The Witch of Agnesi by Robert Spiller

rim.
    Although her head felt like it might remain attached to her neck, her ankle throbbed like the dickens. She needed to get off her feet. She looked wistfully back into the bathroom at what might be the only seat left in the house.
    Where the hell was everyone?
    In answer to her unspoken question, she heard laughter coming from the family room she’d passed through earlier. Wearing an upside-down winged-back wicker chair like a gigantic hat, Winston Bellows stag-gered into the room, narrowly avoiding tripping over the cauldron.
    He plopped the chair down in front of her. Red-faced, he smiled and patted the seat. “For you, my lady. Rhee sent everyone else home. It’s now just her, Ali, and myself.” He offered his hand.
    “Thank you, sir.” She took his hand and hobbled into the chair.
    Ali entered next carrying a plush ottoman. “You need to elevate that ankle.”
    Even though Ali lifted the leg gently, Bonnie had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Ali set the leg gingerly onto the ottoman.
    “Don’t get too comfortable.” A cigarette dangling from her mouth, Rhiannon brought in a fresh ice-pack. Without a by-your-leave, she lifted the ankle and wrapped the ice-pack around it.
    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Rhiannon, that hurts.” Bonnie glared at Rhiannon. “If you drop that foot, I’ll have to kill you in front of your daughter.”
    “Stop whining, I’m not going to drop your foot. I’m the Earth Mother. Nurturing is in my blood.” She set foot and ice-pack on the ottoman then stepped back, drew heavily on her cigarette, and admired her handi-work. “Leave the ice on there for twenty minutes.”
    “I know about injuries, you harpy.” Bonnie leaned forward and adjusted the pack. “Ali, your mother’s a sadist.”
    Ali put her arm around Rhiannon. “You’re telling me? I have to live with her.”
    The cold made the ankle throb even worse, but Bonnie forced herself to lean back in the chair and relax. The light from the multitude of candles helped.
    “Thank you, Rhiannon.”
    Rhiannon winked and took another pull on her cig-arette. “Sure thing, couldn’t let Ali’s favorite teacher suffer. Not on Beltane.”
    Bonnie nodded to the altar. “This Beltane’s a big deal, isn’t it?”
    Ali spread her purple robe and sat at Bonnie’s feet. “One of the major Sabbats. And my favorite. Next year, I’ll be Earth Mother.”
    “Does that include the naked bit?”
    “Of course.”
    Keep your mouth shut, Bonnie. “That’s nice, dear.”
    Winston had left and now returned slurping a lol- lipop.
    Although he existed at the opposite end of the mor-phology spectrum from the school counselor, Winston’s lollipop brought that morning’s meeting to mind. “I met with Mister Davenport this morning. I have some good news for you, Ali.”
    “Mister Davenport called here.” Ali leaned an elbow on the ottoman. “Isn’t it great about the schol-arship?”
    Before Bonnie could answer just how great she thought Ali’s good fortune actually was, Rhiannon said, “She’ll win that scholarship.”
    She spoke with such conviction, Bonnie felt com-pelled to speak. “I hope so.”
    “I know she will. I did a Tarot spread this afternoon, and the cards confirmed Ali’s ascension.” Rhiannon squared her shoulders and squinted at Bonnie as if dar-ing her to voice disbelief.
    Bonnie had seen that true believer look before, al-though from the other side of the religious continuum. She knew she had very little wiggle room. Rhiannon fully expected her to react with skepticism. Bonnie’s Imp of the Perverse prodded her to do just that.
    What the hell, silence is just as bad. “The Tarot, you say?” Regardless of her intention, it came out sounding flip.
    “That’s right. You have a problem with the Tarot?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You didn’t have to. It’s all over your face as plain as your nose.”
    Bonnie sat up to confront Rhiannon. She’d always been sensitive about her nose. “My nose