Potions and Curses

CH. 1 The Barren Woman

“Did you bring them? Hik hik hik.”

My customer shivers, avoiding my eyes. “Y-yes.”

She retrieves three jars from her sack — one with a pig’s ovary, one from a cow, and one from a dead, fertile human — and places them carefully on the crooked wooden table between us.

“Hik. Hik. Hik. You are resourceful.”

I eye the jars and smile. My customer flinches, as they all do.

I tilt my head and scowl. Why do they always look so afraid?

Each time I look in the mirror, the only thing I see is my glorious, perfect self.

They are the cringeworthy ones — humans.

In my nineteen years of solitary life, the few I’ve met have all been unpleasant to look at.

They lack the warts on my skin, my long, distinguished nose, my pointed teeth, and my beautifully sharp chin.

They all look like my other self — the one I despise, the abomination.

I curl my long, gnarly fingers around the jars and flash a toothy grin. My customer grimaces, wringing her hands in her lap.

Turning away, I focus on the large cauldron behind me.

I pour the contents of the jars into the pot.

The clear water instantly soils to a dark, lovely brown.

I smile and hum a little tune — one Aunt Agitha used to sing to me before bed.

A sweet lullaby, really. I keep the lyrics to myself; no need to scare the poor woman further.

It’s about a poor couple in love. The husband promised he’d never let his wife go hungry.

They married, had three children. Then one by one, the children went missing.

The wife found her husband one night, dragging the third child out to the yard and butchering it like game.

She lost her voice, watched him cook their son, and served him for dinner.

When she found out, she killed her husband.

But when winter came and food ran out again, she ate him too.

A lovely, touching story.

I stir the potion gently until the ovaries melt into the perfect consistency.

From the herbs hanging above me, I pluck a few leaves of oregano — garnish is important — and drop them in.

Then I scan my shelves: chicken feet, owl eyes, dead lizards, and a jar of thick red rabbit’s blood.

Perfect. I add a spoonful and prick my finger, letting three drops of my own blood fall in.

“Personal touch,” I say.

The potion bubbles, releasing a smell that could strip paint from a cathedral wall. I pour a cup and shove it toward my customer. “Drink.”

She takes it, trembling. “A-are you sure this will be… effective?”

“Hik. Hik. Hik. Sure?” I waggle my finger, silver rings gleaming on every joint. “No sure. Only risk. Only faith. Only brave. Drink. Not a single drop to waste.”

She pinches her nose and gulps it down. I watch her fight the taste, pale, and swallow hard until the cup is empty. She retches, clutching her chest.

“Am I done?” she croaks.

I nod. “Remember to bam bam within the next forty-eight hours. Don’t rest!”

Then I laugh — high-pitched, eardrum-splitting, so sharp it rattles the glass jars behind me.

She cringes, stands, and bows her head. “T-thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dearessst.” I grin wide, and she bolts for the door, lifting her skirt to flee down the creaky stairs, disappearing into the fog beyond.

I don’t take payment. Not yet. When she finally has a babe in her belly after five years of trying and failing, then she’ll come back and pay me whatever she thinks my gift is worth.

I stretch, bones cracking. “Should we close up, Leonardo?” I sing.

From his aquarium, my baby axolotl blinks up at me, big white head, lidless eyes, and those adorable pink frills.

“Give me food, Drew!” Leonardo demands.

“Tut tut. Hungry already?”

Beside his tank is a small black bucket of wriggling fish — his dinner. I dip my hand in and grab one.

“No!” the fish screams, thrashing.

I shake my head. “Your life will be appreciated by Leonardo. Now go die.” I drop it in and clap as Leonardo snaps it up, swallowing it whole.

Being able to hear animals talk is a quirk I inherited from my great-great-grandmother. Once in a while, a witch is born with a special power — hearing thoughts, moving objects, blasting things to bits. Aunt Agitha, may she remain six feet under, said mine was useless. I disagree entirely.

Leonardo burps, satisfied, and drifts back to his favorite rock. I leave him to rest and step outside to visit my loved ones’ graves.

My door is, as usual, useless. The stairs creak beneath me — brittle, treacherous things. Someday they’ll collapse, and I’ll tumble to my glorious death. Or at least a sprained ankle.

Outside, just to the right, lie the graves of Aunt Agitha, my ma, and their mother — my grandmama. Their epitaphs always make me smile.

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“Hi Auntie, hi Ma, hi Grandmama. How are you all? I am fine. I’m holding the fort well. Getting better with potions and working hard on my curses. Speaking of which — still can’t break mine. At sundown I turn into this hideous thing. But no worries. I’m not losing hope.”

With a sigh, I walk along Skeleton Road — named for the rows of pale, clawing trees that look ready to grab a passerby. At the fork, I prick my finger. One drop of blood in the center will close the road leading to my house, hiding it from human eyes. I fish for my needle in my skirt pocket.

“Wait!”

I look up. A young woman sprints toward me, waving frantically. I grin. “Yer back for my payment?”

She shakes her head, panting. She stops three feet away — too close for her own good — and I try not to grimace. She’s hideous: big round aquamarine eyes, hair the color of corn, smooth olive skin. Aunt Agitha would’ve gagged at the sight.

“Why would I pay you?” she snaps between gasps. “It didn’t work! Your potion didn’t work!”

Corn Girl. She came a week ago for a love potion. My potions always work.

“That is impossible,” I say. “You must not have followed my instructions properly.”

“I did! I swear I did!” She looks ready to cry.

Curiosity gets me. “Who did you give it to?”

“The Prince. The Crown Prince of Gazaar.”