by Nancy Warren
"Good morning," she said. "I’m Margaret Twig. You must be Lucy?" I agreed that I was and she motioned us to come inside. She and Rafe did the French double-cheek kissing thing.
Margaret Twig was a confusing mix of the eccentric and the sophisticated. She was short and wiry with gray hair that sprang out in corkscrew curls all over her head, bright blue eyes that tilted up the corners like a cat’s, a sharp nose, a very definite chin.
“You found the place all right in the dark?” Her voice was low and quick, with a flat North American accent.
“No trouble at all,” Rafe answered.
She wore a turquoise flowered one-piece jumpsuit that would've looked more at home in Hawaii or the Caribbean than the English countryside. Around her neck she wore a quantity of colorful beads. I found her fascinating and definitely intimidating.
The lights were on and she led us down a flagstone corridor. The ceilings were beamed with dark wood and so low that Rafe had to duck through the doorways. We entered a large kitchen at the back of the house. The kitchen was a blend of new and old. An Aga stove against one wall, sending a comforting warmth into the air. Against the opposite wall was an Inglenook fireplace, the perfect size to roast an ox, and hanging from it, were various cast-iron implements.
Suspended in the center was a large, black cauldron. Hanging at the side of the fireplace was a whisk broom that looked ready to take off and fly. In a decorating magazine the cast iron pots would look stylish, in keeping with the age of the cottage. But I suspected they saw regular use.
She caught me staring and I asked, stupidly, "Is that a cauldron?"
Her eyes twinkled in a disturbing way, as though she were laughing at me. "Yes, it is." She pointed to an open pantry lined with jars of herbs. "I keep the eye-of-newt and bats’ wings in the pantry."
I blinked at her in shock, and she turned to Rafe. "Doesn't have much sense of humor, does she?"
He said, "Be nice, Margaret. Lucy's trying to break a curse.”
She rubbed her hands together, looking quite pleased. "Yes, let's see this spellbound object I've been hearing about."
I drew out the mirror and handed it to her. She walked into the kitchen and took a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses from a shelf and put them on. She studied the mirror under the full glare of the kitchen light.
"This is beautiful," she said. "How old did you say it was, Rafe?"
"About 1500 BCE. Lovely, isn’t it?"
I felt like we were in the middle of an episode of Antiques Roadshow and they were about to tell me what I could get for the mirror at auction. I said, somewhat sharply, "It's also cursed and apparently, now that I’m in possession of this thing, some horrible demon is going to come and kill me."
"Mmm," said Margaret, "That does lessen its value a bit."
I could not believe she was joking about this. Rafe said, "Can you read ancient Egyptian?"
She shook her head. He said, "Lucy, give her the words of the incantation while she's holding the mirror, and let her recite them herself. "
"Why?"
"I'm curious to see whether, in the hands of another witch, the incantation will activate the magic." To Margaret he said, "When I recited the words, while holding the mirror, nothing happened. But every time Lucy says them…well, you'll see."
I had to give Margaret credit, she showed absolutely no hesitation about possibly calling forth a death curse. She held onto the mirror’s handle quite firmly and said, "Give me the words and I'll repeat them. I walked over and stood behind her, but not so close any part of me was reflected.
Even though I knew the incantation by heart, by now, I didn't want to make even the slightest error. I gave her the words, phrase by phrase, and she repeated them. When she got to the last word I think we all held our breath.
Nothing happened.
"Interesting," Margaret said. "It doesn't curse any witch who touches it, only, presumably, the one it was intended for."
Rafe was leaning against the granite countertop, watching us. "Have you seen such a spell before?"
"I don't want to comment until I've seen it in action." She handed the mirror to me. "Lucy? Would you?"
I had the most ridiculous fear that now we’d come out here, I'd read the words and nothing would happen, and I'd look foolish in front of this eccentric, but rather marvellous, woman. Which was absurd, because the best thing that could happen to me would be to find the curse had fizzled out or moved on, or been a figment of my imagination the whole time.
I took a breath and, before I could speak, Margaret touched my shoulder. When I glanced up, she looked deep into my eyes and held my gaze. "Center yourself. I can feel your nerves jangling so loud they sound like wind chimes in a storm. Don't let your fear show, or the powers of evil will use it against you."
I swallowed and nodded, trying to tame my fear.
“That’s right,” she said in that low, flat voice. “Breathe in," she said, "And breathe out." I did as she instructed, following her much more regular breathing, and then she said, "Blessed be."
When she stepped back I did feel calmer and quite determined not to let my fear be used against me.
I spoke the words of the incantation in a slow, clear voice. I felt the mirror handle warm up and grip my palm and then the light began to emanate, blue and spooky. Margaret stood behind me as the young woman emerged, fainter than before, and I said, "Meritamun. We want to help you. This is Margaret, can you see her?"
I angled the mirror but the girl said, "No. I only see you."
Margaret said, in a low voice, "And I see nothing but a bronze plate that needs a good polish."
Margaret said, "Ask her if her master has a name?"
Of course, why hadn’t I thought of that? I repeated the question and the girl glanced behind her, as though he might be with her. “He is known as Athu-ba, the stealer of souls. He is a terrible demon, but he takes many forms. He tricked me by coming to me in the guise of my queen.”
“Does he seek out witches only to destroy them?” Margaret asked. Another excellent question, which I obediently repeated.
The witch in the mirror appeared to ponder the question, answering slowly, as though she’d never thought of it before. “No. I believe he takes their energy as his own.”
He was feeding on witches, sucking out energy to use it against us. It was horrible and I began to feel sick. Before we could ask anything more, the picture wavered and Meritamun was gone.
Margaret took the mirror from me and looked at it more closely. “I’m sorry she was tricked like that. Our only hope is to destroy the mirror, which will kill her, of course.” She sounded so matter-of-fact about another witch’s death. But I’d become strangely fond of that poor young witch and I wasn’t about to help destroy her. Not before we’d even tried to take out the evil demon.
“If we destroy the mirror and kill Meritamun, it won’t stop him,” I reasoned.
She looked at me, her head tipped to one side, as though considering. “No. It won’t. It might save you, though. Are you saying you’ll sacrifice yourself to save other witches?”
Not exactly. I wanted to save Meritamun, not end up destroying myself. But I could see it was a bind. “I want to vanquish this demon, that’s what I want.” I looked at Rafe. “Have you heard of this Athu-ba?”
Rafe was better than most search engines, and quicker. He nodded. “Athu-ba is a slightly obscure character in Egyptian mythology. He’s got the head of a goat, the arms are snakes, and the body is human. He was called the soul-snatcher.” Here Rafe looked thoughtful. “He was the son of Heka, god of magick, but he tried to kill his father and was banished from his household. He was known for stealing the souls of Egyptians before they could reach the afterlife.”
Margaret looked thoughtful. “Who was that witch, exactly?”
“Meritamun. She said she was the Daughter of Amenemhat, the High Priest of Amun.”
“He likes his women powerful, then.”
I was shocked that she�
��d say that. Did she think I was powerful?
Margaret said, “Meritamun said he takes many forms. He came to her as her queen, someone she knew well.” She gazed out of her kitchen window and her eyes narrowed. “Holding a different identity takes a great deal of energy. I’ll make you a revealing potion. Anyone who ingests it, will be exposed as what they truly are.”
That sounded like fun, stripping off the disguise so I’d be face to face with a soul-sucking demon. I was so glad we’d come to Margaret for advice! I looked at her. “And then what?”
“Then, you have to kill him. Obviously.”
My day was getting better by the minute. “So, I reveal this demon in all it’s terrifying glory, then kill it.” I put my hands on my hips. “How?”
"Do you have much experience causing death?"
"No!”
"Pity." She turned to Rafe, "She’s such a newbie. I don't know how we’re going to stop him from killing her."
Rafe said, looking at her calmly, "You're the most powerful which I know. If anyone can stop this warlock, or demon, or whatever it is, it's you."
She smiled, a tight, smug smile. "Well, that's true. Flattery still works. Of course, so much of magic is about illusion. Let me think."
She walked to a shelf of cookbooks and assorted volumes and selected an ancient, leather bound book that was similar to my family grimoire. She recited a quick spell and opened the book. As she pored over it, I realized that this was her spell book. She flipped back and forth, read a few pages and nodded.
Then she went to a drawer and pulled out a kitchen apron, blue and white striped heavy cotton, like a chef might wear. She pointed her finger at the cauldron and said, “Fire light, fire bright,” and the logs beneath the cauldron, which I’d thought were for show, sprang to life. While the cauldron was heating, she went into her pantry and began selecting bits of dried herb and bark, jars of powder, some tiny, stoppered bottles of liquid. She assembled all this on the counter and then went back and returned with a very ordinary bottle of distilled water that looked as though it had come from a drug store.
She poured some of the water into the cauldron and then, checking her recipe now and then, began to add various ingredients. She didn’t tell us what she was doing, and I was too nervous to ask. I smelled something woodsy, like wet mushrooms, as the concoction began to boil. She leaned over the bubbling pot, stirring it, then waved some of the steam toward her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She leaned over the potion and recited a spell, but her words were low and quick, deliberately so, I believed, so we wouldn’t be able to understand.
I looked at Rafe and he smiled at me. It was a smile that said, ‘don’t worry. We’ve got this.’ And it helped.
She breathed in the steam once more. “Yes,” she said, “Yes, that’s it.” She glanced behind her to where I was standing. “Come, you stir it.”
“Will that transfer its power to me?” I wondered aloud.
“No. I’m tired of standing here stirring a pot, that’s all.”
So, I took over the stirring and watched the dark potion bubble away.
“This is a revealing spell or potion. Athu-ba will most likely come to you in disguise. He could be one of your customers, a stranger you pass in the street; he could assume the guise of an old friend. If you can get him to drink a little of this liquid, you’ll immediately see through the disguise."
I was getting serious heebie-jeebies at the idea that this soul stealer and destroyer of witches could pretend to be someone I knew. I thought of my mother, and the way she looked so strong, but she was the one who’d brought me the mirror. With an awful coldness around my heart, I asked, "Could he disguise himself as my mother?"
Margaret thought about it for a moment. "Theoretically, but not for long. You know your mother so well and there is a strong blood bond so it would take an enormous amount of energy for him to keep up that disguise. You'd have to be very distracted not to see through it. Look for a slight wavering around the edges.”
I felt relieved. It couldn’t be my mother, we’d spent all day together yesterday and she’d been entirely Mom-like. Her image hadn’t wavered once. Neither had her conviction that I was wasting my time here in Oxford.
But someone I’d met or was about to meet would turn out to be the evil one. “And once I've revealed Athu-ba, then what?" Even saying the name gave me the creeps.
She didn’t look as confident now, as she had when she chose the revealing spell, but she said, “Use the mirror. Reflect his evil back at him. And while you do that, recite this spell I’m going to give you.”
“That’s it? I make this terrifying monster look at himself in the mirror? Shall I comb his hair, too? Offer him a shave?”
“Lucy!” Rafe said, sharply. I couldn’t help it. My sarcasm-fear response was deeply rooted.
Chapter 9
The day was brightening now, and outside the birds were singing. I looked out the kitchen window and saw a black cat sitting on the window ledge outside. It stared in, green eyes blinking. I said, "Why your cat looks just like mine."
Margaret’s blue eyes narrowed on me, the way Nyx's did, and then she turned and followed my gaze, out the window. "Well, well. You've a very devoted familiar there." She walked swiftly across the flag-stone floor, opened the multi-paned casement window, and in stepped Nyx.
I was surprised my cat had somehow travelled ten miles without even knowing where I was going, but, of course, Nyx had powers of her own. It was strange that she had followed me while I had that mirror, though. I thought she was scared of it.
Margaret picked her up and looked into her little face. "I believe I knew your mother."
Nyx made a noncommittal burp sound. Margaret continued to hold the cat in her arms stroking it thoughtfully. “We were speaking of reflection," she said. "Yes, mirrors reflect ourselves back at us. We use the word ‘reflection’ when we speak of the past. We reflect on our lives, our deeds. A reflection is only an image. Not substantial."
I glanced at Rafe to see if he was following this patchy stream of consciousness but he merely raised his shoulders indicating he had no more idea than I did what Margaret was talking about.
“I can't promise it will work, but there is powerful magic in this mirror and the trick is to turn it on Athu-ba, make him reflect on who he is and what he’s done."
I must have looked confused, for she said, "It's like Judo. Use your opponent’s strength against them."
I had a feeling that my battle with Athu-ba would be a little more intense than a bout of Judo, but I nodded, letting her know I was following.
"The mirror is already enchanted, but we’ll add an extra spell. When you reveal Athu-ba all you have to do is get him to look into this mirror while you cast a spell of your own. It's as simple as that."
Somehow I had a feeling that it wasn't going to be simple at all. I asked, "And if it doesn't work?"
"Then you die."
I couldn't fault her honesty. "What about Meritamun?"
"Who?"
"The woman trapped in the mirror. She's just a young witch and, through no fault of her own, she's been trapped for centuries, an instrument of his evil."
Margaret shook her head. "She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and let her defences down when she shouldn’t have."
The potion was bubbling away and either I was losing my sensitivity, or the scent was diminishing. "I don't want to hurt her. Isn't there a way we can release her?"
She squinted at me and it was the oddest feeling, having both her and Nyx look at me with their eyes half closed, both tilted at the corners, green cats’ eyes and blue. Margaret said, "Part of our code is ‘Do what thou will, as long as it brings no harm.’ Very well. We’ll modify the spell a little.” She wrote down the spell, checking her grimoire a couple of times, then nodded. “That should do it."
She handed me a perfectly ordinary piece of foolscap. Her handwriting was small and precise. I looked at the unfamiliar words. "What langu
age is this?" Having grown up with the parents I did, I was conversant in ancient Egyptian, and could pick out words and phrases in Greek and Latin. This was none of those languages.
She said, "It's old English. Well, middle English, really.” And then I could see the English roots of the words. “You're telling the spell to return to its maker in full force and to release the innocent vessel."
"Thank you. Do you think it will work?"
Her face gave nothing away. In the silence I could hear the liquid bubbling in the pot. "I honestly don't know. But it's the best I can do. If I were you, I would concentrate on eating well, try to get lots of sleep and practice your magic every day. The stronger you are, the stronger the spell will be."
It was so hard to practice magic when I had houseguests, but I didn't think she wanted to hear my feeble excuses, so I merely nodded. I’d find a place and time to practice, I'd have to.
To Rafe, she said, "Let me know how it turns out."
Which did not fill me with confidence. She didn’t believe I'd be around long enough to tell her, myself, how it turned out. I packed the mirror back into its leather bag. She was still holding Nyx and, seeing how similar their faces were, I asked, "Do you shapeshift?"
She laughed. "That's a young witch’s game. My back won't take it anymore."
I didn't have to ask if she had once shapeshifted into a cat; it was quite literally written all over her face.
She directed me to ladle the liquid from the cauldron into a stoppered glass bottle. She told me to fill two in case I dropped one. Once I had two glass bottles of a now clear and almost odorless liquid, I was more than ready to leave.
I thanked Margaret Twig and she wished me luck.
I reached out my arms. "Come on, Nyx, let's get you home."
Margaret's arms tightened around the animal. She shook her head and said, in a chiding tone, "Don't you know, there's always a price to be paid for a good spell?"