THE EVILEST WITCH

Dead people smell weird.

I don’t mean the obvious rotting flesh, rancid bodily fluid kind of smell. This was more like ash and earth, maybe with a hint of smoky barbecue. You’d think I’d be used to it by now with a thousand years to acclimate. But my nose still twitched and crinkled as the newly risen ambled at my side.

“Would you mind walking further down-wind?”

After a decade of having been under a curse that had changed my appearance to a witchy old hag and my subsequent failure to break it until recently, I’d since been attempting to live by the ‘kill more flies with honey’ motto. The forced politeness was often driven through tightly clenched teeth. Previously, the figure shuffling along beside me, would have already been reduced to ash for the annoying scrape of his foot along the pavement alone. But with meditative breathing and an iron-tight control of my temper, I just about held it together.

Barely.

“Merrgagahh,” he groaned.

I huffed and methodically cracked each finger of my right hand against my thumb. “Yes, I am well aware you can’t help the smell, but that doesn’t mean I should have to suffer it either.” Goddess. The decease were so testy. “Quit dawdling. We have to be there in an hour and if you go any slower we might as well take a nap.” I forced a shaky smile on my face while my brain reminded me to be a nice evil witch.

Evil was subjective in the witch community. I could raise the dead and snatch the soul or power from a being. It had pretty much been a given that I would be cast as the evil witch of the West Coast Coven. But truly, like humans, witches were neither inherently good nor evil. There were many other witches in the West Coast that could have a decent shot at my title—the wily little bitch that had cursed me for starters—but not a single one of them was going to get it. I’m the best Goddess-damned evil witch in the whole of the country and I’d love to see them come and take me down.

I cackled loudly, relishing the thought of that trollop of an electricity-throwing witch trying to take my crown. Perhaps I should devise a plan, maybe send a curse that turned her hair into living snakes or her fingers to worms. My hands rubbed with glee, welcoming the challenge.

“Merrrrrgghhh.”

Shoulders slumped as I sighed, knocked from my fantasy of defeating the previous coven leader and current bane of my existence.

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m plotting, Matthew, it’s rude,” I admonished my zombie. “But you do have an excellent point, the moon is almost full. Come along,” I ordered sharply, “We have a witch to sacrifice.”

*  *  *

Cemeteries on a full moon were decidedly noisy.

At least for me anyway, I don’t suppose humans can hear the wailing of the restless dead, but I’ll have you know it’s highly irritating.

“Start digging.” I snapped my fingers and pointed to a grave marked with flaming candles and glowing ruby red roses. Holding my hands to the moon and then to the grave, I pulled my power from the depth of my belly. Grey tendrils of thick smoke burst from my fingertips to plough beneath the tightly packed dirt and summon the body to the surface.

Dead-Matthew grunted and shuffled towards the grave, the spade hanging limply in his misshapen arm. It was finally All Hallows Eve. After waiting nearly six years, a coinciding full moon was drawing high in the night sky. Perfect for raising one long-dead witch with enough juice still left inside her to put right what she’d royally fucked up just days before she’d died and left me with the aftermath of her ineptitude.

Speaking of ineptitude.

“What are you doing, Matthew? I said dig, not move the soil around in circles. Goddess, you weren’t very bright when you were alive were you?”

Again, I cracked my fingers one at time and remembered the deep breathing techniques. Really, how can I be expected to keep this nice witch thing going when I’m faced with such incompetence? No one would blame me for failing at this point.

The zombie grunted and made a concerted effort to move the soil from the grave in greater quantities, all while sending me little glares from his empty eye sockets—it had less impact without actual eyeballs.

“Endora.”

I screeched. I may be the most evil of witches in the entire country, but it’s still a dark and quiet cemetery on Halloween.

Swinging around on my heeled boots, I scowled at the ground-keeper sneaking up on me like an ancient ghost. The gnarled old man in his late seventies was one of the few humans to be aware of our existence, only because most of my work was done in the very place he managed and he’d seen more than his fair share of hands breaching fresh graves.

“Lovely to see you, Henry. Could you be any creepier?”

His chuckle made my huff even more pronounced. “Now, now, Endora, not my fault you don’t pay attention to your surroundings.”

“I pay attention!” I exclaimed. “You’re just unnaturally quiet. Are you sure you aren’t dead yet? You look a lot like some of the corpses I dig up.” Down to his sunken cheek bones and bony fingers.

“Ach, you’re a mean old witch. What are you digging up now anyway?” He peered around to try and see the grave Dead-Matthew was currently wrestling with.

“It’s witch business.” Because the old man was a gossip and the entire town would know what I was doing before I’d even gotten the corpse to the surface.

“Hmm. Looks to me like you’re disturbing someone’s peaceful resting.”

I rolled my eyes. “You leave me to my job, and I’ll leave you to yours. I’m sure there’re some leaves that need sweeping.”

He smiled thinly. “Last time I left you alone, I came back to body parts lying around willy nilly. Do you have any idea the story I had to make up for that?”

I waved him off dismissively. “I’m sure you managed. Take it to the council if you have concerns.”

He narrowed his eyes at me before grimacing, trying once more to peek around me before stepping back. “Maybe I’ll do just that. Evil witch,” he mumbled as he walked off, back into the gloom surrounding us.

“Thank you!” I smiled brightly after him. It was always a pleasure to hear compliments. To Dead-Matthew, I clapped my hands loudly. “Faster please, we don’t have all night.”

I received another empty-eyed glare.

*  *  *

One awkward, slightly twisted hand poked from the now empty grave. The coffin, long broken through, had pieces of wood laying haphazardly in a semi-pile next to a mound of turned earth. A lengthy groan echoed in the otherwise silent cemetery, rebounding off grey and white tombstones that shone a shivering pale beneath the moon. Small lamps dotted the grounds, but on this night they weren’t needed in the Goddess’s light.

Another long and deep moan resonated around me. A painful, mourning sound that told of disturbed peace and soul-deep regret.

She always had been overly dramatic.

“Are you quite finished, Zara?” I tapped my foot impatiently on the gravel covered ground. “We don’t have time for your theatrics.”

Her head popped up suddenly from the grave she rested in. “It’s not every day I rise from the dead, Endora. You could at least give me five minutes to make an entrance.”

I huffed at her snappy attitude. “I haven’t missed you in the slightest.”

Her afro curls bounced, releasing a sprinkle of dust as she pulled herself to a stand. The colorful Ankara dress she wore was still relatively intact despite missing a few precious gems.

“Goddess, you’re such a bitch.” She grabbed onto tightly packed dirt around her grave and hauled herself over the edge, ending in a rather ungainly tumble of limbs and mud.

“An evil bitch?” Because such clarifications were important.

She rolled her eyes. “A massively evil bitch.”

Joy filled my heart. “How sweet of you, Zara.” I clapped my hands gleefully. “Come. We have less than three hours before the moon drops to finish the spell.”

She stood on shaky legs, brushing debris from her clothes and sighing mournfully at the less than pristine state. “I hope you’ve found the missing ingredient, I don’t wish to be woken up for nothing.”

Pfft. As if I’d take time out of my busy schedule to resurrect her on a whim.

I started towards the front gate when I caught her frown. “What now?”

She waved a hand to indicate my figure and I realized she hadn’t seen me like this for a long while. Silver hair—not grey but silver, thank you—smoky eyes and a body that still rocked like I’d never moved past my twenties. Witch genes were good shit.

“What happened to the old hag look?”

“I finally broke the curse, and now I’m going to break that Belfour witch with a curse so evil she’ll never fuck with me again,” I cackled loudly.

“Oooh,” She sang, “You’re sooo baaad.”

I nodded. She might be taking the piss, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still true.

*  *  *

We walked quickly towards the mountains, leaving the lot for Henry to deal with. My home was built into the base of the largest rocky outcrop and surrounded by forest and rolling green hills in every direction. Zara had also called this place home for the last year of her natural life, but only because she’d fucked up so badly that I hadn’t given her the choice to leave.

“So how’d you get it?” Zara peered at me curiously.

“I killed one,” I answered primly.

She raised an eyebrow, disbelief stamped all over her pretty face. I don’t know why. In case she’d forgotten while lying in the dirt—I’m The Evil Witch—it’s kind of a given that I’m capable of murder.

“There’s no way you killed a cherub.”

Fine. Maybe I didn’t, but I totally could have. As it turned out, it just hadn’t been necessary. The chubby cheeked, rotund, blonde springy-curled and official fan club of The Goddess, were probably the cutest things in creation. So much so that it was disgusting. They spent all their time lazing about, playing in springs and meadows, and fawning over The Goddess like her own personal entourage. Normally, I wouldn’t be within twenty feet of them but unfortunately I’d needed a lock of that curly hair for the potion that was supposed to reverse Zara’s cock-up.

I looked away. “I snipped it off of one while he was drunk on fairy wine.”

Zara, to her credit, at least attempted to smother her laugh behind her hand.

“Come,” I snapped. “It’s time to fix your mess.”

A loud squawk pierced my eardrums. The thrum of wings thrashing wildly against cage bars disrupted the quiet of my house.

“Calm, Sebastian,” I tell my familiar. “You’re nearly free.”

He’d become more irate with each passing day. Not that I blamed him. It couldn’t be fun being trapped in a cage for the last six years. He’d been with me for nearly as long as I’d been alive. A constant companion and protector that had filled me with joy when he appeared in his crow form, and awe when shifting to a prehistoric raptor. The Goddess bestows the gift of a familiar to all witches, but few are quite as impressive as mine.

The fact that one of Zara’s spells had gone so horribly wrong that it had permanently caged my crow was both an affront to the Goddess and a painful six years for me. He was more than just my familiar, but a true friend I had lost precious time with.

“Where’s the potion?”

I pointed to the cauldron hanging over the hearth. “Careful. I don’t want to lose any in case we need to do this more than once.”

Spells could be temperamental, and not all of them were exact science, especially when reversing one that had gone completely off course.

Zara pursed her lips. “The spell will work, trust me.”

That was exactly what she’d said last time. I’d only been trying to make the cage grow for Sebastian, so that if he shifted his cage would accommodate his larger form. It had resulted in my familiar being permanently locked inside his cage in his smaller crow form.

“Forgive me if I have my reservations.”

She had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed about the whole debacle. “”Well, it would have been fixed much sooner if I hadn’t died.”

She threw me a little glare, but honestly, it was hardly my fault if she’d worn herself out trying to fix her mistake and then gotten into a ridiculous fight with the local Goblin ring. Besides, she was alive again wasn’t she? I could have left her in the ground but I waited impatiently for years until the conditions were right for her rebirth, and ensured that not only did she rise from the grave but that, because it was on Halloween under a full moon, she was also mostly whole and intact—unlike Dead-Matthew, who was currently standing in the far corner staring at the wall like it was the most interesting thing in the entire world. See, she totally could have been a wall-staring Dead-Zara.

A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.

Plus—and I don’t know why people kept forgetting this fun fact—I am evil. Her untimely death is neither my concern nor should I care to fix it unless it furthers my interests. She’s lucky I currently need her to remedy her enormous cock-up.

“Just get the potion, Zara,” I snapped. “And the knife too.” Because nothing said spell-reversal quite like a dagger to the heart.

She crinkled her nose as she marched to the cauldron. “I don’t know if I like the idea of dying again. Seems repetitive.”

I rolled my eyes. “Suck it up. You’re going to get the sharp end of that jeweled knife whether you like it or not.” It’s not like I was killing a live witch after all, it was re-killing, or reversing her recent living status, or something like that.

“Fine.” She gave a small pout. “I suppose it was kind of peaceful being dead.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Don’t care. So long as you’re dead again by the time that moon lowers.” My forced politeness apparently didn’t count towards witches who’d fucked with my familiar. “Throw the potion on Sebastian, then hand me the knife. You’ll have to chant with me. Do you remember the words?”

She glared at me. “Of course I do. It’s my spell.”

Goddess, dead people really are the testiest of testy people.

“Wonderful,” I snipped. “Do hurry, the stench of barbecue is irritating my nose.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in question, but really with two dead people in the living room it was almost overwhelming.

She struggled to lift the cauldron to her chest, then lurched a step closer, throwing her arms out and launching the hot liquid at the cage. Sebastian squawked and his wings hit the bars in frantic beats as he tried to escape the heat.

I immediately started chanting the spell. Excitement filled me, the witching hour drawing closer. The magic in the air grew brighter than usual on all Hallows eve, the moon’s pull taking my spell and turning it combustible.

Zara joined in, her slightly accented words giving a swirl of heat to the spell that had been cold with my icy tone. As her voice rose in volume and power, swirls of intricate gold spun on Sebastian’s feathers, his coal black form burning amber in the dim light of the fire. Sparks flew from the embers of the flames, a small candle on the far table bursting into a blazing fireball, burning stronger with each enchantment spoken.

On the stroke of midnight, when the witches ruled at the height of their power, I launched myself at Zara and stabbed the knife right through her heart. She looked mildly aghast for a moment, blinking at me before quickly staring down at her chest, the gem encrusted handle poking through a hole made in the sparkling fabric.

“My dress, you evil witch!”

Her body shivered and shook, her skin greying and flaking, until she disintegrated to ashes before my eyes. I snatched the knife from the charred pile on my previously clean flooring.

“You always said the sweetest things.” I stared at Zara’s remains before side-stepping them to approach the cage. “This better work this time, dammit.” Poking the knife through the bars, I scratched a long line down Sebastian’s squawking chest.

Magic sparked like electricity in the air, turning my long locks frizzy with static, a booming bass shuddered the walls of my home and shook the ribs inside my chest. The spell burst with showering sparks, pinpricks of pain dotted the exposed skin of my arm and I heard a snap as the iron bars of the cage exploded outwards and flew towards my head at an alarming speed.

I squealed. Totally un-evil-witch-like but dammit, I remembered the Salem witch trials, and iron hurt like a motherfucker.

With my hands clasped over my face I waited on the showering sparks and then waited a little more—just in case the cage hadn’t finished throwing shit at me—then slowly unfurled my body from its protective state. I stood with my hands covering my face a moment longer, right up until I realized the distinct lack of squawks from my crow. I promptly shit my pants enough to hurriedly snap my hands to my sides and stare at the empty, broken cage before me.

“Oh, Goddess! I’ve disintegrated my familiar!” I moaned in panic.

I’d also managed to break the bottom of the cage, the stand and burn most of the surrounding floor, but that was totally irrelevant - even though I loved that flooring.

“Actually, I’m very much alive.”

*  *  *

I screamed like a banshee, ruining my persona for at least the next few days.

I swept around in a flurry of manic movement, to find an entirely naked, dark haired, heavily muscled man standing behind me. His dark eyes flashed in the burning light of the fire, with something akin to amusement.

Oh, and he was glaringly naked.

“Who the heck are you?” I threw my hands up in readiness to steal his soul, already wondering where I was going to hide his lifeless body.

A smile twisted his muscled jawline. I swooned. Just a little. But I hid it behind a glare.

“Sebastian.” His limbs flourished a graceful bow as he introduced himself as my crow.

“Don’t be stupid,” I admonished. “You’re lacking a few things like, oh I don’t know, feathers and a beak?”

He shrugged. “It seems Zara’s little spell did a whole lot more than reverse her mistake.” He looked at his arms, flexing the tendons and muscles in his forearms. “The crow is still there, My Witch, this form is just an added extra.”

“It’s a wonderful extra,” I blurted. “I mean, she gave you a very nice human form.”

Good Goddess, whatever happened to my icy-cold indifference?

“Is it?” He questioned with a raised eyebrow, then swept his gaze over me from head to toe. “I find yours very pleasing as well, Mistress.”

Well. If he kept calling me mistress, he was about to jump from favored familiar all the way to all-time favorite person period.

“We should get you some clothes. Yes, definitely some pants first.” Because my eyes kept dropping just below his waist, seeing a massive erection I could never un-see.

He crinkled his nose. “I don’t like the restriction of cloth.”

My eyes widened. “But you can’t stay naked. I can’t see that all the time.”

Because as much as panic was bubbling in my stomach, it was slowly being overruled by the arousal that was quickly ignoring the fact that this beautiful human man was also my crow.

He frowned. “You said my form pleased you, Mistress, was this not true?”

Goddess, he was killing me with that ‘mistress’ thing. I did love a bit of fawning. I whined in my throat, desperately trying to find a reason for him to be clothed other than to dispel my own dirty thoughts.

“No, no, it’s true, it’s just…it’s very distracting.” I rubbed a hand down my face in an effort to force my gaze elsewhere.

His coal black eyes twinkled in the light. “You can explore it if you like.”

“Huh?” Because I was unsure if he’d actually said that or if my brain had started dreaming already.

He stepped closer, blocking the light from the fire as he towered over me, his scent woodsy and dark like smoke. “Explore my new form with your hands.”

A large palm rose to pull mine into his grasp.

I gasped a breath as his skin came into contact with mine. “Um, I don’t think…”

He shushed me, and I scowled at his audacity. “Easy, Mistress, I just want to be petted by the most evil of witches in the whole world.” His sly little grin was so obvious, yet my ego still fell right into his trap.

“Fine. But only because I’m allowing it.” There, that totally told him.

I let him pull my hands to his chest, marveling at the softness of his skin against the hardness of muscle beneath.

“Ooh,” I squeaked as my hands were urged lower to settle on his stomach.

A groan left his throat, his hands snapping to my hips and yanking me forward until I fell against his chest. “Yes, like that, My Witch.”

His fingers kneaded my hips and I all but lost myself to the pleasure of exploring this perfectly made man. Finding dips and bulges that led to more dips and bulges until I followed them to solid thighs. I hadn’t even noticed he’d unzipped my jeans until a large hand yanked them down and plunged straight into my panties, disregarding the material and swiping quickly through building wetness.

“Oh!” I breathed. “Sebastian!”

His head dropped to my neck, nuzzling the skin and placing small kisses to the tingling spot right beneath my ear. “Moan for me, Mistress.”

And I did. Several times over, until I was red in the face and equal parts horny and embarrassed.

He grinned into my neck, leaving fleeting kisses on my shoulder while snapping the band of my panties. “Say yes, My Witch. I’ll make you mine.”

That sounded quite permanent. Of course, at this point, I was hardly paying attention. “Yes,” I groaned breathlessly.

I felt his wide grin and almost remembered to scowl right up until he lifted me effortlessly and wrapped my legs around his hips.

“Always mine.” His whisper changed to a grunt as he shoved his cock right to the hilt inside me.

“Ugh!” Tightening my legs around him, I went from achingly empty to overfill in a single second. “Sebastian!” I cried out when he froze within me.

“Ssh, My witch, give me a moment.

That didn’t work for me. And so I worked my hips, grinding on his frantically until I finally found the right rhythm that sent sparks shooting through my stomach and clenched the walls of my pussy involuntarily.

A growl built in his chest as he rumbled, “Wicked witch.”

“Yes, I am,” I agreed on a sultry moan.

One arm wrapped around my leg shifted it higher, shuffling forward a step until he could lean me against the wall. His mouth covers mine and I taste the warm smoke he smelled of. He started a pounding rhythm, grunting into my mouth and whispering toe-curling endearments like ‘evil witch’ and ‘devilish mistress’. Every thrust sent a rush of pleasure to my clit, my stomach clenching with a building release and the stretch to my pussy an overwhelming sensation.

“Come, Mistress.”

I only listened because I wanted to. He’d learn not to order around The Evil Witch.

I came with a breathy moan, finding his lips with my own and crushing the air from his lungs, reveling in his own release that sent a new surge of pleasure to my head. I pant against his chest, slick from effort, his heart a harsh beat against my forehead.

His lips passed over my hair, pressing softly and intently. “You’re the most evil of all the witches in history, My Witch.”

I preened beneath his praise. I was indeed the evilest of all the evil witches. My shiny, black diamond crown said just as much.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“My evil witch.”

I agreed. Mostly because I was slightly orgasm-drunk, but also because I was beginning to believe him.

And so The Evil Witch fell to the crow, a smile stretching her lips while she walked happily into his trap.