Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey

by Steve Windsor

  There was nothing more terrible or terrifying than having to vote on the truth.

  Gog rubbed his club in the dirt. “Bringin’ back humans from the black. Bad juju for magic. My vote—death.”

  Travis Déjean was usually content to go along with whichever way the wind was blowing the hardest. It was much easier to get back to luxury and leisure that way. “As much as I hate to admit it,” he said, “she has broken the one rule even you, Roxxanne, are not immune from punishment for. I vote death.”

  Varg growled and shook his head. Then he turned and scratched some twigs into the fire at Maxxine’s projected face. “More crocdogs dead because of her,” he said. “Whole swamp’s howling for revenge. Making my ears hurt. I’m done digging for the truth. My hounds need to bury some bones. Death.”

  Zoé Beau Pre didn’t waste time with speeches. “Honestly, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Let me bleed the whining little witch already. It’s not like death is forever.”

  Roxxanne smiled at her. “So your vote is?” She stared at Zoé. “You do understand that you have to state it.”

  Zoé frowned. She’d hoped to save herself from being on the record. “Oh, all right.” She waved her hand, opened her eyes a touch wider, frowned, and then shook her head a little. “Death it is.”

  “It’s settled then,” Roxxanne said. She hoped to avoid it. Maybe she could get through one night on Bile Island without the little pink—

  “I beg your poison-potioning pardon, your majestic magical. . .” Suzette said. The little pink pixie shined brighter than ever and raced to the center of the clearing. “I have not yet agreed nor understood why you are all so quick to have Madam Levine’s murdering sister do away with yet another candidate. You all realize this means sixteen more years burnin’ and boilin’ anyone she sees fit to fry.

  “Well, all of you may not give a gog-headed gator’s behind about that, but I for one am done with it. She may be our last hope of ridding our kind of the murderous reputation we are earning more and more each year under Roxxanne’s reign of ruin.”

  As annoying and infuriating as the little pink pest was, she’d had her say, irrelevant as it was. Roxxanne had the conjuring consent she needed. “So. . .” she said, “that’s a ‘no’ for miss pixie-pants. Duly noted.” She turned back toward Maxxine’s projected face in the fire. “Now, about all that burning business, sister. You’ve got three days left to put her feet to the fire. Mind your magic and get it done.”

  — 11 —

  I’M STILL NOT sure what I saw, but I’m more suspicious than ever. Maxxine could’ve been mumbling to herself into the fire, or she could’ve been contacting someone, like Cat says. Whichever one it was, I’m still too angry about Bane and Magnolia to give it more thought.

  We’ve managed to get away from Maxxine for the moment though, and I watch Cat pace back and forth across my bedroom. Broom leans against the fireplace, listening over the crackle of the boomer he’s just made. I try not to be distracted by thoughts of going into the Frasch to. . . I’m not sure what I can do about it yet, but one thing’s certain: I’ve had enough of the lying.

  “Something is off about her,” says Cat. “I can’t put a paw to it just yet, but if she’s from Bile—”

  “About that,” I say to him. “Why would the council send someone to check up on me? If they did that for every witch turning sixteen. . .” By now I’ve figured out there’s just too much going on around my birthday for it not to be related, and I want answers. “There’s something you’re not telling me, and I’ve had enough of you”—I glance at Broom—“and you, lying to me.”

  Broom is definitely acting weird, no two ways about it. He doesn’t even give me his customary apologetic shrug. In fact, with his arms crossed, he doesn’t look like himself at all. “Lying, miss? ’Bout your birthday?”

  Answering questions with questions is about all Cat or I have been able to get out of him since we pulled him out of the pantry. . .

  But none of it changes the fact that Magnolia is. . . I turn back to Cat. “If you would’ve told me, maybe she’d still be. . .” I don’t want to say it, but I know she’s gone. “So you’re going to tell me why ‘Auntie’ Maxxine’s here, and just what’s going on.”

  Cat hangs his head and stares at the wood floor. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Something about the way he says it feels like Magnolia’s more than just—“It’s my fault she’s. . . And my fault this witch is here. Last week, I was getting worried that the two of us”—he glances at Broom—“might not be able to keep you safe. So I . . . I asked the Island to send help. But I specifically requested a white witch of the old order . . . and”—he glances at my closed bedroom door—“this one is . . . obviously a bile-filled black conjurer of the worst sort. Coming between her and her wicked wand would be dangerous for any witch. But the truth of the matter is, you’re simply not ‘any’ witch. Now, I fear I’ve failed my duty and invited the very danger I was to protect you from, right in the front doors.”

  I think about what he’s saying for a moment. Maxxine clearly has power, greater than any black witch that Cat or Magnolia’s told me about. “So why hasn’t. . .” I’m still working it out, none of it makes sense. “If I’m so important and she’s so powerful, why hasn’t she just. . .? She’s been in the house and she took me to the Frasch. Why not do something to me there?”

  “I now fear that was exactly her intent,” says Cat, “which was why I used up one of my—why I followed you there so quickly.”

  I raise my hands up in front of me. “Here then,” I say. “Why not in the house? She’s had plenty of time to—”

  Cat rolls his eyes back and nods his head. “Yes, you can thank the Great White Witch for that lucky Lucy,” he says. “No witch can harm another, be they black or white, inside their own lair, especially while under the protection of a cloak conjure. But once that burning bastard blasted all of his crazy Christ-children in here. . . That’s how she was able to cast you both to the forest. She’d never have succeeded at that with my. . . Now that you’ve put your own spell on him, Mangy’s mojo is too powerful for her to try that a second time.”

  I’m as silent as Broom’s been. This is more than Cat’s ever told me. And I’ve never heard him use profanity . . . ever.

  — 12 —

  THE KITCHEN SEEMS to be the one place that Maxxine doesn’t want to be, so after she knocked on my bedroom door, asking if there was anything she could do to help, we politely declined and then Broom and I escaped to the relative safety of the kitchen.

  “Wanted to make sure. . .” Cat comes in last. “She’s back in the sitting room, sipping tea. Jamais deux sans trois,” he mumbles.

  “What’s that mean?” I say.

  “It means,” Broom says—I’m glad to see he’s finally found his voice, “big things come in threes.”

  Cat nods and jumps up on the table next to my boiling cauldron. “The father burning down Mangy, Magnolia . . . and one more.”

  I’ve been working on something in my head. “The crocdogs will pay for her.”

  Cat spins three times to the left and sits down. “It’s a delicate thing, revenge. I know better than most, and you don’t have nine chances to get it right. If you go into the forest spoiling for judgment, you will most certainly come back out with something else.” He looks at Broom. “Knoxx knows.”

  Broom looks more confused than I’ve seen him. “Yes. . .” he says. “Uh, most certainly, sir. I do know.”

  Cat nods and then looks back at me. “I’m going to tell you a story . . . only, this story is anything but a tall tale. And yet, by the end of it, you will most certainly have to accuse me a liar. And you’ll be right, though not for the reason you might suspect.”

  All I want to do is go into the Frasch and find those filthy crocdogs and. . .

  “You’d be right to go find out what you’re feeling,” Cat says. “But before you rush in to put out a fire, you must first understand what’s causing it. Do you re
member where I told you all witches came from?”

  As soon as I understood that the other kids at school had parents, I made Cat have the “birds and the bees, witches and warlocks” discussion with me. After that, I never questioned why I had no parents. Humans had parents, and magic folk were cast forth from the Great Cauldron of Conjuring. That was the way it was, or so I thought. . .

  Cat looks a little more than guilty when he says, “Technically. . . I guess if you wanted to understand the entire truth of it. . .”

  I stare at him—into him. “I have parents?”

  Cat squints like someone’s about to smack him, because in my mind that’s what I’m thinking. “Technically. . .”

  By the time Cat finishes unleashing that black boil on me, I don’t know if I want to rush into the forest after the truth or use Broom to swat him around the kitchen. I’m not sure which feeling wins the war, or if I’m simply in denial about all of it, but after I run to my room and get it out from under the floorboards where I hide it, I yell at Mangy. “Open the doors!” Then I race outside, headed toward the Frasch . . . and Bane.

  Cat and Broom stared into Dixxon’s kitchen cauldron. Broom stared right into the flames beneath it. “She’s headed into the forest by herself again.” He was louder than he needed to be, given they were the only ones there besides Oven. “I thought you said someone from Bile Island was sure to find her in her clearing.” He looked up from the flames and into Cat’s eyes. “You think she’s ready, sir?”

  Cat stared into the boiling and bubbling brew in Dixxon’s cauldron. “In two days,” he said, “we’ll certainly find out.”

  — 13 —

  I HARDLY HAVE to move my feet this time. I fly through the forest, barely above the swampy bottom, just like I have wings. The woods get darker and darker as I go deeper into them, and every branch, bird and beast rushes out of my path like they’re trying to outrun a hurricane.

  A mother . . . and father! When I’m done with Bane’s pack, Cat’s gonna explain those to me. “Bile Island!” I scream in frustration at the passing forest. “Liar!”

  I glance down at my hand. No reason to leave my wand under my floorboards anymore.

  When I fly up to the edge of their little dry patch of mossy knoll, I can feel the power and the rage, burning and bubbling inside me. The entire pack of putrid crocdogs is lounging on and around their den like they didn’t just kill my best friend.

  I’m beyond wasting any more time with words. I’m just gonna spell them to the black. “For dogs that fight and those that bite”—my wand hand’s up and in front of me when I burst into the clearing—“with silver’s might and blue moon light. . .” My wand lights up to a bright blue star.

  I wish I knew how to bring Magnolia back. I tried to remember how I did it with Mae-mae, but Magnolia believed in me so much then that I . . . I just did it. Now, when I really need to, I can’t remember how.

  That helpless feeling makes me that much more angry. So I’m going to send each and every last one of these mangy crocdogs to wherever she went. And Bane. . . I can still feel whatever it was, but if he’s here, I’ll send him to Bile Island with them.

  My wand’s up over my head now. “Your paw’s track and your mangy back”—I swing down and at them, just like Magnolia taught me—“I cast you all to the bla—”

  There’s a loud roar just to my right, a flash of black blur and I’m tumbling to the forest floor, and then everything does . . . go black.

  When I wake up, I have a splitting spider of a headache . . . and I’m bouncing along the shores of Prien Lake. I know who’s dragging me. “Ow, let go of me,” I yell at Bane, “mangy crocdog. I’ll kill—you killed her! You and your entire stinking pack of. . . Cat was right about you. I can’t believe I ever defended you. Put me down, so I can wand you to the black. I hate you!”

  But he keeps loping along, ignoring my screams.

  CRACK! Both of us go rolling down the embankment and almost into the lake. And I can smell the pungent burnt aroma of smoking hair.

  I look next to me and there’s my wand. But when I reach for it, Bane says, “No, they’ll kill you if you do—”

  “Give it to me,” I say, “so I can—you’re hurt.” I look at his side. “You’re hurt.”

  Bane snatches my wand. “We’ll both be dead, if we don’t—” He grabs my cloak at the back of my neck, but he yelps hard when he picks me up.

  “Let me help you,” I say.

  He ignores me and takes off at a dead run. And it’s not a slow bobbing ride this time. My legs scrape and bump along the trail and Bane grunts and whimpers through his teeth. And I can hear his breathing—hard and rough.

  Something warm runs down my neck. “Blood. . .”

  After a short time, it feels like Bane’s out of rage to run with. He slows down to a limping lope.

  “What’re you. . .?” I say. The dragging and the lightning bolt made me forget about my head, but the bouncing’s making it pound again. I know I should be worried about who just tried to wand us, but . . . I’m not afraid. In fact, I feel safer than I have since I accidentally—“I didn’t kill her on purpose, you know. I just didn’t want to bolt the target. I think—I thought it was cruel,” I mumble.

  Bane lopes along, whimpering occasionally.

  “You’re stubborn as a horse’s hind end, no wonder you eat them. Probably taste just like you do,” I say. I don’t really mean it. “Put me down, I’ll walk. You can go back to your pack.” But he doesn’t, and soon enough, we’re at the front of the mansion.

  He releases me and backs up a few steps. He slumps down, but then picks himself back up. “I’m. . . Sorry for the rough ride, but if I left you with them, things would’ve been worse. You have to get inside. Everyone’s out for blood now.”

  I see the gash in his side. Whoever that was. . . “I’d say they already found it. You’re wanded up pretty—”

  “I don’t matter.”

  “Everyone matters.” I stand up and brush the forest off my sleeves. “Who was. . .?” I feel my wand hand. “You bit me?” Magnolia told me that witch blood tastes like stenching skunk to a crocdog. It’s why they rarely attack us. “I hope you choke on. . .” I shake my hair and brush at my back, trying to get his crocdog scent. . . I don’t want it to, but it still smells good. “Where’s my wand?” I say. “I should cast you to the black, you lying lichenthroat.”

  None of them likes to be called that. I think he growls back at me, but the doors to the mansion groan open at the same time, and here comes Broom and Cat.

  And Maxxine steps from the shadows of the porch and into the doorway. She twirls her closed umbrella in her hand a little, gazing down at all of us like she already knows what happened.

  Bane snarls at her.

  Maxxine stares back at him and smiles. “Don’t furl a lip at me, lichen,” she says. “I’ll skin you for a porch pelt.”

  Bane continues his low growl.

  Broom grabs me under my arm and pulls me back toward the front steps . . . and Maxxine.

  “My wand,” I say. “He’s still got my wand.”

  Cat runs over to Bane. I can only hear whispering. He comes back with my wand in his mouth. “Inside, sir,” he mumbles through my wand at Broom, “quickly.”

  “But he’s hurt,” I say to Cat.

  I can almost feel Maxxine smiling.

  To my surprise, once he sees that I’m safely inside, Cat goes back out the front doors and down the steps to Bane.

  More whispering? They both nod at each other, and then Cat’s tail glows white and he zaps a white bolt at Bane’s side and then Bane falls over, but gets right back up. Cat races back up the front steps and inside. “Close them up tight for the night, if you please, Mangy.”

  Mangy moans the front doors shut and they latch with a loud clank.

  I look at Maxxine, next to me in the foyer. If she did have a smile before, it’s gone now. Her eyes are a deep purple. They follow my every move and I shiver.

 
The Frasch Forest felt colder and less like home to him. Bane loped back into the center of his pack’s clearing . . . to face his judgment.

  After he stopped and sat down, Chianne circled him, growling and snarling. “I warned you,” she said to La Bete, “he’ll keep saving that little witch, choosing her over us. Can’t help himself. He doesn’t wanna.” She stopped next to La Bete—eased right up next to his face—and growled. “You heard her—she came in here to kill us all. You should’ve ripped her throat out for that alone. Now, we’re back where we started”—she looked at Bane—“him between her hide and your pack. You’ll let that go too, I suppose?”

  Given who Bane was, it would be difficult for La Bete to simply kill the beta, thorn in his side though he’d turned out to be. The entire pack—what was left of it—watched and waited for his judgment.

  “You have to kill him,” Chianne said. “If you’re any kind of. . . But maybe you’ve grown soft.” She continued circling him. “Maybe you need a tougher mate. She always did coddle you.”

  Bane’s eyes and ears perked up at that. La Bete had barely lost his mate to the black witch’s wand in the clearing, and here Chianne was, openly challenging for the second highest position in the pack.

  Bane understood why Chianne was angry about Dixxon, though there was nothing he could really do to stop his behavior toward the little witch, but to hear his mate court another . . . right in front of him. . .