Good Witch, Bad Witch

“làn-ghealach glan mi, guidhidh. . . ”- I stopped my whispering, reaching in the back of my mind for a translation. I could never finish my spells properly. Though in this case, I don’t think Gaelic even had a phrase for ‘french kiss from a demon’.

But I could feel the kiss, the energy of it burning my mouth, like when you eat citrus with a cut in your lip. It nipped, even though it had taken me half an hour to walk home from work.

I tried to avoid working on full moons. Trained witches are unpredictable at the best of times. Untrained ones are just dangerous.

But, unlocking the door, I stared at the pile of white envelopes on the floor, and I knew I had no choice. The Bank of Scotland would only be leinient for so long.

I fucking hated full moons. I hated how the demons came out to play.

Seeing the light in our living room through the glass panels, I kicked off my shoes and padded through there, the world calmer, smaller now. Sophie was sleeping on the couch, and candles were burning on the floor beside her. I wrinkled my nose. Mum would roll over in her grave. Yankee Candles.

I stopped at the door and stared at Sophie. She looked peaceful – serene, even- with her blonde curls mashed against the sofa, her mouth open, breathing deeply. Without her glasses on I was reminded how big her eyes were: how big her forehead looked without her fringe to cover it; how some of her features looked distorted a little. Almost wrong. When she was sleeping you couldn’t see the crease between her brows that was there every day; the one that appeared when she got confused or scared. You couldn’t see her thinking. I coughed a little.

“Hey, Sophie.”

She turned over but didn’t wake up. I moved in and sat down at the end of our couch, squeezing in to fit by her feet.

“You need to go to your bed now,” I said, squeezing her leg. “You’ve got work tomorrow.”

My eyes darted back to the offensive candles, I realised that there were tarot cards on the floor, laid out in front of them. My stomach twisted. The cards spread out- death, the lovers, the knight of swords- I couldn't understand them.

In front of me, the blonde mess of curls woke up.

“What time is it?”

“It’s four.”

A little groan. She shuffled up: “Did you get home okay?”

She was wearing old fluffy pyjamas; I could see a hole in the sleeve. “Yeah, yeah I did.” I paused and looked down at the candles before back up to her. “Thank you for helping me earlier.” Help was an understatement. Save wouldn’t have been a hyperbole.

“It’s okay. I just sent you some energy to calm you down. Did the um. Did the.” She stuttered a little on her words, before swallowing. “Did the demon follow you? What happened to him?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know Soph. He kissed me. Took my powers, I think. Levelled me out. At the full moon.”

Her eyes widened even more- her mouth popped open a little. “Kissed you? Oh wow. What did he look like?”

“The same as most of them do.”

She raised her eyebrows, the unspoken passing between us: sexy, then?

I tapped her leg with my fingers, doing a little beat. “He made me really weak Sophie. It's serious.”

She nodded. “I can look up tomorrow in Mums book if you want.”

“That would be good.”

I didn’t even know where the book was- there was no point me keeping tabs on it, when I couldn’t read it. Some lousy fucking witch I was.

“Let me know if I need to take any salt baths or anything okay? Text me it tomorrow morning. I feel gross.” I took her arm and hoisted her up, careful not to fall onto the cards or the candles. “Are you still working with these? Or can I put them out?”

“Oh, em. Uh. No. yeah. Put them out. I was trying to see, well, I was trying to do a spell to see you and then I felt you call for help anyways so I didn’t really need it. But. . .”

She went silent as she walked through the living room, past the broken furniture (that I was trying to fix) and empty pizza boxes (I was trying to improve my cooking, I promise) back to her single bed.

“But?” I prompted.

“Oh, yeah. I felt something from someone else in the bar. Someone was watching you.”

I felt something like panic brewing in the centre of my torso: an age-old panic; a years old worry.

“Don’t worry about people we don’t know. Worry about us. He probably just saw me kissing that creature. Can I blow your candles out? Or is the spell still running?”

She was at the door. Half in, half out. I stared at her: she was miles away in so many ways.

“Blow them out.”

I knelt down, placed a hand on my heart, and started to lean towards the candles.

“But um. Uh. The man that was watching-“

I sighed. “Yes?”.

“He wasn’t in the bar, he was in a car outside. He um. He’s to do with us. I think. Maybe.”

I leant back. “How?”

She pulled her eyebrows down. “I um I think. I think he was a witch."

Two breaths, three seconds before I could compose myself to reply.

"If he's not our direct kin, Sophie, we ignore him. Okay?".

She shook her head. "He's not kin. That's not what I got from him."

"Good- fine-"

"You know that phrase, the one mum used to say like about people on new years day?”

I tapped my fingers on the leg, impatient: “What? About the first footer?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Her face changed a little. I could see her reaching back into her own memory: sometimes she tripped up in there. The amber kept flickering across her face. I felt its heat beside me. Sophie spoke clearly, in a voice that was not her own. “You will meet a tall dark stranger. You will find him handsome.” Her face came back to me; her eyes found mine above the candles. She pointed- “the death card. That’s for him.”

I looked down at the cards below me; they seemed to be charged. Sizzling. The candle light flickered over the gold detailing and threw dashes of colour against the black cards. A skeleton was pulling a scythe across another’s face. The sun was setting behind them. D E A T H, in golden letters, was embossed onto the bottom of the card. The longer I stared the longer the candlelight seemed to make the pictures move: I could see the skeleton screaming. The murderer grinning.

I looked up to Sophie.

“A stranger has the death card. Good. Whatever.”

Her face creased; crumpled in together.

She said one last thing before turning away from me, in that same, cold voice, to pad to her bedroom:

“You will find him handsome Isla.”

It felt like a threat.

“Remember to look at the book for me,” I shouted, but I heard her door close.

I stared into the cards for another few minutes; watching the lovers grab at each other and the knight surrounded by the biting breeze and leaves battling against him. They moved and danced and yet that is all I saw: there meaning didn’t float into the air as they did for Sophie. The longer I stared the more my head began to pound; it began to hurt to see.

Thanks Mum.

I picked the cards up and blew out the candles. In the dark, I felt the smoke curling around me. My mouth tasted like it.

I’d need to be more careful tomorrow. Breathe in the garden. Maybe take that salt bath anyway. Try a small spell. Something simple. I swore to avoid demons as best I could.

I went to bed sinking into a dark and heavy dream, which I would not remember.