Wow it has been a long time!
I have just marathoned season 2 of the Musketeers and now my muse has returned. This is just a quick, silly story in honour of Halloween. (I have another Halloween chapter in the works that I hope to have posted either today or tomorrow) It has nothing to do with the previous chapters and it hasn't been beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Please read & review!
As always, the characters don't belong to me.
When she was a young girl, learning the basics of her craft from her mother and aunts, she hadn't been interested in 'the most important spell she would ever learn' (according to her aunt Melanié who had given up on witchcraft the very second she had met her husband). She hadn't wanted to meet a husband – the most important thing in her life was learning how to turn her older brothers into interesting creatures when they annoyed her (her favourite ended up being bats and she mastered the spell by the age of nine. Her brothers still raise their arms up as if they can fly whenever she looks at them angrily, though she rarely gives into the temptation to change them now).
As a teen in the academy she was too busy learning everything she could about magic – testing the limits of her power and mastering everything from the most basic spells to the much more complicated ones that required a coven to carry them out. She was more interested in forging bonds with the other witches than finding a husband – her mother had always told her that the only people a witch could depend on was her coven and Constance had taken that advice to heart. (the advice had come after her father had stormed out of the house for the fifth and final time, after finding her mother at a meeting with her coven instead of at the business dinner she was supposed to be attending with him. Her mother's friend had dealing with a preternatural stalker and required assistance but her father hadn't cared and that was enough for Constance to take her mother's side in the whole affair. She hadn't spoken to her father since and she got them impression that he wasn't worried – his new wife and daughter were perfectly normal and attended every function his company ran.)
She was nineteen before she finally cast it, freshly heartbroken and angry at Bonacieux, her boyfriend of four years, after he had told her that he wouldn't tolerate her craft once they were married. Although it was widely accepted that there were thousands of witches living throughout France, they weren't always trusted by the upper classes and his business depended on the goodwill and recommendation of those people so he couldn't afford not to be trusted. She had dumped him before he had even finished speaking and took great delight in the look of shocked fear on his face as she'd raised her hands slowly. She wouldn't really have hexed him – he wasn't worth the power drain – but she wanted to him to be afraid of her, to know that she wasn't the weak little girl who would tolerate any sort of nonsense from him that he seemed to think she was.
She hadn't loved him, not even slightly, but she had tolerated him because he could be kind to her and before this he had never shown any disdain towards her magic. It was this lack of love that made him the perfect candidate – after all, her mother had loved her father and still had her heart broken so what was the point? She had expected to marry Bonacieux eventually and the idea that her carefully planned out future wouldn't happen terrified her.
It was at Anne's urging that she cast the spell. Anne had recently found her own soul mate – a cheerful and mischievous man named Aramis who made her deliriously happy and was fascinated with everything she could do. Constance had met him once and approved of him for her friend, but she wasn't so sure her own soul mate would be like that. What if he was like her father and left when the women coming through their house got too much for him? (Constance would never abandon her coven, not for anyone)
So it was morbid curiosity, more than any real desire to meet him, that drove her to cast the spell. She wanted to know if he would be like Bonacieux, expecting her to change everything about herself for his sake, or if he would be like Aramis and accept her as she was, warts and all (a witch joke that she liked to make because if made other feel uncomfortable when they took in her pale, unblemished skin. She could always tell that they were wondering if she was hiding warts somewhere; if she actually looked like the old descriptions of witches and her pretty, girl next door appearance was actually a spell. Constance had discovered that she quite enjoyed making people feel uncomfortable).
She went home to her mother's house, and gathered her mother's coven and her best friend, and set up her smallest cauldron on the big oak table where she learned her craft as a child. She could still see the scorch marks from previous attempts at spells and they made her smile wistfully as she traced them with a finger.
She tossed in one ingredient after another – a lock of her hair, a sprig of rosemary followed by a well preserved eye of newt and a shaving of skin recently shed by a snake – and watched as the smoke changed colours as the spell worked. Her mother stood at her left and Anne at her right,
both silent bystanders but she could feel their power surge through her as she softly chanted the words she had been taught as a child (her aunt Melanié stood across the table from her, looking prouder than she ever had before and it made her feel uncomfortable – she had never wanted to be like her aunt Melanié).
When it was over and the smoke had finally cleared and she had fallen into a seat, exhausted and sweaty, there was a small fleur-de-lis imprinted on her inner wrist, the black lines a stark contrast to her pale flesh.
She raised her arm in silence and allowed her family and friends to look at the symbol which now tied her to another human being. She looked at the imprint again and sighed internally – it was a fleur-de-lis so at least he was French.
She was twenty two when she finally met him.
She still had the tattoo, telling anyone who asked that she had gotten it while drunk. She had long since given up on meeting him – her experience in the matter was that once the spell was cast, it wasn't long before they appeared in your life.
Anne had met Aramis three days after casting her spell and Ninon had met Fleur a week after casting hers. Flea had known Porthos her entire life and had been thrilled when her mark had appeared on his arm. Milady, as it turns out, had already married and divorced her own soul mate. She had cast her own spell after Constance but she and Athos had now reconciled and were about to be remarried, which is why Constance now found herself in the grounds of the run down Saint Marié Convent – the single most magical spot in France and where most witches married their soul mates (Milady claimed that was her mistake with Athos – she had been hiding what she was and married him at his family's estate just outside Paris so it was no wonder the marriage soured).
It was chilly – Milady had chosen a dark, cloudless night for her remarriage – and Constance pulled her purple shawl closer around her shoulders as she passed the groups of people and made her way towards the row of seats Anne had conjured for them, right next to the small dais where the vows would take place. Anne pats the chair next to her and Constance happily drops down into it.
"Why did I become a teacher?" She asks jokingly, accepting a steaming cup from Aramis. "How did I convince myself that I wanted to spend the rest of my life teaching little girls the basics of magic?"
"Basics?" Anne laughed. "Admit it, you taught them the bat spell."
"Bat spell?" Aramis asked, his lips twitching up in amusement as he looked between the two women. His hand was resting on Anne's leg, thumb stroking lightly in an act of casual intimacy that made Constance's heart hurt slightly. She turned away from the sight and caught Flea's sympathetic gaze as she led her husband towards them.
"Constance teaches all the little witches how to turn their brothers, or any other boys who annoy them, into bats." Flea explained as she and Porthos took their seats on the other side of Aramis. The men greeted each other like old friends (they had taken to each other almost as quickly as they had each taken to their wives apparently and Flea and Anne were exceptionally happy that their husbands got along so well).
"Actually, I've had to teach them to turn them into frogs. Marie de Medici turned her little brother Louis into a bat last year and then changed him back while he was flying and the poor boy would have broken his neck if their mother hadn't caught him in time." Constance sighed. "He thought it was great fun but she got grounded and Madame Morgana decided it would be better to teach them grounded animals instead."
Her friends laughed and Constance felt herself relax again. Tonight was about Milady and Athos and she would not allow herself to become melancholy just because her friends had all found their own soul mates and she hadn't found hers. She reminded herself that she hadn't really wanted to find him in the first place.
"Constance." She looked up to see Athos standing over them, looking handsome but as grim as ever in his Musketeer uniform. "Anne is asking for you."
He was the only one who didn't call Milady by her chosen name. He had known her originally as Anne, and that's what he continued to call her even now.
She exchanged a confused glance with Anne and Flea, before standing and allowing Athos to lead her towards the run down convent. Inside the ruins stood Milady, already dressed in her dark purple robe, and two tall men in the same tan and brown uniform as Athos.
"Constance, thank goodness." Milady smiled as they hugged. "Samira has pulled out of being my witness. Would you do me the honour?"
"Me? Of course." Constance smiled widely. Milady was slightly older than the rest of them but had arrived in the academy a few years late and had ended up studying with them. She was hard to get to know but once you were a friend she was loyal and protective and Constance pitied anyone who tried to do her wrong (she had once told Constance of a man who had tried to rape her and had ended up with his lungs leaking out through his mouth – it turned out it was Athos' brother and it was something the two had spoken about only once since reuniting. Whatever they had said to one another had cleared the air considerably and the two were once again inseparable, although his family weren't happy that their eldest son was once again marrying the woman who had killed their youngest son.)
"Constance, these are Athos' witnesses – his commander, Captain Treville, and his protégé d'Artagnan."
She shook hands with them both. The captain had a firm handshake and a friendly smile that she appreciated (not everyone would be so polite when meeting a witch for the first time). She turned then and met the dark eyes of the second man. She raised her hand to meet his but she knew even then that this was him. She green spiral of smoke that coiled around their joint hands proved it and she watched as it coiled tighter and tighter before fading completely before looking back up at him.
He stared down at their hands, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as he turned her arm gently in his hand and stroked a thumb across the now burning mark on her wrist.
"Mademoiselle, I- you are... I..."
It was his stutter that broke her and she pulled her hand firmly out of his grasp.
"Do not worry yourself, Monsieur d'Artagnan. We are here for Athos and Milady's wedding – nothing else." She heard how cool her voice was and flinched at the look in his dark eyes but she couldn't help herself. Now that he was here; right in front of her and so beautiful and real, she was terrified of what it meant. She was not as strong as her mother – she could not take him leaving her for a younger woman and a new family whenever he decided the magic was too much. She wouldn't be able to bare the angry and hostile look in his eyes whenever they bumped into one another in the street.
"Constance." Milady spoke sharply and she turned to face her.
"I told you not to meddle." Constance snapped back. "You should not have put the poor boy in this position. I'll send Anne in – she can be your witness. I am not in much of a mood to bless a joining."
She stormed outside, her stomach churning and her palms sweating as she thought of him, of the look of horrified shock on his face as he looked down at their hands. He didn't want this – didn't want her. She reached her friends and pulled Anne out of her seat silently. Aramis rose as well, but a gesture from Anne had him seated again.
"You will need to stand for Milady and Athos." Constance spoke dully. "I can't do it."
"Constance, what's happened? You look as if you've seen a ghost-"
"Mademoiselle Constance, please - "
She turned in surprise to find d'Artagnan behind her, a determined look on his face. He had obviously been running his fingers through his hair and she couldn't stop herself from reaching out and smoothing the soft strands down flat again. He looked surprised by her actions but a smirk pulled up at the side of his mouth as he caught her arm and stroked a thumb over the fleur-de-lis and she found her breath catching at the look of excitement on his face.
"Milady was the first witch I have ever met." He told her. She was aware that she was still holding Anne's hand and she realised her suddenly, nodding that it was okay for her friend to go back to Aramis and their group. "When the mark appeared on my wrist, I thought I was going mad. No one could tell me what was happening and my mother insisted I come to Paris to find a wiccan cure. I'm from Lupac, in Gascony, and we don't have any witches there."
This seemed unlikely to Constance – there were witches everywhere but in a small town like that, they likely kept their identities hidden out of fear. She always felt sorry for them and was thankful that she was born and bred in a city that had been built by witches.
"I met Athos when I arrived here a few years ago and he took me in." he was still speaking and she scolded herself to pay attention to him. "He has been training me with the Musketeers. I hope to become captain one day and Athos' support has been invaluable. I was there when he met Milady again – it wasn't pretty."
She felt her lips curve up in a soft smile at the thought. She had been at home when Milady showed up, shouting and complaining about her idiot of an ex husband and how dare he suddenly wear her mark when he hated her and she hated him. It was the first real crack Constance had ever seen in Milady's cold facade.
"A few weeks before, the small outline of an owl had appeared on his foot. He couldn't explain it but he told me, since I had told him of my fleur-de-lis, and we decided to look into it together. That was when we found out about witches and their soul mates and the marks they bore. Milady explained everything but she never mentioned you when she saw my mark. She told me that it meant my soul mate had cast a spell to find me and that when the time was right, I would meet her. She was friendlier towards me, though – that should have tipped me off that she knew the woman."
Constance nodded with a small smile. "She can be cold and calculating but there's no one in the world more loyal. She would do anything for her friends – even trick them into meeting their soul mates at the wedding."
"She sounds like Athos." He smiled. "She scared me though. All I could think of was that there was a witch out there who had cast a spell on me."
"I cast a spell on myself, actually. You were just the result of the spell." She defended herself. He was still stroking her mark, his fingertips calloused and dragging across her skin in a way that left her shivering. She tightened her shawl again before meeting his eyes.
"I meant what I said inside. This doesn't have to mean anything – I cast the spell at a low point and to be honest I was never sure that I wanted to meet him. Well, meet you – I suppose. Milady hasn't mentioned that she met my soul mate months ago so I'm as shocked as you are but I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything, because you don't. It's just a mark on our arms but I've heard plenty of stories about witches who have never met their soul mates and witches who have met theirs and it doesn't work out. I can't decide which of those options is worse, actually. But nothing has to come of this-"
"Constance? Shut up and kiss me."
