Merk's Hollow

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 so much for reading my September 2021 Wild At Heart PNR Flash Fiction piece. My imagination went a little crazy with the whole idea of this story. I love the idea of a western gaslamp town of magicals. There's actually quite a bit more to what I wrote on this one and what was published for the challenge is only about half, so I thought I would give readers a chance to the rest.

Merk's Hollow or Plum Leaf Tea... with Honey - Extended Version

Emmaline slipped a book back onto the shelf at the back of the general store.
“Uncle Osbert won’t be able to find it the next time he decides to research liverwort’s medicinal uses,” she squinted from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles at the spine of the book, “liverwort and its medicinal uses if I don’t.”
“Meow,” agreed Cilla, the store’s resident ring-tailed tabby.
After a thorough dusting of the shelves, Emmaline locked up, brewed herself a cup of Plum Leaf tea with a healthy spoonful of honey—her favorite this time a year—then settled down in the tiny kitchen at the back of the store. She scooted the charms etiquette book she’d been studying in the effort to pass the Young Practicer’s of Merk’s Hollow exam across the table. Yes, she was a late bloomer, and yes, this would be her third time taking the test, but there was nothing wrong with being a late bloomer. Or so her dearly departed Aunt Corrette used to say.
She’d just opened to the formal dinner charms section when a loud thump made her shoot to her feet. Cilla jumped off the windowsill with a screechy meow.
“Gracious!” Emmaline settled her teacup on the table and rushed to the front of the store. Uncle had left earlier for a town council of magickals meeting and so she was all by herself in the store tonight. When she made it into the one-room store, she saw that there, where she’d stood dusting not minutes before, swirled an eerie, black, sparkling funnel cloud, right inside the building! It whipped around in a tight circle as if it saw her before disappearing out the window and into the dusty street.
Emma scampered across the wood plank floor to the shelves beside the window, noticing right away the empty spot up high among the books there. Those tomes all sat highest up because they were from a much rarer collection than the mere informational digests on herbals and potions that the store’s patrons normally came looking for.
“Oh, no,” she breathed. No one she or Uncle Osbert knew was the type of magickal who’d need to steal something from that shelf. Only a dark mage or warlock could be responsible, and there had been no one of that ilk in Merk’s Hollow in some time. Something chimed in her memory bank just then. Emmaline remembered overhearing Mrs. Flybright and her hawk-nosed daughter, Millicent, gossiping earlier that week. The clothier tinkerer’s womenfolk were renowned town gossips in these parts, so much so that Emmaline usually never paid them any mind. What they’d said last time they were in the store came rushing back to her. Something about a caravan of travelers setting up camp in the woods on the outskirts of town right before the week of the autumnal equinox, which happened to be tonight, in fact. What was it the Flybrights had called them?
Delamar.
A chill went up Emma’s spine the moment the name came to her. 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, black boots and a long, black duster outside the window. There one moment, gone the next, the figure was absorbed by night’s shadows in an instant. She watched as the shadow whooshed down the road in that same starry black whirlwind she’d witnessed over the bookshelf, heading out of town toward the forgotten woods.
Cilla meowed loudly.
Stealing herself, Emma looked down at the cat and gave a nod.
“If I’m not back by morning…” Ugh! If only she’d been able to work a decent animal enchantment at the very least. Then Cilla could start earning her keep as a worthwhile familiar.
Without another thought, Emma pushed her spectacles up on her nose and grabbed her cloak, racing 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 at heart, she never left their little Wynn, mining. Tromping down dusty roads and backwater trails had never been her cup of tea. But if some gypsy mage, shadow personage thought they could just come sifting into her uncle’s store and magically waft out a centuries old spell book… Well, not on her watch. Sweat on her brow and temples were making it near impossible to keep her spectacles in place.
It would have been a great thing if she’d been adept at nulling. She would have frozen the intruder in their tracks right there in the shop. Then she wouldn’t be hoofing her way down ill trodden paths through briar and bramble in the middle of the night. At least there was a full moon shining to light the way. It would have been even more helpful if the foliage hadn’t suddenly grown so thick, she thought as she tore her poor skirt away from the grip of a scrub hodge for the umpteenth time.
“Gah! Let go you measly little mites. Unhand me!”
With a heaving 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. Emmaline fumbled on the ground where she’d fallen, her skirt pinned under her feet. She clambered up to her feet, suddenly very much afraid.
“Uh, mm, hello?” She tried.
“Moon and stars, on this night of nights, you sent us this sign.”
An older man with a scarlet headscarf, matching waist sash, and a pointed little beard swept a hand toward Emmaline as he looked up at the sky.
“Uh, uhh, a sign? Wh-what kind of sign?” The head Delamar mage crept closer. “Me? I’m not a sign!”
Before he closed in, the wind picked up in a whirl. 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, a silent scream on her lips as the shadowy 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 the black homespun shirt in front of her. Straightening her glasses that had ended up nearly sideways on her face, she moved her startled gaze up over a very nice male chest, a golden triangle of bare skin leading into a man’s throat, strong chin, a sinfully attractive pair of smirking lips. Finally, she met the eyes that went with that tantalizing ensemble under the low 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 in a tight circle on her toes, completely bewildered. When she made it 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 or nulls. 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 to 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.
“Fall 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 cocky, cavalier bow, he kissed the back of her hand before he stirred up another magic swirl of 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 behind her at her dainty tea table to find the stolen black magic spell book.
 Copyright © 2021 Amanda V. Shane. All rights reserved.