Don’t trust the ink - Ch 2

A dark fantasy excerpt/ short story

Tags: Dark Magic, Fae

Author’s Note: This is meant to give you a taste of a plot bunny I had. But who knows? It could turn into a full novel one day, especially if you like it. ; )

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Astra

I’d never been lucky.

I wasn’t lucky with the family I was born into. I wasn’t lucky when my dad left when I was an infant and never came back. Nor was I when my mother fell into her alcohol addiction and disappeared one morning.

I certainly wasn’t lucky when I had to drop out of school at sixteen and work just to be able to pay for rent and food. And I definitely wasn’t lucky when the shack my mom and I had lived in started falling apart and needed repairs I couldn’t afford.

So I knew when a letter in a fancy envelope with a wax seal appeared on my doorstep, it couldn’t be anything good.

I wasn’t lucky enough for that.

I sighed as I picked the letter up and threw it on the cluttered countertop. I’d deal with it after work. I couldn’t afford to be late again.

I shivered as I stepped off my covered (albeit leaking) porch out into the rain.

Rain was a near constant byproduct of living in a small Oregon town. I was used to it, but that didn’t mean I liked it.

I yanked my jacket up over my head and walked to my mom’s old car to start the engine. I yanked open the door and jumped in the driver’s seat, grateful for the reprieve from the rain.

The car she’d left here was a piece of junk, but it at least still ran. I had no plan for what to do when it inevitably stopped. My salary definitely couldn’t afford a replacement.

The windshield wipers squeaked as they turned on.

The twenty minute drive to the gas station where I worked was uneventful.

I hated working the night shift there. The gas station was too quiet at night, and the people that did come through were…odd. I hated the way some of the men looked at me. But the pay at night was better, so I stuck it out.

It probably didn’t help me get less attention that I dyed my hair unnatural colors either. But hair dye was my lifeline—my (fairly) socially acceptable way to express my trauma visually. Its most recent shade was hot pink. It had been light blue a month before that. I liked to mix it up.

I was restocking some of the shelves when I saw a headlight in the store window. I sat up straighter and walked quickly back to the front. The cash register had a panic button next to it. And with my luck, I wanted to be positioned nearby with a guest about to enter.

Just in case.

The headlights turned off just as I reached the cash register.

The bell above the door chimed. I swallowed as I turned to see who had entered.

A large, muscled man in a tank top walked in. He had his dark hair styled in a buzz cut and was chewing on something between his teeth.

He nodded and walked towards the cash register.

He reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.

He pointed to the window as he slapped the bill on the counter. “Pump number 2.”

I nodded and picked the cash off the counter and put it on the pump. I hated that the pumps were set to prepay only at night. It just gave more people a reason to come into the store—more of a chance for something to go wrong for me.

He nodded his thanks when I was done ringing him up and walked out the door.

I watched as he pulled his truck up to the pump and started to fill it up.

I let out a breath of relief when he was finally done and pulled away.

The man hadn’t done anything particularly menacing, but I was much more comfortable here alone.

I was just about to step out from behind the counter when something coming from the woods caught my eye.

I held my breath. As it got closer, I could definitely tell it was a man.

He looked out of place. Not only was he walking to a gas station in the middle of nowhere, but his clothes looked like they were from a forgotten era. And his hair was so blonde it was almost as white as snow. It fell just below his ears.

The bell chimed as he walked into the gas station door. I could feel my palms growing sweaty as he turned and smiled at me.

There was something wicked and dangerous about his clothes.

He walked closer and put a candy bar on the counter for me to ring up.

“Chocolate is such a delightful invention, don’t you think?” he said, bringing his eyes up to mine as he spoke.

My stomach dropped when his eyes met mine.

They weren’t blue, or brown, or any normal color. Instead they were the color black—the color of ink to be precise—around the irises.

I blinked and forced a smile when I realized he was waiting for me to return his.

He pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his pocket.

A sigh escaped my lips as I accepted it. I hated getting change out of the register for big bills.

“Keep the extra,” he said, picking up the candy bar from the counter. “It’s the least I can do.”

I blinked. When I opened my eyes, he was already at the door about to step out.

I frowned as I watched him disappear into the forest. How had he moved so fast? And what did he mean ‘it was the least he could do’?

I took a deep breath and opened the cash register to get the change for the bill in my hand, placing it in my pockets when I was done.

Whoever the stranger was, he’d just bought me groceries for the week. And I wasn’t in a place to question that.

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I was grateful no one entered the store for the rest of the shift.

I yawned as I pulled into my driveway. I was looking forward to lying down and taking a nap when I entered.

But once I was inside, the letter from earlier called to me from the counter as I passed it.

I sighed. I might as well open it and get whatever unpleasant news it held.

I walked over to the envelope and tore open the wax seal.

My eyes scanned a handwritten letter with stylized writing and flourishes.

I’ve been watching you. How could a girl as beautiful as you be so alone?

You deserve someone that can spoil you.

Leave me a letter back in the same spot you found this one?

Don’t ignore me and break my heart.

See you soon,

D

I was giggling at the letter when I caught myself.

No way did I have a secret admirer that meant well. I wasn’t that lucky.

My mind immediately went to the stranger with white-blonde hair from earlier. I couldn’t help but feel he was connected to the letter somehow.

I tore up the letter and the envelope and tossed them into the fireplace. I quickly lit a match and tossed it in.

I relaxed my shoulders as the letter went up in flames. I felt like a weight on them had been lifted— as if the letter held a spell the fire broke.

I shook my head. No, magic wasn’t real. I knew that.

But I was still glad I burned it—something sure felt off with it.

And as a girl who luck never favored, I’d learned to always trust my instinct.