Rebecca Smythe: Witch in Training || ONC 2021

Becky the Guilty

"Ready to rejoin the party?" 

Melinda's words cut through the thoughts weaving frantically through Rebecca's mind. Melinda was part of the Witches' Protection Program? Now that Rebecca thought about it, it made total sense. Melinda's position as a kitchen witch despite her complete inability to cook. Her deep fear of getting fired. Melinda was in the same situation Rebecca was and Rebecca had been learning to read using words from her file.

"Yes, let's," said Rebecca quickly. She felt a vague sense of horror biting through what moments before had been overwhelming sadness. She wiped the traces of tears from her face with one of her sleeves and hoped this made her look presentable.

Melinda, oblivious to the sudden shift in Rebecca's mood, was now talking about how the Grimwelds were frantically installing an orchard in order to keep up with the Plimptons. Rebecca felt uncomfortable stepping into the warm glow of candlelight - like everyone was watching her. The stage had been cleared and a series of small circular cocktail tables had taken its place. Wilfred and Charles were strutting proudly throughout the crowd offering to sign cocktail napkins. Snippets of conversation wove together in the crisp night air.

"--and that's why the council agreed to permit flying charms within the county lines," said a portly man who was gesticulating enthusiastically to Caldwell.

Two men with long white beards seemed to have cornered Mrs. Plimpton at one of the cocktail tables. "Well, the homeowners association wasn't thrilled with all the pumpkins--"

At an adjacent table, a man with a long nose was speaking to a clever-looking blonde woman. "--if only people had more exposure to magic it could sort of normalize--"

"Ms. Smith."

Rebecca whirled around and found herself looking into the deep black eyes of Mr. Plimpton.

"I am truly sorry about the speech," Rebecca blurted out. "I found myself feeling so ill all of a sudden and I--"

"Ms. Smith," said Mr. Plimpton sternly, "There is a visitor for you in my study. Follow me."

Rebecca turned to Melinda and shrugged. As she followed Mr. Plimpton silently back up the sloping lawn, she wondered who it could possibly be visiting her. No one knew she was here. Perhaps it was Mrs. Grimweld come to demand a scone recipe.

Mr. Plimpton said nothing until they reached the door to his study.

"A man arrived about fifteen minutes ago claiming to know you. He said it was urgent that you two speak. I trust that in the future, your personal affairs will not appear on my doorstep. Please resolve the situation quickly and get him out of here." With that, Mr. Plimpton opened the door and brusquely ushered Rebecca inside. 

The office was a large room with a low ceiling. Light from several oil lamps illuminated portraits that covered every square inch of the space. The portrait to Rebecca's right depicted a beautiful woman with long dark hair staring solemnly back out at her with sea-green eyes. In one hand the woman held a vial of something emerald and smoking, in the other hand was a slender wand emitting blue sparks. A tiny gold plaque at the bottom read "Calista Plimpton". 

Rebecca glanced around at the other portraits. They were all of the same woman. Calista reading a book by a fountain. Calista laughing with her arm around a much younger, much happier Richard Plimpton. Calista holding a baby with dark curls and matching sea-green eyes.

Rebecca heard the door snap shut behind her. Her heart began to pound as she stepped further into the room. There were two large armchairs facing the fire with their backs to her. Every step closer to the chairs sent bolts of nervous energy through Rebecca's body. Could it be someone from Shettlewood? Was it possible that Theodore knew she was here? It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she had last thought of him.

Rebecca, now level with the chairs, peered around the ornate armrest. Her heart immediately plummeted. All hope that it was someone from Shettlewood evaporated in an instant and she felt panic begin to overwhelm her. Settled into the red velvet armchair, firelight glinting off his tiny round spectacles, was Alston Mayfield.

"Rebecca Smythe. We meet again." The reflection from the fire made it so Rebecca could not see Alston's eyes.

"So you know," said Rebecca.

"I know," said Alston. "I know there was a clerical error. And I know you have no rights to the protections offered by the Witches' Protection Program as you are not, in fact, a real witch. I know you knew all of this when your file conveniently went missing. The question remains, where does this leave us?"

Rebecca could hear Alston only faintly over the mad rush of blood in her ears. She felt like the floor had opened up beneath her and she was falling down a deep dark hole.

"Did you tell Mr. Plimpton?"

"Not yet. But that does seem to be the next logical step. You certainly can't remain here. Once it inevitably is revealed that you have no powers, it would endanger the whole program."

"If I quit, can you provide me with a new assignment? I'm rather good at cooking. Perhaps someone needs a kitchen witch?"

"But you are NOT a witch, Ms. Smythe," Alston practically spat the words.

"What do you plan to do with me?" asked Rebecca. She felt the beginnings of despair.

"The only logical avenue seems to be to turn you over to the authorities in Shettlewood," said Alston firmly. Fear and anger ignited inside Rebecca. She wouldn't let them try to burn her again. She would fight for this life. This messy, dishonest, beautiful life she had built for herself.

"No," said Rebecca. "No, you will not! I won't let you!" Rebecca was vaguely aware of the sounds coming from the rest of the house- the sharp whine of a door hinge, a floorboard creaking, but her anger prevented her from caring about what the Plimptons and their fancy house guests were up to.

"I'm afraid you don't have much leverage in this situation," said Alston.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong," said Rebecca softly. She was desperate. "You see, Mr. Mayfield, it wasn't just MY file that I took. I know the names of over a dozen witches currently being employed through the Witches' Protection Program."

"I don't believe you," said Alston but the slight quavering in his voice betrayed him.

"Rachel W. Plonsky. Arson." Rebecca closed her eyes as she spoke. She thought if she didn't see Alston's face this moment wouldn't haunt her in the years to come. She was wrong. 

"Cynthia P. Townes. Heresy. Margaret L. Flack. Possession." The names on the files she had stolen poured out of her mouth. Finally, she had only one name left. Eyes still shut, she paused for a moment. Then the name fell from her mouth into the heavy silence of the study.

"Andromeda M. Jones. Poison."

Rebecca opened her eyes. Alston was sitting there in stunned silence.

"I have their files, Alston. If you leave now their identities will be safe but, if you send me to burn, I'll tell the authorities all I know and ensure they burn with me."

Rebecca saw a muscle flex in Alston's jaw. He was trapped. He stood up from his chair and straightened the small golden vest that he wore.

"I see," he paused for a moment as if weighing the options. Rebecca could see his eyes clearly now. They were filled with hate. "Very well, Ms. Smythe. If you return the files, I will leave you be."

"If I return the files," said Rebecca coldly, "I will have nothing. I think I will hold onto them as a guarantee." Alston looked like he wanted to lunge at her but he resisted the urge, bunching his hands into tight little fists at his sides.

"From now on you are no longer the agency's problem. You are entirely alone. I hope you get what you deserve. If any harm befalls the other witches, I will know. My revenge will be swift and merciless."

Alston crossed the room and exited the study. Rebecca stood there, heart pounding, as the door clicked shut behind him. It was not Alston's threat that kept her feet glued to the floor. It was the fact that Alston had not needed to open the door to leave the study. It had stood slightly ajar only moments before and, through it, Rebecca has seen a tuft of bright red hair dart quickly out of view.