Matchsticks: A Dark Spirits Fairytale

by S. J. Sanders

  Sighing, she scrubbed a gloved hand over her eyes, half-hoping to warm the bridge of her nose or the skin of her cheeks that wasn’t covered by her scarf, when a shadow covered her. She looked up at what had to be the most beautiful man she ever set eyes on. Brilliant blue eyes stared down her from beneath a thick fringe of golden lashes. He was deeply bronzed, as if he had been sunbathing in the Mediterranean rather than wading through the snow somewhere in the Midwest, and the long curls falling around his face a vibrant gold. His shoulders and chest beneath the deep blue cloth he wore were that of a man in peak athletic shape, as were the muscular legs encased tightly in fine wool.

  He was so beautiful that it was almost painful to look upon him, especially in her own state. She ran a hand down her coat self-consciously, her cheeks heating with a blush. She glanced at him only briefly but noted the way his perfectly bow-shaped lips quirked in amusement, and his eyes softened kindly as he leaned forward to pick up a book of matches and slowly turned it in his hands. He didn’t seem to be looking at it, though. She could feel his eyes on her as if they were penetrating her, seeing deep into her.

  “Such a travesty that the events of the world have diminished so much of what was once beautiful,” he murmured. He rubbed his fingers over the matches for several moments, and rather than set them back in her basket, he extended the pack to her.

  “For you,” he said solemnly with a small dip of his head.

  Agatha gave him a confused look before she reached forward and carefully drew the box from his hand. His smile widened the moment he released them. Her eyes lowered to look at the box, marveling at the way the simple box was now stained with scrolls of gold that covered its surface.

  What had he done to them? Had he switched it out for a fake box when she wasn’t looking? She gasped at the thought and quickly pulled the box open. The loss of a box would end up coming out of her earnings. A groan left her when she noted that the box was almost empty, with only five matches left inside.

  “What did you do…?” she began, her voice falling off when she looked up and discovered herself alone once more.

  Agatha peered both ways down the street, her brow furrowing. She hadn’t even heard him move. The loud caw of a raven overhead startled her, and she brought the matches tight to her chest, worried that the bird would be attracted to the shiny gold on the box and attempt to snatch them from her. It peered down at her for a moment before hopping off the lamppost. Large inky wings spread out wide and snapped through the air as it flew overhead, disappearing from sight as the falling snow concealed it.

  With the raven gone, Agatha slowly lowered her arm once more and uncurled her fingers from around the matchbox. Clearly, she couldn’t sell them. No one would pay full price for a mostly empty box of matches. If her earnings were going to be docked anyway, she might as well enjoy them as the strange man had intended her to. Didn’t he say that they were hers, after all? Granted, that was after he stole the ones that he swapped out for these, but there was little she could do about that.

  Sliding the box open again, she lifted out a match and held it up to get a better look at it. The body of the match seemed to be made of wood like any other match, though the wood was far darker than anything she was accustomed to seeing. But it was the matchhead that caught her attention the most. It was pure gold and almost carried a sort of sheen.

  They probably wouldn’t even light.

  A wry smile tugged at her lips as she experimentally placed the head of the match against the striker on the box.

  “Here goes nothing,” she murmured.

  With a snap of her wrist, she struck the match.

  A flare of golden light ignited, one that seemed to blaze out of control. A scream rose within her, but it didn’t have the chance to leave her lips before the entire world was consumed in that bright, hot flame.

  Chapter 3

  The first thing Agatha became aware of was that she was cold. She had been cold before, but this was more of a biting cold than what she had been enduring, without even the distant comfort from the fire barrel. Worse, she appeared to be lying down in the snow. She let out a hoarse groan. What a great way to ensure that she would get hypothermia.

  Shivering, Agatha slowly pushed herself up to her hands and knees. The snow against her knees and her fingers made them hot from circulation as the cold worked to deaden the nerves. The threadbare wool skirt she wore was soaked through, and her gloves were also soaked, as was her coat. How long had she been lying there? Lifting her head, she blinked against the falling snow, and her mouth fell open.

  All around her, mountain peaks stabbed into the sky in hues of muted blues and icy whites against the clearest, palest blue sky she had ever seen. The snow wasn’t falling as hard as it had been in Garden Tower, but at least in town she wasn’t kneeling on the side of a mountain! Her mouth went dry as she looked down the steep, snowy landscape stretching out just ahead of her as it plunged for miles toward the ground.

  She was not only on the side of a mountain, she was very, very high.

  Wincing, she pushed herself to her feet, faintly alarmed at the tingling in her toes. She stomped her feet, forcing feeling back into them even as she slapped her hands against her body. She was not getting frostbite out in the middle of… wherever she was.

  Agatha peered around, unease filling her as every minute passed. How had she even gotten there? She had heard rumors of the forests connecting to other worlds… Had the matches done the same? Over the years, following the departure of the Ravagers, it had become increasingly more apparent that the human world had permanently changed. They were sharing their world with other creatures, although she had only heard of them from travelers arriving to Garden Tower. She had never encountered any herself before she arrived at the town, but the Ravagers had made her a quick believer in the impossible. She had even heard of distant towns where monsters were mingling among the human populace. If so, that meant that her being there was entirely that golden stranger’s fault!

  A stream of curses left her as she leaned her head back and shouted them out at the sky. She had been stupid to accept the matches, much less use them. Whatever that creature had been, clearly, he had intentionally transported her. That smile he gave her… This was all probably his idea of a joke!

  “Fuck!” she screamed.

  Her voice echoed over the mountain, but just as her shout began to fade, a violent shriek pierced the air. Agatha froze physically but was quite certain that her blood and heart did too. It sounded something like an eagle, but the sound was deeper, louder, and far more vicious than anything she imagined an eagle could make.

  And it came from right behind her.

  Whispering a prayer under her breath, Agatha slowly turned, her eyes lowered with dread. Her gaze fell on four powerfully built legs and the torso of a lion. Her breath wheezed out of her. It was huge—easily twice her size. But her eyes traveled upward and she encountered a feathered breast, enormous wings and the hissing head of an eagle with two enormous feather-tufted ears at either side of its head. Every line of its body screamed predator, and Agatha couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped her. The massive head cocked, the large pupils of its eyes focusing on her.

  It let out a squawk as its head dipped forward, its beak snapping in her direction. She yelped and stumbled back in an attempt to evade it, her muscles stiffening in preparation for another attack, but it cocked its head at her again. With its golden fur and feathers of deep Prussian blue with scarlet markings around its eyes, she could have admired it and seen it as pretty if it weren’t looking at her like it was debating how she tasted.

  “Nice birdie… uh, griffin,” she corrected in a low, crooning voice.

  The griffin squawked again, and it pounced toward her, the powdery snow flying up around its legs at impact. She knew the move wasn’t a playful one. Especially not when it crouched lower and let out another threatening hiss. Agatha stumbled back. Her feet caught on the soggy hem of her skirt, and she hi
t the snow hard once more. A rattle rose in the griffin’s throat, and it pounced again with an ear-piercing shriek, its heavy body colliding with hers, pushing her deeper into the snow.

  Claws dug into her body, gripping and tearing as its beak darted down toward her face. She screamed, certain that it was about to rip her flesh from her bones. Its beak came within inches, but the animal was yanked away from her with such speed that it left her blinking up at the sky in confusion.

  She had been about to die… Hadn’t she?

  Something just beyond her field of vision let out of low, fierce roar that she felt shake her bones. Disorientated, she lay there, hoping that if she were still enough that whatever it was out there that had attacked the griffin would assume that she was dead and move on. The crunch of footsteps came closer, and Agatha tried in vain to control her panicked pants of breath.

  She was going to die—she was sure of it.

  First, she was tricked by some horrible golden-haired troll, and now she was going to be eaten by a dragon—or something likely just as terrible!

  An enormous shadow fell over her, and Agatha’s lips tightened in terror. She hoped it would be quick. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping her “playing dead” ruse would work, but if not, she didn’t want to see whatever was about to eat her.

  Silence descended around her, and she began to wonder if she should chance a look when a pair of thick arms plucked her up from the snow. Her eyes shot open, but at the angle she was being held, she couldn’t see anything but the side of the mountain, and that spun dizzily as whatever held her suddenly took to the air. Despite the fact that she was being hauled away, the griffin determined that it wasn’t done with her because it shrieked, wings beating through the air as it soared into view. Whatever held her suddenly broke to the left so sharply that she felt the wind hit her as the world spun.

  She was going to puke.

  A gust of wind whipped the snow around her as if they were nearing the ground again, but instead of a snowbank, she caught the glimpse of gray stone before she was plunged within.

  A startled scream left her as more gray stone closed in around her. The sound must have surprised whatever was carrying her because she fell, her body hitting the stone floor hard, knocking the wind right out of her. Agatha writhed before her lungs blessedly filled with a long, labored breath. She coughed and wheezed and drew in another breath as she slowly rolled over onto her back.

  As she lay there, she noted that the floor didn’t feel like a cave or nest, but rather like polished tile or stone. A puzzled frown knotted her brow. That was unexpected, but so was the heavy footfall nearing her that sounded a lot like the thump of boots.

  Cautiously, Agatha turned her head, her eyes settling on a man’s pair of sturdy brown leather boots. From there, her eyes traveled up the very well-muscled calves and thighs contained within buttery soft-looking leather. They were thicker with muscle than those of the beautiful stranger, and the leather clung to them just as snugly. Just above the knee a deep blue tunic began, barely concealing what appeared to be a substantial bulge. A red sash embroidered with gold bisected it, but that only drew her attention to the washboard abs and the fact that the tunic stretched tight over an enormous chest. She stared at the large ribcage and the heavy muscle of the pectorals, her mouth going dry.

  No doubt he had an impressive singing voice to be built like that…

  Her eyes trailed along the white cloak fastened over broad shoulders with a single gold pin. She couldn’t see much of the arms due to the way the cloak lay, but she peered with interest at their approximate location. She jumped as wings, dappled white and pale gray, sprung out from either side, feathers snapping through the air before they folded once more. Her eyes darted up to his face, knowing without a doubt now that what she was dealing with was not human.

  Intense glowing blue eyes peered down at her from above a hawkish nose. Those eyes were larger and rounder than that of a man, but their glow and the large pupil were entirely inhuman. A generous mouth frowned at her, its color curiously reddened as if exposed to constant cold. It was framed by a dark, curling beard. Yet despite the red of her captor’s—rescuer’s?—mouth and the ruddy color in his cheeks, his skin was ghastly white, with almost a hint of blue to it, like an icy undertone. As if displeased with her inspection, his frown deepened, and Agatha nearly gave in to the urge to press herself prostrate against the floor. Instead, she trembled with barely constrained terror right where she sat.

  Given the wings, she suspected that he was the one who had plucked her off the side of the mountain. In which case, she wasn’t sure whether she should be thankful or terrified that this wasn’t just a monster wanting to eat her. Just what did he have planned for her?

  “Do not cower before me, woman,” his deep voice growled. His shocking eyes narrowed with offense, and he opened his mouth as if to say more when a sound just behind her caught his attention. The long, dark curls that fell around his shoulders stirred as he spun his head to look at that exact spot. “Veli, cease!” he barked, voice echoing as a deep rumble as he snapped his fingers at his thigh. “Come!”

  Claws scraped against stone, and Agatha watched with dread as the griffin slinked past her until it arrived at its master’s side. At the sight, her heart sped up and she drew in air in panicked gulps. She felt like either her heart or lungs were going to burst at the frantic pace of her heartbeats and breathing—perhaps both at the same time.

  The behemoth standing above her glared down at the griffin. “Now look what you have done. You frightened her.”

  She was pretty certain that the griffin couldn’t care less. It fixed her with a blank look that was a little too close to the focused gaze of a cat on a bird for her comfort. No doubt it was entertaining ideas of how it might eat her when its master wasn’t paying attention.

  “Do not worry, woman,” the man soothed, his attention once more pinned on her. “Veli is accustomed to killing that which he finds on the mountain, but he will obey. You have no need to fear.”

  Agatha’s eyes snapped up once more to his face, her mouth gaping. Did he really believe that? Given the earnest look he was giving her, she expected so. Was he that gullible or did he really have some sort of supernatural power over the mythical monster?

  “Umm, are you sure you can control that thing?” she asked cautiously.

  “Of course!” he growled out. “I am Aquilo. You are not in the company of some random spirit. I am the ruler of these mountains, the lord of the northern wind. All that dwells on and within them are mine, especially the griffins. They live here within my fortress and obey my commands.” His voice boomed with the final words, echoing in the large, stark halls all around them.

  Agatha stared up at the scowling male, her lips rounding.

  “Oh,” she breathed as she cautiously stood. Although he had her undivided attention, she made sure not to turn her back to the griffin… just in case. Learning that she was in the audience of a god was overwhelming, but it also assured her to know that he could enforce any decree. All the same, she didn’t trust the creature to not behave as any predator would.

  Aquilo’s wings shifted behind him, though she couldn’t see them this time since they were concealed within the slits of his cloak. She wasn’t sure if it was a thoughtful or anxious gesture, or if he was just calming himself. His piercing eyes, however, never left her as he regarded her from beneath his hood.

  “What are you called, woman?” he asked with an edge of impatience as if he had expected her to have offered up the information already.

  He casually lifted a hand and knocked back his hood. It fell against his back, revealing a crown that looked as if it has been crafted out of pure hoarfrost. It was spectacular, like a frosting of diamonds cut in curving, embellished shapes, glittering from where it rested in his dark curls. He looked every inch godly, and she felt like a drowned cat that had been deposited at his feet.

  Agatha did her best to straighten her sodden clothes but gave
up when they just squelched in her hands. She winced, aware of the water from the melting snow dripping and pooling at her feet on the floor, and went for a nonchalant look as she met his intense regard.

  “I’m Agatha, uh, an interior designer turned match seller and jack of all trades… I guess,” she concluded on a mumble.

  “Agatha… the good spirit,” he said slowly as if savoring her name. One dark brow rose. “It is most propitious that you have arrived here, then. I am in need of the blessings of a goodly spirit.”

  She blinked at him. He couldn’t mean that literally.

  “I think there might be some confusion… I’m not a spirit. I’m just a human.”

  A mirthful snort escaped the god as he turned and continued down the hall, trailed by his griffin. He gave her little option but to trot after him or risk being left there in the hallway. Nervously, she took a long look at her surroundings, turning in place as she did so. Her eyes fell on a pair of guards with long, predatory muzzles and glowing yellow eyes stationed near where they had entered. Each held a long spear, and the tail of the one nearest her twitched slightly. An ear turned toward her, and she wondered if it could hear the nervous flutter of her heartbeat.

  That was enough for her.

  Agatha ran after Aquilo, her run slowing to a trot once she caught up with him to keep pace with his long, hurried strides. Their footsteps echoed in the hall until they arrived at a pair of enormous doors. The doors thudded from a loud blast between them and Aquilo, and then they groaned and flew open. The griffin rushed in to join the others that were clustered where they lay near a throne, but it was the giant hearth that dominated the room that caught her attention. Despite the fact the fire seemed to burn an unearthly blue within it, she hurried over to it eagerly, desperate to get warm.