Isabella had never been in love before. She'd had moments of infatuation, and even some of lust, but love had never been high on the priority list of witchy-must-dos until, of course, it had appeared out of the blue one magical Solstice night.
It had been almost two moons since Isabella Fox had arrived in the sleepy little town of Benevolence, and almost two moons since she had first met the mysterious shapeshifter woman Emily, and almost two moons since she had begun to fall deeply in love with her. Isabella had never thought her life would bring her to this time, this place, and it was such an unexpected, lovely thing, falling in love, and it was such a beautiful thing, being happy and content for once, that all Isabella could really do was wake up each morning, fire off a prayer of gratitude to any listening goddess, and give away kisses to the wild, beautiful woman who was no longer mysterious and was, very much, in fact, possessor of her heart.
Emily helped her up, brushing the snow from Isabella’s black woolen cloak, and together, arm in arm, they began to walk back through the woods, back towards the little cottage they called home. It was, officially, the cottage in Benevolence reserved for the village magicmaker, which, technically, Isabella still was, even with the "Incident of the Winter Solstice" behind her, which is what the townsfolk were now referring to it as, a title that danced lightly around the truth: that Isabella had completely failed in her duties as village magicmaker, had—in fact—gotten the only spell she needed to cast in an entire year wrong.
Isabella didn't like to think about that much. And the townsfolk, deeply embarrassed at their lifelong shunning of Emily, were doing everything they could to make their wrongdoing up to the Changer. Which included keeping Isabella on as their magicmaker.
If Isabella thought about this, it bothered her deeply. They were letting her stay out of obligation and guilt, not because she was successful at her calling: being a witch. But Isabella didn't think about, resolutely refused to think about it every time her heart, in a fit of forgetfulness, brought it up.
She was falling in love, and the cottage was actually quite nice, and the townsfolk were turning out to be lovely, if somewhat odd, people who didn't, at least, come after her with pitchforks and burning-at-the-stake-until-dead threats or run her out of town, unlike every other village she'd been magicmaker for. It was nice being able to go to sleep at night, knowing you wouldn't be roused at midnight by an angry, torch-wielding mob.
But if Isabella was going to be completely honest with herself, which she was at rare, dark moments, she had to face a difficult truth: being a mediocre witch had almost cost the life of the woman she loved most. And Isabella Fox was tired of being a mediocre witch but was not quite certain what to do about that yet. But, someday soon, she would decide what to do. And then, somehow, she’d become, if not great, at least less mediocre.
She hoped.
“A penny for your thoughts, darling?” Emily whispered, squeezing Isabella’s hand and reeling the witch back from her reverie.
“Penny…” Isabella started, gazing up at the brightening sky. “Broomsticks and figs! Mrs. Goose’s shipment of pennbane tea was supposed to come in early this morning, and you know how fast she sells out! I knew there was another reason I got up early…”
“We’re out of tea…again?” asked Emily carefully, brow furrowed. “But, Isabella, we had so much of it the last time I—”
“No time!” said the witch, drawing her cloak closer about her. “We’ve got to hurry!” She tugged at the Changer’s hand, and they began to move through the snow, half-trotting, half-floundering.
“But, Isabella, seriously…we just got a big barrel of tea last week…”
“I drink a lot of tea,” said Isabella, one eyebrow up, mouth quirking to the side.
“Yes, yes, of course you do,” said Emily quickly, returning the smile as they slogged gallantly through the drifts. “It just seems like…like quite a lot of tea to me. But you know I like my coffee more—”
“And yet I still love you,” whispered Isabella with a sidelong wink, squeezing the Changer’s hand.
Alice, Isabella’s tabby cat Familiar, stood on the railing of the porch to greet their arrival, flicking her tail patiently when they finally, breathlessly, entered the backyard.
“Mrs. Goose got in her shipment,” said the cat, licking her front right paw neatly, “and I knew, of course, that you would forget that today was shipment day. So I hopped down to the dry goods store and asked her to hold another barrel of tea for you.”
Isabella snatched up her cat and peppered the top of her small feline head with kisses. “You’re wonderful,” she pronounced, even as Alice grumbled a little in her grasp. “What would I do without you?”
“Never have access to tea, surely,” said the cat, cocking her head with a smug cat grin, whiskers pushed forward, as Isabella set her down on the porch steps with a pat.
“Must we go into town today?” asked Emily then, leaning against the railing. Isabella paused in her headlong sprint into the cottage, hand on the door as she turned and watched the Changer for a heartbeat. Emily had her arms crossed beneath her shawl of hides, and her face was turned longingly towards the woods. When she gazed out at the shadowed trees, her brown hair, as brown as earth, seemed to change, lighten. Her eyes grew darker, and her hair became white as snow as she looked to the wild woods, drawn to the wild, as her heart was wild itself.
Isabella crossed the porch and slowly, hesitantly, put her arms around the Changer’s waist. Just as quickly as it’d begun, the wildness faded from the woman, and her hair was brown as earth again, as she gazed down at Isabella with love in her eyes.
For a moment, a shadow of deep sadness had etched itself upon Emily’s face.
“You don’t have to go to the village with me,” said Isabella softly, gently. “You could go back into the woods. I know how much you miss it.” Her voice caught.
“It’s not that.” Emily’s voice was soft, whisper-like. She ran her fingers through her hair, shook her head. “It’s that, when I head into town, everything's just…so strange.”
“Suffocating, really,” Alice piped up helpfully from the porch floor where she sat, tail curled perfectly around her paws, like a question mark.
“Exactly,” said Emily, putting her arms about Isabella’s shoulders, drawing her close for an embrace. She placed her chin on the top of the witch’s head, and Isabella closed her eyes, inhaling the fragrance of Emily, the sweet earthiness of cinnamon and clove and coffee that made her heart skip a beat. “You know that Mrs. Goose won’t let you pay for the tea—she’ll give it to us,” she sighed, holding Isabella tighter, “and then offer to send up ten barrels of flour and sugar and who-knows-what-else, and then, if we so much as pass the toy shop, Miss Turtle will come out with another marvel she wants to gift us, and Miss Peacock will load us up with new books, on the house, and Mr. Ox will give us enough bread that we’ll be able to feed the mountain’s birds for a week, and—”
Isabella stepped back from the Changer, nose wrinkled. “It’s not all so bad, you know. They’re doing all of this because they wronged you for years,” she murmured firmly, clasping Emily’s hands. “You were an outcast of your own town because your great grandfather did something. And then you saved the town, anyway. Twice, I might add.” She raised a single eyebrow. “Emily, they’re just trying to make it up to you—”
“I wish they wouldn’t try so hard,” Emily groaned, casting her eyes heavenward. “It takes time to heal something like that, and time to forget…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced to the woods again.
“Well. Until then, we’ll have more free tea, flour, books, toys and baked goods than we know what to do with,” grinned Isabella, snaking her arm about Emily’s waist. “Now come, darling…you want to go back to the woods. That much is very clear. Don't worry—I can go alone to town today…”
Emily shook herself, glanced down at Isabella, eyes dark for a moment. “No,” she said simply, stepping forward, tracing the curve o
f Isabella’s jaw with one long finger. Isabella shivered beneath her touch, closed her eyes as Emily leaned down, brushed her lips along the trail her finger had taken until she captured her mouth again. “No,” Emily repeated, voice a growl as she put her arms around Isabella’s waist, fingers gripping the curve of her form tightly. “I waited my entire life for something so lovely as you,” she whispered into Isabella’s ear as the witch shivered again. “I want to be with you.”
Isabella closed her eyes, felt the warmth of Emily, heard the sweet rhythm of the Changer’s breath against her ear, smelled the lingering goodness of cinnamon and clove and coffee.
Everything is beautiful, she thought again, and kissed her Changer deeply.
---
Isabella had only ever seen the town of Benevolence snow dusted and glittering with white. She knew there were other seasons on the mountain, but she sometimes wondered if anything could look half so beautiful as Benevolence in winter.
The streets, though last night’s snowfall was already freshly trodden, still glittered in the wan winter sunshine when they entered the town proper. People bustled about, bundled up in brightly colored cloaks and coats and shawls against the chill, but though it was bitterly cold, the type of chill that steals breaths, everyone stopped when they passed Isabella and Emily, strolling slowly up the street, to say hello.
Everyone.
“Miss Deer, Miss Fox, you’re both looking so beautiful today!” called Mr. Wren from his high-up perch, cleaning out the closest street lantern. He raised a grubby cloth to them, almost losing his tenuous balance as he leaned down from his ladder.
“As do you, Mr. Wren,” called Emily dryly, Isabella squeezing her arm and trying not to chuckle. Mr. Wren looked a tiny bit confused, brow furrowed, but kept smiling anyway at the two of them until they were farther up the street.
Mr. Ox trundled out of his bakery door, wiping his massive hands on his checkered apron. “Emily, Isabella…I just baked fresh witch peak pastries,” he intoned, his deep voice making the ground practically vibrate beneath their boots. “Tell me you’ll come in and have your pick of them,” he said, waving backward toward his sinfully scented shop. Isabella was already taking a step toward the bakery when Emily drifted down the road. Since their arms were entwined and Emily was quite a bit taller than Isabella, Isabella went with Emily rather than into the shop.
“Witch peak pastries,” Isabella hissed to the Changer, who shook her head, sighing out. “Witch peak pastries, my darling…”
“Maybe some other time, Mr. Ox,” Emily called back over her shoulder to the perplexed-looking man, still wiping his hands.
“He just wanted to be nice…” said Isabella, trailing off. Emily’s jaw was set, and her skin was white as snow, her cheeks flushed with points of red.
“Emily! Isabella!” called Miss Peacock, waving her lace handkerchief from the front window of her shop. “I just got in an entire box of new elemental books, and I wanted to give you two—”
“Another time, Miss Peacock!” Emily’s voice, normally so soft and low, raised above the hushed conversations on the street and cracked. For a terrible heartbeat, the villagers of Benevolence each paused in what they were about, paused and turned in silence and looked to Isabella and Emily.
Isabella could feel Emily shrinking on her arm, growing inward as if she’d collapse into herself. Her lover had spent almost her entire life lonely and alone. Even if she had wanted this much attention—which was the farthest thing from the truth imaginable—it would still have been overwhelming and too much. Isabella didn’t wholly agree that the villagers were only going out of their way with kindness in order to make up for the long years Emily had been mistreated and outcast. Isabella believed that they were genuinely and immensely sorry and were simply trying to be kind for kindness' sake. But as Emily shrunk beside Isabella, she sighed, squeezed the Changer’s hand, and continued on toward Mrs. Goose’s shop without a single glance to the other villagers.
Suffocating, Alice had called it. Isabella understood why.
“We’ll just go to Mrs. Goose’s,” she murmured to Emily, voice carefully light and soothing. “And we’ll check the witch post, and then go back home. Two shakes of a kitty’s tail…”
The Changer breathed out raggedly, shook her head, said nothing in return. Isabella could feel Emily’s heartbeat through her fingers clenched in Isabella’s hand, thrumming like a wild drum that would never cease.
The tinkling silver bell nailed to the creaking door rang out clearly as they entered Mrs. Goose’s delicious-smelling shop. Barrels of candy and beans and flour and sugar lined the front hallway, spilling out into the shop proper that held shelf after shelf of bolts of cloth and ribbons and magical implements and tools and harnesses and potion bottles and wooden boxes of tea, and—really—anything you could imagine you’d need to survive a Benevolence winter. And, perhaps, some things you couldn’t.
“Isabella!” called Mrs. Eliza Goose warmly from behind the shelves of glass candy bottles. “And, Emily—so good to see you. Your cat came by earlier…” Her mouth twitched sideways, trying to hide a grin as she leaned on the counter, soft arms dusted with flour. “Said to save you a barrel of pennbane tea. I have it for you right here.”
“Thank you,” murmured Isabella, glancing to Emily, who had wandered away from her, the Changer’s hands clasped tightly at the small of her back, to look at the axes. The witch stepped forward, leaned on the counter, too. “Anything from the witch post?” she asked the shopkeeper, who cocked her head, tapping on her lips with a worn finger.
“I think so. Let me check for you.” She moved to the post shelves, her pretty, full hips swaying. The shelves rose to the ceiling with a little square compartment for each citizen of Benevolence. Isabella could see from here that hers bore at least one letter.
“Here you are, m’dear,” said Mrs. Goose, holding up the rectangular piece of vanilla paper bearing a ruby red seal. Isabella’s heart fluttered as Mrs. Goose placed the letter into her open palm. “Isabella Fox, Benevolence, Glimmer Mountain,” was scrawled over it in familiar fancy, looping letters. Isabella knew it was from Bridey before she’d even pressed it under her cloak, into her secret dress pocket.
“And here’s the tea.” Mrs. Goose pulled the brown-wrapped, vaguely small-barrel-shaped package from beneath the counter and slid it across to Isabella. As Isabella reached into her pocket again for the coins warming there, Eliza shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, no…please. I insist. On the house.”
Isabella could feel Emily stiffen, even halfway across the room.
“No, please. I insist,” said Isabella firmly, pressing a bronze coin to the counter. She snatched up the large package before Mrs. Goose could protest, and then Emily and the witch were out the door.
“Let’s take the long way home,” Isabella muttered, steering Emily around the side of the building as all of the visible townsfolk again glanced in their direction, whispering beneath their breath and behind mittened hands.
“Good,” Emily breathed out, and then the two paced quickly behind the shop, into the snowy woods. As soon as they were beyond the villagers’ sight, Isabella could feel the Changer’s back relax beneath her hand.
Here, out in the woods, Emily’s nose went up, as if she scented something good. Eyes closed, head leaned back, a slight smile played upon her lips. She looked almost happy.
Isabella grinned, pressing against Emily’s side with her palm, her fingers held around the graceful, familiar curve she so loved. “Go…go. I’ll wait here for you,” she said, shooing her lover into the forest proper. Emily’s gaze was pure gratitude, and in a heartbeat, the spiral of shadow had encompassed her, and there was no longer Emily the human but Emily the deer, who wasted not a breath before bounding off with savage grace into the woods and gone, chasing some sweet scent borne on the wind.
Isabella’s breath was visible as she watched her lover leap out of sight, her heart keeping the same rhythm as those dainty cloven hooves a
gainst the snow. Half-smiling to herself, she leaned against the nearest oak tree, hands shaking from the cold as she drew the letter from her pocket, gazing down at it with a sigh. Oh, how she missed Bridey. And Pye. And Tabitha. They had been the three best friends any girl could ever have asked for, back in the Magicmaker Academy, and they’d all stayed in touch after graduation, something Isabella knew to be a rare gift, a childhood friendship that had grown and evolved into a deep, lifelong bond. She missed their smiles and their laughter, the familiar quirks that made her love them that much more fiercely.
But as much as she missed them, she wished, more than anything, that they could meet the most important person in her life:
The woman she loved with her whole heart.
Isabella drew her thumb along the seal in the letter, folding it open.
My darling Isabella,
As you well know, Imbolc is almost upon us! Don’t bail out on us this year, even though you have a sweetheart (who we would really love to meet, by the way, but I really don’t want to be pushy). (A drawn heart was smudged here.) If you really can’t make it to Lunarose, just let me know by post, but I hope you’ll consider coming, darling. It won’t be the same without you. And we miss you so dreadfully. Please say you’ll come, Belly? (A clearer heart swung here, almost eclipsed by the signature.)
All my love,
Bridey
Isabella read the letter three times, tearing up on the “we miss you so dreadfully” part. She hadn’t really been thinking about the movement of time or what was coming up within the year… She was still trapped at the place in time somewhere a little past Solstice, when the world is tired and cold and gray, filled with snow and little else, but it wasn’t for Isabella. Not this time. This time she had Emily, and now the world was new and beautiful.
Under Her Spell Page 7