Hi Book Monsters!
I woke up to a bit of a chill in the air and it made me want to revisit this little flash fiction piece from a while back. I wrote it one fall with visions of a western gaslamp story-style in mind. I’d really love to explore that sub-genre niche further. How about you? Are you a fan of gaslamp and steampunk tales? If so, how do you feel about wild west, Victorian era settings?
If you’re ready for some magical pre-fall feels, read on!
Delamar.
A chill went up Emmaline’s spine at the name.
The shop’s front door blew open, smacking into the wall with a loud clatter, and she jerked around in time to see a tall, male figure in a black hat, boots and a long, black duster outside the window. The figure was absorbed by night’s shadows in an instant, whooshing down the road in that same starry whirlwind she’d witnessed over the bookshelf.
Cilla meowed loudly.
Stealing herself, Emmaline looked down at the tabby and nodded.
“If I’m not back by morning…” Ugh! If only she’d been able to work a decent animal enchantment at the very least. Without another thought, she pushed her spectacles up on her nose and raced out the door after the shadowy grimoire thief.
Halfway to the woods, she was already panting. Sweat trickled down her spine under her thick muslin dress. Fancying herself a city girl, she never left their little Wyn, mining town.
If she’d been adept at nulling, she could have frozen the intruder in his tracks right there in the shop. It would also help if the foliage hadn’t suddenly grown so thick, she thought, yanking her poor skirt out of the grip of a scrub hodge for the umpteenth time.
“Measly little mites. Unhand me!”
With a jerk, she pulled free of the pest’s miniscule paws and stumbled into a clearing. Only… it wasn’t clear.
No, in fact, it was quite occupied. A whole gathering of Delamar magicians sat outside a half circle of covered wagons around a fire with an enormous black cauldron sitting over it. Every pair of eyes turned toward her. Magic thrummed through the air, palpable.
“Moon and stars, on this night of nights, you sent us this sign.”
An older man with a scarlet headscarf and a pointed little beard swept a hand toward Emmaline as he looked up at the sky.
“Uhh, a sign? Wh-what kind of sign?” The wizard crept closer. “Me? I’m not a sign!”
Before he closed in, the wind whirled. The eerie black shadow from her shop whipped through the clearing. All the bodies gathered around the cauldron flinched, distracted by flying embers and debris as if she weren’t even there.
Still frozen, Emmaline gaped as the sinister mini-twister came right for her. In the next instant, everything stopped and she couldn’t see the clearing, couldn’t see anything but the breast of a black homespun shirt right in front of her. She moved her stare up over a very nice male chest, a strong chin, and a sinfully attractive pair of smirking lips. Finally, she met the eyes that went with that tantalizing ensemble under the brim of a black rustler’s hat. Dark brown and gold. Tiger’s Eye, was all she could think, recalling her studies from yesterday morning. A protection stone.
“Were you thinking of going in their pot tonight, shopkeeper?”
His voice fell over her in a hot whisper. Her eyelashes fluttered under the glass of her spectacles. All kinds of pesky attraction spell ingredients bombarded her brain as she drank in the heady scent he gave off. Musk, bergamot, leather and some exotic spice she didn’t know.
“Uhhh, wh-whu…?”
Before she could say a real word, the swirl of shadow magic he possessed rose up, enclosing them both. Emmaline teetered forward. The mage caught her against him as the wind devil lifted her off her feet. In the blink of an eye, she found herself whisked from the clearing and deposited back in the book den at her uncle’s store.
She jerked her head side to side, finding herself suddenly alone and ashamed to say, regretting that the strong arms of the Delamar mage were no longer wrapped around her. She turned a tight circle on her toes, bewildered. When she came back around, there he was—or his chest anyway, just as before. Stepping back, he stretched his arm out toward her and lifted his forefinger up into the air. Emmaline flinched.
“Please, don’t hex me!” She cried.
She wasn’t any good at resister spells. She wasn’t, in fact, a very talented witch at all. Hence, all the studying and book reading. Element-made witches didn’t need to read so much. Their magic was in-born. Emmaline had the family heritage for witchery, but not the calling.
The mage’s long finger moved up toward her nose. Oh, no! Not a wart. In-born or not, there was nothing worse than a warty witch! She started to duck, but his hand moved too quickly, reaching for her closer and closer. Charcoal, cinder and magic crackled in the air between them and around his hand until he closed in on the space between her eyes. Was he memory thief? Oh, dear, what had she done to offend the old spirits so? She scrunched her eyes closed and held her breath as he touched the spot in the middle of her nose, then ever so slowly slid her spectacles back into place.
Emmaline blinked her eyes open, watching his lips turn up in a wry grin. Mage or outright devil, that was the question. Her mouth popped open in a surprised little ‘O’ as he leaned down and kissed her. Shock, surprise and something else—something delicious—raced through her as he pressed his lips solidly to hers. She gave a little moan at the warmth of them.
Just like that, he pulled away. Emmaline remained leaning forward on her toes, lips pursed, unable to move for the space of a delirious second. When she regained enough sense to look up, he smiled, full on rogue, and rubbed his jaw-line.
“Plum Leaf Tea,” he licked his lips, “with honey.” One midnight brow arched over his eye.
Emmaline couldn’t say a word.
“And now,” he lifted her hand up in his, “the spell’s complete. Thank you, mistress.”
With a cavalier bow, he kissed the back of her hand, then stirred up another magic tornado and disappeared. Emmaline pressed three fingers to her lips, staring at the space where he’d stood until the rustling of pages made her turn. She looked down at her dainty tea table to find the stolen spell book.
Copyright © 2021 Amanda V. Shane, First published as Merk’s Hollow or Plum Leaf Tea… With Honey in the Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction Writing Circle. All rights reserved.
Thanks for reading!
You can read more of my flash fiction stories in archives here on Substack, or as they are compiled into volumes on Ream Stories.com
I’ll be back soon with more news and book insights to share here in our readers’ lair. Till then…
Stay in the magic, Beauties!
Amanda V Shane
Oh I looooove this one. Yes. Yes I would absolutely read your steampunk / Victorian era PNR. ✨Gimme gimme✨ I need more!
📖🙏🏽🥰
I love your brain.