Chapter Text
You narrowed your eyes as you heard the knock at the door. Your family had never lived in the village proper—even before Mother Miranda, a village witch wasn’t something they openly supported. But whereas your grandmother had regaled you with tales of frequent visits from villagers needing healing, potions for heartbreak, a good luck charm for their crops—unannounced visits had dwindled off into nothing by the time your mother had passed and you had assumed the role of the witch in the woods.
So, with all your friends and family far enough away that they wouldn’t show up without warning and the village shunning you in favor of placing Mother Miranda in charge of healing all their ills, you didn’t understand who could possibly be knocking on your door. Especially after night had fallen. It was a death wish to venture out into the woods so late, with the lycans lurking in the darkness.
Still, when you eliminate the impossible, whatever’s left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. The quote jumped into your head when opening your door revealed one of Mother Miranda’s lords. Karl Heisenberg.
“Tell Mother Miranda that she can come and get whatever she wants from me herself.”
You move to shut the door, but find it seemingly frozen. Right. Metal hinges, lock and handle. Enough leverage to stop the thing in its tracks with his ability. Your magic emerged from the natural world—something his factory seemed to shun, all metal and electricity. It was something foolish to do, considering the components of metal still came from the earth, just like everything else. But that’s what you’ve always taken the lords for—hardheaded fools, all in their own special way.
“Do I look like some sort of fuckin’ errand boy?”
Your eyes drifted up and down him, arms crossed tightly over your chest. He was still wearing sunglasses, even in the darkness, but you could still manage to glimpse the scars scattered across his face. You knew of the lords, but very rarely had you managed to see them. And never up this close. No, he didn’t look like any sort of boy. If you didn’t know who he was, you could even find a certain attractiveness in his gruff exterior. But knowing he was one of Miranda’s little brainwashed children killed any sort of attraction that may have sparked.
“You mean to tell me you haven’t ever run messages, completed little tasks for our dear Mother Miranda?” You say, instead of answering his question.
You expected a threat, some sort of looming consequence to what you said, the insult you flung. But instead, he laughed. It was a low, rough bark of a laugh, and his smile was all predator, through and through. The sound startled you—it was almost more unnerving than a threat.
“If you’re gonna talk like that, darlin’, you best invite me in. The two of us got more in common than you think. But I’m not lookin’ to run my mouth out here. We may be well outside the village, but the forest still manages to have ears all its own.”
Your lips pursed, but you stepped aside. You couldn’t argue with that sentiment. And his assertion that you could somehow, possibly, be similar did spark a certain curiosity.
He dropped his sunglasses to offer you a wink, and you had to swallow hard when it elicited a flush in your cheeks rather than disgust. You shut the door behind him, watching him carefully in your tiny home. You reminded yourself that you had the advantage here — plenty of wards and other protection measures in place, though you were still wary of the large hammer he weilded with casual ease. But your gut urged you to hear him out, and that rarely led you astray.
“So?” You ask expectantly, raising your eyebrows. “My hospitality will only last so long.”
“A lady who knows what she wants. I can respect that,” he hums, making himself at home on your couch, hammer leaning against the wall beside him. He notices your frustrated expression with a smug grin, but stays relaxed, leaning back on the couch while you cross the room to stand in front of him. “We have a hatred of a holy bitch in common. Seems awfully inefficient for us to keep working on our own little projects when we could combine forces.”
You opened your mouth to protest—that you may not like her but you minded your own business. You’re still not entirely sure why he was there, and you worried Miranda was finally starting to recognize you as more of a problem after years of leaving your family be-—as long as you stayed deep in the woods and away from performing any magic in the village. But he reached into his jacket, holding out what were clearly ripped pages from your grimoire.
“Like I said. The forest has ears all it’s own. And some particularly sticky fingers. Be a shame if Miranda were to see just what the reclusive witch is up to.”
“Wouldn’t expect lycans to be sticky,” your lip curled at the thought and you reached to snatch the pages back. You’d have to use some binding magic to get them back in place. “Gonna go and tattle to mommy, are you?” You tried your best to seem nonchalant, but there’s an edge in your voice, driven by panic. You still didn’t have a clear way of severing Miranda from the mold and pulling her power against her. And if you were playing defense against her, you couldn’t focus on the real problem.
“This doesn’t have to be blackmail, darlin’, but it can be. Might earn me some brownie points to keep her from sniffing around my factory.”
Your mouth set into a hard line, tension tightening in your jaw. “Well, you know all my plans.” Some complex illusions that you’d have to maintain at the same time you attempted to basically overblow the woman’s system with magic -- destabilize her mutations to the point of her body falling apart. “Time to show me yours.”
The grin he flashes you is so smug you almost regret asking the question, but at least it doesn’t seem like he’s looking to keep his plans that much of a secret.
“Buildin’ myself an army. Lycans bring me some bodies, I spruce ‘em up, and boom, a Soldat is alive. I can get the bodies up and movin’, but they don’t take orders too well. Pretty mindless killin’ machines, which isn’t too bad, but I figure that bitch might require a touch of strategy and maneuverin’’.”
An army? Well, that certainly was something. Could at least put a buffer between you going directly two to two with Miranda and whatever of her children remained loyal to her. Besides, you now had a bit of fuel of your own against him. Granted, you assumed both of you being exposed would guarantee your death, but not necessarily his. Still, he did what you asked, and your gut was once again telling you to take it as a gesture of good faith.
He stands up, stepping into your personal space but you refuse to back down. He smells like sweat and smoke, leather and oil, all with an underlying metallic tang. It’s not one you’d expect to be pleasant, but it does immediately feel distinctly him. You mull over his offer a moment longer. Miranda was getting more and more desperate as time went on, which meant time was running out until she took things too far and possibly destroyed you all for the sake of her own gains.
“Well, necromancy isn’t one of my specialties, but I suppose I could read up on it.” You flash him a smirk to rival his own, holding out your hand. He takes it, giving a firm shake.
“It’ll be a pleasure doin’ business with you.”