The Witch’s Bane

Wynona Van der Aart was not a woman of many secrets. It just so happened that the one secret she kept was a rather big one. She was a witch.

Children had started to call her a devil worshipper at the ripe age of six, and their caretaker had thrown her before a priest every Sunday to exorcise a demon that didn’t exist.

When she’d accidentally summoned a cookie from the bakery across the street, the boys and girls she’d thought were her friends had run away. A few years later she’d won back her hand-me-down doll from a bully with an accidental spell, and they’d jumped her in her sleep.

That was when she’d started moving from orphanage to orphanage. Each one worse than the last.

As a student, she’d read about the Salem witch trials, and her fears had only been confirmed. They might’ve taken place two hundred years ago, but the world hadn’t changed in that regard.

People didn’t understand her, so they feared her. They feared her, so they wanted her dead.

Three knocks banged against her front door hard enough to rattle the entire frame. Looking into the future wasn’t an exact science. But spell or no spell, she’d learned to watch for the signs. This was her sixth town in the four years since graduating from school.

The stares, the whispers, the suspicion… There had been nothing. No warning.

Wynona grabbed the largest knife she owned from her kitchen drawer. A quick glance through a window showed her three large men standing on her doorstep. It seemed it was time to leave again.

“Yes? How can I help you?” Wynona didn’t open the door. Instead, her hand raised in a silent spell. Small portals appeared below various items, her satchel slowly fattening with each one magically transporting inside. Experience had taught her to always have that satchel packed ready for a quick escape. Still, there were a few items she needed to grab. And a few more that she needed to burn.

“Open up, Miss Van der Aart.” Gregory Morton was a big fish in a little pond. He and his wife were considered the elite of this small town, but that still didn’t make him anything more than a big, dumb brute. “We have a few questions we need to ask you.”

“I can answer from here, Mr. Morton. How can I help you?”

“I said let us in!” Mr. Morton demanded louder, as if that would make her more eager to obey. “I’m not going to ask again. We’ll knock this door down if we have to!”

Wynona sighed as she stepped to the side of the door, ready for their next move. With one hand gripped around the knife, she cast another spell that teleported her travel bag into the other. She slung it around her shoulder, strap tight so she wouldn’t lose it in the scuffle.

“You know I can’t let you in, Mr. Morton. What would people say if an unmarried woman allowed three men into her home?”

There was a sudden, loud crash… but not from where she expected. Glass shattered over her kitchen sink, and she saw another two men climb through the now broken window. The first man was only vaguely familiar. The second broke her heart a little.

At least she solved the question of how the men had learned her secret.

“Ian,” Wynona greeted the man she’d been courting for the past couple months. A courtship that was now clearly over. She guessed it wasn’t only marriage that promised ‘until death do us part’. “Good to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Ian sneered. He was a handsome man. Tall with wiry muscles from working in a local orange grove. He normally had a smile so bright that he could melt the ice caps, but the scowl currently on his face negated his usual charm. “Come with us, Wynona. This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

It would be easier if she could pretend that she didn’t see the pain in his expression. Still, any sympathy she might feel for him was destroyed by the fact he’d brought others into this without talking to her first. He knew these men would want her dead.

“Yes, it does.”

The door beside her crashed open, and Wynona hurriedly retreated into the living room. She needed space if she was going to make them suffer the way they deserved. Any men willing to murder someone who had never done anything to them deserved nothing less than painful deaths. No one could attack out of fear and still call themselves a man.

Mr. Morton and his two companions stepped over the splintered pieces of wood that used to be her front door. Their matching, eager expressions sealed their fate. There would be no hasty retreat today. Not when they all had grins that told her they enjoyed this. They reveled in scaring her. They were eager for the excuse to cause pain.

Funny, how the textbooks taught students to fear the witch, and not the people that would happily burn someone at the stake.

“Now, now,” the fat one said. His hands were raised placatingly, like he meant her no harm. The man must’ve thought she was an simpleton. He held a gardening rake he clearly meant to use as a weapon. Not exactly the prop of a man who meant no harm. “There’s no need for that, Miss Van der Aart. Be smart about this. You’re outnumbered here. Come peacefully, and we promise to be nice.”

Wynona flexed her fingers as she planted her feet wider. Keeping her voice carefully controlled, she said, “Ah, yes, of course. Where exactly do you plan to take me?”

“If she’s a witch, shouldn’t she be using spells?” another one asked with a nervous glance at her knife.

“Don’t let her fool you. I know what I saw,” Ian said. He was the only one not armed, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. The tendons in his neck stood to attention, his pulse visibly quickening. “Lucy was dying. There was no hope for her. I stepped away for five minutes. When I come back, she’s as healthy as a horse. And what do I see? Wynona’s smug face and matching cuts on both her hands.”

“Blood magic,” Mr. Morton hissed.

“Interesting thing about your story. You claim that I saved your sister from certain death, and yet this is how you choose to repay me?” Wynona asked. She swallowed as she took another step backwards, careful to look like she was truly frightened. Like they actually had a chance to defeat her. But that didn’t stop her from levelling Ian an accusing glare. “Does she know that you’re here? What would she say about this?”

Ian’s shoulders tightened, and his freckled face reddened. “Why– she’s– that doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t have to make the hard decisions to keep us safe. That’s my job. And I’m willing to do anything to keep her safe.”

“Oh, yes. Killing the woman who saved her. Very heroic,” Wynona drawled, enjoying the way he sputtered. A small part of her was happy that Lucy didn’t know that Ian was willing to murder her in the name of this so-called justice. Even if it meant a small, heavy stone of guilt settled in her stomach at taking away the woman’s brother. She looked around again at the knives, garden tools, and ropes they held as weapons. They hadn’t left her a choice. There was nothing to feel guilty about when it was only se defendendo. “Let me guess. You’re doing this in the name of God, and you’re all going to conveniently forget that that a certain commandment forbids you from killing.”

“Shut up! You’re coming with us, devil worshipper,” Mr. Morton hissed. He took a threatening step forward. Jabbing his shovel towards her, he spat, “You’ve poisoned this town long enough!”

Wynona couldn’t bite back her scoff at his arrogance. There was no way this wouldn’t end in violence, but she wouldn’t be the first to attack. Even as her magic begged her to wreak revenge on these men who wished her dead, she would grant them this one chance to pour oil on these troubled waters. One chance to walk away. “I’m not going anywhere with you… gentlemen. Please, leave. I don’t want to have to hurt any of you. Leave here now, and I promise I’ll leave this town without looking back.”

“No one believes you, witch. You’re evil incarnate. Everybody knows that witches get their powers from making a deal with the devil.”

Mr. Morton made to grab for her knife, and Wynona maneuvered out of his way easily. Years of people wanting her dead had helped her to learn how to evade any attack – effectively if not gracefully. The man stumbled, clearly not having expected her to be able to defend herself, and she took advantage of his surprise by stabbing him in the neck.

It was almost too easy. No magic required.

Blood spurted all over her, and the slick of the syrupy liquid made her lose her grip on her weapon. He swung wildly as he collapsed, just managing to nick her own neck before falling to the ground. He continued to flop on the ground like a floundering fish, drenched in a puddle of red with her knife rather decidedly lodged in his neck.

Wynona smiled at the others as the spilled blood fueled her. She lifted her hand to look at her attacker’s blood staining her palm before lifting it to her own cut and merging them together. “Blood magic, you said? Very well. If that’s what you want to see, I’m happy to oblige. Enjoy the show.”

Mr. Morton’s body rose. A puppet waiting to dance to his master’s commands. His head flopped to the side as his arms lifted to her invisible strings.

The surviving men gasped in horror. They knew that she was a witch, but nothing of her capabilities. They would soon learn the extent of their ignorance.

When one man made for the door, Wynona flicked her wrist, and the broken pieces of the wooden door fell back into place in the frame before they bound back together through her magic. The newly live wood rooted into the ground, and its branches wound around the doorframe in a vice grip. The sound of the lock clicking shut was echoed by the fleeing man’s loud swallow.

Wynona knew something these men didn’t: they had signed their death warrants the moment that they had decided to come after her. She maneuvered Mr. Morton’s body in their way as she moved slowly to block the other exit that Ian had created in the kitchen. The thick leather of her Mary Janes kept her feet safe from the broken window, each of her steps emphasized by the shattered glass cracking loudly under her heels.

As much as she wanted to make their leader’s body to kill them all, her magic itched to be utilized in a different way. It wanted room to breathe and flex its muscles after being stifled for so long.

“I don’t just control blood, you know. Shall I show you what I can do with the elements? That there with the door? That was nothing. Wood is only one part of earth, you know,” Wynona said. She didn’t relish their fear as they had hers, but she did relish in the knowledge that she could defend herself. She’d trained for years for this very reason: so that she would never again be the victim. “Shall I show you fire? Water? Air? How about all four?”

Wynona didn’t wait for a response. She opened her fist and closed it, and the earth answered her call. Her tiles cracked open, and the floor rose and fell like a wave crashing to shore. And with it, the ground opened and swallowed the fat man whole.

“Don’t worry. He’s still alive.” Wynona wrinkled her nose as the stench of someone’s piss filled the air. She’d already known they were cowards. They hid behind their manhood, their size, their numbers. That didn’t mean they had to stink up her house. “Until he runs out of air, of course.”

“You devil–”

The man never finished his sentence. He choked and gasped for air as he slowly rose from the floor. His hair and clothing rippled as if underwater. His hands flew to his throat as he tried and failed to take a breath. He looked at her in a hopeless plea, but she would not relent.

An angry purple replaced his pale complexion, and red veins splotched his bulging eyes. With every passing second, his movements grew more desperate. An animal would gnaw its own arm off to escape a trap, only this one knew he had nowhere to go.

This man had wanted her burned at the stake, so she couldn’t afford to show the mercy that he wouldn’t have given her.

“Wynona!” Ian cried out.

He jumped for her, clearly not grasping that she had no reason to be afraid of him or anyone else. With a waggle of her fingers, time it very self slowed to her command, but it didn’t affect her. Only the man who had claimed to see a future with her only a few days ago. Trapped in her spell, he ran at a pace better fitted for a slug – a decidedly fitting metaphor. His voice was a distorted baritone as he begged her to stop.

Wynona didn’t look at him until life left the drowning man before her. She dropped her spell, and the corpse fell to the ground with a loud smack. His hair and clothes were dripping wet. She would complain about the mess, but it wasn’t as if she could live here after today.

With everyone else dead, she turned to the last man still breathing. He still ran towards her slowly, and she enjoyed the time it allowed her. There was a lot she had to get off her chest.

“This is all my fault. You see, I misjudged you. I thought you were a good man, but you are of the worst sort. You say you did this to protect your sister, but we both know that’s a lie. You were afraid, and you let that fear control you. You know me. You know that I would never hurt or kill anyone – not unless they tried to kill me first. That was your first and last mistake. You betrayed me, so I won’t regret this. I won’t lose a single night of sleep over defending myself,” Wynona said. Her voice was thick with emotion and even wobbled pathetically. She took a deep breath as tears pricked against the back of her eyes. Betrayal was the only constant in her life, and yet it nearly broke her every time. “I suppose I only have left to demonstrate fire or air. But I should warn you, air isn’t as kind as you would think. I can flay your skin piece by piece until you beg me for mercy. That is perhaps what you deserve, but I won’t let you poison my heart. I don’t revel in pain, not like you and your friends here. But I know when it’s necessary. So, I’ll give you the death you deserve. You would reward my efforts to save your sister by burning me at the stake. The least I can do is return the favor.”

Wynona released her spell but allowed him no time for respite. She reached out to caress his cheek in mock affection, and he screamed out in pure agony. His skin turned red at her touch, then black. She trailed her finger down to his neck as if sharing an intimate moment. Blisters formed under her fingertips until she reached the collar of his shirt. It caught aflame from her spell, and she stepped back.

“Please, Wynona!” Ian wailed. He tore off his burning shirt to reveal his skin melting, with small pieces flecking off. “I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not. At least, not for the right reasons. You’re not sorry you betrayed me. You’re only sorry you failed.” The words were for herself as much as they were for him. She hadn’t lied when she said that she didn’t revel in pain. Even with his betrayal, she didn’t want to see him die a painful death. It was, put plainly, simply necessary.

His screams grew louder and louder as the flame engulfed him completely. Only his silhouette was visible as the fire raged blue. His agonized cries keened before they stopped all at once, and he fell to the floor.

Dead.

The fire bled into the carpet, and she thought it a fitting end to this house that was never a home. The flames spread quickly, as eager as she to destroy all her memories of yet another town that wanted her dead. The heat nipped at her face as the fire climbed the walls and ran across the carpet, only inches from her, but she wasn’t afraid.

A spell could never harm the caster. Or at least, hers couldn’t. She’d never met another witch to confirm if that was the case for everybody.

Wynona closed her eyes as her hands came to scrub at her face. No longer needing to appear strong, she stopped fighting her tears. She hated this. She hated that she was never safe. No matter where she went, pain and death always followed.

All she wanted was to go somewhere that she would be accepted. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that the people she gave her trust to wouldn’t take advantage of her. If she could afford to be greedy, somewhere that people would see her magic as a gift rather than a curse.

Was that really too much to ask for?