Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(58)
I was still feeling guilty for the whole scene with Mom’s door blast so Su and I quickly conjured a kickass protection spell bubble (thank goddess for that, it came in handy later) for Josie and Lucy and off we went on our merry way.
To this day I will defend my decision to take Lucy and Josie along. I mean, sure, we were all in danger, but if it weren’t for them, Su and I’d be, well… it doesn’t bear thinking about.
* * * * *
So, off we went playing tunes on my new pink-iSkinned iPod (to go with my new Mini Cooper) blasting away some Guns ‘n’ Roses (“Take meeee home, yeah, yeah,” Axl Rose may be crazy as a jaybird but he’s the rockin’ shit and I’m sorry, but you take off that stupid hat and push back Slash’s hair, that man’s hot.)
* * * * *
Anyway.
* * * * *
People don’t have a lot of good things to say about Birmingham.
I have a one word retort: Selfridges.
And not the scary, shoulder-to-shoulder shopping nightmare that is the Selfridges on Oxford Street, no – a somewhat sedate, shopping extravaganza.
(Okay, so we were supposed to be investigating in Worcestershire, that isn’t far from Birmingham, a girl has to get in the mood. And anyway, Josie needed some new MAC lipglass. And Lucy was going to splash out on that Billy Bag she’d been dithering about for ages. And once I saw that rock and roll, long, thin, fringed scarf – well, it went with the Guns ‘n’ Roses!)
* * * * *
We cruised by Agatha Darling’s house.
Not much to say, really. An old manor, tucked in a hillside outside of Worcester. Just stately and such, none of the personality of The Gables.
Had the look about it that said, “No one home”.
We popped by the houses of a few of the Edward’s Coven.
Knocked on a few doors.
No one around.
Everyone gone.
Probably all out somewhere rigging wands to shoot out acid or something.
Finally, since it all seemed such a dud, decided just to swing round to Althea Appleton’s house. Just scope it out… get the lay of the land.
That was it.
I swear (ish).
* * * * *
By the way, I do know what an oracle is. I’ve seen The Matrix, as I think I may have already mentioned.
It’s just that oracles, in the witch world, are few and far between.
There are loads of seers, prophets, clairvoyants, etcetera.
But oracles are witches that not only see what is happening elsewhere in the present and can tell the future, but also are prophetesses who are the mouthpieces for the gods and goddesses.
Well, those folks are thin on the ground, let me tell you.
I’m not real certain I wanted to know what the goddesses had to say to me but I figured after lightning from Agatha Darling, Witch Trials at Ladye Bay and being the Object of Whatever in the Battle of Ash and Aidan, I could handle it.
* * * * *
Althea Appleton lived in a little, country cottage secluded in a lovely, peaceful glade. It had its own babbling brook and a riot of beautiful white wisteria climbing all over it. It looked older than time, made of stone that bulged here and there but somehow still held the building together. It even had a thatched roof.
It was the kind of place Sleeping Beauty would dance about gracefully while birds, squirrels and rabbits followed her and stared at her with rapt adoration.
Or it was the kind of place that a crazy old lady would cook a couple of kids in pies.
And it was deserted. No car, no dog, no cat, no movement – no nothing.
Completely still.
So, no harm going up and knocking on the door, right?
Which is what I did.
Su stayed behind with Lucy and Josie, keeping an eye (and wand) out.
I had my wand out too.
And just like in practically every horror film ever made, the moment I knocked on the door, it creaked open, slowly and weirdly.
I looked back at the car.
“Get back here,” Josie hissed (the voice of reason, that, in the throes of the temporary lunacy that precedes certain death, no one ever listens to).
“What if the old lady’s hurt, passed out, had a stroke?” Lucy asked (ah yes, the somewhat plausible but still completely mad explanation as to why the innocents walk, of their own free will, into the jaws of hell).
Su, being Su, shrugged.
Shit, f**k and everything in between.
* * * * *
According to our research, Althea Appleton was two hundred and three years old. She had a “fit” in 1877 and another in 1895, both of which, under modern medicine, could be classed as strokes. She was diagnosed with diabetes in 1941. Under healer’s orders, after a heart valve replacement (that caused the cardiac surgeons to ask some uncomfortable questions and sent the Edwards Coven scurrying for some serious document-forging-magic) she retired last year.
Out of the witch business.
Out of the oracle business.
Could be, she was in there, dead or dying.
* * * * *
Shit, f**k and everything in between.
* * * * *
I took charge.
“You two, get in the car, lock the doors, start the engine and wait for us to come out,” I bossed Lucy and Josie. “Su, you come with me.”
Su didn’t even hesitate (always up for an adventure, my Su).
“What are you, nuts? Get back here,” Josie hissed again.