The Rise of the Dark Lord Page 3

  “Not what I expected,” she went on.

  “What did you expect?” I asked.

  “Someone with more substance.”

  Okay, so, Holy Lesbionic Bitch Witch, Batman!

  “And you are?” I asked.

  “I’m Agent Elizabeth Perry, Federal Witches Agency.”

  Er, pardonnez moi?

  “Sorry?”

  “Matty, honey, the Federal Witches Agency is like the British Witches Council,” Mom put in.

  “Except bigger,” Viv said.

  “And, um, a bit different,” Mom said.

  “She’s the fuzz,” Su added.

  “What?” I asked Su.

  “The fuzz, a pig, a copper, a federale,” Su explained.

  “I’m a federal agent.” Agent Perry was glaring at Su.

  Su glared back.

  Ack!

  A witch federal agent!

  “Mathilda,” Ash said, his deep voice cutting through the hippie/federal agent tension and my silent freak out. “Did you have an altercation with another witch at a discount department store?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Target is, on the surface, a discount department store but it cannot be classified with the likes of Wal-Mart and K-Mart because there’s really no comparison. Target is to Wal-Mart what Saks is to Dillards. They’re both department stores but you can’t…”

  Ash interrupted me, “Mathilda, answer the question.”

  Agent Perry had her arms crossed on her chest.

  Decided to keep hedging.

  “I don’t know if you’d call it an altercation. She came out of nowhere and tried to zap me with an acne spell. I deflected it. She pulled my hair. I pulled hers. The security guard ejected us from the store before it could become a real altercation.”

  “Did you confiscate her wand?” Agent Perry asked.

  “She kept trying to zap me.”

  “You can’t confiscate another witch’s wand,” Agent Perry kept going.

  “Okay, let me rephrase, she tried to zap me with acne while I was shopping.”

  “A witch uses magic against you against your will, you report it to the Agency. You don’t confiscate her wand and pull her hair,” Agent Perry informed me.

  “Look, Agent Perry, I don’t know the reverse-acne spell.” I gestured to Ash and Aidan (both still looking pissed off, by the way). “Have you seen the two men in my life? I’m not going to have acne when those two are under the same roof as me. No way, no how.”

  Agent Perry pulled herself up. “I don’t know how they do it in the You Kay, but in America, we have rules.”

  “I’m not familiar with American rules.” This was the truth.

  “Ignorance of witch law is no excuse.” Agent Perry didn’t like the truth. “Give me the witch’s wand.”

  I pulled it out of my back pocket and gave it to her. “Did she report me?”

  “She sure did. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, seeing as you’re The Mathilda and Mr. Wilding is here to keep an eye on you now. This happens again, I won’t be so lenient.” I stared as she turned to Ash and said, “Honor to meet you, sir.” Then walked out.

  “Holy crap! Did that just happen?” I asked everyone.

  “I don’t have any Post-it notes,” Windspear “Mack” Jones remarked.

  “Matty, why didn’t you tell anyone you were attacked by another witch?” Aidan asked, ignoring Mack.

  “Everyone was busy, and I have a war to organize,” I answered.

  All eyes were on me then Ash and Aidan looked at each other.

  Ash said, “Until I recover, you get her during the day. I get her at night.”

  Aidan nodded, “Works for me.”

  Great.

  The next two weeks, I was busy.

  Moved out of the Turret Room and moved all the furniture up there into our garage (Mom never put the Bug in the garage anyway). Then set to work making the Turret Room my Magic Room.

  At The Gables, my Magic Room was the Tower Room. I had gotten used to height so I felt right at home.

  Viv and Su had shipped some of my magickal implements before we made our getaway to Denver and I went to work shopping (not a sacrifice) to get the rest of what I needed.

  I set up shop and got back to the business of being a witch, reading, learning (mostly, familiarizing myself with American Witch Rules (there were a lot)), conjuring and creating spells for defense, offense and protection.

  Moved my clothes to the Mother-in-Law Cottage.

  Ash moved his clothes there too.

  This caused Aidan and Ash to have another “sit down.”

  After the Second Sit Down, things changed, though Ash did not move out. In the few days before Ash and I moved into the Mother-in-Law Cottage, I had slept with Ash and Ash had spent this time working toward evening things out (and doing it really well thus messing up my head even more).

  While Aidan was watching me during the day, though, he had been a perfect gentleman.

  After Ash moved in with me, Aidan had not been a perfect gentleman.

  Not even close.

  Ack!

  I was in a constant state of near sexual meltdown. On the one hand, it gave me a warm, fuzzy, tingly feeling. On the other hand, it made me feel like a slut.

  This caused me to call a “sit down.”

  “Enough, you two,” I said when I had them in Mom’s living room.

  They just looked at me like they were expecting something big from me.

  Both seemed weirdly tense, which made me tense(er), but I persevered because the whole point of my sit down was to make things less tense, at least for me (impossible! but I had to try).

  “Seriously, I’ve got a war to plan. I have to find a job because I’m running out of money and there’s a great pair of shoes at Nordstrom that I need. Mack is giving me grief because he wants to be a general and I don’t have anything for him to do. I still haven’t learned how to ride a broomstick without falling off and you two are driving me batty.”

  “Mathilda.” That was Ash.

  “Matty.” That was Aidan.

  “No! You both don’t back off and give me some space, it’s gonna force me to do something neither of you are going to like.”

  At my thinly veiled threat of magical retaliation, they stood.

  Ash might still be recovering (quickly) but he scared me (he always kinda scared me).

  Aidan had that level-eyed look about him that told me he was pissed off and that scared me too.

  Ackity! Ack! Ack!

  “Fair warning, Mathilda, you carry out that threat, you’ll suffer the consequences.” That was Ash.

  “This is your lot, Matty, you have to live with it.” That was Aidan.

  “I don’t want to live with it.” That was me.

  “Try living with the knowledge that you might die young.” That was Ash.

  Great Goddess and all things with petals and leaves.

  Had to admit, he had a point.

  Thus endeth our sit down.

  Finally caught a break.

  The lady Mom had worked for for ages before Mom started to make her own line of body products came around and told Mom she was retiring.

  Mom, Su and I took over her business and started proceedings to buy it—a cutesy little boutique-y girlie shop on Broadway—and presto!—had an income.

  One problem solved, now on to saving the world.

  10 December

  Lots happening. It’s a busy job, being Savior of the World.

  First up, since I was back in Denver, had whirlwind, social butterfly lifestyle, reconnecting with friends and introducing myself as a witch to folks I’d known for years (Gran and Mom’s coven, women I’d referred to as “auntie” my whole life, not to mention a bunch of women in Su’s coven that I’d hung out with on occasion).

  Lots of martinis.

  Lots of brunches.

  Lots of midnight chanting under the light of the moon.

  Lots of trips to the mall.
/>   Exhausting!

  (But awesome.)

  Then there was setting up the shop.

  We’d decided to rename it “Bewitched.” We’re cleaning it up, repainting it, inventorying stock, talking to suppliers, finding new ones, yadda yadda yadda.

  Su wants it to look like Janis Joplin decorated it.

  I want it to look like a summer cottage on Nantucket with some bottles and vials laying around (yes, very Practical Magic, but a) Sandra Bullock played a witch and we were witches, so…natch and b) I’d never claimed to be original, just a connoisseur of awesome).

  Mom wants us to quit arguing about it.

  In England, I ran a coffee house with Mavis, the Honeycutt coven, Josie and our friend Lucy, called The Witches Dozen. When we remodeled The Dozen, I had my way with the décor (rock ‘n’ roll chic, therefore been there, done that with Su’s “Janis Vision”). Lucy and I were the cooks and pastry chefs and we got great reviews, we had loads of customers and we were in talks with BBC to do a cookery show on the heels of a cookbook.

  I kind of fancied being a famous TV cooking expert, flouncing around a magnificent kitchen, bossing around my viewers and looking superior with all my ingredients pre-measured in those sweet, little glass bowls, but no…

  Now, I was at starting point again.

  Bah!

  Viv was my Communications Commander, finding out what was happening in the world regarding the War.

  Gran had been off chasing down Agatha Darling, the baddest of the bad. Agatha had disappeared after the Battle of The Tor. Gran came home saying Agatha was “in the wind” but rumor had it The Traditionalists were regrouping and forming their own strategy.

  Damn!

  Auntie Mavis had been hunting Endora Eccles, a member of The British Witches Council, another baddie and someone we suspected would be a higher-up for The Traditionalists. Mavis came to Denver too, no luck and more rumors of The Traditionalists planning something.

  Damn and blast!

  Viv reported there had been some minor skirmishes around England, some in Ireland, one in Scotland, but the rest of the world, including the US, was laying low and watching.

  The Modernists were waiting for me to do something.

  Argh!

  Woke up this morning all cuddly, snuggly warm and realized Ash was spooning me.

  Was surprised, Ash was always up and out before me, lately going for a run.

  (This I did not like. He’d been shot just over a month before. Did he listen to me when I told him to stop running? No. Did he listen to me when I told him he was supposed to listen to me because I was Head Cheese? No again. Did he pay any attention when I wrote a Post-it note specifically for him that said No Running and stuck it in his Post-it area? No again!)

  I rolled within the circle of his arm and saw he was awake.

  Even though he looked all sexy-hot, tousled-handsome, instead of wishing him a good morning and, say, laying a wild, wet kiss smack on his lips, I said, “I’m glad you aren’t running. Running isn’t good for you.”

  He grinned. “Running is good for you.”

  I think not.

  “It’s bad for your knees and other parts of your body that may have been torn apart by speeding bullets.”

  He shifted and his face disappeared in my neck.

  Mm.

  Lovely.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mathilda,” he mumbled into my neck.

  Yeah, right.

  His mouth came to mine.

  “You should try it,” he suggested.

  Ha!

  I knew he’d seen my breasts. He’d even touched my breasts. Women with knockers as big as mine had no business running. It should be a law.

  “I don’t think so.”

  His grin turned into a smile, certain parts of my body felt torn apart by speeding bullets, but in a good way, his hands started roaming, my hands started roaming, and I knew he was stepping up to bat and had no intention of stopping at third base.

  He was going for home.

  I should note that Ash had totally evened things out with Aidan. It was long past the time when Ash should have moved back into the house and out of my bed.

  This was escalating and it wasn’t fair and somehow, in this deal between Ash and Aidan, I was in the position of making it fair.

  This, by the way, was another stressful job I did not want.

  “Ash?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  Good Goddess, I loved it when he called me sweetheart. It didn’t come often but when it did, it was super nice.

  “I can’t do this,” I told him.

  I could.

  I not only could, I wanted to, like really, really badly.

  The thing was, I shouldn’t.

  His hands were in my pajama bottoms, his lips were sliding down my neck.

  “Yes, you can,” he said.

  My hands were at his ass.

  He had a great ass.

  “No, I can’t.”

  He rolled, taking me with him so I was on top. He wrapped his arms around me and he looked up at my face while my hair fell around us.

  “Talk to me,” he ordered (so bossy).

  Even though I didn’t like to give in when he was being bossy, I decided to talk to him, mainly because I had no choice.

  “Well, if I do this with you, Aidan’s going to be pissed and think I’m a slut. If I do this with Aidan, you’re going to be pissed and think I’m a slut. I, er…” Gah! How did I say this? “Care about you both, like, a lot. I don’t want you thinking—”

  He lifted his head and touched his lips to mine.

  “I want you,” he told me, his voice all rich and throaty, and with his English accent, it did a (further) number on me.

  I was getting that, in fact, I felt clear evidence of it pressed against me.

  Yowza!

  “I want you too,” I whispered. Then I shouted, “This sucks!” and I buried my face in his neck and started babbling, “Since my very first date, I picked losers. Total losers. Jerks. Idiots. Assholes. Now, I’ve got two good guys, real good guys, guys that would put themselves in front of bullets for me, and I can’t get laid!”

  He whipped me around, him on top, hands at the sides of my face, fingers sliding into my hair.

  “Matty, sweetheart, look at me.”

  Ash didn’t call me Matty very often either, and when he did, I liked that too.

  Man, he was using the big guns this morning.

  I looked at him.

  “You’re going to have to do what you feel is right and you’re going to have to stop worrying about what people will think about your decisions. You’re going to need to make a great many decisions and some of them will be unpopular. You already have.”

  This, unfortunately, was true.

  “But you have to stick by them.” He kept at me. “You have to believe in them and in yourself.”

  This, unfortunately, was true too.

  Problem was, I wasn’t big on believing in myself.

  “None of this is going to be easy. The least of it is Seymour and me.” He kept going.

  He was wrong about that. The War of the Supernatural World seemed a piece of cake when compared to loving two delicious men at the same time.

  “Everyone knows you have it tough,” he went on. “Anyone that stands in judgment of the decisions you make and the actions you take isn’t worth having around you. They have to believe in you, completely.”

  His mouth came to mine, his eyes open and staring at me.

  “I believe in you,” he whispered.

  Oh, wow.

  “Seymour does too.”

  Ack!

  And…

  Wow.

  What was he saying? Was he saying it was okay for me to go all the way with both of them?

  Could I do that?

  Would I do that?

  Should I do that?

  Ash broke into my thoughts. “Stop worrying about us and just be true to you.”

&
nbsp; Jeez, I loved this guy.

  “Ash, I –”

  “Stop talking.”

  His hands went out of my hair and started roaming again.

  “But –” I started.

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  All right, I didn’t believe him that it was going to be okay, but whatever.

  With all the hanky panky going on with Ash and Aidan, I needed another Big O.

  That was my decision and I was going to stick by it.

  He kissed me.

  It was nice.

  I kissed him back.

  That made it nicer.

  Things progressed to the point that the word “nice” was a joke and the word “fabulous” didn’t come close to doing it justice.

  Then there was a pounding on the front door.

  Shit! I thought.

  “Fucking hell,” Ash muttered.

  “I have to get that,” I said in between panting.

  “Ignore it,” Ash murmured in between running his tongue along the lacy edge at the waistband of my panties.

  More pounding.

  “Ash, it could be serious.”

  “Sweetheart, this is serious.”

  He was not wrong.

  More pounding.

  “Ash!”

  “God damn it.”

  He rolled off one way.

  I rolled off the other.

  I jerked on my blue, flannel pajama bottoms. Ash pulled on his jeans. I was shrugging on my fleecy robe and Ash was yanking a sweater down his chest when we made it through the living room to the door.

  Standing outside were Dad, Aidan and Marcus.

  Crap!

  “Hey,” I said.

  Dad and Marcus shuffled on their feet, looking away with amused but uncomfortable faces. Aidan didn’t look away, he looked closely at me then at Ash then his mouth got tight.

  I knew why, I didn’t look all just-woke-up sleepy. I looked post-nearly-Big-O turned on (a look he would know because he’d seen before, like, a lot).

  Great, caught in the almost-act by my dad, my boyfriend’s dad and my other boyfriend.

  How sucky was this?

  Off-the-charts sucky was the answer.

  “What’s up?” I asked, trying to cover.

  They all shoved in. I moved out of the way and the living room of the Cottage was filled with uncomfortable silence.