by Al K. Line
"Arthur, you have serious issues, you do know that, right?"
"I do not. You made a mess. You should clean up after yourself. I put the knife in the dishwasher, brushed away the crumbs, wiped the drip of coffee, and straightened the tea towel. Then I could think.
"Now, you were telling me off for something?" I said as I turned.
"Where were you? I finished ages ago. I thought we were going to make a plan."
"We were. We are. I've only been a few hours. What's up?"
"What's up is I worried you'd be out all night. You didn't answer your phone. I didn't know where you were or if you were okay."
"I turned it off. Took the sim out."
"Idiot."
"Am not."
It went on like that for a while until Vicky had finished with her insults and I was no longer listening.
"So, you ready then?" I asked.
"For what?"
"To go steal a cauldron from a witch."
"What, now? Tonight?"
"Yes, now. Yes, tonight," I snapped. "What's wrong with you?"
"I thought we were going to go over the plans properly. I haven't told you about the security system, how we can get in, any of it."
"Let me guess. It's all taken care of. You can disable the sensors, get me to the room no problem, and then we'll have to get creative. You think you might be able to gain access to the room, but you have a sneaking suspicion that there's something you're missing, that they've put in something else that you can't find remotely and there's no other way but to just get there and see what's what?"
"You... How...? Then why...? Arthur, you're so mean sometimes." Vicky's bottom lip wobbled and I thought fast to ward off any tears.
"I'm sure you've done an amazing job. It's what you do best. But you know what witches are like."
"No, not really."
"Neither do I, actually. Come on, let's get our stuff together and then we'll go."
"But this is so sudden."
"Vicky, my moaning minion, you know this is how I work. No point putting it off if we're going to do this. It may as well be now. You know that as soon as a job gets requested it's only a matter of time before everyone hears about it. People talk, rumors spread, the marks get nervous or suspicious, so let's do this now and be done with it."
"Fine, but I need a wee first, and to check on the girls. And how long will this take? We need to be back by morning."
"Fine. And of course we'll be back by morning, why wouldn't we be?"
Famous last words, right?
A Disturbance in the Force
Calm enveloped me as I climbed through the window, the house as silent as my slow beating heart. Everything was as it should be. Security no problem, such as it was, just sensors for when the windows or doors were opened, not that we had to worry as when Vicky went to shut it all down she realized that nobody had even bothered to set the alarm in the first place. This might be easier than I'd thought.
I was in a TV room. There were sofas everywhere, tatty things with ripped arms and way too many knitted blankets. There were cushions of all sizes and provenance, ranging from bed-sized to so small I couldn't for the life of me see what the point was. Crocheted things were draped over most surfaces, half empty mugs everywhere, and a huge TV dominated one wall.
It smelled funny too, like somebody had opened all the spice jars then sprinkled them generously on the carpet several years ago and hadn't vacuumed since.
I stopped and listened. Silence. Just the creaking of a house at rest, cooling now the central heating was off for the night.
Vicky bumped into the back of me and I refrained from smacking her about the head with the nearest cushion.
"I told you to wait outside," I scolded, not for the first time on a job. Vicky shrugged and smiled, as if saying what did I expect.
Sighing, I continued my silent, ninja-esque advance through the room, heading for the door. Vicky kept stepping on my heels, ruining my moves. I bet she touched stuff too, leaving evidence behind.
I adjusted the bag slung awkwardly over my shoulders backpack style but not really meant to be carried this way. It was heavy beyond measure, containing as it did items so numerous and varied that it was a wonder it could be lifted. I tapped Wand through my combats just to be sure he was awake.
"How you doing?" I asked silently.
"Ready to rock-n-roll. Hey, do you think the witches wander around in the buff if they need a pee? Should we check upstairs just in case we need to silence any of them?"
"No, I'm good." I shuddered. Last thing I needed was to witness any centuries-old naked witches flashing wrinkly flesh. I'd probably die before they did.
"Spoilsport."
"If you want to perv, then do it on your own time. You get plenty of time off."
"I'm a stick, I have no legs."
"There you go then. Now, be quiet, I need to focus."
I slid across the floor like Michael Jackson, poked my head around the doorway, then dashed down the hallway like a spider, blending into the shadows and absolutely not nearly knocking a lamp over that was balanced on a narrow table covered in misshapen rocks and bits of fossil.
Vicky scraped my heel with her stupid foot and I took three deep breaths in and out slowly to stop from battering her with said wobbly lamp.
Knowing the breathing wasn't enough, I crouched down low and stilled my mind, forced myself to not get annoyed. I wasn't nervous so much as excited. After all, I'd done this enough times before, but I did feel something different. The stakes were higher than usual for this one, and it wasn't just personal, just for money or kicks. I was acting to protect others, to save our community from the mad people.
But something wasn't right, and I don't mean Vicky.
Mind made up, I stood and turned to face my expectant partner in crime.
"We're leaving," I whispered, glancing around, ready to fend off whatever was coming.
"What? We can't. We're here, we almost have it."
"No, something's off. There's a weird vibe and this is not going to end well."
"Arthur, don't be silly."
"Vicky, I'm a pro, and if something doesn't feel right then you can bet your ass that I'm correct. Out. Now." I grabbed her by her jacket collar, turned her, then frogmarched her back to the window and said, "Out you go."
Vicky began to protest then saw my expression and reluctantly she exited through the window. I wiped down the sill and frame, climbed out after her, then used the cloths to pull the window closed before erasing our prints on the outside.
We sneaked away silently and it wasn't until we were back at the car that either of us spoke.
"What was that all about?" asked Vicky.
"I'm not sure, but I got a worrying feeling. We can't steal anything if we're dead, and I don't want to be dead. Better to come back again, try a different approach, not sure."
"You're acting strange." Vicky was clearly disappointed, but I was old enough to know you never ignored that inner sense that told you when something was wrong. I'd done it in the past to my peril, but I had to know what it was.
"Wait here."
"No way."
"Vicky, I'm serious. I'm going back to take a look around, quietly, and I don't want you to get hurt. This time, I want you to listen, and promise me you'll stay put. If anything goes wrong, I'll call, but don't call me. Last thing I need is my phone going off."
"Fine." Vicky was in a huff and I didn't blame her, but this was for her own good.
"I won't be long. Just need to check something out. Okay?"
"Whatever."
"This is for Ivan. I'm doing this for him as much as anyone else. You want it to go wrong?"
"No, of course not!"
"Then let me do this. I do not want this to go pear-shaped."
"Don't be long."
"I won't."
I headed back to the house, dawdling as I tried to figure out what my senses were telling me.
Glutton for Punishment
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Why return?
Because something was telling me I had to. I knew there was a problem, that this would not end well. I should have driven away and remained safe, but I was certain that if this didn't happen tonight then it never would. It was crunch time, now or never. And I'd done what I needed to. Namely, keeping Vicky safe so she'd be there for the girls.
But I had to be cautious, tread carefully and do my utmost to keep this from blowing up spectacularly. What was wrong?
I couldn't put my finger on it. Was it that the alarms were disabled? Was this a trap? Had I been played from the get-go? No, Selma and her biddies were on the level, although deceptively manipulative.
Did Mabel know I was coming, and was waiting for me? It was a possibility, but a chance I was willing to take. One way or another, she had to be stopped. I knew taking the cauldron would only be the start of it, but had no other choice in the matter. I guess in my mind this was showing her that people were on to her. That she should think twice and that nowhere was safe.
What then?
Guess I'd find out.
I entered the building again, made it as far as the hallway before stopping in the same spot, waiting for inspiration to hit, some insight into the jitters that were growing by the second, spoiling my cool, calm demeanor. I was excited, looking forward to doing this and getting away, but that feeling was overridden by the knowledge that things were not how they appeared.
"Any ideas?" I asked Wand as I took him out and held him up.
"Yeah, go home."
"That's not much help."
"Oh, it's plenty of help. If you do that, we both survive. If you stay, then who knows?"
"But do you know what's wrong?"
"No, but something is. Something is very, very wrong, and if I could say that in a spooky voice then I would. That's how wrong it feels."
"Yeah, I get the same vibe. Keep an eye out. Keep all your eyes out."
"Will do."
I kept low, crept through the house, a maze of hallways and small rooms, closed doors and odd decor. There were branches and herbs, plants and strange things hanging from the ceilings, stuffed bears and countless creatures behind glass that would give a taxidermist nightmares.
Finally, I was outside the artifact room. I stopped, the dread creeping.
I spun away from facing the door, knowing I wouldn't like what I saw.
Standing before me in a large semi-circle were at least fifteen witches, all in night attire, all looking pissed off, all holding wands or staffs, some with cats rubbing up against their legs, several with ravens perched on their shoulders.
"Got a plan?" I asked Wand.
"I would say run, but I think it's too late for that."
"Yeah, me too."
So That's Why
I glanced nervously up and down the hall, the thought of running still the main focus. I wouldn't make it a step before they were on me. So, I waited.
They glared, they squinted, they vibed. They scared the hell out of me.
Even in their nighties or ancient pajamas they looked formidable. Old, wrinkly, sinewy arms clutched tight to wands or leaned on staffs that had clearly seen plenty of action.
These were not harmless old ladies who liked to play with herbs and spices, these were adepts. And there were loads of them.
Cats purred, others hissed, and tartan slippers plus a few pink ones with big pom-poms shifted as the women moved as one.
They edged away on one side, leaving me with an opening to go deeper into the house. Looked like I didn't have a choice, so I obliged, and walked backwards down the hall as they stared after me then followed.
As I moved, the tingling at my neck indicating something being very wrong increased until it was practically screaming at me. Every fiber of my being was telling me to run. To run fast and never look back. That nothing I saw or did here would be for the good, and all I'd get was sorrow and pain.
But I was trapped, and the idea of blasting them all didn't enter my head because I would lose and then I would be dead. So I did as I was silently told, and went where I was led, the women so close now I could smell their night creams and whatever other ineffective emollients they smothered on their crepey skin before they went to bed.
I backed through the door into the kitchen and the temperature rose several degrees. All I could hear was their raspy breathing and the sound of things bubbling away.
Something else too.
Fear. I could hear, and smell, fear. The deep, shallow breaths of people who were very afraid.
"My sisters, I apologize for waking you, but we have traitors in our midst and they have employed this man to steal from us."
The witches murmured and grumbled as they stared behind me at the person who had spoken. No prizes for guessing who.
"I have been informed of their treachery by one of our own, someone loyal, and now they must be punished. What do we do with traitors?"
"We kill them," said the women, speaking in unison like zombies, no emotion in their words.
These women were odd and then some. What was with them? Normally witches were all non-stop talking and mad energy, this lot seemed out of it, like they were under a spell. Maybe they were. Or maybe they were merely Mabel's most ardent followers so did exactly as they were told. That would explain why they were all older, and why they were all clearly so powerful. Her posse, I guess.
It was like a damn cult. Which, I guess most magic cliques are.
I figured now would be a good time to turn and see what the hell I was facing, but I was hesitant. I knew that once I did, things would get real, and I was in no mood for an epic battle to the death. I'd planned on being a ninja, not getting involved in this nonsense.
Reluctantly, I turned to face the room, and my fate.
Unexpected
The kitchen was larger than expected, a truly vast space. Dated, rammed full of cupboards of all description, heavy dressers laden with plates and weird items only witches knew the use for. Several modern ovens and induction hobs seemed out of place either side of an ancient, huge Rayburn. There was a cast iron range in the fireplace, a behemoth of a thing, ancient pots bubbling away.
Running down the center of the room was a battle-worn, scrubbed oak table, easily large enough to seat thirty. Nobody was sitting at it now.
Standing the other side of it was Queen Mabel, looking angry, powerful, and utterly deranged. Her gray hair caught the overhead lights, shining almost white, washing out her features. Dark shadows under angular cheekbones on her weathered face made her look gaunt. She wore a simple brown blouse and a pair of jeans, someone you wouldn't look twice at if you saw them on the street. Her fingers were adorned with rings, and she held a vicious knife in her right hand.
Next to her, Selma was shaking with fear. And next to Selma was the witch with the flowing skirt. She had betrayed the others.
Lined up on the table like meat for the butcher, were the witches I'd met earlier. They were trussed, then secured to the table in a row, ten witches each gagged and terrified. Looking back on it, I wonder why they didn't use every ounce of magic they had to extricate themselves, but I guess however Mabel had captured them had left them certain that if they fought back they would be killed outright. Now, they were merely hoping that she'd be merciful, would punish them but not take things to their inevitable, at least in my eyes, conclusion.
As the women struggled, Big Skirt mumbled under her breath and their bindings tightened, causing the women to gasp then still.
"Our sisters have betrayed us. They have conspired to deceive, and to stop our plans. They wish to remain outcasts, would see us fail. They deserve no forgiveness, they have cheated us. And you," Mabel turned to Selma, "you are young, have much to learn, but it is only because you are my blood that you will not meet the same end as your coven of filth!"
"Guess there's no coffee then?" I asked.
Mabel ignored me, acted like I wasn't even there, then she spoke. "This man would steal from us, fr
om me! What do we do to thieves?"
"Let me guess? Kill them?" I interrupted before the others replied.
Without warning, Mabel lifted the knife as she held my gaze, and walked, almost casually, from one end of the table to the other. As she did so, she slit the throat of every woman tied there.
Selma collapsed, her legs giving way, and she whacked her head on the table as she fell to land in a heap on the once spotless quarry tiles, now pooling with liters of blood. Mabel grabbed her and picked her up like she weighed nothing, then leaned her against the counter, Selma neither comatose nor quite conscious.
The women behind me gasped. This was too much for them, too cold and heartless. There were murmurs of disapproval, even dissent, but they were silenced with a look from Mabel.
"Be gone, all of you. Let this be a reminder that I will not be stopped, that we will have our time and we do not turn our backs on one another."
The women retreated without a word; I doubted they'd get much sleep for the rest of the night.
It was then that the wall in the hall exploded.
Accidents Will Happen
It was eerily quiet for a moment as I ran back into the hall, then my ears began ringing. Women were screaming, but not many. Lying in broken heaps, covered in brick and bits of wall, were what remained of the witches. Most were dead, heads caved in, bodies broken beyond repair, several still clutching at life, but not for long.
Through the dust, I saw a familiar shape, but I must have been wrong, it couldn't be. I ran forward over the piles of flesh and brick, into the artifact room, what was left of it. The wall was almost entirely down, the door little but strips of curled steel, and there stood Vicky, staring numbly at her hands, and what she held.
"I just picked it up and it shot a... a ball of fire." She stared at the staff, an object so beautiful, so perfect in every way yet at the same time merely a long shaft of wood, that I understood.
Some artifacts are benign, and you have to know a lot about them, and be powerful, to ever activate them. Others are almost sentient, close to Wand's ability, a few are even more awake than him, activated by touch, even by thought. This was one of those items. Touch it without knowing what you're doing and it will try to destroy you and anything conscious around it. Vicky was lucky to be alive, but it wouldn't last long.
