Gypsy Witch

by David Delaney

  "And by fix, you mean . . ."

  "All entities classified as Low-Creatures, discovered outside of their designated habitat, are to be killed on sight." A hard edge had entered Lucy's voice. She had switched off that part of her personality that allowed for empathy. I had seen her like this once before. It had been on the day we met, the day she had tried to kill me.

  "Lucy, we can't go all rampage-y inside an In-N-Out." I did my best to keep my voice reasonable and non-confrontational. "There are kids in here."

  Lucy's eyes flicked from the ogres to the other customers in the restaurant. I knew she was calculating possible damage, casualties, and fatalities.

  "You're right," Lucy admitted. "Here's what we're going to do."

  CHAPTER 4

  Jimmy tried to calm his nerves as he walked up the cracked cement pathway to the small house at the end. This house could use a new coat of paint, he thought. It wasn't necessarily rundown, but decades of rain and sun had bleached the blue paint to a dull grey. He had begged Dahlia to come with him, but she had a Psych class she couldn't miss and a date with a member of the Stanford cheerleading squad afterward.

  "There is no way I'll be rescheduling my date, Jimbo. This chick has legs for days," Dahlia had informed him, with a twinkle in her eye.

  So, here Jimmy stood, on the porch of a faded blue house, about to meet a supposed witch.

  "What are you thinking, Jimmy?" he whispered to himself.

  He turned to leave just as the front door burst open. The sudden blast of incense-laden air seemed to freeze him in place. He peered into the darkened doorway. His eyes were adjusted for bright daylight, so seeing any detail inside the house was impossible. The odor of incense, mixed with other earthy smells like citrus and pine, wafted from the open doorway. It wasn't unpleasant.

  "James?" a voice asked from the darkness.

  "Eh, you can call me Jimmy," he said.

  A tinkling sound was quickly followed by the emergence of a figure from the gloom of the house and into the light of the sunny afternoon. Jimmy stared at the woman before him. Had he been instructed to close his eyes and imagine what someone with the title of 'Gypsy Witch' would look like, he would have pictured exactly the woman now standing before him. She was wrapped in multiple layers of colored silk. The tinkling sound was created by what looked like hundreds of metal bracelets at both wrists. Her long, wild, red hair and dark eyes completed the caricature – Tinkerbelle, the Gypsy Witch.

  Jimmy quickly realized the silks Tinkerbelle was wearing were a tiny bit see-through, as the outlines of her breasts were unmistakable. He tried not to stare, but they were very nice breasts. A sudden thought disrupted his staring: if he offended the Gypsy Witch, Dahlia would hear about it and he would be in serious trouble. He peeled his eyes away from the woman's chest, trying to cover his perv-y leering by blinking rapidly and putting a hand up to shade his eyes, as if he was having trouble seeing her.

  Tinkerbelle raised a single eyebrow, a sign that the weak attempt to cover up his blatant staring had failed. "Well, Jimmy, are you planning on standing on the porch all day or are you coming in?" she asked.

  "I'm coming in," Jimmy stammered.

  The Gypsy Witch stood to the side and waved Jimmy into the house.

  The interior was just as contrived as the costume Tinkerbelle was wearing. The room he entered was lit only by candlelight; the furniture was all dark wood, and the overall decor could have come straight from a movie studio prop house. Crystals, brass incense burners, old leather bound books, and statues and paintings depicting just about every deity Jimmy had ever heard of littered the room. Apparently the Gypsy Witch liked to cover all her religious bases.

  I've really gotten myself into it his time, he thought.

  "Please, Jimmy have a seat." Tinkerbelle pointed to an overstuffed armchair.

  Jimmy sat down and immediately found his head almost level with his knees as he sank into the deep plush. He wondered how he would get out of the chair without assistance.

  Tinkerbelle sat across from him, on a much firmer looking wooden chair. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, her chin propped in her hands. She didn't speak. She just sat there staring at him.

  "Um," he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Dahlia said you might be able to help me."

  "What kind of help are you looking for, Jimmy?"

  The question confused him. Dahlia had said she'd set everything up. "Well . . ." he stammered. "I was hoping . . . that is, what I need . . ."

  "You can do it. Spit it out, Jimmy," Tinkerbelle encouraged.

  Was she making fun of him? . He stiffened, clenching his fists. He was a man of science. The person in front of him was clearly a con-woman – and not a very good one at that. Did she really think people fell for the costume and the wannabe Hogwarts living room?

  Tinkerbelle sat back and smiled at him. "I'm just messing with you, Jimmy. Dahlia made me promise to give you a hard time."

  "Oh." He gave a forced laugh. "So, you know why I'm here?"

  "Of course." Tinkerbelle leaned over the side of her chair and pulled out a laptop. "You need a little help in the romance department."

  She opened her laptop and started typing. She paused and looked up at Jimmy. "Well, come over here. silly. We need to get the preliminaries out of the way."

  "Oh, okay." Jimmy shimmied his way out of the armchair and walked around behind Tinkerbelle so he could see what she was looking at.

  The computer was displaying the Gypsy Witch website. It was as over-the-top as the Gypsy Witch herself.

  "So, are you going to take advantage of my latest special?" Tinkerbelle asked.

  "Special?"

  "Yes, it's either a 2-for-1 deal on any two spells or 20% off on one spell," she explained, as she clicked to the "Spells" page.

  "I, uh, just need the one," he said.

  "Are you sure? Love spells and prosperity spells go hand in hand. Who doesn't need a little extra cash when trying to impress a new paramour? Am I right?" Tinkerbelle poked him in the ribs.

  I don't want any spell you, crazy bitch, Jimmy thought. This was a horrible idea that Dahlia had bullied him into.

  Magic spells?

  Please.

  But all Jimmy said was: "I think just the one will be fine."

  "Suit yourself." Tinkerbelle snapped the laptop closed. "Why don't you sit back down."

  "If I could just get my spell or potion or whatever . . . I need to leave, I have—"

  The rest of Jimmy's ridiculous lie died in his throat as his feet left the ground. He had been looking directly at Tinkerbelle and she hadn't moved a muscle. He craned his neck around to see if maybe someone else had snuck into the room while his attention was on the computer, but they were alone. He looked down at his dangling feet. The laws of gravity were pretty clear: things like levitation were impossible and yet, here he was, levitating about four inches above the floor.

  Tinkerbelle stood up with a flourish. She stepped in close to Jimmy, reached out a finger, and poked him in the chest. Much to Jimmy's dismay, he began slowly floating backwards.

  "You're an unbeliever, Jimmy," Tinkerbelle chided. "Dahlia warned me, and I could smell it on you when I opened the door. Even now, floating in the air, immobilized, you're trying to rationalize what's clearly occurring."

  He tried to respond, but his mouth wouldn't work right. He was floating toward the wall, and he couldn't do anything to stop himself from bumping into it.

  Tinkerbelle stepped around him before he hit the wall and gave him another poke, sending him floating in the other direction, back toward the armchair. She continued, "I usually don't waste my time with nonbelievers, but Dahlia is a sweetie and I just can't say no to her luscious lips. So, I'm going to do your love spell, Jimmy, but I'm going to require your absolute focus. Can you give me that, Jimmy?"

  Jimmy, against all natural laws, continued to float in the air like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade float. The Gypsy Witch was the real deal –
she could perform magic! The thought made him queasy and excited at the same time. He nodded his head emphatically. If she told him now that he needed to stand on his head, with a toad in his mouth, during the full moon, he would do it.

  Magic was real.

  And he was about to have a love spell handed to him.

  A date with Maddie was finally going to happen.

  He was all in.

  Tinkerbelle walked over to Jimmy and guided him to the armchair. Once she had him positioned just right, she flicked her wrist, said something under her breath, and Jimmy stopped floating and dropped into the armchair. He stared at Tinkerbelle for a moment and then burst out laughing. Tinkerbelle seated herself back on the wooden chair and waited.

  When Jimmy had gotten all of the hysterical laughter out, he said, "What do we do next?"

  "Love spells are tricky things," said Tinkerbelle. "It takes precise focus and an exacting attention to detail. Nothing is left to chance – the ingredients, the phase of the moon, your participation – everything needs to work together perfectly for the desired result. The first decision you'll need to make is the target of the spell."

  "Target? That sounds kind of . . . I don't know . . . criminal. I don't want to 'target' anyone. I just need a little help—"

  Tinkerbelle held up a hand, stopping Jimmy's rambling. "Jimmy, if you don't like the word target, we can use the word 'intended.' Who are your affections intended for? Is the person male or female?"

  'What?" said Jimmy, shocked. "Female . . . she's female."

  "Calm down, sweetie. It was a perfectly reasonable question. This is 2018. Also, with the pink pants." Tinkerbelle glanced down at Jimmy's pants. "I needed to clarify."

  "These aren't pink, they're salmon," said Jimmy indignantly. "Choosing colorful pants is a great way of showing one's style." Jimmy quoted the product description he had read online when purchasing the pants.

  "Whatever you say, Jimmy," said Tinkerbelle, smirking. "Now, can we change the subject from men's fashion back to the matter at hand?"

  Jimmy nodded, absently rubbing his hands on his thighs as if he could rub the color off of the pants he was wearing.

  Tinkerbelle continued. "Good. One of the most important ingredients in a love spell is a personal item from the intended: a lock of hair or something similar would be perfect."

  "A lock of hair?" Jimmy said incredulously. "Oh, sure. I'll just walk up with a pair of scissors and ask for some hair. That's not at all creepy. Hey, I have an even better idea. I will just ask for her panties instead, then I won't need the scissors."

  "Well, panties would definitely work," said Tinkerbelle, completely ignoring Jimmy's sarcasm.

  Jimmy's head was starting to hurt. Am I nuts? I'm sitting here in the living room of a self-professed witch, talking about ingredients for a love potion. The image of Maddie leaning in his car window to check on him flashed through his mind. Maddie was beautiful and nice, which was sometimes a hard combination to come by. She was the only one he would consider for his experiment with the love spell. Because that's what this embrace of the esoteric was – an experiment.

  Sure, Tinkerbelle had levitated him off the floor a few inches, but there had been some research, by serious scientists, into the field of telekinesis. Of course, that research had not resulted in anything nearly as dramatic as what Tinkerbelle had done, but there had been some interesting results with dice that seemed outside the predicted probability of random chance. So, even though Tinkerbelle had backed up her abilities with a flashy display, he was still doubtful about the effectiveness of a love spell.

  The very idea of a love spell was ridiculous. That the complex process of biology and social interaction that constituted human attraction could be controlled by something like a magic spell seemed dubious.

  Control.

  Jimmy had been so caught up by Tinkerbelle's showmanship that he hadn't even considered the aspect of control.

  He genuinely liked Maddie. Did he really want to perform some kind of magic voodoo on her? What about her free will? If he used a love spell, wasn't that a form of coercion?

  "Um, Tinkerbelle . . ." Jimmy began.

  "Just Tink is fine."

  "Oh, alright, Tink. I just had a thought about choice . . . free will, you know. This love spell isn't like a magic roofie, is it? I don't want to force someone to do something that they don't want to do."

  "That is a very mature and insightful question, Jimmy. Most people just want me to cast the spell, to hell with the consequences. But I can assure you that love spells don't force anyone to do anything," Tinkerbelle explained. "It's like I'm providing you with the ultimate cologne. Only this particular cologne can only be sensed by your intended. Understand?"

  "I think so."

  "You will be more attractive to your intended, and she'll be more relaxed around you, but you'll still have to close the deal. Do you think you can handle that?" asked Tinkerbelle, with raised eyebrows.

  Jimmy thought about the exhaustive research he'd put in over the past few months. He'd created a kind of romance database. Compiling the seeming unending amount of information contained within women's magazines, Jimmy had created an algorithm to help him understand how best to speak with and hopefully impress members of the opposite sex.

  "Yeah, I think that if I can have her undivided attention, I've got a shot," said Jimmy.

  "Okay then." Tinkerbelle rubbed her hands together. "So, you'll need to provide me with the personal item and a live chicken."

  "Wait, a live chicken? What the hell do you need a chicken for?" asked Jimmy.

  "Magic needs fuel, Jimmy. We're going to be harnessing very powerful energy and the only way to do that is with blood," said Tinkerbelle, in a matter-of-fact tone that made Jimmy want to scream.

  "Blood? As in . . . blood blood? As in . . . you get the blood from the chicken?" Jimmy wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He wasn't a vegetarian, but like most everybody else, he preferred his meat pre-packaged and ready for cooking. He wasn't interested in the whole slaughtering part of the food chain.

  "Yes, Jimmy," said Tinkerbelle, impatiently. "We need to use the chicken's blood to power the spell. There is no other way to make it happen. And before you ask, we need fresh blood, not a container you purchased from the local butcher."

  Animal sacrifice.

  Tinkerbelle was talking about animal sacrifice like it was a normal part of everyday life.

  "What? Are you a member of PETA or something?" asked Tinkerbelle, her voice laced with impatience.

  Jimmy shook his head. "No. It's just, killing a chicken, it seems—"

  "Do you eat chicken, Jimmy?"

  "Well, yeah . . ."

  "It's the same thing. The chicken you eat is killed – in a pretty ritualistic way, I might add – so that you can fuel your body with the energy it needs to work. Magic, and particularly something tricky like a love spell, needs an extra boost of fuel or energy to make it work. Simple."

  It didn't sound that simple, and Jimmy considered calling the whole thing off. However, the thought of going on a date with Maddie, of spending several uninterrupted hours with her, made his decision automatic.

  "Okay. I'm in," he said, "but where exactly am I supposed to get a live chicken?"

  "I've got a guy. If you can't figure it out, text me, and I'll get you the info. But as much as you can do on your own, you should do. Magic is sensitive; it responds better when someone focuses his or her own effort into the desired result. It helps bind it to you."

  "Alright, I'll do my best." Jimmy extricated himself from the armchair again and pulled out his wallet. "Is this a cash-only kind of deal?"

  "Nope. I take all the major credit cards, including Amex," said Tinkerbelle.

  Jimmy paid for his love spell and assured Tinkerbelle that he would have the chicken and the personal item from his intended within three days. She warned him that an important part of the spell work had something to do with the cycle of the moon and if he was not ready to
go in three days, they would have to wait an entire month. Jimmy assured her he would be back within the three days.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lucy's plan was not overly complicated. We dumped our trays, and I grabbed a to-go bag for the rest of my food, figuring I'd be famished after ogre fighting. We avoided the ogres who were still waiting for their order, just in case they could identify shape-shifters by smell. According to Lucy, ogres didn't have any offensive magic ability. The only real magic they wielded was a camouflage glamour that gave them the ability to appear human. They were, however, insanely strong and could take a serious beating. Lucy explained that she had read an account of an ogre continuing to fight even after losing an arm – the things were tough and mean.

  "They're also a lot bigger than they appear. Check out the magic spectrum," Lucy whispered out of the side of her mouth.

  I switched on my sight.

  Dang.

  The auras surrounding the ogres indicated something way bigger than their visible bodies would generate. The glamour was complete enough, though, that I couldn't judge an approximate size.

  Great.

  Lucy stationed me as a lookout just outside the door. I was able to keep my eye on the ogres and watch her back as she checked out the motorhome. The ogres were obviously traveling in the motorhome since that was where I first whiffed their nasty odor. We had to make sure they didn't have any prisoners because ogres had been known to kidnap people and save them for a midnight snack.

  Yuck. Just the thought of an ogre brain buffet set my stomach gurgling. I also had that tingly feeling in the back of my throat that you get when your body wants to relieve itself of all the food you just ate. I tried taking a few calming breaths, but the overpowering stench of ogre made my nausea worse. I needed to get a grip. I had faced down blood mages and a pack of shifters. I was the Ollphiest, damn it.

  The motorhome was an older model Winnebago that had seen much better days. There wasn't a surface that I could see that wasn't dinged or chipped or had paint peeling from it. It was also caked in about a decade's worth of dust and grime.