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itsicantbelievethis666 · 4 years

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The Cunning Woman and The Demon - Christmas/Holiday Special

1854 words. This is a jump-ahead chapter (I tend to do that a fair bit in my other writing), and will probably be edited.

To all of you and any I may have missed, thank you, thank you, thank you. If I missed you in the tag, please forgive me and let me know so that I can include you. If you have updated your URL or username, please let me know so that I can update my list.

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The sky is a deepening grey mottled with clouds threatening more than the flurries tumbling lazily on the frigid breeze. The ground is hard, the grass crunching under the frost as I step on it. Only a few birds remain to play with the Fireflies as they flit only a few feet away from me, their sorties short and frequent between stops inside the hood of my coat.

Finn is away visiting the Hardy compound. I have not been feeling well these last few weeks: I’ve been more tired than usual in the admittedly longer evenings, while during the day my appetite has disappeared and nausea has been gripping me at odd times. For that reason I have stayed close to the cottage this afternoon, stocking the root cellar for the winter and clearing away the debris of the garden for the compost pile.

“Little ones, perhaps we should go back inside,” I call out to them as the last of the year’s root vegetables disappear into my basket. The squeaks of protest amuse me for the moment, until they fall silent as, one by one, the Fireflies return to the hood’s shelter and snuggle among its folds. Whatever remains in the garden now will wait dormant in the spring.

“When will Finn be back?” Joe asks, scouting the outer limits of his flight path before returning.

“Hopefully by nightfall,” I reply. “I don’t remember him bringing a flashlight with him.” Suddenly I’m worried. Wyatt’s minions have been close to the ring of protection, but the Hardy compound and the path towards it are both outside it.

The wind picks up as I mount the steps to the cottage door and step inside with my little charges. Christmas Eve has arrived. The woods have crept as garlands onto the staircase rail, along the windowsills and around the mantel in the sitting room, crowned with a tree in the corner adorned with popcorn strings, paper chains and ornaments of all shapes and colours. Extra blankets cover the beds; throw blankets sit folded or draped over seat-backs; the crates of firewood are piled high next to both the fireplace and the kitchen woodstove.

With a wave, the lanterns inside are lit. I march my cargo into the kitchen and set it on the table before doffing my boots and coat. A moment or two later, I start a fire on the stove and set a pot of water upon it to boil. I set to work preparing the meal for the holiday – mixing dough for bread, peeling and chopping vegetables, and blending herbs for the dressing. A noseful of summer savoury, however, suddenly brings on a wave of nausea that makes me sit down a moment. The Fireflies gather around me.

She’s not…sick again, like when she came back? Ashley, the sensitive one, the little worrywart – asks.

I’m not sure. Emma gives me a tiny peck on my forehead. She’s not feverish, I don’t think.

Well, that’s good, at least. Nicholas, thus assured, darts off to play with the ornaments on the tree.

Tired again, Sis? Joe asks. Maybe you need some tea to pick you up.

Rachel and Joshua immediately dash off to the cupboard for the tin and a mug, growing in size as they pick each up and bring it to the table before shrinking back again.

Remember how she’d get so tired for those few days every moon? Dylan, one of the other boys, is an observant sort, but has never had much of a filter. I chuckle.

Dylan! Ew! Funny, though, you’ve not had one of those spells in a while. Not since you’ve been back. Jessica, so proper in her way, and so observant .

“No, no, I’ll be all right,” I answer. Nonetheless, it takes me all my strength, it seems, to walk to the pantry shelf, pull the medical book from its spot and return to the table with it. The lantern’s flame glows from behind its milky glass as I thumb through the pages, looking for a cause. I’m getting old; the winter brings with it its share of death and disease; the last seven years of my life have been almost totally a stretch of traumas and trials. Decline seems not merely expected, but almost welcome.

Five years I was in that cell, most of it encased in that curse of Wyatt’s. The memory of it still sometimes brings me to near-rage, despite what has followed. It also brings me a deep sadness on occasion, as I realize that some hopes are now beyond me. There has been no talk of it with Finn: none yet, anyway.

The last three months, however, have done much to repair the damage. The parcels under the tree for Finn are full of my gratitude for what he has done. The days have been calmer, more productive, quieter in their way, and infinitely happier with Finn to protect me and keep me company, and to inspire me. The nights have filled me with more pleasure and contentment than I have ever thought possible. So many nights together…so much….

Wait a minute- no. I must have gone through the Change. I’m not exactly a shriveled husk, but I’m past that stage now. There’s no way….

“All right, little ones – off to the sitting room with you! Get your stockings hung up for Santa! I have to get the rest of the supper on.” The brief protests morph into excited chirps as the Fireflies make a tight formation flying into the sitting room.

The vegetables make their way into a pot with some of the hot water, a few dollops of tomato paste and a dash of salt and pepper. In a heartbeat afterwards, I find a needle and a small ceramic cup I’ve used before for spell-work. I dash to the washroom next to the kitchen, rinse out the cup with water and, over the toilet, settle myself to my task. I half-fill the cup before finishing my task on the toilet and dropping the needle into the cup. I sit and wait with the cup at my feet, barely registering that I am breathing.

Within a few minutes, I see the needle changing – flakes of its shine come away and the pale yellow liquid around the needle has turned to billows of a rusty hue. I observe the changes and become hyperaware of everything – of my own heartbeat intermingling with another, a light fluttering inside me, the realization of why I’d been waking up each morning feeling as though I had slept on a pea. I close my eyes as the weight of the discovery descends. How could I have missed it? How could I have been so sure of one conclusion that I wouldn’t entertain any other possibility?

Hello, little one. It’s all I can think of to form in my mind as my heart fills. You are a bit of a surprise.

I can hear a voice singing a carol, and see a flicker of lantern-light through the window. Quickly, I dispose of the needle and its vehicle, flush the commode and give the cup another rinse, this time with soap. I wash my hands quickly and thoroughly, and step back to the kitchen just as the cottage door swings open and a jolt of frigid air blasts across the passage.

“Jaysus, it’s gotten cold out dere,” Finn announces as he shuts the door and gently sets a sack down by his feet. “Any hot water?”

“I’ve g-got a pot on the simmer,” I reply, looking around the kitchen for what to do next. “So, how was the visit?”

“Good, good!” he says, treading through as he doffs his hat and gloves. “Dey sent me back wit’ a sack of presents for us. De boys picked out some doll outfits for de Fireflies and Matt and Reby sent us a tool set an’ some craft supplies – paints and stuff, a couple bolts o’cloth for ‘round de house – what’s wrong? You’ve been sick again?”

“It was…just a passing thing,” I reply. “But…um….But I think I’ve found out what’s been causing it.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Finn’s brow furrows and he reaches for my hands.

I give his cold hands a squeeze; his gloves have done little to keep them warm. “You know that we’ve been here…together…about three months.”

“Dereabouts.” He looks at me, his face a map of worry and confusion.

“And before that…how long was I a prisoner?”

“Five years. Ya told me yerself and then you showed me your little book – de last thing you wrote in it was dat long ago. “

“During that time, I don’t remember having had…my period. I figured it was stopped or curtailed between Wyatt’s spell and the lack of food.”

“Dat’s understandable,” he says.

“Well, since we got back here and restored everything and rebuilt it, I haven’t had one in that time, either, and….”

“…We have been inseparable…in more ways den one.” He gives me a half-grin before the realization begins to dawn. His eyes widen, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Abigail….D’ya tink…?”

My voice is shaking, along with the rest of me. “I thought it was over for me – that I’m too old now. But…I think so. It would add up, with how I’ve been feeling lately.”

The kitchen is utterly silent but for the pots gurgling away on the stove. I grab the pot holders and lift the kettle of water off the burner to the side, then reach for the teapot. Finn gently turns me back to face him.

“How…how d’you feel about it?” His expression is searching – afraid of the answer.

“Before you, I would have been absolutely petrified.” I had to be honest – bottling this up was going to hurt others besides me now.

“But now?” The search in his face has grown desperate. “I mean, I don’t want to fo-“

“Shhh,” I answer, gently putting my finger to his quivering lips. “I’m full of joy right now. I’m ecstatic – nervous but ecstatic. “We’re soulbound – you told me that. We’re together. This is what, I think, we’re meant to have now that we are together – what we’re meant to have.”

“Jaysus…we’re…we’re havin’ a baby.” The despair in Finn’s face has turned to a tremulous elation as he pulls me closer to him and wraps an arm around me.

I give his torso a squeeze and press a kiss against his lips before nuzzling against his neck. “And what a day to find out.”

Suddenly, I catch flickers of light as eight little bodies press themselves between Finn and me, their voices a chorus of whoops and squeals of delight. “How long were you listening in?”

Joe speaks for them all. “We kinda suspected when you went to the bathroom that something was up. One of us may have gotten some inside information.”

“Well, dis is quite an unexpected Christmas gift, I must say,” Finn says at last, squeezing me tighter and kissing my forehead. “Now for a bite of supper before Santa comes. And, Mum,” he looks at me. “You’re off de clock tonight.”

#finn bálor #broken matt hardy #sister abigail #fireflies #bray wyatt

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