Borage

by Gill McKnight

  “But what princess?” Astral as good as wailed. “All we’ve got is him.” She waved a hand at Damián.

  “Yes. Who exactly is this princess everyone’s bent out of shape over?” Keeva demanded.

  “Princess Molotova, the youngest daughter of Hades, and not an especial favourite. However, favourite or not, she needs recovering. She was abducted many years ago and the nether regions have been searching for her ever since,” Abby said. The shadows thickened around her as she spoke, making her words heavy and sinister. “Until last year, when Magdalene Curdle approached us prepared to trade pertinent information in exchange for a position of authority in one of the most powerful covens in the land.”

  “She told you to come here and there’d be a princess waiting for you? And you believed her?” Astral snorted.

  “She believed it, so much so that she put your coven’s existence on the line,” Abby answered affably, “and becoming High Priestess was the first step.”

  “But we’re a collective,” Dulcie said. “We own us.”

  “Everyone thinks they’re a collective until the witches turn.” Abby gave her crocodile smile and a chill descended upon the room.

  Astral moved to attend the wood burner. The fire had grown low. “But Magdalene didn’t know that if she failed to deliver, the coven would default to you,” she stated flatly. At least it was Magdalene’s stupidity and not total malice that had gotten them into this awful position. It was little solace, however.

  Abby inclined her head. “This is true. Always read the small print. That is my devilish advice.”

  Astral wanted to be angry, but Abby had a point. Magdalene hadn’t read the fine print, as annoying as it was in lengthy contracts. She was more put out that Abby didn’t seem to take into account the personalities involved in this, or that this would harm real people who hadn’t made any contracts with Black and Blacker.

  “No one makes a deal with the Devil and wins,” Damián muttered into his glass.

  “Oh, a surprising number do. Take our Miss Shine, for example.” She gave Astral an enigmatic look that made her glow again, brighter than the flames she had stoked. But it died down quickly because Abby was playing with her. Astral was certain of it. She remembered their kiss. She had not been bewitched by charms. A being of her status was beyond petty enchantments and miscellaneous Projector magic. Which meant she had allowed the kiss. Which meant…which meant…what exactly did it mean?

  “—Shine?” Dulcie said.

  “What?” Astral snapped to attention.

  “Who’s Miss Shine?” Dulcie repeated.

  “A client who won, I suppose.” Astral turned to Abby for clarification. Had Miss Shine won? But she was gone. Disappeared into the ether, and she had taken Shucky with her.

  “Well, of all the—” Astral spluttered. “All that rigmarole to get in and she goes without so much as a by-your-leave.”

  “What are we going to do?” Keeva asked.

  “Alert the coven. We’ll call an extraordinary gathering at once. Can we use your barn, Astral? We’ll need every last member to attend,” Dulcie said.

  “Yes, of course. Oh, gosh, that’s a lot of baking—”

  “No time for baking. No cake. No hospitality. Nothing. Not one morsel. Let them see what happens when you lose your coven to the caprices of a thieving High Priestess,” Dulcie fumed. “And make as many copies of Magdalene’s contract as you can so we can hand them out. This is too big for the Upper Council alone. There’s hardly any time left until the thirteenth day of the thirteenth moon and I don’t trust them not to bury it.”

  “We need to expose Magdalene to the coven and get her expelled as soon as possible,” Keeva said. “And wrangle control back from her posse.”

  “And find the princess,” Damián added, excited. “I wonder who she is. Wouldn’t it be great if it was Erigone? She swans about like one.”

  “What the Hecate are you on about?” Keeva gave him a warning look.

  “Ms Death seemed fairly certain there was a princess lurking around here somewhere.” Damián waved his arms.

  “True. So did Shucky,” Astral said. “And her name’s Abby Black, not Ms Death,” she told Damián.

  “Not to me. I’d prefer to remember exactly who she is and what she can do.” He hugged himself and shivered.

  “I also think we need to consider something else, and it’s equally unpleasant,” Dulcie said. They all looked at her.

  “What?” Keeva asked.

  “What if the gathering doesn’t believe us? What if Magdalene and her cronies somehow prevail?”

  “Never,” Astral said. “No honourable witch can deny what’s in that contract.” She was thinking of the Martha Briarwoods and Tallulah Spinners. There were still some good witches in their coven. Women who’d been friends of Lettice Projector, and who stood by the principles of a wholesome, decent coven that brought peace and fecundity to the natural world. Witches who would never want to so much as cross shadows with the likes of Black and Blacker and Hellbent Inc.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Dulcie continued, “but Magdalene must know that her dirty dealings have been exposed by now. She’s the one who told Death—sorry, Ms Black—that the princess was here. She must know we’d find out as soon as De—Ms Black turned up.”

  “You had a prowler the other night,” Keeva pointed out. “Any idea who?”

  “Eve Wormrider,” Astral said. The implication was clear. Eve had been sent to spy. Magdalene was keeping an eye on things, worried that Astral could unmask her. “Why did she send me to Black and Blacker if there was even the smallest chance I’d find out what she was up to?”

  “Smoke screen,” Keeva said. “She blamed a critter for taking our money, and by sending you in defenceless, it kept her lie alive. And while you raced around chasing shadows and distracting the coven, she tried to find the princess but obviously failed.”

  “All the more reason for us to do it. To find the princess,” Damián said. “It was my idea. Remember? Mine.”

  “What do we do if she manages to turn the coven away from the truth, even if it is right under their noses?” Astral asked, though she couldn’t believe it would happen.

  “We can’t underestimate her,” Keeva said. “She’s ruthless and we’ve got her back against the wall.”

  “Okay. I want you to consider this,” Dulcie said, her voice sombre. “We may have to leave The Plague Tree before the thirteenth day of the thirteen moon or else, as witches bound to the coven by the law of light, we’ll be amalgamated with Black and Blacker.”

  “Okay, I’m outta here. Right now.” Keeva pushed her chair back. “I’m not taking that chance. It’s the ninth already, Dulcie, and we’ve barely enough time to call a gathering, never mind wade through that contract and try and convince everyone it’s a bad, bad, bad thing. If Magdalene digs her toes in—and she will—we’ll run out of time and be swallowed up.”

  “But the other witches won’t want to go to Black and Backer, either,” Damián said. “Who’d want to do that? Only a dark witch, and The Plague Tree is a light coven.”

  “Only until Black and Blacker get their hands on it. You can be sure its allegiance will change, and our sister witches will be trapped on the dark path.” Astral wrung her hands. Her witching family was in peril.

  “They won’t know any of that,” Dulcie said grimly. “They’ll only have our word against the High Priestess-elect. That’s why we need a bolt hole. A place of sanctuary where we can welcome our sisters if they are wise enough to escape their fate.”

  “Do you mean…?” Keeva asked.

  “Yes.” Dulcie said.

  Astral looked at one, then the other. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Me, either,” Damián said and tugged on Dulcie’s sleeve. “Share.”

  “Keeva and I mean,” Dulcie began, “that we need another coven. A subdivision. Much like Black and Blacker is a subdivision of Hellbent. We’ll need to sneak the legislation pas
t the Upper Council at some point to make us legit. Then when things go Hecate in a handcart, we have somewhere safe that’s officially off limits from Black and Blacker. A smaller group that they can’t touch. Astral, will you draw up the paperwork if I can somehow sneak it past Magdalene and get the Upper Council to approve it?”

  “Of course I can draw up a contract. I can do a better one than Black and Blacker, now that I know their slinky rules.” She frowned, troubled. “But it’s a big risk. We’re taking it right up to the last minute. If we fail, it will be too late, and we’ll be caught in the current along with the rest of the coven.”

  “Why can’t we just dump them and walk away and start over?” Keeva asked. “That’s easier.”

  “Because we’ll lose all our assets, such as they are. Surrender them all away, and after five hundred years, I’m damned if Magdalene Curdle is going to push the last Projector out,” Astral said adamantly.

  “We need to set up the new coven right here and now,” Dulcie said, her tone uncompromising. “Time is of the essence. Astral can see to the paperwork later. And I’ll do my best to make sure it passes at the last gathering of The Plague Tree Coven, as we know it. So, if it all goes badly, we can proclaim our new independence and offer sanctuary to any witch who has the sense to jump the broom before it’s too late.”

  “Can I join? Please, please?” Damián was practically jumping up and down. “I promise to do my exams.”

  “Yes, you can,” Astral spoke before any of the others could nix the idea. “You’ve been in this thing since the beginning.”

  “That was only four days ago,” Keeva pointed out. “It’s hardly a Camelot moment.”

  “It’s Camelot to me,” he stated firmly.

  “It’s dangerous,” Dulcie warned. “We’re trying to outfox Black and Blacker. Magdalene is a goner, no matter what happens. And we all know who Black and Blacker work for.”

  “There’s no other option,” Astral said with a heavy heart. “The Plague Tree Coven was started by my ancestors over five hundred years ago and it’s come to this. A takeover by Hades. These are the days of madness, and we must do all we can to protect the light of wisdom that has always rested in our coven’s heart.” She covered her own heart with her hand and the others followed suit.

  “Our new coven will follow the old ways as they were meant to be followed,” Keeva said with great passion. “It’s the best we can do to keep our legacy alive and in the light.”

  They stood in a small candlelit circle around the kitchen table with its scattered remains of supper, hands on hearts full of sadness that this day had come, knowing they were the seed of a new coven and hopefully a new day.

  Astral regarded Dulcie. “Could you say a few words… just to bind us?” Her voice was thick with emotion. What would Grandma Lettice think of things ending this way? Or Myriad, or Clementine, the founder of The Plague Tree Coven? Or Elspeth, who started the Bevelled Moon academy? There were too many names from the Projector’s glorious past to recount, but she felt ashamed before them all. This was her contingency plan, to run away and hide, while her family’s legacy was plundered by the dark side.

  Dulcie had them hold hands and lower their heads while she intoned, “O, Mother Hecate, we honour You and celebrate Your presence upon the earth. May the Wheel of Life become our altar and the Path of Light our Way. We dedicate ourselves to You from the sanctum of our newly pledged coven and swear fealty to the Witching customs and rituals as given to the Sisterhood in ages past.” Dulcie’s voice rose to a crescendo. “We, the members of—” she broke off. “We haven’t picked a name yet,” she said, sounding surprised at the discovery. They stood looking at each other.

  “Can we be Guardians of the Galaxy?” Damián asked, excitedly.

  “No.” The answer came as one.

  “Can’t we sort a name out later when we’ve more time?” Keeva asked. “You can chuck it in the paperwork afterwards, Astral. It’s late and I’m knackered, and Lupin’s been in the car all this time and he must be dying for a wee. Let’s all sleep on it.”

  “Okay,” Dulcie said dubiously, and lowered her head again. They all followed her lead. “We, the members of the fill-in-the-blank-later coven vow to follow Your Path, the Way of Light, the Way of Truth, and protect the harmony of one Heart, one Soul, and one Magick.”

  The last words spoken, all four held their left hands out to the candle flame in the middle of the tabletop and intoned in unison, “All this we, the members of the fill-in-the-blank-later coven do solemnly swear. So mote it be.”

  *

  Glees good.

  Abby regarded Shucky, who sat on his haunches near her view of London Bridge. “So you’ve said.”

  Witch good. Nice. Not princess.

  “Clearly.” She rested her tumbler against her chin, thinking. Magdalene Curdle had promised to deliver a princess, but from her limited time around Astral, there was simply no way she was the daughter of Hades.

  Her phone rang and she moved to the sofa and picked it up from the cushion. She frowned when she saw the number. “Yes?” she answered.

  “Darling, have you decided to return my affections yet?” Iraldine practically purred in her ear.

  Bleh, Shucky said and Abby glowered at him, but he ignored her and plopped down on the floor, sending tremors under her feet.

  “No,” she said, with finality.

  “Oh, come now. We make such a striking pair.”

  It was always about appearances with Iraldine. And she was Death, for Hades’ sake. She didn’t need to worry about things like that. “I have recommended that you and your team return to the London office,” she said. “This will be for the best.” She braced for the reaction. It came as a disconnected call, which was also never a good sign because Iraldine was vindictive.

  Bleh, Shucky repeated. Witch nice.

  “Yes, yes. I know. You’ve said that.”

  True. He huffed at her.

  She went to the wet bar and poured herself another scotch. At least she now had a definitive boundary with Iraldine. Ms Projector, however, was another matter entirely.

  Normally, she viewed contracts as just that. Contracts. Things with clauses and stipulations. Magdalene Curdle had contracted with Black and Blacker, signed off on all the requisite pages, and agreed to the terms. She thus far had failed to deliver on said terms, and so her coven was forfeit.

  That was the contract.

  She stared moodily into her glass. Ms Projector was exactly the reason she eschewed personal involvement with contractors. And yet here she was, mulling the terms and thinking about how the actions of one affected so many others.

  She took a sip, let it unfurl in her mouth, and glanced over at the snoozing hellhound near the window.

  Some grim reaper she made. A hellhound addicted to pastries, a fascination with an adorable Fireside witch, and a pissed-off ex.

  But a contract was a contract. That was her job.

  And this might be the first time she had really questioned it.

  Chapter 12

  “ Keep your hood up and stay to the back,” Astral ordered. She tweaked Damián’s robe to disguise him a little better and pushed him towards the far corner.

  “Hail and merry be to you, too,” he groused, but did as he was told.

  Dulcie had worked her other magic—the administrative kind—and had cobbled together an extraordinary gathering super quick. The Projector barn was now full of robed witches, the rafters humming with the anticipation of over fifty voices, and more witches were still arriving. The lane was full of cars, and familiars jumped and jostled all over the farmyard playing games of chase with each other, while the older animals looked for somewhere cosy to snooze away the time until the whole boring affair was over. Borage glowered at the proceedings from the safety of a top floor bedroom window.

  The Plague Tree Coven was one of the country’s finest and strongest witching collectives. It had many members, and though not all were involved at Circle level
, all were obliged to show up when called upon.

  “I’m surprised you managed it so quickly,” Astral said to Dulcie. Together, they nervously watched the throng grow. “My hands are sweating.”

  “Mine, too. It came together too easily. Suspiciously easily,” Dulcie said. “I suspect Magdalene is more than ready for this showdown.”

  “Do you think Abby warned her?” Astral readied herself for disappointment with Dulcie’s answer and tried to accept that she and Abby were on different sides and always would be.

  “No. I think Magdalene knew the game was up, hence Eve Wormrider snooping around your place. I’m not sure what tipped her off, but she knew something was amiss.” Dulcie’s answer marginally cheered her up. Abby might just sit on the fence and wait this one out. After all, she wanted her princess more than their coven. The Plague Tree Coven was her booby prize.

  “I better go and take my place.” Dulcie melted into the crowd.

  Near the front of the throng, Keeva had already taken her prearranged spot. If all went badly, she was there to back Dulcie up. Keeva was a strong witch in both bearing and power. Adversaries would think twice before vexing her. Astral moved off to her assigned place a few rows forward from where Damián skulked incognito. Their job was to clear a route for Dulcie and Keeva if a hasty retreat was required.

  Already, Astral could see a few of Magdalene’s more staunch supporters taking up similar marshalling positions throughout the crowd, although she was certain most of them were ignorant of the corrupt activities of their mistress.

  “Hello, Astral.” Delia Dell greeted her from her own sentry post. “Shouldn’t you be up at the front with the Circle?”

  Delia was a wide-eyed country girl and a young Dogwitch. Her mother had been a good friend of Lettice’s and Astral was certain she had no clue that in under a week, she’d be a minion for the Lord of Hell. Astral fretted about the fate of all her sisters and hoped they would listen to the message Dulcie was about to impart.

  “Just going.” Astral pushed her way to the front platform they had hastily built that morning from straw bales and old boards. Magdalene watched her approach, expression cold. Astral artfully swerved and headed straight for Old Mother Worriwort.