A Spell in the Country

by Heide Goody

  “’Oo you callin’ a rat?” came a muffled voice.

  Caroline spent the afternoon hanging herbs up to dry in her shed and trying to ignore the fact that the place in general, and the still in particular, smelled of apple-scented urinal cake.

  George knocked on the open door. “My, what’s that enticing aroma?”

  “It’s not my perfume, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Caroline.

  “I’ve got a couple of hours off.” He stepped inside. “I thought I’d pop by and see how our little experiment is going.”

  “It’s certainly borne fruit.” Caroline waggled her elbow at the collecting jar while she finished pegging up sprigs of rosemary.

  George regarded the five inches of clear liquid. “Do you think it’ll taste okay?”

  “I think the bigger issue is whether it will make us go blind. Shut the door. Get those two jam jars off the side and let’s see.”

  “And if we go blind?” said George.

  “We’ll just have to feel our way, won’t we?”

  Dee tipped some of her potion into a separate pan and placed it on an electric hot plate she’d set up on her workbench. She watched it boil.

  “Right.” She consulted the book. “I’ve got my ‘holleac in haligwater’, I think. So now…” She regarded poor dead Mr Ratty lying to one side. “Now ‘hwill brimum an rætadruncen’.” She hesitated with the wooden tongs. It didn’t help that she’d christened him Mr Ratty.

  She shut her eyes enough for her to pretend she wasn’t looking at the dead rat, picked him up and plopped him into the pan. Mr Ratty floated. Dee submerged him with the tongs but he bobbed right back up again.

  With a sad mewl, she placed the lid on the pan and hummed a few bars of Whistle While You Work to calm her nerves.

  Caroline watched George take the first sip. He took in a mouthful, immediately clamping his lips together as though trying to hold back something unspeakable.

  “How is it?” she asked.

  He nodded vigorously; which might have been enthusiastic approval or the first signs of total neurological shutdown.

  “Is it good?” She waved a hand in front of his eyes to check he was still with her Lacking any meaningful response, she took a sip herself. The apple spirit burned where it touched, killing off all sensation in her mouth. She coughed as the fumes invaded her throat. “Wow,” she breathed.

  “I think my dongue’s gone numb,” said George.

  She took another sip. Once she could breathe again said, “It doesn’t taste very appley.”

  George had to drink some more to be sure. “Nod much,” he agreed. “Id’s nod bad though.”

  Caroline gave it some thought and topped up their drinking jars. “Goes down smooth,” she said, letting the phrase do its subliminal work.

  “I can’d feel my mouth,” said George.

  “Let’s see if we can’t do something about that.” Caroline put her jar to one side and kissed him.

  He didn’t resist, he didn’t pull back; but when she stopped, he said, “Caroline. I’m very flattered but—”

  “Stop,” she said. He fell silent. “George, I’m afraid you’ve got to face up to some truths.”

  “Truths?”

  She nodded. “You’re quite probably the hottest man within ten miles of this place and I absolutely and fully intend to have my wicked way with you.”

  “Yes, it’s just—”

  She cut him off with another kiss: longer and more energetic. Some buttons may have popped off his shirt beneath her fingertips. “I’m used to getting my way,” she breathed, eventually.

  “You’re using your powers on me,” said George.

  She laughed. “Mind control is like hypnotism. It’s like alcohol.” She pressed a jar to his lips. He drank. “It only guides: strips away inhibitions and worries.”

  He swallowed hard. The spirits, or perhaps something else, turned his face red.

  Caroline tugged at the remaining buttons. “I can’t make you do anything,you don’t secretly want to do anyway.”

  Dee paused in the act of dusting away a cobweb from the corner of her shed – having already gently escorted Mrs Spider outside – and looked over at the pan on the hotplate. It felt as though it was humming to her, murmuring with contentment. Perhaps it was cosmic vibrations. Perhaps it was magical resonances. Perhaps it was a distant seismic shock.

  Whichever, the pan was definitely calling for her attention. She went over and, with only a moment’s hesitation, lifted the lid.

  The rat corpse was gone. The potion had transformed from a watery grey to an iridescent turquoise. As she stared, wisps of light shifted in its depths. It was like looking into a shallow tropical sea and seeing, against all probability, lightning flash across the sea bed.

  “I’ve done it,” she whispered in delighted surprise. “I’ve only gone and flipping done it!”

  “Oh God, she’s done it!”

  Jenny held the pebble pendant in her hand. In the last few seconds, it had shifted from the glow of a dying firefly to a fierce orange light.

  “What?” said Jizzimus.

  She showed him. “Danger.”

  The imp dropped into a startled crouch. “Is it the donkeys?”

  “It’s the potion!” said Jenny.

  “We should do somethin’ about it!”

  “I said that!”

  “Did you, boss? Cos I’m sure it was my lips movin’ and everythin’.”

  Caroline lounged on a pile of dustsheets in the corner of her shed. “Go on, give us a twirl.”

  George, stripped to the waist, gave an obedient if mildly embarrassed three-sixty. He staggered a little. Caroline laughed, although even sitting on the floor, she felt quite unstable. That apple-vodka hooch was powerful stuff.

  George was a powerfully built guy, far broader and more muscular than Effie’s beanpole nephew, Madison; though not narcissistically sculpted like some of the gym bunnies she’d known in her time on the police force.

  “How long have you been working for this Mrs du Plessis then?” she asked.

  “Since was eighteen, I when I left college.”

  “Only a few months then.”

  “Ha ha.” George took a swig of spirits.

  “So, it takes years of mowing and pint-pulling to get a body like that, huh?”

  “A body like this?”

  “It’s a compliment,” said Caroline. “Get over here.”

  He sat beside her on the dustsheets. “It’s not just gardening and bar work,” he said. “I’m the odd job guy. Lots of fetching and carrying.”

  “Working your fingers to the bone.” She gave him a peck on the lips, took his hand in hers and guided it to her breast.

  “You want to do this?” he smiled, “in a shed?”

  She twitched her nose. “Well, matron probably won’t approve of us bringing boys back to the dorm after lights out. Believe me, I’m quite happy to paddle my own canoe, but it’s much more fun with two. Besides, the first time I let a boy, er, into my canoe, it was behind the school bike sheds. Not a million miles away from this. It’s almost nostalgic.”

  “I’m wondering if we’ve both had a bit too much to drink,” said George.

  “We’re fine.” Caroline gave a magical turn of her wrist. “This is exactly the right place and time.”

  “This is exactly the right place and time,” said George and kissed her.

  Caroline squirmed as his hand tickled down her stomach. She pinched him in retaliation. “Of course, we didn’t get very far behind the bike shed. No sooner did we get down to it than we were interrupted by old Mr Marsden, the woodwork teacher, who—”

  There was an urgent hammering at the shed door. Caroline and George looked at each other.

  “Nostalgia’s overrated,” she said, alarmed. “I mean, if that turns out to be Mr Marsden—”

  The hammering came again.

  “He must, like, be in his nineties by now,” Caroline whispered.

  �
��Are you in there, Caroline?” It was Shazam.

  “Um. No?” replied Caroline.

  “Please open the door. I need your help.”

  Caroline huffed. “Define ‘need’.”

  “Please! It’s an emergency!” whined Shazam.

  “Fine.” Reluctantly, Caroline tried to sit up but it was difficult with a man’s hand down the front of her jeans. She slapped George’s hand and he withdrew it.

  “But this is exactly the right place and time,” said the magically confused gardener.

  She flicked him on the forehead with her finger. “This won’t take a moment.”

  “This won’t take a moment,” he said.

  “You just stay here.”

  “I’ll just stay here.”

  “In fact, hide under these sheets. I don’t want anyone to see you.”

  “In fact, I’ll hide under these sheets.” George pulled the dustsheets over his head. “You don’t want anyone to see me.”

  “Exactly.” Caroline straightened her top as she stood. With the slightest moonshine-induced wobble, she made for the door.

  Shazam stood on the step in a hazmat suit and wild-eyed panic. Caroline put a steadying hand on Shazam’s shoulder; although who she was steadying was debatable.

  “What is it, Cobwebs?”

  Shazam, panting, tried to push sweat-matted hair away from her forehead. “My potion! It’s gone wrong!”

  “Wrong how?”

  “It’s not the right colour!”

  Caroline’s internal emergency-o-meter immediately reset to zero. “Not the right colour? That’s it?”

  “And the pH balance is slightly out!”

  “Slightly out? Jeez, Cobwebs. You said it was an emergency.”

  “It is! I’ve worked so hard on this. Effie’s going to mark me down, maybe kick me off the course.”

  “No one’s getting kicked off the course.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Caroline sighed, stepped outside and shut the shed door behind her. “Fine. Show me.”

  Shazam waddled to the next shed at remarkable speed in her awkward suit. She pushed the door open, thrust the plastic sheeting aside and ushered Caroline through. Caroline stared. Shazam had, in the small space, managed to set up what Caroline could only think of as a ‘proper’ laboratory. Tripods, pipettes, thermometers, apparatus clamps and all manner of oddly shaped glassware.

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” said Shazam.

  “It’s … amazing,” said Caroline.

  “What?”

  “Seriously. I’ve got two tubs, a pressure cooker and some tubing in my shed. This is like Breaking Bad meets Willy Wonka.”

  “The potion, Caroline! The potion!” Shazam pointed at a deep pan sat on top of a tripod and Bunsen burner. The contents were a pale beige.

  “What colour is it meant to be?” asked Caroline.

  “Manila envelope.”

  “Well, it’s sort of Manila envelope.”

  “No!” wailed Shazam. She thrust a colour chart in Caroline’s face. “Look! Manila envelope! It’s too pale. It’s more of a Rich Tea biscuit.”

  “These are real colours?” said Caroline, trying to focus.

  “Please help!”

  “Okay.” Caroline put a comforting hand on Shazam’s arm. “Let’s go through this step by step. When did you notice something had gone wrong?”

  Shazam took a deep, de-stressing breath. “We left it to steep overnight and this morning, when it should have been ready, it looked a bit off. So I thought we’d try it.”

  “On Mr—?” There was nothing around Shazam’s neck. “Where’s your cat?”

  “Hiding somewhere. I put an application on Mr Beetlebane’s neck. He didn’t like it and shot off.”

  “Ah.”

  “So I tried some on myself.”

  “You did what?” said Caroline.

  “Just a bit,” Shazam whispered.

  “That might have been dangerous!”

  “It did tingle when I put it on my scalp – actually, it’s still tingling – but I feel fine. Lots of famous scientists test out their inventions on themselves.”

  “And how many survive the experience?” Caroline took a metal rod and gave the beige tonic a tentative stir. “So did you leave the lid off overnight when you shouldn’t have? Or didn’t when you should’ve?” The rod snagged. “Or did something extra fall in?”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” said Shazam. “The pan was open, but there was nothing anywhere near it. The whole room is sealed against possible contaminants.”

  “Apart from down in that corner.”

  “What?” said Shazam, looking around in confusion.

  Caroline tried to raise the heavy lump from the potion. “Down there. Your plastic sheeting’s all ripped up. I guess that’s how Beetlebum got out.”

  “What? No! He’s just hiding somewhere,” Shazam dropped to her knees to inspect the hole. “This wasn’t there before.”

  The lump broke the surface. Caroline almost lost it again in surprise.

  “Something’s torn right through here.” Shazam was indignant. “Broken right through the wood. Weird, it smells of apples and vinegar. I wonder what it was?”

  Doing her very best to not touch it, Caroline transferred the drowned rat from the pot to the workbench surface. “Shazam,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Now, I don’t want you to panic.”

  Shazam got to her feet. “Why would I…?” She gaped at the sodden rodent cadaver in horror. “How—?”

  “I’m guessing it was thirsty and fell in.”

  “But…”

  “If it’s any comfort, his coat looks really thick and glossy.”

  Shazam put her hand to her mouth. “Oh God. I put … that in my hair.”

  “It’ll wash straight out.”

  Shazam shook her head. Her usually florid complexion had turned near white. “I’m going to be sick—” She barged out of the shed.

  “Oh, dear, poppet,” said Dee, approaching the scene.

  As Shazam doubled over, Dee patted her back. “What on earth happened?” she asked.

  Shazam vomited onto the ground, splashing Dee’s shoes.

  “That’s right, sweetness,” said Dee. “You let it all out.”

  “Potion cock-up,” Caroline explained. “Think we’d best get her back to her room.” The pair of them took an arm each and guided the larger woman back up towards the hall.

  “We all cook up a bad batch from time to time,” said Dee sympathetically as they walked.

  “Somehow a rat ended up in the pot,” said Caroline. “And Shazza here tried a bit before she realised.”

  Shazam tensed and threw up again.

  “Well, that’s funny,” said Dee, “because it was putting a rat in my potion that made it work.”

  “S’not funny,” mumbled Shazam.

  “Not funny, no,” agreed Dee. “Peculiar. Particularly since it apparently gorged itself to death on a pile of fermented apples someone had dumped.”

  “Really?” said Caroline, as innocently as possible.

  Jenny peered round the corner of the shed. The sun had not yet set and she watched the three witches, arm in arm, making their way back up to the main house.

  “Okay,” she said, heavily. “Let’s do this.”

  “No, no, no, no, no!” admonished, Jizzimus. “You can’t say it like that, boss. Think what we’re about’a do.”

  “I am!”

  “We’re gunna sneak over there. We’re gunna smash in the front door of ‘er li’l sanctum, an’ then we’re gunna steal that potion what she’s been workin’ on day an’ night.”

  “I know.”

  “So, guv, it ain’: ‘Oh, I suppose we should do it, mope, mope, mope’—”

  “I don’t sound like that.”

  “It’s ‘Let’s fuckin’ do this! Yeah! Yippe-ki-yay-melon-farmers!’.”

  “I’m allowed to feel bad about this! Dee wor
ked really hard on that potion.”

  “Well, don’t you go harshin’ my buzz, guv.” Jizzimus combat-rolled across the grass towards Dee’s shed.

  Jenny tiptoed after him.

  “She’s looking pretty washed out,” Dee said as they lowered Shazam onto her bed.

  “I’ll be fine,” breathed Shazam. “It’s just the shock of seeing…” She clutched her stomach and said no more.

  “Maybe,” said Dee. “But I’d say if you make a single but significant change to a potion like that, it could have a profound effect.”

  “It’s just hair tonic,” argued Caroline.

  “I might fetch some of my general cure-alls nonetheless,” said Dee.

  Before she could go, Shazam grabbed her arm. “Find Mr Beetlebane, please,” she croaked. “He’ll be worried when he sees I’m gone.”

  “Of course,” agreed Dee.

  Dee hadn’t locked her shed door, which was just as well: Jenny didn’t have the time or the nerve to work around an iron padlock.

  “The trusting fool!” hissed Jizzimus as the door swung open. “If she’s lax about security then this is all on ’er, ain’ it?”

  “No, we’re the bad guys in this scenario,” Jenny reminded him.

  “Yeah.” The imp swaggered inside. “We’re the bad dudes.”

  The potion was unmistakeable: Jenny could smell the magic coming off it. Dee had decanted most into two cork-stoppered bottles. Jenny picked them up.

  There was a good few inches of the potion left in a pan on an old electric hotplate. Jenny looped a cloth through the steel handle and dragged it onto the floor where the contents spilled out. Jizzimus gave a start and jumped out of the way.

  “There’s a bloody rat in it!”

  A pathetically limp and bloated body of a rat lay in the puddle on the floor.

  “Can’t believe I gave her the secret ingredient,” muttered Jenny. “Did the nasty rat scare you, Jizzi?”

  “Course not. Jus’ surprised me, is all.”

  “It’s all right. You’re allowed to be afraid of a rat.”

  “Call that a rat? More like a hamster. I’ve seen and faced down bigger rats in— Oh, sweet mummy! Save me!” He crouched between her legs as a cushion in the corner of the room unfolded into something black and hairy and toothy.