Teacher’s Familiar

“What??” Felix looked the old woman squarely in her one good eye and mustered the courage to voice what all the initiates were thinking. “Did you say bull's blood??” He wasn’t sure if the room shrank or if the old woman grew, but he suddenly felt much closer to her.

“That’s what I said, boy. How else, do you suppose, are we to make this potency potion? Lambs tears? I can tell you; they won’t work!” She winced and let out a sound that might have once been a giggle before it made its way through the tarred pipes of the village's one remaining witch.

Of course, to young people in a darkened ceremonial tent made entirely of animal skins and tied together with dried innards, it was a cackle. Quite pleased with their appalled, fearful reactions, she continued. “It must come from one of his hind legs.”

“Isn’t that super dangerous?” Felix interrupted a second time.

“You certainly have a lot of questions for one so small,” the witch squinted. “But…it’s a good question. And I’ll tell you why.”

A collective sigh hung in the musty tent. The witch, known simply as Silver, coughed and chortled. Then, she continued. Later, the children would agree that none of them remembered holding their breath.