Mom never planned on teaching me 'The Craft' as she called it. Of course that had been before my transfiguration from being a boy to a girl. Once mom accepted the fact that I was indeed Cerridwen she rolled up the sleeves of her dress and got to work teaching me in earnest 'The Craft'. You see mom is a witch, much like her younger sister and her mother before her and her mother before her. And pretty much all the women of the Whitethorn line.

Now before I go on, I should clarify something. When I use the word 'Witch' I do not mean a woman that lives alone in the woods, in a falling down house that is surrounded with tall weeds, a woman with pimples and bumps all over her skin that wears a loose, formless black dress. That wears a black pointed hat, and is often seen riding on a broom as she sails through the night air, cackling out as she does so. Often with a black cat in tow.

No, by 'Witch' I mean a woman who practices the ancient arts of magic. Who is in tune with nature and harnesses the powers of the earth and bids them do her bidding. Mom is a high priestess of the local collection of witches that have lived in and around Benton for almost a hundred or so years. This collection of witches or witch families have made the hills that ring Benton there home. There are a good forty of us families. Most of us are married to each other and are cousins to a point.

Anyway, mom does not earn a living from 'The Craft' she earns her living being a hairdresser, she even owns her own beauty salon in town. Anyway, the story I'm going to tell you is a little embarrassing. But I decided I'm going to share it with you anyways.

Now you see, part of being a novice witch or a witch in training was learning the basic skills Reading the Tarot Cards was one skill that I'd pretty much mastered. That had been the first skill mom had taught me, and I quickly became aware why people would often pay good money to have me read their future with the Tarot Cards. And before you guys get on your high horse, I never charge more than four dollars a session. I'm not running a scam after all, nor am I trying to get rich off my classmates that often have more dollars that sense. I'm just a girl trying to hustle and get that lunch money.

Anyway another skill mom had decided to teach me was making home-made soaps that were infused with healing herbs and roots. These soaps were intended to wash away bad spirits and negative thoughts. Mom also sells these home-made bars of soap at her salon too. Another skill was brewing potions, mom rarely brews a potion, and when she does its normally to help with a sore throat or help with the common cold. Now I've only seen my mom brew potions, but I've never ever tried to brew a potion before. It was on the discipline of the arts that mom thought I was too much of a novice to try.

Instead she had me focus on identifying the various supernatural creatures that inhabit the hills, hollows, dales, streams and rivers of this region. That included the infamous Rougarou that is said to prey on lost children, wayward hunters, and careless hikers. Other's include fresh water mermaids that live in the many ponds, lakes, streams and rivers that dot this region. These are harmless, and often try to avoid travelers and fishermen. Then there are the Grindylow who make their home in the many meres, bogs and lakes that dot the hollow. Unlike the fresh water mermaids these creatures are more than happy to pull people down into the depths of the murky water to feast on their flesh.

Anyway, back to the story, late one autumn afternoon, a few days after Samhain I decided to brew a potion. Or try my hand at brewing a potion. I decided beforehand to brew a love potion.. because it was near Homecoming and I thought there would be a market for a love potion. Now keep in mind, I've never ever brewed a potion before and so I had no idea where to start. But I was sure I could wing it.

I remember that day, it was a rare cold day, the grass had turned from green to brown. The leaves on the trees had changed from green to different shades of orange, brown, and yellow. It was the kind of weather that made you wear a sweater while waiting on the bus early in the morning but by mid-afternoon you had stripped yourself of the sweater. Perfect pneumonia weather. Anyway school had just let out for the day and the bus had just dropped me off at the edge of our gravel driveway.

I stood there beside the old dirt road for a few long minutes as I watched the bus rumble down the narrow country lane that twisted like a snack through the countryside. Once the bus had vanished from my point of view. I took a deep breath and started to walk down the gravel driveway. Without giving it much thought, I opened the door to the kitchen and walked inside the darkness. Mom was still at work and dad was working the six to three shift down at Yazoo Chemical. So I pretty much had the house to myself.

Once I entered the kitchen I rushed into my room. Once I entered my room, I tossed my school satchel into the corner where my homework desk sit. I then started to strip myself the heavy cotton blouse and red woolen skirt that made up my school uniform. You see my school blouse is a heavy, white cotton blouse with fire engine red buttons. It's paired with a matching red, woolen skirt with zip pockets. Of course, snow white stockings and black dress shoes complete the look. Benton Academy has a strict uniform policy too, heck even your hair ribbons have to be either red or white. And yes your hairbands hang either red or white too. And before you ask, yes even your Alice band needs to be either red or white too..

Anyway I quickly peeled off the red woolen skirt, the heavy cotton blouse and of course the sweat soaked stockings and tossed them all into the laundry hamper located beside my bed. I then changed into my more casual clothing, a pink skirt and a white short sleeve blouse. That done, I walked back into the kitchen and decided to get to work on my potion.

Now, we live in a kind of tiny wooden cottage, and the kitchen was the biggest room in the whole house. In the center of the kitchen one would find a wooden table, a round wooden table that had come from my late-great-grandmother's house, the table had been shined till it glowed. Surrounding the table were five old wooden chairs. On the left side of the kitchen one would find the stove, kitchen sink and fridge. Hanging above the stove one would find copper pots that had been polished till they seemed to almost glow.

Also from the rafters of the kitchen one would find bundles of drying herbs, herbs curing because they would be crushed and ground into powders that mom would mix together to make her potions and soaps.

Now the first step in brewing a potion was selecting the pot to use. Now mom used a old, polished copper kettle that has been in the family for generations. I did not trust myself using that, so instead I decided to use an old iron cauldron that I've often practiced with. Once I've selected the pot to use, I placed it on the stove. Now back in the olden days, they would brew potions over an open fire, but now mom used the stove.

Once the fire was lit, I placed the cauldron over the bluish flame, I then walked over to an old wooden bookcase that stood in the living room. The bookcase held all manner of books, most of them cheap romance novels that mom enjoyed reading while things were slow at her shop. But some of those books were old, leather bound books with yellow pages. Those books held all the magic lore that had been passed down from one woman to another in the Whitethorn Family clan.
Those books, they were four or five of them, contained all the magical lore known to my family, including charms, spells, and yes even potions. I've only flipped through them once or twice, and that was always under mom's careful supervision. I mean grimoire are treasured text. Worth their weight in gold and silver.

Finally I found the book I was looking for, an old grimoire that had belonged to my grandmother. It was an old, leather bound book that showed it had an age and had a musty smell to it. That old book smell, if you're a book lover you will know the smell I'm talking about. Anyway I pulled the book from the case  and started toward the kitchen once more. It took some doing, but at last I found the instructions to brew the potion I wanted.

To brew a draft to cause infatuation. Was the first line. The next line reads as follows. Take a pinch of cedar root that hath been grounded in a fine powder and allowed to dry in the sun. Mix well with three cups of water and allow to simmer on an open fire for a quarter of an hour.

I blinked and blinked again. Thankfully mom had some ground cedar root laying around. Don't ask me what she used it for. I'm not sure how much a 'Pinch' was either so I ended up spooning a good tablespoon into the three cups of water I had on the stove. I then turned the stove up and tried to bring the mixture to a simmer. And with that I moved onto the next line.

Now that brew is simmering, take in hand a branch of willow, take and break in half and then again. Into the mixture throw, then take in hand, a full measure of Jesuit Bark, and stir until mixed with the others. Then allow them to marry for a half an hour more.

I had no idea what 'Jesuit Bark' was so I just tossed a good handful of coarse ground black pepper into the simmering mixture. And since I did not have a willow branch, and I did not feel like walking the mile and a half from my house to the nearby creek where willows grew, I decided to skip that step. I then moved on to the next few lines.

Hath now thy mixture is brewing, toss in a full good measure of ground oak root and crushed pine leafs. Toss in then, a full good measure of pepper and allow it to simmer.

I blinked and blinked again. Okay this was confusing.. I was starting to regret ever trying to brew this potion, but seeing I'd come this far, I was determined not to back out now. And so I went into the spice rack. I did not have ground oak root, but I'm sure cinnamon would work in a pinch, so again I tossed a few more spoon fulls of that into the unholy mixture of spices bubbling away on top of the stove. And again I did not have any pine leaves.. so I tossed in some crushed up bay leafs. And of course more pepper.

I then returned to the book for further instructions.

Now take, in hand, a good measure of salt and toss it into the mix, add then thine own spit for good measure. Then oil, any will do and allow to bubble. Then at last, thine will have a potion that will cause sudden infatuation to any handsome man that drinks from it.

I did all that. I felt very foolish while doing it though. Then I noticed one last set of instructions, a set of instructions that caused me to pale. Now, before the potion's magic will take effect. You young maiden must drink of it yourself and hold it down, lest all your efforts prove in vain.

The moment I read that line, I grimaced and I could feel my face twisting into an expression of wry amusement. At that moment I was debating between either taking the potion off the fire, for it was bubbling and smelled quite horrible and then tossing it out the kitchen window or going through with the last part and trying to taste the foul brew. I decided on the latter after a few moments of going back and forth with myself. I reached over and took a plastic ladle and dipped it into the hell broth.

Then gathering up my courage, I ladled the hell broth into a coffee mug that I fished out the drainboard. I then took a deep breath, pinched my nose and swallowed without trying to taste. It went down smooth then it hit my stomach and then it seemed to bounce back up. And before I could catch myself I found myself rushing down to the bathroom.

Looking back, if I'd just taken a few moments to read the last line, I would have known to toss the potion out the window and scrub the pot clean as a whistle before mom came home. Because the last line reads like this. Oh Foolish young girl who had hoped to capture a young man's heart with enchantment and magic. There is no such thing as a love potion. Love is something that must be grown within the heart and is a plant that matures slowly and only bears fruit after countless seasons have passed. But this potion is good to cool thine heels and think twice, For lust and love often go hand in hand and lust and passion too. Think twice, before you are saddled with the offspring of thine ill gotten passion, for lust clouds judgment.

To be continued.