Mathilda, SuperWitch (35 page)

“Wait!” Derek shouted. “Bligh’s been here. He’s been everywhere. Talk to him. He knows something.”

Who on this lush, green earth was Bligh?

I kept the sphere hovering when Aidan leaned into my ear and whispered, “Banish it, Matty, we’ve got what we need. Let’s go.”

I swept my hand up and around and absorbed the sphere back into my palm.

Still courteous, of course, I said to Derek, “Thank you.”

He just stared.

I smiled and nodded to the werewolf and vampire. “Sorry, guys,” I said.

The vampire relaxed and smiled too, nice and slow (must say, he was kinda cute… like, really kinda cute, in a thin, pale, dangerous, sexy David Tennant kind of way. I hesitated and smiled back then I put my hand on my hip going into my flirty pose when Aidan grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door).

The werewolf man just righted his chair and sat down again.

“You sure you don’t need a faerie?” the little guy called while we walked out.

The taxi was waiting, Ash shoved me in.

Nothing.

Not a word.

Total silence.

And then Aidan asked Ash, “You get a confirmation on Islington?”

“Yep,” Ash answered.

I may not have expected applause but I did expect something, a “well done”, a kiss on the cheek,
something
.

“Um… hello?” I called.

They turned to me.

First, Ash winked.

Then, Aidan grinned.

Fucking men.

* * * * *

To sum up:

“Bligh” is Jeremy as in Ichabod as in Agatha Darling’s watcher.

And Islington is too scary to record in any detail.

Islington is where one of Darling’s boys live(d?).

I didn’t get to go in, Aidan and Ash left me in the hallway.

The noises that came through the door were enough.

By the time Aidan came out with the all clear and I went in, the bad guy was hog-tied and gagged on the floor.

He didn’t look too good.

“They’re coming to get him,” Ash said as I entered.

The man grunted and strained.

Aidan nodded.

And we left.

The dirty-haired pawn shop dude had closed up shop by the time we got back. We went to a high-rise estate and, without knocking, Ash used his shoulder to break open the door.

We were greeted by the shampoo-deficient boy who was pointing a gun at us while his equally shampoo-neglecting (and also apparently conditioner-shy) girlfriend surveyed us from the sofa, a fag dangling from her mouth.

If you can believe, without hesitation, Ash walked right up to the kid and jerked the gun straight out of his hand.

Oh my goddess, I have to admit, even after my kickass display at The Hobgoblin, that scared the bejeezus out of me and I let out a little yelp.

“Don’t fuck with me, Jack,” Ash’s voice rumbled.

If Ash ever spoke to me in that tone of voice, I’d pee my pants on the spot.

(I wondered if the kid’s name was Jack or if Ash was calling him that to be scary cool. Though, he didn’t have to work too hard at being scary… or cool, for that matter.)

The kid stared at him, his expression a mixture of awe, fear and disbelief.

“You have twenty-four hours,” Ash warned.

Then we left.

I figured Jack would use his twenty-four hours wisely.

Or, at least, I hoped he would.

Aidan drove me home in my Mini while Ash followed us in a new platinum Audi TT coupe Quattro. Where the hell he got that, I don’t know, but it rocked!

The police had been Mavis’ed by the time we got back. They asked me a few questions in the Plush Parlor and after about ten minutes of polite questioning (mostly to do with my welfare, as in “Are you sure you’re all right?”) they were on their way, seemingly happy as clams.

The Witches Council wasn’t near that happy. After night fell, Aidan went to Wellington Terrace to make some calls to try and track down Ichabod and Ash retired to The Dungeons.

I was sitting outside with Su, Viv, Josie and Mom drinking martinis and giving them the low down on The Hobgoblin, Patisserie Valerie and my sexual rompus interruptus with Ash. Daphne the cat was with us, chasing bugs in the grass. BecBec was nowhere to be found.

At around eleven, we watched a witch-carrying broomstick flit across the moon. When she landed, she gave us a scroll of lilac, handmade paper wrapped in a black satin ribbon.

We gave her a martini.

The Witches Council requires the presence of: Mavis Lillian, Minerva Suki, Hanna Belle, Viviana Juliet, Mathilda Guinevere and Ursula Sadie Honeycutt as well as Althea Liza Appleton at a Council Gathering, first August, midnight, at the Avebury Circles.

The Gathering will consist of representatives from:

The Imperial Order of Elves

The Vampyre Dominion

The League of Werewolves

The Troll and Goblin Union

The Banshee Nation

The Magi

The Guild of Sorcerers & Sorceresses

The Fellowship of Wizards

The Elders of Le Société de Mathilde

The Directors of The Royal Institute of Psychical Research

The Gathering will be presided over by the Hag and the Unicorn with the Headless Horseman to adjudicate.

Kind Regards,

The Witches Council

(Endora Eccles, The Lady)

* * * * *

Headless Horseman?

Great.

23 July

I got up early to take care of donut lady and have a look at the devastation.

I had no idea what I was in for that day but I will say, at least, I was getting used to surprises.

Instead of trailing me, Ash said he’d meet me at Aidan’s at nine sharp and to keep my wand handy. A good aftereffect of my little demo at The Hobgoblin was that Ash felt a little better about me taking care of myself.

The donut lady seemed mollified after I handed her two chocolate buttercream stuffed donuts and a free Wicked Mocha (a mixture of hot cocoa and espresso poured over a square of Lindt eighty percent cocoa solid chocolate).

Once done, I headed to the bomb site.

They’d already begun to repair Marine Parade.

There were about a half dozen others looking at the hole in the road, mainly morning dog walkers.

The damage seemed small compared to how it sounded and felt. But then, Ash explained later, the bomb wasn’t meant to explode the road but instead something on it, namely me.

While I stared at it, a petite woman in a Dorothy Hamill haircut sidled over.

“Um, I’m sorry, could I just bother you a moment?” she asked me.

I looked at her and she blinked back what seemed to be tears.

“
I saw it,” she whispered. “The silver dust, your silver dust, from your little stick. I saw it and it saved me.” She paused. “
You
saved me.”

Holy cow.

She must have been from an old Wiccan line and didn’t know it to see the magic.

Her voice caught. “I could have been…” She nodded to the hole. “I just wanted to say, thank you.” She reached out, hesitated then touched my arm briefly before she hurried away.

I watched her dragging her little Scottie dog behind her and before I could even react, someone else was talking to me.

“I know who you are.” It was a guy who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a diorama depicting Neanderthal man (except, of course, his hair was cut and his beard was trimmed and instead of animal skins, he wore a poorly-fitting Umbro t-shirt), “And I know if it wasn’t for you this wouldn’t have happened.”

Uh-oh.

He kept being a jerk. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll close up shop, take your crazy friends and go home. All the way home, if you know what I mean.”

I knew what he meant.

He got closer to me but I whipped out my wand.

“You feelin’ lucky?” I asked in my best Clint Eastwood.

He looked at my wand with scorn then over my shoulder and his face changed.

Apparently, he wasn’t feeling lucky.

I knew Ash was there before I felt the hand at the waistband of my taupe corduroy, OP surfer’s shorts. (It had been a crazed morning in the wardrobe, what does one wear when one is hunting baddies? I went with surfer’s shorts, a pale pink Miss Sixties rocker cami and a sweet pair of pink suede puma trainers with those golf footies with the little poofy balls on the back – I thought this was a good choice).

(Anyhoo.)

Neanderthal man moved on and Ash and I walked up the footpath to Marine Hill.

The last time we were in these woods, Ash was dragging me through the bomb dust to the now-lost Lush Jag.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” I lied.

He didn’t respond except to take hold of my hand and he kept hold, all the way to Aidan’s house.

The five minute walk to Aidan’s holding hands with Ash wasn’t exactly a three-course dinner with champagne or hot, heavy, panting, animal sex but it still felt nice.

* * * * *

We were hunting Bligh that day. Somehow Aidan got his hands on a nice Mercedes sedan and we drove back to London in not-exactly-companionable silence (I eventually gave up and listened to my iPod).

Ichabod’s flat in London was deserted. No one at his local had seen him in weeks. Aidan had a picture so we checked a few of the news agents around his flat, some cafés, a couple of takeaways and a few of his reported haunts.

Zip.

So we drove to Cambridge (this time, after a short but not-at-all successful attempt at a game of “I Spy”, I retreated again to the iPod).

No Ichabod at his Cambridge residence and after short conversations with a variety of colleagues and peers, we learned no one had seen him in awhile. We checked around again at the various places, flashing the photo.

Zilch.

Aidan took us to a pub by the river and we sat outside and watched the punters float by.

“About what I expected,” he said into his pint.

Ash was silent.

Was I crazy or did these boys seem not to know what they were doing?

“So why –?” I started.

“We’ll go out again tonight,” Ash interrupted.

(No manners.)

“Yes,” Aidan replied.

Tonight?

“Will Mathilda be safe?” Ash asked.

Excuse me?

“Will I be safe from what?” I butted in.

“We’re leaving you at The Institute tonight,” Aidan explained.

“Uh, no you’re not, I’m coming with,” I said.

I mean, I seemed to be the only one getting anywhere with my orbs ‘o magic.

“No,” Ash said.

“You’re too damn bossy, Sebastian Wilding. I’m coming with you.”

“No, Matty, you’re not,” Aidan said.

That got my attention, Aidan being bossy was new.

“I beg your pardon?”

I got two hard, inflexible stares, one blue-eyed one (Aidan), one brown-eyed one (Ash).

What... eh... ver.

* * * * *

I guess Ash didn’t feel so much better that I could take care of myself and Aidan certainly didn’t because I found myself left at The Institute, in the waiting, somewhat hesitantly welcoming arms of Dr. Ambrose Bennett and his Team of Antiquities.

“Do you have any idea what they’re up to?” I asked Dr. Bennett as we watched the Mercedes drive away.

He shivered as if that was the last thing he’d want to know. “Let’s have some sherry, my dear. It’ll help us to sleep easier.”

24 July

Let’s just say, Dr. Bennett was wrong. First, sherry sucked. Second, even after drinking the stuff, sleep would escape me, especially in that ancient bed with the curtains drawn around it. It was a bit too disturbing, although it smelled vaguely familiar (in a good way) and the sheets were absolutely sumptuous.

I’d finished recording in my Book of Shadows and was about to nod off when I heard someone come in.

I sat still, listening, ready to lob some magic but as I listened it sounded like they weren’t coming to get me. They were, it seemed, getting undressed.

One shoe dropped.

Then the other.

Ash.

The cad.

Climbing into bed with me in the middle of the night again, ha!