“Paulie! How you doin’!” a happy voice called as the Nichols family approached the entrance.

“Giuseppe! I’m glad you could make it-Jesus Christ! You should be in the hospital!” Paul cried when he saw the old man.

Mackenzie, Charlotte, and Teritha all stopped as the elderly mortician was wheeled into view with Anthony pushing him. He was wearing a button-down white shirt and a pair of dark slacks. They were cut just above the cast on his left leg, all the way up to his hip. His left arm was also in a cast and braced up into a wave. He had a neck brace, and the left half of his face was covered in welts.

“I promised Freddie, I’d do him up good. Ain’t no doctor gonna tell Joe Fiore he can’t go to his buddy’s funeral! Got my old lady all up in arms about it. Saying some shit about bones, bah,” he scoffed waving his right hand, “Plus if the fuckin’ city would handle their business the damn main would have handled some street washing. Not get over here, son!”

Joe beckoned Paul with his good arm and Paul awkwardly bent down to hug him. Joe gave him a stern grip with his right arm and slapped his back a few times.

“Charlotte, you’re a dream, Ant ain’t she a beut?” he asked when Paul stepped away.

“You’re looking real good, Lotte,” he said. Joe slapped his side, “’Ey, dad, what?”

“You be respectful!” he snapped. He took Charlotte’s hand and nodded to her, “Mackenzie! You look just as good as your ma if not better,” he took her hand as well. Anthony nodded and kept his mouth shut, “Mrs. Landry. We’ve never met, but Freddie told me all about you and your late husband, my condolences.”

“Sir, are you sure you shouldn’t save some for your own woman? If my man tried to leave the hospital like that, I’d take the wheels off the damn chair,” Teritha said, eyeing the man.

Joe gave a big open-mouthed laugh and slapped his right leg, “He said you were funny! But naw, Bell understands. Here, Ant, move me inside so I can talk to this lovely woman. My cousin started his own truck business not too long ago, you remember much?”

“Remember much, Mr. Joe, you think Sloan had time to do the books or get contracts with a team of six Parish boys working under him? No, I did the phones and the papers,” she said as she took his offered hand.

The two elders laughed as Anthony wheeled his father to the entrance of the service room. Teritha stopped and looked inside, where Paul Charlotte and Mackenzie were standing. She joined them and gasped.

A frame portrait of Frederick was on the left, Macaroon sitting in his lap with a small bow tie around his neck. Next to it was a table, covered in red and green fabric, holding Frederick’s urn. It was a box with a tapered lid that appeared to be made of green marble. It sat on four clawed legs and had three plates around it. A small card dictated what should be placed on each plate.

“Thank you, Anthony, Joe,” Paul whispered as he took off his glasses and held back some tears.

“You’re welcome, Paul,” Anthony replied, “The flowers were the easiest part,” he said referencing the multiple large bouquets around the portrait and the urn. “We got some time before the place is open. Me and dad will wait out here.”

“Take all the time you need. Me and Phil,” the owner of the current funeral home, “Gotta talk some shop.”

Anthony pulled his father back and closed the doors. Teritha stepped forward and put her hand on the urn. She sniffed and opened her small purse. For a few seconds she pretended to rummage around, but then pulled a small picture out. It was of Sloan and herself in front of a cruise sign. Sloan was thin and bent, the jacket he wore almost too big for him.

She set it on the tray in front of the urn, marked for memories.

“That cruise to the islands did wonders for him, Freddie,” Teritha whispered, “I got seven more months with my man because of you.” She blinked away tears and straightened, her back cracking as she did, “Thank you.”

Clapping her purse shut Teritha stepped away and hurriedly went to the back seats. She sat in the chair furthest in the corner. Charlotte and Phil approached the table and said a few soft prayers. Mackenzie watched them silently. She looked in her own purse at the elephant figurine.

Her face scrunched up in pain. She closed it, shook her head, and sat down at the front row of seats.

<><><>

“Jump in,” Macaroon said extending a paw like the doorman at a fancy hotel.

“Excuse me?” Mackenzie asked as she looked at the chalk drawing on the ground. It was a square with shading in one corner to give it the appearance of depth.

“It’s magic, Mackenzie. Jump in. You first,” Macaroon said as he slapped the ground with a paw. She looked at Martin, “Jerry and the guys will make sure he’ll be home safe. Trust me.”

“Alright.”

Mackenzie sucked in air and held her nose as she hopped up and landed on the ground in the center of the square. Macaroon and the others snorted and laughed as she released the breath and whirled on him.

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” she hissed.

“Nope, not at all,” he said holding back laughter. “You should hold your breath, though,” he said as he quickly drew a lever in the ground and flicked it with his tail.

Mackenzie’s brow furrowed as the level moved. She heard a click then a release and screamed as she fell down. She tumbled through a tunnel made of light and doors, spinning as she tried to steady herself. She kept screaming until she noticed a man sitting on a bench, falling with her, and staring.

“S-Sorry! It’s my first time!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

He adjusted his paper and shook his head, lifting it to make a barrier between them. Macaroon slowly fell to meet her and settled like he was standing on something.

“You okay, Mack?” he asked with a grin.

“I am falling! How are you doing that?! What is this?” she spoke so quickly it sounded like a single jumbled word.

“Practice,” he said as he pointed at her feet. She saw an area of semi-visible flat surface hovering below them. Swallowing she straightened herself and suddenly felt like she was standing on the roof of a speeding car. “And this is a World Artery. It connects places of magic, like a subway. Our stop is coming up,” he nodded his head to a door that was open.

A pole with a hook spun out from the door and grabbed Mackenzie’s collar choking her. Macaroon hopped on to it as they were pulled inside. The hook released her and deposited her unceremoniously on plain linoleum tile.

“Ow,” Mackenzie sighed as she sat up and rubbed her head. She heard a creak and watched as the door was closed by a massive saint Bernard. “Bandit?” she asked.

“Hello, Ms. Nichols. Glad to see you, just not in this situation,” he said with a kind nod.

“Come on Mackenzie, we don’t have a lot of time,” Macaroon called.

She stood up and looked around as she followed his voice. The building they had been drawn into was massive and circular. They exited the hallway to a large foyer that held a reception desk and an oak tree. It had been cut cleanly at an angle and a new growth was coming from it.

“What the fuck?” Mackenzie asked.

Someone moved past her and apologized. Before she could answer back someone else ran into her. She huffed and tried to speak but was soon swamped by bodies moving to and fro. She cried out and was grabbed by someone who pulled her out of the high traffic.

“Thank you, what the hell?” she asked as she panted. She looked at her savior and saw a very pale and bored face, “Uh. I’m Mackenzie Nichols, nice to meet you.”

The young man who had saved her gave a brisk shake of her hand. He had long straight black hair that hung off of his head like a mop. One half of his face was covered and the other showed of a red tinged hazel eye. He had a downturned mouth slightly open revealing sharp teeth. He was well built and about her height.

His grip strength caused Mackenzie to wince.

“Master Kenneth,” the crow on his shoulder whispered, “We are late to our evaluation of the Greenburg suburb.”

“Right. Apologies for Edgar, he’s very prompt. I am Kenneth Shoròn:ia,” he said nodding his head.

Mackenzie flushed, “Uh. I’m sorry could you-”

“Hey Blue, how you doing?” Macaron interrupted as he deftly bounded out of the traffic.

“Better if you finally learned my real name,” Kenneth said his lip curling at the cat.

“Oh sorry, Kay,” Macaroon rolled his paw, “Something was it?”

Kenneth bristled and snorted, stepping away from them, “If you decide to stay try and find a more polite, and respectful familiar,” he shot at Macaroon. He stepped to the traffic and Mackenzie watched as the crowd all but parted for him.

“Who was he?” Mackenzie asked.

“Son of a powerful witch,” Macaroon answered flatly, “Good potential, but he’s a bit hasty. Just got his second star not three days ago.”

“So, he’s as strong as Silver Tongue?” she continued as Macaroon headed to the reception desk.

“Witches need to be stronger than Urshan. Two stars means he fought and killed a two-star Urshan and received no wounds two or more times,” Macaroon explained, “Stars for witches are measures of consistent power.”

“Welcome to the Coven Reception, how may we help you?” the young woman behind the counter asked. Mackenzie gaped as she saw the woman had a pair of frilled feathers in place of her ears. Her nose was pointed and sharp like a beak.

“We need to see Mistress Malady, now,” Macaroon said, growing to his larger more monstrous form.

“I am sorry, currently the Mistress is busy-”

“If it’s about Frederick Nichols, then she can speak to us,” he insisted. “Give her a call,” he said pointing to a small device by her station.

She trilled, “It is not your place, loner, to give me orders.”

“Loner?” Mackenzie asked.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“A familiar with no partner,” Macaroon whispered back, “I’m Macaroon Nichols. Look me up and then give me lip, freshie.”

“Freshie! How dare you!” she said her feathers flapping.

“Move along Peeking, I’ll take care of this,” a much older woman’s voice said. A squat owl woman approached them and pointed to the far exit. Macaroon and Peeking glared at each other as the woman walked from behind the desk.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mackenzie,” she said, “I’m Tufty, the head of reception. I apologize for Peeking. She’s just recently finished transformation training and a bit full of herself,” she explained before changing into a barn owl and fluttering to Mackenzie’s shoulder, “follow this hallway to the end.”

“You could include manners and protocol in the transformation class if its gonna be a problem,” Macaroon spat.

Tufty looked back at him, “If you want to benefit from your rank and history in the coven, it would be nice to see you around it more often, Mr. Retiree.” Macaroon waved his hands dismissively, “Mistress Malady is waiting for them,” she said to the large alligator guards flanking an old lift gate.

“Hey Rooney,” one said in a gruff slithering voice, “Sorry to hear about Fred.”

“Yeah, we’ll miss him,” the other said. They stood using a great flared halberd. “Go on up, Miss. Macaroon.”

Mackenzie said thank you and opened the gate stepping inside. Macaroon nodded to the guards and followed. Tufty hopped off of Mackenzie and changed back to her larger form. The three gave a brief salute to Macaroon as the lift kicked into gear.

“Papa and you seem to have a lot of pull here,” Mackenzie said after they had lost sight of the bottom floor.

“Did you see that tree?” she nodded, “On its trunk are Freddie’s initials. Along with your grandmother’s and Mistress Malady’s.”

“That tree had to be over a hundred years old,” Mackenzie said. She remembered what Jerry had said about Frederick. “How old was Papa? Really?”

Macaroon sighed, “Freddie Nichols was eighty-eight years old when he died. That was his seventh name. He was born in Belfast in sixteen eighty-four. He lived there until the American revolution and came over with German Mercenaries,” he explained.

Mackenzie stared, “Papa. Was over three hundred years old?!” she asked.

“Yep,” he replied as if she asked about rain, “Some witches are even older. Old Blue we just met. His mother is a witch over seven hundred years old.”

She did a split take between the gate and Macaroon, “What?!”

“Most Witches remain in their physical prime through their first century. A witch on average lives to be two hundred and seventy-five years old. The more powerful a witch the longer they’ve been alive,” he explained. “Mistress Malady, for example, is probably as old as Catholicism. But I’ve never confirmed it.”

“How many stars does she have?” Mackenzie asked as the lift stopped.

Macaroon grabbed the gate and opened it. He sniffed and moved so she could step out. He thought for a second and counted his digits, “Hard to say. After twenty each new one becomes less and less important. Come on.”

“We’re gonna meet a two-thousand-year-old witch who is ten times stronger than the thing that almost ate me?!” Mackenzie hissed silently.

“What do you mean meet? You’ve known Mistress for years,” Macaroon said.

“What? How?! I don’t know some ancient-”

“Malady is her witch name, she’s my ‘vet’” he made quotation marks with his paws.

“Miss Melody?!” Mackenzie cried as they reached a pair of ornate double doors. One depicted a beautiful female devil reaching out for a fearsome male angel. The doors creaked open, and Mackenzie was blinded by the light in the room.

“Good to see you, Mackenzie.”

<><><>

“You too, Miss Melody,” Mackenzie heard Paul say.

She whipped around in her seat to see the older woman sashaying into the room. Melody was as tall as Charlotte and much thinner, making her curves stand out more. She had long stringy greying hair tied into a tight bun under the wide, black, sun hat she was wearing. Her dress appeared to be a mourner’s version of a cocktail dress and gave her the distinct appearance of Morticia Adams.

Melody wore a long fluffy black boa on her shoulders and arms. Her gloves were lace and had different animal shapes in them. Her dress was low cut, but had as peak at the chest so it didn’t show off too much cleavage. Mackenzie could just spy the point of one star tattoo between her breasts.

Her eyes were droopy at the side and were a soft blue color. she had light make up on her softly peach face. This included winged eyeliner that matched her eyes and dark lipstick.

“I left Bandit with Macaroon by your car; do you mind?” she asked. Her voice was like silk sliding across a table.

“Not at all,” Paul answered, “Does he need water?”

“No, thank you. I have his travel kit there. Am I the first one here?” she asked looking around, her eyes settling on Teritha.

“First, Mom placed her offering already,” he said as he offered his arm. Melody took it and thanked him as he walked her to the table with Frederick’s urn.

“A moment, Paul,” she asked. He nodded and returned to the front of the room by the doors. She rubbed the urn with her thumb and sighed. She whispered softly in Irish before digging around in her small pocketbook. She drew out a wooden pipe and set it on the same tray as the photo of Teritha and Sloan.

Her shoulders sagged for a single moment before she perked up and turned around. She passed Mackenzie and smiled at her, giving a nod. Mackenzie swallowed and nodded back.

“Charlotte, dear! I know the snacks and refreshment are supposed to wait, but I have some wine cooling in my car, bring your mother!” Melody cooed.

Mackenzie watched the three women head back to the parking lot. Melody stole her a glance and held up her left wrist, where her watch was, and tapped its face. Mackenzie settled in her chair and swallowed again.

<><><>

“Welcome to the headquarters of the Pennsylvania Coven!” Mistress Malady said as she spread her arms over her head. A party popper went off behind her showering the massive office’s dark marbled floor with confetti. “How are you doing dear?”

“She just fought an Urshan on borrowed magic, Mal. I doubt she’s rosy keen to speak,” Macaroon grunted as he walked in and sat in a leather chair. Mackenzie saw it grew to accommodate him.

“You are so…professional, Macaroon,” Malady hissed. She beckoned Mackenzie over and showed her to another leather chair.

When she had sat Mistress Malady sat across from her and slid a plate of biscuits and a cup of tea to her. The China was pristinely white with ornate moon and rose designs across its finish. The underside was sparkling gold and Mackenzie felt the value of it as she thanked her and took a sip.

“So,” Malady said clapping her hands, “You are a witch! That is a surprise!” she grinned at Macaroon who frowned deeper, “Mackenzie, where can I begin?”

Mackenzie steadied herself and cupped her chin, “Well. I have a few questions.”

“Shoot,” Malady said dropping sugar into her own cup of tea.

“Where is this place? It’s huge and not shaped like any other building in Harrison City. How long was Papa in your coven? He was three hundred years old? How common are those monsters? Why didn’t I or my dad get magic if someone else’s kid did? Does my dad have magic?! Is he hiding it from me too!” Mackenzie rained.

Malady held up her hand to stop her and began to drink her tea. she continued to drink for some seconds and would hold up her hand any time Mackenzie went to speak. After almost a full minute she finished and sighed happily, setting her cup down.

“This place is located in a middle dimension directly adjacent to the reality you know,” Malady explained, “It is anchored to my veterinary hospital’s basement. Frederick Nichols was a founding member of our coven and its interim leader when my predecessor was killed. He was around three hundred and eleven years old.”

She poured Macaroon a cup and he denied it, “Urshan spawn every day across the world. They spawn weekly in our city, hence why we headquarter here instead of Philadelphia. Your father is not a witch, and has less than one star of potential to be one. So did you, until last night.” She started to add sugar to the cup.

“Sorry about that. I have so many more questions,” Mackenzie said as she took another sip, “Thank you for this tea, it is very good.”

“You’re very welcome. Before I answer, we must discuss something, Mackenzie,” Malady said, her face becoming serious. “You called someone using Macaroon’s coin. What did they sound like?”

“Five voices,” Mackenzie answered immediately.

Malady narrowed her eyes. Macaroon stared. He gulped and held his head in his hands.

“Then it appears we greatly underestimated you,” Malady said eyeing Macaroon. “You had magic for one night, until sunrise?” Mackenzie confirmed she did, “Then you have five days. When the sun sets Monday, you will have to choose.”

“They mentioned a choice,” Mackenzie said. “What will I be choosing?”

Malady opened a drawer in the end table by her chair. She drew out two pictures and slid them across the table to Mackenzie. One showed her family, including Frederick, sitting in a park smiling at the camera. The second showed Frederick as a much younger man, a wide brimmed witch hat on his head. Flames and battle surrounded him; blood splashed across his face.

“Frederick gave up the majority of his power to insure Paul, and eventually you, do not get involved in our witching hour business. That magic is still taking effect. It would have solidified when you turn eighteen,” Malady explained.

“Why when I turn eighteen?” asked Mackenzie.

“Frederick once had a death reading,” Macaroon spoke up, “He was set to die exactly thirty days after your eighteenth birthday. He wanted to have everything ready by then.”

“A death reading? Like a prophecy?” Mackenzie asked.

Mistress Malady was staring at Macaroon, “Something like. But he did not complete the magic. So, you have a choice. Will you follow Frederick’s wishes and have a normal simple family life,” she held up the first picture, “or his footsteps and become a witch?” she held up the second picture.

“Why is that a-”

“Mackenzie,” Macaroon said, “Did Paul ever describe his childhood? How he had to spend days alone in that duplex?” Mackenzie shook her head. “Because he doesn’t remember. Frederick would re-write his memories yearly. To think his mother died of cancer, to think his father took him on his many business trips.”

“Re-write? Papa wouldn’t,” Mackenzie started. She looked at the second picture. The grim-faced man holding a carved club looked nothing like her grandfather. “He did that to daddy?”

“Being a witch is a solitary life at times, Mackenzie,” Malady said. “Especially for the powerful. Frederick, your grandfather, was very powerful. And he did things that enabled your family to prosper, and to protect this city and world. To do those things, sometimes his family had to come second.”

“He wanted you to be safe, to have a normal life,” Macaroon pushed, “To be safe being the important part. You saw Silver Tongue. He was stupid and young. But if he had run away instead of sticking around, he could just get smarter. He would get better at using his body and powers. And most Urshan know better than to fight a familiar after a fresh upgrade.”

“What happens if I choose to be normal?” Mackenzie asked, looking at her family picture.

“We remove all memories of last night and anything that came from it,” said Malady. “You will return home and experience a hectic wild dream. A nightmare preceding the closure of putting Frederick’s body to rest. And Macaroon will not be able to remain with you.”

Mackenzie’s head snapped up and she looked from Malady to Macaroon.

“A familiar needs a witch, Mackenzie. Right now, Macaroon can survive, but if he does not make a new contract soon, he will fade away. And it makes no sense for a familiar to live away from their witch,” Malady explained.

Mackenzie stood and took the photos. She handed them back to Malady and hung her head, “You said I have five days?” she asked.

Malady nodded, “The sun will set at six forty-five Monday. You will have until then to make your choice. If you wish to follow Frederick’s wishes, you simply need to remain at home. Macaroon will take care of everything. If you wish to follow in his footsteps,” she stood and held up her hand to Mackenzie.

A key materialized and dropped into the girl’s hand, “Use that key on any door, even if it does not have a lock. Before the sun sets. Once the last rays pass over the horizon you will be locked out of being a witch forever.”

Mackenzie weighed the key in her hand. It was ornate and heavy. The teeth were blocky and crooked, the end had a pentagram star with smaller symbols at the points.

“Alright,” Mackenzie said, “Thank you. I need to head home.”

“Of course, dear. Head back down to reception and Tufty will show you.”

Mackenzie gave a polite bow and left. As Macaroon went to leave Malady called him. He told Mackenzie to wait for him as the great doors closed behind her.

As soon as they were closed Malady’s face twisted into a fierce animalistic snarl, “What is happening, Macaroon? What contract did Frederick make? And with who?”

Macaroon returned to his cat form, “No idea,” she screeched at him, “I’m serious. Freddie took care of everything. He made contact and then organized the contract. I just work here.”

“You can’t fool me!” she said an eye opening in her forehead. “I clearly see you are bound by something! What is the purpose?!”

“My body is the final ingredient of the perfect ward for the Nichols family,” Macaroon said honestly, “When I die, no matter how, nothing will be able to touch them.”

“If Mackenzie stays a normal human woman,” Malady reasoned.

“Correct. You giving her the choice is a worse insult than half the shit you’ve pulled over the centuries, Malady,” Macaroon growled, his heckles rising. “How dare you try to drag her into-”

She snapped her fingers and pointed to the door, “I am only abiding by what Freddie, Kanthera, Malcolm, and I agreed to when we formed this coven. No witch abandoned, no familiar left without a home. She can cast magic and so she is given the choice. You never objected when I gave that same key to little girls half her age!”

“This is different!” Macaroon hissed.

“Barely,” Malady said waving away his concerns, “Besides you heard her. Five voices. Not one or two or three. Five. They were watching. And no matter what contract or power you may have gained to keep her human, she asked for help. For magic. And as they always do, the Five answered.”

Macaroon looked at the ground. He fidgeted before licking his paw. Scowling he turned from her and approached the doors.

“This isn’t what Freddie wanted, Malady,” Macaroon said, anger dripping from, his voice.

“Well,” Malady began sipping more tea, “He was never good at accepting he couldn’t control women as well as his pets. Help her get home Macaroon, she may still decide to stay human. Let her family be the deciding factor.”

With that the doors opened, and Macaroon left. Mackenzie was standing against the wall, staring at the key.

“What did you need to talk about?” she asked.

Macaroon walked past her, “Last minute stuff about Freddie’s body. Come on. Your parents will be up soon.”

Mackenzie turned and gave one last nod to Malady, who waved sweetly. They entered the lift and headed down. Malady set down her teacup and rested her hands in her lap, her fingers interlaced.

“Ten years. A contract. Ingredients,” she said softly. “How did Freddie screw up so bad? No. What if he didn’t make a mistake. Who would have the courage, or strength, to attempt interfering with that?”

There was a crack of thunder and Malady frowned.

“Maybe. Maybe, indeed.”