Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  “Yes,” Corrine said without a moment’s hesitation. “I know you like being close to the land, combing through the dirt with your fingers.” She finally tore her gaze away from the fire to meet Maribel’s eyes. “But, Maribel, don’t you ever lie awake at night wondering how long it will be until our crops fail, or the hunting turns sour? How long it will be until we have another winter like that first one?”

  “No, I don’t.” Maribel tapped the pestle against the mortar to loosen the clinging bits of pepper then placed it on the table beside her. Wiping her hands off on her apron, she went over and knelt by Corrine, taking her hands in hers. “We aren’t the same people we were back then, Corrine. We came here knowing nothing about how to fend for ourselves, spoiled by always having the money to pay someone else to take care of us. We know better now.” She brushed a curl of sleek brown hair behind Corrine’s ear. “I promise, I will never let you starve.”

  Corrine opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but suddenly horse hooves clattering on the stones outside the house drew both girls’ attention. Corrine scrambled free of the blankets like a rabbit desperately escaping a net, arms and legs akimbo as she fought free. In seconds she was out of her chair and through the door. A muscle ticked in Maribel’s jaw.

  She can find the energy to half-fly out to greet a present-bearing father, but she can’t rouse herself to even try to help with the farming.

  Shaking off the bitterness that pressed her lips into a thin line, Maribel gave herself a moment to regain her composure. She brushed her hair back from her face and settled her apron into smooth lines. Composed once again, she rose to leave the house.

  She hadn’t even made it to the door when her father stumbled inside. His clothes were covered in dirt and clumps of drying mud, his hair was in wild disarray around his face, and his skin was red from the frosty air. Maribel went still as she noticed her father’s eyes were swollen…as if he’d been crying. Corrine trailed behind him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Maribel swallowed her questions as she clasped her father’s arm and helped him to the table. He fell into the chair more than sat and she set about getting him settled in, all the while fighting down a rising sense of dread. She retrieved one of the blankets Corrine had been using and wrapped it around her father, rubbing his shoulders and arms until the friction warmed the blanket. Corrine collapsed into another seat at the table, staring forlornly at the worn wood, appearing for all the world as though the light had been sucked from her life. Maribel poured a cup of tea from the pot keeping warm by the fire and set it down in front of her father.

  “What happened?” she asked quietly, taking a seat.

  Her father’s face folded like an ancient parchment, tears glistening in his eyes. “Everything’s gone. Claimed as payment for old debts.” He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. “There is nothing left.”

  Maribel firmly tamped down on the part of her that rejoiced at the news, the part that wanted more than anything to stay on this farm, to live this new life. Instead, she concentrated on her father, letting her sympathy for his loss show on her face. “Father, it’s all right. We’ll be fine here. We have each other, that’s all that matters.”

  A sob escaped her father’s throat and Maribel stared as tears spilled over and slid down his face. She’d expected him to be disappointed, even sad, but this… For the first time, Maribel noticed the deep purple bruising on her father’s neck. Her lips parted in shock and her stomach dropped.

  “Father, what’s wrong?” she asked carefully.

  “I was only trying to bring you your rose,” her father sobbed. “And now I’ve doomed us all over again.”

  “What?” Corrine’s face drained of all color and she swayed in her seat. “You… You’ve lost the farm?”

  Their father wrapped his hands around his teacup as if it were the only thing holding him to this world. “No. No, you will keep the farm, both of you. But you will have to keep it…without me.”

  “What?” Maribel gasped.

  “It’s the only way.” Their father didn’t lift his gaze from his teacup. “I was on my way back from town. I heard wolves in the forest and I tried to take a new path, one that led farther away from the beasts. It shouldn’t have taken me out of the way, but my mind…” He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t paying attention. I got lost and before I knew it, I had arrived at the abandoned manor near the lake at the bottom of the mountain.”

  Corrine inhaled sharply, but Maribel kept her eyes on their father. “There are stories about that manor. I’ve heard rumors that the lord that ruled that house still lives there, but that he was cursed by a witch. They say he’s—”

  “A beast!” her father choked.

  He met Maribel’s gaze and her chest tightened at the wild light in his eyes.

  “At first I was afraid, but there seemed to be no one there. I… I went inside—to get out of the wind. There was a meal laid out, fresh, with tea still hot. I called out, but no one answered, so I sat down to eat.” His head drooped. “I thought perhaps there was someone there looking out for me.” He raised a trembling hand to his face, dragging it over his jaw. “I was almost right.”

  He spread his fingers out on the table, pressing his palms to the worn surface as if gathering himself to finish the story. “I left the manor through the garden. And on my way, I…” He stopped, barked out a laugh. “I can hardly even say it. It’s not possible.”

  “What?” Maribel prodded, her heart in her throat. A garden. Surely the bruises… No. Who would attack a man over a flower?

  “There was a talking flower.”

  Maribel’s eyebrows met her hairline. Beside her, Corrine went deathly still.

  “A… Father, are you sure?”

  Her father nodded, not meeting the eyes of either of his daughters. “I asked it about your rose, Maribel.”

  The anxiety that had laid like a weight in Maribel’s stomach writhed, growing thicker and heavier. She held her breath, not wanting to hear the rest of the story, but needing to know. “The rose. What happened?”

  “He showed up.” A shiver ran through his frame, hard enough he tilted in his chair. “A more frightening sight I’ve never seen. Half man-half dragon, he had the upper body of a mortal man, but his skin, his eyes… They were a color no human ever possessed. He had no legs, only a tail… There’s dragon blood there, I’d bet my life on it.”

  His voice broke and he swallowed twice. “He was furious with me for seeking that rose. I thought he would kill me there, and I’m ashamed to say I babbled like a fool. I tried to explain why I needed the rose, tried to beg his forgiveness. But I only succeeded in prompting a worse fate. He told me I had to either come back to him and be his prisoner forever, or give him one of my daughters.” He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “As if any man would make such a sacrifice.”

  Maribel’s heart sank deeper in her chest, her guts wrenching tighter. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. All she could do was gape at her father, her heart twisted by the way his hands shook so badly that most of the tea in his mug sloshed onto the rough wood of their table. My fault.

  “He was truly frightening to behold, and ferocious in his anger, but up until I took the rose, he was kind enough to feed me. I don’t believe he will harm me as his prisoner. I will be all right.” He choked on a sob. “I only wish I could stay here and care for you. I don’t want to leave you to fend for yourselves, not when I’ve already been responsible for you losing so much.”

  “This is all because of me.” Maribel’s voice sounded hollow even to her own ears.

  “Father, there must be another way. You can’t mean to leave us. Perhaps we could compensate this lord in some way.” Corrine’s voice was higher than usual, her eyes showing too much white. She swallowed hard, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. Then suddenly she stiffened, visibly shaking off her panic. She whirled to face Maribel. “What rose did you ask for?”

  “A�
� A Rose of the Mist. It was in one of Mother Briar’s books.” She groped for Corrine’s hand, needing to see understanding in her sister’s eyes. “I thought it would help you. The Rose of the Mist has magical abilities… It would have made you stronger.”

  “You asked Father to retrieve a magical plant?” Corrine held her hand back from Maribel’s questing fingers, disbelief in her brown eyes.

  “The book didn’t say anything about it being guarded! I had no reason to think any harm would come from asking. I thought he might find it at an herbalist’s or the apothecary’s.” The words sounded ridiculous now that she said them out loud. A rose that rare with that much power… She’d been a fool.

  “It is not your fault, Maribel.” Her father snatched Maribel’s hand from the table, clutching it fervently to his chest. The dirt from his own hand and clothes was irrelevant in light of the soil permanently embedded under Maribel’s fingernails. “I am the one who has failed you both. If I had been more careful with my business… I lost all those ships to pirates, and now the last one has been claimed to repay debts. There is nothing left.”

  Exhaustion weighed his head down and his shoulders slumped. “And then to enter a strange manor—no matter how abandoned it appeared to be. I should have been suspicious, should have known something was not right.” He cleared his throat, a fresh well of tears glistening in his eyes. “I will stay long enough to teach you both the work you will need to do in my absence.”

  “No.” Maribel raised her other hand and brought it down to cup her father’s between the two of hers. “No, I will go.”

  “Maribel!” Corrine grabbed Maribel’s shoulder, spinning her to face her. “Maribel, you can’t go!”

  “It’s all right.” Maribel patted her hand. “Father said the lord promised I wouldn’t be harmed. Perhaps all he wants is a servant.” She glanced back at her father. “You said there were no servants, but that the manor was very large. Perhaps he intends to have me clean and cook for him.”

  “You have no idea what he wants!” Corrine knitted her eyebrows together, her grip tightening on Maribel’s shoulder. “He could mean you harm, no matter what he says. And even if he didn’t mean to hurt you, would you really go and be servant to a monster?”

  “Hard work doesn’t bother me.”

  Corrine flinched and Maribel winced. “Corrine, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant,” Corrine said stiffly. “You do all the work around here anyway, so being the servant of a monster wouldn’t be any different, is that it?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Maribel’s voice hitched, stirred by a traitorous thought stabbing into her consciousness. If she were to go away, then she would still work hard, yes, but perhaps she could find some joy in the work. Perhaps she could find some peace, could enjoy her toils if she didn’t have Corrine looking over her shoulder, making her feel guilty for any stolen moment of happiness when her sister was so miserable…

  I am a wretched, horrible human being. Maribel blinked away tears, furious with herself for thinking of her own sister as a burden. It’s not her fault she is the way she is.

  “If you truly don’t want to leave, then don’t.” Corrine’s voice was a plea. “Maribel, I need you here. You know how much I need you.”

  I need me too. Through the guilt, an insidious hope took firm root, taunting her with images of gardening at the grand manor, feeling the soil in her hands and the sun on her back. Enjoying working with nature without pretending to miss the life they’d had. Maribel stood and retook her place in front of the cooking fire, not trusting her face not to betray her thoughts.

  “Corrine, I can’t let our father take responsibility for my foolishness.” She picked up the abandoned mortar and tilted it until powdered peppercorns drifted down into the soup. “It is only right that I should go.”

  “Maribel, that is not the truth of the matter,” her father broke in. “It is not your foolishness, it is mine. I lost our fortune, I entered a strange mansion. I have brought this on us. It is not for you to fix this. I’m an old man, Maribel, I’ve lived a good life. Let me serve out the rest of my days with this lord, I will gladly be his prisoner if it means you two can stay here together.”

  “We can’t work this farm by ourselves!” Corrine protested, her voice rising until it took on an edge of hysteria. She shot to her feet and stomped over to Maribel. Ignoring her sister’s protest, she yanked the spoon from her hand, flinging hot soup in an arc through the room as she flung it to the table. “Come on. We’ll go see Mother Briar. Perhaps she knows something about this beast, something that will help us escape him.”

  “Yes!” Their father sat up in his chair, red-rimmed eyes brightening with sudden hope. He pointed at Corrine. “Yes, go and see Mother Briar. Ask her if she can help us avoid this horrible choice.” He met Maribel’s eyes. “But if she can’t, then, Maribel, I will go.”

  “No.” Maribel pulled against Corrine, digging her heels into the floor as her sister tried to drag her out of the house. Her heart pounded wildly, a dizzying whirlwind of emotions rushing around inside her mind. She settled a firm gaze on her father, a man who up until now had always been vaguely disapproving of Mother Briar and the magic she wanted to teach his daughters. “Father, it’s all right, just let me go.”

  Maribel’s words fell on deaf ears as Corrine dragged her across the floor with more strength than she’d shown since they’d arrived at their new home.

  “Come on, Maribel. If there’s anyone who can help us, it’s Mother Briar. We’re not going to let you go without a fight!”

  Every word out of their mouths meant to comfort her and reassure her of how much they wanted to keep her with them only fed the flame burning steadily inside Maribel. The flame of hope, of anticipation. She was more certain with every passing second that she wanted to go, that perhaps there was more freedom to be had as a servant of this lord than there was here with her own family.

  As Corrine kept a firm grip on her hand, pulling her forcibly through the door and into the woods, Maribel imagined that every branch that slapped at her shoulders, every bristle that caught her skirt, and every root that stuck up from the ground to catch her feet were all trying to warn her not to seek Mother Briar’s help. In her mind, she was already packed and on her way to the beast’s manor.

  It was strange to proceed all the way up the stone pathway to Mother Briar’s door. Usually the old woman met them outside, and Maribel was usually left to work outdoors amongst the plants while Corrine and Mother Briar retired inside to practice other magical skills. This time, though, Corrine tugged Maribel right along behind her until she arrived at the door. She banged on the thick wood with gusto that Maribel bitterly reflected would have been better used pulling weeds. Indeed, Maribel couldn’t help but notice that Corrine hadn’t staggered at all on the way to Mother Briar’s…

  The door swung open after only a few moments and Mother Briar peered out at them, grey eyebrows arched.

  “Hello, girls. What a surprise, I didn’t expect you for another—”

  “We have an emergency.” Corrine pulled Maribel to stand closer to her, infusing her voice with an intriguing mixture of desperation and authority.

  “Indeed?”

  “Our father has run afoul of the monster who lives in the abandoned manor. The beast is demanding that Maribel come to him to take our father’s place as his prisoner. We need your help.”

  “Father said himself that the lord showed him kindness,” Maribel insisted meekly. “I’m certain he will not harm me.”

  Mother Briar’s eyes sharpened and she leaned closer to Maribel with an intensity that had her taking a step back. A strange scent drifted from the old woman’s clothes, something metallic and musty. Blood and feathers?

  “The lord of the abandoned manor… What did he look like?”

  “Father said he looked like a dragon.” Maribel bit her lip. “He said that he was half man, half serpent.”

  For a brief second, Mar
ibel could have sworn a message passed between Mother Briar and Corrine, a conversation without words. Mother Briar shuffled back and opened the door wider. “Come inside.”

  Though she’d been inside once or twice in the past, stepping inside the witch’s house was like stepping into a whole new world. Plants and herbs hung from strings all over the walls, filling the space with the dust of yellowed leaves and the cloying scent of dying blooms. The skeletons of small creatures were scattered about flat surfaces, some of them with bits of flesh still clinging feebly to the blood-stained bone. Sharp blades glinted from the shadows, polished but somehow still managing to hint at their gory tasks, as though the blood hung on the steel like a shadow. A thick black cauldron hung in the fireplace, a liquid bubbling inside that didn’t smell like any soup Maribel had ever come in contact with.

  After they were all seated at the small table in the witch’s kitchen, Mother Briar focused her full attention on Maribel. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

  Maribel resigned herself to the situation and leaned heavily on the table. “Father received a message saying one of his ships had come in, and he asked Corrine and me what we wanted. I tried to tell him I didn’t want anything, but he insisted. Finally, I remembered a rose I’d seen in one of your books. A Rose of the Mist. I told him I wanted the rose and showed him the picture. I thought he could get it at a florist or an apothecary, or maybe even from the woods—the book said the rose had been found in these forests near here before.” She closed her eyes, her stomach rolling as she forced herself to think of all that her father had been through—because of her.

  “This lord has a Rose of the Mist?” Mother Briar breathed.

  A gleam came into her eyes, a shine that emphasized the darkness of her irises rather than lightened them. Maribel had to fight not to rub her arms to rid herself of the sudden crawling sensation over her flesh.

  “A Rose of the Mist is very valuable,” Mother Briar mused, half to herself. A flash of disapproval lit her eyes. “And if you’d read the book in its entirety, you would know that it does not occur naturally. The Rose of the Mist is created from an ordinary rose that has been subjected to intense magical forces—wild, uncontrolled magic. They cannot be created on purpose, only by accident. That is what makes them so rare.”