Cauld-Hearted

Isolde’s timer went off ten minutes after the child’s piglet-in-distress squeals ended.

Helra Gloomveil sighed. The brew sure smelled good; it always did when Isolde did the cooking. And she always did the cooking. But the sound of the timer – a witch whose hat rotated and began to tick – also meant that her job fast approached.

The dishes.

‘Smells delightful, sister,’ said Thalindra, thin and pointy, more angles than a protractor. ‘You really made good use of this one’s blubber, I can tell.’

Helra winced. Child fat was always a nightmare to get out of the cauldron.

Isolde got to her feet and waddled to the kitchen, rubbing her hands. ‘Give me fifteen, sisters, and I’ll have the brew all bottled up. With that one’s size, I reckon we’ll have a good month’s worth of the stuff.’

Helra had to suppress a groan. Iso hadn’t done it again, had she? After Helra’s complaints last time? But no, of course she had. She always used the XL cauldron: the big bugger that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher. Helra would have to scrub it clean by hand. Her elbow still ached and popped even two-and-a-half weeks later. ‘Not again,’ she said to herself.

‘Cheer up, sister,’ said Thal, smirking. ‘Aren’t you delighted to have such an expertly crafted brew from our dear sister?’

‘Yes,’ she said, half-lying.

‘And to have had such a tender child caught by me, your oldest dear sister?’

‘Yes,’ she repeated, deflating.

‘And we are always pleased with your excellent dish-washing. You do scrub those pots so well! Why, I wouldn’t know where to start in that kitchen once Iso’s finished with her part.’ Thal’s knife-point nose wrinkled. ‘All that caked-on fat and those charcoaled bones.’

Helra offered a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. Yes, she knew how nasty a job it was. She had to do it every time. It hadn’t always been this way. Before Mother kicked the cauldron and flew off to that great coven in the sky, they had shared the work. But now, Thal always did the child hunting, Iso always did the brewing, and Hel always got stuck with the dishes. She wanted to hunt and brew, too. And Thal and Iso could likely do with refreshing their minds about the other jobs around the house, too.

After the sounds of clattering and banging, as if a child had broken free and sought escape, Iso called. ‘Okay, Hel! It’s all yours.’ And then, after a bit of lip smacking: ‘Mmm, this one’s gonna be yummy.’

With a groan, Hel got to her feet and trudged to the kitchen as though she headed for the gallows. ‘I’ve got to say,’ she said, approaching the kitchen doors, ‘that this one smells particularly—’

The kitchen had exploded. Cupboard doors hung open, pots and pans covered every surface, and the XL cauldron sat in the sink to “soak”. Splatters of viscous green and purple liquids dotted the countertop and the floor. Even the tap had goop dripping from the side.

‘—good,’ she finished, wondering if a dirty tap this dirty could ever provide clean water again.

Iso followed her gaze and glanced around the kitchen, a chuckle bubbling from deep inside. ‘Yes, it’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? Well, you know what they say, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few legs. But with your super-cleaning powers, I’m sure you’ll have the place spick and span before our midnight flight.’ She patted Hel on the shoulder with a dirty hand as she left the kitchen. ‘Thanks, hon.’

Her shoulders drooped. Where the heaven did you begin with a task this massive? She couldn’t walk to the sink without spreading the sludge on the floor even further. But if she cleaned the floor first, she’d make it messy again by cleaning the surfaces. There were too many pots and pans on the countertop to clean the countertop. But if she didn’t clean that first, then she’d have to put cleaned pots back on top of the filth. If she had a second person to dry the dishes, it would be easier, but—

From the sink came the drip-drip-drip of slime coating the chrome.

Hel clenched her fists and growled. She had had it. No more Mrs Nice Hel. She’d kept all her frustrations to herself. But that would soon change, because she’d reached a tipping point.

Ah, but she knew her sisters, too. If she left the place in this state, they wouldn’t listen to a spell she uttered. As unfair as it was, she would clean the dishes this time. To break the routine, Hel would need to continue the routine – for a little while, at least. But the next time it would not be her. Nor would the time after that. It was about time the Gloomveil cottage saw some changes.

Helra pulled up her sleeves and marched into the kitchen snarling. She attacked the dirt like Aunt Zylvara had attacked the witch hunter, all claws and teeth.

In the lounge, both Thal and Iso had their trotters up on the ottoman, which had once been a man. The rictus of his pink, screaming face stared into the fire, likely wishing to be in hell compared to this fate. They laughed and chattered in a way they seldom did with Hel.

Hel staggered in, covered in filth and grime.

Behind her, the kitchen sparkled brighter than the stars on a moonlit night.

But she’d finished cleaning ten minutes ago. Hel had spent that time making something her dearest sisters needed to see. The midnight flight could wait; she’d put enough elbow grease into cleaning up Iso’s grime to have earned some discussion.

‘Ah, sister,’ said Thal. ‘I wondered if you’d gotten lost in the pantry. I trust the kitchen is now clean enough to eat off?’

‘Yes.’

‘I hope my cooking didn’t give you too much…’ Iso trailed off, seeing the fire in Hel’s eyes. ‘Trouble?’

Hel smiled, showing off her teeth. ‘Not at all. In fact, I think you’ll agree when you do it next time. And when you,’ she glared at Thal, ‘do it the time after that.’

Iso frowned. Thal looked taken aback.

Hel lifted the little arts-and-crafts project she’d made. It had all the primary witch colours: black, purple, green, orange. ‘You should acquaint yourselves with this magical item, my dear sisters.

‘It’s a rotating chore chart.’