by H G Lynch
“Stop it! Leave the wolf alone!” I snapped, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. Being away from her influence and the influence of the birch cane had made me careless and mouthy, and I waited for the sting of a slap that never came. Olivia stayed on the other side of the clearing, but the wolf stopped whining, its sides throbbing as it panted.
With shaky legs, I got to my feet again, my fingers knotted in the wolf’s silky black fur for support. Emboldened by the fact that she hadn’t yet crushed me or Cursed me, I glared at the cruel woman. “I’m not coming back. I am never coming back. I won’t be your slave anymore. I’d die first!” I yelled, my heart beating in my throat, and my stomach jammed into my mouth.
I was shaking all over, but I’d meant what I’d said. I couldn’t go back to being a witch’s tool, sinking my soul further into the depths of the Underworld with every demon I summoned, feeling the burning pain of a demon sucking at my mind and power. I shuddered.
Olivia tilted her head to the side, her smile turning patronizing. I ground my teeth. I hated that smile so much. It was the smile she’d used every time I threatened to run away, warned her I’d get revenge one day for all the pain she and her sisters had put me through, and every time I’d told her I’d kill them all.
Every time, she smiled like that—like I was a child throwing a tantrum—she’d locked me in the Dark Room. Not just to punish me, but to weaken me, because we both knew I could do it. I could kill her if I got angry enough, if I ever let my temper truly get the better of me. If my power ever consumed me, I could do terrible things, and I might never find my way back to who I really was. While there was Light in me, the part that let me feel the gentle energy of the woods and use it to protect myself, there was another part that was Dark, the part that allowed me to summon demons. The Dark part of me relished the idea of killing the bitch in front of me, but the Light part shivered at the thought of killing anyone or anything and shrunk from the idea of letting my temper control me—making me as angry and cold as the women who’d raised me.
I will not be like them. I won’t ever be like them, I swore it, over and over in my head, just as I had done for years. I was determined to be better than them. I was determined to be good, even if it meant letting them live. However, I would not go back to being their link to the dark side. I would kill myself rather than be the conduit to allow demons into our world.
“Oh, Matilda, did you really think you could hide forever? Did you really think we wouldn’t find you? And now, do you think I’m just going to let you go? You won’t kill yourself, and we both know it. So why don’t you just come with me now, and you won’t even be punished. My sisters will be very glad to have you back, and we can forget this ever happened,” Olivia said sweetly.
I stared at her in disbelief and laughed out loud, bitter and cold. Olivia’s green eyes widened in surprise, her mouth thinning to a hard line.
I looked her in the eyes, and I said, “Go to hell, Olivia, and take your bitch sisters with you. I’m not your little slave girl anymore. I’m free.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed to slits, and I knew a second before she moved what she was going to do. A flare of light burst out from her fingers, electric and snapping, enough power to paralyze but not kill. She lifted her arms, ready to throw it at me, and I sucked in air, my chest constricting. I couldn’t move fast enough to get out of the way of the blast, and if it hit me, it would all be over.
She would drag me back to the manor and make sure I couldn’t kill myself. She’d cuff me to my bed, have one of her sisters watching me at all times, and she’d drug me to keep me docile. She’d done it before. I’d be helpless, trapped in a living body, but not really alive. The vision of it all passed before my eyes in the split second before Olivia swung her arms forward and launched the glowing magic straight at me.
I stood, already paralysed by fear, as the light hurtled toward my face. It shone blindingly bright, but I couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink. I tensed for the impact of all that power slamming into me…and then, I felt something else crash into me from the side, knocking me down at the very last moment. The flare of power shot right past me, so close that it fried the ends of my hair as I was flung aside by a wall of fur and flesh slamming into my hip. I hit the ground hard, scraping my right arm from wrist to elbow, my head smacking into the dirt hard enough that I saw stars for a moment. My teeth clamped on my tongue, and I tasted blood, making me gag. Pain burst behind my eyelids, and I lost my breath.
Above me, the wolf was growling ferociously. I heard Olivia hiss a curse at the beast, heard her footsteps crunching as she tried to run, but the wolf pounced. Regaining my sight through the haze of stars, I saw it leap off me and fly through the air toward her. A slick shadow against the sky, it disappeared into the trees. The sound of growling and snapping jaws faded, and I was left lying on the ground with agony hammering through my skull and a burning in my arm. But I was alive. I’d have some bruises, but I was more or less okay.
I sat up slowly, swallowing the wave of nausea and dizziness, and pulled myself to my feet carefully. Gasping and trembling, my hair falling in tangles into my eyes, I clutched my sore arm to my chest and turned away from the clearing. I was halfway back to my cabin when the tears came, blurring my vision and making it impossible to see where I was going. It didn’t matter, because I could see lights ahead of me. The commotion had woken people, and I could hear voices calling into the darkness, most of them shouting for Spencer. At the time, I was too tired and scared to find it strange that they would automatically think it was Spencer in trouble. I slipped through the trees around the edge of the lights, creeping through the branches as quietly as I could, and I made it to my cabin unseen.
Trancelike, I pulled the key out of my bra, and tried three times before finally getting it into the lock. Once inside, I closed the door and locked it, put the key back on the dining table and kicked off my shoes. I shuffled to the back of the cabin, found a first aid kit under the sink in the bathroom, and cleaned the dirt from the scrapes up my right arm. I sprayed the raw skin with antibacterial stuff, taped it up with gauze, and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom. I undressed mechanically and slid into the bed in my underwear, pulled the duvet over my head, curled my knees to my chest, and cried myself to sleep.
** Spencer **
Furious, Spencer snarled, teeth snapping, as he lunged after the witch. He dove through the trees and over rocks and roots, even as the roots reared up like living vines to trip him or snag his paws, and rocks lifted from the ground and pelted him. The jagged edges of the stones bruised his sides and clattered against his legs and thorny bramble bushes caught his fur and tore it painfully as he ran, but he kept going. Growling and gnashing, his paws thudded rapidly on the dirt.
The wolf was slathering, thirsting for the blood of the woman who’d dared to harm his female. It didn’t matter that Tilly wasn’t really his, not in the least, or that she wasn’t even a wolf. His wolf had decided she was his, and therefore, he had to protect her. The woman, the witch, was an outsider threatening what was his, and he wanted to rip her apart and tear her flesh from her bones. The thought might have made Spencer recoil in his human form, but then again, maybe not. In his wolf form, he enjoyed the hunt, the chase, the pounding of his paws on the ground and the working of his muscles pumping, the phantom taste of blood already on his tongue and teeth.
A root lashed at his side, opening a small slice in the skin under his fur, and his growl stuttered, but his stride didn’t. Only when rocks began flying into his eyes did he start to slow, but he was still bent on blood, seeing the agile figure of the fleeing witch weaving through the darkness ahead of him. He could smell her terror from there, on the wind, the acrid stench of fear like that of rotting meat and fungus. The scent filled his nostrils as they flared, and he barked, a savage sound of delight. He was catching up to his prey, but still she was somehow ahead of him, rocks and roots slowing him down. She shouldn’t have been that
fast.
With another bark, one more of frustration, he shook his head and launched himself over a small ditch. It was small enough that the witch had jumped it nimbly, but he pushed off with his powerful hind legs and threw himself through the air, soaring toward his target. And There was a flash of light, bright and blinding as a star in the darkness under the trees’ leafy boughs, and a weight slammed into his chest, wringing a breathless, startled yelp of pain from his jaws.
He hit the ground hard and awkwardly, blind from the flash, and rolled across the dirt before finally coming to a stop. He scrambled to get up, twisting to get his legs under him, but by the time he regained his footing, the witch was already gone. Vanished, no doubt some magical witchy trick. Spencer bristled from head to tail, growling his frustration and anger that his prey had escaped.
Instinct told him to go back to Tilly. He’d just left her in the clearing, and he wasn’t sure if she’d been hurt or not. He had to go back and check, he had to protect her. Watch over her if he could, in case the damn witch came back, but he couldn’t go to Tilly in that form.
Slicing his tail through the air, Spencer stretched out his paws, feeling his muscles burn and his fur rippling, waiting for the surge of adrenaline that would allow him to Change, but it never came. He shuddered, rolling his ears back and forth uneasily, but nothing happened. His body stayed wolf. The witch had done something to him. She’d spelled him, and he couldn’t Change back.
For how long? Forever?
Normally, the thought would have excited him, at least for a while, because he loved being a wolf. But he had to see Tilly, and while she was recklessly stupid about getting close to the big black wolf when she was scared of other things, he wasn’t sure she’d be so willing to throw her arms around his neck when he went stalking around her cabin on lookout duty.
The brief, very human image of Tilly throwing her arms around his neck if he walked up to her cabin door in human form made him shudder again, but in a different way. The image was gone as quickly as it came, imagination like that being strange to the wolf brain. But he still knew he had to Change back, and he couldn’t. He barked in anger at what the witch had done to him, at his own failure to kill her. There was nothing he could do, except make sure Tilly was safely in her cabin. He could do that without being seen, at least.
Slinking through the trees, Spencer snapped at every creature that dared to stray across his path, from an innocent little squirrel, to a brown hedgehog that curled up into a tight, prickly ball. When he arrived at Tilly’s cabin, he carefully stuck low to the ground, keeping in the shadows, and got right up to the cabin wall under one of the windows. He didn’t know which room was her bedroom, so he had to try three times before he found the right window. He knew instantly that it was the right one, because he could hear crying coming from inside. His wolf wanted to growl, fearing she might be hurt or scared, but he kept it silent.
Instinct warred with the little human logic he retained in that form while he paced outside the window. The human part of him wanted to go in and comfort her, maybe hold her, but his wolf wanted to stay there and patrol her cabin. Since he couldn’t exactly knock on the door with his paws, he settled for staying under the window, laying his head on his paws. The moon was still hanging high in the sky, but it didn’t seem inviting, it was frowning down on him sympathetically. Annoyed, he turned away from it and listened to Tilly’s sobbing until it faded, and he knew she was asleep just beyond the glass.
** Tilly **
The next morning, I felt steadier. So Olivia knew where I was. The fact that she’d come alone made me hopeful that she hadn’t told the others yet. While I was in the shower, being hopeful, I imagined my wolf had caught up to Olivia before she could get back to her sisters. A not so little part of me hoped the wolf had torn her apart. I had faced the woman who had been in charge of my imprisonment and torture, and I had come away alive, with my soul intact. I hadn’t let my temper, my Darkness, win. I hadn’t killed her. I could only hope the wolf had done it for me.
Still, being alive was a small victory. Maybe Olivia had come alone because she hadn’t bet on me being so difficult. Maybe she’d thought she could just zap me and bring me back to her sisters. If the others knew where I was, they’d be coming soon, and even my wolf couldn’t protect me then. I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. If the others knew where I was, even leaving right that minute wouldn’t protect those around me. I’d possibly just sentenced them all to death, but until the witches came, I had to act normal.
I made an omelet for breakfast, poured myself a glass of orange juice, and was trying to convince my nervous stomach it needed food, when Dominic knocked on the door of my cabin. I glanced at the clock, surprised he was already up. It was only a little after eight in the morning.
I called to the door, “Come in.”
The door groaned open and Dominic’s curly head poked around it, grinning. His grin dropped though when his eyes fell on the bandage covering my right arm from wrist to elbow. His eyes widened in concern, and he let the door close behind him as he rushed over to the dining table.
“Tilly, what happened? Are you okay?” He came around the table and reached for my arm.
I shook him off. “I’m fine. I just fell in the shower, cut my arm on a razor.” I shrugged, mildly surprised at how easy and natural the lie sounded on my lips. I barely tasted the omelet as I scooped the last bit into my mouth and got up from the table, shooing Dominic out of the way. I walked over to the kitchen, dumped my plate and fork into the sink, and glanced at him over my shoulder. “You want anything? I can cook up another omelet in a heartbeat, if you want.”
Dominic shook his head, his eyes still on my arm. He’d gone a little pale, and his mouth was pressed into a line. His throat moved as he swallowed, his hand absently reaching up to tug on a curl.
“No, it’s okay. I already ate. You fell in the shower? Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe I should take a look, make sure—”
“No,” I snapped, a little too sharply.
Dominic’s mouth tightened further, his eyes flicking up to my face. I shook my head, sighing.
More softly, I said, “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. It wasn’t deep. I just don’t want to get any dirt in the cut or anything.” He still looked pensive, unconvinced, so I strolled over to him and put a hand on his arm. I smiled at him. “But thank you for asking anyway. I’m sure your first aid skills are as good as your cooking. If I break a leg or something, you’ll be the first to know.” I felt bad, flirting with him to distract him.
He still didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go. He smiled back at me, and tipped his chin up. “Well, I am an exceptional cook,” he said.
I laughed, glad we were changing the subject, and rolled my eyes. “You’re also humble,” I muttered sarcastically, turning the taps so hot water began to fill the plastic basin in the sink.
Dominic nodded haughtily. “Just another of my awesome traits,” he said. “Right alongside being a total gentleman, whose willing to do the dishes for you.” He came around to the sink, grabbed a dishtowel, and tossed it to me, rolling up the long sleeves of his dark blue t-shirt.
I shook my head. “I can do it. It’s okay.”
He hip bumped me away from the sink, grinning, and nodded pointedly toward my bandaged arm as he picked up the bottle of green washing up liquid and squirted it into the basin, covering my plate and glasses in bubbly green slime. “You’ll soak your bandage. I’ll wash, and you can dry.” He turned off the taps, snagged a cloth, and plunged his hands into the soapy hot water.
I sighed and leaned against the countertop, eyeing him as he scrubbed the dishes. His chestnut curls were falling carelessly over his brow, brushing the tops of his high cheekbones, and I noticed how fair his skin was in the early morning light. The muscles of his forearms swelled as he splashed his hands about in the bubbly water, totally relaxed and casual in ragged jeans and an oversized t-shirt. His eyes flashed toward me and back to the f
rothy plate he was swiping at with the cloth. His dimple flickered as he tried not to smile.
A faint sweep of pink touched his cheekbones and he hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. “You’re staring at me again,” he observed, handing over a dripping plate without looking at me.
I took it carefully, began rubbing the dishtowel over it, and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I was staring per se…” I knew I’d been staring. I really had to learn not to do that. But I just occasionally got glimpses of him at certain angles, or in certain lights, that reminded me he was actually really cute. Not devastatingly attractive like Spencer was, but certainly cute enough.
He smiled again, his shoulders loosening. “You were totally staring. Is there something you want to tell me, Tilly?” he asked playfully, his smile turning mischievous.
I felt a flutter deep in my stomach and nearly dropped the plate I was drying. Whoa. I blinked, surprised by the feeling in my gut, and doubly surprised that Dominic had caused it. He glanced at me sideways as I fumbled with the plate, his eyebrows rising a millimeter or two, and I felt my cheeks heat up. I bit my lip, putting the thoroughly dried plate down on the countertop with undue care just as Dominic handed me a glass. His fingers brushed mine as I took it, and the fluttery feeling came back. The slippery glass slid from my suddenly trembling fingers, and I gasped. With amazing reflexes, Dominic’s hand shot out and caught it. He didn’t even look. His eyes were still on my face, which was flaming.