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Chapter Text

It is never easy to leave everything you know and love and start over somewhere new. There are travel arrangements to sort out, suitcases to be packed, and tearful farewells to be made. For two heartbroken little girls, to make the journey from their home in LA to the tiny coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine, without their beloved parents to soothe their worries and guide their thoughts to happier things, the prospect of this new life was all the more daunting. Not to mention that despite never having set foot in town, they had already been delegated to the roles of town outcasts by virtue of bearing the name ‘Swan’. Well that, and the fact that every Swan woman of Storybrooke for the last three hundred years has been a potion-making, spell-casting, man-luring witch. 

“Now, Emma and Elsa,” Aunt Ruby turned away from the beautiful blue Victorian mansion - the Swan family home for so many generations in this strange seaside town - to face them, her face a mask of stern seriousness that wasn’t fooling anyone. “We do have some rules that we take very seriously in this house. First rule: we eat breakfast at seven every morning, and I am an absolute stickler for ensuring you have a good meal to start the day, so hot chocolate and some variation of chocolate dessert-“

“Ruby!” Aunt Belle interjected as she finished pulling out the last of the suitcases from the battered Jeep that had definitely seen better days. The little girls giggled behind their hands, the effect causing their aunts to smile indulgently. 

“Rule number two: all forms of homework are banished from this house. I don’t want to see a math worksheet or English vocabulary book anywhere. If your teacher insists you bring some home, I will write you a note.”

“Do not listen to your Aunt Ruby girls - she was never very good at doing her homework, your mother and I always had to help her! As soon as you come home from school, we will do it together - it will be fun, I promise.”

Aunt Ruby continued on as though her older sister had not spoken. “And finally, rule number three: we do not believe in silly little things like bedtimes and brushing our teeth. Not when there are more interesting things to see and learn… like magic!”

As soon as they had heard of the death of their eldest sister and her husband, Belle and Ruby Swan immediately rushed to the other side of the country to offer comfort and take over guardianship of their young nieces. The trip back to Maine, however, was slow and meandering - an effort on the part of the adults to help the children become as comfortable as possible with the abrupt upheaval of their lives. 

Emma and Elsa at the tender ages of five and seven, had had very little exposure to their birthright of learning magic - their mother only just beginning to gently introduce them early on in the summer. A teaspoon slowly stirring a hot cup of tea with no assistance, a single breath to ignite a flame - parlor tricks to an experienced witch, but to a child it was exciting and opened their minds and imaginations to the world beyond the mundane.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Looking across the expansive yard that surrounded the house, Emma could spot the cresting foam of the waves as they crashed upon the rocky shoreline, the water ever changing in its color and mood. The ocean didn’t seem like the one she was used to back home where the water was the clearest blue and white sands dominated the shore, where Mommy and Daddy used to build fairytale sandcastles with her and Elsa until dinner time when the sand became chilly and the sun looked like it was tucking itself in under the water ready for sleep. 

Blinking back tears, she turned to look at her sister who was still giggling at their aunts bickering as to whether chocolate of any kind for breakfast was suitable and how all the books say children need to have at least nine hours of sleep at night to stay healthy and focused throughout the day. They really were very strange ladies, Emma thought, but they were also just like her mother, and she supposed that if she couldn’t be with her and daddy, then she and Elsa were very lucky to be able to live with Aunt Belle and Aunt Ruby. She joined in with Elsa’s giggles, which were loud enough to halt any further argument. The aunts smiled once more and each took hold of one of their nieces’ hands and began to lead them through the front gate and into their new life. 

 *~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Life continued on, and the Swan sisters did the best they could to adjust to their new environment; their aunts’ kind hearts and uniquely chaotic parenting skills doing much to ease their way. It wasn’t long before the town of Storybrooke found out that they were to be invaded by even more Swan women - no matter how tiny - and they were quick to show their feelings on the subject. Within a week of starting at Storybrooke elementary, the girls already knew every taunt regarding them being witches by heart, every rumor about dancing naked under the full moon and how the jelly in their PB&J was actually squished up frog hearts. The most hurtful accusation, however, had to be the one about how their parents died. 

Both Belle and Ruby raced to the school and to their nieces' sides. Emma had locked herself away in a cubicle in the girls bathroom and not even the pleas of her sister could induce her to come out. Nor would it seem that the janitor or even the local locksmith were able to unlock the door. The one time they appeared close to succeeding, a sudden jolt shocked both men so hard they stumbled back into one another, landing on one of the sinks which then shattered under their combined weight and caused a flood of water to sweep through the room drenching everyone within.

Belle paused at the entry where the stern headmistress, Mrs Mills stood - barking orders to anyone within the vicinity and threatening all manner of punishment upon Emma if she kept refusing to come out and face the consequences for fighting with the other children. Her wide blue eyes took in the scene before her; however, Ruby, simply strode in, her six inch heels providing temporary protection against the still-gushing water. 

Picking up Elsa, who immediately held on tight in her distress, Ruby knocked on the cubicle door housing Emma.

“My sweet girl, Aunt Belle and I are here to take you and Elsa home, but we need you to unlock the door. Take a deep breath in and then let it out. Can you do that for me?”

A muffled sob sounded from the cubicle, followed by a deep shuddering breath in. At the sound of the lock unlatching, Belle pushed the door open and scooped Emma up into her arms, shushing the little girl as she did so. Unconcerned with the water sloshing around their stacked heels, both women stalked out the bathroom, ignoring the crowd that had gathered around the doorway.

“And just who is going to pay for all of this damage?” Mrs Mills shrieked at the women’s retreating backs. 

Ruby turned back and leveled the beleaguered headmistress with a steely gaze. “Seems to me that your incompetence to get a child out of a toilet cubicle led to this. Not to mention that I told you not to do anything until we got here. So I guess that means you’re shit outta luck!” And with that, the Swan women walked out of the school and into the crisp fall air. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Bundled up in front of the fire with their hot chocolates cooling slightly on the coffee table in front of them, Emma and Elsa quietly listened to the storm raging outside. The howl of the wind as it tore across the darkened sea was mournful even in its rage - a mirror reflection of the inhabitants inside the Swan house. 

When they returned home, the aunts had thought it best to calm down their nieces' upset moods by way of distraction. Belle had ushered Elsa into the kitchen for an afternoon of baking all manner of cookies and cakes, while Ruby dragged Emma down to their private beach to search for pretty seashells and other interesting artifacts that could be found along the shoreline. 

However, now had come the time to talk about what had happened earlier in the day.

Lifting each girl into their arms before seating themselves on the worn loveseat, the aunts settled the girls into their laps with their hot chocolates in hand - now cool enough to drink. 

In addition to her hurt at the cruel words from children influenced by their carelessly gossiping parents, Elsa felt even more guilt that she was too late to come to the aid of her baby sister. From the moment her father helped her to cradle Emma in her arms at the hospital hours after she was born, Elsa had loved her sister. It would be a love that would be reciprocated completely by Emma as soon she had felt the ability to do so.

Swallowing back tears, Elsa was the first to speak. “Are we in a lot of trouble?” 

“Of course not, Sweetheart!” Aunt Belle exclaimed, squeezing Elsa tight, pushing back her ice blonde hair in comfort. 

“But we do need to understand what happened,” Aunt Ruby added seriously, ducking her head to meet Emma’s anxious gaze. 

“Jefferson said that Regina told him that her older sister Zelena heard that Mommy cast an evil spell, and that’s how Daddy died, but she made a mistake so she died too.” Emma’s words came out in a rush, barely taking a breath as she tried not to burst into tears. 

Taking a deep breath, Emma continued. “I got really mad and told him it wasn’t true. But he just said that anyone who is a Swan is a witch, and witches are evil, and that me and Elsa are going to be evil too! So I punched him.” 

It took all of the strength that Ruby had not to carefully set her niece down and drive over to the Hatterson’s and put the fear of Hecate into Jefferson’s idiot parents before paying Cora Mills a visit and doing the same. If only she knew how to fly on a broomstick like all the dumbass townsfolk seemed to think she could. 

Looking into the wide (and fractionally guilty) eyes of her youngest niece, Ruby was once more reminded of how much the girls resembled their mother Snow. Emma in particular bore a striking resemblance to her, and, were it not for the golden hair that hung in beautiful ringlets down her back, one could almost mistake her for their beloved Snow at the same age. Elsa favored her father’s Nordic coloring, with her bright blue eyes and almost white blonde hair, yet her demeanor was all her mother - kindness and care, even to those who may not be so deserving of it. 

Ruby sank further into her seat, nestling Emma against her while Belle did the same with Elsa. “Did Mommy ever tell you the story of the first Swan witch?” Ruby asked in a voice she reserved only for the most exciting of bedtime stories. 

Emma and Elsa shook their heads in response, their eyes alight with curiosity. In the time that they had spent with their aunts, the girls had been introduced to all sorts of wonders that made up their world of witchcraft. Any opportunity to learn about their heritage and the things that they had the potential to master was met with enthusiastic attentiveness. Already, their natural talents were beginning to make themselves known. Elsa, a keen baker, was now creating her own recipe infusions under the tutelage of Aunt Belle, while Emma was already mastering spells that witches three times her age have difficulty performing as Aunt Ruby beamed with pride. Learning about their family and its history with the Craft was something that the girls loved to do together therefore, they stayed silent, waiting for the story to begin.  

“We Swan women have been blamed for just about everything that goes wrong in Storybrooke, ever since the first Swans moved here over 300 years ago.”

“Is that why everyone hates us?” Emma asked, looking between her aunts, uncertainty and sadness coloring her voice. 

“They don’t hate us, Dearest, we just make them a little nervous,” Aunt Belle soothed, smiling gently down at her brave nieces before nodding at Ruby to continue. 

“Let’s be honest, Belle. Swan women have always created a stir ever since Eva Swan; the eldest daughter of the original Swans and the first known witch.” Ruby paused for a moment, wondering how young was too young to understand the tumultuous time of the Witch Trials that had taken place in New England at the time. Deciding to skip over the more scary and frankly murderous history of their kind, Ruby continued.

“Eva was extremely beautiful, as she had long dark hair that she liked to wear wild and free - which was very much not the fashion nor acceptable by the town’s stuffy society - and bright blue eyes that would make all the men fall hopelessly in love with her. And I think that was the problem; the young women knew they were no match for Eva. I certainly know what that feels like,” Ruby added with a sigh and wink.

The little girls giggled while Belle rolled her eyes at her sister before interjecting with an affectionately teasing “Of course you do, Ruby.” 

Before Ruby could respond in dramatic fashion, Belle continued the story. “There is likely some truth to Eva’s beauty being the envy of every female in our small town, but there was more to it than that. She was different. Being different and being brave enough to show it, no matter what others thought, was a very dangerous thing to do.” 

It was a lesson that Emma and Elsa had truly learnt today and would likely be reminded of many times over; however, sitting by the fire within the walls of their ancient home as the storm continued its rampage outside, all they felt was safety and warmth. It was a lesson that was just as important; that no matter where they went or what they were doing, they could always come home. 

“Besides, none of those men stood a chance of winning her heart, it already belonged to another.” Ruby’s smile was without the exaggerated bravado from before. It now held a genuine admiration for their long departed ancestor. 

“Eva was in love with a sailor of a successful merchant ship who often traveled to England and returned with much needed supplies and sought after luxuries. So much so, that plans were made for their marriage upon his next return to port.”

“When the date of his expected return neared, Eva would make her way up to the very same bluff that we can now see just beyond the back garden, to wait for her love. It was during this time that a cruel winter storm came in from the North Atlantic (a strange occurrence, as it was still much too early for such storms to appear), destroying everything in its path. When morning came and the depth of destruction was truly known, the townspeople immediately blamed poor Eva. Never mind that Eva was the one who, with her gifts, helped their crops to multiply, cajoled predators to stay away from the town, and brewed herbal teas and other tinctures to keep everyone healthy and happy.”

“She and her family were accused of witchcraft and were to receive their punishment on this very spot where our house now is. It probably didn’t help that the men whose hearts had been broken by Eva’s dismissal of them all had wives or betrotheds on the hanging committee,” Ruby added, as an afterthought. 

“They killed Eva?” Elsa asked in a trembling voice, her eyes wide and fearful. 

Ruby cursed under her breath for frightening her young yet intelligent niece. “Oh no, sweet girl, no. You see, when you are the kind of witches that we are, you have a very special bond with nature. Our magic is entwined with nature; we work with it, and it does the same to us. The townsfolk attempted to use one of the red oak trees to exact their punishment on Eva, but that old oak held a lot of power and Eva was able to snap the rope about her neck. The townsfolk were so frightened and feared that she would seek revenge that they fled, leaving the family alone to claim this land for themselves.” 

The girls smiled in relief even as a loud crack of thunder boomed and rattled throughout the house. Pulling a large fluffy blanket over everyone, but tucking it around Emma and Elsa, Ruby continued her story.

“It wasn’t long after that fateful day that Eva found out she was pregnant with her beloved’s child. Eager to share this wonderful news, she would make her way to the bluff everyday to keep a lookout for his ship so she would have the earliest knowledge of his arrival. However, the days turned into weeks and those weeks into months, and still there was no sign of him. It wasn’t until her mother had returned from one of her rare trips into town that she had heard of the possible fate of her sailor. The talk among the workers on the docks had been that wreckage from a ship had been found along with the remnants of cargo carrying supplies that were usually delivered to their little harbor.”

Eva was heartbroken. There was no other explanation as to why her beloved had not returned to her when he promised to. She knew he would never leave her willingly. The night of the storm must have been when the ship sank, taking everyone with her. So, making her way to the bluff for the last time, Eva cast a spell for herself - that she would never fall in love again.”

Emma and Elsa, were completely captivated by the story their aunt was weaving. Impatient as always to know the ending of any story, Emma spoke up first. “What happened then, Aunt Ruby? Did the spell work?”

Ruby nodded solemnly. “It worked very well, Sweetheart. Eva loved her child and her family with all her heart, but never again did she fall in love, nor did she ever have a wish to. But what Eva didn’t know was that the spell she cast was not intended just for herself. She was so caught up in her grief and despair, that when she cast her spell, she wasn’t as careful as she should have been and instead, she cast a curse. A curse that has now been passed down through our very long and distinguished line: should someone fall in love with a Swan woman and receive that love in return, the relationship will flourish for a time, until the Deathwatch Beetle makes its presence known, and then the one they love will be doomed to die.”

“Is that how Daddy died?” Emma asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the pattern she was tracing with her finger on the blanket. 

“Yes, my darling girl it is.” Ruby squeezed Emma a little tighter in an effort to hold both of their emotions together. 

“But you must know,” Ruby continued, “That your mommy did everything that she could to keep your daddy here. She was such a clever witch that she managed to figure out how to split her heart in two so she could share it with him and try to keep the curse at bay.”

“Why didn’t it work then?” asked Elsa, the grip she held on Belle’s arm tightening as she attempted to hold back her tears.

“Because Sweetheart,” Belle answered, “when you love someone the way your daddy did, you love them not just with your beating heart, but with your entire soul. Splitting a heart in two means not only sharing the ability to live, but sharing everything that makes a person who they are. The curse was too strong for your mother to overcome with her power, and your father could no sooner stop loving her than he could his treasured little girls. Sharing a heart only further strengthened the bond of love that was between them and that in turn, strengthened the curse itself. Instead of taking just your father away, the curse saw fit to take your mother too.” 

Silence descended over the little family; the only sounds to be heard now was the steady thrum of rain as it hit the roof, and the discordant murmur of the wind as its fury began to die out. 

“Hey,” Belle whispered, bending her head down next to Elsa's, as her eyes caught Emma’s. “The only curse you need to be worried about in this house is sitting right there - your Aunt Ruby!” 

Ruby snorted with indignation as Belle tickled the little girls, causing a cascade of giggles to spill forth that echoed throughout the house. 

“Very funny, Belle,” Ruby huffed, even as she tried to hide the infectious laughter brought on by her nieces.

“Don’t go blaming me if you suddenly find yourself sharing your bed with a family of skunks tonight - just saying.”

This threat only made the girls laugh even harder as their aunts once again turned to their favorite pastime of bickering with one another.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

They were just finishing up their second cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen when there was a frantic knock at the back door. It wasn’t often that the Swans entertained guests in their home - the whole witch stigma thing really did put a damper on their local social circle. Granny, the owner of Storybrooke’s one and only diner and who also proudly held the title of the town’s most cantankerous woman, was usually the only one who ever visited aside from their friends who lived either further down the coast or out of state. However, it was unusual for the older woman to pay them a visit at this time of the evening unannounced and with the weather being so terrible, it could only mean it was a paying customer - a desperate one, given that the storm hadn’t completely abated in its fury. 

Belle and Ruby had no real need to earn a living. Generations of careful investment in both real estate and stocks ensured that every living Swan would be able to have an extremely comfortable life provided that they didn’t try to live as though they were royalty. Belle had chosen a life of academia and was working towards a PhD in Renaissance Art and Literature while also becoming an online Teaching Assistant within the Religion and Philosophy department with the University of New England - namely on the subject of witchcraft and its connection with nature. Ruby on the other hand, was capitalising on the family’s real estate portfolio and buying up old warehouses in places such as Portland and Bar Harbor and turning them into trendy, six month waitlisted, bars and restaurants. 

Late night visitors weren’t uncommon. In fact, it was oddly one of the best kept secrets of the ladies (and some men) of Storybrooke. Whether it be remedies for embarrassing or unsightly lumps and bumps, talismans for warding off the common cold, or more complex cures such as mending a broken heart, Belle and Ruby happily cast their spells or brewed their potions in exchange for a hefty wad of cash (which they then promptly donated to a rotating roster of charities) and a promise that if their transactions were taken for granted, they would find themselves with whatever malady they came to them with returned - tenfold. Of course, they would never do such a thing, but the threat was enough for silence to be deemed golden; although clearly not enough for them to not be seen as outcasts or for the town’s feral children to quit their long outdated teasing and chants of “Witch, witch, you’re a bitch!”

Ruby answered the door as Belle ushered the girls up the backstairs telling them that they would be up soon to tuck them into bed properly. Not willing to ignore their aunt’s request that they stay upstairs but too curious about why they were being sent away, Emma and Elsa found a happy medium by staying on the small mezzanine that gave them a perfect view of the large kitchen below.

“Why are you here this time Cruella? We don’t cast curses and we don’t brew poisons, so-”

“Oh Ruby darling, it’s always a pleasure to see you, but is it really necessary to wear that much red? Having a signature color is all well and good, but a little change now and again never hurt anyone!”

Cruella DeVille-Feinberg swept in, thrusting her still dripping umbrella into Belle who had just returned and removed her long fur trimmed coat before dropping it carelessly onto the bar stool before her. Ruby and Belle glanced at one another, already exasperated at this interruption to their lovely evening with the girls. Cruella was one of their most frequent and well paying customers however, there was not enough money in the world to make dealing with her any easier.

“What can we do for you Cruella? It’s not really the right kind of weather for an impromptu social call.” Belle advised, placing Cruella’s umbrella in a corner and pulling out a mop to clean away the small puddles that had appeared with every step that their visitor had taken.

“Darling, I would not be here if it were not absolutely imperative; my life is at stake here!” Cruella declared, her crimson mouth pulled down in dramatic fashion. Ruby rolled her eyes, not trusting that there was anything wrong with the woman, while Belle - ever the more sympathetic of the two - immediately began looking for ways in which she could help.

“How do you think we can help Cruella? Are you sure there are no medical options available to you? We will do what we can of course but-”

“No, no, no, darling! My husband is planning to leave me! He hasn’t said anything yet, but I’m sure he is going to soon. I bet it’s for that Barbie he calls his secretary. If he leaves me, how will I ever be able to show my face in public again? How will I maintain my lifestyle? It takes a lot of work and money to enhance my natural beauty, you know!”

“Oh for crying out loud, Cruella! You drove out here in the pouring rain, literally risking your life given how you drive, because of a suspicion? You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” Ruby’s patience was already thin the moment she opened the back door, but now it was hanging on by a thread. It didn’t matter that this woman paid well for their services, Ruby was ready to kick Mrs DeVille-Feinberg out of her house while issuing a threat of breaking their rule on casting curses if she ever comes back with such unnecessary drama.

Cruella ignored Ruby’s outrage and turned to Belle. “Can you make my husband love me again? Can you make it so that he wants me so much that it hurts? Please, whatever the cost I can pay for it! Is there a ritual I need to do? Slaughter a pig or a chicken? Or do I need to get a lock of that bitch’s hair so you can make a voodoo doll?” Cruella’s questions came out in a rush and the two young witches struggled to keep up with her. 

Eventually, Belle managed to get a word in. “Cruella, there is no ritual animal slaughter in our craft, nor do we practice voodoo - that is a different type of magic altogether that we do not possess. Despite what everyone thinks, we do not cast curses and we do not seek to hurt others - that is not how our gift works.”

Listening to the words of their Aunt Belle, the two little girls sighed in relief. Of course they knew they weren’t evil, but it was still comforting to know that they didn’t have to hurt any animals in their craft. 

“What we will do is look into the heart of the matter and tell you if there is anything you should be worried about. Take it or leave it.” Ruby wanted nothing more than to have one of the most selfish, self-obsessed, gold digging women on the eastern seaboard gone so she could start researching what she will need to create an alarm system for irritating people that come to call. ‘ Something we should have done ages ago’, she thought with a shake of her head.

Cruella opened her mouth once more (likely to begin another round of self-pitying complaining) when Belle quickly asked, “Do you have something belonging to your husband with you right now? Searching into his heart to see how he feels about you really is the best way. If it turns out he no longer loves you, perhaps we can look at how we can rekindle those feelings once again.” 

The woman who had caused so much disruption in such a short period of time, was finally silent as she produced a platinum money clip, engraved with the name ‘Feinberg’. Seeing the bewildered looks on the sisters’ faces, Cruella defensively asked, “What? Was I supposed to pay your exorbitant fee myself? I don’t think so! Take the money that is on it and use the clip for whatever little spell you need to perform.’

Emma and Elsa leaned as far over the railing as they dared taking in everything that was happening before them. They had never seen their aunt’s work this type of magic before and they were excited to see what would happen next. 

Ruby had quickly made her way into the little greenhouse attached to the house to gather the ingredients that they would need to perform their spell, while Belle set about inscribing strange symbols and patterns onto a sheet of wax paper where Mr Feinberg’s money clip now lay. Returning with a mortar and pestle and what appeared to be an assortment of dried and fresh flower petals, Ruby sat down at the island bench and began to crush everything within, allowing a sweet aroma to penetrate the air around them.

“Okay, so I have carnations for perspective and heart healing, citrus blossoms for clarity and assistance, primrose for feelings to be made known, yarrow to release negativity - am I missing something?” Ruby looked over to Belle who had just completed a final flourish to the last symbol she had created. “We need rosemary to stabilize the spell, I’ll grab some, just a second,” Belle replied, as she made her way to the kitchen window sill and plucked a few twigs from the rosemary plant that was housed there. Returning to Ruby side, Belle removed the leaves from each stem and sprinkled them onto the crushed petals.

Once a fine powder was formed, Ruby poured the contents directly onto the symbols, careful to ensure that none of the powder landed on the money clip or any other surface. Finally, the witches were ready, and after each taking a hand of their client, and joining hands themselves, they began to chant.

Emma looked at Elsa, wondering if she had any idea of what they were saying but Elsa looked just as confused, so she turned back to the scene below, contenting herself with listening to the melodic lilt of whatever long forgotten language that their aunts were speaking in. 

After a few moments of chanting, the powder began to lift itself from the paper, a glittering swirl of pinks and golds that seemed to brighten and then dull again with every word that was spoken. The symbols seemed to glow and as the spell went on to reach its zenith, an intense light filled the space where the three women stood. Emma gasped in delight at the light show display before quickly pressing her hands to her mouth, worried that she had drawn attention to her and Elsa’s presence. Aunt Ruby’s eyes flicked up towards them, her eyebrow raised slightly, although she didn’t seem surprised to see them there. Returning her focus back on the answers that had been provided by their spell, Emma and Elsa figured they would be permitted to stay a bit longer to see how it all played out, so they remained where they were.

“Well? What does it say?” Cruella demanded, her voice sending a grating shudder down everyone’s spine - even the house seemed to creak in displeasure. 

Ruby’s hazel eyes flashed, sending a warning that any more demands would be met with no answers and no refunds. After a few more minutes of studying the remnants of their spell, Belle leaned back in her chair, exasperation written all over her usually kind face. 

“Cruella, your husband is not going to leave you. He isn’t even cheating on you. You may want to have someone look at your finances though - seems like he has quite a few bank accounts that he would rather were not audited for tax purposes. It also looks like he has some kind of surprise waiting for you, although I couldn’t exactly see what it was-”

“Are you telling me that my good for nothing husband is hiding multiple bank accounts from me? Multiple? And he told me that I couldn’t have that diamond Cartier tennis bracelet only two weeks ago - I cannot believe this!”

“Pretty sure that’s the surprise,” Ruby muttered, looking down again at the symbols thoughtfully. 

“Cruella, aren’t you concerned that the bank accounts may be illegal?” Belle asked worriedly. 

“Why would I be, Darling? The government only threatens those kinds of things to the masses to keep them in line, not to people like the Feinbergs - we are above that kind of thing.” Cruella answered dismissively, already standing and draping her coat around herself.

“But-” Belle began, only to be halted from any further comment by Ruby.

“Well there you go. Your husband isn’t leaving you. In fact, he still loves you for some reason. And now you get a shiny new bracelet for no other reason than because your husband is a rich asshole who can afford it and can probably get away with having as many offshore accounts as he pleases. All’s well that ends well right?”

“Exactly, Darling. Well now that everything's out in the open, I must be off. Ta-ta for now, I will of course be as discreet with our little meeting here tonight as I trust that you will be as well.” And with that, Cruella took the umbrella that Belle had helpfully fetched for her and ducked back out into the now drizzling rain and darkness of the night.

Emma and Elsa had taken themselves upstairs to ready themselves for bed as soon as Cruella began to make her way to the door. As they lay in wait for the aunts to tuck them in properly and hopefully to hear another story, the two girls discussed what they had witnessed.

“That Cruella lady was kinda awful wasn’t she?” Emma said, turning on her side to face Elsa who had done the same. 

“She did seem pretty rude to Aunt Belle and Aunt Ruby, but I couldn’t stop staring at her hair. It was half black and half white! If having lots of money means you have to have weird hairstyles like that, then I don’t think I want lots of money.” Elsa shuddered as she spoke, making both girls giggle loudly as they thought about the style choices their strange visitor had.

After they had settled down some, Emma spoke up again. “I’m not sure I want to fall in love. It looks like it causes lots of hurt.” 

“What do you mean?” Elsa asked, curious as to why her sister would make such an observation. 

“Because that Cruella lady came all this way to make Aunt Belle and Aunt Ruby cast a spell so her husband would stay with her all the time. And then there is Mommy and Daddy. Mommy split up her heart so Daddy could stay alive. That must have hurt lots, but it didn’t even work in the end…”

Getting out of bed and crawling into her little sister’s, Elsa hugged Emma tight. “I don’t think I understood everything, but I think Cruella wanted her husband to stay because he had lots of money. She seemed pretty upset that he had lots of bank accounts she didn’t know about.”

“But what about Mommy and Daddy and the curse with the beetle?”

Elsa fell silent for a moment. It was a little hard to understand, their mother and father worked so hard to be together and then they died. Maybe it was something they would have to learn more about as they grew older. That was something adults always liked to say - ‘ you will understand when you’re older .’

Eventually, Elsa spoke again. “I don’t know Emma, maybe that is something that will happen to us. Maybe by the time we are ready to be in love the curse will be broken, or maybe we will find a better spell to make sure that we keep whoever we love safe. All I know is that Mommy and Daddy loved each other very much and that they loved us lots too.”

“I miss them.” Emma sighed, snuggling in closer to her sister, her eyes beginning to fall shut.

“Me too.” agreed Elsa, as she too succumbed to the call of sleep.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

It was only a few short hours later that Elsa was rudely awoken by small hands shaking her whole body with a whispered “Elsa wake up!” Cracking open one eyelid, she waited for Emma to come into focus, her face still shadowed, however the small night light that they had on had lit up Emma’s hair to a burnished gold.

“What is it Emma? Did you have a nightmare?” Elsa asked, beginning to sit up so she could try and offer whatever comfort she could. 

“No! I have an idea, c’mon!” Emma whispered excitedly.

Emma climbed over the top of Elsa, landing on the hardwood floors with a slight thump. Staying still for a moment in case the aunts came rushing in to find the source of the noise, Emma then began pulling on Elsa’s hand, urging her to get out of bed and accompany her on her midnight adventure.

Pushing their feet into their brand new fuzzy slippers, the girls made their way down the stairs as quietly as they could, skirting around areas they had already learned would give a loud groan when stepped on. Finally though, Emma was leading Elsa into the greenhouse.

Switching on the lights, their world of shadows and muted gray became awash in vibrant color. Veridian, jade, forest green, and all the shades in between, lined the ceiling and walls, benchtops, and even some parts of the old stone flooring. Nestled in amongst the leaves, budding stems, and curling vines, as well as spilling over just about every pot, was every other color of the rainbow and many others besides. It was a magnificent sight and one that the girls had still not overcome their awe of.

Reaching for a bowl from under one of the benchtops, Emma began making her way around the space, seemingly picking petals at random as she did so - oftentimes pushing a small step ladder around with her so she had access to anything out of her reach. Elsa watched her move about for a moment, still a little sleepy but mostly completely confused, wondering what on her earth had her sister trying to create a spell at this time of night when there was a warm bed upstairs and the real possibility that their aunts will find them out of it at any moment. 

“Emma, can you please tell me what you’re doing now?” Elsa asked, trying to keep the whining tone out of her voice and act like the older sister she was. 

Emma paused, her hand poised to pluck a pink middlemist rose. She was so consumed in her task that she had forgotten that she had dragged Elsa downstairs with her. “Oops, sorry! I know how I can make it so I never fall in love and die of a broken heart!”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m going to create an imaginary person that I can fall in love with. If he’s not real, then that nasty beetle can’t get him, and I won’t have a broken heart.” Emma turned back to the rose bud she had planned to pluck and place in her bowl, before moving on to the row of jars on a shelf holding a myriad of items. Elsa again watched as Emma became focused on her task once more. Creating someone imaginary to fall in love with seemed like such a silly idea at first, but the more Elsa’s young mind thought about it, the more it made sense - she just wasn’t sure it would actually work. However, if this would help Emma feel better about not ever having a broken heart, then she would believe it would work. After all, as Aunt Belle had told her that afternoon, ‘even the smallest of beliefs can provide a lot of power to a spell.’

Seeing Emma struggle to reach one of the jars high up on the shelf, Elsa climbed up the ladder as well to reach it for her. Settling it on the table, where the bowl now brimming petals was placed, she asked, “What do you need these for?” 

Opening the jars one by one, Emma replied, “I found a raven feather with Aunt Ruby at the beach. It's such a pretty color, it even shows bits of red in it if the sun shines on it when you hold it a special way. Placing the feather in her bowl, Emma began to explain her seemingly random assortment of items.

“The raven feather is for his hair and also because ravens are really smart and I don’t want to be in love with a dummy. Forget-me-nots are for eyes that will be even bluer than yours Elsa! Clover for protection, foxglove for bravery, oak for wisdom and loyal stuff - which sounds like a good thing to have, sunflower for fun and happiness, middlemist rose for love and all that adult stuff everyone always says we’ll understand when we’re older, iris for truth telling, and oh! A conch shell so he can hear my call from miles away and also because I really love the smell of the sea!”

Elsa stared at her sister in wide eyed amazement. She knew Emma was intelligent far beyond her age of five years, but the confident way in which she went about gathering her ingredients and her self-assuredness that what she was about to do would work, was enough for Elsa to see that her baby sister will be capable of a great many things as she grew up. 

“All of these items are creating your imaginary person that will never break your heart?” 

“Yep. He will love to make pancakes and be really, really good at it. And he will give the best hugs ever - you know, where you feel all safe and warm? Yeah, and he will be really kind and help people, maybe even save them!” Emma smiled as she added the final touches to her spell, pleased at what she was creating.

“Okay, so now what?” Elsa asked, as Emma picked up the bowl again and began making her way out the greenhouse and back up the stairs.

“Now, I send my wish to the divine goddess lady people and give them my ingredients,” Emma whispered, carefully avoiding the creaky step on the first flight of stairs.

When they returned to their bedroom, Emma opened the narrow french doors that led to the small balcony off to the side of the house facing the ocean beyond. Stepping out into the cold night air while holding the bowl in front of her, Emma closed her eyes and began to send her wish out to the goddesses of nature, using her natural abilities that she had not truly begun to discover nor had complete control over, to power her spell. The storm from earlier that evening had now died out, leaving only a slight breeze off the water, but that was not causing the contents of the bowl to slowly rise and swirl in intricate patterns above it. That was Emma’s magic, slowly working its way through and connecting its power with that of nature, trying to direct Emma’s wish as she had intended. 

A few minutes passed, before the wind carefully gathered up everything and sent it floating over the sea and into the deep blue. 

The two little girls watched the spell continue to swirl in harmony with the wind, until they could no longer locate its position over the water before Emma sighed and then let out a huge yawn. “I’m really sleepy now, I think we should go to bed.”

Elsa rolled her eyes and smiled, gently leading her little sister back under the warmth of her covers and hoped that her dreams would now be restful rather than filled with how on earth she could avoid the heartbreak of falling in love. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Over an ocean, and across a rocky beach, a little boy was sitting on a weathered log looking up into the approaching morning sky as the waves crashed heavily along the shore. He was ignoring the yells of his older brother telling him it was time to come inside out of the cold and to get ready for breakfast. Knowing it was only a matter of time before said brother would come out to haul him in himself, Killian Jones took one last look at the waves before standing to make his way back home. It was as he was heading along the shoreline that he was hit with a strong gust of wind and the smell of roses and was that sweet cinnamon? Looking around to see what could have caused such a lovely smell, Killian noticed a collection of dried looking petals and a perfectly preserved raven feather. Picking up the feather, he could already see the sheen of colors it reflected in the early morning light. It also seemed to be the source of the wonderful smell. Pocketing his new found treasure, Killian continued on his way home, wondering what concoction his brother had come up with for breakfast this time and whether he should try and take over kitchen duties instead.

Chapter Text

13 years later

Elsa loved nights like these. The air was alive with life and warmth, the energy of nature thrumming through her with a frenetic beat that revitalized her poor overworked mind. Her second year college exams were finally over and now her summer was spread out before her, just waiting for her to fill it with things to do - anything to keep the throb in her chest that had been growing for some time from overwhelming her. 

Elsa had known for a while now that Emma was looking to escape this town and everyone in it; she had just hoped they would have a little more time together before she did. But with the graduation ceremony now over, Emma was ready to leave. She had bravely posed for her photos with Elsa and Aunt Ruby and Aunt Belle, while everyone whispered around her that she must have cast some spell to clench Valedictorian from Regina Mills, as if it couldn’t be possible that a Swan woman could be intelligent enough to simply study hard and achieve her grades like everyone else. It probably didn’t help that her speech had fueled more resentment towards the Swans and their unholy alliance with witchcraft. It was short and to the point - a warning about the consequences of small mindedness and belief in the presence of a magical solution to all of your problems. It was met with shocked silence and a rushed half-hearted clap once it was clear that she had said all she was going to say.

So here Elsa sat, sipping her tea and stroking the soft black fur of their curiously magical house cat Henry, waiting for the inevitable. Soon enough, the sound of a motorbike could be heard making its way down the road to their driveway. There was nothing around for miles, so the house could be its only destination. If Emma thought she was making a quiet getaway from the aunts, then she should probably think again; the roar of the engine was deafening in the quiet of the night, even drowning out the waves that sounded closer than usual as they were pulled in by the call of the full moon. 

Soft footfalls could now be heard making their way down the stairs to the second floor, avoiding the creaks and squeaks that they had learnt about so many years ago now. They made their way out to the small balcony overlooking the garden, an ivy trellis below providing the perfect means to make an escape in the middle of the night. Elsa continued to sit, giving no indication that she could hear anything amiss. The candles on the table that she had lit earlier (matches and lighters barely got a workout in this house with four more than capable witches around) cast an ethereal glow across the lawn that no normal lit candle would be able to replicate. 

“Should’ve known leaving you a letter wouldn’t be enough.” Emma whispered, wrapping her arms around Elsa and laying her head on top of hers. 

Elsa smiled, squeezing her wrist gently in affection. “I have felt you pulling away for some time now, I figured tonight would be the night.” 

“That intuition of yours is getting stronger every day. Are you sure it isn’t telling you to get the hell out of here too?”

Elsa turned slightly to look at her sister. Emma was dressed in her tightest black jeans and knee high boots, the red leather jacket Ruby presented to her on her 18th birthday was fitted to her form perfectly and was zipped up - ready to combat the wind on the back of a bike. Her green eyes glittered in the light of the candles, tiny emeralds sparkling in excitement and joy. Elsa felt her heart lift in happiness for the journey her baby sister was about to embark on, even as it broke for how much she would miss her. They had never been apart for more than a night since their parents had died, and now here they were, saying goodbye. 

“This isn’t goodbye, you know.”   

“I think the guy trying to quietly make his way up the driveway would say otherwise.”

“Oh please,” Emma laughed, kneeling down now, her arms still around her stoic sister, trying to ease the heartache that she could feel emanating from her, despite her calm demeanor, “Neal isn’t some great love that I’m riding off into the midnight blue with. We both have the same goal - get the fuck out of Storybrooke. If we have a little fun on the way, then great! You however,” Emma moved, so that she was now kneeling in front of Elsa, “are one of the great loves of my life. Always have been, always will be.” 

Elsa couldn’t keep up the facade of cool composure any longer, a tear slipping down over her cheek, the track it made marring the porcelain smoothness of her skin. She shook her head, trying to shake away the silliness she was feeling at being so emotional. Of course she would see Emma again - she was her great love too. There wasn’t a thing on this earth - or any other - that could break their bond, she knew that. 

“Oh El,” Emma soothed, taking a hold of her hand and letting her energy flow through to her sister, hoping to ease some of the pain that she had clearly been hiding away for weeks now. “I will be back. You and me, we are going to live together in this ancient house and grow old, with Henry,” she laughed, rubbing his ears as he nuzzled into her hand. “We will find him a little girlfriend, one who reincarnates into another kitten and shows up on our doorstep every time they die, just like Henry does,” she continued, making Elsa snort inelegantly but halting the tears long enough so that she could clearly see the truth in Emma’s eyes. 

“What are you going to do on your grand adventure then? You’ve had so many offers for college, but you’ve never said whether you’ve accepted any of them, or if you even want to do college at all.”

Emma shot Elsa a grin, “Yeah, about that. I’m taking a gap year, but I have accepted a place at one of the ones that offered me a full ride - Aunt Belle will be so proud of my choice, I’m sure. I hated every minute I spent learning in a classroom, and I don’t know, maybe college will be different, but for now I just want freedom. I want to learn things on my own with no expectations from anyone.”

Elsa knew that, had always known that. Emma flourished when left to her own devices and creativity. It’s what made her such a talented witch. 

“I’m so happy for you Em, you know that right? Whatever you do, wherever you go, I’m going to be so proud of you.”

Emma didn’t answer, instead she turned to the guy, Neal, whom she had been seeing for the better part of her senior year, and whispered loudly for him to hear, “Babe? Can you throw your pocket knife up to me?”

A flash of silver rose into the air, before being snatched away by quick fingers. Emma knelt back down in front of Elsa, flipping open the pocket knife as she did so. “No matter where I go, we are always going to be connected. We are going to grow old together, hell, I bet we’ll even die on the same day. But for now, I’m going to feel you and you’re going to feel me, near or far, that’s the promise I make to you right now. Do you believe me?”

Elsa nodded solemnly, eyeing the knife in Emma’s hand, readying herself for the commitment that they were about to sign into one another’s souls. Emma sliced a thin line across her palm with a hiss, watching the blood well up in tiny pearls of ruby red before turning her attention to Elsa’s hand and doing the same. She closed the knife up, and pressed her injured hand against her sister’s; palm to palm, cut to cut, and intoned, “My blood. Your blood. Our blood.” The wind picked up around them as Emma spoke the words that would bind them together, the leaves that had fallen on the balcony over the last few days, swirled around them, dancing in harmony with the elements before dying down and falling silent once more. A beat passed, the humming sounds of nature all them around settling down again. Henry meowed; a confirmation of the spell being completed if ever there was one. Emma kissed his nose with a delighted giggle, her excitement back in full force. 

Standing up, Emma slid the knife into the back pocket of her jeans and lifted the duffel bag she had carried out with her and threw it down into Neal’s waiting arms. She placed one leg over the side of the railing and turned back to Elsa, who had now regained her composure, her red rimmed eyes the only clue that she had ever been crying in the first place. 

“When we get to our first destination, I will write, okay?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just send an email?”

“Oh come on, we’re witches, we’re not into technology unless Netflix is involved!”

Elsa couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her, as Emma fully hoisted herself over the railing and dropped onto the trellis below. Soon, the echoes of whispers and giggles could be heard as Neal raced towards where he had left his motorbike, Emma riding piggyback on his shoulders and disappearing into the waning summer night. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Dear Elsa, 

I am lying in the sun, with what feels like a million friends. Friends, Elsa! No one knows who I am or what I am! It’s the most amazing feeling! It felt a little strange being back in LA at first; I can barely remember when we lived here with mom and dad, so maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel like home. I can’t feel them here, but I am strangely okay with that. 

Anyway, we won’t be here long. August wants to travel down to Miami when summer is over so we can continue our endless summer. I can’t wait!!

I want to hear more about you though…

Dear Emma,

I’m so glad you’re making the most of LA and that you’re surrounded by people who you can call friends. What happened to Neal? Did you leave him behind in New Orleans? I know it wasn’t serious between you, but I hope things ended well. Tell me more about August. What is he like?

Life is going pretty well. I’m helping Aunt Ruby with managing some of the restaurants down in Portland which has been great. I’ve made a couple of friends there myself, which has been lovely. I’m seriously thinking about opening a small cafe here in Storybrooke, actually. I know what you’re thinking, ‘Why don’t you get the hell out of Storybrooke??’ I think there is a market for a little cafe with a witchy vibe. Most of the townsfolk may never step foot inside, but tourists will, and I can showcase my skills on a smaller scale before trying to expand. The aunts are going to help me where they can, but I’ve told them that I won’t accept any starting capital from them. I want to do this on my own…

Dear Elsa, 

I’m so sorry it’s been ages since I last wrote to you. I’ve been getting everything finalized here in Miami, so that all is ready for when I start at ‘Washington U’ in the fall. I managed to get a bail bonds license and started picking up skips for some extra cash. (Don’t raise your eyebrow at me El, I am super careful, no spells required!)

Oh my god! I have to tell you who I ran into at the Salsa Club the other night when I went on a date with Peter - Victor Whale. Yes, that Victor Whale who dropped a bucket of water on you when you were thirteen, to see if the ‘Ice Bitch’ would melt when it was 30 below. He didn’t recognise me at first, but when he did, the asshole tried to flirt with me. I reminded him what happened after he poured water on you. He went a really interesting shade of gray and then started trying to tell everyone in the place that I was a witch. Everyone just thought he was drunk - which to be fair, he was…

Dear Emma, 

I’ve met someone. He is new to town and he is… he is just lovely. He doesn’t care about the fact that the town hates me because I’m a witch. I think he is a little bit skeptical about the whole witch thing, but it doesn’t matter. We have been on three dates already and I have never felt this way about anyone before…

Dear Elsa, 

College is great. I’m on the fast track to graduate early, and I have been offered a place to continue my studies in the History and Social Sciences department. I’ve loved learning all about alchemy and its foundations in what we know about science today, but I don’t know - I’m starting to feel closed in. I’m not sure I even want to look for positions within the forensic field, which I really ought to, given that’s my major. I’m feeling a little lost. 

Enough about me though. How are you and Jack going? Has he put a ring on it yet? Wait, don’t tell me! I want you to tell me on our next Facetime call, okay? I’m so happy for you El! You may be miles away right now, but I can feel you. It gives me strength to know you’re so settled and happy. I bet the aunts and Henry are missing you terribly now that you’ve moved out…

The sisters had mostly corresponded with each other over the years via letters. It was extremely old-fashioned, but the power of their handwritten words became a talisman of sorts, a security in the darkness of night when nothing seemed right and everything felt lost. Emma had made very few trips home, much to the upset of their aunts and Elsa, but they understood. She wasn’t done in her search; for what, she had no idea and neither did they, but they knew she couldn’t settle down anywhere until she had found it. 

She was living in Phoenix when she felt the scar on the palm of her hand burn for the first time, a wave of grief crashing over her and a wish echoing in her head, the devastation in the voice as clear as a bell. I wish you were here, Emma. I need you to tell me it will be okay. 

Elsa . No one else would ever be able to call out to her in this way. She made to slip out of bed when she felt an arm curl around her, tugging her back, a sleep roughened whisper of “And where do you think you’re going?” forcing her to remember the man she was currently sharing her bed with - Walsh. 

“I need the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” she whispered back, twisting her neck slightly to give him a kiss. He deepened it, as though he couldn’t bear the thought of her being out of his arms for more than a moment. 

“Fine, we’ll go together,” he breathed with a grin, his eyes alight once more with the crazed passion with which he had been attempting to worship her all night with. 

“Walsh, come on!” Emma laughed, breaking out of his hold and slipping out of the sheets. She grabbed the bottle of tequila that they had left on the nightstand before collapsing into each other’s arms - he, exhausted from their night of drinking, and her, grateful that she managed to yet again forestall his attempts to ‘make love to her’. She took a swig, winking at him as she backed into the bathroom, and he just laughed, rolling onto his back and stretching out his arms above his head. 

Closing the door behind her, Emma sat on the lid of the toilet seat, debating her next move. She knew Walsh would hate the idea of her leaving for any prolonged period of time. His devotion to her bordered on the possessive that was far unequal to the feelings that she had for him. All these years and yet, she had never felt herself to be in love with anyone. Walsh wasn’t any different. She knew she needed to end it now before things became untenable, but it would have to be something she figured out when she returned. For now though, she needed a way to slip out quietly. She swirled the contents of the tequila bottle she had taken with her inside the bathroom, contemplating how long she would need to get from here to Maine before Walsh could start harassing her about where she was and what she was doing. Standing up, she opened her medicine cabinet searching through the assorted bottles and tubes before finding what she needed - a small glass bottle with a tiny faded label in Aunt Belle’s neat script. Belladonna . 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“Wake up El, I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

“Emma?” Elsa opened her reddened eyes, still stinging from the amount of tears she had shed while alone in their childhood bedroom. She couldn’t bear to be in the house that she had shared with her husband Jack. Her baby girls were too small to understand where their father had gone and why the floorboards in the family room were in a scattered heap - the product of their mother desperately trying to find the Death Watch beetle before it took him away from them. So she had asked the aunts if they could move back in, which they agreed to gladly and with no small amount of guilt attached; after all, it was they who had meddled in her love life to begin with, thinking that if they cast a love spell to bring the two young people together, it would cancel out the curse. To Elsa though, it was just an experiment that had failed spectacularly. She was furious that they had done it at the cost of her feelings, at the cost of the little girls she now had to raise on her own; especially when they told her they wouldn’t bring him back to her - that they don’t do that - ever. 

“How are you here?” Elsa asked, her lip beginning to tremble as she attempted to hold back her tears. 

Emma gently lifted Elsa’s hand and traced the scar she had left there what felt like a lifetime ago. “My blood. Your blood. Our blood,” she murmured, pressing her own scarred palm against it. A choked sob broke free from Elsa’s lips, which had Emma shifting onto the bed and pulling her into her arms. She let the grief she felt for her brother-in-law mix with that of her sister and young nieces, until there was nothing left for either of them to expel. 

It was sometime later that they quietly made their way downstairs to raid Belle’s tea supply and sample a few of Elsa’s baked sweets, before heading back to their bedroom to catch each other up on one another’s lives.  

“So, how is Arizona? Or I suppose more importantly, how is the man you left behind in Arizona?” Elsa asked, her eyes lit up in playful curiosity as she delicately sipped at her elderberry and chamomile tea. 

Emma leant back into the mound of cushions she had piled onto the fluffy cream rug in the center of the room, wondering what she should say. She didn’t want to worry her sister about Walsh. For her, he was just another guy who was keeping her loneliness at bay until the whisper of the wind from the East called to her, giving her warning it was time to move on. It was funny though, that wind had yet to call out to her, and it had already been eight months. Eight long months with a man she knew was not in her future.

“It’s hot and dry, and there are so many goddamn flying insects that it drives me insane sometimes,” Emma said, choosing to stick to the more superficial aspects of her life there. Elsa didn’t seem to buy it, given the way her eyebrow rose as she selected a brownie off the plate they were sharing between them. 

“I do love the nights though. I’m renting this amazing ranch style house that looks right out onto the valley desert. I like to sit out on the patio by the peace pond and just listen to all of the sounds of nature that I didn’t even know existed. It’s so different to here - alien almost - but somehow, it makes me think of home. There are also some seriously hot cowboys too, which really helps with enjoying the scenery,” Emma added, trying to move past her wistful thoughts of returning to this house and never leaving again. She couldn’t do that yet. There was still something out there waiting for her that she had yet to find. 

Elsa smiled, seeing Emma’s tumultuous thoughts as though she were speaking them out loud. Emma had never been one to share her thoughts and feelings until she was good and ready; she could wait until her sister was ready to reveal whatever it was that she was keeping secreted away. 

“And are you dating any of these cowboys? I hear they are quite rough and tumble on the outside, but rather soft and tortured on the inside.” 

“I am not dating a cowboy sadly ,” Emma sighed, the last word mumbled quietly. Walsh liked to think he was a cowboy - he certainly tried to dress the part - but he was nothing more than a guy who owned a dive bar she had started to frequent when she moved to Phoenix. 

“Okay, so tell me who you are dating. I know you broke it off with that Lance guy you were seeing when you were still working at the county sheriff’s office in Columbia, but you haven’t mentioned anyone else since. I know you would have found someone else pretty quickly!” 

“Hey!”

Emma knew she couldn’t really protest. From the time she had rode off on the back of Neal Cassidy’s motorbike, she had bounced from one guy to the next; never staying for too long and always moving on with barely a dent in her heart. She often wondered if the spell she had cast as a little girl with no true understanding of her gifts had actually worked. Was that why every man she had dated seemed to fall so far off what she had assumed were fairly attainable standards? 

“Look, it's nothing serious. Well, not for me anyway. I’m actually thinking it might be time to cut him loose, even if that means finding a new bar to unwind at.” 

“Seriously!? Emma…”

“I know, I know, but he’s really… intense… and clingy… and just really freakin’ weird. You know, he actually talks about our relationship in terms of centuries.”

“Centuries?”

“Yeah, he’s got this idea that we’re soulmates and now that we’ve found each other, every lifetime we have will be shared together. It’s an insane idea, and every time I try to brush it off or turn it into some kind of joke, he gets even more obsessive and-” Emma paused. She didn’t want to go into detail about how far Walsh went the last time she tried to make less of their relationship status - the marks on her arms and wrists were faded enough now that she no longer had to buy multiple tubes of the good brand of concealer. She took a breath, and smirked as she continued, “Sometimes, I have to slip him a little Belladonna just to get some sleep.”

“So you’re drugging him? Emma, come on, you have to see how terrible that looks. Imagine if a guy did that to you…” Elsa had straightened her posture, disapproval and worry flickered in her eyes at the measures her sister was taking - this wasn’t like Emma. What was going on?

Emma nervously fiddled with the crumbs on her plate, a design of swirls taking shape - a perfect complement to the thoughts that refused to stop swirling through her mind. 

“El, he’s strong. Much stronger than me.” 

Despite once making a living as a bail bondsperson, most people she brought in came along quietly, and if they didn’t, she always had a few tricks to make them change their mind. She had never gone after the dangerous ones though - it wasn’t worth it when she had other career paths to pursue. She just needed to find a way to break it off with Walsh safely and without needing to flee the state. It wasn’t time to leave it behind just yet. 

Elsa reached across the space between them, and Emma met her halfway, the fingers of their scarred hands linking together, creating a conduit to share their burden of emotions and find some peace until they were separated once more. 

Elsa shifted, so that she was laying on her side next to Emma. “You know, you can always call me? No matter where you are, what time it is; if you need me, I’m there. Okay?”

Emma nodded in acceptance. She would have to be in dire straits for her to want to worry Elsa about anything she had to deal with - especially now that she was a new widow with two little girls to take care of. 

Leveling Elsa with an unwavering gaze, Emma said, “And you know that you are strong enough to come out on the other side of this. Tomorrow, you are going to wake up and you are going to live a new day. You are going to open that cafe just like you and Jack planned and you are going to be a success; with or without this shitty town’s approval. Most importantly though, you are going to continue to love and care for those brilliant nieces of mine.”

A few more tears spilled over Elsa’s cheeks but they were not laden with grief and sadness as they had been before. Now they held a certain kind of relief of the pain she had been experiencing, and a hopefulness for what would come next. There was still the funeral to plan and get through, as well as the inevitable whispers and accusations that she was sure to have thrown her way by everyone who had ever heard of the name of ‘Swan’. It would be okay though, because Emma would be there, and despite her still simmering fury with the aunts, she knew that they too would support her and take care of everything that she could not. The sisters closed their eyes, too tired to move to the twin beds positioned under the window, and too content in amongst the blankets and cushions they had settled into on the floor. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa woke to the pop and crackle of burning wood. She sleepily turned towards the fireplace, vaguely wondering if she had gotten up earlier to stoke it up again before remembering that she wasn’t the only one who had slept here last night. She glanced back to where Emma had slept; everything had been cleared away - as though she had never been there. Noticing something crinkle under her hand, Elsa looked down. A page ripped out of a small notepad was folded over itself. Opening it, she scanned the half cursive, half block script that was characteristic of her younger sister’s impatient hand. 

I’m so sorry El. I have to head back. I just got a message from one of the guys at Phoenix PD letting me know they responded to a call about a disturbance and possible break in at my place. Once I sort out everything, I will be back to help you with the girls and saying goodbye to Jack, okay?

Love you, Em. x

“Love you too, Emma,” Elsa muttered quietly as she lay back and stared up at the intricate carved detailing of the ceiling above her. Emma wasn’t lying that something had happened, but she couldn’t help feeling that there was more to it than that. She just hoped that Emma wouldn’t try to deal with it all on her own. But for now, it was a new day and she was going to take her sister’s advice and get started on her new normal. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Emma took the earliest flight that she could back to Phoenix. Walsh’s threat to follow her to Storybrooke and to her family wasn’t really a threat; it was a promise. The fact that he had trashed her place in a drunken (and possibly drug fuelled) rage was enough to push her into doing what she had known she was going to do since that first mark ‘accidentally’ appeared on her arm a month ago. Loneliness was a far more appealing prospect than an obsessive asshole who became abusive whenever she opposed him and bruised his precious ego. 

As the taxi pulled up to her house, Emma dug into the bottom of her tote bag, fishing out her obsidian stone of protection. Gripping it tightly to her chest, she silently mouthed an incantation for safety and heightened vigilance, not knowing what she would find when she crossed the threshold of her temporary home. 

Stepping onto the small porch, Emma noticed that the front door had been replaced and a temporary lock installed that required a passcode to unlock - she had no doubt that her landlord would try to find a way to charge her for it, along with the time, money and inconvenience that the break in had caused. Typing in the passcode that had been texted to her, she cautiously moved inside, flipping on lights as she did so, taking in the destruction that extended the length and breadth of the house. There wasn’t a wall that wasn’t smeared with something that looked suspiciously like the cherry flavored syrup that she liked to add to her drinks and desserts from time to time; every cushion that she owned, along with those belonging to the sofa and armchair in the lounge room, were slashed, their stuffing strewn about everywhere without care; and the few delicate photo frames that she owned were all smashed to glittering fragments - although thankfully the photos within had been spared. Entering her bedroom, Emma looked around and determined that this was certainly the epicenter of the rage that had descended when she had disappeared only two days before. 

She sat on the edge of her bed, avoiding the broken shards of the tequila bottle at her feet, overwhelmed by what she was seeing. Like the rest of the house, the walls had been decorated with that same cherry red liquid; however, where there had only been nonsensical patterns - or rather just general defacement with no purpose behind it - insults and threats had been scrawled around a haphazardly drawn shape of a love heart. A hole was depicted in the middle of it seeping what could only be assumed were supposed to be droplets of blood. There was something familiar about the image, but she couldn’t place where she had seen it. Fighting off the shudder that threatened to race down her spine, Emma turned her attention to the words, anger fused with a large dose of fear sparking a need to clean it all off. She started to move towards the bathroom to locate a washcloth or towel that wasn’t ruined beyond use before her logic re-emerged. She couldn’t simply clean up what she no longer wanted to see as she hadn’t received the go ahead from the police. She worked in the field; she knew it didn’t always take just a few hours to collect all the evidence there was to find at a crime scene. There was no way she was going to stay the night here though. She would spend only as long as she needed to for a quick inventory of anything missing to hand over to the officers assigned to her case, all while ignoring the words that told her she was a ‘Bitch’ and a ‘ Whore’ and that she would ‘pay for breaking my heart’ . 

“When my heart is wounded, I lash out at the person who caused it to bleed.” 

Emma stilled at the cold, detached voice coming from the doorway. She hadn’t heard anyone come in after her, causing her fear to heighten tenfold. Spying a decorative glass sphere she kept on her bathroom vanity, she snatched it up, forming a fist around it as she did so. If Walsh had plans on hurting her, she could at least try and fight back by landing a punch that could incapacitate him long enough for her to make an escape. Turning around slowly, Emma regarded Walsh. It was obvious he was coming down hard from some kind of cocktail of drugs - the fresh track marks on his arm, visible even from where she was standing, giving credence to the suspicion. His eyes were clouded over but rimmed with a deep shade of red, crazily putting Emma in mind of the reanimated dead that she had once spied in a book on voodoo. She silently cursed herself for her idiocy in mixing Belladonna with the tequila so she could make her getaway to Elsa. It wasn’t typically a drug that one could get addicted to, but Emma knew she should've seen the signs that Walsh was more than just a light recreational user. Taking a deep breath and pushing down the nerves that were beginning to show in the trembling of her hands, Emma spoke calmly, “Why, Walsh? I was barely gone for a day. My sister needed me, but I was always going to come back. Back to you.” She hoped he could hear some sincerity in her words as now was not the time to end things - not while she was alone here with him with no backup available to her; her spell of protection could only hold off so much. 

Walsh chuckled, but again it was cold with no feeling behind it. “How many times do I have to tell you before you understand and believe me, baby? We are one, always and forever. Where you go, I follow; but I can’t do that if you disappear without a fucking trace! When you leave me, it hurts me and that isn’t fair, so I do what I need to make the pain go away.” At his last words, he swept his arm across the room, as though to excuse the damage he had caused in his rage. The deranged gleam in his eyes now told Emma everything she needed to do; placate and escape. 

“I’m sorry, Walsh. I really am. I had no idea that you needed me this much.” Emma took a step forward, still clutching the sphere tightly in her fist, ready to throw the first punch if she had to.

“No, of course you didn’t, because you have never taken me seriously. I’ve tried to make you understand so many times, and yet all you do is act as though our connection has an expiration date - like you’re just waiting for something better to come along. We are soulmates, Emma, and it’s about time you accepted it. Now that I finally found you, I’m never letting you go. You are mine!” With every word spoken, Walsh’s voice rose higher in volume, the coldness dissipating to reveal an unchecked passion that broke past the border of deep and abiding love and crossed over into obsession. 

Walsh pushed off the door frame he had been leaning against and walked unsteadily towards Emma, collapsing before her and pressing his face against her stomach, his hands gripping so tightly onto her hips that there would certainly be bruising there tomorrow as he began to sob uncontrollably. Emma automatically lifted her hand to sift through his hair. She felt no affection in the action, but knew she couldn’t stay motionless for fear it would set him off once again. She tried to make out the words he was mumbling into her belly, only able to catch the odd ‘mine’ and ‘forever’. Staring at the image on the wall again, Emma suddenly realized what it was that was so familiar about it. The mark of the ‘Wounded Heart’ killer. She had studied that mark so many times in her consultations with her fellow forensic investigators all over the South West - how was she suddenly living this nightmare that she had only read about? Silently sending a prayer to the Maiden and Huntress for fortitude and strength, she tried to hold her panic at bay, knowing that any change in her emotions and her reaction to them could tip him off. 

She would allow him to fall apart, get him as vulnerable as possible, and provide whatever simple comfort she could. That way, when she made her next escape, he would be just as unsuspecting as he was last time. She needed to get back to Elsa - everything else could wait.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Special Agent Killian Jones stormed through the doors of the Arizona field office of the FBI, a to-go cup of hot tea in his hand and a scowl on his lips that was partially hidden by the brim of his Stetson. Most people (his brother included), took delight in teasing him about his first choice of beverage during work hours - his British heritage still visibly apparent despite having lived in the States since the age of twelve - however, when Killian Jones was in a dark mood, his co-workers knew to keep their heads down and ensure that he was given a wide berth. The ‘Wounded Heart’ killer was Killian’s first major case where he was given a lead role within the investigating team and evidence pointing to the killer were as elusive to come by as were any leads on the evidence they did have. Killian had been brought into this case specifically due to his previous successes in reviewing a case from a different perspective and finding the pieces needed to pinpoint their target and bring them in. His brother Liam, ran the investigation from the comfort of his office, coordinating leads and reporting to management back in Quantico. He was one of the youngest Deputy Special Agents in Charge at the age of thirty-two, and Killian couldn’t be prouder. He just needed to prove that he was here on his own merit and not because of his brother’s success.

Throwing himself into his office chair, Killian removed his hat and raked his fingers through the dark strands of his hair, willing away the headache beginning to form from long hours and little sleep. As he took a sip of his tea, he moved the mouse connected to his computer to wake it up and enter in the passcode to access the Bureau’s secure server. He was hoping to see if his colleagues in both Nevada and New Mexico had emailed him back with any information they had on the one piece of evidence linking the murders of six young women across three states, each branded with the mark of their killer. 

Two loud thunks startled Killian out of his focus on the screen, as a grinning Liam leaned on the desk beside him.  

“A meatball sub, with extra cheese, hold the jalapenos, and a gift from Phoenix PD. You are welcome little brother.” 

“Younger brother,” Killian reminded automatically, “and a meatball sub? I thought you said that Tony’s meatball subs are a heart attack waiting to happen?”

“Everything in moderation Kil, and besides, with your eating habits of late, I sincerely doubt it will make a difference to your delicate figure.”

Killian snorted and shook his head, his bad mood ebbing slightly. Liam had always known how to bring about an end to Killian’s moodiness as a kid, why should it be any different now?

Leaning back in his seat, Killian placed a hand over the ‘gift’ that Liam had dropped onto his desk - a manilla folder stamped with the emblem of the Phoenix Police Department. “A gift from you, or from Starkey who I know has contacts in just about every local police force in the state?”

Liam sighed, although a smirk still lingered about his mouth. “Thank you was all you needed to say brother, especially since I took time out of my busy schedule to make sure you had something more substantial than tea for lunch.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Killian deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he turned his attention to unwrapping his sandwich while flipping open the case file to peruse while he ate. Liam left Killian to his study and lunch; he really did have quite a busy schedule today, his superiors were breathing down his neck about this ‘Wounded Heart’ killer. It had been eight months since the attacks, but there had been plenty of similar cases in the meantime that still kept the community on edge and worried about when the next victim would turn up. 

Taking a bite of his lunch, Killian read through the report of a break and enter and subsequent destruction of property at the home of a Miss Emma Swan. Miss Swan had been in Maine visiting family when the incident occurred, and as yet had not indicated whether anything had been stolen from the property. There didn’t appear to be anything particularly unique about the crime that had taken place; the level of destruction throughout certainly pointed to a personal vendetta against the occupant rather than just tossing around everything in the search for valuables. It wasn’t until he unearthed the crime scene photos of the bedroom that Killian understood why this case was sent to him. There, covering a significant portion of one wall, was the calling card of their killer: a love heart showing blood dripping from a hole in its middle - a wounded heart. 

“Hey Jones! You read that B&E report yet?” Starkey called as he walked into the bullpen, balancing a stack of files from one of their other open cases in one hand, and a tray of coffees in the other. Killian ignored Starkey’s question as he frantically skimmed through the persons of interest on the report, hoping for a name that sparked some kind of recognition. The third name on the list - Walsh Osman, boyfriend to Miss Swan - was familiar; not in an overt way, but it was something that Killian could follow up on now. 

 He scanned through his notes from each of the previous murders, searching for where he had seen that name before. The first victim, Dorothy Gale, had only been living in Nevada for a year before her murder. Her boyfriend, Walsh, had been questioned at the time, but had been cleared of any involvement by the Reno PD after his alibi had been verified. The couple had argued publicly the night of Dorothy’s murder, although no one could say what it had been about exactly, except that Dorothy had stated she would move back to Kansas if she needed to. According to Osman, it was because of a sick aunt that would need long term care. 

Killian stared unseeingly at the words on his screen. It was too much of a coincidence for a person to be involved in the case at such different times and in separate locations. The first murder had happened over two years ago, with the break and enter having occurred less than three days ago. Instinct told him that he was onto something here, but telling his brother, hell even his brother’s superiors, that his gut was pointing to this Walsh guy having more to do with the case than anyone initially thought, was never going to fly. He needed to build his evidence up before presenting it to the team, which would mean an all-nighter and plenty of tea to compensate him. However, that left the question of Emma Swan. If Killian was right in his suspicions, how safe would she be until he could bring Osman in for questioning and potential arrest? One victim was one too many, and now they had six. He couldn’t handle investigating a seventh. 

“Starkey, do you know if the investigating officers have had a chance to speak with Miss Swan about the break in? The report only mentions their intention to speak with her.”

Starkey, shook his head in the negative, before responding, “No, I think Smee mentioned something about there being a death in the family up north, so they were going to wait until she made it back to Phoenix. It’s not like they wouldn’t know how to get a hold of her if they needed to urgently - she works as a forensic investigator for the department.”

“What?” Killian quickly pulled up the state police database and typed in Emma’s name. There she was, Emma Swan, forensic investigator with the Phoenix PD for the last nine months; however, she had worked previously in Seattle and Indiana for short stints as well. He clicked on her photo thumbnail to enlarge it and felt his breath leave him. Glittering green eyes stared back at him with a demure smile gracing her lips. She appeared unassuming and professional, but Killian knew without a doubt that she was so much more interesting than that. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, but there was no hiding the fact that if she let it down, it would be a riotous mass of golden curls, tempting many a person to gently run their fingers through it. 

The smell of roses and sweet cinnamon enveloped his senses the longer he gazed at the photo of the enchanting woman before him. He looked around him, but none of his female colleagues were anywhere close to them (not for lack of trying at least on their part); the source of the mystery scent eluding him. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he had been assaulted with this particular phantom smell; it had frequently come upon him ever since he was a child. His raven’s lucky feather he found as a boy seemed to be infused with it, but that was sitting at home in a small box on his nightstand. Killian couldn’t help the crazy thought that Emma Swan with her sweet smile and beguiling eyes had invoked one of his most favorite smells.

Shaking his head at his ridiculousness, he focused his attention on the evidence he was about to compile, calling out requests to Starkey and Mullins to assist him in his endeavor. Someone needed to get in contact with Emma and get her away from her boyfriend until they could be absolutely sure there was no risk to her life - or at the very least, her heart. 

Chapter Text

“Bloody fuck!” Killian thundered across the empty bullpen, the computer mouse he had been agitatedly clicking to zoom in on a CCTV captured image of a man bearing no resemblance to his suspect, careening across the room and shattering against the wall of his brother’s office. 

“I appreciate the frustration Little Brother, but throwing government issued hardware at walls isn’t going to solve the problem at hand; although, I can’t fault your aim, the pieces have all landed neatly into the trash.” 

Liam’s wry observation as he poked his head out of his office door, only served to make Killian press his palms into his eyes in annoyance at being caught out throwing a tantrum, the explosion of white spots bursting across his vision as he did so doing nothing to ease the exhaustion and subsequent headache he knew he couldn’t afford to nurse right now.  

It had been four long and excruciating weeks since Killian had set his sights on Walsh Osman being their killer; however, whether by some kind of tip off or sheer instinct, the man had gone completely off grid. He had left his business, his home, and his girlfriend, disappearing to god knows where. Killian was sure that he hadn’t crossed over into Mexico - which would have likely been the fastest escape route from the authorities - but it also didn’t seem as though he had tried to return to any of his old haunts in Nevada or New Mexico. Perhaps he had knowledge on how to survive in the desert and was lying low until he could figure out his next steps, and if he did, what hope did they have locating him out there? 

At first, it had been easy to set a course for bringing in Osman for questioning about his relationship with all of the victims. Killian had only needed two days of research to get all of the information that he needed to back up his hunch and present it to Liam and the rest of the team for approval to follow through on the lead. Starkey had even been able to speak with the elusive Emma Swan about her boyfriend’s whereabouts; although that had proven to be a dead end. She had apparently broken up with him the week prior to the vandalism of her home and hadn’t had any reason to believe that he was the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’ until he had decided to tag the walls of her bedroom with his calling card. She had only returned to Phoenix long enough to hand over a few assignments that she had been working on and set her home to rights before heading back to Maine to support her sister and mourn the death of her brother-in-law. 

Thinking about Emma Swan again caused a sigh of longing to escape Killian’s lips. He had wanted to question the lass himself and perhaps while he was at it, understand if his immediate attraction to her was merely of a physical nature - much like the hormonal teenager with no real knowledge of women he used to be - but Liam had demanded he attend the video conference call with the bosses back in Quantico for an update on how the case was progressing. After the interview, she had taken off again, and although there was nothing out of the ordinary with her statement, he couldn’t help feeling that it was a little too simple. There had been very little emotion behind her words (at least according to Starkey), and it left him feeling unsettled. His gut was telling him that Emma Swan was anything but lacking in emotion, despite her line of work where facts and science were the only things of importance. He needed to speak to her and make sure that she was completely safe, but he didn’t want to interrupt her time of mourning with her family unless it was absolutely necessary, so he continued to wrestle with his own feelings on this enigmatic woman in silence, praying that her small hometown on some rural coast up north was too much of an inconvenience for her ex to bother making the journey.

“You’re exhausted, Kil. You need a proper meal and a good night’s sleep. Everything will be waiting for you in the morning. Right now, you’re no good to these poor women who need you to find that bastard and bring them the peace they deserve.” 

Killian jumped at Liam’s gentle words, not realizing his brother had made his way over to his desk, leaning against it as he assessed his best agent and more importantly, his only family. Again, Killian sighed, this time in resignation. Liam was right, he couldn’t be of any use to Osman’s victims if kept insisting on neglecting his own bodily needs that allowed him to perform at his best. He owed those women his best. 

Now that he was without his mouse, Killian squinted blearily at the keyboard looking for the shortcut keys that would help him shut down his computer for the night. Liam chuckled, and nudging him aside, shut off the computer for him, before also nudging him  out of his seat to grab his jacket so they could leave the office together.     

Stepping out into the warm, clear night, the brothers debated on where they should go for take out. Although they didn’t live together anymore, it was not uncommon for them to share dinner unless one or the other had to work late  or had a date. Killian would usually whip up something for the two of them to enjoy; however, he couldn’t remember the last time he had shopped for groceries and anyway, he was much too tired to put together anything that could be considered a well-balanced meal. 

The brothers had just agreed to try out the new Thai restaurant a couple of blocks away from the office when Liam’s work cell began to ring. Knowing that if someone was calling this late it wouldn’t be for a casual check-in or inquiry, both men changed direction and headed back inside, Killian staring intently at the phone in Liam’s hand as he answered the call.

“Jones,” Liam answered brusquely, his eyes flicking towards Killian as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

Killian tried to discern what was happening by reading the expressions on his older brother’s face; however, Liam as ever, revealed nothing, his demeanor unruffled and his emotions kept locked away.

“I have one of my agents with me, so we’ll both head out to the scene now. Be there in 30.” Liam hung up without waiting for a response and began walking towards the parking lot, pulling out his key fob as he did so.

A pit began to form in Killian’s stomach the longer Liam maintained his silence. If the call had been to advise of an intangible lead, Liam would already be filling him in on all of the details and his speculations at what it could all mean. Heading towards Liam’s FBI issued, nondescript black sedan rather than Killian’s conspicuous silver Chevelle, Killian tried to reign in his questions until his brother - and at this very moment, his boss - was ready to relay where they were going and why. 

Finally, as he was backing out of his designated space, Liam spoke, his voice low and full of self-condemnation.

“Phoenix PD were called to the Echo Canyon trail earlier today to investigate some partially burnt human remains. Preliminary reporting suggests the remains are that of a female, aged between 25 to 40 years. It is not known yet whether the victim was killed on site or if they were transported there after.”

Killian focused on the streetlights they were speeding past, his mind flipping through all of the cases he had been a part of since he joined Liam’s team as though they were pages in a book on the worst of humanity. They had caught Felix Piper over a year ago just outside of Tucson; he had been a simple arsonist who turned serial killer when he decided he didn’t mind if there were people in the buildings he set alight or not. However, he wasn’t really one for outdoor pursuits; therefore, it was unlikely they were dealing with another of his victims. If this body was found in Echo Canyon, the killer would have to be an experienced hiker to not only make it through the trail, but strong enough to drag their victim (dead or alive) to their final resting place.

“Why are we being called out? What makes the cops think this is out of their jurisdiction?” Killian asked, his eyes still trained on the world outside of the car, readying himself for the horror he was about to investigate. 

Liam sighed, his hands flexing on the steering wheel as he too began to prepare himself. “They found a… calling card. A heart with a hole in its middle was found on the victim’s chest, just above their own heart.” 

A feeling of panic swept over Killian. 

Could the body in the desert be that of Emma Swan? Did she not make it to Maine to be with her sister? 

No. No, surely the victim was not Miss Swan, just another poor woman who was unfortunate enough to cross the path of Walsh Osman. 

Silence again permeated the vehicle, each Jones brother lost in their own thoughts of what this latest victim would mean for the overall case against Osman. Before Killian could think too much more on what their next best step was in tracking their killer down, Liam turned into the parking lot of the national park, where a couple of uniformed officers were waiting with flashlights, ready to lead them to the crime scene.  

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Neither man was dressed appropriately for a hike, but they pressed on, their discomfort immaterial compared to the situation awaiting them. Finally, after about 45 minutes of steady incline along rocky paths, they reached an outcropping that offered stunning views of the desert beyond and the city lights that seemed so insignificant when up this high. The area around them was strewn with boulders of varying sizes and interspersed with rugged plants and undergrowth determined to thrive in the harsh conditions of shallow soil and sparse water supply. 

A mixed group of uniformed officers, detectives and forensic personnel were huddled around a corner of the cliff face furthest from the trail, lit up by generator-powered flood lights that had Killian shielding his eyes against the brightness as he and Liam walked over to John Smee - a veteran detective who was always more than glad to hand over a case to anyone else if it meant he didn’t have to have to work too hard to catch the killer. Killian had often wondered why such a man had ever bothered looking for a career in law enforcement if it had seemed like such an effort to chase down leads and catch criminals. Shaking away his thoughts of the rotund man who had noticed their presence, Killian settled his mind on the victim who had been found and what they could uncover from her brutal murder. 

“Sir, Agent Jones.” Smee nodded his head in deference to the two men from the FBI who would likely be taking over the case if they confirmed that the evidence they had found matched their ongoing chase for the ‘Wounded Heart Killer.’ 

Both men muttered their own greetings briefly before Liam cut straight to the point, “What are the events that have led up to now?” 

“Well…” Smee began nervously. The man was terrified of the Jones’ and had always preferred to liaise with Agent Starkey on any matter that  related to the FBI; however, given the high profile of the case at hand, his own captain had demanded he speak with those in charge directly to ensure all facts were transferred with accuracy.  

“There was a local geologist - a Mr. Darling - who had been doing some surveys of the area and  decided to bring his dog along. As you might know, people are not allowed to bring dogs on this trail-”

Killian raised an eyebrow in impatience, as his head tilted to the side signaling to skip the irrelevant details and move on. Smee, on noticing the agent’s silent request, gulped heavily and continued, “Well the ah, dog, it began creating a ruckus, barking and straining to get away from Mr. Darling so it could investigate this space right here,” Smee glanced quickly at Killian again to make sure he hadn’t further aggravated him. 

“Go on, detective,” Liam urged, his voice polite but leaving no question that he needed to hurry up. 

“Yes, sir. As I was saying, the dog was causing so much noise, that a few hikers alerted some of the rangers down at the park’s station. When the rangers arrived, they found a very distressed Mr. Darling who had found a body shoved into a crevice in the cliff which had been covered up with dead tree branches and rocks as you see here. Once the rangers confirmed what was inside the crevice, they called us and we’ve been collecting evidence ever since. We haven’t been able to ID her yet, but it was this that made me think that she may be related to the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’.”  

Creating a path amongst the people crowded around the crime scene, Smee led Liam and Killian to the victim, now interred in a body bag ready to be transported to the morgue. Crouching down beside the bag, Killian carefully unzipped it, revealing what was clearly a young woman who had suffered terribly before her death. Despite most of her face being burnt beyond recognition, some of her hair was still intact. It was dark brown and likely would have been sleek and shiny once upon a time. Killian sighed in relief - this woman was definitely not Emma Swan. Moving the zipper down further, it was obvious that the killer had no clear knowledge of how they wished to dispose of the body. It seemed like shoving it out of sight into the crevice was a last resort once they realized that burning the body would take too long and arouse too much suspicion the longer they stayed out in the open. 

Scanning the victim’s chest area, Killian found the link to their killer, but almost recoiled in disgust at the sight. Raised flesh, unmarred by fire but showing a burn nonetheless, depicted a small heart with a hole in its middle. She had been branded. 

The bloody bastard branded her so that she would remain his forever...

“Do you have an approximation for time of death?” Killian barked, standing up again and looking around at the group.

“No-not an exact time, no… b-but based on a cursory observation, and the rate of decomposition of the areas of her body that haven’t been burned, it’s believed she may have died between seven months to a year ago…” Smee quickly answered, before anyone else could stoke the anger brewing in the agent’s eyes. 

Killian stepped back, allowing one of the forensic team to reclose the bag, and stalked around to the crevice that had been discovered behind all of the detritus used to hide it. Scorch marks could be faintly seen on the ground and against the cliff face itself. Lost in thoughts of how their victim could have been brought up here unnoticed, a breeze drifted in off the desert floor, the scent of roses and sweet cinnamon thick in the air. Killian closed his eyes, allowing the wind to dance around and through him, momentarily distracting him from the horror he had just observed and thanking his overworked mind for the respite that his favorite smell always invoked. 

With a final sigh, Killian made to turn his attention back to the crime scene, when he heard it: a voice apologizing and pleading for forgiveness. It was as though the voice - low and husky in tone that would be perfectly enticing to him were it not for the panic and terror that was woven through every word spoken - came from the very breeze itself. Quickly moving towards the outcropping’s edge, Killian peered out into the darkness of the night, trying to discern where the voice had come from. It was so clear that he couldn’t have imagined it surely, but no one else seemed perturbed by the outburst as they continued collecting the remaining evidence so they could finally leave the site and start the trek back down the hiking trail. 

Golden curls and an amused smile broke through Killian’s thoughts as the voice changed from panicked apologies to whispered pleas for help, forcing him to flinch backwards in surprise. 

Why did hearing that voice make him think of Emma Swan? 

The pit that had formed in his stomach the moment Liam had answered his cell deepened, threatening to swallow him whole in fear, his earlier worries of whether Emma was safe with her family coming back to the fore. How could he possibly be thinking like this? Hearing imaginary voices that somehow make him think of a woman he has never even met? No, he was tired and upset at discovering a new victim - that was the logical explanation. He was a man who dealt in facts and believed that if he could see it and if he could touch it, then it must be real. Hearing voices would be a sure fire way to get himself taken off the case, no matter what position his brother held at the Bureau. But then again, he had always trusted his gut’s instincts - they had never steered him wrong, why would now be any different?

“Liam,” Killian called out, walking over to his brother and gesturing that it was time to go. Liam nodded, but his own raised brow asked what the urgency was in leaving so quickly. 

“We need to know where Emma Swan is. Now.”

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa paced the kitchen, alternating her path from length to breadth and back again, furious with her inability to calm her mind enough to reach out to her sister through their bond. It had been four weeks of silence from Emma after she had promised to be back to help her bury her husband and support her in the necessary adjustments that she and her little girls would need to make to their lives so they could carry on without him. Instead, she had to make all of the arrangements for the funeral herself, pack up the rest of their belongings so she could list the quaint craftsman style cottage that she had loved so much for sale and move in with the aunts, while also continuing with her plans to open her small cafe now that she had employees who would be relying on her to provide paychecks to them. She did all of these things, as grief stricken and overwhelmed as she was, all while under the judgmental gaze and whispered accusations of Storybrooke’s denizens. 

Elsa knew that Emma would never let her down like this without a good reason. The text messages she had received in the days after Emma was due to return home explaining away her absence were stilted and formal, lacking any warmth or humor that was usual of her sister’s form of communication. Elsa would never claim to be a more powerful witch than Emma; it was fact that her sister had exceptional talent in spades across all different disciplines of the Craft. However, over the years, Elsa’s abilities with intuition had been carefully nurtured and allowed to develop to the point that she no longer needed the subtle cues of the natural world to let her know what the immediate future held. She hadn’t needed the call from the Phoenix PD this morning asking if she had spoken to her sister, she hadn’t needed to know that the FBI were involved and hoped to confirm that Emma was safe from her boyfriend turned prolific serial killer, and she certainly hadn’t needed to see the telltale smudge of red on the full moon last night that heralded that discord and death was now on its way. 

The house creaked and groaned around her, breaking up the silence that had pervaded throughout since Aunt Belle and Aunt Ruby had taken her girls for a day out further down the coast so Elsa could concentrate on tracking down her missing sister. The noises calmed her, offering her solace and the sense that she was not alone in this. Breathing deeply, Elsa turned to the kitchen table that was already set up with everything she needed to reach out to Emma. A small black velvet cloth was spread out, upon which a brand new pillar candle sat within a circle of white rose petals, ready to be lit. Beside the cloth lay a clear quartz crystal - a conduit to which Elsa could focus her frayed energy and help in powering her location spell. The white rose petals would hopefully strengthen the bond that she and Emma had created with each other so long ago for the duration of the spell, while the candle would light the path to discovery of her most beloved sister.  

Elsa sat down, trying to even out her breathing and empty her mind of everything but the question of where Emma was and ignoring the burble of dread that she was anything but okay. Picking up the crystal, Elsa began to trace the scar on the palm of her hand, murmuring softly as she did so. After a moment, the candle ignited, the flame elongating to twice its usual size as Elsa continued her incantation. A tingling sensation began to race along her scarred hand, as though a thousand angry ants were crawling over it, and Elsa fought to keep her focus - she was so close to finding the answer to her question that she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The piercing chime of her cell phone ringing in the back pocket of her jeans startled Elsa, causing her to drop the crystal onto the cloth and disturbing the ring of petals that she had carefully arranged around the candle. The candle’s flame extinguished at the interruption, but Elsa was too busy reaching behind her to retrieve the device to notice. 

She didn’t bother checking to see who was attempting to call her; she was too keyed up and more than ready to go against her usual peaceful nature and tear the caller a new one.  

“El?” a trembling voice whispered.

The rebuke ready to spill from Elsa’s lips dissipated at the sound of her little sister’s terrified voice, relief and terror merging to form a knot in her chest that didn’t know whether it wanted to loosen or tighten into something almost Gordian at the sound. 

“It’s me, Em. Where are you? Are you safe?” she managed to choke out, trying to keep the fear out of her own tone, but knowing she had failed miserably. 

A small sob, followed by a shaky breath was the only answer for a long moment before Emma confirmed she was holed up in a motel just off Interstate 95 near Boston. She had no idea where Walsh was, only that he had left some hours ago and she had only just managed to escape long enough to find a payphone and call the only person she wanted to talk to right now.

“Stay inside your room and barricade it. Do not answer it for anyone but me, okay? I’m bringing you home to Storybrooke, we’ll figure out what to do next after that,” Elsa soothed, already moving towards the vestibule and where she kept her car keys on the small row of hooks beside the front door. She hated to end the call, but Emma needed to get inside her room where she could find some modicum of safety until she was able to get to her. With a final reassurance that she was leaving now and would be there as soon as possible, Elsa hung up and raced out the door, texting Aunt Belle to let her know what was going on and to ask that she extend their trip to an overnighter so that she could get Emma home and settled in properly. 

Sending a prayer of protection towards her sister, Elsa climbed into her car and sped off in a swirl of dust and gravel, hoping that she could make good time and bring Emma back to where she belonged - home.  

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Four hours of driving with nothing but her own thoughts for company, Elsa tried to reconcile the events that had led up to her racing down the I-95 to rescue her sister. Emma was an intelligent woman who worked with law enforcement every day, who was young and fit and had no trouble sending a man on their way when she no longer felt a connection to them - whether by kind words or a knee to the groin, whatever the situation called for. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and knew how the law could protect her should she ever find herself in need of help, which was why it was so odd that instead of calling 911, she decided to call Elsa instead. Did she not feel safe talking to her colleagues? How much did the FBI know about Emma and her relationship with Walsh? 

Elsa hadn’t received much information over the phone from the authorities; only that Emma’s safety was in question and that Walsh was a suspected serial killer whose victims spanned across multiple states. The fact that Emma was an extremely talented witch who should’ve been able to find some way to subdue her kidnapper played on Elsa’s mind. Emma had told her that she had used belladonna on Walsh previously so she could come home to Storybrooke. Had Walsh found out and decided to punish her for it? How was she being held against her will to the point that she could not employ any of her magic to escape? There were limits to their abilities of course; they couldn’t do things like disappear and reappear at will like in Harry Potter - but surely there was something that Emma could have used to her advantage to make her escape. 

Elsa had made good time getting to the small dingy motel just off the interstate, thankful for the full tank of gas she had had the presence of mind to fill only the day before. Staring at the row of rooms that she had parked across from, Elsa figured that Walsh would have chosen one as far away from everyone else as possible. Slowly, she got out of her car, keeping her keys in her hand while she searched her surroundings to ensure no one could come at her by surprise. Making her way to the dented and peeling door marked with a crooked number ‘8’, Elsa gently knocked on it, a series of taps that they had used as children when communicating with each other whenever one (usually Emma) was in detention during their school years. In a matter of moments Elsa could hear something heavy being pushed aside along with the turning of the door’s lock. The sight that greeted her had tears springing to her eyes, forcing her to swallow down the sob that was fighting to break free.

Emma’s golden curls hung limply around her face, greasy from days of going unwashed and without proper care. Her skin was a ghostly white, highlighted even more so by the dimly lit room behind her. Her clothes were wrinkled and in some places ripped, as though she had been in a fight. The black eye that bloomed heavily with a mix of purples, blues and reds was the most concerning however, and Elsa fought to not reach out and prod at it to confirm the extent of the injury. 

 “Oh Emma,” Elsa could no longer hold off the tears that were now streaming down her face, reaching out to grip her little sister’s trembling arm and pull her into a hug. 

“I’m so sorry, El. I shouldn’t have called, but-” Emma began to mumble into Elsa’s shoulder, her voice weary and defeated. 

“Don’t you dare apologize! This is not your fault. I don’t care what happened, this is not on you, it’s on him. As soon as we get out of here, we are finding the nearest police station and we’ll sort this out okay?” 

Emma just nodded, slowly stepping back on unsteady feet and turning around to gather up the few possessions of hers that Walsh had shoved into a duffel bag after he had kidnapped her and forced her to travel in zigzags across the country in the weeks since. 

Elsa could feel her heart breaking all over again at the movements of her sister. It was obvious she had at points fought hard against her kidnapper - her movements slow and cautious, as though she feared injuring herself further. However, aside from her physical appearance, there appeared to be something off about Emma. Focusing in on her aura, Elsa was shocked to find that it was a muted shade of gray. Usually, Emma’s aura was a sunshine yellow, cheerful and full of playful energy, that would often glitter with spots of white that highlighted her quick mind and connectedness with the world around her. The gray that was now emanating from her was not natural, Elsa could feel that, but she couldn’t discern the reasoning behind it. 

Deciding to puzzle out that anomaly later when she could be sure of their safety, Elsa ushered Emma out the door of the dilapidated lodgings and began quickly making their way towards her car. They were halfway there when Emma, who had been explaining that Walsh had disappeared hours ago after he had punched her for laughing along with the poor delivery kid who tried to understand what the hell Walsh meant by wanting pepperoni and cheese donuts and not the pizza that he had actually ordered, suddenly stopped, her eyes fixed on the full moon above that was just beginning to brighten against the purplish-blue of the twilight sky. 

“Blood on the moon,” she murmured, her grip on Elsa’s arm tightening even as her other hand plunged into the depths of her tote bag, frantically searching for her stone of protection. 

“I know, but we’re leaving now Em, we’ll protect each other okay?” Elsa continued pulling Emma along with her, now only steps away from her car. 

“No, no, I need my dragon glass, he must have taken it, that’s why- shit!”

Emma stumbled, her sneaker catching the edge of a small pothole and slipping off her foot entirely. Before Elsa had a chance to help her put her shoe back on, Emma - with a speed that was surprising, given her previous fragility - had already put it back on and re-tied it, before setting off towards the dark blue Honda parked at the other end of the lot. Elsa sighed in resignation and followed after her, picking up the bag that Emma had dropped as she did so.

The driver's side door to the car was unlocked for which Emma was grateful. She didn’t want to have to reveal to her sister just yet that she was still recovering her power from whatever influence Walsh had placed over her, draining it to the point that even unlocking a door seemed damn near impossible. Yanking the door open, she leaned in to start searching the console, hopeful that Walsh hadn’t tried too hard to hide it. Spotting the faint gleam of a smooth, dark surface at the bottom of one of the cup holders, Emma quickly reached for it, the tips of her fingers just managing to graze across the top of the object, when she was forcefully yanked backwards by her hair. No sooner had she registered that she was not alone, than two arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her into the back seat.

“Emma, are you sure it’s not just in one of the millions of pockets in this bag?” Elsa called out, her head dipped low to search the contents of Emma’s tote, her hand fumbling through the accumulation of receipts, chewing gum wrappers, hair ties and pens. Coming to a stop at the open door of the car, the sharp tap of metal on glass drew her attention away from her search and onto a man holding her little sister tightly against his chest in the backseat, the gun clenched in his hand returning to its position beside Emma’s temple. 

“Drive,” the man growled.   

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa focused on keeping her hands steady on the wheel and her breathing even - it wouldn’t help their situation if she freaked out now. The man - Walsh - was quietly humming along to a tune, his body wedged into the corner of the backseat, his face cast in eerie shadows that seemed to twist and morph his features into grotesque forms that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Renaissance painting depicting the demons of Hell. Tucked tightly into his side along with a bottle of tequila was Emma, her revulsion at the position she found herself in clear upon her face. However, her eyes never strayed from the gun gripped in Walsh’s other hand as it tapped out an accompanying rhythm to the tune that was now starting to poke heavily at Elsa’s threadbare nerves.

“When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling. Someone who would have my back, whom I could rely on no matter where I was or what I was doing. Someone who could never abandon me, you know?”     

Swallowing back a sarcastic reply that the world was grateful to his mother for only spawning one psycho, Elsa kept her expression a mask of indifference, knowing that any small show of emotion could upend any plans she could come up with to get them out of this mess. 

“Why did you never tell me you had a sister, babe? We’ve been together almost a year now. Didn’t you think it was time I met your nearest and dearest?” 

Emma flinched at the sound of Walsh’s voice next to her ear, causing him to chuckle as he traced a long finger tenderly down the side of her cheek. 

“T-there was never a good time. Elsa lives so far away and is so busy, I-I didn’t want to bother-”

“'Bother with introducing her to the most important man in your life?” Walsh’s voice became deadly soft, the finger that had been stroking her cheek, hooking under her chin so that she was forced to look up into his eyes glittering with the unpredictability of his deranged mind.  

Elsa tapped on the brakes hard enough to jerk both Walsh and Emma out of their seats, interrupting the surging anger that was in danger of erupting at any moment, but not enough to arouse suspicion of her intent. Walsh adjusted himself back into place, his interest now settled on Elsa, allowing Emma a moment of reprieve. 

“You know Elsa, you’re quite pretty too, what with that icy blonde hair and big blue eyes. You’d be even prettier if you smiled more though. You remind me of that cartoon princess, you know the one that all the kids want to be. She never smiled much either.”

Elsa knew exactly who Walsh was referring to even as she tried to push down the shudder that threatened to expose her distaste for his observations. Her girls loved that princess and often compared her to their mother, something that never failed to make her heart soar and reveal her hidden smile. 

Walsh’s eyes connected with hers in the rearview mirror as he spoke, and Elsa attempted to return her attention to the road, but not before noticing the two pendants that their abductor wore on a silver chain around his neck. The first, was what appeared to be a solid silver love heart with a hole punched through its middle. The pendant was large enough that Elsa could see even in the dim light of the car, what appeared to be teardrops embossed onto the heart. The second pendant was of a Celtic cross made of brass set with alternating gemstones of amber and ruby. The cross seemed to emanate a flow of energy that overwhelmed and dampened all else - including her own abilities.  

So that’s why Emma hasn’t been able to fight back…

Realizing she had been staring for too long, Elsa silently turned back to the road, but Walsh had already caught on to what she had been looking at. 

“Handy little thing this is when you have a witch for a soulmate,” he chuckled, lifting the pendant up for a closer inspection. “The woman I bought it from swore it would render me impervious to all witchcraft, but it seems her 100% guarantee was a little flawed. I’ve fallen under the spell of the most beautiful woman in the world, and though I haven’t been released from her thrall, I don’t ever want to be.”

“Walsh, please. Let Elsa go. I’ll stay with you, I promise, we’ll go anywhere you want. Just the two of us,” Emma whispered, her tone submissive - something no one who truly knew her would ever associate with the fiery Swan sister. Flicking her eyes back to the rearview mirror, Elsa watched as Emma pulled Walsh to her, placing his head into the crook of her neck, her hands reaching up to smooth down the wild tangles of his unkempt and shaggy hair. The pendant around Walsh’s neck was beginning to truly affect Elsa now. She attempted to tap into their connection and send as much energy to Emma as she could and share some of the burden of placating the monster who clearly had no intentions of ever getting over his obsessive desire for the woman he was currently threatening with a gun; however, she felt her energy hit what almost felt like a wall of impenetrable steel blocking the way forward. 

Did Emma do that? 

Before Elsa could attempt to try again, she felt the invisible wall encircling her and Emma both, while everything else around them, including Walsh, became distant and muted. Glancing again into the back seat, Elsa caught her sister’s eye just as Emma leaned forward slightly, her voice seeming to echo within Elsa’s head, exhausted and strained, but no less urgent. 

“ The belladonna is in my bag…”

The forgotten bottle of tequila was still wedged between Emma and Walsh, its contents still three quarters full. If Elsa could find a way to get ahold of the bottle and somehow add enough belladonna to it to knock Walsh out long enough for them to find the nearest police station, then they could be free of this nightmare. Elsa’s mind raced with ideas that she discarded just as quickly, conscious of the weapon that glinted menacingly with every light they passed on the empty highway stretching out before them. She sent a prayer to Lady Fortune and The Maiden to help guide her way.

Time had stretched into tension-filled silence since Emma had attempted to placate Walsh by making promises she had no intentions of keeping, and it seemed that Walsh had finally caught onto her words and the emptiness of their meaning. 

“You promise?” he sneered, lifting his head from Emma’s shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed, a combination of alcohol and whatever pills he had been popping to stay awake as he drove cross country, evading the law he knew were coming for him. His skin was a pasty gray that contrasted heavily against the dark sweater that Emma wore, giving him the appearance of some kind of ghoulish spectre determined to drag its prey back to the bowels of the underworld from which it crawled. 

Emma tried to remain stoic in the face of such malice emanating from her ex, but she couldn’t help the involuntary flinch as his grip around her waist tightened. 

“You left me once before, for her . Fool me once… No, nothing you say will be worth a fucking damn until you understand the depths of my love for you and admit that you feel the fucking same! Do you know how many women I had to discard while trying to find The One? To find you? ”

Deciding that trying to refute his words would only escalate his insanity further, Emma shook her head mutely, locking her eyes onto his in the hopes that he would keep talking, giving Elsa time to formulate how to get the belladonna out of her bag and somehow into Walsh’s system. Eyeing the tequila bottle next to her, Emma reached for it in a show of taking a swig and passing it onto Elsa; however, Walsh was too quick. He dropped the gun to rest between him and the door of the car, grabbing the bottle himself and taking a long gulp.

“Not yet babe, you can have it after we complete our bonding ritual.”

“What are you talking about Walsh? I meant it when I said I’ll go wherever you want!” Emma couldn’t keep the rising panic from spilling over into her words, wondering what the hell he meant by a ‘bonding ritual’ while also praying she would never have to find out. 

“We are branded onto one another’s souls. My heart is yours just as yours is mine, but I don’t want to hide our love from the world; I want our brands to shine so brightly that no one will ever mistake what we are to each other. No one will ever come between us, not when they know they will never have a chance to do so.” 

Where the lighter had come from, Emma had no idea, but suddenly a small flame erupted, giving a demonic flair to Walsh’s features as he pulled the Wounded Heart pendant away from his chest and held it above the flame. His intentions now clear, Emma scrambled to the other end of the car trying to maneuver herself into any kind of defensive position that the small space would allow. Walsh followed her, one hand clutching the red hot pendant, the other, the bottle of tequila. 

“Don’t be afraid, Sweetheart. Just one little burn and it will pass before you know it. Here, take this,” Walsh attempted to nudge the tequila into Emma’s hand even as he tried to find a bare patch of skin above her breast to place his mark; however, the car swerved violently, almost fishtailing onto the other side of the road. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t you dare touch my sister!”

“Watch the fucking road!”

“I’ll watch the fucking road when you stop trying to brand her like she’s fucking livestock!! If you have any sense in whatever is left of your drugged out brain, you’d realize that trying to burn a mark onto someone that every cop and FBI agent in the country are on the lookout for is the worst idea! Now give me that bottle and keep your hands to yourself, or I swear on Hecate, you’ll wish the cops had you in their custody!”

Emma couldn’t remember a time that Elsa had ever raised her voice to anyone let alone let loose an expletive at them. Even in her years of absence, she found it hard to believe that Elsa would’ve been in a situation that called for it. Walsh too, seemed stunned at her outburst. He silently handed over the tequila, a speculative cast to his expression, as though he was slowly unravelling a complex puzzle but unsure if he had all of the pieces to reveal the entire picture. Elsa snatched the bottle away and took a furious sip, careful not to show her distaste for straight liquor. 

“I see your sister has the same fire as you, Babe. Must be where you got it from, huh?” Walsh chuckled, slinging an arm around Emma, the gun now back in his hand, as he began to stare out the window, his thoughts turning to where their next destination would be now they had a new companion. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“How much belladonna did you put in?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really in a position to measure it exactly, Em.”

Elsa and Emma stood by the hood of the car directly in Walsh’s line of sight as he relieved himself behind some low shrubbery that surrounded the deserted car park of the rest stop somewhere in New Hampshire. He had forced both women out of the car, taking the keys from Elsa, the threat of deadly repercussions if they tried to flee made real at the sharp click of the slide being pulled back on the gun he still held in his hand. 

“I know I put enough in there that he should have well and truly passed out by now,” Elsa muttered, her nervousness only evident by the constant transfer of one foot to the other, causing an erratic sway to the lower half of her body.

After preventing Walsh’s attempt to burn her baby sister and managing to get him to hand over the bottle of tequila, the next issue was how she was going to extract the tiny bottle of belladonna from within the mess of Emma’s bag. Making sure that Walsh’s attention had been occupied elsewhere, she looked down into the front passenger seat only to find it sitting atop the bag as though she had only placed it there moments ago. 

Thank you, Mistress Fortuna… 

“Do you think there’s a chance we could overpower him somehow?” Elsa asked, glancing sideways towards Emma and dismissing the question instantly. Emma’s skin still held a ghostly pallor to it, and one dull green eye looked sunken in from lack of sleep as the other was still swollen and marked up by the hit she had sustained earlier today. Even her already slight frame appeared more frail from stress and obvious weight loss. Her gifts - an essential part of her being - had been smothered to the point that Elsa worried if she would be able to make a full recovery. Emma would need her and the aunts more than ever after this was all over. 

Emma didn’t seem to hear Elsa’s question anyway, her body stiffening as she stared up at the moon. The red smudge that had been there during its entire phase had deepened to the color of wine - or more accurately, blood - which could only mean one thing: death would visit them tonight. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Walsh drawled, his voice thick and languid as he drained the last of the tequila. 

Emma and Elsa both snapped to attention as he approached, the gun in his hand tapping a beat against the side of his leg. Both women forced themselves not to tremble at the malice curling through his drunken slur, their own hearts seeming to match beat for beat whatever tune he was playing out in his head.

“I don’t think I like your influence over my Emma. You’re like a volcano waiting to erupt; too unstable and too volatile.” Walsh’s gaze was fixed on Elsa, his mania reaching new levels as the tapping against his leg became faster. Emma would have burst out laughing at this assessment of her sister under any other circumstance; Elsa was the most level-headed and kindest person she had ever met, a person who held herself with a dignity that likely outstripped any royal family on this earth. Her outburst earlier was a minor ripple within the deep, still waters that was her soul, a natural response that Walsh could never (and would never) comprehend. 

“Emma and I need to disappear, and I can’t have you tagging along, whispering in her ear and turning her against me. We are forever, but I will always be second in her heart if you’re still here.” 

Elsa’s eyes widened in fear, but she was rendered speechless, any attempt to make him see sense fleeing her completely as her thoughts turned to home and her daughters who would begin to wonder where she was. Emma on the other hand, sprang into action, the threat to her adored sister’s life providing the surge of energy that she had been lacking since she had called Elsa at the motel to fill her up and clear her weary mind. She didn’t have the use of her abilities - the pendant around Walsh’s neck still affecting her - but it hadn’t been so long since her bail bonds days that she had forgotten how to tackle someone and disarm them.  

Walsh noticed Emma tensing for a fight, and in an attempt to stop her charge towards him, he accidentally dropped the gun, the force of it hitting the ground and sending a shot off into the darkness beyond the dim lighting of the parking lot. The crack of the gun shattering the silence of the still night air froze everyone - including Walsh - the shock of the noise allowing a moment’s reprieve before all hell broke loose again.  

Elsa was the first to snap out of it. The gun had slid only a few feet behind Walsh, but with the advantage of facing her would-be murderer, she could see where it had landed and made a dash towards it. Despite his reflexes being dulled by drugs and alcohol, Walsh seemed to retain an almost inhuman strength as his arm banded around her waist, tackling her to the ground just as her fingertips brushed against the handle. Flipping over onto her back, Elsa found herself pinned to the ground, Walsh’s body caging her in, his breath hot and sour against her face. 

“You stupid bitch! You aren’t gonna come between us, I will never let it happen!” Walsh screamed, his hands encircling Elsa’s neck. 

“NO!” yelled Emma, as she leapt onto Walsh’s back, attempting to pry him off Elsa, and failing miserably. He was strong, much too strong in her current state. She searched around for the gun, the thought of letting off a shot to scare him into releasing Elsa the most logical idea she could think of. In the scuffle between Elsa and Walsh, the gun seemed to have been flung somewhere into the shrubs close by, but Emma had no time to search as Elsa’s gasps for air became more and more labored. Spotting a thick branch that would likely do enough damage to force Walsh away, Emma grabbed it and prepared to beat the living daylights out of her piece of shit ex-boyfriend. It was her fault that Elsa became a part of this mess, but she would make sure Walsh paid dearly for it before handing his ass to the cops. 

Emma was about to bring the branch down when Walsh seemed to go limp, his weight falling heavily onto Elsa, who managed a small whimper of relief to show that she was okay. The sound of a motorbike kicking into gear startled the sisters briefly, the hope that someone would come to their aid extinguished as it faded away. It didn’t matter really, they were both too concerned with their present problem of dealing with a comatose serial killer to worry any more about it. 

“I think he’s well and truly out of it now. Help me lift him up,” Elsa urged, pushing against Walsh’s chest. He was dead weight on her small frame, and she could already feel the tingle of her legs going to sleep from being in the same position for too long. 

Nodding quickly in answer, Emma tucked her arms under his armpits and began to lift, as Elsa continued to push. They had just about lifted him off Elsa and were preparing to lay him out on the ground when Elsa glanced at his face and let out a cry that sent a chill spiraling up Emma’s spine. 

“Emma… he’s gone…”

“What do you mean ‘gone’ ?” Emma snapped, already knowing what it meant but not wanting to reconcile with it.

Turning the body of her former ex and tormentor over, Emma could see exactly why Elsa thought he was dead. Dark brown eyes rimmed in red stared unseeingly at the night sky that was now strewn with a sea of stars that no one whose spirit resided on this plane would not immediately appreciate. The full moon was now a beautiful white light in the darkness, unblemished with portents of doom.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… We have to call the police, I have to turn myself in, oh god, my girls! How am I going to explain that I killed someone? That right after their father leaves them, their mother has to leave too, and all of it is my fault!!” Elsa sobbed, her anguish piercing through Emma’s horror at what lay before them. 

Pulling Elsa off the ground and into her arms, Emma held on tight. So many times throughout their childhood, it was Elsa who had been the one to soothe, to comfort, and to keep the fear at bay. She had supported Emma through every whim and every decision not to return home where she knew she ultimately belonged; there was no way in hell Emma was going to allow her to take the blame for this. It was likely that if they left Walsh here, he would be found by the first family that made a pit stop while making their way up north for whatever summer festival or activity one of the many small towns dotted around all the way along the coast and up to the Canadian border had to offer. The local authorities with hopefully no real knowledge of dealing with dead bodies and evidence would take over, and maybe mishandle the body in some way before realizing who Walsh was and calling in the FBI to take over. By that time, it could be hoped that toxicology reporting would show up the copious cocktail of drugs and alcohol in his system and therefore, maybe lead to a ruling of his death as an overdose. 

That’s too many hopes and maybes to get out of this with no suspicion of our involvement…

Emma continued to hold onto Elsa as she sobbed into her shoulder. She thought of their Craft and the rules around what they could and couldn’t do in compliance with it.

What if Walsh didn’t have to be dead?

Gently pulling away from Elsa, Emma placed her hands on her shoulders to gain her attention. 

“You said that you asked the aunts to bring Jack back to you. What was it that they said?”

For a moment, it appeared as though Elsa hadn’t heard her, her brow creasing in confusion as she struggled to understand what Emma was saying.

“They… they said that they wouldn’t do that, that they don’t do that - ever.”

“Okay, but they never said they couldn’t, right?”

Again, Elsa stared confusedly at her sister, her line of questioning seeming odd given-

Oh…

As the comprehension of what Emma was asking was reflected back to her in Elsa’s face, Emma nodded quickly, their salvation in getting out of this mess only a couple of hours away.

“We need to get home to Storybrooke now. And Walsh is coming with us.”