by Nancy Warren
Chapter 12
As terrible as a murder at my friends’ wedding was, we all had to resume our lives. I was worried about Alice and thought of little but the murder and hoped the police were on their way to discovering who’d killed Rupert. However, I still had a business to run, so I worried in between customers.
When Margaret Twigg walked into my shop, my heart sank. Margaret Twigg was the head of our coven and a very powerful witch. She was a sometime mentor to me, but her leadership always came with a price. I didn’t like her much and was a bit frightened of her. She’d once demanded my cat in payment for a service she’d rendered me, though after Nyx gave her a nasty case of boils, she stopped trying to steal my familiar. Still, I respected her power and, according to Violet, she kept helping me because I was also a powerful witch. My problem was that I couldn’t control my power. It was like driving down the Autobahn in a very fast car without ever having had driving lessons.
Margaret guided me, not as a favor, but to help me learn to control my power and use it wisely. It was safer for all of us that way.
Margaret Twigg was not a knitter. She did not crochet or do any handcrafts that I was aware of. Which meant her being in my shop was going to involve her making me learn or do something I was pretty sure I’d hate.
When my great-aunt, Lavinia, came in behind her, I was positive I was right. Lavinia was my grandmother’s sister and the grandmother of Violet, my shop assistant. “Lucy,” Aunt Lavinia said in a slightly gushing tone. “What a lovely sweater.”
“Thank you. Gran made it for me.” I thought it was lovely, too, an extra-long cardigan that hung to my knees. Gran had knit it in blues and greens using a bobble stitch in some of the stripes, which gave it added texture and visual interest.
These three were the only non-vampires who knew that my grandmother, on her deathbed, had been turned into a vampire. She’d lost most of her witch powers but gained vampire powers. At least she still remembered enough about being a witch that she could offer help and advice, but for direct training, I needed the help of the twisted sisters, as I’d begun calling them.
There was only one customer in the shop, browsing, a regular who never left without buying something. But when Margaret Twigg looked at her and motioned with her hand, the woman suddenly jerked up, put back the magazine I was sure she’d been about to buy and muttered something about leaving the stove on. Then she rushed out.
“Really, Margaret,” I said, exasperated. “Do you have to drive away my customers?”
“I foresee that dark forces are coming. You must be ready. Hiding away in a knitting shop won’t save you. You must learn to hone your talents. For all our sakes.”
She was always disparaging of me, my shop and my lack of control, but I’d never seen her so serious before. Instinctively, I glanced at Lavinia and Violet, but they both nodded, looking grave.
“Dark forces?” I did not like the sound of that. Once I’d tangled with a soul-sucking demon, and I definitely preferred villains of the human variety.
She clucked her tongue in irritation. “Lucy, you really must keep up. If you came to more meetings of the coven or read the news bulletins, you might not live in a state of perpetual ignorance.”
Ouch. I supposed she was right, though. It was bad enough reading human news of wars, politics, disasters and deaths. I didn’t want to read about it in witch circles, too, so I tended to ignore the newsletters and the bulletins from the British Witches’ Council. The council set out rules we all had to follow and had the power and authority to punish witches who disobeyed their decrees. Margaret Twigg was very pally with the council, and I was certain she planned to run for one of the seats herself in a future election.
She’d love lording it over all of us and being able to hand out punishments like Halloween candy.
“There’s a coven of dark witches from east of the Caucasus mountains. They’re trying to undermine our way of life. At the moment, they’re putting faulty spells on the internet, creating bogus social media accounts to teach beginning witches bad practices, but I fear they have larger goals in mind. They want to take over the council so they’ll have power over us.”
I knew there were British witches lobbying to break away from the European Union of Witches (EUW) in a movement known as Wrexit. Was this just a fear-mongering campaign speech from someone who wanted my vote when council elections came around in the spring? But my instincts told me she was telling the truth. “What do you want me to do?”
“You have real power, but you’re all over the place. You’re vulnerable. A perfect target for a dark witch who has control over their power. They could enthrall you and make you do their bidding.”
“That sounds like my last boyfriend.”
“This isn’t a joking matter, but that’s exactly how they’ll likely get to you. Beware of charming men.”
“Oh, great. Now I don’t just have to watch out for the creeps and cheaters,” both of which I’d dated in the past, “but the nice guys as well? Might as well join a nunnery.”
“They wouldn’t take you,” she snapped. “Now, put away your attitude and prepare to get to work. We’ve got to get you into shape, and there isn’t much time.”
That sounded like one of those intense thirty-day extreme exercise programs that I’d never got past day three on. But Margaret didn’t appreciate my sarcasm, so I kept that thought to myself.
Margaret Twigg pointed to the old whisk broom that had stood in the corner of Cardinal Woolsey’s long before I inherited it. “Bring your broom and meet us at my cottage tonight after dark. There will be a full moon. Perfect for your first lesson.”
Somehow I didn’t think I was going to learn better sweeping and housework techniques. I eyed the broom. It was so old, it looked like it might break if a squirrel tried to sit on it. How was it going to take my weight?
Was she having me on? I turned back to Margaret, but she really wasn’t the joking type. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” I couldn’t even say the words. It was too ridiculous.
“Learning to fly? Of course I am.”
“Great, maybe I can join the Oxford Quidditch team.” There really was such a thing. I’d seen them play at University Parks, though they played an earthbound version, and I’d yet to see a real witch among them.
Margaret sniffed and turned to leave. “We’ll see you tonight.”
As she headed out of my shop, I called out, “And you couldn’t have sent me an email?”
She turned back, a gleam of triumph in her eye. “I would, but you have a bad habit of ignoring emails you don’t want to read.”
Okay, she had me there.
After they left, Nyx, who never came near Margaret Twigg since the cat-napping incident, cautiously climbed down from her favorite spot in the front window.
She walked straight to the broom and pawed the straw bottom of it. I glanced at her and then at the broom. “Seriously?” I threw my hands in the air and repeated, louder and more hysterically, “Seriously?”
It is impossible to describe how foolish I felt turning up at Margaret Twigg’s cottage at ten o’clock that night with an old straw broom. I wore the oldest pair of jeans I could find and an ancient sweatshirt, since I suspected my butt would be in contact with the earth a few times. It was a pretty cold night, so I also brought a down jacket, gloves and a woolen hat.
I wore sneakers in case there was running involved. With my luck, my broom would take off without me and I’d spend the evening chasing it like a runaway horse.
I had my hair tied back off my face so it wouldn’t get in the way. I’d searched my Grimoire for hints on broom flight but hadn’t found anything at all. I still wasn’t convinced this whole thing wasn’t an elaborate prank. Maybe our whole coven was even now hidden behind rocks and trees waiting to jump out and laugh at me for being so naïve.
Frankly, I hoped so.
However, when I rang the bell, Margaret answered the door also dressed for the cold.
She wore high leather boots, black leggings and a thick black sweater. She looked me over and nodded and let me in. She glanced behind me. “Where’s your familiar?”
Nyx and I had pretty much had our first fight when I’d tried to leave her behind this evening. She’d meowed and howled even as I’d tried to explain that I didn’t want Margaret Twigg to take her prisoner again; that’s why I wasn’t taking her.
Nyx wasn’t having any of it. I finally locked her in the upstairs flat and ran downstairs, picking up the broom on my way out of the shop. When I reached the bright red car parked behind my home, I noticed a black cat-shaped shadow on the hood of the car.
Needless to say, I lost my first fight with Nyx. “She’s in the car,” I admitted. She’d hissed at me when I’d shut the door on her, but I wanted to keep her safe from Margaret’s predatory hands.
“You’ll have to fetch her.”
I narrowed my gaze. I might be scared of Margaret Twigg, but my concern for my cat outweighed my fear. Mostly. “Are you going to try and keep her?” I was going to say “steal” but changed the verb at the last second.
“I wouldn’t give that feral monster houseroom,” she said, her eyes going glacial at the memory of what Nyx had put her through. I’d seen people allergic to cats before, but where Nyx had scratched her, she’d broken out in the most hideous boils and warts. When she’d returned the cat to its rightful owner—me—the skin condition had magically been cured. Magically being the operative word.
“Fine. We’ll meet you out back.”
“Leave your gloves in the car,” was her final command.
Margaret picked up a long whip. I eyed it dubiously, wondering who—or what—she was planning to use it on.
I could see Nyx’s golden eyes glowing as I grew near the car. No doubt she could get out of a locked car if she wanted to badly enough, but I liked to think she respected me, at least a little, and let me think I was the boss.
I opened the door, and after shooting me an expression that was a cat’s version of I told you so, she jumped down onto the gravel path and walked ahead of me. Me, my black cat and my broom. We were a walking cliché. All I needed was a pointy hat and a wart on my nose.
We went around the side of the stone cottage and through an iron gate that led into a garden where Margaret Twigg grew medicinal herbs and plants. It was thriving, even in late autumn. Green thumb or magic? With Margaret Twigg, you never knew.
Nyx’s ears twitched when she heard rustling coming from the garden to her left, but she didn’t give in to temptation. Instead, she remained resolutely by my side. She had a way of communicating with me where I had the sensation of experiencing words in my head, not as though I’d heard them but as if they were placed in my head. It was hard to explain. Anyway, the words in my head were stay calm. Which was easier thought than done. I could feel the jangle of nerves and my increased heart rate. I didn’t much care for flying in planes, so I really wasn’t thrilled at the idea of climbing onto cleaning supplies and attempting to take flight.
The moon didn’t help. It might be full, but that only made silvery shadows of the shrubbery. What was left of the ancient forest of Wychwood looked to my nervous eyes like ancient creatures ready to advance on me.
Fortunately, when Margaret emerged from her cottage, now in a heavy wool coat and still carrying that whip, Aunt Lavinia and Violet came out with her. Aunt Lavinia, also probably sensing how nervous I felt, walked forward and said, “Welcome, Lucy.” She put her gloved hands on my upper arms. “Blessed be.”
Violet just said, “Hi, Lucy. I hope you learn fast. It’s freezing out here.”
The utter normality of that, strangely, calmed me down more than anything. I fell into step with my cousin. “Can you fly a broom?” I had to ask.
“Of course. It’s one of the first things we learn. Not that we use it much, obviously. In the old days, they didn’t have to contend with air traffic, drones and shift workers. Besides, nowadays, it’s much easier to drive or fly conventionally. The broom is only a good skill. You might need to use it in a pinch.”
“Then why is she making me learn?” I jerked my broom handle toward Margaret.
“She’s convinced that you need to learn everything you should have when you were a young witch. Since your mother refused to accept your magic, never mind her own, you never got any training.” She turned to me, and even in the near dark, I could see that she looked serious. “Remember how your mother nearly died? She made herself vulnerable by denying her own powers.”
I nodded. It wasn’t like I’d ever forget how that soul-sucking demon very nearly killed my mom. “I don’t want that to happen to me.”
“Then be a good sport. You’ll learn to fly your broom and probably never need to do it again.”
“Like getting my learner’s permit and never bothering to pass the driving test.”
“Something like that.”
I felt better if no one was going to expect me to whisk around on a broom. I groaned at my own bad pun. I made myself feel better on the rest of the short walk by thinking of even worse ones. I’d sweep into a room. Get a handle on directions. Bristle if anyone criticized my driving… They were bad. But I was nervous.
We entered a large clearing surrounded by trees. I wasn’t sure whether we were still on Margaret Twigg’s land or in the forest, but it was definitely private. Whatever happened, no one from the outside would be able to see us. That was a bonus.
Nyx went ahead and then turned, her eyes glowing gold in the moonlight. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. I noticed tingling in my fingers and realized it was the hand that was wrapped around the broom. Without gloves, my naked palm came into contact with the old wood. Either I’d been squeezing it so tight I was getting pins and needles, or something very strange was happening. Given my company, who I was and where I was, I suspected the latter.
Still, I’d come here to learn, hadn’t I? I gathered my courage and walked forward to where the three witches and my familiar now waited. The closer I drew, the more my hand began to tingle. There was no doubt in my mind now that this was no joke. My broom was indeed magic. The question was, was I magic enough to fly it?
Margaret Twigg looked at me in her usual condescending way. “Lucy. Stop looking so frightened. It’s not much different than learning to ride a horse.”
I’d never been much of a horse rider. In fact, I vividly remembered trail riding at summer camp when the ranch hand hadn’t fastened the saddle on properly and when I tried to mount, the saddle slipped all the way under my horse’s belly with me still attached.
“The wood in that broom came from here, you know. From this ancient forest.” She raised her hands as though thanking the forest for the wood. “That’s why we’ll train you here. This is where your broom began life as a young tree.”
Well, that was kind of cool. I was going to ask her how long ago that was, but I really didn’t want to know. But then I remembered what had happened to that ancient beam in the church, and I had to ask. “Is it very old?”
Margaret shrugged. “That depends on your definition of old. A couple of hundred years, I should think.”
Yes, that neatly encompassed my definition of old. Especially if we were talking about something that was going to take me up off the ground. Now I was even more nervous. “It’s not full of deathwatch beetle, is it?”
“Of course not. Stop being so foolish. This is a skill you should have learned years ago.”
“I really don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I don’t have very good balance.” I kept picturing myself tumbling onto the hard ground. Possibly from a very great height.
“Your grandmother used this broom very comfortably, and her mother before her. It is part of your craft. It’s part of you.”
The thought of my grandmother zooming around at night was almost as disconcerting as knowing that even now she was beginning her nightly escapades as a vampire.
&
nbsp; Well, I might as well get this over with. “All right. What do I do first?”
“First, we have a demonstration.”
If that meant I didn’t have to be on the broom, I was all for a demonstration.
I tried to hand Margaret my flying broom, but she held her hands up and stepped back.
I was puzzled. “Aren’t you going to demonstrate it?”
She shook her head so hard, those crazy curls bounced like metal bedsprings that had been struck by lightning. “Absolutely not. No witch should ever ride another’s broom unless it’s been passed to her, as yours was to you down your family line. A broom is made specially for each witch.”
Aunt Lavinia echoed the sentiment. “The same broom makers have done them for all our family. One day, you’ll have a special broom made for your daughter.”
I didn’t know many things, but one thing I was sure of. I was never going to let any kid of mine ride a broom.
Chapter 13
“Okay.” I looked around. “Then who’s going to demonstrate?”
Three pairs of witch eyes turned to my cat, who was still sitting in the middle of the circle, her golden eyes glowing. “Nyx?” I thought that was a terrible idea. I didn’t know how many lives Nyx had started with when I first met her, but she had to have used a few of them by now. I did not want to lose my cat.
However, at the sound of her name, my familiar rose and stepped forward.
Margaret Twigg was almost as horrified at the thought of touching my cat as she was of touching my family’s broom. Standing well out of scratching distance, she said, “Now, settle the bristles so they just touch the earth and angle the handle towards the moon.”
That wasn’t very hard. The moon was full, so it was pretty easy to aim at.
As soon as I had it set up, Nyx daintily walked up the broom like a gymnast on the balance beam. Very impressive. She didn’t even wobble.
