Sparkle Witch: A Novella (The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic Book 4)

by Helen Harper

  When I finally spotted Winter in one of the grander conference rooms, he was deep in discussion. I didn't think he realised what kind of picture he presented to the world. From the other side of the glass wall, I could see him sitting at the head of the conference table in a high-backed leather chair. In his lap, Princess Parma Periwinkle lay curled up and, even though Winter was beyond busy, he still managed to pause every so often to stroke her fur. Anyone else looking at that image would immediately think he was some kind of Bond villain – admittedly better looking than any other Bond villain that has ever existed, but a villain nonetheless.

  Despite my concern over the missing Angel, I took a moment to watch him. He listened carefully, his head tilted to one side as someone at the end of the table spoke. He continued to listen when one of the Order assistants thrust a piece of paper in front of him and tapped at it to encourage him to sign. Then, a door at the far end of the conference room opened and somebody stuck their head in and began talking. Winter said something back, his expression intent. Now he was not only reading a piece of paper while listening to a colleague, but he was also talking to an underling.

  Winter is the very definition of multi-tasking. Frankly, it surprises me that he wasn't doing all this from a treadmill. That way he'd have been able to get in his daily exercise at the same time as everything else. I keep trying to tell him that multi-tasking doesn’t exist and that current thinking suggests it is far better to focus on one job at a time. Mindfulness is the word of the day; scratch that, it is the word of the year – nay, the decade. Winter just accuses me of subverting current popular opinion and adapting it for my own uses. I don’t deny it. Of course, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that; if the facts don't serve me, I don't want to know them. Who would?

  All the same, there was something rather wonderful about watching Winter at work. He was like a conductor in front of an orchestra, in full control of everything that he was doing. The man had no idea how sexy he was. Then he looked up, his sapphire eyes catching mine, and the world seem to stop. We gazed at each other, lost in a single moment of togetherness; it was as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis just for us. A moment later someone waved another piece of paper in front of Winter’s face and the spell was broken. It didn't matter; I knew that if I wanted it I would always have his full attention.

  Giving him the chance to finish what he was doing, I hung back knowing that he wouldn't take too long about it with me waiting outside the glass-fronted conference room. In fact, I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the floor, stretching out my arms behind my head as if I were lying on a beach on some tropical island instead of on a beige carpet in a nondescript bureaucratic hallway in Oxford. I might have looked foolish but it calmed me to rest, even if only for a few moments. I closed my eyes and centred myself just as the conference room door opened and Winter’s voice could be heard.

  ‘Ivy,’ he said, with a gruff growl that attacked my nervous system better than any destructive curse could. ‘What on earth are you doing? You can't tell me that you're too tired to walk home. I've told you before and I'll tell you again – I am not going to set an entire Order department to investigate the merit of flying broomsticks so you can zoom around from place to place. Plenty of witches have tried it before and plenty have failed.’

  I pushed myself up to my elbows and regarded Winter calmly. ‘Just because others have tried and failed doesn't mean that failure is always going to be the end result.’ I arched an eyebrow. ‘Frankly, that sounds like a defeatist, lazy attitude.’

  The corners of Winter’s mouth crept up. ‘Lazy?’ he asked. His eyes glittered.

  I bit back the response I wanted to make. As much as I would have liked to encourage more banter to see how far we could push things in a public place, sadly this wasn't the time. I got to my feet, hearing my bones creak as I did so, and looked at Winter seriously.

  ‘We have a problem.’

  ‘I’ll say. I was hoping for a sexy elf costume, not a morbidly obese man with more facial hair than is hygienic.’

  I grimaced. ‘Actually, this is a real problem entirely unrelated to the hell hole that is Santa’s grotto.’

  Winter stilled. ‘Go on.’

  I looked at him hopefully. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to pack a suitcase right now and run away with me until we are as far as we can possibly get from anything Order related?’

  He didn’t respond.

  I sighed. ‘I thought so.’ I ran a hand through my tangled curls. ‘Some angel thing has gone missing. It was supposed to be on top of the main Christmas tree in the square out front but no one can find it. Apparently its loss will trigger at least one terrible curse.’ I raised a shoulder. ‘Effectively, we’re all doomed – but whether through green pustules or smoking volcanoes, I’m not sure.’

  For a moment, Winter’s expression was nothing but pure bafflement. Then it seemed as if a light went on behind his eyes. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said slowly. ‘Are you talking about the Angel of the Order? Made out of pure silver?’ He made a shape with his hands. ‘About this high?’

  I pursed my lips. ‘I have no idea,’ I told him. ‘I've never seen the thing. What I do know, Raphael Tobias Sexy-Arse Winter, is that at least one curse is attached to it. If the Angel really has gone missing, disaster will ensue.’ Cue dramatic music.

  Winter rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I had heard that,’ he admitted.

  I jabbed him repeatedly in the chest with my finger. ‘See? See? You're not even the slightest bit superstitious and yet you believe this curse.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t say that I believed in the curse. I simply said I had heard of it.’ He frowned. ‘The Angel of the Order is a very valuable object. I hate to think that somebody would steal it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I suggested, ‘we should send someone down to the sewers underneath the library to look for it.’ I was referring, of course, to where the sceptre had been hidden after it was supposedly stolen. On that occasion, as well as almost drowning in rotten sewage, I finally realised that Raphael Winter was not the idiot I'd taken him for. Order geek, yes. Highly desirable Order geek? Most definitely.

  Winter allowed himself a small grin at the memory before sobering up. ‘I will send someone down to check it out just in case. I think it's most unlikely that Angel is there though, don't you?’ He looked at me. ‘I might not believe in curses, Ivy. I may not be superstitious. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t think the Angel has value. It has always been the centrepiece of each year's Christmas tree. Witches like tradition, and the Angel of the Order is all about tradition. It's not a good thing that it's gone missing, not good at all.’ He shook his head. My Winter was troubled. I wasn’t having that.

  I folded my arms and drew myself up, while puffing out my chest and feeling an angry ripple shudder through me. There could only be one reason why the Angel had gone missing: somebody was trying to scupper Winter’s reign as Ipsissimus. Despite everything that had gone before, he still had his detractors. Well, they hadn't banked on me by his side. I would not let anyone hurt him. I didn't want pus-filled pustules on my skin or fiery volcanoes exploding on top of me, but those were beside the point. I was going to find the Angel, find who took it and save the day, dammit. Besides, if I could become the hero of the hour then surely I'd be able to wriggle out of this Santa’s grotto disaster in which I was extricated.

  ‘You look angry,’ Winter observed.

  ‘I am angry! But don't worry, I will find this Angel and I will stop the curse, whatever it may be. And I will make sure that no one, witch or otherwise, even thinks about ruining my first Christmas with you. I want you and me alone on the sofa watching It’s A Wonderful Life and eating turkey and chocolate. Not necessarily turkey and chocolate at the same time but it’s something we could think about. Both are good.’ I didn’t even pause for breath. I was on a roll. ‘There will be mistletoe. There will be snuggles. There will not be evil witches causing curse-f
illed mishaps and interrupting our holiday.’ I glared at him for full effect. ‘Got that?’ I demanded.

  Winter held up his hands and took a step back. ‘You're a scary lady, Ivy Wilde.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Scary?’ I scoffed and scrunched up my nose. ‘You ain't seen nothing yet.’

  Chapter Five

  I was halfway to the train station when I realised that I’d been so diverted by Winter that I had forgotten to check the train timetable. There were some days when I really missed being a taxi driver.

  Despite my pleas to the contrary, my driving licence had been revoked as a result of speeding. I tried to point out that speeding was out character and that I preferred to take things slowly; in fact, the only reason I’d been speeding at all was to stop a serial killer in his dastardly tracks. My words fell on deaf ears, however, and I was now forced to rely on public transport or the goodwill of others to get around. Normally it wasn't an issue; it was easy for me to prevail upon witches of various Levels to drive me to where I wanted to go. But this time I was going it alone. If this really was a plan to destabilise Winter, I didn't want any witnesses when I smooshed the perpetrator into the December-frosted pavements. And smoosh them I would.

  Unfortunately, when I finally arrived at Oxford’s railway station the train I wanted was already pulling out of the station. Letting out a small shriek of alarm, I did the only thing that I could.

  On the far side of the embankment, and just beyond the platform itself, stood several pretty trees. Given that this mission was a result of a Christmas tree having almost fallen on top of me, I didn't feel bad about sending out a surreptitious rune in the direction of the nearest oak and causing its trunk to snap so that the tree careened onto the train tracks with a heavy thud. There. Magic might not affect the technology of trains but that didn’t mean I didn’t have plenty of tricks up my sleeve to get them to do what I wanted.

  A moment later the train came to a juddering halt and it dawned on me that it had been pulling into the station rather than leaving it. All I’d succeeded in doing was delaying its departure. Oops.

  There were several gasps of horror from the hovering commuters and two station guards rushed over and gazed in dismay at the blocked railway line. I coughed awkwardly and sidled up.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ the older one was saying. ‘There’s not been a breath of wind all day.’

  I winced.

  ‘Those trees were planted by the great engineer, Isambard Kingdom Brunel!’ the other guard said. ‘They’re part of our heritage! They’ve stood there for close to two hundred years. I can’t believe one has fallen down.’

  To be fair, there were still two left. All the same, I felt distinctly crappy. I cleared my throat. ‘Uh, I can help.’

  They both turned to me and I noted a flicker of recognition in the older guard’s eyes. ‘You’re that witch,’ he said. ‘The one shagging the new Hippopotamus.’

  ‘Ipsissimus,’ I said helpfully.

  He frowned slightly. ‘That’s not a word. The leader of the witches is the Hippopotamus.’

  I opened my mouth to argue then decided the effort simply wasn’t worth it. If he thought he was the magical witchsplaining expert in this conversation then that was up to him. ‘Whatever. Look, I can help you with this.’

  Both guards brightened. ‘You can?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said easily, inwardly cursing at landing myself in this situation. I glanced over at the fallen tree and sucked in a breath before performing a quick double-runed spell. There was a vast creak and the tree uprighted itself.

  I focused carefully, using magic not only to return it to its original position but also to transplant back its living cells. There was no guarantee it would work; returning what was essentially dead back to a state of being alive was impossible with fauna and almost impossible with flora. But with the correct concentration and effort, I could just about knit the broken tree back together. Only time would tell if I’d succeeded but, given this was my fault, I had to try even if the spell left me feeling weak and gasping for air.

  ‘That was amazing,’ whispered the older guard, his eyes wide.

  His companion stared at me. ‘Are you okay? You’re looking rather green.’

  I clutched his arm for support. ‘I’m fine,’ I wheezed. ‘I’ll do anything for the environment. And for the railways. It’s for the good of us all.’ It took just about everything I had not to keel over. I raised my other hand and pointed at the train. ‘I’m supposed to be on that.’

  ‘We’ll arrange a first-class seat for you straight away!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘A cup of tea would be great too,’ I murmured.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And some chocolate biscuits. They help with the, uh, recovery.’

  He gave me a benevolent twinkle. ‘You can have whatever you like. You’ve really saved our bacon by sorting out that tree. It would be chaos otherwise and you’ve no idea how cross people get when there are delays. It’s our lucky day that you were here.’

  Lucky indeed. I looked up to see a disapproving male ghost wearing what looked like a nineteenth-century suit. Hopefully it wasn’t old Isambard himself. Hastily muttering that I needed to sit down, I avoided his gaze and made my way onto the train.

  ***

  The tea and biscuits helped. By the time I arrived at Banbury half an hour later, I’d managed to stuff several small packets into my pockets and was feeling more like myself.

  It was just as well that Iqbal’s new workplace was close to the station because I wouldn’t have made it otherwise. There was still a distinct wobbly feeling in my legs but that might have been the sugar hit. All the same, I told myself to stop playing around and start acting like the witch I was supposed to be, not the witch I was.

  I found my old friend in a small windowless office, buried under what seemed to be a mountain of paper. I wasn’t the only one whose life had changed dramatically in recent months. With his thesis finally finished, Iqbal had found gainful employment with the Arcane Historical Society. None of us were certain what he did – I didn’t think that even he knew – but he’d landed on his feet. While it might be annoying that the society members maintained arcane standards and avoided technology as if they were witches themselves – which was why I’d had to travel here rather than simply telephoning – Iqbal’s office was deep in the bowels of the building so he was rarely disturbed. He managed to spend most of his days reading. In fact, he was so intent on whatever ancient document he was attempting to decipher that he didn’t notice me until I called out a chirpy hello. Then he leapt up out of his chair in shock, almost tripping over the nearest pile of dusty books.

  Clasping his hand to his heart, he stared at me. ‘Flipping hell, Ivy! You scared the life out of me. Don’t you knock?’

  I shrugged. ‘The door was open.’

  He peered at me more closely. ‘Are you alright? You don’t look well.’

  ‘I had to perform an elaborate spell to get a tree off the railway lines. Essentially I re-rooted it.’ Boom boom.

  Iqbal blinked. ‘Seriously? A tree fell down and you bespelled it alive?’

  ‘I think so.’ I was keen to get off this subject. I reached over, narrowly avoiding his wastepaper basket which didn’t look as if it had been emptied since the Victorians opened this society, and gave him a hug. ‘It’s good to see you. I don’t have long though. I’m on a mission.’

  He grinned at me. ‘Sounds fun.’

  More fun than Santa’s grotto. Death by a thousand cuts would be more fun that that. I held up my hands. ‘Look.’

  He leaned forward. ‘What?’

  ‘My fingers are being worked to the bone.’

  Iqbal snorted. ‘You need to get Winter to take you away for a holiday. Somewhere warm and exotic.’

  ‘I think he’s booked one for some time around the year 2050.’ I smirked. ‘Don’t worry though. I’m working on it.’

  He punched me lightly on the arm. ‘That’s my girl.
Anyway, what can I do for you? I assume you’re here because you need my help yet again.’

  ‘I need to know everything I can about an object called the Angel of the Order.’

  He bowed with a dramatic flourish. ‘Then, my darling, follow me. You can fill me in along the way.’

  ‘Thanks, Iqqy.’ I reached into my pocket and pulled out some biscuits. ‘And I even brought snacks.’

  ***

  We ended up in a long room filled with row upon row of filing cabinets. Instead of opening the first one marked with the letter A, however, Iqbal made a beeline for the Ts.

  ‘Is this right?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied easily. ‘The Society’s filing system is, um, unusual. It takes a while to figure it out.’

  I squinted. ‘So why T?’

  ‘You’re looking for information on an object that belongs to the Order. All Order files are kept under T.’

  ‘T for…’

  ‘Twats,’ Iqbal said, without looking up.

  ‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘That’s not fair!’

  He pulled out a slim manila folder and smirked. ‘My, you really have drunk the Kool Aid, haven’t you?’

  ‘I…’ Damn it. ‘Yes. Yes, I have.’

  He patted me on the shoulder. ‘It happens to the best of us.’ He flipped open the folder and we scanned the first sheet. ‘Well, it’s valuable, alright,’ Iqbal commented. ‘And old.’