Emma Goldenthorn's Guide to Bargaining with a Witch pt1
A cosy short story about a gardener who promises her firstborn child to a witch.
Before the reading
This short story has been quite the journey for me. It started with an innocent enough conversation in my writing group chat about the “give your firstborn to a fae” trope, and then spiralled into me actually writing the story.
I drafted this as everyone in the writing chat was reading it, so there were a lot of unhinged comments in the google doc, but it was the most fun I had writing in a long time.
I agonised over what to do with this story for a while, if I even wanted to do anything with it (I’m trying to allow myself to create more for the sake of creating, not just for content). Eventually I just decided to throw it up on Substack.
This story brought me a lot of joy, and I hope it brings you some too.
Part 1, because it is almost 10k words. Part 2 will be out next week!
PS: If you see any spelling mistakes, no you didn’t.
Into the Woods
In hindsight, making a deal with a witch for her first born child might not have been the brightest idea.
Then again, Emma wasn’t known for her bright ideas.
“Sharp as marble,” her mother would say, though not unkindly. Fondly, the way you might talk about a cat that fell head first into a bathtub after standing too close to the edge.
In all fairness, Emma was drunk when she made the deal. It was right after Sun, the elven prince she had been seeing on occasion, announced his engagement to a winter court princess.
She was not upset. How could she be? There was never any talk of commitment between them. She was a plain, boring human, and he was a prince. Of course he would marry a princess, not some simple farm girl from the middle of nowhere.
So she drowned her sorrows in the finest wine and ale she could find, and on her way home she might have accidentally stumbled by the Dark Wood.
A sign was nailed to one of the trees, painted in a haphazard scrawl. Whoever put it up was either in a hurry or just had really bad penmanship. Impossible to tell while inebriated.
Heart broken? I can fix that. Follow the glowing mushrooms.
If she was in her right mind, she might have thought the sign was suspicious. The Dark Wood was full of dangerous creatures, witches among them. She knew better than to get involved with a witch. It was one of her mother’s three cardinal rules (after “always take your shoes off at the door”, but before “never mix wine and ale during the same binge drinking session.”)
“Well,” she hiccuped. “I’ve already broken one rule tonight, why not another?”
So she trampled through the wood, following the glowing mushrooms and occasionally tripping over tree roots and her own feet. The path led her straight to a cosy, if a little run-down, cottage.
Soft light spilled from inside, and the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted on the breeze. It all seemed so inviting. Not ominous or dark like she had been led to believe a witch’s house might be. A grey cat was sleeping on some petunias that looked in desperate need of some water, and laundry hung forgotten on the clothes line.
Emma stumbled up to the door and knocked.
A woman far younger, prettier and shorter than she expected opened the door. Soft red curls spilled over her shoulders. A pencil was behind one ear. Her eyes were as grey as the cat, and she was wearing a pointy hat and round wire framed glasses. Emma blinked, rubbed her eyes, then looked again.
Nope, still pretty.
“Can I help you?” The witch asked.
“I…uhm. The sign said you can heal broken hearts?”
The witch nodded. “For a price.”
“Yes, I’m aware of how shops work.”
“The price may be greater than you expected.”
“I also know how taxes work.”
The witch rolled her eyes, then sniffed the air. “Are you drunk?”
“Only mildly inebriated. See, I can touch my nose and walk in a straight line.” Emma demonstrated.
“You’re standing still,” the witch informed her.
Maybe she was drunker than she thought.
“Your heartbreak must be serious, come inside.”
Emma tumbled into the cottage. A bubbling cauldron sat in one corner, purple smoke curling out of it. A large table stood in the middle of the room, covered in glass bottles, dried plants, and various thingamabobs. On the other side of the room was a fireplace and a purple couch that looked quite inviting. The room smelled a bit stale, like it hadn’t been used in a while. An unopened trunk stood near the couch.
Come to think of it, Emma was almost certain this cottage used to be abandoned. If there was a witch in the Dark Wood this close to town, someone (most likely her mother) would have known about it and told her.
“Judging by your current state,” the witch said, interrupting Emma’s thoughts. “Your heartbreak is severe.”
Emma scoffed, the state of the cottage forgotten. “I wouldn’t call it…severe. A nuisance at best. Inconvenient at most.”
The witch looked her up and down, and she felt her cheeks glow redder.
“I’d say eight out of ten.”
“Pfft, I am at the very least a nine. Maybe nine and a half on a good hair day.”
“I meant your heartbreak, you bread, not your looks.”
“Oh.”
A beat of silence. “But if you had to rate my looks?”
The witch pointed to the sofa. “Sit down and shut up.”
“A very rude way to talk to your customers,” Emma mumbled, yet she still shuffled over to the sofa, more falling into it than sitting down. “What is that smell? Is it cookies? And more importantly, do you have any?”
The witch didn’t even look at Emma, she only snapped her fingers and a plate of cookies dropped into her lap.
“Neat,” she said, before grabbing a handful and stuffing them into her mouth. They were wonderful, filled with chocolates and tiny marshmallows. She groaned in appreciation.
“Drink this.” The witch snapped her fingers again and a cup of coffee appeared on the side table next to the sofa.
Vaguely Emma remembered something about never taking food from a witch. Or was that from fae? She could never keep the details straight. Regardless, the cookies were too good, and the coffee smelled even better, so she ate and drank until both the cup and plate were empty.
The witch had her nose buried in a book, pencil now clutched between her teeth. Emma felt something in her chest stir at the sight.
“Are you feeling more sober?” the witch asked.
Emma tried to stand, then promptly sat back down again. “A little bit,” she lied.
The witch clearly didn’t believe her, but the woman was already pulling out several sheets of paper from the pile on the desk.
“Normally I wouldn’t do business with someone so inebriated, but I’m a little desperate myself at the moment, so here we are.”
She shoved a paper at Emma, who took it and only blinked at the words swimming around on the pages.
“What’s this?”
“Our contract. I take away your heartbreak, you give me your first born child. It’s all very standard.”
She probably should have asked more questions. It’s not that she was heartbroken over the prince himself. He was handsome. Tall. Looked good holding a sword. All superficial details.
She was heartbroken over the life she could have had with him. A life of luxury, of never having to worry about where her next meal would come from. No more taking odd jobs and doing what other people didn’t want to because she couldn’t hold down a conventional job. She could have been someone, instead of a nobody from a backwater town.
She wasn’t smart enough to be some great scholar, or brave enough to be a famous adventurer. She had no special skills, no talents so to speak of. She was completely, painfully, average.
So she didn’t look at any of the terms and conditions on the contract, but her eyes snagged on a line at the bottom.
“Your name is Meredith?” She looked up at the witch, caught for a moment by the way the firelight danced in grey Meredith’s eyes.
“Names aren’t really important here.”
“They aren’t? Don’t you need to know my real name for the contract to be valid?”
The witch–Meredith–shook her head. “Just a drop of your blood.”
“Well, my name is Emma, by the way. You have pretty eyes.”
Meredith ignored the compliment and handed Emma a very thin, very sharp knife.
“Just place a drop of blood on the bottom line.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t let a drunk person prick their own finger.”
Meredith sighed, annoyed, before grabbing Emma’s wrist. Her hand was soft and warm, and Emma barely felt it when Meredith pricked her. Blood beaded on her ring finger before falling onto the page. The page sizzled, a puff of smoke escaping into the air.
“The deal is done. I’ll be collecting your first born child at your earliest convenience. Don’t keep me waiting long.”
Tulip Mania
1 Year Later
An Orc was trying to sell her tulip bulbs at triple their original price. Which would have been fine, if they were in a market and she was looking to buy tulip bulbs. But they were not in a market, they were on a date.
“Tulips are going to be huge. Huge. The price is projected to quadruple in the next few years. Witches are using more tulips in spells, and I even heard tulips are good for…” he bit his lip suggestively “...you know.”
Emma downed the last of her ale, resisting the urge to burp. Chad– at least she thought his name was Chad, she might have blocked it out– was not a bad guy. His enthusiasm for tulip bulbs was misplaced, and he had trouble maintaining eye contact, but other than that he was a nice guy.
Except that he’s the latest nice guy in a whole string of nice guys that were just not inspiring her to procreate.
You’d think it would be easy to uphold her end of the bargain. The witch did. Emma left her cottage that night in a drunken haze, and when she woke up the next morning she felt lighter than air, the prince forgotten. She used her newfound confidence and set out on a series of painfully boring dates. She could have just picked a guy and done the deed, but something had changed that night she met the witch. No matter what she did, who she saw, she couldn’t get Meredith out of her head.
Which was why, after calling it a night with Chad, she was a little surprised to find said witch leaning against a wall opposite the tavern.
She hadn’t changed at all. Her red curls hung in long tendrils down her back, her pointy hat leaning to one side. Emma had been drunk the night they met, but she still remembered every detail about the witch, down to the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks and her storm grey eyes. Emma couldn’t help the flutter in her stomach when she saw the other woman.
“Meredith, what brings you out of the woods?” Emma asked cheerfully.
Meredith glowered. “You, and your inability to mate.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? I’ve been trying.” Emma set off down the road, Meredith following behind her.
“Yet it’s been a year, and you still don’t have a child to give me. Surely it cannot be that hard. Do you need me to draw you a diagram?”
Emma bit her lip to stop a wicked grin from spreading over her face. “I’m more of a practical learner. Maybe a demonstration will help?”
Meredith turned beet red at the implication.
They wandered down the main road. It was still early enough in the evening that most of the shops were open and bustling. The scent of freshly baked bread floated on the breeze, reminding her that she was supposed to have dinner with Chad but bailed out early.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
Meredith frowned at her. It was probably intended to be serious, but it just made her look more adorable. Her glasses were skew, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Someone bumped into her and she cringed, taking a few deep breaths.
“No. I’m here to tell you that my patience is wearing thin. I’ve been content to let you go about this on your own, but it’s clear I need to take a more hands-on approach.”
Emma opened her mouth to make an innuendo about being hands-on but Meredith shot her a glare so severe it could have killed a dragon on the spot.
The crowd around them grew, and another person bumped into Meredith. Her face paled.
“I’ll find you tomorrow, then we’ll get to work.”
“But you don’t even know where I–” Meredith vanished in a puff of purple smoke “–live.” Emma trailed off. She sighed, running a hand through her unkempt blonde hair. If the witch found her tonight, and if she had been keeping tabs on her for the last year, then surely she knew where Emma lived. Meredith seemed like the kind of person who knew everything, which Emma found both incredibly attractive and a little annoying.
Whatever. The witch will find her tomorrow, for tonight she could find some food and maybe another ale.
****
When Emma woke up the next morning, dazed and slightly hungover from last night’s ale (she’d only had two, but now that she was over 30 that was the equivalent of an all-night rager) Meredith was sitting in the chair next to her bed, knitting.
Emma yelped, pulling the covers up to her chin. Meredith didn’t move, the only sound coming from the click-clack of her knitting needles.
“Good morning,” the witch said, as if it was completely normal for her to be in Emma’s bedroom.
“I don’t remember signing away my privacy along with my first born,” Emma grumbled.
“I was going to wait in the living room, but there was no place to sit.”
That was fair.
Emma’s living room was more greenhouse than living room. Every available surface was covered with plants. She might not have been good at reading books or fighting battles, but she was good with plants. Her mother always told her to channel that energy into something productive. Open up a plant store, start growing more food, offer gardening services, but none of those appealed to her.
She loved plants. Loved taking care of them and seeing them thrive. If she had to turn that into a business, make it work instead of something she enjoyed doing, she feared she would fall out of love with it.
So her plants were mostly contained to her living room, and she was content with her current job as a delivery woman for the local bakery. It was better than her previous job as an apprentice to the local blacksmith. She should not be allowed near sharp objects.
“Fine, but I’m awake now. Could you please wait outside while I get dressed? And what are you knitting anyway?”
Meredith held up her creation. “Mittens.”
“Are they supposed to have seven fingers each?”
“It’s a work in progress,” the witch huffed, before gathering her needles and exiting the room.
Emma fell back into her pillows with a groan. This was going to be a long day.
*****
“I’ve concluded that your dating skills need work.” Meredith said. She was perched on the kitchen counter, watching as Emma watered her plants. Her house was modest, a combined kitchen and living area, with a small bedroom and bathroom to the side. It was more than enough for one person, and Emma rarely invited people over. She’d much rather tumble into someone else’s bed than have someone tumble into hers.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Based on my observations.” Meredith snapped her fingers and a large book appeared. She flipped through the pages before landing on the right one and showing it to Emma. “See? I made a chart.”
Emma glanced at the numbers, but the witch’s handwriting was almost impossible to read.
“And what does this chart tell you?”
“That you’re dismissive, rude, and lack the proper etiquette.”
Emma raised a brow at the witch. “Tell it to me straight, don’t sugar coat it.”
“You aren’t interested in anything your dates say, you leave half the dates early, and you don’t put any effort into looking nice for the date.”
Emma chose not to argue against those points, mainly because she couldn’t, and instead asked, “How do you know all of this? Have you been spying on me?”
“I keep tabs on all of my contracts. You’re by far the most problematic one.”
“Mmh.” Emma turned back to her plants. “Why do you even want my firstborn anyway? What are you going to do with it?”
“It’s payment for the spell. That’s how magic works.”
“You’re going to have to give me more detail than that.”
Meredith sighed, setting the book down. “Magic is all around us. It’s the memories we make and the moments we share with other people. Think about having your first child. The love you feel, the magnitude of that moment. Creating a life and bringing it into this world…it’s pure magic. In giving me your first born, you’re essentially giving me your magic. I can wield that magic, channel it into a spell. I redirect that energy somewhere else. Some spells require smaller pieces of magic. Maybe I’ll ask for your first memory, or for a flower given to you by a lover. Healing a broken heart, especially one as broken as yours, required bigger payment.”
Meredith’s face lit up as she spoke, and Emma realised for the first time that she’d never seen the witch smile. She was always scowling or annoyed. But when she talked about magic, she glowed. Her grey eyes sparked, and even her hair seemed to come alive.
Meredith was beautiful.
“And if I don’t give you a baby?”
A storm cloud passed over Meredith’s features.
“The consequences for breaking a contract with me are far more dire than you could even imagine. Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to find out.”
Emma shivered, though not from Meredith’s cold tone. If she thought the witch was attractive when talking about something she loved, she was even more stunning when she was threatening her.
“So how do you propose we fix my horrible dating life?”
Meredith grinned, showing all of her teeth. “You’re going to take me on a date.”
Emma almost dropped her watering can. “Excuse me?”
“We’re going on a date, and I’ll show you what to do so your next date will be successful.”
Emma didn’t know which part of that sentence was more ridiculous. Her going on a date with Meredith, or that Meredith thought she needed dating help. Emma used to tumble a prince, after all. She didn’t need dating advice. Especially not from a witch who lived in the middle of the woods and hardly ever talked to other people.
“I know what to do on a date,” Emma grumbled.
“Clearly not.” Meredith opened her book again, pointing at the charts. “The numbers don’t lie. Besides, dating is easy. You just follow the formula and you’re guaranteed success.”
“There’s a formula for dating?” Emma set down her watering can, dusting a few specks of dirt from her hands.
“Yes,” Meredith said simply, hopping off the counter. “You’ll pick me up tonight at six, dressed in your best clothes and with your hair actually brushed. Then we’ll have dinner, you’ll listen to my stories, we’ll exchange some flirty banter, and afterwards…” she trailed off, frowning.
Oh, Emma needed to know where this was going. She sauntered over to Meredith, invading her personal space.
“What happens afterward, Meredith?”
Meredith gulped, taking a step back. She bumped into the counter, startling. She reached up to push her glasses up her nose, face suddenly flushed. Emma took another step closer, her body almost touching Meredith’s. She leaned down, her face inches from the other woman’s.
“If you’re going to teach me how to go on a date, then you need to teach me about what happens at the end of the date.” Emma’s eyes dipped briefly to Meredith’s mouth, and she thought she heard a small gasp coming from the other woman.
“I..uhm…well. Usually, if the date went well…you would…” she swallowed. “Kiss…the other person.”
“Does that mean I get to kiss you tonight?” Emma’s heart was hammering in her chest. Why wait until tonight? She was so close she could almost taste Meredith.
“6pm, tonight. Don’t be late,” Meredith squeaked, before she vanished in a puff of smoke. Emma stumbled forward, catching herself on the counter.
Damn it.
Meredith was easily spooked, but also not the person she should be thinking about kissing. She had made a deal, and she needed to uphold her end of the bargain. While the witch was tempting, she lacked the…facilities to make the payment with.
Emma’s mother would be absolutely livid if she found out Emma had made a bargain she couldn’t keep. She would also be mad about the whole giving away her first grandchild thing, but Emma could only worry about one problem at a time. The witch never mentioned what she did with the children. Maybe it’s better that Emma didn’t know.
She couldn’t worry about it now. She had a date to prepare for.
Dating 101
Emma showed up at the witch’s door exactly on time, her hair brushed and pulled into a braid. She had polished her boots and even changed into a clean shirt. She felt oddly nervous, even though this was not a real date. She stared at the wilting petunias for a moment too long before her brain clicked.
Shit.
Should she have brought flowers? It felt like she should have brought flowers. She spun around, hurrying back down the path. A patch of wildflowers grew near the road; she had spotted them earlier. Now she was definitely going to be late.
She grabbed a few of the flowers, pulling them up. Maybe she should carry her gardening tools with her wherever she went, in case of emergencies. She hastily cleaned the roots of the flowers, getting dirt on herself in the process (that was inevitable) before running back to the witch’s cottage.
Meredith was waiting by the front door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. She too had cleaned up for the date. Gone was the pointy hat and glasses (to Emma’s immense disappointment). Her hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders and she wore a purple dress that made her grey eyes appear blue.
“You’re late.”
“I was early,” Emma panted, holding out the bouquet of wildflowers. “Forgot the flowers and had to go back.”
Meredith’s gaze softened as she took the flowers. “No one has ever brought me flowers before.”
Emma straightened up. “Ever?”
Meredith shrugged, retreating back into her cottage to put the flowers in some water. Emma lingered by the door, watching the witch as she moved about. The cottage was much cleaner now than the last time she was here. It looked lived in. The grey cat was napping on what looked to be the mittens Meredith was working on earlier.
It struck Emma then that living in the middle of the Dark Wood, a place few people went unless they had a dire need, must have been lonely.
“Right,” Meredith said, clearing her throat. “Shall we get going?”
Emma held out her arm. “Let’s get this date started.”
****
The Three Ducks & A Goose was busier than normal. The tavern was located on the wealthier side of town, a more upscale place than the rowdy bars Emma usually frequented. She figured Meredith would appreciate something quieter. She did not account for the live music or what appeared to be a group of adventurers passing through.
“We can go someplace else,” Emma said as they took in the crowd.
Meredith shook her head, pointing to the far left corner. “I see an open table over there.”
As soon as they were seated, Emma acquired them some drinks. Meredith took a large gulp of ale. If she didn’t know any better, Emma would have thought the witch was nervous.
“So,” Meredith said. “Tell me about your family.”
Emma raised a brow, taking a sip of her ale. “That’s how you want to start?”
“What’s wrong with starting there? Small talk usually involves certain topics. I thought family would be the easiest one. It’s how you get to know someone.”
“Sure, on the surface. But telling you I’m an only child with an overbearing mother is boring.”
“Fine. How do you usually start dates then?”
Emma pushed her ale aside, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. She caught Meredith’s gaze, holding it for a few seconds.
“What would you consider a perfect day?”
Meredith blinked. “You want to know what my perfect day would be?”
“Yes.”
Meredith sat back, breaking eye contact. She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. At first Emma thought Meredith wouldn’t respond, but then she said, “I wake up in the morning and it’s raining lightly outside. I don’t have to get out of bed immediately, but I do anyway to make a cup of tea. Then I get back into bed and read for a few hours. I make a needlessly elaborate brunch, like pancakes or waffles with fresh strawberries and bacon. Then I sit in my chair by the fireplace and read for the rest of the day.”
“And you don’t do this every day because…?”
Meredith shrugged, still not looking at Emma. “I have work to do. Spells to run. I like doing magic and helping people.” She was quiet for a moment before continuing. “I feel guilty when I take time off. There is so much I want to do, so much at stake with some of the spells.”
“Maybe you’re being too hard on yourself.” Emma had leaned in close enough to see tiny flecks of blue in Meredith’s eyes. Meredith cleared her throat, sitting up straighter.
“I’m going to order us another round of drinks, and some food.”
She left Emma at the table, making her way through the crowd to the bar. Emma thought she could see the woman’s hands shaking slightly before she leaned against the counter, talking to the bar keep. She couldn’t tell if this date was going great or if it was already a disaster. Her palms were sweating more than usual. She shouldn’t have started with the deep questions, but she despised small talk, and she had a feeling the witch did too.
Meredith returned, two drinks and two bowls of stew floating beside her. Magic really was useful.
Emma reached into her pocket, pulling out a container of garlic salt she always carried with her. She was halfway through throwing it on her stew when she noticed Meredith looking at her with a mixture of awe and what was most likely disgust.
“You’ve had garlic salt in your pocket this whole time?” Meredith asked.
“It keeps the vampires away! Plus, this place doesn’t know how to season their food.”
“So you just carry it with you? How many vampires have you run into?”
“One, a couple of years ago.” Emma admitted.
“And you did what? Throw garlic salt in their face and run?”
Emma’s cheeks heated. That’s exactly what happened. “I’m still alive aren’t I?” she grumbled.
“Do you do this on all your dates?”
“Just the special ones,” Emma winked, holding out the garlic salt. “Want some?”
Meredith stared at it for a bit before sighing and taking the salt. They ate in silence for a bit, the music and laughter coming from the other patrons filling the space. Usually Emma, or her date depending on which type of Chad it was, would talk to cover the silence, but Emma felt oddly comfortable being silent with Meredith. The witch radiated a calm and steady presence, even if she clearly hated the loud noise and crush of people.
The door to the tavern opened, a rowdy group of people coming in.
“Do you want to–” Emma started, but was abruptly cut off when Meredith grabbed her arm and dragged her under the table. “What the hell?” Meredith clamped a hand over Emma’s mouth.
“Shhhh,” Meredith hissed, peeking around the table at the people who just came in. She cursed, then shut her eyes and scrunched up her face. Nothing happened for several long seconds.
“What is happening?” Emma asked around Meredith’s hand, which was still covering her mouth.
“I tried to leave but it didn’t work.” There was a hint of panic in Meredith’s voice. She seemed utterly rattled, and Emma did not like it one bit. Unease crept over her.
“Those men that came in, do you know them?”
Meredith dropped her hand from Emma’s mouth. “Yes. I can’t get into it now, but they cannot see me here. We have to leave.”
Emma didn’t need to be told twice. She shrugged out of her jacket, throwing it over Meredith’s shoulders. It had a hood, which she was now immensely grateful for. She pulled it over Meredith’s head.
“There’s a back exit through the bathroom.” Emma straightened, surveying the tavern. The men were leaning against the bar, talking to the barkeep. It was crowded enough that no one would notice them sneaking away. “Come on.” She grabbed Meredith’s hand, ignoring the way it sent a hoard of butterflies flitting through her stomach.
“How do you know about the bathroom exit?” Meredith asked suspiciously, despite the fact that Emma’s knowledge of alternative exits was saving her tail at the moment.
“I used it to escape a date who wouldn’t shut up about the size of the fish he caught that day. I think he was compensating for something.”
Despite the situation, Meredith chuckled, and the sound warmed Emma’s heart. She pulled the witch to the bathroom, which was unoccupied. The window above the sink was just the right size for someone to climb through.
Emma helped Meredith through, following behind her. Once they were safely out of the tavern, she grabbed Meredith’s hand, tugging her down the alleyway.
“What happened to your magic? Why couldn’t you poof away?”
Meredith frowned, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve been using my own magic to keep your spell going. It seems that I’m running out.”
Guilt settled in Emma’s stomach. She should have held her end of the bargain already. None of this would be happening if she just got over herself and got pregnant.
A shout from the direction of the tavern pulled her from her thoughts.
“Why are those men after you?”
“I’d rather not get into it here. Can we go somewhere quiet?”
Emma stopped at a junction, weighing her options. There was still a bit of daylight left, and she wasn’t quite ready to let go of Meredith’s hand yet.
“Come on, I know a place.”
*****
Dewsbury was one of those places that maps forgot about. It sat right between the banks of the Wickmouth River and the edge of the Dark Wood. The river – a majestic beast that was so wide in places you couldn’t see the other side – used to bring a steady flow of merchants and travellers through Dewsbury. Until a new port opened upstream, with bigger docks and better gambling houses, and Dewsbury was forgotten.
Still, it was a beautiful place to live, and the people who called it home were proud of their small town.
Emma had complicated feelings about the town. She was always halfway between leaving and staying. Sometimes she’d make it as far as Gilramore, the larger city upstream, but she always found her way back to Dewsbury.
Now though, as she led Meredith toward one of her favourite places, she was grateful for their seclusion.
“What is this place?” Meredith asked as they stopped in front of a wrought iron gate overgrown with vines.
“Some wealthy prince or duke used to live here.” Emma tugged Meredith to the side, where one of the stone walls surrounding the estate had crumbled, opening a passage for them to get through. “No one knows why it’s been abandoned, and most are too afraid to trespass should the owner return.”
“And yet you walk right in?”
Emma shrugged, climbing over the fallen stones. Meredith followed, then gasped as she took in the view in front of her.
The manor house was nothing spectacular. A standard U-shaped building with large windows and high ceilings. The garden, on the other hand, was remarkable. In the years since the manor had been abandoned, the plants grew wild and untamed, reclaiming the land. Trees soared overhead, creating a lush green forest. Several flowers were in full bloom; pink and purple azalea’s peeked out from beneath luscious greenery, daisies and daffodils dotted the overgrown lawn, and several large water lilies floated on the nearby pond.
It was Emma’s version of paradise.
“This is incredible,” Meredith breathed.
“I’ve never brought anyone here.”
Meredith turned to look at her. “Not even him?”
“Him?” Emma asked.
“The man you were heartbroken over. You know, the whole reason you’re in this mess.”
“Oh, him.” Emma waved her off, wandering deeper into the garden. There was a small bench near the pond that hadn’t been reclaimed by plants yet. She perched on top, pulling her knees up to her chest. “He wasn’t the outdoors type. Besides, he never came here. We always met in Gilramore.”
Meredith sat beside Emma, her gaze still on the garden.
“He doesn’t sound like he was worthy of your heartbreak.”
“I guess it was never really about him. Besides, I was being stupid about it. He’s a prince. It never would have worked.”
Meredith visibly paled so much, Emma thought a ghost had come screeching out of the manor.
“You…you were with Sun?”
“I wouldn’t describe it as being with him. More like we had a mutual agreement whenever both of us were in Gilramore.” Emma turned to Meredith with a frown. “What’s going on Mer?”
The witch gave a humourless laugh. “Of course, this is just my luck. That fucking bastard wasn’t even trying, yet he still managed to worm his way into my life.”
Meredith stood, agitated. She paced back and forth, reaching up for the pencil she always kept behind her ear, only to find it wasn’t there.
Emma blinked at her, confused. “You know Sun?”
Meredith stilled, turning to face Emma. She seemed to be on the brink of telling her everything, but something was holding the witch back. She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“It doesn’t matter.” It was like all of the warmth leached out of her. Her eyes turned stone grey, and when she stalked over to Emma the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “What matters is that you owe me a first born child. If you’re not pregnant in the next few weeks, I’ll be forced to take something of equal value.” Meredith’s eyes flicked to the plant life around them, and Emma immediately knew what was being implied. If she didn’t give Meredith her first born child, she would take something else she loved–her plants.
“Meredith, why are you–” But the witch disappeared, this time in a puff of sickly grey smoke, before Emma could finish.
Part Two to come!
Psssstt….check out my book!
Love Below Zero is an enemies to lovers STEM rom com with forced proximity, banter, lots of nerdy references, no third act break up, and a happily ever after.
Stay up to date with future writing projects by subscribing <3