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Chapter Text

Angela hardly heard the door open as she sprinkled some allspice and cloves into a small pot, stirring the mixture with a steady hand.

“I’ll be there in a moment.” She murmured, focused heavily on the concoction before her. She brought the wooden spoon to her nose and took a deep breath, inhaling the vapors. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she turned to write something in a small journal beside her on the table. She nearly screamed when two large arms wrapped themselves around her.

The low chuckle that followed eased her nerves enough to grin and turn around, placing her hands on either sides of Gabriel’s face.

“One of these days, I’m really going to hurt you.” The statement brings another laugh to Gabriel’s lips, and she contemplates placing hers against them. Gabriel thinks the same, because he leans in for a peck, which causes Angela to lean back reluctantly.

“Gabriel… Not here.” Her words are curt—honest--and Gabriel knows it. He hates it, but he’d hate it more if anything happened to her because of him. That doesn’t stop him from leaning his body into hers, pinning her against the table. He changes the subject to keep from souring his visit.

“How’s the mixing going?” Angela’s face lights up and she reaches over to her journal.

“It’s almost ready! I can feel it…” She pauses, her fingers running over the dried ink, a faint smile on her face. “It’s going to help so many people, Gabriel…” He doesn’t even bother to pretend to look at what she’s written, knowing he wouldn’t understand if he tried. And if he were honest, there was something much more incredible in front of him, and he’d rather drink in her soft skin, eyes a vibrant blue that could put a cloudless sky to shame, and the way her light blonde hair frames her cherubic face.

As much as he’d love to stare into those beautiful baubles all day, a knock on the door interrupts them, and they immediately separate, settling into their rehearsed roles. Gabriel nods his head, mutters a ‘goodbye’ and opens the door, pausing for a moment to nod uneasily at the man at the door before leaving. Angela wipes her hands on her apron and follows Gabriel to the door, smiling at her slightly confused guest.

“Hello, Jack. Not busy doing your duty to the good town?” It was a bit of a jab, but he smiled nervously nonetheless, stepping in.

“Always am.” He seems to linger on a thought for a minute before finally speaking up. “I thought I told you to watch out for him, Angela.” A frown comes to her face and she turns away from him, closing her journal and cleaning up some of the materials on the table.

“And I thought I told you not to tell me what to do.”

“I’m just looking out for you. Things have been getting tense out there, and I don’t want you getting caught up in it.” Angela finds it hard to resist rolling her eyes. She grabs a broom and starts to sweep idly, turning her back to the guard. Jack swallows, grabs her arm.

“Angela, I’m serious. These witch hunts—“ She turns to him, and he swears her look could light him ablaze.

“Are you accusing me of being a witch, Jack?” The blonde thinks hard on what he says, but his blood is pumping in time with his adrenaline and he can’t understand why she won’t listen to him.

“I’m saying that what you do, all of this,” he waves a hand to gesture at the herbs stacked neatly on the table, aligned on the window sill, the bubbling concoction at the end of the room, “someone is going to accuse you, and there is only so much I can do. The least you could do is be careful.” She is almost surprised at the outburst, but his accusations only further infuriate her.

“I think it’s time you leave, sir.” Jack’s face twists as his features soften, a stark contrast to just a moment before. He opens his mouth to speak, finding nothing to say and instead hoping that maybe his eyes will communicate his apologies. But she doesn’t look at him, won’t look at him, and he eventually walks out sullenly.

When Jack is finally gone, she sighs frustratedly into her hands, running them back through her messy hair and letting them fall back to her sides. Why were the men in her life so difficult?

She busies herself for the rest of the afternoon with her concoctions, making finishing touches on the remedy she was working on, something for congestion of the lungs. Ana visits for a short while and the two converse, sharing recipes for concoctions and discussing different medicinal uses for herbs. Eventually Ana leaves with a few herbs and some kind words from Angela. She is also visited by Amélie and Gérard with some complaints of troubling sleeping. Angela gives them an herbal concoction and informs them how to use it and sends them on their way. She notices that the sun has since gone down and, really, how long was she working? As she is about to close the door and lock it for the night, a knock interrupts her and she opens it with a grin.

“Two visits in one day? You must be truly ill.” He murmurs something that she doesn’t quite catch and leans in for a hug, taking in a deep breath of her scent. The action catches her by surprise and she hesitantly wraps her arms around him.

“Are you feeling well?” He groans, mumbles something into the crook of her neck and she feels her skin heat up. She glances around, seeing the retreating silhouette of Amélie and Gérard and a small group of men, seemingly discussing something mundane. She steps back and Gabriel gets the hint, stepping inside with her and closing the door behind them. The moment the door is sufficiently locked, their lips are meeting each other, crashing together. Her hands cup his cheeks, and he responds with his hands on her hips, holding her close in a vice-like grip. She moves away first and Gabriel gives chase, following her up the stairs in strides and easily catching up to her at the door to her room. She giggles and struggles half-heartedly against his large arms. He lifts her up and she wraps her legs around him. A million things run through his mind, but one thought pushes to the top above all, and he follows that thought through the door and into the bedroom.

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The sun trickles in through the window, and Angela stirs, nuzzling into the warm body next to her. It takes a few moments for her to wake enough to realize that Gabriel is, in fact, still there, and she taps his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be gone? Someone is bound to find you here…” The man rolls over and gives her a chaste kiss.

“I’ll be headed out soon. Wanted to see your face first thing in the day.” The comment brings a flush to her cheeks and she rolls over.

“I’m serious, Gabriel.” He sighs, but nods his head in understanding. Dressing doesn’t take all that long, and he opts to use one of the windows near the back of the cabin to keep from appearing too suspicious leaving so early in the morning from her home without having entered. Angela takes her time waking up and getting dressed, throwing her messy hair back and tying it away so it won’t get in the way while she works.

The day is ultimately uninteresting. That is, until there are screams. Angela rushes out of her home, searching for the source, as does many others. There is a commotion as everyone else seems to be looking for the owner of the scream, but Jack seems to know as he runs toward the home of Amélie and Gérard. He doesn’t get far in the door though, and he stops, unwilling to move. Angela can’t see past him, but she can hear sobs, and then… Laughter? The Reverend steps forward, moving Jack aside to get a glimpse at the sight, and mumbles a harried prayer. It takes a moment, but another guard arrives and he and Jack step inside, re-emerging on either side of Amélie. Blood runs the length of her body, some of it in sprays across her arms and legs, some of it traced across her as if rubbed in.

No one else bothers to take a look. They resign to staring at Amélie as she is carried by, and she seems content to let them do so. That is, until she sees Gabriel.

Amélie erupts in a fit of rage at the sight of the man, thrashing against the men holding her, alternating between snarling like a wild animal and screaming in pain. The reaction causes a confused and almost terrified look on Gabriel’s face, but it doesn’t nearly match the one that shows on the Reverend’s face. He calls for the guards to detain Gabriel as well, which Gabriel doesn’t take too kindly to, fighting until he is eventually subdued.

The trial follows too quickly, and Angela has trouble processing what all is happening. Gabriel sits, his wrists bound, at the front of the small building, in front of the townsfolk. In front of Angela. The Reverend speaks up, his voice piercing the otherwise silent room.

“Amélie has informed me that the horrific events which took place this morning were the hand of the Devil, with you as his informant.”

“And you believe her?” He snarls, and Angela wishes he would be kind this one time, when his life surely depends on it most.

“She went into a fit upon seeing you, when no one else in the town caused such a reaction. Why is that?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes, searching for an answer in the carefully carved wood floor. When he remained silent, the Reverend continued.

“What say you?”

“I will not plea any guilt in this ridiculous hunt.” The answer doesn’t seem to please him, and with a swift vote, he is removed from the building, with hushed whispers and murmurs of ‘witch’ and ‘heathen’ following him.

As they prepare him for the noose, Angela can’t help but inch her way to the front, bright eyes wide with fear. Everything has happened so fast, she can’t think, can’t act. She opens her mouth to say something, but Jack’s hand is on her shoulder, pulling her back.

“Jack, please,” is all she can manage, but the sad look on his face says more than he ever could and she feels tears threaten to rise up finally. She turns back to where Gabriel stands, struggling with his bonds. The noose is wrapped haphazardly around his neck, resting just below his chin.

“Gabriel…” Her voice is quiet, soft, almost inaudible. And yet, Gabriel must have heard her, because he looks down, eyes catching hers. He flashes her a grin, even if it’s a sad, knowing one. He mouths a word she doesn’t get because he’s interrupted by a tug on the rope around his neck.

Angela watches his complexion redden and seem to puff up, watches him fight a battle against gravity and the pressure around his neck and fail, watches his feet kick in feeble attempts to catch any reprieve, watches the light flicker out of his eyes as the last of the spasms rock through his body. It isn’t until Jack turns her, burying her face in his chest, that she realizes she’s been crying. They stand there for a long time, and when she eventually frees herself from Jack to look back up at Gabriel, she’s overcome with pain. As Gabriel’s body is removed to be placed somewhere where the Undesirables are left, Jack holds her, keeps her from rushing to his side, sobbing over his lifeless body any more than she already has. He whispers something that she can’t hear, won’t hear. After his body is wheeled away, it takes a few more moments for her to move, and Jack helps her home. He asks if she needs company, she shakes her head numbly, unfocused. He gives her a sullen hug, promises her that if she needs anything at all, she need just ask. She nods and closes the door behind him. And then she cries.

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Angela was reluctant to attempt sleep, knew she wouldn’t be able to. And when she did, her fears were confirmed in the battered, bruised face of the only man she’d ever loved that visited her in her dream. He’d shouted at her. Asked why she hadn’t fought for him. Why she didn’t stop them. Why she wouldn’t speak. Why she wouldn’t avenge him. What he did to deserve this. She awoke, sweating and sobbing and shaking. Not willing to try at sleep again, she had gotten up and went downstairs, looking for something—anything—in her tomes that could possibly help her. To bring him back, to undo what had been done. There were small things but nothing so daring had been successfully attempted yet. When Jack came to check on her, he hadn’t quite expected her to be hunched over her pot, mixing feverishly.

“Angela? What on Earth are you doing?” He peered over her shoulder and received only an annoyed sound. He frowned, crossed his arms. “Have you been doing this all morning?”

Jack shuddered when she turned around to give him a look, and he almost ran just at the sight of her. It made him cringe to see her otherwise beautiful bright eyes so lifeless, puffy and dark. He glanced around the room and found a shawl, which he gingerly wrapped around her.

“Have you slept at all?”

“I cannot. He haunts me in my sleep, Jack… I cannot close my eyes lest I see his own dead ones beneath my lids and it hurts…” The pain catches up to her again, no longer lost in a cure for what ails her, and she is wracked with sobs, which Jack attempts to soothe, rubbing a hand along her back.

“It will heal over time.”

“I do not need time.” Her voice lowers, dripping with something darker than Jack has ever wanted to hear, and he swallows hard, processes what she says.

“Do not say such things, Angela. You’d sound like—“

“Oh, again with the witch talk? Go on then, tell the Reverend I am a witch. What have I to lose?” The statement hurts Jack. He wants to correct her. She could lose her life. But he knows how she feels right now. Grief is a powerful thing, and he knows there isn’t much he’ll be able to do about it for the time being.

“I will have someone watch you for the time being. Get some rest.” He says briskly as he stands and heads toward the door. Angela furrows her brows but doesn’t contest him, rather just turns back to her mixtures.

The rest of the day is mostly eventless as she searches for a way to right the wrongs that were done. A few people come by here and there to check on her, the occasional guard sent her way. Ana, who gives her condolences and a tea to calm her nerves, which she takes but ultimately does not bother touching. It isn’t until Amélie enters that Angela feels anything but numb, a burning in her chest and a nausea in her stomach. There’s a knowing look in her eyes, even if her words are relatively. She claims that she has trouble sleeping, haunted by the face of her late husband. Angela wants to vomit, but she doesn’t. Holds it back. Gives her some herbs to throw into a pot of heated water, tells her it will calm her nerves. Amélie half-heartedly gives her condolences and then leaves, leaving Angela to heave into another fit of sobs.

She finishes taking notes on what she thinks will aid in her attempts, scribbles the only word she thinks relative, ‘Vitae’. She attaches the book to her belt by a loop. She grabs a bunch of herbs and other trinkets, shoves them into her satchel attached to her hip. Taking a deep breath, she places her hat on her head and opens the door just enough to peer out. The square is silent, still, and for once it seems no one is waiting outside her door. She takes this as her opportunity and closes the door behind herself, sneaking by the sides of buildings until she reaches a dark one. She opens the door as discreetly as possible, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. It’s dark, but she doesn’t dare risk light a lamp, instead choosing to feel along the walls as her eyes start to adjust to the room. She takes the stairs, wincing every time they creak and waiting after every step for any noise. When none come, she continues until she is at a door. The door opens easily, and through what little moonlight seeps into the window, she can see the slumbering body of a murderer.

Amélie’s breathing is calm, hardly audible as she sleeps comfortably in a bed too big for one person. Anger begins to boil in Angela’s veins, but she tries to keep quiet. The cup sits on the table beside the bed, emptied. This gives her courage as she steps forward, stopping at the side of the bed. Amélie looks so peaceful as she sleeps, and the sight makes Angela sick so she swears to hurry up what she must do so as not to have to look at her for much longer. She removes her book from her belt, as well as digs for a trinket, a knife to be exact, and a pre-mixed vial of liquid. She reads something out loud, an incantation, as she pours the liquid on Amélie’s chest, watching as it seems to seep into her skin. She stirs for a moment, but otherwise rests peacefully.

“I will show you what a real servant of the Devil looks like…” Angela’s voice comes out low, full of venom and anger and grief, and she plunges the knife in Amélie’s chest, carving a near half circle and then reaching in with a hand to grasp at her prize, delicately removing a still-beating heart. She cuts a strip of Amélie’s blankets to wrap around the active heart and ties the ends of the rag to her belt, holding the heart in place. She wipes her hands off on the remainder of the blanket and glances back at Amélie, her face still blissfully unaware as if she were still dreaming of whatever it is so awful a person could dream of. She doesn’t bother thinking about what will happen to her, instead set on her next objective, leaving the building as quietly as she came and heading out of the town and into the woods.

It's dark, and it takes a bit for her eyes to adjust as she steps into the brush just off of the road into town. Luckily, the scent of putrid remains is enough to guide her to the area she’s looking for. She steps further into the trench, her shoe sinking a bit into the mud and she groans, but continues. She leans in close to each of the bodies, runs a hand along the faces of the dead and it’s like caressing a wet sack of worms and fish guts, but she has no other way of finding him in the dark, and no intention of alerting anyone of her presence in the burial ground of the Undesirables.

It isn’t until she feels the familiar scruff of a beard and the curly dark mane that she breathes a sigh of relief, tears forcing their way to the surface as she takes his face in her hands.

“Gabriel… I am so sorry, love…” She sobs and sobs and it’s only after a while of this that she remembers she is there for more than mourning. She reaches over to her bag, retrieving some supplies from her satchel, as well as her book and Amélie’s heart. She starts as soon as possible with shaking hands, cutting into his chest just as she had done with Amélie and removing his cold, still heart. She speaks some incantation that she remembers barely off the top of her head and places the heart gently in his chest. She uses a dog tooth and thread made from her own hair to sew back together the hole she’d carved. Finally finished, she poured another pre-mixed concoction over his chest, rubbing it in slowly with her hands. Bringing her hands back up to cup his face, she pressed her hot lips against his cold, dead ones, taking in a deep breath and cringing at the scent.

“Come on, Gabriel… Please… Come back to me…” There is silence, aside from the call of a wolf in the distance, and she stares them among the dead and the damned with Gabriel, waiting. Hoping. Wishing. She cries when the realization hits her that there was no hope of this working. She had never believed that there could be witches in the town, and now more than ever when she truly wanted to be wrong for once, when she was willing to kill to bring someone back, she was right.

Oh, God, she was right.

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Walking back into town with the blood of a dead woman on her hands was obvious enough to the townsfolk, so her trail was swift. As the Reverend questioned her, berated her, screamed at her, she remained hazy, her mind wandering to other day when it had been him. She comes back for only a moment, her eyes gliding over the people who had once been her friends, people she had trusted. Her eyes locked with Jack’s own bright eyes, dismayed, clearly begging for her to say something in her defense.

“What say you, child?” The Reverend repeats, annoyance and anger on his tongue. She thinks of the way Gabriel had snarled, the words that condemned him.

“I will not plea any guilt in this ridiculous hunt.” She echoes, a small grin twitching the edges of her lips. Her eyes move to lock with the Reverend’s and she can see the fury, which then melts into disappointment.

“I am sorry for what the Devil has done to you, but your sins are your own to answer.” Angela is the one to feel anger now, and she grits her teeth.

“Keep your pity to yourself, Reverend.” She spits, wrenching at her restraints. “The Devil had no part in my actions, lest you believe me to be the Devil himself. My actions are mine alone.” The Reverend, eyes wide, turns to the voting parties, who quickly make the vote against Angela’s favor, but all she can do is laugh. Even as she is removed from the building and lead to where she knows she is headed. She hardly bothers to wrestle against her bonds as they slip the rope around her, checking the tightness. A man speaks, but she doesn’t bother to look, her eyes falling to where Jack stands just in front of her, eyes wet. She almost feels bad for him, that he tried so hard, so futilely to save her from herself.

“Any last words?” She hardly has to think as her eyes remain locked to Jack’s and a sickening grin starts to form on her face.

“This town will suffer… All of you. There is no hiding fr—agh!” She’s interrupted by a short fall, pressure, pain. Her feet kick out, searching for a surface to alleviate the tension, despite the small part of her brain wishing for this. She doesn’t hear the guns blazing, the deep gravelly voice shouting, the blood that sprays across her face isn’t felt as her sight goes dark, her lungs burning. And then there’s a sudden relief, she falls, but she doesn’t land. The pressure on her neck lessens, and her body takes this reprieve in desperate gasps. It takes a moment, but slowly, her sense come back to her, and the first thing she sees is a dark, ashen face, nearly expressionless as he stares with unfocused eyes at her. And regardless of how awful he appears, she reaches up with weak hands and cups his face.

“I was wrong…”