Abby shifted her gaze back to the painting. “Puzzling.”
“My mother is caught in a transcendental vortex,” Astral explained. “She pops up here and there from time to time. She can appear on anything she likes, not just tin. Stamps, billboards, newspapers.” She flicked a glance at Dulcie and Keeva. “We’re working on getting her out. Sort of.” Meaning no one had any idea how to rescue Myriad Projector. If Grandma Lettice couldn’t manage it, then who else was there? But that didn’t stop her and her friends from trying. And she really could have used her mother’s advice right now. a pang of loss accompanied the thought.
“Princess Molotova was older than the girl in this painting when she disappeared,” Abby said. Keeva gave Magdalene a triumphant glare.
“She’s more or less the same age,” Magdalene said with a sour expression. “If you’d just hand Astral—Molotova— over to Hades, this would all be over and done with, and we’d be back to normal. I mean, who even remembers what Molotova looked like? I’m sure Hades doesn’t.”
Dulcie had to physically restrain Keeva. “That’s heinous on so many levels, and typical of you,” she said, anger mounting in her voice. “No one is taking Astral anywhere.” She let go of Keeva who returned to her chair at the table, as if that would somehow keep her from launching herself at Magdalene. “I can’t believe this was your incredible deal,” Dulcie said with a glare at Abby. “You must be mad to have listened to her.”
Abby regarded her for a moment, and a chill gripped the room. Astral glanced around, uneasy, worried that the house was about to get its own ideas again.
“Perhaps another pot of tea?” Damián said, for once reading the situation correctly.
“I’ll get it.” Keeva pushed back from the table. “Biscuits,” she directed him, and he went to the cupboard. The rest of them looked nervously from Magdalene back to Abby, and then to Dulcie.
“May I talk to you a moment?” Astral asked Abby. “In private.”
“Very well.”
She ignored Magdalene’s glare and led them to the front parlour, the sounds of Keeva working on the third pot of tea following.
Astral took a seat on the couch and the bolster sneaked onto her lap for a cuddle. She absentmindedly stroked it as she formulated her next words. “You and I both know that I’m not Princess Molotova,” she said once the door closed behind them.
Abby positioned herself by the empty hearth, which immediately burst into cheery flames, and it seemed incongruous, doing that for Death. Behind Abby’s back, the wallpaper formed thousands of scarlet lips and began to blow kisses, much to Astral’s consternation. Stop it, she silently scolded. I am not crushing on her. You are. Hecate’s toes, this house and its subterfuge.
“Nevertheless, there is a question about your grandmother’s involvement in the kidnapping,” Abby said, unaware of the wallpaper’s whimsy behind her back, which Astral was desperately attempting to ignore.
“My grandmother would do no such thing. She was an exemplary witch. A Grand Dame of the highest order.”
“Regardless, Black and Blacker was more than interested when Magdalene approached us with information that seemed to confirm the old stories.”
“What evidence do you have besides Magdalene? She isn’t the most reliable of sources,” Astral said, trying to keep her voice level despite her consternation. And, if she was honest, proximity to Abby Black. “Grandma Lettice was a pillar of the witching community. Who in their right mind would kidnap the Lord of the Underworld’s daughter?”
“He has many daughters,” Abby said. “And I’ve no idea why your grandmother, or anyone else from The Plague Tree Coven, would consider it a good idea. But your coven is implicated, whatever your feelings about the matter are.”
Astral let her breath out in a frustrated exhale. “And that’s why Hellbent wants us. Magdalene was right.” Ice filled her veins at the thought, and the fire in the hearth noticeably diminished.
“Speaking purely pragmatically, it would be useful to have all of your coven in the same branch, so to speak, then to shake the tree and see what falls out and hope to collect something useful.”
“So, we’re just a bunch of fruits for the picking?”
“Magdalene brought her offer to Black and Blacker. The missing princess in return for control of your coven. Hades has been seeking his daughter for years, something I’m sure you understand. The collateral Magdalene unknowingly agreed to should she default was, unfortunately, The Plague Tree. From our perspective, it was the perfect deal. A total win-win.”
At least she had softened the blow with “unfortunately.” Astral remained silent, grappling with Abby the businesswoman, Abby the director of ops, Abby as Death. And, most confounding, Abby as a potential object of her affections.
The fire in the hearth rebounded into a cheerful blaze.
“My job offer still stands, by the way,” Abby said. “Though, at this rate, you’ll effectively have the entire office relocated to your kitchen. Will you kindly desist from stealing my staff away with offers of sanctuary? The world needs tooth fairies and leprechauns. You can’t hoard them.”
Astral almost smiled at the wry humour in her tone. She set the bolster aside and rose from the couch. “Well, maybe you need to treat your staff better.”
“Were you unhappy when you worked for me?” Abby asked, and the wallpaper behind her suggestively licked its multiple lips and puckered up again.
Disconcerted, Astral lost her bluster. “I was good at my job, yes. But for an otherly being, your powers of observation could use an upgrade.”
Both of Abby’s eyebrows raised.
“I mean, Ping was overworked—you can’t deny that. Exhausted every day, and with no spare time to properly file her…well, whatever her job needs her to file. And Fergal… ” She shook her head. “Fergal was clearly in the wrong position. It was obvious he wanted to be back with his old team, and that he really wasn’t suited to what you had asked him to do.”
Abby smiled, albeit tightly. A full smile, and rather than give her the appearance of a shark, it humanized her. There was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as well. “You continue to amaze me, Ms Projector, and you were a wonderful asset.”
Astral stared at her.
“It’s exceedingly rare that I find someone who is able to quickly pick up on the nuances of our contracting system—”
“Which are largely arcane and could use an update as well.” Oops. Had she overstepped?
Abby only offered a shrug. “Some things are meant to be classic. Retro, even. And as I was saying, I enjoyed working with you.”
“Sadly, however, I’m no princess.”
“So you’ve said. Or are you perhaps trying to Mindcoddle me into believing you’re a simple girl?”
The wallpaper froze in a hundred shocked puckers.
Astral blinked. “You knew all along. Magdalene really did set me up, didn’t she?”
“It was a very strange few days,” she said and Astral completely agreed.
“Well, I didn’t bewitch you.”
“You’re certain? Because the bread was quite delicious.”
She flushed. “I like baking. You said you like bread. I’m a Fireside witch. It’s what I do.”
“But no bewitching?”
“Absolutely not. That was coven Cuckoo magic.”
“I see. So, you didn’t use your Projector magic to try and seduce me?” She quirked an eyebrow.
“Oh, Hecate, no.” Astral practically sputtered, and she knew she was blushing to the roots of her frizzing-by-the-second hair.
“How disappointing.”
Astral had no response to that, and she wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Um. I don’t know what happened that day. It was some stupid spell that ended up in my coat pocket that I had nothing to do with, I assure you.”
“A spell?”
“Yes.”
“A crude mirror spell, perhaps?”
“Yes. How did you—” She sto
pped. Of course she knew. Abby was otherly. She probably knew a lot of things.
“Which requires the object of said spell to mirror the host’s thoughts and actions.”
“Technically. But this spell wasn’t even done by a proper witch.”
“So you had no desire to engage in what happened?”
Astral didn’t respond because she couldn’t quite refute that.
“Because your wallpaper tells me differently.” Amusement glinted in her eyes again.
Traitorous house, Astral thought, not for the first time.
“Perhaps it’s for the best that you’re not currently working for me.”
Astral frowned, puzzled.
“Meaning, there is nothing to give me pause about doing this,” Abby said, and leaned in slowly and kissed her.
Sparks flew behind her eyelids and her toes curled tight. Before she could register her undoing, her hands were meshed in Abby’s dark silky hair and it flowed through her fingers like rippling water. She smelled divine, of heat and of spices, of ancient mysteries and vast, unconquered deserts. Of endless time. Abby’s lips trailed to her neck and the sweet spot under her ear, making Astral moan softly. Lost, lost, lost, everything, every trouble and woe simply drifted away and it was heavenly…until a tight tugging on her scalp alerted that her hair was having a panic attack all of its own. She tried to ignore it, to lose herself again, but the tug only got tighter and more insistent. Slowly, she opened her eyes, just a crack, and over Abby’s shoulder she saw the stern face of Myriad Projector, a thousand times duplicated, scowling at her from out of the wallpaper.
Startled, she pulled away.
“What?” Abby regarded her with concern.
“I…thought I saw something.” Myriad was gone and the wallpaper was now covered with innocent pink posies.
Abby followed the direction of her gaze, then looked back at her, especially her hair.
“We…um…probably need to get back. The others will be missing us.” Her face heated. She patted frantically at her bangs.
Abby frowned, probably sensing the fib, and turned towards the door, leaving an immediate chill, blood deep, and Astral’s heart cramped. She wanted the kisses. She wanted Abby. But how could she explain that her mislaid mother disapproved of her choice?
Her house clearly didn’t, as the wallpaper morphed into a flock of winged hearts.
She sighed and returned to the kitchen, where Dulcie was overseeing the signing up of the newest members of The Guardians. Astral watched as Magdalene Curdle dashed out her signature, attaching her once again to a coven created by a Projector. Life was so strange these days. It was as if another hand was on the tiller.
“We need to answer Eve Wormrider’s message,” Dulcie said once the paperwork was done. “Astral, fresh parchment, please.”
Keeva dusted down the broomstick while Dulcie composed a response using the Projector quill and parchment, kept for just such an occasion, even though the equipment hadn’t been touched for a hundred years. If Eve Wormrider could do it the old-fashioned way, then so could The Guardians.
“How does this sound?” Dulcie read back what she had written so far. “We, The Guardians of the 13th Moon Coven, contest the validity of Eve Wormrider’s election as High Priestess of The Plague Tree Coven and demand a new election by due coven process. We stipulate that The Plague Tree pension funds are frozen by Black and Blacker and cannot be seized by any party, thus voiding Eve Wormrider’s electoral promise. Until said election completes, The Guardians shall continue to offer sanctuary to Golem and its witches until The Plague Tree Coven is either appropriated or dissolved by Hellbent Incorporated on the thirteenth day of the thirteenth moon.” Dulcie looked up. “What do you think?”
“And she needs to pay for my window,” Astral added.
“I’ll put that in a separate note.”
“Otherwise, it sounds good.” Keeva gave a satisfied nod and presented the broom. “Stick a stamp on it.”
“You realise you are descending into outright conflict,” Abby said, tone sombre.
“We’re protecting ourselves from being outflanked by Hellbent and Wormrider,” Astral answered. She pointed at her broken window. “We didn’t start the aggro.”
“Hellbent does not declare war on its clients.” Abby did not look pleased with the direction things had taken. “It runs wars for them.”
“If the Guardians disband, then we’re all fodder for the Hellbent machine,” Keeva said in her usual brusque manner. “This is our backstop.”
“Then I must bid you adieu.” Abby stood by the door ready to leave. “To follow this course of action, you need to engage with my associate, Ms Blacker, more commonly known as War.” She locked eyes with Astral. “And I doubt you will approve of the way she runs her office.”
*
Abby pondered the view outside her office window, something she rarely did. Normally, she was focussed on her desk. But tonight, she…well, she didn’t feel like dealing with paperwork after her visit to Golem.
She considered the increasing tensions between the factions of The Plague Tree Coven and how those might further unwind, and she wished that Magdalene Curdle had never come to Black and Blacker…
She caught herself. She most likely would not have met the fascinating and maddening Ms Projector had Curdle not contracted with the firm.
And what, exactly, was it about Astral that had made her want to kiss her again? That was most assuredly not a Death-like thing to do, to get caught up in the warmth and cheer of a magic house’s kitchen or to enjoy the way Astral looked at her…when she caught her looking.
A Fireside witch represented pretty much all the things Death did not. So why was it that she wished she could spend more time in that welcoming kitchen, drinking tea and perhaps watching Astral bake something, listening to her talk about whatever she wanted to talk about?
Perhaps that was it. Astral was lively and brimming with hope and frustration and laughter and everything else that constituted life. That whole “full circle” thing that people talked about. It made perfect sense that she would be fascinated with and attracted to that which completed a cycle of which she herself was part.
Plus, Astral was…fun. She was fun. And interesting and appealing and intelligent and wise. Although, Astral didn’t realize that about herself yet. Abby thoroughly enjoyed working with her. She frowned. Ms Blacker would be her new boss now, if the Guardians lost their war and unfortunately, she knew they would. Everyone lost to War.
Ms Blacker ran a totally different department from hers—in every possible way. A gloom descended on her. Things had slipped through her grasp. Important things, and she knew why. Astral Projector and her unbidden fascination with her.
Two of her staff had mutinied, the contract with Magdalene Curdle lay in tatters, and still no princess in sight. What a diabolical mess this week had turned out to be. And she had only herself and her bizarre fixation to blame for it.
There was nothing she could do now. Ms Blacker and her team would take over and no doubt stuff it all up. Her lot always did.
She turned away from the window and returned to her desk. As with all things War-related, she would monitor this situation closely. And as with all things Astral Projector related, she couldn’t look away even if she tried.
Chapter 15
“It’s like the O.K. Corral out there.” The door tinkled shut behind Damián. He flipped the “out to lunch” sign and carted their sandwiches to the back of the shop. “Anyone come in while I was away?” he asked.
Dulcie rose from her stool by the cash registrar and followed. “Not so much as a newt’s toenail clipping has passed the threshold since this ruckus started. Business is a bust today. Again.”
“A cruel wedge has riven our village in twixt,” Astral lamented, and poured three cups of tea.
“In twixt be damned. I’ll be bankrupt if this keeps up.” Dulcie accepted her tea with a grumpy expression.
“And you’ve no pension
to fall back on.” Damián microscopically examined the contents of his sandwich. “Magdalene spent it all.”
“Thank you for that reminder. I nearly forgot the no-future-for-me part.” Dulcie grabbed her egg roll and took a bite.
“Look.” Damián waved his open sandwich at Astral. “It’s your mum.”
Astral and Dulcie jumped up to take a look at the innards of Damián’s brie and cranberry sandwich.
“No, it’s not,” Astral said dispassionately. “Looks nothing like her.” She sat back down to her black olive and tuna bagel. “It’s just a blob of cheese.”
Damián studied it. “Huh. I think you’re right.”
She rolled her eyes. “So, what else is going on out there in the big, wide world today? I can barely be bothered to look out the window, I’m so depressed.”
“Yeah, Mister press officer,” Dulcie added. “Tell us the news.”
He shrugged. “Erigone didn’t open her shop today.” He took a healthy bite. “Sources say she’s still bitter at her mother,” he continued, with his mouth full.
“Erigone needs to grow up,” Astral said. “Magdalene saved her ass by signing her up with The Guardians.” She took a bite of sandwich and continued. “Okay, so she put everyone else’s ass in a sling in the first place.”
“Any more takers for The Guardians?” Damián asked. “I mean, the mighty Magdalene jumped ship for us, but did any of her cronies follow?”
“Nope. The queen bee has been kicked out of the colony and the hive has swarmed to Wormrider.”
Dulcie shook her head at the madness. “Time’s running out. Tomorrow night is the thirteenth moon. Hellbent will come and wave some papers under their noses and whoosh—off The Plague Tree Coven goes to do the work of damnation for free and forever.” She tossed her half-eaten sandwich back on the plate. “I feel sick just thinking about it. Those witches used to be our family.”
Merryman flew down to peck a few crumbs from the table, and Dulcie reached over to tickle his head with her fingertip. “At least I still have you, buddy. You always make me smile.”
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