“Mistress Lorna Fey?” At the crone’s nod, Kate whispered, “I need a hex.”
“Ah. Come in, and take a seat.”
A swirl around her ankles almost tripped Kate up. “What a lovely kitty.”
“He’s a Scottish Fold. Tips of his ears bend right over like a lightning-riven birch. He likes you, don’t you, Greymalkin? Mustn’t let him be overly familiar.”
“Just like Roger Laniger,” Kate sighed.
“Ro-o-o-o-ger,” the cat yowled, quite clearly, and then spat.
“Greymalkin has no use for weasels,” Lorna said. “Nor do I.”
Kate frowned. “But I didn’t say anything about weasels.”
Lorna cackled. “Laniger is the Latin word for weasel. May I ask what yours has done?”
“Ever since he moved into my building he’s been stalking me.” Kate shivered. “Yesterday he told me he slept with my picture beneath his pillow.”
“Weasels make terrible lovers. All slither.” Lorna was scribbling on a yellow legal pad. “Six curses on his head I shall bestow, and put a sterile curse on all that hangs below.” She tore off the sheet and handed it to Kate. “Remember, spells are made of wishes transformed into words. There is no room for error.”
“Thank you, Mistress Fey.” Opening her purse, Kate thrust in the paper. “What do I owe you?”
“Just one little thing,” Lorna said as she ushered Kate to the door. “I suppose you think I took no notice of your dire shock upon seeing the crone I’ve become.”
“You do look a bit different from your ads,” Kate said. “I apologize.”
“All flesh perishes. But, the spirit? Never. My thousand years in this realm is rapidly drawing to an end. I’ll soon be on a distant plane, and you will take my place. ”
Kate stared at her.
“One seeks, the other finds. One gives, the other takes. One must go, the other must stay. Not that it’s a hardship to wield power. Just the opposite.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” With a sly grin, Lorna shut the door.
Licking his lips, Roger Laniger undid the security chain. “Yo, hot mama, come on in.”
Rapidly Kate spat out each line of the curse until she got to the grand climax. “With currant eyes and pelt as rough as teasel, he’ll run—”
“S-s-s-s-s,” something hissed at her feet.
“—right up my leg! No!”
The weasel scrambled across her right breast to sling itself around her neck. Digging in its claws, it hissed, “Turn me back into a man, you witch, or I’ll bite your ear off.”
“You bite my ear off and I’ll throw you to the dogs.” Kate didn’t actually know any dogs, not savage ones, anyway. The dogs she did know were meek little things on dainty leashes with sparkling collars or bright bandannas. “And I’m not a witch.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” the weasel snarled.
Kate rushed for the staircase with Roger Laniger, now a ferret playing the role of albatross, slung about her neck. Out to the car she dashed, and peeled out of the parking lot to drive off in high gear. And all the while her unwelcome passenger was growling such dire imprecations Kate snapped, “Woof, woof, weasel,” which silenced him for the rest of the ride.
“Lorna?” Kate turned the old brass doorknob. Much to her horror, the purple door swung open onto a realm of cavernous darkness. “Are you in there?”
“About time,” a voice called from the back of the bungalow as a row of candles lit themselves on the mantel. Kate almost wept with relief as Lorna came into the room towing a huge black suitcase. “My plane leaves at eight.” Lorna peered at her. “Brought your own familiar, did you? Greymalkin will have something to say about that.”
“No, no. This is the pest I was telling you about.”
Lorna rubbed her chin, where some white hairs had just sprouted out of a black mole in apparent evidence of her rapidly accelerating decrepitude. “Got careless with the precise words, did you?”
Kate blushed. “I was in the middle of my final curse when he turned into a weasel and scurried up my leg.”
Lorna limped over to scowl at the trembling weasel. “Go home, Roger Laniger, under your own steam. What happened here was all a dream.” She snapped her fingers. “Now flee!”
Lorna and Kate burst into laughter at the sight of Roger, restored to human form, running down the street like a marathoner. When Kate finally turned away from the window, Lorna was cradling a thick volume bound in black leather in her arms.
“Time for a little witchspeak before I vanish into the ether. Verily,” Lorna cackled, “thou shalt never be short of customers. This I swear by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin.”
“So that’s what they’re doing there,” Kate said.
“To everything there is a purpose,” Lorna wheezed.
“Without you, how will I know what it is?”
“You’ll have plenty of time to read the manual,” Lorna said.
“Verily,” Kate giggled.
And from beneath the sofa, Greymalkin yowled in anticipatory glee.
A longtime author of flash drama, nonfiction, poetry and fiction, Nancy Brewka-Clark is delighted that “Familiar” is the third story of hers to appear in Paper Butterfly Flash Fiction. Her debut poetry collection Beautiful Corpus will be published by Kelsay Books in June 2020.