by Rebecca Brae
Seeing Justin brought some things back. Mostly bad things. Why would I want to go through all that again? I can’t imagine what kind of person would date me while I’m such a mess. Wrong again. I can imagine. It would be someone like Justin who’s looking for weaknesses to dig their claws into and failures to play up. Well, that’s a big no thank you! No dating for me until I’ve sorted my life out. I talked about it with Magda and she agreed that was the safer path.
Homeless, jobless, loans up the broomstick, dwindling prospects of ever working as a professional witch, and a cadre of followers more destructive than a marauding army. Yeah, I’m a real catch. Even the bunny, who I wrongly assumed was harmless, chewed through the pipes for the on-tap ale. I could hear the bartender swearing in the kitchen as the pool of frothing amber nectar spread.
Herman and Missera did well in their dice game—and their other activities. Whenever a player left the table, Herman dropped to the floor and rolled himself into a ball. Missera then flicked her tail and sent him in whatever direction their mark was headed. The poor souls inevitably tripped over the armoured projectile and Missera slithered by, surreptitiously gathering any loose coins. Having a jaw that unhinges appears to be quite handy. It was a well-coordinated and profitable caper . . . until someone noticed.
I had to intervene when a dwarven waiter (the only staff member at The Haunted Bonnet willing to venture out of the kitchen) punted Herman across the room. My familiar wasn’t badly injured, thanks to his armour, but I’m sure he’ll be sore next sun. He certainly made solid enough thumps as he ricocheted between the table legs.
I was in the middle of chastising the waiter when I noticed Herman had teetered back and was drooling on his shoe. I grabbed my familiar as quickly as I could, but the dwarf’s foot had already started smoking. Shortly after came the screaming and hopping and more screaming.
We decided it was best to leave. Magda and I must be destined to destroy taverns or be kicked out of them. Either way, our drinking holes are drying up and that is a desperate situation indeed. We’ll have to start disguising ourselves . . . and our entourage.
So here I am, snuggled up on Magda’s comfy couch again. Bob, his bunny, and Mothlady aren’t home yet, but I imagine they’ll show up soon enough. We left the window open to prevent accidents.
I had a talk with Herman about his premeditated drooling. He tried to defend his actions by saying he only promised not to spit on people. Drooling was not a prohibited activity. I rectified that oversight and he has now sworn not to spit or drool on anyone / thing. I made it clear that I was unhappy with his narrow interpretation and that it was not in the spirit of our agreement. He looked as disapproving as a gershuat armadillo can, which is quite disapproving. They have narrow, deep-set eyes, making them perpetually frowny.
ADDENDUM: Almost forgot . . . I found out why Missera has a fleet of hats. Magda worked out a tentative agreement with her. Apparently, they make her look less snakelike and more friendly. They bought a few and then had a bunch specially made. Magda’s stress level has gone way down and she no longer screams whenever she sees her familiar around the apartment. Missera is quite taken with the hats, so it’s a win-win. I suggested we should all take our hats off to hail Magda’s giant brain, but everyone just groaned. My humour is wasted on this audience.
Freydias, Seed Moon 19, 209
I’M BORED. BORED, bored, bored. I suck at waiting and I hate not having something to do. I’m all out of magick energy and have to wait for my crystals to charge, but I don’t feel like going out to find something else to do either. There are people out there and I’m not in a people-y mood.
HERE IS A crappy sketch of Herman and Missera:
It took most of the sun. Herman says I made him lopsided and too fat, and Missera says the end of her tail looks like a poo that someone stepped on. Everyone’s a critic. At least Magda appreciates it. She asked me to draw another one to put up on the icebox.
Speaking of Magda, she came home with exciting news! After running some experiments in her lab, she discovered a potion formula that should de-moth Mothlady. She’s busy calling in some of her coven to help generate the energy vortex. Hopefully we can get it close to the one Mothlady had buzzing around her in Moonbrews. I should be able to identify it when I feel it. It was memorable.
We might be able to fix this tonight! I’d say I’m as excited as Mothlady, but I don’t think that’s possible. She’s flapping up a storm that’ll keep us dusting for a moon.
I must go now and help Magda prepare. There’s potion components to gather and tidying to be done. Neither one of us expected company this eventide.
WELL, THAT WAS difficult and unpleasant, but ultimately successful. It is amazing what a group can accomplish when everyone focuses on a goal and is actually interested in helping. It’s a rare occurrence. I will bake each of those beautiful witches a mooncake and imbue every stir of the spoon with abundance and health . . . just as soon as I recover.
Every nerve in my body is on edge from standing in the energy vortex. It took a while for the coven to get the correct mix of elemental power, but all the trouble and pain was worth it to put things right. I admit, I never felt that bad for Lady Tilandria Dobshire (formerly Mothlady . . . I should have guessed from her haughty attitude that she was a noble), but I did feel terrible about instigating yet another magickal accident. And that my Moonbrews boss, Andreas, was left to deal with the Infernal mess.
I did my best to smooth things over with her, for Andreas’s sake. I apologized for my part in what happened, even though it’s clear she still accepts no responsibility herself. Some people refuse to learn from their mistakes. I sincerely hope I’m never one of them.
Every witch Magda invited brought a bottle of ale or mead and I made sure Lady Dobshire’s tankard stayed full. This significantly helped with the smoothing over.
She was initially overwhelmed by the de-mothing and had difficulty adapting to having two legs and no wings. To my great surprise, she kept her irritation in check, only dropping a handful of insulting jibes and snobbish sniffs—a heroic effort for a noble.
I suspect her politeness had less to do with being magnanimous and more to do with concern over what might happen if she angered Magda’s coven. She might have left with the misapprehension that I was a member. I’m okay with that. Nobody messes with a tight knit group of witches, especially not one with that many Sages and Elders. I’m lucky Magda flies in such interesting circles.
The moment we confirmed her transformation was permanent, I scryed Lady Dobshire’s husband to let him know. He flew right over. Their reunion was enthusiastic, so I guess he missed her and vice versa. There really must be someone out there for everyone. Who knew?
They appeared eager to put this whole debacle behind them. I expect they’ll drop the Infernal complaint against Moonbrews. Andreas will be very happy.
Pandias, Seed Moon 20, 209
I HAVEN’T DONE this much baking since the Gingerbread Hut. I slept late this morn and completely missed Magda leaving for work. I’m still worn out from last night. It’s been hard to keep my energies up to instil the right intent into the mooncake batter, but I’m determined.
I wish Magda had bigger bowls. I had to scrub out my largest cauldron (a lot . . . apparently, I burnt whatever I brewed in it last time) so I could use it for mixing. In the throes of my fatigue, making all seven mooncakes at once seemed important. In reality, I’m not sure it saved any effort or time. Especially since Magda’s oven only fits two pans. Hindsight.
The first two cakes are baking as I write. So far, so good.
MINOR SETBACK. I fell asleep and left the last cake in the oven way too long. Luckily, Herman woke me up when he noticed the smoke. He’s the only one happy about the loss and was quick to claim the reject for himself. It’s hard as a rock, but he insists it’ll be edible (for him) if he drools on it for a while.
Time to mix more batter. And I had just finished cleaning everything. Go figure. Ah, poo. I�
��m also out of iinok eggs. Now I have to go to the apothecary and be around people. Curses! I’m feeling a serious need to hermit.
MAGDA AND I delivered the mooncakes to her delighted coven. I couldn’t afford to add the Skiartian moon dew this time. I doubt they will mind. The cakes look and smell delicious. I’m exhausted, but it’s a good exhaustion.
There’s still no word on the job I applied for at the non-union job bank. I chatted with Magda and she agreed that now would be a great time to hide the focus mirrors from our cockroach reflection hex. Flying to the Gingerbread Hut forest won’t be quick and certainly isn’t without risk, but it will at least occupy my mind. I’m going stir-crazy. I’ll be travelling light, so this will be my last entry for a while. Once more unto the breach. If Althea finds me, who knows what she’ll do. Fates preserve me.
Soldias, Seed Moon 28, 209
*** THE END ***
JUST KIDDING! ALTHEA didn’t get me.
I made it back to Aestradorra in one piece several suns ago but haven’t had the energy to write. Making that quick of a turn-around trip is hard on the nether regions. And my back and arms have been stiffer than a petrified turd, despite salt baths and salves.
My journey back, though long and tiring, was fuelled primarily by excitement to share the good news with Magda. After hunting around for a suitably dank hiding place for the mirrors and spending a restless night hoping Althea wouldn’t detect my presence in her forest, I received a scry from the non-union job bank. The position I applied for is mine! The company hired me on spec. This is my last chance to get and hold a job for long enough to meet the requirements for the Adept rites. I am scared, but also so, so thankful.
I’ve been dying to tell Magda, but she’s been sleeping at her office and won’t be home until this eventide. Probably late. We had a quick scry last sun and she looked exhausted. It didn’t feel right to distract her by gushing about everything while she’s in the thick of things. Before I left, her bosses put her in charge of a big project. Her co-workers reactions were seriously stressing her out. Many have been there longer than her and felt entitled. I hope they weren’t jerks about it.
I’m going to brew up a rich, homey stew for supper. I wish there was more I could do.
Moondias, Nettle Moon 1, 209
MAGDA FINALLY CAME home and I eagerly related my news. She squealed and hugged me, saying she knew I would find something and weren’t they lucky to have snapped up such a crafty witch—a ridiculous exaggeration, but I love her even more for saying it.
Herman was his usual surly self, but his mood improved as soon as I broke out a bottle of mead. Magda shares our love of the nectar so there was good cheer all around.
The Employment Cabal (who run the non-union job bank) teleported over a stack of parchments. I didn’t get through all of them, but I read far enough to find out that my new employers have handled all the travel arrangements. Fancy! I’ve never had anyone secure passage for me before. All I need to do is show up at the port with my belongings. I feel like a VIW.
Only catch is, I fly Wendias morn. Two suns isn’t much notice, but it’s not as if I have a lot to pack. I’m pretty much packed already. There’s a long list of restricted items for this journey, so I might actually have more things to unpack.
We all spent an enjoyable eventide watching dramas in Magda’s crystal ball and relating details of our trip. While we talked, I got the distinct impression something was bothering Magda, but she wouldn’t say what and I knew better than to pry. She likes to think things over on her own and when she’s ready to discuss it, she does. I bet it has something to do with her work project. If anyone was mean to her, I’m going to toad-ify them with extreme prejudice.
I wanted to stay up later, but my energy flagged. Darling Magda fluffed up the couch for me and even tucked me in. She is wonderfully silly sometimes. She really is the best of friends.
Herman curled up on a chair beside me with Missera. They thoroughly enjoyed the mead and are now snoring horribly. I considered smothering them with my pillow but that is probably uncalled for. Plus, it requires energy I don’t have and it’s surprisingly hard to contemplate smothering a snake wearing a bonnet. That accessory definitely works in her favour.
As tired as I am, I’m not sure I’ll get much sleep. I hoped writing would help, but my thoughts are still looping around and around. Perhaps I should try reading more of the parchments. For some reason, I didn’t expect such a robust parchment trail from the Employment Cabal. Live and learn. In any case, I’m sure their contents will be dry enough to induce sleep.
JUST AS I was drifting off, a raven flew in the window and landed on my chest. It hunkered down and stared at me, beak to nose, for a good long while. My feathered guest clearly had a mission, so I waited.
It croaked irritably, gave me the evil eye as it stomped back and forth across my chest, and then coughed up a crumpled parchment. The cheeky bird cocked its head, challenging me to take exception.
I’m proud to say that I kept my temper despite my extreme dislike of being thrown up on. I did flinch slightly when it cawed in my face and smacked me on the cheek with a wing. The turd flew off with my favourite quill pen, too. It was chattering to itself in glee, no doubt pleased with its bounty. I’ll miss that pen.
The note was scribed in an elegant hand:
It can only be from Hekate. Magda was freaked out and had to mix up a sleeping potion for herself before returning to bed. I had better follow her example. I can’t risk being overtired.
Goodnight, diary. What adventures will our next sun hold?
Tydias, Nettle Moon 2, 209
I AM SO angry!
This sun was flying by smoothly. I worked out what I could take to my new job and finished organizing things. Herman and Missera were hanging out, having fun.
Then, Magda came home early with her entire family in tow. She was near panic fending off an unrelenting barrage of cutting remarks from her parents about how silly they found her work and how small her apartment was. Her brother was no better, grumbling about how swamped they were at the shop and how much easier it would be if “someone” took her family responsibilities seriously and was there to help. Her three tormentors had showed up, unannounced, at work.
Poor Magda. My parents and I don’t always see eye-to-eye, but at least they understand what I do because they are also witches. Magda comes from a family of blacksmiths who see nothing useful in the magickal arts. To them, magick is the refuge of the lazy and unskilled. I overheard her mother comment about how nice it must be, getting paid to just sit in a comfy chair all sun and swirl the occasional beaker. No respect. No understanding. No effort to look beyond their own beliefs or experiences.
They were like that when we were in college, too. They only came to Aestradorra once to visit. And then it was only in an effort to convince Magda to give up her schooling and go home with them to do “real work like a responsible, contributing member of society.” Her mother actually told her she needed to grow up and get on with her life, which encompassed raising a family to make sure there was someone to pass the shop onto.
These people, who should have known Magda’s beautiful mind and heart better than anyone, had no idea how skilled their daughter was. No idea how seamlessly she worked with elementals or how inspired and creative her castings were. They must be wilfully ignorant.
Magda was born to be a witch. Magick flows through her like water to the sea. She had excellent innate talents and skills starting out, but a lot of hard work went into cultivating those into the staggering magickal competence she now has.
Anyone who thinks being a witch is cushy is clueless. The mental agility it takes to mould a casting, the constant drain of drawing in and pushing out power, suns spent researching and planning new workings, developing a sense of when our world’s magickal balance is off and figuring out how best to balance it again without throwing something else off, everyone bombarding you with their personal energies . . . it’s incredibly taxing.
And as witches, we spend all the season cycles of our lives learning and re-learning our craft. There’s always a better way to do something. Nothing in our job is static because magick is tied to our world and the world is constantly changing. What worked last sun may not work the same this sun. Adapting is exhausting! But it can be oh, so rewarding and wonderful at the same time. Loving your work doesn’t mean it’s easy, even if you’re so good at it that you make it look easy, like Magda.
Her parents were the only ones who didn’t come to our Initiate graduation ceremony. I cried for her that sun, though I didn’t let her see. It should have been a time of family celebration, a time for our loved ones to recognize our hard work and feel pride in our accomplishments. Every smile, every hug and pat on the shoulder I got from my parents made me cringe because she deserved that, and more. She was the star Initiate of our class, not me.
And here her family was, still making Magda miserable with their bullying ways. I completely lost it when Magda started crying. She sat down on the floor in the middle of her living room, drew her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in her arms. Her shaking sobs tore at my heart.
I knelt down and asked what I could do, but she couldn’t even talk.
Magda’s mother sighed long-sufferingly and complained about how tired she was of Magda trying to manipulate them with tears. Her father asked if there was any fresh milk to drink. Her brother sneered as he perused her bookcases, ignoring the situation . . . until he screamed and came away with an enraged Missera attached to his nose.
I’ve never been so angry, not even at the worst of times with Justin. I ordered everyone out of the apartment. I followed her family down to the foyer, told them not to come back until they were able to appreciate what a wonderful witch their daughter was, and slammed the door in their face. I must have unintentionally infused my push with some air elementals, because I blew the door right off and her family across the street.