Summary: Demon!Rhys' plan for the Solstice comes to a head
Content Warnings: Dark!Rhys, Mental Manipulation, DubCon, Slight NSFW; a dash of slut-shaming/body issues; mentions of blood and burns, nothing super graphic.
Part One / Part Two
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There is only one thing I can be absolutely certain of: I have no control of my body. Flames dance from my fingers, the color and shape of them wrong. It’s not the orange and yellow hues it should be, but shades of blue and purple that don’t burn, no matter how much pours from my fingers. My skin doesn’t blister. The heat doesn’t touch me. Stranger still, I can’t feel the pull in my chest that tells me I’m using too much energy, even though I should. The words on my lips are a spell in a language I know I don’t speak, but they flow off my tongue as if it is all I have ever known.
Worse still, I can’t remember what it is exactly that I do and don’t know. There is only this thick darkness in my skull and the flames that glitter around my fingers like tiny Sprites. There is nothing before this, and nothing ahead of this. Only now, watching the pile of tomes and old books burn on the charred forest floor. A blood moon rises swiftly ahead of us.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, Witchling?” My companion’s voice is a lover’s purr, rich and silky next to my ear as he watches from over my shoulder. I can’t remember where or when I met him. All I know is that I want more of his approval. I think I might do anything for it as his hands settle on my hips. My head feels strangely empty of everything except him and the strange fog, but I don’t entirely mind the quiet, as long as I get the reward of his lips and body against my own.
“Mhm,” I hum, leaning back against the firm planes of him.
His hands slide under my shirt and skim higher, his claw tipped hands drifting with enough pressure to make me shiver without drawing blood. “We’re almost free of them.”
I take my lower lip between my teeth and bite down against the whimper threatening to slip out of me as his hands come up to cup my breasts. My body is not my own because it’s his. I crave every bit of affection he’ll give me, every touch and kiss and whisper of breath against my flushed skin feels like a gift.
“Why start by burning books?” I ask, trying not to sound so needy by moaning like I want to when he gives my nipple a harsh tug. My body betrays me in the end, chest arching into his touch, practically begging for more.
“No spells to counter us,” he replies. I know he can feel my desperation, know he’s egging it on by rocking the hard length of his erection into the supple flesh of my ass, but his hands slide back down my body, robbing me of the pleasure I so furiously crave.
His hands stop at my hips, claws dipping into my skin as he holds me in place. “Not yet, Little Witch. You’ll have your fun once we’re done here.”
I tilt my head back against his shoulder, pouting, hoping he might change his mind as I rock my ass back into him.
One of his hands leaves my hip to grab me firmly by the throat. “Don’t be greedy. You’ll take what I give you, when I decide to give it to you.”
My body freezes, held by some invisible grip even as he releases me. The loss of contact makes panic swell in my chest. “I’m sorry! I’ll focus.”
The hard lines of his face, distorted in the firelight, soften just a bit. “Good girl.”
The panic settles in my chest as the invisible grip on my body falls away. That’s better, even if he doesn’t put his hands on me again as he motions me away from the dying embers of our book pyre. At least I have him close.
Rhys walks with his hands in his pockets now, wings tucked tight behind him. His gate is unhurried, as we stride through the quiet woods, the blood moon lighting the way. I think its arrival might be important, but I have no memories of why.
“The witches will be gathering soon,” he says. “They’re expecting you.”
Violet eyes glance over my attire and he adds, “You’ll need to change.”
I don’t question him as he steps onto a well worn trail and follows it all the way to a house. My house. The memory of it comes back into focus as if it had been lifted out of a fog, though it looks strange to me now. The runes along the foundation look like they were made by children, the wards they cast are flimsy at best. Strange, I’d always thought they were the best in the neighborhood.
“You see them as I see them,” he explains as he lifts a clawed hand and tears right through the glittering ward. “Key is in your pocket.”
Right. I slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans and find the key along with a couple crushed pieces of dried rosemary. What the hell was I doing with it?
I slide the key into the lock and step into the dark house. It’s utterly silent, all the lights off. When I reach for the light switch, Rhys bats my hand away. “The neighbors don’t need to know we’re here.”
I somehow know my way around in the dark, even as the memory slowly returns, slipping out from the fog like a frightened prey animal. My room is the smallest, crammed into the attic, my footsteps echo on the stairs as we walk, but Rhys makes no sound. If anyone was in the house they would have assumed I was alone. Every once in a while I have to glance back over my shoulder to make sure he’s still there.
He only lets me turn the lights on in my cramped bedroom once he’s sure there are no windows to give us away. The sight of him having to duck to not slam his head against the slanted roof is amusing enough to make the risk worth it. He settles himself on my bed after a moment of knocking things around with his wings, long legs folded beneath him on my worn quilt, a frown crossing his handsome features.
“I’ve seen prison cells with more space,” he huffs.
I go to the wardrobe jammed in the corner, the old oak doors hanging on by a single, rusted hinge that squeaks when it opens. I wince as I start pushing old sweaters and jackets around, unsure of what I’m looking for. “What’s the dress code for this?”
The apex talon on his left wing scrapes against the wall, slashing through the worn wallpaper, and he huffs as he wraps the leathery membrane around himself like a cocoon. “Fucking witches. All so godsdamn small!”
Once he’s sure he’s not going to wreck anymore of the decor, he turns his attention back to me and I feel heat rush through me once more as those violet eyes roam over my body. “You’ll look good in black.”
A blush works its way up my cheeks as I start pushing pastel sweaters and multicolored t-shirts out of my way, looking for anything black. There’s a small, lacey thing tucked in the back and I have a distinct memory of someone telling me not to wear that to some function or another but the details or fuzzy. All I know is that someone, somewhere, made me feel small the last time I’d worn it. And I will never let anyone make me feel like that again.
I pull it out of the wardrobe and hold it out for Rhys to see. Something about him heightens all my worst emotions. My anger feels tenfold. My insecurities have tripled. I need him to quiet one and use the other, that much I do know.
His fangs glint in the witchlights the bob from the ceiling as he takes it in. “Certainly not the attire of a virgin sacrifice.”
A shadow from within the fog lets me see my grandmother’s threat from yesterday and I ball the dress in my hands up in my fists. “I’m no one’s sacrifice!” There’s something… different in my voice, and whatever it is makes the witchlights shutter.
Rhys only grins triumphantly at the sight. “That’s my girl.”
I take a shuddering breath to calm the pulsing of something I feel in my veins, something I can’t identify, something I don’t remember possessing before. Something that belongs to Rhys just as much as I do. It starts with a buzzing feeling in my spine, where his sigil sits.
“I’m going to go change.” A tendril of shadow snakes out from underneath his wings and snags me by the wrist, pulling me towards where he sits on the bed before I can even take a step towards the door.
“Why so shy?” He teases, wings unfolding enough for him to reach out a clawed hand and brush it against the buttons on my jeans. “What are you afraid I’ll see?”
I shiver at the contact, my legs moving on their own accord until my knees bump against the bed frame. He has such complete control over me, I don’t know if he even knows it. “I’m not afraid of anything!” I try to protest but my voice shakes when I speak.
He grins as his claws retract to let him pop the buttons open, large hands slowly pushing the loose fabric down my hips. It is an effort to stand still, to not climb into his lap and straddle him right here in my ratty bedroom.
Once the fabric is past my thighs my jeans fall to the floor in a pool around my ankles on their own accord, his callused hands now stroking up my exposed flesh to reach for the hem of my sweater. I am no blushing virgin, but I have never been this aroused by a simple action before either. I find myself biting my lip as I watch the way his hands move over my body. I’m scared if I move too fast or make too much noise he’ll stop, just like he did earlier, leaving me empty and cold in the loss of his touch.
He leans forward on his knees, wings parting just enough to let him lean forward without batting into the walls, to brush his lips over my stomach as he removes the sweater inch by inch. Every second passes by like an hour, his kisses slow and unhurried as if we have all the time in the world.
I squeeze my eyes shut as his lips ghost over my ribs, nose brushing up against the band of my bra. His lips are so plush and warm, I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around my nipple. The thought makes heat pool between my legs and I instinctively clench my thighs together, looking for some form of friction to take the edge off.
He nips teasingly at the valley between my breasts, but leaves my bra in place as he finally pushes the sweater over my head and onto the floor. “Aren’t you pretty,” he purrs.
I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, one hand braced on his muscular shoulder to keep myself from falling directly into his lap. I need to kiss him. I need to have his lips back on mine.
He chuckles wickedly as he stops me with a hand on my throat, squeezing just enough to halt my movements. “What did we talk about earlier, hm?”
“Please, Rhys,” I whimper.
“After we’re done,” he promises, unbothered by the effect he has on me, knowing I’m so totally at his mercy and desperate for any attention. I think he likes keeping me here. Likes knowing he can dangle pleasure within reach and then rip it away from me before I can truly have a taste. It might be the most effective way to keep me from looking into what we’re doing and I am a fool who keeps falling for it, but anytime I start to question why I allow it, the fog returns in my head and all the questions disappear in a rush. Just as they do now.
My eyes feel heavy and my head empty as I nod, the movements of my body foreign, like a puppet being jerked around on a string.
He pulls the dress over my head with the same slow, teasing pace as he’d taken off my clothes, and it only makes the heat beneath my skin all the worse. The dress halts on my upper thighs, just long enough to cover all the important bits, and his hands linger on the hem, fingers tracing strange shapes on the inside of my thighs.
I might be desperate enough to try begging one more time, were it not for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Rhys dissolves into shadow and smoke and dives underneath the bed as the door opens and my Mother strides in, broom still in hand from the flight over.
“What are you wearing?” She says in greeting.
That pulse of anger that had made the lights flicker returns and she glances at it with one, manicured brow raised in surprise.
“I thought it looked nice-”
“You look like a whore,” she returns, hands smoothing over the green cloak dusting her shoulders. If she cares about the new display of power, she doesn’t mention it. Probably thinks it's a fluke. Or perhaps an errant flair of her own magic, she certainly has enough to spare. “Change before you head out. I’m sure your performance tonight will be embarrassing enough as it is without you being seen by everyone in that awful outfit.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“You told me you were going on a diet,” she continues to chastise. “That dress certainly proves that a lie.”
I run a hand over my stomach self-consciously, but I can’t think through the fog to find an argument.
“Honestly, Y/N, is all this a joke to you?”
“No!” I protest but she cuts me off.
“You certainly could have fooled me! Our family name is on the line here, you understand the reputation you have to uphold, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mother,” I try again, but she continues on like I hadn’t.
“Our family holds the front line against both the human world and the demon one. Do you know how much work that takes, to keep the demons leashed to their dimension and keep those stupid humans in the dark? Do you have any idea the sacrifices we’ve all had to make? The work we’ve all put in?”
“Yes-”
“Do you know how many Sisters I have lost? How many I had to decide to sacrifice to preserve our coven’s strength?”
“I understand-”
“To show weakness is to invite our destruction. This peace you have gotten to grow up in has come at a terrible price. It is not a game.”
“I know-”
“No, you don’t!” She hisses. “Because if you did, then you would have taken your lessons seriously. You would have studied harder. You wouldn’t be an example of weakness today.”
My hands are clenched so hard at my sides my fingernails have left indents in my palms. “I will not disappoint you tonight, Mother.”
“You only have one shot to prove yourself, because if the Salem girl beats you, you’re the sacrifice, you understand that don’t you?”
Rhys’s sigil on my back burns. “I know. She won’t beat me. I’ve been practicing.”
She frowns as she shifts her broom to her other hand. “I wish I believed you.”
She might as well have hit me.
“I have to hunt tonight, there are too many humans on the border.”
And as powerful and proud as my Mother is, she can’t stand there and watch me make a fool of myself. As always, the Coven provides a perfect excuse for her to not be around while I “disgrace the family name” and “make her wish I was never born”. The instances in which she said those very words flood my mind at a feverish pace, spinning round and round like a whirlwind movie performance. The burning at my back spreads all the way to my fingertips and I swear I feel the flicker of a flame between my clenched fists again.
“Do you really think so little of me?” I ask, my voice a lot smaller than I mean it to be.
“I stopped expecting big things from you a long time ago,” she retorts, straightening her cloak again. If she feels any remorse for the words or concern for my wellbeing, she doesn’t show it. I am as expendable as any other witch in the Coven, maybe more since she thinks so little of me. “Just try not to die tonight, ok?”
“I won’t be dying tonight,” I say through my teeth.
She nods, turns towards the stairs, then glances back one last time over her shoulder. “Change before you go.” Those are her parting words for my impending doom?
The door shuts behind her and I lash out and slam my fist into the wall in frustration; the first movement of my body all day that has felt distinctly mine and not so terrible intertwined with Rhys.. The wood groans under my burning knuckles, but worse still, the fading wall paper smolders, the edges burning and crinkling, the smell of melting glue filling the air. I glance down at my hands long enough to see a flicker of those blue flame disappear between my knuckles through the tears brimming my eyes.
Rhys materializes from under the bed, looking annoyed that he can’t stretch out his wings. “That was harsh, even for a Witch.”
I stretch out my hands, palms splayed, no more flames to be seen, even if the wallpaper still smolders. “Is this from you?”
“It’s the amplification of what’s already inside you,” he says.
My Mother’s words still ring in my ears. “There’s nothing inside me.”
He reaches out a hand and tilts my head up to look at him. “We both know that’s not true, Darling.”
I wish I could remember how he came to me; remember which god I needed to thank for bringing him to me. No one understands me like he does. He makes me feel seen, like I’m not entirely a burden. The fleeting moment of control I had over my body disappears, dispelled by this new touch of his hands against my face.
He wipes the tears that slip down my cheeks with his thumbs. “Ready to show them exactly what you are, Little Witch?”
I’m not going to change the dress. And I’m not going to die today either. “Yes.”
He grins wickedly, eyes going all black again. “Then let’s give them a Solstice no one will ever forget.”
Those words are the last thing I remember before the fog takes me completely. There is only darkness and shadow, floating and swirling so intensely around me that I lose sight of everything. I am not a person, I am a thought, tossed around in the dark. Dully, I am aware of sounds. Of a flash of heat on my skin. Of the distant sound of screaming. Terror becomes a companion, but it is never an emotion that comes from me, only something that walks alongside me in the dark. Through it all, there is never a moment that I am not aware of him. His being is as intertwined in the darkness as I am, I think he might very well have been its creator as well as its caretaker. Even here, the brush of him is enough to keep me from thinking too hard about it. The darkness is good and soothing and nothing to fear, no matter what sounds come from outside it.
When he finally sets me free from the darkness, it is in a world once again on fire. What looks like a celebratory parade now lays in cinders, the charred remains of a skeletal figure clutching the melted wheel on the front. The air is heavy with ash, the wind blowing embers across the blood red sky.
There is more screaming. Underneath what once might have been a floral arch, twisted in the burning ribbons are people… no witches, fighting for an escape that doesn’t come as the winged death god that has followed me all day stalks towards them with his claws out, chuckling at their plight.
Something in me recoils, fights against the invisible hands that hold me, just enough to let out a scream of horror as the witches meet a bloody end, the gore splattering across Rhys’s wings. He turns to look at me then, grinning wickedly, no violet in his eyes to be seen, only endless black pits.
The shadow in my skull parts just enough to remind me what he really is: Demon. Prince of Hel.
My hands shake at my sides. My back aches and burns like someone had tried to set me on fire, but I am wholly unscathed compared to the carnage and destruction around me.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
But the fog in my head closes in tighter, sharper now, like talons digging into my skull. I scream as I fall to my knees, but the hands that hold me won’t let me reach for my head. Blue flames still dance from my fingertips, flames I don’t remember unleashing.
“What?” Each word is a battle to get out. “What did I do?”
The blood on his hands is cold as ice as he brushes a hand over my cheek. “What you were meant to do, Little Witch. What they were always scared you could do. Don’t you see? You’re free!”
Free? Whatever the Solstice celebration was supposed to be is irrelevant now, there is only death and fire and it’s all at my hand. The moment guilt starts to creep in, the fog rips it away from me, replaces it with that same need to please him.
“You freed me?”
Invisible hands help me stand again. He braces a hand on my hip to steady me as he brushes his lips over my forehead. The fires seem irrelevant like this. “They’ll never hurt you again. They’ll never hurt us again.”
I can’t remember what he was saving me from. Before I can ask the question, a false sense of gratitude worms its way into my chest. Another gift from him. The more gifts he gives me, the more hollow and cold I feel my insides becoming. My head doesn’t know reality from the world he creates inside my mind, but my heart is another matter. There is something very, very wrong with him. With me. But I am not strong enough to fight it. The sigil at my back burns when I try.
“What now?”
Plush lips brush against mine. My body moves for me, chasing the heat of him. Chasing the blissful pleasure of emptiness that comes when he touches me. His wants are mirrored through me somehow.
“What would you like now, My Little Witch? The rest of the Coven? A throne perhaps? There is nothing in your way. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
I don’t know that I want anything. Nothing feels real. Nothing but him.
“Want you,” I say, voice a little breathless, as if conjuring up anything of myself from within the fog is a tremendous effort. It certainly feels like it. I don’t know if that’s another gift from him or not. Everything is becoming so very muddled again.
The demon grins as he asks, “And then?”
Images swirl around my head. Each carefully planted by those invisible hands. I am powerless to resist their influence. “No more witches.”
Synopsis: Lydia has been forced to return home to live with her sisters. The well of magick runs deep in her family, despite her best efforts to avoid that aspect of herself. But strange things are afoot in the town of Crystal Falls and in order to figure out these bizarre happenings she must work alongside her enemy from a rival coven-Billy Russo.
Authors Notes: This story has been my passion project as of late and something that I maybe hope to turn into something real and tangible one day. As a special thanks for all your support I want to share it with you first :) The title is still in the works as I explore other options- input is very welcome on it!
Warnings: 18+, Witchcraft and Magick, Some horror elements, graphic descriptions, smut (use your own discernment)
Chapter One: Click your heels together three times
There were few things I’m certain of in life.
Never conjure when angry or when the moon is waning.
River spirits never forget a bargain spurned.
The Russo Coven couldn’t be trusted.
It was the near end of august, September rode in on the back of a cool breeze and yellow tinged leaves.
Sipping a slightly-too salty margarita on a wine bar patio, the glass sweating despite the soft breeze.
While most people were excited about autumn and all the treats the “-Ber months brought I couldn’t help but feel a pit of sadness at the thought of summer ending.
Ignoring reality had been my personal goal for the season and I’d done it so well. Books by the pool, painting sessions on the beach(with all the retired folks), hikes along trails covered in moss and jagged stones.
Sipping cocktails on patios like this, savoring the complex flavors and picking at charcuterie boards with cheeses whos names I butchered while ordering.
I was living the life. But with each passing day I knew I couldn’t ignore it for much longer.
After budget cuts, my position at the local art museum was no longer “essential”. Having a background in art history left one wanting for jobs in a bad way.
I should be grateful for the job posting my older sister Elizabeth had sent but when I saw it conveniently was at the local college back home I couldn’t conceal the anxiety taking root in my chest.
I’d applied haphazardly, fully anticipating another, “thank you for your interest- we’ve decided to move ahead with other candidates.”
But when I saw the “we’d love to have you come on board!” Intro line I knew my fate had been sealed.
I needed this job.
It wouldn’t be so bad living back at home for a little while until another opportunity came along, right?
My younger sister Emily was ecstatic. It almost broke my heart a little to imagine telling her I didn’t quite feel the same amount of eagerness.
I’d moved away because I wanted to feel free, to see what my life could be outside of the confines of my hometown. Outside of what I was.
I had needed space. Space in the form of multiple hundreds of miles away.
Most people grow up playing on swing sets and eating peanut butter sandwiches. Growing up in a family of witches, is something entirely different.
When you’re young and impressionable the idea of having powers, knowing there’s more to life than what most others know. It can feel feel empowering.
To me it was daunting. Exhausting. It’s not all hocus pocus and fun spellbooks or brewing potions.
I didn’t want to be me. I wanted something else.
Something normal.
The Dawson name was well known and revered in the town of Crystal Falls. We’d been here since the town was christened along with a few other families.
There’d been a Dawson Mayor, Head of the newspaper, a few doctors, even a sheriff.
If only the upstanding community was aware that the Dawson name was a coven. Not just your run of the mill one, but powerful witches, dating back centuries.
The town today had no idea that witches had laid claim to this land so many years ago.
It’s not something one can post on social media. After the debacle in Salem all the smart actual witches branched off. Some migrated to the Midwest, others searched for the west coast.
The Dawson’s had gone upwards along the east coast, becoming almost nomadic in nature until settling into a small village, close to the ocean but gently tucked into a blanket of forest.
A river cut through town giving a grand display of multiple waterfalls that ended at the nearby beach.
If you caught one of the large celestial events of comets or a grandiose full moon the river and falls seemed to glimmer and glow, taking on an ethereal hue.
Hence the name- Crystal Falls.
Our family had helped imbue protective barriers around the town alongside the Russo coven. Another family of warlocks that had also managed to stumble upon this area.
It was beautiful and charged with an uncontained wild nature that must’ve called to our ancestors in some way. And above all else- it was home.
Me and my sisters had been raised by our aunt and grandmother after our parents died when we were young.
It had been labeled an accident. Driving through the mountainous terrain to reach town was dangerous even during the brightest of days.
But there had been signs, too many for our families liking, to chalk it up to merely an accident. There were too many “magickal” elements at play to ignore.
The brand new car losing control, the large tree having conveniently fallen, after the too conspicuous lightning strike and torrential storm appearing on an otherwise clear meteorological prediction.
I tried not to think of it too long, for fear of losing myself in the grief. Too afraid of falling into the whirlpool of those feelings and drowning, never to be seen again.
“Would you like another?” The waitress asked, taking away my now empty margarita glass.
“Yes please, actually do you have anything remaining from the seasonal menu?”
“Sorry, we just finished the last of the summer sangria but we do have our fall menu out! Fig spritzer with sugared thyme and a pumpkin spice bourbon.”
Another nail in the coffin. Summer was over and I needed to face the reality of my impending trip back home. Whether I liked it or not.
Picking some random Chardonnay off the menu in silent rebellion to their fall drinks I feel a tingle in my left pinkie.
I recognize that feeling. It appears when I’m sad. Or stressed. Or angry. Sometimes when I’m happy.
I’ll be watching a Netflix show and laughing so hard on my sofa and then I feel the tingling sensation in my fingertips.
Like dipping my fingers into super icy water then immediately into hot boiling water. I catch it and breathe into the feeling.
Willing it to stop.
Some tries take longer than others. Over the years I’ve managed to muffle that part of me that yearns to escape.
A rabid dog locked in a basement waiting for the caretaker to get sloppy, lazy. Bursting past the seam of the door and bounding freely into the night.
Not today. One day perhaps. I shudder thinking about it. Or maybe it’s just the breeze, goose bumps break out along my arms and chest.
Eventually after some practiced breathing I feel the tiny reverberations cease. Returning from whence they came.
Boy how I am not looking forward to going home.
The drive back home was a scenic four hour trek through mountains and forestry that could make any camper or hiking enthusiast’s mouth water.
I’d lost count over the years how many scenic overlooks dotted the area and if there was a drinking game involving shots every time a quaint picturesque New England type village popped up on google maps one would quickly die of alcohol poisoning.
“What do you want for dinner?” Elizabeth’s text pinged on my phone that was propped on the dash hastily.
“So excited!!!!” Emily responded not two seconds later. The age dynamics were far too apparent.
I couldn’t help but grin, I loved my sisters I really do, but it’s been so long since I’d lived with them.
Elizabeth came into her magic first- understandably so, being the oldest. Grandma was so proud, seeing Lizzy carry on the Dawson legacy.
“Easy Em”
“Sorry! Sorry! Drive safe!”
I rolled my eyes, chuckling a little as I turned onto another mountain path. This added time to my trip but I just …couldn’t bring myself to take the other route. Not yet.
After another hour or so of driving I finally saw the sign for Crystal Falls, keep right for 30 miles.
A crusted slab of wood with paint peeling off of it. Emerald green and white swirls of paint beckoning any passerby to stop.
It didn’t pass my notice that a handful of trees had leaves tinged in orange, a few scattered red bursts.
Traitors.
It would be beautiful. The kiss of death to summer and its green tinged warmth. I’d even miss the bugs.
Turning down the Main Street there was a constant stream of activity. People walking in and out of shops, visitors milling around the welcome center, campers clearly here for the upcoming fall foliage unfurling comically large maps of the cave systems.
There was a gazebo at the town center, a la Gilmore girls Stars Hollow that was always decorated according to season.
I said a silent prayer of thanks seeing the sunflowers still adorning it and not hay bales and pumpkins.
Festive mums sat in fat glazed pots in front of the stores. I rolled my windows down to inhale the smell of home.
Wondering if it’d smell like how I remembered. Fresh flowers, sweet honeysuckle and that tell tale pinch of chill.
Tree branches swayed overhead with the seasonal breeze. Yellowed leaves broke off of a nearby oak and scattered into the street.
I watched as a gaggle of school girls walked over them, crunching them into the pavement without a thought.
Turning off the main causeway and into the more scenic countryside where a few vineyards with their adjoining wineries sat.
Moon Brew Farm with their delicious peach wine. Cats Tail Vineyard that created a bubbly moscato with hints of fresh blackberry.
I could feel my mouth water just imagining it, that full mouth feel. Fizzing bubbles popping on my tongue and chasing it with a panini whose sides runneth over in pale cheese.
My stomach gurgled, begging for food. I had only stopped at a Wendy’s on the way since the McDonald’s drive through had a line longer than I cared to sit in.
The remnants of a devoured chicken sandwich rested on my center console. The paper still flecked with grease and a loose pickle that somehow managed to escape my mouth.
I passed a large estate off to the left. A high arched gate cutting the drive off at the main road. The stone pillar at the end read, “Russo.” Engraved into a black marble plaque.
I drove by, right hand on the wheel, left out the window in an honorary “one finger salute ” at the disgusting excuse for a castle marring our town.
Dirt billowed behind my rickety Subaru as I finally ambled onto a gravel driveway. The popping sound of rocks being shot out from underneath my tires like rapid shrapnel alerted the ladies inside.
“Lydia!” Emily was the first to run out, screen door slamming shut into Elizabeth’s face as she jumped the porch steps completely.
Lizzy scowled, pushing the screen door out of her way like it owed her money.
“Em, what the hell?”
I tossed my car in park just in time to see Emily’s grinning face and fists tapping at my window like a madwoman.
“Can you give me like a second?” I managed a laugh, popping the door open only to be tackled in a rib cage smushing embrace.
“I missed you! So-o-o-o-o much!” Each ‘o’ was accompanied by a sway of our bodies back and forth.
Elizabeth finally reached us, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“Bet you missed this.” She joked, gesturing to Emily who had wedged her face into my shoulder.
“Shuff-Upf” came Emily’s muffled response as she refused to let go. Maybe she was afraid I’d disintegrate, that I was some clever illusion instead of actually being here in the flesh.
“Missed you-“ I gave a genuine, albeit weary smile to my older sister, somehow untangling a limb to motion her into the bear hug going on.
“So glad to see you.” She relented, easing into the sister shuffle.
It felt nice. I hadn’t stopped so much to reminisce on these things when I was away. I did miss them. I did miss home. I just didn’t miss what home had meant to me for so long.
Eventually Emily peeled herself off of me and dragged me into the house, not pausing even when I nearly tripped on the porch steps.
“Luggage can wait for later!” She had stated. Dinner was ready and honestly I just wanted to unwind and zone out into a pile of amazing food.
Elizabeth and Emily got the cooking gene from our mother. I got my fathers gene of enjoying said cooking.
Chicken pot pie with a flaky crust, yams coated in golden butter, green beans sautéed with almonds and pepper and a peach cobbler with succulent fruit from the local farmers market.
“I still can’t believe you’re home and not just for a vacation but like, for good.” Emily twisted her fork into the leftover cobbler morsels, licking a crumb from her thumb.
“Not for good, just…for now.”
Elizabeth nodded sagely, catching my hesitation and being kind enough to change the subject.
“How was the drive?”
“Not bad.” I spooned a piece of chicken coated in sauce onto my plate as Elizabeth took another bite of green beans. “I see tons of campers are already here. Don’t they know it’ll be weeks until fall foliage actually appears?”
“The mayor has been trying to push for more summer into fall events to draw in the crowds.”
“Yeah Elizabeth’s boyfriend has really been overhauling the event planning thing.”
“He is NOT my boyfriend.” Her cheeks turned almost as red as her hair. “It’s about time we had a member of the council actually give a shit about our town and its livelihood.”
Emily dramatically sighed, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead and fluttered her eyelashes. “Yes whatever would we do without dear Sebastyan.”
“The crab?” I smirked, reaching my fork towards another yam. Lizzy pulled the plate away giving me that older sister, raised eyebrow look. It spelled out “watch it” clear enough for me to relent.
“Don’t you start with me.”
Dinner wraps up with each of us carrying a Handful of dirty dishes into the kitchen. Piled high into the sink with an unspoken agreement to get to them tomorrow.
I watch the two of them joke and share inside info about their planned week ahead. Things I’d know if I lived here. Schedules that would make sense to me but are now new and unknown.
The two of them continue their conversation as I teeter my messy plate on top of an empty glass that once contained a milkshake. It feels weird to hear their voices in person again. The last time I was home was maybe two years ago? For Christmas?
Elizabeth is just as elegant as I remember. Tall, long red hair swept up into a modest pony tail. Barely a smudge of makeup on her but soft pale skin with a dash of freckles across her high cheekbones.
I remember standing on my tippy toes when we were little, getting measured against the doorframe, hoping and praying I’d grow as tall as my older sister.
Fate didn’t pay attention to my pleas. My body threw in the towel the minute I struck 5’3”. Cruel, if I’m being honest. She whisks about the kitchen making a funny face at something Emily said.
It feels like I’m in a fishbowl, hearing noises, knowing someone is speaking but it just sounds muffled and foreign to me. Like I’m not really here.
Emily makes another comment that pulls a laugh from Elizabeth. Emily has always been a lightning bolt. Even when she was a child. Her hair is cut into a blunt bob with thick heavy bangs. It’s dyed a dark brown that almost matches her hot chocolate colored eyes.
She’s maybe an inch shorter than me, a rarity in our family that the oldest sibling is actually the tallest. My younger sister however has a face full of makeup. It never looks to be too much, always tastefully done and complimenting her features.
They’ve changed so much and not at all from when I last saw them. From the pictures I’d had hanging in my apartment that now sit in a storage facility.
I feel the bubbling tightness in my chest and I’m yanked from my misty eyed staring. Being around them, their energy, I can feel parts of me clawing to get out. Like taking a spray bottle to a pesky cat, I shove it down.
Emily turned in first, working at a bakery requires her to be up before the sun. She gives me a quick hug once more.
“I really am excited you’re home…for however long.” Before starting up the stairs, sounds of the shower turning on and soft lilting singing to some show tune carries throughout the halls.
“Wine?” Elizabeth holds a glass up with a bottle of cherry wine, the deep scarlet liquid looks intoxicating.
“Please.”
We retreat to the porch as the last rays of sunset disappear behind the trees leaving that unsettling light blue that comes before navy then black.
The old rocking chairs groan as we take our seats. The sound the cork popping makes echoes throughout the woods surrounding the house.
I never forgot how quiet it gets. The crickets had just started their nightly serenade and a few owl hoots call out from a distance.
She pours me a hefty glass of the wine, handing it to me as we both delicately lean forward in our rickety chairs, balancing bottle and glasses.
Dozens of long shadows climb out from all around us. Reaching towards the front steps and skittering along the warped floorboards.
If I close my eyes it feels like I can even hear them calling out to me. Where have you been? Why have you been gone so long?
Every leaf, branch, blade of grass blending together to create large charcoal swaths against the forest floor. It both chills and excites me.
“It is nice, ya know? To have you home for more than four days at a time.”
I feel myself shaken from my stupor. Mind slowly drifting back to where it’s supposed to be in the present. On the porch. With my sister.
For the first time in years.
“You say that now since I’ve only been here for a few hours.” I take a long sip of the wine and let the fruity flavors dance on my tongue.
“I’m serious.” I hear her rocker stop creaking, her eyes focused on me. Like burning sapphires. I’d always been jealous of her eyes. “I think this…this will be good for all of us.”
I watch her take a drink before continuing, “We have a lot to catch up on.”
I ponder in silence, running my fingertip along the wine glass’ lip. For a little there’s only the sound of our rockers moving back and forth.
Occasionally I’ll hear the sounds of Emily getting ready for bed upstairs. A single car drives past on the road, far enough we can’t make it out save for the headlights.
The vibrant ripples of yellow cutting through the trees then fading into the distance. The trees gobble up the remaining light.
“How’s work been?”
Elizabeth smiles, pouring a little more wine into her cup. I notice as she sips deeply, letting her eyelids drift shut, pondering how to respond.
“It’s been good. I travel a little for work more now than usual but it’s ok. Rewarding.”
“I couldn’t do it. Be a midwife.” She nodded thoughtfully at my comment, staring off into the ever darkening tree line.
The moon is out, but I watch as it quickly becomes obscured by passing clouds.
“It can be tough, but I have this gift. It feels selfish to not use it. At least in a way that brings purpose to my life.”
I found myself nodding and staring off as well. Elizabeth is a healer, ever since she was little she had a knack for it. Never getting colds, being able to concoct awful tasting potions that somehow worked and cured a multitude of things.
Every witch can do basic magic but more often than not, there’s a specialty. A gift that is unique to that person.
Some people get lucky with theirs. Others not so much.
“You can go on the road with it. Really explore your options.”
“I do have over a hundred 5 star yelp reviews.” She grinned toasting her glass to the air.
“Elizabeth Dawson-“ I held my hand in front of me, punctuating gestures as if reading a headline, “Midwife To The Stars!”
We both giggled and took another sip after sloppily ‘cheers-ing’.
“Ahhhh I don’t know if California or New York is for me.” She chuckled, twisting a strand of her dark red hair held by her ponytail.
I settle back into my seat, rocking back and forth, pushing with my heels and feeling the entirety of my foot flatten then pitch back.
“Soooo Sebastyan?”
“Don’t start with me already.” Liz smirked at me, dipping her fingers in the wine glass and flicking a few drops in my direction.
Maybe this was ok. Maybe this would be ok.
How silly and naïve I was.
After half an hour of sitting on the porch and enjoying the entire bottle of wine, the sky had fully morphed from navy to inky black. The local owl continued to hoot, a rhythmic sound that I could feel myself drifting off too.
Elizabeth had already placed her glass on the counter by the sink, turning in for the night. Flipping the porch light off and only on occasion would the motion sensor light by the back door turn on.
Squirrels, chipmunks, raccoons maybe even a coyote or two always liked to wander up by the back door and sniff around our trash bins. I sat up reading in the living room a while longer, not quite ready to face my old room.
Instead choosing to inspect the first floor, wondering what new things I could pick out from the décor. A small painting of Emily’s rabbit, Artimus that was clearly done on a wine and paint night.
Large bookshelves lined the backwall surrounding the TV, so many books from Elizabeth’s studies, health magazines spread along the coffee table.
A wreath with some greenery bearing white berries and red bow, a few old coffee tins and tea containers holding either flowers or some assortment of pens and paintbrushes.
So much was the same and yet I still felt like an outsider.
Surrendering to the reality I did need to go to bed I gathered my phone, book and flicked off the last of the remaining lamps to ascend the stairs.
Our gallery wall floated along the steps. Photos of almost every generation of our family lay plastered against the drywall that desperately needed repainted.
Our parents wedding day, their smiling faces. Moms bright blue eyes and Dads goofy grin in his tuxedo which was so chic in the eighties. Then came photos of Grandma and Aunt Cora.
I quickly shuffled past them. I had weeks, no, months, to look at these and let the waves of guilt wash over me. Not tonight. Not before bed anyways.
Padding across the plush carpet to my bedroom, the door ajar and bedside lamp on. No doubt from Elizabeth. It didn’t escape my notice the bundle of lavender and dill laid on my pillowcase.
For protection. I hold the small bundle in my lap a moment, searching my mind for the exact spells its used for. My grandmother would have a fit if she knew it was taking me this long.
What can I say? I’ve been living life as a normal human for the past ten years to the best of my ability. Ignoring anything magickal or otherwise. I’d even avoided palm readers at the local county fairs I’d gone to.
I wanted little to nothing to do with magick. Regardless of how deep it ran in our family. I lay the bundle down on the end table right next to my phone.
Please protect me from bad dating app messages.
A stack of clean towels and beauty products rested on the toilet seat in the bathroom. I pulled my hair back into a low bun, splashing water onto my face and rubbing some milky cleanser that I knew had to be Emily’s onto my skin.
It smelled fragrant, like lemons and a sweet sugary after scent. Glancing up to survey the damage from the long day on my face, expecting to see dark circles, dull dry skin, but instead I looked fine. I looked normal.
Turning the cleanser over in my hands wondering if it had some “extra” properties in it that I wasn’t aware of but my younger glamorous sister did. I couldn’t see anything outside the ordinary.
I didn’t sense anything off.
Shrugging and placing it back on the counter, before returning back to my bedroom. Allowing myself to fall heavily against the mattress, a comical ‘huff’ escaping my lips. This was it. I was here.
For however long I needed to be. My fingertips ran up along the hem of the quit on my bed. Feeling the bumps of stitches along the pads of my fingers, the different textured fabrics. My eyes felt heavy.
Sleep called to me, sweet and deep. The edges of my vision blurred and darkened. With the last of my remaining alertness I turned the lamp off. I felt that deep heaviness fall over me.
In the far-off distance I could hear the owl once more. Then it was truly silent.
The back-sensor light came on. I whined as my room was immediately filled with a bright fluorescent light.
“What the hell...” I rubbed at my eyes, still not adjusted to such a bright searing light all of a sudden. Then I heard something knock against the garage. It didn’t sound like a skunk, or a raccoon.
Unless it was a huge raccoon.
Doubtful.
Pushing off of the bed I crouched down, making my way to the window. The curtains were sheer and the blinds were up. Peering around the side I craned my neck to see what was out there.
It was quiet. So startlingly quiet. No fauna chirping or calling out into an otherwise peaceful night.
The light was still on, but there was nothing in the yard. No animals, no creeps. Nothing.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck perk up. A green spark tickled the end of my fingertips and I didn’t even attempt to shove it away. My body knew there was something out there.
We’re so used to being the predator, never the prey. My eyes continued to scan back and forth, wondering if I needed to let one of my sisters know something was up.
Maybe this was normal? Did the light just randomly turn on from time to time? Ya know- technology? So efficient.
If that was the case why did I feel so…off? Something, isn’t right. Then I see it.
A flicker so fast that I’m half certain my mind made it up. Back in the tree line by the back of the garage, a different kind of darkness.
Not the shadows I had seen earlier from the trees on the porch. This is more opaque. It seems to undulate as it moves along the back of the yard. It doesn’t glide but rather jerks.
I feel my heart begin to race.
Its pace is slow, unseemly. Shadow against shadow and yet I can see it clear as day. Blackness that swallows the night whole. It’s form shivers and writhes against a large oak.
I must be dreaming. Yes. I’d fallen asleep and now I am dreaming something up that isn’t there. What a funny story I’ll have to tell my sisters in the morning.
But to be sure…
I grab my phone, sliding my finger across the screen to bring up the camera, pointing it out the back window. Somehow in the few moments it took me to grab my phone its gone.
The shadow isn’t where I last saw it. I am dreaming. I set my phone back down and then I see it. Or rather, it sees me.
It sees me, seeing it. And my body goes rigid.
Black malformed nothingness creeping along the garage and staring at me. Its featureless, save for cold pinpricks of red where eyes should be.
Red and beady, almost like light reflecting against an animals eyes.
It glows, but maybe anything would look glow-y against such a stark backdrop. The blood in my body runs like ice. The goose bumps have moved to my arms as well.
I don’t know how long we stare at each other. Maybe three seconds, maybe five minutes. I blink for the first time in I don’t know how long and when I stare back its gone.
Really gone this time.
I must have scanned the backyard and the fence and the woods and the garage multiple times for over ten minutes. I see nothing. My head feels fuzzy. Like I’d taken a large sleeping pill and have been fighting the effects for too long.
I hoist myself back into bed, because I am too afraid to go out there and check. Too tired to wake my sisters. It feels like my limbs have been replaced with sacks of flour.
Heavy, soft, the weight bringing me down. Pushing me against the mattress. I’m exhausted and alert and my body doesn’t know which to indulge more.
Eventually sleep wins and I drift off into a fitful night filled with dreams of sharp shadows following me. And one with red eyes leading the chase.
Summary: AU Practical Magic w/ Henry Cavill x Sally Owens. The Owens family is a fun family, witchy family, but also a cursed family; the men they fall in love with are doomed to an untimely death.
Author’s note: I rewatched the movie for the gazillionth time, and felt like writing something based on it. Witchy ways are my guilty pleasure, so.. get ready for some true love spells.❤️
Word count: 2.859
Disclaimer: magic and super natural activites, love potions and curses. Smidge of angst and alcohol use. And did I say fluff? There’s plenty-a-fluff.
--
Practical Magic
--
‘So will you marry me now?’ Henry teased, kissing Sally on the cheek. Sally playfully pouted.
‘You leave me no choice! Look at that grass! Just..’ She dramatically outstretched her hands as if he just performed the greatest deed ever. ‘..would you look at that Kal!’ The large akita couldn’t be bothered to look up as he lay on the freshly mown grass, his large maw chewing on a dog bone. Sally continued: ‘Look. At. That. I have never seen such perfectly cut grass in..my..’
Henry looped his arms around her waist and raised an eyebrow as Sally’s attention wavered. ‘Yes dear?’ He smiled.
Sally's eyes widened as she watched something move behind Henry’s back.
‘Gilly!?’ She gasped.
‘SALMON!’ Another voice responded.
Before Henry could see Sally’s sister Gillian step through the garden gate, Sally had already escaped his arms. With a bound of squeals and laughter the sisters flew into each other’s arms. Dark brown and red hair mingled as the wind lipped around with equal joy. Years it had been. And here they were, reunited.
‘Gillian.’ He whispered, slightly defeated. The fiery Owens sister somehow always brought bad news with her, and though she was ever the lovely thing, he couldn’t help but feel it was a bad omen that she had returned after her “greatest adventure of her entire life”.
What about his greatest adventure of his entire life? With a sigh he turned his lips up in a smile, waiting for the ginger gem of a woman to fly into his arms too.
‘OOPH! Look at how you have GROWN!’ Gillian unwrapped herself from his stiff embrace and smiled with childlike joy.
‘Why..thank you Gillian.’ Henry grunted.
‘Oh please!’ She laughed and poked his arm.
‘Now, where’s my two favourite nieces of the whole wide world?!’
‘At school.’ Sally smiled. ‘But I’m sure they can’t wait to hear that their favourite aunty has returned so...’ Sally’s eyes quickly flitted towards Henry.. ‘..soon.’
--
The day was filled with bouncing-off-the-walls children and an even more excited Gillian. Stories were there in abundance, and for a moment Sally and Henry wondered if ever she’d shut up. Well she did, eventually. The long trip from Los Angeles had finally managed to tame the feisty maiden and after a round of shots - which were truly necessary according to Gillian - Gillian headed for bed.
‘Wew.’ Henry settled back on a kitchen chair after he finished the last of the dishes.
‘You can say that.’ Sally yawned, shaking her head in disbelief, also settling down. ‘She didn’t even text me.’
‘You think she’s in trouble?’
‘My sister?’ Sally chuckled. ‘Always.’
Henry leaned forward and reached for Sally’s hands that lay atop the oak table. Here in this cute small rural home he still always seemed a little out of place with his hunky chunk, dream boat physique. And yet he was still very much here, father to her children. The self-labeled “average girl” Sally couldn’t believe it.
With hesitant fingers she wrapped her hands around his.
‘You don’t want her to stay.’
Henry shook his head. ‘I’m not saying that. I’m just...maybe..we need some ground rules.’
Sally nodded. ‘I guess we do.’
‘Something the matter sweetie? You’ve been so quiet all day?’
‘No, nothing. It’s...’ Sally shrugged and looked at their interlocked hands. For a moment she wondered what would trigger it. The thing. The goddamned curse that she knew was lurking. For a few years she had nearly forgot. But then came Gillian and she was reminded again that she wasn’t entirely normal. That this couldn’t be.
And Henry didn’t know.
‘It’s nothing.’
--
The next day Henry woke to an empty bed, leaving him the time to yawn and stretch with the knowledge that Sally had taken the morning turn for breakfast and school prep for the kids.
But no more was true. With a loud yelp and whine heard from the garden, Henry shot up from the bed. It was Kal. And Kal rarely made such noises. With a leap and bound Henry rushed to the window, hands pulling open the curtains.
Down on the lawn, a red headed woman waved her hands about like she was dancing. Gillian. But even more interesting was Kal bouncing up and down on the grass, trying his best to reach something that..that.. Henry focused his vision a little better. It floated. The goddamn dog bone was floating.
Henry blinked and yet it still was there until Sally came storming out the house and the bone fell like gravity had found its course again.
The glass of the window muddled the sounds, but from the way Sally was pounding into Gillian with an accusative hand, Henry realised one thing; he was right. He was right all along. All those years, he knew something was a little off. The dishes were always done too fast when it was Sally’s turn. And though nobody ever touched the cloth iron, nothing everything wrinkled. And the roses. The goddarn impossibly perfect roses that Sally never seemed to touch with one hand. Neighbours had commented on it so often, he had to come up with the most ridiculous of excuses.
Was it...was this..? He saw the women look up at his window and he waved at them awkwardly. Sally frowned and Gillian waved excitedly.
..something like magic?
--
Sally avoided him like the plague, and yet she knew she had to get this conversation over with sooner than later. Henry wasn’t a fool. And the way he had tried to get a word in after breakfast before leaving for work, made her know that she had to talk to him.
She hated it.
The whole situation was anything but “practical”, like her aunts so dearly would call it. Magic was giving her a plain old headache as she stood here in her sunroom, tending to her African Violets. The late afternoon sun was hot and outside she saw Gillian stretched out on a blanket, a book holding her fickle attention for the moment.
Why was Gillian even here? Even with all the chatter going on last night, not a word was spelled on why. Why, why, why!
A wet nose planted itself in her elbow and with a little gasp she awoke from her daydream. It was Kal. Henry’s trusty four-pawed friend, meaning Henry had likely returned from grocery shopping.
‘I’m home!’ - yep, there he was.
Sally bit her lip and gave in. It was time for the talk. With silent steps she traced back to the kitchen where a truckload of paper bags stood, the food within them ready to be unloaded into the pantry and kitchen cabinets.
Bent over one of them was Henry, his eyes clearly trying their best to not look at Sally directly.
Sally halted in the doorway. ‘Hey.’
Henry looked up as if surprised. ‘Hey you.’ A sweet smile formed on his lips - ever the actor.
Sally wet her lips and looked at Henry’s hands as they fumbled just the way they always did when he was nervous or stressed. The paper bag beneath his touch crumpled.
‘Ugh...’ She let her shoulders droop, knowing there was no way out of this. ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ With a sweep of the hand she made a few of the bags float up in the air. Henry blinked, but tried to hold his surprise as he raised to his feet. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he watched the bags float before him mid-air.
‘Are you going to kill me now?’ He swallowed.
‘What?!’ Sally gasped. ‘NO! No-no-no-no-no.’ With hasted steps she got closer to Henry and pushed the bags to gently drop down on the kitchen counter next to Henry. It was like they had never floated mid-air at all.
He leaned back against the kitchen cabinets, but didn’t flee. With a gentle hand Sally touched his chest. Could she get rid of him before he too would find his untimely death? She looked at where her fingers slightly sank into the soft grey material of his tee. ‘No..’ She whispered.
‘Please tell me that was some fancy little trick with strings and..’ Henry folded a hand over hers and squeezed it slightly.
‘Eh..yea..no.’ Sally scrunched up her nose as if tasting a sour fruit. ‘Unfortunately.. it’s not that. It’s..’ She finally dared to look back up into his eyes. His blue eyes were the size of saucers, yet there also spoke some quiet plea of hope there.
‘Did you ever use it on me?’
Sally immediately shook her head. ‘No. I did not. Please! I never wanted this to get in between us. I...I don’t know why I never..never..’ Her eyes teared up slightly as the whole situation seemed to fall down upon itself.
He would die, wouldn’t he? She could feel it in her nervously fluttering heart. It had been fluttering more and more of late - especially when he teased about marriage.
‘I’ll never fall in love Gilly. That, I swear.’
‘But what if you do?’
‘I can’t. I just swore it!’
Gillian chuckled and shook her pigtailed head, legs hanging from the garden swing. ‘Then I swear that you’ll do!’
‘Sal?’ Henry waved a hand before her eyes.
‘Yea! I’m here. I’m here.’ Half-automatically she turned to pick up groceries.
‘Sally look at me.’
Sally turned back to him.
‘Is it ..magic--?’
‘HEyyyyy there you two are. Oh look at ALL THAT FOOD.’ Gillian gasped. With the clip of slippered feet she waltzed into the kitchen. A pair of sunglasses was tipped off her nose as she smiled down at the groceries. ‘I know just what we’re going to cook tonight!’ Gillian exclaimed.
Sally rolled her eyes and turned to look at her sister.
‘What?’ Gillian asked, as if completely unaware she was intruding.
Sally wiped away a stray tear on her cheek. ‘Mom’s soup?’ she sniffled.
Gillian stepped in and wrapped her arms around Sally and Henry, squeezing them until they were all cozied up in the small kitchen corner. ‘Oh I missed you all so much!’
Sally sighed and also wrapped an arm around her sister, her eyes just managing to find Henry’s behind the waving sea of red locks that had pushed in between the two of them.
‘Later.’ She mouthed.
Henry bit his lip, but remained quiet. He had just found out his loving partner of four years was a ..witch? Wizardess? What would he even call her? With hesitant eyes he looked at the bags that stood dormant on the kitchen counter. No strings were there to be seen.
This. Was. Real.
--
‘Alright.’ Gillian plopped back down on the couch. She looked truly smug with her self-satisfied little smile. ‘Told you. Fifteen minutes and they’re down. Snug as bugs in fluffy little rugs.’
Sally peeked at Henry, who sat up from his chair in the corner of the small living room. A small fire was lit in the fireplace and glasses of red wine littered the coffee table. It felt perfectly homely, were it not for there to be one ginormous elephant to float around in the room.
‘Will the girls be able to do it too?’ Henry hesitantly shifted his gaze from Sally to Gillian. Gillian raised her eyebrows.
‘Get their children to sleep in fifteen? Maybe..’
‘No..’ Sally interjected. ‘Gil...he saw. I told you he saw it. He..he knows.’
‘What?!’
‘I told you not to and..’
They both looked at Henry, who reached for his wine glass. Even after reading fantasy books all his life, it was still very, very unnerving to have two witchy women right here before him. What could they even do?
‘Well he didn’t run yet.’ Gillian snickered and also reached for her wineglass.
‘Do I need to?’ Henry tried to smile, but Sally saw it didn’t reach his eyes. He was one nervous boy. Kal, on the other hand was one sleepy boy. Right before Henry’s feet lay the sleeping Akita, softly snoring as the logs in the fireplace crackled.
The two sisters shared a look.
Henry turned his full attention to Sally. ‘Do I?’
‘I-I don’t want you to.’ Sally shook her head and new tears started to form.
‘Oh no...please don’t cry.’ Gillian scrunched up her face and watched as Henry moved to Sally in two strides, his thumbs finding her tears before they could tumble don’t her cheeks.
‘Hey. Don’t cry. I’m not mad, okay? Confused yes, but..’ He ushered her to scoot to the side on the loveseat and he squeezed himself right next to her. ‘..I’m sure we’ll get through it. Hey love. Sshh..’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just..so stupid.’ Sally sniffled and quickly wiped away another tear.
Gillian watched as the two lovers hugged the tears away and with large gulps of her wine she soon was some two full glasses ahead. It was then she decided they needed something better. Something stronger.
‘I’ve got an idea!’ She exclaimed, jumping up from her chair and moving to the large cabinet in the far corner. With a knowledgeable hand she moved over the upper right edge, and surely enough she found the key that led to the booze that was hidden inside.
‘Gotcha!’ She grinned, swinging open the door and grabbing for a large bottle of gin. ‘Tonic in the freezer?’ She asked, rushing past while placing the bottle on the table.
Sally blinked and wished to sit up, but Henry stopped her. ‘Just let her. It’s probably a very good idea. Brew me one of your love potions or something.’
Sally pouted and playfully poked his arm. ‘Don’t joke about that.’
‘So you DID use a love potion on me, hmm?’
‘What? No! Absolutely not. Which is perhaps why I’m still a bit confused to why you like me so much.’
Henry smiled and wiped a bit of hair out of her face. ‘But will our kids be able to do it too..you think?’
Sally looked into his eyes. If the curse continued on: definitely yes. They’d practise magic. And he would die. This beautiful blue eyed man with his rough-gentle hands and his impeccable lawn mowing skills. He would..find that untimely death.
‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Sally mumbled, looking up as Gillian returned with a tray full with glasses filled with icecubes and a bottle of tonic.
‘Let’s do this!’ She cheered.
--
Hours passed. Drinks were drunk. Smiles were shared. And as Sally felt rosiness tease her cheeks, she saw Henry study Gillian.
‘Say Gil - Gillian.’
Gillian looked up.
‘What would make this woman next to me fall in such deep love that she’d marry me?’
Gillian laughed a touch too loud. ‘Oh Henry. You’re a funny one. You do know love potions wear off right?’
‘I don’t.’
‘But then there’s of course the curse and..’
Sally stiffened but Gillian laughed on. Henry had no idea this was no longer some silly joking about.
Gillian continued. ‘Man even I have to suffer for it. You know I met this great guy in LA. The best. And..fuck Sal.’ She looked at Sally who still sat curled up with Henry on the loveseat.
‘I think I love him.’
‘You do.’ Sally said quietly. Little cogs and wheels started to turn in her head and Henry finally caught on.
‘Is that why you won’t marry me? A curse?’ His voice remained light due to the excessive alcohol that had lightened their spirits, but his eyes were still sharp. Sally sat up a bit and looked into his eyes.
‘Yea. Or I think it is.’
‘You can lift curses right?’ Henry asked.
‘So I was thinkin!’ Gillian interjected. ‘So I was reading a bit. Yea I know. Paint me surprised - The one and only Gillian Owens.. reading. Ha! But.. Sal I think there’s a way.’ Gillian pushed off her chair and nearly toppled over on her unsteady legs. But, after a tiny swerve she managed to get to Sally and Henry, where she squatted down, one palm turned up towards Sally’s face.
‘Remember this?’
A thin scar ran over her palm, which was similar to the scar that was there on Sally’s palm. With a raised eyebrow, Sally also turned up her palm. ‘Sure.’
Gillian’s lips slowly turned up into a wide grin.
‘What?’ Sally asked. She didn’t catch what Gillian meant.
‘Oh bloody hell.’ Henry grumbled. ‘Do you need my blood for this too or what?’
Gillian smiled at him. ‘Would you do that for love?’
‘What? NO! GIL! You can never use humans under influence!’ Sally shot up, but Gillian already sat back.
‘I know you silly Sally. But I’ve been reaching out to the aunties with my ideas and I think..just maybe..’ She looked at one of the windows where a near full moon shone. ‘Hallow’s eve this year, might be spectacularly practical.’
Sally looked back at her palm and then Henry.
Not even after all this ridicule and weirdness had he flinched an inch. Instead he smiled. Truly this time. Even his eyes.
‘So you want to be with a weird witch like me for the rest of your days huh?’
‘I’d be cursed if I wouldn’t.’ He smiled, and kissed her sweetly.
Summary: Katniss Everdeen had made it this far through life without any serious romantic entanglements, there had been surprisingly few temptations. She just needed to keep the course. Peeta Mellark could not fall in love with her - it should be an easy enough task: she’s known to be prickly, sullen, and hostile, her charm had been compared to that of a dead slug. If he thought she was bad luck that would only sour him further once he really got to know her… right?
Beginning | Part 3
Part 3 - Earth
There’s magic at play here: She’s sure of it. She wouldn’t have been so brazen otherwise. She must have misjudged Peeta’s magic potential and he’s placed some sort of enchantment on her.
Fortunately Katniss has a friend who can shed some light on the matter. Madge’s job at the realm’s Embassy gives her access to rosters of registered magical beings.
Unfortunately Madge had demanded a price: the details behind her inquiry.
