Dilwyn looked at me when he next spoke. “So, Tromm -- that’s his name -- said he'd heard nothing about a secret passageway into the Peak. Doesn’t believe there is one, in fact. And I’ve gotta say, I believe him too. Tromm’s got a lot of manpower down in them there tunnels. His men -- if we can call them that for this purpose -- know the chambers of Burning Peak like the back of their hand.”
“So you don’t think there’s an entrance then?” I asked.
Werelamb shrugged. “Seems unlikely.”
“Rumors and subterfuge,” Portia said. “This renegade grumlin is just stirring up some mischief among his kind. Maybe he was kicked out of his tribe and is trying to create trouble.”
Dilwyn nodded but kept his gaze on me. “That’s what I reckon. Just some mischief to send wannabe crooks -- who want Black Diamond bad enough -- to crawl over the rock- cutters lands. Our little friends hate intrusions like this, so it would be a great vengeance move if you wanted to really upset them.”
“Okay, so still no way into the falls other than through the cascade itself,” I said, scratching my chin. “Not until the grumlins stymie the flow, that is.”
“Uh, yeah, about that flow,” Dilwyn said, looking out at the horizon. “Little critters say it’s gonna be another two weeks at least before they can lower the water pressure.”
Portia took a sharp intake of breath. “Not acceptable,” she snapped on her outbreath.
“Lady, I don’t have the power to make the waterfall do anythin’ other than what it does already. I’m just relaying the message is all.”
The Witch Fearwyn folded her arms and focused on a distant spot on the horizon.
I sighed. “Dilwyn, like I said … you’ve been a great help. But, please, please don’t put yourself in a dangerous position like that again, okay? If Shields’ cronies would have caught you ... well …” I trailed off.
Dilwyn chuckled again. “Sounds fair to me, now, if you’ll beg my pardon, I’m gonna take my chariot home and try to lift the curse that Shields’ posse zapped it with.” He looked at his still-hexed and violently shuddering broom as it thrashed in the sand.
“I hear you’re applying for a water feature for your Merman Pool?” I said. I didn’t want him to leave on such a sour note, and I knew the project was a big deal to Dilwyn. He laughed. “Yeah, if the suits can cut through all that red-tape then I may have a fountain before the next Perseid meteor shower.”
“Tough crowd, huh?” I sympathized. The bureaucracy of our administrative capital was exhausting, to say the least. A person’s every move, action or intention needed a permit of some kind, it seemed.
“They are at that,” Werelamb confessed. “But I’ve followed the building code for the pool to a tee, so I’m hoping that’ll get some attention, at least.” The farmer smiled. “It’s nearly finished, Hattie. You should come on out and see it. I’ve just harvested all the Sorcery Apples, so there’s some pretty decent cider up for grabs too,” he said.
“I’d love nothing more,” I said. “Are you going to have enough water in your well to fill your pool?” I joked.
Werelamb smiled. “Not using well water … I’m filling it from the saltwater stream at the back of my land there,” he explained.
I nodded. “What are you thinking for the water feature? Some mythical sea monster?”
The farmer erupted into warm, resonant laughter. “Ah, you know me so well, Hattie,” he said shaking his head. “Although I’m sure it’ll be something along them lines, I haven’t really given it that much thought yet. But I want it to be … I dunno … impressive, somehow.” He laughed again. “Anyway, I hope you and your furry crew can make it out sometime.”
“We’ll be sure to drop by soon, you can bet on it. Can’t wait until it’s finished, and you have your ‘impressive’ water feature in.”
Jet rubbed his cheeks against Dilwyn’s legs. “Yep, yep, yep.”
Werelamb lunged for his thrashing broom and wrestled with it for a full minute before he could get it into position. Which left the man in a much more vulnerable stance; a male and his delicate ‘bits’ straddling a very lively and supremely solid stick is not, in my opinion, an enviable bearing. Somehow the farmer managed to lift off, however. Portia and I watched him as he careened and floundered until we lost him in a veil of cloud cover.
The Witch Fearwyn looked at me. “We will need to speak of events this evening, of course,” she said, already mounting and pointing her broom in the direction of the Gorthland Swamps.
“Absolutely,” I said, ushering my kitties onto my own steed. “I’m sure Hinrika and Verdantia will have something to say about their visit to Mag Mell and Ankou.”
“We can but hope,” Portia said. “And maybe that foo … I mean, fellow, of yours, will have some additional data regarding young Nugget’s death too.” She paused, and then glanced at me. “Until then.” She pushed off with one foot and looked over her shoulder at Jet. “You did well today, fidgety-fudge.” Portia flew upward, and Jet purred so loud and forceful that his head turned into a wobbling, vibrating ball. Unbearably cute.
I pushed off and pointed my broom-head toward Gless Inlet and the Angel. To be honest, I was grateful to be going home. Hopefully, it meant just a few hours of downtime and peace and distraction from all this madness going on.
Hope’s a funny thing …
Chapter Eight
I landed the broom at the back of the Angel as I usually do. The cats hopped off, and Jet led the way through the backdoor into the apothecary’s kitchen. We had all kinds of security wards attached to the back entrance, but my kitties were more than familiar with their workings. It had been Grandma Chimera who had enchanted the door in the first place, and, as my cats were immortal and had spent decades with dear Chimera, they knew how to pick a lock.
I’d just pushed the door shut behind me when I heard Jet screech: “FIRE!”
The sound of claws on bare floorboards scraped against my ears, as three cats stampeded in excitable confusion around the floor of the Angel. Running to the front of the shop, I was just in time to see Jet leap from the floor to the counter in a blur of black motion, snatch the water-spray bottle, tuck his head, and roly-poly back to the ground. He landed in a perfect configuration for an all-out strike: resting on his two back feet, his two front paws before him, wielding the spray bottle whose nozzle pointed directly at Millie. I could see why Jet may have wanted to douse my assistant. Her hair had apparently caught fire while we were gone. There was a moment’s hesitation on both Millie’s and Jet’s part. But Jet’s nerve, emboldened by the sight of Millie Midge’s hair of living flame, won the race, and my kitty pulled the trigger. And with much enthusiasm, I might add.
Millie did her best to defend herself; I mean if you can call fluttering a pair of perfectly manicured hands before your face defense.
Jet lept forward, and brandishing the bottle with an outstretched paw, my zippy cat got positively trigger-happy and gave my assistant a thorough soaking.
Just as Millie’s do began to drip with fat water droplets, I realized her hair wasn’t on fire after all. “Jet, enough now, buddy. It’s out. The fire’s out.” I took a tentative step toward him, being careful not to spook him while he was all crazy-vibrations and madness. “Buddy, enough now.” My voice was gentle, and I rubbed Jet’s back with a soft touch. Finally, my catnip addled cat’s body relaxed a little. His eyes filled with the golden light of his iris’.
I gave my assistant an apologetic smile and nodded to her glorious mane. “Violet’s work, I take it?”
“It was.”
“The left side’s still dry,” I commented, hopefully helpfully. Looking down at the furry perp in the room, I said: “Jet, go get Millie a towel.”
“Yep, yep, yep, yep.” He was just happy to be outta there.
My assistant wiped water from her face. “It was supposed to be like fire,” she said. “It’s a new color-blend that Violet got in last week. Dancing Flame, it’s called.”
I nodded. “W
ell, it’s pretty convincing. You had Jet fooled, anyway, so kudos to Violet for this work of art.” I moved toward my friend and flicked a long strand of her mane toward the light. Auburns, oranges, blues, violets, and even shimmering pinks; all dazzled under the arc of the shop’s lamps. “It’s beautiful, Millie,” I breathed. I’ll admit, I was impressed. This was definitely Violet’s finest work to date. “So much color movement. It really looks … well, alive.”
My assistant warmed a little; she smiled and shook her one dry patch of hair. Just like leaping flames. “Hence the name: Dancing Flame,” she offered.
Jet padded in with a small towel in his mouth. He dropped it in front of Millie and looked at her with a pair of remorseful eyes. But Millie still wasn’t entirely over it.
“Not cool. Not one bit,” she said, wringing out her hair with Jet’s proffered towel. A droplet of water rolled from my assistant’s bangs into her eye. She squinted and breathed out a heavy sigh.
“Aww, Millie, nope, nope, not cool,” Jet babbled. My fast-kitty took a gingerly step toward her. “I … nope, I didn’t mean to do that. I just thought, yep, it was a real fire, you know, yep?”
Gloom, who had been watching the proceedings from the floor, tapped Millie’s shin. “He’s lying,” she said, her tone flat. “He wanted to repay you for all the mistings you’ve given him over the years.”
“Ugh,” Millie groaned. She flipped her hair upside down and gave it a vigorous rub with the hand towel. “I spent a fortune for this do, Jetpack,” she said, staring at Jet from her upside down position.
My lip was sore from biting down on a welling laughter. I felt terrible for Millie, of course, but the comedic relief of Jet’s antics made me feel lighter somehow. Goddess knew I could do with a little lightness in my life right now. I’m sure Millie’s light-refracting hair would have been a great provider of this lightness, had Jet not doused my assistant’s ‘flame.’
My eyes flew to an open book near the register. It looked ancient, and I could smell the musty pages from where I stood. Unable to resist an old tome, I traced a finger over the open page. The text sprawled across the leaf in a series of archaic symbols; faded vermillion on yellowed parchment. “Futhark?” I said spinning toward Millie.
“Good eye,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and in one deft move, pushing it through a hair elastic. Millie moved toward the volume.
“What is it, and why do you have it?” I quizzed.
“I’m helping Reverend Peacefield and Gabby.”
“Well, I guess, in the grander scheme of things, I’m helping you and the Custodians.”
“Wait, what?” I furrowed my eyebrows.
“Yeah, Gabby spoke to Thaddeus this morning and came here straight after. She enlisted me for the translation side of things.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Millie, I’m lost.”
My friend sighed. “Peacefield had been trying to reach you, yes? Gabby said she had stepped in for you and had promised to speak to the vicar herself. Well, she did just that, and now, in the interest of saving the Coven Isles from the Warlock Chief and his fire-breathing pet, I’m helping Thaddeus and Gabrielle with some research.” She raised an eyebrow at me in question; asking me if I was ‘getting it.’ “Dragon research, in short. Make sense now?” Millie didn’t wait for my answer; she just leaned over the Avalon book to inspect the text again.
“Wow,” I said. “You guys are all kinds of amazing. But what kind of dragon research?”
Gloom and Onyx hopped onto the counter, poking their faces in between Millie and me.
Jet maintained his awkward pacing on the floor.
“Well, all kinds, really,” Millie said. “But, I guess, specifically, we’re looking for information or histories on how one might … uh … disable a dragon.”
Good idea.
“Good idea,” I said. “Thaddeus’ plan?”
“Yep. He’s got a ton of material to get through, so he needed backup. Artemus will pitch in once he’s done trying to figure out the body armor for the cats. He got held up for a bit as he was examining the diamond weapon for the ch … your man, I mean. So right now it’s just me, Gabby and Peacefield trawling through this heavy material.”
“You said ‘disable,’” I said. “Sounds very humane.”
A lock -- or should I say, lick -- of hair fell onto Millie’s face, illuminating her already glowing skin. “Uh, yeah, I know,” she said. “But that was the word Thaddeus used. Personally, I’d have liked it more if he had used the word slay, but you know the vicar. He didn’t inherit his surname in vain, that’s for sure.”
I smiled at Millie’s wisecrack. Thaddeus Peacefield possessed an inspirational level of placid nonviolent ideals. And apparently, the vicar afforded this pacifistic trait to both man and beast alike.
I turned my attention back to the book. “This is some pretty ancient stuff,” I said, tracing my finger along the leather margins of the tome.
It hit me then. “Oh, my Goddess! Is this book from the Avalon Vaults?” My face must have looked a sight because Millie guffawed. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she advised. “Thaddeus has sworn me to secrecy, though. Well, within the boundaries of the Custodians and the Friends of the Custodians, that is.”
“He’d be thrown out of the church in a heartbeat if they caught him,” I mused. “The Reverend’s risking a lot on my behalf.”
Millie snapped the book shut. I marveled at her rough-handling of the fragile artifact.
“How vain can you be?” My assistant hissed. Her face boiled a deep red, matching some cleverly infused highlights in her hair. “Peacefield isn’t doing work on your behalf! None of us are. We’re breaking canon law because our Isles and our planet are under threat. We have no choice in the matter, so it’s not really about helping out the almighty Hattie Jenkins.”
If I could have turned into smoke the way my fire-loving cat, Carbon can, I would have. Talk about embarrassing. Even I was taken off-guard by my monumental ego.
“That sounded …. wrong in so many ways,” I said. “I’m sorry, Millie, it didn’t mean to come out like that.”
Idiot.
My assistant blew out a long breath. “I know. And I’m sorry for blowing up like that. It’s just … well… see for yourself.” She waved a hand over the leather-bound volume. “I’m looking at a document that was just recently buried in the archives of the lowest of the Avalon Vaults, for Goddess’ sake! What is the world coming to that a joe-schmoe like me gets to clap eyes on such revered and sacred texts?”
You might, at this point, wonder why my friend was freaking out so much. But if you knew anything about the history of the Avalon Vaults, you’d realize what a big deal this was. The treasures of the two lowest chambers at Saint Pendragon’s church were not items the general public got to see. No, these vaults are closed off to practically everyone but the church. Only the top chamber remains open to the public. There are all kinds of historical curios, and some even grisly, but nothing with any ‘meat,’ as it were. The secrets and magical artifacts of the lower two chambers, however, allegedly contained stuff that could only come to no good in the wrong person’s hands. Our friend, the gentle vicar, Thaddeus Peacefield, was the current preaching clergyman of Saint Pens, and also the residing guardian for the Vaults. The Reverend had undoubtedly sworn an oath to protect the chambers’ contents and never to let anyone see what the underground rooms contained. But here was Millie Midge -- not even a member of the magical community, mind you -- browsing through a tome written from a distant magical age -- like it was the spring edition of Cosmo. Desperate times indeed.
“Millie Midge, come here,” I said, moving toward my friend. I intended to hug her. I’d say it was to calm her down a little, but if I’m to be honest, I think I was the one who needed placating. I drew her into me, and we both leaned in for a tight embrace. “I’m scared,” she whispered against my shoulder.
“Me too,” I said. “But, look at us …. we’re
all working together. Which is exactly what we need to do. We still have a chance to find the Wyrmrig before Shields births his dragon. And with you guys coming up with alternative solutions … solutions for if we can’t get the Wymrig to play ball and join forces with us … well, we’re on the right track, right?” I pushed Millie to arm's length and looked at her. “Tell me what you’re working on right now, fireball,” I teased.
“You first, super-witch,” she giggled.
I arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, c’mon, girlfriend, you know you’ve got … something that nobody else has.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Millie.” But I had an idea. I knew everyone thought I had a power bigger than I cared to acknowledge. And I agreed with them, to a point. But I realized now that my fans had blown the whole power thing out of proportion. Why was everyone acting like I was a God or something?
“Hattie, you have an innate power inside you. You know it. Everyone knows it. Everyone can feel it for Goddess’ sake.”
“I don’t understand where everyone is getting this idea from,” I said, holding up my hands. “I can barely cast a simple baking spell.”
“You’ve unlocked most of those wards on your wand,” Millie said, sticking her chin out. “What’s that if not some kind of mega power? I mean, Hattie, that’s your late Grandma Chimera’s wand you carry, and she was known to be one of the most powerful witches around when she was alive.” Millie pointed a finger at me. “And even Chimera didn’t manage to unlock those wards. How many have you unlocked?”
Goddess, this conversation made me uncomfortable. “Four,” I mumbled.
Millie grabbed my arm and looked directly into my eyes. “Four,” she said. “Four out of five, to be precise.” My assistant sighed. “You have only one left. And maybe it’s this last ward that will help our cause somehow.”
Shaking my head, I pulled out my wand. “Millie, look,” I said, tapping the final unlocked ward on the wand. The LOVE ward. “How the dickens do you think I can save the world with LOVE magic? What, you think I’m going to love the Warlock dragon to death?”
The Angel and the Dragon Page 8