by Heide Goody
“How can you possibly say that putting a spell on someone is in the same ballpark as a push-up bra or eating a breadstick suggestively?” Jenny tried to ignore Kay, but from the corner of her eye she could see the girl peering at Jenny’s chest, a question on her face. “No, Kay! It was a ‘for instance’. Where would I find a push-up bra round here?”
“I bet Dee’s got one in her suitcase,” said Kay. “I might ask, I’ve never tried one. Have you two finished shouting? I’m bored now and we’ve got the day off.”
Caroline laughed, wagging a finger at Jenny. “I would put money on you being the sort to do breadstick blow jobs. You wouldn’t believe how many times a waitress sees it during a shift. It’s entry level stuff; you know that don’t you?”
“Well I’d put money on you being the sort of waitress who just can’t bring herself to be nice to the customers,” said Jenny, trying hard not to rise to the bait.
“You clearly don’t know how to nice to your friends. You don’t steal a guy after your mate has called dibs.”
“This isn’t about George. Not just him—”
“It is. He’s the only shaggable bloke in this part of the fens.”
“—It’s about how you treat men.”
“Just promise that you’ll keep your hands off, George.”
“You won’t get within a mile of him!” yelled Jenny, incensed. “Now he knows what you’re playing at, he’ll run when he sees you.”
“We’ll see.”
“You haven’t listened to a word I said, have you? It’s wrong. Mind control is just plain wrong!”
Caroline gave her forehead an exaggerated whack with her palm. “Christ, I get it now. How could I be so blind? You’re annoyed that you can’t do it, aren’t you?”
Jenny was momentarily speechless.
“Time for a bloodbath?” suggested Jizzimus. “We can take ’em both. We kill ’em, messy as you like, stomp on the squishy bits and you get a tasty snack afterwards. It’s a win-win, guv!”
“I think I’d better go,” said Jenny. There was a tightness at her throat as she rose and walked out.
“Guv, wait! You can’t walk out like that. Not wivout a witty partin’ shot! Tell ’em yer off to see whose bed the gardener’s tending today. No?”
Jenny shook her head as she strode away from the classroom. She wasn’t in the mood.
“Or … or tell ’er that the only reason ’e might be attracted to ’er is because gardeners is used to ’andlin’ dirty hoes.”
“Okay,” she admitted. “That is a good one.”
She turned to deliver her stinging retort but the door to the teaching hut was already closed and the moment had passed.
Dee pointed at a puddle on the floor of her work shed. “Look, can you see the residual magic?”
Norma bent forward, with difficulty. Her undergarments were not made with flexibility in mind. “All I can see are a few damp patches and stray rodent hairs. I would advise in future that you bottle up your potions at the earliest opportunity, so as to avoid this sort of mishap.”
“I filled two bottles,” said Dee, casting about forlornly, “and there’s no sign of them. I know we had a beast on the loose and everything, but they wouldn’t just vanish.”
Norma nodded. “I think I understand, Dee. There’s no shame in a learning journey you know. Some of the greatest witches think like scientists. I believe it was Edison who said he hadn’t failed a thousand times, he had successfully found a thousand ways that didn’t work.”
“No. I made the potion. It worked, I’m sure.” She looked at Norma’s gently judgemental face. “I know you don’t believe me, but I really had something here.”
“Then make some more, Miss Finch.”
“I did but it hasn’t been the same at all.”
“Interesting. Have you been able to identify any differences?” Norma sniffed at the contents of a jar.
“Rats. Somehow it’s the rats. I got some more, but they must be different.”
“Where did you get them from? Freshly killed, were they?”
Dee cringed. The death of an animal was something she really didn’t want to be responsible for. She reached into a mini fridge under her workbench and lifted out a small, pale corpse. It was squashed and only the tail identified it as a rat. “I phoned a local pet shop. They keep frozen ones for people with pet snakes. I had them send me half a dozen, but they’re not working. I don’t think they’re the same as wild rats”
“Could be a freshness issue,” mused Norma. She took the rat and held it to her face, inhaling deeply. “It’s a fact that freezing alters the cell structure. You might ask the groundsman if he’ll set you a trap; get some fresh ones. Why are you so keen to get this potion working, anyway? The competition is over.”
“Scientific curiosity. The challenge.”
Norma put the rat back into the fridge and dusted her hands on her tweed skirt. “Yes?”
“And,” said Dee, “I want to find wicked witches by spotting their imps.”
“Why would you want to find wicked witches? They’re best avoided, trust me.”
“I suppose because I’ve never seen or met one.”
“You still doubt they exist?”
Dee shrugged, avoiding the question. “And I want to help them.”
“Help them?”
“I bet nobody’s ever reached out and tried to really understand them.”
Norma inflated her gigantic chest and reared in indignation. “Understand them? What’s to understand about something that’s wicked?”
“I don’t know if I believe in wickedness. Aren’t ‘good’ and ‘evil’ just words we use to describe stuff—?”
“They are wicked, Miss Finch. Like murder, theft and queue jumping. It’s not just words. It’s fact.”
“Ah, but you’ve only got to look back in history. People have said the same about foreigners and dogs and … and rhubarb. We live in more enlightened times: we know everything has its place in the world.”
“Are you mad?” exploded Norma. “Seriously Dee, I can understand your enthusiasm for the underdog as well as the next person, but that is a completely absurd comparison to make. I can tell you about wicked witches, if you want.”
Dee leaned closer. “Yes, please.”
“No, better still, I will teach you about wicked witches.”
“That’d be nice.”
“There’s much to know; and by the time I’m done, you’ll be less keen to meet one, believe me!”
Dee smiled.
“Which way, kid?” Caroline asked.
Kay looked down the road and shrugged. It was flat and featureless fields in both directions. There was a metal barn on the horizon to the right, and a distant suggestion of trees and a church to the left. They looked equally unenticing for a Sunday morning walk. Caroline steered them left.
“Don’t worry about Jenny and me,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“That was just a little something we needed to get out in the open. We’ll be fine.”
“But you both want the same man,” said Kay.
“George? Oh, Jenny can have him. I might have him too, mind, when she’s not looking.” Caroline winked. “How about you, kiddo? Many boyfriends?”
Kay shook her head with a small frown.
“A girlfriend, then?”
“No. Neither,” said Kay. “I never really got a chance to do any of that stuff. It wasn’t easy being a witch where I grew up.”
“Where was that? I’m guessing from the accent it’s nowhere local.”
Kay hesitated.
“Is it some big secret?”
“No. The thing is, I will tell you and then—”
“What?”
“The British are a very judgemental people.”
“Are you calling us racist?”
“No,” said Kay. “Well, some. But I mean that you make stereotypes. For example, the French, you think they are all—”
“Accordion-
playing onion-farmers in stripy jumpers.”
“Exactly. And they’re your neighbours and friends!”
“Friends is putting it a bit strong, I’d say.”
Kay plucked a long piece of grass, pulling at the seed head as she dawdled. “I’m from Portugal.”
Caroline nodded politely and thought.
“No comment?” asked Kay.
“Don’t think so.”
“You think of Portugal and what comes to mind?”
“Not a lot. Package holidays. Costa del Sol. That sort of thing.”
“That’s Spain.”
“Then I’ve got nothing.”
“Right. But if I was to tell you I lived in up the mountains in the north of the country, you’d imagine stone huts and backward and superstitious peasant farmers who cuddle their donkeys to keep warm at night.”
“No,” lied Caroline.
“And what makes it worse, my family and neighbours were superstitious peasant farmers.”
“And the donkey-cuddling?”
“They’d deny it. They sold the donkey to buy the first tractor in the village when I was six. In the mountains – I dunno – it’s much easier to believe in witches. I believed in them before I even knew I was one; otherwise I’d have been more careful. When people realised I was a witch – and this was when I was only ten – nobody would welcome me into their house.”
“Whoa, hold up there,” said Caroline. “I don’t think people would welcome any of us into their houses if they knew we were witches. Luckily for us, when people see something weird happening, they automatically assume reality TV or a flashmob. Definitely not witchcraft. You had it tough then?”
“You have no idea.”
“So you what, ran away?”
Kay shredded the last of the grass seeds and threw them up into the air. “No. I was sold.”
Caroline stopped and stared at the girl. “You are shitting me.”
“Nope. My father locked me up, said it was for my own protection, and sold me.”
Caroline couldn’t believe it. “Who to?”
“A man from Porto.” Kay met her eyes briefly before walking on. “So that’s me. No boyfriend. No teenage years to speak of at all. I don’t think I did them at all. Tell me about yours, Caroline.”
“My teenage years?” She popped her lips and smiled. “That’s quite a long story. With parental advisory for explicit content.”
Kay pointed down the featureless lane. “I think we’ve got time for a long story.”
“I’ll tell you, sure, but it’s not too late you know. You’re still young enough to do all of those things.”
“I’m in the middle of rural England with a bunch of old women. You’re not exactly going to come to the skate park with me, are you?”
Caroline put her hand on Kay’s elbow and stopped her. “I’ll ignore the ‘old’ comment. Skate park, no. I don’t imagine there’s one within a hundred miles, but we can do something. We’ll walk into town, or whatever that place is up ahead and we’ll be teens. Arrogant, awful teens.”
Kay rolled her eyes.
“Perfect,” said Caroline. “You’re a natural!”
Fifty yards down the road, Caroline snapped her fingers. “Ronaldo! The footballer. He’s Portuguese, isn’t he?”
“Very good,” Kay conceded. “A thousand years of history and that’s the best you can do.”
Jizzimus tripped over a fallen branch and came up spitting leaves. “Hold up a minute, would ya! Jeez boss, I’m only a little feller. D’you even know where we are?”
“In the woods!” Jenny snapped. “What more do you need to know?”
“That there’s a burger bar an’ a strip joint in the next clearin’, but I bet there ain’t. Listen, there are much better ways to work off a bad mood than chargin’ off like a bull wiv a chilli up ’is fundament.”
Jenny shook her head. “What wise advice do you have for me, O sage and ever-creative imp!”
“Tha’s better. Bit more respect. I like it.” He rubbed his tiny hands together. “Blast that bush there. Go on, nuke it.”
Jenny turned to see a scrawny bush. “That one?”
“Yeah.”
She thought about it. “It is encroaching on the path. I’d be doing a public service, really.”
“Whatever. Do it!”
She summoned a ball of witchfire and blasted the bush, with much greater ferocity than it actually needed. A small, scorched crater remained.
“Way to go! Bloody great that. Do another one!” Jizzimus bounced on the spot. “That one there, it’s bigger. I know you want to, guv.”
He was right: she did want to. Jenny incinerated the second bush. It went up with a satisfying woomf which blackened and curled leaves on the surrounding trees. More than one squirrel considered relocating to a less dangerous wood.
Jenny gave in to her base urges. She blew stuff up for a few minutes. It felt good.
“See if you can get this one, right up to the top!” Jizzimus pointed to a tall pine tree.
Jenny took a deep breath and summoned an extra-long blast. She didn’t exactly know where witchfire came from, but on some level it helped if she held her breath. She felt mild elation as the topmost branches flickered briefly with flames.
“Enough for now I think.” She sank onto a log while Jizzimus inspected the damage. Bottles clinked in her jacket pocket. She pulled them out. Dee’s Potion of Seeing. They buzzed mildly with magic. Jenny knew that she needed to dispose of them or someone would be sure to notice.
She looked around. “Maybe I should bury them.”
“You reckon it works then?” Jizzimus settled onto the log beside her.
“I think it probably does. Just look at it,” said Jenny.
“You can’t tell by lookin’. Giz some.” He took one of the bottles, unbunged the cork and tipped the whole lot into his mouth. He smacked his lips a few times. Jenny looked at the other bottle. With a small shrug she opened it.
“It’s like Jägermeister wiv a hint of piss,” said Jizzimus after careful consideration. He saw Jenny hesitate with the bottle at her lips. “When I say piss, I mean, er, strawberries, obviously.”
Jenny swigged from the bottle. Jizzimus’s initial observation was accurate. It had a powerful alcohol kick with herbal overtones, but you couldn’t ignore the foetid animal tang. She spluttered.
“Go on boss, get it down yer. I’ve ’ad a ’ole bottle, so I’ll be able to see better than you.”
She swigged the rest of the potion, gasping at the foulness of it. “Now we should be able to see invisible things.”
“Can’t see nuffin’ boss,” said Jizzimus, looking around.
“Maybe there’s nothing around here.” Jenny stood. “Let’s keep walking. We’ll either get to something we can see, or the stuff will make us blind and insane.”
“Brilliant!” shouted Jizzimus.
“I’m telling you, I heard an explosion,” said Norma.
“An explosion, poppet?” said Dee.
“An enormous woomf sound. Over there.”
“Maybe it was a dog.”
“I said woomf not woof.”
“An asthmatic dog?”
Dee and Norma walked together through a shaded woodland. More accurately, Dee was scampering to keep up with Norma as she stormed across the countryside. The subject of wicked witches was something that seemed to light a spark of terrifying passion in Norma. She whacked her fist into her palm for emphasis each time she made a new point.
“Wicked witches are a distinct subspecies, Dee. I am convinced that if scientists were able to test a wicked witch, it would be possible to isolate the very DNA of evil.”
“Cor, imagine that!” said Dee, scuttling forward to open a gate. Norma didn’t slow down at all. Dee wondered if she would have just battered through like a tweedy sledge hammer.
“I know you’ve got this idea in your head that you can help them or save them, but believe me they are simply wicked. They are born
wicked and they spend their lives in pursuit of wickedness.”
“Ah, so they are born evil then.”
“Absolutely.”
“And their behaviour is fixed from birth.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“So, they don’t choose to become evil.”
“Well…” Norma hesitated, seeing a philosophical trap up ahead.
“So, being a wicked witch is more like an illness than a moral choice.”
“No, Miss Finch!” said Norma loudly. “Born evil or not, wicked witches set themselves apart by the evil acts they choose to commit.”
“But what sort of thing do they do exactly?” asked Dee.
“What do they do? What do they do?” barked Norma. “They eat children. Torture them if they get the chance. You’ll have heard of wicked witches from history?”
“Er, will I?” said Dee, casting about for a reference. “Like in Snow White, yeah?”
“I’m not talking about fairy tales, Dee, there are wicked witches that the world knew and feared. We can go right back to Greek times, when the witch Circe terrorised the people of the Mediterranean.”
“Isn’t she a myth?” Dee was confused. “Aren’t myths the same as fairy tales?”
“Not at all,” snapped Norma. “If you want a more modern example, look at Elizabeth Báthory. A seventeenth century European noblewoman who did unspeakable things to local girls as part of her rituals.”
“Yes, but what things?”
“Unspeakable things! Sanguinem veneficae bibit! I can see that you’re hungry for details. Let me show you something. See this scar?” She pulled back her sleeve, exposing her forearm.
“Slow down, Norma, I can’t see anything while you’re going this fast.”
Norma stopped and held out her arm. Lines of pearly scar tissue wound up it. Dee tried to imagine the wounds when they were fresh. They must have been horrific.
“A wicked witch did this to you?” she whispered.
“Yes. Which is why I’m going to pass on my knowledge to you, Dee. If you’re going to persist in this obsession then you need to know what you’re dealing with.” Norma looked around the clearing in which they were standing. “This place is as good as any. Let us begin.”
