Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(25)
“They probably had a protection spell.”
No!
“How do you know this?” I asked.
He hesitated. Then took a breath and expelled it heavily.
Then he answered, “Another field researcher, watching another witch, saw the alliance.”
This is unbelievable… witches didn’t ally themselves with bad guys!
Okay, so, I had to admit, it happened.
Occasionally.
But very, very rarely.
The whole bad witch-slash-dark witch myth was made by man to discredit those who practiced The Craft (not to mention the whole conspiracy against midwives and healers who weren’t witches at all). The vast (as in vast) majority of witches are what is now often referred to as “White Witches”. In other words, good. To the core. A few of them may be dotty but they wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“I don’t have that information.”
“Can you find out?”
“Maybe.”
Getting into Institute territory here, I could see.
“If you find out, will you tell me?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
It was my turn to watch him. He wasn’t uncomfortable or wary, just cagey.
Men!
I was too tired to push it now.
“How do you know Josephine and Rory?” I asked.
Mention of Josephine and Rory seemed to surprise him. “She cleaned the office at the plumber’s. I don’t know any Rory.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Is there more?” he asked in response.
Interesting.
“Okay, then, if you’re a member of this place and you aren’t supposed to get involved then why did you get involved?”
He sat up, set down his coffee cup and massaged his temples for a bit.
When he was done, he dropped his (very nicely formed, very manly, not professorial at all, by the way) hands and he said, “There are several reasons, Matty.”
Then he stopped.
Men again! Why did they make you work so hard for everything?
“Well?” I pressed.
Nothing.
Dammit.
“What are they?”
He watched me again for a bit. This watching me gig was very strange and unsettling and I have to admit (only to my journal) it weirdly excited me (slightly).
Finally, he answered, “Okay, first, I got involved because I believe the real world and the magical world can live in harmony and The Institute is in the perfect position to facilitate that.”
Ha! He obviously hadn’t read Why the Worlds Will Never Live Together in Harmony – A Cautionary Chronicle by Ulysses Cavanaugh.
Aidan carried on, “Second, I’m not accustomed to inaction. Watching doesn’t suit my way of doing things, I’d rather be… doing things.”
“You shouldn’t have become a member if you didn’t agree with the way things were done,” I tutted.
He grinned.
Goddess save me from good-looking men who can pull off a grin.
“You sound like Jeremy,” he informed me.
“You mean Ichabod Crane?” I asked.
Uh-oh, forgot myself. Maybe they were friends and that was mean.
“That’s exactly who I mean,” Aidan said.
Oh, there you go. Don’t think Aidan likes Ichabod.
Anyway, I didn’t want to sound like Jeremy.
Ignoring all that, I went on, “What other reasons do you have?”
More watching.
Then, “Once I saw you I knew I’d have to get involved.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Yes, Matty. I couldn’t exactly get you in my bed without meeting you.”
What!?
Ack!
Yay!
Oh no!
I had no idea what to think and then I didn’t have to think because an old dude walked into the room to announce breakfast was ready.
Mixed blessing.
After dropping the “get you in my bed” grenade, Aidan conveniently disappeared without a good-bye while I was whisked to a phone by one of the other members.
I called Ash on his mobile. This was the conversation:
“Hi Ash.” (Brightly to dissipate any bad mood.)
“Where are you?” (Tersely, clearly not in the mood to have bad mood dissipated.)
“The Royal Institute for Psychical Research.”
Silence.
Then, “I’ll be there in two hours.”
Hang up.
Uh-oh.
* * * * *
We had a full, traditional, English fry up in the Great Hall (yum-ah-licious! English breakfasts were the bomb, fried eggs, fried bread, toast with marmalade, awesome, meaty English bacon, sausages, baked beans, sautéed mushrooms, gut-busting but heaven-on-a-plate, even s, I feared for the cholesterol levels of my companions). Aidan was out amongst the brethren as was Jeremy and about twenty-five other Old and Young(ish) Dudes. (!)
Members were coming out of the woodwork to get a close up look at a real, live witch.
I sat at a head table next to Ambrose and another man introduced as Forrest Something-or-Other. I feared I’d never again meet a man by the name of John, Dave or Steve.
Everyone stared at me while they ate their bacon and fried bread.
Conversation was scarce.