Page 15 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 15

T hat afternoon, Gretta got sixteen pages into a door-stopper on pixie anatomy before slamming it shut and setting it on the pile of his other boring books. Her reading options were growing thin. Another few hours alone in the room, and she might return to the watchtower to throw herself off it. Like Ansel had offered to do.

Ignoring a twist in her stomach at the image of him laying broken and bloodied in the swamp muck, she got up and unlocked the bedroom door. Considering how much he liked reading, there had to be some kind of library in the prison.

She left the bedroom and stopped short at the mystery door across the hall. The one the master key wouldn’t unlock.

It was cracked open, spilling a wedge of light on the floor, but no sound came from inside. Since it was the only room with a special lock, she didn’t believe he’d have accidentally left it open.

He was in there, doing…what?

Without giving him time to hide whatever the fuck he was up to, Gretta shoved the door open and strode inside.

Ansel looked up from a notebook on a workbench, blinking behind a pair of spectacles, chewing the end of a pencil.

He tossed the pencil and spectacles on the bench. “Hi.”

Gretta stepped deeper into the huge, lantern-lit room and smelled chemicals. Several tables occupied the space, their surfaces filled with gadgets and tools she couldn’t begin to identify. A massive periodic table covered one wall. Beside it hung a sepia photograph of a constipated-looking man in a white lab coat.

Every surface held books, jars, and papers, making his disaster of a bedroom seem the pinnacle of good housekeeping.

“What is this?” she asked.

“My laboratory.”

She picked up a piece of paper covered with equations. Now that she’d seen inside Ansel’s super secret lair, she ought to march right back out. She was avoiding him, after all.

But curiosity hounded her.

“Is this where you mess around with pixie dust?” she asked.

“No. Dust requires no tampering.”

“So what do you do in here?” Gretta brushed her fingertips over a slender bottle filled with purple liquid and picked it up.

Rushing forward, Ansel reached around her to take it away. “Don’t touch that. Actually, don’t touch anything.”

“What is that stuff?”

“Petracero potion.”

With a sound of disgust, Gretta vigorously wiped her hand on her pants. “Goddammit, Ansel! You deal in witchcraft, too? Wasn’t the cottage enough to keep you away from that shit?”

“I don’t deal witchcraft, I occasionally purchase it for experimentation.”

She shook her hand out. “What does petracero potion do? Am I about to grow a monkey paw or something?”

“Hardly. It makes kerosene taste like maple syrup.” He opened a glass-fronted cabinet full of random objects and tucked the purple bottle inside.

Uncanny energy radiated from the cabinet, making Gretta’s insides lurch. Each of the objects inside obviously had some kind of power. She frequently came across enchanted odds and ends in her line of work, but she’d never felt such a concentration of energy outside the homes of the witches she hunted.

She backed away, putting a workbench between herself and the cabinet. “Why would you want kerosene to taste like maple syrup?”

“I wouldn’t. But magic like that is cheap, and I don’t need anything elaborate to test what I’m working on.”

“What are you working on?”

He thought for a moment and returned to the cabinet. “It’s easiest if I just show you.”

Gretta leaned against a table, careful not to touch anything.

“You know,” she said as he rummaged through the cabinet, “just possessing witchcraft is illegal. My boss is the one who got the legislation passed.”

He set a jar of yellow powder on the table and looked at her. “Who do you work for?”

“Senator Nathaniel Grey.”

His head tilted like he was trying to recall.

“You don’t know who he is, do you?” she sighed. “I realize you’re a hermit, Ansel, but you could pick up a newspaper from time to time.”

“I pay as much attention to politicians as they pay to people from the swamps—none whatsoever.” He opened a padlocked wooden cupboard filled with clear glass bottles. He set one next to the yellow jar and returned his attention to her. “If you work for the government, when do you find time to hunt witches?”

“I don’t work for the government, I work for the senator. He’s the one who wants me to find an illusion witch.”

“Why?”

He must not have read a newspaper in his life. Not her problem, though. “Are you going to show me your invention or not?”

Ansel set a potted plant on the table and put on gloves. Gretta stood beside him.

“This is germina powder,” he said, carefully opening the yellow jar. “From a green witch. It increases the growth rate of vegetation.” He dipped a tiny spoon into the powder and sprinkled some over the plant. An inaudible hum passed through the room as the plant unfurled new leaves, quickly growing several inches in height.

Gretta held her elbows, waiting for the sickening hum to pass. When the leaves stopped growing, Ansel screwed an atomizer on the glass bottle from the cupboard.

“This is my product.” He squeezed the rubber ball and sprayed a fine, stringent-smelling mist on the plant. The leaves trembled with each spray, but they didn’t grow.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Watch.” He sprinkled more powder on the plant. It remained unchanged. Ansel looked at her expectantly, proud.

She gave him a blank stare.

Then…

“Oh my god!” She rushed to the plant, edging him out. Inspecting each leaf, she searched for the slightest sign of growth, finding none. “Ansel, is this spell repellent ?”

He nodded, and one side of his mouth kicked up. Gretta suddenly had trouble catching air.

Was this real? If so, it would change the goddamn world . No species would need to fear witches and the danger they posed. Instead of punishing the wielding of magic, it could be prevented in the first place.

No more children lured to cottages by sadistic cannibals, no more eyeballs in jars. People could finally defend themselves from those capricious hags. And despite all indications that witches were like spiders, incapable of cooperating with each other, Gretta had always feared what might happen if they banded together. They were severely outnumbered, but the advantage spells gave them was indescribable.

Ansel’s product would keep them in line forever.

“I’ve been researching spells for years,” he said. “I’m nearly finished with the repellent, but the formula might need tweaking. I have no means of testing it on a larger scale.”

“How much can you make? We need to spray down the whole damn country, maybe introduce it to the water supply.”

“That’s the other problem. The main ingredient is silver. I have limited resources, so I need investors to bring it to market.”

That was hardly a problem—Nat was going to throw so much money at this, it would make the Merecian economy look like a yard sale.

Gretta’s giddiness waned.

Pitching the repellent to Nat meant bringing Ansel to the capital. When Nat inevitably pounced, Gretta would have rewarded Ansel’s treachery. Letting him walk away from what he’d done was one thing. Repaying him with gobs of cash and a cushy job was another.

She picked up the repellent and rubbed her thumb over the smooth glass. The liquid inside swirled, shimmering with glittery sparkles.

It was almost magic itself. A bottled miracle.

Helping Ansel defied every instinct in her, but nothing mattered more than fighting witches. Whatever benefit he gained from this would be the cost of war. Being stuck with him for a few extra days would be her personal sacrifice, proof of her total commitment to the cause.

Gretta heaved an internal sigh. “I know an investor.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. My boss. He’s loaded, and his motivation to stop witches is as big as ours.” At least, it used to be. Maybe this would relight the fire in him.

“I see.” Ansel eyed her skeptically. “And I’m to believe you’ll introduce me to your wealthy employer with no hard feelings, water under the bridge?”

“This is more important than our personal issues, Ansel. I don’t need to like the people I work with.” Once Nat invested, he’d probably pawn Ansel off on Philip, anyway.

A tiny flinch cracked his expression. He snapped the gloves off and took the repellent from her.

She grabbed his arm. “I want a sample.”

The muscles in his forearm tensed as he studied her hand. “What will you do with it?”

“Protect myself. This will be a game changer for hunting.” It would also be a failsafe in case he refused to go to the capital with her. If she couldn’t convince him, Nat might find a way to have the formula reverse engineered.

He set the bottle down. Staring at her, he leaned a hip on the table. Gretta stared back, chewing her lip.

Like that first night he’d visited her cell, weird tension filled the silence, and she once again refused to break it.

“Alright,” he finally said. “You can have one.” She reached for the bottle, and he slid it out of reach. “I’m not just going to give it to you, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I want something in return.”

“…What?”

More silent tension. He crossed his arms, biceps straining his sleeves. “You won’t like it.”

“Okay… what ?”

His expression darkened, and the vibrations pulsing between them went from weird to grueling.

He stood straighter and skulked closer. A lantern on the bench lit his face from below, casting ghoulish shadows in his cheeks and eyes.

Startled, Gretta stepped back.

Gone was the man who’d fallen to his knees in the tower. In his place stood the depraved barbarian who’d dragged her through the prison and brooded at her outside the cell.

How had she forgotten, even for a moment, what he’d become? He didn’t specify what he wanted, but the provocative, calculating look in his eyes spoke clearly enough.

His price would be a sexual favor.

Every one of Gretta’s muscles tightened as she shrank away, looking from his despicable face to the bottle.

God, how bad did she want a sample? He clearly didn’t buy her offer to help him. What if he straight up refused to meet with Nat? Fighting witchcraft was all that mattered, so she one hundred percent needed to secure a bottle before she left.

Gretta quietly groaned.

She pictured Ansel pulling out his cock, presenting it with a leer as she dropped to her knees. They both knew his invention was worth more than a hand job. He’d expect her mouth, at minimum. Could she go that far, even for one of those precious samples?

Fuck no. He was a degenerate for even asking it of her.

But maybe she could talk him down to a quick handy?

“What do you want for it?” she snapped.

He slid the bottle toward her. “This represents ten percent of my supply. In exchange for it, I want…”

“What? Just say it.”

He shifted closer. His face tipped down, and she defiantly tipped hers up.

Eyes lit with hunger, he said, “I want you to give me a hug.”