Standing on one of the floating landings that connected the stairs to the various sections of the museum, her neat navy suit and leather pumps screamed designer with a foghorn, but the little pin badge on her lapel gave her all the power she needed.
The title “Manager of Museum Cleanliness” was embossed in gold on the little enamel pin. AKA bitch in charge of terrorizing all the staff when Ms. Whipsnade wasn’t around… a duty Sybil took very, very seriously indeed. She’d even made the statues in the Magic of Ancient Mesopotamia exhibit cry the other day.
According to Meg, the gorgon caretaker who kept the museum’s stone-based exhibits in good order, the statues hadn’t looked “perky” enough. And apparently one of them had “looked at her the wrong way,” which was entirely possible. The three statues they had were of old dudes, and John, so-called because no one living could say his original name, was fond of pinching the bottoms of female visitors. There was a sign warning them and everything.
“My section was cleaned thoroughly before I left last night,” Daffi replied still wearing the winning smile as Sybil’s platform reached her level. The other witch stepped off onto the same step. Her mom had always said, “Smile, even if you hate the bastards. And if you can’t smile, imagine them on the toilet… or wearing Nana’s nightie. That should do it.” But she didn’t think even that could help with Sybil.
The other woman’s lips pursed as she looked down at her clipboard. A nail painted with something expensive like “sorcerer’s nights” or “Coco-cadabra” tapped the surface lightly.
“Museum bylaws state that all sections must be cleaned every morning ready to receive visitors.”
Another smile, but this one was strained. “My section is perfectly clean. Would you like to come and inspect it?”
Sybil sniffed, and her gaze flicked past Daffi. “That will not be necessary. I hardly think visitors will actually know the difference… You’re Dogsland, right?”
“The Magical History of Doggerland and Doggerbank,” Daffi announced proudly. “Yes.”
The nail paused. “Dirt and more dirt. Not real magic then. I hardly think anyone will bother even setting foot in your area, so I think I can let this slide… just this once, mind you. I expect your section cleaned by nine a.m. sharp every morning. Understand?”
Garlick coughed like he was hacking up a hairball, making Sybil step back quickly. Yeah, cat puke on those pumps would be an expensive cleaning bill.
“Yes, yes of course.”
“Of course… what?” Sybil asked pointedly, hand cupped behind her ear.
Daffi gritted her teeth. “Yes, Miss Bulcock.”
The other witch grinned like a viper with a set of false teeth, her ego stroked.
“You may go,” she decreed imperiously, turning to walk down the stairs.
“Seriously,” she hissed under her breath. “I do not know why the faculty bothers with mixed-blood witches. So… homely.”
Daffi’s steps faltered, her stomach dropping like a lead balloon.
“Ignore the bitch,” Garlick muttered on an undertone. “She’s just jealous. Don’t let her get to you.”
“Yeah, right. Of course not,” Daffi replied brightly, but her smile slipped just a little, the day a little less bright as she reached her level and stepped off the gently rotating staircase.
Okay, so maybe now her day couldn’t get any worse…
She took a deep, cleansing breath as she walked through her area. Each of the museum’s staff were responsible for their own areas, which contained exhibits from specific periods of history. Her area was the Magical History of Doggerland and Doggerbank… an ancient land that was flooded by water over ten thousand years ago, separating the British Isles from the rest of Europe and leaving just a tiny island full of magic users.
That little island had held on until the Middle Ages, when a freak magical storm had sunk what remained, and it had passed into memory. Historically speaking, Atlantis it was not… but there were some interesting archaeological discoveries from a few mermaid teams. Daffi had even been able to interview one of the last remaining survivors, an alchemist who remembered growing up on Doggerbank. She was damn proud of her little area, and it showed in the care she took of it.
“Morning, Meg!” she called out, forcing herself to be chirpy as she spotted the caretaker in her high-visibility jacket. Just to be safe, she waited for a few seconds until Meg had slipped the hand mirror into her pocket and turned around.
“Hey, girl,” the gorgon said, her snake-like curls hidden beneath a brightly colored headscarf. Daffi leaned in to get a closer look. Yeah, the print was tiny little snakes in crowns and beefeater costumes. She ignored the movement and hissing from beneath the fabric. It wasn’t polite to ask or mention it.
“Cool scarf. How’s it hanging today?”
Meg grinned. “Do ya like it? Picked it up at the market the other day when shopping. Got one that has snakes in sombreros as well.”
“Looks awesome! Very apt. How are the repairs coming along?”
“As good as new. Look…” Meg ran a hand down the stone column she’d been working on. The building was old, and some of the masonry work was crumbling in places, which meant it was an ongoing job. Some areas, though, like the columns that supported the floors and roof had to be dealt with right away. Otherwise no way would Meg have been sent up to Daffi’s area. A gorgon, she mended the stonework by filling the gaps with anything to hand and then turning it to stone. But Meg’s power worked a little… differently than most. She could only turn things to stone if she looked through a mirror, like the little hand mirror in her pocket. Which, on the whole was far safer for everyone
