Author's Note:
Dear Reader,
First I must say how very grateful I am for taking a bit of your time to read this story which, at the moment, is so very close to my heart.
I am especially grateful to HB rules, Aleksandra Hardbroom, blue4 and Chrissiemusa, who have been kind enough to review and tell me their opinions about the first chapter. Also, I must extend a most heartfelt "Thank you" to NextChristineDaae who has not only proven to be a most amazing friend, but also whose story Appearances Can Be Deceptive has also been an inspiration, by being the epitome of perfection. Again, all my gratitude towards those who have adopted me into the Worst Witch community and I do hope that the present chapter is up to your standards.
I know you must be frustrated and confused at the sheer amount of space that is spent in favour of my original characters rather than the cannon characters that we have all grown to know and love. As it is merely the beginning of the story, I do feel that those characters deserve a proper introduction, as their background and actions will be very important drivers for the plot, later on. Yet, do not fret, my friend, because I have been trying to maintain a balance between the appearances of the OCs and the cannon characters and subsequent chapters will be focused more on the life of our beloved Cackle's Academy.
As I have previously promised to have shorter Author's Notes, and I am nothing if not a woman of my word, with no further ado, I present the second chapter of Fire and Ice: Book 1.
Yours,
Lemondrope
*gives everyone broomstick-shaped cookies*
PS: This chapter does contain some graphic scenes containing blood that should not be read by people who are younger than 16.
FIRE AND ICE
BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR
Chapter 2: He who doesn't fear death dies only once (Giovanni Falcone)
"I've been waiting for you." The old man's voice was feeble and weak, but it still held a certain amount of youthfulness and derision.
They usually never talked to her. Either because some of them were unconscious or because most of them could not see her, and even if they could, they never realized who she was. She was fine with that. Yet, on some rare occasions some of her victims were aware of her presence and what her mission was. It was those occasions that Hope dreaded most. Human beings had a strange way of dealing with their own mortality. She had seen them beg for their lives, bargain with her to the bitter end. She had seen them cry, and wallow. She had seen them accept her presence with an air of desolation. None of them had ever been grateful.
"You took your sweet time though…" he said mockingly, sizing up the woman that had just entered the room.
"You should be grateful for that." She said in a controlled voice stepping towards the man.
"Why should I? I would have rather died long ago than live this… " the man pointed his wrinkled hands towards his wheelchair, an empty space replacing his legs. "Happened during the second great war, ya' know? Blasted Nazi's and their bombs! Fo' sixty years I haven't been able to move on my own… I guess I was one of the lucky ones, though… I've seen my best mate shattered to bits. "
The room was shabby and dirty and it held the distinct smell of sweat. The old man and his wheelchair were standing next to the window, which was showing an unkempt garden and a sorry looking pond. On the table next to the man, there were two photographs and an ashtray. With graceful moves and more to keep her hands busy than nothing else, Hope took one of the framed photographs and looked at it. It was a rather old, black and white, picture. It showed a couple holding a baby in his early months of life. The two adults, a tall, well-built male with a clean cheek, dressed in a military uniform and a petite woman with flowing hair and a slightly absent smile, seemed to be at ease with each other. The baby that the woman was holding, peacefully asleep, emanated the same sense of tranquillity like the others. Hope took a second look at the much younger version of the decrepit man that was currently standing in front of her and gave a bittersweet smile. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
"Can I have one before I go?" he asked with amusement noticing the girl looking at the photo of his deceased family while taking a pack of Marlboro from the pocket of his tattered coat and putting a cigarette in his mouth. "Want one?"
Hope raised a perfect eyebrow in surprise and with a nod she obliged. The man amused her and she saw no harm in indulging him. With slow moves she took a cigarette and put it in her mouth, lighting it with a flick of her hand. She took a slow drag, watching the man fumble with a box of matches, his trembling hands making the action of lighting the cigarette impossible. With another flick of her wrist she did it for him.
"Thanks" he said with a nod and looked at the much younger woman "Ya know, all those pictures of you don't do you justice. You 'ave no scythe and you're not all dressed in black…You are quite a beautiful young lass, in fact. You remind me of my second wife, though I wouldn't want to see her where I'm going…"
"You are honestly not afraid?" Hope resisted the urge to laugh at the old man's words, a playful smile tugging at her lips. She took another slow drag to hide her amusement.
"Of you? No chance in hell… if you had a cloak and a scythe, maybe." He said with derision, a mocking smile appearing on his creased face. "Of where I'm going? It can't be much worse than this place…"
"You are the first one that hasn't been afraid " she said in a dream-like voice looking outside the window at the falling rain.
"I'm old. I've lived my life and I have no regrets. " he replied simply. "Can I ask you something?"
"If you must" she said in a much harsher voice, fearing that, like all the others, this man will start begging for his life.
"What happens… after?" the man asked, for the first time a serious expression crossing his features.
"I honestly don't know." Hope answered sincerely, her voice relaxing slightly. "And even if I did, I probably wouldn't be allowed to tell you."
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise but dropped the matter. He looked at his almost finished cigarette and smiled upon seeing that the girl was also watching it intently. They both knew what the end of the rapidly burning tobacco stick meant and he was slightly pleased to see that there was no hint of mischievous satisfaction in her eyes. The woman seemed marginally sad, if nothing else.
"Can you please do yer thing immediately after I've taken the last puff? I want to still be able to taste it…" he looked at her with the same youthful glint and the woman nodded, a chuckle escaping her lips.
For a moment she seemed to disappear into nothingness but he could soon feel her cold hand pressed against his forehead. He took another drag, his lungs filling with smoke, and his mouth tasting the rich tobacco, one last time. With a satisfied smile he allowed his eyelids to close and his arms drop at his sides, outside the confines of the wheelchair. For the first time in sixty years he was no longer in pain. With careful moves, Hope took the cigarette bud from his cold fingers and put it in the ashtray. She watched it burn for a second before, like its owner, it was extinguished forever.
Constance Hardbroom finally realized that something was really wrong when, for the fifth time that week, she woke up gasping for air. She had never been sick in her life. Even considering the hazards of working and living in a school filled with children, she never even got as much as a cough. The only time she recalled being actually sick was immediately after her mother's death. She remembered her father having to move her around, crying over her at night, too frightened that fate would not only take his wife but also his daughter. She remembered the way in which her father used to hold her hand, hoping that some of his life force would be passed onto her and thus she would be spared. She also remembered the complete joy on his face when she finally woke up from her lethargy and her vow to never worry her father in such a manner again. Yes, since then, Constance had never been ill.
Ever since she had the all too familiar dream involving her mother, the potion mistress found herself unable to sleep more than one or two hours per night. Although she had never needed much sleep, nowadays this seemed to exhaust her more than ever. She was practically living on wide-awake potion, sometimes mixed with an energy enhancer, and she prayed to whatever god was listening, that what she had would pass before any of the girls would notice that their teacher was out of sorts. She already had Amelia, with the subtlety of a herd of elephants, watching her like a hawk, while Imogen and Davina seemed more reluctant to engage in arguments with her. Not that she had much energy for clashes either. Although, Constance had to admit to herself that she felt somewhat touched by their concern, she also could not stand the feeling of complete weakness and uselessness that came with it, and every day she took more and more wide-awake potion, trying to regain at least some semblance of normality.
Clad in her usual purple pyjamas and deciding that it was useless to go back to sleep, she lit a candle and walked towards her working desk. The known feeling of dizziness hit her and she had to put her left hand on the wall to steady herself. A few calming breaths later, the woman sat on her chair, prepared to work on some of her most recent lesson plans when the caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the long mirror next to her oak wardrobe.
The figure in the mirror looked terrible. Constance had never been exceedingly vain and had never seen herself as beautiful. But even she could tell that the reflection was a poor sight to the eyes. Her long dark hair, the only thing she prided herself on, had long lost its shine and had turned into a tangled mess. Her face, although always pale, was now as white as a sheet while dark rings had formed under her hazel eyes. She had lost weight and now her bones were visible underneath her skin, almost threatening to pierce the white flesh. With a shuddered breath she realized that her body was tumbling down like a fragile house of cards. She was dying.
Before his mother had become sick and he had started his life of self-imposed solitude, Noah used to have a lot of friends. He had friends with whom he went for a drink, he had friends in whom he confided, and he even had what could be called friends with benefits, with whom he indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. None of them could be compared to Hope. Although he had known, from the first time he met her at the hospital, that the girl was special, not only because of her powers but also because of what she had seen and done, he would have never suspected that they would become such good friends. For all intents and purposes, when they had met, they were complete opposites. He was a doctor while she was the one who made his efforts futile. He had the most positive outlook on life, while she, with the knowledge she possessed, saw death as the ultimate release from the terrible confines of this world. He judged mercilessly what she was doing; he despised her lack of conscience and hated, under the circumstances, her apparently carefree nature. No, in a normal situation, Noah would have never befriended her.
But then his father's accident happened and while all others distanced themselves from him, she remained. He never asked why the girl came to the funeral or why afterwards she felt the need to be with him every day and every night during that most atrocious time. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Yet, this woman, that he had initially, and maybe wrongfully, despised became a reliable constant in his life. Slowly, but surely, he started to understand her mannerisms, came to appreciate her stubbornness and even stopped being so judgemental regarding her… occupation. That isn't to say, that he approved or condoned her practices, which he still believed to be cruel at best.
Noah wasn't an especially talented or powerful wizard. He was definitely a hard worker and that enabled him to succeed so fast in his profession, but he did not have the talent that others in his year at Weird Sisters possessed. While some of his class mates used to remember a spell or a potion recipe just by looking at it, he used to work twice as hard to equal and surpass them. Yet, despite his less than natural command of magic, he did have a talent of his own. Noah would not call himself a clairvoyant for he could not see the future, but he knew that he could see, either when awake or asleep, more than others could. He didn't know if his friend was the source of his power, but the first person he could see when no other could was Hope. Since that fateful day in the hospital when he shared a cup of coffee with the girl, something that could be called a sixth sense developed. His dreams became much clearer, his perception of feelings around him was more acute and of course, instances from the past or the future came to his mind with ease. Strangely enough, although he could apply his talent to almost everyone, most of his visions and predictions were about Hope herself. It was as if, since that day, their minds had formed an indisputably strong connection and sometimes the woman's feelings, dreams and fears became his own.
As he stood in the small café, the only one in the village closest to Elwood Manor, he could not help but think how much of his life revolved around Hope. Probably as much as it revolved around his mother and her disease. Not only was she a constant in his daily routine, but she was also the keeper of all his secrets, dreams and desires. Like her thoughts were sometimes his, she had made his thoughts and wishes hers. Sometimes she seemed to be the only connection he had with the outside world, the only thing that didn't allow him to succumb to madness. That is why he was currently out of his mind with worry. Since he had discovered that his friend had started to use the ring, he could not help but wonder what would happen if everything went wrong. He knew that she was, like all humans, subject to death, despite her dealings in the area and Noah could not bear to think how bleak his life would be if she were to make the ultimate sacrifice. He took a sip of his sweet latte macchiato and looked towards the door through which the object of his thoughts had just arrived.
"Hey" she said with a smile and gracefully sat on the opposite chair. "I thought we were meeting at the manor"
"I needed to get out of there for a bit…" he said, noticing that she was in better spirits than usual. "Plus, I needed to talk to you about something. In private."
"About what?" she asked nonchalantly and signalled the young waiter to bring her the usual. Testimony of what faithful customers they were, the waiter brought a steaming cup of black coffee in mere seconds and the woman took a sip of the dark and bitter liquid.
"I think I dreamt of your 'friend', last night." Noah said in a whisper, inclining his head towards the girl, oblivious to the fact that they were the only ones in the café apart from the waiter who was playing with his game boy and definitely not paying attention to their conversation.
"You saw Evan? Where was he?" Upon hearing Noah's words, Hope spit the gulp of the dark coffee she had been drinking, in a less than lady-like gesture.
"Yes. He was entering an old castle and he seemed extremely pleased with himself. I could feel his satisfaction coursing through my veins." Noah said darkly
"Why would he be satisfied…? Unless…" Hope whispered while fumbling with a napkin, trying to clean the rapidly expanding coffee stain from her white shirt.
"Unless what?"
"The bastard is not going after me… but after her." She said in a whisper more for herself rather than for her interlocutor.
"Are you sure?" his eyes widened in realization, his mind processing all the possible implications of what Hope had declared.
"Not really. But, listen." She said in all seriousness "I know that he can feel that I've started to use the ring. And, there are two ways to kill me: actually kill me or kill her…."
"I told you not to use it… You could have confronted him without it! That blasted thing is more of a liability than an opportunity" Noah snapped eyeing the piece of jewellery on Hope's left hand, and as a form of response, the Ankh on the ring briefly glowed a deep red before going back to its normal golden colour.
"You know that it isn't true, but let's not argue about it. There is nothing I can do about it now. The question is, how did Evan find her?" Hope continued to speak in a calm and rational voice, refusing to allow fear and anger overtake her. "Even I don't know who she is."
"Wait! You don't even know who the person is?" he said, a mix of astonishment and disproval clear in his tone.
"No. I didn't want to get involved. I … well… I felt it would be better that way… But now it is redundant anyway. I need to find her and stop that greedy bastard" Hope stated calmly, her blue eyes flashing for a brief moment with anger.
"I'm coming with you." Noah said simply after a moment's thought.
Hope raised her eyes to meet his and could see the turmoil in the green pools. With a smile she placed her hand upon his and uttered the two words he never expected to hear: "Thank you."
Trouble always found Mildred Hubble even when she was trying incredibly hard to stay out of it. Before coming for her third year at Cackle's she was resolute to stay out of trouble and not antagonize her formidable, third year in a row, form teacher any further. Yet, as she found herself in the current predicament, she knew that her holiday resolution will go down the drain.
To put it simply Mildred was blue. Not in the depressed sense of the word, but actually blue. As in her skin was currently sporting the colour of a cloudless sky. It all started as an innocent attempt to hide the earrings that her father had brought her from Spain. Enid, always the one to have brilliant ideas, suggested that they made a potion to make an object of your choice invisible to prying eyes. No one could have predicted that her arch enemy, Ethel Hallow, would dare to put blue food colouring in the potion and that, what had started as a blue patch of skin on her neck, would extend to her entire body. The girl looked at her blue face in the mirror above her desk and sighed deeply. The attempts of her friends to solve the issue before any of their teachers noticed had obviously been futile and now she was faced with a terrifying choice. Either spend her entire life as a slightly larger version of a smurf or go to Miss Hardbroom and beg her to reverse the effect of the potion.
The fact that the girl was actually considering the former option stood as proof of how terrified she was of her potions teacher. In spite of what had transpired at the end of last year between the stoic witch and herself, not much had changed. Not that she expected it to. As Miss Hardbroom had said, she only knew how to dance to one tune and Mildred suspected that the tune she was dancing on included her being mean and unfair towards the person she considered as the worst witch in the school. The student would have given anything for that position to be filled by anyone but herself, but as things stood there was little chance of that ever happening. Especially considering the current situation.
As she gathered all the courage she possessed and proceeded to go find her teacher, Mildred could not help but hope that for once Miss Hardbroom would open her eyes and see that it wasn't entirely her fault. The student respected her potion mistress above all others and against all odds, she desperately needed and wanted her approval. Through the small window on the door to the potion's laboratory she could see her formidable form teacher, sitting at her desk, apparently grading some papers, her face impassable and blank as always.
"Girl, are you going to stand there gawping at me, or are you actually going to come in?" Miss Hardbroom said in her strict, cold tone, not bothering to lift her head from the papers.
"What on Earth happened to you, girl?" she asked in an annoyed voice while sizing her recently-blue student up with a fierce glare.
"Please, Miss Hardbroom… It wasn't my fault…" Mildred stuttered, suddenly feeling that her unlaced boots were much more interesting, and less dangerous, than her teacher's eyes.
"It never is, is it?" the potion mistress snapped.
"Can you… can you, reverse it?" the girl asked shyly still not daring to look at her form mistress.
"Come here." Miss Hardbroom said with a soft sigh, motioning her student to approach. With trepidation, the girl stood in front of her teacher who had previously risen from her desk and felt the woman's hand on her forehead. Despite the unnaturally cold touch her form mistress possessed, Mildred could sense a flow of calming energy course through her body and in no time her hands, and her entire figure together with them, returned to their normal rosy colouring.
She was prepared to thank Miss Hardbroom and accept whichever punishment her teacher saw fit, when she noticed that the woman had gone completely white and that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Then, for a moment everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Her teacher fell into a graceful heap on the floor, to her knees, her shaking hands clutching at her chest. With a few words under her ragged breath, she conjured a stone basin and proceeded to cough her lungs out. Most literally. With every cough, deep red blood flew uncontrollably from the woman's mouth, falling into the basin soundlessly. The sight was not a pretty one. To say the least, it was grotesque and Mildred stood there in complete shock not knowing how to react.
"Are you ok?" Mildred asked, quickly coming by her teacher's side. In hindsight, the girl realized that it was a stupid thing to ask, but back then she felt her brain stop working and her body move on autopilot. Constance's face was ashen and her hands were trembling. Cold sweat dripped from her forehead and blood was coming out of her mouth in an endless flow of red. Long fingers were clutching desperately at the front of the black dress as she tried to regain her breath.
Mildred did not know what to do. Instinctively, she kneeled by her side and pushed back some of the strands of black hair that had come loose from her perfect bun and were threatening to fall in the basin. The woman looked at her and she could sense her quiet plea. She understood that she had never been so vulnerable, so fragile, in front of anyone. She rose from the place next to her and went at the back of the classroom, where, from a cupboard she took two towels and wet them with some cold water from the rusty sink in the potions lab. Going back, she helped the woman, who seemed to be finished with expelling her own blood, to her chair and forced her to sit down. She handed the two wet towels to her teacher figuring that she didn't appreciate being touched more than strictly necessary and watched how the woman cleaned the blood from her lips and hands with one and cooled herself down with the other.
"I should call Miss Cackle… she will know what to do…" the girl stuttered, still too shocked to speak properly.
"Don't!" Miss Hardbroom replied suddenly, her voice although barely above a whisper still retaining its fearsome quality. "No one is to know what happened here. Understand?"
"Are you sure?" the girl blurted out suddenly. Someone was supposed to know about this. Someone should help her form mistress!
"Pray do not make me repeat myself" she said quietly looking into the blue eyes of her student and seeing noting but pure concern. "I will be fine."
Evan Mallard was nothing like Imogen Drill expected him to be. Although her experience with wizards was resumed to Chief Wizard Hellibore and Algenon Rowan-Webb, who could be both considered eccentric at best, she still did not anticipate the air of normality that Cackle's visitor exuded. Dressed in what looked like a very expensive brown suit, the man carried his impressive frame around with authority and with surprising gracefulness for someone who was about 6'2 feet tall. His golden hair, unruly sticking out in all directions together with the amused glint in his hazel eyes, gave the man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, the look of a mischievous school boy. His manners, simple and polite, betrayed a high birth coupled with a unique brand of nobility. Although it could not be said that he was exceedingly handsome, there was something about Mr Mallard that intrigued the gym mistress. Maybe it was the way in which his movements seemed both gentile and dangerous at the same time. Maybe it was the radiant smile that seemed to hide a hint of bitterness and never reached his eyes. Or maybe, after getting so very used to being deprived of male company, save for Mr Blossom, she automatically felt attracted to the first new man that appeared through the door.
"Ladies, it is so very nice to meet you." He said softly in perfect English despite the subtle hint of a foreign accent in his voice, inclining his head towards the three of them.
"Likewise, Mr Mallard." The headmistress replied motioning him to take a seat at the table in the staff room. On Miss Cackle's orders, Mrs Tapioca had prepared an extra special Italian lunch for them and she hoped that it would satisfy their obviously refined guest.
"Evan, please." He offered the same brilliant smile, and elegantly sat at the table "Upon my word, it this home-made Bolognese?"
"Indeed it is" the other older woman in the room, Miss Bat, said with a squeak
"My absolute favourite… My grandmother was from Italy and I can honestly say that Italian food is one of my guilty pleasures." He said enchantingly while Miss Bat was putting a generous serving on his plate and Amelia made a mental note to thank Mrs Tapioca later.
He took a minute to look at the trio of women while he put a fair amount of parmesan on his pasta. Truth be told, he could not stand both his now deceased Italian grandmother and Italian food for that matter, but the trio didn't need to be made aware of that. Common curtsy should be maintained at all cost, regardless of the situation. The headmistress was round and plump, with kind eyes and greying hair. She reminded him of the aforementioned grandmother and decided, at once, that he had absolutely no use for her whatsoever. The other elderly lady seemed to have a few screws loose. She was exceedingly energetic and chatty, making little sense and he could not understand how this woman could be a teacher. Even if she was merely the chanting teacher, a subject for which Evan held little respect, he thought that both she and the person who had entrusted her with a classroom needed to be institutionalized. As far as the third woman was concerned, Evan was intrigued on two accounts. First, she was a non-witch teacher in a witch school. He suspected that she had to do a fair share of fighting to get her point across and he admired a woman with spirit. Secondly, she seemed to have taken a liking to him. He wasn't stupid, he knew that he had a certain effect on women, mostly due to genetics, but usually the women that were attracted to him were very unlike Cackle's gym mistress. They were flimsy, anorexic, spoiled brats while Imogen Drilled seemed a responsible, sensible woman. He decided, both for his own amusement and whatever advantages might come out of it, to nurture her initial attraction.
His musings were interrupted by the door gently closing behind him and, upon turning, he could see that another figure had entered the room. The magical signature, so different and so familiar at the same time, told him that she was the person he was looking for. Out of curtsy he rose from his seat and walked towards the tall woman, clad in a black dress, which would have been tight fitting had she not lost so much weight the past few days. After the episode in the potions laboratory, it had taken Constance almost two hours and a myriad of healing potions to recuperate, but now she was standing straight and tall, albeit dizzier than normal. While she could not pretend to be fine, at least she could carry her own, constantly diminishing, weight. Evan noticed a look of concern pass on the face of headmistress, who was also now standing, at the sight of the woman and his suspicions were instantly confirmed. It was working.
"This is my deputy, Constance Hardbroom." Mrs Cackle said still eyeing her deputy with poorly hidden distress.
"Miss Hardbroom" he nodded his head again, a look of surprise appearing on his face for a split second before being covered by the cheerful, polite façade.
"Mr. Mallard" the formidable witch merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, not bothering to hide her displeasure at the new presence in the staff room.
"As I was telling your colleagues, please call me Evan." He said smoothly, pulling the chair for her to sit.
The woman raised her eyebrows but accepted the offer, gracefully sitting on the chair. Evan took a moment to look at the woman who, unbeknownst to anyone, even herself, was currently holding the fate of the world in her hands. Or rather, round her neck. She wasn't extremely beautiful, especially at the present time, but he could certainly say that she had an interesting look about her. The way in which she held her slight frame with dignity and control, the sure movements of her hands as she took one of the glasses from the table, the impenetrable, almost stubborn, look in her eyes, they were all things that fascinated him. For a moment he almost felt bad for her. Who knew what she was hiding behind the form-fitting black dress and granite-like expression? Who knew how many times those dark eyes had been filled with tears? Who knew how much pain and suffering was trapped in her stubbornly beating heart?
'Oh well… what needs to be done, will be done.' He bitterly thought and turned his attention towards the entire party of women.
"So, Mr… Evan, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking…" the non-witch member of the staff asked politely, with a certain shine in her blue eyes.
"Of course I don't mind, Madam." He smiled in the same pleasant fashion that seemed to be working on all present apart from the deputy. The most recent addition to the staff room did not only seem completely disinterested in what he had to say, but also seemed more than annoyed by his presence. Evan wondered for a moment if she was suspicious of his motifs for coming to the school or if she had little appetite for novelty. "I am… in the water business…"
"Water business? Do you produce bottled water?" Imogen asked, looking into his hazel eyes.
"No… I just move water from place to place" he said with a certain amount of derision that was incomprehensible to anyone but himself.
"Oh, so you are in the pluming industry…" the headmistress clarified
"I guess you can call it that…" he said in the same light-hearted tone and flashed a seductive smile towards the gym mistress, whose cheeks seemed to redden considerably.
"Now, Evan, in honour of your visit, we have prepared a little entertainment program." Amelia announced with a hint of satisfaction in her voice.
"I have composed a chant especially for the occasion!" Miss Bat interrupted proudly.
"How very thoughtful of you, Miss Bat!" he replied politely and could swear that he had heard the deputy softly snort at his side.
"… Yes… we also have a broomstick flying demonstration that Miss Hardbroom here has prepared with the third years." He headmistress followed, after chewing a generous bite of her pasta.
"Then I am indeed grateful to you, Miss Hardbroom, for broomstick flying is one of the many things that fascinate me about witchcraft" he turned to look at the woman whose plate was empty and had been nursing the same glass of water for quite a while. "It must be amazing to soar into the sky and feel such freedom…"
"It does have a certain appeal." The deputy answered unsmilingly and he could swear that even at one thousand meters above the ground she would be as straight-laced and emotionless as she was in that moment.
"Well, I think flying is a great asset for witches" he put an end to the subject diplomatically and turned towards Miss Cackle. "Now, with your permission, headmistress, I was wondering if I could get a tour of the school"
"Most certainly, Evan!" Amelia said promptly.
"Miss Drill, would you mind being my guide?" he said in the same sweet voice and despite herself, the teacher felt her face redden once more while nodding. "Shall we?" he rose from his chair and extended his left hand towards the blonde woman. As she took it and they both left the table, Evan's right hand accidentally touched Constance's shoulder.
While Evan and Imogen were walking side by side trough the draughty corridors of the academy, the girls had positioned themselves strategically to catch a glimpse of their visitor before the presentation. A few days ago the student body had been told that a new patron was to come to visit the school. The excitement, quickly stifled by one of Miss Hardbroom's booming threats, didn't arise because apparently the man would donate money for improvements to the school, but because they had a visitor. Something interesting was finally happening at Cackle's. They had already seen him come into the school and some had already placed bets on whether HB would turn him into a frog or not, but now they wanted a second chance to see him firsthand.
"I think Miss Drill is sweet on him" Maud said in a whisper while inconspicuously reading a passage from her potions textbook.
"I wonder what Serge would say…" Enid added with derision noticing the way in which the teacher seemed to gravitate towards the man.
"Forget about Serge! HB would have kittens if Miss Drill and Mr Mallard became an item and he came to school more often! " Ruby followed and all the girls sniggered.
"Hello, girls!" a male voce resounded through the corridor and the girls saw the man in question flash them a huge smile and wave informally at the party.
"Hello, Mr Mallard!" the four voices replied in unison.
"He is quite handsome, isn't he?" Enid whispered as the couple was out of earshot.
"Yes, he is…" Jadu answered with a dreamy look on her face.
"We should go get ready for the demonstration." Maud, the voice of reason, declared, wondering briefly if Mildred's little … blue problem was solved.
The flying tableau that Constance had chosen to represent with the third year girls was beautiful and tasteful. She had chosen another historic moment from the life of Lucy Fairweather and divided the third year girls into two equal groups: those who were flying and those who were not. Ethel Hallow, the witch that was steadiest on her broom, played, to the delight of her over-inflated ego, the good-witch Lucy, while Enid Nightshade, also a decent flyer, represented her nemesis, Harriet Hogweed. Others, like Ruby, Drusilla and Jadu were also on their brooms showing the other witches and wizards that had participated, albeit with a minor role, in the battle.
Amelia did not often have the chance to truly say this, but, upon seeing the graceful way in which they soared through the sky, she could declare that she was proud of her girls. The entre student body apart from the performers, all dressed in their Halloween best, was seated on some stands that Mr Blossom had created for the occasion, while the staff and their guest of honour was sitting on the opposite side of the courtyard. Davina, clothed in one of her frilly black dresses and wearing her grandmother's pearls, was positioned, with some select few members of the first and second years near Walker's Gate and was providing the musical background. The greatest transformation, though, was that of Imogen, probably proof of how much she liked the school's benefactor. Instead of her usual gym clothes, she had opted for a pair of velvet-like black pants, a simple blue strapless top, and a black jacket made from the same material as the pants. Furthermore, in an effort to look both taller and appear classier, she was wearing the only pair of stilettos she possessed. Black and shiny, the only time she had worn them before was at her best friend's wedding, almost five years previously. The object of the gym mistress' affection was sitting with the staff, placated on both sides by Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom and wore a warm, inviting expression on his face as he was watching the presentation prepared in his honour.
With good reason Mildred hadn't been trusted with flying, and was among those that were reciting the ballad. As she stood next to Maud, desperately hoping that she will not forget when her turn would come, she could not help but sneak some concerned looks towards her form teacher. Dressed, like all the staff and students, in her celebratory dark green robes and with her hair loose on her shoulders, Mildred noticed that, despite her obvious pallor, the woman looked much younger and much prettier. Next to Miss Hardbroom, Mr Mallard, with whom the girls had minimal contact up to that point, also sometimes turned his head from the activity in the sky to catch a glimpse of the potion mistress. For a moment, Mildred fought the urge to snigger as she wondered if Mr Mallard fancied HB. If he did, he was sure to end up as a frog, for it was known throughout the school that the deputy hated everything that was male.
"Let me in…" the voice was sweet and almost child-like, but it had a sinister quality to it. Although it seemed barely above a whisper, Mildred could hear it loud and clear and it definitely gave her goose bumps.
"Did you hear that?" Mildred turned to Maud and asked her as discretely as possible.
"Hear what, Millie?" her best friend whispered inconspicuously
"The voice" she whispered back
Maud shook her head wordlessly and started to recite yet another line from the poem, while Mildred's gaze was once again attracted towards her form teacher. Suddenly the woman seemed to be even paler, her lips having a strange bluish tint to them. A small circle of red light seemed to shine through the dress her form mistress wore. Although there was nothing special about it and could be dismissed as a trick of the eyes, Mildred felt a unique attraction towards the light, for it looked so alluring, so warm, so mesmerizing. She could not understand why, but she wanted the circle of light to be hers. She felt that is was already hers. Because she was so focused on the small light, the girl failed to notice that it was her turn to recite one of the lines. The deputy turned her stare towards the culprit of the interruption and their eyes met for a second. Blue against deep hazel. The woman's eyes widened in surprise and irrational fear. With a breathless gasp and clutching at the dark material directly above her heart, Constance Hardbroom gracefully fell to the ground, senseless.
Author's Note:
Alas, we have reached the end of yet another chapter. I do hope it rose to your expectations. Also, feel free to send me your comments, flames, questions, random thoughts, or whatever through your reviews as I would truly like to read your opinion. I do promise that I reply to each and every one of my reviews.
If you did not become bored with the story yet, here is a little sneak preview for the next chapter.
Sneak Preview: Mildred has a revelation. Miss Bat is suddenly saner than ever. Amelia realizes something very important about her deputy while Noah and Hope race against time.