Mathilda, SuperWitch

by Kristen Ashley

  “Ash! I want to talk to you!” I shouted.

  Nothing.

  “Okay then… Sebastian, I want to talk to you,” I yelled, giving an inch.

  Nothing.

  I waited.

  Then I shouted, “Have it your way!”

  Then I humphed off to the library and took down Mathilda’s Register and slapped it on the desk.

  “I’m fed up!” I told the book. “Eleanora, girl, you gotta give me something. Rory seems safe now but I got a renegade witch, a bunch of men immune to magic, a supernatural expert who can’t tell me what he knows and a bodyguard who’s pissed off at me. How am I to protect my Spellbound?”

  Then I opened the book.

  It said:

  Mathilda, dear, what makes you think Rory is your Spellbound?

  What?! I thought.

  “What?!” I said.

  The letters wiped themselves out.

  “Come on! I’m supposed to help someone who’s going to do great things in the future. Rory is bright, sweet, young –”

  Eleanora interrupted me.

  Yes he is, but, why wouldn’t Josephine be destined to do great things?

  Holy Girl Power, Batman!

  I wasn’t meant to protect Rory, I was meant to protect Josie.

  Whoa.

  Whole new spin.

  “Thanks Elly, you’re the greatest,” I said to the book.

  Don’t expect help in the future and don’t call me Elly.

  Eleanora had an attitude.

  But then who didn’t?

  Yay!

  Light dawns!

  Speaking of attitude, as I closed the Register in strolled Ash.

  Before I could say anything, he said, “Don’t ever do that again.”

  I wasn’t stupid enough to ask what “that” meant.

  Instead, I apologized, sincerely and sheepishly, going for cute and abashed.

  It worked!

  The apology threw him for a loop.

  I’d hoped (in my deepest thoughts to myself and my journal) we’d kiss and make up but no luck.

  He recovered quickly then said, “Mathilda, the Members of that Institute stood by throughout the Burning Times. They watched witches burn and drown and endure torture and they didn’t do anything about it. They watched a lot of innocents burn too and they knew it and they didn’t do anything about that either.”

  Wow, that was a lot of words coming out of Ash all at once.

  “Aidan wants to –” I stared.

  “What your plumber wants doesn’t mean anything. They have a five hundred year history of note taking. The Chosen One is coming into her full powers and there’s a good possibility that all hell is going to break lose. Don’t expect them to be your allies, Mathilda. They’re Switzerland. And in the battle between good and evil, Switzerland is useless. Worse than useless, they’re cowards.”

  Wow.

  All hell was going to break loose?

  Oh shit.

  Chapter Five

  The Month of March

  1 March

  Let me tell you, a lot has been happening.

  First of all, Mom, Gran and Su are all here!

  Right now!

  In The Gables.

  YAY!

  Family reunion!!!

  And Viv arrives tomorrow.

  They’re here because we’re having a SuperCoven meeting to sniff out the Sinister Evil Bad Villainous Witch a.k.a. Agatha Darling.

  * * * * *

  This is what happened:

  Last Thursday, Auntie Mavis called me into her Magic Room.

  In the room with Mavis were Paulina Babcock (Mavis’s Second-in-Command), Octavia Blackwell (if it’s Magical, Tavie knows it, she’s killer at our Wicca Quiz Nights) and Fay O’Hannigan (who Mavis tells me has the strongest magic in our coven, outside of herself and me, ‘cause she’s Irish and the Irish have some wicked magic, that is to say, wicked in a good way.)

  So I knew this was a big deal.

  Anyhoo.

  I sat with them all and they gave me tea (ack!) and Jammie Dodgers (yummy!)

  Then they handed me a folder.

  In it was a bunch of handwritten notes and photos. The photos were of a woman who looks exactly, I kid you not, like the Wicked Witch of the West (except she’s kinda heavy, has gray hair and, of course, isn’t green).

  The file was labeled:

  “Agatha Blanche Darling – Witch, High Priestess, Edwards Coven, Worcestershire”.

  I knew the Darlings. I had read a lot about the Darlings. Most notably, The Honeycutts and Darlings – The Hatfield and McCoys of the Witch World.

  Darlings didn’t like Honeycutts so much.

  Honeycutts returned the favor.

  It had been a blood feud for years.

  Aside: Witches were usually nice ladies, of course, who healed with herbs and could cook and always had a lovely, cozy kitchen but that doesn’t mean we are all like that (read: Darlings) nor that we all have to like each other.

  According to Auntie Mavis (and the file, which had a shield on the front of it cut in four sections, one with a dragon in it, one with broomstick, one that was a cross and one with a bat and a banner along the bottom in which it said, “Naturalis, Magicus, Observatio” and in the file was a whole bunch of notes written on “The Royal Institute of Psychical Research” letterhead) Agatha Darling had turned.

  When a witch turns, it’s a bad thing (understatement).

  The power given to us is from Mother Nature. She allows us to use the power of her lands, winds, fires and seas.

  A woman who has any command of those can wreak some serious fucking havoc.

  Not only did Mavis tell us that Agatha Darling had turned, she also told us she’d abandoned her coven.

  Agatha was High Priestess of the Edwards Coven and a coven, especially a particularly powerful one like the Edwards one, without a leader, was ripe pickin’s for bad guys.

  So, we needed a big ass coven meeting to find Agatha and learn what she was up to and find a way to stop her.

  That means we needed power.

  The Honeycutts were coming.

  Yay!

  12 March

  To quote Enigo Montoya from the Rob Reiner Classic The Princess Bride:

  “Let me ‘splain… no is too long, let me sum up.”

  Su:

  Has taken over my sanctuary flat at the top o’ The Gables, filled my mini-fridge with organic milk and tofu, covered the lights with scarves, the floor with tie-dyed camisoles (eek!) and gypsy skirts (ack!) and burned enough incense to permeate every article of Ralph, Calvin, Donna, Dolce and even Lucky clothing I own.

  Viv:

  Is also staying in my rooms, does nothing but complain about the milk, tofu, scarves, scattered clothes and incense while spending lots of time ironing her Liz Claiborne.

  Has yet to find just the right place for her mini-Zen sand and rock garden but has taken over the cupboard space in my wee kitchenette with a variety of teas so huge that even I, a partner in a coffee house, haven’t heard of some of the blends.

  When Hawkwind isn’t blaring from my stereo thanks to Su, Viv inserts her whale song CD.

  Yikes!

  Gran:

  Is taking this opportunity to do a few UK yoga workshops and is pleased as punch that Senator Addison (better known as “That Man”) is going to be in country and is busy (per usual) with plans, plans, more plans and possible political machinations.

  Gran is no stranger to Time and Newsweek (mostly photos of her behind a banner with a bunch of other ladies like Susan Sarandon and Marlo Thomas (although Gran is the only one with stark white dreadlocks) under which captions read, “Members of (such and such) including well-known activist Minerva Honeycutt (okay, so maybe they named Sarandon and not Gran), take to the streets”).

  Viv, who until recently I thought was a highly sought after motivational speaker actually is a highly sought after How To book writer (as in How to Be A Witch) is planning yoga workshops-
slash-how to seminars all over England with Gran.

  Get this: Greta Maddox (member of our coven) just happens to be an agent who represents people like Gran and Viv. Why does life work out for Viv, Gran and Greta and I’ve barely heard from Aidan in a month and Ash has practically disappeared after the onslaught of femininity to The Gables? I mean, for two men who have made their intentions pretty clear (ish) they’re taking their time. I’m not exactly playing hard to get. For goddess’s sake, I live with one of them (okay, so The Gables has more than thirty rooms but so what!?). What does a girl have to do to get laid around here?

  Ahem.

  Mom:

  “Look at that garden! It’s a mess! You girls!” she said upon driving up to the house (by “you girls” she meant “Mathilda” like I don’t have enough to do already being savior of world, barista extraordinaire and village fashionista I have to deal with fertilizer as well). She’s out there now, I can see her from my window, wearing a (rather fab, must admit) huge straw hat and attacking some shrubbery with clippers. When not knee deep in compost or elbow deep in homemade granola, she’s giving Lucy and Josie candle-making lessons.

  Please note that search for Villainous Witch Turned Bad has taken a backseat to career furthering endeavors, political agendas, gardening and candle-making. Ack!

  Ash:

  I walked to Dungeon door yesterday and knocked.

  He came up and opened the door, assumed the arms crossed-slash-doorjamb leaning position and lifted an eyebrow.

  It was an arrogant look but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a good look so I silently told my nether regions to calm down.

  His lips twitched suspiciously.

  Damn Mavis’s mind-meld!

  “Yes?” he asked before I could get it together.

  “I want to move to The Dungeons,” I informed him. “Do you mind sharing your lair?”

  “My lair?” he asked, eyebrows knitting.

  I nodded my head to The Dungeons.

  “You hate it down there. You won’t even go down there,” he reminded me.

  “My sisters are driving me nuts. Two words: Patchouli and Lapsong Souchong.” (Okay, that’s kinda three words.) “Do you understand me?” I finished, perhaps a little hysterically.

  He didn’t answer.

  “My sanctuary is lost!” I cried.

  He didn’t look like he cared very much. He seemed far more focused on watching my mouth form the words than helping me with my problems.

  “We’ll make it less spooky down there,” I suggested hopefully.

  “Spooky?” he asked, having decided to repeat everything I say.

  “Fog lights,” I said. “Big ones, like they use in the movies.”

  He looked me in the eye as if considering that possibility (not).

  “And we’ll light a sage stick, flush out any ghosts.” I was warming to my theme.

  “I know a way to make it less spooky.” His lips weren’t twitching anymore and he was looking at me in a way that did even more intense things to my nether regions.

  “Mathilda!” Mom was shouting from the kitchen. “Where’s the lobster pot?”

  “What way is that?” I asked, trying to be flirty with my Mom shouting at me from the other room. (Not working.)

  (Lobster pot?)

  “Mathilda!”

  Another grin from Ash.

  “Your mother’s calling you.” This was Ash then he stood back as if to let me pass, down the stairs, into the dreaded Dungeons. “Would you like to continue this conversation somewhere else?”

  I looked at him.

  I looked beyond him.

  Hmm.

  Quandary.

  Okay, I know you think I’m insane. But trust me, The Dungeons are scary.

  Only people like Ash could live down there. He could probably kill someone with his bare hands. He’d probably seen things that would make my hair curl (egad!). Or worse, done things that would make me wonder about him.

  Auntie Mavis had been telling me stories about Sebastian Wilding. About his years in boarding school (!), his days in the Army (SAS – Special Air Service, some serious English Army dudes a la Green Beret, or better example, Russell Crowe in Proof of Life), his time “in training” in Asia (Kill Bill anyone?).

  Anyway.

  Weird noises, unexplained breezes, indistinct whispering sounds and strange apparitions would be nothing to him.

  I swallowed hard.

  They were something to me.

  He shook his head and said, “When you’re ready,” and closed the door in my face.

  Ack!

  Apparently, to get laid, a girl has to go to The Dungeon (shiver).

  Not ready for that.

  Rory:

  Thinks Su is a hoot (but then again, she thinks it’s okay that he experience beer and has been spending a lot of time introducing him to Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Hendrix, Deep Purple and, of course, Jerry Garcia).

  Josie:

  Is holed up a lot with Gran, thinks she’s fantastic. She’s right, although that alliance scares me just a trifle… those two political wildcats may be planning some kind of hijacking of Douglas Addison’s visit next week. How am I supposed to protect Josie if she gets in cahoots with Gran?

  Agatha Darling:

  Apparently, if (rather lame) coven circle by light of the moon last night is anything to go by, has a powerful shadow over herself and whoever she’s working with. Members of Edwards Coven are missing, other members aren’t talking. Mavis has got the Witchworld grapevine buzzing but nothing has come of it.

  Aidan:

  Got a package in the mail with a note that said, “Sorry this is late. Thanks for the cookies.” with a mobile number. The package held a set of The Faerie Oracle and it was gorgeous.

  Mm.

  Called the number.

  “Dr. Seymour,” he answered.

  Mm.

  Dr. Seymour.

  Nice.

  “Hi Aidan,” I said.

  “Matty?”

  “You like the cookies?” I asked.

  “Delicious, you’ve won a few hearts at The Institute with those cookies.”

  Mm.

  I wondered which hearts, exactly.

  “Are you still a member?”

  “Probation,” he answered nonchalantly.

  “Thanks for the file,” I said.

  “What file?” It was his turn to ask.

  That Mavis, how did she…?

  “What file, Matty?” Aidan sounding slightly more aggressive.

  Mm.

  “Where’s Agatha Darling right now?” I asked.

  Silence.

  “Aidan?” I prompted.

  “Matty, what file?”

  “Give up Darling,” I said (how cool am I?)

  (Or did that sound like ‘give up, darling’? Yikes!)

  “Matty, I don’t think you understand. Probation means –”

  I hung up. I thought that was a good way to go.

  Probation, shmobation.

  Where did Mavis get that file?

  And how was my luck bad enough that I’d get an evil nemesis with the name of Darling?

  15 March

  Lucy got me again. She took the battleground out of the sweet into the semi-savory and made some kind of brie, almond, cranberry-in-a-puff-pastry thingie with homemade crackers! It even had some braided, egg brushed decoration!

  The customers are flipping out for it.

  She’s not fighting fair.

  * * * * *

  (Later – at The Gables)

  Aidan is downstairs in the sitting room waiting for me to get ready for our date.

  Date!

  Ha!

  With Aidan!

  Ack!

  The professor!

  Mm.

  Yay!

  Ash is in The Dungeon, fuming.

  Ha ha!

  Or at least I picture him fuming.

  Fuming as he runs on his treadmill to work out his frustration.

  Shi
rtless and sweating profusely.

  Mm. Mm.

  Ack!

  Holy Boy Crazy Bitch, Batman!

  Gran, Mom, Su and Viv are “entertaining” Aidan.

  Ha ha ha!

  (Poor Aidan)

  * * * * *

  This is what happened:

  Was finishing my shift and leaving the shop with Beatrice, Rhiannon and Pandora as the afternoon crew.

  I’d never left the shop without Lucy, Mavis or myself in charge and I was nervous. Beatrice could hold her own but Rhiannon would have half the village stoned on some kind of herbal concoction and I think Pandora is genuinely trying to blow up Big Red.

  I was fretting and Ash was on some marathon mobile phone conversation, sitting by the fireplace at the café, nursing an espresso while I sucked the last dregs out of my almond mocha latte, obsessively crossing and uncrossing my legs and trying not to jump up and stop Pandora from banging a wooden spoon on Big Red (that spoon came from Williams Sonoma and I had to sign away my first born to acquire Big Red… was she nuts?).

  By the way, Ash had, all of a sudden, decided that he wanted to escort me everywhere. Mavis, Mom and Gran were adamant I let him so I had to wait for him to take me home. Ack!

  Then, with no warning, Aidan walked in.

  “We have to talk,” he announced upon arrival at me.

  Yay! Aidan!

  I wanted to jump up and do a little happy dance but had to remain cool as he didn’t even bother to say hello or give me a kiss on the cheek or anything.

  So just said, “Hey,” and shot Sebastian a look mouthing, “I’ll just be over there,” pointing to a booth.

  “Let’s grab a booth,” I suggested to Aidan.

  Aidan took one look at Sebastian, who was still sitting by the fireplace with his legs stretched in front of him, his now empty espresso cup beside him, his mobile at his ear and a carefully blank expression on his face while he watched us.

  “No, let’s go somewhere private,” Aidan said.

  (Kinda ballsy, that.)

  I leaned toward him and whispered, “He isn’t going to shoot you.”

  Aidan didn’t look like he believed me (and I wasn’t sure I believed me either).

  I put on my supercool, asymmetrical cardie, gestured out the door and mouthed, “I’ll be at the museum for just a mo’,” to Ash and walked out the door with Aidan.

  We walked across the street, up the seafront, into the Victorian pier museum and up the windy stone staircase at the back to the art gallery on the second floor.