Mostly, my hands were tied behind me and I lay on the mattress.
There was zero noise, nothing to give away where I was.
There was nothing to do either.
It was like being in the Big Brother house without any housemates or any weird and wonky furniture.
I had a fierce caffeine headache caused by the forced cold turkey off lattes.
I was still exhausted and I knew that although my magic was probably regenerating, without the physical energy or my wand (which was confiscated, of course), I was fucked.
And I thought about Aidan.
And I tried not to think about Ash.
* * * * *
Sometime when it was darker and colder and I knew night was coming, the door opened.
The two men with guns and two women with wands came in and I thought it was bathroom break time.
But then Agatha Darling came in behind them followed by Ash.
Darling was wearing her cloak and Ash, I swear to the goddess, looked like fucking Darth Vader following the Emperor.
I felt my mouth fill with saliva like I was going to vomit.
I wanted to spit it in his face.
Which, by the way, was still gorgeous and completely void of any emotion.
He was wearing the Alexander McQueen shirt I’d given him.
The bastard.
Then, behind them, in flew a big, black bat.
The bat hovered momentarily and then transformed and there stood Douglas Fucking Addison.
“Miss Honeycutt,” he said, in those smooth, kind tones I’d somewhat gotten used to which were undoubtedly honed over years of political ass-kissing.
I just stared, trying to look surprised.
(‘Cause, if you will remember, I wasn’t supposed to know he was a vampire.)
He nodded to Ash and Ash walked forward.
I wanted to back away but I held my ground, staring daggers at him.
I wished like hell I could use magic but I couldn’t. I figured I had a big night ahead of me. If I had any magic regenerated at all, I had no doubt I’d need it later.
I had no idea it wouldn’t matter.
One of the witches came forward, opening a small metal case that carried a vial that was filled with a syringe and some neon pink fluid that looked right out of X-Men.
Ash coolly picked up the syringe and vial, pulled the cap off the syringe with his teeth and spit it out then filled it from the vial.
I didn’t fight when he grabbed my arm, plunged the syringe into a vein and pushed whatever the fluid was into my bloodstream.
I just stared at him. My eyes (I hope) filled with loathing.
And I thought, I hate you.
And the answering thought in my head was, No, you don’t.
The bastard.
* * * * *
Whatever was in the vial affected me violently. Chills slid across my body so ferociously that I fell to me knees then my side, curling into a fetal position and shivering uncontrollably.
“What’s the matter with her?” Darling asked, standing over me.
“It affects some like that,” Ash answered, also staring down at me.
“I thought it was meant to subdue her,” Darling carried on.
“She’ll calm in a moment, Agatha, not to worry,” Addison said.
And I did calm.
I became scary calm.
As in, body comatose, mind not comatose calm.
Ack!
When I did calm, Ash bent down and picked me up in the fireman’s hold again. Nothing so intimate as the way Aidan carried me, like a husband carrying his wife over the threshold. No, with Ash, it was all business.
Goddess, I hated this man.
We left whatever building we were in and they put me in a car.
My body was not my own.
My mind was there, active, I could see everything, hear everything but I could not move my arms, legs, head – nothing. It was like the whole of my body had gone to sleep including those annoying and painful tingles.
Why the tingles?
It was dark, it was late and it was Hallowe’en.
I wasn’t stupid; the Witching Hour was nearly upon us. I had a feeling I knew what they were up to.
I spent the time in my head calling out to my tree, to find power and strength and to ask it to send a message out through nature that I, The Chosen One, needed help.
What I was thinking, performing a ritual ceremony on Althea when I most needed my magic, I do not know.
A crazy sense of responsibility to Althea as a fellow witch?
She’d been wronged by witches and I was determined that she’d be righted by witches.
And that determination might be the end of me.
* * * * *
We arrived.
The glimpses I caught through the darkness were of fields. This time, Ash didn’t pick me up, one of the other men did. He carried me up a hill so steep he had to transfer me to another dude halfway up.
At the top the man dumped me on the grass, face up.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.
St. Michael’s Church.
I was on top of The Tor.
Oh… crap!
* * * * *
Historians and tourists knew little bits and bobs about Glastonbury’s Tor.
Most gruesomely that in the times of Henry VIII, at the dissolution of Glastonbury Abbey (whose ruins now nestled beautifully in the town at the foot of The Tor), the Abbey’s last Abbot was hanged on The Tor, his body quartered, the pieces sent hither and yon with his head staked at the Abbey.
But Glastonbury as a whole is a spiritual and mystical place for all faiths from Christianity (legend says Jesus visited when he was a boy) to paganism (mostly Celtic) to Arthurian Legend (the Holy Grail is, indeed, buried at the base of The Tor).
There is a reason for the utter importance and reverence of The Tor and its surrounding lands.
The prehistoric, manmade Tor was the site of Avalon.
Yes, Avalon – the mystical island that guards all magicks as well as the gate to the Underworld.
Over time, the sea has receded, Avalon has faded and the magicks have disbursed.
But The Tor remains.
Yes, the myth is true.
You know the Seven Wonders of the World?
The Supernatural World has the Thirty Magical Gates.
And Glastonbury Tor was Numero Uno.
* * * * *
This should have soothed me, to be at The Tor, a place of faith and ceremony, of history and power.
A place of immense magic.
The place that could heal me.
But somehow, right at that moment, it didn’t.
Wanna know why?
Because there were a lot of people up there.
A lot.
My eyes rolled around in my head and I took them all in.
There were witches in cloaks, men in overcoats, bats flying around, sorcerers and sorceresses wandering about.
I noted three magical carpets with Magi floating on them.
Wizards, trolls, goblins and I even saw a panting whirling dervish.
I also saw Endora Eccles.
And Jeremy Bligh.
And I saw the Scary Faerie from The Hobgoblin zoom in, sober as a judge, and alight on Agatha Darling’s shoulder.
Of course, that little shit was Agatha’s faerie.
Of course.
I was so stupid.
It was a big, freakish Supernatural Hallowe’en Night Come-See-the-Fall-of-The-Chosen-One Party.
Fuck me.
* * * * *
They took me into the St. Michael’s Church.
St. Michael’s Church was small, one “room” if you will. That room was open to the elements, both doorways had no doors and the top had no roof. The church went up, three, maybe four stories – a tall, narrow, imposing stone structure.
In the middle of the “room” there was a large, flat stone that wasn’t normally
there.
It rose to about waist height.
As I watched, someone spread a black cloth on it.
There you go. It was an altar and that was where they placed me.
Before, there was chatting, gabbing, general merriment and excitement in the air.
Once one of the men arranged me on the altar, it had gone silent.
The brethren and sisterhood were assembling for the ritual.
Face up on the altar I saw the glistening atmosphere of the sky which I knew to be a cloak that protected this gathering from any interruption from the surrounding town and its inhabitants.
It undoubtedly protected the gathering from outside magic as well.
Candles were lit around the inside of the church.
I could smell the heavy scent of incense.
And the deep iron stench of fresh blood.
There started a low humming which turned to a chant.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Douglas Addison approach and stop by my side. He was wearing a cape lined in blood red satin.
And right then, down from the top of St. Michael’s Church, through the long steep, narrow shoot, came a bat, flying straight toward me.
Almost to the bottom, it transformed into a man who gracefully landed behind and to the right of Addison.
“Glad you could make it, son,” Addison said with affectionate impatience.
And there stood Gabriel.
Damn.
Yep.
So.
Stupid.
* * * * *
It would be irresponsible of me to explain the procedure that sliced away my magic.
And there are not good enough words to describe the pain.
Or to express my emotions when I saw my aura of hot pink, shell pink, violet, silver and electric blue sparks explode straight into the waiting undead bodies of Douglas and Gabriel Addison.
Those paragraphs alone will have to suffice.
I don’t even want history to know of the anguish and shame I felt when my magic was stripped.
So I won’t tell you.
* * * * *
But it was going to get worse.
* * * * *
Magic-less, I was no threat.
After the ritual, the celebration had begun.
More chanting, some magical fireworks, at that point no one paid any attention to me.
There were champagne corks popping and laughter.
Unbelievable.
Within fifteen, twenty minutes whatever drug Ash gave me wore off and I could sit up.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Gabriel said, placing a warning hand on my shoulder. “The night’s not over for you yet.”
I wanted to say something flip like, “Et tu, Gabriel?” but I just stared at him.
I mean, why would I trust this guy?
My intuition was shit.
Yet somehow, I was really disappointed, not only in myself, but also Gabriel.
And he stood there, his hand on my shoulder, nodding at folks who passed by and drinking a glass of champagne.
Ash walked up.
“Well done,” Gabriel told him, he took his hand from me and shook hands with Ash.
I spit on the stone between their two sets of feet.
Ash turned to me and raised a brow.
Gabriel looked at me and laughed.
* * * * *
“She’s here.”
“They’re here.”
“Quiet.”
“Sh.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“We’ve won!”
“This was too easy. Hurrah!”
“Oh no, I was kind of hoping for a human sacrifice.” (That from a particularly ugly little goblin, the little fucker.)
I was sitting in the middle of the altar.
Still wearing what I wore to Althea’s ceremony, a pair of jeans, my Diesel trainers with all the straps around the top and a heathered-gray cashmere hoodie.
My knees were pulled up to my chest and I was hugging them because I was cold, tired, scared and seriously pissed off.
By this time, Ash and Gabriel were off somewhere probably having the times of their lives hooking up with gorgeous sorceresses.
I was under witch guard; one of the Edwards Coven was standing behind me, her wand at the ready.
And I was waiting for a good time to make a run for it. They may have my magic but that was all they’d take from me that night.
Assholes.
* * * * *
And then I saw Althea (panting heavily) and Josie (helping her) clear the top of The Tor.
“No!” I shouted, unable to control myself, I tried to spring off the slab but a slap of magic from the witch behind me stayed my progress.
Damn!
Everyone turned to look at me.
I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
There were giggles and titters as people turned away from ineffectual, old me, The Ex-Chosen One, in order to watch Josie and Althea walk into the small clearing.
“I’ve got this.” I heard a familiar French, English, and yes, American accented voice say. I turned and saw Gabriel relieve the witch from Mathilda watch.
Then Ash positioned himself beside me, leaning his hip against the altar (of all fucking arrogant things to do).
I wanted to push him off.
I wanted to punch him in the face.
I wanted to kick him in the balls.
I wanted to rush forward, grab Josie and Althea and run.
But I had to bide my time and be smart.
For once.
* * * * *
Then something happened.
Agatha Darling walked toward Althea and Althea unsheathed her wand.
“Back off, woman,” Althea warned.
I took in my breath.
Why would they allow a witch, a powerful witch like Althea, to deliver Josie to them?
Why wouldn’t they pick Lucy?
Or send someone of their own to collect her?
“Oh, you poor deluded soul,” Agatha said, her voice, as usual, serene and bored. “Put that away. You aren’t fooling anyone.”
My heart jumped.
They didn’t know!
They didn’t know that Althea had her power back!
I looked up at Ash who was watching the scene and then I saw his chin dip ever-so-slightly as if he was nodding yes.
My heart leapt.
Ohmygoddess!
Ohmygoddess!
Could it be?
It flooded my head (from the mind-meld, direct from Ash, he gave a quick explanation, too long to go into here) the moment I felt something rough scrape my back and slide into the waistband of my jeans and the tingles came back double time, surging through my body, my limbs…
My magic!
Gabriel was beside me, his hand behind me…
…slipping me my wand!
Agatha turned dismissively from Althea and nodded to a couple henchmen who’d trained guns on Althea and Josie.
“You can kill them now,” then she looked at me, “but leave that one for the sacrifice.”
“No!” I screamed, pulled out my wand and I zapped a killer flash of electric blue, hot pink and sliver magic that hit Agatha Darling slap in the middle of her chest, blew her straight into the air and twenty feet away… to the very edge of The Tor.
Just as Althea lifted her wand straight to the sky and shot an enormous lime green spark that exploded in a mushroom of blue and green pixie dust that covered the entire Tor.
* * * * *
That’s when it happened.
That’s when it really began.
The Supernatural War.
There hadn’t been one since recorded time.
And it started that night… on The Tor.
* * * * *
The atmosphere exploded in a dazzling and fiery array as Althea’s spell broke the magical cloak mere moments before the Modernists flooded the top of The Tor.
There was confusion
amongst the Traditionalists; The Chosen One still had her power as did the already stripped Edwards Oracle.
Surprise gave the Modernists the upper hand.
Witches, vampires, sorceresses, wizards, banshees and unicorns flooded the scene.
Faeries flew in, zipping this way and that, flashing white, salmon, pistachio and lemon zaps everywhere.
Vermillion, sunset orange, grass green, bruised peach, Prussian blue, crocus purple – you name it, you saw it – every color known to human and not-so-humankind flooded the arena in flashes and jolts.
There were shouts, screams, stamping, flying… utter mayhem.
“See you later,” Gabriel said to Ash.
Then Gabriel grabbed my head roughly, kissed me on the top of my hair (!!!!) and then he jumped over us, landed by Josie and picked her up, jumped again and disappeared over the side of The Tor.
“Get them!” Agatha shouted in her best Cruella DeVille impersonation, pointing at where Gabriel and Josie disappeared.
She was not bored anymore.
She turned to me, wand raised.
But before she could get off a single zing, her wand exploded in a blaze of lilac, powder blue, butter yellow, gold, scarlet and copper – a spell simultaneously cast from the Triumvirate of Mavis, Mom and Gran.
“Let’s go.” Ash took me by the arm, pulled me from the altar and we ran.
I zapped the offending “human sacrifice” goblin (who was about to hurl a ball of flame at Ash and me) and then I constructed a shield of sparkling pixie dust that twirled unceasingly around Ash and I. It deflected the spells of two witches and a sorcerer.
We just about made it to the edge of The Tor when I heard Althea shout, “Girl! Watch out!”
I turned in time to see Althea throw herself in front of Ash and I, just as Addison’s bat swooped low and transformed.
And then the fuckity, fuck, fucking bullet fired at close range hit Althea and ripped straight through her then lodged into Addison who simply (being undead and it not being a silver bullet or piercing his heart) leapt away, transforming into a bat again.
I didn’t scream.
I also didn’t hesitate.
I just lifted my wand and zapped the gunman (who was now aiming at us) so violently that he flew through the air and over the side of The Tor.
(I didn’t notice that this dramatic event was helped a tiny bit by the bullet that came from Ash’s gun.)
I ran to Althea and dropped down to my knees at her side.
“Althea!” I cried as I watched the dark stain spreading across the excruciatingly ugly, pilled oatmeal of her jumper (if I told her once, I told her a million times, she should wear jewel tones). I looked up at Ash. “We have to get her to the hospital.”
Mathilda, SuperWitch Page 32