A Fragile Cup of Witch's Brew

"No I'm not."

She took a sip of her brew and set the teacup back onto the low table.

The bird silently glided back to the pond and landed on the same branch above us. Clearly, it was his perch.

"Nevertheless Sax, before I can make the decision, I will need to consult with the community," she looked up at the bird, raised her voice and said, "who now thanks to Berlioz, all know." She turned to look back at me and calmly added, "It's a momentous decision, you understand that, don't you?"

"Hang on a minute," I said taking a deep breath. I had to get us back to Realville. "Let's take this one step at a time. Before you make any decision, we have to ascertain that you are the correct blood type and that you share the same markers, whatever they are, that indicate that the transplant would not be rejected. I have a kit with me and I've been trained in taking a blood sample. I've got to take that sample to either Timmins or Sudbury."

"But that'll take days. How long does Dee have?"

"I don't know. Weeks? Days? I don't know, but she appears to be in pretty serious shape. She was in the hospital yet again when I left. She's been undergoing dialysis for years."

"How are you involved?"

"I work for the research department of Beeston Little, a Toronto law firm. In years gone by, my position would have been rightly called - private investigator. I work for them. They're hired by your niece and her husband Eliphas, Eli for short."

"She's married? I didn't know that."

Rather than making a snide comment, I continued, "I was charged with the task of finding you. Hopefully you would agree to letting me have a blood sample. And if everything lines up fine, to ask you to consider donating a kidney to your niece."

"How did you find me?"

"The post office in Shining Tree recognized your name. I drove up right away."

Sybil was staring off into space again.

"But if you're certain a kidney donation is going to kill you, I guess there's no point in even taking a blood sample."

"Don't get ahead of yourself Mr. Reimer."

"Are you serious?" Something didn't jive. If this really was Sybil sitting next to me and the story of seeing her own death was just her spinning bullshit...

"Dead serious," she cut off my train of thought.

"If you are so sure that donating a kidney is going to kill you, why are you still considering doing so? Would you knowingly give up your life for someone else's?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know. But, I do know that I need to think about it, talk about it."

"You said the community. Back in Shining Tree?"

"No, the community here."

"Other people live out here?

"People? No. Not for miles. The closest people to us are in Shining Tree. Actually no, either in Houston or Cryderman Lakes. I'm not sure which is closer."

"So what community are you talking about? You and the crow?" Here in Weirdsville I almost added.

"If you are referring to Berlioz, he's a raven."

I was sitting with a raving lunatic, drinking God knows what, eight or nine hours away from help and that would be paddling against the current.

"Sax, I understand that to your eyes I appear to be a woman living alone in the forest, with I may add," she gestured upwards to the black bird, "an odd companion. But, let me assure you we are far from alone." She held out both arms and raised her voice a notch, "This is in fact, a vibrant community that has graciously accepted me as one of their own."

Nut bar.

"Okay, please tell me then Sybil, may I call you Sybil?"

"Yes."

"When do you expect to meet with your community?"

"They're pressing right now, but I'll meet with them tonight."

She looked over at me and I was sure she saw in my face, that I thought she was crazy.

"Your niece said that you're a witch."

She looked at me with a renewed calm appearance on her face. "Yes, there are some people who perceive me to be one." She picked up her teacup and took a sip.

"Are you?"

"Tell me Sax, when you look at me, what do you see?"

"I see a beautiful woman, who is not fifty eight years old."

"Really." She put her teacup down on the low table and stood up facing me. She pulled her black robe off her shoulders. When her arms dropped, the robe dropped too, piling at her ankles.

My sphincter clenched and I almost dropped the teacup.

She was naked. She was slender, yet shapely, with creamy white skin. Her pubic bush was thick, the identical orangy red that her hair was. Her breasts were full, not huge, but very shapely. Her areola were quite small and light, barely darker than her creamy skin, her thick nipples were darker, red wine coloured, they stood up and out. There was a slight rise from her pelvis. I could see wisps of orange hair in her armpits and on her legs below her knees.

"Now tell me Sax, what do you see when you look at me?"

"I see a beautiful naked woman, who is not fifty eight years old."

"I know which part of my body Dee wants. Is there a part that you want?"

"Yes, all of it." I gulped. Definitely crazy, but sexy as hell.

She reached out and cupped my face in her hands, "Well you can't have all of it," she pressed her face towards mine, "but maybe you can have a taste."

She kissed me on the lips. Her lips were warm and soft. Mine were tingling. I felt like I was kissing an angel. My heart was suddenly filled with joy, a completely unexpected bliss washed over every fiber within me.

"Tell me," she said as she pulled away staring into my soul with her big dark brown eyes, "how does it feel to kiss a witch?"

"Unbelievable," I barely managed to stammer out.

She stood back up and looked down at me, "Well believe this Sax Reimer, you will have my decision before the sun rises tomorrow morning."

I gulped again. "Let's just do the blood sample." I croaked while trying to recover my senses.

"If time is of the essence, if I decide to do it, I'll travel to the hospital for the operation. They can take a sample of my blood then."

I couldn't believe it. "Thank you Sybil," I said and then added, "and I can't believe that you are still considering it and not dismissing me outright." Her tits were beautiful.

"Isn't life strange?"

"Hmm." The nape of her neck, so feminine.

"Nevertheless, here we are."

"Indeed." There was a gap at the top of her thighs. The orangy curls couldn't hide it.

"And I'm deeply honored that you have travelled two days to find me and that you will be my, or I should say our, honored guest for the night."

My cock was definitely swelling.

She slipped her black robe back on and then sat back in her chair. "There is no use fretting about all of that right now." Her beautiful, luscious lips curled into a sexy smirk, "So you enjoyed the kiss?"

"I must say Sybil, I don't think I have ever had such a lovely kiss."

She picked up her teacup. It nearly covered her smile as she took a small sip. Her smiling eyes gave her away.

"That's very sweet of you to say that. Thank you, kind Sir."

"Sybil, I must say that I am very grateful for your hospitality. Where should I pitch my tent?"

"Pitch your tent? I have a comfortable bed inside."

"I've already intruded enough into your life..."

"Nonsense," she cut me off with a wave of her hand, "I must say, I don't have very many human guests, especially not good looking young men like you. And you are good looking, how tall are you?"

"Six two."

"And I would say that you are about a hundred and eighty pounds."

"On a good day."

"Forty two, is that what you said?"

"Yes."

"I love your wavy sandy coloured hair."

"I guess you missed the thinning on top."

"I didn't. You're charged with testosterone. I find it sexy. You have beautiful blue eyes and a lovely smile. You're a good looking man Sax Reimer."

"Compliments will get you anything you want out here Sybil." I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Are you married or under an obligation to anyone to be faithful?" She asked.

"No."

"Excellent, but it wouldn't matter anyway."

"Why do you say that?"

"Either way I'm going to fuck your brains out tonight. I'm just saying that because I am genuinely happy that you won't have a guilt thing hanging over you, clouding your judgment."

"Wow."

"Well if you liked the kiss, then I can assure you that you're in for a real treat."

"You make it sound as if I don't have a choice in the matter."

My statement made her head jerk back as she glared at me, "You don't want to fuck me?"

"Ahhh," clearly I did. Certainly my cock was voting that way.

"It doesn't really matter," she said waving her hand in dismissal and then added smiling, "besides, it would be rude of you not to accept my hospitality."

"Wait a minute, I've seen this movie before, or maybe it was a Twilight Zone episode or Lost In Space or something. We make mad passionate love and then you revert back to the old hag that you really are."

"Haa haa haa!"

"What I'm seeing now, the beautiful woman with the body of a thirty year old, is really a shriveled up old hag, missing teeth and has a big wart on the end of her twisted old nose. Where's your hat and broom?"

"Haa ha ha...inside! Want a ride? Haa haa haa!"

I held the teacup out and looked inside. "Say, what's in this witch's brew?"

"Haa haa...it's a love potion of course."

"See I've seen this movie before."

"Yes and now you're mine!" she growled, "ahh ha haa!"

I was laughing too. "Ever since I dipped the canoe into the grassy lake, there was a sweet Sirens' Song, inaudible but still highly effective, pulling me in. Pulling, pulling. Drawing me in like a moth before a flame."

"Ahh ha ha...I've no secrets to conceal. Ahh ha haa!"

"That's right Sybil, maybe you can see the future, but I can see the present...crystal clear. You really are a witch."

"Oh my, you are funny."

We both chuckled and smiled at each other while taking sips of the witch's brew. There was no way she was fifty eight. Twenty eight I could believe, maybe even thirty eight I could concede, but not fifty eight. No way. But what a beautiful, sexy woman she was. There wasn't a wrinkle on her. The chiseling of the face which comes with age, in her, it was completely absent.

She smirked at me watching her.

"Look, there's Gladys and her two cubs," she pointed across the pond.

I turned my head and saw a large black bear and two cubs at the water's edge, not more than a hundred and fifty feet away. One of the cubs was standing on its hind legs.

In a loud voice she said, "The cubs look great Gladys, in spite of who their father is," and then added, "I know who you mated with last year."

She turned back to me and whispered, "His name is Philippe. He's a surly old bugger, even by male, black bear standards. No one likes him. I don't see what she sees in him."

"Sybil you've just convinced me that you really are fifty eight years old. Only an old woman would be engaged in that type of bush gossip."

"Ahh ha ha!"

"Croak!" Berlioz was flapping his wings, "croak!"

"Oh look," I said, looking up, "he agrees with me." Now I was conversing with the stupid bird.

"Yes, he knows I'm an old hag."

I smiled at her. "Yes but a lovely one."

"As long as I keep up appearances right?"

"That's right. No disillusions okay?"

We smiled at each other for a few moments.

"You must be hungry," she said, "I've made more stew in anticipation of your arrival." She stood up.

"I brought food."

"You did?" She said as she stepped down to my red canoe.

"Yeah that freeze dried camping stuff," I answered as I watched her pick up one of her parcels.

"Eww, that's disgusting. Come I'll show you what healthy living and healthy eating is all about." She stood and held out her one hand to me, while holding the parcel and her teacup in the other. "Come."

I stood up holding my teacup.

"Give me your hand."

I did. Her hand was soft and warm to the touch. Pure joy radiated through her hand into me.

"Come inside."

Looking up at the cabin I said, "Nice, did you build it?"

"Yes I did, please come inside." She let go of my hand and stepped up onto the wooden porch and opened the door. I felt a loss from not holding her hand.

I followed her inside.

It was a one room log cabin, quite large, maybe twelve by fourteen feet. Definitely a witch's hut. There was a stone fireplace dominating the back wall, with a black cauldron hanging on one side and what appeared to be an oven cleverly made up of natural stone on the left side. The front of the oven was one thick piece of partially charred wood with a handle. The fire was lit, but low with lots of ashes. Wooden shelves on either side of the stone fireplace completed the back wall. The floor was wood boards. There was a rug on the floor, it looked like black bear. On the left side of the room there was a single bed with mainly black fur on it. The window opening above the bed was boarded up with crude boards. Green moss was stuffed between the planks. Clearly that was where the new window was going. On the right side of the room a wooden table with rustic boards was pushed up against the wall. The window above it was intact, made up of single panes each about eight by ten inches high. Each corner of the cabin had either wooden shelving units with piles of musty old books, wooden bowls and tin boxes, or cupboard units. I saw a big mortar and pestle, a black kettle and an axe. A single wooden chair with armrests faced the fire in the center of the cabin. A black fur blanket or rug was draped over the back of it. There were a number of candlesticks placed in strategic locations around the cabin. Strands of dry mushrooms hung from the mantel at both ends of the fireplace. One strand I recognized. The mushrooms were white with bright red caps and white dots on the cap.

"The food smells good what is it?"

"Witch's stew of course," she answered with a smile. She had what appeared to be a piece of dough that she was flattening between her hands.

"Naturally."

She dusted a short wooden paddle with flour from a square tin and then placed the palm shaped pancake onto it. The bread was then shoveled into the stone oven. "The bread will only take a few minutes."

"Sounds great," I said.

"When you live in the forest, you learn to live off the forest. There are many healthy food sources, which are by their very nature...seasonal. Right now there is plenty to eat. This is a stew with cattail and bullhead water lily root, rock tripe...it's a common lichen, let's see what else?" She was staring off into space trying to remember, "There's a bit of wood sorrel, just to give it a little tanginess, a few gooseberries to sweeten, some wild rice of course..."

"Of course," I repeated.

"Several types of mushrooms..."

"Toadstools no doubt," I added looking at the string of drying red and white mushrooms.

"And frog meat... oh and left eye of newt of course," she added smiling.

"Obviously, it wouldn't be a witch's stew without it would it?"

"Of course not. Chicken paprikash is just chicken stew without the paprika isn't it?" She tossed a few sticks into the fireplace. "Please have a seat." She gestured to the lone armchair facing the fire.

"Thank you." I sat down. "You're very well versed for someone who lives alone in the bush, cut-off from the rest of the world." The chair was comfy.

"For half the year."

"Right. Where do you go for the winter?"

"South of course."

"Where to?"

"Wherever I want, why?"

Looking around the cabin I said, "Very strange existence you lead, you live up here all alone, sorry..." I caught myself, "within your community, and then you fly south for the winter, just like the birds."

"Some birds, yes exactly. Not Berlioz though, he stays here all year round."

"Let me guess," I said as I watched her stir the stew with a big wooden spoon, "you fly on a broom." I looked around the cabin. I didn't see a broom.

She chucked, "Yes that's it exactly."

"But you don't have one," I looked behind the wooden door and then to all the other little nooks and crannies.

"Yes I do, there it is." She was pointing to next to the door.

"Oh."

I swear there wasn't a broom there a moment ago. Now there was. A long brown stick with dry reeds or straw tied tightly back on itself. Like a witch's broom. How could I have missed it? It was definitely freaky.

"I didn't grow up in the woods. I had a normal childhood growing up with my sister in Montreal. I went to school, played with my friends, watched TV like everyone else."

I already knew about Montreal but I still couldn't get my head around the broom. Maybe it was her boozy brew messing with my head. I had to change the subject. "How do you make a living? If you don't mind me asking."

She smiled at me, her eyes winking in delight, every movement of her lips and sinuous neck muscles responded in unison.

"I see things."

"You see things."

"Yes." She paused, "Would you like a drop more millifiori? Sorry, witch's brew?"

"Sure, but I just want you to assure you, I'm already in love with you." I passed her my cup.

"Ha!" She took the cup from me, grinning.

It was a pretty easy thing to say to such a gorgeous creature. "And I'm looking forward to your...hospitality." I was hoping it was true.

"Good, but not until after my meeting tonight okay?" She stepped over to the cupboard next to the table and picked up a black bottle. It looked like an old litre and a half Black Tower Riesling wine bottle.

"I'm just the guest, I don't set the rules here," I said as she uncorked the bottle and poured me some brew.

Handing me the teacup, smiling, she said, "And I'm delighted that you fully appreciate that."

I suddenly remembered young Tom's suggestion that she was dangerous.

"So, you see things and people pay you." I said trying to pull the conversation back to reality. "I don't exactly see a huge line up of people waiting for you to gaze into a crystal ball or something for them."

"Haa haa ha!" She was genuinely shaking as she replaced the cork and put the bottle onto the shelf.

"Oh, I get it," I said, "you travel with a circus during the winter, Sybil the Fortuneteller..."

"Haa haa haa!" She was in hysterics. She even had me laughing with her.

It took her a moment but eventually she calmed down enough to say, "Oh Sax, it's so nice to have a guest now and again. I so do miss human company sometimes."

After a few moments I asked her again, "Seriously Sybil, how do you survive out here by yourself for half a year?"

"Surviving out here is easy, for half the year. For the other half it's cold and a brutal existence. The snow is typically ten or twelve feet high. There is very little to eat. I don't know how Berlioz manages. But for the other half year, there is plenty of food and plenty of work."

"Work? Seeing work?"

"I do that all year round. It's my occupation."

"I thought you were a witch."

"That's hardly an occupation."

"And you make enough money in half the year to live here the other half, not seeing anyone?" It didn't make sense.

My statement startled her, "Oh I don't earn money. What would I do with money?"

"What?"

"I don't use money. If I did that then someone would come looking for taxes."

"Well that couldn't be as bad as say...someone coming out here trying to get a pound of flesh from you, could it?"

"Ahh ha haa!"

I was glad she thought that was funny. But what she was saying still didn't make sense. "Seriously Sybil, if you don't earn money, how did you pay for the window that I brought you, or that black cauldron?" I said pointing, "Everybody needs money."

"Well Sax," she said wiping a tear from her eye, "I'm not everybody. I have no use for money."

"Still doesn't explain the window."

"Payment for services." She opened up the package she had brought up from my canoe. It was the one from Slovenia. "I need these all the time." It was a box about a foot and a half long by eight inches by eight or nine inches high. It was full of white paraffin candles. No wonder it was so heavy.