Mathilda, SuperWitch by Kristen Ashley
Whole body (most especially certain obvious parts) got very, very into the kiss.
He wrapped one arm around my waist to hold me close while the other hand went down over my bottom and the back of my thigh. Then he leaned over, hooked his hand behind my knee and pulled it up so jeans did very, very pleasant thing at my crotch while he wrapped my leg around his hip and then I thought we’d fall back onto the couch and get serious when…
“Oh darlings. My, my, my… Sebastian. You know it’s far too early for that.”
Ack!
Auntie Mavis.
Instead of jumping away from each other like naughty teenagers, Sebastian’s arm tightened (though, he did drop my knee). He kept me where I was and took a deep breath. His eyes were closed.
“Mavis,” he said softly with what sounded like a load of regret and not a little bit of impatience and then he opened his eyes and looked at me and – I kid you not – I thought I was going to have an orgasm just from the way he looked at me!
Sweet goddess, Mother Earth and all things charmed and bewitched.
He looked at me like I look at clotted cream, like it was the divine, ambrosia of the gods and I intended to devour, with extreme pleasure, every last bit of it and then lick the container clean at the end.
Fucking hell indeed.
Then he let me go.
I turned and kinda wobbled and Sebastian caught me by the waistband of my jeans and steadied me until I slowly lowered myself to the arm of the couch.
Then he let go and walked away.
Far away.
All the way across the room to stand behind the desk and stare out the huge arched window there.
Brooding Sebastian was back.
Auntie Mavis trucked in carrying a tray with tea, sandwiches and biscuits on it. Bless her, she was after this girl’s heart with the food but she could have waited at least fifteen (thirty, mm, maybe forty-five, er…) minutes.
She started serving, doing it manually which still surprises me. Once I found out about the power we had, I mean, who would ever do anything again if they didn’t have to? But Mavis is of the philosophy (not shared by every witch) that the Power of Wicca, like everything natural, is in limited supply and you shouldn’t waste it.
She totally ignored the fact that she just walked in on me necking with my bodyguard.
As for me, I was still semi-panting and trying very hard to keep it together and not charge across the room, take a flying leap, land on Sebastian and rip his clothes off.
“How is the boy, my dear?” she asked me as she handed me a plate of sandwiches.
“He’s okay, sleeping in the Trunk Room.”
She picked up her wand from the tray and drew a circle in the air, lilac and powder blue pixie dust sprang out, hovering in the air for a moment before Paulina Babcock’s (another member of our coven) face filled it.
“I was just cleaning up, Mavis,” Paulina told her.
“Before you go, Babs, please check on the boy if you don’t mind. He’s in the Trunk Room.”
“Will do.”
Then, poof, the pixie dust and Paulina were gone.
Magic is so cool sometimes.
“Pleased to say that Ms. McShane is safe in her hospital bed for tonight. A very strong but short-lived spell will keep her from harm. How long is she supposed to stay there?”
“Who knows, probably a few days so they can –” I started to answer.
“Pish posh.” Yes, Mavis talks like this, she’s a scream. “We’ll have none of that. I know someone…”
At this point I felt something weird in my stomach, something that was creeping downwards with pinpoint accuracy, something that was warm and melty and a little scary. I looked over at Sebastian and he was not looking out the window anymore but staring at me and…
“Matty, darling, can I please have your attention?”
I jumped when Mavis said my name.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” she said shaking her head at me. “Will you be able to keep your mind on your first Spellbound, I wonder?”
In answer to that, I asked, “What’s The Mathilda Register?”
Mm. Her reaction was intriguing. Her head jerked around toward Sebastian who simply shrugged his shoulders and returned to staring out the window.
We went through the whole rigmarole about who told me what and when.
“Well, it would seem we have to have a conversation earlier than I thought,” she declared.
Then she settled into one of the couches with the chocolate biscuits in her lap.
* * * * *
If getting my first Spellbound then making out with Sebastian wasn’t enough to make it a big night, what Mavis was about to tell me was going to put the frosting on the cake.
* * * * *
Mavis then began.
“You see, nearly a millennia ago, there was a coven of thirteen very powerful witches.” She turned to Sebastian who had moved around to sit on the desk. “Norman times, yes?”
He nodded.
“I think it was 1069, 1070, something like that,” Mavis went on.
“1070,” Sebastian clarified.
It was like watching a tennis match.
Mavis continued, “This coven made a lot of waves, it had significant power and influence. They made so many waves that they attracted attention. Unwanted attention.” This she said in a dire voice. “The coven needed protection.” She stopped, watched me closely then started again, “To protect it, a secret society was born.” Another pause for effect. “Le Société de Mathilde.”
Oh sweet goddess, why me?
Mavis shook her head. “No, my dear, it wasn’t named after you but instead after Mathilde de Flambert. A very, very powerful witch and the high priestess of the coven. She was not even a relative of ours although there were two Honeycutts in that coven.”
Humph.
Mavis kept going. “At first, Le Société was formed only to watch over Mathilde and her circle. But over the years, especially through the dark days, it began to work to guard all witches. It grew, expanded and became strong, powerful and even wealthy. The witches it protected worked and still work, I might add, to return the favor of protection. We’ve managed to be able to transfer bits and pieces of power to our guardians…”
I looked at Sebastian and remembered that night I was out with BecBec and he used the Batman’s Cape Invisibility Glamour.
“But it never lasts long,” she continued. “These men, and women of course, of Le Société often were forced to lay down their homes, their fortunes, their legacies and their very lives to see that we witches were safe.”
“Why on earth would they do that?” I asked.
“Why?” Mavis smiled a private, sad smile and took a moment to answer. “Because you protect the ones you love, my darling.”
I looked at her, I looked at Sebastian, I looked back at her.
“Hunh?”
“The first of Le Société were the husbands of the witches of Mathilde’s coven. It grew and built on the sons and lovers of the witches…”
Holy Spousal Unit, Batman!
“No,” I breathed.
Oh my, oh my.
“Really?” I asked.
“Oh yes, my dear. Where do you think my Otto is?”
Oh my, oh my.
That means…
“Dad?”
My voice cracked, I couldn’t believe it but there she was nodding her head.
“Granddad?”
More nodding.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck.
“Ash?”
“Who’s Ash, darling?”
I pointed at Sebastian and Mavis chuckled.
“But of course. His mother was Isabella Jacobs-Wilding, my dear. A long time family friend.” Mavis smiled somberly at Sebastian and then she said quietly, “I still miss her.”
Fuck.
I watched Sebastian and his face didn’t change at all.
Sebastian is the motherless son of a dead witch and I’m the fatherl
Fuck.
Then the questions came:
“Where’s my Dad?”
“Deep cover, darling. I cannot say.”
“Is Granddad still alive?”
“Of course, dear. He’s due for retirement, er… soon.”
“What do you mean ‘soon’. When is that?”
“I don’t know… ten, twenty years.”
Ten or twenty years!
“What?” I asked or kinda yelled.
She looked slightly uncomfortable for a second and then cleared her throat.
“My darling Mathilda, my dear girl. You see, we witches… um, your grandmother… my darling child, there is no other way to put it. Matty, you’re looking at a one hundred and eleven year old woman.”
* * * * *
There are times in your life when you wish you would pass out and just wake up later when whatever was bothering you is gone.
I remember when I was in gym class and the teacher would announce that we were going to play dodge ball.
I fucking hated dodge ball (I mean, who came up with that idea? It’s ridiculous). I wished I could just faint and then be sent to the nurse and have it be over.
Everything Auntie Mavis said felt like one of those plastic, weirdly pink balls hitting me somewhere where it stung.
I didn’t want my Dad to be a “deep cover” secret society dude.
I didn’t want Sebastian’s mom to be dead.
And I don’t think I wanted to live past one hundred and eleven years old.
Even if I did do it looking no more than fifty, like Mavis.
* * * * *
“You’re telling me you’re one hundred and eleven years old,” I said slowly.
“Yes, Matty, I must admit, I’m middle-aged.”
As I stared at her with my mouth open she told me about witches and men and just about everyone else (?) trying to find the fountain of youth. Although witches hadn’t found it, they’d certainly perfected a few elixirs (“With the help of the Elves, lovely creatures, BecBec is one, of course…”) that helped things along the way.
Then she told me there are dark forces in the world, explaining that few of them were magical:
Your average warlock, but always male and cannot command powers of nature so usually no threat. (Mavis: “Pitiful really”);
Some sorcerers and sorceresses who have turned to the dark side.
A few faeries, pixies and imps (mostly naughty) and the brownies, of course.
Mermaids and leprechauns can be annoying by their very nature, but are normally harmless.
Banshees, but that’s a whole other story.
Vampires, zombies, werewolves and especially the Abominable Snowmen were usually just misunderstood. (Mavis: “Although, I had a run-in once with the Loch Ness Monster and I must say she’s got what you kids today call an ‘attitude’.”)
Yes, this was the conversation I had with my aunt. I won’t even get into what she said about gremlins, gnomes, trolls, goblins and fucking whirling dervishes (!).
“No,” she continued, “these aren’t the creatures to fear. The creatures we fear are men. Witches have worked hard on protection, on saving and prolonging life… but they’ve never found a way to stop an arrow, a dagger, a saber or a bullet from piercing flesh.”
Ick.
Ack.
“Mathilde and her coven spent a great deal of energy and expense recording everything that they knew, saw, heard and did. Travels, spells, charms, potions, lore… everything. All witches do. The Witch’s Journal, her Book of Shadows, is her most important possession. Over the years, Le Société has catalogued these volumes and watched over them.”
“Le Société,” this, surprisingly, came from Sebastian, “recorded The Prophesies.”
Uh-oh. Here we go.
He carried on. “You aren’t the only Prophesied, there are many prophesies, Chosen Ones, some who have done very well, some who have failed.”
Uh, what?
And here I was, almost certain to be a Chosen One you had to a) be One, as in singular, as in me and b) be good at what you did.
How do Chosen Ones fail?
Crazy shades of The Matrix sequel. What? Was I part of the Chosen Six? Eight? Two Hundred and Eleven?
Yikes.
Mavis took over. “As for you, my dear, many witches, a few wizards and a sorceress or two have had various prophesies about you. You were prophesied everywhere.”
“The enemy heard of you.” This was Sebastian again. “Over the centuries, your name was all over the place.”
“This scared them.” (Mavis)
“You scare them.” (Sebastian)
“I scare me!” (Me)
“You scare me too.” (Sebastian)
Humph!
Sebastian continued. “In 1772, Algernon Savage was the foremost scholar of The Mathilda Prophesies. He was kidnapped.” Ack! “Tortured.” Ack! Ack! “And eventually murdered.” Oh no. “He gave them what became known as The Mathilda Register.” Stupid Algernon. “In other words, a list of all the Spellbinding you would do.” Stupid, stupid Algernon.
Mavis broke in. “Luckily, dearest Algernon had a healthy imagination and made up most of it so convincingly, even under torture, that they believed him.” Clever Algernon. “Unfortunately, he gave away some of the real Prophesies too.” Uh-oh. “In the meantime, Sebastian’s great-great-great…?” Mavis stopped and looked at Ash.
“Great,” he said.
Mavis kept going. “Grandfather, Hamish Wilding, wrote The Myth of The Mathilda Register making it clear that all of what Algernon told was either made up or not prophesies at all, but history. Furthermore, he printed Mathilda Honeycutt, The Prophesies. In turn, his clever wife, Eleanora, put a spell on it.”
“Anyone who had a dark heart.” It was Sebastian’s turn. “Read stories of how most of The Prophesies either went unfulfilled or had already happened. That the Mathilda they’d thought was one person was really many Mathildas over the centuries, starting with Mathilde de Flambert and ending in 1698 with Mathilda Winterbottom one of the Witchfinder General’s victims during The Burning Times.”
Now Mavis. “For those who didn’t have a dark heart, but were pure –”
“And magical,” Sebastian cut in.
“They could read The Prophesies in one-heart-stoppingly brilliant volume,” Mavis finished.
“It worked,” Sebastian added. “Over the years, as it took longer and longer for you to make an appearance and for any of The Prophesies to come true, people began to believe it was all legend, just myth.”
“But if that’s the case, why are people after me?” I asked.
“Oh, darling, not because they think you are The Mathilda but just that you are A Mathilda and therefore, well, I think they believe it’s better safe than sorry.”
Great.
“How do you know it’s me?”
Mavis threw her head back and laughed.
The she stated, “You, my girl, are unmistakably The Mathilda.”
I didn’t know what this meant but decided to pursue it later.
“But these people who are after Rory,” I said. “They mentioned The Mathilda Register in front of Josephine.”
Mavis looked at Sebastian who in turn looked at me and said, “That isn’t good news.”
You’re telling me.
18 January
Update
(Cannot face another marathon writing session.)
Rory:
Is okay.
Living with us, going to school, watches his Mom constantly thinking she’s going to off herself. Josie (my nickname for Josephine) wants us to let him think that rather than worrying about bad guys trying to off him!
He makes me sad so I’m stuffing his face. Mavis says to back off as he will weigh three hundred pounds and be bullied if I don’t. (What does Mavis know? The boy needs love and nothing says love like an enormous sugar cookie with lashings of powdered-sugar icing. Especially w
Cosmo:
Has become potty-trained after massive effort by Mavis, Lucinda, Josephine, Rory and Myself (and Ash singlehandedly taught the dog how to sit by saying, sharply in his deep voice, “Sit!” and the dog sat but then so did everyone else in the room).
Josephine:
Just finished the notice she gave on the jobs and is working with us in the café (must admit this is very helpful, as, unlike many of the coven members, she can bake).
Also living with us – Mavis handled her landlord who is a “friend”.
Josie, without having to worry constantly about the untimely death of herself and/or her son, has gotten the color in her cheeks, lost the bags under her eyes, put on a pound or two and got the shine back in her hair.
In other words, the bitch is a looker.
Ash says good morning to her every time she comes into the kitchen in the morning wearing a little nightie and short robe.
He never says good morning to me, just reads his paper, or, if I’m lucky, looks at me warily like I might mistakenly blow up the kitchen or something.
BecBec:
Is on my shit list (has been since taking me to see Rory and Josephine for what seemed to be no apparent reason other than to upset me).
Keeps zooming around and keeping me awake at night and babbling at me.
I tried to start faerie-speak lessons by walking over to a table and pointing at it and saying, “Table. Table. Table.” But when I motioned it was BecBec’s turn, she said (in high-pitched squeal), “Eek-eeeeek-eek-eek.” I don’t think they call a table that but what do I know?
Lucy:
Likes Josephine, dotes on Rory, doesn’t have much time for Cosmo. “Bloody dog… why didn’t he get a cat?”
Made this fabulous red cake with this luscious, whippy, creamy frosting that may be my new most favorite cake in the whole, wide world.
Mavis:
In hog heaven.
Café seems to be going well, her regulars came back and we have a few new regulars (Mavis: “Thank the goddess, The Gables, darling, is hell to heat.”)
She’s pleased with my progress in The Craft.
She gets a real kick out of Rory and gets to mother Josie, who needs her soft touch. Josie may be getting color into her cheeks but she’s still pretty jumpy and fragile.
I tried and failed to get more info out of Mavis about Dad, Granddad, Le Société, Mathilda’s Register, being one hundred and eleven etcetera but she said we’ll have another session later and, “There is only so much a girl can take.”