Thistle Witch, page 12
part #1 of Anaïs Blue Series
The remnants of the night’s celebrations would linger for weeks. A broken shard from a champagne bottle could hide in a crevice and perhaps not be found for years. In the distance, down the end of the road, a street-sweeper rounded the corner. Its noisy brushes swished loudly on the pavement. The street cleaners had started working, their thankless task already underway. Somebody always had to clean up the mess. It wouldn’t clean itself. Their work would go on for hours, days and weeks before all the mess was gone.
Prince shook his head. The way the living behaved was disappointing. Just to think, he had been one of them once. Had he also been so destructive? He supposed so. Who was he kidding? He could preach from the grave all he liked but nobody would hear.
Then something stopped him in his tracks. A surprisingly clear memory flashed through his head. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into it. Someone was giving him a badge. They pressed it forcefully into the palm of his hand. He was being honoured. What deserving deed had he done? He sensed some doubt. What was being bestowed on him wasn’t really an honour. It felt empty. There was a deal going on. Both he and the presenter had mutual needs, the badge a meaningless symbol.
He looked around the room. There were a few large couches and a huge desk. The room itself was unusual. It was perfectly circular. Running along one half of the curved walls was a row of narrow, floor-to-ceiling windows. On the opposing side, a series of doors.
The man was now vigorously shaking his hand. He wore an enormous smile. It was all teeth. Yet the smile didn’t convey joy, or any emotion at all for that matter. It was fake. They were both there for the wrong reasons. They were both undeserving of their respective prizes. They had wangled their way into their present positions. He sensed they were very important positions. Could they wangle their way out? No, he realised they couldn’t. There was trouble coming. The route which they had chosen to follow, and the manner in which it had brought them there, would lead to their respective downfalls.
The memory faded as suddenly as it had appeared. He opened his eyes and looked down at Anaïs. She was responsible for this. She was bringing the memories back. Being near her had brought this on. He shuffled close to her.
‘Don’t crowd me,’ she snapped.
She was irritated. He was pushing too hard. He took a step away. He would have to tread carefully. His need was too great. If he became too insistent, she could take it all away in an instant.
Old, long-buried memories were coming back. And only because of her. He had to stick with her. The picture would eventually become clear, whatever it was. He needed her, but what he wanted wouldn’t come without a cost. He was indebted to her. As with all things there was no taking without giving. What did she need? He wouldn’t get his desires without providing something in return. There was an unspoken pact. They were in this together.
He looked down the road again. At the end of the street the cleaners had moved on and around the corner, but the street wasn’t totally devoid of life. Two figures, a man and a dog, stood at the far end. It was no ordinary dog being taken for a walk. Standing by its side was no ordinary man. They had a sense of purpose.
The dog sniffed the air. The man seemed to be searching for something. He studied the ground at his feet. Then he raised his eyes and followed the dotted dividing line which split the road. It led him directly to the ground beneath their feet. Prince held his non-existent breath. The man looked squarely at them. First at the little witch by his side and then up at him.
Prince watched the look on his face transform from deadpan to instant recognition. The man cracked a wry smile. The Inquisitor had found what he was looking for.
CAT AND MOUSE
The dog’s nostrils flared. Even from where they were standing, Prince and Anaïs could hear the sound of its heavy breathing. It was like the puffing of an approaching steam train. The Inquisitor adjusted his stance, anchoring his feet in preparation for the chase. The dog mimicked him.
This was going to be difficult. Both sides knew it. You can’t hide forever in a city this small. However, you can avoid being caught. Particularly if you have an intimate knowledge of your surroundings. The city’s streets were narrow. It was compact. If you were clever, you could twist and turn and stay one step ahead. Speed wasn’t necessary; agility was, along with patience and stamina. As long as you could dodge and duck you would not be caught. Then again, you could never completely escape. If you left the relative safety of the canals and alleyways and ventured out into the open suburbs, you became easy prey.
They now stood on the border between the outer and inner city. The wide road encircled the city centre like a belt. To escape, they would have to dive back into the labyrinth of the old city.
Prince glanced down at Anaïs. She was light. That was a blessing. The ability to sustain prolonged physical effort was on his side. He didn’t have a heart that would give out on him. He didn’t have legs that would tire. He wouldn’t get out of breath. In a chase he had a distinct advantage over the Inquisitor. The dog was another thing altogether. If they were to escape the beast, he would have to move fast.
He judged the best way to pick her up. He thought about how to carry her so as to give himself the greatest freedom of movement. He sank down slightly, bending his knees. He coiled his body like a spring. He sought the best possible purchase with the ground. He screwed his boots down through the dirty, wet paper coating the surface of the street. They scraped the solid, rough veneer of the road beneath.
Anaïs looked up at him. ‘What are we going to do?’
He lowered his voice to a whisper even though he could not be heard. ‘Run,’ he said.
That was enough. She didn’t need any further instruction. He opened his arms and she sprang into them.
The dog saw it first. It leapt from a standing start. All four legs left the ground and swiftly come back down as its leash stretched taut. It yelped and turned to the Inquisitor. It howled and gnashed its teeth, drooling saliva. Great globs of it slapped the ground. Entrail-like strands of spittle trailed from its jaws. It strained, dragging its master along behind it.
The Inquisitor’s boots slid over the pulped paper until they dug themselves in beneath it. The beast tugged vainly at its invisible leash. The chain around the Inquisitor’s hand looped tightly over itself. As the dog strained he felt it crushing his hand. He clenched his fist tighter and fought the pain, forcing his palm wide to prevent the bones from splintering.
He ignored the animal and watched them move.
She had her arms around his neck. The shade pivoted on one leg. The sole of his boot scraped the ground as it twisted in the dirt. He set his other leg down and pushed off. He bounded like a gazelle. His coat billowed out behind him. She let the blanket slip from her shoulders and fall.
The Inquisitor closed his eyes. He pursed his lips and exhaled. He didn’t move. Only his straightened arm twitched spasmodically from side to side in front of him. The dog continuing to tug on its leash. He heard their footfalls. Even on the soft, wet surface they echoed down the street, speeding up and gradually fading in the distance.
This would not do.
He needed a better plan. He had to think this through. He had to get much closer and required the element of surprise to attain his goal. Otherwise, he would squander his energy for naught and be left chasing his own tail.
ON THE RUN
Prince weaved through the streets. He tried to put as much space between them and their foe as he could. He didn’t know the consequences of being caught, but they wouldn’t be good.
He had never felt real fear as a shade. There was nothing to fear. After all, he was already dead. What harm could come to him? He sensed that possibly the man and his dog had the power to end his existence. Perhaps they weren’t just after Anaïs. He wasn’t ready to go yet. He still had something to do. If he couldn’t get that done, things would not be in balance. He would be incomplete. He had a goal and seeing it to fruition was of primary importance. He would risk everything to achieve it. If only he could work out what it was.
But he was only hypothesising. Whatever the man and the dog wanted was a mystery for the moment. It involved her and that was all he needed to know. He had to keep her safe so that she could help him.
He threw a furtive eye over his shoulder. Where were they? They weren’t following. Why? He was certain the dog could have run them down if it was let loose. What were they missing? Was there a trick he hadn’t thought of?
He hadn’t had time to think it through. It had all been automatic and about self-preservation. It was good they had escaped, but they had to stay that way. They needed to think ahead. They had to devise a plan. They must get as far away as possible, and quickly. There was only one thing for it; they needed some form of transport. He couldn’t keep running forever. His legs alone weren’t fast enough. The man and his dog had found them once and they would do it again. Only the next time he didn’t think they would be as fortunate.
But he was a shade. He couldn’t buy a train ticket. He couldn’t board a plane. He couldn’t hire a car, even if he could have driven one.
He shifted the little witch’s weight to his other hip and searched for shelter. Her arms were slung around his neck, which eased the burden. Someone set off a firework down a side street. The loud crack gave him a start. She buried her face in the nape of his neck. The city wasn’t completely dead.
He crossed a bridge over a narrow canal, nearly losing his footing on the wet cobblestones. He spotted a public urinal on the edge of the canal. It was a simple structure. A circular, perforated, metal screen around a concrete enclosure built for one. They could hide in there and he could still keep an eye out through the slits in its sides. He slowed his pace and stepped inside. It stank.
‘Eeeuw!’ Anaïs screwed up her face and pinched her nose.
‘Sorry.’ Prince set her down. He straightened and arched his back. It was more a natural reflex than anything. He had sensed her weight and the exertion of running but felt none the worse for it. It was as if he had expelled no energy at all. The stench of the urinal was also something which failed to arouse any sensory reaction. Looking around the small cubicle he was secretly thankful for one small blessing in being dead.
‘Why did you stop?’ Anaïs enquired with a muffled voice, her hand still covering her nose and mouth.
‘This is no good. We can’t keep running.’ Prince peered apprehensively through the metal latticework. ‘We need to get out of the city,’ he said.
Anaïs dropped her hand. ‘How do you want to do that?’
‘I was hoping you could solve that problem.’ He looked down at her. ‘I was thinking maybe you have something. You are a witch, after all.’
She growled slowly at him, ‘Yes.’
They stood in silence for a moment.
‘Well?’
Anaïs frowned. ‘I don’t know. I’d need to think about it. I can’t just snap my fingers.’
‘Don’t you have a broomstick hidden away somewhere?’
Anaïs retorted with irritation, ‘We don’t use broomsticks!’
BROOMSTICKS
The most obvious misconception concerning witches is the broomstick. Where this idea originally sprang from is unknown. The first documenting of it is in a painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. A woman is sitting on a broomstick and flying up a chimney. It’s a mystery why this particular image was singled out and then popularised. There are all manner of strange creatures flying around on various other objects in the same painting. Perhaps it’s because it’s an everyday object and the identity of its pilot is concealed.
Witches have been around for millennia; brooms have not. They are a more recent invention. Had they been invented earlier, they may have helped save some civilisations from being inundated by the desert sands. Witches have no need for such things. If your house can be kept spotless by casting a simple spell, what need have you of a cleaning device? The vacuum cleaner was also a bi-product of a spell gone wrong. The inventor would never have made the discovery if it hadn’t been for a slight mishap. The original air-powered cleaner blew and didn’t suck. It was also so large that it had to be drawn by a horse.
The association of the broomstick with witch transportation is a modern fallacy. The popularity of the idea has more to do with Walt Disney than with anything else. Not to mention a certain indomitable, prepubescent boy. But it is just too obvious. If you saw someone balanced precariously on a stick, screaming across the heavens, you would be shocked, to say the least. Witches do not go out of their way to attract attention to themselves. That would be counter-productive. It is the things you don’t see that have the most influence. Subtlety is a more effective weapon.
People are easily threatened by things they don’t understand. They will generally refuse to cooperate if presented with something foreign and not within their personal field of knowledge. The living prefer to make fully informed decisions. They don’t tend to take strange behaviour or occurrences at face value. Naturals are naturally inquisitive and will go looking for answers. They will start an investigation if something doesn’t make sense. An illusion only works if the subject is oblivious to what is really going on. The moment something becomes questionable, belief is no longer suspended. At this point the effectiveness of a spell or potion loses its impact.
No matter how powerful an incantation is, if something is revealed about its actual workings, it will fail. If a subject suddenly gets a glimpse behind the curtain, if they can see what’s going on backstage, they will concentrate on uncovering more of its inner workings. They will delve deeper. The desired effect will be lost.
If an illusion goes awry, it is not impossible to rectify it. However, it requires a hell of a lot more work to correct a botched spell, and you just don’t want to go there. A whole series of distractions will be required before the original goal can be pursued again. It necessitates an entirely new plan and approach. It’s time consuming and difficult. And who wants to do all that extra work?
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: witches are inherently lazy and will go for the easiest possible solution. A set of abnormal circumstances is never helped when the subject notices something out of the ordinary. Unusual objects used for powered flight fall into this category.
Broomsticks attract too much attention. That’s not to say other everyday objects haven’t been repurposed at one time or another. Witches are not immune to experimentation and have been known to try outlandish solutions on occasions. However, they prefer to keep their secrets to themselves. Sometimes this can go amiss.
Take, for example, the lubricant WD-40. It was originally concocted to ward off the common cold. Unfortunately, curing this disease necessitates a surprisingly complicated spell. In order to treat it an all-encompassing concoction was needed. One of the living got hold of the recipe and now WD-40 has become a cure-all for the strangest things, from pimples to relieving the pain of bee stings. Fortunately, witches have done their best to conceal its original purpose. Now that I have said this, I hope you will honour our agreement and keep this information to yourself. Some potions are just too well made.
Apart from the attention-attracting problem, broomsticks are uncomfortable and difficult to steer. The mere idea of balancing on a stick, even if it’s not moving at high speed, seems downright illogical. It’s counterproductive. There are much better forms of transportation. For that matter, even a vacuum cleaner is preferable. Although if it is already being drawn by a horse, riding on one is self-defeating and pointless. You might as well just use the horse.
Or, better yet, let someone else provide the transportation.
TRANSPORTATION
Catching a plane would have been the quickest escape route for the pair, but a whole series of obstacles would need to be overcome. For instance, there is the complication of passports and such. If you are dead, you forfeit the right of citizenship. And if you are without country, you are also without a passport. Forgeries can be come by, but they take time. But, if you’re a shade, you can’t be photographed. Your image will not show up on film. If you’re lucky, you’ll show up as a white smear, but only if you have a particularly strong aura. Passport control are certainly not going to let you through on the basis of a blank photograph. They ask questions, and, as a shade, you can’t answer them.
This is also one reason why airport terminals are so full. There are great numbers of shades hanging around and hoping to get somewhere. Any destination is better than none at all. Once inside, they realise that catching a flight is impossible. However, the comfort of being part of a crowd keeps them there. If airport staff were aware of this it might help them solve the problem of overcrowding in terminals.
Driving a car was also out of the question. There are some things Prince could physically do and others not. He could touch Anaïs, but only because she was a witch. A natural would not be influenced in the same way. At best they can sense a shade. They will feel the cold that is exuded. Inanimate objects can be moved, but this requires enormous concentration. It’s a talent which is bestowed on some shades, but there are limitations. Only one object can be moved at a time. A car is a fairly complex contraption and requires you to control multiple integrants at once. It goes far beyond the capabilities of the dead.
Anaïs and Prince stepped out of the urinal and stood on the edge of the canal. The stench had become unbearable and Anaïs couldn’t take it anymore. Even witches can’t hold their breath forever. She had her straw, but it only filtered air; it didn’t mask offensive odours. The musty fetidness wafting up from the murky waters at her feet was little better. Standing on the embankment high above the water, Anaïs felt exposed. They had to find shelter quickly. The man and his dog could be anywhere.
