Wicked Witchcraft
Martin Kane
A witch is persuaded to do a favour for a friend.


Author's note:

Should anyone out there wish to get in contact with me, I happily invite you
to do so, via the messageboard for readers and writers. I welcome any
comments. I only refrain from leaving my e-mail address here and now due to
previous problems encountered with spam, worms and virus.

Copyright is mine. If you do wish to use this tale elsewhere I ask you to
please seek permission first.

Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all characters contained
herewith are merely the products of an overwrought imagination, not to mention
far too many episodes of Buffy. (If such a thing were possible.)

As for the adult content warning... actually I don't think one is necessary
with this one. Sorry.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

'I don't do corruption spells, you know that.'

'At least hear me out.'

'Why? What's the point? I'm not going to do it so why should I want to hear
the problem?'

'Please, just let me tell you the whole situation, then you can tell me what
you think.'

'You're asking me to do something I'm morally opposed to.'

'She needs help.'

'Yeah, my heart bleeds. Just because you want to impress some dozy little tart
- squirm your way into her knickers. You really think I'm gonna help you?'

'It's not like that at all.'

'Even so, even if your motives are totally pure and the reason is noble, I
don't do life-effecting castings. It's a code, a line in witchcraft that you
choose to cross, or not to cross. I don't fuck with the nature of the world -
that's policy.'

'But you have done, many times.'

'I'm not about to start justifying myself - not to you or to anyone else.
Whatever I've done in the past is down to me, and those are choices I made. I
didn't make them lightly and I accepted the consequences without complaint.'

'Please, let me just explain the situation here.'

'I don't do corruption spells. Period.'

'OK, I accept that. Then instead, let me ask your advice. I'll tell you the
situation she's in and you can suggest any way of dealing with it - just your
advice - with or without magic.'

She sighed, knowing she was going to regret it. She finally relented and
nodded assent.

'Tell me. But I'm not promising I'll be able to do anything.'

'That's fine, it's all I'm asking.'

He began the story and she listened, knowing from the start that this would
inevitably lead to her breaking her vow.

Glen and Sheryl sat opposite one another in the pub. It was an old- fashioned
style building, wooden struts holding the structure together. Rather than
renovate the place into something horribly modern, they'd made a feature of
its old-ee world-ee style, cashing in on the passing tourist trade. They were
close enough to the Lakes here that the holiday seasons directly affected the
level of business.

Right now however, the pub was patronised mostly by locals. It was spring and
the bulk business came from the walkers. They tended to pass through during
the day. It was now just gone eight O’clock at night.

'Wasn't she supposed to be here by now?' Sheryl asked, checking her watch. She
sipped lightly at her Vodka and Tonic.

Glen finished his lager. 'You don't complain about a witch's tardiness, you're
just grateful for her assistance.'

'Oh, I am, really I am.'

He got another round of drinks, placing a fresh glass next to Sheryl's still
mostly full one.

'You're just as nervous as me,' she remarked. 'You ever seen her do anything
like this before?'

'Nothing this big. I've seen her show off a couple of parlour tricks, stuff
you could mistake for close-up magic. No major castings though.'

'You think it'll get hairy?'

'She said it'd be pretty intense. I'm not sure quite what she meant by that
though.'

It was gone nine when Rosalyn finally arrived. She caused a minor stirring of
heads, a murmur of activity as she strode meaningfully into the bar.

Black biker boots clomped heavily on the wooden floor. An image of black
leather - heavy jacket, thick like a poor knight's armour. Her hair was gothic
black, that at least adhering to stereotype. She wore no make up and yet her
eyes still looked dark and sharp, as though emphasised by the most skilful
eyeliner.

She headed straight over to the table and threw her leg over a stool. Her
jeans were also black leather, tight against her skin. She looked like she'd
be more at home in a Hell's Angels' bar.

'Hey babe. Drink?' It was a forced ease and he seemed to only realise the fact
himself when he heard the apprehension in his voice.

She nodded a careless hi, focusing her attention on Sheryl instead, assessing
her with unabashed intensity. She was silent long enough for both of the
others to start feeling uncomfortable. Then she finally spoke.

'Na. I'm nil by mouth. Any kind of spell like this you shouldn't eat for
twenty-four hours beforehand. Make the juice flow smoother.'

'You've not eaten since yesterday?' Sheryl asked, slightly aghast by the idea.

'Midday yesterday. I had to lay the ground this afternoon, cleanse the area of
any potentially corrupting elements that might interfere with the spell.'

She seemed to wake up suddenly. She smiled at Glen, who finally relaxed, as
though on her cue.

'How's the boyfriend been,' she asked, genuinely concerned.

'OK,' Sheryl said, though her voice betrayed a depth of feeling. It seemed odd
to discuss the matter with a stranger though of course, Rosalyn had been told
the whole sordid story.

'Nothing new?'

'Not since... nothing since the last time.'

Rosalyn nodded, pondering. 'Good,' she said. 'OK it breaks down like this. He
comes within a hundred feet of you, he'll get a headache. Pounding omen of
doom kinda thing. Then add nausea which increases the closer he gets. Within
ten feet and he'll be physically ill.'

Rosalyn waited for a reaction. Not knowing what was expected, Sheryl nodded,
accepting this.

'There's also a cross-over effect to anyone close to you, friends and family.
They'll trigger the same responses in him but it'll be a far, far more diluted
reaction. You have any mutual friends?'

'A couple yeah.'

Rosalyn tried to repress a smile at this but failed. 'Shame.'

Sheryl felt the grin creep onto her own face too. 'Real shame,' she agreed.
She was beginning to like this woman more and more.

'Basically it's worked into your feelings for him,' Rosalyn explained. 'The
more intensely you feel for him, good or bad, the stronger his reaction will
be. As you grow less concerned, the spell will also begin to fade.'

'It sounds perfect. Glen said I shouldn't offer you any money or anything...'

'And he was right,' Rosalyn said, cutting her off quickly, before she could
make an offer regardless. 'That's not how we work.'

'I just wish there was some way I could thank you...'

'Trust me, if there is a way, and if I ever need to, then I will call upon
it.'

'That's how witches work,' Glen added helpfully. 'One favour and they own you
for life.'

'Never heard you complain,' Rosalyn remarked, jabbing him sharply in the ribs.
'Come on, drink up. We're losing the light.'

'What light?' Glen asked as they stepped out into the fresh night breeze.

'I want to get set up before it gets dark.'

Glen gestured wildly to the encompassing night. 'Babe, it's already dark. This
lack of daylight indicates that night has fallen. I thought witches were
supposed to be in touch with these forces of nature.'

'This isn't dark,' she told him assuredly. 'Compared to the city you might
think so, but true dark is the complete absence of all light. Dark-room dark.
Trust me, this ain't even close.'

She led them into the woods. 'Come on it's not far.'

Glen had been caught like that before however. 'Define not far,' he said
suspiciously.

She shrugged. 'Mile or so.'

Glen sighed and pulled out his torch, understanding now why she'd told him to
bring one.

Rosalyn led them into the woods, not needing any such artificial assistance,
trusting instead on her highly attuned senses.

Glen followed her, the torch aimed at his feet, being careful over the uneven
ground. Sheryl stayed close behind him, her hand never leaving the small of
his back.

There was a trodden path that they followed but it was still a tricky
proposal. However, it didn't take them too long to reach the clearing.

Rosalyn had already been there; the embers of a fire were glowing softly, a
strange pattern of stones glowed with unreal heat. Her motorbike sat off to
one side.

Rosalyn unzipped a carry-case full of her equipment. She handed two small
boxed to them - one each.

It looked to Sheryl like a case for some kind of expensive pen. Then she
opened it and gasped. Inside was a syringe, uncapped, its contents prepped and
ready.

'These are just a precaution,' Rosalyn told them. 'Just to be absolutely safe.
Chances are remote that we'll ever need them.'

'What's it for?'

Rosalyn didn't answer. She made a gesture with her hand, an octopus waving of
her fingers. 'If I do this at any time, then take that and shoot yourself up.
Don't hesitate or question it. Don't try and help me or each other.'

'Then what happens?'

'Then, when you wake up, we'll all go back to the pub and get a drink.'

Sheryl nodded and placed the case very carefully in her bag.

'Anything else we should know?' Glen asked.

'Yeah.' She turned to Sheryl. 'This is gonna hurt.'

Rosalyn set about her final preparations. She sprinkled some sort of power
into the remains of the fire. It flared a little but settled again within
moments.

Two blankets were placed either side of the fire and Sheryl was bade to sit.
She did so, a little nervously. Rosalyn placed a wet thumbprint on her
forehead.

She removed a small wooden box, and began removing its articles, lining them
up before her own blanket. Bottles of curious contents, a frightening looking
knife, a few crystals. Standard witch kit.

She took out a large bottle of water and set it close by. She caught Sheryl's
glance, saw her apprehensive scrutiny. She smiled a reassurance. 'I'll
probably be pretty thirsty once we're done.'

Then she removed her jacket, stripping off the tough leather layer to expose
the naked flesh beneath. She peeled off her boots and trousers. And as easily
as that she was standing completely naked before the fire.

Glen had seen her body before but Sheryl balked at the sight. The tattoos were
one thing, a series of interconnected runes like vines and creepers, snaked
all over her body. And what a body. She had the kind of physique you expect to
see on a marine - wiry muscle.

Sheryl had seen naked women in the gym, in the communal changing room. She'd
seen women with the kind of muscle she herself would hesitate to acquire,
believing as she did that a woman's curves should retain a certain softness
and yield. But Rosalyn didn't look like a gym-rat. This wasn't tone for its
own sake, leanness for aesthetic gratification. Her muscles were knotted and
rough, her flesh veined and hard. She lacked the smooth bulk of a bodybuilder,
or the pretty definition of a fitness athlete.

'Try to relax,' Rosalyn told her, irrespective of her shocked scrutiny. 'And
don't get up until I tell you to. Glen, stay back and don't interrupt, no
matter what you think you see.'

Sheryl nodded but Rosalyn paid her no more attention, sitting naked upon the
blanket, adopting the lotus position.

Sheryl managed to resist the temptation of glancing down between her legs as
she did this. Not a sexual desire, just simple curiosity. However distasteful
she found the witch's body, she could not help but be fascinated by it.

Rosalyn placed her palms flat together, as though a child praying. This
allusion was assisted by her tightly closed eyes and her mouthing of some
silent litany.

Then it began.

It was a stirring in the wind, a drop in temperature despite the proximity of
the glowing rocks within the fire. A flutter and disruption as the local
wildlife sensed something wrong and fled the immediate vicinity.

The ash from the fire got caught in the wind and began to spin around them.
Sheryl closed her mouth, trying not to breathe it in. She felt it spatter
against her face, wincing at the tiny points of fire.

Rosalyn reached her arms out, as though grasping something invisible in the
air. Whatever it was, she caught a hold of it, twisting it down before her,
taming it. Her hands worked like a conductor in slow motion, tempering the
storm as it rose.

She picked up the knife, her eyes remaining shut tight as she did so, her hand
knowing directly where to find it.

Sheryl winced in sympathy as she realised what the woman was about to do and
then she nearly cried out as she realised she had been wrong, what Rosalyn was
doing was far worse.

Rosalyn took the knife and jammed the blade right through her palm, spiking
her hand right to the hilt. She twisted the knife and Sheryl saw her whole
body tense sharply as she did so - a spasm of intense pain. Every muscle was
pulled tight and Sheryl saw each one clearly, rigid and hard as rock, just
beneath the skin.

Blood leaked, thick and slow as syrup, and formed a huge droplet, hanging down
from the back of her upturned hand. It grew fatter, swelling to the size of a
golf-ball before finally falling from her hand. It ran slowly down the length
of the blade, waiting at the tip a few seconds, then dropped.

The fire flared again when it hit, exploding more violently this time. Sheryl
felt it glaze across her face, smelt the unpleasant tinge of scorched hair.
She wanted to back up a little but dared not move an inch, given the
instruction to stay put.

Rosalyn slid the blade out of her hand as though such a wound was nothing.
What was amazing however was what she did next. She reached into the
smouldering ashes, removed one of the glowing stones and wrapped her damaged
hand around it.

The heat must have been unbearable. In fact, Sheryl could clearly make out the
veins straining at her throat, a sign of the pain she endured. But Rosalyn not
only held the burning rock but squeezed it tightly, the muscles on her arm
standing out with the exertion. Sheryl noticed the glow of the stone through
the hole in Rosalyn's flesh. It made her feel suddenly faint but she bit down
on the inside of her cheek, a trick she used whenever anything threatened to
overwhelm her. It worked here, the pain keeping her mind sharp.

Rosalyn poured sand over the fire, smothering the embers. Against expectation,
the sand began to bubble, like boiling water. Rapid-fire puffs of dust
bursting into a rabid froth.

Then her lips began to move, silently babbling a manic prayer. When her eyes
opened again, they were glassy and sightless. She returned the rock to the
glowing embers, taking her time to position it just so, despite the flames
that burst up with every slight motion.

When she removed her hand, a flame had caught the skin. She shook it out,
unfazed. Incredibly, the flesh was completely undamaged, either from the fire
or the knife damage she'd only just witnessed.

Then the wind stepped up and the heat dropped, as though from inside her very
bones. Whatever was going on here, it felt neither natural nor right.

The chill deepened, making her joints ache. Then it was painful - and then it
was worse...

...until she thought she'd never bear it a moment longer.

And it ended. A flash of bright acid flame and the sense of a dozen needles
sliding free of her body, jerked out of every joint.

Rosalyn had her arms spread wide, welcoming any passing demons in on to her.
She appeared to grasp some unseen handle and drag it down. Whatever she was
wrestling with, it was fighting back. As she tugged at the invisible item, it
fought her, pulling back.

Sheryl saw her biceps flex as she struggled against thin air, saw the peaked
muscles harden and glisten with sweat. Whatever it might be, it put up a hell
of a fight. But then, so did she.

With a grinding cry of effort, Rosalyn broke the other's will, powering her
arms back down, forcing the spirit into submission. Her arms twisted slowly
but surely downwards, and she plunged her fists into the shimmering ashes.

Her face alit with rapturous satisfaction as the embers exploded back into
violent life, splattering broken fire over the both of them.

Sheryl shrieked, despite her attempts, and fell back, spluttering against the
flames. But they were already gone.

The fire was dead. Rosalyn sat, her arms heavy besides her. The muscles
finally relaxed - exhausted.

Sheryl didn't need to be told it was over.

Rosalyn lay back, her body totally spent. Sheryl watched her, still struck by
the awesome physique. As she breathed hard, her belly rippled, waves of rigid
abdominal muscles rolled in harmonic splendour.

'You’re done,' she breathed and turned on her side, drawing her legs up into a
foetal position.

'Are you OK?'

Glen stepped up. He'd seen this before and knew she would want to be left
alone. 'She'll be fine. She just needs a few minutes.'

He took the bottle of water she had prepared earlier and placed it besides her
prostrate form. She nodded a silent thank you and ripped the top off.

She poured the water over her head like a shower, opening her mouth to take
hungry gulps, but most going over her face and chest. It left dirty streaks
rather than washing away the soot and smoke, making her appearance even more
bedraggled. She hardly seemed to care at this moment.

Glen helped Sheryl to stand; a long time cross-legged without moving had
drained her limbs of life. She winced as she forced them back into action. She
felt suddenly light-headed, dizzy from the smoke perhaps.

'You'll be fine,' he assured her. 'Come on, we can make last orders if we head
back now.'

'God, what state am I in? I can't go into a bar like this.'

'Just slip into the Ladies, clean up a little.'

She agreed without further persuasion, a drink sounded good right about now.

'You might want to wipe your face though,' he said, handing her a tissue.

He gestured to her forehead.

Sheryl wiped where he guided her and was shocked to see the tissue come back
bloody. She looked over at the witch but she barely seemed conscious, laying
besides the dead fire, head on outstretched arm. She looked so vulnerable,
naked in the open night air.

She said nothing, letting Glen lead her back to civilisation.

'How do you feel?' he asked as soon as she returned from the bathroom. She was
certainly looking a lot better.

'Fine. No different actually.'

'I bet you ex will feel different the next time you meet.'

She grinned evilly. 'I can't wait to try it actually. Does that make be a bad
person?'

He laughed. 'I think you're justified.'

'Well, I must admit, you certainly know some interesting people.'

'Interesting is the right word for her.'

'She's not what I expected a witch to look like.'

'Well, what does a witch look like? Pointy black hat and a broomstick?'

'I dunno. I guess I was expecting more of a dippy, hippy chick. More flowers
and less biceps.'

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'She is a little startling. The incredible thing is, she
doesn't even work out.'

'Bullshit.'

'I'm serious, she's never been inside a gym in her life.'

'Those muscles didn't come from diet alone.'

'She used to be an athlete when she was a kid, competed for the school
actually. But since then, she's never even exercised. She puts it down to
spell-casting. And having now seen it first hand, how strenuous it is, I can
believe it too.'

Sheryl shrugged. Remembered the way Rosalyn's muscles were straining, the way
she fought for every position as though moving through cement. 'I suppose.'

'Well, however she achieved it, the results are nothing short of spectacular.'

Sheryl was taken aback by this comment. She made an attempt not to let it show
however, keeping her voice casual as she asked her next question. 'Do you
think she's attractive?'

'I’ve known Rosalyn for years,' he said, as if this were an answer. 'She's one
of the coolest, most quirky and irrepressible people I've ever met. I guess
the Biker-Goth shit is a little too wacky for most guys but I think she's
great.'

'But do you find her sexy?' Sheryl insisted.

'Yeah, I do.'

'What, even with all those muscles?'

'Not despite her muscles, but because of them. I'd find her sexy anyway, even
without them there's something about her that stirs the animal lust in me. But
given her body too, she sends my libido into supernova.'

'Oh.' She tried not to appear too shocked by this, as if it hadn’t just thrown
her entire perspective on the male psyche out of sync. 'Guess you got quite an
eyeful tonight in that case.'

'Yeah,' he admitted. 'I have seen her naked before though. One of the good
things about witches, they don't tend to be overly modest.'

'Does she know how you feel about her, I mean, if you've known her so long and
you like her, you should really tell her. I know it can be a little awkward
with old friends...'

'Oh, she knows exactly how I feel about her,' he said. 'She teases me about it
constantly. Bitch. But she's not a relationship kinda person. She doesn't view
partners in that way. She has a very open view on sex and sexuality.'

'Have you two ever...?'

'A few times, when she wants to.'

'Oh.' She still appeared to be a little out of joint. 'OK then. As long as
you're happy I suppose.'

'I'd like more,' he admitted. 'But that's not an option. I have to be content
with my role as it stands. Not that it's an entirely bad thing.'

The pub was closing and politely throwing everyone out. Glen called a cab from
his mobile.

'Shouldn't we go get Rosalyn?'

'No, she's got her bike.'

'Will she be OK out there on her own?'

'Oh, she can take care of herself.'

'I bet.'

And Sheryl was surprised further when Glen put her in the cab like a proper
gentleman, closed the door and gave the driver the fare.

'What about you?' she asked, stupidly.

He kissed her goodnight, a peck on the cheek, just a friend.

He even waved her goodbye before heading back into the woods.

Lacking Rosalyn's exceptional sense of direction, it took him a little longer
to find the clearing than it had with her leading.

When he got there she was poking a fresh fire. It looked decidedly more
natural than the last one. He saw that she still hadn't bothered with clothes.
She made no effort to reach for any when she saw him approach.

'I thought you'd be back.'

'And why would you think that?' He came and sat besides her.

'I can smell your lust like a perfume. You're like a bitch in heat.'

'Oh darling, you say the sweetest things.'

She stopped poking the fire, turning to face him. She stroked his cheek
meaningfully, parting her thighs, letting him see her.

'Aren't you hungry?'

She shook her head, smiling seductively. 'I can switch it off.'

'Just like that?'

'My body is incredibly efficient at self-maintenance.'

'Gee, well if you're not hungry, what do you want.'

'Shut up and kiss me.'

He shut up. He kissed her.

As they lay in the dirt, in the soft light, in the cooling breeze, she touched
him with tenderness but unmistakable intent.

'Have you ever made love in the aftermath of a newly cast spell? The grounding
force seeping up and soaking everything around it.'

'Can't say I have,' he admitted.

'It amplifies everything. Stretches it; blurs it; melds it into something so
unreal and so wonderful. You'll never want to take drugs again in your life.'

'I don't take drugs.'

'You won't need to after tonight,' she promised.

Then proceeded to prove the truth of her words.