by Inelia Benz
“I suppose you would bring back slavery,” said Owen.
“I didn’t know it was gone,” replied Andrews.
“Touché.”
There was another explosion, “three hundred meters southwest,” said Andrews, “it might be wise for you to calm your young charge down Eoghan.”
“Call me Owen, and no, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said walking toward the drinks cabinet and pouring himself a large brandy, “although you can try to if you so please.”
Andrews smiled, “she’s ruining my grounds,” he said looking out the window, “why doesn’t she just leave and be done with it? We could then follow her and see where she takes us.”
“You won’t be able to follow her.”
“Oh, yes, she won’t get away this time, We’ve implanted a human locator, nice little gadget, completely undetectable,” he said and looked at Owen, “even by a mage.”
Another explosion.
“Doesn’t she ever get tired?”
“The youth of today,” said Owen, feeling extremely proud.
“She is not following a logical pattern,” said Andrews, “she should be gone by now.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to talk about people in their presence?”
Jennifer’s voice was like a breath of fresh air to Owen, who couldn’t contain his pride.
She stood on the doorway, a black box in one hand and a syringe in the other, her long red hair flying all around her, her body covered in leaves and mud, bits of an old dress and Owen’s jacket.
She looked like a Goddess, thought Owen.
Andrews stepped back toward the wall, fear deforming his face.
“Don’t’ hurt me,” he begged.
She stormed across the room and stood so close to Andrew he could hear her heart beat, she smelt of roses, Owen frowned.
“This,” she whispered, lifting the syringe, “is for you.” And she stuck it deep in his shoulder, “and this,” she said, lifting her hands to his head, “is to keep your mind busy for a while.”
Andrew’s eyes rolled back, his face distorted with pain and fear, and then fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Come on,” she said to Owen running down the corridor and out the front door. Owen followed her, still dumbfounded by what he had just witnessed.
They had turned his Jennifer into a cold blooded killer.
“Don’t worry so much, he’s not dead, just in a place I made up just for him.”
She stopped in front of a 4x4, and sighed.
“Can you drive?” she asked Owen, disappointment written all over her face.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Good, I’ve got lessons booked for next month,” she said walking to the passenger side.
They reached a signpost ten minutes later,
M6 60 miles.
“We’re in England,” they said in unison.
“Why do you think they brought us here?” She asked.
“Easier for you to get to London quickly. What do you want to do now? London or Dublin?”
“I’m not going anywhere near Heather until I have eliminated the threat. I saw what they have planned for her. We’ll go north on the M6, toward Manchester, then turn west toward Wales, we should reach Holyhead in about four or five hours, we’ll be in time for the evening ferry,” said Jennifer who had made the journey to Ireland by land several times in her life.
”We can stop and have a shower on the way,” Owen said.
“Not yet. Let’s put more miles between us and those animals first.”
“Can I ask you something?”
Jennifer nodded.
“What did you inject him with?”
“Oh, some tracer bug they wanted to implant me with,” she said, “I have a thing about needles, can’t stand them.”
Owen laughed. They hadn’t changed her too much.
“And this,” she said reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a black box, “is the receiver, we just need to plug it into a computer. Won’t be much good once Andrews comes round, but while he’s unconscious I reckon we could find out where their main hideout is.”
“Well done,” he said.
“Oh and Owen.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t die on me like that again. I didn’t like it.”
“Okay,” he said, a warm feeling filling his chest.
Chapter 15
The Sea View Hotel was a small and quiet affair, homemade food and friendly staff, Rossini had insisted on staying there. He didn’t think it correct to stay under a witch’s roof, no matter how charming she was, so there he was. At the hotel. Alone. With a Garda standing watch at the front door. And no women falling at his feet. This disconcerted him. Never in his life had women ignored him like that, not that he was interested or took any notice of them, but it was comforting having them around. He wondered if it had anything to do with Owen’s mother. Witches had a strange kind of magic, herbs and potions. Maybe she had marked him as hers or something. He’d have to have words.
The evening was setting in, it was warm.
She’s here, thought Rossini.
“Hello there Mr. Rossini,” Aeoife said, in a most enchanting manner.
“Mrs. Crow,” Rossini replied getting up to meet her, kissing her hand, “you are charming me, are you not?”
“Oh, I do hope so,” she replied, “although I could say the same about you, it must be your Latin customs.”
“So you have not given me a love potion?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that to the Great Rossini and to tell the truth have never had to do that to any man.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know,” she said smiling, “I’m afraid you are not in love just yet Mr. Rossini.”
He stood back, towering over her, wondering if she knew about his weakness. But then relaxed, what did it matter if a Witch knew his weakness, Witches presented no threat.
“Have you heard from Owen and that young lady yet, Mrs. Crow?” He asked as he offered his arm back to the waiting table.
“Not since the day before yesterday,” she said, blushing.
“Have I said something to embarrass you Mrs. Crow? Something inappropriate?”
“Oh, no, not at all, it’s just that certain thoughts cross my mind when I touch your muscular arms, thoughts that don’t cross my mind very often these days.”
That’s more like it, Rossini thought to himself.
After a luscious meal they retired to the front terrace to look at the stars shining on the Irish Sea.
“I hope you don’t think this as impertinent Mrs. Crow, but there is something which has been plaguing my mind since we began this wonderful evening together. I was wondering if by any chance you had placed a spell to repel other women from me?”
Aeoife smiled, “guilty I’m afraid Mr. Rossini, it won’t last long, but I thought I’d like to spend the evening without any women ‘accidentally’ spilling their drinks on me and fainting into your arms. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. May I ask what sort of spell it was? I can’t detect it.”
“Herbs Mr. Rossini, human nature is by its very essence vulnerable to scent.”
“Aha! I was right. That is what I thought all along,” he said. Herbs and potions, the Witch’s Way, he’d have to look into it if he ever decided to spend more time in his physical body.
“Call me Aeoife.”
“Tell me Aeoife, are you of this land?”
“No, I am of the Belgae, was born on the Age of the World 5247 in what is now called the town of Devon, I left England at the arrival of Claudius’ legions, the Emperor’s idea of a woman’s place in society was not shared by my people, we traveled west and crossed the sea to this island, where I spent the early part of my life and where I was named Aeoife of the Crow by the Old Ones.”
“Claudius, a great strategist. This means I am your senior by only three hundred years. Tell me, why did yo
u stay after the Old Ones left these isles?”
“I was not the only one to stay behind, others did as well. To tell the truth I don’t like moving around too much, I prefer to stay put.”
They listened to the waves splash gently against the rocks. It was a quiet night.
“What do you want of my son Mr. Rossini?”
The question took Rossini by surprise. He had forgotten Aeoife was not just any Witch, but his rival’s mother.
“Owen challenged me for the Staff Mrs. Crow. I believe his challenge to be due to his bonding to that young woman. If this is the case it is most illegal.”
“Are you planning to prove he is in love so he can be thrown out of the Council?”
“Well, no, yes, unless I can do something about it. He is not ready for a challenge. I would crush him in no time at all. The battle wouldn’t be a battle, it would be murder.”
“How honorable of you. But I well know that he is capable of crushing you, although I doubt very much whether he knows it himself.”
“Spoken like a true mother.”
“Love, Mr. Rossini is not a crime, even if called by different names. Everyone is capable of love, even such a man as yourself can learn how to love.”
“Are you offering to teach me?”
“How could I teach the art of love to a man who plans on crushing my eldest son?”
“Many women have loved me Mrs. Crow, this does not mean I loved them.”
“Wanting to own someone, or wanting to be owned by someone is not love Mr. Rossini,” Aeoife replied, touching his hand with her fingers.
Rossini shuddered from head to foot and jumped off his seat, taking a defensive position.
“What was that, what have you done to me?” he asked, feeling dizzy and sick.
“If you stop fighting it, it won’t make you sick. It is all around us, the universe is impregnated with it, it is the essence of existence. It is unconditional love, or you could call it admiration if you wanted to give it another name.”
Rossini composed himself and sat back down, no Witch frightened him. It was a mere trick, nothing else. It was normal for a mother to try to protect her son.
He looked up at the sky and noticed the stars seemed brighter than ever, the sea air was fresher than he remembered and he felt fulfilled, satisfied, happy.
Then it faded away and he felt empty.
“Hmm, that was a good trick, I liked it,” he said.
Aeoife smiled. Sometimes all a person had to do was to plant the seed, a word at the right moment, a touch in the right setting, and the mind would do the rest.
“Would you walk me back to my place Mr. Rossini?”
Rossini got up and offered his arm to the most enchanting Witch he had ever met. Owen was lucky to have such a woman to call mother. He wondered what that would make him if he ever married this woman. Owen’s father? He laughed at the thought. It would be a great strike against his rival. He could make challenges against a mage’s own family illegal, which would render Owen out of play.
Dinner is in the oven - said a note which waited for Owen as he walked into Aeoife’s kitchen.
“She’s not home,” he said and looked in the oven, cottage pie on top and a fruit pie on the bottom, “they are still warm,” he said pulling them out.
Jennifer fetched some plates and cutlery. Soon they were digging into the delicious meal Aeoife had left them. They hadn’t eaten for three days.
“Where are they, do you think?”
“Oh, Aeoife will keep him off our backs for as long as she can, I’m sure, and Rossini won’t suspect a thing, he thinks witches are amateurs at the art of mage.”
“Who is he? Why does he need to be kept off our backs?”
“Well, off my back to be more precise. He has something I want and if he can stop me getting it he will, he’ll use any excuse.”
“And what is it he has?”
“The Staff.”
“The time machine? You want to take the time machine off him?”
“It’s more than a time machine, whoever holds it is Head of the Council of Elders, rules unquestionably over all the Council Elders in the world. Like a president. One can only take the Staff from the Holder by a battle of power, whichever wins keeps the Staff.”
“A president is democratically elected, what you are describing is more in the nature of a dictatorship. According to your notebook you have spent most of your life in pursuit of this Staff thing, which, tell me if I am wrong, would mean your ultimate aim in life is to become a dictator.”
Owen frowned. Jennifer had a way of putting things that made him rather angry.
“The system was designed to keep people like Andrews and his co-conspirators away from the Staff. As long as an individual holds it no group of mages can use it to open the dimensions and rule past, present and future.”
“What if a Shadow joined your Council, took the Staff, became Holder and brought it to its mates?”
“Andrews is part of the Council, he knows my true name and he heard the challenge. The nature of the Staff has it that whoever holds it is very reluctant to let go of it. A lone mage holding the Staff is much more powerful than if working in a group, even if he or she can’t travel through time with it by themselves.”
“How do you know?”
“Like you, Aeoife told me.”
“How did she find out?”
“The Keeper told her, I guess.”
“The Keeper? Who is the Keeper?”
“Keepers are light beings who make sure things run smoothly in the dimensions.”
“Smoothly for whom?”
“Good question. On earth it would be for humans I guess, and all the other living beings herein.”
“You would have thought they’d do something about oil spills and nuclear bombs then, wouldn’t you. Why can’t this light being just take the Staff away from earth and be done with it?”
“I don’t know.”
Owen reached over for the fruit pie, served himself a second piece and carried on eating. He didn’t know. He didn’t know why Keepers behaved the way they did, he didn’t know why Jennifer had managed to turn his life quest into a useless and unethical pastime.
“How are the Shadow planning on getting the Staff off that man?”
“There are a couple of ways I guess, if they have a witch in their ranks he or she would probably be able to take the Staff at any time, or they could wait until Heather came into her powers.”
“Witches? Are they more powerful than Council Elders?
“According to the Keeper, some of them are. They have a different kind of power.”
“Is Aeoife more powerful?”
“I guess she could be, probably.”
“Why doesn’t she take the Staff and keep it safe?”
“I don’t think keeping the Staff away from the Shadow is of her concern, only keeping us safe is, and ultimately the only way to keep us safe is for us to learn to protect ourselves and we can only do that on our own. It’s one of the puzzling aspects of the Way of the Witch.”
“That’s why she left me on my own against the Shadow.”
“Yes.”
“What if I had lost? What if I had taken them to Heather? It could have changed the history of the world, and it could have made the earth a living hell.”
“I guess she knew you wouldn’t lose.”
“I don’t think she knew,” Jennifer replied, disturbed at the responsibility on her shoulders.
There was a giggle outside the front door.
Owen closed his eyes, listening to Aeoife behave like that affected him badly.
“You look green, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“I think the lovebirds are back,” said Jennifer getting up and walking to the door.
Owen started clearing the table. He listened to the greetings at the front door and hoped they wouldn’t all come into the kitchen.
Great Rossini’s grating voice thundered f
rom the kitchen doorway a few minutes later.
“Owen, so this is the woman you are bonded to?”
Owen turned and saw Jennifer hanging from Rossini’s left arm, squeezing against him, looking up at him in admiration. The rage was fast and overwhelming taking over Owen’s body, making him lose all reason. He felt the power rise inside him, ready to strike.
“No, Owen,” Aeoife’s voice drowned his emotions like a bucket of cold water.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Said Jennifer, looking at Rossini, smiling like a teenager in love, “I am so pleased for you Mrs. Crow, it’s so nice to see old people in love. Not that you are that old Mrs. Crow, nor you Mr. Rossini, you are very young looking, both of you. Oh, I think it’s so romantic. Don’t you Owen?”
“What is so romantic?”
“Mrs. Crow and Mr. Rossini, they are back from a date.”
“Working dinner, Owen, your mother was kind enough to keep me company until your return, nothing romantic I assure you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that Mr. Rossini,” said Aeoife smiling, “your friend is a real gentleman Owen.”
“Your mother?” Asked Jennifer, “Jesus, how many more of your relatives do I know Owen?”
“Adoptive mother,” he replied, giving Aeoife a nasty look, “and no other relatives, come on, we better get back to your computer.”
“Leaving so soon?” Asked Aeoife.
“We left something running on Jennifer’s computer before coming over, we have to go and check on it,” Owen replied ripping Jennifer off his rival’s arm and pulling her toward the door.
“Yes, of course, we better get going,” said Jennifer, smiling away.
“I’ll come with you,” said Rossini, but Aeoife held his arm.
“I think Owen sees you as a threat to his manhood Mr. Rossini, it might be best if you left the young ones on their own.”
“I heard that!” shouted Owen from the front gate.
“But I need to observe them, his condition intrigues me.”
“You cannot know the flavor of a strawberry simply by looking at it Mr. Rossini. Besides, the overtones of possessive love are rather destructive, and it is possessive love Owen feels at the moment, a weak and powerless state which poses no threat to a man like you.”