Cauldrons and Kittens

by R K Dreaming

  “Ah youth,” said Jeeves wistfully. “To carouse through the villages and towns in the last sun of summer!” He sniffed haughtily. “You should be going outdoors. Not stuffing yourselves into dark rooms with Humbles to watch moving pictures!”

  Percy giggled. “Jeeves, I bet if you’d had moving pictures in your day, you’d have begged me for a television long before now.”

  “Fellyvisions indeed!” muttered Jeeves. “You’ll not catch me with my head in a box!”

  “Your head needs to be outside the box or you won’t see a thing,” said Percy, laughing.

  Jeeves glared. “Persephone Prince, are you teaching your grandmother to wave a wand?”

  “Jeeves, if you were my grandmother I would live in constant terror, especially if you had a wand!”

  He sniffed in annoyance. “We poltergeists hardly have need of wands. Although I must say I think it’s very unfair that we ghosts are not permitted to handle wands!”

  “As if you ghosts weren’t capable of causing utter mayhem anyway!”

  Jeeves was so annoyed at this that he floated right up through the ceiling and did not come back.

  After breakfast Percy went up to her room to inspect her wardrobe for something decent to wear.

  She had spent so many years not having friends and not caring what she looked like when she went out of the house that her clothing choices were sadly much the worse for wear. Especially since the loss of Nanny Nora meant the laundry no longer magically did itself.

  Percy had been forced to wash a huge load of things by hand late last night. If the house had had electricity, she might have considered getting a Humble washing machine, no matter how much Jeeves might complain about it.

  Without magic, she had been unable to dry her things either. Everything was still out in the garden, hanging on a line. Percy had not considered such trifles when she had fired Nanny Nora.

  Rifling through the various robes and tunics in her wardrobe left Percy dissatisfied. She pondered briefly how Jeeves would take it if she asked him to do the laundry as well as all of the cooking. Badly, no doubt. Probably enough to send him into one of his towering rages.

  Giving up on finding anything decent in the dregs of her wardrobe, Percy marched into her mother’s room.

  Gwendolyn Prince was a very fashionable witch, and she had a large and elaborate selection of clothing inside a vast walk-in wardrobe. The racks and racks of high-fashion gowns and cloaks and witching robes were not much to Percy’s taste, but Percy did manage to find an acceptable purple tunic that she could pair with some tights.

  Unfortunately all of her tights were in the laundry, so Percy rifled through her mother’s drawers, and eventually located some amongst some socks.

  Mission accomplished, she was about to march out of the wardrobe when she caught sight of some of her mother’s best spangly party gowns hanging on a rack. A plum sequined one called out to her. Percy remembered her mum wearing it when she had been little — small enough to not have been labelled a Meek yet, back when mum’s Halloween parties had been fun.

  Percy stroked her hand down its slinky surface. As she pulled it out, the hem of the long skirt caught on something. Percy tried to yank it free, but this caused a heavy wooden chest to fall over onto the floor.

  “Damn it,” Percy muttered, replacing the gown.

  The chest had been hidden under the skirts of all the gowns. Percy knelt to put it back into its place, but then she cursed again.

  The damn things lid had popped loose when it fell onto its side, and some shards of glass had spilled out. Percy had broken something.

  Opening the lid, Percy gave a cry of disgust. The chest was full of glass jars and bottles with an assortment of old and disgusting things inside — great wads of fuzzy hair, fingernail clippings, old teeth, what looked like congealed blood.

  Why the heck was her mum keeping this stuff in her darned wardrobe?

  The jar which had broken had been the largest, and it had contained a pile of old bones. Amongst them was a small skull that looked like it belonged to a weasel.

  “Yuck,” she muttered.

  She picked out all of the little bones and put them in a neat pile on the floor. There were hundreds of them. She’d have to find a jar to put them into later.

  She carefully gathered up the shards of glass to throw away, and went to get a dustpan and brush to sweep up the last bits with. It was times like this that she absolutely hated having no magic.

  But when Percy returned, the shards of glass were gone. And so were the bones. Percy groaned. Yet another thing to add to the list of things her mum was going to be mad about when she finally came home, and holy hellfire, did Percy hope that would not be any time soon.

  She was about to put away the chest, when a faded old envelope tucked underneath a jar caught her eye. It was almost as if it was hidden there.

  Percy pulled it out, her curiosity piqued. Her mum was very particular, and not the sort to stuff her correspondence into an old box of potion ingredients.

  The parchment envelope seemed quite old, its edges brown and crumpled as if it had once been handled many times.

  Percy opened the flap and tipped out the contents into her hand. The only thing inside was a faded old photograph. It was of a teenage boy and girl who didn’t look much older than Percy herself.

  The girl was a younger version of her mother, already stunningly pretty. The boy was very tall and lean, as was Percy herself. He had his arm slung loosely around her mother’s shoulders, but the thing that made Percy stare was his hair. It was dark and wild and a deep mossy green.

  Percy’s mouth dropped open. Green hair. She stared at the picture long and hard as if merely looking at it would help her figure out if the boy had colored his hair or if it was naturally green, like hers was.

  Her heart was thudding. Somehow she knew deep down inside that this was not artificial. His hair was just like hers. The boy in the picture was Percy’s father.

  This realization made Percy’s hands start to tremble. All her life she had asked her mother to tell her something about her father, but her mother never had. The only thing Percy had known, without needing to be told, was that her father must’ve been a wizard, because her mother would never have dated a Humble.

  And yet, when Percy got a bit older she had begun to doubt herself. Perhaps her father had been a Humble. Perhaps that was why Percy’s mother never spoke about him.

  And now here he was in a picture held in her hands.

  All at once Percy was filled with a raging determination to know more. What was his name? Where had he met her mother? Why had he never come to see her, not once in fifteen years? Was it because she was a Meek? But how could he possibly know that if he had never seen her?

  But what she wanted to know most of all was simply this: where was he?

  And before Percy knew it she was frantically tugging on the tunic and the tights, and dashing out of the house, the photograph tucked safely into her backpack.

  “Where are you going?” demanded Jeeves, floating down through the ceiling of the hallway.

  “Out!” Percy said. “Won’t be back!” and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Without even having to think about it her feet made their way towards Nan’s house. Because if anyone could help her find the answers, it was Nan.

  Nan had been a bit funny about telling Percy what she was up to this morning. She had simply said she couldn’t come to see Percy until lunchtime.

  Percy suspected Nan had gone to see one of her other friends and simply had not wanted to take Percy with her.

  As Percy made her way down her street, she saw a few more of the lurid yellow posters with her face on them, and stopped to tear them off.

  Damn the two remaining Bees — the two faithful followers of the school Queen Bee, who Percy had gotten into trouble. They were undoubtedly the masterminds behind this horrid little campaign. Percy only hoped that they had not posted them into her neighbors’ letter
boxes.

  It was taking a liberty really that they had dressed Percy up as a witch in the posters. They were succubae who should have known better. It came dangerously close to breaking the International Magical Secrecy Pact, and the two Bees ought to be darned glad that Percy wasn’t really a snitch or she’d have reported them to the Eldritch Council.

  In fact, that was exactly what Percy planned on saying to them on Monday at school. Right after she shoved the posters into their stupid faces.

  Nan’s house was a twenty minute walk away from Percy’s. When Percy rang the bell, Nan opened the door stilled dressed in her pajamas and yawning widely.

  “Did you just wake up?” Percy asked suspiciously.

  Nan shrugged. “So?”

  “You told me you were busy,” said Percy in annoyance. “Not that you were busy having a lie-in!”

  Nan opened her door wide and ushered Percy in. “I wasn’t. Or I wasn’t planning to, but—” Nan looked over her shoulder to make sure that her mother wasn’t listening.

  Mrs Gooding was in the kitchen making breakfast. Percy got a nostril full of what could only be, “Porridge?” she asked in disgust.

  Percy only liked porridge in winter, and only then with dollops of cream.

  “Mum’s on a new health kick for dad’s cholesterol,” said Nan glumly. “No more full English on Saturdays and no pancakes on Sundays. I don’t know if dad is sadder about it or me.”

  Just then Mr Gooding came bouncing down the stairs. He was a tall, thin man with brown hair that was greying at the temples. Mr Gooding was a Humble, who hadn’t known he’d married a witch until after his wedding. This fact was something he did his best to take into his stride, largely by ignoring it.

  He looked nothing like his wife and daughter, who were both short and plump, with blond ringlets. Mrs Gooding’s hair was a tad mousier than Nan’s, and as Nan had inherited her father’s twinkling blue eyes rather than her mother’s brown ones, Nan really did resemble the cherub she had once been.

  Mr Gooding ruffled Nan’s hair and gave her a peck on the cheek. Seeing Percy he gave a great cry that sounded like it was trying to be delight, but had more than a little bit of shock in it.

  “Persephone Prince, well I never!” he declared.

  He gave her a funny look as if he was debating giving her a hug, but wasn’t sure whether a teenage Percy would welcome it. He extended his hand for Percy to shake instead.

  When Percy had been six or so, while playing hide and seek with Nan during one of Gwendolyn Prince’s summer parties, she had heard Mr Gooding whisper to his wife that he simply did not understand why Percy’s mother had ‘magicked’ her child’s hair to be green.

  “It isn’t magicked, dear,” Mrs Gooding had replied. “She was born with it.”

  “Goodness,” he had cried, spluttering out a mouthful of tea. “Do witches really have green hair?” He had looked with alarm at his wife’s ringlets.

  “Only the special ones,” she had replied somewhat flustered, having spied Percy watching them from behind the fronds of a large palm tree.

  This was back when they had thought Percy might still be a witch. For some years after that Percy had remembered those words and hoped that maybe her magic was late in showing up because she was special. Alas.

  “Well!” blustered Mr Gooding with slightly desperate joviality. “I’d better hurry along to breakfast.”

  He took a step towards the kitchen and his face fell when he smelled the porridge.

  “It wasn’t too bad, dad,” said Nan sympathetically. “Mum’s put some stewed apples and cinnamon in it.”

  Sensing an opportunity, Percy said quickly, “Mr Gooding, you don’t mind if Nan and I go out a bit earlier today than we’d said? I wanted to do some shopping.”

  “Of course!” boomed Mr Gooding jovially, looking relieved at the idea that Percy would not be staying for the day. Clearly Percy’s green hair reminded him all too much that witches existed in the world.

  The two girls hurried up the stairs, and when Nan had shut her bedroom door behind her, she demanded, “Shopping? A likely story. What are you really up to?”

  Percy took the photograph of the man she thought was her father out of her handbag and explained where she had found it.

  “I was thinking we could ask around Magicwild Market to see if anyone knows him!”

  “You must be joking,” said Nan incredulously. “That photo must be twenty years old. People won’t recognize him after all that time.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Percy. “Magicwild Market will be much more fun than the movie we’d had planned. Anyway, witches and wizards have long memories, and on a Sunday the market will be full of them. Hundreds and hundreds. It’s the perfect timing. Please Nan?”

  Nan looked reluctant.

  “I can’t believe this,” grumbled Percy. “First you tell me you’re busy this morning when you’re really having a lie-in, and now you won’t come and help me find my dad!”

  “I wasn’t lying,” protested Nan. “If you must know, I was supposed to go see Shara Greyshale, but she called me last night and said not to come. She wasn’t at school all week and I’m worried about her. Mum answered the phone, so I didn’t even get to speak to Shara to see if she was alright!”

  “Why is that a secret?” demanded Percy.

  “It’s not. But Shara’s private about her family stuff and I think… Don’t tell anyone, but I think her little brother is really sick. You know how finfolk are about sickly children.”

  Percy nodded glumly. Finfolk were humanoid beings, some of whom still lived their lives largely underwater. But since the world’s waters had begun to be poisoned with pollution, many of them had adapted to living on land. A formerly strong and wild people, they had taken great pride in the good health of their clans, even to the extent of shunning sickly children. But the instances of sickness continued even now. Waters called to the finfolk. They could never live their lives entirely above it, and so their children continued to become sick.

  “There’s no need for her to be ashamed about it,” said Percy fiercely. “People are horrid if they don’t understand.”

  “She’s not ashamed! Not exactly… It’s just that her parents are old fashioned. They don’t want her talking about it is all.”

  “Poor Shara,” Percy muttered, hoping Shara’s brother would be okay.

  It was times like this that Percy felt grateful to be an only child. Nan was the nearest thing to a sibling that Percy had, and if anything happened to Nan, Percy simply did not know what she would do.

  Nan was watching Percy with a funny look on her face, as if at any moment she might burst into tears.

  “What?” demanded Percy.

  “Oh nothing!” cried Nan. “Fine, I’ll come with you to Magicwild Market, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “About looking for your earth-father when your Lord of Hell father is proving more than enough trouble already,” said Nan, looking very annoyed at the mere thought of Lucifer Darkwing.

  “Oh, Lucy’s not all that bad,” said Percy. “You really should meet him now. I think you’d like him.”

  “I’d much rather not, thanks,” said Nan, hurrying to her wardrobe to find some clothes.

  Nan had been avoiding Lucifer ever since he had arrived, which must not have been easy given that he was often to be found in one of Nan’s favorite haunts — the school library.

  The two girls took the London Underground to Tottenham Court Road Station, where they got off and walked a short distance to a small and twisty little alleyway that ended at a graffiti covered brick wall.

  When they got near enough, the brick wall completely faded away in front of their eyes – something it did not do for Humbles – and was replaced by a row of tall and very thorny trees. Even the trunks of these trees were thorny.

  Percy and Nan walked between two of the trees, and Percy felt that delicious tingle that passed over her sk
in whenever she crossed the threshold into Magicwild Market. Percy had always loved that tingle.

  The disappearing wall and the tingle were one of the few things that proved to her that she really was a Meek – still a part of the magical community, even if just on the very edges – rather than a Humble.

  Nan saw Percy grinning soppily and gave a wistful sigh. “I forgot how you used to love that,” she said.

  Percy marched forward into Magicwild Marketplace. It was a tangle of streets full of market stalls and regular shops, all of which sold magical goods, from broomsticks and cauldrons to potions and witch’s familiars.

  Magicwild Market was the largest magical shopping place in the whole of England. Witches and wizards came from all around the world to shop here, because this marketplace was the one place that directly traded with the Magicwild itself.

  The Magicwild was a parallel and wildly magical world that very few folk had ever seen. The ways to get there were strictly controlled, and required crossing through the ether — the mystical thing that separated the worlds. This took enormous magical effort and skill.

  And the goods which came from the Magicwild were fascinating and often costly, and this was the main place to find them.

  Percy inhaled a great big breath of the market. A delicious scent wafting over from the direction of a shop named Flaffiness Emporium made Percy’s eyes grow round.

  “Gosh, I’ve missed this place,” she cried, half running towards the enormous shop.

  Outside it, several street stalls had been set up to tempt customers in towards the vast selection of goods to be found inside.

  The stalls were loaded with all sorts of sweet treats made by the Flaffiness brand. A huge banner floating magically above the shop itself, suspended by what seemed a thousand multicolored balloons, declared that Flaffiness Is Happiness.

  Percy dug into her pocket for some witching gold and purchased two enormous cotton candy swirls on sticks. The wisps of spun sugar danced around so you had to chase them in order to eat them.

  “Do you remember how we used to love these?” she asked, handing one to Nan.

  Nan goggled at her, as if hit by a sudden thought. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been back here since then,” she said in slight dismay.