Of Thorns and Hexes Read online

  Copyright

  © 2021 Christopher Jacob Canady

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Rebecacovers

  Edited By: Megans11

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Thank You

  About The Author

  Dedication

  To all the Dreamers:

  Leave that which no longer serves you. Run! Run! Run!

  Run, run, run as fast as you can towards your dream.

  Chapter 1

  I WAS BORN IN A BED of thorns, which is why I have such a prickly disposition. That’s what my mum tells me every time I give her a piece of my mind. She says I’m just like her parents, who reminded her daily of her failures as a woman and mother. I’m her greatest failure, though. She doesn’t tell me outright, yet I see it in her emerald eyes every time she looks at me. The sum of all things wonderful she could’ve done with her life stopped when she had me. I didn’t ask to be here, to be the cause of ruin for all her hopes and dreams.

  But... I’m here. Nothing more I can do besides exist. Right...?

  I’m planning on running away soon, to escape my mum’s awful reign over my life, to feel the wind against my face as I run and run and run. However, I think my mum is thinking about the same thing. Not so much as running away, but leaving me behind when she remarries. That’s if Igbob ever pops the question. If all else fails, she has over five pounds of gold hidden in an old tin can high atop a shelf in our shared bedroom. I have my own secret stash stuffed behind a loose brick on the side of our cottage. It’s not nearly as much as what she has, but it’ll keep me afloat for a month and a half.

  All I know is, I want to be the first to get the hell out of Yardenfeld before she dares to take a step across the border.

  Mum had dreams of being a dancer. She moved from her small town where nothing ever happened and came to the city where all things are possible. Instead of living her dream, mum forgot the essentials of moving to a big city like Yardenfeld—gold. In her haste to escape her overbearing parents, she ran away from home with only a few golds to buy her a loaf of bread and some tea. Desperation flooded through her when she tried to find work, but no one would hire a woman with no education or experience. So, she did the one thing she never thought she’d do: have relations with men from various social classes. Her favorite were the wealthy men. Her least favorite were the poor men whose wives never properly satisfied them.

  To this day, my mum believes I am the product of one of the poor men she gave herself to. Says that my skin wouldn’t be so dark and muddy, and my teeth wouldn’t be crooked if I were of a wealthy man’s seed. She says that no man would find me attractive because of my naturally full lips, broad nose, and dull brown eyes.

  Though her words are harsh, and I’ve cried hundreds of times because she can be so cruel, she’s never told me a lie. Never sugar coated anything to warp the truth about how the world really sees me. I’m hideous. Men don’t look twice in my direction like they do when they see my mum.

  Mum is a vision. Despite the hardships she’s faced all her life, she always keeps a smile on her face. Well, in public, that is. At home, she never smiles at me, not once. Not ever.

  All the men at the tavern fawn over her because she has a “light” about her that is ever-so beguiling. Ever-so magnetic. Even now, as she tends to the tables of numerous horny men who stare ravenously at her cleavage, she is the star of Taffy’s Tavern. The woman all the men who slave away at their day jobs come to see.

  “You fellas are in for a treat,” my mum says, twirling a strand of her bone-straight, brown hair around her pink manicured finger. She wears a one-of-a-kind ruby red bliaut, of which she crafted herself. The neckline plunges so severely; I am worried her chest will spill out at any given moment. Her face is well done, black eyeshadow making her green eyes pop like jewels, cheeks stained red like her lips that she uses to plant a kiss on the cheeks of multiple patrons. They go nuts for that.

  “As you all know,” she continues, prances around the Tavern, “I am a model, actress, and songstress.” She pauses for applause, bats her eyelashes. “And today, unfortunately, is my last day of work here at Taffy’s.”

  I nearly trip over my feet as I balance a tray of empty glass tankards in my hands. Did she say this is her last day? A little warning would be nice, yet that would’ve been far too grand of a gesture to tell her only child that she’s leaving me behind.

  Not unless I leave first.

  But where would I go? I hadn’t decided on any of that yet. I haven’t mapped out what I’m going to do besides run and run and run. I’ve been biding my time here at work, saving what I can away from my mother’s view. I didn’t think everything would happen so suddenly. Did Igbob propose? Did he finally give in to my mum’s plea to be a wife?

  Inspecting my mum’s left hand as she tries to silence the jeering crowd of men, who are upset that she is departing Taffy’s, I don’t find a hint of a ring on her finger. Not even a glimmer of a diamond. She’d be the one showing off her ring to all the so-called jealous women because Igbob is a very wealthy man.

  I don’t think he’s as wealthy as he says he is. For one, my mum has never visited or stayed the night at Igbob’s supposed mansion. Igbob is always at our cottage, eating our food and lounging on the sofa with a bottle of rum in his hands. If mum ever needs alone time with him, she sends me out of the house for hours, sometimes days. When that happens, I pick up extra shifts at Taffy’s to add to my growing collection of gold.

  Like today, I’m supposed to be off and enjoying a lovely book by the hearth, but Igbob is home and sloshed out of his mind.

  “Don’t you worry,” mum continues. She stands in the center of the Tavern and climbs atop the bar with the help of a drunken patron. “My replacement is just as fabulous and beautiful as I am.” Swishing her finger in my direction, she points at me. “Elyse.”

  “Y-Yes?” I’m frozen in place like a statue. Everyone turns to stare at me; some make grossed-out faces. Others squint at me and scratch their head, judging my gravity-defying crown of curly hair, my threadbare dress covered in grease stains, and my scuffed boots. I’m just as shocked and confused as everyone else until mum flicks her eyes to one side, telling me to move. Skedaddle.

  A gust of winter’s breeze sweeps through the tavern door behind me as Belinda strides inside. Belinda is breathtaking. Her tight, honey-brown curls frame her diamond-shaped face and accentuate her full, black-stained lips. She wears a leather corset that hugs her curves so tight, her ribs jut out, black stocking that glitter like stars in the tavern candlelight, a
nd high heels I’d break my ankles in.

  Her silver eyes scan the crowd of lusty onlookers as she smiles. “Hello, boys,” her alluring voice drives the men into a frenzy of hoots and hollers. “I’m Belinda, and I could use a wet one.” She winks and touches a hand to her cheek sensually.

  Mum beckons Belinda to the bar top. “Let’s give them a show!”

  Belinda happily obliges, hoists herself onto the bar top with the effortlessness of a twenty-something-year-old, and strikes a modelesque pose.

  My mum and Belinda begin to dance while the drunkards sing an old tune called Mountain Gal. I’ve heard it far too many times that I’m inclined to sing along because the song is just that darn catchy. If I had a gold piece for each time Mountain Gal was sung, I’d be a rich woman.

  “Goin’ up the Mountain to see my Mountain gal. Goin’ up the Mountain to steal a little a kiss. Goin’ up the Mountain to have an ale and piss...”

  Humming the tune to myself while pushing through the crowd of rowdy men who insist on standing, I plant the tray of grungy tankards near the dish station at the back of the Tavern. A battered bucket of lukewarm, sudsy water at the edge of the long wooden table is dirtied with remnants of uneaten food scraps and stained a touch yellow from a sloppy drunk idiot who urinated in it.

  The braided handles on the sides of the bucket dig into my palms as I lift it off the table. Slowly, I inch for the backdoor, careful not to spill the water of gunk, and kick the ragged door open that leads to the back alley of Taffy’s.

  Winter’s wrath is ice cold against my skin, barreling through the backdoor like a bat out of the underworld, desperate for the warm reprieve Taffy provides. Shuddering, I ready to tip the bucket when something fuzzy snakes around my exposed legs. Yelping, I lose my grip on the bucket. It falls to the cobblestone ground and, with a crack, splits in half like an egg, spilling water down the alleyway and into the drain.

  “Stupid cat!” I hiss, whirl around to glare at the feline that’s chosen Taffy’s as a spot to peruse for the last week and a half.

  The black cat’s yellow, serpent-like eyes blink at me, tail swishing as it pads to me. Rubbing its cold nose against me, the cat mewls at me as if to say sorry. Or what I hope is a sorry because that destroyed bucket will come out of my paycheck.

  Avery’s going to kill me.

  “What the heavens was that?”

  Just as I feared, Avery, the owner and operator of Taffy’s Tavern, peeks at me from over the bar while simultaneously pouring drinks back-to-back. Her cherub-like face, weary with age and stress, glowers at me. She whistles for Edward, the bartender who just went on break, to help take over. Edward, leaning against a wall near the stove to warm himself, chews on a slice of bread and sighs. He rolls his eyes and plods over to the bar; glaring eyes fixed on me for causing trouble.

  I mouth “sorry” to him and hang my head. He’s never liked me; he said I was always clumsy and slow at my job. But that’s the least of my worries right now. Avery storms over to me, arms tightly folded along her bosoms. Her pear-shaped body jostles the crowd of men aside, her hips knocking some patrons on their haunches.

  “What have you done now, Elyse?” She asks over the din, jaw taut. She gathers her loose salt and pepper hair that hangs at her shoulders and ties it into a ponytail. Her attention is drawn to the cat, the creature’s head nestled on the toe of my boot. “Your little friend is not welcome here.”

  “He’s not mine,” I say, wiggling my foot, bobbing the cat’s head up and down. The cat stirs, yawns, exposes its fang, and missing front teeth. “Shoo, you.” I swoosh my hand at the pest. It regards me with slit eyes, then rushes into the tavern at light speed.

  “If he breaks anything,” Avery says through grit teeth, “It’s coming out of your pay.”

  I need every last gold piece I can horde if I plan to run for the hills, escape to freedom. Though I’ve never been to prison, I have always felt like a prisoner of Yardenfeld. Thank the Goddess. Since I was hired as a server girl here at Taffy’s, my ultimate goal has always been to escape this life. I’ve been working here for the last five years, busting my tail with no end in sight. No light at the end of the tunnel. To find that light, I’ve got to run. Flee. Escape while I can. Mum will not leave me high and dry in that ratty cottage we call home.

  I’ve got to leave soon.

  Tomorrow?

  Tonight?

  Now?

  The backdoor is still ajar, allowing the blistering winds to freely roam the tavern like that darn cat who’s lost amongst the throng of inebriated men.

  “I hope you didn’t throw out that perfectly good water.” Avery shoves me away with her left hip and snatches up the bucket in one go.

  Water sloshes inside of the bucket, crystal clear water without a hint of contamination. That’s strange. Just a moment ago, that water was as filthy as a beggar on the roadside. Now, it’s all clean, pristine even. Even stranger, the bucket is all in one piece, no split to be found. It’s like a brand-new bucket. The years of wear and tear have vanished entirely in a matter of minutes.

  “Close that damn door, will you?” Avery slams the bucket on the wooden table stacked with dishes and mugs. “If you know anything about men, their giblets shrink in the cold. And we need the bastards to stay warm. They’ll be liable to spend more.”

  I nod, unable to utter a word as I shut the backdoor. My mind is astir with confusion, bewilderment. That bucket was broken. The water, emptying down the drain. How is that—

  “Elyse!” Avery’s gruff voice snaps me out of my daze.

  “Yes, ma’am?” I splutter, eyes wide, hands trembling.

  “Get back to work.”

  I ready to scurry away when she holds a hand up to stop me.

  Clapping a hand on my shoulder, she says, “Hold on. I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you. Truly. I don’t mean any harm by it.”

  “It’s fine, ma’am.” I shrug off her concern and her plump hand.

  “Since the robbery, I’ve been short on gold.” She half-turns to face my mum and Belinda cavorting about, strutting sultrily from table to table as the patrons cheer them on. “Word got out about Stacey’s departure, and we’ve made record sales because every horny man in Yardenfeld wants to see her.”

  “Wait.” I raise a brow, concern pinching my lips in a thin line. “You knew my mum was leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Avery tilts her head to one side and scoffs. “Figures. Stacey lied to me, told me she shared the news with you about her bun in the oven and Igbob’s proposal—”

  “W-What...?” My voice a whisper, drowned out by the joyful noise of the merrymaking and catcalls. “She’s pregnant?” My concerns about her engagement are of lesser importance than the baby she has in her womb. My mum is having Igbob’s baby. Her wish will finally come true. She’s always wanted a baby with him. She says a baby is the greatest boost for any relationship to make any home a happier home.

  “Goddess on a cracker!” Avery mutters a string of curses, balls her hands into fists. “She didn’t tell you anything, Elyse? Can you not see how she’s glowing? How her face shines like the sun. Was it not obvious?”

  My silence is the answer that zips Avery’s lips shut.

  “It’ll be okay,” she says, filling the uncomfortable quiet. “You’ll always have a home here once Stacey and Igbob move to...” Her gaze softens as her eyes meet mine, wide and misty with the promise of tears. “You didn’t know that either. I’m so sorry.”

  Avery is like a grandmother to me, has been since I started working here. She never questions me whenever I stay the night in the spare bedroom; it’s become a ritual of sorts. Mum would kick me out of our home in favor of spending time with Igbob, and I’d come here to Taffy’s. Before I graduated from grammar school, I did all my studies here. Avery would help me any chance she’d get. I honestly wished she were my mum. Mine deigned to help me with any schoolwork. Mum said it wouldn’t matter if I were smart if I couldn’t land a husband. But than
kfully, Avery disagrees.

  “A woman needs an education around here.” Avery’s words to me when I cried my eyes out because I was so stressed with school and my hectic home life. “You’ll go far, Elyse. All you must do is read. Those who don’t read will be bamboozled, tricked into doing something they’ll regret.”

  “Come now,” Avery says, scooping me into her famous grandmotherly hugs. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “Of course.” I lift my frown into a smile. Or a half-smile, rather. “Back to work, it is, then.”

  “Curious.” Avery’s jaw drops, forming a large O-shape as she peers through the Tavern. “We have a new customer—a woman. Go figure.”

  Craning my neck to witness the anomaly, my focus lands on a lone woman at a table. Her skin is a deep earth color, rich like soil. Her hair, a curly mane of platinum silver, rebels against gravity like mine does. She is seated elegantly in a blood-red, hooded dress with floral lace on the sleeves.

  Given how beautiful this woman is, not a soul notices her but Avery and myself.

  Curious indeed.

  Chapter 2

  “WELCOME TO TAFFY’S Tavern,” I say, politely bowing my head at the lady in red. Her eyes light up, a fire blazing deep within her golden-brown orbs. For a breath, I could’ve sworn I felt a prickle of heat rise up my neck. I shake it off and smile at the woman. “You must be new in town.”

  “Yes, I am.” The tone of her voice is velvety smooth, sweet, and a touch mysterious. “I hear this establishment is the place to be at this hour.” She scans the hoopla of boozy men pleading to dance with my mum or Belinda. Or both. Some even flash gold coins at my mum, hoping for a minute or two of pleasure.

  The woman’s pink lips tighten, a frown pulling her elegant features into an unsettled mask of confusion. Maybe even disgust. Before Taffy’s became... well, Taffy’s, it was a well-to-do tavern where families could come and enjoy a meal while enjoying the epic, tall tales of whatever bard was hired for the day. Avery’s late husband, Eduardo, discovered that there’s more money to be made if he transformed Taffy’s from family-friendly fun to borderline X-rated.