The Bewitching

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

“I bind you with earth,” she said, her hands working quickly as she spoke. “I bind you with water. I bind you with fire. I bind you with air.” It was when she tied the fourth knot that the thing in the clearing threw back its head and she noticed its eyes: they were of a glowing green and there was an emptiness to them, as if the skull of the creature had been hollowed out and a candle placed inside it. “I bind you with earth,” she said, beginning the sequence again and tying the fifth knot. The monster kept chewing. Blood dripped from the creature’s mouth onto the ground. When she tied the seventh knot it growled and flashed its teeth, growing restless. Its feathers shifted; it arched its back and spat out whatever was left of the carcass it had been gnawing. Its ears lay back flat against its skull. “I bind you with air,” she said, and tied the eighth knot. It began moving toward her. Slowly. It lowered and raised its head, and when she tied the ninth knot and spoke the ninth phrase it let out a screech that was the sound of a knife being sharpened, metallic, strident. The creature opened its mouth and out slipped its long, forked tongue, and then it fixed its unearthly green eyes on Alba. She felt as though it was grinning. Alba took a step back, her fingers working the tenth knot. “I bind you with water,” she said. The thing stood on its hind legs. It was as tall as a man and for a moment looked no longer like a dog, but like something else, something almost human, its...