The Witch of The Woods Ch. 01

Hermit cryptobiologist hides a couple of big secrets deep in the forest - The Witch Of The Woods is a new story that is a part of a larger universe I'll be writing from now on. This one might fit into the urban fantasy genre, but because of my disrespect to genre boundaries it might very well cross into other genres as well, whenever I feel like it. It's going to have lots of sex of different kinds, so buckle up! All characters are 18+.

xoxo,
Cy~

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Chapter 1

"Rub that into your knees, once a day, teaspoonful each - and you'll be dancing in a week, that's a promise. Will work on your other joints too, if you're wondering."

Old man Tanner clutched the jar with thick green creme and pressed it to his chest.

"Bless your heart, Doc, you're good people!"

Christine chuckled.

"Don't tell Reverend Barlow that, he'll have you burned at the stake."

"Oh, that sonuvabitch can stick his opinion up his self-righteous bum! What do I owe ya for this?"

"That's a gift, Garreth," she smiled and got behind the wheel of her gunmetal Mustang. A hundred yards away she still saw Tanner in the rearview, waving, his lips moving saying words of gratitude. She sighed - a simple joint-healing concoction was the least she could do for her favorite butcher, who sold her his best cuts with an outrageous discount.

Aldi's parking lot was nearly empty, so she parked near the entrance, grabbed a cart and walked in, cool air a stark contrast after melting asphalt outside, overheated in the afternoon sun. Her nipples instantly hardened, poking through the fabric of her dress, unrestrained by any underwear, and she shivered at the sensation.

"Hey, girl, you cold or just happy to see me?" She heard from her right, and turned to face Connie, the plump and friendly middle-aged woman. Connie has been a cashier in the old supermarket before Aldi bought it out, now she was also a shift manager.

"Both," Christine grinned. "How have you been, Connie?"

Women hugged, but Connie's face went sour at the question.

"Oh, you know... men are pigs, MAGA men even more so..."

"It didn't work out with whats-his-name, did it? This can't go on like this, girl," Christine shook her head. "Remind me to hook you up with someone decent."

"I'd be forever indebted to you if you do!" Connie put her hands up in a praying gesture.

"Oh, what's a small favor between friends," Christine waved dismissively and smiled, heading down to the aisles.

She did a slow and meticulous sweep of all and every aisle. Filling her cart with groceries as she went, she realized how long it has been since her last visit to Caldwell - she ran out of nearly everything. Keeping distance for privacy reasons has its cons too. She pushed the overflowing cart back to the checkout and started unloading everything onto the belt, engaging in small talk with Connie.

Automatic doors opened, letting through a lanky old man with a facial expression of dignified anger, dressed in black head to toe despite the heatwave. Cute young girl he was pulling by her hand after him wore a nice frilly yellow sundress and sandals.

"Oh, hello, Reverend. Hi, Peggy," Christine greeted the pair, smiling.

Seeing her, Jack Barlow stopped dead in his tracks and lifted up his right hand.

"Begone, you Jezebel!" He bellowed. "Keep your filthy hands off the virgin youth!"

He darted towards the aisles even faster than before, pulling his daughter after him, Peggy silently throwing Christine simultaneously a pleading and an apologizing look.

"Well, that escalated quickly, didn't even take a minute to call you a whore," Connie chuckled and raised her brows.

"Eh, I've been called much worse in my lifetime," Christine grinned. "He ain't the first, he most certainly won't be the last. Men are pigs." Most of them, anyway.

"Amen, sister!" Connie sighed. "And that poor girl of his? Would be a real shame if hormones destroy her beauty before someone finally plucks that cherry..."

Christine pushed the cart with bagged groceries out, popped Mustang's trunk and began loading plastic bags near paper ones she got at Tanner's. The trunk ended up full. Gods, do I eat that much? Must be boredom.

"Reverend give you shit again, Doc?" She heard a beautiful voice with a bit of southern drawl. Christine slammed the trunk closed and turned. Donna Sanders, tall and curvy blonde, was leaning on the hood of a police car, dusting off her badge.

"Hello, sheriff," Christine smiled and sauntered to her with a slight sway in her hips, hands behind her back. "Long time no see."

Donna pointendly wasn't looking her in the eyes.

"Missed me much?" She asked.

"I did. It's almost like you're avoiding me for some reason," Christine intoned in a playful pouty voice. "You should come down some time, for a barbecue, or... maybe even out that tan of yours before the summer is over."

"I- Um..." Donna gulped and stepped closer, surreptitiously running a finger along Christine's arm. "Listen, Chris, I was meaning to talk to you, but with this abduction business..."

"What abduction?" Christine frowned and cocked her head to the side.

"You haven't heard? Alice Dougherty, 19 year old, back home after her freshman year in college, taken right from her bedroom at night, no trace," Donna sighed. "Been two days already."

"I haven't been to town in a couple... Feds here?"

"Yeah. Think it's a serial. I've seen their faces today at the briefing, they think it's already too late."

Fuck.

"Here," Donna reached into the car and pulled out a missing person poster with Alice's photo. "Maybe you can help."

It was the first time she dared to look Christine in the eyes - and hers were pained and apologetic. She quickly turned away and put her sunglasses on.

"Gotta go, Doc. Sorry," Donna pushed past Christine and got into her car.

"I'll come by when it's over, I promise," she said, still not looking at her. Sheriff's cruiser left the parking lot, raising clouds of hot dust in the direction of downtown.

Christine got into Mustang and sat in silence for a minute, looking at the poster with the smiling girl with raven-black hair, photo most likely taken from her 'Gram. Cute girl. Parents are probably desperate.

"Let's go home," she said. The Mustang roared and started off the parking lot, heading out of town.

-//-

She was counting miles and looking out of the window, but kept her hand on the wheel, pretending to drive in case anybody saw her.

Town ended abruptly. One minute she was watching dilapidated sheds and warehouses fly by, the next mixed forest surrounded the interstate, canopies touching above the road, nearly blocking sunlight. The Mustang dove off the road to the right, onto the inconspicuous gravel lane, mostly hidden from both sides by tall undergrowth. Several hundred yards later down the winding road the car stopped in the middle of a perfectly round clearing with no other paths out.

Christine stepped out, looked around and patted the car on the roof.

"Clear."

The Mustang dissolved into the cloud of dark mist, her bags with food floating inside. Christine turned to the bushes at the far side of the clearing and willed the path to open, heading down the slope. The cloud followed.

They traveled down the trail in silence for several minutes, until the mist finally spoke.

"You knew this was going to happen. It pains her to be around you - a constant reminder of her fleeting beauty and short lifespan."

The voice was deep, with a resonating echo, like a reverberation inside a huge steel tank. It was coming from somewhere inside the cloud, shifting position intermittently.

"I know, Shade. It doesn't make this any easier," she responded glumly.

"You'll get over it in a hundred years or so. Right now, there are more pressing matters."

"Like what?"

"You have a guest waiting for you."

Christine frowned. Wallowing in her emotions, she let her guard down and missed the presence inside her own home. Someone powerful has arrived. Someone whom she didn't want to see this century. The bearer of bad news.

The windy trail ended, leading them to the huge clearing surrounded by ancient trees, with a big modern house sitting at the far end. Feeling the flat ground beneath, Shade turned back into Mustang form and silently sped towards the garage.

"You greet your guest, I'll stash the food."

Christine slowed down, mustering her... everything and trying to calm down the whirlwind of emotions, and succeeded. By the time she walked up the stairs to her open terrace, she was cooler than ice.

"Hristina," her visitor turned and gave her a short nod.

"Morgana," Christine responded in kind.

Both women appraised each other for a moment. Both of them were stunningly beautiful by modern human standards - tall, fit, ideal body proportions, amazing curves, perfect long hair reaching the middle of the back - Morgana's black, Christine's auburn. Both looked the same late 30s - early 40s, despite Morgana being at least a thousand years older. Beauty and youth, perks of the trade.

Finally, Morgana sighed and looked away.

"No need for diplomatic pleasantries, I guess. I know you hate that," she wearily descended into the closest to her wicker chair, one of the nine standing in a perfect circle. Christine took the one across from her.

"What grave news have you brought this time, Stormcrow?" She asked, inwardly bracing herself.

Morgana was silent for a long time, not looking at her.

"We have lost nearly every youth in Ukraine. Hundreds of lives, including apprentices."

Fuck. That was so easy for you to prevent!

Christine wanted to tear into the old hag, to rip her heart out and devour it on the spot, but on the outside she remained the same cold stone, letting Morgana continue.

"The balance is disturbed."

No shit, Sherlock.

"I'm lifting the limitations imposed by the Secrecy Act of 1373. Every standing member of the Coven in the rank of Mistress or higher is hereby obligated to begin training new apprentices immediately."

"As expected," Christine nodded. "At what rate and for how long?"

"At least twelve every cycle, indefinitely."

Christine nearly lost her cool right there and then.

"That's times higher than last century, and we've been increasing the rate after every Great War for the next cycle. We are going to overpopulate the Earth, that means the Secrecy Act is out of the window!" She tried not to shout, nearly failing.

Morgana nodded, forcing herself to look Christine in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, child... I know how precious the Act is to you, given your history... It's not an easy decision, and it's all on my authority - I will answer for this before the High Coven."

Well, something's new at least.

"I appreciate you giving a fuck," Christine sighed, deflating. "Want some sangria?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Morgana nearly moaned. "Gods, it's hotter than Hell's gate in here!"

"I imagine you can actually compare," Christine chuckled, opening the window with a snap of her fingers and levitating the pitcher with ice-cold sangria from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard. A minute later, they sat side by side with their glasses, sipping the cold drink and watching the forest around them.

"I envy you, child. This place is beautiful, nothing like my damp swamp and gloomy weather ten months a year," Morgana stretched her legs.

"Feel free to drop by, warm your old bones on my lawn. Only in summer though, in a couple of months Missouri will get as nasty as Wales."

"Did you unlock any new secrets here?"

"New medical properties of the local flora, a lot of unique plants. I'll send you a PDF with a draft of my next paper, and portal some samples. Just don't publish it anywhere yet, I don't want to fight Big Pharma, now's not the time."

"Noted. By the way, due to the proximity of your forest, Caldwell should have a higher than average rate of young females manifesting the affinity."

"I know," Christine nodded. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

-//-

The sun was still high when they finished the pitcher. Morgana said her goodbyes, and after a short hug, which surprised Christine, walked through her portal on unsteady legs. Dark mist crawled into the terrace immediately after her departure, keeping in the shade of the awning.

"Looks like the hag has quite a job carved out for you."

"You've been listening?," Christine wearily melted into the chair, slurring words a bit. "Yeah, hafta train a buncha new talent. As if they just - poof! - magically pop out of nowhere... Oh, shit, I nearly forgot..."

She sat up straight in the chair.

"Bartholomew!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, scaring a group of small birds off the nearest tree. In a minute, the flapping of large wings above announced his arrival. The large pitch-black raven slowly descended and perched on the railing.

"No need to yell, you are disturbing my scouts, and my hearing is still perfect," he chastised his semi-drunk Mistress with a perfect British accent.

"Bart, we have a potential problem on our hands," she fished the missing person poster from her pocket and unfolded it, showing the photo to the bird. "This girl was kidnapped two days ago in Caldwell. Authorities think this might be a serial offender, and I want to make sure he is not operating from my forest."

The raven studied the picture for a minute, then looked at Christine.

"Search radius?"

"The entire forest, Bart. Even over the state border. Frontline scouts have permission for near-ground recon and contact with local fauna, in my name."

"It will be done, Mistress."

The raven soared into the air with a single strong flap and headed to the trees. He cawed once, twice, three times - and a throng of small birds of all kinds ascended from canopies all around the clearing, as far as the eye could see, scattering in every direction.

She looked at the poster again. Just hang in there, Alice. We'll find you.

"Shade."

"What do you require, young one?"

Christine knew better not to chuckle at that address. They were ancient, much older than even Morgana herself. Sometimes she wondered why Shade stuck around. Maybe they just like my company.

"Could you kindly take down the perimeter for a couple of days? I don't want feds in my traps if they launch a search in the forest."

"I will do so now. Won't be long."

The mist flowed off the terrace and scattered, covering the clearing in a thin layer, moving outwards until completely dispersed. She sighed and stood up. I need to change... and shower... and start being productive. What a fucking day.

-//-

She dragged herself up the stairs, pulled her dress over the head and threw it into a laundry basket, kicked off her shoes and walked into the shower. Hot water on a hot day balanced her out and evaporated the last bits of alcohol from her system. Refreshed and radiating heat, she stepped out and sauntered into the bedroom without toweling off and dripping water everywhere.

Christine stopped in front of the tall antique mirror, meticulously inspecting herself. Weighted the breasts in her hands, turned with her back, looking over the shoulder, pinched her butt cheek, gave it a squeeze, a pull upwards, a slap. Turned back again, ran her hands over her flat stomach, grabbed a hold of her cock, pumping it a few times, hardening it to the max, cupped her balls, pulled them up to expose her glistening labia.

This could have went on for quite a while, but the mirror lost its patience.

"You still look amazing, Chris."

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Ena?" Christine squinted.

"I'm not suicidal!" The mirror laughed, sending ripples across its surface. "What's got you so self-conscious today? Trouble in paradise?"

"You could say so," she responded glumly.

"Aww, girl, maybe you should start teaching again so you don't feel lonely all the time?"

"Oh, you haven't heard yet, right. The crone was here today, insisted I do exactly that, starting now."

"Oh good!" The mirror giggled. "I love your girls prancing around in front of me!"

"I'll move you to the living room then, how about that?" Christine smiled.

"That would be amazing!"

Christine rummaged through her wardrobe to find something fresh to wear, and stopped her choice on a white linen shirt she tied in a knot around her waist, and skintight jeans that felt a bit too tight around her tuck. Putting on sandals, she went down and was about to get into a lab coat when Shade poured themselves through the front door.

"Perimeter is down as requested, but there's another problem - somebody's been studying your traps for a while and apparently charted a safe path down to the house."

Shit. This was bound to happen sooner or later. The perimeter configuration hasn't changed in years.

"Which direction?" Christine asked, frowning.

"From Caldwell Park."

The route from the town back home Christine took this morning was essentially a detour - it required taking an interstate then walking from the dropoff point down the hill quite a bit. All in all, it was miles longer than a path from the end of the park where it connected to the forest, albeit much safer - the detour was longer and mostly hidden from prying eyes, and all the short routes were riddled with nasty surprises the forest itself offered as protection measures.

Shade suddenly jerked, as if turning around.

"Moreso, they are heading this way at this very moment, fast."

The fuck is this today, an open house?

"Get out of sight, Shade, I'll take care of this."

Shade flowed through the house to the garage door in the back. She got into her lab coat, adjusting the badge with 'Dr. Christine Leyland, PhD' on it, and walked out to the porch, descended down the stairs and stood in front of the house, hands on her hips, looking intently at the tree line at the edge of the clearing, where the path leading to the park started. A couple of minutes later the bushes rustled and parted, letting out a girl in familiar yellow sundress.

Christine started towards her, frowning.

"Margaret Barlow! Should I spank your posterior for doing something this inconsiderate?" She was fuming.

"I- I'm sorry for trespassing, Dr. Leyland, but I must speak to you!" The blonde girl stammered, her pale cheeks with a cute smattering of freckles quickly getting pink.

"It's not about trespassing, Peggy! Do you realize what kind of trouble you and I both could get into if your father gets a whiff of you coming here?"

Peggy shook her blonde pigtails defiantly.

"I turned eighteen two weeks ago, he can't control me anymore!"

Christine lowered her head and silently gave the girl a glare from under her brows.

"I mean... he shouldn't control me anymore... I mean..." She sniffed, took a breath to fill her lungs and then just blurted out. "Canyoupleaseteachmehowtobecomeawitch?"

Christine just threw her hands up.

They sat in the living room. She made jasmine tea, and poured it into fine porcelain cups after it steeped, took hers and leaned back in the chair, observing the girl. Peggy was sitting on the couch, upright with her back perfectly straight, hands on her knees nervously tugging the hem of her sundress.

"He's like that all the time. Not just in public, but at home too. I feel like he had completely lost it after... mom died."

She looked at her hands.

"Doesn't let me go out after dark. No parties. No 'contacts with boys'. I can't even have a password on my phone because he checks all my messages! Wants to push me into marrying some 'decent young man', probably some Sunday school religious freak. I just can't stand being around him anymore... and in that house."