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hovercraft79 · 6 years ago

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Circle in the Sand

3rd in the Hecate’ Summer Playlist series

Chapters: 1 Word Count: 12,656 Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017) Rating: General/Teen Warnings: Some violence, someone being drugged without their knowledge (to comedic effect), injuries. Summary: A long weekend at the beach sounds like the perfect setting for a Cackle’s staff retreat. Unfortunately, nothing goes to plan and nothing is as it seems.

Notes:

This story continues Hecate’s adventures from weeks 1&2. Again, it’s helpful, but not necessary, to have read those. This one is a bit of a departure from those; I thought I’d give Hecate a break from having so many feelings this week. The title, of course, is from Belinda Carlisle’s classic ‘90s song.

As you know, I’ve been following my own extremely loose version of the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge (foundational, life-altering friendship, not romance), but the Hicsqueak is starting to assert itself so I’m not going to tag it that way anymore. I’m still using the prompts and following the trope-a-week schedule to motivate my entry into writing fan fiction for tumblr. Thanks to cosmic-llin for her advice and encouragement.

Again, thanks to Sparky, who is still editing my fics. She really wishes I would write something shorter.

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Hecate silenced her buzzing alarm spell and flung her arm over her eyes. She wondered if she could possibly convince Ada that she was too worn out from last weekend’s family retreat to leave for the annual staff planning retreat.

Each year, once Selection Day passed, the entire faculty would gather at the Cackle family beach house to plan for the upcoming school year. The incoming First-Years’ skills and weaknesses would be evaluated and appropriate curricula developed. Each level of students would receive the same evaluations and lessons would be adjusted accordingly. The retreat allowed the teachers a set block of time to work out their own plans in a new, more pleasant environment, as well as pair up for interdisciplinary lessons. Most importantly, as far as Ada was concerned anyway, the retreat allowed the teachers to spend time together in a less formal, child-free environment.

Hecate sighed and threw the sheets off to the side. Ada wanted them all together. That was all the reason Hecate needed to be there. Besides, she thought, there are worse things than being forced to spend a week in a beachside cottage. She sat up, smiling at the framed picture on her nightstand – two small witches, one dark and one light - standing with their arms linked in front of Miss Amulet’s Academy.

Making her way to the bathroom, Hecate ghosted her fingertips across the petals of the flowers in the vase beside it, smiling. A new bouquet appeared every week, no card, no comment included - not that she needed one. The flowers began arriving shortly after the Spelling Bee and each time the primary color of the bouquet had been pink - not much mystery there. She opened the bathroom door and stopped short. A brightly colored, cross-stitched thing had been hung from the side of the mirror. Since their reconciliation Pippa had also taken to leaving bright, frivolous things in her rooms to ‘give them a little color.’ Hecate still didn’t know how she managed to get them in past her wards, but she suspected Pippa may have enlisted Ada’s help on that front. The large stitching read You look so FABULOUS today darling… Hecate smiled and leaned forward so she could read the smaller stitching below …that I just had to stab something 10,000 times! Hecate laughed out loud; after all these years she’d not forgotten how weird Pippa’s sense of humor could be. She summoned her maglet and sent a quick thank you before getting on with her morning routine.

An hour later, she was still smiling, even in the middle of the noise and disorganization of five people getting ready to fly out to the cottage. “Are we all ready?” Ada asked, double checking Pendell’s carrier. Receiving a full set of agreements, Ada nodded at Miss Drill. “All right then, Dimity, we’ll follow you.”

“All right you lot, there’s a spot of weather to the south, so we’ll head out on a bit of a northern route. Flying should be good, and we should be landing in about forty-five minutes.”

Dimity brought them down in the front garden of the buttery yellow cottage exactly forty-nine minutes later. “You’re slipping, Miss Drill,” Hecate drawled.

“It’s not my fault Miss Bat kept falling asleep and drifting off course. Maybe you should brew up some Wide-Awake potion, and we can start slipping it into her morning tea.”

“Ada said no,” she said with a shrug. They turned to face Ada, who had stepped onto the porch and set the starfish-shaped windchimes to ringing.

“Welcome, friends, to this year’s planning party! As always, I hope you will make yourselves at home and enjoy the cottage as if it were your own.” Her expression sobered. “Unfortunately, things will be a bit different this year.” She paused, looking down as she began wringing her hands together. Hecate stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Thank you, dear,” she murmured, offering a tight smile before straightening her shoulders and continuing on. “As you know, we at Cackle’s have encountered a few…difficulties over the past couple of years.”

“That’s an understatement,” Dimity muttered under her breath.

Ada shot her a look and continued. “As a result, the Council feels that some supervision is necessary, at least for the time being.” She held up her hands, hoping to forestall any protests. “They also want to see us incorporate explicit lessons on the Witches Code into all of our subject areas.”

“You mean that pompous toad Hellibore is going to be interfering with our curriculum?”

“I’m afraid so, Algie.” She shot Hecate an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I’ve also had to adjust our usual rooming assignments. My mother is here and will, of course, be in the master. I’ll share with her. We must leave one room free for our…guest that will be arriving late tomorrow. I’m afraid that Hecate and Dimity will have to make do with Agatha’s and my old room.” If Ada had suddenly dropped a rotting fish out of her handbag, Dimity and Hecate couldn’t have looked more horrified. Ada refused to make any eye contact whatsoever. “Algie and Gwen, you have the same room as last year.” At least at the retreat, no one bothered to pretend that those two weren’t basically living together. “Now, I’ll let you get settled. Shall we meet in the living room in…thirty minutes? Then I’ll tell you more about what’s going on.”

Within fifteen minutes everyone had gathered in the living room, tense and wary. Much like Ada’s office, knickknacks covered most surfaces, instead of cats and owls, though, seashells and colorful fish dominated. Only the Cackles had yet to arrive. Unable to sit, Hecate stood rigidly in the corner, the only movement her thumbs rubbing across her fingertips. Dimity sat on the sofa, knee bouncing nervously, while Gwen and Algie sat on the loveseat, hands clasped in support. They looked wholly out of place in the cheery environment. Finally, Ada entered, followed by Alma.

“I see you’re all eager to get down to it. Very well.” She gestured for Hecate to take a seat and waited for her to settle stiffly next to Dimity. “As I said, the Council feels we may be in need of…monitoring. Now, nothing has been formalized yet, and I’m quite optimistic that, after spending time with us during our planning sessions, the Council will be satisfied and the matter dropped.” Even Ada could hear how forced her optimism sounded. “We shall carry on as we normally do, with…a few… small…accommodations for our guest. Tiny ones, I’m sure.”

“Who is this guest?” Algie interrupted. “You seem to be avoiding giving us a name. Is it Doomstone again?”

Ada shook her head. “No. This time it’s Wilbur Birdsong.”

Algie leapt to his feet. “That strutting peacock? He wouldn’t know quality teaching if it crawled up his robes!”

“Who’s Wilbur Birdsong?” Dimity asked.

“I’ll tell you who Wilbur Birdsong is – he’s the one that prances around schools telling teachers how they should teach and how they should grade, criticizing everything that isn’t done just the way those fools on the Council want it.” Algie crossed his arms and flopped back into the loveseat with a huff.

“You mean…like a School in Need of Improved Pedagogical Expertise?” Dimity looked back and forth between Ada and Hecate. “Are they saying we’re a bloody SNIPE school? Our comparable scores haven’t slipped that much, have they?” Not even Wormwood had ever been a SNIPE school.

“They most certainly have not,” Hecate said, finally speaking up. “Ada, I can’t believe you would allow this…wizard…to come in and interfere with our academy.”

“Our academy, Miss Hardbroom?” Alma Cackle stepped into the middle of the room, staring them all down. “I don’t believe it’s your name on the school letterhead. It’s mine and Ada’s names which are being tarnished by this infernal monitoring. Now, I don’t know what all you lot have been up to for the past two years, but it certainly doesn’t look like student discipline has been a priority. Fires, student feuds, the theft of the Founding Stone? It looks like those girls are running amuck. Now, Deputy Headmistress, I believe you are charged with school discipline, are you not?”

Hecate sat, frozen, while her mind struggled to formulate any sort of response. Her mind failed, but she could feel her body responding – her cheeks burned so hot she knew her face had to be flaming red, and she could feel tears flooding her eyes. Before she could even think about it, her fingers had spasmed and she transferred away.

Dimity closed the door of their shared room as softly as she could. Hecate was lying face down on one of the twin beds, breath coming ragged and unsteady. Oh my broom, she thought, is Hecate Hardbroom crying? She knew the potions teacher’s tough-as-dragonhide exterior was all a façade, but these were uncharted waters indeed. However, she told herself, desperate times and all that… Dimity took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Hecate?” The woman on the bed went rigid. So far, so good, she thought, she wasn’t vanished or turned into a toad. Yet. Dimity stepped forward and nudged Hecate’s hips. “Budge up, Hecate. We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to.” Hecate’s voice was muffled by the pillow, but her petulant tone still rang through, loud and clear.

Dimity pushed harder, until Hecate grudgingly rolled over enough for her to sit down. She kept one hand firmly on Hecate’s hip in case the older witch decided to transfer away again. She summoned her blue teddy bear to her hand and held it out to Hecate. “Mr. Monkey wants to say hello – he missed you.”

Hecate looked at the stuffed animal and sniffed. “I’m not a child, Miss Drill.” Dimity simply raised her eyebrows and wiggled Mr. Monkey in Hecate’s face. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and took the toy, snuggling him to her chest. “Thank you, Dimity.”

“Any time, HB.” She waited for Hecate’s breathing to even out before continuing. “Mrs. Cackle had no right to say those things to you.” The older woman said nothing, but Dimity could feel the tension increasing in her muscles. She flicked her fingers towards the window centered between the bunks, raising the sash to let in the sea breeze and sound of the waves. She hoped it Hecate would find it soothing. “It’s been a pretty eventful summer for you, yeah?” Hecate shrugged. “C’mon now – those book signings and lectures, making friends with Mildred’s mum and that retreat last weekend? For someone who likes to be a hermit during the summer, you’ve barely been home. And now this? Even you are allowed to be overwhelmed.” She patted Hecate’s hip. “If you promise to stay here and talk to me instead of disappearing, I’ll let go.” Hecate nodded, and Dimity moved her hand. Instantly, Hecate disappeared. “Dammit, Hecate Hard-“

Hecate rematerialized, sitting primly next to Dimity on the bed, Mr. Monkey in her lap. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep a smug grin off her lips.

“You’re an arsehole, HB,” Dimity said, bumping her with her shoulder.

“You aren’t the first to say so.” She looked a bit embarrassed. “I just needed to burn off a bit of magic so I can settle. What did you want to talk about?”

“This whole SNIPE, but not SNIPE thing. It all sounds fishy to me. Look, I know you don’t think I take things seriously enough and that I teach something frivolous…”

“I don’t.” Hecate looked as surprised as Dimity when she disagreed. “The girls need to be fit – stronger witches are better able to use their magic. And look what happened when the Founding Stone failed – a forced march into the village? No, Miss Drill, you serve them well.” She turned and stared out the window, eyes focused on the whitecaps breaking just offshore. “As for the rest, it’s true that you are opposite me in most ways, but I can’t look at the state I’m in now and honestly say that’s a bad thing.”

“Thanks.” Dimity reached out and patted Hecate’s knee. “So, now that we’ve sorted the mushy stuff, back to business. Cackle’s is on the ropes – again, and I think Ada is too punch-drunk to come out swinging the way she needs to. We need a plan.”

Hecate looked at her blankly. “You’re using sports metaphors, aren’t you? I haven’t a clue what you just said.”

Dimity shook her head. “I know you’ve been watching the Harry Potter movies with the Hubbles. How about you spend an evening watching Rocky with me sometime?” She didn’t give Hecate a chance to answer. “It means that we are under attack. I’m not sure what kind or where it’s coming from, but it feels like we are. And we’re losing. I’m telling you, HB, this whole thing stinks like my old gym shoes. If the Council still had concerns after you and Pentangle proved the scroll Ursula Hallow used to remove Ada had been faked…well, why didn’t they leave Pentangle in charge then? Or appoint someone else? Or assign this Birdsong git then? The Great Wizard was satisfied with restoring Ada to her position.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “What made him change his mind, Hecate?”

The potions mistress’ brows furrowed together. Dimity had a point. “It does seem odd…What does ‘punch-drunk’ mean? Ada hasn’t been drinking.”

“It means she’s…taken so many hits she can’t think properly,” Dimity answered, sadly.

Hecate’s black lacquered fingernail traced the outline of one of the seahorses printed on her bedcovers. She wanted to disagree, but… “I fear that assessment is fair.”

“Why else would she have called in her mother? You and Ada have handled every situation so far.”

Hecate snorted. “Mildred Hubble has handled every situation of late. We’ve scarcely been more than her hapless assistants.”

“And I’m not above asking for her help – or anyone else’s for that matter. I’ve bloody well had enough of being a punching bag. Sorry, sports metaphor.”

“I think I understand that one. What’s your plan?”

“Well, that’s what I need you for, isn’t it?” Dimity winked. “The way I see it, we’ve got two problems. The first one is this Birdsong fellow and his meddling that are going on right now. The second is finding out who’s behind it all. And. Making. It. Stop. Now,” Dimity stood and began pacing in the narrow space between the twin beds, barely missing Hecate’s toes. “Who do we think can help us? I don’t think we can expect Miss Cackle to do anything but…be here? Be her usual self? But what about Mrs. Cackle?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand why she’s here. After tonight, I doubt she’ll want to have anything to do with me.” Hecate’s shoulders slumped the tiniest bit.

“Then she’s a fool,” Dimity spat. The other woman’s shock was almost comical. “I don’t care, Hecate, she had no right, none, to attack you that way. I’m not too proud to admit that Cackle’s would have fallen apart long ago if not for you.” She noticed Hecate’s shoulders straighten again. “Unfortunately, I think we need to know her motivations. Job one for you then is to find that out. If Ada will tell anyone, she’ll tell you. Otherwise, you’ll have to go straight to the source. If anyone’s got a brass broomstick big enough to ask Mrs. Cackle, it’s you.”

Hecate’s eyebrows arched, but she still looked rather pleased with Dimity’s assessment of her… broomstick. “I’ll do my best.” Her tiny smile faded away. “I do suppose we need to address our weakest link…”

“Miss Bat,” Dimity provided. Hecate nodded. “She certainly knows her material. She’s Esper Vespertilio for heaven’s sake. Not to mention that she’s forgotten more witchory than most people know.”

“That’s because she was there for most of it,” Hecate said drily.

“Careful, HB, I might get the impression that you’ve got a sense of humor.”

“I’ll deny it to the bitter end.” She subtly maneuvered Mr. Monkey’s arms into a rude gesture.

“Oy! Don’t be teaching him bad habits!” She chuckled a moment before turning serious again. “I know Miss Cackle said no Wide-Awake potion for Miss Bat, but she meant at school, during the term, right?” She sat on her own bed, facing Hecate.

“Strictly speaking, I suppose.” She didn’t feel comfortable with the direction Dimity seemed to be going.

“I think we need to abide by the letter of the law here, HB, not the spirit. If Miss Bat falls asleep while Birdsong is here…” She left the threat hanging in the air between them. “I know you use Wide- Awake potion,” she held out her hand between them. “Give it over. If I’ve got it, then you can honestly say you didn’t dose her.”

“The letter, rather than the spirit, Miss Drill?” After a brief hesitation she shook her head and summoned a small vial and handed it over. “Two drops, no more, at breakfast and lunch. Nothing after that. We simply want her more alert, not an insomniac. What about Mr. Rowan-Webb?”

“Dunno, he might be a bit too…jumpy…to help out.” She looked at Hecate, grinning expectantly.

Hecate sighed. “Isn’t the council punishing us enough? Must we endure your vile puns as well?”

Dimity laughed, warm and friendly. “We’ll play him by ear, I guess. I think it’s up to us, HB. Maybe that’s why Ada put us together? So we can plot?”

Hecate stroked the fur on Mr. Monkey’s head. “Perhaps.” She looked up to see Dimity chewing her bottom lip, looking at her. “Out with it, Miss Drill. You’ve never been afraid of me before.”

“No. Me mum’s too fond of you. Anyone she likes that much can’t be that bad.”

“She was very kind to me when I first arrived at Cackle’s.” A tiny bit of warmth flickered in her heart. “Just say what you want to say.”

“I was only thinking that you – and I – are going to have to be less ourselves while Birdsong is here. You can’t insult him or roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, no matter how ridiculous he is. Certainly, I think we have to expect that we’ll be told we’re doing everything wrong.”

“That will be…difficult.”

“Tell me about it. I have to be serious and responsible – basically, I have to be you!” She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust.

“Such a burden.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door which was opened immediately by Alma Cackle. “It’s time for dinner.”

“On our way!” Dimity said, hopping to her feet. As soon as Mrs. Cackle snapped the door closed she bent down and said, just loud enough for Hecate to hear her. “I hope she’s not popping into Gwen and Algie’s room that way. She could wind up with quite the eyeful.” She added a clarifying hand gesture or two.

“Thank you, Miss Drill, for that lovely image that I’ll never be able to scrub from my brain.”

“Yeah, well, your bed’s the one up against the wall adjoining their room.”

Hecate leapt off the bed as though it had burst into flames.

Dinner was quiet, conversation stilted. Ada tried gamely to keep up a constant stream of chatter, but it only served to emphasize how quiet everyone else was. Finally, dessert was served and the group was dismissed. Unlike most years, no one stayed around to chat.

By eight pm, the twins’ bedroom looked like a command center. Papers outlining different possible motives and outcomes were scattered across both beds and the dresser. Dimity was having a heated hand-mirror chat with her mother about the crisis, and Hecate had just made the connection to Pippa Pentangle on the vanity mirror.

“Hello, darling, you do look fabulous today!” Pippa glanced at the sports witch pacing behind Hecate. Her bright smile dimmed ever so slightly. “I see we have a guest tonight. Hello, Dimity!” She waved a greeting, and Dimity waved back. “Is it just splendid to be at the beach? I can’t tell you how envious I am.” She finally noticed the grim set to Hecate’s features. “Hiccup? What’s wrong?”

Like a dam bursting, Hecate told her everything. Unable to stop once she’d begun, she told Pip about Birdsong, Alma Cackle’s harsh words, Dimity’s suspicions and even the guilt she felt about secretly dosing Miss Bat with the Wide-Awake potion. She didn’t even notice that Dimity had finished her mirror call and was now standing behind her.

“Oh, Hiccup! What a horrible situation! What do you need from me? Do you want me to come?” Her hand reached up and stroked the star brooch she wore on her lapel. “I can be there in an instant.”

Hecate smiled and reached for her own crescent moon pin, her half of a Twin Pin set that would always let one wearer instantly be transported to whoever possessed the other half. She’d worn it ever since Pippa had gifted it to her, even pinning it to her night dress. The only time it was ever off was when she was in the shower or bath. “As much as I’d love to say yes, Pipsqueak, I think now is not the time. I do need your help, though. We can’t work out how this got started. I’ve not seen our ratings yet, but I find it hard to believe that Cackle’s could possibly be a SNIPE school.”

“Quite right,” Pippa said, summoning a scroll and her reading glasses. “The ratings only came out today, so I’ll admit that I’m quite curious how it could already have been decided that you need a monitor.” She opened the scroll and put on her glasses, following her finger as she skimmed through the information.

Hecate stared, mesmerized. How the woman managed to make reading glasses look…sexy, Hecate had no idea, but she was bewitched every time Pippa wore them.

“Down girl,” Dimity murmured in her ear. “We’ve got work to do.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Hecate insisted, desperate to ignore the blush she felt rising from her chest onto her cheeks.

“Whatever you say…Hiccup.” Dimity knew she was dancing along the edge of being mollusked, but she didn’t care.

“Oh, here it is, darling.” She glanced up long enough to catch the knowing smirk on Dimity’s face, and the rising blush on Hecate’s. She winked over the top of her readers at Dimity and gave Hecate a tiny shrug before continuing. “Only Amulet’s is rated higher than Cackle’s.” Her finger edged sideways across the page. “Your raw accountability score is two points higher than Pentangle’s score. If you are in danger of becoming a SNIPE school, then we surely would be as well. Instead, I received a congratulatory maglet message from the Great Wizard. Ada should have as well.”

“That’s why none of this makes any sense, Pip.”

“I’ll see what I can find out. I don’t usually attend many events during the summer, but I’ll make the rounds. Ummm…you might also get in touch with Julie. Hubble.”

“Why on earth…Do you think she knows about the political machinations of the witching world?” Hecate caught the barest frown on Pippa’s face. “I’m sorry, Pipsqueak, that came out wrong.” She sighed and rubbed the space between her eyebrows with her thumb. “What do you want me to ask her?”

“It’s all right, darling. I know you’re under a lot of stress. I wish you’d…” She glanced back at Dimity and shrugged again. “I wish you’d let me visit, just for a bit, though I understand why now is not a good time.” She sighed, wondering when it would ever be a good time for them to just…be. “I think you need to ask Julie to let you know what sort of messages Mildred is getting on her maglet. Remember last week, when she said that Ethel had somehow found out that Julie wasn’t being allowed to attend the retreat? She couldn’t resist taunting Mildred about it. Ursula Hallow talks and Ethel tends to repeat it if she thinks she can get some sort of advantage from it. She may do it again if she hears any talk about Ada – or you. Don’t forget the roles you and I played in discrediting her mother.”

“That makes sense.” She looked at Dimity. “I do not want to involve Mildred Hubble in this, however. That girl has endangered herself enough on our behalf.”

“Agreed.” Pippa pressed her hand against the mirror, their usual signal that she was getting ready to sign off. Hecate looked back at Dimity, who jerked her chin toward the mirror. With a tiny smile Hecate leaned forward and pressed her hand against Pippa’s. “Promise me that the two of you will be careful, Hiccup. Dimity’s right, I don’t like the way this smells at all. Tell me you’ll have each other’s backs.”

“We’ll be careful,” Hecate assured her.

“You don’t need to worry about…us.” Dimity said, grinning broadly.

“Thank you, Miss Drill,” Pippa said, coloring slightly.

“Please be careful as well, Pip, I don’t think we have the full picture of what’s going on.” She brought her hand away from the mirror just long enough to kiss her fingertips and put it back. “Sleep well, Pipsqueak.”

“You too, Hiccup.” Pippa blew her a quick kiss, and the mirror swirled back to Hecate’s reflection.

She met Dimity’s eyes in a challenge. “Not a word, Miss Drill.”

“Not even congratulations?” She watched the smile flitter across Hecate’s features. “You two deserve whatever happiness you can get. Now,” she pointed at the mirror, “Julie Hubble, before it gets too late.” Hecate summoned her cell phone and started tapping in her code to unlock it. “I still can’t believe you have one of those.”

“Julie made me. She said she needed a way to contact me since she can’t start a mirror call.” She opened the phone and tried to remember where to find Julie’s number. “Ummm…” She looked up at Dimity, confused. “Julie explained, but…”

“Not used to it yet, huh?” She sat on her bed and patted the space next to her. “C’mon, I’ll give you a refresher.”

Julie Hubble was up to her elbows in oven cleaner when she heard her phone chime. She’d just sent Mildred to take her bath, so she couldn’t get her to check it for her. She decided to ignore it, but then it chimed again, and again. “Bleedin’…” She yanked her gloves off and snatched up the phone, glaring at the texts. Hecate. She glanced at the messages.

“Juoiwe.”

“JuLiee. I hewd to tak”

“yolu. Ptobstrly”

Julie threw her head back and laughed, a deep belly laugh, harder than she had in…since the slumber party. Say what you would about Hecate Hardbroom, that dour witch could make her laugh. She checked the living room mirror to make sure that Hecate wasn’t on the other side. When she saw she wasn’t, she headed to her bedroom. Success. “Having a little trouble with the keyboard?” She asked, waving her phone at the frazzled looking woman in the mirror. “Hello, Miss Drill!”

“Well met, Ms. Hubble! We’ve been practicing texting.”

“My nails make it difficult,” Hecate ground out.

“Why didn’t you just shorten them, like when we were bowling?” The gobsmacked look on Hecate’s face was Julie’s first clue that the idea had not even crossed the witch’s mind. She decided to just let that one go. “Did you need me or Mildred?”

“You. Please don’t let Mildred hear this conversation.” The smile slipped from Julie’s face, and she stepped away to close her bedroom door. “Thank you,” Hecate said when she returned. “I don’t exactly know where to begin…”

“We think somebody is trying to mess with Cackle’s again, but we don’t know why,” Dimity supplied. Hecate scooted over and magicked up a second chair so Dimity could join her in front of the vanity. “There’s nothing concrete, but…something feels hinky.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Nothing,” Hecate said quickly. “I don’t want to involve you in this, and I certainly don’t want to involve Mildred. All we’re asking is for you to pay attention to any messages Mildred may get from her friends or, Ethel Hallow. She seemed to have access to information she shouldn’t earlier, if she makes any comments that seem to involve the school, let me know.” An idea struck her. “Also, try to read Felicity Foxglove’s gossip column. I don’t know where she gets her information, but she often has knowledge that she really shouldn’t.”

“I can do that. I’ll start reading through the Witching Weekly as well.” She shrugged. “Mildred wanted to start taking it during the breaks. I’ll see if anything looks odd,” she chuckled softly, “odder than the rest of it, I mean.”

“That’s brilliant, Ms. H.” Dimity high-fived the mirror. “Brilliant.” Julie preened under the praise.

“Whatever you do, Julie, don’t let Mildred know what you’re doing. We both know she can be…” Hecate searched for the right word. “Impulsive. And prone to acting without thinking things through. I don’t know what the undercurrents are to this, and I don’t know if there is danger or not.”

“I won’t. I know how she can be. You be careful, too, Hecate. I don’t fancy having to find Mildred another magic mum.” She looked at Dimity. “Both of you.”

“We will. Pippa’s helping as well, so if you have any questions…” Julie nodded. “By the way, since you mentioned it, I…um…I filed the paperwork yesterday. Everything is in order.” She sucked in a lungful of air trying to calm the bats that took flight in her belly every time she thought about this new role she would have in Mildred’s world.

“So… you’re officially her magic mum then? That’s wonderful, Hecate.” She started tearing up, fluttering her hands in front of her eyes until the feeling passed. “I’m so pleased it all worked out. We’ll tell her about it together, next week. We’ll have a nice dinner and do it properly. Just the three of us, or with Pippa and Ada – a real family dinner.” Julie scrubbed a tear off her cheek. “I hear Mildred getting out of the bath. Don’t you go getting yourself hurt, Hecate Hardbroom.”

“I won’t. We won’t.” She ended the mirror call but didn’t move away. She’d told Julie it was done. That felt more official than filing the paperwork had. Realer. Another flicker of warmth spread through her chest.

“Magic mum?”

Hecate released an aggrieved sigh. “An adult that would be…responsible for Mildred in the magic world, a guardian of sorts. A way to keep her here if something should happen to Julie.”

“You have had an eventful summer, haven’t you HB?” The older woman nodded. “Good for you.”

“That’s it? No jokes? No teasing?”

“I meant what I said before, Hecate. You deserve every happiness that comes your way. I just hope that one of these days you’ll believe that.”

The morning planning session proved just as hideous as Hecate feared. By 9:15 she was certain she would rather be back in the woods, cooking gritty eggy toast on top of a tin can. She’d asked Ada if she’d seen their accountability ratings, but Ada changed the subject, wandering away to offer the staff tea and biscuits. Each time Hecate tried to speak with her the same thing happened. Finally, she resigned herself to analyzing the errors of the First-Years’ potion-making test and plotting out the range of lessons she hoped to cover. All the while Alma Cackle stalked from person to person criticizing their plans, their teaching strategies and, in the case of Mr. Rowan-Webb, the state of his beard.

Hecate had already adjusted her plans three times and still Alma Cackle wasn’t satisfied. “Are you certain the Second-Years might not want to duplicate cheese this term as well, Miss Hardbroom?”

By lunchtime everyone was tense and irritable. Miss Bat skipped eating altogether and instead chose to have a lie down in her room. Algie made himself a plate and followed along behind her, stroking his beard and muttering to himself as he left. Hecate tried to sit with Ada but, no sooner had she pulled out her chair, than Alma called her daughter into the kitchen. Voices were just starting to rise when a silencing spell slammed down, muffling the words, but not the noise.

Alone, Dimity and Hecate forced themselves to eat. Hecate couldn’t even do that properly until she’d transferred herself to their room and back twice.

“You know, I always thought you did that to be flashy,” Dimity said between mouthfuls. “Just that much more drama for the girls to be afraid of. It never occurred to me that you had so much magic that you had to burn it off.” She pointed at Hecate with her fork. “Should have though, you don’t really do things to be flashy on purpose. How far can you transfer?”

“I don’t know, really. I know I can transfer to Pentangles and London. I’m not sure if I could transfer to Cackle’s from here, but I think I might.”

“That’s pretty amazing, HB. I could maybe go from Cackle’s to the village, and then I’d have to sit down a bit I think.”

“Luckily, you’re the Star of the Sky.” Hecate checked her maglet. “I’ve not heard anything from Pippa or Julie.”

“It’s a bit early, though-“

The kitchen door swung open with a bang and Alma Cackle marched to her chair at the head of the table. Ada followed, head down. She made her way back to her seat, and Hecate could swear that she felt Ada’s hand trail across her shoulders as she passed, but when she looked Ada gave no sign of it. Still, she thought, Ada was in there somewhere. Punch-drunk, indeed.

After lunch, Alma gathered them all into the living room. “We’re going to take a break from whatever it is you think you’ve been doing,” Alma glared at all of them, daring someone to argue, “and we shall now discuss the new curricula the Council wishes for us to incorporate: Lessons on the Craft and Code.”

Here, at least, Hecate felt confident. Her knowledge of the Code was perfect and her respect for the Craft immeasurable. Then Alma kept talking.

“Clearly, the standards at Cackle’s have fallen.” She ignored the strangled noise that escaped Hecate. “It’s true and you know it. I can’t say I fully blame you all of course. It all comes down to a failure in leadership.” She looked scathingly at Ada.

Hecate couldn’t bear it another second. “How dare you?” She jumped to her feet. Everyone flinched when a ceramic dolphin on the side table exploded. “How dare you say Ada is a failure! Ada has kept this school running under impossible circumstances and you’re blaming her? She has been cleaning up a mess that you made fifty years ago! If you hadn’t tried to hide Agatha’s problems or…or ship her away, then perhaps she could have been helped or stopped before she became what she did.” A shell-encrusted lamp cracked, and the lights flickered. “Don’t stand there judging us when the blame for our problems lies squarely at your feet!”

The only noise was the crackle of the electricity and Hecate’s gasping breaths. All at once the reality of where she was and who she was talking to crashed down around her. Ten wide eyes were staring at her as she transferred away.

The sea churned before her, spraying foam until it hung like mist in the air as dozens of angry seabirds swirled above, almost entirely blocking out the sun. Sand rippled across the beach like water in a pond after a stone had been thrown in. Hecate stood in the middle of it all, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched, static electricity crackling in the air around her.

Alma kept herself well back, waiting patiently for the magic storm emanating from Hecate to pass. In a few moments it eased, at least enough for her to feel safe in approaching. She transferred to just behind Hecate and walked slowly into her field of vision. Alma watched, fascinated as the younger witch slowly opened and closed her hands, keeping time with her breathing. Hecate didn’t look at her, but the sea and sand both calmed and the birds drifted mostly away.

Hecate straightened her shoulders and dropped her arms to her sides but otherwise gave no indication that she’d seen Alma. “Have you come to relieve me of my duties or my position?” She wasn’t prepared for Alma’s soft chuckle.

“Are you kidding? I don’t fancy having a Section 7 with Ada for trying either of those. It’s bad enough I owe her fifty quid.” She took a few steps closer.

“I’m afraid I don’t see the humor in all of this.”

Alma took another step closer. “No, dear, I don’t suppose you would. It really isn’t funny, just a bit of gallows humor on my part, I suppose.” Finally – finally – Hecate’s eyes flickered her way. “My job yesterday and today was to get you lot ready for that Birdsong man. To poke you and prod you so that, if anyone was going to lose their cool, it would be with me. Frankly, Ada thought Mr. Rowan-Webb would be the first to crack, but I told her it would be you and that I knew just what buttons to push. Told her I’d have you lose your stack by lunchtime or I’d owe her fifty pounds – a hundred if you didn’t snap at all. After me, I think that Mr. Birdsong won’t be much trouble to ignore, do you?”

Hecate was quiet for a long time. She didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt or how she should feel. “Is Ada all right?”

“She’s angry. I was here to test her, too. I don’t know what the Council’s game is here, but I intend for us to win it.”

“As do I, Mrs. Cackle.” Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Hecate turned and looked back at the waves rushing against the sand. “I’m sorry about the things I said. I had no right.”

“Hecate, you are as dear to me as either of my daughters – in fact, I’d say quite a bit dearer than one of them. Of course, you have the right. Let’s not kid ourselves…what did you say that was actually untrue?”

“Mother?” Both women turned to see Ada standing behind them, hands stuffed in the pockets of her pink jumper. “I told you I’d give you five minutes to settle things up with Hecate. It’s been seven. I’d like a few words myself, if you please.”

“Certainly, daughter.” Alma slipped an arm across Hecate’s shoulders, ignoring the way she stiffened at the touch. “I’m very proud of you, Hecate Hardbroom. You are a credit to Cackle’s Academy and a blessing for Ada.” She transferred away before Hecate could reply.

Ada looked at her Deputy, silently asking permission to come closer, nearly stumbling in her haste when Hecate held out a hand to her. As soon as their hands touched, Ada pulled Hecate into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry about today, Hecate, but I…I can’t tell you how it felt to hear you stand up for me this time.”

“I’ll always stand up for you, Ada.” She squeezed a little harder before letting her friend go. “Walk with me?” She asked, linking their arms together.

“Gladly.” They walked silently, arms linked, up the beach. After a bit, they reached a little tide pool. Hecate waded in to gather a few shells that were useful in potion-making.

Finally feeling settled, she decided to broach what she knew about their accountability ratings, shocked to discover that Ada already knew.

“Yes, Hecate, that’s why I’ve had mother giving everyone such a hard time. I fear this visit from Mr. Birdsong is meant to do one of two things: intimidate us into following whatever the Magic Council wants us to do or to provoke us into failing this meeting and allowing the Council to take us over anyway. I don’t know why just yet.”

Hecate debated telling Ada what she and Dimity were up to, but finally decided not to, all her reasoning coming down to two words: plausible deniability. If there was any risk to be had from their activities, it would fall on Hecate. “What time is Birdsong scheduled to arrive?”

“Around five. In time for dinner, of course.” Ada grumbled. “I suppose we should be making our way back, then.” She threaded her arm through Hecate’s again. “How are you and Dimity getting on in your shared space?”

Hecate couldn’t check her smile. “Better than I would have thought, actually. Still, I much prefer my regular roommate at these events.”

“As do I, my dear, as do I. Mother’s snoring is even worse, if you can believe it. I could hardly sleep last night.”

“That is…hard to imagine.” If Ada Cackle couldn’t sleep through it, Hecate hated to think how bad it was. “I…I… talked to Julie Hubble last night. She wants to have a family dinner when we tell Mildred about my…new status. I hope you’ll join us.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, dear.”

By the time they returned to the cabin, Wilbur Birdsong had arrived. A roly-poly little wizard with glasses and a wheezy laugh, he was the last person to look like he was up to no good. Hecate was immediately suspicious. She and Dimity crawled into their twin beds with no news at all from Julie. Pippa did report that she had wrangled an invitation to a garden party at the Hellibore’s and hoped that she would have more to share the following night. Hecate fell asleep listening to the rise and fall of the ocean, thankful that Dimity did not snore.

“Wake up girls, wake up!” Miss Bat flipped on the lights as Hecate bolted upright in bed, desperately trying to shield her eyes from the light. Disoriented, she heard Dimity shout something rude, quickly followed by a loud thunk as she rolled off her ridiculously narrow twin bed onto the floor. “It’s only two hours until breakfast! I can’t believe you girls are being such lay-abouts.” Gwen spun on her heel and was gone before Hecate was even able to focus her eyes.

“I’m sure I specified only one or two…” A huge yawn nearly doubled her over. “Drops. How many did you use?”

Dimity pushed herself off the floor and slumped halfway onto her bed. “It was two. I swear. I put them in her mug last night.” They both jumped as Gwen banged on the door again. Dimity groaned into the mattress. Clearly, they were up for the day.

Hecate schooled her features into a blandly pleasant expression and forced herself to nod every few seconds, her hands folded serenely in her lap. She told herself that she would not be consumed by this fresh new hell. Repeatedly. Birdsong had paired them into ‘shoulder partners.’ Hecate had hoped to be paired with Ada, or at least Dimity. Instead, she was relegated to vain attempts to rein in a manic Miss Bat.

“Our objective, as you know, is to enhance performance-driven proficiencies within our professional learning community. Let’s begin by sharing our norms with our shoulder partners.” Hecate continued to smile and nod. By Merlin’s beard she would do so even if she burst into flames. She turned to find Gwen gone. Suddenly, she heard a loud crash from the kitchen. A moment later, Alma Cackle called Hecate over.

“I think I may have done something…ill-advised,” Alma said, a sheepish expression on her face. “I’m afraid I may have given Miss Bat some Wide-Awake potion.” They both glanced at Gwen, who was a blur of motion as she prepared a tray of sweets. “Too much apparently, though it was only a couple of drops in her orange juice.”

Four drops, Hecate thought, weighing the effects of the potion. “That should be…okay…” She heard Mr. Birdsong ask for her and hurried back to the living room, summoning her Lessons Table for the First-Years, handing it over to him as she passed. Sitting patiently while he looked over her plans, she mentally shuffled through her prepared responses for today’s tortures.

“These are very thorough, Miss Hardbroom, but…I wonder if you might be open to some suggestions?” Hecate widened her dead-eyed smile and tilted her head. “I’d like to see more discovery learning taking place in smaller collaborative groups during potions.”

“D-discovery learning? Do you mean we should just let the girls…mix ingredients all willy-nilly and…see what happens?” He nodded enthusiastically. “That is a unique approach.” She tried to picture how that would work. Practically every scenario ended with her potions lab in ruins. Even so, she dutifully made the requested changes, certain this man had never brewed a potion in his life.

Miss Bat rushed through the room, foisting sweets on everyone as she passed. She made the rounds twice before scurrying away. Hecate spotted Ada looking at Gwen with a worried expression – and a guilty one as well. She caught Ada’s eye and arched a brow. How many drops? She mouthed. Caught out, Ada held up one finger. Five drops, Hecate waggled her head. Fresh hell, indeed.

At last, the lunch break neared, but just as they thought they would be set free, Birdsong announced that he had one more ‘quick’ item to cover. And thus, they were forced to sit through a motivational film on encouraging the students to have ‘grit.’ All it did for Hecate was cause her to grit her teeth. A faint ping sounded, but she ignored it – as she did the second and third time. A wadded-up paper struck her cheek and bounced into her lap. Straightening, she looked sharply around, surprised to see Dimity scowling at her. The sports witch pursed her lips and jerked her head at the wad of paper, flashing her eyes at Hecate until she picked it up.

Smoothing the paper open in her lap, Hecate could just make out the words in the dim lighting. Dimity has terrible handwriting, she thought, before turning her attention to the message. That pinging sound is your phone – answer it, you bloody Luddite! Hecate wadded the paper up again and threw it back at Dimity, earning a stern throat-clearing from Ada. With as much discretion as she could muster, Hecate summoned her phone and pushed the home button, unwittingly bathing herself in bright blue light. Dimity tried and failed to camouflage her bark of laughter as a coughing fit.

The instant the video finished and the lights flickered up, Hecate checked the messages. All were from Julie Hubble and she wanted to talk to them – now. “Ada, Miss Drill and I will be a few moments late for lunch. I have something I need to attend to, and I require her assistance.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Do try to get Miss Bat to drink some chamomile tea.”

Without another word Hecate transferred them both to their room, they mirrored Julie straight away. “Oy! What took you so long? I can’t keep coming up with jobs to keep Millie out of earshot forever now can I?”

“We were watching a film about grit,” Hecate drawled. “What have you found out?”

“Well it was a bit of brilliant telling me to look through Felicity’s blog. I don’t know where she gets her information, but she’s spot on. She had an article about the school accountability ratings as well as a mention that, in spite of the fact that Cackle’s came in as the number one non-fee-paying school and number two over all, you lot are still in danger of being a, a…a SNIPE school and are under monitoring. She even mentions that Birdsong man by name.”

“We already know all this…” Hecate was losing her patience.

“Yeah, well, keep your skirts on, Catey, because I haven’t told you the most interesting bit yet.” She set the maglet aside and reached for a copy of Witching Weekly. “Way back in the local section of last week’s newspaper for you lot, there’s a tiny article about an Education Minister winning a trip ‘round the world. Now, who do you think that Minister was?”

“Wilbur Birdsong.” Hecate couldn’t deny she was impressed. “Well done, Julie Hubble. So much so I’ll overlook ‘Catey’ just this once.”

“Does it say when he left on holiday?” Dimity asked.

“It would have been the day after the article ran.” Julie cocked her head, listening. “That’s Millie back from getting the washing. This is all skeevier that I thought it would be. You two be careful or I will kill you myself. Dimity,” she nodded. “Catey.” She cracked a wicked grin and ended the connection.

“So, Catey, you know what this means?”

“Call me that again, and I will hex you where you stand.” She called up just enough magic to turn her irises red. “It means that man down there is most likely not Wilbur Birdsong.”

“You’re creepy when you do that. You know that, right? What do we do now?”

“I say some investigating is in order. Mr. Birdsong, or whoever he is, should still be at lunch, correct?” Dimity nodded. “Very well, come with me. You can be the lookout.”

They tiptoed down the hallway and crept into Birdsong’s room. Dimity stayed by the doorway. If she leaned just a little, she could see the staircase and could warn Hecate with enough time for her to transfer them away. Meanwhile, Hecate studied the room. At least he’s tidy, she thought. She thumbed through a portfolio on the nightstand, hoping it had some sort of identification in it. No luck.

She had just opened a drawer when Dimity grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her away. “He transferred to the second floor, lazy sod. We don’t have – quick, get in here.” She flung the cupboard door open, stunned to find Ada Cackle already hiding inside. “Bloody hell,” she whispered, nudging Ada aside and shoving Hecate in before squeezing in herself. She magicked the drawer shut and closed the cupboard door just as Birdsong walked into the room. Hecate grabbed both their hands, ready to transfer them away. “Wait,” Dimity breathed, “let’s see what he’s up to.”

Hecate kept her grip on both their hands but angled her head so she could see through the crack of the door. Humming to himself, Birdsong puttered around his dressing table, straightening his tie, combing his hair, cleaning his glasses.

“I suppose,” Ada whispered, “that it would be hypocritical of me to say I’m disappointed in you two?”

“I should think so.” Even in a whisper Hecate’s voice managed to drip sarcasm. Hecate pressed her eye up to the crack again. Birdsong had pulled out what looked to be a bottle of mouthwash. He gave it a quick shake and took a generous swig straight from the bottle. Hecate hissed – loud enough for Birdsong to pause and look around. After a moment he screwed the cap back on and set it back on the table before looking around one last time and heading out the door.

Hecate counted all of twenty seconds before bolting from the closet, Ada and Dimity trailing behind her. By the time they had crossed the room, Hecate was already sniffing the bottle’s contents. “Pondweed…grimly grass…bat drool used as an amplifier…” Hecate looked at her companions. “This is a Switching Potion – a powerful one.”

“Too bad it doesn’t tell us who he’s switched with,” Dimity complained. Three heads swiveled as footsteps lumbered up the stairs. “Time to go, HB.” She grabbed both Hecate’s and Ada’s hands and let Hecate transfer them into their own room. They’d no sooner materialized when Mr. Rowan-Webb poked his head in the door.

“Forgive my intrusion, ladies, but, I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Hecate sighed and rubbed that space between her eyebrows again. “How many drops did you use, Algie?”

“Three – but not all at once.”

“Great Merlin’s beard, am I the only person who hasn’t drugged Miss Bat today?” Hecate glared at the lot of them. At least they had the decency to look embarrassed. “Does anyone have some sleeping potion?”

“I do. I brought some since I would be sharing a room with Mother.” Hecate held her hand out. “Really? Are you sure?” She gazed up at her over the top of her glasses, eyes pleading. “Please, Hecate, you don’t know what it’s like. Mother’s snoring would peel the hide off a dragon.”

Hecate arched one eyebrow. “I believe there’s a sports metaphor I’ve heard Miss Drill use before, Ada. Something about taking one for the team?” Ada slumped in defeat and summoned the potion, handing it over with a heavy sigh. Hecate took it at once and held it out to Algie. “Put…five drops in a cup of chamomile tea. Make her drink it, if you must. I’m surprised she isn’t emitting sparks with that much potion in her. You, Mr. Rowan-Webb, shall be in charge of administering any further doses of Wide-Awake potion.” She looked at Ada. “Tell Alma that no one else is to give Miss Bat anything.”

The four of them traipsed back down to lunch. Hecate and Dimity did their best to try to draw Mr. Birdsong into conversation but had little success. It wasn’t until a somewhat calmer Miss Bat asked him if he thought the new coursework on the Craft and Code should be a stand-alone course or a part of Witchory that he finally spoke up.

“For now, it may be that it has to be incorporated into Witchory. I know you’re down a staff member since you lost Mari Mould. It will be difficult to fill two positions.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose it could also replace a section of Chanting.”

“Replace Chanting?” Miss Bat sounded positively scandalized.

“Certainly chanting has a long history within the Witching World, but how are we adding value to the curriculum in order to establish a growth mindset that will allow your girls to develop Twenty-first Century witching skills?”

Miss Bat stared at him, glazed eyes blinking furiously. Hecate wondered if anyone would notice if she stabbed herself in the leg with a fork. It would surely be more pleasant than listening to educational jargon.

“I’m sorry, Hiccup, I don’t feel like I found out anything that would be particularly helpful.” Their mirror call was later than usual and Pippa was already in her night dress - a pale pink gown made of a shimmery fabric that Hecate desperately wanted to touch. “I spoke with a couple of other Heads or Deputy Heads, and Hellibore sent out the same form letter of congratulations to everyone that wasn’t a SNIPE school.” She pulled out a white cloth and started removing her make-up. Hecate suddenly felt very parched. She started unpinning her bun just to give her hands something to do.

“As far as Wilbur Birdsong goes,” Pippa continued, “he simply seems to be a mediocre wizard from a mediocre wizarding family - exactly the sort you’d think would have his job. One odd thing, though, the witches in his family are very powerful, at least compared to the wizards. A few centuries ago there was even a Narvilla Birdsong that was the Great Witch. I’ve not heard much about them lately, though. Do you suppose the weaker wizards are diluting the line?”

“Possibly. I know it’s why some of the older, more traditional families still arrange marriages – to be sure their magic is preserved.” Families like mine, she thought with a shudder. Finally, the last pin was gone and she could rake her fingers through her loose hair, scratching her scalp and generally relaxing. She looked up to see Pippa staring at her, pupils wide, teeth chewing at her bottom lip.

“You are so lovely with your hair down, Hiccup.”

“Oy! Roommate present!” Dimity reminded them.

“And it’s lovely to see you today, Miss Drill.” Pippa leaned around Hecate and waved. “Anyway… Hiccup?” She snapped her fingers at Hecate, who sat, playing with a strand of her hair and staring at the mirror - shy smile on her lips and a flaming blush coloring her cheeks. “Hiccup!” She knocked on the mirror, startling Hecate back into the present. “As I was saying,” she winked and colored a bit herself. “There doesn’t seem to be much of note about your Mr. Birdsong, personally or professionally. He certainly wouldn’t fare well in a Section 7 with you, darling.”

“Which would be good news – if this was actually Wilbur Birdsong.” She filled Pippa in on all the details, calling Dimity over to make sure nothing was forgotten.

“I like this less and less, Hiccup. Tell me you’re spelling your door and taking every precaution.” Hecate nodded, as did Dimity behind her. “I do wish you’d let me come. I hate being here when you could be in danger.”

Hecate smiled. “I would hate for you to be in danger even more, Pipsqueak.” She kissed her fingertips and placed her hand on the glass, doggedly ignoring Dimity behind her. Pippa did the same before pressing her hand against Hecate’s. They hadn’t kissed since that night at the retreat, but these mirror chat goodbyes felt every bit as intimate, maybe even more so. “Please don’t worry, Pip. Sleep well.”

“I always worry, Hiccup, have done for the last thirty years. Have beautiful dreams, my love.” The mirror faded back to normal.

Dimity gave her a moment to settle before resting a hand on Hecate’s shoulder. “You two need to go on an actual date – soon.” She squeezed a bit. “You make me need to take a cold shower.”

“Leave it to you to make things tawdry.” She patted Dimity’s hand. “I’d just like to be in the same building for a little while.”

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Dimity stepped away to open it. It was Ada, wondering if Hecate might care for a walk along the beach again.

“That would be lovely. May I transfer us? I’ve got some energy I need to burn off.”

“I bet you do,” sniggered Dimity. She just managed to dodge the pillow that flew towards her head as Hecate and Ada faded away.

Again, the night was lovely. Clouds rippled like dragon scales across the sky, reflecting the light of the nearly full moon. The breeze had picked up, washing them in the clean, salty air of the sea. Hecate felt invigorated just from breathing it in. She noticed that Ada seemed a bit distant so she linked their arms and dragged them down to the beach, summoning a blanket so they could sit and listen to the night.

“How’s Gwen?” Hecate asked, leaning back on her hands to watch the clouds drift past.

“Finally settling down. It turned out she’d taken a dose of Wide-Awake herself.” She vanished her shoes and dug her toes into the sand. “This is lovely,” she breathed.

“Good Goddess,” Hecate ran through the various doses. “That means she took ten drops of the potion today, Ada. She’s lucky her brain didn’t…short circuit. I can’t imagine the state I’d be in if I took that much.” She snuck a glance at Ada out of the corner of her eye. “How are you holding up?”

“Oh, well enough under the circumstances, I suppose.”

“Ada…”

“Very well. I’m tired of playing the fool in all of Agatha’s maneuvering. I’m tired of children undermining the safety of the school – its very existence for heaven’s sake. And I’m tired of it being children who are pulling us out of one scrape after another – no matter how remarkable Mildred Hubble may be. Mostly, I suppose, I’m dreadfully tired of myself always, always, giving second chances to people who turn around and use it against me. It makes me wonder if the Council wasn’t correct when it removed me as Cackle’s Headmistress.”

Hecate jerked upright, grabbing Ada and spinning her around until they were facing each other, both hands on the older woman’s shoulders. “Of course, they were wrong, Ada! That’s why they reinstated you as soon as Ursula Hallow’s lies were exposed. It’s not your fault that Agatha is the way she is – you’ve tried to help her change and given her every opportunity to do so – but never knowingly at the expense of the school. It’s not your fault that the one thing Ethel Hallow needs – consequences for her actions – is the one thing you have been forbidden from providing. Well,” she smirked, “she needs that and a fit mother.”

“You’re being kind, Hecate.” Ada pulled away and stared out at the ocean. Hecate shifted so she could still see her face.

“I’m being honest, Ada. May I remind you that one of those people you gave so many second chances to was me? Where would I be without you? Who would I be without you?” She slipped a hand around Ada’s arm. “I would also remind you that the remarkable Mildred Hubble is someone else who’s benefitted from your kindness and second chances. And if I’m not worth all the heartache that comes from being let down, that girl surely is.”

“As are you, dear. You know, I can ask you the same questions. Where would I be without you? Still a snail, probably.”

“You would still be exactly what you are: the finest Headmistress I’ve ever known.”

Ada reached up and squeezed her hand. “That’s high praise considering who you’re keeping company with these days.”

Hecate blushed. She was really starting to get annoyed with how her face responds like it’s only fifteen instead of fifty.

“When do you think we might actually start seeing more of Miss Pentangle? You know she’s welcome anytime. You don’t have to keep her a secret.”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m doing. With everything that’s going on, now doesn’t seem like the time.” She pulled her knees up and rested her chin against them. With her free hand she started drawing random shapes in the sand.

“Surely you two have put things off long enough.” Ada’s voice is kind, but Hecate still feels the ache those missing thirty years cause her every time she thinks about them. “Besides, there’s always time for love, Hecate. I know that I, for one, am looking forward to meeting Hiccup and Pipsqueak.”

Hecate stopped drawing, her other hand dropped away from Ada’s arm. Something was writhing around in her brain, trying to get her attention. Ada started to speak, but Hecate raised her hands to stop her. “What did you just say? Say it again!” Her eyes were closed, and her hands clutched the side of her head as if she could will the writhing idea into stillness.

“I said I wanted to meet Hiccup. And Pipsqueak. Those are your nicknames for each other, yes?”

“That’s it!” They both ignored the small plume of water that shot up from behind Hecate as she leapt to her feet. “That’s where Birdsong made his mistake. During lunch today, he talked about Miss Mould, except he didn’t call her Miss Mould. He didn’t even call her Marigold; he called her Mari – a nickname. Did she ever introduce herself as Mari or go by Mari that you know of? Dimity will know.”

“You think Birdsong knows Miss Mould?”

“Why else would he call her Mari? Marigold was in Agatha’s coven. Do you ever recall anyone named Birdsong that would have known Agatha?”

“No, I don’t think so…wait!” Agatha slapped her forehead. “Rolando was a Birdsong. I believe she may have dated a Rolando Birdsong while she was at Wormwood’s, maybe some after as well.” She held out an arm and waited for Hecate to pull her to her feet.

“That’s two connections, then. So, what is their plan?” Hecate paced back and forth along the beach, kicking up sand as she marched. “Just to close the school? It’s possible, I suppose. We know Agatha has an ‘if I can’t have it, nobody can’ sort of attitude, but that wouldn’t matter to anyone but Agatha.”

“If you were a wizarding family whose powers are weakening… You might attach yourself to a powerful witch with a low regard for the Code. Someone who could and would use an Extraction Spell to take another’s powers. But…” Suddenly, Ada grabbed Hecate’s arm. “The wards, Hecate, he was after the wards!”

“Tell me you don’t mean what I think you mean.” What little color Hecate had drained from her face.

“As a monitor, Birdsong gets total access to the school. Literally and magically speaking, he has the keys to the castle. That can only mean one thing…”

“THE PHOTOGRAPH!” They shouted.

Ada turned and started running for the cottage. It took Hecate a moment to realize what was happening, but she broke into a run as well, catching up with Ada in a few long strides. “We’re witches, Ada,” she shouted as she grabbed her hand. “We don’t have to run!” She swished her fingers in the air and transported them back to the cottage.

Birdsong was still there, sitting in the living room with Algernon. Hecate froze, but Ada recovered quickly. She held on to Hecate’s hand and pulled her into the living room.

“What do you say, Hecate? Let’s go see if Dimity wants to join us for a midnight swim. I haven’t been skinny dipping in ages!” Ada kept her grip on her Deputy’s hand and pulled her up the stairs. As soon as the door closed behind them, Ada and Hecate filled Dimity in on their new theory.

“We need to get that picture – pronto. You said you thought you could transfer from here to Cackle’s. Are you sure, Hecate?” Dimity asked.

“I’m not positive.”

“And she’s not transferring into an unknown situation alone. Mr. Birdsong’s role in all of this may be to keep us here while others go to Cackle’s. Get your brooms, take the fastest two and fly as far as you need to before Hecate can transfer you both straight in. Get the photo and get out. I’ll keep Birdsong distracted.”

Hecate waved a hand, and her narrow dress changed into a black button-up blouse and a pair of black jeans. “Let’s go,” she said, checking to be sure her pocket watch and her moon pin were in place. Satisfied, she transferred them to the porch and grabbed her broom, Dimity right behind her.

“Ok, HB, you set the pace, we’ll-“

“Just go, Dimity. I’ll keep up.” She ignored the look of surprise on Dimity’s face when she mounted her broom in the racing position – astride it, leaned all the way forward with her feet against the bristles. She shot forward, not bothering to wait for her partner, assuming that Dimity would catch up.

She did, but it took her longer than Hecate expected - and Hecate wasn’t too proud to admit that pleased her. As she pulled alongside, Dimity took a good look at the reserved Miss Hardbroom. Her hair, still loose from before, streamed behind her; a full-on grin was plastered across her face. Dimity eased closer and shouted. “You never stop surprising me, HB!”

“I feel like I’m sixteen again! Come on!”

They flew. After ten minutes Hecate thought she could transfer them both to Cackle’s. After fifteen, she knew she could. She stretched out a bit further, eking out just enough speed to catch up with Dimity. “Time to go!” She shouted, grabbing her arm.

They explode back into substance, hurtling over the rooftop of Cackle’s, both of them pulling up into a messy, tumbling stop. Dimity had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting. Hecate pushed herself upright, gasping and smiling, wild hair blowing every direction. Witchiest witch indeed, Dimity thought. For a moment, she was actually jealous of Pippa Pentangle. “Let’s put down on the roof.”

As soon as they landed, Hecate extended her power. “Can you feel the wards?” she asked. “It all feels normal to me.”

Dimity felt along the edges of the grounds, the outer walls and finally the wards surrounding Ada’s office. “I don’t feel anything strange, but if they’ve got the charms from Birdsong, we might not know, right?”

“I’m afraid that’s true. What do you suggest?”

Wow, thought Dimity, Hecate Hardbroom is asking my advice – after riding a broomstick like she could have been a Star of the Sky. In a pair of jeans. “I say we head straight in. Pop us into the office, grab the picture, and pop us back out.”

“In and out in thirty seconds, right.” Hecate reached up and magicked her hair smooth and back into its customary I-mean-business bun. She held a hand out for Dimity and transferred them away.

They knew the instant they reappeared in Ada’s office that they were in trouble. People were there. Luckily, they’d startled the intruders as much as they’d been startled themselves. A yellow ball of energy careened towards them. Hecate was barely able to deflect it. A second one screamed past her, grazing Dimity on the leg. With her wits collected, Hecate fired back, sending her own green balls of lightning as fast as she could. Her eyes darted behind her, looking for Dimity. Finally, she spotted her. Dimity had dragged herself behind Ada’s overturned tea table and, even on the floor, was sending her own shots at the intruders.

The fighting was fierce. Whoever the intruders were, they used both light and dark magic. The air sizzled with it. A dark bolt slipped past Hecate’s defenses, passing so close that it burned a hole in her blouse, pain seared her side, just below her ribcage. One more scar to join the others, she thought, at least this one would have a good story to go with it. Carefully, she edged her way back, until she finally got close enough to Dimity. “Grab my leg!” Hecate threw as many bolts as she could, as fast as she could, hoping to clear enough time for them to transfer.

Just as they were about to disappear, they were yanked back - like a giant hand was slamming them to the floor. Hecate screamed, certain she had dislocated her shoulder. It was all she could do to block the fireballs flying towards them. It occurred to her that they were losing this fight, that her home was under attack, and she was failing to defend it. That she never got the chance to tell Pippa that she loved her – had always loved her. She ignored the tears streaming down her face and kept blocking everything she could.

Suddenly, there was a clap like thunder and Pippa Pentangle was standing in front of her, swinging a shiny gold Wizard’s Staff like a battle axe. Sweeping it in front of her, Pippa channeled a slice of white lightning across the intruders, catching one in the chest and sending him howling away. When another threw a dark, oily orb her way, Pippa used her staff like a cricket bat, swatting it back at its caster. “Hello, darling!” She calls over her shoulder, sounding like she was having altogether too much fun.

Hecate tried to stand but got knocked off her feet again, white-hot pain flaring in her shoulder as it was knocked back into place. She felt like she might throw up, but at least her arm was usable again. She pulled herself to her knees and adds her own fireballs to Pippa’s. Under the noise of the battle, Hecate could hear Dimity chanting behind her. Realizing what’s coming, she pulled Pippa down just as Dimity yelled “DUCK!”

A second later a wave of blue energy rolled through the air above them, blowing the glass out of the windows and sending the last of the intruders fleeing into the night. For a moment, everything was quiet, save for the sound of their own ragged breathing.

“Are you lot okay?” Dimity called. She’d collapsed again, back behind the tea table.

Hecate and Pippa looked at each other. Both were disheveled and dirty. Half of Hecate’s bun had come loose, but they nodded. “We’re okay,” Hecate rasped.

Pippa lifted a shaking hand to brush a strand of hair from Hecate’s face, cupping her cheek. Before Hecate could think about it, she crushed Pippa’s lips in kisses, whispering ‘I love you’ every time she needed to breathe.

“You’re kissing, aren’t you?” Dimity called from behind the table. “That’s great! I am literally over here bleeding but you two keep on snogging. Bloody repressed lesbians – don’t you worry about ol’ Dimity. You just take your time. Have a right proper shag while you’re at it.” She looked up to see them both staring down at her, hands tangled together, practically glowing.

Pippa quirked an eyebrow at her. “That all seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think, Hiccup?”

“I agree, Pipsqueak. Quite unbecoming in a witch.”

Carefully, they helped her to her feet, quickly righting one of Ada’s chairs when it’s clear she can’t stand. Her leg would need medical attention, as would Hecate’s side. “Look at all this destruction. For a picture.” Hecate gestured at what was left of the office. “And for naught – the picture is gone.”

“I don’t know, darling. If you two hadn’t figured this out, they could have come and stolen the photograph and replaced it with a duplicate. We’d never know. At least this way we know to be on the alert.” Pippa pulled Hecate against her, careful of both her side and her shoulder.

“We, Pipsqueak?”

“We, Hiccup. There is no me without you. Surely you must know that by now.”

Hecate rested her head against Pippa’s. “Is that how you knew to come?”

“It was the Twin Pins. I was in bed reading when all of a sudden the pin jumped like it was trying to connect, but then nothing happened. I’d never heard of anything like that so…I grabbed my staff and here I am.” Dimity hissed as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “I think we need to get back to the cottage.”

“Can you ride, Dimity?” Hecate summoned their brooms from the rooftop. No reason not to go through the windows now, she thought.

“I think, if we use my staff, that we can transfer back,” Pippa said, pulling them over to stand where Dimity could grab the staff and they could support her on either side. “If everyone hangs on and puts their transference energy into the staff, that should be plenty of juice to get us to the cottage. Will you steer, Hecate?” She nodded and off they went.

Dimity screamed when they landed in Ada’s living room, the rough landing jarring them all.

“We need a mediwitch!” Pippa wheezed. “We’ve got injured!” She turned to look at Ada, anger warring with sorrow in her eyes. “Cackle’s has been breached.”

For a heartbeat everyone was frozen; then everything seemed to happen at once. Dimity collapsed - only Algernon’s quick reflexes kept her from hitting the floor. Alma summoned the healing kit. Miss Bat set forth a stream of profanities that would send the swarthiest of sailors running for church as she hurried to call for medical help. No one commented on why or how Pippa Pentangle happened to be there, holding Hecate’s hand and keeping the potions mistress on her feet.

Ada tore her eyes away from the raw and blistered skin visible through Hecate’s shredded shirt. “I’ll summon the Great Wizard.”

As Ada moved past her, Hecate reached out and grabbed her hand, wincing as her shoulder and side protested the movement. “The photograph, Ada. It’s gone.”

“So is Mr. Birdsong, dear, whoever he is.”

#hicsqueak #hecate hardbroom #pippa pentangle #the summer trope challenge without the hackle #hecate's summer playlist #ada ships hicsqueak harder than any of us #even witches hate teacher inservice days

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

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Countless Roads - Chapter 1

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 1 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: Have an extra-long first chapter to get us properly started. All comments welcome and appreciated!

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"You stay the hell away from him!" the voice roars.

Len shakes and shudders and curls up in a ball on the floor.

Juvie is worse than he could have imagined – oh, the kids themselves are bad enough, pushy and mean and some of them are old enough for the look in their eyes to be more than standard schoolyard aggression, but it's only Len's first day; they're going to wait until the guards lose interest in him before trying anything.

The ghosts don't wait at all.

It's a bad place, a centering ground, land that stinks of sadness and anger and sucks in ghosts like a whirlpool. Human misery is the only company these ghosts have –

– at least, until Len arrives.

The unquiet dead gather their forces as he gets checked in, watch him, teeming with anticipation, in the yard, and then come for him right after dinner.

His own ghosts, bought in coin – pieces of future years – spent before he came, try their best to protect him, but he underestimated the number of unquiet dead lingering here. He underestimated the number of murderer's victims, children and adults, the number of suicides, the number of unlucky daredevils, the number of accidental deaths –

And then Mick – though Len doesn't know his name, not yet – rips them off of Len, one leech at a time, and puts himself between them and Len's shaking, spasming body.

"Hurts," Len rasps, unable to say more.

"Don't worry," the other boy says, glaring. He's big, for a teenager; a promise of height and breadth in the future. "I won't let them near."

"Gimme a hand up?" Len asks.

The boy shakes his head, and that's when Len realizes.

"You're dead too, ain't you," he says, flat as a stone.

"I've been here the longest," the boy responds, shrugging. "Since before they built the place."

Len sighs and climbs to his feet. He'd so hoped, seeing the boy’s strength, that he'd finally met another of his kind, but no; the boy's just another apparition. Barely that, even; he has a very strong presence, probably due to his age, but he’s not even a poltergeist on his own merits.

"Thanks," he tells him anyway, because apparition or not, the boy did just save his life.

"Don't mention it," the kid says.

The funny thing is, he really seems to mean it. No favors requested, no suggestions that Len repay him, nothing.

If anything, the guy seems to avoid Len whenever possible – which isn't much, because he comes rushing in whenever the unquiet ghosts float too close.

"Why are you helping me?" Len asks him.

"Don't like bullies," the kid says shortly. "Never did."

Then he retreats again, dashing away every time Len comes anywhere near him.

"Don't you want something?" Len asks. "Something you want to do?"

"Nah," the kid replies. "I'm good."

"You're a ghost. You gotta want something."

"Not from you, you little punk."

The curiosity is starting to get to Len. Finally, he gives up on trying to figure out the kid's angle and takes a different approach.

"What's your name?" he asks.

The kid-ghost blinks, then narrows his eyes at him warily. "What's it to you, necromancer?"

Len makes a face. "I ain't a necromancer," he protests. "I can't raise dead or command ‘em or nothing; I just make 'em closer to real, s'all. Life-sharing. Totally different."

“Uh-huh. And what about summoning ‘em and making ‘em possess people or something?”

“No, that’s mediums. I ain’t never even met one of those, but I hear they’re creepy. I just…share, s’all.”

"Why you want my name, then?" the kid asks, still suspicious.

"'cause I'm getting tired of calling you kid-ghost," Len replies, exasperated. "And right now I don't got anything to shout if I need your attention."

"You've always got my attention," the kid grumbles. "My ma says you give someone your name, you give 'em power over you."

Len rolls his eyes. "Well, my name is Leonard Snart, but sometimes when my mom got mad she’d use the full on Leonard Jacob Snart birth certificate business. Now you know, so don't misuse it. And nice to meet you."

The kid finally cracks an involuntary grin. It changes his whole tough face, making it go bright and delighted, smashing that tough guy image with glee. "Oh what the heck," he says. "I'm Mick. That's Michael Christopher Sebastian Rory, actually, but everybody called me Mick."

"Nice to meetcha, Mick," Len says. "I'd offer to shake, but...well…" He wiggles his fingers. Magic, life-giving fingers.

Mick sniggers.

Maybe there is something to what Mick's ma said about names, because after that they're inseparable. Best friends from different eras, friends like neither of them ever had before. Maybe they’d have been best friends in this life, if only Mick wasn’t dead, but Len will take friendship with a ghost over nothing.

The other kids think Len's crazy, talking to himself, and ostracize him, relegating him to the outcast table with the quiet dangerous ones like Jumping Jimmy and Shrieking Sam and Cuckoo Charlie. (Len gets dubbed Lunatic Leo, which, ugh. He’s going to find a better nickname if it kills him.)

But really, Len doesn't mind where he sits, so long as he's got Mick.

Sitting at the crazy outcast table is kinda funny, actually; Mick's a pretty good judge of people, Len's found, and his invisible commentary over people's heads is hilarious.

"He's just got no volume control and a spoiled temper," Mick says of Sam. "Nothing to worry about."

"Ma said people like him just had a devil in 'em keeping them from sitting still," he says of Jimmy. "It ain't no problem, long as they keep busy."

"And Charlie?" Len asks, amused.

Mick considers this. "I think he's gonna grow up to eat people. Stay away."

Len snorts, but does.

Mick’s damn useful in a fight, which Len does inevitably get into, shouting advice (mostly “duck” and “hit him in the face”), and Mick likes watching fights, too. But most of all, Mick likes fighting the unquiet ghosts himself; in particular, he's got a real hatred of a group of white supremacists that got themselves stabbed in a gang fight back when the juvie was a real prison. They hate Len, which makes sense what with him being Jewish and all, but they still want his life, and that just pisses them off more, which means more fights for Mick.

"You like punching Nazis, huh?" Len teases.

"Hell yes," Mick says. "They're bad stuff, through and through."

"Regular Captain America you are."

"Who?"

“What d’you mean, who? Captain America! From the comic books!”

“I’m dead,” Mick points out. “I don’t keep up on popular culture.”

“No way,” Len says stubbornly. “Captain America’s been around forever. I’m pretty sure he was drawn punching Hitler in the face on his very first cover.”

“Say, that’s not bad,” Mick says, grinning a bit. “Punched him in the face, you say?”

“Didn’t you read comics?”

“Sure I did,” Mick says, crossing his arms. “Joe Palooka, Dick Tracey, Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers – the whole lot of ‘em.”

“What the hell are those?”

“You don’t know those?”

“I think I’ve heard of Buck Rodgers – he a spaceman or something?”

“Yeah, him and Flash Gordon, both of ‘em. Dick Tracey’s a sleuth, and Joe Palooka’s a boxer.”

“Don’t you got any crime fighters? Like in costumes? Superheroes?”

Mick wrinkles his nose when he frowns in thought. “Uh, I mean, I guess maybe the Phantom? It was brand new; real cool stuff, fighting pirates and stuff. They called him the Ghost Who Walks. Real sweet.”

“Brand new,” Len says, shaking his head. “When did you die again? The dark ages?”

“Eh, may as well have been,” Mick says. “We all thought the world was ending.”

“Every generation thinks the world’s ending.”

“Nah, not like ours,” Mick says. “Between the Depression and – what was it they were calling the black blizzards, the Dust Bowl? Anyway, between those two, it was real bad.”

“Wait,” Len says. “When exactly did you die?”

“Late 1936.”

“Shit. You are old.”

“Told ya,” Mick says smugly.

“Was there even a juvie here?”

Mick rolls his eyes. “No,” he says. “The juvie’s only a decade or two old. Before that it was a prison. Before that, it was a particularly badly run farm.”

“…your farm?”

“Well, yes.”

“You were a farmer?! Working the fields, calling in the cows, all that sort of thing?”

“I died first,” Mick reminds Len.

“But still – you’re so old.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no – it’s just – I’m gonna get you all the comics,” Len says, and does, even if it means spending some of his hard-earned money – all the juvie kids get pennies for every hour they work in addition to the required school time – and that of others (mostly the rich kids who get some from their parents in the mail) on some of the old reprints, the ones that go real cheap nowadays and are kinda corny by modern standards. But it's worth it.

Mick loves comics.

He can’t move the pages himself – not unless Len gives him some life, which Mick steadfastly refuses to accept – but Len can flip them nice and slow, letting Mick have time to read each page, and sometimes when Mick’s eyes keep crossing the letters too much to make it fun, Len reads them aloud to him, sound effects and all.

“Man, the library says Snow White hadn’t even come out in 1936,” Len marvels. “You know that? Snow White, man. That’s like the first ever Disney.”

“No, it ain’t,” Mick objects. “Disney’s the one with the shorts, ain’t it? Steamboat Willy. Silly Symphonies. Three Little Pigs.”

“Mick,” Len says solemnly. “You break my heart.”

“I sometimes watch that Disney stuff when they’re on the rec room TV,” Mick says, pouting. “I ain’t totally uncultured. S’just hard to remember stuff from after you’re dead, s’all.”

“You’re running out of life,” Len says, because he’s heard of it happening before. “Ghosts stick around because of what happened during their life, and they only remember what happened afterwards if they’ve got enough left over for it – you sure I can’t give you some?”

“No, Lenny,” Mick says, long-suffering.

Len sulks, and introduces Mick to Alice in Wonderland the next time the rec room’s free.

Probably a tactical error, since Mick shouts, “Off with their heads!” the next fifteen times he dukes it out with the unquiet dead, but hey, it’s funny.

“How’d you die?” Len asks one day, when he’s only got two weeks left to go in juvie, studying a deck of cards he’d lifted from a fellow student.

“Why do you want to know?” Mick asks, suddenly guarded.

“’cause I’m a nosy bastard,” Len says, since he can’t explain why he actually wants to know, which is that he wants to give Mick a gift. The dead carry on them what died when they died – clothing, stuff in their pockets, that sort of stuff. But Len’s found that if stuff ‘dies’ the same way a ghost does, he can hand it to the ghost and they can keep it.

He hopes it’s not something too weird. He doesn’t want to have to hang a deck of cards, or electrocute it, or have it get run over by a herd of chickens or something.

…that last one would be hilarious, though.

Mick grunts.

“Please?” Len says, which is rare enough that Mick gives him a suspicious look. “Not like I’m gonna tell anyone.”

Mick stays silent a few minutes longer, and then, abruptly, he gets up.

Len blinks up at him.

“Fire,” Mick says. “I died in a fire.” And then he disappears.

Len scowls in the direction of Mick’s ghostly self. He didn’t feel any passing-on-ness, or whatever you call it when a ghost kicks the bucket for good, so Mick’s just gone somewhere else to sulk because heaven forbid Len tries to learn some personal info about the guy beyond what type of breakfast he prefers (answer: corn mush with milk, or yesterday’s bread crusts – ick!).

On the other hand, it did give Len a bit of an opportunity.

Fire, huh?

Sounds like an unpleasant way to die, but at least it makes giving Mick stuff easier. Lifting a lighter from the guard that likes to smoke is easy enough, and finding a nice shady corner on top of lots of concrete to minimize excess burning is even easier.

Now he just needs Mick.

“Mick?” he asks the air.

No reply.

“Mick, you still sulking?”

Nothing.

“Mick, I could be being attacked right now. I’m not, but I could be.”

Zip.

Len contemplates pretending to die, but that seems a bit melodramatic.

“Hey! Mickey Mouse!”

Still nothing.

Hmm, and Len was sure that that would get him a punch in the face…

Mick couldn’t be gone, could he?

Len swallows. He really hopes Mick’s not gone. He knows that's wrong - you're supposed to hope that ghosts move on, not want them to stay - but he doesn't. He doesn't want Mick to go.

“Hey, Lunatic!” Tommy, one of the more annoying juvie kids, shouts. “Lost your imaginary friend?”

Len grits his teeth.

“Bet he left you ‘cause you were wasting his time,” Tommy taunts. “Poor kooky kid, what’ll he do all on his own?”

It’s just close enough to Len’s real fears that Len ends up punching Tommy in the face.

And then, as expected, spending the next ten minutes getting punched back by Tommy and his friends. And kicked. And –

Okay, the guards really should be intervening. Any time now.

“Hey, hold him down,” Evan Richards says. Evan Richards, never just Evan; he’s the sort of kid that would be – should be – exiled to the crazy person table, but he’s rich and his parents send him loads of treats, so he’s not. He’s got a big old grin on his face that Len doesn’t trust a jot.

“Why?” Tommy says skeptically. “He’s not getting up on his own anytime soon.”

Probably not true – Len’s a stubborn bastard – but closer than he’d like to admit.

Evan Richards’s grin widens. “I’ve always wanted to see what one of these does,” he says, and pulls out a little Swiss army contraption, used mostly for clipping or filing nails, that he’s sharpened well past any reasonable amount.

He’d probably call it a knife, Evan Richards would, but to people like Len, it’s called a shiv.

Shit.

“Mick!” Len screams, because he doesn’t trust the guards but Mick’s always come to help him before – if he’s still here.

The returning bellow of rage is the finest sound Len’s ever heard, right up there with Lisa’s first word (‘up’, as it happens; nothing but the best for his demanding little darling).

But Mick’s a ghost, barely even an apparition, and though he charges the fuckers that are holding Len down, he can’t do anything, just passes straight through, causing no more than a slight chill and a shudder.

“Mick, please,” Len says, struggling and kicking and keeping Richards back, just long enough, just long enough to get a hand free and reach out –

“God, he’s nuts,” Tommy laughs, and the others laughs with him. “Go for it – waste the cuckoo – no one’ll care –”

Mick reaches out and takes Len’s hand in his, and Len pushes, hard, with all the spare life he’s got in him.

Mick yowls, and Len can feel it too, like a zap from touching a live wire or a burst of static electricity, but then Mick’s there and all the kids are turning to look, shouting in surprise and demanding to know where the hell Mick came from and then Mick puts his fist into Evan Richards’ smirking face.

Three black eyes and a hell of a lot of bruises later, the gang breaks up and flees.

“Thanks,” Len pants. He’s pretty damn sore, and it’s only gonna get worse, but he has to find out if Mick’s okay – Mick, who didn’t want the extra power – the extra life –

“Holy crap,” Mick says, staring down at his hands. “I felt that. They felt that. That was – Len?”

“You angry at me?” Len asks. He’s feeling weirdly dizzy, the way you get if you haven’t eaten for three days and then you go sprinting from the cops. Everything hurts, but distantly, like he can’t really feel it.

“Angry – no, it’s not – Len, you’re looking real pale, you feeling okay?”

“Peachy,” Len says, and passes out.

When he wakes up, he’s in a bed in the nurse’s station, and Mick’s scowling at him from the next bed over.

Len’s got an IV.

Why’s he got an IV?

“Mick, why’ve I got an IV?” he asks.

Mick’s eye twitches.

“Uh,” Len says. “Mick?”

“That’s your first question?!” Mick roars.

“…yes?” Len says helplessly. “What, should I’ve started with ‘how are you’?”

Mick looks like he's considering strangling Len.

"I'm sorry," Len offers. Might as well get that out, if Mick’s already mad.

"What?" Mick says, annoyance disappearing into confusion. "Sorry for what?"

"For, you know," Len says, shrugging. "Prying. And sharing my life when you've been real clear you didn't want me to be sharing with you."

Mick stares at him for a long moment. "Len," he says eventually. "It ain't – you don't think it's your fault that I ain't taking bits of your life, do you?"

Well, when Mick says it in that incredulous tone, it sounds kinda dumb.

Len focuses on picking at the band-aid over the IV entry point on the inside of his elbow instead of replying, even though he knows that only reveals his guilt.

"Lenny, stop that," Mick says. "You need the IV."

"You never did say what it was for," Len says.

"It's to keep you alive, you nimrod. You nearly shoved all the life you had left up my goddamn arm."

"If Richards got me with the shiv, I wouldn't've had any life left to give," Len points out, but yeah, he distinctly remembers overdoing it in his panic. "S'that why I pass out like that?"

"That's why you swooned like a leading lady," Mick confirms.

Len glares. "Passed out, Mick."

"Whatever. Len – It ain't that I don't like you, or your life, or even having some of it myself, 'cause lemme tell you, being practically solid's been pretty awesome so far – "

"You're practically solid?" Len interrupts. "I ain't never done that before – "

"Lenny. Lemme finish. This is important."

Len shuts up.

"Anyway," Mick says. "What I mean to say is – I mean – oh, damnit. Len, I don't deserve any of your life."

"You just saved my life," Len says, unable to keep quiet. "Just as you've been doing this past month – "

"I started the fire!" Mick shouts. "I'm a firebug, and I knew it was bone dry, and I started that fire anyways, and that’s why everybody died! It was all my fault! I don't deserve nothing!"

"Oh," Len says blankly.

"Yeah," Mick says savagely, wiping at his face to clean up what they'd both pretend weren't tears when this was over. "So that's why."

Len nods. He's not sure what to say. He doesn't think anything will help a wound so deep that Mick became a ghost over it.

"I've heard of it before," he offers eventually. "Pyromania, it's called."

"What's that?"

"It's – " Len tries to remember. "It's a thing that happens to people, some chemical goes wrong in their brain, and then they start needing to light fires. Like an anxiety thing – can't calm down until there's a fire."

Mick frowns. “There’s a word for it?”

“Yeah,” Len says. “People that can’t help themselves around fires. It’s a medical thing.”

Mick looks stunned.

“What, thought it was just you?” Len jokes, except the look on Mick’s face kinda says that he did. “No, Mick, it ain’t you, if I’m right. It’s a – it’s a thing that happens sometimes, and no one’s to blame, you know. Sometimes people’s brains break, just like any bone, and you need medicine or something like that for it.”

“I still lit the fire,” Mick says, but he seems a little less burdened. “After they told me not to and everything. And even if I didn’t have a choice, I still should’ve warned ‘em about it.”

“That’s on you,” Len says, because people who say it’s not your fault when it is just make you feel worse. “But the fire thing, that ain’t –”

“How are you boys doing?” the nurse says, sweeping in.

“Fine,” Len says automatically, before realizing what she’d said.

He turns to stare at Mick. “Boys?” he mouths at him. What was with the plural?

“Told you I was near solid,” Mick mutters. “Hi, ma’am,” he says to the nurse.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Rory? You were having quite a fit out there.”

“Much better, ma’am.”

“We’ve alerted the police about your being here,” she continues briskly. “Since your name isn’t on the list.”

Len’s eyes go real wide at that.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mick says tranquilly.

“And you, Mr. Snart, how are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Len says. “Okay?”

“Do you need more medicine?”

“Yes,” Len says, because the answer is always yes. Even if you don’t actually need it, you can always sell it.

Also, he’s kinda sore. All over. Everywhere.

Actually, it hurts a lot. Fuzzy and distant, like he’s got good drugs going on, but still not good.

“Is anything gonna happen to the kids what did it?” Mick asks. “Evan Richards and Tommy and the rest of ‘em?”

The nurse looks slightly uncomfortable. “They’ll be punished,” she says, but Len can tell she means that they’ll be slapped on the wrist, at most. Maybe a bit of time in detention instead of out on the school yard.

Well, good enough for Len. He never did trust anyone to give out punishment on his behalf; he’ll figure out a way to pay them back himself later on.

That’s not what’s important right now.

Len waits until the nurse checks them both over and leaves.

“Mick,” he hisses. "They can see you!"

“Told you!”

“What are we gonna do? Your name’s not gonna be on any records! Not any they’re gonna check, anyway!”

“Don’t worry,” Mick says. “It’s fine. It’s fading away already, since you gave it to me all in one shot – look, I’m practically able to go through the bed again. Another day - another couple of hours - and I’ll be back to being invisible if I wanna be.”

“If you wanna be? You’ll still be a full-powered manifestation?”

“You gave me a lot of life, Lenny,” Mick says disapprovingly.

Len shrugs, then brightens and checks his pockets. Good, they didn’t take the cards, or the lighter. “Here,” he says, holding them out. “Burn this.”

Mick stares at him.

“What?”

“I tell you I’m a pyro- a pyro-many – that I’m a firebug, and you gimme something to burn?”

“You died in a fire,” Len says reasonably. “If you burn the cards, you’ll be able to carry ‘em with you as a ghost, even once all the life’s gone.”

Mick’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

“Really. They gotta die with you, or something. Same way you died. Anyways, if you’re a pyromaniac, you’ll enjoy watching them burn, too.”

“That’s what you wanted me to come ‘round for, wasn’t it?” Mick asks, looking guilty.

“It’s fine,” Len says, pushing the cards and lighter into Mick’s hands. “Really – say, how much life I give you, anyway?”

“Why?” Mick asks, pulling the cards and lighter close and cradling them.

“Well – and you don’t gotta do this if you don’t wanna, but – how bound would you say you are to this place?”

Mick blinks.

“I want you to come home with me,” Len clarifies.

Mick’s eyes go wide.

#dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #my fic #deadfic

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