Mathilda, SuperWitch

  “And the witches?” I asked.

  Endora was there to cast the witches’ vote so I pretty much knew the answer.

  “Endora cast nay,” Mavis said.

  “So we’re on our own,” I muttered, dejected.

  I wanted to cry but I’d recently sworn off crying, at least until I was in my bed, in my princess fortress, on my own so no one could see me.

  “Well,” Mavis said, slowly, “Dr. Bennett explained that he and the Directors and Marcus and the rest of the Elders had formed an allegiance.”

  “Who’s Marcus?” I asked.

  “Marcus was the Elder in attendance. Marcus Wilding, Sebastian’s father.”

  Ack!

  “Ash’s father…” I gulped, “was there?”

  Oh goddess, no wonder that dude seemed so familiar.

  Ack!

  My possible father-in-law was there and there I was looking like a more stylish Elvira, Mistress of Darkness – double sided tape and all.

  Ack!

  Now, I really wanted to cry.

  “Yes, my dear, he was there and on our side. Both Le Société and The Institute are with us, my dear. His announcement made Prunella call a Council meeting. Highly unusual, Endora’s not pleased. Normally, the Hag will defer to the Lady at Gatherings. But overturning the Lady’s vote and demanding a meeting with the Maiden before casting the Council’s binding vote…”

  That pleased me no end.

  We had some diplomatic work do. Obviously, this was not going to be my project as I seemed pretty rubbish at diplomacy.

  Gran took the assignment to approach, and win over, the wizards and magi and Mavis the sorcerers and sorceresses. They were like my chief Wiccan Whips, if you will.

  Kinda cool.

  I’d worry about the rest of the supernatural population later.

  I called Aidan to let him know how it went but he already knew.

  I was pretty sure Ash already knew, considering his Dad was there.

  I thought about Marcus Wilding and wondered if Ash would look like him when he grew older.

  If he grew older.

  Ack.

  Then I went to bed and Daphne curled up in the crook of my knees and purred for a little bit before she fell asleep and, for the rest of the night, I tried to pretend I wasn’t scared shitless.

  7 August

  I figured I was okay; I’d faced down the folks at The Hobgoblin and an entire Gathering. The Witch World was abuzz with my massive show of cojones if the recent newsletter was anything to go by.

  So this should be a piece of cake.

  I mean, it was just The Dungeons.

  And it was Ash’s birthday.

  I made him a German Chocolate cake dripping with that yummy, golden icing.

  My plan was to carry it down to him, singing happy birthday.

  I was The Chosen One with kickass magic – the leader of a revolution, the Che Guevara of the Witch World.

  (I picked Che because he was handsome and charismatic and Fidel wasn’t, at least not the first, he was scary and eventually became a despot. Incidentally, I was also ignoring the fact that Che ended up gunned down in a hut in Bolivia.)

  (Would there one day be t-shirts and coffee mugs with my face on them?)

  (Yikes!)

  I stood at the door to The Dungeon, luscious cake balanced on one palm, my present tucked under my arm and my other hand ready to open the door.

  Which I did.

  Then I braced myself.

  Nothing.

  Whew!

  Step one, done.

  I stood, staring down the stone steps that led into darkness.

  I felt a breeze float up.

  It wasn’t a pleasant breeze.

  It was a malevolent breeze.

  A breeze that wanted to hurt me.

  Yikes.

  I took a deep breath.

  It’s his birthday surprise, I can do this, I can do this, I told myself.

  Nope.

  I couldn’t do this.

  “Mathilda?”

  I jumped, nearly dropping the cake.

  Ash was walking up behind me.

  He wasn’t even in The Dungeons.

  I’m such a dork.

  “Happy birthday!” I cried.

  He looked at me, the present, the cake, the open door and then back at me.

  “I figured you wouldn’t want a big thing made of it so I thought I’d bring you a cake,” I told him. “I was just about to go down…”

  That’s when the eyebrow went up and the arms crossed the chest, not saying it out loud but his body language screaming, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  “Okay then,” I gave in, exasperated. “I was just psyching myself up to go down but couldn’t do it. There! I admit it!”

  “May I?” He didn’t wait for me to say he could, he took the cake and set it on a small side table. “And?” He took the present and without further ado, ripped off the paper.

  I had bought him a fabulous Alexander McQueen shirt. It cost a fortune but I’d never had a man with that kind of body to dress so I figured I’d go for it. I knew, once he had it on, it would be worth every donut I’d had to stuff with frosting and every cappuccino I’d had to cover with foam in order to afford it.

  “It’s Alexander McQueen,” I said when the thick tissue paper and shiny box fell away and he’d shaken out the shirt and just stared at it. “He’s a very famous designer or he was, though he still is. It’s just that he’s dead now. Tragic. He was an artist. A visionary. Anyway, he makes really nice, quality clothes…” I trailed off after realizing I was babbling.

  Ash held the shirt out in front of him and then looked around it to me.

  I’m so lame.

  I bought an Alexander McQueen dress shirt for Sebastian Wilding – man of mystery.

  A man who does t’ai chi in the garden with utter concentration even when Mom is singing Janis Joplin at the top of her lungs while digging in the tulips.

  A man who breaks down doors and grabs guns out of shaking criminal hands without blinking an eye.

  A man who trades a Jag XJS for an Audi TT coupe without any apparent financial heart attacks.

  He probably had a dozen Alexander McQueen shirts and Armani and Hugo Boss…

  “I didn’t know what to get you. Maybe I should have got you that Burberry umbrella,” I muttered, staring at my toes (painted hot, hot, hot pink).

  Since I was staring at my toes, I didn’t notice the hand whipping out until it had a hold of the front of my t-shirt.

  One tug and I fell forward, not too far because I collided with the hard wall of Ash’s chest and he crushed me in his arms, kissing me.

  Deep.

  Hot.

  Wet.

  And long.

  “I love it,” he murmured when he let me go. Then he picked up his cake and walked down the steps to The Dungeon.

  Welp, guess that meant he wasn’t sharing his cake.

  I stared until the darkness swallowed him and then I shut the door.

  And I leaned my forehead against it.

  And let me tell you, it was right then that I realized I was really, really in trouble.

  Really.

  Because, I was in love with Sebastian Wilding.

  Ack.

  And I was pretty certain he liked me too.

  A lot.

  Worse still, I was in love with Aidan Seymour.

  Ack.

  I knew it the minute Aidan had grabbed my neck and kissed me on the nose, about to search for another room to sleep in even when he was “shattered.”

  And he liked me too.

  A lot.

  The question was… why?

  Why did these two fabulous men like me?

  Destiny?

  Was it as simple as that?

  I think not.

  I opened the door again and before I could stop myself, I ran down the steps.

  Well, not all of the steps, about half a dozen of them before I had to st
op.

  “Ash!” I shouted.

  Before I could lose (more) of my courage, I went down two more steps then felt something whipping against my ankles.

  It felt like a rat’s tail.

  (Although I’ve never felt a rat’s tail whip against my ankle, I figured that’s what it would feel like.)

  I whimpered.

  “I hate The Dungeon,” I whispered to myself. “Hate it, hate it, hate it.”

  (Pause.)

  “Ash!” I shouted.

  I stood there then turned back to the door and the precious light of safety and freedom coming from the main house then I turned to look back down to the dark stairs.

  What was I doing? Why was I down there?

  I knew why… I had to ask… I had to know.

  “Ash!”

  There was an ominous creak.

  And then, I kid you not, the door slammed behind me.

  Ack!

  Total darkness and I was (kind of) in The Dungeons.

  “Holy fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I ran back up the stairs while screeching, “Ash!”

  I ran smack into the door, tried the knob, it wouldn’t open.

  I tried it again.

  It still wouldn’t open.

  Holy fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck!

  I started banging on the door with my fists.

  “Ash!”

  Something settled on my shoulder and I screamed at the top of my lungs like someone straight out of a horror movie.

  “Mathilda.” Ash turned me, grabbed both arms and shook me gently. “Calm down.”

  Then he reached across me and opened the door.

  What?

  I stared at the door.

  Oh well, who cared, whatever, the door was open.

  Happy light flooded in and I sighed with relief.

  I was too relieved to be embarrassed about my scaredy-cat display.

  “I hate The Dungeons,” I told him.

  “You don’t say.”

  I took a good look at him.

  Ohmygoddess.

  He was wearing the shirt.

  He’d changed into the shirt.

  And it looked good.

  Really good.

  “It fits!” I cried.

  Ash didn’t say anything for a second.

  Then he asked, “You tried to go down, didn’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “I think I got down more than five steps,” I stated proudly.

  “Excellent progress.” He grinned. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why’d you try to go down?”

  Mm.

  Well.

  After the trauma I’d just endured, I’d lost my nerve.

  “Mathilda?” he prompted.

  Okay, well, why the hell not?

  “Why do you like me?” I asked him.

  “What?”

  “Why do you like me?”

  “Like you?”

  “Yeah, like me? Kiss me, touch me, protect me, wanna marry me, give me the big O – you know, like me?”

  Ash stared at me. What he didn’t do was speak.

  So I went on. “I’m nuts. I’m kookier than kooky. I’m materialistic. I’m a klutz. I make stupid decisions. I have a big ass. I’m a designer-label whore.” I paused. “By the way, that shirt looks good on you.”

  He kept staring at me.

  I carried on. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing half the time. I know that high heels are going to ruin my back and my knees one day but I keep wearing them. I don’t limit my carbs. I don’t count calories. I don’t go past six weeks before getting my hair retouched. Ever. Some people take vows of chastity or poverty, I take vows of highlights. I once sold my plasma so I could afford to highlight my hair.”

  Perhaps I was going too far with these revelations?

  He leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms on his chest.

  Stupidly, I kept speaking. “I never leave the house without at least lip gloss. I think Madonna is a genius. I’d rather study a face painted by Kevyn Aucoin than stare at the Mona Lisa. Why? Why on earth do you like me? It doesn’t fit.”

  If he gave me The Chosen One crap or something like, “you make me laugh” I was going to pack it all in and move back to America, I swore to the goddess.

  But he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything.

  “Ash, I really need to know.”

  And to my surprise, he answered.

  “Because your hair is soft and you smell like oranges and jasmine.”

  Er… what?

  “Oranges?” I asked.

  “Yes, oranges. And because you’re always doing something, trying something or learning something. You never complain of being bored and are always using your mind and your body, even if the results aren’t exactly perfect.”

  That’s, um… nice.

  I think.

  He kept going. “And you have tremendous courage and such a strong personality and sense of compassion that people connect with you instantly.”

  Oh.

  Wow.

  He stepped toward me. “And you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen and I like that, even with everything going on, I see that smile often.”

  “Mathilda!”

  Oh shit!

  My mother was shouting at me from the somewhere close, too close.

  I can’t believe it.

  Why?

  Why did the gods conspire against me?

  “Ash… I can’t…”

  The fingers of one of his hands slid into my hair while his other hand grabbed my waist and gently brought me forward. “You’re extraordinary and I want to… ” And then his mouth came to my ear and finished saying what he wanted to do, exactly what he wanted to do and he went into some detail.

  My belly melted.

  “Now, that would be a nice birthday gift,” I breathed.

  “I’ll consider it for your next birthday,” he said.

  Oh my.

  “Mathilda!” Mom again.

  “So, you like the shirt?” I asked, my fingers toying with a button.

  He touched his lips to mine before he said, “No, Mathilda, I love the shirt.”

  I took in a breath.

  “I don’t want you to die for me,” I blurted.

  His thumb traced my ear.

  “I don’t intend to die for you.”

  I nodded. “Good.”

  Finally, we were on the same page!

  “But I will if I have to.”

  Ack!

  And he walked away, back down the steps.

  And I watched him.

  “Mathilda!” Mom screeched.

  “Coming!” I screeched back.

  Boy was I in trouble.

  16 August

  Fay was the one who brought me the information. Her faerie had heard it from a vampire who got it from a warlock. Not exactly primo info but we’d had nothing to go on for ages.

  Locked tight – the world of the paranormal. No one talking and everyone waiting for war to break out before they picked sides.

  (Still not heard from BecBec or why I couldn’t understand a word she said and everyone apparently talked loads to their faeries.)

  I didn’t know what to do with the info because I didn’t believe it.

  Not.

  One.

  Word.

  Fay didn’t want to tell me but she also didn’t want me not to know. But we all knew we had to follow every lead, no matter how crazy it sounded.

  And this one was Crazy with a capital “C”.

  Althea and I were coming back from our shifts at The Dozen when she helped me make up my mind that I should pursue it.

  (Just to prove it wrong.)

  Althea was pulling herself out of the Mini when she said, “Tonight’s the night, lass.”

  I was surprised.

  “Did Fay tell you?” I asked.

  “Nope, had a vision.”

  “I thought…”

&nb
sp; “No, no… years ago, before they took it away. I remember most of my visions and the dates. Yes, even as old as I am,” she said waving away the disbelieving look I gave her. “I saw you watching them, both of them… all of them.” She paused and looked at me. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I shook my head. “I never know what I’m doing.”

  We were making our slow way into The Gables. We’d decided to limit Althea’s shifts to two hours. She was drinking far less these days and had less of an attitude but she was still older than the hills and beginning to act it.

  “That’s what I like about you, girl, your honesty.”

  “I thought you didn’t like me.”

  “Let’s just say, you’re growing on me.”

  “And how’s that?”

  Her reply was so quiet, I barely heard her. “You’re trying to get my magic back, that’s how. I don’t have a lot of time left on this beautiful earth, girl. But I don’t want to die without my magic. They can have the sight, I never had much care for that, but I miss my power.”

  Well, there you go.

  * * * * *

  The sky was clear, the moon shone brightly and Su and Viv were waiting for me in the wood.

  “We’re coming,” Viv announced.

  “This is mine to do. I need you two safe in case something happens to me,” I informed her.

  The looks on their faces told me they were going to be stubborn.

  “Don’t make me do this the hard way,” I warned.

  “You watch too many movies,” Su said and while she was saying it, I whipped out my wand and zapped them.

  They both fell to the ground, asleep.

  Probably they didn’t see that coming.

  I looked at them, laying peacefully on the forest floor and I stumbled to my tree.

  “Take care of them,” I whispered to it, my hands and forehead pressed against the beloved bark.

  I felt an answering jolt of power, nodded, swallowed the tears I wanted to shed for zapping my two siblings with a sleeping spell and what I had to do that night and off I went.

  To Ladye Bay.

  It took awhile for me to find my hiding spot but I did. I scratched the shit out of my arms on the brambles where I had to hide but I’d been halfway smart, that is smart enough to wear a pair of jeans so my legs were safe even if my arms weren’t.

  I wasn’t comfortable, at all, but I sat there anyway and I waited.