Page 3 of Bad Witch

Grabbing the basket of muffins I’d made, I took my door handle from my bag and pressed it to the laundry room door, sending a pulse of power into it. A warm glow rolled over the dull brass handle, and I pushed the door open and walked through, emerging from behind All the Herbs, a small store in the city. It was owned by June, a crone whose family line had worked with the Matildas almost as long as we’d existed. She was the only other person allowed to set foot on the cottage grounds. Still, it was under duress that she’d agreed to let me replace the door to the old cold store room at the back of her building. Now, instead of a partly rotten door with chipped paint, it was bright yellow with a brass letterbox and brass number four attached to it. It looked as if the door led to a lovely apartment, not a dark, damp six-by-six space that was once used to store flowers.

It was a facade only, and the number on the door meant nothing. I’d needed a cover, though, in case anyone bothered to pay attention, which hadn’t happened yet. And I didn’t expect it to. Still, better to be safe than sorry, which was why I used it every day and traveled to the clinic on the bus as well.

June didn’t like it, of course. Matildas weren’t supposed to work. We were supposed to stay out of sight until we were needed, then vanish again when we were not. I’d broken one of our most sacred rules doing this, but the call to heal had been too strong to ignore, especially when the virus hit the city a month ago. I was a healer as well, and that need inside me had been impossible to ignore. Not for the first time, I wondered what Matilda W would say if she knew what I was doing.

I quickly shoved that aside. I couldn’t bear the thought of her worrying about me, or worse, being disappointed that I’d betrayed my vow.

Hustling down the small alleyway, I headed for the clinic. The empty streets filled me with dread. Barely any cars passed by, and many of the businesses were staying closed. The virus had hit without warning and had spread fast. The humans had gotten sick first, but now it had moved to the shifter communities, and with how rapidly it seemed to be mutating, it wasn’t finished yet.

Until a few months ago, I’d had no idea how to utilize my healing abilities. Then one night, when I’d been in the city on Matilda business, I’d overheard a female talking to her colleague. They were in desperate need of healers for their clinic. It was as if the mother herself had led me there just so I could fulfill my purpose and finally make use of the magic she’d gifted me with. How could I turn away from that? How could I not help all those in need?

I strode through the clinic’s parking lot and pushed open the main door.

“Hey, Ollie!” I said, handing him a muffin as I walked by reception.

“What do we have today?” he asked.

“Raspberry and white chocolate.” The poor man looked exhausted. Everyone here had been burning the candle at both ends; we’d had no choice. The clinic waiting room was filled with shifters, and there was no reprieve in sight. “Coffee?”

“Please. You’re an angel, Temp.”

I carried my basket to the break room and placed it on the table, then arranged a few on a plate for the therapy patients that were scheduled today, before making Ollie his coffee. I’d just dropped it off to him and delivered the plate of muffins to my consultation room when someone called my name.

“Temp, we need you!”

I rushed into the hall. Magnolia, another healer and my best and only friend, rushed toward me. Jack Connors, the owner of the clinic, was on the other side of the gurney they were wheeling in, where an unconscious female lay, and by the looks of it, in seriously bad shape.

Not the virus, not this time. My healing abilities excelled when it came to trauma injuries, and I rushed into the treatment room with them. Mags started gathering medicinals while I went to the female’s side. “What’s her name?” I asked.

“Sheena Richards,” Mags said.

Lifting my hands, I hovered them over her body. She was a witch, and her injuries were not an accident. “Hello, Sheena, I’m Tempest. You’re going to be just fine. We’re going to fix you right up,” I said in a calm voice. My anger wouldn’t help her. A calm and steady presence was what Sheena needed right now.

I closed my eyes and a map of the wounds inside her body—the damaged tissue, the hematomas, the broken bones, old and new—filled my mind. Not good. Not at all. Thankfully, I could look at an injury and know how it was caused and how to fix it. Sadly, it only worked on physical trauma, not diseases or other illnesses. “Is she married?” I asked.

Magnolia stood across from me, putting in an intravenous line so we could give her the potion we used during injuries like these. “Yeah, he’s in the waiting room.”

The rage bubbled inside me as my gaze sliced to her.

“It wasn’t him, Temp,” Mags said, obviously seeing my anger. I needed to be more careful about that. “Someone found her like this near the edge of Oldwood Forest. I’m betting whoever did this was hoping the demons hiding out there would finish the job. Her husband freaked out when I called to tell him what happened.” She shook her head. “He can’t think of anyone who would do something like this to her.”

I nodded, even though I knew the truth. He knew exactly what happened to her. The sickly essence of his rage, of dark, awful magic, still clung to her like treacle, sticky and thick. Liar, liar, Mr. Richards. That was another layer to my gift, but that one wasn’t all me, it came with being a Matilda.

To everyone who knew me here at the clinic, I was Tempest. To my coven, I was Matilda the Brave, or just B, and to witches like Sheena, at least the ones who reached out to me, I was just plain Matilda. Dark magic had been a threat to us since the dawn of our creation, and if a witch opened their heart to it, there was a very great risk of it swallowing them whole, of that witch losing themselves to it completely. The more selfish or evil a witch’s motives were in seeking it out, the easier they were to corrupt. And without exception, their first victims were always those who loved and trusted them the most.

Because of this, there had always been a need for one such as me. And, heartbreakingly, there always would be. For as long as I held the name Matilda, I would honor it, and I would do my duty until it was time to pass it on to the next witch.

“I’ve given her the white willow bark tonic, as well as a valerian root elixir. We need to get these bones back in place before you do your thing,” Mags said.

Willow bark was a strong painkiller and valerian root was a sedative, and both potions had several carefully selected additions to boost their potency. I scanned Sheena’s body, finding each break, then Mags and I worked the bones back as close as we could to their correct alignment. When we were done, I closed my eyes and called forth my most powerful healing energy. Well, maybe not my most powerful, but I didn’t use my strongest magic, ever. My mother had called it my fire. I’d used it once in my life, and it did the opposite of heal. I’d never used it since.

Holding my hands an inch above her skin, I murmured the spell I needed. Mags joined in a moment later, adding her voice to the chant to create a continuous loop of magic. Sheena jerked beneath my hands as my magic, bolstered by Magnolia’s, forced her bones the rest of the way, snapping them back into place, then knitting them together. She wasn’t completely healed, but the bones would be good as new in about a week.

I used my power to manipulate her blood and sought out the worst of her bruises, forcing the blood to dissipate. The darkest bruises lightened before our eyes. I’d at least taken some of the physical pain from her; it was all I could do for now. I stepped back, breathing hard. Treating someone with injuries as bad as these took a lot out of me, and I swayed on my feet.

“Shit, Temp.” Mags rushed around and helped me to a chair. “Sit before you fall over. You’ve drained yourself.”

“I’m fine,” I said, smiling to reassure her. I would be shortly. “Does Sheena have children?”