The Month of December

The Journal of Mathilda also known as My Book o’ Shadows

(I am SuperWitch, Chosen One, Glamour Girl, and that isn’t being braggy. I just am.)

(Even the Glamour Girl part (says me).)

2 December

Okay, so…

Ran out of pages in my last journal, or, as witches call them, Book of Shadows, (or also grimoires, which is kind of spooky, but also cool, but I digress) so starting a new one.

Mom says should write an introduction in each new journal, just in case the old one gets lost or damaged before Le Société can transcribe it into their computer databases or whatever.

So, thankfully, am a witch so can use magic to write so my hand won’t hurt because there’s lots to say.

Let’s see.

I’m Mathilda Guinevere Honeycutt.

I’m a thirty-four-year-old, single, white female. I have blonde hair (helped by chemicals), hazel eyes, long legs, c-cup boobs, a freakishly tiny waist and a big (ish) ass that thankfully is balanced out by boobs and looks really good in jeans, skirts, anything (this could be magical powers but not my own because don’t know that spell…yet).

And I’m a witch.

A real witch, wand-wielding, pixie-dust-flying, spells, potions, cauldrons, chanting, so-mote-it-being, the whole enchilada.

I’m not just a witch, I’m the witch—Mathilda, SuperWitch, The Chosen One, the one prophesied for centuries to save the world.

Sound cool?

It’s not.

It’s a seriously stressful job, to be the prophesied Savior of the World.

They never show Batman and Superman bitching about always having to go out, night after night, putting their asses on the line, worrying about the people they love.

Bet the Caped Crusader and the Man of Steel have a shed load to bitch about.

Let’s just say, being the prophesied Savior of the World is not fun.

I’m classified by The British Witches Council as “Sage: Hazardous.”

That means I’m super-mega powerful, but I don’t have control over my powers.

This, I think, is stupid.

I mean, last Hallowe’en did I not kick some ass during the Battle of The Tor?

Yes, I fucking well did.

Anyhoo.

I’m American but I spent last year in England at my Auntie Mavis’s house, The Gables (that’s why the British Witches Council classified me).

Went to England because it was time for a change of life, but I had no idea how much of a change of life it would be (or might not have gone and instead continued my career in retail, continued dating men who were no good for me and continued to rack up credit card debt during the sales (also not during the sales, I didn’t discriminate when it came to shopping)).

Auntie Mavis is a witch, and so is my entire family (Mom (Hanna), Gran (Minerva), my sisters Viv and Su, and so on—all the women in my family are witches).

My dad and brother, Gabe (what I call him, his name is Gabriel), aren’t witches (men can’t be) but they are vampires (kid you not, real, live(ish), blood-sucking vampires).

Our women come from a powerful coven, one of the oldest and most powerful in the world. The Honeycutt coven could kick ass even if I wasn’t in it.

Because of a lot of stuff that’s way too much to get into now, learned of my family’s and my own witchdom on Hallowe’en night the year before last (let’s just say, Hallowe’en has not been good to me lately).

After that, started training, took on my first Spellbound (someone I vow to keep safe, her name is Josephine “Josie” McShane and she has a nine-year-old son, Rory) and in the middle of all that, I kind of started a war.

Yes, a war (see above reference to the Battle of The Tor, that’s where it all started).

A big old war of the Modernist Sect of the Underworld/Occult/Supernatural/Magical Folk and the Traditionalist Sect of the same. It doesn’t take a brainiac to figure out which believes in what.

I’m a Modernist. I’m kind of de facto Leader of the Modernists since I started it all.

(This is another stressful job I don’t really want, by the way.)

When I said I was single, this was not strictly true.

Complicating my life further, there are two men in it.

Two rather luscious men.

They’ve both vowed to protect me because their lives are entwined with mine through destiny (cah-ray-zee, but true). The Mathilda Prophesies say that one is going to marry me and give me three children (yay!), one is going to die to protect me (not gonna happen, not on my watch!).

I’m in love with both (yes, am a slut—no, have not had sex with either of them (but both have given me the big O, as in Orgasm, just without actual penetration, of, er, the pertinent parts), yes, the Big O’s were good—no, this situation does not work, yes, they both do not like sharing—no, this isn’t what dreams are made of, it’s pretty confusing and totally stressing me out).

Kinda don’t want the last dying bit of The Prophesy to happen to either of them so have decided, even if it kills me, I’m going to stop it.

First, there’s Sebastian “Ash” Quincy Wilding.

Ash is a member of Le Société de Mathilde, (not named after me but some old, powerful witch chick from 1070, long story), a secret society that, for nearly a millennia, has sworn to protect witches.

He’s the son of a witch (she died, how, I do not know) and an Elder of Le Société, named Marcus (he’s still alive).

Ash has been assigned by Le Société to be my bodyguard.

Ash has got a bit of magic (being the son of a witch), is about six foot two, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, unbelievable body, doesn’t talk much, is a bit scary, has a badass history of military and other training (which is why he’s a bit scary), is sexy as hell and is not someone you want to mess with.

Then there’s Dr. Aidan Knightly Seymour.

Aidan is a member of the five-hundred-year-old Royal Institute of Psychical Research. In essence, The Institute dudes are ghostbusters, but they also research all things supernatural.

Aidan is a “watcher” for The Institute and is supposed to remain distant and take notes. His assigned subject: me.

He’s a maverick, doesn’t play by the rules, thinks the magical world and real world can live in harmony (kind of what my war is based on) and gets into trouble a lot.

He’s about six-foot-one, dark blond hair, bright blue eyes, incredible body, a certified genius (150-plus IQ, no joke), has a posh accent, was educated at Eton and Cambridge, teaches Mythology at Trinity College (when he’s not protecting me), is a serious hottie and is also not someone you want to mess with.

Ash got shot saving my life at the Battle of The Tor and nearly died (my faerie, BecBec, saved his life by breaking Elfin Law, so, soon, I’m going to have to go testify for her because she’s in Elf Gaol and pretty much screwed, but that’s another long story).

While Ash was recovering, Aidan and I, my Spellbounds and family went home to Denver to regroup and figure out what was going to happen next.

’Cause, like I said, we were at war and I was Head Cheese.

Problem is, have no earthly idea what I’m doing.

Let’s get filled in on the last few weeks.

On Hallowe’en night, war began and Ash got shot.

So could be near my Spellbounds and keep them safe (’cause that’s my job), Aidan and I took off to Denver.

A couple of weeks later, even though he was still recovering from a belly wound, Ash followed us to Denver.

We were all holed up in my family home, The Acre, a big, Victorian, silver boom mansion in Denver’s Baker Historic District.

My sister’s coven (that would be Su, blonde dreds, total hippie, wears gypsy shirts and flowing Indian printed skirts with bells that tinkle (loudly), usually barefoot unless it’s the dead of winter, wears Birkenstocks with socks in cold weather (fashion murder, if you ask me…Su doesn’t ask me)), put a protection spell on The Acre for a square mile so we were in pretty good shape to hole up and plan our War of the Supernatural World strategy.

The night Ash got there my mind wasn’t on war strategy.

Not even close.

Was lying in my childhood bedroom, the Turret Room I shared with my sisters (though, they’d moved to their own places ages ago).

I still had the bed I slept in growing up, a four-poster, including canopy, with a pink, frilly, ruffly, super-girlie bedspread and loads of pillows. I had whined about that bed for ages until my mom gave in and bought it for me.

As an aside, suffice it to say, am kind of the black sheep of my family.

My gran is all about yoga and politics and not shaving her armpits.

My mom is all about being an Earth Mother and gardening and baking her own granola and making her own candles and stuff like that. She even makes her own cosmetics which would be weird if they didn’t work so well.

My sister Viv is all Zen and organized and quiet and serene and always meditating and “one with myself” (who else would she be one with, I’d like to know—she says I don’t “get it” and after she explained it, I still don’t get it so I decided I’m down with not getting it).

I already described Su.

I’m about designer clothes, martinis and every one of the girls at the MAC Counter at Cherry Creek Shopping Center knew my name. I walk in and I was like Norm in Cheers. (That was before I moved to England for more than a year. I was going to have to work on getting my Mall Mojo back.)

Anyhoo.

Was staring at the flounced canopy over my bed wondering what I was going to do.

See, for the past couple of weeks, I’d been sneaking out and into Aidan’s bed to spend the night with him (no hanky panky, well, no serious, penetrating hanky panky, though we’d gotten to third base).

Did this because Aidan might be my future husband and father to my children.

Also did this because I’d just survived some major, life-changing traumas, not the least of which was Ash getting shot.

But also there was the fact that found out the dad I grew up never knowing was not only deep cover in Le Société and a Senator for the great State of Colorado, but also a vampire.

Not only that, but also found out that I had a brother I never knew existed.

Then, of course, there was Althea, who I’d dragged into the pre-War of the Supernatural World mess in England by kind of kidnapping her during a shootout (another long story). Althea was an oracle, a tough old bird, a bit of an alcoholic and she could be mean, but she was also someone I’d grown to like.

And she died for me, that is, she put herself in front of a bullet.

For me.

What could I say? With all that, I needed a warm, hard body next to mine.

Believe me, you would too.

(And, as I mentioned, Aidan is hot.)

(And, as I might not have mentioned, I was in love with him.)

(PS: I was in love with Ash too.)

(PPS: Confused much? Me too!)

The thing is, now Ash was also down the hall.

Aidan and Ash preferred to be neck-and-neck in the Get in Mathilda’s Pants Race.

Since Ash nearly died for me, it was kind of not fair that Aidan was pulling ahead (though, these boys didn’t really bother much about “fair” in the fight to get in my pants—again, you would think this was great, even delicious (and it was, in a way) but mostly, it just messed up my head and flipped me out).

I knew there was no way I could sleep alone. Sleeping alone meant being in a dark room, by myself, without a strong guy with a six-pack (and not the beverage kind) close enough to chase away the mental demons.

Aidan had two weeks of un-Ash-adulterated time with me (and he’d used it well).

But, if I went to Ash, well, he had still not fully recovered. I might do something in the night and rip out some stitches or something.

Quandary.

Decisions, decisions.

Damn it all to hell.

Got up, left my room, went down to the second floor and opened a door.

Aidan was lying on top of his bed, fully clothed, all sorts of papers and books spread out on the bed around him.

Do not ask me what he was studying, probably teaching himself neurosurgery. I figured he could do that, considering he was a genius.

“Matty.” He looked surprised when I entered and closed the door behind me, putting my back to it.

I was wearing charcoal gray, flannel pajama bottoms, a tight, long-sleeved, white thermal and thick, white, cotton socks.

It wasn’t my sexiest bedroom attire, but it was cold in the house in December. As I said, Mom was an Earth Mother and a witch (witches care about the environment, like, a lot, since we get our power from the earth). As a rule, the thermostat went way down the minute it hit nine o’clock.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” I said to Aidan.

Didn’t say any more, he knew what I was telling him.

Something moved over his face, there and gone, that I did not like (but I oh so totally got, or I thought I did) before he pushed off the bed, walked to me, pulled me in his arms and laid a hot, heavy one right on my mouth.

“Sleep well.”

He let me go and walked back to the bed.

I stood there panting and rethinking my decision.

Not to mention, was a little surprised he gave up so easily.

Oh well, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Went out of Aidan’s room, down the hall, to the other guest room (we had six bedrooms, Mom and Dad in one, Josie in another, Rory in another, Gabe in another, not to mention the Carriage House (where Ash’s dad, Marcus, was staying) and Mother-in-Law Cottage—what could I say, it was a big place because witches need lots of room for all their crap).

Should have knocked but Ash had gone to bed early, what with being shot and jetlagged and all, he was probably dead to the world (not that kind of dead to the world, thank the Goddess).

After I closed the door, I saw the drapes were pulled so it was pitch black. Wished BecBec was with me, since faeries gave off a little light. I let my eyes adjust and I saw Ash on his side in bed.

Made my way to the bed, pulled the covers back carefully and stretched out beside him.

Thought I’d sneaked in under the radar when I heard his deep voice say, “I don’t need a vigil, Mathilda. I’m past the point where I may die in the night.”

“I know.”

“I’m not to the point where I can do what I’d like to do right now.”

Mm.

Wonder what that would be.

Instead of asking, I said, again, “I know.”

“Mathilda –”

“Since the whole scene on The Tor, I can’t sleep alone,” I explained.

Silence.

“If I’m going to disturb you, or cause you pain, I’ll go.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“You’ll go where?”

An uncomfortable question.

“Um…”

“Where have you been going?”

An even more uncomfortable question.

“Um…”

An arm closed around my waist and I was pulled so my side was pressed against Ash’s front.

“Two weeks, every night, you sleep with me.”

May have forgotten to mention that Ash was very bossy.

However, I didn’t forget to mention that Ash and Aidan liked to be neck-and-neck.

There’s your proof.

“Okay, but once we even things out, the three of us are going to make some ground rules.”

“What would ‘evening it out’ entail,” (Uh-oh) “exactly?” (Yikes!)

“Do I have to get into ‘exactly’?”

“You fucking well do.”

Ash may have been recovering from a gunshot wound but was sensing that he hadn’t taken that time to reflect, perhaps to soften, be more understanding and sensitive to my plight.

The thing is, I’d decided that since both Ash and Aidan lived their lives since childhood knowing they might die for me and were (for some totally insane reason) willing to do it, I cut them both some slack (Ash usually needed more slack than Aidan, truth be told).

I sighed and told him exactly what evening it out would entail.

Gut wound or no, when I was done talking, without hesitation, his mouth came down on mine, certain body parts started quivering immediately (yes, he’s that good of a kisser) and he started evening things out.

The next morning when I woke up, Ash was gone.

How he left the bed without me knowing, don’t ask me, but he did. He could do things like that. He had abilities, they weren’t magical, but they were impressive.

He’d divested me of my pajama bottoms (though left my panties intact, he’d just worked around them in very inventive and satisfying ways). I pulled my bottoms on and ran to the Turret Room.

Aidan was lying, hands crossed behind his head, on my bed.

Crap!

First, I didn’t like gorgeous men to see me first thing in the morning unless I’d woken up beside them (then it was all snuggly fun). Didn’t like it that I was rushing from one man’s bed only to run into another one (okay, so, this was the first time that had happened, but considering the state of affairs, saw bad things for my future and didn’t have to be clairvoyant (which I was) to see them). Definitely didn’t like to run into gorgeous men before I could get my hair in order and wash the sleep out of my eyes.

If I had my druthers, would run into Aidan after three cups of coffee, a shower and I’d given my face, body and hair the works.

Second, was not taking it as a good sign Aidan was in my bedroom first thing in the morning.

“Mornin’,” I said, counting on the fact that Aidan was normally quite understanding and sensitive.

He rose, stood by the bed and leveled his eyes on me.

One look at him told me I’d made a wee mistake.

“Where were you all night?” His voice was arctic.

Oops.

“Um…”

(Are you catching my drift about how confusing this could be?)

“I thought your coming into my room last night was your way of telling me, since Wilding was here, that you’d be sleeping alone.”

Er, maybe he didn’t know what I was telling him without actually telling him last night.

“Are you telling me you slept in his bed when I was down the hall?”

I wasn’t telling him that, he was figuring it out for himself.

“Um…” I muttered again, mainly to fill the silence.

In two strides, he was right in front of me.

Took a step back, hit the door, and he closed in.

Maybe, should mention at this point that Aidan was usually very charming.

He was mellow, thought I was cute and funny, he was sweet and, as I said, understanding and sensitive.

Every once in a while, mainly when he got angry, or when he thought (or knew) Ash was making a move, Aidan would change.

He’d be a lot less charming and a lot more aggressive.

Unfortunately, because I was a perverted freak, I liked Aidan a lot more (since I liked him a whole lot normally, this was off-the-charts “a lot more”) when he got aggressive and macho.

Which meant, at that point, he was turning me on.

“Matty, we need to get something straight.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

He moved closer.

“Let’s try. Shall we, darling?”

He was being sarcastic. He was being sarcastic with a posh English accent while calling me “darling.”

That was new and it was also turning me on.

Great.

“I know you’re in a tough spot, I want to be sympathetic, but you have to return the favor,” Aidan said.

“I thought I was by trying to even things out.”

“Let Wilding worry about evening things out.”

“He’s recovering from a gunshot wound!”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

I didn’t underestimate him. He might have lost a truckload of blood and still had stitches in his belly, but his mouth, tongue and fingers worked just fine.

Hmm.

“All right. I’m sorry. I told him last night there needed to be ground rules.”

“Excellent idea. He and I’ll go over the ground rules and let you know.”

Er, wha’?

“I was thinking I should be in on the discussion.”

Aidan smiled.

“Why don’t you worry about other things?”

“Like what?”

“How about what your next move is?”

“I don’t want to think about that. That freaks me out.”

“I’m not sure you have much of a choice, Matty.”

“Althea died. Ash got shot. The Underworld opened…”

(Sorry, hadn’t yet mentioned that last part, that’s another long story.)

I kept at Aidan.

“And BecBec performed an Absolute Forbidden Spell and now she’s in Elf Gaol. I need time to recoup. Ash needs time to recover. We need to figure out where everyone stands, who’s with us, who’s against us. We need to get BecBec out of jail. And we need to find out where all the baddies are.”

“Those sound like good places to start.”

“Well, I can’t do that on my own! I need everyone to help. I need a clear head. I need to get good rest and you know I can’t sleep by myself. It’s scary up here all alone without Su and Viv. And what you’re saying is, I can’t sleep with Ash which means I can’t sleep with you.”

More smiling. “I never said you couldn’t sleep with me.”

Yeesh!

“Go away, I need to have a breakdown.”

His arm slid around my waist.

“How far did he get last night, evening things out?”

That was a leading question I wasn’t going to answer, so I didn’t.

Instead, decided to be both manipulative and honest at the same time. That was, get his mind off his current topic but also express genuine gratitude.

“I couldn’t have made it these last two weeks without you.”

He got close again. “Yes, you could. I know this is difficult for you, darling, but for me to make things easier for you would open things up for Wilding. I was never prepared to do that but after we’ve had the last two weeks, I’m even less inclined to do it.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I’m being honest.”

So much for manipulating through genuine gratitude.

“Countdown to nervous breakdown, ten, nine, eight…”

He kissed me before I could quit counting. This wasn’t a hard and long kiss, it was short and sweet and, in its way, just as nice.

Aidan left, I walked forward to my frilly, girlie bed and threw myself on it, face first.

Decided the best thing to do was get organized.

It had been two weeks since war began. It was acceptable to fall back and regroup but figured it was beginning to look like I didn’t know what I was doing (I didn’t but didn’t want anyone to know that).

What does a girl do when she needs to get organized?

She goes to Target, of course.

Was standing in the stationery section having reverse culture shock.

Americans had no idea how much choice they had as consumers.

It wasn’t that shopping in England sucked.

It was just that shopping in The States was so much better.

I mean, purple Sharpie pens!

How cool is that?

Had chosen about seven hundred different colors, sizes and shapes of Post-it notes and just selected a rainbow package of Sharpies, all of these I placed in my cart, ready to organize the dickens out of this War of the Supernatural World business (after I’d assessed the hair accessories aisle, you never know where you’re going to find cute barrettes and bobby pins, you always have to be on the lookout) when a woman walked up to me.

She was a normal woman, normal height, normal hair, normal clothes. She could stand, perhaps, to get a new bra ’cause the girls were hanging a bit low, but other than that…

“Are you Mathilda?’ she asked.

Uh-oh.

I didn’t get a chance to say a word before she whipped out a wand.

A wand!

Right in the middle of Target on Colorado Boulevard!

And she tried to zap me.

Egg yolk yellow and bile green pixie dust shot out of her wand…

By the way, a witch’s magic reflects the witch.

It’s almost like an aura, everyone’s is different.

Most witches have two colors: Auntie Mavis, lilac and powder blue; Gran, scarlet and copper; Mom, butter yellow and gold; Viv, turquoise and sage green; Sue, grape and bronze.

Since I’m The SuperWitch, my magic is stronger, more powerful and more complicated.

Generally, it’s hot pink and shell pink, but depending on the spell, my mood and the power I need, more colors get added into the mix, including silver, fuchsia, purple and electric blue (the blue usually comes out if I’m pissed off).

Anyhoo.

And I waved my arm in front of me.

A glittering array of shell pink and silver emanated from my arm, making a shield. The egg yolk and bile sparkles deflected off, snapped back and hit her in the forehead.

She went back on a foot, and immediately, a massive case of acne broke out on her face.

Gross!

“You tried to hit me with an acne spell!” I yelled.

She didn’t answer, she lifted up her wand, but before she could zap me again, I reached out and yanked it out of her hand.

“Hey, give my wand back!” she shouted.

“No! That’s not nice. I’m shopping and you just walk right up—”

“Give me my wand.” She kept at it.

“No!” I kept at it too.

“You’re screwing everything up!” she yelled at me. “We have it sweet. No one knows we witches exist, except in books and movies and on that TV show with Alyssa Milano and the new takeoff one without Alyssa Milano.”

There was a takeoff series of Charmed?

“We can do whatever we want,” she finished.

“And what do you want to do that people shouldn’t know about?”

That stumped her (ha!) so she went back to her earlier topic. “Give back my wand.”

“No.”

“I said, give back my wand!”

“And I said, no!”

She grabbed my hair and yanked.

“Ow!” I shouted then grabbed her hair and yanked.

This escalated.

In the end, we were kicked out by the security guards.

On the sidewalk outside, I poked my tongue out at her and kept her wand.

She told me to do something to myself that was anatomically impossible.

Walked to my car (well, Mom’s car, an old, faded yellow VW Bug, I know, not original, and it kinda sucked it didn’t have heat, but it was really cute) and realized I hadn’t bought any of my Organize a War materials.

Motored to the Target on Alameda.

It was way out of my way but nothing but Target would do.

Debated about sharing my Close Encounter with the Acne Kind with my family and the two men in my life.

Luckily, didn’t have to come clean right away because Ash and Aidan were behind closed doors in the living room for what Viv called a “sit down” when I arrived home. Likely laying ground rules. This, I did not want to disturb. However, Mom, Viv and Su were eavesdropping.

Left them to it and went to the Mother-in-Law Cottage at the back of the house (big living room with double doors opening on a small but sweet and sunny kitchen, one tiny bedroom, one tiny bathroom, all painted white with splashes of dusky colors—pink, blue, green, lavender—it was fab-you-las).

Got out all my stuff and started to get organized.

Okay, the war.

See, for forever witches have been in the closet, hiding our powers. We have all these rules for engagement as in, you can’t do magic just to anyone, they have to ask, or you can do it to protect your Spellbound.

I couldn’t just walk down the street and zap somebody a nicer outfit (even if they really, really needed one).

But, if that person walked up to me and said, “Rescue me from this fashion disaster.” There you go, I can help.

Pretty much everything you’ve heard of, from witches, vampires and elves/faeries (which I’ve mentioned) to werewolves, magi, wizards, sorcerers, sorceresses, goblins, trolls, etcetera are real.

Very real.

They’re just underground.

Every once in a while, someone would see a supernatural being or experience magic, but if they ever shared this info, people just thought they were nuts. So, in the end, many people who did see magical beings or experienced magic just kept it to themselves.

During my training last year, I got upset because I wanted to help someone and couldn’t because they hadn’t asked. That sucked. So, I decided, to hell with tradition, why were we hiding? We were good people, we did good things, we had nothing to hide.

Time to come out, live amongst the normal humans in peace and harmony.

Thought everyone would embrace this as obviously it’s a good idea.

But everyone didn’t embrace it. There are people who like to be in the closet, they think it gives them the upper hand. All hidden powers and intrigue and the like.

Totally stupid.

Tried to live life my way, I wasn’t hurting anyone.

The de facto Leader of the Traditionalists, Agatha Darling, tried to force me back in the closet (by kidnapping Rory and then, when I went to rescue him, electrocuting me à la Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon without the water or the Asian dude with the padded tongs, Agatha just had a manmade wand that shoots out lightning).

Anyhoo.

Did not take to kidnapping Rory (who I adore) and being electrocuted (that fucking hurt) so things got more and more out of control.

Until Agatha kidnapped me, tried to slice away my power in an icky, Witching Hour (midnight, Hallowe’en) ceremony and then war broke out when my posse foiled her plans.

That’s, essentially, the gist.

So now, had to figure out what supernatural beings were with me (the vampires were, they’d already sworn allegiance, and both Le Société and The Institute were on my side, seeing as one of each of their brethren was going to get in my pants and create three babies). And which ones were against me (the trolls, goblins and werewolves didn’t see themselves walking amongst humans, so they were firm Traditionalists, that I knew).

So far, the magi and wizards didn’t much care either way (they kind of kept to themselves anyway). The sorcerers, sorceresses and banshees wanted more diplomatic relations.

The witches were split right down the middle.

So, clearly, had a lot of organizing to do.

The door to the Mother-in-Law Cottage opened and I turned to see Viv, Su, Josie and Windspear Jones walking in.

Hadn’t yet mentioned Windspear Jones.

He’s a friend of Su’s.

Native American, totally great bone structure and lush always-tan skin. He teaches at the Denver Art Institute and he stepped up when we needed someone to be Josie’s fake fiancé so we could get her a fiancée visa. She’s English and we needed her to be able to live and work in America.

He’s a pretty cool guy, quiet but nice to have around because he’s a) quiet (as I said) and b) easy on the eyes (in a big way).

FYI: Windspear likes to be called “Mack.”

Don’t ask me why, but if my name was Windspear (regardless how Native American kickass it was, it was a mouthful), I’d want to be called Mack too.

“What the hell?” (Su, looking around the Cottage, mouth open)

“I’m organizing the war.” (Me)

“What are all these Post-it notes?” (Josie, wandering around and looking at the hundreds of Post-it notes I had up on the walls.)

“Battle plans.” (Me)

“This has my name on it.” (Viv, pointing at a set of blue Post-its shaped as those little bubbles they put around cartoon character’s words which I’d written on in green sharpie.)

“I know, those are your assignments. I’ve decided you’re one of my generals.” (Me)

“Do I have Post-its?” (Su)

“Yours are over there. The ones shaped like lips with purple writing.” (Me)

“Do I?” (Josie)

“Yeah, you’re next to Ash. His are the hot pink hearts with red writing. You’re the orange flower-shaped Post-its with teal writing.” (Me)

“Where’s Aidan?” (Viv)

“He’s the light pink hearts with navy writing.” (Me)

“There’s, like, a million Post-its on the walls in here.” (Su)

“There’s, like, a million things to do.” (Me)

“This one says, ‘Get donuts.’” (Viv)

“That’s one of your jobs, to make sure we always have donuts.” (Me)

Viv’s cheeks started getting pink.

“I’m not sure I want to be one of your generals if I have to get donuts.” (Viv)

“You have to be one of my generals. You’re my sister and I’m the Chosen One.” (Me) “Anyway, donuts are important. The troops need sustenance.”

Before Viv could blow, which I could see she was going to do, the door opened.

Mom, Dad, Gabe, Ash, Aidan and Marcus walked in.

Knew something was wrong because Mom looked serious, Dad and Gabe were smiling like something was hilarious, Marcus looked like he didn’t know if he wanted to smile or frown and Ash and Aidan looked pissed off.

(I hadn’t gotten a lock on Marcus, by the way. I didn’t know him very well and I’d never been good with any of my boyfriends’ parents. Considering his son’s two possible futures, particularly the icky, heart-breaking one, I was giving Marcus a wide berth.)

Coming up the rear was some woman I’d never seen, a no-nonsense, short haircut, no makeup, denim shirt over a white T-shirt, chinos and hiking boots.

Holy Lesbionic Witch, Batman!

“Hi,” I said to Lesbionic Witch.

She gave me a top-to-to once-over.

Then she said, “So, you’re Mathilda.”

I looked around at everyone then to her. “Yeah.”

“Not what I expected,” she went on.

“What did you expect?” I asked.

“Someone with more substance.”

Okay, so, Holy Lesbionic Bitch Witch, Batman!

“And you are?” I asked.

“I’m Agent Elizabeth Perry, Federal Witches Agency.”

Er, pardonnez moi?

“Sorry?”

“Matty, honey, the Federal Witches Agency is like the British Witches Council,” Mom put in.

“Except bigger,” Viv said.

“And, um, a bit different,” Mom said.

“She’s the fuzz,” Su added.

“What?” I asked Su.

“The fuzz, a pig, a copper, a federale,” Su explained.

“I’m a federal agent.” Agent Perry was glaring at Su.

Su glared back.

Ack!

A witch federal agent!

“Mathilda,” Ash said, his deep voice cutting through the hippie/federal agent tension and my silent freak out. “Did you have an altercation with another witch at a discount department store?”

Uh-oh.

“Target is, on the surface, a discount department store but it cannot be classified with the likes of Wal-Mart and K-Mart because there’s really no comparison. Target is to Wal-Mart what Saks is to Dillards. They’re both department stores but you can’t…”

Ash interrupted me, “Mathilda, answer the question.”

Agent Perry had her arms crossed on her chest.

Decided to keep hedging.

“I don’t know if you’d call it an altercation. She came out of nowhere and tried to zap me with an acne spell. I deflected it. She pulled my hair. I pulled hers. The security guard ejected us from the store before it could become a real altercation.”

“Did you confiscate her wand?” Agent Perry asked.

“She kept trying to zap me.”

“You can’t confiscate another witch’s wand,” Agent Perry kept going.

“Okay, let me rephrase, she tried to zap me with acne while I was shopping.”

“A witch uses magic against you against your will, you report it to the Agency. You don’t confiscate her wand and pull her hair,” Agent Perry informed me.

“Look, Agent Perry, I don’t know the reverse-acne spell.” I gestured to Ash and Aidan (both still looking pissed off, by the way). “Have you seen the two men in my life? I’m not going to have acne when those two are under the same roof as me. No way, no how.”

Agent Perry pulled herself up. “I don’t know how they do it in the You Kay, but in America, we have rules.”

“I’m not familiar with American rules.” This was the truth.

“Ignorance of witch law is no excuse.” Agent Perry didn’t like the truth. “Give me the witch’s wand.”

I pulled it out of my back pocket and gave it to her. “Did she report me?”

“She sure did. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, seeing as you’re The Mathilda and Mr. Wilding is here to keep an eye on you now. This happens again, I won’t be so lenient.” I stared as she turned to Ash and said, “Honor to meet you, sir.” Then walked out.

“Holy crap! Did that just happen?” I asked everyone.

“I don’t have any Post-it notes,” Windspear “Mack” Jones remarked.

“Matty, why didn’t you tell anyone you were attacked by another witch?” Aidan asked, ignoring Mack.

“Everyone was busy, and I have a war to organize,” I answered.

All eyes were on me then Ash and Aidan looked at each other.

Ash said, “Until I recover, you get her during the day. I get her at night.”

Aidan nodded, “Works for me.”

Great.

The next two weeks, I was busy.

Moved out of the Turret Room and moved all the furniture up there into our garage (Mom never put the Bug in the garage anyway). Then set to work making the Turret Room my Magic Room.

At The Gables, my Magic Room was the Tower Room. I had gotten used to height so I felt right at home.

Viv and Su had shipped some of my magickal implements before we made our getaway to Denver and I went to work shopping (not a sacrifice) to get the rest of what I needed.

I set up shop and got back to the business of being a witch, reading, learning (mostly, familiarizing myself with American Witch Rules (there were a lot)), conjuring and creating spells for defense, offense and protection.

Moved my clothes to the Mother-in-Law Cottage.

Ash moved his clothes there too.

This caused Aidan and Ash to have another “sit down.”

After the Second Sit Down, things changed, though Ash did not move out. In the few days before Ash and I moved into the Mother-in-Law Cottage, I had slept with Ash and Ash had spent this time working toward evening things out (and doing it really well thus messing up my head even more).

While Aidan was watching me during the day, though, he had been a perfect gentleman.

After Ash moved in with me, Aidan had not been a perfect gentleman.

Not even close.

Ack!

I was in a constant state of near sexual meltdown. On the one hand, it gave me a warm, fuzzy, tingly feeling. On the other hand, it made me feel like a slut.

This caused me to call a “sit down.”

“Enough, you two,” I said when I had them in Mom’s living room.

They just looked at me like they were expecting something big from me.

Both seemed weirdly tense, which made me tense(er), but I persevered because the whole point of my sit down was to make things less tense, at least for me (impossible! but I had to try).

“Seriously, I’ve got a war to plan. I have to find a job because I’m running out of money and there’s a great pair of shoes at Nordstrom that I need. Mack is giving me grief because he wants to be a general and I don’t have anything for him to do. I still haven’t learned how to ride a broomstick without falling off and you two are driving me batty.”

“Mathilda.” That was Ash.

“Matty.” That was Aidan.

“No! You both don’t back off and give me some space, it’s gonna force me to do something neither of you are going to like.”

At my thinly veiled threat of magical retaliation, they stood.

Ash might still be recovering (quickly) but he scared me (he always kinda scared me).

Aidan had that level-eyed look about him that told me he was pissed off and that scared me too.

Ackity! Ack! Ack!

“Fair warning, Mathilda, you carry out that threat, you’ll suffer the consequences.” That was Ash.

“This is your lot, Matty, you have to live with it.” That was Aidan.

“I don’t want to live with it.” That was me.

“Try living with the knowledge that you might die young.” That was Ash.

Great Goddess and all things with petals and leaves.

Had to admit, he had a point.

Thus endeth our sit down.

Finally caught a break.

The lady Mom had worked for for ages before Mom started to make her own line of body products came around and told Mom she was retiring.

Mom, Su and I took over her business and started proceedings to buy it—a cutesy little boutique-y girlie shop on Broadway—and presto!—had an income.

One problem solved, now on to saving the world.

10 December

Lots happening. It’s a busy job, being Savior of the World.

First up, since I was back in Denver, had whirlwind, social butterfly lifestyle, reconnecting with friends and introducing myself as a witch to folks I’d known for years (Gran and Mom’s coven, women I’d referred to as “auntie” my whole life, not to mention a bunch of women in Su’s coven that I’d hung out with on occasion).

Lots of martinis.

Lots of brunches.

Lots of midnight chanting under the light of the moon.

Lots of trips to the mall.

Exhausting!

(But awesome.)

Then there was setting up the shop.

We’d decided to rename it “Bewitched.” We’re cleaning it up, repainting it, inventorying stock, talking to suppliers, finding new ones, yadda yadda yadda.

Su wants it to look like Janis Joplin decorated it.

I want it to look like a summer cottage on Nantucket with some bottles and vials laying around (yes, very Practical Magic, but a) Sandra Bullock played a witch and we were witches, so…natch and b) I’d never claimed to be original, just a connoisseur of awesome).

Mom wants us to quit arguing about it.

In England, I ran a coffee house with Mavis, the Honeycutt coven, Josie and our friend Lucy, called The Witches Dozen. When we remodeled The Dozen, I had my way with the décor (rock ‘n’ roll chic, therefore been there, done that with Su’s “Janis Vision”). Lucy and I were the cooks and pastry chefs and we got great reviews, we had loads of customers and we were in talks with BBC to do a cookery show on the heels of a cookbook.

I kind of fancied being a famous TV cooking expert, flouncing around a magnificent kitchen, bossing around my viewers and looking superior with all my ingredients pre-measured in those sweet, little glass bowls, but no…

Now, I was at starting point again.

Bah!

Viv was my Communications Commander, finding out what was happening in the world regarding the War.

Gran had been off chasing down Agatha Darling, the baddest of the bad. Agatha had disappeared after the Battle of The Tor. Gran came home saying Agatha was “in the wind” but rumor had it The Traditionalists were regrouping and forming their own strategy.

Damn!

Auntie Mavis had been hunting Endora Eccles, a member of The British Witches Council, another baddie and someone we suspected would be a higher-up for The Traditionalists. Mavis came to Denver too, no luck and more rumors of The Traditionalists planning something.

Damn and blast!

Viv reported there had been some minor skirmishes around England, some in Ireland, one in Scotland, but the rest of the world, including the US, was laying low and watching.

The Modernists were waiting for me to do something.

Argh!

Woke up this morning all cuddly, snuggly warm and realized Ash was spooning me.

Was surprised, Ash was always up and out before me, lately going for a run.

(This I did not like. He’d been shot just over a month before. Did he listen to me when I told him to stop running? No. Did he listen to me when I told him he was supposed to listen to me because I was Head Cheese? No again. Did he pay any attention when I wrote a Post-it note specifically for him that said No Running and stuck it in his Post-it area? No again!)

I rolled within the circle of his arm and saw he was awake.

Even though he looked all sexy-hot, tousled-handsome, instead of wishing him a good morning and, say, laying a wild, wet kiss smack on his lips, I said, “I’m glad you aren’t running. Running isn’t good for you.”

He grinned. “Running is good for you.”

I think not.

“It’s bad for your knees and other parts of your body that may have been torn apart by speeding bullets.”

He shifted and his face disappeared in my neck.

Mm.

Lovely.

“Don’t worry about it, Mathilda,” he mumbled into my neck.

Yeah, right.

His mouth came to mine.

“You should try it,” he suggested.

Ha!

I knew he’d seen my breasts. He’d even touched my breasts. Women with knockers as big as mine had no business running. It should be a law.

“I don’t think so.”

His grin turned into a smile, certain parts of my body felt torn apart by speeding bullets, but in a good way, his hands started roaming, my hands started roaming, and I knew he was stepping up to bat and had no intention of stopping at third base.

He was going for home.

I should note that Ash had totally evened things out with Aidan. It was long past the time when Ash should have moved back into the house and out of my bed.

This was escalating and it wasn’t fair and somehow, in this deal between Ash and Aidan, I was in the position of making it fair.

This, by the way, was another stressful job I did not want.

“Ash?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Good Goddess, I loved it when he called me sweetheart. It didn’t come often but when it did, it was super nice.

“I can’t do this,” I told him.

I could.

I not only could, I wanted to, like really, really badly.

The thing was, I shouldn’t.

His hands were in my pajama bottoms, his lips were sliding down my neck.

“Yes, you can,” he said.

My hands were at his ass.

He had a great ass.

“No, I can’t.”

He rolled, taking me with him so I was on top. He wrapped his arms around me and he looked up at my face while my hair fell around us.

“Talk to me,” he ordered (so bossy).

Even though I didn’t like to give in when he was being bossy, I decided to talk to him, mainly because I had no choice.

“Well, if I do this with you, Aidan’s going to be pissed and think I’m a slut. If I do this with Aidan, you’re going to be pissed and think I’m a slut. I, er…” Gah! How did I say this? “Care about you both, like, a lot. I don’t want you thinking—”

He lifted his head and touched his lips to mine.

“I want you,” he told me, his voice all rich and throaty, and with his English accent, it did a (further) number on me.

I was getting that, in fact, I felt clear evidence of it pressed against me.

Yowza!

“I want you too,” I whispered. Then I shouted, “This sucks!” and I buried my face in his neck and started babbling, “Since my very first date, I picked losers. Total losers. Jerks. Idiots. Assholes. Now, I’ve got two good guys, real good guys, guys that would put themselves in front of bullets for me, and I can’t get laid!”

He whipped me around, him on top, hands at the sides of my face, fingers sliding into my hair.

“Matty, sweetheart, look at me.”

Ash didn’t call me Matty very often either, and when he did, I liked that too.

Man, he was using the big guns this morning.

I looked at him.

“You’re going to have to do what you feel is right and you’re going to have to stop worrying about what people will think about your decisions. You’re going to need to make a great many decisions and some of them will be unpopular. You already have.”

This, unfortunately, was true.

“But you have to stick by them.” He kept at me. “You have to believe in them and in yourself.”

This, unfortunately, was true too.

Problem was, I wasn’t big on believing in myself.

“None of this is going to be easy. The least of it is Seymour and me.” He kept going.

He was wrong about that. The War of the Supernatural World seemed a piece of cake when compared to loving two delicious men at the same time.

“Everyone knows you have it tough,” he went on. “Anyone that stands in judgment of the decisions you make and the actions you take isn’t worth having around you. They have to believe in you, completely.”

His mouth came to mine, his eyes open and staring at me.

“I believe in you,” he whispered.

Oh, wow.

“Seymour does too.”

Ack!

And…

Wow.

What was he saying? Was he saying it was okay for me to go all the way with both of them?

Could I do that?

Would I do that?

Should I do that?

Ash broke into my thoughts. “Stop worrying about us and just be true to you.”

Jeez, I loved this guy.

“Ash, I –”

“Stop talking.”

His hands went out of my hair and started roaming again.

“But –” I started.

“It’s going to be okay.”

All right, I didn’t believe him that it was going to be okay, but whatever.

With all the hanky panky going on with Ash and Aidan, I needed another Big O.

That was my decision and I was going to stick by it.

He kissed me.

It was nice.

I kissed him back.

That made it nicer.

Things progressed to the point that the word “nice” was a joke and the word “fabulous” didn’t come close to doing it justice.

Then there was a pounding on the front door.

Shit! I thought.

“Fucking hell,” Ash muttered.

“I have to get that,” I said in between panting.

“Ignore it,” Ash murmured in between running his tongue along the lacy edge at the waistband of my panties.

More pounding.

“Ash, it could be serious.”

“Sweetheart, this is serious.”

He was not wrong.

More pounding.

“Ash!”

“God damn it.”

He rolled off one way.

I rolled off the other.

I jerked on my blue, flannel pajama bottoms. Ash pulled on his jeans. I was shrugging on my fleecy robe and Ash was yanking a sweater down his chest when we made it through the living room to the door.

Standing outside were Dad, Aidan and Marcus.

Crap!

“Hey,” I said.

Dad and Marcus shuffled on their feet, looking away with amused but uncomfortable faces. Aidan didn’t look away, he looked closely at me then at Ash then his mouth got tight.

I knew why, I didn’t look all just-woke-up sleepy. I looked post-nearly-Big-O turned on (a look he would know because he’d seen before, like, a lot).

Great, caught in the almost-act by my dad, my boyfriend’s dad and my other boyfriend.

How sucky was this?

Off-the-charts sucky was the answer.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to cover.

They all shoved in. I moved out of the way and the living room of the Cottage was filled with uncomfortable silence.

“Well?” I pressed.

“Where should we start?” Marcus asked, looking at my dad.

Oh hell.

“Do I need coffee?” I had a feeling I seriously needed coffee.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Dad said.

I made coffee. Then I made French toast with a loaf of bread that I’d baked the day before (what can I say, I bake, I’m good at it and it gives me focus).

When Dad and Marcus were sitting at two stools at the island in the middle of the kitchen, Ash was on one side of me, hip against the counter, Aidan on the other side, his hip against the counter too, me in the middle (per usual) and all of us forking up French toast, I spoke.

“So?”

“We’ve been called to Washington,” Dad said.

Syrup dribbled on my pink thermal top that had tiny blue polka dots.

“Called to Washington?” I asked.

“Yes, we have a meeting with a few gentlemen in the government and some representatives from the Federal Witches Agency.”

I did not take this as a good sign.

“What kind of meeting?”

“They want to set up peace talks,” Dad told me.

Holy Diplomacy, Batman!

That was a good idea!

Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“Really?” I asked.

Dad nodded.

“The United States Government knows about me? About us? About the war?”

I found this surprising.

“Of course. The US government knows everything,” Dad said.

“As does Parliament,” Marcus said.

I should have probably known that, or at least guessed it, but I didn’t.

I was not a very good Head Cheese.

“The meeting is tomorrow,” Dad went on.

Holy crap.

What was I going to wear to a meeting with government officials?

I needed to inventory my wardrobe and fast.

“That’s not it,” Marcus cut in.

Uh-oh.

“What else?” I asked.

“There have been rumblings in Le Société. There are members who were against the Elders’ decision to side with The Modernists. The rumblings grew to dissension. Dissension grew to conflict. Le Société has splintered,” Marcus explained.

I looked at Marcus then at Dad then at Ash, all members of Le Société.

None of them showed any reaction to this, such was their training, but I was shocked.

Again, I should have seen this coming.

Le Société had always been stalwart to the cause of protecting witches.

Problem was, Le Société was made up of the husbands, sons and partners of witches. It would stand to reason that the husbands, sons and partners of The Traditionalist witches would want to cast their lot with their kind.

I put down my plate, not hungry anymore (I wasn’t a big fan of French toast anyway, but a) it’s easier than pancakes and b) both Aidan and Ash love my French toast).

“What does that mean?” I asked Marcus.

“It means we have fewer allies than we thought, and we’ve lost a number of good men and women who are highly trained, have significant skills and know a great deal about the rest of us.”

Eek!

“We have the same, don’t we?” I asked. “I mean, how many did we lose?”

“Not many, we just don’t have the numbers we had before,” Marcus answered.

Then it hit me. “You’re surprised by this.”

Marcus’s gaze flickered over his son then came back to me. “The Prophesies intimated that Le Société would ally with you, in total. It was our assumption, because The Prophesies stated it, that Le Société would be your army, totally loyal and at your command.”

I was dealing with the new shock (and kind of happy, giddy feeling) of having a bunch of kickass secret society dudes “at my command” when Aidan made a noise that sounded like a low grunt.

“What?” I asked Aidan.

“There’s more,” Aidan told me.

Great.

Just what I needed.

More.

“What?” I asked.

Aidan grinned.

“What?” My voice was rising.

“Yesterday, the Directors of The Institute called all the members in for a meeting to explain the situation and the fact that they swore allegiance to The Modernists. Dr. Bennett read out the new manifesto for The Institute, shattering its old mission of watching and recording the supernatural world. The members were all asked to pledge their energies toward bringing the magical world and normal world together.”

I was holding my breath.

This was huge.

The Institute was Switzerland, as in neutral. They never got involved. Not even during The Burning Times when witches (and innocents) were hunted, tortured, “tried,” drowned and burned. The Institute never broke custom, not even to save the lives of the innocents (not that the witches that were tortured and killed during The Burning Times weren’t innocent too, they totes were).

Just like wildlife researchers, the members of The Institute observed the supernatural and took notes. They never got involved with their subjects (except some renegade ones, of course, but they were usually banished, though, not Aidan because he was prophesied to be with or die for The Chosen One, it’s all kinda confusing, just go with me here).

“What did they decide?” I asked.

“Without hesitation, every member swore his allegiance to you,” Aidan told me on a smile.

“Oh my Goddess,” I breathed.

Cool!

Man, I am so glad I baked them all those cookies.

Aidan got closer. “It would seem, darling, that the army prophesied to be at your command would be The Institute not Le Société.”

Aidan was enjoying this. I could tell. Le Société had a long-standing hatred of The Institute, mainly because what happened during The Burning Times. This was another thing that stood between Ash and Aidan, giving Ash the higher ground when it came to me.

Now, the coin had flipped.

I should have taken this as good news—at least someone had sworn allegiance to me.

Problem was, as far as I could tell, with the likes of my dad, Ash and Marcus, the members of Le Société were kickass hot dudes. The average age of a member of The Institute (Aidan not withstanding) was nine hundred and eighty-two (slight exaggeration). They could barely walk due to osteoporosis and hardening arteries. They were in no shape to fight a war.

“I’ve been called back to give a briefing,” Aidan told me.

What?

“No!” I cried (I couldn’t stop myself).

Aidan got even closer.

“I won’t be long, Matty. Maybe a week.”

Aidan had barely left my side since the Battle of The Tor. Aidan was my boyfriend (or, one of them). Aidan was my bodyguard during the day. Aidan was maybe prophesied to die for me and how could I look after him when he wasn’t close? And, again, I will remind you, Aidan was hot.

I didn’t want him to be gone for a week.

“But –”

“Wilding has recovered, he can look after you and this is important.”

I could tell Aidan didn’t like the first part of that and wasn’t real fond of the second part either.

I could also sense something else about him I couldn’t put my finger on.

But…priorities.

“I can’t protect you when there’s most of a continent and an entire ocean between us,” I told him.

His smiled changed to the kind where I could tell he thought the idea of my protecting him was amusing.

“I’ll be all right.”

“I swear to the Goddess, something happens to you, you get shot, poisoned, captured, tortured, I’m gonna kill you.”

Aidan slide his arm around my shoulders and he brought me close. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he said softly.

“It better not,” I mumbled into his shirt because my face was pressed into his shoulder.

I heard someone clearing their throat. I looked toward the sound and saw my dad, eyes on me then they moved to something behind my back and I remembered Ash was there.

Yeesh.

I pulled a little away from Aidan and looked up at him.

“When do you leave?”

“This evening.”

Crap!

“I need to brief you on my plan. I have the whole war organized. I need to go over it with you so you can tell the old dudes I’ve got things under control.”

This was a lie, of course.

I had a bunch of Post-its and had convinced myself I had a plan and knew what I was doing but, mostly, I was totally clueless.

Aidan knew this but he nodded anyway.

Jeez, I loved this guy.

Aidan and I stood outside the security area at Denver International Airport, his arms loose around my waist, my hands at his shoulders.

Ash had driven Aidan and I to DIA so he could play bodyguard but had (being totally cool, if you ask me) disappeared so I could say good-bye to Aidan.

I had briefed Aidan and given him some vials with protection potions in them (all, of course, under the liquids limit for TSA—it wouldn’t do for those to get confiscated). It wasn’t a lot, but it was something and that made me feel a wee bit better.

“I don’t like you off my radar,” I told him.

“Funny that, I’m thinking the same thing,” he told me.

Uh-oh.

Felt an emotional breakdown coming over me.

See, the thing is, I had a bad feeling about this.

And again, I was clairvoyant.

But, outside of the witch that tried to zap me at Target, nothing bad had happened in a long time.

I knew that wasn’t going to last. Things didn’t stay calm around me for very long.

I knew something was going to happen. Soon. I knew it because I felt it. I had a witch’s intuition and that meant something, believe you me.

“Please be careful,” I said to Aidan.

“Matty, don’t worry.”

“Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Use those protection potions if you need them.”

“I will.”

“Call me if something happens. I’ll come and take care of it.”

He smiled like I was funny, and he was about to laugh.

I slapped his shoulder.

“I’m being serious!”

The smile faded.

“I know you are, darling,” he said softly.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

He kissed my nose.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I love you.”

Holy shit!

Did I just say that?

I stared at Aidan’s face which had gone still along with his body.

Yes, I just said it.

“God, Matty—”

Before he could say more, I wrapped my arms around his neck, went up on my toes, and I kissed him.

Hard.

“Come back to me safe,” I whispered against his mouth when I was done kissing him.

He nodded, slid the back of his knuckles across my cheekbone, kissed my nose again then he let me go and walked into the security line.

I waited for him to look back and wave.

He didn’t.

But then, when I was about to lose sight of him, when he was about to go down the escalators to get on the underground train, he turned back and looked right into my eyes.

And it felt like my heart exploded.

And let me tell you, that hurt.

A lot.

Because that look on his face the night Ash returned was back, with a vengeance.

And I could not only get it this time, I could actually read it.

He was going to let me go.

He was going to end my suffering.

He was going to let Ash win.

And to do that, he’d have to die for me.

No!

When he was out of sight, I realized I’d stopped breathing when I felt a hand slide along my waist.

I started breathing again and looked up as Ash pulled me into his side.

“He didn’t look back,” I told Ash, sounding just as pained as I felt, but before I could add, And then he did, Ash spoke.

“Never look back,” he said, and for the first time, I heard respect in his voice when he was referring to Aidan.

Fucking men.

I decided not to share what I read on Aidan’s face.

No.

Incorrect.

I decided to completely deny what I read on Aidan’s face and try to figure out a way these two alpha, possessive dudes would become brother-husbands to me.

Yeah.

That was what I decided.

Again, it’s not news.

I’m an idiot.

15 December

Lucy’s here!

Yay!

Am happy because a) Lucy’s my friend and I love her, b) Lucy agrees with my “Nantucket Getaway” vision for our Bewitched store, c) Lucy likes to paint and d) Lucy says BBC is still interested.

Yay!

May still be super, famous cookery program guru with own line of pretty mixing bowls and measuring cups!

Yay! Yay! Yay!

Store is coming together but we’re still trading regardless of painting and renovation happening at same time. I need money to stock my magickal larder and those shoes at Nordstrom aren’t going to walk into my closet by themselves (hmm, could use magic to…no! That would be called stealing. Bad Mathilda, bad!).

Went with a suit to talk with government officials about peace.

Thought it best to appear professional, sober and serious.

Though, being me, I couldn’t be too professional, sober and serious as whole body, heart and soul would protest and likely spontaneously combust.

So, I wore a winter white suit (the jacket was cute, nipped in at the waist and a little flouncy around the hips and the skirt was super tight and made my ass look fantastic, à la J Lo, except taller, not Latina and, um…blonde) and a pale pink satin blouse and the sleekest pale pink sling back shoes.

Sorry, but my outfit kicked ass.

Think I surprised the conservative government guys and the ultra-conservative Federal Witches Agency women (all wearing charcoal gray or navy suits, lots of red ties, lots of shiny wing tips – even on the witches!).

Let’s just say, this was not a fashion-forward group.

When we walked into the meeting, Dad looked around and his face got kinda mad, Ash looked kinda scary, but it was Marcus who surprised me.

“We’re leaving.” Marcus said upon entry.

“What?” I asked.

I hadn’t even sat down, got myself a coffee, let everyone check out the full effect of my kickass suit.

“Let’s go, Mathilda.” Ash took my elbow and started leading me out of the room (somebody’s conference room, or, more accurately, somebody-who-needed-a-new-decorator’s conference room).

“Mr. Wilding.” One of the government guys tried to waylay us.

“That would be Sir Sebastian,” Marcus barked at the government guy.

Erm.

’Scuse please?

Sir Sebastian?

“We don’t hold with those titles here,” one of the witches snapped back.

“We do.” Dad entered the fray, sounding as mad as he looked.

I was still back at “Sir” Sebastian.

Then we were gone, out of the room, down the hall and into the limo Dad had waiting for us.

Just a note, vampires can’t walk around in sunlight, just like you’ve heard.

My brother Gabe, who was only half-vampire, could.

My dad, who was full vampire, could too, but only because of a special lotion Mom made for him that was like magical, mystical ultra-potent sunscreen.

In fact, most vampires had some kind of magic that let them walk around in sunlight.

If not…toast.

Literally.

The burned, icky kind of toast.

Anyhoo.

“What was that all about?” I asked no one particular when we were in the car.

Gabe was waiting for us in the limo and he and Dad exchanged glances.

“Second string,” Dad said to Gabe.

“More like third,” Marcus muttered.

“You’re joking.” Gabe said, sounding pissed.

“Hello?” I called.

“Mathilda, they aren’t taking this seriously,” Ash told me. “They sent lackeys.”

“Lackeys speak English. Peace talks are—” I started.

“You’re The Mathilda,” Dad broke in.

“Yes,” I agreed because I was, indeed, The Mathilda. No one knew that better than me.

“The Mathilda doesn’t sit down and talk with lackeys,” Dad said and even though I’d only known my dad for a short period of time, I knew he was being super, double, extra serious.

I looked at Ash again.

“Isn’t peace good?” I asked.

“Peace is good,” Ash agreed.

“Well, anything for peace is good, right?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t get it.”

“You’re The Mathilda. You’re important. There are certain protocols,” Ash told me.

There were?

Oh shit, I missed that particular book.