Mathilda, SuperWitch (43 page)

How could this be my sister?

I, on the other hand, was taking full advantage of Indian summer and was wearing my four-inch, stiletto-heeled, t-strap sandals with the big chunks of turquoise imbedded in the T. Added to this were my dark, desert-washed, boot-leg, hipster jeans with a wide, stamp-designed tan belt and giganto turquoise and rhinestone belt buckle (trust me, it worked). Topped with my gauzy somewhat see-through, Indian-inspired tunic with the neckline split
to there
and showing a little curve o’ the breasticle. I’d straightened my hair to within an inch of its life and had on some pretty heavy black eyeliner.

Fab.

Mental Note: Krispie Kreme is taking over London. They have a shop in Paddington (right next to Accessorize which I had to visit even though they have them in Bristol – am addicted to Accessorize – bought two pairs of sunglasses which brings my sunnies collection up to sixteen pairs. Yee ha!).

When we opened the door to The Hobgoblin, it was like the scene out of
American Werewolf in London
. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at us.

“Way to keep a low profile,” I hissed to Viv as we sauntered in.

“What?” she hissed back.

“Your 80’s Soccer Mom getup. Hardly blending in.”

“Me? At least I’m not Caucasian Cher looking like, at any moment, I’m going to break into my rendition of ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’.”

She said that like it was an insult.

Derek met us at the bar. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” I replied.

He rolled his eyes, tugged out a pint of lager for each of us (even though we didn’t order lager, quite fancied a cider, but anyway) and walked away.

Scary Faerie was hovering drunkenly at the end of the bar, per usual.

There were far more patrons now than the last time we were here. I scanned the room and saw cute, lean vampire from the Day of Orbs o’ Magic walking toward us.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“What?” Then Viv saw him. “No vampires,” she said in an undertone.

“I heard that,” he said when he arrived, leaning, sanguine, against the bar next to Viv and looking not insulted at all.

Of course.

Vampire hearing is superior to human hearing.

“Where’s your posse?” Vampire Guy asked me.

“Er…” I replied.

He raised his brows. “The two tall, somewhat scary-looking blokes?”

“Er…” I muttered.

“
One from
GQ
, the other from a Marlboro ad?” he prompted.

Mm, interesting (and accurate) description.

“Um… day off.” (Me, being lame)

Ack!

“I see.” He turned to Viv. “You’re looking for help.”

I bugged my eyes out at Viv.

I mean, how easy was this?

Walk in, pick mercenary and Bob’s your uncle.

“Thanks but no thanks… we need someone who can walk around in daylight. Vampires need not apply.” (Viv, kinda being rude and seriously cutting into my London shopping time if she drew this whole gig out.)

He smiled, very cute and seemed not to take offense at Viv’s rudeness.

“Human mother,” he replied.

Enough said.

* * * * *

Quick lesson:

For the uninitiated, there is quite a bit to learn about vampires.

Firstly, they don’t need blood to live.

Well, they do, but only once a month or so and they certainly don’t have to kill someone to get it. A good ol’ drink will keep them going for weeks. But they don’t have to drain someone dry.

In the meantime, they eat and drink like normal folk. Even though undead, their bodies function like a human being’s, heart beating, blood flowing through veins and the like.

Secondly, vampires are stronger and faster than humans. They can hear and see better. On average, at least three or four times better than a human. The fitter vampires could be five or six times better than humans. The Lance Armstrong of vampires could kick Superman’s ass.

No kidding.

Lastly, vampires die naturally. You could go the stake-to-the-heart, decapitation, silver bullet route but after two hundred fifty or three hundred years, they die naturally anyway.

Just one day, turn to dust.

Finito.

In the olden days, such as, when they pulled out folks’ intestines for public enjoyment, and through the centuries where classes were more established (upstairs, downstairs) vampires didn’t worry too much about stopping before the victim died.

They just fed.

They were a superior race so why not?

But with the end of slavery, industrialization, unionization, civil rights, equal rights, etcetera, they felt some pressure so killing has been illegal for years (with brief respites in 1895, 1921 and 1962 but don’t have time to get into that).

Now, vampires had Blood Covenants which was somewhat like weddings and marriage contracts and feeding rights rolled into one.

They’d find a partner (over a vampire lifetime, they could have three or more, usually women but definitely not unheard of for them to be men, or both) who they bound themselves to (both legally and emotionally, the ceremony was supposed to be super-cool in a kind of dark, vampire-y, black velvet, red satin, blood red rose bouquet, big silver goblets filled with pinot noir, rare-to-blue steaks for dinner, Concrete Blond played at reception, type of way) who would let them drink their blood once a month (amongst other things)).

No killing, no siring of new vampires (unless “in season” which was a whole other story) and no straying.

Of course, they broke these rules – the first one rarely, the second one every once in awhile and the last one all the time (depending on the vampire).

There are very few female vampires, in fact, females were quite unusual. The life of the vampire doesn’t often suit a female, or, at least, most females. And since most vampires aren’t the soulless creatures they’re made out to be in books, they didn’t tend to sire females too often, unless the female wanted it, of course.

They had better things to do with females.

Hmm.

In Blood Covenants it wasn’t unusual for the vampire “naturally” to sire a child.

Human/vampire children were very like
Blade
if they were boys. They could walk around in daylight, needed blood but not often (even less than full-blooded vampires, three or four times a year), lived somewhat shorter lives (a hundred fifty, two hundred years at most) and were always boys.

Girls produced from human/vampire procreation were invariably human but could be stronger or have excellent eyesight but usually just plain ole normal.

Don’t ask me why this all happened. There is a book I started about vampire DNA (reconfigured at siring or inherited at birth) and the sex chromosomes and all sorts of other stuff that had to do with genetics and the like. But that book was boring so I didn’t finish it.

* * * * *

“Oh.” (Viv)

“I’m Gabriel.” (Gabriel)

I bugged my eyes out at Viv again.

Gabriel.

Right.

I took his name as a sign.

We were then at a loss.

How, exactly, did one go about hiring a mercenary?

Gabriel grinned at us. “Let me make this easy for you…” Then he laid out his terms and conditions, as if he were selling us a car, but in a very nice French (ish), English, American (?) accent.

Viv and I looked at each other.

“I don’t know…” Viv was being unusually indecisive, “are you willing to leave the country?”

“You Mathilda?”

I turned to see a young man in a weird outfit (purple velvet shirt, I didn’t even know they made shirts in velvet but, looking at him, I knew they shouldn’t) addressing me and standing about five feet away and lastly, for some reason, staring at me belligerently.

What now?

I was minding my own business.

Why me?

“Don’t respond,” Gabriel said quickly to me.

Seemed like good advice.

I turned away.

“Eh, woman! I said, are you Mathilda?”

“Just ignore him,” Gabriel said again. “He’s just looking to prove himself against The Mathilda. You’ve started to get a bit of a reputation, warlocks and other idiots flooding The Hobgoblin in hopes of getting a shot at you. Don’t give him the chance.”

A reputation?

What reputation?

What was this?

Who was I, Calamity Jane?

Was I now Calamity Mathilda (don’t answer that!) the fastest wand in England and open to any moron with an attitude?

“Listen to me, bitch!” the stranger in the bad shirt demanded.

Uh-oh.

I wasn’t fond of being called “bitch”.

In a flash, Derek was there.

“You said no trouble. Take it outside, as in, the back. We don’t need any questions.”

I took a deep breath.

I would not sink to his level.

I would not be forced into a confrontation I did not want.

“Hey, dude,” I was trying to be patient, “I don’t want any…” I started, turning back to the guy but as I did so, he whipped out a wand (a wand!) and sent this pathetic little wisp of sparkler-esque magic my way.

Without thinking, I just flicked my fingers and a shell pink and violet poof of pixie dust came out and opened, like a parachute, deflecting the sparkles so they ricocheted off and hit the man who dealt them, knocking him on his ass.

Oops.

Not a good idea.

Behind every warlock with bits of magic, there was a witch. And this guy’s witch didn’t like him to land on his ass in front of all the other bad boys and girls in The Hobgoblin.

“Hey, bitch… what do ya think you’re doing, eh?” she asked, storming toward us, belligerent too (and wearing a full on velvet dress, which was acceptable in most instances, just not the one she was wearing).

Uh-oh, there was that bitch-word again.

“You said no trouble!” Derek shouted.

Too late.

All hell broke loose.

“Who’re you calling a bitch?” Viv sneered.

Forgot, Viv hated the word “bitch” more than me.

Wands were pulled out, words were thrown, tables were upended and the tense always up for a mêlée atmosphere of The Hobgoblin exploded into a full-on, Wild West brawl where everyone was invited to join even if they weren’t involved in the original beef.

I felt an arm around my waist as I pulled out my wand and then I was flying through the air.

Yes, I said
flying through the air
.

Gabriel had a hold of both Viv and I. We – I kid you not – flew through the air while Gabriel nonchalantly leaped over the heads of the crowd to land in front of the door.

Once outside, we started to run but the fracas had spilled out the door (not to mention, not too easy to leg it in turquoise-encrusted t-straps).

The angry witch and her warlock came after us and Gabriel grabbed us again.

Up in the air, we landed on top of a taxi about five car lengths away.

Up again, we were at the end of the block.

Up, down, up, down, up, down and before we knew it we were running down the steps of a tube station.

Viv magicked the ticket machine and we were on a train in no time.

Stop, “mind the gap”, change trains.

Stop, “mind the gap”, change trains.

Stop, “mind the gap”, change trains.

Out at Picadilly, through the Circus, down the street and into the crush of Fortnum and Mason.

We were standing by the counter displaying jars of Goober peanut butter and jelly stripes (just behind the £30 boxes of Fortnum and Mason champagne truffles) and catching our breath when Viv turned to Gabriel and said…

“You’re hired.”

24 September

Listen to this.

Upon arrival at The Dozen this morning, Nerissa charged up to me and shouted, “She was here, yesterday, Girlie Spice!”

Eh?

“What?” (Me)

“Girlie Spice the one with the nose and the history with Robbie Williams.” (Nerissa)

I gave up and looked at Lucy.

“Geri Halliwell. Rissa reckons she stopped by yesterday for one of your new cinnamon rolls.”

“Really?” (Me)

(Was currently winning the War of the Wooden Spoons with the introduction of my Cinnabon-esque (little smaller, different frosting with a hint of cream cheese) cinnamon rolls – a whole new concept to English folk and they took to it like ducks to water.)