Raising a dark (probably dyed) eyebrow, Beatrice looked Erith up and down for a moment, before giving the younger woman a sly smile. “Now who would want to curse you?”
Erith realised she had no idea. She wasn’t an unpopular girl at school, but nor was she part of any ‘mean girls’ club either. She was comfortably in the bracket between nerd loser and popular jock. She had made few enemies, and of those who she knew disliked her none of them (to the best of her knowledge) disliked her enough to actually CURSE her! What normal UK student would have access to that kind of shit?
“No enemies?” Beatrice asked, still looking bemused. “Beloved by all?”
“My sister doesn’t have enemies!” Erin said, giving Erith a one-armed hug. “Everyone loves her!”
Erith gave her sister the side-eye. “What planet are you on?”
“You’ll be surprised how your actions can affect others,” Beatrice said, “even if you are not aware of how the ripples of your presence spread outward. Even the smallest of actions, no matter how trivial they may have been to you at the time you chose to act, may have large and unforeseen consequences. No one can predict the endless branches of probability, not even magic.” Noticing the blank expressions on the sister’s faces Beatrice sighed. “Anyway-” she said, placing a small propane canister on top of the counter; the kind that one would take with them on a short weekend camping trip in Muphen Forest. A small metal cradle had been fixed atop, and Beatrice placed an equally small white ceramic bowl on that cradle. “There is a very easy way to discover if a curse has been fixed upon someone.”
“How much is this going to cost me?” Erith asked as the witch began shaking a strange collection of herb cuttings into the cradle.
“Nothing,” Beatrice said. “The ingredients happen to be what I’m planning to fill my joint with.” Looking up at them, she clarified: “sorry, I don’t vape myself. I prefer to smoke plants. Mostly cannabis. Sometimes something a little more exotic. Like this stuff: elvenbane.”
“Like wolfsbane?” Erith asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Same family. Grows like a weed up in Scotland,” Beatrice said. “Locals burn it to ward off kelpies.”
“Why? They’re so majestic!” Erin interjected. Erith rolled her eyes. Her sister had a soft spot for anything with four legs, especially if they could adopt hot human forms: no doubt Erin was thinking of Will Colt, a very successful Tik Tok star and campaigner for kelpie rights.
“Not when they’re parking their campervans on your property and leaving their mess all over the place.”
“Well if they had the same rights as everyone else-”
“Do you want to argue about non-human rights, or do you want to find out if someone cursed your dear sister here?” Beatrice said, as she picked up a clear class hexagonal-shaped bottle and tipped the smoking contents of the bowl into it. Adding water, she gave the bottle a shake, turning the mixture inside a gentle green in colour.
“Please don’t tell me I’m supposed to drink that shit,” Erith muttered. “You know what? This is stupid. I don’t know why I suggested coming here-”
“No you don’t drink it,” Beatrice snapped, then sighed. “Sorry, I’m not explaining myself properly: forget sometimes that most people don’t give much a damn about the old arts.”
“There’s a magic club at uni!” Erin said. “Some people give a damn!”
Beatrice made a face. “No offence, but those guys are only in it for the love hexes and muscle enchants.”
“Is that how your boobs didn’t get smaller when you started working out?” Erith asked her sister slyly.
“What? No!” Erin muttered. “That was probably an old god.”
Opening her mouth to make a snarky reply, Erith realised she didn’t have much to say except “what?”
“As much as I’d love to know who the much-talked-about Eroshire old god of sex is…” Beatrice gave the glass bottle a little shake in her hands. Erith’s eyebrows rose when she saw its contents glowing a soft red. “The mixture inside reacts to the presence of enchantments; the warping of the natural order of cause and effect. Magic, in other words.”
“You’re enchanted?” Erith asked.
“I weave a few on myself every morning,” Beatrice said. “Avoiding crowds, keeping my hair free of bird shit, stopping people from giving me weird looks, and getting warm coffee from Pret.”
“Please give me that last one.”
“Sure. Costs £250 per cast.”
“I’ll stick with my lukewarm coffee, thanks.”
“I figured,” Beatrice said, smirking. Placing the bottle on the table, Erith watched with interest as the red glow faded until the liquid became a gentle green once more. When Beatrice held her hand just barely over it the red glow returned. “Very simple detection mixture,” the witch continued to explain.
“Sense Magic, basically,” Erin said sagely.
“This isn’t D&D, Erin,” Beatrice said, sighing. “This is basic shit. Novice stuff. Wasn’t MY first enchanted mixture, but it is for a lot of practising witches. I’m sure even those posers at the Magic Club at UOE could mix up a batch of this shit for you. Again, I’m not charging. The rest of it-” she jerked her head to the bag of elvenbane on the counter “-I’ll roll into a joint when I take a break.”
“Is it good?” Erith asked.
“Gives you a great buzz,” Beatrice said. “Now you hold your hand over it.”
“This better not turn me into a toad!” Erith said.
“Better than a cat.”
Both Winters girls turned at the exact same time to regard the origin of the voice. The black cat had now unfurled itself, and was sitting on the counter regarding them in turn with lazy yellow eyes.
“Did your cat just speak?” Erin said.
“I’m not ‘her’ cat,” it replied. “We’re roommates.”
“You don’t pay rent,” Beatrice said, looking down at the animal, who turned it’s (his?) eyes to her now.
“How can I get a job?” The cat said. “Who’s gonna hire a fucking cat?”
“Erin, the cat is speaking!” Erith squealed.
“So are you,” it replied, “but you don’t see me getting flustered about it.”
Beatrice looked at her guests. “I apologise for Raz,” she said. “I’ve told him to only talk to people who are stoned, but occasionally he enjoys freaking out my sober customers.”
“Especially when they’re hot,” Raz said, blinking lazily at Erith.
“Down boy: she can’t be more than eighteen, nineteen,” Beatrice said.
“That’s practically geriatric in cat years.”
“You’re not a cat,” Beatrice said. Noticing the confused expression on the Winters girls she added: “He’s a witch. Pissed off the coven about three years ago. We deal with our own problems in our own way.”
“So they turned him into a cat?” Erin said, grinning.
“What? No,” Raz said. “My punishment was to shack up with Little Miss Albino here. The cat form is just a thing I’m practising. I’m a novice shaman.” Seeing their blank expressions, he added: “we’re like witches, but more into becoming animals to be more ‘one with nature and the magical world’.”
“So you’re furries?”
“Fuck off,” Raz muttered. “I don’t jerk off to anthropomorphic animals, you sick fuck.”
“Raz is an expert at turning himself into animals, but not at turning himself back into a human,” Beatrice said, grinning. “This is the third time he’s trapped himself in the form of an animal. Raz, babe: how long since you were last a human?”
“Don’t,” Raz muttered. “God, I miss my human form. I had a great cock.”
“Don’t you have a cock now?” Erin said, smirking.
“Have you seen a cat dick? It’s fucking weird.”
“Anyway…” Beatrice said, tapping the bottle. The contents briefly shifted red with her proximity.
Taking a deep breath, Erith placed her hand atop the bottle. The contents turned a bright, vibrant red.
“What does that mean?” Erith said, breathlessly. This was all so fucking weird.
“It means shit isn’t normal about you,” Beatrice said. “Not your fault. Someone’s fucking it all up.”
“I’m cursed!”
“Basically.” Beatrice said. She pointed at the bottle. “The vibrancy describes the complexity of the curse. Basically the brighter it glows the more simple the curse.”
“That sounds backwards.”
“It’s the more simple curses you should be wary of,” Beatrice said. “They’re the truly devilish ones, made to fuck someone up in a very specific way. A more complex curse would involve tugging on multiple strings of fate, but the simple ones simply tug on just one or two.”
“Like the chance of someone getting laid?” Erin said gently, with a sly smile.
The albino women nodded. “Like the chance of getting laid,” Beatrice said. She placed the bottle next to Raz; the contents turned a deep, dark crimson. Erith wondered how complex the spell the (young? He did sound young) man had woven around himself to change shape. “Now that’s a very old spell. Used to be popular back in the day when every feudal lord wanted to keep their daughters pure for marriage, and not run off with the stable boy.”
“So how do you break it?” Erith said. “How much will it cost?”
“That’s the problem with simple spells,” Beatrice said. “They’re very hard to break. A little out of my area of expertise, I’m afraid. I could hook you up with some of my colleagues in the coven, but it’ll be really hard without knowing who’s cursed you.” She leaned closer, her red eyes glittering in the dim light. “May I ask… what is happening to you?” Beatrice cocked her head, that smile growing. Red eyes shining. “Beyond just a little trouble getting laid…?”
Hugging herself, Erith looked the older woman right in those freaky eyes of hers. “I’ve snapped five dicks trying to lose my virginity,” she said.
Those dyed eyebrows rose. “Maybe you should think about not trying to have sex?”
“Please! For the sake of all dicks in this county!” Raz added. “I mean, I’m sure that heals but I’m crossing my legs here thinking about it!”
“That’s an idea,” Erin said, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “There’s more to life than sex, Erith.”
“Not in this fucking county!” Erith snapped. “Do you have any idea what it’s like being the only one of your friends to not be getting laid every other night? All they talk about is sex, sex, sex! I come home and I can’t escape it when you’re fucking one of your side-pieces!” She shrugged off her sister’s hand, ignoring the hurt look on Erin’s face. “I can’t be the only virgin in Eroshire! If someone’s cursed me to be a forever virgin I’m going to find that piece of shit and fuck them up!”
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