BAD GRACE - quantum witch © 2005

see Prologue for warnings, rating, and summary

In which Newt tries to read graphic material, and Anathema is given an odd prediction about their baby.

2:02 - HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

IT WAS AN UTTERLY PERFECT late October evening in Lower Tadfield (which Adam hadn't actually had anything to do with, this time). The air was crisp and tasting slightly of wood smoke and apples. The trees were in so many brilliant shades of red and gold that the sunset was jealous and doing it's very best to outshine the leaves.

One couldn't have dreamed of a better place to bring up a child. And Newt, the expectant father, was beginning to appreciate having moved here.

He was driving home this Friday from his new job in Upper Tadfield, and once again admiring the simple wholesomeness of the entire area. It was old fashioned in some ways but still urban enough to stay in business. All the shops and offices were tidy buildings clustered side-by-side along neat little roads. And there were still trees and parks in the area, for employees to sit in while having lunch. It was rather charming, and quite different from where he'd worked in London.

Once he entered Lower Tadfield, it became almost exclusively residential. The houses were warm and welcoming, the yards large enough for any child to play happily in, and there were several wooded areas with little trails worn through them by generations of kids and adults alike. People went for strolls and rode their bikes and walked their dogs and watered their roses like something out of a 1950s TV programme.

When Newt had met his nearest neighbours, the Youngs, the image was driven further home. He already knew Adam, of course, from the boy's frequent visits. Adam seemed completely fascinated with Anathema and her pregnancy, which Newt thought he could understand as the boy was reaching what his own mother had called "that age".

Mrs. Young (Deirdre) stayed at home and cooked and cleaned and read womanly magazines, and was always tidily dressed. Thankfully she didn't wear pearls and heels all day, else Newt would have suspected her maiden name to be Stepford. Mr. Young (Edward) was just approaching the title of 'stodgy' with his pressed pants, two-toned Oxfords, cardigan and bow tie, which he did wear almost constantly. He was a pleasant enough fellow though, and the family had happily welcomed the Puslifer-Devices to the neighbourhood with a hearty handshake, a tasty casserole, and most shockingly, a job offer for Newt.

So now he worked as a junior cost accountant still-in-training. The company was actually paying for him to take classes twice weekly to catch up to speed. In a year he'd have a certificate that declared he was worth a bit more money, and already the money was far better than he'd been making in London. He found that he took to the job like a bee to flowers: diving in, bustling about, and then returning to his neatly ordered hive with the day's gatherings. And his hive and home was filled with honey sweetness as well, making the simile more perfect.

And Anathema surprised herself by taking to her new life with a passion. She'd lost her previously ordered life as a Descendant, and was throwing herself wholly into housewifery. She kept the house tidy, she cooked balanced and delicious meals, read good books, did a bit of yoga to keep herself in shape for the impending birth, and stayed busy and happy. She didn't quite live up to the pristine example of Mrs. Young, thank heavens, but she did a good job. Jasmine Cottage may have been hundreds of years old, and re-patched so many times it had only a single brick at the rear of the back porch that was original material, but it was cozy and bright and attracted not only good vibrations (encouraged with judicious placement of crystals sparkling along the windowsills and herbs hanging from the curtain rods) but attracted also the neighbourhood children. Adam and his best friends.

She was terribly fond of them and surprised herself further by baking cookies when they came by, though for some reason the children didn't have as big an appetite for sweets as she would have thought. This might have been because her cooking was completely organic and contained almost nothing that a kid would think of as "food", such as sugar or cow's milk or flavour. But it was quite healthy. Healthier still, in their minds, to be avoided except when Adam insisted upon their politeness in the face of his dearest adult – and pregnant – friend.

Anathema also found that the sight of her new husband in a suit and tie ridiculously attractive. And if she didn't have company when he arrived home, she would often prevent him from taking off his business attire right away. In fact, she often removed it herself, on the way to the bedroom. It was adorable how Newt still blushed. You'd have thought he'd be getting used to such things by now. But apparently twenty-plus years of celibacy left their mark and it would take a bit more time to get him accustomed to regular, er, intimacies. He'd worried a bit about disturbing the baby, but she assured him that the baby wasn't far enough along and therefore would mind being nudged around. And he'd blushed again rather furiously.

Every morning now had a delightful routine. They'd wake, bright and early, and snuggle just a bit before crawling out of bed. He would get ready for work while she prepared breakfast. Now that she was holding food down, it was much more enjoyable to be domestic. He would praise her cooking, which actually was rather good despite its all-natural-whole-grained-goodness, and they would then kiss goodbye at the door. And it was a good thorough kiss too, not just the simple peck on the cheek. No, he'd get a solid snogging before walking out the door, which made his entire day a bit brighter.

As Newt turned Dick Turpin down the lane toward Jasmine Cottage, a now-familiar swell of somehow excited contentment made him sigh. He truly felt rather stupidly blissful most days, being married to such a fascinating woman, who actually seemed to find him interesting as well. How had he gotten so very lucky? It had all started with a 300-hundred year old prophecy. If he'd been able to find Agnes Nutter's grave °, he'd have willingly dug down and stomached shaking hands with her skeleton in thanks. Well, maybe not. But he definitely had fond feelings toward the old girl. °°

Today, as he entered the drive, he saw another car. Parking to the side, he thought he recognised it as belonging to the mother of one of the neighbour children.

Indoors was a red-haired woman, who covered her freckles far better than her daughter by using lemon juice and avoiding the sun, sitting at the kitchen table and talking animatedly with Anathema, who was tending the supper already cooking on the stove. Martha Kirby was about twelve years older than Anathema, but seemed very girlish still. She was laughing brightly at something Anathema had just said, and Newt saw they had spread out on the table a deck of Anathema's tarot cards. He was sure he'd heard something about Martha reading cards semi-professionally, but he wondered what Anathema could possibly be learning as she was quite the expert herself.

"Newt!" Anathema said with a huge smile as he poked his head round the corner of the kitchen. She left the stove to hug and kiss him lightly. "Come on in. I was just reading for Martha and we've come up with an idea. Or rather she'd already come up with the idea and teasing me by letting me read her cards and see it all for myself. Cheeky thing," she nudged the other woman's arm and they laughed again.

Newt's blank yet puzzled face made them giggle again. "Dear, I'm going to be working. We do need the money and it's something I can do part time without having to leave the house." She smiled down at her friend. "Martha's given me her clientele for readings, and is making sure they understand the rates are the same as she charged – which, by the way, aren't shabby at all. Isn't that wonderful?"

He gaped briefly but recovered quickly. It really was an excellent solution to their still shaky financial status, and he thanked Martha heartily for her tremendous offer. Then he left the two of them to their women's chatter and went to change into comfort clothes. It seemed that any, er, intimacies were to be postponed but he would survive another hour or so.

He found himself staring at one of the copious books on childbirth Anathema had begun hoarding. They were new books with shiny covers featuring smiling parents cradling their rose-cheeked newborn, all of which cruelly disguised the horrors within, consisting of extremely graphic and colourful descriptions of what to except in another five months. He had attempted to read them but kept going pale and needing to sit down and put his head between his knees. His wife intended to be the most totally prepared new mother in the history of mothers, and considering that Agnes wasn't around to tell them what to expect, then Anathema would tell herself in no uncertain terms.

Newt suspected she was as bloody terrified as he was, but less willing to admit it.

The gruesome tomes beckoned to him in a grim whisper and he sighed, heeding the knell of doom. He was excepted to be just as prepared and really didn't want to create a row. So he got a glass of water and a damp cloth for his forehead, then retired to the newly organised nursery. He sat in the rocking chair beside the crib (both of which they'd gotten for a song at a recent estate sale Adam had heard about) and opened the first book.

A few minutes in, he closed it, put the cloth over his eyes and gave a soft, pathetic moan.

In the kitchen, Martha was helping Anathema by cleaning a few pots and pans. Suddenly she asked, "Do you want to know the sex of your baby?"

"Oh," said Anathema, "I thought I'd let it be a surprise, and we're stocking baby clothes that are completely unisex. We don't intend to develop a gender-defined bias so early. Although," she grinned, "I know it will be a girl. Instinct."

"Psychic, more like," Martha grinned back. "Hey, why not let me do a reading for her. Never done one for someone that young before. Let's see what happens, eh?"

"Yeah, why not." Anathema wiped her hands and they sat at the table again. Cards were shuffled and cut, and Martha began to turn them over in three sets of three.

"First let's see what she was in a past life... Ah, what an auspicious start! The Ace of Cups. Total love and healing, how wonderful. She must have been special indeed. And the Sun, how nice. Someone who enjoyed their life to the fullest and brought light to all they touched. Now theSix of Pentacles. A giving and charitable soul, making sure the less fortunate were taken care of. Seems like your child used to be a saint, dear." They both laughed. It was rather implausible, but a nice sentiment.

"Now to the present, the influences around her now, even before birth. First up is… Temperance. That's probably the calm way that her parents are trying to be, even though we know they're nervous. That angelic aspect could come in handy for keeping the balance. Next is the Six of Wands, a bright young man who has just returned victorious from battle. Hm, perhaps your Newt, having gotten a good job? Seems likely. And now there is the Hanged Man. Interesting. A great sacrifice made to gain something even greater, a big change in one's outlook and life. Can't quite imagine what that might be. Unless it's simply becoming parents."

"No," Anathema shook her head, thinking of how she'd given up Agnes' book willingly though regretfully. "I think I know what that's about. I'll tell you someday, I promise."

"All right then, luv," Martha gave her trademark broad smile. "Now let's look toward the future. This is the first time I've tried reading so far ahead. I mean, you've still got seven months to go, and my readings have never been for more than a month at a time. Not only is it hard to see further ahead, but it keeps 'em coming back more often, if you know what I mean." She winked.

Anathema laughed, though she knew well some people – long dead people – could indeed see much further ahead. She understood the need for letting the common masses believe otherwise. Scarcely a one of them had so much as a metaphorical toe dipped in the dark ocean of the universe, and were all firmly sitting on the beach well away from the tides, under an umbrella, sipping the icy margarita of psychic obliviousness. Lucky bastards.

"Okay, let's try it, shall we? First is the Seven of Cups. A bit of deception there, false hope or false promises, being offered suspicious things. Or maybe just head in the clouds. I'm not sure what to make of that one. Perhaps it's all the worried anticipation you've got to be experiencing. I know you and Newt are anxious."

"Who can blame us," Anathema sighed. "First time for everything. Nerve-wracking when, for once, you don't know what's coming."

"Isn't that the truth. Okay, next card… Six of Swords. Oh, how interesting. We've had three sixes now. Don't suppose that's bad news, eh?" Martha chuckled, obviously not at all serious.

Anathema smiled but it was a bit strained this time. She hadn't noticed 'til Martha spoke it, and somehow it didn't feel quite as funny as it ought to. Coincidences were not her fortè, and she really did remember far too much of Something that had recently Happened to the world. Not in detail, but more than enough to give her the shakes.

"Anyway, we know this card of course means a distant journey to an unknown shore, led by forces unseen. Well, that is likely just the birth itself. The baby can't really know what to expect, now can she? I'm sure that's what it's all about, eh?"

"I'm sure, yes," Anathema continued to smile, though now she began to dread the final card.

"And now the last one… I… Oh, dear. That's rather a turnabout from the first, isn't it? Ah well, I shouldn't have expected an accurate reading for a baby not yet born, and trying to see so far ahead. Clearly this can't be right, so... well, best not even think about it, right, luv?"

Anathema agreed softly, and smiled as she walked with Martha to the door. She assured her that she would be ready to take the first tarot client by the next evening, and would make a small sign for the front door. And they said their goodbyes.

She walked back to the table where her cards lay openly displaying the Devil at the end of the set.

Anathema knew perfectly well the traditional meaning of the card: self-induced limitations, being bound to old and bad habits, and so on. But the image of the Ultimate Evil dredged up further memories that had been buried somehow, and she wasn't mollified by tradition.

She sat staring at it until she heard Newt's footsteps coming down the hall. The cards were gathered up and stuffed back into their box and she stood and they had a wonderful supper and she made herself think no more about it.

The dose of valerian (safe enough even during pregnancy) that tranquilised her dreams from becoming nightmares helped a great deal.

° Which of course she didn't have, being scattered across half a mile along with everyone else in her ungrateful village.

°° He might have been pleased, not to mention shocked and slightly freaked out, to find out that she knew this. (Ah, but we musn't get too far ahead of ourselves!)