The Dark Witch And Her Knights

6

The words on the paper began to blur together. The witchman had led me to a library like none I had ever seen. I had set my eyes on two collections before the witchman's grand book room as he had called it so inadequately. They were nothing in comparison. One belonging to the town, consisting of a couple of hundred books. The other was part of the institute I had studied herbs, they owned even fewer. His Book Room held thousands.

The best part was that they weren't even normal books. The majority of them tomes about witches and other magical things. When I first looked on I was excited to begin tearing apart every bit of information the room held. The witchman had to squander my hopes and decide to test my knowledge of herbs, medicine, and healing. He knew so much I didn't.

It was the fourth day of going through reading material I was already familiar with. Every day a new dress or outfit was waiting neatly on my bed after I bathed in the morning. Each was as dark and wicked as the day previous. I had wondered where they had come from until day two when I stumbled upon the magical closet full of similar clothes. When I had asked about it, the witchman said the closet reads your soul and needs or intentions for the day and decides what to dress you in. It was a relief to find the closet was magically enchanted and dressing me by reading my mind than this man picking out these sultry outfits for me.

"Since you have decided to shove down my throat what I already know, are you no longer deciding if am a witch or not?" I couldn't help but ask since he decided to place another stack of medical books on the table I was studying.

"You carry witch traits but you have yet to show any sense of magic."

My immaturity was at an irritated high. I bit my tongue holding back my deep horrible mimicking impression of him and went back to studying.

A week passed and the witchman had finally given me a book worth reading. I skimmed the contents seeing many herbal references before I realized they were magical concoctions. Potions. My brain absorbed the information starved for something different.

It took several hours to finish the book. Copying what interested me, I hustled to the kitchen to begin trying out concoctions. Dozens of potions later I couldn't get even one of them to work and my stomach ached from all the random crap I had drunk.

"It smells horrid in here." His eyes traveled from the pot over the fire to my form huddled on the floor rubbing my bloated tummy. "What is wrong with you? You'll ruin your dress like that."

"I don't care."

"The closet will care and dress you ugly?" His head jerked to my notes on the table. Shuffling through the pages he briefly looked at what I had written. His nose turned up and he sniffed the air. "Did you try to make all of these?"

"Yes."

"You tested your potions yourself?" Annoyance and disbelief were written all over his face.

"Yes."

"No wonder you look like that. Why didn't you just use the cat?"

"You monster." I looked at him appalled, knowing I had already tried to get Stella to drink my first potion. She yakked at the smell and ran off with her new friend, witchman's white cat.

"She wouldn't drink it would she?"

My eyes snapped to his dumbstruck. He let out a hardy laugh that seemed to stop my whole world. Pulling myself to my feet I began cleaning the mess I had made of the kitchen and purposely ignoring him.

"You know you have done everything right. You're just forgetting the most important ingredient?"

I turned to my pages knowing I had copied them exactly.

"Magic."

I'm about to strangle him.

"Listen here Mister Witchman. Nowhere in your book did any of the ingredients for these recipes say one cup or spoon of magic."

Seeing me frazzled made him chuckle. My thighs quivered and it was a strange new response for me. He turned to the pot over the fire. "What is the last recipe you tried?"

"Hair color," I said placidly.

"Hmm simple." He grabbed the cutting knife I had left on the counter and beckoned me over the pot. "Hand," he demanded, holding out his free one. Reluctantly I placed mine in his almost gaping at the size difference. He took hold of my index finger and rapidly pricked the tip with the knife.

"Oww!" I exaggerated trying to yank my hand back. His grip was fierce expecting my reaction. Squeezing my wound he forced my crimson blood to drip into the pot causing the concoction to steam and sizzle.

"A drip is all that's needed." He grabbed a drying cloth from the counter and wrapped it around my finger. He curled my hand in on itself so I could apply pressure. Pulling the ladle from the pot after repeatedly stirring, he blew on the liquid cooling it.

"Try."

I looked at him shocked. He wanted me to drink my blood.

"Try the potion, little shadow," he encouraged seeing my hesitance.

"I am no shadow," I admonished.

"And I am no witchman."

"Sable, my name is Sable." His eyes widened with a look I could not yet interpret.

"Just as good as little shadow." I wicked grin overtook his mouth.

I sucked my teeth at him. "Shouldn't you tell me your name?"

"Maybe if you drink the potion."

"Maybe I'll continue to call you Witchman," I said rebelliously.

He chuckled and brought the ladle to my lips.

I leaned in to sip when he pulled back the spoon. "What color did you choose?" Opening my mouth to tell him was a waste. "Never mind, I don't want to know- drink."

If this worked he was about to be in for a surprise. I leaned in again ready to sip. He ever so gently tilted the ladle pouring the potion past my lips.

It was not too hot and just the right temperature as I swallowed. I closed my eyes hoping the change would be complete when I opened them.

"It must be changed back. If you are seen, you will burn." He sounded aggrieved.

I pulled back my lashes and let my hair fall into my face. It was a struggle to not gasp. I could hardly believe it worked. Magic ran through my veins. My eyes traveled to his to see a hint of joy and no remorse. "How much lavender did you use?"

"Four." I had the ends of my hair in my hands admiring the new color.

"Petals? That doesn't make sense. It's too vibrant." He started looking through my notes for the recipe.

"I used four stalks."

"That's too much," he gapped at me. "We must find the equivalent amount of a sable herb to change your hair back."

I looked at him and shrugged not caring. I wish my hair could stay like this forever. But I knew it was unnatural and would bring more trouble than it was worth.

"It does not matter if it matches my old color. Close will be fine with me." This seemed to sadden him more than I.

"It matches your eyes."