New Beginnings
In a city just like any other, underneath a railway bridge they called the Hielanman’s Umbrella, there was an invisible barrier where the world magically transformed. The earthly existence became dark, mysterious, ever so slightly dangerous; there was also a faint smell of old chip fat and depression. Emerging from this murky underworld of the railway bridge, the city streets were designed in neat little blocks. Apparently, the town planners in this city loved a square; uniformity made it very easy to draw the street map. On the surface this city was just like any other, but this particular metropolis was far from normal.
Not far from this netherworld there was a street with a myriad of modern office blocks, with panels of blinding glass and chrome, and the obligatory colour-changing LED lights. These modern monoliths stood proudly beside the brown, slightly bleak Cold War buildings. This single street was dank, with dirt ingrained into the fabric of the buildings from decades of traffic, people and neglect. On this grimy street, you would find the real power movers and shakers in the political world. This street was home to local government, a government ministry, a government central department, and some departments that didn’t officially exist. These organisations all coexisted – or should that be all tolerated each other –whilst claiming their own territory within this half-mile of the city. Each of these departments politicked, schemed and tried to outmanoeuvre each other at every turn. They postured and exuded control and power in a continual tug of war. They were, however, completely and utterly deluded, as they had no idea about the reality of their situation.
With all those politicians and civil servants within a half-mile radius of each other, it was no surprise that along this same grimy street there were small businesses where those said politicians and civil servants might procure certain services. These businesses provided everything a busy city person needed to get through a stressful day of politicking and scheming: such as restaurants where those all-important lunch and evening “meetings” could be held; a sex shop; a hotel with rooms that rented by the hour (that included 45 minutes for tea and nibbles). Well, these high-powered types needed some stress relief after their very difficult day at work. Oh, and there was a pub for relaxation and to have a little libation after a hard day’s backstabbing. It was a government paradise, and all the small business owners accepted the government procurement card, so it was all expense-chargeable.
Within this world, where keeping power and control was the only goal, if they did some good along the way, well, that was a nice little accident, but not exactly essential. The main thing they sought was to be endorsed for doing exactly what they wanted, to rapturous applause. It was the biggest magic show in the world; distraction was the key.
What these politicians didn’t realise was that they didn’t hold the power, they never had, not even a little tiny sliver of it. Oh, and don’t fall for the fable that the people have the power, oh dear, no, they couldn’t be allowed to have that. Real power and control to change anything could only be achieved if they hung around long enough to do something meaningful. Ministers, Prime or otherwise, or those with grand departmental titles, only hold the reins for a few years before they are shuffled out and a new lot come in to keep the seat warm. They barely have time to find out where the toilets and the coffee machines are before it’s time to say bye-bye. The real power-makers are very pleased with this situation; it’s going exactly as planned. So, let’s revise what was previously stated – the biggest magic show wasn’t the government of the day distracting the voting citizens, it was those that kept the government ants busy and too distracted to make any real change. Abracadabra.
Like all major cities, there were specialist hotels where the clientele’s every whim could be catered to, and this city was no different; indeed, this city had a very specialist hotel. The Hotel Willow looked like any other hotel from the frontage, with a nod to a bygone era of opulence and decadence. The aesthetic was complete with a dark interior of black marble, oxblood-red leather sofas and velvet upholstery. A heady mix of floral and musty scents were ingrained into the fabric of the building. On the reception desk there was a quaint, old-fashioned brass bell for patrons to ring for service. Now, this hotel provided a very specialised service, and when they said service, they meant service by the hour. Yes, it was one of those hotels. The proprietor of this particular establishment was Agatha. Agatha had seen some things in her time – she had many sordid and tawdry stories to tell, and she very often did.
The clientele included ministers, a few senior officials and, of course, the usual quota of representatives from the law-abiding and enforcing constabulary.
In Room 33, the Minister for Morality was getting his weekly “service” from Bella. She was one of the hotel’s most popular ladies, a bubbly twenty-something, a modern lady with long ebony hair. She had many piercings – so many, in fact, that her Aunt Agatha would joke that Bella needed to avoid large magnets. For her meeting with the minister, she was wearing a pink silk dressing gown with feather trim and feather-trimmed heeled slippers. He was sitting in a classic Chesterfield chair, fully clothed, with a glazed look and a vacant smile on his face. He was making various noises of enjoyment. Unbeknownst to him, he had been enchanted.
Bella was an exceptional witch. She had wanted to travel and see the world, but her mother insisted she learned the craft from her aunt. Bella had mastered the mesmer to such a degree that in the minister’s head he believed he was getting exactly what he’d ordered, right down to the minute, strangely specific, detail. Whereas in reality, he was sitting in a chair grunting and grinding away like a horny mongoose.
The Hotel Willow wasn’t just one of those hotels, it was a very specialist hotel. As Bella sat in the comfy chair opposite the grinding, grunting minister, filing her nails, there was a knock at the door. Agatha opened it and entered, dressed in a dark green cloak with purple lining, a dark trouser suit and white trainers; as a tall lady she preferred comfort and over the years had developed a rather unique style.
“Not interrupting anything, am I?” Agatha said, laughing.
Bella also chuckled. “He’s ordered the number three, he’ll be spangled for another twenty minutes at least.” Bella was a giggler. With her sunny disposition, she thought being a witch was the best job ever, and it was certainly never dull.
“Number three, eh? Dirty beggar. They really have no shame,” Agatha tutted. Agatha was the matriarch of the Coven, with pure white short hair and piercing green eyes. She floated into a room with elegance preserved for the most delicate of stars. She had a habit of twisting the amethyst and peridot ring on her pinkie finger, gently touching its crystals to remind herself of their significance. She was genuinely disgusted at the minister’s choice of relaxation, pursing her lips and creasing her eyes in revulsion as he began to oink like a pig and jerk about in the seat.
“Honestly, private schools have a lot to answer for. He needs weekly therapy, not a weekly service from us.”
Bella looked over at the minister, winced and shook her head, as if she had sucked a sour lemon. “We just take the money, honey.” She clicked her fingers as if singing a funky song.
“Yup, cash for kinky, that’s us. So, are you all excited about the Annual Coven congress?” Agatha asked, trying to distract both of them from the shenanigans in the corner of the room.
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to the circle workshop and getting some new supplies. Is Xander going to be there? I need my crystals recharged and no-one does it like him. I can only manage a weak recharge. I’m convinced he has a direct link to the source. It’s just fabulous. Are you all ready with your keynote?” Bella excitedly asked Agatha. Agatha was one of the main witches at this year’s convention. She was going to be opening the event with a rousing speech.
All the ladies within this establishment were witches. Yes, bonafide, wand-waving, cauldron-boiling, cat-loving, card-carrying witches. Agatha was a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter seven generations back. Each generation passed their memories through birth and magic to the next generation; this heritage made Agatha a powerful witch, a very powerful one, in fact.
“I’ve done the first draft. I’ve been thinking about the theme for this year and how we can really collaborate and coordinate to make real change. Information-sharing protocols and all that good stuff,” Agatha confirmed.
“That sounds brilliant. It would be great if we could really make some worldwide difference. It’s really inspiring to think of what we could do. Who’s this year’s guest speaker?” Bella enquired. Bella deeply wanted to make a real difference – she was happy with learning the craft in the hotel, but she yearned to make her stamp on the globe.
“I tried to get Gavin, but he was busy with the Americans, so, drumroll please… I got Frank,” Agatha said very smugly, looking like the witch’s cat that got the cream.
“No! Wow! How did you manage that?” Bella was on the edge of her seat now, almost squealing – this was big news and she could barely contain her excitement.
“Him and I go way back. Like, waaaay back. I told him this year’s theme of collaboration and he was all over it. He knew it would be brilliant for his brand. He scratches our back, and he gets lots of new contacts for information. It’s a win-win,” Agatha confirmed, smiling.
“Ehhhh, ehhhh, ohhhh, oink, oink, naughty, yeahhh, just there…” The minister was now becoming a bit more animated and making gyrating moves in the chair. It was cringey, embarrassing, and something no-one should have had the misfortune to witness. But the witches had their reasons for putting themselves through such retina-scarring scenes every day.
“Oh dear, he’s quick today. Right, better get on with it, then.” Agatha looked over at the minister then spoke directly to him. “Tell me your secrets.”
“I once made love to a teddy bear,” he said with a vacant grin, his eyes closed and a glazed, contented look on his face.
“Ewww, not those types of secrets. Creep. The real secrets, the ones about your work and the people you work with,” Agatha pressed, although mentally taking a note about the teddy bear. That little bit of information might possibly come in handy in the future.
The minister, in his continued mesmerised state, slowly and clearly said, “Operation COPPER PAN contains all birth names, aliases and current locations of the known intelligence network. It’s on a floppy disc. I was collecting it on my trip here. It is in my briefcase. No-one can hack a floppy disc. Operation FELIX has details of the fuel storage facilities. They are in underground locations all over the country. Operation FIREFLY contains the plan to keep all citizens controlled, whilst me and my chums make a packet raising prices for the poor. Operation WASP is the plan to ensure there continues to be a patriarchal, male-biased society.” At that he guffawed.
Agatha was still listening to his confessions, but now she was also busily looking in his briefcase, which was not locked. In between his protein bar, his security pass and his laptop was the unhackable floppy disc.
“Got it. Run down and copy this, will you? Floppy disc, indeed – they never learn.” She gave the disc to Bella.
“On it.” Bella took the disc and ran out the door. The Hotel Willow had every type of disc drive and all forms of data storage, including tape recorders, microfiches, and even nano-drives. If there was a way to store and share information, Hotel Willow was equipped with the hardware and software. They had state-of-the-art cyber encryption, and of course a dusting of magic helped with encryption to protect their own data. God forbid their data was ever disclosed. They could not have the world knowing with certainty about witches and the true reality, that would be disastrous.
Agatha turned to the minister, who at this point was now safely back in the world of his fantasy.
“Minister, you won’t remember this, but you will know it, you will feel it as true, and you will action it. Next time Operation WASP is mentioned, you will feel physically sick and embarrassed deep in your soul about how women are treated. You will want to feel better and make things better. Next time Operation FIREFLY is on the agenda, you will know in your heart that the tighter you try to keep a grip of your control of the people, the more they will see it and the harder they will fight back. You will feel like a very worried little boy. As for Operation COPPER PAN, thank you very much, you’ve done a great service for your country.” Agatha implanted these feelings, these shadows directly into the minister’s subconscious. This was the fun part of the job. She specifically enjoyed anything where she felt she was fighting for women’s rights and freedoms.
Bella ran back into the room, breathless. “Here you go,” she panted, and handed the floppy disc back to Agatha.
“Did you change the names and locations to fake ones?” Agatha asked.
“Of course, it’s not my first rodeo,” Bella scoffed.
“You’re the best. Excellent work. We can’t have them having the real information. As long as we are the only ones with accurate information, it makes it much more valuable. Now I’m off to pay the Chief Inspector a visit, see what goodies he has for us today,” Agatha said as she exited the room.
Over the years, the underground vaults deep under the Hotel Willow had collected more national secrets than the entire Vatican secret archives, the US President’s Book of Secrets and the Rosslyn Chapel vaults put together. Well, everyone has to have a hobby, don’t they?
Bella rubbed her hands together, readying herself for the final part of the mesmer. She put her hands in the prayer position in front of her heart, closed her eyes and moved each hand in an opposite direction, still with the palms touching. She then separated them and began to roll a ball of energy between her hands. She took a strand of the energy and marked the infinity sign over the head and shoulders of the minister. A yellow haze shimmered over him. Still in his mesmerised state, he stood up and moved to the bed, took off his clothes and lay on the top of the now crumpled bedsheets. It was a horrid fleshy vision. At this part of the service Bella always turned her head away; there are some sights no-one should be exposed to, and she certainly wasn’t being paid enough to view the minister in a state of undress. He began to come around woozily from his magical sleep and started to get dressed again.
Bella thought to herself, Thank God he’s putting his clothes back on, I can look in his direction again. But aloud she said to him, “Oh, you’re a naughty boy. How was it for you?” She pretended to wipe the side of her mouth. As he was dressing, she noticed his buttock tattoo, which looked like it had been done with a branding iron, saying Lizzie’s boy. She didn’t know if it was useful information, but she’d store it away anyway. With information you never knew when it would be needed in the future, and the true business of Hotel Willow was information.
“Dear, that was one of the best sessions yet. Can I book in for same time next week?” the Minister practically pleaded.
“Of course. Do you want it charged to the government credit card again?” Bella knew the drill.
“Always, my dear. I put it under hospitality expenses.” He guffawed and snorted, in a way only the truly corrupt can do, whilst apparently not feeling a single bit of guilt.
“Well, I do like to be hospitable,” giggled Bella coquettishly, inwardly repulsed at this worm of a man. But at least his weakness was quite useful. Cash for kinky.
The minister left the establishment; another happy customer, nicely relaxed and ready for a day of backstabbing, unaware of the otherworldly beings manoeuvring around him.
