Curses and Cream Puffs

Damien wasn't ready for this. No part of his training informed him that some of these witches weren't the hellish monsters depicted in stories and studies. He didn't know there was a difference between "good" and "bad" witches. He didn't even know there were "good" witches. At least, she claimed to be. He looked over at Lena sitting on an overturned log and fluffing up her hair. She didn't look like she could hurt a fly. Then again, he didn't know her. She could have been the devil in disguise.

He was pacing back and forth, trying to come up with a plan of what to do. He physically couldn't bring himself to kill her. Especially if she wasn't going to try and kill him. If she were lunging at him with a knife or tried turning him into a bug it would be one thing, but she had opted for a rolling pin as her defense. He couldn't pull a knife on a rolling pin. But then what? Did he leave her out to fend for herself? He couldn't do that, either. It would make her even more vulnerable to other hunters than if he left her alone.

"Who reported me, anyways?"

He looked at her when she spoke up. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she impatiently waited for an answer.

"It's against code to tell you," he said.

"Does it matter?" she asked. "I can't do anything about it if I'm dead."

"Well," he shrugged, "I won't tell you because it'll hurt your feelings. Right?"

She opened her mouth to say something, then pouted and looked away.

"Fine."

He cracked a smile. He had to admit, she was cute when she was pouty. He shook the thought from his mind. He had to come up with an idea. He didn't have many friends, and the few he had were in the trade, too.

"Are we just going to sit here in the dark woods?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I'll have to take you back with me. There isn't much room in the house, but at least I can keep an eye on you there."

He started walking, making sure no one was looking before gesturing for her to follow. She had to jog a bit to keep up with his long strides.

"You mean... your house?" she questioned. "I'm supposed to live under the same roof as you?"

"Just until I convince them that I fulfilled the hit and I find somewhere else to put you."

"How do I know you're not going to kill me in my sleep?"

"The short answer is that you don't," he said, trying not to let his frustration show. "But I didn't kill you, I didn't leave you for someone else to kill you, and I'm willing to let you stay in my house. If this was an elaborate plan, it would be an exhausting one. And I wouldn't need to use it on someone like you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she huffed. "I'll have you know that I can turn you into a snail whenever I want to."

"Do it then."

"Maybe I will."

He just laughed, which made her even more red in the phase. He didn't laugh much longer. She pointed at him and he felt a small electric shock on his arm.

"What was that?!" he yelped.

"That was for laughing at me," she said. "And there was plenty more where that came from."

They walked in silence for a little while. She kept her distance, but he could feel her eyeing the emblem he wore every now and again.

"So why do you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Hunt witches."

"I don't," he sighed. "I mean, I'm supposed to. My family does, and therefore my life's ambitions were selected for me. I spent ten years training to destroy vicious monsters. Instead, I got you. You were meant to be my first hit."

"You really didn't know?" she said slowly.

"I don't want to discuss this anymore," he said. "I don't owe you an explanation of my life and morals. All you need to know is that I don't plan to kill you, but I also don't plan on getting on the bad side of my father. Then we're both as good as dead."

"What are you going to do the next time you get a target?"

"You ask so many questions," he said. "Do you ever just keep them to yourself?"

She huffed again and went silent. It was just before dawn when they made it back to Charnesse. Early enough that no one would see him sneaking this girl into his house. She looked around the little house and wrinkled her nose.

"It smells like boy in here," she said.

"The bedroom is upstairs," he said, ignoring the comment. "You can take it for now. I'll spread a mat out down here."

She looked up at the stairs, then back at him. She stared him down, seemingly looking for a bluff. Then she nodded and turned.

"I'm closing the door," she announced. "And I'm locking it."

"Fine by me."

She made a point of slamming the door, but he also heard her open it again and seemingly check the hinges to make sure they were alright before closing it again.

Having spent all night traveling, Damien slept well into the afternoon. When he finally woke up, he looked up the stairs and saw that the bedroom door was still closed. Part of him wondered if she had snuck out the window. Frankly, he wouldn't have blamed her. It was her choice, but if she ran off, he wouldn't be able to protect her.

He started washing up when there was a banging on his door. He normally wouldn't have been in a rush, but he recognized this aggressive knock and jumped to answer the door before Louis barged in on his own. Damien stood in the doorway, making sure to block him out. Louis looked Damien up and down.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "Father has been waiting for you all morning."

"I just got back," Damien said. "I was tired. I'll stop by the house later tonight-"

He tried to close the door on him, but Louis slammed a knife into the door to stop it. He pushed the door open and let himself in.

"What's the rush, little brother?" he teased. "Too scared to admit you didn't follow through?"

"I did follow through," Damien snapped. "I did what was asked of me and rid the village of the witch. Now get out of my house."

"You're jittery," he noted. "Why's there a mat on the floor?"

"My back hurt," Damien lied. "I needed the hard surface."

Louis' gaze moved to the stairs. Damien's heart sank when he saw Lena standing there, eyes wide as she stared at Louis. Louis seemed equally surprised.

"Well hello there, little mouse," Louis mused. "When did you get here?"

"Louis, please," Damien said. "I've had a long night. Just-"

"Clearly," Louis laughed. "What is this? Spoils of war?"

"No," Damien said, disgusted. "She's..."

"He saved me," Lena finished, moving beside Damien and taking his arm. "The witch was holding me captive. The horrific thing was using me for her spells. When he killed the witch, the pieces of my soul were returned to me."

"Right," Damien said slowly. "That's what happened."

"And he brought me back here to rest," she said. "And I am so grateful to him."

"Oh, I'm sure you are," Louis said. "Very grateful. It's like something straight out of a storybook, isn't it? The prince rescues the princess and they live happily ever after?"

"I'm not a princess, but thank you for the compliment," she said with a smile. "But we did elope, and that was truly like something out of a fairy tale."

"We eloped," Damien repeated, his voice cracking slightly. "Don't tell Father. I want to tell him myself."

Louis looked between the two of them, then chuckled and shook his head. He yanked his knife out of the door and spun around. Lena gasped when the knife was suddenly pointed at her throat. Damien moved between them, pushing her behind him. Louis laughed again.

"Alright, I won't tell," he said. "I'll see you next time... sister."

Damien shut the door behind Louis and spun around, letting out a deep exhale. He and Lena both stared at each other in shock.

"What was that?!" he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"I improvised," she snapped. "It worked, didn't it? If I left it to you, you would've given us up in a second. Who was that, anyways?"

"My brother," Damien said, an equal edge to his tone. "And what am I supposed to do when he inevitably tells my family about my supposed new wife?"

"He said he wouldn't."

"You don't know him. He's a filthy liar."

"I didn't like him," she admitted. "He had the soul and spirit of a skunk. I can feel it in my bones."

"There's a bigger issue at hand," he reminded her.

"Relax," she said, rolling her eyes. "Give me a few weeks to find somewhere to go. And like you said, have everyone forget the hit existed. Then your 'wife' can tragically die of the illness and you can use the period of mourning to think of better ways to lie to your family."

"You're going to get me killed."

She just shrugged and headed into the kitchen to snoop around his drawers and cupboards. Maybe Damien should have just killed her when he had the chance.