Chapter Text
Children were far more perceptive than Zelda would have liked. When Sabrina was very young, Hilda had insisted on allowing the girl to attend a human school—yet another break in tradition for the halfling child—and Zelda quickly discovered there was more to the snot-nosed, unfinished mortals than met the eye. Sabrina would come home each day with a new report; her new friends discussed unicorns, fairies and the like as often as snacks and finger-painting.
With their knowledge of magical creatures, however fragmented, Zelda knew it would only be a matter of time before the conversation turned to witches.
She demanded that they remove Sabrina from the school at once, but Hilda soothed her, assuring her that the children were only playing, pretending. Apparently, mortal children “pretended” quite often. Zelda did not ask how her sister knew such things, but relented. Hilda was comfortable with human customs where Zelda was not, and despite her centuries of disparaging remarks viciously flung at the younger witch, she trusted her judgement in the care and keeping of their niece.
She almost envied the aptitude of Hilda’s tender heart.
Saturday morning at the Spellman house was a frenzy. Hilda laced up the back of her dress with a muttered enchantment as she laid breakfast on the table, music from Ambrose’s stereo rattling through the house. He’d been up all night in the morgue and needed the rousing noise to carry him through the early hours of groggy routine. Sabrina bolted into the kitchen for all of thirty seconds, snatching a warm pastry and pressing a rushed kiss to her blonde aunt’s cheek.
Zelda was an island of stoicism in her stormy familial sea, news of faraway lands spread across the paper before her.
“I’ll be back tonight, aunties,” Sabrina declared from the doorway, shrugging her red coat over her shoulders.
“Behave yourself, Sabrina,” Came the reply from behind the exposé on a Polish painter’s mysterious murder.
Hilda’s smile was colored with fond exasperation. “Let’s steer clear of shenanigans today, eh, love?”
“Yes, Aunt Hilda. I promise.”
Sabrina threw open the door and nearly collided with her history teacher.
“Ms. Wardwell?”
“Sabrina, hello,” The woman’s long coat was cinched tight at her waist. Her student met her eyes in something of a daze, confusion clouding her mind before the memory snapped into focus.
“I still have your book on familiar physics, don’t I? The one I promised I’d have back on your shelf yesterday?”
“You do, my dear.” There was no sourness, no malice in the brunette’s voice.
“Sabrina, who’s there?” A voice called from the recesses of the house, followed by the hasty click of heels on ancient oak floors.
“It’s Ms. Wardwell,” Sabrina dashed upstairs. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Zelda was struck by the comfortable air that surrounded Mary Wardwell, standing unannounced in the entryway of a home that was not hers. In the years after Sabrina’s Baptism, the witch had appeared often, always coming to the teen’s assistance when some mischievous scheme turned sour. She was an ever-present wellspring of all things magical and forbidden.
“Ms.Wardwell” had become “Mary” to the Spellman sisters at her own insistence, but Zelda could never recall when exactly it had occurred. She blended into the landscape of their lives until it seemed there had never been a time without her visitations. The eldest Spellman realized that if the nuisance were to vanish as she had appeared, she would miss her.
She would miss her quite a lot. As one might miss an arm or a leg.
Or a sister.
The two women stood at opposite ends of the foyer, each quieted by her own thoughts, until the whirlwind known as “Hurricane Leticia” swept across the mismatched antique rugs.
“Mommy!” Letty, freshly awake, leapt into Zelda’s arms, dark eyes sparkling with excitement. “Can we have our tea party, today? Please, please, pleeease?!”
At the arch of a fiery brow, the little girl quickly sobered, schooling her pixie-like features to her mother’s satisfaction.
“Perhaps later, Leticia, darling. We have company,” Zelda reasoned, shifting the child onto her hip to give her a better view of their guest.
Letty waved cheerfully to Mary, then turned back to her mother with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just Miss Mary, mommy. She can play with us!”
Mary smirked in amusement, a single chestnut lock following the curve of her jaw. “I’d be delighted to join you for tea,” She glanced at Zelda innocently. “Provided that mommy doesn’t mind.”
The redheaded witch eyed Mary, attempting to gauge her intentions, Leticia practically vibrating against her side in anticipation.
“Very well.”
With a squeal of joy, Letty scrambled to the floor, accompanied by the kitchen dish cupboard’s clattering as its doors swung open wide to allow a flurry of blue and white china into the parlor. The toddler giggled happily as the tea set assembled midair and settled delicately on the low glass coffee table. Mary followed Zelda’s lead, forgoing a place in one of the high-backed armchairs to join Leticia on the floor. Letty crawled to kneel beside Mary.
“You’re so pretty. You’re the princess.” The girl nodded as if in agreement with herself before raising her small hands over Mary’s head. “Domina noc, nocti--”
“Would you like some help will the spell, dear?” Zelda asked gently. Leticia shook her head, thick black ringlets bouncing frantically. She bit her lip in concentration.
“Domina noctis sur- Domina noctis surgam. Domina noctis surgam!”
A glittering circlet lighted atop Mary’s head. She stared past the little girl and up at her preening mother, shocked. Zelda’s smugness lingered like the sun on her skin.
“You’re her knight in shining armor, mommy. You do the rescuing and fancy magic kisses.”
The witch’s confidence faltered when Mary’s icy gaze skated over her, heart stuttering, stumbling in her chest when her eyes flicked to the woman’s deep red lips.
The “princess” came to her aid.
“What would bring such a gallant knight to tea, Letty?” Mary asked, surveying Zelda through fluttering lashes. “Wouldn’t she have ever so many damsels to rescue at this time of day?”
“She already rescued you, and you invited her to stay for tea. To thank her. You’re a polite princess,” Leticia explained sagely.
“Oh, indeed? How very civilized of me.”
The brilliance of the day dimmed, adventures laid to rest, tucked snugly into bed with their young dreamer, and Zelda found Mary Wardwell on the front porch. The sun brushing the horizon, the blaze of sunset against her wild curls, and the smoke swirling between them reminded Zelda of human children and their fairy tales.
“I’d say this is the perfect light for a ‘fancy, magic kiss’, wouldn’t you?” Mary’s voice was mellow and inviting, but beneath the surface of her words there was no request. It was a demand, a decree. Zelda had never comprehended the appeal of monarchy—she’d found the eighteenth century particularly troublesome in the way of royalty—but there, in the dying glow as Mary’s crown faded into shards of starlight and rose toward the moon’s distant shadow, she understood.
She was powerless to refuse.