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

Chapter III

Chappy! Less happened in it than I expected, heh! Anyway, it's here! Lemme know what you think! Do you like the double perspective thing?

***

Silas finished his breakfast, finding himself surprisingly hungry the moment he took his first bite. Or perhaps not so surprisingly, considering the amount of magical energy he had burned through. There was a real and noted correlation between magic use and calories burned. 

Actually replenishing his magical reserves would take a day or three. More, maybe. He winced before taping a sip of the coffee. Instant, but better than nothing. 

Three days, at least, before he was back to anything approaching mission capable. That was... not ideal. His mission in this little city was meant to last a full month, and he’d only just arrived a couple of days before yesterday.

He settled back on the sofa, aware of his poor posture as he just kind of stared blankly ahead.

One of the things drilled into him from the moment he joined the Ordo Venator was Duty Above All. That was along with the long litany of rules and procedures. 

Actually, being out in the field alone was generally frowned upon, especially for a mission like this one. Clearing out Julberwood was marked as a Rank IV job. Technically, as a rank IV certified wizard, he was, on paper, supposed to be able to tackle a mission of this difficulty solo.

As a rank IV wizard with less than a year’s experience in the field, he was probably not the society’s first choice for this kind of mission, not solo. Maybe a Rank V wizard would be sent on this kind of subjugation mission without a second though, but... no, he had definitely bitten off more than he could chew.

And now he had to report that in. 

In his current state, he wouldn’t be able to continue. He was injured. Maybe not physically--other than what he suspected were a few nasty bruises and maybe some scrapes--but magically. He couldn’t even muster up a cantrip at the moment.

If he was very lucky, the fact that the local daemon was stronger than expected would count in his favour, but he really doubted it. 

He had jumped in half-cocked and under-prepared. Usually he’d be with a team of other members of the Ordo, which almost always included at least one wizard of a higher rank to serve as team leader. Or at most, they’d send out a pair. 

Stupid. 

He couldn’t even blame the Department of External Affairs for giving him this mission since he’d outright insisted upon it. 

Would its success have been good for him? On reflection, not really. Sure it would look good on a report, but no one read the damned things anyway, and he knew as much. 

Grabbing the edges of the little breakfast table, he lifted it up, then set it aside. He needed to use the washroom, and to thank his gracious hosts. For the meal, for the sofa to rest on, and for probably saving his life, though he wasn’t sure about that last one.

He had been lucky

He could have died. And then what? Summer would receive a kindly worded letter from the Ordo Imperium Draco letting her know that her only family was dead. She’d get a tiny stipend for the rest of her life. Some measly amount that wouldn’t cover rent or food, because he was a junior member of the Ordo and only a Rank IV at that. 

He grit his teeth some more, then sighed and let the tension out as best he could. 

He wasn’t dead. A failed mission would be a black mark, but it wasn’t all bad. While success wouldn’t help too much on its own, a black mark could get in the way of a promotion, but they happened sometimes. At worst, he might have added a year’s work to his plate. 

That was... a setback. It was bad, for a multitude of reasons. He wanted Summer cured, and he couldn’t do that at his rank, but better he be alive and able to help eventually, than dead and unable to help, ever. 

Groaning, he stood up. That report would need to be written, of course, and for that, he needed his phone.

He picked up the dishes and tried to walk over to the kitchen, then he gave up on that and hobbled over instead. He felt like he’d gained a thousand years, like some of the oldest professors and Ordo members who had long white beards and curved backs.

Silas found Miss Cuddlesworth in the kitchen, the sleeves of her knit sweater pulled up around her elbows and hands sunk into soapy water. “Oh! You brought that over. Just put it there, yup, that’s right! Thank you, Mister Witchbrush.”

“Switchbranch,” he corrected absently. “Forgive me, but where is your washroom?”

She gestured, and he thanked her again before making his way over. It was tiny. The whole house was. He had to shuffle awkwardly behind Miss Cuddleworth not to bump hips with her, and the washroom left much to be desired when it came to space. Still, it was clean, and he wasn’t in any sort of position to make complaints. 

He discovered several large blue and black smears on his skin and winced at the sight of them. That would need attention. Of course, he was far too weak now, and his magical circuits were still too fried, to cast anything that could help.

Not that he was particularly good at healing magic to begin with. He truly, genuinely, wished that he were. He wouldn’t have minded a cushy job in the Ordo Sanare. Not to mention the benefits for Summer.

But that wasn’t to be, and for now, all he had in his spellbook were a few basic healing--

“Ah, curses,” he muttered under his breath. His spellbook. The phone wasn’t in his pockets or the jackets. Before he returned to the little rental home he had here, he needed to retrieve that. It was one thing to be injured fighting a daemon, it was another to let magical information fall into mundane hands. 

As it was, he wasn’t sure what to think of Miss and Misses Cuddlesworth. One of them, at least, seemed to not be entirely mundane. The rules on that were clear enough: leave well-enough alone, as long as they knew not to spread things around.

He exited the washroom rubbing his hands on his pants to dry them off, then wobbled his way over to the living room only to find Miss Cuddlesworth--Carrot--standing there holding his hat. “... Please don’t touch that,” he said, calmly.

“Oops! Sorry. I didn’t mean to poke at your hat. It’s... a nice hat?” She quickly set it back down on the sofa over his coat, then stepped back with an innocent smile. “I’ve never seen a hat like it. Is it magic?”

“Yes,” he replied carefully. “Are you familiar with the Society?”

“Like, at large?” she asked.

“No, nevermind then.” He’d report her to the Ordo Oblivio. One of those crows could flap on over to here and explain things to her. It wasn’t his job. “It’s an important item for me. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Okay!” Carrot replied. 

He nodded, picked the hat up and eyed it, just in case. It was, admittedly, a strange looking hat for the average person. The fashion that had birthed its design had disappeared several hundred years ago. 

It had a decently wide brim, cut at the front and folded up. The centre was peaked, slightly, with a flat surface on the front with a small badge that held the image of a proud wolf. In a tiny silvery script was the text ORDO VENATOR - What threatens, burns.

Anyone in the know would be able to tell that he was a junior member. The badge was in English, rather than fully Latin. The hat was more than a neat magical trinket. It was protection and mirror in one, able to transform around its user.

He didn’t want to have to replace it, and not just for sentimental reasons. The damned thing was expensive.

“I need to head out,” he said before reaching into a pocket. He opened his wallet and pulled out a pair of rather fresh hundred dollar bills. Stepping over to the side, he placed them on the kitchen counter. “Can you let your mother know that I’m heading out?” He could hear the woman deeper in the house, puttering about in what he assumed was her room.

“Whoa! Uh, I mean, yeah, sure!”

He nodded. It was... not too much money. He had some amount of spending money, for food and expenses. That much was probably a lot for breakfast and a sofa, but this family looked like it could use it. 

“Where are you going now?” Carrot asked.

“I need to retrace my steps from yesterday,” he said. “Then home, I suppose. Or the home I have in this city.”

“Neat! I’ll go with you,” Carrot replied before she turned and plucked a coat off of the rack by the door.

“No need for that,” he said.

***

Carrot turned and smiled. “Every need!” she said. 

She wanted to learn more magic, because magic was cool and awesome! She wasn’t going to become the coolest dark magical girl to ever girl darkly and magically if she sat on her bum all day, was she?

“Pardon?” Mister Silas asked.

“I’ll help you! I know the way from here to the warehouse. It’s a bit confusing if you don’t know the path. And I can help you find your phone. Really, I should have looked around to help you, but I was worried that we were trespassing, and I didn’t want to get into any trouble!” She nodded. “Oh, and it’s a little dangerous out there. Gosh, I think the number of cute animals turning into monsters has been increasing lately.”

Mister Silas blinked at her. “Has it?”

“Uh-huh! Well, I think. I don’t exactly keep track that well? Hmm, let’s see. The racccon yesterday, there was a squirrel three days ago. Last weekend was a cat, and the week before that a raccoon and then a dog.” She tapped her chin, trying to remember all of the beasties she’d run into. “That’s a lot more than usual! Last year I think I saw all of like, ten monsters all year!” 

She’d been a busy bee lately! It wasn’t all bad, of course. It gave her an opportunity to practice all of her cool spells. Chains of Darkness was coming along nicely, as was Dark Rite of Purification (version six point two!), plus a few others. 

“And who has been taking care of these monsters? The daemons, I mean,” Mister Silas asked.

“Me?” Carrot replied. 

“I see. Do you have any formal training?”

“I’m going to high school! But next year, I wanna go to a vocational school to learn a trade. I’m thinking I might become a baker? Or roofing.”

“Bakery or roofing?”

“I’m not afraid of heights and I like cake?”

“Right,” he said. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind the company. Could you tell me more about the daemons you’ve been encountering?”

“Sure,” Carrot said with a nod. “For one spell.”

“Pardon?”

She smiled, hands going to her hips. “We’re trading, right? You get information, I get magic.”

“I’m not going to teach you any spells,” he said. 

She puffed out her cheeks, but then shrugged. “Okay! In that case, we can trade one question for a question.”

“No,” he said.

“One for two.”

“Also no,” he replied.

“Fine,” she said, her foot stomping down. “Final offer! One question for three!” She raised her hand before her, three fingers proudly splayed out. 

Mister Silas sighed. “Fine, I suppose. But I won’t answer just anything.”

“Okay. Same then!” She nodded. She didn’t want to answer any sort of creepy question he might have anyway. She spun around as she slipped on her favourite coat, it was a bit big for her, but it was all fleecy yarn with wooden buttons on the front in deep blues and blacks and it was very warm. Then she pulled on some earmuffs and a toque before slipping on her walking boots. “Ready?”

“Yes, just let me get my own shoes on, and we can go. I think a bit of fresh air might do me good.”

***