The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  Between the dead fish and shrimp, the apartment has a distinctive odour. Our neighbours complained about the smell (and occasional ceiling leak) but I baked them some gingerbread cookies to apologize and managed to smooth things over. At least for now.

  I tried bringing Herman to work with me once, but he refused to go back after overhearing a customer offer to purchase his feathers. She said they were the perfect hue for her summer solstice wreath. I assured him nobody would be plucking any feathers, but his new, rosy form has not made him any less paranoid or ill-tempered.

  Sad to say (for him), Herman looks hilarious when he’s mad. He flaps his wings, makes a ridiculous honking noise, and charges at you like a little pink hurricane. He was in a particularly fowl mood last eventide and Magda and I almost peed ourselves laughing. Every time he completed a charge, he’d hop back into his tub and wiggle his tail feathers in disgust. I’m sure we’ll tire of it, but for now, it’s highly amusing. I looked over at Bob and even he was sporting a stony grin.

  I’ll transmute Herman into another form as soon as I’ve had a few suns’ rest. I’m drained and sore down to the marrow. Working magicks is getting easier, but even with Magda’s infusion of power, it’s a challenge to keep my focus up and the elements balanced for the duration of a transmutation spell. They are complicated and lengthy. Thankfully, transmutations primarily rely on water elementals and I’ve always had a close relationship with them.

  Magda and I have been investigating magickal aids such as energy crystals and elemental wells—things I never thought I’d consider using. We came up with a few potentially useful ones, though even remembering I need to use them will be challenging for a while.

  Wizards are the ones who fluff around with overly complicated procedures requiring mounds of arcane tools and supplies. Witches are supposed to be their spell. It is us. We are it. Magick isn’t something external to manipulate, it exists in the elements that make up the oceans and soil and sky. The same elements that make up our blood and bones and soul. We are magick.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m ecstatic to be able to work magick again, even on such a diminished scale. It’s just that I miss the old suns when all I had to do was think about calling an elemental and there it would be. Now I have to concentrate, visualize them in the environment around me, inside me, and draw each tiny one out. And they are tiny. Barely discernible, really. I feel like a bumbling toddler. I suppose it is making my elemental applications more efficient.

  I’m not giving up. Each time I cast, it’s challenging and frustrating, but maybe not as much as the time before. Perhaps that’s just in my mind, but I’ll take it.

  Soldias, Crow Moon 21, 209

  GODDESS PRESERVE ME, I’ve done it again. I am sooo tired of screwing up.

  This sun started normally enough. Herman stuffed a fish in my cot to encourage me to get up. It was alive this time—a small mercy. There’s nothing worse than waking up to realize that what you thought was your pillow, is in fact a rotting fish. Though, waking up to a fish sucking on your nose is only marginally better.

  I cleaned up Herman’s briny mess, chucked down my gruel, tossed on a clean-ish robe, and away to work I flew. I did this morn what I always do and spent the trip mulling random things, like do florofians always moult in pairs and does anyone remember that time I chipped my chalice with my athame. That was embarrassing! What I should have been doing is paying attention to my surroundings.

  I remember thinking that the Sol-reddened clouds resembled a swooping vulture. And then there was the nicely wrinkled hag in the parking lot who threw the Death tarot at me and yelled, “Doom. DOOOOOOM.” Either one of those portents should have been enough to give me pause, but no.

  I figured she was just out doing her job, spreading the word and keeping the balance like the rest of us working stiffs. I know what it’s like to have to meet a hex quota. I’ve heard they’re set pretty high in Aestradorra. And Death isn’t necessarily bad. Usually it just means a change. However, the tarot combined with her words and the clouds . . .

  Things started to get weird when a gregarious customer trotted up to my counter. I heard her coming before she even opened the door. She was young and her energies were high. Either she hadn’t bothered to control them or wasn’t proficient at it, because the atmospheric pressure in the room plummeted. This caused a beaker in the distiller to shatter, all the lids on our display vials to shoot off (followed by their contents), and my ears to pop. Very irresponsible! I’ve seen Novice witches in grade school with better control.

  A sleek black dog trotted in after her and she impatiently shooed it away. There was an intensity in its gaze as it surveyed the shop, implying an intelligence beyond that of a mundane animal. Apparently, the young witch missed that cue. It brushed against her leg and she zapped it without a second thought. It wasn’t a powerfully charged bolt, just enough to make the creature yelp.

  A bit of fur and mud on your robe are not an excuse to zap things, especially things that are more than they seem. That can really bite you on the ass. I waited for the dog to do just that, but instead it barked once at her and headed for the door.

  I slipped it a honeysuckle and urchin cookie before it left, figuring it had come in because it was hungry. It held my gaze for a beat. There was a spark of magick in the depths of its eyes. Staring into them felt like gazing into the night sky—endless and brimming with mystery. I suddenly felt very small.

  The customer was ticked off by the time I came back. Teagan was busy running between the back room and the counter, cleaning up the mess created by the vial and beaker explosions, so I figured I had better serve this horror.

  She was not one of our regular patrons, which isn’t in itself a bad thing, except in this particular case it was. Everything about her put me on edge, from her phony buggy-eyed smile, to her booming voice and exuberant hand gestures. I narrowly saved our potion bottle display.

  She wanted a brew that would give her purple dragon wings for some fancy (read snooty) Scales and Tails party. I told her the closest one we offered was our Green Fairy. At which point, she accused me of being inept and belligerent.

  I admit, at various crossroads, I have been both of those things, but not this time. I tried to explain that we had a set menu and Brew Masters weren’t authorized to deviate from the company’s vetted recipes.

  She took this as a further invitation to disparage my skills. I suspect she came in knowing we wouldn’t be able to do what she asked and just wanted something to complain about.

  I can’t say for sure why I did what I did, but right at that moment, I didn’t have the time or inclination to put up with her. There were other customers in line—customers who, although likely annoying, wouldn’t be outright abusive. So, as I did with Herman, I gave her what she wanted. Sort of. Well, not really, so it’s actually exactly like what happened with Herman.

  I had a limited supply of ingredients to work with, thanks to Moonbrews’ unimaginative menu, so I made some impromptu substitutions from my personal stash. It’s also likely that at least one of the store ingredients was contaminated (thanks to the vial explosions, which were entirely the customer’s fault).

  If it wasn’t for her uncontrolled energies flying around, I probably would have felt the wrongness in the spell I infused the potion with. Between that and her grating voice, I was barely able to concentrate long enough to complete the incantation, let alone successfully detect its effect.

  She didn’t know what to say when I handed her the brew. I charged her for a Green Fairy (even though her potion should have been way more expensive) and figured that would be the last I saw of her. I was partially right.

  She sat down with an offended huff at the most conspicuous table by the front window and sipped her brew. It didn’t take long for the spell to hit. One minute she was her normal glaring self, and the next, she was a giant, bulbous caterpillar lounging on the table. A pattern of bright purple striations adorned her back, so at least I got the colour r
ight.

  So much for Initiates not being able to transmute other living beings. And with a potion, no less! I was impressed with myself, though I had no idea how I managed it. Unfortunately, the customer’s husband immediately hired an Infernal demon, who was not similarly swayed by my awesome transmutation skills.

  As much as I’d like to blame the customer, I know the responsibility for my actions begins and ends with me. I was the one who allowed her to goad me into brewing a careless potion. Maybe one sun I’ll learn to control my temper.

  The best scenario at this point is that the effect wears off. But me and best scenarios don’t even have a passing acquaintance, so I’ve already started pondering what to do. I can’t reverse the recipe to change her back, at least not until I figure out which components were contaminated and with what. And then I have to recreate her energy vortex, which no doubt affected things as well. That’ll be challenging. And there are undoubtedly various unknown contributing environmental factors to identify. Running through the hundreds of experiments required will be time consuming, but I’m determined to fix this mess.

  Andreas was all in a flap. Although he handles normal complaints and catastrophes with ease, the Infernal pressure this one brought was a bit much. His face turned ten shades of red. The idea of lawsuits is old hat for me after the Gingerbread Hut. I can’t even say I was surprised when the demon portal melted the window.

  I am sorry to have caused Andreas so much stress, but based on the testiness of our clientele, he’ll have to get used to this sort of thing. I heard that a customer at another Moonbrews got frostbite from a Yeti Punch (a potion which they subsequently discontinued) and is threatening Infernal action.

  Ridiculous. It’s a Yeti Punch. It has to be cold. You’d have to be a real cracked cauldron to order a lukewarm one.

  I’m getting sidetracked again. The long and the short of it is that I messed up and now I’m out of a job. Again. Andreas didn’t want to fire me, but the head office didn’t give him any say in the matter.

  I won’t miss the work, but I will miss Teagan and Andreas. Maybe I’ll get a chance to have lunch with them once I’ve found yet another new job, paid off my outstanding debts, and accepted that I’ll never be a professional witch and have well and truly given up on having a meaningful life.

  Wow. I’m depressed. What I wouldn’t give for some ghoul eyes and a bucket of frozen cow juice. I’ve been skipping lunches to save coin and I’m bloody starving, all the time. I don’t want to pig out on Magda’s food when I get home either, so I’m keeping my supper portions small. I told her I was dieting. I think she bought it. Herman didn’t. To his credit, he has also reduced his fish and shrimp intake.

  My trip to the job bank next morn should nicely round out my misery. Ouleah is not going to be happy. The fact that I couldn’t keep a job at Moonbrews is more than a little embarrassing. I told Herman what happened and he just stuck his head under a wing and laughed and laughed. Pink, peg-legged jerk.

  I’m really not looking forward to telling Magda I was fired again, but I have no choice. I need her help developing the reverse-transmutation potion. I want to put this debacle as far behind me, as quickly as possible.

  My head hurts. I’m going to lie-down until I hear Magda come home.

  Tydias, Crow Moon 23, 209

  WELL, THAT WAS . . . interesting. I’m not quite sure what to make of my latest trip to the union job bank.

  I arrived early for my appointment with the employment counsellor and ended up twiddling my thumbs in the waiting room. I don’t do well with boredom and figured I’d spend the time getting in some extra practice calling elementals.

  It didn’t go as planned. My instructions confused the earth elemental and it turned my wooden chair into lead. Both the chair and I ended up in a very startled union accountant’s office one story down after the floorboards cracked. In retrospect, I should have skipped earth. Our relationship is tumultuous at the best of times and my cauldron was bubbling over with stress.

  Herman and boredom don’t get along either. He kept running off with the receptionist’s quills. She had them in a pot on her desk and they were just the right height for him to snatch. Between his legs and neck, he’s quite tall. I’m not sure if he was offended at the feather use and felt he was liberating them, or if he was just being an ass. He ate the pad off her ink blotter too. That won’t be fun to pass.

  We were eventually called into Ouleah’s office, much to the receptionist’s relief, but then we had to wait for “the others” to come. Whenever there was a noise from the main office, Ouleah would duck down into her pool, sending a wave of water across the floor, and then slowly reappear, acting as if nothing had happened. She wouldn’t say who we were waiting for, but I understood her jumpiness as soon as a gaggle of infernal demons burst into the room in a showy fireball. They sure know how to make an entrance.

  The Infernals talked amongst themselves, talked to Ouleah, talked at me, consulted a mountain of tomes their imps hauled in, and then talked some more with each other. I had to re-explain everything that happened at the village, the Gingerbread Hut, and Moonbrews. It was all very tedious.

  Herman’s presence weirded everyone out. The demons kept glancing at him, but never said anything. After a while, Ouleah broke down and asked why there was a pink bird following me around.

  I’ve never witnessed a silent infernal demon before, let alone five. Even when they aren’t incessantly yakking at each other, there’s always a sizzling hiss emanating from them. But when I said Herman was my familiar, the room went so quiet you could have heard a gnat fart.

  There were a few guffaws as some of them decided I was joking. The rest showed identical suspicious frowns. One demon nervously edged away. I didn’t mind. Being unpredictable keeps people, and apparently the occasional Infernal, at bay. Score one for Herman being outside the norm.

  Their final recommendation was to place me somewhere “out of the way,” ASAP. If I had to guess, I’d say the union is catching some heat from the Moonbrews incident and brought in this crew to figure out how to best cover their collective asses.

  The Infernals took off in short order and so did my employment counsellor. Ouleah said she needed to consult the union placement specialist, but she was gone for a long time. I suspect she had a snooze either coming or going, or both. I’ve come to appreciate her nap breaks. It gives me a chance to think things through properly, make plans, and get some extra work done.

  After the chair incident in the waiting room, I decided it would be safer to spend my time practicing with Water. There was enough of it sloshing around the office. A stack of papers on Ouleah’s desk ended up slightly soggier than it started out when Herman distracted me, but I don’t think Ouleah noticed.

  I digress. When my intrepid employment counsellor glided back in, she asked me all manner of questions. Am I comfortable working in a team? Would I be willing to work in a multidisciplinary environment? Do I have any divination experience?

  I answered as best I could and she said there was a unique opportunity that satisfied the Infernals’ requests and accommodated me and my magick disability. The position would involve a certain degree of diplomacy on my part, as the supervisors hailed from multiple disciplines.

  A few pent-up tears of relief escaped. I blamed them on the splash from an errant wave but the soggy hanky Ouleah handed me suggested she knew. I could barely believe she found me something, let alone that quickly. The Infernals must have lit a fire under the union’s collective bum. Whatever the means or reason, I’m happy. My hope of qualifying in time for the Adept ceremony has been restored.

  The only part I wasn’t sure about was Ouleah’s reference to supervisors. I swear she said it as a plural. Maybe I misheard? One manager is enough. More than enough most of the time. I guess we’ll see.

  Working with a diverse group could be interesting. I’m sure it’ll be challenging, but I’ll do my best. I wonder what disciplines? Herbalists, Necromancers, Illusionist
s . . . though, I can’t think of anything that requires all those specialties. Ooo! Maybe we’ll be raising a zombie hoard and disguising them as flowery smelling princesses? But then how does my divination fit in? I suppose I could check which nobles can be successfully conned and turned. Now I’m curious. Am I going to be part of some super secret zombie invasion?

  Traditionally, witches are allergic to all forms of hierarchy and stay well away from power struggles (our union being the one notable exception and, let me tell you, its utility and authority is hotly disputed). We tend to be a live-and-let-live crew. But, I could be convinced to make an exception for a zombie army.

  I will chat with Herman this eventide. He has to be on his best behaviour from here on out. Me as well. And both of us need to work on our diplomacy skills if we’re going to be part of a team. That is a top priority. I’ve never seen him be diplomatic, so I hope it’s not a totally new concept.

  Ouleah gave us one sun to wrap up our affairs and pack, then we head out to the new jobsite. She didn’t offer any further details, saying the team would explain everything once I arrived. All I really know is that it’s a rural location. I’ll miss Magda and the fun parts of living in Aestradorra, but it will be nice to be in the wilds again.

  I’m scared and excited at the same time. I hope this is the job I’ve been waiting for. The one that has been waiting for someone like me to come along. Ouleah said it was unique. Well, so am I. Perhaps we are meant for each other.

  Cerridias, Crow Moon 25, 209

  IT IS ONLY through the Goddess’s benevolence and the excellent skills my flying instructor passed onto me that I am alive to write this journal entry. I fought Boreas’s foul flatulence half the way here and had so many close calls with the ground and other pitiable creatures flung about in the maelstrom that I lost track. Normally, being hit in the face by a fat toad a mile up is a good omen, but it was just really windy. I mean, really windy! I had to strap myself in. My goggles were so coated with dirt and bug remains that periodically passing through rain clouds to rinse them off was necessary. Flying blind is no fun.