Hexes were not Eve’s best showcase of her much-respected witching skills.
She often had to look up the fine details and exact wording in the thick book of spells and curses that was never to leave the confines of the magical basement before she could hope to cast one in direction of someone that deserved it without any semblance of doubt or slightest hesitation on the part of an unbiased spell-casting referee.
In all honesty, young Eve didn’t look much like what the average person would suspect a witch to look like. She certainly didn’t have any warts or hair in unwanted places. In fact, all things considered, Eve was a rather nice looking nubile young lady with passable good manners and a sense of good intentions that surrounded her like a shield of danger-proof acceptance.
The common folk in the farmland area were not well versed in the mysterious ways of the numerous covert witches long suspected to be right in their midst. That was only to be expected when one studies it without any bias, because they were basically an uneducated lot, highly superstitious, and not inclined to sit down and think things out logically. It was common knowledge in most quarters that the witches were truly ordinary housewives and daughters with a look of innocence in their bright shining faces during the daylight hours. It was after the sun went down behind the mountains that they stripped off all their clothing and danced in the deepest forest clearings around blazing fires that threw sheets of shimmering sparks into the dark black moonless sky with a vengeance of countless ages of hidden subversionary tactics.
Eve had not graduated into the final circle of black witches as yet because she had failed to complete the standard required coupling ceremony with the resident warlock. It just so happened that the resident warlock was on loan from a nearby village because their warlock of long standing was unfortunately mortally wounded in a harvesting accident involving the sharpening of cutting tools for the workers. Eve was the only female witch that had not been properly impaled by a certified warlock and she was suffering the stifling shroud of sisterly suspicion from her full-fledged peers due to her virginal innocence. They often reminded her in no uncertain terms that she was not a “real” witch until the dirty deed was recorded in the coven book and signed by all the members as witnessed up close and personal by every single one.
None of the coven approved witches including Eve were present at that scene of the warlock’s demise, but she overheard two of the farm workers laughing at poor Mister Higgins getting it “good and proper” from unknown parties in retribution for buggering the Parson’s virginal daughter in the hay barn. There was some degree of indignation in the telling because he was obviously taking advantage of the fact she was unable to speak other than mumbling nonsense since birth. Apparently, the unknown parties had all taken a whack at the guilty party (Mister Higgins) to assure no one single person could be seen as individually responsible for the crime.
In a way, Eve was relieved that Mister Higgins, the hidden warlock, was attended to in that fashion, because she had heard from her other sister witches, already properly initiated into the coven, that he was prone to favor their hindquarters taking his pleasure with abusive language and obscene behavior in a manner found only in the most brutish of males. He was fond of roundly spanking their flanks with his workman’s hands in a most undignified manner. He probed and prodded them far beyond the bounds of comfortable distraction. Since they were, after all, mere common-ranked witches, they had to put up with it because the appointed warlock had the final say in such matters without question, unless it was an emissary from the depths of hell itself.
She admittedly found Mister Higgins to have a most unseemly figure with his round bulk and hairy body. The simple fact was that the warts on his ugly face were enough to drive away most of the ordinary village females uninterested in his peculiar sexual demands. It was rumored that the postmistress with the crippled leg was one of his human female favorites because she had no other fellow human takers and was outrageously submissive to his unnatural desires whenever he made a visit supposedly for his post. In all honesty, it was a post that more often than not was conveniently conspired to and which was totally non-existent.
Eve in her own way, secretly admired the handicapped postmistress because she was a God-fearing, hard-working woman in mid-life who had buried two husbands and whose children had all gone away to find their fortunes in other places. It just so transpired that she had witnessed the appointed warlock of the coven addressing poor Mrs. Brown’s bare bottom with his huge tool of depraved deliverance on an early Saturday morning when most of the young maids were still at their milking duties with skillful gentle hands. The sounds of the still attractive and cooperative human lady receiving the covert warlock’s hard blows on her delicately white rear end caused some tears to come to Eve’s immature eyes because she could also hear the older woman’s whimpers of feminine shame and humiliation quite clearly in the early morning air. Only her ears were in range other than the guilty pair far too involved with the business at hand to even notice her presence. She steeled her heart to the sounds of frightful posterior shame endured by the postmistress and tried to imagine the whimpering human female melting in her arms overwhelmed with gratitude at her saving intervention on her behalf.
It was right there and then that Eve decided to postpone her initiation with Mister Higgins because she was in dreadful fear of his long, hard tool and definitely did not like his attitude with females. She really wanted desperately to leave her “White Witch” status behind her and join the ranks of the other Black Witches with their potent spells and hexes that worked behind the scenes to shape the future of the village. It seemed to her that the coupling ceremony was a trifle old fashioned and that her skills as a witch should not be centered around her obedience to some uneducated warlock whose only skill was in wielding his human sword with a total lack of conscience and only for his own self-satisfied pleasure.
The farm workers had solved her problem with Mister Higgins, but now she had to contend with the borrowed warlock sent to take his place and satisfy the suspicions of each and every witch under his care and guidance. The replacement warlock was none other than the new assistant Parson sent to the village by a disinterested religious hierarchy far enough away that they posed no threat to the coven. The new parson with his stirring sanctimonious voice far out-measured the boring tones of the regular Parson who managed to put most of the congregation to sleep before the service was halfway over.
.... There is more of this story ...