Familiar Observations

Halifax watched closely from his usual third-shelf perch between the jars of toad’s oil and dried wolfsbane. Below him he felt she was really in a fit today – there seemed to be an unusual fervor in his Companion’s gestures as she darted around the cauldron. Her actions both sharp and decisive that usually are instigated by significant fissures of urgency. Already the steam from the bubbling mixture of teal and azure sea below was stretching itself high enough to reach his observation point and, unfortunately to Halifax’s dismay, the pungent mangrove swamp decaying odor that usually came with it.

At once she bent over quickly at the waist as if a sharp dagger had plunged into her. She grabbed her side. This had halted her steady train of undecipherable incantations for a moment before she caught her breath, and then continued the verbal march of the spell’s concoction. The cauldron continued to bubble as she added the ingredients to the stew reciting each word carefully so there would be no error. Halifax had heard many such spells over the last four centuries – understanding none of them beyond the fact that, generally speaking, most didn’t end well for mortals. As for the rest the formula of unknown syntax brought about some occasional benefit for the Companion.

Halifax licked his black paw absentmindedly as he watched the sorcery below. Then raising it he rubbed and cleaned behind his left ear – also addressing that itch. The action inadvertently hit the jar of toad’s oil sending it spiraling to the floor below. The glass shattered into untold pieces and the sound caused the Companion to snap a snarled look back up in his direction.

Ah! That is the reason! It is that time again, thought Halifax as he saw her craggy aging face.

“Halifax! Get down! How many times have I told you not to go up there! Look! Look at what you’ve done! Do you have any idea of how precious this is?” she scolded her Familiar. “It is as expensive as anything and equally harder to get with the tariffs these days! It’ll take months to replace and that was my last jar of it! Thank the darkened skies I haven’t need of it!”

Halifax understood none of her words, but by her tone he knew she wasn’t pleased. All the same he held her stare with one of his own – feline golden eyes almost incandescent set against the brilliant shiny manteau noir. Yes, it’s truly that time again, Halifax noted after the direct look. Her face now craggy and well aged. The hands reaching beyond the cuff of her red blazer now bony and skeleton-like. The intervals between these occasions seemed to be increasing in their frequency in recent years, and he grew concerned.

She was about to admonish him again to get down from the shelf, but another silent spasm hit her - the mouth contorting into a silent scream in his direction causing her to drop to one knee; tearing part of the black stockings just above the charcoal skirt.

“There isn't much more time left, Halifax. I must...I have to finish…” she said laboriously.

Struggling back to her feet, and biting her wrinkled lip, she toughen herself for the final part of the spell. Frail and weakened by centuries of time engulfing her each minute, she fought in a raspy voice to complete the spell. When it was done she looked worse than any other time Halifax could remember – well beyond the days of the old coven in an age long since forgotten.

Now with a simple tea cup she dunked it into the boiling abyss, and in one action drank down the scalding brew. Once swallowing she clutched her scorched hand that had plunged the cup, and let out a primordial cry of searing pain as the liquid sculled her throat; the sound nearly breaking a series of glass jars along the shelving. The ferocity of the terrifying cry caused Halifax to stiffen with his back raised. He now launched himself to the adjacent shelving, sending two more expensive jars careening to the floor, then to the armoire, a dusty work bench, and soon his claws were scratching across the wooden floor and out the door of her hidden sanctuary, through the rest of the cabin; finally out the front entrance.

Halifax took refuge on the first high branch in the tall ancient sycamore that stood guard just beyond the front porch – its arms now barren with fin de saison. Slowly the screams from inside the cabin fell silent, and all that remained was the velvet tranquility of the woods in late autumn. Occasionally a slight chilling breeze would stir the sycamore’s discarded leaves at the base. There was silence for quite some time as he gazed back through the open front door of the cabin, and for the longest time nothing moved.

Eventually there came the crunch of rubbery clutches of wheels squeezing gravel, and again Halifax raised his back and snapped his head in the direction of the sound. Two gigantic white eyes were expanding towards him and the cabin, and from his perch in the tree he stared defiantly back at them. This was not the ideal time for a visitor!

The small vehicle came to a stop. The door swung open birthing the oddest of creatures. It resembled one of the birds he often chased, But much larger! It sported a black coat, a white belly, and an uncharacteristically large black beak. It moved its way in the direction of the cabin. He caught a human’s scent on the air as it passed the tree towards the entrance. There was no mistaking it. The lover! a jealous Halifax realized. On more than one occasion he had witnessed the two bodies wrestling and grinding in ecstasy from his favorite napping spot high up on the bookshelf in the Companion’s bedroom. His eyes always watching in a mix of glowing curiosity and defense. On the first occasion their noise of aggressive passion had signaled alarm given its intensity, and Halifax had mistakenly swept in to fight off the attack upon his Companion. When he realized she was receptive to the engagement he backed away, but continued to watch closely should the circumstances change. Now after several months Halifax paid such carnal activity no regard, but always stood at the ready should lover become foe. After all, as the Familiar, his allegiance was pledged long ago.

“A giant penguin?”

Halifax had not seen the Companion emerge in the rustic doorway.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” questioned the lover.

“I was delayed. There was something I had to attend to first.”

“More important than our Halloween Ball?”

So the process had finished in time, thought Halifax. Gone again were the craggy facial wrinkles of some 426 years – now replaced by soft youthful silky white pall. The bony hands had also retreated, and the rickety skeleton that convulsed and could barely stand earlier at the side of the cauldron were once again slalom and curvy; with the taste of youthful seduction.

Then he watched them embrace – their mouths interlocking as they often want to do. First tenderly, and then with increasing passion as humanities’ instincts coursed through their blood. Finally they separated, but not before the Companion pulled back the hooded beak of the costume to release the lover’s cascading blond hair which swept down to dust her shoulders.

“Seriously, we haven’t time. We really have to get going if we're not going to be late.” said the lover.

“Very well. Come in, you can help me change into my witch costume.”

“Oh my goodness!” The lover exclaimed. “You're hurt.” She reached out and clutched the Companion’s wrist revealing the burned red hand from the cauldron. The skin was raw and bleached vermilion. At the touch of the lover’s hand the Companion winced in pain.

“No, it’s nothing. Really. It’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense. You have a first aid kit? First we’ll tend to the hand; then we’ll get you into your costume.”

“I thought you were worried about being late?”

“That was before this.” She raised the Companion’s wrist as if a courtroom exhibit. “Come on. Let’s get you bandaged up.” Then the lover stepped past the Companion.

Halifax then watched the two women disappear through the threshold of the cabin, but not before his Companion turned back in his direction, her auburn hair whisking to the side as she did so. There was a twinkle in one of her emerald eyes as she raised them to match his own golden pair piercing down from the sycamore. With a mischievous grin she raised her forefinger to now youthful lips – Yes, once again the potion had done its job.

He blinked back his acknowledgment of discreet understanding, and then the door clicked shut behind both shadowy curvy figures.

Halifax remained in the tree contemplating his own adventures for the night. There should be plenty of field mice scurrying about upon the littered forest floor to keep him occupied while the companion and her lover attended whatever function that requires such unusual attire. He licked his paw again and scrubbed behind his ears in habitual fashion. Now it was time for a brief nap in the crux of the branch and the main trunk of the sycamore. The moon shadows were just starting to take hold amongst the fallen leaves, and the night was just beginning.