The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  Everyone looked like they were thinking the same thing. Where did she go?

  “She’s got Vincent,” Melody yelled as she stood up on the stage.

  The security guards leapt on Melody and Old Col instead and buried them under a hill of people.

  “You’ve got the wrong witch!” Old Col shouted, pointing to Vincent and the smoky shape of Mrs Howser standing behind him, on the stage. “Get her.”

  The squeeing tone from the crowd changed to all-out screaming, and not in a good way.

  Eerily calm, Vincent remained standing, confident the security would do its job. The guards were utterly useless against a whiff of smoke swirling around them. Invisible hands clonked the guards’ heads together and they fell like rag dolls.

  Another puff of smoke appeared behind Lord Vincent, swirling around his body, then his head, like a translucent scarf. He turned to see where it had gone. Then it zipped over to the other side of him, before slamming into his body.

  He jolted forward as if he’d stuck a nine-volt battery on his tongue. [264]

  ​Ondine was having such a hard time keeping up she didn’t know how to properly describe it, but from the looks of things Mrs. Howser had turned herself into a shadow and jumped inside Lord Vincent.

  “Silence!” Lord Vincent yelled out.

  No megaphone could carry his voice half so well. The audience of screaming fan-girls were stunned into quiet. Even the security guards looked gobsmacked.

  The pastiness of Vincent’s face reminded Ondine of the time at Coven Con. They’d had an audience with Duchess Anathea and Vincent had turned bonkers.

  “She’s got into him!” Ondine gasped. Because as sure as winter brings on blackouts across Brugel, Mrs Howser’s smoky form was in Vincent, infiltrating his brain and body. She was going to overtake him completely and make him her puppet.

  Beneath the hill of women and men in uniform, a crumpled and half-broken Melody tried to crawl out. They slammed her down again, convinced they were doing Vincent a favour. Meanwhile the man they should be protecting was already possessed.

  On the other hand, if the security detail were busy flattening Melody, they wouldn’t be able to stop Ondine. She leapt onto the stage, heading for Mrs. Howser-as-a-smoke-form-residing-in-Lord-Vincent.

  Without a clue what to do when she got there.

  In Brugel, there is a word for this kind of chaotic mayhem, but it doesn’t translate very well into English. But the most chaotic type of chaos ever seen broke out as Ondine neared Lord Vincent.

  Everybody screamed and shouted. Except Vincent, who stood there looking utterly lost.

  Ondine stared at Vincent and yelled, “Get out of him!”

  Security detail from goodness knows where launched at Ondine, knocking her sideways. Through a gap in the arms and legs restraining her, she saw Great Aunt Col had gotten away from her captors and was standing in front of Vincent.

  “Time’s up, Birgit, you’ve lost,” she said to the woman inside him.

  Vincent clamped his mouth shut. He wobbled and shuddered, his face paled some more until it turned the colour of curdled milk. Then he collapsed.

  Was it over? Ondine hoped so.

  “Man down!” Great Aunt Col cried out.

  The audience by now were screaming, the noise of it piercing Ondine’s eardrums. But her arms were pinned by security so she couldn’t block the noise drilling in. Way off at the other end of the stage, she saw Duchess Anathea and the First Minister clamping their palms over their ears.

  Anathea cried out, “Make it stop”.

  Suddenly Hamish was on the stage, peeling back the layers of people smothering Ondine.

  The security in suits were about to pounce all over Ondine again when Old Col threw her hands out and cried, “Freeze!”

  The men and women froze in place. Hamish held out his hand to help Ondine back to her feet. Then his warm hands held her face steady, her gaze captive to his. His green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Have ye forgotten what we came here for?”

  A strand of candy-silk-loveliness spun inside her tummy. Oh yes. They were supposed to get loved up and make people’s wishes come true. When her gaze locked with Hamish’s, the commotion and chaos died away, leaving the two of them in a magical world of their own making.

  “D’ye remember the first time I turned into me. We were gettin’ ready for yer sister’s engagement party and I pulled the table cloth down ontae meself . . . and ye were there.”

  Heat stole over her face at the memory. He’d transformed from his Shambles-ferretness into his gorgeous Hamish self, with only a tablecloth for modesty. A girl didn’t forget a moment like that! The memories set more flurries free until the flurries were joining hands and dancing along her veins.

  He made a lopsided smile and began to blush. “So ye do remember?” His eyes shone with mischief. If Ondine didn’t know better, she’d swear he was using some kind of wonderful magic on her. He lowered his forehead onto hers; their temples warm despite the deep winter chill. “I love ye Ondi. Ours is a love for the ages. No magic can hold us back.”

  And then he kissed her. The sweetest brush against her lips. A tender buss of his nose against hers. Another kiss, frustratingly light again and yet so perfect an angel might have put it there. Needing more, her face tilted upwards, her lips at the ready.

  “I love ye Ondi, yer my heart and soul. I want to grow old with ye. Will ye marry me?”

  Oh!

  Time stopped. Her heart as well. Then it kicked against her ribs and a husky, “yes” tripped from her. The rest of the world could have fallen into a snowdrift as Hamish’s lips descended on hers. Warmth and love and the sweetest caress blocked out the cold winter’s day. Her eyelids fluttered shut as sunshine filled her body.

  “OK you two,” Old Col said. “You’d better start k–. Oh, I see you’re already at it. Carry on.”

  Buried under an avalanche of sensation, Ondine had no idea what was happening around her in Savo Plaza. All she wanted was for these magical kisses to continue. They sent her mind into a spin, her belly into a flip-flop and her heart into a canter.

  Hamish wanted to marry her.

  Old Col’s bony hand pressed down on her shoulder and pulled her away. “That’s enough.”

  Ondine’s lips detached from Hamish’s with a schmack of lost suction. Dizzy with love, she turned to see why her aunt had called a halt to it.

  Savo Plaza had become a sea of flowers.

  The ribbon over the entrance to the snow maze was still uncut as Anathea tossed bouquet after bouquet to the cheering crowd. Yes, cheering now, not screaming. Thank heavens for that.

  “It worked?” Ondine could hardly believe it. Maybe they should kiss a bit more, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.

  Nearby, they heard a reporter make a speech to a camera, in which she described Anathea as the fairest of them all.

  The clouds parted, filling the square with bright winter sun.

  A light so bright it exposed a dark shadow behind Vincent. A shadow that looked suspiciously like Mrs. Howser holding strings that tied themselves in knots around Vincent.

  The crowd gasped.

  Mrs. Howser jumped back. Fully exposed, she had nowhere to go. The security guards flattened Mrs. Howser in the fastest ever game of Stacks-On.

  They had her!

  Oh dear. They only had her body. Her smoky shadow slipped away from them and headed straight for Anathea.

  “No!” Ondine and Hamish yelled in unison as they leapt at the shadow.

  Hamish threw himself on the dark shape, but it slipped out from beneath him. Ondine tried to grab at it – anywhere would do – but each time she clamped her fingers around a section, it morphed and squeezed away.

  They were fighting a shadow. And losing.

  The wind flurried snow around them, swirling the oleaginous shape into the air.

  Jumping, Ondine tried to grab at it, but it was out of reach. The smoke shadow was zigging and zagging around the stage.
Biscuit the dog barked like he’d been electrocuted as the smoke headed for the Duchess and First Minister. It wound around Anathea’s body, then rolled itself around her neck and head like a long smokey scarf with a mind of its own.

  Behind them, doing her job as she should, was a janitor vacuuming the golden carpet.

  “Anathea! Use the vacuum cleaner!” Ondine screamed and pointed at the same time.

  Several miracles happened at once. Anathea heard her, she saw where Ondine was pointing and she took action, grabbing the vacuum hose out of the janitor’s hands. The rest of the machine was stripped to the cleaner’s back.

  “Everyone get down!” Anathea shouted.

  Everyone did just that.

  Anathea held the nozzle into the air. Mrs Howser’s elusive shadow that could withstand choking and flattening had no defences against the fabulous sucking motion. Floating in the air, it had nothing to cling to, and with a howl of wind it slurped into the hose.

  Anathea handed the vacuum hose back to the puzzled cleaner. “The contents should be incarcerated. And in a separate facility to Mrs Howser’s body.”

  “Yes, Your Lordship.” The cleaner did a quick curtsey and scarpered off, looping the incredibly long extension cord over her shoulder as she went.

  “Anathea is amazing!” Ondine said.

  “Brilliant!” Hamish said.

  The crowd roared with applause.

  The two of them embraced Duchess Anathea like the saviour that she was. Busy rejoicing, they missed something, but the crowd was gasping. Ooops, had they overstepped the mark by touching the royal person? Embarrassed, Ondine pulled back, only to see that the crowd’s reaction wasn’t for them. It was for Vincent, who lay slumped on the ground like a dropped marionette.

  “Darling!” Melody cried out as she sprang towards him.

  “What’s she up tae?” Hamish said.

  Instead of tackling Melody, one of the guards guided her towards Vincent. There, she tenderly held the lord’s hand and caressed a lock of hair from his face.

  Old Col made her way to Ondine, Hamish and Anathea. “Well done, all of you. Your Lordship, that was some fast thinking.”

  Duchess Anathea beamed. “It was, rather, wasn’t it? It couldn’t have been done without Ondine.”

  Beaming at the compliment, Ondine looked again towards Melody and Vincent. Near them, the security detail dragged away a deflated and weak Birgit Howser, empty and soulless without her dark shadow.

  “She is to be placed in the city asylum,” Duchess Anathea called out. The hefty security people nodded and dragged her away.

  Ondine pursed her lips in thought. “Does this mean Lord Vincent is free of Howser’s influence?”

  “That is to be hoped,” Duchess Anathea said. “Perhaps he can be reasoned with now?”

  “Er, he looks a bit busy,” Hamish said.

  Ondine, Old Col, Hamish and Duchess Anathea, in fact the entire crowd for that matter, watched as Melody helped Vincent to his feet, caressing and calming him all the time. His eyes were locked with hers. As he righted himself, he gave her a tender kiss of thanks on her cheek.

  The crowd went insane with cheering.

  “It would seem that in all things, everyone has an agenda,” Old Col said. “That includes Melody.”

  Ondine could scarcely believe it. “Melody has a thing for Vincent?”

  Hamish squeezed her hand. “Aye, every girl in the crowd has a thing for Vincent.”

  Ondine bristled. “Except me.”

  “Weil, yeas, but ye have excellent taste.” He touched his nose to hers again, making her warm all over.

  Vincent must have been wearing a microphone, because they could hear Melody’s reassuring voice on the loudspeakers nearby. “You’re free now. She can’t ever harm you again.”

  Ondine couldn’t work out if Melody put Vincent’s arm across her shoulder or angled herself in such a way that he had to. Either way, they were leaning closely together.

  “I did noat see that coming,” Hamish said.

  “She’s a dark horse that one,” Col said.

  “Saturn’s rings!” Ondine said. “We were so caught up in making Anathea’s wish come true, we didn’t pay attention to what Melody was wishing.”

  “Let’s not get sidetracked,” Col said. “The two of you did your job and did it well. Ondine, by giving Anathea a method of defeating Birgit, you made her the hero of the day in the public’s eyes. Well done.”

  “Thank you, Ondine, I’d say you’ve more than earned Hamish’s freedom,” Anathea said, as her eyes wandered over towards Vincent.

  Ondine beamed, “Do you have the papers?”

  But the Duchess wasn’t listening anymore as her attention found a new focus. “Now, if I may be excused, Vincent needs a good talking to.”

  They watched as she walked over to her nephew, the lad who wanted to kick her off the throne. Melody was smiling as the Duchess approached. So was Vincent.

  “There has been so much enmity between us,” they heard the Duchess say.

  Yes, he definitely had a microphone on, and everyone could hear their conversation. What a clever woman that Anathea was, Ondine thought, to make sure they had a crowd full of witnesses to this event.

  Vincent nodded. “Your Lordship, thank you for your fast actions today. You have not only saved my life, but my soul.”

  “We are family. Family is the most important thing in the world,” the Duchess said.

  How uncharacteristic of her to speak in active voice all of a sudden, Ondine thought. Perhaps the old dear was changing for the better as well?

  “Peace?” Vincent held out his hand.

  The Duchess shook it. “Peace.”

  The crowd roared its approval.

  When the crowd calmed down and the security team made sure they wouldn’t be interrupted again, Anathea took hold of an over-sized pair of scissors to cut the ribbon at the entrance to the snow maze. The crowd roared with the kind of noise you’d hear at a football match after a winning goal. Anathea beamed. Even little Biscuit looked happy to be there.

  In years past, Duke Pavla (may he rest in peace) would have been the first to explore the maze with a guide. The same was about to happen for Duchess Anathea. But instead of going straight in, she held her hand out towards Vincent, in front of thousands of witnesses, inviting him to explore the maze with her.

  “I’d be honoured,” he said.

  Melody stayed by his side, ready to support him should he wobble.

  The media turned their cameras on Anathea and Vincent as they held hands and walked together through the ice-bricked entrance.

  Keeping two paces behind, Melody followed them into the maze. Colours bloomed inside the icy walls, as if lit from within. The crowd cheered and applauded like crazy.

  “Looks like our work here is done,” Col said with satisfaction.

  Ondine turned to her. “You never told me what you wished for.”

  Old Col rubbed her hands together against the cold. “I do believe I wished to knock some common sense into Vincent and Anathea.”

  A laugh escaped Ondine. “That was a really smart wish.”

  “It was rather!” Old Col giggled.

  The crowd milled and chatted and became a bit noisy, as crowds do. The winter sun shone weakly, bands began to play and the smell of fried cheeseballs permeated the air.

  After a short while Anathea and Lord Vincent emerged from the snow maze entrance into the open. [265]

  Arms looped at the elbow, like old friends.

  They were even . . . Ondine had to blink a few times to make sure . . . yes, they were laughing!

  “When you wish, Auntie Col, you wish good!” Ondine said.

  Everything was absolutely, wonderfully, perfectly perfect.

  “Uh-oh,” Hamish said when another development developed right before their eyes.

  Saturn’s rings. “Lord Vincent and Melody are kissing.”

  “Just when you think you’ve seen everything, eh lass?
”

  A wave of relief spread over Ondine. They had defeated Mrs. Howser and set Duchess Anathea on the road to becoming the most popular and loved ruler in Brugel’s history. [266]

  Everything had been put to rights.

  And yet, as they walked home to the family pub, Ondine couldn’t help feeling deflated, despite their success. Would Anathea come through with Hamish’s work papers, allowing him to stay in Brugel? More importantly, would they ever break the mutating magic spell they were under?

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  ​

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ​

  Such expensive clothes!

  Even at her sister’s wedding, Ondine hadn’t worn the like. The tag itched the side of her ribs, but she was under desperate instructions not to remove it. Or leave any stain or smell on the fabric. Ma warned her, “You can’t take clothes back for a refund with sweat stains on them, can you?”

  If it was cold as the snow outside, perspiration wouldn’t be a problem. But inside? Someone had turned the heating way up to keep everyone toasty warm, which meant Ondine couldn’t help feeling hot under the armpits.

  The air felt supercharged with electricity as Ondine, Hamish, Old Col and Ma sat in the balcony of the Dentate’s public gallery to watch the vote officially recognising Anathea as Duchess of Brugel. The long bench seats were made from thickly padded leather, with pull-down timber desks for people to take notes, should they want to. Around the walls hung paintings from Brugel’s history, from the early days of labour-intensive wheat production right through to the development of the plough.

  Looking down on Brugel’s elected representatives dressed in their finery, Ondine couldn’t help feeling as if she too were present during a great moment in Brugelish history. Every time a politician mentioned Duchess Anathea, a cheer went up in the gallery. The speaker of the house acknowledged their excitement but had to call order so they could actually take the vote before they broke for a celebratory lunch.