Borage

by Gill McKnight

  Utter silence engulfed the room and then Astral spun into action and addressed Wormrider’s rabble. “Right you lot, back off now.” She levelled the wand at them.

  Nicky Blade brazenly stepped forward. “Fuck you, Projec—” Whoosh. Nicki Blade puddled onto the floor. Astral stared at the wand, aghast. It obviously had a bad temper and brooked no nonsense.

  “Oh, Hecate. I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she said to the startled assembly, “but if you don’t get the fuck out of my house, it’s going to happen again.”

  “I’d believe her,” said a voice behind her, and Astral jerked around, waving the wand. Whoosh. Before her was Abby. “Oh, no.”

  Abby blinked away smoke, then frowned at the burn marks on her ceremonial robe. Everyone in the room held their breath, focused on her.

  Astral sighed with relief. Abby was immune to the wand.

  “Perhaps put the wand down, Astral, until you learn how to use it,” she said, brushing at her robe. “It’s a powerful thing.”

  “Um, yes. Of course.” She quickly slipped the wand into her robe’s inner pocket, then winced when she saw Abby staring at the fluorescent blob on the floor that used to be Iraldine. Would she be upset her ex was goop?

  Abby’s frown deepened. “I’ll deal with that later,” she said.

  “I’m sorry…the wand…it just…”

  “I know.” She gave her an inscrutable look, then turned to Magdalene. “You summoned?”

  Magdalene knelt beside her daughter. Sleekit twined around Erigone’s wrist, her silver scales dulled, her tiny tongue tasting the air in sad, defeated sips, already falling into decline. In contrast, Syracuse wound around Erigone’s ankles in a sinuous nonstop weave, desperation flowing from him.

  “She’s dead,” Magdalene said hoarsely. “This wasn’t part of our deal.”

  “Ah. The deal that ran away from you.”

  “She’s my daughter. She’s all I’ve got.”

  Around them, witches began to pick themselves up. The Guardians dusted themselves off and took stock of the damage. Delia was levered to her feet and set beside Fergal. He offered her his glass of malt, which she shakily accepted. Eve’s rabble began to sneak away. Clearly, Death as a visiting entity was not something they’d signed up for.

  “Stop right there,” Abby commanded, and they all stopped unhappily in their tracks.

  “I don’t want them in my kitchen.” Astral’s words came out cold but determined. She had had enough.

  “Riff-Raff and the girls will herd them to the barn, and they can wait there,” Keeva said. “And they can think about what they’ve done.” She prodded them along sharply. “All wands and magical implements in the bucket.” She indicated the pail Damián held out.

  On the back doorstep Riff-Raff and his posse of chickens waited to escort them. Ping and Damián followed as backup.

  With a less crowded kitchen, Abby turned again to Magdalene and regarded her dispassionately.

  “You have to bring her back,” Magdalene said, voice thick with pain.

  Abby’s brow furrowed. “There’s the little matter of the small print—”

  “The small print is clear enough,” Astral interrupted and reached into the dresser drawer for her copy of the contract. She waved it at both of them. “I consider myself an expert on Black and Blacker contracts, especially this one. I know every comma, semicolon, and full stop. On page thirty-two, 11.8a, Magdalene precluded personal harm.”

  “For herself,” Abby said, tone mild.

  Astral shook her head. “Not specified. Ergo, anyone and everyone.”

  Abby seemed to bristle. “Only Black and Blacker staff can read those contracts.” As she spoke, the black lettering began to cascade off the pages onto the floor, leaving the pages blank. “And you don’t work for me anymore.”

  “I do, if the offer still stands,” Astral responded quickly.

  The flow of letters paused as Abby caught her gaze and held it, a calculating glint in her eyes and Astral saw that she knew what this was about. She herself, as Death, couldn’t interfere directly in matters belonging to another Black and Blacker department, especially War, but she could damn well provide a means for others to do so.

  “Of course. Then I am glad of your insight, Ms Projector,” she answered, and the letters reversed back onto the page and reassembled in the correct order. Astral wasn’t sure whether she should be elated that Abby had responded as she did or worried about what price she might have to pay. There always seemed to be conditions where Black and Blacker was concerned.

  “Ms Projector has verified the details.” Abby turned back to Magdalene. “I will adhere to her findings.”

  There was a quick flicker of acknowledgment from Magdalene towards Astral, the merest ghost of a glance and tremor of a lip. On her lap, Erigone coughed, sputtered, and blew out a thin trail of red smoke, the residue of the fire-flare that had punctured her lungs.

  “Oh, my darling.” Magdalene cupped her face and kissed her forehead a hundred times. Sleekit slid gently up her body, embracing every inch, and Syracuse immediately transferred his affections to his own tear-streaked mistress. They were once again a family, and Astral’s heart was glad for them, no matter what Magdalene had done in the past.

  “Take her home to rest,” Abby said. “It will be several days until she feels like her living self again.”

  “Thank you.” Magdalene rose to her feet while Martha helped a shaky Erigone onto hers. Erigone leaned on her heavily, weak and disorientated. Between them, Magdalene and Martha led her to the door. Tallulah took a dazed Delia in a firm grip and led her out, too.

  On the threshold, Erigone looked over Magdalene’s shoulder and mumbled, “Cool party, Astral.” Then, “and stop worrying if you’re a good kisser.” Astral’s face blazed. Erigone had read her diary.

  Abby shot her a look and the barest quirk of an eyebrow advertised her amusement, but she didn’t comment on Astral’s expression. “We still have business to discuss,” she instead told Magdalene, who nodded stiffly and left with Martha, who was helping prop up Erigone.

  “Well. Look at this place.” Keeva began righting chairs. “It’s a mess.” She grimaced. “I’ve just stood in Nicki Blade.” She examined the sole of her shoe. “Will you be bringing her back?” she asked Abby.

  “No. Some things are written. I was due to meet up with Nicki today anyway. Knife fight in a Primark store over half-priced leggings. This is simply a case of wrong place, right time for her.” She shrugged. “Such things happen.”

  “Do you always come when summoned?” Astral asked. “All Magdalene had to do was bellow?”

  She made a noncommittal noise. “My work is never done. I’m anywhere and everywhere. And it’s easy to summon me,” she said. “You just kill someone.”

  Astral frowned, because she may have done that to Iraldine.

  “It’s the ceaseless paperwork that grinds me down.” She glanced at Fergal, who sat as quiet as a mouse, averting his gaze. “It’s hard to find the staff. Especially when your hiring pool is limited to critters.” Her lips quirked on using the word.

  “I’m not a critter,” Astral said. Was this yet another loophole in Black and Blacker?

  “No. You are a magical being, so you’ll do nicely. In fact, I like this idea of employing witches. They get things done.”

  Astral looked at the bubbling blue pool near the wall. “What about Iraldine?” she asked, feeling exceedingly guilty about that, despite their past history.

  “She no longer works for me. She’s Ms Blacker’s problem now—as is this entire situation.” Abby viewed the mess around her with what might have been a smidgen of satisfaction. “I’m afraid Ms Blacker’s department will have to foot the bill.” She gave a thin smile. “You might consider hitting her hard for reparations. She’s been slacking for millennia.”

  “What were they after?” Dulcie asked, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “As you already mentioned, Magdalene’s deal ran away with her and I
bet this—” she indicated the state of the kitchen— “had nothing to do with it.”

  “Indeed. Once Ms Wormrider replaced Magdalene, she demanded the contract be renegotiated. Of course, as Ms Projector will tell you, when it comes to contracts, it’s not as simple as that. And, in my estimation, Wormrider is a bit of an idiot. She cast around for leverage, for something that Hellbent would value.”

  Astral made a frustrated noise. “Haven’t we already gone down that route with missing princesses?” She was tired of this entire, horrible experience. Her kitchen was in pieces and who knew what the rest of the house looked like. She started for the hallway.

  “Ms Wormrider offered the Projector wand,” Abby said.

  Astral stopped in her tracks and whirled around. “She what?”

  Dulcie made a disgusted face.

  “She destroyed my house to come after my wand?” That insufferable—

  “And you had it in the oven all this time,” Keeva said, laughing. “Baking the guts out of it.”

  Abby raised her eyebrows. “You baked your wand?”

  “It works just fine, thank you,” Astral answered tartly. “Ask Iraldine.”

  “Indeed.” The hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth and Astral turned away with a puff of exasperation. No sense falling for that again. She set about to thoroughly investigate the house to determine the extent of the damage. The others followed, and she was glad for the company, as the damage seemed overwhelming. It took three of them to push the grandfather clock upright. The dear old thing had held its position for as long as possible until the front door had charred away and collapsed around it. The clock was battered and scarred but it chimed happily once righted.

  “You were fantastic,” Astral said as she touched it gently. “Beeswax polish all round for you and your friends.”

  She turned away to find Abby regarding her, expression unreadable but somehow welcoming and, despite everything, she was glad she was there.

  “I found a prisoner of war,” Dulcie called from the parlour. The wallpaper had come off the walls and wound around Big Shona, cocooning her. She lay on the floor, weakly protesting, covered from head to foot in an English summer rose pattern, while the bolster and several cushions thumped the Hecate out of her.

  “That’s something one does not see every day,” Abby said, tone dry, and Astral fought a smile.

  Keeva hoisted her to her feet. “To the barn with you.”

  “This hoose is geein’ me the boke,” Big Shona groused.

  “Yer the boke,” Keeva replied in kind. The wallpaper unpeeled itself and returned to the walls, allowing Keeva to escort Big Shona roughly out of the house.

  “You were magnificent,” Astral praised the wallpaper, and its English roses bloomed full and pink with pleasure. She made sure all the cushions, especially the brave, little bolster, were given a good plumping and placed back into position on the broken, bent furniture.

  “Are you going to thank every article in the house?” Abby asked, and if Astral didn’t know better, there might have been an undercurrent of bemused affection in her tone.

  “This house and everything in it did their best to protect me and my friends. So, yes, Ms Black, I intend to offer my gratitude to every damn thing I can. It’s the least I can do.”

  “It was engineered for that purpose.”

  Astral met her gaze. “Yes, but a job well done deserves praise. You should remember that where your own staff is concerned,” she said, perhaps a little tartly. “Oh, my poor decanter and glasses.” She crouched and reverently picked up the shattered chunks of lead crystal. “I think fixing this is beyond magic, but you never know.” She placed all the pieces in a clean handkerchief and carefully put it into her pocket. “I’ll give you a wee bake on a gentle heat. It worked last time.”

  “Last time?” Abby looked around. “Please tell me this—” she swept the room with a gesture, “is not a habit of yours.”

  “Hecate, no. The last time for the decanter was an unfortunate accident with a duster. Which I hope is the extent of future domestic occurrences in my house.”

  “As do I,” Abby said softly, and Astral tried not to respond to how gentle she sounded, but her efforts were fruitless as sparks and warmth filled her chest.

  She instead focused on the house, and on the furniture slowly easing itself back into place. Breaks, splinters, and scratches began to mend, though not all scars could be hidden. Still, that was the pleasure of old things, that their bumps and bashes had stories to tell.

  “Astral,” Keeva called from outside. “We have a situation here.” Her tone was icy enough to make Astral move quickly out into the yard, Abby behind her.

  Eve Wormrider stood before the barn. She was dirty and bloodied, and had not fared at all well in the war of her own making. She was also desperate, and held a squirming Borage by the scruff of his neck, her wand pressed deep into the fat of his belly.

  “Oh, no,” Astral whispered as she joined the others. “Not Borage.” Someone gently squeezed her shoulder, a brief touch, but somehow it helped. And then she realized it was Abby and all kinds of thoughts bounced around in her head.

  “You went behind our back,” Eve shouted at Abby. “I had a deal—”

  “Not with my department,” Abby answered, tone calm but icy. “A wand is not a suitable substitution for the Lord of Darkness’s youngest daughter. Ms Blacker may think the Projector wand, old and venerated as it is, makes for a good trade, but I do not. Therefore, I did not sanction a renewal of the contract. I also think you’ll find that Ms Blacker has not dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s, as is often the case.” Her lips thinned.

  “Let go of my familiar,” Astral cried. “We know what you did to Merryman, and you’re going to answer for it to the highest witching court in the land.”

  Poor Borage. He may have been a sullen, unhelpful familiar, but he didn’t deserve any of this.

  “I do so have a deal, no matter what she says,” Eve spat back. “I want your wand, or the cat gets it.” She dug her own wand deeper into his belly. Borage yowled.

  “Let him go,” Astral yelled, panic and anger consuming her.

  “Let’s zap her,” Dulcie said. “We’ve got enough juice left to cleave her in two.”

  “It might hurt Borage,” Astral said as she slowly withdrew the wand from her inside pocket. It twitched in her hand.

  “Please,” she told it, “I know I always disappoint you, but just stay calm.” She set it on the ground before her. “Okay, let him go.”

  “Kick it over here,” Eve said.

  “I can’t do that. It’s a priceless heirloom.”

  “Kick it. I never promised what shape it would be in.” Eve’s lip curled. “That’s how you make a deal with critters. Now kick it over.”

  She did and the hazelwood skittered over the dirt.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Dulcie muttered at Astral.

  “And for him. He’s always been a useless lump of a familiar,” Keeva said, disbelieving.

  “Well, I love him,” Astral said, though her betrayal of her wand for the second time was biting deep. In response to her declaration, Borage hissed spitefully at anyone in hissing distance.

  “Ms Projector,” Abby said, “if I may, your friends are right. He really is a jerk.”

  Astral kept her gaze on Eve.

  “Can’t you kill her?” Keeva asked Abby and nodded towards Eve.

  Abby shook her head. “There’s a time and a place for everything. It’s rude to jump the queue.”

  Eve reached out with her foot and scooted the wand closer, then lunged for it.

  “Watch out, it’s got a hair trigger,” Astral called, but to no avail. Eve grabbed the hazelwood handle and—whoosh! The wand erupted, just missing taking Eve’s face off by millimetres and blasting into Borage. Eve shouted in alarm and dropped him. His electrified body splatted onto the dirt, where it lay twitching. Astral screamed and started towards him but Abby
grabbed her.

  “No, Astral. He’s going to explode.”

  “No,” she cried. “No.” She struggled to be free, and Abby’s arms around her did little to comfort.

  Borage’s spasms increased rapidly and a blue current sparked and zigzagged across his fat, furry body. A violent blaze of light burst from him, illuminating every hair, every whisker in the most minute detail, and as Abby had predicted, he exploded. The flash was blinding, breathtaking, magical, and Astral closed her eyes against it, then opened them and blinked. Everyone else did, too.

  “Borage?” She pulled away from Abby, trying to see through the still-fading light. “Oh, no.”

  He was no more. He was gone.

  In his place stood a very angry, naked teenaged girl. Eve stepped back in shock. The girl hissed violently and slashed out to claw Eve’s cheek with her long nails. Eve screamed in pain and dropped Astral’s wand to clutch at her bloodied cheek, the torn flesh already necrotizing.

  Keeva gingerly picked up the wand between thumb and forefinger and handed it back to Astral. “I have no idea what’s going on here,” she said, “but please put that somewhere safe, like back in the oven.”

  “Well. This is somewhat unexpected,” Abby said. “Princess Molotova.” She gave a small but cordial incline of her head. “How pleasant to see you after all these years. Welcome back, Your Highness.”

  “Molo—” Astral stared at the teenager, then at Abby. “That’s the princess? This whole time?”

  Molotova glared at her with vivid emerald eyes and stalked across the yard. “Get me something to wear, and it better be pretty. I want Doc Martens boots. Red ones. And cream. I want a saucer of cream.” With that she pushed past them.

  “Well, she’s clearly still Borage in some ways,” Keeva muttered.

  “What just happened?” Astral asked bewildered. They stood watching the nude princess stalk angrily towards the house. If her tail had remained, it would have been twice its normal size and swishing wildly.

  “Borage was the princess?” Dulcie turned to Abby. “Did you know this?”