This was inarguable.
‘And, anyway,’ continued Denny, ‘who says it has to be you that goes?’
‘I just assumed.’
‘Yes – well, I have a few powers now too.’
‘Yes, but I’m still more used to this sort of thing than you are.’
‘Well, whatever. Whichever one of us goes, I think Jack should go too. He has to stay with one of us and getting him away from vampire central might not be a bad idea right now.’
Tamar looked dubious. ‘I don’t know. The quest might be dangerous, especially for a mortal.’
‘I survived. Besides, I think he wants to go.’
‘I’m standing right here you know?’ said Stiles. ‘And yes I do want to go.’
‘But not with you,’ he added to himself.
‘Okay, so I think we should all go,’ said Denny, giving Stiles the uneasy feeling that he had read his mind. ‘At least as far as the witch, the old witch in the cave I mean, after all we haven’t even found out what it’s all about yet – what we have to do.’
‘What about him?’ said Stiles, indicating the bottle in which they had trapped Peirce.
‘You think we should take him?’ said Denny, incredulously.
‘I don’t mean we should let him out,’ said Stiles. ‘I just think we should take the bottle with us, to keep an eye on it. We don’t want him getting out while we’re gone, do we?’
Denny agreed. ‘He might even come in handy,’ he said.
‘Only if we have to throw somebody to some lions,’ said Tamar, sourly. ‘Once we let him out, we’ll never get him back in there. He’s not like a Djinn. Okay,’ she added, ‘let’s go find a witch.’
* * *
‘You’re a witch?’ gasped Stiles.
‘What, you were expecting a hump, warts, skin like sandpaper?’ said Cindy acidly.
‘No, of course not! But you’re just so – so glamorous.’
‘Hmm, not as good as “beautiful” or “ravishing” but it’ll have to do.’
Since Cindy was standing in Tamar’s company, her considerable attractions had quite a bit of competition. And, anyway, Stiles was not used to, nor any good at giving compliments.
‘Can we come in?’ he asked.
Cindy hesitated.
‘We don’t have to,’ said Tamar. ‘Neutral ground?’
‘Um, don’t we need to be private?’ ventured Stiles.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Tamar hastily. The witch was clearly nervous enough.
The three of them agreed to go to the “Dangling Prussian” around the corner. Denny would be gutted that he had missed it. They had decided not to all descend on her at once, and, judging from how skittish she was, it had been the right decision, but it had been a long time since Denny had sat in a beer garden in the sun.
Cindy disappeared into the house and emerged with a jacket and a fresh coat of lipstick. She nodded to them. ‘Okay.’
‘I know what you want,’ Cindy said, when Stiles came back with the drinks – two diet cokes and a large Brandy. Stiles looked impressed at this evidence of witchly power; Tamar waited.
‘Oh there’s no mystery,’ said Cindy, ‘I had a visit from Hecaté. I can’t help you.’
‘I don’t think you do know what we want,’ said Tamar. ‘Hecaté …’
‘She told me,’ said Cindy. ‘And she told me not to help you.’
‘No, you see, we did want Hecaté’s help, but now …’
‘You are searching for the Purple Hart,’ Cindy told her.
Tamar sat back in her chair. ‘Okay, so you do know what we want,’ she admitted.
‘How did she know?’ asked Stiles curiously.
‘Hecaté?’ said Cindy. ‘She is a goddess you know.’
‘Why would she tell you not to help us?’ asked Tamar.
‘The Hart’s blood can kill gods can’t it? Isn’t that why you want to find it?’
‘To destroy Ran-Kur.’
‘Hecaté knows this, but you see, technically Hecaté is also a god. Surely you can see why she would not want such a weapon in your hands?’
‘But we have no wish to harm Hecaté,’ said Stiles.
‘No?’ said Cindy. ‘All right, say I believe you? I’m sure you mean it, but Hecaté told me that the last time a mortal got hold of the Hart’s blood six gods died before he could be stopped. Or did he just run out of blood? The point is, he got carried away – the power went to his head; it’s too dangerous. Besides, she is my goddess, and she has forbidden me.’
Stiles sighed. ‘Please think about it,’ he said. ‘Ask her again. Ran-Kur will kill me if we don’t stop him, and the darkness is spreading. How long do you think you can escape?’
‘My goddess will protect me,’ said Cindy, uncertainly. She looked at Stiles; her resolve was faltering. ‘So, you are the one?’ she asked.
He nodded.
She gulped down the brandy in one go. ‘Can I have another?’ she asked, ‘while I think about it.’
Stiles rose at a nod from Tamar, and headed for the bar.
She and Tamar sat in silence while they waited. Tamar knew they had won; Cindy was just fortifying herself. Stiles returned with another glass, which she drained in silence.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you to the old witch on one condition – that you take me with you – on the quest. I stay with you until you kill this Ran-Kur and then you give me the Hart’s Blood, for safekeeping.’
‘Deal,’ said Tamar immediately. She had expected much worse.
‘Oh no,’ laughed Cindy. ‘I’m not just going to take your word for it. A Djinn and a man.’
‘Former Djinn,’ said Tamar.
‘Whatever,’ said Cindy. ‘Same thing, I want the oath.’
Tamar sighed. ‘Do I have to sign my name in blood?’
Cindy looked disgusted. ‘Of course not, what is this, the Middle Ages?’
Tamar spat on her hand, and Cindy did the same. They held their hands up, palms out an inch from each other. A strange shimmering energy sparkled between them.
‘Rimminy rimminy rimminy roke – we seal the oath that cannot be broke,’ they chanted. Stiles had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
‘Come back at ten tonight,’ said Cindy. ‘I’ll be ready then. Will the other one be coming?’
‘Hecaté?’ asked Stiles.
Cindy laughed. ‘No, I just knew. I am a witch you know.’
‘Yes, he’s coming too,’ said Tamar. ‘See you later.’
When they had gone, Cindy smiled to herself. ‘Well, that all went according to plan,’ she said to herself.
‘So, how went it with the witch?’ asked Denny, when they returned.
Tamar smirked and dug Stiles in the ribs. ‘Jack seemed quite taken with her,’ she said.
Denny raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Quite the ladies’ man, aren’t you?’
As this was possibly the worst description of a man, since somebody said. ‘He’s not such a bad bloke when you get to know him,’ of Adolf Hitler, Stiles hung his head and blushed furiously.
Denny laughed. ‘Well, you seem to be in a good mood. Do I take it, she’s agreed to help?’ he addressed himself to Tamar.
‘Yes, she’s insisting on coming with us though.’
‘Well, it could have been worse.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ agreed Tamar.
‘Well,’ said Denny, ‘our hands are in the fire now.’
~ Chapter Twenty One ~
‘We have to walk,’ said Cindy. ‘There are no shortcuts.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked Stiles – it would be him, of course. Both Tamar and Denny already knew the answer to this.
‘I don’t know,’ said Cindy, ‘we just follow the instructions and we get there. It isn’t on any map; that’s why we can’t jump the astral plane.’
‘She means teleport,’ said Tamar.
‘I was wondering how you did that,’ said Stiles. He th
ought for a moment. ‘No, still no idea,’ he admitted.
‘Well …’ Tamar began.
‘People,’ interrupted Cindy, ‘are we going or what?’
‘Lead on Mac Duff,’ said Tamar.
Cindy took Stiles by the arm. ‘I’ll explain it to you on the way,’ she said sweetly. Denny and Tamar grinned at each other and fell in step behind them.
‘You see,’ Cindy was saying, ‘in order to travel all over the globe in seconds, you have to pass into an ethereal plane, where time doesn’t exist, you actually travel within that plane in the normal way – well, actually you fly, well, witches do, and other magical beings I suppose. Non-magical people can’t do it at all, so I guess that’s not the point. Anyway, you fly along the astral plane; the journey feels instantaneous because there’s no time there, you see?’
‘I – I think so.’
‘Obviously you can still see this world; otherwise you’d get lost, or land on somebody or something. All that star trek nonsense about de-materialising, well I mean … what if you re-materialised inside a cliff or a tree or something? Ouch!’ She laughed.
Stiles laughed too, just to be polite.
‘And that’s how invisibility – or rather the illusion of invisibility, is created,’ she continued, ‘you just pass into the astral plane but stay where you are, see? Better than a hidden microphone – not that I would ever …’
Denny looked at Tamar. ‘Is that true?’ he asked.
Tamar shrugged. ‘Close enough,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t feel so complicated when I do it.’
‘It’s instinctive, like blinking – you don’t notice what you’re doing.’
Cindy was clearly trying to impress Stiles. Her attitude to Tamar was a wary competitiveness. Denny, she had dismissed entirely. Neither handsome nor rich, and anyway quite clearly spoken for, he was invisible to her, but she seemed quite taken with Stiles. And, since Tamar was also spoken for, Stiles had no objection to this.
‘How do you know where to go?’ he asked.
‘Oh, the witch of the caves is an old witch tradition,’ said Cindy. ‘We all know the story, but no-one’s sought her for decades, I don’t think.’
‘And how …?’
‘Ah, ah, ah,’ said Cindy, flirtatiously, tapping her finger on his nose. ‘I can’t tell you witch’s secrets just like that, I only just met you.’
Denny rolled his eyes; Tamar giggled.
‘I just hope she knows what she’s doing,’ Denny whispered.
‘Shhh,’ hissed Tamar, ‘witches have excellent hearing.’
But Cindy was twittering away in a high pitched tone and did not hear him. Denny did not register on her radar anyway. This suited Denny fine; he did not like Cindy much. Besides, he knew he could command her full attention if he chose to.
They were, in case you are interested, wandering along the High Street, apparently aimlessly, stopping occasionally for Cindy to check a piece of paper, which she, rather theatrically concealed from them.
‘Aha!’ she said, stopping suddenly. ‘This’ll do.’
‘Taxi rank?’ said Tamar. ‘Are we catching a cab?’
‘You might say,’ said Cindy.
Tamar snatched the paper from her, before Cindy could stop her. ‘Says here, “Coaching Inn”.’
‘Modern equivalent,’ said Cindy. ‘Don’t forget, this was first written in the middle-ages, you have to interpret.’
‘So we are catching a cab?’
‘Trust me, we just wait. I’ll know when it happens. Remember, witches traditionally never used coaches or cabs or any mortal method of transport, so a witch at a taxi rank, well, it’s not usual. But I think something will come for us.’
‘You think?’
‘Hey, I’ve never done this before; I’m just following the instructions.’
‘Maybe you need to send a signal or something.’
‘It doesn’t say so here.’ She stabbed at the paper. ‘Just wait.’
Cindy had turned down three cabs, and it was getting close to eleven when Denny asked. Anyone think we should just take the next one and go clubbing?’
‘Mmm, tempting,’ said Tamar.
‘I’m getting really hungry,’ said Stiles.
‘There’s a burger place across the road,’ Denny pointed.
‘Now that’s tempting,’ said Stiles.
They were all getting restless, even Stiles. All of their experiences had prepared them for just about anything, except this awful tedium.
By eleven thirty, they were all giving Cindy dirty looks and complaining loudly. By midnight, they had subsided into a mutinous silence and Stiles was asleep on a bench, when suddenly Cindy pointed at some lights in the distance. ‘There,’ she said.
‘It’s just another cab,’ said Tamar, wearily.
But it was not, the lights were moving in a very odd way, sort of cycling around each other; there were three of them too.
‘It’s an optical illusion,’ said Stiles; Denny had shaken him awake. ‘Like headlights in the rain.’ But he did not sound either convinced or convincing, perhaps because it was not raining.
‘It’s not raining,’ pointed out Cindy. The lights drew nearer.
‘What the hell is it?’ said Stiles nervously.
It was a glass coach – motorised, apparently – no horses and no driver.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ exploded Tamar. ‘I can’t believe they’re still pulling this stuff.’
‘No driver,’ observed Denny, dryly. ‘Do you think they ran out of mice?’
‘Oh hell! Let’s just get in,’ said Tamar. ‘At least it’s not broomsticks.’
‘Well, it was a distinct possibility,’ she said, defensively, when they all looked at her strangely.
They all clambered in. ‘Oh yes,’ said Denny with caustic sarcasm, ‘we won’t be at all conspicuous in this.’
As soon as they all settled in, they fell asleep.
When they awoke they were in a field, the coach had vanished. Tamar spotted a pumpkin a few yards away, but held her peace, this was not the time.
‘Now what?’ she asked Cindy, who was currently more interested in re-applying her lipstick. Tamar had to admire her really; she took vanity to a whole new level.
‘Mmm? Oh yes,’ Cindy consulted her paper and looked around. ‘Where is it?’ She muttered.
‘Where’s what?’ asked Tamar. ‘The yellow brick road? Three bears cottage?’
‘Um.’ Cindy looked embarrassed.
‘No?’ said Tamar. ‘I was kidding.’
‘No, no,’ said Cindy, hastily. ‘Not that bad. It’s – er …’
‘The “Primrose path”,’ said Denny, pointing at it. ‘Leading into a dark and scary forest? Presumably to find Hansel and Gretel.’
‘Um, yes, it doesn’t say anything about a forest, but – primrose path, yes. I’m sorry; I didn’t make it up you know.’
‘We know, we know,’ said Tamar. ‘Oh well, better load up our groins.’
‘Er isn’t that “gird up our loins”?’ queried Stiles.
‘I know what I said.’
‘Anybody know where we are?’ asked Denny.
‘Yes,’ said Tamar. ‘We’re being led up the primrose path by a witch, and I’m not sure I like the symbolism of that.’ She turned to Cindy. ‘If we run into a “Big Bad Wolf” there’s going to be trouble.’
‘I would say that’s a given,’ said Denny.
‘I meant from me.’
‘So did I.’
As it turned out, the journey was uneventful, not so much as a stubbed toe occurred until they arrived at the mouth of a large cave, partially concealed by undergrowth and a trickling waterfall, well more of a drip really. It looked cold, dark and uninviting.
‘This is it, all right,’ said Tamar, resignedly. She turned to Cindy. ‘Any more instructions?’ she asked. ‘Or do we just go in?’
‘Well, we’re supposed to … um, it says … no, we just go in.’
T
he cave was all that the exterior had promised it would be and worse.
‘It’s like being inside a rusty iron lung,’ said Denny.
‘With extra slime,’ said Tamar. ‘Yuck.’
‘So, where’s this witch?’ asked Denny.
‘Ahem,’ said Stiles, from behind them. They turned.
‘I think maybe we’re too late,’ he said.
Beside him, half embedded in the wall of the cave, like a fossil, was a stone figure in the shape of a crouching old woman. There was a constant stream of water flowing over it wearing it away in places, and it was unattractively festooned with weeds and algae.
‘That’s not her,’ said Tamar. ‘The water’s worn away the rock face, it does look a little bit like a …’
‘Face it,’ said Denny. ‘That’s the witch. It’s all been for nothing.’
‘It can’t be.’
‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Stiles.
Cindy was poking the – for want of a better word – statue. ‘Sister? Hello. Sister?’
‘Idiots,’ said a voice from the back of the cave.
‘Now that’s a witch,’ thought Stiles. What faced them as they turned around, was indeed the archetypal witch. A withered, warty crone, with long, straggly grey hair, a hooked nose and a hump you could seat three people on. The only thing missing was the conical hat. She cackled at them revealing three stumps of what could only be her teeth, since they were in her mouth and not a graveyard, and the picture was complete. Stiles had been expecting almost anything but this cliché – a witch who actually looked like a witch – it took him by surprise.
She hobbled towards them. ‘Hmm, five of you – there’s a thing, so what do you want?’
‘Four,’ said Tamar.
‘So what’s that?’ cackled the witch, pointing at the bottle containing Peirce, ‘Scotch Mist?’
‘Actually, I think he’s a Londoner,’ offered Stiles.
‘Ha! So London fog then, what do you want?’
‘Don’t you know?’ asked Stiles in surprise.
‘No,’ snapped the witch. ‘I don’t do that clairvoyant stuff.’
Reality Bites Page 13
