Carrot and Stick: How to Practice Responsible Witchcraft in a High-Crime Neighborhood - Chapter II

Chapter II

Made some changes to the prior chapter: Notably added some small mentions of Summer, Silas’ sickly little sister, and his ultimate goal for becoming a wizard. Also, renamed the Prologue Chapter I!

Carrot! Obviously that's AI art, but I've hired Mingrix to draw her properly already! And Edward for a cover, probably...maybe? It really depends on whether or not people like this one?

Anyway....

He woke up, then desperately wished that he hadn’t. His everything hurt. Not just his muscles--which burned with the familiar pain that always came the day after some hardy exercise--but also his magical circuitry felt like every millimeter had been pulled out, sanded raw, then shoved back in with little care or attention.

Once, a few years ago, he had overextended himself while in a practical test. He had been trying to impress the scouts from the Ordo that were visiting his school and he had succeeded. He had also burnt out the tiny passages in his arm where magic circulated. 

That had taken him a month to heal, and it had been painful the entire time. The worse aspects of a burn combines with that strange growing-bone sensation that had plagued his teenaged years.

This was a thousand times worse.

“Urgh,” he groaned, wishing that he hadn’t awakened. Sleep, at least, had dulled the pain.

Then his eyes snapped open and he sat up. The beast!

Gasping, he searched around himself for a monster, for the creature looking to devour him, but there was nothing of the sort. Instead, he found himself in... a house? No, a home. The distinction was important.

There were walls with old wallpaper and the hum of a heating unit. Frames with pictures in them sat on wall-mounted shelves, and there was a small bookcase in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with books. An older TV was in a cabinet with some speakers next to it

He was on a couch. It had a bit of a lump in the middle, and was covered by a well-worn knitted blanket. There was a second blanket covering him, though it had slipped down as he sat up. 

Grabbing onto the back of the couch for stability, Silas tried to calm his heart. This could be worse. He could be in jail, or in a hospital. Actually, maybe the latter would be better. He grimaced as a wave of pain worked through him, starting somewhere in his chest and slowly working itself outwards to his extremities. 

Too much magic, far too much strain. 

He let himself fall back down, slowly, then took stock of his more physical injuries. He was still clothed, mostly. He could see his jacket hanging on a coatrack by a door and... ah, there was his hat, on a seat by the same door.

Silas scanned the room some more, trying to glean what he could about his... captors? Rescuers? The fight with the daemon had ended when someone showed up and intervened, that much he remembered. He couldn’t remember the incantation they had used. Something that sounded nonsensical, but he had been under plenty of stress at the time, so he didn’t trust his recall.

The room was... poor. The carpet was threadbare, the corners just a little bit dusty. It was definitely lived-in, however. There were plants here and there, all green and healthy, and the space smelled fresh enough. A small end-table had been pushed aside, and a laptop sat on it, closed. He didn’t know that much about technology, but he had the impression it was old.

There was a rattle to one side, and he tensed as someone stepped into the room from what looked like a small attached kitchen. “Oh, you’re awake!” 

It was a woman, someone in her mid-forties, maybe. He wasn’t the most keen of men when it came to judging age. She was in a long skirt and a loose blouse, with long red hair tied into a messy ponytail. The woman smiled while wiping her hands on a small towel. 

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Um... where am I?”

“Oh! I suppose you would be a little disoriented,” she said.

Had his senses not been fried, he would have been trying to get a read on the woman, her level of strength and power. It wasn’t something that was ever going to be accurate--any mage worth their salt hid their power--but it would at least give him a measure of knowledge. Instead he had to use his eyes and... she seemed normal enough to him. 

“Yes, a little,” he said.

The woman smiled wanely. “Carrot found you. She said you were attacked by a racoon? I didn’t see any bites, though you seemed quite exhausted and very much out of it when you arrived. You must be hungry? It’s a little late for a proper breakfast, but I can rustle up a bowl of cereal if you want? Or some toast? Coffee?”

“Um, thank you,” he replied. “Carrot?”

“My daughter,” she said. “Oh, yes, I’m Turnip, nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he replied. With lips pressed together, he shifted so that he was seated. His muscles ached, still, but it wasn’t going to stop him from moving, and the magical pain was, blessedly, not physical. He could work past it. In fact, doing anything not to think about it only helped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself either. I’m Silas Switchbranch, of the Ordo Venator.”

“Mhm,” the woman said. “Ordo? Like a doctor?”

“Ah... no?” 

She blinked, then shrugged. “Okay. Give me a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” he replied, falling back on politeness because... what else was he to do? He watched the woman, Turnip--was that truly her name?--head back into the kitchen, then there was the sound of a fridge opening and items being moved. 

He bit his lip until it hurt. No, this wasn’t a dream. The space felt too real for an illusion. At least according to the tells he knew to look for. If a mage powerful enough to fool him was casting illusions, then he was in deeper trouble than he thought. He decided not to assume the worse.

Someone, presumably someone who could fight off a daemon of some strength, had come along and saved him. Now he was either in their home, or the home of someone they knew. 

Carrot, Turnip’s daughter... maybe she was the mage? Or she could have been a friend or passerby who was coopted by the actual wizard who had saved him? 

Too many possibilities, none of which he could prove.

Turnip returned with a small tray that had fold-out legs beneath. She set it down before him. There was a bowl, and a carton of milk, and a small box of Cinnamon Bun Flakes. “My daughter’s favourite,” she said. “I’ll get you that coffee in a minute or two. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you. You... are being a very generous host, Miss Turnip.”

“Cuddlesworth,” she said. “That’s our family name. And you’re very welcome! I hope that if anyone helped me some day, they’d be just as generous. One good turn and all that, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. 

She smiled, then left again.

Weird woman, he decided, but not altogether mean or anything. He poured some milk into the bowl, then opened the box of cereal and was about to pour it in when he heard a gasp.

“W-what are you doing?” 

Turning, Silas stared at the doorway into the kitchen only to find someone new standing there. She was, without a doubt, Turnip’s daughter. The same hair, though cut much shorter, the same green eyes and facial structure. “Pardon?”

“Milk before the cereal? Are you... are you secretly evil?”

He blinked. “No?”

“Oh... okay then,” she said, her shoulders slackening as she calmed down. “Uh... you’re supposed to put the cereal in first though. It’s better that way.”

“Okay,” he replied. He wasn’t sure where to go with this. “Are you Carrot?”

“Mhm! Mom said your name was Stylus?”

He blinked again. “Silas,” he said. “Silas Switchbranch.”

“Oh,” she replied before reaching up to rub at her nose. “Oops? Mom’s kind of... hard of hearing sometimes? She keeps telling me not to listen to music loud, you know?”

“Sure,” he said. “Um, were you the one who carried me here today?” 

“Today? No, that was yesterday.”

“Oh... right.” He didn’t curse, because it wouldn’t do to curse in polite company, and besides, Carrot looked like she wasn’t much older than Summer and he didn’t want her to pick up on his swearing either. A day had passed? His mind must have been a little slow, because of course it had. Turnip had mentioned the time, at least obliquely. He just didn’t put two and two together.

Carrot crossed her arms. “I found you getting munched on by some biiiig raccoon monster.”

“You were the one to find me?” he asked. “What happened to the daemon?”

“Daemon? You mean the raccoon? I told it off. It’s not very nice to eat people, you know. Not that you can always avoid it if you’re an animal, I guess?”

He leaned back a little. What was up with this girl? Was she a mage or not? He was leaning towards not. She didn’t have that seriousness to her that came with long years of study into the arcane. She certainly wasn’t formally educated. 

Still, there were gaps in the story. A girl this young fighting a daemon that had taken him down was stretching credulity. Sure, there were young talents, but not as wild mages. Those tended to have one or two little tricks at best, and if they threatened the masquerade too much, they were reprimanded and brought into the fold. Sometimes they were invited in anyway, at least if they wanted to learn more about the mystical arts.

“You’ll have to tell me more about how that went down,” he said.

“Sure!” Carrot chirped. “But you should eat first.”

She stepped aside a moment before Turnip came into the room, carefully holding a steaming mug which she placed onto the fold-out table before him. “There you go! Do you want sugar with that?”

“No, it’s fine,” he replied. The scent of the coffee was doing things for him already. “Thank you. Both of you. Ah... Miss Cuddlesworth, would you mind passing me my hat there? And my coat? I really ought to call my... workplace.”

“Of course!” she replied. 

He eased into the couch a little as she passed him his hat, then draped the coat next to him. A touch of the coat revealed that it still had items in its pockets. So they hadn’t divested him of his tools. And having his hat back was just good. 

A wizard without his soul shield was a poor thing indeed.

Carrot left to do... something or another, and he took the opportunity to eat even as he idly riffled through his pockets and started to look for his phone. A phone which he was growing increasingly nervous about as he failed to find it. 

***

Carrot slipped into her room, clicked the door shut, then did a little tippy-tap dance. A wizard! 

That man, Silas, was definitely a real wizard! She’d seen that magic shield thing in the warehouse, and had maybe poked at his coat and hat a little (though she didn’t snoop too much, that would be rude!) and she was pretty sure he had magic, just like her, but now that he was awake, she knew!

Wizards were cool! 

She was going to befriend the heck outta Silas and then he’d teach her all sorts of cool spells, and she’d get a hat, and a robe, and gosh, maybe even a staff! 

Oh oh! No, that would ruin her magical girl image! A scepter, then! 

Heck yeah! 

“Carrot, sweetie?” her mom asked through the door.

“Yeah, mom?” Carrot replied as she opened it up. Their house wasn’t all that big. They had one bedroom--her mom’s--and a small office which they’d converted into her own space, and then the little kitchen and a itty-bitty bathroom, but it was home.

“Mister Snitchbrunch was wondering if you’d seen his phone?”

“Nope,” she said truthfully. “But if he dropped it when that raccoon went after him, I can go look? Also, are you sure that’s his name, mom?”

“I think that’s what he said,” she replied. “Well, if you go out, make sure to be back soon.”

“Okay, mom!” 

She clicked the door shut, then turned and resumed the tippy-tapping. Wizard! Wizard! She was gonna be a wizard!

Oh! Maybe if they went together, she could show off some of her spells?

***