The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  Sam shooed everyone away and asked if I preferred to sleep in something called a trailer or a tent. I only knew what the latter was, so I indicated that would do fine and he showed me to a good-sized canvas shelter. I collapsed on a cot while my new co-workers filed in with blankets, a metal basin filled with warm water, a cup of tea, and a bowl of hot stew. Sam brought in my baggage, told me to get a good sleep, and to come see him once I recovered from my travels. A kind thought, but I don’t think this is a trip I’ll ever recover from.

  Once again, I should be sleeping, but it mercilessly eludes me. My brain is too busy trying to assimilate everything.

  What am I going to do? How am I going to get out of this contract and make it home? I mean, my co-workers seem nice enough, but it’s the Outerplane. It might be a fine place for a witch to vacation (so far, I don’t see the appeal), but work here? No way. No how. I can kiss my Adept initiation goodbye.

  ADDENDUM: My scry mirror isn’t working! I’ll try again in the morn, but given that this is a null zone, I may have to go back to sending letters via air elementals—if I can find any. Of all the cursed times to be out of contact with Magda! I promised to scry as soon as I arrived. I don’t want her to worry and desperately need to check in to see how work went this sun.

  Cerridias, Nettle Moon 4, 209

  DEAREST MAGDA,

  I am so sorry that I couldn’t scry you this morn. Writing letters is a pale substitute. I wanted to tell you how thankful I am to have you as a friend and craft sister, and wish you a great sun at work. Your bosses and team are lucky to have you, and if they don’t appreciate your skills, I’m sure there are any number of companies who would be glad to have you. No matter what you decide at the end of this moon, please know that I stand with you. Always.

  I had hoped to share with you the details of my incredible journey and let you know I was having a blast in my new job. Unfortunately, it’s safe to say that the only blasts I’ll have here will be as a victim of haywire wizard contraptions. The Outerplane is crawling with them.

  Yes. You read that right. There were a few details missing from the Employment Cabal’s job posting. Now I see the hazard of acquiring work at a non-union job bank. My new employer is an Outerplane travelling entertainment show called Karneval Života. Given my luck, I suppose it’s not that surprising. Being stuck here is pretty much the only cursed thing that hasn’t already happened to me.

  I have come to terms with the fact that I won’t pass my Adept rites with the rest of you. There’s no time to find a new job and I don’t see how this one can satisfy our union’s placement standards. For a brief moment in the interplanar port, I thought about contacting Ouleah and asking her to officially approve my position thereby making it eligible, but that was before I found out I was working in Outerplane entertainment. Gah.

  I spoke to the boss, Sam, about bowing out of the contract. He was understanding, if disappointed. When we first met at the port, he thought I was perfect (first time anyone’s said that about me), but he knows the carnival lifestyle isn’t for everyone. If people stay on, he wants it to be because they’re happy to, not because they have to. So I’m free to go, except it’ll take a while to save up enough coin to buy passage back, which means I’ll be working in the show for a bit. Sam said he hoped I would give them a fair shake. I don’t think he meant that literally, but who knows. There’s some very strange customs here.

  I’ve already discovered that they record suns and moons differently. A sun is referred to as a day, a moon is a month, and a season cycle is a year. Thank the Goddess that their mathematics are close to ours and they count the suns in a moon similarly. It is apparently April (moon) 23 (sun), 2020 (season cycle).

  I relate the following account of our travel saga in hopes of making you laugh and showing that you are doing just fine, at least in comparison! Herman and I arrived at a port in the USA, which is the name of this sprawling landmass, in a metropolis called Topeka Kansas. So many people and so little magick to keep them at bay.

  Given the lack of magickal power on this plane (my scry mirror won’t work and it’s fully charged!), thrice-cursed wizardry has proliferated, and it is unusual to see anyone without at least three vile beeping, wailing, or flashing devices somewhere on or near their person. They walk around with these dodgy things as if they’re best friends and then are surprised when they do something unexpected or catastrophic. Repeatedly. After the third time something goes wrong, it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore.

  The boss is an interesting fellow and seems friendly, but get this . . . Sam is a wizard! He outright admitted he was trained in mechanical engineering. Didn’t even flinch when he said it. I’m keeping a close eye on him. He comes off as level-headed and reasonable, but no wizard is truly either of those things.

  He is known theatrically as “The Beast” when he performs in the “big top” (a really, really big tent). He took over the carnival (a family business) when his mother died last season cycle. Sam is human, but he’s covered from head to foot in the most lush, shining hair you could imagine. It’s quite distracting talking with him when all you want to do is reach out and pet him. I wouldn’t, of course. That would be horribly rude. At least it would be on our plane. I don’t know about here, but I’m not taking any chances.

  Sam lives in something called a motorhome—a sweet little one-room hut—or at least it would be if it wasn’t attached to a truck (a type of wizardly mechanical transport that is particularly terrifying). I should have expected nothing less of a wizard.

  He showed me around the House of Horrors, the “joint” they hired me to run. It’s a wicked set-up: Two levels of rooms (six in total) connected by dark, narrow hallways lined in warped mirrors with hidden nooks and crannies from which any number of terrors could spring. The whole place is rundown and needs spookifying.

  One of the rooms is witch themed, but has been decorated in a manner that is, quite frankly, insulting to professional witches. We do not use wands and wear ridiculous pointy hats. I can’t even imagine the wind drag on those things while riding a broom! Wizards are the ones who dress extravagantly and wave wands around willy-nilly. Witches use sensible tools like brooms and cauldrons. And we absolutely do not use bones to stir our cauldrons. Yuck! I could see a druid doing that, but never a witch. The people here have witches, druids, and wizards all mixed up. It’s now my personal mission to set them straight.

  Despite the above issues, the House of Horrors has potential. Part of me is excited to turn it into something worthy of its name, but with limited magick power available, I don’t know if it’s possible. Then again, I’ve recently had to get by with no magick at all, so maybe . . .

  I told Sam I’d do my best to fix the place up, with the understanding that I still intend to leave as soon as I have enough coin. If you have any ideas about how I can do that, I’d love to hear them.

  I am at least pleased that there are no bratty kids to care for and no clients to knock off. All I have to do is scare the warts off everyone who comes in the House of Horrors. I figure between myself, Herman, and Bob, that’s an eminently achievable goal. Oh yes, don’t fret if you can’t find Bob or his bunny. They tagged along.

  During my grand tour of the midway (where all the games, individual performance areas, and hideously dangerous wizard rides are), a shifty goblin-faced man showed up. The way he spoke and his mannerisms reminded me strongly of infernal demons. I was immediately wary.

  Turns out, my impression was somewhat accurate. Although he was not an Infernal, he was a loan broker. Close cousins. I could tell by the way Sam’s back and shoulders stiffened that our visitor was a known and unwelcome entity.

  Sam left to deal with him and I followed out of curiosity (at a discreet distance, of course). My stealth was unnecessary. A great deal of shouting and banging arose from Sam’s motorhome, so I overheard most of their conversation, as did everyone in the camp.

  Sam took out a loan after his mother died as there was a slump in booking
s and their operating costs increased. Something was inflating and something else was deflating. Both were bad. I didn’t catch the specifics. The broker was here trying to enforce his right to review the financial records, and he wanted to bring in appraisers to assign coin value to everything. Sam told him to back off and that he wasn’t to bother them until the season was over. The broker threatened to inflict us with something called bankruptcy if the carnival didn’t turn a profit. Sounded nasty, whatever it was.

  I need to get some protection spells in place. Or charm bags. They’ll have to be stashed everywhere, but they take less power to create, which is important.

  I didn’t expect the broker to come out of the meeting alive. Sadly, he did. And he was sporting a vicious smile as he slammed the door.

  Sam was greatly upset and stayed in his motorhome for the remainder of the sun. He didn’t even come out for supper (the whole troupe eats this meal together . . . I’ll have to figure out the etiquette around this ritual later because nobody was talkative this eventide). I asked if someone should bring Sam food, but they said it was best to leave him be.

  It’s obvious from the way everyone speaks of Sam that he is trusted and admired. I feel bad about being so negative about working here. My new co-workers have been nothing but kind and helpful even though the loan weighs heavily on their minds. Finding a replacement for me so soon is an inconvenience none of them need.

  I would have loved to do something suitably hag-tastic to the loan broker, but until I determine how magick works here (or if it does at all for me) it’s best to keep things mundane. I might have whispered in Bob’s ear that if he happened to haunt the broker every so often, some extra juicy cuts of meat could be left out for his bunny. I’m not sure where Bob is at the moment, but I hope he’s sitting on something precious and breakable in the broker’s hut.

  Anyway, I need to sleep. Maybe I’ll dream up an ingenious plan to improve my joint without magick. BTW, “joint” is what everyone calls the attraction they run—so the H of H is mine.

  This whole situation couldn’t be more screwed up if I had tried. Sometimes I don’t know why you’re my friend. I couldn’t even get a job on the right plane. And now, these people need help, but what can I do? Even at home, my magick is a shadow of what it was, what it should be. I can’t decide if the Fates are laughing or crying at this turn.

  I’ll send you letters as often as I can. Please write back and let me know how everything is going. I hate being so far away from you and will endeavour to rectify that, ASAP. In the meantime, I’ll be thinking of you.

  Brightest blessings,

  Hester Digitalis Wishbone

  P.S. People gave me very disapproving looks when I fed the bunny raw stewing meat this eventide. Were they disturbed that I shared my plate with it at the dinner table? Did they think the pieces too big for such a young bunny and were concerned it might choke? I know their income isn’t great, so perhaps it was just that there was an added mouth to feed. Yet another Outerplane mystery to unravel.

  Freydias, Nettle Moon 5, 209

  ENOUGH MOPING. I’M kicking myself out of this funk. Almost nothing has gone right lately (for me or my new co-workers, it seems) and I’m getting pissed. So what if I’m on the wrong plane. At least nobody here knows about or cares that I won’t pass my Adept rites. So what if there’s practically no magick power. I’m used to working with limited resources now. Challenge accepted!

  That’s right. I’m a badass witch with a badass attitude and I’m going to make waves. Big, crushing, thundering waves! The Outerplane won’t know what hit it. Hester Digitalis Wishbone has arrived!

  I put my plan into action first thing this morn by going around and properly introducing myself, along with Herman and Bob’s bunny. Everyone fawned over my companions. I have a feeling they’re going to be quite spoiled.

  I also discovered what the kerfuffle over Bob’s bunny was at supper. The Outerplane only has vegetarian rabbits! I showed them its teeth, pointy and clearly optimized for flesh consumption. They were amazed and apologized for the misunderstanding.

  Several of them have noticed Bob perched in various locations around camp, but they aren’t commenting (possibly because they never actually see him move). I think I’ll let him handle his own introductions.

  My co-workers are an engaging and fascinating lot, if a bit human heavy (an endemic problem here). I had many interesting conversations while helping them pack up the midway and big top (what they call “tear down”). We are journeying on the morn to a new location. Everyone was pleased to hear that I’ll be staying on for a while.

  I started my rounds with Maria, Sam’s right hand. She’s the Master of Ceremonies for the big top show and knows everything about everything. Her stage name is Black Tide the Pirate Queen, which is fitting. I know this because I came across her practicing knife throwing. She invited me to join her for some exercise, and I found out that she’s also alarmingly proficient with rapiers. Her accuracy and endurance were impressive. I shall endeavor to stay on her good side. I already knew from Sam that Maria was a retired soldier, but what I hadn’t guessed was that she lost a leg in battle. She gets around on her prosthetic better than I do on my regular old legs.

  I enjoyed chatting with her. She’s blunt and gruff, which means she’s also honest. She graciously offered to help with any questions or concerns that came up. I intend to take her up on that since I pretty much have nothing but questions and concerns.

  The second person I approached was Asena, the show’s fortune teller and fire dancer. (NOTE: Talk to Asena about how to effectively work with Outerplane magick!) I didn’t delve into her presage abilities, but I did see her dancing while twirling four balls of fire on chains. She must have a special deal with fire elementals because she never singed herself once. We had a lovely, long chat while folding up the big top tent fabric.

  The intricate sigils covering her skin intrigued me and I asked if they were part of a fire protection spell. Nope. They are permanent sigils of remembrance—for people and places she loves, for happy memories, for challenges survived, for lessons learned, and for keeping important aspects of herself visible so that she doesn’t forget them in times of strife. An interesting idea.

  Kamal, an Outerplane magician (sleight-of-hand act) and odd job doer, stopped by Asena’s motorhome to share a mid-sun meal with us. His stage name is Ghost. Nice kid. I’ve never seen a live human with such pale skin. I didn’t notice until he took off the shaded glasses he always wears outside, but his eyes are a pale shade of pink. I asked him about it and Asena told me that sunlight, or indeed any bright light, bothers him. She also explained that he doesn’t speak. Can’t blame him. Most people aren’t worth talking to. All the animals in camp love him and follow him around . . . including Herman. They disappeared together after we ate. I hope Herman didn’t get him into too much trouble.

  Asena and I talked about her life, the show, and its personalities until the troupe gathered for supper. During the meal, she went out of her way to include me in discussions with the rest of the performers. She’s a skilled conversationalist.

  I sat between Fiona and Gilroy, the show’s Strong Woman and Strong Man. They bend steel, lift heavy objects, and take turns operating two rides. Gilroy generally looks after the Ferris Wheel, a massive wizard contraption that locks people into cages and vertically rotates them on a large wheel. Fiona prefers the Carousel, a garishly painted round platform with horse statues which rotates riders horizontally. Both sounded more like people rotisseries than rides and I said as much. Everyone had a good laugh and assured me there was no fire involved.

  I remember meeting Fiona and Gilroy during my first supper with the carnival. Fiona is short and stout and Gilroy is tall enough that he must be part giant. Seriously, my head comes up to his elbow and she barely tops his knees. She must have dwarven heritage.

  Fiona and Maria invited me to join them next sun in a friendly targeting competition. Fiona is skilled at axe throwing, which
I’ve never tried. I agreed, with the express understanding that I was not to be the target. There was another round of guffaws and Maria assured me the only thing slain would be a bale of hay.

  I briefly chatted with Julie. She’s known theatrically as The Bender and can fold and twist her body as if she’s boneless. She demonstrated by placing her feet on a plate and folding herself backwards, essentially in half, and placing her hands on the same plate. Perhaps the Outerplane isn’t as magickally bereft as we were led to believe?

  Sadly, there wasn’t much time to talk with Tim as he had to eat and run. I knew from Asena that his stage name was The Snakeman because he has two snake companions and a skin condition that makes it look as though he has scales. He’s by far the coolest-looking human I’ve ever encountered. Unfortunately, the skin condition is quite painful.

  NOTE: Brew up a salve for Tim. Research ingredient equivalencies!!!

  Bailong, Tim’s large white boa constrictor, who loves to cuddle, wound herself around my waist as we ate. He managed to coax her away before he left to take care of his other snake, Janus, who wasn’t feeling well. Janus is a python, or two pythons . . . I’m not sure as he was born with two heads. I wonder if one of them ever gets mad at the other? That would be terrible. There’d be no escape.

  After supper, I helped Danica and Nikolai collect dead wood for a bonfire. They’re known as The Spider Siblings and are Karneval Života’s trapeze artists and trick riders. I peeked in the big top before it was taken down and saw them practicing with their horses, Ebony and Snowball. They must use magick. There is no way they should be able to flip and somersault between two moving horses like that without falling.