6. Inconsequential
SIX
INCONSEQUENTIAL
Though lesser beings may lack our savior faire, they are not without cunning or ambition.
Underestimating one’s foe due to their compromised bloodline is dangerous folly. Vigilance must be maintained, for even the weakest creatures can pose a threat when left unchecked.
The art of true superiority lies not only in quiet confidence but in the constant awareness that, though we are above them, the unworthy are ever seeking to pull us down.
–EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: UPHOLDING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES
Minerva couldn’t forget about the squirrels.
She’d promised to drop off the books for their book club by the end of the weekend.
Naturally, she despised disappointing anyone, but it was particularly dreadful to let down the squirrels.
She knew how vindictive they could be. Failing to deliver their order promptly would result in her gutters being full of acorns.
She’d planned to deliver their books as soon as she’d finished her morning tea. That part, she remembered clearly.
Minerva blinked, trying to get her eyes to focus.
Everything was so blurry. And she wasn’t in her bed.
Where was she, exactly? The side hall? For heaven’s sake!
She could just barely make out one of her blue willow baskets on the side table beside the door.
It was still full of colorful books meant for the squirrels. So she had not made the delivery.
The squirrels were reading the latest buzz-worthy bestseller to make a splash on the Ordinary charts.
Same as always. They were a lot like lemmings in that regard.
Minerva thought the book was mediocre, ?but that hardly mattered to them.
They never actually read the books. They just liked to accessorize with fashionable novels and hear themselves chatter. And they loved tea parties.
Minerva liked clean gutters.
She had stashed some hazelnut shortbread, marmalade tea cakes, and a hunk of coastal cheddar in the oversized basket, as well as the books.
She recalled setting the basket down on the bench by the side door and wrapping a hand-knit gray woolen shawl around her shoulders.
It was cold enough for a proper coat outside, but she was just popping next door.
The squirrels held their book club meetings in the neighbor’s attic.
Minerva had planned to leave the basket on the porch like she always did.
And then she’d heard…something? Hadn’t she? Something had made her leave without the basket.
Only now did Minerva realize she was lying on the bare floor. The planks seemed wider than usual, and the wood grain expanded. She sat up and smoothed her calico skirt, desperately trying to catch her train of thought. Her memories felt foggy, like a dream you’ve already started to forget.
She’d been angry. She still felt angry. Minerva redoubled her efforts to concentrate. Why was she so angry? Because of Zephyr? That old nutter was going to break her heart again, wasn’t he?
All at once, she remembered.
Zephyr had been there. She’d heard him shouting outside. He hadn’t been alone. She’d heard two voices coming from the side yard. The men had still been arguing, even after she’d ejected them like schoolboys. They had some nerve coming back onto her property for round two.
That wouldn’t do. She’d had more than enough and wasn’t about to have her entire day ruined by ?a ridiculous argument over an outlawed Ordinary candy bar.
Or had they moved on to something more substantive?
The men were still shouting loud enough for her to hear them.
But she hadn’t been able to make out what they were saying.
She’d thrown open the door, leaving the basket behind.
It was all coming back to her now. In bits, pieces, and larger chunks. She remembered going outside. But she was less sure how she’d gotten back in.
When she’d stepped out the door that led to the side yard, the argument had seemed to end. She’d been hopeful. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to have words with them after all. Maybe they had already resolved the argument. She’d almost turned back, just before she reached the garden shed.
But then she had felt the first crackling of dark magic. Colorful, breathtaking, and dangerous. It stung her eyes and burned her throat like smoke. Her skin prickled with the spark of it. It was like being surrounded by poisonous fireworks. It had seemed to originate inside the shed.
“Zephyr?” Bright blue burst of stars had exploded around her as she called out his name. Shimmery trails floated to the ground before disappearing into gray dust.
Minerva had cracked open the creaky shed door, squinting as she peered into the darkness. “Zephyr? Enough already. What’s going on here?”
She’d almost tripped over him. His flyers were flapping on the concrete floor, edges singed. A few of them were burning. Zephyr hadn’t looked like himself, crumpled on the ground like this. Shrunken. Shriveled.
“Zephyr! Get up!” Minerva had commanded, waving her small wooden wand frantically to put out the flames before the entire shed caught fire. She hadn’t even stopped when the key to the Mudpuddle dropped from her pocket. She had been so determined to save Zephyr’s life that she didn’t care.
“He’s not getting up.” The man’s tone was callous. Almost bored. “It’s too late.”
How could it be too late?
Minerva’s tiny heart pounded as it all came flooding back.
Her body felt too small for her heart. Like it might beat right out of her chest. Her vision was still so fuzzy.
And so was her face! Fine, silky fur covered her face from chin to forehead.
And so were the tops of her hands! She blinked down, staring at them with disbelief. They were more like…paws?
When she jumped to her feet and spun around, Minerva was stunned to see a long piebald tail trailing behind her. Her long braids were gone. In their place were a pair of small velvety ears.
“Apollo’s arrow!” When Minerva tried to speak, she squeaked. She sounded exactly like her rodent friends from the alley.
That mage! He had done this to her. She hadn’t been able to stop him. She should have been able to stop him. But she’d been in shock, seeing Zephyr that way. He’d still had cookie crumbs in his clothes. Her cookie crumbs.
“What have you done?!” Minerva had cried out, whirling to face the mysterious mage who’d wandered into her shop earlier, her wand still drawn.
“Nothing, really. He was old and so worked up. I tried to get him to calm down, and then I tried to save him. I don’t know. Must have done it wrong. He just collapsed. I guess it was just his time. Sorry, Minerva is it? Terribly tragic.”
The words of sympathy had rung hollow as he bent to retrieve her key, slipping it into his own pocket.
“The sad bit is that we could have avoided all of this if you’d just fetched my family’s grimoire for me.
” He’d eyed her with pity as if she were a doddering old twit.
“You should probably put down your wand. You seem confused. Is there someone we can call?”
“You’re lying,” Minerva had said, holding her position.
“Minerva, please, stand down. You might hurt yourself.” The mage had taken a step towards her and just then she’d spotted the tiny tattoo on the inside of his wrist. A small lotus flower blooming inside a crescent moon. She recognized the Nocturnaturals logo.
“Who told you about the Archives?” Minerva had asked. Then she’d sneezed.
Something had smelled wrong. The burning smell. Dark magic was always acrid. But it rarely smelled like melted plastic.
That mage had worn the stench of synthetic magic, like it was his signature fragrance.
“Does it matter?” He’d shrugged, finally giving up the act. He pulled the key from his pocket and dangled it from an extended finger. “Now that I’ve got the key, I can just show myself in.”
The Hecate he would! “You’ll not get past the front door without my permission,” Minerva had scoffed. Key or no key, the Mudpuddle wasn’t unlocking for anyone whom its caretaker perceived as a threat.
“Then I guess I’ll have to get someone else to help me. Perhaps I need to talk to the owner?”
He knew. He knew she was not the Mudpuddle’s owner.
She’d pointed her wand at him, but she wasn’t fast enough. He’d effortlessly dodged her fire and laughed coldly.
“Silly old witch!” he’d fired back. “You’re like a little mouse. I’m guessing that if you disappeared, nobody would even miss you. How does it feel to be so inconsequential?”
Minerva had cast again, a disarming charm that focused all her remaining energy.
But it hadn’t worked. Her spell slid off him in small balls, like water beads rolling off waxed canvas.
The magic regrouped on the ground, only to ricochet drunkenly off the shed wall.
She’d watched in dismay as her weakened spell bounced off the wizard again.
It splashed as it hit the ground, bursting like a spent water balloon.
The wizard had quirked a smug half-smile and leaned forward like a ravenous scavenger to suck up whatever dregs of magic were left. Her magic had gathered like mercury at the tip of his ridiculous-looking wand.
Minerva’s tiny mouse nose wrinkled and her whiskers twitched in distaste.
She was not normally one to criticize a wizard’s wand, but that thing had been an abomination.
Like a dime store disco ball or a child’s toy.
She was ashamed to admit that she’d been so gobsmacked by the absurd instrument that she’d failed to dodge the rather pedestrian curse he’d cast with it.
All at once, she’d felt the world whizzing away from her. Or perhaps it was her whizzing away from the world?
It had been impossible to know what was happening. She’d been so dizzy and disoriented as she shrank and changed. The only thing Minerva had known for certain was that she needed to get back to safety. She had to get back inside the Mudpuddle.
The open side door had seemed like it was getting farther and farther away. And it was swinging shut. She’d known what was coming next. The Mudpuddle, sensing danger, was getting ready to pull a disappearing act.
Minerva turned tail and sprinted for all she was worth. She’d run as if her life depended on it, which she was sure it did. The gap was barely a sliver by the time she got there. No human could have fit through. But Minerva wasn’t a human anymore. She was a mouse.
She’d squeaked through the door a millisecond before it had slammed shut.
Which was how she ended up passed out on the floor, with dust in her fur. Safe inside her home. Safe and alone. Grief stabbed at her soft parts.
Oh, Zephyr. He was never quite her Zephyr. But that wouldn’t stop her from avenging his death. She would put an end to that synthetic magic-wielding wizard, or she would die trying.
A terrible thought occurred to Minerva as she recalled the wizard’s words. He intended to speak to the owner. Did he know the Mudpuddle was owned by Maida Westabrook, an Ordinary? If so, she could be in terrible danger!
She needed to send a message to the Society. Just as soon as she reversed the curse he’d cast on her.
Minerva patted her tiny pockets, feeling for her wand.
Surely it was still there? Her clothing was intact.
She had her needle and thimble. Her tiny coin purse held a few minuscule pennies.
But there was no wand in her wand pocket.
She must have dropped it. It was unthinkable to be without her wand.
Horrifying. She hadn’t been separated from it since her mother had made it for her when she was a child.
What was she going to do? She was a highly skilled senior witch, but she couldn’t do complex magic without her wand.
She definitely couldn’t undo a spell of this size.
Particularly in mouse form. For the first time in Minerva Lathrop’s one hundred and eight years she was going to have to make do without magic.
Fear, frustration, grief, and the rumblings of an empty tummy assaulted her all at once. A tiny tear slid down her furry mouse face. She chased it away with the tip of her tail, which, having grown on her, was starting to grow on her. She could tell it was going to be a useful appendage.
Minerva filled her tiny mouse lungs with air, and exhaled. There was no point in wallowing. She’d simply have to figure out some other options. She started by helping herself to some treats in the blue basket.
The squirrels were going to have to make do without them.