3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
Darjeeling tea in hand, Amelie made her way out the kitchen side door and into the cemetery grounds.
The difference between the front and back yards was stark and immediate.
While the front yard was lush and full of a wide variety of greenery, flowers, and trees, the cemetery was gray and seemingly devoid of life.
Though as Amelie looked closer, she noticed that the trees and bushes lining the pathways weren’t dead so much as they were muted. And interspersed between the cobblestones and wrought iron fences were purplish gray Catharanthus roseus flowers.
Originally, Amelie had thought that she couldn’t feel Delia’s presence at all, but after doing a little more searching around the cathedral, she came upon a decidedly cold spot.
After visiting this spot in person, she confirmed that the area was indeed the cemetery witch’s personal quarters.
Not wanting to snoop too much, she had quickly made her way to the kitchen to whip up a pot of tea and passively continued searching the grounds for Delia’s aura as it steeped.
Partially hidden among the chilly, grayish aura of the dead, Amelie finally pinpointed a tempered gray cold spot, sitting in the crypt on the East end of the cemetery grounds.
It was subtle enough that Amelie couldn’t fault herself for missing it at first glance, but now that she knew what she was looking for… it was easy enough to follow.
The crypt towered above the rest of the grounds, carved from granite. Unlike the cathedral itself, the mausoleum didn’t seem to be affected by Amelie’s hearth. It was still standing, sure, but it looked far more worn down and decrepit than any other structure on the grounds.
Pausing at the entrance, Amelie swallowed, feeling a bone chilling cold seep from the inside of the crypt, causing her to shiver. However, determined and armed with warm tea, Amelie shook the unsettled feeling from her head and crossed the threshold.
“Delia?” Amelie tried, her voice echoing off the solid walls of the mausoleum.
At first there was no answer, only the cold quiet of the dead. But then, to Amelie’s right, she saw movement from the corner of her eye.
“The new Hearth Witch, I presume?” A low voice replied and as Amelie turned to face the owner, she knew it was Delia from the color and temperature of her aura.
The Cemetery Witch was short, much shorter than Amelie had anticipated actually, not standing any taller than 5’4” at the most. Her figure was thin and waifish, and her skin was pale.
Her hair, cut to just below her chin and parted down the middle was white and directly between her brows was a small, black, four pointed star.
“Amelie.” Amelie took a step to the side and placed the teapot down on a granite slab before reaching out a hand for Delia to shake.
Delia looked her up and down for a moment, but ultimately stepped forward and extendedher hand. It wasn’t until Amelie had clasped their hands together that she noticed the orb weaver crawling up the back of Delia’s wrist.
With a gasp, Amelie screeched and stumbled back, knocking directly into the pot of tea and sending it shattering to the floor.
“Oh god! I am so sorry!” Amelie got to work immediately, picking up the pieces, kicking herself for being so clumsy. When she looked back up, Delia was just standing there, watching her as the spider crawled across her knuckles.
“Never seen a familiar before?” Delia asked dryly, combat boots shifting on the tiles.
“Familiar?” Amelie stuttered, standing back up, pieces of the teapot in her hands as she sheepishly watched Delia.
The Cemetery Witch was wearing short, black denim shorts revealing a garter thigh tattoo and a grey-and-black striped, long-sleeve shirt that cut off just at her ribcage and sat off-shoulder on one side, revealing her stomach and collarbone.
“Oh!” Amelie shook her head, feeling a bit silly. “Yes of course. I’m just not used to… well, spiders.”
Amelie laughed nervously, searching Delia’s face for any sort of invitation to continue conversation but only found the cold gaze of her green eyes.
With a swallow, Amelie bit her lip and clutched the pieces of the teapot in her hands until she could feel the edges biting into her palms.
“Will you be coming to dinner tonight? Up at the main house, I mean.”
Delia studied her for a second before shrugging noncommittally.
“Dunno.” She started. “Probably not.”
As Delia turned to look away, Amelie was struck with how defined the other witch’s profile was. Her eyes, though tired and hooded, were surrounded by angular features that could have easily been the subject of a painting back in the day.
“Alright.” Amelie nodded, mostly to herself as she started to make her way back toward the entrance to the crypt. “Well, I will just leave a plate out for you if that’s alright.”
When Delia didn’t respond or turn to acknowledge her leaving, Amelie turned on her heel and started making her way back down the path toward the cathedral.
The chill of Delia’s gaze still biting at her skin, Amelie wrapped herself in the power of her hearth, warm and cozy until she reached the door to the kitchen.
Once it was closed, Amelie took a deep breath, looking back down at the shattered teapot in her hands. With a pout she realized she hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask Delia what her favorite type of tea was.
“How did it go?”
Amelie’s head snapped up at the sound of Regina’s voice.
The other witch was sitting at the counter, another cup of tea in her hands. Amelie wasn’t so much startled as she was embarrassed; she had gone to bring the Cemetery Witch into the fold but had been naive to think that it was going to be as easy as offering a cup of tea.
Amelie sighed heavily and walked over to the counter, placing the pieces of the teapot on the marble surface.
“Not very well.” Amelie leaned onto the counter with one elbow, fist against her cheek. “Her spider scared me and I dropped the tea.”
Regina nodded sagely and took a sip of her tea.
“Mortimer can do that, he has a nasty habit of showing up in places you don’t expect him to.
Hestia found him in her shoe once and almost burned the West Wing down.
I don’t know if you noticed, but she doesn’t really tend to wear those anymore if she can help it. ”
Regina chuckled to herself as a black cat padded into the room and hopped up onto the seat next to her. “Ah there you are.”
Scratching the cat behind its ears, Regina grinned at the animal as Amelie’s attention was caught by movement in the doorway.
“Truffle!” Amelie hurried over to the entrance, scooping her ferret up into her arms. “There you are. I was wondering where you might have gotten off to.”
“I think Salem was showing him the grounds.” Regina glanced back at her cat as she yawned, the bell around her neck tinkling gently. “We’ve been here for the longest, so she likes to show new familiars the ropes when she can.”
“Oh!” Amelie hummed, scratching Truffle under the chin. “That’s very kind of her. Did you go on an adventure, Truffle?”
Truffle clicked happily in response.
“Do you need any help fixing the teapot?”
Amelie’s attention turned back to Regina as Salem hopped down from the seat and padded out of the room. Truffle wiggled in Amelie’s grip slightly, chuffing happily as she bent her knees and set him gently on the ground. Then without hesitation, Truffle scurried off after Salem, out the door.
Amelie moved to get up, only to see Regina’s hand extended out in front of her. She didn’t know when the other witch had moved to her side, but, effectively flustered, Amelie simply took Regina’s hand and allowed herself to be helped to her feet.
They were close when Amelie had stood; Regina hadn’t taken the opportunity to take a step back, allowing their chests to nearly touch as they stood in the kitchen.
“Hm?” Amelie replied, forgetting what the other woman had asked her.
“The teapot.” Regina squeezed Amelie’s hand lightly as she gestured to the pile of ceramic shards on the counter.
“Oh! Yes.” Amelie turned her head to glance at the teapot, letting Regina loose her hand and step behind her to get a better look. “That would be great. I have never been great at mending spells. A personal failing for a Kitchen Witch if you ask my mother.”
Amelie laughed lightly, the familiar criticism only eliciting a minor wince.
“Hardly.” Regina stepped forward again, placing one hand on Amelie’s waist from behind as she reached around with the other, picking up a singular piece of the teapot.
Amelie felt her knees go weak at the contact, her heartbeat getting louder and more noticeable.
“Mending is something that every witch should study, not just Kitchen Witches. Besides, you can’t be good at everything you try, that would just be horribly boring.”
Amelie nodded, swallowing as Regina’s other hand moved from her waist to the counter, grabbing another piece of the teapot.
Arms wrapped around Amelie, Regina murmured an incantation under her breath and held her palms out forward as the pieces of the teapot began to float back into their original shape.
It was a basic spell, but Amelie could hardly breathe. She could feel Regina’s chest against her back, the warmth of her arms surrounding her, and the soft puff of her breath on the back of her neck.
Amelie tried to remain as still as she could as Regina worked her magic, worried that she would simply fall apart if she tried to do anything to help. So instead, she just watched, breathing shallowly as the teapot began to knit itself back together.