The Dark Witch

by Tabitha Scott

  “True. Hey, will she lose her hair from the clap?”

  “Good question, probably not for a while. Maybe at the end,” I sigh.

  “Good, black it is then,” Gil states.

  “Humph, yeah if it starts dropping out, she can always shave it off and add a few tats. But let’s get back to business here, there’s much more evil doing to be done.”

  Chapter 3: Are carbuncles, zits?

  “So, technically, are these actually carbuncles or zits that we’re handing out?”

  It’s an interesting question that Gil has raised.

  “I mean, based on the size, they could be carbuncles?”

  “Hmm, a fascinating topic for discussion. Both harbour bacteria. Zits have to do with secretions from the sebaceous gland. While a carbuncle usually starts from a staph infection.”

  “So which are these?”

  “You know, Gil, I’m not really sure. I got the recipe from my friend, Pulania. She didn’t really elaborate. I’ll have to ask her.”

  The shadow of a roguishly tall male casts itself over us as it sweeps by.

  “Hey. That’s that Stephen kid, the one who’s captain of the basketball team,” Gil comments.

  “Yep, let’s give him one.”

  “Yeah, he deserves it, his game has gone right off since he got his new girlfriend.”

  I turn to Gil. “Really, and who, do tell, would that be?” I’m all up for a bit of High School gossip.

  “Katie Underfell. You know her, she gave us loads of trouble last year.”

  “Yes, I remember catty Katie.” Katie had made it her year-long ambition to turn the rest of the student body against Gil and I. All sorts of rumours had been floated around, from coke users to lesbian pole dancers, until, that is, everyone who mentioned such rumours came down with a bad case of strep throat. It was a particularly nasty virus, a few of the kids ended up in hospital under quarantine. I was kinda hoping there might be fatalities – no such luck. I got full marks for that one from her Supreme Evality, Hatchesput though. A good virus is hard to do. It was one of the few times I’d made it into her bad books. She’d told me on the sly that I’d almost made it to witch of the month for April. If only there had been a death or two, sigh. I’ve been backsliding since then.

  “He deserves three then. One for being a bit of a pompous a-hole – because he is. We’ll put that one on his face. One for being a douche bag with the basketball team, and not giving his all. We’ll put that one on his left bum cheek. And, the final one for taking up with Katie. That one’s gotta go on his dick. It’ll panic them both.”

  Gil breaks out into a fit of laughter at my proclamation. “Best one all day.”

  We had a terrific hour or more of dispensing to the un-needy, the willful and the wanton. It was a bit lame really, carbuncles to kids. But even the best witches have to do pedestrian things like that from time to time. It keeps your hand in. My problem was that I wasn’t doing much of anything else. There was even a stream of thought that some of my actions might be interpreted as ‘not being evil at all’. I could sorta see the point there. I mean, I had gotten into the habit of punishing those who were uppity, pompous, self-serving, etc. It was almost God’s work, like I was tormenting the evil souls of the world, turning them to good, or something.

  Anyway, Hatchesput cut me some slack on it since you could never really tell, sometimes a good mass murderer would pop out of any tormented crew. Only time would tell.

  “Gotta go, zit face.”

  “What? Not going to stick around for first period calculus?”

  I grimace. Gil knows I hate calculus. I’ve been going to those classes for close to a hundred years, and I just can’t get my brain around it. It’s like I’m stuck in a brain loop or something.

  “Nup, I’m looping out. Better fish to fry. You coming over tonight?”

  “Girls night out? Sure thing.”

  “Cool, I’ll meet you at the lamp post at around six.” I had to pick Gil up, as she wasn’t quite up to finding the magikal path on her own yet. There was a lamp post not far from the school where she would go to meet me. One day, as she grew into her familiar powers, she would probably be able to find her own way. I wonder if she’d turn into a cat at that stage?

  “Miniskirts, right. Sexy. We’re clubbing it.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Gil answers.

  It was Friday, after all. We did a light peck on each other’s cheeks before I headed off to my locker, and then the girl’s loo.

  Once I’d emptied my bladder again (yeah, I did have some of that swill they call coffee) I found myself on the path outside my cottage. Concentrating, it led me to my other work, the grown up one.

  “The St Andrew’s Biomedical Research Centre.” I absentmindedly read the sign as I enter. Bypassing the front desk, I took the side door to the basement area along a concrete lined stairwell, that, in like manner, lead through a concrete lined corridor and thence (love that word ‘thence’) to my chamber of horrors. Though, to be honest, we hadn’t sacrificed any bunnies or rats in a good long time – budget cuts.

  “Good evening, Dr Moore.”

  “Good evening, Josh. Anything happening with that last batch?” Of eggs. I mentally roll my eyes.

  “No, not really.” Josh couldn’t look at me as he answered, he was painfully shy.

  It didn’t help that I’d morphed my day clothes so that a good bit of cleavage would have met his eyes if he’d cared to look. It almost guaranteed his eyes would stay glued to the floor. My day time work gear had to be a bit more conservative than my school outfit (fewer piercings) but cleavage was a must. I sighed as he retreated to the lab, where he’d hide for the rest of the night. I turned and headed for my office, where there were reports to be written.

  When I sat down, I looked at the empty paper in front of me, ‘Centre of Virus Manufacture, Hatchesput Coven’ the letterhead said. Yep that was me, three doctorate degrees, one in Physiology, one in Biomedicine, and one in Virology. I was head of the Centre and I still couldn’t ‘get’ calculus. The do nothing centre. We hadn’t produced anything since that outbreak of strep throat I’d managed last year. I took a pen to mouth, staring at that empty page. Sure, we could modify cold viruses to something a little more than expected, but the mortal virus control agencies just kept ahead of us with their flu vaccines. We just didn’t have the budget we needed for that.

  A glass broke in the hallway. I looked out my office window at Josh. He was still alive, and looked back.

  “Sorry,” he yelled out. “It wasn’t anything important, just an empty beaker.”

  As I watched him clean up, I fantasized about taking him into the back room and making a man out of him. I’m sure I could get him to jump all over my bones with a little coaxing. But alas, the last assistant I’d done that too hadn’t been able to keep his mind on the job afterwards. I eventually had to use him as food for the rats out the back. Josh was too good to do that to, I needed him, but not in that way. Besides, it had taken me several days to grind the body parts down for the rats, I didn’t really want to go through that trouble again.

  Poor Josh thought he was actually working for the ‘Centre for Virus Control’. Little did he, or anyone else who visited the building basement, realise, the signs changed magikally when viewed by anyone from outside the coven.

  $480,000 of losses inflicted on coffee shop in Sydney, Australia.

  23 carbuncle sized zits released at Pershing High School. Bacteria based. Contagion value to be determined.

  It was a pretty pathetic list. The second item wasn’t even mine. I was really just helping out Pulania with that one, it was her zit formula, after all. She worked with bacteria, and a school was a good place to release any type of contagion. Schools were excellent test grounds.

  “Maybe, maybe, I can do something with that clap of Susan’s.” I wonder out loud, but of course it would be bacteria based too, so it isn’t under my jurisdiction. No, it would have to be Herpes based, or something like
that. AIDs would have been a fantastic find! But of course, it had occurred naturally.

  Ebola had been developed by another coven. Hmmm. There wasn’t much left for us. With the budget cuts I’d even resorted to raising the rats and rabbits as pets. That’s right, we were selling them to pet shops. We added in some viral nasties, but nothing that hadn’t come before. We needed something big, otherwise I had the feeling that Hachesput was going to close us down. Me down. There was only me and the three assistants. The two girl day timers, and Josh.

  Ah, item three.

  43 rats and 21 rabbits sold with contagion to UK pet stores.

  “That looks pretty evil.” But, of course, looks can be deceiving, it wouldn’t do much more than give a few kids the odd infection. Hopefully Hatchesput wouldn’t know any better though.

  Outcome to be determined. I add.

  It isn’t much, but anything I can put on the list might give us another week or so.

  I just seem to have lost my way in all of this. My brain is clouded. I can’t come up with anything! I wonder if part of the problem is the company I’ve been keeping. The more I think about taking Josh into the back room, the more uncomfortable the chair I’m sitting on is getting. I keep having to move my arse around, and I’m sure there’s a wet patch on my knickers.

  “I’ve had enough of this. I need a Master fix.” With that I grab my scarf, coat and bag, and head for the door.

  “I’m out Josh, I’ll be back tomorrow,” I yell over my shoulder.

  Chapter 4: Master fix

  So, it’s not what you think. A Master fix is administered by Theodore Master. And… umh… he’s actually, well, he’s actually… an angel. Uh-huh, that’s right he’s from the other side, grrr.

  Yeah, well, don’t judge me. There’s no accounting for taste.

  He’s not all goody two shoes about it though. In fact, he often goes shoeless – but I guess that’s a well-known angel/saint thing too. Anyway, in bed… he can be very bad, very bad indeed. He’d been hanging around me for ages hoping to save one of my cast off victims. He was a bit of a pain in the arse, actually, when he err… asked me out… and well… I hadn’t been out in a while, so…

  “Take your clothes off.”

  “Whoa, take it easy Amura.”

  “No, I’m serious, I need some release. Take your clothes off.”

  Perhaps it had escaped my attention that I‘d found him in a mall, and that there were a few hundred people milling around us. He looks from me to some of the ‘madding crowd’ and shrugs.

  “Can we go somewhere?”

  I just scowl at him. “Chicken shit.” But I grab him by the collar and pull him behind me as I lead him somewhere a little quieter. Though it won’t stay quiet for long, I’m a screamer, and he, well he’s just an animal.

  I didn’t really give any thought to what it might look like, a sixteen year old pulling along a hot twenty something guy asking for sex. Rather sadly, no one seemed to care. But ficketty feck, we’re both over a hundred years old anyway, so we’re definitely of consenting age. Oh, I’m not going to bother describing him to you, there’s no point. Angel’s tend to change their looks like chameleons. I can always tell it’s my Teddy Bear though. Same old, same old, to a witch. I’m not sure I’m really into the moustache he’s trying out though. It tickles.

  Yeah, so you might see now why I’m worried about being affected by the company I keep… infected by good. Mind you, I can always look at it the other way, maybe I’m infecting him with bad. Yeah, that’s it, and I think I’m winning, too.

  “Want some weed?” I ask him, when we’re finished. I don’t actually have any, but I thought I’d taunt him by asking anyway.

  He turns on his side putting his head on his hand, and looks at me. “I don’t smoke.”

  “Oh, but I thought all you guys did? Wasn’t it your side that introduced that to the world?” I ask, all innocent like.

  “I’m pretty sure it was your side. Do you smoke it?”

  “I’m a witch, baby, we’re psychedelic, remember?”

  “That didn’t answer my question. You know, it really isn’t…”

  Blah, blah, blah… oh God, he’s going all full on sermony on me. Did I just think ‘God’? Oh God. But no I don’t smoke the stuff, it knocks off memory cells, and even living a few decades, losing memory cells isn’t a good thing. For me, living hundreds of years, it would be totally disabling. Some of the older witches are completely knocked off from the stuff they’ve used. I’m not going that way. Though I’m not going to tell him that.

  “You should leave now.”

  “What? I just got here.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve started being an arsehole, and besides I feel better now.”

  “Just roots and leaves, huh?”

  “Yep, that’s about it.” I throw the covers off the bed, making it clear that I’m not kidding around. This little midday foray is over. “You know where the door is.”

  I shuffle around the room finding my clothes, it really hasn’t warmed up in here, but I need to get my shit together and do some major evil, otherwise I’m going to lose my baby, the Virus Manufacture Centre.

  Teddy already has his own clothes on. Well ficketty feck to him. Angels, humph, how do they do that shizz?

  “Doors over there.” I point it out as my arse shuffles around in the air, I’m sure my knickers are under this duvet somewhere.

  “Oh!” He just slapped my arse!

  “Cute ass.”

  Ass? That’s so American. Oh, but he can be very bad.

  I lean back on my haunches, pointing to the door. So far I only have a bra on, so I might look and maybe feel a bit enticing, but no, I need to get on with things. He’s been enough of a distraction. “Out, mister.”

  He can tell I mean it, my face is set in that ‘I’m about to blast you to pieces’ look. He puts his hands up in the air, surrendering to my will as he backs out toward the exit.

  “Have it your way then.”

  Not that blasting him to pieces would have done any bad, he would just’ve reassembled himself. We’ve already done that party trick together.

  “It’s always, my way.”

  “Or the highway,” he adds, as he closes the door behind him.

  “Oh, and lose the moustache!” I yell out after him. Then I sigh, until next time, Mister Master. He’ll have no trouble with the magikal path, after all, he is a ficketty fecking angel.

  Chapter 5: Don’t drop the vial!

  Josh is pretty surprised to see me again. Perhaps a bit too surprised. I’ve startled him while he was working with a virus vial in the biohazard cupboard.

  “Just calm down, Josh.”

  “I can’t stop shaking.”

  I’ll say, he’s gone into a full blown tremor. Great, he’s got hyperthyroidism, poor kid. I should have checked him out before. How stupid of me.

  “Take it easy Josh, think of flowers or something relaxing.”

  He turns to look at me. “Flowers?” The vial slips from the forceps he’d been holding it with.

  He slams down the biohazard cupboard’s sash and hits the panic button. A siren starts wailing and the emergency lighting comes on. We’re in a full blown bio-hazard emergency… apart from one little thing. I go to my office to retrieve the reset key. I come back and turn off the panic button silencing the sirens and re-setting the lights from flashing red to their normal fluoro white.

  “Good reactions Josh, but the vial didn’t break, and the end is sealed.”

  “Oh, oh yeah. Well, well, that’s good,” he stutters.

  “I’ll phone security and let them know it was a false alarm.”

  Back to my office, I make the call. The guy on the security desk is being a major dickhead about it. It’s not as though the emergency buttons in the building aren’t occasionally pushed by accident. It’s just part of his job to cope with that. Anyway, I give him the rest of the day off. Quite abruptly he has to cut our conversation – involving him telling me
off for using the panic button inappropriately – short. I might have been offended, if I hadn’t been responsible for his ‘sudden’ need to find a washroom. I expect he was going to spend much of the rest of that day around the toilet bowl. Oh stuff it, he can spend the next week there for all I care, officious little Fascist. That’ll teach him. I must remember to comment on his weight loss next time I see him.

  On the way back to Josh I have another concern.

  “You’ve got hyperthyroidism, how’s your medical, is your medicare up to date?”

  Silly me, I’ve startled him again. And down goes that vial… again. I must make sure we only use that glass from now on, bloody brilliant the way it just bounces like that.

  “Wha…wha… what?”

  “You’re out of here Josh, I don’t need you dropping something that will kill us both.”

  He turns fully around on the swivel chair he’s been working on and stares at me, I mean right at my face, I think it’s the first time ever.

  “You mean, you’re sacking me?” The panic in his eyes is really quite endearing.

  “No sweetie.” I run my hand down the side of his face. “I’m not sacking you.”

  Why is it that as soon as I said that, a picture of me and him in the sack shot into my head? And then straight out again, and just as quickly. He’s not really my type, too much of a puppy dog.

  “You’re off for the rest of the day, mate. And here,” I scribble an address down on a notepad for him. “I want you to go visit this woman. She’ll give you something for your hyperthyroidism.”

  “I, I… I don’t have that, do I?”

  “Believe me kid, you’ve got it, I just noticed a shit load of symptoms. This lady will sort you out pronto. Don’t come back until the day after tomorrow, I want those hands steady as rocks.”

  Of course, I couldn’t really tell Josh that as a hundred and something year old witch, I could see disease and injuries in ways that would blow most scientist’s minds. Unfortunately, being a dark witch, I couldn’t really help Josh with his problem. My powers just don’t extend to curing things, I have to send him to a white witch for that.