Page 1 of Wedded Witch

SWYN

“Lucky charm…”

I murmur, rolling over and eating a mouthful of pillow, waving away the annoying fly, trying to wake me before I’m ready.

“Swyn…Swyn…”

I swear I just went to bed ten minutes ago. It can’t be time to wake up and face the music already.

“Swyn!” More insistent this time.

I swat again, with more violence. I am not ready for it to be morning. Especiallythisparticular morning.

A bright light, but not the harsh glare of sunlight, pierces my sleepy fog and I groan as I’m forced to face the inevitable.

It’s time to wake up and face the music. I’m getting married today.To a stranger.

“Lucky charm, don’t marry him,” a voice warns.

Fuck me,I mentally sing the end of the ‘Beautiful South’ line, and then snort.I don’t think so.Fucking my future husband is the last thing on my mind.

“Don’t marry him!” an urgent voice insists once more. With feeling this time.

If I had any choice, I wouldn’t,I retort, still nuzzling into my pillow to avoid reality.

But the voice doesn’t back down, growing louder and more persistent until I finally sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes and glaring at the empty room around me.

Am I losing my mind already, on the morning of my wedding? As I try to shake off the remnants of the dream, the voice speaks again, echoing around me with an otherworldly quality.

Oh fucking hell, I’m being haunted.

I may be a witch – barely – but this isnotnormal for me.

“Swyn, you must listen to me. Marrying him will only bring destruction and sorrow upon our family.”

I freeze, the words sending a chill down my spine.

Could this truly be a message from the undead, warning me against this union?

Against all rationality, I find myself nodding in response to the unseen presence.

“What should I do then?” I whisper into the empty air, feeling a tingle of magic sparking around me.

I’d intended for the question to come out with a little more sass, as thus far I’ve yet to find any way out of my impending nuptials, and if this ghostly voice has all the answers, it can damn well share them with me. But it doesn’t come out like that at all.

No, I sound insecure and needy. Desperate even.

Which, I guess, I kind of am.

The room seems to shimmer as a sudden gust of wind sweeps through, causing candles that I don’t own to flicker erratically.

The room, my bed, the bedclothes…everything disappears and a desolate, abandoned town I’ve never laid eyes on in my life appears before me, bathed in red.

Why is everything red? Why is it always red? What’s wrong with a nice purple?

“Haven’t you heard of the blood moon, child?” The voice snorts. “And you call yourself a witch.”

And then, in front of me, stands a figure bathed in a soft, ethereal light.

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