Page 8 of Potions and Proposals
The other shoe finally dropped.Lucy pressed her lips together; Gwendoline’s earlier comments must have been merely a show of politics, and this was her true intention.
“My actions?” Lucy asked, resisting the urge to look at Benedict.
“Did you not put piranhas in the manor fountain?” Gwendoline purred sweetly. “Or jinx our teacups to turn into butterflies?”
“I admit that.” Lucy blushed at her childish behaviour being outed. “I may have taken the prank too far, but they were only koi fish. Even if they didn’t present that way at first. And who doesn’t love butterflies?”
“Our guests, who stampeded out of the breakfast room in fright!” Gwendoline produced a magazine from the pocket of her silver robe. “And then there is this.” She cleared her throat, and the rest of the families leaned forward in their chairs, eager to listen.
“‘Last month, my family and I visited the luxurious and classically designed Matherson Manor in the quaint town of Foxford. The isolated town is known for its mystical shops and yearly Autumn Festival. Previously when assigned to review a hotel, I have always attended alone. However, after reading so many glowing reviews from others enchanted by the town, I thought it would be the perfect place to bring my family. Upon arrival, the woods surrounding the town created the landscape for the perfect escape into nature, and the boat ride on the lake was utterly breathtaking. I understood immediately why this town was winning over the hearts of so many, and I was sure that by the end of the stay, myself and my family would be vowing to return.
“‘I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“‘Let me preface this by saying that I cannot fault the town, nor the locals. It was during our stay in the Manor itself that our nightmare began. Two days before we were due to leave, I came upon my child playing by the fountain in the gardens – a fountain whose rippling waters, I was horrified to realise, contained flesh-eating piranhas! When I went to confront the owner of the establishment, Mr Benedict Matherson, I was almost caught in a stampede of guests fleeing the breakfast room as it suddenly filled with butterflies. Taken entirely by surprise during their peaceful breakfast, the guests were clearly unnerved and alarmed, and more than one bruise must have been sustained in the process. I’ve never stayed in any establishment that would pull such elaborate pranks on their guests, and if they continue to show such utter disregard for the safety and comfort of their clientele, then it won’t be long before their doors are closed for good.
“‘2/10 stars. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone with a pulse.’”
“At least that doesn’t rule out all your clientele,” Lucy said weakly, sinking into her chair. Vampires didn’t have a pulse, nor did ghouls or ghosts… She decided it was more important to focus on Gwendoline glowering at her than trying to think of all the magical folk without a heartbeat.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” Gwendoline slapped the magazine down on the table. Lucy wished there was a fountain in the temple filled with piranhas to gobble her up.
“No one was harmed during either incident, and the guests received every attempt to rectify the situation,” Benedict interjected. He might not be defending her, but she was somewhat relieved he didn’t make it worse.
“I had hoped that you’d both put these petty tricks and schemes behind you,” Mrs Crawford sighed, tucking a strand of tangerine-coloured hair behind her ear.
“We have,” Lucy and Benedict said in unison. They stared at each other.
“How are we to believe an event like this won’t happen again? Last year, Benedict nearly set the library on fire—” Mrs Crawford began.
“That damn broom was chasing me!”
Lucy rolled her eyes. She couldn’t blame Broomhilda for being protective of her.
“—and Lucinda flooded the community pool at the start of the summer—”
“Only because Benedict put hot sauce in my tea while I was on lifeguard duty!”
“Enough. You are both to blame for these events,” announced the High Priestess.
“At least those prior events weren’t shared with the world. This time, your actions have gone too far,” Gwendoline said, reclaiming her seat. “I don’t want to hear what Benedict did to justify your actions; this review could seriously affect our tourism. With the Autumn Festival in the coming weeks, this is the worst time for such a stunt, and that’s not even taking into account what might happen if word got to the Order that you were using magic that could have harmed a magless. We might’ve woken up to Hunters on our doorstep! We must consider if these are the actions of someone who can lead us.”
Lucy looked at Benedict, who avoided her gaze. The attention of the room had shifted not only to her, but to him by her side. She couldn’t help but think this was how he was getting back at her – by using what had happened at the manor to make her unsuitable to lead them. It was a bold move… one she’d have respected him for, if she hadn’t been the target.
“You wish for another to claim my mother’s seat?” she asked, trying to sound neutral. The thought of losing the position her family had maintained for generations caused a cold sweat to break out on the back of her neck. To have the balance of their sanctuary threatened by a struggle for power would do nothing for the magicalandmagless who called their village home.
“The Hawthornes have guided this coven since its establishment. If we’re no longer fit to lead, then I trust this coven will decide on someone worthy of the position,” Wilhelmina said.
Lucy gripped her thighs under the table to stop herself from rising, telling her mum they shouldn’t concede so easily.
“I believe Lucy should remain a candidate for the position. However, I’d like to nominate another for the seat,” Gwendoline said.
“Who?” Mr. Emery asked.
The Emery family had sided with the Mathersons for generations. They were also descents of darker magic with a questionable past. It made sense they’d pick whoever Gwendoline nominated. And there was only one obvious choice. Lucy noted that the only descendant amongst them, other than herself, was Benedict. She noticed him clutch the armrest and wondered if he was readying himself to accept, or if he was as blindsided as she was.
Gwendoline strode past Lucy and stood behind her son. “My son, Benedict Matherson.”
Lucy’s throat tightened. Her gaze snapped to Benedict, but his stoic expression revealed nothing about how he felt. He rose slowly and tipped his head to the High Priestess, waiting for her to accept his nomination. The table looked on in a tense silence. The moment lasted a lifetime. Lucy didn’t think she’d ever seen Benedict speechless before.
