The Rise of the Dark Lord

by Ashley, Kristen

  I woke hearing fireworks and feeling something soft sweeping along my wrist.

  I opened my eyes about a nanosecond before Ash started kissing me.

  I would have pulled away, but I couldn’t because my wrist was seized, pressed to the headboard above my head, and my mouth was seized, pressed into compliance by his demanding, talented tongue.

  He let my mouth go, swept his thumb along the platinum and diamonds at my wrist, and whispered, “Happy New Year, Matty.”

  Then he walked out of my room.

  So yeah.

  The holidays are over.

  It hadn’t been a lot of fun.

  Now I had a shop to run, recipes to decide on for Lucy and my cookbook, snappy introductions to write for them that included witty repartee with Lucy (when I was feeling far from witty), a social media empire to build which included copious postings and photos and me learning how to be a decent photographer (which was not my thing), a new dad I was getting to know, a new brother I was getting to know, but now only one love of my life, and he slept on my couch.

  And war was on the horizon.

  Yeah.

  Happy Fucking New Year.

  Huh.

  January 13

  Peace talks sucked.

  I had new respect for my dad.

  Sadly, he was now back in Washington because he had a job to do, being a Senator and all, and since Gabe was his top aide, my brother was gone too.

  No more getting-to-know-you family dinners which were only slightly (okay, hugely) uncomfortable because Mom always sat Ash beside me (he wasn’t family!).

  And Ash, having a penis (not that I’d ever seen it, and okay, so he was also a big guy, so what?), needed to invade as much space as possible which meant he spent a good deal of time with his arm draped on the back of my chair (gah!).

  No more Sunday brunches (which were mostly the same, but we didn’t eat in the dining room, we ate in the kitchen).

  No more watching a happy mom and dad, basking in the glow of their family united for the first time ever.

  And no more drunken nights of a game we called “You Go.”

  Just to say, the only people allowed to play You Go were Viv, Su, Gabe and me, and that wasn’t me wishing to exclude Ash.

  That was how it was supposed to be.

  We each had our own bottle (me: vodka, Viv: gin, Su: tequila, Gabe: whiskey) and when one of us was done talking, we took a shot, randomly looked at another one and said, “You Go.”

  That person then had to tell a story about their life before they drank and told someone else to go.

  We got shitfaced, which of course meant the stories got deeper, or more hilarious, or longer, or whatever.

  I learned a lot about my brother, who I did not know at all, but now I did.

  And my sisters, who I realized I didn’t know as well as I thought.

  This was, by the by, the only fun I had since finding out The Big Betrayal after Aidan left.

  And I fell in love again.

  Because my brother had been a lot of places, seen a lot of things, met a lot of people, and was uber interesting.

  He was also funny.

  Last, he was mega sweet.

  And one of the first things he shared when it was His Go was that he knew of our existence from the time each one of us was born, and he’d been waiting thirty-six years to sit at a table with us and drink.

  Thus he’d never been happier in all his life.

  So…totally…in love with Gabriel Addison.

  But before they left for the Capitol, Dad, Marcus, Ash and I all sat down with a variety of factions who had a stake in the future of the supernatural and natural worlds to try to hammer out some way to live in harmony that everyone could live with—the Modernists, the Traditionalists and the humans.

  I’ll tell you right now, I thought this would be easy.

  I mean, you live your life your way, I’ll live my life mine.

  You don’t interfere with how I live my life, all’s good.

  I won’t interfere with how you live yours, awesome.

  Simple.

  Done.

  It does not work like that.

  First, the people who think they can tell you how to live your life are not easily dissuaded from the idea that how you live your life has not one fucking thing to do with them.

  Wait that wasn’t “first.”

  That was first, last and the end.

  Okay, so I’m dancing around the fact that the first peace talks didn’t start because Marcus, Dad and Ash were angry they dissed me by sending their second string.

  And the second peace talks broke down because I lost my temper, got up when some white dude who had been the senator of some state for the last seven thousand years (exaggeration) was telling me how all witches, warlocks, sorcerers, sorceresses, vampires (etcetera) would behave in “his country” (like it wasn’t mine too, asshole), and I walked out.

  Totally a waste of the money I spent on another chic, awesome business suit (this one a pantsuit, red, and I wore purple pumps with it and a pink blouse, it was rad).

  Marcus, Dad and Ash had no choice but to walk out with me.

  In the back of the limo, after we were on our way, Dad muttered, “No worries. It usually takes a few tries, boundaries established, philosophies explained, histories understood, personalities presented, to get things going.”

  I looked right at my dad who was sitting in front of me in the limo (Ash and I were riding backwards—yes, of course, as usual, the man was right by my side, bah!).

  “That man did not care about my history or philosophy. He’d already made his decision like men like him have made their decisions for millennia. Out of fear of what he doesn’t understand, greed for power, and the only religion he holds devout, making sure he doesn’t lose any of that power.”

  Dad’s eyes twinkled with pride.

  One could say I seriously liked making my dad proud, but a little advice wouldn’t be remiss.

  It was not forthcoming.

  The rest of the ride back to The Acre was silent.

  However, Ash followed me to my room.

  He didn’t enter it.

  He stopped at the door and leaned against the jamb.

  In fact, except for kissing me happy New Year, he had not walked into my room at all when I was in it.

  I knew he used the shower (because he hung his towel beside mine, something I ignored, not only because of the intimacy it invoked, but due to the freakishness of having a boyfriend/not boyfriend who did something as awesome as hanging his own damned towel instead of throwing it, wet, on the floor, counter or bed).

  But if I was around, the closest he came was to stand in the door.

  “You have something to say?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Well, if you wish to share that you think I shouldn’t have walked out in a snit, save it. That farce didn’t deserve more of my time.”

  “I, personally, wouldn’t have walked in and given that man my time in the first place.”

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  “Mathilda, you don’t negotiate with your inferiors.”

  My mouth fell open.

  I closed it and told him, “Thinking humans are our inferiors is not going to get us harmony amongst peoples, Ash.”

  “I didn’t say humans are. I said that man was. The rest,” he shrugged, “it remains to be seen.”

  And as Ash was getting in the habit of doing, he left me standing alone in my bedroom.

  January 16

  It’s official.

  Year not starting great.

  Only good thing happening is Lucy and I are totally simpatico about the recipes we want in our cookbook.

  But our editor is not of the same mind and keeps insinuating himself into the process.

  The man has never even been to the Witches Dozen!

  I mean, he’s American!

  He’s never even been to England!!!!!

 
One of his notes was, “Americans don’t know what custard is unless it’s frozen. Include recipe for frozen custard, not some syrup you pour on cake.”

  Unbelievable!

  Syrup you pour on cake?

  Blasphemy!

  How is this man a cookbook editor?

  Then, last night, when we were all settling in, waiting for Chinese delivery in order to start movie night (double bill of Guardians of the Galaxy, which meant a double bill of Chris Pratt and Dave Bautista’s chest), Josie walks in and she’s all, “Why aren’t you talking to Aidan?”

  I was surprised because she knew why I wasn’t talking to Aidan.

  They all knew.

  So I was all, “Do I really have to answer that question?”

  Then she was all, “You know, you were totally flipped out at the hospital. I wasn’t there, but I heard about it.”

  “And that gives him the right to pretend to be my boyfriend?”

  Josie looked to Viv, Su and Lucy.

  I looked to Viv, Su and Lucy.

  “Don’t look at me, mate,” Lucy said. “I wasn’t there either.”

  So I looked to Viv and Su.

  “Okay, so, yeah. You were in a bit of a state,” Viv mumbled.

  Su actually snorted before she said, “You were totally unhinged, man.”

  More repressed memories assailed me, and they were not the catatonic elegance of Jaqueline Kennedy in her blood-spattered pink Chanel on November 22, 1963.

  They were of a madwoman on a rampage, shouting about fate, prophesies, her regret at never sharing her love verbally or physically with the man of her dreams, that woman also covered in blood and flinging a wand around on October 31 of last year.

  That woman being me.

  I quickly re-repressed the memories but did it while Su was saying, “Mom and Mavis had to zap about fifty hospital staff and civilians’ memories.”

  Eek!

  “Though, fortunately, you didn’t do any lasting damage, to anyone or the hospital,” Viv added.

  Well, that was good.

  “However, cleanup was still a bitch,” Su muttered.

  “So, all right, maybe Aidan and Sebastian took extreme measures to shore up your sanity after that incident, considering it wasn’t only the fact that Ash died that you were reacting to. It was a tough night all around for you,” Josie allowed. “But, Matty, you were a mess. And Aidan was there for you before and after all that. Really there for you. Now you’ve cut him out and he’s really hurt.”

  ACK!

  Killer guilt trip!

  The worst!

  I got up, announcing, “I’m not feeling like watching a movie anymore.”

  And that was a big sacrifice because Chris Pratt and Dave Bautista’s chest.

  Before anyone could say anything (or the delights of CP’s or DB’s chest could entice me to change my mind), I flounced out.

  I did not go to the Cottage (Ash was probably there).

  I did not go to my mother (she would probably tell me to forgive Aidan, she was the forgiving kind).

  I did not go to my grandmother (because she’d taken off again when she got a lead on the whereabouts of my arch-nemesis, Agatha Darling).

  I went to Rory.

  He was playing a videogame.

  I stretched out on his bed and zoned out watching as he raced graphic streets in Monaco (or somewhere).

  After a while, he asked, “Do you want to play?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, so why are you in here?”

  “You’re the only boy I like being around.”

  He sniggered.

  Then he asked, “Are you gonna marry Ash soon?”

  Hell no.

  “No.”

  “Is that why he didn’t buy you a ring for Christmas? Everyone thought he’d get you a ring for Christmas.”

  Huh.

  “I don’t know why he didn’t get me a ring for Christmas. I don’t know how men’s minds work.”

  “I get that. I don’t know how girls’ minds work either. They’re, like, a total mystery. They act one way and you think they like you and then stuff comes out of their mouths that’s totally crazy.”

  Hmm.

  He paused the game and looked over his shoulder from where he was in a bean bag in front of his telly which was at the foot of the bed, aiming his eyes at me.

  “When you get married, I don’t want to be a ring bearer. I’m way too old to be a ring bearer. I wanna be a proper usher.”

  “I’ll tell my future husband that, whoever he might be.”

  Rory sniggered again then unpaused the game and kept racing the streets of Monaco.

  After a while, Rory’s dog Cosmo got sick of watching Rory race the streets of Monaco and he did this with good-dog timing, which meant around the time I got sick of it.

  So Cosmo jumped up on the bed and I cuddled up with the only male I wanted in bed with me.

  And we both fell asleep.

  I woke to Rory whispering, “You can tell she’s a witch because she sleeps with her mouth open, but she doesn’t drool.”

  Then I heard Ash chuckle at the same time I felt him pick me up off the bed.

  I faked continuing to sleep.

  We were down the stairs and heading toward the back door when he said, “I know you’re faking.”

  Quandary.

  Keep faking to try to convince him he was wrong or give it up and then maybe he’d put me down when I was way too tired to walk on my own two feet back to the Cottage?

  I lifted my head off his shoulder and demanded, “Put me down.”

  Apparently, there was another choice.

  Me telling Ash to put me down and him ignoring me until he was in my room, setting me on my feet beside my bed.

  I immediately tried to step away from him.

  Ash immediately stopped this by putting his hands to my hips.

  I looked up at him.

  “How long are you going to milk this grudge?” he asked.

  Well!

  “We have babies to make, Matty, three of them, and you aren’t getting any younger.”

  Well!

  “It’s my understanding I can change the prophesies however I see fit by doing whatever I want,” I said. “And I’m kinda fancying Mack.”

  “You touch another man, I’ll chain you to the bed first before I find him and break his neck.”

  This was said matter-of-factly.

  “You’re like a throwback to another age.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m flesh and blood, right here, right now, you want me as much as I want you and I’m very much tiring of the couch.”

  “You should have thought of that before you tinkered with my heart.”

  “Trust me, Mathilda,” he said in a chilly voice. “Seymour and I thought about nothing but your heart when we decided to tinker with it.”

  And yep.

  You guessed it.

  With that, he strolled out.

  January 20

  It came today.

  The summons from the Imperial Order of the Elves to go to BecBec’s trial.

  And get this:

  It was being held on Valentine’s Day, and not only was Ash also summoned, so was Aidan.

  Terrific.

  So yeah.

  Totally.

  It was official.

  So far, this year sucked.

  And it didn’t seem like it was going to get any better.

  January 29

  There has never, in my life, been a more dramatic wardrobe crisis than I had in packing to go back to England in order to meet with the BBC about my cookery program, meet with the Institute to take charge of my army, meet with Le Société to try to convince them to go Modernist, and hit the Faerie Realm for the trial of BecBec’s life.

  Gah!

  8 February

  The Good:

  J’adore the producers of “The War of the Wooden Spoons” cookery program.

  (Yes, entertainment types like me sprinkle
French words and phrases into our language because we’re just that cool).

  They wandered around the Witches Dozen oo’ing and ah’ing and “Oh, this camera angle is perfect,” and “Oh, right here, great lighting, no filter,” and “Dark! (Lucy) Light! (Me) These two will be a dream on film in this locale!”

  Now we just need to convince our cookbook editor that Americans will steam sponge (gluh).

  The Bad:

  Although it felt great to be with my coven again, great to be in England again, great to eat Junior Poon’s Peking duck and decent Indian again, seriously great to go to my sacred tree (where I got my wand) and say hi, give its bark a pat and commune again, I was jittery.

  I’d left my Spellbounds behind.

  There were the protection spells and Fay was there, not to mention Octavia, Beatrice and Pandora had all left England and gone to Denver to cover for me, looking after Josie and Rory, but I was still nervous.

  It was more dangerous for them in England than it was in Denver.

  But still.

  The More Bad:

  I was going to see Aidan soon.

  He knew I was in the UK.

  And I knew this because I was still avoiding his calls.

  The Worst:

  I was back at The Gables, and although it also felt great being back at The Gables, Ash was with me and he was back down in The Dungeons.

  I didn’t go to The Dungeons (yes, I was prophesied Savior of World, but The Dungeons scared the bejeezus out of me).

  So far, he hadn’t come up to the Tower Room.

  In fact, after the whole Tinker with My Heart Discussion, he’d barely spoken to me.

  Even though I felt I had every right to (continue to) be mad.

  This bummed me out.

  Totally.

  I missed him, all right?

  Ugh.

  11 February

  Well, I’d done it.

  I was lying on the chaise lounge in my Magic Room at The Gables, feeling all sorry for myself because that room was no longer alive and filled with all the precious junk I bought to be an awesome witch and save the world.

  Instead it was all empty (save the furniture) and desolate and uncared for.