Page 2 of A Curse So Vile

Peering through the window of the hovel she saw a table and two chairs, a pot boiling, and shelves filled with all manner of things lining the walls.

Everything had an ancient feel to it, and if it weren’t for the boiling water, she’d have assumed the place was abandoned.

“May I help you?” came a scratchy voice from behind.

Startled, Brenna pivoted on her heels, hand flying to the dagger in her belt.

A plump woman, half-hidden by the shadows of her cloak, stood by the alligator, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re the swamp witch…” Brenna’s voice trailed off because she hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.

“And you’re a thief tryna take me wares?”

“I am no thief!”

The woman glared at her. “People don’t come all the way out here unless they think I can do something for ‘em. Tell me, girl, what is it ya want?”

“I’m not a girl.”

“Ya are ta me.”

Brenna saw no benefit to stalling.

“As a child, I was cursed. I need to know if it can be broken and hoped that you could help.”

“Come on in then, but ya better make good company.”

Brenna followed the haggard woman into the shack, eyeing her surroundings cautiously.

Now that the woman was bathed in lantern lights, she saw how truly vile she looked. Pale flesh riddled with brown and green spots hung from bones that jutted out at awkward angles where they ought not to. Her gray eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t floating on a sea of yellow where the whites should be, and her strong, hooked nose in the center of her face overwhelmed her otherwise small features.

“I was a pretty thing once, like yerself,” the haggard woman said. “Age hunts ya like a rabid lover, and the longer ya ah in this world, the stronger its cling.”

“Thanks…um, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Take a seat.” The hag gestured to a chair. “Ain’t got all night, and ye have less time than me.”

Brenna didn’t like the implications of the swamp witch’s words, but held her tongue as she didn’t have time for squabbles.

The old woman ran her fingers through her sparse, gray hair. “What kinda curse we lookin’ at? A death curse? Bit ‘o bad luck?”

Brenna swallowed and downcast her eyes. “It’s a blood curse.”

“Oh, that’s interesting. Cast by a true blood witch? Or a pretender? Might be ye ain’t got the right of it? Many false witches are often cruel, preying on superstition.”

“I’ve no doubt she was a real and true blood witch.”

“How can ye be so sure?” the hag asked.

“The effects are already making themselves known.”

The witch set down a bowl and several jars, then took a seat across from Brenna.

“Can you help me, or am I just wasting my time?” Brenna demanded.

The hag sucked in her lip and huffed. “Fine then, let’s get this started. Ye got coin?”

Brenna pressed three coppers to the table, sliding them towards the hag. “Here, and if you do your job well, a silver will be your tip.”