#mr. kinkle

There was something deeply, disturbingly wrong with his son. And it had nothing to do with trauma or whatever other mental bullshit the doctor had babbled about. He’d beat that kind of weakness out of his boys young.  

No, it was something else. And Paul had an idea of what that something was.  

His father had visited recently for Thanksgiving and eagerly talked about their family history when Harvey pestered him for a school assignment. Paul rolled his eyes and got another beer as his father talked about being hunters and the purging of witches in Greendale. It was nothing he hadn’t heard a hundred times growing up when his father was drunk and ranting.  

When his father dramatically finished that witches still lived in Greendale today, hiding amongst them, Paul drained the rest of his beer and grabbed another despite Tommy’s halfhearted protest.  

He’d dismissed it all before as nonsense. The ramblings of an old drunk. But now, looking at how his son sat unmoving for hours, not even getting up to eat, drink or take a piss, Paul started to reconsider.  

Started to think of how often Harvey’s little girlfriend was around, how she appeared almost immediately after his boy came back. Started to think harder about that day at the mortuary where they’d prematurely held Tommy’s funeral. How he’d been unable to move his arm, Zelda Spellman a formidable figure in the background with a dangerous aura around her as he fled.  

No, they couldn’t truly be....  

Paul shook his head and headed to the fridge for a drink. He was being ridiculous. His father was a raving lunatic, talking about witches and magic. But as he worked to convince himself of this, Paul caught sight of Harvey hurling a football at Tommy who stood inert across the yard. He was about to burst outside and beat Harvey for treating his brother that way when Tommy’s hand shot up and caught the ball one handed, arm not even bending. The sight had Paul choking on his beer and taking back his former assertion that his father was crazy.  

Whatever was happening to Tommy was unnatural. And Paul intended to find out what the Spellmans had done to his boy. He also intended to stop whatever evil thing they had brought Tommy back to do; why else bring the boy back from the dead? And that’s what he’d been, what everyone claimed.  

Mission in mind, Paul sent Harvey out to pick up Tommy’s favorite fast food, with the excuse that it might prompt Tommy to eat. Once Harvey’s truck was out of sight, Paul picked up the gun and made for his oldest son’s room.  

Tommy didn’t blink when he came in. Didn’t even move when Paul stepped into his line of sight and leveled the gun at his head. That was the last straw; the deciding factor. Tommy would’ve fought, would’ve yelled at him, would’ve asked where Harvey was. This creature, whatever it was, wasn’t his boy.

Exhaling sharply, Paul pulled the trigger and the husk slumped to the floor. Carefully wiping the gun, Paul placed the weapon in what used to be Tommy’s hand, making sure to get a fingerprint on the trigger, then he went back downstairs and called the police to tell them his son committed suicide—unable to live with the horrors he’d experienced in the mines.  

The police didn’t question it, or him, though Paul was thoroughly drunk by the time they and Harvey arrived.  

His youngest was a mess. But Paul paid him no mind. He had other things to deal with. Like the family that had done this to his. Making his way to his room, Paul started calling his brothers, dad and cousins back into town.  

Their sole purpose... to go after the Spellmans.  

~~~~

They’d just sat down at the kitchen table to eat a quiet breakfast; the mood still somber from the events in the mines and the Kinkle boy’s funeral. Sabrina was especially tight lipped about how her mortal boyfriend was coping, but then again, Zelda had never much inquired about Harvey, so Sabrina’s short answer wasn’t too out of place. The tense silence was suddenly interrupted by a cacophony of alarms. Wards Zelda had placed around the property centuries ago to warn them of threats were going off for the first time in ages.  

Hilda’s eyes snapped to meet hers. “Hunters.” Her sister breathed, already standing up and peering out the window.  

Face screwed up in confusion, Ambrose leveraged himself off the bench to join Hilda at the window. “Hunters? How can you—?”

“Because I set very specific wards up,” Zelda cut him off, already moving through the kitchen and securing various drawers with spells so they couldn’t be opened and reveal the magical items inside. “That alarm sequence is specific for hunters. Ambrose, take Sabrina and cast some extra protection spells on the house. Nothing to keep the brutes from entering, that will only fuel their resolve, but enough to keep them from lighting anything on fire and destroying too much.” Her nephew nodded and pulled Sabrina away before the girl could ask any questions.  

Once they were gone, Zelda turned back to Hilda who’d moved away from the window and was locking down her greenhouse. “You have to take them to the academy.” She instructed softly but firmly, glancing over her shoulder to ensure neither of the kids were within hearing range. “No hunters can enter the academy, it’s the safest place.”  

Brow furrowing, Hilda nodded. “I agree it’s the safest. But why are you speaking as though you won’t be joining us?”  

Ignoring the question, Zelda continued. “Tether them to the building to keep them there, you know how reckless and impulsive they can be.”  

“Wonder who they got it from,” Hilda muttered, mouth pursed as Zelda kept going as if she hadn’t spoken.  

“Once you’ve ensured their safety, send Faustus here.”  

Baffled, Hilda blinked. “No, I’m coming back for you—"

Though touched by her sister’s protectiveness, Zelda shook her head. “If something happens, they need you.” Zelda closed the distance between them and clutched Hilda’s hands before her sister could reply. “They need you, Hildie. More than they need me.” She cocked her head as if daring Hilda to contradict her. “You know it’s true.” When Hilda still made to argue she cut her off. “I’m not saying they wouldn’t miss me, but,” she swallowed, “we both know these are the roles we took on long ago. Protector,” she looked down at herself, “care giver.” She looked back at Hilda and squeezed her sister’s hands. “If anything, I know you can play both roles. I’m not sure I can. Now go, we don’t have much time. It’s been several minutes already.”  

Hilda’s lips twisted and Zelda could tell she was forcing an argument down when she nodded, grabbing Sabrina and Ambrose who had just returned to the kitchen and disappeared with them.  

She waited a moment, ensuring Hilda had followed her instructions and wouldn’t teleport back, before making her next move. The hunters were close to the house, the wards allowing her to sense their proximity. Exhaling deliberately, Zelda exited through the backdoor, making sure the hunters saw her ‘fleeing’ into the woods.  

It was almost too easy to lure them there. And while it may not be the best place to take a stand, Zelda saw no need to destroy the house in the process of dealing with them.  

Only… she’d underestimated them.  

There were more of them than she thought, and they ambushed her once she’d gone about twenty feet into the woods; something cracking against the back of her head. Her vision swayed and darkened as she fell to her knees; stunned. The object struck her again and everything went black.  

~~~~~~

The world came back into focus slowly, painfully.  

Head throbbing and mouth dry, Zelda woke to find herself gagged and hands bound together above her. It was then she realized she was hanging against the trunk of a tree. Just high enough that her feet, which are also tied together, were a few inches off the ground. Blinking away some of the fuzziness in her vision, Zelda glanced up to see she was dangling from some kind of hook that must be used for hoisting up kills to keep other animals away while the mortals keep hunting.  

Apparently, it was good for more than one kind of prey.  

Scoffing to herself, Zelda started to work on her bindings; these hunters were about to find out that Zelda was the predator here, not them.  

Turning her still slightly muddled attention to the men a few yards from her, Zelda noted the hunters were arguing. Why they didn’t just kill her, she didn’t know. Perhaps they had questions, hoped she’d reveal the coven. Just as she was steeling herself for interrogation, one of the men shifted to the side and she blinked.  

Mr. Kinkle? She narrowed her eyes and really focused despite the pain radiating through her head, yes, yes it was the Kinkle man. She recognized him from the funeral, where he and Harvey had knocked the empty casket over.... From when she’d used magic to stop him from hurting his son.  

Satan this was her doing. She’d brought this down upon her family with her recklessness. Zelda didn’t regret what she’d done, protecting Harvey, and it was only fitting she was the one to pay the price; she’d been the one to expose herself to mortals. But didn’t mean she wasn’t furious at herself for the situation.  

It also didn’t explain why she was alive. Maybe it was something as simple as the fact that Paul Kinkle knew her. They’d passed one another at numerous school functions, at the grocery store. She wasn’t just some nameless, faceless witch, she was Zelda Spellman, her niece was dating his son.  

Well, whatever the reason, this hesitancy would be his, and the others, final mistake

Shifting a bit to try and relieve the pressure on her wrists, Zelda attempted to cast a silent curse. One that would have the group clawing at invisible, and nonexistent, bugs under their skin.  

Nothing.

Well, nothing beyond her hands tingling painfully at the movement. Apparently, she’d been hanging there long enough to lose just enough feeling in her fingers to prevent spell casting. The gag didn’t help either. Though Zelda had been capable of nonverbal spells for decades now, the inability to use her hands and the head injuries were making it incredibly difficult to use magic.  

It was then they noticed she’d woken up.  

The hunters immediately fell silent and gaped at her stupidly, clearly still unsure what to do with her. Zelda just glared at them menacingly, trying to subtle yank at the rope binding her hands— perhaps she could wear away at the rope or catch it on the pointed part of the hook and rip herself free.  

Mr. Kinkle finally approached her, features contorted with rage and grief. “What did you do to Tommy?” He demanded, face inches from hers and spittle flying from his lips. The confusion must have shown on her face because he slapped her, hard. “Don’t play dumb you bitch. What did you do to my son?!”

Schooling her expression into something blank and disinterested, Zelda let her gaze slide from him to the trees around him. While she had no idea where this line of questioning was coming from, Zelda wasn’t going to dissuade him from it. The longer she could keep him on this topic and off anything she might have actual information about the better.  

Better was a relative term.  

Her refusal to even talk through the gag, to beg, to offer up explanations, to demand why they’d taken her, infuriated Kinkle. And he took out his fury on her.  

At least he varied where he landed the blows; razor thin silver linings, but silver linings, nonetheless. The rotating impacts gave her some minor reprieve and recovery time. Stalking away, breathing heavily, Kinkle speared his hands through his hair.  

“Paul, are, are you sure?” One of the other men, Anthony, asked, as they huddled around Kinkle. Anthony glanced at Zelda and looked away just as quickly. He was the weak link, didn’t have the stomach for what was happening—especially seeing as how Zelda appeared to have no information. Appeared to be a normal woman.

And really, it was easy enough to rile one another up about witchcraft and other such things in the moment, using his dead son as a rallying cry... but once you had a defenseless woman tied to a tree and were beating her? That changed things.  

The doubt was catching, the others sharing dubious looks behind Paul’s back as well.  

Kinkle refused to be deterred, though, and spun to deliver another brutal blow to her ribs. “This one is certainly a witch.” He spat, eyeing her with such hate Zelda started to doubt this was only about her restraining him at the funeral. “You heard what dad said. And I know what she did to me at Tommy’s funeral.” He backhanded her again, her cheek splitting open. “Can’t stop me now, can you?”

She sneered at him the best she could around the gag. The action only antagonized him further.  

“What—“, he hit her, “did—“, another blow, “you do to Tommy?!” He bellowed, delivering a blow with each word?  

Doing her best to look unaffected by the abuse, Zelda rolled her eyes. The response made easier by the fact that she still had no idea what the man was raving about. Anger finally getting the best of him, Kinkle removed the gag. “Tommy. What did you do to my boy? He wasn’t the same after the mines.”

After the mines?  

What? The boy was dead. This entire time she’d been under the impression Kinkle somehow suspected her in the collapse of the mines because of what she’d done at the funeral. But this?  

Casually stretching her mouth for a moment before wetting her chapped lips, Zelda sneered at the man in front of her. “Maybe you should ask yourself what you did to him. I’m sure there were beatings I wasn’t around to stop. Besides, you’re the one who put him in the mines. Whatever trauma he experienced down there is your fault.” She snapped, trying to pretend she knew what was happening and not that the last she’d heard of Tommy was that his dead body was lost among the rubble.  

Another blow brought her back to the present; a punch to the stomach. The air knocked from her, Zelda wheezed first a moment before spitting at Kinkle; a mix of saliva and blood. “That the best you can do hunter? Or are you so primitive you lost even the knowledge necessary to—"

Suddenly he pulled out a knife and held it to her throat. “Tommy came back. But he wasn’t whole. Like some kind of zombie. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t speak, barely reacted to anything! The doctor said it was shock. But I know better. What did you do?”

Zelda’s eyes widened involuntarily in recognition of the signs. Sabrina, what did you do? She thought, eyes flicking between the group gathered in front of her. No wonder they were here, if they’d interacted with a poorly resurrected corpse believing in witchcraft wouldn’t seem farfetched.  

Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Kinkle pressed the knife against her neck harder, cutting into the skin. “What did you do?” He repeated through gritted teeth.  

Scoffing, Zelda shifted, her arms aching from the strain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The doctor explained it, it’s shock. Or are you just too dumb to understand.” Zelda mocked, brow arching even as the knife dug into her neck further.  

Anthony shook his head. “Maybe, maybe we should go back to the house? See if we can find the someone else, either she gives us information, or it’ll motivate her to talk.” He nervously wiped his hands on his jeans. Despite his suggestion, it was easy for Zelda to see that Anthony didn’t want another hostage, he wanted the chance to run. The others, not catching on to the same clues she had, merely murmured in assent.  

But she couldn’t let them go back to the house; regardless of Anthony’s intentions the others would truly follow through. Right now, all they had was speculation. And while her family tried to proof the house in the little time they’d had after the alarms, Zelda knew they hadn’t hidden or protected everything. Anything more than a cursory search would reveal all kinds of questionable items that would to support their theory of the Spellmans being witches.  

That, and well, Zelda wasn’t sure how well Hilda had actually listened to her. It was entirely possible that, after depositing the kids at the school, her sister came back. And Zelda couldn’t risk the hunters stumbling across Hilda and hurting her as well.  

Knowing what the consequences would be, Zelda squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a spell under her breath. And even though she couldn’t really feel or move her hands, now that she could speak Zelda managed a weak spell which caused the biggest man to run straight into a nearby tree; knocking himself out cold.  

It wasn’t exactly an overt reveal, the man could’ve simply decided to run into the tree all by himself, but it was evidence enough for the other hunters. After checking on their friend, the men abandoned their idea of going back to the house and huddled closer to her, intrigued.  

Kinkle howled in triumph and clamped a hand over her mouth hard enough to bruise. “I told you boys; this bitch is a witch.”

“Maybe,” another man, Mason if she’d heard correctly earlier, grinned and ran his hand up the outside of her thigh. “Maybe we need a different kind of interrogation technique.” He smirked and tugged at the hem of her dress. Anthony paled and backed away, he alone of the group of men balking at the idea.  

Giving her a feral grin, Kinkle sized her up. “I’ve always wondered what you’ve got under these prudish dresses.” He lowered the knife from her throat and brought his other hand down to hold her dress in place as he sawed at the seam where it started by her knee.  

While Zelda tried to be subtle before, she saw no reason to do so anymore. Subtle wouldn’t win her any favors now and could potentially cause her more harm than good. Another spell flew from her mouth and Mason collapsed to the ground, twitching, with reddish foam bubbling at his lips.  

They rushed to gag her again before she could target anyone else. At least she’d gotten rid of another one; the worst one, or at least she assumed he was the worst—he’d been the one to suggest ‘alternative’ methods.  

If only she had full use of her hands and Latin spells weren’t so long... she might have managed a bit more.  

Anthony backed away further, hands held up. “She’s going to curse us all. We shouldn’t even be touching her.” The others froze, eyes drifting to where Mason lay, unmoving and where their larger friend was unconscious, but alive, a few yards away.  

Undeterred, Kinkle started ripping at the seam of her dress, splitting it and moving higher and higher. “We’ve got her gagged again and her hands tied. If she could do anything, she would’ve done it by now. We were just careless with the gag. Won’t happen again.” He gave her calf a squeeze and laughed. “We get to have fun now.”  

Her dress was completely ripped open and ruined now, and the men stood and gaped at her a moment; stunned by her lingerie. She’d never been one for casual underwear and unfortunately today had been no exception when she’d gotten dressed.  

“Shit.” Kinkle muttered, his eyes tracing along her body as one of his relatives adjusted his pants and licked his lips in the background. “I knew you were hiding something good, but Jesus.” His hand came up and squeezed her hip, lingering.  

And suddenly the rest of the groups’ fear was gone. They surged forward to unhook her from the tree.

The moment she was free from the hook, Zelda thrashed against the hands trying to catch her. The fight was fruitless, her arms might as well have been limp noodles for how much strength she had left in them and her feet were still bound.

Bodily dragging her towards a clear patch of grass, the men murmured excitedly. Looming over her, Kinkle undid his belt. “I’m first, it’s my boy she hurt, so I get to hurt her back. Hold her.” He instructed, bending down to cut the rope on her ankles.

The others complied, one man pressing her bound hands into the ground while two others grasped her calves with bruising hands to restrain her now free legs.  

Zelda kept her expression steely; even if her body trembled with adrenaline and rage. She just needed to cast one more spell. Just one. Inhaling through her nose, she managed to twitch her fingers just right despite their lack of feeling and got off what she needed.  

A confounding spell.  

The men paused and blinked at one another, then the spell sunk in completely. A fight broke out, the hunters arguing over why they were there, who should go first, then who’d go after. Two of the men started to brawl; though the ones holding her down merely shouted at each other and didn’t release her.  

The spell was weak, her inability to use her hands to make the proper gestures would mean the confusion would wear off sooner than she’d like. But she didn’t need much time. By now Faustus should be close, Hilda having told him what was happening. Closing her eyes, Zelda prayed to Satan, to Lilith, to whoever might be listening that she bought herself enough time.  

~~~

Hilda couldn’t find him, not at first.  

She’d quickly tethered the kids to the school before running through the place. In the end, Blackwood found her. His head poking out of a closed door, a little further ahead, having heard her shouts.  

“Sister Hilda?” His brow furrowed, the expression was quickly replaced with exasperation. “Your excommunication forbids you—" he began in a bored, tired tone.  

“Hunters!” She gasped, coming to a stop in front of him and clutching at his forearms.  

Blackwood blinked. “What?”

“Hunters. At the mortuary. I took the kids and ran to protect them, but Zelda’s still there! She said she’d be fine. That she’d come here as soon as she dealt with them, but I have a bad feel—"

Before she could finish, Blackwood dumped his ornate robe onto the ground and teleported away.  

~~~~~

Faustus appeared on the front porch, a few feet to the side of the door; which was still closed. And though he wanted to sprint forward, Faustus forced himself to take it slow, knowing he’d be useless to Zelda if he was sloppy.  

Carefully, Faustus poked his head inside; nothing. The house was empty, a quick spell revealed that the only living things inside were spiders and a few mice in the attic. Striding into the kitchen, Faustus snatched a cigarette butt from an ash tray on the table and cast a tracking spell; Zelda’s footprints lit up along the floor. They were everywhere; the entire floor glowing with her presence. Growling at his ineptitude, Faustus adjusted the spell to erase any prints not left within the past fifteen minutes. Only one set remained, they moved through the house, prepping it for an altercation that never seemed to happen, then finally out the back door.  

Nodding to himself, Faustus took one final glance around the room to ensure he didn’t miss anything, and his eyes landed on Vinegar Tom, perched in his basket in the corner of the kitchen. Wishing the familiar was alive to still help his mistress, Faustus ran from the house, tracking Zelda’s footprints as they disappeared into the woods.  

The path was clear for a while and Faustus started to think it was possible Zelda led the hunters astray before teleporting away.  

Until, until he found a disturbing scene. Zelda’s glowing footprints suddenly stopped. And not because she’d teleported away.

True panic settled in. Zelda wouldn’t have gone without a fight. But from the looks of it, the hunters had gotten a jump on her, not even giving her a chance to defend herself, her family and her home.  

Sprinting forward, Faustus followed the deep grooves carved into the soft soil from Zelda’s heels.  

He heard them before he saw them, though how they didn’t hear him as well—considering he’d been thundering through the underbrush—was an unholy miracle.  

When Faustus crept around a tree, he realized why they hadn’t heard his approach; they were too busy fighting with each other. It was only when one of them pushed the other that he caught a glimpse of a battered Zelda on the ground; dried blood in her hair, covered in bruises and her dress ripped open.  

Something dark and raw erupted within him. Without another thought, Faustus crossed the distance between them, spells flying.  

One strung a man up by his feet, his abdomen sliced open to spill out his bodily contents on the forest floor. Another spell snapped thick branches off a tree and pinned another man to the ground, the pieces of wood passing through the man’s shoulders and gut. A third spell ripped a man’s limbs off, another woke the man back up so that he’d have to feel ever second of his slow death. One ran for it, a spell had roots catching his feet and pulling him underground still struggling. The last two were still fight with each other, whatever Zelda had done keeping them distracted. Faustus snapped their necks with the wave of his hand, his eyes on the last man standing.  

He’d saved the ringleader for last; the one who’d already had his belt undone.  

Eyes wild and splattered with gore, Faustus gripped the man by his throat and lifted him up, nails digging into the man’s skin as he struggled in vain, choking. He barely restrained the urge to slaughter the mortal. But that would be too kind. Sneering, Faustus tightened his grip before letting the man fall, another spell hogtied him before he even hit the ground. “I’m going to take my time with you.” Faustus promised, kicking the man brutally in the ribs before turning to Zelda.  

She’d scrambled to the edge of the clearing when he’d burst in, removing herself from the fray. Now that the fight was over, she slumped against the tree behind her, hands ineffectively pulling at the gag in her mouth; hands likely too numb to properly grip the material.  

Faustus hurried over and knelt beside her.  

“Zels,” he breathed, hastily, but carefully, removing the gag, letting the fabric hang around her neck. “Are you okay?” He asked, freeing her hands and wincing when she whimpered at the sudden flow of blood into the appendages. He massaged her hands and wrists gently to try and ease the pain. “Did, did they—" he looked at her ruined dress and he couldn’t force himself to say it.  

“No.” Her voice was hard, but he knew it was the truth from the dark gleam in her eyes as she looked at the ringleader. “I managed a few spells to distract them. I knew you were coming.” She turned her attention to him and gave him a small smile. Relief flooded through Faustus and he exhaled loudly, resting his forehead against hers before pulling back to massage her ankles where the ropes had cut into her skin as well, trying to restore blood flow.  

“I,” he hesitated, hand coming up to hover uncertainly over her rib cage which was inflamed and discolored from countless bruises. “I can try and heal these myself. It would work, but it’d take longer, might be painful for you. Or I can take you to the infernal infirmary—"

Zelda’s hand latched onto his wrist tightly. “No.” She stated firmly, her nails biting into his skin unconsciously. “Not the infirmary. I don’t,” she looked away from him and gritted her teeth. “Not the infirmary. Take me home.”  

Comprehension dawned on him, she didn’t want to be seen like this, couldn’t let anyone know she’d been overpowered, even temporarily. The heralded Zelda Spellman refused to appear weak in front of anyone, including the academy’s healers. Nodding, Faustus carefully fixed her dress, making sure it a bit looser than before so it wouldn’t chafe her injuries, before gathering her in his arms and teleporting to the Spellman house.  

They appeared in Zelda’s bedroom, Faustus immediately carried her over to the bed and gently placed her on top of the covers. “I’ll be back,” he informed her, already turning to leave.  

She caught his wrist once more. “Don’t go.”

Smiling softly at her, Faustus bent and kissed her forehead, mindful of her injuries. “I’m going to get your sister. Though there is much I don’t approve of her behavior, she is an excellent healer. She’ll have you better in no time.” He turned to leave again but Zelda didn’t release him.  

“Just,” she sighed, “I’m fine. Really.” She added at the skeptical lift of his brow. “Well, physically I could be better. But if anything, I’m embarrassed.” She admitted, cheeks flaming with anger and shame at how easily she’d been overcome. “Mortal hunters, inept ones at that, getting the best of me.” She scowled and winced slightly at the painful tug of her cheek. “I don’t want you to leave because I can’t have the rest of the coven hearing about my incompetence. And, well,” she heaved a breath and shook her head. “I haven’t figured out how to explain to Sabrina that her boyfriend’s family is dead.”

A snarl tugged Faustus’ lips. “They deserved it. Far worse than I gave them. I made it too fast.” He growled, thinking back on the scene they’d left behind, limbs, organs and blood strewn across the clearing. “I’ll have to go back and clean that up. Can’t have a mortal stumbling into the area and finding a crime scene.” He remarked absently, sitting next to her on the bed and tenderly rubbing one the deep, raw marks the rope left on her wrists. The injury faded slightly at his efforts and he huffed in annoyance, clearly, he’d been trying to heal it completely.  

“Make sure you save as much as you can.” She reminded him, smiling a bit at his incompetence in healing. “It’s not often we get access to such a fresh supply of body parts. I can think of several uses for their tongues alone.”  

Faustus chuckled and looked at her, bringing his free hand up to brush her hair back, and tuck it behind her ear before tentatively healing the dark bruise and cut on her cheek. This time successful in his attempt. “You’re really alright? After what they almost—"

“Almost.” She cut in, squeezing his hand in emphasis. “They almost. But they didn’t because I was minimally competent, and you came to my rescue.” Zelda batted her eyes at him teasingly and Faustus shook his head.  

Climbing completely onto the bed and resting his back against the headboard, Faustus shook his head. “I suppose it wasn’t the first time you’ve experienced a beating.” He noted.  

She snorted and then brought up a hand to her ribs in regret. “Hardly. My harrowing was worse by far than what those ingrates managed.”  

Peering at her from the corner of his eye, Faustus wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Tell me what happened?”  

Zelda sighed in exaggerated exasperation and slid into his lap, much to his surprise, though he didn’t hesitate to hold her. She explained how they’d been alerted to the hunters’ presence, how she’d thought she was luring then into the forest only to fall into a trap herself. How they’d tried to question her. She told it all in a level, matter of fact tone, and Faustus wasn’t sure if she was downplaying for his sake, if she truly was unruffled by the whole ordeal or if she just hadn’t processed it fully yet.  

Whichever the case, Faustus knew Zelda would deal with what happened in her own way and would come to him for help or advice only if she wanted to. So, he didn’t press the issue... much.  

“You revealed yourself to them.” He murmured, wanting to clutch her tighter but settling for dropping a kiss into her hair—one thing he could do without hurting her.  

Humming in agreement, Zelda pressed her forehead against the side of his neck. “It was the only way to keep them from going after my family.”  

Faustus pulled back slightly so he could see her face. “Your family was already safe at the academy. Why not let some of the hunters to go back to the house? Why—"

“Because despite my absolute trust in Hilda and her abilities to get the kids to safety, I didn’t trust my sister to simply allow me to face something on my own, especially when it was dangerous. I thought she might return to the house, regardless my instructions. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, risk her safety.”  

Arching a brow, Faustus smirked. “Oh, but you could risk my safety?” He intoned, picking some leaves from her hair and not at all upset. While he’d have preferred Zelda not been in the predicament to begin with, he was glad he was the one she’d sent for. There were few Faustus would have trusted to have dealt with the matter and kept Zelda safe.

She laughed softly, just like he’d hoped, and shook her head. “You’re not quite as important to me.” She remarked airily, moving off his lap, his fingers sliding through her hair with a quiet protest, and getting off the bed despite his much louder protest.  

Turning partially, Zelda lifted a brow at him. “I need to contact Hilda, I’m sure she’s in a state waiting to hear what happened. It’s an unholy miracle she hasn’t teleport—"

Suddenly Hilda appeared in front of them, stumbling a little on her landing. “Praise Satan,” she gasped, seeing Zelda upright and whole. And before anyone could deter her, Hilda launched herself at her sister, hugging her hard.  

A yelp of pain escaped Zelda and she backed away from Hilda quickly, arms wrapped around her middle as if to contain the pain. It was then Hilda took in Zelda’s appearance; covered in dirt, hair still a mess even with Faustus’ efforts, her dress looser than usual and deep, angry red grooves encircling her wrists and ankles.  

Mouth working soundless for a moment, Hilda hurriedly guided Zelda back to the bed to sit. “Stay.” She ordered, and then took off out the door and down the stairs; likely to retrieve her medical kit.  

Exhaling loudly, Zelda stayed put, not wanting to hear Hilda’s lecture if she moved. Faustus harrumphed, shifting so he was immediately behind her and he began to pick debris from her hair once more.  

“Why do you listen to her but not me?” He grumbled, his fingers careful not to probe the spots caked with dried blood where she’d initially been struck in the blitz attack.  

Peering at him from the corner of her eye, Zelda huffed. “Because she’s my sister and I have to live with her and listen to her nagging me if I don’t.”

He muttered something she didn’t catch but she could have sworn she felt him press a feather light kiss onto her shoulder. Before she could turn to face him, though, confront him, Hilda came back, arms laden with supplies.  

To her dismay, Faustus got off the bed then and straightened his clothes. “I’ll be off then.” He said formally, turning to leave.  

Unable to stop herself, Zelda called after him. “Faustus, I—" He stopped and turned to look at her expectantly. Suddenly unsure, Zelda swallowed back the words asking him to stay. “Thank you.”  

Inclining his head, Faustus have her a brief smile. “Of course. I will tend to the mess in the forest and then release your niece and nephew from the tethering spell when I return to the academy. Will that be enough time for you to work?” He turned his attention to Hilda, and Zelda appreciated that he understood she didn’t want the kids to see her like this and was ensuring Hilda would be done by the time they returned. When Hilda confirmed it would be enough time, Faustus nodded once more and disappeared on the spot.  

~~~~  

Hours later, after Hilda fussed and lectured and teared up as she healed Zelda’s injuries. After the kids came back and bombarded her with questions and Zelda told Sabrina it’d been the Kinkle’s; she was finally alone in her room.  

It wasn’t that she needed the rest, though she hadn’t fought Hilda when her sister suggested she lay down for a bit; Hilda had healed her with relative ease, not even a scrape was left to show she’d been beaten. No, she wasn’t off alone because she needed time to recover, or to cope with what had happened. If Zelda were honest with herself, she was sulking. Irritated by how easily she’d lost control of the situation.  

It wasn’t even what had happened to her, so much as how it happened that had Zelda stewing.

It was that a group of unbloodied hunters had gotten the best of her. Because she’d been arrogant, reckless; things she’d scolded Sabrina for being recently. And the revealed hypocrisy burned her a bit.  

Pacing the room, Zelda’s thoughts were interrupted by a pinging from the mirror. Brow furrowing, Zelda sat at her vanity just as Faustus’ face appeared in her mirror.  

“I have something you might enjoy playing with.” He remarked.  

And while Zelda normally would have taken it for an innuendo, the cruel curl of Faustus’ lips told her it was something else entirely this time. Cocking her head, Zelda lifted a brow. “And what would that be?”  

Something vicious gleamed in Faustus’ eyes and he smirked. “Come to the dungeons at the academy and see for yourself.” And before she could reply his image winked out of sight, leaving just her reflection.  

With a mental shrug, Zelda put her shoes on and teleported to the academy; making her way to the dungeons without preamble.  

Faustus was waiting for her; leaning against a wall and wiping his hands on a towel. He was still in his dress pants but had stripped down to the white tank he normally wore under his dress shirts.  

Or, the tank had been white; the material was currently splattered with grime and blood and it was then Zelda noticed it was blood he was wiping off his hands.  

Intrigued, and mildly aroused, Zelda closed the distance between them. Sighing in feigned boredom, Zelda propped one hand on her hip and gestured with the other. “So, where’s this plaything? It had better be worth it if I came all the way here.”  

A smile tugged Faustus’ mouth and he shook his head minutely. “As if the academy is so far out of your way.” He intoned, setting the towel aside even though blood still stained his hands. “In any case, I think you’ll find this trip was... worthwhile.” He flicked his wrist and the door next to him creaked open.  

Lifting her brows at the warlock one last time, Zelda moved past him to peer through the door. A wicked smile lit upon her lips as she took in the sight before her. “Faustus,” she breathed, walking into the room. “You shouldn’t have.”  

The warlock slipped in behind her, the door swinging shut of its own accord. “Oh, but Zels, I do love to spoil you.” He growled, his hands gripping her hips and his lips latching onto her neck. “I was a bit selfish, though,” he admitted, resting his chin on her shoulder as his arms wound around her middle more fully. “I couldn’t help but get started without you.”  

Huffing in amusement, Zelda snaked her hand up to his hair and tugged it slightly. “I think I can forgive you, just this once...” She murmured turning her head to kiss him hotly before breaking out of his hold completely. “As long as I get to finish.”  

A sinful smile spread on Faustus’ face. “Of course.” He gave her a half mocking bow and indicated for her to go ahead as he took a seat to watch.  

Flexing her fingers, Zelda stepped forward and removed the gag from the man’s mouth. “Hello, Mr. Kinkle,” she speared her fingers through his hair, gripping hard and yanking his head back so he was looking at her; tears streamed down his face, cutting through the dirt and blood smeared on his person. “I always wondered what you had under that miner’s uniform,” she mocked, arching an unimpressed brow at the briefs Faustus had let the man keep.  

Kinkle whimpered and tried to wrench away from her.