Footprints are important in the supernatural world.
Footprints prints are believed to have some essence of who ever created the print. In Africa, people make sure their footprints are destroyed so witches cannot use the dirt from the print for evil magic against them.
More so for people who want to be a werewolf.
Drinking water collected in the footprints of wolf’s -extra power for footprints left in Clay- gave people the power to shape shift into a werewolf.
Owls seem to be another animal like bats or black cats that get a bad rep. Pretty much anywhere you go they’re considered bad omens or evil.
Supposedly, demons can shape-shift into owls to do evil errands for witches at night or to play with them.
Ancient Egyptians associated owls with night, death, and the cold.
The Book of Leviticus in the Old Testament of the Holy Bible says they’re unclean.
Ancient Romans believed them to be bad omen, and death omens. Caesar’s death was announced by screeching owls. They also foretold illness, bad weather, and when the village girl would lose her virginity.
The Aztecs equated owls with evil spirits, including the Rational Owl, who is humanity’s worst enemy.
In Africa, owls were witches’ instruments and feared.
To North American Indians owl is an ill omen and bringer of death and a messenger of the dead.
The Chippewa medicine man stuffed owl skins with magical ingredients and commanded it to fly over a victim’s house bringing starvation.
The Sauk believe seeing an owl at night will cause facial paralysis.
Owls are respected in some cultures.
In Peru, folk healers use owls to combat negative magic and the “Owl Woman” is associated with Shamanism and curing in their mythology.
The Greeks saw owls as sacred and a symbol of wisdom because Athena the Goddess of Wisdom was always with her owl companion.
In India eating owl eyeballs is believed to give the eater night vision. ~I don’t know if eating it is respecting it.
Kiowa North American Indians believe their medicine men could become owls after death.
Images : http://magicalowls.tumblr.com/
http://imgkid.com/white-owls-in-flight.shtml
Ill Wishing
Long ago people often blamed bad luck on ill wishing. If two people argued and later one got sick, had an accident, or some other stroke of bad luck the other person was suspected of ill wishing.
More so, if one said, “You’ll be sorry”. Those three words were taken seriously and anyone who uttered them was immediately suspected of witchcraft.
Sometimes arguments weren’t the cause of suspected ill wishing. If someone had a good deal of good fortune but it suddenly went away, they believed their neighbors had secretly ill wished them.
Ill wishing could be cured by finding a witch or cunning folk. Often the cunning man or women or witch would break or neutralize the ill wishing with a charm. If the ill-wisher wasn’t known divination could be used to reveal their identity.
Are you superstitious? I am…well sometimes, I am.
I didn’t walk under ladders, then I did for a few years and then I didn’t again. I was always told walking under a ladder was bad luck is that what you were told?
Turns out the superstition has a macabre background. Superstitions, witches, macabre…. come on you knew I’d be all over this one.
It seems this originates from colonial America during the witch-hunts. It’s widely believed witches were burned during the witch trials but in England and America, more were hung.
When they dropped, they’d fall below the ladder that led up to the gallows. Common belief said anyone who was touched by a witch especially if she or he was taking their last breath would soon die.
The belief in which is dying curse was so strong townsfolk would stay away from the ladder long after the death to prevent being cursed to death.
Also, witches’ heads were covered before being hung to prevent them from cursing anyone before death.
Images:
http://philosophy-religion.blurtit.com/1377679/what-is-the-origin-of-the-walking-under-a-ladder-superstition
http://rfox52.tripod.com/LydiaGilbert.htm
Considered as near magical and credited with supernatural powers.
The Aztecs called it “the gift from heaven” because it fell from the sky in meteor form.
Specialists were needed to remove iron from the ore and harden it. These specialists of Blacksmiths soon were thought of as magicians.
Iron is used to fight evil, keep fairies and demons away, in some case to keep vampires away. It was believed to ward off witches.
An Egg Tree is a charm to ward off witches.
It’s a dead bush with cropped branches. It’s decorated with dozens or hundreds of blown eggs and is always by a home.
Nice Easter decoration, 😉 keep witches away too.
Image from Google search
The Blood Talisman by Kim Culpepper
Book Name: The Blood Talisman
Book Genre: Urban Fantasy
Book release date: 05/21/2014
The Blood Talisman on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22490952-the-blood-talisman
The Blood Talisman on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Blood-Talisman-Kim-Culpepper-ebook/dp/B00PEXI36G
I love this cover….
The Blood Talisman book blurb:
Alex Jacobs gets bitten by a werewolf, and that’s only the beginning of his problems. When his wife is kidnapped and turned into someone he doesn’t recognize anymore, he not only struggles with letting her go but, also with saving her life.
Selene is a powerful witch that not only teaches Alex the ways of the wolf but, also teaches him about restraint and purpose. Her shy innocence quickly attracts him to her and he struggles with being torn between two women. Their feelings for each other are constantly put to the test as a battle for the blood talisman, the key to immortality, is fought for power to some and a way to live forever for others. It is quickly learned that immortality comes at a price to all of humanity.
Doesn’t this sound awesome!!! I’m so going to read this. Stay tuned for a review. I’ve got some little pieces to entice you with too.
Romantic:
She sat on the grass, moving her hands up and down along it, as if she were calming it. The wind began to blow softly at first and then harder from within the forest. Selene’s long hair whipped Alex’s face behind her. He started to worry from not understanding what was happening. Suddenly the wind stopped and she stood and whistled. The whistle carried throughout the forest in the opposite direction of the wind. There was a moment of silence and then the sounds of tiny footsteps filled the forest. Alex took hold of Selene’s arm once again in a protective manner, and pulled her closer to him. He watched the forest and she watched him.
Scary:
Ember grabbed Alex by the neck, lifting him off his feet. The bones within him started to break and his blood scorched angrily through him. She threw him down just as he finished changing into the wolf. He could smell the blood from the man lying on the floor, hear his heart slowly beating. He was very near death. Ember stood back and watched in enjoyment as he devoured the attendant.
Sad:
Selene fell to the floor, laying her book bag into her lap and crying for Alex’s absence. She had come so far with him to have it end like this. She felt lost and confused without him. She no longer had focus and restraint. What hurt her the worst was that he hadn’t told her that he loved her. He had only done that once, before they hunted for the blood talisman. She sat there in shock and in emotional pieces, without words.
Villainous:
“I will rip your throat out, wolf. Then I’ll bed your wife and have your mistress killed. Don’t tempt me,” Ram snarled at him as he released his grip and Alex fell to the floor.
Sexy/Romantic:
His breath began to increase with every inch closer to her face. Her eyes were like glass as they glared into his very soul.
OMG! I’m so going to read this.
About Kim:
Kim Culpepper is a horror lover! She is the author of The Blood Talisman, several short stories, and also runs Dark Child Create, a company the designs custom book covers. Her work has been published in Sanitarium Magazine, The Opening Line Literary Zine, and more.
Kim is a native of Colombus, Mississippi where she lives with her wonderful husband, two beautiful kids, and two mischievous cats. Most of her writing is based in the south because she enjoys writing characters with accents and the South has plenty of people to inspire that.
Kim on Twitter: https://twitter.com/kculpepper1
Kim’s Blog: http://www.kjculpepper.net/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kim.culpepper.3
Kim on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7957042.Kim_Culpepper
Giveaway
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Mirrors are associated with magic through many myths, stories and legends.
It was believed that the reflection in the mirror (or any other reflective surface) was a vital part of one’s soul. (sound familiar??? What about a vampire’s reflection???)
Mirrors were thought of as “soul catchers.”
Draping black cloths over mirrors in the sick room of a dying person was to prevent the soul from being taken.
In witchcraft mirrors are used as divination tools, like a crystal ball. The witch sees images in the mirror and interprets them.
Today we have Brian Moreland here telling us about his witches. You might remember him from Vampire Month. The cannibal story… “Dead of Winter” (that I had to sit a side because it was way too scary) I’ve got these witch novels on my TBR list, but to tell you the honest truth….. I’m scared to read them. 😀 That’s how scary “Dead of Winter” is. Before I scare you all, I’ll let Brian take it from here.
Thank you Brian for being a part of witch month.
“Season of the Witch”
by Brian Moreland
They come from mythology, folklore and fairytales and go by names such as crone, conjurer, necromancer and witch. Male witches are called warlocks and wizards, although the archetypal figure is predominately depicted as an ugly old woman―the hag. Some live as hermits in hovels in dark forests. Others gather in secret places and form covens. They operate in the realms of magic and have the power to cast spells and charm us. They can tell our fortunes or curse us with the evil eye. Old, wicked, beautiful, seductive―witches of all forms have enchanted our stories since the dawn of storytelling.
I love a good witch story, especially when it’s scary, so I wrote three witch stories: The Girl from the Blood Coven, The Witching House and The Jack-o’-lantern Man. As a horror fiction writer, I like to combine history and legends with scary supernatural stories. The Jack-o’-lantern Man plays on childhood fears of the bogeyman during Halloween, while the second two stories allowed me to have fun creating my own legend about a coven witches living in the backwoods of East Texas.
My most recent witch story takes place on the night of Halloween. After trick-or-treating, Corey and his kid sister, Paige, listen to their father tell a ghost story about the legendary Jack-o’-lantern Man, a serial killer who stalks their town during Halloween. After going to sleep, Corey’s night turns to terror as he fears the bogeyman is inside his house. The Jack-o’-lantern Man is available through Amazon and all eBook sellers October 20, 2014.
The Girl from the Blood Coven is a short story prelude to The Witching House. It’s the year 1972. Sheriff Travis Keagan is enjoying a beer at the local roadhouse, when a blood-soaked girl enters the bar. Terrified and trembling, Abigail Blackwood claims her entire family was massacred at the hippy commune in the woods. Sheriff Keagan knows that Abigail’s “family” is a coven of witches that inhabit the Blevins house. They’ve been rumored to be practicing blood sacrifices and black magic. When the sheriff and his deputies investigate the alleged murders, they discover what happened at the Blevins house is more horrific than they ever imagined. You can read an excerpt at the end of this article and download the story for free wherever eBooks are sold.
The Witching House is a novella that unravels the mystery of what happened to the Blevins Coven. It’s forty years after the massacre at the hippy commune. My main character is Sarah Donovan, a young woman recovering from a bad divorce and boring life. She recently started dating an exciting, adventurous man named Dean Stratton. Dean and his friends, Meg and Casey, are fearless thrill-seekers. They like to jump out of airplanes, go rock-climbing, white-water rafting, caving and do anything that offers an adrenaline rush.
Sarah, on the other hand, is scared of just about everything–heights, tight places, the dark–but today she must confront all her fears, as she joins Dean, Meg and Casey on an urban exploring adventure. There’s an abandoned house set far back in the woods, they say. The Old Blevins House has been boarded-up for forty years. And it’s rumored to be haunted. The two couples are going to break in and explore the mysterious house. Little do they know the Old Blevins House is cursed from black magic, and something in the cellar has been craving fresh prey to cross the house’s threshold.
Writing these two stories allowed me to research the long history of witches, from Biblical times, to Norse and Greek mythology, Celtic Paganism, the Christian witch hunts, as well as the modern-day practice of Wicca. In fact, Sarah Donovan’s grandmother is a Wiccan who practices light magic and becomes Sarah’s voice of reason as she is confronted by dark forces. I also studied the differences between White Magic and Black Magic, even combed through a 17th Century spell book for conjuring evil spirits. As with my other books, I have interwoven much of the historical facts that I learned into my stories to offer readers a richer reading experience.
Below is an excerpt from The Girl from the Blood Coven:
June 21, 1972
As Sheriff Travis Keagan drove through the pine country of East Texas, he had two things on his mind: drinking a cold beer and watching the second half of the Rangers baseball game. On the radio, the announcer said it was top of the fifth and the Yankees were winning five to three.
“Come on, Rangers.” Sheriff Keagan felt absolutely beat and needed his team to lift his spirits. It was the end of another long, hot and balmy summer day of dealing with traffic accidents, drunken domestic disputes and escorting a wife beater to the county jail. Now the shadows of dusk were gathering in the forest, and judging by the flickering clouds, a stormy night was fast approaching.
A woman’s voice squawked on the CB radio. “Dispatch to Sheriff. Over.”
Sheriff Keagan sighed and picked up the microphone. “Yes, Connie. Over.”
“Earl Potter called and claims he saw the ghost of a girl cross through his pasture. Says she spooked his horses.”
“Ghost…” Keagan chuckled, shaking his head. “Last week it was flying saucers. Did he sound drunk?”
Connie laughed. “Like he always does. Over.”
“Tell Earl he needs to lay off the moonshine and go to bed. I’m calling it a night. Have a wonderful evening, Connie. I’ll be at the Armadillo if you need me. Over and out.” Keagan parked his police car in the gravel lot of the Lazy Armadillo. The roadhouse and connecting gas station were isolated on a wooded road just outside of the small town of Buck Horn. Inside the restaurant, the jukebox was playing a Willie Nelson song. A half-dozen townspeople acknowledged the sheriff as he entered the bar. He knew everyone here by name, where they lived, where they worked and their nighttime habits. He knew that Dale and Judy in the corner booth were cheating on their spouses. At another table, Tommy Green was studying to be a lawyer so he didn’t have to end up selling cars his whole life like his pops. And the sheriff knew that the Kincaid brothers, who were casually playing pool, would later get drunk and start throwing fists at one another. Just a typical night at the Armadillo.
Taking off his cowboy hat, Keagan sat at his favorite bar stool, where he had a perfect view of the Rangers game on the TV. “Damn, Yanks scored again?”
Sheila, the sexiest redheaded bartender in the county, put a frosty mug in front of Keagan. “Rangers’ pitching is terrible tonight.”
“Their bats aren’t hitting squat either,” Keagan said.
She pulled out her order pad. “Your usual tonight, Sheriff?”
“Nah, I’m in the mood for a steak. Tell Jorge to burn it.”
Sheila leaned against the bar. “You know all that red meat isn’t good for your colon.” The student nurse was always looking after his health. “How about the grilled catfish with some stir-fried veggies? You’ll thank me twenty years from now.”
“Fine. But you’re not talking me out of the pecan pie.”
“Maybe I’ll have a slice with you.” She winked.
Keagan’s cheeks flushed and he felt warm all over. Since his wife left him a few years back, moving to Houston with their daughter, he missed having a woman care about him. He admired Sheila as she delivered his order to the kitchen. If the college girl wasn’t half his age, he’d ask her out in a heartbeat.
On the TV, the Rangers hit a homer with two men on base, tying the game.
Keagan cheered and waved the runners around the bases. He raised his beer in celebration and was about to drink when he heard a commotion behind him.
A man shouted, “Holy shit!”
Keagan spun around in his seat.
Standing in the front doorway was a young woman covered head to toe in blood. Her soaked nightgown clung to her body. She walked into the restaurant, stiff and grimacing, as if her bare feet were walking on glass. The girl’s face was a mask of solid red and her eyes were wide with terror. She stretched out an arm. “Help me…”
Keagan reached her first and she collapsed in his arms. She was trembling.
So much blood. It covered his hands and stained his uniform.
A crowd of onlookers gathered around, and the sheriff shouted, “Everyone stay back. Sheila, call for an ambulance. And somebody get her some water.” Keagan walked the girl to a booth and sat her down. He examined her exposed skin for bleeding wounds, but found none. It looked as if someone had dumped buckets of dark red paint over her head. Her long hair was littered with leaves and pine needles. Her gown was slashed across the chest and he could see part of one of her breasts. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
The girl looked at him, her lips quivering, and made a croaking sound.
The waitress gave her a glass of water.
As the girl drank, Keagan said, “You’re going to be okay. You’re safe now. An ambulance will be here soon. My name is Sheriff Keagan. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Dead…” she managed. “They’re all dead.”
Download The Girl from the Blood Coven for free wherever eBooks are sold.
The Girl from the Blood Coven and The Witching House are also available in an audio book through The Audio Book Shop.
Brian Moreland writes novels and short stories of horror and supernatural suspense. His novels are Dead of Winter, Shadows in the Mist, and The Devil’s Woods. His novellas are The Witching House and The Vagrants. New stories coming soon: The Jack-o’-lantern Man, The Dealer of Needs, Chasing the Dragon, and The Darkness Inside. Brian lives in Dallas, Texas where he is joyfully writing his next horror books.
Follow Brian on Twitter: @BrianMoreland
Visit: http://www.brianmoreland.com/
Visit Brian’s blog Dark Lucidity: http://www.BrianMoreland.blogspot.com
We’ve got Karen here today, I really hope you all reread the reblogs I’ve been posting this week. They’ll get you all in the mood and refresh your memory for this new story. I love Karen’s witches and I know you all do to, so I’ll shut up and let her take it from here.
Karen, Thank you so very much for being a part of witch month.
Something Wicked This Way Comes
The Halloween decorations made the houses almost as festive as Christmas, Fenella thought as she walked home. It wasn’t even the day itself, yet porches were already decked out with strings of lights in the form of spiders or ghosts, giant plastic pumpkins lounged in gardens, and windows were draped with fake cobwebs. Fenella liked it. Who cared if Halloween had become fun and ‘Americanised’? It made a welcome change from her own Samhain, which was getting more intense every year.
The cloaked and hooded figure lounging in her doorway added to the spooky nature of the street. Except that Fenella hadn’t placed it there.
‘Well met by moonlight, Sister,’ the figure intoned, and then rather spoiled it by giggling.
Fenella burst out laughing. ‘Well met indeed.’ She pulled her visitor into a hug, and the hood fell back to reveal the mane of auburn hair and freckled features she knew and missed. ‘Hi, Kate.’
‘So what brings you here?’ Fenella sank into an armchair and took a swig of her tea. ‘And why can’t you just phone, like a normal person? Or does that Goddessforsaken town you live in not have phones?’
Kate jiggled her mug from hand to hand, perched on the edge of the comfy Ikea sofa. The room could not be more different from her own living space. Fenella favoured bright, modern fabrics and light wood. Kate’s ancient cottage was welcoming, but in a muted, faded sort of way.
‘We have the internet too, you know,’ Kate said primly. ‘Also, flushing toilets.’ She grimaced at her scalding hot coffee, but drank it anyway. ‘Oh – and vampires, of course.’
‘Yes, they do rather lower the tone of the place.’ They spoke lightly, but Fenella knew her friend was worried. ‘I take it they’re being more of a problem than usual?’
Kate had left the coven many years ago, and taken on the unofficial and unenviable job of keeping an eye on the town over the river. As well as the human population, there was a thriving colony of vampires. Thanks to Kate’s vigilance, they mostly behaved themselves. The ones that got out of line were dealt with, either by Kate herself, or one of the warrior families allied with her.
‘One of them is.’ Kate pulled a face at Fenella. ‘I’m sorry to ask you so close to Samhain – I know you’re all busy – but would the Coven let me see the books? I need a spell stronger than any I’ve got. It’s a long shot, but there might be something in there that would help.’
‘It’s not the Coven, as such, we’ll need to see.’
Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘No?’
‘No. It’s young Evie.’
‘What!’ Kate nearly spilled her coffee. ‘What the hells – she’s about twelve, isn’t she?’
‘She’s sixteen.’ Fenella was already dialling a number on her mobile.
Kate finished her drink and took her mug into the kitchen. She gazed around the modern, tidy little space, thinking of her temperamental Aga and chipped Belfast sink. But then, Fenella didn’t do much magic here. Kate needed a large, practical kitchen. When she returned to the living room, Fenella was already pulling her coat back on.
‘We’re going? Right now?’
‘Yup. Come on, if we hurry, we’ll be in and out before her mum gets in. You know she doesn’t approve of the Coven…’\
Kate snorted, grabbing her cloak. ‘Which is a bit ridiculous, since she comes from a family of witches.’\
‘Yes, but she never had the talent, remember? It skipped a generation and came out in Evie – in a big way.’
The two women hurried along the street. Fenella paid no attention to the Halloween decorations this time. Instead, she worried about the wisdom of introducing Evie to Kate. They were the two most powerful witches she knew, and both inclined to be solitary, in spite of Evie’s belonging to the Coven. A lot of witches found Kate a bit weird. She mentally shook herself. Kate was a law unto herself, but that was all. Maybe she would even be a good example to Evie, who in Fenella’s opinion was a bit too cocky for a sixteen year old.
They arrived at a house which as far as Kate could tell, was a carbon copy of Fenella’s, except bigger. Fenella had scarcely knocked when the door flew open, revealing a teenager in skinny jeans and a band t-shirt, fair hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head.
‘Auntie Fen!’ Evie hugged Fenella, then looked past her. ‘And you must be Kate. I’ve heard all about you.’
‘Ha.’ Kate gave a little bow. ‘I hope I live up to expectations.’
They entered the smart hallway, a polished wooden floor leading to a flight of stairs carpeted in cream. Kate couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t a practical colour at all.
Evie seemed to read her mind. ‘Mum has the house looking as unwitchy as possible.’ She scowled. ‘Because she can’t do it, it doesn’t exist. Isn’t it awful? At least Auntie Fen’s is colourful, even though it’s modern. This is the blandest house in existence.’
‘That’s enough.’ Fenella poked her niece in the arm. ‘I take it we’re heading up to your room?’
‘Come on!’ Evie bounded up the stairs two at a time.
Fenella and Kate exchanged glances. ‘She is good,’ Fenella murmured.
‘I have no doubt of it.’ Kate had sensed the power in the girl. She was already a force to be reckoned with. Kate had been too, at that age.
They mounted the stairs and followed Evie into her bedroom. In many ways it was a typical teenage cave; clothes strewn about, posters of bands on the wall. The scent of roses filled the small space. Under the window a desk held a pile of assorted books and magazines, and an iPod dock. A miniature cauldron stood next to the desk, simmering away with a mixture the colour of pea soup. Also on the wall was a fire extinguisher. Evie was practical as well as talented.
‘You said vampires, Auntie Fen,’ Evie was sitting at the desk, leafing through an ancient tome, pages crackling. ‘That’s all in this volume, but I didn’t know exactly what sort of spell you wanted..?’
Fenella realised she didn’t know either. She sat on Evie’s bed, moving a plush toy owl out of the way. ‘You said ‘problem’, Kate? What sort of problem?’
Kate sat cross-legged on the floor, as though she were Evie’s age. ‘No, you said ‘problem’. It’s a bit more than that – and it’s two problems. Number one: I need a stronger Sensing Spell. A vampire passed my boundaries – and I didn’t know it.’
Fenella whistled. She knew how strong Kate’s magic was. ‘That must have been a powerful vamp.’
‘She is.’ Kate’s voice indicated she didn’t want to go into that. ‘The other problem…this vamp sucked a friend of mine dry. I healed him with a Blood Spell – with my blood. I don’t know what that makes him, but that can wait. For now, I need to strengthen my ability to see what comes into the town.’
‘Wow.’ Evie was staring at Kate in admiration. ‘There’s a few Sensing and Boundary Spells in here. Do you want to take the book? I don’t need it for – er – anything, just now.’
Kate looked at Fenella. ‘Would that be okay? I don’t want to upset the Coven.’
Fenella shook her head. ‘Evie’s had the books since she turned sixteen. Let’s face it; none of the rest of us are any good with them. If she’s happy for you to take it, that’s fine.’
‘Thank you, Evie.’ Kate nodded at the young witch. Glancing at the cauldron, she asked, ‘What are you working on, anyway? Smells like there’s a Love Potion in there somewhere.’
Evie wriggled. ‘Ah, well, it’s something my apothecary suggested. To improve the – uh – Samhain spell.’
‘Good Goddess, you guys aren’t still trying to conjure him?’ Kate said incredulously. ‘Whatever for? I know you want to relive the Lochie Witches’ glorious past, but honestly..!’
Fenella was wriggling too. ‘Well, we got the Great Black Dog last year,’ she retorted. ‘So we thought we’d try for – you know.’
‘I do know.’ Kate saw the woman in Evie, vying with the girl. The woman and the witch – a dangerous combination. ‘I know what you want him for, young miss. And I’ll tell you this – as your first, he’s a dangerous choice. If he’ll do it.’
‘How dare you!’ Evie sprang to her feet, knocking over her chair. ‘I know what I’m doing – I’m not some kid!’
‘Of course you’re not.’ Fenella glared at Kate, willing her to shut up. ‘It’s just that Kate’s got some…experience…’
‘With him? How can she?’ Evie asked. ‘No-one’s conjured him for centuries!’
‘Your coven hasn’t conjured him, you mean.’ Kate rose from her position on the floor. ‘That doesn’t mean that no-one else has.’
‘Oohh!’ Evie all but stamped her foot. ‘I don’t believe you!’
The argument was interrupted by a sharp ‘Pop!’ from behind them. The three women froze, and turned to the cauldron.
Evie’s concoction, which had been simmering moments ago, was seething and bubbling now like hot lava – if lava was a sickly shade of green. As they watched, the larger bubbles grew into tendrils, reaching up from the cauldron like rotting fingers. The rose petal scent was gone, replaced by a decayed, cloying smell.
‘It’s never done this before,’ Evie said uncertainly. Her anger at Kate was forgotten. She looked at the older witch.
‘Too much power in here…’ Kate mused, approaching the cauldron. ‘Is he part of this spell already?’
‘Yes,’ Evie whispered.
‘Evie!’ Fenella was horrified. ‘You know he’s not to be invoked until Samhain itself!’
‘I just wanted to try something.’ Evie’s voice held a tinge of fear. The fingers were elongating now, reaching out to the three of them, trailing down the sides of the cauldron towards the floor. Evie squeaked and jumped back. The potion was changing from green to black. An air of menace came with the change, as though some conscious entity was behind it.
‘Oh no!’ Evie moaned as the tendrils reached the carpet, causing it to sizzle and burn. ‘Mum’s going to kill me!’
Fenella would have laughed, if the situation hadn’t been so serious. What had Evie done?
Kate, however, appeared unperturbed. She reached out – and poked one of the blackened fingers. To Fenella and Evie’s surprise, it retreated.
‘Get back in that pot, you.’ Kate said conversationally. ‘Stop trying to scare people.’
The fingers stretched and warped and shivered, then shortened until they were sliding back into the cauldron.
‘I know you feed off emotion,’ Kate was lecturing the dark green gunge, which had settled a bit, although it was still bubbling. ‘But feeding off a witch’s anger is dangerous, even for you. Especially three witches – the magic number. Bugger off – and if you’re about at Samhain, watch your step.’
The pea soup mixture blew a raspberry at her, then went back to simmering. Evie and Fenella stared, open-mouthed. Evie recovered first.
‘Who were you talking to?’ she squeaked. ‘Not…not..?’
Kate patted the cauldron. ‘Sorry I lost my temper. That was stupid of me. You’ll be fine, Evie. Just be careful. And remember, he’s a man, once he’s in that skin. Just a man.’
‘That’s like,’ Evie replied slowly, ‘How he’s just a dog, when he’s a dog?’
‘People give him the power.’ Kate gathered up the spellbook from the desk. ‘Because they know what he is. But on Earth, not Below, he’s just whatever form he takes. Oh, he has words, and we all know how powerful words are. But that’s all. No magic, no superpowers, nothing.’
‘What’s he like?’ whispered Evie. ‘Really?’
‘What he was like for me won’t be the same as for you. Or for your Auntie Fen. Or Nana Anne. Or any of the others. Understand?’ She and Evie locked eyes for a moment.
Fenella had had enough. ‘Evie,’ she said firmly, ‘I don’t know if what we’re planning to do at Samhain is a good idea, after all.’
Kate patted her fellow witch’s shoulder. ‘I do. It is. I wish you every success, ladies.’ She tucked the spellbook under her arm. ‘I better get back. I have someone really evil to deal with.’ She met Evie’s eyes again. ‘Evil is all here on Earth. Remember that. Thanks again for the book – I’ll get it back as soon as I can.’
Evie and Fenella looked at each other as Kate turned for the door.
‘Kate!’ Evie called. ‘Thank you – for rescuing my bedroom carpet.’
Kate grinned. ‘Have fun with him – Sisters.’ She used the Coven’s term of address for each other.
‘Tell him Katarina says hi.’
Thanks to William Shakespeare for the title – even if he did take terrible liberties with the story of Macbeth…
Here’s Karen’s links
http://karensoutar.wordpress.com
https://twitter.com/KMSDriving
Mari Wells 