Mathilda, SuperWitch (39 page)

I looked like Versace Witch Barbie.

Fab-you-las.

(Don’t think I didn’t notice the sorceress staring covetously at my mary janes.)

“It’s my new and improved uniform,” I answered.

I noticed the vampire grinning but most everyone else was either silent or looked disapproving.

“I hardly think my outfit is –” I started to go on.

“This is exactly –” Endora interrupted me.

“What we should be talking about!” I finished loudly, totally fed up with her diva attitude not to mention the whole bloody Gathering farce.

I mean, I was The Chosen One so I got to be the diva, thank-you-very-much.

“Okay, I fell asleep,” I told The Gathering. “Ex-ka-youse me!” I turned to Prunella and the Unicorn. “I’m sorry but I’m the one whose eight year old Spellbound was kidnapped thus beginning probably years of counseling.”

I whipped around to face Endora.

“
I’m the one who was struck by lightning…
three times!
” I jerked my thumb at my chest.

I then whipped around again to face the vampire.

“I’m the one who was shot at while saving an oracle who, incidentally, had her magic and sight stripped in some seriously foul ceremony, that, while we’re here, may I say, should be banned.”

I turned to the sorceress.

“Last but not least, I’m the one who nearly was blown to smithereens by a fucking bomb!”

There were gasps at my language.

“You brought it on yourself!” Endora retorted from behind me.

I turned back to her and I knew my eyes were wide. “How on earth did I do that?”

“By flying in the face of custom… of ritual… of tradition,” Endora answered.

I knew I didn’t like her.

“
You think it’s okay to strike someone with lightning,
three times
, for doing something you don’t like?”

“Yes,” she answered calmly.

Be-atch.

Totally
didn’t like her.

“That’s like cutting off a child’s hand for stealing an Oreo,” I replied, disgusted.

“What’s an Oreo?” I heard the troll ask the goblin.

The goblin shrugged.

“Hardly,” Endora went on, “you’re challenging the very laws of nature.”

“I believe it’s a biscuit, you know, a cookie,” the vampire answered the troll.

“Ah,” the troll muttered.

I ignored them.

“I don’t think so. If I was, the trees wouldn’t protect me. If I was then nature would take away my power. Instead, the Great Goddess has given me more power. More than you, more than anyone.”

Endora whipped out her wand.

There were more gasps and some uncomfortable shuffling about.

“Oh please,” I snorted. “You don’t scare me, there’s no place to plug that thing in around here.”

Endora’s eyes rounded with anger and I turned my back to her. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to fire on me in front of my mother or Gran or my sisters.

And certainly not Mavis.

I threw out my arms, looked around at everyone and carried on.

“If I have better things to do… ” I whipped back around to Endora, “and make no mistake, my Lady, I do have better things to do…” I again addressed The Gathering, “then you’ll have to pardon me so I can do them.”

“Mistress Honeycutt,” Prunella stopped me, “this Gathering –”

“Begging your pardon, Madame Hag, but this Gathering is taking too much damn time,” I declared and then turned back to address everyone around me. “You’re here to speak for your people but don’t use a hundred words to say one. The way I see it, you’re either with me or against me. You are either traditionalists or you are modernists.”

I was making this up as I went along but I think it sounded okay.

Therefore I kept going. “You either want to live in the closet and hide yourself and your magnificent magic away for the rest of time or you want to be seen and heard, have a say in how this planet is being governed and, might I add… destroyed.”

Everyone was silent and staring.

“My dear girl, if it was that easy –” Prunella began.

“
It
is
that easy,” I answered.

“Nothing is black and white,” the Headless Horseman floated up to me, his arm outstretched and he touched my shoulder.

Of course, I didn’t feel anything except a bitter chill.

Spooky.

He looked nice enough and he definitely had a way about him but I had to say, he was creepy. I think this had something to do with the way he carried his head like a football half the time.

Ick!

But I digress.

“
It
is
just that,” I replied. “Black and white. This is the beginning or this is the end. You pick,” I said to him, somewhat more ominously and dramatically than I intended but I’d set the scene and I had to go with it. Then I swung around, throwing out my hand to encompass them all. “You all have to pick.”

I looked at each one in turn then I walked on my fabulous shoes right to my broomstick (trying hard not to let the heels sink in to the ground) and I flew (somewhat unsteadily) away.

I knew I was being a drama queen but I wasn’t going to waste all night nor spend another moment with Endora who had to be in cahoots with Agatha Darling, Jeremy Bligh and the rest of them.

The be-atch.

When the rest got home, Mavis reported that the Unicorn had called a vote.

The vampires swore allegiance (“They’re always a bit seditious, always up for a little maverick behavior. It’s good to have their power on our side but we must be cautious.”)

The wizards and magi were okay either way.

The sorcerers, sorceresses and banshees wanted another Gathering.

The trolls, goblins and werewolves were out, no way, no how. Then again, trolls and goblins didn’t exactly fit in with humans should they come out of the closet and werewolves didn’t like humans all that much (to say the least).

“And the witches?” I asked.

Endora was there to cast the witches’ vote so I pretty much knew the answer.

“Endora cast nay,” Mavis said.

“So we’re on our own,” I muttered, dejected.

I wanted to cry but I’d recently sworn off crying, at least until I was in my bed, in my princess fortress, on my own so no one could see me.

“Well,” Mavis said, slowly, “Dr. Bennett explained that he and the Directors and Marcus and the rest of the Elders had formed an allegiance.”

“Who’s Marcus?” I asked.

“Marcus was the Elder in attendance. Marcus Wilding, Sebastian’s father.”

Ack!

“Ash’s father…” I gulped, “was there?”

Oh goddess, no wonder that dude seemed so familiar.

Ack!

My possible father-in-law was there and there I was looking like a more stylish Elvira, Mistress of Darkness – double sided tape and all.

Ack!

Now, I really wanted to cry.

“Yes, my dear, he was there and on our side. Both Le Société and The Institute are with us, my dear. His announcement made Prunella call a Council meeting. Highly unusual, Endora’s not pleased. Normally, the Hag will defer to the Lady at Gatherings. But overturning the Lady’s vote and demanding a meeting with the Maiden before casting the Council’s binding vote…”

That pleased me no end.

We had some diplomatic work do. Obviously, this was not going to be my project as I seemed pretty rubbish at diplomacy.

Gran took the assignment to approach, and win over, the wizards and magi and Mavis the sorcerers and sorceresses. They were like my chief Wiccan Whips, if you will.

Kinda cool.

I’d worry about the rest of the supernatural population later.

I called Aidan to let him know how it went but he already knew.

I was pretty sure Ash already knew, considering his Dad was there.

I thought about Marcus Wilding and wondered if Ash would look like him when he grew older.

If
he grew older.

Ack.

Then I went to bed and Daphne curled up in the crook of my knees and purred for a little bit before she fell asleep and, for the rest of the night, I tried to pretend I wasn’t scared shitless.

7 August

I figured I was okay; I’d faced down the folks at The Hobgoblin and an entire Gathering. The Witch World was abuzz with my massive show of cojones if the recent newsletter was anything to go by.

So this should be a piece of cake.

I mean, it was just The Dungeons.

And it was Ash’s birthday.

I made him a German Chocolate cake dripping with that yummy, golden icing.

My plan was to carry it down to him, singing happy birthday.

I was The Chosen One with kickass magic – the leader of a revolution, the Che Guevara of the Witch World.

(I picked Che because he was handsome and charismatic and Fidel wasn’t, at least not the first, he was scary and eventually became a despot. Incidentally, I was also ignoring the fact that Che ended up gunned down in a hut in Bolivia.)

(Would there one day be t-shirts and coffee mugs with my face on them?)

(Yikes!)

I stood at the door to The Dungeon, luscious cake balanced on one palm, my present tucked under my arm and my other hand ready to open the door.

Which I did.

Then I braced myself.

Nothing.

Whew!

Step one, done.

I stood, staring down the stone steps that led into darkness.

I felt a breeze float up.

It wasn’t a pleasant breeze.

It was a malevolent breeze.

A breeze that wanted to hurt me.

Yikes.

I took a deep breath.

It’s his birthday surprise, I can do this, I can do this,
I told myself.

Nope.

I couldn’t do this.

“Mathilda?”

I jumped, nearly dropping the cake.

Ash was walking up behind me.

He wasn’t even in The Dungeons.

I’m such a dork.

“Happy birthday!” I cried.

He looked at me, the present, the cake, the open door and then back at me.

“I figured you wouldn’t want a big thing made of it so I thought I’d bring you a cake,” I told him. “I was just about to go down…”

That’s when the eyebrow went up and the arms crossed the chest, not saying it out loud but his body language screaming, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Okay then,” I gave in, exasperated. “I was just psyching myself up to go down but couldn’t do it. There! I admit it!”

“May I?” He didn’t wait for me to say he could, he took the cake and set it on a small side table. “And?” He took the present and without further ado, ripped off the paper.

I had bought him a fabulous Alexander McQueen shirt. It cost a fortune but I’d never had a man with that kind of body to dress so I figured I’d go for it. I knew, once he had it on, it would be worth every donut I’d had to stuff with frosting and every cappuccino I’d had to cover with foam in order to afford it.

“It’s Alexander McQueen,” I said when the thick tissue paper and shiny box fell away and he’d shaken out the shirt and just stared at it. “He’s a very famous designer or he was, though he still is. It’s just that he’s dead now. Tragic. He was an artist. A visionary. Anyway, he makes really nice, quality clothes…” I trailed off after realizing I was babbling.

Ash held the shirt out in front of him and then looked around it to me.

I’m so lame.

I bought an Alexander McQueen dress shirt for Sebastian Wilding – man of mystery.

A man who does t’ai chi in the garden with utter concentration even when Mom is singing Janis Joplin at the top of her lungs while digging in the tulips.

A man who breaks down doors and grabs guns out of shaking criminal hands without blinking an eye.

A man who trades a Jag XJS for an Audi TT coupe without any apparent financial heart attacks.

He probably had a dozen Alexander McQueen shirts and Armani and Hugo Boss…

“
I didn’t know what to get you. Maybe I should have got you that Burberry umbrella,” I muttered, staring at my toes (painted hot, hot,
hot
pink).

Since I was staring at my toes, I didn’t notice the hand whipping out until it had a hold of the front of my t-shirt.

One tug and I fell forward, not too far because I collided with the hard wall of Ash’s chest and he crushed me in his arms, kissing me.