“We’ve done all we can,” Astral said sadly. “Our coven fellows don’t want to hear what we have to say. They’re practically spitting at us in the street.”
“That’s because they’re not local,” Damián said. “The place is filling up with witches from all over. And not nice witches like us. These are scuzzy ones.”
“Scuzzy is a cruel and unnecessary word,” Astral admonished him sternly. Her blatant misuse of “critter” still pricked at her conscience.
“What do you mean, filling up with witches?” Dulcie asked.
He waved at the world beyond the storeroom. “Loads of them. It’s like Wormrider’s having a family reunion. From what I hear, most of them are related to her.” He took another bite. “Is it her birthday or something?”
Astral and Dulcie were already on their feet. They went and peered out the window, shielded behind a grand display of Casablanca lilies and Matsumoto asters. The main square did look extra busy, though none of the footfall was coming Whoops a Daisy’s way. A Komodo dragon lumbered by, its flickering tongue tasting the air.
“What the…” Astral muttered. “Who has a familiar like that? Who are all these people? It’s like a Worst Witch convention.”
“Eve Wormrider’s cousins, that’s who,” Dulcie said grimly. “Up to twelve times removed but her kin nonetheless. and all of them bad news. That’s Nicki Blade over there. She runs the Walsall Weevils Coven.” She pointed at a thin, angry-looking woman dressed from head to toe in black with her hennaed hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. Her dung beetle familiar clung to her shoulder.
“The woman next to her is Big Shona, the Crone from the Glasgow Hell-Hens,” Dulcie continued. “She’s a right dose of poison. And over there is Mary Meany, who runs The Catgut Coven.”
Astral grimaced. “Delightful,” she said, sarcastic. The Catguts were a coven from Kent, known for their dark arts and the psychotic black cats they inbred as familiars. One of which was currently using Dulcie’s lovely gerbera wheelbarrow display as a latrine. “Would you look at that,” she said in disgust.
“I’d rather not.” Dulcie looked away. “There are evil witches everywhere. It’s like an infestation.”
“What are they doing in Golem?”
A rap at the door made them jump. Gina Biscotti stood on the step scowling at them. “Let me in,” she ordered. “Quickly.” Dulcie slid back the bolt and Gina bustled in and set a foil-wrapped package on the countertop. “Amaretti,” she said.
Dulcie looked at her, confused.
“Excuse to come,” Gina explained. “I pretend stupid boy forgets amaretti.”
“Okay,” Dulcie said hesitantly.
“I never ordered any amaretti.” Damián joined them from the back room. “I don’t like amar—”
“Shut it up.” Gina glared at him and he complied. “You know I not agree with what is happened to Magdalene, but she call me and say she is with Guardians and what that Wormrider woman do. So…” She patted her foil package fondly.
“So?” Astral prompted gently after a rather lengthy pause.
“So,” Gina continued. “Me and others, we see what this is.” She indicated out the window. “We see what comes to our village.” She made a face. “We hear them talk. They come for fight. Me and others, we don’t like but…we don’t want involvement.” She shrugged. “Go home. Lock up shop. Me, I do same.” She pointed at the foil packet. “Enjoy.” She left, slamming the door behind her with a final “Good luck.”
“Fight? This lot are here for a fight?” Astral watched Gina nip across the square to Butter Beware, keeping her head down and avoiding the newcomers. “With us?” She looked at Dulcie, alarmed. “Are they going to fight with us?” A rush of pure panic shot through her. “But there are hundreds of the scuzzers.” And then she caught the look on Damián’s face and corrected herself. “I mean, of Eve’s family and friends.”
“Calm down.” Dulcie bolted the door and flipped the sign from “Out to Lunch” to “Closed.”
“What about the merchandise out in the street?” Damián asked, then added hurriedly, “I’m not going to fetch it.”
Astral peered through the window. Pails of tulips and long-stemmed roses and mixed posies sat on the pavement by the shop steps.
“I’ll accept the loss.” Dulcie took the cash tray, tipped it into her handbag, and went to the back of the shop, flicking off the lights as she walked. “Out the back, everyone. I think we need to convene at your house, Astral.”
“Agreed.” Golem didn’t feel safe any longer. She fetched her phone and dialled Keeva and reported the problem. It was a quick conversation. “She says she’s had no work today either. All her appointments were cancelled.” She chewed her lip, wishing that Abby were here. Even though she was Death, she had a certain down-to-earth quality that calmed her.
“Are they seriously trying to push us out of business?” Dulcie glared out the window at the square.
“Keeva said it’s more like people are scared to come out of their houses.”
“So would I be, if I saw what was prowling the streets,” Damián said. “Everything feels yucky.”
The condensed malignancy of the dark witches drew a cowl down around the village, draping it in miasma of foreboding and menace. The air turned sour and the sky pewter grey.
“Well, enough of this. Let’s go to Astral’s.” Dulcie led them out the back door into the lane behind her shop, where she kept her Ford Fiesta. Astral’s Mini was parked a few yards away. Damián jumped in Dulcie’s passenger seat just as a shattering of glass came from the square. The screech of a shop’s alarm shredded the leaden air. More crashes followed.
“What the Hec is that?” Damián asked, though they all knew. The predicted trouble had begun. Merryman came swooping down from the rooftops and landed on Dulcie’s shoulder, twittering in her ear.
“He says Eve Wormrider and Big Shona are looting my shop.” Anger and disgust registered on her face, and for a moment, Astral thought she was going to go back and fight them off. Damián leaned over and opened the driver’s door.
“In. now,” he said. “You can do nothing about it and you’re insured.”
“Actually, I can.” Dulcie jumped in the driver’s seat as a yowl of pain rent the air. “My magical insurance is for every bloom in the shop to turn into vicious thistles.”
“Well, that’ll leave an impression.” Astral hurried to her own car.
They drove in tandem out from Toil lane onto Trouble Street. In her rear-view mirror, Astral could see several more shops, Gina’s included, drawing down their shutters and locking up early. Anger and disorder were brewing. The incomers had descended on the village with bad intentions. Astral pressed hard on the accelerator and led them out of Golem towards the safety of the Projector farm.
*
“What the hell?” Astral muttered as she pulled up in front of the farmhouse. “Is that Erigone?”
Of all the people in Golem, she was among the last Astral wanted to see. Unfortunately, she was waiting for them, hovering by the barn door, keeping a leery eye on Riff-Raff, who gave her a leery eye back. Again, Astral was grateful for his presence, though he still hadn’t told her anything about why he was here or where her mother was. Why could she talk to a hellhound but not her mother’s familiar?
“I swear if he moves so much as an inch towards me, I’ll have Sleekit bite off all his girlfriend’s heads,” Erigone said as they emerged from their cars.
“Lovely to see you, too,” Astral shot back as she stepped out of her car. “And Riff-Raff will swallow her in one go. He’s a familiar, too.”
Erigone scowled.
“So, what brings you here?” Astral asked.
“Oh, the square’s on fire and my home is over my burning shop, and this...” She gave the farmyard a withering glance. “…apparently is H.Q. So, what do you think?” she answered with a huff. “Have you seen the rabble Wormrider dragged into town? I was stuck up there like Rapunzel in her tower, b
ut once they started tearing the square apart, I decided to scoot sharpish.” On the horizon, a pall of oily smoke rose over Golem.
All four stood in silence, watching.
“Bastards,” Dulcie finally said. Then, “Why not go to your mother’s place?”
“And have her fussing over me all day?” Erigone’s displeasure about what that might entail was obvious in the furrow of her brow and curl of her lips. Astral could almost sympathize.
“How did you get here so quick?” Astral asked. She and Dulcie must have headed out of town the same time as Erigone, just as Eve Wormrider struck the proverbial match.
“That old thing.” Erigone indicated a battered broomstick propped by the barn. “It’s uncomfortable, but it goes like stink.”
“Oh.” It took some power to actually fly one of those “old things,” and Astral could see that Dulcie was as impressed as she was, though unlike her, she hid it better.
“Aren’t you worried about your shop?” Damián asked her. “All those beautiful diamonds?”
She snorted. “Good luck to them. It’s bolted down like Fort Knox. I was more worried I couldn’t get out past Eve’s lot.” She glared. “They painted graffiti on my shutters, you know. ‘Your dad’s a waster.’ Spelled ‘UR’ and they couldn’t even get the apostrophe right. Louts.”
“Nothing about your mum?” Astral asked, all innocence.
Erigone glared at her. “How’s yours doing?” she said tightly. “At least my dad visits.”
“Ouch,” Damián said softly.
Astral caught herself. That was mean. She remembered the last time she’d seen Myriad, staring at her from the wallpaper, disapproving. One day, hopefully, they’d meet and talk about it. Especially since she wanted to keep Abby in her life. Somehow. What that entailed she didn’t know, but she intended to find out.
“Let’s go inside and have a cup of tea,” she said aloud. “I’ve some freshly baked cake.” This was her way of making up for her cattiness. Erigone wasn’t to blame for her mother’s larcenous ways. She had enough problems. Her father was the god of drunks, after all.
The woodstove immediately flared into life as soon as they entered the kitchen. Soon, the logs were burning and the kettle on the top plate began to burble happily. Astral busied herself with the tea things and set out huge wedges of Hawaiian cake, a rich mix of coconut icing and pineapple sponge.
Borage glanced up from his sunny spot on the window seat to give them a look of utter contempt before stalking outside, the cat flap clattering angrily behind him in the feline version of slamming a door.
Astral sighed. She couldn’t even get a proper familiar. “Please, sit down,” she said to the others, trying to focus on something else besides her failings as a witch.
“I never thought I’d see Golem under siege from such a drove. It’s like the evil circus has come to town.” Erigone took a seat at the table. “And have you seen their familiars? Somewhere, a swamp has had an enema.” She caressed Sleekit, currently twined around her neck in a beautiful coil of pure platinum. The snake rippled in pleasure at her touch and her minute scales changed colour to the pearlescent lustre of peacock feathers.
“She’s beautiful,” Damián cooed. “I hope I get a familiar like Sleekit when my turn comes.”
Erigone gave him a cold smile.
“Gina Biscotti told us these witches had come to fight with us,” Astral said, her nervousness betrayed by the drops of spilled tea on her tablecloth. “They look mean.”
“They look vicious,” Erigone corrected, the heated spots on her cheekbones the only sign that she was equally alarmed.
“Most of them are in some way related to the Wormriders,” Dulcie said. “Eve’s calling in the clan.”
“What’s the lure? That lot aren’t exactly kissing cousins.” Erigone put sugar in her tea. “They’d gouge each other’s eyes out if you told them cataracts were made of gold.”
She wasn’t wrong. Astral poured cream into her tea.
“Who’s that?” Erigone pointed at Fergal and Ping passing by the window. Ping had Fergal by the arm and seemed to be leading him across the yard.
Astral sipped. “Fergal Mor is a leprechaun, and Ping is one of the tooth fairies. And they’ve recently joined The Guardians.”
“Is he okay? He seems to be staggering.” Erigone half-stood to get a better view.
“Leprechaun,” Astral repeated.
Erigone started to say something, stopped, and then said, “Ah,” as the penny dropped. She sat back down. “Lock up your booze. We have to when Daddy visits,” she murmured into her cup.
“They’ve run away from Black and Blacker,” Damián said. “They’re scared of their boss, Ms Death. Don’t blame them.” He shot a look at Astral. “She’s super sexy scary.”
“Is she, now?” Erigone gave Astral a sly sideways glance. Sleekit raised her small, diamond-shaped head and mimicked the look.
Astral blushed and cradled her teacup to her chest.
“Interesting. Sleekit thinks you’re not that intimidated,” Erigone told her. It wasn’t often Sleekit roused herself at all. Astral knew, however, that Erigone’s familiar, while not particularly empathic, could read emotions if she cared to, and that once something caught her interest, she pursued it on behalf of her mistress and with the same dedication as hunting a dormouse for dinner.
“We admire each other’s work ethic.” Astral used the most neutral emotion she could drag up. She admired so much more about her, however. Regardless, let Sleekit delve into everyday office procedure and see how fast she drifted back to sleep. “It’s nice to have your efforts recognised, especially as a temp. Office dynamics are the predicate of good business enterprise and working etiquette.”
Sleekit’s neat little head nestled into Erigone’s clavicle until Dulcie’s snort of derision brought it wavering up again, on the alert. Astral glared at Dulcie until she shrugged and sipped her tea in a knowing fashion that somehow said more than words.
“Astral’s come out,” Damián informed Erigone in a breathy whisper. “Abby Black is her lesbian lover.”
“I have not. Stop it.” But the thought warmed her, even as she fought the feeling.
Erigone quirked an eyebrow and Sleekit hissed, her tongue vibrating delightedly. “I’d heard as much,” she said smugly. “Mother still has influence at Black and Blacker. She’s a prime client, after all.”
Now Astral snorted. “If she hadn’t joined The Guardians, she’d be a slab of prime beef.”
“No need for that tone. She had a right to take that money and reinvest it.”
“Not without consulting us, or the Grand Dames at the very least,”
“People.” Dulcie sounded tired. “This is old news. We’re on the same side now, so can we please focus on the Wormrider war party? Is Eve so desperate for power she’d burn Golem to the ground?”
Erigone stared into her cup, jaw muscles clenching.
“It’s not as if The Plague Tree has anything to offer anymore. It’s flat broke and in twenty-four hours, it won’t even exist.” Astral stared morosely at the piece of cake on her plate. “Why would all these…these…”
“Scuzzers?” Damián offered helpfully, and got a censorious look from her. “Well, you said it first.”
“Fine. Scuzzers,” Astral said, relenting. “How can Eve pay them? Because let’s admit it, they’re nothing more than mercenaries.”
Dulcie took a small bite of cake. “I have no idea. All I know is The Plague Tree Coven is history and we’re hopelessly outnumbered.” She buried her sorrow in a second helping of cake.
“What do the rest of the villagers make of it?” Erigone asked. “Will they take sides? After all, it’s their village, too, that’s been turned into a midden.”
“They’re keeping well out of it, and I can’t blame them, especially as most are not really into the coven thing.” Dulcie glanced at Astral. “They’d be stuck in the middle of a Guardian-Hellbent sandwich. Definitely not the most a
ppetising place to be.”
She was right. Many witches in Golem were not part of an active coven, and preferred to follow a solitary practice, putting their magical energies into their private lives and businesses. Witches like Gina Biscotti. Or even Erigone, with her successful jewellery shop and disdain for coven politics. Unfortunately, Magdalene’s powerful position in The Plague Tree and her ambition for her daughter probably made it hard for Erigone to live in Golem with any impunity.
On cue, Erigone’s phone rang. “It’s Mother.” She gave the screen a desultory glance, then sighed. “I suppose I’d better answer, or she’ll ring all day.”
Astral thought about Magdalene in her manor house, with its wonderful view over Golem and the surrounding chalk hills. She’d have front row seats for the dumpster fire now engulfing the square.
A stab of jealousy cut through her. She’d love for her own mother to be on the other end of a phone, worried about her. Anxious for her. Loving her. The realisation sprung on her that for a long time she had been envious of Erigone and her access to her mother. How much of these feelings had blighted a possible friendship?
“Yes, Mum. I know the square’s on fire,” Erigone monotoned. “Yeah, I’m safe. I’m at the Projector place…I don’t know for how long. I can’t see them breaking through the protection spells. Yes, Sleekit is with me. Stop bossing…”
Astral left the kitchen and went to the parlour, sadness a crushing weight in one of those moments that seemed to ebb out of nowhere and swamp her until she felt all icky and uncertain inside. She sat on the rocking chair, pulled the bolster onto her lap, and patted it into a more comfortable shape. Slowly she rocked by the fire that happily ignited itself to warm her. The little bolster cuddled in, as if trying to cheer her up.
“I’m lost,” she told it. “I’ve no idea how I got here. Black witches are massed against us. The Plague Tree Coven is broke and broken. Death…well….I don’t know.” Best not to go there. Abby Black had kissed her and walked away, twice. What did that even mean? It would be nice to have a mother to ask. Perhaps the childhood taunts were true, and she really was cursed.
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