A Witch, A Glitch, and A Dog

by J. E. Lezah

  “Then I hope you don’t mind if I do.” Clapping his hands together twice, Keene summoned a tray laden with a pot of dark roast coffee and lemon curd pastries. His favorite. Although his wife Magnie warned him of the evils of breakfast pastries, he couldn’t help himself.

  Taking his time, Keene prepared his coffee and pastries before settling back in his chair. “Magnie makes the best lemon pastries. Are you sure you wouldn’t like one?” Keene asked extending the plate toward his guest who all but recoiled.

  “Again, I must refuse.”

  Keene sensed Delano’s growing distress at being forced to wait, but this was his office. If he had to make time for this emergency meeting, then he would take as much time as needed before beginning. After all, he was Regent Supreme of the Central Confederation of Witches. A fact some needed reminding of.

  “Now,” Keene began. “How may I be of assistance?"

  Delano perched on the edge of his chair. “Dear Regent, it gives me no pleasure to do this.”

  Keene looked with disappointment at his pastry, and placed it back onto the plate. How easily ten words could kill an appetite.

  “I need you to know there are rumblings of on the High Council.”

  There were always rumblings among the High Council. Keene still remembered the brouhaha caused by the Rumblings of 1976 over the freshness of canine’s earwax and which was better to use in The Walls Have Ears spell newly harvested, or freeze-dried. In one camp, were the old ones who held fast the belief that fresh was better because over the course of time, earwax lost its potency thus degrading the clarity of sound.

  On the other side were the younger witches and wizards were equally as adamant about the use of freeze-dried. It was their stance that freeze-dried worked just as well, plus quicker to acquire since harvesting the substance was done by someone else. It was also their contention that not everyone had a canine as a familiar so earwax wasn’t always readily available. And everyone knew a young canine’s, preferably a wolf’s, earwax was best for this spell, and who had time to chase after one of those?

  “And what is the Council unhappy with this time?”

  “They are concerned about your replacement.”

  “Replacement?” Keene’s eyebrows shot upwards.

  “None can fault you for indulging your children. However, this thing with Aldara, and her infatuation with the diamage realm…” Delano paused. Keene could only assume Delano was trying to find the best, less offensive wording. “Let’s suffice it to say, we believe the time has come for Aldara to come home, and learn her place.”

  With as much calm as Keene could muster, he sat his cup and saucer on the nearest piece of furniture before it started clanking in his trembling hand. Who did the council members think they were to tell him what his children should and shouldn’t be doing? Granted, Delano said nothing he hadn’t thought or said to his wife, but he was Aldara’s father. It was up to him to see to it that Aldara completed her training for Regent Supreme, not that of the High Council and certainly not that of Delano.

  “I do appreciate your concern and that of the council. However, you can assure the others there is nothing to worry about. Aldara will, in fact, be at the gathering and will start her training as soon as it is through.”

  Keene could see surprise cross Delano’s face. Almost.

  “Excellent,” Delano said. “It is a sad day indeed if the daughter and heir apparent to the Regent Supreme were to lose her powers.”

  “Lose her powers?”

  “Well, yes. Witches code 1472.9.834.C clearly states that in the event a witch or wizard chooses to denounce his/her heritage and/or birthright, then the same should be stricken from including the ability for magic.”

  “An antiquated law brought forth during the burning times. It was used to stem the tide of those who claimed a mortal religion while continuing to practice the craft behind closed doors for their own personal gain. I don’t see how my daughter fits into that category.”

  “However, antiquated it may be, the law still exists.”

  “I don’t see how the rule applies in this situation. Aldara has never denounced nor denied who or what she is, nor does she use magic purely for her own gain.”

  “Does she not make a handsome living for magic?”

  “Of course, she does. It’s who we are. It’s what we do.”

  “But the difference is we do not use our gifts solely for the benefits of mortals.”

  Delano tilted his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear. “My next appointment is ready.” Delano rose to stare down at Keene. “We’ve been friends a long time. I would hate to see the Caveat Eximo Hereditas used on your daughter. Witches without their powers can be a pitiful site.”

  “Why all the concern? It seems to come up suddenly.”

  “None of us will live forever my friend. Think of our dear brother, Elfed Addington. He is a great reminder that no matter how many spells we place on ourselves and our families, accidents can happen."

  A frosty breeze wafted across Keene’s face at the mention of a long-deceased friend. Elfed came from a fine witching lineage, and it should have been he in line as Regent Supreme. Instead, that job fell to Keene.

  It was rumored that Keene’s great-grandfather and Elfed’s great-grandfather had a gentleman’s wager on a rather unwieldy broom jockey. Very few details now existed of the incident. What the wizards had done wasn’t exactly illegal, but it wasn’t legal either. The results of Elfed’s great-grandfather’s loss had been to pass the staff of Albertus Magnus to the Hastings clan, thus relinquishing the Addington family’s claim.

  Many believed the Addington’s were a cursed family as a litany of unfortunate events befell them. Keene refused to believe those rumors chalking their misfortune up to poor judgment of Elfed ancestors. But even Keene’s recall was shaken when Elfed was killed when an F-16 Fighting Falcon fell on him.

  The news of his death had been such a shock to Elfed’s family that his wife, pregnant with her first child, went into labor. Neither she nor the child survived. Most believed it to be the family curse. Others cried murder, though the investigation yielded no proof, but this conversation with Delano brought Keene’s hidden doubts to the forefront.

  Without effort, Keene lifted to his feet, coming to rest mere inches from Delano. “Because we are friends I shall give you the benefit of the doubt. However, others might take what you said as a threat."

  Delano held up his hands. “Never, old friend. I’m simply repeating what others may have said. Now if you will excuse me, I really must go." For Delano, there was no flourish of robes or clarion call announcing his exit. A simple snap of his fingers and he disappeared.

  Keene allowed his feet to lower firmly to the ground. Regardless of what Delano said, Keen did feel threatened, not only for himself but his children as well. Going to his bookcase, Keene pulled on the bust of his great-grandfather Hastings. The unit slid open with a soft click and he pulled aside the secret panel that led to his private potions room. There was little time to waste.

  He would need to place greater safeguards and shielding spells around his family. Aldara would soon be back at Shadowfield and he would have to convince her to see things his way.

  3

  Taking an apron from the hook, Giles began whistling the 1812 Overture. It was one of his favorites for working in the kitchen since the bombastic tune effortlessly leant itself to a cacophony of banging pots and pans.

  Although he couldn’t make out what Aldara was saying, he could hear her voice as it traveled down the hallway. He found the rise and fall of its timbre comforting. He had no idea what it would be like without the sound. Yet, soon he would find out since she would be away visiting her family, and he would get a much-deserved vacation.

  Giles felt the soft pawing of Ismarelda against his pant leg. “Yes, Mademoiselle. I shall make for you the most special of lunches,” he said in a quasi-French accent. “What shall it be? Lamb or Chicken?” He held two conta
iners at the dog’s eye level.

  Ismarelda thoroughly sniffed both containers before placing her paw atop the lamb.

  “Excellent choice.” Giles glanced at Marelda. One blue eye and one brownish eye stared up at him as she waited, tail wagging in anticipation. “What are your thoughts on Tahiti, Miss Marelda?” he asked, using the dogs nick-name.

  “Rats, bats, and crickadats!” Aldara swore as she stomped toward the kitchen.

  Giles’s jumped a bit as Ismarelda scurried across the room to hide under the dining table. He sucked in a deep breath preparing for whatever was to come. “Chanting a new spell?” He asked when she entered the room. Even to his own ears, the question sounded flippant, and from the “bite me” look on Aldara’s face, she thought so too.

  Giles decided silence was the better part of valor at this point, so he kept his lips firmly shut.

  Aldara took Ismarelda’s bowl. “You won’t believe who wants to interview me.”

  “Let me guess, Tempest Storm.”

  “You know, this glib attitude you have going on today isn’t very becoming. But, I’m in such a good mood, I will ignore it.”

  Glib attitude? Giles didn’t think his attitude today was different from any other day. Taking the dog’s bowl from Aldara, he did his best to try and coax Ismarelda from beneath the table.

  Aldara continued. “Tempest said she is doing a piece on witches who have made a place for themselves in the mortal world without giving away who or what we are.”

  “That’s fantastic,” he said, trying his best to keep any inflection from his tone.

  “I know.” Aldara busied herself with preparing a cup of coffee.

  He handed her the creamer. “So, when is the interview?”

  “The initial interview will be this week.”

  “Initial? There will be more than one?”

  “Well, yeah. There is the initial sit down, and she wanted to go to a few events to get a behind the scenes look at what we do.”

  Giles listened and nodded as Aldara chirped on and on about the upcoming interview. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her so excited about doing something for herself, and yet, he found it hard to ignore the churning in his stomach.

  He retrieved an apple pie from the refrigerator, along with plates and forks from the cabinet, setting them in front of Aldara. She was so giddy, it seemed like an apple pie kind of moment. Without missing a beat, Aldara served them both.

  “And that’s when I thought it would be a great idea for you to come along.”

  “Sounds great.” He smiled and nodded, again, unsure of what she said.

  “Giles did you hear me?”

  “Of course, I did.”

  “Then you’re okay coming with me?”

  “Certainly. Where are we going again?” Maybe next time I should pay better attention, he thought.

  “To the Clan Gathering.”

  Giles inhaled a crumb from the pie crust, sending him into a fit of coughing. He wasn’t sure if it was what she said or the certainty with which she said it that shocked him more.

  Grasping for his cup, Giles took a deep gulp before speaking. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m super serious. Tempest wants to have the final interview there, and I thought you should be with me.”

  He took in a deep breath trying to stifle another coughing attack. “No Aldara. I can’t. I won’t and you can’t make me.”

  He noticed Aldara’s left eye begin to twitch. Rarely did he say “no” to her, but in this he must be resolute. Hexegraffe Mountain was no place for him.

  “Why don’t you want to go? You’ve been around my family plenty of times.”

  “I’m just not sure someone like me would be welcomed there.”

  “Someone like you? You mean mortal?”

  “Exactly. I’m not a witch.” To be honest, that wasn’t the reason, but what’s a little white lie between friends?

  Aldara shook her head. “That’s never been a problem before. My family adores you.”

  Giles arched an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince with that statement. Her mother and brother were delightful, always trying to make him feel welcomed. The father, not so much. Keene Hastings, Regent Supreme of the Witches’s Grand Conclave took ample opportunities to remind Giles of Giles’s mortalness.

  “Is it father? Phht.” She waved the thought away with the back of her hand. “He’s just a bit over protective.”

  “A bit?”

  Her head wobbled back and forth with a so-so gesture, not looking up from her pie.

  “It’s not your father I’m worried about.”

  “It can’t be Mom, she likes you. My brother doesn’t count so…oh.” Her eyes widened. “The twins.”

  Bingo! The twins. Aldara’s younger sisters, Zoe and Zerlina were, in Giles’s humble estimation, over the top weird even for witches. He could get used to the way they finished each other’s sentences or took food from each other’s plate. Heck, he could even get used to the fact that they still dressed alike.

  What he couldn’t get comfortable with was the constant popping in on him and silently watching his every move. They seemed like petite birds of prey, and he was a juicy field mouse. “Honestly, Aldara. Those two scare me.”

  Aldara’s husky laughter filled the kitchen, flooding its way throughout the house. “Don’t be silly.”

  “They. tried .to. clone. me.” He paused between each word for affect.

  “They think you’re cute.”

  Giles took their plates without allowing Aldara to finish. “They crept into my room while I slept, Aldara. They…they placed an immobilization spell on me. I woke up to one of them sitting on my chest, the other holding some crazy looking claw thingy.”

  “They just wanted to get some of your essence. It’s rather sweet once you think about it.”

  “You and I have different definitions of the word sweet.”

  Maybe it sounded preposterous for him to be scared of her sisters, but for crying out loud. He still had no idea how they planned on retrieving his “essence” or what it was for that matter. Giles shuddered at the thought.

  He could tell Aldara was doing her best not to laugh at him. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I can’t help that my sisters are eccentric.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “I’ll have a talk with them,” she reassured him. But crazy sisters or no, you’re going.”

  Giles couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he were to refuse her offer. She had never been one to take rejection, in any form, easily. Maybe if he threw a temper tantrum Aldara might pay attention to what he wanted, which, was not to go.

  Since a tantrum was out of the question, Giles decided to use a less childish approach.

  “Why?” he asked, as he wiped down the counter.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want me to go with you?”

  Aldara’s mouth gapped open, shocked by his question. It was exactly the reaction he wanted.

  “What kind of question is that? You know why I want you to go,” she snorted, refusing to look in his direction.

  “I would like an answer. Why do you want me to go?” Giles slowed his speech.

  Setting her spoon on the counter with a huff, Aldara placed her hands on rounded hips. “I just assumed you would want to be part of the interviews with Tempest.”

  Aldara’s eyes widened. It was her “but really officer, I’m innocent” look. It may work on unwary police officers, but not him.

  It was evident to Giles the idea of his participation came from thin air.

  “So,” he began. “If I go with you, and I’m not saying I will. You’ll allow me to be normal guest with no responsibility for you or Ismarelda?”

  “Of course.” She went back to avoiding his gaze.

  “No checking your schedule or answering your emails?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about taking Ismarelda for walk?”


  “Only if you want to.”

  The pie he had just eaten seemed to sour in his stomach. He knew going to Aldara’s ancestral home, Shadowfield, would be a bad idea, with or without the twins.

  Giles’s mind went blank as his eyes locked onto an odd shaped shadow floating near the ceiling above Aldara’s head. His pulse thudded in his temples, turning Aldara’s voice into a muffled drone.

  Had she said something about objections? Giles’s mind yelled at him to speak up, but not a peep came out.

  The grandfather clock chimed two, pulling him from his stupor.

  “My, look at the time” she chirped. “We have lots to do this afternoon. Oh, and Tempest will be here around eleven tomorrow for a pre-interview meeting,” she said, before heading back to her office.

  What the hell? Why hadn’t he said anything? His eyes shot around the room, looking for signs of the hovering darkness. There was nothing. Not even a tendril of a cob web was to be found.

  4

  Keene found his wife, seated underneath the window in his office, pretending to read. He assumed she was pretending since no one he knew would read “A Discourse on the Recantation and Culpability of Cornelius Loos, in the genocide of witches, 1581” by Magnus Graeme. The subject, though mildly interesting, was made to be less tolerable by Magnus’s uninspired writing. Even the most avid of scholars and historians found it, as his son would say, a snooze fest.

  Keene regarded his wife. Across her lap lay one of her ferrets, Chiaro. The darker of the two, Scuro, curled beside her on the settee. Various combs and baubles did their best to hold back her silver hair, but there was always one defiant strand which refused to be tamed.

  Bright, blue eyes stared up at him. “Casting this early?” she asked, rousting Scuro from his spot.

  Keene took the opportunity to join Magnie. He placed a tender kiss in the center of his wife’s forehead. “Everything is fine, my darling.”

  “Really? Then why did you place extra guarding spells on me and the house?”

  Keen wasn’t surprised Magnie sensed the increase of wyrding around their home, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. Pulling her close, he rested his chin atop her head, trying his best to avoid the many sparkly bits. “I felt it best to add extra precautions with the gathering approaching.”