Cordelia & Mer
and the
WITCHES OF ICE
Book One: Gloom
By William F Gadd
Copyright © William F. Gadd MMXII
Smashwords Edition
Published by
Email contact: witches@witches-of-ice.com
ISBN: 978-1-4658-6230-3
Twelfth Edition May 2012
Author website: www.witches-of-ice.com
Artist (Maxine Gadd) website: www.fataraworld.com
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.
Dedication
To: Maxine, my beautiful wife, for her inspiration and love, my niece Amy and Great Niece Holly, for their laughter and sunshine.
W
F. Gadd, 21st June 2010
Preface
The seed of an idea for this story grew in the summer of 2008. Maxine, my wife and brilliant life partner, was invited as a special guest artist, to the Faerieworlds convention in beautiful Eugene, Oregon, U.S.A.
Maxine Gadd’s realistic pictures of fairies, mermaids and witches, have a lot of followers these days, hence the invitation.
Our delightful host and sponsor was Diana Zimmerman, celebrated magician and author.
The event opened my eyes. The mystery of faeriedom involved mums, dads, kids, ...everyone. Each painted and fashioned themselves into a world of wonderful make-believe. The music, dancing, craft and art, was so unique, so back to the Earth, and so necessary in our troubled world.
Faerieworlds was a buzz of excitement, and, along with all the new American friends we made, the experience set my imagination racing.
Upon returning to our home in Australia, everything that I’d seen and vividly experienced still remained in my thoughts.
Three months later, I wrote about two harmless, fun-seeking and daring little white witches: Cordelia & Mer. After a while, they emerged as the main protagonists of my story ‘Out-Witching Witchdom’, which in turn became ‘Cordelia & Mer and the Witches of Ice’.
There are three books dedicated to the first series: Book One ‘Gloom’ (Published here), Book Two ‘Doom’ (part written, due for release late 2012), and Book Three ‘Boom!’ (Synopsis & structure completed, early formative writing and chapter designation underway, due for publication 2013).
Depending upon character popularity, a further series of adventures is planned, covering a whole new drama for Cordelia, Mer and their friends to survive. It will be a lot darker than the first series.
May I take this opportunity to thank the many who have purchased my first book, and truly hope you enjoyed the reading of it, as much as I enjoyed the writing.
Reviews are of course a tremendous aid in the writing and buying process, and would be greatly appreciated here!
I really hope you enjoy ‘Cordelia & Mer and the Witches of Ice’.
Contents
Chapter One. Inconsequential Spells
Chapter Seven. Underground Spells
Chapter Eight. All Hallows Eve
“A pile alane stod ageyn al fere,
Wacched bi magike lest sum neah,
Caste it doun to asch and fyre,
Graunt ne witche alane soche dire. ”
Anon.
‘That’ll be £5.20, dear’ said the lady behind the counter. ‘Is that alright?’ she asked, then promptly leant over to tell her customer something more. She appeared concerned.
In a secretive undertone, she enquired ‘did you manage to unlock any of those strange witch-whispers we chatted about, dear –the ones none of us could fathom out?’
She spoke low, convinced someone unseen was overhearing every word ‘I’m certain they were meant for you’ she strained. Her customer made no reply.
A sudden ghostly rush of cold air and distantly sighing voice sent a shiver down her spine. It emanated from a tall dusty ebony-framed wishing mirror behind her.
The huge mirror, resting on the floor against a locked wardrobe, shook a little as if disturbed by something.
The lady, Hilda Soggit, as it happened; a fussy worrying kind of person and the owner of her mysterious store ‘Mrs. Soggit’s Last-Chance Shoppe of olde Curiosities’, moved back, suspiciously looking around from side to side. The presence she felt was a lot stronger now, so she resumed her normal conversation.
On and on the woman nattered; about the poor quality of spells these days, how they weren’t working as they used to, how she hadn’t seen some witches for quite a while, or of potions that had turned bad; even about the peculiar weather lately.
Hilda just kept talking and talking, not really interested if her customer was actually listening or not.
The hardly lit store, cluttered as usual with witchy curiosities stacked nearly to the cobwebbed ceiling, was empty of people, except for these two of course.
Hilda darted forward once more, eyes squinting and whispering; ‘Olivia couldn’t unlock any of her witch-whispers either. You know Olivia, dear? –Olivia Jute, the lady we go weaving with Thursday nights.’
She said this accusingly, as if her most frequent patron should very well know whom they went spell weaving with on Thursdays.
But her customer, Valery Pitheringae, a tall overly particular type with fastidiously tidy clothing and sharp mind, who was also quite an experienced witch by all accounts, really hadn’t heard a word the woman had been saying.
Instead, she peered through Hilda’s pallid grey eyes, right through her brain and out the other side onto the tall wishing mirror behind her.
It was reflecting, through the dimple-glass bay window of Hilda’s shop, a sky suddenly thunderous and dark.
Vacantly, Valerie forgot her purchase, turned and walked, though to her it felt more like she’d floated, toward the shop door. She opened it, tripping the little customer bell; and drifted outside almost in a daze.
Hilda Soggit looked on in surprise but wrapped the woman’s peculiar purchase anyway, quite sure of her return. ‘I’ve added a few special charms with it too’ she called as if providing Valerie with a temptation beyond refusal.
Standing gormlessly in the street, and lucky not to be run over by any passing cars, Valerie Pitheringae stared up at the foreboding sky.
It should have been yet another indication, as Hilda Soggit tried reminding her, that things had been getting rather nasty lately in the world of witchcraft. Not only for Mrs. Pitheringae, but most witches in fact, including her good friends the Merryspells.
Yes, something was definitely and seriously wrong. Spells were reversing, charms no longer charming, and innocent incantations leaving people in a terrible condition.
There were broken keepsakes, broken promises, broken bones; even broken spirits.
Yet, whilst Valerie in her long brown coat, garish silk scarf and pointless wobbly hat peered into this thunderous scene, a puff of light blue mist drifted in below the dark clouds above. Nothing particularly unusual about that in itself; until, that is, it took on the shape of her late Great Aunt Agatha, who’d passed away only days ago.
The apparition of her Great Aunt appeared angry, waving a cloud-like walking stick at her. Valerie stared up at her Great Aunt, almost in disbelief. Bravely, she spoke to her, not from fear you understand, but dread of getting a right ear bashing from this late and previously very argumentative relative; and that’s putting it nicely.
‘What's that Agatha? I can’t hear you love; your voice is still on the other side. You’re very much in spirit dear…I’m happy, eh sad to say’ Valerie bit her lip over this slip of the tongue.
Mrs. Pitheringae’s head was cranked so far back, her wobbly hat slid off, only to be saved from flying away into the stormy wind by her Great Aunt still wielding that ghostly walking stick in a war-waging manner. ‘Thank you Aggy!’ she yelled, knowing full well how much her relative disliked being called this.
Amused by the visitation, Valerie could only suppose this anger was because she’d placed far too few flowers on Aggy’s grave during the recent funeral. Wrong, Agatha was warning about the coming threat to witchdom.
Not realising this, Mrs. Pitheringae muttered ‘Flowers indeed! Serves the old goat right for being such a mean cantankerous so and so.’ Ponderously, she watched the apparition of her Great Aunt gradually disappear from sight then walked back to Hilda Soggit’s little shop of mystical peculiarities.
If that wasn’t enough, on the following night, past witching hour, young Cynthia Grosselearne, also a witch as well as a star pupil at a nearby college, who was distantly related to Mrs. Pitheringae, became convinced she’d spotted something moving about inside her tall bookcase in the corner of her bedroom.
The glass doors were open, which was odd as she usually kept them locked due to the disturbing contents of her many books on extreme magic.
Inside she could see a glow; and the more she looked, the more this glowing moved. It was as if the thing couldn’t settle. She knew it wasn’t her cat familiar playing in the bookcase though, because Duddles was outside the house, sitting on the window ledge, clawing and hissing at whatever weird materialisation had just taken place inside her room.
‘Odd that’ she breathed fearfully, staring at the bookcase from her bed. Cynthia was so scared, she daren’t move; and anxiously gripped her drawn up eiderdown firmly between clenched teeth.
A few days later, something else strange happened. Henry Leaflove –apprentice warlock and part time daredevil, woke early one morning in a start. He’d just had a powerful dream that demanded immediate action.
He flew down the rickety back staircase of the rickety but hugely popular establishment, The Charming Crust Bakery, and raced through the dawn dark deserted streets of his village Whizz-on-the-Floss.
He arrived at goodness knows where deep in a blur and deep in woodland. Henry was utterly confused, and stood stupidly in his pyjamas. OK, so they were his favourite pyjamas, black with a pattern of silver broomsticks and funny warlock hats, but totally embarrassing for him all the same –even in the middle of nowhere.
The apprentice warlock blinked a few times and looked about. Then, he noticed it; a tall strange looking building with a pointed roof that rose up along with the tall trees.
It was the Merryspell cottage. This was very odd, as he’d never been to the Merryspells before.
But he did remember vaguely meeting them in this dream. And another thing that stuck in his mind; he needed to tell them about being handed a book made of ice: All very peculiar.
Yet, he couldn’t deliver his message; the place was absolutely deserted.
Through dirty and broken windows Henry cast his eyes around a dark neglected interior. He could barely perceive anything. Only some old threadbare furniture laced with grimy cobwebs, and what appeared to be dusty cauldrons hanging over a long dead fire in the hearth.
‘What am I doing at a derelict old house in the middle of nowhere?’ He questioned, ‘There’s something very freaky going on here!’
But the house wasn’t derelict at all. The Merryspell Cottage had been enchanted to appear this way to deter unwelcome visitors. If the truth were known, the Merryspells had merely gone out for the day. If he were more experienced at his craft though he’d have seen beyond the enchantment.
Inside, the floors were polished with a scattering of exotic rugs, the furniture clean and well loved, the hearth roaring with a welcoming fire.
The lad simply couldn’t see it, so trudged back to his dingy flat above The Charming Crust Bakery, still mystified as to the purpose of his visit.
That night, when the Merryspells returned home, Mrs. Merryspell’s youngest daughter, Cordelia, witnessed with astonishment, a strange translucent book appear before her eyes. It happened by pure coincidence whilst searching through her mother’s previously locked and barred bookcase on deep magic. Cordelia had somehow overcome her mother’s unnecessarily punitive spell-lock to borrow a gut wrenchingly good book on spells; she’d acquired a great deal more.
She couldn’t resist opening this weird see-through oddity; her curiosity knew no bounds. Turning each of the ice-like pages carefully as though they might snap with the lightest touch, she began reading the fragile book then and there. Cordelia quickly learnt that white witchcraft, and all of witchdom in fact, was on the verge of becoming embroiled in a terrible and utterly magic-shattering event, something that would change magic forever.
The book went on to reveal that Ice Witches; ruthless beings hell-bent on complete control of witchcraft, will soon rule witchdom entirely. Not a single spell or witch, white or dark, would survive, unless of course they gave their undying allegiance to the Ice Witches. If any refused, only death awaited them for opposing their evil intent.
Melchior Fizz, a formidable and incredibly inquisitive wizard, wrote this tell-tell book, and entitled it “Out-Witching Witchdom”. The book’s a wealth of uncovered truths and warnings about this future event.
By use of deep magic the wizard had caused it to materialise in countless bookcases of witches and wizards across the land, including Mrs. Merryspell’s, to alert everyone on the coming danger.
“Someone’s bound to read it, someone’s bound to take notice” –or so he thought.
Happily, this very building contained the two souls, Cordelia, and her sister Mer, who could actually prevent their dire scheme from taking hold.
But, unhappily, neither of them yet had a clue they possessed something that could do it. Hardly surprising really, as Cordelia had only just found out something was wrong with witchdom anyway.
And, furthermore, what she knew, didn’t add up to much either. Clearly, there was a great deal more reading to be done.
So, carefully, Cordelia carried her newfound treasure up to her bedroom, hiding as best she could its intense green glow. The light was certainly bright enough to awaken anyone it may land upon.
As she read page after page, the more she read, the more she became intrigued; and the more she was inveigled by something very nasty. Worse still, the simple act of reading this amazing but treacherous book put her, her sister, and all their friends’ lives in peril as well.
This is where their struggle against evil begins.
Miss Starch-Stiffington’s School for Well Behaved Young Witches
Gran Daisy’s market tent “Warts ‘n All”
Delia takes flight with a fearful pterodactyl on Xylia Vago’s terrible
‘Misery-Go-Round.’ Not many witches have been known to survive.
Chapter 1: Inconsequential Spells.
Despite the winter sun doing everything in its power to warm things up, the Merryspell cottage remained bitterly cold.
In a certain room of this old and peculiar cottage, things were even more chilling; Dark magic was stirring.
Cordelia and her older sister Mer, both young witches, miserably sat in their study, being at the heart of their mother’s displeasure; well, this week at least. And, what they’d done to deserve this only helped the canker of evil that was already working against them.
The two had been grounded indefinitely over an outrageous misuse of magic. Cordelia had attempted a protection spell, which had caused severe damage to everything around.
Worse still, it resulted in the loss of several priceless family relics of witchcraft that simply disappeared into a cloud of ice blue smoke, including, it must be admitted; a relic that would have gone a long way in saving them both from the predicted catastrophe.
She’d tried explaining that Melchior Fizz, in his mysterious book “Out-Witching Witchdom”, had strongly advised using the spell against “the coming danger of Ice Witches”
Their mother scoffed at this despite being shown the ice-like curiosity. Instead, she harshly confiscated it barking, “You’ve gone too far this time, and your nonsense stops right here!”
So, as punishment on this freezing winter’s day, the witches were condemned to read from two very heavy looking volumes on discipline. And, they weren’t at all ordinary either. Furthermore, even as they studied, the evil in the cottage was already taking hold of their destiny, eating away at their freedom second-by-second, charm-by-charm.
After several hours of tiresome reading, their yawns occasionally broke the peace of utter quietness. This yawning though soon evaporated into thin air returning the room to excruciating silence and hard study. Except for yawns, the creaking of their chairs, and the sporadic turn of a page or so, neither made hardly a noise. They wouldn’t dare.
The afternoon sun had lazily, incredibly lazily, moved the shadow of cobweb curtains and other items across their study at an agonisingly slow speed. The two had watched this subdued drama happen without even a murmur, which was quite an achievement.
For Cordelia the approaching turmoil for witchdom was simply a thread of thought, like so many other threads tangled throughout her mind.
Melchior’s previously confiscated book “Out-Witching Witchdom” was proving to be quite a headache to take in. So, in a way, this punishment, although undeserved in her mind, was a welcome break from reading such a direful work.
Mercifully, their stringent mother was out visiting Mrs. Pitheringae; and had left Meldrick, a strange entity, half-ghost half-real, to keep watch over them. But, inexplicably, and rather fortunately known to Cordelia, he’d gone missing.
And, despite major efforts to obey her mother’s strict punishment guidelines due to these recent events, Cordelia knew this was unquestionably the perfect time to break the monotony, even if it was over something silly; and especially considering the many hours of near silence they’d endured already.
‘Psst… Mer, can’t we cast a small spell or something…cheer the place up a bit?’
Cordelia’s impatient whisper echoed around the room and across the long table, now deep in shadow. Her warm breath formed a tiny cloud of vapour, which she arranged into the shape of a puppy seeking attention.
‘Nobody would ever find out!’ she added.
‘No!’ snapped Mer sharply. ‘I told you before, spells are strictly forbidden, so keep quiet or we’ll be in even more trouble. And, stop using magic on your breath too.’
‘But Meldrick has gone!’ returned Cordelia more enthusiastically.
‘I don’t care’ answered Mer ‘he’ll probably be back any second.’ With that, she returned to reading the book chosen by her mother.
The work they were forced to study was thoroughly recommended for all wayward witches; Prunella Primm’s “The Young Witch’s Guide to Becoming Sensible.”
It’s a truly dreadful book. Even looking at it would be enough to scare any poor child witless. Thrusting out from its front cover is a realistic cast of Prunella’s grim face, showing every disconcerting detail. Upon her accurately portrayed and outrageously protruding nose, loosely rests a pair of jewel incrusted gold-rimmed spectacles.
And woe betides anyone, either daring or foolish, who tries removing them, perhaps, for example, to attempt selling the glasses for a small fortune at a nearby pawnshop. It’s a trap, with a real shock in store for those that try.
This despicable work by Prunella is painful in the extreme. Simply a casual glance at the chapter titles would be daunting for anyone no matter how tough they pretend to be.
Chapter One ‘Knuckling Down to Hard Work’
Chapter Two ‘Obedience is Your Master’
Chapter Three ‘Accepting Punishment Gladly’ (Smiling through the pain)
Chapter Four ‘Talking Out of Turn’ (and what you can be turned into for doing so.)
Chapter Five ‘The Pleasure of Studying for Hours’
Chapter Six ‘Tedious & Tidy’ (two of your best friends.)
Chapter Seven ‘Neat Straight & Correct’ (everything you need to know.)
Chapter Eight ‘Strict & Severe’ (two more of your best friends.)
Chapter Nine ‘Hard Work & Deprivation Never Killed Any Witch’
Chapter Ten ‘Nonsense & Sensibility’ (spotting the difference.)
Another terrible thing, quite unbeknown to any unsuspecting reader of this horrid work, is that once they open the book and start reading, they are bound by magic to keep every one of it’s harsh rules and incredibly difficult and sometimes distressing exercises.
There’s no escaping it either; one can only look forward to a lifetime of drudgery and obedience the moment one takes hold of its scaly leathery cover.
That’s unless of course one happens to possess a “Brechen-Knott” by the famous wizard Hieronymus Startle. This knotted piece of cord, mixed with a variety of dead insects and other disgusting items, along with a reading of various spells written by Hieronymus himself, is indeed a very powerful device.
Fortunately for Mer, her sister had made up two of these “Brechen-Knotts”, and had slipped the spare into Mer’s satchel completely unnoticed. Not that Cordelia knew it had any power over Ms. Primm’s awful book, but simply they were kind of handy to have for a variety of grave situations.
Thus, because of Cordelia’s act of benevolence neither her nor Mer was bound by the book’s magical hold; so, nothing horrible happened at all. This was just as well, for many hours ago Cordelia had decided instead to use Ms. Primm’s book for flick animation, drawing her characters on the top right corner of each page.
Once finished she would delight in the scene of her excessively severe school headmistress, Miss Emily Starch-Stiffington, walking up and sitting upon the loo.
But something remarkable happened once she’d completed drawing the last picture. Her figure of Miss Starch-Stiffington sprang to life. Instantly aware of Cordelia’s surprised face staring down at her, the miniature figure stood and pulled up her over-large black bloomers, scowling and wagging an accusing finger at her as she did so.
“Ol’ Starchy” as everyone nicknames the draconian Miss Starch-Stiffington at school, turned to flush the cistern, whereupon was duly sucked down into the basin, causing her and the remains of Cordelia’s drawing to disappear into the page with her.
This had greatly amused and occupied Cordelia for a while. But, now that the angry headmistress and her enormous black bloomers were sucked into oblivion, boredom really set in.
‘I’m so bored!’ She exclaimed loudly at last, putting the emphasis on bored, thus noisily interrupting Mer’s determination to finish this wretched book by an equally wretched writer of discipline.
‘Our den is boring,’ she complained ‘our books are boring, and our brooms are boring. Even our stupid black cat is boring!’ Radmila, their cat familiar, gave Cordelia a piercing glare from a mantelpiece where she’d sat happily observing the girl’s detention.
‘I’m bored too.’ said Mer. ‘Well there you are, why don’t we do something?’ pleaded Cordelia. ‘Like, maybe just… one spell? Come on, I’ve got a really good book here for a small enchantment.’
Mer yawned, frowned, looked back at Prunella Primm’s distastefully thick book, and looked away from it. As she stared into empty space, a gleam appeared in her eyes. ‘Well, perhaps maybe…’ she said vacantly.
‘Oh great!’ cried Cordelia.
‘Yes, but use only the tiniest spell, nothing more. We’re in so much trouble already because of your stupid ‘Out-Witching book’ insisted Mer indignantly.
‘Oh, I promise.’ replied Cordelia, knowing full well she had no intention of keeping this promise.
Cordelia’s cheeky look matched her bright obstinate red hair. Being twelve, and one year younger than her sister Mer, didn’t seem to matter. Cordelia was very quick thinking and often figured out a plot way before her sister had even thought such a thing was needed.
Mer on the other hand, with raven-black hair, tended to be wiser and more thoughtful about her actions, although sometimes she could be rather too easily led.
Mer and Cordelia Merryspell lived happily here, along with their rather strict mother, Hepsibah, their favourite grandmother, Daisy, and bossy eldest sister, Myrtle. All of them were witches of course, though Myrtle rather felt she was more worthy of being a wizard, much to the amusement of her younger siblings.
The old round stone cottage was in the deepest part of a wood. It was known as Broomsnest Wood, and lay some miles from the village of Lower Wyshing. Both the wood and cottage were far from anybody, which was just as well for all concerned; and those not so concerned.
‘What spell shall I do first?’ asked Cordelia whilst rubbing her hands together excitedly.
‘First!’ objected Mer, ‘You’re only doing one spell, that’s all.’
‘Of course, just the one –duh!’
With that, Cordelia picked up her favourite book on small spells; “Amethyst Tryte’s Little to do About Anything”. It was a trifling volume on idiotic spells that even Cordelia’s mother allowed her to keep.
‘Here’s one.’ she said, hoping that it wouldn’t upset her sister too much. ‘The Golden Hat spell’ it says here. ‘Shall I read it?’
‘Go on then if you must’ replied Mer with an impatient sigh.
‘OK, You take a small square of paper,’ read Cordelia in an annoyingly loud voice ‘fold it in half so you end up with a triangle shape, and fold the left and right corners of the triangle into the centre. Next, fold the points of these lower ends upward in line with the bottom edge to form a witch’s hat. Lastly, say these words; “Paper, paper fizz and splat, Become now a Golden Hat!”
Cordelia smiled looking a teensy bit abashed, and admitted ‘Yeah, I know… that does sound a bit stupid and childish, but still, Mer, you never know with some spells these days, do you?’
Mer never answered as she was back reading her book, so Cordelia followed the spell exactly as written; looking hard at the little piece of paper neatly folded into a triangle shape, now lying flat on their study table.
She stared at it for some while but nothing happened. Then, gradually at first, each corner of the paper started to curl fizz and spark.
‘Crumbs, it’s working!’ she cried in shock, and Mer looked up in surprise. But within seconds it had burst into flames and all that was left was a pile of ashes.
‘Oh, that’s really rotten.’ she protested to Mer ‘Hardly what you call a spell -shall I try another one?’
‘No, I said one spell only.’
‘Yes, I know’ argued Cordelia ‘but you can’t exactly call that a spell, now can you?’
Mer was far too anxious to argue with her sister; especially feeling she’d have to finish reading Ms. Primm’s book before their mother returned; and of course knowing for sure that Cordelia would probably end up getting her own way anyway.
‘Go on get it over with.’ sighed Mer reluctantly as she rested her head between her hands. She wasn’t looking inside Ms Primm’s book, but over it; momentarily dreaming about better things to do.
Cordelia looked around intently for something worthy of practicing upon. There wasn’t a lot to choose from owing to a great deal of unfair confiscation precipitated by an overly zealous mother.
There was one thing though that did catch her eye; a dusty old wooden bucket lying on its side in the corner of the room, and obviously unworthy of Mrs. Merryspell’s scouring intent to remove any objects of pleasure from the girls’ lives altogether.
Instantly, Cordelia sprang to her feet and picked it up. Mer looked up to watch her carry it into the centre of the study.
“I don’t think she can do much harm with that old thing.” thought Mer quietly to herself. But she was wrong. Radmila jumped from the mantelpiece to a hasty exit.
‘Shall I begin?’ asked Cordelia.
‘Alright’ said her sister, ‘cast your stupid spell but be very, very careful.’
Cordelia raised an index finger and waved her arms in the air muttering strange words. This of course was completely unnecessary, but Cordelia loved the drama.
Using a totally banned spell book, and wisely hiding it from Mer, she read out a curious old spell from the curious old book ‘More Mayhem’ by her favourite wizard Melchior Fizz.
Cordelia had read a lot of books by Melchior lately, though “Out-Witching Witchdom” had been the cause of more than a sociably acceptable amount of sleepless nights.
Understandably, “More Mayhem”, although packed with powerful spells, was a great deal easier to digest, and on page sixty-two, she’d located the perfect charm.
“From the deepest fathoms,
To the highest hills,
I command of this vessel,
All gifts and ills.”
This was going to be no ordinary spell, and Mer, looking up from her reading, began having bad feelings about it.
‘Where did you get that spell?’ she enquired.
‘Oh, nowhere in particular,’ fibbed Cordelia.
Mer walked over for a closer inspection. Cordelia discretely slipped Melchior’s dangerous book back into her inside pocket.
As Mer peered inside the bucket, she immediately noticed things happening, so wisely she stepped back. Both of them could see that the room was filling with smoke, yet there was no fire. Miniature lightening darted erratically around the bucket’s rim. Its fizzing was quite unnerving.
The two of them moved even further away. It was evident that the vessel had begun reacting to the spell by Melchior Fizz after all, and in a manner that even surprised Mer.
But, no sooner had it started, than the drama ended with a large whomp and a cloud of thick black smoke.
‘That just so totally failed’ scoffed Mer ‘…is that the best you can do?’
Cordelia looked embarrassed, but as the smoke cleared, she could see something sticking upright out of the bucket. ‘Look Mer, brooms!’ she yelled.
Because they’d both had their brooms confiscated earlier in the week, for something else that wasn’t really their fault, Cordelia thought that they would be quite a treat. Mer though was still unconvinced.
‘You can have the brooms; they don’t look up to much. Besides, I think we’ve had enough spells for the present.’
‘Yes, but look!’ drooled Cordelia holding up one of the brooms. It was tatty and had definitely seen better days. Mer viewed it with disdain.
‘It’s disgusting and ratty actually!’ she objected ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead with anything like that, but if you want it, take it. Anyway, your problem not mine, does it work?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered her sister ‘but I’ll give it a try. Hey, look at the other one though, now that’s more your sort of broom, Mer!’
Cordelia knelt down and grabbed the other broom, which looked quite exotic. It sparkled with gems and magic stones ingrained into the very broom itself.
Mer’s eyes widened and the ‘I want it’ part of her brain instantly sprang into action. Awkwardly, they began flying the two brooms. But it was far too difficult manoeuvering around the cramped study.
Cordelia’s broom was getting harder to handle by the second and she crashed into the bookcase. The impact knocked it over sending rows and rows of very large heavily bound books, presumably all by Ms. Primm, scattering to the floor below.
‘This is crazy!’ she complained ‘we’re going to do ourselves serious damage if we go on like this. Why don’t we take them outside for a small flight, we’ll be back in no time, I promise?’
The promise part didn’t wash with Mer, but she did accept they needed to put them through their paces if they intended keeping them, definitely as Mer now possessed a very strange if not attractive looking broom.
‘OK, let’s go, but we’d better not be gone too long.’
The windows creaked open to Mer’s command and they both shot off into the bleak woodland, completely putting out of mind the fallen bookshelf and scattered books. The two even forgot the likely return of Mrs. Merryspell’s ghostlike entity Meldrick. He’d really create a fuss if he found them missing.
No matter, they’d been cooped up for most of the boring day, and it was more than a lot of people would bear, especially if they were witches, especially for that reason alone.
Cordelia led the way, flying well above the bare lain trees. The brooms were fantastic, gliding easily through air. Before they’d realised it, the two had flown well beyond Broomsnest wood, and into a place neither of them were familiar with.
‘Hey!’ called Mer ‘I thought we were only trying these out; we’d better turn back Cordelia. If we’re discovered missing, well, it would have to be a life sentence at least!’
Reluctantly, her sister agreed. They both pulled hard on the handles to turn their brooms. Nothing happened.
‘Damn!’ yelled Mer. ‘For some reason mine’s not working.’
Cordelia wasn’t having luck either ‘Same here!’ she cried. ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Mer ‘this is just soooo annoying!’
‘Well, we’ll just have to see where they take us I guess’ answered Cordelia ‘unless I can find a spell or something’ She fumbled through her pockets for a book of magic verse to overcome the broom’s obstinacy.
She managed to find Maurice Pussot’s “Un-Curse” book of common counter-charms. But it was of no use. Eventually however, the broomsticks, one ratty, the other sparkling in the late sunlight, did slow down. Understandably, Cordelia thought it was due to her frantic chanting. It wasn’t. Mer, looking down in anticipation, spotted something of interest.
‘Hang on’ she called interrupting Cordelia’s desperate readings ‘there’s an old ruined mansion down there, maybe that’s where the brooms are headed?’
The foreboding walls of a once grand and palatial building looked impressive and the witches flew around at the will of their odd looking broomsticks. The glass windows, those that remained unbroken, were bare and uninviting.
The brooms jerked upward, flying over the roof and swooped into a quadrangle below. They held on tightly and landed outside a large door, partially open. After dismounting, the two strode over and pushed it to walk in. Perhaps this wasn’t the wisest thing to do.
Inside was amazingly dark, and the whistling wind, speaking from thousands of different cracks and gaps in the walls and windows, announced a strange presence all of its own.
‘Crumbs!’ said Cordelia. ‘It’s bloody creepy in here, don’t you think?’
Mer nodded, and cautiously made her way forward; keeping a wary eye out for any dark or hard to see entities which may be lurking in the shadows.
Eventually, carefully tiptoeing over broken vases, chairs, sofas and all sorts of smashed objects; not to mention brushing past countless cobwebs, they came to a door. Behind it in a long twisting corridor, stood a white marble statue of a witch pointing. At its base, it simply read “This way”
‘O.K., lady, we’ll go that way’ said Cordelia ‘alright with you, Mer?’ she asked.
‘Well, I’m hardly going to stand here on my own, am I!’ she protested.
It was quite a long corridor; and at the end where it terminated, another crossed it. At this little junction there was a second white marble statue. This time of an archer with a drawn bow. She was facing and aiming toward the right. So, ignoring the left turn, they proceeded to where the statue faced, following the narrow passage to its very convoluted end.
They’d walked quite a way, and were now at a door that was both tall and old. Before Cordelia could about-face and say “I think we should go in” a white marble arrow shot past her left ear, imbedding itself in the thick timber. The statue of the archer had obviously loosed it. With a creaking moan, the door unexpectedly opened from the arrow’s force. A ghostly rush of cold air and a distant sighing voice accompanied it.
Mer appeared unsettled. Cordelia strained to look through the darkness as the ancient door slowly opened wider. She reached for her not-so-trusty torch. As her eyes adjusted to the light of it, she noticed a flight of stone stairs descending toward some kind of cellar; and she could swear another light was shining from within.
‘There’s something glowing down there!’ she called. Quietly, they began creeping down the long stone stairway, grateful at least there were no creaking boards to give them away to whatever maybe waiting for them. It felt decidedly colder, and distinctly unnerving. As they neared the bottom, they could clearly see the opening into the hardly lit cellar.
“Probably a dungeon” thought Cordelia.
Hesitantly peering inside, they noticed an old oil lamp on the corner of a table and a stack of books next to a very large cauldron; which appeared to be boiling without any sort of flame under it. The room was dead quiet.
Out of the dark shot a voice cracking open the eerie stillness.
‘WHO’S THERE!’ it snapped.
‘AHHHHH!’ screamed Mer responding in fright.
Mer’s scream shook Cordelia who nervously shouted back; ‘No one much, just two young witches… nothing to be scared about… I mean it’s not that we’ll change you into a bat or anything…even though we do possess tremendous magical powers!’
Cordelia’s voice echoed throughout the dingy room.
‘Come in!’ said a friendly sounding voice at last ‘Come in, I don’t get many visitors these days, so you’re more than welcome.’ As they entered, they saw a tall woman skulking in the corner near an old cupboard. She was dressed in amazing clothes. Although nearly charcoal black in colour, each garment seemed to glow and sparkle.
‘Obviously a charmed dress’ said Mer out loud. Not hearing Mer properly, the woman replied ‘And I’m charmed to meet you too!’
By her looks she was clearly a witch. ‘My name is Penelope Plowright, and I may be ugly, but I am a white witch she said, introducing herself whilst trying to hide her face.
‘Why ugly?’ asked Cordelia.
‘Well, that’s what everyone thinks of me’ replied Penelope.
‘But, you’re beautiful!’ proclaimed Mer insistently.
‘Oh, what, really? Surely not, I mean I’m ugly! Do you really mean it though? Oh, gosh…yes I suppose it’s true, I haven’t any warts or anything like that!’ she said feeling her face ‘Perhaps in the right kind of light, I could be considered….’ At that, she burst into a kind of embarrassed manic laughter.
Penelope beckoned the witches in for a Gypsy tea, though sadly she had none. Although she had a teapot, but it was housing her frog familiar for the time being, and consequently of no use at all for refreshments, unless of course one had a desire for drinking the slimy water that stagnated in the bottom.
‘Would you care for a biscuit?’ she asked with a very sweet smile. She fumbled around the table, and eventually found a tall black tin. Opening it, she jerked her head backwards in shock saying ‘Oh dear, I don’t think so!’ and started that laughter once more.
The woman promptly strode away from the table to a dark ebony cupboard, her dress shimmering in the poor light.
‘Come over and take a look at this!’ she said inviting them to the ominous cupboard in the corner of the room. Opening it very carefully, she remarked ‘Don’t be scared now!’
The two hadn’t realised till that moment they had any reason to be scared. The cupboard, quite tall as it happened, was very spacious, and the dingy light from the oil lamp made it difficult to see inside.
‘There’s nothing in it!’ complained Cordelia shining her rapidly dimming torch around.
‘Ah, but there is you see, something very special, so I’m sure you won’t want to miss it’ replied Penelope.
Cordelia was no coward, but stepping into a strange cupboard at the behest of some loony witch seemed a bit risky to say the least. Mer appeared worried and said ‘I’d be careful if I were you.’
Cordelia looked back at Penelope who smiled just as sweetly as when she offered them tea and biscuits. But bravely, nonetheless, she slowly extended her arm and left leg into the strange looking cupboard, whilst feeling about for that something special as promised. Her torch wasn’t much help as the batteries had all but died; and she didn’t have time now to find a suitable glowing spell.
‘Don’t be shy now,’ encouraged Penelope whose wide-eyed expression, Mer noticed, had become one of anticipation, rather than delight.
It seemed as though the cupboard had no end as Cordelia moved her arm and body further and further inwards. Mer was holding the end of her sister’s cloak, just in case. At last, Cordelia’s fingertips touched the back of the cupboard.
‘It’s still empty!’ she yelled.
‘Well, just move your sweet little arm to the left’ added Penelope ‘that’s right, you’ll find a wonderful surprise right in the corner.’ Mer continued looking worried and gripped her sister’s clothing even tighter.
Cordelia let out a shriek. ‘Wow!’ she squealed ‘It’s a jewelled casket!’
‘Let me see!’ urged Mer as Cordelia brought the prize out into the dingy light. The casket’s jewels sparkled and glinted even in the dimness. Again came a rush of cold wind and that same ghostly sigh they'd heard before.
‘This is unreal!’ continued Cordelia trying to open it. They should have seen Penelope’s face. It wasn’t filled with jubilation, more like someone about to unwrap a diamond the size of an apple. There was certainly lust in her eyes, and more than a smidgen of evil contemplation. They never looked though; and if perhaps they had, they wouldn’t have been caught up with what happened next.
Penelope snatched it from Cordelia’s hands as her and her sister ogled at it. ‘We’ll put it on the table here’ she said ‘then you can both have a good look at what’s inside.’
Their eyes were unashamedly glued to the casket as she walked it over and set it in the middle of the table, moving aside a pile of dusty old books and the spluttering oil lamp.
‘It belongs to both of you now, I want you to take possession of it entirely’ she said as if handing them an ancient family heirloom.
They took no notice of what she’d just said as their eyeballs and minds were still transfixed by the precious object.
‘I’m going to open it for you’ said Penelope with excitement ‘and I want you to promise me that you won’t ever let it out of your sight.’
‘Y e a h’ they both slurred.
Penelope placed a large key into the casket’s lock and everyone’s eyes widened. As the heavy lid was opened Penelope turned her head away and a great gold and blue light shot from the casket. Penelope grabbed one of her dusty spell books to shield her eyes.
Cordelia and Mer were completely immobilised. Their eyes were stuck open with an idiotic expression upon their face. The sisters were utterly helpless and Penelope shrieked for joy.
‘It worked…it worked!’ she screamed ‘Blimey, the Ice Witches are going to be ecstatic with me!’
They would indeed. Ice Witches, so evil they are devoid of any human emotion; and so cold and unfeeling they remain forever frozen; are the powerhouse behind all that’s bad in witchcraft. Penelope gazed at the girls’ inanimate bodies, still transfixed by the blue gold light.
Walking to the opposite side of the table, so she could avoid the enchanting light, she knelt and picked up their brooms, tossed them into the air saying a few words of a charm.
The brooms immediately ignited, disappearing into a cloud of smoke. ‘You’ll have no need of those where you’re headed!’ she exclaimed.
‘What a fortune they’ve promised me just for you idiots…can’t think why. Anyway’ she went on ‘that’s this new world of witchdom for you!’ Penelope looked frustrated because the girls couldn’t respond to her.
‘Oh, if only you could hear me’ she moaned. 'Never mind, you'll find out soon enough.' From inside one of the books stacked on the table next to the spellbound witches, she pulled out a large sheet of paper covered with magical symbols and secret words. Then, Penelope sprinkled it with freshly plucked chicken feathers, and crushed beetles from a silver bowl.
‘Now to summon the Ice Witches!’ cried the woman proudly. She was about to set light to the paper and all its contents, using a strip of crumpled paper held above the flame of her oil lamp, when the door burst open.
You don’t normally get a storm cloud inside a house, or even a large mansion for that matter, but that’s exactly what floated into the room.
The cloud was dark and thunderous, sparking with miniature lightening and two rotating whirlwinds. It was about the size of a floating armchair, though a great deal more dangerous.
Penelope hadn’t seen anything quite like this before; and as it progressed into the room high above her, it sent chairs, ornaments, books; and an oil lamp, flying through the air.
The blustering whirlwinds caused the lid of a particularly nasty casket to slam shut as well. And straightaway, Cordelia and Mer were released from its charm.
They stood up, quite speechless at the wind and wreckage whirring about. Yet, before they could cover their ears from all the noise, the storm ceased and the cloud evaporated instantly, sending all the wind-borne objects crashing to the floor.
Equally as dramatic was the entrance of the witch Kaldre, head of a coven known as the Five Witches of Gloom. The woman was tall with an air of superiority about her. Even her dry voice commanded respect. Her clothing was long and flowing and as she walked, if you looked carefully, you’d notice her notoriously high heeled boots glinting whenever the front of her long coat opened and closed.
‘Hello’ she said addressing the girls ‘my name is Kaldre, and I’m so glad you’re safe!’ Kaldre smiled with satisfaction at Penelope Plowright’s present condition, which was completely paralysed, and turned toward the girls with a sinister looking smile.
Behind her lurked the other four of her coven; and similarly they were staring intently at the girls, rather like sadistic scientists observing a living experiment trapped in a sealed glass container; and about to add a deadly poison to see what happens next; chilling indeed.
Kaldre, not receiving any deliriously excitable cheer from the rescued young witches, drew from under her cloak a tall blue-glass lantern and held it up for all to see.
‘Five spells from five witches to quell the hopes and desires of one.’ she muttered ‘And the fifth spell being that she be cast into a bucket.’
Whilst Penelope's eyes glazed and her mouth refused to open despite much effort, Kaldre opened the glass door of the lantern and put her left index finger inside. A bright blue flame shot from her finger and ignited the lamp. She closed its glass door, muttered another few words, and the whole room filled with blue light.
Then the lantern dimmed returning the dungeon to the dingy yellow light of Penelope’s oil lamp, which amazingly had repaired itself and now sat on the table beside the girls. Blinking their eyes adjusting to the light, Cordelia and Mer next heard a disturbing squelching noise coming from the corner of the room.
Peering through the gloom, they could just make out an old bucket wobbling slightly on the floor in front of where they stood.
‘Stonking grief!’ exclaimed Mer half in fright.
Cordelia walked over shaking her torch. She shone its regenerated light to where her sister pointed. ‘Blimey!’ she cried.
What they saw wasn’t pretty. Somehow, the witch had become liquefied. Now Penelope occupied the same bucket Cordelia had left behind at the cottage.
‘Hang on, that’s the bucket I cast a spell on to give us the brooms!’ she confirmed.
Kaldre smiled sheepishly, but offered no explanation. It was cruel justice for Penelope and inside the old bucket, she fought desperately to keep her face at the surface; too slippery to remain on top and too liquid to cast any counter-spells. It was hideous, yet somehow amusing to watch.
Nevertheless, Cordelia became scared. She was fully aware that if Kaldre and her cronies had the power to do this to an immensely strong witch, who wasn’t a white witch by any stretch of the imagination, what chance would they have?
‘I’m warning you’ yelled Cordelia arrogantly, ‘I possess some powerful spells by none other than the great Melchior Fizz!’
Not knowing quite how to answer this rather diminutive threat from one so juvenile, Kaldre and her coven simply stared at her in disbelief.
After this they cracked up into uncontrolled laughter, which was so severe it caused pain in their strained stomach muscles. Even Mer, not wishing to demean her sister, couldn’t help a polite cough or two.
Cordelia though, stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by their summary dismissal of her claim to hold extraordinary powers, even though it wasn’t quite true.
‘Dear Child’ returned Kaldre now recomposed and speaking with a very patronising tone ‘do you really think for one moment that we would waste our valuable time and effort to save you from certain death, only to kill you, ourselves?’ She had a valid point.
‘Wouldn’t it be easier to let the lady in the bucket do the hard work first and just take over when it suited us?’ Kaldre nodded her head inviting Cordelia’s agreement.
‘I s’pose’ answered Cordelia reluctantly, though deep down she simply knew things didn’t quite add up.
‘So, what are you going to do with us?’ urged Mer who, like Cordelia felt there was something they weren’t being told.
‘Nothing!’ she snapped ‘We mean you no harm, we happened upon you by accident, thank goodness we did!’ Kaldre smiled, if one could describe it that way, and finished with ‘Don’t thank us, just be off with you! Go on, shoo, get out of here before we change our minds!’
Cordelia and Mer needed no second invitation and ran with all speed up the stone stairway to freedom. Once more they were stood outside. It was pitch black except for the heavenly display of stars twinkling as they usually do against the black sky.
Not wishing to hang around, they both headed for home chattering incessantly about their narrow escape from death.
The thought of explaining their absence from studies to an angry mother seemed almost irrelevant.
‘I still don’t get it, how did that old bucket turn up just when Kaldre needed it?’ puzzled Cordelia ‘I mean, obviously it was conjured by Penelope to appear in our study, so how did Kaldre know of it? What’s more worrying is that she must have got past mum’s magic; and broken into our cottage to bring the thing to Penelope’s hideout.’
‘And, Penelope would’ve got rid of Meldrick too!’ added Mer ‘probably while we were still studying’ ‘It doesn’t make sense’ added Cordelia. Now they could feel the chill of the cold night.
Cordelia looked up at the stunning sky once more, but rather wished she hadn’t. Circling high above she swore she saw five dark objects silhouetted against the delicate starlight. She nudged Mer.
‘You’re imagining things’ she said. But quickened her pace. Without booms, it was going to be a long, long walk home.
****
A few days later, close to witching hour to be precise, Mer was anxiously looking through the half fogged window of their den.
After their recent encounter with Kaldre and the nightmarish walk back home, and despite them inexplicably getting away with their absence from studies, she didn’t feel so keen anymore on the hours belonging to witches, even though they were the most exciting hours to be had. But still she looked, staring through the sleety rain, and through the inky blackness.
Far off, Mer could just make out two dim distant lights flickering amongst the trees. Whatever they were, they were coming closer, no mistaking it. Furthermore, within a short amount of time they would whisk her, and her sister Cordelia, off to a very strange place indeed.
‘How do I look?’ asked Mer nervously, as if her whole life depended upon her appearance. ‘You’ll do’ quipped Cordelia somewhat flippantly.
Cordelia obviously wasn’t so concerned about the way she would be seen at all. Actually, the drama that was about to occur would really have no adverse effect upon her whatsoever. Cordelia was as ready as she could be: fully prepared to meet whatever it was waiting for them, head on.
‘It still seems murky out there’ called Mer deep in thought.
Cordelia nodded but wasn't really listening. She was lying on a huge sofa reading some more of the once confiscated and extremely dangerous book by Melchior Fizz “Out-Witching Witchdom” She didn’t respond to her sister’s murmuring being glued to what Melchior was trying to tell her.
The door of the den creaked open and their mother, Mrs. Merryspell, carefully peeked around not wishing to make things tenser than what they already were. Cordelia quickly slipped Melchior’s book out of sight.
‘Everything OK?’ she asked in a concerned sort of voice.
Just a “Yep!” emanated from Cordelia, though nothing from Mer who was still tracking those ever-nearing lights.
‘Don’t worry, your carriage will soon be here.’ she added trying to be helpful ‘Oh Mer, my sweet, you look positively stunning!’ continued her mum with genuine reassurance.
Mer turned from the window, and feeling a little more encouraged, asked ‘Do you really think so?’ Mrs. Merryspell rushed over to give her a big hug but Mer moved back a little; obviously concerned about creasing her dress.
‘Careful mum!’ she pleaded.
Mer had spent many months making this dress, months of patient designing, cutting, tailoring, and finishing. The result was clearly stunning. Even from a casual glance one could see that something rather special had been created, and it was all from Mer’s own imagination, the other vital ingredient of course was the use of some rather strange magic.
And, it was this that she felt would attract the wrong kind of attention. Still, never mind, it was Mer’s dress and she knew that its peculiar magic might just result in impressing the right people that night.
Cordelia and Mer had been invited to the most glamorous Witch’s ball in all of Witchdom. They knew this because they had received an invitation card, courtesy of Mrs. Glumm, a witch friend of their mum who lives in the tiny village of Mad. The card in itself was a true work of art. A grand crest featured at the top and all the writing was in gold script on a shimmering silver background. It read:
“Drucilla Darkington & Herbert Von Pfirsich, cordially invite Miss Mer Merryspell & Miss Cordelia Merryspell to attend their Annual Nightshade Ball.
To be held, as usual, at Nightshade Hall on the Third Saturday in February when the Moon has waxed full. Dress: Dressy. Brooms: To be provided. R.S.V.P.”
Naturally, they were both thrilled, but for very different reasons. For Cordelia creases in her dress were furthest from her mind. The only thing she could think about was the weird realisation that all was not well with the world of witchdom. And tonight they may well find themselves involved in something they couldn’t handle.
Nevertheless, in the soft light of the girl’s den, Mer could only think nervously about the glamour and attention such a night would bring. Her dress was amazing though. In all its strangeness the garment changed colour, shape; and even appearance, as mysterious images that were captured within the very fabric itself moved around.
To describe Mer’s dress would be extremely difficult; though Mer’s all-time haute couture favourite, Jemimah Silk of Paris, would have no trouble at all; and it must be further admitted that Jemimah, who uses a great deal of magic when making her gowns, would fall instantly in love with Mer’s creation.
The fabric’s colour is known as ‘Black Malachite’; and its style would be considered as close fitting with a high collar, long sleeves; and its length allowing it to sweep graciously across the floor.
If you looked close enough, you’d swear you could see real stars glinting, even shadows of people’s faces. The dress could be seen subtly ‘going through’ the seasons too. For example, Cordelia was the first to notice what appeared as winter snow swirling about within the cloth. “Cripes, your dress is snowing!” she shrieked in delight.
At last, there was a thunderous noise of hooves and heavy wheels outside the Merryspell’s cottage; the coach and horses had finally arrived.
Maybe now Mer would calm a little. The witches had been looking forward to this event for sometime, though Mer had become increasingly concerned about being observed and criticised by just about everyone in witchdom.
‘Ooh, it’s here!’ cried their Gran, Daisy, as she excitedly rushed into the den. ‘You’re going to have incredible fun my dears –any room for an odd one?’
There was definitely room enough for an odd one, as Gran put it, several to be honest. The coach was as grand as the ball they were invited to, incredibly spacious with masses of exotic refreshments for the journey too.
It was all courtesy of their father Gawain Merryspell, who although separated from Mrs. Merryspell seemed to indulge the family more than ever. It even appeared likely to the girls that mum and dad might just get back together again. Gran certainly thought so.
‘Don’t forget to take some mischievous spells for games…I never forgot mine!’ hummed Gran as she thought aloud about her childhood; “Flatten The Lizard, Scare The Witch, and Find The Poisoned Apple, oh and not forgetting Swallow The Black Frog” she mused, half expecting to be invited.