Witch’s Daughter, Installment 9

*Lay back and pretend it’s Saturday, okay? – SAH*

*For the previous chapters, please go here. These are posted first draft, as the brain dictates to the fingers which are remarkably stupid. Eventually it will be cleaned up and fixed just before page is made secret/taken down and the book is published. At that time I will take lists of typos or volunteers to proof read. For now, it’s written in a hurry, usually an hour before it goes up. And, let me remind you, it’s free – SAH*


Installment 9

Happy Families

When it came to having strange relatives, Michael Ainsling felt he couldn’t throw stones.  Or rather he could, but it would be akin to standing atop a tower made entirely of glass and throwing stones at your neighbors’ windows.  Sooner or later, it was your tower that would come crashing down.

After all, his brother was the royal Witchfinder and had continued his avocation for decades, while the kind himself had forbid it by decree.  Seraphim, in fact, had broken royal edict to go to other world where magic was forbidden and punishable with death, and rescue magic users and shifters from the jaws of death.  In this he’d been aided by his valet, whom they all knew to be his father’s byblow.  What they didn’t know was that Gabriel was also half-elf and in the royal land of fairyland.  In fact, he was now the king of fairyland. And Seraphim, despite his transgressions against royal decree, had become the prince consort of the princess Helena, who would eventually inherit the throne.

His father, who wasn’t dead, had gone adventuring among the many worlds, with his mother.  His twin sister, Caroline, had gone to fairyland herself — he’d never understood why, and no one had ever explained — and fallen in love with a centaur named Akakios who had, for reasons also never made clear, been banned from fairyland forever, thereby

During the adventures leading to that outcome, Michael had been kidnapped into fairyland. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him there.  He had memories. They were all unpleasant ones.  But he couldn’t pin them down. The details, the certainty of what happened to him, tended to twist and turn in his mind, when he tried to think of them, leaving him confused, and more scared than the son of such illustrious parentage should be.  He couldn’t dodge the feeling that while in fairyland he had become something less than fully human. He’d been known to wonder if his family suspected the same and f that was why he’d been left alone at their country home while everyone else pursued their destiny.

But at least he thought, none of his siblings had ever turned into a goose.  He thought.  At least he hoped not.

He ran his hand over his face, feeling as though he’d been sandblasted since he’d first read the dead man’s letter over breakfast.  He’d somewhere along the line come to the conclusion the dead man was Al’s father.  But did that make her the byblow he’d talked about? Or was it instead one of his son’s he referred to.

He watched, past wonder, as Geoffrey, a tall lanky youth who would probably be attending a lever and starting his adult life, were this any kind of sane world, hugged Albinia, then gently nudged her aside.  Michael noted that Albinia was crying and wiping her eyes to her sleeve.  Since neither Albinia nor — Michael was sure — himself were noticeably clean after their adventures, this meant she was adding grey streaks to her face, to replace the dirt the tears were washing off.

He felt as if he’d fallen headlong in some kind of dream — at least it wasn’t the screaming nightmares he experienced after his return from fairyland — and waking up was long delayed.

Geoffrey advanced on him, full tilt and extended a hand, “Lord Michael,” he said. “my father talks much of you. He considers you the only genius to equal his to come along… well, ever. Or since Da Vinci’s magical inventions, whichever you prefer.”

“Your father talks…” Michael said.  He remembered heated discussions about the evil of necromancy around the dining room table and one thing he was absolutely sure of: without necromancy dead men didn’t talk.

“Oh. You imagine him dead,” Geoffrey said. He did not look a thing like Albinia, not having even the vaguest shred of red-headed bone structure.  His hair was dark, very straight, unruly, and looked like he’d cut it himself, in irregular swathes, by the method of chopping off whatever protruded onto his field of vision.  His eyes were also dark, and he had the jagged nose that Michael knew best from certain statues of the antiquity.  At the moment he looked amused, his lips twisting right in a smile that made Michael want to scream.  It was the sort of smile his older brothers knew better than to engage in, though they were much older and really royalty, or perhaps in Seraphim’s case, close to it.  It was the smile of an upperclassman laughing at the follies of a new student, or of a young man laughing at a toddler.

Michael refused to answer, because a succession of nannies, tutors and, yes, his older brothers, had beat into his skull that politeness was the requirement life placed on the gentle born, no matter what the temptation.  Instead, he raised an eyebrow, inquiringly.

The trick, which had taken him weeks to acquire, in front of the mirror, having seen their butler reduce an under-footman to incoherence by that expression, worked. Geoffrey seemed discomfited, as likely an outright rude response wouldn’t have managed.

“Oh. Well. Perhaps it is not surprising. But he’s not. He was put under a spell, you see, and whisked…. well…. here.”

Albinia made a sound of shock, as if the air had been punched out of her stomach, and as Geoffrey turned to her, she said, “It was mama, was it not?”

Geoffrey seemed to have forgotten his sister, so he looked surprised, then sighed, “Well, yes, Al. Who else? Who could have thus got under his guard?”

“And you?” Albinia said. She clenched her fists at her side and for the first time looked like she didn’t trust this man, whether he was her brother or not.

“Myself? What do you mean? I did nothing to Father?”

She made a huff of impatience. Michael felt as if he were familiar with it, having experienced it a few times during their adventures. He was also fairly sure that Albinia didn’t know she made that sound.

“Stupid,” she said, with remarkable fortrightness.  “Of course I didn’t mean that. I meant, did mother also spirit you away? Here? Wherever here is?”

Geoffrey pursed his lips. It was an odd expression, as though he were considering what to answer.  Which made Michael think meanly of his mind.  After all, if he knew he was going to meet them, and clearly he did so.  And if he knew Albinia’s curious nature, shouldn’t he have a slew of answers ready, whether they were the full truth or not?
But yet Geoffrey demurred and said, “Well, not precisely, but I think we can safely say it was at her command and instigation.  At any rate….” He sighed.  “The thing is our father was turned into a werewolf and sent back in time…. or perhaps to a world that doesn’t show to anyone’s scans.  And our attempts at freeing him have only locked him tighter.
And our father worries, which is why he decided to recruit you, Lord Michael, into helping us.  We wanted to do it earlier but Father said we had to wait until you’d reached the age of reason and could decide whether to help or not.”

Various things fell in place in Michael’s mind, starting with the fact that the letter, and possibly the golem, as well had been sent by that old wizard who had set the modern age in motion.  And that he’d — or probably she’d — hit Albinia’s father on the nose with light and force.  Well, that was an introduction.

But then his reason intruded, as it had the habit of doing, “What do you mean I could decide? You as good as kidnapped me and brought me here.”

Now it was Geoffrey who looked pained, as though his head hurt.  He rubbed with — Michael noted — exceedingly well manicured fingers at a pot above his nose.  “I’m not sure of that, milord,” he said.  “As nothing is as we planned.  We did not, for instance, plan to have Al come with you, and I’m at a loss for how you even met.”

Albinia and he spoke at once.  She said “He saved my life,” while Michael, his memory on that moment when she’d grabbed onto the smog-fetch and come with him said “She tried to protect me.”

Then Michael cleared his throat, “That is a discussion for another day,” he said.  “Are you saying that if I don’t wish to help you, I can just return to my family’s estate and my normal life.”

The smile was still sardonic, but Geoffrey looked bitter, “Father says without a doubt. Is that what you wish?”

“Geoffrey,” Al interrupted.  “You shouldn’t be the one doing this.  Where are our brothers?”

“Well,” Geoffrey said.  “That is part of the trouble. It’s…. complex.” He then turned to Michael, “So, milord, you’ll turn tail and run and leave us mired in our own difficulties? I guess it’s your prerogative.”

Michael tightened his jaw so hard it hurt.  He knew what he must look like, having watched both his brother’s do it. He knew he’d thrust his chin forward, and that his eyes reflected his anger at this Turkish treatment.  He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was so precise, so cultured, no one could accuse him of incivility, but he knew he was being grossly uncivil all the same.  “You have a curious means of applying to a boon.” He dusted an imaginary speck of dirt from his sleeve, which in fact was so tattered and suit covered that it would be impossible to tell dirt from fabric, and spoke in tones that did their best to ape Seraphim’s.  “Let’s suppose you behave like a normal human being seeking a troublesome favor from another and tell me what this is all about, all of it.”

He looked over at Al, who hesitated. For a moment he wondered if she’d be offended at him, and for some reason the idea bothered him, though he could not say why.

But Al squared her chin, and stepped over to stand next to him.  “Yes, Geoff, suppose you tell us.  Everything, please. Half truths are no way to go about requesting someone leave everything to help you.  It pains me to agree with her but you know what mama always said about your manners and temper!”

Geoff opened his mouth, then snapped it closed.  He flushed a dark red, which proved that Al’s hit had gone home. “Very well,” he said. “if that’s what you wish. But it is a great waste of time.”




45 thoughts on “Witch’s Daughter, Installment 9

  1. *squee!*

    –And I need to reread the older bits again, I think. I keep missing bits.

  2. I have to agree with Lord Michael’s opinion of Geoffrey. Kidnapping a man is no way to ask for his help, and an orderly exposition will be required before Michael can do anything at all.

  3. I would be sorely tempted to blink twice at a “request” like that, and inform whoever was “asking” to go continue their family’s obvious tradition of fornicating themselves.

    Prolly wouldn’t, ‘cus I’d figure they were trying to make sure I refused for some reason, but I’d be tempted.

    1. Got to agree that Geoff isn’t endearing himself to me here. I’m willing to give him a chance, because I like Al and Al clearly loves him, but he’s got a bad first impression to overcome.

  4. Re: Foxfier’s comment the other day about her fast Iowa internet….

    Cedar Falls Utilities, a small privately owned ISP, officially has the fastest internet connections in the US. Ever in history, as well as now. According to PC Magazine’s tests, it’s ridiculously faster than its nearest competition, and leaves Google Fiber in the dust.

    Goooooo, farmers!

  5. Is Geoffrey operating under the ’15 minutes of human a day’ limit that I saw in the original ‘six swan brothers’ fairy tail? I can see him being concerned about how much time he has to exposit, in that case.


    1. In which event … HOW much time has he been wasting with tricksiness? Hmmm? Grin

      1. Well, it’s not like this is going as he’d hoped to arrange, so now he’s floundering. Not the best reaction, but his rehearsed statements aren’t of much use anymore.


    2. Not FIFTEEN minutes, but yeah.
      Also his development has been stunted. He’s acting like the young teen he was. And his dad is a genius and massively not in touch with people….

      1. You know, the trope of “dad remarried horribly and didn’t notice the girl being abused” makes a lot more sense if dad was an Odd.

        1. I’m unclear on how much chance of observation he’s had — as noted, I need to reread, but didn’t one of Albinia’s early POV sections mention not actually remembering him?

          1. Yes, it did. Augusta moved quickly once she knew she was pregnant with Albinia.

              1. Oh, you HAD to hit my funny bone— “until she went to try to kill her, she wasn’t THAT mean.”

                The versions I’m most familiar with have her doing the neglect/isolate/alienate routine instead of physical abuse. That’s probably a mix of copying Cinderella, and to contrast with Cinderella, plus IRL predatory stuff.

                    1. They’re a lot more consistent than you might think (she says, with Sleeping Beauties: Sleeping Beauty and Snow White Tales From Around the World in hand).

                    2. I’m aware of the broad-strokes consistency, thus the repeated pointing out that it’s a detail/elaboration point, and that it wasn’t physical abuse.

                    3. Pointing out that you are repeating something that’s not disputed is — not actually an argument.

                    4. While insisting that some collections of a specific group of folk-tale are valid because they have a detail, while other variations that use a different one are not, is an argument. Just not a good one.

                    5. Your little folk tale purity pissing match literally started from my mentioning that most of the ones I grew up reading had a specific feature.

                      They’re literally named “Sleeping Beauty.”

                      You can find them piled six deep at Goodwill, assuming you’re allowed through the door right now.

                      TWO of them in the book shelf next to me have variations of the queen’s treatment being “cold.”

                      So, shockingly, I don’t care what you wish to insist is normal, no matter how much you wish to have a fight.
                      Were we friends face to face, I’d be quite willing to give you a screaming match for mutual stress relief.
                      As we are not, you’re just wasting my time.

                    6. “I was actually thinking more like Snow White”


                      “They’re literally named “Sleeping Beauty.””

                    7. Sorry, I mistakenly typed the name of the story mentioned by the person who responded to an attempt to share mild amusement who didn’t launch into a barely passive aggressive folklore purity snit.

                      Snow White makes it just one in arm’s reach with her being cold, two with her isolating her and taking away pretty clothes, and one where it’s phrased as “treating her cruelly.”

                      Reader’s Digest fairy tale collection, only after a long period of hatred, envy and malice.

                      Time for Fairy Tales and 20 timeless tales has it in immediate response to the mirror’s statement when the girl was 7, no statement on behavior before that besides “pride.”

                      Can’t find the one that uses the “bolt from the blue,” one of the girls took the Grimm’s collection and can’t remember where she was reading it.

                      That’s before the pre-YA-rewrites get rolled in.

                    8. You do realize “the girl was seven” does not contradict “bolt from the blue”?

                    9. And then you get Mercedes Lackey and her Five Hundred Kingdoms versions. The Sleeping Beauty was a real hoot.

                    10. Rather enjoyed most of those books, especially once I found out that I wasn’t imagining Pratchett homage everywhere.

  6. With regard to this chapter’s:
    But did that make her the byblow he’d talked about? Or was it instead one of his son’s he referred to.

    The earlier mentions are:
    1. Tristam Blackley’s letter where he says “dowry for her whelp”, the “her” being Tristam’s late-in-life, evil wife, and the “whelp” being a daughter (as only girls require a dowry).
    2. When Al is dressed femininely:
    “Albinia Blackley, milord. At your service.”
    Michael realized, with a start, this must be the whelp that Tristam Blackley had spoken of. A bastard child?

    I’ve not found any indication that “whelp” indicates illegitimacy, so I don’t know why you had Lord Michael think “A bastard child?”, or “the byblow”.
    Or how he might think “one of his son’s”.

    Also, you use “golem” in this chapter. I think you are referring to the “Gather” creature that grabbed Michael. If that’s the case I think “golem” is a poor substitute as it threw me out of the story.

    1. Um…. look…. I’m writing these while exhausted. I usually do several edits to bring things in line. There are already other inconsistencies. TRUST me that I’ll get it okay? I did for Witchfinder.
      If you go and rearead the letter you’ll see the penumbras Michael is getting…. It’s not supposed to be CLEAR. Yet.

      1. I do trust you to get it in editing, but I will admit this is why I went hunting the letter again a couple of times myself.

      2. Well, get it in editing or unconfuse things at the appropriate time. Now that I know the confusion is part of the story rather than something I missed or forgot, I will stop worrying about it. *laughing*

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