Mother Heggerty - The Worst CEO you've ever met! - Chapter 9 The Last Dragon of Bone Valley
Where the undelightful and quite vicious Mother Heggerty shows her true self whilst torturing her junior staff member, one cutting remark at a time.
Mother Heggerty was beautiful at a distance. Close up, she was an ugly woman. In fact, it would be more accurate to describe her as a manipulative, conniving, money-hungry, power-driven harpy who enjoyed the absolute destructive and controlling misery she created in all other living creatures.
In other words, she was a CEO.
It was with this knowledge firmly in her mind that Constance Pequena, Junior Clerical Aide to Mother Heggerty and up-and-coming witch, took a deep breath, whacked on the best fake smile she could muster and steeled herself for the usual onslaught she unfortunately faced every morning.
“Good morning, Mother Heggerty. I have your eggs, toast and tea, just the way you like it.”
The blond witch looked up from her oak writing desk, which faced the prominent bay widow. Its view captured the whole vista of Bone Valley’s seething if somewhat charred, metropolis.
“Oh, is it that time already? Thank you, Constance, for your punctuality...” Mother Heggerty looked at her golden ornate sand clock, “or maybe not so punctual arrival. You’re thirty seconds late.”
Constance took a shallow breath as she carefully placed the heavy silver breakfast tray on the side table where Mother Heggerty would inspect it. “I am sorry, Mother Heggerty, but we had a little bit of a busy night.”
The head witch looked at her robust junior standing nervously before her ornate desk and sighed.
Constance was a solid young woman with a pale and freckled face; her hair was of a tight and bright orange curl. Unfortunately, her brown eyes were not on speaking terms with each other, so at odd times, they tried to wander away from the other's company. And as the cruel Mistress of Fate would have it, her teeth were quite perfect. Sadly, their perfection did not match nor highlight the rest of Constance in a positive light.
The junior witch was, in essence, a good person who, under the right circumstances, would have blossomed. Under the blow torch of reality, though, it had to be accepted that no thing and no one bloomed under the searing attention of Mother Heggerty. You either grew as hard as steel to survive the onslaught, or you withered away, finding some dank little corner to die in, one little cutting remark at a time.
At one point in her young life, Constance had the potential to be a Raven-haired beauty, full of power and promise and fiery delight. Now, under the supreme guidance of Mother Heggerty, all three of those potential positives had been forever tarnished and poisoned out of existence. Now, there was only bitterness, jealousy and spite.
“I’m sure Constance,” Mother Heggerty smiled as her dismissive superiority oozed out of her features and flipped Constance the bird, “What you think is busy and what I think is busy would be two vastly different things.”
Constance stepped away from the gilt desk, bobbing a well-practised curtsy and then tottered over to the door where she stood on her spot. Well, ‘spot’ wasn’t the best nor the most accurate description. It was more a big black X which Mother Heggerty had so kindly made Constance paint on the floor, after work, in her own time and only after she had saved up and bought the black paint with her own money.
“Yesterday, there was a dragon in the city.” Constance smiled and curtsied once more. “Late afternoon, to be exact. And then it disappeared.”
Mother Heggerty stood up, displaying her fine-boned, well-toned body. Her black, body-hugging, thigh-high dress, made by the best tailor in the country, showed her physic in the best possible light. She was considered by those who didn’t know her, hadn’t met her, and didn’t have anything to do with her at all to be quite striking. The leader of all witches was made up of pure blonde bombshell material. Unfortunately, her personality was also quite explosive.
“How much damage did she do?” One egg was taken from its cup and shelled between her manicured thumb and forefingers.
“None, Mother Heggerty.” Bob and curtsy.
“Well, who did she eat?” The egg was placed into the witch's mouth and masticated in a way that would send a particular sort of person with a particular kind of personal interest into a cold shower.
“No one, Mother Heggerty. The Yellow Dragon was last seen chasing after Sir Richard before he disappeared.”
Constance didn’t like standing on the black X; it made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl instead of an up-and-coming, powerful witch. But if she didn’t stand there, she became a moving target for Mother Heggerty’s comments. So best to bear her cross and continue to persuade herself that she actually was an up-and-coming powerful witch and all the hell Mother Heggerty put her through would one day be worth it.
“Oh, what a pity, we’ve lost Sir Richard. Whom do we have lined up as his replacement?” The hot, scalding tea in its gold-rimmed, fine, bone-china cup with the little gold dragon emblem was lifted to her lips and consumed in one long gulp.
Constance stammered, “He’s only been gone a couple of hours, and even though Sir Richard hasn’t yet returned to his bed chamber. I wouldn’t dream of replacing him just yet.”
As soon as the words finished their short journey to the senior witch’s ears, Constance regretted opening her mouth. Full of burning self-recrimination, ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ bellowed out into her mind.
The climatic temperature in the office dropped to below zero. “How… would you know… if he was in his bed chamber or not? And when, Constance, did it become your prerogative to decide if he were to be replaced or not?” was asked lightly by Mother Heggerty, her back to the young witch.
It was apparent trouble was brewing because the Senior witch had frozen halfway through folding a piece of toast in half before putting it into her mouth.
A child’s stammering response erupted from the panicking fledgling witch. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t go and check on him. One of my informants… informed me this morning.”
Constance's heart beat rapidly, tattooing against her ribcage as she tried to giggle her way out of harm’s way.
The reciprocating laughter that bounced around the vast gold-gilt room was high-pitched, cold and downright mean.
“You don’t have informants!” Mother Heggerty turned, sniggering straight at Constance's plump acne splashed, blushing red face. “You have gossip mongers who tell you a bit of old tat, hoping you’ll pass on a favour from me.” Her humour evaporated under her vitriolic tone. “You’re no more a spymaster than the local butchers are surgeons.”
Mother Heggerty placed the toast in her mouth, chewed and then swallowed as she raised a manicured eyebrow to pierce Constance to her black cross with a cold blue-eyed stare.
“Your world, Constance, is comprised of nothing more than small-minded, bitter old women who have nothing better to do than gossip about other people and their stupid little ways. “
“Yes, Mother Heggerty.” Constance stared red-faced at her quivering shoes.
“In future, when you give your opinion to me, ensure I’ve asked for it.” Her thin blonde eyebrow raised itself dangerously above Mother Heggerty’s steely gaze.
“Yes, Mother Heggerty.” Constance gripped her hands tightly, ensuring her nails dug into her palms, forcing her to focus on anything other than what was actually happening.
The head witch returned to her writing bureau and began shuffling through the overwhelming pile of never-ending paper. After a moment, the witch paused and listened, tilting her blond hair quaffed in a tight, neat bun towards the only other occupant in the room.
“Your breathing is very annoying. Why are you still here?”
“Yes, Mother Heggerty.” The young witch turned on her X and gladly began her backward bobbing curtsy exit from the room.
“Oh, where was the dragon… and Sir Richard last seen?” Mother Heggerty didn’t even bother to stop shuffling papers.
Constance bravely paused, her hand poised on one of the huge golden handles of Mother Heggerty’s office doors. Unfortunately, the young witch was good at her job and seemingly also had a death wish.
“They were last seen going into a garage in the old Monks district, just off Honest Lane.”
“A garage?” The papers were held in place.
“Errr,” Constance’s breathing increased as she grabbed her little leather-bound notebook from the deep pocket of her large black skirt, “Yes. Um, it’s now owned by, one Torrent Thatcher and previously by the Monks of The Whispering Truth.”
The young witch found her back slammed hard against the tall wooden doors, with Mother Heggerty’s hands wrapped tightly around her collar, staring with her stony blue eyes straight into her face.
“Why, Constance…” the head witch’s teeth clenched tightly together as she spoke, “did you not tell me this first?”
“Sorry, Mother Heggerty! So sorry, that’s my fault for not thinking.”
“Who in this vast, gigantic, seething city gave permission for the monk's caves to be occupied?” Mother Heggerty’s red nails pulled Constance's collar tighter, almost strangulating the terrified witch.
“You did, Mother Heggerty. You gave permission for all the monk's worldly goods and belongings to be sold in a… ‘fire sale,’ you said. Not more than two months ago. Everything sold straight away and at rock-bottom prices. And if you remember, you laughed and laughed for a whole full minute when I told you we made 50 smackers, then you went down to your dungeon office and stayed there for a whole hour.”
Constance's vision was starting to go, as was her witching self-defence mechanism. Poor, downtrodden Constance felt the panic of self-preservation kicking in; hands tingled and zinged with building power, ready to strike out at the most powerful witch there had ever been. Thankfully, her will to live pushed any stupid ideas of doing so down to the floor, stuck the boot in a couple of times and then concentrated on pushing her innate magic down to ensure her survival. No one took on Heggerty and survived.
Within a second, the strangulating hands were dropped along with Constance as Mother Heggerty replied as calm and flat as a millpond, “Oh yes, I remember now. Gosh, that was funny at the time. But maybe now I think of it…” the witch absentmindedly tapped a long red manicured nail on her plump red lips. “Maybe not such a good idea. The dragon… did it come out of the tunnels?”
“Yes, ish.” Bob and curtsy with a throat rub thrown in for good measure.
“What do you mean yes-ish?”
“Yes, it came out… sort of…”
Her throat was once more squeezed, but thoughtfully only by one hand. “What do you mean it came out sort of?” The cold smile that was given to Constance free of charge was nothing more than terrifying.
“Well, the dragon came out near the docks and made its way to the hospital, which it broke into and then…
“What did that horrible old hag do?”
Mother Harper did nothing… but the dragon was … well, it was.
“What?”
Constance turned the truth around in her mind and then blurted.
“It was Beatrix. She’s gone and done it now. She killed the yellow dragon after you specifically said if anyone killed a dragon, you’d pull their bowels out and tie them in a very big bow around their neck and make them watch every single flourish.”
“The yellow dragon is dead?” Mother Heggerty's hand traced a line down Constance's throat.
“Yes, Mother Heggerty.” Constance swallowed as she watched the head witch freeze deep in private thought.
“Beatrix… killed the dragon?” The head witch's eyes travelled away from her asphyxiation target.
An idea was brewing, which Constance began to hope would develop into a full-blown action. “Yes, Mother Heggerty. She’s such a little jumped up little…
“Shut up.” Was barked out harshly.
“Yes, Mother Heggerty”, whispered Constance quickly with as much submissiveness as she could muster.
A shark's leer blossomed across Mother Heggerty’s fine-boned face, “Finally, Beatrix has come into her own…”
“Yes, Moth- what?” The world dropped away from the young witch's feet.
“Get her here, Constance. I want to congratulate her.”
“You what the god dame hell?” Fingers, hands and arms began to burn.
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