The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  I set the dog down and listened as it scuttled away to hide in the kitchen. I nodded to the wolf. The wolf nodded to me. It was all very congenial.

  It broke eye contact to wave its nose at the misty landscape outside. I sensed an invitation as it trotted out and glanced back at me. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed. The beast did not feel dangerous, but there was a stiffness to its gait that suggested impatience and perhaps urgency.

  We travelled over undulating hills while mother moon and her child stars struggled to penetrate the fog. The wolf stopped at the edge of a flat grassland and growled. The ground ahead of us churned and swaths of grass disappeared, sucked into a muddy pool beneath with a great slurp. Malicious cackling assaulted me as the soil beneath my feet heaved. I turned to run but the earth had already swallowed my feet. Roots snaked up my legs, pulling me deeper into the fetid gullet.

  Then I woke up. I wish there was a sure way to interpret dreams. Am I supposed to re-evaluate a first impression? Perhaps it was a warning not to plan any country rambles. Maybe it was showing me that I’m afraid of something unknown . . . or that I should be afraid of something that hasn’t yet revealed itself. Then again, it might just have been the ghostly remnants of that slightly expired stew I brewed up a few eventides ago. Argh.

  There are only a few aspects of witchcraft I dislike. Dream interpretation tops that list. It’s always so obvious looking back, but gleaning the meaning before something happens is like staring at a puzzle with millions of pieces that keep changing shape. Sadly, dream interpretation isn’t Magda’s strong suit either so I’ll just have tread carefully for a while. And stay away from old stew. I suppose the last is a good plan in general. What can I say? I was hungry.

  I have been practicing minor rituals and spells every sun. Working with the elements again feels like coming home. I can only draw a shallow stream of the power and even that exhausts me to the point of collapse if I do it for too long. But it’s a start. An amazing, beautiful, thrilling start!

  So far, I’ve told Magda, Missera, and Herman about it. Nobody at Moonbrews knows. I can’t do much that’s useful yet anyway. Levitating with my co-workers is a long way off as it sucks too much power. I need to build up my channelling stamina first.

  I tried sitting on my broom behind the counter to alleviate my aching feet. I was able to keep it hovering low enough that it looked like I was standing, but there just wasn’t enough room for me, my broom, and another worker. I kept jabbing Teagan in the hip and I accidently knocked over a tray of drying beakers.

  After that, I decided on a more mundane solution and borrowed a pair of Magda’s old field boots. The heels are lower, so my feet are slightly less throbby at the end of my shifts. Thank the Goddess her feet are just a half size larger than mine. Best friend to the rescue again.

  Work is going okay. Well, at least it’s going. It’s a good thing my co-workers are interesting, because the job sure isn’t, especially now that I’ve memorized all the brew recipes. I can pretty much switch my brain off. Occasionally the customers are also interesting, but sadly most are simply vexing.

  I never realized how disheartening it is to work in the service industry. I interacted with the public as a village hag, but that was on my own schedule and I only approached whomever I felt like cursing that sun.

  The more I interact with customers in the regimented Moonbrews environment, the more I see the benefits of being a solitary like Althea. After a sun of dealing with petty, nitpicking complaints, hanging out alone in a forest is incredibly appealing. I’m sick of hearing about not enough foam on a potion, or too much slime, or they are busy and don’t we know their time is money—like ours isn’t? My mandated customer service scowl is genuine by the end of my shift.

  I get no rest at home either. Herman relentlessly badgers me to try a transmutation on him, even after reading the approved familiar list and declaring, “All the good forms are taken.” I guess he’s tired of being a cockroach.

  INTERESTING SIDE-NOTE: Cockroach is definitely not an approved familiar. Granted, the list we dug out of Magda’s old college notes is slightly out of date, but we didn’t graduate that long ago and nothing changes quickly in the union. It’s unlikely they added a new creature between then and now. (I have attached the list for future reference.)

  I’m not ashamed to admit, the thought of casting a transmutation spell scares me. I’ve been out of the game too long to just jump back in without hiccups. And magickal hiccups can be lethal.

  I can’t try anything on Herman until I’m absolutely certain about what I’m doing. He might be a pest, but I do not want to be responsible for my familiar’s injury or death. There’s a section in the WU handbook dedicated to the consequences. Let’s just say, they’re unpleasant.

  I explained that I wasn’t ready, but Herman didn’t want to hear it. He dragooned Magda in to help me raise the required power and refused to listen when I told him I wasn’t just concerned about having enough juice. He said Magda could cast the spell on her own if I wasn’t willing to help. I strictly forbade that.

  He’s been testy with me ever since, but I’m not giving in. I’m angry with him too. It’s unfair of him to put Magda in such an untenable position.

  Regardless of how skilled Magda is in spell craft, it’s not possible to cast a transmutation on a living being who isn’t yourself or your familiar. Intimate spells like that are only possible with familiars because of our bond. I’ve heard tales of witches turning their enemies into toads and such, but I’ve never seen it done. There’s a remote chance a Sage or Elder could, but not an Initiate.

  Besides, Magda has always been uncomfortable with alteration magicks. They creep her out and that fear manifests in her spells. The results aren’t pretty. So many things can go wrong.

  In the end, I promised Herman that I would transmute him as soon as I felt it was safe. That will have to be good enough for him. To demonstrate my concerns, I cast a series of enlargement spells on simpler subjects.

  I’m out of practice keeping the energies balanced, so evenly enlarging anything is challenging. The first three fruit I worked on exploded. The fourth was seriously lopsided and the fifth was uniformly larger, but delicate. It dissolved as soon as I touched it. If I had tried that on Herman . . . best not to think about it.

  I hope he learned a valuable lesson about accepting and respecting other people’s boundaries.

  After all that spellwork, I need a full sun’s sleep to recover, but that isn’t going to happen. I’m covering Teagan’s shifts because she has mid-term exams and, in my off time, I plan to look for my own place. Magda says she’s happy for me to stay as long as I like, but I know how much of an imposition we must be and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. I’m not a bad houseguest, but I come with Herman and, apparently, Bob.

  Bless her heart. Poor Magda didn’t sign on to share her space with three. She caught Herman snacking on one of her tomes last eventide. I’ve never seen her so livid. Then, Bob perched on an overloaded bookcase, which collapsed and scared the poop out of everyone, literally, for Herman.

  So now, I not only owe Magda for all the coin she lent me, I need to replace her bookcase and the tome Herman gnawed on. These guys are killing me. Being a building inspector, you’d think Bob would know what was stable and what wasn’t. I’m just glad it collapsed when nobody was near.

  I just had a thought. Maybe he did know and that was why he sat on it? It would have been more polite to leave a note, but inspectors aren’t known for their manners. Hmmm. I’ll have to pass this on to Magda. Might take some of the sting out of the loss of shelving. A bookcase that size could have killed someone.

  Soldias, Crow Moon 14, 209

  THIS EVENTIDE, FOR the first time in a long time, I’m attending a group ritual. A full moon rite—my favourite! Magda’s coven said they’d be fine with her bringing a guest. Yay!

  I was worried that I’d want to strangle people after pulling a double shift at Moonbrews, but I�
��m actually looking forward to hanging out with witchy folk. Especially ones who aren’t demanding service or loudly complaining about how hard it is to find competent brewers.

  After work, Magda and I baked mooncakes. As this was my introduction to the coven, we made them extra special. Magda had a jar of lotus seeds on hand and I found some iinok eggs and a vial of Skiartian moon dew in an apothecary on the way home. I made enough tips to cover the cost, barely. I’ll skip lunch next sun to make it up. It’s important to make a good impression, not just for me, but for Magda.

  We ground the lotus seeds into a paste and boiled the eggs to stuff the cakes with. As the delicacies cooled, we anointed each of them with three drops of dew. That should raise everyone’s energies.

  Magda had never attempted such a complicated recipe, but it wasn’t too bad, just a tad finicky with all the steps. Certainly, nothing compared to what I did at the Gingerbread Hut. There was only one hiccup. We got chatting, as we do, and forgot about the oven. Thankfully, my nose must be attuned, because it started twitching just as the cakes were on the cusp of overdone.

  The only other hurdle was finding something to wear. Most of my robes are un-wearable due to cockroach snacking or are in need of washing. The tavern brawl ruined my last party robe, not that it would have been appropriate ritual attire anyway.

  NOTE: Do laundry ASAP!!!

  I eventually settled on a robe I purchased in college and haven’t worn for a while. The midnight blue, shimmering material has small crystals sewn randomly about. It’s a bit flashy and probably out of fashion (fads change too quickly to keep up with, so I’ve never bothered), but it still fits, albeit more tightly. I thought it was a fun classic look, but Herman, not so much.

  It’s one thing for a cockroach to eat holes in your robes. It’s quite another to have said cockroach scoff at your fashion sense. Apparently, he judged that robe too gaudy to eat. Said even looking at it gave him indigestion. Good thing, or I wouldn’t have anything left to wear this eventide.

  According to him, just thinking about owning a cloak without silk lining is an affront to all witchdom (I have three). My footwear is uninspiring and grandmotherly. And what did he say about the colour of the cloak I picked to wear? Oh yes, “it makes earthworm brown seem dazzling.” How I ended up with a bloody want-to-be stylist as a familiar, I don’t know. And a rude one to boot.

  My brown cloak is a good, thick, functional covering. Lots of pockets, roomy, billows dramatically when I’m on the broom, water repellent, nice hood. There’s nothing wrong with it. And I happen to like earthy browns.

  Herman and I were so annoyed with each other that we decided to go our own ways this eventide. Magda seconded the idea, as she wasn’t looking forward to Missera tagging along either. We’re going to drop them off at The Haunted Bonnet, our local pub, and pick them up on our way home. Magda says the tavern is frequented by a disreputable lot, so Herman and Missera should fit right in.

  The bell just tolled half-eleven. Tally ho, witches on the go!

  WHAT A FANTASTIC night! My body is still buzzing with power from the ritual. I feel so connected, so grounded (an aspect of magickal workings that I have long struggled with). I can feel the air moving around me, inside me; the earth draws me down as a mother welcomes a child; blood rushes through the river ways of my veins and feeds the fire of passion in my chest. My spirit is bursting with magickal creativity.

  I need to practice my magicks, let off some of this energy, or I will never get to sleep. Magda feels the same, though her solution is to read, as always. That doesn’t work for me. She recommended I try it when we were bunkmates in college, but one incinerated book is too many as far as she’s concerned.

  Our mooncakes were a hit. They were by far the tastiest treat. A few witches even requested the recipe.

  NOTE: Scry recipe to Abyssia and Hektor in the morn.

  Magda’s coven was welcoming and open. Well, not everyone was, but some witches walk the shadowed path more than others. It’s good. There must be balance.

  It’s been a while since I’ve felt this free, unburdened. I must do better at keeping up with my rituals. In all the chaos of finding a job, I forgot how important it is for witches to stop, stretch our roots, breathe in the night, and let the moon’s gentle caress wash away what no longer serves us.

  I should be stressed about my student loan and job and weak magick and housing situation (oy, the list does go on), but I can’t bring myself to worry about any of that right now. It feels odd to not have anxiety plague my every thought. It’s not that I don’t care. I’m just not expending any energy agonizing over it. The beautiful ritual energy has infused every fibre of my being and pushed out all the negative.

  I think I’ll work with water elementals this eventide. I’ll be casting alone, as Magda’s busy with her book, so I’ll start small. Maybe try altering a bowl of water to fog and back again. If I get brave, I may attempt water sculpting. It involves a lot of concentration I may not have, but the effort might induce sleep.

  I’m happy to report that Herman and Missera survived their night at the tavern. The tavern also survived, which is a bonus.

  On the way home, Herman asked how my magickal experiments were going and if I knew when I’d be able to try a transmutation. He was far more polite about it this time. I must be getting through to him.

  Right now, I feel as though I could tap into the life force of the Goddess and weave it into anything. Thankfully, I’m not stupid enough to actually try. I told Herman there was no ETA yet. He’ll have to wait until Magda has time to help and I’ve honed my magickal skills a little more.

  Speaking of honing, I should get on with that. Have I mentioned recently how happy I am to have even a sliver of my old magick back?

  Freydias, Crow Moon 19, 209

  BETWEEN WORK AND magick experiments, I’m pooped. The kind of pooped where you’re lying on a couch but have to go to the bathroom and start wondering if you could devise a spell to magickally transport the pee from your body to the chamber pot just to avoid the moving part in between.

  Herman retained his eagerness to try out different forms, even after witnessing several catastrophic vegetable transformations. I got better after those failures, moved onto more complicated subjects, gained confidence, and eventually felt comfortable enough to try the spell on Herman. Thanks to Magda’s infusion of power, we’ve done two . . . Wait. No, three, but the last one was an accident. It’s not a huge deal, but you’d think it was the end of the world if you listened to Herman go on about it.

  Let’s see. First, we tried a tarsier. I didn’t mind the wide-eyed, perpetually terrified look, figured it added to my cred, but Herman wasn’t a fan. It freaked him out whenever he caught sight of himself in a reflective surface. Not only did he keep forgetting it was him, but whatever was looking back seemed petrified of something directly behind him, which invariably led to a fear reaction. That wasn’t pleasant for anyone. It involved a mad dash and a trail of watery poo (no idea if that’s a leftover from his cockroach form, or if tarsiers normally fear-poo).

  He also discovered that people consider tarsiers cute. I had to rescue him from an overly cuddly kid at Moonbrews who found him sleeping under a table and tried to run off with him. Eating bugs also proved problematic, given his original form. I never thought I’d see a sun where Herman felt bad about eating anything.

  Next, we tried an eagle because Herman figured people would be less likely to molest him if he had sharp bits. He looked spectacular. I really outdid myself on that transmutation. The wickedly sharp talons, the hooked beak, the predatory eyes. He was beautiful. A masterpiece. I’m sad it didn’t work out.

  He’s not fond of heights and that’s a bad phobia for a bird. We hoped that particular hang-up was tied to his original cockroach form, but not so. He also had a hard time not eating Missera. His predatory drive kicked in whenever he caught sight of her. The apartment turned into a war zone. Eagles cause a lot of damage when so inclined. The last str
aw was when he flew by with Missera in his beak.

  The asp must be growing on Magda, because she nearly squashed Herman with a well-aimed tome. Eagles are big, but Magda’s books are bigger. She apologized for her reaction, but we all understood. In the heat of the moment, everyone does what they can to protect those they care for.

  Herman would have been devastated if he’d hurt Missera, so he wasn’t offended by the severe booking. Our familiars have become inseparable.

  We set up an emergency transmutation spell right away. We should have waited until everyone was less frazzled, but I was focused on preventing another incident. Herman hadn’t figured out what he wanted to be, so we ended up having a quick discussion in the middle of the spell (not ideal).

  He insists that he jokingly suggested a flamingo because it was the least dangerous thing he could think of, but he said it and I activated the transmutation. Maybe I have a hard time discerning sarcasm in eagles. They do come off as a serious sort of bird. Whatever. It was an honest mistake. I didn’t understand at the time why he wanted to be a flamingo, but I figured it was his prerogative. Not my place to judge.

  So now, Herman is a flamingo. A bright pink, spindly legged, weirdo of a bird. He constantly complains about how embarrassing it is, but it’s not exactly what I’d pick for a familiar either. His cockroach form was better. The only good thing is that he doesn’t want anyone to see him, so he stays close to home and has stopped bugging me to bring him to work. The bad thing is that he stays close to home and is easily bored.

  I set up Magda’s bathing tub with a supply of fish and shrimp. He likes to stand in it and snack, but he splashes water all over and keeps tossing the fish out. He says he’s playing with them, but he keeps “forgetting” to put them back in, so I suspect he’s doing it to piss me off. It’s working.