The trading post was unique. It didn't really have a name, except that over time folks stopped referring to it as 'the trading post run by that outcast white witch Elizabeth Clarke.' Now it was simply The Trading Post.
And Elizabeth liked that just fine.
She was not a very old witch, or very popular among her kind, but she was a very useful one, which was why her trading was was The Trading Post. Because while she was a white witch by definition, by practice, she wasn't a very good one.
Or so they other white witches said. Elizabeth didn't much mind. Most other white witches were virginal religious fanatics. Not the sort of people she wanted hanging around, anyway.
She wasn't too bothered by those sorts of labels. Good witch, bad witch, it didn't matter so much to her. If Elizabeth was forced to define herself, she supposed she would use the term 'capitalist'. Or perhaps capital-witch?
She lived by few rules, and they were simple.
Harm no one.
Anyone may buy anything, provided they could pay for it.
And these were the rules of her Trading Post, as well, enforced by powerful spellwork etched into the very woodwork of the building itself. Elizabeth didn't care who she traded with, what they bought, or for what purpose. Good witches, bad witches, monsters, or hunters—so long as they could pay for what they wanted, Elizabeth was willing to sell it to them.
Did witches buy materials for malicious spells from her? Did hunters buy tools to kill witches? Monsters, to kill humans? Yes, yes, and yes. But they paid, so they were just the same as any other customer. As far as Elizabeth was considered, there was no blood on her hands.
The other white witches did not agree. But despite all their scorn, and glares, and disparaging remarks, they, too, kept coming back to The Trading Post, and Elizabeth sold them what they needed with a smile.
It was a good system. A nice, peaceful life. And it had been that way for nearly 200 years, when Elizabeth met Rowena.
Elizabeth had heard of Rowena MacLeod, of course. Almost every witch who had lived for more than one hundred years knew every other, by name and reputation if not personally. Before meeting her, all Elizabeth knew was that she was Scottish, powerful, and permanently blacklisted by the Grand Coven. Apart from the natural kinship Elizabeth felt with all outcasts, she had no feelings one way or another about the woman.
Before she met her.
When she came, she strode in like a queen. Back straight, chin up, looking down her nose at the dust and aged wood of The Trading Post, sweeping past shelves and tables in a deep blue, floor-length lace dress that hugged her curves just right. Elizabeth could hardly spare a thought toward how underdressed she felt in comparison, she was so enraptured by the sight.
The dress, the long fiery curls, the March mist behind her and the self-assured gleam in her eye made her look much more like a faerie queen of old than a common witch.
The woman glanced around The Trading Post, nose crinkling ever-so-slightly with poorly hidden disdain, and swept up to the counter, heels knocking on the wooden floor. Elizabeth pinched her own wrist under the counter to fight off her strong, instant attraction to the woman.
Business, Elizabeth. Business first.
"Good day," she greeted, voice higher than Elizabeth expected and with a strong Scottish lilt. "I require a Gorgon's tooth."
Elizabeth hummed, leaning on the counter and propping her head in her hand. "And what'll you give me for it?"
Her lips tightened for a moment, and then she smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "A bottle of fairy dust."
Elizabeth snorted a laugh. The woman's eyebrows rose, equal parts disgust at her lack of manners and irritation at such a reaction to her offer. "Sorry," Elizabeth apologized. "It's just either you're stupid, or you think I'm stupid. The tooth is worth ten bottles of fairy dust, at least. Care to try again?"
"The fairy dust and a dozen mermaid scales," the woman countered imperiously. "That's my final offer."
"No deal," Elizabeth said easily. The woman was attractive, but she couldn't just give away her merchandise to anyone who strolled in on a lovely pair of legs, or she'd never make a profit.
Green eyes flashed. The woman raised a hand threateningly, and Elizabeth sat back, eyes half-lidded, as she incanted a very powerful, very dark mind control spell. The power of it made the air heavy, like a rainstorm. When she finished, though, the power dissipated like mist.
Elizabeth clapped, slowly. "Well done. If that had worked my death would have been very unpleasant, wouldn't it?" The woman pursed her lips in irritation, eyes only now finding the intricate warding carved into the walls, the floors, the foundations. Elizabeth eyed her sympathetically. "No one tipped you off, did they?"
The look on her face was enough, and Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the counter. "Here's how it works, beautiful. You pay for what you want, and you get it. No violence allowed."
"So I see." The woman glanced at the door, then back at Elizabeth. "What's your price, then?"
Elizabeth hummed. "Two bottles of fairy dust and thirty mermaid scales."
She drew back immediately, spine straight. Elizabeth was distinctly reminded of an offended cat. "One bottle of fairy dust, twenty mermaid scales, and a strand of hair from a banshee." Was her accent thicker now? How cute.
"Two bottles, the scales, three strands of banshee hair.," Elizabeth said easily. "Final offer."
The woman stood straight, jaw tight, eyes glittering. For a long moment, she simply glared. Finally, she said with delicate, fragile dignity, "I have one bottle, twentyfour scales, and two strands of banshee hair." Left unsaid was only. I only have that much.
Elizabeth sighed. "Look, ah—"
"Rowena." Elizabeth arched a brow, sweeping her gaze over the woman again. Rowena drew herself up taller.
"MacLeod?" Elizabeth asked.
Rowena smiled a brittle smile, perhaps expecting to be tossed out now that Elizabeth knew who she was. "The same. You've heard of me?"
"Haven't we all?" Elizabeth shook her head and shrugged. Rowena seemed to relax just a fraction at her lack of reaction. "Anyway, Rowena. I'd love to give you a deal. Really, I would. But word will get out that I did, and then everybody will try haggling and begging and bringing out their sob stories about sick grandmothers and gambling debts and funeral costs, and then where will it end?"
Rowena pursed her lips. Looking like she was experiencing great pain, she said, "I will owe you."
"I don't do IOUs," Elizabeth said immediately. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, to a large sign which said the same. She'd learned her lesson the hard way, taking favors as payment from witches who went and got themselves killed.
"I'm a powerful witch," Rowena tried anyway. "Surely I could be useful to you."
Elizabeth could think of a great many ways she could be, but none that would be polite to bring up while haggling. Rowena must have seen something in her eyes, though, because she smiled triumphantly. "One bottle of fairy dust, and a kiss."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. Rowena eyed her like a cat about to pounce on prey. Elizabeth should probably find that disturbing, not exciting.
Elizabeth was not one to mix business with pleasure. She tried not to become involved with customers in general, and never to accept such offers as Rowena had just presented in particular. Mixing business with pleasure was generally bad for both.
But, what the Hell? No point in living forever if she never tried new things.
"A kiss, from you, on the lips," Elizabeth said finally. "And it lasts for as long as I like." Best to be thorough, in business or pleasure.
A pleased smile bloomed on Rowena's lips. "Deal." She stepped up against the counter.
Elizabeth took a second to admire her. God, she was pretty. Elizabeth could be, too, when she cared to be, but it was so much effort. She much preferred to live in her loose slacks and thick sweaters, but she still appreciated the effect of a well-tailored dress. And Rowena was content to let her look, standing proud, because yes, she knew exactly the effect she had on people, and wasn't afraid to take advantage.
Elizabeth leaned over the counter, drawing close. Took a moment to appreciate the shades of green in her eyes, the way Rowena's lipstick made her skin look snow-white, the flowery, mossy scent of some perfume. Rowena smirked, and that did it.
Elizabeth kissed her.
A soft press of lips from Elizabeth, gentle. No tongue, no great force, because while she'd barter for a kiss she wouldn't take advantage, wouldn't press boundaries. While she'd happily press closer, tangle a hand in those crimson curls, she didn't.
Rowena had other ideas, though. She pressed back fervently, taking control of the kiss immediately. Elizabeth let her do as she pleased, butterflies in her stomach, for a long moment, but then Rowena latched one manicured hand into Elizabeth's sweater. She pulled, dragging Elizabeth closer, farther across the counter. Elizabeth's eyes shot open at the motion, and she pulled away with a gasp of surprise.
Rowena smiled in satisfaction. Elizabeth noted that her lipstick was still impeccable, and suspected magic.
"Now then," Rowena said primly. "My tooth?"
Elizabeth smiled, laughed, and went to fetch it.