Broom with a View

by Gayla Twist

  Finding her wand in her hand, Violet jerked it through the air, once, twice, thrice, tracing a triangle above them while whispering a spell she didn’t even realize she knew. There was a flash of light and then a twinkling of gold falling through the air like snow. All around them stood a gazebo that sparkled and shimmered in the night. A table with two chairs materialized before them. The table was set with all the necessities for a light tea. Every detail was there, down to the biscuits. The steam coming out of the teapot seemed to indicate that the water was good and hot.

  Vera’s eyes became a little more focused with the appearance of the tea. “Help me to the chair, dear,” she said to her niece. Violet immediately complied. The crowd swarmed around them, bumping and knocking into the gazebo, but no one managed to gain entrance. This was comforting but did little to stop Vera’s hands from quaking. “Would you please pour?” she asked her niece. “If I could just get my nerves calmed down a bit, I’ll get us out of this.”

  There was a loud commotion at the opposite end of the street. Violet turned her head to see a fine pumpkin coach careening in their direction. Conveyances shaped like various gourds were all the rage in X that season. The horses had been driven mad by the rioting and burning of buildings, and it was obvious that the people in the coach were in grave danger as the vehicle rocked tenuously from side to side. The callousness of a large crowd did not work in favour of the occupants, who might have received a little more compassion if they could be seen, but all the shades were drawn. The mob swarmed around the fine coach, jeering and laughing. A group of men decided it would be diverting to tip the coach, and they gathered on one side to accomplish that small bit of violence. “The people,” Vera croaked in a hoarse whisper, “in the coach. Surely they’ll be killed.”

  Chapter 9: The Magic of a Kind Heart

  With the aid of the rioters, the carriage was teetering on two wheels and about to crash to the cobblestones. Voices could be heard from within, screaming in terror.

  “No!” Violet gasped, leaping from her seat. There could be no cause to damage such a splendid carriage and risk the lives of the occupants, even during a large-scale riot. Before she realized it, Violet’s wand-bearing hand shot into the air, a spell upon her lips.

  A dozen ethereal strongmen wearing singlets and sporting large handlebar mustaches and razor-straight parts in the center of their hair appeared on the opposite side of the coach, preventing it from being upended. Seeing their hijinks foiled angered the crowd, and several ruffians tried to attack the strongmen but without much success. Their punches and kicks passed right through the muscle-bound heroes without drawing their attention. When it became obvious that there was no way to injure the magical strongmen, the ruffians moved on, and so did the rest of crowd.

  Stirring her wand in the air, Violet commanded the strongmen to lead the horses and carriage under the protection of the gazebo, the structure expanding to accommodate the extravagant vehicle. “You’re safe now,” Violet said, tapping at the carriage door as the strongmen dissipated into the breeze. “You can come out if you like.” After a few moments of hearing no response, she added, “There’s tea.”

  The door cracked open, and a bespectacled young man with a pointed face peeked out, the gold glint of the gazebo reflecting off his pince-nez. “Are you sure it’s quite safe?” he queried.

  Violet glanced at the crowd surging around the gazebo. “I believe so,” she replied.

  The man closed the door again. There was a brief lull and then it banged back open, revealing a rather imperious-looking woman dressed in an abundance of velvet. The shape of her face made it obvious that she and the young man were related, more than likely mother and son. Her dress and carriage revealed that she was wealthy, but there was no hint of the other world about her. She was not of magical folk. Not that being a regular human should be held against anyone, but it was something Violet always noticed within the first several seconds of meeting anyone new.

  “Was it your spell that saved us?” the lady asked, turning to Vera once she had alighted from her conveyance.

  “Hmmm?” Vera looked up from where she perched, gulping her tea, her eyes still a bit vague and unfocused.

  Taking in the state of the older Witch, the lady said, “Oh, please excuse me,” and then turned to address Violet. “It must have been you.” She gestured towards the shimmering gold gazebo. “Is this your creation?”

  “Well...” The girl directed her eyes modestly towards the ground. “I was afraid we were going to be trampled.” The young man had slipped out of the carriage and was standing behind and slightly to the side of his mother. He surveyed the gazebo and then gave Violet such a look of admiration that it made her cheeks burn. “I really,” she mumbled. “I just... I mean… it’s nothing,” she said.

  “I am Lady Wilberforce, and this is my son, Cyril,” the grand woman said, starting the formalities of getting acquainted.

  “Thank you for your kindness in sharing your shelter,” the young said.

  “This is my aunt, Miss Vera Tartlette, and I’m Violet Popplewell,” the girl said for her turn in the introductions.

  The ladies exchanged curtseys, and Cyril made a stiff little bow. Even Vera had collected herself enough to give a nod to the newcomers. “Won’t you please sit and have tea?” Violet asked, automatically conjuring two additional chairs and place settings with her wand. “I’m afraid it’s impossible to go anywhere until after the riot is over, and that may take a while longer.” The newcomers were only too happy to join them.

  The Wilberforces lived in a villa outside the city, but much like Violet and her aunt, they had heard earlier in the day that the hostilities had ended. So they thought to come to town to take advantage of their opera tickets. It was only after the crowd had overtaken them and torn their driver from his seat that they fully realized the danger they faced.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “The violence appears to be dissipating,” Cyril observed after cleaning his small, round glasses with a soft cloth and replacing them on the tip of his nose. They had been sitting in the gazebo for nearly an hour, and in that time the young man had polished his glasses three times.

  Lady Wilberforce looked around, noting the emptying street. “And so it does.” She applied the linen napkin Violet had provided to the corners of her mouth. “Well, Cyril, if we can manage to find our coachman, it appears we may be able to return to the villa this evening, after all.”

  Vera, who had up to this point calmed considerably, suddenly began to quake, her teacup rattling against its saucer. “Oh, please,” she said, half rising from her seat. “We couldn’t possibly...” she began. “There is no way...” She faltered. Clearing her throat, she started afresh, “I am convinced there is no way we could possibly walk back to our pensione and make it there alive.” Then, cringing from the strain of imposing upon a veritable stranger, she ventured, “Would it be asking too much that you might possibly take us to our domicile?”

  “My dear woman,” Cyril exclaimed. “You have all but saved our lives. The least we can do is...” his words faded on his lips, silenced by a look from his mother.

  “I don’t believe it will be too much of an inconvenience,” Lady Wilberforce stated. “If we are able to recover our driver.”

  Cyril cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could guide the carriage.” Turning to Violet, he added, “I’m not a bad seat, all things considered.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” his mother told him. “I’m sure there’s more to it than just staying astride a horse. Besides, how would that look? You, gallivanting around like a member of the livery.”

  “I’m sure no one would notice. At least, not during the riot,” Cyril insisted.

  “I would notice,” his mother informed him, her tone conveying that the topic would not be pursued further.

  After giving it some thought, Vera hazarded, “I could try a small summoning charm. Your man might still be in the area.”

  “Would you?” Lady
Wilberforce made direct eye contact with Violet, mistakenly believing the girl had made the offer. “Oh, that would be such a help. Please do.”

  “No, it was me that...” Vera started to correct the lady but then ran shy on resolve.

  Violet flushed as she pulled her grandmother’s wand from her pocket. “Oh, I’m simply horrible at these things.”

  “Just do your best, dear,” Lady Wilberforce said.

  “I hope I don’t make a mess of it,” the girl mumbled. After wiping the wand on the hem of her dress, she used it to slowly trace the equator while whispering a short summoning charm.

  A silvery mist began to flow out of the end of Violet’s wand. She stared at it with as much astonishment as the nonmagical folk. The stream of mist rose into the air, divided, and then divided again, each branch heading in a different direction. “I’m not sure that was right,” Vera said, eyeing her niece’s mist with skepticism. “We might be better off if I were to...”

  Lady Wilberforce silenced the Witch by raising her hand to shoulder height, palm forwards, like a police constable directing traffic to stop. The little group sat in silence for several minutes, Violet shamefaced with the knowledge that yet another of her attempts at magic was an abject failure.

  “Excuse me, Lady Wilberforce.” A man in a torn livery uniform limped up to where they sat. He was clutching his arm and had quite a bit of dried blood on his swollen face. “Would you be needing to take the carriage back to the villa?”

  “Foster, where have you been?” Lady Wilberforce admonished him, apparently not noticing the man’s dilapidated condition.

  “Begging your pardon,” the coachman said. “After the mob pulled me from the coach, I got knocked around a bit and then I’m afraid I lost consciousness because everything after that is black. I just woke a few moments ago in a doorway. I guess some kind soul must have taken pity on me and placed me there.”

  “Look at the state of you,” the lady continued, obviously too overwrought to realize her servant was in pain. “The repair of your uniform will come out of your next month’s wages.”

  “I think he’s been injured,” Violet said, leaping to her feet to help the man. “Here, take my chair.”

  “That’s all right, miss,” the coachman said, with a glance in his employer’s direction. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix, I’m sure.”

  “I insist,” the girl said, guiding him to her seat. “Your arm might very well be broken. Let me at least look at it.”

  “You might as well give the child her way,” Vera said with a hint of exasperation. Turning to Lady Wilberforce, she continued, “She was always nursing injured creatures when she was a little girl. A bird couldn’t fall out of a nest without Violet being there to mend its wing. We used to say that she must have a bit of the fairy in her,” she said with a small laugh. “But we were only joking, naturally,” Vera hastily added with an uneasy glance in the other lady’s direction.

  “She has a kind heart,” Cyril said, rising from his seat to more closely observe the girl ministering to the coachman. Lady Wilberforce turned to regard Violet with renewed interest.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “I can’t believe it’s gone,” Vera said, choking back the tears that threatened to flood her cheeks. “Why is it that every building we turn to for refuge always ends up being in ruins?”

  It was true; the Belladonna Pensione had ceased to be. All that was left was a smoking pile of rubble and ash. “At least we should feel happy that we decided not to stay,” her niece tried to console her. “I do hope the proprietress is all right.”

  “But what do we do now?” Vera wailed. “Where shall we go? What will become of us?” A thought occurred to the elder Witch that caused her to truly melt down. “What will I tell your mother?”

  Violet put an arm around her aunt to comfort her, but in truth, she couldn’t think of what they were to do either. That was the trouble with being just sixteen, she decided. One hadn’t lived through enough crises to know how to act.

  It was then that Cyril stepped forwards, clearing his throat and steadying the glasses on the tip of his nose. “I hope you don’t think us too familiar, but my mother and I would like to offer you shelter at our villa. There’s plenty of room, and you’d be most welcome.”

  Both females turned to look at the young man. “That’s very kind of you,” Vera began, “but we couldn’t possibly.”

  Astonished, Violet pulled away from her aunt. “My Goddess, Vera. Why forever not?”

  “It’s not done,” the elder Witch explained. “We’ve only just met.”

  “It’s the least we can do,” Cyril insisted. “I mean, you practically saved our...”

  “I think having survived a riot together means we can forego a few formalities.” Lady Wilberforce’s voice eclipsed that of her son. “And besides, Cyril isn’t the type of man to leave two helpless women stranded when he could easily offer aid.”

  Cyril flushed a little and made a small bow.

  “I think we have no choice,” Violet said, surveying the smoking rubble of the Belladonna once more. “Half the city is in ruin.”

  “But your mother...” Her aunt began to protest anew.

  “I’m sure mother will understand,” Violet assured her.

  “I insist,” Cyril said, holding out his hand to help the ladies back into the coach.

  “You see,” Violet said. “Mr. Wilberforce is insisting. We really wouldn’t want to be rude by refusing his kind offer.”

  Vera’s fear of being ungracious, combined with her terror of being left to fend for herself and her niece on the war-torn streets of X, was enough to overcome her scruples over etiquette. “Well.” She smoothed her dress and allowed the young man to lead her to the step of the coach. “If you insist.”

  Chapter 10: The Magic of Mortals

  The term “villa” was really more of a euphemism for the enormous mansion where Lady Wilberforce and her son resided when visiting X. There were enough guest rooms and water closets to accommodate ten times the number of guests that had arrived unexpectedly. The servants didn’t even have to rush around to get the linens ready for Violet and her aunt. Lady Wilberforce liked to have several guest rooms prepared at all times in case of an unplanned arrival. From what Violet could observe, this occurrence didn’t seem to happen too frequently, but Lady Wilberforce did not appear to be the kind of woman who tolerated being unprepared.

  The room where they stood, which Lady Wilberforce referred to as “the small salon” when ordering the serving of tea from the butler, was larger than most of the houses on Gallows Road. Violet tried not to gawk at the cathedral ceilings and marble columns, but it took some effort not to keep looking up.

  “We really can’t thank you enough for your kindness,” Vera said for the fifth time since their arrival. She’d also said it three times in the carriage, but that was before Violet had started counting.

  “Please, don’t mention it,” Lady Wilberforce said wearing a tight smile stretched across her lips. There reaches a point when a person no longer wishes to be thanked. Lady Wilberforce had reached that point.

  “You see, we are just two simple country Witches, practically helpless amongst all this chaos.” Vera gestured towards the front hall, as if the riot was just outside the door.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Your niece’s protection spell was done well enough,” Lady Wilberforce said, giving Violet an appraising eye.

  “Yes, it was quite splendid,” Cyril added from his position at his mother’s elbow.

  “Oh, Violet and her little spells.” Vera waved a dismissive hand. “She gets them wrong more than she gets them right. Always been that way, ever since she was a little girl. The family teases her about it all the time.”

  “It’s true,” Violet said, her head bent as if she was inspecting the pattern of the Turkish carpet. “I’m hopeless with magic.”

  “Even so.” Lady Wilberforce stepped forwards and gently took Violet by the arm. “Why
don’t you whip up one of your little spells for the villa? I know the violence is supposed to have ended, but I would feel so much more comfortable if I knew we were protected.”

  “Well... I could try,” the girl said hesitatingly as she reached for her wand.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  A guard slouched outside the front gate of the Villa Rosetta smoking a cigarette. Lady Wilberforce had employed a few men to protect her home once she’d heard of the brewing troubles in X. She’d hired only humans, of course, and ones that weren’t overly motivated through generous compensation to guard the castle with much vigor. Sebastian knew from where he perched in a neighbouring tree that one guard was drunk off of pilfered wine on the villa’s back patio and two more were having a peaceful snooze in a small shed towards the rear of the property. He could have easily swooped in to dine on the cigarette-smoking guard at his leisure if that were his predilection.

  But food was not what Sebastian Du Monde had on his mind. He only observed the guard to see when the man would turn his head so that the Vampire could enter the Villa Rosetta undetected. Anxiety for Violet’s safety had compelled the youth to follow her and her aunt on their foolhardy journey back to X. He knew his impulsive behaviour was what had spurred the aunt to leave the ruined castle. Fear of distressing the lady further caused Sebastian to keep the fact that he was escorting them back to X a secret. The Undead Master knew how Aunt Vera would react if she were aware that the being she feared more than a city under siege was actually their protector.

  Sebastian’s presence had been vital. More than once, an attempt to beset the carriage was made by rowdy individuals who were obviously up to no good. Dispatching a few of the more determined ruffians was what had caused the Vampire not to be present when Violet conjured the gazebo and stopped the pumpkin carriage from being overturned.