Chapter3
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
GERRIT
Standing before us is a wild-eyed woman barely older than me. She’s beautiful and shouldn’t be out here. It briefly crosses my mind that she could be in trouble and need help, but when my eyes track behind her to the house that looks just like a cake you’d see at a wedding celebration, my steps falter.
I throw my arm across my stepbrother’s chest, halting him from approaching her. His honey-brown eyes meet mine, full of confusion, and I jerk my eyes toward the house. He takes it in with a deep inhale, then turns his gaze on the woman standing a handful of lengths from us.
Her hair is the color of flowers, nearly matching the frosted ones on her home. It’s long, wrapping around her waist, and unruly. She’s wearing a dress that is barely staying on, the curves of her small breasts threatening to spill from the top. She’s slender, breakable, and barefoot. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she’d been lost in the woods for a long time.
“Hello, travelers,” she croons in a voice husky from disuse. She clears her throat awkwardly and hits her fist on her chest twice before speaking again. “Come in, you look weary.” She motions to the house as she takes another step towards us.
My body tenses, ready to defend us if need be. I’ve heard the stories. I know how this is going to end.
She’ll lure us into her home, trap us there, and eat us. If the stories were right about the house, they’re probably right about that part, too.
Hans thought it was stupid to believe, but I knew better. And here’s the sweets house to prove it.
I’d be smug and give him shit if we weren’t in so much danger.
“No fucking way, witch,” I holler towards her. Her thick bottom lip forms a pout, and she rests her fists on those bony hips. The action makes the straps from her dress fall down her arms, and I catch a glimpse of the milky skin of her breasts.
Just a little movement, and I’d be able to see…
“Gerrit,” Hans hisses. I turn to look at him, my eyes catching on the thorned vine he has tattooed on the side of his skull. He never takes his eyes off the witch. “What was that plan you said you had again?”
I cough, and he turns to face me fully. I nearly melt under the strength of his gaze. “Wing it.”
He gapes openly at me. “I’m sorry, I think I had a little bit of a stroke there and thought you said we should wing it. But that can’t be right.”
“I did say wing it. How are we supposed to know how to win her to our side when all we know are the myths told to unruly children,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.
Hans groans, his hand ruffling the longer side of his hair. With a sharp inhale, he steels himself and takes a small step forward. The witch’s eyes light up, and her mouth breaks into a grin that takes up half of her face.
“Witch, what is your name?” Hans calls across the clearing, his voice firm and commanding.
“Briar,” she responds, surprisingly. I didn’t know witches just gave up their names like that. Couldn’t we trick her or trap her with it? Is that a different legend?
Also, Briar is a very human name for a ferocious witch.
“Witch Briar,” Hans begins again.
“Just Briar!” she interrupts.
Hans rubs the skin between his eyebrows. “Briar, my brother and I are here to seek your help.”
Confusion flicks across her face. “You came here on purpose?”
Just before Hans can reply, she stomps her foot. “Well, that just takes all the fun out of it then! Fine, fine, come inside, we’ll chat.” She stalks off towards the house.
We’re frozen for a moment, unsure how to process what just happened.
“Do we go?” I ask, turning towards my brother. He likes to say I have brains in the form of strategy, but this isn’t about strategy. This is about magic. And I am not the one of us blessed with it.
Hans rolls his shoulders back, stretching the linen shirt he wears, it’s collar unlaced and gaping, tight across his rich brown skin. I tend towards more practical clothing, but Hans has always been a bit flashier.
Maybe that will help us today. She is a female witch, after all.
