Daffi’s gaze collided with the record book. A leather-bound tome, it was almost as big as she was, only the tip of the feather quill showing above the top edge as Sybil added an entry.
“Being consistently late, breaking museum rules... tsk tsk, Miss McGee,” Whipsnide shook her head. “You need to be very careful or I may have to reconsider your employment here with us. Although, with these offenses, one could begin to wonder if you even want to be here anyway...”
The blood drained from Daffi’s face. She couldn’t lose this job. She loved it, and it was all she knew how to do. Jobs in the city were scarce for witches like her... a middling ability kitchen witch who couldn’t find her away around a kitchen.
Sure, her mom and gramps had tried, but after she’d set fire to the stove for the third time, they’d let her retreat to her books. So if she lost this job... she’d either have to wait tables, a horror all its own... or go home in disgrace. Her parents would welcome her, of course, but she could already see the concealed disappointment in their smiles.
“No, no,” she said hastily. “I love it here. I love working at the museum... it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
Ms. Whipsnide gave a harrumph… or possibly it was her imitation of the mating call of the long-extinct Cornish pygmy water buffalo. It was hard to tell sometimes. Daffi, sensibly, kept that opinion to herself. The last thing she needed was to exacerbate the situation.
“Well… take this as a warning,” Ms. Whipsnide advised condescendingly. “I want to see a marked improvement in attitude and timekeeping.”
“Yes, Ms. Whipsnide, of course.”
“Good.” She sniffed, picked up the paper from her desk, and unfolded it with a snap. The headline screamed, “Second La Fay daughter found!”
“You are dismissed.”
Daffi left the room like all the hounds of hell were on her tail, finding Garlick outside waiting for her. For a moment she was sure she’d caught an expression of concern on her familiar’s face. Then he went back to washing his ass.
“What did the evil queen want?” he asked as he nibbled a particularly stubborn patch behind his balls.
“Shhh, don’t call her that,” Daffi hissed as the door opened behind them to reveal Sybil. The other witch swept them with a cold look, sniffed, and walked off in the opposite direction.
“Come on,” Daffi murmured. “We need to get back upstairs.”
Garlick bounded after her.
“So, I gather the conversation with her high bitchiness didn’t go well?”
“Another mark on my record,” she admitted unhappily, heading for the back stairs. Hidden behind a statue of the Pendle witches, she was forced to wait for a gaggle of tourists to move out of the way before slipping behind Mother Demdike’s skirts to reach the stairs. “Apparently I shouldn’t have shrunk the dragon. I should have ‘cordoned off the area’ and fetched someone with the appropriate staff training.”
“Huh. Crispy fried kid. Plural.”
She hopped onto the gently rotating stairwell, Garlick at her heels.
“What do we do?” she whispered as the cat hopped up a couple of steps to bring him to eyelevel with her.
“Do?” He swished his tail, blinking at her. That was the thing she’d always found fascinating about him. He didn’t have green eyes like most of the feline familiars in her family, but more a golden color that reminded her of burning embers.
“Yeah… about?” She jerked her thumb up toward their floor and its hidden fae king. The one who’d announced she was his queen. Right before she’d locked him in the broom cupboard.
“Burn it down. The whole place.”
“What?” she squeaked, grabbing onto the guard rail as the stairs changed direction and spun them up toward their floor.
“What?” Garlick blinked. “No evidence that way. Whipsass can’t pin anything on you then. Can she?”
He had a point. “Well no... but that’s not the point. How about something a little less... arsony?”
He grumbled, like a train running through a tunnel. “You never take my advice.”
“You need snuggles? You’re always grumpy when you need snuggles.” She leaned forward, hiding her smile as she reached out and scooped him up.
“For crone’s sake, I do not need...” His eyes crossed as she scratched behind his ears. “Oh, go on then.... yes, just there, mortal slave.”
She paused. “What?”
“What?” Garlick blinked and just for a moment, she saw flames in his eyes.
“Can you keep the demonic stuff down a little?”
“Will you just keep scratching? Just there, behind the ear?”
“Of course.” Daffi smiled and scratched again.
Garlick rattled like a broken engine. “I suppose it’s a deal. Don’t suppose I could get you to sign to that effect. Could I?”
She just chuckled and scratched his ears more. He was such a funny little cat.
Her section was quiet by the time she got back, and with a sigh, she set the “closed for cleaning” sign up in the open doorway. In the best traditions of British museums everywhere, it was not enchanted or be-spelled to deny entry but relied on the innate politeness of visitors to obey the rules. So far, it had a hundred percent success rate.
She shrugged to herself. That could also be because the staircase to the Doggerland section was hidden behind “Magical Traffic Signs through the Ages” and so far up in the eaves that most visitors got altitude sickness before they got halfway up here.
“Think tall, blond and Wingy stayed in his box?” Garlick asked, struggling from her arms to trot across the floor, his tail waving like a fluffy banner.
The magical circle was partially burned away and nowhere near its former glory. For a moment pride filled her. She had gotten those sigils right. They were interdimensional portal ones… which she so would not be repainting. There was no way she wanted to risk a second fae incursion. Once was bad enough, had been contained and… overall seemed to be innocuous.
“I’m sure he’s been perfectly well-behaved,” she replied to Garlick, biting her lip as she
