Freeing the Witch

by L. J. Longo

  “I—yes.” Was that public knowledge in the port? And why did he seem so alarmed? “I’ve known her since we were children. About fifteen years.”

  “Ah, how about that…” He shyly scratched his neck. “Me and the pack go back about … well, years are kind swimmy for me. But, uh … nice to have friends, isn’t it? I mean, people that you’ve known a long time?”

  Emaula gripped her hands together and suppressed the nervous flare of her magic. “Indeed, it is, Mr. Wolf.”

  He grinned with cautious mischief. “You can call me Porter. Once you meet the other two, it will get confusing.”

  “The other two?” Emaula glanced at her water. The swirling purple-blue potion.

  “Wolves. In Nav’s pack. Up at the trading post,” the wolf—Porter—said. “The angry cuss is Half-Ear. You can call him Mr. Wolf. He’ll like that. The little half-blind one is Sock. He might run away if you talk to him.”

  A blind panic overwhelmed her. This was one of Navarro’s wolves. She’d taken a blood oath not to harm him.

  “But I’m sort of the kitchen boy, so…” He shrugged. “I was particularly keen on meeting you.”

  And she’d bespelled him. Did that count as harm? Had she already broken her oath? Maybe Nav set her up. Maybe he’d sent his charming, flirty friend on purpose—

  “Did I say something bad?” The wolf looked hurt.

  “No, no.” Emaula gave him a professional smile and adjusted her scarf. “I would have been less familiar if I knew you were my … co-cook. Mr. Porter, yes. Mr. Navarro has such nice things to say about you and your cooking.”

  Nav hadn’t mentioned any of them, except to tell her not to bother them. She’d formed in her mind an image of angry ex-convicts, rough bandits who were only just civilized, held in check by the tiger’s whims. She had not expected one of them to be so pleasant.

  Porter grinned wildly at the praise. “Oh, I’m no cook. I’ll just do what you tell me.” The wolf lifted his eyes in a sly, flirty way. “I’m very obedient. Very handy to keep around.”

  Oh Goddess, this was trouble. She badly wanted him. She had to be professional. She had to … do something about the moonwort certainly. She’d find an antidote in her spells. Hope like Hell she had the ingredients she needed. If not, she simply would not sleep tonight. That was reasonable.

  “Ms. Witch, are you feeling all right?” The wolf lifted his hand to summon the server. “Do you need a cold cloth or something to eat or—”

  “No, I’m quite well.” Emaula smiled. He was a lovely man. She’d definitely stay awake tonight. Too dangerous to slip into his dreams. Too dangerous to encourage this silly infatuation. “Thank you for your concern, sir.”

  “Ah, this damned small port never changes.” Jasprite emerged from the cargo hold, fixing her hair and directing her happy complaints to no one. Her face was flushed, and Emaula wondered again what Navarro’s sudden urgent business had been. Must have been something cheery judging by the lady’s smile.

  Emaula stood and waved, eager to have a third person in this conversation with the handsome wolf. “Jasprite! Over here.”

  Porter shot up at once as well and leaped over the rail. He charged the cargo ship. The instant Navarro emerged from the shadowy hold the wolf tackled the tiger.

  Emaula caught her breath with terror witnessing the attack. But both men laughed, even as they punched and struggled against each other.

  When Navarro had securely gotten the upper hand, he hugged the wolf fiercely. “Where the hell are the other two?”

  Porter answered, but Emaula didn’t hear because Jasprite, utterly unconcerned with the streak of darkness that had thrown itself at her lover, had reached the porch.

  “I see you met Porter.” She sat in Porter’s chair and fanned herself. “Damn. I forgot how hot it was down here.”

  “Jasprite, why didn’t you tell me…” Emaula faded off uncertain how to finish. She sat back down.

  “Tell you what?” Jasprite picked up the water pitcher and without even hesitating refilled Porter’s glass and claimed it as her own. “About the heat?”

  Emaula shrugged.

  Jasprite leered over at her. “Or about how cute the help is?”

  “How what?” Emaula soothed her dress and avoided looking at the men and their play-fight. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I just felt like a fool speaking to a wolf and then realizing halfway through he was my co-cook.”

  “Oh, don’t think of him as co-anything. Porter’s quite the stupidest of the three wolves, and none are all too bright. He’s your kitchen boy. Just a lovely half-naked man running after you, waiting to serve your every whim.”

  “Jasprite.” Emaula blushed and hid her smile.

  “I mean, he’s no tiger, but I suppose he has good qualities.”

  Nav—who was only just stronger—had gotten the wolf in a chokehold and bent him over, while they both laughed.

  “That ass, for example,” Jasprite remarked.

  “Stop that!” Emaula cried. “How did you even—don’t tease me. You know I can’t touch anyone. Let alone a wolf.”

  Jasprite shrugged. “Sorry. I just saw you two talking. You seemed to be … well, getting along.”

  “He’s a pleasant man. But I’m not interested in him. So, don’t tease me, please.”

  Jasprite rolled her eyes and nodded. “Of course, darling, I won’t.”

  Navarro finished with his friend and knocked him flat on the ground. Porter lay in the sand with one arm draped over his belly, laughing enough to shake his entire body. Maybe the dreaming spell wouldn’t really hurt… He most likely wouldn’t even know it was magic. No harm at all really for her to slip in and just have a little taste of him.

  Then her friend chuckled. “But if you want to convince anyone with that lie, you really ought to stop staring, darling.”

  Chapter Four

  When Lady Jasprite brought the witch home, Half-Ear was a perpetual scowl ready to bark into a fight. Sock, half-rabid with fear, jumped at the least noise. And Porter, well, he didn’t know how to feel. Nav said she was safe and she seemed really nice, but she was still a witch.

  “The only thing is she cursed,” Nav said. “So, don’t ever touch her. I grabbed her arm once, and it nearly sent me through a wall. Me.”

  “Which one of us do you figure is stupid enough to touch a fuckin’ witch?” Half-Ear wondered.

  It made Porter squirm. Though they sat together behind the bar at their trading post, Nav and Half-Ear were not in agreement. The pack was not in agreement. Their fear and distrust of the witch were palpable, like a rotten nut on Porter’s tongue.

  Jasprite showed the witch their kitchen, giving her the tour and speaking in high, friendly squeals. They sounded like sisters.

  “I don’t like it.” Sock scratched the back of his hand enough to leave marks on his pasty skin. “Jasprite’s never this happy. Gotta be bespelled.”

  Nav shook his head. “I’m telling you she’s not. They’re close friends. The witch is safe—unless you touch her—and she’s here to stay.”

  Porter could accept that. Nav and Jasprite did not smell bespelled. Sock had no reason to doubt. Nothing to fear.

  The witch cooed over the counters, the sinks, the pantry. Every little cranny seemed to delight her. “Oh, what’s down here?”

  “She found Porter’s room,” Sock guessed.

  It wasn’t really. Porter’s room was on the second story. If he spent time in there, he’d get used to it. But the room under the kitchen opened to the jungle and to the cave, so he liked it better.

  Jasprite answered. “Oh, the root and wine cellar. Don’t go down there. It’s dark and leads into the mountains. Make one of the men go down for you.”

  Half-Ear growled. He did not like being “the men”. Or being told he would do favors for anyone.

  Porter didn’t think it was too much trouble. Especially for a pretty lady who was going to cook for them.

  “Oh, what a lot of t
ea. It smells wonderful!”

  Half-Ear looked over at Porter, blaming him for the witch’s enjoyment.

  “Yeah, the wolves are real tea hounds.” Jasprite preferred saki or coffee and had little patience for what other people liked. “Let me show you your room! All the rooms on the second story are for owners, though of course if you’re more comfortable being higher up you can take any room you want.”

  Emaula followed Jasprite out of the kitchen, all smiles and nods.

  All the wolves except Porter put down their rice-beer to glare at her as she passed. Porter imitated them and put his mug on the counter. He could not bring himself to glower at her, so he looked at his cup.

  Porter’s problem was that he wasn’t afraid of her like the others.

  Sure, she was a witch. Now that her mood had changed, the smell of world-changing power rolled off her in waves. But she looked so shy and scared. Porter doubted Sock and Half-Ear had ever met young witches. Or nice ones. Or shy ones. Porter had met all kinds, and they’d all depended on him. Young, nice, and shy did not necessarily mean safe.

  “I’m sure the second story will be fine.” The witch ignored the wolves’ unfriendliness if she noticed it at all. “This inn is so lovely, Jasprite! I can’t wait to meet some guests.”

  The northern woman moved gracefully up the stairs in her desert clothes. That was probably what had him so confused. Her robes were so feminine and pretty. No one wore anything like that in their trading post. Nothing in their trading post smelled as good as her subtle floral perfume and soft silk warmed by the sun.

  Yes, Emaula was just like the birds in cages, modest in her sweeping robes. Powerful hands covered in soft gloves. Pretty face hiding in a black headscarf to mask her intentions.

  The two women disappeared up the stairs.

  Half-Ear sank his rice-beer. “I don’t like this.”

  Sock growled. “We should go to Yenna. We should—”

  “Yenna met her already and said she was fine. Her oath is binding,” Nav growled, maybe a little too protective of the village crone. Though, Yenna had created him to guard her house, so a little defensiveness was expected. “You will not pester that poor old woman. Understood?”

  Sock whimpered but nodded.

  Half-Ear snorted. “So, we roll over and let a witch collar us all?”

  “She’s not here to—” Nav rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Listen. Do you need to see this contract again?”

  “Yeah. I wanna nail it over the bar so I can look at it whenever that creature comes into the room.” Sock took the contract and adjusted his glasses to read it.

  Half-Ear faked a shudder. “Signed it in her own blood. Fuckin’ creepy.”

  “Yeah. But binding.” Sock visibly calmed rereading the text. “Death before she harms anyone dear to Nav … by conscious choice.”

  Neither Porter nor Half-Ear could read the contract. Only smell the powerful magic.

  “What’s the unconscious choice?” Half-Ear growled. “Putting us through a wall when she accidentally touches us?”

  Nav looked at him, then rubbed his jaw. When they played cards that meant he was about to play his best card. “Now listen, I don’t like telling no one else’s story, but I figure you won’t hear it from her.”

  The tiger glanced over at the stairs. “She was a prisoner in her mother’s house. Her mother was, I don’t know, eating her soul or something.”

  Eating her power and her magic and potential. Definitely a bird in a cage. One that had escaped. That was new.

  “Wait,” Half-Ear said. “She’s running from a witch?”

  “Of all the damned and dangerous things to bring into our lives.” Sock pulled at his hair and put his head on the counter.

  “Yes.” Nav ignored Sock and focused on Half-Ear and Porter. He doubled down, knowing a victim and his heroics would appeal to them. “We had to spring her from the tower with a ball of some kind of enchanted string. Emaula was just on the second floor of this big old house, but she talks about being in a high tower with no doors. She had no way out.”

  Porter nodded and muttered into his mug. “Bird in a cage. That’s all right then. I like her.”

  “She never even set foot outside—” The tiger didn’t hear him right away, but when he did, he was surprised. “Say what, Porter?”

  Half-Ear and Sock looked stunned as well.

  Porter had never expressed disagreement with the pack before. “I … I said … she’s a bird in a cage. That’s all right.”

  He wasn’t sure he liked her. He liked that she’d be cooking and that she was pretty and smelled … nice.

  “She’s an enemy.” Sock burst away from Porter, so fast his spectacles flew off his nose. “She can’t be trusted! We can’t just let—”

  “Calm down, Sock.” Nav put his hand on the littlest wolf’s sandy mane, a gesture that was both controlling and calming. Sock sullenly put his glasses back on and sat down again.

  Half-Ear sipped his rice-beer and studied Porter. “What do you mean by a bird in a cage, Port?”

  He thought again about … his witches. The girls in the tower. Their flirty, shy eyes and their loneliness. He shivered and then quietly shut the door to those memories.

  Half-Ear was still looking at him because Porter hadn’t answered. “Oh … uh, the place I used to be was like that… Like a tower without windows or doors. They kept young witches inside. They needed someone special to open the doors because sometimes the girls tried to fly away.”

  Tried to. None had succeeded. They died when they failed. Eaten for their power and potential.

  “Birds in a cage. She reminds me of them.”

  “And they were trustworthy?” Half-Ear asked.

  No, they weren’t. They could be worse than The Munawn. Porter shrugged. “Sometimes. The ordeal would fuck them up.”

  Sock scratched his throat, and his cloudy eyes focused on something unseen. “Ordeal? That’s somethin’ bad, isn’t it?”

  Half-Ear snorted. Probably just as ignorant but better at hiding it.

  “It’s like a … special test to join a pack of witches,” Porter said. “They got to try it three times, and if they failed the third time they died. Their mothers got their power. Ate their souls.”

  “Who knew Porter was an expert in witches.” Half-Ear snorted.

  “I’m not,” Porter protested. “But I know a bird in a cage when I see one.”

  “Well, it doesn’t make her more or less trustworthy when it comes to us.” Sock pushed his glasses higher on his nose and snarled up the stairs. “Just makes her hunted and alone.”

  Porter hummed sadly.

  “Well, if Nav says we’re stuck with her then so we are.” Half-Ear ended the conversation. “Go make us food, Porter.”

  Porter obediently rose to head to the kitchen. “Sure. How’s chicken tandoori, sound?”

  “Sounds good,” Nav said. “Sock, are you convinced she—?”

  “No. But there’s nothing I can do.” He plucked his books and pens out of his satchel and pushed up his glasses again. “Let’s make next week’s schedule.”

  ****

  When Porter brought them their plates and bowls, the rice-beer was gone, and Sock had written a schedule for their guarding and guiding.

  Porter glanced over the paper. When he didn’t see the letter that meant his name, he felt a clench in his stomach. They’d forgotten to give him work. They were going to turn him out. How had they come to that conclusion so quickly? He’d been with them for so long, and he loved them so much. He had to change their minds. But … maybe it was better to not fight if his own pack hated him. But if they turned him out, he’d lose track of himself and starve to death in the woods. He would—

  “Port.” Nav nudged his arm. “Forget whatever you’re worrying about. You’ll be in the kitchen with the witch.”

  “Huh?”

  “To keep an eye on her for us,” Nav said.

  Was he teasing? He glanced at Sock’s sc
rawls again.

  “Oh, okay… In the kitchen with the witch. Okay.”

  “Since she’s already bespelled you.” Sock muttered. Then touched the contract and rubbed his eyes. “No, she hasn’t. She can’t. Death before she can harm us.”

  Half-Ear explained it best. “I don’t trust her to cook. So, you’re gonna make my food, right, Port?”

  “Mine, too.” Sock chimed in.

  Porter glanced at Nav, who very diplomatically, did not notice.

  “S…sure.” Porter understood his role, now. The witch’s keeper. He was a little overwhelmed by it. But he knew no one else could fill it as well. He’d spent most of his time in the kitchen anyway, and he wasn’t afraid of the witch. “Okay. Sounds good. I’m going to bring food up to them.”

  “Just call them down,” Nav teased.

  Porter cringed. “But … Jasprite hates to be called … like a peasant.”

  “Hear that? Now that we’ve got a witch and her puppy, I can’t even yell at my own woman.” Nav sighed. “What a world!”

  The pack laughed at him. Porter rolled his eyes. “The way you two yell at each other? You should keep it in the bedroom, tiger.”

  Sock and Half-Ear chuckled at Nav’s expense, and the tiger allowed it gracefully. “Porter, how indecent of you to say.”

  “Yeah, yeah, about as indecent as you fucking your lady in a cargo bay.”

  Sock looked startled. “He didn’t… Nav, you wouldn’t?”

  The tiger smirked with amusement and pride. “What can I say? My woman’s been babysitting a scared witch. I couldn’t get her alone in the ship’s cabin.”

  The three wolves howled with laughter. Babysitting a scared witch. That joke went a long way in calming Half-Ear and maybe Sock, too.

  Nav reached out and ruffled Porter’s hair. “Go on, Port. Be a good boy and announce dinner to the mistress.”

  Porter’s face flushed with embarrassment, but he started upstairs. Nav had never been a proper servant. Just a big old cat the village crone adopted and shaped into a child. Porter had been designed—been trained—to serve, and he took service … well not exactly seriously. He was too lazy for seriousness. But there was no harm in talking to nice people instead of shouting at them.