A Curse Upon Thee 2

Chapter 2: The Wolf and the Welcome

The inside of the yellow Beetle was a hell of a lot more comfortable when you weren't being introduced to it at thirty miles an hour. 

Small victories. 

The engine rattled a bit (not much, but enough to definitely get on your nerves if you weren’t used to it), the whole car sounding just as beat-up as the thing looked. Wonder if it sounded like that before it hit me.

Finn pushed that thought (as funny as the concept of making a car regret hitting him was) to the back of his mind as he settled into the passenger seat, taking in a low, slow breath. The whole car smelled faintly of leather, coffee, and engine oil, all three of those smells seeming to come right from the woman next to him in the driver's seat.

Emma Swan.

His self-designated chauffeur and accidental assailant.

The woman drove like she was worried about running into someone again, eyes constantly scanning the road; waiting for somebody to divebomb her front fender. From the moment they got into the car, she barely said a word and Finn didn't really have it in him to hold it against her. I don't mind the silence.

"So…"

Well, there goes that. The young man held back the urge to roll his eyes.

"Sooooo, uh…" Emma repeated the single word, voice kinda flat as she found the inspiration to finally speak. "Finn McHale. That, uh… that your real name?"

"Phineas, if you wanna be a dick about it." The joke fell flat in the cramped space; Finn closed his eyes as he almost heard it land with a dull thump on the dashboard. "But yeah. Far as I know."

"Far as you know."

It wasn't a question.

Just her repeating the words back, almost like she was tasting them for lies. What, she a cop too? 

"Yeah,” Finn’s eyebrow went high. “Little thing called amnesia, remember?" He tapped the corner of his forehead as he watched her out of the side of his eye. "The slate is… yeah, pretty damn clean up here."

She seemed to accept it, but the way her jaw tightened… yeah, she's curious.

To be fair, so was he.

What little he could remember seemed like a jumble of memories that didn't fit together right; mostly focused around Japan of all places. Japan in… 2018?

Which made no sense unless… Did some Curse send me back seven years? Blue eyes blinked slowly. And across the ocean?

Part of him wanted to wonder what an Irish-speaking blue-eyed ginger was doing in Japan in the first place, but then… I remember a blond Sorcerer girl my age… so…

Maybe it wasn't that crazy.

Finn snorted as he turned to look out the window, blue eyes roaming as they slowly took in the town. Storybrooke.

Huh.

Something about the place looked like it had been pulled right from a postcard painted by someone who’d been stuck deep in the twentieth century for a bit too long. So, basically any small town. 

Not that it was a bad thing the way all of the storefronts looked downright quaint. He wasn’t even against how everything like the word homey had come to life; right down to the hand-painted signs and old-timey fonts. Even with the way the buildings stood out as a mix of brick and old wood that you’d never see anywhere outside of a town like this, the only issue he had with it was how everything just looked neat and tidy and… wrong.

It was too perfect.

Too clean.

Not clean like money, but in a way that almost looked like out of old Hollywood, fake like a studio set or something; something left standing after the crew went home. The kind of place where you half-expected someone to yell "cut" and watch half the buildings fold over like clapboard.

It definitely didn't help his weird vibes that the place had a light blanket of Cursed Energy just sitting on top of everything, making him wonder exactly where the hell it was all coming from. A dusting of the stuff, more than anything. If it was a snowfall, it wouldn't even be enough to get school delayed. But it was way more than you would expect for an American town, especially a small American town like this one.

Way more.

More than that, the stuff made his own Cursed Energy thrum under his skin; a caged dog smelling a storm coming. His fingers twitched against his thigh, itching to form hand signs he wasn't sure he'd ever actually learned.

Is this what normal people feel like all the time? The thought was a little frustrating, considering he had memories of being the guy on the other side of the veil (literally, too). Not knowing what's real?

He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling crawling up his spine. The town kept rolling past the window; a bakery with flowers in the window boxes, a bookstore with a hand-carved wooden sign, and a man literally selling flowers by the side of the road in a pair of overalls.

Everything was too much. Too quaint. Too perfect. Too… performed.

And underneath all of it, that faint hum of Cursed Energy. Not dangerous, not yet. 

Just… there. Waiting.

"...weird."

“What’s weird?”

Finn blinked as he realized what had supposed to be a thought had left his lips instead, blinking over at Emma as the blonde woman shot a look back at him.

“No… nothing, just…” Whatever random explanation the eighteen-year-old had to give slid right out of his mind as they drove past a clock tower on Main Street, Finn’s gaze drifting toward it instinctively. What the…  The Cursed Energy around the town might have been light but he could swear he felt a good chunk of it seem to be focused right on the huge timepiece, for some reason.

Specifically the hands.

That’s… weird. 

He blinked again, wondering if he said that out loud, but considering how Emma didn’t seem to react… okay.

No, but it really was weird, considering that Cursed Energy (even as freaky as it was, from what he remembered) wasn’t something that just settled for no reason like that. He could buy the whole town being built on some ancient Indian mass grave or something, which could explain the little-bit-extra helping of Cursed Energy even for an American town like this, but…

Who’s doing a ritual in or on a clock tower?

“I was just thinking, like… what’s the deal with this place?” he finally asked, nodding toward the ticking clock.

“...I’m still trying to figure that out,” Emma said, the words coming out a little slow, like the woman was unsure of what she was even saying. “Place seems a little off, I know.”

“Huh.” He leaned back, the cheap vinyl of the seat sticking to his hospital-issued shirt as he adjusted his windbreaker in his lap. “So, you from around here?”

“God, no.” The denial came out faster than he expected, making Finn blink. “Just… passing through.”

Huh. So, she was just as new to this weird little cursed town as he was. Funny. The two of them, a couple of strays. We both like red too.

The ride went back to silence again, but it didn’t last anywhere as long this time.

No, it barely lasted five minutes as Emma’s yellow-painted little Herbie coughed to a stop in front of a good-sized building, a place that looked more like someone’s big-ass house than anything else.

The only reason he doubted it was just a house was the sign outside it that read “Granny’s Bed & Breakfast.” Finn blinked at it as he finally stepped outside the car, the passenger door slamming shut behind him.

To the side of that first sign, hanging on the wall, was another with an arrow pointing around the corner. “Granny’s Diner.”

Huh…

He slid his windbreaker over his shoulders as Emma walked out in front of him, the blonde woman taking quick and focused strides as she neared the steps of the house.

The bell above the door let out a cheerful, lying little jingle as they walked in, the air inside of the big-old-house thick with the smell of old coffee, sizzling bacon, and something else… i-is that wet dog? 

Before he could blink a second time, someone cleared her throat, his attention snapping forward to meet an old woman with gray hair staring at him from behind the counter. The eighteen-year old stepped forward beside Emma only to pause as someone walked out from behind the old lady.

Whoa.

The younger woman broke into a smile that was all kinds of trouble, with a waterfall of dark hair that had a wild streak of red dyed into it. Her eyes were dark and sharp as they scanned Finn up and down; all the way from his worn-out sneakers to the still-healing gash on his temple, lingering for a moment as she slowly bit her lip.

Oh.

"Emma, you're still here." Her voice was… a rasp that was all honey poured over gravel, something that made the hairs on his arms stand up straight. She leaned on the counter, all her focus lasered in on Finn. "And you brought a friend."

"Ruby, this is Finn," Emma said, her voice more than a little tired. The woman in the red leather jacket gestured between the two of them, sounding for all the world like a warden introducing a new inmate. "He'll be staying at the inn for a bit. Finn, this is Ruby. She… helps her grandmother run the place."

"Hi, Finn," Ruby said. That smile of hers widened to a grin he could only call downright wolfish. "Nice to meet you." She offered her hand as she leaned even further over the counter, low-cut crimson tank top doing him zero favors.

Be cool. When he took it, her grip was firm. Her skin warm. She held on for a little too long, her thumb tracing a little circle on the back of his hand as she looked him right in the eyes.

"Heard you had a rough couple of nights, big guy. Anything I can do to make your stay more… comfortable," she almost purred the word out, "you just let me know."

This wasn't jujutsu… not sorcery, no.

Something about her, though, was still wild enough to make him want to figure her out. This girl… Taylor Swift never lied, I guess. He could already tell she was trouble, as soon as she walked in.

Even still, his instincts (the older, dumber part of his brain) were screaming at him to take the offer. Finn blinked at her for a few seconds before he pulled his hand back, giving a noncommittal grunt that he hoped sounded cooler than he felt.

"We need a room," Emma cut in. Saved.

"I'll get you the key to room seven," Ruby said. Her eyes stayed locked on Finn, shooting him a wink that could start fires before she disappeared into a back room.

The old woman behind the counter (presumably Granny) just snorted. "Honestly, girl.” The old woman shot Finn a look, rolling her eyes as she walked around the corner.

Emma snorted and shook her head as Granny walked away, before turning to Finn, a tight roll of cash in her hand. "For food and whatever else you need. I'll check in on you tomorrow." She pressed it in his hand, her gaze flicking from him to the door Ruby had vanished through, before flicking right back. "Try to stay out of trouble."

"Trouble found me, not the other way around." The defense sounded weak, but Emma didn’t have anything else to say as she kept on walking. A second later, the little bell above the door chimed and he knew she was gone.

Barely a second after that, Ruby strode right back to the front desk, the pretty girl with the dangerous smile dangling a heavy brass key from one long red-painted nail. "So," she leaned in close as she handed it to him, her voice barely over a whisper. "Not every day a guy who looks like you just… walks out of the woods."

He blinked at her, the smell of her shampoo (something spicy and floral) hitting him as their hands touched. "You know?"

Ruby smirked. "It's a small town. Everybody knows."

Finn frowned. Don't like that.

"So, what's your story, mystery man?"

"Don't have one," Finn said, holding the key tight, metal still warm from her hand. "Blank page. Fresh start. You know how it is."

He turned to head for the stairs but he could almost feel her eyes on his back the entire way; jujutsu instincts making him wary in a way that had nothing to do with Curses. This girl's dangerous.

"Hey, Red!"

He stopped, one foot on the bottom step as he turned around to see her was leaning on the counter again; chin propped up in her hand and that devastating smirk back in place.

"My hair's red, yeah," he said, stating the obvious. Real observant. "Your point?"

"My point is, it's a lot of red." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "So what's the deal? You on the run from a jilted lover? On the lam from the law? Or just really, really bad with maps?"

He felt a genuine smile tug at his own lips, unfamiliar and weird. "All of the above, probably." He leaned against the banister, mirroring her casual posture. Play it cool. "What about you? What's a place like you doing in a girl like this?"

Wait.

He couldn't help but wince at that, eyes closing immediately as he fought the urge to sigh. A place like you? Seriously? Smooth, McHale. Real slick.

She laughed. A throaty genuine sound that was a hundred times more interesting than anything else he'd heard in this town. "Well, I was born and raised in the belly of the beast that is Storybrooke." She sighed, a dramatic put-upon sound. "Someone's gotta be eye candy to keep the paying customers happy." Her eyes did another slow deliberate scan of him. "And you, Red, look like a paying customer who could use a little… happiness."

He blinked at her, fighting the urge to actually just say 'fuck it.'

Don't. Don't do it, Finn.

"So, can I call you Red?" she asked. That smirk daring him to say no.

He pushed off the banister, the smile on his face turning into a matching smirk. "Only if I can call you Rubes."

Her smile vanished, look on her face replaced by a stare so flat it was almost a glare. "...no."

He grinned. A real honest-to-god grin that felt weird after frowning all day. "Worth a shot."