2 September

 

Have not been able to write in my Book o’ Shadows due to the fact I was recovering and then the team and I were on the hunt.

But I’ll fill you in.

And strap in.

’Cause there’s a lot.

First things first, I’m fine and everyone I love is fine.

We all got out alive.

I cannot say the same for everyone that came to the IDLCIG.

Which is tragic.

(Understatement)

But things were such, I’d take what I could get.

And my posse being alive and breathing?

Yeah, I’d definitely take that.

Really, looking back, one could ask how we didn’t foresee they’d take that opportunity to make a statement when so many important personages from the supernatural world were present all in one place.

Then again, there were just two of them and there were hundreds of us.

Who would go up against those odds?

I mean, we knew they were crazy.

We even knew they were crazy.

But I would never have guessed they were that crazy.

Then again, both of them got out alive.

So I guess they weren’t that crazy.

It started pretty frustratingly, to be honest, even before it actually started.

The Gathering, I mean.

There was the whole diplomatic quagmire of who was going to oversee the proceedings. How what was said was going to be translated. Who was going to sit where.

I knew one thing, I didn’t want to run the show.

I knew another thing, it was my show so I had to run it.

So I picked Mavis and Fane as my seconds to stand up front with me and keep everyone in line.

I did this for two reasons.

Everyone respected Mavis, one.

And Fane scared the crap out of everyone, two.

So I thought they’d be perfect.

By the by, had to black out all the windows in the basement and then hire painters and go on an urgent shopping trip to buy a big bed and lots of red accoutrement so Fane could stay with us.

 

By the by x2, he flew there, at night, closed in a coffin.

 

By the by x3, that was a little creepy, but it was also Fane, so it was more like creepy cool.

 

Fortunately, Fane didn’t order a supply of virgins he could deflower while sucking their blood.

So that was a relief.

 

Anyhoots.

Then Agent Perry contacted me and asked if I’d procured the permits to hold a magickal gathering in a public place.

(I didn’t have to field that one, the minute I got off the phone and shared this with Ash, he took off to the FWA offices, and by the time he got back, he had the permits in hand. I had no idea how he got them, but I took it as a good sign they weren’t bloodstained.)

I had wanted to make a grand entrance on my broomstick, but even though I’d practiced, for the life of me (literally), I could not get my balance on the damned thing, so never got more than four feet off the ground.

In the end, Ash hired us a limo.

So I guess it wasn’t a grand entrance, as such, but at least we got there in style.

Mom, Gran, Mavis, Viv, Ash, Marcus and I poured over the agenda until we thought it was tight, I could keep control of the dialogue (or a semblance of it), and we might be able to get shit done.

The agenda included:

I. The Dark Lord Cometh

II. The Dark Lord Needeth to Be Stoppeth

III. Everyone Was Responsible for Said Stoppage

IV. As Such Modernist Vs. Traditionalist Issues Were Tabled

V. Allocation of Assignments for Stopping the Dark Lord

VI. Adjourn

 

We didn’t get to item I. by the way.

As soon as I came out on the stage, gave my welcome and declared the Gathering was open (all with a microphone wrapped around my head, not my choice, I wanted to go for the Oprah effect, but Ash didn’t think my wand hand should be busy) immediately, squabbles broke out between the Modernists and the Traditionalists.

(And by the by, I was wearing a killer outfit—black cigarette pants, black and white sleeveless blouse with a fluffy black bow at my neck, kickass high-heeled black sandals.)

 

No one is squabbling about that shit now.

Everyone is focused.

Very focused.

 

Now, I could see the attack coming from the front, the back, the flanks.

Not down below.

Never down below.

But as Fane was bellowing, “Order! Order!” and looking like he wanted to rip the throat out of someone, and not in his usual happy way, (and we were only about five minutes in—mental note: the vamp has a wicked-short patience span), the rumbling started.

I’ll hand it to him, Fane cottoned onto the fact that shit was going south right away.

He stopped shouting, “Order!” and started shouting, “Evacuate!”

Ash, never far, was sprinting to me.

But then, this massive twenty by twenty-foot hole opened up in the front section of seats, swallowing all the witches, wizards, sorcerers, sorceresses, werewolves, trolls and goblins seated there.

They tumbled into the hole, screaming.

And all hell broke loose.

We weren’t stupid.

We’re witches, we have power, but we live in these times.

This meant that twice, Su and her coven did a thorough search of the area for runes, hex bags, sigils drawn in dirt or chalked on stone.

Nothing.

There’s been another thorough search since then (probably more than one, as the FBI was now involved, seeing as there was a huge-ass hole in a public arena that looks like it was created by a bomb).

But at least one was conducted by experts in the FWC.

They hadn’t found anything either.

No evidence.

It would take a few days before we got a hint as to how they pulled it off.

And it wasn’t runes, just sayin’.

I’d heard of the cloning spell.

It took a lot of magic.

And a shit-ton of molding putty.

Life-sized golems?

Dozens of them?

There now might be a shortage of putty on two continents (maybe three).

And a witch that was using a load of magic to create a Dark Lord, when her lackeys—a faerie and another powerful witch—were lost to her, was all kinds of insane for invoking a cloning spell in the midst of her current nefarious undertaking.

But we were talking about Agatha Darling here, so I guess…

No surprise.

 

This meant that night, she was everywhere.

That being, everywhere I was.

I could not take a step without one of the incarnations of her flinging her wand at me.

And it was taking a lot out of me not to take a header in my high heels at the same time flinging mine back.

Or Dad would take one of them out by grabbing on, turning into a bat, and flying away, carrying it with him.

But then there’d be another one.

Mom would take that one out by sending a Clone Disintegration Spell from her wand and the thing would melt into a puddle of muddy goo.

And then there’d be another one.

Ash was stopping and pivoting us so often, I thought I’d dislocate a hip.

And my ears were ringing because he’d shot (and hit) so many of the damned things.

 

Furthering dire matters, the clones were sending spells willy-nilly. They didn’t care who they hit (and they hit a lot of folks).

Just as long as, eventually, one of them hit me.

There were those who clued in and joined in taking out the Darling clones.

But for the most part, people just freaked and ran (or flew, or grabbed their broomstick and took off).

It was mayhem.

 

We were nearly at the limo, and Fane was ripping the head off one of Darling’s golems, when there he was.

Right in front of us.

Bligh.

The impending (not if I had anything to say about it) Dark Lord.

Now, there was a lot I’d seen that I wished I could unsee.

The patchwork of uncooperating donors’ skin grafts done in apparently ill-lit, back alley surgeries on a man who wasn’t all that attractive before all his skin had been burned off when I’d put up a shield to deflect the orb o’ elfin magic Scary Faerie had sent our way during the Battle of The Tor was indescribably, well…

No PC word for it.

Vile.

So, yeah.

That was now top of the list of things I wished I could unsee.

Ash got in front of me.

I got in front of Ash.

He growled and got in front of me again.

Before I could get in front of him, Bligh asked, “Did you forget something?”

Ash, who already had his gun out, pointed at Bligh, answered, “No.”

“You are Fae, Sebastian, saved by an elf,” Bligh said. “And what magic do you think makes me?”

I had a sinking feeling about this question.

Remember, I did just mention the Scary Faerie’s orb o’ magic.

Topping that, Scary Faerie had been with Agatha Darling, Endora and Bligh for months.

Bligh’s voice coming from his mottled face with no lips, no eyebrows (and from what I could see also no eyelids or any hair at all) was raspy but still amused when he went on.

“You are Fae and I am Fae. This is going to be fun.”

He then started, looked beyond us, and Ash pulled the trigger.

I jumped at the loud noise, but overlapping it was a sickening crack.

With that noise, two skeletal wings broke out on Bligh’s back and he was flying away with a good deal of speed, if not much grace.

I was a little astonished he could catch air with those wings.

But he could.

“Fuck,” Ash bit.

“Fuck,” I heard, and looked behind us, to see Fane standing there, staring up at the sky.

“Fuck!” Cystien exploded. Also there. Also staring at the sky. And last, not done shouting. “This will not be abided! That thing cannot be Fae!”

I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation that shared I might have had a little hand in that.

Inadvertently.

Cystien and Fane then took flight in pursuit.

(They didn’t catch him, FYI.)

Sadly, Ash and I were so flipped out that Bligh was Fae, we weren’t paying attention.

And that was when the real Agatha Darling showed up.

And hit me with a kill spell.

Don’t freak.

I didn’t die and need Cystien to sing the lament to me or anything.

(Though, I kinda wished I did because then I might turn a little Fae.)

First, I was the Chosen One.

And second, Agatha was debilitated from using all her magic in a variety of ways.

So it might have been a kill spell, but it wasn’t strong enough to kill.

Cause unbelievable pain I didn’t think I’d survive?

Yes.

Cause unbelievable pain that lasted four whole days before it even began to subside and it set my man, my family and other loved ones to dread and despair thinking I wouldn’t survive?

Yes.

Kill me?

No.

The gruesome and heartbreaking tally from that night was two lost goblins, one lost troll, three dead banshee, five dead wizards, and eight dead witches.

Those wounded were three times as many.

So I’ll repeat, my people were now focused.

It wasn’t a good way to get them focused.

But I was getting a lot of practice at looking at the bright side.

Bright side to all that pain?

When I came out of it, I was wearing a four-carat, Harry Winston, cushion-cut engagement ring on my left hand.

“Did I miss the proposal?” I rasped to Ash.

He lifted his hand in front of my face, on which, every day since I put it on him, he wore my ring.

He dropped it, before declaring low and rumbly, “You’re not breathing another day without my mark on you.”

I didn’t think that was the proposal he’d planned to make.

But it worked for me.

 

So it’s official.

I’m engaged to Sir Sebastian Quincy Wilding.

Yippee!

About half a day after most (not all) of the pain subsided, I was lying on the couch with Mom’s Magical Ailment Cure-All in a bowl that sat on a plate in front of me.

No, it wasn’t an ancient Honeycutt magickal secret.

It was Campbell’s chicken noodle soup with a ton of saltines smothered in butter with the side of a pickle spear.

Don’t ask.

It works.

For everything.

A knock came at the door, Mack, who was looking after me (with Viv, hmm) got up and opened it.

In came Agents Perry and Ramirez.

 

Now, I might just have survived a kill spell from a psycho-bitch witch, but my mind hadn’t been dulled enough by the pain I couldn’t sense right off the bat that Perry and Ramirez were not at one with each other.

Mack immediately got on the phone, I know, to call Ash (I knew this then and I know it now, because, as you will see, Ash showed).

Perry immediately launched in at me.

“There’s a twenty-foot hole in the seating area at Red Rock Amphitheater!” she yelled. “And Coldplay had to cancel their concert!” she kept yelling.

What?

How did I not know Coldplay was coming to town?

She regrettably continued.

“I just knew you’d make a huge-ass mess.”

“Lizzie—” Ramirez murmured.

“Ex-ka-youse me,” I snapped. “I didn’t make that mess.”

Viv was now standing and facing off against Perry. “You need to back off.”

“Someone has to answer for the carnage at Red Rock,” Perry declared.

“How about you finally get off your asses and do something, that something being making Agatha Darling and Jeremy Bligh answer for it, since they perpetrated it?” Viv shot back.

“Ladies—” Mack tried.

“Step back, you aren’t even our people,” Perry hissed.

I sucked in breath.

Ramirez sucked in breath.

Viv whipped out her wand.

Mack lifted his hand toward Viv and kept his eyes locked to Perry.

I had a view to his back, Agent Perry’s front, so I didn’t see what he was doing.

But I saw what he was doing by the look on her face.

She then muttered, “My apologies.”

“Accepted,” Mack said sharply. “Now, it can’t be lost on you that you’re talking a load of garbage.”

Perry didn’t answer because the door opened, and Ash walked in.

No.

Strike that.

The door opened, Ash stalked in, and with him he brought his fury along for the ride and at one look at him it could not be mistaken he was two seconds away from opening a massive can of whoop ass.

Reminder: he could wipe the floor with a pack of werewolves.

Deduction: Agent Perry didn’t stand a chance.

“Get out,” he rumbled.

“Mr. Wilding—” Ramirez tried.

“Get out!” he roared.

Oh boy.

Time to calm my man down.

I was making moves to set aside my bowl of soup when Ash’s head twisted my way and he said, “Don’t you move.”

“Okeydoke,” I whispered, settling back in and giving big eyes to Viv.

Viv missed my big eyes due to her glaring at Agent Perry.

“We started this wrong,” Ramirez was saying.

“We did not,” Perry then said.

“Lizzie—” Ramirez tried.

“We’ve got the FBI breathing down our necks. Homeland Security. Even the CIA is sticking their noses into shit,” Perry said to Ramirez.

“Lizzie, we don’t agree on—”

Perry cut her off. “No, we don’t.”

Ramirez was getting mad. “I think you made a grave error.”

“I outrank you,” Perry fired back.

“I’m beginning not to care,” Ramirez snapped.

“What grave error did you make?” Mack asked.

“Nothing,” Perry said quickly.

“You talk or I fucking waterboard you until you talk,” Ash growled.

(By the by, to this day, I still don’t know if he was serious about that and I’m afraid to ask.)

Perry whipped out her wand.

Viv whipped out her wand (again!).

Ramirez whipped out her wand.

I whipped out my wand and did a quick spell that whipped their wands out of their hands and brought them to me (not Viv’s, of course).

“What the—?” Perry stated.

“Talk,” I demanded.

“This is an Agency matter,” she denied. “Now give me back my wand.”

“Fucking talk!” I shouted.

“Some time ago, approximately nine months, we had a break in at Area 666,” Ramirez shared.

“Anita!” Perry bit out.

“Area 666?” I asked.

“You’ve seen Raiders of the Lost Ark?” Ash asked me, sounding more unhappy than he’d been sounding, which made me seriously unhappy.

Oh shit.

“Yes,” I answered him.

“Well, that warehouse exists. In the New Mexico desert. But there’s a good deal more dangerous things in there than the Ark of the Covenant.”

“Though the Ark of the Covenant is also there,” Ramirez muttered.

Holy Holy Relics, Batman!

“Anita!” Perry snapped.

“What?” I shouted.

“What was taken?” Ash demanded.

“This really is an Agency—” Perry tried.

“What…was…” Ash leaned scarily toward Perry, “taken?”

“Elspet’s Athame. Three vials of blood of the Gorgon. A Pegasus feather. The remains of Cleopatra’s familiar. And the Book of Shadows of Sorcha Mac Gearailt,” Ramirez shared.

I’d heard of none of that.

“You are bloody joking,” Ash whispered sinisterly.

Ash had heard of all of it and wasn’t a big fan it was no longer under the lock and key of the United States Government.

Eep!

“We’ve been working around the clock to recover these items,” Perry put in.

“Was it Darling and Bligh?” Ash asked.

“It was a well-executed break in. We have no—”

“Do you suspect it was Darling and Bligh?” Ash gritted.

“Yes, those are our prime suspects,” Perry blew out on an irritated sigh.

“And you didn’t share this earlier,” Ash went on.

“It’s an Agency matter,” Perry retorted.

“It’s a goddamn bloody disaster,” Ash returned. “And the prophesied Chosen One should have known about it nine months ago.”

“Told you,” Ramirez mumbled.

Perry gave her a killing look.

“Uh, at this juncture, can someone tell me how freaked I need to be that all that is in the hands of Darling and Bligh?” I requested.

Perry pointed at me. “See? She doesn’t even know what it is.”

“Do not point your finger at my fiancée,” Ash growled.

Perry dropped her finger.

“Hey. You’re engaged. Congrats,” Ramirez said to me.

See?

Knew I liked her.

I shot her a smile.

“And you can’t stand there and tell me you knew what it was until it went missing,” he continued ranting at Perry.

Perry shifted on her feet.

She didn’t know either.

Huh.

“It’s so secret, most of Le Société doesn’t even know what it is,” Ash went on.

“Well, it’s missing, and we can assure you, we’re doing everything in our power to recover it,” Ramirez tried to calm the situation.

“You will note my absence of relief considering they at least used the Gorgon blood to murder nineteen people five days ago,” Ash replied.

“I’m reporting you the moment we get back to the offices,” Perry threatened Ramirez.

“Lizzie, seriously?” Ramirez asked. “Okay, it’s embarrassing to the Agency those things were taken under our watch after we made such a big stink that we had the best security to hold them. And I know you live and breathe the Agency. But nineteen beings are dead, eight of them witches.”

“You shared FWA intelligence with those who don’t have the clearance.”

Ramirez had clearly had enough.

“Right then. I’m resigning the moment we get back to the offices,” she declared.

“You are aware that if this gets out—” Perry started.

“It’s out and should have been out nine months ago,” Ash cut in. “Now you face the consequences for doing something so spectacularly stupid.”

Perry glared at him like she was losing respect for him.

Ash couldn’t care less, and I knew this before he said his next words.

“Get out,” Ash finished.

“Mr. Wilding, there’s still the matter—” Perry kept at it.

Yeesh.

What was up with this woman?

“I can pull rank too,” Ash said quietly. “And in doing it, I can assure you that there are a variety of factions as per protocol who should have had this information and they did not and someone is going to answer for that.”

Oo.

What did that mean?

It meant something, because Perry got pale and then she marched her butt out the door, not even asking for her wand before she took off.

“You have my apologies,” Ramirez said.

“You do know at this juncture they’re not worth shit,” Ash retorted.

Ramirez, looking crushed (and I felt bad for her because I suspected she’d been trying to do her best in the face of stubborn bureaucracy, and even when she was right, it was her who was going to be unemployed), also exited the cottage.

Though I gave her back her wand before she did.

I’d courier Perry’s to the FWA offices.

Maybe.

“That was a little harsh, honey,” I murmured when the door closed on Ramirez.

“Were you writhing in pain not forty-eight hours ago?” Ash asked irately.

I decided not to say anymore.

Ash pulled out his phone.

I looked to my sister. “Do you know what all that stuff is?”

Viv didn’t answer.

Ash lost interest in his phone and shared.

“Elspet’s Athame. The knife used to mix the potion that Morgan Le Fay concocted and consumed to glamour herself in order to seduce her half-brother and produce Mordred, who in turn killed his father/uncle King Arthur and assumed his rule. Elspet was a powerful dark witch who was trained in The Craft by Merlin himself, and this power was instilled in Mordred through his mother taking that potion.”

Great.

Ash kept going.

“Gorgons are she-beasts with snakes for hair and the ability to turn men to stone with one look at them. They’re immortal, have since gone to another plane, and their blood is powerful, undetectable and highly combustible.”

Brilliant.

Ash wasn’t done.

“A single Pegasus feather, if a witch can craft a spell to harness it, which fortunately, none have since time began, holds more power than every witch currently existing. The only thing more powerful than a Pegasus feather is the horn of a unicorn.”

Fantastic.

And more from Ash.

“Cleopatra’s familiar is the first witch familiar and it is lore that every cat familiar since is of her blood.”

Hmm.

So Daphne was kind of royalty.

No wonder she demanded so much respect.

“Last, Sorcha Mac Gearailt was the witch who created the first Dark Lord at around 13 BC and his existence brought down the supremacy of the Celts who had until that time dominated Europe for over seven hundred years.”

Fabulous.

“In other words, we’re fucked,” I deduced.

“Yes, sweetheart. In other words, if we don’t get those things back, we’re fucked,” Ash agreed.

Shit.

We didn’t have any further trouble from the FWA, mostly because Ash didn’t keep it a secret that powerful relics had been stolen.

In fact, I lost him for two whole days as he got on his phone or laptop for conference calls and spoke (angrily) in so many languages, it was insane.

Now the FWA were busy doing damage control when the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, BWC, MI5, MI6, KGB, Mossad (etc.) landed a truckload of shit on them.

So that was good.

I guess.

More good (and not the dubious kind) was that Cystien called back Sar and Trae so they could be on hand should they be needed (and it was pretty clear they’d be needed).

Cystien then took off, probably to the Realm, but he didn’t share his destination with me.

I suspected he did share this with Ash, but I didn’t ask.

If my man wanted me to know, he’d tell me.

And anyway, Cystien taking off meant I didn’t have to share I semi-kinda gave Bligh Fae magic by deflecting Scary Faerie’s spell.

 

This wasn’t just good because Sar and Trae were there, humongous, muscled, immortal and magical.

It was good because Cystien took off, and when he did, BecBec returned.

What was better was that, when BecBec returned, Sar and Trae started acting funny.

Obviously, this was goss I needed, so after joyously welcoming her home, I took her aside and asked what gives.

“They found me some time ago,” she shared.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “And I have lain with them both, individually.”

“Really?” I repeated.

“And together.”

“Really?” I breathed.

Whoa!

“Indeed,” she said. “They enjoyed the experience. Greatly.”

“You go, girl.”

“They want more.”

“You go, girl.”

“I have been denying them. It is not making them happy.”

She grinned.

I high-fived her.

“Did they, uh…cross swords?” I asked.

She looked perplexed. “I don’t know this vernacular.”

“You know…” I waggled my brows. “Swords.”

“Swo…?” she started, still confused.

Then she got it.

And a contemplative light hit her face.

“If you mean, did they take each other while taking me, no,” she answered. “But this is an intriguing suggestion.”

I didn’t exactly suggest it.

But you know…

Whatever floats your boat.

“Do you want more of one, the other, or both?”

“Oh, I shall have both. But all female Fae know, to control their males, they must control their cocks. I must put in the work, or they will wander, and I’ll not have that.”

It was me who grinned at that before giving another high five.

Then I said, “I knew you were kickass, even when you were wee. Cool to know you’re not kickass. Your totes kickass.”

She grinned.

 

Just so you know, I asked BecBec to be on our team.

She agreed.

 

More intel on BecBec, she still isn’t feeling Cystien.

I shared he might bestow on her riches beyond her wildest imaginings.

Her answer:

“Trust is the thing of most value in all the universe. And he can give me much, but he can no longer give me that.”

And you know what?

I couldn’t argue.

In the midst of this, it was Ash’s birthday, and I did not have the excuse of writhing in pain for days that I didn’t give him as good a present as he gave me for my birthday (and Valentines, and Yule).

I’d had plenty of time to plan. I just hadn’t come up with anything.

So it was lame when he opened a bevy of boxes that contained jeans, shirts, jackets, trousers, belts and sweaters.

In my defense, still becoming Fae, he’d grown at least two inches and he’d put on twenty pounds (all muscle, huzzah!), so he needed new clothes.

It was still lame.

And I told him so morosely when he was done opening presents and was sitting on our bed in the Carriage House, surrounded in boxes and wrapping paper and (awesome, it had to be said) clothes.

“Did you have fun shopping for me?” he asked.

“Am I Mathilda Guinevere Honeycutt?” I asked back.

“Sweetheart, you had fun and did it thinking of me. That isn’t lame. That’s the best present I could get.” He reached and cupped my jaw. “And Matty, nothing I own fits me anymore. So you’re taking care of me. And that isn’t lame either.”

Yeesh.

Totally sweet.

Totally perfect.

Totally gooey.

All Ash.

Gah!

 

As an aside: I asked Ash what he meant by outranking the FWA agents.

He said all field agents of Le Société as well as those from every witches’ agency or council (etc.) ultimately answered to a Commander in Chief.

Normally this person was hands off as this was a position that oversaw a variety of groups in every country in the world, and as such, situationally and culturally, they tended to need to do their own thing on a day-to-day, week-to-week, century-to-century basis.

But on the rare occasion they needed to answer to a higher authority, or a central command needed to make decisions, there always was one.

And yes, you guessed it in two parts.

Part 1: It was that rare occasion when that person could pull rank.

Part 2: Ash was that person.

 

The part you don’t know was that Ash’s transgression in not sharing this with me wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

The Commander in Chief had been some Belgian dude, until the Dark Lord shizzle was known. And since this Belgian dude was one-hundred-and-ninety-four years old, he was asked to step down because everyone thought they needed some fresh blood at the top.

And Ash was the obvious candidate.

So first, it should have been reported to the Belgian dude nine months ago that Area 666 was breached.

It was not.

Second, it should have been reported to Ash.

It was not.

And last, it should have been reported to The Mathilda.

It was not.

Agent Perry was in troooooooouuuuble.

(Hee hee.)

 

Of course, understanding this knowledge necessitated me throwing a drama that my man did not tell me he was the Top Dog.

Which necessitated Ash pulling out three humongo binders and querying, “Would you like to pour over the organizational structure of International Wiccan Operational Defense Oversight?”

One look at the binders told me I did not.

So I huffed, walked away and made myself a latte.

We started getting reports of sightings of Darling and Bligh from just about everywhere.

So many of them, I had to create a secondary (and tertiary) team which included Mom’s coven, Su’s coven, and my coven (or Mavis’ coven) from back in the UK.

I mean, the elite squad didn’t buzz around hither and yon following up empty leads.

You feel me?

 

Things took a turn when one particular lead was followed, and it seemed promising, so Ash called the team together to prepare to move out.

And obviously, I showed up.

To give you a timeline, this was twelve days post-Carnage at Red Rock.

“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” Ash asked me gently.

“I’m here to get briefed on the mission,” I answered.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why?” I asked back.

Ash’s expression started turning funny before he queried, “You don’t think you’re going, do you?”

“Uh-oh,” Su muttered.

“You don’t think I’m not going, do you?” I retorted, ignoring my sister.

“Not this again,” Viv muttered.

“You were struck by a kill spell,” he reminded me, ignoring my other sister.

“Which I survived,” I reminded him.

“You can have a relapse,” he stated.

“I’m not going to have a relapse,” I declared.

“You’re also sitting out this mission,” he announced.

“Uh-oh,” Su repeated.

“Are you mad?” I asked.

“You’re still recovering,” he noted.

“I’m fit as a fiddle,” I lied.

He knew I was lying, and this was why his eyes narrowed.

But because he was awesome even when he was being irritating, he didn’t out me in front of everyone else.

Okay, so I got tired super easily.

And I was pretty stiff.

I also often got nauseated for no reason.

In fact, so often, I took a pregnancy test because I was worried it wasn’t residual spell issues and it was something else (no worries, I’m not preggers).

I was taking Mom’s potions, meditating (always outside, so I could soak up sun and nature) and not practicing any magic so my own natural defenses could fight Agatha’s crap.

But I was far from one hundred percent.

And Ash knew it and not because when we did it, I no longer took the top.

PS: That was then.

I’m over it now.

No lie.

“Mathilda,” he warned.

“Sebastian,” I warned back.

“You do know we don’t have time for this shit,” Mack said.

He was right.

And Ash was right.

Drat it!

“How about I go, but this time I’m like the Julia Stiles character in the Bourne movies, though not that one where she got dead,” I suggested.

Ash considered this for a full ten seconds (I counted) before he relented.

When he did, I said, “Okay, now I need some kickass computer and comms gear.”

“Do you know how to use a computer?” Ash asked.

“Do you think I do all my shopping in a mall?” I answered with my own question.

Ash blew out a sigh.

Clearly, online shopping did not indicate to him I was mission-worthy, comms-tech savvy.

Whatever.

 

I went with them to Pakistan.

Mostly, I stayed in the motel and listened to them talk on their comms units.

In the end, we found Bligh and Darling had been there.

But by the time we got there, they were gone.

Enter this (frustrating (understatement)) period where leads were gained, leads were followed, leads petered out, and essentially all we got out of it was a case of unilateral, unrelenting jetlag.

Witches, sorcerers, sorceresses, and wizards all over the world were doing everything they could to dream up tracking spells to locate the whereabouts of our baddies, but they were seriously cloaked.

It was all a huge pain in the ass.

It was around the time we were o-v-e-r, over it that we got a new member of the team.

Former Agent Anita Ramirez.

She approached me first, which I thought was cool.

FYI: She’d resigned in lieu of being relieved of her duties.

 

FYI Part 2: She was pissed.

 

FYI Part 3: Even after Ash lost his shit about the Area 666 business, nothing happened to Perry. And it sucked, but I had to admit that was fair, seeing as the decision to keep all that a secret came from above her paygrade. She was just following orders.

 

FYI Part 4: That made Anita more pissed. (Me too.)

Cue me calling Ash to share this new development, Ash showing and then Ash and me having another fight.

“I don’t need a former agent with a grudge on the team,” he said.

“She has skills, knowledge and contacts,” I said.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, it was Ramirez who ended the fight we were having in our bedroom by calling through the wall, “Those relics have tracking spells on them!”

Ash didn’t hesitate even a beat before he prowled out of the bedroom and into the living room with me following him.

“Repeat,” he ordered in her direction.

“Everything held in Area 666 has tracking spells on it. They’re unbreakable. Whoever has those relics knows it, and they’re cloaking them just as they’re cloaking themselves,” Ramirez told us. “That said, Bligh and Darling don’t have tracking spells on their persons. So if there’s a cloak that’s more easily breakable, it’ll be on one of those relics.”

“Can I assume in your former employer’s lack of competence displayed thus far that you’ve been trying to break those cloaks since you learned those relics went missing and failed?” Ash asked.

Again, harsh.

I didn’t share that.

Ramirez said, “They did. But they didn’t have the Chosen One.”

Great.

Spellwork.

Gluh.

 

Okay, it seemed I was an Action Girl as well as a Glamour Girl as well as the Chosen One.

I didn’t want to be holed up with bowls and knives and incense and candles and the essence of gnoot, blah, blah, blah attempting to break cloaking spells when I could be Julia Stiles, or better yet, Jason Frigging Bourne.

One word: boring.

But Ash looked at me…

Ramirez looked at me…

And I knew I was headed up to my Turret Room to bury myself in gnoot.

 

Around about the time I was losing the will to live, I got a lock on the Pegasus feather.

 

Which brings us up to now.

Ash (or Le Société, tomaytoes, tomahtoes) bought us a plane (though my request to have it painted in our kickass elite team logo (after we got a logo, mental note: ask Mack to design us a logo) was denied).

And we were now on it, heading toward the Pegasus feather.

Toward Darling and Bligh.

And hopefully toward an end to all this rubbish.

Because, seriously.

I had a wedding to plan.

 

6 September

 

We have the Pegasus feather.

And we had our shot at getting Darling.

But we didn’t take it (bear with me, you’ll understand why).

But we have the Pegasus feather.

So…

Win.

Ish.

This is how it went down.

They were in Paris.

I was mad they were in Paris when I had to go to Paris and track them down instead of going to Paris to hit Rue Saint-Honoré, eat cheese, drink wine, and kiss Ash under the Eiffel Tower at night.

 

They knew we were coming.

We didn’t know they knew we were coming, but tracking can go both ways, and although I had us cloaked, they had some chops, so we were acting under the impression that they knew we were coming.

(That said, I’d been concentrating the cloaking on Ramirez and BecBec because they might not know those gals were on the team and that’d be a good surprise if we needed it.)

 

They were staying at the Ritz (or, at least, the feather was at the Ritz), because, you know, if you had resources at your command (magically or otherwise), and you were in Paris, there is nowhere else you’d stay.

(News: We did not stay at the Ritz because a) Darling and Bligh were there (bluh) and b) Ash had a flat in Paris, so we stayed at his flat, which was not Indiana Jones awesome, it was Parisian awesome, which obvs meant it was spectacular (yay!), but I digress.)

 

Once we found out they were staying at the Ritz, we had another powwow because I was not at one with the fact they blew a hole in the seating at Red Rock Amphitheater. But they didn’t harm the place otherwise, and what they did could be fixed.

I put my foot down about making certain there was no damage done to the Ritz.

This, of course, made Su remark, “You’re so boujee.”

“Yeah. And?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes but said no more.

 

They had the Hemingway suite, good for them because…awesome.

Good for us because you could get in from the courtyard.

We were all set to go in covert-like when a letter was hand-delivered to Ash’s flat.

It was from Darling.

So yeah.

There you go.

They knew we were there.

She invited me to drinks at the Hemingway Bar (yeah, the one in the Ritz).

Even before I read the rest, I was all in to do this (because, yeah, the Ritz).

But the rest of the letter said this would be done in détente, no hocus pocus, the witch kind or otherwise.

I did not believe this for a second, so even though we discussed it (okay, the team sat around and put up with Ash and I fighting about it), we decided I’d be covered and go in.

 

Coverage, per Ash, btw, was him getting in touch with some of his Parisian brethren from Le Société, as well as their wives/partners (witches) to cover me, make sure Bligh wasn’t up to any mischief, and scan the Ritz from top to bottom, end to end for any tomfoolery before I even stepped foot in the joint.

 

Obviously, this necessitated me taking an emergency trip to Rue Saint-Honoré (yippee!) because no way on the Goddess’s green earth I was going to the Ritz not tricked out to the nines (I went in Dior, but don’t worry, I didn’t snub Coco (this was the Ritz), I had some Chanel earrings in, and, erm, a new Chanel bag and maybe a bangle (ahem)).

 

She was sitting in the back.

The place was a crush.

She was wearing tweed (tweed! At the Ritz! Even if I didn’t know she was a bad guy, I’d know she was a bad guy at that).

There was a beautiful rose sitting on the table and it looked like she was drinking a G&T.

I walked up to the table and said, “You didn’t have to bring me a flower.”

She said, “I didn’t. They’re French. They give every woman a flower.”

She said this like she’d say, “I didn’t. They’re French. They run over pedestrians for sport.”

I looked around the awesome bar and saw this was true (about the flower)

Every woman had a stunning, full rose attached to her drink.

Seriously.

The Ritz was the shit!

I sat across from her, which sucked, because it meant I had my back to the rest of the bar.

The waiter was right there.

“Je voudrais un martini avec vodka et une olive,” I ordered.

(I don’t speak French, I looked it up so I could seem posh while ordering at the Ritz.)

“Hemingway martini?” he asked.

I thought that was safe since French for martini was the same as what happened to me on my date with Aidan what seemed like a million years ago. That is, giving you a glass of sweet vermouth over ice.

Been there, done that and…yuck.

And Hemingway had better taste than that (surely).

“Zee frozanne oleev jooz is zee ice cube,” the waiter told me.

What!?

“That…is…brilliant,” I told him.

He smiled, eyes twinkling (French people are so not unfriendly, FYI, that’s hogwash, you just have to act like you don’t own their country when you’re in their country and they’re totally cool).

He bowed short and took off.

I turned to Darling.

“I see you haven’t changed,” she said.

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

Her mouth got all puckery.

“Okay, you know everyone thinks you’re barmy,” I shared.

“They’ll learn,” she replied.

“They’ll learn what? That you’re even more barmy than they already think you are?” I asked.

“This isn’t the way to negotiate, Mathilda,” she stated snootily.

“Okay, first, you electrocuted me. Second, you tried to strip me of my magic. Third, your sidekicks nearly killed my fiancé. Fourth, they did kill Althea. Next, you blew a hole in Red Rock Amphitheater. Then, you hit me with a kill spell. And last, you’re trying to create a Dark Lord. I’d really like to know what there is to negotiate. Stop trying to make the Dark Lord. And boom, negotiations over.”

“This is your fault,” she declared.

Oh my Goddess!

I was so sick of everyone thinking everything was my fault.

“It is not. All I wanted to do was help people and you went crackers on me.”

“So everyone wishes to be, how is it that people say it…out about our powers, I’ll be out. Very out. In a way no one would consider lighting a torch and finding their pitchfork.”

Now I was seeing where she was coming from (kinda).

Okay, so yeah.

Again.

Actually talking to people led to (kinda) understanding them.

Gulk.

“Agatha, no one will harm us and not just because we’re way more powerful than them,” I assured.

“Yes, I believe the witches of the Burning Times thought that. And the witches in Salem. And witches and vampires and werewolves and etc. since the dawn of time.”

This sucked.

Because she had a point.

“So what’s this Dark Lord malarkey?” I asked.

“If you have the power, all the power, you have the control.”

“Um, just pointing out, if you give him the power, you don’t have the power.”

“We’re a team,” she sniffed.

“Okay, Agatha, since we’re sharing historical perspectives here, what man who had power shared his power with a woman…since the dawn of time?”

“I won’t be powerless,” she replied.

“I’ve been reading up on these guys, and if you give him what you could give him if this comes to fruition, you would be. You’d be no match for him. No one would.”

“The others sought to create the Dark Lord for vengeance or other weak reasons. I seek to create one as a strategy. A strategy Jeremy is in concurrence with. I know what I’m doing. I’m not stuck in the past. I’m looking toward the future, a future I do not want, but one being forced on me. A future that means humans will know of our existence and have their usual reactions to that. A future where all supernaturals need to be prepared for those reactions, and it is I, and Jeremy, who are preparing for them. And that’s the difference.”

“Not to be funny, but you just mentioned the Burning Times and Salem. That wasn’t exactly yesterday.”

Her face got hard. “You try me, Mathilda Honeycutt.”

I tried her?

She hit me with a kill spell and was right then making me sit with my back to the Hemingway Bar!

I decided not to get pissed.

A lot was at stake here.

I needed to keep my shit together.

“Agatha, honest to the Goddess, I really would like to come to some kind of understanding. I will admit, in the beginning, I went off half-cocked not knowing what I was doing—”

“It’s good you admit that.”

At this point, I chanted in my head, Keep your cool, Matty. Keep your cool.

Out loud I said, “But as you can see, I’m not the only one who feels the way I do.”

“Young people think they know everything, when they don’t.”

Okay, boomer, I did not say.

“There are a lot of not young people who feel the same as me,” I said.

“They’re misguided.”

I shut up.

The waiter came with my drink.

I said, “Merci beaucoup.”

He gave me another smile, another little bow, shot Agatha a blank glance (clearly, she didn’t order in French or even try) and walked away.

I took a sip without taking my rose off my glass because drinking a Hemingway martini with a rose attached in the Hemingway Bar at the Ritz was…everything.

Okay, no.

After downing that sip, it was that martini that was everything.

Mental note: make olive juice ice cubes the second I was back at The Acre.

Mental note 2: don’t wait to be back at The Acre, make them in Ash’s Parisian flat.

“Is there anything I can say that would change your strategy?” I asked, suspecting the answer was no, which gave me a not-so-good tingle that she’d called me there as a ruse and Bligh was out there, creating death and destruction among people I loved.

“You could join us.”

Fortunately, I wasn’t taking a sip of my martini or it’d be all over her face.

And this was not fortunate because I didn’t want to spit in her face.

It was fortunate because I didn’t want to do anything so gauche at the Ritz or waste even a drop of that martini.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“I hear Sebastian is turning Fae. You’re the Prophesied One. If the two of you joined us, we wouldn’t be formidable. We’d be unstoppable.”

Agatha Darling wanted to ally with…

Me?

For curiosity’s sake, I queried, “And what would the four of us do with our omnipotence?”

“Whatever we wanted.”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Wrong answer!

“Aga—”

She leaned toward me. “No one would ever harm a witch again.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” I said quietly.

She leaned back. “You told me you’d been reading about the past Dark Lords. If you have, you know I can.”

“Even the Dark Lord can’t be everywhere at once.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Fabulous.

“And they’ve all been defeated,” I pointed out.

“Yes, after they enjoyed long periods of supremacy.”

She wasn’t barmy.

She wasn’t crackers.

She wasn’t crazy.

She was insane.

“I hate to disappoint you, but I really have no desire to rule the world,” I admitted.

World Cookery Domination, yes.

Patent subjugation of everyone not me?

No.

She flicked out a hand. “Then we remain on opposite sides.”

Okay, so now I was seeing how some talks irretrievably broke down.

It was me who leaned forward at that.

“He’s going to turn on you,” I whispered.

“Do you think I haven’t thought of that?”

“No, but I think you may be overestimating the weight you carry. You complete the rituals and make him what you want him to be, with Fae magic to boot, your side of the scale is much lighter than you think, his will come crashing down and you’ll be flying without a parachute.”

I wasn’t sure my mixed metaphor worked, but she got me.

“I’ve taken precautions.”

“And you think the ones before you didn’t?”

“I think they weren’t me.”

Okay.

Insane.

And totally conceited.

I sat back and took another sip.

“Are we done?” she asked.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I wish we weren’t because I wish you’d listen to me. But I’m guessing we are.”

She nodded and stood, sweeping out of the bar, leaving her rose on the table (and me stuck with the bill).

I sighed.

About thirty seconds later, I heard Ash order from behind me. “Switch seats.”

That was my guy.

When I was with him, I always got the better seat.

I stood, looked up at him, he bent and touched his lips to mine, then I sat on the bench at the back and he sat on the little stool opposite me.

Much better view.

Of the bar, and the fact my fiancé was hot.

He slid my drink my way.

I took it up, rose and all, and downed a lot more than a sip.

The waiter came and Ash ordered the same as me, in French, because he was already posh, no effort required.

“How did that go?” he asked.

“Not well,” I answered.

“We have the Pegasus feather,” he shared.

I’m pretty sure I blinked about a thousand times in ten seconds.

Then I asked, “What?”

“While you had her occupied—”

“You carried out an operation without me?”

Yup.

I raised my voice.

In the Ritz.

But WTF?

“No. You played your part. You kept her occupied. We retrieved the feather. Mission accomplished.”

“You do know it’s impossible for me to be mad at you because A, I’m in the Ritz, B, I’m wearing Dior and Chanel, C, I’m drinking the best martini in the world, and D, we have the Pegasus feather and I’m assuming no one got dead in getting it or you’d be a lot less cheerful so I can’t really complain.”

“I do know this,” he replied.

Fucking Ash.

 

So that was how we got the Pegasus feather.

And I actually couldn’t complain.

Because it might have had a frustrating end…

But I got the fun part.

 

14 September

 

Bonus to being in Paris: Josie, Aidan and Rory were close.

They visited.

We filled them in.

Ash decided we’d stay on that side of the pond for a while because all the back and forth wasn’t doing our bodies any good, and the baddies weren’t leaving Europe or Asia so it was a waste of time to be in Denver when they were over here.

 

Paris Highlights So Far (in reverse order):

3) Froze olive juice and introduced Josie and Aidan (not Rory) to the Hemingway martini (Aidan had already had it, of course).

2) Shopped with Josie.

1) Ash took me on what he called “a surprise expedition” which I thought had to do with Darling and Bligh, but in the end was a trip to Lydia Courteille’s boutique where he bought me a ring from her Marie Antoinette Dark Side collection (exquisite).

(Love my man!)

The rest of the time I’ve been spending in a makeshift magic room in Ash’s flat, trying to break cloaking spells so we could recover more relics or find our nemeses (who were no longer staying at the Ritz, or at least, none of the relics were there).

And failing.

So, although enjoying Paris a whole lot more, not making much progress in saving the world.

In other words, mixed bag.

 

17 September

 

Just got in trouble with my fiancé.

Aidan and Josie had to go back because Rory had to go back to school.

The rest of the team is doing fun stuff like visiting the Louvre or going to see that awesome Van Gogh interactive experience or hitting vintage shops and bringing back Hermès scarves and I was stuck trying to track Gorgon blood and some very dead bitch’s knife.

Okay, so I was stuck in Ash’s fabulous Parisian apartment.

But I was still stuck.

Ash had gone out for a run.

So I took the opportunity to take a break, the break I decided to take became all-consuming, and thus, I didn’t hear him when he arrived home.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and honest to the Goddess, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I twisted away from my laptop and looked up at him. “Taking a break.”

“Taking a break from saving the world?”

“Yes.”

His eyes dropped to my laptop before they came back to me.

“To browse Pinterest?”

“To browse wedding ideas on Pinterest, and before you go all Ash on me, I’ve actually gotten a lot done.”

“Do you have a lock on Sorcha’s Book of Shadows?”

“No, I’ve decided our wedding colors are going to be ballet slipper and opera mauve with ivory and maybe the color of moss thrown in for contrast.”

Ash stood still and stared down at me, unspeaking.

“Our flowers are going to be roses, Calla lilies and hyacinth, which means we need a spring wedding.”

Ash remained speechless.

“And I don’t care how much it costs, it’s going to be a plated dinner. None of that buffet stuff for us. It takes forever for the line to go through and then you have the gluttons who act like they’ve never seen food before when it’s free. On the other hand, we’re having an open bar, but only until a certain time. I don’t want some drunk fool ruining the wedding video or smashing into the cake. Which, by the way, is going to be yellow cake with Italian buttercream and alternating layers of fresh strawberries and blueberries to semi-reflect the colors of the wedding, with the bonus of being the colors of both of our flags. And no naked cakes. They’re gorgeous, but it’s all about the frosting.”

“Darling, we’ve agreed, they probably used all the Gorgon blood for the attack on Red Rock so the next most important relic we need to get our hands on is that Book of Shadows. I love that you’re excited about our wedding. But we have priorities.”

I gave him the thumb and forefinger half an inch and squinted through that space at him.

“I’m just taking a little break to clear my head and give me the will to fight on.”

“How about letting finding that Book of Shadows and taking away the resource that provides a step by step guide to creating a Dark Lord, which might bring us closer to eventually having a wedding, give you the will to fight on?”

I sighed.

He kissed the top of my head.

I set aside my computer and turned toward my own Book of Shadows to record that incident with Ash.

I didn’t get my book open before Ash spoke from the door.

“Yes, plated dinner. Yes, time limit on open bar. Yes, Italian buttercream. Absolutely no to any shade of mauve.”

“But opera mauve is—”

“Mathilda.”

I scrunched my face at him.

He gave me a soft look and walked out.

So it was part that soft look and part the fact he’d just demonstrated he was interested in the planning of our wedding that made me smile before I grabbed my journal.

And now that I’ve recorded that incident with Ash, I have to get back to my magickal implements.

Gluh.

 

24 September

 

Back on our personal jet (way better than saying “chartered flight”) on our way to Forest of Dean.

Yes, Ash and I had made a pact we were going nowhere near England.

Yes, the Forest of Dean is in England.

Yes, my vision foretold seriously bad things happening to me in England.

But get this shit.

Maithieliel has escaped.

The Evil Queen is on the loose.

In the human realm.

And our elite team had been called in to do something about it.

Yeah.

Sometimes my life sucks.

ACK!