by Al K. Line
"Arthur!"
I turned at Vicky's shouting, getting the feeling she'd been talking to me for a while. Had I slept lately? Kind of. Not enough.
"What?" I snapped, depressed after thinking about these streets I'd walked a thousand times, back when they were full of people nodding to each other, stopping to chat. Now everyone drove in their cars and the place was like a ghost town. Even the pubs had closed down, and you know things are bad when that happens.
"I said we need to go somewhere and talk. Where are you off to?"
I hadn't thought about it, just wanted to get away from the club. Then I had an idea. "I have just the place," I said, a wicked grin on my face.
Vicky gave me the evil eye, Mrs. Pink brightened at the thought of getting to explain herself properly, and I figured it was the perfect way to get rid of her once and for all.
It didn't quite work out that way.
Getting to Know You
We wandered through the real parts of the city. Not the places where everything was sanitized and people lived in gated communities, not even the rundown terraced streets where communities were falling apart, but the true city. Where everyone had accepted that there was no hope, no way to continue as things had in the past, and that change was needed. That the time had already come and gone for out-of-control consumerism and chasing dreams of new cars and bigger houses.
This was HiLo.
As the population increased and the jobs became scarcer, as the gleaming office blocks and the overpriced apartments sprouted from the ground like polished cancers, huge swathes of the old city were abandoned or became so ruinous they were demolished, waiting for more tiny boxes to be built where people hid away from the world. Some people refused to accept this way of life, found new places to try something different.
The old train station was one such place. Abandoned almost thirty years ago, it was replaced with a gleaming new station at the heart of the city. Local route closures and new rail links making it redundant and too costly to renovate.
For years the local council had debated what to do with it, had looked into various offers, one year announcing it would be turned into something for the community, the next that it would be sold to developers. It never came to anything, and slowly it became a place where the homeless made a life as best they could. Then the idealists moved in, anarchists and the like, then artists who realized they could have space to get on with their work without costly studio fees. Even some local businesses moved to HiLo, at first to serve the few people who squatted there, and because they couldn't keep up with the rent on their own premises. Soon, some chose to set up business here as the crime was no worse than anywhere else, in fact it was lower than many parts of the city, and everything was done with cash.
Others followed. Those too poor to buy a house or afford rent, those who refused to live a conventional life, even some shifters had made it their home. It became a kind of zoned squat, sectioned off into groups of like-minded people, communities within a community, everyone leading alternative lives and trying to find a different way through life. Most failed in one way or another, and HiLo became a very transient place.
One thing you could always count on though, was a seat somewhere quiet and to be left alone if you wanted. Plus, the coffee was nice, and nobody spilled beer on you unless you went to one of the many unlicensed bars that specialized in one particular drink.
We went to a fairly small room where you could get coffee. Nothing fancy, nothing unpronounceable, just filtered coffee, milk and sugar if you wanted it.
Vicky was her usual chatty self, asking about the place and its history, keeping close to me as people passed, sometimes nodding, mostly keeping to themselves at this late hour.
Mrs. Pink, and damn but I hated that name, was the opposite of how I'd expected her to be. She was relaxed, confident, smiled at people, even said hello by name a few times. I'd expected her to feel out of her depth, that her attitude and looks were mostly for show, and she lived a life if not that of a citizen, then still mostly conventional, even if she was a witch.
But she was at home here, knew the people, and I wondered how come we'd never crossed paths before.
So I asked as we sat at an old table on mismatched chairs, the place to ourselves apart from the owner, a skinny guy of sixty who refused to wear anything but a pair of shorts no matter the weather.
"How come we've never met before? You know this place, you know the people, so why don't I know you?"
"Dunno. There's lot of people like me. Dropouts, people searching for a different way to live."
"I know that! I've been where they are, I know them, I know where they go. But I've never seen you."
"Guess you haven't been looking hard enough." Mrs. Pink sipped her coffee, sighed, and smiled. "So, you wanna hear about it? It's right up your guys' alley. You'll love it."
"Doubt that," I moaned, feeling knackered now we were sitting down, the tiredness creeping over me like a warm blanket, making everything feel fuzzy.
"I want to hear about it," said Vicky. "And I think it's great you showing so much determination to get to talk with us. That's clever, isn't it, Arthur?"
"No, it's bloody stupid. Are you forgetting how stressed you were yesterday? That we were up all night trying to sort this mess out. That this girl screwed us over and impersonated our family?"
"She's young, she doesn't know any better."
"I am not young, I'm twenty-three," said Mrs. Pink, pouting. "And I'm not a girl, I'm a woman." She tried to glare at me but she just looked like she had something in her eye.
"Right, that's it. What's your bloody name? And if you give me any more of this Mrs. Pink business I'm leaving." I slammed my coffee down on the table, spilling it. I glanced over at the owner then took a napkin and mopped up the mess. "See what you made me do?"
"Selma, my name's Selma," she mumbled, looking embarrassed.
"That's a nice name," said Vicky, smiling.
"Better than Mrs. Pink, that's for sure."
"I don't like to use it, don't want anyone knowing. I use loads of different names, so I can stay under the radar. Tell no one."
"Who the fuck would we tell?" I was fed up with all this crypto-bullshit.
"I don't know! Anyone." Selma glared at me, angry. I'd clearly hit a nerve here.
"Okay, promise not to tell. Now, can we please get on with this? I need to go home and punch the shit out of my pillow."
"I want you to steal Mabel's Cauldron."
"No fucking way. Come on, Vicky, we're going." I stood up, pushed back my chair, then began marching off.
"Arthur, wait!"
I ignored her, kept walking. I heard a scuffle behind me, and as I exited the room I sped up and marched past various businesses, everyone gone now. Sleeping.
"Arthur, what are you doing?" asked Vicky as she caught up with me.
"Going home."
"What's Mabel's Cauldron? Sounds silly. Mabel? Is she a witch?"
"No, Vicky, she is The Witch. You might think her name is funny, old fashioned, but that's because she is old, very old, and I won't steal from her. I've talked about her before. You never listen."
"I do too. But why not? Why won't you steal from her?"
"Why not? Because," I turned to face Selma who was right behind us, "I know who Selma is, don't I?"
"I guess," said Selma, hunching her shoulders.
"Who is she then?" asked Vicky.
"She's Mabel's bloody granddaughter, or great, great granddaughter, whatever. I'm not getting involved with witches, no fucking way. And certainly not Mabel. This could be a setup, it's how they operate."
"You want to steal from your own gran?" asked Vicky, shocked.
"You don't know what she did. What her cauldron can do. We have to get it before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" I snapped.
"Too late for everyone. Don't you know what she's planning? Can't you feel it?"
"No I bloody can't. What?" I w
as too tired for guessing games.
"She's going to destroy the vampires. Kill them. You have to help me. I can't stop the Queen on my own."
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
Idiot Sidekicks
We exited HiLo, and I was deflated by the whole experience. It hadn't gone as planned at all. I nodded to the two guys on guard duty at the main entrance, they nodded back then watched as we wandered off, nobody saying a word.
"Please, you have to," whined Selma once we were well away and walking the streets once more.
"No, I don't."
"Why not? It's right up your street. I can pay,"
"I'm sure you can, with the money you stole from some poor sap. The answer is still no. If she's out for the vampires, the last thing I want to do is get involved in any of that bullshit. I've done enough for them, they can deal with Mabel themselves. Have you told them?"
"I figured I'd come see you guys and we could deal with it together."
"What's your interest in this?" I asked.
Selma went to speak, but I held up a hand to stop her. The moon was out, casting a silvery glow over the streets, the wet roads shining like they were paved with silver. I glanced up, a knot in my stomach, then checked on Vicky. She was looking green, and squirming about as she shifted her head from side to side. Her jaw was moving in a weird way.
"You cannot be serious. Really, today? Now?"
"I can't help it," she whined, before coughing and spluttering and bending over double, moaning.
"Of course you can bloody help it. You're a..." I glanced at Selma then said nothing more.
"It's okay, I know."
"Know what?" I asked.
"That Vicky's a lycanthrope. That she shifts, just like Ivan. And he's a vampire. I know that, you know I know that."
"I didn't know you knew about the werewolf crap. I still don't know how you know they're related. Nobody else does."
"Well I do. I'm quite powerful you know, and in the loop."
"Yeah, because of Grandma."
"She's not my grandma, she's my great, great, great, great... Um, hang on, that's not right."
"Oh, just shut up. Come on, you, let's go." I grabbed Vicky by her coat collar and marched down the street until I saw a likely looking vehicle. We wouldn't need it for long, just to get back to my own car closer to the club.
"I don't know what your problem is, Vicky, but I thought you had this under control now?"
"I do, almost," she croaked as she ran to keep up with me, not that she had any choice as I was still half dragging her.
"Is she gonna turn?" Selma seemed a little too keen for Vicky to morph into a monstrous feral beast that could bite your head off, so when we got to the car, I stopped and stared her down.
"What's your problem? I said no, yet here you still are. And why do you want to see Vicky turn? You get off on it?"
"Of course not. It's just, you know, interesting. I've never seen a shift before."
"And you aren't going to now," said Vicky. "I've got this under control, I think. I've been practicing. Ivan helped me, but sometimes it's hard to resist."
"I thought werewolves had to turn when it was a full moon?"
"Oh, bloody hell, that's why you did all this now, isn't it?" I accused. "So you could see it. What is wrong with you?"
"Told you, I'm interested."
"Nothing to do with you assuming we would have said yes yesterday and you had it all planned to go down tonight so Vicky could do your dirty work?" She was so obvious.
"Maybe." Selma had the good grace to look guilty as accused.
"Can we please go?" asked Vicky, slapping a hand to an ear that looked decidedly hairy and pointy.
I pulled Wand from my pocket and asked silently, "You ready?"
"Sure. But we should listen to Selma. You should do the job, or at least hear her out properly, then tell Ivan."
"Why? You just want to blast stuff and hang around with young girls."
"Do not. Hmm, maybe a little, but I know about Mabel, I know all about her."
"How?"
"Because I'm magical, that's why. Plus, I know most things about most things."
"Then maybe you could start sharing that information with me a little more often."
"Will do. So listen to the kid, this is important."
"Fine," I said with a sigh as I put Wand to the lock and a tiny spark of silver magic did the necessary and unlocked the very boring looking car.
"You'll do it?" yelped Selma.
"No, I'll listen to you blather on then tell you no. But you get to make your case. First, we get Vicky hidden."
"We going to the semi?" asked Vicky, crawling into the car as her PVC outfit grew tighter than I'd believed possible and odd lumps appeared to wriggle under the surface.
"Not with her here."
"Why not?" asked Selma. "I know where it is." Then she rattled off the address.
"Goddamn, is nothing private any more?" I got in the car and Wand started it up. I may have pulled off a little too fast, and I may have smiled as both women in the back rolled around.
It's the small things in life that keep a wizard amused. And sane.
Hearing the Tale
With it being pointless trying to hide the location, but with it still rankling, I drove to the semi in the city. I bundled Vicky out and kept her covered with her coat as she half crouched, half hopped to the front door. Selma followed behind.
Once inside, I took Vicky into the living room and removed her coat even though she was protesting.
"Jesus!" Vicky looked a mess. I'd seen her shift several times, seen her change then change back too, but never when she was trying to fight it like she was now. The PVC was ruined, stretched out of shape in places, the material split where her body had tried to morph in too extreme a way for her to handle.
"It's not as bad as it looks," moaned Vicky as she collapsed onto the sofa. "Give me ten and I'll be okay."
"You sure?"
"Yes, but please get this bloody outfit off me. I feel like I'm gonna burst my skin and I can't focus properly."
I glanced to Selma who shrugged. "I can do it if you want."
"Please. I'll get some spare clothes from upstairs."
Selma's eyebrow rose like it meant Vicky and I were an item, but I didn't bother to correct her. Vicky kept clothes here because often after a job they were ruined, nothing more to it than that.
I left and gathered up new stuff then averted my gaze as I dropped the clothes on the sofa. "Tell me when you're decent." I waited outside the door while Vicky grunted and Selma helped her dress. I'd seen Vicky naked before, but that didn't mean I wanted to get another look. Okay, it did, and that's why I didn't look. It was the damn tight outfit, it was messing with my head, and something else.
"You can come in now," Vicky called, so I peeked cautiously around the door then entered once I was sure it was safe to do so.
"You are such a prude, Arthur," said Vicky.
"Just being a gentleman. Now, can you handle this?" I asked. "Is it better to just shift and be done with it?"
"No, the more I fight it, the better I am at doing it only when I want to. I need to be in charge of this, not the other way around."
"Fair enough. Brave girl."
Vicky poked her tongue out at me then winced as her arm went bumpy and lengthened. She gasped, closed her eyes, and it returned to normal.
Selma watched, fascinated. I'm not sure why, as she must change too. After all, she had the ability to impersonate others accurately. This girl knew her magic, I had to keep reminding myself of that. Was this how she even looked really?
I made coffee then returned to the living room and settled down in a chair. Vicky and Selma remained on the sofa.
"You are such a dummy," I told Vicky.
"Am not. I thought I'd be fine."
"I can't believe you came out tonight of all nights. And wearing that outfit, too."
"Don't say you didn't enjoy the view. I saw you lookin
g."
"Only at how much like a pencil wrapped in a bin bag you looked."
Vicky was about to moan but she cramped up and doubled over. I hated seeing her like this, and it came as a shock. I'd believed she could control it now under Ivan's guidance; guess it was tougher than I'd imagined.
For several minutes we said nothing of note, but Vicky eventually got things under control and so I reluctantly turned to Selma and said, "Okay, spill it. But first, how can you appear like other people so convincingly?"
"Fooled you, didn't I?" She was proud of her ability, but I wasn't impressed.
Most competent witches could do such things, just one reason amongst many why wizards hated them. That, and a lot of other stuff that meant we never mixed, hardly ever got on. The hostility went back as far as anyone could remember, and the Council didn't help. Ours was full of wizards often blaming the witches for trouble in the magical community even though nine times out of ten it was a wizard up to no good or pushing the boundaries.
"Yeah, and I don't like it. So, you can look like other people, or do you use a spell to just make people think you look like them?"
"Same thing, isn't it?" asked Vicky.
"No," we both said at the same time. I filled Vicky in. "Not at all. For a start, you don't mess with people's heads, it isn't allowed, so if she's using magic to make people think they see something that isn't there, then she's walking a very fine line."
"I don't do that kind of thing," snapped Selma. "I use my abilities to take on another form. I look like whoever I want to."
"This all sounds like the same thing to me," said Vicky again.
"It's not," we both shouted at her.
"Okay, what do you want?"
"Told you. I want you to steal Mabel's Cauldron."
"And I said no. But why? What's going on?"
"If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else."
