An Arrogant Witch Page 5

  ‘So what do they do with their training?’ I asked.

  ‘They find other ways to weave their spells. Some become authors, some politicians. An education is never wasted.’

  That was all Hugh would give me.

  I got my chance to check out Willem’s booth in the post-lunch afternoon lull. I didn’t want to meet up with the man again, so when I passed by and saw the booth unoccupied, I took my chance.

  I was flabbergasted. He had two different kinds of offering on display.

  In the center back of his booth, a tall shallow case held rows and rows of small stoppered glass bottles filled with a rainbow of coloured liquids. A sign proclaimed ‘All Your Dreams Come True’.

  He was selling spells. In public, for any Normal to come and peruse and choose and buy and change their lives. Was the man mad? The Witch Kin would be down on him in a flash.

  I could smell a waft of magic in the booth, just faintly, like a day old fart in an airless room. It was almost visible at the corner of my eye, but the magic wasn’t coming from the spells so colourfully displayed against the black backdrop. Those glass vials were pretty but worthless.

  It was coming off the other merchandise in the booth, lined up against the side walls on black shelving. I had figured him for a metal worker, or a stone sculptor as he struck me as a cold sort of man, yet his other works was fanciful and brightly coloured, little figures about two feet tall. They all appeared to be made of fabric and paper, the child’s art of papier mache mixed with wool like the felted mittens Edna would make me every year for Christmas.

  Apart from the center light shining on the display of spells, the booth was lit only by tiny individual spotlights bathing each of his figures in brightness against the blackly draped walls of the space. It was like entering into a wax museum of miniatures, for each small mannequin which stood about two or two and a half feet tall had a look of life in their still figures, as if they were holding their breaths and just waiting for me to turn my back. When no one was looking they might leap off the glass boxes and scheme amongst themselves.

  They were horrifying in their aspects, and terrible in visage.

  I had to get closer to examine them. The first one in the circle, the closest to me, was a demon with long horns curling away from his head, his eyes rimmed with red and mouth drawn back in a snarl to reveal uneven, pointed fangs. Yet the white fur surrounding his face was soft and combed and silky. His yellow goat eyes stared right at me - I could have sworn I saw his chest move with breath.

  ‘His name is Krampus.’

  I looked up to see that Willem had silently appeared, and was watching for my reaction to his creations. Dressed in a long, unadorned black robe, he stood with his hands clasped as if in reverence, and he proceeded to guide me through the exhibit.

  ‘Krampus, sometimes called the evil twin of Santa,’ Willem said, his eye lingering fondly on the horrific creature. ‘He visits little Austrian children who have misbehaved. Of course, Krampus is a much older being than the Christian St. Nicholas. He was born in a time of strife, before the world knew benevolence. Note the basket strapped to his back and the birch stick in his hand. He beats the naughty, sometimes packs them away to eat later.’

  Willem gave a light laugh.

  ‘It’s... very life-like,’ I said, still staring at the creature.

  ‘Is he not magnificent?’

  I nodded, and swallowed. Magnificent was one word for it. Maleficent might be a better one.

  He moved me on to the next terrible figure, a hag the color of bread mold with a hooked nose and bright eyes staring out at me.

  ‘Dear Frau Perchta! Did you know that she visits during the twelve days of Christmas, and good boys and girls may receive a silver coin from her. Bad children, however, will have their bellies slit by her great claws so the intestines fall out, and she replaces them with garbage!’ He gave a delighted laugh.

  All twenty of the grotesque figures had their own story and their own life.

  ‘These are incredibly horrible, Willem.’ I had to be honest. ‘’Do you really think people will buy these?’ I shuddered to think that anyone would want the creatures in their homes. They would give me nightmares.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ he replied and leaned down to speak only in my ear, for the aisles were filling with customers again and two people had entered the booth, entranced with his work. ‘People collect Santa figures, do they not?’

  I nodded glumly. Yes, even Edna had a collection of Santas she brought out every Christmas: jolly ones in red and white, vintage in long gowns and capes, knitted, brass, all dressed in varying interpretations of the traditional St. Nicholas. I’d never quite seen the appeal of them, truth be told, it felt like overkill on the Christmas theme.

  ‘In this very weary consumer world we live in, people quickly tire of novelty,’ he said, his pale gray eyes boring into mine and his Dutch accent becoming increasingly staccato as the passion filled his voice. ‘They are saturated with the need to buy more and more to reward their loved ones at this time of the year, and Saint Nicholas, or Santa, if you prefer, has become the modern patron saint of consumerism. I offer the irony of the anti-Santa, the punisher of bad deeds and thoughts. It is appealing to many, in an ironic kind of way.’

  If they weren’t all so awful and scary, I might think of getting one for Edna’s collection, just to make a point.

  ‘How much are they?’ My eyes had settled on one of the smaller Icelandic trolls.

  He whispered a sum into my ear.

  ‘What?’ I looked back at him in amazement. At that price, did her really expect to sell any? I couldn’t believe people would pay so dearly for a bit of irony, no matter how well crafted.

  Well, I had planned on getting Edna a new scarf anyway which was just as well for an anti-Santa was far out of my reach. Besides, I would have hated having the creepy critter anywhere near me.

  ‘They are unique, and one of a kind,’ he said snootily, drawing himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much more than my own. ‘Only a certain well-heeled segment of society will appreciate them.’

  ‘I wish you the best of luck,’ I told him with sincerity, then I looked toward the back of the booth. ‘Those are spells?’

  ‘Interested in a little magic, are you?’

  ‘No!’ I said quickly, for I had plenty of magic of my own, I had no need for his. Then my curiosity got the better of me. ‘I don’t think they’re real.’

  I started to wander over to them, the better to examine them. He slipped in front of me, blocking my way and getting right in my personal space.

  ‘They are as real as a person wants them to be,’ he said in a low voice. The garlic from his lunch engulfed me and I turned my head away, yet still his pale eyes bored into mine. ‘What is real magic? What can help change the life of one who is not blessed with the abilities that you and I have?’

  He went on to answer his own question. ‘Belief. Nothing can change in a life if one does not believe,’ he said. ‘And these potions offer hope that dreams can come true.’

  ‘So there’s no real magic in them, that’s what you’re saying?’

  ‘Who can define magic for another person?’

  Flim flam and snake oil, that’s all he was selling to the unsuspecting public of Normals. I stepped away from him in disgust. A failed sorcerer, Hugh had said. And yet...

  Before I left, I had to ask him about the not-coin. Aware that people were waiting to speak with him, I spoke to him quickly.

  ‘In Zeta’s the other day, you said it wasn’t a coin I was looking for...’

  He nodded, his face blank.

  ‘What did you mean by that?’

  ‘What did you think I meant?’ he parried.

  The walkie-talkie on my belt sputtered. Kim was looking for me, I needed to get back to my station. I sighed.

  ‘Do you have it?’ I asked him urgently. ‘Did you find it at Zeta’s, that coin or whatever it is?’

  ‘Maybe I d
id, maybe I didn’t,’ he said, taking his time. ‘Why don’t we talk about it after the fair? I really need to get back to my customers.’

  As I turned to go, he called me back.

  ‘Perhaps you can do a little job or two for me,’ he said. ‘In exchange for what you seek. Call me next week.’

  He handed me a simple black business card which gave only the name he was going under, Willem, and a phone number written in silver.

  I was going to have to wait and contact him after the fair, for I was pretty sure he had the coin or whatever it was, the one that tasted faintly of Mom. I hated the thought of him touching it, fondling it, tarnishing her memory. Creepy little dude.

  My skin crawled as I left, feeling the eyes of his creatures on me as I walked away.

  I SPENT MOST OF MY supper breaks during the run of the fair giving Edna a chance to go stretch her legs and get some fresh air. One evening, I was joined by Mark, her boyfriend who was a cop with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the RCMP. He was a nice guy and I liked him, loved him even for Edna’s sake.

  ‘I found the perfect gift for Edna!’ Mark was speaking in a very low voice although I knew for a fact that she was gone to the canteen. He was really excited. ‘You know that guy in the corner, the one who pretends he’s a wizard?’

  ‘Sorcerer,’ I said, not having a good feeling about this.

  ‘Whatever,’ Mark said, brushing aside the semantics. His brown eyes shone and he had the hugest grin on his face. ‘I’m buying one of his anti-Santa’s for her. Get it? For her Santa collection. The ultimate in irony!’

  ‘That’s... funny, and ironic,’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘But Mark, wouldn’t she rather have something like a really gorgeous hand knit sweater? Or, if you’re shelling out that much money, maybe buy her a new fridge, the kind with the freezer on the bottom that makes its own ice cubes?’

  ‘She’d kill me if I bought her a fridge for Christmas,’ he said. He looked at me as though I’d lost my marbles. ‘This is the perfect thing for her. It’s decorative and hand-made. A little scary, like the books she writes.’

  ‘I hate to ask this, Mark, but can you really afford that?’ I asked him.

  He smiled. ‘I told him who it was for, and he’s giving me a discount.’

  And this was even more unsettling. Edna being Edna had told all her old friends here at the fair that I was her niece and word would have reached Willem. Was I being paranoid? Perhaps, but those chills running down my spine were real.

  The creatures were horrible, and looked as if they were alive and would knife you the minute you turned your back on them and Willem had ensured there would be one coming into my home by offering that discount to Mark. Dear unsuspecting Mark.

  BUT BEFORE MARK could make his purchase, Willem’s booth was shut down by the Witch Kin. Oh, they didn’t do it directly, they used the forces of the government under their control, but it was obvious enough to me whose hand was behind it. And to Willem.

  The second day of the fair, I spotted my Dad, Jon de Teilhard and his wife (the rotten witch) Cate strolling through the aisles of the fair. We all preferred to ignore each other, so I slipped into another aisle to avoid being forced to greet them.

  I snuck around behind their backs though. I hated them both but that didn’t stop me from being curious. He was my father, after all, and he used to love me.

  Besides, they were nearing Willem’s booth, and I had to stick around to watch the action. I almost held my breath in anticipation.

  Cate, her long black hair done in a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, prowled around the aisles like a panther on the hunt, narrowing in on her prey. Tall boots encased her legs and a military-style wool coat wrapped her slim body, and her dark eyes sparkled bright as she smelled the magic coming from the sorcerer’s booth.

  She stopped dead center of his booth, and I could almost see her tail quivering as she honed in on the vials of potion. A quick glance was exchanged between Jon and her, and that was all it took.

  Willem stood to the side, ostensibly talking with a customer, but his eyes were narrowed on the pair the whole time. His shoulders were tense.

  Cate’s tinkling laugh rang out as she sized up the rainbow of coloured glass before her. Her blood red nails ran down the crystal display. ‘How amusing, Jon,’ she tossed over her shoulder. ‘Just think - magic in a bottle!’

  He stood close behind her, not saying a word, as she further mocked the contents of those vials.

  And her words were true – there was not a drop of power to be had in the display, for all it was enticingly laid out and promising the moon. And despite her mockery of the fake potions, they were not even the object of Cate’s true attention. She didn’t look to either side of her at the papier mache trolls and evil ones, but I knew – I was very aware that her senses were turned fully on and she saw the magic in them.

  The whole scene took less than two minutes to enact before she walked out again, apparently intent on examining the knit wares in the booth next door.

  Willem stood stock still, staring at the departing backs of the de Teilhards. None of the nuances of what had just happened had been lost to him, and there was murder in the Dutchman’s eyes.

  So it didn’t come as a surprise to me, or Willem himself I guess, the next day when the Department of Health officials came to the fair and headed straight for the Lord of Misrule. They confiscated his vials of ‘magic potion’ and listed off the myriad laws he had broken by selling for consumption without having the necessary paperwork stamped.

  Willem didn’t bother with the fair much after that. He packed up the papier mache creatures, the ones still unsold, and the corner booth quickly faded to black again as if he’d never been there.

  THE FULL WEEK OF MY WORK at the fair passed pretty quickly. I put plenty of hours in over that time with the very early mornings and late nights, and I was looking forward to getting that paycheck. I was also looking forward to not getting up so early in the morning again.

  Jack and I sat in the bleachers, our own work done, for the take down of the event went much faster than the initial set-up. We were just waiting for the company that owned the curtains and rods to be finished, and the last of the potters who had to pack the leftover goods very carefully.

  My companion hauled out his cigarette pack.

  ‘You’re not going to light that up here inside the stadium, are you?’

  He looked at me with his funny little crooked grin. ‘Dara, every single door in the place is open, there’s more fresh air in here than out there. You really think anyone’ll notice or care?’

  One of the things I’d come to appreciate about Jack was his way of pointing out the ridiculousness of many situations, but in a nice kind of way so everyone laughed and no one felt hurt. He sure was easy to be with.

  ‘So, what do you do now the fair is over?’ he asked, idly blowing smoke rings into the chill air.

  ‘Back to university,’ I said, pulling a face and leaning back against the riser behind me. I squinted at him through the smoke. ‘I have to get through this semester whether I like it or not. How about you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I work here, and there,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll get the band together for some rehearsals. We have a gig coming up next week at the Grog Shop. Do you know the place?’

  That was the bar which abutted Zeta’s cellar.

  ‘Yeah, been there once or twice,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe you want to drop in, if you don’t have anything else to do?’ He ground the cigarette under the heel of his steel-toed boot and fidgeted. ‘We could, maybe, I don’t know, hang or something afterwards.’

  I sat up straighter. Was Jack asking me on a date? I looked over at him, where he was studiously avoiding my eye. His face was quite pink in color, and it wasn’t just the cold November air in the stadium. I nudged his foot with mine.

  ‘Dude. You asking me out?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly, then his eyes slid towards me and he shrugged. ‘Ma
ybe.’

  I found myself grinning at him. Jack was cute, and fun. He might not be used to women, but he was sincere and straightforward.

  ‘Give me a break,’ he said, looking at me from under the brim of his cap. ‘I don’t do this much. Don’t laugh at me.’

  ‘I’m not laughing at you,’ I said. ‘I’m considering.’

  We’d worked closely over the past week, but I realized Jack knew nothing about me, not about the magic and Alt and me being related to the most powerful witch in the province. ‘I should tell you though, I’m going away to school in January. To another country. I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be back.’

  I felt his body relax next to me.

  ‘That’s cool,’ he said. ‘Sort of takes the pressure off, doesn’t it? You’re not here long enough for us to get involved or whatever. We can just hang out, enjoy each other’s company. You can come hear me play bass in the band, and be my first groupie.’

  ‘Gee, when you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?’

  We shared a shy smile.

  The crush I had on Hugh? Well, that’s surely all it was. Like I said before, that witch was out of my league, while this guy from the bay in his beat up jeans and baseball cap and his off-center smile was more my style.

  6

  EDNA PLACED THE COFFEE before me on the kitchen table. Our north-facing kitchen was dark in the late November morning, even though it was already nine o’clock, and it looked like the weather had turned overnight. I could hardly make out the bare branches of the trees through the drizzle on the window.

  ‘So you had a good time working at the fair?’

  I nodded and slurped the coffee.

  ‘That guy, Jack,’ she continued as she pretended to bury herself in the newspaper. ‘Seems like a nice boy.’

  ‘He’s okay, yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Handsome,’ she pointed out. ‘Respectful. Nicer than most of the fellows you’ve hung out with before.’