Page 11 of Reluctant Witch (A Course in Magic #2)

11

Prospero

Prospero had stopped outside Crenshaw Castle, pacing there as if she were a surly guard dog. The agitation roiled under her skin. I am stronger than this. She actively shoved her panic into that cold place deep inside that she had been using to store emotions since she was a young woman unwillingly wed.

I do not break.

She needed to talk to Walt. To decide what to do about Ellie, but she was in one of the remedial-magic classes right this moment—which seemed ludicrous, because she was far from remedial. Bureaucracy was eternal, though.

Is Sondre right? Do I take her with me? She’s not as dangerous as everyone thinks… She trapped me. No one else has done that. But Ellie could only do that because I was distracted by my heart.

Prospero was ready to march through the castle and jerk Ellie out of class, so the sudden tingle of magic from the Barbarian Lands was a welcome distraction when it washed over her.

“Need the headmaster already?” the hob called before his body appeared. When he did materialize, he stood atop a finial on the staircase of the castle like a miniature statue.

“No. He’s busy. Tell Sondre where I’ve gone, and if you could tell… Walt, I suppose?” Prospero scowled at not having a clear protocol for retrieval now. Criminals were taken to Aggie for justice, or to Mae if they were injured. Right now, Prospero couldn’t go to the infirmary or consult Aggie.

I’ll figure it out.

She closed her eyes for a long blink and let her body follow the tug of magic. It was a singular feeling to not know where she’d be upon arrival. Often, she appeared at hospitals or grisly accidents. A few times, she’d arrived as the fallen witch was being beaten or stabbed. Those were the hardest ones.

She shoved old memories and thoughts of Ellie away as she opened her eyes.

Unexpectedly, Prospero realized that she was standing in a bookshop. There was no doubt that there was a witch in this building, though. Well, either that or someone had been gardening in the wrong place entirely. The center of the shop, where only the hip-high display tables of books were, had become a swamp. At her feet, black water swirled, and various waterlogged books floated by like leaves in a stream.

Prospero’s heart tightened at the thought of wasted books. Sure, there was an informational library in Crenshaw, but fiction? That was harder to find. She glanced down at the floating books, admiring the glossy covers that still hadn’t been ruined. She fished a couple out and put them in her pockets to take home. Maybe Ellie could repair them for me. A longing rose up; sometimes Prospero wanted only simple pleasures, like curling up with Ellie and reading for hours.

Something less book-like swam by, and Prospero wondered what creature was under the swampy water. The few people in the store were crouching on tables, so she suspected the thing under the water wasn’t something she particularly wanted to encounter. Reptile? Rat? Where was this bookshop? All she could say for certain was that the majority of the titles on the nearest tables were in English, but that detail was not a particularly helpful clue. There were English-language books in a lot of places.

With one last pining look at the plethora of books all around her, Prospero strode through the knee-high water toward a staircase that was currently covered in what looked like poison-ivy vines. Trying not to touch the toxic vines, Prospero climbed up the leaf-strewn steps to the second floor of the building.

Whichever witch this was, they were affiliated with the agricultural house, Dionysus and Jord. Was Allan the man with the gun?

As Prospero turned around a shelf on the landing of the second floor, she saw a witch sitting on a giant marshmallow with a tower of books sticking out of the fluff.

“Jaysen?” Prospero stared at him as she approached.

He looked up. “Why are you all bloody?”

“Because you people shot my friend, Jaysen.”

“Didn’t do it. I’m, like, an innocent bystander.” Jaysen had his hair in a long braid, the end tail of which was caught in the fluff. He looked more stressed than threatening. “I just came along for information. Well, that and Allan said so. He’s the head of house, you know?”

Prospero eased closer. “Did Allan shoot Scylla?”

“Yeah… Jenn couldn’t. I couldn’t.” Jaysen shrugged. “She was in the way.”

The wash of rage that filled Prospero made her feel like her vision tinted red. No magic. No magic. Do not kill him.

Mindlessly, Jaysen kept talking. “I was thinking about a hydroponic cannabis warehouse. Everyone’s so angry all the time. Do you know they don’t sell seeds at the farm shops here?” He grabbed a handful of fluff that was also his chair and popped it in his mouth.

“So you had no issue shooting Scylla and exposing our world so you could come here and plan to grow drugs?” Prospero’s hand balled up. She could punch him. Surely, that was fine. Not magic. Just a solid hit.

“Herb. Yes. If we had it at Crenshaw, everyone would stop fighting,” he explained earnestly, sucking the sticky marshmallow from his fingers.

“So you joined the enemy in pursuit of drugs? Allan shot Lord Scylla.”

“Yeah… totally uncool of him,” Jaysen said, frowning. “It’s bad energy to spill blood, and it’s not drugs. It’s herb.”

“Where’s Agatha? Allan?”

Jaysen shook his head. “The old witch and her left-hand man skedaddled.”

“And Jenn?”

“Don’t know. Dionysus, though? He’s wild, you know?” Jaysen laughed awkwardly. “Has an agenda. ”

“He. Shot. Scylla.”

“Right, but I’m not him. I just wanted to figure things out to help at home, you know?” Jaysen gave her a wide-eyed look like he was a daft toddler. “I’m not a bad guy, you know?”

“Not…” Prospero wanted to punch him in the throat. “Did you see what you did to this place? You cannot use magic over here. There are laws.”

“I didn’t use much magic. I just wanted a snack, a comfy chair, and to be left alone. I’m not hurting anyone.” He tore off another piece of fluff and held it out to her. When she ignored him, he popped it in his mouth and mumbled, “I ruined a chair. So what?”

“Aside from working with treasonous bastards who shot my friend, you flooded the first floor. There’s poison ivy on the steps—”

“I wanted to be left alone, ” he reiterated. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”

Prospero wasn’t in the mood to keep arguing. “Time to go home.”

She snatched hold of his wrist, and she let the pressure to return to Crenshaw hook under her ribs. When she released Jaysen, he was still seated in his mound of sticky fluff, and the books were still in it. Now, however, he was at the door of Walter’s cottage.

When Grish, Walt’s chief hob, opened the door, he made a sound somewhere between a gargle and a word. His expression of disgust spoke loud enough. Then he vanished.

Walt stood in the doorway a moment later. “What in Henry’s horny hump is that?”

“An escaped witch. He has no idea where Aggie is. He confirmed that Allan shot Scylla.” Prospero stepped away from Jaysen, who gave Walt a sheepish smile.

“Hey, Chief Dude,” Jaysen said.

Prospero paused to enjoy Walt’s expression before adding, “I’m sticky and itchy, and there’s no one at the helm of House Grendel, and Allan—fucking weasel that he is—shot Scylla.” Prospero gestured at Jaysen. “This one’s your problem. I need to go back to the castle.”

Walt scowled. “You couldn’t take him to the infirmary?”

If I stay here, I’ll injure him, she almost admitted.

Instead, she said aloud, “He’s not injured. Yet. Mae’s busy with actual patients.”

Prospero glanced at Walt and pushed her emotions down. In a more rational tone, she said, “He created a flood, covered steps with poison ivy, and he went along with Agnes and Allan while they shot Scylla and exposed Crenshaw. He ought to be siphoned or badgered.”

Then Prospero teleported away as she could feel the itching from the magical poison ivy creeping up her ankles. She was covered in blood, marshmallow, and poison ivy. All she wanted at the moment was a bath.

And vengeance.

Deeper down in that morass of feelings she tried to keep contained, she wanted to set fire to a few people. The urge to use her own magic over there and hunt them pressed on her nerves. There were billions of humans, though. There was no way to find three witches—not until their magic leaked—and being over there would mean her magic leaked.

Becoming a monster to hunt a monster wouldn’t fix anything. Letting her baser urges reign would only bring more trouble. Randomly roaming would mean spilling more wild magic in the Barbarian Lands.

But I’ll be there the moment you slip, you bastards.