“What do you mean? He was right behind me! He threw me into the portal! They were closing in on us, oh hell…” Mirabelle fell down to the ground. The Ogres had been so close. Had Matthew been caught? Had Matthew been killed? A sob caught in her throat. What would they tell Lucy and Michael?
“The Ogres.” Mirabelle said. “They… could come through. Get back from the portal. You, with the gun! Get ready. It will probably take a handful of shots to take one of them down; they’re huge.” Everyone stood back except one of the women who was muttering in another language while raising her hands above her head. The woman with the gun kept it fixed on the portal.
“I should go back,” Mirabelle said to Anona. “I need to help him. I promised I wouldn’t leave him!”
“Mirie, your arm is broken. You have an arrow sticking out of your backpack! I can’t let you go back. You might get killed!”
“But…” She was cut off by a deafening blast. Matthew rocketed through the portal, sliding onto the grass.
“Matthew!” Mirabelle rushed to his side and crashed her body against his.
“Darling, let go a minute.” She looked down. Holding onto Matthew’s right arm was a severed Ogre hand. It still gripped him tightly and showed no signs of releasing, even though it no longer belonged to a body. In his left hand, Matthew held a bloodied Elf sword.
“Can someone help me get this off?” Dottie and another woman slowly pried the fingers back, unfurling them away from Matthew’s bruised skin.
“Try not to damage it,” one of the woman started. “I want to study it. Run some tests.” She turned towards Matthew and Mirabelle. “Hi, I’m Lisa. Speaker Witch by nature and fascinated with all supernatural creatures. When you’re both on the mend, I’d love to pick your brains on everything you ran into in the Elven Realm.”
“Oh, hi.” Mirabelle shifted back and forth. “Can we go inside? I need some water. And I probably should go to the hospital also.”
Once in the house, Dottie introduced her coven. Mirabelle had picture Dottie’s witch friends to all be around her age, but they were a multitude of diversity. Misti, a thirty-five-year-old cafe owner, was a Muse. She and Anona had hung out a couple times, comparing stories of both fame and hilarity. While Anona blocked her muse-ness, Misti amplified hers. She was running one of the most successful cafes in Philadelphia, mostly due to the hordes of authors dying for a table in her presence. Next was Kristen, a middle-aged mother of four, who, surprisingly, was a Succubus. She did have this incredible air of confidence and sensuality that was palpable. Matthew could hardly keep his eyes off her. She taught ceramic arts at a local YMCA. The rifle-toting witch was Danielle, a Healer, who had done a lovely little spell to numb Mirabelle’s pain, though still insisted she go to a hospital to have the bone set so it would heal properly. A tall Scandinavian young woman in her early twenties was introduced as Maria, a Protector. She had been the one casting a spell as they potentially waited for an Ogre to stumble through. Lastly was Gillian, who fit the bill of witch the best. She was in her early fifties, wore an entirely beaded outfit, a ring on every finger, had a crescent moon tattoo on the top of her hand, and wore black boots with pointed toes. She was a Chakra Witch who dabbled in candle magic.
After introductions, a few minutes of small talk, and a promise to have a proper coven meeting soon, Dottie and her witch squad all went home. Matthew took a shower and cleaned himself up a bit. He was heading home to have a tough conversation with his mom. Anona and Mirabelle crafted a story to tell the ER. She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t very well explain that her boyfriend had thrown her through a portal to protect her from Ogres. They settled on an icy path mixed with a loose sheep. Anona figured that the break would be consistent with trying to catch oneself from a fall, so it was a good lie.
“I’ll come see you after I talk to my mom. Feel better.” Matthew gave her a quick peck, then helped her into the front seat of the car. He declined a ride home to have a few minutes alone to collect his thoughts. Matthew still had no idea what he was going to tell his mom exactly, but he had to tell her something. It wasn’t fair to make her worry anymore.
“You want to talk about what happened?” Anona asked. Mirabelle had her forehead pressed up against the cold truck window. The spell Danielle did was beginning to wear off and a pit was steadily growing in her stomach with the realization that a bone in her body was broken.
“Eventually. But I kind of feel like I am going to throw up right now and thinking about that terrible place, and then the invasion, it will probably put me over the edge. Talk to me about something else. Anything else.”
“Sure… um, I put in an order for a couple of cherry trees and three pear trees. I thought we could try them out this year, and see how they do. Then decide if we want to commit to some new fruits. Pear trees take forever to fruit, so we’ll most likely both be moms by the time we get a pear. There’s so much competition in the apple front at the markets, and cherries are a completely different season, so that might be fun. My peaches are always a pretty small haul, so having a second summer fruit will be a blast.”
“I really like cherries,” Mirabelle contributed, trying to keep her mind occupied. “Have you met any of those witches before?”
“Yes, all of them. A couple of years ago they invited me to join their coven, but I’m more of a solitary practitioner. But it’s nice to pick the brains of other witches every once in a while.”
“I think I might like getting to know all of them. Not to say you and Dottie aren’t amazing witches, but it would probably be good to expand my horizons. See what form of witchcraft I might have an aptitude for. I need to learn something other than flying a broom. It isn’t that helpful, especially when it doesn’t fit two.”
“You were really unprepared.” Anona said quietly. “And a huge part of that is my fault. I should have put my foot down and forbid you from going through the portal.”
“Forbid me? I doubt I would have listened.”
“True, but at least if I had, my guilt wouldn’t be so overwhelming. If you are going to have this realm-hopping lifestyle, throwing yourself into places full of peril and creatures much stronger than you, you are going to need to up your magical skills by tenfold.”
“Believe me. I agree with you completely. I don’t think I have ever felt so stupid in my life. And Matthew was probably the worst companion I could have chosen. He can’t even fly. Basically, he was just an imprisoned human guy, who can kind of wield a sword.”
Mirabelle was right; her left arm was broken. But, the doctor informed her it was broken in two places, both the radius and the ulna. Because the radius controlled turning the wrist and such, she was placed in an over the elbow cast for four to six weeks. Thankfully it was her left arm, so she could still write, brush her teeth, and feed herself, but she was going to need to bathe instead of shower, or wear a garbage bag over her cast. A waterproof cast was not covered by their family health insurance plan, and it was February. Mirabelle ran a very low risk of accidentally falling into a pool. After a list of instructions to rest, keep her arm elevated, and to let someone else chase loose sheep for the time being, Mirabelle was sent home.
She was overwhelmed with joy when they pulled into the driveway and the portal was gone.
“Chestnut! He must have survived!” She exclaimed.
“Who’s Chestnut?” Anona asked, helping Mirabelle find her balance.
“An Elf who I thought was going to help me, but didn’t. But he did promise to close the portal. I figured he was killed in the invasion though.” She was glad he had survived. Though his lack of support had hurt her, she forgave him. And she hoped he was still surviving somewhere in the Elven Realm.
With Anona’s help, Mirabelle climbed up the stairs and into the house. She kicked off her boots, and carefully slid out of her coat.
“Do you want something to eat?” Anona asked, immediately in the kitchen.
“I do. But, I’m going to lie down for a little whi
le, is that okay?
“Of course. Take a nap. I’ll whip something up for you to have when you wake up.”
There is a certain kind of comfort to coming home to one’s own bed after traveling. Even if the occupant has only spent one night away, at a friend’s house, climbing back into the familiarity of one’s personal cocoon is magical. Sliding under two quilts and a down comforter after being chased and nearly killed by Goblins and Ogres in a foreign realm is an unmatched bliss. Mirabelle propped a pillow under her left arm, pulled the covers up to her chin, and immediately fell asleep to the sound of Anona tinkering away in the kitchen.
“What is that heavenly smell?” Mirabelle hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. She hadn’t opened her eyes.
“Your dinner,” Anona called back, laughing. Mirabelle stumbled out of bed, forgetting for a moment that she now lugged around a five-pound cast, and shuffled to the kitchen.
A legitimate feast was upon the table, complete with placemats, fancy goblets, and candles.
“We are celebrating your safe return,” Anona explained, “with roasted salmon with butter, wild rice, and garlicky winter greens. And cinnamon hot chocolate and vanilla bean Bundt cake for dessert.”
“How long was I asleep for?” Mirabelle asked, immediately sitting down and cutting her fish.
“About four hours. I figured you would sleep awhile, so I had time to really impress you.” Mirabelle dug into her meal. She inhaled the salmon, then mixed the rice and greens together, shoveling them into her mouth.
“There’s more if you are still hungry.” Anona offered.
“You have no idea how good this tastes. The Elves, they only eat plant-based food that does not cast a shadow while growing. With no seasonings. This is the food of the gods in comparison. Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t make a big root vegetable dish.”
“Me too,” Anona laughed. Mirabelle finished her first plate, got seconds of the rice and greens, which she in turn devoured, then cut herself twenty-five percent of the bundt cake and grabbed a mug of hot chocolate. Mirabelle took a second, set down her fork and her mug, and looked at her hands. They were shaking.
“Are you okay?”
“I think. I mean, I don’t know. Look no one was really on our side, but some of the Elves, they were nice people. Cherry and Pine, they hosted me. There were smart, and inquisitive, and albeit, terrified of the regime and would never stand up against it, but they didn’t deserve to be slaughtered in the streets.”
“Maybe they survived?” Anona offered.
“Maybe. But they were headed to the port. I saw it; it was overrun with Ogres. The streets… we ran through them, didn’t see a single surviving Elf. Only saw three in the wilderness. I can’t imagine many more got away.”
“I don’t have any useful advice for you. I’ve never been to war, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to be away from home stuck in such turmoil. I can’t formulate the words to express my relief when you came back through that portal.” Mirabelle looked at Anona and noticed heavy worry creases in her brow. She had put her through a nightmare with her absence.
“I’m sorry. It was really stupid. I couldn’t stop thinking that I was going to die there, and it would have been my fault. Nothing but stupidity.”
“Don’t say that. I know you’re eighteen, but I’m kind of your guardian. I should have tried reasoning with you. I mean, we barely even tried to close the portal on our own. I for one know that Dottie has a few warlock friends from her wilder days we could have called.”
“What?!” Mirabelle burst out laughing. “Did Dottie date a warlock?”
“More like a few.” Anona smiled. “But, it was different time, and I’m not sure how serious these relationships got. You are free to ask her.” She took a deep sip of her hot chocolate. “No more portal jumping as a form of exploration until you are much better equipped.”
“Deal.”
“Magical and otherwise. You should probably learn some sort of self-defense. And maybe even some weaponry.”
“And where, dear sister witch, do you expect me to learn weaponry in rural Pennsylvania?” Mirabelle raised her eyebrows.
“Dear sister witch, there is a Renaissance Faire very close by in the fall. Those performers have to do something in the off-season. We’ll track down a swordsman or axe-thrower or archer to teach you. It will be your physical activity requirement for Witch College.”
“I like that, Witch College. So far it’s mostly been required reading and trying to survive attacks from supernatural creatures. I would like a little combat training.”
Chapter 14
Mirabelle slept soundly her first night home. She was worried that sleep would escape her after her long nap and the constant fear crawling back into her mind that she would turn her head and see an Ogre or Goblin in her bedroom. In preparation, Anona whipped up a beautiful concoction she called, “Lavender Dreams.” Basically, it was lavender simple syrup, lemon juice, and vodka with some choice words chanted while mixing. Witchcraft Mixology, now that was something Mirabelle could contribute to a regular university setting.
It was as if Anona had hand-picked her dreams. Her mind took her to the beach near their childhood home and nothing happened. All she did was sit on the sand and look at a still Lake Michigan. She woke up calm and relaxed, maybe still a little drunk or high or whatever that drink did to her. She awkwardly climbed out of bed and shuffled out to the kitchen. A huge garishly decorated note was propped up on the table.
MIRIE! Hope you slept well. I checked on you, no lie, seven times last night. You were conked. I’m working in the maples right now. I left a plate of breakfast for you in the fridge. Pop it in the oven for fifteen minutes and you’ll be good to go. Come out and play if you want, or lounge about. I’ll be back in around noon. ~ Anona
Mirabelle opened the fridge. A frittata, bacon, and hash browns piled a plate high. Sweet heaven, food is good, Mirabelle thought.
After drinking three cups of tea and finishing off her breakfast plate as well as two pieces of toast, she decided to get dressed. It was a little tricky, and loose things seemed to be key. She settled on a short-sleeved shirt, some sweatpants, and warm socks. She needed Anona’s help to get a long-sleeve on, so it looked like she was staying inside for now.
She wandered back into her room and looked over the books on her bedside table: An Herbal Compendium, Divination and the Divine, Simple Spells for the Young Witch, and her trusty Guide to the Realms. Johannah’s book was in her still-packed backpacked, but she really didn’t want to read about traveling or other realms this morning. She settled on Simple Spells for the Young Witch, thinking simple was a good place to start.
After reading the first chapter, “Simple ways to protect oneself,” Mirabelle was wishing this was the first book she had read. It was full of handy charts of herbs, incantations, and crystals that worked for a myriad of problems. (She was certain the “unwanted lover” column would have worked wonders on Blondie.) That was quickly moved to the top of her to-do list, while Johannah’s book was moved down.
Just as she was starting chapter 2, “Quick chants to use in a crisis,” a knock at the door startled her. She looked up from her book, and upon seeing an obvious outline of Matthew, popped in her bookmark and answered.
“Hi!” She said excitedly. She had been hoping he would stop by last night, but she was sure it was a confusing night for his family.
“How’s your arm?” He asked, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“Nah, it’s sore but not too bad. Two clean breaks and an easy set. Plus, I’ve been up to the gills in potions to help with sleeping and stuff. Come in, let’s sit down.” Matthew took off his coat and boots. She led him to the couch.
“So, I talked to my mom.” He began. “At first, she just started crying, really hard. I don’t think I’ve seen her cry like that since my dad’s funeral. But it was kind of good, I guess. I mean, I was really worried she would have no idea what I was talki
ng about and make me go to the hospital.”
“What happened when she stopped crying?” Mirabelle put her hand over his.
“A lot. So, Anona was right, my dad was a warlock. He didn’t tell my mom about it until he got sick because he knew there was a chance one of us inherited it. This part was actually nice. My mom told me all about the day my dad finally confided in her. He sent the two of us to a double feature. Figured it would take a while to go through it all. She said that she didn’t believe him at first, but then he took her outside, put his hand on the ground, and the dormant January earth became green and alive. She laughed a lot telling this part. He was a Tiller, a warlock with a knack for making things grow. Which makes sense that the farm has really taken a hit since he died. And I’m clearly not a Tiller. Michael either.” Matthew started to look nervous.
“So my dad had a lot of warlock friends. He had buddies that he’d go hunting and camping with, like Ed MacEvoy, and when he told my mom about the whole warlock thing, he also told her about them. Told her that if Michael or I ever needed some guidance, who she should call, who she should lay off of.”
“Let me guess,” Mirabelle interjected. “Stay away from Ed MacEvoy?”
“Yeah. He and my dad were close when they were younger, like early twenties. Ed never really grew up. My dad stayed in touch with him though, because they had been friends for so long, and he kind of felt like he was Ed’s moral compass. But there’s this other warlock. Nick Gorman. He’s the one my dad told my mom about.”
“Are you going to call him? It might be a good idea. He can kind of show you the ropes of warlockhood.”
“Here’s the thing: he doesn’t have a phone. I guess he’s a really old fashioned guy. My dad told my mom, if one of us needed direction, to just show up at his house. He’d give us a crash course in what it means to be a warlock. So, I am going to do that, just show up.”
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