Mathilda, SuperWitch (7 page)

She started serving, doing it manually which still surprises me. Once I found out about the power we had, I mean, who would ever do anything again if they didn’t have to? But Mavis is of the philosophy (not shared by every witch) that the Power of Wicca, like everything natural, is in limited supply and you shouldn’t waste it.

She totally ignored the fact that she just walked in on me necking with my bodyguard.

As for me, I was still semi-panting and trying very hard to keep it together and not charge across the room, take a flying leap, land on Sebastian and rip his clothes off.

“How is the boy, my dear?” she asked me as she handed me a plate of sandwiches.

“He’s okay, sleeping in the Trunk Room.”

She picked up her wand from the tray and drew a circle in the air, lilac and powder blue pixie dust sprang out, hovering in the air for a moment before Paulina Babcock’s (another member of our coven) face filled it.

“
I was just cleaning up, Mavis,” Paulina told her.

“Before you go, Babs, please check on the boy if you don’t mind. He’s in the Trunk Room.”

“Will do.”

Then,
poof
, the pixie dust and Paulina were gone.

Magic is so cool sometimes.

“Pleased to say that Ms. McShane is safe in her hospital bed for tonight. A very strong but short-lived spell will keep her from harm. How long is she supposed to stay there?”

“Who knows, probably a few days so they can –” I started to answer.

“Pish posh.” Yes, Mavis talks like this, she’s a scream. “We’ll have none of that. I know someone…”

At this point I felt something weird in my stomach, something that was creeping downwards with pinpoint accuracy, something that was warm and melty and a little scary. I looked over at Sebastian and he was not looking out the window anymore but staring at me and…

“Matty, darling, can I please have your attention?”

I jumped when Mavis said my name.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” she said shaking her head at me. “Will you be able to keep your mind on your first Spellbound, I wonder?”

In answer to that, I asked, “What’s The Mathilda Register?”

Mm. Her reaction was intriguing. Her head jerked around toward Sebastian who simply shrugged his shoulders and returned to staring out the window.

We went through the whole rigmarole about who told me what and when.

“Well, it would seem we have to have a conversation earlier than I thought,” she declared.

Then she settled into one of the couches with the chocolate biscuits in her lap.

* * * * *

If getting my first Spellbound then making out with Sebastian wasn’t enough to make it a big night, what Mavis was about to tell me was going to put the frosting on the cake.

* * * * *

Mavis then began.

“You see, nearly a millennia ago, there was a coven of thirteen very powerful witches.” She turned to Sebastian who had moved around to sit on the desk. “Norman times, yes?”

He nodded.

“I think it was 1069, 1070, something like that,” Mavis went on.

“1070,” Sebastian clarified.

It was like watching a tennis match.

Mavis continued, “This coven made a lot of waves, it had significant power and influence. They made so many waves that they attracted attention. Unwanted attention.” This she said in a dire voice. “The coven needed protection.” She stopped, watched me closely then started again, “To protect it, a secret society was born.” Another pause for effect. “Le Société de Mathilde.”

Oh sweet goddess, why me?

Mavis shook her head. “No, my dear, it wasn’t named after you but instead after Mathilde de Flambert. A very, very powerful witch and the high priestess of the coven. She was not even a relative of ours although there were two Honeycutts in that coven.”

Humph.

Mavis kept going. “At first, Le Société was formed only to watch over Mathilde and her circle. But over the years, especially through the dark days, it began to work to guard all witches. It grew, expanded and became strong, powerful and even wealthy. The witches it protected worked and still work, I might add, to return the favor of protection. We’ve managed to be able to transfer bits and pieces of power to our guardians…”

I looked at Sebastian and remembered that night I was out with BecBec and he used the Batman’s Cape Invisibility Glamour.

“But it never lasts long,” she continued. “These men, and women of course, of Le Société often were forced to lay down their homes, their fortunes, their legacies and their very lives to see that we witches were safe.”

“Why on earth would they do that?” I asked.

“Why?” Mavis smiled a private, sad smile and took a moment to answer. “Because you protect the ones you love, my darling.”

I looked at her, I looked at Sebastian, I looked back at her.

“Hunh?”

“The first of Le Société were the husbands of the witches of Mathilde’s coven. It grew and built on the sons and lovers of the witches…”

Holy Spousal Unit, Batman!

“No,” I breathed.

Oh my, oh my.

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh yes, my dear. Where do you think my Otto is?”

Oh my, oh my.

That means…

“Dad?”

My voice cracked, I couldn’t believe it but there she was nodding her head.

“Granddad?”

More nodding.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck.

“Ash?”

“Who’s Ash, darling?”

I pointed at Sebastian and Mavis chuckled.

“But of course. His mother was Isabella Jacobs-Wilding, my dear. A long time family friend.” Mavis smiled somberly at Sebastian and then she said quietly, “I still miss her.”

Fuck.

I watched Sebastian and his face didn’t change at all.

Sebastian is the motherless son of a dead witch and I’m the fatherless daughter of a live one.

Fuck.

Then the questions came:

“Where’s my Dad?”

“Deep cover, darling. I cannot say.”

“Is Granddad still alive?”

“Of course, dear. He’s due for retirement, er… soon.”

“What do you mean ‘soon’. When is that?”

“I don’t know… ten, twenty years.”

Ten or twenty years!

“
What?
” I asked or kinda yelled.

She looked slightly uncomfortable for a second and then cleared her throat.

“My darling Mathilda, my dear girl. You see, we witches… um, your grandmother… my darling child, there is no other way to put it. Matty, you’re looking at a one hundred and eleven year old woman.”

* * * * *

There are times in your life when you wish you would pass out and just wake up later when whatever was bothering you is gone.

I remember when I was in gym class and the teacher would announce that we were going to play dodge ball.

I fucking hated dodge ball (I mean, who came up with that idea? It’s ridiculous). I wished I could just faint and then be sent to the nurse and have it be over.

Everything Auntie Mavis said felt like one of those plastic, weirdly pink balls hitting me somewhere where it stung.

I didn’t want my Dad to be a “deep cover” secret society dude.

I didn’t want Sebastian’s mom to be dead.

And I don’t think I wanted to live past one hundred and eleven years old.

Even if I did do it looking no more than fifty, like Mavis.

* * * * *

“You’re telling me you’re one hundred and eleven years old,” I said slowly.

“Yes, Matty, I must admit, I’m middle-aged.”

As I stared at her with my mouth open she told me about witches and men and just about everyone else (?) trying to find the fountain of youth. Although witches hadn’t found it, they’d certainly perfected a few elixirs (“With the help of the Elves, lovely creatures, BecBec is one, of course…”) that helped things along the way.

Then she told me there are dark forces in the world, explaining that few of them were magical:

Your average warlock, but always male and cannot command powers of nature so usually no threat. (Mavis: “Pitiful really”);

Some sorcerers and sorceresses who have turned to the dark side.

A few faeries, pixies and imps (mostly naughty) and the brownies, of course.

Mermaids and leprechauns can be annoying by their very nature, but are normally harmless.

Banshees, but that’s a whole other story.

Vampires, zombies, werewolves and especially the Abominable Snowmen were usually just misunderstood. (Mavis: “Although, I had a run-in once with the Loch Ness Monster and I must say she’s got what you kids today call an ‘attitude’.”)

Yes, this was the conversation I had with my aunt. I won’t even get into what she said about gremlins, gnomes, trolls, goblins and fucking whirling dervishes (!).

“No,” she continued, “these aren’t the creatures to fear. The creatures we fear are men. Witches have worked hard on protection, on saving and prolonging life… but they’ve never found a way to stop an arrow, a dagger, a saber or a bullet from piercing flesh.”

Ick.

Ack.

“Mathilde and her coven spent a great deal of energy and expense recording everything that they knew, saw, heard and did. Travels, spells, charms, potions, lore… everything. All witches do. The Witch’s Journal, her Book of Shadows, is her most important possession. Over the years, Le Société has catalogued these volumes and watched over them.”

“Le Société,” this, surprisingly, came from Sebastian, “recorded The Prophesies.”

Uh-oh. Here we go.

He carried on. “You aren’t the only Prophesied, there are many prophesies, Chosen Ones, some who have done very well, some who have failed.”

Uh, what?

And here I was, almost certain to be a Chosen One you had to a) be One, as in singular, as in
me
and b) be good at what you did.

How do Chosen Ones fail?

Crazy shades of
The Matrix
sequel
.
What? Was I part of the Chosen Six? Eight? Two Hundred and Eleven?

Yikes.

Mavis took over. “As for you, my dear, many witches, a few wizards and a sorceress or two have had various prophesies about you. You were prophesied everywhere.”

“The enemy heard of you.” This was Sebastian again. “Over the centuries, your name was all over the place.”

“This scared them.” (Mavis)

“You scare them.” (Sebastian)

“I scare me!” (Me)

“You scare me too.” (Sebastian)

Humph!

Sebastian continued. “In 1772, Algernon Savage was the foremost scholar of The Mathilda Prophesies. He was kidnapped.” Ack! “Tortured.” Ack! Ack! “And eventually murdered.” Oh no. “He gave them what became known as The Mathilda Register.” Stupid Algernon. “In other words, a list of all the Spellbinding you would do.” Stupid,
stupid
Algernon.

Mavis broke in. “Luckily, dearest Algernon had a healthy imagination and made up most of it so convincingly, even under torture, that they believed him.” Clever Algernon. “Unfortunately, he gave away some of the real Prophesies too.” Uh-oh. “In the meantime, Sebastian’s great-great-great…?” Mavis stopped and looked at Ash.

“Great,” he said.

Mavis kept going. “Grandfather, Hamish Wilding, wrote
The Myth of The Mathilda Register
making it clear that
all
of what Algernon told was either made up or not prophesies at all, but history. Furthermore, he printed
Mathilda Honeycutt, The Prophesies
. In turn, his clever wife, Eleanora, put a spell on it.”

“Anyone who had a dark heart.” It was Sebastian’s turn. “Read stories of how most of The Prophesies either went unfulfilled or had already happened. That the Mathilda they’d thought was one person was really many Mathildas over the centuries, starting with Mathilde de Flambert and ending in 1698 with Mathilda Winterbottom one of the Witchfinder General’s victims during The Burning Times.”

Now Mavis. “For those who didn’t have a dark heart, but were pure –”

“And magical,” Sebastian cut in.

“They could read The Prophesies in one-heart-stoppingly brilliant volume,” Mavis finished.

“It worked,” Sebastian added. “Over the years, as it took longer and longer for you to make an appearance and for any of The Prophesies to come true, people began to believe it was all legend, just myth.”

“But if that’s the case, why are people after me?” I asked.