Chapter Text
"I swear, I did not mean for this to happen." He wakes up feeling drunk, well, more like he’s been drinking enough to kill a horse and being trampled by said horse.
Eva had tried her hand at magic, gotten a spell book as a gift from a relative.
Last night, they had been drinking ---in moderation--- and his wife had gotten it in her head to try out any spell in it. Just to see what happens.
He wakes up sick as a dog and throws up on the rug at his feet.
“You shouldn’t have tried matching Arthur drink for drink, Thomas.” An Irish ---falsely Irish voice--- said softly with a familiarity that would have Eva pouncing like a jungle cat with a knife in hand.
Eva hated Grace, an instant loathing that he has only seen a handful of times.
How Grace got into his bed, is a mystery on the same list as to why Eva’s things aren’t here.
Fuck.
If he had fucked Grace, Eva will kill him and he would let her.
Tommy has too much at stake to risk it all with someone who crafted a persona for everyone she met.
To him and the people of Small Heath, she had been the rich girl from Galway with an accent as phony as she was, to her peers she was as English as they were.
“What are you doing here, in my bed, in my house?” he asked, tired of her acting like they are in love.
“Tommy, are you having another night terror?” She asked and reached to hold him like Eva does and he moves away and grabs the gun he keeps on the top drawer of his side dresser.
“It’s me, Grace, your wife. We got married a month ago, we have a baby together.”
Grace Burgess said as she held up her hands and cried softly because somehow the lies she spouted appeared to be the truth.
"I swear, I did not mean for this to happen."
The woman apologized as she took care of him with a familiarity even his wife would be jealous of.
Had he gotten bored of Grace so easily that he climbed into a guest’s bed instead of hers?
Tommy loved Grace, sure it wasn’t the sort of thing he felt with Greta nor what he felt in 1919, but she was his wife and the mother of his child.
He doesn’t think himself the type of man to get bored of a woman this soon into a marriage, he had estimated maybe a year for him to try and go find another barmaid, secretary or working girl.
But Thomas, much like the father he loathes, had a weakness for beautiful women.
Fuck.
Tommy Shelby looks around and is shocked to see that this was his room, different and yet similar.
Books in a language he cannot decipher, decorations with rather gothic features, a photograph of him kissing said woman on their wedding day and another of them holding an infant boy who is not Charles.
There is no sign of Grace’s things, just some belonging to a wholly different sort of woman.
Where Grace had been blonde and blue eyed, this woman was dark haired and dark eyed.
Both were beauties, but Grace was cool to the point of being accused of being unfeeling, this woman had mysterious warmth that told him she was a witch.
“Who are you? Where am I?” he asks aiming the gun he always keeps on his side dresser at the woman.
“I am Eva, I am your wife, but I have a feeling you are not the same Tommy I am married to.” The witch woman said calmly, seemingly unfazed by his gun.