Chapter 7 #2
The path is made of cobblestones now, and there’s a whooshing sound above. I look up. A nude woman with wings hovers, watching something from a distance, though I can’t see what.
There is music and chatter. A large lizard is playing an accordion. A centaur is discussing politics with a blue hippopotamus. At least I think they’re talking politics. There was mention of a mayor.
I’m still taking this all in with a sense of serenity, rather than confusion. It feels like the world should. A place I belong in, yet never knew it until now.
Penelope knocks on the door of a tree. Its branch strokes her hair.
An older woman answers. “You’re not dishevelled,” she says to Penelope. She sniffs. “When was the last time your lips touched liquor?”
Penelope has another faraway gaze, but this time she’s hiding hurt. I’m certain of it. And I don’t like the way this woman just spoke to her.
“This is Maude, Grayson.”
As I move forward to shake Maude’s hand, a branch pushes me away.
“It’s okay,” Maude says to the tree. “I’ve been expecting Grayson.”
The branch wraps around my waist and leads me inside. Maude’s home is more spacious than it should be, just like Doctor Who’s Tardis after he enters.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you, Grayson.” Maude leads me to her living room. Penelope totters behind. “You do know why you are here? Penelope did explain?”
“I’m being inducted.”
“Precisely. It will fast-track your learning and your acceptance of yourself as a warlock. Otherwise, it can take years to master these skills.” Maude eyes Penelope. “I’m still not sure about his vest. What’s wrong with the classics? Witch’s hats and robes have been worn for centuries.”
“I like my vest,” I say, imagining myself in clichéd wizard clothing. “This vest is classy.”
“But not classic.” Maude waves her arm and more sunlight enters the room. “That’s better. Now, Grayson, let’s see your wand.”
I pull it from my pocket and hand it over.
As Maude inspects it, she gives Penelope a look of disapproval. “You need to extend this one.”
“It’s compact,” Penelope replies. “In the modern world, anything larger could be seen as a weapon.”
“How?” she asks. “A wand looks like a wand. It can’t be mistaken for anything else.”
“But you know as well as I do...” Penelope snaps her fingers.
A martini with an olive materialises in her hand.
“Wands aren’t commonplace in Grayson’s world.
” She snaps again. A tall glass of a clear sparkling drink with ice appears on the small table next to me.
Penelope points to it, then points at me.
I take a sip. It’s that same good gin Penelope conjured up at my place the first time she visited, mixed with tonic water.
“What about Maude?” I ask. “Shouldn’t she have a drink?”
“I don’t drink. Especially when I have an important task to perform.”
“Like you’ve never enjoyed a sherry when you’re alone.” A cat strolls into the room. “Stop being judgemental, Maude. Have a drink. You have guests.”
And now we have a talking cat who sounds like a pompous Englishman. I’m wide-eyed at yet another marvel of this fairy-tale place.
“Do you mind if I drink, Maude?” Then I remember I need to go to work at some stage today. Perhaps I shouldn’t.
“Drink if you must but I’m fine.” Maude takes a few steps to a large single-seater couch and taps its armrest. Its art deco frame is covered in a pale blue fabric. “Sit here, Grayson, and close your eyes.”
But I can’t stop admiring her décor. There are many shelves on one wall, full of nick-nacks.
A small statue of an elephant grips an open umbrella above its head with its trunk.
A glass devil dances on its hooves. A spooky doll holds a beach ball with its four arms. A stylish clock has a melting face. Yes, its numbers are actually dripping.
“Penelope, Grayson still has his eyes open.”
“Sorry,” I reply, annoyed that Penelope is being blamed.
Once my eyelids close, I smell sage. Maude speaks in a language unfamiliar. The cat mutters with her. And Penelope exhales as if relieved, her breath slow and steady.
For some reason I think about Milo, delighted he entered my mind.
I recall his striptease at the supermarket.
And how good Milo looked on our disastrous date.
And how good the food at that restaurant was.
And how Summer... Oh, who cares about Summer.
Milo was hot, and charming, and interested. I shouldn’t have walked out.
“Is that an erection?” Maude cries.
“It seems you still have sex appeal, Maude,” says the cat. “Even at your age.”
My vision is all blurry when my eyes flick open. I quickly pull off my glasses and everything comes into focus.
“Impressive,” Penelope says, peering at my lap.
And the fact I can clearly see the outline of my dick confirms my eyesight has changed. I put down my glasses and place my hand in front of my face, bringing it nearer, then moving it back. Wow! It’s as clear as day. I peer at Maude’s curios again, fascinated at how distinctly I can see them.
“What is so erotic about being inducted?” Maude asks me.
“My mind was elsewhere.”
“Well, if you’re going to be a warlock, you need to concentrate.” Maude is smirking. Penelope hasn’t noticed. This older witch has a soft side.
“We should go home.” Penelope has that drunken glow yet I’m sure only a minute passed since I closed my eyes. How can she be tipsy? But there are several empty cocktail glasses near her. Time has shifted.
“Are we finished?” I ask Maude.
“Do you feel different?” she replies.
“Besides feeling aroused,” the cat adds.
I ponder. Physically, yes, because I’m overjoyed at my twenty-twenty vision. My grin is wider than the moon. But as for some kind of internal witchy insight, I don’t think so.
“You have a fascinating collection of ornaments,” I say, keen to stay.
“We really should go home,” Penelope says.
“Don’t listen to her,” Maude counters. “Stay as long as you like, Grayson. Check out my knitwear. I’m sure there’s something that will fit you. You don’t mind wearing black, do you?”
“Grayson has to get to work.” Penelope sways a little but doesn’t fall. She clutches one of the shelves, keeping herself steady, but she drops her drink. Fortunately, the glass doesn’t break.
Maude gives Penelope a fleeting motherly gaze. It’s the first kind look she’s given her. “Promise me something, Grayson,” Maude says. “Look after her. She’s your problem now.”
“I’m not a problem.” Penelope lets go of the shelf and stands up straight, showing she’s in control. “And I don’t need looking after. My job is to look after Grayson.”
There’s silence, and I’m not sure I should speak. Maude steps closer and places her hand on my shoulder. There’s a glint of hope in her eyes. Then she nods ever so slightly and I believe I understand what she’s not saying. It’s an echo of what she’s already asked of me.
So, I consider how quickly Penelope got light-headed.
Someone who parties as much as she does should have developed a tolerance for alcohol, even when you take into account those empty cocktail glasses near her. She should only be mildly inebriated.
“Penelope has potential, if only...” Maude doesn’t finish the sentence.
“I am in the room.” But there’s little irritation in Penelope’s voice. It’s as if Maude has diminished her so often, Penelope is used to it.
What is going on here? I need to hear Penelope’s take on their relationship. But right now, I agree with my cottage witch. We should go.
“Do I need to come back?” I ask Maude. “Are there more rituals to perform?”
“Only if you promise to get a stiffy again,” the cat replies. “I haven’t seen Maude grin that much since our neighbour became a nudist.”
“No, but seriously, are there more rituals?” I enquire again.
The devil on the shelf shakes his head. And there’s a puddle in front of the clock. It has an empty space where its face once was.
“If you’re flooded with knowledge, there’s no need to visit me again. Penelope will keep me up to date with your progress, if she stays sober long enough to notice what happens to you.”
Another blank expression from Penelope. Another concerned look from Maude. And a random snicker from the cat.
It’s definitely time to go.
***
“Is Maude in your knitting circle?” I ask Penelope as we re-enter my flat through that stylish revolving door.
“She heads my knitting circle.” Penelope has a fresh martini in hand. “Wave your wand, Grayson. Make the door disappear.”
I do. My own front door returns in its place. I feel for my missing eyewear as I left my glasses at Maude’s. I dance on the spot, delighted at my perfect sight.
Then I glance at the time on the microwave. I can see the numbers perfectly and they haven’t changed since we left.
“I should leave so you can get ready for work.” Penelope is about to snap her fingers.
“No. Wait. There’s more I need to understand.”
“But you need to go to work.”
“Work can wait.” I consider calling in sick because I’m curious why Penelope drinks. And why Maude cares so much about her, even though she criticises her. “I need a friend to help me, because I feel overwhelmed.”
She beams. “Am I your friend?”
“You’re the best I’ve got.”
“Not the answer I was expecting.” She’s frowning.
“Am I your friend, Penelope?”
She looks to her feet. “I think you’re the best I’ve got.”
Her reply hits me with the force of a comet. As I stare at her I fully realise this is now my life. It twists and turns and at its centre is a cottage witch I’ve just called a friend.
I feel for my absent glasses again. I can’t deny all this is real.
“Why do you drink?” I ask, keen to strengthen what we have.
“I drink because I like to party. The two go hand in hand.”
“And do you party to deal with...?” I’m not sure how to finish this sentence.
“Do you stay at home to avoid people?” she asks.
I recall that note I made to myself, about being careful what I say when she’s inebriated.
“Penelope, I freefall. I see what’s in front of me and go with the flow.”
“Seriously?” She glares like Frankenstein’s monster. “Because all I’ve ever seen you do is run away. You leave your office parties after one drink, even though work is your only social outlet. You hide in this flat, avoiding invitations.”
“I don’t get invitations. That’s why I need you.”
“But you used to get invitations.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“Long enough to know you don’t have a life.”
Yeah, I really shouldn’t talk with her when she’s in this state.
“A twenty-three-year-old should be living it up,” she adds.
“Maybe we’re both running away?”
“I have nothing to fear. There are men dying to court me. Women wanting to be like me. And... and...”
We eyeball each other. I clearly see the hint of sorrow in her, with intense focus. “Tell me about your last party,” I ask.
“Jason looked into my eyes and...”
“Go on.”
“All the top shelf drinks were served.”
“By whom?”
“Our host.”
“Whose party was it?”
Penelope avoids my gaze. “It was someone’s party, Grayson.”
“Did you gatecrash?”
“No. I had an invite.”
“And who hosted the party before that one?”
“That’s easy. Angelique threw that ball. It was the event of the season.”
“Which season?”
“The season in which that party was thrown.”
“Do seasons exist in the magic realm?”
“It’s a turn of phrase.”
Like me, it seems Penelope has found her own way to avoid people. Her method involves not being present, having frivolous conversations, and welcoming the blackouts. She’s writing her own narrative through the haze.
Not unlike Milo and Summer creating tales for their followers. But at least they have each other.
And I have Penelope. I’ve got to make this work.
“Are you sure you’re not lonely?” I ask.
“I have my knitting circle. I have Petra and Doris.” She smirks. “Let me ask you something, Grayson. Has Milo been in touch since your date?”
I nod.
“Have you replied?”
She’s right. I’m not freefalling. I’m not doing anything that remotely resembles freefalling. Otherwise, I would have responded to Milo.
But getting close to anyone has been hard since Mum threw me out of home when I was seventeen. She claimed she was sick of trying to save me, whatever that meant. Since I left, I had to rely on myself.
I dropped out of school six months shy of getting my Year 12 Certificate. I scored a job. I rented a cockroach-infected bedsit.
And now, six years on, I have a better job. An office job. And an okay one-bedroom flat. And a sister who checks up on me whenever she’s back in town.
And I have Penelope.
“Sit,” I tell my only friend.
She considers my request for a moment, then seats herself on the carpet. I sit with her, side by side. She places her cocktail down.
There’s faint traffic noise outside. And a few birds tweet. Yet Penelope never snapped her fingers or waved her arm to make time move forward.
I don’t want to take off my stylish vest, but I can’t wear it to work. And too many fantastic things happened this morning. My waistcoat is part of my wizard journey. And once I’m fully qualified, will I even need a job?
My phone chimes.
“It’s Milo, isn’t it?” she murmurs.
I fetch my mobile then sit with her again.
“Milo’s following up on his text,” Penelope assumes.
She’s right. And she’s smiling, knowing that she’s right. And I’m warmed by her genuine interest in my love life.
“He wants me to go to the museum tonight. There’s a launch of a new exhibition he has tickets for.”
“Please, text him back. Say yes.”
“What if I sneeze and turn into a pumpkin?”
“You haven’t sneezed in the last few hours.”
“So what? It doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Penelope’s eyelids droop.
“You should sleep,” I say.
She turns her head toward nowhere in particular, then turns back looking dazed.
“Sleep on top of my bed. I have spare pillows and several spare blankets.”
“Say what?” She’s almost asleep.
“Walk with me.”
But she has two left feet as I guide her. So, I lay her down on my sofa. I grab spare pillows and a blanket, and she murmurs as I lift her head.
There’s no point going to work because even as I gaze at her, the fortune-telling sculpture, the living tree houses, and Maude, all play on my mind. I won’t be able to concentrate.
Plus, there’s a cottage witch, snoozing, whom I’m just getting to know. And while my heart tells me otherwise, it would be foolish to leave her here.
Because she has, after all, only just entered my life.
More evidence I don’t freefall at all.
So I sit on the couch, looking at her, wondering what excuse to give my boss.