Note: Well folks, things are hotting up! Enjoy the latest offering.


The Last Stand

Nine

Constance was pacing up and down her bedroom floor in her bare feet – not wanting to cause a disturbance to those in the rooms below her lest they investigate the noise and find her up here walking off her nervous tension. Pacing was something that Constance did often, and usually unconsciously; a way of displaying agitation or anger; a way of concentrating on a problem; or, as her goal was at that moment, a way of working through her fears. The staffroom was always a much better place to stalk up and down; it was larger for a start, and there was usually someone in there that she could air her grievances to. Today, however, Constance most definitely did not want to run the risk of having an audience. The fewer people who saw her in this vulnerable state, the better. She knew that she had not been herself for the past day or so since she received the letter, and she knew that people had picked up on it, so she was horrified to think of what their opinions and conclusions would be if they could see her in her current state of quiet dread.

For it was dread that she was feeling, there could be no doubt about that. Constance had never given much thought to the shadowy High Council one way or another, but now, the more that she realised how little she knew, and the more that she thought over Davina's ominous words, the more she became afraid. If the JHC wanted someone, then they would take them, by hook or by crook. Constance simply would not allow that to happen. She would not let herself be seduced over to the 'dark side', as her colleagues had come to call it. Not that she ever expected to be tempted in such a way, but Constance knew that one could never put too much faith in one's self-control. Her nervousness at the present time was a case in point. On any other occasion, she could have carefully shut away her emotions and gone about her day in her no-nonsense manner, treating the impending visitor as a mere inconvenience in the overall unfurling of her life.

Suddenly, she heard a knock at the main doors of the castle; a thundering, imperious knock that demanded to be attended to. The noise caught her off guard and she gave an involuntary squeak as she tensed, before shaking her shoulders and scolding herself for such timidity. There could be no doubt as to who this latest visitor to the castle was, and grimly, Constance put her boots back on and left her room, ready to meet her fate.

"I don't-a know," grumbled Mrs Tapioca as Constance passed her on the way down the hall. "It's-a like Picadilly Circus today. People coming and-a going, the door going-a every five-a minutes!" The knock came again, louder this time, and the cook shouted to the person on the other side. "Keep-a your hair on! She's-a coming!"

Constance managed a fleeting smile at Mrs Tapioca's down-to-Earth commentary, privately glad that the mysterious figure on the other side of the door would not be able to hear her through the heavy panelling. With her heart pounding in her ears, Constance opened the door to come face to face with the woman who had been sent to speak to her. She blinked, scarcely able to believe her eyes.

"Professor Ravenswing?" she said, incredulous. Now she knew why the name on the card had seemed so familiar. Professor Michaela Ravenswing had been her tutor during her short tenure at Weirdsister College, and here she was again, a quarter of a century later, looking almost exactly the same as she had done when Constance had last seen her – the day that she had announced her decision to transfer to the WTC.

"Yes, it's me, Constance," said Professor Ravenswing. "I must admit, I thought you might have remembered me, but then again, it has been a long time. Twenty years, is it?"

"Twenty-five," murmured Constance, standing back to allow the short woman into the building.

"You were so young then, so full of life and potential. And now look at you! I always knew you were destined for good things, Constance. Your decision to leave us was most unexpected, but I'm sure you had your reasons."

Constance did indeed have her reasons, reasons that she had never admitted in their entirety to another living soul, and despite her precarious situation, she was not going to break a two-and-a-half decade silence for an inquisitive ex-lecturer.

"Well, you know why I'm here, of course," Professor Ravenswing continued, turning to her ex-student with a positively luminescent smile spreading over her features. "Congratulations on your invitation to join us, my dear! There's no need to look quite so sombre; I know that being appointed to the Joint High Council is not an issue to be taken lightly, but it is an occasion to be celebrated, not mourned. Now, is there anywhere that we can have a little chat?"

Constance nodded mutely, gesturing down the corridor towards the staffroom and following her former tutor's pattering monologue as they made their way out of the entrance hall. Constance had a terribly foreboding feeling of walking closer to her destiny with every step she took, and it took several moments for her to realise that they had arrived at their destination and the professor was looking at her inquisitively through her square spectacles.

"Are we going to go in?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yes, of course…" Constance mumbled as she opened the door onto the empty staffroom. She tried to think of how to begin her plea not to be seconded into and lost within the JHC ranks, but all the words that she had carefully rehearsed over the past day had been knocked clean out of her head with the unanticipated arrival of a familiar face. She did not quite know exactly what she had been expecting of a Council representative, but it was most certainly not Professor Ravenswing. Her feelings could be best described as that of an anticlimax; almost as if she had been wishing for a fearsome adversary that she could best, and now she had been denied her prize. She could not formulate an intelligent opening gambit, and settled instead for asking if her visitor wanted a cup of tea.

"Not yet, I don't think," said the older woman cheerily as she made herself comfortable in Constance's chair. This perturbing her already shaken state of mind even further, Constance pulled up another seat and decided that she would be best off waiting for the professor to start the proceedings. She could voice her objections later.

"Now Constance," the other witch began on cue. "This is a very exciting time for both of us; it's not often that someone so young is elected to the Council without having risen through the ranks, but you have so much unexplored potential that they didn't want to waste it, and so here we are today. There's something about you, Constance, something that they've seen and want to nurture."

Constance did not like the notion of her wasting her talents at Cackle's; it brought back far too many memories of Hecketty Broomhead's visits. She had also taken note of the mysterious 'they'. Who were 'they', and why did 'they' want her? She had a strong suspicion that whoever 'they' were, 'they' were not interested in nurturing her potential; more likely the opposite. She did not voice these thoughts to Professor Ravenswing, instead merely nodding.

"Now, no doubt you're feeling quite bewildered by the whole process," the professor continued, either ignoring or oblivious to her addressee's muteness. "I've come to give you all the information you'll be needing, but if you have any questions at any point, don't hesitate to ask."

It felt like being back at university again. Constance did not appreciate being patronised in any shape or form, and she remembered why she had not always seen eye-to-eye with her tutor in the few months of their original acquaintance. Her fear was gradually giving way to mingled resentment and irritation but she kept her tongue, instead shaking her head and allowing the other woman to continue. In the too-long silence before she began her spiel again, Constance's ears pricked up at a sound from the corner of the room. She shifted in her chair to find its source, and her eyes alighted upon the stationery cupboard. Davina was in there; Constance could just make out her silhouette, watching the proceedings through the misted glass. She had had the good sense to remain quiet for the most part, and whilst Constance would normally have been angered by such eavesdropping, at that point she was glad. At least there was someone else in the room bearing witness to the conversation. Through all the other turbulent emotions she was experiencing, Constance could not shake the instinct deep inside of her that kept whispering that something was wrong with the situation. The voice had been gnawing at her ever since she had received the letter, and it was getting exponentially stronger.

"Is everything alright, Constance?"

Constance spun back to see Professor Ravenswing paused mid-enthusing, one hand raised as if she was caught during a particularly exuberant gesture.

"I thought I heard something," she lied quickly. "But it's nothing."

"That's alright then. Now, how about that tea?"

She summoned a teapot and two cups from thin air, which served to puzzle Constance further, since there was already a steaming teapot on the staffroom table; always kept fresh for visitors, both welcome and uninvited. The other woman did not seem to pick up on her unease as she poured out two cups and pushed one across the table towards the deputy-head.

"Now," she said, sipping her own beverage and beginning to expound the virtues of the Council once more. "Your first few weeks would be spent getting to know the system a little better; after all, the Joint High Council has been governing the magical crafts for nearly two millennia now."

Constance was growing to detest the blithe optimism with which the woman was assuming that she would take the offered post and follow along with the JHC rule like an obedient little girl, and she was not sure how much more she could take before she snapped. She knew, however, that such a course of action was extremely inadvisable and so she tried a more underhand tactic; playing the Council at their own game.

"Has anyone ever refused an invitation to join?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral and disinterested.

"My dear, why would anyone want to?" Ravenswing's smile did not falter. "Drink your tea," she added. "It'll be getting cold."

Perturbed, Constance pulled the saucer towards her, although she did not intend to put the liquid to her lips. Something in her former tutor's manner was making her wonder if she could truly trust this woman as much as her memory was telling her to.

It was at that moment that Davina chose to make her presence in the room known. The cupboard erupted into an almighty cacophony, and Constance whirled round in automatic reaction to the noise. The doors were rattling and Davina was hollering as loudly as her elderly lungs would allow. The wood and glass of the cabinet doors muffled the sounds and merged the words together, but Constance was certain that she had made out the frantic sentences 'not the tea!' and 'let me out!' The cupboard had been locked from the outside, and Constance knew who had done it…

She turned back to face the woman that she now knew to be an enemy. For the first time, Professor Ravenswing's smile faltered.

"The sordid and underhand dealings that the council has been involved in over the years are no secret, no matter how much it denies them," Constance growled. "I have decided that despite their kind invitation and flattering interest in my magical progression, I am going to have to courteously decline their offer of a position and disassociate myself from their acquaintance."

"Constance…" her former tutor began.

"I think it would be best if you left now," Constance continued through gritted teeth. "My decision is final. You may tell your superiors that I refuse to be intimately associated with a magical body that can systematically exterminate anyone that it feels is a threat to its credibility and power-base."

"Constance…" said Ravenswing, although Constance noted that it was not with an angered or indeed threatening tone. If anything, the older witch sounded more despondent. "Constance, you can't refuse the High Council."

"Why not?" she spat. "Surely, if they are as democratic as they claim to be, then they would respect my decision to turn down their offer."

It was then that the professor's demeanour changed, as if on a knife-edge. Her sweet expression dropped, to be replaced with a hardened look. Her fingers raised momentarily, and Constance almost did not have time to deflect the spell that had been thrown at her so suddenly.

"No-one refuses the High Council, Constance."

"I do," she growled, casting a spell back that caused her one-time mentor to topple backwards out of her chair. Constance took the opportunity to leave her own seat, backing up towards the door; making for the nearest escape route but unwilling to divert her eyes away from the source of a possible ambush. Ravenswing sprang up, displaying a surprising nimbleness for her comparative age, and she shot another bolt at Constance, this time with a much more malicious intent. She managed to stop the attack before it could reach her, but the force caused her to stagger slightly and lose her concentration. The next flash hit home, and Constance gasped as the impact coursed through her limbs like wildfire. She returned the favour, and above the sounds of the pitched magical battle, she could hear the voices of others outside, alerted by the ruckus. She identified Maud and Amelia, and she could tell that they were trying in vain to enter the room. Of course, if Ravenswing could trap Davina inside the cupboard, there was nothing to stop her trapping the others outside the staffroom.

"Dearie me," said Ravenswing, her voice taking on a different although still very familiar timbre. She no longer sounded melancholy, but more gleefully sadistic as she continued to exchange blows with her former student. She sounded nigh-on possessed. "Antonius will be so disappointed."

It was then that Constance realised it

Antonius Albtraum, the Joint High Council Appointment Officer. Albtraum was German for nightmare, like Pesadilla in the Spanish and Cauchemar in the French. And Antonius could be shortened to Tony…

The Devil was behind it all.

Constance shook her head, refusing to believe it, but the expression on her face betrayed her train of thought to her attacker.

"Put two and two together, have we?" Ravenswing cackled, and in that brief moment of distraction, she took the opportunity to hit Constance with an unexpected spell. The force sent her flying backwards, and Constance saw flashes in front of her eyes as her head hit the stationery cupboard door with a blood-curdling smash. Davina's screams suddenly gained volume and clarity. Her eyes half-closed, she found her vision was swimming in front of her, and she knew that she was on the verge of losing consciousness. She could just make out the figure of the professor looming over her, and if she didn't know her vision to be clouding over, she would say that the woman's form was shimmering, like someone emerging from under a magical glamour of concealment. Behind her, she heard Davina give a final, piercing shriek before fainting herself, thudding against the bottom of the cupboard.

"Ah, Constance," came a male voice, fuzzy in her ears. "We meet again at last. Perhaps this time you won't be quite as… difficult." He tutted. "My dear Connie, it's all for your own good, you know."

Constance felt her blood run cold, and she could fight the onset of enforced slumber no longer. As she drifted into oblivion, she knew that she had been right. The figure in front of her had changed her, or rather his, shape.

Michaela Ravenswing was just a shell. She was the Devil in disguise.


Note2: Dun dun dun! Believe me, that's just the tip of the iceberg...