Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms

by Sacchi Green

  By the time they left, Bren was exhausted, even though she hadn’t really done anything. She and the guys left without a word, the old woman closing the door on them with a glare.

  Bren broke out in goose bumps and one of the guys cleared his throat when the doors had closed.

  “Creepy old cow,” he said, and they all laughed, breaking the tension.

  Something about Jamie called to her, and she felt, in some odd way, that she knew her. She jumped out of bed the next day, eager to get to Jamie’s.

  When she arrived, the receptionist wasn’t at the front desk, but she saw the key card lying unguarded on the desk. She looked around, but the massive lobby was empty. She grabbed the card, raced to the elevator, and swiped it over the keypad. As the door began to slide shut she flung the key card back toward the desk and was satisfied when she saw it land at the base of the chair.

  Once again Jamie opened the door before she knocked, and yet again she took Bren’s breath away. A simple summer dress draped over her beautiful curves, her heavy crown of hair still in place.

  “Good morning,” she said shyly, looking down at her bare feet.

  “Hey there. I was worried about you yesterday.” Bren could have slapped herself in the head. Who opened with that with a total stranger?

  “Thank you. It’s been a long time since someone worried about me.”

  She led the way into the kitchen and Bren inhaled the smell of fresh coffee. The sun was rising over the city and the view was stunning. “Wow. Pretty amazing.” She motioned toward the lightening sky.

  Jamie looked at it thoughtfully. “It is. I’ve always wanted to see it from another vantage point though. Like the ocean. I’d love to see the sunrise over the ocean.”

  “You never have?”

  Jamie handed her a cup of coffee and sipped her own, looking at Bren over the rim. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much time, and I wanted to talk to you. Can I be blunt?”

  Bren nodded and sat across from Jamie at the table. “By all means.”

  “Do you believe in magic? Do you believe in things you can’t see?”

  Bren considered the question carefully because she could see how serious Jamie was. “I do, in a way. I believe in ghosts, and in things that can’t be explained away. I’m open to just about anything, really. I know there’s evil in the world, so by that account, there must be good to balance it, right?”

  Jamie let out a soft sigh and smiled. “I knew it. I knew you were the one.”

  “As much as I love hearing that, I’m a bit confused. I don’t think you mean it the way other women have meant it.” Bren winked to show she was kidding, and to lighten a moment that felt taut with possibility.

  Jamie got up and went into the living room and Bren followed. Jamie pulled the canvas sheet from the painting she was working on and tossed it aside. “What do you see?”

  Bren moved closer. “It looks like something out of a fairy tale. A woman locked away waiting for rescue, kind of thing.” She turned toward Jamie. “Are you locked away? That woman…”

  Jamie nodded, her shoulders slumped suddenly. “My mother. Kind of. She adopted me when I was a little girl. She came to the group home I was in, and she caught me…well, she saw me painting. But my paintings are different. I can make things happen in them. And when I change the painting, I can change the actual place.” She looked up at Bren as though to gauge her reaction. “Look at the painting again.”

  Bren looked and nearly dropped her coffee cup. This time, there was a figure on the side of the tower. And it looked like it was moving. Scaling the tower toward the woman at the top. “What the hell?” She leaned closer and could almost feel the breeze blowing the woman’s hair. “How?”

  Jamie shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just part of me. But when Magna, my mother, saw me doing it, she wanted it. She brought me here, had me raised here by nannies until I could fend for myself. She comes and goes, thankfully. But I can’t leave. She’s done something to me, so that when I try to leave I panic. I get dizzy and scared and collapse before I can even get into the elevator.”

  Bren sat on the sofa and ran her hand through her hair, trying to grasp the situation. “So, you have some magical ability to draw paintings that change the world. And she uses that to, what, make money?”

  Jamie nodded, her gaze searching Bren’s.

  “And you can’t leave here because she’s put some kind of spell or something on you?”

  Again, she nodded but stayed silent.

  “Does this have something to do with your hair? Is that why it’s so long?”

  Jamie laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Not really. She’s convinced herself that I have to stay as much the same as I can, so that nothing changes my abilities. Which means not cutting my hair, and not going outside. Nothing can change, and nothing can influence. But when something comes to me, I have to paint. I can’t not do it. And she knows that.” She knelt down in front of Bren and took her hand. “But when I saw you, time after time, outside my window, I just knew you were going to be the one to help me. Do you know, aside from my mother you’re the first person to step foot in this place in over ten years?” Her eyes welled up with tears and she held Bren’s hand tighter. “Please help me.”

  Bren held the small, soft hands in her own and tried to think. It was all so bizarre, but something about Jamie, and certainly the feelings she’d gotten from Jamie’s mother, told her there was truth to it. Not to mention the figure still scaling the outside of the tower in the painting.

  She stared outside, but her gaze drifted toward the newly placed window, which still had caution tape in front of it so no one leaned against it until it had completely set. She grinned as a plan formed in her head. “If we could get you outside, without the elevator, do you think you could get over whatever spell she put on you?”

  Jamie’s eyes grew wide. “You mean go down the side, like you do?”

  “Yeah. I could go get my ropes and rigging, and rig one for you too. Then I could take you down the outside. Do you think it would work?”

  Jamie walked to the window and looked down. Bren saw her clench her hands into fists. She spun around. “Let’s do it. But you can’t leave. We have to do it now.”

  “I don’t have my rigging with me. I didn’t think we’d need it for coffee, sorry.” She smiled gently, but she could see a fire in Jamie’s eyes.

  “My hair is long enough, and strong enough, to get me to the next balcony. If we tie it up here, and you hold it steady and release it when I get there, you can come get me from the apartment below, right? I mean, they’d let me in, wouldn’t they?”

  Bren shook her head. “There’s no one to let you in. That unit is empty. I can probably break in. But do you have any idea how crazy it sounds to let you go slinging yourself off a building using your hair? That’s nuts.”

  Jamie’s tears began to fall. “She’ll know you’ve been here. She’ll feel you. And she’ll never leave me alone again. She’ll hire someone to keep guard. This could be my only chance. Please. Please help me.”

  Bren couldn’t withstand the onslaught of Jamie’s tears and pleas. “Okay. Okay, fine. Can you get me a fine-edged knife of some kind? And a thick towel.” Jamie got her the items she needed and Bren made quick work of the window, carefully undoing the thick rubber holding it in place and sliding it into the room. The open air this high up was invigorating and terrifying. She turned to Jamie and shrugged. “This is insanity.”

  “No more insane than the fact I’ve been locked in a tower all my life, waiting for you to come along.” Jamie lifted her heavy hair and began unwinding the crown of it from her head. It lengthened and Bren was astounded at how long it really was. “What do I tie it to?”

  Bren took the end of it and tied it around the Roman-type pillar in the middle of the room. Jamie stood at the edge of the window looking down. She gathered her hair around her hands, like a massive rope, and smiled at Bren. “See you downstairs.”

  S
he stepped off the balcony and Bren held tightly to the makeshift rope, letting it down slowly. It seemed like an eternity before Jamie shouted from below. Bren looked down and saw her standing on the balcony, her face flushed with excitement. Bren rushed back and unhooked her hair before taking the elevator to the correct floor. A few hard shoves with her shoulder and she was inside. She ran to the sliding door and let Jamie inside.

  “Jesus. Are you okay?”

  She held Jamie against her and felt like she’d been doing it all her life.

  “I am. I’m okay!” Jamie looked stunned. “I’m free.”

  “Not yet you aren’t. Do you need anything from upstairs? Any belongings or anything? ID? Cash?”

  Jamie shook her head. “Bren, I don’t have anything of my own. I don’t really even exist outside those walls.”

  Bren took her hand and guided her out of the empty apartment. “We’ll fix that. But let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Together they entered the elevator and Bren kept her arm around Jamie, who pressed close to her, her hair gathered in a massive pile in her arms. When it opened into the lobby, the receptionist paled. “Ms. O’Cairn…your mother…”

  They dashed past her and out to Bren’s truck.

  Bren turned the ignition and looked at Jamie. “Where to first, magic painter?”

  Jamie took a deep breath and looked around her like a child. “Everywhere.” She laughed, a clear, beautiful sound that made Bren’s heart swell. “But first, I need a haircut.” She leaned toward Bren and cupped her face. “I knew. I knew you were the one.”

  Bren covered Jamie’s hand with her own. “Let’s get you a haircut. And then we’ll work on the everywhere part.” She kissed the back of Jamie’s hand and her lips tingled. “I don’t know about magic, but I’m sure as hell glad you painted me into that picture.”

  Jamie looked out the window, her look faraway. “There are going to be lots more of those.”

  Bren pulled out of the parking lot. “Then we’d better get started.”

  THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER

  Michael M. Jones

  I came to her in her cell, just after nightfall.

  I don’t know what exactly I’d expected of Katharina, the miller’s daughter. Perhaps a meek and terrified victim, reduced to tears by the sheer injustice of her circumstances. Perhaps a rage-weary firebrand, voice hoarse from shouting at her captors, nails bloody from scrabbling at the lock. Instead, I found a cool, calm, collected young woman, who prowled the confines of her quarters like an animal in a cage, examining it for weaknesses.

  I think I fell in love with her a little in that moment.

  Katharina was lovely in her own way. Her hair was long and fine, a silken blonde that tumbled down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, sharp and intelligent. And her skin, with one exception, was smooth and lightly tanned from time spent outdoors. Were it not for the purple birthmark that stained her right cheek, she might even have been considered a great beauty, able to attract any number of suitors.

  Alas, she had reached marriageable age and then some, with no man able to overlook this flaw, despite her father’s increasingly outrageous offers of dowry. “It is but a fairy mark,” he claimed to all who would listen. “She was touched by the fairies at birth, and imbued with a great gift, which will belong to anyone who weds her.” Had there been any fairies remaining in our land to dispute this, they might have put to rest the claim before it caused problems. But there were not, and they didn’t, and so it did.

  The king had heard tales of Katharina, the miller’s daughter, who could spin straw into copper, silver, and gold. And the king, a greedy man who never stopped to wonder why the miller was not already wealthy beyond belief, took her for his own, but with an ultimatum: Katharina would spin for him. If she passed his tests, he would marry her and her father would be richly rewarded. If she failed, there would be two new heads adorning the spikes atop Traitors’ Gate.

  The king had no patience for failure.

  I had no patience for the king, and so I came to Katharina as night fell, appearing in the shadows of her cell with but a whisper of cloak to herald my arrival.

  I call it a cell, but it was a spacious tower chamber, bare but for a few necessities…such as a spinning wheel and an imposing pile of straw. There was a lovely view of Traitors’ Gate through the thin, barred window, to remind Katharina of her fate should she prove inadequate. I was pleased to see that it had not affected her.

  She whirled when she sensed my presence, taking a step back to eye me warily. I can only imagine what she made of a hooded, cloaked figure, standing where none had been the moment before. Remaining still so as not to spook her, I pushed my hood back and let her look at me.

  Slowly, she took in my own feminine features and long dark curls, my red lips and dark eyes, my nonthreatening stance, and she relaxed. Just a little. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Why are you here? If that bastard king sent you, tell him I can’t work with an audience! The straw will turn to dust and he’ll never have his riches and treasures.”

  My lips curled in a smile. Ash and oak, but I already admired her spirit. She had a fire that would be utterly wasted on the king. And yet, I had come to make sure she lived and ultimately married him. “Calm yourself, Katharina,” I told her gently. “I know the truth of your supposed gift, and the fate that awaits you come the morning.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked again, folding her arms sternly. “And just who are you?”

  “I cannot tell you my name. But I’m here to help you. I will spin the straw into copper, enough for you to buy another day of life from the king.”

  As she assessed my offer, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what will it cost me?”

  That was the truth of it: favors never come for free in a world like ours. Debts must be repaid, scales balanced, obligations fulfilled. “Merely the ring you wear on your right hand.”

  She held her hand up to regard the simple emerald and silver ring, as though she’d forgotten it. “This? It’s all I have to remind me of my mother. Surely, if you really can create gold out of straw, you don’t need cheap baubles.”

  “True.” I took her hand between mine—when had the distance separating us shrunk to almost nothing?—and she startled a little at the touch. Something stirred deep within me as I turned her fingers in my grasp. “It’s worthless to me, but precious to you. And there must be a cost, Katharina. The ring—or your head on a pike.”

  She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “The ring is yours if you do what you say you can do.”

  I ran my thumb against her fingers before releasing her. “So be it.” The back and forth of our bargaining verged on ritualistic; it was invigorating and empowering, and new energies ran through me, unlocked by the bargain’s activation. “Sleep,” I told her.

  And she did, my magic caressing her as she fell into a deep, restful slumber, curled up on the simple cot they’d supplied her. I covered her with my cloak and went to work.

  The job only took a few hours. When I was done, the pile of straw had been replaced by copper. Coins and bars, ornaments and knickknacks, fine pieces of jewelry and gaudy baubles. Enough to please the king…for the moment. I knew this would only whet his appetite. When I awakened Katharina, she stared at my handiwork with a mixture of awe and fear, skepticism replaced by newfound belief in my magical abilities. At the same time, relief seeped into her, giving her a new measure of peace that only enhanced her inner beauty. Her eyes shone a little with unshed tears of joy, and I felt almost guilty as I held out my hand for my payment.

  She reluctantly dropped the ring onto my outstretched palm. I slipped it onto my right hand. “This isn’t the end of it, you know,” I told her. “I shall return when the king’s greed overwhelms his humanity.”

  “Wait,” said Katharina. “Take me with you.” It wasn’t a desperate plea; more a matter-of-fact suggestion, and again I admired her focus.

  I s
miled sadly, shaking my head even as she spoke. “I cannot. I am bound by rules, my dear. I can only free you if you guess my name.”

  “How many guesses do I get?” she wanted to know. Oh, canny girl. Asking the rules before leaping right into things.

  “As many as you like,” I said. “But I must be gone when morning comes, and my visits are limited.”

  Katharina nodded. And for the remainder of the night, she threw one name after another at me, every name she could think of, every name she’d ever heard. Each one was met by a shake of my head. For my name was not Abigail or Adele, Alexandra or Amelia. It was not Gertrude or Gisele, Ingrid or Irma, nor a hundred others. The morning came, and Katharina had not guessed my name. “I am truly sorry,” I told her. I wrapped my cloak around me, and vanished into the shadows even as the sun’s rays crept into the room, playing off the treasure trove of copper I’d left behind.

  It was a week before the king’s greed got the better of him and he once again locked his prospective bride in her cell with a daunting pile of straw and an unreasonable demand for silver. This time, when I appeared, Katharina was patiently waiting for me. She simmered with quiet anger and desperation, but her face was calm, her jaw set with determination. “You know what the king has ordered this time,” she said.

  “I do.” I removed my cloak, draping it along the cot. Katharina’s gaze followed me, studying me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, and desire racing through my bones. Oh, did she understand what that fierceness did to me? I wasn’t sure; though there are those who would consider me quite fetching, with my lush curves and snow-white skin, with my regal features and remote demeanor, I had not thought Katharina the sort to seek the pleasures of a woman, especially a sorceress of unknown origin. But under her scrutiny, I felt oddly naked, despite the way my robes concealed so much of me.

  Though thinking of those strong limbs wrapped around mine, that hair falling over bare skin, those lips tasting me— again, longing wove through me, leaving me wet and unsettled. It had been a long time since I’d taken a lover.