by Carter, Mina
“Add another dozen cupcakes to the break order,” she muttered to herself as she and Garlick raced toward the back stairs that would take them up to her section. After the shit show of this morning, she really needed something to perk her up. But, looking on the bright side, at least things could only look up. Right?
That optimism lasted halfway up the narrow winding staff staircase that connected all the floors, the gentle motion like that of a corkscrew. A shrill voice with unfortunate undertones of braying horse made Daffi jump.
“Oh, Miss McGee… so good of you to deign us with your presence. Pray tell, what was so important that your section has not yet been cleaned and tagged ready for visitors?”
Daffi closed her eyes for a second. Just her luck to have been caught by the
“teacher’s pet” Sybil Bulcock before she could get to her area. Plastering a smile so fake it could have doubled as the Mona Lisa over her face, she turned toward her nemesis.
Sybil Bulcock was one of those witches everyone hated on sight. Born with not only a silver spoon in her mouth but the entire cutlery set, the best china and probably the crystal as well, she was so assured of her superiority, her thin nose had two permanent furrows from where she looked down it at people all the time.
Standing on one of the floating landings that connected the stairs to the various sections of the museum, her neat navy suit and leather pumps screamed designer with a foghorn, but the little pin badge on her lapel gave her all the power she needed.
The title “Manager of Museum Cleanliness” was embossed in gold on the little enamel pin. AKA bitch in charge of terrorizing all the staff when Ms. Whipsnade wasn’t around… a duty Sybil took very, very seriously indeed. She’d even made the statues in the Magic of Ancient Mesopotamia exhibit cry the other day.
According to Meg, the gorgon caretaker who kept the museum’s stone-based exhibits in good order, the statues hadn’t looked “perky” enough. And apparently one of them had “looked at her the wrong way,” which was entirely possible. The three statues they had were of old dudes, and John, so-called because no one living could say his original name, was fond of pinching the bottoms of female visitors. There was a sign warning them and everything.
“My section was cleaned thoroughly before I left last night,” Daffi replied still wearing the winning smile as Sybil’s platform reached her level. The other witch stepped off onto the same step. Her mom had always said, “Smile, even if you hate the bastards. And if you can’t smile, imagine them on the toilet… or wearing Nana’s nightie. That should do it.” But she didn’t think even that could help with Sybil.
The other woman’s lips pursed as she looked down at her clipboard. A nail painted with something expensive like “sorcerer’s nights” or “Coco-cadabra” tapped the surface lightly.
“Museum bylaws state that all sections must be cleaned every morning ready to receive visitors.”
Another smile, but this one was strained. “My section is perfectly clean. Would you like to come and inspect it?”
Sybil sniffed, and her gaze flicked past Daffi. “That will not be necessary. I hardly think visitors will actually know the difference… You’re Dogsland, right?”
“The Magical History of Doggerland and Doggerbank,” Daffi announced proudly. “Yes.”
The nail paused. “Dirt and more dirt. Not real magic then. I hardly think anyone will bother even setting foot in your area, so I think I can let this slide… just this once, mind you. I expect your section cleaned by nine a.m. sharp every morning. Understand?”
Garlick coughed like he was hacking up a hairball, making Sybil step back quickly. Yeah, cat puke on those pumps would be an expensive cleaning bill.
“Yes, yes of course.”
“Of course… what?” Sybil asked pointedly, hand cupped behind her ear.
Daffi gritted her teeth. “Yes, Miss Bulcock.”
The other witch grinned like a viper with a set of false teeth, her ego stroked.
“You may go,” she decreed imperiously, turning to walk down the stairs.
“Seriously,” she hissed under her breath. “I do not know why the faculty bothers with mixed-blood witches. So… homely.”
Daffi’s steps faltered, her stomach dropping like a lead balloon.
“Ignore the bitch,” Garlick muttered on an undertone. “She’s just jealous. Don’t let her get to you.”
“Yeah, right. Of course not,” Daffi replied brightly, but her smile slipped just a little, the day a little less bright as she reached her level and stepped off the gently rotating staircase.
Okay, so maybe now her day couldn’t get any worse…
She took a deep, cleansing breath as she walked through her area. Each of the museum’s staff were responsible for their own areas, which contained exhibits from specific periods of history. Her area was the Magical History of Doggerland and Doggerbank… an ancient land that was flooded by water over ten thousand years ago, separating the British Isles from the rest of Europe and leaving just a tiny island full of magic users.
That little island had held on until the Middle Ages, when a freak magical storm had sunk what remained, and it had passed into memory. Historically speaking, Atlantis it was not… but there were some interesting archaeological discoveries from a few mermaid teams. Daffi had even been able to interview one of the last remaining survivors, an alchemist who remembered growing up on Doggerbank. She was damn proud of her little area, and it showed in the care she took of it.
“Morning, Meg!” she called out, forcing herself to be chirpy as she spotted the caretaker in her high-visibility jacket. Just to be safe, she waited for a few seconds until Meg had slipped the hand mirror into her pocket and turned around.
“Hey, girl,” the gorgon said, her snake-like curls hidden beneath a brightly colored headscarf. Daffi leaned in to get a closer look. Yeah, the print was tiny little snakes in crowns and beefeater costumes. She ignored the movement and hissing from beneath the fabric. It wasn’t polite to ask or mention it.
“Cool scarf. How’s it hanging today?”
Meg grinned. “Do ya like it? Picked it up at the market the other day when shopping. Got one that has snakes in sombreros as well.”
“Looks awesome! Very apt. How are the repairs coming along?”
“As good as new. Look…” Meg ran a hand down the stone column she’d been working on. The building was old, and some of the masonry work was crumbling in places, which meant it was an ongoing job. Some areas, though, like the columns that supported the floors and roof had to be dealt with right away. Otherwise no way would Meg have been sent up to Daffi’s area. A gorgon, she mended the stonework by filling the gaps with anything to hand and then turning it to stone. But Meg’s power worked a little… differently than most. She could only turn things to stone if she looked through a mirror, like the little hand mirror in her pocket. Which, on the whole was far safer for everyone concerned. She also had a nice little sideline in garden ornaments. Daffi had never dared ask where she got the gnomes.
“Anyway… any more problems, just give me a shout. Okay, hon?” The gorgon lifted her head as one of her snakes wriggled free and whispered something in her ear. “Shit, gotta get moving. Whipsnide’s about to make her rounds, and there’s a leak down in the ladies on third needs dealing with. Toodles, chick. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Garlick popped his head around the nearest column and chuckled. “Well... that pretty much leaves everything on the table, now doesn’t it!”
3
An hour later, Daffi watched in proud happiness as a large gaggle of school children made their way slowly around the Doggerbank exhibit.
“They like it!” she hissed in excitement to Garlick, who was winding himself around her ankles in an effort to trip her up.
It was a cute little game they’d played for years now. Everyone else said her familiar was trying to kill her, but she knew better. He just loved her. Same as when he kept trying to get her to sign ran
dom things. They always turned out to be a better deal on her spell liability insurance or something. He was just trying to look after her.
She just had to be careful to step over him when she was at the top of stairs. She wouldn’t want to kick him or anything.
“Really? I guess there’s no accounting for taste.” Garlick’s voice was filled with curiosity as he peered around the curtain they were both currently hiding behind. With a hiss of irritation, he lashed her leg with his tail. “Can’t see.”
Automatically she leaned down and scooped him up. Immediately he started to purr but then swallowed quickly.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, sounding like he’d swallowed a box of bees. “Bloody species automatic reactions.”
She scratched behind his ear and he purred like a broken chainsaw as they watched the gaggle of kids swarming around the center section of the exhibit. Daffi was particularly proud of it.
A recreation of a Doggerbank magical circle, it had taken her months to research and draw up. The unique sigils around the edges had been extremely difficult to get right. Several she wasn’t sure she actually had right. The archaic form of Gaulish the Doggerbank natives had spoken was difficult to translate, and several times she hadn’t been sure if the sigils meant “now wrap and bake under hot coals for two hours” or “press two for an interdimensional gateway.” It could go either way. But... since the circle wasn’t a real one to be used for ritual, it didn’t matter.
She smiled fondly as the kids, all tweens by the looks of them, sat down around the edges of the circle.
“Awww… isn’t that cute?” she murmured to Garlick.
“Yeah, right. Cute.” The cat made dry-heaving sounds. “Can we teleport them somewhere else… like the bottom of the Thames?”
“Oh behave, you,” she chuckled. “You love kids. I know you do. I saw you the other day playing peekaboo with that baby in the pushchair.”
“I absolutely was not!” The cat huffed indignantly. “I was trying to make its heart stop in terror at my magnificence.”
“Yeah, sure… is that why you were blowing raspberries?”
“Well…” the cat muttered in a small voice. “Babies are cute. When they don’t stink the place up.”
But Daffi wasn’t listening to him anymore. Instead her gaze had locked onto one of the kids as he pulled a book from his backpack. That wasn’t anything unusual. Very often the teachers with school groups would ensure there was at least one guidebook in the group, but this wasn’t a guidebook. It wasn’t anything close. A prickle rolled down her spine, all her witchy senses coming to the fore.
It was a grimoire. A real one. What the ever-loving cupcake was a kid doing with a real grimoire?
“Mothers love and maiden’s sight,
Prevent me from getting an awful fright,
Check the cabinets below
For a missing book or spells to go?”
Her spell was hastily constructed and muttered quickly, the silver white sparkles of her magic hovering in the air in front of her as she quickly checked whether the book the kid had was one of the museum’s. Most of the cases were theft-proof yes, but that was in case high-tech thieves decided to descend from wires on the ceiling in the middle of the night. The warnings on the side stated clearly that they weren’t rated against nuclear explosion, sharks, or children under eleven.
When the swirling sparkles didn’t turn red, she breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t one of the museum’s grimoires. Her relief flip-flopped back to anxiety within seconds. If it wasn’t one of theirs, what the hell had they brought into the museum?
The rest of the kids settled down, looking toward the boy with the book as he walked around the circle and muttered softly. She frowned and leaned forward. Was he just reading, or…
The feel of something powering up hit her in the gut at precisely the same moment she caught a snippet of what he was saying. It was an ancient Sumerian incantation.
“No, no, no!” she shouted as she and Garlick tumbled out of hiding behind the curtain. “You can’t cross the streams that way!”
In her haste, she knocked over a display with a replica of a Doggerbank machete on it. The pretend blade went tumbling through the air and hit a child in the back of the head. He fell forward into the circle with a scream and disappeared.
Silence fell.
Then the dragon appeared.
The size of a city bus, it was tiny at first but then expanded to fill all available space with a loud “pop.” The smell of fire and petunias filled the air, and Daffi was forced to duck quickly before she was decapitated by a tail slicing through the air.
Kids screamed and scattered.
“I got this!” Garlick yelled, sprinting across the circle and leaping in the air to become kung-fu kitty. Drop-kicking the kid with the book expertly, he separated the two. The kid went flying one way, and the book slid across the painted floor…
…right under the feet of a charging barbarian.
Daffi squeaked as nearly six feet of blue-painted, half-naked and utterly drool-worthy male appeared in the middle of the circle. He wore the tiniest mini-kilt in a tartan she’d never seen before, waving his… axe about as he looked around. Blond hair worthy of its own TV commercial swung around his shoulders like a cape and he had the cutest, tiniest pair of blue wings in the middle of seriously buff shoulder blades.
“Oh shit… not a fae,” she whimpered, ducking again as the dragon whirled around and roared at the fae warrior. Sure enough, in the middle of its back where she’d normally have expected reptilian wings were butterfly wings instead.
“Shitshitshit.” Not just a fae, but a fae and a fae dragon. “I am so getting fired for this.”
“Begone foul beast!” the fae bellowed, racing toward the dragon, axe raised over his head. The movement highlighted all the heavily carved muscles in the front of his body and all Daffi’s feminine instincts sighed happily. He even had those v-things at the sides of his hips and everything…
“Do something!” Garlick screamed as the dragon sent a gout of flame toward the fae and nearly fried the cat instead.
“Yes, right!” She snapped out of her daydream of having Mr. Tall, blond and winged’s babies and stood up.
“Mother’s might and crone’s wisdom,
Hold this beast from another kingdom,
Stop its rampage, the scaly brute,
Bind it tightly, tiny and cute.”
Sparkles of white magic shot through the air. The dragon surged toward the buff-fae, jaws wide open as the fairy guy swung for him with his massive axe… and completely missed. Not because his aim was off but because the dragon was now three inches long.
Spun around by the force of his swing, the fae recovered his balance with a look of confusion on his handsome face. He blinked at the tiny dragon, still roaring in its tiny little voice as it beat wings now larger than it.
“Sorcery!” he bellowed in triumph, thrusting his axe into the air with a grin. “The dragon is vanquished!”
Looking around, he caught sight of Daffi watching him with wide eyes and strode toward her. Her ovaries had a little meltdown at the size of his muscled thighs. Maiden, mother and crone… she’d climb him like a tree given half a chance.
He reached her. Then, to her utter astonishment, he knelt before her, his head bowed.
“My lady! I am Oberon, king of the fae.” He looked up and she was caught by the most amazing pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen.
He smiled, studying her with wonder. “Your beauty astounds me. I had not thought to be so fortunate in my bride.”
Her gaze wandered over shoulders broader than a barn. Surely fae weren’t supposed to be so… ripped? If so, all the movies had it wrong.
“Huh…” her brain caught up with reality. “Wait, what? Bride?”
Okay, she must have hit her head. Was probably lying behind the curtain still as the kids summoned all manner of nasties with their hybrid spell.
“Yes.” Obero
n grinned and stood, taking her hand. “I promised my hand in marriage to whomever could defeat the beast. You will be my queen!”
Well… shit.
Oberon’s day had started early, with twittering handmaidens applying his war paint in preparation for the hunt and then chasing the foul beast that had plagued his kingdom. He was the best warrior in the lands, so it was his right to kill the creature and mount its head in his hall with all his other conquests. All would know of his prowess and magnificence. His halls were filled with proof of that.
His chest puffed up with pride as he looked at the tiny woman in front of him. She was small and petite... human, but no one was perfect... His gaze wandered over her—the strange-colored hair and the wide amber eyes in a delicate heart-shaped face. She was so beautiful it made his teeth ache.
And she had vanquished the dragon, so she was his, his promised bride. Her wide-eyed look of adoration stoked his male ego. She was awed by his awesomeness, as was right. She should be amazed by him, her husband-to-be. He would wow her with his prowess, in battle and then in bed.
Then she frowned.
“You promised your hand in marriage to anyone who defeated the dragon? What if a guy had killed it?”
Oberon pursed his lips for a second, not seeing the point of the question, and then shrugged. “My bride would have been a groom. Why?”
Pulling her closer abruptly, he bent her back over his arm. She went easily... well, she went with a small screech, clutching at his shoulders... but then he had her where he wanted her.
In his arms where she should be.
“But I am glad it’s you.” His gaze roved over her face. She fit so perfectly against him that he couldn’t wait to get her back to his castle and make her his queen. Then... the wedding night. “You will look glorious spread over my bed.”
“O...kay.” Her lips pursed as she pushed at his shoulders. She might as well have pushed at a cliff face. He didn’t intend to let her go. Ever.
