Chapter Sixteen
On Saturday morning, Henrietta stayed in bed. In fact, she stayed there with the covers pulled over her head and the pillow held close to her face until mid-afternoon. She never stayed in bed that late. Today was going to be an unusual day, a day out of the ordinary, a day that she would remember, if she lived to see another.
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.
Eventually Henrietta walked into the kitchen, though she still couldn't face the prospect of food, even though Brick thought that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard, and kept trying to force a chicken wing in her mouth.
She resisted, and time moved on. Soon she was standing back in the lounge room with Brick, and he was encouraging her to transform. He had already changed clothes, and true to his word, he had taken off his leather jacket and was now dressed in a suit.
Brick, the crazy warrior monk, actually looked handsome. The cut of his suit, the shine of his shoes, and the way his cuff links sat next to his wrists – he looked incredibly stylish. And in control too; he had the kind of countenance and ease of expression that oozed charm. Except the only problem was, Henrietta knew Brick, and Brick had exactly zero charm. Still, he did look the part. And Marcia was going to go gaga over him.
“You must now transform or we will be late.” Brick nodded at her, fixing his cuff links as he did.
Once more Henrietta told herself that she could do this, and once more she chased away that feeling. The one that had taken up root somewhere in her stomach, the one she was trying to deny like crazy.
She brought up her hairpin, and she transformed into a witch hunter.
After the magic had taken hold, and her hairpin had changed into her wand, she wrote the words disguise me, and within seconds the spell had taken effect. In a puff of white light, shooting sparks that looked like stars, and crackles of energy that suspiciously took on the form of butterflies, Henrietta Gosling changed from a witch hunter into what was ostensibly a princess.
In a second her feet touched back down on the ground, her perfect white heels tapping against the carpet and the floorboards underneath. She patted down on her dress, and couldn't help but smile, and as she did the wand in her hand transformed in its own rush of sparks, until it was a beautiful silk fan tied around her wrist in ribbon.
Brick had brought out the mirror again, and she turned to it, staring at her reflection.
Henrietta looked just exactly how she’d dreamed and fantasized of looking when she’d been a child. The dress, the hair, the mask, it
was perfect. It was out of her own fairytale, it was out of a movie, it was something that couldn't really exist.
“Come along.” Brick held out his arm to her. “It's time to take the witch hunter to the ball.”
Despite her feelings, Henrietta cracked a smile.
Because even though she looked like a princess on the outside, underneath she was still a witch hunter. Even if the fear had caught hold of her for the better part of the past two weeks, she had to remember that fact. She was no ordinary Henrietta Gosling anymore; she was a warrior woman, as Brick always pointed out to her. And surely a warrior woman could handle a ball.