Maureen the Witch was neither young nor old, neither homely nor fair. She had dark, piercing eyes and a wild mane down to her waist, with a few silver strands that made the hair glisten. Most people thought of her as a harmless kook, and she liked it that way. She ran a small herbal-remedy store, nestled between a barbershop and a bakery, right at the edge of what was considered a rough neighborhood, but only by the people who had never actually lived there. She liked that, too.

Business was good. Maureen made most of her money by selling new-age trinkets and doing fake readings — tarot, crystal ball, tea leaves — for hopeful young women hung up on indifferent men. Her store also carried potent herbal medicines, displayed clearly and available to all, but most people didn’t seem to notice anything that they hadn’t already set their minds on.

Maureen could speak to the dead, concoct potions, and predict the future, yet she seldom had to use her powers, as most people only ever wanted to hear their desires echoed back at them. It wasn’t hard to learn what people wanted — their needs emanated from every pore, forming an aura that spoke to Maureen as clearly as any tongue — then give them what they craved, even though what they craved was often useless or harmful. Maureen obliged and her store thrived.

****

In the early afternoon on a rainy October Friday, Maureen saw a young woman standing inside the door frame of a shop across the street. The girl was tall, her head almost touching the lintel. She stood there a while, intermittently shaking off her umbrella, looking at the passing cars, then ahead, at Maureen’s front door. Sometimes young women took their time gathering the courage to come into the witch’s store. Maureen put on the kettle and waited.

The girl entered slowly, as if trying not to be heard, and was startled by the door chimes. She was lean and dressed for work in an office, her clothes inexpensive but chosen with care.

“Welcome!” Maureen greeted the girl with a smile and took her to a table in the nook, where she usually did readings for clients. She pointed to one of the two leather armchairs, well worn and inviting.

“Please, take a seat,” said Maureen. “Would you like some tea?” The girl nodded. Maureen came back with two white porcelain cups and poured hot water over the loose leaves within. “Black tea. It will perk you right up.”

The girl’s face lit up at the steaming cup in her hands.

“So, what can I do for you?” asked Maureen, as she sat down.

The girl looked up over the rim of the cup. Dark green and a range of pinks dominated her aura. Maureen felt her heart ache in recognition of what was to come.

“I need you to…punish someone,” said the young woman.

Maureen leaned back in her chair. “I see. Well, why don’t you tell me a bit more about what’s going on first? And start with your name.”

The girl put down her cup and sat up straight, hands resting on top of one another in her lap. “My name is Alice. I work downtown, as a paralegal at a large law firm. One of the assistants at work gave me your address; she said you could help me.”

“Nice to meet you, Alice. Go on.”

“There’s this man I have been seeing. He’s married, with kids. His wife doesn’t understand him.”

Maureen took a sip of tea, her face neutral.

“He doesn’t love her anymore; he loves me and wants to be with me, but he can’t leave her. She won’t let him. She is evil, controlling; I think he’s afraid of her. She will take his children and make his life hell if he abandons her.”

Maureen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“You’re judging me; I can tell,” said Alice. “But he loves me and wants to be with me.”

“Alright.” Maureen put down her cup. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to…set him free.”

“I see.” Maureen paused. “Let me ask you first: Why him? I’m guessing he’s older than you. A partner at you firm, perhaps? So, why him and not someone who’s your age…and single?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“I think it clearly is, as you came here to ask me to kill his wife.”

Alice’s eyes widened in surprise. She quickly lowered her gaze toward the restless hands in her lap and said nothing.

“So, what makes you sure that he is unhappy with his wife?” continued Maureen. “Have you ever met her? Have you seen them together?”

“I think I should leave,” whispered Alice.

“Suit yourself,” said Maureen, “but you are here, trying to hire a magic assassin because you believe that the man you love is trapped. Since you are going to such extraordinary lengths to set him free, potentially putting yourself in a heap of trouble, I think it’s important to be absolutely certain where his loyalties lie. Don’t you?”

“He loves me. He wants to be with me, but she won’t let him.” Alice’s voice trembled. “He wouldn’t lie to me.”

“People lie. I am willing to bet that he’s never had any intention of leaving his wife. And you’re likely not his first side dish.”

“You are wrong!” Alice jumped out of her chair and pointed at Maureen. “You are so wrong about him! I will prove it to you!” She grabbed her purse and stormed out of the store.

Maureen simply leaned back in the chair, tea cup in hand, and fixed her gaze upon the wet street outside the window.

A few minutes later, Alice came back, soaked.

“You forgot your umbrella,” Maureen smiled.   

“Yes.” The girl walked in briskly, her chin high in defiance, and whisked the umbrella from the chair. “And you’re wrong about him.”

Maureen shrugged. “Perhaps. But if you really believed that, you wouldn’t have come back for this dime-store umbrella.”

“Well,” Alice paused, “maybe I don’t believe him completely, but I should. I want to. I will prove it to you, and to myself — he’s a good man and he loves me.”

“Good,” said Maureen. “Then I’ve got just what you need. Sit down and finish your tea, and I’ll be right back.”

Maureen got up, went around the counter and through a bead curtain that covered an entryway to a back room. Alice could hear her rummaging back there. After a while, the witch emerged with a pouch made from brown suede and handed it to Alice.

“Dissolve this powder in a small amount of liquid — any liquid will do — and have him drink it all before the next time you have sex. If what you believe about him is true, you will have the time of your life and he will soon be all yours.”

“Thank you.” Alice blushed and pressed the pouch to her chest. “How much do I owe you?”

Maureen smiled. “Consider it a gift.”

The girl left beaming, clutching the pouch.

The witch sat back down and picked up Alice’s empty cup, tea leaves stuck to the bottom. She tilted the cup and looked inside, her brow furrowed with focus as she slowly rotated the porcelain dish between her fingers. When she put the cup down, she was smiling.

****

Alice was back a few days later. The shop was busy, so Maureen motioned the young woman over to the table in the nook while she dispensed some crystals and essential oils.

Maureen closed the door behind the last customer and turned the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed.’

“So, how’s everything?” the witch asked cheerfully, seating herself across the table from Alice.

“What did you do? What did you have me give him?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“He…he couldn’t perform.” Alice was upset, her breaths quick and shallow. “Not on that first day, and not since. This had never happened before! Now he’s so embarrassed, he won’t see me anymore. He said it was all my fault and broke up with me!”

“Poor Alice.” Maureen made a sad face with a pouty lower lip, and pretended to wipe away a nonexistent tear with her knuckle.

“You’re mocking me?”

“You are a stupid, stupid girl,” said Maureen. “You took a strange powder from a witch you’d just met and gave it to your lover. Now you’re surprised things didn’t go as you’d hoped. Boo-hoo.”

Alice’s jaw dropped.

“The powder I gave you is one that I call Happily Ever After,” said Maureen. “What it does is, it strengthens the link between a man’s heart and his penis. Your man will only be able to get an erection with a woman he truly loves, which, in his case, likely means he’ll never have sex again, because self-absorbed pigs like him don’t love anyone but themselves. Although I suppose he could actually love his wife, in which case, good for her — any sex he does end up having in the future will be great.”

Maureen leaned across the table and into Alice’s face. “The important thing here is that he will never sleep with you again because he doesn’t love you and he never did. And you were foolish enough to trust him.”

Alice’s eyes welled up. “You’ve ruined my life…”

“On the contrary, my dear. You will thank me someday.”

The girl said nothing. She sat there for a long moment, letting tears flow, her eyes fixed on the witch’s face.

“Let me tell you a little story,” said Maureen. “Once upon a time, there was a young woman, much like yourself. She was talented and ambitious — pretty, too — and on her way up in the world. She took up with a married man, at first mostly for the gifts and favors he could provide, but over time she became quite attached and couldn’t imagine life without him. He kept saying that he would leave his wife, and our heroine believed him. But months went by, then years, and she still waited. There were always new excuses: the wife was crazy or sick; she would harm herself; she would take the kids.

“One day, the young woman decided to put an end to the agony. She’d waited behind some bushes near the man’s family home until he was about to leave for work in the morning. She planned to go in and talk to the wife, demand that she release the man from her clutches. But what the young woman saw was her lover, happy and relaxed, kissing his wife goodbye. There was warmth in that kiss. The wife was not a monster.

“The young woman realized that her lover had deceived her. She’d given him so much time, some of her best years, and he’d lied to her all along. She really should have been angry with herself for having been so blind and foolish, and she eventually would be, but at that moment she was furious with him.

“So she invited him over to her place that night, to her small, cozy apartment above the store she owned…a store nestled between a barbershop and a bakery at the edge of a rough part of town…”

Alice’s eyes widened.

“…and she cooked him a nice meal, his favorite. She bought a really expensive bottle of wine, one that cost her a month’s worth of profits from her store. The man never asked what he did to deserve such pampering — it was neither his birthday nor their anniversary — he just accepted it is as a given, because men like him feel entitled to the world; they never question good things coming their way.

“The man ate, and he drank the whole bottle by himself. All done with the wine, he was wobbly on his feet, so the woman took him into her bathroom and laid him inside the bathtub. He protested, but she told him she didn’t want him vomiting all over her bed as he sobered up. She lied.

“The wine’s body was full enough to hide a potion made with rare roots and herbs, infused with old Southern magic — remember, the young woman was quite talented. Within the hour, the man’s breathing stopped. The woman then got rid of his clothes, all the gifts he’d given her over the years, and all traces of him.

“By morning, the man’s body had pulverized — several pounds of fine powder, akin to ash, but with a faint purple glow. Quite lovely, actually. The woman now sells the powder to stupid girls like herself — like yourself — as Happily Ever After.”

“You’re insane!” Alice jumped up. “You…you killed a man! I have to report you!”

“Be my guest,” said Maureen, unmoved. “You have no idea when this happened or who the man was. And you can’t prove that any of it is true. Now sit down and let me finish my story.

“The young woman felt so ashamed, so humiliated by her lover’s betrayal, that she vowed she would not allow herself to fall prey to another man’s lies. So she concocted a thick serum from the blood of a mountain lioness, the venom of a copperhead snake, and the ground wings of a female bat, which would ensure that she’d never fall in love again, never allow her heart to override her head. She steeps her black tea in this serum and drinks it to this day, every day.”

Alice turned pale. “But…you gave me some black tea the other day!”

“I did,” said Maureen. “Not too much, just enough to knock you back to your senses. The tea leaves are also excellent for readings, you know; I read yours after you’d left. There’s a young man in your life who is crazy about you, but you’re not giving him the time of day. Perhaps another paralegal or a junior lawyer?”

Alice raised her eyebrows in recognition. “Oh! Yes. Yes, there is.”

“Good.” Maureen got up and went behind the counter. She pulled out a large ceramic container, then transferred several scoops of loose black tea from the container into an olive-colored suede pouch the size of a person’s palm.

“Drink this tea once a day,” Maureen placed the pouch in Alice’s hand. “It will ensure that your head remains screwed on straight. Don’t drink too much or you will end up bitter and alone, like this old witch.”

Alice briefly inspected the contents of the pouch, then put it in her purse. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. This one’s free, but next time I expect you to pay for it, alright?”

Alice nodded and got up to leave.

“And give that young man a chance,” added Maureen. “He might be a keeper.”

The girl smiled, placed the purse strap over her shoulder, and waved goodbye.

Maureen closed the door behind her guest and turned the ‘Closed’ sign back to ‘Open.’ Then she went behind the counter, pulled out the large ceramic container, and refilled it from a freshly opened bag of very ordinary black tea.

# # #

Maura Yzmore is a Midwest-based writer of short fiction and a university professor in a field with a lot of math. Her stories have recently appeared in The Molotov Cocktail, Coffin Bell, Ghost Parachute, Jellyfish Review, and elsewhere. Find out more at https://maurayzmore.com or @MauraYzmore on Twitter.

Photo: Quincy Alivio