So I don’t remember if I’ve ever shared this here (possibly not, it was years ago) but since I’ve gotten more Dimeshipping fans on here, why not upload it? Years ago I had this idea of Scrooge and Magica (1987 DT + comics, which explains why I mashed Ratface and Poe into one being) pretending to get married to get Magica’s family off her back, with all the shenanigans that would naturally ensue. I’ve tweaked it a bit since then, but here are some scenes I wrote all those years ago! And for the unfamiliar, yes, these are all canon characters -
Granny de Spell - Magica’s well-meaning but overbearing blonde Granny.
Rosolio - Dim-witted warlock who’s in love with Magica. (I did make him an oocly jerk, and sometimes to insane degrees, but, well, again, this was written years ago XD)
Witch Child - Magica’s niece, because everybody’s got nieces in disney.
Samson Hex - Magica’s so-called apprentice, who’s not that talented. (admittedly i’ve never read any of his stories, just gleamed it off INDUCKS)
Anyway, here we go! warning, LONG AS HELL.
The only sounds filling the gigantic dining room were that of clinking silverware, and mouths chewing food. To the left side of the table was Magica’s family - Granny sipping her wine contemplatively while eyeing Scrooge, with Poe on her shoulder offeringsympathetic looks to his sister. Witch Child occasionally hummed, enjoying mushing the fancy food together to create new concoctions. Samson Hex’s fork rhythmically tapped against the plate, too nervous from the tension to even think of eating. Rosolio was also looking at Scrooge, but his look contained more anger than curiosity, glaring daggers at the man who “stole” his woman.
To the right side of the table was Scrooge’s family. The triplets were hiding their vegetables under their napkins, exchanging glances with themselves, and Webbigail, who easily enough entered into a staring contest with Witch Child (and lost.) Daisy was the only one smiling, doing her best to try and lift everyone’s spirits, often complimenting on how delicious the food was. Donald was clearly struggling to keep his beak closed, chest shaking with suppressed laughter.
At the front end of the table stood Duckworth and Ms. Beakly, ready to serve more food at a moment’s notice, but also looking for ways to escape this clearly awkward situation. At the other end of the table sat the “happy’ couple”, matched in their miserable expressions. Scrooge was doing his best to ignore the looks on him, cutting so hard into his beef that his plate began to suffer damage. Magica was swirling yet another sugar cube into her tea, no doubt by now more sugar than actual tea.
Suddenly Granny lifted her head, arms crossed. “I’ve just noticed something, dearie.”
Magica raised the cup to her beak. “Enlighten me.”
“We’ve been here for an entire week… and I have yet to see you kiss your future husband.”
Magica spat out what little tea was in her mouth, Scrooge’s knife split his plate, Rosolio dropped his utensils, Donald burst out into hysterical laughter, Daisy elbowed Donald in the ribs, and now all eyes were locked on the “couple”. When the noise had settled, Magica and Scrooge looked at each other for the briefest of moments before returning Granny’s attention.
“That’s… that’s…” Magica hesitated for the right words. “That’s personal!”
Granny merely smirked. “Is it? I’ve seen Donald and Daisy do it six times these past few days, and they’re only dating.”
Donald promptly shut up, and Daisy rubbed her temples. Scrooge attempted to retaliate. “We’re not very ‘in’ to public displays of affection.”
“Is that so.” Rosolio cut in, hands gripping the table. “If I were in your shoes, I’d never stop kissing her! If I wasn’t some fiance-stealing crook, I’d kiss her right now!” He hissed. “But I’m a gentleman.”
Scrooge grumbled deep in his throat, and looked to Daisy, clearly demanding some aide. She seemed to shrink in her seat a little from his intensity. “W-Well, uh… you just haven’t been here long enough! Give them the right time and place, and they smooch up a storm, let me tell you.” This was met with gags from the triplets, and Donald shoving bread into his mouth to keep from laughing all over again.
“I don’t see anything wrong with this time and place.” Granny replied, eyes never leaving her granddaughter. “Is asking for a kiss really such a difficult demand?”
“You’re ruining a perfectly nice dinner.” Magica glowered, standing up, chair pushed back. “All you ever do is demand things! You can’t ever believe, you always need proof!” Scrooge had fallen silent at this point, lost in thought.
“You don’t find it strange that a couple never kisses? I’ve barely seen you hold hands.” Granny reached behind her to pat Poe’s head. “Isn’t that right, Poe?”
Poe was ready to molt from the glare Magica was giving him. “Uh… w-well… that is… oh, wow, that ham looks delicious, is anyone else going to have a slice?”
“What do I have to do to convince you, and get you out of my life, you horrid woman!” Magica screeched, slamming her palms down on the table. “Do I have to throw a parade about how much I love him? Write a novel about all of our affairs? I told you I’d get married, so I’m getting married, you’re never satis-”
The next instant was a blur in Magica’s mind when she would recall it later on. The “blur” was Scrooge ever so calmly getting out of his seat, and then, with all the speed of a cheetah, placing one hand on her cheek, his other fingers in her hair, and pressing his beak to hers as deeply as possible.
Simultaneously, everyone’s jaws dropped - save for Donald, who had fallen backwards onto the floor, nearly in pain due to how much he was laughing. Magica’s entire face had gone redder than the wine in Granny’s cup, her body unable to move, frozen in place. She didn’t even appear to be breathing. Was she even aware that they had become the center of attention? Her wide eyes didn’t seem to be looking at Scrooge, but off, in the distance, trying to pinpoint some place of coherent thought, like she couldn’t decide what to do or think. Time had gone still for her.
Then, slowly, to the note of everyone, her eyes lost that distance, and her muscles relaxed. Her eyelashes fluttered, before settling on closing completely, accepting, or pleased, or both. The color faded from her cheeks, though it was eternal in doing so. Just as quickly as it had started, it was ending, as Scrooge’s hands left her face, and he pulled away from her. Their eyes opened, and it was impossible to tell what they were “telling” each other in those looks. Scrooge then promptly sat back down, adjusted his spectacles, and dabbed his beak with a napkin, as if nothing had happened at all. “Duckworth, I think we’re all ready for some dessert.”
“… Yes, sir.” He was just grateful to leave the room for a few precious seconds.
Scrooge looked to Granny. “Satisfied?”
Granny didn’t reply, but managed to close her mouth. She did, however, clear her throat, trying to get Magica’s attention. As for Magica, she was still standing, eyes still transfixed, giving the impression she was half asleep. When she sat down, it was with certainly less finesse than Scrooge, loudly plopping down, nearly falling over, as if she’d been struck by lightning. Scrooge caught the entire spectacle, and couldn’t help but wear a prideful little smile. He still had it.
“And that’s when they’re in public!” Daisy chirped.
~*~
“What in all hells was that?!” Magica screeched at Scrooge, once they were alone in his bedroom and trying to settle for the night.
Scrooge was buttoning his nightshirt, rolling his eyes at the tantrum. “If I didn’t do that, they’d never shut up.”
“You couldn’t have warned me?” She sat on the bed, kicking her feet to show off her displeasure.
“What couple do you know that warns the other before they kiss?” He placed his nightcap on his head, and turned to her. “If you want this charade to work, we’re going to have to be a lot more…” He shuddered to say it. “…affectionate, when your family is around.”
Magica groaned, clutching herself, feeling her skin crawl, and leaned on a bed post. “Disgusting… why can’t they just get back on their brooms and go home!”
She began to ramble once more about how much she hated her family, and so Scrooge tuned out, used to the rant. Would it kill her to be quiet for more than two minutes? He shook his head, reminding himself that all these headaches would be worth it. Soon enough, he’d be rid of her, and would actually be able to relax for a while. He rubbed his spectacles with his fingers, in a cheap attempt to clean them. Yes, soon, he’d be able to relax, and he’d have this entire room sanitized to get rid of any sign that she was ever there, that she was ever on his bed, in his bed…
… Get rid of any sign that he ever kissed her, that he ever held her, that he ever ran his fingers through that black hair that seemed to pool over with such soft and silky tenderness that he could feel it it for ages, that he ever pressed her delicate frame to his own body to feel her heart beat rapidly against his chest, that he ever looked into those deep eyes that never really reflected him but instead had their own cosmos of stars glittering inside to pull him in and never let go…
She flopped on the bed, sighing heavily, perhaps unaware that her thin nightgown was riding up past her long shapely legs. “Well?” She turned her head to him, some of her hair falling down her face. “What are you waiting for?”
His heart leaped into his throat - she surely didn’t mean that. “What?!”
She raised an eyebrow. “Turn off the lights, I want to sleep already.”
Oh. Right. Yes. Lights. Surely. That and nothing else. Dammit, she was getting to him. “Don’t go around demanding things, free-loader.” But the spectacles came off, the lights came off, and the ducks were soon enough both in bed, as far apart from each other as possible, as per the norm.
Once again, they had something in common - both remained wide awake, thinking over the day.
~*~
Ever since Magica De Spell had been forced to live within his mansion, Scrooge McDuck made sure she was never alone, so she couldn’t pull any schemes involving his dime. So that evening, when he walked into his library and realized the woman was completely alone, there was a mild panic within him. Nearly slamming the door behind him, he nearly forgot why he had entered the room in the first place as he stormed up to her, temper flared. “And just what do you think you’re doing!”
The sorceress had been lounging on a long sofa, surrounded by photo albums, and casually glanced up at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” His glare didn’t falter, so, with a roll of her eyes, she flipped a page as she answered. “Research.”
That drove him into an even further panic, fingers tightening on his cane. “I knew it! You can’t be trusted! I can’t believe I was foolish enough to ever let you in my house! If you’re not gone by the time I count to three, I’ll - ” But the threat was suddenly dismissed when Magica pulled out one photo and showed it right into his face, almost onto his beak. It was of a particularly plump bird, with blonde hair and a flower hat, standing proudly beside a decaying old riverboat. There was a squiggle of handwriting right on top of the woman’s dress, a signature, reading ‘Belle Quack.’ Scrooge was quiet.
“Ever since that Brigetta woman barged in here…” Magica slowly put the photo back in its place. “I got curious about what other women you’ve had.” There was an odd tone in her voice that the elder duck couldn’t quite place. It seemed like an imbalance between jealousy and disbelief.
He cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity. “For the last time, Brigetta and I were never involved. It’s all imagined on her part. And…” With this explanation, he waved airily with his hand, trying to make the entire matter less important than it was. “And… well, Belle is just a business associate.”
Magica quickly whipped out another photo. “Was Tilly Billbrook another business associate?” Judging by the flirtatious look this next woman was giving the photographer, the answer was obvious.
Scrooge quickly got defensive, crossing his arms. “Oh, what’s it to you? This whole marriage is a sham, what do you care if I’ve been with a few women?” Though he knew that “few” was an understatement, and wished she would just close the darn book already.
“I don’t.” She put the photo back, and sat up straight, her tone never changing. “I just find it interesting, that’s all. And I don’t want any other crazy women coming after me and accusing me of stealing you.”
He held up a hand, trying to placate her and end the conversation. “I can swear to you, that won’t happen again. I’ve made it perfectly clear my life is dedicated to my money, and not to having someone on my arm.”
The sorceress clicked her tongue to her cheek as her finger traced down a page. “Klondike Kate here doesn’t seem to think so.”
His cheeks were beginning to redden but he refused to believe it. “All right, those women don’t count, I was young, and it was a very long time ago.” Immediately he regretted saying so, as Magica whipped out yet another photo, this one only dated a few years ago. Signed ‘Fiona Rapson’, this one didn’t even look to be half his age. “That… no, you don’t understand, she was just doing a news segment…” Whip, another photo, ‘Mrs. Williams’, only slightly older than Fiona. “I was just lending that woman some help, and - ” Whip, again, now ‘Rosy Curenbois’. “Now that one is completely out of context!”
Finally, she closed the book, loudly and forcefully. The two glared at each other, though oddly unsure just why they were so mad. The staring context continued until Scrooge growled, deep in his throat, and turned away, ready to leave. “Put it back where you found it. Any mess you make, you have to clean up.”
A derisive snort came from her. “What I don’t get is how you kept getting tricked by so many gold diggers.” She stood, ready to put the photos and book right from where she got it.
However, Scrooge stopped where he was, having been ready to grab the door handle out. Slowly, he turned his head back, making sure he heard right. “Gold diggers?” There were a few in the batch, but to say “so many”? That wasn’t right at all.
“Of course.” Though she had returned the book to its original place, she was now scanning the others among them, wondering what else was good reading material. “Digger after digger, until they nearly dug your grave for you. I would’ve thought you’d have learned your lesson after a while.”
After a moment, Scrooge caught the underlying message of her spite. “You’re implying all of those women were only attracted to my money and not me?” His pride had taken a direct hit. Granted, many of those women and those incidents were ones he longed to forget, but he had earned those stalkers fair and square.
“I’m not implying it. I’m saying it. What woman in her right mind would only go after you?” Such a notion made her laugh, her devilish cackle that usually came with a magic spell. “Take it from me… wrinkled, whiskered stubborn men aren’t high on a woman’s list for men we want. Those women probably flocked to you the second you opened your wallet.”
His fingers began to tape on his cane, irritation building. Bad enough that this implication was being made, but being made by her of all people? This had to be fixed as soon as possible. “Did it ever occur to you that I could go after them?”
Now Magica laughed even harder, leaning on a book shelf for support. “Oh, please! Like you could get any woman on your own! Scrooge McDuck, the casanova!” She began banging her fist against the bookshelf, shaking with laughter. The very idea! Of course all of those women had been only after his money; it was the only thing that made sense. He was old and ugly and miserable, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of him after this fake marriage ordeal was over. So she laughed and laughed, trying to calm herself and catch her breath, and even when her body had settled, snickers still escaped. Maybe she could think of another good insult to lobby at him, one he wholly deserved.
Magica would have come up with one; had not a single finger pressed behind and onto her, between her shoulder blades, and rode itself past her neck and into her hair. The startled screech that came out of her could have shattered glass, and in an instant her head was turned to look at her attacker. Naturally, there stood Scrooge, though now he stood so close to her that personal space no longer existed. She could also glance at his eyes, and knew the look he was wearing at once. It was that expression when he was angry, but didn’t look angry, and instead was bottling up the anger so he could do something calm and precise. A tranquil fury, one could argue, that allowed him to get revenge in a given situation.
She had seen that look many times during their heated battles when she had been trying to get his dime, and knew she was in big trouble. Though her eyes widened in fright, she would not admit her fear, and returned her face to the books, beak high in superiority. “Very funny.” Her eyes tried to look at the titles of the books again, but again she was startled by his touch, as now his hands were on his shoulders, giving her a comfortable squeeze. For a man his age, the touch was very firm. Now her laughed was forced, and obviously so. “Ha… ha ha. Did I hurt your ego, Scroogie Darling? Ha ha… haaa…” How was he working the knots out of her muscles? She didn’t want to know.
Instead, she rolled her shoulders hard, trying to shove him off with a grunt. His hands retreated, but then located elsewhere, one arm wrapping around her waist, pressing her back into his chest. His other hand listlessly weaved through her hair, making sure not to tangle as he played with it. His touch was very gentle, yet containing a trace of power in it, saying that she couldn’t stop him if she tried. Magica stared straight ahead at the books, her entire body freezing up defensively. “W-what… do you think… you’re doing?” Even though she was perfectly aware what he was doing, she just didn’t want to admit it was her fault things were leading this way.
“We’re engaged.” Scrooge replied, but even his voice had changed to fit his vengeance. “I believe this is what fiancés do with one another.” Now he stressed heavily on his accent, yet his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. He was breathing directly in the direction of her ear, and she could almost hear his smirk. “Is there a problem, Magica?”
To hell with him, she would not admit what he was making her feel! She’d rather die! With that resolve, she shut her eyes tightly, ignoring her beating heart and flared cheeks, trying to think of distractions. She tried to conjure up images that would anger her, upset her, make her laugh, do anything that would make her stop feeling the soft caresses he was administrating to her neck. Think of something, anything, she told herself! Being in jail, trying to stitch together old dresses, memorizing old spells from hundreds of years ago… Yes, she could focus on that… Focus on the crinkled old paper with that distinct smell…
… Or focus on his hot breath on her neck - damn him to the furthest pits of hell!
All of a sudden, his support was gone, and she found herself falling backwards with an outward cry. She was caught with one arm, as it turned out Scrooge was just dipping her low, and it was a wonder none of his bones were breaking at his age. Holding her close yet still dipping her low, he leaned in so that their beaks were just barely grazing one another. She could nearly see herself reflected in his eyes, and inwardly swore at how stupidly flustered she was looking. But the assault wasn’t over, if Scrooge’s continued speech was any indication. “Magica, darling.” A few of his fingers came under her bill, and tilted her head up even more. “What in the world makes you think I couldn’t have you if I wanted you?”
In all of her years, Magica had never been looked at or addressed to in such a way. She did have men sometimes after her, but they were nothing like this. None of them carried such intimate passion in their voices, nor carried a supreme sense of dominance in their eyes. They had wanted to woo her, whereas this man looked like he wanted to capture her. It was becoming very difficult to come up with any kind of rebuttal. Scrooge McDuck was not supposed to be like this, and she had never even dreamed he could be like this. It just wasn’t making sense, and her mind was fizzling out. It took all of her remaining strength just to speak, and even then, it was stammered and weak. “Y-Y-You… wouldn’t d-d-dare, McDuck.”
He dared. Magica, by this point in the sham, had thought she was used to kissing Scrooge, and being kissed by him, in order to fool her relatives and the press. Proving her wrong yet again, when his beak came on top of hers, she was lost. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it contained love, but she did know it contained hunger, possession, and that there was no use fighting it. If that wasn’t bad enough, a hand was cradling the back of her neck, delicately pressing all of the right spots in her spine. There was definitely experience in these movements, lessons had been learned, and he was implementing all he knew.
Perhaps she would have had a fighting chance if it was just a single, solitary kiss. However, the old man wanted her to remember this, and to make sure she never doubted his abilities again. So there wasn’t one kiss, but another, and another, and another, each one greater than the last, quick breathes of her name, not letting up even when Magica was nothing more than a sagging lump of a stunned sorceress. All other men were just cold fish compared to what he was doing to her. All of this power, combined with the fact it was Scrooge McDuck of all people doing this to her, it was more than her mind could handle. Frankly, she considered it a miracle she could hold onto her consciousness.
Finally, he granted her a small mercy, pulling his mouth back only to whisper to her ear again. “Do you still think all of those women were gold diggers? Or…” A small kiss to her cheek. “Do I have to keep convincing you?” He growled again – but unlike before, which had been a growl of petty annoyance, this one was pure predator, as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She felt she didn’t have it. She felt… she felt… oh, every god and goddess that blessed magic, she felt…
Then his supportive weight was gone again, and she landed splat on the floor in a heap. Scrooge stood up straight and tall, smoothing down his clothes, and adjusting his spectacles. Whistling a merry tune, he picked up his cane that he had set aside before he attacked her, and casually strolled out of the room. When he opened the door, his nephew Donald nearly ran smack right into him. Fortunately the younger duck managed to stop in time, skidding to a halt, and bent over to catch his breath. “I-I’m sorry, Uncle Scrooge!” he spoke quickly, wanting to get Scrooge’s rant at him over as soon as possible. “I know we’re not supposed to let her out of our sight, but I was just getting a sandwich, a really small one, and the next thing I knew…”
Much to Donald’s surprise, Scrooge didn’t rant, and even shrugged. “Not to worry, Donald. She’s in there.” He jabbed a thumb back into the room behind him. “And she won’t be doing any damage for a while.” Off he walked, whistling the same jaunty tune, and to Donald, he seemed relatively proud of something. Just what, the boy couldn’t guess, and assumed it was monetary matters as always. Curious, Donald entered the library, and found the witch still lying on the floor, twitching here and there, unable to move naturally of her own accord.
Donald took one look at her demented smile, and quickly turned back around to leave. “Nope, I don’t wanna know.”
~*~
Granny De Spell flipped a page, and, ignoring her granddaughter’s protests, continued to show off the old photos of their past and homeland, with the triplets pestering her with questions. Scrooge continued to check his watch, waiting for the moment he could be free and attend to his work, instead of listening to nonsense he couldn’t care less about. It wasn’t until Louie said the following that curiosity finally reached him.
“Say, is that Magica?” The duckling prodded one photo. “She looks so different!”
All eyes went to that photo, and it was a general agreement that there were differences between the Magica of the present, and her in the photo. Aside from years younger, the photo showed her in a brilliant red dress that appeared to be swaying off her, a fresh rose placed within her hair, her hands waving about in jubilation, and, perhaps strangest of all, looking happy not for reasons of malice or misfortune upon others. Just an actual, pure happiness for whatever she was doing. She didn’t appear to be aware her photo was being taken, dancing in the crowded street, attracting the eyes of many young fellows in the background.
“Ah, yes, that’s her during one of our Romanian festivals.” Granny chuckled lightly, pulling the photo out of the book. “It happened to fall on her birthday that year, so we splurged and celebrated as best we could. She had quite a fetch of suitors back then!”
Present Magica had burning cheeks, arms crossed, refusing to look at the group. “Are we quite done here?”
“What are you being so bitter over?” Granny clicked her tongue. “It’s a nice photo. And you should dress like this more often. All of that black is so depressing.”
“No one would want to see me in that.” A roll of her eyes from the sorceress.
As the argument rolled on, Scrooge kept his eyes on the photo, and found himself, as always, disagreeing with Magica.
~*~
The overture hadn’t even begun yet, so the ducks knew a long night was ahead of them. Scrooge irritably tapped an arm rest, glancing over at his “future wife”. “When, exactly, is your grandmother going to stop insisting on these bonding moments?”
Magica didn’t even look at him, eyes ahead, upper and lower beak rubbing together in a frustrated grind. “I don’t like this anymore than you do.”
The third in the row, however, was not as agitated, as the goose rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Isn’t this exciting, Magica? When was the last time we got to see a play together?”
“If I recall correctly, never.” Magica leaned back into her seat, sighing. She would preferred sitting next to anyone - blabbermouth Daisy, annoying Donald, busybody Granny, ANYBODY, but, no, there was Rosolio, gazing at her in a sickening wave of love while making several attempts to touch her hand.
These attempts did not go unnoticed by Scrooge, raising an eyebrow at the other male. “Rather unlike a gentleman to try and hold a married woman’s hand.”
Rosalio now looked at the elder, love turning into hate. “Rather unlike a gentleman to try and steal a fiance. I still haven’t forgiven you, and I never will.”
“My heart breaks.” Scrooge rolled his eyes. They both went on to ignore the woman’s groans.
“I’d be surprised if you had a heart, underneath all that ice and money!” The goose hissed, crossing his arms in indignation. “What do you have that I can’t give her?”
“Money.”
“Besides that.”
“Power.”
“Besides that.”
“Respect for her personal space.”
“Besi - hey!”
Magica straightened up for a moment to see if the other families were nearby. Why was she suffering alone? Rosolio was relentless, continuing on despite the fact the orchestra had begun playing the overture. “I’ve known her forever! I understand her better than anyone! You just want her for her beauty!”
Scrooge, at least, had managed to lower his voice, so he wouldn’t shout over the music. “And yet, despite all that, I’m the one she’s marrying.”
“Just admit.” Rosalio narrowed his eyes, and pointed an accusatory finger at his enemy. “You’ve got a hold on her, don’t you? Blackmail, threats, you’re forcing her to do this! A man like you treats women like another dollar!”
Scrooge didn’t reply so easily this time. Not out of lack of answers, but the sheer idea that he did not treat women well - he, who loved his mother, who adored his sisters, who had all but adopted Webbigail, who always lifted a finger to aide Daisy - was something he would not take lying down. The duck and goose almost appeared to enter a staring contest of anger, and then, the richer one cleared his throat. “Magica?”
“What now?” A bitter snap.
His arm extended out and around her shoulders, and suddenly, she was pushed in close, her head on his shoulder. Keeping her pinned there with his elbow, he began running his fingers through her hair, being careful not to create any knots. “Is that more comfortable for you, darling?”
Two birds went a bright red. Magica, her cheeks with embarrassment, mouth agape in sheer shock. Rosolio, his entire face, a fury that was struggling to be capped. Scrooge happily smirked at his opponent, before returning his false attentions to his bride, using his free hand to take one of hers, and running a thumb over the top of it. As for Magica herself, her voice was a desperate whisper. “Scrooge, what do you think you’re doing!”
“Just enjoying myself.” He held up her hand to kiss the knuckles, and then was back to addressing Rosolio. “She does like it when you touch her hair, right? You are the expert and all, having spent, what did you say, 'forever’ with her?”
“Scrooge!” Magica squirmed, but he wasn’t letting her go anytime soon.
“What? It’s an innocent question.” McDuck desired a camera, just to catch Rosolio’s expression, perhaps make a game out of all the veins that were popping. “And maybe I could ask him for advice about you, since you two used to be fond of one another. Or was that just him?”
“Leave me out of your idiotic jealous fists, you miserable old miser!” Was she shaking? She was definitely shaking, fully aware that several of the playgoers were ignoring the stage, preferring the performance going on within those three seats instead.
“For example!” Scrooge let go of her hand, stopping the hair action to support her back, and tilted her beak up with his fingers. “Perhaps you can tell me, Rosolio, my good man, exactly what way our darling Magica prefers being kissed?”
The straw broke on the camel’s back, and Rosolio stood up in his seat, roaring, throwing off his hat, and reaching for his magic wand - and, with a single THWACK from Granny’s purse - what do you know, the rest of the families just so happened to be right behind the trio - he was down, a knocked out mess on the floor. Seconds of awkward silence followed, as others turned back or forward in their seats to watch the play that had begun minutes earlier. Scrooge released his hold on Magica, allowing his hands to relax in his lap, wearing a grin of victory. Magica sunk into her seat, upset that there was no rock to hider under. “You enjoyed that far too much.” She murmured after a moment.
He put a finger to his beak. “Shhh. I can’t hear.”
~*~
Though night had fallen, neither of them were ready to sleep just yet. Scrooge was at his desk, going over a few more tax forms, while Magica was standing before the large vanity mirror, looking herself over in silence. Eventually she huffed, Daisy’s words still ringing in her head. “Scrooge. I want your honest opinion on something.”
“What is it?” He continued his work, hardly caring for the question.
Hesitation, and then a sigh, adjusting herself, hands on her hips, smoothing her nightgown down. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”
Whatever question Scrooge had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He looked up, then at her, to make sure his hearing was in tact. “…What?”
“It’s a simple question!” She pointed at herself, growling. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”
Warning sirens blared off in the miser’s mind. He had to get out of this line of questioning as soon as possible. “… Is this because of what Daisy said, because Donald told me-”
“Just answer!” She stormed up to him, grabbing his chair and turning it around so he would fully face her. “It’s not that difficult! You either think I’m beautiful, or you think I’m not!”
Not that difficult, his foot! His eyes darted around for any sign of an exit. “… That’s… It, I, Uh… Oh, what do you care what I think!”
Although he prepared himself for further argument, it was not given. Instead her face fell, and she released his chair, retreating to the mirror. “I see.” Her fingers pressed her face, now easily seeing all the wrinkles and lines of time. It seemed she believed his answer meant “no”’.
“Jiminy Cricket.” Scrooge groaned, and stood up from his seat. “I didn’t say you weren’t!”
“You didn’t have to.” And now she could see all the split ends in her hair.
“It’s not like that… it’s…” He faltered, trying to think of an adequate explanation. “I don’t… I never… You’d never see me as handsome, would you?”
A quick glance his way. “Of course I would.”
Goodness, she was just throwing him all kinds of loops tonight. His spectacles almost fell off due to the surprise on his face. “…What?” he repeated.
“I hate you, but I’m not blind.” Her eyes went back to the mirror. “Not to mention all those girlfriends I keep hearing about.”
“I’ve… they weren’t… I explained those!” Now it was his turn to storm up to her. “I’ve lived a long life, and… and… Brigetta has never been my girlfriend, I don’t know where you’re getting that idea, and… further… more… will you knock that off and look at me!”
So she did, upset, holding herself. Women, honestly! Scrooge ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes. “Fine, fine… I’ve never actually looked you as, as a woman… so… I’ll do it now. Then I’ll tell you what I think.”
“Fine.” Hmph.
A deep breath was taken, trying to expel the past from his mind. Ignore his own hate, everything she had done to him, who she was… and just look at the body. Judge that, and only that. He opened his eyes, and looked from bottom to top. Her legs were strong and shapely, with one foot nervously tapping the floor in impatience. Though her frame could be seen as delicate, there were hints of muscle here and there, showing the years she had worked alone to get what she wanted, the trials she had gone through to get certain spells. Her hands were small, but firm, gripping her arms intensely. Her hair was growing longer, he noticed, slowly starting to go beyond shoulders, giving off an appearance of black silk. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, and that was for the better, as her cheeks would be rosy all on their own. Though her eyes were worried and saddened, they still shone clearly, attentive, colorful and alive as jewels she longed to have.
He exhaled. “Yes, you are beautiful. Now will you be quiet?”
A pause, and then she nodded, turning away to head to bed. “There now, was that so hard?”
Scrooge scratched the back of his head…. Was that so hard? She had no idea.
~*~
Magica hadn’t been invited to many engagement parties in her left, but she had a distinct feeling they were supposed to be a lot louder and less awkward than this one. The rented ballroom was full of friends, family, and even some news groups, that were timidly picking at the buffet, making idle chatter, but mostly staring and gossiping at her and Scrooge. She couldn’t really blame them – Scrooge McDuck, richest man in the world, settling down to marriage? And to his enemy, Magica DeSpell, no less! What had been a simple plan to get rid of her annoying family had managed to snowball into a national phenomenon. Magica hated Scrooge for not giving her the dime, hated her family for that stupid wedding contract, hated Daisy for thinking of this plan…
And, right now, most of all, hated the outfit she was being forced to wear. It was an exact replica of the red dress from the photo album, except it had been tailored in size to fit her age. It wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact it was a perfect fit, and she didn’t dare ask how the numbers of her body had gotten out. It looked good on her as well, giving her a slim appeal, and there was no question she looked beautiful in it. The hate was not entirely with the dress itself, but of its origins. How shocked she had looked the other day, receiving the boxed cloth, arriving straight from Romania, and signed as ordered by her “future husband”.
There was an addition to the dress that was not in the photo, however. The red collar around her neck, holding a single silver bell, carried plenty of hate as well. She was sitting next to Scrooge at a long table covered in a white cloth, and cast a glare at him. She flicked the bell with her fingers, the noise getting his attention, stopping him in his drink of tea to look over calmly. “What is this?” she lightly hissed. “I feel like a pet cat.”
“It warns to me when you’re getting close.” His tone was of a cruel joke, smirking, but then he shook his head, resuming his drink. “I thought it’d look nice. And you’ll pay me back for all of it when this farce is over.”
“I can’t afford it, and you know it.” Her hands settled in her lap. “Why would you even get me this ridiculous outfit in the first place? Do you need to humiliate me that badly?”
He placed his cup down. “Your grandmother was right.”
Now that was rare to hear. “About what?”
“You shouldn’t wear black all the time.” He left it at that, his cup empty.
She went silent, and fingered the bell again. How she hated that bell, that collar, that dress. She hated that he bought it all for her. She hated that he had thought of her and that he remembered the photo. She especially, deep down, hated how happy it had made her. The bell jingled with the lump in her throat.
~*~
Rosolio clutched his hand, having gotten used to the pain in his left arm – this new one to his right hand was out of nowhere, almost making him drop his wand. Ignoring his opponent for the moment, he looked to where the shot of magic had come from, up in the sky.
Hovering high above, Magica was firmly holding onto her broom, her own wand clutched firmly in her hand, aiming right at him. She appeared out of breath, using all of her energy to arrive there as fast as she could force herself. Upon her shoulder was Poe, and he was suddenly jerked off by his sister. “Go, get them out of here!” She snapped, never taking her eyes off of the enraged sorcerer.
“O-O-On it!” The raven stammered, stretching out his wings and flying down to the confused ducks below. The rental tuxedo store was halfway decimated, but Scrooge and Donald were still intact, though slightly bruised due to Rosolio’s efforts. Poe grabbed Scrooge’s cane, trying to urge him to move along. “Come on, we’ve gotta get outta here!”
“Wait a minute!” Scrooge yanked his cane back, using it to point at the goose. “What in blazes is going on with him?!”
Rosolio was distracted by Magica, sputtering and growling as he tried to get his wand to work again. “You should have stayed at the church! I’m going to end this!”
She began to hover in closer, taking her time, wanting to stall as long as she could make it. “If you continue using the Forbidden, you’ll wind up killing yourself. Stop this madness, and put down your wand!”
“Never!” In defiance he raised his weapon again – a bright light emitted from the top, sucking in the air around it and making the sound of a hideous tornado.
“HIT THE DECK!” screamed the raven, and, joined with the male ducks, took cover behind one of the crippling concrete walls. Though they couldn’t see the attack, they heard a tremendous blast hitting the wall, almost enough to deafen, and the wall suffered great damage, creating hot red cracks and dismantling the edges. It was obvious that it would not survive a second round of the same attack.
With her stalling tactic failed, Magica commanded her broom to head straight down, and once she was close enough, she jumped off, hitting the ground on her heels, and striking Rosolio in the side with her wand. Although he cried out, he parried with her, wands sparkling off fizzling lights as the two fought one another, using all of their strength to try and drive the other away.
Scrooge grabbed Poe roughly by the left wing, demanding answers. “Explain! Everything! Now!”
After some terrified crowing, the smaller bird managed to choke it out. “H-He’s using the Forbidden! They’re spells that cost you a year of your life every time you use them, because of their power! They do things that only the gods are supposed to have control over! He managed to learn two of them – the first one causes permanent love!”
Donald found his traditional hat among the debris, and plopped it back on. “Somehow I doubt that’s the spell he’s using on us now, so what’s number two?”
The hideous whirling noise began to make itself known once more, as Poe’s wing was released. “Death!”
Fortunately by the time the spell hit the wall again, this time shattering it apart, the boys had scrambled away, although they were scraped by falling pieces. However, with the store crumbling apart, and now other buildings beginning to take damage from the war of the wands, the hiding places were becoming few and far between. There was no way to get out, aside from the sky above, and Poe was very sure if he tried to get away that way, he’d earn yanked off feathers. As they tried to make due with what used to be front desk, they also got a good view of the fight, able to see that Magica was trying her best to disarm Rosolio, but he wasn’t showing his love any mercy. Their wands were pressed heavily against each other, with colors and fires exploding off of the contact, flying off into the distances.
“The others will be here any minute.” She hissed, both hands firmly on her long, thin wand, unable to tell in some places if she was sweating or bleeding. “Even you aren’t strong enough to stand up against them!”
“Then I’ll use the Forbidden on all of them!” He roared at her, madness gleaming in his eyes. “Even if I only wind up with one year to live, it will be more than McDuck will see again!”
“And you think that will make me love you?!” Her shoes were beginning to crack, she knew he was pushing her luck. Her fear was being realized – she wasn’t strong enough to defeat him. Hoping that such terror was suppressed from being expressed, she continued pushing and fighting, hoping that if she could not defeat him, she could at least wear him out. “Be a man, Rosolio! Accept your losses!”
“I’ve – lost – nothing!” He wasn’t even looking at her in the face anymore – no, he was staring hard at her neck, where that belled collar – that damned collar! - was STILL being worn, and it only added on to his rage, his wand changing colors – and then it was suddenly thrust to her stomach – it was not the Forbidden, for the wind was still in tact – but before anyone could blink, there was violet colored electricity at her gut, and she was sent flying, back – back- back - she was now laying several feet away, sprawled onto her stomach.
The scream of her name left Scrooge’s mouth without him knowing it, and he abandoned the desk, much to the dismayed shouts of his nephew. He threw his cane aside, running without thinking to get to her side, becoming breathless in seconds. He knelt down on the streets now made of rubble, and took her into his arms – to his great relief, she was breathing, though a scarlet line was now trickling down her face. Her eyes opened halfway, and her voice was cracked. “What do you think you’re doing…fool.”
“Saving your hide.” But as he pressed her close to his chest, he realized there was still no way to escape. Running down the now abandoned roads would just earn a chase from Rosolio, and with Magica’s weight in his arms, his age, and the exhaustion he was feeling already, it wouldn’t be much of a track record.
Speaking of the disgruntled goose, the sight of the lovers together caused him to hold onto his wand so tightly, his fingers dug into his hands, creating deep cuts into his palms. “Get away from her!” His voice no longer sounded of this world, so tangled up in jealousy and insanity. “She’s mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!” With every chant of the word, the whirling noise and the light became whole once more, becoming terrible warning signal atop his weapon.
Magica gave Scrooge a light shove, trying to sit up, and aim her wand right back at Rosolio. “Get out of here. I can handle him.”
“Are you daft?” Scrooge’s arm came around her shoulders. “You can’t even stand up.” His free hand joined hers, holding the wand with her, and his voice became soft. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
She said nothing, but the wand now pulsed under their hands, gaining power. No spell can defeat the Forbidden, she knew this, it was one of the earliest things all those of the magic world learned. Yet there were other lessons that rang in her head, as Rosolio’s light grew brighter, as her own wand changed colors.
Magic is connected to your emotions, to your belief, to your body, to you. It cannot give without receiving something in return. The harder you try, the harder you believe and wish for it, the stronger your spells become. That is why it is discourage using it for money and for power. Those things can only last you so long, and your magic will suffer for it. Only when you have something true to fight for, will your magic be supreme.
Her wand lifted, Rosolio’s wand lifted, they aimed, and, feeling the rush of confidence and sheer strength rushing from her arms and throughout her entire body right back to the wand in a circle of infinity, she shut her eyes tightly with a single tear escaping, and exhaled, felt she needed to tell him, must tell him, if anything else he had to be told, “Scrooge, I - ”
THWACK!
Rosolio fell onto the ground, face flat down, his wand rolling out and away from him. A lump was on top of his head, and, standing behind him, holding Scrooge’s cane, was Donald, now twirling the lump-maker in his hand. “So, I guess that means I finally give that ten cent raise?”
~*~
It was around noon, and thus Ducksworth was in the dining room, ready to help serve the residents of the mansion. As he entered, he noticed Scrooge had already sat down, and was jotting down notes on a small piece of paper. The butler cleared his throat to make his presence known. “Tax season again, sir?”
The duck shook his head, looking up for only the briefest of moments. “Just experimenting with something.” Tapping the pencil to his beak, he decided it was safe enough to share his findings. “You know the belled collar I got Magica for the engagement party?”
“Of course.” the butler walked over to be next to McDuck. “She wears it constantly now.”
Scrooge’s beak twitched, suppressing a smile that fact brought. “I know… but I’ve noticed something. This is just a guess, but I think any time she’s pleased by something, she fiddles with that bell.”
The dog raised his eyebrows, a bit intrigued. “What makes you say that?”
“Little things.” The pencil now tapped the paper. “For example, let’s see… ah, yes. When Rosolio got her that bracelet, the one with the emeralds, she played with the bell, and we all know how much that witch loves jewelry. Then she did it again when she got that letter fro Madam Mim, her best friend. Then, today, when Daisy was asking what color the wedding invitations should be, she touched the bell when Daisy suggested red. And I told the chefs to remake the lobster salad from the party, because I saw she had three servings of it, and will definitely ring when she has it for lunch today.” Scrooge looked up, a little proud of his accomplishment. “So what does that tell you?”
Ducksworth bit his tongue, wondering if he dared really comment. “…To be frank, sir? That tells me you pay rather… close attention to the likes and dislikes of Miss De Spell.”
The smile vanished from the duck’s bill, eyes wide and a hint of red on his cheeks. He slammed the pencil onto the table, his cheery voice now a grating growl. “Don’t you have lunch to serve!”
“Of course, sir.” Off he went to the kitchen, hoping his pay wasn’t cut for pointing out the obvious.
Scrooge began to cross out what he written, hoping to hide his embarrassment, and mentally remarked on the foolishness of his servant. It had been harmless observation, that was all! Moving to erase his frustration, he stopped when the woman herself strutted in, wearing the collar, and sat down a few seats away from him. True to form, she crossed her arms, already impatient. “Well, where is it?”
“Professional meals take longer than boiling noodles over a cauldron.” He quipped, relaxing, and watching the doors to the kitchen carefully. Mere minutes later, Ducksworth had returned, and placed a bowl of lobster salad in front of each duck, and then went about fetching glasses of water for them.
Magica idly poked the leaves, huffing. “Can’t your chefs make anything original? Didn’t we already have this?”
“Either eat it, or your next meal will be ice cubes.” But his tone wasn’t bitter, stirring his fork in his bowl as he kept his eyes on the collar. If she rung it, his theory would be correct.
The sorceress made a “hmph” noise, before eating. A few bites into it, she paused to take a drink, and one hand pushed some hair back, stroked her neck… and then touched the bell, echoing a small “ding ding” noise.
Triumphant, Scrooge pointed a fork at her in his victory. “I knew it!”
Glass half empty, Magica placed it down, staring at the accuser. “What?”
“You ring that bell every time you’re happy about something!” He gestured to her neck with her utensil, grinning and absolutely ignoring Ducksworth’s knowing look from the corner.
The woman took a quick look at her hand, and then was quicker to remove it. “Don’t be stupid, it was a nervous habit.” She didn’t even appear to notice she had been doing it in the first place.
“You’re like a little girl.” There was sneer with that, leaning back in his seat. “Just admit you do it.”
“I will do no such thing.” Her arms were crossed once more, the meal ignored. “Because I don’t do any such thing!”
“He has a list.” Ducksworth was at the table again, grabbing the slip of paper before Scrooge could make a jump for it, ignoring the yell of his name from the writer. He handed it over to the surprised sorceress, and much to Scrooge’s chagrin, she could read it despite the crossed out lines. When she was finished, she crumpled it in her hands, throwing it behind her, which the butler went to go clean up, and use an excuse to exit the room.
She was instantly on her feet, agitated, tapping her foot on the floor. “Do you have nothing better to do than study my neck?”
“How am I supposed to ignore that constant ringing?” He jabbed a fork into his food, preparing himself for the fight that was about to ensue. “Why don’t you ever take it off!”
“If you hate it so much, you shouldn’t have bought it in the first place!”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have!”
“Then don’t buy me anything ever again!”
“As if I would ever waste my money on someone like you!”
They spat insults back and forth at each other, loathing increasing with each lobby, until Magica stabbed her salad with a fork, and menacingly jabbed the utensil at him, threatening to shove the implement and the leaf attached to it in a place where the sun didn’t shine -
Until the door to the living room was knocked, followed by the cheery voice of Magica’s grandmother - “Hello, sweetie!” - and without waiting for the all clear, opened the door anyway, gazing upon the frozen scene of her granddaughter holding a fork of food to the supposed fiance. Silence followed as Granny adjusted her glasses, making sure she was seeing correctly.“'Husband” and “wife” took their time looking at each other, wondering how to fix the mistake, and keep playing the game. Granny spoke slowly, skepticism clear. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”
Gears whirled in Magica’s mind, and, shaking a bit, she placed her empty hand on Scrooge’s shoulder. “Not at all, Granny! We were just enjoying lunch.” Continuing to use a voice laced with a mix of sappy sweetness and acidic adjectives, she waved the fork to the man’s mouth. “Say 'ah’, Scroogie darling.”
Wishing he could say a few words that weren’t for ladies ears, he complied, allowing the fork to enter past his lips, and quietly chewed the greenery as Magica sat back down, wiping the utensil with a napkin. She spoke again once she deemed it clean enough. “What brings you by this hour, Granny, without a call or a single word of warning?”
Not believing the act for a second, the old woman strode up to her granddaughter, hands behind her back. “I just wanted to ask about the music that would be played at the wedding.”
“A church organ is all we need.” Scrooge replied, once he had swallowed the forced food.
The relative scooted next to Magica, blond hair falling past her glasses. “Haven’t you thought about it? Music can set an entirely new theme for a wedding! How about a choir of-”
“No.” Said the couple in unison, trying to get back to eating.
“Then how about the jazz styling of - ”
“No.”
“We could always spring for country-”
“No.”
“Not even a classical waltz theme?”
“No.” But this time, after the duo had said it, there was a faint “ding ding” that followed. Magica went perfectly still upon realizing what she had done, and her face flushed deeper than the lobster’s shell in the salad as she felt Scrooge’s smirk boring into her from the back of her head. She was on her feet fast enough to knock her chair backwards, grabbing her bowl and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Granny stared where the chair once was, puzzled at what had just taken place. “What on earth was that about?”
Scrooge held up his glass of water, taking a steady sip. “Why, I haven’t the faintest idea.” He waited until Granny had left to chase after her granddaughter to admire his smug appearance in the reflective glass. Of course he had been right, his theories always were. Why, he had even more examples of her doing that action that he hadn’t written down.
When Daisy showed the witch family the McDuck photo album, and displayed the one of him in his younger Klondike days, ding ding.
When he had asked her to dance during the engagement party, ding ding.
When he and Rosolio were arguing who really did know Magica better, ding ding.
When they had to fake kiss again in front of the family along with some new reporters, ding ding.
His confident expression faded, as each new recollection began to create a startling theory in his mind that was wholly unwelcome.
~*~
“What is magic?”
Tea on the patio, with the fading sunset, that is where and when the strange question had been asked. Magica held the cup in her hand, having paused in her drink once the words had left the miser’s mouth. She looked at him, making sure she had heard correctly. Since one of his eyebrows was raised and his gaze was curious, the question had been real. Quietly, she resumed her sip. “Why do you ask?”
“It bothers me…” He replied, voice already annoyed. “… when things happen with no explanation. I’ve seen you buy potions and wands, and buying a weapon is something anyone can do… but you also can conjure up spells all on your own. It should be one or the other. What’s the difference?”
She traced the outline of the cup. “… Yes, almost anyone can buy weapons. But that doesn’t mean everyone can use them. If a man who has never used a gun before picks one up, he will not fire straight, and he might even wind up injuring his hand in the process. One needs experience before mastering bought weapons.”
“But even then… a gun is a machine. You speak of experience with the supernatural.”
A shrug with one shoulder. “I could teach your nephews how to use bought spells and potions for the rest of my life, but even when they turn gray, they would never be as powerful as myself, or other sorcerers and sorceresses.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the insistence of that term. She always got angry if she was called anything but a sorceress. For the sake of learning, he’d put that aside for now. “And why is that? What makes you and your ilk different from me and my nephews?”
“Blood. Genetics.” Catching the skepticism in his expression, she smirked. “Is it that much of a surprise? Like any genetic anomaly, magic is inherited. If a man with blue eyes and a woman with blue eyes have a child, there is a stronger likelihood that their child will also have blue eyes. My father had magic, my mother had magic, so Poe and I had magic.”
“Poe doesn’t use magic.” He refilled his cup. Some stars were beginning to shine out. The moon was hidden behind faint clouds. “I’ve never even seen him try.”
“It’s a part of his transformation.” Her eyes looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, yet still willing to relent. “When I turned him, I didn’t just change his outer appearance… I changed his blood, his DNA. The only thing left that is truly him and our family is his memory. We are no longer blood related.”
There was a tense silence. At first, the elder was ready to ask if Poe knew… but… it became clear in his own mind. If Poe hadn’t been told of it, the raven would have figured it out on his own, when he couldn’t perform even the most simple feat of magic. Perhaps that was why Granny treated him as more of a pet than a grandson, since he “wasn’t” a grandson to her anymore. Yet as the older one kept thinking, he could recall moments where Magica treated Poe not quite as an equal but still as family. Even now Magica looked decidedly unpleasant, with an emotion he thought she wasn’t capable of - guilt.
Scrooge cleared his throat. “That still doesn’t explain some things… all right, so you got it from your parents, who got it from your grandmother, and back and back… where did it all start?”
She took another drink before getting back into the conversation. “With the gods, of course.”
“Of course.” A derisive snort.
“It’s natural of you not to believe… but there were ancient times where it was commonplace for everyone to believe in gods. But as science and technology advanced, people disregarded their beliefs… but not everyone did. Those others, in fact, praised the gods for these advancements. But the people also became worried that, at this rate, belief would be stomped out everywhere, and future generations wouldn’t believe in the gods. So they prayed and sacrificed, begging the gods for a way to keep belief alive. The gods decided to bless these people with magic.”
“I’ve seen more believable nonsense in Donald’s comic books.” A wag of the finger. “Where is your proof?”
“Our own history books… which are up to interpretation. No one is alive from those days, so for all I know, it could be false. But it’s just easier to believe that story.” Her cup became empty.
“I still don’t understand it all. How can your body, just because of a few select strands of DNA, be able to do things mortals can’t?”
She looked down at her hands, placing the tea cup away. “… Desire.”
“Desire?”
The only light between them was a single flame, flickering brightly over a red candle. Magica took the candle holder, a faded golden color, grasping it lightly in her fingers. With her other hand, she held up her wand in preparation. Then with a soft and quick breath, the fire was gone. “You can light this again easily enough with a match, you can do it all by yourself, with your own hands. With magic… it deeply depends on what you want. You must want it with all of your heart.” She pointed the wand at the burnt tip, and they both glowed deeply - in the blink of an eye, the candle was lit again. “I desired warmth and light. Desire… and desperation. Us of the magic cannot blend so simply into mortal society. Sometimes our lives are not easy. We become desperate to continue living, as our kind die out.”
The candle was the same as it had been minutes ago, as if it had never been blown out. Night was settling in. The fire was reflected in her eyes, and her face was illuminated. How much time had passed since he invited her to tea out on the patio? She placed the candle back down on the table. He watched it a little more before speaking. “If you don’t have any children, the De Spell line dies with you.”
“And another magical family is eliminated from the gene pool.” A snap of her fingers, putting her wand down. “But I don’t care. I’ve never cared too greatly for children… I can barely stand your brats. When I have the amulet granting me the power of the Midas Touch, I will be rich enough so that my line is eternally remembered. Our wondrous last stand. It’s the same with you.”
He did not respond, and felt no need to. Just a nod. He could see where she was going with that reasoning.
“Even when the worms are eating your bones, everyone will still remember the name Scrooge McDuck. No nephew of yours carries that same last name. You are the last of the clan McDuck, and with your wealth, you will be remembered forever. That is a magic no sorcerer could create… the power of immortality.”
This time, he crossed one arm over, and pointed a finger at her. “About that, immortality… and I don’t mean that whole 'remembrance’ thing. Why can no sorcerer do that? I imagine wanting to live forever would generate tons of powerful desire.”
One of her legs crossed over the other. “… That is even stronger proof that the gods gave us this power.”
“Explain.”
“There is a branch of spell work that is called The Forbidden, because it is exactly that - forbidden. Using those spells threatens to expose magic to the entire world, and would create havoc, making us the new gods of the world. As punishment, whenever someone uses such a spell, they lose a year of their life.”
“That’s hardly proof.”
“Well, it’s not like when they use it, a god suddenly appears and smacks them upside the head. They just die much sooner than expected. After it happened enough times, the mathematics were figured out.”
“Have you ever used one?”
A soft chuckle. The sun was gone. “I’m not stupid, as much as you’re inclined to think so. I want the rest of my life to enjoy my riches.”
“So what are The Forbidden?” A few fireflies were making themselves known in the close gardens. Scrooge would silently shoo one away if one get too close, but Magica would allow one to crawl along her arm if it wanted to.
“Extending someone’s life span. Shortening someone’s life span. Death. Love-”
“Now hold on.” he cut her off, leaning in. “I’ve seen you use plenty of love potions and spells.”
“Mediocre things.” A dismissive wave of her hand. “Those types had time limits, and only seized part of the heart. The Forbidden Spell Of Love captures the entire heart and mind, for all time. It’s a love akin to madness. The victim cares for nothing but the caster… not even their own health. That spell has been the cause of much bloodshed. Helen of Troy was a victim, as was Romeo and Isolde…”
His brows furrowed. “… Wait… do you mean Romeo and Juliet? Tristan and Isolde? Those are made up stories.”
“So is magic, to some.” A smile, and then she stood. “It’s getting cold. I’m going inside.”
“One more question.” He stood as well. “Do you actually know how to use The Forbidden?”
Her eyes met his. “Yes. For the sake of our dying history, sorcerers and sorceress are even taught those spells. Granny, Samson Hex, Rosolio, even Witch Child could use one, if their desire was strong enough.”
He picked up his cane, that was previously laid against his chair. He appeared amused. “Should I take it as a compliment that you’ve never desired me dead that strongly?”
She approached the doors. “Fool. If you died, that dime of yours becomes worthless. Then I’d have to find the next richest man alive.” Though her hand was on the door handle, she did not press on it. She could feel his eyes on her, still inquisitive. A sigh. “All right, what else?”
“Those gods… if they gave your people magic, that makes these supposed divine beings useless. They wouldn’t need to help your people anymore, since they could help themselves. What became of them?”
She stayed where she was, even as he walked up to her. Slowly, she turned to look at him. “We believe they help the non-blessed. The mortals. They give you strength… you just aren’t aware of it. When you desire something that desperately… they are there to lend that power. Fate changes. Miracles occur. They can’t do this to everyone… without belief, their abilities grow weaker all the time. But they will live on so long as humanity does. Because desire… always exists.”
They stared at each other. The candle was still lit. There was no wind.
“You’re saying, if I desire something strongly enough, the gods will help me?” He had desired many things in his life, he knew that well.
Desire and need are two different things, they both thought. People need food and water, need comes with survival. Need is primal, and can over ride the mind in order to get it. Deaths can be as a result of an unfulfilled need. Desire is different. Desire is a pain that cannot be described, yet, with time, it can be pushed away. People can live without desires being fulfilled. Yet there is not a single person who has ever lived who has never felt desire at least once.
There are also people who let desire consume their lives. They feel without this wish being granted, they are better off dead. If they allow it, a desire can control a person. That’s when the desire becomes a need. That’s when the gods can no longer help.
The door handle was gripped. “It’s possible. But they have better wishes to grant than the ones of a rich old miser. So, probably not.” The door was opened, and she was soon gone.
When he could no longer hear her footsteps, he returned to the table, and picked up the candle holder. He blew it out. “Yes,” he murmured, touching the remains of wax. “Probably not.”
~*~
When, exactly, did he realize she was a woman? It felt like such a ridiculous thing to think about, but during the course of their lives, he supposed he never really acknowledged that about her. Of course he knew she was female, but due to all of her aggravating attacks on his dime, he had just molded her into 'that person’. He had always been satisfied with that state. She was his enemy, there was no need to change that. Things could have stayed like that, if it wasn’t for this entire ruse.
Now here he was, hugging her, having her lean onto his body, fully aware of what she was and who she was. She felt so small against him, as powerless as a doll, her head resting on his chest. No objection had been made to the embrace, as it had started out as an accident. They were descending the stairs, ready to get some lunch before having another dreadful afternoon with her family, when suddenly, nearing the last steps, she had tripped and fallen forward. He not only caught her, but instinctively his arms had gone around her. Though now she was capable of standing up and walking on her own, neither made any attempt to leave.
The gigantic mansion of a home was silent. The only thing that could be heard were their light breaths, and his heartbeat so close to her ear. She wasn’t even returning the gesture, her arms curled up on his chest. Of course he was in no rush to see Magica’s family again, and there were other reasons not to leave this moment. He just couldn’t think of them right now. Frankly a lot of his mind was refusing to work right now.
Wasn’t she supposed to be pushing away to make some scathing comment? He was almost afraid to see what kind of expression she was wearing. The more time that passed, the more sense reached into his head. With great reluctance, he moved his hands, grabbing her by the elbows, and ever so lightly pushed her away by mere inches. Her wide eyes showed that she was initially surprised, but her look settled in understanding. Except he still hadn’t really let go, and judging by his grip, still wasn’t planning to.
He apparently wasn’t planning on doing anything at all, yet she appeared to be expecting something. Maybe she understood this situation better than he did. His grip eased, not entirely holding her in place, but still enough to be felt. It became a staring contest, his confused and slightly bewilderment to her anticipation and patience.
Just then, the door to the dining room creaked open, and Ducksworth stepped in, mouth open to announce, again, that lunch was served. But when he caught sight of the ducks in such a position, who were now staring right back at him, he hesitated, then stepped back, closing the doors and leaving them. The spell broken, Magica abruptly shook her arms loose, and stuck her bill up high, indignant. Once again, they had become enemies. It was if nothing had happened in those past few minutes. That was completely fine with Scrooge.
Yet as she walked by him, her arm brushed against his, and for the faintest of moments, her cold fingers ran up his arm. Feeling his heart jump into his throat, he turned to look at her, but she was already at the door, opening it to leave. She glanced back at him, still wearing her usual expression of distaste, leaving him to wonder if he had just imagined that fleeting sensitive touch. She left the room, and he would only join her once he was positive his face was no longer red.
