Discovering Magic, page 1
part #2 of Anaïs Blue Series
PRAISE FOR DISCOVERING MAGIC
Just like the first in the series, it is a well-written, engaging, entertaining read. An excellent book, and one I could not put down!
REVIEWER BELLE
Full of wry, witty observations on people and life that will have you reluctantly nodding in agreement or laughing out loud at their perceptive truthfulness, these books take you on a fun journey of self-discovery through the eyes of a teenage witch.
AUTHOR HELEN PRYKE
What’s a witch to do? I found myself rooting for Anais throughout the story. This is an interesting tale that will have you turning pages to find out what's next.
REVIEWER KIMBERLEY
DISCOVERING MAGIC
ANAÏS BLUE BOOK TWO
P J WHITTLESEA
Copyright © P J Whittlesea 2022, 2017
This edition was originally published with the title The Promptuary: The Extraordinary Adventures of the Good Witch Anaïs Blue Volume Two with ISBN 978-94-92523-09-9 (Kindle eBook)
P J Whittlesea has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Published by Tyet Books, Amsterdam
Cover Design by Miblart
Edited by Philip Newey and Ella Holgate
CONTENTS
1. Starting Over
2. Morris the Minor
3. Families
4. Kernal Panic
5. Supernatural Software
6. An Apology
7. Marazion
8. Saint Michael’s Mount
9. The Locomotive
10. The Dining Car
11. Food and Trains and Time
12. Teenage Dreams
13. Breakfast
14. Growth Spurt
15. Eighteen
16. The Hunting Lodge
17. Mont Saint-Michel
18. The Lift
19. The Ballroom
20. Mainland
21. Different
22. Back into the Field
23. Overland
24. In Pursuit
25. Spain
26. The Architect
27. A Ticking Clock
28. Dead Sexy
29. The Looking Glass
30. The Misfit
31. Confrontation
32. La Farmàcia
33. Assistance
34. Children
35. The Mother
36. An Escape Plan
37. The Airport
38. Moving Shades
39. Border Control
40. Take-off
41. Turbine Torture
42. Inflight
43. Airborne
44. Bambina
45. The Sorrento Peninsula
46. Instruction Manuals
47. Amalfi
48. Antica Cartiera
49. Rags
50. Truman
51. Nightmare
52. Battling Evil
53. Reunited
54. The Message
55. Taming the Beast
56. The Compact
57. Teenage Angst
A New Source of Magic
Other Books in the Series
Also by P J Whittlesea
About the Author
For Zoé and every other child who will remain forever young
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
EXCERPT FROM ‘BURNT NORTON’, T. S. ELIOT 1888–1965
STARTING OVER
Hi, it’s me again.
Did you miss me?
If you’re new to this tale you may want to go back and look at what happened earlier. For those of you who have no desire, or have forgotten, I won’t penalise you for laziness. I will quickly refresh your memory and give you an overview. You do have a memory, don’t you? Or are you a shade?
Let’s start at the beginning. There is a witch. Yes, there are witches in this world. Real ones which keep the whole thing ticking along. Without them we would all be lost. The witch in question, our witch, is called Anaïs Blue, although she would prefer to be called something else. We won’t concern ourselves with that. It is a problem she will have to deal with herself. Her purpose, and that of all witches, is to help the dead. Just as witches do, we shall call the dead shades. In these modern times we wouldn’t want to insult anyone by using derogatory terms. The word shade is fairly neutral. At least, I think so anyway. I hope you agree.
The purpose of this book is personal. I need to tell you all I know before it’s gone. My memory is fading—fast. I wish I could do something about this, but memories have a finite existence and mine is failing. I will not bother you with the details. I am of no great importance. The knowledge is.
Knowledge and information is the key to all this. Together we are trying to solve a very big problem. I am trusting you with something huge. It would be beneficial if we could keep all this information between ourselves. Let us consider it our little secret. Witches need freedom of movement. This is crucial. If everyone knew what I am about to tell you the entire system would cave in around our ears. Therefore—and I cannot stress the point too much—what I tell you is for your eyes only.
Consider yourself a confidant, a partner in crime if you will. However, we will try to avoid doing anything illegal. Be that real or supernatural. We don’t want to cause anything untoward to happen. We have enough problems to solve as it is.
Where were we? Oh yes, one particular witch.
In previous exploits our witch, Anaïs, managed to survive a great many things: an enormous explosion, facing a witch high court, labouring with a deceased rock star and finding a solution to his predicament, a trip across the English Channel in a very small boat, inquisitors, hellhounds, family reunions, death and librarians. There is more in store for her, so read on.
I’ll be back to keep you informed along the way, and remember, don’t breathe a word to anyone. Guard this information carefully. You have a responsibility.
MORRIS THE MINOR
They had been cruising for some time before Immaculate Phlox spoke up. She had to yell to make herself heard above the car’s cacophony. She flicked her head towards the rear of the vehicle. ‘Who’s your new friend?’
Anaïs cleared her throat. ‘She’s not new. She’s an old friend.’
The shade’s voice sounded in the little witch’s head. ‘I see you’re still keeping nice company. Where did you pick her up?’
Anaïs turned in her seat and faced the shade in the backseat. ‘I didn’t ask for her. She actually picked me up.’
‘Oh will you stop doing that! It’s rude,’ said Immi. ‘Can’t you just think back at it instead of forcing me to listen to half a conversation?’
Anaïs swung around in her seat and sneered at the librarian. ‘She can’t read minds.’
She sat back in her seat and looked out her side window at the trees whizzing by. ‘Or at least I don’t think she can.’
The little witch closed her eyes. ‘Nan? Can you hear me?’
‘Always, child,’ said Nan softly. ‘It was the only thing that kept me going out there in the dark. I followed your voice and it brought me to you.’
Anaïs smiled to herself. ‘That’s good to know. Nan, I missed you so much. I honestly thought I’d lost you. I’m so very sorry about what happened.’
‘You don’t have to be sorry, Anaïs,’ said Nan. ‘You’re safe now. That’s all I care about.’
‘It’s so good you’re here,’ replied Anaïs, sending out her thoughts. ‘I thought I was alone. Well, maybe I’m not completely alone. I do have this waste of space to keep me company.’
She opened her eyes and looked directly at the woman sitting next to her. ‘What a douchebag!’
Immi looked hurt and pulled away from Anaïs. Furrowing her brow, she measured her response. ‘What is wrong with the youth of today? No respect at all.’
Anaïs shot back at her. ‘I’m sure you were young once, although I have my doubts.’
‘Nice. Keep the insults coming. I’m all up for them,’ said the librarian, sneering at the witch.
‘Ok, ok, enough. Can the two of you stop bickering for a moment?’
The Morris Minor soared over a hump in the road and became airborne. Its passengers floated up off their seats and came crashing back down as the vehicle connected with the tarmac. Its springs bottomed out, producing a loud grating sound as all four wheels connected with the chassis. The Morris Minor switched off its radio. The impact and lack of music silenced its occupants.
The librarian and Anaïs looked at one another. Was the car aware of their altercations?
‘How did you come into possession of this thing?’ asked Anaïs, pointing at the dashboard.
The librarian struggled with making room for herself. Her oversized coat rode up on her, almost choking her. She grunted, tugged it down and settled back in her seat. She stared out the windscreen. ‘It was waiting outside the airport when I arrived in England.’
‘How did you know it was for you?’
‘I was given an envelope containing a ticket and a set of keys. In the envelope was a note with instructions. It said a car would be waiting for me. Well, a car was waiting for me.’
The librarian scratched her head, using the tip of the slender, polished fingernail of her index finger in order to avoid messing up her hair. It was filed to a sharp point.
‘Only, I expected a driver,’ she said, looking down at Anaïs.
‘How did you know which car?’
‘It was kind of obvious. The car was parked at the entrance to the terminal and there was this,’ said Immi. She reached across to the centre of the dashboard and lifted a cardboard tag which was attached to the car keys. She showed it to Anaïs. Written on the tag in immaculate calligraphy were two words: Morris Minor.
Anaïs smiled and nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess that is kind of obvious. Were there any other instructions?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then, I don’t get it. How did you find me?’
‘I just got in the car and started driving. Whenever I had to make a turn it told me which way to go by switching on its indicators.’ The librarian screwed up her nose. ‘Honestly, I assumed the keys they gave me were magic and not the car itself.’
‘Seems logical,’ said Anaïs. She watched the key tag sway with the movement of the car. ‘I just have one more question.’
The librarian sighed. ‘What is it with small children and questions? You never seem to run out of them.’ She looked down her nose at the little witch huddled in the seat beside her.
Anaïs folded her arms and huffed, ‘I’m not a small child!’
‘Fine,’ said the librarian. ‘One more question and then I’m going to have a nap.’ She pulled her coat shut, hugged herself and went back to staring at the road. ‘Chances are this could be a long ride and I’m kind of thankful I don’t have to do the driving.’
Anaïs shuffled in her seat. ‘Who gave you the envelope?’
‘My mum, of course,’ said the librarian matter-of-factly. ‘Didn’t you meet her in the library? Or at least someone who said she was her. Her name is Sojourner Pink.’
FAMILIES
Witches can’t do it all alone. As previously mentioned, they need the help of normal, everyday human beings to get things done. There are thousands of wannabe witches out there, but they can only really be considered as a sort of fan club.
Fans of any kind are great, and who doesn’t love a bit of adulation? However, not if they aspire to be something they’re not—which is quite often the case once a fan becomes a confidante. People who desire something they cannot possibly have usually screw up the system.
Experience has taught witches that, in order to be left to do what it is they do best, they do not need competition getting in the way. Unless, of course, the competition makes a useful diversion. True assistance will only come from someone you can trust.
This is not to say that fans cannot be trusted. It is more that, once they have had a peek behind the scenes, they are usually in for a shock. More than likely, they are also in for a huge disappointment. Most people cannot cope with the reality hidden behind what props something extraordinary up. Generally, it is a lot more mundane and boring than expected. Maintaining a magical facade requires an inordinate amount of hard work. For most fans, this is no fun. They prefer to see results, and quickly. Otherwise, they will find something better to fill their time. They will move onto the next available icon to worship.
The day-to-day life of a witch is not particularly exciting. They are the same as you and me. They have to do their daily ablutions. Not to mention grocery shopping, cleaning, washing and other menial tasks. Then there is the decision about what to wear for the day.
Witches tend to have an extensive wardrobe, and deciding on the appropriate clothing for a day of witching can be quite tedious. This is especially the case when you are unsure of what you will be up against. All manner of supernatural and physical obstacles are likely to confront you. Choosing suitable attire is made all the more complicated when everything you own is stuffed into a hat. By the time you have rummaged through its contents, and laid it out on your bed—if you have one—you still have to decide what matches what. For this reason, witches tend to go for basic black. Although, in the case of Anaïs, purple was her preference. But then, Anaïs liked to be different.
These things, the basics, all have to be attended to before any work can be done. The average fan would get bored senseless waiting for anything magical to occur. Not that a witch’s assistant is expected to do most of these things. They are primarily enlisted to smooth over the inadequacies of physical witch communication. And occasionally do their taxes.
One major requirement is that an assistant needs to be on call day and night. This is quite a stretch for an admirer, especially if the pay is not good. So, if a fan or supporter is of no use, then you need to find someone more reliable. Preferably someone close to home. An assistant who will not run off at a moment’s notice and feels duty bound to the task they are given. Someone who is trained to be fully aware of their responsibilities. Someone who is mutually invested in the cause. Someone who feels morally obligated and who can be held accountable. Specifically, someone who is family.
Some find it a curse, others an honour, but, whenever possible, the task of being a witch’s assistant usually falls to their offspring.
KERNAL PANIC
Anaïs snickered. ‘Sojourner Pink is your mother!’
‘Yes, of course. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ said Anaïs. ‘Perhaps a little odd.’
‘Odd?’ squeaked the librarian. ‘We all have to come from somewhere.’
‘I know that. I’m sorry. I suppose I’m just a little surprised.’
‘Probably not as surprised as she was when I popped out,’ said the librarian with a smirk.
‘Oh, so you were a mistake?’
The librarian’s smile melted. ‘I wouldn’t know. I certainly hope not.’ A troubled look clouded her face. ‘I never thought to ask.’
Anaïs sensed she had insulted her. She reached across to pat her arm. The librarian retracted it. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I was trying to comfort you. I thought I’d said the wrong thing.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Oh, just because …’ Anaïs was confused. ‘Never mind.’
The librarian looked at her with consternation. ‘Even for a witch, you’re a little strange.’
Anaïs breathed out slowly. ‘Maybe it’s better if we don’t discuss mothers?’
‘Yes, maybe,’ said Immi. ‘Let’s change the subject.’ She nodded at the hat on the witch’s head. ‘Could you check your promptuary? I’d like to know where we’re going.’
Anaïs brightened. ‘Yes, good idea. So would I.’
She took off her beret and rummaged around inside.
