by Gayla Twist
Just then, the old Warlock slammed the end of his staff against the floor again, the red angry eye at the tip emitting a fireball that went hurdling straight at their heads. Violet swiped at it with her wand, using a heavy blast of air to redirect it away from where they were standing; the glob of molten lava blasted a hole through the wall behind them.
“Professor Yog,” Lady Wilberforce said in a tone of remonstration. “I will thank you to remember that Cyril is my son, and I would appreciate it if he wasn’t killed.”
“Well then, get your boy out of here,” the professor hissed. “I have no patience for young men who don’t listen to their mothers.” With that, he rammed his staff to pound the floor again, the red ruby spitting another flaming projectile towards Miss Popplewell. She used her wand to split it in half, the flames passing within mere inches of either side of her head, licking at her face. There was the smell of singed hair all about her.
Realizing that the best way for her to protect Cyril and Mr. B was for her to move away from them, Violet made a dash for the stairs. She knew there was quite a bit of ivy along the south side of the house, and she figured she could exit the mansion via a convenient window. Professor Yog had other ideas. He used his staff to obliterate the staircase when she was only halfway up. The girl barely had time to leap to safety, zapping a parasol out of thin air to shield herself from the falling wood and plaster.
“Stop it, this instant!” Lady Wilberforce commanded. “You are destroying my house.” Paying her no heed, the professor took out an archway that led into the dining room, cutting off that avenue of escape. “Eggbert!” The lady stepped forwards and slapped the old man smartly across the face. “I will not stand here and have you destroy my home. There are other ways to dispose of Miss Popplewell.”
Professor Yog turned to engage Lady Wilberforce, his eyes black and shiny like the eyes of a serpent. He smiled at her, and a forked tongue appeared between his withered lips. “I think you should leave now,” he said in a voice that echoed with an unspoken threat.
“Cyril, say goodbye to Miss Popplewell. We must be going,” Lady Wilberforce said with a business-like air as she turned to head towards the front hall.
“Take this,” Violet said, shoving the protection parasol at Mr. Wilberforce.
“I’m not leaving without you,” Cyril said, thrusting his chin out to the point that it almost appeared prominent.
“Get out!” Professor Yog thundered, releasing a firebolt that blasted a hole through the side of the mansion revealing a patch of the neighbour’s lawn. The aftershock caused the whole structure to quiver all around them for a moment, the way water ripples across a still pond when a stone is thrown.
“I should probably go,” Cyril said.
“There’s your exit,” Violet told him, nodding towards the opening.
“Goodbye, darling,” Mr. Wilberforce said before hot footing it after his mother, who was already waiting at the front door.
Say what one will about Lady Wilberforce, but she wasn’t going to leave her house by crawling out of an opening in the rubble. There was no servant to attend her, which vexed her greatly, so she turned to her son and stared him down until he remembered himself and opened the front door so she could leave with dignity.
With the Wilberforces out of the way and the house already starting to burn, Professor Yog saw no reason to be burdened with self-restraint. He began relentlessly pummeling Miss Popplewell with fireball after fireball. “This is all your own fault, you know,” the professor shouted at her during the onslaught. “You couldn’t stick to your own kind. You couldn’t fall in love with a nice Crafter. Instead, you had to taint yourself. The thought of you makes me sick. You and your fanged lover.”
Violet was able to repel blast after blast from Professor Yog’s staff, but it was taking a toll. She was being driven back step by step, her dress half seared off, her hair charred and smoking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she protested. “I have no Vampire love. You know yourself that up until a few moments ago I was engaged to Mr. Wilberforce, and he is a Mortal.”
Professor Yog slammed the end of his staff onto the floor again, but this time, instead of aiming the ball of molten rock towards Miss Popplewell, he blasted a hole in the ceiling over her head. Violet had not anticipated this move and was caught off guard. She had given away her parasol and was not prepared to deflect the lumber that came crashing down on her. She only managed to fire off a weak deflection spell that barely saved her from the worst of the rubble. A large piece of timber crashed onto the shoulder and arm of her wand-bearing hand. The wand itself was knocked free and went skittering across the room.
“I’m as good as dead,” Violet thought—she had never been any good at doing magic without the aid of her grandmother’s wand.
The creature that was Professor Yog released a gleeful laugh. “This will be the end for you, young lady,” he rasped, his serpent’s tongue slicing the air like a whip. “There’s nothing I enjoy more than snuffing out a Vamp lover. Except for maybe staking the undead themselves.”
Blood was pouring from the side of Miss Popplewell’s mouth and from a wound at her temple. She couldn’t move her arm that had been hit by the falling wood and could see a bit of bone protruding at her shoulder. Not that it mattered at that point; she knew in another few seconds she would be dead. She felt the protection charm she had placed on the house starting to crackle and fade; the pin fell off the back of Lady Wilberforce’s brooch; the roses in the garden started dropping petals; her magic was slipping away, and so was her life.
Standing over her, Professor Yog was apparently enjoying watching her die. Violet could tell that a part of the creature was feeding off her suffering. “Goodbye, Miss Popplewell,” the demon said. “I hope you make better choices in the next world than you have in this one.” He raised his staff high in the air, apparently intending to smash it down upon her. Violet closed her eyes and prayed to the Mother Goddess that it would be over quickly.
The professor let out a mighty roar, but it was the sound of frustration not the sound of a being about to deliver a death blow. Violet could not help but open her eyes. She did so just in time to see Sebastian flying through the air with the professor’s staff clutched in one hand. The Vampire flapped his beautiful bat wings, rising higher in the air. Then he smashed the end of the staff against the ceiling, shattering the red jewel into dust.
“You imbecile!” the demon professor howled. “That staff has been in my family for a thousand years.”
“Then it’s a good thing the world is finally rid of it,” Sebastian told him, snapping the wood of the staff across his knee and flinging the pieces to the ground. The Vampire flashed a triumphant smile, his fangs fully extended.
An ugly laugh parted the professor’s shrivelled lips. “Did you really think that silly trifle was the source of my power?” he asked, causing Sebastian’s grin to slip. “That staff was nothing. Just an heirloom I used as a wand. But I don’t need it to do magic,” he informed the Vampire. “For me, one wand is just as good as another.” Stooping, he snatched Violet’s wand up from the floor. “Oh, look,” he crowed. “Now I have another one. And your poor little girlie is helpless without it.” With that, he directed a beam of sunlight directly at the Vampire.
Sebastian dodged the blast, but he wasn’t quite fast enough and took part of the ray to his face, shoulder, and right wing, which shrivelled and caused him to tumble to the ground.
“No!” Violet gasped, dragging herself over to where Sebastian lay crumpled. “Professor Yog, you don’t need to do this. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just trying to protect me because…” she looked down at Sebastian, who was gazing up at her, eyes wide with pain, “because he accidentally got caught up in a love charm.”
“But I told you,” Sebastian whispered. “Love charms don’t work on Vampires. I do truly love you.”
“I know,” Violet said, a silver tear sliding down her cheek. “I love you, too.” And
she knew, deep within her heart of hearts, it was true.
“Love charms?” Professor Yog asked, scoffing at the notion. “Is that what you think magic is for? You little idiot.” He was standing over both of them, Violet’s wand clenched in his hand. “You waste your powers on spells and enchantments. That’s not why we Crafters have magic. The only pure use of magic is to kill Vampires. Let me demonstrate.” With that, he raised the wand high in the air and sent a powerful incineration spell directly at Sebastian.
“No!” Violet shouted. During that split second, Miss Popplewell realized what she was about to lose—a love so rare and pure that most Crafters only got to read about it in fairytales.
She had no wand, it was true, and she was known to be hopeless with magic, but Miss Violet Popplewell had something to fight for and that gave her a strength she never knew she possessed. At the exact moment that Professor Yog released his searing ray of sun at Sebastian, Violet reached deep within herself and summoned the ultimate protection spell.
In a flash, Miss Popplewell turned from a bleeding girl with singed hair and a burnt dress lying on the floor into a knight standing straight and strong, with sparkling silver armor and a large silver shield so shiny that it reflected the world like a mirror. The professor’s powerful blast of sunlight hit the shield square on and was bounced directly back at him, catching him unawares with a full blast of his own magic.
The Warlock known as Professor Yog was immediately burnt to a crisp.
Seeing her enemy defeated and falling to ashes, all the strength drained out of Miss Popplewell. Her armor vanished, and her wounds returned. She took a few staggering steps and then collapsed to the floor. Sebastian dragged himself over to hold her in his arms. “Why aren’t you healing?” Violet asked, noticing that he was still horribly burned. “I thought Vampires could heal from most wounds.”
“Yog’s magic was too strong,” Sebastian said, inhaling sharply as his injured wing brushed the floor while he tried to gather her to him. “I don’t have the strength to regenerate.”
Violet looked down at the crimson that was quickly seeping into her ruined dress. “I’d offer you some of my blood, but I don’t have much left. I don’t think I can last much longer.”
“Then kiss me,” Sebastian told her. “Please just kiss me before we die. Because if I know that you really do love me, then I have had a life worth living.”
Violet tilted her head back to meet his lips. Sebastian’s mouth was tender and full of promises he wished he could keep. Even through the pain and the blood and the smell of burnt hair, the kiss felt wonderful. It started a small, warm glow in Miss Popplewell’s stomach that rapidly spread throughout her body. The agony of her injuries quickly evaporated and turned into something gold and ethereal, like a glimpse of fairy lights out on the moors. “What’s happening?” she asked, breathless and a little frightened.
“I’m not sure,” Sebastian whispered back, his lips brushing hers. “But I’m beginning to feel a bit better.”
The glow that was building between them started spreading across the room and then throughout the mansion. It extinguished the fires and righted the furniture. Soon the glittering dust was spilling out the windows and seeping under the doors, infusing the night air.
Violet looked down and saw that her shoulder was no longer broken; she could move her arm again. The blood that had been oozing from her mouth and temple was gone. Sebastian flexed his wing and it was somehow healed back to its former glory. “How is this possible?” she asked, not sure if she was dying or had a second chance to live.
“Magic,” was all he could think to answer.
“But whose magic?” Violet wanted to know. “It’s not mine. Are you doing this?”
“No,” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “It’s not mine either. I think it’s our magic.”
Epilogue: The Unexpected Challenges of Happily Ever After
Sometimes knowing a professional gossip has its advantages. Although the pages were slightly bloodstained, Miss Popplewell was able to present Miss Hopkins with all of Professor Yog’s correspondence to Lady Wilberforce. Hippolyta wasted no time getting the letters on the Vine word for word. An immediate investigation was launched by the authorities, and many arrests were made in the Crafter, as well as the Mortal, community. Much to everyone’s surprise, there were even a few Vampires caught in the plot, but, then again, there were Rajahs who helped the English colonize India. “One should never underestimate a person’s ability to act selfishly,” Mr. B theorized.
“It’s a miracle that the young people managed to survive,” said Miss Hazel Fate as they all gathered in the Popplewell’s back garden a few days later. Another of Mr. Wainbright’s cottages had a vacancy, and he was swift to strike a bargain with the three sisters.
The Popplewells’ house on Gallows Road was as it was before the attack. The elves had fulfilled their contract admirably down to a hairpin that was clogging the bathroom drain and a lost shilling that was wedged under the back steps.
“I still find it hard to believe that a Mortal like Mr. Wilberforce could have any power over a Witch,” said Miss Abigail Fate, clucking her tongue a little, or maybe it was because it wasn’t her turn to wear the teeth.
“But you must remember that Miss Popplewell is still a very young Witch,” Mr. B insisted. “And Mortals do have some magic, whether we like to admit it or not.”
“Mr. B, you were there. Can’t you tell us what happened?” Miss Esther Fate asked, regarding the High Sorcerer with the opera glasses.
“I’m afraid between the time of my arrival and the moment when a large chunk of marble knocked me unconscious was only a few minutes,” he said. “I wish I could tell you more.”
“I have heard,” Mr. Wainbright said, a bit timidly seeing that he was the only Mortal at a table, “that Professor Yog was incinerated by his own spell. That it somehow rebounded on him.”
“That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” said Miss Abigail Fate a bit tartly. “He always did know how to make an ash out of himself.” The three sisters tittered at the pun.
“I’m just glad the lovebirds survived,” Mrs. Popplewell said, pouring out a bit more lemonade for her guests. “Just imagine; we’re going to have a Vampire in the family. I never thought I’d live to see the day where a Crafter and a Vampire would be in love, let alone marry.”
“If the peace talks keep progressing the way they have been, with everyone feeling so amiable towards their fellow magical being,” said the Count Du Monde, “then I’m sure in a few years it won’t be such an uncommon thing.” He shifted his chair slightly to be more in the shade.
“For my part, I could tell they were instantly attracted to each other,” Vera said from her seat on the opposite side of the table from the count. “You can always tell with true love.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Miss Abigail Fate, carefully removing the cucumber from a cucumber sandwich. “I’m sure if Professor Yog hadn’t made such a fuss, there’s a chance their romance might have fizzled. I mean, look at Romeo and Juliet.”
“What about them?” Mr. Wainbright wanted to know, his brow slightly furrowed. Sometimes he found it challenging to keep pace with a Crafter conversation.
“That Romeo was a scoundrel, always sniffing around one girl or another. He stood outside my sister Hazel’s window for three nights in a row the month before he met Juliet.”
Hazel nodded her confirmation but said nothing as she was making use of the false teeth.
“Sometimes love takes a little adversity to make it stick,” Miss Abigail said with a small chuckle.
“Look at them out there,” Sonny said, peering out the kitchen window. “All having a good old gossip at your expense.” He turned to look at his sister and Sebastian, who were dishing up bowls of ice cream.
Or to be more precise, Sebastian was scooping out the ice cream and Violet was enjoying haranguing him, trying to get him to sample a small taste. “Just try it,” she was insisting, pressin
g a spoonful towards his mouth. “How do you even know you don’t like ice cream if you’ve never tasted it?” He moved his head away, and she smeared a bit of chocolate on his cheek.
“Good Goddess,” Sonny said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not sure how much harmony I can stand. I think I liked it better when we were all trying to kill each other.”
Violet gave off trying to force feed her fiancé and turned to her brother. “Do you really think there will be peace?”
Sonny gave a small shrug. “It certainly looks that way.”
“But why now?” Violet wanted to know. “I mean, the war between Witches and Vampires has been heating up and cooling off for centuries. It doesn’t make sense that it would end now, just because Sebastian and I are engaged.”
“You two are a symbol of harmony between magical beings, I guess,” Sonny told her. “You might say that you’re setting an example. So long as you stay in love and get married, then I imagine the war between Witches and Vampires will finally end. No pressure, of course,” he added, with an impudent wink.
Sebastian snuck up behind the girl and swept her into his arms, dipped her low, and placed a passionate kiss on Miss Popplewell’s rosebud lips. “Not a problem,” the Vampire assured his future brother-in-law.
While Sonny and Mr. Du Monde brought the ice cream out to the garden on trays, Violet wandered into the parlour. She hadn’t done any magic that day, but she was still feeling out of sorts. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Sebastian. Quite the contrary, she loved him rather desperately. But the prospect that the state of peace amongst magical beings depended on her feelings for him was making the girl deeply anxious.
She sat down at the piano and plunked out a few notes, not really feeling like playing but not sure what else to do. A small noise caused her to look up and see the Count Du Monde standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said. “It’s just the afternoon sun is getting to me a bit, and I’ve never had a taste for ice cream. Not even when I was a Mortal.”