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The Scottish Stranger Chp2

AN: Ahoy there! I know it has been awhile since chapter one, but I have been very busy with work and life. Now that I am sick, unfortunately, I have had enough time to update and continue this story based off of Zelda’s recounts of her Academy days featuring a crossover of Supernatural’s Rowena Macelod. I hope you guys enjoy this second chapter and I am hoping to continue more on this installment and perhaps a reunion between a present Zelda and Rowena. This chapter does contain some actual Gaelic mythology. I thought it would please you all witches at heart. Enjoy.

The Scottish Stranger Chp 2

Another great storm thundered in Greendale.

This time it is in the present. The rain still intrigues Zelda. She finds herself curled up by the window as she marks last week’s exams in the comfort of her home.

Sure, she usually spent a lot more time at the Academy of the Unseen Arts, but she was done hearing her sister’s pleas to pry her out of the environment lest, ‘you start becoming a hermit in that office’.

Honestly, it relieved Zelda to be home; she found it to be a comfort. Her family home never always used to be this way, with its thunderous memories of decay and turmoil. Now, the only memories that went through her mind were times of happiness, times of family...times where she would hear Sabrina ramble on about menial means of her adolescence.

Oh how she missed her niece. A weak smile graced her aged features as she thought about the day when Sabrina got her green thumb.

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“Auntie! Auntie! Look what Aunt Hilda and I planted!”

Zelda neatly folded her newspaper and set it down. “Come now, let’s see it.”

A young Sabrina tugged her Aunt Zelda with no care to the garden where Hilda knelt feeding a plant with some plant food.

“My lilacs will grow right there, Auntie! You’ll see!”, Sabrina beams.

Zelda glanced down at her little niece with the softest grin. She knelt down and brought her into a hug.

Sabrina crinkles her nose, but hugs her back. “What’s this for?”

Zelda shuts her eyes to fight back a tear. “Don’t you ever change, Sabrina.”

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Zelda frowns then seeing a watermark over Michael Hanover’s test. Her fingers wander up to her cheekbone feeling wetness. With a soft sigh she grabs a tissue and dabs gently under her eyes.

“When will I be done with these accursed tears?”, she asks herself in defeat.

She was ready to take another sip from her cup, but made a face. “Hilda! This is empty!”

There was silence aside from the storm. She furrowed her brows not hearing any footsteps. It took her a moment to realize she was truly alone now. Hilda wasn’t here, of course. She was home with her new husband. Ambrose went away to ‘find himself’. All Zelda had was Vinegar Tom and Salem.

It surprised the witch that Salem continued on living even with his charge, Sabrina, being no longer of this world.

Zelda sighs and sets aside all of the graded papers. She gets up wandering to the kitchen. She grabbed the kettle to make more tea. She felt so lifeless, so out of place. She knew she had to get out of this funk soon-for her coven.

Zelda nearly jumps out of her skin feeling a slight brush against her legs. She glances down to see Salem curled up around her leg. Although she didn’t like the feline from the start, it seemed the cat warmed up to her and she warmed up to him.

“I know, Salem. I miss her too.”, She speaks softly.

Zelda gives herself an assured nod before proceeding to brew some tea. She turned on the TV for once to see more news. She read this morning’s paper at least three times bored out of her mind.

There was a news report about the President having been attacked and that the assailants were in custody. She raises a brow noticing they didn’t name the criminals, but were focused on the President’s accounts.

“Breaking News: seems the brothers in custody have escaped. Be on the lookout for Sam and Dean Winchester.”, an anchorman reported.

Zelda tilts her head. Those names sounded familiar-for sure. Vinegar Tom barks lightly and nudges at his food bowl catching his charge’s attention.

“Okay, okay, sir.”, Zelda coos toward her familiar. “Help yourself.”

Zelda fills his bowl and sets it in front of him before doing the same for Salem. She rolls her eyes turning off the TV when the stories went on about what hairstyles were in for the season. Nothing intrigued her much except for political world affairs and stories with meaning.

Zelda hears the whistle of the kettle and scuffles over to it to turn off the burner. She moves the kettle away from the still heated kettle and stares off.

That whistle...

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Academy of the Unseen Arts-Past

Zelda sighed in defeat hearing the lunch bell go off. She became so engrossed on today’s lesson: Demons and the Archeron. Demonology really piqued the young red-head's interest. She could spend all day reading spellwork and the ways of conjuring one of Satan’s helpers.

She gathered her books and bag as she watched everyone rush out of the classroom, clamoring about today’s newest gossip; it was all anyone could talk about now-the new girl. A roll of Zelda’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed by her professor.

Professor Ghastly arched an old withered brow as he cleared his desk. “Ms. Spellman, is everything alright?”, he asked.

Zelda’s blue eyes looked up toward her professor. She sighs before she answers, “Quite. I am just upset the lesson is over for today.”

Professor Ghastly scoffed lightly and smiled lightly. “You really are one who truly appreciates my lessons. Don’t worry, we’ll touch more tomorrow. Who knows, one day you’ll be the best spell-caster the Coven has ever seen.”

Zelda offered a faint grin and gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Professor. I shall see you tomorrow.”

With that, Zelda left the classroom beaming in pride. She knew she already was the best spell-caster. Faustus leaned against the wall ahead in the hall watching her like a hawk. He approached her with a sly grin.

“Done being the teacher’s pet?”, he sneered teasing her.

Zelda rolls her eyes and nudges him as she walks side by side with him. “Done drooling over every witch you encounter? I swear I should conjure up a spell to castrate you.”, she teases back.

This is what her and Faustus Blackwood did every day; they would taunt each other whilst casting a lustful stare. Zelda knew she couldn’t want him. Faustus would be fawning over the next new thing like nothing occurred between them. The only girl he ‘stuck with’ the most was Constance. Zelda didn’t understand why, the girl was petty. Constance was a jealous cow because she knew even though Faustus would stray, he would also go back to flirting his way with Zelda as well. Zelda figured Faustus didn’t know what he wanted. Constance’s family had been in good noble standing, whereas with the Spellman’s, they were known for their wit and they were quite the impeccable conjurers. She assumed he had the future in mind-the right Blackwood bride.

“My, my, Ms. Spellman. How naughty of you.”, Faustus feigned offense. “You may have some leverage yet.”

Zelda shrugs with a skip to her step. “I’d say so.”

Faustus nodded in greeting to his inner circle. The best of the best warlocks the Academy had to offer. “Perhaps I should meet you after your rehearsal this afternoon. What do you say, Spellman?

Zelda pursed her lips playfully and tilted her head. “Depends...”

Faustus raises a dark brow. “On?”

Zelda stops and leans to whisper in his ear. “If you bring the thing I mentioned.”

Faustus’s smirk grew. “Certainly.” He winked and then went off with his friends.

Zelda watched him go and sighed deeply. Quite the bad idea for sure. Unlike Faustus, she hadn’t been thinking of the future. Whatever she wanted to do, it would be for the moment-living in the now.

Before heading to the cafeteria, Zelda went on to switch out her books for her next class. She didn’t get herself a locker, thinking it was the worst idea to cram one’s books in such a cramped space. She walked down the hall to her dorms, which to her convenience, was right nearby.

She paused then, furrowing her light brows hearing this soft whistle. The whistle echoed lightly down the hall. It sounded so...enchanting, the melody she couldn’t place. This sound made her venture forward, passing the large wooden door to her dorm.

There, nestled by the window over-looking the outside of the Gehenna Station sat none other than that bloody Scot. A scowl rose on Zelda’s perfect upper lip having found the source of the light and strangely enchanting whistle.

Rowena’s features remained calm however, her pale fingers drumming against the window pane. She took notice of the presence behind her through the reflection of the window and started to sing that tune she whistled earlier.

Zelda did not recognize what seemed to be an old folk song, but she knew the girl sung in Gaelic. Zelda knew her languages very well. She knew how to pick up an old dialect when she heard one.

“Ya know what this song is about?”, Rowena broke the silence.

Zelda tilts her head in wonder. Although she recognized the language, she hadn’t been translating it in her mind word for word-instead having been enchanted by that voice of hers. This frustrating newcomer sang like the lark, her beauty matching her voice.

Zelda snaps out of it and huffs, placing a free hand on her hip. “I am sure you will enlighten me.”

Zelda could just feel that growing smirk on the other girl’s lips. She saw the way her shoulders rose up, mischief teeming in her body language. This girl...she was so animating.

“It’s about a man’s burning lust for a bonnie. How his pecker hurt because she is this image of perfection.”

Zelda’s face turned a bright red. Who would make such a disgusting...

Rowena laughs, throwing her head back in amusement. She turned to take a look at Zelda’s growing irritation. “Had ya going there, didn’t I?”

Zelda’s resting hand on her hip squeezed, eyebrows furrowed as she glared right at the Scot.

“Hilarious. Were you the jester in your podunk village?”, Zelda sneers.

Rowena’s red brows flew up, but the wry smile never went away. “Is that all ya can come up with?”, she retorts. “At least ya find me humorous.”

Zelda’s jaw set as she scrutinized the smaller girl. “You didn’t want me to forget that you were a poor simple girl the other night. You want people to pity you, don’t you? It’s pathetic.”

Rowena scoffed and snickered shaking her head. Satan, in Hell, she was irritating.

“Bold of ya to say, spoiled brat. It’s so easy to look down on those beneath ya, eh? Ya think I want pity? Why do ya even think I am here?”

Zelda shifted in place clearly not wanting to deal with her right now, toes turned back toward the door to her dorm.

“You’ve got nowhere to go...”, she began stepping closer so she towered over the seated girl. “You need a roof over your head, food in your belly, someplace to mooch off of. You may be a young witch, but you are standing in a great Academy for witches who want to learn, want to let the Dark Lord into one’s life. You don’t just come here to use this as your lounging spot.”, Zelda spat as she nudged toward Rowena’s seat.

Rowena narrows her green cat-shaped eyes. She slowly gets up, her nose nearly grazing Zelda’s chin. It miffed her that Zelda would take advantage of her height to be intimidating. Rowena sniffed as her eyes wandered up to gaze into those stormy blue eyes. She could smell that wonderful scent: fresh strawberries, lilies in the field. A part of Rowena wanted to be enveloped in that scent forever, wanted to test those beautiful red lips before her. Freak the girl out? No way. No one ever talked about the temptations of wanting the same sex. Rowena slowly discovered that the moment she saw the curious gaze of Zelda Spellman.

She wasn’t alone. Oh no, Zelda thought about gripping her red locks and giving into her temptation as well. The Dark Lord did say everyone had their own free will to take as they wanted, to sup and lap at every desire. No, she couldn’t desire the stranger. How dare she speak to her the way she did and still appeared as pretty as she did?

Zelda lifted her chin lightly appearing still to be mightier than the smaller girl. She couldn’t let herself give into those emerald eyes, those pouted pink lips, those amazing spackles of freckles on her porcelain skin. Her skin must have been soft, but her hands looked calloused and worn from what seemed to have been manual labor.

This temptation she would not submit to.

“Ya couldn’t be more wrong. In fact, I start classes tomorrow. I have just been trying to catch up on a few studies. You’ll be seeing me around a bit longer. I hope yer ready for that.”, Rowena spoke lowly and then gave her a smile like a crocodile. “I hope yer ready to see what I’m made of.”

Zelda scoffs trying to show her she didn’t fear her-not in the slightest. “Is that a threat?”, she asks quietly, eyes briefly glancing at those pink lips, mouth nearly watering to try them.

Rowena bit that cute lower lip as those deep green eyes seemed to glint brighter in mirth. “I assure ya it’s no threat. It’s a promise.”

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The next day, Zelda entered the earliest to her favorite class of the day: Spellwork and Conjuration. She polished off her workspace and organized her ink jar and quill to the right corner of her desk. She smiled as she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, taking in the nice smell of new parchment paper. She loved to learn, loved to show off how much she absorbed being such an avid learner.

Zelda tried not to think about what Rowena said yesterday. So far, she didn’t have a class with her-how would she prove her ‘point’?

The rest of the class started to file in. They settled in their seats ready to learn. Zelda folded her hands in front of herself, sitting upright, but ready to pick up that quill when she needed to. All seemed to go well, until...she walked in.

Zelda’s blue eyes narrowed following the messy-haired petite witch as she made her way to the teacher’s desk. She bowed her head politely, which made Zelda roll her eyes. Of course she would do that. Being all proper-like, like she wasn’t raised in a barn.

“Oh look, better not catch the hay fever from Farm Girl.” Zelda sneered toward her friends as Rowena walked past her desk to find her spot.

The other girls snorted and eyed the smaller girl down, thinking they found their new harrowing target. Rowena ignored them, chin lifted and unamused as she sat down primly. She sets her textbook down and brings out a quill and ink jar. Unlike the rest, her quill was weathered and old, and her jar barely had a drop left.

“Okay, settle down, witches and warlocks. Now, if we can begin our lesson. Ahh...Rowena, I see you need a refill...”, Professor Ghastly began. He lifted a finger and her jar refilled.

Rowena gaped in surprise and smiled. “Thank you, Professor, sir.”, she replied sounding so refined as she sat upright ready to learn.

Zelda could not help but roll her eyes at this. There was no way her favorite teacher could take this peasant seriously. She didn’t even have her dress all the way buttoned at the front, the collar not propped up around her neck, rather it flopped down. Her messy curls were all astray and her fingers were already stained with ink from perhaps having used it in earlier classes. Yet, the way her green eyes lit up, eager to learn, eager to take in this lesson-the same enthusiasm Zelda had about learning made her wonder: would she take this class seriously? There had been no doubt that Rowena acted theatrically about everything, acting horribly to get her way-oh no. All that little teenaged girl had to do was bat those gorgeous eyes and she’d get her way. At least Zelda had her peers on her side, for now at least.

"Now for today’s lesson, we’re getting right back into trapping a demon into an archeron. You see, many warlocks of our time have created this contraption in efforts to seal away the most abhorrent or pesky demons that victimize a witch or warlock’s home. You see, the home of a spellcaster is the most vulnerable for what reason...Mr. Redburn.”, Professor Ghastly begins his lesson and calls on Bradley.

Bradley Redburn snaps out of his daze as some of the students turn to face him. Professor Ghastly loved to call on those who weren’t paying attention. If one had been asleep, he would place a simple ,harmless charm to jolt them awake. It amused him greatly as it had the students.

“Uhh...”, Bradley contemplates as he plays with his fingernails. He obviously had no idea what the answer was. It annoyed Zelda to bits that no one could be as passionate about these lessons as her.

“uhh...”, he drones on again and averts his gaze from his patient professor. “Because that’s where people sleep?”, he finally guesses.

Professor Ghastly sighs unsatisfied by that answer. “You’re on the right track. Ms. Spellman...”

Zelda perks up in her seat ready to answer.

“Why is a spellcaster’s home vulnerable?”, He asks again knowing very well Zelda could get them through the lesson.

Zelda knew people envied her for her attainable knowledge. If anything, it made Zelda feel special. It made her feel proud that she added nothing but respect to the Spellman name.

“It is vulnerable because a spellcaster’s home is known to be the heart of their power. You see, most spellcasters...”, she glances at Rowena wanting her to know she didn’t belong here. “have a long line to their name. They remain in the family home, where magic is built upon, where the ancestors remain to guide their successors to improve their bloodline. Destroying the heart would destroy the very thing that connects a spellcaster to their family, their honor. A demon may want to attack that to test us in the Dark Lord’s name. If we pass the test, the Dark Lord rewards us.”

Rowena tries not to scoff at the so obvious hit below-the-belt comment thrown from Zelda. Nonetheless, she takes notes on Zelda’s answer, finding that part very vital in learning the culture of this coven-family was important.

Professor Ghastly’s expression brightens as he pats Zelda’s shoulder and walks on through the aisle of desks. “Very good, Ms. Spellman. If you would all focus on your studies, you would understand the importance of defense. You should not let anything deceit your family name. The Dark Lord will smile upon future lines as long as you remain in good graces with him. You must understand he doesn’t mean to foil with us, make us feel small. We owe it to him to accept his tests and gladly do as he tells us. Now, I am going to show you diagrams of different archerons.”

Professor Ghastly made his way to the front of the classroom. He waves his hand over the chalkboard chanting under his breath. Before their eyes, an archeron was drawn on the board, filled with runes and sigils at every angle. The students watch in awe.

“This is an example of an archeron. A warlock and friend of mine created this trapping a demon who tried to snatch his children from his beds. Now sigils and runes make a spell, whether that be just specific to the demon or it be dependent on a warlock or witch’s background. Do any of you recognize these runes?”

Everyone in the room is silent as they observe the picture. Zelda redraws one of the runes on her parchment paper as if to help her decipher it. In all honesty, it had her stumped. She swore she never saw this before. She couldn’t have missed a lesson unless this was something they were yet to go over.

Suddenly everyone whips around in their seats seeing a fair, small hand raise up. Zelda follows their gazes and finds they’re observing Rowena herself. She knew? No way...

Professor Ghastly’s brows rose though he didn’t look so surprised. It’s like he felt like she would have known. Were they in cohoots?

“Yes, Ms. Macleod. What do you know about these runes?”, Professor Ghastly questions as he sits at the corner of his desk.

Rowena barely took notice at the eyes on her. She clears her throat and sits up more in her chair, legs uncrossing beneath her desk. “They’re Celtic.”, she responds. “I have seen those on some of the old monuments in my village. I studied them as they are a part of my culture and within my family line on my mum’s side. Those specifically translate to ‘The ‘napper of the furnace, ye shall not snatch the children of the Night. They are the future and are in the hands of the Dark Lord when they’re ready to give in’. It is clear that the warlock who created this has Celtic or Gaelic origins or...if we’re to be specfic...”

The students lean forward in their seats in innate curiosity. Zelda feigned disinterest, but she wanted to hear more, especially from that accent of hers. She licked her lower lip quickly and held onto her quill.

“It is the demon Fideal. It is known to inhabit a body of water-to drag down women and children to their deaths. Perhaps, the warlock’s children had been playing by the water and so he decided to trap the demon once and for all.”, Rowena finished and leaned back in her chair looking pleased with herself.

Fideal? Zelda never heard of that demon. How ironic, that the demon in this lesson was one from her homeland.

Professor Ghastly chuckled and nodded. “Very good, Ms. Macleod. It seems you could teach us a thing or two about your culture.”

Rowena flashed him this bright smile. “I would love that, Professor.”

Zelda nearly broke her quill, teeth gritting in irritation. She couldn’t get her favorite professor to like her too.

“Wonderful. Now, yes, it is not always the spellcaster’s origins that inspire a spell or trap although, using one’s family’s skill to outwit a demon is always helpful. You see, you also need to know your enemy. Not only should we take into account on what we know of ourselves, we must also be comfortable in learning to adapt-to use what we learn to expand our knowledge to perfect our powers.” Professor Ghastly went on and then turned his back to create a new picture.

Zelda looked at her trembling quill, her nerves and anger getting the better of her. She twisted her lips in thought, giving a quick glance toward the satisfied Rowena. She put two and two together forming a most delicious plan. Zelda formed a smirk reeling her attention to her ink jar. She lightly dabbed her quill as if attempting to write some more. She lifts the quill and yawns before flicking it in Rowena’s direction to splatter her with ink.

Zelda’s friends watched knowing very well what would happen in anticipating. They covered their mouths from an eruption of laugher.

What Zelda didn’t expect was Rowena’s attentiveness.

As the ink flew, making its way in Rowena’s direction, drops almost landing on her nose and the white drooped collar of her dress, her hand lifted halting the drops in place. Her green eyes changed, emitting this bright purple glow. The drops hovered in place, pulsating, awaiting for their permission to move again.

The room grew silent, jaws all agape in surprise. Zelda gasped inaudibly, the sound caught in her throat. Zelda paled and gulped wondering what Rowena’s next move could be. How did she do that? No witch she met could do that, could just freeze time without an utter of a chant or spell.

Professor Ghastly turned on his heels feeling this energy in the air. He himself stood there in shock. This witch was like no other witch-no, she was different. He marveled at how composed she made herself to be, her glowing eyes concentrated at even the tiniest drops missed barely by the human eye. It’s like she could even freeze the entire room with that magnitude of power in that petite body of hers.

Rowena held her breath before exhaling and pushing the droplets forward. Her eyes dimmed, hand lowering. The droplets fell right on the floor in front of her desk, nearly missing Lottie Scuzman’s hair, landing inches away from her chair leg.

Zelda did not move a muscle. Her throat dried. What was she? No witch can be that powerful, can she? Zelda turned in her seat quickly and set her quill down. Rowena did not back away from her promise. She did not expect this.

“...w-wow.”, Professor Ghastly stammered and fixed his composure. “I-where did you learn that?”

Rowena shrugged and tapped her ink-stained fingers on her desk. “As long as I can remember, I’ve been able to do that. My mum would tell me it’s because I am a natural witch.”, she explained. “Also, as long as I knew how to defend myself...I wouldn’t need a spellbook.” At this, she looked right at Zelda.

Zelda didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes bore on her. Rowena: 1, Zelda: 0.

Zelda hid her face of defeat.

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Spellman Home-the Holidays in the Past.

Being back home is what Zelda dreaded the most. She hated the holidays. This would mean she would have to face her father, Wilbur Reginald Spellman. Most would say Zelda resembled a lot of her father, with the strong chin, her blue eyes, and uptight demeanor. What her immediate family members would say is that they butted heads solely because they resembled each other in personality.

Vesta Gale Spellman, her mother, is the silent submissive type. She hung on to every word of her husband with little to no opinion on her own. Still, she was pretty to look at with her fair strawberry blonde hair and her hazel eyes. She serves the family dinner and then pushes in the youngest Spellman’s seat with a light brow raised.

“Sit up, Hildegarde, dear.”, she chided the youngest quietly.

Hilda. Sweet little innocent Hilda. Next year, Zelda’s little sister would attend the Academy of the Unseen Arts. Tomorrow night was her Dark Baptism. Zelda hid her enthusiasm that finally her little sister would be signing her name away to the Dark Lord’s book. She knew deep down her sister had her doubts. Every night, whenever Zelda was home away from school, she would taunt her sister, giving her fiendish nightmares so that should would finally give in and stop being afraid of that important night. She couldn’t squander the Spellman name. Zelda, in fact, was doing her a favor. If Hilda didn’t participate, she would find herself in one of Father’s fits of rage. Hilda knew going to the Academy meant she would never escape the terrorism of her older sister.

Zelda could not wait to harrow her little sister. She counted on it.

However, Edward had one more year in the Academy. Hilda would be safe in her first year. It made Zelda boil with anger that Edward always defended Hilda. Hilda’s growing of a backbone would simply be a necessity, a lesson granted by a loving older sister.

The children waited until their father joined the table so that they all may join in prayer to the Dark lord. Wilbur cleared his throat and set a napkin neatly on his lap.

“Good evening, children. Welcome back home, Zelda and Edward. Hildegarde, you will start next year. Your Dark Baptism starts tomorrow at midnight. Are you ready to take in the Dark Lord?”

Everyone turned their attention over to the youngest. Hilda’s eyes hardly met her father’s. She nearly trembled in his presence, always having feared him. She fixes a small strand of her blonde hair before answering sheepishly.

“Yes, Father.”

Wilbur accepts that response and nods. “Very well. Now, let us join in prayer. Dark Lord, may you continue to guide this family in your beautiful darkness and present even more wisdom into our lives so that we may continue to grow our line with the Spellman wit. We will present our last child to your grace tomorrow at the blood moon. We thank you for providing our sustenance, our power, and the shelter that covers our heads. Praise Satan.”

They all murmur ‘Praise Satan’ after him. In synchronicity, they pick up their forks to eat, Hilda being the only one who doesn’t dig right in and picks around to eat the vegetables, of course.

Zelda ponders on her father’s prayer. Not everyone had always had a roof over their heads. She thought about Rowena. She came so far and must have gone through so much to finally have a roof, to have warm food to eat, water to drink. It must have been because her name had not been written in the Book. Perhaps, Father Mephisto would organize a Dark Baptism for Rowena as well. As if the coven would accept her. Zelda pushed her thoughts away and shook her head. That girl thought she was so great with her...not-so-interesting powers. Still, a part of her begged to know more, begged to see more...longed to learn from this ‘natural’ witch.

“Father...”, Zelda piped up after a long uncomfortable silence. “What is a natural witch?”

Wilbur set his fork down and stared at his plate. His brows rose in surprise, blue eyes searching for his wife’s hazel ones. Vesta shared the same expression, but did not say a word as usual.

“Where have you heard of this? Have they been teaching of things outside of the Dark Lord’s realm?”, he interrogated.

Everything felt like an interrogation around Wilbur. He did not know how to make a room lively. His demeanor matched the darkness of the family home. Only Edward and Hilda’s rare smiles could lighten up a room when their father was away.

“What do you mean outside of the Dark Lord’s realm?”, Zelda asked eyes filled with piqued curiosity.

Edward wiped his lips with his napkin, head tilting in the same growing curiosity his sister had. Hilda chewed on a piece of squash, round green eyes filled with intrigue. Both of her siblings waited for their all-knowing father’s response.

Wilbur did not expect that question, but he knew better than to underestimate his daughter’s irritating yet brilliant mind.

“There are witches who have their source elsewhere and there are those who have powers unexplained. Powers bestowed to them by birth.”, Wilbur explained. “Those born with this are misguided, not having the Dark Lord in their lives. It is all heresy. That is why the Dark Lord does not protect them unless they give themselves over.”

Zelda furrows her brows, her calculating mind stewing. “If they are born with such abilities, where do they get it from?”, she pressed on, teeth ripping the mortal flesh from her fork.

Vesta shakes her head at Zelda’s curiosities. She taught Zelda better than to keep questioning what is outside of the Dark Lord’s reach. She hoped it wouldn’t give her these ideas.

“Why are you asking such horrendous questions? Do we need to speak to your Professors?”, Wilbur’s voice grew an octave.

Vesta places a hand on her husband’s shoulder as if to sate on an upcoming battle-the usual occurrence at the Spellman table between father and daughter. She didn’t want to have to deal with both disastrous tempers. Wilbur visibly calmed, shoulders slowly releasing their tension.

“My dear, remember what the physician said about your hypertension.”, Vesta murmured.

Wilbur sniffed and rolled his eyes. “Your daughter is asking the inquiries of a heretic.”

Zelda shut her eyes counting to ten before daring to defend herself. She hated that her father took things to the extreme.

“I am asking because the Academy took in this new witch. She has not signed her name in the Book. She was brought in from the storm and had nowhere to go.”, Zelda began to explain.

Wilbur scoffed beginning his retort, “Since when do we unquestionably take in a witch? How do we know she isn’t a spy?”

Edward cleared his throat before he spoke up on behalf of his sister. “Father Mephisto grant it so.”, he responded calmly. “He foresees the Dark Lord bringing her to us so that we may perhaps guide her on her way.”

Oh yes, perhaps if Zelda dissuaded the intruder from the Dark Lord, then she wouldn’t further invade their lives.

Wilbur lowered his gaze to the table. “If...”, he takes a sharp inhale. “Father Mephisto bade it so, then he is correct. The Dark Lord speaks to him. Perhaps, the Dark Lord should usher the child onto the Path of Night.”

Zelda stifled a scoff and played with her food this time. She still yearned to know more. “As I was saying, the girl had been taken in. In class yesterday, we discovered...something strange about her. She revealed glowing eyes as she froze an object.” Her blue eyes moved over to her father who paled in shock. “By your countenance, something tells me you know exactly what this is.”

Hilda’s eyes widened as she glanced between her sister and her father. “Her eyes glowed and froze something?”, she spoke up, voice pitched slightly higher.

Wilbur balled his fists and maintained his composure. “Yes, I have heard of this. What you witnessed was indeed that of a...natural witch.”, the last part subdued.

Zelda’s eyebrows quirked, brain marveling at the thought something more to their dark path existed-something she could use against the girl. “And where does a natural witch get their powers?”

Wilbur actually appeared stumped. “Natural witches are rare, Zelda.” He sat up straight before he continued. “In fact, not one of us know where they get it from. Most have died in the time of the Greendale Thirteen. Apparently, they weren’t wise enough to hide themselves in the shadows, thinking they could win over the mortals with their...mystique.”

He sounded almost rigid with his explanation as if he did not agree with the ways of a natural witch. Zelda took note of this.

“But perhaps if the Dark Lord commands it, we must welcome the new witch. He presents us with a test. If we change the ways of this young witch, then we may have more power on our side to the Path of Night. We mustn’t disobey the Dark Lord’s wishes, can we?”

Zelda sets her jaw as she holds contact with her father, the room being still and tense. She slowly nods in agreement with her father.

“Of course, Father. We shan’t.”, she replies with a small grin and fingers crossed behind her back.

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To be continued... ;)

#caos #spn #fanfic #zowena #zelda spellman #rowena macleod #spn rowena #romance #horror #Zelda #Rowena #witches #femslash

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