Mathilda, SuperWitch by Kristen Ashley
As usual, it was deserted.
As safe a place as any.
I looked out the slit window at The Witches Dozen.
Mom had put some lush and plentiful planters out front bursting with flowers and the dudes had delivered our new New Orleans-at-Disneyland, frenchie, curly, black, wrought iron patio furniture a few days ago.
It looked fab.
“Matty?”
“My shop is cool, isn’t it?”
He got up next to me and looked out the window then looked at me, his face real close and his blue eyes had this melty warm look in them.
“Yes, Matty, very ‘cool’,” he said in a low, gentle, deep, awesome voice.
Ahem.
Steady, girl.
“So how’s this going to go down if Dr. Bennett, Jeremy and The Institute find out you’re here?” I asked.
“I’m not worried,” Aidan answered without pulling away.
“Why?”
He leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms on his chest.
I didn’t realize I’d put myself in a corner with Aidan fencing me in.
Hmm.
I wasn’t worried either. I was something else all together.
“For one, my great grandfather was a Director. They tend to be more lenient with members who are grandfathered.”
Ah.
He went on, “Then, of course, Trevor Whitaker died. That made me the only Mathilda Scholar at the Institute.”
But of course!
Aidan is a Mathilda Scholar.
Makes sense.
And I’m Mathilda.
Hmm.
He kept going. “And there’s the fact that I have a 157 IQ.”
Ack!
What the…!?
Holy Genius, Batman!
Then he finished, “I may be placed on probation but they won’t lose me. Not until they train a new Mathilda Scholar.”
Whoa.
Back up.
157 IQ?
Damn!
I didn’t know how to process that.
I mean, what did that make him? Was he like Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting or Sir Charles Litton in The Pink Panther or Dr. No in Dr. No?
Or all three?
He was watching me so I filled the silence.
Be cool… be cool.
“What’s up? You got the goods on Darling?”
That’s cool.
He smiled.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“You’re very cute when you’re trying to be The Chosen One.”
Humph.
Then, in our little huddle by the window, Aidan cut me a break on the banter and told me he didn’t give up Darling’s file to Mavis. He also told me as far as The Institute was concerned, that file had never left Darling’s “watcher” (very Giles in Buffy, in a non-participatory way of course).
Aidan wanted to see the file.
Hmm.
Why not?
I pulled out my mobile with the new ultra-awesome hot pink cover that had retro shapes and the words “glamour girl” (the new nickname I gave myself the minute I saw the cover) written on it and dialed Mavis.
Of course, in the stone pier museum, I had no coverage. So, had to lean a little bit into the slit window and tilt half of myself and twist the other half somewhat awkwardly to get reception.
When Mavis answered, I said, “Auntie Mavis, I’m with Aidan, do we still have the Darling file?”
“Oh no, my dear, that’s been replaced, of course. Safe and sound. Tell that young strapping lad I said hello. Toodle-loo,” and she disconnected.
I had to let out a little giggle, I mean, “toodle-loo”?
I extricated myself from the window. “Um, I think there was some magic involved with us having that file.”
Instead of looking annoyed, Aidan looked impressed.
Then he stated, “I came to see you because I thought the file was a fake and you’d been fed just enough information to get you in trouble.”
He obviously didn’t know Mavis’s watcher very well if he thought that.
Although the “trouble” part seemed to fit me pretty well.
“Why did you think the file was a fake?” I asked.
“Bennett has put down an edict, no more contact with witches.”
Considering the edict was put down and he was, like, an inch away from me and I wasn’t only a witch, I was the witch, I smiled at him and he smiled back.
Aidan continued, “He also warned us to be on the lookout for any witch antics.”
“Witch antics?” I put my hand to my throat and fluttered my eyes. “Well, I never,” I flirted.
And flirted well, considering how Aidan’s voice dropped a bit lower making it pretty damn sexy.
“So Mavis must have got in under watcher radar, which is pretty good. Especially Darling’s watcher, who is one of our best.”
How weird.
I wanted to ask best at what?
Watching?
I cleared my throat and straightened. As much as I was enjoying this, I had promised Ash.
Before I could say anything though…
“You and I have unfinished business… ” Aidan started, still talking sexy-low.
Uh-oh.
“Aidan, I want to know more about Darling… and to talk… but before that I need –” I needed to let Ash know I was all right.
(Must admit, torn between two-non (not yet?) lovers but not feeling like a fool just feeling… weird.)
“You don’t need me for Darling.” He was leaning closer, smelling better, raising heart rates faster.
“Aidan,” I said.
Black dragon, I thought.
I know, you may think I’m crazy but would you want to be in trouble with Sebastian Wilding?
No?
Me neither.
“Darling has a shadow protecting her,” I informed Aidan. “It’s a good one.”
Black dragon.
“We can’t break it,” I went on.
Black dragon.
“Anything you have for us would be helpful,” I requested.
Black dragon.
“I’d like to take you out to dinner.” Aidan was clearly having a different conversation than the one I was having.
“When?” I liked his conversation better.
“Tonight.” Wow. “Without the Black Dragon tagging along.”
Ack!
Oh my.
He knows everything.
Of course, with a 157 IQ he probably just soaks up information willy-nilly.
“I can’t.” (I could.)
“You can.” (He was right.)
“What do you have against him?” (I meant Ash.)
“I can’t tell you.” (He knew what I meant.)
Hunh?
“Really? Why?” I asked.
“Because it’s a Prophesy, you, me, him… we’re destined for –”
“Excuse me.”
Oh shit.
It was Ash. He was with us in the pier gallery.
“You know The Prophesies?” I asked Aidan, ignoring Ash.
He sure does take his time, that Ash. Then comes at the wrong moment.
“Mathilda.” That was Ash again.
“Sebastian,” I retorted, skewering him with a glance and mimicking his tone because I’d regressed to an eight year old. “Done with your phone call?” I asked, snottily then I turned to Aidan. “Yes, I’ll go out to dinner with you.”
A moment of complete silence.
Aidan grinned.
Ash did not.
I finally realized what all those supermodels are constantly moaning about. There may be a lot of interest but it certainly takes a heck of a lot of time and effort to get anyone worked up!
I wanted to know how Aidan knew The Prophesies. He wasn’t magical.
And I wanted to know The Prophesies, full stop.
Well, maybe not all of them, but some.
And especially the one that involved me and two sup
So here I am, freaking out with hair half straightened and outfit half chosen, writing in my journal instead of getting ready and I’m about to go on a date with a doctor.
Yay!
And yet, slightly worried I’m having my first date in England with the wrong guy.
Superhunk or no.
16 March
My life is too… freaking… crazy.
I mean, get this:
I was in my bedroom totally freaking out because I was about to go on my first date in months with a genius professor from Cambridge University who happened to watch witches in his spare time.
And.
I was a witch.
And.
I was supposed to have superwitch powers.
And.
I couldn’t figure out what to wear!
Viv and Su showed up being all naggy, annoying sisters, “Aidan’s waiting,” yadda, yadda, yadda and half my hair was straight, the other half was out-of-control and I was standing in my underwear amongst a mountain of discarded clothes that was up to my knees while waving around a pair of strappy, champagne satin sandals with rhinestones and shouting (hysterically), “All I know is the shoes!”
They jumped into action.
I mean, they’d seen Aidan – this whole outfit was a delicate maneuver. There weren’t many genius doctors out there who looked like movie stars who wanted to go out with me and this had to be right.
Su took control of my hair and makeup (scary thought) and Viv took control of the wardrobe (even scarier) and, believe it or not, they totally kicked in for me.
Su did this part-straight, part-mess, part-braid up-do gig with my hair (very Bo Derek meets Demi Moore meets Bob Marley but blonde) and went heavy on the black eyeliner making me look all 70’s-flower-child-with-an-attitude.
Viv put me in a pair of low-rise, ass-hugging, black, wide-legged trousers, my rhinestone sandals and a filmy black tunic-slash-caftan thingie with a sexy, skimpy black camisole underneath (who knew she had it in her?).
I looked hot.
* * * * *
I know this because when I walked into the lounge, Gran was talking to (raving at?) Aidan who was nodding, his expression polite.
When he looked at me, well, he didn’t look polite anymore.
At all.
In fact, whatever was going on behind his eyes was nowhere near polite,
More like pornographic.
Of course, being the cosmopolitan girl around town, I blushed.
Ack!
“Ready?” I asked.
* * * * *
Get this Part Two:
He took me to the Swank Italian Place on the seafront.
This is proof positive that he is in cahoots with the Queen because only by Royal Decree could one get a reservation at the Italian place. At short notice, impossible, unless you make a deal with the devil or are in good with Liz.
I tried to be cool – but it was hard.
I was with Aidan.
I looked the shit.
I was with Aidan. (Did I say that already?)
He always looked the shit.
We were at the Swank Italian Place and I had hopes they’d be able to make me a martini.
Aside: England doesn’t do martinis. The Land of Bond had forsaken shaken and stirred. It was criminal (but not as criminal as their lack of understanding behind the concept of not parking on double yellow lines. It was their rule, why didn’t they follow it?).
Aidan left me in a comfy seat on the front patio and went to see to our drinks.
I took the time to take a deep breath, calm myself and get into Glamour Girl Mode by looking at the sea.
I must admit, I spent a lot of time homesick and longing for America’s king-size bags of chili cheese Fritos; our entire grocery store aisles dedicated to cake mixes; my book club who spent more time scarfing down brie, tapenade and French bread, drinking wine and dissing the men in our lives than discussing the book; and ready-to-wear Ralph Lauren in any upscale department store but most of all, a life without cauldrons and prophesies.
But I never longed for home when I looked at the sea.
England may not have king-size bags of chili cheese Fritos but it had some incredible views.
“You smell fantastic.” I heard Aidan murmur in my ear.
And England had Aidan.
Shiver.
Mm.
I was in The Zone.
I was all cool, calm, Glamour Girl.
I’d become one with the sea and was ready to hear about Aidan, Sebastian and me, The Prophesies, just how ravishing I smelled (was wearing the scent Mom created for Viv, smelled like gardenia and baby powder on her, smelled like neroli and jasmine on me, magic) and most of all, I was ready for some dedicated flirting – the kind that led to something.
He came with a waitress who handed me my drink.
Ah, a martini.
I couldn’t wait.
I was prepared for the chilled, smooth, taste of vodka.
I drank it.
And gagged.
Not a little bit, a lot.
I barely saved myself from spewing it on Aidan’s trousers.
Ack!
So much for cool, calm, Glamour Girl.
Hovering waitress spoke in a thick accent, “You don’t like?”
Uh.
Duh!
She was Italian, gorgeous and I hated her on sight.
“What is that?” I asked, still half in gag mode, talking through the sloshing liquid in my mouth.
“Martini,” she answered.
“That… is not… a martini,” I answered, trying not to drool the sick-sweet liquid on my sexy, see-through tunic and instead allow it to slide down my throat.
“Yes, martini, martini,” she said in a panic, grabbing my glass and running away.
“Have some of mine.” Aidan offered his drink.
I glugged back a huge gulp of Aidan’s drink to wash away gag-martini.
And…
“Mm, yummy.”
Yes, that’s what I said.
I couldn’t help myself, it was divine.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Pimm’s.”
What on earth is Pimm’s? And where did I get me some?
I didn’t get to ask as Sophia Loren was back at our table with a bottle that said “Martini” on it.
“See, Martini, martini,” she yammered at me.
Ack!
It may say Martini but I knew martini, I’d spent a lot of time with martini and that Martini was no martini.
Date not starting off on best foot but I did smell “fantastic” with added bonus of being introduced to Pimm’s.
* * * * *
Get this Part Three:
Was seated in dining area with a Pimm’s of my own and all signs of gag-martini whisked away.
I’d ordered halibut in lobster, brandy, cream sauce.
I’d eat tire in lobster, brandy, cream sauce.
Date was getting back on track when Aidan settled in across from me looking at me like he’d like to eat me for dinner.
Yay!
And then…
“Aidan.”
I didn’t say it.
No.
In fact, Douglas Freaking Addison said it.
Douglas GQ Addison stood beside my table at the Swank Italian Place in little seafront town with Victorian pier in England.
I know what you are thinking and no, I didn’t enter a new dimension, I was still in my dimension with Douglas Addison standing by my table.
And…
* * * * *
Get this Part Four:
Agatha Darling stood next to him.
19 March
Had to go – was late for “My Cauldron and Me” classes with Antonia and then got too busy with everything else. Antonia is helping me stock my
Anyway…
Still reeling from genius doctor date.
May also be reeling from the fact that, four days later, Aidan hasn’t called me.
It ended on a sweet note, however, I could see in Aidan’s mind that note was kinda bittersweet, but still.
This is how the evening progressed:
“Aidan!” Douglas Addison said.
“Doug.” Aidan stood and they shook hands.
“This is a small world,” Douglas Addison noted.
No duh.
What was he doing at Swank Italian Place in Clevedon with Agatha Darling, my arch-nemesis no less?
“What on earth are you doing here?” (Aidan, thankfully asking my question)
“I could ask you the same.” (Addison)
Ha ha – laughter and joviality while I watched Agatha Darling to make sure she wasn’t putting some whammy on me.
Aidan turned to me and put an arm light around my waist, pulling me closer (nice). “Let me to introduce you to Mathilda Honeycutt.”
Then Addison turned to me.
“Miss Honeycutt,” he said quietly.
And I looked into his eyes.
* * * * *
I suppose there are bad guys out there who could charm you with a look, no matter how good you are or how bad they are.
I mean, Tony Soprano for one.
I think it would take Tony Soprano approximately five minutes to make me his best friend. It was the eyes, they sparkled. You didn’t know if it was mischief, kindness, genuine goodness even with a blackened heart.
I’d been in love with Tony Soprano from the minute I saw my first episode of The Sopranos.
It was fucked up love with a vicious, fictional Mafioso dude but it was still love.
* * * * *
Douglas Addison smiled at me.
The smile reached his eyes.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” he said and I knew he meant it.
From that minute, he had me.
I put my hand out to shake his. He took my hand, turned it, held it gently and kissed it.
Not in a sexy way, but in a sweet, respectful way.
“And I you,” I returned and, believe it or not, I meant it too.
Ack!