Monthly Maintenance: Selected Stories from Blushing Books Authors

by Blushing Books

  She looked, she knew, every inch of her the witch she was.

  “Every witch from maid to crone,

  Sing the ancient rites arcane!

  And never your solo state bemoan

  But raise a chorus for Samhain!”

  Bedelia twirled around several times to let the echoes of the ritual chant fade away in preparation for the traditional Samhain song. “Woo-hooo, witchy woman, see how high she fli-i-ies! Woo-hoo, witchy woman, she got the moon in her eyes!”

  She’d been around for three hundred years, and in her opinion, the Eagles never did a bad gig.

  Bedelia felt so good, she let out a peal of her best cackling laughter and, watching from his perch on her mantle place, Impus joined in with his chirping, birdlike giggles. She opened her eyes, but kept dancing, twitching her hips and crooking her finger at Impus in a sly come-on. The diminutive familiar squeaked and leapt to the lampshade to chide her, but when she turned around in her lazy (but alluringly evil) bump-and-grind, his long tail flicked out and smacked her through her skirts.

  She giggled and stopped dancing long enough to check on her bubbling brew. Hard cider, cinnamon, real nutmeg, and rum. Bedelia helped herself to a steaming ladleful, and a second, in case the first got lonely. Then she picked up her mug and started scooping cider into it, humming. Only the best rum….

  The doorbell rang.

  Bedelia stared at the door over the top of her ladle with an expression very near to that of surprise. She could hear giggling on the other side, and furtive whispers, and the shuffling of little feet.

  She and Impus exchanged a glance. Of course, she’d known that trick-or-treaters MIGHT happen along, and she was even prepared for it, in the same theoretical way she’d prepared for it every year since they’d commercialized it into a holiday, but this was the very first year Bedelia had actually lived in a neighborhood with the necessary population of juvenile celebrants.

  Bedelia plunked the ladle back into the cauldron and headed for the door as Impus scurried beneath the sofa. She picked up her hat with one hand on the way, and with the other, caught up the larger of her two bowls of individually-wrapped candy bars. She nudged a moving box out of the way with a nod and a flex of mental effort and braced herself for human contact.

  The door opened on a bevy of little children: two superheroes, a fairy, and a green m&m, all with little plastic buckets in the shapes of various cinematic monster heads. She gave them all two pieces of candy, ooh-ing aloud and privately thinking wistful thoughts of days when costumes had been, if not less commercial, at least scarier.

  As they were leaving, a little boy in a vinyl Power Ranger’s costume and a cracked plastic mask came up the walk, skulking to one side as the four larger children scampered away. He climbed her stairs and looked up at her from behind his hand-me-down mask as though he half-expected to be ordered off her lawn. After a moment, he held out a scuffed pillow case and said, “Twick or tweat?”

  Bedelia set the candy in her arms aside and picked up the smaller bowl to offer him. Snickers bars—or that’s what they looked like, anyway—with a couple of lollypops thrown in for color. He selected one after very careful scrutiny, but then hesitated, and looked back over his shoulder at the harried-looking woman who waited on the sidewalk, bouncing a baby-sized bundle on her shoulder.

  The Power Ranger looked back up at Bedelia. “Can I haff one for my mama?” he asked.

  “Yes, you may.”

  He took a second piece and dropped them both into his pillowcase, and Bedelia didn’t think he could see the faint greenish flash as they vanished. His mask was thin and cracked at the chin, but it did a good job of blocking his peripheral vision. He turned and climbed back down her stairs, and Bedelia watched him go and wondered in what way her spell would work on him and his family. A green flash usually meant money.

  “Just one more house,” the mother said, and tossed Bedelia a nervous smile, as though she feared disapproval. “It’s a cold night.”

  “But a lucky one,” Bedelia answered with a smile.

  “I hope so,” the mother said, following her Power Ranger down the sidewalk. “It’s lottery night.”

  “Oh good,” Bedelia said as she closed the door. “It’s so nice when the people that deserve to win, do.”

  Impus chirped at her inquiringly but Bedelia only shook her head and opened her arms. Her familiar sprang up her side and rubbed his head on her chin, encircling her slim throat with his tail and purring. She purred back as she crossed the room to her cauldron, where she drained her steaming mug and started to pour herself another over the chittering censure of the creature at her shoulder.

  “Ah, hush you,” she told him fondly. “Samhain comes but once a year.”

  The doorbell rang, and Bedelia sent it a reproachful look. “Pity it has to be the same night as Halloween,” she added. “How many children do you suppose there are in this town?”

  Impus leapt down and hid in the sofa cushions as Bedelia scooped up her candy dish again. She turned around and had taken one step toward the door before the meaning of the faint light above it had fully sunken in. Bedelia paused, cocking her head to one side, before slowly continuing on.

  Her ward was glowing, one of the many wards (over every door and under every window) that protected her house against harmful intent. She made sure to stand well back in the entryway when she opened her house.

  There were three tall teenagers on her doorstep—all boys, as far as she could determine beneath their voluminous black robes—and all three in identical rubber masks. White, clay-like, screaming or smiling, their false faces leered at her as unpleasantly, she was sure, as the real ones beneath.

  “Well, now,” Bedelia said thoughtfully. “Aren’t you scary.”

  She did not proffer her candy dish, nor make any gesture which could be construed as an invitation. They did not appear to have bags, anyway.

  “Trick or treat,” said one of the boys, causing the other two to giggle. He reached into his robe and brought out a sock, heavy with something, and moved it through the air as though he meant to be menacing. There was a faint sound of plastic crinkling, a distant sulphurous odor.

  “What’s the trick?” she asked, putting her bowl down.

  That obviously wasn’t in the script. The three shuffled a little before their leader answered, “You don’t want to know.”

  “Ah.”

  “And you really don’t want it smearing up your front door or getting poured into your car.”

  Bedelia nodded, as if this were truly helpful to her. She said, “What’s the treat?”

  “I got your treat, baby,” said another boy, and the third said, “We got a exclusive rate tonight. Twenty bucks. Halloween special.”

  “And this actually works?” Bedelia inquired, raising one eyebrow. “I mean, people actually pay you?”

  The three seemed taken aback, had to look at each other to rally for an answer. “Shut up and give us the money,” the big one said. “Or you get what’s coming to you.”

  “You know, I really think it’s true what they say,” Bedelia remarked, wrinkling her nose at this thuggish threat. “TV really does rot your brains.” She stepped back as though preparing to close her door on them.

  The smallest boy surged forward, either to follow her into the house or maybe just to block the door with his foot. But of course, as soon as the toe of his sneakered foot crossed over her warded threshold, he was blown back and off the porch, knocking his two companions sprawling and crashing into her azaleas.

  Bedelia folded her arms and cocked her hips and smiled. Halloween was a relatively new holiday, but children, now….children never changed, and teenagers were the most predictable of the bunch. Not once in three hundred years had Bedelia been surprised by a teenager.

  And she wasn’t surprised now. Whether they believed their friend had encountered a freak gust of wind or taken a sudden interest in gymnastics and horticulture, they obviously didn’t believe Bedelia had anythi
ng to do with anything and they still believed they had the advantage of her. But since one of their own had fallen, for whatever reason, they unified with the same instinct as any lower pack animal and attacked.

  Whump. Whump. Two more bodies in the bushes. Honestly, she’d just pruned those azaleas last week.

  Bedelia cast a swift eye left and right, but the streets were, for the moment, clear.

  She supposed she could leave matters as they stood. The three teens would wake up in a few seconds, wander around for three or four minutes as their brains rebooted, and then be free to peddle themselves off with only a slight gap in their memories and the faint taste of copper in their mouths. Perhaps they’d make their way home, believing they’d passed out on her front lawn, and swear off the evils of drink forever. More likely, they’d simply continue their little criminal wave elsewhere in the neighborhood until someone less resourceful and more law-abiding than Bedelia called the cops.

  ‘Oh, why not?’ thought Bedelia with a sudden thrill of malicious glee. ‘It is a night for tricks, after all, and I’ve been just terribly well-behaved for an astoundingly long time. And this, this will be a treat for me.’

  She crooked her finger and the three bodies were lifted like marionettes on invisible strings. They whisked up the stairs and into the house when Bedelia beckoned. She was cackling as she closed the door.

  * * * * *

  Exactly five minutes later, the door opened and three boys wearing cheap black robes and carrying white, rubber masks emerged. They looked a little puzzled, and their eyes were somewhat glazed, but they were coherent enough when they turned around and said, in rough harmony, “Goodnight, Miss Bedelia.”

  Bedelia, leaning against her doorjamb, waggled her fingers at them for goodbye, smiling a smile of evil mischief, and then crossed her arms over her chest to watch them go. It had taken only a minute to find the proper ingredients, and by that time, the boys had been staggering stuporously around her parlor, bumping into moving boxes and knocking things over, and really, the hardest part of the trick had been getting them to sit down long enough to drink their cider. By the time their mugs were mostly emptied, they ought to have had enough of their senses back to remember where they lived, and they seemed confidant as Bedelia escorted them to the door. They wouldn’t remember her tomorrow, of course, but for tonight, they were perfectly well-mannered little beasts.

  And if they stayed that way, they probably wouldn’t even notice her little trick. She didn’t know whether to wish for that or not. Not that Bedelia would ever encourage hooliganism…but it seemed a waste of an awfully good trick if they behaved themselves….

  Bedelia shut the door, and with a sing-song couplet sealed and sound-proofed her house, and then set a gentle dissuasion against further visitors. It was her first encounter with trick-or-treaters and really, she’d enjoyed herself immensely, but it was rather tiring. Still chortling to herself, Bedelia unwrapped and popped a bite-size Milky Way into her mouth.

  “WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?”

  Bedelia bent double with surprise, choking on her chocolate, and spun around to see Impus—the real Impus—filling the parlor doorway. His claws curled and flexed on the entry stones, his powerful body rippled in the embers of the firelight and was made jagged with the outlines of his double mane of stubby spikes. The cape of his wings made a feathery flapping sound as he fanned them, and his tail rasped over the floor as he coiled it around his haunches. His eyes were twin moons, narrowed with disapproval, and they were all that was visible of his face in the shadows of his sweeping horns.

  “Um…heh heh…? It was just a harmless little prank,” Bedelia said weakly. “A joke really. They might not even notice.”

  “I NOTICE,” Impus growled, and eased forward two long strides, bending to put his massive face on level with hers. “I NOTICE THAT YOU ARE NOT ANSWERING MY QUESTION. WHAT DID YOU DO?”

  “It was a matter of self-defense,” she protested, switching tactics as she backed up before him.

  His eyes narrowed even further, if that were possible. “I FAIL TO SEE HOW. YOU ARE SAFE WITHIN THESE WARDED WALLS, AND THE ADVERSARIES LAY UNCONSCIOUS WITHOUT BEFORE YOU CHOSE TO…DEFEND YOURSELF.” Impus advanced on her.

  “Oh, but it…it’s nothing really. Less than nothing.” She affected a nonchalant little laugh, just to show how much nothing it was. “In fact, it was just a simple memory spell.”

  Impus tipped his massive head slowly to one side, until only one glowing eye was visible to her. “HOW CAN IT BE,” he mused, as he continued to pace, unhurried, after her. “HOW CAN IT BE, THAT AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, YOU STILL SHOULD NOT FULLY APPRECIATE THE NUANCES OF FAMILIAR ID TRANSFERANCE? I DO NOT ASK THINGS OF YOU BECAUSE I DO NOT KNOW, BUT BECAUSE I WISH YOU TO ADMIT THEM TO ME.”

  Of course she knew about familiar id transference. Of course she knew all about familiar id transference. What she knew, Impus knew—every thought, word and deed—and that included knowing just what had gone into those three cups of hot cider.

  “THINGS YOU CANNOT ADMIT,” Impus continued in his low, musing growl, “GENERALLY PROVE TO BE THINGS FOR WHICH YOU OUGHT TO ATONE.”

  “That’s a very good point,” Bedelia said, nodding seriously. “And it brings up a very relevant issue that—Look over there!” She whirled and ran.

  The thick lash of Impus’s tail whipped around her waist, tugging a squawk from her as she flew back and into his hands. She kicked as she was spun through the air and turned tail up over her familiar’s broad knee. His great arm pinioned her waist; his tail locked both her ankles together. He left her hands free to struggle with him if she wanted to, for all the good it could do her. After three centuries, Bedelia knew better than to hope to win her freedom that way.

  She struggled anyway. She even tried a few chants, although the hopelessness of this, too, had long been proven to her. “Spirit of stone and sky and sea, bind and hold my enemy! Spirit of sun and moon and star, come and…oh, I give up. You win, you big bully.”

  “DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT WOULD WORK?” Impus asked. His hand, hard as iron and large enough to fully cover his target, rested heavily on her squirming bottom.

  “No,” Bedelia admitted, already breathing hard from her brief flurry of escape attempts. Her magic couldn’t work on him any more than his could work on her. There was that pesky familiar id transference again. Bedelia had noticed over the centuries that Impus seemed to benefit a lot more from it than she did.

  The weight of her familiar’s hand lifted for a second before it slapped back down over her thinly-protected bottom, sending Bedelia into a frenzy of mindless struggling before she could control herself.

  “Oh please oh please oh please!” she wailed, and Impus punctuated each ‘please’ with a swat until she forced herself to be silent, stuffing her fists in her mouth to keep from sobbing.

  “IT ANNOYS ME,” Impus said, drawing up her skirts and laying his palm over her bared and already-aching bottom, “THAT YOU WOULD SO SOON JEAPARDIZE YOUR HOME AND MINE WITH THIS JUVINILE TRICK. BUT IT GRIEVES ME, MY BELOVED OWN, THAT YOU WOULD PLAY AT DECEIVING ME.”

  Bedelia gripped his strong thigh, blinking her tears away, as the echoes of those words wormed into her heartsick soul. She’d been run out of towns before, although not since coming to America, and she didn’t think she’d mind having to do it again for the privilege of a first-class prank, but lying to Impus…why HAD she done that? Why did she KEEP doing it, even when she knew better? “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “HOW SORRY?” he asked, tapping one claw on the high curve of her left cheek.

  Bedelia closed her eyes tight, her instincts of self-preservation at war with her heart. Impus would never be anything but fair with her, but even one blow from his huge hand was too much. Still, if she tried to short-change herself on discipline, he’d only take it as a sign that she needed extra lessons in honesty and good conduct.

  And the worst part was, she really was sorry and she knew how many swats she had comin
g to her for trying to hoodwink her familiar. She knew to the exact number, and it was a very high number. She chewed her lip, new tears welling up in anticipation. “Fifty times sorry,” she said brokenly.

  Impus patted her once, rumbling his approval and his appreciation of her compliance, which was not a whole lot of comfort to her now. Then he began, and even though Bedelia knew the number, she couldn’t restrain her cries or her frantic struggles. Each thunderclap of impact, each blistering crack of his palm sent her into new gales of remorseful wails. The pain was blinding, flashing brilliant behind her eyes. The sound was deafening; all her world was the stroke of his hand and her screams. She couldn’t keep a count—each new blow slapped the other clean away as she pitched and howled against his side.

  At last, he came to the end and stood her up, catching her chin to look her in the eye. “ONE-HALF YOUR MISCHIEF IS SO ACCOUNTED. ONE-HALF YOUR PENANCE REMAINS. COME TO ME WHEN YOU CAN TELL ME WHAT YOU DID.”

  He released her, but combed his claws through her hair before turning and squeezing himself back through the doorway into the parlor.

  Bedelia watched him go, rubbing as much as she dared at the burning proof of his punishment, and feeling sorry for herself amid a great swell of affection for him. He hadn’t always been there, but from the moment they had found each other, he had been her protector, her companion, and her guardian.

  Sorcery was a dying art in these enlightened times, and interest rekindled by the efforts of those like J.K. Rowling was perhaps not intended and anyway, grossly inaccurate. The coven to which Bedelia had once belonged had dwindled and dwindled and finally split up for good more than two hundred years ago. Since that time, what few friendships Bedelia maintained were increasing long-distance in nature. Oh, there was e-mail, but it wasn’t really enough. It was hard to hold a moot in a chat room, especially the public ones, where people kept asking what you were wearing.