by Al K. Line
"Um, Madge, three fry-ups please."
"Woof."
"Make that four," I said. "And teas all round."
"Woof."
"I would like coffee," said Jerard.
The room fell silent. The wizards, the couple of trolls, the table of dwarves squabbling over what to name a new shaft they'd begun, all were hushed by the words you must not speak.
"Coming right up," said Madge as she reluctantly slipped her hand out of Jerard's.
Mithnite, me, and everyone else in the room held a collective breath as we watched Madge. You didn't get coffee at Madge's, you got tea, and calling it tea wasn't really correct. It was more like essence of tea, distilled so many times, super reduced so it resembled a thick tar or soup that would eat your spoon if you didn't stir in your sugar quickly. Coffee was for fancy-pants places like Delilah's next door, for bistros and other "hip joints" you'd get banned for frequenting if Madge found out.
A strange, utterly divine aroma filled the cafe and everyone apart from Jerard watched in mute wonder as Madge appeared from out back with what smelled and looked like a perfect Americano. Even I knew the correct name for this drink, about the only one I did.
She did that weird thing with her face again, lips all puckered, jowls now pulsating under the strain of being directed into positions they were unaccustomed to. She carefully placed the cup, one with no chips mind you, on the counter and said proudly, "An Americano." Then she grabbed three of the cheap, chipped mugs and sloshed tea into them, threw the jug of milk at the counter where it somehow stayed upright, and said, "Don't use all the sugar," before turning back to Jerard, waiting as he sipped on the coffee.
"Delightful," said Jerard with a polite smile.
I think it was one of the strangest things I'd seen in my life, and I once saw a Yeti with a goblin over its knee tickling it on the belly while it giggled dementedly. If you knew goblins and Yetis then you'd understand just how weird this all was.
I slapped down some cash on the damp counter, dragged Jerard over to a table while Mithnite brought the teas, and Madge shouted, "I'll bring your fry-ups over," before she screamed at her assistant then disappeared.
I caught her poking her head back around the corner from the kitchen and felt rather hopeful about why we'd come. She looked like she'd even cleaned her glasses.
Alien Abduction
"Four fry-ups," said Madge in a reassuringly grumpy way, as if she was doing us a favor by deigning to serve us even though she'd already taken our money.
"Madge, those sausages look as divine as your heavenly face," I said, beaming and taking my cracked plate laden high with all kinds of goodness. The breakfast-cum-lunch, the only thing she ever served, wasn't called the Cardiac Arrest for nothing, but that was its beauty.
Such a fine repast made no excuses for what it was, reveled in grease and questionable meat content, but the eggs were always runny, the toast was always perfectly golden, and the baked beans were always molten.
Mithnite and Jerard took their plates from Madge with a smile and she placed the remaining plateful on the ground for Pierre, a.k.a. Mr. Waggy. The terrier tucked in with gusto, slurping its tea between mouthfuls of hash brown and mushrooms that looked like they'd get up and crawl away given half the chance.
"Anything else?" asked Madge, and then I noticed something I'd never seen before.
"You've got a new apron on!" I blurted. "It's clean! My eyes, my eyes!"
Madge scowled and said, "I always wear a clean one. I like to look my best for my lovely customers. But good joke. Haha."
Mithnite and I exchanged a worried glance. Madge had obviously been replaced with an alien life form that had no idea whatsoever how the real Madge behaved.
Jerard was, of course, oblivious to all this, having never met the genuine Madge, but surely her reputation preceded her? It was the reason why most clientele came back. Not just for the cheap food, but to be insulted, ridiculed, and ignored by a true professional. You can't get Madge's level of scorn just anywhere. Most witches don't have the mad skills required.
"That all?" asked Madge, only semi-rudely.
"Have you taken a proper look at the dog?" I asked, wondering how long it would take her to mention it. Looked like she wasn't about to unless I brought it up.
"I told you no dogs, but in this case, as Jerard is our guest, I'll make an exception."
Damn, now she was talking in full sentences, too. What next, napkins? "You know what I mean. I remember, Madge, last year. I don't think anyone else saw, but I did, just for a moment. I know," I said giving her a wink.
Madge kept her features neutral and bent to my ear and hissed, "And you know what'll happen if you ever mention it. No more breakfast for you, Faz Pound."
I gulped, barely refraining from going, "Eek," and turned to her, our noses almost touching. I looked into her oversized eyes, enlarged by her thick glasses, and said, "I have not, and will never, say a word to anyone. But can you help the poor pooch here?"
Mithnite and Jerard looked at us quizzically but neither interrupted or could hear what was said. I knew Madge was making sure of that, had put up a delicate and beautiful protective spell around us to ensure our conversation remained private.
"Maybe, but why should I? And why aren't you on honeymoon?"
"Morag, you know her?" Madge nodded and spat on the lino. "She knows how to make Kate fertile. Problem being, Jerard here stole her soul and she wants it back in return for helping us. But Morag turned his son into the hungry mutt here, and I kind of made a deal with Jerard. You're the only person I can think of who can maybe turn him back, and so I came home to ask. Will you, will you help us, help Jerard, help me and Kate? We might be able to start a family, Madge. Please?"
Madge released the spell and stood, not that it made her much taller as she's quite a stumpy thing. Wide, too. She nodded at me, then at the others, and said, "Finish your breakfast then come through to the kitchen."
"Thanks, Madge."
"Wow, the kitchen," said Mithnite through a mouthful of fried delights. "Don't know anyone who's ever been back there."
"Me either," I said, gnawing on a sausage contemplatively.
Full Bellies
It didn't take us long to finish our food. It was, after all, the best meal you could hope to get anywhere in the world. Our French guests seemed immensely proud to have finally visited the infamous Madge's, and it worked wonders in restoring me to fighting fit. Must have been the fat clogging my arteries, made the magic back up and fill out my ink or something.
With the plates licked clean, and not just the dog's, I dutifully piled them up, grabbed the cutlery, and put everything on the counter, ignoring the stares from other diners. I just grunted when they tried to talk. We had business to attend to and I needed to stay focused.
As I placed the plates down and moved back to the table so we could finish our drinks, I wondered if I should call Dancer, or Kate, and tell them what was happening. Should the Council Head know his number one enforcer was back in town? Maybe, but I didn't want him involved as things might get out of hand or he might take it upon himself to go the official route and that wouldn't work. I didn't have time to play the games the Councils did. Besides, the French had clearly given Morag free rein to do as she damn well pleased, and Jerard wasn't exactly a character Dancer would allow to behave as he had.
Kate would be stressed, so maybe I should call her and tell her everything was fine. Not that it was. Undecided, I nonetheless got out my phone, fully charged at the airport, and sent a message rather than calling. I told her I was on track to be there the following day with what was needed and I missed her and loved her. She replied in a heartbeat, saying she was worried but okay, and she missed me, too. I made no mention Mithnite was involved; she'd go nuts.
Jerard was a strange one. He was bad news, just not as bad as Morag. He was, or had been, involved in shady stuff, and anyone that chose Morag as a partner, even for just a while, had a screw loose. But there are
always degrees of insanity and he may have pushed the boundaries but he wasn't evil as such, merely played a much darker game than I had the stomach for. He was also more powerful than nearly every magic user I'd ever met. The veils, the control of the troll, the snatching of my soul like it was nothing, it hinted at hidden depths I had no wish to find out more about.
I sat in silence, thinking about all of this, and my mind inevitably turned to Madge herself, the woman we'd come to see. A year ago, because of several unfortunate incidents that resulted in Kate being about as hungry as a vampire can get, we wound up next door in Delilah's, and Madge had come to her rescue, revealing a side of herself I never knew existed. She had saved Kate and it had never been mentioned again.
I'd always thought of Madge as this batty old witch who was powerful with magic but chose not to use it, content to scowl and insult people for pay, but there was another side to her. When she'd fed Kate, with a psychic energy that fortified her as much as human blood would have, Madge had dropped the old lady veneer for a moment, and her true nature was revealed.
Madge was a raghosh.
I drained my tea, dregs and all, and looked up to find everyone staring at me. "What?"
"Hurry up," said Mithnite.
"Oui, we must hurry," said Jerard.
"Just making sure this isn't a terrible idea," I said. "Come on, let's go."
We moved gingerly around the counter into alien territory, the diners watching in amazement, wondering when Madge would leap out and beat us to a bloody pulp with a frying pan. But she didn't, and we pushed through the greasy plastic fly curtain into unchartered territory. The mysterious world known as Madge's kitchen.
Revelations
Madge was a shifter, but not just any shifter. The raghosh is extremely rare, almost mythical. Madge had fed Kate by channeling power though myriad animals. In quick succession, too fast for Regular eyes to see, I saw endless creatures in a dizzying procession as her form flickered and danced through every animal Madge had been in her life.
At that moment, I understood that her work in the cafe was but a small part of this secretive witch's life. She would also shift into whatever she fancied and roam the city or fly high in the sky, and I got an insight into her nature that was hard to accept. Madge was old, ancient, centuries older than I'd imagined. She was stronger than I thought, too, and had knowledge of ancient things. Madge knew almost all there was to know about shifters even though absolutely nobody in the shifter community knew who or what she was. She kept it secret, as was her right, and the reason could have been anything.
Raghosh can become any creature, and Madge had been hundreds if not thousands over her lifetime. Who better to deal with a forced shift caused by magic than one such as she?
I prayed she could reverse the spell, for this was not something a regular witch or wizard could do. It was magic born of years of study and specialization, not a general potion or short term spell that could be negated easily or would wear off after a while. No, the reason Jerard was so willing to try anything was because he knew this was permanent unless Morag changed Pierre back.
Maybe this was Morag's way of caving in to Jerard? Did Morag think from the start I could help Jerard's son? The sneaky bitch. I bet that was it, what she wanted me for. Hoping I would know somebody, as I have a lot of contacts, one of whom might break her spell without her losing face.
Whatever, as long as it worked I really didn't care.
We stepped into the kitchen and the heat hit. Fat molecules weighed down the air until it was like you had to bend low, turn your head up and suck hard to breathe. Madge's new chef was there busy at work, and she nodded at us once, then said, "Through there," and pointed to a door at the far end.
We passed the steaming pots of molten beans, the gently frying eggs, and a monstrous device for grinding meat along with numerous other oversized gray metal machines that seemed out of place in a kitchen but Madge and her chef clearly needed.
With a gulp, I turned the handle on the door and we passed from one strange world into another. Up a flight of stairs, through another door, and we were in Madge's real world.
"Bloody hell, Madge," I whispered in shock, but pushed the others forward and moved deeper into the raghosh witch's lair.
Favors and Flings
We were in a medium-sized living room, at least that's what I guess you'd call it, but it was far from conventional and wilder than I'd ever imagined Madge's home to be.
Her apartment bore such little resemblance to any room I'd ever been in that I felt a long way from Cardiff.
"Stop making the place look untidy," grumbled Madge as she came in from a small kitchen through an archway. From what I could see, the kitchen was neat and orderly with modern white goods, was large, and even partially clean. The same could not be said for her living room.
"Thanks, Madge. Um, nice place," I ventured, and shoved at Mithnite and Jerard's backs to get them away from the doorway. They moved reluctantly, but move they did, and as Madge settled a battered circular tray down on a clear spot on a long coffee table, they took a seat next to each other on a sofa they sank so deep into their legs almost touched their ears. I took a chair which tried to swallow me whole, so I shifted forward to perch on the edge.
The air smelled different to downstairs although you couldn't get away from the odor of burnt toast and grease. Overriding everything else, however, was the scent of animals.
Endless creatures of all description. The air was alive with memories, with images and sensations so real it was almost overpowering. You could feel your wings stretch lazily as you took flight, feel the air ruffling feathers, the pure joy of gliding on thermals. Taste the tang of iron as you bit into flesh warm and nourishing, the power in your hind legs as you jumped, the pure joy of leaping with deadly intent, claws raking deep into your prey.
All of this and so many more intangible feelings, hints of the animal, hung heavy in the cloying air, close to overpowering your mind.
And why was this?
Because the room was rammed with all manner of stuffed creatures. A taxidermist's wet dream.
Madge caught us staring in confusion at the creatures and said, "Friends, all of them."
"Ah, I see," I said.
"This is why nobody gets invited. They wouldn't understand. But you do, Spark. Have you told these two who I am?"
I shook my head vehemently. "No, absolutely not! I promised you."
"Good, but if you want me to help, guess you better."
"Right, okay."
Madge leaned forward in her chair and peered at me with that intense look she has, the one that makes you feel like an insect inspected by a hungry bird. At least I knew how she got all her looks so perfect. She had actually done said peering at insects, and undoubtedly eaten them too. "Well?" she asked, exasperated.
"Oh, right. You mean now?"
"Of course now!"
So I told them. Told them what I believed Madge to be, and that if anyone could help I thought it would be her. When I'd finished I asked her outright. "Can you help? Can you reverse whatever this is and get Jerard his son back?"
"For you, Jerard, I'll try," she said, messing with her hair as if only just realizing it looked like an angry bird had begun to build a nest then had a seizure and dismantled it before flying off disgusted by its own actions.
Jerard squirmed forward then reached out and took Madge's hands. "How can I ever thank you?" he asked, tears welling up.
"I'll think of something," said Madge with a wink.
I shuddered, but Jerard smiled and winked back at her.
Guess he liked older women, and witches. Dangerous, wild, unpredictable witches. At least she could cook, so there was that.
Secrets, Spies, and Pies
Madge, never one to speak when a grunt and frown would do, swore us to secrecy not only about her home, but who and what she was.
Rather surprisingly, she answered Mithnite's numerous questions and admitted that each animal pre
sent was, at one time, known to her. She had lived many lives, in many forms, and these were what I guess you would call her friends and maybe even her lovers. If that's the right word for a tortoise you had some slow action with decades ago. They squeak when they do it, it's really odd. And before you get any funny ideas, I saw a documentary, okay?
Madge was borderline neurotic, utterly paranoid, and she made each of us look at her with Hidden eyes so she could see into our minds and ensure we had nobody watching from within. She knew all about possessions and the gifts of those like Jerard. I still had little idea how he'd become so powerful and was sure there were depths to his talents I didn't want to learn anything about.
Madge spent an age with the terrier in her lap. Touching it, running her knobbly fingers up and down its back, resting her hands on its head, or whispering in its ear. It went from manic, licking her and wagging its tail like a thing demented, to whining, and flattening its ears as she spoke in hushed tones. Whatever she was saying, the beast understood, and soon the afternoon sun hit the dirty windows and the room brightened, the layers of grease not enough to stop the haze shining through and sparkling like faery dust as it reflected off the floating detritus in the unhealthy air.
We sat in silence, observing as Madge and the dog communicated. Mithnite and I grew somewhat bored, although my nervousness mounted as this was the final day and we had to be back in France tomorrow. Jerard, however, was a bundle of anxious energy, constantly tapping his feet, readjusting his position, and muttering away to himself.
Madge was sweating profusely, thick beads of oily sweat popping onto her brow, smeared as she wiped at her forehead with her clean apron. Eventually she nodded, the dog jumped down, and she rose heavily, pushing against the arms of the chair with thick forearms, a cloud of dust in her wake.
"You want a meat pie?" she asked, then shuffled into the kitchen before anyone could answer. Guess she took that as a yes, of course we all wanted a pie.
