The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter One
by Raine Monday
**Images by Dall-E 3

Lydia's left foot hurt. Frowning, she stopped, attempting to make her foot more comfortable in the RedRock Ladies' deluxe size 8 hiking boot she'd purchased just days before at Hiker's Trail Sporting Goods in Chicago. "Stupid Chicago, stupid sporting goods store not knowing about stupid women's feet!" she muttered as she attempted to get her foot comfortable again.

"You okay, babe?" Thomas asked, pulling up next to her. Thomas wore the same boots he'd always worn since high school. Men didn't have to worry about stupid hiking boots; they'd hike with freakin' cardboard strapped to their feet if you let them.

"Yeah, my foot hurts. Probably these new boots."

"Probably those new boots," Thomas echoed. Then he started walking again.

"Funny man," Lydia said.

Deciding not to let a little discomfort ruin their trip, she inhaled the clean air of the Coast Range Mountains in Oregon. Specifically, they were hiking Mary's Peak in the Siuslaw National Forest. The terrain, while not as tough as some of the hikes they'd been on, was still beautiful, with Douglas fir and pine trees surrounding them.

"God, it's beautiful here," Lydia said.

"Thank you," Thomas gave her a grin.

"Pfft. You know, one of these days, I tell ya, one of these days," Lydia 'wound' her arm as if getting ready to throw a punch.

"Boom, right in the kisser?" Thomas asked, pulling her into his arms.

"Yes, Mister."

Thomas chuckled, giving her a soft kiss. His heavy beard scruffed her smooth skin. She loved his beard, loved how he took charge, his confidence, his easy-going manner. She loved him.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Think we'll get to the summit before that sets in?" Lydia asked, looking off into the distance.

"Yeah?" Thomas scratched his reddish long hair. "Maybe?" He tugged at his beard. "Probably?"

"That's what I like to hear," Lydia said, starting hiking again. "Yeah, Maybe, and Probably."

"I aim to please," Thomas said, following her up the mountain.

They'd left Chicago and the trail of tears behind them. Things had not gone well for them as a young couple. Thomas worked long hours at a factory he hated, and Lydia worked endless days teaching middle-school science. And then there had been the baby…

She sighed, shaking the funk out of her head. No, she was not going to go down that rabbit hole. But Thomas had been her rock, her reality. He'd been so sensitive, kind, and forgiving of her emotional outbursts. It was time to put all that in the past, move onward and upward, which led them to the Oregon coast in search of a home.

After viewing nearly ten possibilities, the couple was overwhelmed with the home-buying process. With their cash reserves running out, and time edging away until Lydia needed to find a fall job, the couple decided some fresh air would clear the decks and help them make a decision on which home to purchase.

It was down to four possibilities. Well, five, if you counted the double-wide on an acre near Oysterville. She'd been so certain about her needs, her list for the perfect home, but all the homes that were perfect were out of their reach financially, and all of the homes that were in their financial range didn't have one or another of the items on her list! It was infuriating, as if the gods, or God above, were conspiring against them.

Reading her mind, as he always did, Thomas said, "You know, the four-bedroom on Peach Street didn't have the third bedroom, but we could always rough out the basement."

"God, I hate it when you read my mind!" she laughed. "Yeah, I was just thinking about that. But it doesn't have enough natural light."

"We could always saw a hole in the roof."

"I'm back to the duplex on Vine. I know it's out of our price range, but we could always rent out the other—"

"And deal with tenants? What if we get people like your roommate?"

Lydia sighed. It was old territory. Her roommates in college all smoked pot and never took the trash out. The house was rank and trash-filled, except for her bedroom.

"We'll be careful in the selection, Doofus," she said.

Thomas sighed, shaking his head, not saying anything, which said everything he needed to say.

"Okay, alright, I get it." She started walking up the trail, trying not to limp from the pain in her foot.

The first sprinkles of the storm blew into their windswept faces as they climbed the summit. Lydia had put on her orange windbreaker she'd stowed in her backpack and shivered a bit as they looked to the west.

"Can't see the ocean. Can you?" Lydia craned her neck as the wind blew raindrops into her exposed face.

"Nope," Thomas said. "But we made it!" He pulled her into his arms.

Lydia snuggled in, trying to wrap his body warmth around her. "Guess we should head downhill before the full storm hits."

Lightning split the sky, and thunder roared.

"Think we're a bit too late for that," Thomas said. They turned around and started to go back down the way they came.

If it wasn't enough, Lydia's foot had gone from hurting to Hurting with a capital 'H'. She limped, trying to ease the pain as the rain turned from a sprinkle into a downpour driven by the wind.

Sliding and slipping down the muddy trail, the couple found the path cut off by a wide river of water rushing across their trail. "This way!"

Thomas shouted, following a ridgeline. The rain was so heavy and the terrain so steep, Lydia feared she'd slip and fall and tumble down the mountain, ass over teakettle. The amount of tension she had to put on her left foot was nearly unbearable, and she thought for sure she must have a giant bruise or, God forbid, maybe even a broken bone. If anything, the storm intensified with rain and wind driving straight into their faces.

Thomas grabbed her hand. "Back here!" he shouted. "There's a little cavern!"

Lydia nodded, shivering, hopping on her good right foot as she could hardly stand on her left. Thomas held out a tarpaulin he always carried in his backpack and wrapped it around her shoulders. "C'mere, my little burrito."

Lydia shivered and huddled into his arms. "I really need to sit down, Señor."

Thomas kicked a stump over from an ancient deadfall and set it up, brushing the worst of the water off. "Here you go, milady."

Lydia sat, sighing, glancing around the cavern. It wasn't much, just an overhang, but it would do in a pinch. Although, with this heavy downpour, the rain could also be sluicing through the topsoil and bring the whole thing down—

Stop that, she told herself. No, no landslides here.

"How long do you think this will last?" Lydia asked.

Thomas shrugged. "Forever, orever, rever, ever..." he echoed into the distance.

"Jackass," Lydia said. "For real, though, my foot is killing me. How long?"

Thomas looked out at the sheeting rain and up into the grey sky. "No telling. It wasn't supposed to rain today at all."

Lydia nodded, looking into the back of the cavern. There were some ancient scrawls back there... unless it was graffiti. "What's that?" she pointed at the scrawls.

Thomas made his way to the back of the cavern. He had to navigate through the scree carefully; it was very loose and rocky.

"Huh," he said. "Some graffiti... and what looks like, I dunno, cave drawings. They can't be real, can they?"

Lydia got up and limp-hopped over to him. "The monster inside my mind is about to explode..." she said, reading one of the phrases.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"That," she pointed. "That's what that says."

Thomas shook his head. "Lydia, it's all just scrawls. There are no letters there."

"Sælicbrook abideth in both," she read. "Sælicbrook... hmm," she thought. "Sælic"—she gave that some thought—Happy? Silly? It didn't make sense. "Brook" seemed to imply a town of some sort, or a stead, or a home... "Sillyhome?"

Thomas stared at her. "Lyds?"

Blinking, she turned to him. "Hmm?"

"How did you know that language? It's not even written in English; it all appears like scribbles."

"Don't be silly. I can read it perfectly well..."

She stared at the letters. When had she learned to read the runes? Wait, that wasn't right; they weren't runes at all. They were...

Her head started to hurt right between her eyes. "Whoa," she said, stumbling back to the stump. She felt like she'd been on a roller coaster ride, or a Ferris wheel, or a boat of some kind.

"Are you okay, baby?"

"Yeah, I'm motion-sick for some strange reason." She put her head between her knees and tried to quell the sickness in her stomach.

Thomas stood near her, ever the rock, patting her back. "You'll be okay."

She took a few deep breaths and nodded. "Sounds like the rain's stopped."

Thomas nodded, walking to the front. "Looks like it's at least cleared up a bit, though it will be night soon. Can you walk?"

Lydia nodded, getting up again, and nearly falling as she put weight on her foot. "Maybe not."

"Here, let's see. Take your boot off."

Lydia sighed, feeling ridiculous. She'd paid a lot of money for these boots. She unlaced the laces and gingerly slid her foot out.

Thomas clicked on a flashlight—because, of course, he had one—and shone it down on her foot. The area at the base of her big toe was swollen and red, and her toe looked like it had slipped underneath the second toe.

"My foot looks deformed," she said, trying to wiggle her toes. They ached, and her big toe felt like it was on fire.

"I don't see a blister or anything, but we need to get that looked at," Thomas said.

She nodded.

"Here, give me your boot." Thomas took her boot and stuffed it into his magical backpack. She didn't know how he crammed all that stuff in there, but he always had a handy book, first aid supplies, flashlight, compass, toilet paper—the works. He was always prepared.

"Put your arm around my neck, and we'll get you out of here," he said, standing up.

Gratefully, Lydia stood, lifting her left foot into the air, and putting her left arm around Thomas's neck. They began a shuffle walk out of the cavern and down the mountain.

As they left the cavern, the glyphs on the wall sparkled a bit, then winked out.

------------------------------------------------------
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The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Two Sælicbrook
by Raine Monday

Dusk had fallen as they made their way down the mountain. The trail had provided a convenient path for the water to flow down the mountain, but it had turned into a muddy rivulet, forcing the couple to find an alternate route. To make matters even more adventurous, Thomas thought, a fog rolled in, obliterating the world around them to less than a few feet.

"I can see a town!" Lydia exclaimed, looking off toward the right.

Thomas glanced in that direction. "I see nothing but more fog."

"No, Thomas, it's right there! I can see the lights starting to turn on and everything," Lydia insisted.

Thomas sighed and nodded, angling them in the direction of Lydia's mysterious town.

"Don't sigh at me in that tone of voice," Lydia said.

"Sorry," Thomas replied with a grin. "I'll try to sigh better."

"As you should," Lydia said, poking him. "I know you don't believe me, but there's a town right over there! We're less than a mile away; you'll see."

Thomas tried to estimate the setting sun but it was impossible in the gloom. He wished he could grab his phone; even though they had no signal, he wanted to know the time. But his phone was in the utility pocket of his backpack, and he'd have to stop to get it, which meant setting Lydia down, which in turn meant she might stumble—and she wasn't even wearing a sock at this point. Her foot troubled him. He had seen foot issues like that before, but not sudden ones. They were usually brought on by long hours of wearing the wrong footwear.

Lydia grunted and groaned as she hop-skipped, but they made decent time. He had to give her credit; Lydia was tough.

Thomas's back was starting to complain when they passed through some tall grass, and then...

It was as if they had walked through some barrier. A moment before, there had been nothing but fog, mist, and a light drizzle from the sky above, and then they were in a town, or a village, or... something.

"Willowbrook!" Lydia said, hopping a little faster.

"What?" Thomas said. "How did you know—"

"It's on the sign right there, doofus," Lydia pointed out, smiling at him. He loved her smile, the strange little light in her eyes she sometimes had, the way she laughed at his jokes. He had fallen in love with her laughter five years ago, and even if those five years hadn't had as much laughter as Lydia deserved, he loved her all the same.

TThe homes they passed looked like they'd stepped out of the last century but had been renovated to within an inch of their lives. It was a beautiful town, all things considered, with a bay that stretched off into the distance.

As Thomas passed underneath one of the street lamps, he noticed it flickered, almost as if—

"We're off the grid, if that's what yer wonderin'," an older gentleman said as he puttered with potted plants on his porch.

"They're oil-filled?" Thomas asked. "I read about that but didn't think there were any towns that still did that."

"Yep, and we aim to keep it that way," the old-timer looked over his glasses at Thomas, who was still helping Lydia. "Say, that don't look none too good. Got a bad hoof, do ya?"

"Yeah, we were climbing Mary's Peak and got caught—"

"Mighty bad rainstorm swept up that way a couple hours ago," the man interrupted. "Hope you didn't get caught in it."

"Yep!" Lydia exclaimed, standing on one foot. "We sure did."

"Well, you hop right on down to the Inn just there a little further." The man pointed with his pipe. "They'll call a doc for ya, get ye fixed right up."

"Thanks, Mr…?" Thomas said.

"Thistledown." The man ambled off his porch and stuck out his hand. "But ye can call me Ol' Jack." He smiled as he shook each of their hands warmly.

"I'm Thomas, and this is Lydia. We got turned around coming down from the mountain."

"Aye, if ye was on Ol' Mary's Peak and found yer way here, ye ain't turned around, ye practically somersaulted!" Jack laughed, which tapered into a coughing fit.

"You okay, there, Jack?" Thomas asked, patting the man's back.

"Yeh, Ol' Doc says I should lay off'n these." He held up his pipe. "But my pappy smoked 'til he was nearly two hundred and eleven years old."

Thomas glanced at Lydia, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

"Now, let's get you down to the Whispering Inn, Missy. We'll get that foot looked at and ye'll be right as rain."

The old man, Jack, offered his hand as Thomas took Lydia's arm, and they hop-shambled down the road.

As Thomas helped his wife, he noticed that as the lights flickered on around them, they all appeared to be oil-burning lamps, nothing electrical at all. "Do you all use electricity at all?" Thomas asked.

Jack nodded. "Oh, my yes. Got me a 'lectric refrigerator, keeps me beer cold, and got one of them computers also, though I ain't got much use for it none. We just like to keep things simple here, as ye can see. And we don't get many travelers, truth be told."

"Don't think I even saw this on the map of the area," Thomas remarked. "It shows all forest on Google Earth too."

"Aye, yuh," Jack said but apparently nothing more about it.

They got to the Inn, and they both helped Lydia up the stairs. "I feel so helpless," she said.

"Oh, ye ain't helpless, Missy. If I don't miss my guess, and I nary do these days, ye got a bit of the shine on ye, I would say."

"The shine?"

"Aye, there's spirits among us, and sprites, and wee folk." He gave a small tip of his hat. "Don't'cha know."

Thomas opened the front door. He was about to thank Jack, but as he turned around, Jack was nowhere to be seen, just a bit of curling pipe smoke left floating on the breeze.

"Where'd he go?" Thomas asked.

Confused, Lydia turned. "He was right here!"

"Who was right here?" a large, heavy-set woman asked.

"Mr. Thistledown," Lydia replied. "He helped me get here!"

"Oh, I'm sure that old spook is around here somewhere," the woman said with a chuckle. "Here, let me help. You've injured your foot?"

Lydia nodded. "We were on a hike up Mary's Peak, and my foot started hurting terribly. I can't put any weight on it."

"Let's get you inside by the fire," the woman said. "I'm Marjory, Marjory Thomas. I own this Inn."

"Thomas and Lydia Thompson," Thomas said, thanking the innkeeper for her kindness. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Don't mention it!" Marjory said. "We don't get many visitors, especially young ones like yourselves."

They helped Lydia to a chair by the fire, where Marjory handed her a quilt.

"Oh, thank you!" Lydia exclaimed. "I was freezing!"

"Don't mention it!" Marjory repeated. "We'll get something warm in your stomach, and I'll give Doc Baker a call. He'll be right up to fix you up and get you back on your feet."

"Much appreciated," Thomas said as he took a seat beside Lydia.

A few customers were scattered at tables around the area, and Thomas noticed a reception desk in one corner. The interior seemed far more spacious than the exterior had suggested.

"I would kill for a cup of coffee," Lydia murmured.

"I'll find us some," Thomas reassured her as he stood. "And Thomas, could you see if they have a room available? I'm not up for the hike back to the car."

"Will do, babe," he responded, kissing her forehead and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Thomas approached the reception desk where a young man was polishing an antique bell. The clerk was tall and lanky, with sparse facial hair. "Welcome to The Whispering Inn," he greeted. "I'm David Addington. How may I assist you?"

Thomas cleared his throat. "Could we get a room for the night?"

"Of course! Would you prefer the ground floor or upstairs? A room with a view or without? Smoking or non-smoking?" the clerk inquired.

"Ground floor, with a view, non-smoking, please."

"Perfect," David said, jotting something down in a large register before retrieving a key. "No computer for check-ins?"

"We prefer simplicity here," David replied, handing him the key. "Room eleven, just around the corner, offers a splendid view of Sælic Bay."

Thomas paused at the mention of the word. "Sælic? What does that mean?"

"Sælic," the clerk pronounced with an 'ah' sound and a 'ch' at the end, "in our local dialect, refers to 'willow,' but it actually means 'blessed' or 'fortunate.'"

Thomas nodded, musing quietly about Lydia's translations earlier.

"I beg your pardon?" David looked puzzled.

"Nothing," Thomas dismissed. "Room eleven, right?"

"That's right, Mr. Thompson." The clerk handed over the key along with two fluffy towels. "Do you have any luggage? The bellboy can bring it to your room."

"Just our backpacks," Thomas said, gesturing towards their table. "I'll take them up."

"Anything else to ensure a perfect stay?" David asked.

"How did you know my last name?" Thomas inquired with a frown. "I didn't give it to you."

David's smile was knowing. "Marjory mentioned to assign you to room eleven, the best in the inn."

"And she told you our names?"

The clerk winked. "Just our little secret."

"Of course," Thomas said, accepting the towels and pocketing the key.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Thompson," David called after him.

"Thanks," Thomas replied, walking back to Lydia with a slight shiver.

As he returned, a curious thought struck him: David Addington's canines had seemed unusually long.

Just like a vampire.

The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Three
by Raine Monday

Lydia watched as Thomas spoke to the hotel clerk. There was something 'off' about the clerk, but she couldn't figure out just what. Before she could identify it, Marjory brought over two bowls of stew. "Here we go, love. I telephoned Dr. Baker, and he'll be over shortly."

"Wow, he makes... uh, inn calls?"

Marjory nodded. "He works only a few houses away. We like to keep things simple here in Willowbrook." She patted Lydia on the shoulder. Strangely, Lydia felt pins and needles where Marjory touched her. "Enjoy your dinner, love."

Lydia blinked. She was so hungry! It felt like she hadn't eaten in days.

"Got us a room," Thomas said a few moments later, setting down the key.

"That's wonderful!" Lydia said, her mouth full, juice running down her chin. She knew she must look frightful, but at the moment, she didn't care.

"Hungry, eh?" Thomas chuckled and took a bite of his stew.

"It's delicious!" Perhaps it was because they were so tired from the long, wet hike, or maybe the food had some magical ingredient, but Lydia couldn't eat it fast enough.

Before long, they both sat back, dabbing their mouths with napkins. The shadows stretched long as the couple ate and ordered seconds of the delicious stew. Lydia felt warm and full, the pain in her foot subsiding as Marjory returned, leading a middle-aged, balding man of about fifty. He had kind eyes and was rather stout.

"Someone was hungry," Marjory said, leading the man who wore a three-piece business suit to their table. "This is Dr. Baker. He can take a look at your foot, dear."

"Samuel Baker," the doctor said, extending his hand first to Thomas, then to Lydia. Lydia shook it, noting how soft and strong his hand seemed. She wondered if he was a surgeon.

"Let's look at that foot," Dr. Baker said, sliding a stool over. Lydia took the hint and set her left foot on the stool. Dr. Baker took out a pair of spectacles, then touched the soaking wet sock. "May I?"

Lydia nodded, embarrassed. The doctor tugged off the sock and examined her foot. He held it tenderly, and Lydia could again feel how soft and gentle he was.

"Any numbness or tingling?" Dr. Baker asked.

Lydia shook her head, staring at her foot. It was strange... it... didn't look like hers.

"Why is it... so wrinkled?" she asked, holding it up to the light.

"May I?" Dr. Baker asked again, indicating her right foot still in its muddy boot.

"I can do it," Thomas said, and he took her shoe in his hands and untied the laces.

"I knew you had a foot fetish, Tommy-Tom," Lydia said.

Thomas carefully eased her right foot out of the boot, then pulled off the soaked sock and set it next to her other foot.

Lydia gasped. "That... can't be possible, can it?"

They all stared at her feet. The right foot, the one that didn't hurt, looked normal. Of course, she needed to cut her toenails, but aside from a few callouses on the heel, it appeared normal. Her left foot, however, did not look normal. It was wrinkled, and veins stood out in stark relief. She also had blue nail polish on those toes—nail polish Lydia had never purchased, owned, or applied.

"Bunions," Dr. Baker said. "I'm afraid you're developing bunions."

"Surely you can see that isn't my foot," Lydia protested. "It has blue toenail polish, for God's sake!"

"It's also smaller," Thomas said, placing a hand on her right foot. The toes of her left foot didn't come close to matching it. "I think it's at least two sizes smaller."

Lydia felt a tightening in her stomach. This wasn't right; this couldn't be right!

"Doctor?" Lydia said, looking up at him.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "It's simply bunions. I'll give you some medication to ease some of the pain and write a prescription for orthotics."

"But you can see, can't you?" Thomas said, his voice rising.

Lydia shook her head. This couldn't be happening. "Look, maybe it'll be okay in the morning. Maybe it's just from being in the water; you know how skin gets wrinkly after being in the water, right?"

"Exactly," Dr. Baker said, picking up his black bag and handing her a prescription. "Take this to the shoe store on 5th. They'll fit you with an orthotic that will reduce the stress on those bones."

And with that, the doctor left the room.

***

"We need to get out of here," Thomas said. "I'll grab our packs and meet you by the door."

Lydia nodded, glancing outside. During their meal, dusk had turned to night. People walked the streets of Willowbrook, smiling and happy. It was like a town from a different era. People even dressed differently; the women wore dresses, the men in more formal attire. She wondered if they'd stepped through some kind of time portal.

As she waited, she sat down, wanting to pull on her sock and get her foot back in her boot. She could see her changed foot. It felt... well, the same, though the skin felt wrinkled. She ran her fingers over the veins along the top of her foot and stopped.

Her right hand... the index fingernail had extended a bit and had taken on the same nail polish as her foot.

"No, no, no, no, this can't be happening!" She held up her hands, looking at her palms and then the backs. Sure enough, her right hand had slightly different coloration, and as she watched, the nails were slowly extending. Quickly, she pulled on her sock and attempted to stick her foot into her boot. She was rushing, though, so of course, her foot didn't slip in properly. She had to take it out again, loosen the laces, and place it in. The foot slid in easily, a bit too easily.

It was too small for the boot.

"Dammit!" she said, pulling the laces as tight as she could. She quickly tied her shoes, fighting a bit with her changing hand as the nails didn't want to cooperate.

Where was Thomas? She looked up, hoping to see him running back to her with their packs, but he appeared to be in an argument with the clerk or something.

"Leave them!" she called to Thomas, who nodded and rolled his eyes but then quickly walked back to her.

"Babe," she said, "It's still happening." She held up her altered right hand. The beginnings of veins could be seen on the back of her hand, and as they watched, the skin began to wrinkle.

"Can you walk?" Thomas asked.

"I think so!" Lydia said as they made their way to the door. Just as they were about to open the huge oaken front door, Marjory stepped out.

"Leaving so soon?" she said, a wide smile on her face.

"Please let us pass!" Lydia said. "We don't want... whatever is going on here."

"The boy can go," Marjory said. "He doesn't have any shine to him. The only reason he's here at all, love, is because you do."

"Well, I don't want whatever it is you're selling," Lydia said. She held up her still-changing hand. "What is happening to me?"

Marjory nodded. "I knew from the moment I saw you that you belonged here in Sælicbrook. Don't fret, dear; the Emergence happens much quicker if you allow it."

"No!" Thomas shouted. "We're out!" Thomas attempted to shove his way through, but Marjory was as immovable as a post.

She sighed. "They always resist, don't they, David?"

From behind them, the 'clerk' nodded. He no longer looked like a clerk but wore a black cape, and his hair had darkened. He gave them a grin, and two long canines extended.

"Indeed, Miss."

Marjory sighed. "Take them to their room, if you would, dear?"

With a flicker of motion, David spun Thomas and took his face in his palms.

"Thomas!" Lydia screamed. She feared he would snap his neck.

"Sleep," David said, and Thomas slumped. Effortlessly, David took Thomas by the collar and turned to Lydia.

"No!" Lydia said, trying to turn away. "I—"

"Sleep," David intoned, and something about the way he said it echoed in her brain. Her lids slid shut, even though something inside her writhed against his gaze, something that forced her feet not to move, her body not to collapse.

"Ahh, a strong one," Marjory said. "I knew it."

David whispered then, directly in Lydia's ear. "Slllleeeeeeeeppp."

And that was all Lydia remembered.

-----------------------------
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The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Four
By Raine Monday

Lydia dreamed.

Stone arches and the walls of a castle stretched around her, torchlight flickering on marbled hallways. A palace? Why was she in a palace?

She reached out to one of the walls and felt the rough texture of the stone. She remembered the whispered conversations about her lineage, the blood of Eburovices, that flowed through her veins, a people conquered long before by the Romans, and now, she, a conquerer's daughter, faced her form of conquest.

"Esmerelda!" the voice echoed from below, the stone staircase stretching downwards. That voice, Her Father's voice, the voice of a man who made other kings quiver in their robes and made her heart race at what he wanted from her.

Her heart pounded in a wild rhythm as she tried to catch her breath. She placed a hand on her heart, attempting to slow her breathing, make it shallow, the corseted gown she wore as much a hindrance as a cage.

What he wanted, he would never have. A marriage to a Norman Noble, perhaps, or something worse. She wouldn't allow that to happen, couldn't let that to happen. Not just because she didn't want to marry an old man but because of what it would mean to untold thousands of people who would die—

"Esmerelda!" the voice called again, closer this time. "Stop running, and speak to me!"

Lydia dashed up the stair. If she could get to her chambers, perhaps Ril, the court wizard, could somehow help her escape this fate. He was her staunch ally and advisor, and he would help her to—

"Lydia?" A soft voice came from beside her. Who's voice was that? Not her father's, not William the Conquerer, no, it belonged to another man, a kinder man, a man with laughing eyes and a neck beard she liked to tug when they—

"Babe, are you awake?"

Lydia blinked the dream away. "Tommy-Tom?"

"Yes, hon." He caressed her face softly. "That must have been some dream."

Sitting up, she looked around the room. Sitting up, she looked around the quaint room that held an old-world charm unique to The Whispering Inn. Heavy oak beams lined the ceiling, evidence of the inn's ancient architecture, while the walls were adorned with warm, handwoven tapestries depicting scenes of lush forests and mythical creatures, a nod to the town's mystical nexus. The furniture was of dark mahogany, polished to a soft sheen, with a four-poster bed at the center, its posts carved with intricate patterns of leaves and vines, and draped with sheer, gossamer curtains. A rustic, yet elegantly carved wardrobe stood in one corner, next to a fireplace where the remains of a log still smoldered, filling the room with a faint, comforting scent of woodsmoke. The settee by the fireplace was upholstered in a rich emerald velvet, looking out through a leaded glass window that revealed the fog-shrouded world of Willowbrook outside. Every detail of the room, from the plush, forest-green carpeting to the soft, golden glow of the oil lamps, whispered of an era long past and a world steeped in enchantment.

Lydia put her hand to her head. "What time is it?"

Thomas got up and pulled the curtains back. "Looks like early morning. Hard to tell though, there's still fog."

Lydia wiped her eyes, and scratched the side of her face. "Oww, Jesus!"

She looked down at her hands. The left appeared normal, but the right…

Her extended nails were painted a dark blue, and each curved a bit like a claw. The hand was wrinkled and old, with veins and color spots stretched across the surface. The knuckles bulged as if she'd suffered for years with arthritis. Heavy rings adorned each finger in different colors, amethyst, ruby and jade. The wrinkled skin extended up her forearm until it mixed in with her usual, unblemished, unveined, unwrinkled skin about halfway up.

"Oh my god!" she cried, and stood up, wanting to see herself in the mirror. She almost fell over though, because there was something not just wrong with her left foot, but her leg also seemed to be affected. She pulled up her sweats pantleg, and found her lower leg looked hideous, the skin wrinkled, veins etched from her calf downward. She pulled the sheet off her left leg, and found it unaffected.

Lydia looked up at Thomas. "We have to get out of here!"

Thomas nodded, "I know. But the door is locked. I also tried to break the window, but no luck."

Lydia stood, but it was quite obvious her left leg was a few inches shorter than her right. "I'm turning into a monster!"

Thomas shook his head. "No. I refuse to believe that." He took her hands in his own. "We'll get through this Lydia, no matter what it means."

She nodded, tears spilling from her eyes.

Someone knocked at the door, and David the Vampire entered. He carried two trays with lids. "Breakfast!"

"Why are we here?" Thomas said. "We want to leave, right this minute!"

"I'm sorry, but that isn't possible."

"What do you mean?" Lydia said.

"I think I can answer that," A woman said, stepping into the room.

The woman carried herself with the regal grace of a bygone era, her stature tall and commanding despite her advanced years. She was attired in a flowing dress of marigold silk that draped elegantly around her frame, the fabric catching the light with every subtle movement, as if woven with threads of sunshine. Her white hair, the color of moonlit snow, was styled in an elaborate bun atop her head, not a strand out of place, each lock sculpted like a work of art. Around her neck hung a necklace of topaz and citrine, each gemstone cut to perfection, complementing the warm hues of her dress and casting a soft glow against her skin. Her fingers were adorned with rings that matched her attire, with bands of gold encircling delicate fingers still surprisingly nimble and strong. Her eyes, a striking shade of pale azure, held within them the spark of undimmed intelligence and the fierceness of a spirit untouched by time, surveying the world with an air of wisdom and a hint of playful mischief.

"I'm Agatha Wainwright, and we have been waiting a very long time for you, dear." She shut the door, and stood in front of them.

Even though Agatha was a few inches shorter than she, Lydia felt the weight of her gaze as she took in her changed hand and foot.

"It's always a bit different," she said, sitting on a stool. "Please, eat your breakfast, and I can tell you what is happening."

Thomas shrugged, and glanced at Lydia, who nodded. She sat on a chair, Thomas had pulled over for her, and they both took the covers off their meal.

Eggs, bacon and potatoes all steamed aromatically into the room. Lydia found she was ravenous again, and began to eat heaping mouthfuls. At first she tried to eat with her non-changed left hand, but then gave up and ate with her right.

"The Emergence steals quite a bit of energy as it passes through you," Agatha said. "You'll find yourself very tired with little to no exertion and nearly constantly hungry."

"What's happening to her?" Thomas said. "Her hand, and foot…"

"Let's first talk a bit about Sælicbrook, or Willowbrook as we've named it."

Lydia nodded, still eating.

"Sælicbrook exists on a plane of reality slightly different from your own. I'm sure you sensed it as you entered town.

"It was a bit misty," Lydia said, trying not to speak with her mouth full.

Agatha cleared her throat gently, the timbre of her voice holding the gravity of ancient secrets and the warmth of a seasoned educator. She peered at the two newcomers through her light blue eyes, which sparkled with an inner light that seemed to reflect the wisdom of the ages.

"Children," she began, her voice imbued with the cadence of a well-practiced lecture, "you find yourselves in Sælicbrook, a place of much more significance than you can presently comprehend. This is not merely a stopping point, but the very heart of the cosmos' intricacies—a Nexus."

She gestured gracefully with her hands, adorned with jewelry that seemed to glow with an inner flame. "Imagine the universe as a vast tapestry, with threads that represent the myriad realms of existence. Sælicbrook lies at the crux of it all, binding these threads together. It is here that the worlds of magic and the mundane, of spirit and science, meet and mingle in silent congress."

Her eyes swept over the quaint, cobblestone streets visible from the window, then back to her audience. "Our town is unique, an architectural mosaic from ages and realms beyond. It resonates with the potential of creation, a place where every stone and every wisp of wind hums with the power of the planes."

Agatha straightened her posture, her yellow dress rustling softly. "We, the Guardians of this Nexus, my Coven, maintain the balance and the continuity of passage. We are the silent sentinels, the shepherds of souls across the boundless stretches of existence."

A brief smile flickered across her face, softening the sternness of her demeanor. "It is no common occurrence for travelers from your realm to cross into ours unguided. To arrive here speaks to a spiritual potency within you—an energy, perhaps long dormant, now awakening."

Leaning forward, she looked at them with a profound earnestness. "Your presence here is no accident, my dears. It is a confluence of destiny and hidden power. Welcome to Sælicbrook, the crossroads of worlds. Here, you will find your true purpose."

"I did notice it wasn't on Google Maps," Thomas said.

Agatha gave a wry grin. "Yes, we do a lot to obfuscate our position here in your physical reality from the science-based devices and such. In fact, we have a whole legion of elves that do nothing but blind science devices from capturing any of our presence. We need to maintain our presence, but we definitely don't want anyone from your realm attempting to cross over, unless they have a reason.

"We don't have a reason," Lydia said. "And we'd like to go back, please." Lydia held up her changed arm. "I don't know what's happening to me, but we want none of this."

Agatha nodded, sighing. "Well, Thomas can go back, of course, but you, my dear, we need you desperately, I'm afraid. Sælicbrook recognized that and has imposed a geas upon you that I'm sorry to say wouldn't be resolved even if you were to travel back to your realm.

"A geas?" Lydia said. "So this is just an illusion?"

"Oh, no, my dear. You are literally being rewritten from the ground up. We aren't certain why certain individuals like you are rewritten in so dramatic a fashion, but our needs are great, I must say."

Lydia felt tremors in her stomach at the thought of being rewritten. "What do you mean?"

Agatha sighed. "It means we are under attack, I'm afraid. And you are the only person who can save us."

------------------------------------------------------------
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The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Five: The Seduction of Magic
by Raine Monday

"What could I do?" Lydia said. "I don't know shit about fuck!"

She couldn't bear to be seated any longer. She needed out of the room, out of this town, out of here! She got up and stumbled due to the difference in her leg lengths.

"Please, dear, sit," Agatha waved her arms, and Lydia found herself again in the chair. "It does your body no good to try to tramp around in that maladjusted position."

"Why can't we just leave!" Lydia said, feeling her temper rising. "This is insane! I can't be of any help to you!"

"At least let me give you this," Agatha said, holding out a shoe. It had at least a three-inch heel.

"You want me to wear that?" Lydia said.

"Yes, it will make up for the height difference until your left leg follows suit."

Lydia nodded and took the shoe. She hated wearing heels, but it was a little ridiculous trying to walk. Surprisingly, the heeled shoe fit like a glove. "Oh, that's much better!"

Lydia walked back and forth. There was almost no difference, and it felt so much better.

"Now, let me tell you what we face, and why you are so important," Agatha said.

Lydia nodded, sitting down, and staring at her hands.

"We fight a nearly constant battle against creatures from beyond the cosmos. Creatures that know only hunger for food, for souls, for energy. These beings wish to come into our nexus of planes and consume everything in their path. It would be anathema to our realms if any such being were to come across. Here in Sælicbrook, we've formed an alliance that requires thirteen members in order to be at full power against such an incursion as the one we are facing."

"And what, you need us to help somehow?" Thomas said.

Agatha pointed at Lydia. "We need her, to put a point on it, child. You, ah…complicate things."

"How so?" Lydia said.

Agatha took Lydia's right hand in hers. She turned it over and peered at it. Agatha's hand looked similar in age and appearance, though Lydia's new hand had even more wrinkles and age spots.

"The magic of Sælicbrook is adjusting you to fit this new reality, dear. As you can see, you are becoming like me. Sælicbrook has chosen you to join my coven, as our thirteenth member, to hold the gateway against the incoming incursion from Nyarlathotep, an eldritch horror of such power you couldn't fathom the depths of its avarice."

Agatha took Lydia's other hand, and as if on cue, wrinkles started to appear on it as well.

"We are the Witches of Wildwood, dear. And you have been chosen to become our thirteenth witch."

Lydia could only watch, horrified, as her left hand twisted and shriveled to match her right. The same gold rings appeared on her right as well, until she had a matched set.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Agatha took both her changed hands in her own. "Close your eyes, child."

Sighing, Lydia did as instructed.

She felt a tingling then, that began in her toes and swept up her body. It filled her with the most amazing feeling she'd ever experienced. Like the first time she'd eaten ice cream, or the first time she'd gone swimming. It was like that, but ten times more enjoyable, this feeling. It was raw, natural.

"Open thine eye," someone murmured in her mind.

Somehow, she knew just how to do that. She opened her Eye, and the world came into being around her. She could see Agatha, standing there with her perfect hair and dress, eyes closed and intent on their session. She could see Thomas, standing confused. A dark and angry look was on his face, and she could see his heart was filled with hate and fear at the situation they were in. Effortlessly, she found herself able to see into the hallway beyond, through the doorway, and out onto the street. She could see Marjory and realized the image of the InnKeeper was merely an illusion. Another heart beat beneath her placid exterior, one similar to David the clerk, but older, much older. Marjory was a being of great power and influence.

She continued her sensory session outward, feeling the town around them. Beings noticed her looking and smiled at her, some with pure intent, some with hunger in their eyes. They would have to be careful in this town; not everything was as it seemed.

An immense tree filled the square nearby, and Lydia could see sparkles streaming from the fronds of the tree. It was literally a tree made of magic, of power. She could see the roots that delved into the earth deep below. So deep even with this new sight she couldn't see the bottom. And beyond that, portals stood opening in different directions. In fact, she could—

"Stop!" Agatha said, in a loud voice.

Abruptly, Lydia was back in the room, and she blinked, startled. "I'm sorry?"

Agatha smiled. "You were going a bit too far, dear. We'll speak on those another time."

Lydia nodded. The portals had felt like giant vacuum cleaners. She realized she and Thomas had come through one of those portals. Into this realm between realms.

She yawned, suddenly very tired.

"You've made excellent progress, child," Agatha said, smiling. "I knew you were the one the minute you stepped foot in Sælicbrook."

Lydia smiled. "Mmmm."

"Get some rest now. Eat when you can. Your Emergence will take time, dear. We'll find you and your… ah… partner, a home tomorrow. Does that sound nice?"

Lydia nodded. She liked the sound of that very much. "Alright."

"Alright?" Thomas said. "Nothing about this is right!"

Agatha strode from the room. "Don't be impertinent, dear. You are not the one we want, but we do have ways of… bringing you into the fold, too. Don't test my patience."

Thomas frowned as Agatha strode out of the room.

"I don't trust her," Thomas said.

Lydia nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. "Help me with my clothes, darling?" she said. "I'm so tired…"

"Of course."

As Thomas helped her out of her clothes and into the sheets, she pulled him to her.

"Mmm, something about that encounter… has left me feeling very languid and sensual."

"I feel like we should try to find a way to fight this, Lyds. None of this feels right."

"Shhh," she put a blue-taloned finger to his lips. Then she leaned in and kissed him hungrily.

Thomas responded, kissing her deeply.

As they slid together, sensually enjoying each other, Lydia could feel that amazing feeling inside her, calling her. Almost unconsciously, she allowed it to slide over them, letting the little magical tendrils heighten their passion, enabling them to move together with such rhythm and sensuality they'd never known before, bringing them both to climaxes simultaneously that had them gasping and clinging to each other.

She could get used to this, she thought as sleep finally claimed her.

The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Six
Raine Monday

Been awhile since I've posted on this. Might want to read back from the beginning!
RM

The next morning, Agatha and several other witches came to collect the couple after breakfast. The changes in Lydia had continued their progression; her right foot now matched her left, and the aging had spread up her arms, nearly to her elbows.

The truly disturbing thing, Thomas thought as he buttoned up a gray dress the clerk had brought for Lydia, was that she no longer thought her changes were strange in any way. It was as if she was accepting them.

"How do I look?" Lydia said, twirling, letting the skirt rise up. She spoke in a french accent and gave him that crooked smile he'd fallen in love with.

"Beautiful as always," he kissed her.

"Hah!" she turned to look into the mirror. "Liar." It sounded like "Liah!"

She had a streak in her hair on the left side. It accompanied a few wrinkles that had sprouted at the corners of her eyes and mouth. He'd wanted to grow old with Lydia, he just hadn't expected it to happen in their twenties.

A polite knock came at the door.

"Ooh!" Lydia smiled. "Zey are here!"

"Yeah, Lydia... once we're out the door though, we should make a break for it."

"Don't be zeelly." Lydia slid her changed arms up over his shoulders. "Do you know the kind of power she haz?"

Thomas shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Lyds, you're aging right before our eyes!"

She turned to look in the mirror, and slid her shriveled fingers through the streak. "Zis is all kind of punk rock, though, don't you think?"

"Don't do that, Lyds."

"Do what, darling?"

"Speak in that accent. You're already changing enough..."

She frowned at that. "I do not know what you are talking about, mon ami?"

She gave him a peck on the nose, then opened the door.

Grumbling at his wife's attempt at humor, he followed.

"This is Beatrice Vale," Agatha said, indicating a woman to her left with voluminous iron-colored hair and a keen, penetrating gaze. She wore a black dress with ruffles along the bottom.

"And this is Dorothy Weaver," Agatha indicated the woman to her right. Her hair was the color of pewter but was snarled and tangled. She was missing several teeth and had a wart that decorated an extended nose. Her dress was black and knee-length.

"Welcome to Willowbrook," Beatrice said in a gruff voice that sounded like gravel sliding in a cement mixer.

"Hello there!" Dorothy said, smiling a small gap-toothed grin.

Agatha wore a silver dress that matched her hair perfectly. "We thought we'd take you on a tour of Willowbrook, and perhaps look at home options."

"We 'ave been looking for a 'ome!" Lydia said, skipping a little. "We haven't found anyzing yet!"

Thomas frowned. Lydia was pouring on the act a bit thick. She spoke with a French accent that might have been endearing if Thomas hadn't known it was fake. Maybe it was helping Lydia to get over the shock of her changing body?

Marjory stood in the doorway and nodded to Agatha as they passed. Agatha nodded back and continued speaking.

"The Whispering Inn has been here for centuries, run by the same innkeeper," Agatha smiled. "You know her as Marjory, but she is also a vampire of the first order. The only first-order vamp allowed to live in Willowbrook."

"What iz this first order?" Lydia said, walking with Thomas and sliding her arm through his. Thomas cringed again at the accent.

"Vampires come in orders based on class," Beatrice said. "Fourth-order vamps, like David the clerk, are like bumblebees. They can sting but not much else. First-order vamps, well..."

"They can control entire nations of people," Dorothy said in her grating voice.

"Indeed," Agatha said. "You'll learn all about the orders in due time, child."

Lydia nodded, smiling.

The day was overcast, the bay misty. It was a lovely scene, albeit a bit gloomy. Thomas noticed a few others walking in the distance; some had horse carriages, others drove modern vehicles that would look appropriate on any street in any city.

"I wonder if ze sun will come out today?" Lydia said.

Thomas stopped. "Lydia, cut it out!" he said in a soft voice. "It's not funny anymore!"

Stung, Lydia looked at him. "What am I do-ing wrong?"

"The French accent shit!" he said in a harsh voice. "Lay off!"

"I do not know what you are talking a-bout. I am zpeaking in a normal..."

"It's the geas, darling," Agatha touched him on the shoulder. "She can't help herself."

"What?"

Agatha turned to Lydia. "Comprenez-vous ce que je dis en ce moment?"

"Oui, bien sûr que je comprends ce que vous dites. Pourquoi tout le monde parle-t-il de façon si étrange?"

Thomas gaped. "What the bloody fuck?"

"She feels like we are the ones speaking strangely. I'm afraid the geas has penetrated into her language production area and is re-writing it to be French. So now, she has to translate from English into French and back, which is giving her a rather pronounced accent."

"But you can still understand me?" Thomas said to his wife, feeling a sick slick oiliness in his gut.

"Of course, I can understand you, mon amour. Do you think I am... how you say... folle?" she stopped a moment thinking. "Uh, crazy?"

Thomas gripped her changed hands tight. "No, I don't think you are crazy, but babe, we have to get out of here! Can't you see what they are doing to you?"

She gave him a bright smile and a shrug.

They continued on with the tour, arm in arm.

***

"This is our town center. You can see the Tree of Life here. It is the center of magical power for this entire bubble and allows us to exist in the plane between realities," Agnes explained.

Agnes translated what she had said into French for Lydia, who now, apparently, needed it. Lydia gushed and asked several follow-up questions in French, and Agnes was happy to answer.

"What did she ask you?" Thomas said, as they continued.

"I ask..." Lydia considered a moment. "What 'appenz if ze Tree of Life were to be damaged, or..." She spoke to Agnes.

"Destroyed," Agnes said.

"And?"

"And I told her the bubble would collapse with all of us inside."

"Terrible," Lydia said in french.

"That's why we have several wood nymphs and other forest creatures who help with the care of the tree."

As if on cue, a woman stepped from the bark of the tree and smiled. "Hey there," she said in what sounded like American English.

"Uh, hi," Thomas said.

"I'm Jo," the nymph said, holding out her hand. She was gorgeous, with hair the color of sunrise tumbling over tanned shoulders. She was also very naked.

"Nice to meet you, uh, Jo," Thomas replied. He shook her hand and felt very aroused by the sight of her.

"Merde," Lydia said, pulling him away.

Agnes gave a chuckle. "As you can see, without protection, you would be at the mercy of any being who cast their eye on you, child."

They continued on their walk. Agnes showed them the library, the constable's office, the town hall, public works, and several other buildings Thomas didn't catch. As they walked, Lydia conversed in fluent French with Agnes, and they translated for him occasionally.

They entered a neighborhood and walked past different houses of mostly Northwestern style. Peaked roofs for snow, large windows, and wood shakes were common themes. They passed several, and Lydia spoke to Agnes again in French.

"I tell her... Big, ah, windows... ah... three bedrooms... ah... large..." she rattled something off in French to Agnes.

"Back yard," Agnes said.

"She doesn't know what the word 'backyard' means anymore?"

"It is the geas, mon cher," Lydia said, smiling.

They approached one house that stood on a little hill overlooking the town. It had a large yard and soaring windows, though it was an 'A' frame that Lydia hadn't really wanted.

"Ooh, zis one looks perfect!" She let go of his hands and practically ran up the path to the enormous wooden door. Thomas jogged to keep up with her.

She went inside, twirling around, laughing, and clasping her hands together. She darted from room to room, then clattered up the stairs, her feet wearing the heels Agnes had given her the day before.

Thomas also went upstairs, and she squealed as she moved from room to room.

"Oh, isn't zis ze perfect 'ouse for us, mon cœur?" Lydia called out from one of the rooms.

Thomas walked into the master bedroom and looked out the window. The town spread out below them, lights beginning to come on as dusk fell. The bay in the distance looked eerie and a little spooky, but the house was... well, perfect for what they had been looking for.

Lydia came up to him, taking his hands and smiling, turning so his arms were around her, and she swayed as they looked out of the immense window.

"If this is what you want," Thomas said. "But baby, the price?" He turned to look into her eyes.

They had been nearly the same height; he was a hair over six feet, and she was five eleven. Now, he had to look down into her eyes slightly.

Another streak of gray had crept into her hair on the left side of her head. He pulled it out for her to see, and she took it in her altered hand.
She held out her right arm, and they both saw the aging had taken her arm clear past the elbow.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he looked at her arms. "Babe, we can leave RIGHT NOW and be back at the car in a few hours!"

She nodded, closing her eyes. "It is... ce que je veux. What I want."

"But, babe, what if you're not... you at the end?"

And whether she didn't understand him, or just didn't want to answer, she gave a soft smile and turned, staring out the window at the gathering gloom beyond.

-----------

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The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter 7
by Raine Monday

Lydia found herself immersed in a whirlwind of activity as she ushered movers through their new home, a symphony of boxes and furniture swirling around her. The previous day's shopping spree in the quaint town square had transformed into a tangible reality, as piece by piece, their house began to take shape.

She moved like a conductor, her arms directing where each item should go with a flourish. The leather sectional, its surface soft and inviting, found its place in the living room. Matching recliners followed, creating a cozy nook by the fireplace. Lydia’s eyes sparkled as she envisioned the space coming to life – a luxurious rug here, an ornate lamp there, and perhaps a collection of throw pillows to add a splash of color.

It wasn’t just furnishings that Lydia had been given carte blanche to acquire. Agnes, with a knowing smile, had opened a line of credit at all the local stores, empowering Lydia to indulge her every whim. And indulge she did. From sleek, modern bookshelves to an elegant dining set, Lydia’s selections spoke of a newfound confidence, a blend of her taste and the influence of refined aesthetics from the geas.

Below, in the basement, Lydia had carved out her own sanctum – a workshop for her burgeoning magical talents. Agnes had supplied her with a list as long as her arm – agents and reagents, herbs and remedies, oils, unguents, and a kaleidoscope of crystals.

“Zis,” she announced with a flourish, surveying the space where her magical journey would unfold, “will be where zee magic 'appens…” Her words trailed off into a playful, salacious wink directed at Thomas as he hefted a box of shimmering crystals into the room.

Thomas responded with a nod, his jaw clenched in frustration. The language barrier, once a mere inconvenience, now stood as a formidable wall between them.

Lydia exhaled deeply, her brow furrowing in concentration as she attempted to navigate the choppy waters of English. It felt foreign on her tongue, every word a struggle, every sentence a battle. She longed for the fluidity and romance of French, its melody and rhythm that seemed to dance in the air.

As the afternoon waned, a troupe of worker elves arrived, their pointed ears twitching with eagerness. Lydia watched in fascination as these diminutive beings, described by Agnes as lovers of labor, set about their tasks with a zeal and efficiency that was almost magical in itself. They assembled, arranged, and repurposed with a joy that was contagious.

In just two days, the transition from the Whispering Inn to their own abode was complete. Their house, though still echoing with the potential of unfilled spaces, now felt like a home. It was a canvas waiting for the brushstrokes of their lives.

Thomas, who had taken a while to warm up to the idea of their new life, had thrown himself into renovations. Lydia watched him with a mixture of pride and melancholy as he dismantled a non-load-bearing wall. The wall’s removal had transformed the living area, creating an open, welcoming space that stretched invitingly from one end of the house to the staircase.

Climbing down from his ladder, Thomas wrapped his arms around Lydia. “Yeah, it really opens the place up, doesn’t it?” His voice was a blend of fatigue and satisfaction.

Lydia nodded, her heart aching with a mixture of love and a longing for simpler times. She leaned into his embrace, the unfamiliar English words still tumbling awkwardly from her lips, “Zis looks amazing, my 'usband!”

Together, in the midst of sawdust and the promise of new beginnings, they stood – two souls intertwined in a dance of change, their future as unpredictable as the magic that now wove through their lives.

Lydia’s voice, soft and tentative, broke the silence. “Voulez-vous de la nourriture?” she asked, her words tinged with the unfamiliar lilt of her newly acquired French accent.

Thomas looked at her, a mixture of confusion and concern in his eyes. “I don’t know what you just asked me.”

She sighed, a hint of frustration in her gaze. “Ah, do you want zome food?” she repeated, her struggle with English evident in her voice.

“Yes, please,” Thomas replied, his heart aching at the sight of her trying so hard to bridge the gap that the geas had wedged between them.

Hand in hand, they ventured into the kitchen, where Thomas lit a few lamps, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. They sat together at the table, surrounded by the quaint charm of their new home, eating sandwiches prepared by the diligent elves.

“How are you feeling?” Thomas asked, biting into a ham sandwich, his appetite overshadowed by concern.

Lydia waved her altered hand dismissively, her features etched with weariness. “Je suis fatiguée, mais c'est tout,” she replied.

Thomas exhaled, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and worry. “Tired,” Lydia translated, her voice low.

He nodded silently, his thoughts racing as he observed the changes in her – changes that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

After their quiet meal, they made their way upstairs to the bedroom. In a fluid motion, Lydia untied the strings of her dress, letting the fabric cascade to the floor in a pool of grey. She stepped out of it gracefully, her movements belying the transformation her body had undergone.

“Veux-tu prendre un bain avec moi?” she asked, a hint of hope in her eyes.

“English, please?” Thomas requested gently, his heart pained by the necessity of the request.

“Do you want to take a bath, with me?” she repeated, her words laced with a mix of resignation and desire.

He nodded, his throat tight with emotion. Lydia moved to fill the tub, a magnificent clawfoot masterpiece that was a testament to their newfound affluence. She added bath salts, watching the bubbles rise and swirl in the steaming water.

In the mirror, she studied her reflection – the relentless march of the geas was evident. Thomas joined her, his lips meeting her shoulder in a tender kiss. The once-smooth skin there was now etched with wrinkles, a testament to the transformation that had claimed her body. Her legs, her torso, her neck – all bore the unmistakable signs of age's advance.

She was noticeably shorter now, her gaze barely reaching his chin. Streaks of grey marred her hair, and lines creased her eyes, mouth, forehead, and chin. Yet, she was still Lydia, her essence unmistakable.

That morning, the first tooth had fallen. She opened her mouth in the mirror, wiggling several more teeth – a grim reminder of the change’s relentless progression.

“Do you still love me?” she asked, her voice laden with vulnerability. It was Lydia speaking, her words unfiltered by translation.

“Of course, I do, babe,” Thomas assured her, his voice steady and sure.

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she spoke. “I know I’m not…attractive, to you anymore, but I do appreciate you making me feel like I am.”

Thomas lifted her chin gently, compelling her to meet his gaze. “I will always be attracted to you,” he declared, sealing his words with a deep, affectionate kiss. Gently, he lifted her into the warm embrace of the bathwater, sliding in beneath her.

“I know one thing, at least,” he murmured with a soft chuckle.

“Qu’est-ce?” she inquired, curiosity lighting up her eyes.

“You’re a lot lighter now. After shedding all that dead weight,” he teased.

“Bâtard!” Lydia splashed him playfully, her laughter echoing in the room. He leaned over her, their lips meeting in a deep, passionate kiss, a moment of pure connection amidst the whirlwind of change.

As he kissed her, something began to stir in her chest. She found breathing increasingly difficult. Opening her eyes, she gasped for air.

"Lyds?" He pulled back, concern etching his features. "Lyds, what's wrong?"

She flapped her hands in front of her mouth, her lungs refusing to draw breath.

"It's the lungs," Agatha announced from the bathroom doorway, her voice laced with urgency. "Pick her up and bring her downstairs. Hurry!"

Sweeping Lydia into his arms, he lifted her out of the tub without questioning Agatha's sudden presence. He acted instinctively, and Lydia's heart swelled with love for him. Panic surged through her as she struggled to inhale, but then she remembered one of Agatha's lessons.

She closed her eyes, seeking an inner calm. Letting tranquility wash over her, she reminded herself that she could survive without air for a time, but not if panic overtook her, not if her lungs clamored desperately to be filled.

"Good girl," a voice whispered in her mind. "The final stage of your Emergence is upon you. Do you accept who and what you are, and who and what you will become?"

"I do," Lydia affirmed mentally.

Agatha led the way downstairs, bypassing the main level, and into a basement where a circle had been installed on the floor. Made of copper, it enclosed a silver six-pointed star.

"Lay her down in the middle of the star," Agatha instructed.

"But I—"

"Lay her down, boy, or she will die!" Agatha’s tone brooked no argument.

Several more women entered, their presence filling the basement with an air of solemnity. They began to chant, their voices weaving a tapestry of sound. Agatha lit six black candles, placing them at each point of the star.

"Now leave us," she commanded. "Do not return, no matter what you hear."

"No!" Thomas protested. "I can't just—"

Agatha’s eyes flashed dangerously. "Do NOT test my patience, boy!" Her hiss echoed against the stone walls. Thomas glared at her, his concern for Lydia evident, but finally nodded.

"I'll be right upstairs," he murmured, his gaze lingering on Lydia.

Lydia nodded back, her ability to speak or breathe still beyond her reach.

The basement air grew thick with the scent of ancient herbs as the women encircled Lydia, their voices rising and falling in a hypnotic cadence. Agatha stood at the head of the star, her arms raised high, palms facing the ceiling. She began to recite an incantation in a language lost to time, her words resonating with a power that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the house. The candles flickered wildly, casting elongated shadows that danced along the walls, as if ancient spirits were stirring, awakened by the ritual.

As Agatha's voice crescendoed, the other women joined in, their voices harmonizing in a haunting melody. They moved in a synchronized, ritualistic dance, their steps precise and deliberate. Each movement seemed to draw energy from the air, channeling it towards Lydia, who lay at the center of the star. The copper and silver beneath her began to glow, a soft, ethereal light that pulsed in time with the chanting.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, growing heavier, as if the very air were saturated with anticipation. Lydia could feel the Essence of the One Tree, that mythical source of all life and magic, responding to the call of the incantation. It flowed towards her, a river of unseen energy, filling her with a warmth that spread from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. The Essence swirled around her, penetrating every cell, every fiber of her being, transforming her from within.

The chanting grew louder, more insistent, echoing through Lydia's mind. Images flashed before her eyes - visions of ancient forests, towering trees, and a sky filled with stars so bright they seemed within reach. She felt connected to something immeasurable, timeless, a part of the universe's endless cycle.

As the ritual reached its climax, the energy in the room coalesced into a tangible force, enveloping Lydia in a cocoon of light. The Essence of the One Tree pulsed within her, its power merging with her very essence. In that moment, Lydia felt an indescribable sense of unity with the universe, an understanding of her place within the vast tapestry of existence.

Her heart raced, then faltered, tripped, and halted. Terror gripped her as she opened her eyes. Her blood stilled, and a cold, clammy sensation threatened to overwhelm her. Defying the paralysis, her spirit soared upwards, passing through the basement ceiling into the living room where Thomas paced, knuckles in his mouth, a telltale sign of his deep anxiety.

She reassured herself silently; she was okay, just in a different state of being.

Then she heard it – the music of the spheres, a cosmic symphony from the center of the Universe, the birthplace of all existence. She drew in this power, letting it saturate her essence, flow through her—

But lurking in the vastness was a monstrous entity, a creature of tentacles and a maw as vast as a skyscraper. It oozed darkness, a malevolent force hungering for destruction. Its gaping maw opened wide—

And she plummeted back into her body. Or rather, what used to be her body. Her heart now beat with a strange rhythm, her lungs filled with unfamiliar breath. Every part of her had been transformed – not altered, but entirely replaced.

This new body resonated with a different energy, its aura distinct, firing synapses in a unique neural network.

"Open your eyes, dear," a voice, perhaps Agatha's, coaxed her.

Confusion clouded her mind as she sat up, coughing out teeth that had loosened and nearly been swallowed. Her body felt alien - her breasts sagged, veins protruded on her limbs, and her skin hung loosely. A wart adorned the side of her nose. Her hair, once full, was now thin and scraggly.

"Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?" she rasped, her voice unfamiliar to her own ears.

"Tu as traversé l'Émergence, ma chère. Prends un moment et respire," Agatha soothed.

Lydia – no, not Lydia anymore – complied, taking slow, deliberate breaths.

"Dis-nous ton nom, ma chère," prompted Agatha.

A flood of new memories, a different life, filled her mind. She was no longer the person she had been.

"Je m'appelle Esmerelda Devereaux," she declared with newfound certainty.

Agnes Wainwright, First of the Coven of Sælicbrook, lifted Esmerelda's frail arm. "Welcome our new sister, Esmerelda Devereaux!"

A chorus of applause enveloped Esmerelda, her lips curving into a smile as she embraced her new identity.

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Author's Note

I've always hated stories of identity death. I want her to remember who she was, but recognize that she's evolved. Not sure I made it yet, but hoping readers will see the difference.

Also, if you enjoyed this please consider joining my patreon at https://patreon.com/rainemonday
My stuff is for sale at https://Rainemonday.gumroad.com

The Thirteenth Witch
by Raine Monday
Chapter 8

Thomas paced anxiously in the living room, gnawing at his knuckle. He knew he shouldn't have left her down there, knew he should have stayed by her side. Then he heard someone screaming in raw, horrid, grating tones, a screech.

One of the witches…he forgot which one, came up. "You can come see her now."

Thomas bounded down the stairs and past the witches who had gathered. In the center stood another of the witches. Why was she naked? And he looked around for Lydia.

"Where is she?" Thomas said, looking around.

The one in the center, the naked one, approached him unsteadily. She was smaller than the rest, hunched, her hair a ragged gray mess that flowed down over her bony shoulders.

"Thomas?" she said in a ragged voice, and he could see she had no teeth. She had a wart beside her nose and eyes that stared at him, rheumy and grey.

She reached up and tugged his beard just like Lydia had done a thousand times.

"Lydia?" he said in horror.

She nodded and opened her arms, saying something in French.

"Tu ne me reconnais pas, crétin?"

"What…what did she say?"

"She says 'Don't you recognize me, cretin?'" Agatha said, smiling. "It is Lydia, or was Lydia. She has been reborn as Esmerelda Devereaux."

"But she's…I mean…she's…"

"Yes, unfortunately, the price we pay for wielding extraordinary magics that bind reality together. We all appear to be perpetually in our elderhood."

He helped her up the stairs, one by one, and someone finally found her a light blanket she draped over herself.

"We shall come collect her in the morning," Agatha said. "A day at the salon, and she'll appear much better."

He nodded as the witches all filed out. He closed the door, and turned to…his wife.

Was she still really his wife?

"How do you feel?"

"Une vieille femme."

Thomas nodded, not sure what she was saying.

She motioned with her arm, indicating they should go upstairs.

She threaded her arm with his, and they slowly made their way to their room.

Esmerelda peered at herself in the mirror, snaking a hand through her hair.

Thomas practically towered over her now. She barely reached the middle of his chest.

She opened her mouth, swirling her tongue around the toothless gap. She said something again in French, and Thomas shrugged.

She tugged at his arm and pointed at the bed. It was late.

Disrobing, they slipped beneath the sheets. Thomas was afraid he might hurt her, considering how frail she looked.

She looked up at him. Her hair was matted and slid all over the bed. "Ugly," she pointed at her face.

Thomas shook his head. "Beautiful."

Lydia…Esmerelda shook her head and turned away from him, hiding her face in her hands. He heard her soft sobs, and her fragile shoulders shook.

"Hey, none of that now."

He enfolded her in his arms. "Damn, I wish you could understand me."

She spooned back into him, and he took his hands, and pointed at her. "You, me…" he criss-crossed his fingers together enmeshed. "Forever."

She turned toward him. It broke his heart to see her ruined face. It wasn't like she had aged—Lydia had aged. This was someone different, Esmerelda. She looked like she was a hundred years old.

He stroked her forehead, tracing the wrinkles there. She looked up at him, and they touched foreheads together like they had done a hundred times before.

He kissed her, and she kissed him back—briefly—but then she broke the kiss. It was obvious she was still too self-conscious.

She gave him a smile. It wasn't Lydia's smile, but it would suffice. Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Thomas lay staring at her, watching her sleep, hearing her snores. Those were new. He kept telling himself, this was her choice—she wanted to do this.

But seeing the frail body sleeping next to him, it didn't feel like that. He felt like she was a victim, conned into a future she didn't want, forced into this… coven of witches, as a witch.

I mean, why did they have to be old? Couldn't she have learned magic as she was?

Questions with no answers filed through his brain. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, he too fell asleep.

It felt like he'd only been asleep for a few moments when he heard the chiming of something downstairs.

Was that their doorbell?

He looked to see if his wife was awake and found her gone.

Sitting up, he pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, then headed out the door.

Downstairs, Lydia…Esmerelda…had dressed for the day. She wore a black dress with lace down the sleeves and at her wrinkled throat.

"Good morning," he said as she handed him a cup of coffee.

"Bonjour." She smiled at him, then hurried toward the door.

Agatha and several other witches swept in.

"Good morning, dear ones," Agatha said, and the other two accompanying her also said good morning.

"Bonjour," Esmerelda said.

Agatha rattled something at her in French, and Esmerelda responded, glancing at Thomas and grinning. The witches cackled in response.

"She says you were a sensual lover last night," Beatrice said.

"Well, I aim to please," Thomas replied.

"Today we shall take Esmerelda to the salon. It will help with her geas."

"How so?" Thomas said.

"Well, the newly Emerged all have feelings and urges that come with the new body. Esmerelda hasn't had an opportunity to unlock all of them fully. Once she does, she will be able to magically recreate them at any time, but they also reinforce and refine her personality. She is a very strong witch, so I suspect great things from the geas today."

"I see," Thomas said, not at all seeing anything.

"Regardless, dear, I intend to have her home before dark. Enjoy yourself."

Thomas nodded and looked at Esmerelda, who gave him a shy wave goodbye. He leaned down and gave her a sensual kiss, to the cackles of the other witches around him.

"Keep that up, and you'll go far, boy," Agatha said, smiling as she walked out the door.

Thomas nodded and watched them file down the path, his wife among them. Four little ladies with gray hair, shambling away.

He sighed. He still had plenty of unboxing to do, and he wanted to get his workshop set up.

Lydia had claimed the basement early on, so Thomas claimed the back shed. He'd enjoyed woodworking when he'd been a kid and always wanted to get back to it.

He'd set up a couple of sawhorses and some wood planks to use as benches. He'd also outfitted the shed with awls, saws, hammers, planers, sanders, and everything else a woodworker might need.

He had some ideas to create chessboards with hand-carved pieces. He had several dark walnut slabs and some white oak, and with a little whistle, he started working.

After a few hours, he had the board roughed out, the glue set, and it was in the clamps. He took out some small blocks of walnut and a few different-shaped awls and started chiseling out the pieces.

Breathing in the smell of sawdust, he felt content for the first time in a while.

Now that they had made the decision to stay in Willowbrook, it was nice not to have to worry about things like rent, a 'job,' bills, utilities—all the stress of being an adult in society.

He heard them before he saw them. The women walked up the lane, and he could tell they were laughing and having a good time.

It was nice that Lydia had found a group to belong to… he wished she hadn't been forced to be transformed into another person, but at least she had a connection here.

He blew off the sawdust from his awls, swept off his workspace, and hung up his woodworking apron, then went into the main house.

Esmerelda stood resplendent in the living room, smiling at him.

Thomas's eyes widened as he took in his wife's new look.
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The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Nine
Raine Monday

Esmerelda Devereaux walked with the ladies' of the coven down the hill, and through the housing area.

Walking was quite a different chore now, than when she'd been Lydia.

She had to take much smaller steps, and her knees ached, her hips hurt, her back felt like it was on fire, and she couldn't put her shoulders back.

"We shall give you some remedies for the elderly ailments," Agatha said as they made their way through town.

"You will learn to use your magic to embue your body with more agility and function."

She nodded, feeling the magic in her mind like a new toy.

It beckoned, wanting her to use it, but Agatha said she needed training, to use it properly.

Finally, the salon came into view, and Esmerelda barely had enough energy to lever each foot over the threshold.

"Darlings, I introduce you to Esmerelda Devereaux, the thirteenth member of our Coven!"

Esmerelda gave a smile, trying to keep her lips closed.

It was difficult to always remember, and she found herself slobbering more than once.

"Today we create a vision for her geas. Help her find her amazing new outlook!"

Several people squealed in delight, rushing forward.

"Oh! It's been ages since we fashioned a geas!" one small person said.

She could only have been three feet tall with pointed ears, and a little tail that was furry and long.

"These are the Gremlings." Agatha pointed at each in turn.

"Bobbi, Salli, Birdi, and Gigi."

Esmerelda nodded.

"Enchantée."

They babbled at her, whisking her away to sit in a chair, where one of them, Salli, she thought, leaned her back and began washing her hair.

The warm water felt so soothing and nice.

She was still a bit raw from the Emergence the previous evening, so the gentle hands soothed her.

When she closed her eyes, she was able to open her Eye and perceive the beings as they truly were.

Each was a different creature, Bobbi appeared to be a fox, Salli a cute little squirrel, Birdi was, of course, a bird, and Gigi…Esmerelda paused a moment, trying to ascertain…ah, yes, Gigi was a serpent, or snake of sorts.

She could also see the magical plane around her, and how each of the beings coated Esmerelda in different layers of magic.

It invigorated her, healed her, made her joints less achy, her feet less painful.

"Oh, good, you're here, already." Agatha said, shimmering into view beside her.

Beatrice and Dorothy also shimmered, though not as strong as Agatha.

Esmerelda wondered how she appeared to them.

"Today we start your first lesson in magic, dear," Agatha said.

"We have precious little time to prepare, so I'm afraid we're going to have to streamline some of your teachings."

"I think I saw the being you mentioned last night during my Emergence."

Agatha looked at her, surprised.

"Oh? Do tell."

Esmerelda related what had happened.

The tentacular form, the inky blackness, the gigantic maw, all of it.

"In fact if you hadn't started my heart and lungs when you did, it would have pulled me in."

Agatha nodded.

"It's much as I feared.

Already it exists at the portal of the Universes, eating everything that passes between.

We'll have to escalate this as quickly as possible, dear.

We need you at full strength very soon."

"Well, tell me what I have to do."

"First things first," Agatha said.

"This salon, as you can see replenishes our pool of magic, enhances our wards, and reinforces our magical armor.

Each item you choose to wear, from your hairdo, to your footwear, will be used for either offensive or defensive purposes.

The larger a hairstyle you wear, the more protection it offers.

Some of us choose to go wild…" she glanced at Dorothy.

"While others of us prefer a more refined look."

Esmerelda nodded.

"So tell me, what would you like to project?

Remember, once chosen, this becomes a part of your geas, and will magically regenerate anytime you desire.

You only get to do this once, so choose carefully."

Esmerelda thought back to when she'd been in the palace of her father, William the Conquerer.

She'd worn heavy velvet dresses with a bustle, petticoats, and corset.

Each had been a part of her protection as a witch in the past, and each had served different functions.

She projected an image of herself from ages before, turning slowly in front of the coven.

"Goodness, you will be quite the flamboyant showpiece with that," Dorothy said.

"It will come to suit me," Esmerelda responded.

"Plus, each layer adds more protection.

I have runes in every stitch and powder.

Some invisible, others less so."

"Wonderful, we'll get the dressmakers working on these now."

As the day wore on, Esmerelda spoke to the women in their head space, while the beings treated their skin, hair, nails, lashes and brows, with expert care and guidance.

Agatha came to her in her mind.

Her voice was gentle, yet firm as she sat across from Lydia in the dimly lit room of the coven’s sanctuary.

The air was thick with the scent of hair product, incense, and perfume casting an otherworldly aura around them.

“My dear, the geas you’re experiencing is not just a simple spell,” Agatha began, her eyes reflecting the flicker of candlelight.

“It’s a complex weave of magic, binding the essence of Esmerelda Devereaux to your very being.

Think of it as a bridge between her ancient wisdom and your vibrant energy.”

Lydia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling the weight of her new, aged body.

“But why does it change me so much?

I feel like I’m losing myself to… her.”

“That’s the nature of the geas, Lydia.

It’s a powerful enchantment that connects two souls across time.

Esmerelda’s memories, her powers, her very essence are merging with yours.

But remember, this process doesn’t erase who you are.

It’s more like… an expansion of your being.”

Lydia rubbed her temples, where a dull ache throbbed.

“It doesn’t feel like an expansion.

It feels like I’m being overwritten.

I look in the mirror, and I don't see Lydia, I see … someone else.”

Agatha nodded sympathetically.

“The initial stages are the hardest.

You’re gaining access to Esmerelda’s magical abilities, her experiences.

In time, you’ll learn to harmonize these two identities, but it requires patience and understanding.”

“But what if I don’t want her life, her identity?

What if I just want to be me?” Lydia’s voice cracked, revealing her inner turmoil.

Agatha reached across, placing a reassuring hand over Lydia’s.

“The geas does not aim to replace you, Lydia.

It enhances and deepens your own abilities.

Esmerelda was a powerful witch, and her strengths are now yours to command.

Yet, how you choose to use them, how you let them shape your future, that’s entirely up to you.”

Lydia sighed, feeling the ancient power of Esmerelda coursing through her veins, a constant reminder of the transformation she was undergoing.

“And what happens if I reject this… union?”

Agatha’s expression turned solemn.

“Rejecting the geas could have unpredictable consequences.

It’s a delicate balance of energies.

There is another, more drastic ritual, but those are for worst-case scenarios.

Rejecting the geas might lose the magical abilities you’re gaining, but more importantly, it could cause a rift in your very essence.

It’s a path we tread with caution.”

Lydia sat in silence, absorbing Agatha’s words.

She could feel the dual pull within her, Lydia’s youthful spirit grappling with Esmerelda’s ancient wisdom.

It was a battle of identities, a dance of two souls intertwined by a force greater than either of them.

Agatha’s voice softened.

“Give it time, dear.

You’re at the beginning of a profound journey.

Embrace it, and you’ll discover strengths you never knew you had.”

As Agatha spoke, she closed her eyes, letting the flickering shadows play across her mind.

She could sense Esmerelda’s presence, not as an invader, but as a mentor woven into the fabric of her soul.

The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but for the first time, Lydia felt a flicker of curiosity light up within her.

Maybe, just maybe, this fusion of past and present could be the key to a power she had never dared to imagine.

"Now that we've settled your geas, I suspect you'll need language magic.

I didn't realize the entity was from France.

I think your husband was greatly disturbed by that."

"He'll learn," Esmerelda said, waving her hand.

"We can't take away the accent, but we can at least train your mind to translate faster.

French will be your base language, but we all can speak English, Dutch, German, Spanish, and of course, Latin."

Esmerelda nodded.

"I suggest starting with English, so you can communicate with that gorgeous boy of yours," Agatha said with a grin.

Esmerelda felt herself blush.

"Don't you all have mates or partners?

"You met what remained of mine, last week," Dorothy said.

"Who?"

"Joe, the wood nymph."

Esmerelda blinked. "Joe? Was she a man before?"

Dorothy cast her eyes down, nodding.

"How did…"

"A tale for a later time, I'm afraid," Agatha said in a stern voice. "For now, I have loaded your mind with some runic primers. They should get you started with the translation magic. You can access them by focusing your vision on the top right corner, and winking with your right eye."

Esmerelda did as instructed, and heard a hiss from Gigi as she was working on her lashes. "Pardon," Esmerelda said.

After the wink, several items opened up in Esmerelda's field of view. She could see runic writing, similar to what had been in the cave…

"Did you leave those runes in the cave for me?" Esmerelda said.

Agatha smiled. "I leave runes near all the entrances to our portals in case a magically powered individual happens by."

Esmerelda nodded, smiling.

"Now, study the runes, and add them into a layer of clothing. I usually add translators to jewelry."

With a flick of her wrists, Esmerelda sent the runes into her earrings that had just been affixed to her ears.

After working on her hair, makeup, nails, eyelashes, and eyebrows, Esmerelda and the other witches were put under hair dryers.

As they started up, Esmerelda gasped. Not only did they gently blow hot air onto her rollered head, but raw magical energy flowed out from the dryer, and into each strand of hair. She realized this was defensive magic, building a bubble of energy around her to protect her frail body against magical and physical attacks.

As Esmerelda walked back with the women, feeling a thousand times better now that her geas had been refreshed, energized, encapsulated, and fixed, she thought about poor, simple Lydia, wearing sweatpants and hoodies, and rolled her heavily made-up eyes. She would never be simple again.

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