Mathilda, SuperWitch by Kristen Ashley
Mathilda, SuperWitch
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Mathilda SuperWitch
Mathilda’s Book of Shadows
Kristen Ashley
Published by Kristen Ashley
Copyright 2011 Kristen Ashley at Smashwords
Discover other titles by Kristen Ashley:
Rock Chick Series:
Rock Chick
Rock Chick Rescue
Rock Chick Redemption
Rock Chick Renegade
Rock Chick Revenge
The ‘Burg Series:
For You
At Peace
Golden Trail
The Colorado Mountain Series:
The Gamble
Sweet Dreams
Dream Man Series:
Mystery Man
Wild Man
Fantasyland Series:
Wildest Dreams
The Golden Dynasty
Fantastical
Other Titles by Kristen Ashley:
Lacybourne Manor
Penmort Castle
Sommersgate House
Three Wishes
www.kristenashley.net
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*****
Dedication
Years ago, when I started writing this book, I did it to entertain my beloved friend,
Lucinda Ferguson, after she was diagnosed with cancer.
In the book, I introduced the character of “Lucy”, a loyal friend, a down to earth person, a movie lover, a great cook, a fabulous wit and a complete love.
Just like the real Lucy, my Lucy.
But my Lucy never read a word.
So now I’m dedicating this book to her memory.
I make your recipes all the time, my darling Lucy.
In the War of the Wooden Spoons you’d win.
Hands down.
Hope you’ve got a decent KitchenAid mixer up there.
*****
Chapter One
The Month of November
The Journal of Mathilda also known as My Book o’ Shadows
(Witch) (Apparently)
(Note: Now understand scariness of own name)
2 November
Aunt Mavis told me I’m supposed to do this, start a journal, so here goes.
I am Mathilda Guinevere Honeycutt, I am thirty-three years old, single (thank God)(-dess apparently) and currently unemployed (kinda).
Oh yes, and I’m a witch.
Not kidding, I have magic. I saw it last night shooting right out of my fingertips like pixie dust. Well, actually more like sparkler fireworks mixed with a bit of pixie dust a la Tinkerbell without the wand. Anyway, it scared the bejeezus out of me but what could I do but watch it fly?
Yesterday morning I thought it was all a drunken hallucination from too much vodka and sugar consumed at the Hallowe’en party. Mavis says it wasn’t and told me to chant something, say, “So mote it be” and flip my finger out and there it went – hot pink pixie dust hit the cat right on its backside and… yikes!
Mavis tells me that the Honeycutt family has been witches since before recorded time. Even going so far as saying we were rumored to have something to do with Stonehenge but then she said, “In the end, Stonehenge was just one big joke and not very funny and now they’re going to spend millions of pounds building underground roads and the like to protect it. Inconvenient and a waste of taxpayer’s money! I wouldn’t claim any part of that for the Honeycutts,” and so on but I wasn’t listening anymore because pixie dust just shot out of my finger and I was still trying to cope.
She gave me some books and now I’m up in the Tower Room. I’m supposed to be reading. History of Great Wytch Families (it has a whole chapter on the Honeycutts) and The Honeycutt Book of Shadows, Unabridged, “D” (Dark Dabbling Spells – Dwindle Potion) and Celebrated White Witches, Vol. I, Calliope Agglethorpe - Desdemona Honeycutt (952 pages!).
Witches are supposed to have journals, keep notes, track things like spells and the best directions when using a broomstick and the like. They call them their “Book of Shadows” (which is kind of a cool name, I have to admit).
At least she’s given me this yummy leather-bound notebook (Aspinal of London, very posh, hot pink too, giddy up!). The journal is the best part about being a witch as far as I can tell from what Auntie Mavis has to say.
* * * * *
Some background:
Honeycutt family has been witches since recorded time.
As generations study magic, magical flow through bloodlines increases therefore Honeycutts are very powerful.
History does not like powerful witches so Honeycutts have been hunted for many years (!) and only survived because Auntie Mavis explained we were, “Wise, talented and well-protected.” (Seems to me not enough to go on there.)
Have not known of my own witch-hood because am prophesied as being SuperWitch (!!) and therefore had to be protected by covens and secret societies (!!!) until reached an age where I could handle my power (which is now, though I may not agree).
Have been personally watched and/or hunted by bad guys all my life (unknown to me) who want a) to murder me so they can steal my power (Auntie Mavis says that unless they are warlocks, this can’t happen, virtually impossible, even hard for warlocks, although there are many out there who don’t know that) (great) b) to murder me because of the people I’m prophesied to help are meant to go on to do important things (maybe) or c) to murder me so I will just be dead because witches scare people.
Must say, I’m not too certain about any of this. (Understatement.)
* * * * *
3 November
I have not shot pixie dust out of my fingers yet today or yesterday so I feel a little better about that at least.
But have been given more background and history about family and myself and talked with Gran and Mom and am feeling a bit strange that they’re so excited to be “out” about “The Craft” and, “Oh Honey, we just can’t wait until you realize your full potential,” blah, blah, blah.
So I have to tell you that I already have a great deal of pressure in life in general considering current state of affairs with the revamp of the café before Day of the Dead announcement so now have SuperWitch/savior-of-world onus on me.
Perhaps I should fill in journal just in case get hunted by bad guys and killed pre-realizing-full-potential so can have my own paragraph (sentence?) in the next version of History of Great Wytch Families.
* * * * *
History of Mathilda, SuperWitch in Training
Born in Denver, Colorado to hippy Mom and absentee Dad (also mysteriously absentee Granddad, hmm).
Grew up living in family unit that included Mom (health food store clerk and candle maker for most my life but recently started own line of hand and body lotions). Often stayed with Gran (yoga guru even before it was popular and now very rich and sought after) and two sisters (one older (Viviana), o
Ate lots of granola and took it on the chin with many outfits before got a job at thirteen so I could buy my own clothes and leave tie-dye behind forever.
Did okay in school, went to college and majored in drinking and soap operas (yet finished in four years, now understanding some early magical powers) and graduated and landed a job in retail so could be close to greatest love, Ralph Lauren.
Had many boyfriends all of whom were a) cheats, b) cheats and thieves c) just thieves d) confidence suckers (“You’re going to wear that?” etcetera) or e) self-involved, egomaniacal assholes (maybe “e” is independent trait that applies to all the rest).
Struggled with diet and workout regime for many years until made note of important fact that men actually like ass, it’s fashion designers who don’t (and they’re usually gay so why?). This was obviously a relief.
Embraced café society when Starbucks took over the world as life is much better with vanilla lattes in it.
Talents: Can cook and am perfectly willing to tell you if an outfit suits you (or not).
Could use help with: Choosing men and dealing with SuperWitch predicament.
* * * * *
The Aunt
Mavis Lilian Honeycutt-Frost
Married to Uncle Otto but I never met him as he left years ago and is not talked about.
(Ever.)
I’ve known Mavis since I could remember. She is one of those very cool aunts, the kind who brings you chocolate and tells you not to worry about chocolate causing zits because that’s a myth (probably zapped ‘em… mm, Zapping Zit Spell may be useful). She’s also the kind who thinks all your boyfriends are great and then hates them after you break up with them.
She’s English and lives in a small seaside town in Somerset called Clevedon (where I currently live but am now thinking work visa procured for me by Mavis might be magical and may go up in puff of smoke). Being English made Mavis even cooler because she’s foreign and has a posh accent and my sisters and I could go out and visit and feel cosmopolitan after we came home.
She reminds me of Merryweather from the Disney Sleeping Beauty cartoon, dark-haired, short and round (and prefers very tailored, sleek clothing… shame that, would benefit with embracing the Earth Mother Look).
She lives in this big, weird castle-esque type thing on a cliff called The Gables (a Honeycutt piece of property). There is only one place that I’ve known that gives me the same feeling as The Gables – New Orleans. Strange, eerie, dreamlike… once you get there, you never want to leave. It is almost like the place caresses you, yet it feels like it is very warm, comfortable, cozy, safe… and closing in on you, smothering you… and you love every minute of it.
Anyway.
* * * * *
Mathilda’s Move to England
(Enter yummy Sebastian who is off-limits because too much my type and thus must beware.)
So, last summer I won a competition I’d entered for the hell of it, Best Brownies at the Taste of the Rockies. (I dabble in baked goods – but Taste of the Rockies! That’s big.)
After e-mailing the news to Mavis, she wrote that she was having some troubles with the café she’s run for years as café society was beginning to take over England and no one wanted cream teas and Victoria sponge anymore and everyone wanted espresso and brownies.
She asked for my help with a new menu and updated “happening” (wince) decor.
Had just broken up with Penishead Number Who Knows? in Disastrous Love Life of Mathilda and was currently feeling that I’d gone as far as I wanted to go in retail so felt that maybe a look-see into the invitation to change of life wouldn’t be a bad idea. I could rent my condo easily and Auntie Mavis told me a work visa wouldn’t be that hard to obtain (hmm) as she could pull some strings (hmm, hmm).
Life could be worse than living in a seaside town in the Southwest of England and serving cappuccinos to boys with accents. So I did it (craziness! as not normally risk-taker but maybe had a spell cast on me?). Auntie said she’d give me the top floor of The Gables and fix it up so I could have my own little flat (is very nice, with fab view, curlicue iron bed and claw-footed tub, yay!).
I had arrived at Heathrow and was struggling out of customs due to overzealous duty-free shopping when I noted that I could not spot Mavis.
What I did spot was this man coming at me (surely not at me, just toward me to pass me in order to passionately embrace stick-thin, sunken cheeked, freakishly tall, supermodel-esque woman behind me carrying $1,000 Louis Vuitton bag).
Oo la la. I think parts of me started quivering just from looking at him. He was yum-a-licious – tall, great hair and attitude.
He was either a fashion-conscious dickhead or gay, both of which I was deathly attracted to (alas).
Please note bizarre alternate universe of American/English fashion: In America many (not all) women have a clue about fashion and/or make an effort and majority of men are slobs (unless have girlfriend/wife who dresses them, are gay, players or are freaks). In England, the opposite is true as many men have natural fashion sense that is quite luscious and most women (not all) are either scary fashion kamikazes or don’t care at all (ack!).
He was looking at me so I was pleased that I had strict life philosophy of never wearing knockabout clothes when could be stylish with a bit of effort even if it meant sacrificing comfort.
When I was just about to pass him he said in a fabulous, deep, English-accented voice, “Mathilda.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement and even if I wasn’t Mathilda I would have said, “Yeah?”
Which is what I said.
“Yeah?” (Smooth)
He told me his name was Sebastian something-or-other (had stopped listening at “Sebastian” because no one is actually named Sebastian, that’s a bad name, there’s no way to make it a nickname and sounds very romance novel-ly/soap opera-ish) and by the time I started to listen again he was telling me Mavis had been called away on urgent business and he was asked to pick me up.
I’d never heard of him before so I was looking at him for signs of inherited Mavis traits as he could be secret love child (and thus related to me which would be disappointing). He handed me his mobile phone (which, by the looks of it, he stole from James Bond) and told me to call Mavis… bleh!
Ack!
Ack!
Wait! Wait!
Must… talk… to… aunt…
* * * * *
Later:
Had scary flashes of lights happening in eyes and lightheadedness. Went to talk to Mavis and she told me I was having a vision and to go with it (she was very excited).
Found out (‘cause saw it in very own head!) that urgent business that took her away from meeting me at airport was her waylaying baddies who knew I was coming to England and so were going to try and get me.
Further knowledge sharing included information that Sebastian was member of millennia old secret society and currently assigned as my very own personal bodyguard. He’s been watching me since I arrived in the UK.
Hand hurts.
Head hurts.
Baddies after me.
Need drink.
* * * * *
7 November
I’m still alive which feel is a good sign.
Designing interior of café with person (Wesley, bleh!) who doesn’t understand my, “I want it to look Steven Tyler-rock-‘n’-roll-cool meets Madonna-in-your-face-hip”. Auntie very open about uncertainty re: how she feels about my vision.
Currently in witch training which is very intense with meditation, herb study, chalices, pentacles, cauldron, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Coven meeting tonight, a little nervous. Not sure I’m up for dancing naked in garden (especially since Sebastian is supposed to be watching over me and naked-dancing not my top choice for what I w
Have talked with Sebastian twice since finding out he is my personal bodyguard. Have also had about twenty thousand Whitney Houston/Kevin Costner themed fantasies since finding out.
First time he came into kitchen while I was having early morning coffee (not fair time to visit anyone).
By the way, he has very sexy walk that starts at hips (mm).
He stopped close to where I was sitting at big, battered kitchen table, looked down at me and said, “You know?” (man of few words).
I said, “Yes.”
And then he did a strange thing and gave me a picture of a scary-looking black dragon and said to memorize it and whenever I was in trouble I should think about it and he’d be there.
I thought maybe there should be a beeper number or panic button just in case black-dragon-thinking didn’t work but it didn’t seem I had a choice.
So I did as he told me and looked at it (a lot) and memorized it and the next day he came to the kitchen while I was drinking early morning coffee and stood by big, battered table. looked down at me and said, “Forget about the dragon. Don’t think about the dragon anymore. At all. Ever.” And then he left (somewhat rude, I think).
Auntie Mavis started laughing.
Perhaps too enthusiastic re: dragon-thinking-telepathic-panic messaging practice.
* * * * *
Please note that things become clear to you when you look back. After picking me up from the airport, when Sebastian took me to his place to wait for Mavis, I was worried I’d see his boxers thrown on floor and dishes not cleaned and beer cans not thrown away. Or worse, very tidy chrome and leather-esque abode. Instead it looked like Indiana Jones’s house from the Raiders of the Lost Ark. Very scholarly, cozy and masculine with books and interesting junk lying about.