Witches

By David Addleman

A WITCH AT RANDOM -- If you're a man who isn't superstitious and you come face to face with a witch, what then? Johnny Random was just such a man.

WITCH RING -- What if a down and out drunk, the lowliest dreg of society finds an artifact that changes his life? And what does he do when the owner of that artifact shows up and asks for it back?

WITCH HEART -- Can an ordinary man hold his own against a witch in the full bloom of her powers? If she wants him and refuses to let him go, can he possibly escape?

THE AMBITIOUS SORCERESS OF CALANDRA -- What happens when a cute, young "wood witch" crosses paths with a powerful sorceress who feels threatened by her?

THE PRINCESS WITCH OF MANDALONE -- When your witch powers are overdue, and you suspect you're going to live out your life as an ordinary human, do you accept your fate? Not if you're Princess Eletheria.

PASSING THE TORCH -- Not all witches are good. And when a rogue coven directs their energies towards destroying the woman Steve loves, watch out!

GRANNY PATCHES AND LITTLE DEMON -- Take a mischievous almost-witch whose granny is a super power and throw in a lascivious bastard who has bilked her mom, add in a demi-being who isn't supposed to be on earth, and stand back!

CLOTHILDE -- What if a true healer is forced by circumstances to join a coven in order to be "legitimate" as a mid-wife? And what if the leader of said coven discovers the healer's deception?

ALOHA MAN -- Arrogance can be a man's undoing. Of course that doesn't apply to Aloha Johnson -- not until he crosses paths with the wrong witch.

ABIGAIL -- Young female witches are best left alone. Above all, don't take a hunting party into her forest and start killing her animals.

WILD RIDE -- A mean step-mother and a bratty step-brother make life a challenge for Maggie, until she runs into an inter-dimensional friend who awakens a few powers she didn't realize she had.

NATURAL MAN -- Beautiful witches shouldn't pick on librarians, not even when said librarian is a Natural Man.

A VERY OLD WITCH -- Not all witches are women. You might not recognize the occasional male witch because of his disguise. But if you do meet him, it might pay to be nice.

DOCTOR, DOCTOR -- What if a witch never reveals herself and just quietly goes about "doing her thing" and living a normal life. She might be anyone, even your best friend.

CRIES IN THE NIGHT -- When is a witch not a witch? What if she has only one goal in life, dictated by messages she receives from children in pain? Is she a witch or something else?

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Addleman
• Release date: Jan 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458068637

David Addleman

David R. Addleman has sold over 120 short stories and 8 novels. He was a charter member of the Fairwood Writers Group in Kent, Washington, and taught fiction writing at Renton College. He competes in masters swimming and holds a black belt in Uechi Ryu karate. He writes from Menifee, CA., where he lives with his wife, Deborah. Their son, Paul, works at UCLA in Westwood, CA.

Book preview

WITCHES

by

David R. Addleman

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * *

PUBLISHED BY:

David R. Addleman on Smashwords

Witches

Copyright © 2011 by David R. Addleman

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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* * *

WITCHES

Say you’re a man who isn’t superstitious and you meet a witch – what then? Johnny Random was about to find out.

A WITCH AT RANDOM

Johnny Random was a realist who didn't believe in luck, magic, or any other superstition. He never crossed his fingers, didn't throw salt over his shoulder, and didn't avoid walking under ladders.

He'd been a loner all his life. In high school he'd avoided team sports, choosing instead to play tennis, run track, and swim. The coaches recruiting for football, basketball, or baseball, always got the same answer. No, thanks. I'd rather win or lose on my own.

He'd finished high school with a 3.8 grade point average, gotten a half-and-half scholarship (half academic, half athletic -- swimming) to the University of Washington, and graduated with honors from their Business School. He hadn't disappointed either academicians or his coaches. Another year at the U of W earned him an MBA. He immediately passed his CPA exam on first sitting and entered the marketplace fully prepared to accumulate wealth.

* * *

In the Human Resources waiting area of Tobias Industries, Johnny cooled his heels with five others while waiting to be interviewed for a marketing position. One, a female, stood when the receptionist called out, Penelope Saxon.

She was about Johnny's own age, maybe six inches shorter, blonde in contrast to his dark hair, but with green eyes exactly the same shade as his.

She paused in front of his chair and leaned down. You may as well leave, she whispered. This job is sewn up.

Wondering if he'd heard right, Johnny finally concluded he had. Arrogant bitch, he mumbled.

What's that? the guy next to him asked. Magnified eyes behind thick glasses blinked owlishly.

I said: 'Cute little witch.'

Oh, yes indeed, the man agreed.

Forty-five minutes later, Penelope came out of the inner office and flashed a dazzling smile at Johnny, then winked.

Johnny knew it was all over. Sure enough, the inner office door opened and a plump middle-aged man came out. His grey pin-striped suit was immaculate, his shoes highly polished. He wore a bow tie and sported a neat black mustache that didn't match his poorly dyed hair. He reached up and smoothed his mustache, pausing for effect.

I'm afraid the position has been filled. Thank you for coming.

Two men grumbled about wasted time. Mr. Chambers never lost his smile. The owlish man took it timidly. Johnny burned -- not at Mr. Chambers, but because Penelope Saxon had predicted it -- like Babe Ruth pointing to the bleachers before hitting a home run.

Fortunately, he wouldn't have to compete with her again, since she now had a position.

* * *

Johnny eventually got on at Hawthorne Enterprises in Kent, Washington. The salary was slightly lower than the one he would have gotten at Tobias Industries, and he would've preferred working in Redmond instead of Kent, but it was a start.

He spent his second week preparing a bid on a job for Boeing. The price he submitted was close to cost, with a six-percent profit margin for Hawthorne. Not much in percentages, but the size of the order would compensate for not being greedy.

Three more weeks passed while Johnny waited impatiently for the results of the Boeing bid. In the meantime, he began to feel more comfortable in his job. He'd gotten a handle on how things were done at Hawthorne and he had begun developing a plan to streamline their estimation system.

The phone on his desk twittered. He picked it up. Johnny Random, here.

Mr. Random, a woman's voice said, Frank Brumley would like to see you in his office right away.

Puzzled, he hung up and slid into his coat on the way up the aisle. Why would the division manager want to see him?

The woman outside Brumley's office nodded as he approached. She was thin, in her late forties, and smiled thinly. She apparently knew why he'd been summoned. Go right in.

The office was twice as large as his manager's. Paneled in walnut, carpeted in plush gray, it boasted a window overlooking the gardens alongside the plant. The manager behind the desk was short, bald, and unsmiling.

Sit down, Random.

Johnny sat on the edge of a straight-backed chair facing the stainless steel and glass desk.

We lost the Boeing order you estimated. The statement sounded like an accusation.

Johnny felt a heaviness in his chest. I'm sorry, Mr. Brumley. He frowned, recalling the figures he'd developed. I don't see how we could have bid it any lower.

How did you figure it? Brumley asked.

Johnny took a deep breath. I estimated our cost to the penny, then added six percent. On that size order it seemed fair.

Brumley looked down at his desk. I have your bid here. I have no complaint with your methods.

Into the silence, Johnny finally asked, Is something else wrong?

Do you drink, Mr. Random?

Some, socially, Johnny admitted.

Do you frequent bars?

Haven't since college. Why?

Because another firm underbid us by one dollar. Brumley looked disgusted.

And you suspect I leaked our bid?

Did you?

No, Sir. Johnny felt himself growing angry. Why would I do that?

Brumley waved his hands placatingly. Sorry. I had to ask. Some guy named Saxon at Tobias Industries beat our bid.

An electric shock jolted Johnny. Penelope Saxon. This time he couldn't accuse her of using feminine charm.

* * *

That night, back in his small apartment on Madison, Johnny felt restless. He couldn't concentrate on reading or watching TV, he wasn't hungry, and he didn't feel like going out. He lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling.

His telephone rang. Grunting, he lifted the receiver. Hello?

Hello, Johnny. The teasing sing-song tone sounded vaguely familiar.

Penelope Saxon, he said.

Very good. She paused. I'm sorry about Boeing.

You used my figures.

She sighed into the phone. I didn't know they were yours.

That's how you underbid me by one dollar.

She sighed. One Boeing finance officer was very suspicious, but I finally convinced him it was legitimate. We couldn't match your overhead costs, but we needed the contract. Our profit will be closer to two percent.

Then why bother?

Tobias plays hard ball -- I needed a win to establish my credibility. Another pause. Sorry, Johnny. I won't step on your toes again.

What's all this 'Johnny' business? We saw each other only once.

Oh? I've seen you a few times since. I wanted to find out what you were like.

I'm flattered, he said with heavy sarcasm. You nearly got me fired.

I know. But don't worry. Mr. Brumley will harbor no ill feeling towards you.

You can't know that.

She laughed. Yes, I can. I'll tell you about it someday. Oh, by the way, your next estimate will win.

He'd had just about enough. And which one is that? he asked.

She giggled. Silly. The one you started today. The Microsoft bid.

Johnny almost dropped the phone. He'd barely set up a folder on that one.

I suppose you have a video camera over my desk, he said.

She ignored that. Good luck, Johnny.

* * *

Weeks passed. Johnny completed his plan to streamline the estimation process and showed it to his manager, who insisted on showing it immediately to Frank Brumley. Mr. Brumley's enthusiasm prompted him to insist on Johnny calling him Frank. Johnny left Brumley's office feeling much better about his future.

Later that afternoon, half the management of Hawthorne Enterprises descended on Johnny. There was a hush as Frank Brumley cleared his throat for an announcement. Congratulations, Johnny. We won Microsoft's order.

As he sat enduring a barrage of congratulations from co-workers, Johnny suddenly remembered Penelope's prediction.

Your next project is a sure winner, she had said.

Johnny waited until he was alone before calling Tobias Industries and asking for Penelope.

A voice said, Congratulations, Johnny.

He went cold. How did you know it was me?

You wouldn't believe me if I told you. She seemed to always be laughing at him.

Try me, he said. He could believe nearly anything.

Not yet.

All right. Let me take you to dinner tonight. It was pure impulse, and he hadn't planned to ask until the words poured out.

Of course. Take me to Chez Paris.

He chuckled. Sure. Their waiting list is months long.

Call. You'll get in.

* * *

Dinner at Chez Paris was perfect. They finished with Peach Melba and coffee. Johnny felt very mellow. He couldn't remember having such rapport with another human being.

She looked up suddenly. You don't remember me, do you?

You mean from Tobias's waiting room.

No, from before. I was in your class in the eighth grade.

His neck prickled. Penelope, he said, reaching back into his memory. Then, Penny!

Don't be so polite. 'Old Weird Penny' was what everyone called me -- except you.

I remember, he said quietly. You were always so sad. I didn't want to make you feel worse.

And earned my undying gratitude. That's why I warded you through high school and college.

Warded?

Protected.

What in hell are you talking about?

She studied him for a moment. I hesitate to ruin a perfect evening.

He smiled. Nothing could ruin this evening.

All right. She took a deep breath, then looked him directly in the eyes. I'm talking about witchcraft.

He grinned. I called you a witch that day at Tobias Industries.

I'm serious, she said.

He stopped smiling. Are you telling me I was right?

Yes. All expression had left her face. She sat prim, cool, serene. Never had she looked more beautiful.

You used magic to get the Tobias job?

Did you think I got it on good looks and a smile? A simple charm was all it took. Old Mr. Chambers saw me as the embodiment of all he wanted in a marketing assistant.

Johnny shook his head. Maybe you think a charm got you in, but I think it was your beauty. She bristled slightly.

Oh? And the Boeing order. Was that beauty, too? Her frown should have warned him.

No. That was industrial espionage, pure and simple.

Her frown intensified. How do you account for your Microsoft win?

He clenched his jaw. I submitted the lowest bid.

No, you didn't. Emerald green spikes flashed from her eyes.

He frowned. What do you mean?

You arrogant jerk, she said, pushing back her chair and abruptly standing. Have I wasted all those years on you for nothing? I don't ask much. Maybe simple gratitude. Her voice was low and cold. Two other companies had lower bids. Not much lower, but enough to win. I hexed their bids, so that the Microsoft people felt uneasy about selecting them. Call those companies if you want to hear righteous anger. Heat from her outburst seemed to singe him as she turned and marched out.

Bewildered, Johnny studied his empty coffee cup. Could it be true? He thought back to the skinny blonde girl of his boyhood who wore hand-me-downs and was constantly teased. They really had called her Old Weird Penny.

* * *

Johnny hadn't meant to anger her. He put it down to his realism clashing with her superstition. He'd call her and apologize.

When he tried to reach her, she wasn't available.

In the meantime his luck turned sour. His streamlined methodology was instituted, but never helped win a contract. People in the marketing group blamed his methods rather than themselves. Frank Brumley stopped smiling.

A week passed before Johnny was called into Frank's office.

Hello, Frank, he said glumly.

A stern-faced Frank Brumley waved him to a chair. He looked embarrassed. Times are tight. Our only in-house contract is with Microsoft.

I know, Johnny said. I won it, remember?

Frank Brumley flushed. Yeah, you won it. Then you started streamlining. Nobody has won anything since.

That's not my fault.

The others think so. They're going back to the old estimating technique.

Johnny shrugged. Their loss. He knew his technique saved dozens of man-hours and was more accurate.

The thing is, Johnny, you're bad for morale.

What? His mind raced furiously.

You're a Jonah. We're not going to win anything as long as you're here.

Johnny stood and leaned on Brumley's glass top desk. That's superstitious-- The remaining words stuck in his throat. Penelope! he thought.

Brumley's face colored again. Maybe. At this point I have no choice.

Are you firing me?

Why don't you resign?

I'm not going to make it that easy for you. I'll resign -- if you'll give me four weeks severance pay. Otherwise, fire me.

Brumley looked grim. All right. Four weeks.

* * *

In his mind Johnny kept re-playing the words: superstitious nonsense. His brain whirled as he filled a cardboard box with his desk belongings. Magic. Witchcraft. Spells, charms, glamours. Was it possible? Did Reality wear a blindfold and stumble around in the dark.

No. He couldn't accept it.

He was depressed over his break with Penelope, but that wasn't magic -- just plain old psychology. When you're depressed, your work suffers. Your gloom drags down those around you. In a sense maybe he was a Jonah.

He wanted to see Penelope again. Whatever the outcome, maybe he could break his mood and get back on track.

Driving away from Hawthorne for the last time, he considered going directly to Tobias Industries. No, too abrupt. He fumbled for his cell phone and dialed her instead.

She answered immediately. Hello, Johnny.

He swallowed hard, fighting down his reaction to her prescience. May I see you?

Why? I'm still...superstitious. The last word was spoken quietly, as if she might be overheard.

I was fired.

Yes. No surprise, apparently.

Was that your doing?

Nope. She paused. Johnny waited for her to expand her answer. Shall we discuss it over dinner? she asked.

Fine. The tightness in his chest relaxed a bit. He took a deep breath. Shall I make reservations for Randolph's Downtown? he asked.

They're already made for seven, she said. In your name.

He swallowed hard to keep down the sudden rise of bile.

* * *

He walked into Randolph's, surprised by all the people milling around in the foyer.

He turned to a well-dressed, middle-aged gentleman. What's going on?

The man screwed up his face. No one wants to go in there. He pointed through the dining room doors.

Inside, sitting at a table, chewing a breadstick, sat the ugliest, most vile-looking hag he'd ever seen. Her hair looked like wet straw, and her features were lopsided. She looked foul, although he couldn't actually smell anything. Her clothes looked as if they'd been worn for weeks. All other tables in the room were deserted. A stink-bomb couldn't have been more effective.

The hag looked up and saw him. She beckoned. Hello, Johnny. Come on over.

People stared at him as they edged away. He wished suddenly for invisibility.

Yoo-hoo! the hag screeched, dissolving into a cackle. Anonymous hands in the crowd shoved him forward.

His legs felt numb as he stumbled forward.

The hag raised a bony hand. Stop right there. Now, turn around in a circle.

Feeling stupid, he did so. When he turned back, Penelope sat at the table, looking prettier than ever. What the hell are you doing? he asked.

A tiny demonstration -- to encourage your belief in witchcraft.

That was a spell? His stomach was still queasy.

More a reverse glamour. She grinned mischievously. Now watch.

The air between them shimmered. Where a second before she'd been beautiful, she now became glamorous, ravishing, breath-taking, heart-stopping. As he assimilated the change, people streamed towards her, asking for autographs, touching her clothing or skin, or just standing as if struck dumb. Yet, by concentrating, Johnny could faintly make out the pretty but not-quite-so-beautiful Penelope Saxon beneath it all.

Enough, he shouted above the hubbub. I'm convinced.

Instantly the superlative glamour disappeared. The mélange of people stared in confusion. They seemed unable to recall how or why they'd gotten there. They dispersed, leaving a pocket of silence around the table.

And, what was that?

"A straight-forward glamour spell. I poured it on a bit to make a point, but it wasn't all that different from the one