The Local Witch

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I looked into the silver eyes of my mate, the white glow that illuminated from them, the glow of a witch. In that moment I knew, she was mine, I knew that she would be my Luna.

Romance / Fantasy
Georgia's Colour
5.0 4 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 01 - The Taste of Silver

Anna Connolly

The cool morning breeze brought the scent to my nose, the undeniable, smell of blood, wafting through the trees, across the sands – who knows how far. But it was there. They often came to me. In all shapes and forms, dying, uncurable, at deaths door. Many had crawled through the grass around my house, staining the greens and yellow with the red of their blood.

This man would be no different. If he made, that is.

I looked back down onto my kitchen bench, the old stone worktop and the bread dough in front of me. I tended not to help them, they made their own way up the cliff, alone the beach, through the clearing and into my little garden, nestled behind the trees. I punched at the dough, letting the air out before I tipped it from the bowl and onto lightly floured surface. I should finish kneading it and leave it to set before he gets here. That way I can put it in the oven while he’s recovering.

I flinched at the sound of the windchimes, catching in a breeze that wasn’t there.

“A werewolf," I hummed to myself, no one ever suspects windchimes to be charmed. To tell you who and what is approaching you, just based on the note they play. A rather old trick, if you ask me – but then no one really asked me anything anymore…

‘Are you the Local Witch?’ not ‘what is your name?’ - ‘What do I owe you? What price must I pay?’ not, ‘can I offer you some freshly made scones?’… Yet despite their rudeness, their directness, I appreciated the company now. After being the centre of royal courts, an artery of towns and villages, I loved the quite. But I missed having someone to smile at, I missed the company of people, of friends, of lovers.

After all, only those who were truly desperate would come to visit me, only those who were considered already dead. Those who were werewolves and vampires, those who had nothing else to risk, but paying me a visit. For that, I respected them, for that, I treated them with the care that they desired.

As I placed the dough back into the banneton to proof, the crystals that dangled from the window shifted in the sunlight, the light reflecting red, reflecting death.

“Shit,” I cursed to myself, quickly covering the bread with a damp tea towel, and placing it on the window seal. Not bothering to put my shoes on, I dashed from my house, grabbing my satchel from next to the front door and raced through the garden, towards the edge of the cliff. Towards the entry to my little slice of heaven.

The grass was soft underfoot and the scent of blood over whelming as soon as I stepped out the door.

The figured had collapsed at the top of the cliff, he must have barely moved from when my chimes had forewarned me of his arrival. He was slowly shifting back into his human form, the wolf-like features shrinking away and his thick coat of black fur become a sun kissed skin. The wounds on his chest and were extensive, hundreds of tiny holes, where blood had soaked his fur – now skin.

I quickly pulled a vile of life from my back and gammed his mouth open, pouring the liquid into his mouth. Cradling his head on my lap, I tilted his head so it would slip down his throat. As the white liquid seeped into his body and out of view, I relaxed, he would live – I dusted the flour off my hands, against my sleeves and signed, ‘keep his soul attached to his body, let his wolf keep him company.’ And a white light flicked from inside him, he glowed like the moon spirits that had blessed him, that had given him his wolf.

He had fully shifted back into his human form and while I wouldn’t consider myself a short woman, he made me feel small. He was the type of man who would might to duck to go through door ways, that made you feel insecure if you had dandruff or balding. This man was large and in more than one way.

“Well you could have chosen a better place to collapse,” I sighed, now realising I’d have to take him back to the house.

‘levitate’ I signed, and his body began to rise. I followed it up from the ground, ‘halt’ I sighed again, and noted some of the holes that went through his body – it was likely his lungs had been punctured, his stomach too, perhaps some shattered bones. The blood seeped from his wounds, he must have been dying as he came up the cliff, to be honest, I was surprised he’d gotten as far as he did, at least without falling into the ocean.

“Why aren’t you healing?” I asked, suddenly perplexed – last time I checked, werewolves were extraordinary healers, but by the amount of blood on my lawn, he’d been bleeding for some time.

‘follow’ I signed and I began walked back towards the house. At this point I noticed the blood and grass that were sticking to my clothes, “ugh, really?” I groaned, and I dusted my hands against my pants, dusting the grass from them.

“You’re going to get blood everywhere, aren’t you,” I grumbled.

I almost held the gate open, for the floating man, which made me feel daft, and I was groaning to myself I nearly closed the front door on him. ‘Stop following, go to the workshop table,’ I sighed, as the body floated through the front door and I closed it behind him. Taking my stained apron off I threw it into the laundry basin and stripped the clothes off, as the basin filled with cold water.

I scrubbed at my hands and changed into a dark short sleeve top and matching pants, where I tucked the top in and then tired my hair back. I turned the tap off and left the laundry, walking through to the workshop that sat off the back of the kitchen.

The sun poured through the large windows, pooling him in a warm yellow light and casting long shadows across his muscles and limbs. Blood had dried, as his body tried to heal itself, but there was definitely something – or someone who wanted him dead, perhaps he was poisoned, or there was something in his body – the shrapnel, perhaps bullets. Perhaps he was being hunted.

I clapped my hands ‘light’ I signed and some of the bottles of yellowish liquid came to life, filling the room with a powerful light – strong enough for me to work in. I removed some of my bracelets and rings, freeing up my hands, I had a feeling this was going to me a long day. His blood was already seeping onto the table top, seeping into the wood as it ran from his body. As I sat down next to the table I poured a disinfectant on his chest, making sure to get the few puncture wounds that strayed onto his arms and hips.

‘Fire’ I signed, to the fireplace in the corner of the room and it burst into hot flames, heating the kettle filled with cotton clothes seeping in alcohol. I placed some dry cotton on the wounds that weren’t healing, all up, seventy nine of them, with another thirty forming scabs. I grabbed my glasses from the bookcases that lined the walls – or rather potion cases, and sat the gold frames on my nose, ‘let me see,’ I signed.

The light shone through his body, a little trick I was all too proud of. But my smugness faded as I looked at the seventy nine pieces of mental that filled his body, tiny pieces of shrapnel from a gun, tiny pieces of silver.

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