Wicked Hearts Chapter One:

Observe the Witch in Her Natural Habitat

Her skin had a greenish cast to it, from makeup hastily washed away. Her fingernails glistened in the lights of the theater house, like spring green pearls. Her full lips were dark green, almost royal or a hunter's green. The simple, tasteful dress she wore was plain black. If that were not a giveaway, she wore a cloak of soft, shimmering black velvet and a pointed black hat with a wide brim.

She was to be the Witch, then. She certainly was a pretty witch, to be sure. Her hair was a long, loose, shining curtain of black, like a raven's wing. Her eyes were an intriguing color, the frosty violet of winter grapes. It was only when his prey caught the witch's attention that the ice shattered and the purple of her eyes ripened with warmth and sweetness. So this beauty was the daughter of Garret Macy.

He'd been looking for her since the white demons had released him from their pristine, disinfected hell. Surely where she was, Macy would be also. At first, he'd had no other designs on the daughter, nothing other than to find Macy and take his vengeance in response to this second incarceration. Twice thrown into the frigidly clean, white hell of the mentally ill because of the man's damnable intelligence. More than half a decade of his life stolen by that holier-than-thou piece of shit.

But his nemesis seemed incredibly attached to his daughter, and he himself was searching ever for ways to cause his enemy the most pain possible. Macy certainly deserved such pain. Watching the joy on the ME's face, Oliver wondered if perhaps he did have designs on the young Witch of a girl after all.

"Jessica, wipe the makeup off your face. You look like a praying mantis," her father said. She drew herself up, feigning indignity, and asked ominously, "Are you slighting me, sir, on the basis of my green skin?"

"Jessica, you're allergic to that stuff, remember?"

"It won't hit me for another hour, at least. It takes continuous exposure over an extended period of time. Jeez, Dad. Go home. Go on a date with Jordan. You don't get laid enough."

As her father stared at her in shock, wide eyed and red faced, that same Jordan poked Garret in the back and said, "Come on, old man. Let the Wicked one tell her all friends goodbye. She can catch a ride with a friend, right, Jess?"

"Go away and smooch, the both of you. Your very presence offends me while those eyes keep sending such goo-gooey looks. Go find a hotel room or something. Love you both," and she flounced off, lifting her black skirts to keep them out of her way.

The theater was plunged into shadows now that only Jessica Macy and the janitors remained. Jessica would walk home under the stars as she did every night, and no harm would come to her until Oliver decided it would be most advantageous. He was even packing heat, a sawed-off shotgun and a Browning Hi-Power, just for the purpose of protecting the Wicked Witch.

The Wicked one, alone in the performance hall with the recording of the musical's soundtrack flaring from the speakers, spun in a circle in the middle of the center aisle, her arms wide. She twirled in a pool of jade light, head tilted back so the light flashed off of her pale, slender throat.

Watching her from the back of the theater, she seemed peculiarly radiant. What made her cheeks glow and her emerald-tinged skin flush with such pleasure? Was it seeing her father? Or was it the work that she did?

From listening to gossips and critics, college students and high school drama geeks, he knew that Jessica Macy had the unique privilege of playing the same role in three different musicals. She was Elphaba Thropp, the Wicked Witch of the West, in the original scripting of the Wizard of Oz, as well as the livelier version, the Wiz, and the incredible rendition of the original story, Wicked: the Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West.

Did the music and the exhilaration of performing make her so bright-eyed and gloriously happy? Was that what made her gaze sparkle like amethysts in the brightest and purest starlight? What gave her that state of sweet nirvana?

She was plain, not a ravishing beauty. Her face was not unusual, her form not deliciously appealing, her air not uniquely enticing. So why was she attracting such attention, both from her audiences and the media, her critics and her fans? What about her attracted them for miles, a lone rose seducing the bees with her appearance and her scent, her sharp, thorny wit and her soft kindness? Such he had heard of her, yet she was no beautiful Titania, no charming Cordelia, nor the enamoring Yellow Rose of Texas, who could win wars with her skills at seducing men.

Could the magic that was her rapture in the performance truly transform her into an angel upon the stage?

"Who's there?" Damn. She was peering into the gloom that shrouded him, but he knew she must be partially blinded by the circle of luminescence she stood within. She took a small, hesitant step in his direction. If she left the circle of light, that meager protection against the monsters in the dark like he, himself, then she wasn't as smart as Dr. Macy's probably genetic genius had led him to believe.

"Look, I can see you're there. If you're a murderer or a rapist, you could at least have the decency to show yourself."

Ouch. When she said it so calmly and reasonably, he felt bad about not doing what she said. And anyway, he was a decent person. If he was going to kill her, he would at least tell her why, first.

Stepping out of the shadows, he strode slowly and purposefully down the aisle to enter the beam of pale green light, staring into her eyes of frosted violet.

She watched him approach. He was wearing a long, black trench coat of supple, shining leather. He could have a weapon inside it, just within reach, but he made no motion to retrieve any hypothetical guns or knives. Satisfied for the moment with it, she turned her attention to the boy himself.

Really looking, it was ridiculous of her to call him a boy. He had to have been older than her by a year or two at least. His lips were a pale rosy pink that quirked into a shy smile that tugged at that part of her that adored cuteness. His eyes were blue as a small child's, a color so pure and striking it was almost unnatural in someone of his age. His hair was long, perhaps down to his shoulders if it wasn't tied in a ponytail. The golden brown hair looked as if it would fall in thick, shining waves.

"Who are you?"

"A fan," he said, offering that shy smile. "I've heard you're the best Wicked Witch in the business these days. I wanted to see if it was true before I tried out."

"Scouting out the possible coworkers? Aren't you worried about the possible competition, Prince Fiyero?"

He looked shocked. "How did you know I was trying for Fiyero?"

"Only slot that's open anymore."

"I heard part of the tryout was singing a duet with you," he said.

She arched one fine, elegant, Scarlet O'Hara eyebrow when he said that. She brushed back a lock of jet-black hair and asked, "You weren't going to ask for help practicing, were you?"

"Actually, I wanted to go a round with you, see if I even had a chance," he lied quickly and smoothly. He really was curious about how she sounded. What normal human being wouldn't want to experience something so richly acclaimed?

"Do you know the words to the song already?"

"Indeed I do," he said. "I await your verse." She pulled a remote out of her pocket and aimed it near the speakers. Immediately, something dark and haunting filled the room.

"Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight. I need help believing you're with me tonight. My wildest dreamings could not foresee lying beside you, with you wanting me." Nearly mesmerized by the sweetness and sorrowful disbelief of her voice, he was nearly jolted when her voice took on a richer, older quality. "And just for this moment, as long as you're mine, I've lost all resistance and crossed some borderline. And if it turns out it's over too fast, I'll make every last moment last, as long as you're mine."

She waited for the music to roll around to this mysterious man's part, thinking fiercely the entire time. Why was she even doing this? What was she doing with a strange man, all alone, in the middle of the theater singing a duet? Why was she even there? Why hadn't she turned the man down and left?

As he began to sing, she realized why. It felt right to be there with him, singing together. The mysterious man's gentle tenor filled the air, each note vibrating with wonder and tenderness. Her eyes grew hot, and they stung smartly as they filled with warm, salty tears. This song had always made her cry.

"Maybe I'm brainless. Maybe I'm wise. But you've got me seeing through different eyes. Somehow I've fallen under your spell and somehow I'm feeling the stuff that I've felt, just for this moment, as long as you're mine. I'll wake up my body and make up for lost time. You say there's no future for us as a pair, and though I may know, I don't care!"

"Stop, stop! Stop, ere I begin weeping." He snapped his mouth shut, watching her. Her arms, lean muscle, thin flesh, thinner bones, were wrapped around her body, so tight he wouldn't have been surprised if she had bruises in the morning. Her eyelashes sparkled as if with drops of early morning dew, and her eyes were flecked with gold, as if she would indeed cry.

"What did I do?"

"You have a beautiful voice, and that song always makes me cry, because I know what happens next."

"You turn Fiyero into a scarecrow."

"Only to save his life. Not the point. So, are we done? It's nearly midnight, and my father's probably waiting for me. Not to mention his girlfriend and everyone else he works with, now that I think about it." She swept off the black witch's hat and untied the cloak, catching it over one arm. She gave a short wave and turned to walk away. Damn, she was getting away.

"Well, it was nice to have met you," he said, trying to mask his desperation, going for the shyness that rarely attracts the popular girls, but always nabs the sweet ones. She turned back, nibbling her bottom lip in thought. Gotcha, girlie. He needed to get close to her, to get close to Macy. He knew the good doctor wouldn't welcome him with open arms, especially after their two disastrous run-ins with each other, even with a sterling recommendation from his daughter. Still, it was a way to ease his plan into action.

"It was nice to meet you, too. I'm Jessica. What's your name?"

"Fiyero of the Vinkus."

"In your dreams, you wannabe winkie. Seriously, what's your name?" He feigned offense, crying, "And just why can't I be Fiyero of the Vinkus?"

"You're too pale, and you're not made of straw. No blue diamond tattoos, either. So spill, winkie man, what's your name?"

"Oliver. But if I may call you Elphaba, I would prefer Fiyero."

"Well, then, Fiyero of the Vinkus, come with me... to the Emerald City." She smiled happily, her jade lips full and sparkling in the light. He suddenly realized her eye shadow was the same shade of green as her lipstick, a dark jade to accent the greenness of her made up skin.

"Oh, Miss Elphaba, I don't know you well enough yet to travel home with you. However, if I may have the honor of escorting you to where you've parked your broom?" He asked, warming to the game they seemed to be playing. So she liked to play pretend. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she liked to act.

"I left my broom at home in the closet. The common bus will have to satisfy me, I suppose. But the last bus comes at midnight, so we should make haste."

"Well, then," he replied, offering his leather-cased arm, "we shall go."

R/R, please!