Borage

by Gill McKnight

  “Where are the refreshments?” the old dear asked before Astral could open her mouth to give the accustomed “Hail and merry be” greeting.

  “In the farmhouse. I can’t bring cakes out here…too many rats,” she replied, barely able to look Old Mother Worriwort in the eye. The old girl’s failings cut deep. Astral truly hoped she wasn’t part of the subterfuge, but rather a dupe for Magdalene’s machinations. “It’s all about health and safety these days,” she muttered and thrust her invoices at the old lady. “Could you sign off on the order forms, please?”

  “Surely, the rats won’t be interested in whiskey, dear?” Old Mother Worriwort donned her half-moon spectacles and squinted at the invoices.

  “I’ll nip over in a minute and get you a wee dram,” Astral promised, aware of Magdalene’s stare burning a hole in her back. Hecate knew how Dulcie kept calm up here on the platform working with her.

  “There’s a good girl.” Old Mother Worriwort scrawled myopically across the receipts for flour and sugar. Job done, Astral scuttled back to her former position near the exit. Delia looked over at her, a question in her eyes.

  “I need to be near the door to go get the refreshments later,” Astral murmured, which seemed to satisfy her.

  As with any gathering, Dulcie began the Circle ritual. No sooner had it been deployed when Magdalene stormed into the centre and raised her arms for attention.

  “Sisters, there has been a failing on our part. I blame myself.” She shook her head sadly. “As of yesterday, there are no funds. Nothing. Not a penny left in The Plague Tree Coven’s accounts. The critter has bled us dry.”

  Cries of consternation rang around the barn and Astral stared at her. There’d still been tens of thousands just a few days ago. Where had it gone?

  “I’m afraid we were too late in detecting the transgression.” Her gaze slid across to Old Mother Worriwort, and anger flared down Astral’s spine. Magdalene better not be trying to blame the older woman. Old Mother Worriwort stood tottering on the stage, totally unaware that she was the target of censure within the room. She looked lost and pathetic and Astral’s heart went out to her. This once mighty witch had lost her path completely, all thanks to Magdalene Curdle. Since the day she had taken office, she had steadily undermined the old gal’s sobriety and, eventually, her ability to function normally as a witch.

  “Secondly—and I hold myself accountable for this—we did not take enough critical measures to neutralize the critter. I was too lenient, too trusting. I saw what I wished to see, I suppose, and I apologise to the assembly.” Her icy stare fell full force on Astral. “I should have been more strident in my choice of champion.”

  The implication was clear, Astral had failed them. She’d been shown trust, given a chance to prove herself, and had come up empty. Around her she could feel her sisters draw away as if she were a contaminant. Her initial shock quickly boiled over with more anger. So, this was how it was going to be. Lies and deception right up to the bitter end. She fished under her gown and started distributing copies of the contract she’d been photocopying since dawn.

  Across the way, Keeva was doing the same even as Dulcie handed out her batch on stage to the members of the Circle, most of whom were in the Upper Council. Wrong-footed for a moment, Magdalene’s face cramped in fury when she recognised the distributed document. Dulcie stepped forward and addressed the coven.

  “Sisters, in your hands is a copy of a contract between Magdalene Curdle and Black and Blacker Finances, the firm allegedly housing the so-called critter that is accused of stealing our funds.”

  “That is my private business and you are breaking the law by—” Magdalene reached to snatch Dulcie’s copy away. Around the room several of her cohorts tried to do the same but their hands were slapped away.

  “We can prove that these funds came from our own coven accounts and was not Magdalene Curdle’s money to invest,” Dulcie boomed out.

  “Prove it, then.” Magdalene practically spat.

  This was not the path Astral, Dulcie, and Keeva wanted to go down. It would take weeks or even months for the unpractised eye to unpick the dense information in the contract. There simply was not time before the default came into place.

  “There never was a critter,” Astral shouted out from the back. “It was Magdalene all along embezzling our funds and now she’s lost all our money.” Though she suspected Magdalene had stashed away the last of it for herself. She was becoming madder with each passing minute.

  Voices rang out and questions soared pell-mell at the platform, where they all went unanswered as Magdalene and Dulcie roared angrily at each other.

  “She’s sold us out,” Keeva hollered. “She’ll hand us over to Black and Blacker in a blink.”

  “And why would I do that?” Magdalene hollered back. “I’m your High Priestess. I am foresworn to guide you—”

  “All the way to hell,” Keeva yelled back, red-faced with fury.

  “This is ridiculous. I declare this gathering closed.” Magdalene pushed her finger in Dulcie’s face. “You, young woman, will present a report on this farce to the Upper Council and—”

  Dulcie slapped her hand away. “You’re really going to do it, aren’t you? You’re really going to stand back and let Black and Blacker take our coven and enslave us all. You are the evilest bitch I’ve ever met.” A council elder lunged and grabbed Dulcie by her gown.

  “Magdalene has signed away the coven to the Lord of Hell,” Dulcie yelled, trying to fight off the hands dragging her from the stage. “You’ll all be lackeys for Hellbent Incorporated unless you leave this coven now!”

  “We’ve created a new coven, a sanctuary. Join us before your fealty has been sold to the devil himself!” Keeva was tussling with two of Magdalene’s henchwomen. They were trying to escort her out but failing at removing her. “The Plague Tree Coven has been signed away by our precious High Priestess. She owes Black and Blacker and her default is us!”

  “Is this true, Astral?” She felt a tight grip on her upper arm. It was Delia. Her grip was tight, but anxiety lurked in her eyes.

  “I’m afraid it is. It’s all in the document I handed out. Take time to read it as soon as you can, then come talk to me.”

  “What do you mean, a new coven?” Eve Wormrider shouted above the noise and increasing chaos. “Who are you to start a new coven in this county? This is our county.” The question got the attention of others and gradually the cacophony faded.

  “We declare the establishment of a subsidiary coven to that of The Plague Tree Coven.” Dulcie glared at Eve, righting her robe now that her assailant had let her go. “Which will operate legitimately from within the franchise of its parent coven, but be exempt from all previous commitments, obligations, and guarantees of that coven. It shall be a place of sanctuary. Be aware that on the thirteenth day of the thirteenth moon—”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Magdalene cut her off. “What nonsense. Speak English and tell us the name of this so-called coven.”

  “Um,” Dulcie fumbled for words. Her gaze locked with Astral’s. They had forgotten to name the new coven. She could hardly say “fill in the blank.”

  “Guardians of the Galaxy,” Damián shouted from the back of the barn.

  “No,” Astral howled, trying to correct his words. “Guardians, we’re just The Guardians.”

  “What in Hecate—what is he doing here?” Magdalene barked out in anger. “He’s not even a witch, never mind a member of this coven. This has gone far enough. This is nothing more than a coup.”

  Pandemonium ensued as shouts and questions rang out from the crowd, and even Astral could see panic in Magdalene’s normally stone-cold eyes. There were too many people asking too many questions and Magdalene couldn’t ignore them forever. Meanwhile, those not shouting were urgently skimming through their copies of the Black and Blacker contract.

  “Out,” Magdalene shouted. “Out with the lot of them.” She raised her wand and tossed a spell into the crowd but
it only seemed to increase the bedlam.

  Delia’s grip on Astral’s arm tightened and her eyes grew cold. “Come with me, Astral. Nice and easy.”

  “You’re hurting me.” She tried to pull her arm away but Delia gripped her tighter as she pulled her towards the exit. Around them other witches began to push and poke, not just at Astral but at each other. Either Magdalene’s spell was making people nasty, or it was misdirected. Astral doubted that. It was probably meant to deliberately agitate.

  “Oof!” Delia landed on her backside at Astral’s feet.

  Behind her, Damián appeared triumphant. “I tripped her,” he crowed. “Seriously, we need to get out of here. These people are ugly. I don’t know why I ever wanted to join this coven.”

  Screams, yells, and curses echoed off the barn rafters as witches pushed and pulled at each other. In response, either to the noise or, more likely, the misuse of magic on Projector premises and the manhandling of an actual Projector, the chickens roosting on the overhead beams flew to attack those present. Hair had grown to enormous proportions on every head, making easy targets for chicken claws to clutch at and tangle in. Wings flapped, beaks pecked, claws scratched at gowns, hair, any exposed flesh. The witches screamed and flailed, trying to dislodge the angry fowl.

  Damián screamed. “There’s poop in my hair.”

  Astral grabbed his hand and they ran for the exit. “There’s a water barrel outside. Keep running.”

  A quick glance behind her showed Keeva dragging Dulcie after her in a similar dash for the door. Squawks, screams, and feathers exploded all around them in a chicken blitzkrieg. She swung her gaze around the barn, taking in the remnants of a once proud coven. On the platform, Magdalene fixed her with a seething look of pure hatred. Her silver coiffed hair was in ruins and chicken poo stained the front of her ceremonial gown.

  She raised her wand and pointed it directly at Astral. Her lips began to form a hex, when from out of nowhere, a huge red rooster flew at her. She screamed and dropped her wand and fell to the floor in a crouch as the furious creature repeatedly dive-bombed her. Astral watched wide-eyed as the rooster swooped again and again, his large talons bared, beak clacking. Magdalene’s cronies formed a guard around her and escorted her towards the exit in a half-hunkered phalanx.

  Outside, witches didn’t stop running. They hopped into their cars, followed by their freaked-out familiars, and raced away down the lane. Before five minutes had passed, the farmyard was deserted and silent, except for Damián furiously dunking his entire head in the water barrel. He collapsed in a dripping, panting heap by Astral’s feet until Keeva and Dulcie joined them.

  “Why didn’t you go over to the farmhouse and take a hot shower?” Dulcie asked him.

  “Ah.” His mouth drooped.

  “Thank Hecate for your chickens. I’m so glad Magdalene pissed them off,” Keeva said.

  “Yes. That was going nowhere fast. She’s far too slippery for us. We were naive to think she’d have a pinprick of honour left in her.” Dulcie kicked the dirt in disgust.

  “Did you see him?” Astral asked.

  “See who?” Keeva asked.

  “Who?” Dulcie echoed.

  “The rooster,” she said, the incredulity of what she was saying beginning to sink in. “It was Riff-Raff.”

  There was a second of silence, then Dulcie said, “Riff-Raff? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is Riff-Raff?” Damián lurched to his feet.

  “My mother’s familiar. He disappeared when she did.”

  “And now he’s back?” Dulcie glanced around, as if she could conjure him. “I wonder what that means.”

  A loud triumphant crowing echoed from the barn and whatever chickens had strayed outside in chase of a witch soon scuttled back in.

  “Seems your girls are happy to see him,” Keeva said. “Hopefully, he’s here to stay.”

  “But why is he here?” She didn’t say what everyone was probably thinking—that he was here and her mother wasn’t.

  “I don’t know, love. But he protected you and us.” Dulcie gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “Let’s go inside and see if we can sort some of this out.”

  Astral nodded and followed the others back to the house, heart heavy and mind whirling with far too many things.

  There was just about time for a restorative malt around the kitchen table before the phones started ringing. Everyone’s phone went off at once, except Damián’s, because he wasn’t a Plague Tree witch. Instead, Dulcie instructed him to answer the landline, which also rang off the hook.

  “What do I say?” he asked from the other room, wrapping his wet hair in a towel turban style.

  “Tell them nobody’s home,” Astral responded.

  Witch after witch called, some wanting to know the truth, while others demanded an apology. The latter were clearly acolytes of Magdalene. Others had extracted worrisome information from the contract they’d been given. Still others couldn’t make head or tail of it and thought it all a wild goose chase. Old Mother Worriwort had lost her teeth in the barn and would someone please go and look for them? Most callers said the evening was a fracas and wondered that it couldn’t have been approached in a more cohesive, constitutional way, with no chickens.

  “I promise you the chickens were not part of the plan,” Astral explained for the umpteenth time. She looked over at Dulcie and rolled her eyes. “Magdalene’s spell-casting agitated them. They thought they were protecting me.”

  “From your own coven?” The offended party hung up.

  Dulcie was struggling, too. “If you look at section 12.14.2c, it gives the actual timeline. We have less than three days to the thirteenth moon—no, C, as in coven, or catastrophic. Calamity, collusion, ca-cu—” She ran out of words.

  “Constipation?” Damián offered.

  “She hung up.” Dulcie set her phone down.

  “This is awful.” Keeva turned her phone off. “My ears need a rest. It’s like no one heard a word we said.”

  Damián was still on the line. “When I hollered Guardians of the Galaxy, I was thinking more about the soundtrack, to be honest,” he said. “I see that seventies vibe as our signature sound. The real name is Guardians of the 13th Moon.” He mouthed, I just made that up, isn’t it a fab name? to the others, and continued his conversation with whomever was on the phone. “What? No, I didn’t particularly want to be a guardian. Why? Because the job description is in the title. So? So, people expect things, like guarding, and quite frankly, I have barely a minute as it is… Me? I work at Whoops a Daisy, the flagship florist in Golem, offering a premier floral service from our team of hard-working, highly creative professionals. I’m the manager.” He winked cheekily at Dulcie.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked in alarm.

  He held the phone to his chest. “The Witching Times. They’re calling from London. Apparently, we’re a big splash.”

  Leaving Dulcie to sputter in peace, he went back to the phone. “Sorry, must dash. It’s an absolute hullabaloo down here. Toodles.” He ended the call with relish and swung his chair to face them. “Can I be press officer once we start allotting Guardian roles? Isn’t our new name the greatest?”

  “Well, I suppose it’s accurate, but you should have asked us first,” Astral said. “It’s a collective, after all.”

  “Oh.” Damián sighed, crestfallen, but quickly brightened. “But it’s still fab, right? The Guardians of the 13th Moon.” His hands framed the words as if it were a neon Hollywood movie sign.

  “How do you put up with him?” Keeva asked Dulcie. “I’d have throttled him within the first five minutes of any working day.”

  “Our mothers are cousins,” Dulcie stated glumly. “It’s bad form to strangle family.”

  “The Witching Times is the least of our worries.” Astral rested her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this whole thing started only a week ago at the last gathering. Time has no meaning anymore. Every twenty-four hours spaw
ns a new nightmare.” She thought again about Riff-Raff. She should probably go into the barn and find out if he stayed. And why wasn’t her mother here? If Riff-Raff could turn up, surely she could?

  “No one has an inkling of the danger they’re in,” Keeva said. “Is anyone even listening to us? This is a thankless task.” She sounded tired. “I feel like the entertainment officer on the Titanic.”

  “Martha Briarwood and Tallulah Spinner are on board and heading for the lifeboats, I’m happy to say,” Astral reported. She was glad about that, because she’d been especially anxious for her grandma’s old friends. They’d been among the first to call and accept the offer to join The Guardians unquestioningly. Their reassurances that her grandma would be proud boosted Astral to orbital heights, if only momentarily.

  “She always said you were her special girl, and here you are proving it,” Martha had said, and Astral could feel her pride all the way down the telephone line.

  “Delia Dell is also in,” Dulcie added.

  “Brilliant. Wasn’t she one of Magdalene’s crew?” Keeva asked.

  “Yes, but she’s been unhappy for a while. It took a chicken to bring her to her senses, she said. She didn’t like the way Magdalene’s spell made her feel.”

  “Good for her.” Keeva took another drink of scotch. “A sensible young Dogwitch, if ever I saw one. I wish more of Magdalene’s pack would start thinking for themselves.”

  Astral’s phone buzzed by her elbow. Wearily, she held it to her ear without even looking at the number. “Hello?”

  “You bitch. How dare you throw a rooster at my mother? There’ll be consequences. You’ve not heard the end of this, you cow.” The caller hung up, but she had sounded vaguely familiar.

  Astral stared at the number but she didn’t recognise it. “Anyone know this number?” She held up her phone screen.

  “Erigone Bacchanalia,” Dulcie said with a twist of her lips.

  “Thought so.” Astral was beyond caring. She’d been verbally battered all evening. She really ought to follow Keeva’s lead and turn off her phone.