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

by Lily Luchesi

  As it often did in damp climates, the door creaked on opening, and what confronted me as I entered halted my steps.

  Jessica loomed over the stool Sean occupied, shears in hand, a gleam of immense satisfaction in her hazel stare. Upon the rough floor, surrounding Sean like a protection circle, lay a gathering of thick, dark hair, each strand no less than five inches in length.

  I lifted my gaze and followed the line of Sean’s body until I came to the much shorter style Jessica had given him. Beneath it, an expression of pure desolation shone back at me from his eyes.

  Concealing my snort of laughter with my fingertips did not work—proven when Sean’s expression devolved into an impressive scowl.

  “You need not laugh, Jem.” Jessica snipped another lock from his head. “I shall require some of yours, also.”

  My amusement died.

  “At least I shall be able to take less from you.” Another tuft of darkness floated down to the floor. “With how long it has grown, I should be able to take some from underneath. That way, it won’t show at all.”

  Not like Sean’s.

  “Oh, and I have a message.” Jessica paused in her coiffing and turned to me. “Mother said you are to make yourself available in the morn. She has ... encouraged the rector to meet with you.”

  “Alone?” I had not stepped foot inside the church in a while, and I doubted the rector would receive me too well.

  “Of course not, silly.” She smiled. “Mother and I shall be there.”

  More shearing, more drifting down of hair, and Jessica stepped back with a smile. “There. That ought to be enough, and you look ... perfectly handsome.”

  I studied the result and realised Jessica’s skills were more satisfactory than expected. Yes, a few unruly tresses stood prouder than others at his crown, but the mussed style of it all only added charm to his roguish appearance.

  Sean’s stare met mine, the question in it all but screaming at me: How bad is it?

  I moved forward until I could reach him without disturbing the strewn supply and combed my fingers through what remained before stroking his face. “Jessica is quite correct. You look perfectly handsome.”

  The worry creasing his forehead diminished, replaced by the upward quirk of his eyebrow.

  I could do little other than laugh.

  ***

  St Andrew’s church had always been such an imposing building in my mind. As a small child, the windows had appeared huge, the characters depicted in the stained glass giants, and it daunted just as much when I stood before it as an adult.

  The surrounding land, enclosed by a grey stone wall, provided a final resting place for those who had passed on—including my father. Small headstones poked up from the long grass like guardians of the dead.

  Sean had accompanied me on the walk, and I had little doubt he concealed himself somewhere nearby, but Mother and Jessica had either still to arrive, or they awaited me inside. After sending a glance over my shoulder, should Sean be that way, I ventured in deeper than just within the gate.

  Stepping upon the path, broken and brittle with age, I veered to the right, my fingertips grazing the pinnacles of headstones, and rounded the building toward the rear stretch of land—and toward Father’s plot.

  Moisture remained across the ground, sparkling with freshness, and dampness dragged down my hems, creeping higher up my skirt with each step. I barely noticed, not with the arrival of guilt as Father’s stone came into view.

  As I faced him, or the essence his presence on earth had left behind, I found myself wishing I had brought a rose, or some sort of token to leave as assurance that I thought of him even in my absence.

  No longer caring about the wetness, I crouched down, my skirt gathering upon the ground, and reached out a hand until it contacted the rough stone. A heaviness settled within my heart, as well as a host of emotions, with regret the strongest amongst them. Regret at the years lost with my father.

  When a lump formed in my throat, I willed my tears not to fall. After all, what would rueing achieve?

  “I wish you were here, Father.” I swiped at a rogue drop that disobeyed my request. “I so wish you could have been given the chance to offer your approval. To escort me at my wedding. I hope you would have been proud.”

  “I am quite certain he would have been.”

  I jerked at the interruption, throwing out my hands to hinder my stumble forward as I recognised the gravelly cadence of the outsider’s voice from the other day.

  He stepped a little to my right, entering my periphery. “I am, however, unsure he would grant the approval you seek.”

  My shoulders tensed, more from anger than wariness. “How dare you impose upon me here?”

  “’Tis the first place I have found you alone since our last meet. Where else would you have me ... impose upon you?” His husky tone held far more intent than the words alone. “Or perchance you think a repetition of the encounter with that uncouth mate of yours would be advisable?”

  I pushed back up to stand, smoothing out the fabric of my dress. “You know not a thing about him.”

  “I know he is not enough of a werewolf for you.”

  I saw no reason to battle his words. Something told me it would get me nowhere. “Am I to suppose you consider yourself an adequate alternative?”

  He shifted closer, too close, until his chest brushed my upper arm. “I am more than adequate, Jem.”

  “Yet, you seem to believe it would take no more than a handful of promises to earn my favour.” I edged away until separated from his touch, turning enough to see his face. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to tend to.”

  He stared off toward the church, his intense gaze seeming to scan the area as it swept across it. “Please tell me you do not truly intend to wed the fool.”

  I bristled at the realisation that he had eavesdropped on my entire conversation to my father’s spirit. “Truly, I do. And Sean is no fool. Only a fool himself would make such an error of judgement.”

  “Oh ... so young and naïve.” He snatched up a tress of my hair and swept it beneath his flared nostrils. His gaze met mine, eyes alight with amusement. “And all the more appealing for it.”

  Perchance it had not been humour I detected, which only added an extra thud to my heart at the discomfort of his nearness.

  His eyes narrowed, shoulders stiffened, and the straightening of his body told me someone approached. “You really should consider my offer.” The werewolf spoke in a rapid mumble. “I would so much prefer for an amicable relationship between us.”

  “Amicable?” My brows lifted. “Relationship? You are positively deluded.”

  “I shall have you, young wolf. One way, or another. And then you shall understand how you deserve to be guarded.” Something told me his notions would not include the freedom the pack tried to allow me. “However, right now, I fear it is time to take my leave. Good day.”

  He strode away, and Sean stepped into my vision, marching a precise path around each grave. Fists clenched, fury roiling in his dark eyes, the rumble of a growl in his chest, he reached me in seconds, but not before the outsider had vaulted the stone wall and left at a sprint in the direction of the village.

  Sean took my face and ducked to my height. “Jem?”

  Although a chill of uncertainty spread throughout my body, I nodded merely for Sean’s benefit. “I am quite all right.” When Sean did not move away, I frowned up at him. “You are not going to give chase?”

  “And leave you unattended again?” He shook his head. “No, he will keep until later. I shall have Charles and Philip scour the area, once you are secure at home.”

  ***

  After an admonishment from Sean for not having done so already, I stepped through the heavy church doors as directed. He’d also made me pledge not to wander anywhere alone again. Not that I minded. I had no wish to become a trophy to a wolf of such arrogance.

  Darkness coated all four corners of the small lobby. A second
set of double doors led to the congregation area, as well as the aisle along which I would be expected to walk. At a mental image of me making the journey, my hand stilled against the wood, until a less intimidating one of Sean awaiting me at the end replaced it.

  Drawing in a long breath, I pushed through the panel and into the church proper.

  The rector stood beneath the colourful depiction of St Andrew, daylight filtering through to cast an irregular rainbow across his features. He looked up when the door creaked closed behind me, and a smile radiated his face.

  The tightness in my shoulders eased, and as I returned his expression, a quiet echo reflected the tap of his soles as he made his way to me.

  “It has been a while since I last found you in my church, Miss Stonehouse.”

  “Apologies, Rector. I would offer excuses, but fear none of them to be adequate.”

  “Such honesty.” He smiled. “Come. Your family awaits you.” He indicated for me to follow, and I joined his walk toward the altar, my gaze traversing the beautiful high ceiling and its colourful artwork only a master could have created. “I believe your Mother worries you may have altered your decision.”

  “No, I am quite confident in my choice.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” An iron-bound door confronted us. The rector opened it and gave a small wave of his hand. “After you.”

  The moment I entered, Mother and Jessica rose, their accusing glares aimed at me. “Where have you been, Jem? You would leave your mother to fret in this way?”

  I thought of my encounter in the graveyard and stifled a shudder. Deciding it best not to share my encounter with the werewolf, I said, “I visited Father.”

  All tension seemed to drain from the room, as though those three words alone brought immediate forgiveness for my tardiness.

  “I see you have already prepared the tea.” The rector pointed toward the steaming pot and one of Mother’s homemade cakes upon the table, as he took his seat on the chair opposite them.

  Eyebrows arched, I sent Mother a glance but received only a tiny headshake in response.

  With us all positioned around Mother’s ‘offering’, a discussion for wedding plans began.

  7

  The church shaded our departure, as I left with my family and scoured the surrounding land for another visit from my ‘admirer’.

  “What exactly did you put in the rector’s tea, Mother?” I asked.

  “Never you worry yourself over that, young lady.”

  “Would it have anything to do with how readily he agreed to tie us with only a week’s notice?”

  “What an imagination you have, Jem.” Mother waved a hand as she led the way down the path.

  I peered at Jessica to my left.

  She seemed to be struggling to contain a smile, even more so as she turned and met my gaze.

  Refraining from a roll of my eyes at their underhanded influencing, I followed Mother through the church gate and along the lane. “So ...” I trotted along to catch her. “What else is needed from me?”

  “There is plenty that needs attending to, but none of it is for you to concern yourself over.”

  “But—”

  “Sean has spoken to me of the threat with which you are presently faced—one I should have first heard of from you.” Her pace slowed with the aim of her stern face my way. “He has also expressed his preference for keeping you close to him and the ... his ... friends until certain ... tasks have been dealt with.” The rhythm of her feet once more picked up. “Jessica shall collect the required herbs from market, and it has been arranged for Sean to visit for help with his braiding. So ... other than your weekend commitment at the church service—which you shall attend—you have no need to be publicly seen.”

  My feet ceased to move as my frown arrived. “You would see me housebound? For an entire week?”

  “Yes, Jem,” Mother said over her shoulder as she continued forth. “If Sean believes it to be the safest course of action for you, then, yes.”

  “But ...” As I conjured an acceptable reasoning, I smiled. “... what about my dress?”

  “All being taken care of. Now, hurry along. The sooner Sean gets you home, the better.”

  My smile faded, and I hastened to Jessica’s side, leaning in close. “Since when did Mother begin taking advice from Sean?”

  “Since she learned that I am not the unruly youth she once believed me to be.” Sean’s voice infiltrated my mind, and although I saw no evidence of his attendance, an inhalation proved him close.

  “Beside the oak,” he whispered, “the ash, another oak ...”

  I peered to the right, identifying each tree until I captured the flash of white between an elm and silver birch. I smiled at the realisation that he would not remain hidden for long—not when the trees came to an abrupt end in fifteen trunks.

  “You and I have much to discuss,” I said as I increased my speed.

  ***

  The entire pack took a united front when I attempted to win the favour of my freedom on our return home. It soon became clear that arguing would be breath wasted, and Sean had ended the discussion with a nod and his closure of, “That is settled, then.”

  Friday I dealt with—although the pack seemed to surround me even more closely when a search the evening before had bore no result. Giles spent the morning being his usual entertaining self, whilst Sean made trips back and forth to my Mother’s, to deal with preparations. In the afternoon, Charles taught me how to correctly hold a bow—a favoured sport of his—although he refused to allow me to actually shoot anything. My frustration remained until Sean gave me his full attention after dinner and soothed me into the role of pliant mate.

  Saturday, I also fared well, in my opinion, though not in Sean’s. His requests for me to be reasonable, to accept staying home as the best course of action, and to find a hobby that did not involve the forest became more constant as the day wore on. By evening, my fuse had grown short with imminent implosion on the horizon, until Philip reminded me that the commitment Sean had agreed to make deserved a little loyalty in return.

  ***

  Visiting with the rector had been an experience, although it in no way compared to being back at St Andrew’s, with Sean on my arm, for the full house of a Sunday service.

  Those still to enter had gathered within the gate. Some appeared to be in deep discussion with their neighbours. Others threw shifty, sideways glances, exposing them for the gossipers they were.

  Sean and I had barely breached the entrance, when Elizabeth Wells prodded her elbow into Matilda Thornberry, and like a twisted chain reaction, one person after another turned toward our approach.

  For a moment, not a single word was uttered. Not a single movement made, other than the flutter of fabric driven by the breeze—until we passed the first busybody. Slowly, as though controlled by an invisible puppeteer, each and every head turned as we weaved through the bodies.

  Whilst an element of shame should have dictated the bowing of my head, I could not bring myself to act as such whilst Sean grinned beside me and muttered his ‘Good mornings’ as though he expected a response. Although he did receive a few fluttered eyelashes and coy smiles, the expressions he received from the men held only steel.

  “You are taking quite a risk, are you not?” Elizabeth called out.

  I paused and made a slow spin back, eyebrow raised.

  Elizabeth pushed through, her attention all for me, malicious delight lending a glow to her face. “Surely, you must recall some of the lessons taught, Jem. For a demon to enter a sacred building would end in nothing short of suicide.”

  “I recall that.” I nodded, half smiled. “However, as you attend church on a regular schedule and have yet to suffer a suspicious consequence, I imagine I shall be quite safe.”

  Her scowl sullied features that may have otherwise been pretty. “What are you even doing here?”

  “That is no concern of yours.”

  “It has been delightful seeing you
again, Miss Wells,” Sean cut in with a nod of his head, and he ushered me inside, where the head turning and silence began again.

  ***

  The stares should have ceased once pews had been taken, but it appeared the congregation considered us far more interesting than what the rector had to say, and a continuous stream of whispers marred the entire service. Not even the presence of Mother and Jessica had dampened the enthusiasm of the gossipers. I had never been so grateful when the rector bid his ‘good people’ safe passage without having drawn attention to Sean and me, or our purpose in being there. For the villagers to know—especially at that moment—would have been quite awful.

  After my small reprieve—if the outing could be considered as such—Sean accompanied me home, where I spent the rest of the day, the evening, the night and the following morning.

  I heaved a huge sigh of frustrated relief when Jessica visited and rescued me from the threat of perpetual boredom.

  “Sean’s is already prepared.” She pulled me from my most unladylike slump. “Now it is your turn.”

  I swung my legs down from the settee. “My turn for what?”

  She held up her string purse. “To create your braid.”

  “Remind me why I am using my hair and he his.”

  “Because the weaving of the hair signifies the binding, and it has to be given and readily accepted as a gift in order to work. Now, move along, Jem, and let me sit down. Making this walk so regularly is somewhat tiring.”

  I refrained from pointing out that twice in five days could hardly be considered ‘regularly’ and did as asked.

  “Your hair has quite grown.” The blonde strands she pulled from her bag appeared paler than the golden tone of those falling around my face. “It shall make the braiding far easier than with Sean’s offering.”

  Jessica collected them all into one long tail, as though practised in the art of hair creations. She held them all up by their ends, the long lengths hanging to the floor in a much thicker bundle than I imagined.

  “Now ... I shall hold tight to this end, whilst you work your way along from that one.”

  When she draped the unsecured wisps across my lap, my nose twitched at a battle of contrasting scents. “Jessica, did you do something with my hair?”