Disclaimer; I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles.
Author's note; I hope y'all like this! I might edit it later, I am not sure yet. I probably will, because some pieces had to be written very quickly ( I do need some sleep people, so I have bedtimes) and that might need editing. I'll see.
And it might be difficult to figure out when in the books/life of the spook this happens, but it all are moments from the The Spook's stories, witches; Meg Skelton. I hope it isn't too difficult to discover which moment is which.
Oh and there isn't much about young John/ Young Meg in the books, so I had to improvise a little with how they acted around each other and everything. I personally thought John would be strong-willed and resist when Meg would want something he didn't agree with ( hence the many arguments), but would give in because he cared so much. And I envisioned Meg not having a high opinion of humans ( since she was fully aware of what she was back then, so she probably was very different – it actually says so at the end , The Spook says at the end that she seemed like a stranger to him at times when drugged- when drugged) and sometimes being manipulative/harsh. But she also sincerely loves/cares for the Spook. I think.
Enjoy!
From all the battles he had fought, from all the incredibly difficult decisions he had had to make, from all the horrible, painful things he had seen and experienced, this was by far the worst.
Before, he hadn't that much problems , because he knew he fought the dark, because he knew it had to be done to protect the innocent. He could deal with the threats, the fights, the killing or binding of various servants of the dark.
He could even –although that was very difficult in the beginning- deal with the contempt, the mixed fear and hate, the glances, the glares.
He could live with the loneliness, with the knowledge the dark despised him and the ordinary people feared and despised him.
What he didn't think to be able to live with, though, was this.
Pulling her on her long, beautiful hair through the grass, hurting her but not as much as the idea of her in that pit forever was hurting him.
He strengthened his resolve, attempting to think of her as just another creature of the dark, another vile inhuman creature that would no doubt hurt many people if she was allowed to dwell in the world freely.
But he couldn't. Not when all he saw, was their night together.
Her lips, softer than he would have deemed possible, so perfect on his. Her hair tickling his face and the sides of his neck, a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Her body pressed against his, a perfect fit. The soft sounds she made. Her willingness to be with him, something he didn't encounter anymore.
He had never experienced anything like it, anything that was so blissful, that felt so right. He wouldn't trade his soul for power, for immortality, for money or for anything else the Devil could think of, but he would sell his soul for another moment like that.
He gritted his teeth. His willingness, desperately so, to do anything for another moment like that only showed him how much she had bewitched him already.
It made him angry, knowing she had such power and wasn't above using it on him. It made him bitter, thinking that moment had only happened because she wanted to hold power over him. It made him sad, the knowledge that he would never have a moment like that ever again.
He pulled a little harder, his anger making some of his pity and sympathy for her dissolve. He immediately regretted the action when a hiss of pain passed her lips. And cursed himself.
For hurting her, but even more for being so oblivious and gullible, for allowing himself to feel pity and sympathy towards an obviously manipulative and cold creature.
Finally, they reached the pit and he turned, determined to finish this once and for all.
He made the mistake of looking into her eyes, wide, angry yet frightened eyes that pleaded with him, that coaxed him into releasing her. He averted his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to finish it if he didn't, but that turned out to be a mistake too. Because it allowed him to see the many scratches on the part of her arms and legs he had made.
He swallowed, disgusted with himself. He never thought he would stoop this low, that he would actually harm a woman. The thought made his mind reel, made him feel like someone had slapped him and thrown cold water in his face.
He had had never thought of them – he couldn't even say Lamia witch anymore- as women. He had always thought of them as beasts, as monsters, as utterly inhuman. Certainly not as women.
Women were soft, intelligent and kind in his mind, not incredibly strong, powerful and able to curse like real seamen.
Yet she didn't look like one of them.
She looked every inch a woman, every inch a warm-blooded woman that deserved his respect. That didn't deserve or should be dragged along, that shouldn't have her perfect skin cut open by brambles nor should that long, stunning hair be used as leverage. She looked so human that he couldn't but feel revolted and embarrassed by what he had done to her.
His eyes trailed lower, following that scratches that adorned her further flawless skin and the sympathy and pity in the back of his eyes vanished when he saw the scales again. It was a cruel remainder of her deceit, of how she would never be human no matter how human-like she looked.
He focused on the anger the thought of her deceit- because that is what he was sure it was- evoked and managed to swallow back the pity and sympathy. The anger would enable him to actually do his job, the pity and sympathy would only make his life very complicated.
He was just about to push her over the edge when it happened; she sunk to her knees, clung to his and sobbed. Desperately. Pitying. Nothing any man could just ignore.
She isn't human, she isn't human, she isn't human he chanted in his mind, but it mattered not. It didn't matter that she was a witch , that she likely had harmed many humans and that it was his duty to push her into that pit. Right now, she was just a sorrowful woman. And he wasn't cruel nor heartless.
" Please!" she cried. " Spare me. I can't live like that- not trapped down there in the dark!".
He felt like crying himself, so strong was the need to protect her- to protect her from his own kind. Her tears were like sharp needles to him; with every tear that escaped her beautiful, expressive eyes, he felt like someone had stabbed a needle in his heart. Had it been any other situation, he would have suspected someone was using witchcraft on him to make him feel that way.
" You're a witch and that is where you belong" he told her, barely managing to get the words out and surprised his voice didn't waver.
" Be grateful you're not suffering a worse fate-".
" Oh please, please, John, think again. Can I help it that I was born a witch? Despite that, I never hurt others unless they threaten me. Remember what we said to each other last night? How we felt? Nothing's changed. Nothing's changed at all. Please put your arms around me again and forget this foolishness".
Had she been any other lamia witch, then he would have thrown her into the pit without hesitance, never doubting she was evil and belonged there. It was what he had to do, it was what he was paid to do. But he couldn't.
Not when tears was still silently streaming over her face, not when she looked so pleadingly at him, not when she looked so human and honest.
True, he knew what was expected of him, what he would have expected himself of any man in this position, but his heart didn't seem to be interested in that. No matter how much he knew what to do intelligently, he couldn't just make that decision. Not when he already loved her.
Besides, she had given some very good reasons. Logical, valid reasons. She was right ; she hadn't asked to be born a witch. He hadn't asked to be born a spook either – although some would say it had been his own decision- , he hadn't necessarily wanted this life either. No one wanted or deserved to life of either witch or spook.
Would it be really fair to throw her into a pit just because she had been born something she didn't want to be? What kind of man would that make him? Wouldn't that make him the monster?
He just stood there, still as a statue, while he thought it through. He thought and thought and thought until his head hurt, but he knew, deep inside, his decision had already been made. Consequences be damned, he couldn't punish the woman he loved for something she wasn't responsible for. For just being born.
So he did the only thing he know he as man in love could do; he kneeled down, freed his tears and begged for her forgiveness. After all, she was more valuable than his soul to him, so she was certainly more valuable than his job, wasn't she?
"Meg, love, please listen to me! I simply request you stay here, so you-"
" I don't care for your explanation! I know why you want me to stay, but I am not some silly housewife John. I am perfectly able to get some damn groceries!".
" Meg! Such language..".
" Is unflattering and unbecoming for a lady. I know. Good thing I'm not a lady then, isn't it?".
" Don't be like that. You are a lady. A very beautiful one".
" Is that all I am to you John? Beautiful? ".
" You are absolutely stunning Meg".
" You bastard!".
" Ouch! Damn it Meg, why would you throw your shoe at me?".
" Because you don't respect me! You only see me as some petty woman that should be kept hidden in your house. You are ashamed of me! Ashamed you , mister high-and-mighty, mister human would dally with a Lamia witch!".
" No Meg, that is not it at al-".
" Bloody hell it isn't! You never want me to come outside, you haven't told your family about me as far as I know and you keep on berating me like you know everything so much better!".
" Meg, please-".
" I know a great deal more than you John and I will not be treated like an ordinary, weak-willed farmer's wife!".
" You aren't! I risk everything for you!".
" Everything? Everything? What is it that you risk John? Losing the profession that makes everyone fear, despise and avoid you? Losing something you don't have- respect? Losing having to bend to their will every time? Being very damn-near an outlaw? ".
" Don't talk to me like that, woman!".
" Don't order me around! I am not your little slave John!".
" And I am not something you can just play with and throw away when you have had enough".
" Oh God. That is where this is about? What is it John? Afraid that I might find a more handsome, easier man in the village and run off with him?".
" Oh don't look so shocked love , I too can say His name without going up in flames, you know. Although, really, why you worship something that is so utterly uncooperative and allows creatures like me to play with creatures like you is beyond me".
" I. Don't. Worship. Anyone. You know that".
" Oh I know. Doesn't it make you afraid John? Being with me, a creature of the dark? Are you afraid you will burn in Hell for it, that He will not forgive you? Are you ashamed?".
" Shouldn't I ask you that question? Isn't a human just food to you? Something to satisfy your appetite?".
" I am starting to think that is all you are good for you, you stubborn, impossible man!".
"Stubborn? Impossible? That is you! I have been reasonable all this time and you simply have to be unreasonable and illogical, thinking it is perfectly ordinary for you to want to go into town!".
" And why wouldn't it be?".
" Because you're not human and the villagers will surely notice something , you foolish woman!".
" Foolish? I am many things John but I am NOT foolish John. Nor am I someone who needs to obey your every order, so leave me ALONE!".
" Meg.., just-".
" Don't touch me!".
" Fine! Then go! Leave, but don't come running back to me when you get into trouble!".
" Please, like I need you".
" Oh dear God, what am I going to do about that woman? Please make her see reason" he mumbled when the door had slammed and almost broken by the force behind it.
She had actually made him pray again, someone he hadn't planned on ever doing again. It hadn't exactly ever worked for him, so why would he?
But then again, who but God could deal with a woman like that?
" Meg, let me do the shopping" he tried to reason with her, a last desperate attempt.
The cold look she gave him wasn't encouraging, but he continued nonetheless.
" You're drawing too much attention to yourself! If it wasn't for me being a spook and you living at my house, they'd have already accused you of being a witch. You'll end up in the dungeons at Caster Castle if you're not careful" he warned, knowing his heartfelt warnings were falling on deaf ears, but still trying. He simply had to at least attempt to minimize the damage.
She finally turned to face him and – like expected- rolled her eyes. The woman was too stubborn for her own good.
" I can take care of myself John". She smiled grimly. " As you well know. Would you want me to be confined to this house and garden just because some shrews in the village insist on making trouble? No, I must fight my own battles!".
He bit back a curse, irritated with her stubbornness and unwillingness to listen to him. She didn't seem to understand how much trouble she could cause, how dangerous this all was. She simply didn't seem to care and it was driving him crazy.
It made him want to scream and shout, to make her see reason, to – if it was necessary- tie her up just so she wouldn't run off to do something foolish.
But he couldn't do any of these things. She could leave if he did any of that , if he pushed her too far and she was quickly becoming his oxygen ; how would he be able to live without her feisty spirit that made everything just that bit more interesting?
" An incomer. An incomer? How dares she?!".
" Just because I am more beautiful than her, just because I can do more than she can even dream of. Spiteful, little women!".
" I will show them all right".
Her muttering eventually attracted his attention and he walked into the room she had chosen for herself, the one she spend most of her time in when she wasn't sleeping.
The small fire sizzled, there was a greenish fog permeating the room and making it near impossible to see anything and the air was strange and unfamiliar when he walked in. It did do nothing to make the growing feeling of dread lessen.
He walked over to her , embraced her and kissed her shoulder, hoping against hope he was wrong and she wouldn't be doing what he feared she was doing.
" Meg, where on earth are you muttering about?".
She sniffed. " Those foolish village women, of course. They keep insulting me".
" They just envy you".
" I know. But that doesn't give them the right! I am so sick of these insults, by these petty human women".
" I get that Meg, I really do. I just hope you won't… do something about it".
" Oh but I will". She giggled. " I certainly will. They got it coming, now"
" Meg..".
" Oh don't give me that look John! They certainly harmed me, or tried to anyway".
" Yes, but they don't have power like you do. And you know I don't want you to use magic".
" Magic ought to be used in cases like this, just to teach them".
" They will be taught, but I doubt it will be what you want them to learn Meg".
" We will see. Now will you go? You're distracting me".
" Meg, please don-".
" I won't John. Not really. Just trust me, all right?".
He sighed. " All right. I know you will do it anyway. Just promise me-".
"to not really hurt them, I know. I won't".
He kissed her shoulder again. " All right".
He wasn't happy, but he had learned not to comment too much by now. Meg wouldn't listen anyway. So he walked away, leaving her muttering and mumbling to herself.
Jenny Johnson. The snobby, arrogant woman that had claimed Meg's flawless skin was too pale to be called beautiful and made her look like a ghost rather than a desirable woman. She suffered nasty boils all over her body, after which her 'ideal skin' somehow turned even paler than Meg's, and a lot less desirable.
Deanne Delano. The extremely house-proud – some would even call it obsessed- woman that had told Meg in a condescending voice she probably couldn't clean that 'awful' house since she didn't seem to have the same abilities as Deanne did. Softly telling some other women the 'incomer' likely had lice and other vermin was just rubbing salt in the wound.
A few days later the first plague came; Deanne didn't stop screaming from the moment the first lice and cockroaches were discovered.
Meg walked around smiling and looked especially smug when she discovered Deanne's husband didn't want to sleep in the bed anymore because Deanne was practically overflowing with lice.
He screamed, he cursed, he threatened, he pleaded and did everything he could think of, but she wouldn't budge; she kept using witchcraft as a means to an end, the end being teaching anyone who threatened or even insulted her a lesson that they wouldn't quickly forget.
" You will not go into the village anymore!".
" I will do as I please John. You cannot keep me locked up here, I won't allow it!".
" You leave me no choice! Don't you understand that?".
" That is ludicrous, you do have a choice! Aren't you always preaching about how we all have a free will?".
" That is completely different and you know it!".
" How is it any different? You are choosing to be such a tyrant!".
"No, I am choosing to attempt to protect you, although God knows why, because you obviously don't want protection!".
" I don't need protection John. I need your goddamn support and understanding, for once!".
" I have been supportive and understanding! I haven't done anything while I would have thrown any other lamia witch in that pit!".
" That isn't supportive and understanding, that's selfish! The only reason you didn't do that, is because you wanted a body to warm your bed!".
" How dare you?! All this time, I have only been attempting to protect you and keep you happy, but you ruin it every single time! Do you even realize how serious this is?".
" I realize all you can think about is how this could hurt you. Grow up John, the world isn't black and white and neither is it about you!".
" I know that Meg, believe me I know! So don't pretend different and blame this all on me. I have been trying , but you're just impossible!".
" Then what do you want me to do? Spend the remainder of my life in this house, like some sort of prisoner?".
" No! I just want you to stop the insults, the provocations, the hostile behavior and –above all- harming innocent, defenseless women!".
" Defenseless? Inno- Do you even know what they did? Those women-".
" Insulted and belittled you. Yes, I know that Meg. But you can't keep cursing them every time they do that!. The parish constable already contacted me and this is bound to all end very badly. You –".
" Oh so this is all my fault? Those women can insult me, belittle me and treat me as though I am vermin, but I can't give them what they deserve? ".
"No! I-".
" Don't say anything anymore John, I know more than enough" she hissed, looking outraged. For a moment, he actually wondered if she would drink his blood and kill him, but she didn't. She simply walked away.
" What if they arrested you Meg? You will surely hang. They won't listen to my pleads".
She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled thinly. " Well, then at least you won't have to do it yourself, will you?".
He was speechless, shocked, hurt. Unable to believe she would think such a thing. He stepped forward, forcing his vocal cords to work and.. the door slammed. She was gone.
She didn't seem surprised when he told her they would have to leave. She didn't ask questions, didn't even seem interested or curious. She only nodded, once, and left to pack.
He wondered if she had scryed or used a different method, an even worse one to find out long before he did. But he didn't want to ask.
She didn't have to answer and what could would it do? It would only be cause for more arguments, for more bitterness and distrust. He was better off not knowing.
He had anticipated moving to Anglezarke Moore would be a bad development, that it would be hard to live in such a place, that she wouldn't be satisfied with living in such a dreary and dark place. But they, to his' surprise, were happy. Anglezarke Moore couldn't hold a candle to Chipenden, but it was a welcome change nonetheless. It allowed them a breathing reprieve and a chance to reconcile. To start over.
Their reconcile, their reprieve, only lasted for a short time. It officially ended when he found her, pacing, in the kitchen, clutching a letter to her chest, to her heart. He didn't think he had ever seen her this nervous before.
" What ails you woman?".
She didn't say anything at first, just resumed pacing and gnawed her bottom lip nervously- something she never did either- before she relented when she saw the determined and demanding look in his eyes.
" It is my sister, Marcia".
She needed a moment to gather her composure and he was shocked to see her eyes were shimmering like there were unshed tears in them. He hadn't seen her cry since that day he had almost thrown her into a pit and they hadn't ever spoken about it.
" Unless we help , she'll be killed for sure. Can she come here to us?".
" Where is she now?".
" Far to the north beyond the boundaries of the County. She's being hidden and protected, but it can't go on for much longer or those who guard her will be in danger themselves. There's a quisitor in the area and he's already growing suspicious. A thorough search is being carried out".
He was all set to scream no!, but the desperate, pleading look in her eyes stopped him. Those beautiful eyes trapped him once again, cornered him, and he felt his resolve crumble slowly.
" Please say she can come here" she begged. " Please do. She's my only relative in the whole world".
He caved. He couldn't do anything else when she was looking so vulnerable and yet somehow hopeful. And he was too much in love to deny her anything she wanted, too much in love to realize how much he was compromising his values and beliefs.
Before Meg, he wouldn't have even thought about housing a Lamia witch and now he would be housing two of them…
Disbelief. That was the first thing he felt. He simply couldn't believe such a hideous, frightening creature that didn't look like a human at all could be related to such a beautiful, graceful woman as Meg.
Then came shock, then anger at her deceit and finally, a little fear. A feral lamia would no doubt be able – and very willing- to kill him and drain him of his blood.
He unconsciously gripped my staff tighter, preparing to fight despite the fact that Meg would no doubt hate him forever if he hurt her sister in any way. It was just to feel safe. Although he doubted he would ever feel safe again as long as this creature was nearby.
He didn't want to lose her, He couldn't lose her. He was too much in love to lose her, to survive losing her. And if that meant housing a feral Lamia, then he would have to do that, as long as it meant he would have her . It was worth it.
Or that was what he told himself whenever he heard the birds gathering, whenever he heard their cries of terror, whenever he heard rats squealing in excitement as they climbed up the drainpipes, when he heard the Lamia – he simply couldn't think of her as Meg's sister or he would surely go insane- scuttling about or when Meg cheerily remarked "She likes a juicy rat that sister of mine, but the chase is as good as the eating" like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He simply told himself it was worth it , because it was. He would have housed the Devil himself in order to keep Meg, he feared.
He didn't want to see, didn't want to think, didn't want to realize. When Marcia- now she looked so human, it was so much easier to see her as Meg's sister- came downstairs and sat beside them.
He didn't want to think about the fact the she was Meg's sister, that she resembled Meg a lot more now and certainly didn't want to wonder whether Meg would look like Marcia's feral form when she was in her feral form.
But he couldn't stop himself from doing that, just like he couldn't stop himself from breaking all his rules for Meg.
Terror. That was what he felt when Marcia suggested he and Meg would share him. And insulted, insulted that Marcia would talk like that about him; like he was something that could be owned.
The only thing that made him feel better after seeing the (blood?)lust look in Marcia's eyes was the fury in Meg's eyes and her retort.
For some reason, he didn't mind being owned by Meg. As long as he was the only one she wanted to own.
Perhaps he wasn't as hopeless, as pathetic, as he had thought. Because if Marcia killed an innocent child, Meg could beg and plead all she wanted, but he wouldn't cave. He would throw her sister in a pit, even if that would very likely drive away Meg forever.
He would sell his soul for Meg, he would break his personal rules, he would allow a lamia witch to stay with them, he would do anything but allow innocents to get hurt because of his foible, of his weakness.
He didn't know what to think about it. He didn't know whether he had made the right choice. There was so much he didn't know. Most of all, he didn't know just how far he would go for Meg, what he would do to keep her. He had already refrained from putting Marcia in a pit while she certainly had deserved so. What more would he refrain for, for Meg?
It was happening again. She was doing it again, after all this time. Just when he had started to think there would be no more trouble. But of course there was. She wouldn't be Meg if there wasn't.
Mable Sterling. Elderly woman. She had been experiencing night-terrors. It could have been just ordinary night-terrors , but he suspected – like most of the villagers did as well- Meg was behind it because the woman didn't just have night-terrors; she sometimes would wake up with wounds that she had gotten in dreams or she would dream something that happened shortly after the dream had been dreamt. Those weren't normal.
Lily Red. A beautiful woman that , despite her beauty, could be very ugly. In the sense of being hard and cruel. She didn't dare to venture beyond her own front door anymore, days after she had remarked Meg should have stayed wherever she came from, far away from them.
He confronted her, of course, but she shrugged and waved it off. And he didn't pressure her, knowing it wouldn't do much good anyway.
He did get her to not make new victims though. Or that is what she promised , reluctantly, him. But would she hold such a promise, he wondered.
Someone was using dark magic on him . It was the only explanation for this piercing, hot pain in his heart that felt like his heart was burned, stabbed with hot needles and then just exploded.
It was the only explanation for the sudden deprivation of oxygen, for the dark spots blurring his vision and the way every time he inhaled, it burned his throat.
When the door closed and he collapsed, tears streaming down his face, he realized. It was worse than dark magic, far, far worse. It was love.
He was bitter. He had given her everything he had to offer, his house, safety, his heart.. He had done everything he could, had broken every rule for her and even housed her sister. And still, she betrayed him.
Despite everything he had done for her, everything he wanted to do for her and could do for her, she had betrayed him.
He should have seen it coming, should have listened to his own dark thoughts that told him such an exceptional woman wouldn't be interested in him, that voice that had driven him to do anything to keep her near. He should have send her away.
Back then, when he didn't necessarily need her to survive.
He still loved her. Despite the betrayal, despite everything she had made him do- directly or indirectly-, he still loved her. So he couldn't just send her away, especially not after she had just drowned, could he? He would take this opportunity to have her close once more, even if it was for a little while, and take care of her.
Even if she didn't love him, even if she never had, he would always love her. He would always be there for her.
It pained him. It pained him to see her so docile, so unlike the Meg he knew and loved. It pained him to see her so unlike herself, to live together with someone that was nearly a stranger now. It pained him to have to do this to her, to force her to be something she wasn't.
But what choice did he have? He couldn't risk her leaving and getting hurt. The one thing that would hurt him more than her leaving, was her dying. As long as she was alive, he would have a little hope. And hope is what people live on., what he lived on.
It was definitely the worst time of all. It was worse than battling dark creatures, it was worst than losing contact with his family, it was worse than the contempt and disgust he received from most people, it was possibly even worse than when he had caught her with another man.
But it was the only thing he could do to protect her, to ensure she wouldn't be hanged, so he locked her in a dark room off the cellar steps and whispered into her ear his goodbye;
"Farewell Meg. Dream of the garden at Chipenden where we were so happy. I'll see you in the autumn.