Short fiction complete, p.1
The Knowing: A Fantasy Monster Romance (Monsters of the Yeavering Book 3), page 1
THE KNOWING
A Fantasy Monster Romance
MONSTERS OF THE YEAVERING
HATTIE JACKS
Copyright © 2025 Nisus Publishing Limited
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Hattie Jacks supports human artists.
Editing: Polaris Editing
Cover: @linaganef
Formatted with Vellum
CONTENTS
Foreword
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Linton
Kaitlyn
Epilogue
Kaitlyn
Afterword
JOIN ME!
Also by Hattie Jacks
Just who is this Hattie Jacks anyway?
FOREWORD
The Bluecap, a spirit of the caves and mines which honeycomb the North of England.
For centuries a brightness sorely needed by all those working under the ground. A flame in the darkness. A light where there was none. A knowing. The Knowing.
Being a creature of England, his tale is told in British English, as it should be.
Hattie Jacks 2025
KAITLYN
I’m sure I’m being watched.
Except I’m in the middle of the busy bakery, Gloriana is pulling a fresh batch of bread from the ovens at the rear, and the shop at the front is thronged with patrons. I don’t think I’ve stopped since we opened.
“Here you go.” I hand over a package to an elderly witch. “Three loaves, one with caraway, and do you want anything sweet today? We have meringues, muffins, hinnies and…” I pause deliberately. “…a few melbas left.”
Her eyes light up, her face losing ten years at least.
“Peach?”
“Always.”
“You are an absolute temptress, Miss Kaitlyn.”
I lean over the counter. “Takes one to know one, Miss Mary.” I wink.
She laughs as I pop a peach melba, a small cream- and peach-filled pastry topped with fondant into a small box and add it to her order.
Once she’s paid, I move onto the next customer and collect the items they want.
So all eyes are on me, or at least there are plenty of witches and warlocks looking at what I’m doing, as well as chatting among themselves, so of course I’m being watched. Still, I can’t take the prickling feeling up my back which suggests someone, somewhere is creeping on me, rather than waiting in line for some baked goods.
By the time we get to mid afternoon, I’m exhausted and very pleased to turn over the closed sign on the door.
Gloriana bustles through, looking as fresh as always, despite her stints with the hot ovens. Her blonde hair is in tight coils and she has a bright red apron, the same as mine, wrapped around her. Only hers is covered in flour and dotted with grease spots.
“Well done,” she says, surveying the mostly empty shelves.
“Hey, this isn’t me. It’s down to you and your talents,” I say with a smile.
Gloriana was the witch cook to Lord Guyzance, producing proper food not magical conjurings for those who he didn’t need to impress, before he met his fate at the hands of the Barghest, the black dog of death who took souls for the Reaper and who is now mated to my human friend, Wynter.
I don’t think I’ve seen a happier couple, and I have her to thank for releasing me from the enforced servitude at the foul hands of the Faerie Lord, allowing Gloriana to set up this shop and to employ me as her assistant.
“You might say that, but I see we have none of the sweets left,” Gloriana says, her sharp blue eyes missing nothing. “You told me they’d be popular, and they are. You have a talent for baking even if you won’t admit it.”
My cheeks colour at the compliment. I’ve never been spectacular at taking praise, and my pale skin coupled with my auburn hair means I blush at every opportunity. Sometimes there doesn’t even need to be a reason.
“I’m just good at selling,” I say.
“But if you weren’t good at baking, they wouldn’t come back,” Gloriana trills as she walks away through the bakery to the room at the rear, our parlour.
I follow her because the feeling of being watched grows stronger the second I’m alone. Once we’re in the room, I close the door and silently release a sigh of relief.
My friend climbs the stairs to her room, and I hear the creaking of the ancient floorboards as she moves around upstairs while I take off my apron and hang it up before swinging the big, heavy cast iron kettle over onto the hot plate of the squat black range in order to boil some water for tea.
Gloriana comes back down in a clean red and white spotted dress just as I’m pouring out water into the teapot, and she drops into one of the squashy armchairs with a happy grunt.
“Just a quick cuppa for me,” she says with a smile. “I have to go out.”
I look a bit closer and see the dress she’s wearing isn’t any old thing—it’s one of her best.
“Suppliers?”
“Sort of.” She gives me an almost girlish smile. “I need to get a better rate on our sugar supplies.”
It’s impossible to know how old Gloriana is or hazard a guess at any of the witches’ or warlocks’ ages here in the Yeavering. Their innate earth magic means they can pick and choose how they want to appear to the world, even if they need spells to perform most other magical tasks.
Spells, should they wish to do the more powerful air magic, they are reliant on the Faerie to provide.
And now the whole of the Yeavering is in turmoil over the swift exits of some of the most powerful Faerie. When I say exits, I mean they were reaped by the Barghest and won’t be returning to this world, to rule over it or for any other reason.
The bakery Gloriana has opened is a distraction for the inhabitants of this strange, magical region, beyond the veil between here and the human world.
A human world infiltrated by the Faerie, offering their poisoned assistance to a world in disarray following a virus which threatened to wipe us out. Their cure came at the highest of prices. A life for a life. And that’s the reason I’m here.
“So these, suppliers”—I poke my tongue into my cheek—“would they be tall, with a beard and a cellar filled with wine? Possibly called Harold?”
Gloriana titters. I pour her out a cup of tea into a china cup painted with roses. I guess I have my answer.
“I’ll prep for tomorrow,” I say, pouring out my own drink and dropping into the chair next to her. “The peach melbas were very popular, so I’ll make some more.”
“You should get out and get some fresh air, rather than haunting this place,” Gloriana says. She puts her hand on my arm and gazes at me. “Guyzance is gone. No one has any hold on you, Kaitlyn. You are free. They won’t take you again.”
I’m sure I hear a growl, but it’s difficult to say if it’s coming from her or not.
“I know. It’s hard going from one reality to another, especially…” My words trail off.
“Because you can’t go home?” Gloriana heaves out a sigh, her big bosom lifting and falling. “I really wish it was possible. I know you want to see your sister. If there was any way I could help…”
I grab her hand and squeeze it. “You’ve done more than enough, giving me a home and a job. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
“I’ve told you time and time again, my sweet, you owe me nothing. It’s bad enough the Yeavering allowed any of this to happen to humans in the first place.” She gives me a big smile before getting to
“Enjoy your date,” I call after her.
Gloriana gives me a look which could freeze hell, but I’m used to it the same as she’s used to my sass.
“Witches do not go on dates,” she says before her handsome face breaks into a big smile. “But I’ll enjoy myself nonetheless.”
The door clatters shut behind her, and I’m alone in the bakery. I sip my tea and steel myself for the feeling to cover me once again.
It has to be the Yeavering getting to me. I’ve been through too much to be scared of nothing. I drain my cup and drop it into the saucer with a clatter before getting to my feet and pulling my apron back on.
Whatever spirits await me in the bakery, I will face them with a whisk and a sharp knife. Let’s see how they like that.
KAITLYN
Ifinish cleaning up my work area, ready to get started first thing in the morning. Whatever has been creeping me out in the bakery seems to have gone, or I’ve managed to get a grip on myself. I’m hoping it’s the latter rather than the former.
The Yeavering is filled with everything which goes bump in the night, proving that all the fears humans have had through the ages were not merely figments of our overactive imaginations in a world without technology but, in fact, entirely true. Dragons, witches, warlocks, werewolves, ghosts and ghouls, faerie—they were all true.
Shame we’d fallen for the Victorian ideal of faerie being cute little creatures with translucent wings and filled with laughter and love.
Nothing could be further from the truth. The age-old tales from the North of England of cruel faerie queens and dangerous faerie hills where human infants disappear never to be seen again was the truth, and the modern world had dismissed it.
We thought we were too clever to be fooled.
We were wrong.
So there’s very little point being frightened of anything in the Yeavering. I’ve survived so far, and I’m still here, so whatever is trying to scare me, it isn’t working.
The door to the bakery rattles, and I peep out from the preparation room. A shadow moves past the windows in the street where we place all our tempting treats, now empty this time of day, and it disappears around the corner.
Instantly I’m running to the back door. Admittedly, locks can’t keep out all of the creatures in the Yeavering, but they can keep out enough to buy me time. I’m a human. I can’t do magic and until Gloriana comes back. I’m defenceless.
I hit the door with a bang and flick the lock. I have plenty of weapons (the whisk notwithstanding) which I can and will use if I need to.
Only it means leaving the door and right now I’m watching the latch slowly rise.
Someone is outside. Someone is trying the door. The way my heart bangs in my chest, I can’t imagine it’s a hopeful customer.
The latch lowers with equal slowness. I listen intently, hoping to hear footsteps moving away. But there’s nothing except silence.
Until something hits the solid wood door with incredible force, causing me to leap backwards in alarm and the area around the lock to splinter.
I swear as I hit a sideboard with my hip, hard enough I know it’ll cause a bruise.
The body, or whatever it is, slams into the door again and the wood splinters further. This time, I hear a snarl.
Is this really what’s been bothering me all day? That I’m being watched by a monster who has taken a dislike to my sticky buns? And who is willing to batter down a door to get to me?
I choke out a laugh at the absurdity of it all and also expecting whatever it is outside to burst through any second.
But this time, rather than a bang, there is a whimper. The sound of something wet and then…nothing.
I wait what seems like hours but is probably only a minute before reaching for the latch and undoing the lock. The door swings inwards towards me, unhappy with the damage caused to its hinges.
Outside there is, predictably, nothing. No indication there was ever anything out there at all, save for the damage.
“Kaitlyn?” Gloriana weaves towards me.
It would appear her supplier did keep a good cellar. Her basket clinks with bottles and her nose is rather red.
“Oh, er, hi?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. One minute someone was knocking, the next this happened.”
Yes, it’s not the entire truth, but what else can I say? I think the unknown thing which has been watching me decided to get in then changed its mind?
“Ugh!” She drops her head back. “Probably a Caedmon. They can get a bit overexcited before a full moon.”
“A what?” I query as she walks past me into the bakery and I have a quick check out into the back lane which is decidedly empty.
“A Caedmon. Shadow spirits. They’re harmless, mostly.” She sits herself down next to the range and pulls a bottle, along with two glasses, out of her basket. “Can get a bit frisky around the full moon. They’re mostly looking for warmth which is why it might have been trying to get in here.”
While she has tamped down the bread ovens, we tend to keep them going all the time, meaning the bakery always has a certain heat level. I stare at the ovens through the doorway into the prep area.
“I suppose.”
Gloriana flaps a slightly inebriated hand at me. “Don’t worry yourself. There’s plenty you’ve yet to encounter in the Yeavering, and most of it is benign. Come have a drink.”
I close the door into the lane and turn the lock. It’s all working, albeit a little stiffly. I have significant doubts it was a benign spirit attempting to find somewhere comfortable to spend the night. But Gloriana is the witch, and she knows everything.
I join her at the hearth and accept a glass of ruby red wine.
“I’m guessing your not-date went well?” I query.
“Let’s just say, we’ll not be going short on our sugar supplies again.” Gloriana gives me the biggest, filthiest wink I think I’ve ever seen. “He’s had enough of Gloriana to ensure we always get the best.”
“That’s good to know,” I say, still unable to shake the feeling from earlier.
Whatever it was outside, it wanted something other than warmth. It was determined, and if it’s related to my feeling of being watched, I can’t imagine anything good is going to come of it.
LINTON
The Redcap gurgles his last at my feet.
They’re nasty creatures, wizened to the point they appear to be made of twisted rope and hate. Their caps, as always, sheen with the fresh red blood of their last victim. This one is not the first I’ve killed, nor will it be the last.
Because killing is what I’m good at. And it has become everything I am.
His blood forms a pool. I gaze at it, held by the sight of the liquid. I already know what I’m going to do, even if I disgust even myself. Swiping a finger through it, I run my tongue over my digit.
It is as foul as the creature itself. I spit wildly, attempting to get rid of the taste. I haven’t fed in a long time, but what I crave is not going to come from a Redcap.
I roll the body through a cellar window, pleased to be rid of the thing. No one likes what I am, a Bluecap assassin, and it certainly isn’t going to make my current job any easier if I’m found with a dead Redcap. Even if no one likes them.
Because death is death in the Yeavering, and no one likes that much either. Except me.
Having dealt with my rival, I take a stroll down the darkened streets of Moranick, rather pleased with my evening’s work. The lamps are yet to be lit, which is how I prefer it. I give my wings a good shake and dispose of a day’s worth of scales I haven’t been able to shed.
Because I’ve been watching her.
My next mark.
The little human female who moves like she’s dancing and sounds like water tumbling through a brook. I’ve never really considered what females are, but given I’m waiting for my orders, and I can’t let her out of my sight, I’ve been learning a lot.
Admittedly, I don’t understand much of it. Like when she and her witch spend time yowling together with a certain harmony. It’s not even the full moon. Or when they change their outer garments instead of shedding scales.
I’ve considered watching from inside the little female’s room, but I haven’t been able to gain entry to the upper parts of the witch’s dwelling due to the spells she has placed there.
