The Promptuary Page 19

  'Pity, I seemed to have had some good ones.'

  'Marilyn, the last time around you received the short end of the stick. Somehow you were duped. I'm sure the universe, or whatever it is, owes you a better existence. I don't control any of that stuff but it seems to me, you, more than anyone, should get the chance to have a happy and fulfilling life.'

  Marilyn stared into space, lost in thought.

  Anaïs moved into her line of sight. 'I don't know what I'm saying really. Am I blabbering?'

  'A little bit, but it is good blabbering. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should give it another go.'

  The star on the cover of the handbook began to blink and caught Anaïs's eye. She turned the book over and squinted as the piercing light flashed across her face. Anaïs heard the familiar wheeze of a large dog. It snorted. She looked up from her promptuary and down the street. He was back.

  Taming The Beast

  The Inquisitor did not look happy. A snarl was frozen on his face. He lifted his hand, opened his palm and let the chain drop in the dirt at his feet. The beast looked up at him.

  He growled at it. 'What are you waiting for?'

  The animal snapped its head around and roared. It leapt from a standing start, bound into the air and careened down the street towards them. Anaïs's jaw dropped. The dog's paws pounded the surface of the road. Anaïs felt the thumping beneath her feet. She looked around frantically. Except for her and her companions the street was deserted.

  She fumbled with her handbook. She was certain it could stop the beast. Only, she had no idea how to do that. She decided to point the star at the hound and hope for the best. She turned the book over and gripped it with both hands. She pressed her thumbs into the back cover and directed the star at the oncoming beast. She locked her shoulders and braced herself.

  The animal hurtled at her. The hellhound spotted the book and veered from side to side, dodging her aim. She tried to follow its trajectory. A few paces before it reached her it suddenly made an abrupt turn. It flew past her, so close its fur brushed her leg. It had a new target. It headed directly for Nan and the librarian.

  Anaïs let her arms fall, spun on her heel and went to follow the dog. She slipped and lost her footing. Her legs went out from under her and she landed full on her face. The fall knocked the book out of her hands. It took the wind out of her. She could taste blood.

  She spat and cursed her body. During the fall and through the pain that followed she never took her eyes off the dog.

  The animal locked it legs, splayed all fours and slid the last few metres towards the caretaker. In one fluid movement it crouched, bounded and hit her square in the chest. The nanny went flying. The librarian let out a high-pitched squeak, took a step back in panic and snapped the heel of a stiletto. She lost balance and landed heavily on her padded posterior.

  The hellhound violently shook its great head and bared its teeth. A long trail of spittle flew from its mouth. The saliva slapped the ground sending a puff of dust into the air. The nanny sprawled on her back. She propped herself up on her elbows and scrambled away from the dog like a crab. The animal threw its head back and howled. The sound echoed off the steep sides of the valley. It paced towards the caretaker. Anaïs didn't need her sunglasses to see the fear on her face.

  Before the dog reached Nan, two shadows obscured Anaïs's view. They moved so fast she only saw a blur until they collided with the hellhound. It was Marilyn and Truman. The two shades slammed into the dog's flank and toppled it. The three bodies rolled as one across the street. A pall of dust, churned up by the knot of arms and legs, followed in their wake.

  They came to a halt with Marilyn on the dog's chest and Truman strewn across its hind quarters. Marilyn jammed one hand down on the hound's throat and drove it into the ground. She whipped something out of her pocket with the other. She held it above her head—her compact. She flipped its lid open with her thumb and thrust the powder case's mirror in front of the dog's muzzle. Its red eyes flared.

  The beast writhed under the weight of the shades. Incredibly they managed to temporarily pin it to the ground. Anaïs was struck dumb. She watched aghast as a bright red sphere of light grew in the space between the compact and the animal's eyes. It expanded rapidly. Licks of flame shot out from the glowing ball of illumination.

  The sphere looked like pictures Anaïs had seen of the sun. There were black spots, and solar flares arced out from its circumference. She could feel the heat from where she lay on the ground. Marilyn turned her face away and arched her neck. The ball continued to grow. It completely engulfed both the hound's head and the shade’s arm.

  Marilyn coiled her legs and sprang backwards. She grabbed Truman by the collar as she leapt, dragging him with her. They crashed to the ground, the shade never taking her eye off the beast.

  The fiery sphere continued to grow. It consumed the dog. There was a loud crackling sound like wood burning on a bonfire. The hound disintegrated. Flakes of ash rose in the air. A gust of wind swept down the street. It swirled around the cloud of ash and carried it away like a ball of tumbleweed. Within moments all that was left of the beast was a large dog-shaped scorch mark on the ground.

  Anaïs wheeled around and searched for the Inquisitor. He was nowhere to be seen. The street was empty. She turned her attention back to the shades. They both lay panting on the ground. Marilyn sat up. Her entire right arm was blackened. A ring of light formed around it and made its way from her shoulder, down her limb to her fingertips. Anaïs watched with fascination as the seared flesh reconstructed itself. The ring disappeared and the arm returned to normal. The shade released her grip on the compact and dropped it on the ground before her. She flexed her fingers and pivoted her hand in front of her face. She scrutinised it for damage.

  She turned to Anaïs and grinned, 'I told you I could deal with them, didn't I?'

  The Compact

  Anaïs stood over Nan and offered her a hand. The caretaker grabbed it and pulled herself up into a sitting position. The little witch crouched down beside her.

  Anaïs looked at her with concern. 'Are you ok?'.

  'Yes, I'll be fine.' The shade brushed dust off her elbows. 'Why did it go for me and no one else?'

  'I have no idea. At first I thought it was after me,' said Anaïs. 'Maybe it didn't spot the other shades.'

  'Perhaps, but in the end it was certainly hell bent on getting me.'

  'Yes, that is a worry. I don't want to lose you again.' Anaïs gritted her teeth and eyed the shade with determination. 'Nan, I won't lose you again.'

  Another voice rang in the witch's head. It was not the caretaker's.

  'Maybe this will help.'

  Anaïs looked up. Marilyn stood beside her. The shade held out a fist and unfurled her fingers. In the centre of her palm was the compact.

  'I can't take that, Marilyn. It's yours.'

  'I insist. Please take it. You need it more than I do.'

  Anaïs shook her head. 'No, you will need it.'

  'Not where I'm going.'

  'Going? What do you mean? Where are you going?'

  'I've decided. You were right. The shell, this …' She ran her hand down her body. 'This is not important. What's on the inside is. I want to try it again.' There was a sense of purpose in the shade's eyes.

  'Try what, Marilyn?'

  'Life.'

  'Oh.’ Anaïs was taken aback. She stammered, 'That's great, really great. Are you sure?'

  The corners of Marilyn's mouth turned up. She grinned and nodded.

  'Only, I don't know how to help you,' said Anaïs. 'I can't snap my fingers and give you a new body. At least I don't think I can. I've seen it happen, but I don't know what I did or even if I had a hand in it. It just happened.'

  'You have done enough, Anaïs. You opened my eyes.'

  Anaïs sniffed. Her expression glum.

  Marilyn knelt and took the witch in her arms. Almost immediately Anaïs's teeth began to chatter. She closed her eyes and stiffened. She gritted
her teeth and reached into her coat pocket. The promptuary was there. She wrapped her fingers around it and the book responded. The promptuary turned to putty. It grew and oozed through the webbing of her fingers. It wrapped itself around her hand. A surge of energy raced up her arm. It flushed her entire body. In an instant the cold touch of the shade was no more.

  Marilyn relaxed her hug and held the witch at arm's length. Anaïs opened her eyes.

  'Thank you,' said the shade. She stood. Anaïs heard her take a breath. 'By the way, he's coming with me.'

  Marilyn reached out, wrapped an arm around Truman's shoulder and pulled him close. She escorted him to the centre of the road. A small car rounded the corner at the top of the street. It zipped down the road towards them. Marilyn lined herself up in the path of its trajectory. Before the car collided with the shades, Marilyn threw one last glance at Anaïs. She winked at her. Then the vehicle hit them.

  Anaïs watched their bodies become transparent as the front bumper connected with them. The shades faded and dissolved as the car travelled through them until they were completely gone. She caught a momentary glimpse of the backseat of the car as it passed her. Two infants sat securely strapped into safety seats. Anaïs could just make out their heads through the window. One of them, a girl, turned to the witch and gave her the broadest smile. Anaïs smiled back. The car disappeared around a curve in the road further down the hill.

  The little witch stared vacantly at the empty road. She fiddled with the book in her pocket. The promptuary had returned to its solid form. She ran her finger absentmindedly along its spine. Anaïs slipped her free hand into the other pocket of her coat. She dropped her shoulders. It had all been so fleeting. Why did they all have to go when she was just getting to know them?

  There was something in her other pocket. She felt a square, cold, solid object. She pulled it out and looked at it sitting innocently in the palm of her hand. It was Marilyn's compact.

  Teenage Angst

  Anaïs turned the compact over in her palm. Engraved on the back were two letter Ms. It reminded her of the words she had seen on the back of the promptuary. She pulled out her handbook and looked at the rear cover. The words were still there. Memento mori. What did they mean? Who could tell her? Sojourner Pink. Yes, she could tell her. If she saw her again. Where was she anyway? She said she would join them.

  She sighed and dropped the compact into her pocket and hugged the book to her chest. It was good to have it back. She stared down at her shoes. They seemed so far away. She had really grown. She was still not used to it. The sudden change, the ageing. She frowned.

  I don't want to grow up.

  It dawned on her that there was nothing she could do about it. At some stage, it was going to happen again. Physically she was going to change. It was unstoppable. Growth was going to occur whether she liked it or not. It depressed her.

  She envied Marilyn. Shades were lucky in a way. They did not age. They stopped growing altogether. There was no more physical progression. They could look in the mirror every day, forever, and nothing altered. If they were fortunate they would die in good condition. It reminded her of what some long-dead rock star had said, or at least she thought it was a rock star. Live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse. Whoever it was had followed it to the letter. They were gone. As were so many more.

  She knew that wouldn't be her destiny. Her life would not flash by. Her gut feeling was that she still had a long way to go. If things panned out anything remotely like Caput Mortuum's existence, she would be stuck in an earthly body for centuries. Barring situations beyond her control. If she could keep it all together. If she could stay safe and not fall victim to some terminal accident. Or succumb in a battle against forces more powerful than her own. She had no way to predict her future. No one did.

  Witch or non-witch, natural or preternatural, the future was out of everybody's hands. No matter what you believed. There were just too many permutations. She didn't understand how so many people believed it was different. Thinking that everything was pre-ordained. That they could control their future. That it was written in the stars. You just had to deal with your lot, the one you created, and make sure you tied up all the loose ends.

  What a bunch of fools!

  Ok, it was unfair to think that way. She was no natural. She knew a great deal more about what made it all tick, the workings behind the scenes. She had the hidden information, the key to the universe. Sort of. There were mysteries, so much even she didn't know, but she was lucky. She should not gloat. Or blame people for what they didn't know. In most cases it was better they were kept in the dark. Some things should be kept secret. Knowing too much would break the system and bring it all crashing down around everybody's ears.

  Even shades were not immune. The problems they had to solve were a result of how their lives had been led, not because they had started out with them. The problems had been created along the way, on the journey. That's what made it so difficult. If there was a grand plan or a book, perhaps something like a super-promptuary which mapped it all out, then it would be easy. There probably would not even be a need for witches.

  She realised she preferred it this way. Thinking about these things actually made her feel better. It gave her purpose. Just having a purpose was important. She was lucky. She should enjoy what she was doing. She should not dwell in self-pity. She should be more positive. It was hard. But a challenge makes it all the more worthwhile. She decided she did not need to know it all. She accepted she had more time than the rest to expand her knowledge. That was exciting.

  She looked across the road. The Bambina was there, and the librarian was helping Nan into the back seat. Her Nan, her shade, her responsibility. After what had just happened she realised their roles had reversed. She had become the caretaker. Nan depended on her now.

  The promptuary emitted a high-pitched beep. It repeated the sound over and over, steadily increasing in volume. What now? She flipped it open. The sound stopped. She stared at the page. A map materialised. A bright dot flashed in the centre. She grimaced. Was it trouble? Why did she have to be there? She sighed.

  She shut the book and looked across the street. The librarian was behind the steering wheel, rapping her fingers on it. Anaïs sneered at her. Why was she always so impatient?

  Fine! We'll go. Just give me a minute.

  The thoughts which had been bothering her returned. Time stood still for no one. Change would come no matter what she did. It did not matter that she was a witch. She clenched the promptuary fiercely with both hands.

  No, stop thinking about it. Forget about it. Just get on with it. Be positive. You can do this.

  She cleared her head. A tenacious grin split her face and she challenged herself.

  Bring it on!

  * * *

  Thank you for reading.

  * * *

  I would appreciate knowing what you thought of the novel.

  Posting a review and other feedback will improve my writing, help other readers find this novel, and is much appreciated.

  * * *

  Coming Soon

  City of Shades: Prequel to the Good Witch Anaïs Blue

  Go here to get a first look at the novella.

  About the Author

  P. J. Whittlesea is an author and singer-songwriter. Originally from Australia, he now resides in Amsterdam in The Netherlands.

  * * *

  The Promptuary is his third novel, the second in the series about the good witch Anaïs Blue.

  Also by the author:

  Loreless

  Complicated Blue

  To learn more about the author follow or like him here:

  www.pjwhittlesea.com

  paul@pjwhittlesea.com

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