Mathilda, SuperWitch

  “Matty.” (Ash)

  Wait!

  Ash never called me Matty.

  By the way, a couple of Ash’s fingers had gone renegade from this rather important conversation we were semi-having. And his fingers’ antics were causing me to lose track of the conversation.

  In fact, losing track was not the way to put it.

  We ended up standing there, one of my legs curled around Ash’s hip, my hands in his hair and his fingers doing the talking.

  It was his turn to avoid my lips but he was just being perverse.

  “I wanted to say…” Ash, voice slightly husky, “You were impressive yesterday.”

  A compliment on my Craft?

  From Ash?

  I opened my eyes to look at him and he was looking at me in that clotted cream way again and I have to admit, I lost it.

  As in, really lost it.

  In a very, very nice way.

  In other words, an orgasmic nice way (literally).

  (I lost it so much, I think I might have even bit him, just a little bit, on the shoulder.)

  When I’d pulled it together, still holding onto him, he said, again in that husky voice, “And impressive just now.”

  Eek!

  Of course, he walked out after that.

  He didn’t leave me standing there but kissed my fucking nose and sat me on the edge of the bed, leaned in close then whispered, “You owe me one.”

  Then he took off, only wearing the jeans he obviously slept in.

  Leaving me in his t-shirt.

  Leaving me with the smell of him in his t-shirt.

  And the feel of his fingers.

  Yowza.

  It would seem I owe him at least three.

  * * * * *

  I remember watching Dynasty and thinking Joan Collins was the shit with all the drama and lacy peignoir sets and Blake and Dex and everyone coming out with those sexy one-liners and exiting a room.

  Oh, my heart.

  I ate it up.

  But, no one lives like that.

  No one.

  But me.

  (Without the lacy peignoir sets.)

  * * * * *

  By the way: Ash + Six Pack = Yes.

  * * * * *

  Later:

  Okay – backtracking – away from Still Unbelievable Orgasmic Ash Encounter to what happened before – yesterday, which might be slightly more important than Ash-induced orgasm to the history of the world (or, at the very least, to my entry in the History of Great Wytch Families).

  * * * * *

  Here we go:

  It has begun.

  I don’t mean to be so dramatic. That sounds like the beginning of an apocalypse movie.

  (Booming voice)

  IT… HAS… BEGUN!

  But, what can I say?

  It has.

  * * * * *

  It was one of those spring days when it was warm enough that you could open the windows.

  I loved the first day of the year where you could open the windows and let the stale, old dusty air out and let in the crisp spring breeze which made everything feel fresh.

  We had a new syrup in and thus snickerdoodle lattes were the special.

  We were playing the Scissor Sisters, loudly, and everyone was filthy and gorgeous.

  We were jigging from table to table.

  We were gliding from fridge to burping, hissing, Big Red – the espresso machine.

  Our hips swayed.

  Our lips hummed.

  Ash was in London – no word, no sign, no idea when he’d be back.

  His edict was still being enforced by the Triumvirate (as Su called Mavis, Gran and Mom) and I was allowed only at the house and the café and therefore, Josie and Rory were also limited to these places – though Rory was able to go to school (alas).

  Life was not happy at Camp Gables.

  But on a day like that day, when the sun was shining bright on the channel, the tulips were popping out everywhere and the breeze was easy – nothing mattered.

  We were busy at the café, foreshadowing, I hoped, for the season to come. I’d been around a bit of the summer last year and our sleepy little seafront had a goodly amount of foot traffic when the weather improved. With as many employees as we had, we needed the business.

  It was Lucy, Josie, Antonia and me and we were a good team. I loved to work with Lucy and Josie especially – the coven was great but Lucy and Josie were my age, my girls and we understood each other.

  I’d broken out the flip-flops. I loved the feel of them slap, slap, slapping against the soles of my feet.

  My toenails were varnished a pearly mint green.

  I had on a little gypsy girl gauzy top and Levi’s that I bought at a vintage clothing store that someone (bless their hearts) had worn in well and washed over and over again. They fit in all the good places and were tight in all the better places and, icing on the cake, had a ragged knee.

  Sunshine and summer weather meant a whole new wardrobe and the idea that my skin may, someday soon, lose its pasty winter-white pallor made me want to do cartwheels.

  * * * * *

  Then:

  Right down my spine the premonition tickled like a chill.

  I stopped to find it… let it in my head…

  When the phone rang.

  * * * * *

  Rory.

  * * * * *

  Josie answered the phone and I knew who was on the other end.

  Shit.

  Josie didn’t know but I did. One look at Antonia told me she did too.

  “It’s the school, they’ve… lost Rory,” Josie said, her voice shocked and panicked.

  “Let me call Mavis.” That was Antonia.

  “No time,” I said and there wasn’t and Antonia knew it.

  My wand was tucked at the small of my back in the waistband of my jeans. I knew this but I checked anyway to make sure it was there.

  “Take care of things,” I ordered Lucy and she nodded. “Come on.” I grabbed Josie and we headed out.

  I didn’t think, I just went.

  No time.

  And no Purple People Eater either.

  Shit.

  Josie started to blather. “How do you ‘lose’ a student? Dammit. We’ve got to go back to The Gables, see if he went home. Maybe he isn’t feeling well… maybe he got into another fight…”

  I wasn’t listening, I was focusing…

  On a metallic blue BMW Roadster parked by the seafront.

  Aidan was somewhere out there watching me.

  I ran toward the Roadster, pulling my wand out and muttering under my breath. The day before the Junior Poon Ruining Road Chase, Su had been experimenting with the Lush Jag and, one incarcerated evening when we were stuck at The Gables, she’d drunkenly explained the spell she’d perfected.

  Grand theft auto, witch-style:

  Steel, oil, gas, fumes – speed for power, speed to run,

  By the force of the moon, the heat of the sun,

  Grant me the use of this vehicle – my possession has begun.

  Let the power of this spell – in no way reverse,

  Or cast upon Josie or me, any curse.

  As always and ever, by the strength of my tree

  As I will, so mote it be

  The lights flashed on the Roadster and I knew we were in.

  Blessed be, that Su and her criminal mind.

  “Go around to the other side.” I motioned to Josie as I headed to the driver’s side.

  “Whose car is this?” she asked.

  “Just get in,” I murmured.

  More muttering and wand action… I was concentrating.

  I didn’t look up, didn’t want to see Aidan racing toward us to stop me from stealing his car, didn’t want to lose track of what I was doing.

  “Matty.” Josie sounded scared.

  I stopped and looked at her.

  “It’s okay, it’s Aidan’s car, he’ll understand.” I hoped. “We’re going to search The Gables fi
rst, see if someone’s there to help us. Don’t worry, Josie, I promise, we’ll find Rory.”

  I was talking smack but she didn’t know that.

  I had to make up a plan and I needed to get her to The Gables.

  After a couple of mistaken incantations and missed bits of the spell (I forgot to rub the “belly of the beast” which meant patting the dashboard) the car roared to life and jumped the curb.

  “Whoa, Nelly,” I said to the car, jammed her into reverse and rocketed to The Gables.

  The car drove like a dream, it made Ole Purple seem like a go-cart.

  We skidded to a halt on the gravel outside The Gables and Josie was out the door before I fully stopped.

  She ran in shouting Rory’s name.

  I ran in too, straight to my Tower Room.

  I’d been experimenting with some things and I hoped to the goddess that they worked.

  Fumbling through the bottles and vials, the mortars and pestles, cauldrons, candles and messes of incense I grabbed an amulet that was a vial filled with pulverized carnation and lilac petals, spiked shards of rosemary and a bit of the power of the Glamour Girl.

  Muttering to myself and calling to my tree, I ran out of my Tower Room and right into Josie.

  “He’s not here!” I could hear the panic in her voice.

  “I feel him here,” I lied as I slipped the vial around her neck. “Keep looking.”

  She didn’t even notice what I’d done, she simply raced away.

  I kept up my invocations and I thought it was working; the air was thick with magical energy. I could feel it pressing against my skin and down my throat as I breathed it in.

  I raced to the door and found Mom standing there, just outside.

  She had her eyes closed, her lips were moving, her arms were raised to the sky, her wand in her right hand, dust dripping from it.

  The breeze was blowing her dress and her hair.

  She looked scary.

  She looked powerful.

  She looked kick… fucking… ass.

  Two burning sage sticks were stuck in the candelabrum on either side of the door, smoking hugely. There was a line of lilac scattered across the doorframe.

  As I raced out the door, Mom’s eyes popped open and she stared at me. Her eyes were fevered and she was totally freaking me out (in a good way).

  “The backdoor –” I started.

  “Covered,” Mom said.

  “The garden door –”

  “Done,” Mom said.

  “The door to the cliff from The Dungeons?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Matty,” Mom said.

  She had it covered.

  She’d read my mind.

  (Moms are very cool sometimes.)

  She grabbed my hand, patted it, looked in my eyes and winked.

  We were still holding hands when Josie came tearing toward the front door.

  “Josie, don’t!” I shouted and Mom squeezed my hand as Josie rushed toward the door at full speed and slammed into the space in the frame like there was a sheet of clear super-powered glass there.

  Butter yellow and gold sparks exploded out from where she hit and more sparks and pixie dust blasted her back several feet where Josie fell on her ass.

  Holy Mom Power, Batman!

  “Oops,” Mom muttered, “maybe a little OTT on that.”

  “Ya think?” I asked.

  The look on Josie’s face, oh goddess, it made me want to cry.

  Instead, I walked into the entryway and looked down at her, trying to stay cool.

  “Sorry, Jo Girl, it’s for your own good. I need to keep you safe.”

  She was still on the floor, shaking her head, not understanding that the spell was on the door to keep her in and safe.

  “I promise I’ll bring Rory back.”

  Big words.

  Man, I hoped I could deliver.

  Then I walked quickly out of the house, Josie followed and slammed into the invisible door again.

  She was shouting at me, the pain and betrayal in her voice were drifting out like angry, hissing snakes.

  I tried to ignore her (didn’t work).

  I walked to Mom and said, “I want Su and Viv with me… and Ash –”

  “Yes, I know. I’ll find them, go.” And she started toward the shouting Josie who was pounding at the invisible barrier, her face red, her eyes full of tears and yellow and gold sparks flying everywhere.

  I started toward the car and saw Aidan leaning against it.

  Crap!

  “You know, all you had to do was ask,” he said.

  I pulled out my wand.

  I didn’t have time for banter. “Get out of the way, Aidan.”

  He shook his head.

  “Out of my way!” I shouted.

  “First, I know where Rory is and second, I’m driving.”

  “Don’t play with me, Aidan, Agatha Darling has Rory somewhere –”

  The premonition was clear and not very attractive and it was all I could think about.

  Aidan is cute and all (and a doctor) but Rory was out there with Darling, an unknown entity, and I had to get him back.

  Now (I was going to say it) was no time for flirting.

  Aidan didn’t let me finish. “Yes, she does have him, she’s also being watched and I’ve been watching her watcher. So get in the car Matty.”

  Yay!

  I wanted to kiss him but instead I got in the car.

  “What will Dr. Bennett think of this?” I asked, trying to sound casual but instead sounding terrified.

  “I’ll worry about that later,” Aidan replied, sounding damnably cool and collected.

  I needed to be cool and collected.

  I needed to get my shit together.

  I didn’t pay attention to where we were going. I was opening up the channels of my mind, reaching out to my sisters, calling out to the black dragon at the same time I was gathering my power, every bit of it that I could muster.

  In other words, I was breathing deeply and trying to stay calm.

  He took me somewhere in the town next over, a once-wealthy seaside resort that had fallen on hard times now that it was cheaper for English folk to find other, warmer beaches on the Continent (where they could bake themselves into unholy, wrinkled messes). Now, for some reason, the town was full of drug rehabilitation centers which meant it was also full of the drug users who’d dropped out of them and the not-so-lawful flotsam and jetsam that came naturally after that.

  I was chanting and rhyming when Aidan pulled up to a hump-topped, dilapidated building with a peeling sign that said, ‘Community Centre’.

  I looked at Aidan to ask where the fuck we were but he put a finger up and then pointed to something outside the car.

  Across a desolate, muddy field that perhaps was supposed to be a place where kids played but looked like something from a documentary movie about Sarajevo one day post siege, there was a Volvo. Aidan handed me a nifty pair of binoculars which I put to my eyes and trained on the car.

  In the car was Ichabod, better known as Jeremy.

  Agatha Darling’s Watcher.

  Of course.

  Shit.

  “We’re on the roughest council estate in the region,” Aidan informed me.

  “Is Darling here?” I asked.

  “I’m guessing there.” He pointed at the Community Centre.

  “Why here?” I asked, staring at the building and then looking around.

  There were shops across from the Volvo. Not someplace you’d hang out for a latte but somewhere you could buy some fish and chips, place a bet, get a stamp or buy a bottle of booze.

  There were houses and blocks of flats also surrounding the field, most of which had debris of some sort resting around it, from old bicycles and dirty mattresses to enormous amounts of cigarette ends and flapping, discarded grocery bags.

  Kids were loitering outside the shops, old folks and incredibly young mothers with strollers were hanging at the bus stop.

&n
bsp; There were people everywhere.

  This wasn’t a place to take a kidnapped child.

  “On this estate, you don’t ask questions and you don’t answer them. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” Aidan asked.

  I just stared at him.

  “No one sees anything here. They don’t hear anything… are you understanding me, Matty?”

  Shit.

  “I’m going in,” I announced.

  “Alone? No you’re not.”

  I pulled my Glamour Girl pink mobile out of my back pocket and tossed it in his lap. “Call my sisters and get their asses here.” Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier? “If she’s got Rory in there, I’m going in. Now.”

  I think he said my name but I didn’t pay attention.

  I heard him get out of the car and slam the other door, exposing himself to Jeremy.

  I couldn’t worry about Aidan; I just walked to the front doors of the Centre and went in.

  The whole time I was walking, I told myself, “I am Glamour Girl. I have mint green toenails and no one will fuck with a woman with mint green toenails. Especially when she’s The Chosen One. And if they try, I’ll kick their ass.”

  At least it sounded good in my head.

  The inside of the place couldn’t have been more different from the outside. A small entry opened to a huge room that had a stage at the far end and a kitchenette to the side. There was local art on the walls, posters promoting events and classes, kids drawings from a competition, photos of the queen and her court from a fair.

  There was some kind of club going on, kids dancing in rows to KC and the Sunshine Band while a gravel-voiced, punk-haired woman shouted encouragement to them.

  No Rory.

  A soft-spoken woman came up to me just as Aidan caught up with me.

  “Al’right?” she asked.

  This is what people say in England. “Al’right?” means anything from, “Hi, how’s it going?” to “Can I help you?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, still scanning for Rory. “I think I’ve got the wrong place. I’m looking for a woman with –”

  “Some men and a boy?” she asked, her eyes flicking from me to Aidan to the kids in the hall.

  Ask no questions, get no lies, my foot.

  The woman was petite and pretty. She had great style (fab boots) but you could tell that even though she didn’t (couldn’t) spend a fortune on her clothes, she was damn well going to make the effort anyway.

  I could appreciate that.

  She also looked like nothing got by her and if it tried, she’d wrestle it to the fucking ground and then, if she cared enough, she’d spit on it.