The Enchanted Writes Book One (21 page)

When she finally moped out into the kitchen,
it was going on two o'clock, and Brick was sitting at the kitchen
table. He offered her a stern glance, and looked like he wanted to
waggle a finger her way.

“I assume that you have spent all morning
and most of the afternoon in bed going over your battle plan and
strategy? Yes?”

Henrietta ignored him, slouched over to the
fridge, opened it, and hung over the door.

She was ravenously hungry, but the thought
of food made her feel sick. In fact, the thought of anything other
than going straight back to bed made her want to hurl.

“Come on, it won’t be that bad. You will be
in a disguise, and as I have told you—”

“There will be no chance of the Witch King
seeing through it,” she replied as she pressed her fingers over her
eyes and let them slide down her nose and cheeks. She eventually
closed the fridge and leaned her back against it. “But what if you
are wrong, Brick? What if tonight goes pear shaped?”

“Tonight is unlikely to end up shaped like a
pair. If things are to go wrong, they are likely to explode, not
assume the shape of fruit,” Brick pointed out matter-of-factly.

She wanted to hit him, but instead she got
herself a glass of water and sipped at it tentatively.

“You have not yet come upon the perfect
disguise. You really must wear something black, and with more
make-up, and perhaps attempt for a whiter effect on your cheeks,
neck, and arms,” he pointed out with a nod, patting his cheeks as
he did.

She glowered at him, finished off her water,
and dumped the glass in the sink.

Though Brick had turned out to be useful,
and was handy in a fight, sometimes she found herself wishing for
anyone else but him. Right now she needed to confide in someone,
hopefully someone sane, someone who wasn't so fixated on high
heels, who didn't swan around in leather, and who didn't boss her
about so much. Someone like Jimmy Field or Patrick Black. Right now
she could snuggle into a pair of rugged and strong arms and confess
her sorrows to a handsome man.

Fat chance of that happening. Henrietta had
to go this alone. She was the last witch hunter in existence, and
the only person she could confess that fact to was Brick, and maybe
the rest of his crazy warrior monk brethren. But there was no
support to be had there.

“I'm going to have a bath,” Henrietta
decided, and she headed out of the kitchen before Brick could
protest.

“Afterwards you will have to come up with
the perfect disguise,” he called after her.

She flopped a hand at him and kept
walking.

As she ran herself a bath, Henrietta played
with her hairpin. She twisted it around in her fingers, staring at
the unassuming bauble at the top. The pin was plain and simple. It
looked like nothing, and yet it could do everything.

Such power, such potential. And Henrietta
was only brushing the surface. There were still so many spells to
learn, and so much to achieve.

If she made it through tonight.

She hung her head again and gave a good moan
that echoed around the bathroom.

She was trying to tell herself that it would
be okay. That if Brick thought it was a good idea, then it had to
be. If he thought it wouldn't be a risk going to the masquerade
dressed in disguise, then surely that would be the truth. Brick had
been the one to save her from the Witch King, and he was the one
who kept telling her she wasn't strong enough to fight him. So if
he thought there was little risk in attending the party tonight,
then shouldn't she trust him?

The answer was yes, but it left something
out. What if Henrietta made a mistake? What if she fell over,
tripped over her words, and accidentally admitted to who she was?
What if she, in usual fashion, completely stuffed up everything?
When Brick had told her it would be safe to go to the party
tonight, maybe he hadn't taken into account who she was? Maybe
Brick, warrior monk, didn't realize how incapable Henrietta Gosling
could be.

Henrietta shut off the taps and stepped into
the bath, taking her time, waiting for her skin to adjust to the
hot water.

Then she flopped down and sighed as the
steam rose up and played against her hair.

“You can do this,” she tried to reassure
herself. “In the last couple of months you have changed.”

She listened to her own voice, even felt the
vibrations of it through her chest. But it would take her a lot
more to believe her words.

“You are a bloody witch hunter, you have
magic,” she clamped her hand over her eyes. “You are never late for
work anymore, and you hardly ever drop anything these days. Plus,
people seem to like you more, pay more attention to you.” Despite
her mood, she couldn't help but smile, because she had two specific
people in mind: Patrick Black and Jimmy Field.

The thought of the affections of those two
men was not enough to cut through her emotions though.

“If anything happens, Brick will be there,
so will a couple of other warrior monks. You will be fine,” she
kept talking to herself, but still, she couldn't believe what she
was saying. She couldn't let it sink in and lift her mood.

Because there was something else. Something
she wasn't telling Brick, something she was hardly admitting to
herself.

Hellier. The Witch King, when he had looked
at her that fateful night on the barge... Henrietta had felt
something. It had almost, almost felt like belonging.

She suddenly sunk down further into the hot
water, until only her lips and eyes and nose were free from it.

“Don't think about that,” she commanded
herself. “It's nothing.”

She repeated those words over and over in
her head, but it didn't change the tight feeling in her
stomach.

It was the way he had looked at her, that
intense interest. No one had ever looked at her like that, and
plus, it had obviously promised something.

“Something horrible,” she said out loud,
trying to derail her thoughts.

Henrietta moped around in the bath for
several hours, and it wasn't until Brick knocked on the door, and
then jolly well transported through it, that she finally jumped
out.

As Brick looked down at her, he looked
completely unmoved by her nakedness. And, in fact, just shrugged
his shoulders when she shrieked at him not to look.

“If you are ashamed of your body, cover it
up with a towel,” he suggested.

She shrieked at him louder and threw the
soap right at his head.

He shifted to the side with his by now
familiar reflexes, and the soap thumped into the door, falling to
the floor with a wet thud.

She quickly shooed him out, then dressed.
And when she came out to find him in the lounge room, she was sure
to fix him with a death glare. “How many times have I told you not
to walk in on me in the bath, or the shower, or when I'm getting
dressed?”

Brick looked thoughtful. “Approximately 14
times.”

She screwed up her hands and gave him a
stiff, warning smile. “Brick,” her voice was pregnant with
warning.

In usual Brick fashion, he looked completely
uncaring. “It is time to get ready,” he pointed dramatically at the
clock on the DVD player. “It is now 4:45, and the function
officially begins at seven, though the doors will be open at 6:15.
I suggest we get there early, so that we can look around.”

Henrietta groaned. Though she had been
putting it off, the party was finally getting closer. There would
be no running now, would there?

She would just have to go through with the
plan... and see what would happen.

“You look peaky, as if you are preparing to
evacuate your stomach,” he pointed out.

What a thoroughly distasteful way to explain
it. But Brick was right: she did feel thoroughly nervous. It was a
quick, flighty nervousness that made her feel as if she had
accidentally cast a float spell right into her belly.

“Tell me, Warrior Woman Henrietta, what is
it that you worry over?”

Everything. Every bloody aspect of this
plan. But more than anything... she was worried about that feeling
in her stomach. The feeling she had gotten when Hellier had looked
her way.

Henrietta pushed the thought from her mind
and took several steps back from Brick.

“We have gone over the plan several times,
and I am sure it will suffice. I myself will be there, as well as
several other warrior monk brethren in disguise.”

She looked up sharply. “That's another thing
I've been thinking about, you aren’t going to wear your leather
jacket, are you?”

“Are you suggesting there is something wrong
with my usual attire? I think you will find leather is a very
sturdy material and helps one to protect their skin should they be
pushed to the ground or need to quickly roll out of the way of a
fireball.”

Henrietta shook her head. “That's not what I
mean, well, actually, your jacket is hideous, but that isn't what
I'm saying. People know you now, and if I walk in the door with you
wearing that jacket, aren’t they going to figure out that it is me?
Henrietta? If my sister sees you, she is just going to put two and
two together, look through my disguise, and realize who I am.”

“I see your battle brain has been active.
Well done, Warrior Woman. You make a good point, but it is a point
I myself have already realized. This is why I called your sister
this morning.”

Henrietta felt like putting a finger in her
ears and cleaning them out. “Sorry?”

“I will be attending this ball with Marcia
Gosling, not you, Warrior Woman Henrietta. I will also not wear my
trusty leather jacket,” Brick blinked quickly, and he looked
emotional, “but I will wear a tuxedo with a mask,” he brought a
finger up as he noted that point.

“Marcia? You're going with Marcia?”
Henrietta’s nausea lifted, but it was replaced with a completely
unpleasant but all too familiar feeling. Jealousy. Every single
time Henrietta got a new male friend, Marcia would jump on him and
ruin it.

“Yes, it appears that your sister seems to
be very keen to accompany me to this ball.”

Brick didn't look as if he was all too ready
to crack into a schoolboy grin. He looked just as even and
nonplussed as he always did, unless he was discussing style and
high heels, that was.

Henrietta had no feelings for Brick, no
romantic feelings anyway. He was such a strange mix that there
would be no way she could ever consider him in that fashion. But
almost, very almost, he was becoming her friend. She had to admit
that without him, she would be lost when it came to witch hunting.
So the idea that Marcia was about to get her hands on him still
hurt, it still sent niggling feelings of jealousy plucking at
her.

“Warrior Woman Henrietta, you do not seem to
be a fan of this plan.”

Henrietta turned away. “Look, it's fine,
just....”

“I will do nothing to make Marcia Gosling
blow a gasket,” Brick assured her with a determined nod.

Henrietta sighed. “So does this mean I have
to go on my own?”

“I will travel with you to the event, but I
will not walk up the steps with you, and I will not stay by your
side at the party. But I will always be close. To maximize our
chance of having Hellier notice you, it would be best if I was not
by your side.” Brick tugged down on his jacket, and it looked as if
he thought the distraction of his own style would be too much for
the Witch King, and would rob Henrietta of his admiration.

Alone. She would be at that party alone.

For all she knew, she would never see
Hellier, and he would never look her way. But just the thought of
him rekindled that feeling in her, and she reacted to it with
immediate disgust.

“Several of my warrior monk brethren will be
among the guests, and you will always have someone close by your
side. Plus, should matters dictate, take up your wand and write the
word flee in the air.”

Henrietta looked at him sharply. “What?
You've never told me that before.”

“I do so now to reassure you. Though I am
sure it will not come to it, if you feel the need to run, use your
wand to cast the flee spell.”

“What will happen?” Henrietta clutched at
her hairpin.

“You will run, Warrior Woman Henrietta,
faster than any human, faster than any animal, you will run like
the wind, even in heels,” he had to add at the end.

“Won’t people see me?” Henrietta was
breathing heavily.

“Perhaps, but if you feel the need to use
that spell, you must use it. Even the Witch King will have trouble
keeping up. Plus, we must remember that the aim of this party is
most likely to secure his position as candidate for mayor. He will
not risk displaying his own magic. He is not yet that powerful, and
his hold on the city certainly is not that strong. He will not risk
anything tonight,” Brick assured her for about the millionth
time.

Henrietta nodded her head and twisted her
hairpin around in her fingers. She looked at it. Flee. She'd never
heard of that spell, but it sounded as if it could work. All she
would have to do is clutch hold of her hairpin, write it, and then
the spell would be cast. Although, considering her hairpin would be
in disguise at the party too, she would have to write with her
fan.

Because she would be taking a fan, and she
certainly would be wearing a beautiful white princess dress,
despite what Brick kept telling her. It just felt right to
Henrietta. Going to a masquerade dressed in layers of black silk
that hung off her like wisps of air from a grave, with her face
decked out in more black eye-liner and mascara than a small country
could afford, didn't feel right. But the dress, that incredible
white beaded number, that felt perfect. She had already decided
that she would transform her hairpin into a little fan that would
be tied around her wrist. That way she would never lose hold of it,
and would easily be able to grab it up if she should find herself
in trouble.