Mathilda, SuperWitch (11 page)

Ack!

“Hi.” I finally got out.

“Amazing,” said one.

“Remarkable,” said another.

“Inconceivable,” said a third.

I was beginning to get pissed. What? They thought witches spoke in tongues or something?

“I don’t like it,” said Ichabod. He wasn’t looking at me curiously; he was looking at me like he wished he wasn’t looking at me.

Then everyone started talking all at once.

“Now Jeremy –” started one.

“We talked about this –” started another.

“I thought we agreed –” started the third.

“There’s nothing we can do now –” started Aidan.

“I didn’t agree,” said Ichabod. “And furthermore, the Directors weren’t contacted –”

“There wasn’t time!” said one.

“We couldn’t stand by –” said another.

“Um… boys?” I tried to interrupt.

Nothing but more genteel interrupting of each other.

“Er… gentleman?” I said, a little louder.

They were beginning… well, not exactly to yell at each other but the conversation was becoming heated.

“
Yo!
” I shouted.

They stopped and stared at me.

“Sorry to interrupt but there are some bad guys after me and I’d rather be…” I looked at the building that made The Gables look homey. “In there.” And to myself I finished, “I think.”

“But of course!” said one.

And off we went in the cars, down the lane, one of the ancient dudes backing the Rolls the whole way on the single lane drive while I held my breath – scary!

Then we were out in a courtyard, the more ancient bit of the place looking positively medieval ensconced inside the manor house-slash-castle walls.

“Wow, this place is wicked,” I said, not able to stop myself.

Old Dude Number One stepped forward. “Yes, my dear, let’s get you inside, where it’s safe.”

He touched my arm to guide me inside but I cleared my throat awkwardly.

“I, er, have to, um…”

How exactly does one go about this?

“Yes?” Old Dude Number Two asked.

“Um, do you all mind if I put a protection spell on the place? Just a bit of a shadow glamour to hide Aidan and myself.”

Gasps all around. Shock and horror on some of the faces, fascination on others.

“If you’d rather not –” I began.

Now a new voice:

“By all means, Miss Honeycutt, be our guest.”

This was Old Dude Number Four – or New Old Dude – who came out of the medieval castle part and was tottering toward us on a cane and a prayer.

“Uh, hello,” I greeted.

He stopped and squinted at me, the new sun playing in his eyes.

“Mathilda Guinevere Honeycutt standing in the courtyard of the Royal Institute of Psychical Research.” He stopped and pinned Aidan with the squint. “I fear there is some grave spinning. Oh yes.”

Ack!

What a weird guy.

What the hell is grave spinning?

Then I got it. (Duh!)

“Sir, you obviously know me, may I ask –” I started.

“Of course, Miss Honeycutt. I’m Ambrose Bennett, Executive Director of the Royal Institute of Psychical Research at your service.”

Then he bowed, all dramatic.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. Sounded lame but what was I supposed to say?

“Your spell, my dear?” he prompted.

So, there I was, being watched by a bunch of old dudes, Ichabod Crane and Aidan.

Ack!

No pressure, right?

I had to focus, breathe deep, open my chakras, find my power source and block out the audience. It was going to take some fierce magic – everything I had – if I had anything at all – or anything left – to protect this big behemoth with me and Aidan in it.

Mm, very tired. Must sleep.

* * * * *

11 February

(After Herbology with Rhiannon – Mavis has begun to farm me out to the Coven for lessons, Rhiannon is our herb chick. She’s very cool but constantly trying to put stuff in the muffins. Gotta keep my eye on her.)

Must finish this bit before I head off to Magickal Implements with Nerissa.

Suffice it to say I did a killer spell on The Institute. So much so that Ash had trouble finding me (he was not pleased about that).

The old dudes escorted me to the mediaeval castle portion of the joint and deposited me in a room full of furniture that was so old I was scared to sit on it. They told me breakfast was being prepared (yay!) and then they left me in the room with Aidan but without any promise of coffee (ack!).

In a very Ash-like moment, Aidan stared out the window absorbed in watching something and completely ignoring me.

I cleared my throat.

“Do you think I could get a cup of coffee?”

“Oh God, yes, sorry.” He walked to the wall and, if you can believe, pulled a cord. He pulled a fricking cord. What kind of world was this?

We’d both settled in some impossibly fragile-looking chairs when one of the old guys poked his head in and Aidan asked for coffee.

“So, you were going to explain…?” I prompted when Aidan didn’t seem to want to start.

But then he started.

And this is what he said:

Aidan (surprise!) is not a plumber.

He teaches mythology at Trinity College in Cambridge and has been a member of the Royal Institute of Psychical Research for the past three years.

“The Institute” as he calls it was started in the 1500’s by none other than Queen Elizabeth I. The remit of the place was the study of all aspects of the supernatural.

These guys were the people who took their 50’s science fiction movie machinery to haunted houses to gauge if there were ghosts, to check the possessed and see if a priest should be brought in, to assess if a palm reader was a charlatan, etcetera. This is as involved as they got… mostly, for centuries they’ve just watched and wrote a shitload of notes (my terminology, not Aidan’s).

Aidan was a part-time field researcher at The Institute assigned to me. He’d been watching me since I moved to England months ago. (Not sure how I felt about that.)

Members were not ever, ever, ever (ever) to get involved with the creatures (?!) they are studying.

Never.

Ever.

Aidan had “gotten involved” with me.

This was bad – hence his disappearance after New Year’s to answer to “The Directors”.

Now, he’s brought me to The Institute which has never had a witch, warlock, pixie, troll, etcetera within its hallowed halls in its nearly five hundred years of existence.

Needless to say, this was a controversial move on Aidan’s part.

But I only had one question on my mind.

“What about the bathrooms at the coffee house?”

Aidan explained he only tiled the bathroom and his actual-plumber friend had done all the plumbing which put my mind at ease (about the toilets, not the tiles).

And then he fell silent and watched me.

Then he watched me more.

I tried not to fidget in the chair as it, if taken on the
Antiques Road Show
, would involve some on-air orgasmic delight from the experts and claims of “priceless”.

Then, (thank goddess) the old guy came with the coffee.

I took a sip, it was weak and had too much milk but it also had caffeine so I started to feel myself again.

Albeit a tired, magicked out, still slightly scared and definitely pissed off at yet another twist in the double-helixed plot that is my life, er…. self.

“So…” I started so Aidan wouldn’t watch me anymore. “What now?”

He sat back and stretched out his legs, his chair groaned, I held my breath, he crossed his feet at the ankles, arms on his chest and then he settled, his eyes on me again.

The chair, by some miracle, held.

“Now, you call your bodyguard to come get you.”

Ack, he knows about Ash.

He smiled (kinda sexily) at my reaction.

Then he kept talking. “Then we have breakfast.”

Yay!

(Though, little worried about breakfast cooked by a bevy of Old Dudes.)

He kept going. “And then you go home.”

His plan was taking a confusing turn, out of the not-exactly-welcoming lap of the League of Vintage Gentleman and into the clutches of Angry Ash.

Hmm, tough choice.

Then he finished, “And then I face The Directors and possible expulsion from The Institute.”

Uh-oh.

He laughed before saying, “Don’t worry, Matty. It won’t be the first time.”

Oh… well then.

Before scary-prospect breakfast I had to know a few things first.

“I have a few questions,” I told him.

He took a sip of coffee and looked at me under his brows.

Oh my.

If Lucy were here, I think she would confirm that Aidan was flirting with me!

And changing slightly from boy-next-door-possible-baddie plumber to boy-in-the-
mansion
-next-door-not-baddie-but-seriously-sexy professor.

“Fire away,” he invited.

Focus, girl, focus.

Um… now, what was I doing?

Oh yes.

I started, “First, you asked about my magic. You look at me funny when I’m done casting a spell. What’s the deal?”

“I’m non-magical. I can’t see your magic.”

Hunh?

“But it was flying all over the place in the wood,” I told him. “And then there were the faeries –”

He became a little less relaxed as he watched me.

“Faeries?” he asked. “There were faeries?”

“Yes, hundreds of them.”

“
Ah.” He relaxed again and to himself said, “The acorns.” Then back to me. “I thought you were doing that. However, as a mere mortal, I can’t see magic. The effects of it, yes. Acorns flying through the air, tree branches swaying and hitting precise targets… that I can see. Faeries, possible but rarely and only if concentrating and, of course, if they
want
to be seen.”

Well, that explained that.

Sort of.

“Why did you want to meet me at midnight?” I asked.

“There was something important I needed to tell you without your shadow present.” Hmm. “I reckoned you’d be curious if I asked for a midnight meeting and wouldn’t tell him.” Hmm. Hmm. “And because if you told him, he wouldn’t have let you come.”

Well, I’m sure!

Like Ash controls me!

(Hmm.)

Aidan concluded, “And because I needed to tell you that I have reason to believe that some of the men who are after you have managed to ally themselves with a witch and I thought you should know.”

Ack!

“
What?
” I cried

“Your magic didn’t work on them, did it?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.

And that would be no as in, not even a little bit.

“They probably had a protection spell.”

No!

“How do you know this?” I asked.

He hesitated. Then took a breath and expelled it heavily.

Then he answered, “Another field researcher, watching another witch, saw the alliance.”

This is unbelievable… witches didn’t ally themselves with bad guys!

Okay, so, I had to admit, it happened.

Occasionally.

But very, very rarely.

The whole bad witch-slash-dark witch myth was made by man to discredit those who practiced The Craft (not to mention the whole conspiracy against midwives and healers who weren’t witches at all). The vast (as in
vast
) majority of witches are what is now often referred to as “White Witches”. In other words, good. To the core. A few of them may be dotty but they wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“I don’t have that information.”

“Can you find out?”

“Maybe.”

Getting into Institute territory here, I could see.

“If you find out, will you tell me?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

It was my turn to watch him. He wasn’t uncomfortable or wary, just cagey.

Men!

I was too tired to push it now.

“How do you know Josephine and Rory?” I asked.

Mention of Josephine and Rory seemed to surprise him. “She cleaned the office at the plumber’s. I don’t know any Rory.”