Otherworldly Discipline: A Witch's Lesson

by Korey Mae Johnson

  He happily obliged as soon as Charlotte left the room, thanking the heavens that she seemed confident enough to know what she was doing. He hadn’t been looking forward to desperately arguing with Ashcroft, because Charlotte was right—Ashcroft was not going to like this at all. He knew all too we’ll the dangers of bringing a honey nymph away from her hive.

  He shucked the blanket and the damp pajamas off of Alice, trying not to revel too much of her body, and then he placed her under the covers and lit a fire. He was just finishing putting dry clothes on himself when Charlotte scampered back into the room without knocking, holding a large mug of a steamy, citrusy smelling liquid, and chirping, “You know the honey nymph elixir and the potion that puts women into labor is practically the same recipe? Off by a single lemon!” She sat down on the side of the bed and motioned to Alice with her chin. “I need you to hold her mouth open for me,” she instructed.

  “Since when did you become a witch?” he asked, incredulous by the way Charlotte was suddenly appearing—like a confident young enchantress with the training of someone far beyond her years. He smoothed the side of Alice’s cheeks with his hands and slowly opened her mouth up. “How long will this take to work?” he asked, before Charlotte responded to his last question.

  “A few hours,” Charlotte replied with s shrug. She stuck her finger in the drink as if checking it for warmth, looked indecisive for a moment, but then slowly eased some of the liquid into Alice’s open mouth. As she was pouring the liquid, Alice’s fangs slowly started to lower from behind her teeth. Charlotte, looking amazed for a moment, put down the mug onto the bed stand and then put her small fingers around the fangs and barely tugged. The fangs fell completely into her fingers. “These will never grow back, you know. Which means she can’t collect for her hive. The Queen will most likely just have her killed for being a collector who can’t collect.” She dropped the needle like fangs to the side of the desk.

  “I don’t want her to go back to her hive, anyway,” Moriarty assured firmly.

  Charlotte glanced at him, looking amused, and then pushed herself off the bed and walked into the bathroom to wash her hands. When she came back, she said, “So, this is a story I’ve got to be told.”

  His eyebrows narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” she retorted, incredulous. “How the hell you fell for a honey nymph! Don’t you know what they’re like? They’re as nutty as fruitcakes, and mean as hell!”

  “This one isn’t,” Moriarty assured.

  “Look, she’s going to start going through nectar sickness, and you don’t want to be here when she does. It’s not gonna be pretty at all,” she advised.

  “What do you expect me to do? Even if she did have fangs, I wasn’t going to let her go back to her hive!” Moriarty barked aggressively.

  Charlotte merely responded by raising her eyebrows and putting her hands on her hips. With a puff of air, Moriarty explained… Everything. As embarrassing as most of it was. And Charlotte’s expression didn’t change through the whole time—she just continued to look entertained, as if he was telling her some sort of bedtime story.

  Charlotte finally laughed by the end of Moriarty’s story, when he was describing the bite. With a playful bounce, she hopped over to Alice and tried to peel open her eyelids to look at eyes that were no longer whitening—they were very obviously clearing up back to their natural green color.

  Moriarty was amazed that Charlotte had done something right—and fast!

  “Ha! I like this chick already. Anybody who can bite you and get away with it is on my good side from the get go!” Charlotte teased. “She’ll be fine.” After a second, she made a waffling gesture by wagging her hand back and forth. “Actually, she’ll wake up feeling like piss, and that sensation will only get totally worse when she starts needing her hive’s nectar. But if we’re lucky, she won’t try to kill us all in our sleep trying to get back to the hive. Come spring, she’ll be right as rain, though!”

  Moriarty took Alice’s fingers in his hand. They were beginning to lighten back to their normal color. “I never thought I’d say this, but… Thank you, Charlotte,” he told her as sincerely as possible.

  Charlotte merely shrugged, obviously not realizing nor caring how rare it was that Moriarty would actually thank someone. “Hey, I totally owe you after Ashcroft tried to kill you. Let’s call it even. I was kinda beginning to dread being holed up all fall and winter here with nothing to do. At least this will be exciting. Besides, it’ll be nice to have another girl to talk to.”

  Moriarty brushed some of the golden hair away from Alice’s face. “No offense,” he told Charlotte. “But I want you to stay as far away from Alice as possible. She’s dangerous.”

  “I can handle myself,” Charlotte immediately pouted, as if Moriarty had brought her a toy and then didn’t allow her to play with it.

  Moriarty firmly shook his head. “No, Charlotte. No. It’ll be enough with me trying to convince Ashcroft to allow her to stay in the house at all.”

  “Allow who to stay?” Moriarty and Charlotte’s attention snapped towards the doorway, where Ashcroft’s tall figure loomed darkly. He was covered in snow, his skin ruddy and red from the cold, causing his scars to seem more pronounced, and thus he was scarier looking than usual.

  Ashcroft stepped into the room and looked towards Moriarty’s bed. “Who is that?” Ashcroft demanded, not looking at all happy. He probably gathered that he would not like the answer.

  Moriarty straightened his shoulders, not allowing Ashcroft to intimidate him. “She’s mine.”

  Charlotte immediately rolled her eyes in response in the same manner she used whenever either he or Ashcroft would say something she considered misogynistic while sitting by the fireside at night.

  “What is she?” clarified Ashcroft, more darkly than ever.

  “Before Moriarty answers that,” Charlotte said, stepping between them and looking imploringly at Ashcroft. “Remember that you do owe him an apology, and that he’s your best friend, not just a servant. He should be able to have whatever he wants! He doesn’t ask for much, you know.”

  “Charlotte, don’t get between us,” Ashcroft ordered, taking her hand and wheeling her behind him. “Moriarty; an answer.”

  “She’s a honey nymph, Master,” Moriarty admitted, trying not to flinch. Ashcroft’s face reacted immediately with shock.

  “You can’t just bring a honey nymph into the house!” he blared. “What the devil are you thinking?”

  “I want her,” Moriarty snapped.

  “Absolutely not. You can’t have her. You certainly cannot keep her! Have you lost all your senses?” He looked over at Alice again and combed his thick fingers through his hair. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She went into honey shock and—”

  “Good!” huffed Ashcroft. “Then we’ll be rid of her in a few hours!”

  “Ashcroft!” snapped Charlotte. “Shame on you!”

  “I’m not making any elixir for her. Nature will take its course,” Ashcroft said decisively, cutting his hands through the air.

  “I’ve already done it, Ash. She’ll recover just fine!” assured Charlotte, lifting her chin up, glaring at Ashcroft defiantly.

  “You can’t make an elixir!” Ashcroft argued maniacally. “You can barely boil water, last I checked!”

  “Well, you should check again.” Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “I’m not the bimbo you’ve taken me for. She’s fine. See for yourself.”

  Ashcroft, as if he was accepting the challenge, marched over to Alice. Moriarty stood in his way, “Don’t touch her.”

  “Do you want to fight me?” Ashcroft asked him, growling.

  “I will if I must,” replied Moriarty, locking his jaw as he spoke. “She’s mine. I’ll protect her. I’ll bring her out of nectar sickness. I would like your blessing and your help. But without it, I will do it anyway, and I will quit you immediately.”

  Ashcroft’s eyebrow wriggled w
ith concern, although it was almost uncatchable. “You can’t quit!” he finally stated, more frustrated than Moriarty had ever seen him, despite the fact that only twenty-four hours ago, Ashcroft had made a pass at killing him. “Have you been enchanted or something? What in God’s name gotten into you?” he demanded.

  “I want to help her,” Moriarty implored. “I will do what I must to help her—I have quite decided.”

  Ashcroft’s jaw angrily twitched as he stared down Moriarty, no doubt considering what life would be like without Moriarty as his steward. Or what a battle would be like without Moriarty watching his back. Obviously, he didn’t like the thought of it, because he gruffly said, “Fine. So be it. She is more trouble than she’ll be worth, however. That I promise you.”

  “I disagree,” Moriarty growled.

  Ashcroft rolled his eyes. “Let me take a look at her, then.” Moriarty wouldn’t move out of the way, however. Ashcroft put up his hands. “I won’t hurt her, I promise.”

  Finally, Moriarty stepped aside and Ashcroft walked up to Alice’s side and lifted her eyelid carefully, and then opened her mouth and looked inside. He turned, his expression looking most confused. He looked at the bed stand and picked up one of the fangs, and then picked up the mug and sniffed the contents.

  “Where did you find this potion?” he finally asked, looking up to Charlotte.

  Charlotte swallowed visibly, as if she was nervous about responding, even though her tone, when she answered, was still defiant. “In one of your books, of course.”

  “Which book?” Ashcroft’s eyes scanned over the girl skeptically.

  “One I read,” Charlotte hedged. Her tone sounded confident, but Moriarty noticed that she put her hands behind her back and she wrung her fingers together. She was obviously nervous about something.

  Ashcroft put the mug down, his expression still confused—too confused to even be impressed, let alone to apologize for doubting her. Moriarty was also strangely suspicious, but he didn’t know why, or what she could have possibly done to suddenly become well learned. Ashcroft finally looked at Moriarty, “I hope you have patience that I’ve never recognized in you,” Ashcroft told him ominously. “She’s your responsibility. Keep her out of the rest of the tower—I don’t want Charlotte or any of the servants to be harmed, or else I will destroy her.”

  Moriarty swallowed, but nodded. He simply wouldn’t let Alice hurt anyone. She was sweet underneath; he’d seen it. He’d just have to make sure her niceness stayed at the surface.

  Chapter Nine

  Alice could honestly say that she never had felt so horrible before in her life. She couldn't imagine feeling any worse, and she had forgotten what it felt like to feel any better. She was just begging to be put out of her misery at this point.

  Although she had a horrible feeling Moriarty Miles was not going to put her out of her misery. He kept saying from somewhere above her that he was going to 'help her through it'. That actually sounded sweet the first week she was in nectar sickness, when she still had her senses about her, but now, as she moved into her fourth week of not even getting to lick the nectar from the dregs of the Queen's cup, it was less than sweet. His promise had actually become quite foreboding.

  "Please, please!" she screamed, although it was unclear what for. Death? Nectar? Both? Yes, both would be preferable. If she could only go out with one last drop of nectar on her tongue... That might be for the best.

  And she knew she had barely ceased crying and moaning for the last two weeks, and Moriarty, last she checked, was looking just about as haggard as he could be. She knew he had to be at the edge of his patience although he still seemed much more concerned than frustrated with the fact that he had barely slept all month--certainly no more than she had, and at midnight it didn't seem like either of them were going to sleep that night, either.

  But it wasn't her fault. Her skin felt painful and itchy, tickling like pinpricks, and every breath in and out felt like fire. Her muscles were stiff and ached miserably, and she was so tired. And she was so light-sensitive that he had to keep the window shutters closed and the curtain around the fore-poster bed closed.

  Moriarty sweetly plucked the clothes off of her as she writhed desperately, picked her out of the bed, and brought her to an icy bath and dropped her in. Although normally the sensation would make most girls scream, she let out a breath of relief, and then panted wearily.

  He brushed some wisps of hair behind her ears, looking quite relieved himself, although this wasn't the first ice bath he'd given her. "Believe it or not, you're going to make it through this. Nectar sickness isn't fatal," he cooed. "You'll heal in time."

  "Just kill me," she begged, her voice quiet, weak, and pathetic. Her throat was sore from crying so much and for so long at a time. "Please. Don't waste anymore of your time on me."

  "Right before you get over the hump? No," he refused, giving her a kind smile. "I've simply invested too much time. If I wasn't ready for a few weeks in hell, I would have never taken you back with me." But she knew that he had to be kicking himself by now for ordering a prostitute in the first place.

  He gave a soothing pet to the back of her neck. “I’ll be back, Darling.”

  And he did return about the same time as the water around her began to feel warmer against her skin, conveniently at the same time the pain began to return. He rolled up his sleeves, and picked her up out of the bathtub and dried her off. “You’ve been seeing a lot of me naked recently, at least,” she tried to tease, although her teeth were chattering.

  He smiled wryly. “Yes, I suppose you could definitely call that an upside,” he replied. “Now if I can just get you to eat a little bit more, you won’t waste away on me…”

  She frowned and sighed heavily. “I’m so miserable…”

  “I know,” he replied to her, helping fresh pajamas over her stiff muscles before he picked her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, set out with fresh sheets. “It’ll get better.”

  But it didn’t. It simply got worse minute by minute until dawn’s light peeked through the open window. She had started to cry again, and Moriarty, who suffered through the night next to her, rubbing her back tenderly as he’d done for the last month, left the room hesitantly, combing his hands through his hair, and finally returned with a man she’d never seen before, who sat on the bed edge and looked into her eyes.

  At first, Alice was shocked. This man was horrifying. Broad-shouldered, tall, muscular, and his face was very scarred on his left side. Deep scratches gouged into and across his nose, his cheeks, even down his lip, and his brooding expression didn’t help make him appear any nicer. “Well, Moriarty,” the man said, talking over her as she continued to sob. “I actually feel optimistic about this. This actually happens to be the best case I’ve ever seen! She’s not bleeding out her pores or her eyes, and if she was going to, she would have done so by now.”

  “Do something for her, Master,” growled Moriarty. “You have to be able to do something.”

  “I could do something for bleeding, if that’s what she was doing. But she’s not. It’s not severe enough,” the man shrugged, heaving his broad shoulders up in an unsympathetic shrug. “Believe it or not, this is good news. She’s only bearing what she must.”

  Moriarty looked like he didn’t agree.

  The man rubbed his hand against his face, looking wearily at her. “Did you put her in ice water?”

  Alice sobbed harder.

  “Of course I have. I put her in ice water until her skin practically turns blue! I couldn’t do it for longer. She’d freeze.” Moriarty seemed stiff and seething. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Look, Charlotte told me she’d like to try something that she thinks will help the nectar sickness. Perhaps, if we—”

  “I’m not letting Charlotte within ten feet of an unstable honey nymph,” the man snapped. “And Charlotte is nowhere near advanced enough to start creating magic I’ve never heard of. She doesn’t know the proper methods of testing�
�not that she wouldn’t be too lazy to implement them. I haven’t gotten through spell making lessons, nor—”

  “You didn’t think she could make that honey shock elixir either,” snapped Moriarty. “She might not be as stupid as I thought before. Maybe we’ll be surprised.”

  “My answer on that is no. It’s too dangerous for Charlotte, and really—it’s too dangerous for Alice. After a month of suffering, do you really want to offer this girl to Charlotte as a guinea pig? Let her die simply to avoid another month or so of suffering? It’s so short of time, really, in the grand scheme of things.”

  Alice looked up at Moriarty with her glassy eyes, and her heart fell when he pursed his lips and nodded, as if he agreed. “You’re right,” Moriarty said. “I don’t want to use Alice as a lab rat. I was just… so desperate.”

  And suddenly, Alice began to feel like Moriarty didn’t understand at all. She let out another sob and turned away from them, staring at the door, wondering how she was going to bear the way she felt for a moment longer.

  That’s when she saw another face she’d never seen before, this time it was a girl—a girl who looked even younger than her, who was glancing into the room through a small opened crack.

  For a moment, the two girls made eye contact, looking curiously at each other, and Alice felt somehow slightly comforted at the sight of her. Alice thought she was small, smaller than average, but this girl was the same size. Only her complexion was paler, her hair darker, ruddier-colored, and tied in an intricate braid that fell down the side of her neck towards an elaborate day dress. The girl blinked at her, cocked her head to the side, and put her finger to her lips, and then whirled her fingers around and stepped back into the hallway and out of sight.

  Strange enough, Alice had the feeling they had made some sort of communication. That some sort of understanding between them had been made. The girl had just somehow promised to return to help with a confidence that Alice didn’t possess. Truly, Alice agreed with the scarred faced man; that there was nothing to be done; she was sure that she was doomed to suffer through more of the same.