“Off with you. There’s milk and eggs set out on the kitchen for the familiars. Go and get your share.” It was satisfying to teach the bullying creature a lesson. He slunk off, but not towards the kitchen as instructed. Instead, he wound his way around the living room door and headed straight for his mistress.
Astral followed, leaving Borage to make his own way down. Syracuse wrapped himself around Magdalene’s ankles and glared back at her, his beady eyes dancing with spite. Astral ignored him, only to find she was the target of the same beady-eyed stare from Magdalene, making her squirm in her shoes. It was inappropriate to push another witch’s familiar around, especially the High Priestess’s pampered pet. Syracuse had clearly wasted no time in telling tales.
Astral slid out of Magdalene’s line of sight and dipped back behind the rotund figure of Old Mother Worriwort. Her glass was empty again but Astral decided to ignore it. At this rate of consumption, she’d soon be sliding off the couch. She never used to be so bad with drink. What had made her fall off the wagon face first?
“So, these critters that you saw in the cauldron?” She tried to distract her from her empty glass. “Where exactly are they? Can you tell?”
“Scrying is not that simple,” Old Mother Worriwort said. “It can be hard to focus.”
I’ll bet, Astral thought.
“It’s more like a foreboding,” she continued. “I can see the cast of its shadow over the land, and it turns the cauldron water scummy.” She waved her arms alarmingly. The plate with the mermaid finger slid down her lap, forcing Astral to rescue it before it hit the carpet. “It takes hours to scour the cauldron clean afterward.” She folded her hands across her round stomach. “It leaves an aftertaste in the iron.”
“All over the land?” Astral repeated. “Perhaps the critters are not even in our covenstead?” she said, hoping it was all a mistake and the supernatural beings were hundreds of miles away bothering some other coven.
“Critter. One is enough. Now, hush, child.” She nodded towards Magdalene, who was getting to her feet.
The room fell silent, all attention riveted on the High Priestess, a tall, sharp-angled woman in her mid-fifties, with immaculately coiffed silver hair, knife-edged cheekbones, and eyes of glacial blue. Her robe was fashioned in black velvet, the perfect backdrop for the bejewelled ceremonial dagger at her hip and the rope of silver and onyx charms that hung from her belt. She oozed power and authority and her cut-glass beauty was marred only by the sour droop to her mouth and the hard gleam in her eyes. Behind her, the wallpaper burst into bloody blisters. Astral frowned at it anxiously, and it grudgingly turned a depressing tea stain colour and refused to brighten any further, advertising its opinion of their esteemed guest. A quick glance around assured Astral that she’d been the only one to notice.
“It is time to spin the web.” Magdalene raised her hands to begin the Circle-casting ritual, unaware of the mucky walls behind her. The others stood and held hands in a loose circle while Dulcie, acting as the Maiden, set out the correct accoutrements for each quarter.
“Let us weave our Circle tight, spin our web of dark and light,” Magdalene intoned and moved into the centre, anointing to each cardinal point in turn with her dagger. “Fire and Water, Air and Earth, quartered to protect this hearth. Blessed be.”
Each cardinal point now represented an elemental power. Old Mother Worriwort acted as Caller of Air and gave the element a blessing while spilling salt to outline her quarter of the Circle. Martha called on Water with a similar blessing, and her partner, Tallulah, called Fire. Finally, Eve Wormrider, a crony of Magdalene’s, called Earth.
Astral relaxed slightly now that the casting was over. All that was left was for Dulcie, in her office as ceremonial Maiden, to light the four white candles that evoked a protection on all those within the salt circle.
As Maiden, Dulcie was apprenticed to Magdalene, who acted as ceremonial Mother. Magdalene was supposed to serve Old Mother Worriwort, who was the ceremonial Crone, though it seldom looked that way. Everyone, in some way or other, served Magdalene, and Magdalene alone, and these thoughts troubled Astral. Old Mother Worriwort was growing more muddled by the day. Dotage had not so much crept up on her as landed like a felled tree, and her excessive drinking didn’t help matters.
Dulcie excelled as a young witch and deserved her position, and she also deserved to have better mistresses than these two. Astral would never be as good at her craft as she was, or even as Keeva, who was far too busy with her animal magic to care much about coven politics.
Astral had long since accepted that she qualified for Circle membership by virtue of her birthright rather than her skill set and she would never hold a coven office. Secretly, she was glad because The Plague Tree Coven had changed since Grandma Lettice had passed on. It was not a happy place anymore, and Astral grew more alarmed each gathering at the direction in which Magdalene was taking it.
She pushed the bitterness from her mind, smoothing it with the belief that she was simply having trouble adjusting to Magdalene’s ways—which were meagre gruel after the rich banquet of her grandmother’s legacy. And if Dulcie was right, she wasn’t the only one feeling this way. Dulcie was a capable, respected career witch, who kept her finger on the collective pulse. She had served both Grandma Lettice and now Magdalene, and according to her, there were discreet rumblings about the new High Priestess. Though many witches—undeserving ones, in Astral’s opinion—now enjoyed a new level of authority under Magdalene’s sponsorship. Meanwhile, the coven was quietly splitting down the middle.
“Sisters,” Magdalene announced, “I call to order this extraordinary gathering of The Plague Tree Coven. We have come together this evening to concentrate exclusively on some unsettling news. Old Mother Worriwort, as our all-seeing crone, please report on the current situation.”
Old Mother Worriwort stepped forward, her rheumatic hip giving an awkward, lopsided hitch to her step, and her jaw was set hard against the pain. Astral instinctively reached out to help her before a sharp glance from Magdalene had her drawing back. Under Magdalene’s ministry, it would be improper to touch an elder within the circle, even to aid her.
“Daughters dear,” Old Mother Worriwort began, “as you know, I monitor our stock portfolio daily, and I have begun to notice an alarming trend. We are slowly but steadily losing money.”
There came a muted gasp from all those present. This was unheard of. Coven stocks and shares were magically protected so covens never lost money on the stock exchange. The moon and stars may as well tumble from the sky. It simply didn’t happen. A low murmur of disbelief increased in volume as alarm rang through the Circle.
“Are you sure?”
“How can that be?”
“What’s happening?”
“But aren’t we protected?”
“Sisters.” Magdalene raised a hand for order. “I’m afraid it is true. Old Mother Worriwort immediately cast a divination spell. The results were conclusive and very alarming. I’m afraid we have critters.”
A new round of devastation ensued. “Critters!”
“And they’re after our money?”
“They’ll ruin us.”
“And suck out our magic power.”
At this, the Circle burst into even greater agitation. Critters were deadly to witches, never mind their bank accounts.
“Daughters, daughters. We have a plan,” Old Mother Worriwort said calmly, as if she faced critter infestations every day. Everyone fell silent. “I have identified the financial organization it’s hiding in. and, yes, I said ‘it,’ as there is only one. Critters are uncivil, antisocial, distasteful creatures. They cannot abide each other’s company, and don’t work in groups. Which makes things easier for us,” she said with satisfaction. “This critter is working alone, and it is certainly after our money. It’s been hacking into our spells and redirecting our wealth for its own vile purposes.”
“We have two paths open to us.” Magdalene took over, shooing Old Moth
er Worriwort away with a flick of her fingers. The old lady retreated gratefully and slid discreetly out of the Circle and onto the couch. Astral wondered why they didn’t cast a healing for their Crone and determined to ask Dulcie about it later.
“Two paths,” Magdalene continued, “and we must choose which is our way forward. The first is to increase the power of our spell-casting and hope to outsmart it, but these creatures are renowned for their perseverance and adaptability, and it may well keep trying to hack into our magic for years. Worse still, its magic could take root in our spells like a virus and simply sit and wait us out, striking when and wherever it chooses. We may never be able to winkle it out if it does that.” Her words were met with menacing mutters. Magdalene looked pleased with the response and Astral suddenly let go of her worry and allowed it to swerve away from critters and money, and on to greater, less concrete things, like what was really going on here?
“Or,” Magdalene said, “our second option is to go in fighting, and eliminate the threat at its source, once and for all.”
This was greeted by silence. Eliminate it? Astral was aghast. Witches never injured anything if they could help it. If it was against the laws of nature, then it shouldn’t be done. Plus, bad deeds came back thrice-fold to Wiccan kind.
She was as fearful of critters as the next witch, but she was appalled at what Magdalene was suggesting. It would be all-out war to attack a critter. They came from another realm and it was dangerous to cross magical borders, especially in enmity. Critters came to this worldly plane because they were dirty, thieving philanderers that craved wealth and power, and humanity dripped with both. To destroy a critter with magic in the human realm was against all the rules. The coven hadn’t the right to kill an unearthly being. What was Magdalene thinking, and exactly how much money had they lost? She glanced over at Dulcie and met an equally startled stare. Her friend was as stunned as she was.
Then pandemonium broke out, and not the type Astral was expecting.
“Go for it.”
“Let’s get the little weasel.”
“Kill it. We’ll never be safe until it’s gone for good.”
Astral was shocked. “But, but—”
“So mote it be,” Magdalene said, and hurriedly cut her ceremonial dagger through the air, releasing the Circle before Astral could blink thrice.
She slumped onto the couch next to Old Mother Worriwort, shell-shocked at this lynch mob behaviour and it occurred to her that all of this seemed orchestrated as a council of war rather than a gathering. The same voices had brayed out time and again, and every one of them was a Magdalene acolyte.
She looked around the room at the sweaty, hard-edged faces. Across from her, Martha and Tallulah seemed uncomfortable, though they had complied with the decision. Only Dulcie and Astral were openly upset. It had to be a pre-planned vote, but why?
“How exactly are we going to flush it out, never mind… never mind kill it?” Dulcie asked quietly. Her question was taken seriously because of her position. Astral was sure if she had asked, it would have been tossed aside.
“The containment will fall to the members of the Upper Council,” Magdalene said in a clipped tone, and Astral surmised that she did not appreciate being questioned.
Containment? Astral’s gaze met Dulcie’s. Her friend’s face was pale, her eyes dark with worry.
“But how do we find it?” she heard herself asking. She wanted to support Dulcie, not leave her alone to ask all the important questions. Everyone turned to look at her and she shrank back, cowed by the censorious looks. The coven had changed so much in the short time since her grandma’s passing. People Grandma Lettice had never thought worth much merit were suddenly in positions of power. She remembered Borage’s warnings and her stomach knotted.
Where was he? She looked around the room for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Now’s not the time to sulk, Borage. I need you. It’s getting scary in here. She noticed Syracuse was also missing. Was he keeping Borage away from her? Was that his little game? One look at Magdalene’s sly face and she could believe it.
“We need someone to infiltrate its workplace,” Old Mother Worriwort announced carefully. Her eyes roved the room, refusing to settle anywhere. She looked awkward and uncomfortable. It was obvious to Astral that the elders had already discussed the critter situation in some depth and had a plan. Dulcie had suspected something was going on last night between certain factions while other coven members were literally left in the dark.
Astral frowned, impatient. Why had they come to her house with all this talk about killing critters when they already had a plan anyway, and…and…across the way, Dulcie’s eyes widened and her head bobbed sharply. She was trying to tell her something. Astral stared back, nervous. What was Dulcie warning her about? Oh, why was she so crap at mind-blending? She could feel Dulcie’s alarm bouncing around in her head, but the message was unfocused and irritating, like a bluebottle buzzing against a window. She could only mind-blend with Borage, and he was usually monosyllabic.
“We need you, Astral,” Magdalene stated bluntly. “You do temp office work in financial places such as these. We have created a vacancy in the office the critter is operating out of, and arranged for you to fill it. It’s all an illusion, of course, a Cuckoo spell, but your work agency believes it’s true, and more importantly, the place where you’re going does as well.”
“Me?” Astral squeaked. “You can’t cast Cuckoo spells over my agency. They’ll find out and drop me.” A Cuckoo spell was an illusion that made something false seem real, but only temporarily. It was risky magic at best.
Magdalene shifted impatiently, her jaw working as if she was biting back what was probably a nasty comment.
Old Mother Worriwort spoke instead. “You are easily the best placed among us. There’s a temp job waiting for you in Black and Blacker Finances. All you have to do is keep your eyes open and report back as soon as you’ve identified the critter. That’s all.”
Black and Blacker Finance? They were casting a Cuckoo spell over Black and Blacker? One of the largest brokerage companies in the country? Black and Blacker had been around since Henry VIII started counting wives, and they had recently moved their operational office from London to the coast in a much-publicized attempt to decentralize.
All core, non-client-facing business was now situated in Sussex.
“I’m to spy on Black and Blacker?” Astral stared at Mother Worriwort in horror. She didn’t know how to spy. Spying was slippery, dangerous, and sometimes sexy work—all things she wasn’t. And Black and Blacker was a ginormous company. Far too scary to mess with.
“It will take you no time at all to flush the critter out,” Magdalene said. “Less than a week, I should imagine.”
“But a Cuckoo spell barely lasts a week.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to pop in and find the critter. Just identify it and we’ll do the rest,” Magdalene said, tone irritated.
“But—but how will I identify it? I’ve never seen a critter before. What do they look like? Will it hurt me if it finds out I’m a witch? It might suck out my powers…” She trailed off, noticing the half-hidden smirks of those sitting nearest. “Well, it could.” She bristled. It was not as if her powers were so negligible that others could snigger at her. “I can wield a wand and could well be tasty enough for a critter. They love to gorge on witches,” she reminded them, a little too tartly.
“Mm.” Magdalene looked thoughtful, though it seemed a little staged to Astral’s canny eye. Her hand stole to the inner wand pocket of her cloak and found it empty. At first, she started in alarm because it was unforgivable to be without it at a gathering, but then she remembered she had taken Borage’s advice and left it in the kitchen drawer. This was what he must have meant, that this critter business was going to blow up in her face.
“Child.” Old Mother Worriwort squeezed her shoulder. “We chose you, as your magic is so…understated. As long as you don’t actually do any magic, the crit
ter will never guess you are a witch. The Cuckoo spell should protect you. You’ll be nothing more than an ordinary young woman, a simple girl, and should be perfectly safe.”
There were too many “shoulds” in her statement for Astral’s liking. Her heightened alarm was slowly dampened by another, more familiar concept that they had chosen her because she was a dud, and it hurt. Dulcie sent her a look of intense sympathy and she smiled weakly back.
“Give me your wand, Astral,” Magdalene said. Astral’s hand fell protectively over the empty wand pocket. Her face flamed.
“It…it’s not here.” She played for time, standing slowly. “Why do you want it?” Her scalp tingled and her hair curled tight. It knew trouble was coming and slyly slid out of her barrettes to spring around her ears. She tried not to think of the kitchen dresser drawer, but, of course, immediately did.
Magdalene frowned at her. Underlings were not meant to question her motives, not for a second, and Astral was stomping like a woolly mammoth over the thinnest ice imaginable. Her scowl deepened, and her steely gaze bored into Astral’s.
“It’s in the top drawer of the kitchen dresser,” she announced and motioned for Eve Wormrider to fetch it.
Eve gleefully whisked out of the room and headed for the kitchen. Bitzer, her squirrel familiar, circled her heels, rushing before her, then falling behind, zigzagging up the walls, climbing the stair balustrade, a ball of untamable, spiteful energy just like his mistress.
Astral stared at Magdalene, shocked. No witch should intrude on another’s thoughts unless invited. The entire evening was spinning away from her and the wallpaper bloomed big, black bullet holes that wept blood.
“But I don’t want to go to Black and Blacker and look for critters.” Her voice came out paper thin, even to her own ears. She didn’t trust the Cuckoo spell, which was brittle, illusionist magic dependent entirely on the weakness of the target it was trying to trick. Black and Blacker wouldn’t be a weak, easily tricked target.
“Critter, dear. Critter. There’s only one, and all you have to do is point it out, then come away.” Old Mother Worriwort patted her hand. She wasn’t reassuring, and neither was the fuzzy smell of booze on her breath.
Borage Page 3
