The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  He listened, but I couldn’t tell if I got through. He sat with his claws clasped together, clicking them occasionally. It might have been a thoughtful pose. I hope it was. At least he agreed to think about what I said. That’s a start.

  I didn’t ask for his forgiveness. Ignorance should never be excused. The only thing anyone can do is acknowledge the hurt they caused and resolve to do better next time.

  Facing my shame is difficult and uncomfortable, as I believed myself to be a better person than I was in those moments, but it also holds a sense of progress. I’m not the same person who was so concerned about what everyone else might think. My first duty of care should have been to ensure my familiar’s well-being. I will never shirk that duty again.

  All this harkens back to a lesson about balance my old Elemental Philosophy professor gave. He said that whatever is in you that makes you great, also has the potential to make you terrible. If you are greatly creative, then you can also be greatly destructive. That is the knowledge every witch must come to terms with and the balance we must strike within ourselves and our castings.

  My talent has always been with words, whether using them to weave intricate illusions or to influence those around me. I must heed Hekate’s warning and be careful to maintain balance in all things, magickal and mundane. Today, I feel I am closer to balancing my relationship with Herman. It is a work in progress, but I’m hopeful that one day we will come to a place where we are unconditionally comfortable with ourselves and each other.

  Tydias, Thunder Moon 23, 209

  I THOUGHT I was busy before. By Hephaestus’s flatulent forge, I didn’t know the meaning of busy!

  Everyone has been working on their revamped acts and costumes and props and signs and personas, as well as the concession stands and arch and rides and House of Horrors and, and, and . . . In addition, we’re experimenting to see if we can dye the big top fabric black instead of replacing it, which would be costly. So far, we’ve managed to get it to a deep purple.

  My House of Horrors, now called The Witch’s Lair, is undergoing significant expansion and renovation. We’re adding a tent maze to one side with a grotto in the centre where customers can enjoy Asena’s fortune telling services.

  Herman is still a coconut crab. He’s been hanging out with Ouleah, my water loving union employment counsellor, who arrived a few days ago. They enjoy popping out of a little pond in the centre of the grotto to scare people (when Ouleah isn’t snoozing). She had only positive things to say about my idea of taking on practicum students and is madly filling out forms to finalize the union’s endorsement so we can set it up. She wasn’t kidding about the hoops to jump through. Luckily, they’re all made of parchment and ink, and she is an expert at those.

  That’s right! Not only am I going to qualify for my Adept rites, I’m going to be teaching Apprentice witches how to work in the Outerplane. Peuturella wants me to write an academic paper about it, and she said their Interplanar Magick Systems prof. wants me to be a guest lecturer. It feels good to be in demand.

  I warned Ouleah about Justin’s mother. I wouldn’t put it past her to catch wind of our plans and intervene. Ouleah was incensed when I explained what had happened and offered to bring a complaint forward on my behalf. I declined. I did ask her to make sure that Herman and my successes are well known at the union. Let that stand as an example to my ex and his mother of how far petty bullying gets them. It didn’t net them a single thing, apart from buggy reflections, and Herman and I have never been happier.

  Out of curiosity, I also asked Ouleah how a job posting for an Outerplane carnival wound up in the non-union job bank in the first place. The question has been nagging at me.

  I talked to Sam about it a while ago (through Peuturella, as she arrived via less legal planar channels and was not subject to a gag order) and determined he had no knowledge that other planes even existed. He tried to engage us in a conversation about theoretical physics, something about a string, but I put a stop to that before I got a headache. From his perspective, he posted the position on some boards, somewhere, and received a call from a head hunter who said they had an ideal candidate. He showed up at the Outerplane airport when they told him I’d arrive and . . . the rest is history. (NOTE: A head hunter is a person who finds employees for Outerplane companies, not someone looking for their head, as I originally thought.)

  Ouleah wasn’t overly surprised by my question or the subsequent events. The Employment Cabal have their tentacles in a variety of pots and view interplanar laws regarding trades and services as inconvenient obstacles. She referred to them as “unfettered.”

  Then, she said something most intriguing. “The union’s restrictive regulations and practices work for some and not others. When you kept coming back to my office, I had a feeling you were suited to something a little . . . different. I was right. Let’s just say I’ve been around longer than most and haven’t always stirred the union’s cauldron, if you know what I mean. Of course, there’s nobody there anymore that could attest to that. Longevity has some benefits.” She winked at me. “But that’s just between the two of us.”

  “Then why do you still work for the union?” I asked.

  Ouleah tilted her head to the side and raised a tentacle in a nonchalant half-shrug. “I see myself more as working for the witches who come to me. The union is just a convenient nexus.”

  I politely suggested she might want to give the next witch she sends to the Employment Cabal a warning about their interplanar reach. She agreed. At least I think she did. She fell asleep mid-nod and disappeared under the water in the grotto pond.

  I aimlessly wandered through the lot, pondering my enigmatic and surprising employment counsellor, and then stopped to help Sam finish building an enclosure near the edge of the maze for Ebony. To proceed past it and into the grotto, my patrons will have to feed him a handful of hay or alfalfa (labelled as zombie hair). Danica trained him to kick open a door once he’s had his treat. It should be fun for everyone.

  Asena somehow found time to sculpt a realistic horse skull mask out of leather. It really bumps up the creepy effect of Ebony’s skeleton body paint. Even a fearsome kelpie would think twice before crossing his path.

  We’ve also set up a room in The Witch’s Lair for Tim (The Snakeman) and adorned it like an ancient Egyptian burial chamber complete with golden sarcophagus, canopic jars, and offerings. Tim wraps himself in aged-looking fabric and stalks customers while his snakes happily lounge on his shoulders or coil around his waist. Sometimes, he hides in the sarcophagus and when someone comes in, he pushes the top off and sits up. He treats the wraps with his salve which keeps his skin nicely moisturized and healthy, so it’s a win all around.

  All of these transformations would be going much slower if friends hadn’t come to our rescue. Not only have mine showed up, but so have an impressive array of my co-workers’ more supportive friends and family. Everyone is feeling pretty lucky . . . exhausted, but lucky.

  Five gargoyles from Bob’s clan are assisting with renovations while nobody’s looking. It was really funny for a time because I couldn’t explain to anyone what was happening. From their perspective, random jobs kept mysteriously being completed, and they couldn’t understand why nobody would take credit.

  The sheer volume of weirdness pouring into camp has been understandably overwhelming for my Outerplane friends. They might be more used to the strange and varied nature of humans and animals than most, but many of the stories they’re hearing and people / creatures they’re meeting are far beyond their experience. As always, they work through it with calmness and patience. Mostly, they are curious and interested.

  The biggest surprise for me (though, not really when I think about it), is that my parents showed up out of the blue. Literally. Their alternate (read: Illegal) route dropped them out of a clear blue sky into the middle of camp. I’m not sure how they did it. They haven’t been forthcoming, so I gather it’s not a method they want me employing. Anyway, it means
that my parents and most of my guests can openly talk about anything they want (as they avoided the dreaded infernal gag order at interplanar customs), which is a bonus as it makes organizing who’s doing what and how easier. They were also able to explain to everyone what the gargoyles were doing.

  My parents are being typical parents, asking too many questions, overreacting to everything, and nitpicking whatever I’m working on. It’s amazing how you can be so sure of yourself one minute, confident in your maturity and skills, and then your parents appear and you become the same dippy, anxious kid you were on your first day of school. Despite all that, I am glad to see them. It’s been too long and at least now, in this job, I am settled and optimistic.

  They are making themselves useful, which is greatly appreciated. Dad has been helping me expand the Witch’s Feast menu and Mom has launched herself into sprucing up the rooms in my lair (my lair . . . I really like the sound of that).

  My former Moonbrews boss, Andreas, and his newly promoted assistant manager, my old co-worker, Teagan, popped in for a few weeks (also illegally). (VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: Convince them to tell me how they did their plane shifts without going through interplanar customs!)

  Andreas is the same hyper-positive, jumpy micromanager I, mostly fondly, remember. I wasn’t sure how he would take my invitation. We didn’t part on the worst terms, but it also wasn’t the best with the Infernals breathing down his neck.

  Teagan successfully completed her first year at Grimoire College and is looking forward to her second. (NOTE: Tell her about my proposed practicum placement to see if she’s interested in applying.)

  Turns out, they are both incurably curious about the Outerplane. Over tankards of mead last evening, they waxed poetic about my supposed bravery for working and living here. I tried to explain that my interplanar excursion began as an accident, but they reframed it as my creative hand inspiring the Fates.

  They’ve been refurbishing our concession stands. Andreas took over the drinks concession and is setting it up in a similar fashion to Moonbrews. I heard him mumbling to himself, wondering if he could get authorization to open a Moonbrews franchise on the Outerplane. I told him he could do better, that he should create his own menu and start his own potion café. I spoke before fully considering my words. Dear gods, from his excited expression, I suspect the carnival has acquired another permanent import.

  Magda, my bestest friend and sanity saver, has also arrived (via legal means, being my sole lawfully inclined friend). Sam and I picked her and Missera up at an airport that houses a secret Interplanar Terminal similar to the one I used. Traveling in Sam’s truck was just as terrifying for her as it had been for me, though she had the slight advantage of being mentally prepared, thanks to my letters.

  Missera seamlessly fits in with the carnival. She spends much of her time with Herman, but has also developed a friendship of sorts with Tim’s snakes, Bailong and Janus. There was some kind of scuffle her first day with Old One-Eye the cat, but there hasn’t been any trouble since, so they must have worked out a truce. Like Herman, she is entranced by Kamal and can frequently be found draped across his shoulders. So now, Kamal wanders my lair as a ghost with spider, snake, and coconut crab followers. It’s a good thing he enjoys their company because he couldn’t get rid of them if he tried.

  Magda was most impressed with The Witch’s Lair and my feasts. She’s having fun scaring our patrons and loves the new robes Asena made. Asena promised to sew her one before she goes home. As I suspected, they get along as if they had been lifelong friends.

  Our trio spends the most time together of anyone. We’ve even developed a special act for my feasts, dressing up as aspects of our triple goddess: Magda is the maiden, Asena is the mother, and I am the crone (she’s still my favourite . . . I can’t help it). Just for fun, I gave Asena a few helpful pointers on how to act like a druid, such as talking to inanimate objects and things that aren’t there, and I constantly interrupt our dinners with foul smelling potions and ill-timed theatrics. We’re very popular. I hope it never gets back to Mother and Crone on the moors as I don’t think they would appreciate the parody.

  The only disturbing thing that’s happened lately was Sam offering to teach me how to operate a vehicle. I stared at him, agape. He doesn’t understand my hesitation. Perhaps he’s right and I will change my mind one day, but that day is not today. I’m still hoping to be able to increase my broom’s energy efficiency so I can travel like a civilized witch.

  Phew. This was a long entry. I’m getting a hand cramp and need some refreshments. Perhaps I’ll go see if my next batch of mead has finished aging.

  Farewell for tonight, dear diary.

  Freydias, Thunder Moon 26, 209

  I SWEAR ON the Maiden’s plump buttocks, my mead is good and it just keeps getting better. It’s popular enough that I’ve had to expand production to ten jugs . . . rotating five at a time. I call my fiery brew The Phoenix’s Revenge. It is seriously spicy. Plus, the acronym “PR” amuses me. Sam keeps talking about “public relations” (i.e. schmoozing). Mead is the only kind of PR I approve of.

  I’ve had a most interesting night thanks to Asena, and her lovely accomplice, Maria. They tricked Sam and I into going on a sunset hot air balloon ride. As unexpected dates go, it was awkward, but pleasant. It was disconcerting being so high without my trusty broom. Rationally I knew it couldn’t support my weight, but having it would have been a comfort. I can see why humans don’t make sense to gargoyles. I don’t even make sense to myself.

  The views were breathtaking. The world, any world I guess, looks more organized and sensible from the air. Drifting along with the breeze was peaceful—a welcome break from the crowds and hectic schedules Sam and I have been keeping. As dusk fell, the fire flares of other balloons winked around us like lanterns lifting wishes to the stars. I think Sam was as moved as I was. He took my hand and didn’t let it go until we landed.

  Asena, Maria, and Magda (their love obsession has infected my best friend) wanted to know all about the date when I came home. I couldn’t be angry with them for tricking us, as we’d had such a lovely time, so I just thanked them. They mean well. They just refuse to accept that Sam and I don’t have time for this right now. If it was a quick romp, sure, but Sam doesn’t strike me as that type.

  My audience was disappointed that nothing had happened. Maria said if I was interested, it was up to me to make the first move. She thinks Sam is worried that it would be inappropriate for him to do so because he’s technically my boss. He’s also not great with the ladies. They only knew of one girl and their relationship ended badly when her family found out. Maria said it was for the best because if she wasn’t willing to fight for him, she wasn’t worth his time. I got the feeling that was meant as a message for me as well.

  This whole thing makes me nervous. Maria and Asena are very protective of Sam. The fact that they are actively encouraging us to get together suggests they approve of me, but I’m not sure what would happen if things didn’t work out. It could get messy, in more ways than one. Maria wields her rapiers as if she was born holding them, and I have no urge to get on her bad side.

  Just a sec. Herman came in and wants to talk right now.

  OKAY. THAT WAS a surprisingly positive conversation. I’m shocked. The last time Herman scuttled in here that fast, he had executed a risky prison break for his crustacean buddies and was brandishing weapons.

  I think in this case, he was just excited. He wants to be transmuted back to his old cockroach form, only larger. Based on his description, he’d like to be as big as Ebony, but that isn’t going to happen. There are limits to what I can do in the Outerplane and I’m pretty sure that is outside the realm of possibility even on my home plane. I can make him as large as his current coconut crab form. Hopefully, that will suffice.

  I asked what brought him to this decision and he simply replied, “It is who I am.” It was an insightful statement on many levels and a sentiment that is close to my heart. I’m lu
cky to have Herman as my familiar. He’s a valuable and delightfully troublesome partner.

  And now I am going to curl up in my bunk and try to get a few hours of much needed sleep.

  Moondias, Blood Moon 15, 209

  THE NEW AND improved Karneval Života is a hit! Our grand opening extravaganza last night was the busiest we have ever been. People came from far and wide to attend, including a number of guests from my home plane. The reviews and comments on Sam’s wizard scry box (called a computer) have all been glowing (by which he means positive, not actually glowing). Our adult patrons were scared out of their wits and the children were begging to come back.

  The big top show was amazing. Asena made herself a beautiful demon costume, complete with deep red curled horns and a tattered black leather skirt that protects her legs from wayward flames while she dances. She had the crowd mesmerized and nobody minded that she was far too attractive to be an actual demon.

  The Spider Siblings, costumed as Death and a banshee, performed intricate and challenging acrobatics on Ebony and Snowball to great applause. Then they switched to their draped silk sheets and executed a stunning aerial routine. It was like watching a love story between Death and a ghost.