Mm, very tired. Must sleep.
* * * * *
11 February
(After Herbology with Rhiannon – Mavis has begun to farm me out to the Coven for lessons, Rhiannon is our herb chick. She’s very cool but constantly trying to put stuff in the muffins. Gotta keep my eye on her.)
Must finish this bit before I head off to Magickal Implements with Nerissa.
Suffice it to say I did a killer spell on The Institute. So much so that Ash had trouble finding me (he was not pleased about that).
The old dudes escorted me to the mediaeval castle portion of the joint and deposited me in a room full of furniture that was so old I was scared to sit on it. They told me breakfast was being prepared (yay!) and then they left me in the room with Aidan but without any promise of coffee (ack!).
In a very Ash-like moment, Aidan stared out the window absorbed in watching something and completely ignoring me.
I cleared my throat.
“Do you think I could get a cup of coffee?”
“Oh God, yes, sorry.” He walked to the wall and, if you can believe, pulled a cord. He pulled a fricking cord. What kind of world was this?
We’d both settled in some impossibly fragile-looking chairs when one of the old guys poked his head in and Aidan asked for coffee.
“So, you were going to explain…?” I prompted when Aidan didn’t seem to want to start.
But then he started.
And this is what he said:
Aidan (surprise!) is not a plumber.
He teaches mythology at Trinity College in Cambridge and has been a member of the Royal Institute of Psychical Research for the past three years.
“The Institute” as he calls it was started in the 1500’s by none other than Queen Elizabeth I. The remit of the place was the study of all aspects of the supernatural.
These guys were the people who took their 50’s science fiction movie machinery to haunted houses to gauge if there were ghosts, to check the possessed and see if a priest should be brought in, to assess if a palm reader was a charlatan, etcetera. This is as involved as they got… mostly, for centuries they’ve just watched and wrote a shitload of notes (my terminology, not Aidan’s).
Aidan was a part-time field researcher at The Institute assigned to me. He’d been watching me since I moved to England months ago. (Not sure how I felt about that.)
Members were not ever, ever, ever (ever) to get involved with the creatures (?!) they are studying.
Never.
Ever.
Aidan had “gotten involved” with me.
This was bad – hence his disappearance after New Year’s to answer to “The Directors”.
Now, he’s brought me to The Institute which has never had a witch, warlock, pixie, troll, etcetera within its hallowed halls in its nearly five hundred years of existence.
Needless to say, this was a controversial move on Aidan’s part.
But I only had one question on my mind.
“What about the bathrooms at the coffee house?”
Aidan explained he only tiled the bathroom and his actual-plumber friend had done all the plumbing which put my mind at ease (about the toilets, not the tiles).
And then he fell silent and watched me.
Then he watched me more.
I tried not to fidget in the chair as it, if taken on the Antiques Road Show, would involve some on-air orgasmic delight from the experts and claims of “priceless”.
Then, (thank goddess) the old guy came with the coffee.
I took a sip, it was weak and had too much milk but it also had caffeine so I started to feel myself again.
Albeit a tired, magicked out, still slightly scared and definitely pissed off at yet another twist in the double-helixed plot that is my life, er…. self.
“So…” I started so Aidan wouldn’t watch me anymore. “What now?”
He sat back and stretched out his legs, his chair groaned, I held my breath, he crossed his feet at the ankles, arms on his chest and then he settled, his eyes on me again.
The chair, by some miracle, held.
“Now, you call your bodyguard to come get you.”
Ack, he knows about Ash.
He smiled (kinda sexily) at my reaction.
Then he kept talking. “Then we have breakfast.”
Yay!
(Though, little worried about breakfast cooked by a bevy of Old Dudes.)
He kept going. “And then you go home.”
His plan was taking a confusing turn, out of the not-exactly-welcoming lap of the League of Vintage Gentleman and into the clutches of Angry Ash.
Hmm, tough choice.
Then he finished, “And then I face The Directors and possible expulsion from The Institute.”
Uh-oh.
He laughed before saying, “Don’t worry, Matty. It won’t be the first time.”
Oh… well then.
Before scary-prospect breakfast I had to know a few things first.
“I have a few questions,” I told him.
He took a sip of coffee and looked at me under his brows.
Oh my.
If Lucy were here, I think she would confirm that Aidan was flirting with me!
And changing slightly from boy-next-door-possible-baddie plumber to boy-in-the-mansion-next-door-not-baddie-but-seriously-sexy professor.
“Fire away,” he invited.
Focus, girl, focus.
Um… now, what was I doing?
Oh yes.
I started, “First, you asked about my magic. You look at me funny when I’m done casting a spell. What’s the deal?”
“I’m non-magical. I can’t see your magic.”
Hunh?
“But it was flying all over the place in the wood,” I told him. “And then there were the faeries –”
He became a little less relaxed as he watched me.
“Faeries?” he asked. “There were faeries?”
“Yes, hundreds of them.”
“Ah.” He relaxed again and to himself said, “The acorns.” Then back to me. “I thought you were doing that. However, as a mere mortal, I can’t see magic. The effects of it, yes. Acorns flying through the air, tree branches swaying and hitting precise targets… that I can see. Faeries, possible but rarely and only if concentrating and, of course, if they want to be seen.”
Well, that explained that.
Sort of.
“Why did you want to meet me at midnight?” I asked.
“There was something important I needed to tell you without your shadow present.” Hmm. “I reckoned you’d be curious if I asked for a midnight meeting and wouldn’t tell him.” Hmm. Hmm. “And because if you told him, he wouldn’t have let you come.”
Well, I’m sure!
Like Ash controls me!
(Hmm.)
Aidan concluded, “And because I needed to tell you that I have reason to believe that some of the men who are after you have managed to ally themselves with a witch and I thought you should know.”
Ack!
“What?” I cried
“Your magic didn’t work on them, did it?” he asked.
“No,” I answered.
And that would be no as in, not even a little bit.
“They probably had a protection spell.”
No!
“How do you know this?” I asked.
He hesitated. Then took a breath and expelled it heavily.
Then he answered, “Another field researcher, watching another witch, saw the alliance.”
This is unbelievable… witches didn’t ally themselves with bad guys!
Okay, so, I had to admit, it happened.
Occasionally.
But very, very rarely.
The whole bad witch-slash-dark witch myth was made by man to discredit those who practiced The Craft (not to mention the whole conspiracy against midwives and healers who weren’t witches at all). The vast (as in vast) majority of witches are what is now often referred to as “Wh
ite Witches”. In other words, good. To the core. A few of them may be dotty but they wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“I don’t have that information.”
“Can you find out?”
“Maybe.”
Getting into Institute territory here, I could see.
“If you find out, will you tell me?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
It was my turn to watch him. He wasn’t uncomfortable or wary, just cagey.
Men!
I was too tired to push it now.
“How do you know Josephine and Rory?” I asked.
Mention of Josephine and Rory seemed to surprise him. “She cleaned the office at the plumber’s. I don’t know any Rory.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Is there more?” he asked in response.
Interesting.
“Okay, then, if you’re a member of this place and you aren’t supposed to get involved then why did you get involved?”
He sat up, set down his coffee cup and massaged his temples for a bit.
When he was done, he dropped his (very nicely formed, very manly, not professorial at all, by the way) hands and he said, “There are several reasons, Matty.”
Then he stopped.
Men again! Why did they make you work so hard for everything?
“Well?” I pressed.
Nothing.
Dammit.
“What are they?”
He watched me again for a bit. This watching me gig was very strange and unsettling and I have to admit (only to my journal) it weirdly excited me (slightly).
Finally, he answered, “Okay, first, I got involved because I believe the real world and the magical world can live in harmony and The Institute is in the perfect position to facilitate that.”
Ha! He obviously hadn’t read Why the Worlds Will Never Live Together in Harmony – A Cautionary Chronicle by Ulysses Cavanaugh.
Aidan carried on, “Second, I’m not accustomed to inaction. Watching doesn’t suit my way of doing things, I’d rather be… doing things.”
“You shouldn’t have become a member if you didn’t agree with the way things were done,” I tutted.
He grinned.
Goddess save me from good-looking men who can pull off a grin.
“You sound like Jeremy,” he informed me.
“You mean Ichabod Crane?” I asked.
Uh-oh, forgot myself. Maybe they were friends and that was mean.
“That’s exactly who I mean,” Aidan said.
Oh, there you go. Don’t think Aidan likes Ichabod.
Anyway, I didn’t want to sound like Jeremy.
Ignoring all that, I went on, “What other reasons do you have?”
More watching.
Then, “Once I saw you I knew I’d have to get involved.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Yes, Matty. I couldn’t exactly get you in my bed without meeting you.”
What!?
Ack!
Yay!
Oh no!
I had no idea what to think and then I didn’t have to think because an old dude walked into the room to announce breakfast was ready.
Mixed blessing.
After dropping the “get you in my bed” grenade, Aidan conveniently disappeared without a good-bye while I was whisked to a phone by one of the other members.
I called Ash on his mobile. This was the conversation:
“Hi Ash.” (Brightly to dissipate any bad mood.)
“Where are you?” (Tersely, clearly not in the mood to have bad mood dissipated.)
“The Royal Institute for Psychical Research.”
Silence.
Then, “I’ll be there in two hours.”
Hang up.
Uh-oh.
* * * * *
We had a full, traditional, English fry up in the Great Hall (yum-ah-licious! English breakfasts were the bomb, fried eggs, fried bread, toast with marmalade, awesome, meaty English bacon, sausages, baked beans, sautéed mushrooms, gut-busting but heaven-on-a-plate, even s, I feared for the cholesterol levels of my companions). Aidan was out amongst the brethren as was Jeremy and about twenty-five other Old and Young(ish) Dudes. (!)
Members were coming out of the woodwork to get a close up look at a real, live witch.
I sat at a head table next to Ambrose and another man introduced as Forrest Something-or-Other. I feared I’d never again meet a man by the name of John, Dave or Steve.
Everyone stared at me while they ate their bacon and fried bread.
Conversation was scarce.
And I mean scarce as in non-existent.
I had a feeling Aidan was seriously in trouble.
Afterward Ambrose led me to another room with more ancient furniture. It was a bedroom and he advised me to rest as I waited for “Mr. Wilding”.
He meant Ash.
Everyone knew everything about me except, it would seem, me!
I looked out the window and saw what Aidan had been looking at earlier – dozens of cars in the courtyard. So he knew I was to be the curious creature at a breakfast of a score of geezers and he didn’t warn me.
Men!
Just before the big guy left I said, “Mr. Bennett?”
“That would be Dr. Bennett, Miss Honeycutt.”
Pompous old fart.
“Um… is Aidan in trouble?” I asked.
He studied me (lots and lots of studying around this place – too much, creepy – unless it was Aidan).
“Yes, Miss Honeycutt, Dr. Seymour is ‘in trouble’.”
Oo, Aidan’s a doctor!
* * * * *
I didn’t trust the bed so tried to sit on floor and meditate.
Couldn’t meditate after final Aidan announcement and upcoming reunion with my bodyguard so sent thought-waves to Ash repeating, “Don’t be mad at me… don’t be mad at me… don’t be mad at me.”
Felt Ash’s Jag hit the courtyard before I got up to go to the window and see it.
Had the feeling regardless of thought-vibes that he was mad at me anyway.
I ran downstairs and into the entry hall and noticed all the Members had a new curiosity – namely Mr. Wilding who was striding purposefully toward the door… and me.
Striding, I might add, with a look on his face that could only be described as thunderous.
Uh-oh.
And.
Mm.
“It would seem,” a voice came from my side, it was Dr. Bennett, “that you’re in trouble too.”
He appeared to be correct.
Ash was through the door and steps away from me when I threw all caution to the wind, turned to Dr. Bennett and said, “There’s a witch out there that’s protecting men who intend to harm me and perhaps my family and Spellbound.”
I felt Ash stop beside me rather than saw him do it.
Dr. Bennett’s face looked pained. “And how did you come by that information, Miss Honeycutt?”
I ignored his question. “It would help a lot if you could tell me the name of the witch who’s helping them.”
Dr. Bennett shook his head. “I’m sorry but –”
“He can’t, of course.” This was Ash and it was said in a really ugly tone.
I mean really ugly.
“Let’s go,” Ash ordered.
As Ash escorted me to the Lush Jag, I thanked my hosts on the trot and we were away.
We drove a bit and I counted the minutes in hopes of tempers (or, perhaps, one particular temper) cooling.
Then, “Ash –?”
“Not now, Mathilda.”
I shut up.
From his tone to the muscle twitching in his cheek, it seemed the smart thing to do.
12 February
Talked to Mavis about the possible bad witch.
She didn’t believe me until I told her Ambrose Bennett had (essentially) confirmed the information.
She’s really angry.
“We’ll just se
e about this,” she said and the way she said it scared the bejeezus out of me.
She took off and I haven’t seen her since.
* * * * *
15 February
Nothing.
Please note the date, 15 February.
One-Five February.
February as in second month of the New Year.
Day after Valentine’s Day.
And… nothing.
Okay, so Ash is mad at me and Aidan may be in the middle of Scary Manor House KP Duty but what would it hurt?
A card?
A single red rose?
A diamond bracelet?
One kissed me and liked my naughty nighttime fantasies; the other one said straight out he wanted me in his bed. I was thinking they were into me. And Valentine’s Day was Valentine’s Day, the only day of the year that pretty much demanded you make a gesture if you’re into someone.
And these guys own Jags and BMW Roadsters, for goddess’s sake!
Now wish I hadn’t made four batches of heart-shaped butter cookies. Granted, I didn’t exactly present them to their intended (though I saw Ash have one with my own two eyes and I sent the parcel to The Institute (found their address on their website!!) addressed to “The Members” but still, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out).
How often does a girl get two yummy men at once!? – both of whom clearly fancy her?
Unless you are Julia Roberts… it… just… does… not… happen.
In this dimension (and, I suspect, many others).
I’m putting away my rose quartz.
Fucking men.
On another note, Rory gave me the sweetest Valentine’s Card that he made himself (well, he had a little help from Nerissa but I loosely use the words “help” and “Nerissa” in the same sentence).
* * * * *
21 February
I’d had enough.
I mean, how mad at me could he be?
(Ash, that is.)
So I took off without him on what turned out to be a somewhat (!) dangerous assignation.
I made it.
I’m alive.
Breathing.
Baking.
Making kickass vanilla lattes.
Clattering around in my new, fab, fake crocodile stilettos.
Enough!
I went to the studded Dungeon door and banged on it as hard as I could.
Nothing.
With a mighty heave, I pushed it open and yelled down the steps (because, even though I’d had enough, I wasn’t gonna go down there – no way, no how).
Mathilda, SuperWitch Page 8
