, and Emma and Mary Margaret exchanged another amused look.
“You want some tea?” asked Emma. “I’ve made a special Samhain blend, apple and hazelnut.”
“Ooh, that sounds good. Yes, please,” said Mary Margaret.
Emma went to brew the tea and Mary Margaret crouched down next to Killian, rubbing his ears just the way she knew he liked. “Sorry about David,” she said. “He’s very protective of Emma. They’re distant cousins and they grew up together, and he’s suspicious of any man who gets too close to her.”
Killian raised an eyebrow, but Mary Margaret didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything odd. Her concern warmed Killian, and eased the knot in his chest. He licked her hand to tell her he understood about needing to protect Emma, and didn’t blame David for acting on the same impulse that had been driving him for months now.
Mary Margaret smiled.
Emma appeared with the tea and a platter of the crumbly spice cookies layered with jam that she called soul cakes, just as David returned with a large log slung over his shoulder. He headed for the back room while Emma put a plate of soul cakes down in front of Killian and Mary Margaret poured three cups of tea. Moments later David returned and the four of them settled down to their afternoon refreshment, sipping and munching in companionable silence.
“So you’ve been really busy,” remarked Mary Margaret after they’d all sated the worst of their hunger and thirst. “I mean, you always are this time of year, but this year seems… more.”
“I think it’s the conjunction with the Hunter’s Moon,” said Emma. “And you know it’s three hundred and fifty years since the first covenant, and landmark anniversaries always excite the magic. I’m just really energised.”
“Well don’t overdo it,” frowned David and Emma rolled her eyes.
“You sound just like Killian,” she retorted. David choked on his tea.
“I sound like your dog?” he sputtered.
“Oh,” said Emma a bit sheepishly. “Um, yeah. Witch thing, remember?”
Killian barked. Emma flushed. David scowled. “What did he say?”
“Um, you don’t want to know.”
Killian wagged his tail, tongue lolling. “No you’re right,” agreed David. “I don’t want to know.”
~~🍂 ~~
On the thirty-first of October Emma woke well before sunrise and dressed in a long, flowing gown of unbleached linen. Her bare feet were all but silent on the wooden floors as she slipped downstairs to the kitchen to brew a pot of her apple and hazelnut tea. Sipping on a steaming cup of it, she walked through the house lighting the inscribed candles that stood in every window with a smouldering birch twig —some fires had to be started in the mundane way— and speaking a short incantation over each.
When the first rays of sunshine began to break over the tall stone towers of the house Emma went into her garden, still barefoot, with the birch twig still smouldering. Her long gown trailed through the morning dew as she approached the stone fire circle at the garden’s northeast corner, where branches of apple wood and ash, hazel and hornbeam and cedar were stacked high in readiness. Emma knelt, and touched the birch twig to the tip of an apple branch. It caught instantly, its flame flaring high for a brief moment before settling into a slow burn that would ignite every piece of wood in the circle, bit by bit, until sunset when she would add the oak log David had given her and awaken a flame that would burn bright and steady throughout the Samhain night.
Rising to her feet Emma tugged on the drawstring around the neck of her gown, loosening it and allowing the garment to fall from her body, leaving her naked in the golden dawn light. She raised her arms to the sky and closed her eyes, leaning her head back as the light bathed her pale skin and hair, imbuing her with a gentle glow that pulsed with magic.
Killian watched her, fascinated, knowing he probably shouldn’t see her like this but unable to look away. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, mesmerising in the power that radiated from her slender form.
When the sun crested the towers and hung full in the sky, Emma lowered her arms with a happy sigh, pulled her gown back on and returned to the house. “Breakfast, Killian?” she asked cheerfully, oblivious to his awe. “I’m in the mood for some apple cinnamon muffins.”
~~🍂 ~~
The shop was absolutely heaving that day, perhaps not wholly surprising for an establishment run by a witch, on Halloween. Though Emma vehemently rejected Halloween as a watering-down and commodifying of her cultural heritage, she did consent to give goodies to trick-or-treaters —caramel apples she’d made herself— and to greet them at the door of her shop holding a besom broom.
“Do you fly on that, Miss Emma?” asked a small girl with blonde ringlets dressed in a pale blue princess gown.
“Only on Samhain, Alexandra,” Emma replied, handing the girl a caramel apple that was just the right size for her tiny fist. “And for the Hunter’s Moon, which is also tonight.”
“What’s a hunty moon?” Alexandra’s eyes were wide as she licked the caramel.
“It means the moon will be extra big and low in the sky and it will glow orange,” said Emma, widening her own eyes. “And if you look very carefully you’ll be able to see me flying past it on my broomstick.”
“Wow! Mommy did you hear that?”
“I did, sweetie,” said a woman with the same platinum curls as her daughter. She gave Emma a slightly dirty look. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep after hearing a story like that.”
“I always sleep on Sawn night cuz I know Miss Emma is protecting us,” declared Alexandra, and Emma grinned.
“Don’t be like that, Ashley,” she muttered. “You know kids love my witch stories.”
“And just what am I supposed to tell her when she watches the moon all night and doesn’t see you?” huffed Ashley.
“Who says she won’t?” asked Emma sweetly. “Oh, look, Sean’s waving for you. Come back soon! Happy Samhain, Alexandra!”
Alexandra waved her sticky apple as she and her mother left the shop, leaving it empty and blessedly quiet. Emma turned away from the door with a relieved sigh. She’d been run off her feet all day but now finally perhaps she could take a moment for a cup of tea—
The shop door opened and she suppressed a different sort of sigh, turning to greet her customer.
It was Regina, looking haughty as ever but with a hint of something harried and almost frantic behind her eye that caught Emma’s attention.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine. I— I—” she grimaced and shook her head, then took a deep breath and tried again. “I just wanted to remind you of what I told you last week. About my mother. About how— how she only practices the High Magic. She likes the power of it. She—” Regina choked and doubled over, one hand flying to her throat, the other held out defensively when Emma moved forward to help. “Stay back!” she cried. “I’m fine.”
“But—”
“I said I’m fine!”
Emma held up her own hands and took a step back. “All right,” she said soothingly.
Regina straightened, swallowed gingerly, and glared at Emma. “Just remember that my mother likes power.” Her eyes beseeched Emma to understand. “She will do anything for power.”
“I— see,” said Emma, not really seeing at all.
“I only hope you do,” muttered Regina. “I have to get going before she realises—” she broke off as her gaze fell on Killian, sitting up in his bed in the corner and watching her with wary eyes.
“Where did you get that dog?” Regina asked sharply.
“I found him in the forest.” The tingle in Emma’s magic prompted her to tell the truth. “In August. He was hurt and I healed him, and he’s been with me ever since.”
“Hurt how?”
“He had a broken leg. And— a missing paw.”
“A missing paw,” whispered Regina.
“Aye!” Killian stood and padded to Emma’s side. He held up his silver paw, flexing it for Regina to see.
“She gave you a silver paw.”
“Aye!”
Regina stared at Killian for a long moment, then she smiled. A real smile this time, wide and delighted and revealing just a few too many teeth.
“Good,” she said, then looked hard at Emma. “Remember what I told you, Miss Swan. And look after your dog.” With a final satisfied glance at Killian she was gone.
“What the hell was that about?” exclaimed Emma, looking down at Killian.
He wished he could tell her, but his tongue was as tied as Regina’s.
Instead he shrugged and grinned at her, wagging his tail eagerly. {Look after your dog. That’s good advice.}
Her frown dissolved into fond laughter. “I suppose you want a snack,” she said.
“Aye!”
“Well you’re in luck because so do I. Let’s take advantage of this quiet moment before more trick-or-treaters show up.”
She went to make tea and when they finished their snack break more customers arrived, keeping Emma busy until closing time. But though they had no time to mention the matter again, neither she nor Killian forgot the odd incident, or Regina’s warning.
~~🍂 ~~
As the sun sank below the treetops on the night of Samhain, Emma, again dressed in her linen gown and bare feet, carried the seasoned oak log David had given her out to the fire circle and the faintly glowing pile of wood within it. Holding the log balanced on her open palms she spoke an incantation, one Killian recognised as an obeisance to Cerridwen, goddess of wisdom, transformation, and rebirth. As her words faded into the darkening night, she knelt and placed the log atop the pile where it caught instantly and burst into bright orange flame. Emma bowed her head in a silent moment of reflection and thanks to the goddess, then she looked up and grinned at Killian.
“Let’s eat.”
The bonfire burned high in the corner of the garden, flames leaping and dancing in the night, rising up to lose themselves in the matching orange glow of the Hunter’s Moon just visible above the forest treetops. Sparks swirled and wove through the air on waves of heat, landing but never catching on any of the plants and flowers left dry and vulnerable by the waning season. The garden magic protected them, and Emma’s magic controlled the fire.
Emma brought out plates piled high with cobs of corn and assorted small squashes, which she roasted in the fire and seasoned with butter and rosemary salt. Dessert was hazelnuts roasted in her autumn flower honey, accompanied by toasted soda bread and apple cider.
Killian sat contentedly in front of the fire, nibbling on corn and squash and listening to Emma reminisce about the Samhains of her childhood when her mother and grandmother were still alive, the ceremonies they had held together and how she had learned her craft from them. The wistfulness in her voice when she spoke of them, of her wish to pass their teachings on to her own daughter and her growing worry that this was a joy she would never know, squeezed his heart with a yearning ache. Resting his chin on her knee he looked up at her with adoring eyes, wishing with everything in him that he had more to offer her than canine devotion.
She stroked his head. “I’m so glad you’re here, Killian,” she said softly. “It’s nice not to be alone.”
He snuggled against her side and licked her chin, whining softly.
{I would never choose to leave you.}
It was as much as he was able to give.
As the moon rose and the bonfire waned, the forest beyond the garden wall began to stir. Whispers in languages too old for this world rustled though the leaves as curling tendrils of shadow wove out of the trees to the garden gate, pressing insistently against the wards.
The garden magic ruffled Killian’s fur and scratched his ears affectionately.
It is time. Protect her.
The voice was gentle, and so, so sad.
It knew.
{I will,} Killian whispered back, {I vow it.}
And when the witching hour struck and Emma rose from the ground he was at her side, pressing close to her as they walked together through the gate and into the forest. Emma’s fingers sifted through his fur, more for him than for herself he realised, reassuring him that she knew what she was doing.
He was certain she did. But she did not know what was coming.
Halfway along the forest path Emma turned, heading away from the familiar trail and into the deepest part of the wood. Scrub and bracken on the forest floor parted as she moved through it, her long gown trailing behind her and Killian trotting steadily at her side. Soon they arrived in a small clearing, a perfect circle of soft grass about twenty feet around, bordered by a ring of slender birches and with a squat, gnarled oak at its very centre, its twisted branches rising up and spreading out over the whole of the clearing and its trunk split nearly in two by an immense and horrifying knothole, jagged and gaping like a fresh wound.
The knothole pulsed with a dark glow, clear and visible despite the way it absorbed the light around it, rather like what Killian had always envisioned black holes to be. The shadow tendrils slithered out of it, winding around Emma and Killian and securing them in a grip that was deceptively soft. Killian growled, low and deep in the back of his throat, and Emma’s fingers stroked him soothingly.
She spoke, her voice clear and sure, ringing through the clearing and echoing into the unseen spaces of two realms. “I come at the turning of the year,” she said. “In accordance with the ancient covenant. As the world dies and is renewed so we renew the peace between us. We preserve the balance of the worlds and defend each side from ingress of the other. This is my will as it was the will of my ancestors. As it is yours.”
The shimmering glow of her magic enveloped her, sending dancing golden sparks across her skin as he had seen it do in her garden on the day they met. Her light absorbed the tendrils of darkness that bound them and they began to retreat back through the knothole as Emma’s eyes closed and her lips moved in silent invocation.
So bright was Emma’s light that Killian nearly failed to notice the five pairs of glowing sparks that did not come from her. They came instead from the forest, dark red and malevolent, appearing from nowhere at the edge of the clearing and surrounding it as the still of the night was rent with deep, vicious snarls and a howl that froze Killian’s blood.
She was here.
~~🍂 ~~
Deep in her spell, Emma was conscious of little but the power coursing through her —her own power, seasoned with a hint of the darkness from the other side, dangerous and intoxicating. With the ancient words nearly spoken she grasped the edges of the open barrier and prepared to close it when she was startled by a sudden sharp pull on the darkness, a call to it from another witch, yanking the retreating tendrils of shadow forcefully back through the barrier and tearing it wide.
Gasping, she opened her eyes as awareness of her surroundings crashed into her, of the snarling and howling from outside the clearing and of Killian, hackles raised, circling her like he was trying to guard every side of her at once.
She blinked to clear the fog of magic from her mind and recover some composure, and when she looked again five wolves had appeared in the clearing, huge and heavy with fur as black as the night they came from, jaws slavering, eyes glowing red. They encircled her, advancing with bloodcurdling intent and Cora at their heels.
Of course, thought Emma, as the pieces fell into place in her mind. That’s what Regina was trying to tell me.
Cora scorned the household rituals that lay at the heart of white witchcraft. But the High Magic that she preferred required power, and in this world power was not unlimited. To obtain more of it, Regina had said, Cora would do anything.
Anything. Even tear asunder an ancient barrier and drag horror such as she could not possibly comprehend into a place that had no hope of containing it. A place where it could flow unhindered and raze everything in its path. A place where it would never be controlled.
And Cora believed she could control it, and turn it to her will.
The woman’s hubris and dangerous ignorance were almost comical in their magnitude, but Emma was not laughing. The fabric of the worlds had never been so thin, the convergence of Samhain and the Hunter’s Moon had left it threadbare and terrifyingly delicate. It could be torn by a breath, and Emma felt certain that was what Cora was counting on.
“Miss Swan,” said Cora, her icy tones carrying unnaturally across the clearing and above the snarls of wolves and dog. “I am afraid I must inform you that there will be no renewal of your covenant tonight. Or ever again.” She flung out her arms in vicious triumph and the dark tendrils wrapped around her, not binding her as they had Emma and Killian, but caressing her, recognising one of their own.
“What are you doing?” asked Emma, stalling for time as she grasped desperately at the edges of the barrier with her magic, trying to force it closed before Cora had a chance to complete her plan.
“Why my dear,” said Cora, with a smile that held no hint of humour, “I would have thought that was obvious. I am opening this world to the power beyond and I am going to take control of it.”
Cora pulled again with her magic and the unresisting darkness came gushing forth, ripping the knothole in the ancient oak and opening it wide, wider than the breadth of the trunk. Wider than it could possibly be. The slender tendrils broadened into waves, twining and coiling up the branches of the oak and towards the sky, reaching out to the forest beyond the clearing, calling to it in voices sibilant with seductive menace.
Emma gripped the edges of the barrier and held on with all her strength, trying desperately to stop the ripping and knit the fabric back together, but it is far easier to destroy a thing than to repair it and no sooner had she closed one breach than five more appeared in its place, the knothole gaping ever wider.
Cora cackled in triumph as darkness caressed and strengthened her, then the wolves began to advance on Emma again, their bared teeth razor-sharp and glistening in the orange moonlight, and in her terror she lost her grip on the barrier entirely.
She couldn’t fight five wolves and Cora’s magic. Not alone.
Her magic surged and she could feel it stretching, reaching out, seeking… and when it found what it sought she gasped and pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, stunned and reeling from the near sexual sensation of magical transference, of her own power flowing freely into another being across a connection that did not need to be forged— because it already existed, and always had. Always, since the dawn of the world.
“Killian,” she whispered, and he stepped forward, radiant in the darkness as her magic crackled through his fur and set his eyes aglow, like sapphires in a flame. His growl was as none she’d ever heard from him before, sinister and chillingly resonant, and his voice rang strong and confident in her head.
{I’ll handle the wolves, love. You take care of the witch, and see your covenant completed.}
She saw him leap, snarling, at the nearest wolf, and then she closed her eyes and focused, pushing away her fears for Killian’s safety and of the consequences should Cora’s plan succeed. She pushed it all away and focused only on the magic.
Cora was strong and the darkness embraced her, sensing at long last its chance to consume this world as it had done so many others. The twisting waves of it now filled the clearing and beyond, wrapping around the trees and swallowing up the forest creatures, gleefully snacking on their life force and preparing for a feast. But the darkness in its hubris had forgotten that the covenant did not just protect this world from it, but it from the protectors of this world. Powerful as it was, it could not stand against three and a half centuries of clever witches who had each spent her life preparing for just such a moment as this.
Emma reached deep into herself and called to her ancestors across another connection, one she had nurtured all her life with the household rituals her enemy disdained. She called to their knowledge and their wisdom and their power, drawing it out through the thin Samhain night. Light burst from deep within her, flowing forth in bright waves that enveloped the dark ones and burned them away, choked them in a merciless grip until they retreated back through the knothole to the safety of their realm, hissing in fear and fury and releasing Cora as they went. She stumbled in surprise and nearly fell, then spun around to gape at Emma.
“What?” she hissed. “How?!”
“You are playing with forces you don’t understand, Cora Mills,” Emma replied, in a voice not entirely her own. “Cease now, and abandon these foolish plans.”
“Never!” snarled Cora. “I know what I’m doing!”
“You really don’t.” Emma sighed, sounding more like herself. “Remember I gave you a choice.”
She flung out her hand and a burst of light enveloped Cora, sending her flying backwards into a tree and immobilising her. She howled in fury but Emma ignored her and turned her attention to the barrier, seeking out each and every tear in the fabric of the world and closing them for good and all.
~~🍂 ~~
Magic flowed over Killian, flowed through him, through fur and skin and muscle to the very marrow of his bones. He took no time to wonder how it could be that he was sharing Emma’s magic. They had already shared so much between them that it felt natural. Inevitable. He surrendered to it and let it strengthen him, let it coil into every fibre of his flesh and bone and then he struck.
With a mighty leap he attacked, descending on the nearest wolf and sinking his teeth deep into it, ripping its throat from its body. The second wolf was upon him in an instant, tearing him with its own teeth, but Killian threw it off and batted it away with a swipe of his paw, leaving deep gouges in its face that gushed red. Snarling, he leapt on the wounded wolf, snapping its neck with a perfectly placed bite and then pain ripped through him as the other three wolves attacked him in unison. In a blur of fur and motion he could hardly see much less combat, they rent and tore at him, their teeth and claws sharp and their jaws powerful, lacerating his flesh and cracking his bones. They were stronger than he, even reinforced as he was by magic, and he knew, as he had always known, that he wasn’t getting out of this fight alive.
But he didn’t need to. All he needed was to protect Emma long enough for her to finish her spell. Just protect Emma.
Protect her.
Magic and adrenaline dulled his pain and the thought of Emma drove him on, powered his own claws and his teeth as he sank them into his enemies, slashing everything he could reach. Blood was pouring into his eyes but he had no need to see. His canine instincts took over and he surrendered to them, let them guide him until the final wolf had fallen lifeless to the ground and he shook the blood from his vision in time to watch Emma shoot a jet of pure white light at Cora, sending the older woman flying backwards into a tree just to his left and then Killian could see, could actually see the flow of the magic as Emma pulled the ragged edges of the barrier together, closing it and weaving the fabric of the worlds tightly shut.
Killian turned to face Cora and snarled with every ounce of the hatred he felt for her.
Her eyes widened when she saw him, with shock and a fear that filled him with dark pleasure. “You!” she gasped.
{Aye,} he replied, knowing she could hear him. {Me. You’ve lost, witch. Your plans are dust. She’s sealed the barrier and it will never open for you again.}
“We’ll see about that,” Cora hissed, and as Killian watched she pulled up the last of her dark magic and disappeared in a swirl of smoke.
Killian closed his eyes on a sigh of relief then turned back towards Emma, faltering as the magic began to drain from him and he felt how badly injured he was. His front right leg hung useless, ripped from its socket, and his back left leg was broken. Blood drenched his fur, flowing freely from wounds on every part of his body and deep gash across his belly cleft him nearly in two.
That, Killian knew, was that the one that would kill him.
He staggered across the clearing on two legs, dripping blood and dragging entrails as he went, to where Emma sat crumpled in exhaustion on the forest floor. Whimpering softly, he licked her chin —one final kiss to say farewell— and she opened her eyes.
“Killian! You— oh, goddess, what did they do to you?”
He wanted to tell her that it was worth it, that she was everything good in his world and he would die for her a hundred times, but shadows were blurring the edges of his vision and he had no strength for speech. His legs gave out beneath him and he fell gracelessly to the ground, Emma’s cry of distress the last thing he heard before everything went black.
~~🍂 ~~
Emma threw herself across Killian’s body, groping with the dregs of her magic to sense his life force. It was waning quickly, far too quickly; his injuries were too severe and she had no power left to heal him.
“No,” she whispered, clutching at him, sinking her fingers into thick fur made sticky with blood. “No, no, no…”
Desperately, she cried out for magic, for any magic she could find, calling to the forest around her, the trees and the flowers and the earth itself, begging them to help her save him. She reached as far as she could stretch, into the very rocks of her house and the ancient magic that dwelt within, imploring it: Don’t let him die.
And the rocks, who for eons had jealously guarded their energies, hoarding them dispassionately as generations lived and died within their sight, answered her call. Magic such as she had never known surged through her, almost overwhelmed her, and with the last of her strength she channeled it into Killian’s limp form, healing his wounds, repairing his battered body and sealing his life inside it. She could feel the moment he was whole again, and she sighed in relief and in profound gratitude, letting go of the magic and allowing the peace of unconsciousness to sweep over her.
The last thing she felt was Killian stirring beneath her hands, his warm tongue licking her chin, his fur soft again against her skin as he curled himself protectively around her, the strong, steady beat of his heart.
(and now we see how perfect @mariakov81‘s beautiful drawing is!!)
