The Sorcerers of Halloween

Chapter 1

Every hundred years, the Coven of Witches must sacrifice one of their own descendants.

Halloween is coming — and this time, the chosen victims are a group of cheerful friends with no magic at all.

They really shouldn’t have done that!

Because three hippies and one librarian are unstoppable — especially after pumpkin liqueur and a few enchanted mushrooms.

Four women were lounging on plastic sunbeds on a luxurious tropical beach. The sea, white sand, and palm trees in the background created a festive, picture-perfect atmosphere.

Only their faces ruined the scene — none of the elderly ladies looked remotely happy.

Each of them looked thoroughly depressed, as if she’d forgotten to pack her antidepressants.

Or perhaps one of them had lost a small dog, and the others were simply offering sympathy.

“It’s almost Halloween. What are we going to do?” asked the old woman with overfilled lips and a deep tan.

She had clearly been a stunning beauty in her youth — and traces of that beauty remained even now. Unfortunately, her grotesquely overfilled lips distorted her face beyond repair.

“We have to sacrifice someone to the Clan of Night Demons. It’s been a hundred years since the last sacrifice,” croaked another woman in a sharp, unpleasant voice. Her elegant features and curvy figure had barely aged — if the others looked eighty, she could still pass for sixty.

“I suggest we kill two birds with one stone!” exclaimed the old lady in oversized sunglasses and a wide-brimmed white hat that hid her face so completely she looked like a retired secret agent.

“Oh, gods! You’ve decided to save us all!” sneered the freckled redhead, Dahlia. “Go ahead, Seraphima, let’s hear it!”

“I’ll burn you at the Inquisition’s stake myself, Dahlia!” snapped the woman in the hat. “But here’s my idea — we’ll sacrifice those of our descendants who don’t have magic!”

“In that case,” she continued excitedly, sitting upright on her lounger, trembling with enthusiasm, “we won’t lose a single drop of witch blood, and we’ll get rid of the useless trash among us. Oh, and the demon won’t gain any power from consuming them, either! So we win, and the Clan of Night Demons loses!”

With a smug smile, she reached for a glass of red wine from the table and took a satisfied sip.

“Well, Dahlia, Astoria, Kalyna — do you agree? I’m a genius, aren’t I? None of you could come up with a better plan. Your brains dried out ages ago, like old mummies. I’m the only one left who still brews beauty potions and solves crossword puzzles.”

The women stood up, each taking a glass of fine monastery wine. They drank slowly, exchanging knowing glances. After all, they’d known each other for decades.

“Probably the best solution,” muttered Dahlia, turning away and staring blankly at the sea. “It’s just a pity our great-grandchildren are so much smarter, prettier, and more talented than the ones who inherited magic. Such a tragedy.”

“My great-granddaughter is the spitting image of me in my youth! So clever, too. I’ll miss her,” sighed the tanned beauty, wiping her blue eyes with long-nailed fingers.

“I agree, Kalyna — they’re a joy to look at, listen to, and talk to,” added the woman with the enormous, filler-swollen lips, pursing them into a miserable pout. “But we must preserve our coven! We survived the plague, the Inquisition, and wars. We can’t hand over our best heirs to a demon! The magical ones must be saved. Beauty, talent, and pure hearts are useless to witches.”

The women fell silent for a moment, savoring their wine and gazing into the distance with mixed emotions.

“So be it,” said Kalyna sternly.

Her once-beautiful face twisted into such an ugly grimace that, for a moment, she looked every bit as dreadful as the others.

A lightning bolt flashed across the clear sky, splitting the heavens.

The sunbathers screamed — but the bolt struck only a shark that had been sneaking up on a particularly plump behind.

Then Astoria lazily made a grabbing gesture with her bony hand — and the dead shark appeared right on their table.

The plastic table collapsed under its weight, sending the shark tumbling into the sand.

People around them screamed and fled in panic.

“Dinner,” Astoria explained with a satisfied smile, baring her overfilled lips.

“But the waiters ran off too,” sighed Seraphima, rolling her eyes and adjusting her hat. “And the police will be here any minute. Let’s grab the fish and teleport somewhere nice — maybe a deserted tropical island.”

The witches exchanged looks once more, raised their hands, and chanted a spell.

In an instant, they vanished — along with the shark and the rest of the wine.