Bewitching Monsters

Hamadryad - Part 4

"If you will not cast my spell, then what purpose do you serve?"

"Your. Arrogance." This definitely wasn't a time to laugh, but I still did. The pure fury in his face was such a delight. I rose, standing on my bed, and enjoyed making him stare up at me. "I will not cast that spell. It's an archaic, savage flaw of magic. I refuse to kill for you." I jumped down and brushed him aside like a pesky fly as I made my way downstairs. "You may be flippant about the lives of others, but I am not."

I didn't have a goal in coming downstairs. I just needed to move. There was rage building in me—rage at the hamadryad, at whoever cast this spell for him before, at myself for getting stuck in this mess. I was also likely hangry as a result from passing out in the archive. I started craving a good sandwich.

The hamadryad joined me in the kitchen and sat at the table. I glanced at him, but he was just staring into the middle distance. Silence was preferable anyhow. After making myself a turkey, hummus and cheese sandwich, I sat at the table with him.

"I didn't know he killed someone for that spell," he finally spoke.

"From what I could tell, he likely killed many." His alarm spoke miles. It also confused me considering he just threatened to kill me. Was he against killing or not? Whatever; let him be contradictory. "I've never seen a spell like that before—though it is really old. I almost think it wasn't a witch who cast it, but some other magical."

"Because it involved killing?"

I nodded. "Life isn't something we're taught to use when working magic. For ethical sakes, and because it often causes weird lingering energies."

He considered this for a moment. "Why do you think it was many?"

"Well," I garbled then swallowed. "The spell is a type of pocket dimension. Magic and time naturally don't exist there, so your tree wouldn't have been able to survive and grow unless a connection was made to a dimension with them. And unless he found some other way—he had to have killed people to establish the connection and repair it all this time."

"I never questioned it back then," he mused to himself.

I shoved my chair back from the table, the wood screeching from the force. "Of course not." I took my empty plate and dropped it in the sink.

"He wasn't fae," the hamadryad spoke up. Anger was returning to his tone. "I had no reason to assume his magic might involve murder."

"Your ignorance does not change fact," I snapped.

The air instantly grew thick. All the wood around me groaned, responding to the surge of magic he was emitting. Everything shook. Bottles clattered; candles fell over; bits of herbs rained from the bundles tied in the rafters. I huffed a sigh and turned back towards him. He was out of his seat, squaring up, being as intimidating as he could. Such a petty male fae, I thought as I rolled my eyes. I sauntered up to him, arms akimbo, and held his gaze until the room calmed down.

"Done with your little tantrum?" I sassed unnecessarily. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, but otherwise held his composure. Or so I thought. I felt a press against my back and legs; vines morphed out of the floor and snaked around me so I couldn't move. He didn't exactly restrain me, more so encaged. Still, this was not okay. I gave him another glare.

He leaned in closer. "You are one of few who have dared to address me without respect."

"I do talk to you with respect," I corrected him. It was unwise to push him further, but I wasn't in the mood to let his aggressions simply go unchecked. "When you deserve it. And this is not how you earn respect."

He hissed and bared his teeth. Then he sharply turned, the vines around me instantly receding back into the floorboards. I silently watched him pace around the room. Was he really so vexed I wasn't giving him my graces? Stubborn, old fae. Why didn't he just leave? It would be a lot less trouble than staying here and arguing with me.

"How long until the spell unravels?"

That caught him off guard. He stopped and looked at me skeptically. "Vernalis."

I hummed and nodded. "Should be enough time then."

"For?"

"For me to find an alternative to this situation."

"You're still going to help me?"

His sheer surprise made me chortle. "Did you think your brute flash of power would scare me off? Please..." I scoffed. "It won't be easy, but I'm still gonna try to find another way to help you. If I don't, I'll have to find a new home. And I like it here. Besides," I went up to him and pressed my hand flat against his abs, a small smirk tugging my lips. "How many other witches can say they use ichor?"

His eyes narrowed. "So selfless in this endeavor."

"Just being pragmatic." I shrugged. I went over to my bookcase and casually looked over my tomes. I wasn't looking for anything but I felt I had to do something. "I'll let you know when I make progress."

Despite my dismissal, he didn't leave. More specifically, I didn't hear him leave. I turned around and he was simply gone. It was unsettling to know he could come and go so inconspicuously. With my nerves on alert, I glanced around the room, over and over, trying to place why I still felt off. Then I noticed the small, wooden jar on the table. That wasn't mine. Next to it was a note.

Health, cleansing, and root based magics
      Vérus

So he finally gave me a name. I popped open the jar and inside was a reddish, amber liquid. Magic wafted up from it, along with a woody scent. Wait—was this his ichor? Why did the hamadryad—Vérus—give this to me? I hadn't done anything for him yet. Just the opposite, I did a good job pissing him off. By the gods, I hoped that wasn't his kink. I wasn't kink shaming him; I just didn't want him to make a habit of provoking me into yelling at and degrading him. It was emotionally exhausting outside proper context and not a major interest of mine.

Still. I was grateful. The symbolism of this dual gift echoed deep. Perhaps it might even prove helpful in righting this dimensional dilemma.