Spellbound

by Ophelia Silk

  She pressed them against the folds of her skirt. Her borrowed skirt. Also soft. “I’d like that,” she said.

  Adelaide crossed to the door. She paused, glancing over her shoulder “For what it’s worth? Flowers make me happy, too. Not just because of their practical purposes but… planting them is soothing, and looking at them is pleasant. I don’t think that’s frivolous at all.”

  There was something almost vulnerable about Adelaide’s voice. Jane ducked her head. “I’m glad you agree with me.”

  Adelaide lingered a moment longer, the air thick with things unsaid. But in the end, she left without another word.

  Jane found herself staring at the door long after Adelaide was gone. Eventually, a twinge in her side brought her to the potion left for her on the table. And from there, she noticed remnants of last night’s stew on the counter.

  It was time for the day’s work to begin.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Nightly Visitor

  ADELAIDE RETURNED, AS promised, by dinner. By then Jane had thoroughly exhausted herself doing a deeper clean of the space, now that she had the witch’s permission to do so. She also took the time to mend her clothes, wash it and hang it to dry. She went on to wash more of Adelaide’s clothing. By the time dinner was done, her side ached so fiercely that Adelaide insisted on a second helping of medicine and sent her off to bed.

  “Don’t overwork yourself,” she admonished, watching Jane walk down the hall, staying close by as if to catch her if she stumbled.

  Jane offered her a smile. “Wouldn’t want to see your supplies go to waste?” Part of her surprised herself with her own boldness. But only a part of her. The other part of her was growing quite used to this.

  Adelaide laughed, which made Jane smile. She went to sleep with that smile still on her lips.

  She woke with it gone. And it wasn’t Adelaide’s laughter that echoed in her ears, but an angry shout.

  “You people are all the same!”

  Jane blinked at the ceiling in the dimness. It was still dark, silver moonlight casting the room in vague shapes. For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming. Or perhaps the beasts outside were trying to trick her again.

  But when Adelaide’s voice echoed, it came from inside the house. “The nerve of you!”

  Jane slipped out of bed, as silent as a ghost on her bare feet. She knew how to creep with no one hearing her, and she did so now, keeping to the edges of the hallway where the wooden floor would be less likely to creak.

  When she peered around the corner, Adelaide was in the kitchen, lit by candlelight. And she wasn’t alone. A young girl, no older than thirteen, sat at the table. Jane recognized her vaguely as another farmer’s daughter, just unfamiliar enough that Jane couldn’t put a name to her. But there was familiarity in the glassy sheen of her eyes, the hummingbird trembling of her shoulders, the tight press of her lips to keep the whimpers from coming out. All things that Jane could understand quite well. The girl was terrified.

  Adelaide didn’t notice. She wasn’t even looking at the girl. She was pacing the kitchen, her expression stormy. “You want my power, you consider me a tool. But still you distrust me, revile me. Does it ever occur to you, that perhaps, I’m sick of this? Sick of being treated like a tool to be taken out of its box whenever it is convenient?”

  The girl didn’t answer, but when Adelaide turned on her, she flinched. Just slightly, but it was there. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  The girl stayed silent. And Jane understood. When no answer seemed like the right one, sometimes silence was the safest option. Of course, by now Jane knew that despite her faults, Adelaide would never physically harm someone, at least not in anger. But the girl didn’t know that, and the pale horror in her face suggested that she rather expected a blow to come.

  “Adelaide.” In the silence left behind by the witch’s shouting, Jane’s voice seemed very loud. The girl jumped, looking over with wide eyes. Jane moved forward slowly, as to not startle her unnecessarily. “What is all this?”

  “Nothing.” Adelaide crossed her arms over her chest, moody. “The girl comes for a spell but then refuses to tell me what she wants the spell for. She thinks that I’m untrustworthy. Probably curses my magic by daylight and then comes to me in the night, like all the others. That’s all I’m good for!”

  Adelaide flung her arms out, and this finally broke through the girl’s panic-induced stillness. She toppled out of her chair, shielding her head from the blow she obviously thought Adelaide was about to inflict. “Don’t, don’t!”

  The witch regarded her for a moment, then turned to Jane with offense scrawled across her features. “See, she thinks I’m going to hit her! She thinks I’m a monster!”

  Jane stepped carefully into the living space. Anger rolled in her stomach, but she pushed it down. “Adelaide,” she said, keeping her tone calm and even. “This isn’t about you. Can’t you see that?”

  Adelaide opened her mouth, then closed it. The only sound was the girl’s panicked breathing behind them, rapid and on the edge of sobbing.

  “Remember when I thought you would leave me out in the snow? You were offended by that, too, at first.” She did her best to keep her tone even, although the memory made her want to tremble. “Eventually, you realized that it was because it had happened to me before. Isn’t it possible—likely, even—that the girl is operating under similar logic? That she’s been taught that yelling and anger is followed by blows? She was obviously frightened when you began to shout. And I don’t think it had anything to do with your magic.”

  The more Jane spoke, the more Adelaide looked ashamed. Her gaze skated over Jane’s shoulder to the girl behind her. “I should apologize.”

  Jane stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “You should make her tea while I calm her down. You’ve done enough.” She could hear anger creeping into her own voice, not as a shout but as frigid coldness that made Adelaide wince and look down. Jane sighed and squeezed her shoulder, gently. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt her. But I think the best thing you could do for her now is give her some space.”

  Adelaide kept her gaze on the floor, but patted Jane’s hand briefly before going to make tea.

  Jane turned to the girl. She’d begun rocking, whimpering with her face buried in her knees. For all her talk of calming the girl down, she wasn’t honestly sure how she was meant to do that, but she knew she had to try. She knelt carefully, keeping her distance. “There, now,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “Can you hear me? Could you look at me, please?”

  The girl met her gaze. She had light brown eyes the color of honey and a smattering of freckles across her tear-splotched face. She reminded Jane distinctly of a fawn—or perhaps a grown deer caught in a hunter’s sight.

  Still, the fact that she had looked up at all was probably a good sign. Jane offered her gentlest smile, years of practice making it come easy in spite of her distress. “Thank you. That’s very good. Can you tell me your name? Or shake your head if you don’t want to, that’s fine too.”

  The girl let out a sniffle, then spoke in a cracked voice. “El-Eloise.”

  “Eloise.” Jane’s smile widened, softening around the edges. “It’s going to be okay, Eloise. No one is going to hurt you.” She saw the girl’s eyes dart up to where Adelaide was surely working on the tea, and Jane let out a soft hum. “She’d never hurt you. Her bark is worse than her bite, don’t worry.”

  She wasn’t sure how much of this Eloise actually got, but at least her shaking had diminished. “I’ll be good,” she said in a quiet, wavering voice that broke Jane’s heart. She wanted to reach out for the smaller girl’s hands, but was afraid that even a hand outstretched in gentleness would look like a threat.

  Jane had never been hit by her parents, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t understand and relate to the trapped look in the girl’s eyes. So she said what she might have liked to be said to her. “Even if you’re not, no harm will come to
you. Even if you make a mistake, no one is going to punish you. If you get angry, or afraid, or if you say something impolite, no retribution will be taken. That isn’t how things work here. That isn’t how things should work anywhere.”

  Again, she got the sense that her actual words weren’t necessarily getting through. But she thought her general meaning was. Her tone, at least, was doing something to still the trembling in the girl’s shoulders.

  So she kept murmuring, soft and gentle as a lullaby. Slowly, Jane thought Eloise’s eyes were becoming more present, more aware. Less like an animal caught in a trap and more human. When Cabula nosed at her arm curiously, she even managed a wobbly smile, scratching the cat behind the ears. It did Jane’s heart good to see it.

  Over her shoulder, Adelaide coughed. Eloise’s eyes still darted up to her a bit too quickly, but they were more wary than frightened. When Jane looked up, Adelaide had set a steaming teapot and several cups on the counter. She looked away with her arms crossed over her chest, lip worried between her teeth.

  “Here,” she said, not quite making eye contact. The regret and guilt in her stance was so unlike her. Her hair was like a curtain covering her expression, but Jane thought she could see a peek of eyes that were glassy for a reason quite different than the girl curled up on the floor.

  She didn’t feel quite as badly for Adelaide as she did Eloise, but Jane still found herself wanting to comfort her, because she knew that she hadn’t meant to harm her. She stood, putting a gentle hand on Adelaide’s arm. “Thank you.”

  Adelaide gave a quick glance to Jane, her face naked and uncharacteristically vulnerable. Then she looked away.

  Jane poured the tea and set it on the counter. Then she turned to Eloise and gently, so gently, offered her hand, doing her best to keep a distance. “Would you like to stand up and have some tea?”

  Eloise regarded the hand for a moment, as if waiting for it to dart like a snake. When it didn’t, she took it. “Thank you.” She stood, and was steady enough on her feet that Jane felt some of her worry curl away. The crisis, it appeared, had passed for the moment. Or at least gone dormant.

  Jane pushed a cup of tea to Eloise before taking one for herself. It was chamomile, she thought, with sweet notes of honey and vanilla. A good, calming blend. The warmth of the drink seemed to do good for Eloise, bringing some color back into her pale cheeks.

  Adelaide crossed the kitchen and came back with a bottle of clear liquid, a cork stopper at the top. She set it on the counter in front of Eloise, moving gently. “Dab this behind your ears on the first of every month,” she said. “It… should have the desired effect.”

  Eloise looked from the bottle to the witch, wary. “What is your payment?”

  Adelaide’s face worked, and she seemed to drag her gaze to Eloise with a concerted effort. “Your forgiveness, for my indiscretion,” she said, her voice stilted. “Frightening you… was not my intention, but it was still wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. I am sorry.”

  Jane couldn’t imagine how hard those words were to say. Eloise didn’t seem to know how to take it, either. She cast her gaze downward, this time in embarrassment instead of fear. “It was my fault for offending you, surely,” she said softly.

  Adelaide offered a strained smile. “I’ve offended a fair few in my time. I won’t hold it against you.”

  Eloise met her gaze and smiled, shaky but genuine. Something in Jane’s heart warmed to watch this show of gentleness and understanding between the two.

  “I forgive you,” Eloise said, and Jane thought that Adelaide’s smile lost a bit of its strain.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A Flower Blooms

  JANE WOKE UP to overcast but distinct daylight.

  It made sense that she would sleep in. It had taken her a long while to get back to sleep after watching Eloise leave. Adelaide assured her that the beasts were no danger to her, not on such a clear night and with such limited contact with the forest. But Jane kept thinking about the haunted look in the girl’s eyes… and the guilt in Adelaide’s.

  Adelaide had apologized. That meant something. She hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to apologize that night in the snow, hadn’t quite been able to swallow her pride. But she’d done so last night.

  Was it because she was learning? Trying, anyway?

  Jane wasn’t sure. But she did know that she was learning, too—learning to speak her mind, learning to think less before opening her mouth. She would not have been able to comfort Eloise if she’d been thinking too much about the proper thing to do as a guest in someone’s house, that much was certain.

  She stood, dressing for the day slowly, braiding her blonde hair over one shoulder. The dark green dress she wore reminded her of grass at nightfall.

  Adelaide was already in the kitchen when Jane walked in. She seemed contemplative, staring out the window. There was a small crease between her eyebrows, and Jane felt the most absurd urge to press her fingertips to it, to smooth it out.

  Instead, she called out, her voice soft. “Good morning.”

  Adelaide startled, so unlike her that for a moment she looked like a whole other person. “Jane.” That, too, was unlike her. Had she ever actually addressed Jane by name? She couldn’t be sure, but she had certainly never heard it in that tone. “Good morning.”

  Jane bit the inside of her cheek. “Did you sleep well?” It was a question couched in politeness, but also one that she genuinely wanted the answer to. It was strange. She didn’t want Adelaide to feel badly, even though she probably should have.

  Adelaide sighed, ignoring the question with one of her own. “Did you still want to see the garden today, Jane?”

  “Oh!” Jane startled, her worries over Adelaide’s emotions briefly forgotten. “Yes, very much. I’d quite forgotten.”

  Adelaide smiled, which didn’t quite mask the exhaustion in her eyes. “Well. Your medicine is there, take it and we can go.” Jane felt too excited by the prospect of the flowers to really press the issue of Adelaide’s tired expression.

  Jane forced her footsteps to be measured and careful, although inside she felt almost anxious to get outside. It felt rather like she’d felt as a child, knowing that after she finished some chore or another she’d be able to go out and play with the others. She was too old to feel such a way, surely, but that excitement was there nonetheless.

  Adelaide must have sensed this, because she barked out a laugh. Even tired, it did Jane’s heart good to hear it. “Don’t restrain yourself on my account.”

  Jane allowed herself a grin, only slightly marred when she had to swallow the foul-tasting potion. “Ready.”

  “Come on then.” Adelaide held out a hand… and then beckoned with it. Silly, to think that she had meant to do anything more. Sillier still that for a moment, Jane’s own hand had twitched to take it. She clasped them behind her back instead as she followed Adelaide, to a back door that almost blended into the wooden wall.

  Unexpected light poured into the room when Adelaide opened the door. The day was dreary and overcast outside the windows, but the sun shined as bright as any summer day. It was startling enough that Jane flinched back. Adelaide let out a low laugh that felt, for a moment, just as warm as the light.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she assured Jane. “The garden is perfectly safe.”

  Jane regarded her smiling face for a moment. Then she started forward, out the door. She gasped at what she found there.

  It was bright and warm—a patch of summer amidst the dull near-winter air. Beyond the fence, she could see the light gray of the trees, the dull brown of the earth. But the garden was rich and vibrant. Ivy climbed up the back of Adelaide’s house, and vines dotted in little flowers climbed up the fence. Clusters of purple and pink and white and yellow scattered all about the earth, barely separated by paths big enough to walk through. Jane kept upon them carefully as to not trample even one of the darling blooms.

  “It’s beautiful,” Jane breathed.

  “It i
s.”

  Jane turned to see Adelaide looking at her with a smile. It seemed to demand a returning smile of her own, which she gave quite gladly. The sweet scent of the flowers drew it out of her.

  “So!” Adelaide clapped her hands together. “There are a few flowers that I think might suit you. I’ll gather them while you admire the garden.”

  She set to doing just that—picking a soft pink flower, examining it, and then repeating the process with a tiny white flower.

  Jane could have continued exploring the garden, although it wasn’t very big. But she was more interested in Adelaide herself—in the exhaustion that still clung to her features while she worked. And Jane knew that, even as excited as she was about the flowers, they could not ignore what had transpired last night.

  “Is this what you did for Eloise?” Jane asked.

  Adelaide stiffened. Jane supposed it would’ve been politer to not say anything. But then Adelaide would have never lost that tired, drawn look about her eyes. Maybe sometimes things needed to be talked about, even if they were awkward and uncomfortable.

  “No,” Adelaide said, her tone brisk. “These flowers are for avoiding the attention of the beasts of the forest only. The girl… Eloise… wanted to avoid attention of a different sort.”

  “Ah.” Some of the light in her chest dimmed. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t know how. The silence hung over their heads heavily, taking some of the warmth out of the air. “Does that… happen often?”

  “What? People showing up on my doorstep, or me shouting them into a panic attack?”

  As always, Adelaide’s bluntness left Jane at a loss for words. Luckily, Adelaide didn’t seem to need an answer. She simply continued.

  “People show up here fairly regularly. Always at night, when they know no one will see them and judge. Usually I’m able to detach enough to be indifferent, but sometimes…” She sighed. “I suppose you think I’m quite wicked.”