by Al K. Line
Frosty Reception
"So, are we cool?"
The witches gasped, all thirty-three of them, and then I pulled Wand away from the mad old bint holding on to him, her other hand holding another witch's and so on and so on, the mad, wild women weaving around the house and into the grounds like a bizarrely dressed snake.
"She wanted to kill Ivan, betrayed her sisters, killed them, and used the Kinky Bones," said the witch closest to me. There were murmurs of agreement.
"I know that," I said. "What I want to know is if we are cool? Wand showed you what happened, best he could anyway, so you know I had no intention of killing her even after she shot me dead repeatedly. So, I'll ask again, are we cool?"
The witches stopped moving, were as still as statues, and remained that way for several minutes. Then they broke from their freaky witch communal gossiping, however they did it, and began babbling all at once.
This was the last thing I needed. We'd brought Mabel and all her dead cronies back with us, George and I, and then she'd made calls and gathered the witches for the big news. It hadn't gone down well and I'd nearly been killed within seconds, but I told them I could show them what happened, and they let me. Now here we were.
"You may go," said the ancient crone beside me.
"Good." George and I moved to leave; the stench of patchouli was becoming overpowering and I was starting to have visions.
"Wait! What about the cauldron, and the Kinky Bones?"
"Spoils of war," I said, marching out with George beside me.
"Be careful," warned several women, which was nice of them.
"That went well," I said with a smile once we were clear of the madhouse.
"Yeah." George frowned.
"What?"
"They'll be a nightmare now, bickering and fighting to decide who's next queen.
"At least they won't be trying to kill us," I said, trying to remain upbeat when all I wanted to do was hide away and write love letters to Penelope that she'd never open because she hated, maybe even abhorred, me for what I'd done.
"I guess."
We left, went home. I had things to do.
Caveman
There's something primeval and indescribably satisfying about a fire. Ever since mankind first learned how to tame this most magical of elements it has been a constant in our world. It signifies life, warmth, advancement, and safety. A way to keep the beasts at bay, to protect your family and ensure your survival.
More than that, fire creates a sense of place, a focal point, somewhere for a group of people to gather, to cook and come together. Not only are the flames mesmerizing, but a simple fire can bring people closer in so many ways. From preparing the earth, gathering rocks to form a circle so you don't burn your house down, to collecting wood, it creates jobs to be done, giving each person involved a sense of satisfaction and the knowledge they have contributed.
Which is why, as I squatted in front of a large circle of stones out in the field well away from the stables, where so much had gone down the night before, I felt immensely satisfied as I stared into the flames. I felt like a cowboy from the old wild west, out on the trail, exploring the new frontier. Like a caveman protecting his family, or a lone warrior ready to fight off the dragons that would destroy all he loved.
Still, it was over, and I was alive, if less than fighting fit.
My knees hurt and I wasn't sure I'd be able to stand back up, but nonetheless I remained where I was and leaned aside to grab a long stick and poke the embers. That's another thing about men and fires. You have to poke them with sticks. I don't know what it is, but it's an unwritten law, like the only time a lot of blokes cook is when it involves a barbecue. Outdoors and primal, ancient urges and callings goading us into action. Or maybe it's because cooking burgers is a lot easier than making lasagna, and people expect it to be burnt anyway so you're onto a winner.
The fire sparked as I wiggled the stick, and the fresh wood I'd added caught, flames licking around the short lengths and adding to the heat.
Above the fire I had put together a large metal tripod that had been rusting in a barn for a while, one of those impulse buys that then just gathers cobwebs, but tonight it was getting use. A long chain hung from the center and was perfect for hanging up a pot to cook. It was adjustable, and I'd decided slow cooking was the best option for the meal. It gave me the excuse to remain out here for hours, contemplating the flames and the cycle of life and death, how nothing truly died, was merely transformed from one element to another.
Now it was dark, and I'd turned off the lights at the stables so the only light was the one I myself had created. I stirred the murky, thick contents of a meal that was almost ready. It smelled great, but I may have been biased.
I was aware of footsteps approaching, but I didn't turn, just continued to stare, and poke about so sparks danced high into the void. Flames licked the pot before dying down, causing the stew to bubble angrily for a moment.
"You came back," I said, turning to see Penelope standing there, her arms crossed to ward off the chill of the night air.
"George came and got me."
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again. After yesterday," I added, in case she'd forgotten.
"I didn't think I'd ever return. Arthur, you have to understand, what happened, it was a lot to take in. Things like that don't happen in my world. You killed those women, you murdered them."
"I know what I did," I snapped, a little harshly. I was a fool for thinking I could ever have a future with someone like Penelope. And she was right, I'd murdered them, and I felt nothing but sadness for it. Not guilt, not regret, just sad that I'd killed yet again and it hardly affected me now. This was the worst punishment of all, to know you were a monster but wish you weren't.
"I wasn't accusing you, just trying to explain that I've never seen anything like that before. I've never even seen a dead body."
"I've seen plenty," I mumbled, then prodded the fire.
"Does it hurt? To kill people? Does it hurt inside?"
I turned to face Penelope so she could see my face. "It hurts because I feel nothing when I do it. If someone tries to hurt me or my family, I will destroy them. Do you understand? This world is different to yours. This world is violent and dangerous and we are dangerous people. We don't answer to anybody else, we don't play by the rules others do. We have our own, and they are costly if broken. We all know what we signed up for, and accept it. We kill and we try to survive. Those women knew exactly what the risk was. But yes, it hurts because I think maybe I'm numb to it now. It used to tear me apart, and in some ways it still does, knowing what I've done, what I'll do again, but does it break me, make me fall apart? No. It just aches in my heart for the man I've become."
"I don't think you're numb inside." Penelope squatted beside me and put an arm on my shoulder.
"I've blown it, right? We had this amazing day together and now I've blown it. I understand, I know this is way too much to take in, too much to handle. But thank you for coming to tell me in person, that means a lot."
"Arthur, you are so dense. I haven't come to say goodbye. I've come to say... Well, I've come to say I'm in." Penelope beamed at me, that sparkle of amusement in her eyes.
"You want to stay with me? Be involved in all this?"
"Arthur 'The Hat' Salzman, I fell for you the moment I saw you. There you were, this scruffy, strange man with a nice hat, looking like the world was about to end and it was your fault, telling me you were going to marry me and you could cook, and I fell for you. Then you said you were a wizard. I didn't believe you, of course, but now I know it's true. Look, my life is average, I'm average, you aren't. I'm the lucky one here, to get to spend time in your world, see the other side. This is a true gift you've given me, to let me in, see magic and fae and meet you and George and Vicky and Sasha and all the rest. I feel honored. I want in. I want you."
"You mean it?" Penelope nodded and I smiled at her as my heart leapt and my spirits soared into the
emptiness. I couldn't be this lucky, surely? Looks like I was.
"There's just one thing," she said, breaking eye contact and looking nervous, maybe even afraid.
"I knew it! You're going to tell me something truly horrible. Are you dying? Do you have to leave for years? Something worse?"
"No, I was just about to say that I always sleep in the nude, and I know some people don't like that. Will it be a problem?" The glint in her eye was back; she was teasing me.
This felt so right, so normal, that I wanted to cry. Instead, deadpan, I said, "Guess I'll just have to get used to it."
"Guess you will." Penelope took the stick off me and poked the fire.
"What you cooking?"
"Wait and see."
Dinner Time
Penelope and I stood staring at the fire, arms around each other's waists. It felt just about perfect.
We turned when we heard the loud chatter of everyone else.
The twins, allowed to stay up late because this was a special occasion, special because everyone was alive, ran forward then began dancing around the fire like trainee mad witches, while Vicky warned them to be careful in that screechy mom-voice she'd perfected over the years. Steve followed behind her, encouraging her to let the girls have fun and winning brownie points for sticking up for them.
George and Sasha came next, both brightening the night with their beauty and the faery dust that fell. Sasha's silver dress, tight as her skin as always, reflected the light of the fire, making her look like a flaming bronze statue, and behind them came Selma, dressed in too much leather and yet not enough of it to cover much of anything.
"Looks like we're almost all here," I said to nobody in particular.
The night was filled with laughter and voices, but there was an edge to it. Hardly surprising after what had happened, all we'd been through.
"Who's hungry?" I asked, smiling at the sight of family and friends.
Everyone by the seems of it, judging by the rubbing of bellies and the call for me to dish up, so I poked the embers, making the fire crackle and the thick stew bubble. I reluctantly released Penelope and moved over to the folding table I'd set up with everything I'd need. This was so perfect. I hadn't expected Penelope to come, but I'd prayed for it. For once, seemed like somebody was listening. I picked up the ladle and returned to the fire where everyone gathered around.
"Wait," said Vicky. "That isn't the... It is, isn't it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said innocently.
Selma moved forward and inspected my cooking pot. "You're using the cauldron? Are you mad? It's Mabel's original cauldron. And you know what was in it?"
"I sure as hell do. I've rehomed the bones for now, Mabel's dead, Kinky Bones won't bother us any more, and well, it's a nice pot for cooking in. It's made for using, that's what cauldrons are. They're just pots."
"Yes, but I do believe a witch's pot has magical abilities," said Ivan as he appeared from out of nowhere, his aide by his side.
"Bloody hell, you scared me to death," I said, scowling.
"Sorry we're late."
"Don't worry about it. Now that we're all here, I want to say something." Everyone stared at me, and I felt uncomfortable, verging on stupid, for what I was about to say. I'd say it anyway.
"Go on then," urged Vicky, one eye on the girls in case they decided to burn the world down or that today was the day they would become the rulers of the universe, which they very much planned on being at some point, maybe in a few years.
"Penelope and I are going to be married, and I know you all think it's nuts, and we do too. I figured after yesterday, and I'm sure everyone who wasn't here has heard all about it, that we should waste no time." Penelope smiled and took my hand and squeezed tight. I was kind of pushing my luck, but I knew it was this or nothing.
"I've already wasted enough time," said Penelope.
I made eye contact with Ivan. Vicky had told him what we'd done, and why, and he was surprisingly grateful for us avoiding it turning into a full-scale war.
"I assumed Penelope would never return to our world of utter madness, but she has, and I'm so happy. So, please be kind, and don't forget she's new to all this." I cuddled Penelope tightly and she blushed at the attention.
"Arthur, I'm pleased for you," said Selma, "but you can't use the cauldron and you sure as hell can't cook in it."
"Why not?"
"Because... because it's not the done thing. It's for potions, secret stuff," she said nervously.
"Don't be daft, it's just a pot now. What could possibly go wrong?"
Famous last words, right?
Turns out, we had a very nice dinner. We ate, we chatted, we laughed. Nobody tried to kill us, and nothing exploded.
And the cauldron and its contents? Let's just say it's gathering cobwebs and leave it at that.
For now.
The End
Book 8 is Ash Addict.
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Read the Dark Magic Enforcer series for more magical mayhem.