The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  Her pinched look implied she hadn’t expected me to talk back. Granted, it was more bravado on my part than anything, as she could probably squish me like a normal-sized bug if she wanted. I don’t care. I refuse to stand silent while they bully me. I thought if I put up with them for a while, they might get better. I tried modelling appropriate workplace behaviour and that also got me nowhere. So now, I’m giving as good as I get. If I go out, I’ll do it fighting like the fierce witch I’ve always wanted to be.

  I haven’t heard anything back from the union about my letters of complaint regarding this position or from Ouleah about my requested reassignment. I’m going to take my scry mirror to the lean-to next sun and see if I can directly contact them. Desperation is setting in. There is no way I’ll last a whole season cycle out here, which means my only hope of making the Adept ceremony lies in getting out of this job as soon as possible. The time I have left to find a suitable placement is dwindling.

  Wendias, Seed Moon 10, 209

  DEAREST MAGDA,

  How are you and Missera? I hope this letter finds you both hearty and enjoying life. Herman and I often talk of our fun times together. We dearly miss your laughter and company.

  I’m sad to report that things haven’t gotten much better out here. I won’t go into detail as that would take more time and parchment than I have, but I’ve been wondering if you’ve gotten anywhere with reversing the potion I inadvertently made at Moonbrews? The one that turned the customer into a caterpillar. I wouldn’t trouble you so soon, as I know it’s a complicated process and you’re super busy at work, but I think Caterpillar Woman might have metamorphosed.

  A giant moth showed up a few suns ago and is rather clingy. My supervisors are testy about its presence, among many other things. That’s another story I’ll tell you later.

  I noticed (during a close encounter) that my mothy stalker has a mauve tint. Given the purple striations on the original caterpillar, it supports my hypothesis that this is in fact the second coming of Caterpillar Woman. I suppose it makes sense. I’ve heard of past mistakes coming back to haunt people, I just never thought it would be this literal.

  Any-hoo, the wizard can’t have a hearth fire at night, as the light attracts the moth (our roof and door area are less than secure due to some recent unfortunate incidents). And there’s no room to spare for an oversized, freaked-out moth. Not being able to experiment with her concoctions is making Crone even grouchier than usual, and Mother is equally pissy. She’s allergic to the fine dust on moth wings. It sends her into sneezing fits. I find it hilarious, but Mother, not so much.

  Apart from incapacitating her, the moth also creeps her out. She said there’s something “off” about it, like nails scratching down a slate in her head. She can’t communicate with it either, which she says is odd for a druid, but I’m not so sure. Sometimes I can’t understand her and we’re supposed to be the same species.

  I lured the moth away from the hut this eventide with a torch. It has become a nightly ritual. Although I hate to agree with a druid, there is definitely something odd in how it watches me, as if it’s trying to communicate with a stare. Only, I’m not fluent in bug-eye, so the message is lost.

  It might be releasing scents as well, but for all I know it could be having intestinal issues. It has been drinking Crone’s spirits. Do moths get indigestion? Do they have intestines? Do they normally communicate via smell? Man, I wish I had paid closer attention in our Exotic Bestiary classes. I swear there’s a pattern to the odours. Then again, it’s also possible the druid’s quirks have rubbed off on me. By the All-Mother’s swollen cervix, that is a truly frightening thought.

  What does the moth want from me? Does it want help changing back or is it out for revenge? Am I going to end up as some hapless victim in a made-for-crystal-ball feature called Revenge of the Mothlady?

  Good Goddess! My life gets more complicated with each passing sun.

  I scryed the union to make sure they received my complaint about this job, and they had. Their complaints department will contact me in approx. nine moons to collect additional information and statements. Then, they’ll decide whether to proceed with my case or dismiss it.

  Nine moons! What good is that going to do? That’s quite the backlog. Maybe I should apply for a position in their department! Seems like they need the help.

  Thankfully, Ouleah was a little more accommodating. She promised to contact the big boss (my supervisors’ supervisor) and see if mediation can improve the situation. She’s reluctant to just pull me out for some reason and sounded a bit nervous about the whole thing. I hope it isn’t because there aren’t any other jobs. I’m not overly hopeful about this mediation thing. I don’t think Mother and Crone are amenable to change and neither of them seems to want me here in any respect.

  Anyway, thanks in advance for any help you can offer with the de-mothing potion. You’re a lifesaver as always (possibly quite literally in this case—Mothlady is huge).

  Much love from your confused best friend,

  Hester Digitalis Wishbone

  Cerridias, Seed Moon 11, 209

  SOMETIMES I SEE disaster looming and still fly full-tilt ahead. I can’t really say why I do it. I suppose I’m too stubborn for my own good. Once I set a course, I stick to it from Hades’ dark realm to the farthest stars. And I’ve always been a raze-the-fields-and-poison-the-wells kind of witch. If I’m going down, I’m going down in an age-ending fireball of destruction that will at least be memorable.

  This was such a sun. Never again will anyone call Hester Digitalis Wishbone a pushover. Nope. Never. I stood up for myself. Who knew being fired by a goddess would turn out to be such a positive experience?

  A midnight black dog, bearing more resemblance to a wolf than a tame pet, announced Her arrival. It strode into the hut and let out a bloodcurdling howl that plucked at the core of my spirit. I clamped my mouth shut to stop myself from answering back with a wild howl of my own. Nobody deserved that warbling catastrophe. I’ve been told I have the vocal stylings of an inebriated bat.

  The sisters and I froze until the howl faded and the dog casually sat down. Its eyes, as bright as polished gold, never wavered from our faces.

  Next, a snake slithered in. I had never seen the likes before. At first glance, it appeared black but its scales flashed deep blue, green, and purple as it moved into the light. It was night personified.

  The sisters shared a knowing glance.

  Hushed hoof beats sounded outside, as if a horse trod upon the ether of the world instead of solid ground. Mother and Crone cast identical smug looks in my direction. My nose twitched in warning. If they were pleased about something, it didn’t bode well for me.

  There wasn’t long to ponder what might come in next. Witches have a sense of such things. We are naturally attuned to the energies surrounding goddesses. All the hair on my body stood on end as if a spear of lightning was gathering power from the ground to channel through me.

  An ancient woman appeared in the doorway, draped in a simple robe the colour of evergreens. She was small, but sturdy, and held herself as someone many eons her junior. Her pale, moon-shaped face was a maze of wrinkles framed by a glorious mantle of white hair which flowed to her waist like a river of spider silk.

  She nodded once to the sisters and then her gaze rested on me.

  I have never felt so exposed. Her eyes were of the night, stars burning at their core. She peered not at my physical presence, but into my soul, weighing it against some unfathomable measure. I do not know if it balanced out.

  She held me in her thrall. For how long, I don’t know. Time lost all meaning.

  Eventually, she nodded and turned her attention back to the sisters.

  I sat heavily on a stool at the table. It felt as though an otherworldly energy had suspended me above the ground and simply let go when she looked away. Even Herman squished himself into as small a slug-package as possible. I could feel him quivering against my collarbone.

  T
here was no doubt as to who our guest was. It was Hekate, the patron goddess of witches, and not someone you ever expected or hoped to meet. Magick incarnate.

  I had no idea why she was here, but I was suitably terrified. With Hekate, one never knew what might happen. She is my favourite goddess for this reason. Her unpredictability makes people loath to cross her. She is a dangerous wildcard, something I aspire to be.

  I listened as she inquired after the sisters’ health and choked on my next breath when Crone called her “Boss.” After a brief round of pleasantries, Hekate took the stool at the head of the table and beckoned for the sisters to join. They sat together, opposite me, distancing themselves.

  I’m recording our conversation in my diary for posterity:

  “So,” Hekate began, her voice strong and even. “I received a most grievous complaint from our latest client. She’s unhappy with services rendered in regard to her husband. Why were we unable to fulfil this contract?”

  Mother waded in, pointing the proverbial finger at yours truly. “Hester gave a truthful reading. Very helpful, she was. Told him to watch his step and not trust the counsel of others. By the time he, uh,” she jerked and glared at Crone. “. . . left, he was prattling on about giving up fighting and painting fruit or some such rubbish.”

  Hekate’s eyebrows rose. “That might explain why he abandoned the lady and enrolled in an art school in Acutaria.” Her eyes flicked to me and then back to the sisters.

  “How . . . uh . . . I see. So, he’s ali . . . in good health, is he?” asked Crone.

  Hekate entwined her hands on the table and leaned forward. “I suppose. Though, his mental state is in question among some circles. He claims he was kidnapped and narrowly escaped murder by a ‘cabal of foul witches’—his words, not mine.” There were hisses of pleasure from Mother and Crone. A slight grin played at the corners of Hekate’s mouth. “And that an angel saved him and showed him the way.”

  “Poppycock! The guy was barmy.” Mother scowled.

  “That’s a rich assessment coming from you,” I spoke up, glaring at her. That the royal idiot had replaced me with an angel in his story stuck in my craw, but then what did I expect? Certainly not the truth. It was just overblown enough that he might end up the hero in a ballad or two. And I would be remembered as a pathetic angel with nothing better to do than act as a bog tour guide. Yuck.

  “Watch your tongue, whelp!” Mother spat at me. “This mess is your fault.”

  “My fault?!” I turned to Hekate, blood pounding so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear myself speak. “Were we contracted to kill the future king and his companion? Because I’m not an assassin. I’m a witch. I was hired as a presage to tell futures, not end them.”

  “Kill, no. Nudge in a certain fatal direction, yes. A job that required some magickal finesse, which is why we were recommended to Lady Macbeth.” Hekate’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you confused about the terms of this contract?”

  I imagine I must have resembled Herman trying to shrink his body in on itself. “I wasn’t aware there was a contract. I thought I had stumbled across two random travellers.” My voice quavered, but, overall, I think I pulled myself together as much as anyone could under the scrutiny of a goddess.

  Hekate turned to the sisters and I was able to breathe again.

  Crone cleared her throat. “We keep contracts on a need to know basis because junior members tend to blab about our jobs to all and sundry. It’s tedious. Plus, we didn’t know how long she’d last. She’s even more useless than the last witch. We should consider taking on a young wizard—”

  “Or a fledgling druid,” interrupted Mother. “Witches are iffy. Maybe we could—”

  “Enough!” The ground trembled as Hekate spoke, and I nervously glanced at the patched roof. A few clumps of peat broke off, but the structure held. “Your opinions in that regard have been noted on numerous occasions. I am not here to discuss hiring practices. I’m here to find out what happened with this contract. All parties should be apprised of the terms of every contract, so they understand their roles. This is a serious management oversight.”

  She turned back to me. “Why do you harbour the belief that these gentlemen should have met their deaths?”

  I watched the sisters, giving them a few moments to admit their part. They did not. “Because the sisters left them, drugged to the hilt and unconscious, in the middle of a treacherous bog in the dead of night. At first, I thought it was just carelessness, but now I . . . well, I believe it was a calculated effort to kill them.”

  “We were fixing what you bollocked-up,” Mother screeched at me. An owl outside added its own shrill cry, emphasizing her point.

  Crone nodded. “We attempted to correct the witch’s mistakes during the reading, but she paid us no mind. Not knowing what damage her insights might cause, we took extreme measures to protect our reputation, and yours, Boss. People go missing all the time in the bogs. Nobody could be blamed for it.”

  “I see.” Hekate let out a long breath.

  “She’s been nothing but trouble since she came,” added Mother.

  “I believe that is what I was hired for.” My blood was boiling—a state that always frees my tongue. “You said I was here to lure victims, wear this ridiculous costume, tell fortunes, and cause trouble. You got exactly what you asked for. It’s not my fault your job description was vague as Hel. And, by the way, I find it vastly amusing that you’ve done nothing but question my abilities as a witch, yet now you’re blaming me for giving a reading that was too accurate. You can both kiss my polished broom handle.”

  Hekate made a sound that was either a chuckle or a cough.

  I turned back to her, reminded that I was in the presence of a goddess and should be more cautious with my words. “I’m deeply sorry for any trouble I caused you. That was never my intention. I have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for you.”

  “Noted.” Hekate pursed her lips, thinking. A drop of rain landed on her forehead as she gazed up through the shabbily patched roof. “Ladies, your hut is a little more worse for wear than I remember.”

  Mother left the table and spoke in hushed tones with a green leaf lying on the floor. It was a contentious discussion.

  “Yes.” Crone scowled. “More damage, courtesy of our new recruit. She can’t go anywhere without bringing back a fleet of disruptive friends. Her familiar, and I use the term loosely,” she said with disdain and a few butterflies, “has eaten great tunnels under the hut, undermining our floor and causing sinkholes.”

  She pointed to a repaired section of tubules. “Her gargoyle crashed through our roof and ruined my helliomite distillation experiment. Took me a full sun to fix that and another to set it up again. Her giant moth ripped our door off and batters the hut all eventide if I have the hearth fire burning. It’s impossible to work under these conditions, and I am tendering my resignation if something is not immediately done to remedy the situation.”

  “Moth dust makes me sneeze,” said Mother, lovingly caressing her leaf from the far side of the hut. “I’m with Crone. Either the witch goes, or I go.”

  “Oh, I’ll go,” I said, shooting daggers at the sisters (with my eyes only, unfortunately). “I have never in my life experienced such a caustic work environment. And that includes the practicum I spent as an aide to foreman Kilbrias in the sulphur pits of Jumerah. I’m sick of listening to you two rant about how useless witches are. At least now I know why you set me up to fail. You each want your own pet Maiden. Well, best of luck.” I turned to Hekate. “You are of course free to ignore my plea, but please don’t subject another witch to this position. Rabid harpies would make more pleasant supervisors.”

  I looked back at the sisters. “Just to bring some reality into this conversation—your hut is falling apart because Mother constantly whips up storms and things tend to rot when they never get a chance to dry out. Also, you built it in the middle of a bog, so is it really any wonder that you’ve got unstable ground an
d sinkholes? And if Herman has been tunnelling under the hut, it’s because Mother’s hedgepig keeps trying to eat him. Not to mention the fact that Herman is only a slug right now because Crone was thinking of making him into flamingo stew.”

  Apart from Crone’s snort and another strange noise from Hekate, that may or may not have been a cough or laugh, silence dominated the hut.

  I took the opportunity to change back into appropriate witch attire and gather my meagre supplies. Hekate’s dog picked up one of my books in its mouth and placed it on top of my broom bag. There was a hint of sympathy in its golden eyes. I threw my bedraggled “uniform” at Mother when I was done, never so thankful to be free of a set of clothes.

  “Sit,” Hekate commanded once I finished packing.

  I sat.

  She glanced over at Mother, who was still chatting with the leaf. My proto-skirt was half draped over her head, unnoticed. Hekate rolled her eyes and directed her attention back to Crone and myself.

  “I am letting you go, Hester, only because it is more difficult to replace two than one. You most certainly made mistakes here, such as ignoring your supervisors while on a job and, presumably, inviting friends to visit—”

  There was a triumphant grunt from Crone.

  Hekate pointed a warning finger at her and continued, “However, the onus for this contract failure does not rest solely on Hester’s shoulders, and I am thankful that she ensured the gentlemen did not meet their deaths in that bog. One botched contract will cause far less trouble than Thanatos hearing I’ve usurped his authority. As you well know,” she said loudly enough for Mother to hear, “I do not determine whether someone dies. I may simply expedite the process for those already slated. And Macbeth was not yet slated.

  “Furthermore, I have considered your suggestion, Hester, and have the perfect candidate in mind to fill the position you are vacating. I will take up the Maiden’s duties until the sisters are better versed in what proper management looks like. It’s been far too long since my last jaunt as a youngster.”