Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Fifty-One: A Posse Of Witches

An unwelcome bustle in my outer apartment awoke me sometime in the late afternoon. It wasn't completely atypical for my vampire to leave instructions with Stan the Concierge, Minnie, the Head Chef, the Baker, a local seamstress, or a jeweler to provide me with some intervention, food, or gift he deemed necessary, and I deemed a prohibition to my sleep, but from the noises, bumps, barks, and laughs coming through the door, it seemed Van had marshaled all of his underlings and town citizens to converge on me at once.

I crept to the door, somewhat unsurprised to find most of the aforementioned family, staff, and town services jostling around each other with silver trays and ribboned boxes. I was surprised, however, to see that Maeve was there as well. It seemed she had brought half the coven with her and she was ordering everyone about as if she were in charge. I double-tied the cord on Van's black silk robe—vastly preferring his to my own—and marched out to face the army of combatants to my sleep.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded of Maeve, and Minnie, since she seemed to be Maeve's Girl Friday at the moment, carefully arranging bottles of herbs, oils, and god-knew-what on the table.

Maeve merely smirked at me and handed me a single sheet of very fine paper. The writing on the paper disappeared as she  handed it to me, and Maeve seemed slightly irritated to see that.

"Abraham's doing. He sent for us. With a note shrouded in an invisibility spell. Show-off " she complained and hissed a few words in French that restored the page's contents. The note was written in a hand with such a flourish that it was difficult for me to read, but I managed to make it out.

Madame Sorciere—

—Or should I address you as arrière-arrière-arrière-arrière-arrière-grand-mère—

Alas, as I beg a favor I shall ask your forgiveness for the teasing I simply couldn't resist and instead confine my address to

Grand-mère Maeve—

My Lord Sanguine-Wilds (that's Evander, to you, of course) informs me that your actual grand-daughter is to be officially presented as the future Lady Sanguine-Wilds, Mistress of his Sept, this even. 

At that time, he will make plain his promise to her by clasping hands with her in a gesture of the formal commitment they will one day undertake, which she has previously indicated she would accept, of course. 

Upon her acceptance of his hand, I am to be the Gift he gives as an engagement present. I am to be her Sworn Vassal, her Eternal Protector, and her Official Tutor in both the Traditions, History, and Ways of our Modern American Sept and the more Formal Ceremony of European Vamperial Court, should she ever need such skills at any time. 

This, I believe, will be an acceptable arrangement to all parties, as my Lord has previously—and wisely, if I might add—observed that a Witch such as Ceciliadh is not overly fond of condescending to take such tedious instruction from her Lover. Perhaps she will tolerate instruction more easily from me, her newly acquired vassal. Besides, I am much more charming and multi-faceted than Evander, n'est-ce pas?

As I, most obviously, cannot attend My Lady in the Light of Day to offer my assistance, I beg that you, as her closest living and present Witchkin, will see to the Purification and Sanctification that she, as a witch, will most certainly wish to undertake this day on the cusp of such a Momentous Transition in Her Existence.

I will send along a wardrobe for the ceremony from whence My Lady can choose. You, being ma arrière-arrière-arrière-arrière-arrière-grand-mère by a quirk of time travel only and thusly far too young to have worn such things, may need to seek the assistance of your Coven. Surely there are witches among you who have been gifted with long life thanks to your Departed Mother and her Dark, Deadly Rituals. I suspect someone of your Coven will recall how to don stays and bustles and baste on lace and such.