The Boy Witch

Chapter 20

Miles had to at least try to save his mother. He could not help but wonder why he was so eager to stop the council from hurting her after all she had done to him and to his father. He figured that, despite all that, she was still his mother. He had to try.

After talking to Sam in his room, Miles took a deep breath, both to gather his courage and get rid of his tears, hugged Mortimer who was lazing in the sunshine of the window, and went back downstairs. The council occupied an office on the first floor of the mansion during their presence there, so they were easy to find.

Miles knocked at the door, still fearful, but daring. “Yes?” A woman's voice answered. Miles recognized Philomena's voice.

“It’s the Prime witch,” Miles introduced himself, making sure his voice did not crack. It felt strange to start the conversation this way. But he wanted them to know he was serious.

“Of course,” Philomena answered. There were steps behind the door which eventually opened. The witch seemed a little taken aback by Miles' look of determination. “Please, come in,” she said.

Miles walked past the older woman into the room where Millicent and Bartholomew were lounging in the boudoir's couches.

“What can we do for you, Miles?” Millicent asked.

Miles did not know how to say it, but he wished she had called him by his title and not by his name.

“I have something to say,” Miles started, “about the decision you communicated earlier.” He realized he was still wearing his robe, but he figured that only made what he had to say more official. The council members had removed theirs, revealing their lay, but still elegant clothes.

“Is that so?” Bartholomew continued “We are eager to hear it.” But Miles knew the sentiment was not sincere.

The boy witch cleared his throat. “It is my understanding that, as the Prime witch, I am to sit on this council and play a leading role in the coven.” He spoke carefully, like stepping on a sheet of ice.

“Well, yes,” Philomena replied, “but you are still young, and inexperienced. You have your council to back you up and help you make decisions.”

“Oh, I think I am quite capable of making decisions. For instance, I fully disagree with your decision regarding my mother. I think the council's role is a protective one, not a destructive one. Killing one of your own would be a great shame.” Miles spoke quite comfortably, trying to contain his nerves.
The council members exchanged tired looks, unwilling to further discuss an issue they felt had been settled.

Bartholomew sighed, still lounging comfortably in his chair. “So, what do you suggest? Keeping her prisoner forever? Have your friend bring her every meal until the day she dies?”

“Why not? She's almost powerless, so she's not very dangerous. Should convenience really be a factor here? One that determines whether she lives or dies?”

Philomena, Millicent and Bartholomew shared more looks, before staring back at the young witch, who borrowed a pleading expression, losing his confidence in front of the older, more authoritative witches.

“At least, postpone your decision,” Miles tried to compromise, “please?”

The council members let out powerful sighs. Finally, Philomena acquiesced. “Very well, young Prime,” she said. “We will give it more thought.”

Miles smiled a bright smile that betrayed his youth, a smile showing his relief that his mother would live longer.

“In exchange,” Philomena started, with a bright smile, “you will let me give you a witchcraft lesson.”