Artie, the Good Witch

Excerpt

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a wicked, evil wizard. In his tall tower he dwelled, surrounded by the evil minions he sent out to torture the poor, unsuspecting souls of the human villages nearby.

This persecution ended when a noble knight braved the horrible dangers of the wizard's creatures and destroyed the vile being. The villagers rejoiced when they saw the knight burn the wicked creature at the stake and crowned the knight king.

Or so the story goes... But really, other than the "once upon a time," all that is a tremendous lie. Folk make up the stupidest tales, I'm telling you. Our kingdom isn't even so far, especially with the recent advances in technology. I'm particularly fond of the new model of broomsticks, but regretfully I don't own one. Most likely, I wouldn't even know how to use one. But I digress. The supposedly tall tower is a ruinous, pathetic thing, and the evil disciples are black cats that, granted, torture one with their yowls.

I would know. I live there. And of course, the wizard in question was just an eccentric old man who ate far too many pastries. Granted, he did have a wicked way with his staff, but unfortunately, this talent didn't help his cholesterol.

And so, Brennan, or Brew, as I called him, found his death through the consumption of a delicious �clair. Mind you, few people have this close knowledge of Brew's proclivities, but you're just a diary, so I trust you won't tell anyone. The thing is Brew's death is not only very sad, but also problematic for me.

You see, I am his grandson, and as such, I inherit his possessions: the tower, his cats, everything. Even you, my grandfather's magical journal. However, in the process, I also inherit his responsibilities, a tradition I find very stupid, but that is the way of the wizards. Believe me, I have many times tried to change his mind. I am not even a wizard, mind you, but a witch--and yes, there is a difference that has nothing to do with gender.

The old man was, however, a rock on this point, claiming he could not think of anyone better who could take on his important duties. "Artie, my boy, you just haven't found your way," he'd say. "You'll know when you do."

Oh, Goddess, now I'm crying. Perfect! Stupid old bastard! Why did you have to eat so much cake?

Anyway... Someone's knocking at the door. I'm going to check. I'm sure it's some creditor Brew conveniently forgot to tell me about. Perhaps I can just hide inside, but it's unlikely. Those damn loan-sharks have a way to getting anywhere these days. Damn it!

I closed the heavy journal, coughing as dust began to settle around me. It was a mystery why I'd decided to even open the damn thing. Perhaps it made me feel better to procrastinate rather than think about all the things Brew had left behind when he departed this world for pastry heaven.

I made my way down the dangerous stairs of the old tower, the experience of many years living here the only thing that kept me from falling and joining Brew in the afterlife. The stupid black cats seemed to dislike their new master, as they kept getting in my way.

"Would you stop it already?" I shouted at them.

Cat Number One gave me a bored look. "Sorry," it replied. "We're hungry."

Stupid feline didn't sound sorry at all. In fact, it sounded quite pleased with itself. I wished I had my grandfather's power and could set its tail ablaze. Unfortunately, as a witch, my only power was communing with nature. Lame, I know. So unless I talked the cat to death, I didn't have a chance of ever getting it to fear me.

With great difficulty, I reached the bottom floor. After an arduous trek among artifacts whose only purpose was to collect dust, I found the door at last. No lie. I found it. Due to a dubious spell that went awry one night when Brew ate some liquor-filled chocolates, the door now changed positions. Mostly, it remained on the bottom floor, although we did have some interesting episodes when Brew had been forced to levitate us to the ground due to the door's position. None of this was apparent from the outside, but in fact, if my unwelcome visitor tried to get inside, he or she would run into an interesting surprise.

Now panting--yes, I needed to exercise more--I opened the door. There was a man somewhere to my right, standing where the damn thing should have been. He turned as he saw me, and didn't look surprised at my sudden appearance.

He didn't look like a creditor, and I immediately bemoaned my decision of ever answering the door. He bore the clothing of the royal house, and I remembered that around this time, my grandfather would have had duties at the castle.

"Brennan Penedental?" the messenger asked in a pretentious tone.

I had the sudden urge to offer the man a handkerchief to blow his nose, but quickly suppressed it, and smiled instead. It was a smile I did not feel, of course. In spite of everything, I loved Brew. A part of me always thought the old man would live forever. He'd been there ever since I'd been born, a steady figure that never changed with the passage of time. How odd that something so mundane as a pastry would be the end of him.

Shaking myself, I replied to the messenger, "I'm afraid he is not here."

The man's expression didn't change at all. "I see." He analyzed me from head to toe, obviously finding me lacking. "And you are?"

The barely-masked disdain in his voice made me blurt out an incredibly stupid answer. "Artie... I mean, Arturus Penedental, his grandson."

I still had some trouble saying my full name, since in my opinion it sounded more pompous than the messenger who stood before me in royal garments. I regretted the words even as I spoke them. The man retrieved a piece of parchment from his jacket, and began to read.

"You are hereby summoned to the castle of His Royal Majesty, King Faren the Third, by orders of His Highness, Great Royal Wizard Evan the Wise, for the annual ritual of Beckoning."

He rolled the parchment once again and handed it to me. "You are to convey this message to your grandfather."

I considered my options. The first one would be playing dumb and not confessing Brew had died. The second would be telling the man of my grandfather's demise and begging him to grant me some time to mourn. Whatever I chose, I would nevertheless be bound to see things through. Brew clearly couldn't have a go at the ritual, and it was my duty and my not-so-delightful honor to do so in his stead.

What little I knew of the Beckoning was that it referred to the greatest wizards of the realm, summoning the energies of the Goddess to bless their lands for the following year. The old man always left around this time to do his job at the castle. However, I hardly qualified as one of the afore-mentioned. In fact, I couldn't even read the runes I'd need for such a thing. And besides, I was a witch, not a wizard.

I doubted the High Wizard Evan the Wise would care about my incompatibilities with his ritual. Distantly, I asked myself why wizards chose such titles. Even Brew used to have one. Brennan the All-Knowing. Bleh. If he'd been so all-knowing, he should've realized he'd die if he ate that damn cake. Besides, it was so boring. Why couldn't they choose something like Evan the Happy, or Brennan the Fat? At least it would sound cute and funny.

I beamed at the messenger, feeling smug when, for once, the man stopped looking so disdainful. If there's something I felt proud of, it was my smile. When used appropriately, it could have positively wicked results. I used to convince Brew to feed his damn felines with it, and occasionally, it even got the old man to stop eating so much. Too bad it failed that day.

My happy smile mixed with tears that, for once, weren't false. It must have created quite an effect as the man started blabbering and asking me if I was all right.

"I'm fine," I replied, sniffing discreetly. "It's just my grandfather died a few days ago."

The messenger made a sound of compassion. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"Thank you," I answered. "I just... I don't know what I'm going to do without him."

It was the truth, and I felt ashamed for confessing it to a stranger. I didn't know what would happen to me without Brew. The old man had been my anchor for so long. I barely remembered a time when he hadn't been by my side. My parents were nice, but flighty. They'd left me here many years ago, and although we did receive word of them on occasion, I never really knew where they'd gone. Even now, they were probably off chasing some illusionary pot of gold. I didn't mind. I loved them in spite of everything, but they were hardly dependable. Who could I ask for help in such a moment?

The answer came to me in an instant. No one. I couldn't rely on anyone but myself. Weeping wouldn't help me. The old man wouldn't want me to mourn him. He'd lived a good life and died doing what he loved to. It wasn't such a bad way to go. I would miss him terribly, but in his memory, I would go on and do what he always wanted for me.

I wiped my tears and tried to give the messenger another smile. "Just wait here for a minute, would you?"

The man nodded, although he looked a bit concerned. I entered the tower once again and went back up the stairs, stepping on the tail of Cat Number Two in the process.

"Hey!" it yowled. "Be careful."