Disclaimer: Still don't own Jack or anyone else in this story!
AN: No, this isn't a new chapter, I just sort of re-did chapter one because I thought it could be better. I might redo the later chapters, but I doubt it. I sort of like them the way they are. Anyway, chapter one is basically the same, with a bit added or taken out. Read it if you want, and enjoy it again if you do!
Chapter 1: The Hard Life:
Angela Sharp blew a damp, stray wisp of ebony hair out of her eyes as she started mashing leaves and berries together in a bowl. It was only noon, and already she was sweating up a storm. What was even worse was that the poorly thatched roof of her small, ramshackle, one room hut did nothing to keep the heat off of her.
'Bloody Caribbean weather,' she silently cursed, wiping sweat from her face with her sleeve. 'Port Cain feels like a muggy oven. I wish that it were more like England; it was much nicer there.'
Actually, that wasn't true. The cooler weather of England may have been preferable to the hot, muggy, heavy weather of the Caribbean, but people actually knew and feared Angela over there. Why?
Because Angela was a witch.
No, she wasn't the ugly, old, cackling witch with a wart on her nose, wearing black robes and a pointy black hat. In fact, Angela was the complete opposite of that. She was young, only twenty-two years of age, with black hair, violet eyes, and a worn out purple dress clinging damply to her short 5'3" of height. Her skin was golden-brown from exposure to the harsh Caribbean sun, but it had been a bit golden to begin with, thanks to some Asian background in her family.
Angela frowned as she continued mashing her herbs. 'Actually, it's because of my family that I'm an outcast from England and the entire European continent,' she thought, mashing with more vigor as her thoughts grew a bit angrier. 'Especially because we've lived in every single country in Europe.'
For over ten generations, the women of the Sharp family had been witches, using their talents to help others through herbal healing and subtly using their magical gifts to prevent deadly accidents from happening to innocent people. Over the centuries, the Sharp women had displayed a wide variety of powers, such as foresight, minor telepathy, scrying for things, and being able to move small objects with their thoughts. However, it was those gifts that kept the women of her family constantly moving throughout their lives. England had been the last place in Europe that the family hadn't been to, and Angela's mother, Renee, had decided to go there to birth and raise her daughter; there they had remained until Renee had died when Angela had turned nineteen. By then, everyone in London knew about the strange events that happened around the Sharp women, and Angela had been forced to flee, fearing for her life.
Sighing again, Angela finished mixing the leaves and berries together, creating a stomach medicine for an elderly woman who was ill. This elderly woman, Mrs. Baker by name, was one of the few people who didn't fear Angela, and the only one who spoke with her willingly; everyone else spoke to her only when they wanted some sort of medicine, or to bargain with her in the marketplace. Because of this, Angela was always lonely and poor, since people never came to visit except to get her medicines, and that did not happen unless people truly needed them. If some of the town's sickly and elderly people, like Mrs. Baker, didn't constantly purchase medicine from her, Angela would be starving. However, there was one other thing she did for money, but it wasn't legal, and tended to make the young witch ashamed of herself.
Angela was also a thief.
During desperate times, the young witch used her finely-toned telekinetic abilities to rob any wealthy visitors to Port Cain. She always felt terrible about doing it, but she had to eat to live, and with so few people coming for herbal medicines, theft tended to be the only way. However, Angela did have some morals: she would only target those who could afford it, and whose purses were small and light from too much shopping. She targeted these visitors mostly because people would notice if their heavy purse started to move, or if its weight suddenly disappeared from their belts. Angela would usually wait for her target to lighten their purse in the marketplace or shops, then follow them until they started to head back towards their ship. She would keep a constant, sharp eye on her target, staying a good distance away, and then use her magic to either slowly untie the purse, lift it from its pocket, or cause it to carefully fall from its owners wrist. Once the purse was safely away from its owner, Angela would then cause it to roll under a nearby basket, wagon, or woman's skirt, effectively hiding it from view before going to collect it after her target was out of eyesight.
So far, this technique had yet to fail. However, since visitors were rare in Port Cain, Angela didn't have to use her gift in that manner very often. Even after robbing someone, she always spent the money on only the barest essentials, like food, soap, and a few herbs that didn't grow in her own private gardens. What few customers she had thought it odd that she only had a table, two chairs, her mixing tools, a very small trunk to hold her few clothes, and a small bed, but that was all she needed. Also, her lack of possessions seemed to keep patrons away from her house for some reason.
'As though business isn't bad enough,' she thought, frowning. 'They're scared enough of me as it us. Between my predicting when and where accidents will happen and magically finding and returning lost objects, nearly the entire town is terrified of me. If I weren't a decent medicine woman, they wouldn't have anything to do with me!'
By now Angela was finished with the medicine, and it was time to deliver it to Mrs. Baker. After pouring the mixture into a small bag, she tucked it away into a small basket and tied on her old, worn-out broad-rimmed straw hat. As she started down the street, Angela noticed that several of the townspeople had stopped to stare fearfully at her. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, the young witch proceeded down the walkway, away from her run- down little hut and heading towards the better parts of town, where Mrs. Baker lived with her niece.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
After twenty minutes of walking in the hot Caribbean sun, Angela felt like she was melting. She truly was an English-born woman; even after a year of living here in the Caribbean, she still had yet to get used to the climate. After stopping to regain her breath and to cool off a bit, Angela went up to the large mansion that housed Mrs. Baker and her niece, Jessica. Wincing at the thought of the snobby, blond-haired, green-eyed, seventeen- year-old Jessica, Angela knocked on the door, preparing for another infamous confrontation with the young girl, though hoping that there wouldn't be one.
Angela and Jessica's dislike of each other was known throughout the town, and people tended to stay out of their arguments. No one wanted to anger the local supposed 'witch,' nor upset one of the upper-class women. No one knew why Jessica hated the healer so much, but Angela supposed that it was because Mrs. Baker preferred the soft, gentle behavior of Angela as opposed to Jessica's loud, obnoxious tantrums. Also, Angela actually cared about Mrs. Baker; Jessica seemed to be waiting for the elderly woman to die so that she could get all of her aunt's money, as well as her inheritance from her deceased parents. The aristocratic teenager was outrageously spoiled and pampered, but that wasn't her aunt's fault. Mrs. Baker was simply too old to run after her niece and care for her, so that task fell to the servants, who spoiled their young charge. The result was obvious whenever Jessica did not get her way: a tantrum always happened, and something valuable usually ended up broken. She was polite and sweet enough in public with her friends, but in private, the girl was a nightmare.
Angela couldn't help rolling her eyes in annoyance, and was relieved when a servant answered her knock on the door instead the vile teen. The butler simply nodded to Angela before motioning her inside. After shutting the door, the man escorted her into a comfortable white-and-gold sitting room. Perched in a large white chair by a marble fireplace was an elderly woman, her hair as white as the painted walls, her eyes a pale blue. Even though it was a bit after noon, she was wearing a white nightgown beneath a white robe, and had a blue blanket over her lap. Her face was covered in wrinkles, and her complexion was a sickly, pale white. The eyes crinkled at the corners as the woman smiled and held out a hand, which the young healer gently took into one of her own.
"Please, Angela, sit down," Mrs. Baker said, nodding to a footstool near her feet. Angela took it, smoothing her skirts as tea and sandwiches were ordered, brought in, and served. As soon as the servants had left them alone, Mrs. Baker spoke again. "So, dear child, how goes the healing business?" she asked, sipping her tea carefully, her old hands as thin and delicate as the china cup she held.
Angela sighed as she set her cup in its saucer. "It is the same, Ruth," she replied. Mrs. Baker had insisted that she be addressed by her first name in private, since she rarely heard it from anyone else. "The town is as afraid of me as they were before, though a few more people have been coming for medicines than before. I still don't get that much business, though."
Ruth Baker looked her guest up and down. "That is obvious; you look like you haven't eaten in days, my dear," she stated, her blue eyes focusing on Angela's thin-looking frame. "When was your last meal?"
"This morning," Angela lied. It had actually been at breakfast yesterday that she had last eaten; she was trying to make her food last as much as she could, since she didn't know when she would be getting enough money to eat again later. As it was, Angela was trying hard not to drain all of the tea in her cup and wolf down all of the sandwiches on the tray; she was that hungry.
Mrs. Baker shook her head. "This will not do," she said. Swiftly summoning a servant, a quick order was given to provide Angela with a basket of food for her to take home with her, along with her payment. Mrs. Baker immediately stopped all protests from Angela. "My dear, you are a young woman and you must be kept healthy," she said, shaking her head. "Starving yourself just because a bunch of nitwits are too afraid of providing you with business is silly. Besides, you should be growing your own food, as well as your herbs, in that garden of yours. Didn't you ever think of that?" The old woman raised an eyebrow at Angela's shamed expression.
"I keep forgetting to plant things," Angela admitted, looking down as she set aside her tea cup. "I'm too busy trying to trade medicines for food, but things never work out the way they're supposed to." Silently, she thought, 'and vegetable seeds and tools cost money that I don't have.'
Mrs. Baker smiled kindly at her young friend as she reached for Angela's chin, tilting her face upwards. "I really wish there was a way for me to help you, child, but people don't want to listen to a weak old woman like me," she said, sighing. "If I were a bit healthier, they might heed me, but not now, not when I'm dying." Angela looked up at the old woman in shock, but the elderly woman laughed. "No, I don't mean it like that; I meant that I'm very slowly fading. Don't worry, dear, I've still got at least a few more years before I join my husband in Heaven." She patted Angela's cheek. "There, here comes your basket and your payment. Now, be a good girl and plant that vegetable garden, hmm? That will help you a great deal."
Angela nodded as a servant brought in the said basket and small pouch of coins, setting them down by Angela's feet. The two made small-talk as they finished the tea and sandwiches, and an hour later, it was time for Angela to go home. As she took the basket and stood up, she took the old woman's hand again in hers and inaudibly whispered a small magical blessing over the old woman's head, begging the Powers to let this good woman live a bit longer and to have better health. Each time she did this, Angela was sure that she was helping her old friend gain a bit more time in life. Mrs. Baker simply smiled, thinking that Angela was muttering to herself, and nodded a good-bye.
*~*~*~*
Soon afterwards, Angela was on her way home when someone rudely bumped into her. Violet eyes met green, and an instant later, the air seemed to crackle with tense emotion.
"Well, if it isn't the town witch," Jessica sneered, her blond head tilted to one side. Her pink parasol matched her gown, and the hat on her head was pink with a wide white ribbon around it. Her blond hair was perfectly arranged and curled, making her the image of the perfect aristocratic woman. Jessica looked the complete opposite of Angela, who was raggedy in her worn out purple dress, her black hair hanging in a messy braid under her broad-rimmed hat. "What have you been up to today, witch?"
"That is none of your concern," Angela said, glaring up at the blond, silently cursing her short 5'3" stature compared to Jessica's 5'8" height.
"Isn't it?" Jessica said, looking down her tiny nose at the woman before her. "Where did you get all of that food from, from my aunt? Give it to me, this instant; you have no right to it." She held out a delicate, smooth hand, palm up, ready to accept the basket.
"No," Angela said, glaring upwards, her eyes narrowing as she held the basket closer. She seriously doubted that a delicate girl like Jessica could carry such a basket without aid.
Jessica looked shocked before her eyes flamed with anger. "How dare you refuse me!" she cried, her head tilting backwards as she stamped her foot, acting much like a defiant child. "You have no right to refuse me, you hideous girl!" Her hand made as if to slap her.
Angela's eyes hardened to a stone-cold amethyst. "I wouldn't try anything, if I were you," she said quietly. The barest hint of a threat hung on her words.
The tone in her voice caused Jessica's hand to stop, hesitating in mid-air. "What could you possibly do to me?" Jessica said, holding her head high as she lowered her hand. "I'm a nobleman's daughter, and you're merely a wench's bastard child."
Angela's eyebrows snapped together in anger. "Oh, really?" she asked, gritting her teeth to not show her fury. "Didn't you just call me a witch? Are you sure that it's wise to threaten and anger a witch?" Jessica visibly paled. "I'm sure that you, of all people, remember your fairy tales, the ones where people who anger a witch end up having some bad run- in with magic? You wouldn't want to be one of those people, now, would you?"
"If you curse me, everyone will know you're a witch!" Jessica said, her voice sounding triumphant. Her triumph was short lived.
"Yes they would, if they believed you," Angela said. "But what if the curse is for no one to believe your words when you tell them what happened between us? What if they think you're mad and lock you up in prison?" The idea of being imprisoned appeared to have sent Jessica into a state of wide- eyed alarm. "If I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut about this little incident. Otherwise, you might end up on the wrong side of some prison bars."
Angela inwardly smirked as she stepped around the frightened Jessica and made her way towards her small hut. She didn't see the teenager run towards her aunt's home, but knew that the noblewoman would keep her silence. After all, as a witch, Angela had a tendency of knowing these things.
*~*~*
Upon reaching her hut, Angela took off her hat, hung it on one of her two chairs, set the small moneybag on the table, and began unpacking the basket. She was surprised to see a whole roasted chicken, six large potatoes, a few carrots, onions, turnips, and even a small pie, all tucked neatly into the basket, a large cloth napkin covering the whole thing neatly.
"I'll have to make sure to make a special potion for Mrs. Baker the next time I deliver her medicine," she muttered. Tonight, though, Angela could have a small feast to celebrate her triumph over Miss Jessica Baker.
*~*~*~*
Three days later, Angela was on her last bit of food. She had tried to make it last, but, with no way to preserve the chicken and pie longer than a few days, Angela had been forced to eat them quickly. The only things left were the vegetables, and she would need several of them in order to plant a vegetable garden like she had promised to make. The money given to her by Mrs. Baker was needed to repair the roof before storm season started, so that left only one option: theft.
Sighing, Angela pulled on a drab gray dress, along with her hat, grabbed a basket, and headed towards town, making it look like she was merely going shopping. Once there, she headed down to the harbor to begin looking around for any visitors to the island port. As she passed by the first pier, she noticed a ship docking, one with black sails. A closer look revealed that the entire ship was crafted from some sort of black wood, and was sporting a skillfully carved figurehead of a maiden holding a bird on the bow of the ship. It truly was a beautiful ship, and Angela could feel a bit of a mystical aura radiating from it, one that practically screamed that this was no ordinary ship. Angela quickly took down a mental note to stay away from it; the aura of that ship could clash with her own gifts if she wasn't careful. Its crewmembers, however, would most definitely be on her 'get-to-know' list, particularly if they had money. As it was, she watched the sailors dock the ship and harness it to the dock. They then gathered on deck, listening to one man speak, probably the captain, before disembarking. The captain was the last to leave after giving his deck a quick check.
Angela blinked in surprise when she saw him set foot on the dock. It looked like he was the captain, but he wasn't like any captain she had seen before. He wore a worn out tri-cornered hat of a captain, as well as a coat, sword, and pistol. There were silver trinkets and bone fragments in his hair, as well as an old red bandana to keep his hair out of his face. He had the oddest walk, more like a sashay, appearing as though he were drunk. He looked like a drunk, but his eyes and serious demeanor said otherwise. Perhaps he was a bit mad? If he were, that would help Angela a great deal; if apparent madmen screamed 'thief' in a marketplace, it was they who would be the ones arrested, not the thief themselves. Yes, this man would definitely be her target. A closer look at his belt made her decision: a full money-pouch hung by a single, thin leather strip, one that could easily break if she focused hard enough with her telekinetic powers. Making up her mind, Angela discreetly followed the odd captain.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Half an hour later, the captain had spent a great deal of money on food and supplies for his ship, but appeared to still have a fair amount left over. In the mean time, he was heading towards the more run-down parts of Port Cain, apparently in need of a drink from the seedy taverns and bars. Angela knew she had to move before another pickpocket from those parts of town got to him first. Waiting for the man to stop and admire a jeweler's stall, Angela stood across the street, watching him while seeming to be admiring some apples. With the captain's attention focusing elsewhere, Angela focused, 'pinching' the leather strap with her magic until it snapped. If one looked closely, it honestly looked like someone had actually cut the leather with a sharp knife until it broke.
After making sure that the leather strap was broken, Angela quickly whisked the falling pouch under a fruit stall next to the jeweler's, pushing it under the stall until it was hidden by some baskets. After a moment of waiting, she saw the captain move on, not knowing that his pouch was missing. Seeing him move out of view, Angela calmly walked across the street and set her basket down next to the ones which hid the pouch. After a brief second of seeming to admire the fruit-seller's merchandise, Angela bent over and picked up the basket, which now included the pouch she had 'called' into her own basket from behind the fruit-seller's baskets. Satisfied with her work, Angela held her basket close and quickly lost herself in the crowd, not knowing that she was being watched.
AN: No, this isn't a new chapter, I just sort of re-did chapter one because I thought it could be better. I might redo the later chapters, but I doubt it. I sort of like them the way they are. Anyway, chapter one is basically the same, with a bit added or taken out. Read it if you want, and enjoy it again if you do!
Chapter 1: The Hard Life:
Angela Sharp blew a damp, stray wisp of ebony hair out of her eyes as she started mashing leaves and berries together in a bowl. It was only noon, and already she was sweating up a storm. What was even worse was that the poorly thatched roof of her small, ramshackle, one room hut did nothing to keep the heat off of her.
'Bloody Caribbean weather,' she silently cursed, wiping sweat from her face with her sleeve. 'Port Cain feels like a muggy oven. I wish that it were more like England; it was much nicer there.'
Actually, that wasn't true. The cooler weather of England may have been preferable to the hot, muggy, heavy weather of the Caribbean, but people actually knew and feared Angela over there. Why?
Because Angela was a witch.
No, she wasn't the ugly, old, cackling witch with a wart on her nose, wearing black robes and a pointy black hat. In fact, Angela was the complete opposite of that. She was young, only twenty-two years of age, with black hair, violet eyes, and a worn out purple dress clinging damply to her short 5'3" of height. Her skin was golden-brown from exposure to the harsh Caribbean sun, but it had been a bit golden to begin with, thanks to some Asian background in her family.
Angela frowned as she continued mashing her herbs. 'Actually, it's because of my family that I'm an outcast from England and the entire European continent,' she thought, mashing with more vigor as her thoughts grew a bit angrier. 'Especially because we've lived in every single country in Europe.'
For over ten generations, the women of the Sharp family had been witches, using their talents to help others through herbal healing and subtly using their magical gifts to prevent deadly accidents from happening to innocent people. Over the centuries, the Sharp women had displayed a wide variety of powers, such as foresight, minor telepathy, scrying for things, and being able to move small objects with their thoughts. However, it was those gifts that kept the women of her family constantly moving throughout their lives. England had been the last place in Europe that the family hadn't been to, and Angela's mother, Renee, had decided to go there to birth and raise her daughter; there they had remained until Renee had died when Angela had turned nineteen. By then, everyone in London knew about the strange events that happened around the Sharp women, and Angela had been forced to flee, fearing for her life.
Sighing again, Angela finished mixing the leaves and berries together, creating a stomach medicine for an elderly woman who was ill. This elderly woman, Mrs. Baker by name, was one of the few people who didn't fear Angela, and the only one who spoke with her willingly; everyone else spoke to her only when they wanted some sort of medicine, or to bargain with her in the marketplace. Because of this, Angela was always lonely and poor, since people never came to visit except to get her medicines, and that did not happen unless people truly needed them. If some of the town's sickly and elderly people, like Mrs. Baker, didn't constantly purchase medicine from her, Angela would be starving. However, there was one other thing she did for money, but it wasn't legal, and tended to make the young witch ashamed of herself.
Angela was also a thief.
During desperate times, the young witch used her finely-toned telekinetic abilities to rob any wealthy visitors to Port Cain. She always felt terrible about doing it, but she had to eat to live, and with so few people coming for herbal medicines, theft tended to be the only way. However, Angela did have some morals: she would only target those who could afford it, and whose purses were small and light from too much shopping. She targeted these visitors mostly because people would notice if their heavy purse started to move, or if its weight suddenly disappeared from their belts. Angela would usually wait for her target to lighten their purse in the marketplace or shops, then follow them until they started to head back towards their ship. She would keep a constant, sharp eye on her target, staying a good distance away, and then use her magic to either slowly untie the purse, lift it from its pocket, or cause it to carefully fall from its owners wrist. Once the purse was safely away from its owner, Angela would then cause it to roll under a nearby basket, wagon, or woman's skirt, effectively hiding it from view before going to collect it after her target was out of eyesight.
So far, this technique had yet to fail. However, since visitors were rare in Port Cain, Angela didn't have to use her gift in that manner very often. Even after robbing someone, she always spent the money on only the barest essentials, like food, soap, and a few herbs that didn't grow in her own private gardens. What few customers she had thought it odd that she only had a table, two chairs, her mixing tools, a very small trunk to hold her few clothes, and a small bed, but that was all she needed. Also, her lack of possessions seemed to keep patrons away from her house for some reason.
'As though business isn't bad enough,' she thought, frowning. 'They're scared enough of me as it us. Between my predicting when and where accidents will happen and magically finding and returning lost objects, nearly the entire town is terrified of me. If I weren't a decent medicine woman, they wouldn't have anything to do with me!'
By now Angela was finished with the medicine, and it was time to deliver it to Mrs. Baker. After pouring the mixture into a small bag, she tucked it away into a small basket and tied on her old, worn-out broad-rimmed straw hat. As she started down the street, Angela noticed that several of the townspeople had stopped to stare fearfully at her. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, the young witch proceeded down the walkway, away from her run- down little hut and heading towards the better parts of town, where Mrs. Baker lived with her niece.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
After twenty minutes of walking in the hot Caribbean sun, Angela felt like she was melting. She truly was an English-born woman; even after a year of living here in the Caribbean, she still had yet to get used to the climate. After stopping to regain her breath and to cool off a bit, Angela went up to the large mansion that housed Mrs. Baker and her niece, Jessica. Wincing at the thought of the snobby, blond-haired, green-eyed, seventeen- year-old Jessica, Angela knocked on the door, preparing for another infamous confrontation with the young girl, though hoping that there wouldn't be one.
Angela and Jessica's dislike of each other was known throughout the town, and people tended to stay out of their arguments. No one wanted to anger the local supposed 'witch,' nor upset one of the upper-class women. No one knew why Jessica hated the healer so much, but Angela supposed that it was because Mrs. Baker preferred the soft, gentle behavior of Angela as opposed to Jessica's loud, obnoxious tantrums. Also, Angela actually cared about Mrs. Baker; Jessica seemed to be waiting for the elderly woman to die so that she could get all of her aunt's money, as well as her inheritance from her deceased parents. The aristocratic teenager was outrageously spoiled and pampered, but that wasn't her aunt's fault. Mrs. Baker was simply too old to run after her niece and care for her, so that task fell to the servants, who spoiled their young charge. The result was obvious whenever Jessica did not get her way: a tantrum always happened, and something valuable usually ended up broken. She was polite and sweet enough in public with her friends, but in private, the girl was a nightmare.
Angela couldn't help rolling her eyes in annoyance, and was relieved when a servant answered her knock on the door instead the vile teen. The butler simply nodded to Angela before motioning her inside. After shutting the door, the man escorted her into a comfortable white-and-gold sitting room. Perched in a large white chair by a marble fireplace was an elderly woman, her hair as white as the painted walls, her eyes a pale blue. Even though it was a bit after noon, she was wearing a white nightgown beneath a white robe, and had a blue blanket over her lap. Her face was covered in wrinkles, and her complexion was a sickly, pale white. The eyes crinkled at the corners as the woman smiled and held out a hand, which the young healer gently took into one of her own.
"Please, Angela, sit down," Mrs. Baker said, nodding to a footstool near her feet. Angela took it, smoothing her skirts as tea and sandwiches were ordered, brought in, and served. As soon as the servants had left them alone, Mrs. Baker spoke again. "So, dear child, how goes the healing business?" she asked, sipping her tea carefully, her old hands as thin and delicate as the china cup she held.
Angela sighed as she set her cup in its saucer. "It is the same, Ruth," she replied. Mrs. Baker had insisted that she be addressed by her first name in private, since she rarely heard it from anyone else. "The town is as afraid of me as they were before, though a few more people have been coming for medicines than before. I still don't get that much business, though."
Ruth Baker looked her guest up and down. "That is obvious; you look like you haven't eaten in days, my dear," she stated, her blue eyes focusing on Angela's thin-looking frame. "When was your last meal?"
"This morning," Angela lied. It had actually been at breakfast yesterday that she had last eaten; she was trying to make her food last as much as she could, since she didn't know when she would be getting enough money to eat again later. As it was, Angela was trying hard not to drain all of the tea in her cup and wolf down all of the sandwiches on the tray; she was that hungry.
Mrs. Baker shook her head. "This will not do," she said. Swiftly summoning a servant, a quick order was given to provide Angela with a basket of food for her to take home with her, along with her payment. Mrs. Baker immediately stopped all protests from Angela. "My dear, you are a young woman and you must be kept healthy," she said, shaking her head. "Starving yourself just because a bunch of nitwits are too afraid of providing you with business is silly. Besides, you should be growing your own food, as well as your herbs, in that garden of yours. Didn't you ever think of that?" The old woman raised an eyebrow at Angela's shamed expression.
"I keep forgetting to plant things," Angela admitted, looking down as she set aside her tea cup. "I'm too busy trying to trade medicines for food, but things never work out the way they're supposed to." Silently, she thought, 'and vegetable seeds and tools cost money that I don't have.'
Mrs. Baker smiled kindly at her young friend as she reached for Angela's chin, tilting her face upwards. "I really wish there was a way for me to help you, child, but people don't want to listen to a weak old woman like me," she said, sighing. "If I were a bit healthier, they might heed me, but not now, not when I'm dying." Angela looked up at the old woman in shock, but the elderly woman laughed. "No, I don't mean it like that; I meant that I'm very slowly fading. Don't worry, dear, I've still got at least a few more years before I join my husband in Heaven." She patted Angela's cheek. "There, here comes your basket and your payment. Now, be a good girl and plant that vegetable garden, hmm? That will help you a great deal."
Angela nodded as a servant brought in the said basket and small pouch of coins, setting them down by Angela's feet. The two made small-talk as they finished the tea and sandwiches, and an hour later, it was time for Angela to go home. As she took the basket and stood up, she took the old woman's hand again in hers and inaudibly whispered a small magical blessing over the old woman's head, begging the Powers to let this good woman live a bit longer and to have better health. Each time she did this, Angela was sure that she was helping her old friend gain a bit more time in life. Mrs. Baker simply smiled, thinking that Angela was muttering to herself, and nodded a good-bye.
*~*~*~*
Soon afterwards, Angela was on her way home when someone rudely bumped into her. Violet eyes met green, and an instant later, the air seemed to crackle with tense emotion.
"Well, if it isn't the town witch," Jessica sneered, her blond head tilted to one side. Her pink parasol matched her gown, and the hat on her head was pink with a wide white ribbon around it. Her blond hair was perfectly arranged and curled, making her the image of the perfect aristocratic woman. Jessica looked the complete opposite of Angela, who was raggedy in her worn out purple dress, her black hair hanging in a messy braid under her broad-rimmed hat. "What have you been up to today, witch?"
"That is none of your concern," Angela said, glaring up at the blond, silently cursing her short 5'3" stature compared to Jessica's 5'8" height.
"Isn't it?" Jessica said, looking down her tiny nose at the woman before her. "Where did you get all of that food from, from my aunt? Give it to me, this instant; you have no right to it." She held out a delicate, smooth hand, palm up, ready to accept the basket.
"No," Angela said, glaring upwards, her eyes narrowing as she held the basket closer. She seriously doubted that a delicate girl like Jessica could carry such a basket without aid.
Jessica looked shocked before her eyes flamed with anger. "How dare you refuse me!" she cried, her head tilting backwards as she stamped her foot, acting much like a defiant child. "You have no right to refuse me, you hideous girl!" Her hand made as if to slap her.
Angela's eyes hardened to a stone-cold amethyst. "I wouldn't try anything, if I were you," she said quietly. The barest hint of a threat hung on her words.
The tone in her voice caused Jessica's hand to stop, hesitating in mid-air. "What could you possibly do to me?" Jessica said, holding her head high as she lowered her hand. "I'm a nobleman's daughter, and you're merely a wench's bastard child."
Angela's eyebrows snapped together in anger. "Oh, really?" she asked, gritting her teeth to not show her fury. "Didn't you just call me a witch? Are you sure that it's wise to threaten and anger a witch?" Jessica visibly paled. "I'm sure that you, of all people, remember your fairy tales, the ones where people who anger a witch end up having some bad run- in with magic? You wouldn't want to be one of those people, now, would you?"
"If you curse me, everyone will know you're a witch!" Jessica said, her voice sounding triumphant. Her triumph was short lived.
"Yes they would, if they believed you," Angela said. "But what if the curse is for no one to believe your words when you tell them what happened between us? What if they think you're mad and lock you up in prison?" The idea of being imprisoned appeared to have sent Jessica into a state of wide- eyed alarm. "If I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut about this little incident. Otherwise, you might end up on the wrong side of some prison bars."
Angela inwardly smirked as she stepped around the frightened Jessica and made her way towards her small hut. She didn't see the teenager run towards her aunt's home, but knew that the noblewoman would keep her silence. After all, as a witch, Angela had a tendency of knowing these things.
*~*~*
Upon reaching her hut, Angela took off her hat, hung it on one of her two chairs, set the small moneybag on the table, and began unpacking the basket. She was surprised to see a whole roasted chicken, six large potatoes, a few carrots, onions, turnips, and even a small pie, all tucked neatly into the basket, a large cloth napkin covering the whole thing neatly.
"I'll have to make sure to make a special potion for Mrs. Baker the next time I deliver her medicine," she muttered. Tonight, though, Angela could have a small feast to celebrate her triumph over Miss Jessica Baker.
*~*~*~*
Three days later, Angela was on her last bit of food. She had tried to make it last, but, with no way to preserve the chicken and pie longer than a few days, Angela had been forced to eat them quickly. The only things left were the vegetables, and she would need several of them in order to plant a vegetable garden like she had promised to make. The money given to her by Mrs. Baker was needed to repair the roof before storm season started, so that left only one option: theft.
Sighing, Angela pulled on a drab gray dress, along with her hat, grabbed a basket, and headed towards town, making it look like she was merely going shopping. Once there, she headed down to the harbor to begin looking around for any visitors to the island port. As she passed by the first pier, she noticed a ship docking, one with black sails. A closer look revealed that the entire ship was crafted from some sort of black wood, and was sporting a skillfully carved figurehead of a maiden holding a bird on the bow of the ship. It truly was a beautiful ship, and Angela could feel a bit of a mystical aura radiating from it, one that practically screamed that this was no ordinary ship. Angela quickly took down a mental note to stay away from it; the aura of that ship could clash with her own gifts if she wasn't careful. Its crewmembers, however, would most definitely be on her 'get-to-know' list, particularly if they had money. As it was, she watched the sailors dock the ship and harness it to the dock. They then gathered on deck, listening to one man speak, probably the captain, before disembarking. The captain was the last to leave after giving his deck a quick check.
Angela blinked in surprise when she saw him set foot on the dock. It looked like he was the captain, but he wasn't like any captain she had seen before. He wore a worn out tri-cornered hat of a captain, as well as a coat, sword, and pistol. There were silver trinkets and bone fragments in his hair, as well as an old red bandana to keep his hair out of his face. He had the oddest walk, more like a sashay, appearing as though he were drunk. He looked like a drunk, but his eyes and serious demeanor said otherwise. Perhaps he was a bit mad? If he were, that would help Angela a great deal; if apparent madmen screamed 'thief' in a marketplace, it was they who would be the ones arrested, not the thief themselves. Yes, this man would definitely be her target. A closer look at his belt made her decision: a full money-pouch hung by a single, thin leather strip, one that could easily break if she focused hard enough with her telekinetic powers. Making up her mind, Angela discreetly followed the odd captain.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Half an hour later, the captain had spent a great deal of money on food and supplies for his ship, but appeared to still have a fair amount left over. In the mean time, he was heading towards the more run-down parts of Port Cain, apparently in need of a drink from the seedy taverns and bars. Angela knew she had to move before another pickpocket from those parts of town got to him first. Waiting for the man to stop and admire a jeweler's stall, Angela stood across the street, watching him while seeming to be admiring some apples. With the captain's attention focusing elsewhere, Angela focused, 'pinching' the leather strap with her magic until it snapped. If one looked closely, it honestly looked like someone had actually cut the leather with a sharp knife until it broke.
After making sure that the leather strap was broken, Angela quickly whisked the falling pouch under a fruit stall next to the jeweler's, pushing it under the stall until it was hidden by some baskets. After a moment of waiting, she saw the captain move on, not knowing that his pouch was missing. Seeing him move out of view, Angela calmly walked across the street and set her basket down next to the ones which hid the pouch. After a brief second of seeming to admire the fruit-seller's merchandise, Angela bent over and picked up the basket, which now included the pouch she had 'called' into her own basket from behind the fruit-seller's baskets. Satisfied with her work, Angela held her basket close and quickly lost herself in the crowd, not knowing that she was being watched.