by Rebecca Brae
As much as I tried to ignore it, I was not cut out for the Gingerbread Hut. That’s what happens when you’re desperate and take the first job that comes up. Crappy thing is, I’m still desperate. More so, actually.
I spent my last sun in a whirlwind baking binge. It was all gingerbread, all the time. I even managed to repair the hut enough to pass a building inspection. Having Bob around proved quite handy.
Then this morn an albino raven flew over me seven times and dropped a dead frog on my head. You know things are about to get real when that happens.
The portent became clear once Althea showed up. She swooped in before I could finish dismantling my defensive perimeter and landed on a scum pod. It’s a good thing the building inspection forms were already submitted, because she made another hole in the wall.
She also managed to get herself stuck to the kitchen table. I even moved the damn thing out of the way, or so I thought. After trying my best at candy coatings to mask its stickiness and failing, I gave up and stuck it in a corner, literally. It was a little-used corner. Bob seemed right at home and I thought it would be safer. I chose wrong. The only luck I seem to have is bad.
NOTE: Try to recreate the recipe Herman and I used to make the table. If I can, and its glue-like properties hold true, remember to talk to Peuturella about that formula as well as the icing laxative.
Thanks to Magda, I was at least able to scry an emergency crew to help with Althea. I barely managed to disarm the rest of my anti-intruder measures before they arrived.
Althea could have attempted to be understanding, but no. She didn’t even ask if I was okay or how things had gone while she was away. Admittedly, she was having a hard time talking as she was stuck face first to the table, but she never really tried.
Things caught a severe downdraft from there. Althea saw a somewhat inflammatory letter I received from a group of environmentalists, thanks to Sophie, who stuck it to the table in front of her nose. They were upset about me introducing invasive flora to the local ecosystem.
I had ignored the note, as there were more immediate concerns and I had no idea who this group was, but Althea was well acquainted with them. Turns out, she’s on their board of directors and the project head for their renewable housing and recycling initiatives. She’s even won awards.
Sophie was ecstatic to have Althea home, mostly because she was eager to rat me out. She told Althea everything that happened, glossing over all my hard work to rectify things and exaggerating anything that didn’t go as planned. I tried to explain things properly when Sophie became overly creative in her recollections, but that just stoked the witch’s irritation. She cast a silence spell on me, so all I could do was listen to the traitorous winged menace skewer me.
I did glean one interesting tidbit. Sophie is the one who started this whole mess by informing the building inspectors. I should have known.
I accept responsibility for my good-intentioned, but ultimately ill-advised defensive perimeter, but I’m not solely responsible for this disaster. My boss abandoned me after minimal training and her assistant, who could have helped, did everything but. Getting the building inspectors involved directly led to the stork guard reclaiming the children, and then the Infernals and environmentalists jumped into the action and . . . aargh!
Well, it looks as though my writing time is at an end. I’ve just been summoned into the employment counsellor’s office. I was smart this time—I brought a graphite shard so my signature won’t bleed on the wet parchment and I wore my traveling cloak. Any splashes should roll right off. Here’s hoping my intrepid eight-limbed union representative can find me a more suitable job.
TECHNICALLY, I’M STILL in my meeting but I have to do something while Ouleah naps. I don’t want to wake her up prematurely in case I get slapped (eight times) for my trouble. She can be disoriented when she first comes to.
The good news is, she’s positive she can find me a new job. The bad news is, she seemed positive last time and that didn’t work out so well. I think she might be one of those types that are positive about everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could find something good to say about being swallowed by a regurgitating aktar (because there’s nothing like being eaten, partially digested, and thrown up ten times before dying).
I don’t know how to take her. She was hanging from the ceiling when I came in. I had no idea octopodes were so agile out of water. Having suction pads and eight arms would be useful, but I can barely manage my two at the best of times. I can only imagine how clumsy I’d be with another six to organize.
Oh. She’s back. And she’s picked up the conversation right where she left off. I had no idea what was going on before, and I still have no idea. So much for her being disoriented!
ADDENDUM: Weirdness abounds! While I was talking to Ouleah, I noticed a gargoyle sitting on the balcony outside her window. I know it’s Bob because he still has the pine boughs and cinnamon sticks looped around his ears. He disappeared after the emergency crew used their special Benuverium slime solvent to release him from the table, so I figured he was long gone. I wonder what’s up with his sudden reappearance.
Tydias, Storm Moon 23, 209
I SPENT LAST night at the cheapest inn Aestradorra has to offer, The Balding Bull. It’s all I could afford. And by that, I mean I have no coin, so I agreed to clean the second floor and muck out the stable twice a sun in exchange for a room. And by room, I mean closet. Seriously. I’m sleeping with buckets and brooms, and it’s so small I have to fold myself into the fetal position to lie down. Not that I wouldn’t end up like that anyway. It’s freezing at night.
Herman got so cold he asked if I wanted to harvest his grease. I did. The smell of it still makes my nether region seize up, but another night or two of this and I’ll have enough to make a small batch of laxative icing to send to Peuturella.
So far this morn, I’ve finished the stables, barely, and am taking a short break before I start on the rooms. I miss magick. There’s no mundane way to add flair while raking hay, cleaning troughs, scooping feed, and shovelling manure. It’s all exactly as glamorous and exciting as it sounds. On the plus side, I did get to top up my excrement-based spell components.
On the not so plus side, I’m not great with animals. It took me half the morn just to coax their geriatric milk cow out of its stall. That thing was stubborn . . . and heavy. I tried to get behind it and shove it out of the paddock, but the beast sat on me.
Oh, and I think I might be allergic to hay. My nose is sniffly and there’s a constant tickle in my throat.
NOTE: Scry Magda ASAP and see if she can put me up until I hear back from the employment counsellor.
People are pigs. No, people are worse than pigs. I’ve seen tidier sties than the rooms I cleaned. It was so bad, Herman felt right at home. Said he hadn’t been anywhere that snug since his youth in a metropolis called Nooyork. His family had a place in an alley behind a restaurant.
I wasn’t familiar with Nooyork so I asked where it was and, in his exuberance, he let slip that it was in the Outerplane. He clammed up as soon as I enquired whether he had temporarily lived in the Outerplane or if he was originally from there.
His cagy reaction doesn’t prove my suspicion that he’s not native to this plane, but it certainly indicates a need for further investigation. If he is an Outerplane native, it means the Witch’s Union is outsourcing for familiars. They aren’t supposed to do that.
I have half a mind to report this to Althea’s environmentalist group. If they were up in arms about my intruder calming flora, surely they would be interested in a major organization like WU introducing off-world fauna. I guarantee they’d be concerned if they met Herman. It doesn’t take long to see how much damage he’s capable of. Problem is, how do I stop Althea from discovering who the tipoff is from? It’s a conundrum. And I’m getting ahead of myself, as usual.
NOTE: See if Magda can magickally determine whether Herman is from here or not.
The good news from thi
s eventide is that I have eliminated any worries of hay allergies. The bad news is that I’m getting sick. I’ve caught some kind of mucus plague. Yay, me. My nose is a fountain. Even Herman is keeping his distance. That cow had better follow his example next morn or by the moon’s tides, I will . . . oh, who am I kidding. In my state, the worst I could do is sneeze all over it, and I doubt that would make much of an impression. Bah!
To top everything off, I haven’t been able to contact Magda. She must be out or something. I think I got through once, but her asp must have answered the scry because all I saw was a black blur and a tongue.
Familiars! They aren’t remotely helpful. Or sympathetic. Herman refused to come into our closet this eventide. Said he’d prefer to sleep on his own. I would be hurt that a cockroach rejected my company, but I don’t have the energy.
I only have enough coin to buy meals for another two suns. If Ouleah doesn’t find me a job soon, I’ll have to scry my parents, and that’s a conversation I’d prefer to avoid. The last time we spoke, I was happily working as a village hag. I can already hear Mom tsk-tsking—like she’s dismayed that I messed up, but not surprised. There’s nothing I hate more. Especially when I know she’s right.
Wendias, Storm Moon 24, 209
MAGDA RESCUED ME from having to scry my parents! I’d be so lost without her. I hope I can return all her favours soon.
I finally got a scry through at mid-sun and she said she was happy to have me stay at her place for a while. It’s a good thing, too. My nose was so runny this morn I had to stuff cottonweed up my nostrils so I could finish my chores. I was leaking more than The Balding Bull Inn’s balding mop.
As soon as I arrived at Magda’s apartment, she bundled me onto her couch with a thick woollen blanket, surrounded me with wrapped hot rocks, and whipped up a kettle of her special tea. I remember it well from college. I used to come down with some kind of plague every time Justin and I fought or finals rolled around. Must be a stress thing. No wonder I’m laid low now. There’s enough stress in my life to choke a hinge-jawed nether cat.
The tea slowed my mucus production and reduced the crippling iron-bar-rammed-though-all-my-joints pain to a bearable throb. She even added two fermented ghoul eyes. After that, I didn’t care so much that it hurt to breathe or that my life sucks FSB butt.
Which reminds me: I was a titch worried that I might have caught this snot disease from the FSB, but Magda looked it up in one of her many Bestiaries and said it’s not possible. Phew!
She has the most impressive personal library of anyone I know. Every wall in her apartment has at least one over-stuffed bookcase. She says she needs them for reference when she’s mixing her potions and elixirs, but I know the truth. She’s a total nerd and I love her for it.
Her concoctions were always the best in our classes. Actually, they were the best in the whole college. By the time we graduated, she was being courted by the Hedge Witch faculty and several big companies specializing in enchantments and hexes. She’s a genius, though she’d never admit it.
I’m glad she didn’t go down the Hedge Witch path. She would have been in college for another four season-cycles and then had to work as an Initiate for another two. Her nose would have been so deeply buried in her tomes that I wouldn’t have seen her in all that time. I know these thoughts are purely selfish and I’m okay with that. Witches need their best friends. Especially this one. Especially right now.
She must have negotiated a wicked contract with the Magick Emporium, because her apartment is amazing. There’s not much space, but I think that’s due to all the stuff she’s crammed in. If I travelled as heavy as Magda, I’d need a barge to get around instead of a broom.
The neighbourhood is nice too. It’s just outside Aestradorra’s core, so it’s a short broom ride to anywhere worth going and there are a couple of parks nearby for ritual gatherings.
Which reminds me, I’ve been neglecting my rituals of late and must rectify that. I’m sure Magda will get me back into practice. Althea never once invited me to join her for so much as a simple full moon ritual. She must have been a solitary. I lean that way myself, having a more reclusive nature than most witches, but I do enjoy group rituals once in a while. It’s a different kind of energy.
There’s so much I want to talk to Magda about, but every time I speak more than three words, it ends in a coughing fit and I have to go pee.
I’m beyond relieved to be here. The inn was horrible. Herman wasn’t happy about leaving, but then he complains about everything. At least he seems to be coexisting with Magda’s familiar better than he did with Sophie.
Poor Magda is still having a hard time due to her snake phobia. It doesn’t help that her asp seems to enjoy popping out of random places. I would think her name was AAAAAAAAAAAAAA if she hadn’t paused her game of hide-and-seek to tell me it was Missera.
Magda’s familiar also has a poor grasp of personal space. I jolted awake from a nap and found her dangling off a lantern above me, an inch from my face. In fact, I suspect I woke up because Missera’s flitty little tongue was tickling my nose.
On a side note, snakes don’t blink. I wish I had known that before I made a fool of myself trying to stare her down. Trust me to find out the hard way that winning a staring contest with an asp is impossible.
Herman may not be the most prestigious of familiars, or even a recognized one as far as I can tell, but at least he doesn’t go out of his way to scare the crap out of me. I haven’t seen Magda this twitchy since she started dating.
Not that her nervousness was unwarranted. It is how we determined blind dates should never be attempted on a full moon. Let’s just say her companion turned out to be furrier and toothier than expected. There’s only so much gnawing a girl is willing to put up with, especially on a first date.
Cerridias, Storm Moon 25, 209
I RECEIVED A scry from my amazing employment counsellor this morn. She found me another job! Crisis averted.
Working at Moonbrews won’t be exciting, seeing as most of my co-workers are in their first term at Grimoire College, but I’m not in a position to be picky. Staying long enough to be eligible for my Adept rites and making a living income, however lean, are all that matters. I’ll just have to ignore the fact that I won’t even be able to afford the crappy potions I’m mixing.
So much for my up-and-coming star on the hag track. Manual labour it is. If I think too long about it all, I get an ache in my chest and my mind starts whispering horrible things. If this is where I’m at, can I even still call myself a witch? And if I’m not a witch, what am I? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’m lost.
No. I must not go down that path. Not yet. If I can salvage my Adept rites, give myself time to heal whatever is blocking my magicks . . . maybe, maybe I can come back from this downward spiral. I just need to keep slogging on.
I visited the Moonbrews franchise right away and met with the manager. Andreas is all right. He’s a typical hyper-positive, sales-driven, micromanaging type, but after being abandoned by Althea, I might appreciate a more diligent supervisor.
I was upfront about my loss of magick and he assured me it wouldn’t be a problem. There are set recipes for all the brews they offer and the ingredients come pre-enchanted. All I have to do is mix them up and serve customers quickly and with a scowl. Customer service is very important. Maintaining a scowl through an entire shift will take a concerted effort. Sadly, my natural resting face has been described as “cheerful” and “pleasant”. Ugh!
They were super busy, so Andreas put me to work right then and there. I am now an official Brew Master in training. I spent most of this sun with Teagan, an Apprentice witch who’s been there for eight moons. She picks up shifts whenever she doesn’t have class to help pay her tuition fees. Smart. Her student loan will be much more manageable than mine.
Which reminds me—I’ll be getting a payment notice soon. Sigh. I’ll have to defer it to next moon. There’s no way I can pay it, get an apartment, and feed myself,
let alone reimburse Magda for her loan.
Anyway, after being at Moonbrews for a sun, I can confirm that the work is okay. It would be boring but the brisk pace keeps things interesting enough. I should have no trouble learning the recipes. They’re simple compared to the Gingerbread Hut nightmare. And, although I wasn’t able to talk much because my voice quit halfway through my shift, the co-workers I met seemed nice. Teagan is overly energetic at times, but at least she’s eager to help me learn.
Health-wise, I feel better this eventide, though I’m flat-out exhausted. My feet ached before my shift, but after standing on them all sun, they’re on fire. I have another shift next morn. I hope they recover by then. The moment I got home, I made a soothing foot soak from the vast array of components in Magda’s kitchen. So far, it isn’t doing much besides making them smell better, which is something, I guess. Not being able to enchant things really sucks.
Magda isn’t home yet. She’s working late on a big project. Probably just as well. If she were home, I’d be tempted to talk and I should save my voice for work.
I have to admit that bunking with Magda and witnessing Teagan’s bright-eyed enthusiasm as she talked about her classes is making me nostalgic (not in a good way). I remember how I felt, how the world felt, when I started college. The mystery of the future seemed so thrilling and full of possibility. It feels very far from that now.
I’m going to try to keep my depression to myself and enjoy my time with Magda. It’s been too long since we had a chance to hang out and connect.
BOB THE GARGOYLE has shown up again. I nearly spat out my brew when I turned around and saw him perched on one of Magda’s spell component chests. I hope she doesn’t need to get into it anytime soon because he’s no lightweight and I haven’t been able to convince him to move. I asked him what he wants, but all I got in return was his unnerving, flinty stare.
