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In reply to: Smoke Signals: Arcanas of the Quadrivium’s incense
Cedric Spellbind:
Cedric Spellbind stood tall, though not imposing, with a wiry frame that belied his years of rigorous witch-hunting. His eyes, a piercing green, darted nervously beneath the brim of his deerstalker hat, giving him the appearance of a man constantly on edge. A seasoned agent of MAMA, he carried an air of determined resolve, despite his recent demotion to desk duty in Limerick.
With a face that seemed perpetually caught between youthful eagerness and a weariness beyond his years, Cedric was a man marked by his contradictions. His dark hair, often disheveled from restless nights, framed a face etched with the lines of a life spent in pursuit of the arcane and the elusive.
Clad in a trench coat that had seen better days, Cedric’s attire was a patchwork of practicality and the remnants of a more distinguished past. Despite his amateurish attempts at stealth and the financial strains of his profession, Cedric’s spirit remained unbroken. He was a man driven by a fascination with the unknown and a cautious curiosity, particularly when it came to the enigmatic Frigella O’Green.
Yet, beneath the veneer of a bumbling spy, there lay a heart of determination and a mind constantly strategizing, always ready to seize the next opportunity to prove his worth in the clandestine world of witch hunting.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Do you know who that Everone is?” Jeezel whispered to Eris.
“Shtt,” she silenced Jeezel worried that some creative inspiration sparked into existence yet another character into their swirling adventure.
The ancient stone walls of the Cloisters resonated with the hum of anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of incense barely covering musky dogs’ fart undertones, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh parchment eaten away by centuries of neglect. Illuminated by the soft glow of enchanted lanterns sparkling chaotically like a toddler’s magic candle at its birthday, the grand hall was prepared for an unprecedented gathering of minds and traditions.
While all the attendants were fumbling around, grasping at the finger foods and chitchatting while things were getting ready, Eris was reminded of the scene of the deal’s signature between the two sisterhoods unlikely brought together.
Few weeks before, under a great deal of secrecy, Malové, Austreberthe, and Lorena had convened in the cloister’s grand hall, the gothic arches echoing their words. Before she signed, Lorena had stated rather grandiloquently, with a voice firm and unwavering. “We are a nunnery dedicated to craftsmanship and spiritual devotion. This merger must respect our traditions.”
Austreberthe, ever the pragmatist, replied, “And we bring innovation and magical prowess. Together, we can create something greater than the sum of our parts.”
The undertaker’s spokesman, Garrett, had interjected with a charming smile, “Consider us the matchmakers of this unlikely union. We promise not to leave you at the altar.”
That’s were he’d started to spell out the numbingly long Strategic Integration Plan to build mutual understanding of the mission and a framework for collaboration.Eris sighed at the memory. That would require yet a great deal of joint workshops and collaborative sessions — something that would be the key to facilitate new product developments and innovation. Interestingly, Malové at the time had suggested for Jeezel to lead with Silas the integration rituals designed to symbolically and spiritually unite the groups. She’d had always had a soft spot for our Jeezel, but that seemed unprecedented to want to put her to task on something as delicate. Maybe there was another plan in motion, she would have to trust Malové’s foresight and let it play out.
As the heavy oak doors creaked open, a hush fell over the assembled witches, nuns and the undertakers. Mother Lorena Blaen stepped forward. Her presence was commanding, her eyes sharp and scrutinising. She wore the traditional garb of her order, but her demeanour was anything but traditional.
“Welcome, everyone,” Lorena began, her voice echoing through the hallowed halls. “Or should I say, welcome to the heart of tradition and innovation, where ancient craftsmanship meets arcane mastery.”
She paused, letting her words sink in, before continuing. “You stand at the threshold of the Quintessivium Cloister Crafts, a sanctuary where every stitch is a prayer, every garment a humble display of our deepest devotion. But today, we are not just nuns and witches, morticians and mystics. Today, we are the architects of a new era.”
Truella yawned at the speech, not without waving like a schoolgirl at the tall Rufus guy, while Lorena was presenting a few of the nuns, ready to model in various fashionable nun’s garbs for their latest midsummer fashion show.
Lorena’s eyes twinkled with a mixture of pride and determination as she turned back to the visitors. “Together, we shall transcend the boundaries of faith and magic. With the guidance of the Morticians’ Guild—Garrett, Rufus, Silas, and Nemo—we will forge a new path, one that honors our past while embracing the future.”
Garrett, ever the showman, gave a theatrical bow. “We’re here to ensure this union is as seamless as a well-tailored shroud, my dear Lorena.” Rufus, standing silent and vigilant, offered a nod of agreement. Silas, with his grandfatherly smile, added, “We bring centuries of wisdom to this endeavor. Trust in the old ways, and we shall succeed.” Nemo, with his characteristic smirk, couldn’t resist a final quip. “And if things go awry, well, we have ways of making them… interesting.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Despite her initial misgivings, Truella was looking forward to the weekend at the Cloisters. It had belatedly come to her attention that another group were joining them for the event, the Mortician’s Guild. She wondered if Austreberthe had bitten off more than she could chew, introducing all these new characters at the same time. But the more people, the more confusion, the better the opportunities to slip off unnoticed and investigate the grounds.
Truella was the first to arrive. Before entering the building, she paused under the shade of a towering eucalyptus tree, taking it all in, receptive to the ancient whispers calling from the surrounding forrest. A nightingale beckoned from the trees beyond one of the terraces, and Truella was irresistably drawn towards it. Crunching softly on the crisp dry leaves underfoot and squinting in the bright sunlight, a flash of movement caught her eye. Was it a bear in the woods? Surely not, not so close to habitation. Truella inched closer, curious, her muscles tense, keyed in readiness to flee. But she was overdramatising, and made a little self deprecating snort of mirth.
The tall man clad in a floor length leather coat heard a snort and paused, wondering how close the wild boar came to the old building. Surely they kept away from people, people were so dangerous. Pull yourself together, Rufus, old boy, he said to himself. Why did this place remind him of… well it was no good harking back to that…maybe he should go back inside. He threw his broad shoulders back and strode out from the cover of the trees, the hem of his coat gathering prickly seeds from the undergrowth.
Truella clapped her hands delightedly, and laughed. “Well look at you, you big bear in the woods, you must be one of the guys from the Mortician’s Guild.”
Rufus spun round, his duster coat flaring open to reveal the crimson satin lining, his face a picture of moody glowering. Truella was momentarily nonplussed. Handsome guy, but what an attitude. But maybe she should not judge too quickly, after all, he probably resented having to come here. Maybe she could soften him up over the course of the weekend.
“We may as well go in and meet the others. I’m Truella, pleased to meet you,” she said, offering a hand in greeting. To her surpise, than man took her hand and kissed it. “Rufus, at your service,” he said with a slight bow. He peered at her and added, “Have we met before? You seem strangely familiar.”
“Why yes, so do you!” He didn’t, but Truella’s hand was tingling warmly from the kiss and she decided to play along.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Although not unheard of in Limerick, it had been raining for days and that affected moods. The weather forecast, despite many promises, hadn’t been able to curb the collective melancholy. Jeezel had to resist the temptation to use a spell or two just for an hour of sunshine, but she remembered what Linda Paul would say about meddling with weather patterns. She’d likely take a dramatic pause, her eyes narrowing in theatrical emphasis as she weighed her words carefully.
“Darling, one does not simply tinker with the weather as if it were a mere accessory to one’s outfit. The weather, you see, is a complex symphony conducted by the universe itself. Each raindrop, each gust of wind, each sunbeam—it’s all part of an intricate, celestial score. Tampering with such forces is akin to striking a discordant note in a masterpiece; the repercussions can be chaotic and unpredictable. Mother Nature has a way of setting things right, and trust me, her methods are rarely gentle. Remember the tale of the tempestuous sorcerer who tried to stop a storm and ended up summoning a hurricane? Or that ill-fated witch who thought to banish winter, only to plunge her village into eternal ice?” Her eyes might sparkle with a hint of mischief as she added, “And let’s not forget the fashion disasters! Imagine trying to maintain a perfect coiffure in a sudden downpour you inadvertently summoned. Utterly tragic, darling.”
Jeezel giggled at the evocation. No, she would not meddle with the intricate weave of weathery, but one little filter spell on her window was innocuous enough to transform the “gloom of June” into a “dawn’s gentle fingers caressing the horizon”. She was standing before her ornate, vintage mirror in a midnight blue gown. The magic morning light was dancing upon the silver filigree, casting ethereal patterns across her boudoir.
Her thoughts meandered through the labyrinth of anticipation and preparation. “A convent,” she mused, “How delightfully austere. A stark contrast to my usual flamboyance.” In her address to the coven and looking specifically at Jeezel with ice cold eyes, Austreberthe had insisted on modesty and temperance. “But then, Austreberthe is not Malové,” Jeezel said, “and even the most demure places need a touch of magic.”
She ran her fingers through her raven locks, contemplating her wardrobe. “Burgundy for modesty and vintage silver lace mantilla for a whisper of enchantment”, she decided. It would strike the perfect balance.
Then, her mind turned to practicalities. The convent, with its storied history and sacred relics, would likely be a trove of ancient magics. She carefully selected a few essential items on her vanity: a vial of protective potion, a small pouch of moon blessed herbs and her favourite amulet in the shape of a silver hedgehog she got from her grand-mother and imbued with protective and clarity spells.
Her eyes fall on the thick file Truella had given each of them the day before. Full of charts and bullet lists about the cloister, questions about history, mug shots and detailed descriptions of the current inhabitants, with (not so) occasional pictures of her own digs and dogs. If Eris had skimmed through it in seconds and started to ask questions, Frella said she would read it before going to bed as it helped with her remembering. Jeezel had said nothing. She had gotten dizzy with too many bullet points and letters. All she could think about was the precious space and weight it would take in her suitcase and in her mind.
Though, there was something different. An envelop stuck between the file and the mahogany wood of the vanity. She took the envelop and opened it. It contained a letter and a small, ornate key, its surface inscribed with runes that glimmered with an otherworldly light. The paper grain was of fine quality. Jeezel recognized Malové’s intricate calligraphy. The paper carried subtle fragrances of sandalwood, jasmine, and bergamot, with a touch of vetiver and ambergris. With each whiff hidden facets were emerging from an apparently simple message.
“Jeezel, my trusted enchantress,” it started, “your journey to the convent in Spain is of utmost importance, more than the others can fathom. Beneath the cloistered serenity of those ancient walls lies a secret long kept from the world—a relic of unparalleled power known as the ‘Crimson Opus.’ It is said to be a manuscript not written with ink, but with the very essence of time itself.”
Your mission is to locate this Crimson Opus. It is guarded by a labyrinth of spells and enchantments designed to deter even the most skilled of seekers. But you, my dear Jeezel, possess the unique aptitude to unravel its mysteries. The convent’s seemingly mundane routines are the veil that conceals its true purpose; a sanctuary for the relic, and a prison for those who seek its power with ill intent.”
“You must be cautious, for the Crimson Opus has a sentience of its own. It will test your resolve, tempt you with visions and promises. Trust in your instincts, and remember, its true power can only be harnessed by those with a pure heart and an unyielding will.”
“The key will guide you to the hidden chamber where the Opus rests. Use it wisely, and under no circumstances let it fall into the wrong hands. You are more than capable, my dear. Don’t mention your mission to anyone. The fate of many may hinge upon your success, but I have no doubt in your abilities. Go forth, and may the ancient forces watch over you.”
Jeezel would have thought of a joke were it not for the mastery with which the message and its hidden layers had been crafted. She thought Malové was enthralled in a passionate romance in Brasil, but something in the scent she had not been able to decipher seemed to suggest the reality was more complex than it seemed. She thought of her friends. Did they all received a similar letter? Whom could she trust when secrecy was mandatory?
She held her hedgehog amulet more tightly, asking for some guidance.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The Quintessivium Cloister Crafts was busying getting ready to complete this year’s midsummer fashion tour.
Mother Blaen (Lorena in private), started to clap bossily to line up all the sisters for the rehearsal.
“Yes, Sister Maria, you start, Black habit and white wimple, Roman Catholic timeless elegance, perfect. And think to wipe that smile off your face. You need to show spirit of devotion.”
She swiftly moved to her right.
“Now, Sister Ananda.”
Sassafrass was starting to argue about the naming convention that felt a bit too Actors studio for her taste, but was promptly shushed. Mother Blaen took a closer look, adjusting her half-rimmed glasses. “Oh… dear, I thought for a moment you’d gotten fat. Must be the lighting. So, in the vibrant orange of bhikkhunis, you glide gracefully… well, as much as you can. Peace and calm, that’s you. Yes, and don’t make a scene please. Be content I’m not asking you to shave this hair to get more in character with the robes.”
She pursued:
“Sister Amina!”
Penelope Pomfrett raised her hand silently, visibly displeased too at the name.
“Good, now. Mystical and poetic nature of Sufism, that’s your cue. Beautiful, beautiful. That modest and pure white chola and headscarf will be resplendent on the catwalk.”
After she went through all the attires in detail, down to the long black riassa and epanokamelavkion of the Eastern Orthodox nun garb, all were getting ready for the grand finale.
“Now, all of us, walking together to symbolize the unity and diversity of spiritual paths. One, two, one two. Sassafrass! Focus please!”
Mother Blaen clapped, visibly pleased at the full on display of their Coven’s couture arts. That would put a good show for the smoking witches. She thought “Let them bring the money, but one thing is sure, we bring the talent.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Sandra finished her toast, pushed her plate away and stood up. She wiped her hands on the seat of her baggy linen trousers, and then retied the baler twine holding them up. So Blaen the pain thought she should improve her appearance, did she, the prune-faced troll. Sandra was quite happy with her own appearance, which she considered to be a statement indicating her lack of interest in appearance. Lorena Blaen glared at her retreating back as Sandra exited the dining hall with the exaggerated gait of a catwalk model.
Sassafras quickly swallowed the rest of her coffee, and got up to follow Sandra. Catching her up along the cloisters, she asked Sandra if it was a nun’s outfit event or a witches one, or what. It was hard to keep track of the various fronts.
“It’s a witches one this time, it’s a coven visiting. They know we use the nun thing as a cover, I think. But you know what else?” Sandra lowered her voice, pulling Sassafras closer. “This isn’t a merger, that coven already bought us out.”
“What?! But…but…but what does that…?”
Sandra shrugged, looking uncharacteristically helpless.
Sassafras squeezed her arm. “Who else knows? We must tell the others.”
“No! No, not everyone.” Sandra admitted that she didn’t know any more than that, and what she did know, she couldn’t say.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Lorena Blaen clapped her hands loudly together. Sassafras ignored her and continued buttering her toast, assuming that her boss was calling the stray dogs in to finish off the breakfast leftovers.
“Now then, girls!” Lorena’s strident voice boomed out. Sassafras sighed and looked up, her knife poised in the air. A blob of butter slid off onto the table.
“As you know, four members of the Quadrivium will be joining us this weekend and I have assigned a guide to each of them. One of them, however, will not be able to attend in person as she is occupied on an important case, but her guide will be in remote communication with her for the duration of the weekend gathering.”
The witches in the breakfast room collectively held their breath, many of them secretly concocting mental repellent spells so that they could avoid being chosen for this tedious assignment.
“And no need to try that with me, I have already disabled any attempts to divert my intentions,” Lorena said, glaring pointedly at a few individuals. “Sassafras, your assigned guest for the weekend will be…” Lorena looked at her notes, “Truella. Penelope Pomfrett, yours will be Eris.”
Penelope sighed loudly and slammed her coffee cup down harder than she intended, making Sassafras giggle.
“Sandra Salt, I hope you will be able to take this assignment more seriously than some of your colleagues. You will be attending to…” Lorena glanced at her notes again, “Jeezel. And by the way Sandra, perhaps you can learn a thing or two about the importance of appearance from Jeezel,” she added, with a critical look at Sandra’s sloppy attire.
“Audrey Ambrose,” Lorena announced, glaring over the top of her spectacles at Audrey whose mouth had dropped open in astonishment, “You’ll be quite capable with your broken ankle to attend to Frella remotely.” Audrey’s mouth snapped shut into a grim line. Her plan of faking an injury to avoid duties for a few weeks had backfired. And the cast was hot and itchy, and all for nothing.
“Our guests will be arriving later this morning. You will be expected to entertain them within the monastery buildings and grounds, but under no circumstances are you to leave the grounds or go into the woods.”
Sassafras raised an eyebrow but was careful to not let Lorena see. Her immediate idea was to go into the woods with what’s her name, Truella, and lose her for the day, maybe find her in time to bring her back for supper.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
When Truella had stopped reacting, she had another look over the memo, noticing the location of the preposterous sounding coven they were to associate with. She had assumed that it would be in the north, or at least in Madrid, but was astonished to discover they were based very close to her village. She wondered why she had never heard of them. She supposed that they did their money minded business elsewhere and were merely based here, hidden in the cork woods, masquerading as one of those ghastly upmarket hotels for corrupt politicians. One could only see the distinctive tower from the roads, as the old convent was hidden deep in the woods. Nobody Truella knew had ever had any money to get through the gates and have a closer look.
This gave Truella an idea. What an opportunity! It would give her a way in.
Actually, I think it might be a great idea, girls. Let’s give it our best shot. Austreberthe has my support on this.
Eris, Frella and Zez nearly dropped their gadgets when they read Truella’s latest message. Frella was the first to respond.
Go on then, tell us. What changed your mind?
Location, location, location! Truella replied. Check out where they’re based!
After a few minutes, Frella replied.
You better spill the beans and tell us what you’re planning. That is, if you want us to cooperate with you and go along with this latest trashy money grabbing fiasco in the making. I thought our plan was to have the summer off? What does the location mean to you?
Speak for yourself, Frella, Eris replied, rather miffed. At least she’s going to go along with it, for Flove’s sake, let’s just do what we’ve been asked to do without complaining for once!
I’m with you, Eris, Jeezel piped up, I quite fancy a flamenco puffer jacket. Or a nice knitted sombrero. And we can visit Truella while we’re there on business.
Outnumbered, Frella sighed. I still think Truella should explain. Explain fully. And don’t expect me anytime soon, either. I have to solve the mystery of the camphor chest first.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Looking at the news, Truella had started to push messages into the group’s channel. Frigella, Jeezel, and Eris were unusually quick to answer.
Truella: (rolling her eyes icon) “So, Austreberthe’s brilliant plan is to merge our sophisticated incense business with… what was it again? Puffer coats and kilts made by Spanish witch nuns? I honestly can’t wait to see how that plays out.”
Frigella: (smirking) “Oh, don’t forget the quills. How could we possibly survive without those finely crafted quills? I mean, who needs innovation in magic when you can have a hand-stitched quilt from a nun’s workshop?”
Jeezel: (chuckling) “I can see it now—our next product line: ‘Blessed Be the Quilted Puffer Coats.’ Perfect for those chilly nights when you’re out casting spells in the woods. Truly revolutionary.”
Truella: “Yes, and let’s not overlook the cultural synergy. Religious Spanish nuns known to overdo the religious stuff, merging with our… less-than-conventional coven. A match made in heaven, for sure.”
Jeezel: “I can already hear Austreberthe’s sales pitch. ‘Introducing the new line of enchanted apparel—each item blessed with a dash of piety and a sprinkle of old-world charm. Because nothing says cutting-edge magic like a quilted kilt.'”
Frigella: “And the quills! ‘Handcrafted by the devout sisters, these quills will not only enhance your writing but also keep your soul in line.’ Imagine the marketing campaigns!”
Jeezel: “It’s like we’re stepping back into the Middle Ages. What’s next? A line of chastity belts with magical locks?”
Frigella: “I get that Austreberthe is trying to diversify and all, but does she really think this will integrate seamlessly with our brand? We’ve built our reputation on unique, powerful incense blends. How do quills and coats fit into that?”
Jeezel: (looking for the snorting icon) “Don’t forget the puffer coats. Perfect for those who wish to repent in style.”
Eris not wanting to sound too sycophantic, and trying to remain optimistic considering it was after all part of all the potential business she’d looked into: “Well, it seemed like a good idea in the beginning. You should have seen what we avoided! Plus, they have a solid balance sheet, believe it on not, I’m sure that’s what got Austreberthe. I knew Malové had her reservations, but before she left, she pushed hard for it, so maybe there’s some hidden genius in this we just can’t see yet. And Austreberthe will have a cunning plan to fuse these disparate elements into something… cohesive.”
Truella: (raising an eyebrow) “Cohesive like a patched-up quilt, you mean? I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if this grand vision of hers is a stroke of genius or just… well, a stroke.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
At least the weather was nice in Brussels. The trip to the International Witch Bank of Grungebotts, in the quarters of Ravenstein was luckily a day trip this time, rather these week-long offsite workshops they’d been submitted to in the previous months.
It had not taken long to Austreberthe to send some of the Quadrivium witches to do her errands.
Eris was summoned in the wee hours of the day, in order to do a check-in with the bankers. The state of finances of the Quadrivium had been under scrutiny already at the time of Malové, but probably even more now during this power vacuum period.
Austreberthe had insisted Eris could be there to join with a few of the Witches of Compliance who would handle most of the discussion, while she would present the business side of their last ventures. Apparently Malové had only hinted at the secret missions she’d given some of the witches, without sharing any detail to her head of Finance.
Malové was apparently very used to these exchanges with the bankers, having struggled for a while to keep the Incense venture afloat. The presentation had been very expertly put together, and Eris for her part was mostly here to embody the seriousness and practicality of the business; in truth the bankers themselves, some greying end-of-career wizards, were obviously just here to do their job, and not eager to find fault that would require a more heavy-handed audit approach.
Within two hours of confident presentation, soft discussions on the state of international witches and wizard affairs, the political state in the union, and the incoming Worldwide Roman Games, with the help of a few madeleines dipped in black coffee, it was quickly done.
“How did it go?” Austreberthe anxious message was already flashing imperiously on her device as she boarded the return magical train. Eris distractly showed her ticket to the lady controller with the red lavallière and the strangest red octopus brooch, while struggling to answer.
She was too tired to overthink it. She tapped in quick taps the answer “All good for now. We should be in the clear until the next one.” and reclined back to get some needed rest.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“What’s so bad about the Middle Ages, Eris?” asked Truella, bridling. “I’ve been saying all along, we need to return to our roots, get back to the real thing, ditch the modern corporate world that has nothing to do with witchcraft.”
“It won’t be all lutes and jesters, you know,” Frella said with a frown. “I think you’re romanticising it. They did all sorts of dreadful things for money, even back then.”
“Gorgeous pointy hats though, Frell, and richly embroidered gowns and robes, men in tights and pointy shoes….”
Eris glared at Jez. “Who’s romanticising now? You’re forgetting the rank smell of unwashed bodies, the foul rotten food..”
“We’re not literally going back in time!” Truella said in exasperation. “Just adopting a different outlook, we can still wash for Flove’s sake! I don’t like the sound of Austreberthe though,” she added. “Sounds like a character out of a 1940’s German coven of the worst possible sort.”
“That’s a step too far, Truella,” Frella gasped. “You can’t say things like that about people, especially your superiors.”
“What do you mean can’t, I just did,” Truella retorted hotly. “And that right there is the problem, can’t you see? Nobody is superior! Anyway, how do we know Malove appointed her? Maybe she’s just seized the opportunity, a chancer in a power vacuum, and here you all are, just drooling at the opportunity to kowtow to yet another old dragon past her sell by date.”
“You’ll end up in the stocks on the village green, you will, being pelted with tomatos by the peasants, if she hears you.” Jez was examining her nails. “Did they have nail varnish in the Middle Ages?”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Once again, the Quadrivium headquarters buzzed with an undercurrent of tension and anticipation. Malové stood at the helm, her gaze as steely and unwavering as ever. The coven’s regular meetings had taken on a new urgency in the face of mounting market pressures and the ever-accelerating pace of competition.
The witches assembled in the grand hall, each carrying the weight of their individual concerns and collective anxieties. A large screen was projecting the agenda in flashy neon colours with a glamourous photo of their leader. The event was broadcast across many locations, not all witches able to join physically as the ongoing Worldwide Roman Games preparation and the 333th celebration of the Treaty of Limerick ending the Williamite War, had made the city impenetrable due to the convergence of world leaders.
Not only for those present, all of them seated in-person, or remotely connected had felt the tremors of change, the subtle yet insistent push towards transformation. Yet despite their best efforts, a cohesive vision for the coven’s future remained elusive.
As the last witch took her seat and the various technical glitches got sorted, Malové stepped forward, her presence commanding immediate silence. With a flick of her wrist, a spectral map materialized before them, shimmering with points of light that represented their past achievements and future challenges.
“Listen well,” Malové began, her voice echoing through the hall with the gravity of an ancient spell. “We stand at a crossroads, a juncture where our past accomplishments meet the demands of an unforgiving future. Our strength has always been in our unity and our mastery of the arcane, but now, we must also master the art of transformation.”
She paused, allowing her words to sink in. The witches leaned forward, their eyes locked onto their formidable leader.
“Transformation,” she continued, “is not merely a matter of adapting to external pressures. It requires a boldness of spirit and a willingness to steer the deepest currents of our inner selves. It demands that we break free from the confines of tradition without losing our core essence.”
Malové waved her hand, and the map shifted to reveal a complex network of interconnected pathways. “Our path forward will not be linear. It will be a labyrinth, requiring both cunning and courage. But fear not, for I have charted a course that will lead us through.”
She pointed to three glowing nodes on the map. “First, we shall innovate. Our magical incense blends have always been our hallmark, but we must go beyond. We will delve into new realms of magic, combining our ancient practices with cutting-edge techniques. Each of you will be tasked with researching and developing a new blend that can transform not just our coven, but the world.”
The witches exchanged glances, a mixture of excitement and apprehension flickering in their eyes.
“Second,” Malové continued, “we must strengthen our alliances. The world is vast, and we are not alone in our quest for magical mastery. We will forge new partnerships with other covens, magical beings, and even those who walk the line between the mundane and the mystical. Together, we will create a network of power and influence that none can rival.”
The map expanded, showing potential allies and strategic locations across the globe. The witches nodded, recognizing the necessity of this bold move.
“Lastly,” Malové said, her voice softening yet losing none of its intensity, “we must look within. Inner transformation is the crucible in which true power is forged. Each of you will undergo a rigorous process of self-examination and growth. You will face your fears, confront your weaknesses, and emerge stronger and more resilient. Only then can we hope to lead others through their own transformations.”
She paused, meeting the eyes of each witch in turn. “I will be with you every step of the way. My role is not just to lead, but to guide and support you. We will hold workshops, retreats, and one-on-one sessions to ensure that every member of the Quadrivium is prepared for the journey ahead.”
Truella, who had tuned in remotely, winced softly behind her screen – she quickly checked. Phew, she had been on mute the whole time.
Malové’s voice grew softer still, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of an ancient prophecy. “We are the Quadrivium. We are woven together by threads of magic and destiny. Our future is not written in stone, but in the stars. Together, we will reach for those stars and make them our own.”
The hall was silent, the witches absorbing the magnitude of Malové’s words. Slowly, a sense of resolve began to build, a collective determination to embrace the path laid out before them.
As the meeting drew to a close, Malové turned back to the spectral map, her eyes reflecting the myriad possibilities that lay ahead. “Remember this day, for it marks the beginning of our grand transformation. We will not be merely a coven. We will be a force of nature, a symphony of magic that weaves through time and space.”
With a final wave of her hand, the map vanished, leaving only the echoes of her words and the indomitable spirit of the Quadrivium, and throngs of witches left more confused as they exited the halls in hushed tones.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
There was an odd sight today.
Eris sat in the deserted courtyard area of the brand new Quadrivium office, Malové’s latest folly. She could savor the quiet that Fridays often brought, most of her colleagues from the coven preferring to work from home, leaving the usually bustling space tranquil and almost meditative. She took a bite of her sandwich, listening distractedly to the complaints of another witch sitting nearby, while her own mind still preoccupied with the myriad responsibilities and recent events that seemed to pile around like a stack of clothes due a trip to the laundry.
As she chewed thoughtfully, her eyes were drawn to an odd sight. A blackbird was performing a strange dance in front of the mirrored walls that lined one side of the patio. It hopped back and forth, its beak tapping on the surface, its feathers shimmering in the afternoon light, as if it were courting its own reflection or perhaps trying to feed it with a worm it had in its beak. Eris paused, intrigued by this peculiar behavior. What could it mean?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a series of sharp, melodic chirps. She looked around and spotted another bird perched nearby in the foliage of hanged planters lining the walls —a female blackbird, easily identifiable by her distinct brown coat. The female watched the male’s antics with a mix of curiosity and detachment, her chirps seeming to carry a message of their own.
Eris felt a shiver run down her spine, a familiar sensation that often preceded a moment of magical insight. The blackbird’s dance wasn’t just an oddity; it was a sign, a message from the universe, or perhaps from the magical currents that flowed unseen through the world.
She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to connect with the energy around her. The image of the male blackbird, tirelessly courting its own reflection, seemed to mirror her own recent struggles. Had she been chasing an illusion, trying to nourish something that could not be sustained?
The female blackbird’s presence added another layer to the message. She was grounded, present, and observant—a contrast to the male’s futile efforts. Eris thought of her recent decisions, the dismissal of the cook, the strained relationships within the coven, and the cryptic postcards from Truella. Was the universe urging her to find balance, to ground herself and observe more keenly before taking action?
She could almost hear Elias whispers in her ears: Birds, in general, often represent thoughts or ideas flying about in our consciousness. The blackbird specifically, with its stark contrast and distinct presence, can represent deeper insights, truths, or messages that are coming to your awareness. The mirror, as a reflective surface, implies that these insights pertain directly to your perception of self or facets of your identity that may be emerging or needing attention. Putting this together, the imagery of the birds and their interactions could be nudging you to pay closer attention to your inner reflections. Are you nurturing the parts of yourself that truly need attention? Are there aspects of your identity or self-perception that require acknowledgment and care? The presence of the brown-coated female blackbird might also be a reminder to appreciate the varied and multifaceted nature of your experiences and the different roles you embody.
She opened her eyes, feeling a sense of clarity washing over her. The birds continued their vivid dialogue and unfathomable dances, unaware of the impact they had just made, although her insistent gaze had seemed to snap the blackbird out of its mesmerized pattern. He was now scurrying away looking over its shoulder, as if caught in an awkward moment.
Rising from her seat, Eris felt something. Not some sort of newfound sense of purpose, but a weight of a precious present, luminous and fragile, yet spacious and full with undecipherable meaning. She glanced one last time at the blackbirds, silently thanking them for their unspoken wisdom. As she walked back into the office, she knew that the path ahead would still be fraught with challenges, but she was ready to face them—grounded, observant, and attuned to the subtle messages that the world had to offer.
In the quiet of the Quadrivium office, on a deserted Friday afternoon, a blackbird’s dance had set the stage for the next chapter of her journey.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Wondering why she couldn’t focus, Jeezel frowned and checked the ingredients for the Concordia potion again. For a moment she thought she had already done it, but here it was again. And it had to be perfect.
Moon water imbued with lunar magic to set the stage of harmony. Rose petals for love and beauty. Lavender for its calming properties, essential to soothe and balance the collective energies. Honey for cooperation and its irresistible sweetness. Willow wand… Where was her willow wand? She would have to do it all over again if she didn’t find her willow wand.
A wet tongue on her hand was trying to catch her attention. The ingredients started to loose focus again.
“Stop Luminia. It has to be perfect,” said Jeezel, gently pushing the muzzle of her nine tailed fox away. “Help me find my willow wand instead, that would be helpful!”
“You’ve already done it a million times,” said Luminia with a sigh, “and each time you stop at the willow wand. You’re caught in a feverish loop. I need to pee.”
The ingredients and the smoking cauldron disappeared. Jeezel frowned as the techno beats of a pounding headache reminded her she was still alive.
“Just let me die and go out on your own, please…” Jeezel moaned.
“You know I don’t like to shape shift into a cat. Wandering lone dogs are too suspicious. And you need some fresh air. You’ve been simmering in your own juice the last couple of days.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Madeira! Good grief,” murmured Frella when she read Truella’s message. Of course Madeira! Not some godforsaken Airbnb on a gloomy coast that smelt of rotting fish and doom … and just because Malove recommended it! She felt the familiar wave of anxiety which thoughts of Malove tended to evoke in her and took a couple of deep steadying breaths. Why Malove had recommended this place was beyond her comprehension but there had surely been strange undercurrents in the coven of late.
Frella was still wondering how to respond to Truella’s message; it was galling to have to admit she was right, when there was a sharp knock on the door. In no mood for visitors of any description, Frella considered ignoring it. Next moment there was a sound of the key rattling in the lock.
“Look at that! You are here!” cried Herma as she burst into the room. Her voice held a hint of reproach and Frella stuttered awkwardly that she’d been about to answer.
“Oh tut tut don’t you worry!” She plonked down next to Frella on the sofa causing it to creak under her not inconsiderable weight. “Ah, that’s better, haven’t I been racing around all morning.” She smiled at Frella. “Lordy, but I know what you witches are like; I’ve had enough of you lot stay here through the years. I’m surprised you didn’t cast one of them invisibility spells you’re all so good at!” She laughed heartily and Frella forced herself to chuckle in response. Then they lapsed into silence.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” asked Frella eventually, much as she was loath to encourage Herma who appeared to be fixated on the mat. Frella couldn’t see anything amiss although the mat was arguably a little garish with its multi-coloured checkerboard pattern.
“It’s not tea I’m after,” said Herma. “It’s your help I need.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
I didn’t know whether to be irritated or relieved when Frella started writing her own holiday diary entries, after asking me to write them. I’d already got the next one planned, and was looking forward to the scenery in Madeira, and here we were in Ireland again. Grey day, too. I was hoping to give her the holiday of a lifetime in my next book, The Frolics of Frivolous Frella.
I think I’ll take one day at a time and see what she comes up with next.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Sometimes the storm within is far more tumultuous than the one without.
After yet another seminar under Malové’s exacting eye, followed by the treasure hunt team-building exercise that left more than a few witches grumbling, Eris found herself at a crossroads.
The seminar had been, as always, a rigorous affair. Malové’s stern teachings, laced with cryptic wisdom and unyielding standards, forced the witches to confront their weaknesses and push their magical boundaries. The treasure hunt, designed to test their teamwork and resourcefulness, had revealed underlying tensions and frayed nerves despite the moments of camaraderie.
Eris, already exhausted from the constant demands and the emotional toll of the coven’s internal conflicts, felt her resolve wavering. The weight of responsibility hung heavy on her shoulders, and the recent events had only amplified her sense of weariness.
After the seminar, Eris retreated to her quarters, seeking solace in the familiar comforts of her personal space. She lit a calming incense blend, one of the Quadrivium’s finest, hoping it would help clear her mind and ease her spirits. As the soothing aroma filled the room, she couldn’t help but reflect on Malové’s private comments about Truella and the importance of clear communication and assertiveness balanced with respect.
The treasure hunt had forced Eris to confront her own limitations and the gaps in her magical expertise. She realized that while she had always been diligent and skilled, she had often hesitated to take bold risks or assert her ideas for fear of criticism. Malové’s teachings, though harsh, had a way of stripping away these hesitations, leaving only the raw truth.
Determined to rise above her doubts, Eris decided to approach the next phase of her journey with renewed vigor. She had a moment of appreciation for Malové’s tough but fair leadership —they had joked about their Breton witch colleague who had emphasised in her address to be “tough leaders” ; at least that’s what they understood until they all realised under the thick French accent, she’d actually meant being a “thought leader”. Expressing her gratitude for the guidance, Eris vowed to bridge the gap with Truella, understanding that their differences could be a source of strength rather than division.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Business!” Truella spat the word out. “Always business, always about money.”
“It’s the way of the world, Tru,” Eris said in a futile attempt to mollify Truella. “Try and fit in a bit.”
“Fit in? Fit in? Fit in to what? Squeeze into one of Jeezel’s cocktail dresses? A lung crushing basque? Lie down flat like a dollar bill and get squashed into a pile of dirty paper notes like the rest of them? I don’t want to fit in.”
“But it’s the only way, you know it is,” Eris entreated. “Please try and see some sense.”
“Sense? Sense? What sense? Common sense? A sense of adventure? A sense of wonder? A sense of the sensational? A sense of sensitivity? A sense of senselessness?”
Eris sighed deeply. “You’re not making sense. And what’s more, you haven’t made any scents for ages either. How do you expect to manage on your own without the coven?”
“Eris,” Truella said with an equally profound sigh,”You misunderstand me. I don’t wish to leave the coven, I wish to change it. It’s gone wrong, horribly wrong. We’re supposed to change the world for the better, not kowtow to this dreadful modern scourge. We need to return to our roots, our true calling. What has happened to us all? Meek grovelling subservient money grubbing towers of the line, that’s what! It’s a disgrace!”
“How are you going to pay your electricity bill then, without any of that ghastly currency?”
“I am a WITCH! I should be able to magic up the light! We all should! Not pissing around making smelly unguents to pander to the faux enlightened! Enlightened! hah! What a word for the huddled masses who can’t even summon up enough magic to illuminate a light bulb. Why aren’t we working on free electricity? huh? Answer me that!”
“Ok then, I’ll report back to Malove that you’re working on a free electricty spell, shall I?” Eris was becoming exasperated.
“You do that!” Truella stormed angrily, annoyed at having her superior motives ridiculed. “But I suggest you have a long hard think about what I’ve said. And you can tell the others that. And not only that,” she added, “Tell them to start work on a magic money spell. It’s utterly beyond me how a coven of witches, constantly strapped for cash, hasn’t considered the all too obvious solution of simply magicking up a pile of banknotes. Or even easier, digits on a screen. Digits on a screen, that’s all it is!”
Eris was forced to admit that this was a very good point.
“Think, Eris,” Truella gave her friends arm a gentle squeeze, relieved that she was starting to see some sense. “If we perfect the money magic spell, and share it widely ~ for free, of course, no need to charge anyone for it after all! ~ the hoarders can bury themselves under mountains of money without depriving anyone else of any essentials. It’s a game changer, Eris. It would be Change, with a capital C. Real Change.”
Eris looked doubtful. “But…”
“And ask yourself why you hesitate.” And with that Truella flounced off, back to her dig, leaving a perplexed Eris in a fog of confusion.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Getting this out in the room did bring a tide of emotions; pent-up frustration, indignation, bits of bruised egoes, the whole spectrum. Truella’s tirade had managed to uncork a complete bundle of electricity in the atmosphere, but the genie had left the building.
Eris had suddenly felt like scrambling away, but had stayed along with spaced out Frigella and Jeezel as she’d felt a pang of responsibility.
Surprisingly, Malové had remained composed throughout the heated ensuing exchanges, trying to be constructive at every turn, and managing to conclude most of the debates —even when was not fully settled, and by far, a round of collected feedback afterwards, she’d clapped appreciatively saying. “Congratulations team, seeing how we are no longer covertly disagreeing behind everyone else’s back, I can see improvement in our functioning as a cohesive Coven. Believe it or not, being in a place to openly voice disagreement is a sign of progress, we’ve moved past the trust issues, into constructive conflict. There is still much to be done to commit, be accountable and focus on results together, but I feel we are on track to a brighter future, you’ve all done well.”
Back in her cottage in Finland, Eris was wondering “then why do I feel so bloody exhausted…”
She played back in her head some of the comments that Malové had shared in private after, when Eris had enquired if there would be some consequences for her witch’s friend actions. Once more, Malové has shown a unusual restraint that had put her worries at ease for now.
“Truella’s actions during the Adare Manor workshop presentation displayed boldness and conviction, two qualities that are essential for any individual, executive or otherwise, who wishes to effect change within an organization or a venture. Standing up for oneself is not only about self-assurance; it’s about ensuring that your voice and perspective are heard and considered.
However, the manner in which one stands up for oneself is crucial. Berating others, especially in a public forum such as a workshop presentation, can be counterproductive. It can create resistance and diminish the opportunity for constructive dialogue. While I understand her frustration, it is important to channel such energies towards a more strategic approach that fosters collaboration and leads to solutions.
As a leader, I advocate for clear communication and assertiveness, tempered with respect for all members of the coven. The success of our ventures, vaping or otherwise, depends on our ability to work cohesively towards our common goals. Truella’s passion is commendable, but it must be directed appropriately to benefit the coven and our business endeavors.”
She had asked Eris to convey the same to Truella. She’d made no promises —her friend was known to be more difficult to herd than cats. But with time, there would be a chance she would see reason.
Meanwhile, their sales targets had not gone away, and they had to keep the Quadrivium afloat. With Truella checking out of the game, and clearly not overly engaged on results, it fell onto the rest of the team to deliver.
A second session of workshop and celebration was planned in a month’s time in Spain with all top witches. With Eris’ last experience in Spain and her elephant head, she was starting to dread another mishap. Plus, she sighed when she looked at the invite. She would have to fetch a cocktail attire. A vacation was long overdue…
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Of course I know,” said Eris, looking worn out by the excess of social interaction, or maybe that was her latest goth make-up. “Have I been the only one paying attention?”
“Shtt, don’t speak too loud, my head is pounding…” Jeezel moaned softly. “And what is happening with us?”
“You haven’t got it, have you? Should I spell it out loud?” Eris glanced sideways, wary of Malové being within earshot. “It was all a test… but I don’t see us getting in the good graces of the Coven with was has transpired so far.”
Truella tugged at Frigella’s sleeve, as she went to refill her plate and had noticed the impromptu discussion which was suspiciously conspirational. Frigella groaned “don’t wake up Yikes, look how cutie pooh he is.”
Truella motioned for them to join Eris and Jeezel, who grimaced at the sight of Truella’s questionable cheese selection. “What’s going on? We want in.”
Eris sighed. “Fine, but not here. Let’s get some fresh air.” As discreetly as a herd of elephant in a dry savanah, they made their way to the terrace, escaping the breakfast room which was getting crowded, to bask in the morning sunlight.
As they settled in, Eris began to explain. “I think it’s a side-effect of my memory spell, that unexpectedly, I still remember most of it.”
“Spill it already, they’re about to close the buffet, and the morning sessions are starting soon, and we can’t be late,” Truella urged, fidgeting impatiently.
“You see, that’s exactly it, Tru’. None of us have been ourselves. And do you really think that baby is a coincidence?” She nodded towards Frigella, who was cooing over the sleeping infant.
“First off, have you noticed, this workshop is meant for the top brass. Only the high-rank witches of the Coven have been invited, and you don’t even think twice about why we’re here. Malové has been setting us to a test amongst her next in line. We’ve been in competition since the start with the other witches, and you didn’t even notice! They were apparently more prepared than us lot. They managed to honeypot Frigella with a baby which I’m pretty sure is nothing more than a transformed rodent. As for Truella, the spell on her must have started on the Octobus; not sure you’ve noticed, but when we stopped on our way to collect the other ones, that’s when she started to get sick and get all sorts of strange cravings.”
“But… what’s the point?” Jeezel asked, still bewildered. “Is that why I can’t get my hair right, and my eye makeup is a disaster, and… and…” She choked back tears.
“These witches are fiercely competitive. And probably less skilled that us, which is why they will not play fair; we’ve got to step up ladies. Otherwise, we’ll be on tuspellware duties for years until some opportunity like that happens again.” Eris was getting fired up, an unusual sight for someone generally mildly interested in office politics.
“Truella!” Eris called out as Truella was starting to gorge on the cornichons she’d piled up next to the fromages assemblage. “You’re presenting in the morning session! Malové is counting on you to update us on the vaping venture… new sales channels, market studies, double-digit growth, you know the drill.”
Truella seemed to snap out of her daze. “Don’t tell me,” Eris sighed, “you forgot… Luckily, I have a memory for all of us, and I brewed some ginkgo potion this morning.” She produced an orange flask with black tea stains around the edges, and poured it into glasses she conjured.
“Now bottoms up, ladies. We’ve got a presentation to nail and some witches to put in their place.”
