No Good Witches | ONC √

Technically Illegal

It came in a plastic bag, this spell, no larger than the palm of my hand. A shimmering purple powder, three pale crescents of fingernail clippings (best not to ask who's, in my experience) and a small slip of paper. It was a fortune cookie's prophecy, on the back of which some curt instructions were scrawled. Fever & Headache: Add castor. Rub behind ears. Entara Chant no. 43.

So. Simple enough.

As I began to pour the contents into my hand, there was a knock on the bathroom door so loud that I jumped and almost dropped the stuff into the fuzzy pink carpet in front of the sink. Yeah, this cluttered bathroom, with toothpaste stains all over the sink and naked brown-skinned barbie dolls crowded beneath the mirror, was decidedly not the vibe for performing esoteric rituals.

"Cass? Why is the door locked?" The small, whiny voice of my younger sister sounded from the otherside of the door. Because of course. I swear, I haven't known peace since the day she was born.

"Just a minute!" I said. "I'm...pooping."

The oil. I always forget the oil. Now I had $20 worth of activation powder in one hand and a slippery lid to open with only the other. I picked up the small vial of castor oil and tried to unscrew it with my fingers. Nothing.

"Well can you poop faster? I need to brush my teeth!"

"Go to mom's bathroom."

It was no use. I'd have to use my teeth. I raised the castor oil's vial to my mouth and bit down with my molars, trying and (barely) not failing to resist the urge to gag.

"But my toothbrush is in here."

A few more moments of struggle and the cap was off. I spit it into the sink. "Use your finger."

"What? Ew. That's unsanitary."

I scoffed, "Spell unsanitary."

"We both know I can do that, Cassandra."

Adding 5 drops of castor oil to the spell in my right hand, I mashed it all together in my palms and I called up my magic. It came to me like it always does—the buzzing from the ceiling vent got louder, the paper instructions fluttered from the place on the counter of the sink, fresh air entered my nostrils like sharp mint, my lungs inflated and my chest got lighter...alright, alright. My magic said. Let's get to work, then.

"I'll tell, I swear!"

I massaged the skin behind my ears and muttered Entara's 43rd chant. I'd memorized all 57 of her chants back in middle school, but number 43 was the most common. I locked eyes with myself in the mirror, caught something like a spark in those deep brown depths.

It hit me like a rippling through my body. Like I was nothing but an instrument, and some god had reached down and plucked my sternum like the string of a guitar. I let my hands fall and my eyes roll back and melt shut as an ache settled into my temples. It really never got old, spell casting. How did normies live without it?

I jerked the door open right as Marnie had her fist raised to knock again. She was just eight, but already nearly up to my shoulder in height. Annoying. Her coarse hair was pulled into twists with multicolored beads at the end that jangled when she tilted her head at me. Big dark eyes like a deer's in that dark, round face of hers.

Annoying, but cute.

I smiled down at her.

"All yours, sister dearest." I said.

Her frown only deepened, eyes catching on the plastic baggie I hastily hid in my back pocket. She asked, "What was that?"

"Uh, none of your beeswax." I stepped around her and gave the top of her head a rattle. She swatted my hand away.