Borage Page 4

  Bitzer danced back into the room, his bushy tail bristling with business. With a leap he clawed his way up the curtains and balanced, chittering on the curtain rod. He left a trail of puckered claw marks on the fabric. Astral gave him a reprimanding look, and he responded by urinating down the chintz.

  “Got it.” Eve Wormrider sailed in, waving the wand above her head. She handed it to Magdalene, who looked at the state of it in disgust. Flour dust sprinkled over Magdalene’s patent leather shoes, and the wand looked sad and neglected and just as ashamed as its owner. Astral sent it a heartfelt apology but felt no vibration back. The hazelwood wand had given up on her long ago.

  Magdalene placed it on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Astral asked, now very much alarmed.

  Magdalene’s answer was to stomp on the wand with all her weight. It snapped in two with a loud, dry crack. There was a collective gasp. A jolt shot through Astral as if her spine had snapped. No, her sternum—her skull. Every bone jarred, tearing and raw-edged.

  “Oh!” she cried as intense pain rushed through her. Her knees started to give way and only Old Mother Worriwort, gamely hanging on to her elbow, kept her upright. Tears ran down her face. She clutched at her chest as red-hot pain continued to pour through her while Magdalene watched, fascinated.

  The coven members stood by, stunned. Throughout the house, lights flickered on and off, and the flames of the fire whooshed up the chimney with a deafening roar. The wallpaper went momentarily blank, then burst into teardrops that covered the walls in diamante globules. Furniture creaked, vibrated, and inched sideways. The entire Projector house went into shock.

  Dulcie flew to her side, sliding an arm around her, helping her back onto the couch. Her face was chalk white. The witches, even Magdalene’s cronies, were stupefied. To break a witch’s wand was anathema. All the magic within would be free to run rampant. All the Projector magic loose!

  “Astral,” Magdalene said carefully, aware of the effect her action had on the coven. “Astral, listen to me, child. This break will momentarily dispel your power.”

  “But it was my grandma’s,” Astral blurted, unbelieving. “She passed it on to me. You broke it.”

  “No, it’s not broken. It’s a powerful wand. You don’t know the half of what it can do. It will repair itself.” Magdalene pulled a black silk cloth from her inner pocket and wrapped the broken wand in it, muttering magic over the elaborately tied knot.

  “Here.” She thrust the bundle back into Astral’s hands as if she couldn’t bear to touch it anymore. “Keep this in a place where your grandmother’s energy is strong. Trust me, it will mend itself in time. Your magic is dissipated. The critter will not scent any power off you whatsoever and you’ll be safe.” She managed to sound indulgent, as if she were handing over a box of chocolates and not the remains of a priceless family heirloom.

  Astral took the bundle in her shaking hands and lowered her head to try and hide her shame and growing anger. Was this what she had come to? What dishonour to bring upon her family name. Grandma Lettice had left all her magical ceremonial tools to the coven. Her own personal wand had been passed down to her, missing a generation as her own daughter, Myriad, was not there to accept it.

  Wands stayed with their family so that the power of that familial house grew within the wood. Now Astral had allowed her grandma’s wand to be broken into pieces. It could be generations before it reenergized to its full potential, if it ever did, and it wasn’t as if she had the magic to help it heal. She was alone in this calamity and her heart was as broken as the wand on her lap.

  “There, there.” Old Mother Worriwort patted her in an attempt at comfort. “It’s for the best. After all, it’s coven work.” The implication being that this sacrifice was the only thing Astral could do on behalf of the coven, apart from baking cakes.

  Coven business completed, the witches began a hasty exit. The Projector home was not a welcoming place anymore. The parlour had lost its ambience and warmth. The air had cooled, the lights dimmed, and doors flung open before their faces as the house shooed them into the winter’s night. Outside, the wind whipped through the skeletal trees and poultry cackled from their coop, unsettled. Above, a falcon shrieked and swung away towards the Weald, and the moon ducked behind the darkened clouds.

  The ruthlessness of Magdalene’s actions left a pall over everyone. Magdalene and Old Mother Worriwort were among the first to leave, their cronies packed around them in a tight escort along the dark, chilly hallway. The front door slammed so hard behind them that the echo rolled across the hills well beyond the farmyard.

  Tallulah and Martha were last to go and hesitated on the doorstep, clutching their Tupperware and looking incredibly dejected.

  “Thank you, Astral. You’re a thoughtful girl.” Martha stroked her pale cheek. “Your grandma would be proud of how you coped tonight. Truly, she would. Remember, there is a reason for everything. Please don’t lose heart.”

  “Never forget, she is always with you,” Tallulah said. “Especially in the darkest days. Your grandma is looking out for you, just as she’s always done. You mark my words, she is.”

  “Thank you. You’re very kind,” Astral answered quietly. Their words rang hollow, though she tried not to let them see it. Exhaustion weighed on her and she wanted everyone gone. She listlessly waved good night as Tallulah and Martha walked down the path with Casper and Jasper, their Jack Russell familiars, racing in circles around them.

  “Come again soon,” she called out as a hazy afterthought, then immediately regretted it on seeing a momentary flash of discomfort cross their faces. They wouldn’t. Magdalene had her claws in them, too. Everything had changed. What power had this woman over the coven that such old and trusted friendships could become so undone?

  As Martha and Tallulah climbed into their SUV, she saw Keeva’s truck parked by the barn. This cheered her. Keeva had a level head and no time for coven nonsense. Together with Dulcie, they’d figure out what the hell was going on and, more importantly, how to fix it.

  Dulcie and Keeva sat at the kitchen table drinking the last of the malt, strained silence between them. The bound wand lay on the table before them in its black silk shroud.

  “I think it wants to go back in its drawer,” Dulcie said sadly. “It likes the dark and the smell of flour. It will heal faster there. I’m so sorry, Astral. There was nothing I could do. I can see why I was kept in the dark about this particular gathering.”

  “It’s a stitch-up, Astral.” Keeva helped herself to a hefty slice of apple cider pie. “Magdalene has been after that wand for years. If she couldn’t have it, then she damn well made sure it was ineffective.”

  “But why break it? I owned it and I’m ineffective. A wand is only as powerful as the witch holding it.” She joined them at the table and accepted the glass of malt poured out for her. “It was tucked away in a kitchen drawer, for Hecate’s sake. How can she feel threatened?”

  Keeva shrugged. “Because she’s a power-hungry harpy. She couldn’t rest knowing that a wand more powerful than hers was in our coven, so it had to go.”

  Dulcie nodded. “Professional jealousy. She’s the worst leader we’ve ever had, but we’re bound by coven oath to follow our High Priestess.”

  “When The Plague Tree was founded, I don’t think they foresaw witches like Magdalene being in charge. It’s as if she wants to be rid of the Projectors.” Keeva shook her head and stared at her glass.

  “What would Grandma Lettice think? I feel I’ve let them all down.” Astral looked across to the family oil painting. “Oh.” There were only two figures now.

  “Myriad’s gone again,” Dulcie said, following her gaze.

  “She was there this afternoon.” Astral rose to inspect the painting. Her mother was indeed missing. Only Astral and her grandma smiled back from within the frame. Beside them was an empty chair, where the young Astral seemed to hover in mid-air. Myriad Projector and her maternal lap were indeed gone.

&n
bsp; “I saw her last week on a postage stamp,” Keeva said helpfully. “She’s got a lovely profile.”

  “And she’s been seen in the library recently on the community posters,” Dulcie added. “Especially the allotment society ones.”

  “She liked gardening,” Astral said morosely.

  “She likes gardening…no past tense,” Keeva admonished. “We know she’s out there somewhere trying to communicate with us.”

  “It’s amazing how she can show up on paper, wood, anything she likes, not only tin,” Dulcie mused, the mechanics of witchcraft always drew her attention. “Your mum is a super crafty witch.”

  “Super crafty enough to be stuck in some sort of vortex she can’t break free from,” Astral said flatly, and put her head in her hands. She was too tired to wonder at her mother’s transcendental travels. Myriad had been popping up here and there for most of her childhood. Her fantastical, genius mother, who one day on a simple projection to the shops had gone “poof” and was never seen in the flesh again. Sure, she showed up here, there, anywhere for a minute or two, but the general consensus was that she was trapped between dimensions, and no one knew how to get her out.

  The Projectors were clearly cursed. Here she was, at the centre of a critter emergency with a smashed wand and an unwanted job starting on Monday morning. A job that didn’t really exist and that was no more than a Cuckoo spell that could fizzle at any minute, leaving her exposed as critter fodder. Even though her coven oath was binding, it was supposed to be a thing of beauty, fealty, and honour, and certainly shouldn’t be abused by the likes of Magdalene Curdle.

  “What about this critter?” Astral demanded. “Do you think there really is one? Could it be an excuse just to break my wand?”

  Dulcie shook her head. “I think there is one. The stocks and shares spell was tampered with and money has been removed from the coven’s account. I hear hundreds of thousands have gone missing. I am worried at Magdalene choosing you to sniff it out, though. Okay, so your magical footprint will probably fly under its radar, but what if it doesn’t? I still think it’s risky.”

  “Risky how?” Astral asked. “I can still back out…I think.”

  Keeva snorted rudely. “In your dreams. Magdalene has you cornered. You’ll absolve your membership in the coven if you disobey.”

  Dulcie reached over and tweaked a curl. “Better buy hair straighteners. Your magic is not as low-key as everyone thinks. Magical clues fizz off you, if someone knows how to read them.”

  “Meaning I could be sniffed out by a clever critter?”

  “Meaning we need to dampen you a little,” Dulcie said.

  “We’re just being careful,” Keeva added. “Discretion is more than not doing magic. Don’t talk about magic, don’t think about magic, and call us the minute you feel in danger. Not that other lot. Forget them. Call me and Dulcie. We’ll be there in a flea jump to get you out.” She paused. “Hey, we need a contingency plan.” She waved her fork excitedly and a fleck of cake flew off and stuck to a long strand of her auburn hair. “I know. Dulcie, do some magic on her. Make her invisible.”

  “Here.” Dulcie handed her a dish towel. “Wipe the pie out of your hair before Lupin finds it.”

  At the mention of his name, Keeva’s familiar, Lupin, a brindle pit bull and a big softie, raised his huge head and looked hopefully at the table. His tail rose and fell with a wallop that made the copper pans on the beams rattle. He was a mighty beast of a dog with the heart of a Shakespearean lover, the soul of a Monet water lily, and the energy of a comatose sloth, the polar opposite of his excitable mistress.

  “I can’t be invisible if I’m to work there,” Astral said. “Plus, a critter might notice something like that. Invisibility works on humans. Critters are from another dimension.” She couldn’t imagine anything helping her. She was bait in Magdalene’s critter trap. “Do you think it hurts when a critter sucks out your powers and leaves you a dried-out husk? Is it true that hollow trees are really witches with their souls drained away?” Her voice shrank to a horrified whisper.

  “That’s something you will never know, dearest, because you will never be a hollowed-out tree,” Dulcie reassured her.

  “A day or two and then the job’s done,” Keeva predicted. She held up a finger. “First, the critter doesn’t know you’re coming, so you have the advantage of surprise.” Another finger checked. “Second, it will have no clue you’re a witch, so you have the advantage of disguise.” Another finger was ticked. “Third, you’ll sense it as soon as you see it, so you’ll be—look at that fat git! What happened to his diet?”

  Borage waddled into the kitchen only to start in surprise at seeing Keeva. His back arched and he hissed. Then he saw Lupin and tried to leap onto a chair, only to miss it completely and send both himself and it crashing. Lupin gave a long, slow blink, his jowls glued to the floor. Borage continued to hiss and hop about dramatically.

  “Hiss at me again, buster, and I’ll have you on dry food before you can say rectal thermometer,” Keeva warned him.

  “He’s been very good.” Astral vainly defended her familiar. “He’s had fewer meals and only low-fat treats.”

  “Treats? He’s not allowed any treats,” Keeva said, exasperated. “He’s on a diet, for Hec’s sake.” Borage slunk from the kitchen, dragging his grievances with him.

  “I still don’t understand why Grandma Lettice chose him as a familiar for you,” Dulcie said, watching the cat and his aura, the colour of malice, depart.

  “He was a lovely kitten,” Astral recalled. “Dark as candle smoke and oh-so ticklish.” Her fingers gave an involuntary twitch for long-remembered soft, black fur.

  “Ticklish.” Keeva snorted in disgust. She bore scars that stated the opposite.

  “Then he grew up and became a moody, bad-tempered tyrant,” Astral said with a sigh.

  “You mean, you spoiled him rotten.” Keeva frowned.

  “I did not.”

  “You’re too soft,” Keeva countered.

  “I am not. I can be very stern.”

  “You’re a kind and gentle Fireside witch,” Dulcie said thoughtfully, “and that’s a skill we should cultivate for this critter thing.”

  Astral and Keeva shared a curious look.

  “I’m going to Mindcoddle you,” Dulcie declared. “We’ll concentrate on the blandest of your good qualities and project them outwards onto others. Your sweetness and basic decency should confound a critter and mask any magical scent. Even Old Mother Worriwort said so.”

  “A Mindcoddle?” While intrigued, Astral was also a little alarmed. She’d heard of them but had never experienced one.

  “Yes.” Keeva leapt to her feet, encouraged by Dulcie’s words. “Let’s play the sweet simplicity card. She can’t look in any way witchlike or dodgy. For all we know, this critter is on the lookout, too.”

  “The critter is on the lookout, too?” Astral echoed, aghast. “You said I had the advantage of surprise and disguise.”

  “Thanks for that, Keeva.” Dulcie glared at her and tutted irritably. “Good way to spread the calm. Maybe get her a pheromone collar, why don’t you? Calm her down like an excitable puppy?”

  Keeva shrugged. “The critter must have guessed by now that the coven knows it’s been nibbling at our finances and that we’ll do something about it.”

  “Come on, let’s Mindcoddle.” Dulcie laid her hands on the table. Keeva and Astral took her cue and spanned out their fingers until they touched each other’s pinkies and formed a rough circle. Dulcie chanted, “Keep our sister in the darkness. Let none see her witching light. She is but a simple girl safe from critters, ghouls, or sprites. So mote it be.”

  She waved her hands in a grandiose flourish, a mimicry of Magdalene’s theatrical spell-casting. Keeva and Astral caught the nuance and copied, laughing.

  “She is but a simple girl. So mote it be,” they chorused, gesticulating wildly.

  Their laughter rose to the oak beams and hung there, weaving into the
old wood’s memories of other joyful times. And in this carefree moment, Astral forgot about her fears, her loneliness, and her inadequacies, cocooned as she was in the magic of friendship.

  Black and Blacker

  Chapter 3

  Black and Blacker’s south coast offices were housed in an ugly glass building on the periphery of the newest commercial district. By no means the fanciest of the surrounding office blocks, it was by far the most imposing. Modernist and heavyset, it sat back from the bustle of the pedestrian thoroughfare, its mirrored walls sucking up light while deflecting the outside world from the business within.

  Astral paused at the foot of the polished granite steps and took in the huge mirror-plated doors several feet above. She smoothed the charcoal fabric of her business suit—her best one—and puffed out a frosty cloud of breath. The streets were empty of commuters. A chill seeped into her bones and her skin erupted in a rash of gooseflesh. She hadn’t slept a wink all night despite the Mindcoddle Dulcie had cast. That was all the protection she had, along with the stupid Cuckoo spell. She called upon her mantra now, and chanted the Mindcoddle three times in her head. I am but a simple girl. I am but a simple girl. I am but a simple girl.

  A reassuring warmth flowed through her and her confidence upped a notch, though it really needed to “up” several. At least it seemed to work a bit. I’ve never felt so simple, she thought glumly, and squared her shoulders as she mounted the steps.

  The doors opened into a voluminous reception area that echoed the neat click of her heels across marble tiles. The foyer was totally deserted, the reception desk unmanned. Astral faltered, unsure what to do. She had hoped to collect her work pass and then be escorted to her new office. Her agency had told her what to expect. Perhaps coming in so early had backfired.

  A snuffling sound drew her closer to the high, glass-topped counter that served as the reception desk. Behind it, a young Asian woman sat slumped across a lower work station. She was fast asleep, her head pillowed on folded arms. Around her lay a scattering of chocolate crumbs and sweet wrappers. Richly hennaed hair cupped the curve of a plump cheek. Her dark eyelashes fluttered, then stilled, and her rosebud lips pouted in displeasure at a fleeting dream. She was very pretty in a gothic fairyland kind of way and Astral imagined a trill of otherworldliness rippling across the ether between them. Definitely a tingle of something?