Mathilda, SuperWitch

  The men were left as they were, battered and unconscious.

  As we all stumbled out (well, it was only me stumbling, everyone else was walking with both Aidan and Ash helping me), the local woman stood with Rory at the front door to the Centre. She was smoking a fag and looking like nothing surprised her.

  Rory ran and threw himself at me. I winced and whimpered and put my arms around my boy as I caught the woman’s eye.

  “Al’right?” she asked.

  I answered the only way I knew how.

  “All right.”

  Then I passed out.

  * * * * *

  Drained, messy with snot, tears and slobber, mortified (not only at the ass-kicking I was given but at the snot, tears and slobber that both Ash and Aidan were seeing), magicked out through body conjuring rather than using my wand and burned to shit by lightning (actual blistered, ugly burns and bruises), I was out like a light.

  And you know the rest. I woke up in Ash’s arms.

  So, like I said.

  It has begun.

  20 April

  Middle of the night, my eyes opened.

  I felt them coming before I could see them.

  Oh well.

  Here we go.

  I rolled out of bed, thought “black dragon” and grabbed my wand.

  I looked at the clock: two a.m.

  Couldn’t they come at a decent hour, for goddess’s sake?

  * * * * *

  My chest was better. Not great: blisters going away, bruising turning that ugly green with hints of yellow. I won’t be wearing cleavage anytime soon, but not so painful as before.

  Anyhoo.

  * * * * *

  I looked out the window and there they were, silhouetted against the almost-full moon – three of them, pointy hats, ragged skirts, broomsticks and all.

  The Witches Council: the hag, the lady and the maiden.

  I tucked my wand in the back waistband of my new pajama bottoms (post-duel-with-baddie-get-well-soon gift from Mom with pink and chocolate paisley swirls – lush).

  I started down the back stairway only to hear someone coming up. I saw the glint of a flashlight but couldn’t see who held it.

  I was nowhere near recovered – magic-wise. The last time I checked, I’d drained the source dry during the duel (yesterday, I was trying to conjure a hot fudge sundae once I’d gotten out all the ingredients and was too tired to finish the job manually but I just managed to explode the cocoa box and get chocolate dust everywhere).

  Nevertheless, I shot a warning pulse of shell pink and silver pixie dust (don’t know when my magic became all vivid but I dig it).

  It illuminated Ash.

  “Don’t waste it,” he ordered.

  He’s so damn bossy.

  Aside: not feeling the Ash Love right now – in any way – which could be why I’m not feeling the Ash Love.

  I came abreast of him and he shone his flashlight on my bare feet.

  “Where are your slippers?” he asked.

  “Er,” I answered

  The flashlight travelled up my paisley pajamas and pink camisole. “And your dressing gown?”

  “Um.”

  “Wait here.”

  And he was off.

  And, of course, I waited.

  * * * * *

  By the way, I think you get that the Big O has not been repeated. Ash has been persona-non-seena for two days, doing his Mysterious Ash Activities and leaving me wondering how we’ll manage to someday get married and have children (unless done in some other dimension where we actually spend time together, go on date, hold hands, talk about politics, argue about who’s going to take out the trash and have real, full-blown sex).

  * * * * *

  He came back with my slippers and robe. I should have felt thankful at his gallantry but instead I felt pouty and who wouldn’t? No girl should experience a close encounter of the future-husband kind and then be left to heal from lightning bolt wounds alone.

  Once I was properly attired, he held out his hand.

  “Give me your wand.”

  Excuse me? I thought.

  “Uh… what?” I asked.

  “Your wand,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked (kinda loud).

  No way. I thought.

  Mavis and Gran had told me the Witches Council would be investigating. Malevolent witch-on-witch magic was frowned upon. Word got out (Darling’s people, no doubt). We were informed that an investigation had been opened and we were to expect a visit.

  Of course, I had nothing to worry about. I mean, Darling was clearly a psycho – cavorting with bad guys, kidnapping eight year olds and striking people with bolts of lightning.

  “You don’t know what you’re going to meet down there. They could confiscate your wand,” Ash told me.

  Was he crazy?

  “No way!” I snapped. “She kidnapped Rory!”

  He sighed, patient as ever (yeah, right). “Mathilda, Prunella Craddock and Endora Eccles are down there – the Crone and the Lady.”

  This was supposed to explain things?

  “Yeah? So?”

  “If what you say is true and Agatha Darling has put herself up as the protector of tradition –”

  “She kidnapped Rory! He’s my Spellbound. I’ve vowed to keep him safe! Surely they can’t –”

  Ash stepped close and tipped his chin to look at me. “They’ve lived their entire lives behind the veil of secrecy. You represent significant change to the Wiccan world, to the way witches practice their Craft, which is to say, the way they live their lives. You can’t assume they’re going to be on your side.”

  Oh.

  Well, then.

  Fuck.

  I had to admit that Ash had a point.

  I gave him my wand.

  * * * * *

  They were all assembled in the front parlor (the one I called the Plush Parlor because everything was covered in velvet, even the wallpaper was flocked).

  Mavis and Gran were already there.

  The hag, lady and maiden were wearing the Council uniform which, to be frank, needs updating – black crepe silk, ragged hem, lace-up cleavage (under which, thankfully, the crone had added a camisole), pointy hat, chunky shoes and red and white striped stockings.

  Jeez.

  The crone looked to be about eight hundred years old. The lady was Mavis’s age (give or take a hundred years). It was the maiden who surprised me, she was my age.

  “I’m Myra Dingle and I’m a proxy,” she said, reading my thoughts. “My daughter, the Maiden, is Seraphina and she has school tomorrow. I don’t want her up too late.”

  Well, that explains that.

  * * * * *

  Must say, I was expecting a friendlier interrogation scene. A bunch of kindly witches sitting around commiserating about the state of the witch world today – perhaps while eating steamed syrup sponge with custard and hot cocoa.

  Instead, the crone looked cranky, the lady looked bored and the maiden-proxy looked like she’d like to be anywhere but there.

  And then Dr. Bennett cleared his throat.

  Uh… pardonnez moi, but what was the fuck was Dr. Bennett doing there?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Okay, so that wasn’t exactly polite but it was two in the morning, Ash was a jerk, my chest hurt (maybe I was milking that a bit), I didn’t have my wand on me and things didn’t look like they were going to go to well with the Council.

  And there he was, standing by the fireplace, the Head Dude of Psychical Research, standing in, of all places, the Plush Parlor of The Gables.

  Dead people somewhere were spinning in their graves, no doubt.

  “Dr. Seymour is indisposed,” Ambrose Bennett answered. “And, quite unusually, he was a firsthand witness to reciprocal malignant Wicca. He’s asked me to come in his stead and present evidence on your behalf.”

  Oh Aidan.

  He’s so sweet.

  “We,” the Crone said, sounding e
ven crankier than she looked, “had a member of Le Société de Mathilde at the scene. We hardly need your watcher’s evidence.”

  Mm, seems the Crone is in Ash’s camp about the Royal Institute.

  Dr. Bennett teetered a bit away from the fireplace.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t testimony Dr. Seymour was intending to share, rather, physical evidence.”

  And then he whipped out a wand.

  I was the only one in the room who gasped. But then, I’d been the only one in the room to feel what Agatha Darling’s wand could do.

  “That’s Darling’s wand,” I said.

  “That it is,” Dr. Bennett replied.

  The Lady took a step forward. “A watcher in possession of a witch’s wand?” She sounded horrified and offended. “How…?”

  “If you would allow me,” Dr. Bennett interrupted her, turned, went to the wall, bent creakily to the floor, fiddled with something and then whipped around with surprising agility.

  A bolt of lightning went up and over everyone’s head, harmlessly crackling away for a brief moment and then dying.

  Five wands were pulled out immediately (not mine, obviously, damn it all).

  In the midst of that, Ash strolled casually forward and yanked the wand from Dr. Bennett’s unresisting grip.

  Then everyone else in the room but me (and Ash) gasped.

  With the wand, came a cord – a long, electrical cord.

  “One more moment of your time,” Dr. Bennett said and then bent again, rose with some difficulty and then threaded a long cord through the arm of his coat. It ended in a plug.

  All of this, he handed to Ash.

  “In her tête-à-tête with Miss Honeycutt, Mrs. Darling had a little manmade magical assistance,” Dr. Bennett declared.

  Everyone was stunned speechless, except Ash.

  “How did Seymour get this wand?”

  “We are trained watchers, Mr. Wilding. There isn’t much we don’t see. Even, perhaps especially, what we aren’t supposed to see. Dr. Seymour noticed that she hid it before disappearing. No doubt she didn’t want to be seen unplugging it or the like. Dr. Seymour went back to get it before she could return to do so.”

  “Agatha Darling harnessed electricity in that… thing… and used it on another witch?” Myra asked in a hushed and disgusted tone.

  “Yes,” Ash answered.

  “Damn tootin’,” I muttered.

  Now everyone in the room looked horrified and offended.

  Except me, I was thrilled Darling didn’t have the power to strike me with lightning.

  The bitch cheated.

  I hadn’t.

  Woo hoo!

  That means I kicked magical ass!

  “Well, my work here is done,” Dr. Bennett declared and started to the door.

  I decided to walk him out, it was the least I could do after my rude greeting. I mean, he did come all the way out here in the middle of the night to present evidence on my behalf, evidence that showed I kicked magical ass!

  And, (bonus) I could find out how Aidan was doing.

  “Sorry to be… well, I wasn’t expecting to see you,” I told him as we made our way to the front door.

  “Please, don’t worry, Miss Honeycutt. Your attitude is not a surprise. You’re in quite a predicament.”

  Mm.

  He could say that again.

  “How’s Aidan?” I asked.

  “He’s well.”

  “Where is Aidan?”

  “Family commitments he couldn’t avoid.” Dr. Bennett stopped, paused, sighed and looked at me (this all took a lot of time). Then he said, “Although, you must know, he very much wished to be here.”

  Oh Aidan.

  What on earth was I going to do about him?

  He kept looking at me for awhile – always spooky watching, these watchers. Then he shook his head and started on his slow path to the front door.

  Outside was a Rolls Royce with a man standing beside it staring up at The Gables wearing night vision goggles.

  What the hell?

  These guys were freaks.

  “What’s he doing?”

  Dr. Bennett stopped and looked this way then that.

  “Always strange goings-on at The Honeycutt Gables,” he paused, “always.”

  Er, what? Strange goings-on? Baking cookies? Eating Indian takeaway while watching a Coen Brothers marathon? Those weren’t strange (to me, of course, they could be strange to an old dude, I was thinking the Coen Brothers were probably not big with old dudes).

  Still, minus the serious magical force (natural anyway), it was (relatively) wholesome (not counting Su’s criminal tendencies and my lusting after every gorgeous male in the South West (and, er, the South East) and Gran’s possible political extremism.

  Okay, so not wholesome but still, not strange either.

  There was no way around it; Dr. Bennett was the King Freak. How Aidan got caught up with these guys, I would never know.

  The other dude opened the backdoor of the Rolls.

  “Wait.” I put my hand on the doctor’s arm. “What’s going to happen to Aidan?”

  Again, Dr. Bennett looked at me for awhile before he spoke.

  “Miss Honeycutt, we are not unaware of what The Prophesies say about you and Dr. Seymour. It isn’t as if we didn’t have several centuries of forewarning that a member of The Institute would become, let’s say, involved with a witch.”

  “What does that mean, ‘involved’?”

  Dr. Bennett shook his head again then patted my arm, not unkindly.

  “No, no, my dear. Let’s just see how it all turns out, shall we?”

  Fuck!

  He kept speaking. “Needless to say, we can’t punish Dr. Seymour for doing what he’s destined to do. I, er… that is, we, the Directors, need to minimize the tumult it will cause. Now,” he said when I started to say something else, “you take care, Miss Honeycutt. Keep sharp. Study. Read. I daresay we at The Institute would like to see many Valentine’s Day tins of cookies coming our way.”

  Wow.

  That was a nice thing to say.

  He may be strange but maybe he was a cool strange.

  And then he was off.

  And I was left wondering – again. Wonder, wonder, wonder.

  Must say, I’m beginning to get sick of wondering. In fact, I wonder if I should bother wondering anymore and just let it all happen. Since it is all gonna happen anyway – why not stop wondering and just…

  I stopped wondering about stopping wondering when:

  A bat.

  A big, huge, shiny, scary bat flew through the clearing, following the Rolls down the driveway.

  How is that for weird?

  And then Mom came out of the bushes, adjusting her clothing.

  “What are you doing out here at two a.m.?” I asked, staring at her, I was sure with eyes wide.

  “Never you mind, nosey pants. Isn’t the Council in there?’

  What the heck was going on?

  I looked after the Rolls – the bat was nowhere in sight.

  Then I looked at Mom.

  Then I answered, “Yes.”

  “We best get you back in then.”

  All I can say is, I know my Mom’s tone and that was that – bat or no bat.

  * * * * *

  Summing Up:

  The Witches Council (with the unfortunate acronym of the W.C.) left not long after Mom and I went back inside.

  They took Agatha Darling’s wand with them.

  They talked about taking mine (apparently, a wand can contain the essence of the magic you perform. Given a certain amount of time, you can trace it. If you catch it in, say, a week or so, and the witch doesn’t use it too often to override the old magic, you can find out what spells were cast, yadda, yadda, yadda. But since I didn’t use my wand, they didn’t need to take it).

  They expressed some disbelief about my ability (without my wand and as a novice – novice? ha!) to fight off Darling with her wands, both Wiccan and
manmade, and all of her thugs.

  Instead of waking Rory (who also had school tomorrow and who I didn’t want to be freaked out any more than he already was) I was forced to demonstrate by using the miniscule amount of magic I had stored. I threw a glimmery pink and silver baseball-sized sphere that exploded in silver sparks in the fireplace.

  (Must say, pretty pleased with that performance, considering.)

  “And that’s with only a few days recuperation,” Gran declared proudly.

  The Council all stared in the fireplace then looked at me.

  “We’ll be investigating further,” the Crone announced, sounding resigned and moving toward her broomstick.

  “We’ll also need to discuss The Witches Dozen,” the Lady stated.

  “Why?” Mavis asked, somewhat belligerently.

  “We’ve had complaints. Formal complaints,” the Lady told her.

  “Why?” Mavis asked, again belligerently.

  (Was it me or did it seem the Lady and Mavis didn’t get on?)

  “You know why, Mavis. You also know why we need to inquire about them,” the Crone answered.

  “Prunella –” Mavis started.

  The Crone waved her words away, sighing. “I’m too old for this malarkey.”

  She grabbed her broomstick. “Endora, Myra… let’s go. By the time we get back, Seraphina will be awake and we can fill her in before she goes to school and then I can finally get to my bed.”

  We stood outside, all of us, waiting for them to go (must say, at this point, it was good to have slippers and a robe – damn Ash for always being right).

  The W.C. were ready, even had the broomsticks between their legs, when Prunella Craddock, the big cheese Council Witch, the Hag, turned to me and said, “One more thing, Mathilda Honeycutt, you’re suspended from doing magic until –”

  Ack!

  Suspended from doing magic?!

  “You can’t!” That was Mavis.

  “You must be joking!” That was Gran.

  “I don’t believe it!” That was Mom.

  “Hear me out!” the Crone snapped. “Until we come back.”

  “When’s that going to be?” I asked (okay, maybe I whined, but what the fuck?)

  “Soon. But, if you conjured that,” she pointed to the house, “with your magic dwindled then you’re far too powerful to be let alone until we assess and report on the extremes of your gift –”

  “Bureaucracy,” Gran muttered.