Sparkle Witch: A Novella (The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic Book 4)(2)

Don’t ask me about herblore. Never ask me about herblore. I paused and turned. ‘Ivy.’

The latest in a long line of young Neophytes blinked at me, dark hair framing a very earnest face. ‘Huh? I didn’t think ivy would work. Do I need to dry it first?’

‘My name is Ivy. Not Miss Ipsissimus.’ In fact, try saying Miss Ipsissimus three times in a row. It’s beyond daft. Repeating my name aloud had become a familiar refrain. Most witches still struggled with the fact that I didn’t possess a proper Order title – Global Phantom Solutions and Assurance Strategist didn’t have much of a ring to it. I’d suggested on several occasions that it be shortened to Assurance Strategist. Or even just Ass. Sadly, it hadn’t yet taken. But at least I enjoyed the facial expressions on the many humourless Order-driven witches I suggested it to.

‘Sorry.’ The Neophyte blushed and looked down.

I glared. ‘Don’t apologise. We’ve never spoken before and you didn’t know what to call me. Instead of saying sorry, say something along the lines of, “Well, that’s so much better than wrapping my mouth around Miss Ipsissimus.” Or tell me that if I’d spoken in a full sentence then you’d have understood and I should learn the proper rules of grammar. Don’t say sorry for trying to do the right thing.’

The Neophyte stared at me. I tapped my foot in response and raised my eyebrows.

She coughed. ‘Uh, you’re very curmudgeonly to make such a big deal out of a name.’ She coughed again and blushed some more.

I nodded approvingly. ‘Well done.’ I turned round and started walking again. This was a technique I was perfecting: flummox witches to the point where they’d forgotten why they wanted to talk to me in the first place and I could escape the conversation much faster. Unfortunately I’d clearly not perfected it.

‘So,’ she called out again, ‘Ivy, should I use lavender or mugwort?’

I had to give her brownie points for not giving up. Stopping once more, I yielded to the question. Sometimes you had to know when to give in – I suppose Winter had taught me that. ‘What exactly are you trying to do? Weather covers a wide spectrum of possibilities. Do you want a sunbeam for your familiar to bask in? Or do you want to prevent a hurricane from happening? There’s quite a big difference.’

‘I’m putting up the Christmas tree in the main courtyard. We thought that some real snow would really add to the overall effect.’

‘Sure,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Wet, cold snow which will turn to sludge in hours is an excellent idea.’ I stared hard at her again. Fortunately this time she got the message and tilted up her chin in defiance.

‘Well, I think that snow will add to seasonal feel. A bit of snow makes everyone feel more Christmassy. Plus … plus … it’ll look pretty,’ she finished in a rush.

Breaking down hierarchical barriers one witch at a time. I beamed at her. ‘Good. I still hate snow,’ I added, ‘but good. You’re learning to argue.’ I tapped my mouth and thought about it. ‘You probably want to use a combination of smoked pennyroyal with a pinch of yarrow root. I’m no expert in herblore, however. You might end up with nothing more than a snowflake or as much as an avalanche. I’d strongly suggest getting the help of a Second Level witch before you begin.’

‘Can’t you help?’

I smiled. ‘I’m not a Second Level witch. I’m not even a First Level witch.’

This time she looked me directly in the eyes. ‘Yes, but everyone knows how talented you are.’

‘Not at herblore. Honestly, you can do better.’

She opened her mouth to argue. In the space of one little chat, I’d apparently created a monster. I held up my palms. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘what’s your name?’

‘Abigail.’

‘Abigail, the most important thing you can learn is how to get others to do your dirty work for you. The second most important thing is to learn your own limitations and act accordingly.’ I patted her on the shoulder. ‘Find a Second Level witch and we’ll all be making snowmen in no time.’

For the first time, she smiled. ‘Thank you, Miss Ip— Ivy.’

‘You’re welcome.’ And with that, I tripped off to meet Maidmont.





Chapter Two


The costume Maidmont thrust in my direction looked tight, small and garishly green. It had definitely been made out of some horrifically scratchy material to boot. I gazed at it in genuine horror before addressing him. ‘I can’t wear that.’

‘Of course you can.’

I shook my head with surprisingly vehement energy. ‘Nope.’ I leaned over to him and lowered my voice. ‘I’m Caesar’s wife. I must be beyond reproach. This thing you call an item of clothing is the very definition of reproach.’

‘You have to be beyond reproach?’ Maidmont enquired. ‘What about last month when you got drunk on my secret stash of sherry and then bespelled the old statue of the first Ipsissimus to dance for you?’

‘No one’s infallible.’

‘If you say so. How about last week when you commandeered a group of Neophytes to track down tiny mops that you could attach to Brutus’s paws so he could clean the floor as he walked? And then you told the Home Minister when he came for a visit that they were special ear muffs designed just for him?’