An Arrogant Witch Page 4

  ‘And you won’t even need to be giving me rides.’ I pointed out another benefit to further sell the idea. ‘The other guy, Jack, he’ll come pick me up and drop me off every day. My hours are going to be a lot longer than yours.’

  The role of nagging parent had never come easily to Edna, so in the face of my logic she gladly relinquished the fight with a doubtful murmur to mark her stance, then set about eating.

  ‘Hey, did you know? Hugh’s back in town,’ I told her.

  ‘Why so early?’

  ‘He said he wanted to give me some books for foundation,’ I said. ‘That pile of books over there on the counter.’ Although Edna was well aware of the magic and the half-blood and Dad being a witch, we tried not to say the words out loud. This made it easier to have conversations when other people like Mark were around.

  She looked up from her dinner and glanced over to the thick stack over her reading glasses. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, a little hurt at her tone. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why would a man like Hugh come all the way from, where is he, Scotland, to deliver some books to you?’

  ‘Because he likes me?’

  ‘Dara...’

  I hated when her voice took that note.

  She sighed.

  ‘Just say it, why don’t you?’ I could feel my face growing red.

  ‘Okay I will,’ she replied and looked directly at me when she spoke. ‘He’s part of the Kin. Need I say more?’

  ‘He’s a half-blood, like me.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to matter, does it? He’s one of them, and you can’t get away from that.’

  I refused to answer, but that didn’t stop her from pressing her point home to make sure I understood.

  ‘I don’t know what he does, but he’s tight in that circle,’ she said. ‘I mean, he stays at your Dad’s house and I wouldn’t be surprised if...’

  Our eyes met over the table, in the light cast by the glass pendant fixture above our heads. I dared her to bring up Sasha and the fact that maybe Hugh was supposed to marry my sister.

  ‘Just don’t want you to get hurt, is all,’ she said in a small voice as she stood and began to clear the dishes away.

  I DIDN’T SEE HUGH over the next couple of days, and I was starting to suspect that Edna was right. It did make far more sense that he was in town for Kin business rather than just to hand me some mouldy old books, and I was beginning to feel like a dumb little kid hanging around hoping that the bigger kids would invite me to play. He was probably spending his spare time with Sasha doing, I don’t know, interesting things to do with magic and power. She was a fully educated witch, after all. Like him.

  One of my questions about Willem was answered soon, after we’d done the hard work of preparing for the craft fair. We had two days of set up before the fair actually opened its doors to the public, and I found out what a huge amount of work it took to organize an event like this.

  The first time I walked into the old stadium space where the fair was to be held, all full of anticipation and memories of fairs gone by, my heart sank. The harsh blue-white overhead lights were on full force, illuminating every hole and splinter of the ratty old plywood which covered the ice. This huge empty space was freezing, and I didn’t see how Kim was going to be able to transform it into the magical wonderland of booths and alleys that I remembered form fairs past.

  ‘Okay,’ Kim said as she bustled in, setting right to work. ‘Here’s the floor plan and a measuring tape and a box of chalk. Jack-o, get down here! Dara, that’s Jack. He’s your co-worker for the week. He’s done this before so he’ll tell you what needs doing. Get moving you guys – this has to be done this morning.’

  She walked down the bleacher steps to the stadium floor and began setting up a table for herself. Without even turning around to see what was happening, she yelled out again. ‘Jack, did you hear me?’

  The guy called Jack unfolded himself from the bleachers, his long legs taking the stairs one at a time.

  ‘Hey,’ he said as he passed me while totally ignoring me otherwise. His baseball cap with a beer logo on it sat low over his face, and his jeans were faded and torn, while his lumberjack shirt hung off his rangy shoulders unbuttoned and with tails flapping.

  He waited down on the ice for me to catch up, then we began the long walk to the far end of the stadium rink. Despite the slowness of his gait, his legs were super long and I found myself skipping now and then to keep pace.

  Two guys from the stadium had already begun laying down black rubber flooring over the plywood, to better protect the ice underneath.

  Jack directed me to take one end of the measuring tape and mark off the increments he yelled out across the width of the ice rink. We slowly made our way up to the half way line on the floor. It was hard work, pacing out the steps, then crouching down to mark off the booths with the chalk. We must have gone through ten large sticks before he called it quits. My hands were crusty with chalk – I should have worn gloves.

  ‘Alright, let’s take a break,’ he said. Stepping back to look at the overhead clock, he gave a slow whistle. ‘We’re making pretty good time.’

  He headed through the open door leading to the corridors under the bleachers. When I didn’t follow him, he came back and hurried me along.

  ‘We have coffee set up in the change room,’ he said. ‘You want one?’

  Oh, yeah, I was never one to turn down a bit of caffeine. We went out into the fresh air so he could have a cigarette with his brew.

  I was surprised he encouraged me to come along with him for our break as he’d been so unfriendly and truculent this morning, but he loosened up once his coffee was half into him.

  ‘So what’s your story?’ he asked, pointing his cigarette at me. He wore his cap the old-fashioned way, with the brim to the front, and it shaded his eyes from the weak sun.

  ‘Me? Depends which story you want to hear.’

  I lightly kicked the cement block wall of the stadium.

  “I think... how about, the story of how Kim finally found someone who knows the meaning of work to be my partner,’ he replied with a dead-pan face.

  I barked with laughter, couldn’t help it, he caught me so off guard.

  He turned a tentative smile towards me, his eyes still half hidden by his brim. ‘What’s so funny?’ He almost sounded menacing as he asked.

  I explained to him, and then it was his turn to snicker aloud. In fact, he became quite animated then.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ he said. ‘Every year, Mom gets me some crazy rich girl artist to work with me, and you know what? It’s easier just to do it all myself, just let them sit in the booth and pretend they know how to operate the credit card machine.’ He leaned against the wall and adjusted his hat so he could look up at the weak November sun.

  ‘Wait a minute! Kim is your mother?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His voice held a mixture of pride and defiance. ‘And yes, I get the job because of her. A classic case of nepotism in the high flying world of craft.’

  He made me laugh again. I liked this guy, we were going to be a good team.

  ‘So I take it hiring the rich artsy girls as assistants is also a form of nepotism?’

  ‘Oh you better believe it,’ he said. ‘All the kids of the patrons and board members come through my hands, and I am totally sick of it.’

  ‘I’ll warn you upfront, I’m a nobody,’ I replied. ‘Kim only hired me because she was really stuck and it was at the last minute.’

  He lit up another cigarette. ‘S’alright by me.’

  Jack’s voice was growing deeper as he relaxed, and I could see he was kind of cute with his freckles and curly auburn hair shoved under the dumb baseball cap he wore. He looked to be about my age, but carried himself with the confidence of an older guy. Perhaps this came from years of responsibility working under his mother, from knowing exactly what each large event needed behind the scenes, from being a master at this craft of his.

  We re
turned back to attack the floorplan with a renewed vigor, and it only took us a couple of hours to finish marking out the floor. After a quick sandwich lunch and more coffee, we returned to the rink to find it invaded with electricians and people setting up rods and curtains to mark off the booths according to the chalk marks we had laid down. I watched in awe as electrical outlets were lowered down from the rafters one by one on their thick cords.

  Then it was time to unload the rental truck filled with what seemed like hundreds of boxes. I was glad Jack knew what he was doing, because I found it all really overwhelming.

  ‘It’s all organized,’ he told me. ‘Just put all the boxes with the same letters in piles together. The A boxes over there, the B cartons here, and so forth. You’ll catch on.’

  It was a crazy scene with people all over the place, but Jack was right – everything was super organized. Everyone concentrated on the job they were there to do, but with lots of laughter and carrying on as if they knew each other well. I guess they’d all worked together for years doing this, coming together for any events at venues all over the city.

  The camaraderie was comfortable. As the fair took shape before my very eyes, it had a feeling of a carnival atmosphere as if people weren’t really working, they just hanging out together with old friends and creating something fun. There was a specialness happening here, a bond forged amongst the behind-the-scene folk, those people who all played their part in creating the illusion, who understood it wasn’t magical but was a lot of hard work and discipline and a bunch of people coming together to work as a team, yet they knew their work was well done. The magic would be in the finished product.

  We stayed till ten o’clock that night under the bright fluorescent overheads, sorting strings of Christmas lights and different kinds of boughs and putting together the trees.

  ‘Why don’t we do this all tomorrow?” I asked him. ‘We’ve still got another day before the fair opens.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Jack said. ‘We have to get this all done today while we have the mental space. The crafts people will be here tomorrow, and believe me, you don’t want to still be organizing things when the artists come on board. It’s a crazy scene.’

  And he was right yet again. We arrived at the stadium at eight o’clock the next morning and people were already milling around the entrances, unloading their boxes and claiming dibs on the available trolleys. I was issued a walkie-talkie to clip on my belt and a t-shirt which proclaimed me as staff, and felt quite important as I bustled around doing errands and handing out the information packages and helping set up road signs and lamp posts. I was beginning to understand how the illusion of the magical Christmas wonderland was created.

  The day passed quickly, and after supper there was a fresh wave of booth holders coming in, those who worked at their crafts part-time throughout the year while holding down full-time jobs. Soon, only one booth lay dark and uninhabited, a small space tucked into a dark corner.

  ‘Did we miss something?’ I asked Jack anxiously, pointing to the blank space.

  He looked down at the clipboard in his hands and flicked through some pages. ‘That’s the last minute entry,’ he said. ‘Wonder if he realizes he’s supposed to set up today? I’ll let Mom know.’

  Jack had no sooner gone up the center aisle when I felt a cool breeze brush through my hair and down my neck. I looked up and there, silhouetted by the streetlight outside the opened loading door beyond the bleachers, stood a familiar slight figure, his long black coat almost sweeping the floor and a humble smile on his face.

  Willem. His arms were empty, but as he strode into the rink he lifted one hand to direct those who followed him, burdened down with clumsy large cartons.

  I was about to slip away into the avenue of booths but he looked up and speared me with his glance.

  ‘Dara...’

  He looked like he was about to float over to embrace and kiss me in the European manner, so I quickly ducked out of reach.

  ‘Willem, I believe that’s your booth over there, in the corner.’

  ‘Yes, that would be right,’ he said. ‘Carrie, Zeta, lay the boxes over there. I’ll also need you to get the shelving and other equipment, if you would be so kind.’

  My eyes almost bugged out of my head to see my well-to-do friend performing physical labour and what was stranger, even doing as he bade her without arguing or questioning or resentment. There were two other women with them, and between the four they had the booth set up in no time.

  Of course I had to stick around to see what he would unpack from the cartons, so I busied myself making unnecessary adjustments to the closest Christmas tree.

  Willem dismissed his followers. I could feel his gaze on me as if he was willing me to approach, but I clamped down my mind and refused to let his suggestions in.

  When I eventually turned around again however to check on his progress, I found nothing but a black curtain covering the entrance to his booth. Damn! I was going to have to wait till the next day to see what hand-made creations the self-proclaimed sorcerer would be selling at the fair.

  The only hint he gave was of his wares was in the form of a wooden sign hung above, the hand painted lettering only three words long, silver paint on black.

  Lord of Misrule.

  5

  THE NEXT MORNING Jack picked me up at seven, three hours before the fair officially opened. He said the extra-early morning was necessary in order to deal with any last minute problems and set up the coffee urns for the crafts people. As juried members of the lofty Craft Council, they all expected basic catering. We stopped at Tim Horton’s on the way, filling up with extra-large dark roasts to tide us over.

  Just before ten, everything was in place, all the crafts people making last minute adjustments to their booths and both large urns of coffee half gone.

  ‘This is my favourite part,’ Jack said from our vantage up in the bleachers. He had a soft smile on his face and his long legs rested on the seat ahead of us. He pointed to the stadium below. ‘There she goes.’

  We watched Kim stride down the avenue of booths, calling out to the stadium security guards, who nodded and headed back behind the scenes.

  ‘Five, four, three, two...’ Jack chanted, then the overhead lights went off, those harsh fluorescents that had bathed the rink in cold blue for the past two days, leaving the space in sudden darkness.

  As our eyes adjusted, the huge magical fair of my memory slowly emerged, first the old-fashioned lamp-posts on every corner lit the corners of the aisles, and then in every booth appeared strategically placed spotlights and Christmas twinklers, even an electric fireplace or two dotted around the space. It was an indoor wonderland of lights.

  We sat for a moment in awe of the illusion we had helped create, then Jack jumped up. ‘Come on, we gotta run,’ he said. ’You’re on the credit card stall first. Make sure your walkie-talkie’s turned on.’

  The public was already streaming through the doors when we reached the front of the rink. I took my place behind the desk and plastered a smile on my face, but my services wouldn’t be needed just yet. The early customers needed a chance to explore and find their favourite artists, and see what all was new this year.

  While waiting for the first purchasers to come, my thoughts wandered back to the puzzle of Willem. Who was this man who claimed to be a sorcerer? He certainly had Carrie and Zeta in his thrall, but I really couldn’t see the attraction. Physically he was unprepossessing, a slight man with a weak chin and narrow eyes and no eyelashes, yet I’d felt the air of his power when he directed it to me. He had to be as he claimed, else how would he know what I was looking for?

  I’d called Hugh last night before going to bed, asking him if he knew Willem’s story. It took a moment for him to reply.

  ‘Willem...’ There was a pause while he consulted with someone he was with. Maybe it was my Dad. ‘You don’t mean Willem de Vriejz, the Dutch guy?’

  ‘I might,’ I replied. Dutch, yes, that could be his accent.
‘I only know him as Willem. He says he’s a sorcerer.’

  Hugh’s tone was disparaging. ‘Wanted to be a sorcerer, I’m afraid he failed out of PEAWS exams. That’s the Pan European Academy of Wizardry and Sorcery.’ A funny thing about Hugh was that he loved acronyms. ‘He tried to worm his way in with your Dad’s Kin, but of course they’re having nothing to do with him.’

  Of course. The Witch Kin everywhere were terrible snobs. They ruled much of the Normal world, having placed themselves in advantage points of power and wealth throughout the centuries. They were the old aristocracy of Britain and Europe, the early settlers coming over on the Mayflower, the Brahmin caste of India. You get the picture. The only place the Witch Kin didn’t have a strong presence was in Australia, but that wasn’t through lack of trying. Their mistake had been in sending the rejects of their own society over there first, the thieves, and the outlaws and the half-blood witches. This crowd had developed their own stratified society, leaving no room at the top for the Kin.

  ‘Not much to him, I’d say.’ Hugh dismissed the man out of hand. ‘Why do you ask?

  I hesitated. I knew nothing about that bit of metal my fingers had merely brushed on in Zeta’s shop, only that it called to me with a faint whisper of my mother’s voice. It might have been my imagination, for my mother hadn’t been a witch and had no magic that I knew of.

  Yet Willem knew I was looking for it, and his voice had been triumphant as if he himself possessed the object of my desire.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ I mumbled. ‘He’s got a booth at the fair, and I met him in Zeta’s store. He seems an odd sort.’

  Hugh laughed. ‘I suppose he’s using his power to enthrall the ladies,’ he said. ‘Willem de Vriejz, he just is a poor user of magic. He still resents being flunked out, but he was caught cheating so there you have it. Not allowed to practice professionally, certainly not allowed to develop the dark arts.’

  He paused, then continued in lecture mode. ‘You see, sorcery is a different ball game altogether from witch craft. Only the cream of the crop are allowed to graduate. Anyone else who is not found up to snuff is forced to drop out and give up the trade.’