The Boy Witch

Chapter 18

The following day, the council interrogated Miles as to what his mother did to him and his father. They met in the living room, all sitting on lavish couches, lit by the light of grand windows. Miles was nervous about what they would do to his mother, in turn. He sat on his hands, taking up as little space as possible.

“When her powers started to wane,” Miles explained, “her control over my father started to decrease. She decided to kill him instead of seeing him leave. He would have taken me with him.”

“Sweetie,” Philomena started, “I’m so sorry you lost your father like that.” The council was full of empathy, but also guilt.

“She killed you, too, no?” Millicent continued.

“Yes, she did. Once, she locked me in a closet, and didn’t feed me for days,” Miles continued. “I starved. Another time, she strangled me. There were others, but I don’t fully remember all of them. Thankfully, my necromancy powers saved me.”

“Thankfully,” Bartholomew repeated. “We’re glad you’re okay.”

“We failed you, too,” Millicent continued, apologetic. “We did not find Mallory in time after she ran away. If we had, we could have saved you.”

“Don’t think like that,” Miles replied, suddenly taking on the role of the comforter. “What’s done is done. I’m glad to be here now.”

“We’re so glad you’re here, too,” Philomena added.

Miles liked the members of the council. They were nice and reasonable. But Miles was struck with a thought. “I… I want to speak to her,” he said.

“Your mother?” Bartholomew asked.
Miles nodded, biting his lips with hesitation.

“What do you want to speak with her about?” Millicent continued, concerned.

“I want to know,” Miles replied, looking down. “I want to know why.” Miles held back tears.

The members of the council were taken aback by his emotion. They exchanged meaningful looks. “Very well,” Philomena replied, with a warm smile. “If you want to speak with her, I’m sure that wouldn’t do any harm.”

“Surely, you can’t be serious,” Millicent let out, with palpable frustration. “What purpose would such a conversation have?”

“To appease him, of course,” Bartholomew replied. He rose and walked to Miles, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Shall we?”

Miles looked up to the man and nodded solemnly. Miles rose, too, and followed Bartholomew to the staircase leading to the basement.

In the basement, there were myriads of book shelves populated with tomes of magic, plenty of magical ingredients, like herbs and powders, and a closet full of black robes, which Miles assumed were for special ceremonies.

They walked to a door in the corner of the basement, covered with locks on the outside. Bartholomew unlocked the door and knocked.

“Mallory?” The man declared. “You have a visitor.”

“Unless you are bringing me lunch,” Mallory replied from the other side of the door, “or better yet, a stiff drink, I’m not interested.”

“You’re going to have to try a little harder than that,” Bartholomew continued. “Come out of your room.”

Miles heard his mother’s steps behind the door until she finally opened it, with an exasperated look. When she saw her son, Mallory let out a powerful sigh. “What do you want?” She asked.

The members of the council turned to Miles, waiting for his answer. Perhaps he was not even sure what it was he wanted. Around his mother, Miles seemed to lose his bearings.

“Why?” He finally said.

“Why what?” Mallory asked with frustration, standing in the door frame and refusing to move from there.

“Why did you do everything you did? To Dad and to me?” Miles was fighting back tears as he spoke.

Mallory looked on to her son with exasperation. The council was awaiting an answer, too. Perhaps it would change their decision.

“I never wanted children,” she started, almost spitting her words, staring at her son as if trying to look through him. “All I wanted was your father. When I had you, a boy, I wasn’t too concerned. When I realized my powers were waning, it was already too late. Your dad was escaping my control. I had to do what I had to do. And your powers were too strong. I couldn’t kill you.” Mallory made it sound like such an inescapable tragedy, one over which she seemingly had no control. But really, Miles knew her actions were brought about by her selfishness and nothing else.

Staring at his mother, he realized he would never be able to see her in another light than that of an abusive monster, because she did not present herself in such a light.

“You should be happy,” Mallory continued. “You get to be the new Prime witch, whereas I’m just declining. To nothing.”

Miles could not help but feel a bit of guilt. If he had not been there, Mallory would still be in her prime, would still have his father. Despite all she had done to him, Miles still only wanted for his mother to be happy.

“I think that’s enough,” Philomena placed her hand on Miles’ shoulder.

“I agree,” Bartholomew added. “Come on, back in the room.” He stepped up to Mallory, forcing her to back up into her room.

“Fine, fine,” Mallory complained. “All that for nothing…” She mumbled, as she backed into her room.

Bartholomew closed the door behind her and locked the locks. “Did that accomplish what you had hoped for, young Prime?” He asked, trying to contain his annoyance, as the group walked towards the staircase.

“I can't say that it did,” Miles replied, trying to contain his disappointment. Really, his feelings were an overreaction. He knew full well what his mother would say. He lived with her his entire life, and was used to how she was. Perhaps he had hoped for redemption on her part. “I’d like to be alone,” Miles turned to the council, “for a little while.”

“I don't know if that's such a good idea,” Millicent replied. Through her tough, uncaring exterior, a bit of warmth was surfacing.

“I just want to go to my room for a while,” Miles insisted. “I won't be long.”

The members of the council exchanged compassionate looks before finally acquiescing.