The Pudding Lane Witch, page 14
“Yeah, it’s not working, look.”
“That’s a magic quill, it doesn’t run out of ink,” Gweneviere said.
“So why isn’t it working?” a confused Kambili asked.
“Because I think the book is also enchanted, by my mother. She probably did it so that only her, or in this case someone of her blood, like me, can read and write in it. To keep her spells secret and safe from prying eyes. It’s rather clever, really,” Gweneviere explained.
“Oh, wow, that is quite ingenious. Go Gwen’s mother! Maybe she left half the book blank for you to write some spells of your own? Like your teleportation spell you came up with as a child, I’m sure that’d make a great addition.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
In reality, her mother probably intended on living a much longer life, filling in a lot more of those blank pages herself, though Gweneviere did find the idea of continuing her mother’s legacy comforting.
“Anyway, how does this spell, potion thing, even work?” Kambili asked, with genuine interest.
“Well, it’s actually rather like a recipe, so you’ll probably be better at it than me. It says that once we’ve cooked it up, we just drop a bit into his evening meal every day. The recipe says it makes enough for a couple weeks,” Gweneviere explained, reading the invisible page to Kambili.
“That’s great! What do you we need? Eye of newt?” Kambili joked.
“No, though, it does mention blood from a new-born baby,” Gweneviere said sombrely.
“Wait, what?” Kambili raised her eyebrows, eyes wide.
Gweneviere looked back at her with a blank expression, which quickly cracked as she couldn’t help herself from bursting into laughter.
“Oh, ha-ha, very funny,” Kambili said, nudging Gweneviere in the arm and rolling her eyes.
“I’m sorry, it was just too easy. Though, on a serious note, most of these ingredients we can pick up from the market. Although, there is one that you definitely won’t find at the local herb and veg stall.”
“What is it?”
“It says here that we need werewolf hair, specifically that of an alpha wolf. It says the spell works in that it makes the recipient a ‘beta’, and less sexually driven,” Gweneviere attempted to decipher.
“Werewolves? How in the hell are we going to get werewolf hair?”
“Er… Yes, and I don’t know.”
“Gwen, come on, be serious. You’ve got a lot riding on this.”
“I know, I know. Just let me think for a second. My mum, I’m assuming, got the hair from the enchanted woods behind our old house, but that’d take too long… Oh, my old school might have some. The Crone is an avid witch, I remember in potion class there were walls full of magical ingredients, she must have some that I can borrow.”
“Okay, great. First thing tomorrow, you go get everything we need, and I’ll take care of the household chores. Then, when you’re back, we can brew it and sneak it into Thomas’ dinner before he can even get a whiff of what we’re doing.”
“I think you’re enjoying this witchcraft stuff a little too much,” Gweneviere chuckled.
“Hey, after what he’s done, he’s lucky we’re only taking his sex drive away, he deserves a lot worse.”
“Touché,” Gweneviere agreed, tipping her imaginary hat to Kambili before leaning in for another kiss, and then another, and another.
They were like giddy schoolgirls making out for the first time, and to be fair, they weren’t far off that. It was only the tragedies they had both faced so early on in life that caused them to grow up so fast. This was the first time in, well, forever, that they could be the loved-up, giggling teenagers that they were meant to be.
The presence of each other’s bodies being intertwined with one another brought about a relaxing atmosphere that allowed them to sleep like logs all night.
The next morning, the girls woke up spooning one another, though who the big spoon was can stay their secret. They made sure to get up and ready before Thomas could awaken and have a chance to catch them together. They went about their morning as usual, as to not raise any suspicions about their plan. Not that Thomas would’ve had the brain capacity at five in the morning to work out that they were planning to make a potion to take away his libido. It was quite the obscure plot, and quite frankly only a fellow witch would be able to decipher it. He certainly was not a witch, nor Sherlock Holmes, as he went to work as clueless as always.
Once Thomas was out of the way, Gweneviere grabbed her satchel and was ready to head out.
“Hey, you’re forgetting something,” Kambili called out, as Gweneviere’s hand grasped the doorknob.
“What?” Gweneviere turned around, puzzled. She checked her bag, before looking back at Kambili; she was sure she had everything.
“This.” Kambili smiled with a raised eyebrow as she waltzed over to Gweneviere and planted a kiss on her lips.
“Ah, yes, how could I forget.” Gweneviere smiled back as their lips slowly separated.
“Right, you are free to go now,” Kambili said, reluctantly, as she smacked her lips together, lovingly savouring their kiss. She could still taste the honey on Gweneviere’s lips from her porridge, and it was deliciously sweet. “Oh, and don’t forget to pick up dinner ingredients, too!” Kambili shouted, as Gweneviere closed the door, just managing to hear her on her way out.
Gweneviere left the house with an uncontrollable grin slapped across her face that stretched from ear to ear. For a moment, she felt like she was living her dream life. After all, if Thomas hadn’t existed, this would be the life that she’d be living with Kambili. With cute goodbye kisses every morning as both of them went to work. At least that day would be another step closer, if the potion worked, that was.
Gweneviere headed out on her mission to source some alpha werewolf fur, or hair – she wasn’t sure what the correct term was – from the Crone’s school. She hadn’t seen the Crone since graduation, and she was rather dubious of how their encounter would go. It was no surprise that Gweneviere wasn’t exactly happy with the husband that graduation had lumbered her with and felt resentment towards the Crone for reassuring her that everything would be okay. Though, Gweneviere also had no idea how kindly the Crone would take to lending her the ingredient if she knew what Gweneviere was planning to do to one of the Crone’s chosen men of London. Nevertheless, it was the only option Gweneviere had, as she didn’t have time to go back to the enchanted woods. Not to mention that the last time she was there was when her father brutally murdered another werewolf, so it wasn’t exactly a happy place for Gweneviere to return to. Besides, she probably would have gotten lost trying to find a tuft of magical fur amongst a whole forest full of strange and dangerous creatures. Even if she did muster up the courage to go back, Thomas would never allow her to go on such a trip without any good reason. No, it would seem that the Crone was inevitably, and annoyingly, her only option.
As Gweneviere neared the Crone’s school, she had almost forgotten that the streets surrounding it were full of dirty men looking for a good time. As she passed the old tavern she used to work at, a rebellious tear left her eye. She couldn’t help but think back to the day her dad saved her from that grotesque man, Robbie.
If only he saw who I’m with now, Gweneviere pondered, as she shuddered at the thought of Thomas’ touch. He would have surely never let a sleaze ball like Thomas lay a finger on his daughter. She’d have given anything to have her overbearing father back in her life, even if just for a day. She’d hug him so tight that he would practically die all over again, and she’d tell him how much she missed him and her mother, and that she was sorry she failed them both. Gweneviere, whether for hours at a time or just a few fleeting minutes, thought about it every day; she was almost drowning in guilt. They both died under Gweneviere’s watch, not that it should have ever fallen on her to be their saviours in the first place, alas, it did, and she felt like she failed them. A future with Kambili was the only thing keeping her afloat. Gweneviere couldn’t wait for a new, kinder world to arise where they could live their lives authentically and unapologetically, and for the dark, rotted one in which they purely existed in, to perish.
Arriving at the school doors, Gweneviere knocked, and just as quickly as she did, a young girl answered. She was so rapid to respond that it was almost as if she was just waiting by the door for the next person to knock. Or perhaps she knew of Gweneviere’s arrival, but that couldn’t be possible, could it? It was a pretty, blonde girl who reminded Gweneviere of Poppy, but much younger.
“What do you want, then?” the girl asked, abruptly, with no regard for who Gweneviere was.
Gweneviere was slightly taken back as she liked to think that her fire abilities had given her a little fame amongst the pupils of the school. Even Gweneviere was sure that she’d seen the young girl about the school before, but clearly the girl had no more a memory of Gweneviere than she did of what she had for dinner last week.
“My name is Gweneviere, and I’ve come to see the Crone. I’m an ex-pupil,” Gweneviere stated.
“Hmm, wait here, then,” the young Londoner replied, as she slammed the door in Gweneviere’s face.
Gweneviere waited patiently until she began to hear an unintelligible whisper coming from behind the door. It was clear this time that it wasn’t her mother’s voice she was hearing, and it wasn’t in her head. She edged closer, pressing her left ear to the door to try and make out any words that were being conversed, but she simply couldn’t hear them well enough to put together anything of use. Suddenly the door handle jiggled, and Gweneviere popped back into her position, just in time, to not look like she was eavesdropping. The young girl reappeared, only opening the door ajar, giving Gweneviere a dodgy look up and down with squinted, judging eyes, before confirming to Gweneviere that the Crone wasn’t home.
“You want me to pass on a message?” the girl asked, clearly not interested in whatever it was that Gweneviere had to say.
“Er, no, it’s okay, there might be someone else who can help me. Any of the teachers or senior students, actually, I just need a potion ingredient. Some alpha werewolf fur, or hair, whatever the correct term is.”
“It’s fur, and I’ll go check if we can lend you any.”
The girl rolled her eyes at Gweneviere’s lack of potion brewing knowledge. Though Gweneviere had taken potion classes, she had never exactly been one of the top students. Her potion brewing skills went alongside nicely with her non-existent cooking skills. Thankfully, Kambili would be there to assist in any culinary expertise needed for the potion.
“Than—” Gweneviere attempted, before the door was once again slammed in her face. The loud slamming was starting to warrant unsolicited attention from the local inebriated men, thus Gweneviere was hoping to get out rather shortly. If not, she’d be obliged to set some alcohol-soaked men alight like a Molotov cocktail.
The girl popped out once more. “Here you are, then.”
Gweneviere was busy keeping an eye on the zombie-like alcoholics walking about the street, when she heard the girls voice. The girl handed Gweneviere a vial with a large tuft of fur pressing up against the sides.
“Oh, thank you…” Gweneviere paused with a raised eyebrow, hinting at the girl to reveal her name, but clearly the girl had no time for Gweneviere’s nuisance politeness as she closed the door and Gweneviere heard the many locks click.
Well, that was weird. Clearly she hasn’t begun her etiquette classes yet, Gweneviere thought, as she walked down the street, weaving in and out of the drunken men like they were gates in a ski slalom. What Gweneviere didn’t know, however, was that the Crone was indeed in. She was the second voice that Gweneviere couldn’t quite make out behind the door. Oblivious to that fact, Gweneviere carried on her day as she made her way to the market, closer to home, and away from all the estranged men.
After filling her satchel with food for dinner and the remaining herbs needed for the potion, Gweneviere headed home. She had only managed to get mutton for their evening meal, as she had to spend so much more money on the potion ingredients. Kambili would have to really put her cooking abilities to the test to make a meal that Thomas would deem as decent enough for him to eat.
As Gweneviere arrived home, she opened the front door and called out for Kambili. Kambili popped her head around the kitchen doorway like a meerkat, though she was looking for something far sweeter than a predator. She was on the lookout for Gweneviere, her unofficial girlfriend.
“That was quicker than I thought,” Kambili exclaimed, upon seeing Gweneviere’s radiant face.
“Hey, I can go out for a few more hours, if you want?” Gweneviere teased.
“Shut up and get over here,” Kambili said, grinning playfully.
“In all honesty, I didn’t get to spend as much time at the school as I thought. In fact, they didn’t even let me through the door. But I got everything we need, so I’ll take that as a win. Also, you’ve not got much to work with for dinner, so I’m going to need you to work some magic of your own on that, too.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good job that’s my area of expertise. Now, come on, I want to get my witch on,” Kambili exclaimed, making Gweneviere chuckle at her inherent cuteness.
Gweneviere followed an excitable Kambili into the kitchen, where she had already laid out all the equipment needed for the potion. There was a large pot with the correctly premeasured amount of water in it, along with some of the herbs they already had in the pantry bedside it. The final ingredient was also there: a hair from one of Thomas’ undergarments, which Kambili had reluctantly retrieved. Gweneviere had only told her about it that morning in bed. Not quite the pillow talk that one looks forward to. It was also quite the daring task for Kambili to carry out. It was bad enough she had to wash his clothes on a regular basis, especially when he clearly didn’t know how to wipe himself after using the toilet, but to then have to source out a pubic hair, amongst all of the sweat and literal shit, was another level of torture. Though, if it helped Gweneviere stay clear of his sexual deviances, then Kambili definitely knew it was worth it.
“Oh, wow, you’re really prepared, aren’t you?” Gweneviere said, amazed.
“Mmhmm.”
“Right, well then, let’s get started.”
Gweneviere began by summoning fire beneath the large pot to get the water to a roaring boil. They then started adding the ingredients one by one: a cracking of black pepper, a pinch of cloves, a sprinkling of dried hemlock petals, and a handful of mint to disguise the otherwise vile flavour. The pot became unruly as a foggy mist began to spill over the sides. Kambili’s eyes were wide open, loving every second of it. The final ingredients were the werewolf fur and Thomas’ pubic hair.
“Would you care to do the honours?” Gweneviere offered.
“I’d love to,” Kambili answered ecstatically, until she remembered that she’d have to touch Thomas’ hair again. “Hey, you just didn’t want to touch this, did you?” she said, waving around the curly strand.
Gweneviere kept quiet and averted her eyes suspiciously, playing into the mischief. Kambili waved it closer to Gweneviere’s face, causing her to flinch and Kambili to laugh.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I just really didn’t want to touch it.”
“It’s fine.” Kambili smiled, lovingly rolling her eyes.
As Kambili dropped the remaining ingredients into the pot, a plume of green smoke rose from it like a baby mushroom cloud. Gweneviere checked back in the book to see if that was supposed to happen; low and behold, it was, and it signified that the spell was complete. They began to decant the potion, filling up an empty wine bottle from the night before, and hid it at the back of the cleaning cupboard in the kitchen, somewhere that Thomas would definitely never look.
Later that evening, Thomas arrived home from work and the girls were applying the finishing touches to dinner, especially Thomas’ portion. Although the recipe had specified only to use a single drop in each meal, Gweneviere didn’t want to be a guinea pig as to whether her magics would pay off or not, especially knowing the consequences if it didn’t work. So, she decided to add a generous glug to the dish. It was enough to make a catholic rabbit, the size of an elephant, celibate. They placed the meal before him and awkwardly watched as he began to tuck in with no hesitation. However, not long after he started, he pulled a face.
Oh god, I put too much in, he can tell something’s wrong! Shit, what am I going to do? Gweneviere rambled to herself.
“What meat is this?” he asked.
“Mutton, sorry, it’s all they had left at the market,” Gweneviere lied.
“Hmm, very well, make sure you get there earlier next time, then. I don’t work long, hard hours for this shit,” he spat, before digging straight back into his meal.
Clearly Kambili had indeed worked some magic of her own to make the meal still edible for him, which was lucky, as if he hadn’t eaten it, then the potion would’ve become redundant altogether.
“Yes, of course, sorry again,” Gweneviere apologised, laying it on thick as to not distract him from eating.
After that, it didn’t take him long to wolf down the rest of his dinner without any further suspicions. Now Gweneviere just had to hope that the potion had done the trick.
After dinner, while the girls were tidying up the table, Thomas was sat in his chair with a whiskey in hand. This was usually when the catcalling would begin, as he would be slightly drunk and carelessly groping Gweneviere until she submitted to him. To their surprise, however, he simply bade the girls a good night before heading to his bedroom, alone, without even so much as a disgruntled look.
It, of course, could’ve been a fluke, but as they proceeded to spike his dinner for the following weeks, it continued to work. It seemed that he no longer had any interest in pawing after Gweneviere’s body. With the lack of sexual frustration rattling around in Thomas’ brain, he had somehow become nicer in general, still not nice by a normal human’s standards, just less of a piece of human trash.
