Minerva Gold and the Wand of Silver Pt. 03

"I am in so much trouble," Minerva whispered.

Then she started to giggle uncontrollably.

A few moments later, Mr. Dartmoth emerged from the bathroom, naked save for a pair of bright polka-dotted undies. He looked bewildered - but his voice found vent.

"Minerva Golding!"

Minerva gulped, then stood and walked forward as Mr. Dartmoth glared down at her.

He had no idea what had happened - transfiguration had a rather deleterious effect on short term memories, and no one else had seen his transformation, nor his return to human form. This was merely bizarre. Not inexplicable.

That didn't help in the slightest.

***

Two days after she had been fired, Minerva found out that she could not survive on magic alone. She had been fairly sure with the simple food casting cantrip, she could pay her rent with her savings and keep cost down. But even if she had not noticed the problem, her Thamaturgy book explained the problem. Magic involved the transference of energy - but that came, in part at least, from the willworker in question. Hence why...after her third meal conjured from thin air, Minerva lay on her cot, groaning and clutching her belly, her stomach growling and her head swimming and pounding with the intense headache of someone who was desperately hungry. She closed her eyes and buried her face against her pillow.

There was no free lunch, it seemed.

Petunia, to Minerva's embarrassment, noticed her woes and brought her a quick bite to eat that she cadged from the grocers. Minerva wolfed the food down and sighed in relief as the nearly supernatural (or, maybe, there was no 'nearly' about it) hunger faded away into nothingess. She had explained the problem to Petunia, and Petunia had shrugged and said: "Well, you need to get a job then?"

Minerva frowned. She didn't want to get a new job. She wanted to keep studying. An Introduction to Thamaturgy had been slow going for the increasingly technical chapters on the fundamental basics of wand movements. But...

She had other books.

That evening, her stomach growling faintly, Minerva laid back and stuck her nose into the belly of Alchemical Reagents of the British Isles by Stanley Stanndersbrook-Sweedenberry. She closed the book, then, and grinned brightly. She locked her bedsit behind her and tucked her wand into her back pocket. She started down the stairs, checked outside to make sure no one unsavory was about, then stepped into the evening twilight. The faint hum of the electric streetlamps warred with the occasional sound of a late night auto driving by along the roads as Minerva hurried down the street.

Her feet ached by the time she arrived at the edge of King Edward's Memorial park. The lonely pillar that stood for the old King sat in middle of green and grass and Minerva looked left, then right. She saw a few tramps sleeping under the trees, a reminder of what might happen to her, had she not the Hexgramatica in her future. She walked to one of those trees, then knelt down. She started to scribble on the ground with her wand, reaching into her purse and pulling out the book on Alchemical Reagents. She peered in, then kept drawing the rune more carefully.

The rune began to glow and when she lifted her gaze, she saw that there was a new view of the park around her - glittering, humming fireflies that flitted about...but rather than the normal color of fireflies, they were an eerie purple that flared and dimmed as they flitted about. Minerva's smile was huge and unguarded. "Fae fires!" She whispered, holding out her palm. One of the fae fires drifted down to settle on her palm. "The prime ingredient for a number of potions."

She had come prepared. The jar that had once held jam had been kept in her bedsit for months and months, waiting for a chance to be used. She had never imagined that it'd be for this process. Minerva caught one, then another, then another, clapping the lid down each time as she made sure to stay nearby the still glowing rune she had carved. After she had captured the fifth, she was feeling giddy with excitement. These could be rendered into potion base - or she could maybe sell it in the Fleet Market, or...or anything! She laughed as wind blew through the tree beside her, creaking the branches, brushing the bright orange leaves together in a quiet susurration.

Minerva thought it was pretty.

Then she...swore she could hear the sounds of of...

Of a voice?

Then the wind picked up.

The branches scraped together.

And a real voice truly did whisper from the night around her.

"What are you doing?"

It was a wind voice, a whistling voice of leaves and branches. It made her skin prickle and crawl as she heard it. Minerva stammered. "W-Who is that?"

The wind blew louder. A newspaper, discarded during the day, whistled past, and for a flash, she saw the hint of Mosley's smug face. Then it was gone, vanishing into the night as the wind picked up more.

"It is I."

Minerva spun around. She looked behind herself.

"Where are you?" she asked, backing up a bit more.

The wind blew again.

"I am here. Behind you?"

She spun around.

Minerva Golding found herself looking at a tree. The very tree that had been rustling. Her brain refused to quite make the connection far longer than it should have. She clutched her jaw of caught fae lights against her chest and stammered. "Y-You're a tree?"

"And you are a wizard," the wind hissed and whistled.

"I..." Minerva blinked. "Trees can talk?"

The wind made her hair blow to the side - not quite straightening it, but coming close.

"Of course," the tree said. "Why is this a surprise? We were here before your kind walked on two feet. We watched when you pulled down the moon and made her weep in the seas. We were here when you split the skies and made the stars. We have watched, and we have made our patterns for you, for you, my daughter-walking."

The wind settled and the tree seemed still. Then a branch rubbed against a branch - and croaked out a word that seemed more threat than anything else. "Now tell me what you are doing."

Minerva gulped. "I'm gathering fae lights t-to sell them."

The tree's wind sighed and leaves blew away from the branches, fluttering and tumbling, end over end. The sigh was so sad and so tired. "My daughter-walking, my sweet summer child, my flowering bloom, do you not know? This park is owned by the Blythe family. It has been enclosed by their law for a whole of my kind's generations. To take from it is poaching and will be punished by the Faewarden."

Minerva's face went cold.

"You there!"

The voice was sharp and fierce. She snapped her head around and saw that a man was striding past the tramps. He had in his hand what looked like the middle ground between a walking stick and a shotgun. It was currently being used to support him as he walked, but she saw the grips that would let him hold and aim it like a rifle. It was like a wand, but much larger. He was clean shaven, young, tough, and wore a jacket with a bright silver crest on the side and a bowler cap that looked like it was several years old and quite threadbare.

Minerva froze.

Then she started to run, holding her fae light jar in her hands.

"Stop!" The faewarden shouted. He swept his staff up - and held it like a rifle, putting the but to his shoulder, aiming the tip at her. "Cidak Slan Wif!"

The tip of his staff exploded with a bright purple bolt that whipped as fast as a bullet. Minerva, though, had started to throw herself flat as she heard him incant. She skinned her elbows on the pavement she had reached and the purple bolt shot over her head and struck the edge of a building with a spray of powdered stone. She scrambled to her feet as he spoke again - and this time, the bolt slammed into the ground by her feet. She ducked into the alleyway, panting heavily. It seemed that spells had to be aimed, just like guns.

Well.

She had a gun as well.

Minerva drew her wand, then ducked out. The Faewarden was jogging towards her, staff cradled in his arms.

"Cidal Slan Wif!" she shouted, trying to thrust her wand as he had thrust his staff. To her delight, the energy that leaped from her wand tip came forth immediately and whipped straight at him: He was just across the street from her and not even trying to take cover, though he did stop as she started speaking. The bolt struck him and he let out a braying laugh.

"I ain't no wif, missy!" he said. "but you did just make it interesting..." He sounded all too happy that she had tried to fight back. He popped his staff up and growled out the first word: "Cidak-"

Minerva threw the jar at his head.

The jar flew out, struck him in the side of the head, rebounded, and clacked against the ground. The glass, to her shock, was thick enough to not immediately shatter. Instead, it skittered away as the man stumbled and groaned, his staff dropping from his hands to the ground. He clapped his hand to his head, groaning as Minerva rushed out, snatched up her jar, then turned and ran back. "You little bitch!" he howled, furiously, as Minerva ran into the alleyway. She heard him crashing after her, running into a wall, stumbling into some bins, then bursting out as she came to the next road and looked around frantically.

Before she could decide which way to run, a figure appeared before her - so fast that they seemed to have arrived between blinks. Minerva gaped.

The figure was robed, hood covering their head, and was perched upon a broomstick. Minerva had been to the broomstick store - but still, seeing it hovering in the air-

"Get on, you silly bugger!" the girl - for girl she was - hissed.

Minerva needed to think not at all. She leaped onto the back of the broom, which bobbed under her weight, and then held on tightly as the girl leaned forward and the broom accelerated down the street, then shot upwards into the air so hard and so fast that Minerva felt blood rushing from her head to her feet. The girl let out a little 'hee!' and then twisted around in the air - the broom's front swinging around. Minerva, her heart in her throat, looked down and saw the Faewarden was looking left, looking right...but not looking up.

"I always hated that man," the girl said, shaking her head as she brushed back her hood, to reveal a fountain, an overabundance, a sprawl of brilliant fox-red hair which billowed out and around her shoulders. Her nose was a button, her cheeks were spread with more freckles than there were stars in the sky, and her eyes were cat green. She beamed at Minerva, who's heart was thundering faster than when they had pulled up in the air. "He didn't get you, right?"

Minerva gaped at her.

"Did he curse your tongue or something?" the girl asked.

"N-no," Minerva said, shaking her head. "I...sorry, I...who are you?" She asked, realizing that she had an arm thrown around this woman's belly, holding her quite intimately.

The girl giggled. "Virginia Blythe III, of the Dublin Blyhtes! At your service. Sorry about my father's Faewarden." As she spoke, she tightened her grip and her knees - her broom darting down towards one of the fancier townhouses. The place looked dim and dark for the evening, and one of the windows on the top floor was open. Minerva opened her mouth to cry out, but before she could, Virginia shot through the window! The window frame whipped past Minerva so fast she had no time for more than a moment of fright, and then Virginia swung herself off the broom as it twisted into the room, landing on a large comfortable bed. Minerva, still clinging to the broomstick, was flung against the wall with a loud thump. She fell off, then hit the floor.

"Are you okay!?" Virginia exclaimed as Minerva forced herself to her feet. Her side felt like it ached badly, but-

Thumping sounds mixed with the sound of distant music and conversation. A late night party was going on in this house - and someone was stomping up the stairs. Minerva's eyes widened as she saw that Virginia heard as well.

"Hide!" The redhead hissed.

Minerva threw herself flat and scrambled under the bed - wondering if she had leaped from frying pan to fire. The door banged open a moment later and a tall, lean man of about her age stepped in. He looked like he was still being beaten quite badly by puberty, his pale cheeks marked and marred by what seemed to be as many pimples as Virginia had freckles. His hair was the same bright red, but it was cut in a short, severe military cut and combed flat. He was also dressed in...in...a black shirt, with a silver lightning bolt, a belt hooped around his hips, and tight black pants.

"Gina!" The redhead blackshirt snarled. "What are you doing up here?"

"Practicing my wandcraft, Roland," Virginia said, her voice dry. "Don't you have more jackboots to lick."

"Gina..." the blackshirt glared right at her. "If you ruin this for me..." He lifted his hand up around his head, as if he was measuring how fed up he was with her.

"I'll be quiet as a church-mouse," Virginia said, her voice dry. Roland scowled at her.

"You better," he said, then slammed the door shut and started back down the stairs.

"What a prig," Virginia said. Then, quietly. "You can get out of there now, little witchling."

Minerva rolled out from under the bed, still clutching her mason's jar. She panted softly. "Thanks," she said. She blinked. "I take it you're not a fan of your..." She made a guess. "Brother's political leanings?"

"I hate it," Virginia said, scowling as she reached down, grabbing Minerva and yanking her to her feet. "Rolly doesn't even believe all that guff about the white race - he's Irish! We're Irish!" She shook her head. "Half those pricks would be happy enough to beat him black and blue - but he's a good wee little Sheamus." She made a face. Then she grinned. "So, why are you stealing from us? Is it like, some kind of political act? Are you trying to embarrass Lord Blythe and Ars Magica?"

Minerva laughed, raggedly. "N-no," she said. "I didn't even know that land was yours."

"How?" Virginia looked honestly gobsmacked.

Minerva laughed. She brushed her hands through her hair, set her jar full of fae lights against the counter, then explained. She explained about the mageogram, she explained about getting fired, she explained about needing to find a way to make money. She explained about all of it - and her stomach added its punctuation to the end. Virginia looked shocked at her mundane origin, delighted at the story of Mr. Dartmouth and the spell that had turned him into a pig, then appalled at her desperation. "You have to be starving!" She said, then clapped her hands twice. "Titania!"

A white flower bloomed out of nothingness, unfolding until it was the size of a small chair, petals spreading outwards. From it stood the most devastatingly beautiful being that Minerva had ever seen in her life. The woman - for woman she had to be, despite her alien appearance - had cut glass jaws and deep oceanic eyes that swirled with umbral blackness. Her lips were the same hue as her eyes, dark against her chalk white skin, and her hair was a glittering silver curtain that draped along the floor. She was completely nude, her breasts bared, tipped with pale, pale white nipples. Her ears were long and tapered to fine points and her body showed not a hint of body hair below her eyebrows. She bowed elegantly to Virginia and Minerva.

"Who is that?" Minerva whispered, her voice husky.

"Oh, this is our house fae," Virginia said, casually. "She'll do anything you ask of her."

"Anything at all," Titania crooned.

Minerva's heart thudded in her chest. She wanted to drown in those eyes. "Anything..." She whispered, her eyes locked on her.

"Yes, even that," Virginia said, chuckling.

"W...what?" Minerva blinked, having barely heard her.

"You're worse than my brothers," Virginia said, chuckling. "Now, Titania, my guest here has a serious need of some food. Maybe...pork chops?" She suggested. "Oh! We have some delicious fresh caught shellfish."

Minerva was trying her best to judge if Virginia simply had not realized she was Jewish or if the other woman was being insulting when Titania let out a musical laugh. "I am afraid I cannot provide either such meal to the young miss," she said.

"Whyever not!?" Virginia exclaimed. "You're our house fae, aren't you? She's our guest-"

"A stronger geas than yours compels me, my lady," Titania said, her voice a musical tinkling that made the hair on Minerva's skin stand up on ends.

"I'm Jewish," Minerva said.

Virginia's face went as red as her hair. "T-That's not kosher is it," she whispered. "Is that the right thing? Kosher? Oh heavens." She put her hands over her face. "Oh! Oh! No! I'm so sorry."

Minerva laughed - a mixture of genuine amusement and a heady dose of sheerest relief. "It's quite all right," she said, while Titania let out a musical chortled.

"The roast beef is quite fine, my lady," she said.

"I'll have-" Minerva started, but before she had even finished, Titania held out a silver tray, with plates and dishes and cups on it. It wasn't just that the meal was utterly sumptuous. It was that it was there and she was so. So. So hungry. Her stomach growled and she grabbed onto the tray without thinking, snatching up a fork once it was settled on her lap. She opened her mouth...then closed it, forcing herself with such an effort of will that it wrung a whine from her lips. "Ahhhhhh can I eat this safely?"

"Of course you can," Virginia exclaimed.

"She's Titania, though," Minerva whispered. "I've read Shakespeare."

"Oh she's not that Titania," Virginia said, laughing. "When my great grandfather bound her, he named her that. Her real name is a family secret. That and her nudity have kept her in service my whole life, and my father's whole life, and his father's whole life." She smiled, brightly. "But she likes it, don't you, Titania?"

"I always did prefer the Bard's comedies, yes," Titania said, dryly. "Now, if there is no other service required?"

"Just one!" Virginia said. "The guest room, can you conceal it in a glamor? One that my brothers and father can't see through, of course."

"If they ask-" Titania started.

"That's fine, they won't even know to ask!" Virginia said, then beamed at Minerva. "You said you needed a place to stay. Well, you can stay in the room under the glamor - then, when father's out doing his boring political meetings and my brothers are at their jobs, you can come out and we can spend time together." Her eyes were bright and her nose was twitching with amusement - as if she were a pleased mouse. "It'll be famous."

Minerva chuckled. "You will hide a Jew in a house? When your father and your brother are part of the Union of Fascists?"

"They're not part of the Mundane fash," Virginia said, as if that made it better. "They're Ars Magica. And they're much less obsessed with Jews than others are - they said so themselves. They're still prigs, mind, but they're not that kind of prig."

Minerva looked skeptical. Virginia looked so eager, so earnestly hopeful to be a help. And Minerva...didn't exactly have a place to stay. And she was starving. She stopped deciding and chose - nodding and giving Virginia a huge smile.

"Deal."

She started to tuck in - devouring roast beef as quickly as she could.

"I will set up the glamor now," Titania said. "Be seeing you...Miss Golding."

Minerva felt a shiver rush along her spine at the way that Titania had said her name.

But then the fae was gone - bowing out of the room and spreading her arm to the side.

Virginia squealed, then flung her arms around Minerva's shoulders, squeezing her tightly. This ended up mashing Minerva directly into Virginia's chest - which was far from modest, and even farther from, being concealed beneath fabric and cloth.