Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(15)

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 fatherless daughter of a live one.

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 f**king 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 f**king 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.