Chapter Text
"What in hell are you doing?" Rowena demanded. She kept her face as blank as possible; she allowed anger to seep in, allowed it to twist her features, hoping to keep the fear that rattled in her bones at bay.
Martha had already kidnapped her and tied her up. She didn't get to see her scared.
The other witch flashed a smile that made Rowena's stomach turn, a smile that was supposed to be happy, friendly, but ended up resembling that of a maniac. Which wasn't that far from the truth. Martha was a maniac. No sane person did what she did, acted the way that she did. She was completely, utterly crazy, and her look reflected that.
"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm saving you!" she said, outraged at having to explain it, her southern accent thick in every word.
Rowena rolled her eyes. Of course she was saving her. Of bloody course!
"You're bloody mad!" she said, and instantly regretted it.
Martha looked at her with murder in her eyes, a glare so intense it burned right through her. "No, you're mad! You!" She pointed an accusatory finger at Rowena, shaking with rage, with anger that burned like fire inside her. Rowena flinched as if struck, and Martha sucked in a breath to calm down. "I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault."
No, it bloody wasn't! If she was tied to un uncomfortable bed she would be angry, too. Maybe Martha wasn't quite as crazy as she thought.
She took the thought back a whole second later when Martha added, "Y/N brainwashed you. You poor thing."
Rowena couldn't help it — she laughed, loud, hearty, a laughter so sweet she couldn't stop for a few moments. She was aware of Martha's delusions of you turning her against her, but this? This was comedy gold.
"See? She did that to you!" Martha accused.
"I can assure you, Y/N did no such thing. I can think for myself," Rowena told her. Her face turned serious, lightness dying out like the flip of a switch, features hardening like stone/stone. "And I think you're bloody mental!"
"Shut up!" Martha snapped, stomping her feet like a toddler. It would have looked ridiculous had she not been a heavyset woman in her forties with a mad look in her eyes.
An obsessed woman-child. Just what Rowena needed.
She had to get out of here. Had to get out of these restraints, this room, this house. Had to get away from this woman.
Staring straight at Martha, she exclaimed with utmost conviction, willing her magic to spring free, "Abi!"
Nothing happened.
There was no rush of energy inside her, no tingles that accompanied her spells. It was as if her magic was dead, gone, as if it had never been there. An empty feeling settled over her. It felt as if she were missing a limb, a vital part of her she wasn't sure she could live without — wasn't sure she wanted to live without.
"What did you do?" she hissed, threat clear in her tone. She shot Martha her deadliest glare, the one that made even demons cower in fear.
The witch flinched, but quickly regained her composure. "A little spell. Should wear off soon, don't worry."
As soon as it did, Rowena swore to make her pay. Nobody blocked her magic and got away with it.
"I'd never take your magic away. I know how much you love it."
"How noble of you," Rowena deadpanned.
"I know you don't believe me, but I really do care about you," Martha said in a tad softer voice. She was honest, genuine. As mad as she was, she meant every word. "I love you."
"I'm flattered," Rowena said sarcastically. She would've been flattered if someone else had said that to her. Someone less unhinged.
Martha ignored her remark. "These months without you were hell. I missed you so much!"
The feeling wasn't mutual.
"You have no idea what it was like."
"And I don't care," Rowena told her flatly. For all she cared, the woman could have offed herself. She didn't want to be around her. Didn't want anything to do with her.
She should have killed her the moment you'd shown her those obsessive Twitter posts about her.
The old Rowena would have killed her in the blink of an eye.
Redemption was a bitch.
"She turned you against me," Martha said sadly.
"For the last time, Y/N has done nothing!" Rowena snapped, having had enough of her nonsense. From day one, all you'd ever done was take care of her, protect her, love her. She wouldn't let some stalker smear your name. "I made the decision not to teach you. Not her. Me!"
"Why?" the other woman demanded petulantly.
"Because you're bloody obsessed!"
"All I ever wanted was to learn from you."
In that case, maybe you shouldn't have been creepy, Rowena thought bitterly.
"And you let her talk you into rejecting me," Martha said, prompting Rowena to roll her eyes. The woman's lack of self awareness was astonishing. "I know she did it! I know! I heard her!"
She'd heard you talk about a witch from her past, but no matter how many times you and Rowena had tried to explain it to her, she never listened. She was convinced you'd been badmouthing her. Rowena wouldn't have blamed you if you had. All you'd done, though, was show her Martha's Twitter profile. Rowena had made all decisions on her own.
Teaching Martha wouldn't have put only her at risk — it would have endangered you, too. She hadn't wanted to bring an unstable person around you.
As evidenced by today, she'd made the right choice.
"She wasn't—"
"Save it!" Martha cut her off. "I know what I heard!" She took a deep breath and flashed another smile. "But it's okay. I know it's just her influence. You'll see the light soon enough."
Rowena didn't like the sound of that. "What are you talking about?"
Grinning like the cat that got the cream, Martha held up a vial filled to the brim with liquid the rich color of roses, bright and red and strangely beautiful. Rowena stiffened. No. No, no, no. That wasn't what she thought it was. It couldn't be! Martha was psychotic, but would she go that far?
She would. She absolutely would. The realization sent a chill, cold and deadly and painful, straight through Rowena. It burrowed itself into her core like a parasite. Even though the room was relatively warm, she shivered.
She glanced over her bare arms and feet, and she suddenly felt exposed, naked, vulnerable. She had no magic. No means to escape, to defend herself. She was helpless.
"Martha—" she uttered, the word bitter on her tongue, cyanide killing her one breath at the time, one desperate, manic heartbeat.
"I assume you know what this is," the other witch said. There was a smugness in her tone, a lilt that was almost joyous. She cradled the vial in both hands, her thick, meaty fingers caressing the glass with utmost care, with devotion one would give an ailing human.
A love potion. Rowena could recognize it from a mile away by nothing but mere smell. She'd seen its effects on people. Seen the way it changed them into mindless zombies wanting nothing more than to be with, than to worship the object of their infatuation. Seen their sanity slipping away with every passing moment, the magic burning everything that made them them, that made them a person, away like acid. It was a despicable concoction, an abomination. It should not have been allowed to exist.
Rowena's thoughts shifted to you. To your smile every time you laid your eyes upon her, each as bright as the very first one. To your hands around her, holding her tight, giving her the safety she'd been missing for centuries. To you telling her you loved her every single day with nothing but utmost honesty, utmost conviction. To the cutesy nicknames you gave her that she pretended to hate, but secretly liked. To you taking care of her when she was injured, holding her after nightmares, soothing her every time a random memory of that day in May two years ago would pop up in her mind and bring her to tears.
She couldn't forget that. Couldn't throw it all away — throw you away — for a madwoman who saw her as nothing more than a possession, an object to be acquired. You loved her with all you had, and she loved you just as strongly. She didn't want false emotions to overwrite that.
"Don't you dare!" she hissed, trying to be threatening but coming off as nothing more than a powerless kitten.
"You're leaving me no other choice," Martha said. "She's got you under a spell, Rowena. This is the only way to snap you out of it."
Had the situation not been this dire, Rowena would have laughed. You, cursing her to fall in love with you? You apologized for accidentally wrapping a bandage a tad too tightly around a wee cut on her hand. The idea that you would brainwash her couldn't have been more ridiculous.
"You're even more unhinged than I thought," Rowena said.
"I'm doing this for you!" Martha said.
"No, you're doing it for you! Because you're mad!" Rowena snapped. "You bloody kidnapped me, woman!"
"To protect you!"
"To make me into a slave!"
Martha flinched as if struck. "Never," she said in a voice that was a tad too calm, a tad too tranquil for Rowena's liking. There was absolute conviction in her tone, a genuinity that came straight from the heart. It was what made her more dangerous than all those monsters — human and supernatural — Rowena had faced in her long lifetime. What made her more dangerous than the monster Rowena used to be. They knew what they were doing was wrong. They knew it, and they killed and destroyed and ruined because they didn't care.
Martha, on the other hand, was fully convinced she was in the right. Her actions made sense to her; they were justified, noble. In her mind, she wasn't a villain — she was a hero.
"I would never make you do anything you don't want to do," she said. Rowena snorted, and the other witch ignored it, adding, "I know what the potion does normally, but this is different. It's just gonna cancel out Y/N's spell, nothing else. I promise! It's gonna set you free."
"I'm not under a spell!" Rowena snarled for what seemed to be the millionth time. "I love Y/N because…" Because you'd given her a chance when everyone else had labelled her as yet another wicked witch. Because you dared become her first friend in centuries, and had allowed yourself to love her even when you knew she would have left you for dead if circumstances required it. Because you let her be herself, never once demanding she change. Because you taught her to love again, taught her that it was okay, that love was a strength rather than a weakness. "Because she respects my boundaries!"
Martha scoffed. "That's what she wants you to think."
Rowena rolled her eyes. "Believe me, she's not this mastermind you think she is." You'd never even looked at her wrong. The thought that you would harm her, that you would curse her into loving you was insane. "She doesn't have a wicked bone in her body." Her eyes connected with Martha's, the look in them cold, sharp as a knife. "For one, she's never kidnapped me."
Martha shook her head. "I told you—"
"It's for my own good. Aye, heard you the first time." Rowena laughed, and made it a point to let her know she was laughing at her. "What makes you think she cursed me? Is it me not wanting to teach you?"
Another snort, an undignified but awfully appropriate sound. Martha's face fell; she suddenly looked small, despite her massive size. A scared, tiny little girl. That was what she was. Nothing more and nothing less. Just a child who wanted a toy so desperately, she stole it, the consequences be damned.
"What makes you think I wanted to teach you?" Rowena continued.
Maybe antagonizing her captor wasn't the best idea, but what did she have to lose? She was helpless, powerless, about to be turned into a slave. About to be used and taken advantage of and raped by a mad woman-child convinced she was in love with her.
Rowena was sick of it. Sick of being toyed with, of being used and abused under the pretense of love, of kindness, of friendship. Fergus' father, Lucifer, all those people who pretended to care when all they ever wanted was to take advantage and leave her for dead. She was nothing to them, a mere pawn in their game, a toy to be discarded when they grew bored of her.
She was done sucking up, done playing nice in hopes of receiving mercy. She deserved better. You deserved better.
If she ever got a chance to see you again, she wanted you to know that she fought for the both of you. That she didn't give in. That she kicked and screamed and gave it her best. Even if she ended up defeated, she wanted you to know that she at the very least tried.
You would have done the same for her.
You'd sacrificed so much for her. So many nights you'd spent holding her instead of sleeping, soothing her after yet another in a string of nightmares. So many bright, sunny days wasted taking care of her when you could have been having the time of your life. So many opportunities you'd turned down for the sole reason of staying with her, of having her back.
"I admit, I was flattered by your compliments. But other than that, what did you have to offer?"
Martha glanced up at her for a short moment, and Rowena raised her eyebrows, prompting her to answer. Daring her to say something, to give her more ammunition to fire at her. She was all out of patience for the woman's nonsense.
She smiled at her silence. "That's right. Nothing. You're a mediocre witch, Martha. I was going to turn you away within ten minutes of meeting you, but it was Y/N who told me to give you a chance. She thought you had potential."
"You're lying!" Martha snarled.
"I'm not."
She was. She did consider Martha a decent witch, and the decision to teach her was all her own. But this wasn't about the truth — this was about control, about power. Very soon, Martha was going to take hers away. Rowena wanted to hurt her before that happened, wanted to leave her mark. If she was going to be a slave, then the other woman would suffer. It was a fair trade.
"You are a horrible witch, and an even worse person," she continued. "We could have been friends if you weren't so obsessed. It was your abhorrent behavior that drove me away. Not Y/N. Not some spell. You."
Martha shook her head. "No."
"Yes." Rowena kept her stare on her, kept her tone just as pointed, just as cold as the look in her emerald eyes. All business, no play. As serious as death. "You can shove that potion down my throat, but the truth is, I will never love you. It will never be real."
She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke next, it was ice, straight from her soul.
"As a matter of fact, I loathe you. You make me sick."
"Shut up!" Martha snapped, stomping her feet like a spoilt brat being denied an expensive toy. Her hands clasped over her ears, head shaking madly, left, right, left, right, a frantic, never ending loop. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
Rowena watched her, amused. Just as she thought. A brat. A middle-aged, tantrum-throwing toddler. A baby in the body of a forty-five-year-old woman. That wanted her to love her? That thought you'd cursed and somehow persuaded her to cut her off? Rowena would rather off herself than ever willingly fall in love with a person like that.
"You're wrong! You're broken!" Martha ranted. Potion clutched tight in her hand, she stalked over to Rowena's bedside. "I'll fix you!"
Rowena gulped. Nervousness settled over her, but she pushed it down, willed her features to appear neutral. She wouldn't lose her composure. Not now. "Get away from me!"
"I'll fix you, and then you'll love me!"
Martha's hand fell on Rowena's chest, right over her breasts. Rowena shuddered, a wave of nausea roiling in her stomach. She didn't want her to touch her, didn't want her disgusting hands (or any other part of her body, for that matter) anywhere near her.
Thick fingers curled around her left breast, feeling it, caressing it almost gently. "You're mine," Martha said, and squeezed her breast in emphasis. "She can't have you anymore."
Swallowing a lump that had formed in her throat, Rowena spat, "I will never be yours." She made sure to pour as much venom in her words as possible. She hated her, loathed her, despised her with her entire being, and she wanted her to know it. She wanted her to feel it. "It will always be Y/N. Always. Even if you make me think I love you, Y/N will be the one I actually love. No amount of potions or spells will change that."
"We'll see," Martha said. She raised up the potion and looked it over lovingly. "You'll come to your senses soon enough, Rowena. You'll regret those words."
"I will die before I do," Rowena told her.
"Let's see, shall we?"
Slowly, with utmost care, Martha uncapped the vial. A sweet, rosy smell filled Rowena's nostrils. Panic filled her veins like poison, took her over, overwhelmed her. Her hands closed into tight fists, toes curled, teeth snapped shut. She wouldn't drink that potion. She wouldn't. Martha couldn't make her.
One look into the madwoman's eyes told her she absolutely could — and would.
No. Rowena shook her head, once, twice, three times. No. There had to be something else to do, something to get her out of this. She hadn't fought so hard her entire life to be enslaved by a lowly witch. She'd survived The Men of Letters, The Grand Coven, and Lucifer. She'd suffered, but she'd survived. And she could survive Martha Morgan.
But how? How could she defend herself? She had no magic. Her hands and feet were bound, the rest of her body useless. She had her mouth, but what good would that do? It had gotten her into enough trouble as it was.
Y/N, please! she begged. Please help me. Tears prickled at her eyes, but she willed them to stay back. She wouldn't give Martha the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Were you aware she was gone? Had you noticed? If you had, were you on your way to save her?
Please!
Rowena hated relying on others, even you, but it was the only thing she had left. She couldn't get out of this on her own. She needed help. She needed you. Needed you to burst in and Abi Martha out the window. Needed you to wrap your arms around her and tell her everything was okay, that she was safe, that the worst had passed. Needed you to tell her you loved her.
Needed you to be her hero, for she was too weak, too bloody useless to be her own.
"Martha—"
"Shh," Martha said. "Just relax, dear. One sip, and everything's gonna be okay."
Just as the words left her mouth, a loud, squeaking sound thundered from somewhere in the house.
Martha snarled, mad as a fury.
And Rowena's eyes lit up with hope.