By Natasah O'Connor
Candles flickered, throwing shadows over wooden beams. A deep voice rumbled, "Where shall we three meet again? In thunder —"
"Do we really need the dramatics, Ida?" another voice muttered.
"Where's your sense of occasion, Brenda? We're witches, not housewives," Ida replied, ruffling her grey curls.
"And we're not The Travelling Actors putting on a show, either," Brenda snapped. Wind whistled through cracks in the roof and eaves, filling the attic with the fresh, earthy smell of rain. Mossy water dripped down Brenda's neck. She shivered and hugged herself tight over her practical black frock.
"For that matter, we don't have to do rituals in draughty attics just because of tradition, either." Brenda rubbed her arms to drive her point home. Her mother always told her she needed more fat on her. Just this once, she agreed.
"You leave my attic alone. It's done nothing to you."
Brenda raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, where's Margaret? She's meant to bring the insect."
"You're a grumpy moo, today, aren't you?" Ida observed, tilting her head.
A third voice came from the stairs, "She's been that way since she got snubbed for the big midwinter fire last year."
"Well, you weren't the one snubbed," Brenda replied, pursing her lips.
Ida looked heavenward. "Focus, ladies. We have an insect to bring to life. Wizard Higgins needs it, and we can't let him down."
"What's wrong with a live one? Don't see what's so special 'bout it," Margaret groused. Her slender face pinched in a frown.
"Not ours to question why, Margaret," Ida answered with a shrug. "Not when he's paying us."
"But, he's a wizard. Why are we doing his dirty work?"
Ida groaned. "You never pay attention to the magic world, do you, Margaret?"
Margaret's dark eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? I've been a witch for the last twenty years —"
"And you don't remember the last time we spent months cleaning up the wizards' necromancy mess?"
"What's that got to do with raising an insect? I mean, that's barely touching the subject." Margaret's harsh glare could set fire to clothes. Preferably Wizard Higgins' hat.
Brenda shook her head. "Will you two cut it out? We have a paying job at long last — even if it is for a wizard who can't do his own magic. Favours won't fix that roof," she finished, with a pointed look at Ida. The other witches nodded, and Brenda sighed. "Best get on." She rifled through the satchel and pulled out a desiccated grasshopper.
"Bloody hell!" Margaret gasped, her eyes wide as cauldron lids. "I didn't bother having a look before I left. It's the size of a small dog!"
Lightning cracked outside. The candles quivered again, and light bounced off grimy whitewashed walls and shelves of tattered books. "You're on chalk duty, Margaret." Brenda fixed her with a stare. "Try to make the symbols clear this time, so we don't end up with lemons."
"You've got to admit they went well with tequila, though," Margaret replied with a grin.
"Not the point. Besides, we're out of salt and necromancy is no laughing matter. Now, I'm on spell duties, which leaves you on chanting duties, Ida."
"Why do I always get the chanting? Can't I do the spell work for once?"
"You're the best we have and you know it," Brenda insisted, crossing her arms.
Margaret whipped out her chalk and marked symbols. She arranged the candles around the chalk, before sitting back to admire her handiwork.
Ida opened her mouth and let fly a high, lilting, almost otherworldly, melody. Brenda nodded and flicked open her spell book. Against the backdrop of chanting, she cast the incantation. Wind howled louder, thunder rumbled like fighting gods. Flames built higher 'til they nearly touched the roof. So far, so good.
The insect twitched. It jolted.
"Ah, Brenda… Is it meant to be doing that?" Margaret asked, furrowing her brow.
"Shhh," Brenda hissed and kept chanting. She finished the final word and stepped back. The air hung heavy with expectancy. The insect moved no more. "What happened? We did everything exactly how the book said." She scuffed the chalk. Still nothing.
As if summoned by her disgust, iridescent wings sprouted from the grasshopper, beating a furious rhythm. Time froze for a second. The witches stopped breathing. Then chaos broke out as the insect darted for the roof and tore another rent in it. Wood and thatch sprayed everywhere. A deluge of water extinguished the flames and the three witches ran around in the ensuing smoke, waving their hands above their heads trying to stop the escape. A loud insectoid buzzing bounced from eave to eave. Silence fell seconds later as it got out and the witches exchanged horrified glances.
Margaret cried out, hands on hips. "Bloody hell, now what?" Her breath came in ragged spurts. "What was that thing?"
"No idea, but we can't just let it get away," Ida replied. "I want paying for one thing."
"And what do you think we should do in this storm?" Brenda shot back, wringing out her hair. Lightning cracked again, and she grimaced. "Told you we should've done this elsewhere."
"We know. You've complained about the attic for months," Margaret griped.
Brenda pursed her lips. "Well, nothing to be done about it for now. Let's get a cuppa while we wait."
"Fine," Ida snapped. "Brenda can tell Wizard Higgins we lost his insect, though. She's the one insisting we don't go searching for it."
Margaret snorted. "Rather her than me. Now I think about it, I overheard him saying something about feeding his giant budgie. Looks like he'll have to find something else to give it."
Brenda glowered. "No chance. I'm having a bath after this tea. It should be your job, Ida. Your attic's the reason we're in the mess."
"Fine, but you can find us the money, then," Ida retorted.
"Why me?" Brenda countered. "You're keen on amateur dramatics. Maybe you could apply to be part of The Travelling Actors, Ida."
About the Author
Natasha O'Connor
Former Aussie former music journalist, now working in media Payroll and moonlighting as an author.
Fantasy and sci fi are hands down her favourite genres, both to read and write after she got the writing bug after reading the Discworld series as a kid, and Sir Terry remains her favourite author of all time.
When she's not writing, she loves hanging out with her family watching Star Trek or sport to relax.
Ion Newcombe is the editor and publisher of AntipodeanSF, Australia’s longest running online speculative fiction magazine, regularly issued since January 1998, and conceived back around November 2007. He has been a zealous reader and occasional writer of SF since his childhood in the 1960s, and even sold a few stories here and there back in the '90s.
Mark Webb's midlife crisis came in the form of attempting to write speculative fiction at a very slow pace. His wife maintains this is a good outcome considering the more expensive and cliched alternatives. Evidence of Mark's attempts to procrastinate in his writing, including general musings and reviews of books he has been reading, can be found at www.markwebb.name.
Sarah Pratt is an avid fiction writer and a Marketing Consultant.
Tim Borella is an Australian author, mainly of short speculative fiction published in anthologies, online and in podcasts.
Pixie is a voice actor, cabaret performer & slam poet From the Blue Mountains in NSW.
Alistair Lloyd is a Melbourne based writer and narrator who has been consuming good quality science fiction and fantasy most of his life.
Geraldine Borella writes adult short stories and stories for children and has been published in anthologies for both. In 2018, one of her children’s short stories placed second in The Buzz Words Short Story Prize and she won an ASA Emerging Writer’s Mentorship. She currently works part-time as a hospital pharmacist and as an online creative writing tutor.
Garry Dean lives on the Mid Coast of New South Wales Australia, and has been a fan of SF for most of his natural life. Being vision impaired, he makes good use of voice recognition and text to speech in order to write. Many of his stories have appeared in AntipodeanSF over the years, and his love of all things audio led him to join the narration team in 2017.
Timothy Gwyn is a professional pilot in Canada, where he flies to remote communities. During a lull in his flying career, he was a radio announcer for three years, and he is also an author.
Margaret lives the good life on a small piece of rural New South Wales Australia, with an amazing man, a couple of pets, and several rambunctious wombats.
Ed lives with his wife plus a magical assortment of native animals in tropical North Queensland.
Jessie Atkin writes fiction, essays, and plays.
Brian Mahon is a former cook, lab technician, submariner, and now-and-then writer.
Bryan is a writer, activist and retired-barrister based in Melbourne, Australia. He appeared in the High Court in significant constitutional, native title and refugee matters including the Mabo litigation, Bryan has published numerous legal articles, and the book "A Mabo Memoir" (2013).
Deborah Sheldon is an award-winning author from Melbourne, Australia. She writes short stories, novellas and novels across the darker spectrum.
PS Cottier is a poet who lives in Canberra, with a particular interest in speculative poetry.
Old enough to just remember the first manned Moon landing, Kevin was so impressed he made science his life.