You've Got Another Thing Coming

When the rotund little witch closed the door after her, handing out promises of freshly-tailored clothes as she went, Cherokee and I took one single look at one another and burst out in tears.
Well, I did, at least. As big drops streamed across my hot cheeks, Cherokee rubbed his neck awkwardness. “What’s the matter?” he wondered roughly, not comfortable enough to look at my blubbering self.

“We’re bastards!” I sobbed, hiding my steaming face in my hands and letting shame overcome me completely. “We’re the most righteous lying bastards I’ve ever known, and I’ve known more than my share of politicians!”

Cherokee pulled a hand through his hair and tugged it slightly, something I had noted he only did when he was upset –which was pretty much whenever he was around me – and didn’t really know what to do.
“We got what we wanted, though,” he reminded me. “They remember nothing ‘unflattering’ of our previous stay and now they’re offering us a free room and clothes.”

I looked up from my wet hands and glared. “And how does that in any way make you feel any better about this?”

He shrugged. “Well, we could be a pair of talking toads right now if it hadn’t been for the entire family’s selective memory disease.”

“Not good enough,” I growled. “We deserve it, to say the least. Not only do we abuse their hospitality and friendship, but we also steal from them and then come back and pretend everything’s all right!”
‘
Cherokee shrugged again, something he seemed to have honed to perfection lately, and said, “We’ll make it up to them sometime.”

“How?” I wondered simply, but dried my tears and stopped, stopped, stopped my sobbing. Wiping the back of my hand across my eyes, I also added, “and where’s the bathroom? I need to freshen up.”

“If your attention span hadn’t had the durability of a peacock’s my life would be much more difficult,” Cherokee commented with an unbecoming sneer. “But I’ll figure something out when the time is right, and the bathroom should be through that door, there.”

He pointed to the only door adjoining the room and turned his back to me, pointedly signalling that whatever cry-fest I’d been participating in and however fun it had been, it was now over.
Grudgingly I slammed the door open, slammed the door closed, slammed the door open again and asked him if he could pass me the fresh towels on the chair by one of the large, open windows and slammed the door shut again after he did so.

It took a while, how long I cared not to note, but when I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a white fluffy towel I was and felt cleaner than I had been or felt in ages. As Cherokee was nowhere in the room to be fond, I let the towel fall to the floor as soon as I gazed upon the neat pile of clothing left upon the foot of the bed. A squeal of true, girlish delight escaped my lips as the pile included fitting underwear (I hadn’t worn a brassiere in ages!) in white cotton, a blue dress with enough lace on it to make a 17th century man go pale with envy and a pair of shoes which looked well enough to stand in and could perhaps even be persuaded to be walked in if a situation so required.

I tossed it on, relishing in the scent of clean clothes and peeked into the mirror to see what effect it had. I found myself to be quite pleased with the clothes – I could even overlook the amount of frilly lace – but the thing that stared out from atop the neckline had me gasping for breath. My hair, in its usual unruly fashion, looked like a deserted birds’ nest after a bad gale, but without aforementioned item’s required charm and flair. Three combs lost half their teeth and one disappeared into the mess before I found a brush sturdy enough to take on the job of sorting my blonde hair out. After a horrendous struggle I managed to get it to look acceptable and I even accomplished the difficult task of taking a ribbon – it came with the clothes – of the same colour as the dress and mêlée-ing my hair into a nicely-looking bun.

Content, I slipped on the shoes and took them for a trial spin around the room. As I didn’t fall I deemed them acceptable and dressed for success I hobbled my way back down in search for my husband or, even better, food.

I found none of the things I was looking for when I reached the spacious, wood-panelled room that was the restaurant slash bar. It was a dimly-lit room, the large windows which lined the walls were covered by heavy, amaranthine-coloured curtains and the randomly stationed candelabras as well as the bulky chandelier were unlit this early in the afternoon. Just enough sunshine seeped through the windows to give the abandoned area a soft, mysterious feeling. I nervously glanced at the empty bar desk, urging one of the random witches to pop up behind it in order for the strange feeling of the room to go away. As of by magic, or perhaps it was, one of the random witches did appear, but from behind me.

“Mrs. Rubiginosa?” she said, it was one of the little ones; if I recalled correctly her name was Tilda. Spinning around, I started at the sound of my new title, unused to good manners as I was.

“Oh, hi!” I squealed, pressing a hand to my surprised, beating heart. Deciding to skip down a few decibels to my normal voice, I added. “Can I help you with anything?”

She fidgeted. Strands of her hair kept falling into her eyes and she impatiently swept them away as she caught my gaze with her grey one. “Actually, I was wishing to find both you and your husband. Do you know where he is?”

“Uhm,” began I, “I…really have no idea.” I smiled sheepishly.

As of by magic, and perhaps this was too, Cherokee walked out from the kitchen door, behind the bar desk. “Ah, Tilda, how lovely to see you!” he expressed, sucking up and not seeing me in the dusky light. “Chrissy said you might have something to show me?”

Tilda nodded, quiet-like. “Yes, and how fortunate I was to find you both here,” she said. “If you would please follow me, I’m sure you are interested to see what we’ve discovered.”

At the mentioning of the word ‘both’ Cherokee cast another glance around the room and spotted me standing with one hand pressed against my chest. He had obviously also found some means to freshen up; his shaggy, white-blonde hair practically shone in the dim light. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white t-shirt under an open chequered shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I felt the heart under my hand quicken its pace.

“Oh,” said he in appreciative tones upon discovering me. His lilac eyes widened and a crooked smile graced his lips as he took in my figure. I smiled back, my heart now pounding furiously in my suddenly tight chest.

And then someone cleared their throat. “If you would be so kind as to follow me?” suggested Tilda, and without waiting to see if we would she marched out of the room through the same door Cherokee had come through.

I cast Cherokee a confused look and saw him shrug before we both bolted off after her. She led us across the vast kitchen and over to a side-door, where the location of the pantry made its presence known by the alluring scents of cheese, herbs and wine combined. The young witch threw the door open and marched us in, passing rows and rows of delicious foodstuffs that reminded me it had been a while since I had eaten those tree-chocolate treats. She stopped in front of a cupboard and gently opened it, regarding us carefully as she stepped back, though keeping a solid hold of the knob if she would need to fling the cupboard shut depending on whatever there was within.

”Erm...yes.” Tilda shifted nervously from foot to foot as me and Cherokee gaped into the cupboard. “We found out about it just this morning. We don’t know how long it’s been like this.”

Inside the cupboard there was, most prominently, dust but also a bundle. It was surprisingly large and I was a bit surprised how it actually fitted into the cupboard in the first place, but it was lying there and by the look of it had been doing just that for quite some time now. All of a sudden the bundle shifted slightly and produced an odd sound.

Cherokee regarded it apprehensively. “Do you know what it is?” he asked and reached out an arm to pull me behind his back into a safer position. Of course I ignored this attempt and without any regards to personal welfare, or anyone else’s for that matter, I poked the bundle eagerly. It squeaked girlishly and thrashed a bit, this time with more feeling, and practically rolled off its shelf.

“Stop that!” Cherokee slapped my hand away and glared from the corner of his eye, whatever appreciative feeling he held for my outward appearance now pushed aside by him being himself. “You don’t even know where it’s been! It could be dangerous!”

Little Tilda frowned at him and renewed her grip on the cupboard’s knob. “Do you really think I’d let her – a human! – get in the way of anything even remotely harmful?” She sniffed indignantly. “I have more self-preservation than that!” For a moment I considered becoming offended but upon consideration I deemed her generally worthier of more sense than I had proven to obtain during these travels.

“Fair enough,” Cherokee said as he seemed to reach the same conclusion. “So that means you have a clue to what it is?”

Tilda again shifted her feet and seemed oddly interested in the floorboards, though she answered hesitantly. “We, um…think it might be…a creature.”

I huffed. “Well, that’s informative,” I sarcasm-ed, but Cherokee silenced me with one of his copyrighted glares. “Go on,” he urged Tilda as she colored slightly. “It’s, I mean we think it might be… well…”
She took a deep breath as emotions – embarrassment, fear, doubt – flitted across her face. As it settled on deadpan determination she pushed the other feeling aside and went for it. “It’s a damned fairy, that’s what it is!”

My eyes popped open wide and next to me Cherokee inhaled sharply. After a moment or two he seemed to gather himself into an infuriating calm and asked, quite aptly, exactly which fairy it was.

“It’s your bloody sister, that’s who,” grumbled Tilda. Without having time to think about it I grabbed a hold of Cherokee’s arm and dragged him behind me – well, honestly, I ended up dragging myself in front of him and sprawling my body across his to keep him from getting anywhere near the young witch. He surprised me, however, by standing absolutely stock-still.

“My sister, you say?” he asked, almost pleasantly and absent-mindedly pushed me aside like a rag doll. Tilda, a bit belatedly, took in the full situation and found it wisest to make some strange patterns in the air. Her finger glowed blue and gold as it trailed shining figures before her which disappeared soon after. “A protection spell?” Cherokee raised his eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Do you think it will help you when my sister is lying budded in your cupboard?”

Tilda didn’t even look at him as she replied, “These certainly will, they are specially designed to keep off thieves, berserkers and homicidal creatures.”

“Oh, honey!” Gleefully smiling I grabbed Cherokee’s shirt and yanked a bit. “You match all those descriptions!”

“Quiet, woman!” he hissed down at me. “Can’t you see I’m getting infuriated here?”

I let go of his arm and decided to be nice for a change. Obviously I had more faith in Tilda’s magical abilities than his brotherly rage. “Oh, all right,” I conceded. “Go ahead, have fun.”

Smiling, I watched Cherokee inhale and then happily let his temperamental activities loose on Tilda’s protective shield. The young witch’s expression of grim concentration was enough to make my heart melt, but as Cherokee berserk-ed on she didn’t move an inch. This gave me the quiet satisfaction of seeing Cherokee so absolutely donkey-arsed angry he actually did not know what to do which made him do anything and everything in his power, which was quite an astonishing sight. However, I let the two magical beings to brutally savage each other on their own and poked my head back into the cupboard and the aforementioned bundle which was supposed to contain my sister-in-law.

“Rose?” I whispered to where I thought her ear might be located. The bundle was a very snug fit which made it hard to tell. “Rose, is that you?”

The bundle squeaked and shook, and issued a long whine. This sounded so much like how I remembered my sister-in-law, so after finding a knot I immediately got to untying it and letting her loose. It took me a while, but nonetheless after a few false starts I freed the two rope-ends from each other and unwound the bundle as best as I could. Unfolding layers of leaf-like fabric I soon found some strands of white-blonde hair, and as I carefully un-wrapped her, Rose came into sight.
It wasn’t the same Rose I was used to being annoyed with, but a thin, grey-skinned creature with two enormous lilac eyes staring hopelessly into space. She so resembled a plant that had been left in a storage room without any lights that I instantly began looking for a watering-can. As I found nothing but a few dust bunnies and an ant-infested drive-in theatre (I had yet to learn not to open random doors) I soon left the pantry in favour of the kitchen. There I grabbed a pot hanging from the ceiling and sent a silent prayer to heaven that one of the staff wouldn’t find me nicking the utensils. I filled the pot with water from one of the large cisterns and rushed back into the pantry, ignoring the mini-war that was still being relished close by.

I skidded to a halt and tossed the water straight in Rose’s comatose face and waited for some kind of reaction. She did not disappoint. As the water hit her skin, Rose absorbed the fluid like a sponge and swelled visibly. She burst out of the cupboard, all alive and action and threw herself around my neck. “Thank you, Callie!” she yelled into my ear, kissed my cheek and bolted straight out the door without so much as a glance back.

“Wait!” I managed to sputter out in all my amazement. A second later she poked her head through the door, looking harassed.

“What?” she demanded, but not harassed enough to not say, “When did you become blonde?”

Finding nothing better to say as well as choosing to ignore the comment about my hair I settled for the good ol’e: “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Her face wrinkled with something that could have been called resentment on someone less pretty. “I know what’s going on and I need to stop it!”

“What?” I asked, too stunned to actually do anything. “What’s going on? What needs to be stopped?”

“Gotta go!” she yelled as she pulled her head back and set off soaring into the sky. “I have to find Pears!”

I ran after her, staring into the sky as she was whisked away on the winds until she was out of sight. A movement behind me caused me to turn around, and I saw Cherokee with one hand shading his eyes, looking up and looking confused. “Was that my sister?”

I mimicked his position and frowned. “If it was, she definitely has some explaining to do when I get my hands on her again.”

Tilda walked out and stood in front of us. She sighed. “I was afraid she might do that…” she said, glancing momentarily at the well-studied sky. Cherokee let his gaze drop to her level and another frown to grace his features. “You expected her to run away like her bum was on fire and yell about fruit?”

Tilda started to glare at him but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “No,” she said instead. “I was afraid there was a reason she was in a bundle, trapped in our cupboard, and that she might now wish to seek revenge.”

“Is that what’s going on?” I asked her, seriously deprived of any sort of sense and meaning in the last couple of scenes. And belatedly added: “Revenge on whom?”

The young witch shrugged as if to imply that she was speaking theoretically, that she didn’t know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth – so help us, Gods. “Let’s get inside,” she suggested. “I think we need to tell Grandmother about this – if she doesn’t already know.”