Have Wroom Will Travel Read online

  “Would you mind coming around to the front?”she asked,” I’ve just cleaned the floor.”

  “Yes m’am,”

  Susan shut the door and walked to the front parlor. Odd to say the least, witches were not known to be social animals, preferring to meet once a year at a harvest moon. Susan opened the door to let Maggie in. It was nice, Susan thought, to see she wasn’t the youngest witch in the area.

  Maggie entered nervously. Odder still, Susan thought, a witch would normally enter a room like she owned it. Never let them see you sweat, not even another witch. Especially not another witch. Susan motioned to the sofa,and Maggie sat down gratefuly but gingerly, on the very edge of the couch.

  “Than-you m’am,”Maggie said,”It’s a long walk from Ghast.”

  “Walk?”

  “I mean, I mean, um, well I, um I don’t really like the broom m’am, it uncomfortable m’am”

  “Hmm, oh by the way my Name is Mistress Crone, “

  “Um, Nice to meet you,”

  Susan a gave brief nod as a reply.

  “Um well, I guess I’ll be going, “just y’know, stopped in to say hi.”

  Maggie got up and backed out the door. tripping and falling off the porch. She stood up and dusted her self off, gave a brief wave and almost fell again as she left. Susan watched until she disappeared down the path. An adept, to be sure, Susan had felt it the moment she met the girl, but who could have ever told the child she had the qualifications to be a witch.

  Susan returned to the task of the kitchen floor. She’d been a bit unfriendly, she realized, but that had been how she’d been trained. A friendly witch was unheard of. Still thoughts of the wretched girl played on her mind all day as she cleaned and did business.

  “Damn,” She knew what the girl had wanted. It didn’t take a psychic to realize Maggie knew how little she knew. But Susan had no intention of training someone up. Not yet anyway. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check on her.

  Susan gazed into her crystal ball. Strictly speaking she didn’t really need the ball,all she really needed to was to concentrate, but habits were habits, and it had a clear picture. She saw the image of Maggie trudging along dejectedly, occasionally giving forlorn glances at her broom. It took Susan a moment to realize something was wrong. The girl had made a wrong turn and headed in the exact opposite direction from Ghast.

  The girl had headed towards Gormen.

  The Village Witch of Gormen.

  Susan stood up, grabbed her riding cloak and hat, then opened a drawer in the bookcase, and pulled out a slender wooden wand. The end crackled with eldritch sparks.

  She snapped her finger as she opened the door. Her broom obediently crossed the room and followed her out the door. Outside she mounted up and flew off.

  Chapter 2

  The First Dual

  A good witch is never lost, she knows exactly where she is at all times. She might not know where everything else is, but that was everything else’s problem.

  Maggie was lost. She knew she’d made a mistake, she should have been back in Ghast by now. The sun had turned the fiery orange that signaled it’s last hurrah befire nightfall. The darkness didn’t scare Maggie, however the possibilty of the things in the darkness terrified her.

  Things hadn’t gone as she’d hoped with Mistress Crone.Which depressed Maggie, because despite her age, Mistress Crone had been exactly what Maggie wanted to become. Maggie sighed and clenched her broom tighter and glanced about cautiously at odd sounds in the encroaching darkness.

  Then it occurred to her. The shadows pointed in the wrong direction. She’d turned the wrong way and had been walking for hours.

  She’d been walking toward Gormen.

  Her thumbs began to prick.

  Hard.

  She spun around at the rustling behind her. A racoon looked up at her, curiously, as she tried to slow down her heart. The raccoon turned back and scurried into the underbrush on the side of the road.

  She knew about the troll before she ever turned to see it. Partly due to onboard psychic sense that all witches, even bad ones, but mostly due to the smell. Like a strange combination of roses, lilacs, old beer, vomit, mildew, and a really, really bad outhouse, the scent of the troll overpowered and nauseated her. She never had been able to stand the smell of lilacs.

  She turned around to face it. It stood almost twice her height, with the hair that rose off it’s head like a flame adding another two feet. to the top of it’s wide head. The head tapered to a small chin, giving it the look of a short fat ice cream cone. Totally nude, it stood before her, arms outstretched. In the dim remaining light, Maggie could just make out the broad goofy smile on it’s wide head.

  She ducked under just as the arms came in to grab her. She ran to one side to try and move past it, but another came out of the forest towards her. Then another and another, in a moment she found herself surrounded by six hungry trolls. In the back of her terrified mind she wondered how anything that smelled that bad could possibly sneak up on you. As the stench overpowered her she swung out blindly.

  By sheer accident she swung out with the hand holding her broom and caught one troll in a very private region. It howled in pain and the circle widened a bit. Not that it mattered, the stench did it’s work well, Maggie fell to her knees retching and gagging.

  The circle closed in again. The shadows fell over her. Maggie threw up as the trolls closed in. The stench grew stronger and stronger.

  “Malleforcanium Magnuminius!”

  Blue flames shot from the sky, striking one troll, who ran shrieking into the forest. A giant black shape swooped into the middle of the circle. Susan jumped off her broom and landed in a semi-crouch, brandishing her wand which trailed blue sparks. She gave the trolls a hard stare, her eyes glowing like coals beneath the shadows of her hat.

  One of the trolls produced a battle axe almost as large as Maggie, and raced towards her with a roar. A streak of blue lightening blasted it backwards, slamming it into a tree. Susan spun on her heels, firing off four quick shots, two of which missed completely, but nonetheless sent the remaining trolls scurrying back into the forest.

  The troll that had struck the tree, shook it’s head as if to clear to clear it, then saw Susan with her back to it. It began to slowly move its hand towards the fallen axe.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Susan said, her back still towards it. “You’re thinking : After all of that, can she possibly have any magic left?’ “

  Susan slowly turned and pointed the wand at the troll.

  “Well, being that this is a Magic Oak 44, the most powerful wand in the universe, and could blow you clean into non-existence, the big question on your little mind should be, ‘Do I feel lucky?’ “

  Susan’s eyes bored into the troll.

  “Well do you?’

  Trolls are not nearly as stupid as most people believe, and the this one gave only a moments pause before it rolled over away from the axe and quickly fled into the forest. A wave of her riding cloak dispelled the reamining fumes of the stench.The glow faded from Susan’s eyes, and she lowered her wand and placed it into a small leather holder on her belt. she folded her arms and looked down at Maggie dry heaving on the ground. She waited until the girl had stopped, then helped her to her feet.

  “Margaret, I must speak with you,” Susan hated to do this but, she had no time to train someone, and the girl was a danger to herself and others . “You gave an abysmal showing of yourself this evening. Anyone unable to handle a mere six trolls has no business calling themselves a witch. I believe that you need to leave the craft.”

  “bu. . bu, ..I havta, bu, “Maggie looked at her, tears welling up in her eyes, but that didn’t concern Susan. The slurred speech, the unfocused eyes, pale skin , profuse sweating, and inability to reamin standing unsupported did concern Susan however.

  She helped Maggie sit on the ground and looked at her. Stench poisoning, a bad case. She would need a dose of St. Barabas Wort, in a mixture robin�
�s liver oils. Administered in time there would be no lasting effects, if not …

  “We don’t have time to get to my cottage, “ she said , lookng down the road. They could make it to Gormen in plenty of time. Any decent witch would have what she needed. Time to either dispel some rumors, or else prove them.

  They were about to meet the Village witch of Gormen.

  The cottage seemed strange, Susan thought, as they flew in towards it. Maggie rode behind her clutching her own broom. It looked like a ramshackle log cabin and it had a strange, though not unpleasant smell, and the morter along the sides had an yellow orange color. As they dismounted ands walked towards it, Susan realized what it was.

  “Oh for the love of Herne!”she said, “I’ve heard of gingerbread cottages, but this is riduclous.”

  The sides were made of giant sticks of summer sausages, similar though much larger than those greasy things you could buy at the village store, the ones made out of the parts of the cow unfit for even hot dogs. The “mortar” turned out to be a soft cheese, and Susan could have sworn the shingles were giant slices of pickled cucumbers.

  She banged on a door of some sort of hard cracker. The door opened slowly and Susan held her breath preparing to meet the infamous Witch of Gormen. Instead she saw a man dressed all in black.

  “May I help you?”

  “We need to see the witch,” Susan said, wondering who he could be. Witches weren’t known to keep servants.

  “Ok, what do you need?”

  Susan pushed her way past him.

  “I do not have time for this, where is the witch? “ She sai “This girl has stench poisoning and…”

  Susan paused as she got a good look at the inside of the cottage. Clothing had been strewn everywhere, but not as though someone were searching for something. Rather it looked as though the home’s occupant had simply dropped them wherever she(?) had taken them off.. Empty beer bottles sat on the tables, and through the open door to the kitchen Susan’s sensitive nostrils could smell the scent of dishes that hadn’t seen the scrubber in months.

  She turned slowly, as horrible realization dawned. No wonder none of the other witches wanted to discuss the village witch of Gormen.

  The village witch of Gormen was a man.

  The Village Witch of Gormen was a man?

  THE VILLAGE WITCH OF GORMEN WAS A MAN!

  Susan suddenly felt nauseous. She looked at this, this man-witch. Tall and lean, and about ten years older than Susan,the man-witch had the sort of face that most would call striking, possibly even handsome, a bit angular with high cheekbones and a black goatee with a single streak of white that made him look a bit devilish. His thick black hair had been pulled back and he wore it in a braid that came halfway down his back. He dressed all in black, black boots, the sort with the cuff on it, black breeches, and a long sleeved black shirt. No problems with color, but the sex, the sex…

  Susan felt as though she’d gotten a whiff of troll stench herself.

  Troll stench! No time to worry about the man-witch now.

  “I need St. Barabas Wort and Robin’s liver oil,” she commanded, taking Maggie over to the sofa.. Where she cleared a spot she layed Maggie down.The man-witch returned witrh two bottles of herbs and a spoon. Susan took them from him placed a tablet of St. Barabaras Wort in Maggie’s mouth then poured a spoonful of oil which she also administered. Robin’s liver oil has possibly the worst taste of any herb or oil, and Maggie’s lack of a reaction perplexed Susan.

  She sniffed the spoon. Then looked at the second bottle he had handed her. She stood to turn and face him in one smooth angry motion.

  “You idiot! I asked for Robin’s liver oil!”

  The man-witch gave a casual shrug, and said “Cinnamon oil tastes better, and they do the same thing.”

  “If she dies it is on your head. “ Susan said shaking with fury. The man-witch seemed unconcerned as he opened a window beside the sofa. He reached down, placed a hand on Maggie’s abdomen, and pressed gently. Maggie gave an extended belch as greenish pink gas came out of her mouth. The man-witch grabbed a pair of old boxers off the coffe table and fanned the gas out the window. Maggie’s eyes began to focus. He looked at Susan.

  “Trolls are fairly common around Gormen,” he said, “I treat a lot of stench poisoning.”

  Susan folded her arms and glared at him. How dare this, this, this male try and show her up! Maggie gave a slight cough and looked at the man-witch.

  “Who are you?’ she asked.

  “Damien Taft, “ he answered,”Village witch of Gormen.”

  “You’re the village witch of Gormen?” she asked. He nodded, and a the note of disappoinment crept into her voice as she said, “Oh, I thought you would have had two heads, or horns or something.”

  This struck Damien as funny, though not Susan.

  “He is the worst abomination the world has ever seen! He’s a… a… a Man-witch” Susan said, traces of spittle begiining to fly out her mouth.

  “I thought that was a meal” Maggie said, looking confused. “Y’know with ground beef and tomato sauce on a roll sort of thing.”

  Again Damien found this amusing, while Susan spun and faced away from them both, arms still folded.

  “You got a name kiddo?”Damien asked.

  “Maggie Lyn, I’m ,” she paused,” I used to be a witch.”

  “Used to be?” he raised a questioning eyebrow, “I think it’s a bit of a lifetime commtiment.”

  “Well, Grandma Hadrass choked on a turkey leg before she could really start training me. I tried to teach myself, but,”she turned away, “I kinda made a mess of it.”

  “Oh, well,”Damien said,”Is that it ? You just need a teacher? Tell you what I can …”

  “I’m her teacher,” Susan said, spinning back around to face them. Damien raised a questioning eyebrow, and Maggie looked at her in stunned surprise. “I told you I would train you in the craft.”

  She looked at Damien and said,”So you can just stay away from her, you male!”

  “Y’know, I could be wrong about this,” Damien said to Maggie, “and please correct me if you think I am. But I really don’t think she likes me much.”

  He looked at Maggie and smiled. “Or am I just paranoid.”

  To Susan he said,”Do you have a name oh mystery woman who has come into my home to berate me?”

  “I am Mistress Crone” Even her words had a nasty glare for him.

  “Mistress? That’s your actual name? You mean your parents looked down in the crib and said ‘Let’s call her Mistress, she looks like the sort who’ll have sex with another woman’s husband someday.’”

  “Mistress as in unmarried woman,” Susan said. “Not as in what you said!”

  “I am celibate,”she added, “as all witches should be.”

  “Why doen’t that surprise me,”Damien said. “Well Mistress, say, can I call you Missy for short?”

  The look she gave him could have frozen a volcano.

  “I’ll take that as a yes then,” He said, “Well Missy, what exactly is you problem with me?”

  “My problem?” she said,”You are a man! Men do not become witches! Women are witches, men become” She waved her hand in the air dimissively, “wizards and that sort of thing.”

  “What’s the difference?” Maggie asked. The conversation had gone way over her head. She thought “celibate” was what was done buy Old Man Turner, who owned a shack down by the lake that sold worms, maggots and anything else you might use to catch fish.

  “Wizards study quantums and stars and that sort of thing, “ Susan replied, “Nothing useful, but it keeps them out of our hair.”

  She looked at Damien.”You can’t expect the male mind to comprehend magic of the land, or herbal remedies, or witchcraft”

  “Are you saying I don’t know anything about herbs?” Damien asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure you know a few things,” she said “But nothing like what an actual witch needs to know.”

  Dami
en’s grin grew wider and a bit more devilish. “That sounds like a challenge to me.”

  “Does that sound like a challenge to you?” He asked Maggie.

  “A challenge?”Susan asked.”You mean a dual?”

  “A test,” Damien replied,” my knowledge against yours.”

  “Fine. I’ll meet you tommorrow at midnight, the Stone Circle.” she said. The nerve of him.

  “Fine I’ll be waiting.”

  Susan looked at Maggie.”Do you feel strong enough to ride home?”

  Maggie nodded and sat up. She gave a weak smile to Damien as they walked to the door and onto the porch.

  “Nice to have met you Mr. Taft,” Maggie said politely.

  “Charmed to have met you Maggie,” Ha answered with a smile, “Likewise to you Missy,”

  Susan looked away sharply. Then she saw it. Her upper lip curled in disgust.

  “Oh, no, you have got to be joking.” Susan said. Maggie looked to see what she was talking about. A broom. Or at least something vaguely broom shaped. Larger than normal, it had silvery bristles with what seemed to be silver pipes coming off the back. A small horned silver skull had been mounted to the front of the handle which had been painted black with flames coming down the sides. Silver letters had been embossed on the side which read:

  WIDOWMAKER

  Susan shook her head in disgust as she led Maggie to her broom.

  “Say, Missy, has anyone ever told you that you have a great ass?” Damien asked suddenly.

  “NO!”

  “Well, y’know there’s a reason for that.”

  “Tommorrow night Mr Taft.”

  “It’s a date Missy.”

  Maggie held on for dear life as Susan bolted the broom off into the night. Damien smiled after them.

  They arrived at Maggie’s cottage at a speed which terrified the younger witch. Susan still fumed as they stepped into the parlor. She turned to Maggie.

  “Spend tommorrow resting the next day we’ll begin your training. Be prepared.” She turned to leave.

  “Umm m’am” Maggie called after her. “Thank you, for everything, I mean.”