Spellbound

by Ophelia Silk

  “I’ll just—”

  “Here, let me—”

  In her attempt to take the bowl, Adelaide jostled it instead. Hot stew spilled over the edges and onto Jane’s hands. She hissed, jerking away, the bowl clattering to the table thankfully mostly full. Adelaide rushed to her side.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No—no.” Jane wiped her hands hurriedly. They were a little red, but not truly burnt. She held them out for Adelaide’s inspection. “I’m fine—see?”

  Adelaide clasped her hand, gentle. “I’m sorry.”

  It felt as though she were apologizing for something much more than spilled stew. And Jane felt a rush of sympathy for her. Because she knew what it was like to have to sneak around the thing you really meant to say, because you were too afraid.

  She caught the other woman’s gaze and held it. “I forgive you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Learning Opportunity

  DINNER PASSED WITH surprisingly pleasant conversation. Adelaide asked Jane more about living on a farm, then recounted a truly funny story where someone’s cow had gotten loose and chased her through the forest.

  “Got delicious meat out of it, anyway,” Adelaide finished, sardonic.

  Jane put a hand to her lips to hide the threatening smile. “You stole it?”

  “Stole it? It rampaged right through my fence!”

  Jane put up her hands, a gesture of peace. “Fair enough.” She took the dinner dishes to the sink, setting to work before the leftover stew could congeal. Amazing how much easier Adelaide’s dishes were to wash when she didn’t have to scrub old food off of them.

  Behind her, she could hear Adelaide moving. It was strange—whenever Jane imagined keeping house for someone, William for example, it always made her feel uncomfortable. But this wasn’t uncomfortable. This felt good, and right. Not even a day and it already felt like a routine. Adelaide’s presence in the room was surprisingly comforting.

  The room grew warmer, and she knew without looking that the other woman had stoked the fire. When she turned back, Adelaide was sitting by the flames with a book in hand, flipping idly through the pages. Cabula dozed in her lap.

  “Do you really read that?”

  Heat rushed to Jane’s cheeks the moment the words were out of her mouth. It was a silly question, truly. She wasn’t surprised when Adelaide looked up with an amused expression. “That is what one usually does with books, is it not?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Jane said hastily. “I’ve never been taught to read.”

  Adelaide looked down at her book, her expression unreadable. “I see.” Her tone was just as hard to place, but Jane felt the most absurd certainty that she had disappointed the other woman.

  She chanced forward, toward the warm glow of the fire. “Who taught you to read?”

  The question seemed to almost surprise a smile out of Adelaide, one that curled slow across her face. “My mother.”

  It seemed very strange to Jane. Neither her mother or father could read. And even if they could, she didn’t think she’d speak of either of them with such a fond smile.

  “Did she live in the forest, too?” Jane wasn’t quite sure why she was asking. It wasn’t in her nature to be nosy, or to pry into other people’s business. But for some reason, it felt alright with Adelaide. Perhaps because Adelaide never spoke as though she had something to hide.

  The witch nodded, her eyes on the fire. “My mother and her mother before her.”

  Jane sat down by the fire, on a chair that didn’t quite face Adelaide’s but came close. “What of your fathers?”

  Adelaide let out a laugh. “My grandfather, yes. My father is a traveller. My mother once called him a foolish but handsome man, and I think that sums him up. We’ve met a few times, but don’t have much of a relationship.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The words fell from Jane’s lips more or less automatically. But, of course, Adelaide would not let them pass by without comment. She fixed that intense gaze on Jane, demanding an explanation. “Whatever for? I don’t feel particularly deprived.”

  Jane looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I suppose it must have been lonely.” Then again, it must be even lonelier now. Jane didn’t have to ask to know that her mother was no longer around. Everything about the house made it clear that she lived alone. Every inch of clutter was very clearly Adelaide’s.

  Adelaide, who had never answered her, she realized. She turned to see the witch looking into the fire. The light played against her sharp cheekbones, crackled in her dark eyes. Not for the first time, Jane found herself noticing how lovely the other woman was.

  She hurriedly looked down, and in doing so noticed a tear in Adelaide’s skirt. “Oh!” She pointed.

  Adelaide frowned, following her gaze until she found the tear. “Ah.” She picked up the skirt, examining it. “What a shame. This is one of my favorites. Still wearable, though.”

  Jane moved closer, trying to get a better look at the damage. “It’s an easy enough fix. Can’t you mend it?”

  Adelaide shrugged. “I don’t know how to sew.”

  Jane gawked. “How do you not know how to sew?”

  Adelaide returned a cool look. “How do you not know how to read?”

  “I’m sorry.” Heat rushed to her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed this much. “I believe you must be rubbing off on me. I keep speaking without minding my manners.”

  It was Adelaide’s turn to gawk. But then she broke into loud laughter. “Well, good for you!”

  A small smile coaxed across Jane’s lips. “It just seems so difficult to believe. What do you do when you tear your clothing?”

  Adelaide shrugged. “Keep wearing them until I physically can’t. There isn’t exactly anyone out here to impress.”

  “No. I suppose there isn’t.” Jane couldn’t help feeling a bit wistful at the thought. Especially when she considered all of the times her mother had stopped her from going out in this or that, wanting to make sure that Jane always looked the part of the beauty. The idea of simply not caring about a tear in her skirt was oddly appealing.

  Then again, Adelaide had said that she liked the skirt.

  “Would you like me to mend it?”

  “Hm?” Adelaide blinked down at her, surprised.

  Jane took the skirt in between her fingers, delicate. “It’s an easy enough fix. I could mend it for you if you’d like.”

  It occurred to her too late that simply grabbing someone’s skirts was probably not very polite. But then again, politeness didn’t seem to matter much here. And Adelaide didn’t seem to mind it—she was, in fact, looking down at Jane with a rather amused expression.

  “Hmm,” she said. “An interesting proposition. But I believe I might have a better one.”

  Jane blinked up at Adelaide, curious. “Oh?”

  “You know what they say about teaching a man to fish,” Adelaide hummed. “And we both, clearly, have gaps in our knowledge. If you’d like, I’ll teach you to read, and you could teach me to sew.”

  The firelight played almost cheerfully in those dark eyes, turning what was usually quite cold into something warm and inviting. Jane realized that she was leaning forward to listen to Adelaide with a rapt attention that she often feigned for William. This time, she’d fallen into it without even thinking.

  Because it was something to imagine. Guiding Adelaide’s hands through threading a needle, showing her how to mend the tears in her clothes. And, at night, Adelaide would sit close by her, teaching her to read by firelight.

  She was surprised by just how appealing the thought was. Adelaide was a vexing woman, but maybe if they were around each other in such a mutually beneficial capacity, it wouldn’t be so bad. And there was a part of her that wanted to learn this. It would take time, surely, but…

  Time.

  Jane leaned back, very purposefully arranging her expression into one of polite curiosity. “How long do you intend
for me to stay here, Miss Thompson?”

  Adelaide must have angled her head just imperceptibly, because some of the cheery light in her eyes dimmed. “A month, at most,” she admitted. “Not enough for you to learn to read…”

  Jane felt the most absurd urge to apologize. She held it back, knowing that Adelaide would probably ask her why and she wouldn’t have an answer. “I could still teach you how to sew,” she offered. “It wouldn’t take that long.”

  Adelaide stood. “No. My life has gone well enough without knowing, don’t you think?”

  There was something oddly cold in her tone, as though she wanted to fling the words as an insult. Jane drew a knee to her chest, trying to keep the stinging out of her heart. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d imagined slights where there were none. She was attuned to changes in people’s demeanors, used to trying to placate her parents early. Adelaide wasn’t the type to be subtle, so it was probably nothing.

  And even if it wasn’t, did she care if she inadvertently hurt the other woman? Adelaide didn’t care who she hurt.

  “I’m going to bed,” Adelaide said, abrupt, and Jane realized she had never answered. She had forgotten, for a moment, that Adelaide asked questions expecting answers, and not just polite, meaningless smiles.

  “Adelaide,” Jane started, and the witch paused with her back to Jane.

  “Yes?”

  Now that she actually had the witch’s attention, or something approximating it, she had no idea what to say. She became certain that nothing she said would remove the strange chill from the air between them.

  “Goodnight,” she said, feeling oddly like she’d been defeated.

  Adelaide glanced over her shoulder just once, black hair obscuring her face like a curtain. “Goodnight.”

  And, with that, she disappeared down the hall, leaving Jane to the remains of the fire.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A New Light

  JANE AWOKE THE next morning to the sound of humming.

  Even through the closed door of the bedroom it reached her, a husky voice rumbling down the hall from the kitchen. She surprised herself by recognizing it as Adelaide’s. Even after such a short time, the other woman’s voice was familiar to her.

  She flicked through the clothing the witch had left for her, selecting a ruffled white blouse and a brown skirt that reminded her of autumn leaves. It was a bit out-of-date, certainly nothing her parents would approve of her wearing.

  Part of her still missed home—not the fear of her parents’ judgement, necessarily. But picking through her own clothes, considering what she’d be doing for the day. Seeing people, going to parties, having more to look forward to than just cleaning up a house. She was getting more comfortable here, but it wasn’t terribly exciting.

  Jane lifted her shift to look at the bandaged wound at her side. It stung, still, but not as badly as it had. Pressing her fingers to it made her wince, though, something like nausea rolling through her stomach. She had no reason to doubt Adelaide’s judgement that the beast’s poison still lingered under her skin.

  Really, she had no reason to doubt Adelaide at all. The woman was honest, sometimes infuriatingly so. And Jane felt certain that once she was fully healed, Adelaide would want nothing more to do with her.

  Her stomach turned. She chalked it up to thinking too much about her wound and got dressed quickly to push the feeling away, focusing on the humming instead.

  Said humming continued even as she stepped out of her room, fingertips finishing tying her blonde hair into a braid over one shoulder. She stopped in the entryway to the main living space, shocked and more than a little awe-struck. All thoughts about the house not being exciting fled.

  Adelaide stood in the kitchen area with her eyes closed, head thrown back and dark hair streaming behind her. Her arms were spread out, her pale fingertips splayed. Her dark skirts rustled about her in spite of the lack of wind.

  And, perhaps most shocking of all, Adelaide was glowing. The dark purple aura brightened and diminished in time with the ethereal hum echoing from her closed lips.

  Jane was unsure how long she stood and stared. Maybe it was the magic keeping her spellbound, but she didn’t truly believe that was it. It was Adelaide. It was seeing this woman, fearless and sure, completely in her element. She was impossible to misunderstand, here in this context. The smile on her face was comfortable and confident in equal measures as her dark hair swirled about her pale face like a cloud above a snowstorm.

  What did it feel like, Jane wondered, to have that sort of power coursing through you?

  The glow faded, and Adelaide opened her eyes. They landed on Jane almost immediately, and her narrow eyebrows raised. “Good morning.”

  “What was that?” Jane realized how rude that sounded, and bit back an apology that would have fallen on deaf ears. “It was so…” Beautiful. But that wasn’t a word that she dared to say out loud, especially to this woman with her dark eyes and her graceful, refined features. “Impressive,” she finished.

  Adelaide turned away, but Jane thought she caught a pleased smile on the witch’s face. “I suppose,” she said, swiping dried flower petals off the counter and into the pockets of her dress. “It isn’t too impressive to me, of course. I’ve been able to do it for as long as I’ve known to walk.”

  “What does it do?” Jane approached the counter, looking at the remaining flower petals with interest. They were the same dusky purple as the glow around Adelaide.

  “Personal protection,” Adelaide said, voice blunt. “Prolonged contact with the forest can leave you susceptible to more than the beasts’ voices, and this keeps them from detecting me. They can also be used as a weapon against them, but I rarely have to. Saving you was the first time I’ve had to use that spell in years.” She swept the remaining petals into her pocket and gave Jane a calm look. “When you’re well enough to go outside, we’ll have to take you into the garden and figure out what will protect you. You’ve been here long enough that you’ll need it when you leave the property.”

  Jane leaned against the counter, for once unmindful of her posture. She was too caught up in the conversation, in the idea that these dried petals had saved her life. “Those won’t work for me?” In any other setting, she’d certainly be scolded for asking too many questions. Nosiness was unbecoming, and curiosity even more so on a woman. But Adelaide didn’t care what was unbecoming. It was a bit exciting to realize.

  Sure enough, Adelaide didn’t take offense to the questions. She simply shook her head. “No. Magic is personal, especially protective magic. The hydrangeas that serve me would do little, wielded by you.” A little, secret smile curled in the corners of her lips. “Hibiscus seems more your type. Or peony. Daisy, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Jane didn’t know what any of those meant. But she liked that Adelaide was considering her, and even the way that her gaze swept from the crown of Jane’s head to her feet did nothing to distress her. Often her skin would crawl when William did such a thing, knowing what he was imagining. But now she felt only excitement.

  “You said I’d be able to go out into the garden. When?” She blinked, a thought occurring to her. “Wait. It’s nearly winter. Won’t your flowers be wilted?”

  Adelaide laughed and shook her head. “I can protect myself from beasts, heal illness and do so much more. Surely, keeping flowers blooming through winter is child’s play.”

  Heat rushed to Jane’s face. “Of course.” She swallowed, straightening up a bit. “So, when will I be well enough?”

  “Eager to leave, aren’t you?” Adelaide had her back turned to Jane as she spoke, grabbing her cloak, and Jane didn’t like that. She didn’t like the note in Adelaide’s voice, and she didn’t like that she couldn’t read Adelaide’s face.

  Jane looked down at her hands, nerves crawling up the inside of her stomach. This was not the sort of thing she would admit regularly, but Adelaide was not a regular woman. “I like flowers,” she said. “My family is always quick t
o tell me that they’re frivolous, a waste of time, and I know that’s true when compared to our crops, but—”

  “Your family is wrong.”

  Jane looked up, shocked. Adelaide smiled, but there wasn’t a lot of humor in it. “Flowers can do many things,” she said. “As you have just seen.”

  That was a good point. She considered telling Adelaide that her family wouldn’t approve of magic, but of course, the witch already knew that. No one approved of magic. It was, surely, why she lived so cut off from the rest of the world.

  Adelaide surprised her by continuing in spite of her silence. “Besides,” she said. “Do they make you happy?”

  The blunt question shocked a similarly blunt answer from Jane’s lips. “They do.”

  Adelaide shrugged on her cloak, tying the dark fabric about her throat. “Then they aren’t a waste of time. Nothing that makes you happy is a waste.”

  Jane had to avert her eyes, which had begun to sting. She thought that she’d never been told anything kinder in all twenty of her years. She had a strong desire to thank Adelaide, but then she’d probably ask why, and she wasn’t sure if she was up to explaining.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said, her voice quiet. “I never thought of it that way.”

  No answer from Adelaide. But no movement toward the door, either, even though she surely must have been leaving. Why else would she have put on her cloak, or bothered with the flowers in the first place?

  When Jane looked up, Adelaide was gazing at her. Those dark eyes pulled her in. They seemed to see more than they should have, every word that Jane had kept to herself. In time, Jane felt as though she were seeing things in Adelaide’s eyes, too, her own truth reflected back at her.

  Then Adelaide shook her head, as if to clear it, and Jane was shocked out of her trance. “I’ll be back in time for dinner,” Adelaide said. Then, after a pregnant pause, “Tomorrow, I intend to stay here. And you should be well enough to go out to the garden then.”

  Jane couldn’t tear her eyes away from Adelaide’s. They looked so soft. It wasn’t a word she had associated with the witch often, but now she saw it in her a thousand times. Her hair looked soft. Her skin looked soft. Her own fingers ached to test this.