Borage

by Gill McKnight

  “This is about Merryman,” Astral snapped. “Black and Blacker business does not belong in this house.”

  Magdalene snorted rudely.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Astral demanded. The days of Magdalene demanding even a begrudging respect from her were long over.

  “Can you deny your collusion with Black and Blacker, or do I have to be blunt,” Magdalene said.

  “Please be blunt, as I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You are having an affair with her,” Magdalene said triumphantly, and she pointed at Abby. “It’s the talk of the county.”

  Astral gasped. So did Ping, Fergal, Keeva, and Dulcie. Damián squeaked. Abby, however, remained unreadable, though one of her eyebrows may have lifted a bit.

  “Never,” Astral said, just as blunt, though her ears burned like cinders, and from the corner of her eye she could see Abby’s mildly amused expression. She turned to her friends for support. No one looked that shocked, surprised, or offended on her behalf, which was disconcerting. Damián, however, did look shamefaced.

  “I may have said something to Erigone,” he confessed. “I’m sorry, but I needed to bask in her attention.”

  “Well, there’s your source,” Astral said to Magdalene, waving a desultory hand at Damián.

  “He said he was your press officer.”

  Astral threw up her hands in exasperation. “As if.”

  Magdalene turned to Abby, rage flashing in her eyes. “Why are you dragging your heels while she destroys my coven?”

  “That’s rich,” Astral interrupted. “You embezzled our funds. And you stood by and let her.” She accused Abby.

  “Ms Curdle’s investment decisions were hers alone,” Abby said. “As High Priestess, she invoked the ancient right to deal with the accounts as she saw fit.”

  “Yes. I was within my rights,” Magdalene insisted. “Old Mother Worriwort was clueless. The Grand Dames have no notion about short-term securities, index-linked funds, or even basic equities. The money just sat there.”

  “Because Grandma Lettice ran our finances like a well-oiled machine,” Keeva said, words grinding out with her anger. “Her system worked fine until you stuck a wrench in it.”

  “I saw opportunity for growth,” Magdalene insisted.

  “You saw your own fat wallet,” Keeva hit back. “You were skimming.”

  “And you threw us under the bus in the process,” Astral snapped, nearly choking on her anger. “Trading a fairy princess in exchange for power? How ridiculous.”

  “Enough, everyone,” Dulcie said. “You’re upsetting Merryman. He’s the real victim here. Up until this morning, we had a disagreement, but at least as witches, we were more or less civilised about it. The attack on him is what we need to concentrate on. Someone is acting outside normal coven conventions, and if Magdalene didn’t sanction it, then who did?”

  Magdalene gave Dulcie a grave nod. “I would never allow it. I’m not a fool.”

  “Someone did, and that someone was from Golem,” Dulcie said, “because a hex that powerful doesn’t travel well. He was attacked on his own doorstep by someone all of us probably know.”

  “A hex that powerful needs a dark practitioner,” Keeva added.

  Silence descended over the table at her pronouncement.

  “Can anyone hear that?” Damián asked a few seconds later, his head cocked, much like Lupin’s, who was also on the alert. They both stared curiously at the back door. Even Syracuse stilled his interminable wriggling to focus on it.

  “A sort of humming? Or maybe a whizzing sound, like a blender,” Damián said, spooked. “Surely, you can hear it?”

  Keeva frowned. “I can’t hear anything.”

  The kitchen window exploded into fragments with a splintering crash and everyone ducked away, holding their arms up to protect themselves from flying glass. Except Abby, who sat as impassive as a rock.

  Damián screeched and Lupin shot from the room like a missile. Syracuse bolted, but only for the far corner. When Astral dared to peek, a broomstick lay smoking in the middle of the kitchen floor. The twigs that made up its brush smouldered and filled the air with acrid fumes. Everyone else was frozen to the spot in disbelief.

  “You’ve got mail,” Keeva finally said, and the room erupted into nervous laughter, with the exception of Abby, whose jawline tightened as she contemplated the mess.

  Astral stooped to untie the parchment wrapped around the broom handle. No one sent broomsticks as message projectiles anymore, not since Alexander Graham Bell.

  “It’s from Eve Wormrider,” she said, and scanned the contents, anxiety increasing with each line. “She says, in lieu of recent revelations concerning Magdalene Curdle, she—Eve Wormrider—has now been declared High Priestess of The Plague Tree Coven. She’s been freely voted into place on the promise of freezing all coven assets with immediate effect. Magdalene Curdle is duly expunged, and The Guardians of the 13th Moon, as a subsidiary of aforementioned coven, is heretofore annulled with all members duly charged with treason.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s a bit brutal,” Keeva said. “Who would vote for her anyway? She’s a moron.”

  Magdalene’s countenance had gone chalk white. Syracuse jumped on her lap and demanded to be petted. Such a needy animal, Astral decided sourly. At least Borage had taken himself off with selfish dignity. She felt a spike of sympathy for Magdalene, being sideswiped by a minion like Eve, but then remembered she and her friends had been caught in the same opportunistic power grab.

  “I can’t believe Wormrider made a bid for power in the middle of this crisis,” Dulcie said.

  “Oh, I can,” Keeva said bitterly. “She’s a selfish heifer.”

  Astral’s head started to hurt.

  Through all of this, Abby stood by the smashed window brooding out at the hills. The breeze played with her ebony hair. “Will you comply with her demands?” She turned her gaze to Astral.

  “The Plague Tree’s doomed with her at the helm.” Astral bit back tears. “We’re watching its death throes. Better check your To-Do list.”

  “Hecate in a handcart, I’ll not listen to a word from a Wormrider. The name says it all.” Keeva raised her hand to bring it down onto the table but stopped herself at a look from Dulcie.

  “It’s a feeble attempt at a coup and I bet it’s illegal,” Dulcie said. “We need to keep cool heads and challenge her authority. We set The Guardians up correctly to the last letter. All the paperwork is in place, so she can’t just flip us off. We’re here to stay as long as The Plague Tree needs us.”

  Astral nodded, trying to take heart from her words. “Rogue witches like Wormrider are exactly why we exist.”

  Magdalene stood and drew herself further upright for an extra inch of commanding presence. “I demand sanctuary,” she declared.

  Dulcie stared at her. “Pardon?”

  “I apply to The Guardians for sanctuary,” Magdalene repeated. “I have been unfairly accused.”

  “We were the ones who accused you in the first place,” Keeva pointed out. “Talk about out of the frying pan.”

  “Nevertheless, I demand asylum with The Guardians of the 13th Moon, given the recent aggressive actions of The Plague Tree Coven. And I also apply on behalf of my daughter,” she added. “The Curdles no longer feel safe in Golem, given this morning’s attack on an innocent little sparrow.”

  She may have been hamming it up, but Astral had to concede Magdalene had a point. How safe were she and Erigone now that a secret hexer was sniping at their little community?

  “This is very untoward and needs to be discussed.” Astral flicked a glance at her compatriots, then focussed again on Magdalene. “It was your conduct that created the need for The Guardians in the first place.”

  “Things change. What’s the point of being Guardians if you’re going to pick and choose who to protect?” Magdalene countered.

  “She’s right,” Dulcie said. “I think we have to comply. Otherwise,
we’re no better than the Wormriders of the world.”

  “This is skewed,” Keeva said, grumbling.

  “You are hovering on the brink of all-out conflict.” Abby’s voice sliced through the room. “Now is the time to consider your allies. If this spills over into a witch war, you’ll have my colleague Ms Blacker to deal with, and I assure you, things will become very complicated.”

  “It’s been a week,” Astral said in disbelief. “Seven days, and The Plague Tree Coven is on the brink of civil war.”

  “This would all be over if you had simply taken the princess.” Magdalene turned on Abby. “I’d still be High Priestess, the coven would be united, and we could recoup our funds and slowly build them back up. Why don’t you do it?”

  “Because, Ms Curdle, your assessment is incorrect.”

  Astral frowned and looked from Abby back at Magdalene.

  “Says who?” Magdalene’s voice raised. “Have you even tried? I delivered her right to your door. I’ll bet if you took her, he’d see for himself that—”

  “No.” Abby’s tone was flat, her expression immovable.

  “Why? Are the rumours true, then, about you and Astral?”

  Astral opened her mouth to argue but Magdalene wasn’t done yet.

  “You can’t possibly have feelings for her.” There was mockery in her words and Abby’s expression darkened, like a major thunderstorm was rolling in.

  “Wait a minute. What are you talking about?” Her house was growing chillier with the tone they were taking, and it clearly didn’t like the topic, even if Astral was unsure what that topic was. “What does she mean, ‘deliver to your door’?”

  Abby’s expression remained inscrutable as always.

  “You’re talking about me, aren’t you?” Astral pressed.

  Abby’s lips thinned and she refused to answer.

  “Did you really believe I’d send you, of all people, to detect a critter syphoning coven funds?” Magdalene raised her hands, exasperated.

  “I caught you, didn’t I?” Astral retorted.

  “I was not a culprit. I was perfectly within my rights—”

  “That’s for the coven to decide. You were duplicitous and you decimated our pension pot. You are answerable for that.” Astral refused to back down this time. She was no longer the naive witch Magdalene had sent on a fool’s errand. “Plus, I did find a critter,” she added triumphantly. “I found Fergal.” She indicated him with a broad sweep of her hand.

  “Fergal?” Everyone but Abby fixed Fergal with a curious stare. He blushed purple and slumped farther into his seat.

  “He’s a critter?” Keeva asked.

  “He’s a leprechaun,” Astral said. “And I unveiled Black Shuck and Death, both pretty big critters, if you ask me.” By those accounts, her mission had been a one hundred-percent success.

  “I do not see myself as a critter,” Abby said, and she sounded offended.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, everyone at Black and Blacker is a critter. It’s a subsidiary of Hellbent Incorporated,” Magdalene said with a snort. “It’s like finding a cocoa bean in a chocolate factory.”

  “Critter is a dated, rather indelicate term,” Abby said. “The netherworld prefers to use otherly. Ms Ping, for instance, is a—”

  “Tooth fairy.” Dulcie finished Abby’s sentence. “It makes sense. All those rotten teeth in that empty office.” She shuddered at the memory.

  Ping blanched so badly she practically faded into the whitewashed walls.

  “What empty office?” Abby threw Ping a hard glare, which only added to Ping’s discomfiture. “I see. We’ll talk later, Ms Ping.” She stood to go. “If you don’t mind, I’ll collect my critters and be on my way. My work here is done.”

  Astral winced inwardly. She’d been going on about critters and hadn’t even considered the ramifications of applying the term to people she had worked with and rather liked.

  Fergal lurched reluctantly to his feet and Ping eased towards the door.

  Astral cleared her throat. “Fergal wanted to stay,” she said.

  Abby gave her one of her enigmatic looks. “Mister Mor does not want to stay. He has work to do. And lots of it, as I seem to have lost the more competent employee.”

  “He’s requested sanctuary,” Astral said, deciding to ignore the little jibe.

  Abby froze. “He what?”

  “Requested sanctuary. And I said yes.”

  “Bless ye, ye sweet, beautiful, darlin’.” Fergal collapsed back into his chair, poured another whiskey, and mopped his brow with his sleeve.

  “Me, too,” Ping blurted, then slapped both hands over her mouth.

  “That’s a girl, Ping. Come over to the Light side with yer old pal, Fergal.” He slapped the seat beside him. “Sanctuary for us, it is.”

  Abby watched in what might have been shock as Ping joined Fergal.

  “Please, Astral?” Ping slid onto the arm of Fergal’s chair and watched Abby nervously from the corner of her eye. “She’ll kill me once she sees all those teeth. There were too many, night after night. I couldn’t keep track of the proper process, so I dumped them in an office out of the way.”

  Abby’s face darkened further at this confession.

  “Well, looky here. We’ve practically doubled in size,” Damián said in awe, then air-pumped his fist. “The Guardians are go!”

  “Hecate’s teeth,” Keeva moaned. “Are we going to take anyone who runs in the door and shouts sanctuary?”

  “As long as they genuinely need help, yes.” Dulcie shrugged.

  “Critters don’t need sanctuary,” Magdalene said tightly. “And they can’t join a coven. They need to go back to Black and Blacker along with the princess. What is wrong with you people?”

  Abby regarded the proceedings, nonplussed, though her face morphed into her more familiar unreadable mask when she caught Astral’s eye.

  “Again with this princess. Who is she?” Damián crossed his arms and gave Magdalene a sly smile. “My money’s on Erigone.”

  She stared back at him. “You really are an oaf, and this is a ridiculous conversation. She is the missing princess.” She pointed at Astral. “She was stolen away by Lettice Projector and bewitched to believe she was her granddaughter.”

  Stunned silence greeted this revelation.

  Astral broke it with a laugh. She couldn’t help it. The thought was entirely ludicrous. “Me? A princess?”

  Damián laughed, too. A little too loud.

  “Magdalene desperately wants you to be so she can close her contract. I, however, remain unconvinced. It does not strike me that you are chthonic royalty.” Abby raised an eyebrow. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added, and Astral swore she heard a smile in her undertone.

  “Yes, she is,” Magdalene exclaimed. “You just don’t want to admit it. That way Hellbent can steal my coven and grab her as a bonus. You’re dirty double-crossers.” She appealed to the assembly. “Whoever heard of a Projector being so awful at magic? Sorcery runs in their veins. They’re one of the oldest witching families in the land. A Projector as bad at witchcraft as Astral is? That’s unheard of.” She pointed at her. “She doesn’t fit. She’s unnatural. She can’t be a Projector. Why can’t any of you see this?”

  “Unnatural?” Keeva stood and seemed about to tackle Magdalene and drag her outside for a proper brawl.

  “You know what I mean,” Magdalene said with an eyeroll.

  “No, I don’t. Maybe you’d better elaborate.” Keeva clenched her fists and Astral gave Dulcie a pleading look.

  “Magic comes in many forms.” Abby broke the impasse.

  Everyone looked at her and Astral’s heartbeat sped up a bit on noticing that Abby seemed to be supporting her.

  “Astral may not be a princess of the underworld, and she may not be the type of Projector witch all of you are used to, but that does not negate the magic she has.”

  “She is a princess of the underworld,” Magdalene said, insistent. �
��And you’re now trying to wriggle out of this contract by denying the obvious.”

  “Speakin’ from experience, Ms Curdle, Abby Black doesn’t wriggle,” Fergal said. Astral fought a laugh at his inopportune comment.

  “I’ve known Astral since kindergarten.” Dulcie smiled at her. “She’s the perfect Fireside witch. I mean, here she’s granted all of you hospitality under her roof, provided food and drinks, and so far, nobody’s killed each other. I’d say that’s a bit of magic that none of us have.”

  “Well stated, m’girlie,” Fergal said as he poured himself yet another whiskey. For a moment, the room seemed to relax.

  Keeva sat down again. “All right, Magdalene, I’ll play. Why would Grandma Lettice even want to kidnap a princess, never mind one of Hades’ daughters? That makes no sense.”

  “I don’t know,” Magdalene snapped.

  “So, she goes waltzing down to the underworld and steals Hades’ nipper? That would take a lot of balls.”

  Dulcie put a warning hand on Keeva’s arm.

  “That would take a lot of whiskey,” Fergal said, raising the bottle. He looked at the small amount left with a forlorn expression.

  “Enough,” Abby said. “I am not taking Astral to see Hades.”

  “Then the contract—” Magdalene started, but she immediately shut up after Abby turned her hard, cold, predatory stare to her. For once, Astral appreciated it.

  Dulcie got up. “Here she is with Grandma Lettice and her mum.” She pointed at the small oil painting on the wall. “So, Magdalene, explain that.” She leaned in for a closer look at the painting. “Oh, my. Myriad is oscillating a lot today.”

  Astral moved closer, as did the others, chairs scraping on the floor as they were vacated. Indeed, Myriad was fading wildly in and out of the painting, as if fighting to maintain her space.

  Abby studied it with interest, then looked at Astral. “Is she in control of her own coming and going?” she asked. Her tone seemed surprisingly gentle.

  “I honestly don’t know.”