Hey, it's me. The Procrastination Queen.
But I have a really good excuse. I'm lazy. But also! I get distracted easily. But really, I've gone back to school and trying to complete a course. So yeah.
I won't say I'm back, because that's gonna' be a lie. But I will say that I'm working on this story whenever I have the time. So, thank you to every one who leaves me reviews, they mean so much and are very much appreciated.
Also, this isn't edited. Sorry for any mistakes you see. I'll come and edit later.
Chapter Eleven
"A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption."
Chapter Quote: "Now, why were y' hidin' from lil' ol' me?"
Sam knew something was off with Wendy when they got back to the motel, mainly because she didn't immediately scold the pair for tracking mud into the motel room. Sam had even prepared a reasonable explanation for their soiled shoes, roping Dean into learning the explanations Sam had on stand-by. Which hadn't been needed at all.
It wasn't anything obvious because Dean hadn't picked up on it, but it wasn't like that was surprising given that Dean was emotionally stunted. Which then had Sam thinking about his father, which he didn't particularly want to deal with at the moment because the memory of his death was painful and the shitty childhood he had still lingered in his mind.
Plus, it wasn't like Sam could just ask his brother if he noticed anything odd about the little blonde witch sitting at the table. She stared at the laptop screen, multiple books surrounding her—she was eerily still. But Sam knew that Dean's answer to his question would've been no.
The second thing to clue him in on Wendy's somber mood was the fact that her tea was sitting untouched, filled to the brim and no longer steaming. Now, this wouldn't be odd if Wendy was the type to allow her beverage to cool before consumption, you know, like a normal person. But Sam knew she was downright suicidal when it came to hot tea and watched the witch on multiple occasions knock back the scolding hot liquid without so much of a wince.
Sam knew how Wendy liked her tea. Piping hot (deathly) and overly sweetened with honey. How else was he supposed to know how to make it if he hadn't paid attention? The fact that it hadn't been touched was out of behaviour.
The third thing was that when Dean offered Wendy more candy, she declined. Waved another tiny red flag in Sam's mind. Wendy liked sweets, anything sweet, really, and hadn't declined a sugary treat at all in the weeks she travelled with the brothers.
But Sam brushed it off.
They'd been talking about how Wendy's grandmother, Eleanor, wasn't contacting her or Bobby, and now with them trying to actively hunt the Valtushard . . . Maybe Wendy was just a little stressed about it all. Understandable, tracking yellow eyes and his father was probably one of the most stressful situations he had been in, aside from Jessica . . .
Don't think about it.
So, Sam handed the witch the curse pouch they had found between the cushions of the couch at the Halloween party. A distraction, he hoped, from whatever thoughts were silently tormenting Wendy.
Wendy opened the pouch and frowned at the contents.
"How did they die?" Wendy asked, carefully shuffling the ingredients around.
"Boiled alive." Dean answered, taking a swig from the beer he just opened and came to stand beside her. "Dunked her face in a tub."
"It was weird before, but—" Wendy stood from the table and crossed over to the coffee table where the first curse pouch was laid out. She placed the second down beside it. "They're tha' same. Exactly tha' same. Curses ah complicated, but each one is different. I was wonderin' why tha' first didn't have razor blades or somethin' sharp within it 'cause that would make sense. But this one doesn't have anythin' t' do with . . ."
"Being boiled alive." Sam finished for her.
"Mm." Wendy gave a nod, folding her arms across her chest and strode over to the kitchenet, placing the kettle on the stove to bring to a boil. Needing to occupy her hands to stop from shaking them out, she reached for the two mugs in the drying rack. "I thought . . . I thought maybe it would be three—'cause magick likes t' work in three's. But it's one. One big one. An' tha' three would equal one."
"You're not making any sense, Blondie." Dean cut in to get Wendy's attention before she could begin rambling again.
"It's'ah spell." Wendy rushed back over to the sad little dining table and shoved a heavy book into Sam's hands, pointing at a paragraph. "There was somethin' in tha' back of my mind. An' every time I tried t' see, it would fly away." Wendy tapped her temple and gestured like her thought had been blow away by a gust of wind.
Sam nodded along to her words, slowly he had become accustomed to Wendy's way of expression, even managing to find comfort from her own brand of metaphors and wordy explanations.
He frowned down at the page Wendy had pointed to and read aloud from the book. "Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest." Sam looked up from the passage and at his brother. "Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st."
"Halloween." Dean concluded, looking tired as he sat at the small dining table. "What are the blood sacrifices for?"
"Pagans would cull heards before tha' winter, they don't do blood sacrifices—that's magick." Wendy walked back over to the kettle as it started to whistle, shaking out her hands if as she had water on them. "But Borrowers made sacrifices t' ah demon, that's why everyone wears costumes or leave carved pumpkins. It's t' ward 'im off."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. Reading the book further as he spoke. "Samhain is the origin of Halloween. The celts believe that October 13st is the one night of the year where the veil is thinnest between the living and the dead. They'd have a meal to honor passed loved ones, but when it got dark, they'd wear masks. It was Samhain's night."
"So, even though Samhain took a trip downstairs, most of the tradition stuck." Dean commented, looking at the book Sam still held while shoving another piece of candy in his mouth and ignoring the disapproving look Sam was giving him.
"Yeah, only now it's all about kids, candy and costumes." Samuel took a seat at the dining table, stretching out his long legs when he sat.
Wendy place two steaming mugs of tea in front of the pair as Sam shot her a small smile in thanks that she tried to return, only to have it look strained.
"Okay, so some witch wants to raise Samhain and take back the night?" Dean joked. Again, too emotionally constipated to notice the almost overwhelmingly quiet presence of their resident witch.
"Dean, this is serious." said Sam, annoyance leaking into his voice at his brother's juvenile behaviour.
"I am serious." scoffed Dean.
"We're talking heavyweight witchcraft. This ritual can only be performed every six hundred years." Sam recited from the book. His brows raised as he leant forward, an elbow resting upon the table as he sipped at the hot tea.
"And the six-hundred year marker rolls around . . ?" Dean drawled, seemingly already knowing the answer.
"Tomorrow night."
"Naturally." The sarcastic remark came smoothly from Dean's grinning mouth. "Well, it sure is a lot of death and destruction for one demon."
"He likes company," Sam explained, eyes tracking the movement of the tiny witch as she very slowly paced next to the coffee table. "Once he's raised, then he'll do some raising of his own."
"Raising what, exactly?" Dean frowned.
Sam shrugged, listing from the book, "Dark, evil crap—I mean, lots of it. They follow him around like the friggin' Pied Piper." He curbed his language, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Wendy's disapproving stares.
"So, we're talking ghosts?"
"Yeah."
"Zombies."
". . . Mm-hmm."
"Leprechauns?"
"Dean—"
"Those little dudes are scary. Small hands." Dean joked back, clenching and unclenching his hand to make a point.
"Look," Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb. "It just starts with ghosts and ghouls. This guy keeps on going, by nights end we're talking every awful thing we have ever seen and then some. Everything we fight. All in one place."
Sam watched the grin fall from his brothers lips as his face grew somber. The motel room grew silent, not a word spoken, or a sound heard aside from Wendy's pacing. The silence stretched on until Wendy abruptly stopped, facing the two siblings and chewing at her thumb nail.
"It's'ah seal." The blonde blurted, wringing her hands together as both brothers turned to her. Sam looking baffled whereas Dean scowled.
"What did you just say?" Dean questioned, standing from his chair and taking a step forward as if trying to intimidate the small witch like she couldn't drop the both of them with a blink. Sam almost rolled his eyes as he stood and clasped a hand on Dean's shoulder.
"An Angel told me."
"What Angel?" Dean demanded instantly.
Wendy paused for a moment, and Sam was almost certain she wouldn't say. "Gigi."
It was silent for a beat.
"Wait, wait. Hang on." Sam stepped forward, looking a little giddy at the prospect of meeting an angel. Would the angel be back? Could he finally talk to an angel? "Gigi?"
Wendy shrugged her shoulders, shuffling her feet from side to side as she did so.
"Gigi?" Dean scoffed, "What, so Malibu Angel just rocked up while we were gone? What kind of name is Gigi, anyway?"
Wendy seemed to snap out of whatever sour mood she had been in at Dean's mockery.
"It's'ah perfectly fine name, Dean Winchester!" Wendy scolded, hands placed on her wide hips, leveling Dean with a haughty look; like she had taken offence for the angel Dean openly teased.
Wendy's reaction had Sam remembering how mothers were depicted in the old children's cartoons he used to watch. Her stance, her tone, the frown on her face as she reprimanded his brother. The sweet mums that would hug their kids, bake treat and then turn into mama-bears when they were angered.
Dean waved her off while rolling his eyes. "Blondie, what did this angel say?"
The elder sibling questioned in his usual gruff manner whenever it came to the witch he thought was so suspicious. Though, the fact that Dean didn't outright call her a liar surprised Sam.
Apparently, Wendy found it equally as surprising. Sam watched the emotion flicker across her features, as if she were shocked at being believed by Dean. Not that Sam could blame her considering Dean was a stubborn older man in a younger body.
Kinda' like their dad was before . . . well, before everything.
"That we should leave town." Wendy answered simply and dropped her stance, twisting from side to side, something she did when nervous or excited, Sam noted.
Dean scoffed, "Of course the fucking thing did."
Sam snorted at the side-eye his brother received from the witch at his potty mouth.
"Well, we're not leaving." Dean gestured towards himself and Sam. "What about you? You gonna' hightail it outta' here, Blondie?"
Wendy immediately took offence to the question. Hands back on her hips and a frown scrunching up her features. "'Course not! An' I told 'em tha' same thang. We had words, we did, an' then poof, gone. Like they were never here."
The witch spoke the last part quietly, dejectedly. Sam could only wonder if, Wendy too was also disappointed by these angels just as Dean seemed to be.
He hoped not. Sam wanted to have at least one thing in the world on their side.
Eleanor couldn't move.
She had been pinned to the large wooden bench in the basement of her home.
Holding her to the bench were impressive magical bindings that could only be removed by the right incantation, one Eleanor wasn't privy to. She had tried screaming, to grab the attention of any of the guests that had stopped by. But the basement had been silenced with the charm hanging by the stairs.
So, Eleanor could hear every visitor who arrived, hear the voice of Danny on the upper level. She screamed until her throat had grown sore and her voice croaked, and still she called for helped only to be silenced by the tortured howls of her granddaughter's friend.
Silent tears stained her cheeks.
No one knew Eleanor was down below.
The Valtushard having stolen her face to convince friends and neighbours that Eleanor was just perfectly peachy. Except for Danny. The boy was persistent, he knew something was wrong, something was off.
Maybe Eleanor should've called Bobby more, remained in contact more frequently—he would've known something was wrong by now. He would make sure to keep Wendolyn far away from the farmhouse. He'd find a way to help. But instead, like a prideful old woman, she opted to keep her cards close to her chest.
"No contact", was what Eleanor told him after his third call informing her about her granddaughter.
"Ellie, don't'cha' thick she deserves a phone call at least?" Bobby had responded, disapproval leaking through his tone and down the receiver.
"Are y' tellin' me how t' parent, Bobby Singer?"
Bobby sighed heavily. "Ellie, I'm just askin' you to give her a call."
"The less she knows, the better. I don't want phone records showin' how much ya'll've been callin'. Witches know how to' use technology too, Bobby."
Eleanor was a fool.
Only a handful of scattered candles lit the basement she lay in. Eleanor's eyes scanned the room, though the action was fruitless. The darkness encroached upon her and made it difficult to make out anything else in the room.
Aside from Nancy.
The familiar had been placed on a makeshift altar beside Eleanor; paralyzed, just as she was. The fear and uncertainty in his eyes matched her own. He meowed at her weakly, for that was all he could do.
And it was her fault.
Eleanor knew the Valtushard was in the room with them. She could feel the power radiating from the woman. Crawling across her skin like an army of tiny spiders trying to find their next meal.
Eleanor didn't know how long she had been kept in the basement of her own home, but if she had to guess she'd say it'd had almost been two weeks.
"You've gotten old Eleanor." The woman said nonchalantly, suddenly appearing beside her victim. "I want to know where the girl is."
"Go an' fuck yourself, Amaris." Eleanor spat back hoarsely.
Amaris grinned down at the older woman, as if she found the whole scenario amusing. She was beautiful and tall, standing at what Eleanor guessed was a least six feet. Amaris gently placed a perfectly manicured hand on Eleanor's bloody shoulder, her purple nails now coated red. Her long, slender fingers grazing the edge of the gaping chest wound she had inflicted upon Eleanor seven days prior.
"She stole two powers from me," Amaris began conversationally, flipping her long auburn hair over her shoulder and walking her fingers across Eleanor's collarbones, digging her pointed nails in painfully as she did so.
"They weren't yours to begin with." Eleanor cut in, grunting when Amaris' hand suddenly dipped into her opened chest at her back talk. The Valtushard's slender hand wrapping around Eleanor's still beating heart.
"I suppose you're right, what with one being your own daughters." Amaris squeezed the organ just a little. Deep blue eyes watching attentively as Eleanor refused to make a sound. "I wonder how that feel, being constantly reminded of the daughter you lost. She even looks like Selene." Amaris gave a sultry laugh, teeth flashing in the low lighting of the room. "And the other . . . well, I can't really remember. A boy, I think, must have been fifteen—sixteen. You know how they are at that age. So easy.
"His power was so handy." Amaris pulled her hand away, blood-stained fingers entering her mouth and slurping at the liquid. "Reading minds was such a godsend. And, you know, having that back along with you dearly departed daughters, and a Viksulla's! Just imagine—"
"It'll be too much for you." Eleanor gasped out, trying to reason with the witch she had once called friend.
"Now, now Eleanor. We must think positively." Amaris bopped her old friend on the nose, the blood that still lingered on her finger smeared onto Eleanor's skin. Amaris gave a blinding smile.
"You'll go insane. It's not met for anyone else but her."
"Oh, really?" Amaris raised a brow. "Because it's to my understanding that Wendolyn has already started to, well, you know." The Valtushard circled her pointer finger around her temple and crossed her eyes.
Amaris laughed at the older woman as Eleanor weakly glared up at her.
"You know," the auburn-haired woman pick up the large hunting knife that laid beside the elder's body and ran the blade against the flesh of Eleanor's inner bicep. "While we're here, let's talk about where you placed that key."
"What key?" coughed Eleanor.
"Are we really going to play that game, Elle?"
"I don't know what you're referring to."
Amaris smiled fondly down at her.
And plunged the knife into the flesh of Eleanor's arm.
"So, our apply bobbing cheerleader?" Sam asked from one of the beds, laptop sitting in his lap as he laid back comfortable. Wendy sat quietly beside him, looking through book with her thick brows creased: her thinking face.
"Fucking Tracy," Dean gave a humorless laugh, tossing his keys onto the dining table, his lips pursed when Wendy didn't react to his cussing. He shrugged it off, along with his jacket. "She's the Wallace's babysitter. Told me she didn't know any Luke Wallace."
"Interesting look for a centuries old witch." Sam commented distractedly, scrolling through a website for anything close to what they were dealing with. He lifted his thigh once he noticed Wendy wiggling her sock covered toes beneath the limb and shielded them from the autumn weather that leaked into the motel room when she had them where she wanted them.
"Yeah, well, if you were a six-hundred-year-old hag and you could pick any costume to come back in, wouldn't you go for a hot cheerleader? I would." Dean hummed appreciably, a smug little grin on his face. Sam didn't have the heart to tell Dean that that was something their father would say.
"Don't be disgustin', Dean." Sam looked up at Wendy's annoyed tone. Let witch mum rip into him., Sam thought with an amused grin. "You're ah grown man an' she's in tha' body of ah minor." Wendy reprimanded without looking up from her book, not noticing Dean's sullen look at being scolded. "Besides, she's probably been alive all this time an' jus' keepin' 'erself young. Y'know, like tha' Valtushard."
"What, that witchy lung face cream thing?" Dean scrunched up his face, pulling off his boots as he sat on the unoccupied bed opposite his two roommates.
"Mhmm." Wendy hummed.
"Witches are gross."
"Ya' know what else is gross? Those nasty lookin' socks." Wendy chided the older sibling, closing her book with a snap and leveling Dean with a scathing look. "When was tha' last time y' did y' washin'?"
"Hey—" Dean began to defend himself like a teenager fending off an angry mother, but instead, was cut off by the tiny witch as she launched into a lecture about personnel hygiene.
Well, that's how Sam saw the whole thing. He couldn't really speak from experience as he didn't grow up having a mother who would berate the shit out of him and his brother when they did something she deemed unacceptable. But Sam supposed Wendy's attitude towards most things would be a close enough example of how a mother would act in most situations.
"Go wash your clothes, Dean Winchester, otherwise no dessert." Wendy threatened, opening her book once again to continue reading.
Sam smirked, biting his lip to hide his laughter while he watched Dean angrily stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked the blonde, once he was sure Dean was going to continue his tantrum in the bathroom.
"M'fine, darlin'." Wendy murmured back, still not looking up from her book. "Just feelin' ah little grouchy."
"Okay." Sam paused before clearing his throat. "But, you know, if something was bothering you, you can tell me."
"I know, darlin'." Wendy smiled sweetly at him, silver eyes honest, however still a little guarded. Sam knew she wouldn't be confiding in him any time soon. And that was okay, because if Sam knew one thing, it was the need to work through thoughts and emotions on your own to really grasp a situation.
Sam never liked to push people when it came to things like that.
"Maybe I should go with ya'll?" Wendy asked for the third time that afternoon.
After Sam and Dean found out that Tracy assaulted one of her teachers, the urgency to figure out what spell she was trying to cast became number one on their to-do list.
But Dean was reluctant to bring Wendy along with them. And to be honest, so was Sam.
"Didn't you say that witches can sniff out other witches?" Dean shot back, annoyed that they were still having this argument.
"Well, yes." Wendy pulled a long chain out from underneath her blouse and showed Dean the polished holey stone that hung from it. The stone itself had a some sort of symbol on it that Sam had never seen before. "It's'ah hag stone. They're used for protection an' tha' symbol on it is t' stop other witches from tracing my magick. It's what's stoppin' tha' Valtushard from trackin' me."
"And you're just telling us this now?" Dean lectured, waving off Sam's disapproving frown. Sam was a little worried that Dean might grab Wendy by her shoulders and shake her.
"Y' didn't ask, honey." Wendy blinked owlishly up at him.
Dean stared at the witch for a beat. He clenched and unclenched his fists as if contemplating whether it would be wise to shake the blonde to knock some sense in her.
"Wait, if you're wearing that and standing in front of another witch, would they know you're one?" Sam spoke up from behind Dean, sipping on a steaming cup of tea Wendy had just made him.
"Ah," Wendy dragged out the sound before pausing for a breath, but then gave a little shrug and her signature dreamy smile.
Dean rubbed at his face with both hands, "You don't— . . . okay, no. You're not coming. Too risky, and we can't let this bitch get away." Wendy wrinkled her nose at him, but Dean waved her away. "Yeah, yeah. No naughty words, I get it."
"Well, what am I supposed t' do?" Wendy cocked her head to the side, staring at Dean in an unblinking manner as if he were in trouble and she was waiting on an answer. Dean figured no matter what answer he gave; Wendy wasn't going to be happy with it.
"You stay here and see if you can undo the spell."
"Magick doesn't work like that, honey." Wendy frowned at him. "You gotta' know what spell ah witch is using, an' tha' ins an' outs of tha' spell. I'll need her grimoire or miraculously come across tha' spell while researchin', but that doesn't seem likely."
Dean rubbed he's palms into his eyes until he saw bright spots and muttered a sot curse under his breath.
"So, we just have to find out where Tracey's holding up." Sam piped up behind the two." And steal her grimoire—or we kill her."
"Killin' her could backfire. There's already been two sacrifices, there'll be another an' if y' kill her while tha' spells in motion—".
"Then she becomes the final sacrifice." Sam concluded.
"And Saimhain comes to town." Dean muttered.
"So, find the grimoire." Sam stood, making his way over to the door and quickly stuffing his feet into his shiny leather shoes. "We go to the school, see if we can find the teacher she asssualted."
"We check her locker too, just to make sure her freaky book isn't there." Dean added, straightening his tie and grabbing his keys. He turned to Wendy, "You stay here. I mean it Blondie, no running off to her house. We'll call if we find anything."
"Maybe she's left something at the school to give us a hint at what kind of spell she's using." Sam inserted, running his fingers through his hair.
And then the brother's were gone.
Leaving Wendy on her own.
Ten minutes passed before Wendy huffed, closing the laptop and standing abruptly from the dining table.
The witch picked up her small satchel bag, stuffed her feet into her cowboy boots, snatched up her wallet, phone and motel card, and left the building.
There'd be no harm in looking at the other witch's house. And Wendy was more than capable of avoiding this Tracey if she had too. Wendy would be fine, just as long as she didn't cast any spells. And besides, she was more than capable of defending herself without the use of spells. The other witch wouldn't even know Wendy was there. The blonde typed the address the brothers had found into her phone, the GPS sending her off down the street and passed the little boutiques that surrounded her. It was a twenty-minute walk and looked as if Tracey's house sat just on the outskirts of the town.
When Wendy arrived, she frowned at the run-down house with the crooked fence and the peeling white paint. It didn't look lived in, but Wendy could sense the wards that surrounded the home; wards that even blocked her from sensing anyone within the building. The Borrower was at least smart enough to cloak her home at least. But probably didn't expect a skilled witch to come along and actually know exactly how to walk past such barriers without disrupting the spell work. Grams would undoubtedly critic the spell work, calling it lazy.
If Wendy were unkind, she would call the witch stupid, for one of the ways to enter the property was growing in the garden next door. The Borrower was either cocky or dimwitted. Wendy strolled over to the two-story yellow home that sat sunnily beside Tracey's and plucked two stems of lavender before digging into her obnoxiously colourful satchel and pulled out her newly required crow feather. Wendy tied together the ingredients with the hair tie that sat on her wrist and tucked the master key creation within the pocket of her skirt.
Wendy stepped onto the cracked pavement that led to Tracey's front steps, the barrier washing over her, leaving the hair on her arms raised and a chill running through her body. The makeshift key in her pocket allowed her entry onto the property. Wendy paused for a moment, pushing down her walls and noting the dead silence within the barrier.
Not a soul was within.
Wendy kept her mind open, left the walls that shielded her down for the time being. The noise from the neighbourhood caused her to wince, a dull ache settling at her temples. But she brushed off the pain, if Tracey returned, Wendy would know.
Wendy trudged up the stairs of the front porch and tried the door. Snorting a little at Tracey's foolhardiness to not even bother to lock or place another protection spell upon it.
Cockiness gets y' killed.
The echoed words of her grandmother rang through her head.
Wendy opened and shut the door behind her, taking in the room she stood in and it's utter bareness. She could feel the dull thrum of magic, beating away like a set of bongos, coming from somewhere inside the old and decrepit house and so, Wendy slowly made her way around the rotting foundation. It was like playing magickal Mico Polo with whatever was calling out to the blonde woman.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, but what must have been fifteen minutes, she felt the thrum deepen, felt it deep within her bones as Wendy stood in front of a closed door. The magic pulsed behind the door, the thrum beating out a rhythm that had a hypnotic quality to it.
Wendy grasped the handle and the thrum silenced.
She opened the old wooden door, the hinges creaking loudly in protest at the movement. Wendy flicked the switch beside the door, looking down at the old staircase that descended into what could only be a basement. The only things Wendy and the Borrower had in common were their preferred workspaces.
Once again, Wendy closed the door behind her and flicked the light back off. Because there was no point in snooping if you weren't going to leave things exactly how they were left when you got there.
Down Wendy went, her footfalls thudding lightly on the creaking wooden steps. The small windows within the basement lighting her way.
The Borrowers workspace resembled her own workspace back at Eleanor's farmhouse, albeit messier and dustier. Wendy carefully inspected the area, taking care not to touch or disturb the more questionable items that laid about. Wendy wasn't looking to get cursed anytime soon, her curiosity be damned.
Besides, she was here for something specific.
If I were ah Borrower tryin' t' raise Samhain from hell, where would I put my grimoire?
Well, if Wendy were to go off Tracey's lack of protection spells on anything over then the outside of her house—Wendy would say it would just be left about. However, Tracey was indeed smarter than that.
Wendy began her search through the drawers, cupboards, trunks, but continually came up empty handed. Nothing within the basement looked like it could be holding something precious within it, nor did Wendy feel particularly drawn to any hidey hole within the dark room.
Perhaps Tracey took the grimoire to school?
Wendy pulled out her phone, checking for missed calls or messages from either of the brothers. But her phone screen was lacking in notifications.
With a huff, Wendy shoved her phone back into her bag and turned to leave the rundown home.
And then she saw it.
Like it had been hiding from her the whole time.
The grimoire sat front and center on the bookshelf Wendy checked twice before.
It hummed a dark slow tune, beckoning the blonde witch towards it.
It was a strange feeling, like wind gently caressing your skin, just cold enough to raise the hair on your arm.
Wendy plucked the heavy book from its resting place and almost gagged upon realizing that the cover was made from skin. She didn't want to contemplate whether it was human or not.
"Now, why were y' hidin' from lil' ol' me?" Wendy asked the book.
She set the grimoire down upon the work bench and began paging through it. It would take some time. The grimoire was old and thick with most of the spells and rituals written in languages she didn't know.
"C'mon, sweetie. Y' gonna' help me out?" Wendy asked the grimoire sweetly, pouting down at the book.
Quickly, the pages flipped of their own accord and landed on the spell she was looking for. And it was in English! Old English, but English nonetheless and Wendy could work with that.
Wendy skimmed over the ingredients and began reading the first steps of the ritual. Week before All Hallows Eve. Three sacrifices. The last sacrifice must be done by—
Fucking hunters. Worthless pieces of shits will be dead soon. Have to begin the ritual.
The book slammed shut, almost catching Wendy's fingers as it did so. Wendy patted the cover in a feeble attempt to show the book that all was forgiven.
Tracey's stomps could be heard on the front porch, shaking dust loose from the ceiling above. The anger radiating from the Borrower boiled up inside Wendy, like vomit working its way up her throat wishing to rid itself from her body.
Wendy shoved the feeling away, shields locked in place to keep Tracey out.
The witch was a little irritated at the fact that as soon as she found the ritual, Tracey decided to make an appearance. Of course, Wendy could take the grimoire . . .
But no. No, that was just asking for bad luck.
"Y' go back t' hidin' now, sweeties." Wendy whispered to the book, whipping her head upwards as the front door slammed shut. When she looked back, the grimoire was gone.
"What the fuck are you doing!" Gabriel whisper shouted, appearing beside Wendy and quickly placed his hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming in fright. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever seen, and that's coming from me."
Wendy pried his hand away from her mouth, but this only result in Gabriel grasping her by the shoulders and giving her a little shake.
"Jesus fuck, Wendolyn!" He continued to whisper angrily at the blonde witch, eyebrows knitted together in a serious frown. "We get into one argument, and you think it's okay to go into the psycho bitch's house. What the fuck."
"Shh!" Wendy slapped his hands away from her while he had the audacity to look offended.
"You—"
"Shh!" Wendy repeated aggressively, even going as far as placing her finger against her lips and looking upwards to the sound of Tracey walking around.
"Oh, now you care about the witch bitch." Gabriel bit back.
The basement door creaked open, footsteps marching their way down the wooden stairs. Wendy's panicked eyes found Gabriel's as she quickly tried to shuffle as quietly as she could to a location she could safely hide in.
Gabriel rolled his eyes, grabbed Wendy's hand, and tugged.
It was bright and sunny, a light breeze blew Wendy's hair back as she blinked.
The witch found herself sitting in an iron wrought chair at a small table, across from her sat Gabriel looking over a menu that was written in cursive. The pair sat in front of a small café, on a busy street surrounded by other's sitting at their own tables and conversing.
"Where are we?" Wendy asked, a little dizzy after being quickly transported to a new location.
"Los Angeles." Gabriel answered shortly, narrowing his golden eyes at her over his menu.
"Take me back." Wendy demanded immediately.
"Uh, no."
"Gabriel—"
"Wendolyn." Gabriel dragged her name in what she would almost describe as a purr if she wasn't so vexed. Gabriel smirked as he read the annoyance on her face and shot her a wink.
Wendy shot up from the chair, hearing it clang as it hit the ground. She ignored the onlookers who watched and began to gossip and strode away from the infuriating angel.
"Whoa, whoa!" Gabriel dashed after the tiny blonde as she marched herself down the busy sidewalk. "Where ya' going, sunshine?" He asked once he caught up with Wendy.
"Far away from you." Wendy retorted.
Gabriel opened his mouth but was promptly cut off by the witch as she swung around to face him.
"Y'know, you're ah real piece of work. You're not allowed t' talk t' me tha' way y' did, an' then jus' whisk me away." Wendy scolded in the middle of the walkway, finger wagging in his face as her brows scrunched together over glowing silver eyes.
Gabriel tensed at those eyes, ready to flee again. Because Wendy was scary.
You wouldn't think it at first glance, because well, she's a tiny sweet looking thing, but holy fuck she scared the shit out of him.
Vadalis' were known for their unpredictability and mental instability, and he'd had at least two dealings with some previous ones in the past.
But that wasn't it. That wasn't what freaked him the fuck out. No—what scared him was the stupid fucking Masovas bullshit that wouldn't leave him the fuck alone. Pile on the fact that he was practically her guardian angel, which just added to said bullshit.
It was a shitty hand to be dealt. Almost like a big fuck you from the father that called himself God, after Gabriel hightailed it outta' the kingdom in the sky.
And Wendy was just so radiant . . .
Which pissed him off even more.
Because Wendy was usually so peaceful, rarely even showing annoyance (don't acknowledge the current happenings). At this moment she was completely and utterly terrifying. Scowling at him with those wide glowing eyes that were the only clue to the power she held within. It was strange how Wendy had the ability to make him forget what she was, what kind of horrors she could expose to anyone of her choosing. He had seen firsthand what she could do all those years ago stuck in a hospital that promised to fix a child that didn't need fixing.
Maybe Wendy and Kali weren't so different after all. Though Kali never scared him because he knew she was a hot-head—ready to explode at any moment, walking on eggshells was just part of that relationship.
But Wendy, who always looked dreamy, who spoke softly and calmly, patiently—could go from zero to one-fucking-hundred in one point two seconds when pushed enough. The only one Gabriel knew that could do that was his father, and that was the rarest thing in the beginning.
Gabriel had to keep himself from snorting; he had an attraction to someone who had a likeness to his father.
"Listen—"
"No, y' listen—" Wendy began before she cut herself off. He watched as she breathed deep before exhaling, deflating as the irritation left her body. The frown retreated along with the glow from her eyes. She meant his gaze head on. "Y' can be real mean when ya' wanna' be, Gigi."
Gabriel's face softened at her words.
Yeah, he was an asshole.
"You terrify me." Gabriel tried not to wince. The words were out before he could real them back in. It was bullshit, and he quickly tried to think of a way to take the words back, to take back the power he had just given her.
Wendy's eyes widened in worry and Gabriel felt even more like a dick. "'M sorry." She said softly, taking a step away from him, which was the last thing he wanted.
Fix it, fix it, fix it.
"Don't freak out about it," He a gave her an easy grin. "It's kind of a turn on." The worry left her eyes only to be replaced with confusion.
Gabriel spoke before she could.
"I'm sorry—I'm saying that a lot, aren't I?" He paused for a moment, meeting the witch's gaze. "It's just, you come along and uprooted everything. And hey—that was okay! I could ignore it for the most part. But then this whole shit storm happened, and now it's just harder to stay aw—I'm an arsehole, alright?"
"So, you've said." Wendy gave the angel a tiny smile.
He liked it, liked being the one to make her smile.