“That isn’t fair.” Mirabelle protested.
“The Fae don’t really care about things being fair.”
Chapter 12
The last week of January, the skies decided against pouring snow over the farm. No, instead it decided to rain slush, big, wet, fat globs of partially melted snow. At night, the temperature dipped below 30, causing a thin layer of ice to form every single evening, to be pelted by slush for hours and broken down by dusk, only to freeze again.
All this weather made walking on the farm quite dangerous. Mirabelle, Anona, and Matthew had all taken a terrible feet-over-head spill at sometime, but thankfully no one had broken a bone just yet. The sheep were wisely refusing to leave the barn. Usually Anona could coax them out for at least a short walk in the mornings, but they knew better. Slipping on four legs was worse than two. Mirabelle also knew that trying to get a four-legs splayed sleep back onto its feet while standing on ice yourself would be quite the trick.
On January 26th, Anona went to see Sam for the day. Mirabelle was more than suspicious at this point, as she had still never met the person capturing her sister’s heart. Her mind began to create all sorts of stories as to why Anona had not yet introduced the two of them. Was Sam a girl? Mirabelle thought not. She could care less what gender her sister preferred, and no matter who Anona slept with, she preferred not to think about it. Perhaps Sam was code for something else, like a crippling drug addiction that Anona kept in check during her twice a week visits to the city. Again, most likely not. For now, Mirabelle would have to be content with her sister having a secret she did not yet want to share.
Matthew had mentioned stopping by later in the afternoon, but for now, Mirabelle had the farm to herself, with a long list of things she needed to complete. The maple syrup buckets needed to be fetched out of the barn, and made sure that nothing was living in them. The animals needed to be fed, and a little salt needed to be spread down a few of the paths. Anona was convinced that if they could just get all the current ice melted, and the water brushed off the paths, no more ice would form. So Mirabelle had a pretty full morning until Matthew got there.
She bundled up, wrapping her protection scarf around her neck, as always. She would be wearing Anona’s work boots, which she was convinced were less slippery than hers, even though they were the exact same make.
Mirabelle stepped out onto the porch and immediately let out a loud, “Ugh.” It was pneumonia weather, again. The air was wet and cold, like a terrible humidifier built to sicken instead of heal. Her nose immediately started running. Any skin exposed to the air was frigid, while any skin covered by clothing started to sweat. It was going to be a long morning.
Mirabelle decided to feed the animals first. She trudged out to the barn, met with baa-ing sheep and even a slightly more friendly goat than usual. She filled up their troughs, gave the citrus girls pats on the head, threw a smile Elsie’s way and went to the storeroom to rummage for the buckets and salt. For all Anona’s endeavors and amazing energy towards everything she did, her organizational skills were most definitely lacking. Everything to do with sheep, goats, dogs, cats, apples, peaches, maple syrups, car repair, home repair, snow removal, and landscaping was jammed into the storeroom, which was not huge. Beyond that, there was no organizational system at all; paint cans sat next to sheers which in turn sat next to a new set of windshield wipers.
She pulled down weird bins, some of which could fit a loaf of bread but only held a single paper clip, trying to find the damn buckets. The salt was easy enough to locate. It stood right next to the door, most likely where Anona plopped it down at this exact time last year. In her efforts, Mirabelle found the following things she thought might someday prove useful.
1. A nice, sturdy canvas backpack that looked like it could hold about 50 pounds worth of supplies. If she ever needed to get off the grid, this pack would be her best friend.
2. A menagerie of glass bottles that looked perfect for holding potions. Did Anona know these were here? It seems like she would take better care of anything that could be used in the witchhood.
3. A hammock swing because, fun sex in the forest.
Finally, after jimmying around a loose shelf, the syrup buckets came tumbling down, hitting Mirabelle hard on the head, to the point that she almost cried, and felt that she was now entitled to go sit inside for a little while. She conceded with first putting the buckets next to the maple trees, as Anona had asked, and then going in for a cup of tea before she salted the labyrinth of pathways the farm had to offer.
With six buckets on each arm, she kicked open the barn door, and shut it by swinging her hips. She went the long way around the woods, carefully taking each step to prevent another fall. The wind picked up a little and the damp air was becoming a little more harsh.
“I hope Anona is enjoying her romantic rendezvous while I nearly kill myself on the farm.” Mirabelle grumbled.
“Don’t sound so depressed, my lady.” Mirabelle dropped her buckets and turned around. Blondie stood a few feet away from her, just off the path.
“What are you doing here?” She spat. Damnit, she should have brought the salt! Still, she had on her scarf; he couldn’t touch her.
“I’ve come to collect my bride, of course.” He offered his hand to her. In this terrible weather, he wore only a taupe colored old-fashioned set of tails. He was dressed as if the Earl of Winchester was expecting him for dinner.
“Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere with you.” Mirabelle stood her ground. She brought her fingers up to the edge of her scarf to help her relax.
“That scarf isn’t going to protect you today. I did a little counter magic of my own. We are linked now; simple protection spells can’t keep me from you.” He took another step towards her, reached out his hand, and brushed his fingers against her cheek.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” She growled through gritted teeth. Her eyes searched the horizon. All the plants were still dead from winter, so there was no hope of quickly finding something to ward him off. The salt was in the barn, at least a half-mile away. But, if she cut through the woods, she could get to the salt in two minutes if she ran her heart out.
“Darling, you’re being silly. It’s time for us to enter the Fae realm together. We will be happy there. We will build such a beautiful life together.” Blondie offered his hand again. Mirabelle smiled for a moment, then dashed away from him through the woods.
Her footing was uneven, and at any moment she felt like crashing to the ground was inevitable, but for now, she stayed upright.
“HELP!” She screamed, hoping at least one of the dogs would hear her and come to her aid. Matthew wasn’t due for a few more hours and he didn’t usually walk around with salt.
“Mirabelle, my lady, you are doing nothing but exhausting yourself. Just come with me; you cannot outrun me.” His voice sounded calm, and close, but Mirabelle didn’t look back; she just kept running. She could almost see the outline of the barn, when something in front of her glimmered. It was just open air, but somehow the light was making it sparkle in the strangest way. It was as if a spider had thawed early and spun the thinnest web imaginable. Before she could stop, Mirabelle ran right into it and flew to the ground. Her head smacked the dirt and she grabbed at it with both hands. There was a good chance she was going to need stitches after that fall.
“Ouch!” She yelled, flipping onto her side. She pushed herself up to start running again. In front of her was an amethyst throne.
“Oh, fuck.”
Chapter 13
Mirabelle was not alone. The room was full of the strangest collection of creatures she ever imagined appearing to have some sort of party. To her left, a woman with butterflies for hair drank from a glass the size of a didgeridoo while talking to a man nearly 8 feet tall wearing nothing but a loin cloth to cover his navy-blue skin.
Mirabelle’s palms smacked against the floor in attempt to catch herself from falling over again. The party went silent. Every one of those odd creature
s faced her.
“What is this?” Someone called out.
“A witch?”
“A witch?!”
“A Witch!!!” Accusations echoed across the room. Mirabelle searched around. Where was she? Could she run away? Was she in a room or outside? What the hell was going on?
“Come, now, my dear friends, there is no need to attack my bride.” Blondie sickeningly sweet voice droned behind her. She tried to run away from him, but tripped over a ferret scampering across the floor.
“The Witch has attacked my pet!” A woman with purple hair screamed in her shrill voice. Mirabelle slowly stood, as the ferret stuck his tongue out at her.
“I didn’t attack him.” She quickly took in her surroundings. She was outside, in a grove of some sort. It was dusk, and she was becoming too hot in her layers of clothing protecting her from the cold. She definitely wasn’t in the human realm any longer. She took off her coat and was immediately surprised. She had dressed in jeans, Anona’s boots, and a hoodie. She now wore a floor length black gown, obsidian jewels adorning every inch of her skin, and nothing on her feet. Mirabelle reached her hand up to her hair, which was long, flowing, jet-black, and nothing like the hair she woke up with everyday.
What. The. Hell.
“Blondie!” She commanded. “What did you do to me?” Now she marched at him. He wouldn’t kill her in front of all these witnesses, would he?
“Darling,” he began, but Mirabelle grabbed his neck and shoved him to the side.
“No sweet talk. Tell me.” The crowd gasped. One Fae even whimpered. Mirabelle looked around. The Fae were afraid of her. They clutched their friends and looked at her with horror. Perhaps this could be used to her advantage. She raised her hand and slapped Blondie across the face.
“TELL ME!” She yelled. A few other Fae cowered at her outburst.
“I brought my bride to our realm. We will be married at dawn. You have agreed to it, as have all of our people.”
“I didn’t agree to shit. You drugged me with, I don’t know, fairy dust or some bullshit. That doesn’t count.” She paused. “You!” She pointed at the navy-skinned man. “Take me to my own realm. Immediately.”
“Witch,” he stuttered, “I cannot. None of us can travel to your realm.” His brow furrowed.
“How did you get there?” She shot back at Blondie.
“Exile. Without you, I never would have gotten back here.” His face curled into a wicked smile. “My little Traveler Witch,” he paused. “Shall we retire to our suites? I believe you will find my accommodations more than comfortable.”
“If you think I am going to meekly follow you to your house and spread my legs for you because you kidnapped me, you have another thing coming. You should be preparing for a hell-witch to make your life miserable.” Mirabelle paused. “Who exiled you?” Blondie said nothing and looked away.
“The Queen did,” the butterfly-haired woman whispered.
“Well then. I demand an audience with you queen.” The crowded broke into murmured conversations.
“My dear, that is not-” Blondie began.
“Not you. Navy-guy, what’s your name?” She felt a little bad referring to the Fae by the color of his skin.
“Maclamartanakaa.” He answered. Of course it was.
“Ok. I demand an audience with your queen.”
“She will be present at your wedding. The queen must oversee all unions.” He explained.
“Good.” She turned back to Blondie. “I will be spending the time between now and then away from you. Anyone who attempts to aid him in taking me anywhere against my will shall be cursed!” She yelled the last part, soliciting a few shrieks.
Stupid fairies.
Mirabelle walked away from the crowd. Once she was deeper into the forest, she started noticing some obvious differences between this realm and her own. To begin, the trees were vibrantly alive and the green grass was very squishy beneath her feet. The forest was actually lovely, no part of it dark or scary, so she was beginning to believe this had to be the High Court. It wasn’t Winter or Fall. It could be the Summer or Spring court, but Anona had always doubted Blondie was from a seasonal court. She supposed she should be thankful she wasn’t stuck in the Dark Court at the moment, which would be terrifying.
Human-like creatures passed by her, pointing and whispering in her direction. Good, she thought. Let them all be afraid. She was going to need some sort of power to get out of this place, seeing as she had yet to find a door reading, “Back to Anona’s farm.”
Other things had changed. Once in his own realm, Blondie’s hair now turned the most curious shade of silver. His eyes shone like bright emeralds in their sockets, reflecting any light passing by. If she had not been so full of hate for him, Mirabelle may have found his new appearance attractive. The other fairies seemed to be just as wary of Blondie as of her, which was foreboding.
What time was it? Wedding at dawn could be five minutes from now or twelve hours. It had been twilight for at least an hour by now, causing Mirabelle to recall Johannah’s description of the passage of time in other realms.
There are realms that are nothing but bright, never-ending sunlight. The dragons live in eternal light and heat such as is nearly unbearable. Other realms never leave the dawn, like the Spring Court of the Fae. They are forever greeting a new day and a fresh beginning. The Dark Court is, of course, trapped in that darkest moment of the middle of night.
Mirabelle wished that for some inane reason she had stuffed Johannah’s book into her pocket before leaving the house, but with the transformation of her clothing, it may have been lost forever. She searched her mind for the rules of etiquette when approaching a fairy queen. There was something about bowing down to one’s right knee rather than left. What else… Mirabelle racked her memory. Flowers, she needed to present her with flowers in order to gain her favor. Well, now she had least had a task to keep her busy until dawn eventually decided to roll around. She was going to find the most beautiful damn flowers in this realm. Or at least in the forest surrounding the weird grove party the fairies seemed to partake in 24 hours a day.
The flowers here were lovely, in the strangest way. They were not static. Mirabelle picked a gorgeous lavender blossom, only to have it transform into a small palm tree. The first time, it was adorable; the fifteenth time, it was infuriating. How could she pick the most beautiful flowers if they kept changing? Mirabelle threw the handful of oddities she had collected on the ground.
“You can will it to change… or not…” a voice whispered behind her. She whipped her head around. Nothing.
“Who was that?” She spat out. “I’ll curse you!” She threatened.
“Nay, if you cannot keep the flowers from changing to your will, there’s no curse you could speak to effect me. Work on your will, and you will be fine… hehe.”
“How the hell am I supposed to work on my will?” Mirabelle answered, to no avail. Whatever had spoken was gone. “Perfect,” she muttered. She picked up the little palm tree, held it with both hands and stared at it.
“Listen, buddy. You used to be a pretty purple flower. I need you to go back to being a pretty purple flower so I can get the hell out of this realm.” Nothing happened. She tightened her grip. “Please?” She said in a sickeningly sweet voice. Still nothing. “I will tear you to shreds if you don’t change back.”
And just like that, Mirabelle learned how to make plants bend to her will.
Within the next few hours, Mirabelle tormented enough flowers to create a beautiful bouquet of lavenders, peaches, and yellows fit for the High Queen of the Fae. Then she started to wonder. Clearly, her powers here were an amplified version of those in her own realm. She could hardly threaten a flower into changing its appearance in Pennsylvania. She looked down at the black dress and black jewels that had magically appeared when she took off her jacket. She imagined Blondie had something to do with the outfit choice.
“All right, clothes. These look too… Fae. I need som
ething a little more human, and a lot more powerful.” She thought of the toughest person she had ever seen.
When Mirabelle was twelve, she and a couple of her middle school friends had taken the train into the city. They weren’t supposed to do anything besides take the bus to the mall, so deciding to take an alternate form of transportation somewhere none of them had been without parental supervision was a big deal. They went straight to the heart of downtown, and were met with a very overwhelming train station. Before their adventure had even begun, they decided it was time to go home. Sheepishly, the girls got in line to buy return tickets.
“Pretty little things.” A man had sneered at them. “All alone tonight?” Mirabelle had been speechless. The girls quickly grabbed onto each other, but all stood dumbfounded.
“I’d like to take each one of you home.” The man continued. Even years later, Mirabelle still remembered exactly what he looked like, yellow teeth, ratted black t-shirt. He was probably around thirty, young enough to seem harmless, but old enough to be capable of true harm. She had never been so scared in her entire life.
“I could eat you up-”
“What did you say, asshole?” A guardian angel descended upon them, stepping between the girls. “Did you just harass four underage girls?” A soldier stood as a buffer. Camo pants, camo jacket, tight bun, and combat boots, and the telltale desert print that had been dominating the armed forces for years at this point. Their guardian angel was a female in the United States Army.
“You’re not the cops.” The man belittled. The soldier laughed.
“No, but I have a fucking gun in my holster and a defense of PTSD.” The man’s face went white. He slowly backed away.
“What the fuck are you doing here without your parents? You have targets on your back begging derelicts to rob you or worse.” She crossed her arms, scolding them.
“We just want to buy tickets and get on the train to go home.” Mirabelle had whimpered.
Welcome to Witchhood (Sister Witches Book 1) Page 13
