Dragon Bookworks

I am NOT cleaning up after her this time.

I have done a lot for her over the years, and I mean a LOT. I’ve seen things and done things that you wouldn’t believe. Things not for the weak of heart and some not for the weak of stomach. Things best left unsaid.

I have run errands. Go get this, go fetch that, drop this off over there. The burdens I’ve been made to bear brought my poor back to the breaking point time and time again.

And I have done more than my share of cleaning. The floor, the cauldron, the fireplace, the kitchen, the bedroom and yes, even the outhouse. Oh, and she made me clean up after the Familiars too. You wouldn’t believe how much mess one witch can make!

Not once did I complain. Not one moan or gripe or groan. So why put up with all this? I had no choice really, being enslaved as I was by a magic spell.

See, early on she cast this spell on me that bound me to her will—made me do whatever she needed me to without hesitation. But this is it, the end. The very last straw. That witch has finally gone too far!

Even the animals knew it. Knew she was pushing too hard against her limits. They had the good sense to get out when they could. First the toad, then the raven and finally the cat. You know it’s really bad when the cat bails, too.

At the beginning, all those years ago, it wasn’t too bad. She’d assemble us all and work her spells, brew her potions and invoke her incantations. We were a team back then, and a damn good one. I really didn’t mind being her slave and doing her bidding in those days. She used to take us all out at night too, and we’d fly all over the countryside together. On clear nights, with the moon bright above us, it was bliss.

But as time went on, she used us less and less. Where once she used to tell me what she wanted, it eventually grew to directing me with a mere wave of her hand. That’s when we all started to sense trouble brewing. Even the skulls stopped talking to her.

She was the youngest in the coven, and that probably had a lot to do with it. No, that was it exactly. She never thought they thought she was good enough. By the time they let her in, all of her sisters had established themselves as witches in their own right and each had a signature gimmick. A shtick. A unique spell or item that was their brand, their claim to fame. Not this one though. She hadn’t been practicing nearly long enough for that. And therein lay the rub.

She felt like she had to work harder to come up with something BIG to impress her sisters and really make her mark. Oh she was plenty powerful already, make no mistake, but untrained. And stubborn. Together they make a dangerous combination. She refused to let any of her sisters help her sort out her shtick and wouldn’t listen when they told her that being a witch was about more than wearing the pointy hat. It wasn’t long after that she shut out her Familiars and me as well.

For years she tried this and that and nothing would do. She became obsessed with finding just the right spell that would guarantee her place in the coven for generations to come. At night they could hear her cackling all the way down to the village and see the sparks and smoke erupt from the chimney. Personally, I think she would have been better off sticking to one of the simple classics. You know, like a walking house—or one made of gingerbread—kidnapping princesses and turning them into frogs or making them grow out their hair. Or flying monkeys, for crying out loud. Hell, I’d even settle for cleaning up after them! Take it, tweak it and make it your own. She would have none of it.

But then she found it. The mother of all spells. The one spell that would put all others to shame. It was a classic all right, but one no-one had dared to try in an awfully long time. And for good reason.

I don’t know what went wrong exactly. Maybe the ingredients were a touch off. Maybe she didn’t hold her fingers just right or a couple of words got clipped or slurred. I’m more inclined to believe that her mistake was in chasing off her Familiars. Witches have them for reasons other than just pets or requisite accoutrements. They store extra energy in them and the witches call on it at just the precise moment during a spell to give it an extra boost. Without that boost, a spell might not work or go wrong.

Horribly wrong.

Or completely Kablooie.

Why, oh why did she try the Transformation to Dragon spell? Why couldn’t she have been content with disguising herself as an old lady and poisoning apples? Or siphoning beauty from young maidens?

Nope. Not going to clean this one up. It would take weeks to get her off the floor.

And the walls.

And the ceiling.

They’re probably just going to have to burn the place down. I’m sure the villagers would happily take care of that.

With her gone I’m finally free, though. Free to make a fresh start, a clean sweep if you will. 

There has to be a better witch out there somewhere that’s looking for a good broom.