Power of Witchcraft Fiction

Fighting a Ghost Cat

Is it a dream, or did I just see an old cat fight the ghost of Scarlett O’Hara?

The world is soundless. The Queen lost her King.  The King had many wives.  He had many children.  She was no Queen without him.

“Her own pantry, at the time, consisted of a tin of curry powder, a can of processed peas and an assortment of condiments and spices” – R. Deutch, 1977

Why did she go hungry?  We shall not assign blame.  It is 2017.  Is she still hungry?  Who is feeding her now?  Is the desperate cat screaming for attention, making noise about illegitimate children really her?  The King’s Children love him.  Even the Orphans she adopted are secretly waiting to steal that lovely crown the Master recently gave her.  Five years that is recent in fifty.

Random fact: Gone with the Wind is the highest grossing movie of all time.

Scarlett surrendered.  She said no more.  Surrender – that is how war’s end – not begin. Unless you are stupid.

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Power of Witchcraft Fiction

Goddess of the Great Whale Bone

‘By the Goddess of the great whale bone! – She looks incredible!’.  The attendant took Jonathan’s coat.  He looked at her again.  ‘Those raven locks!’

Jonathan reached out his hand.  ‘288. Soror. Thank you for coming.’

Candour smiled, ‘288 Frater. I would rather be on holiday. But here I am.’

She was wearing the most incredible cerise coloured outfit.  It hugged those perfect curves of hers. She slipped her shoes off and sat crossed legged on the sofa.  ‘She never was one for formality’ Jonathan remembered.  ‘Always the wild one.’

‘So, come on then.  Give me Sibyl’s demands.’ Candour said in a serious voice.

‘It is in the file I prepared’.  He handed her a crimson folder.

On it, the design of the unusual silver ankh designated it as being official Council papers.  ‘They liked things traditional.  Membership of the council is only known to a select few, the men-in-black. Sometimes, women-in-black. The Angelos.  But the stupid nickname from the 70’s stuck. ’  Jonathan stopped to watch Candour as she read through the papers.  ‘This one, she was unique.’

‘So why has nothing been done to confine Soror Niowe?  She is clearly a serious liability’ Candour looked dangerous.  For a moment Jonathan worried that she would shapeshift.  She had a habit of turning into a ferocious mountain lion when she was a bit younger. Back then, he had trouble containing her.

‘Tea?’ Jonathan asked, leaning over to pour the tea the attendant brought over.

‘Yeah, all right.  Thank you.’

‘Soror Compitum has been severely affected by this.’

‘Yes,’ Jonathan handed Candour a cup of tea.  He poured himself a cup of the green liquid and sat back.  ‘Niowe played it well. It must have been Soror Ignis’ idea.  They recruited Compitum and Frater Nota to use them as bait.  He has skills.  She looks the part.  It’s all The Love Witch generation now. They were hungry for fame.  For recognition. For something more exclusive. Secret.  The easiest con. And then, they failed to live up to expectations.’

‘Do you have the photos?’

‘Yes.’ Jonathan handed her another folder. ‘These were taking by the police after the attack.’  He paused waiting for a response.  Candour was expressionless. ‘These were taken a few days later by Sigyn, when she took the girl in.’  Candour remained expressionless. Something was bothering her.

She sat up. Her feet expertly reached for her shoes.  ‘Lets go for a walk. I want to show you something. ’

Power of Witchcraft Fiction

High Priestess’ Virtue

 ‘And the greatest virtue of a High Priestess is that she recognizes that youth is necessary to the representative of the Goddess, so that she will retire gracefully in favour of a younger woman’.  

The Wiccan Book of Shadows

Jonathan had very little sleep. But it was time to get up and get ready for a day of meetings. He called for room service. Shaving is so dangerous’, Jonathan thought.  ‘7 blades for a close shave.  Something like that.’ It was going to be quite a day.

Soror Candor was not entirely convinced, and he had to convince her.  The Soror had a habit of living up to her name.  She was divergent. Always divergent. Brutally honest.  It was frightening.  But she was the youngest Master for more than 300 years to have succeeded to all 72 trials. She was also stunning. Moreover, she had proven herself capable.

Candor was livid when they spoke a few days earlier.  ‘That nit-witted blonde certainly knew how to raise a cone of anger.’ Jonathan chuckled.  ‘At least that is something.’  ‘The rest, fake.  She failed the first trail thrice. She should have been cut loose.’

‘Shit’.

‘The Council is to blame.  They should have crowned a successor. Rex crowned his successor. There is evidence. Rex made sure of it. That woman was a hag even in her youth. But we ignored it. And Soror Kebechet never asked for it. ‘

‘We would have supported her, but like all of us, she kept quiet.  Waiting.  We all were.  Is it too late now to put right that wrong? Kebechet the elegant one. The serpent of the still cooling waters of death.  The Death Mother. She could bring rebirth. Now Kebechet named Candour as her choice. ‘

‘One in Eight.  Yes, vital.  Very vital. ‘

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Jonathan took his briefcase and headed to the Temple.

Power of Witchcraft Fiction

Sigyn Speaks

This is my story.

Back then I was excited to meet the Cult Mother.  The Sibyl of my Coven warned me.  She told me how it was.  All the same.  She was the Cult Mother.  It would be like meeting a long lost relative.

We traveled to the Dragon Temple where the Grand Sabbat was being held.  From the outside, it looked like a vast modern office block.  The Comrades had a way with money. The inside, well that was another story.  The excitement of it all.  The glamour.  The vast vault of unimaginable joys.  Unfortunately, not my thing. For me the beauty of the Green Earth, please.  The joy of air, fire, water and earth.  Not this.  But, I wanted to meet the Cult Mother.  So I did my best.

Finally. There she was.  We were introduced. But the Sibyl was right. Every step she predicted came to be.  Cross the T’s.  Dot the I’s.  A disappointment I had been prepared for.  Nothing like the energetic, magical Cult Mother of the Inis Ealga.  The Sibyl was right about her too, of course.  The Cult Mother of the Inis Ealga had proved herself.  The Old Ones blessed her with magic, joy and love.  She was Banríon. Her daughters born from the Pair Dadeni.  Her husband’s gifts from the Tuatha Dé Danann, forged from pure love and strength.  But this old hag, no.

I was pleasant. Then I left to return to the World.  To my own children.  Our paths never crossed again.  But that old hag was more desperate than I imagined.

Power of Witchcraft Fiction

3.33 am

There was a knock on the door.  Jonathan woke up.  3.33 am.  He smiled wryly.  ‘3 am a good time for cursing’ he said.  He put on the white towelled hotel dressing gown and opened the door.

‘This is an urgent message for you Mr Rawlings’ the hotel porter blurted. ‘I am awfully sorry for waking you’.  ‘Thank you’ Jonathan said closing the door, opening the letter.  He had been waiting for it, but this was earlier than expected.

Frater.

2 +2 + 5 = 9

6 + 3 = 9

1 + 8 = 9

A dog starv’ed at his Master’s Gate

Predicts the ruin of the State.

Hadit says.  One in Eight.

Remember J.F.K. was a 9. 

‘Yes, J.F.K. was…’

The words resonated through his mind, that ritual still haunts him.  The words of the Hadit?  Yes, the words of Hadit!

For I am perfect, being Not; and my number
is nine by the fools; but with the just I am
eight, and one in eight: Which is vital, for
I am none indeed. The Empress and the King
are not of me; for there is a further secret.
I am The Empress & the Hierophant. 

Jonathan reached into his briefcase and opened his laptop.  The apple flashed blue, and soon he opened the document in front of him.  He recalled that night in Nottinghill, the starved dog was young then.  She was pissed off with him for turning down her advances, so she followed him out into the street when he left the pub.  Screaming like a harpy.

‘You BASTARD! You BASTARD! You BAAAASTAAARD’ she wailed.  Throwing her drink on the ground.  She was pissed off.  Years later I learned that she taught this as a technique of cursing someone who insults you in the pub to one of her lovers.  Yes, she had many lovers.  She loved the chase.  And she was kind of pretty.  ‘Curse him in all your heart’ she told that lover.  How ironic.  How very ironic.  Maybe the rule of three is real after all.  She drowned her sorrows in cheap wine and cigarettes. And cheap men.

‘ah, here we go…’

What is the difference between starvation and gluttony?

Open document.

 

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System Error.  Reboot.

 

 

 

 

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The Painting

“Seek not quarrels and warfare, not for any reasons.  Such reasons as there are for warfare are born of phantasies and fears. Rather seek out reasons for a mutual respect and enjoy together the manifold possibilities of life”

– The Devil’s Prayerbook.

‘This painting was the work of a very skilled artist’ he thought.  It appeared to portray the Norse god Loki in all his shining glory, but upon closer inspection it was obvious that it was an illusion.  The painting was not at all of Loptr, instead it was a self-evident depiction of Koalemos.  Jonathan congratulated himself for reading Plutarch.  Its not always all Greek after all.  Being close with Sigyn also helps, because she provided Jonathan with all the insight he needed to understand the situation from the ground up.