Jun 13, 2026 · 13 min · 5 segments
A cozy contemporary fantasy about a chaotic witchy family and a terribly organised admin assistant, taking up residence at Frightful Manor. Set in the same world as “The Twelve Days of Witchmas.”…
Tansy Rayner RobertsHostIt is many years since such trifles broke across the web of my solitude.
There was a satisfaction in immersing oneself in basic tasks, sorting and filing and piling, as her mother always said with disapproval, one of those people who did not understand the importance of triage when approaching a complex task.
She was not about to launch Mr Horace Blight into a sea of spreadsheets and time-saving software.
At least, not until she could be sure that the desktop computer residing in the corner of the Beak's office was indeed plugged into the wall and an actual computer, rather than an esoteric piece of modern art sculpted out of air-drying clay.
she acquainted herself with the filing cabinets, emptied several large boxes, and set about the methodical task of getting the hang of it all.
At one point, dazed in the ritual of sorting envelopes that had not been opened, and really should, from envelopes that had been opened some time ago and would have been better left alone, Libby blinked and looked up to see that her employer had disappeared.
Another hour or more passed, and this time when she blinked and looked up, it was to see another pair of eyes locked upon hers.
Otis Blight sat at his brother's desk, regarding her steadily, while remaining, it had to be acknowledged, offensively beautiful.
Libby was prepared for him this time, even if he had appeared out of nowhere like a fairy king, or, more realistically, like a person walking across a room while her attention was engaged.
"'Can I help you, Mr. Blight?' He leaned back, more comfortable in the space than his brother had been.
I've been sent along as the family representative to give you the tour.' Show you your room, catch you up on the feeding and watering schedule, and the Wi-Fi password, that sort of thing.
Already? Otis Blight glanced to the window where the sky over Pendle Hill was disappearing rapidly into dusk.
It is many years since such trifles broke across the web of my solitude.
There was a satisfaction in immersing oneself in basic tasks, sorting and filing and piling, as her mother always said with disapproval, one of those people who did not understand the importance of triage when approaching a complex task.
She was not about to launch Mr Horace Blight into a sea of spreadsheets and time-saving software.
At least, not until she could be sure that the desktop computer residing in the corner of the Beak's office was indeed plugged into the wall and an actual computer, rather than an esoteric piece of modern art sculpted out of air-drying clay.
she acquainted herself with the filing cabinets, emptied several large boxes, and set about the methodical task of getting the hang of it all.
At one point, dazed in the ritual of sorting envelopes that had not been opened, and really should, from envelopes that had been opened some time ago and would have been better left alone, Libby blinked and looked up to see that her employer had disappeared.
Another hour or more passed, and this time when she blinked and looked up, it was to see another pair of eyes locked upon hers.
Otis Blight sat at his brother's desk, regarding her steadily, while remaining, it had to be acknowledged, offensively beautiful.
Libby was prepared for him this time, even if he had appeared out of nowhere like a fairy king, or, more realistically, like a person walking across a room while her attention was engaged.
"'Can I help you, Mr. Blight?' He leaned back, more comfortable in the space than his brother had been.
I've been sent along as the family representative to give you the tour.' Show you your room, catch you up on the feeding and watering schedule, and the Wi-Fi password, that sort of thing.
Already? Otis Blight glanced to the window where the sky over Pendle Hill was disappearing rapidly into dusk.
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