Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(36)

Rory glared at me with arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… here goes.

“Rory, I’m a witch,” I announced.

His glare didn’t waiver.

I kept going. “And Mavis is a witch, so is Su, Viv, Mom, Gran… we’re all witches.”

No response.

I continued, “And so are most of the ladies at the café, except Lucy.”

Not even a blink of an eye.

I kept speaking. “Real, honest-to-goodness Sabrinas.”

Still no reaction.

I took my wand out of my back pocket, centered myself, focused, took a deep breath and threw up the football.

Then I let fly my magic.

Hot pink pixie dust shot out and shattered against the ball with sparks flying here, there and everywhere, changing the ball to a frog which fell – splat (ack!) – onto the floor and started croaking and jumping around.

I flipped out my wand again – and bam! – the frog was a ball again.

That got a response.

And that response was, “Crickey!”

He jumped up and plastered himself against the wall and stared at me like he’d never seen me before.

“This is the story,” I said. “I’m a witch and I have power. I use it carefully, for good only and only for people who ask me to help them. Your Mom needed my help and asked for it. I’m bound to her by her request, bound to help her and keep her… and you… safe through magic and anything else I dream up. You got that?”

He nodded.

“You got a problem with that?” I asked.

“They say at school you’re all lesbians.”

“They’re all stupid at school. No one’s a lesbian and who cares if they are? What’s wrong with lesbians?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, this is my advice, instead of hitting someone who says something stupid like that, just say, ‘So?’ or adopt the Pee Wee Defense and say, ‘I know you are but what am I?’”

This cracked the snotty-kid-guard and he started to smile.

“‘I know you are but what am I?’” he repeated then asked, “Who’s Pee Wee?”

He didn’t know Pee Wee!?

“Oh Dude, you don’t know Pee Wee? Well, we’ll have to rectify that,” I announced.

And that was me sorting Rory out.

Of course later, Josie sorted him out more.

And even later, I smuggled in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. I know I shouldn’t have but I’m Cool Mathilda and I have to keep that up.

Chapter Six

The Month of April

April 2

It started out as the perfect day.

I should have known it wouldn’t last.

* * * * *

I woke up early and got on eBay right away and, sometime in the night, I won those Jimmy Choo shoes I’d been bidding on.

(Yay!).

I never, ever win.

(Yay! Yay!)

Since I was so excited to find out about my Jimmy Choos, I had time to do yoga before breakie… so after yoga I felt relaxed and energetic and ready to face the day.

Lunchtime proved my new pizza offering at the Café was a hit.

(Take that Lucy.)

Side note: Sun-dried tomatoes may just be the ambrosia of the gods and if you put them in the crust and in the sauce and on the pizza, it can’t be beat.

After work, had errands to run. As Ash is still sticking to me like glue (except in that way), he had to drive me.

This is not a plus.

Ash is nice to look at (very) and gives me that special feeling (very, very special feeling) but having that all the time is not-so-special (especially since nothing has come of it except a kiss in the library about two gazillion years ago).

So now, Ash-as-bodyguard is sort of Mathilda Torture.

Oh well.

The sacrifices one makes to be Savior of the World.

I do get a reprieve, when in or around The Gables or The Witches Dozen, Ash will leave me alone. Both places have protection spells and pretty strong broomsticks covering their front and rear, so I’m safe.

So…

Off we went on my errands, Ash and I, first to the tip to get rid of the recycling. Then to Brockley Farm Shop so I could buy my lavender (they have the best – they also have pretty great sausages too, so got some of those and some nice, chubby baby carrots and…)

I digress.

And on the way home from Brockley’s, I saw Cadbury Garden Centre.

Now, garden centres in England are like little shopping nirvanas tucked here and there all over the country. They have invisible tractor beams that could rival the Death Star. Even if you don’t garden or aren’t craftsy (like me), you get sucked in and find yourself spending hours flipping through books on perennials and testing knee mats and listening with rapt attention to people explaining the pros and cons of different types of trowels, etcetera.

Ash and I were coming up to Cadbury Garden Centre, otherwise known as Granddaddy of All Garden Centres so I shouted, “Turn up there!”

“Where?”

“There!” I pointed.

Ash slowed.

“Why?” he asked and I think I detected a hint of suspicion.

“I need something.” I cast around in my head for an excuse he would buy. “Witch stuff… magickal implements.” That sounded good. “It’s important!” I added, just in case me shouting wasn’t getting through.