#the way he reached for his knife the second beale said 'the stakes are too high for freedom'

[thosewildcharms]

we don’t talk enough about how amazing and sexy it was seeing rick smoothly jump and slide across the table while simultaneously taking down beale

oh I can assure you it's all I think about.

[unholyhelbig]

The Scent of Fire | #HW202

Prompt: Unusual Familiars 

Summary: When the witch trials hit the small town that Chloe Beale calls home, she turns to the only person she can think of; Her Familiar. 

Read it on Ao3 here! 

The scent of fire nipped at her lungs until they burned. Chloe swallowed the metallic taste in her mouth and stared at the cracked wooden floor. Some of it reflected the ash tracked by Father Aspen’s shoes. She tried to ignore the way they looked like faces screaming for the very mercy he preached about each Wednesday and again on Sunday before the sun had even risen to its highest point.

This fire smelled different.

Her mother pressed the only silk handkerchief she had against her lips to stifle what they were all too afraid to mention. It was her nice one, the royal blue one that had their family monogram stitched into the side. Her father brought it home from the city. He brought Chloe a snow globe that sat next to the oil lamp on her school desk.

Chloe wished she had one of her own, that she didn’t have to pretend she couldn’t smell it. The rest of the church sat in an odd silence while Father Aspen wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He smeared ash on his beaded skin.

She moved her own hand against the base of her nose but felt her mother’s razor-sharp nails dig into her thigh. He was scanning the crowd, clutching the podium. Chloe struggled to ignore the strangled sobbing of the woman in the front pew and the half-hearted attempt of her husband to quell it.

“Revelations 21:8 ” Father Aspen had breathed in too much smoke, his voice was gravelly “as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”

The mother in the front row screamed out again, her cries muffled in pain. Chloe grimaced and turned her face to the side. Her own mother didn’t condemn her this time. Father Aspen was panting with exhaustion and a few around the room spurred his dark smile on.

“This town has been in the unknowing presence of Evil for far too long!” He shouted, calming the room “Miss Prescott is a clear example of what we do to the unholy in Barden. Let it be a warning to clear the filth from our streets and stir the rebellion from our children. Let it be a warning.”

Chloe dug the blade of the knife into the soft skin of the third potato that she had pulled from hard soil. The winter season was upon them, and her stomach clenched at the idea of a quality meal. It would be the last of the year.

It was just the two of them when her father traveled for work. Her mother had quickly closed the door to his study as they returned from church. She was penning him a letter now, she guessed, despite not much ink being left in the little vile. Barden had had its first real witch burning, and that was big news. It wouldn’t be long before it’s second.

“You could have done something to stop this,” She mumbled softly, taking a good chunk of hard skin away from the yellowed vegetable. “Isn’t that your job?”

She had felt the woman’s presence in the church, just beyond the stained windows as smoke coated the air. That scent of burnt flesh wicking into her Sunday clothes. Her familiar lurked and watched and worried like the rest of them.

Chloe heard her scoff “Puritan panic is nothing short of entertaining. Though, what happened to Abby is tragic. Your priest wants to make an example and he would have done it regardless.”

“What comes next?”

“The same thing that happened in Salem, I suppose. They’ll string them up like Christmas bulbs on a Douglas Fir.”

Chloe dropped the knife and let it clank against the cutting board loudly before turning quickly to face her familiar. She sat in one of the kitchen chairs, slumped back on its hind legs with her own feet crossed at the ankles. Beca had a smug look on her face. Chloe would have thrown the kitchen utensil if the demon wouldn’t find it amusing.

“Careful, Chloe, if your mother senses you slipping into madness, she’ll turn to her religion for help.”

She ignored the comment. “What if it’s I they make an example of next?”

She scrunched up her nose as if she were thinking, but perhaps she hadn’t been at all. “Tragic.”

Chloe Beale didn’t mean to fall into witchcraft, just as Abby Prescott hadn’t. A group of them gathered in the graveyard one night, the only one in town. Aubrey Posen had raided her father's stuff and found a book that none of them wanted to touch- but they had. After a few slices of the palm and magic words, they had fallen deep into a habit.

A rush of dark magic made Chloe feel alive. So she read on, she receipted more incantations by the light of oil and the cover of darkness. She had reached the back of Aubrey’s book and ended up with Beca.

“You were supposed to be of some use to me,” She growled under worn breath. “I haven’t yet called on you.”

“No take backs, I’m afraid. A demon can sense chaos from millenniums away. I knew that you needed help.”

“You fed off of the fear.”

“oh, that’s cruel. Maybe I genuinely want to help you, Chloe.” She said “Lay off the witchcraft for a while. I know the feeling of dark magic is intoxicating but if it cooks you like dear Abby then is it worth it?”

“I’ve thought of that.”

“And the verdict?”

Chloe ran her dirt-stained palms against her apron. “I can use it to my advantage instead.”

Beca let out a loud groan and placed all four legs of the chair back onto the dusty floor. The young girl in turn picked up her knife once more and made even cubes of the vegetable before dropping them into the broth that boiled above a lit fire. Witchcraft was no different from cooking- maybe with more consequences than a full stomach.

She heard the floor creak behind her and felt Beca’s hot touch on her hip. Her fingers burned hungrily through her cotton dress and apron. Chloe stopped her task and made her stance rigid. She focused on the iron pot hanging from a little hook on the wall. Her hand clenched the knife.

“Chloe, I am your familiar, whether you like it or not. Though I am here to serve you and patronize you, I ultimately have a say in your actions. After all, we share the same master.”

“I serve no one.”

Beca scoffed and withdrew her touch. It made Chloe turn once more. This time she was mere inches from her familiar. Her features were cat-like, long, and slim. Her eyes dawned the same brightness of a black feline wandering around the barn on the edge of their property. She hadn’t thought of the connection until now.

Beca smelled of ash. Not the same thickness as the particles from this morning before the service, but ash all the same. “Before my God, you served the one you worship every Sunday. That, we both know. The second you spoke those words in the land of the dead, you were bound.”

Beca placed her molten touch under Chloe’s chin, leading the girl's eyes up to hers. Her palms dug deep into the counter behind her and breath caught as if to fight off the scent of fire and old magic.

“Love, I am here to assist you in your ultimate immortality. You’re my master in this battle, but not in this raging war. In order for you to lead, you must not be burned at the stake. Do not abandon your practice or your patience, but don’t feed into it. Not for the next month.”

Chloe swallowed hard “And what of Aubrey?”

“Aubrey is not of my concern. The girl does seem intelligent enough to do the same. Neither of you shall speak of this. Abby was a great loss.” Beca moved her hand away and Chloe cleared her throat. She missed the touch sorely but turned back to her task, mind reeling.

She had moved on to peel another potato. She knew her skin was raw and angry where Beca's hand was. Her fingers trembled, wishing to soothe the ache. The door to her father’s study creaked open and she heard her mother’s footsteps. They stopped near the kitchen. There was a dark and labored silence.

“Chloe,” her mother croaked. She had been crying, her voice was scratchy. “Who were you speaking with?”

“No one, mother”

“I heard you speaking to someone.”

Her voice was accusatory, and more importantly, whatever cracks the ordeal had left this morning were filled abundantly with fear. Chloe lifted her stormy eyes from the task of a solid meal once more and focused her entire body on stilling her breath and her words.

Chloe let out a sharp sigh “I was receipting scripture, mama. The Prescott’s have been a part of this community for a long time. I was quite close with Abigail and I” She forced her voice to shatter like a mirror “I hope she’s found peace despite straying from the house of the Lord.”

Her mother scrutinized her for a long moment but seemed to believe the words eventually. Chloe grasped a ladle and spooned some of the mixture into two bowls. She placed them each on the table before purposely sitting in the chair that Beca had been. It was still warm.

After long moments of silence, she started shoveling spoonful’s of the stew into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully as if to avoid any type of conversation.

She felt the hasty touch of a long black tail curling around her ankles. Her lungs still hissed with the scent of burning flesh, and an even hotter touch.