The brass bell that hung over the chipping powder blue door could’ve used a dollop of polish.

The floorboards that were uneven and scuffed could’ve been sanded—or even swept.

The windows had enough dirt and grime thanks to the vines cluttering the tall peaked frame trapping all manner of bugs and dust that, if you swiped your finger along the glass, it’d surely come away black.

The room was tiny, cluttered, and drafty. Shelves and cabinets lined every available wall. Aside from the tall window to the left of the room that barely allowed any sunlight to drift in, there was another skinny window beside the door that tried valiantly to brighten the space.

A long rectangular table sat nearly in the middle of the room, its right edge already cluttered with a brass mortar and pestle, dried rosemary tied together with some twine, and an old purple leather book lay open to reveal its pages covered in more tea stains than ink.

Tucked on the left wall of the shop was a set of stairs that led up to a small alcove with a railing that looked over the space, and behind that? Well… That was where the owner of such an establishment slept, but no one had ever laid eyes on the room since Spidena Kettle had taken to renting the shop.

No one understood how she had made the once pristine, stately place look so overgrown and filthy in a mere four seasons since the young woman had moved in. The residents of the town of Gable could have asked her about this. They could have found out if she used some fantastic fertilizer or compost, but they had learned very quickly that if you wanted to talk with Spidena, you best mentally prepare yourself as she was… an unusual sort on her best days.

This was something a man by the name of Benthrop Hozel most likely would’ve liked to know before he entered the shop that didn’t even dignify itself with a proper sign.

But he didn’t.

And so he burst in, sending that dirty bell ringing as though it were summoning its mistress for a cheery teatime.

Benthrop, or Ben, as he told people to call him, did his best to mask his quick breaths, and swallowed past his dry throat. Though the smell of incense and the chill of the dusty air made him cough regardless.

There was a small fire lit in the oven, so he knew someone had to be nearby.

Wiping his sweating palms on his old tan coat that hung to his knees, he turned toward the nearest cabinet that had a basket of walnuts, a jar of nails, a ball of twine, and a pair of rusty scissors. He then looked through the glass doors of the cabinet to see purple crystals, clear crystals, a lump of jade, and half of a ham sandwich that didn’t actually appear to be that old.

“Can I help you?”

Ben jolted, his heart slamming against his chest as he looked up toward the voice, and laid eyes on the proprietor. A dark haired woman, with a fleshy nose, and a sharp gaze. She looked to be in her early twenties, and wore a light brown corset, an improperly thin white dress that she appeared to have outgrown ages ago as it fluttered by her shins, and clashing knee high black boots.

She stared at him impatiently, as though he were distracting her from something important.

“I need a spell.”

Ben wondered if that was rude.

Luckily for him, Spidena didn’t care.

She leaned her forearms on her railing. “Mind being more specific?”

“I need a-a-a spell to make people forget who I am.”

Spidena took a very long, deep, wearisome breath in and continued to stare at him expectantly. “Again. Mind being more specific?”

“A-about ten, no, twenty men need to forget who I am.”

Spidena lowered her head to her hand and rubbed her brow with the same exasperation she might have given him if he were mimicking the sound of frog farts.

“Let’s try this again,” she drawled as she pushed herself off the railing and began stepping down the stairs that creaked and squeaked under her heels. “I need details like the height and weight of these men. How well do they know you? Do you want them to forget years? Days? Hours? Do they have any allergies that could kill them? It’s on the sign there, if anyone dies as a result of my spells you take full ownership of that.” Spidena jerked her chin toward a wooden sign hung beside the door that was easy to miss amongst the general chaos of the room.

“I don’t need them dead! I just need them to not know who I am anymore! They… They are all large. I don’t know their heights exactly, but they are at least half a foot taller than me, and if they could forget the past three years that would be best.”

Spidena stopped on the landing, and sucked on one of her molars as she thought about his order. Ben noticed she had a faded sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose as she did so.

“All twenty men are half a foot taller than yourself?”

“Er… I—I don’t know.”

“You’re willing to accept the penalty if they die, and you are aware that because you are making this purchase, in bulk I might add, that I will have to alert the local authorities? Though I won’t be doing that until tomorrow. It’s Earthsday afterall. Gods know they probably only have Harvey Minkup working…” she noted to herself in a disapproving grumble while finishing her descent down the stairs and ambling over to her work table in a leisurely fashion.

If she noticed her customer looking out the window nervously, she didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes! I-I-I agree to the terms! I’m leaving town anyway!”

“You are aware you have to make them drink the potion I brew, correct?”

“What?!”

“It’ll cost extra if you want this order in a purely incantation form and uh… Pardon me, but I’m pretty doubtful you can even pay for the potion version, let alone the big magic kind of a pure incantation.”

Ben’s hands came up and clutched his curly black hair. “Godsdamnit I… I have the gold… Money. But you would have to get it yourself. I can’t leave this shop right now.”

Spidena idly wiped at her nose with the tip of her index finger as she considered his order. 

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“Hm.” She looked neither impressed nor interested.

“It’s a lot of gold!” Ben insisted desperately.

Spidena’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Help people. It’ll be fulfilling. It’ll pass the time! Open a shop!” She mimicked someone else in a high pitched voice while turning toward her stove and lifting the kettle down from a nearby hook to put it over the flames that wavered bravely against the cold air. Still ignoring Ben, she went over to the water pump in her wall where a bucket already sat waiting, and leveraged some cold gushing water in, sloshing some over the sides as she went.

“Thank you so much for helping me,” Ben said followed by a breath that almost had him doubling over. He was feeling a tiny bit calmer now that there was a sliver of hope.

“I haven’t made up my mind to do this yet. I’m just making a cup of tea while I think it over.”

Ben stiffened and his brown eyes turned momentarily hard. “Please. I really do have the funds.”

“Are the funds worth the possible problems you bring me is the question I’m working on answering. Don’t rush me,” Spidena chided while hefting the bucket to the kettle and pouring the water in as carefully as she could. Though a few droplets fell onto the stove’s hot service and sizzled.

“You can’t have that many customers! Witches and magic weren’t even made legal until five years ago!”

Spidena turned and looked at him flatly. “Yes. It’s only been five years, but I don’t need to live anywhere that can be found by seebs, so if I don’t make money, I’ll move.”

Seebs. That was what witches called the people who didn’t have any trace of magic in them…

No one knew exactly where it started. That spark of magic that lingered and pulsed in the blood of witches, and for many years they were thought to be nothing more than myths. However, that had been what the former monarchy had wanted everyone to believe. It wasn’t until the last king of Mozair had abdicated and allowed the land to be ruled by a democratic government that the truth was revealed.

Some witches had been forced to work in secret for centuries for the crown. Some had lived in hiding. Some had simply ignored their magic and lived as the seebs… Hoping that their children wouldn’t have to struggle against their ancient calling.

You see, if a witch ignored their magic for long enough it withered and died like a muscle did when it went unused, and if that happened? Well, the odds of having a son or daughter with magical abilities dwindled. Or worse yet, they passed on the faintest of inklings of the great power they once carried, but without the actual power to stop the itching of those instincts. Those poor children were called dodders. Usually it didn’t prove a problem, unless they tried to act out a spell more powerful than they were capable of wielding, or they tried to summon something. Fortunately most people knew that dodders could either try to work on simple household spells to gradually build back up the power of their lineage, or they could continue to ignore it until it disappeared entirely.

Spidena turned to a dresser that had plates and teacups on top, and started opening the drawers and rummaging around before plucking out jars and giving their contents a sniff. Ben realized she was trying to pick what kind of tea she felt like having, and his desperation surged.

“I’m begging you, anything to help me get my gold and get out of this town. I don’t want to cause any inconvenience.”

Spidena had been in the middle of smelling one of the jars when her nose wrinkled. “How did the spider legs get in here?”

Momentarily distracted by her disturbing discovery, Ben stepped closer. “If you don’t want gold, I can do you a favor!”

Spidena stopped her quest of finding the perfect tea, and turned to face her customer slowly; her eyes flashed to reveal ethereally light green streaks in her eyes…

“Favors are dangerous things. Are you sure you want to be promising that?”

A bird flew by the window to the left, and its shadow rushing along the side of Ben’s face made him flinch. In hindsight, he should have recognized that as a sign. However, in that moment, he ignored it, and said, “If you help me. Yes. I am sure.”

“What if my favor is for you to hand over all of that nice gold you’ve accumulated?”

“A favor shouldn’t destroy a person!”

“Losing your gold wouldn’t destroy you,” Spidena scoffed. “Are you really as certain sa you think about this deal?”

Ben swallowed. “You can ask for anything but my gold. Or anything that requires a lot of my time. I need to… To do something with the gold.”

Spidena arched an eyebrow, her gaze was hungry in an unnerving way…

But then she stuck out her hand.

There was yellow staining her fingertips and nails. As though she had been grating turmeric… But otherwise, they were long, pale, and looked quite soft.

Ben seized her hand with his sweating palm and shook it. Instantly he felt a shock rush up his arm and into his heart making him grunt and cringe.

“That’s good. I don’t know if you know this, but if someone offering a favor isn’t capable of delivering it to the witch, he would’ve gone unconscious from that. Possibly even drop dead from it.”

“I know.”

Spidena’s eyes glittered with interest as she smiled and tilted her head. “Not your first time dealing with a witch? How interesting.”

Ben didn’t answer and instead worked on rubbing the unpleasant feeling from his chest.

“Well then. Shall we start helping those thugs outside forget who you are?” Spidena clapped her hands, and the innocuous black chandelier above, and several other candles positioned around the room, suddenly ignited.

Spidena pointed to a shelf on the wall by the landing, and beckoned something closer with her finger.

A bottle with clear liquid drifted forward, making Ben leap back out of the way.

Behind the witch the kettle whistled as her right hand wrapped around the bottle midair. 

She smiled at Ben as he began to feel a different kind of panic set in. “Care for a cup of tea, dear customer?”