Chapter 20
Twenty
-PENELOPE-
This is not my bed.
And my head throbs like there’s an ice pick wedged in my forehead. I caress the pain and try to make sense of my surroundings, even though my eyes are stinging.
I’m alone. Whoever I had sex with last night is gone. Who was he? And where was I last night? The Mystic Moon? The Pickled Possum? A private party with city views?
I ease back onto the plump pillow, considering if I need to throw up.
Sticking my fingers down my throat while perched over the toilet will make me feel better once the evidence of my misdemeanour is flushed away.
It always does. And it reduces the hangover.
But that works best if I spew before I go to sleep.
My fear of facing a dirty bathroom is keeping me in bed. Too many of my one-night stands never heard of spray-on mould killer.
I could wave my arm to make the headache go away, but that doesn’t always work. I have a hard time with spells in this state.
Although I did conjure mass nudity while I was legless.
I twirl my arm and my pain turns to a dull thud.
Now, who was the lucky man I made love to last night?
There’s a decorative glass ashtray with a pamphlet on top of it, and the more I gaze at it, the more I see it is chockfull of cigarette butts. The leaflet is obviously there to trap the odour. My standards are slipping. I lick my lips but there is no taste of my lover’s tobacco breath.
Some of my clothes are strewn on the wooden slat floor, and there’s someone’s red shirt, white t-shirt, and blue jeans next to them. And there’s a pair of black pants closer to the closet, also on the floor.
Huh? Did I have two men in bed with me last night? What a score!
But this is really strange. I often have blackouts but never after sex. I like to remember making love.
Am I losing control? If so, what’s changed?
I vaguely recall the court case, the naked bus ride, and Maude helping me home after we visited that weird friend of hers. Shit! I hope this isn’t his place.
I think back. I do remember feeling proud of Grayson. He played lawyer sticking up for the man he loves. Grayson has come along in leaps and bounds. I’m honoured to be his teacher.
Yet while that pompous judge showed Grayson and Milo no respect, I let them down. My purpose for being there was neglected for the sake of another drunken night out.
At least I saved their pretty little arses with my spell. And come on, you have to admit. They both have pretty little arses.
I’m eyeing a digital alarm clock and something is wrong, but I’m not sure what. It’s a feeling. A sense of dread, and it’s not over last night’s shenanigans.
I listen. Not a sound. And I’m determined to stare at that clock for over a minute because I have a theory about why my Spidey senses are tingling.
A whirlwind of silver stars materialises in front of me, and the traditional chiming of old-fashioned spells, similar to a music box, is killing the quiet.
“Hello Daughter.”
“Hello Mother.” I shiver with dread. “You’ve stopped time.”
She looks around, evaluating the type of man I slept with last night. The ashtray makes her grit her teeth in disgust before she returns her gaze to me, lifting a brow. She shakes off her revulsion. It’s her theatrical way to remind me I’m a disappointment.
Mother snaps her fingers and a green cocktail appears in her hand. She tilts her head, a subtle gesture for me to look at the bedside drawers. She’s conjured one for me and perhaps the hair of the dog is what I need.
She’s wearing white, and surprisingly, she has the figure for it.
“Did you discover a liposuction spell?” I ask.
“Are you going to get out of bed, Daughter?” Mother takes a few steps to inspect the clothes on the floor, then picks up my blue top. She kicks the men’s clothes aside. “I can’t see a skirt or women’s slacks. Are they downstairs?”
Of course, I have no idea but I can’t let her know. I whirl an arm and I’m in an ugly grey jacket. I lift the covers and see my pants are just as hideous. Something is around my neck. I feel. I’m wearing a bow tie.
“Yes, Penelope. It’s just as unsightly as the rest of your outfit.” She drops my shirt. “Now, get out of bed.”
I do, slowly, because I’m nauseous again as I stand on my bare feet. “Why are you here?”
“I want to give you a purpose.”
“I have a purpose.” I clear my throat because it sounds raspy, like Grayson’s did when he was that dog creature. “I’m helping a trainee wizard.”
“Really? You?” She shakes her head before sipping her drink. “Is that who’s missing from this room?”
“No, Mother. He’s gay.”
She snickers. “That’s never stopped you before. I told you that Sam fellow buttered his toast on the flipside. But you still went ahead with that wedding.”
“Please.” I instinctively raise my hand like a traffic cop, in vague hope she’ll shut up. I taste my cocktail. I think it’s made with Midori. And it’s not too bad.
Mother is peering, and it’s creepy. She’s not usually creepy. There’s something different about her.
I gasp. Her stunning dress has blood red lines snaking upward from its hem. And smoke is rising from her cocktail. Mother’s eyes are turning black, losing the distinction between iris and pupil.
I jump back under the covers. “I’d lose the hat,” I tell her. “Witches’ hats are so passé.”
My throwaway comment about the hat was to hide my fear—something I’ve learned to do throughout this relationship. And she’s giving me her usual superior attitude, but I’m not used to her substituting glamour for this weird wicked witch aesthetic.
“Where’s the fire and brimstone?” I’m still trying to make light of this.
“Fire and brimstone? I only use that on people who disobey me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My purpose. The reason I came here.” Mother turns to show off her outfit. I’ll give her credit. It’s well done. “This could also be you, Penelope.”
I hiccup. She’s the only person who sets off my nerves like this. Even Maude doesn’t make me hiccup.
“I have a new role,” she continues. “I need an offsider and I thought of you.”
“Do I have to dress like you?”
“If you want to be taken seriously.”
“No. I’m busy with Grayson.”
“Penelope, aren’t you curious?”
“You’re obviously terrorising someone, Mother.” I really want to add she doesn’t need the costume for that, but I keep that to myself.
“I get confessions out of criminals.”
“Aren’t there spells for that?”
“Yes. But that takes away the fun.” Her grin is overly sinister.
“Who are these criminals?”
She cackles like the caricature witch she currently is. “Well, they’re not exactly criminals. More like political prisoners.” Mother snickers.
I leap out of bed and reach for my shirt. “I don’t know what you got yourself into but it’s not for me.” I reach for the bowtie and yank it off. Mother’s right. It is just as cringeworthy as my jacket and pants. I change my top and put on my heels. “This is the end of our conversation, Mother.”
I take a step. She grabs my arm.
“Come on, Daughter. You like to dress fancy. This is just fancy dress.” She gestures to herself and I’ve just noticed how bony her fingers have become. “And it’s a blast seeing grown men cowering in their boots.”
“Mum, what on earth has happened to you?”
“I found a purpose for my talents. I get to play a fairy-tale baddie while having more fun than guiding helpless magic folk who fart or cough or do what have you, then try to make them into fully formed witches and warlocks.” She lets go of my arm, but I don’t move.
“Aren’t you slightly curious who these political prisoners are? ”
“No, Mother, I am not.” I shudder. “How did you get yourself into a job like—”
“It’s a hobby, Penelope.”
“I don’t care. Who accepts a role like that?” I glance at her drink. “Were you drunk?”
“No, I wasn’t drunk when I accepted this job, but I was when I fell into the arms of Renzo.”
“Who’s Renzo? A dictator?”
She’s tight-lipped.
“Mother! You’re dating a dictator?”
“He’s not a dictator. He’s just misunderstood.”
“Why are you helping a dictator?”
“He’s not a dictator. He just needs help with some people who have the wrong opinion of him.”
“Like what? That he’s a manchild?”
She sighs. “Penelope, I know you. You’re always seeking a new thrill. A new high.” She smiles, warmly, with her blackened lips. “And you’d have fun creating a wicked persona. Yours could be more dominatrix and less witchy.’
I yell in frustration.
“Imagine the fun you could have,” she continues.
“I had one man on his knees in a pit full of spiders. Deadly ones. He stayed perfectly still until one bit him. Then he pledged allegiance to... I mean, he amended his ways and became a model citizen.” Mother’s greenish teeth are showing.
“Then there was Hector. He tried my patience every time he needed rewiring. But spiders weren’t enough.
Neither was the vat full of poison. Or snapping his ribs one at a time.
You know what did it in the end, Penelope? Can you guess what broke him?”
I’m glaring at her. This thing that interrupted my one-night stand and looks like she’d devour small children in a stew is spooking me in ways which feel personal.
“Penelope, all daughters grow into their mothers. I’m just offering a way for you to accelerate into the woman you were always meant to be.”
She said it. The very thing which is haunting me. I notice the little veins around her nose and her cheeks. There’s no mirror in this room so I conjure up a handheld one. My face bears the same little roadmaps.
Mother was always a drinker. She’d throw a party for any occasion, at any time of the day. The upside was that suddenly, there’d be someone who’d take an interest in me. Someone to wipe my snotty nose, or play with me and my toys.
Being fully present for someone is important. Sadly, she wasn’t. Especially at those parties she’d take me to when I was too young to walk, and she’d forget I existed until someone brought me home.
“Mother, you don’t want me to be your offsider. You want me to take over your torture so you can spend more time with your dictator.”
“You know me well. Like mother, like daughter.”
“And that’s what scares me.”
Mother is turning back to herself, with all red disappearing from her clothes and her pupils returning to their natural shade.
She’s making me rethink my dependence on alcohol. Partly because she looks beautiful again, as even her witch’s hat is now as white as her dress. It even has an embroidered floral pattern on it.
I am her. Just a younger kinder version.
Nah, let me cut to the chase. I’m the better version.
“What’s the matter, Penelope?”
“You’re actually concerned about me?”
She caresses my cheek. “You may think I’m heartless, but I’m committed to the ones I love.”
“Like your dictator.”
“Renzo.”
“I don’t care what his name is. I’m just waiting for the day you show the commitment you have for him, to...” There’s no point in saying it.
Because from this moment on, it doesn’t matter anymore.