Page 4 of Sparkle Witch
From the corner of the grotto, and well behind Tarquin, Maidmont stared at me. His expression was clouded with suspicion but, after a moment or two, he realised what I was up to. He began waving his arms in alarm. My supposed friend, the good ol’ librarian, would rather see me suffer until Boxing Day than have to work with Tarquin himself. My old boyfriend might not be anyone’s first choice for Santa but neither was I. If I left, Tarquin would have to step into the breach and take up the reindeer reins. I’d show Maidmont.
In any case, Tarquin was too puffed up with his own self-importance to have any real inkling about what I was trying to do. His eyebrows rose slightly and he ran his tongue over his white teeth as if to highlight his appearance. After all this time, Tarquin still thought that I cared what he looked like and that appearances were important to me. Considering that I was the witch who had wandered around the Order buildings only last week wearing a smelly tracksuit with a gaping hole in the crotch, a hairstyle which wouldn't have looked out of place in an eighties’ rock band, and the remnants of tomato sauce smeared across my cheek from the slice of pizza I'd fallen asleep on top of while waiting for Winter to return from work, you would think that Tarquin would know better.
‘I could tell you,’ he purred, ‘but then I would have to kill you.’ He laughed in apparent wonder at his own humour.
Unfortunately, Maidmont took that moment to leap in and try to save himself. He threw one arm around Tarquin’s shoulder and started to turn him round, propelling him towards the exit. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s been wonderful seeing you, Adeptus Minor Villeneuve. However, we don't want to hold you up any longer. Thank you for popping by.’ He all but shoved Tarquin out of the grotto.
‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘I'd not finished talking to him .’
Maidmont wagged his finger. ‘I know exactly what you're up to, Ivy Wilde. It won't wash. Not with me. You are staying here as Santa Claus as you promised.’
My shoulders slumped. ‘How many days is it until Christmas?’ I asked
Tarquin stepped back in. ‘A mere thirteen,’ he said cheerfully, ignoring my gasp of horror at the unlucky number. ‘And now I remember why I was here in the first place,’ he added. ‘There’s a problem in the square. Something to do with the Christmas tree.’ He examined his fingernails carefully, discovering a tiny speck of dust and frowning at it. ‘I would help but I am an important Order witch. Daddy would not like it if I were distracted from my real duties.’
‘I fail to see what your father has to do with anything,’ I said, before forgetting that I was supposed to be doing everything I could to get out of the grotto and away from any small children. If that meant doing Tarquin's dirty work for him, then so be it.
I hastily backtracked. ‘I mean, I completely understand.’ I nodded to emphasise just how deeply I did indeed understand. ‘You are a Second Level witch. I am nothing more then someone's girlfriend. I'm nothing. You are everything. I do not wish to disappoint your father either.’
Anyone else would have burst out laughing. In fact, that's exactly what Maidmont did. Admittedly, his laugh was more of a nervous titter but he also silently applauded me when Tarquin gave me a thoughtful, serious nod.
‘I am very glad you understand, Ivy,’ he said. ‘The expectations which rest on my shoulders are heavy indeed. A lot of it is your fault, you know. If I hadn't had to rescue you from an evil serial killer, then I wouldn't be seen as the hero I am today. I could be more incognito.’ He sighed melodramatically. ‘However, we cannot change the past. All we can do is play with the cards that we are dealt. Therefore, you must dress up as Santa Claus and cope with problems relating to Christmas trees while I must take my leave and work on the more serious issue of how to procure large amounts of stinging nettles for complex herblore spells.’ He offered me a smile and turned towards Maidmont to bow while I pointed at my hands and mouthed the word ‘gloves’. Collecting nettles was hardly rocket science.
As well as protective hand gear, Tarquin really needed a cloak to swirl and a moustache to twirl. With neither at his disposal, he was forced to smile again before finally taking his leave of the grotto with a pinched strut that fit his personality perfectly.
As soon as he’d gone, I took off my beard and passed it to Maidmont. ‘Well,’ I said with a shrug, ‘you heard the man. I must go where I am needed. I must go where my superiors order me. Tarquin obviously has far more important things to do so I must do whatever I can to help him in his hour of need. And if helping him out means abandoning my post as St Nicholas, then that is what I must do. It’s a wrench and it will be very difficult for me to depart and leave you in the lurch,’ I patted Maidmont on the shoulder. ‘But I am confident that you will manage.’
I lifted off my fur-trimmed hat and plopped it onto his head. ‘There,’ I said with the most serious expression I could muster. ‘You look wonderful.’ Then, before he could even begin to say anything else, I ran out of the grotto as fast as my chubby little legs would carry me.
Chapter Three
I was tempted to stay away from the square and the Christmas tree and whatever problems were occurring there but avoiding it meant taking a circuitous route which added at least half a mile to my journey back to the safety of my sofa. In for a penny, in for a pound, I reasoned. After playing the role of Santa, dealing with Christmas tree problems would be simple. Perhaps I’d even manage to snarf a candy cane or two while I was at it.
I picked up speed in case Maidmont decided to come after me with a foolproof manipulation that would see me back as a living, breathing torture device for toddlers. I only stopped when I reached a cluster of worried witches, all gazing upwards at the towering tree.
I stared up. The tree was impressive. I’d never been able to boast about having an artist’s eye but I could certainly appreciate effort. And Abigail and the other Neophytes who had been tasked with putting the tree together had certainly put in plenty of energy and labour.
The tree had to be at least twenty feet tall. Not only had they gone all out with the usual tinsel, baubles and glittery frou-frou things that I couldn’t name, there were also several spells set up to add to the overall effect. There wasn’t any of the snow that Abigail had been hoping to achieve but I counted at least two dozen tiny elves, created through some sort of elaborate illusion magic. They danced round the branches of the tree, flitting between the green and looking for all the world as if they really were Santa’s helpers. I could have done with some of them back at the grotto.
‘You know what I think?’ I said to no one in particular. ‘I think you should leave this up all year round. That way you don’t need to worry about doing this every twelve months. It’s pretty to look at and will distract visitors from the ugly Order buildings nearby.’
I eyed the carefully wrapped presents at the foot of the tree. Once upon a time, when I was young and foolish, I’d wasted many hours trying to create beautifully wrapped gifts. The trouble was that a gorgeous exterior not only took considerable time to achieve but also established unrealistic expectations. When the present looked as if it were an expensive toy but actually contained several pairs of socks, the ensuing disappointment could be considerable. At least that was what I’d told myself when I realised that it wouldn’t matter how much care and attention I took over my presentation skills; my gifts would always look as if they’d been wrapped by a clumsy clawed bear with defective vision. These days I counted it a success when I bothered to drop my gifts into handy bags. Usually I just thrust them into the hands of the lucky recipient with some muttered excuse about saving paper and therefore the environment.
From the other side of the crowd of witches, Abigail was wringing her hands. She stumbled over to join me. ‘I’m glad you like it. But there’s a massive problem.’ She bit her lip and looked as if she were about to cry. That concerned me; she hadn’t struck me as a weeper before.
At that moment, some of the branches towards the top of the tree quivered in a way that had nothing at all to do with the light breeze gusting around us. I frowned and squinted up, then leapt backwards just a flicker of a heartbeat before a massive glass bauble came crashing down onto the spot where I’d been standing.
‘What the hell?’ I yelled, ready to blame whoever happened to be near me, whether it was white-faced Abigail or not.
‘Bitch.’ Brutus’s face appeared several feet above me from within the branches of the tree. Peering out from some tinsel, he blinked down at me – and I could swear the bugger grinned. The Cheshire Cat must have taken lessons from my damned feline familiar.
Without so much as a request for food, Brutus vanished back into the dark green needles, causing several more of the upper branches to shake dramatically.
If Brutus were a delicate creature like Princess Parma Periwinkle, who was Winter’s familiar, then it probably wouldn’t have been an issue. But he’s a hefty cat who likes his food so, as he picked up speed and more and more branches began to sway, I realised that the trunk of the huge tree was wobbling. It tilted alarmingly to one side and there was a series of alarmed shouts.
Brutus’s familiar voice could be heard above them all. ‘Timber, bitches!’ He leapt from on high, landing just to the side of a group of terrified looking red robes, and darted out of sight. At the same moment, it became clear that the tree was going to slam right down to the ground. Bloody cat. I could swear he also had a pretty snowflake decoration in his mouth as he ran off. He certainly was a special sodding snowflake.
I hissed under my breath and raised my hands, sketching out a stabilising rune in the nick of time. The tree creaked and heaved as if in complaint before finally, thankfully, righting itself. I breathed out. That was close. I might have a lot of leeway these days as far as the Order witches were concerned but if Brutus caused the destruction of their Christmas centrepiece I was fairly certain I’d lose a lot of goodwill. It didn’t bother meper sebut I’d only been half kidding when I’d talked about Caesar’s wife to Maidmont. The last thing I wanted was for any of my actions to reflect badly on Winter. He never complained but I knew he had enough to deal with these days with his stresses from work. I didn’t want to add to his burdens if I could help it.
