Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(65)
Lucy had done it again with a walnut and pear salad with bits of parmesan cheese shaved from hunks freshly chopped from that huge-assed parmesan wheel at the Italian deli on Hill Road.
How was I to compete?
I didn’t do salads.
As an update:
Ash, the Numero Uno Grudge Holder, was barely speaking to me.
Aidan had retreated, again.
No sign of Agatha.
No lightning bolts.
No kidnapping.
No new reasons to pull out The Chanel (or Versace or Halston, etcetera).
Everyone else was still working on intelligence, protection spells and what had become the hugely popular Witches Dozen Coffee House now that tourist season gripped the seaside.
I walked through the wood thinking of dried cranberries, rocket leaves and gorgonzola and nearly missed my turn off after the donkey’s pen into the private footpath to The Gables.
As I made it into the clearing by the greenhouse I saw, sitting on one of Mavis’s ornate wicker chairs, Althea, replete with what looked to be one of Gran’s famous mint juleps.
“The Chosen One!” she called, lifting her drink to me.
Ack!
“Anyone shoot at you today?” Althea asked as I approached.
“Not yet,” I answered.
And she cackled.
Crazy old coot.
“The day is young,” she said.
Great.
Not something you want to hear from someone who sees the future.
“Mint julep?” she asked.
I stopped, my cherry heels sinking into the damp lawn.
The sun was miraculously shining, my shift was done and I had to admit I would never create a salad that would compete with Lucy’s.
Further, I hadn’t yet had time (or the opportunity since she was mostly drunk) to chat with our loony guest.
What the hell.
“Sure.”
Another cackle then she poured me a mint julep.
I sat in the chair beside her, grabbed the drink that was teetering scarily in mid-air (held by her hand), kicked off my go-aheads and put my feet on the little wicker poof that had a yellow and white striped cushion on top.
“How’s it hangin’?” I asked Althea.
A slight chuckle came forth but no answer.
“How’re you finding it here at The Gables?”
She ignored me, closed her eyes and tipped her face to the sun.
“Enjoying your stay?”
Still nothing.
“Hear from Agatha lately?”
Silence.
“The gods? Goddesses? They talking to you?”
She didn’t even move.
“Ring-a-ding ding, hello, this is Hera, the end of the world is nigh. Anything like that?”
Nothing.
“Have you seen anything interesting, you know, in your mind?” I pressed.
She burped.
Then she spoke. “Mm, yes, a fool girl walking the footpaths in high-heeled shoes. You’ll wish you didn’t when your back goes out on you when you’re one hundred and five.”
Um, did she see my back go out when I was one hundred and five?
Was I glad that there was an opportunity, maybe, to get to one hundred and five?
I decided to let it go then I asked, “Would you like to go home?”
She opened her eyes and looked at me.
The she muttered, “Home… home, would I like to go home?”
She was so weird.
“Yes, home… you know, the sweet little cottage in the glade…” where you lure children to their deaths, “Nothing’s happened in awhile. Maybe you’re safe again there.”
“I am home, you stupid girl.”
I was getting a wee bit tired of the “stupid girl” comments.
“Sorry?”
“I’m always home.”
“Listen, Althea, we need to –”
Her face changed and she waved her hand across the distance between us and I fell silent.
But…
Not of my own accord.
Ack!
Holy Zipped Lips Batman!
No more drunken-and-weird-yet-somehow-benign Althea.
Definitely not benign.
“No, Mathilda, you listen to me.” Yowza, her voice was cold. “You leave me to my drink and my sun and my thoughts.”
And, right then, I had the terrible urge to get up and clatter away.
But it wasn’t my urge.
I even went so far as to put my hands on the chair arms to push myself up.
But I didn’t want to get up.
The bitch was trying to control me.
I struggled against her spell and, with some effort, I remained seated and waved my hand just as she did.
To my surprise, the spell fell away.
Now I was pissed.
“Althea, now’s the time for you to listen to me.”
She resolutely kept her face set and toward the sun.
That pissed me off more.
I snapped my fingers angrily, demanding her attention.
She didn’t move but she did say, “Go with the cranberry salad. But with goat’s cheese. Strong but not overpowering.”
What?
“Althea –”
Still with eyes closed, face tipped to the warmth of the sun, calm as you please, she spoke.
And this is what the crazy old bitch had to say, sounding sober as a judge: