Slewfoot: A Tale of Bewitchery

by Brom

And calling her virtuous? Well, if you ignored the outbursts of profanity, occasional thievery, and a propensity for brawling, then perhaps she was just the candidate to marry into a Puritan village.

“You will think me foolish. But I wanted to be a fairy queen, to run barefoot through the woods, to sing like a bird and fly through the trees.” She smiled. “To be able to talk to the animals.” She laughed. “How my brothers and I used to dart about the yard flapping our arms and squawking like magpies.” And he saw the joy on her face as she lost herself in the memory.

As at least cruelty was a thing that could be pointed out, confronted. But this belief, this absolute conviction that this evil they were doing was good, was God’s work—how, she wondered, how could such a dark conviction ever be overcome?

The serpent closed in, closer and closer, its lethal promise igniting something deep within Abitha’s breast: the primordial need of every creature that has ever been hurt by another—the need to bite back. A hard grimace set on Abitha’s face. “If it is a witch they want,” she hissed, “then a witch they shall have.”