Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(79)

I knew what he meant.

He got closer to me but I whipped out my wand.

“You feelin’ lucky?” I asked in my best Clint Eastwood.

He looked at my wand with scorn then over my shoulder and his face changed.

Apparently, he wasn’t feeling lucky.

I knew Ash was there before I felt the hand at the waistband of my taupe corduroy, OP surfer’s shorts. (It had been a crazed morning in the wardrobe, what does one wear when one is hunting baddies? I went with surfer’s shorts, a pale pink Miss Sixties rocker cami and a sweet pair of pink suede puma trainers with those golf footies with the little poofy balls on the back – I thought this was a good choice).

(Anyhoo.)

Neanderthal man moved on and Ash and I walked up the footpath to Marine Hill.

The last time we were in these woods, Ash was dragging me through the bomb dust to the now-lost Lush Jag.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” I lied.

He didn’t respond except to take hold of my hand and he kept hold, all the way to Aidan’s house.

The five minute walk to Aidan’s holding hands with Ash wasn’t exactly a three-course dinner with champagne or hot, heavy, panting, animal sex but it still felt nice.

* * * * *

We were hunting Bligh that day. Somehow Aidan got his hands on a nice Mercedes sedan and we drove back to London in not-exactly-companionable silence (I eventually gave up and listened to my iPod).

Ichabod’s flat in London was deserted. No one at his local had seen him in weeks. Aidan had a picture so we checked a few of the news agents around his flat, some cafés, a couple of takeaways and a few of his reported haunts.

Zip.

So we drove to Cambridge (this time, after a short but not-at-all successful attempt at a game of “I Spy”, I retreated again to the iPod).

No Ichabod at his Cambridge residence and after short conversations with a variety of colleagues and peers, we learned no one had seen him in awhile. We checked around again at the various places, flashing the photo.

Zilch.

Aidan took us to a pub by the river and we sat outside and watched the punters float by.

“About what I expected,” he said into his pint.

Ash was silent.

Was I crazy or did these boys seem not to know what they were doing?

“So why –?” I started.

“We’ll go out again tonight,” Ash interrupted.

(No manners.)

“Yes,” Aidan replied.

Tonight?

“Will Mathilda be safe?” Ash asked.

Excuse me?

“Will I be safe from what?” I butted in.

“We’re leaving you at The Institute tonight,” Aidan explained.

“Uh, no you’re not, I’m coming with,” I said.

I mean, I seemed to be the only one getting anywhere with my orbs ‘o magic.

“No,” Ash said.

“You’re too damn bossy, Sebastian Wilding. I’m coming with you.”

“No, Matty, you’re not,” Aidan said.

That got my attention, Aidan being bossy was new.

“I beg your pardon?”

I got two hard, inflexible stares, one blue-eyed one (Aidan), one brown-eyed one (Ash).

What... eh... ver.

* * * * *

I guess Ash didn’t feel so much better that I could take care of myself and Aidan certainly didn’t because I found myself left at The Institute, in the waiting, somewhat hesitantly welcoming arms of Dr. Ambrose Bennett and his Team of Antiquities.

“Do you have any idea what they’re up to?” I asked Dr. Bennett as we watched the Mercedes drive away.

He shivered as if that was the last thing he’d want to know. “Let’s have some sherry, my dear. It’ll help us to sleep easier.”

24 July

Let’s just say, Dr. Bennett was wrong. First, sherry sucked. Second, even after drinking the stuff, sleep would escape me, especially in that ancient bed with the curtains drawn around it. It was a bit too disturbing, although it smelled vaguely familiar (in a good way) and the sheets were absolutely sumptuous.

I’d finished recording in my Book of Shadows and was about to nod off when I heard someone come in.

I sat still, listening, ready to lob some magic but as I listened it sounded like they weren’t coming to get me. They were, it seemed, getting undressed.

One shoe dropped.

Then the other.

Ash.

The cad.

Climbing into bed with me in the middle of the night again, ha!

Not this time.

(Especially not since I didn’t come prepared to spend the night so I was wearing one of The Institute dude’s wife beater t-shirts and an old pair of pajama bottoms that were about three sizes too big.)

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned as I reared up on the bed and pulled back the curtain.

Silence.

Darkness.

“Matty?”

Aidan!

The lights flashed on.

And there he was, barefoot and wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt.

“What are you doing in my quarters?” he asked.

“Your… what?”

“My quarters, what are you…” He stopped and watched me for a moment on my knees in his bed. “Damn, Ambrose,” he muttered to himself.