Mathilda, SuperWitch (25 page)

“Kitty!” I shouted and ran across the room.

Somehow, the kitty didn’t totally freak at me rushing it and it jumped into my arms, mewing and cuter than buttons.

“Kitty, kitty, kitty!” I cried, cuddling its soft, kitty fur to my face. “You’re so cute. I want to eat you up!”

Yay!

I gave it a big nuzzle and kissed its nose.

And then I burst into tears.

(I’m psycho!)

My wet eyes turned to a watery (but still hot), Aidan.

“Oh Aidan, thank you.” And I had to stop because my throat closed and I made that horrible crying gulp you make when you talk and cry at the same time.

“Hey now,” he said softly, putting his arms around me and the kitty. “Hey,” he whispered. “Every witch needs a familiar. It’s just a cat, darling, nothing to get all worked up about.”

He called me darling again. (Sob)

I wish he’d quit calling me darling! (Sob, sob)

“You don’t…” I hiccupped, “understand.”

His arms gave me a warm squeeze and his voice was also warm when he said quietly, “Calm down, get to know your new familiar. I’ll go get us a drink.”

Then he let me go and left the room to go get us a drink.

I petted kitty, immediately named her Daphne (always wanted a fluffy, black cat with green eyes named Daphne and there she was!) and wondered how I was going to let Aidan down gently.

He was back with two tall elegant glasses of champagne.

Champagne.

On my birthday.

I loved champagne.

He was so smooth, so handsome, so
everything.

He handed me a glass and I dropped Daphne so she could explore.

Then he got close and whispered, “Happy Birthday.”

Then he kissed my lips softly, saluted me with his glass and then I blurted…

(Perhaps stupidly but I didn’t know how to go about it. You try being in this situation.)

“I’m getting married to Ash.”

His glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

Gone was flirty, charming Aidan.

In the blink of an eye… vanished.

I could swear he looked…

Well…

Dangerous
.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked low.

Ack!

Definitely dangerous.

“Um, well, Ash and I were…” I started.

His eyes narrowed.

Eek!

I kept trying. “That is we, er… had a little conversation, um…”

I trailed off.

And I did this because Aidan had started walking toward me.

Not exactly walking…

More like…

Stalking.

And I started moving backwards.

Then I tried again. “The thing is, we… he, well… um… he told me that we were prophesied to get married and have three kids.”

Aidan stopped stalking.

And then he turned and threw his champagne flute into the fireplace where it shattered into a million pieces.

I stood stock-still and stared in the fireplace.

“Is that so?” he asked.

Eek!

Getting the distinct impression that Aidan didn’t like the idea of me married to Ash.

“Yes, er…” I kept looking at the fireplace, “two boys and a girl.”

Heavy, awful silence.

Then, he said, “Well, that
is
surprising.”

I dared a glance, considering his voice had gone weirdly calm.

Voice may sound calm but his eyes seethed.

* * * * *

An aside: Somehow – due to my scary Bad Choice in Men Gene – Aidan was turning me on now more than he’d ever turned me on before.

And he turned me on a good deal before.

Great.

Lovely.

Just what I bloody-well needed.

* * * * *

“I was under the impression it was two girls and a boy,” he stated conversationally.

What!?

“
What?!
”

“Oh yes, as the Mathilda Scholar, I’m pretty sure I have it right. Let’s see, I remember and, of course, I have a photographic memory, it was in 1457 when Baroness Simone de Clare, a great prophetess, said, ‘Mathilde will bind herself to an intelligent man who watches and protects her… he will give her three children, one male, two females.’”

He was stalking again.

And, in my retreat, I was running out of room.

I knew this because my back slammed against the wall.

He kept coming.

“Well, if you know then why are you so angry?” I asked softly.

Uh, not the right thing to say.

“
And in 1065,” he said in a voice that can only be described as glacial, “Althreg of Thanet said, and I’m paraphrasing, no need to get into
Beowulf
territory, ‘Three children, The Chosen One called Mathylde will have, two wytches and a protector, sired by a man of great words, a man who sees, a man who guards.”

He’d made it to me and put a hand on the wall on either side of me.

“Okay then,” I whispered, head tipped up to look at him.

“And it was the Sorceress Gertrude who said –”

“Okay then!” I shouted this time. “I get it. I get it. Two girls and a boy. Jeez.”

I mean, this was hard enough already!

Aidan stared at me, clearly pissed off.

“You see, Mathilda,” Uh-oh. He never called me Mathilda. “It isn’t Ash who will father your children… it’s me.”

Ack!

Ackity, ack, ack.

Then he stepped in that eensiest bit more so I could feel the heat of his body, his chest brushed mine, his hand came up and he lifted my chin gently so I’d look at him.

“I’m prophesied to marry you and give you three children, two witches and a protector, Société-speak that, better known to you as a boy.”

I gulped.

How to handle this?

Um.

Um.

Think, Matty, think.

“
Um, well, Aidan…” I hoped my voice was sweet, conciliatory, “it kinda sounds like it could be either you
or
Ash.”

“Mm,” he murmured, so close, I could feel the vibration.

Oh me.

“
Yes, that’s right.” His voice was getting warmer – almost, one could say –
hot
. “It does sound that way.”

Oh my.

“But, I prefer to believe it will be me.”

At that moment, I kinda did too.

He smiled.

It was a fan-fucking-tastic smile not because it was Aidan’s usual flirty grin but because it was very scary, very sexy and
very
dangerous.

I was fucked.

“Wilding and I, not to mention the Directors and the Elders, agreed –” he started.

Who?

What?

Agreed?

They agreed!?

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Somehow, with no space to move in, he managed to get even closer.

“Wilding and I had an agreement before you moved to the UK. The Directors of the Institute and the Elders of le Société arranged it.” Yikes! “It was about how he and I would handle you and our involvement with you.”

Yikes Part Deux.

Handle me?

Aidan kept speaking. “And Wilding and I agreed to what the Elders and Directors decided.”

“Which was?” I prompted when he said no more.

“Well, for one thing, it didn’t include telling you what Wilding told you.”

Uh-oh.

“So, Ash isn’t fighting fair,” I concluded.

Sounded like him.

“The operative word, darling…”

Oo, “darling” again, “darling” in scary, dangerous, sexy voice too.

Eek!

“Is ‘fighting’.”

“Why is that the operative word?”

“Because, before, we’d decided to handle this situation like gentlemen, agreements and working cooperatively through our own particular organizations.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Now, I don’t feel very cooperative.”

Oh my.

“So, um… what now?”

I’d hoped he’d say something like, “This…” and ravish me (yes, I’m a slut, I know I’m a slut, at that delicious point, I didn’t care that I was a slut).

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, his body pressed against mine, and stared at me then got his face real close, so close his lips were nearly touching mine.

His eyes dropped to my mouth and he was so… very… close that I could see how thick and lush his lashes were.

Oh me, oh my… ohmeohmyoh.

“Now?” he whispered.

Great Mother Earth, I think I was about to have another Big O just listening to him and the look in his eyes made my knees buckle.

And my nipples swell.

Yikes!

“Well, now… I take you home and then the games begin.”

* * * * *

And that was it.

He took Daphne and I home.

No ravishing.

Not even a birthday kiss.

I didn’t even get to finish my champagne.

And then he roared off.

In his BMW.

To let the games begin.

How scary is that?

I mean, what does that
mean?

(I knew what it meant but, um, Yikes!)

* * * * *

By the way: Ash bought me a car.

Yes.

A Car.

A red Mini Cooper convertible with the cooler-than-cool “cooper” over the back, middle brake light.

It’s kickass.

It’s really “from the Elders” (okay, excuse me? so who are these Elders all of a sudden?) as I couldn’t be seen in Ole Purple after Ash shot at someone with a gun (seriously illegal in the United Kingdom, it’s not like this is South Central or even Deer Season Arkansas) while reversing down Marine Parade. The Elders feel Ash may have made a bit of a “scene” (no fucking kidding? – only front page of
The Mercury
) and Ole Purple won’t soon be forgotten.

Ash, personally, didn’t get me anything.

And, on top of that, he frowned on Daphne.

“The last thing you need is a cat,” he declared.

Hmm.

Let the games begin, indeed.

Holy Crap.

* * * * *

By the way, the test is tonight.

And I haven’t even studied.

16 May

Magical suspension lifted.

The W.C. can’t find Agatha Darling and since they now consider me “registered”, feel it may be too dangerous to my person to interfere with my training. (Great.)

The test wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done (not by a long shot) but no one struck me with lightning either.

But get this:

Am to be registered with the Council as:

Class: Sage, Level: Hazardous.

I mean, what’s that supposed to mean? Level: Hazardous?

* * * * *

This is unprecedented. Or so Mavis said, over and over again, to everyone (they were all awake and all at The Gables and all waiting for our return) at about four thirty in the morning –about six hours after I wanted to be in bed.

This is also further proof that I am The Mathilda not just A Mathilda.

So, even though I don’t exactly want the word to get out (as have enough troubles without verified Chosen One status announced to all and sundry), it’s to be printed in the monthly W.C. newsletter as a matter of record.

I’m fucked.

In oh so many ways.

Of course, being classed as a Sage was B-I-G: Big.

True Sages were people like Prunella, who were three hundred years old and had seen it, done it and had about three billion t-shirts.

But since my magic was “off the scales” and they didn’t have anything else to class me, they put me at Sage.

The Lady didn’t seem too happy. (Gotta keep an eye on her.)

The W.C. is going to consider a new ranking system, of course, because even though I was officially a Sage, I was lacking the experience to be a “true Sage”.