Oddballs & Magick

Written by Nina, Andrea, Nik and Robyn

Prologue

By the light of the moon, a lonely creature sat at the edge of a heart shaped pool. Tiny dancing meadow flowers surrounded him, tickled by a soft breeze. The feeling of wind through his fur was soothing—one of the few perks of his novel form. No living creature dared to come near him, let alone touch him affectionately.

He sat there, staring at his reflection, hoping that the longer he spent familiarising his features the lesser his repulsion would be. Too long arms and legs were attached to a tall but hunched torso. His coarse fur wasn’t dense enough to cover him completely, so greyish skin could be seen shining through, overlaying wiry muscles and bony structures. His hands were no longer slender and longfingered, but broad and always slightly clawed, ending in sharp nails that could gash open skin to expose underlying organs. The lack of hair made his tail seem ratty, and his face was a wolfish mask, always caught in an angry grimace.

And he still blamed her. The black haired witch, whom he had always thought to be a monstrosity herself, was the reason he was now trapped in this form, being neither man nor wolf. Cursed wench—she doesn’t even know I’m still alive. She had been his transfiguration teacher, training him and his fellow students to transform ducks into geese, birds into butterflies, but never allowing them anything truly transcendental. And yet, she liked to brag to her students about powerful magicians not unlike herself, who could transform into any living creature.

These stories had enticed him so that one day he had torn a few pages out of the dark magic books she always carried around, and had set off to experiment by himself. His resentment distorted these memories now belonging to a life long lost. She owes me a life, he thought bitterly, gazing at a mirrored version of the world that was reflected on the glassy water’s surface.

New Arrivals

by Nina Their feet stomped the stone floors in unison as they entered the hall. Too caught up in their excited chatter, Ophelia was left unseen through the balustrade. Or was she? Just before the group vanished from her vision, the glimpse of a head turned to her direction. A grin appeared on her face, revealing dangerously pointed enamel accessories—perhaps this time she would make a friend!

Newcomers usually held themselves in high regard. Odd, considering they would have to prove their abilities to ensure their stay. Judged by the straight postures and stern faces they seemed to take it all very seriously indeed. Moths fluttered around the classroom lanterns, and toads hopped across wooden table surfaces to occasionally land on the floor with a nasty splat. She glided past the tables alongside the wall to get nearer a student who was having a hard time transfiguring his toad. The frown between his tense brow attracted her as would a balloon blown up too big. Let’s see what happens when we poke this one.

As her frogs leaped onto his table, one by one introducing more chaos to his already crowded workspace, soon his erratic movements were aimed at them. A loud croak sounded, and suddenly a girl sat on his table, looking around haphazardly. The boy yelled and fell back, which was Ophelia’s invitation to step forward.

“Can’t you tell the difference between a frog and a toad, egghead?”

She leered at him.

“Neither could Nigella here, which is why I’ve taken her on for some extracurriculars.”

His eyes anxiously fixated on the sinister form that had appeared out of the shadows. They then went to the girl, who was looking at her hands confusedly, and finally to the other frogs making their way back to Ophelia’s sleeve. Gods, if the lad doesn’t relax soon his eyes will pop out of their sockets.

“I–She–,” the poor thing started.

She cocked her head to the side.

“Get back here, Nigella.” And with one tap of her long nail on the girl’s head, there sat a tiny green croaking frog.

“You’ve done well today,” she shot her eyes back at the boy who shrank together, “unlike this ninny here. You should direct your focus outward, not tense it all up inside else you will implode. Exhale and envision the moth.”

Shakingly, he clambered back onto his feet, and moved his attention to the fat toad staring challenges at him. He took a deep breath and waved his wand. Poof. A cloud of tiny dismembered wings fluttered through the sky.

A sorrowful sight. People like him really shouldn’t be allowed to learn magic, they’re a danger to others.

“Congratulations, you’ve made it into our tutoring group. Find me in the attic after class.”

An Eye For An Eye

by Andrea A sudden draft of wind pushed the door wide open with a loud, moaning creak. Theodora pricked her ears while she enjoyed the moonlight on her bare skin with closed eyes. She could still hear the lazy footsteps of whatwas-his-name, echoing sharply further and further away in the circular, equally draughty stairway. But a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck urged her to open her eyes, just as she willed her hair to change back to ordinary blonde. She came eye to eye with an intrigued Sébastien, who had stopped mid-step in the hallway, disturbed by the opening of the door. He had an unstoppered flask in hand, and a trickle of red delicacy made its way down his chin. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked her up and down. She could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?” she said as she reached for the blanket that had fallen on the mossy floor somewhere in the last hour.

He just gave her a cheeky wink and continued his way towards the staircase.

Theodora let out a wavering sigh. It’s fine, she convinced herself as she went on a search for some underthings. She ended up with an old pair of male shorts when a handful of warblers flew in and took position on the wooden headboard of her bedstead, chirping brightly as if to share the latest gossip. If only she could understand. She had to keep on trying, but the time had come to use more drastic measures. She called one forth to the weathered mahogany desk in the corner of her room. Her throat was instantly sore, but she wouldn’t take a potion for it. She considered it a small punishment for the crime she was about to commit.

A young bright yellow warbler landed on her outstretched hand as she reached for a hairpin with her other one. It snuggled up in the cup of her hand, the warmth of its body warming her slightly, but not for long. She didn’t dare look it in the eye. Ever so weak.

“I’m sorry, little one,” she muttered softly as she deftly pierced the hairpin through its tiny heart.

She pushed back the tears and willed her mind to turn blank so she could numbly get to work. But it wasn’t long before a familiar face swam forward in her mind. Almost on autopilot, she reached below for one of the drawers and retrieved a small glass vial, unstopping it one-handed and filling it to the brink with the tiny warbler’s blood. He might like that. A pleased smile formed on Theodora’s lips.

Echoes Of Ophelia

by Nik When Sébastien first heard of his half-sister's most recent death, he’d rolled his eyes. He picked up snippets of conversation on the other side of the bar he was at. He shrugged, chugged his Bloody Mary and motioned to the barkeep for a refill. He had heard these stories countless times before. What did she do now? He returned to his conversation.

"Have you heard about this new restaurant, Séb? It's supposed to have an incredible blood pudding on the menu.”

As the sun began to rise he hurried home, stumbling but graceful as ever, his hips swaying with every step.

The young man sitting opposite him was visibly uncomfortable in the restaurant. He began to sweat when the waiter poured his glass of blood wine. He'd refused most of the dishes and he looked much paler than when they came in. Sébastien always forgot how uncomfortable vampires could make humans. This date was not going well.

Sébastien impatiently tapped his long black nails on his wine glass as he tried to listen to some vampires sitting behind him. They were discussing the death of Ophelia. The other vampires had always considered Ophelia to be something of an oddball: half orc, half vampire. Sébastien had learned to ignore such gossip. Centuries ago, when he was still a boy, he would attack anyone who said a bad word about his sister, biting them until their blood burned his throat. His sister was different, and he admired her for that very reason.

As he picked up more fragments of how she’d met her demise this time, he became suspicious. What is she up to? Who is after her? His date cleared his throat to get Sébastien's attention.

"Sorry. I'm hungry. For real food, you know. So I'm going to go."

The young man left just as the waiter came out with the last course. The blood pudding was delicious, and Sébastien didn't mind that his date didn't stay to finish his plate.

That very evening he set out to find his sister. It took him a few nights, but he got some good leads and eventually found out that she had settled with her coven in an old manor house. When he got there, he fell in love with the place, all its quirks and oddities made him feel at home. He was relieved to see Ophelia doing well.

Sébastien wandered around the manor garden, a bottle of bloodwine in his hand. A tombstone under an old oak tree caught his eye. The moonlight shone brightly on it, illuminating the lichen that covered the gravestone. He sighed. The fresh air felt good on his skin. He sat against the stone for a while, sipping from the bottle. Ferns rushed in the wind. A tiny creature emerged from among the ferns. It greeted Sébastien and sat down beside him. Out of breath, the gnome lit his pipe.

Just A Moment Of Peace, Please?

by Robyn On a misty but bright afternoon, veiled sunlight streamed through the tattered, apple-patterned curtains and into the kitchen of the sylvan manor the witches (and now Sébastien) called home. Beatrix, having just woken up a few minutes ago, glared at the curtains. They were hideous. With a twirl of her finger, the fabric rustled and unfurled into a refined, frilled purple, with not a single apple in sight. Perfect. A little moth that was perched atop her other finger spoke at the sight, its voice small, yet deep and full of authority.

“Wonderful, Bea. Simply wonderful.”

“I know, Cedric. It’s because I picked it.”

Beatrix turned back and regarded the moth on her finger, holding it up to eye level to speak to it with a lazy smile. It was one of her (many) doting fathers that had fluttered in to check on her for the day and how she had been settling it. Frankly, she was a bit sick of their attention. She barely had a moment to herself these days, even if it meant she could have most anything she wanted if she just asked for it.

“I really wish you would call me Dad.” “And I really wish you would stop asking, Cedric,” she scowled. “Do you know how many dads I have to keep track of? If I called you all dad, you’d all get muddled up in my head and become some awful… magical abomination.”

The moth took flight, fluttering off of her finger and over to another one of the kitchen chairs, leaving Bea free to take a bite of thickly-cut, strawberry jam toast. With a poof of smoke and glitter, there sat a pointy eared, white haired fairy in his full glory. Bea quirked an eyebrow, barely reacting to the familiar spectacle.

“I know humans are suspicious of us Cedric, but showing up as a postman or an alchemist would be far more interesting than a dusty old moth for the hundredth time,” Bea commented, raising her mug of coffee to her lips. Cedric was used to the complaining and continued, wondering if perhaps the lot of them were spoiling her too much. He reached forward, sliding a small dog-eared diary across the table towards her.

“You left this at The Lyre again.”

The moment Bea recognised what the book was, she made a violent grab for it and clutched the diary to her chest.

“What the hell?! You didn’t read it did you?!”

Cedric raised his hands in a show of peace.

“Not a word.”

“Good… Thank you,” she sighed after a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her face and visibly relaxing. “If that’s all then… as you can see, I’m fine. You can fly along and tell everyone the good news. Ophelia will be back soon and I need to make a start on dinner.”

She made a shooing motion with her hand at Cedric, who simply nodded gracefully… and poofed into a moth once more, chaotically flitting and twirling toward the open window and out into the world again.

Unwanted Advice

by Nina “You know, you might wanna try dialling down the tough love a bit there, sis.” Ophelia was leaning out of her attic window as far as she could without toppling over. Instead of answering him she took another drag from her smoke. Why were people so insistent in emptying their minds first thing in the morning? Personally, she found the night offered a lot more clarity when it came to doing any thinking at all.

He went on anyway.

“Do you really think it helps putting them on edge as they’re trying to learn something new?”

He meant well, Sébastien. That didn’t mean she had to allow him to poke his perfectly chiselled nose into her bloody business after having been absent for decades. She blew out two streams of green smoke through her nostrils.

“Magic,” she sneered. “They are learning about powerful magic. It’s better to filter out those unable to handle the pressure and responsibility now, before they pose a real danger to the world.” Her brother’s eyes turned soft when they fixated upon her grumpy face. Damn it.

She slammed the window shut before glaring daggers at him.

“Sun’s up. Aren’t you supposed to be in a coffin playing dead?”

He snorted.

“Are you threatening me? Am I getting too close? You are right of course, I should get some rest. Going on dates is incredibly wearisome.

Men these days can’t even handle a bit of blood anymore.” He sighed, “oh, don’t I miss the times where matters of the flesh used to be on public display instead of clinically censored.”

And with that sentimental statement he strutted out of her room, only stopping to daintily pick up the tiny cup Theodora left for him earlier. It was unbelievable how fast he managed to charm everyone living in the manor and have people treat him like he belonged here. Ophelia rolled her eyes. Fucking queen.

Her morning ritual did not usually involve others besides her frogs.

Precious energy was not to be wasted on what others may or may not be doing, and besides, the people she lived with appeared comfortable sharing absolutely anything at absolutely any time anyway. A little too comfortable even. No, the activities Ophelia chose to do were executed mindfully. She would wake up from a short night’s sleep, feed and scrub her frogs, have a cup of burnt black coffee and a smoke herself, then read her croaking pupils a chapter out of a book on transfiguration. Preferably instances that had gone horribly wrong to scare some sense into them.

Some of her frogs were originally human, like Nigella and Steve, and they would be again, too. She knew exactly what she was doing. Some of

the students she taught just needed a bit of humbling, some time not being so damn human. Of course they wouldn’t be taught how to transfigure humans until they had made it through their basic education. Just small items and creatures for now.

As Ophelia prepared her morning class—dissecting hamsters and birds—outside the manor many creatures scuttled back into the dark recesses they had appeared from throughout the night. Between the living dead, their house sure was a lively place.

Multiple Escapes

by Andrea “Yes–Sir, I’ve accomplished the shift,” Theodora said submissively, eyes cast down from the wavering figure in the mirror on the wall in front of her.

She quietly listened to the new instructions he had for her. A yellow warbler came flying in through the broken window and landed on her bedpost. The little thing started chirping the time. The sound was more pleasant than Sir Anakin’s monotonous voice. The bird didn't seem to mind its brother’s mangled body lying limp on Theodora’s desk, or it simply couldn’t understand. She didn’t have time to bury the little thing yet. The manor garden would be an immense graveyard by the time Sir Anakin was through with her. The warbler hopped on Theo’s shoulder and chirped again. It startled her out of her stupor. Was it noon already?

“I understand completely,” she answered fleetingly. “If you’ll excuse me, Sir…” She peered up at the mirror.

Sir Anakin was staring down at her. His sharp cheekbones gave his face a harsh look. His thick blond eyebrows didn’t soften it either. But Theo thought she could see a hint of contentment in his face about what she just accomplished. He better, for she mastered this shift in just one day. Oh gosh, I can’t think badly of him, he will know.

Theo cast her eyes down again and braced herself, but Sir Anakin only dismissed her with the barest of nods and vanished with a sizzle sounding much like an evaporating flame. The second he vanished, Theo felt more at ease. She petted the little warbler on its head and fed him an earthworm she picked from a jar on the broken, dirty windowsill.

After a quick search for her coat–found beneath a pile of sketches of skeletal constructions and muscles of various birds and small animals–she rushed out of her room and descended the spiralling stairs, skipping every two steps. Arriving in the kitchen, her stomach grumbled loudly. Her eye fell on Bea and the plate in front of her. Theo hesitated for a split second, then she snatched half of Bea’s sandwich away as she raced past.

“THEO! If I ever get my hands on you, I swear I’ll turn your head into a GOURD!” Bea yelled, brows furrowed and her face a dangerous red.

But Theodora had already exited the Manor.

Half an hour later, Theodora was seated in a red cushioned chair in the middle of a rather posh office, fidgeting with a loose thread of wool on the armrest to calm her nerves. A middle-aged lady with grey hair tied up in a neat bun looked her up and down over her half-moon spectacles, one eyebrow perched in a high arc.

“What is that on your hands?” she asked, barely making an effort at hiding her disgust. She scrunched her nose. Theo looked down at her hands. Dried blood crusted under her nails and smears of red were clearly visible on her fingertips.

“Oh, uhm…” Theo’s face turned hot in embarrassment, “...paint.” She forced an innocent smile on her face. “Yeah I like to paint.” That was an ordinary human hobby, wasn’t it? However, the lady’s eyebrow would have shot higher if it could.

“Well… Theo-do-ra,” she started as she excessively studied Theo’s very short resume on the desk in front of her. The lady sighed audibly and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t think you would be the right fit as a receptionist.” She dared to deliver it with an arrogant smile and crossed her arms. “You don’t really have the look, if you know what I mean.” Theo’s shoulders sagged as the realisation kicked in.

The next thing she knew, she was running out of the hotel, tears streaming down her face. She could barely see where she was going, but she miraculously made it back to the manor. Stumbling into the hallway in distraught, behind her a trail of yellow feathers, she pushed through a handful of students–leaving them chasing after their frightened, loudly croaking toads–before making it all the way up the tower and locking herself in her bedroom. Buried in her pillows, she started sobbing uncontrollably, utterly unaware of the mirror in the corner of her room that wavered slightly. Oh well, it could have simply been a trick of the light.

Witching Hours

by Nik As night fell, the witches gathered, but Sébastien chose to steer clear, giving Ophelia the room she needed. In an effort to gain her trust, he decided not to watch her too closely. Although he was tempted to stay, Theodora's hair, now auburn, looked particularly radiant tonight.

He sought refuge in the garden. Small puffs of smoke danced above the tall grass. Sébastien lay down next to Gunnar.

"Can you see them?"

Gunnar looked up at Sébastien, who seemed distracted. The vampire met his eyes and shrugged.

"Yes... and so can you, evidently."

The gnome shook his head and took a drag from his pipe.

"No, I can't actually, but I hear them at night when the music dies down."

Séb uncorked a bottle of thick red wine. And now that Sébastien had taken a few puffs on his friend's pipe, he was positively light-headed. How was it that he had been on earth for so long and had never tried this?

The full moon cast shadows on the tombstones on the manor wall.

"I'm not really alive, Gunnar. Not really dead either, but more dead than alive, I guess.” His speech was slurred. “I've always been able to see the ghosts of those whose spirits wander the earth. In fairness, I've come to know some of them quite intensely over the years. Being undead has its perks.” Séb rolled over on his side to look at Gunnar. “Wait, did you say you can hear them but not see them?"

Gunnar nodded. Sébastien grinned mischievously.

"Now, that sounds like it could be quite an intriguing escapade, don't you think? No need for blindfolds, just a spectral symphony as the backdrop to a physical adventure,” Séb pointed out.

Gunnar raised an eyebrow at him.

"They can’t actually touch me, Séb.”

“Oh, right. What a shame…”

Gunnar chuckled at Sébastien's response, taking another puff of his pipe. Sébastien, still sprawled on the grass, stared up at the starry sky. He sighed.

"It's like living in two worlds, you know? The living and the dead.

Caught in between, belonging to neither."

“Yes, but I’ll be dead in a undred years, and you’ll still be here.”

Sébastien nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the gnome.

“Yes, if nothing goes wrong I’ll be here forever.”

The thick red wine and the enchanted atmosphere of the manor's garden make everything feel surreal.

Gunnar pointed at a distant tombstone.

"You see that one over there? The one with the ivy crawling up its sides?" Sébastien squinted, trying to focus on the gravestone.

"Yeah, what about it?” He read the name on the stone. As they exchanged a knowing look, the distant music of the witches' gathering began to fade, and the night took on an ethereal quality.

Playing the Spinner

by Robyn Bea smelled fire. There was smoke stinging her eyes, causing them to water and the glow of cinders dancing through the haze of her tears. She attempted to raise her hand to shield herself from the heat but it was too much and she hissed in pain, drawing back from the awful, ungodly sight in front her.

“No..! Why? How could this happen?!” she lamented, falling to her knees in defeat. The cake she was baking for her and her fellow witches’ upcoming coven meeting, reduced to ashes. It was a fate worse than death itself. Somehow, after spending all afternoon taking the utmost care with mixing, measuring and most importantly buying the ingredients for her signature cake, she had carelessly fallen asleep, napping away as her creation burned merrily to a crisp. As she knelt there in front of the oven watching the grim spectacle, Bea clenched her fists, anger bubbling up in her chest. That was it then. Their meeting was ruined and her sisters would never let her hear the end of it. Ophelia would have something snarky to say at her expense like always and Theo would sulk about the broken promise of cake. She deserved it after that incident with the sandwich anyway.

“Gods…Godsdamnit!” With a temper hotter than the fiery ginger hair atop her head, Bea snatched her mug of tea and whirled around, pitching it against the opposite kitchen wall as hard as she could, the ceramic shattering into sharp, white shards with a loud crash. Peculiarly though, before any of the shards hit the floor they shimmered in red and twirled lazily in the air, falling and finally meeting again at the base of the wall with all of the tea pouring back into the reformed mug as if it were freshly brewed.

“There, good as new. Really, Beatrix, you must watch that temper of yours. The plaster in here is peeling enough as it is.” Sébastien, as if appearing from the evening shadows, raised his nose to sniff the air, recoiling slightly from the oven when he noticed exactly what the cause of the particular smoky scent was.

“Oh dear. So that was you, was it? I thought I smelled roast nutmeg, but it looks to be a bit more roasted than I bargained for. Ahaha,” he laughed cooly, reaching a pale hand forward to turn the oven off with an abrupt click. Bea pouted, simmering gently with her fists clenched down in front of her. She stamped a foot.

“You’re so very funny Séb. Really. A real class act. This is serious.”

“Of course, forgive me,” he grinned.

Bea sighed, finding it very difficult to remain angry with this suave vampire lurking about and she soon straightened, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

“Sorry… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I let time slip away

from me and now I’ve made a right mess of things. We have a meeting tonight and the girls are expecting refreshments. You don’t know any spells or enchantments to unbake a cake, do you?”

“Regrettably not.” he replied, watching Bea in reserved interest at her question. Ever since moving in with this quirky little coven after his sister’s latest ‘death’, Sébastien had taken a keen interest in exactly how each witch chose to carry out their little tasks day to day, happy to be an observer rather than actually helping in any way (unless it suited his fancy of course). He liked to focus on his own little romances and new ways to while away his nights.

“Damn.” Bea lightly kicked at the oven, her bright red shoes causing the old thing to rattle and sputter out another cloud of dark smoke. “I put a little something special in this one and everything,” she frowned, leaving her creation to the wolves as she moved to busy herself with dishes. “A good luck spell and some well wishes. They’ve both looked so rushed off their feet with the move, and I wanted to do something nice for them and sprinkle just a dash of fortune into their day. And now it’s no better than a brick of charcoal.” She flicked her head around to speak to Sébastien, suddenly looking concerned. “You don’t think that’s a bad omen, do you?”

“The fates work in fickle ways, little honey Bea. Perhaps they didn’t take too kindly to you attempting to wrest control from them and play the spinner.” he mused, idly twirling one of the wilted flowers that was halfdead in the vase on the table.

“Oh… Oh, you know, maybe you’re right. Oops.” Bea set down the mixing bowl she had been scrubbing and shook off her hands to dry them wherein she began to nervously chew on her nail, hoping that this was all the fates had in store for her. Regardless of her future, her immediate future was looking grim if she didn’t find a cake before sunset. After a moment of quiet contemplation, she nodded, seeming to come to a decision. With a flick of her hand, a pale light filled the kitchen and Sébastien squinted in annoyance, shielding his eyes. There was the sound of a bubble popping and when the light faded, Bea was gone, replaced by a small, ginger-haired fairy hovering lawlessly in place, her wings delicate and beautiful.

“I think I saw some humans setting up for a birthday party in town today. If I’m quick, they won’t have even lit the candles yet! See you later, Séb!” Bea grinned madly and flew a loop in the air before vanishing in a burst of glittering light. Sébastien smiled and lazily raised a hand in farewell, watching the grubby little thief disappear to go and ruin someone’s special day.

“Take care, little fairy.”

Art: Tuesday Riddell

A February Full Moon In Knob’s Hollow

by Nina The manor garden was cast in shades of blue by silvery moonlight. Three witches silently moved around the space, setting it up to their exact needs for tonight’s gathering. The first in their new nest! A wooden table was covered with a mouldy tablecloth trimmed with lace, garlands of various materials were hung from wonky tree branches, and a bonfire holding a bubbling iron cauldron was positioned in the middle of the tiled patio. Did it contain dinner? Perhaps the preparations for a potion? And what purpose served the plate piled high with… fingers?!

Ophelia watched Beatrix waddle towards the table holding what looked to be an enormous cream cake covered in marzipan. Her stomach contracted by the mere sight of it, so she quickly looked away. She focussed on the antique instruments set out before her: a harpsichord, a flute, and a small hand drum, all found in the attic storage. Each of them passed through her claws as she hummed a tune, enchanting the instruments so that they played music that must have been written centuries ago.

“Any chance these little ones can join the party?”

A cushion with dismembered and dissected birds of various kinds entered her view. She looked up to find Theo looking at her with hopeful eyes.

“It should work if their syrinx is still intact. Let me see what I can do.”

Carefully, using two bony fingers, Ophelia picked up a warbler with its belly sliced open, held the tiny beak close to her face and whistled a tune.

Surely enough, the tiny warbler carried it on as she placed it back on the cushion. Theo beamed a smile at her.

“Thank you, Oph.” In response, Ophelia proudly bared all her shiny fangs and displayed a grin that any other creature would have found frightful—but not her sisters.

“EWE—Ophelia, really? Fingers?! That’s so archaic! And did you have to put them right by my wonderful, ugly little cake? I worked so hard getting him for us and you’re just going to get a fingernail in his hair.”

“Your creamy abomination is as offensive to me, knucklehead. Could have looked before you placed it.” Ophelia knew that before the night was over she would feel compelled to try a piece of the monstrous cake despite feeling sick afterwards.

“Poor ugly little cake…” were the words muttered as Bea moved things around. She still had trouble wrapping her head around the concept of creatures disliking human food. Surely a good amount of sugar made everything better?

Finally, with their space set up, the coven gathered around the cauldron showing a murky brown goo. One by one, the witches dropped in

something dear to grant them good fortune for the month to come.

Beatrix was the one to initiate the process by throwing in some juicy looking fresh berries and a rabbit paw—also fresh, judged by the caked dark red crust at its severed end—turning the potion a bright peachy orange.

Next, Theodora took out a pocket knife and raised it to her head. With a swift slice she cut off a lock of her newly brown hair and let it fall into the potion. She then picked up a tiny heart—perhaps the warbler’s—and dropped it in, turning the potion forest green while emitting a ghostly chorus of bird song.

Lastly, Ophelia stepped forward, to throw in a pile of written essays in various handwritings and a handful of carved enamel triangles. The potion turned neon green, spewing out sparks in all directions. If one had a keen ear, the faint moans and cries of distressed students could be heard, rising out of the potion and blending in with the night air. The witches then joined hands to form a closed circle around the cauldron.

“Three daughters of the Moon have come together to honour the spirits of all those we loved and lost, or of those yet to be found; those who live in the shadows, those who hunt and those who haunt,” stated Ophelia solemnly.

“We thank everything that feeds and protects us: everything dead or alive, anything in between, and anything unseen,” chirped Beatrix.

“We come to ask our guides to help us move boldly into the month ahead; in return we will do what we do best: spread our magic, love or dread,” sang Theodora.

Sizzling shapes snaked out of the cauldron and for a brief moment joined the nightly gathering. Snacks were eaten, potions were sipped, and the witches merrily sang and danced around their new sanctuary.

Any lucky observer would have described the spectacle as hauntingly beautiful. The owner of the pair of prying eyes hiding in the shadows only thought it repulsive. And he didn’t think of himself as lucky either. As his gaunt eyes watched the witches dance around the space with wavy movements, casting long shadows on their surroundings, a chill rippled out from his cold heart. So this is your coven, he thought. He had expected them to be as ugly as she was, but was surprised to find them pleasant to look at. Pretty, even. Especially the plump one with a mop of fiery hair.

Clawed, hairy fingers gripped what hung heavily between his legs. His entire body was tense with excitement and terror—this time he could not let anything get in the way of his vengeful plot.

Human Activities

by Andrea Orange and yellow lights alternated on Theodora’s frowned face in an irregular pattern.

On the fossilised table a tiny flame danced wildly on the irregular gusts of wind. This time Theodora didn’t bother to use magic. She’d lit an ordinary drippy candle, set in a rather rusty holder. It was cold and draughty, but it helped her concentrate.

With the tip of her tongue sticking slightly out of her mouth–something she found an uncharming habit–she looked with squinted eyes at what was in front of her. The faint, lingering smell of burnt cake was a constant presence just outside her focus.

Ophelia entered the manor, her senses immediately on high alert. She hunched her back and clawed her hands while she slowly stalked towards the other presence in the room. She smelled the air without making any sound. Well hello there… Did someone leave a snack for me, or is this my brother’s new plaything? Let’s have a sniff. She crept forward, her form casting a beastly shadow on the wall. Fully extended bat wings sprouted from her shoulders. She towered menacingly over the human sitting undisturbed at the table. She took another sniff, and… let her arms drop abruptly.

“Oh–Theo, it’s you,” Ophelia said underwhelmed and slightly embarrassed. “You look terrifyingly… human.” Theo, unfazed as ever, hadn’t heard her come in. She gave Ophelia a tired smile and mindlessly watched her walk towards the door to the hall.

“Sorry if I spooked you!” Ophelia called over her shoulder before the door closed shut behind her. Once the silence had returned, Theo let out a defeated sigh and sat back in her chair. The creaking wood a disruptive sound in the otherwise silent kitchen. The Knob’s Daily lay in front of her, opened on the page with advertisements and job openings. A nearly-perished quill lay next to it on the table. A small drop of ink dangled from its

tip, daring to make the jump. But Theo didn’t see.

She blankly stared at the encircled vacancies, her arms slack by her side. The flame of the candle caused long shadows to dance around the room, casting odd shapes of ladles, whisks and a wide range of Bea’s pans on the walls. A wave of sleep washed over her. The patterns were mesmerising, and… soothing. Theodora swayed heavily in her chair.

“Theo?–Oomph.”

Her weight was suddenly lifted. Her body started bouncing up and down ever so gently in a steady rhythm. Balanced footsteps sounded near, only their echo faded away into the halls. Her head lolled to the side, but was propped back up with a small adjustment of a strong bicep supporting her. The smell of night-blooming floral scents and a tang of metal filled her dreams until she felt as light as a feather and was floating, utterly relaxed and carefree, on the softest of clouds.

Dark Awakening

by Nik Sébastien's sleep had been taken over by a world of vivid and mesmerising dreams. The realm of slumber became a tapestry woven with threads of his deepest fears, desires and the mystical forces that surrounded his existence.

As he stirred from the depths of slumber, the vivid dreams that had appeared before his eyes began to slip away like grains of sand through his fingers. The enchanting visions, the whispers of spirits and the ethereal dance of witches all faded into an intangible haze.

There was a moment, a fleeting heartbeat, when the dreams lingered at the edge of his consciousness, leaving him with a sense of yearning and curiosity. Fragments of scenes flickered in Sébastien's mind.

The memory of Bea's charred cake turned to maggots, a culinary mishap that filled the air with the scent of burnt corpses. The haunting image of mystical instruments at the witches' gathering, each note echoing eerily in the night, harmonising with wolf-like howls. The gravestone in the manor garden, its stone surface clasped by hairy claws, an alarming and unsettling sight. Ivy winding its way around Gunnar, the gnome, as if nature itself sought to claim him. Theodora's once serene face turned into a demonic visage, a sudden and jarring transformation. His head filled with the screams of Ophelia's pupils.

As Sébastien opened his eyes to the cold dead night, the dream, once so vivid and thrilling, retreated like a ghost into the recesses of his memory.

"I don't feel well," Séb sighed. "Too much wine. Probably..."

His headache was almost too much, he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Intrusive thoughts clawed their way to the forefront—a vivid image of the gravestone from his dream. He shivered.

The vampire entered the manor's kitchen, desperate for something to drink.

"You look terrible." Ophelia tried to stifle a giggle.

A low rumbling growl came from his throat.

"Shut up." He didn't respond with his usual sarcasm.

"Rough night?" She raised an eyebrow, hoping to hide the concern on her face.

"I'm parched. That's all." He gave her an annoyed look. "And we're all out of blood!" He slammed the cupboard door. A burning anger grew in his chest. He bared his teeth and stormed out of the room. "...um," Ophelia looked startled, "okay..." Her brother rarely lost control of his emotions, he handled everything with a kind of cheeky composure. She stood at the window and watched him rush outside.

Her brother scanned the garden frantically, looking for something to sink his teeth into. An unfortunate rabbit caught his eye, and after he had sucked it dry, he composed himself somewhat. He knew it wouldn't last. He needed human blood.

At that moment, Séb felt an inexplicable pull towards the gravestone behind the manor. Whispers filled his head, calling him. Luring him to the cemetery. He shook his head. Priorities. He ran to the manor's gate, leapt onto a tree stump, then a rock, then the gate, before leaping and flying off into the night.

Broken Mirror

by Robyn “Next.” There was a rush of air and a flash of colour.

“Mmmm… Next.”

Another flash of colour and a rustling of fabric.

“Oh, gods no. Next.”

One of Sindri’s dark purple eyes twitched; their pretty blonde ponytail swaying in each rush of magic as Bea demanded yet another fresh, stylish outfit for her day. Something to make her co-workers jealous.

“Beatrix, darling. We’ve been at this for almost an hour now. If you keep this up, you’ll be late for-” “I said next, Sindri!”

The fairy king glowered, but obliged, snapping their fingers. There was another rush of magic and Bea’s outfit transformed again into something they prayed would suit their daughter’s tastes.

“Ugh, fine. If that’s the best you have, it'll have to do.”

Sindri and their fellow kings were definitely spoiling her too much.

Something had to change. Lessons had to be learned.

Bea left the house on her bike that sunny morning, ready for another day of waiting tables and serving drinks at The Lyre. It wasn’t particularly exciting work, but her co-workers kept things interesting and it was a perfect place to spy on what the humans of Knob’s Hollow had been getting up to. Gossip was rampant at the smoky little tavern, especially when the drinks were flowing and the mood was just right. She was in an excellent mood despite Sindri’s bumblings earlier and the rest of the world would be hard pressed to ruin it. She and her coven sisters’ ritual had gone by without a hitch last week and because of it she felt lucky as could be, ready to tackle anything the day could throw at her.

However as Bea screeched to a halt at the bottom of the hill, there was a sudden rumbling overhead and all the sunlight seemed to dry up in the space of a few seconds. She didn’t think much of it until the heavens opened and without warning a fierce rainstorm bucketed down from the sky. Bea was drenched in seconds, her fiery curls now sodden and clinging to her cheeks as she pedalled as fast as her legs could carry her.

“This…is…nothing!” she panted, tearing down the streets of the village, splashing through the rivers on the pavements and roads until she finally came to a halt in front of the Lyre. Thank goodness, at least she was here and could dry off by the fire and get out… of… the…

Just as suddenly as it had started, the storm vanished, replaced by clear blue skies and warm, golden sunlight.

“Unbelievable…”

Despite this unfortunate turn of events, Bea wouldn’t let a little bit of water and damp clothing ruin her mood. Not a chance. Locking her bike

against the fence of the tavern’s front garden, she made her way inside. If that’s all today had for her then she would come out on top no problem.

Piece of cake.

Later that evening, as the moon had long since risen into the evening sky, the door to the witch's abode slammed open and in its wake stood Bea. Soaking wet again. What a day. What an awful, awful day. Not only had it been the busiest day Bea had ever worked, but drinks and food had been thrown over her at least three times today, she hadn’t been tipped and had even had the revolting misfortune of being chatted up by a far too friendly bar patron that couldn’t keep his hands to himself. She’d make him regret that though. Tomorrow when he woke up and his teeth were falling out, he’d regret it for sure. As if this wasn’t enough, after Bea had finished her shift and left the Lyre, ready to at least enjoy the ride home, she was mortified to discover that her bike had been unceremoniously stolen. Cut right off of the Lyre’s fence with not even the chain left behind. And then it started raining again. As if the fates themselves were laughing at her.

She was home now though. This was her sanctuary. Nothing could touch her here. She would dry off, find something to eat, then crawl into her warm, fluffy bed and pretend this whole day didn’t happen. She made her way to her bedroom and locked the door behind her. Bea’s room was a run down, gloomy little space masked by luxurious trinkets and furnishings she had collected in her years and it gave the whole place a mystifying, cosy atmosphere. She had decorated it with jars of dancing fireflies, dreamy purple tapestries that hung loosely from the walls and on the largest of these walls was an intricate circle of magical symbols and patterns, all drawn in chalk. Bea stood in the centre of her room and stared at the magic circle in front of her. Raising her hand, she spoke the words she always did when in need of service.

“Awduron fy soma marwol. Mynychu fi.” she murmured, a faint orange glow emanating from her palm until she withdrew her hand and folded her arms. “And be quick about it this time, won’t you? I’ll be part frog if you take any longer.”

All was silent. The magic circle didn’t react, not even a shimmer. “...Hello?” Bea snipped, starting to grow impatient. “Your loveliest of branches calls for aid!”

She stamped her foot. Nothing. Her patience finally snapping, Bea clenched her fists… and screamed.

“Cedric! Sindri! Aelfedene! Come here and help me right NOW!” Finally, Bea’s wall rippled, as out from the lines of the magic circle fluttered a sheet of parchment, written in elegant, golden handwriting. She quirked an eyebrow, collecting the little scrap of paper, and brought it close

to read.

‘Dearest daughter, our most wonderful Beatrix, We’re cutting you off. No more visits and no more gifts until you learn to fend for yourself and make us proud.

All our Love, Kings of the Fae, (Dad) xxx’ Oh yes. Something definitely had to change. Up in their towers, the fates laughed on.

Art: Tuesday Riddell

Surprise!

by Nina This morning’s class had been unexpectedly fruitful. Not only had all students managed to transfigure cats into dogs, but their group had grown to now count eleven pupils. It was difficult to operate below the human radar and locate supernaturals, but a life lived in the shadows required one to become crafty when it came to building community.

Ophelia stood beside the cellar door to see her students out, but to her surprise they all moved to the dusty old cabinet in the corner. Her jaw sagged as she watched them trickle through the doors one by one. She then grinned, happy to be surprised, and set off to the kitchen for a drink. On the table she found some bottles of Premium Sanguis—her brother’s favourite blood wine. He wasn’t around to protest when Ophelia uncorked one of the bottles and poured herself a glass. One sip coated her mouth in a deliciously viscous layer of red, and she smacked her lips in satisfaction.

“I know what you’ve done,” sounded softly behind her.

Ophelia spun around so fast drops of red splattered the floor. Behind her stood one of her students. A meek looking girl, face hidden behind curtains of dull brown hair.

“What are you skulking around for?” Ophelia asked. And how did you manage to sneak up on me? “Don’t you have an afternoon class?” As she regained her composure, her good mood was replaced by annoyance.

“I know what you did to Harwin.” “...Harwin?”

“I know you killed him because of what he did.”

The girl barely moved as she stood in the doorway, looking like a sad little ghost. A feeling of unease started to spread through Ophelia’s body.

She vaguely remembered her appearance. Could it be? But no, I can't remember her having any friends, let alone— “Everyone thinks you’re dead too, but I know your secret.”

All the hairs on her body stood upright, and a low growl started in the back of her throat. Don’t let her see you scared! She made herself as tall as she could, and slowly stalked closer to the girl, towering over her as she spoke through gritted teeth.

“Look, girl, whatever it is you think you know—you better unlearn it.

And if you wish to hold on to your skin, you better stop these empty threats unless you are ready to challenge me directly.” The girl was clever enough to cower below Ophelia’s gaze, but she didn’t break off the eye contact.

“I know how to stop it. So do others. You should be careful.” The girl then turned around and scuttled away from the kitchen, leaving Ophelia tensed up like a gargoyle. After a moment her eyes went to the glass of blood wine clenched in her hand. She downed it and immediately poured herself another. For some reason she could not recall the girl’s name. The day was certainly taking a few unexpected turns. With a weary sigh she sank down onto the kitchen bench and rested her head upon the worn table

surface.

Between the bottles of Sanguis she spotted a tin box. Inside, she found what must be her brother’s tobacco. It smelled fresh and earthy. Already in an indulging mood, she rolled herself a smoke, lit it with a snap off her fingers, and took a long, deep drag. Damn—that’s good. Sébastien had always had a taste for fine things. The feelings of dread left her body as the world gradually became more colourful. What in seven hells was this stuff?

Ophelia’s eyes slowly opened. She was laying with her head on the kitchen table, arms slumped at her sides. A lot of time must have passed—it was now completely dark outside. Surely it couldn’t be that late already? The kitchen had transformed to become a wriggly vision. All surfaces were undulating before her eyes, emitting auras of various strengths and colours.

Everything seemed to be talking to her, too.

“Can she see us?” sounded from somewhere above the cupboards. Her face turned to locate the source of the voice, but all she could see were dusty corners and cobwebs.

“Don’t think so,” said another voice, “but she must have sensed something.”

Rude, to talk about her as if she wasn’t there. And she certainly had sensed something, but to say what exactly was an impossible task when everything screamed for her attention. The voices were her main problem.

“I can hear you, so I’ll surely find you,” Ophelia declared. She dragged herself up from the bench and started opening the cupboards. If she knew what kind of creature she was dealing with, she could try a revealing spell.

“Don’t think so,” said another voice.

“You sound very sure of yourself for someone living in my house.”

A hollow laugh. “We’ve lived here since long before you, child.”

She crouched down to look below the table. Nothing. Puzzled, she got back up. Being a creature of the night, her vision was usually unaffected by darkness. Something about the dense black outside the kitchen window seemed unnatural.

“Did you turn off the lights?”

No answer. Maybe she was going a little loony. Although she thought she could hear a faint breathing that wasn’t her own.

“Think she’s seen it?”

Seen what? With a grunt she angrily swiped a stack of pots off the table.

A dusty cloud puffed up, possibly flour, and something flitted away.

“Got you!” she growled as she took two heavy strides towards the window. And then she was face to face with a monster. Gaunt yellow eyes transfixed her through the glass, and all she could do was freeze in place.

The tall, hunched shape seemed to be shrouded by darkness. This was not the source of the voices.

Surprise?

by Andrea “Phelia! Bea!” Theo yelled at the top of her lungs as she hopped down the main path in the crumbling courtyard like a happy ball of energy. “I gots it– I GOTS IT!” Her entire face glowed in delight, she wore a smile so big her cheeks were aching. Splash. Splash. Mud splattered up with every hop and landed on her skirt. There must have been a rainstorm earlier, but now a wintery sun was peeking out to welcome her home. The tiny brown droplets of mud decorated her swaying, wine red skirt and sparkled in the soft rays of the afternoon sun. She didn’t seem to mind them. She would walk around naked in the forest if it wasn’t frowned upon.

In the middle of the courtyard, amidst budding snowdrops, Theo closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the extraordinary warmth of the bleak winter sun. She let it slowly warm her cheeks. As she peered through her eyelids she could see the puffs of air evaporate in front of her. This day couldn’t get any better. Had the potion finally worked for her? She must admit she did feel very grounded that night. Maybe the spirits had felt it as well. It had been a while since it felt so good, after all. But she thought it was only that particular night for last night in the kitchen, while she was sifting through jobs in the local paper, it didn’t look like the spirits noticed her at all. All the jobs listed seemed far out of reach especially after the last job interview with that grey-haired snob. It had drained her energy and kept eating away at her even after the offering at February's full moon. And how she got to bed last night also remained a mystery, but maybe that had been a blessing, because this morning she woke up feeling like a flower about to bloom for the first time in its short but beautiful life. Just like the countless snowdrops around her in the courtyard. She even heard the first coal tits chirping their songs of love. Was spring already nearing?

Theodora let out a content sigh. Her smile broadened again as she remembered where she was going.

“Oh… BEEE-A,” she sang in a high pitch and started hopping towards the kitchen. “O-PHEEEEEEE-LIA!” she sang in an even higher pitch.

Even the tits joined in and created a beautiful choir of joyful screams.

Theo skidded to a full stop as her eyes suddenly fell on the kitchen. The joy and euphoria in her chest made way for a rush of adrenaline. Without a single moment of hesitation she burst through the kitchen door with her hand stretched out before her and saw Ophelia standing there, wide eyed and frozen in place. A dark presence made Theo shudder in her skin. Long canines unfolded as she turned her head and snarled towards the presence.

“Don’t. Touch. My. SISTER!” she screamed as a bright light emitted from the palm of her hand.

Happy Returns

by Nik Sébastien had thought that once he had consumed some human blood, he would be on the mend. But he still felt very unwell. In a desperate attempt to escape the haunting residue of his dreams, Sébastien gave in to the lure of his vampiric nature. His nights unfolded in a haze of sensual encounters, each one a fleeting attempt to bury the ethereal visions that clung to his mind. The velvety taste of blood mingled with the exquisite flavours of aged wine, that temporarily muted the spectral whispers in his mind. But as he enjoyed all of the pleasures of his nocturnal existence, an underlying emptiness hinted at the futility of these distractions, and the shadows of his dreams waited for him like ghosts in the corners of his consciousness.

Enough was enough. After a few days, Séb returned to the manor. He stood in the archway of the gate. He took a deep breath and put his foot over the threshold. His whole body tensed as he walked towards the door.

Everything seemed fine. He was about to open the door when a voice startled him so much that he jumped!

"Woah, there... Calm down, mate!" Gunnar looked at Séb sympathetically. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sorry, just... lost in thought." Séb tried to smile. "How have you been, Gun?" "I am well, thank you. Although… had to bury a friend of mine, found her a few days ago at the manor gate, covered in blood. Probably caught by a fox, you know how it goes. It's only natural."

Séb nodded. He tried to look sympathetic. He certainly tried not to think about how he had killed that rabbit a few days ago.

"How have you been? You were away for a few days." Gunnar continued.

"Um, you know. Well. Busy. Always busy." Séb avoided Gunnar's gaze.

Gunnar tilted his head. "Are you sure, mate?" "..." Séb felt as if he was trying to overcome a physical barrier to get the words out. "I'm not feeling so good, actually." He took a deep breath. "So, yeah. Been trying to distract myself, you know." A slight grin appeared on Séb's face.

Gunnar giggled. "You dog!"

"Yeah, but it didn't work. So I'm back." They both smiled. "Sorry about your friend, Gun." The two friends walked through the garden, and Séb began to feel less and less anxious.

"I've had bad dreams, really terrifying ones. I have never experienced anything like this before." Gunnar nodded.

Séb continued. "Really shaken me up, I guess."

They talked and talked, about pretty much anything for hours. They were so engrossed in their conversation that Séb started to burn at the first rays of sunlight that hit his skin.

He got up quickly, "See you tomorrow?"

Séb ran inside, rushing through the corridor, past the living room and the kitchen. He rushed down the stairs to the basement. He was strangely excited about going to bed, or at least to his coffin. He had the feeling that this would be his first real night's sleep in a long time.

Flames Burn Bright

by Robyn Bea had spent all of yesterday evening and all of today hidden away in her room, a large ‘GO AWAY’ sign hanging over the front of her door adorned with wildflowers and painted with strange, spotted mushrooms. Her sisters had learned by now exactly what that sign meant, even beyond the bold, red words plastered across it. Bothering Bea with that sign in place meant hexes hurled and curses cast, as well as whatever else the half-fairy had nearby thrown toward your head. Bea’s room had been deathly silent, save for the muffled sound of munching and the occasional quiet sob. Her fathers now having essentially left her for dead to rot in the world of the mortals (at least in her eyes), Bea had to deal with her stress the only way she knew how: snacking and indulging in bad romance.

Bea wasn’t a particularly romantic person in any sense of the word. She had far too many things going on in her own life to worry about someone else’s problems, and all in all humans didn’t quite suit her tastes. They were all…lumpy. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t embroil herself in a wonderfully tragic and syrupy romance movie should the mood take her and it was the perfect way to vent right now without destroying any of her property. Someone else’s property…well… She might flitter into town in the next few days and see what sort of mischief she could cause to blow off some steam.

She hadn’t made a sound when Sébastien came home from his night on the prowl, even if she had been concerned about him of late. She didn’t make a sound when Ophelia was holding her lessons, nor when she was eavesdropping through her door at the conversation she was having with

one of her creepy students. She was silent still, when Theodora came barreling in the front door yelling about something or another. A new job, perhaps? If that was the case, she was ecstatic for her. It was a good excuse to get her out of her tower for once, but… Bea couldn’t bring herself to congratulate her right now. Not when her world was falling apart.

However… When she heard screams coming through her wall from the kitchen, she sprung from her bed. Whoever was shouting, their tone caused Bea’s blood to run cold. Throwing her door open and barrelling into the hallway, her hair actually hanging loose around her shoulders for once, she stared wide-eyed into the kitchen.

“Girls? What’s going—” She saw it almost immediately. A dreadful creature whose gaze she felt deep into her soul. She was transfixed with fear for but a moment until the light emanating from Theo’s hand and the sound of glass shattering snapped her out of it and she followed suit, springing into action.

With a burst of light and the sound of twinkling stars, Bea transformed into a tiny, fiery fairy and blitzed forward past Theo’s head, two-handing a tiny black-iron frying pan. Her weapon of choice when she had some frustrations to work out.

“Fey and fickle flames burn bright, protect my sisters on this dark night!” With a mighty clang, Bea bonked the monster over the head, surprisingly strong for her tiny form.

Art: Elicia Edijanto

Hunter BecomesHunted

by Nina & Andrea A lot of things happened at once. A burst of light flashed and all the window panes exploded outward in tiny knives. Something whizzed past her head—a twinkling—then a metallic clang! Ophelia’s ears were ringing.

Had she been hit? Through blurred vision she witnessed the monster behind the window move erratically. The darkness had evaporated and she could see shaggy fur pierced by glass shards. He was bleeding heavily.

Large claws tried to reach her through the window, but it was as though an invisible barrier prevented him from reaching her. Good thing, because she couldn’t move—why couldn’t she move?!

Desperate, she watched a disfigured face appear in the window, and at the same time they both spotted the tiny fairy wings sticking out from underneath the cast iron pan. No! Teeth were bared in the wolvish head, and the pan was slowly lifted to reveal an unconscious Bea. “Don’t you dare touch her!” The words came out weakly as she could barely move. The little fay form of her sister was snatched and held up to his muzzle. He sniffed her intently.

“If it’s a meal you need, you better look on,” Ophelia tried again.

The head turned to regard her. Moon eyes amidst darkness—a werewolf?

“I need her magic,” rasped his voice, low and rumbling. He needs her magic? Does that mean she’s not in physical danger?

“If you come in, we can see if we can help you together with our combined magic.” His face turned into an angry grimace.

“Not yours—you are cursed!” He growled and looked at her in disgust.

“Wha—” Before a logical reply came to her, the monster turned on his heel and bounded off. All she could do was watch Bea disappear with him into the darkness.

Meanwhile Theo’s blood reached a boiling temperature. Her canines pricked her lower lip but she couldn’t retract them. She couldn’t tap into her magic. She let out a frustrated grunt when she realised she couldn’t even lift her feet.

“What in hell was that?” she growled through gritted teeth. Her canines made her speech slurry. She toppled over and caught herself on Ophelia’s shoulder as the spell suddenly lifted.

“It knew you?” Theo asked after she retracted her fangs. She studied her sister’s face intently. Ophelia looked away seemingly indifferent, like she always did when confronted with a problem she may have caused. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside her head.

Theo’s eyes darkened and narrowed to slits. “Where is it taking her?”

But there came no reply. With a frustrated sigh, Theo stomped through the door into the garden to the spot where the monster stood just seconds ago. It was awfully quiet. The coal tits that sang with her upon arrival had

long since fled. Splatters of blood covered the grass and stained the white snowdrops a dark red. It was haunting to see how two details could make a place suddenly uninviting.

Theodora shuddered but straightened her back with a resolute grunt.

She refused to feel afraid in her own home. She knew what she had to do, no matter how dangerous the transformation would be. With her hands soaked in the monster's blood, she painted her eyes and chest before reaching out to the ground. If there were still tits or warblers around, they would recognise the chant coming from her lips immediately.

Ophelia watched her sister through the shattered window with both horror and awe, as the sound of cracking bones echoed like thunderclaps through the silent garden. The process was nothing like transfiguration.

Theodora tried not to scream as the sharp flashes of pain shot through her body. Pain she had felt a thousand times before, but never got used to.

Tears burned hot on her cheeks as her bone structure changed first. Then came the elongated nose, claws, tail, and lastly the fur. Within just a minute, a full sized wolf stood before Ophelia, panting heavily with its tongue hanging out. The wolf shot the black haired witch an electrifying look before it started sniffing the monster’s blood.

As Theo sniffed and scouted the grounds outside, Ophelia prepared for the hunt in her attic room, getting angrier with every minute spent alone. She grabbed a handful of totems from her altar and let them fall into her pouch—all the while muttering angrily.

“What is it I do to attract creeps?” she grunted, and fought the recollection that was starting to form in her mind. The rage building within her shielded her from a hurtful truth. She knew the monster personally.

A heavy chest was thrown open and Ophelia took out her little book of dark spells. Below it appeared Human-Animal Transfiguration For NonShifters. Acting against her urge to slam the chest shut, she also grabbed it, and they both disappeared into her bag. Turning to leave her room, she caught her own eye in the mirror.

“IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” she yelled, and her blood turned white hot.

Trembling with rage, she felt the skin on her back tear as leathery wings appeared. Her eyes became two glowing red coals and she hissed furiously at her mirrored self. Then, the witch embraced her shadow form, rushed down the stairs and out into the grounds towards Theo—all in briefest of moments like a gust of wind.

Theodora had just picked up the trail when she noticed her sister joining her in her shadow shape. She beckoned her with her furry head. In beast form, her discontent seemed to have multiplied. Sensing their dire situation

had something to do with Ophelia, her feelings towards her sister weren’t particularly heartwarming. She hoped that her anger could come in handy when confronting the monster. There was always a way to healthily channel rage.

Once they left the manor grounds and its cemetery, the surrounding land was covered in dense growth. Wonky ancient trees, hawthorn and raspberry bushes made for a tough and prickly forest. This posed no problem at all to the two beastly forms moving through the night. A winged shape glided through the air; the wolf rushed under and over branches and brush. The trail was taking them deeper and deeper into the old growth forest, towards the monster’s den.

After a while, their environment became lighter as they reached a small forest clearing. A sharp glance from wolf-Theo made Ophelia slow down— they didn’t want to alert the monster prematurely. Ophelia halted in the shade of a large tree, and waited for Theo to resume her human form to communicate verbally. Changing back meant Theo lost her superior vision, and to see Ophelia clearly, she pushed her face close to hers.

“Uhm…” Ophelia moved her head back involuntarily. Theo cocked her head in question. “...personal space.”

Theo took a step back.

“What now?” Ophelia hissed.

“I can probably locate his den in wolf shape. The scent got much stronger. You should prepare your spell.”

In response, Ophelia grabbed a totem from her pouch and hung it around her neck. A werewolf carved in moonstone.

“Ready. The incantation follows when I’m near enough. Uhm… can you change without making any noise?” Ophelia asked as she recalled the lovely sound of cracking bones when Theo shifted.

Theo nodded. “It will take longer.” Before she started transforming herself, she hesitated.

“What is it?” Ophelia asked, annoyed.

“I assume we both know that retrieving Bea unharmed is our priority.”

Theo looked at her gravely, and Ophelia felt her chest tighten.

“No need to remind me.”

“Good.” Theo slowly changed back into her wolf—agonisingly slow, judged by her soundless screams as she prolonged the painful process— and stalked the edge of the clearing. Despite her subtlety, Theo’s strut contained silent anger.

Ophelia followed her invisibly amidst the treetops. Sensing no other presence close by, Theodora crawled into the clearing. From the forest edge it looked like an ordinary clearing with some wild grass and a few scattered

blueberry bushes, but Theo knew there was more to the picture. The earth emitted the slightest of vibrations, barely sensible through the soft cushions of her paws. The scent seemed to sink into the earth in the middle of the clearing. For the first time she also picked up the scent of Bea. As Theo neared, a hole appeared in the ground, tactically concealed behind a low bush of berries and some slightly longer tufts of grass. She growled softly to Ophelia, who interpreted the message as safe to come down. Ophelia then watched her sister disappear beneath the earth and gulped down an emotion she wasn’t all too familiar with before she followed her. After sliding down several metres, Theo came to a stop in a vast roughly dug out dark cave with multiple tunnel holes in all shapes and sizes. This wasn’t anything like she anticipated. She sniffed the dull air for several moments, Ophelia waiting impatiently beside her, before coming to the conclusion that Bea’s scent went into a different direction than the monster’s. Without any words—Theo couldn’t talk anyway—the two sisters came to the conclusion they would have to split up.

A Chase

by Nik Sébastien awoke, his senses immediately attuned to the silence that enveloped the house. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he realised that something was terribly wrong. The usual buzz of activity that filled the manor was conspicuously absent, replaced by an eerie silence that hung heavy in the air.

Sébastien swung his legs over the side of the coffin and stood up, his bare feet crunching softly against the cool stone tiles. He looked around the dimly lit cellar. Something was wrong.

Frowning, Sébastien quickly dressed and made his way through the silent corridors of the house, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls. He called out to his sister - Ophelia! - but his voice seemed to be swallowed by the silence that surrounded him. He picked up the cork of a wine bottle from the floor and began to fidget with it.

With each empty room he checked, Sébastien's concern deepened.

Bea's room was deserted, her 'GO AWAY' sign hanging ominously crooked from the door. Theodora, not in the tower, her spell books and potions untouched. Even Ophelia's room was completely silent.

As he searched the house from top to bottom, Sébastien's mind raced with questions. Where could they have gone? And why had they left without a word? The last room he entered was the kitchen. The cork fell to the floor, bouncing off the debris on the floor. Sébastien's heart clenched with fear as he realised the gravity of the situation.

As he stepped into the cool night air, Sébastien's senses sharpened, attuned to the subtle changes in the environment. He could feel the pulse of life around him - the whisper of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, the distant call of nocturnal creatures. But beneath it all lurked a darker presence, a malevolent force that sent shivers down his undead spine.

With silent determination, Sébastien followed the trail left by his sisters, moving like a shadow in the night, his senses honed to perfection as he followed the faint traces of magic and blood that lingered in the air.

The Time Left To You

by Robyn There was the creak of metal chains and the faint drip, drip, dripping of stale water on a cold, stone floor. The dungeon smelled of old moss and the burnt, metallic tinge of rusted copper. Bea, who was still transfigured into her diminutive fairy form, had been out cold for some time, laid prone on her front in the dark. Her usual bright and beautiful wings now lay faint and wilted across her back, the magic from them appearing to have been drawn… elsewhere. Warm daylight had begun to seep through a grate in the roof, dimly illuminating the locked room and causing a sunbeam to shine onto her closed eyes. She stirred, wincing and then groaning as she was pulled out of some troubled dream and into the waking world.

“Mmph…Where…?”

Slowly, surely, she blinked awake and sat up, studying her immediate surroundings with bleary eyes. Her body felt so painfully heavy and lethargic that her usual driving fire of anger was reduced to a damp, disoriented smoulder.

“What…is this place?” she murmured, seeking answers. “Hello?”

“Hello there, little cinder. I’m glad to see you’re not turned after all.

That would have been unfortunate.”

The reply came from behind her, a smooth, dulcet voice that was accompanied by the rhythmic creaking of metal. Bea turned to where the voice had come from and squinted off into the gloom, trying to locate its owner.

“Turned…? What do you mean?” she replied sleepily, leaning forward towards the bars of her cage to get a better look.

Wait… her cage?

“Wh—H-hey! What is this?!”

Bea’s anger suddenly flared in defiance and she scrambled to her feet, ready to rain down hellfire. She reached forward to touch the walls of her cage and blow them apart with her magic, however the moment her fingers connected with the metal bars trapping her inside, she felt a sudden, burning cold run along her arm. She gasped in shock, drawing back sharply and hugging herself tightly.

That really hurt.

“Hoo hoo hoo!” hooted the voice ahead of her, the creaking sound only increasing in pace as it laughed at Bea’s misfortune. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you! Not unless you’re in a hurry to lose this wonderful chance for introspection!”

Bea winced, filled with regret as the feeling slowly returned to her arm.

Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she had stepped out of the sunlight, she could get a better look at the creature that was apparently taking pleasure in her pain.

It was a brown, tawny owl.

Or at least, it appeared to be an owl at first glance. On closer inspection Bea could make out the distinctive shape of a human’s body dressed in a blue, pinstriped suit. The owl had long, slender arms and black-gloved hands where its wings should be; with ironed trousers and black pointed shoes in place of its talons. Whatever this creature was, it was happily swaying to and fro on a creaky little swing and it was at this moment that Bea realised it was trapped just like she was. Both of their cages were suspended from the ceiling by a long, shimmering chain and they were quite a ways off of the ground too, or at least it felt that way at her smaller size.

“Who are you?” Bea asked weakly, trying to make sense of the situation she found herself in. She bet if Theo were here, she could tell her what sort of creature this was. Birds seemed to love her sister, though that didn’t always end up being in their best interests, she thought.

“Hoo indeed,” the owl replied, slowly swinging to a gentle halt and leaning forward on one knee to address Bea properly.. “I am a prisoner, just like you. A ponderer of universal tru-hoo-ths and a dreamer of dreams.”

“I meant your name.”

“Ahoo, of course.”

The owl grinned, something Bea found strangely unsettling, there in the dark. She never knew beaks could smile like that.

“Bartimeaus. Changeling.”

A changeling… Bea had heard of these from her fathers, a long, long time ago. Tricky little creatures birthed from the shadows of the Fae kingdom, able to change their form on a whim with their nigh bottomless fonts of magic. You hardly ever saw them outside of the Fae kingdom though, so what was one doing here in the human world, locked away in a cage? Was she still even in the human world?

Before Bea could ruminate on this for too long she remembered her manners.

“I’m Beatrix, but my friends call me Bea. Um… Half-fairy.”

Bartimeaus hooted and then rotated his head away until he was facing directly behind him, saying nothing. It was such a strange reaction that Bea wasn’t sure the changeling had actually heard her. Attempting to push past the haze of sleep and the peculiar sight, she pressed on, eager for information and to find out if her sisters were alright.

“Hey, don’t ignore me! Where are we, exactly? The last thing I remember was trying to defend my sisters from some sort of…monster.

Whatever it was, it got a good shot in and then… I woke up here. Have you seen them?”

At Bea’s question, Bartimeaus rotated his head back around again to gaze at her, studying the fairy as if she were a tasty little mouse.

“Why does this concern you, Bea?” he asked, causally crossing his legs and folding his hands on top of his knees. “We hoo call these cages our new homes have no reason to ask such things. No reasons to search for anything. In my months of imprisonment, I have seen none escape. Not one. It is best you choo-hoo-se to ask yourself more meaningful, philosophical questions in the time you have left to you, as I have. The meaning of life. What is good and what is evil? What is the sound of one hand clapping? Only when you have thought about these things will you find true inner peace. Acceptance.”

Bea squinted, trying her absolute best to follow along with Bartimeaus’s ‘philosophising’ and glean some sort of answer from the endless stream of words and hoots coming from his beak.

“Wait. Wait wait wait. What do you mean the time I have left to me?

What’s going on?”

“Take a look for yourself.”

Bartimeaus extended a hand, his gloved fingers unfurling to gesture at the rest of the dark room below them. Bea followed the changeling’s gesture, a cold dread in the bottom of her stomach. Hanging at various heights around the dungeon were dozens of cages of all different shapes and sizes. The largest of these was sat on the floor in the corner of the room, with some sort of large, marble statue inside. Whatever metal the cages were made of, they all shimmered with a faint, prismatic light like oil on water. This light trailed up and along each of the suspended chains and disappeared off into the ceiling in an eerie, silent synchronicity. Over and over and over.

Bea crossed the floor of her little prison, trying to get a better look at her new neighbours. Bartimeaus had said ‘we’, so maybe there was someone slightly less crazy to talk to down below that could help her get out of here. She leaned forward, making absolutely certain to not touch the shimmering bars lest she feel their biting cold once again. To her horror, the more cages she looked at, the more she began to realise that all of the creatures inside had a pale, marbled colour to their bodies. Some had deep cracks running along their forms, and other cages only contained piles of indistinguishable white rubble.

There was no sound. None of them were moving.

“All reduced to salt and stone.” Bartimaeus announced, starting to swing lazily back and forth again. “Gone from this life and moved on to the next. A terrible shame, really.”

Bea felt her stomach turn, a fire of rebellion flaring up at the changeling’s casual, almost heartless explanation.

“W-We have to get out of here, then! Why are you just sitting around waiting to turn to stone?!” she shouted, unable to take her eyes off of the

myriad of morbid statues below her. “Change into a fly or something and get us out of here!”

“Oh, I certainly would have done that many moo-hoo-ns ago if I could, little cinder. But magic is impossible here. Escape is…impossible.”

Bea took a slow, trembling step backwards in disbelief. Ever since she had woken up, something had definitely felt…off. With Bartimeaus’s explanation, all of the pieces were coming together and she finally understood what it was. She couldn’t feel her magic. It was gone, or at least, being redirected somewhere against her will. She suddenly whirled around, looking for any sort of escape route but found nothing but the soulless bars of her prison. How long did she have until she ended up like the statues below? Why hadn’t Bartimeaus turned if he had been here for so long? Where were her sisters? Was Sébastien with them?

Wherever she was… Whatever fate awaited her… She refused to die.

She refused. Her sisters and Sébastien would find her and set her free. She knew they would. Until that day came, she would review every spell in her mind’s eye and form a plan.

“If you drop soap on the floor… is the floor clean, or the soap dirty?”

She would also try very hard to ignore Bartimaeus.