Chapter 9 (fin), Chapter 10 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

She found herself in a large hallway with a stone floor and a great wooden staircase facing her. It reminded her of the country houses of English nobility that you were always seeing in the movies. The balding man was standing halfway up the staircase, waiting on her. She asked him, “Where are we going?”
“We're going to invade Ms. Danwich's dreams,” he said conspiratorially.
Chelsea raised her eyebrows so high they threatened to disappear into her bangs. “OK, I'm no expert on this stuff, but don't you think that's a bad idea?”
“Nah, it'll be fun.” He was taking the stairs very quickly, and she had to step two at a time to keep up with him. “She'd do it to you.”
“I don't really consider that an incentive,” Chelsea said, almost slamming into him as he stopped at the top of the stairs. “What?”
“Just trying to find her,” he said, sniffing the air. “So many shields from the rest of us. She's so paranoid.”
“There's probably a good reason for that,” Chelsea said, trying to smell anything, herself. She couldn't detect anything.
“Yes, I suppose it's not actually paranoia when everybody really is trying to get you,” he said, taking off down the hallway. “Good point.” He skidded to a halt in front of an ornately carved door and motioned her to join him. When she did, he bent down and whispered to her, “This is her bedroom. Open the door.”
“She doesn't lock it?”
“No need,” he said twirling the knob freely in his hand. “If someone makes it in this far, a lock's not going to stop them.”
“OK.” Chelsea turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open. The room it opened into was small, which confused her until she saw that it was a sitting room, with a door leading to a bedroom beyond it. She crossed over to that and pushed that door open.
The enormous bedroom was dominated by a gigantic bed. It had a little wooden step to help you into it because it was so tall. The bedclothes were all in a deep burgundy, and the frame was dark polished mahogany. In the center of this monument to comfort was a woman with long, golden-brown hair, which was spread about her lovely face as she slept. She was wearing a thin white nightgown and had kicked off most of her covers.
The balding man went straight to the bed, skipped up the step and knelt at the side of Danwich's head. He waved an inviting hand to Chelsea, saying, “Come on, come on. She's just starting a dream now.”
“How can you tell?” Chelsea followed him and looked down at Elsbeth Danwich's peaceful face.
“Look at her eyes.” He pointed at Danwich's face, and her eyes under their lids were rocking back and forth.
“Oh, yeah, rapid eye movement.” She'd read about that before. She remembered that it didn't last very long. “What do we do?”
“This,” he said, grabbing her hand suddenly with his right and reaching with his left to Danwich's forehead.
In less than the blink of an eye, they were kneeling beside a pond. It was a midday in summer, but still quite pleasant; a nice covering of cloud kept the sun from scorching them. There were several people lounging about the pond, as well as a few dogs here and there. Chelsea looked around and saw a man that was unmistakably her father laying on a blanket next to Elsbeth Danwich.
“Ah,” baldy said, “she's dreaming of him again. She never did get over him, you know.”
“No, I didn't know,” Chelsea said as they approached the happy couple. There was something familiar about the other people around the pond, but it wasn't until she recognized Marcus Rousseau that she realized they were all members of the Council. She even saw Will and Arthur there.
As they got closer, they heard Mr. Perkins and Danwich speaking of plans for the future. Danwich wanted to take over the Council, but Mr. Perkins kept telling her he couldn't be part of that. She begged him, literally getting on her knees before him, but he still refused. The Councilors around them started pointing at her and laughing, which Chelsea didn't think was the best idea.
Danwich stood and screamed at the other people, “You will be silent!” She made an odd gesture with both hands and the balding man pushed Chelsea to the ground, where he joined her. The Councilors were not as fortunate – they became engulfed in a wave of flame and ran for the pond. Danwich then rounded on Mr. Perkins and demanded, “Either prove your love to me or join them.”
Chelsea's father was clearly torn. “I love you, Elsbeth, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone.” Sappy stuff; Chelsea had a feeling that Ms. Danwich had read the odd romance novel or two. Her father's shirt was even open and billowing in the breeze. “But, I am trapped by the Council's lies. Only if you destroy all of them can we be together.”
Danwich turned to the forms cowering in the pond with a hatred that Chelsea couldn't even begin to imagine. She staggered back, stunned, as Danwich walked to the water, pulling out a small velvet pouch dangling from a cord around her neck. “I command all of them to die in pain,” she said to the pouch, then cast it into the pond. As soon as it touched the water, all of the Councilors cried tortuously, then collapsed in silence. Danwich then ran back into Mr. Perkins's arms.
“Now, we get to have some fun,” the balding man said, skipping over to Danwich's side as she kissed Mr. Perkins softly on the lips. “He doesn't really love you,” he said to her, and she pulled away from Chelsea's father suspiciously. “There's someone else.”
“What are you doing?” Chelsea felt panicky about messing with this woman's head, even if it was only a dream.
She was even more alarmed to see Danwich pull some kind of needle out of her hair and throw it at her father. The needle struck him in the neck, and he cried out and fell to the ground. Chelsea ran over to him, but he pulled the needled out and stood back up, his eyes glassy. “I love you and only you, Elsbeth,” he said numbly to the witch.
Chelsea looked over at her and could see that this didn't satisfy her. “Who is she? Who is your true love?”
Chelsea's father answered, “You are my only love, Elsbeth, the only one I ever cared for.”
The balding man was hovering near Danwich's shoulder, cackling at her anger. He whispered into her ear, “The mother of his child – what about her?”
“What – stop that!” Chelsea ran over and pushed baldy away from Danwich, but the witch was already making another move towards Mr. Perkins. Danwich grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head backwards until he fell down.
She followed him to the ground and lay on top of him. “Who is she? Who?” She sobbed as she screamed at Mr. Perkins, scratching and pulling at him to hurt him in any way she could. But, nothing she did raised even the slightest protest from Mr. Perkins, and she gave up after a moment. She sat on his chest, tears streaking down her cheeks, looking miserable.
Chelsea felt a stab of guilt for this, and she said to baldy, “Let's go.”
Just then, Danwich stood up. Her eyes looked preternaturally alert, and she raked the area with them, looking for something. “Uh-oh,” baldy said, and pulled on Chelsea's arm.
They were standing at Danwich's bedside again, and the witch was writhing around on the covers as if she was having the worst nightmare in the world. Chelsea felt horribly disoriented. “Stop doing things like that,” she said to the balding man.
Just as she said that, Danwich's eyes flew open and met hers. She whispered, “Who are you?”
“Time to go,” the balding man said, and Chelsea woke up in Arthur's guest bed, feeling very worried.

Chapter 10

Chelsea looked out the window and saw that the sun hadn't risen yet. Looking around the room, she noticed that clocks shared Arthur's disdain along with pillows. Her watch was useless for telling what time it was in London, since it still told the time in Arizona. She got up, made sure all of her clothes were still on, and crept out of the bedroom.
The bedroom her father had been given was occupied by someone; she could hear the snoring. She slipped down the stairs and found a clock on the mantle in the living room. It read half past four, and she yawned involuntarily at the Amish feeling it gave her to be up so early. “I should be milking cows,” she muttered to herself. She went into the kitchen and turned on the lights.
Arthur had a nice enough kitchen, but his refrigerator, she saw, was in need of some stocking. He had a sausage, some cheese, two bottles of wine and some containers that she didn't want to open because she could see what was in them through the lids. She looked around at the appliances available to her and saw that Arthur had a microwave, so she took the sausage out and went in search of a plate. He had a few that were not either in the sink or the dishwasher, so she took one, set the sausage on it, and set the plate in the microwave. “I hope European microwaves operate the same way American ones do,” she thought, giving the sausage a couple of minutes to warm up.
When the timer dinged, her meal was hot, but not burned, so she took it out and set it on the counter. She then rummaged about the drawers and found a knife and fork. There was an island in the center of the kitchen with some chairs around it, so she sat there as she ate and tried to work out whether she wanted to tell her father about her dream-world encounter or not.
On the one hand, it seemed only common sense to tell her father that his mortal enemy had apparently glimpsed Chelsea. This was the kind of information that might upset all their plans. Everything that her father had told her had led Chelsea to believe that Danwich knew nothing of Mr. Perkins's little girl. Until last night, anyway.
On the other hand, the balding man didn't seem at all concerned about what was going on, and he was obviously related to Chelsea's father. If he thought it was all right to futz around in Danwich's dreams, surely there was no real danger. Maybe it was just a harmless way to get back at somebody who was, by all accounts, a really lousy person. Maybe Danwich didn't really see Chelsea, but just saw an after-image of her dream.
But, Chelsea had been so sure that Danwich had seen her that it had made her heart race. She was positive that a witch of Danwich's power and connections would be able to find out who might be poking their nose into her dreams, and be able to do something about it.
Chelsea downed the last bite of sausage, surprised that she had eaten so much, and looked down at her watch before rolling her eyes at this automatic behavior. She looked over at the microwave's clock, but it read a steady twelve. She set the dish and utensils she had been using in the sink with their brethren and went back into the living room to check the time there.
She was startled to see Arthur there, flipping through a newspaper. He looked just as startled when he noticed her. “Oh, Chelsea, sorry, love. Completely slipped me mind that I had houseguests.” He was wearing a dark red dressing gown and pulled it shut over his bare chest. Chelsea got a brief look at his body as he did this, and was shocked at how muscular this little man was. She tamped down the feelings that brought up before she could disgust herself, then tried to pay attention to what Arthur was saying. “I usually have breakfast on the way to the Council, you know, so maybe you and your dad can eat on your way to shopping.”
Chelsea nodded, then said, “I just ate the sausage you had in the fridge. Hope that's OK.”
He waved a hand, “Oh, that's fine, no problem.” A concerned look crossed his face. “You didn't get into any of the stuff I have in there apart from the sausage, did you?”
“No, that was it.”
He looked relieved. “Good. One of the first things you're going to need to learn about our ways, young lady, is to never trust what you find in another witch's cupboard.”
“Probably very sound advice,” she said to him, sitting on the couch opposite him and looking at the paper he had been reading.
It was The Sun, and she must have smirked a little, because he defended his reading material immediately. “It's not all rubbish, you know. We have a staff writer working for them, and she sometimes gives us news in code.” Chelsea's skeptical look made him add, “It's very good code. I'm not surprised you haven't cracked it.”
“Right.” Chelsea picked up the paper and flipped to a random page. “'Sex in the morning can be fatal',” she read out loud.
“See, that's not written by our girl.” His brow furrowed. “Or is it? Blimey, I think I forgot the code again. “Hang on half a mo.” He walked over to a bookshelf, took down a handwritten notebook and started leafing through it. “Globe, Times, Newsweek – here we go, The Sun.” He took the paper from her and compared what was written on it with the code he was reading from his notebook. One long confused look later, he said, “No, that's definitely not her.”
“Good to know.
“And, sex in the morning is most decidedly not fatal,” he added, winking at her. “I can tell you from experience.”
“OK, you do know that I'm twelve, right? Cuz, that's just creepy.”

Chapter 9 (more cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

Everyone kept glancing at her as they drove, and she felt a little uncomfortable, like she had just grown horns or turned red in front of their eyes. What made her the most uncomfortable, though, was how satisfied she had been as Danwich's assistant – how natural it seemed, how easy to contemplate killing a helpless woman to gain power. She was glad when they finally reached Arthur's apartment and they started talking to each other again.
The neighborhood Arthur lived in looked like it had been dropped in from Oliver Twist – the happy, rich place at the end, not the one where he had been part of the gang of young thieves. “This is where you live?” She couldn't keep the note of disbelief from her question.
“What, I can't have nice things?” He sounded only slightly insulted as he led them up a small flight of stairs. “I did say that I'd moved up in the world.”
“The Council must be paying better than they used to,” Mr. Perkins said, also somewhat shocked. “I could barely afford to keep myself in Ingredients when I was working for them.”
“Yeah, well,” Arthur stuttered as he looked around at Will, “a few clandestine procurements netted me a hefty sum a while back, and helped me buy this place.” He held up his hands to Will and said, “Nothing dangerous, mate, just rare and slightly outside the realm of legality, that's all.” Will shook his head, but said nothing. “Don't open the closet in the front hall, by the way. Fair warning.”
He opened the front door and led them all into a spacious, clean and well-lit home, with surprisingly tasteful earth-toned decorations. There was the occasional odd item peaking out from among the mundane furnishings, but otherwise, it was a model of Victorian elegance. A small calico cat walked out to greet them, mewing at Arthur as he bent down to pet and love on it.
Mr. Perkins stood there in a stunned silence, drinking it all in. “You have changed so much,” he whispered to Arthur.
“You got to move with the times, mate,” Arthur said. “Some of us actually interact with the world, rather than living like monks. Couldn't expect friends to want to pop by the old place, could I?”
“I never minded it,” Mr. Perkins said, a little hurt.
“Couldn't expect women to pop by, then,” Arthur said, slowly and clearly. “That more understandable?” Mr. Perkins and Will both had to nod at that. Arthur went into the kitchen carrying his cat and the men followed him.
Chelsea sat down on what proved to be the most comfortable couch she had ever sat on in her life. It was like sitting on a small firm cloud. She leaned her head back and the head rest proved just as good. “Oh, yeah. Now, this is the witch's life.” She thought that maybe she should inquire about how to get into Arthur's side business as she looked dreamily around at the trappings he was able to afford from it.
She was just starting to doze off when the voices of the three men became a little loud and startled her back to consciousness. “How in the name of all that's holy can you be seriously thinking of using that plan, Terrence?” That was Arthur, panic evident in his voice. “My god, you'll be leaving Chelsea to face Elsbeth all by herself.”
“She won't be by herself,” Mr. Perkins said, so quietly that Chelsea could barely hear him. She raised herself off the couch and tiptoed over to the kitchen door. “I told you that I saw a woman from the Council helping her. With the spell I'm going to perform, and the aid of a mature witch, she'll be more than capable of taking Elsbeth down.”
Will asked him, “Did you see who it was?”
“No one I recognized,” Mr. Perkins said. “I think she's fairly young, but competent.”
Will spoke up next, and Chelsea pressed her ear to the door to hear him. “The Council is sending an observer; that's probably who it is. Should I try to influence them to pick anyone in particular?”
“Like I said, I don't know the woman. She's tall, black-haired, not terribly striking, but carries herself with a sense of confidence - “
“Alma,” Will said, a little loudly. “There's a new witch in Special Assignments, Alma May Watson, and she matches that description. She's very good, from what I hear.”
The conversation paused while they all took that in, then Mr. Perkins asked, “Can you make sure that she's their choice?”
“I'll do my best.”
“Be subtle. They already know we're friends.”
“I shall be the soul of discretion, never fear.” Chelsea heard something being poured, then Will said, “To secret plans.” There was a clink of glasses and then she heard them walking towards the living room. She sprinted back to the couch and threw herself down, closing her eyes just as they entered the room.
Mr. Perkins walked over to the couch and bent down to touch her cheek. “Chelsea, honey, we can get you into a bed.”
She opened her eyes and faked a yawn. “Great,” she said, trying to act like she was still tired, but she was wide awake now. She hoped that she would still be able to eavesdrop on them. Too bad she hadn't looked up any spells to do that. She was going to have to see if her father kept any books on mystical stealth tactics in their library.
She followed Arthur and her father up a single flight of stairs to a second floor that had four bedrooms. “This one can be yours, Chelsea,” Arthur said, indicating a small room with a single twin bed in it. There was a thick comforter on the bed, but no pillow. Arthur noticed this and got one from a hall closet and handed it to her. It was a little stiff, but not too bad. “I'll be puttin' your father in this room next to you, so if you need him tonight, he's right there.” He pointed at a room with a slightly larger bed, also pillowless.
She couldn't resist asking, “What's the deal with the pillows, Arthur?”
“I sleep without one, so I never put them down unless people are staying over.” He nudged Mr. Perkins in the ribs. “And, they're usually stayin' over in the same room with me, so...” He broke off at a raised eyebrow from Mr. Perkins and a giggle from Chelsea. “Anyways, we're gonna be keepin' your dad up a bit longer, love, so you go ahead and lie down. We'll try not to make too much noise.”
“I'll be OK,” she assured him. “I sleep like a log.” She was just hoping that they would speak normally so that she could hear them better.
“Still, no need to be rude,” Arthur said, turning back to the stairs. “We'll be like church mice.”
“Sounds good,” she said, hoping the frustration wouldn't show on her face.
Her father hugged her and kissed her on the forehead, which embarrassed her a little bit. It was the most affectionate he'd been since she had moved in with him. “Good night, honey. Hopefully you won't have another vision tonight.”
“Hopefully,” she agreed. They waited until she had gone in and closed the door of her bedroom before walking down the stairs. She listened to see if any of the steps creaked, but didn't hear anything. She shucked off her shoes and tipped out to the top of the stairs and bent an ear over the side. All she heard was the sound of the three men moving to another room and shutting a door, after which she heard nothing. Disgusted, she went back to the bedroom and lay down on the small bed.

The circle of stones surrounded her again, but was again victimless and Elsbeth-free. Instead, the balding man with the paunch sat on the edge of the great stone bowl and smiled at her. He asked, “How's London?”
“Haven't seen that much of it, so far,” she said, leaning on the bowl next to him. “But, it's been a learning experience.”
“It was for Terrence, too,” the bald man said, his smile growing wider. “Especially in matters of the heart.”
She felt a little squiggly about that. “So I heard.”
“You can't blame him for falling in love with her,” he said, leaning over to her. He smelled strongly of cinnamon and cloves, for some reason. It was pleasant enough, just strange. “She's beautiful, and talk about fascinating? She's been everywhere and done practically everything. Who couldn't lose their heart to someone like that?”
Chelsea shrugged. “I dunno. It kinda wigs me out, honestly.”
“Sure, sure, no one likes to think of their parents being real people with real feelings,” he said, laughing. “Especially when it involves one parent and someone whose not your parent, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. She hopped up on the bowl next to him. “Hey, why am I seeing you here? It's not like this is the most pleasant place I've ever had a dream about.”
“This place is very close to where I am.”
“And, where is that?”
His smile drooped a touch, turning more Mona Lisa than Vanna White. “I'm not quite sure you're ready to hear that, yet.”
Chelsea sighed, a huge shoulder-shrugging exhalation. “God, when am I gonna stop getting answers like that?”
“Fairly soon, I'd say,” baldy said, looking at the storm clouds surrounding the stone circle. “Just a few more days. You'll be back at the Tree of Life.”
She looked at the side of his face, so much like her father's, and took a guess. “You're related to my dad.”
His eyes sparkled and he turned to face her again. “What makes you say that?”
“You look like him,” she said, starting with the obvious. “And, it sounds like you see the future, too.”
“Good guesses,” he said, and stood up. He held out his hand to her. “Walk with me?”
She took his hand and let him help her down. “Where to?”
“Just a short way away,” he said, leading her past the stones. They followed a narrow stone path for several minutes before entering a maze of hedges. “This is Ms. Danwich's estate,” he said over his shoulder to her as they threaded their way between the plants. “She fancies herself to the manor born, as they call it, but she's just as common as your father or you. She's used her magic to make a lot of Unbeliever money, and likes to show it off.” He pointed past the hedges to a large house. “That's hers, too. She doesn't stay there that often, because she likes to keep on the move. If she stays in any one place too long, the aura she generates allows her enemies to track her.” He chuckled. “One of the side effects of black magic, I'm afraid.”
“Why don't they just, like bomb this place, then?”
“Ms. Danwich has a lot of protective spells in place here,” baldy said as they came out of the hedge maze and approached the front of the great house. “Your father mentioned that to you before, I believe. She's very cautious about her personal safety.”
“But she's trying to bring a demon into the world?”
“Oh, that's not going to be harmful to her,” he said, eyes alight with humor. “Asmodeus will be quite grateful to her for his freedom. Also, there are dozens of protections against him that have been crafted over the centuries, and I'm sure she'll be armed with at least a few of them. No, she has nothing to fear if she is successful with this ritual.”
“Great. I don't even get the satisfaction of knowing that if I fail, she gets it next.”
“Sorry,” he said, walking straight into the house.
“Hey, uh...” Chelsea was very unsure if she wanted to follow him, but she didn't seem to be waking up any time soon, so she walked through the open doorway after him.

Chapter 9 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

“So, she's not some kinda lone wolf psycho witch, she's got connections?” Chelsea felt her tandoori chicken rising. “Will these other Councils be pissed off that somebody's trying to take her down? Am I going to have to worry about that, too?”
The three men looked at each other and seemed to not know the answer to that question. “I don't think so,” Will said, haltingly. “I really think they give her free reign just to get our goat. They're not really allies of hers so much as they're enablers.”
“Enablers?” Arthur sounded highly amused. “You've been watching those talk shows again.”
“They impart a lot of vital information about the world of the Unbelievers,” Will said, hotly.
“Can we get back to the crazy witch with the possible international repercussions, here?” Chelsea's squeaky shriek caused several other diners to look over at their table, and she hid her face in embarrassment.
“They've never done more than shelter her, Chelsea,” her father said, trying to soothe her. “When she attacked the Council in eighty-two, she did it alone. Same in eighty-seven and ninety-three.” He played with his curry, pushing an onion around the plate. “She doesn't trust partners, anymore.”
“Yeah, you seem to have that effect on women,” Chelsea muttered. She felt bad immediately when her father's cheeks reddened, but didn't really feel like apologizing for the truth. “I'm assuming she lost these three times she took on the Council?” All three of the men nodded. “And she's still breathing because...?”
“She's very powerful,” her father said, chagrined. “And, she's very good at contingency planning. I've never met anyone so fanatical about coming up with a solution to every possible situation that could arise...” He trailed at the worried look on her face. “But, I'm sure that she's not expecting you.”
“Yeah, that really makes me feel better.” Chelsea pushed her plate away. The enormity of what her father was asking her to do was finally crashing down on her, and it was giving her a migraine. “I have a headache,” she said in a quiet voice.
“I've got just the cure at my place,” Arthur said. He stood and picked up the check. “What say we trundle on over and let the little lady have a rest, gents?”
They all agreed, and after paying the tab, with a sizable tip for the pretty waitress, hurried back to Mr. Perkins's Thunderbird. Chelsea leaned her head back and shut her eyes. It was only early afternoon for her, but she felt exhausted. “Hey, dad, could I be having jet lag from our trip?”
“Not likely,” he said, looking back at her in the rear view mirror. “But, why don't you take a nap? It'll probably take us an hour to get to Arthur's.”
“OK,” she said, and let herself drift off. It was surprisingly easy, in spite of the noise from the road and the three men continuing to speak around her. She was just so tired...

The stone bowl held its victim again, bound and gagged, waiting for the tortures soon to come. She looked over her dispassionately, even a little annoyed. She demanded of the woman, “Why did you let yourself get caught?” The woman tried to say something, but the bag covering her mouth muffled whatever she said. “Idiot.”
“That's right,” a deep, feminine voice said to her. A hand touched her shoulder in a matronly fashion, guiding her over to where a knife sat on a wooden platform. “She didn't show the slightest caution, and she knew I was looking for her. She deserves this.” Chelsea picked up the knife and looked down at the woman. A small tear was leaking out of her eye, falling into her ear, and another ran right after it. Chelsea only felt annoyed. She looked over at Elsbeth, who was smiling proudly down at her. “You have your father's eyes, but my spirit,” the older woman said, and Chelsea beamed. Chelsea raised the knife to strike, but Elsbeth stayed her. “In order, dear, in order. The spell must be performed properly, or it does us no good.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“You're still learning,” Elsbeth said, caressing Chelsea's cheek. “And I will teach you all I know.” She took a pair of scissors from the platform. “The secret of this spell is that the Ingredients are out of order. Remember that, Chelsea. Out of order, and two of them come from the same object.”
“Out of order, and two are the same,” Chelsea repeated.
Elsbeth's face shone with affection. “That's my girl.” She opened the scissors and walked over to the victim's head...

“Chelsea, wake up!”
Will was shaking her gently, while Arthur and her father leaned over the front seat, looking concerned. They were parked haphazardly against the curb of some residential neighborhood; the tail fins of the car were still, technically, in the thoroughfare. She said blearily, “What is it?”
“You were saying some fairly awful things there, deary,” Arthur said, his voice and hands shaking. “A spell that I would have thought your ol' dad would never have taught you.” He and Will looked very accusingly at Mr. Perkins.
He drew back, indignant. “I never - “
“Is that why you needed The May Sacrifice, Terrence?” Will's shocked voice was almost a whisper. “What are you teaching this girl?”
“He didn't teach me that,” Chelsea said, pushing herself up and away from Will. “That was coming from his old girlfriend.” They all looked puzzled by what she had said, so she cleared it up for them. “I can see the future, too. I've been seeing her. She's going to kill somebody. I have to stop her.” She looked into her father's eyes. “Right, dad?”
He nodded glumly, but he was still concerned about what they had all heard her say. “You saw the whole spell, Chelsea? You saw her perform it?”
Chelsea shuddered a little. “Yeah. It's pretty grisly.”
Mr. Perkins whipped around and opened the glove compartment. “Do either of you have a pen?” He pulled out an envelope and thrust it into Chelsea's hands. Will gave him a pen and he gave that to Chelsea, too. “Write it down exactly as you saw her do it, honey. Get everything as close as you can.”
Both Arthur and Will looked like what Mr. Perkins had said had given them a huge revelation, so Chelsea tried to write down exactly what she had seen Elsbeth Danwich do and heard her say. “Out of order, and two are the same,” she mumbled, and wrote that down. “Fur, bone, breath, flesh, blood, egg and seed. Out of order, and two are the same.” She looked up at them. “I don't understand any of this.”
“That's why she failed before,” Will said, awed. “It's not in order.”
Mr. Perkins nodded. “But now, she's figured it out. She just needs the Ingredients to become available.” He turned his attention back to Chelsea. “Honey, can you tell us anything about the victim?”
“She's sad,” Chelsea said, remembering the tear in the victim's eye.
“Yeah, well, I'd be, too,” Arthur said, chuckling. He shut up when Will and Mr. Perkins narrowed their eyes at him.
Chelsea tried to recall the image of the poor young woman who had been strapped into that bowl, but the only face she could clearly recall was Danwich's. “Sorry, dad, it's all fading away from me.”
“Too bad we don't have Marcus here,” Will said, lip half-curled upwards. “His mind-reading could be put to good use for once.”
“When we get back,” Mr. Perkins said, patting Chelsea on the arm, “we'll start training on retaining the images you see in your visions.”
“Makes sense,” she said, smiling at him. She let out a huge sigh and said, “We're not gonna stick around here all night, are we?”
“No, let's be on our way,” her father said, turning back around and starting the car up again.

Chapter 8 (fin), chapter 9 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

By the time they were done collecting all the volumes that Mr. Perkins needed, both of them felt the need for lunch. Will, who had accompanied them the entire time, said, “It's almost dinner time. Why don't I take you out to an Indian restaurant I know a few kilometers from here?”
Mr. Perkins looked at Chelsea with a bemused grin. “What do you think, Chelsea? Ready to try something exotic?”
She didn't exactly know how she'd like Indian food, but her stomach's growling settled her mind. “Whatever we can get. I'm hungry.”
“All right. We'll stop at the Ingredients store and pick up whatever you need there. How are you getting everything back to the Tree, Terrence?”
“I have my car. You remember the Thunderbird from fifty-seven?”
Will's grin showed a mouth full of dazzlingly white teeth, and made Chelsea sigh a little bit. “That was a good year. You held that 'special assignments' position, right?”
“Right,” Mr. Perkins said, his grin matching that of the seneschal's. “You remember the coven at Beckhurst?” They both laughed heartily before Mr. Perkins looked guiltily down at Chelsea. “We'll, uh, we'll have to reminisce about that later, Will.”
Will stifled another guffaw and agreed. “Maybe after Chelsea goes to bed.”
“I don't know. I'll probably need the sleep, too. I'm not fifty, anymore.”
“Who is?” Will sighed and clapped Mr. Perkins on the back good-naturedly.
That made Chelsea a little suspicious of Will's true age. Without really wanting to know the answer, she asked him, “How old are you, Will?”
Will thought for a moment, then said, “It's 2006, right? That makes me, what, one-fifteen?”
“I thought you were only ten years older than I am,” Mr. Perkins said, looking sideways at Will.
“We didn't keep records that well back then,” Will said, obviously not troubled by the discrepancy. “And mum and dad aren't around to ask anymore.”
Chelsea felt very odd having such urges for a man who had been old before her Grandpa Rudy was even born. She was really starting to regret puberty. She resolved not to look at him anymore; at least, not to linger on him.
They rolled out of the library and down to a room that looked like the world's ultimate garage sale. Strange items filled this room from top to bottom. She saw stones of every imaginable mineral, seeds, flowers and plants of all varieties, the odd animal here and there – some living, some not – and still couldn't take in but a small percentage of what was in the room. Will and Mr. Perkins walked down one of the small paths carved through the junk to a man who looked barely older than Chelsea. “I suppose he's a thousand,” she muttered under her breath.
“Perkins,” the younger man said, his voice high and challenging. “I understand you have quite the shopping list for me.”
“If you don't mind being asked to do your job for once,” Mr. Perkins said, challenging the apparently younger man back. The two stood staring each other down for what seemed like hours before Mr. Perkins broke up and pulled the man into a bear hug. “How've you been, Arthur?”
“They're old friends,” Will said to Chelsea out of the corner of their mouth. “Terrence used to treat the Ingredients store like his second office when he worked here.”
“Let me introduce you to my daughter, Arthur,” Mr. Perkins said, pulling Arthur back to where Chelsea and Will stood. “Chelsea, this is Arthur Merriweather. Arthur, my daughter, Chelsea.”
“Such a lovely young girl,” Arthur said, bowing to Chelsea. “Your mother must be a looker – you certainly didn't get anything from this lunk over here.” Mr. Perkins nudged him in the ribs. “Come see me in ten years, maybe we'll scandalize your dad.”
“You keep your lecherous eyes off my little girl, Arthur,” Mr. Perkins said, pulling him back and standing between them.
Chelsea couldn't keep herself from asking, “Are you over a hundred, too?”
Arthur's boyish face looked shocked. “What, old as these codgers? Nah, I'm a spring chicken compared with them. Barely in me sixties.”
“You're seventy-two,” Will said, bursting the 'young' man's bubble.
“Man,” Chelsea said, unable to keep the disgust from her voice, “do all you guys rob the cradle?”
“Well, deary, it's hard not to,” Arthur said. “See, we can never really tell how old all the other witches around us are, so we sometimes ignore the rules of more polite society. And Unbeliever birds our own age are in rest homes or cemeteries, my love, so we're stuck with the younger chickadees there.” He put his arm around Mr. Perkins's shoulder. “Now, your father, he's always been an honorable bloke. I thought he was gonna be a monk, meself, until I saw him put his rather rusty moves upon an older woman - “
“We can talk about that later,” Mr. Perkins hurriedly interrupted. “Why don't you get my Ingredients now, Arthur?” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at a far-off corner of the room.
“All right, all right,” Arthur complained. “I never get any love around here.” He took a list from Mr. Perkins and walked off into the vast cornucopia of junk.
“He hasn't changed,” Mr. Perkins said, his eyes twinkling.
“So, who was this older woman, dad?”
Mr. Perkins pursed his lips and both he and Will avoided eye contact with Chelsea. “We'll talk about that later.”
“You know, we don't have much later with each other,” Chelsea said, and instantly regretted it.
Will looked sharply over at Mr. Perkins. “What does that mean?”
Mr. Perkins answered him, “Chelsea's made noises about returning to her mother once the crisis with Elsbeth is over.”
Smooth, Chelsea thought. Will seemed to buy it, too. He leaned over to her and said, “Trust me, Chelsea, once you really get into magic, you won't want to go back to the Unbeliever's world.”
“I haven't really made up my mind, yet,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage. She was just glad that he wasn't able to read her mind, like that Rousseau guy. “And, it's all I know.”
“Well, you're going to know a lot that you didn't once you get through the books that Terrence has planned for you,” Will said, smiling and touching her on the shoulder. In spite of the fact that he was a century older than her, a little shiver went through her whole body, and she fought hard to suppress a giggle. She cursed her hormones and wished they'd show a little more common sense.
Arthur returned with a cart of his own, laden with strange treasures from the depths of the store room. “All right, that's the lot. I can't believe they're letting you have the only pteranodon egg we have.”
“I suppose they figure they won't have anything left if Ms. Danwich succeeds.”
Arthur looked a little dumbstruck. “I suppose that's right.” He cast his eyes over his great store of Ingredients with a worried expression on his face. “Maybe I should think about alternate storage sites.”
“Hey,” Mr. Perkins said, insulted, “have I ever failed before?”
“The coven at Beckhurst,” Arthur said, and all three of the men laughed heartily. Chelsea was feeling like she did when her mom got together with her sisters and starting talking about old boyfriends. “But,” Arthur said, his eyes darting over at Chelsea, “I suppose you don't want to talk about that now.”
“No, not really. But, I meant to ask you,” Mr. Perkins said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, “would it be all right if we spent the night at your flat? There are some non-standard acquisitions I wanted to make tomorrow.” He looked over at Will. “You didn't hear that, right, Will?”
Will looked quizzically at him and asked, “Did you say something?”
“Good man,” Mr. Perkins said.
“Well, I've moved up in the world,” Arthur said, a little proudly. “I've got a house, now. Plenty o' room for you and the young one.” Disappointment shaded his smile a bit. “Just one night, did you say? That'll barely give us any time at all for pub crawling once the tot's a bed.”
“I can't go on a pub crawl, Arthur,” Chelsea's father said, holding his stomach. “I could barely keep up with you 40 years ago. Listen, Will's taking us out for Indian food, what do you say to joining us for that?”
“I could do with a nice curry,” Arthur said, nodding. He looked over at Will and asked, “Dharne's?”
“The very place.”
“I'm in, then. There's a lovely bird who waits tables there.”
“Just so you guys don't forget,” Chelsea interjected, “you've got a twelve-year old girl along for the ride. Sorry to interrupt the testosterone flow, but I don't want to end up at a strip club with you tonight.”
Will and Arthur raised eyebrows at each other. “You know, she's got to go to bed eventually,” Will said to Arthur.
“All right, you two,” Mr. Perkins said, laughing. “Let's get this stuff out to my car, then we can head off for this restaurant.” He lowered his voice. “We'll talk about the strip club later.”
“Dad!”
“I'm kidding, I'm kidding,” Mr. Perkins said, fending off a slap from Chelsea. He winked at Will and Arthur, and they all left the storage room, followed by the library cart. Once they got to the Thunderbird outside, Mr. Perkins popped the trunk and they started carefully laying the Ingredients and books into it. Mr. Perkins took a small box out of the back seat and approached The May Sacrifice with the air of a man going to clean up a nuclear spill without a hazmat suit.
Arthur noticed this and looked at the volume that sat all by itself on the cart. “Good God, Terrence, what in the name of all that's holy is that doing here?” He sounded utterly horrified, without any of the jocularity he had possessed since they had met him.
“It's necessary for what I have to teach Chelsea,” Mr. Perkins said, scooping the book carefully into the box without touching it and shutting the lid. He quickly shoved the box into a corner of the trunk that was unoccupied and breathed heavily.
Arthur's eyes were narrowed, and he kept looking between his old friend and Chelsea. Once they had unloaded the cart, it rolled back into the Council building, and the four of them piled into the Thunderbird. Arthur and Mr. Perkins sat in the front seat, while Chelsea and Will took the back. Before the engine started up, Arthur asked, “What are you teaching Chelsea, Terrence?”
“Whatever is necessary, my friend,” her father said, catching her eye in the rear-view mirror. His expression made it clear that she wasn't to divulge any of the details to these two, no matter how friendly they were to Mr. Perkins. “This is for the life of the planet.”
Arthur lowered her voice. “But, what about the cost to her soul, man? How can you possibly be thinking of using human sacrifice?” He placed a hand on his friend's arm. “Are you just going to be replacing Elsbeth with a miniature dark witch you can control?”
Mr. Perkins shrugged off Arthur's arm as he started the car up. “I can't answer all your questions, Arthur, but I will tell you that the answer to your last one is no.” He and Chelsea looked at each other in the mirror again, and she nodded.

Chapter 9

Arthur let the matter of the forbidden book drop once they reached the Indian restaurant, Dharne's, and he regained his good humor on finding that their waitress was the 'bird' he had been speaking of earlier. Will, however, was very thoughtful throughout the meal, only laughing when Chelsea mistakenly tried a bit of the curry that her father was eating and nearly drowned herself in the water pitcher.
“And, my lovely, I hear that it's the best show playin' on the West End,” Arthur was saying to the pretty Indian waitress. “What do you say?”
She coyly looked down at him and smiled, her teeth dazzling white and perfect. Chelsea felt jealous. Not of the attention she was getting from Arthur, of course, but of her stunning good looks. The young girl felt all too acutely aware of how unformed her body was. The Indian waitress was asking, “Would you pick me up, or would we meet there?”
“I would pick you up, of course, my dear.” He reached out for her hand, and she let him take it. “What do you say?”
“All right,” she said, very sweetly, and wrote down something on her pad. “Here's my number and address. Call me before you come.”
“I shall,” Arthur said, pocketing the slip of paper. As the waitress moved to another table, he turned to Mr. Perkins and boasted, “Still got it.”
“I didn't remember you ever having it,” Mr. Perkins said, and they both laughed.
“You're one to talk. If it hadn't been for Elsbeth - “
A silence fell across the table. Chelsea's mouth was open. “Did he – did you... dad, what is he saying?”
No one was able to look Chelsea in the face, and Mr. Perkins sat staring into his plate. Will finally answered her. “Your father and Elsbeth Danwich had a relationship in the fifties and sixties. It was generally accepted that they would be married one day. Until...” he broke off, unable to say why this relationship ended.
Her father picked up the thread. “Until she turned more completely to the dark forces. Not that she was ever completely pure; my dear Elsbeth was always fascinated by the ancient powers of this world, and always had a lust for power that far exceeded her passion for me.” His voice was filled with a bitterness and sense of loss that Chelsea had not heard until now. It reminded her of how her mother spoke of him. “I was going to tell you about this, Chelsea, but not just yet.” He glowered at Arthur across the table, who shrank a little from the heat of that painful gaze.
Will went on with the story. “As a special assignments operative of the Council, Terrence had been bound by oath to inform the Council of Elsbeth's descent into the Stygian depths. He resisted the oath for a long time, with her help, right?” Mr. Perkins nodded. “But, she left him for a trip to gather some of the more odious Ingredients that her kind uses, and the Council broke down the protections she had cast on Terrence. He told them everything, and they banished her from our community. Even spoke against her to other Councils that are friendly to us.”
“There are Councils that welcome her, though,” Chelsea's father said. “And she's used them to increase her power and knowledge of the blackest magic. All that's led her to where she is today.” He finally looked into Chelsea's eyes. “Where we'll have to fight her.”

Chapter 8 (cont.) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

“Excellent,” Rousseau said, and the entire Council relaxed. “We shall take a few days to consider who would be best suited to work with you and your father. Once we have made our decision, our representative will be sent to the Tree of Life.” He looked past her at Will and raised a hand. “Please let Terrence in, Mr. Burke.” Will nodded and opened the great oak door.
Mr. Perkins walked in quickly and took his place by Chelsea's side. He whispered to her, “How did it go?”
“I may have agreed to something I shouldn't have,” she whispered back. “Sorry.”
“Terrence,” Marcus Rousseau said, “it is the decision of the Council that you may have the Ingredients and texts you have requested, and engage in an accelerated training program for young Chelsea.”
Mr. Perkins looked pleasantly surprised for a second, then suspicion overtook him. “What do we have to give up in return?”
Virginia answered him, somewhat gleefully. “A representative of the Council will monitor your teachings and report to us.”
“That's what you gave up?” Mr. Perkins didn't look terribly disappointed, so Chelsea was relieved when she nodded. “Very well. As long as this representative doesn't interfere with our lessons, I'm all right with it.”
“That's good, since we've already made the agreement with Chelsea,” Virginia said, still smirking at Mr. Perkins.
“It's not a lot to ask,” Mr. Perkins said, calmly. “Considering what we're getting in return for it.”
Virginia looked unpleased that he wasn't more upset, but said nothing more. Rousseau spoke, instead. “As we told young Chelsea, we shall choose a compatible representative to send to you; we have no wish to disrupt your lives. We shall send the agent within the next few days.”
“All right,” Mr. Perkins said. “And the material I need for training Chelsea?”
“You may take that with you when you leave London.”
“Excellent,” Chelsea's father said, still in a slightly surprised state. “Do we have your leave to go, then? There's a lot we need to sort through before we leave.”
“Yes, of course. Monsieur Burke, if you would assist the Perkins's in their acquisitions?” Will nodded from the door. “Tres bon. Good day then, Terrence. We trust it shall not be so long before you inform us of the next crisis.”
There was some mirthless chuckling from the Council table about that dig, but Mr. Perkins didn't reply. He just nodded to Roussea and the rest of the Council, and then swept from the room, his arm around Chelsea. As the oak door closed behind them, he said to her, “That went a lot better than I thought it would.”
“We've got a spy watching us now,” Chelsea said regretfully.
“It's OK, honey, really. As long as she's not also a spy for Elsbeth Danwich, we're golden.” He winked at her. “And, I have a couple of ways of finding out if she is, so no worries there.”
Chelsea felt very relieved that her father didn't blame her for failing at the negotiations, and didn't seem to think that she had failed at all. Her mood lightened even more when they were escorted to the Council's library. If the portraits in the hallway of the Council Chamber had spanned centuries, this room obviously spanned millennia. Covering one immense wall were two huge storage cabinets comprised of hundreds of holes into which were stuck scrolls of parchment and papyrus. In the center of the vast room were dozens of large stone tables surrounded by surprisingly comfortable-looking chairs, and several people were already in here, studying books and scrolls. One young woman even had a laptop computer, that she was apparently transcribing a medieval tome into.
Chelsea was prevented from going over to compare notes with her by her father, who dragged her to an area that was separated from the rest of the library by a steel bars. A stern-faced elderly woman sat by the door of the cage reading a scroll. She didn't look up as they approached, but went on with her reading. Will cleared his throat, but she continued ignoring him. Finally, the seneschal said, “Margarita, the Council has granted permission for the loan of several books from Special Collections to Terrence Perkins and his daughter, Chelsea. May we enter?”
The woman raised her head slightly and a single gray eye fixed on Chelsea. For the second time today, Chelsea had the distinct impression that her mind was being read, but Margarita wasn't polite enough to acknowledge the girl's suspicions. There was a small contest of wills before Margarita at last said, “The policy of Special Collections has not changed since the last time you were here, Terrence. Do you remember it?” Mr. Perkins nodded. “Have you informed the young lady of it?” She had a heavy Spanish accent, and Chelsea had to concentrate to decipher what she was saying. Her father shook his head, and Margarita spoke directly to Chelsea. “All of these books, child, all of them – they are one of a kind. No copies exist. No copies may be made. For most of them, their power lies in their rarity. You write down on a piece of paper a spell from these books, you dilute the power of that spell forever. So, you practice the spells, you commit them to memory – but you write nothing down. Comprende?”
Chelsea nodded. “Yeah.” She then asked, “You said that was the case for most of the books. What's the deal with the others?”
The slightest smile crossed Margarita's face. “The other books, my sweet, are here because we don't want anyone to use them. We would dearly like to have their power diluted, but we can't. That shelf is very clearly marked.” She glanced up at Mr. Perkins. “I doubt your father has any plans for using those.”
“One of them, actually,” he said, his voice quiet.
The smile vanished immediately from Margarita's face, and she demanded of him, “Which one?”
“The May Sacrifice and Other Rituals of Death.” At the mention of this book, both Will and Margarita paled, and the old woman's eyes bored into Mr. Perkins' face. “I don't really have time for you to try to break down my defenses, Margarita. The Council was informed that I would need the book and they have approved my request.”
“I keep the Special Collections,” the old woman said, her thin voice rising in indignation. “My permission should have been asked.”
“You would have said no, like you have every other time someone has requested May Sacrifice,” Mr. Perkins said, impatiently. “That's why I went over your head.”
“How did you know - “ she began, then disgustedly said, “seers. Always think you know best.” She looked at him for a long time, then said, “Listen to me, Terrence Perkins. Your family is old and powerful, and I know that your sort becomes very comfortable in their knowledge and abilities. But, the temptations of the May Sacrifice are beyond anything you have ever dealt with.” She pointed a long finger at Chelsea. “Don't let this child anywhere near the book. Glean what you need of it and return it immediately.” She reached down to a bag beside her chair and pulled out a small velvet pouch. “I will even give you the means to do so.” She placed the pouch in his hand. “Trust nothing in the book but its malevolence.”
“I will do as you ask, Margarita.”
“See that you do.” She turned her attention back to Chelsea. “Mark my words, girl. Do not go near that book.”
“I won't,” Chelsea said, shaken.
Margarita stood then, shaking her own head. “What times are these,” she muttered to herself. More loudly, she asked “How much of my work are you taking today, Terrence?”
“Eight books and two scrolls,” Mr. Perkins answered. “Will, do you have the list?”
“Yes,” Will said, producing a short notepad. He tore off a page and handed it to Margarita.
The old woman scanned the paper and told them, “You'll need a cart. And, The May Sacrifice cannot touch other books.”
“I know.”
“All right.” She whistled a sharp, high note, and a library cart rolled over to her of its own accord. She said to it, “Follow the Perkins's and assist them with their loans. Use every means at your disposal to keep the volume entitled The May Sacrifice and Other Rituals of Death from touching other written works.” She patted the side of the cart, and it rolled over to Mr. Perkins. Margarita then walked to the cage door of the Special Collections and bent down to it. They all heard her back crackle as she did it, and she let out a small whimper of pain. She whispered several words to the lock, and the door popped open. She swung it out for the Perkins's to enter, then followed them inside and shut the door. Chelsea heard the click of the lock securing itself and felt her heart beat a little faster. The old woman cackled a bit as she walked past them towards the first book that Mr. Perkins needed.
They followed her around the large cage as she extracted the volumes that the Perkins's needed, handed them to Mr. Perkins, and then moved on to the next. Her final stop was the book that she had given him such a hard time about, and Chelsea saw that it was, indeed, in a section that was very clearly marked 'Dangerous – Forbidden Works'. It wasn't alone in not being able to touch other written works, apparently; several of the tomes on this customized cabinet were separated from others, sometimes by thick panes of glass or blocks of wood. One scroll was encased in what Chelsea was pretty sure was the largest diamond she would ever see in her life.
Margarita looked reluctant to even touch The May Sacrifice. “I implore you again, Terrence. Whatever you feel you need from this accursed book will come at a price that will be hideous to pay.”
“I know the price already, Margarita, and I'm prepared to pay it.”
“Seers,” she muttered in disgust. She looked over at Chelsea and said, “Do you know this price, as well?” Chelsea nodded. “Is it a fair price?”
Chelsea didn't look at her father as she said, “No.”
“At least one of you is being honest.” Margarita caught up a fold of the dress she was wearing and used it to cover her hand as she grabbed the book and quickly placed it in the cart away from the other books. “Remember,” she said to the cart, “every means you have at your disposal.” She then looked up at her two 'customers'. “Try to touch it as little as possible. Do you still live in the Tree of Life?” Mr. Perkins nodded. “You'll need to keep it from touching the tree directly. Do you have something to keep it in and set it on when you're studying it.”
“Yes, I've already arranged that.”
“All right.” She glared at the book for another few seconds, then told them, “Well, off with you, then.” She led them out of the cage, whispering to the lock to open it and set them free again. The cart rolled cautiously in front of them, making sure that The May Sacrifice didn't get jostled. Margarita slammed the steel bars behind them and reminded Mr. Perkins, “As soon as you're done, Terrence, use the powder. Please.” the fright in her voice made Chelsea want to hand the book back to her right now, but her father merely nodded and bowed.
As they moved into the main library, Mr. Perkins said to Chelsea, “So, you've figured out what I needed that book for.”
“From the title and what you think you have to do for me, yeah.”
“It's what I know I have to do, Chelsea.”
Chelsea sighed. “Let's not get into it here.”
He agreed, and they roved around the library gathering together more books and scrolls. They were very careful not to let anything touch their forbidden book, but the cart did have to roll away from Chelsea once when she almost pushed another book into it. This library was just slightly more organized than the one back at the tree, and Chelsea made a mental note to introduce the Council to modern library techniques at a later time.

Chapter 7 (fin), Chapter 8 Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

He closed the book and set the plate down in its place. “Eat up. We have to leave in a few minutes.” He took the book back to the shelves, half an eye on his daughter while he did it. “So, what were you looking up in the compendium?”
“Just different things,” she said, eating the fruit and eggs on her plate. “This is really good.”
“Thanks, but you didn't really answer my question.”
She gulped down the mouthful and asked, “Can I have some juice or milk or something to drink?”
“Stop stalling.”
She sighed, then said, “I'm looking up different ways to enhance your natural abilities. OK?”
Mr. Perkins scratched his head and almost smiled. “That's your mother's stubbornness, I just want you to know. You don't get it from me.”
“She always told me I got it from you.”
“She would.” He shook his head and looked over at the compendium. The half-smile stayed on his lips, and he was obviously playing back some fond memory in his head. He sat down opposite her and said, “I'm going to have to give in on your extra-curricular studies, since I can't watch you twenty-four hours a day. But, don't exhaust yourself over it, all right?”
She nodded. “I've only been staying up a little late before this. I just felt really lucky at finding that compendium last night, and thought I should write down as much as I could for looking through your library later.” That reminded her of her conversation with Sylvia. “Hey, dad, how much work do you think it would be to get cable here and grow a computer the way you grew that radio? I would totally do the work, if you could just show me how.”
“I did tell you it wouldn't be that hard, didn't I?” He looked over at the shelves and pulled out a small notebook that looked like it could have come out of any college town's textbook supply store. He opened it and flipped a few pages, then set it in front of her. “Took me three months to get the telephone cable working, but that was mainly because it was a lot of trial and error. I bet you anything I could get a television cable working much more easily.”
“Sweet.” She looked down at the procedure. It looked like three spells: one for summoning the cable to the tree, one for entwining with the tree's roots, and one for growing the radio. “So, are the Ingredients hard to come by?”
“A little, but they're doable. We should probably be able to find any I don't have in London.” He looked down at his watch. “Speaking of which – we need to get going.”
Chelsea swallowed one more bite of fruit and grabbed the plate to take it into the kitchen. “How are we getting there? Do we teleport or something?”
“No, we're driving.” He was already walking towards the front door. “I packed you a small bag. We'll stay overnight so that we can do some shopping.”
“All right,” she said, excited about the trip. She ran to catch up with him, and he opened the front door for her. The sun was just starting to rise, and the light made her squint. She saw a small fire burning next to the tunnel, and Mr. Perkins walked over to it and stomped it out.
“That was to change the tunnel's destination. I built it to go to America, not England,” he told her, climbing into the car. She slid into the front seat and fastened her seat belt. “Oh, that's right.” He fastened his own. “When I learned how to drive, we didn't use seat belts a lot.” He gave her an embarrassed grin, then fired up the engine. A quick turn of the wheel, and they were facing the tunnel again. Mr. Perkins muttered something under his breath, his eyes half-closed, and then he took a small white stone from his shirt pocket and threw it at the tunnel. It flashed and he drove quickly forward, the smoke enveloping them both.
Chelsea coughed and spluttered. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes,” he said, coughing a bit himself. The darkness of the tunnel was giving way to a new light at the end of it, and soon they were pulling out of what Chelsea was sure was a non-existent tunnel into the streets of London. The sun in the sky looked close to noon, and Chelsea wished for a pair of shades. She squinted against the glare and could barely make out the famous clock tower.
“Cool, can we see Big Ben?”
“Maybe tomorrow.” Mr. Perkins glanced at his watch, then returned his eyes to the road. “Wish I'd studied the road map a little better,” he mumbled. “Tell me if you see Ripper Circle, OK?”
“OK.” She shaded her eyes with her hand and drank in the city around her. A street sign caught her attention and she shouted, “Ooh, Ripper Circle! Right there!”
“Damn.” Mr. Perkins slammed on the breaks and twisted the car over as quickly as humanly possible, bringing on irate beeping from the horns all around them. “Sorry, stupid American,” he shouted out his own window. He bumped the curb as he turned into the narrow road and threatened to lurch onto the sidewalk several times as it twisted unexpectedly several times. “I hate this street.”
After several harrowing minutes, he turned from Ripper Circle onto Crowley Lane, and the driving was much easier. This seemed to be a small residential neighborhood, with many a garden in the front yard and people out tending them. There was a faint smell of fresh-mown grass in the air, and Chelsea breathed it in contentedly. The street dead-ended at a two-story, gray building sporting an ornate sign that read 'Council' over its double doors. Mr. Perkins parallel-parked in front of this building and got out.
“This is it?” Chelsea was less than impressed as she followed her father out of the car. It looked very much like a 1950's Soviet government building had been stolen from its Russian homeland and dropped unceremoniously in the south of England.
“It gets better inside,” he told her, walking up to the double doors.
“I sure hope so,” she said to his back. “It couldn't get much worse.” She trotted a few steps to catch up with him and they both stopped at the doors.
“They're going to want to search you,” Mr. Perkins said in a normal tone of voice. More quietly, he added, “Hide the tige.”
It took her a second to remember what he was referring to, but then she dropped her head and whispered “Cachez.” She felt the chain sink into her flesh, out of sight. She looked back up at her father and smiled.
“So, don't worry when they do,” he said, as if his entire intent had been to calm her. He looked back down the street they had come from, satisfied himself that no one was watching, then took a pouch out of his pants pocket. He untied the top, then dipped his thumb and forefinger in gently to pinch something. He pulled his fingers out and then blew on them, facing the doors. A cloud of golden vapor bursting from his hand seemed to eat the door away. He walked through the gaping hole and gestured for her to do that same. Chelsea ran through, not very confident that the vapor would keep the door open long. “Don't worry, the opening remains till you do this,” her father said, blowing at the golden cloud. It vanished, and the door was back again. Mr. Perkins tied up his pouch and put it back in his pocket.
Chelsea turned around and almost laughed at the contrast between the outside of the building and the inside. There was an artistic flair about the entire lobby they found themselves in, from the delicate woodworking of the walls to the massive painting that covered the floor. It was a creation scene, but one in which many gods and goddesses took part, and dizzying in its detail and scope.
“Sorry, Chelsea, we can't take time to admire the floor,” her father said, and she groaned. A tall, beefy man was approaching them, his hands holding a white baton.
“Good afternoon, Terrence,” he said, his voice smoothly upper-crust British. Chelsea felt a little tingle as he spoke, and hoped they would converse more. He was as finely-wrought as any of the figures on the floor, and had the advantage of being far more animate.
“Afternoon, Will,” Mr. Perkins said. “The Council wants to interview Chelsea.”
“Yes, that's what they told me.” He looked Chelsea in the eye, and she giggled a little. She stopped herself, embarrassed. But, he had the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen, and she finally understood what her mother had been telling her about how her body was going to be a mass of rushing hormones. “Hello, Miss Perkins. My name is Will Burke, and I'm sort of the seneschal of the Council Chamber. Do you know what a seneschal is?”
She nodded vigorously. “You're like the chief of staff; you run the place.”
Will gave her a lopsided grin which made her knees weaken. “In a manner of speaking. What I'm here to do with you is make sure you're not carrying anything dangerous, and then announce you before the Council.” He looked over at Mr. Perkins. “Do I have your permission to search her?” Chelsea's father nodded, and Will looked back at her. “Do I have your permission to search you?”
She cocked her head to the side. “What if I say no?”
He shrugged. “Well, you don't get to see the Council.”
“I guess I better say yes, then.”
“All right, then.” He gestured over to a door by the entrance. “Please come in here.” He led her into a small room with one chair and a coat rack. He gestured at the chair and it scooted over to Mr. Perkins. “Have a seat, Terrence.” He pointed at the door and it shut; they all heard the click of its lock falling into place. Then, he turned his attention back to Chelsea. “Try to hold still until I give you instructions to move, Miss Perkins.” He touched the white baton he was carrying to the top of her head, and Chelsea held herself motionless. He closed his eyes for a few moments, then said, “All right, Miss Perkins, please hold out both of your hands, straight in front of you.” Chelsea did so, and he touched the baton to her fingers. After another few moments of quiet, he withdrew the baton. “Thank you. Now, lower your hands and stand straight with your feet together.” She assumed this position and he knelt down and touched the baton to her feet. He again concentrated silently for a moment, then stood back up. “Excellent. One last thing, Miss Perkins, and then we can go in to the Council.” He held the baton lengthwise in front of her face. “Blow on this, please.” Chelsea looked over at her father with raised eyebrows, but he only nodded. She blew on the baton, and Will withdrew it. “Thank you very much, Miss Perkins.” He stuck the baton into his belt and the door opened for them.
“That was odd,” Chelsea said to her father.
“It could have been much worse,” he told her. “You got to keep your clothes on for this one.”
Chelsea's face went pink. “At what point do I get strip-searched?”
“When the Council isn't pleased with you.”
Will led them out of the small room and down a corridor that was lined with dozens of portraits. They spanned centuries, apparently; the first few portraits they passed had medieval clothing, and the people in the portraits at the end were wearing modern dress. Mr. Perkins gestured at one as they came to the end of the hall. Chelsea immediately recognized the long haired woman. “Elsbeth Danwich,” she said under her breath. Seeing this woman outside of a dream gave Chelsea the shivers.
Will stopped them in front of a large oaken door and said, “I'll go in and announce you, Miss Perkins. Do not enter until you are asked in, understand?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding.
“Am I going to be allowed in, Will?” Mr. Perkins sounded very apprehensive.
“Not at first, Terrence. Just be patient.” Will opened the great door and Chelsea caught a glimpse of a large semi-circular table with seven tall throne-like chairs arrayed around it. The chairs were occupied by men and women in clothes that wouldn't have looked out of place at a corporate board meeting, except for the man at the apex of the table's arc. He had the tallest chair, and around his head was a glowing circlet of silvery thread. He looked past Will as the door opened, and locked eyes with Chelsea. She got the very distinct feeling that he was able to read minds, which was confirmed by him nodding slightly as she thought it. “Miss Chelsea Perkins,” Will intoned, “of the Perkins/Clark line of America, England, Wales and Brittany, wishes to be presented to the Council of Wisdom for her entrance into the company of her fellow witches.”

Chapter 8

The man who had read Chelsea's mind replied to Will, “Please allow the young lady to enter.” He had a very slight French accent, and his voice was a melodic baritone. Chelsea looked over at her father, who gave her a thumbs-up. She walked forward to Will, who took her hand and escorted her to the center of the chamber. The door closed behind them with a solid thump, making Chelsea wish she had used a better deodorant. Once she stood surrounded by the huge table, Will bowed and walked back to the door, where he stood at attention. The gentleman with the circlet spoke again. “Miss Perkins – Chelsea.” He smiled, and his face was not unkind. He reminded Chelsea of a teacher in the fourth grade who had been tough to those who acted up in class, but always nice to her. “Chelsea, my name is Marcus Rousseau. I am the Chief of Council; Head Witch, if you will.” There was a small murmur of laughter around the table. “My six colleagues and I are charged with governing those witches who have pledged their allegiance to us, and speaking for them to the other councils of the world. Now, while this may sound very high and mighty, as your generation might say,” he said, chuckling at his own joke, “we are actually quite a small people by the standards of the Unbelievers that you have been raised amongst. We liked to greet each new member of our community, and have a hand in her upbringing. That is why we are concerned about the fact that we are just meeting you today.” There were nods and small affirmations from around the table. “By the time most witches of our Council reach your age, we have a very clear idea of where they fit in our community, of their abilities, their temperament, of who they are. We would like to find out who you are, Chelsea.”
Chelsea tried to swallow, but her mouth had become very dry. “Um. I'm, uh, I'm just starting to learn the magic, so I don't really know - “
A woman two seats down from Rousseau turned to him and hissed, “I'm getting nothing extraordinary from her at all. I think Terrence has lost his touch.”
Chelsea didn't have too much time to get angry over this, because the elderly man opposite the rude witch said, “Patience Clark was one of the finest seers I ever met, and she always said that her son outshone her like a roaring fire to a candle. I think Terrence has earned the benefit of the doubt.”
The rude witch snorted. “Cutting a child off from all her learning will make her stronger? I said then that Perkins had cracked, and seeing this little girl before us only provides more evidence that I was right.”
“S'il vous plait, Virginia, let us not descend to personal insults,” Rousseau said, a small edge in his voice. Virginia slumped back in her chair, several choice words obviously still on her tongue, ready to spring out if she was allowed the opportunity. “Forgive Virginia's harsh words, Chelsea. I'm not sure if you can understand why she feels so strongly about this issue. Elsbeth Danwich, you see, has caused much harm to the followers of our Council, as well as harm to the world at large. Terrence, your father, has requested access to various advanced Ingredients and texts in order to give you an accelerated training, and we are wondering why he didn't simply train you from birth.”
“He has a reason,” she said, quietly.
“And this reason is?”
“Personal,” she said, as defiantly as she could bring herself to sound. “I've seen the same vision he did. I know what I'm supposed to do.”
“Indeed,” Rousseau said, raising his eyebrows as the other Councilors muttered at Chelsea's impertinence. “And, how are you going to accomplish this feat? How are you going to defeat one of the most powerful witches in our hemisphere?”
“A lot of hard work and sacrifice.” She added, “And you guys not interfering.”
Rousseau's lips curled into something like a smile. “Except by granting you a carte blanche to use banned Ingredients and forbidden spells, eh?”
Virginia spoke again, this time to Chelsea. “Girl, I know the sort of temptations that accelerated training can open up to you. I'd rather not trade a victory over Elsbeth Danwich now for the rise of another dark witch when you reach adulthood. We can welcome you into the fold, but there is no way that you will be able to face Danwich without trading your soul in the bargain.”
“We disagree,” Chelsea said. “We have a plan.”
“What is this plan?” Rousseau merely sounded curious, but all the Councilors scooted forward to listen to Chelsea.
“I can't tell you.”
Virginia shouted, “Because it doesn't exist!”
“Because we think someone on the Council is talking to Elsbeth Danwich.” That stunned them all. Even Virginia was dumbstruck by that accusation.
Marcus Rousseau was the first to recover his voice. “Chelsea, please give us a moment.” They all closed their eyes and Chelsea knew that they were having a conversation that she would have found it impossible to eavesdrop on. After a surprisingly short time, they all opened their eyes again. “Very well, Chelsea. We agree to your father's requests. However, we have a condition we wish to place on this.”
“Shouldn't my father be in here for this?”
“No. We would like you to agree to this.” Rousseau's quiet voice was hiding that steel edge again. “We would like to send one of our teachers back with you, to assist you in your lessons. Is that acceptable?”
A spy in their midst, so that she and her father wouldn't be able to speak freely. She wished her father was here to negotiate this, but that was probably why they were insisting she agree to it – she was, no doubt, easier to manipulate. “All right,” she said. “I agree.”

Chapter 7 (cont) Chelsea Perkins: The Tree of Life

He turned and walked up the stairs, and she sat digesting what had just happened for several minutes. This would make it difficult to go back home, or anywhere in the United States, because her father might get picked up if he was with her. Even if he wasn't, she might be detained in order to be returned to her mother. Half of her was angry at her father for being so secretive that he couldn't just approach her mother and ask for this visitation, but she knew that her mother would never have agreed to it. Destiny had really messed them up.
She got up and walked into the library. She had found a book in English that had some disguise spells listed in it. It kept referencing a book in Greek, though, and her Greek was fairly non-existent at the moment. She went through it anyway, to glean as much information as she could on the subject and see if anything made sense.
An hour after she had started, she wished for the thousandth time since her arrival at the Tree of Life for computerized records. If her father could tap into phone lines, surely he could get into the Internet, as well. Power shouldn't be a problem, as long as she adapt the plug of a computer to run off of the geothermal energy that Sylvia was pumping through the rest of the tree.
She decided to talk to Sylvia about that. She went to the kitchen and climbed into the dumb waiter for the ride down to the 'basement'. When the door opened, she staggered out and called out, “Sylvia? Got a minute?”
The nymph appeared after a moment, smiling broadly. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Chelsea?”
“I just had an idea, and I wanted to ask you about some modifications that have been made to the tree.”
“Very well,” Sylvia said, sitting on the floor.
Chelsea did likewise and asked, “How do you connect to the phone lines?”
“In much the same way that your father built the tunnel that allows him to drive back to the unbeliever's highways, he drew a great cable from their world here, and I entwined one of my roots into it. This allows us to speak to the unbelievers as if we were using their own telephone lines.”
Chelsea nodded. “Cool.” She thought for a minute, then said, “Do you think you could do that with a different kind of cable? Back in the Un world, we have something called TV, and it lets us connect to a source of information called the Internet. I think that would be really useful to have here.”
“As long as I was allowed to meld with the cable, I see no reason why I could not do the same as I did before.” She leaned over and touched Chelsea's leg in a motherly way. “It is a lot to ask of your father, though. The spell which brought forth the telephone cable took him almost three months to prepare, and he had many failures during the process. It would have to be a great benefit in order for him to endeavor a feat like that again.”
“I think it would be,” Chelsea said, confidently. “It'd make it a lot easier to find spells, for one thing.” She looked into the nymph's soft brown eyes. “Hey, how did you make the radio? Did my dad figure that out?”
“He gave me the general idea of what function I was to create, and fed me with the Ingredients,” Sylvia replied. “I drew much knowledge from the signals coming from the cable itself. They sang to me, telling me how to translate them into speech that could be understood by the human ear.”
Chelsea grew excited. If Sylvia could interpret any electronic signal, she should be able to convert TV signals, Internet signals – anything. “Maybe we could get HBO,” she whispered, only half in jest.
“I'm sorry?”
“Never mind. Just talking to myself.” She had a good idea of how computers worked, but wished that she had taken hers apart more often to get a better one. She would have to put some thought into it, so that she could describe it in enough detail for the nymph. “I'm going to work on a design for something I need you to grow in my room, Sylvia. Would that be OK?”
“And it harms no one, I will do what ye will,” the nymph said, chuckling quietly.
“Great,” Chelsea said, thinking that she had just missed a joke. “It'll take me a while to work it up, but I'll get it to you as soon as I can. This'll be cool. And, I'll try to get dad to show me how to do the cable thing, so he doesn't have to.”
“I believe that he would appreciate that.”
“Awesome.” She stretched her legs out, unkinking them before she stood up.
Sylvia stood in one fluid motion and held her hand out to Chelsea. The young girl took it, and the nymph swung her up on her feet. “It is good to have another feminine spirit within me, Chelsea. It has been many years since the death of Terrence's mother.” She looked a little misty-eyed. “I had always hoped that I would know Terrence's spouse, that she would live within me and that her children would grow to their adulthood under my branches. I regret that was not possible; but I am gladdened by your return to our family, my dear.” She kissed Chelsea on the cheek, and Chelsea blushed.
“I'm... I'm glad to be back, too.”
“I can feel that. It is a hard adjustment to make, from what I have been told, and you are doing quite well at it.”
Chelsea didn't think her cheeks could get any redder. “Thanks, Sylvia.”
“You are welcome.” She turned back to the doorway that led to wherever Sylvia spent most of her time, then said over her shoulder, “Any time you need to speak with another female, feel free to come see me.”
“I will. Thanks.” Since Sylvia was apparently done with their conversation, Chelsea went back to the dumb waiter and up to the kitchen. She snacked a little on bread and butter, then went back to the library to research enhancement spells.
After the third book she tried turned out to be a dead end, she cast her gaze around the library for anything that might be an index. “First thing I do with the computer,” she muttered, “is make a database of all these books.” She shook her head at the lack of organization. “He could at least use Dewey Decimal.”
Her eyes lit on a tall leather volume that was embossed in gold and had three languages on the spine. One of them, fortunately, was English, and it read, 'Malcolm's Compendium of Works in the Magical Genre'. She pulled it down and opened it carefully on the desk. “This looks promising.” It did, indeed, have a list of magical books and fairly detailed descriptions of their contents. It was even arranged logically, which practically made Chelsea jump for joy. A lot of the compendium's space was given over to multiple entries for each book in different languages, but it was easy enough to skip over the non-English versions and still get what she wanted. She looked up the entries on three books she knew were in her father's library, and saw that they matched what she knew of those books perfectly. Now, she could trust the book.
She found the section on books about ability enhancement after an hour's worth of reading, and then it was just a matter of seeing if the book reported on contained the information she needed, then seeing if the book sat among her father's collection. This was the slow part. The compendium entries gave physical descriptions of the books in question, but it still took her a long time to look over all the shelves to be certain that book wasn't there. And, there was no real guarantee that a later edition of the book might not look different than the compendium's description. She decided that it would save her time and effort to just write down all the books in the compendium that looked promising, and then do one sweep of the library at the end.
She was in the middle of writing down her fifth book when she dropped her head to the desk for just a moment, just to rest her neck, when she fell asleep.

She stood in that horrible circle of stone, but the bowl was empty, and Elsbeth Danwich was nowhere to be seen. The sky was more pleasant, too, sunny with a few clouds blowing around. The breeze brought with it the scent of wildflowers, which she breathed in deeply, smiling contentedly.
“You're on the right track,” a masculine voice said to her.
It was an unfamiliar voice, but she didn't fear it. In fact, it enhanced the happiness she was feeling. “What track is that?”
“Looking for enhancements. Terrence, your father, he's always been a single-track thinker. He's interpreted his vision, and that's the only interpretation possible.” The voice sounded highly amused at Mr. Perkins' idiosyncrasies. “Your strength is your flexibility, Chelsea. You don't know our world, so you're unaware that something's supposed to be a limitation. Keep trusting your instincts.”
She looked around, and finally saw the man behind the voice. He was an older man, balding, with a slight paunch and a pronounced resemblance to her father. “Who are you?”
“Somebody you can trust,” he said, smiling. His eyes were like sapphires twinkling at her. “Trust yourself, honey. And come back, soon.”

“Chelsea? Wake up, honey.”
Her father was shaking her shoulders gently with his left hand, and holding a plate of breakfast in the other. She straightened up and wiped her mouth. “Sorry, dad. I guess I got a little caught up in my research.”
He looked suspiciously down at the book she had been reading and nodded. “I can see that.”