Vigilante Witches

Before her fingers nearly freeze onto her broomstick, Sage shifts her weight to begin the descent. She laughs at the memories of her mom reminding her to put a warming hex on her broomstick whenever she left the house. She’s glad she wore her warm boots at least. Her short, blonde hair whips around her and she hears her mini poodle, Midnight, give a yip as she picks up speed. I know, witches are supposed to be cat owners. But what can she say? Sage is a dog person. She sees Orla, pleasantly plump with curly red hair, and Twyla, the exact opposite: tall, skinny as her broomstick with deep black hair. No one knows how they are sisters. Gossip of their mom having an affair with a vampire often circled around their village just outside of the city. Of course they’re early, they’ve probably been there for an hour. She lands next to them, barely reaching Twyla’s shoulders.

Twyla looked at her. “Nice of you to show up.” 

“Still got your broom stuck up your....”

“Good to see you, Sage!” Orla interrupts Sage and pulls her into a motherly hug. “Save it for tonight!” Orla hissed at her.

Twyla looks up at the sky. “We’re just waiting on Eliza.” 

“Oh, she’ll be here.” Orla states. “Come Sage, show us the different potions you’ve brought.” 

People lined up a block outside Sage’s quaint shop for her brews almost daily. She has her customers convinced it’s simply due to her expansive knowledge in herbal medicine. Tonight she brought potions to increase their hearing, eyesight, sense of smell, and speed. She’s also pretty proud of the laborious potion that will make them invisible. They would need it. She also brought her famous healing potions. Orla examined them with wonder, generous with her praises. Twyla nodded in approval. 

They hear a noise, and see Eliza plummeting down with music playing. Did she place a spell on

her broomstick to glow in the dark? God help us all. She steps off her broom, not a single purple hair out of place and exclaims, “I have arrived!” 

“Did you? I could hardly notice the purple broom and music. Are you trying to be discovered?” Twyla asks.

“Relax Twy! It’s Halloween!” Eliza hugs each of us. Sage couldn’t help but to smile. 

Twyla whips out a map. “Alright, here’s the plan. In 5 minutes we will take Sage’s potions and head to Main street. We’ll avoid splitting up, but if need be Orla and Eliza go South, Sage and I will go North. If you hear anything unusual, give the signal. Hit the alleyways thoroughly. No woman will be harmed on Halloween. Got it?” They all nod and grab hands. After their chanting ritual, Orla produces shot glasses with her wand. Sage evenly pours the different potions with steady hands and passes them out. Eliza raises her glass. “Let’s party, witches.” They throw their shots back and jump on their brooms.

They make their rounds. Sage checks her bag for supplies and makes sure Midnight is seat belted in. They survey the masses of people in costumes. It’s too early in the night for the mortals to be inebriated quite yet. It’s oddly quiet. Until it isn’t. They hear a woman shouting, “STOP HIM! THAT’S MY PURSE!” They locate the man in a mask running with a bag. Silly mortals, thinking their Halloween masks can hide their identity from them or keep them safe. They all look to one another, and Twyla gives the nod. They grow closer, sending objects in the man’s way to slow him down. A police officer is finally on the scene, lagging blocks behind the thief. He’s calling for backup. Sage, being the smallest, swoops to knock him down and grab the purse in one elegant go. Her broom knocks the wind out of the thief. Attempting to catch his breath, he barely has time to register what happened. Sage shoots up and does a loop, unable to contain the excitement in their success. She faintly hears Eliza cheering her on. Sage finds the purse owner, and plops it in front of her. Being that the woman cannot see Sage, she exclaims, “It’s a miracle!” and a crowd of people applauds with wonderment. “Is your son’s Epi pen still in it?” Sage hears a man ask the woman as she flies higher into the sky.

“What should we do to him? Turn his hands into tentacles?” Eliza asks.

Twyla rolls her eyes. “Fine, but make sure nobody sees you do it.” With a snap of her fingers, she sends them all into a dark alley.

The man is screaming, clearly having all oxygen restored. They ignore him, waiting for Eliza to pull out her wand. With one small flick, Eliza successfully turns his hands into slimy tentacles and smiles. They were bright purple.

They prepare for take off and begin their search again. After several rounds closest to the bars, they found nothing unusual. “Let’s circle down to Elm street.” Twyla decides. They all follow.

And that’s when they hear the muffled cries of a woman. They simultaneously plunge to their location. A massive man is pushing a woman up against the wall. She is kicking and fighting for her life. “Is that an ogre or a mortal?!” Eliza exclaims. 

Sage immediately begins sending bricks to fall on the ogre-man. They somehow bounce off of him, but he’s at least distracted, staring up at the invisible sky stupidly. Twyla’s poignant spell ties his log like arms up above his head, and the woman runs. First order of operation is achieved. Orla gets there first, choosing to fight with blunt force over magic. He uses both hands, still tied together, to try to slam down on Orla. Twyla immediately flicks his hands back up with a spell while Eliza hexes the Ogre-man to move in slow motion. And Orla must have added spikes on her boots, which increased the effectiveness of her roundhouse kick to his groin. The others surround them, shooting defensive spells whenever they can squeeze them in, carefully avoiding Orla. Orla somehow managed to fight him to the ground while Midnight bites his ankles. Sage stands by, ready to send more hexes, but Orla clearly does not need it. With a final whomp of her broom, the man is out cold. She wipes her forehead and pats him. “Goodnight, sir.” 

They find his ID for the hex. They hold hands, chant his name, and promptly send him to the protected swamp to live his life out as a toad. “Enjoy the flies, my dearie!” Eliza cackles.

“Well done, sister.” Was that a grin on Twyla’s face?!

Sage tends to Orla’s wounds, fortunately all minor. The others sit in silence to regain their strength, smooth out their brooms, and mend tears in their clothes. Midnight jumps back into her seat on Sage’s broom to rest. 

Orla is the first to speak. “So. Who’s next?”