Sparkle Witch: A Novella (The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic Book 4)(5)
The tree had to be at least twenty feet tall. Not only had they gone all out with the usual tinsel, baubles and glittery frou-frou things that I couldn’t name, there were also several spells set up to add to the overall effect. There wasn’t any of the snow that Abigail had been hoping to achieve but I counted at least two dozen tiny elves, created through some sort of elaborate illusion magic. They danced round the branches of the tree, flitting between the green and looking for all the world as if they really were Santa’s helpers. I could have done with some of them back at the grotto.
‘You know what I think?’ I said to no one in particular. ‘I think you should leave this up all year round. That way you don’t need to worry about doing this every twelve months. It’s pretty to look at and will distract visitors from the ugly Order buildings nearby.’
I eyed the carefully wrapped presents at the foot of the tree. Once upon a time, when I was young and foolish, I’d wasted many hours trying to create beautifully wrapped gifts. The trouble was that a gorgeous exterior not only took considerable time to achieve but also established unrealistic expectations. When the present looked as if it were an expensive toy but actually contained several pairs of socks, the ensuing disappointment could be considerable. At least that was what I’d told myself when I realised that it wouldn’t matter how much care and attention I took over my presentation skills; my gifts would always look as if they’d been wrapped by a clumsy clawed bear with defective vision. These days I counted it a success when I bothered to drop my gifts into handy bags. Usually I just thrust them into the hands of the lucky recipient with some muttered excuse about saving paper and therefore the environment.
From the other side of the crowd of witches, Abigail was wringing her hands. She stumbled over to join me. ‘I’m glad you like it. But there’s a massive problem.’ She bit her lip and looked as if she were about to cry. That concerned me; she hadn’t struck me as a weeper before.
At that moment, some of the branches towards the top of the tree quivered in a way that had nothing at all to do with the light breeze gusting around us. I frowned and squinted up, then leapt backwards just a flicker of a heartbeat before a massive glass bauble came crashing down onto the spot where I’d been standing.
‘What the hell?’ I yelled, ready to blame whoever happened to be near me, whether it was white-faced Abigail or not.
‘Bitch.’ Brutus’s face appeared several feet above me from within the branches of the tree. Peering out from some tinsel, he blinked down at me – and I could swear the bugger grinned. The Cheshire Cat must have taken lessons from my damned feline familiar.
Without so much as a request for food, Brutus vanished back into the dark green needles, causing several more of the upper branches to shake dramatically.
If Brutus were a delicate creature like Princess Parma Periwinkle, who was Winter’s familiar, then it probably wouldn’t have been an issue. But he’s a hefty cat who likes his food so, as he picked up speed and more and more branches began to sway, I realised that the trunk of the huge tree was wobbling. It tilted alarmingly to one side and there was a series of alarmed shouts.
Brutus’s familiar voice could be heard above them all. ‘Timber, bitches!’ He leapt from on high, landing just to the side of a group of terrified looking red robes, and darted out of sight. At the same moment, it became clear that the tree was going to slam right down to the ground. Bloody cat. I could swear he also had a pretty snowflake decoration in his mouth as he ran off. He certainly was a special sodding snowflake.
I hissed under my breath and raised my hands, sketching out a stabilising rune in the nick of time. The tree creaked and heaved as if in complaint before finally, thankfully, righting itself. I breathed out. That was close. I might have a lot of leeway these days as far as the Order witches were concerned but if Brutus caused the destruction of their Christmas centrepiece I was fairly certain I’d lose a lot of goodwill. It didn’t bother me per se but I’d only been half kidding when I’d talked about Caesar’s wife to Maidmont. The last thing I wanted was for any of my actions to reflect badly on Winter. He never complained but I knew he had enough to deal with these days with his stresses from work. I didn’t want to add to his burdens if I could help it.
‘That was close.’ I turned to Abigail. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him and make sure he doesn’t do it again.’ I didn’t tell her that Brutus never listened to a damn word I said, and that he was contrary enough to climb the gigantic Christmas tree as often as he could if he thought it would annoy me. Right now, with her bottom lip still trembling, the young witch needed reassurance.
‘It's not the cat,’ Abigail said, her voice shaking. ‘He's fine. He's not the problem. It's...’ She seemed unable to finish her sentence.
Vaguely alarmed, I looked at her more closely. ‘What is it?’
From behind me there was a loud snort. Abigail didn't react and I knew without turning who had made the noise.
‘Well, it is obvious, isn't it?’ Grenfell bellowed in my ear. ‘Cutting down perfectly fine trees and then throwing glitter all over them did not exist in my day but even I am fully aware of what the problem is.’
I put my hands on my hips. ‘If you're so clever, why don't you tell me?’
Abigail gazed at me with wide, tremulous eyes. ‘Is this another test?’ she asked. ‘Because to be honest, Ivy, I don't think this is a very good time.’