by Tiegan Clyne
“You graduated from that Academy. That’s quarrel enough.”
“You’re really obsessed. Have you considered therapy?”
She felt the tickle of magic against her skin, and Charlie hissed, his sharp little teeth bared. Another wave of magic washed over her, and she realized that her familiar was protecting her from a spell that Xander had attempted to cast on them. The warlock chuckled again.
“Impressive for a mutated cat.”
“He’s not mutated!” Matilda defended. “He’s special! And leave me alone before I…”
Xander’s chuckle became an outright laugh, but he was putting distance between them. “Before you what?”
“Before I turn you into a newt!”
He vanished in a peal of laughter, and Charlie hissed after him once more, just for good measure.
She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. “He’s crazy.”
/Seems to be./
Behind them, there was an explosion of magic, and a cold wind blasted through them, carrying shrieking spirits in its wake. Matilda clutched Charlie’s basket to her and flattened her back against a wall, gasping. The three mundanes from the ferry had detonated a spirit sphere, probably one they’d stolen from the Academy. The released ghosts, all of whom had been locked up for a reason, screamed and streaked out into the night, freed once more to torment the living.
“Ugh!” she exclaimed. “Those idiots!”
/Devil’s Night prank,/ Charlie said, clearly disapproving. /And a stupid one./
“With any luck, those spirits will haunt those three boys.” Matilda shook her head and regained her aplomb. “The poor people on this side of the river will have to call a spiritual exterminator.”
/Maybe you should pass out business cards,/ her familiar suggested.
“I don’t want that kind of noise.”
She continued walking, listening for the laughter of the three troublemakers and keeping a weather eye out for magic on the move. Matilda saw one of the ghosts that the pranksters had released, a sour-looking man in a prison uniform with a noose around his broken neck, and she shook her head.
“Something has to be done.”
/Newts first,/ Charlie advised. /Ghosts later./
“But he’s right here,” she objected.
/Yes, but newts are harder. And the sooner we get whatever you came here for, the sooner we can go home and make sure the house isn’t haunted./
She was going to argue further, because she knew that ghosts couldn’t cross running water and therefore wouldn’t be able to make it across the river on their own. Then she remembered the ferry, and the fact that it still had one crossing to make.
“We’d better hurry.”
With a little more speed in her step, she turned the corner and walked down the street where she’d been a little girl.
Matilda had been a grown woman for quite a few years; in fact, if she were fully human, it would be safe to say that she had more years behind her than ahead of her. Her memories of this street were still vivid, though, as if they’d been formed only yesterday. The trees, the pavement, the houses… even the grass seemed the same. She could feel herself waxing nostalgic, and she sighed.
Her mother was standing on the porch with her broom in her hand when Matilda approached. It was the first time they’d seen one another since Matilda had decided to cross the river and enter the Academy. She hesitated at the end of the walkway. She looked at her mother silently, and Olivia Greenbottom looked at her the same way.
“Hi, Mom,” she finally said haltingly.
/Mom?/ Charlie sat up, energized. /This is your mama?/
Olivia smiled. “Hello, Tildy.”
/Tildy?/ he echoed, delighted by the childhood nickname.
It was hard to say which one of them moved first, but they met in the middle of the stoop, their arms tight around one another. Charlie and his basket swung from Matilda’s elbow, and he reached out a paw to steady himself on her shawl.
Olivia stepped back first. “Let me look at you. All graduated! Look at that hat!” She held her daughter out at arm’s length and smiled, proud tears in her eyes. “Oh, honey, it’s a good look for you.”
A squirrel leaped down from the maple tree in the yard and ran along the porch until it reached Olivia’s ankle. One of his little hands reached out and rested on her foot, and his dark eyes studied Charlie frankly. A normal squirrel would have feared a cat, and the difference in attitude made his identity plain.
/Charlie,/ the familiar in the basket said to the familiar on the porch.
/Solomon./
/A pleasure./
His tail twitched. /Likewise./
Olivia smiled and opened the door. “Come in and tell me all about your life,” she urged.
“Is Dad home?”
The older witch’s smile dimmed. “No, sweetie. He moved out last week.”
Matilda looked shocked. “But… why?”
“I’ll explain over tea.” She closed and latched the door as a ghostly child rocketed down the street, pursuing a hapless carriage. Olivia tsked. “Someone is going to get hurt.”
“A trio of mundane boys shattered a spirit sphere,” Matilda explained. “They probably stole it from the Academy.”
“Well, hopefully the Academy will come and clean up the mess.”
They followed Matilda’s mother into the kitchen, where she put a kettle on to boil. There were bundles of herbs hanging on strings that stretched from one side of the room to the other, and a broom that was most decidedly not for cleaning hung from a pair of nails driven into the wall. Solomon hopped up onto the table and helped Olivia put out cups and saucers, and when she added a bowl filled with sugar cubes, he helped himself to one.
“You went back to the life,” Matilda observed.
Olivia nodded. “I couldn’t ignore the calling anymore. It was easier to pretend I didn’t feel the tug of magic when you were still a child, but once you were gone and it was only me and your father, well… A lady has to do something to fill her time when her nest’s gone empty.”
“Dad didn’t approve.”
Charlie looked from one witch to the other. /Move in with us,/ he invited. /You can help feed the newts./
Olivia raised an eyebrow while Solomon chittered in annoyance, /My nest is in the tree outside! It’s going to be winter soon, and I have to hibernate! We’re not moving!/
“Solomon,” Olivia chided gently. “You’re a familiar. You don’t hibernate.”
/Well… no,” he defended, /but I still have my nest and the bole of the tree is hollow and perfect for… for things./ He crossed his little arms. /No. I’m not leaving./
“It was just an invitation. I didn’t say I was going.” She shook her head and the tea kettle began to whistle. Matilda watched as her mother poured the water over the tea strainers.
“This is just like the old days,” she said softly.
“Yes. Except this time, I won’t pretend that I can’t read the leaves that will be left behind.”
Olivia sat down across from Matilda, and her mother raised her cup. “To a magical life.”
Matilda tapped her cup against Olivia’s. “Hear, hear.”
/Cheers,/ Charlie said, wrapping his tail around himself.
Olivia smiled at him. “You have a lovely familiar, Tildy. He’s adorable. Did you knit that sweater for him?”
Matilda smiled proudly as Charlie preened. “I did.”
“Lovely work.”
“Thank you.”
They sipped their tea, and Solomon dumped a sugar cube into Olivia’s cup. She smiled her thanks to him and stirred it until the cube dissolved.
“So,” Olivia said at last. “What brings you back here to Button Landing after all these years? And since when do you keep newts?”
Matilda told her the story, and Olivia listened intently. Finally, she nodded. “This is very troubling. Very troubling indeed.”
“I was hoping that Granny’s spellbooks might have somethin
g in them that I could use,” Matilda said hopefully. “I mean, Administrator Winterhex said it was an antiquated spell, so I figured Granny’s books might…”
“I don’t know,” Olivia admitted. “I haven’t read them in literally decades. But you’re welcome to take them back with you across to the Hollow.”
/I can summon the wagon,/ Charlie volunteered, eager to perform his solitary trick for his witch’s mother.
“That would be very advisable.” The sound of heavy footfalls crossed the floor directly above their heads, and both witches frowned. “One of them got in, the slippery bastards. Well, ‘tis the season, I guess. I’ll clear him out when the veil begins to thicken again after Halloween.”
“Mom,” Matilda asked slowly, “do you think we can reflect the spell back on him? Or can we only reverse it?”
“Any spell can be reflected if you have the right power and the right spell,” Olivia assured her.
“Did Granny ever turn anyone into a newt?”
“She did! She cast the spell on your grandfather when they were both young witchlings.”
Matilda felt a surge of excitement. “Then she knew how to reverse it!”
“Of course.” Olivia poured more tea. “And it seems to me that she knew a reflection incantation, too. Let me go up to the attic to get her books while you finish your tea.”
Matilda shook her head. “Let me come with you.”
Her mother paused to consider Charlie and Solomon. “Well… I don’t guess that there’s too much trouble you two can get into if we leave you alone.”
Both cat and squirrel watched their witches go with innocent faces. As soon as they were out of earshot, Solomon leaned closer to Charlie’s ear. /Hey… hairless./
Charlie sighed. /What?/
/Wanna see what I’ve got hidden in my tree?/
He glanced at the door that Matilda had gone through, wishing he could say yes but knowing that he would be needed soon to conjure his wagon. He sighed. /Maybe another time./
Solomon scratched his ear. /Fine. Your loss./
/Why? What do you have?/
He leaned closer. /I steal jewelry. I’m a jewel thief./
Charlie was horrified. /Does Olivia know?/
/No, and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Someone has to set up a nest egg for her now that she’s getting divorced. Anyway… I stole a special piece of jewelry the other day./
He was interested despite himself. /What was it?/
Solomon put his hands on Charlie’s head. /Xander. Melrose’s. Necklace./ He saw the question in the cat’s eyes. /No, don’t ask how. Trade secret. But there was hair caught in the clasp./
Charlie’s little mouth fell open. /We might need that!/
Solomon danced on the tabletop, delighted. /Then I’ll go get it. Don’t leave without me!/
Charlie watched the little red squirrel go, devoutly hoping that the hair would be sufficient to anchor a spell if they needed it to.
Chapter Eight
They loaded her grandmother’s books up into Charlie’s conjured wagon, and Solomon tucked the stolen necklace in alongside them. Charlie could smell the warlock’s scent on the hairs stuck in the clasp, and he didn’t like it. Too much aftershave, he thought, or maybe not enough deodorant.
Martha balanced his basket on top of the pile of tomes, but it wobbled dangerously, so Charlie abandoned it to trot along beside her. He kept up as steady a pace as he could, but he still slowed them enough that they nearly didn’t make the last run of the ferry in time.
Matilda sat down to catch her breath, and Charlie flopped onto his side on the floor beside the wagon. Across the passenger cabin, a ghost in an old sea captain’s coat settled onto a chair and looked at her askance.
“Witch, huh?” he asked, his voice hollow and as cold as the grave, which to Charlie seemed only appropriate.
“Ghost, huh?” Matilda responded.
The sea captain smiled. “I guess I had that coming.”
/Why were you caught in a spirit sphere?/
“Charlie, that’s a personal question,” his witch scolded gently.
“No, no. That’s all right. I don’t mind.” He took a deep breath, pulling spectral air into lungs that no longer existed in any physical form. “I was convicted, you see.”
/Of what?/
“Of betraying the witches of Button Hollow.”
Matilda’s mouth dropped open. “But… betraying them how?”
He smiled. “By being a man who cast transformational magic. That was forbidden back then.” He turned his face toward the water that sloshed against the ferry’s side. “Ah, I miss the sea.”
“You were a warlock, or a sea captain?” Matilda asked, unable to resist the pull of her own curiosity.
“Why couldn’t I be both?” he asked. “I was a sea witch. It was handy for the captain of a merchant vessel to be able to still storms and quiet rolling seas.”
“That was the transformative magic you were convicted for using?”
He nodded. “Do you think I could find transport to a sailing vessel? I don’t want to bother anyone...I just want to set sail again.”
Matilda tilted her head and studied him. Charlie could tell that she thought the sea captain seemed kindly, and he himself thought the ghost had a sweet face, as human faces went, even if half of it was hidden by a beard. “I’m sure it could be arranged,” she mused.
“If you help me return to the sea, I’ll help you with whatever you need.” He smiled. “I’m a bit anchorless at the moment, so I can wander wide, and I have no need for sleep.”
Charlie looked up at his witch. She answered slowly. “Actually….”
“Yes?”
“There’s a warlock in town right now who’s causing trouble,” she said. “I wonder if you could keep an eye on him and tell me where he is and what he’s doing?”
The sea captain smiled. “I will be a perfect spy for you, Miss….”
“Matilda Greenbottom.”
“Miss Greenbottom. I am Captain Henry Davenport, but you can call me Henry.”
“Then call me Matilda, please.”
/And I’m Charlie,/ he said quickly.
“Hello, Charlie,” the ghost said, smiling. “You must be Matilda’s familiar.”
The ferry’s engine changed pitch as it slowed in preparation for reaching the other bank. Henry looked wistfully at the water once again. He looked so sad that Charlie felt the need to distract him. /Did you have a familiar?/
“I did. She was a cat, sort of like you.”
He sighed. /I’ll bet she had lots of fur./
“That she did. And as a consequence, so did my clothes and my blankets.” He chuckled. “There are drawbacks as well as benefits to fur, my little friend.”
Matilda sighed. “It doesn’t seem right that you were trapped in a spirit sphere for doing something that the Academy freely trains everyone to do.”
“Ah! But males?” Henry asked. “Do they teach them now?”
“Well… no. There are no male students.”
Charlie furrowed his little forehead. /The Academy is speciesist and sexist./
Henry waved one transparent hand. “They have their reasons.” He looked over at Matilda. “What is the name of this warlock you want me to watch?”
“Xander Melrose.” She reached into the wagon. “This is his necklace.”
The sea captain reached for the purloined jewelry, but his fingers passed through the chain. He sighed. “Could you hold it up for me?”
“Of course.” She gathered it up in her hand and held it up. It was a coin on a golden chain. The coin was pierced through the top to allow a jump ring to pass through it, connecting it to the necklace. Henry studied it carefully.
“Interesting. All right, I have his energy from it. I’ll find him.” He stood and began to vanish, staring with his feet.
Matilda hopped up to her feet, and Charlie stood up, too. “Do you think you’ll be able to find me again?”
Hen
ry’s face was the last part of him to vanish. It faded as he smiled at her. “I think I’ll have no trouble with that.”
Matilda watched him turn into air, a strange, sad smile on her face. She sighed and picked up the handle on the wagon.
“Come on, Charlie.”
He walked along beside her, and this time, with no ferry to catch, they went at Charlie’s speed. /I liked him,/ he told her. /He seemed like a very nice ghost./
“He certainly did.”
/Then why are you sad?/
She looked down at him. “Is that a guess?”
/Not at all./
Matilda stopped to scoop him up in her arms. He climbed up and draped himself over her shoulders, lying across the back of her neck like a living stole. Her hair caught in his sweater, and he licked it free.
“I guess because… I thought he was a very nice ghost, too.”
Matilda put her grandmother’s books on her kitchen table, and even though time was of the essence, she was far too tired to do anything with them now. She was a morning person, witchery aside, and the spell could be researched as easily after the sun came up as it could be in the darkness after midnight.
She got into her nightgown and pulled her hair up into a ponytail on the top of her head. As she climbed into bed beneath a quilt she’d made with fabric from a jumble store, Charlie jumped up beside her. She had taken his sweater off him so his delicate skin could breathe, but now he was chilly, so he playfully batted at her hair, then burrowed underneath the covers. They fell asleep with his back pressed against her thigh.
They were startled awake by a crash against the front door, and Matilda threw herself out of bed before she was fully conscious. She wrenched the door open, a ball of defensive magic glowing blue in her palm. The remains of a jack o’lantern lay on the front step, shattered from where someone had thrown it into the door. The sounds of running feet and boyish laughter were receding, racing away from their little house toward the town square.
“Boys will be boys, my ass,” Matilda grumbled, irritable. She flung her magic into the air, and it split into three parts, each one pursuing one of the mundane idiots who had been making trouble all night. The magic caught up to each of them and turned into a gloved hand, which delivered a sharp slap across the backs of their heads. The boys shouted in dismay, and, satisfied, Matilda went back to bed.
