Witch, Please!

by Abby Knox

  And Drew would know.

  Add a little makeup to that Resting Bitch Face of hers, some tighter clothes and a pushup bra, that witch could make some pretty damn good tips at a place like this. He thought about dressing her in a midriff top and a hip-hugging kilt. At that moment, the singer on stage added to Drew’s little fantasy by impersonating Robert Plant. declaring how much he would appreciate being his girl’s “back-door man.” Nothing about these images repulsed Drew.

  In fact, the idea was starting to give him a little bit of a hard-on. He was usually able to control that around women. He’d had centuries of practice, after all.

  But suddenly he realized something. She was doing something. She was messing with his brain. He felt foggy, as if someone was trying to pull him out of hiding and he felt compelled to comply. She was pushing her voice into his head. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she whispered in his brain.

  That was a little creepy and uncalled for.

  The last time somebody had pushed their voice into his head, called him out of hiding, he had nearly met his own death. Actually, he had met his death, in a way…

  Before Drew could breathe through it and try to clear his head, his body drew him to her. They stood facing each other across the bar. Somehow she had elbowed her way to the front of the horde of drunks without actually using physical elbows. He was face to face with this woman and he finally understood what she was. She was not just a woman who dressed up in bloomers and bonnets and pretended to be a centuries-old witch for the sake of teaching history lessons to tourists and snot-nosed children.

  Alice was very much indeed a witch. He could see it in the flash behind her eyes. He could smell it buried in the framework of her red blood cells. And he wanted a taste of that fresh, hot, red blood.

  “Did you come here to enjoy the music?” he asked. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  He knew she couldn’t hear a word he was saying over the top of the howling guitars. He knew that she knew he was fucking with her. And she brazenly pushed her thoughts into his brain again. Turn the music down, asshole.

  Wow, he thought, so she isn’t even going to bother hiding the fact that she’s got some kind of psychic powers now?

  He turned on his best, brightest smile and pulled a glass of red ale from the tap. “Did you say you were thirsty?” he yelled. “Here!” He pushed the beer glass to her across the oak bar. “On the house, neighbor!”

  And if using ESP were not enough, she pushed the glass back at him with her mind. Wow, she really did not care who saw what. Of course, with this crowd, they could easily be accused of telling tall drunk tales if they tried to describe any of this while sober. People in Birchdale tended to believe the simplest, non-magical explanations for any of the weird shit that sometimes happened. Still, this chick must be really pissed at him to be using the old trick of moving objects with her mind.

  She spoke into Drew’s brain. Outside. Now.

  As she turned and tried to work her way back to the front door, she was not making much headway as the crowds were as thick as sardines. She wasn’t pushing them out of the way with her mind because she must have been tired from all that ESP with him and the moving of the glass at the bar.

  He tapped her on the shoulder and when she turned, he pointed to the alleyway door behind the bar. “Follow me.”

  Oh yeah, he thought. This is working out better than I planned. But he hadn’t even planned to get this woman alone with him. He had only meant to throw a party and maybe put a bee in her britches because he was a little bit childish.

  But now they were heading outside, in the dark, alone, with his spirit feeling happy on red ale, his brain still enjoying the foggy high of her voice invading it, and his jolly cock freely erecting a circus tent in his jeans.

  She might be having a very bad night. But his was going from pretty fucking great to fucking incredible. In the alley, even in the dark, he could see the glow of her hair, the translucent quality of her skin, the pouty lips. She was the most beautiful braless woman he’d ever seen in his life. The security light behind her caught every inch of every curve in that weird gauzy top. What was the deal with those, anyway? Was it their uniform or something? Was it a cult thing? Birchdale had had quite enough of cults, thanks to the shit that went down last year at Halloween. But then he remembered Alice and the rest of those chicks played a big part in shutting that whole thing down, which made him even hotter for this woman.

  This thought, along with noticing her deep neckline that begged him to have a taste, was about to be his undoing and he knew it.

  You know better than to fuck with witches. It came to no good end before, and it will again. But he also did not care.

  He turned on the charm.

  “Having a good time?”

  “You need to turn down the music, Drew.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. All my bar patrons would leave.”

  “That would be an improvement to the neighborhood,” she said.

  “How about we go have a beer and talk about this?”

  “You know we can’t talk in there,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

  “Sure we can. You were blatantly using ESP on me in there. Or did you think I didn’t notice that about you? Witch.”

  She was caught. And she didn’t like it. Her temper had gotten the better of her and she used her magic and the cat was out of the bag.

  “Yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. Everyone else in Birchdale might pretend not to see what’s really going on, but come on. You all are hiding in plain sight. You dress up as witches for play, but in real life, that’s exactly what you are!”

  She finally changed her face from outrage to sweetness. A little bit of fake sweetness, but he would take it. “Honey,” she said. “I don’t know what your drunk ass is talking about, but all I am trying to do here is ask you to turn down the volume of your shitty music. We are trying to bring some culture and healing to downtown, and you are ruining it.”

  Drew laughed. That was a good one. Culture. In Birchdale.

  He took a step closer. “You want all these drunk tippers to go away so you can keep your five sorry little people in their seats to listen to vagina music and not spend any money?”

  “It’s not about money, it’s about creating an atmosphere of charm and welcome to our downtown.”

  “Charm? Culture? These are words for putting people to sleep. At the end of the day it doesn’t pay the rent, sweetheart. Ask any one of my girls.”

  “Stop calling me that. I am not your sweetheart. And did you say ‘girls’? How have you not gotten slapped with a lawsuit yet?”

  He laughed. “You should hear what they call me to my face. And by the way, you are my sweetheart, you just don’t know it yet. Just like you don’t know business sense any better than—a witch who gives away her power instead of monetizing it.”

  “Oh, Andy.”

  “Drew.” She was being cute. No way she didn’t really know he went by Drew.

  “Drew,” she continued, “if any of us had any real business sense we would have sold all these buildings to banks and insurance companies and lawyers. We need to be working together. And I just want you to turn your music the fuck down one goddess-damn decibel so my patrons can have a nice evening. Why are you being such a dick about it?”

  “Because when my business is bringing people down here in droves, I get to be the dick. When your little coffee shop starts keeping the lights on out here and when your little shop actually start paying dues to the downtown association—yeah, I’m the treasurer, sister, I know all about that—then maybe you can be the dick. And then maybe I will actually listen to your presentations about your moldy history museum. As it is, you don’t have a thing to say about it.”

  “How about just being neighborly then? Did you ever think of that? You’re not the only business on the block.” Her nostrils flared. She wasn’t going to back down, and he liked the reaction she was having to him.

  “But I�
��m the only one staying open late and throwing parties,” he said, putting up his hands as if to say, “what are you gonna do?”

  “We’re going in circles here, Drew. How about you turn the music down, let my people wrap up their evening, and then your little concert can continue at whatever noise level you want?”

  “No go.”

  “We have people trying to play music and this isn’t working. How about you just be a good guy?”

  “How about you fly back across the street and continue with your goddess drum vagina circle and leave me alone?”

  Drew knew what he was doing. He was being a supreme dick. But one, there was no way he was turning down the music. And two, he was deliberately trying to get a rise out of her just to smell her blood when it starts pumping faster. It was a rude trick, but he was kind of a rude guy. What are you gonna do?

  Then Alice smiled wickedly. “You’re kind of obsessed with my vagina. That’s the second time you’ve used that word in two minutes.”

  Drew wasn’t entirely prepared to respond to that.

  “You’re right. I am obsessed with your vagina.” Just putting it right out there, huh, dude?

  And there it was, her heart rate was kicking up a notch, and she was starting to smell delicious. He took another step closer.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she said.

  “I don’t think you do.” He closed his eyes and took a huge whiff. She turned away slightly, but he caught it, the tiniest particle of desire. The security light lost the gorgeous silhouette when she turned, but now he could see her face. The desire was as true as the blood flushing her cheeks. He felt it also rushing to her nipples. To her labia. Oh my god, if only she knew what her blood response was doing to his cock.

  He also sensed she was getting close to building her strength back up again. He was excited to see what she would do with it if he would walk away, turning his back to her.

  Faster than the eye could see, Alice had placed herself between him and the door, her lips pressed against his. He had done it. She was under his thrall.

  He hadn’t tasted the blood of a female human in a very long time. This was going to be magnificent. And a witch, no less. He wondered what that would do to him.

  He pulled her into his kiss and wrapped her in a tight circle with his beefy arms around her thin waist.

  Alice gasped when she felt his rock-hard member. “Not out here. Not outside,” she whispered.

  “Where?” he asked. “Tell me where you want me, sweetheart.” He very gently raked his teeth along her neck as he spoke. As he did so, Stubby came around the corner and started barking angrily at him.

  “Something is wrong with your dog,” Alice said.

  “He thinks you’re hurting me,” Drew said.

  And then as quickly as she’d gone under his thrall, the loud barking pulled her back out.

  “On the contrary, he thinks you’re hurting me,” she said.

  Drew growled angrily at having to stop teasing this woman with his mouth. He looked down, and indeed, Stubby was tugging at his pant leg. There was nothing for him to do but step away from Alice.

  “Hey,” he said. “You wanna see the secret tunnels under the town? They said they used to lead from the old jail to the courthouse. I hear it’s abandoned and pretty spooky down there.”

  “What are you, 12? Yes, I know,” she said. “One of the entrances is right inside the storage cellar at Kava. The city has asked me to close it up, but I don’t really want to. It’s a piece of history, you know?”

  Fortunately she stopped yapping and followed him and his canine companion back into the bar. He led her to the stock room where Drew filled Stubby’s food bowl.

  Then Drew turned and pulled Alice to him. “Go eat and lie down, Stubby,” he said. Drew let their eyes lock on each other’s as his hand slipped under her shirt, up to her breast. No way he would be this forward if he was sober, but she was partially to blame for that. Her ESP had fucked with his brain.

  “In here? Someone might see us. What if an employee walks in to get some more napkins or something?” Alice said, though her breathy response to his touch told another story.

  “I’m willing to take that chance,” Drew said, shutting the door.

  The music vibrated against the metal shelving. He was about to make a few other things vibrate up in here. She had him in a deep, hungry, passionate kiss and was starting to wrap her legs around him. This was almost too good. His thrall abilities had not been tested in a while. They sure seemed to be in working order.

  But then she stopped again. “Wait, you’re right,” she said. “Do you have an office? I think I might be more comfortable on your desk.”

  On his desk? He’d always wanted to fuck on his desk with one of his hot little servers, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  This was better. A woman his own age. Well, a woman who was currently the age he had been when his body had stopped aging.

  He slammed his office door behind them as they grappled with each other’s bodies, all hurried kisses and searching hands. He shoved his office phone, papers, receipts and other shit aggressively out of the way, some of it landing on the floor. “I've always wanted to do that,” he growled. Then he swiftly lifted her up and parted her legs as she landed on the desk in front of him. She seemed to be encouraging him to kiss her neck. So not a problem.

  Drew’s mouth made its way down her neck with a vengeance only reserved for someone who both annoys you and turns you on at the same time. He was about to rip open that flimsy peasant blouse of hers and free her tits when the music suddenly stopped. It wasn’t a song transition, it was just complete silence and shouts of pandemonium from the patrons.

  He pulled back. The only thing that could keep him off this steamy little creature was his dollar signs flying out the window. It was feast or famine with a bar in this town.

  “Shit, what’s going on?” he asked nobody in particular.

  He went to the breaker box in his office and opened it up. “Fuck!” Looked like something had fried it. He flipped switches , but no joy.

  Meanwhile, Alice was clearing her throat. “Well, I better go,” she was saying.

  It took him a minute to register this. Then he spun around. “Wait. What? Where are you going?”

  “Well, like you, I have an establishment to oversee. I really should not let myself get distracted. This was perhaps a mistake. I’m sorry for dragging you in here. See you at the next chamber meeting, Andy.”

  And then she was gone.

  What a weird, ridiculous fucking night.

  Chapter 4

  Alice

  Alice looked over the contents of the brown paper grocery bag and smiled, if a little nervously. Everything in it was perfect, but it would be going up for auction. Along with a date, with her.

  The Valentine’s Day Auction was to begin at 11 a.m. sharp at the Birchdale City Hall auditorium. This was a decades-old tradition in Birchdale, but this was the first year Alice had ever participated. This year, the proceeds would go directly to fund a new mental health institute for local residents who were suffering with post-traumatic stress. There was a lot of that in Birchdale, especially after the events of last fall, when the demonic “mass hallucination” happened.

  The contents of each brown paper bag at auction was a mystery and also represented a mystery date. But over the years, the mystery part of it had become kind of a joke. Most of the participants had started decorating their bags with clues to give hints to their sweethearts as to who they belonged to, ensuring that everyone would bid on a bag belonging to the desired person.

  This year, Alice’s paper bag contained an authentic colonial period lunch, and all of it was grown locally or at the Sisters’ Living History Museum itself: rye bread and preserves, fresh butter, pease porridge, boiled dumplings, dried meat, scrapple and apple pie. She had decorated the bag with drawings of coffee cups and attached a small bouquet of bright orange calendula for prosperity. If her “date” hated ev
erything in the bag or hated every moment with her, he or she could at least eat the flowers for good luck.

  The winning bidders would receive the anonymous brown bag and an immediate date with the person who assembled the lunch.

  Most of the Sisters were auctioning off their lunches and themselves, but there was one who refused. “All of y’all are crazy if you think I’m putting myself on an auction block. Do you see how messed up that is?” This was, of course, Birdie. Her best friend was frequently the voice of reason.

  “Birdie, it’s not actual slavery, it’s just a fun little fundraiser for the charity,” Alice had said at their brief confrontation that morning.

  “It’s fucked up. But go on with your thing, you always will,” Birdie said.

  Alice had reminded her, “It’s a charity for the people who have suffered because we exist. It’s the least we can do to give back.”

  “I’m not stopping you. I’ll write you a check. But I won’t be involved.” And with that, Birdie had marched off down the street to work.

  Alice hated to see discord in the group, but this event had been in the works for months and took place every year, raising money for one local cause or another.

  As the event began, the auctioneer started with the bag belonging to Fern, another of the witches. Fern had decorated the bag by tying a long, hand-knit Dr. Who-style scarf around the middle. That one sold for $45. Fern ended up leaving for a date with the highest bidder, Davis Reynolds, owner of the local sandwich shop. From the wings of the stage, Alice laughed out loud for reasons only she and Fern understood. Fern shot Alice a deathly stare as she crossed the stage to greet old Davis.