Author's Note:
Dear reader,
Once again thanks for doing me the honour of returning to this fiction. For those that send me their questions through their reviews, what can I say? Every single one of the lines that you write in those reviews is greatly appreciated. I have no words to express my gratitude towards Chrissiemusa, chocomoon, Aleksandra Hardbroom, HB rules and Princess Sammi (whose wonderful collection of Worst Witch fanfictions is a must!). Yet again I need to commend NextChristineDaae on her sheer awesomeness. I think I speak for all those that have read Appearances Can Be Deceptive (again, if you didn't read it thus far, you must do so immediately) when I say that we are waiting for the next chapter of this most amazing story with baited breath.
Before you start reading this chapter, you should be aware that I am not a doctor, or have been trained in the medical field in any way, and that you should take all the medical things that are present henceforth with a pinch of salt. I did do my best to research Constance's condition, but in due course it will be explained magically rather than medically. If I do make some glaring mistakes and you become aware of them please do feel free to point them out and I will do my best to correct them.
Yours faithfully,
Lemondrop
FIRE AND ICE
BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR
Chapter 5: Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live (Norman Cousins)
She had never been healthy. Ever since she had been a child her life had been a vicious cycle of hospitalization, releases and hospitalizations again. It was a bright autumn day, in the beginning of her second year in middle school when it first happened. Back then, her classmates had come every single day to visit her and when she was released they came to her house to play. Like every child her age, despite that it always left her breathless and sick, she enjoyed playing hide and seek, tag and musical chairs. She wanted and needed the contact with the outside world. Yet, that only happened the first time. After her second and third hospital visits, their life went on and she was left behind. Before she even knew it, even those she had called friends had only become mere acquaintances and after that, strangers. It seemed that to them the reality of her disease was an unpleasant fact, and, refusing to acknowledge it, they had erased the scrawny, blond haired girl from their collective memories.
She had met him five months before, when he had been admitted for a cough and was promptly told, in a roundabout fashion, that he was going to die. He then had been transferred to the hospital's hospice that had been her house and prison for almost two springs. It was with increasing interest that she had watched the boy, the only one in that sterile, cold place that was close to her age, and every day she wanted and hoped that he would notice her as well. Yet, he kept looking at life and at himself with of the unusual detachment of those that are aware that their life is coming to an end and refuse to fully accept it. As if it was happening to someone else. As if he was watching one of those sob-stories on TV. Maybe it was because he was in complete and utter denial or maybe it was because of their surprisingly similar conditions that one day she decided to talk to him. They had been inseparable ever since.
When the ending was to come they wanted to face it in the same way they have lived for the past five months which had seemed like five long years: together. Nevertheless even this small kindness seemed too much for fate to offer. Despite being progressively sicker for years, her body was strong. Her body wanted to live and desperately clung to every ounce of power she possessed. Thus, she watched helplessly as her best friend, her companion, and her last link to sanity took his final ragged breaths. She knew what she had to do. With the same unknowing diligence with which he had managed to pull her out of her misery and monotony, she would accompany him on his last journey. It was a matter of duty. She could not let him face death alone.
When she saw the woman walk in, she instinctively knew that both her time and his had drawn to a close. As a person's body is failing all their five senses are also spiralling downwards, hearing being the last one to go. At least this is the scientific version. What most books about palliative care don't tell is that, while the traditional senses disappear almost completely as the body reaches its final stages, they are replaced by others that transgress the boundaries of consciousness and rational thought. Some sceptic scientists may argue that dying people are more perceptive because their awareness of their non-exiting future or of those they leave behind is increased, while others might say that those who are fading are, as a result of their despair, borderline delusional. Both opinions would be terribly wrong. The main reason that those close to death have what has often been called a sixth sense is ridiculously simple: belief. Belief, or rather the power to unconditionally believe in something, is one of those underestimated gifts that had been given to mankind by a superior power and that is often lost in the search for knowledge. Like children, those who are ready to depart from the physical realm are ready to cling to every trace of evidence that their life is more than it seems. They desperately, and understandably, need to believe that the end of existence is anything but a cold carcass eaten by worms, an uninviting wooden box and mountains of earth on top of their unfeeling corpse .
"Please, don't...Not yet…" she asked tentatively, looking at how serenely the woman walked to the sick bed of her friend.
Hope turned her eyes to look upon the young teenager and sighed softly. She wondered what her true punishment was: the fact that she had to take all those souls or the fact that she had to confront all those that they left behind. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. The five stages of grief and also the five stages of dyeing. She had met individuals that were going through every single one of them and was marvelled, for a second, at how intact her sanity remained. If she had to pick one that she hated most it had to be "Acceptance". Although Bargaining was a close second, as people seemed to do almost anything to delay death, the final stage was for her the hardest to deal with. When the person in question comes to terms with his own mortality or that of a loved one he loses the optimism that had kept him alive. He looses that flicker in his eyes that told the world he was still fighting. It torn Hope's very soul to see those blank, lifeless, defeated stares and made her mission so much more difficult. In the present case, despite the girl's half-hearted attempt at pleading with her, the woman, by the look in her eyes, knew that she had reached the final stage. The stage where the psychological battle was over and the body was submissive to everything and anything.
"You are in no better condition than him and yet you beg for him but not for yourself? Why?" she said softly, hoping against all hope that she will somehow make the girl's eyes sparkle again. That she will be able to see some sort of defiance.
"He… I… I don't know…" she stuttered sincerely not knowing what to answer. While she had had years to get accustomed to the fact that she was going to die, the reality of his mortality had come almost too suddenly. Of course, she wasn't a fool, she knew that he was too sick to remain alive, just that her brain didn't, couldn't rationally process it, up to that very moment.
"I'm sorry… I cannot help you…" Hope replied sincerely, knowing that there was little she could do to prevent the events that were to come.
"It's alright. I tried" the girl answered mechanically, in the same way that one answers a monotone, day to day request.
It was ridiculously easy to obtain morphine in a place where death reigned supreme so the girl wasn't too concerned about the negative answer she received. Firstly, she did not expect to even be able to talk to Death itself, or what she supposed that it was at least one of Death's minions. Secondly, even if she had indeed managed to convince the woman in front of her to not take his soul away, she would have only bought time. Precious time, but only insignificant time, as the reality of their joint conditions would still have remained the same. As she took out the already prepared morphine syringe she couldn't help but think that maybe it was better this way. At least she got to die painlessly, on her own terms, which could not be said about the boy in the bed next to her.
"Don't…" Hope whispered softly. The young woman looked her in the eye and raised a curious eyebrow. "If you do it, you will sully your soul beyond repair."
"It doesn't matter. I am not leaving him alone. I promised that we will make this journey together" she replied with determination Hope had been looking for, and the woman smiled at the bitter irony. She had wanted to make the girl determined to live, not to die.
"What makes you think that there is something beyond?" Hope asked with a hint of derision in her voice. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept the conversation going long enough, she would manage to rekindle some of that flame, that spark of life.
"It's just what I believe" the teenager said it as if it was the absolute truth, which for her, and her alone it was.
"What if you are wrong?" belief was something strong to counteract and sometimes while belief in another world increased awareness in terminal patients, it also stifled their will to live. Why bother to live in a realm where you are in pain, when your soul could go somewhere where it is free of all physical constraints?
"Then at least I put an end to the pain and I got the luxury of having a choice." She rationalized and Hope could see some merit in what she said.
"A choice?" the woman asked genuinely curious
"Yes. The choice to die when I want to, not when my body decides to" the same determination and detachment were written on her face and Hope was inclined to believe the righteousness of her actions. If she had been in a similar situation she would have done the same.
"You know, I can see how much you have left. What if I told you that you still had a long time ahead?" her voice had lost its mocking tone and now she was talking in all seriousness, seeing the red, flame-like numbers forming above the teenager's head.
"I wouldn't care. I made a promise and I intend to keep it" she simply replied stoking the morphine needle gently with pale, long fingers.
"You would give up all that you have for him? Why?" she asked in sheer surprise, knowing exactly how much she would give up. It was, in her opinion, a lot.
"Because he made me live again. There is no point of existing when I am not alive" she fumbled about with the object that was to bring her death and wondered for a second if what the woman had said was true. If she took her own life voluntarily, would she endanger the immortality of her soul? Would that mean that she would never get to see her friend again, wherever she was going? Would it mean that she would leave him alone?
Guessing her fears, Hope smiled and took the morphine syringe from her hands. As if she could understand what the woman wanted to do, the girl did not oppose her and merely dragged her chair closer to his bed. Putting a warm hand in his cold one, and extending the other arm in front of the brunette, she closed her eyes waiting for the lethal dose. A look of peacefulness and happiness graced her features and despite the enormity of what she was doing, Hope felt somewhat satisfied when she pushed the needle in the pale flesh. The fluid drained slowly from it and she watched it intently. Despite all that she had done in the past, it was the first time she had truly killed, and even if she knew that she had done both of them a great kindness, she couldn't help but feel a growing emptiness enter her body, invade her soul and crush her organs. She took a deep breath and placed her cold hands on both their foreheads, giving them eternal release. As she took two souls instead of one, for the first time in her life Hope cried. She cried for all that was lost. She cried for all that was coming. But most of all she, she cried for all that she was supposed to do.
From the corner of the grand ball room she could see the couple spinning gracefully on the dance floor as Strauss' Blue Danube played in the background. The man, tall with a head of dark coarse hair that fell with elegance in his eyes, held the blond woman's hand delicately. The woman whose golden locks were pulled together in a somewhat messy bun, smiled happily at her partner holding her slight frame with a certain degree of dignity. Constance watched he parents dance like she had done so many times before when she was a child and could feel her throat tighten with unshed tears. They were so very beautiful together, their couple being the perfect symbiosis of female daintiness and male vigour. They were also so very happy. In both their eyes a secret gleam seemed to shine, like they knew each other's deepest secrets while their bodies appeared to have the comfort that is only apparent in couples who know each other incredibly well. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to lock that blissfully happy moment in her mind when she suddenly disappeared.
Seconds later, she was the one spinning on the dance floor and the tempo of the music had been replaced with Ravel's La valse, un poème choré was Constance's turn to be dressed in a white dress, which it immediately dawned on her that was a wedding dress, with her black hair loose from the confines of its usual bun. As they were both moving with the music, with almost practiced steps, her father's eyes met hers and she could see nothing but joy in them. As she was moving in tune with the bittersweet sound of the waltz, she felt the silk of the wedding dress caress her legs, and the veil on her head touch her white shoulders gently. For a moment she remembered a time when all this was real and she was dressed in a very similar wedding dress. She remembered her father throwing her the same proud smile and she replying to it wholeheartedly. She recalled that back then she was truly happy and her heart involuntarily skipped a beat at thinking about all that she had lost.
Her father's featured were changed slightly to reveal a face that had become so familiar to her, while the classical music was replaced with a much more modern piece: Edith Piaf's L'Accordéoniste. The man smiled at her, a dazzling white smile that she had seen every day for the past week and she could feel a sensation on warmth in her stomach, together with natural uneasiness. As if sensing her fears, Noah held her hand tightly, as if to tell her he would never let go and placed an even firmer hand on her exposed back. His green eyes sparkled in delight when watching the woman in front of him and she felt her mouth open up in a most genuine smile. His smell, so manly and so comforting, his strong arms encircling her, his jade eyes looking upon her frame as if she was the most precious jewel in the world, they all made her feel protected. They made her feel completely safe. She still had his blissfully happy face engraved in her mind when she woke up.
Millie looked mystified at the way in which the cold rain was falling in the courtyard of Overblow castle, making the adjacent buildings look like ghosts in the slight, pale shine of the moon. Her room went suddenly dark and the student could feel her breath hitch and hands shake. From one of the corners a flicker of white light shone faintly and Millie ran towards it with all her might. As she was running, the light seemed to go further and further away and a sense of desperation bubbled in the girl's soul. What if she could never reach it? Feeling tired she allowed herself to fall into a crumpled mess on the stone floor when she felt an ice cold hand grab her wrist. Instinctively looking up, the student discerned obscurely the face of a young girl, about three or four years old, dressed in a tattered wedding dress too big for her. Terror beyond belief invaded her heart and had she been able to find her voice she would have screamed.
"Let me in!" the sound of the creatures' voice was mournful and had a metallic quality to it which did nothing to settle Mildred's nerves. She desperately tried to draw her arm from the fierce grip but it seemed useless.
"Who… are …you?" the teenager stuttered as she looked into the dead hazel eyes of the apparition and tried to close her ears to its lamentable plea.
"Let me in! I have been gone for so long! I have lost my way but now I came back home…" the thing maintained its tenacious gripe and Mildred felt her nails dug into the hand of the figure.
"Who are you?" fear made her cruel and she desperately tied to hurt the child while pulling her arm from the cold grip. She could feel, at the tip of her fingers that she had drawn blood.
"Let me in!" the girl seemed above pain and continued whining in a most pitiful fashion. Had she not been mad with fear, the student would have empathised with the child. She closed her eyes and felt hot tears fall on her cheeks trying to make the spirit and its doleful cry disappear. It was useless.
"Okay" she said softly hoping that the figure would finally dispel and that she would find herself in her hard bed at Cackle's. With a satisfied smile, the child's eyes gleamed maliciously.
Constance felt too tired to move. Every single breath she took seemed to be too much for her weakened frame and she could say, with all confidence, that she hated it. Despite her own frailty, when she heard the sharp scream pierce through the empty corridors she managed to pull herself together and, leaning on the wall for support, she promptly reached the source of the scream. Students were already crowding Mildred Hubble's room and Constance could not help but sigh softly. What had the girl gotten herself into, this time? It was beyond her how someone could get into so much trouble and, most of the time, not be aware of it. As she made her way trough the small crowd and into the room she could see the girl was twisting and turning, screaming until her throat was raw while her two best friends, Enid and Maud tried, to no avail, to wake her up.
"Back to bed, girls!" she said with some semblance of authority moving towards her distressed pupil.
Despite the clear instruction, both Enid and Maud refused to leave their friend's side until they were sure she was fine. They both knew that Mildred had a vivid imagination and that it sometimes caused some very powerful nightmares, but in the three years they had known their fellow student, she had never had such a reaction. Beads of sweat were quickly forming on her forehead and her breath was coming in shallow gasps as she was screaming. If they didn't know better, they would have said that she was in pain. Miss Hardbroom also came next to the bed and gracefully sat on its side, mostly because she didn't feel like her legs could carry her any longer but also because, in that position, she would have an easier access to the student.
"Constance, what are you doing? You are supposed to be in bed!" an elder voice was hard in the doorway and the plum form of the headmistress, in her nightclothes and with hair sticking out at odd angles quite comically, appeared in view trying to make her fuzzy brain take in all that was happening.
"Spare me the diatribe, Amelia. This girl needs help…" Constance answered sharply and placed a hand on her student's shoulder, gently shaking it while the headmistress realized, with a sigh, that it would take an army of fully armed mercenaries to keep Constance away from her students, especially when one needed her attention.
As if on cue, as soon as the deputy's hand touched her shoulder, Mildred's eyes snapped open to reveal her brilliant blue irises. A look of confusion passed on her features as she looked around for a second, her mind trying to take everything in. She could see her friends throwing her worried looks from the far end of the room, she noticed the headmistress rubbing the sleep from her eyes and trying to understand what was happening and she could see the graceful, swan-like figure that sat next to her on the bed with a concerned stare in her hazel eyes. Upon seeing her form mistress, her eyes involuntarily filled with tears of longing. She had no logical explanation for the tears, she did not understand her urge to be close to her teacher, and she could not control what she did next. In a swift movement that surprised all those that were in the room, she lifted her upper body and enveloped Miss Hardbroom in a tight hug. The woman stiffened at the touch, not knowing what to do with her arms and how to respond to such a tender gesture. She had had years of experience dealing with children that had nightmares but no one before has seemed as terrified as Mildred. Also, none of them had ever hugged her. Actually, as far as she could remember no one had dared to embrace her for almost twenty years. Despite herself and feeling the wave of desperation coming from her student, she gently placed her arms around the shaking shoulders, tracing comforting circles on her student's back with her left hand.
"I am home" Mildred whispered softly holding onto Miss Hardbroom for dear life, her tears falling on the impeccable purple satin of the woman's pyjamas.
In a society where everyone is assigned a label according to their ability to think properly, and where the bias of personal and cultural values influences the perception on normality, it is more than challenging to define what can be regarded as "normal" or "abnormal". As the society, by its own diverse character, encourages the development and the preservation of cultural differences, human beings that belong to different countries regard the parameters of normality differently. Furthermore, culture is not the only one that affects such parameters, as more personal factors like the standard of living, education, upbringing, and social environment have an effect on the actions that one perceives as "insane". Humanity is clearly divided in establishing the rules that could proclaim a person as either sane or insane, for each human being can be considered someone else's madman. Davina Bat was thus convinced that she wasn't insane and that those around her were the ones that were utterly mad.
Art is probably the sole aspect of life that manages to thrive from insanity and as such, the chanting teacher considered her eccentricity as a very valuable asset in performing her art . Being free spirits and having a compulsory need to express themselves , artists have been traditionally considered "insane" for their rather different style of living. Although many of the great artists of the world, like Van Gogh and Picasso were labelled as mad only because of having different conceptions on life, they had persevered with the upmost tenacity in pursuing their artistic tendencies and only through that they had managed to become great. With the same perseverance, Davina also pursued her chanting, accepted and embraced her eccentricity and expected those around her to do so as well.
On the other hand, she was perfectly conscious that individuals are part of a society and no matter how much a human being wishes to be subject to their own moral values when being regarded as either sane or insane, that is hardly possible. Someone that inflicts pain on others or hurts himself deliberately can not be considered normal by the society for he is not only a threat to himself but to the others surrounding him. In this respect, Davina thought that the main person that labelled her as mad almost on a daily basis, Constance Hardbroom was possibly more deranged than she was. She of course knew that the deputy would never hurt anyone on purpose, but she also was aware that the woman had a self-destructive streak to her character. Even now, when she was clearly sick and needed all the help she could get, the deputy retreated into her shell as if she wanted to be alone. Although she had never pegged the woman as suicidal, Davina wondered if she truly wanted to die and if she did, she could not help but wonder why. As if she was fed up with her very own existence, the fierce potion mistress looked upon herself and her predicament with little interest and that made all her colleagues, not only the chanting teacher, more than worried. It seemed that, like Miss Bad herself, Miss Hardbroom had a hard time understanding that life is in fact a succession of interactions and individuals are designed to live in a community with others. And with this consciousness and with the upmost resilience in their respective odd behaviours, both women carried on every day, regardless of the looks they were given by others.
It was with these thoughts, and after a particular harsh exchange with Imogen about the benefits of extra Mongolian chanting lessons for the first year girls that Miss Bat entered Cosy's. There was only one other occupant in Cosy's Tea Room and that was, in Davina's opinion, a very posh young lady. She stood at one of the far end tables, dressed in a short blue skirt showing well-toned legs, a white silk shirt that was falling delicately on her moderate curves and knee-high black boots with an impossible high heel, all items showing a certain amount of wealth. She wore what the chanting teacher supposed that nowadays passed for modern accessories and she could not help but think that the girl looked like one of the models she had seen in some of Imogen's glossy magazines. Despite being very attractive, her beauty wasn't the most striking thing about the young woman. It was the look of boredom in her face, as she played with one of her perfect dark curls that attracted Davina's attention. That and the fact that the woman was obviously a stranger in the small village near the school. Her first impulse was to think that maybe she was one of Mr Mallard's acquaintances, as the man was the only one that had visited those parts who had the same noble stance and somewhat royal air. As if only becoming aware of the new addition to the restaurant, the girl raised her head from the cup of coffee she had been nursing and offered a polite nod towards the older woman.
"Good day!" Davina said in an enthusiastic high-pitched voice, taking the woman's feeble salute as an invitation. "The cream buns here are delicious, aren't they?"
"I wouldn't know. I am not that fond of sweets" she answered politely, a slight hint of amusement obvious in her low tone at the randomness of the subject her interlocutor had chosen.
"Oh! You should definitely try one!" she said animatedly, with an exaggerated nod of her head. "Davina Bat" the woman extended her hand with a cheerful smile.
"Nice to meet you! I am Hope Hawthorne." The girl shook her hand with the same slightly mocking smile, gesturing Davina to take a seat on the chair opposite to her.
"Hope. Such a beautiful name!" the woman took the offered seat with a sparkle in her grey eyes, much like a child that had been told Christmas would come early.
"What would you like today, Miss Bat?" the owner of the café said warmly and Hope looked up to see Mrs Cosy's friendly face.
"Sweet tea and a cream bun" the teacher replied still happy that she had made a new, and in her opinion, very interesting acquaintance.
"And you dear? Would you like another cup of coffee?" Mrs Cosy was secretly pleased that her new faithful guest was in the company of such a colourful character like the teacher. For the past week, the girl had come to her café, alone with a thick book in tow and spent hours and hours reading while sipping cups and cups of bitter dark coffee. It was only because she respected the privacy of her customers and also because the girl looked like a very private person, that the owner did not dare to ask her why she was always alone.
"Actually, as Miss Bat speaks so highly of them, I would like one of those cream buns as well" she said evenly, noticing the surge of colour rising in the woman's cheeks, possibly because of the pleasure she felt at being taken seriously for once.
"So what brings you here Miss Hawthorne?" the chanting teacher asked eagerly.
"Please call me Hope. I am supposed to do an apprenticeship here, at the school, but there has been some difficulty with the paperwork" she repeated Noah's rehearsed answer perfectly and the teacher's eyes widened more than humanly possible.
"Oh! I am a teacher there!" she squeaked while Mrs Cosy placed the cup in front of her and a plate with the sweet pastry in the middle of the table.
"Really? How lucky am I to meet an experienced member of the staff before I start my examination" she replied warmly and Miss Bat's cheeks flushed again with colour at being recognised as a veteran member of the staff.
"And what subject are you doing your apprenticeship in?" she inquired, oblivious to the subtle and foreign surge of magic that was now coursing through her body.
"Potions" Hope answered pleasantly, somewhat dissatisfied that her experiment had failed and that the woman standing in front of her wasn't who she was looking for.
"You might have some difficulties then…" Davina said apprehensively thinking of how harsh the resident potion mistress was with all the student teachers that came to Cackle's. At the young woman's slightly raised eyebrows, she launched in a full tale of the schools previous experience with apprentices together with a description of the staff and students. In less than an hour, Hope knew that if she ever desired any information she could easily go to Davina Bat and, with so much as a gentle nudge, the woman would spill everything she knew effortlessly.
Despite Noah's orders and Amelia's constant pestering nothing could keep Constance Hardbroom from her potions lab any longer. Although it would have been presumptuous of her to claim that she was fine, she felt that if she kept staying locked up in her room she would loose her mind. As such, after a week of careful monitoring and testing from her doctor, together with some pills that marginally eased her nausea and dizziness, forceful feeding on the part of the headmistress and unnecessary attentions from her other two colleagues, Miss Hardbroom descended breathlessly from the confines of her chamber and went into the potions lab only to find some of her stocks depleted. She then decided, against the feeling of tiredness that was slowly but surely creeping up on her, that she could do with a walk in the nearby woods to collect some of the herbs that were missing. Thus, with a slow step, so different from her usual quick one, and with multiple pauses to catch her breath she entered the forest and felt her lungs fill in with the blissful fresh air. Knowing that despite her better efforts her body would not cooperate any longer, the woman gracefully lowered herself on one of the roots of an older tree and allowed her back to lean on the rough surface of its bark.
"How is my patient today?" Doctor Elwood's warm baritone rang behind her and she instinctively turned to see the tall man leaning next to a tree. Quite frankly ever since her latest attack, everyone seemed to not only treat her like a fragile object but also follow her everywhere. Not that she had been allowed to go to that many places anyway.
"I am fine…" she replied softly, closing her eyes and taking a deeper breath. The smell of autumn leaves and musty ground ensnared her senses and she wished for a moment that she could spend her remaining days there, in that spot, in the middle of the forest.
"I am glad to hear it" he said sincerely and she could feel him coming closer to her. Immediately she added yet another favourite scent to her list. The odour of his manly aftershave. "I have your test results"
"You do?" she asked dreamily, her eyes still closed taking in the wonder of the nature. Quite frankly she wasn't very interested in what those results said. She knew, in her very core, that no matter what the yellow envelope he was holding contained, the dénouement would still be the same. She couldn't explain how or why she knew, maybe it was her overly pessimistic character, but she was aware that there was little that medicine, science and potions combined could do for her. And while she did not have a special desire to die, she knew that it would be futile to fight it.
"Yes. I told you, I sent some of the blood samples I took from you to a colleague of mine at the London Hospital for Magical Diseases and Afflictions and asked him to run various tests on it. One of these tests is called B-type natriuretic peptide or, BPN for short and was pretty conclusive in forming a diagnosis. Because your BPN levels were greater than four hundred per millilitre and also taking into account your other symptoms, I can say with all confidence that what you have is a condition known as congestive heart failure." He used his business-like voice, still trying to explain as gently as possible what the woman had. He did not, could not, tell her that she was probably a modern medical miracle as she had managed, single handily, with no other underlying conditions and a clean bill of health otherwise, to develop stage three congestive heart failure in less than a month.
"I see" she said calmly, taking in all the information and finding it mattered little for her.
"I know it sounds bad, but you know… this is not a death sentence. The progression of the disease can be managed" he tried to sound convincing but they both knew, from different sources, that what he was saying was far from the truth.
"How?" she asked with a modicum of interest, more not to appear suicidal than anything else.
"Firstly, I need to say that it already reached stage three, which means that we need to take a slightly more drastic approach to slow down its development. I already gave you some diuretics to prevent fluid from building in your lungs and I can see that you are responding to them quite nicely. Also, I am prescribing you some Captopril, which is an ACE Inhibitor and needs to be taken three times per day, and also Bisoprolol which is a Beta Blocker, both being for your heart. We are starting on a low dose initially and then, after I have seen how you respond to treatment I will increase the dose as necessary" he started to explain, reciting what he just said from memory, much like most medical students do before an important exam. To his surprise, for someone as pedantic as Constance she seemed to show little interest in what he was prattling and wondered if she had given up. To his surprise the thought affected him more than normal. "Also, there are plenty of invasive procedures that we could try, if chemical treatment doesn't work" he followed meekly, hoping that he would give the woman something to cling herself to. A lifeline that would ignite the fire of living in her soul.
"Would you, honestly recommend surgery?" she finally opened her hazel eyes and looked into his deep green eyes that seemed somewhat troubled.
"No. In your case I wouldn't…" he had dropped the business-like voice and his tone was much softer, much more personal. As if what he had just declared was paining him on a personal level and she got the distinct impression that he knew more than he let on.
"Then we are in agreement" she answered with a knowing smile
"Everything is going to be fine" his voice shook more than normal as he looked upon the pale, flawless skin that was contrasting so very beautifully with her dark hair and red lips.
"I thought doctors weren't supposed to lie to their patients" she yet again offered a tight half smile and wanted to stand up. Gallantly, Noah offered his hand and she gratefully accepted it, marvelling at how soft and gentle his big hands were.
In the darkness of the shabby inn room Hope waited. For the past week this had been her main activity: waiting, either if it was at Cosy's or in her room. She was waiting for Noah to come back from one of his endless visits to the academy, she was waiting for Evan to burst in the small village and challenge her headfirst, and she was waiting for the magical ritual to properly take effect. In short, she was incredibly bored and wanted something, anything to happen. In all truthfulness, she wanted nothing more than to have this whole affair over and done with. As if to contradict her, the ankh on the ring she wore on her left hand glowed a furious red, and the woman stroked it affectionately. Her boredom was a small price to pay for the greater good, wasn't it? Trying to quench the absolute tediousness of the situation, the woman took the huge volume she had been caring around with her everywhere she went and opened it at the last page she had read.
When Noah had suggested enrolling as a potions teacher apprentice as a form of infiltration, Hope had plainly declared that he had lost his marbles. While the doctor's plan did have some merit, there were a couple of logistical problems that could not be so easily overcome. To begin with, even if her training in the magical arts was extensive, Hope had never in her life attended a school, mostly because the kind of training she needed was not taught in schools. When she was a child her father had hired tutors to teach his daughter to read and write, basics about history and geography, foreign languages and lady-like manners but nothing more. All she knew about magic she had discovered on her own with the aid of ancient books, scrolls and entities, not because her parent was unwilling to help her but because he didn't know how he could help his daughter. Secondly, as a result of her less than ordinary training, Hope had never touched a cauldron in her life. What need could she possibly have for potions anyway? Thus, at the present time she was trying to get at least a modicum of training in the art of potion-making before she had to go to the academy and put up a somewhat believable show.
As she was reading about the benefits of some plant whose name she couldn't even pronounce properly, she secretly wondered how many strings Noah had pulled to get her the position of apprentice. She sure knew that he had faked a lot of documents as well, as the only documents she possessed to attest that she was alive and a member of the society were a battered birth certificate and a driving licence. Her friend had always nagged her, with the tenacity of an overgrown mother hen, to get her affairs in order but she always laughed at him, pointing out that even the Hawthorne Estate titles were in her father's name and that he had been dead for over ten years. After all, why would she need paperwork for? She didn't need to get a job, the money that were coming from the estate being enough to support her and any heirs she might have for a long time, she didn't need a passport as she hardly physically crossed any borders and she certainly didn't need or want the Guild to come barging at her door every now and then. No, for all intents and purposes, it was better to be invisible.
She cleared her mind and let Noah's feelings flood her brain. Under normal circumstance, she would have never, ever invaded her friend's privacy in such a way, but now when she barely saw him, even if they shared an uncomfortably small space, she did want to make sure that he was fine. Her main worry, which she had vociferated on countless occasions to no avail, was that he was taking everything too seriously and that he was forming bonds he could do without. As she entered his mind, with the tenderness of a summer breeze, she immediately knew that she had been right and that unnerved her somehow. Hope could feel so many warm feelings surround her, ranging from growing respect, to caring to something even stronger and more powerful. While those kinds of feelings were reserved, up to that point, for only two people, her and his mother, now they were addressed to someone else. Someone she didn't know but whose magical energy she recognised easily.
Hope closed her mind and put the usual barriers in place feeling that she had seen enough of Noah's mind. She had indeed wanted for something to happen but she would have never wanted anything like this. While their relationship had always been strictly one of friendship, and neither parties had ever wanted anything more, she felt a bitter taste in her mouth at his foolishness. Maybe she was just overprotective of her friend, but she knew that no matter how the whole thing would end, Noah would be the one to lose. Walking to the window and taking a look outside she noticed the second development she wasn't welcoming, in the form of a well-groomed, tall man whose arm was intertwined with that of an equally well-toned woman. Hope closed her eyes and sighed softly. Whoever said: "be careful what you wish for" was right.
Although she was a witch faithful to the Code, Amelia could not help feel a surge of hate and revolt towards the Guild at several points in her career as a headmistress. The first one was when she had wanted to hire Imogen. Being the narrow-minded, bigoted witches they were, the Guild had almost exploded when they heard that Amelia wanted to hire a non-witch in a witch school. She had to go to hell and back to convince them of the appropriateness of her choice, and after mountains of paperwork, they had relented and Cackle's had gained a new gym mistress. The second one had been the visit of Hecketty Broomhead the previous year and she felt perfectly entitled to have such strong, less than positive, emotions towards the Guild, as they almost had the school closed down. The third and last one had been that very day when she, from mountains of unattended paperwork, had extracted a letter declaring that Cackle's Academy was to examine a new student teacher in potions. While the headmistress would have normally had no objections to attend to such requests from the official forum, now, in the light of Constance's poor condition, she wanted nothing less than put an extra strain on the woman. Even if the assigned student was brilliant and taught the girls perfectly, which had never been the case in the past, she knew that Miss Hardbroom would worry. She was Constance, after all.
Hence, trying to explain in as little detail as possible the situation in the school, more for the sake of Miss Hardbroom's privacy than anything else, Amelia had been on the phone with the Guild for the past five hours. Being transferred from department to department, being encouraged to place useless complaints in writing that she knew no one would ever read and being told to hold the line a countless times, did nothing to reassure the headmistress of a swift resolution to her plight or of the Guild's efficiency. After five hours of being tossed like a tennis ball from official to official, Amelia finally received an answer but it wasn't the one she was waiting for. Albeit the resident potion mistress went on a leave of absence, which was as probable as hell freezing over, Cackle's was to accommodate and examine a new witch student teacher in potions.
"Ladies, I have an announcement to make…"Amelia said tiredly and wondered how on earth Constance managed to stay on her feet after what she had been through the past weeks. "As a special request of the Guild we are to examine a student potions teacher. She will be arriving this Monday and her name is…" the headmistress said, taking all her information from the official letter she had received.
"Hope!" Davina said enthusiastically, munching on some freshly picked roses. "I met her earlier!"
"Indeed. Her name is Hope Hawthorne. Where did you meet her, Davina?" she asked patiently, somewhat surprised that the witch was already somewhere in the vicinity of the school.
"Today, at Cosy's. She told me that there had been some difficulty with the paperwork for her placement. She is a most delightful young woman!" the chanting teacher declared with an exaggerated nod of her head, as if wanting to convince her fellow co-workers of the truthfulness of her words.
"I do hope that she is qualified enough to deal with the third year…"Miss Hardbroom raised a sceptical eyebrow, a recommendation form Miss Bat not being a form of flattery in her books.
"I think the girls will love her! She is so nice and so well put together!" the chanting teacher said more forcefully, guessing what her stoic colleague was implying.
"She is not supposed to be loved Miss Bat, but be respected. She is not coming here to make friends, but to be assessed and teach the girls!" Constance's tone was sharper than intended and she could almost see the chanting teacher physically shrink in her battered chair.
"There's nothing wrong with being loved by the girls, Constance…" the woman's voice was now softer and carried a lot more meaning that it did before and the potions mistress immediately understood what she meant. As she looked into her eyes, the stare of the older woman expressed so many emotions ranging from empathy to sincere sadness, all addressed to her, that Constance needed to take a deep breath to steady herself. She then knew, for certain, that despite their differences, the chanting teacher truly cared for her and hadn't meant what she said as an offence but as a friendly advice. An advice she couldn't follow, for it went against her very individuality.
"Now, there isn't any need to argue about Miss Hawthorne's competence before we even met her." Amelia said in a motherly voice noticing the subtle silent exchange between the two staff members and being secretly pleased about it. Maybe if Constance realized that she was surrounded by people who truly cared for her she would be willing to open up more. Maybe she would even ask for their help.
Only when the two left for their respective classes did Amelia notice her gym mistress starring quietly at the damp weather outside, with a dreamy look on her face. She hadn't said a word during the entire discussion and the headmistress suspected that she hadn't heard most of it either. The older woman could feel her lips turning into an unwilling smile. Love did make fools out of people.
Imogen could feel her heart jump in her throat as she saw the blond man come through Walker's gate carrying a big, almost ostentatious, bouquet of red roses. Evan walked in the school as if he owned the place, and considering his previous donation he probably would have been able to buy it if he so saw fit. He was clearly in a good mood, smiling at the girls that were snickering at the sight of him with the roses while walking with refinement and confidence towards the staff room. There, in the same grandiose manner that would have probably suited no one but himself, he opened the door with a thud and offered the roses to the gym teacher who accepted them with a big grin and a flush in her tanned cheeks. Before turning to properly salute the headmistress, he graciously kissed her hand and she chuckled like a feeble-minded school girl.
"Miss Cackle, I am afraid I will yet again deprive you of the company of your gym mistress" he declared charmingly, with an exaggerated bow and the headmistress could not help but smile at his mock gallantry.
"This is truly becoming a habit, Evan" the older woman said with mock-seriousness, secretly pleased that Imogen had found someone as charming as him, although at times he did seem slightly larger-than-life.
"What can I do, if every passing day I find it harder to live without seeing Imogen's sweet face" he replied with an exaggerated sigh, and a playful smile appeared on his lips, while the woman in question blushed more profusely. "Shall we, my dear?"
"Where to?" Miss Drill asked self conscious of the ratty gym wear she was currently wearing. During the past week alone, after their first date, Evan had taken her to some of the most exquisite and expensive restaurants she had ever seen in her life, and if he had chosen a place of that calibre again, then she feared that her outfit would be quite inappropriate.
"That, my darling, is for me to know and for you to wonder" he said with derision and winked at the headmistress as he gently nudged Imogen out of the staff room. "Do not worry, you look more than lovely" he followed while opening the door of his sleek black car, as if guessing her doubts.
As they descended from the car in the middle of the village square Evan could feel the rush of powerful magical energy surround him. Instinctively he looked up and found the source of such strong magic easily. There at the window of a battered in stood unchanged, apart from the shorter hair, the woman he had been looking for almost ten years. Her face set in stone, her blue eyes widened in surprise and realization she looked upon him with a cold, calculating stare. With a fleeting smirk upon his face he nodded his head in acknowledgement and she responded equally courteously. They looked like two duellists greeting each other on the battlefield. The game was becoming much more interesting.
Author's Note:
And we have made it to the end of another chapter. I hope you have enjoyed the adventures of our favourite Cackle's characters. You already know the drill, any comments, questions, thoughts, angry words that you might have at what I am doing to our lovely deputy, can be sent through your reviews and I will reply to them as soon as possible.
As you already know, here comes a sneak preview from the next chapter of Fire and Ice:
Hope tries to teach potions while Constance realizes that she has made a new friend. The girls share their opinions on the new student teacher and Mr Mallard meets someone new.