Alan Goodspeed is an ordinary teenage boy with all the hopes and dreams of any other teenage boy. Except for when he was a teenage girl. And then there was the whole pixie parenthood thing. That's fairly normal... right?
Fair warning, this is Chapter 3 in a series that I've not finished yet. That being said, for those who do decide to proceed, it's all plotted and I do intend to finish this, even if it is at the normal Jemima pace of things and will be woven around producing chapters of 'We are Family'. Thanks for reading this far and I hope you enjoy this third chapter! I would particularly like to thank Melanie E. for her encouragement.This chapter should be less dark than the previous chapter and certainly we see the return of the lighter Alan after a bit of plot (see tags) but like any story it needs dark to sustain the light. And of course *big hugs* to everyone who took the time to kudos and comment on chapter one. It was genuinely appreciated. Thank you.I'm still overwhelmed by how popular this story has been.
Previously in Chapter 2…
“Okay, I think as many of us are here as are going to be,” announced Sally from her seat at the notional head of the circle. I suppressed the urge to point out to her that circles didn’t really have heads.
“I’d like you all to join me in welcoming our newest member of the Corrective Craft Group’s ‘Untamed Familiars Club’. Let’s give it up for Alan Goodspeed!”
First rule of Untamed Familiars Club. There is no Untamed Familiars Club. Anyone asks you remember that right?
I wondered if it was too late to get a pass for the bathroom. Maybe I could use it to slip free of my 'protectors' and run away to join the Foreign Legion. I had an awful lot I wanted to forget after all.
And now… Chapter 3
Electorate of Bavaria: The Year of Our Lord, Sixteen Hundred and Forty-Nine
Captain Alan Godespeed, Sir Alexander Tyneford’s Regiment of Horse
I disliked subterfuge but given the nature of our quarry and the merry dance that he had led us across Europe, I felt we had no choice if we were to catch him. Nodding to the two men sitting opposite me in the darkened booth, I released the clasp on my heavy woollen riding cloak. It had kept me warm during the long months of our pursuit but it would only serve to hinder me now in the final end game. While the roaring fireplace had warmed the room there was still a cold chill seeping in from outside and I hoped that I would be able to return to its warmth soon.
I nodded to a second group of my men as I scanned the tavern, my eyes only briefly alighting on our quarry. There was no mistaking him, the jagged scar and eye patch easily identified him as he sat at a table in discussion with a group of simply dressed men. Men who were in my employee, a few gold coins were all that was needed to bait the trap. These men cared not that the coin was an English Unite but just for the gold it was pressed from. As much as it pained me to profit from the sins of man, I found myself leaning forward in anticipation as their conversation came to an end.
“Barkellner! Ein weiteres getrá¤nk fá¼r unsere englischen freund!“ shouted one of the men with his hand raised to the barman, the signal loud enough to be heard throughout the tavern and hopefully outside it too.
My hopes were rewarded a few moments later as the door to the tavern was thrown open and led by my junior officer, Cornet William Brown, three of my men entered. They seemed to shine in the dimness of the tavern, the candle and lamplight reflecting off their distinctive polished lobster-tailed pot helmets and their left handed bridle gauntlets.
“Matthew Hopkins, I order ye to surrender in the name of Parliament and the Commonwealth!” demanded Cornet Brown, drawing his sword.
For a moment silence reined throughout the tavern, the sight of English New Model Army cavalry troopers surprising all present. Then with a bellowing roar, Hopkins overturned the table scattering the men seated around it in all directions and momentarily regaining the advantage over my troopers. Pulling a cocked dog lock pistol from his belt, he fired a shot that sent one of my men tumbling to the ground.
“HOPKINS!” I shouted over the sound of the pistol shot.
As the smoke from the pistol cleared, I jumped from my seat causing my riding cloak to fall away as I drew my sword. I could already see the other members of my troop fanning out, their own swords drawn.
“Godespeed!” he spat, noticing me for the first time. “I had hoped that ye had given up on this mad quest of yours. Be gone with you! Thy Commonwealth has no more authority over me here than you do. Be gone back to England with ye.”
“And let a ne’er do well such as thee go free? No, thou shall run no more but instead return with me to England to stand trial for thy crimes.”
“Crimes? What crimes does thou speake of?”
“The murder of over 300 people.”
“People? No. Witches... Yes. Each one undergoing trial in keeping with the law. I challenge thee to find one who swung from my gallows who did not deserve it.”
“One? I will give thee two for a start. Faith Prudence Godespeed. She was twelve days away from her fifth birthday when thou hung her,” I growled, tightening the grip on my sword. “Her mother, and my wife, Verity Anne Godespeed.”
“Ahhh,” said Hopkins with a sad smile. “This I understand. Revenge.”
“Not revenge. Justice.”
“Call it what thou will, it does not matter.”
“It does to me. It does to each of my men, all of whom lost someone the day you came to Ackholt.”
“So this is to be an execution?” asked Hopkins fidgeting slightly as he took in the angry faces of the soldiers around him for the first time.
“Not unless ye make it so. You will return with us to England for trial and I shall take great pleasure in watching thee swing from the hangman’s noose.”
“I think that I will decline your kind offer,” said Hopkins, reaching into his jacket.
What he withdrew made even members of my troop, hardened veterans of the English Civil War to a man, gasp out loud. The object was a withered hand and given its size it could have belonged at best to a petite woman, possibly even a child. On its ring finger it wore the simple ring worn by all witches to focus their Talent.
“Displodo!” bellowed Hopkins before throwing the hand to the ground in front of my men and myself.
The clear stone in the ring briefly pulsed blue before the tavern filled with a deafening roar of sound and burst of blinding light. Through the spots of light that danced across my vision I saw Hopkins charge through the doorway scattering reeling members of the troop and disappear into the night.
“See to the men and then follow me,” I shouted over the ringing in my ears as I grabbed my dazed Lieutenant by the collar of his leather coat. Sprinting out in the darkness I set out after Hopkins, his fleeing form still visible in the distance.
“Goddess protect me,” I whispered, placing my hand against the bark of a nearby tree. “And if it is not too much to ask, may God also watch over me this night too.”
The forest was pitch black, with occasional shafts of dappled moonlight visible through the tree canopy high above providing what little illumination there was. A few times I had seen brief flashes of things pacing me that I could hope were only wolves or bears. I had seen no sign of either my men or Hopkins for several hours now. As I had gone deeper into the forest I had felt its mood change and more and more I would come across trees and hollows that seemed to radiate malice. These areas I avoided as best I could and when I had no choice but to traverse them, I did so warily but also quickly. I would have turned back to the tavern but had found myself so turned around in the forest that I knew I had no hope of retracing my steps until daylight. Tightening my grip on the hilt of my sword, I once more resumed my pursuit.
Emerging blinking from the darkness of the trees, I entered a moonlit clearing that left me feeling a sense of deep unease. I would have worked my way around it if it were not for the figure sitting with his back against a tree stump in the centre of the clearing. Cocking my own pistol, I approached him carrying my sword in my other hand. Hopkins had shown himself to be nothing if not devious in the months that we had been pursuing him and I was leaving nothing to chance.
“Hopkins,” I warned as I approached. “Be still or I will shoot ye.”
I kicked his pistol away from where it rested next to him and slid my sword back into its scabbard. Around the edges of the clearing I could see several indistinct figures moving but whatever they were they never came close enough to the treeline for me to see them clearly.
“It’s against my better judgement but we will wait here until first light,” I said knowing for all my unease in this place it at least offered clear sight lines and a better chance to defend myself should this be something more than just wolves.
“I am sorry about your family,” said Hopkins, still staring down at the ground from his position resting against the tree stump.
I grunted in response, words of apology insufficient to quench the anger I felt at what had been taken from me.
“Did you know I trained as a solicitor?” he asked, his voice carrying on the chilled breeze around the clearing. “Had my businesses not failed I would never have even walked this road. It was when I was facing financial ruination that I overheard two women talking about their dealings with a man they likened to the devil. It was then that I recalled the words of my father, a Puritan minister, and with my legal training and knowledge of the little used Witchcrafte Acte of 1604 I realised I could earn a comfortable living as a Witchfinder in the chaos of war. A magistrate would pay up to 20 shillings per witch on a good day. Per witch. Think about that… I was lucky to earn 3 pennies a day doing manual work and here was a way of earning up to 240 pennies from each witch found guilty by a magistrate.”
“So that’s all it was about? The money?” I hissed.
“At the start, yes.”
“The blood of innocents was worth so little to you?”
“So little? I forget that you are a moneyed man Captain. To one with nothing, 20 shillings was a king’s ransom and it was there for the taking. I styled myself as the Witchfinder General to make it sound like Parliament had approved me, even copied the style of dress of the New Model Army. While the law did not allow me to gain a confession by torture, it was easy enough to gain a confession through simple acts like depriving the accused of sleep or keeping them walking for hours. If necessary, a little bit of trickery could let you prick the skin of the witch without drawing blood using a stage dagger with a retractable blade. If I was really lucky, the accused would give up the names of ‘other’ accomplices in the hope of sparing her life, turning 20 shillings into 40, 60 or more. I made more than 300 pounds in two years work.”
“Hanging is too good for the likes of thee, Hopkins,” I said, fighting the urge to just shoot him and end this now. “But I will still gain great pleasure in watching ye swing.”
“No one died at my hands directly Captain. Each and every one was convicted by a magistrate and executed by a hangman. I just collected my fee for finding them. At the start anyway…”
“At the start?”
“I believed in witches no more than I believed in God at the start. It was all about the money. That all changed though in the village of Market Appleby about six months into my career as the Witchfinder General. A neighbour dispute had led to accusations being made against a woman of being a witch, accusations that I took advantage of, figuring that by the time I was finished I could find 2 or 3 more convictions from others with axes to grind. When we went to arrest her, she screamed something and one of my men was turned to stone. Turned. To. Stone. It was then that I realised that not only were witches real but that God had a plan for me. That I was to be his instrument in finding the witches and bringing them to justice. Of course, real witches were hard to find and it took money and time to do so, requiring me to continue my less legitimate Witchfinder activities in tandem with my real quest. Given that I was doing God’s work was it not unreasonable to suggest that I should benefit from material comforts while doing so?”
I felt my pistol jiggle in my hand as my whole body shook with rage. Yet despite my evident anger Hopkins remained oddly unmoved.
“The more I learnt about real witches, the easier it became to find them but it was still a painfully slow process. I despaired that my true work would end uncompleted and then one day, I heard of the artificer John of Sheffield. The tools he made for me allowed my Witchfinders to find even more witches though the cost was high. He took my left eye in payment.”
“No more than you deserved.”
“Possibly,” he said with a sigh. “I should have continued on to greatness with my works but the trouble was that I remained weak and I would still continue with my less legitimate witchfinder activities. I’d like to say that it was just for the money but if I’m honest, it was as much for the respect people gave me, motivated I know in large part by fear but never the less still respect. My father was anything but an easy man and I never measured up to the standards he set of me. After seeing the scorn and distain of people when I failed as a solicitor it gave me great personal satisfaction to be treated with so much fear and respect as Witchfinder General.”
“Petty jealousy and greed do not excuse the mass murder of innocents.”
“Maybe… but who knows really how many of those I found were truly innocents? Besides, I would have thought one such as you would have had more sympathy for my… legitimate… work.”
“What? Why?”
“Because your reputation as an honest, God fearing soldier in the cause of Parliament is second to none. And then there is your fight against the very evil of witchcraft. Are you not the Captain Godespeed whose men fought and killed a Black Annis, the blue-grey skinned old witch with iron claws and a taste for human flesh that preyed on the wounded after battles? The same man who killed a warlock in the employee of Royalists during the Battle of Naseby? No, we should not be enemies but brothers united in the cause of righteousness.”
“The warlock was a practitioner of the Dark Craft and intended to use his Talent for unspeakable evil. His death was necessary though I took no joy from it. As for the Black Annis… it was a vile creature, a remnant from the time of the Golden Court.”
“I wish we had met under better circumstances. We could have achieved so much together.”
“No. I would never have been able to work with one so evil as thee.”
A noise from just beyond the treeline drew my attention, and I raised my pistol towards it.
“On your feet if you value your life, Hopkins.”
“I will need your help then Captain.”
“Why?”
“I cannot seem to move,” whispered the voice, once more carried on the breeze around the clearing. I looked down at Hopkins unmoving form more carefully this time, noticing for the first time the large gash that had split open his stomach and had ended his life.
“I realised when I entered the forest I was not alone but I never realised that I was being herded here until it was too late. Just before I entered this clearing I was attacked and I barely made it to this spot. Why it hasn’t yet come to finish me off I cannot fathom.”
“Because it does not need to,” I replied, realising that Hopkins was not aware that his physical form had died.
It was then that I recognised what this clearing was. It was a magical trap, known to many as a Devil’s Hollow, though it had no link to the Christian devil. Those that died within it would find their spirits caught in the service of the supernatural entity bound to it, unable to pass on to the next world. Hopkins body may be dead but his spirit still inhabited it unaware of his passing. More worryingly, wherever there was a Devil’s Hollow there were previous victims turned into creatures of nightmare whose task it was to bait the trap and feed the controlling entity.
A roar from the edge of the clearing drew my attention as a creature half-man, half-beast burst forth. I fired my pistol at it, hitting it squarely in the chest causing it to collapse to the ground. It lay there writhing in agony but making now further attempt to move towards me, blood being coughed up from its snout. As I discarded my now useless pistol and drew my sword, more howls could be heard from the edges of the clearing.
“For God’s sake man! Help me up!” called out Hopkins voice.
“I’m sorry. It’s too late for you,” I said, unbuttoning my jacket coat enough to reach inside it.
“What?! You can’t leave me here with those things!”
“Have you not noticed that you could see that creature even though your body is facing away from it?” I asked.
“I… what? I don’t understand…”
Twin howls screamed out as two monstrous shapes burst forth from the treeline.
“Retardo!” I yelled, drawing my wand from my jacket. A burst of light brought the movement of both creatures first to little more than a crawl then to a complete halt.
“You’re… one of them?!?” screamed Hopkins voice. “That means your wife was a… I was right! Your reputation is a lie! You’re one of them! Damn you! Damn you Godespeed!”
More creatures emerged from the treeline this time, spread out so as to make it harder for me to stop them. I immobilised one with a burst of magic from my wand before turning and sprinting away from the remaining creatures. As I disappeared into the tree line, I heard Hopkins voice cursing my name and begging me not to leave him to the mercy of the creatures in alternate breathes.
Crashing through the blackness of the forest I gave up any attempt to hide myself knowing that my only hope was to put enough distance between myself and the hollow so that it would not be worth the creatures’ efforts to take me back there before I died.
Leaning heavily against a tree, I gulped down air. I had been running for what felt like days using only the handful of memorised spells I had whenever the sound of something came too near. While none of those spells had been fatal they had served enough to deter all but the bravest of creatures from coming close to me.
“If… if I’d wanted… to have… run this much… I’d have… joined a… regiment of foote,” I muttered out loud, gasping for breath.
When I finally felt able to breathe again I started to take in my surroundings for the first time. While around me the forest was dark it lacked the same sense of menace as it had earlier. Actually, mostly dark for squinting into the darkness I could make out a faint golden light through the trees. I felt my heart quicken at the thought of something as simple as a woodsman’s hut. Could it offer hope of salvation? A howl in the distant darkness reminded me that I really had no choice in the matter.
Running through the forest I found myself having to change direction several times as if the source of the light had moved though whether that was an illusion due to the obstacles I had to work around or really the case I couldn’t be sure. However, slowly the light went from being a small dot in the distance to actually taking shape and form. As I had hoped it seemed to be a wooden hut, with the source of the light coming from the windows.
I started to slow to a jog as I approached the hut to better gain an appreciation of my surroundings. Something felt… wrong. Not threatening but wrong. It took me a few moments to realise that it was brightness of the light, which was far brighter than a few candles from a simple woodsman’s hut.
As I started to draw my wand from its pocket in my jacket, I heard a growl from behind me. Turning I just managed to bring the metal bridle gauntlet up in time to block the creatures attack as both of us crashed to the ground. I could see now that this creature was some sort of wolf-man cross, its elongated snout and sharp teeth locked firmly around the gauntlet; only the metal and thick padded leather jacket stopping it from having bitten deep into my arm. In my first piece of good fortune all night, its hands were more wolf paws than hand claws and it was clear that its mouth was its main attack. However, the pressure of its teeth as it pressed deep into the leather indicated that these would be sufficient to bite clean through to the bone if it got the chance.
Unable to reach into my pocket for my wand, I tugged at my dagger trying to slide it free from its scabbard on my belt. Just as the metal on my gauntlet started to crack under the pressure I felt the dagger slide free and thrust it up into the side of the creature. As it howled in pain I lashed out with my fist, knocking the creature off me. Clambering to my feet I drew my sword while the creature clumsily pulled my dagger free from its side. Turning to me its eyes briefly darted to my sword before meeting mine. In that instance we both knew what would happen it if attacked me and we both knew that it would still do so none the less. With a last howl it leapt for me, colliding with me like a ton of bricks. As we fell to the ground it snapped its mighty jaws at me once before its head came to a rest on my chest, revealing the bloodied blade of my sword projecting from its back. Pushing the now still creature off of me I lay on the ground drawing ragged breath.
“Hello,” said a woman’s soft voice, shortly followed by a smiling face as it moved into my field of vision. “You must be Alan. I’m Joan.”
It was then that I realised that the source of the light from the woodsman’s hut wasn’t from candles or lanterns. It was from the golden skinned woman looking down at me who literally glowed with light.
“Are you sure that this is a suitable vessel?” hissed the hooded figure as he looked down at the still form of Matthew Hopkins. “It seems very… fragile.”
To underline the point he poked with a partially transparent boot at Hopkins’ guts where they had spilled forth from the stomach wound.
“I’m fairly sure those things are supposed to be inside it. And do they always smell like that?” he asked, covering his nose and mouth with his hand.
“The rituals would repair it and provide the form with the sort of strength and resilience that you are more used to my Lord,” replied the woman he had been addressing, her long dirty black hair obscuring much of her face allowing only small patches of grey-blue skin to be visible underneath. “As for the smell… my experience has been that humans smell even worse when alive. That being said when boiled in a stew with a nice selection of root vegetables the smell is more… appealing.”
“It’s hideously ugly. Is that normal?”
“You are an elf my Lord. All humans are ugly in comparison.”
“And this is the only suitable vessel available?”
“Yes my Lord. It has died in the appropriate setting with the necessary charms in place. However, if you want to wait another 50 years for another suitable vessel to be brought here…”
“And this is the only way that I can cross back into this realm?” he asked, the distain evident in his voice.
“The wards guarding this realm are still too strong to allow for one such as yourself to physically cross over without suffering serious ill effect my Lord.”
“And what of this vessel if I were to do as you ask?”
“It would be reanimated, its memories intact and its body repaired. It would be stronger, quicker and tougher than a normal human and have a life span akin to your own.”
“And what of me?”
“Your physical body would remain unharmed in the other realm while you spirit was housed with the vessel. This vessel itself would not have access to any of your memories directly and would still think of itself as the human it was before but you would be able to influence its actions to a sufficient degree so that you could prepare the ground for the return of the Golden Court. I do not believe it would be too difficult for one such as yourself to turn this vessels hatred of our shared enemy to include those creatures of the Seditious Court as well. Over time, should it live long enough you should also be able to exercise greater control in guiding this vessels actions until you reach the point of total control.”
“And when this realm is once more reopened to our return?”
“Then your spirit would return to its true body.”
“Then do it,” said the hooded figure. “And tell your sisters that the Golden Court will not forget their service when the time has come for our return. I also give you my personal word of honour that the Golden Court will grant the boon that you have requested.”
“I look forward to celebrating a mighty feast in Queen Mabs’ name come that day.”
“As do I. Who knows, I may even try some of that human flesh you and your kin are so partial to on that day.”
As the first rays of the dawn fell across the bed I found myself stirring, a habit from my time in the service of Parliament and the Commonwealth. This time however, instead of my sleeping bundle resting on the hard ground, I luxuriated in the feeling of fresh clean sheets and soft comfortable bedding. A smile crossed my face as I thought of the previous night, mingled with a little guilt, as this had been the first time I had lain with a woman since the death of my dear wife.
In many ways Joan had reminded me of her; in the way she fussed over the cuts and bruises from my chase through the forest and even in the food she had served me. If I had not known better I would have sworn that it was my wife’s own vegetable stew she had fed me. I would have been content had that itself been the end to the evening but she had led me to her bedroom insisting that she had to massage in some liniment to ease my aches and pains. Part of me knew that I should have drawn the line there and questioned her about her true nature but another part of me…
Another part of me longed to be with someone who cared for me. The death of Hopkins at a hand other than mine or the hangman’s had left me feeling empty, uncertain. Now that my burning need for justice and yes, revenge, was quenched I felt... nothing… and I had a powerful need to feel something positive after carrying so much grief and rage bottled up for so long. The love we made that night was tender and slow and at times we just lay holding each other in silence, both keeping our own counsel as we contemplated whatever thoughts we had. Now that the morning had come I felt hope for the first time in a long time as to what the day might bring me.
As I rolled over in the bed I noticed a folded piece of paper with my name written on it sitting on a small dresser across the room. Untangling myself from the soft sheets, I pulled on my breeches and quietly padded across the room to the dresser. Glancing at the start of the note I read that there was food for breakfast in the other room. Reading the note as I wandered into the next room of the small hut, I reached into the wicker bread basket on the table only to feel the touch of skin-on-skin rather than that of skin-on-bread. Peering over the letter in my hand I was rewarded by the happy giggle of a small child no more than a couple of weeks old swaddled in a blue blanket. As its little hand grasped at my finger I looked around the empty room for a moment before returning back to the note.
‘…bread and cheese are in the kitchen for your breakfast. I have also mended your clothes as best I can. You will find all you need for your journey home in the pack by the door, though the journey may be shorter than you expect.
Your men will arrive shortly after you read this letter and if you head north from this hut you will find yourself no more than an hour’s ride from Calais. While for you only a night has passed you will find that for your men you have been missing for several months. However, being Ackholt men I’m sure that they will be understanding as to your explanation.
Finally, I enjoyed our time together and will always treasure the memory. I hope that you may be able to forgive me for our actions and bear no ill will towards our son. Raise him as you would any child of your blood and tell him not of how he was conceived.
With love
Joan
PS. I hope you don’t mind but I borrowed your coin and sword.’
Placing the letter on the table I reached into the basket to lift the baby… my son… from it. As I held him in my arms, he smiled a smile full of trust and love up at me. I could see my nose in his and his ears definitely reminded me of my fathers, though his complexion was much more tanned than mine. Still, a lifetime growing up in the English countryside would take that from him. It seemed that I now had an heir to carry forth the Godespeed name.
A happy little giggle escaped from my son as a loud knock sounded at the door.
“Oh boy…”
The Present
Taking a deep breath, I bounced the ball once before rolling left past an imaginary defender. Racing towards the basket I made the jump listening to the thud of the ball hitting the backboard before rebounding to skitter across the rim of the basket and...
Bounce clear.
Slowing my momentum I came to a soft palm out stop against the wall at the back of the hall, the mocking sound of the basketball echoing as it bounced across the court before rolling away.
Perfect.
Even here on the basketball court I couldn’t shake my run of poor luck. That shot would have gone in clean 9 out of 10 times before all this weirdness in my life started. Now I’m lucky to get it in 1 in 10 times. My timing and judgement are shot to pieces and my body just feels… off. Maybe it’s the loss of 5 inches of height, maybe it’s the fact I’m like 95% girl under this glamour or maybe it’s just this is my life now.
I let out a squeal of frustration, slapping the wall. I need to get out from all this now more than ever. I wonder if anyone would notice if I ran away and joined the Harlem Globetrotters? I can see it now, Alan ‘Pixie’ Goodspeed, legendary Globetrotter. I’d tour the world playing exhibition games and urging kids to ‘just say no’ to magick. It sounded a wonderful idea. There’s just no way I’d get loose from my ‘protectors’ given everything that has happened in the last fortnight.
Yeah, can you believe it? It’s been a week since I attended my first ‘Untamed Familiars Club’ session here at Godespeed House. It feels much longer but that’s probably because a punishment that was supposed to last only a few hours a week has turned into pretty much a 24/7 thing. For once it wasn’t my fault, though my bad luck continues to run true to form and I’m suffering the consequences of it. This time the blame falls squarely, if not a little unfairly, with Warlock Arthur Haverstock.
I’d never met Arthur but I’d heard a few gossipy whisperings about him. Arthur was a bit of a celebrity in Ackholt but this had nothing to do with his ability as a warlock. Far from it as by all accounts he was a pretty mediocre warlock at best. Nor was it for his exploits in the ordinary world. Arthur was a slightly overweight, middle aged, middle management accountant working for a medium sized accountancy firm. No, the celebrity status he enjoyed had to do with his wife. Technically his second wife as the previous Mrs Haverstock, who had been a witch, had died two years earlier leaving Arthur to raise twin teenage girls. Anyway, seven months ago Arthur won an all-expenses paid Mediterranean cruise package for one.
He was expected to come back with a tan.
Instead, he came back with a beautiful wife who was twenty years younger than him. And no tan.
Amongst the other middle aged men of Ackholt with their equally as middle aged wives, Arthur became a celebrity, the guest of a hundred dinner parties. Everyone wanted to meet the beautiful young woman that Arthur had married to try and find out what it was that drew her to a man who if you were to describe him in a colour would be called ‘grey’. It turned out all those people who whispered behind Arthur’s back that it was too true to be good and that she was after his money were half right.
It was too good to be true but she didn’t want his money. What she wanted was his Family.
Or rather, the inside access to who was who within the Family he could offer her and he gave her everything she wanted. After all, she was a mundane married into the Family so it would have been strange for her not to have questions. Unfortunately, Arthur never managed to work out the difference between curiosity and soft interrogation. Nor was he suspicious when the new Mrs Haverstock suggested the twins spend some time away from the Institute so that she could get to know them.
Luckily for the Family, and as it turned out unluckily for me, Arthur was on the outer edges of the Family so didn’t have access to its inner circle secrets and gossip. There were some things he just didn’t know and some things he added 2 + 2 together and came up with 5. One of those it turns out was Arthur’s mistaken belief that because I wasn’t at the Institute and because I didn’t practice the Craft, I didn’t have the Talent.
We know how that mistaken belief worked out.
I’m sure Arthur would have unwittingly kept feeding them more information on the Family too if it wasn’t for my father, who before he left for Germany ordered that detailed follow-up checks be conducted on every new arrival over the last year in Ackholt in the light of the Agnes Gentry ‘incident’. I know there were some who thought he was overreacting and that the initial screening process was fine, one incident apart. However, those doubters were proven wrong the moment Mr & Mrs Haverstock and the twins vanished shortly after the checks started into her background.
Arthur Haverstock’s body was found floating in the River Ack two days later.
Uncle John was present when the ritual that summoned Arthur’s spirit back from the afterlife long enough to question him was held, which is how I know all this. Yet again the Family Council was preaching the mantra of silence in respect of possible Witchfinder involvement in order to ‘avoid causing panic’ while it established the ‘full facts’ of recent matters. Personally, I thought the Council’s Great Seal should be redesigned to show an ostrich with its head in the sand. It seemed more appropriate than what was currently on it.
What the Family Council couldn’t hide from was the disappearance of the Haverstock twins, which with the recent attempt on my life seemed to demonstrate that there was a very real threat to the Family children. I had a horrible feeling that the Witchfinders had gained two new Hounds with the disappearance of the twins.
So it was ordered that all those children of the Family who were not at the Institute should be educated at Godespeed House for safety until the facts of the recent incidents could be established to the Council’s satisfaction. Using the Craft and some contacts in government through House Pendragon, one of the great English Houses, they had the Godespeed Free School established and approved in a day. I know from Uncle John that the evil Mrs Dorian had made another attempt to have me sent to the Institute, this time ‘for my safety’, but as there were a couple of other children who were unable to attend the Institute for various reasons it was decided that at this point there was no justification for it, particularly given the Council had so recently passed judgement on me.
In sending the children of the Family to Godespeed Free School you had to take into consideration that there were in effect three sorts of children in Ackholt. The largest group was the ‘mundane’, the normal children without the Talent. Within the mundane however, there were two sub-groupings.
The first, and largest group, was those with no ‘Talented’ parents who were ignorant of the Family and mostly thought magick was spelt without a ‘k’. Basically, ordinary people. None of these children were sent to the Godespeed Free School as it was felt that they weren’t at risk.
The second, and smaller, group of mundane was those with one ‘Talented’ and one ‘Mundane’ parent who had no Talent of their own. They were treated like an extension of the Family, absent from its inner circle but still having a place. It was accepted that any warlock or witch who married a mundane had a roughly 1 in 3 chance of mundane offspring and it was fairly uncommon for someone from the Family to marry outside as a result, though not unheard of. The Family bore them no ill will due to their status in the genetic lottery of the Talent and they were considered at enough of a risk given their proximity to a Family member to be brought to Godespeed for ‘their’ safety. Personally, I thought it had more to do with the safety of the Family member but maybe I’m just a little jaundiced when it comes to the motives of the Family.
The second largest group in Ackholt was the Talented, those children born of one or two Talented parents into the Family and for whom ‘the blood ran true’. Some Family scholars suggested that the Talent trait played some role in promulgating its inheritance as the rate of occurrence where there were two Talented parents was virtually 100%. Very rarely a Talented child would be born to two mundane’s who had some Talented blood in the distant branches of their family tree and they would be welcomed into the Family once discovered. The majority of the Talented children were at the Institute but those few who were in Ackholt were considered at the greatest risk following the recent ‘incidents’.
The final group was the smallest and the most socially isolated of the groups, the children of two Talented parents who were themselves born without the Talent. You think I’m a social outcast? Try being the ‘Talentless’ child of a witch and warlock and not have everyone in the Family look at you with a mixture of embarrassment and ‘there but for the grace of god’ pity. It’s very un-politically correct and publicly discouraged from being said but the Family still behind closed doors called them the ‘Forsaken’. The most bigoted of the Family tend to treat a Forsaken offspring as if the absence of Talent is contagious and keep their own ‘Talented’ children as far away from them as much as they can. There are stories of desperate warlocks and witches trying, and failing, to magically imbue their Forsaken children with the Talent. You see the Forsaken are not mundane, rather they are the opposite of the Talented. They are an absence of magick, anti-magick if you will. No spell will work on them, no magick object works for them. There are even fantastically accounts from the middle ages of Forsaken sucking the magick out of Talented children. The stories represent the prejudices of simpler times and no one has ever proven there to be any basis to the stories but they only serve to further fuel the distrust of the Forsaken amongst the Family.
You’d think that they would be perfect company for me, kindred spirits of a sort, but far from it. As far as most of the Forsaken are concerned I’m either one of the Talented regardless of my choices or a fool who has the thing they desperately want but chooses to reject it. I’ve taken a few lumps in my time from them until I got big and strong enough to give them back. That being said I could say the same thing about the Talented children.
I may love* my family (*in principle and with a significant sibling exception) but I truly hate the Family at the same time for all its flawed, petty, superior-than-thou crap.
So, here I was an unwilling student at the Godespeed Free School, part of a group of 11 children of various ages with the Talent who were for some reason or other not at the Institute. There were a further 14 mundane children and 6 of the ‘Forsaken’ here who were kept largely separate from myself and the other Talented. I was in some ways grateful for the lessons given I was currently suspended from school. However, as they were running an Institute approved curriculum there were a couple of hours of Craft teaching classes each day that I refused to attend. Those I tended to spend studying in the small reference library or working out in the gym like now. At least this was the last period of the day and I could go home soon.
Retrieving the ball I lined up at the three point line and took what should be a better than even money shot for me. The moment it left my hand I realise it is a little overthrown but not by much. The arc of the ball looked good overall. It was going in I was certain. It hit the backboard where the basket joined and as the ball lightly skipped backward it was still going in. It’s…
Huh. The hoop just fell of the backboard. That’s not something you see every day.
I watch helplessly as the ball sailed through the air where the open top of the hoop would have been. As the hoop crashed to the ground it was quickly followed by the backboard as it came adrift from its bolts on the wall. As the whole thing tumbled to the ground with enough noise to wake the dead, and that’s not something to say lightly in Ackholt, I slumped to the ground with my head in my hands.
I just cannot catch a break.
A nervous cough from behind me indicated that I wasn’t alone.
“Hey, Tracey,” I said out loud. I hadn’t seen her come in but this had all the hallmarks of her being here.
“Um… sorry?”
“It’s not your fault Tracy… I guess,” I say with a sigh as I look up at the new voice in the room. Above me I heard the gentle tinkling sounds of two of my pixies appearing.
“I’m getting better with them. Honest. It’s just…”
Her words peter out into a few sniffles as she wiped her nose with the back of the baggy oversized sleeve of her homemade woollen jumper.
*sigh* As much as I want to be angry about it, I just can’t.
Getting to my feet I reach out to hug her. I felt her flinch for a second before grabbing me tightly and burying her face into my sweatshirt. It broke my heart a little that her first reaction to someone reaching out to comfort her was to pull back as it was telling of her experiences after these sorts of incidents to date. As I gently wrapped my arms around her she let rip with tears that were as much about the need for human contact as they were an expression of distress at what happened to the basketball equipment.
“Tikka?”
I nodded my head towards the broken backboard and Sky, aka Savitskaya, swooped off towards the pile of debris. Sky was the most technologically curious of my pixies and liked to understand how things worked, like some sort of mini flying engineer. Most of the time the things she dismantled still worked when she reassembled them. Well, except for our toaster which somehow seems to be receiving news and current affairs broadcasts from 1980’s BBC Radio 4 now rather than making toast but hey, who wasn’t interested in hearing how that whole Cold War thing worked out?
“Off! Off! Ours!” squeaked a little voice from the debris, leading to the second pixie, Sunflower, to let out a loud cat like hiss and move to a supporting position next to Sky.
From amongst the broken pieces emerged a handful of small humanoid figures, each one roughly the same size as my pixies at fifteen or so centimetres in height. They wore bright primary coloured miniature overalls, except for what I assumed were the girl ones who wore equally as colourful 1950’s style dresses, and they were each topped with a Viking style helmet with curly ram like horns. Oddly, it turned the helmets accessorised well with 1950’s dresses. In each of their b-movie style mad scientist gloved hands they held small tools and one of them was dragging a canvas sack filled with screws and bolts.
Gremlins.
A gremlin when properly bound in accordance with the rituals as a familiar and domesticated enslaved was a powerful tool for a witch or a warlock. They granted access to a form of wild magick related to technology which was very different from much of the wild nature magick possessed by the other creatures of the Golden Court. Even when correctly bound though they remained a group of creatures that only the strongest willed practitioners of the Craft could effectively harness. The experience of most young adults bound to gremlins was of a steep learning curve over the first two years before eventually establishing mastery. That degree of mastery was the make or break for a how effectively a witch or warlock could channel the wild magick.
Tracy Fairborn was most definitely a break rather than a make, though it wasn’t really her fault. When the clan of baby gremlins had been found, the Family had chosen her to be the recipient of them. She was probably the most naturally gifted of my generation in the Family and certainly had the required degree of willpower to control the gremlins. The result would have been a very powerful witch who after the requisite couple of years wrestling for control of them would be a formidable opponent.
The problem was that the binding rituals needed to be performed to the letter of the grimoire specifications and once started could not be stopped. Tracy’s ritual took place in a field in the middle of August with the correct astrological and ley line alignment. Unfortunately, Tracy had hay fever and a couple of sneezes and a few clogged up mispronounced words later and her binding ceremony was completed but flawed. She could channel the wild magic through her new ‘familiars’ but had absolutely no control over them and it was deemed unlikely that even with years of practice would she ever have anything beyond the most cursory control over them. She went from being touted as being one of the most promising witches of our generation to being suspended from the Institute due to repeated incidents caused by her clan of gremlins. The Institute was well prepared to put up with problems while students learned to master their familiars but even it drew the line at her untamed miscreants. In short, she was a walking disaster.
I couldn’t help feel a degree of affinity for her.
She had confessed to me over the last week that she had not asked for the bonding and had some misgivings about the binding ritual. Whereas I was an unwilling participant in my bonding having being pushed into the nest of pixies by my brother she had felt pressurised to go ahead with the bonding given the weight of Family expectation on her. Yes, she willingly entered in the binding ritual, which was a strike against her in my book, but she treated her gremlins well even in their improperly binded state.
That’s assuming ‘binded’ was a proper word. Meh. English is a living language after all.
Anyway, it would be fair to say that right here, right now she was rapidly becoming the closest thing I had to a friend amongst the children of the Family. A flash of light from the direction of the wrecked basketball equipment pulled my mind back to the present.
“Sunflower! Stop that!” I admonished as a gremlin floated into the air trapped in a golden sphere of light.
That was another problem. Pixies being predominantly helpful to man didn’t get on with the more capricious gremlins.
“Sky! Stop trying to eat that gremlin! You don’t know where it’s been! Spit it out! Now!” I shouted as Sky guiltily let go of the gremlin she had in her mouth. The gremlin scowled at Sky as it rubbed at its torn sleeve, little cat like pixie teeth marks dotted along it.
“Sunflower… what did I say?” I growled as I watched her wielding one of the bolts from the backboard above her head like a mallet.
“Tikka?”
“Tikka,” I repeated, pointing for her to put it down. With a sulky scowl she threw away the bolt and went back to staring down her gremlin opposite number. I wasn’t worried that anything would happen to my girls as each one was individually more than a match for a half dozen gremlins.
“How do you do it?” asked Tracy in a sniffly voice.
“Do what?”
“You never completed the binding ritual yet you can control them.”
“I… I don’t really think of it as control. It’s more… it’s more than I ask them to do things and sometimes, and I stress sometimes, they decide to do it.”
“Do you… do you think you could show me how you do it?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.
Oh boy. That the frequency of them doing what I asked had increased following my Pyskie incident wasn’t something I was really prepared to share with anyone at this point but if I said no I’d come off like a complete bastard.
“I… I don’t know if I can help,” I said, noting the big expectant eyes looking up at me and willing myself not to weaken. “I… I…”
Damn it. I was still basically in what was left of my male human form, in so much as it was just about technically male, which meant that I was still enough of a red blooded English boy under this glamour of my old self. An attractive, lost looking girl making those big helpless eyes at me… Must. Fight. Weakening. Resolve.
“I… don’t know if I can help… but…”
I let out a loud exhale as I looked once more into her eyes.
“But I’m willing to give it a try.”
I hereby do find the boy hormones of one Alan Lewis Goodspeed guilty of the charge of cowardice in the face of battle. In mitigation, they would like to make the case that they don’t get out much these days.
A loud squeal from Tracy indicated her happiness at my words and I nearly choked as she locked her arms around me in a bear hug.
“Ummm… Alan,” she asked from where she had her face buried in my chest.
“Yes?”
“Why do these feel like breasts?” she asked pulling back slightly too tentatively poke one of my glamour hidden breasts.
“I’ve no idea,” I reply, hastily disentangling myself from her. “So… uh, do you want to get together tomorrow and talk about your little problems?”
Must misdirect. The secret to all deception is misdirection.
“Um… okay,” she replied, canting her head slightly as she looked at me like a jeweller appraising a precious stone. “Is… is that… a… glamour?”
Freaking great. She would have to be one of the strongest witches of my generation. The conflict between her sense of touch and sight has enabled her to push at the perception filter that the glamour cloaked me in.
“I… I-I-I…”
“Hey, what the… what happened to the basketball hoop?” shouted a new voice from the entrance to the hall.
“Uh… what?” asked Tracy, shaking her head slightly as the distraction from the new entrants to the hall let the thought about my glamour slip from her minds grasp. “What were we saying?”
It’s a terrible thing to admit but I was mentally making little fist pumps in celebration at the perception filter kicking in.
“That I would try to help you with your gremlins tomorrow.”
“Umm… yes, I… guess that was it?” she replied, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Yes, yes, that was it.”
“Hello?” called the voice again, getting closer. “What is going on here? What happened to the hoop? Is this her fault again?”
“It was the gremlins,” I said turning to the newcomer. “And it’s not her fault.”
I felt the colour drain from my face as I got a decent look at the newcomer. Oh, my luck really is running bad today. Alexander ‘Xander’ Dorian and what must be two members of his goon squad. It had been a few years since I’d last had the misfortune to run across him but he’d been a general sod to me until I broke his nose when we were 13 years old. Unfortunately for me the puberty fairy had seen fit to turn him into the physical equal for my old self. It was just a pity I wasn’t my old self right now, glamour induced appearances to the contrary.
“We’ll it didn’t fall down on its own did it?” he snarled approaching us.
“I said it was the gremlins.”
“So it was her fault then.”
“I’m sorry, did I stutter? I said it was the gremlins,” I replied with more bravado than I felt.
“Her gremlins. And don’t push your luck girl,” said Xander as he came to a halt in front of me.
Girl. Damn. And the hits just kept on coming. Xander and his goon squad were, for want of a better term, members of the Forsaken. Which meant that magick didn’t affect them. They literally couldn’t see my glamour.
“Alan? We should go,” said Tracy, tugging at my sleeve. “It’s not worth it.”
“Alan?” laughed Xander. “More like Alan-nah.”
“I’m really sorry about the basketball stuff but we don’t want trouble,” said Tracy, nervously looking to the two other people with Xander. “Alan lets go. Please.”
“Why do you keep calling her Alan?” asked one of the good squad. I think her name was Ursa… Ursula... something like that.
“Because that’s Alan…” said Tracy, gesturing towards me.
Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“Alan Goodspeed,” she finished.
She said it.
“Alan… Alan Goodspeed?” said Xander, giving the sort of smile that you don’t normally see outside of Shark Week. “Oh, this is too good to be true.”
“Actually, I can sort of see it now,” said Ursula, giving me an intense look. “She… he… definitely takes after her mother.”
The third member of the trio who had been silent so far grunted in affirmation to her comment. If Xander looked intimidating, this guy was like a walking commercial for steroids. I couldn’t remember his name for the life of me though I’d played against him a couple times in the inter-school rugby league. Whoever he was, he was a bit of a non-event personality wise. I’d met more interesting bricks.
“My, my, my little Alan… nah. How you’ve changed,” mocked Xander.
“Alan… what are they talking about?” asked Tracy.
“So the little witchy doesn’t know, does she Alan-nah?” laughed Xander, gesturing around me. “Some sort of glamour? Trying to hide your true self perhaps?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, squaring up as best I could to Xander. I really missed those five inches of height about now. 5’ 11” just wasn’t cutting it against these goons.
“No, I guess it doesn’t matter,” replied Xander. The look he gave me making it clear that he felt pretty much felt as if I was something he’d stepped in. “It just proves the point. Your breed are all liars. You even lie to each other.”
“I’m not like them.”
“Really? Then why don’t you tell her the truth Alan-nah?”
I silently met his stare, not willing to answer his question. That was one of the things I really hated about Xander, underneath that brutish exterior he could be quite perceptive. We’d even been friends once up until we were seven years old. Xander and I had been half of a group that called ourselves the ‘Musketeers’. Now we were the only ones left, though the consequences of that life changing night forever left its mark on the direction of our lives. Whereas I just wanted to escape the Family, Xander wanted to strike back at it in anger. In many ways he was a mirror to my life, the person I could have been had I let my anger consume me.
“I thought so. You’re as duplicitous as the rest of them. I had thought you were different once... but I can see now that you’re not...”
I felt myself bristle at Xander’s words. I wasn’t like the Family. I felt my fists clench as I took a step forward.
“You take that back.”
“You make me girly boy.”
“Alan… let’s go,” said Tracy, pulling at my arm again. “It’s not worth it.”
“Yeah, why don’t you make like a tree and leave?” said Xander, slowly stepping back from me. “After all… I don’t hit girls.”
“Alan! No!” yelled Tracy, pulling me back as I tried to lunge at Xander. Another reminder of my changed stature. “Chill. He’s not worth it.”
“Tikka?”
I looked up to see a concerned Sunflower swoop through the air above the goon squad. A ‘weakness’ of the Forsaken was that they couldn’t see the creatures of the Golden Court, such as my pixies. Oh, they knew they existed intellectually but just as Xander couldn’t see my glamour, he couldn’t see the pixies. Unfortunately, the same also held true in reverse and creatures of the Golden Court couldn’t see the Forsaken.
“Tikka?” asked Sunflower again. She could sense my worry through the empathic link but couldn’t see the source of my concern.
“Shoo! Be on your way little girl,” taunted Xander, waving me towards the doors to the hall.
Slipping free of Tracy’s grasp I lunged for Xander only be knocked to the ground my punch from Ursula.
“I said I didn’t hit girls,” said Xander. “I said nothing about her. Ursula, why don’t you teach little Alannah here a little lesson in respect.”
“Quiesco!” shouted Tracy, her ring pulsing.
Ursula hesitated for a moment as Xander sparkled with light and then as quickly as it had appeared the light disappeared.
“For-sak-en,” he laughed, pointing to himself, emphasising each syllable. “Your magick doesn’t work against me. Russell… if you please.”
“I know that!” shouted Tracy as the man mountain evidently called Russell pinned her arms behind her. “It was never about the spell affecting you.”
“Then why cast it?”
“Because for a brief moment the effect area of the spell provided a silhouette of non-magic in a field of magic… something creatures of the Golden Court would be able to see.”
“Tikka!” roared Sunflower as she charged into Xander’s midriff, briefly lifting him off his feet and sending him skidding along the polished floor of the hall.
“Familiars!” yelled Ursula, her head turning this way and that as she warily searched the air around her for any sign of my pixies.
“Relax,” wheezed Xander from where he came to a halt. “It was a one shot deal. Whatever it was only saw me due to the absence of magic for a brief moment. As long as she doesn’t cast another spell it can’t see us any more than we can see it.”
“You okay?” asked Ursula.
“Fine. Didn’t feel like a gremlin though,” wheezed Xander as he gulped down air.
“It was a pixie,” I said, climbing to my feet. “My pixie.”
“Get Alannah,” ordered Xander.
Shifting into my Pyskie form I leapt up from the ground, my wings carrying me over Ursula’s head and down to the ground behind her.
“Where did she go?” shouted Ursula, panic in her voice. “I didn’t hear her cast any spell! And even if she had of it shouldn’t have worked on us!”
“You can’t see me? Why can’t y--”
Anything more I would have said was cut off by a spinning roundhouse kick from Ursula that knocked me to the floor.
“Nope… but I can hear you.”
I knew my smart mouth would be the death of me one day. I rolled out of the way of a blind stomp from Ursula and pushed myself off the ground. Hovering above Ursula, I took my first good look at her since shifting to Pyskie form. While I could still see her she seemed less distinct than before, almost like I was looking at her through thinly frosted glass. But she should be normal looking shouldn’t she? I wasn’t a creature of the Golden Court so I should be able to see her. I was a human. A human with the Talent but still a human.
“Tikka?”
I turned to see a concerned Sunflower and Sky hovering next to me. I repressed a squeal of frustration. This would have been long over had I been able to call upon the girls to help me but it was useless if they couldn’t see the forsaken. And then it hit me in a classic light bulb above the head moment.
“I’ll need Canada,” I whispered. “Wait for my signal.”
“Did you hear that?” asked Xander, who had by now joined the others with Tracy. “It sounded like someone whispering.”
“Where is she?” asked Ursula leaning nose-to-nose with Tracy.
“Here I stand,” I said aloud as I touched down behind Ursula, making sure I stayed far enough out of kicking distance. Another roundhouse kick lashing out from her in my direction testified to the wisdom of that decision.
Shifting my position with a short hop, I came to a stop close behind Russell. “Look around… but you won’t see me…”
I dodged the punch that he swung in the air behind him. As he turned I repaid it with a swift kick between the legs that caused him to sag to his knees in pain. It was the sort of kick that had this been a comedy film might have been accompanied by the sounds of two small round objects hitting the floor.
“She’s not invisible… not if you concentrate!” shouted Xander, squinting hard in my direction as I grabbed the now freed Tracy.
“Do you know an illumination spell?” I asked as I pulled her towards the door. For a second she fought against me, a mixture of fear and confusion in her eyes.
“Tracy, it’s me. Do you know an illumination spell?” I repeated shaking her. In reply she nodded dumbly.
“Then use it now to light up the hall!” I yelled, pulling her to one side as Ursula lunged at where she had been moments before. I blocked the next punch aimed at Tracy and pushed back at Ursula, sending her staggering backwards. Yay for my increased Pyskie strength.
“You’re right. I can sort of see it,” cried Ursula. “If I concentrate hard enough I can see a blue blur.”
Ohhh… that is so going to be my superhero name I thought with a smile.
“Illuminare!” shouted Tracy, the room filling with a bright golden light.
“Now!” I cried, watching as three pixies charged at what to them would have been patches of darkness in a room full of light. Each one of the Forsaken slammed into the walls of the hall with enough force that when they slid to the ground none of them got up, although there was some weak moaning coming from them. As the girls swooped back towards me, I high fived each one in turn.
“Who da man!” I exclaimed throwing my arms wide in celebration.
“Um… probably not you… Alannah,” said a hesitant voice from behind me. “The wings are… a nice touch.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine as Tracy reached out and lightly ran her finger down the edge of one of my gossamer like wings. Actually, a surprisingly good shiver if you catch my drift.
“Please don’t do that,” I gasped, turning around to face her.
“I’m sorry, did it hurt?”
“I’m no… it just…”
“Are you blushing?”
“No! I mean no,” I said deepening my voice for the second ‘no’.
“Sooooooooooo…”
“Soooooooooooo?” I replied.
“So when are you going to tell me why you are a blue girl with wings?”
“The glamour?” I asked, hurriedly looking down at myself.
“It’s still there and I can sort of see it but also sort of not see it. I think your flying antics overloaded the perception filter in terms of my perception.”
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed. So the blue girl thing?” she asked.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time. We’ll get a coffee in the old visitor’s tea rooms,” she said fixing me with a look that suggested this wasn’t a matter for disagreement.
“Ummm… what are we going to do with these three?”
“That’s a good question. It’s not like we can lock them in the basement or something right?” said Tracy with a laugh. A laugh that was met by a thoughtful silence from me.
“Right?” she repeated, the humour fading from her voice at my continuing silence. “Alan?”
“I’m thinking.”
I had a pet hamster once. He seemed happy enough in his cage. I think there was some disused exercise equipment down in the basement the three Forsaken could use. We could maybe borrow one of the water coolers and put down some newspaper for them to use. I wasn’t convinced Russell was housetrained anyway so he’d probably feel right at home.
“Alan!”
“Okay, okay! So what do you suggest we do?”
“They started it… so maybe we should speak to one of the Family? I’m sure they’d understand.”
“Did they start it? My pixie’s threw the first punch as it were. Even if the Family did understand for you they probably wouldn’t for me. Xander is the nephew of Councilwoman Dorian. As much as she might despise Xander for being Forsaken she won’t hesitate to use this as a chance to send me to the Institute,” I said with a sigh.
“So what? We run away and wait for them to visit their vengeance upon us at a time of their choosing? C’mon Alan,” said Tracy, the frustration evident in her body language. “It’s not like I can even cast a memory spell on them!”
“Even if you could I wouldn’t let you!” I said, grasping Tracy’s arms. “I only asked you to use that illumination spell because it didn’t affect them directly and we had no other choice that would have ended the fight without one or more of us getting seriously hurt. You do not use a spell that directly affects anyone without their consent while I’m around do you hear me?”
“Whoa! Where do you get off telling me what I can or can’t do?” snapped Tracy, shrugging free of my grip. “What is it with you and the Family anyway?”
“I…”
“What can you possibly have against the Craft given all the good it can do?” screamed Tracy, her face so close to mine that I could feel her spittle on my face. “You think I wouldn’t give my right arm to be back at the Institute? I had a future in the Family before all this happened! A good future! I was going to become a doctor using my Talent to help heal people! I’d be lucky to even be let in a hospital during visiting hours now! I lost all of that! All of it! I have nothing to look forward too except for being known as a walking disaster! Things break down around me all the time thanks to my Gremlins! Yet despite all of that I still don’t hate the Craft or my Talent! What could the Family have possibly done to you that’s worse than what they did to me?!?”
I slapped my hands over my ears, the sounds of Tracy’s shouting merging with that of a voice I last heard in person as a child. For a moment I was back there in the forest staring into the equally terrified face of a young Xander.
“Alan?”
“Panic… attack…” I gasped, stumbling for the hall doors. “Need… air…”
“How are you feeling?” asked a concerned Tracy, passing a steaming hot cup of tea to me. The visitors’ tea rooms had been closed to the public along with the rest of the house since the free school had been set up and was currently doubling up as the school refectory.
Still, the tea was nice. Not just a big urn of hot brown liquid there was actually a range of individual sachet teas and coffees. It wasn’t Starbucks but it was nice. Taking a sip, I slid back in my seat letting the warm liquid infuse me. The tea rooms were fairly quiet this late in the afternoon allowing us to find a quiet table away from others to talk. Even though I was still glamoured up, I had shifted back to my human girl form. I still couldn’t shift back to my approximation of a human male form on my own.
“Better now thanks,” I replied sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I… overacted.”
“Me too. I’ve got… issues.”
“Pfft!” I snorted. “My issues have issues bigger than your issues.”
Tracy laughed softly at my joke.
“Friends?” she asked.
“Friends… it’s been a long time since I could say that of one of the Family.”
“If it helps don’t think of me as one of the Family. Think of me as a Misfit… just like you.”
“Yay Misfits,” I replied, with mock enthusiasm. “We need t-shirts or something.”
“Yeah… though yours need little wing slots in the back,” she said gesturing at my shoulders. “What was that whole blue thing anyway?”
“Uh… I’m a Pyskie.”
“Pixie?”
“No, Pyskie. It’s complicated.”
“I bet. So is it always like this with you? Being attacked by the Forsaken… turning blue… turning into a girl…”
“It never used to be but lately… lately it has been though it’s more a case of being attacked by ‘insert opponent of the week’s name here’ than just being the Forsaken.”
“You think we’ll get into trouble for what happened?”
“You… probably not. Me… not so sure. I’m sure Uncle John will do the best he can to settle this matter quietly.”
Though while there was at least a chance he’d understand and not report me, well maybe anyway, he’d probably feel duty bound to tell my mother.
Urrrgggh.
I wonder if I could ask for transportation as punishment for my crimes against the Family? Australia seemed a lot nicer now than it did two hundred years ago. Well, maybe not Darwin. I understand they have big spiders. I’d happily serve my time in Sydney or Melbourne though.
“You think Xander is going to cause us problems?”
“Probably but if he does we’ll see him coming. If he has a problem with you he’ll tell you to your face.”
“You almost sound like you admire him.”
“Once we were friends. I can’t… I won’t… believe that none of the good guy I knew is in there anymore.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“So do I, So do I...”
Taking another sip of my tea, we both lapsed into a moment of companionable silence.
“Don’t even think it,” I said with a scowl as a faint noise came from my chair.
Looking down I saw a guilty looking gremlin with a small screwdriver in its hands. Gremlins were basically cowards so if you caught one doing something it was fairly easy to stop them assuming you caught them before they had done too much harm and you weren’t like in the air or somewhere else where physics was an issue.
“Hey Tracy, Alan!” called a voice in greeting. “Is it okay if I join you guys?”
“Hey George!” answered Tracy. “No problem with me. Alannah?”
“Fine with me,” I said, shooting Tracy with a look that a Basilisk would have been proud of. While she might not be seeing the glamour everyone else still was.
Placing his tray on the table, George spun the chair around and straddled it in that sort of effortlessly cool guy way. Like Tracy, George had been one of the Family’s high flyers and had been regularly talked of as a future member of the Family Council for his Solomon-like insight and pureness of heart. Puberty had only served to give him ruggedly handsome good looks and the sort of swagger that Harrison Ford brought to the screen as Indiana Jones. I remembered my sister talking about how he was considered the most desirable boy at the Institute, always fashionably dressed and exuding an uber-coolness.
At least until last year. Now he dressed like an unfashionable grandfather.
“Still rocking the tweed I see,” said Tracy, a hint of gentle amusement to her voice as she indicated towards his pre-war style tweed suit. And by pre-war I meant pre-Great War not WW2, with its stiff starched white collared shirt.
“Yeah,” replied George with a rueful smile. “But I’m making progress.”
To demonstrate the point he undid the button on his tweed jacket and opened it to show his shirt and bow tie beneath.
“No waistcoat!” exclaimed Tracy.
“No waistcoat,” agreed George with an infectious grin that even made me want to smile a little. “And I’ve managed to convince Mr Goodfellow to let me keep jeans now, though he does keep ironing creases down the centre like they are trousers but y’know from tiny acorns...”
“Not bad for what seven months?”
“Nearer nine but yeah, we’re really beginning to make progress now.”
“I understand that there are many in the Family and some on the Council that are critical of you for not taking a firmer line with Mr Goodfellow,” I said, speaking for the first time since George’s arrival. “It’s not like you’re bound to him, he’s merely a Hob in your service. You could easily dismiss him by offering him a new piece of clothing and resume your studies at the Institute.”
George canted his head slightly staring at me as if he had only just noticed me before replying.
“A scorned Hob or Brownie can sometimes become a Boggart, a mischievous or malevolent spirit. Given that all Mr Goodfellow is trying to do is help me and the running of the mill, it seems silly to dismiss him like that. Thanks to his efforts the restoration of the old White Mill has been progressing in leaps and bounds. That I have to spend a little while looking like a reject from Downton Abbey is surely a small price to pay.”
I could only nod in agreement.
“Besides, it was old Mr Emerson’s dying wish that I look after Mr Goodfellow,” said George with an air of finality that seemed to end all discussion on the matter. I could see why the Family Council had been courting him so earnestly before this had happened and part of me wouldn’t have been surprised if my father still had plans for him.
Even George’s involvement with Mr Goodfellow came from a noble act that was so typical of him. There had been a fire out at the old White Mill just outside of Ackholt and George, who had been on a woodlore course nearby, had rushed to the scene to help. He rescued old Mr Emerson from the burning timber framed White Mill at great personal risk. Mr Emerson had been trying to rescue a small stool from the kitchen of the windmill and in an effort to stop the already badly burnt man from going in again George had himself gone in and rescued the stool, suffering some minor burns in the process. Mr Emerson died at the scene as the Fire and Rescue Service fought to contain the blaze but before he died he bequeathed the stool and the windmill to George.
The stool however was no ordinary stool.
It was the stool that belonged to a kindly Hob named Mr Goodfellow and when George took possession of the windmill and the stool he took possession of the shy Mr Goodfellow’s services. Mr Goodfellow had kept the windmill neat and tidy in exchange for food and lodgings at the mill but he also acted as valet to Mr Emerson. As the new master of the mill, George inherited that service. Unfortunately for George, Mr Goodfellow had no concept of human fashions or the concept of changing fashion and before long George found his wardrobe being replaced piece by piece by the sort of outfit that an Edwardian gentleman would have felt at home with.
George could have abandoned the Hob and returned to the Institute but his sense of honour had led him to stay and oversee the restoration of the Hob’s home, the White Mill. While this work was being undertaken, Mr Goodfellow had assumed his role as valet to his new master which I had a feeling was another reason why George with his tweed suit, pressed shirt, bow tie and immaculately polished shoes that you could literally see your reflection in was home from the Institute right now. He looked like he’d stepped out of a steampunk cosplay.
“But enough about me,” said George favouring me with a bright smile. “How about we talk about why you keep changing appearance every time I blink?”
“Uh…”
“Boy,” said George closing one eye.
“Girl,” he added, switching the closed and open eyes.
“Alan,” he said going back to the first eye.
“Alannah?” he said, turning his head slightly to Tracy. She sort of shrugs in response.
“Uhhh… I’m not sure what you mean?” I ask, trying to buy time to plan an exit strategy.
“I have a very well developed third eye when it comes to glamours,” replied George. “I’m assuming this has something to do with your pixies?”
With a sigh I glance heavenwards for a moment before turning to George.
“Ummm… it’s complicated?”
“You keep saying that,” said Tracy. “Maybe you should start at the beginning?”
“I guess it’s as good a place as any,” said George taking a bite from the sausage roll on his plate. “And time is the one thing we all have right now given schools still in session for another half hour.”
Splashing some cold water on my face, I took the chance to look at my reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink. It seemed odd to see my old glamour induced face staring back at me given I knew the reality underneath. Part of me wondered if there was even any point at maintaining the pretence of the glamour given I was currently incarcerated amongst the Family. After all, regardless of how I looked I knew that I was still me. There were even times that maintaining the glamour was inconvenient. Given I was physically female I’d been uncomfortable with the thought of using the male bathrooms but I was at the same time unable to use the female ones because of the glamour. As a compromise I’d found an old unisex staff toilet in an older part of the building. I didn’t think anyone would mind after all as I was ‘family’, a direct descendent of the original owners of Godespeed House. Still, it would have been nice of they’d kept it nicer I thought, wrinkling my nose at the musty smell in the room.
My discussions with George and Tracy had gone surprisingly well given they were ‘Family’ and they seemed pretty accepting of my situation in the circumstances even if for them the Family was a force largely for good and they couldn’t understand my dislike of it. Not that I could tell them the real reasons why I felt that way. Even the thought of it made me feel ill. I splashed more cold water on my face as I fought to calm my breathing. Maybe Xander had the right idea. Maybe I should just give into the rage. It would easier. No, I chided myself. That wasn’t who I was. Alan or Alannah I was better than that. Though thinking about it, when did people start calling me Alannah? Was that something I did? Or is it just a thing now? Who knew, I certainly didn’t. Maybe this was my life now.
What I did know was that once the Family ended the Godespeed Free School Tracy, George and I would probably drift apart back to our respective social circles, or lack of in my case, but for now it felt nice to have a couple of… acquaintances? Friends? Whatever we were, as long as they stayed away from the Craft around me I felt we could at least hang out during the school day.
Pulling some blue paper towels with the consistency of cardboard from the dispenser, I gingerly patted my face dry. With a muttered affirmation of ‘once more into the breach’ I open the door to the toilet and stepped out…
…onto a lush green field.
“Please tell me you’re not going to faint this time?”
I spun around to see a grinning Aelfwyn behind me. The thought of our last encounter sprung to mind.
“You bitch! You punched me!” I snarled lunging for her, only for her to side step my charge like a matador.
“Ole!” she giggled as I collapsed in heap on the ground.
“Children!” called out a second sterner voice. “Behave! This will not do in our most royal presence.”
Emerging from her golden tent flanked my two guards was Queen Joan, who seemed to be trying her hardest not to laugh behind the fan she kept snapping open and shut. Even in the bright light of day her golden glow still coloured the area around her.
“Yes your majesty,” replied a contrite sounding Aelfwyn, dropping her head in a respectful curtsey. “I offer my most humble apologies for any offence I may have caused you.”
“Alannah…” warned the Queen, as I scrambled my knees. “There are many things we will tolerate for our most dear daughter-in-spirit but an unseemly fight with one of our royal bodyguard in our most august presence is not one of those.”
While Queen Joan had not proven to be an ‘orf wiv ‘er head type monarch I didn’t feel like pushing it at this point.
“As for you Aelfwyn, we would suggest that you may wish to be more… circumspect in the presence of our most dear daughter-in-spirit,” giggled the Queen as she gestured with her fan to a Pyskie guard to help me to my feet. “We suspect Alannah is the sort to bear a grudge.”
Damn skippy I was.
“I apologise for any offence caused Alannah,” said Aelfwyn, emphasising the ‘nah’ syllable of my apparent new name as she extended a hand to me. Accepting her hand I pulled her into what may have looked to the casual observer as a forgiving hug.
“This is still so on…” I whispered. “I’m going to take you to the house. The house of pain.”
“Never doubted it pink skin,” she whispered back, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Bring it on if you think you can. I eat little girls scared of their own wings like you for breakfast.”
“I accept your apology,” I said aloud for public consumption breaking the hug, both of us trying to squeeze the life out of the others hand as we parted. In response the Queen rolled her eyes.
“Walk with us Alannah,” instructed the Queen as she looped an arm through mine. “We have much to discuss and as always, too little time in which to do it.”
“Is this the same place as last time?” I asked as we walked out onto a lush green meadow. “Only I don’t remember all those tents.”
Ahead of us were neat rows of brightly coloured conical tents that matched the image of Native American tepees that Hollywood had given to me. The long militarily precise lines stretched off across the grassy plains in front of us giving the impression of a sizable force.
“We are assembling our remaining Pyskie forces on this other plain in earnest,” replied the Queen. “We have received most troubling news from your realm by way of our co-regent King Jack who commands our forces there. It appears more of the forces of the Golden Court have crossed into your realm than we had originally thought.”
“So I guess you’re worried that they will force the fight earlier than you wanted?”
“That is our concern, yes. Our forces in your realm are not yet ready to fight a significant engagement.”
“And this affects me… how?” I asked, turning to look at the Queen. “Last time you told me you wouldn’t get involved in human affairs and I nearly got eaten.”
“We apologise for our miscalculation in that matter,” said the Queen giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “While the business between the Family and the Witchfinders have no bearing on the coming war with the Golden Court we had miscalculated the strength of your opponent. The enchanted object was not something we had allowed for. However, did we not offer you a way to survive?”
“By turning blue and sprouting wings,” I grumbled. “And oh yeah, becoming a girl.”
“We are most perplexed at the way in which you fight your true self Alannah. The kingfisher does not think it is a raven. It knows it is a kingfisher.”
“You do realise that made no sense right?” I asked. I was beginning to worry if she started talking in these odd eastern sounding riddles that I’d end up waxing her chariot as part of my training. In response the Queen just shrugged and smiled.
“As lovely as it is to see you, I’m guessing I’m not here for an afternoon constitutional,” I said with a sigh.
“So much suspicion in one so young,” tutted the Queen as we approached the row of tepees in front of us.
“Wait… so you really did want to just spend time with me?”
“You are our daughter-in-spirit, why would we not want to spend time with you?”
“Oh,” I replied, feeling my face flush with embarrassment.
“But you are right,” said the Queen with a sheepish smile. “This is about more than spending time with you. This is about your birth right.”
“My Queen,” announced a tall amazon like Pyskie warrior with a curtsey as we approached the first tepee.
“And your Princess,” said Queen Joan gesturing towards me.
“Whoa… I’m a what now?”
“Forgive me Princess,” added the warrior quickly. “I meant no offence but I was confused by your attire.”
“Hmmm... we can see why you would be,” said the Queen stopping to take a good look at me. “Still, it is but a simple matter to resolve.”
With a wave of her hand, I felt a tingling sensation creep over my clothes, starting with my trainers and slowly rising upwards.
“Hey! Those were expensive!” I cried as the rubber and leather of my trainers reformed into an elegant scarlet coloured 3 inch heeled court shoe. I had to wonder if I clicked the heels together three times and said there’s no place like home would it send me back to Ackholt?
“Oh no…”
As the tingling rose, the fabric of my jeans unravelled and was quickly replaced by a scarlet and pink poufy skirt decorated with silk ribbons. A skirt that quickly morphed into the bottom of a dress as the tingling rose higher.
“Oh this is just peach–“
The rest of my words were cut off by a startled ‘eep!’ as my t-shirt reformatted into a corset that guaranteed me an appearance on Sesame Street if they ever needed to illustrate the words ‘lift and separate’.
Finally, I felt my long blonde hair being whipped up by invisible hands into what I was fairly certain was a simple yet elegant style even though I couldn’t see it. I didn’t want to ask what had morphed into the chop sticks that were holding it all up.
“Was this all really neces… why… no how, am I wearing make-up?” I asked tasting the sticky lip gloss on my lips.
“Magick of course,” replied the Queen favouring me with the look reserved for a dear but dim relative.
“Of course,” I replied rolling my eyes.
“May I say Princess you are quite beautiful even for one wearing her pink skin,” said the soldier, curtseying to me as she spoke.
“What-ev-er,” I sighed.
“And since when have I been a princess?” I whispered to the Queen. In response she just patted by hand.
By now a small congregation of Pyskie’s had gathered around us, each curtseying in the Queen’s presence and embarrassingly, mine. Around them I could see small pixie forms fluttering in the air.
“Not even one blue guy?” I asked, scanning the crowd in what even I accepted was a forlorn hope.
“All Pyskie are female Alannah,” replied the Queen patting my hand reassuringly. “Just like the pixies. You know that.”
“Peachy. Just… peachy.”
“Now hush if you will. There is something that we must do,” said the Queen.
“People of the Pyskie,” she called, raising her voice so it carried in a way that suggested she had experience of being heard in noisier environments than this. “Our most loyal subjects. Today we present to you our daughter-in-spirit, Princess Alannah. While she is still but a youth in years we have no doubt that when the time comes she shall lead our forces in battle with honour and distinguish.”
Wait… I’ll do what now?!?
“All hail Princess Alannah!” cried a voice from the crowd of Pyskie warriors. Soon the tented rows were resounding with the same cry all around us.
I turned my head to speak to the Queen only to be confronted by the sight of a pixie floating in the air between us. In its hands it held one end of a floral garland that was being lowered over my head.
“You’re not one of mine are you?” I asked in my best baby talk voice as it settled on my outstretched palm. Maybe it was because of their empathic nature but like with dogs and babies it was less about what you said and more about the tone of voice you used with pixies when you spoke to them. Anyway, the fur pattern was all wrong for one of mine for a start and there was an absence of the empathic connection I felt in the presence of my own children.
“Of course not,” it replied, giggling as I almost dropped it in shock. The voice wasn’t quite the same high pitched mogwai-esque cutesy voice as my pixies and the eyes held an altogether different level of intelligence.
“What did you say?” I whispered in a low voice.
“Tikka?” it replied innocently.
Then favouring me with a cheeky grin, it gracefully alighted from my hand only stopping to kiss me lightly on the cheek before soaring off into the air above the crowd.
“Did you…” I asked the Queen, before she cut me off with a stern glance. Turning back to the crowd of Pyskie she quietened the chants with a gesture.
“Our most beloved and royal daughter-in-spirit has much to do in the mortal realm so we cannot keep her here long,” said the Queen to the obvious disappointment of the crowd. Colour me popular I guess.
“However, we have no doubt that you will see her again before too many nights have passed.”
A small cheer went up around the camp in response to the Queen’s words. It wasn’t a sentiment that I shared.
“Come Alannah, we must return you to your realm,” said the Queen, once more looping her arm through mine and steering me back towards her golden tent.
“That pixie spoke to me,” I muttered, more to myself than the Queen. “Not just mimicking words or like a small child learning to speak. It spoke to me.”
“Yes, she was one of the ‘Old Ones’. It is very rare for them to speak to anyone. Even our most royal selves are rarely graced with such an appearance from an ‘Old One’,” said the Queen, the surprise evident in her voice. “We have cared for the pixies since the time of the early human civilisations and in all those years the conversations we have had with the ‘Old Ones’ could be fitted on the back of one of the human’s postcards. That an ‘Old One’ choose to place the garland on your head is a good, if unexpected, omen.”
“Uh… when you say early human civilisations?”
“About 14,000 years ago.”
“Just how old are you?”
“Older. Our people pre-dated the emergence of most of the creatures of the Golden Court. Our co-regent and we honour the legacy of the Great Dragons that walked the Earth while mankind struggled to walk upright. We personally remember what your people call the Aurignacian culture.”
“Who were they?”
“Nice people on the whole.”
“You’re not going to tell me how old you are, are you?”
“You should know better than to ask a lady her age,” said the Queen with a smile.
“So what does the pixie speaking to me mean then?” I asked, resigned to not getting a straight answer out of the Queen.
“We are not sure.”
“Wait… I thought you had all the answers?”
“Far from it our daughter-in-spirit,” said the Queen as we came to a halt outside her tent. “We have just become very adept at making it seem as if we do. We have had a long time to practice our bluffing skills after all.”
“Remind me never to play poker against you.”
“Pity. We do so love games of skill mixed with chance.”
“So why did you bring me here anyway?” I asked, picking at the elaborate silk decoration on my dress. “Other than to put me in this froufrou dress like your own personal Barbie doll?”
“Why to introduce you to your people of course our daughter-in-spirit. You are Pyskie now regardless of whether or not you choose to wear your pink skin like now.”
“Oh… okay?”
“And to give you this,” said the Queen.
On cue one of her royal bodyguard withdrew a velvet wrapped bundle from where it had been resting next to the Queen’s Golden Tent and passed it to me. I felt my arms sag a little under its weight. Whatever this puppy was, it was it was heavy.
“What is it?” I asked, trying to peer through the folds of velvet as I gingerly held it at arm’s length.
“A gift. Something to keep you safe. Though please do be careful of your fingers, the blade is exceptionally sharp.”
“Wait… it’s some sort of weapon?” I asked.
“Yes. To be precise a sixteenth century English mortuary sword. It doesn’t look a day over 1649 by the way.”
“And what am I supposed to do with this?”
“We thought that part was obvious our daughter-in-spirit. Keep thyself safe from harm and should the occasion demand, smite our enemies most vile.”
“Oookay… I’d like to go home now,” I said placing the velvet package carefully on the ground. “Please.”
“You know what to do our daughter-in-spirit,” said the Queen as she embraced me in a hug. She kissed both of my cheeks before turning and walking back to her tent. “Take a deep calming breath, close your eyes and feel the tether. Do not worry, we shall see each other again soon enough Alannah.”
Yeah. That was what I was worried about. Keeping a wary eye on where Aelfwyn was I moved a little away from the tent and closed my eyes.
“Feel the tether. Feel the tether,” I muttered under my breath. Unfortunately, all I could feel was the rustle of silk and the constriction of my bodice.
“Oh… this is just sooooo peachy,” I hissed. There was no way I was asking for help after what happened last time. Maybe I just needed to distract myself. Somehow. How you even did that I didn’t know.
“Having trouble,” asked a honey toned voice from beside me. Squinting between semi-closed eye lids I saw Aelfwyn’s smiling face as she twisted on the spot like some errant child. “Only the time by which you should be back in your realm is fast approaching. Do you need my help perhaps?”
“Everything is fine. Or at least it was until you interrupted me,” I replied. “So why don’t you do us all a favour and piss off?”
“Sorry. I’ll just stand here quietly.”
“Do you think I’m some sort of idiot? You’ll punch me again the moment you think I can’t do it.”
“How about if I give you my word that I won’t punch you? For this visit anyway.”
“I’m supposed to take your word?” I asked, not even trying to hide the incredulity from my voice. “Next you’ll be trying to sell me a bridge in Brooklyn.”
“Ah, with a human that may be the case,” replied Aelfwyn, a hurt expression on her face. “However, a Pyskie’s word to one of her own in is unbreakable. Feel the truth to my words.”
In response I felt… something… in my head. An acknowledgement of the truth of her words. Closing my eyes I tried once more in vain to feel the tether.
“You won’t punch me?” I asked warily. “If I admit that I’m having problems finding the tether… you promise that you will distract me through some other way than punching me?”
“You have my word that no part of my body shall come into contact with yours for the purposes of returning you to your realm,” replied Aelfwyn.
In hindsight I would come to kick myself for not having paid more attention the smugness in her voice.
“Okay then.”
“Close your eyes Princess.”
“And then you’ll distract me?” I asked closing my eyes.
“Yes. And then you will return to your realm.”
“And you will keep your promise?”
“Yes my princess. No part of my body shall come in contact with yours.”
“Okay. Let’s do it,” I said taking a deep breath.
“Alright then… pucker-up buttercup.”
“Wait… wha–“ I asked, opening my eyes just in time to see the flat circular underside of a frying pan coming towards my face. As it connected with my nose I staggered backwards and…
… crashed through the partly open door of the unisex staff toilets into the corridor outside. The sound of the broken lock rattling across the floor was the only noise other than my cursing as I tentatively touched my sore nose. The silence of the hall was broken moments later by the dull thud of a velvet wrapped package landing on the floor of the corridor having been launched through the open toilet doorway.
“It’s so on bitch,” I muttered between small gasps of pain as I prodded my sore nose. A small trickle of blood on my fingertips indicated that she’d at least hit me hard enough to draw blood. “She better not have broken my nose.”
Great. Now I needed to go to see the school nurse. I pulled a piece of silk from a bow on my shoulders and pressed it against the underside of my nose to staunch the bleeding.
Wait… silk bow? Looking down I saw that not only was the glamour gone but I was still wearing the scarlet silk froufrou gown that wouldn’t have been out of place on a wedding cake.
“Oh this is just… peachy,” I grumbled. It was so peachy I was thinking of opening a peach schnapps concession.
“And where the hell did she get that frying pan anyway? More importantly, where is the school nurses office from here?” I asked the empty corridor.
A noise from the far end of the corridor attracted my attention. The dimly lit, darkness shrouded, end of the corridor. Checking through the windows it seemed that darkness had fallen, though given this was only April it wasn’t necessarily that late. I’d have checked my watch except it was now a lovely set of bangles.
The noise sounded again. It almost sounded like… a howl? I should probably investigate.
“Forget that.”
I turned towards the other end of the corridor only to come face-to-face with a large wolf. A large snarling wolf with lots of large sharp wolf teeth dripping lots of hungry looking wolf saliva on the tiles of the corridor floor.
“Nice doggy?” I asked taking a step backwards. The wolf matched my step with a step forward of its own.
“You don’t want to eat me. You’d probably get diabetes given this dress,” I added helpfully.
In response the wolf just growled.
“Who’s a cute wolfie then? Yes, you is. You’se a cute wolfie,” I said trying the baby talk approach. If anything the wolf looked less pleased than before.
The gentle patter of paws announced the arrival of a second equally as grumpy looking wolf behind the first. Given that the wild wolf had been extinct in England for 500 years it was something of a surprise to find not one but two wolves. Even more surprising to find them indoors in a country house. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was something I could attribute to global warming. Melting ice caps, weird weather, indoor wolves…
I took another step backwards as the wolf’s plural advanced a step closer.
“Sonnnnnnet,” I sang in as non-threatening a voice as I could. “Come to momma.”
“Tikka?” asked Sonnet, appearing in front of me in a swirl of light. Swooping down she landed in my arms, letting out a soft purr.
“Sonnet… momma needs Lunar.”
“Tikka.”
A gentle chiming noise accompanied by a swirl of light heralded the arrival of Lunar. Of all my pixies, Lunar had the greatest affinity with the animals and in particular nocturnal ones. If anyone was going to stop Alannah Snacks ending up on the menu it would be her.
“Lunar sweetie can you help momma with the tw–three wolves,” I asked correcting myself as another wolf joined the pack advancing towards me. “Find out what they want.”
Making sure I kept facing them I took a hurried couple of steps backwards as the wolves advanced. I might not know a lot about country house wolves but I was pretty certain turning my back on them was a bad idea.
“Tikka momma,” replied Lunar as she flew down to the nearest wolf.
I watched as she buzzed around it, swooping over and under it, all the time making little clicking noises before coming to a hover in front of the wolf’s face.
“Tikka?” she asked the wolf.
“Lunar!” I yelled as the wolf’s jaws snapped closed in the air where she had been hovering swallowing her whole. Letting out a growl-wheeze that Muttley would have been proud of I could almost swear the wolf was grinning at me.
“Sonnet, call for reinforcements. I’m going to have a wolf fur coat made!”
The look the wolf shot back made it clear it was banking of having an Alannah skin coat. A sentiment it underlined with a ferocious bark that made me involuntarily step backwards. The wolf tried to make a second bark but that unexpectedly turned into more of a wolf belch.
“Tikka?” called Sunflower and Canada as they appeared in the air in front of me.
“Bad doggie!” I yelled pointing at the wolf that had swallowed my pixie whole. “It ate Lunar!”
“Tikka?” asked a voice from beside me. I turned to see a saliva covered pixie appear in a swirl of light next to me.
“Lunar!” I cried in relief as I hugged her. “And ewwwwww….”
Carefully releasing her from the hug I dabbed at the pixie sized wolf saliva mark on my dress with one of my silk bows.
“Momma… not doggie,” said Lunar floating up in front of my face.
“Not doggie? No sweetie, it’s not a doggie it’s a wolf.”
“Momma… not wolf.”
“Then what is it sweetie?”
Lunar pursed her lips in thought for a moment before with a snap of her fingers a plastic wristband appeared in her hands.
“What’s this?” I asked as she passed it to me.
“Tikka.”
“Team Jacob?” I said reading the writing on the wristband. “What does… oh.”
“Tikka.”
“New plan. RUN!” I yelled, turning on my heels as I sprinted away from the wolves into the dark corridor. Diving through the first unlocked door I came to, I slammed it shut leaning heavily against it. The door shook as a wolf body crashed into the other side of it and for a moment I thought it might even open. Fumbling with the key in the lock I was relieved to hear it click closed.
“Help me block it!” I shouted to the pixies. “Use one of those bookcases! Wedge it against the door.”
“We will find it, we will drag it, bring the bookcase and block, block, block,” sang my pixies as they slid a bookcase that was considerably taller than me against the door. “We will push it, we will wedge it, and the doggies it will stop, stop, stop.”
Great. They’d been watching Bagpuss reruns, I thought with a groan. This is what I get for limiting their Disney Channel time. Reruns of 1970s children’s animation. Still, it could be worse I guess. Say what you like about the mice on the mouse organ but at least they were helpful and efficient. Surprisingly so for a 1970s labour organisation actually given the prevalence of industrial action in the real world of the time. And helpful was definitely what my girls were as they wedged one of those old fashioned dark wood library stacks from the days when no one worried about libraries having high shelves, against the door. They’d have to be were-elephants to shift that.
Were-elephants. I was really hoping that wasn’t a thing.
Slumping against the wall I took the opportunity to look around as I caught my breath. I was in one of the libraries in Godespeed House, though from the looks of it this wasn’t one of the ones that was open to the public or used by the Free School. Thick leather bound volumes lined the shelves of the tall stacks that stretched for the length of several basketball courts easily. What light there was in the room was provided through an clear class octagonal dome above the room and from small pools of amber light thrown out from lamps dotted around the room on small reading desks.
“Tikka?” asked Sunflower as she landed on my shoulder.
“We need to find another way out of here before they find another way in,” I said, listening to the sound of the wolves clawing at the blocked doorway. “I’m guessing there must be another door or a secret passage or something in a house of this age.”
“Tikka!”
With Sunflower and Canada scouting ahead and Sonnet with Lunar resting on my shoulders, we set off down the long row of stacks. Before long the sounds of the wolves at the door had receded and the only noise that could be heard was the creaking of wood and the sound of my shoes on the tiled floor.
“Tikka! Not grandma!” said Canada as she flew back to me from where she had been exploring.
‘Not grandma’ was the girls’ expression for any old woman who wasn’t my mother. Not that my mother was an old woman being in her early 40s I mentally added. You never knew who was listening to your thoughts these days, so it was best to be safe.
“Show me,” I asked, jogging after Canada as she turned and headed back down the line of stacks.
Before too long the stacks came to an end and I found myself standing in front of a large octagonal shaped counter, the hollow inside of which was filled with tables piled high with various leather bound books. Picking one up I checked the spine label noting that it was ‘Merlin Argyle’s Big Book of Burping Spells’. Another book identified itself as ‘William Tucker’s Guide to the Great Family Houses of England’.
“It’s the old Great Library of House Goodspeed,” I said in a hushed voice, looking at the rows of stacks leading away from the octagonal centre. “This was supposed to have been destroyed by fire when I was little.”
I remembered how angry Opa Grimm had been when it happened. We were supposed to be transferring the Goodspeed House library to Munich to form a combined library between the two Houses, a centre of magickal excellence. In the end only a handful of books were sent to Munich and a new House Library was established in the back of the town library.
Someone had to have transferred the entire old library here. It certainly wasn’t the Family Council as dad had nearly lost his position of Chairman over it. Aunt Sophie and Uncle John had also been in hot water as the keepers of the library.
Wait… Aunt Sophie was my father’s sister. Uncle John was his best friend. This wasn’t organised by the Family Council, this was organised by my father and his closest friends. It had to be.
“What are you up to dad?” I asked aloud. “Does mum know about it? And who knows this is here?”
A noise from the centre of the octagon counter made me jump and for a second I thought Team Jacob was back. Grabbing one of the desk reading lamps I swivelled it towards the counter and the source of the noise. In the dimly lit environs of the library I had missed seeing a body slumped over one of the librarian’s desks.
“Hello?” I called, grasping a copy of ‘Harriet Hargrove’s Wonderful World of Warts’ as a weapon. “Who’s there?”
I mentally kicked myself for leaving behind whatever the weapon was wrapped up in that velvet cloth. It would have probably come in very handy right now.
“Alan?” asked a weak voice. “Alan Goodspeed is that you?”
“Yes…” I answered slowly advancing on the still form. “Who is that?”
“Granny Constance.”
With a relieved sigh I put down the book and approached the stirring form of old Granny Constance. Seeing her more clearly as I drew close to her I noticed her usual immaculately neat look was gone with her hair all askew and her tweed skirt suit marked with dirt and a few rips.
“What happened? Are you alright?” I asked helping her into a sitting position.
“I was attacked on my way here,” replied Granny, her voice sounding very frail in comparison to its normal strength. “Three of them ambushed me but I managed to fight them off and make my way here. Very few people know about it so I thought I’d be safe.”
“Well, you’re safe now and as soon as you feel up to it we’ll get you out of here,” I said glancing around the octagonal area. “I’m not sure how long we can wait here though. Do you feel up to moving?”
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” said Granny after clearing her throat a couple of times.
“Great. Granny, is there another exit other than that one?” I asked pointing back in the direction I had come from.
“Yes… a secret entrance on the far side over there and another main entrance door down there,” said Granny pointing off to the left and then further down the way I had been heading.
“Canada, Sunflower, Lunar… please scout ahead and check the routes to the doors are clear.”
A chorus of ‘tikkas’ answered me as they flew off down the stacks.
“Sonnet, can you check the barricade is still in place?” I asked.
“Tikka!”
“So you know about this library?” I said to Granny as I examined the books scattered across the counter. There was an assortment of books ranging from centuries old first editions to books printed in the last few years. Picking up a polished silver bound copy of 'Winston Bourne's Magical Metals' I couldn't help but notice that wolf saliva really stained well from the mark on my dress. If I was really lucky this froufrou dress was ruined I thought happily.
“Yes, *cough* your father appointed me custodian*cough* when it was smuggled here.”
So it was dad. So why was he hiding the Great Library of House Goodspeed from my grandfather? It seemed the oddest thing to do given the closeness of our ties to House Grimm.
Wait… I can see my Alannah reflection so that meant the glamour was down... did she say…
“My father?”
“It’s *cough* alright Alan… or should that be Alannah?” said Granny with an amused smile. “I know all about your ‘problem’.”
“Oh.”
“You’re father wanted to *cough* see if there was a *cough* cure for your *cough* pixie form,” said Granny, her increasingly gravelly voice interrupted by repeated coughing bouts.
“Are you okay Granny?” I asked. “Only your voice sounds really husky.”
She certainly didn’t sound okay. Frankly, she’d have a profitable career as a Barry White impersonator if her voice got much deeper.
“I normally have quite a reedy voice,” replied Granny. “This husky voice is probably all the better for speaking to you with.”
“Tikka. Safe momma,” announced Sonnet as she flew back into the octagonal counter area.
“Are you ready?” I asked Granny. “And which way do you suggest going?”
“The other main door *cough* is the best route. The corridor it opens onto leads directly towards the main occupied part of the building.
Taking her ever present glasses off her nose she let them drop on the small chain that was around her neck. I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her eyes were freed from the prison of her half-moon glasses.
“What’s the matter dear?” asked Granny. “Only you’re staring at me like you’ve never seen me before.”
“Sorry, it’s just… with the glasses gone… granny, I never realised what large eyes you had.”
“Well, it’s all the *cough* better for seeing a handsome man like you with,” said Granny as she rose unsteadily to her feet. I linked an arm through hers to study her.
“Tikka!”
“Shush Sonnet and keep an eye out for trouble,” I said to my pixie as I braced Granny’s weight as she stumbled slightly.
“They really did a number on you didn’t they,” I said with a frown as I looked at the blood stained tears in her tweed jacket. “As soon as we’re out of here, we’ll get you to a hospital and get those wounds cleaned up.”
“Thank you Alannah,” said Granny, patting my hand with hers as we slowly made our way out of the octagonal area. “And may I say that’s a lovely gown you’re wearing. Red really is your colour.”
“Alan’s fine really,” I replied, doing my best to try not to comment my own feelings on the scarlet monstrosity of a gown I was wearing.
“I think you *cough* shouldn’t rule out Alannah as a name though. It suits you.”
Yay me. Alannah suits me. That’s just… peachy.
“Are you cold?” I asked noticing her shivering. “Only this gown has a small cape attached that I could lend you.”
“It’s fine. Really,” said Granny, patting my hand again reassuringly. I noticed she had what my mother insisted on calling pianists hands — long, slender fingers.
“Do you play the piano?” I asked, the words escaping my lips before my brain could stop them.
“I used to,” replied Granny. “Why do you ask out of curiosity? It seems an odd question to ask in the circumstances.”
“Uh… I just wondered.”
“You’re a terrible liar Alannah,” chuckled Granny. “Out *cough* out with it.”
“Uh… I couldn’t help but notice how long your fingers were and I wondered if you played the piano.”
And actually getting another look at her hands, there seemed surprisingly hairy. That being said, I wasn’t convinced that wasn’t natural. People seemed to turn more into hobbits as they got older. They become shorter and hairier.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever said my fingers *cough* were long before,” said Granny. “If they are then it’s all the better for hugging you with.”
Awwww…. Soooooo sweet.
“Tikka!”
“Not now Sonnet.”
“Do you think you would recognise your attackers?” I asked Granny.
“I’m not *cough* sure. It was dark and they moved very quickly. The House has some CCTV installed in the corrifffir.”
“Corrifffir?”
“Sorry,” said Granny, with a pronounced lisp as she cleared her throat. “I meant to say the Hooooouuss…”
“Granny? Are you okay? You’re squeezing my arm,” I moaned as her fingers dug into me.
“Houusssfff.”
“TIKKA!”
“What is it Sonnet?” I hissed. In response Sonnet kept making some sort of fang gesture with a hand.
“What are you on about? Can’t you see that Granny Constance needs our help? We need to… OW!”
I screamed in pain as Granny’s vice-like grip seemed to squeeze my arm down to the bone. Wriggling my arm free from her grasp I turned to her.
“That really hurt! Why did you do tha…”
My words died as I took in the changes that had happened to Granny Constance for the first time. About the only positive thing I could think of was that at least it didn’t look like she was turning into a were-elephant. I had enough problems as it was without importing new ones.
“Granny… what big teeth you have,” I whimpered as her face elongated to form a wolf like snout.
“All the better to eat you with,” she growled in response, clearly having a better grasp of her new mouth now. The feral smile that crossed her new face was very un-granny like.
“This is usually where they run,” she added helpfully. I didn’t need to be told twice.
“SONNET!” I screamed as I sprinted in the direction of the doors.
The silence of the library was shattered by a howl from Granny that nearly made me lose control of my bodily functions. It looked like Alannah snacks were back on the menu. Glancing over my shoulder I saw the last changes take hold of Granny and her start to run after me with her new legs. There was no way that I could outrun her at the speed at which she was closing. Diving to the ground she leapt clear over me, landing with a scramble of claws. I rolled to my left as she lunged again at me, springing to my feet to block a raking attack with an old book.
Throwing the book at her I resumed my sprint for the door, only to hear the closing patter of claws after a few steps. With a howl she lunged again and I slipped falling to the ground as I tried to clamber out of the way. Closing my eyes I hoped at least death would be quick this time.
“Tikka momma?”
Cracking open an eye I saw Sonnet hovering above me. Behind her was the form of wolf-granny trapped in a golden sphere of light, much akin to the one that had encased Jenkins two weeks earlier.
“Oh thank god…”
Pushing the sphere carefully away I pulled myself to my feet and brushed my dress down. Some of these marks would be impossible to get out I thought happily.
“Okay, let’s get the others and–“
Any further words were cut off by a blood curdling howl from within the sphere as wolf-granny ripped at its surface, managing to get the tips of her fingers threw it. A series of cracks that ran from that spot suggested several possible fault lines from which the sphere might crack asunder.
“Old plan,” I said turning to Sonnet and the rest of the girls that had gathered around me. “Run away!”
I ran as if the very devil was behind me the sound of cracking from the sphere becoming ever louder. Reaching the double doors to the library, I grasped the handles throwing them open and then…
And then…
And then started to backpedal furiously. Standing in front of me was a figure in full plate armour. He towered above me, easily standing 7 foot tall and in his hands he held the biggest sword I had ever seen. The most fearsome part of the warrior wasn’t his sword though. Or the assortment of other smaller armoured figures behind him. No, the fearsome part was his helmet. The curved solid steel visor had no gaps save for two triangular eye slots and a terrifying jagged mouth cut into it. All of this was illuminated by a demonic glowing golden light from within that gave the impression of a Halloween pumpkin come to life.
“Alannah Goodspeed… It is time. I have come for you,” said the warrior, his deep voice rumbling around the library with the finality of death.
In the circumstances I did the only thing I could think of. I passed out.
End of Chapter 3
Comments
And I'm already ready for more!
Thanks for the mention, Jemima! You do realize, though, that now I'm going to be pushing you to get them out faster, right? :P
All in all, a glorious chapter! I hope the scary statues end up being good guys. That would be a great turnabout for Alannah's luck.
Princess? So awesome!
Melanie E.
Thank you!
*groan* I've created a monster!! ;-) More seriously, thank you for the encouragement. :-)
I'm having a day or two off to catch up on my reading of other authors and then the first scene of Chapter 4 is pretty much written in my head. Allow 2 - 3 weeks given it's likely to be a 12,000+ word block to get to the end point I have in mind.
As for the new guys... Alannah is probably due for a break isn't she? Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!
And yeah, Princess is awesome. :-)
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
So many things
going on I am sure Alannah has no idea what is going on.
So she did the only
Fun, entertaining, and very enlightening
Goddess Bless you
Love Desiree
Oblivious Heroine
Thanks Desiree! Hopefully, the return to a lighter chapter was enjoyed. There will be some more darkness ahead but it should be regularly mixed with light now I've established the threat.
One of the more challenging things about the story is writing a hero/heroine who has no idea what is going on and is being swept along on it without chance to catch her breath. And absolutely passing out is the only reasonable thing! :-)
Thank you for your support as well!
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Um... what the fuck is going
Um... what the fuck is going on? Did that guardian bitch hit her too hard?
I really don't see that passing out in such a situation would be the best option. Sheesh Alan...
Why do I get the feeling that the Gremlin girl might end up male? Gremlins are male, aren't they?
Anyway, great story, I can't wait for the next chapter,
Beyogi
Some of the gremlins were female…
Remember 1950's dresses? Still, it'd be an amusing slash. I have a feeling our young nought's chosen for the role though.
Yup!
Absolutely right! There are boy and girl gremlins, with the girls in lovely 50s dresses. We'll get to see more of the Gremlins in the coming chapters. :-) Beyond that... not saying! ;-)
Thank you for reading!
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Thank You!
Good Question! What the fudge is going on?!?
Writing from Alan/Alannah's perspective means that the reader will some of the time have no more idea of what's going on than s/he does (and Alannah would probably agree with your choice of words!). That being said, all will become clearer next chapter. Personally though I'm a big fan of passing out in stressful circumstances! :-)
As for the Gremlins, there are Gremlin boys and girls, so unlike pixies they aren't single sex. My gremlins are one of the areas where I've moved further away from old English roots to recent English/American roots with some Roahld Dahl / Looney Tunes inspiration in appearance (though there will be a more pronounced deviation in actions once we see more of them).
Thank you and I hope the next chapter doesn't disappoint!
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
I'm shocked he didnt see that one coming
he never read red riding hood?
giggles
I think most people don't
I think most people don't expect fairy tales to pop up in their everyday life. Even magical people apparently don't. I assume this has something to do with the return of the fairy courts.
No one expects...
Alannah's the sort of heroine that in a horror movie you'd be yelling at the screen "don't open the damn door!" because you know death lurks on the other side but she still does it. :-) We'll learn a bit more about were's next chapter but I don't think it's a spoiler to say that it has a connection to the Golden Court.
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
likely a perception filter.
likely a perception filter. aside from the striking resemblance to the red riding hood story, it was also similar to the others seeing through her own filter.
Close!
There's definitely a perception filter element in it. Plus she's not the most aware of heroines at times. ;-)
Thanks for commenting lostwizard!
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Not the brightest of heroines!
I think it's safe to say that Alannah's mind was elsewhere at the time. Not so much Sonnet's but then things just seem to happen to Alannah y'know? ;-) Welcome to the world's least observant heroine!
I'm glad I made you giggle Dorothy!
Thanks for reading!
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Actually I'd expect something
Actually I'd expect something like: "Grandma, why do you have so long hairs on your arms." *shrugs* "Hm... maybe you should go and visit the doctor, sudden hair growth in your age. I don't think that's good." Or "Did *insert nasty child here* curse you with unwanted hairgrowth. I think mom has a spell against that."
Write faster!
We have to know what happened! Alannah needs friends so very badly to help her work though those issues of hers. That's important because she absolutely has to reassess her priorities. Non-violent is all nice and fine, but sadly werewolves are rarely impressed. And we have another senior citizen who have died in this mess. Her neighbor and now Granny. That not counting that poor girl who was cursed to be Hound.
Important safety tip: When you're told you'll need a weapon to keep you safe, don't leave it in the restroom! :)
hugs
Grover
Safety Tip? Schmafety Tip!
Who hasn't left something in the restroom before? An umbrella, a bag, a sword...
You would have thought being given a red dress with the red cape and a sharp sword to you keep you safe would have been enough of a hint wouldn't you? *sigh* She's not the sharpest that's for sure at times. :-)
One of the great challenges ahead of Alannah is going to be how far down that road she walks. She's seen violence in the aftermath of Danique's death and that's had a big impact on her. Unfortunately for Alannah but she's playing a dangerous game with people who don't believe in rules. Not that Alannah wants to play the game of course. She just wants to keep her head down and live a normal life.
Thanks Grover! I'm glad you're enjoying this story!
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Fun addition to the story
A nice addition, and getting back to being fun even while adding a bit to the backstory. Lots more hints as to the origin of Allanah's dislike of magic, but I still hope we hear the actual details soon. I've got to admit I'm getting a bit confused at the number of players in this magical war, between the Golden Circle / witch hunters / Family factions. Still, it's fun to try to follow.
Keep it up,
Titania
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Lots more to come
All will be explained about Alannah's dislike of magick and where it comes from, though expect me to tease it out for a few more chapters (because I'm like that).
I'm thinking that I might add some sort of score card to the organiser page for the story as things start to become more involved but it's basically four factions at the moment:
As far as the Family and Seditious Court is concerned both these two conflicts are separate. I mean it's not like we've seen any overlap is it? I hope you have fun keeping up!
Thanks for reading and commenting Titania! :-)
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
More lovely good fun!!!
Thank you, I am loving this tale of pixies and gentry and magick with a K.
Looking forward to the next installment of course, had anxiously been looking for this one.
Oh I did note for constructive purposes: the line “However, we have no doubt that you will see her again before to many nights have passed.â€
"to" should be "too" easy mistake to make while in creative mode and of course the darn spell check would never catch it.
Thanks again and keep up the good work.
PS Other artists here in the closet than you too! Love many of your works! Just sort of enjoying this one more than most. :)
Magic with a k
Thanks Kaetii. I'm really pleased to hear you say how much you are enjoying this story! :-)
There are a couple of spelling mistakes in there which I'm not overly bothered about because they don't disrupt the flow significantly but as you raised it so nicely and I had to make a small correction anyway to a couple of lines to clarify something around the meeting with Granny Constance I've made the change. :-) The new text for information reads:
I hope to keep up the good work and not disappoint with the next chapter!
Thanks for commenting Kaetii.
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
I agree completely with Melanie.....
But then again, that seems to be pretty normal for the two of us sisters, lol.
This is turning into a really wonderful story and I can't wait to see more of it. At this point in time, all I can really say is the same thing I always tell Melanie - keep writing!
I loved the way you wound in the whole Red Riding Hood story, and I'm dying to see what happens with the knights now that Alannah has passed out. Could this be a rescue? Is this the rest of the army coming to help her and claim the Princess's help in their battle against the Golden Court?
I guess we'll all just have to wait for the next chapter to find out.
Dallas
D. Eden
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
Don't agree with her it will only encourage her!
It's a conspiracy! I have to sleep sometimes people!! Shesh, now I'm being double teamed!! ;-) But yes, I will indeed keep writing!
I'd say all will be revealed next chapter but... let's just say that the cliff hanger is a fun one that will be revealed early next chapter. As for the other mysteries... who knows when they will be revealed? Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha.... For me though the big question is where did she learn to run in those 3 inch heels! ;-)
Thanks for commenting Dallas and I'm glad you liked the story.
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
This is so much fun.
Alan/Allanah as an uncooperative hero/heroin, his/her acerbic comments on what is happening, and of course, the pixies. Tikka?
Love it.
Maggie
Tikka!
Thanks Maggie!
The smartest one in the room is soooooo clearly Sonnet! Tikka? I wanted to have a go at writing a heroine that was unwilling, sarcastic, foolish and just plain oblivious at times. World meet Alannah... Alannah meet World. :-)
I'm glad you're enjoying the story. More disaster / fun ahead! And definitely more things trying to eat Alannah. :-)
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
ZOMG! I Loves the Pixes!!! A must read.
I absolutely fell in love with the last third of this ever since the werewolves came and the thing with the Team Jacob bracelet.
*Great Big Really Happy Hugs*
Bailey Summers
Team Jacob
Thanks Bailey!
I have a scene in mind for a Team Edward bracelet as well for a future chapter. :-)
I'm glad you're liking the pixies! Though I can't help but wonder if 'Canada' is the favourite pixie for Dorothy and yourself! ;-)
I've got to catch up on reading your stories now! :-)
*appreciative hugs back!*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Demonic glowing golden light?
Or is this a Good glowing golden light? I'm even wondering if the sword is more than a sword, it being attached to an enchanted knight that comes to the rescue of endangered damsels...er, its owner.
Wonderful story. Fun, scary, well written. More, please.
SuZie
Cliffhanger
Thanks Suzie! That's the million dollar question, good golden light or bad golden light? If our damsel would stop passing out we might even get to know! However, all will be revealed in the next chapter. You are right though in that the sword will be important. :-)
Fun and scary are something I'm definitely trying to balance with this story so I'm pleased you feel it's working!
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
A lot revealed this chapter but....TIKKA? TIKKA! Oh... TIKKA.
Gotta looooove TIKKA. It is soooo versatile.
Kinda like aloha, IE it expresses everything and nothing. Thus Alannah's confusion?
Huh? Sorry I confused myself.
BTW did his, well mostly a her now, parents EVER punish the brother for shoving him into a pixie nest?
So our reluctant heroine is the blood descendant of this soldier/sorcerer.
I assume one of the *people* helping the Golden Court is this nasty Fey in the dead money grubbing witch finder's body.
I get hints the potentially great witch burdened by her over ambitious family with the gremlins and Alana with her mostly helpful, sort of, pixies will become a powerful team... and maybe lovers?
Princess? So Alan is doomed and Alannah is HER destiny?
But this suggests some long term plan by the queen.
The implication is Alan was supposed to be born a female and was magiced to be a male to toughen her or to protect her until her magic could come of age?
Unless it is that old magic concept that a sex changed individual will be far more powerful than when in their birth sex. And Alan was supposed to have considerable talent. The implication is Alannah will be off the charts and thus worthy of being the Queen's Princess.
Or am I totally bonkers here?
GET WRITING... NOW!!!
John in Wauwatosa
John in Wauwatosa
I doubt the lovers thing
Simply for the fact that it was established in the first chapter that Alan/Alannah tends toward hetero in either body.
Now, what's his name with the Hob... but I see the girl becoming the typical best friend who helps the protagonist deal with being a girl, which is what Alannah needs more than anything right now.
Methinks boy emulation is going to be impossible quite soon.
Melanie E.
Friends
Yup, spot on about Alan/Alannah's sexuality. This prolly comes as no shock to anyone who has read any of my other stories as the lead females tend to be hetero. However, I do intend to have a little fun with Alannah and romance. :-)
And you're right. What Alannah desperately needs now more than anything is a friend or friends.
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Tikka? No, Tikka!
I like the comparison with 'Tikka' John because verbally it is used to express everything and nothing. :-) It's the empathic subtext that provides the difference between a good 'tikka', a bad 'tikka' and an 'are you going to eat that last pancake?' 'tikka'. Of course if Alannah isn't concentrating on that link then she misses the subtext making it a meaningless sound and while she's got better at reading them, when she's outside of Pyskie form she still really struggles with it. Plus it's a nice set up word for jokes. ;-)
The brother issue will be cleared up... but probably not for another chapter or two depending how long the next chapter chunk is. Alan's Talent is very considerable because of his bloodlines - as is that of his siblings - but we'll learn more about that when we get to his human family. Suffice to say, Alannah due to her pixies and pyskie nature does bring a large slice of wild magick Talent to the table that her sister and brother don't have. Again, more will come on that one. Next chapter is going to focus a fair bit on the side of her family that she knows nothing about - her place in the so called 'Seditious Court'. Given Queen Joan's age it's fair to say she's adept at playing the long game.
As for romance... Alan is a hetero male when in what's left of his male form and Alannah is a hetero female in her female form. There will be romance ahead but I'll leave that there for now. I'm focusing on forming Alan's new social circle ala my Harry Potter-esque central 3 characters with supporting cast for now.
I've written part of the opening scene for chapter 4 but expect it in 2-3 weeks as work is going to be busy this coming week and I doubt I'll get too much done.
Thanks for commenting John and I'm glad you're enjoying this! :-)
*hugs*
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
I like the Sidhe/Seditious parallels too
Dunno if that was all part of the plan, but it worked well for me.
Melanie E.
Chapter 4...
...is nearly done now. It's a similar length to the previous chapters and should be ready for posting early in the coming week. :-)
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Oooo
I liked the oblivious red riding hood thing and, like Alan(nah) I mourn for those comfortable sneakers ;)
Oh well, what's a Pyskie Princess to do?
Every chapter I read makes me want more, as I love your writing style and humour throughout - and the story itself is involving and fun; as well as quite different from the usual imaginings of pixies and fae-kind - this just serves to make everything even more interesting.
Moreover I cannot wait to see how the relationship with Ms Disaster Tracey (poor girl) and George develops - and whether they will become three crusaders for the rights of pixie-kind (or familiars, for that matter)
xx
Amy
Central characters
Tracy and George will become quite central to the story as it develops, as will their familiars. One thing that is for certain is Alan won't tolerate the enslavement of familiars where he has a choice in the matter.
And as you saw, tragedy strikes again with the loss of more comfortable shoes. Oh the darkness! :-)
Thanks for commenting Amy and I'm glad you are enjoying the story!
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
*Gasp!*
The shoes!~~ Oh, the humanity! Those poor soles didn't know what hit them?!
Hehe I promise that's all the puns for now!
xx
Amy