Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

Five proud oaks guarded the home I grew up in. I swept a palm across the gnarled bark of the first one as I traipsed around it, and made it as far as the third before my steps ended.

  Flowers and herbs had bordered the cottage since before I was born—though Mother’s choice of plants had altered somewhat once I had been bitten. My first venture home upon waking from my transformation had resulted in an agonising, uncontrolled change, thanks to the wolfs bane Mother had used to protect her home.

  That day, when I fled the pack in a fit of fear and turmoil, had never left my mind. The hurt, the betrayal, the ... shock—all the same emotions racing through me then, as I sank to the ground beneath the wooded canopy of heavily-leafed branches.

  I knew not how long I sat there, as hours could seem like minutes, or minutes like hours, when the soul had only distress to deal with, but hardly any time at all appeared to pass before the cottage door swung open.

  Mother stood in the opening, a proud yet delicate woman amidst the grey stone, and even with twenty yards separating us, her stare held the weight of a blacksmith’s anvil. Through the drizzle, which had begun at some point during my time beneath the oak, I peered back. That she stepped from the doorway and cut a path toward me brought no surprise, and I watched her elegant walk as the lemon hem of her skirt brushed over the glistening grass.

  She stopped a few feet away, her lips thinning as her gaze skimmed across my face. “What did he do?”

  Uncaring of etiquette, I ran a finger beneath my leaking nostrils, hiccupping on a sniffle. “Why would you make such a presumption?”

  “For three years, you have lived with that man, and you have only ever visited me with a smile on your face and a glow to your cheeks. I know Sean has been responsible for keeping them there, so it stands to reason he must be the one to have stolen them away.” She dipped her head, ensuring I met the midnight blue eyes she had passed onto me. “So, I shall ask you once more. What did he do?”

  “He ...” What? Asked me to marry him? There had been no request in his imparted words—though I could formulate no other way to translate them. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “He said he would marry me.”

  Her eyes narrowed, the action creating tiny creases at the outside of each, and for a long moment, her stare did not waver. “Will you come inside? Your sister is already heating water for tea. Then you can tell me why Sean doing what he should have a long time ago would trouble you so.”

  When she inclined her chin, I pushed up to my feet and settled into her outstretched arm, allowing her to guide me across the sward. The moment I crossed the threshold, every scent I had grown up with infiltrated my olfactory system, until my breathing regulated and my mind convinced me that even the hardest of dilemmas could be solved.

  A wisp of steam peeked from the spout of the iron kettle over the fire, and from that of the teapot, and I knew the contents to be responsible for the scent of camomile, rose, and motherwort that beckoned any who entered.

  Jessica emerged from the scullery, a trio of tankards in her hand, her step faltering as her gaze landed on me. A handful of seconds passed before she placed the mugs down on the side table with careful precision, as though she daren’t take her focus from them. “Excuse me for a little while, Mother.” When she straightened, a harsh gleam affected her hazel eyes. “I have a short errand to run.”

  “What errand?” Mother’s gaze followed Jessica across the room. “Where are you going?”

  The front door swung inward, and Jessica vanished behind it.

  “Dinner will be ready soon. Jessica?”

  The slam of wood against wood seemed to shake the entire cottage.

  “That girl needs a good man to tether her,” Mother muttered under her breath.

  ***

  With each sip of my tea, tension drained from my muscles, and the headache paining my temples eased up a little more. “What do I do?”

  Mother regarded me from her rocker. One foot nudged at the floor, and the scrape of the wooden bows over floorboards lent a familiar tune to the quiet room. “Only you can make that decision, Jem.”

  “What if I cannot?” Quiet desperation left my tone strained.

  “If you were old enough to make the decisions you already have ...” The press down of her toes halted her motion, and her eyes warmed. “You are old enough to make this one, too.”

  “That does not mean I shan’t value your opinion.”

  She rocked back and forth, once, twice, never once removing her focus from me. “You did not wish for my opinion when I first requested you not see Sean.”

  I almost rolled my eyes, but refrained. “Mother, that was over three years ago.”

  “Yes.” The runners rocked over the floorboards again. “And ... although it took time, I came to realise you knew your own mind well. I always thought protecting you the best course of action.” Back and forth, the slow rhythm of the chair matched the gentle encouragement of her toes. “Now I realise your happiness is far more important.”

  “I hardly need protecting from Sean.” I sipped on my tea, inhaling its floral aroma. “He would go to the ends of the earth to guarantee my safety.”

  Mother nodded. “As I said, sometimes your own decision is the right one.” She smiled. “It certainly appears to be in matters of the heart.”

  To know she approved—if only eventually—of the choices I had made should have offered a sense of comfort, yet a frown claimed my forehead as I placed my tea on the side table. I pushed up from what had once been my father’s chair and paced to the far side of the small living space, where I studied a framed piece of Mother’s needlepoint as though hoping to discover answers within.

  “So, why do I not know what to do now?”

  “You do.”

  I turned back to her intense gaze.

  “You just need to listen a little harder to the right part of your body.” She reached down beside her seat, her hand returning with a tapestry she had been building for months. “Now, why not go and rest awhile in your own bed? You know you will feel better afterward, and then your muddled head might straighten itself.”

  Memories of those same words spoken countless times over the years smoothed my expression. “Yes, Mother.” I drew my hems from the floor and headed toward the rear of the property.

  “And when Sean arrives ...”

  My step faltered.

  “... I will wake you.”

  I glanced back at her.

  “Come now, Jem.” She smiled. “You know he will not stay away for long.”

  I nodded, despite the tension drawing my brow tight again, and slipped past the heavy brocade curtain that had sheltered my room for the past twenty-three years.

  Inside, everything stood exactly as it had before Sean had claimed me as his. The dark-wood dresser still showed my reflection. Lavender still hung in bunches from the curtain restraints. Lace drapes decorated the four-poster frame of my bed, and the peach patchwork quilt Mother had crafted still adorned the mattress.

  I padded across to my pillows and drew them back, breathing out a quiet chuckle at the bundle of clary sage and lavender hidden beneath. Every ounce of the room smelled of home and my childhood—only stronger, purer, like a tonic for the soul. Even the mattress seemed to mould to my body as I sank onto it, as though welcoming me back with open arms.

  Laying on my back, I traced the twisted pattern of the overhead batons, carved by my father as soon as I grew large enough for a bed of my own. Carpentry had been his joy, as well as his livelihood—one that had stolen his life.

  Of course, Elizabeth Wells had taken great pleasure in taunting me during the weeks that followed, with her claims that Mother herself had been the one to put an end to Father’s sorry existence. I could still recall how her face had been as twisted as her words, her eyes practically glowing with delight, as her lips spun yarns of chants and potions she, as well as I, had been too young to understand. Evidently, her spiteful, gossiping ways had been bred into her from an early age, and I
had been woven into most of them for far too long.

  Ironic—or not—that she could be the cause of my downfall with Sean.

  ***

  The mattress dipped at my rear, jostling me from slumber, though I did not open my eyes. The musk overwhelming my senses told me Sean held responsibility for the disturbance.

  “She is so beautiful,” he said.

  My lids remained closed, my body curled away from him, as I wondered to whom he spoke.

  “She does not see herself as such.” Mother. “But then she has rarely known her own worth.”

  A strand of my hair wisped across my face, as though he toyed with it. “Which only makes her more worthy.”

  “True,” Mother said. A few seconds of quiet followed before she broke it. “How about you, Sean? Do you consider yourself worthy of her?”

  “No.” Deepness coated his unhesitant reply.

  “Yet, you still took her from me.” Accusatory words her tone did not reflect.

  “Yes.” Another quick response.

  “Do you regret your decision that day?”

  “Never,” Sean said, his voice deeper than ever.

  “Even though you visited me shortly afterward and apologised?”

  “For the hurt I caused you.” The mattress squeaked as he shifted. “For my total selfishness and lack of consideration to others ... and it was shame as much as remorse.”

  “Yet, you still have no regrets?” Surprise lifted Mother’s pitch by a fraction.

  “How could I?” When his finger stroked along my jawline, I yearned to accept the caress, yet remained inert. “I have her.”

  “You told me you made her like you because it was the only way to protect her. Do you recall that, Sean?”

  His warmth vanished from my face. “Yes, Isabelle. Of course.”

  “Rather ironic, is it not, that her being like you is now the very thing placing her in danger?”

  No bitterness tainted Mother’s tone, but Sean still vacated the bed as though she had affected him somehow.

  I tracked his footsteps to my window.

  Quiet followed. Three heartbeats played out their tune—two of those in perfect unison.

  “Or maybe it is no more than repayment for my sins,” Sean murmured.

  “I would say she is the only one paying ...” Mother said, “but one look into your eyes shows me how deeply your soul is tortured.” A pause ensued. “Just how far, I wonder, would you be willing to go to protect her?”

  “As far as is needed.” His third unhindered reply, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

  “But what if she needs protecting for more than just this lifetime, Sean? This one shall only last so long for the two of you—”

  “If there were a way, I would be with her for eternity. Jem with another, or out of my reach?” He gave a rumbling growl. “Being condemned to hell would be a lesser punishment to bear. So, trust me. If there were a way, I would take it.”

  “Good.” That singular word of approval had punctuated Mother’s discussions for many years, so she surprised me when she continued, “Because I could accept nothing less of the one who dares to darken my door with a proposal for my daughter.”

  Trust Mother to end their amicable conversation on a warning.

  Footsteps tapped a tune along the outside hallway, and a heavy silence settled. If not for the strong, thudded beat of his heart, I could have been convinced I lay alone, yet his bouquet soaked my senses and offered its usual antidote to an otherwise tumultuous mind.

  “Jem?”

  I opened my eyes but did not turn.

  His footsteps crossed back to the bed. The mattress groaned as it sank behind me. “Jem?” His whisper breezed across my cheek, his fingers sweeping the last lingering strands from my face. “I know you are awake.”

  From my cheek, his touch trailed a path across my jaw, the tremor it incited ensuring I could pretend no longer. A tilt of my face brought his eyes into view, along with the concern consuming them.

  For seconds, we stared at one another.

  “You must talk to me, Jem, if I am to understand why I feel the urge to apologise.”

  “You feel the urge to apologise because an apology is due.”

  He gave a small nod. “Then, I am sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I do not know.” He groaned, rubbing at his face. “I am so confused. You ...” He dropped his hands, holding them out to me as though offering his soul on a platter. “You leave me confused.”

  “Me?” I frowned, shaking my head as I pushed up to sit. “Do not turn this into an issue with me.”

  “How can this not be about you? I say words I believe you will be happy to hear, yet I have never seen you so upset.”

  “Why would I be happy with your words?”

  “Because ...” His mouth opened and closed. “Because ... I thought it was what you wanted.” He stared hard at me, as though he believed doing so would help him see through to my inner most thoughts. “Do you not want to marry me, Jem? Would that not make you happy?”

  I bit down on the hoard of ‘yes, buts’ on the tip of my tongue, instead nodding.

  “Then ...” His gaze flittered across my face. “I do not understand. I proposed and ... and you walked out.”

  “Proposed?” My harsh laugh erupted on a pargh sound. “Ordered, you mean.”

  He frowned so deeply his brows shadowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “There is nothing left for it,” I mimicked in my best tenor. “I shall have to wed this wench and make a decent woman of her.”

  He straightened, the action creating a distance between us. “That was not what I said, and well you know it.”

  “You are marrying me only because you feel you have little other option.” I prodded a finger against his chest.

  He shook his head in an abrupt jerk. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “You did not even make an effort to disguise your reasoning. Do not think to lie to me now.”

  “You think it is not my wish?”

  “Is it?”

  He nodded. “Yes!”

  “Then, prove as such!”

  He thrust to his feet. “Fine.” Three long strides took him to the doorway, where he turned back to me and gave a definitive nod. “Fine.”

  The curtain flapped in a mocking fashion, as I stared after Sean’s departure through it, and his footsteps echoed along the hallway to the front room.

  A creak told me Mother had vacated her rocker, confirmed by her almost hesitant, “Sean?”

  “Not now, Isabelle.” The front door opened. “Just ... ensure she stays in her room until I get back.”

  I scrambled from my bed as the door banged closed, scurrying from my room to where Mother stood staring after his exit.

  Jessica emerged from the scullery. “Where has he gone?”

  Both of them turned to me as though I would have the answer.

  I shrugged, shaking my head. “I do not know.”

  He had covered the lawn by the time I reached the window, his steps breaking into a jog when he passed the first oak.

  An arm settled around my back, and Mother appeared on my left as my sister brushed against my right, and we all three stood as I watched his run toward the forest.

  “What on earth did you say to him?” Jessica asked.

  Oh, nothing much. Just accused him of not really wanting to marry me. I shrugged. “We had a disagreement.”

  The instant he entered the trees, Sean merged with his surroundings as though he and the forest became a single entity, and I could not help but wonder how much damage I had caused, and if I had lost my chance.

  If I had lost him.

  I stepped back from the window, slipping from Mother’s embrace and away from Jessica with her nose almost pressed against the glass. “I shall be in my room.” Before either could question, I spun back for the space that had alwa
ys offered solitude when needed.

  The curtain mussed my hair as I forced past it, and I flicked it aside in irritation, plodded across to my bed, and flopped down on my back.

  I knew when Mother poked her face in by the swish of moving fabric.

  “I would prefer to be alone,” I mumbled, my voice barely level.

  “Very well.” For a few beats, she remained silent before saying, “But do not think I shall allow you to dwell for too long.”

  A childish urge to slam my feet against the floorboards overwhelmed me as I listened to her retreating steps.

  Instead, I fisted my hands and pounded the mattress beside my hips. “Urgh!”

  5

  Above me, white lace patterned my view of the ceiling. I stared through the floral design at the broad beam support, tilting my head back as my gaze travelled its length, weaving in and out of the carved indents as my mind argued with itself.

  Why could Sean not see his error?

  Because he is ignorant to all ways but his own.

  Did he really not understand that had he asked rather than announced, as though I had little say in the matter, I would have rejoiced in such an idea as marriage to him?

  Most probably not.

  Was my yearning for a proper proposal truly beyond his spectrum of thought?

  Quite possibly.

  Why did he have to be so ... so ... Sean?

  My chest rose beneath my inhalation, lowered as I released it all on a heavy sigh.

  Because that is exactly who he is.

  I started at the reopening of the front door, stiffening when I recognised the broad steps that entered.

  “Sean?” Jessica said from the parlour.

  “Not now, Jessica.”

  His strides continued.

  I bolted up.

  He burst past the curtain, halting just inside my room.

  My eyes widened at the thrust of his arm and the ridiculously huge bundle of purple wildflowers he held.

  He nodded at me as though in response to a question I had not voiced, his arm and the blooms jerking along with the action. “Listen to me.”

  I stared at him.

  Seconds passed.

  His head nodded again, in answer to what, I did not know.