Adult-FanFiction.org : Marvel 'Verse

White Rose	By : CeeCee Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 10605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men fandom. Marvel Entertainment owns these characters. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
Earlier that morning:
Shaw lolled in the polished, porcelain, claw-footed tub, letting the rose-scented steam fill his nostrils. A goblet of claret rested beside him on a small silver tray, despite that it was too early for it. He’d just finished a hearty breakfast of eggs, steak and kidneys, biscuits and honey, and fried potatoes. His maid, Tessa, had already laid out his fine charcoal gray frock coat and black breeches, and his shoes were already polished, waiting by his vanity for him to put them on.
The cloudless blue sky promised a perfect day. Christian Frost’s trial would flush Emma out into the open. Sebastian was sure of it. She would witness her brother’s shame and her father’s frailty. Winston had deteriorated since his internment, growing more manic and anxious. 
When Shaw visited the prison, he had Winston brought out to the holding area, a more spacious, open room with a solitary, curtained window that was kept cleaner than the rest of the cells. Shaw awaited him at the table, nodding to him and smiling.
“My old friend. Good afternoon to you. I hope you’re being treated well? Are you eating?”
“When they deign to feed me. Shaw? Sebastian Shaw?” Winston’s face blossomed into an unexpected smile. “Goodness, I remember when you were just a bandy-legged lad! You have your father’s eyes, do you know that? Oh, your papa was a shrewd one, that he was…”
Sebastian beckoned to him. “Sit, old friend. You look thirsty.” Sebastian poured him a cup of water from the jug on the table. He pushed it over to him, and Winston looked puzzled, but he drank it down greedily.
“It’s fresh,” he exclaimed. “It’s like ambrosia…”
“Drink deep.”
He finished the cup and thunked it down with a low burp. “Sebastian… it’s strange. I had the strangest dream last night.”
“Of what, Winston?”
“Well, it was odd, really. I dreamt of my youngest. My little rose, Emma.”
“It must have been a pleasant dream, then.”
“No. Oh, no! It was anything but! It was a mad, dark jumble… she… she was taken from me.”
Sebastian leaned forward with concern. “Truly?”
“Yes! By this fearsome creature! With horns and wings! I thought she was there to take me straight down to purgatory! She wanted to tear my flesh with her teeth! They were like knives, I tell you!”
“How fantastic!” Shaw exclaimed. “And unusual!”
“Emma. My Emma was weeping, Shaw. She didn’t want me to leave her behind, but I barely escaped with my life!” Winston’s eyes filled with tears. “I hope she will forgive me! I fear all has been lost!”
“Don’t despair yet, sir. It was just a dream, after all.”
“Oh, if only... “ Winston’s voice grew hoarse and strangely pitched, and his shoulders shook. “If only it were a dream. I gave her up. She-she promised me, that she would treat her well… when I left her on the hill. And now, I’ve no way to tell Emma that her brother is condemned!”
“Extraordinary!” Sebastian feigned surprise and kept his tone soft. “Surely, we can take word to her about his plight… after all, it was just a dream?”
“Oh! But… truly, she was taken from me! Forever! I’m never to see my daughter again, the poor, sweet lamb! She was too good for this cruel, hard world. She deserved so much more than my failures-”
“Winston. Listen to me. Surely, she is still in the world of the living? Surely, we can take word to her that Christian is to stand trial?”
“Oh, rubbish!” Winston shook his head and emitted a rusty, tearful laugh. “The beast is up in the castle, greedy as a sow! Riches a-plenty! Marble floors! A fine fireplace and a library with thousands of books. The cupboards are never bare. You have but to think it and you can eat it! Just go up… over the river, through the clearing where the wildflowers grow, past a huge, gnarled, knobby oak tree. I’ve no doubt the beast has hung all the other poor wretches from that tree, those who defied her, eh? Those who tried to take back their daughters!”
Sebastian realized he had as much information as he was going to get from him. Winston truly believed Emma was lost. 
Sebastian Shaw was an educated man, a businessman, and he enjoyed a clever puzzle. Scraps of Adrienne’s gossip drifted back to his memory, feather light and teasing. There was no love lost between the sisters; Adrienne Frost despised her lovelier, younger sibling, and her heart was hardened with envy. Adrienne would enjoy a few more years of beauty in her prime, at best, and she would entertain Donald’s guests and family in a well-appointed home once he took her to wife, but she had little else to offer. Not her sister’s canny intelligence and wit. Not her gentleness and work ethic. Adrienne was no more than a prop. Her loose tongue, however, afforded Sebastian a clue.
Winston’s ramblings were fervent and strange, but they didn’t ring false to Sebastian’s ears. “...over the river, through the clearing where the wildflowers grow, past a huge, gnarled, knobby oak tree…” The old man believed what he was saying, as if only Death could change his mind.
“Where the wildflowers grow,” Sebastian murmured as he scrubbed his skin with the lavender soap. 
Another memory rose to the surface of a castle. Two aging monarchs who enjoyed untold wealth. One daughter with extravagant tastes and lusts, famed for her beauty. The family disappeared. The castle, according to the villagers, stood abandoned over the hill, hidden by overgrowth and trees that stood like sentinels, draping it in shadow. No one spoke of it anymore, of the estate, nor of its occupants, as though the story was plucked from everyone’s tongues, making it wither from local lore.
Perhaps the castle wasn’t as empty as they’d been led to believe.
 

Now:

Sebastian watched Emma, transfixed. She sat flanked by her sisters in drab, plain clothing that somehow only enhanced her beauty. Her skin was rosy and mildly tanned, and her pale blonde hair glowed as if kissed by sunlight. She looked like a woman who had enjoyed time in the outdoors and a life of leisure over the past weeks, not like a woman who lived locked away in the dark by some foul demon as her father had described. 
Her eyes scanned the room and landed upon him, regarding him with icy disdain. Sebastian felt a raw chill in his gut. She stared him down, as though she could read his very thoughts. Sebastian nodded, letting a smile curl the corner of his mouth, but she drew herself up taller and straighter in her seat. Her chin rose a notch, haughty and proud. 
He wanted nothing more within that moment than to break her and kiss the rebellion from her lips. 
Beside her, Adrienne hissed, “Stop glaring. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“This entire trial is spectacle,” Emma whispered. “You’ve done nothing to mitigate it. Father shouldn’t be here. Celeste told me what you did. You signed Father’s freedom away.”
“He was ranting. You’re going on about things you know nothing about,” Cordelia argued under her breath. “You’ve been absent from us, and now you come back expecting to run things. That’s absurd, Emma Grace. You’ve thought about nothing but yourself while Adrienne and I’ve had to make do.”
“Make. Do.” Emma’s voice was filled with ice. “Oh, how dare you.”
There they sat, in fine frocks and gleaming curls, skin rouged with cosmetics. Precious stones dangling from their ears and throats. Make do. It was laughable. Preposterous.
The judge entered the chambers in dark, flowing robes. Hard, flinty gray eyes stared out through wire-rimmed reading spectacles, and he took his time settling his rotund body behind the dais. The bailiffs called the court to order quickly, and a hush fell over the room.
“His Honorable Justice,” they announced. “Please be seated and silent.”
“Will the leader of the jury read me the first order of the court?” he requested in stiff tones.
“Will His Honor please hear the case of the people versus Winston and Christian Frost, and their accomplice, Jean-Paul Beaubier, private citizens who stand accused for the murder of Jason Wyngarde and Cameron Hodge, employees of Sebastian Shaw.”
“Employees? Your associates?” the judge asked. His heavy chins bulged slightly over his collar as he turned to face the village’s favored son and frequent benefactor. 
“Indeed, your Honor,” he replied as he took the witness stand. “I came upon the place where I found my employees murdered in cold blood. I found these gentleman standing over them, bloodied and filthy from the attempt to hide the bodies in the alley.”
The judge read the briefing in his hands written on parchment in fine, flowing script. “In an alley?”
“Aye. Not far from my own establishment.”
The bailiff murmured into the judge’s ear, and he nodded. “The Trident. Yes. I’m aware that you’re the proprietor of that… establishment, Mr. Shaw.”
Sebastian gave him a tight little smile.
“And these associates of yours. Did they work with you for long?”
“They worked for me from the time that I opened the Trident’s doors. They were loyal and hardworking, your Honor.”
“Indeed. And you found them in the alley? At… night. Rather late, according to this.”
“Yes.”
“At a time when decent folk are home in their beds,” the judge mused.
“Yet the accused were out that night as well, your Honor,” Sebastian’s solicitor pointed out from the front bench.
Adrienne raised her hand. The bailiff nodded for her to speak. She stood and walked forward, past her younger sister where she sat fuming.
“Your Honor, my father is a businessman as well. He dealt in imports and trade with the local marketplace. He has stimulated the community with his business-”
“That information isn’t as useful as you think it is,” the judge told her.
Adrienne’s smile faltered. “Your Honor, I merely want to paint a picture of my father’s sterling character -”
“If you want to paint a picture, my bailiff can hand you a brush. I want facts, madam. Not pretty stories. Your father stands trial today for murder, and your brother as well.”
She straightened up and clasped her hands demurely. “My father left that night to find my brother. It was storming outside, and he was worried about his safety. That was my father’s only intention, your Honor.”
“That’s more like it. He explained this to you before he left your home?”
“Aye.”
“You and your sisters rely upon him to support you, correct?”
“Er. Yes, your Honor.”
“Eligible, marriageable young women like yourselves?”
Adrienne’s smile dropped. “Just. Cordelia and I. Your Honor.”
The judge’s brow furrowed.
“Our youngest sister no longer lives at home.”
“Through no fault of my own,” Emma murmured under her breath.
Off to the side, Christian sat beside Jean-Paul and his father, still bound in manacles. He shook his head grimly and stared down at his fists. Jean-Paul leaned in toward him, gently bumping his hand, and Chris wove their fingers together. This, for the moment, they could have. 
“Please sit down, Miss Frost,” the judge intoned. “I want to hear Mr. Shaw’s account of what he found in the alley the night that Jason Wyngarde and Cameron Hodge were found murdered.”
Sebastian resumed his tale. His expression was grim and his tone, pious. “I found them lying on the ground. Their bodies were obscured by trash. Cameron’s body lay in a puddle. He drowned in it, but he was left there wounded and injured. He’d been beaten nearly to death.”
The judge made a thoughtful noise and continued to read the brief. He waved Sebastian on, urging him to continue.
“Jase’s throat was torn out. It was a truly gruesome sight.”
“Torn out, you said?”
“Aye, your Honor.”
“With a knife?” The judge continued read the brief. “It says here that the wounds were jagged and the flesh was torn apart. As though the gentleman in question had been mauled.”
Emma paled. The blood rushed from her head and she felt a pang of nausea. No. No, no. Neither her brother nor her father were capable of such savagery. And Ororo hadn’t given her the full disclosure of what happened that night. Emma only remembered the sight of Ororo’s beating wings and whipping robes as she left that night, taking away the sound of Jean-Paul’s barely conscious thoughts.
The vivid memories of that night assailed her. Rahne and Dani’s attentions. Waking up to have supper alone. The cheerful fire crackling in the grate. The vague absence of Ororo’s thoughts, which she’d been expressly forbidden to broach.
It was too much. Emma couldn’t accept it. 
Yet, she’d watched Ororo deal with the wolves with her own eyes. She was savage and feral and fearsome. Stronger than ten men. Her claws and teeth could rend flesh and turn a tree into splinters. Her wings could break a grown man’s arm. She wasn’t incapable of carrying out such an act.
“I found this man covered in blood,” Shaw told the court, nodding to Chris. “Christian Frost. And his acquaintance, Mr. Beaubier.”
“Acquaintance,” Jean-Paul spat.
“They have a special, bosom friendship,” Shaw mentioned casually, quirking one heavy, dark brow. “Some might consider it… perverse.”
Christian closed his eyes. His grip on Jean-Paul’s fingers tightened painfully. He heard Jean-Paul’s shaky intake of breath and felt him stiffen beside him.
Emma felt waves of rage wash over her. 

You dare.

She projected her thoughts before she could stop herself. Sebastian drew himself up sharply, glancing around for the source of the voice in his head.
He found Emma watching him. Eyes piercing and filled with hatred. For him.
His eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists. Well, well. The little minx. The Frost family was full of surprises. The face of an innocent. The body of a courtesan.
And a hidden gift for witchcraft.
“The nature of their friendship isn’t on trial,” the judge explained. “Only whether or not either of them are guilty of murder. Or capable of savagery.”
The counsel interviewed the witnesses. Old Celeste came forward and told the courts that Christian had stopped by her stand and sold her a necklace to pay off a debt. And that his father regularly sold her goods whenever his ships came in. And that Emma Grace, the youngest Frost sister, often came to sell her eggs and cream.
“Sweet child, that one,” she offered, beaming at Emma fondly. Emma’s eyes burned. “I will never hear slander against her character, no matter what else you believe about either of the men on the stand today.”
Winston had asked her where to find Christian, understandably upset that he was out so late, in such conditions. Celeste didn’t realize that Chris and Jean-Paul were planning to meet in an alley. “Rubbish,” Celeste pronounced when the solicitor asked about that possibility. “My Christian is a proper gentleman. Young and impulsive, but he doesn’t frequent dark alleys.”
“One doesn’t have to be a frequent visitor to one to commit a murder,” the judge reminded her. “Next witness.”
Jeanne-Marie approached the stand, garbed in a simple black gown with a white jabot of lace at the throat and a blue shawl draped around her shoulders for warmth. She was pale, and dark circles marred her lovely blue eyes. 
“When did you see your brother last?”
“When he left the kitchen where we both work,” she told them. “Jean-Paul heard that Christian was meeting Jason Wyngarde. That he had a debt to pay to the Trident.”
That piqued the judge’s interest. “A debt.”
“A gambling debt, your Honor.”
She knew it flew in the face of Celeste’s claims that Christian was an upstanding young man who Winston had raised properly, but it still gave him a clear motive for appearing in that alley, so close to Sebastian Shaw’s establishment.
“He lost at cards. He owed the Trident a fortune.” She stared at Sebastian. “He owed Shaw more than he could afford to pay. Christian told my brother and I that he had run into a bit of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Shaw threatened him.” Jeanne-Marie paused, and her eyes sparked with tears. Emma watched her chin tremble and felt her rage and fear, tasting it on her lips. “Shaw hurt him.”
Sebastian’s eyes crinkled with laughter. He shook his head and held out his hands in a supplicating gesture.
“I enjoyed a business relationship with Christian. He was a frequent patron of the Trident. His luck at cards turned badly. I merely sought to remind him that he owed me a debt.”
“Christian came home to us and showed us his wounds.”
“Showed you both?” The judge raised his brows. 
“I live with my brother. Christian is a close friend.”
“Do you enjoy the same sort of closeness with him that your brother does?”
Jeanne-Marie sighed, then nodded. “Indeed, your Honor. I do. I love him.”
Low gasps and murmurs floated through the room. The judge quelled the noise with a wave of his hand.
Jean-Paul huffed under his breath. “Airing all of our laundry today, aren’t we, love?”
“Let it fly on the line,” Christian whispered. “We’ll have no secrets left. And no time left to keep them.”
“Chris came home. Bruised. Bleeding.” She gave the word harsh emphasis. “Bleeding intimately. Christian had been violated.”
“On the night of his transaction to pay off his debt?”
“No. The night that Shaw sent his associates to extract payment from him.”
“Extract payment?”
“Demand payment,” Shaw corrected her. “I merely gave him a verbal reminder.”
“Oh, no. Not verbal,” Jeanne-Marie spat. She pointed her slender finger at Shaw, stabbing the air. “You forced yourself on Chris. It was you. You didn’t just send your ‘associates’ to squeeze him and step on his throat for the money.” Jeanne-Marie shook her head. “No. Not you. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
She was weeping openly now, eyes red-rimmed, glistening and leaking tears.
“The witness is slandering my client’s character,” Shaw’s solicitor informed them. “She wasn’t there in the alley, was she?”
“I know what condition Chris returned to us in, your Honor,” Jeanne-Marie explained. “My brother was there, too. He saw Chris, and saw his wounds. He held him while he cried.”
“‘We?’” Sebastian mocked. “How touching.”
The murmuring in the chambers started anew. Jeanne-Marie sat there, helpless and piqued. 
“Step down,” the judge ordered. “I need to give this some consideration.”
Emma felt his doubt and disdain, and her rage sparked anew.
Stay strong, she told Jeanne-Marie. For Chris. For Jean-Paul. I’m here with you.
Jeanne-Marie’s sobs ended abruptly, and she began to turn toward Emma, but Emma shook her head. 

Don’t look at me. People will stare. We will get through this. Just stay calm.

Jeanne-Marie wrung her hands, twisting a crumpled handkerchief in her grip. He doesn’t believe me. Neither will the jury. They will drag your brother’s character in the dirt. They’ll both die.
Emma closed her eyes. No. They won’t.
*
The jury took a brief recess, and the crowd convened outside, warming their hands around cups of cider from a nearby vendor’s stand and squabbling about what they witnessed and heard. 
“That Beaubier gel is a cheeky one. And a bit of a harlot.”
“Rubbish. She’s a sweet little thing. Never harmed a fly, and neither did that brother of hers. She’s just hysterical, is all.”
“Who wouldn’t be, when you look at the big picture? Her brother’s wanted for murder!”
“Old Frost has gone batty.”
“Round the bend. They’ll need to lock him up. Either in bedlam or in the bin.”
 
Inside the court room, Winston sat gibbering and muttering. While the crowd exited, Emma rushed forward and reached for her father’s hands. He stared at her, his eyes glazed and confused.
“Father. It’s me. It’s Emma. I’m here.”
“It can’t be. She took you away. That foul beast… you’re gone.” Winston shook his head. “You’re just part of my dream. Tell me I’m sleeping. Don’t wake me. I’m going to join my wife. Hazel will accept me into her arms once more. Soon. Soon,” he insisted. “We’ll find Emma together. The beast has no doubt torn our baby girl apart.”
“Father, no! I’m here.” Emma clasped his hands and stroked his weathered cheek. “I’m here with you! I want to keep you safe! I won’t let them take you away from me! It’s not too late!” Her eyes burned and her voice grew thick with emotion.
“You’re a dream. Just a cruel, lovely dream. My sweet girl. My princess. You were the rose of my heart. I’ve lost you.”
“You haven’t.”
“She took you. That foul demon. Just a terrible, winged thief. She tore you apart with her fangs. And-and, wings. Her terrible black wings.”
“She didn’t, Father. She didn’t. Ororo was kind to me. It took time, but we-”
“SHE TORE OUR FAMILY APART!” Winston roared. He reared back and jerked in his chair, stomping and kicking, fighting Emma’s attempts to soothe him. “YOU’RE NOT REAL!”
“I AM real, Father! Please, listen to me!” Emma’s eyes swam with tears, and the room blurred. The bailiffs reached for her and dragged her back.
“He’s not well, miss,” one of them warned. “He’s not in his right mind. Let the judge decide his fate. It’s just as well.”
“Just as well to let him rot?” she spat.
“One daughter lost,” Winston babbled. “One sweet girl, torn apart. One daughter threw herself to a rogue, like a harlot. Two daughters threw their father away. And one son a gambling, perverted wretch, and a killer. Four lost little lambs…”
“No,” Emma pleaded. “No, Father! None of us are lost! Father, please…!”
“You’re dead.” Winston’s rheumy eyes denied what they were seeing. “You’re gone to me. Forever.”
“Not yet.”
Emma broke free of the bailiff’s grip with a ragged cry, and she rushed at Winston, throwing herself upon him. She grasped his face, gripping his jaw firmly in her palms. His eyes dilated, and he jerked his head back but could not evade her hands. 
“Don’t! Don’t, wretched spirit! You only wear my daughter’s face!”
“Let me in, Father,” she ordered. “Let me inside. Let me fix your broken pieces.”
And in that moment, Emma forced herself into his mind.
 
Daylight.
Stark daylight. Blinding and unrelenting.
Emma stood in a familiar field, breathing in the scents of rippling wheat, manure and her father’s grape arbor. She heard buzzling flies and the tinkle of leaves dancing overhead from their branches. She was home. She saw her father tending his wagon, repairing a broken wheel. Emma ran toward him, calling out, picking up her long skirts.
“FATHER!”
He kept working, but he looked up and smiled at her. “Fetch me a drink from the well,” he urged. “Your poor father’s worked up quite a thirst.”
“Do you know me?”
“Yes. Of course. Since the moment that the midwife handed you to me. My darling. My little princess. Help your father out and fetch me some water, lass!”
“Then you know I’m alive. That I’m here with you.”
Winston eyed her with confusion.
“I’m here.”
He huffed, exasperated and amused. “You’ve been keeping your nose in a book. That’s where I’ll find you,” he mused. “At least you’re home where you belong. Unlike your brother. Always carousing, that one.”
“Chris is in trouble, Father. Please. We have to help him. You have to tell them he is innocent!”
“He’s never been innocent.”
“He is. He truly is.” Emma felt anguish enveloping her. “He’s a good man, Father. You both are. He needs you right now.”
“Why are you here?” Winston stood from his small work stool and wandered away from Emma, He wiped his hands on a small rag hanging on a hook in the barn. 
“Because you need me.”
Winston shook his head. “Need… need you? What are you on about? I…”
He stood there, staring. Hesitantly, he reached for her, touching her blonde, gossamer-fine hair.
“It’s me. I’m with you.”
“‘You should be home,” he told her. “With your sisters. You’re gone…”
“I’m here. Not with them, because they don’t want me back, but I am here with you, Father. I’m here for you. And for Christian.”
A shadow passed over them, and the clouds drifted across the sky, blocking out the sun.
“No. She took you away.” Winston glared at her, and his earlier cheerful mood evaporated. “She locked you away.”
“No. She… she freed me, Father.” Of course he still thought that. “I stayed away too long, Father, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“She’s coming back,” Winston cried. His eyes widened with fear. “She’s coming… there! Up there! With her black wings! Emma! EMMA! RUN! RUN!”
Emma heard the rush of wings beating the air and a high, keening screech.
“ORORO!”
There she was, looming all-powerful and dreadful in her father’s mind, looking the way Emma remembered the night they met. Her eyes were glowing milky white with power, and she was growling, long white hair whipping on the wind. She flew at them both, and she snatched Emma up from the ground!
“NO! ORORO! This isn’t you! Father, this isn’t right!”
“Not again,” Winston sobbed. “EMMA! COME BACK! Don’t leave! Don’t leave me!”
“This isn’t you,” Emma insisted. Ororo growled and snapped at her, gripping her too hard, all of her tenderness gone and leaving his ferocious presence behind. This creature was cobbled together from greed, jealousy and rage. She pulsed with dark energy and inhuman strength. 
“Mine,” the Wind-Rider hissed. “Stay with me…”
“I need to help Father. You know that. You know I care for you. I can’t leave him behind.”
“MINE!”
“Not like this!” Emma called out, voice rising over the din of the gale winds that blew through her father’s mind. Out of nowhere, rain pelted them both, stinging and cold. She beat at Ororo with her fists, urging her to let go.
“You’ll leave me behind! Alone in the dark!”
“No. I won’t. But he’ll die without me! Leave him alone. Do you hear me? GET OUT!”
Emma’s voice grew, drowning everything else out.
Everything changed in an instant.
Emma opened her eyes. She was back on the ground. Dry. Untouched.
Her father ran to her, reaching for her. “Emma!”
“Father, I’m here. I’m all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”
She caressed his cheek, and the sunlight engulfed them both.
 
*
A light went on in Winston’s eyes. He shook his head, and his cries stopped. He stared up into Emma’s tearstained face, and he watched the bailiffs drag her back. Watched her struggling.
“No! Don’t! Take your hands off of my child!”
“She’s hysterical,” the judge informed him. “She’ll have to be restrained-”
“NO! Don’t! Leave her alone! She’s just a child! Can’t you see? She’s a wee slip of a girl! She’s my daughter!”
The townsfolk began to file back inside at the sounds of the commotion. They eyed Emma curiously, taking in her lathered, mussed state. Winston was sitting there, chest heaving, but the broken, hysterical look had left his eyes. 
“She’s my daughter,” he pronounced. His voice held so much fondness, love and unfettered joy. “She’s returned.”
“I never left you, Father.” She spoke to him telepathically. I’ve always been in here. I’ll never truly leave you. I swear that to you. I love you.
“I know,” he told her aloud. “I know.”
*
 
Outside, the clouds darkened ominously, turning the sky gray and overcast. The scent of petrichor invaded the marketplace and village, and the townsfolk shivered in their wraps and coats. 
“Where’d the sun go?” a little girl inquired. She gripped her mother’s hand, but she had no answers for her.
“This feels unnatural,” she replied. “Let’s go back inside.”
The crowd rushed back into the court, filing back into their seats. The judge called it back to order with the pounding of his gavel.
“I would like to call Winston Frost forward to give his testimony,” he ordered.
Shaw’s solicitor looked confused. “He’s not well, sir. His sanity is just as much in question as his innocence!”
“He deserves to give his account. It will decide his future.”
Winston was led forward to the witness stand. Emma remained behind in her seat. Her sisters looked perturbed as they took in her state.
“Straighten up,” Adrienne hissed. “Don’t embarrass us.”
Emma longed to know what constituted shame in her sister’s book. If her sister only knew how tongues about town wagged about her own conduct.
But Emma sat still, calm and hopeful, as her father began his testimony.
“Where were you on the night in question, sir?” the judge asked gently.
“I drove my wagon out that night to find my son. Christian. It was dark out. Storming. I don’t care much for going out on nights like that. It’s not safe. Brings back… bad memories.” Winston stared across the room at his son, taking in his bruised, sorry state. “I never wanted this for you,” he rasped. “The gambling. You can’t. Trust gamblers. They control the cards.” His eyes jerked toward Shaw. “I know Christian had incurred a debt. He came home all banged up. I didn’t… admit to myself why.”
“What happened in the alley?”
“I found my son. Standing there, His friend. That one.” Winston nodded to Jean-Paul. “He was with him. Bleeding. The other two were on the ground. That Wyngarde scoundrel. His throat. It was gone. The other one was just lying there, face down. In the puddle. I told Christian. That we couldn’t stay. That they’d find him.”
“You didn’t see him commit the murder?”
“No. He was scared. Terrified. His clothes were torn, like they’d attacked him. Their blood...perhaps it was my son’s, but it was all over his clothing.” He nodded to Jean-Paul again. “They stabbed that one. He’d been run through. You could tell from the wound. He was bleeding from his mouth. No man deserves a wound like that.”
The judge hummed in agreement. “And then?”
“That was when she arrived.”
“When… who? Miss Beaubier?” the judge guessed. Jeanne-Marie looked confused.
“No. Not the girl. She was nowhere to be found. The creature. The one who…” Winston looked confused again, but he stayed on topic, with new purpose. “The one who took Emma away. For the price of one white rose.” Winston laughed hollowly, then. “I know how to pay my debts, too. My son. He learned that from me. How to lose that which is most precious.”
Christian’s eyes were glistening. He shook his head and bowed it, but Winston continued.
“I’ve known the Shaws for the longest time. I remember that one, over there, as a lad. Mischievous. Cruel. Used to torture small animals for sport. Cheated the younger children at games and pinched them, or got into fights when they wouldn’t let him have his way.”
Shaw huffed, waving him off. “My character isn’t on trial, old man.”
“Oh, but it is. The beast took her away, but you wanted my Emma, too. You sniffed around my daughter since she was old enough for long skirts.” Winston laughed again. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To get me out of the way. So you can take my little girl. It’s too late, can’t you see? She’s been taken away already, Shaw. Even with all of your money, you can’t buy her from the beast!”
Cold fear formed a pit in Emma’s stomach. And outside, the sky grew dark. The shadows passed over the windows and skylight of the courthouse, and Emma felt energy gathering in the air, just the way it did before a storm.
“Wind-Rider,” she whispered.
The winds howled, and the vendors outside flailed and grabbed at their wares, clutching at them to keep them from blowing away. Thunder rolled across the sky, dashing the serenity of the afternoon to bits.
“Odd,” the judge mentioned. His brow furrowed. “We may have to reconvene court tomorrow. These conditions aren’t safe.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
Emma sensed Ororo’s presence, and her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest.

You shouldn’t have come.


I could never leave you alone to handle this alone. How could you even question it, little rose?

Emma’s eyes grew brimful again, and her hands fluttered up to her breast. 

Have you always been this stubborn?


Only when it comes to protecting what is mine, darling. Sit tight. Santo’s lit the fire in the library. We’ll have tea and biscuits, if you like?

Ororo’s voice in Emma’s mind was teasing, but Emma caught the hints of barely repressed rage, felt her concern and fear for her safety. How dare Emma risk herself like this. How dare she sacrifice herself and place herself in harm’s way. How dare she keep such a thing from Ororo.
And yet…
Emma felt the whisper of emotions through their connection, furtive yet… passionate. 

I’m chilled. Cold. I need you to keep me warm, Wind-Rider.


You never should have left.


You know why I had to.


You can explain that to me under the covers.

Emma blushed outright.
Despite her bravado, Ororo felt Emma’s exhaustion, terror and bleak despair through their psychic link.
“Enough,” Ororo muttered as her winds died down, letting her drift to the ground. The breeze stirred her hair, making strands of it pull loose from her plaits.
The townsfolk and vendors outside the courthouse stared and gawked, crying out in terror as she approached the steps.
“IT’S A DEMON!”
“HORNS! SHE HAS HORNS!”
“MONSTER! Begone, foul wretch!”
“Fools,” Ororo mocked. “Step aside. Mind your business, and run back to your homes! Be glad my business isn’t with you.” Her voice was strident and her gait was proud and elegant. With a thought, she blew open the doors of the courthouse, making them slam inward and startling the people inside.
Her eyes swirled milky white and crackled with energy as she strode into the chamber, wings spread and bristling.
“Hullo,” she greeted the gaping assembly. “You may call me Wind-Rider.”
Winds blew inside, stirring the loose-leaf books and parchments and rumpling carefully styled hair. The women in the crowd screamed and ducked down below their seats, crouching with their children. The bailiffs reached for their pistols and flanked their judge’s bench. His eyes dilated with fear, and he clutched at his wig to keep it from blowing off.
Ororo cut an imposing figure in the fine gown, towering over everyone in the room. The lustrous red ruby brooch gleamed at her bosom, in a setting of filigreed gold. She had taken special care with her appearance, but her face… still feral as ever. The bits of feminine softness that Emma discovered over the previous weeks vanished, replaced with savage strength.
She approached the front of the chamber and stood beside the bench where Emma and her sisters sat huddled together. Emma pried herself loose from Cordelia’s arms and stood, returning her stare.
“You should have waited for me,” Ororo said.
“We have different opinions on the subject.”
Ororo sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Really, Emma?”
Emma attempted a smile, but it faltered and collapsed, and she ran to Ororo, right into her waiting embrace.
“Silly goose,” Ororo whispered fiercely. Her breath stirred the hairs at Emma’s temple, and her arms tightened around her. She felt so warm and strong, and Emma clutched at her.
“They were going to lock Father away and kill Chris, Ororo I couldn’t-”
“I know, dear heart. Doesn’t mean you didn’t give me a scare when I found you gone.” Ororo’s fingers stroked Emma’s hair. Emma sobbed, needing the release.
Behind her, Adrienne and Cordelia cowered in fear and disbelief. Christian and Jean-Paul watched the spectacle in shared awe.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Jean-Paul demanded.
“Yes. She’s haunted my sleep, all this time.”
“Chris, she saved my life!”
“Not quite. Not yet. We could still be done for.”
Winston trembled where he sat. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he fought against his bonds. “She’s returned,” he cried. “She’s come to steal my daughter away again!” Emma had only just repaired his fractured mind.
The crowd and jury only realized then, at that moment, that Winston Frost’s sanity was no longer in question.
That left left the bigger question: How would they deal with the fact that his youngest daughter consorted with a living, breathing, flying demon?
- 18
- 19
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

White Rose