A Witch, A Glitch, and A Dog

by J. E. Lezah

  10

  The Opening Ceremonies of the Gathering of the Clans were moments away from beginning, and Aldara was moments away from throwing up. She pressed a palm against her midsection trying to will her stomach to stop churning. So far, it wasn’t working, and neither was her choice in wardrobe.

  She ran her finger tips over the crisscrossed ribbon and metal gromets of her corset. Of all the times to listen to Zerlina and Zoe. They assured her she looked fierce in the burgundy gown, cinched tight at the waist. What they didn’t tell her was breathing wasn’t an option.

  Now here she stood, unable to suck in enough air to keep a gnat alive, or wrangle the representatives of Royal Houses into making a straight line. This is why she needed Giles. He was the silent force that kept everyone calm and orderly, and that included Aldara. But he wasn’t here, so it was up to her and only her.

  Bringing the tip of her wand up to her lips and whispered, “Mute.” With a flick of her wrist, the staging room became silent, causing all eyes to turn to her. “Now that I have your attention,” she began. “I do apologize for the silent treatment, but we have little time, and I need you line up for the processional. Yes?” Aldara pointed to the burly, red-headed wizard. She recognized him as Ulfgrim Bodalfsson, leader of the Norse Clan. Of course, the spear and horned helmet were a dead give-away.

  He gestured to his throat. With another flick of her wand, she lifted his silence.

  “I protest once again, that I, a son of Odin should be last,” he bellowed. His Scandinavian accent almost too thick to understand his words.

  “Need I remind you the choice was given to line up in alphabetical order or to let the decision be made by throwing bones which has been the tradition for more than three hundred years. Throwing bones was the unanimous choice. Now then if there are no other objections, please line up in order of castings.” She really wanted to tell him to put on his big Viking breeches and deal, but figured that wouldn’t be her best bet.

  Getting the delegates under control had taken longer than she anticipated, but finally everyone was ready. She reminded the group that she would be in the balcony watching if anything should go wrong, which she prayed it wouldn’t.

  Once the door was closed firmly behind her, she ordered “Volume on” and waited for a moment until the din of noise filtered underneath the door. She would probably get an ear full from her father about muting everyone, at the moment, she didn’t care. She had a job to do and would do whatever it took to get it done.

  Aldara and her sisters watched from the gallery as the throng of guests bustled into the grand ballroom.

  “Oh look,” Zerlina squealed, pointing into the crowd below. “There’s Silas Greenwhip.”

  Aldara traced her sister’s invisible line to a man not much older than she. Bright red hair stood like bottle brush bristles across the top of his head accentuating his milky white complexion. He didn’t have the swarthy looks of Giles, but for a red-head, he wasn’t half bad.

  Zoe leaned across Aldara to speak with her twin. “You know what they say about kilts, don’t you?”

  Aldara knew she would regret asking, but she also knew it would disappoint her sister if she didn’t. “And what is that?”

  “It’s better to be caught with your kilt up, than with your pants down.” The twins said in unison, laughing hysterically.

  Aldara rolled her eyes. From the time the twins were teenagers, they had been unabashedly boy crazy. And it would seem, boys were equally as crazy about them.

  “What about him?” Zoe pointed out a dark-haired guy backed uncomfortably into a corner. “I don’t think I’ve seen him at the gatherings before.”

  “Looks rather nerdy, don’t you think?” Zerlina asked.

  “I think he’s kind of cute. Look at those little glasses perched on the end of his nose. He’s all nervous and fidgety like a little mouse.”

  A wicked smile bowed Zoe’s lips. “I like mice.” Grabbing her twins hand, Zoe drug her sister through the archway and down the stairs.

  Leaning over the railing, Aldara watched Zoe and Zerlina flutter across the ballroom floor heading directly to the guy in the corner. “Poor guy.” She raised her glass of Elderberry wine to him. “You have no idea the hurricane coming your way.”

  Aldara’s gaze flickered from her watch to the gilded doors at the far end of the ballroom. She held her breath, as the doors opened, and a petite man, dressed in heavy, purple robes walked through the crowd to take center stage. In his right hand, he carried a gnarled wooden staff, nearly two feet taller than himself. It was time. She gulped down the rest of her wine, and waited.

  Horace Wiznatt was the Exemptor Portice of the Central Confederation of Witches. As Exemptor Portice it was his job to act as emcee at all official Central Confederation functions. No matter how big or small, the Exemptor made the pronouncements.

  Horace raised his staff and banged it against the bandstand floor with more force than she would have thought possible. Like a music box spinning to its end, the musicians and dancers came to a disjointed halt.

  Arched doorways appeared at the four corners of the ballroom making way for Heraldry trumpeters. Three from each corner forming two lines, one on either side of the main doorway. Thirteen trumpeters in all took their place. Six on each side with the Master Trumpeter staged in the center of the room.

  “Kind witches and wizards, enchantresses and enchanters, and honored guests” Horace’s voice rang across the room. Aldara was impressed that a voice so strong could come from one so frail.

  “It is my pleasure, nay honor, to welcome you to the opening of the 500th Gathering of the Clans of the Central Confederation of Witches,” Horace boomed. His infectious exuberance sent the crowd into an eruption of cheers and applause. He raised his staff for silence.

  “Trumpeters, sound your clarion call. Bring forth the banners, and let the Gathering begin!”

  With complete precision, the trumpeters turned on their heels, facing into the crowd, and without any noticeable cues, launched into a glorious fanfare. No sooner had their horns snapped to rest position, the band began playing the Regent’s March composed by the renowned composer Oberon Whisper. Aldara should have known the name, but she just couldn’t remember it.

  The banner of each clan appeared high above the ballroom, floating into a single file line above the heads of its representative. One by one each flag and representative took their place.

  The last to enter was that of her own family. She always loved her family crest. It represented her clans lengthy battle against evil forces. A harpy, part virginal maiden, part eagle was emblazoned on the banner of purple. In one hand, she held a dagger, in the other a set of scales.

  She would never tell her family, but occasionally she imagined herself following in the footsteps of her great, great grandfather Fortescue and waging war on those who brought black magic into their midst, but that job she would leave to her brother.

  Aldara studied her father as he made his way to the crowd. Although the Exemptor Portice pronounce the conclave open, it wasn’t official until the Supreme Regent declared it so.

  “Doesn’t he look handsome?” Magnie asked, coming to stand beside her daughter.

  Aldara smiled. It was heartwarming to see the way her mother’s face lit up as she spoke of her husband. “Yes," Aldara agreed. “He does look especially handsome tonight.” Magnie’s hand rested on Aldara’s arm.

  “He was born for this,” Magnie said. “He was born to be the Regent Supreme.”

  Aldara had to admit, he was the epitome of calm and grace under pressure. In fact, she was pretty sure Keene Hastings heart rate never got above the low 50s.

  “Just as you were,” Magnie added.

  And there it is, Aldara stifled a groan. “Mother…"

  “I know. I know. It’s not your hearts calling, but sometimes that may not be an option.”

  Was this her mother talking? The woman who always said you can’t go wrong following your heart? The on
e who helped her pick the name Enchanted Events for her business?

  “We will talk about it later, here. Your father is about to speak."

  Gladly, Aldara thought, and tried to focus on her father. Keene wasn’t a tall man, yet his energy was so commanding people were compelled to listen. No spell of compulsion was ever needed.

  Keene glanced in the direction of her and Magnie. The look of love and admiration held in his eyes was unmistakable. Even from afar Aldara could see how much Keene still loved his wife. The site was enough to give her hope that one day she too would find such love.

  Placing a single finger to his lips, Keene brought the room to silence, and thus his speech began.

  “Tonight begins five days of celebration. A celebration of 500 years of peace and harmony amongst the clans. I know many of you are expecting a long discourse this evening, but there will be enough time for that later."

  Aldara felt the room release a collective sigh at her father’s last statement, and who could blame them?

  “This night is about family and friends reconnecting and new alliances being formed. So eat, drink, and make merry as we begin this, our 500th Gathering of the Clans!" Uproarious applause filled the room as Keene swept his purple and gold cape around his body and disappeared.

  A sense of pride ran through Aldara at her father’s flourishing maneuvers. As if there was any question as to where her knack for over-the-top theatrics came from. Soon the air was again filled with music and laughter.

  “Let’s join your father,” Magnie said.

  “I prefer up here. There are too many people down there.”

  Magnie huffed. “No daughter of mine will be a wallflower. There are plenty of handsome, well respected, young wizards and alchemist down there. So go have fun.”

  “But mother…. "

  Magnie tilted her chin downward, staring up at Aldara over the rim of her glasses. That was her mother’s don’t argue with me because I’m your mother and you will lose face.

  With a sigh of concession, Aldara did as her mother asked. There were so many people, it was nearly impossible to move from one side of the room to the other, let alone find a partner or space to dance. Plus, who said she wanted or needed to find a perfectly respectable wizard as her mother had put it. She was quite happy with her life the way it was.

  In fact, she would much rather be at home in her comfy clothes, with Ismarelda, Giles, and a bowl of popcorn watching Spector Chasers on television. The host of the show, Xander Dobbins, was such a goof. He would classify everything as an aggressive haunting. Aldara would spend most of the evening yelling at the television and telling him what an idiot he was.

  Giles, on the other hand, would sit quietly eating his popcorn. On occasion, he would remind her the Xander couldn’t hear her. Aldara would just shrug and continue fussing. She wasn’t sure what was more fun – yelling at the television or watching the look on Giles’s face at some of her comments. Either way, it was a great stress relief.

  “How pleasant to see you again, Aldara,” a man’s voice said into her right here sending a shiver creeping up Aldara’s spine, and zipping down her shoulders and arms.

  Maybe it was the feel of his moist breath on her neck or the dark way in which he twisted her name. The reason it didn’t matter. What did matter was she didn’t like it. Turning her attention, Aldara realized the voice belonged to the confederation’s second chair. Delano Fewahl. No wonder she shivered. His positive features reminded her of the weasel or maybe a mole.

  “Delano,” she smiled. “Yes. It has been rather a long time. How have you been?”

  “Very well," he answered. “Care to dance?” Delano extended his hand.

  Rats, bats, and crickadats, she thought. Where were the twins when she needed them the most?

  When it came to Delano Fewahl, there were rumors upon top of rumors. He was descended from one of the oldest witching families known as the Pre – Celtae. For him there was no need for potions or wand waving. He needed only his thoughts and words. This fact alone made him one of the most feared of the council members.

  To say yes would mean touching him and dancing through uncomfortable silence. To refuse a dance with a member of the Council would be a gross breach of etiquette, and look poorly upon her family.

  Aldara put on her best beauty pageant smile. “Of course, Councilman Fewahl, I would love nothing more.”

  11

  With a heavy sigh, Aldara slumped against her bedroom door. She kicked off her heels and padded her way to the bed, falling across it with a loud “oof”. Seemingly from nowhere, Ismarelda jumped onto the bed beside her.

  “What?” she asked the dog, who silently stared down at her. “Did you have a good time chasing the ferrets today?” Ismarelda pawed Aldara’s shoulder signaling it was time to Aldara to drop whatever she was doing and pay attention to the pup.

  Aldara stroked the cottony fur around the dog’s ears and neck. Somewhere a bell chimed twice. “Two a.m.,” she mumbled. “I wonder if Giles is still awake?” she asked Ismarelda. “Wait, of course he is. It’s only eight o’clock there. He’s probably getting ready to watch Specter Hunters.” She continued to speak to her dog, who, despite having the appearance of being attentive, actually wasn’t.

  Aldara propped on her elbows. “Why did we come Marelda?”

  Ismarelda yawned, and blinked three times before stretching out beside her mistress. “Maybe we should call him.” Aldara glanced over to the dressing table mirror. “But, what if we call and catch him dancing through the house in his underwear or something?”

  Aldara tapped her fingers on the duvet beneath her. There was no need to call Giles. Was there? Just because Delano creeped her out, so what? The wizard had creeped her out since she was a teenager.

  There was little difference in politics within the magical community and those of the mortal world. Corruption and subterfuge lurked every corner of the council building.

  The Supreme Regent inherited their position, much in the way a monarch would. Unless, of course, the Supreme Regent died or was ousted by the council. If there wasn’t an heir apparent, the council would take a vote of confidence for the next ruling family.

  The last time that happened was more than 130 years ago when the regent before her grandfather had died. She was maybe six years old at the time, and she remembered little about the man other than him being able to blow bubbles out of his ears.

  She did remember watching her father and mother whispering to each other in hushed tones whenever his name was mentioned. No one could ever believe such an accomplished wizard would die from such a mundane spell. She also remembered the word murder being banded about, but as far as she knew the proof didn’t exist.

  Aldara shook her head trying to put such a horrible thought away. She swung herself off the bed and moved to sit before the vanity. She really shouldn’t bother Giles. After all, he was trying to enjoy a vacation away from her and Ismarelda. It was possible he wasn’t even home. Then again he might not even be alone.

  Her stomach dropped at the thought of him being with someone else. Not that it was any of her business. But how dare he bring another woman there? She should give him a piece of her mind.

  That settled it. It was her house and she had every right to know what was going on there.

  Aldara spoke to the mirror. “Mirror dear, hear now my plea. Mirror clear my home to see. Giles is the person I now seek. It is with him I wish to speak.”

  She had to admit, out of all her gifts, making beautiful poetic spells was not one of them. However, they always worked fine. The silver backing of the mirror faded away, bringing her living room into view. The television was on, but paused. The image of Dax’s big head stretched across the screen.

  She secretly hoped that every time he asked “is that you?”, a disembodied voice would come back with “Nope. Not me.” The sad fact was, after watching Dax and his crew for eight years, The big doof still had no clue of how to interact with spirits.

>   Aldara scanned the room and hallway for Giles. Dang it. He wasn’t there. She would just hang out and wait. Surely he wouldn’t be gone too long.

  “Think I should call out to him?” she asked over her shoulder, only to be answered by a loud snort. Aldara rolled her eyes. She has never seen a animal fall asleep as fast as Ismarelda.

  “Hey,” the sound of Giles’s voice brought her back to the mirror.

  “Oh hey,” she answered trying not to sound as jumbled as she felt. The room swam and she dropped her chin into her hands. Okay, she thought, maybe I shouldn’t have had that fourth glass of Witches’s Wings.

  “So you’re tipsy?” he asked, as he sat down a bowl of popcorn before coming to stand in front of the mirror.

  Aldara giggled. “Maybe a skoosh.”

  “Everything okay?”

  A feigned smiled failed to reach her eyes. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

  Giles half sat, half leaned against the back of the sofa. “So what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she sighed. “I guess I got a little weirded out tonight, and needed to see a familiar face.”

  “A tough witch like you weirded out? I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “It happens.”

  “Rarely. You want to talk about it?” he asked.

  Giles’s deep baritone sent a wave of warmth through her pushing even more anxiety away. Aldara yawned, relaxing all the muscles in her shoulders and chest. The room spun again, forcing her to close her eyes, rocking backwards. She could hear someone calling her name, yet it seemed so far away.

  “Aldara!” Giles’s sharp tone brought her back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Umm…yeah. I’m good. Too much hair of the toad I guess. Sorry. Can I call you in the morning?” Aldara struggled to open her eyes.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Oh. I forgot to tell you. I did an impromptu interview with Tempest this evening.”

  Giles straightened. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Super unexpected. Odd thing was, she kept handing me drinks.”