Commission
Witchcraft - Part 1
By J.C. Solis

    The candles lit flickered and crackled, forming a pentagram with the blood that the woman had gathered from the throat of a young female human. She uttered words that were in an unknown language to this world, her words seeming to emanate raw magical power as they escaped her lips and echoed throughout the stone walls of the room. The incantation that she pronounced was to bring a creature from the pits of the underworld itself, hoping to bind a familiar to do her bidding as she rose in the ranks of witchcraft in the years to come. She would start her ascension today. And yet, the young spell caster was still rather nervous. This was the first time she ever tried to summon a spirit, much less a familiar. 
    She had studied from the tomes she had and what her coven had taught till her eyes were red from exhaustion, but to actually commit the act itself was something she was both excited and anxious over. She used the correct blood and was uttering the correct words, but the lingering doubt filled her mind as to whether or not this would be a success, knowing full well that she could be dragged down to the pits if she were to botch this job.
    A black smoke began to rise up from the floor, the smell of sulphur and pitch filling the air as an ominous presence began to vibrat through the air. The summoning was near completion.
    "I call upon the demon named Fadohveninvhre Euvhokupea to enter this world, may you at last know freedom from the prison of the Nether," said the witch. "I free you from your chains, spirit."
    A gutteral groan began to be heard from the floor, as two red eyes began to glow from the mist. The witch was rather startled, though she tried not to show fear.
    "I... am here..." said the voice of the demon. "I am Fadohveninvhre. I am here to answer your call. What is the name of the summoner who asked for my arrival?"
    "I am Maebh Branstoirm, and I am who summoned you," replied the witch, to which she then pushed forward a plate with a fresh heart on top and a chalice full of blood. "With this offering of a the heart and blood of a unconsumated virgin, I ask that you become my familiar and acompany me in my life's journey to mastery of the magical arts."
    After the words were said, the blood began to drain from the chalice as the heart caught on fire and immediately began to turn to ash. A limb clawed out of the misty floor, the room filling with a vile glow as the portal opene further. The limb was black and dripping blood, looking like the front leg of a large dog. Soon, a canine head began to come up, and the rest of the body rose. The demon's was slender and black, with red flames all around its body to act as a sort of fur. When the spirit had at last come upward from the portal, the smoke began to clear and the full size of the hellhound was present.
    Maebh was beside herself with glee. She had successfully summoned a familiar from the infernal plane, and it was just as she had hoped for.
    "I am here," stated the hound, bowing down it's head. "I have accepted your offer, and will become your servant for however long you need me. Though I suggest next time to use something less than a virgin heart and her blood for a summoning. Even a newborn calf would be better."
    Maebh was caught off guard by this. She explained that she didn't kill anyone, and that this was from a young woman who had died of disease. She retorted by asking why he would even accept the offering if he disliked it, to which the demon replied that he didn't want to be rude. 
    "Well either way, I think we'll be of great acquaintance, spirit," she replied. "I have hope that we will get along."
    "Yes, but I feel as though I have need of a change in name, no?" replied the hound. "While I may be fond of my current name, it'd be safer that others do not know it, lest I be ripped from you or mybinds be broken. Breaking the bind may cause you serious harm." The hound then began to scratch his head. "Plus, I feel my old name is out of vogue, since no one lives who would even remember me."
    Maebh thought long and hard. It was at this moment that the notion struck.
    "How about Calaxanthre Breguea?"
    "I find it suitable... Mistress Maebh," Calaxanthre responded with his own pet name for her, thereby accepting her. "But I have one request, though. I cannot move well in this world on my own, as I am bound to this house and the seal that is beneath me. I ask that you find me a suitable host for me to inhabit so I can roam freely and be able to serve better."
    "Worry not, Calaxanthre," responded Maebh with a glint in her eye. "I will find a suitable vessel for you. I am sure the world has plenty of people out there to make for a decent host."
    The night was ending, as the sun was soon to rise. But the feats of Maebh Branstoirm was to rise. This marked the beginning of a life of adventure, pain, toil, and excitement. But Maebh would need Cal for protection as well, for there were dark forces brewing amongst the her kin amongst the Fae, and that for her part in all this that some might be coming for vengeance. She hoped that she could find the perfect vessel for Calaxanthre before the forces that were in play would come for her.
    But the perfect vessel for Cal was not yet born, and it would be more than a milenia later that the one whom would suffer Calaxanthre would meet with a surprising yet somewhat unfortunate fate...
    
    Fiona took a swig at her mug as she sang along with the patrons of the tavern. It was a fine day of the new year--the 1st of January in the year of 1700 to be exact. She and her friends had been drinking themselves stupidly drunk since the wee hours of the morning in celebration, eating mutton and stale bread in combination with their ale glasses. It was a fine day to be alive, as Fiona had recently earned a tidy sum of money by stealing from a general store in Hull, and the reward of the burglary was what kept her piss drunk ever since then. She currently lived in York, and she made it so that she didn't steal too close to where she lived and alert the authorities to her activities. But Fiona figured that her money would soon run dry, and then she would have to start all over again in finding a new mark.
    "Oy, what do you blokes know of any new marks around?" she called out to her friends. "Sinding, what say you and I head down to Leeds again for another one, eh?"
    "Nay, Fi," replied the black bearded man as he took another drink of stout from his mug. "Leeds' become too 'ot for me there. I'll meet the hangman for sure if I go back."
    "What about you, Flemming?" she then went over to a blonde haired man who had his head on the bar counter. "Care to join?"
    "Piss off, Fi," said the man. "I've got enough *hic* shillings for the month. Friggin 'eck, I've got a head hammering tah make me maungy, I do. *hic*"
    "Come now, ye oafs," replied Fiona. "What pence 'e've got left in pocket is not going to last forever, right? We ought tah do something."
    "Maybe I can offer some advice then, hmm?" said a voice from behind Fiona. "That is, if ye got the stones for it, me lass.
    She turned around to see the face of an old woman in tatters. She smiled rather toothily, her teeth yellowing and chipped with the gums of his mouth full of holes of where teeth used to be.
    "And who the bloody are ye, ye old biddy?" she responded to her harshly.
    "Just a retired ol' scoundrel is what I is," replied the stranger. "Ah'm a ol' vagrant, though I've not always like this, no no. Ah'm what you call a retired robber. Too weak teh lift a dagger to a bairn on 'is way to Sunday school. But when I was young, I used to be a 'ighway woman. I'd 'old up a mark and rob 'em blind before the constable knew oo' to look for. Bet you can try a hand at 'at, eh?"
    "Highway robbery?" wondered Fiona. "I don't know. I don't think I-"
    "Sure you can, lass!" replied the old woman. "You don't always 'ave to kill, if that is what gets ye in a fetter. Just use 'nough steel and threats to get 'em to 'and over their truck. The roads full of unarmed travelers just for eh pickings, and you don't even 'ave tah get yer stinking hand bloodied."
    "Maybe you should give er a gander, Fiona?" jeered Sinding. "Maybe the hangman'll just drop you fer a small height so you just choke instead of snap, ha ha ha."
    "I think I'd give it a go myself," said Flemming. "But em 'eadaches make it hard to tink right, an' ale only makes it worse, it does."
    "Flem, you twonk, there ale is why you got a thick 'ead," retorted Fiona. She then turned to face the old woman. "I think I'll 'eed your advice. I jus' need to know who I ought to give it a first go before I can really get to the pudgy marks."
    "Go after eh' elders like me, me dear lass," replied the stranger. "Just not me myself. I've barely got ah pence to me name and the scran to sate. But you can be sure that there are some good marks over at the North York Moors to give er a go at."
    And with that, the lady turned around and walked away.
    Fiona now had a glint in her eye at this change of direction. She felt that doing this would be dangerous, but if it meant lining her pockets with coin then it was just something she had to do. She turned around and talked to her friends about her new goals.
    "Well, good luck with the daylight robbery, Fiona," said Sinding.
    "Hope they don't draw and quarter you for attacking a noble, eh," added Flemming.
    "Nowt bit of support you lot give," replied Fiona as she turned around to start in her new task.
    She went for her home, a rather dingy shack where the only furniture were a small table and chair and the broken wooden frame of bed with some hay bedding. She dug under her hay mattress and pulled out an old matchlock pistol and a rusty short sword. These would be her only weapons to use in her new trade, though she didn't have the gunpowder needed to actually use the gun properly. She figured that it would just be used for the scare factor, to intimidate her victims into coughing up their valuables without resorting to violence. In truth, Fiona felt foolish, but then again she did steal from stores and unguarded homes, so it wasn't as she didn't already live a dangerous livelihood.
    It was still in the morning and the ale, mutton and bread had just barely sated her, though she did still feel drinker's headache from the celebration. She figured that it would go away after a while, since it would be a while before her walk to the Moors would end. She walked out of her hometown of York with her unloaded gun and her sword, hopeful that she would land a good prize and not die in the process. After what felt like the better part of the day Fiona at last arrived at the what would be her stomping grounds. The woods were rather thick and beautiful this time of year, which meant it would offer the perfect cover to hide. 
    All that she needed to do now was to find a potential victim...
    It was now getting into the evening and at last a mark came, which was a figure in a black cloak walking with a hunch back and a cane. Fiona figured that this would be the perfect, as the figure didn't appear to be accompanied by anyone nor were they appear too poor. Fiona let what seemed to be an old woman pass and began to follow her. The woman went down a side path from the main road, and though Fiona followed her carefully the bramble made it a bit tricky to walk through. Visibility was terrible and the area was dense, making her mission more difficult. When she made it to the end of the trail she was shocked to come across a dead end but with no sign of the old woman.
    Fiona was dumbstruck. She was sure she was following her mark and was not out of sight, but it was as if she had disappeared in thin air. The side woods were too thin for her to not notice the old woman go to the side, but then where could she have gone?
    Suddenly, a creaking sound could be heard clearly. Fiona wondered what it could be until she saw a shadow start to form in front of her. The shadow grew longer and longer until she realized that it was coming from behind. She turned around to see a large conifer start to fall upon her, and though she still had time to react she was frozen in shock.
    Fiona was bashed hard in the head and the branches sliced through her thin clothes, though she seemed to have avoided taking on the full force of the falling tree. Before she even knew what to do she was on the ground, half conscious as her head in absolute agony as blood dripped down her face and got in her eyes, effectively blinding her. She was also incredibly disorientated and in no conditions to get up, much less move around to see where she was at. She tried to move a leg, but felt a sharp and brutal pain from what felt like her calf. It felt like a broken bone, and if that was the case then there was no way she would get out of here on her own. If she didn't receive help, she would not live this day.
    "Dear heavens!" shrieked a voice as the rapid steps of someone came by. By the sound of it, it sounded like an older woman. "My dear lass, are you well? Can you move?"
    All Fiona could do was groan. Her eyes were covered in blood and had sealed them shut.
    "Come here, deary. I'll take you to my cottage nearby. Come, I'll fetch someone to carry you." The old woman then turned and yelled, "Cal, come quick! There is someone in need!"
    Fiona was rather confused as to who this woman was. She didn't think anyone would live out here in the middle of nowhere, but she was thankful that someone came to her aid. A second person arrived and gently picked Fiona up, but something was off. She felt the arms of this person to be frigid cold, and the a seemingly ominous aura surrounded this man. 
    Fiona heard a door creak open and a slight breeze come across her face. Next thing she knew was that she was laid to rest on a bed somewhere in this shelter, to which she's taken for being the lady's cottage. She wondered if this was the same old woman whom she was stalking, to which she hoped that she hadn't noticed her intentions, or else it would not bode well to be in her mark's care.
    "Here, girl, drink this. This'll give you some energy," said the old woman as she put what felt like a cup to Fiona's mouth.
    Fiona took a sip, but only swallowed a little until she began coughing. The liquid was vile and bitter, which made it difficult to drink. But she felt an immediate rush of energy upon her first little drink, and so she forced herself to drink the rest of the cup. Fiona felt a wet rag wipe her eyes, and with the blood now cleaned off she could at last open them.
    Upon opening her eyes she saw the face of the old woman who had rescued her, except that the old woman was not as aged as her voice may give. Fiona realized that it was her mark, to which she began to feel rather sheepish. She also took a look at her surroundings and found herself to be in a musty yet mostly clean cottage. There was a wood stove to the side and what appeared to be jars of food and strange ingredients from the shelves within the kitchen. There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary from where she lay, and all the while she tried to move around. Upon moving her leg she shrieked in pain, and it was then that she realized the extent of her injuries. 
    "Blooming bollocks!" she gasped at the pain in her leg.
    "You broke a leg when that tree came crashing on you, lass," replied the elderly woman. "You won't be walking out of here for a while, if at all."
    "Bloody hell," Fiona said in frustration. "I need to get back up. I needn't want be bedridden like a cripple for who knows 'ow long."
    "Well, you must suffer being a cripple for a while, lass," said the old lady. "You need have patience and strength, lest you not heal enough to walk again."
    Fiona was saddened by her situation. Though she wanted to move, she knew that it would be in vain and pain. She would have to impose on this old woman and her generosity. Feeling curious as to her savior, Fiona took a better look at this old lady. She was rather tall and slender, and though she looked aged her body was still rather young looking. She did have a small hunch on her back, like a woman her age would have, but it wasn't so profound as she initialy thought. As the lady walked around the room she seemed to walk well enough to not need a cane. Her face was only slightly wrinkly and had a bit of youth, though her nose was rather pointed and protruding. 
    Upon looking at her clothes, Fiona could tell that they weren't rags. When the lady took off her black cloak she was shown to wear a ornate and fashionable purple attire. It wasn't expensive looking, but it showed that she had taste and a bit of wealth. Fiona could tell that this old woman wasn't what she seemed, as she didn't turn out to be a hag like Fiona thought. But there was something rather odd about her, as though she was hiding some secrets. This woman had class and sophistication, which was something Fiona found curious in comparison to a similarly aged woman with far less manners.
    "Well then, I suggest you get accustomed to this here house, my lass, for I fear you'll be laid up until that leg can heal," she said.
    "Well, I be thanking ye, madame," replied Fiona gratefully. She was glad to have been rescued, and thus she what little honor she had wanted her to repay the old woman for this service. "Once I get better, I hope to repay thee the favor. May I ask yer name, though? I want to know whom I be repaying."
    At this, the old lady smiled.
    "It is Maebh, lass. Maebh Branstoirm."
    Upon saying this, a tall man entered the room. He had black hair and amber red eyes, to which Fiona found both enchanting and perplexing. He had on a brown tunic and black slacks, with tan clogs for shoes. Fiona didn't like this man, but she figured that he must have that same aura of mystique like Maebh.
    "This is Calaxanthre, my dear lass," replied the lady. "He's the one who freed you from the tree."
    "I thank ye for the aid, Calaxanthre," said Fiona. "You saved me life."
    Cal was silent for a while, but then said, "You're welcome, miss," in a sort of serpentine voice.
    "I will ask one thing of you, though, if you do plan on repaying me," said Maebh. "I need you to sign a document stating that you'll be of my service till you repay your debt."
    "A document?" wondered Fiona. "Why of it? I'm simply returning a favor, not repaying a loan."
    Maebh brought a contract, quill and a needle with her to Fiona, a sort of wicked smile forming on her face as she brought them.
    "Let's just say that I plan on making sure that you keep your end of the bargain once you've healed. I don't want you delivering an empty promise and walk off without honoring your word," she said.
    Fiona was rather vexed, but then again it wasn't like she didn't consider simply leaving. She fiigured that signing a contract was rather unorthodox, and some of the demands with the phrases included things such as "carrying the burden of Calaxanthre". She looked up at Cal and wondered what kind of burden she'd have to carry, but she figured that it was because he was secretly a half wit. Being a nanny was not ideal, but her small amount of honor was forcing her to keep her word--something that she'd later come to deeply regret.
    "Where's the pen and inkwell then?"
    "I need a type of ink that is more... binding, lass," said Maebh, handing her the pin and quill.
    Fiona sighed as she then grabbed both the pin and quill. She got a little uncomfortable with the old woman and the tall man, but she pushed ahead without heeding the warning. She pricked her fingertip and took the quill to the blood that poured.
    "Where do I sign?" she asked.
    "Above the line, dear," said Maebh.
    Fiona did so and wrote her name in bad cursive. When she wrote her name the red signature began to glow bright, essentially blinding her.
    "The contract has been signed," said Cal in an otherworldly voice, his eyes glowing bright red as an ominous haze grew around him. "The bargain is complete."
    "What?" shrieked Fiona, realizing her mistake. She then looked at Maebh, who had a stoic look upon her face. "You bitch!" she yelled at her.
    "More like a witch," replied Maebh. "And now, Calaxanthre will inhabit you for the rest of your time on this earth."
    Before Fiona could react, a dark cloud began to come out of Cal, filling the air in a black haze with his corporal body falling to the floor. The vessel was now free, but was soon to die as his body now aged at a rapid rate and began to shrivel to dust.
    The haze entered Fiona's body through her nostrils, her sense of smell being completely overrun by a horrid smell of rot and sulphur. Her eyes began to roll behind her head as the mist fully entered her body. Her throat began to close and she felt that she was choking on her own bile and fluids, her mind racing as a sense of both numbness and alertness attacked her conscious mentality at the same time. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, and her stomach began to cramp violently as an all consuming hunger and thirst--for both water, sustenance, and even a curiously powerful craving for blood--drove her to feel as though she had never eaten or drank her whole life.
    Her soul felt like it was being ripped directly from her chest, and she could not do a thing to stop the presense from taking over. Deep down she felt like she was going to burst at having to accomodate the soul in her small mortal body, and with this she felt that the world becoming black. Before she knew it, she was unconcious, the world a world apart and her mind shattered into billions of stars in the sky. The nocturne of night filled her heart as malevolence filled her soul.
    Her life was both forfeit and saved...
    
    Fiona stirred awake with an utterly pounding headache. Her body felt stiff and crooked, as though she'd not moved in ages. Her neck was rigid with her vertebrae cracking as she twisted her neck. She had a rather hazy but at times luscid dream, with her dreams taking place in lands and realms she was not familiar, with people she'd never met, and even supernatural creatures the likes of which she had never seen. She had dreams of being in burning pits of the darkest of hells, settings so real that they looked like a patch from The Divine Comedy, which for some reason she had memories of reading despite never having read the book. For some reason, she had a fascination with Dante's Inferno.
    Fiona opened her eyes to see that her bedsheets were ripped to pieces and that her body was soaked in blood. She saw the carcass of a deer next to her, which looked like a wild beast had gorged itself in its entrails. When she looked around she saw that she was not in some sort of ritual room, with macabre symbols all around her. Her bed was sitting on top of a blood red pentagram. She stretched her legs and to her surprise saw that her broken right leg had healed. She tried to get out of bed but found that her sore muscles had still not yet warmed up.
    She stood up and tried to walk to the door, but had difficulty moving her leg. Her gait was rather wobbly and she had a bit limp, though she was not in terrible pain. She did feel a few sharp nerve jolt stravel up her leg, and so her gait was rather awkward. It was clear that she had not healed right. She climbed up a small ladder and opened the trapdoor to the upper part of the house, and she found herself in the kitchen of the cottage. She saw Maebh cutting some vegetables and putting them into a pot, and it was here that Fiona plotted her revenge. A large butcher knife was to the side and Fiona grabbed it, sneaking towards the older woman and raising it in the air, getting ready to plunge the large blade.
    But for some reason, Fiona could not bring herself to do it. Despite feeling hatred she also felt a sense of loyalty, almost like a sense of attachment and fealty. She lifted the knife up again and tried her best to plunge it, but once more could not do it.
    "I don't think you'll be doing that," said a voice.
    Fiona looked around to see who it was, but it was not Maebh. She was rather perplexed as to where that voice came from.
    "You won't find me around you, but rather within you," said the voice.
    Fiona realized that the voice was in her head, and a sick feeling began to come over her as she felt a second presense, almost like a second mind, along with her own consciousness.
    "What in the-?" she whispered.
    "So, you've awoken, my dear?" said Maebh as she turned around with the pot in her hands. She took it to the wood stove and place the pot on top, opened the hatch below and began to stuff the furnace with wood. "Honestly, you look rather ragged. You definitely were restless while under."
    "What are you?" asked Fiona. "What in the bloody hell just happened? And why is there a voice in my head?"
    "I gave you my name, no?" said the witch. "My name is Maebh Branstoirm, and now you work for me, my dear."
    "Like in heav- like in heav-" Fiona wanted to say the word "heavens", but for some reason she found herself unable to say the word. In fact, she found it hard to even think of any holy words. Just the thought of them made her feel rather uneasy.
    "You mean to say "heaven", my dear?" said Maebh teasingly. "Binding you to the demon must not leave you able to say certain words... Interesting."
    "Binding?!" shrieked Fiona. Immediately she remembered what had happened earlier before she fell unconscious. She remembered well the haze that entered her body.
    "Yes. Binding, Fiona," said the voice in her head. "I the demon known as Calaxanthre Breguea, and I am now a part of you for as long as you live."
    Fiona was shocked and angry, devastated and dumbstruck. She began to lament her past, even regretting having gotten into Highway robbery and into this mess. She would never be a free woman, go with her friends to ale pubs and enjoy the life of a liberal. She began felt depression begin to smother her. She honestly wanted to cry, but she just could'nt bring herself to tears. And what was worse was that she had to share her body--her very own body--with a fell demon.
    "Need to sit down, lass?" jeered Maebh. "I know this is sounds like much to take in, but you'll thank me in time."
    Fiona felt this sentence sting her even more, and all she could do was glare at the witch as she lit a fire in the stove furnace.
    "Why would I be thanking you, witch?!" retorted Fiona. "You took my life from me. Now I'll never enjoy what Go.. what Go..." She couldn't say "God", and so said, "the life that I had!"
    "And what kind of life was that, Fiona lass?" snapped back Maebh. "I've seen the life you lived, child, what with you living in a shack, resorting to thievery.You were a scoundrel, they'd string you up from the nearest hanging tree, or worse, if you kept at it."
    Maebh went on to admit that she was spying on her, taking note of everything she did. She even revealed that she was the old woman robber that convinced her to go in highway robbery.
    "You were that old woman?" Fiona said dumbstruck.
    "Aye, but a poor ol' biddy I was, me lass," replied Maebh in the same York accent. "But poorer was thee and the pigsty ye call home. Ye made a life worse than a wretch."
    "But at least I wouldn't have to share a body with a damn demon!"
    "I resent that!" said the demon within her. "Don't think I'm all chipper about this either, Fiona. I need a vessel in order to freely move around."
    "Realize your fate, Fiona. You would be a free, but do you honestly believe that was a good life?" reasoned Maebh. "With the binding to Calaxanthre, you will live a significanly longer life--one where you can learn and thrive. I hope to teach you many things on witchcraft and the sciences, on how to be a proper lady and mannerisms. We'll travel the whole world and see the beauty of nature. Is that such a terrible life to have?"
    Fiona stood silent as she thought of all this. It honestly didn't sound that bad, but then again she didn't expect Maebh to tell her the whole truth. But the witch struck a nerve that Fiona felt deep down. Maebh was right about her life. She was right about everything and Fiona knew it. She was constantly on the hinges of death, and had she kept up the highway robbery game longer she would likely have been struck down or even put to death. Her burglary scheme before was no less dangerous, and her fate would still be death if things went bad for her.
    But the liberal woman also valued her freedom, as she never was one to submit or to follow orders from anyone, not even from her own mother. Though the witch made several key points, Fiona was far from willing to become some kind of servant, even if she now had a second soul inside her.
    "I didn't ask for this, you old biddy," growled Fiona. "If I'se to change my life for the better, then I'd do so without being some fetch hound."
    "Well, I say its a little too late for that. The binding with Calaxanthre is permanent and removing him from you will have dire consequences. I hope you're willing to live a short and painful life."
    Fiona didn't care. She tried to walk in the direction of the exit of the house, but found herself unable to take a step out the door. It was as though something was stopping her in her tracks.
    "You can't leave because I won't let you," said the voice Calaxanthre inside her. "Whether you want to or not, I am bound to you. If I let you go now, you'll shrivel to dust."
    Fiona tried her hardest to move, but she just couldn't. She was on the verge of tears. After a while of forcing herself to no avail, Fiona stepped back from the door frame. She walked to the living room of the cottage, sniffling as she saw what her life has become. She took a seat on a sofa cushion, her eyes dripping with tears as she saw what he life has become. She was no longer living her dangerous life, but she also was no longer living her own life. 
    There was a mirror in front of her, and with it she saw that her body had indeed changed from the possession. Her hair had changed from amber ginger to jet black, with her eyes having a tint of red. Her skin was now pale whereas before it was slightly tanned. The freckles on her face and other imperfections were gone and her skin was now smooth to the touch. As noted before, her gown was stained in thick layers of blood, but she noticed that her body underneath was toned and muscular. It was a complete change from her normal form, and she wondered if there were more changes or had any powers.
    Perhaps this new role was something she'd get used to.
    "Dinner's ready, Fiona," said Maebh in a sing song voice. "I imagine you must be starved, lass. Come here and eat, and then you can rest some more."
    She did have a growling stomach, and the smell of stew wafted through the whole house. Begrudgingly, she resigned herself and went to eat.
    "Why was there a dead deer in my room when I woke up?" she asked Maebh while putting a chunk of beef in her bowl.
    "You had a rather strenuous transformation," answered the witch. "You took on Calaxanthre well. Your body accepted the demon better than any previous host, but there would be a time for you to get adjusted. And while adjusting, you will have a ravenous hunger for flesh and a thirst for blood."
    This made Fiona rather queasy at thinking. She didn't think that she'd ever tear apart a deer like a ravenous animal, but it seemed like lots of things were out of her control.
    "Well, what are my tasks then, Mistress?" Fiona could not believe she said that, but felt compelled to by Cal. "Are we going to steal children and cast hexes on the innocent?"
    "What are you, Matthew Hopkins the Witchfinder General?" scolded Maebh as she munched on a bit of squash. "I don't do any of that nonsense, and neither do any of my associates. I don't hurt or kill unless I absolutely must, and neither does Calaxanthre. I don't hex upon the masses, though I do cast charms every now and again when I'm needed as a healer."
    Maebh went on to explain her business, which was not exactly as Fiona--or society, in that respects--had been led to believe. Maebh was part blood to a magical folk known as the Fae, and that she'd been alive since the start of the late Bronze ages. Her magic allow for her extended life, and for the most part she was a healer and an alchemist--two disciplines that have fallen under the shadow of witchcraft. She healed those in need who wanted her aid and made headway in experiments in regards to magic and sorcery. She lived in Yorkshire Moors to hide from pesky witchhunters and zealots, but has maintained a positive image in the eyes of most during these times. Maebh would even heal for free is she noted that her patients could not afford her care.
    This admission raised Fiona's spirits a bit. At least she now she knew that she wouldn't be doing any truly wicked or evil deeds. She didn't need to exacerbate her notion that's she doomed to be damned, and much more if she was hurting the innocent with witchcraft.
    After dinner, Fiona limped back to her first bed in the living room. She still felt exhausted and her muscles were still stiff. The sun was now gone and the night had come. It would be imperative for her to get a good rest. She laid down on bed and closed her eyes, though something else would happen that would catch her by completely by surprise. When midnight came, Fiona was rather hazy. She felt like her mind was floating around in a bath of thoughts. When she opened her eyes...
    Fiona was immediately shocked to see that she no longer had control of her body. She tried her best to awaken, but it seemed like she no longer held the reigns. 
    "What is going on?!" she said though the miasa of her thoughts.
    "I am in control now," said the voice of Calaxanthre. "I now steer this form."
    "What in the blooming are ye talking 'bout?!!" she shouted. "This is my body! I am the one who controls it not! Not you!"
    "Well, I wouldn't say that this is still your body, Fiona," said Cal, to which he allowed the spirit of Fiona to see through her eyes.
    To her horror, she saw that she was no longer a human. She was looking into a mirror and saw that she was in a canine form. She was a black hairless hound of sorts, with red flames for fur, a spiked collar around the neck, and a rather sinister aura.
    "Blimey, I've turned into a mangey hound," she groaned.
    "I resent that," said Calaxanthre. "You are no mere hound, but a hellhound."
    "Getting used to the transformation, eh Fiona, hah hah" said the voice of Maebh with a laugh.
    "This is not funny, you old wench!" sneered Fiona telepathically. "I thought I had to just share a body, not transform into a flipping demon dog. How am I going to sleep while awake at night? I'll be bogeyed the next morning."
    "Just fall asleep, dear," said Calaxanthre. "You can still sleep and let me do all the work of moving about and fighting and fetching and whatnot."
    All Fiona could do was resign to her fate as Calaxanthre would now be in control for the time being. In fact, having to share a single body with him felt like that would be one major hurdle.
    Living with Maebh would be dificult, and who knew what would come from it in the future. But Fiona knew that, whether she liked it or not, that this was her new life. She had a new home, good food, a new vocation and an extended life to enjoy everything the world had to offer. 
    But as Fiona/Calaxanthre walked around the house, Maebh stared outside from a glass window in the side of the living room. The strangeness of the forest had followed her home when she left, and she had an uneasiness to her as she stared at the forest. Maybe he was out there, but then again perhaps it was her nerves. It had been ages since the incidence of the Fae, but who knew how long a grudge would last. The good news was that she managed to find Cal a new host for him to inhabit, and Fiona seemed to be more or less willing.
    But only time would tell the fate of the witch, the demon, and the former scoundrel.
    And who knew what the future would look like...
    
    The alarm clock blared as Fiona stirred from bed. The trip had been long and strenuous, with a hint of jetlag from the incredibly long trip that she and Maebh had taken. Living in the United States had taken a toll on Fiona, and though the past six months living in San Francisco, California were indeed interesting, there was nothing like home sweet home in the North Yorkshire Moors. Besides, Fiona could not tolerate the attitudes and obnoxious behaviors that the Yanks had on her part of being British, with her accent sounding like a novelty to all the people who never traveled farther than the city of Berkeley, California in their lives. Fiona turned on the coffee machine in the kitchen as the familiar scent of breakfast wafted. Maebh had been up since the wee hours of morn--as usual. The smell of sunnyside eggs, sausage and fried potatos made her mouth water, and even Calaxanthre was liking the scent of home cooking. He felt envious that he wasn't in his form to taste the food himself, but at least he'd could taste through Fiona's senses.
    "Good morn to you, Fiona love," said Maebh as she began flipping sausage patties. "How's the leg treating you, dear. Over three centuries and the thing has yet to heal right."
    "And whose fault was that, Madame?" replied Fiona, though she still had not grown to like calling Maebh by that name in all this time. "Plus, at least I can walk at all. When the bloody tree fell on me I couldn't move at all after that. Not even the chiropractor in Leeds could heal it right."
    "Bah, poppycock," replied Maebh. "What does that man know about healing wounds? I've made more headway than man ever did."
    "I'm pretty sure that even alchemical brews have their limits, though," said Fiona.
    "Not to mention that those brews often taste like arse," added Calaxanthre, who spoke through Telepathy. "Would it be too much to ask you to add sugar to those witch teas, Mistress?"
    "No," said Maebh plainly. "Sugar cuts the effect of the potions."
    "So be it."
    "Speaking of witches, I've got a task for you, Fiona."
    "What is it?" responded Fiona.
    "I need you to visit my old friend Magdalynn over in Leeds to ask about a tome for an experiment I want to start, one about the many uses of Mandrake root. Perhaps you could go fetch it for me."
    "Sounds simple enough," said Fiona. "Plus, twould be nice to visit the city for awhile. I haven't been over in Leeds in ages."
    "Well, so long as you don't forget the task at hand, dear," said the witch, "and so long as you don't become too much of a drunkard at a tavern."
    Fiona could only blush. Even after three centuries, she had not given up on her hard drinking.
    The two sat down at the kitchen table to eat, with Fiona bringing the entire pot of Coffee with her to drink. She had grown to love the robust blends she'd sample through her time around the world, and was becoming a major caffeine junkie. If desperate, she'd even eat the raw coffee powder--or raw uncooked coffee beans if bought in bulk--to get her fix. She definitely neededher fix, since last night Calaxanthre went out to play with the house cats and take care of some newly born kittens. She was frequenyly awoken by the sound of meowing and would often have to hide deep within their mind to not be woken too easily.
    After breakfast, Fiona went to her room and got dressed in her usual attire: a black blouse and pair of Daisy dukes denim shorts, which she had grown to like during her stay in the states. Since it was now a frosty autumn, she put on a thin cloak to keep warm. It had been a while away from England, and returning home after such a long time was enjoyable. She even hoped that she would meet up with a special person over in Leeds by the name of Christopher Ariendwyte. Topher, as he was known to her, was a fetching man who lived in Leeds and whom Fiona had been dating for the past ten years. Topher had proposed marriage to Fiona multiple times, but of course there were some rather obvious barriers that kept her from holding up her end of the bargain--namely Calaxanthre. 
    In truth, Fiona was saddened by this. She dearly loved Topher and she honestly wanted to ge married, but her binding made things especially complicated, and even more so her extended lifespan. She was now over three centuries old and she had hardly aged at all, meaning that she would greatly outlive him. Fiona did not feel like living the painful life of a widow for the rest of her life, but at the same time she wanted to enjoy the pleasantries of love. Maebh warned her from the get-go that having a romantic relationship would be awkward, but she also didn't make any efforts to stop her, figuring that even a semi-immortal servant needed love.
    After getting dressed she went to the garage and opened the door to leave. Fiona was going to leave in her beat up but trusty Mini Cooper S, a car that was more british than any other.
    "I still marvel at the sight of these fire machines," said Calaxanthre. "I never, in my time in Egypt or further on the ages, would think that these types of creatures would come of being."
    "Well, that's technology for you, Cal," replied Fiona as she got inside the car.
    "But one thing that never changes is Mistress sending us on these fetch quests," he groaned. "This task feels demeaning, to bring her things like an obedient hound."
    "Come off it, Cal," said Fiona. "I, for one, am glad to leave the Moors for a while. I've been stuck indoors both here and abroad, and I feel like its about time to enjoy the world more. What do you say?"
    "Fine. But its not like I have much choice with you in control, now do I?"
    "No, you don't."
    Fiona sped off and entered onto a small dirt road, the bumps evident as the Mini bounced around and made little hops. But it wasn't long until she at last made it onto a paved asphault road and headed toLeeds. In all honesty, Fiona too was a bit amazed at modern technology, but she figured that Calaxanthre would be more surprised, considering he was alive since the days of Ancient Egypt. She wondered how he lived during those times, since he mentioned that he was born as a ceremony dog during Ancient Times before being turned into a demon during the rise of Christianity. She figured that he had a rough time of it, since he said he lost an eye during an incident with a crocodile and later on died while fending off a hippopotamus.
    In all honesty, Fiona didn't mind so much to share her body with Calaxanthre as she did initially. At first it was rather rough, since he'd often times talk over her and was rather harsh. She at times woke up in the morning covered in scratches and injuries that had not healed fully since they occured. Fiona often had a rather sleepless night, considering how active Cal was and the messes he would get himself in. But it wasn't like she could do much, since Cal was the one in control at night, and all she could do was try inwards to rest what she could.
    Fiona's phone rang as she drove down the street, to which she dug her hand into her purse while--feeling away for the phone while she still kept her eye on the road. She managed to pull out her smart phone without getting into a car crash, but she could hear the growl of Cal as she put the receiver to her face, as though he knew well who it was who was calling.
    "Good morn, Fi," said the voice of Christopher. "I hope you've had a wonderful time over with the blasted americans in California, right."
    "Uh, ta Topher," replied Fiona. "I had a feeling you'd call, since I'm on my way to Leeds. I've been meaning to call you since I arrived back, but been busy with the putting my stuff back."
    "Well what lovely coincidences, eh love?" he began. "Maybe since you're coming over, you'd care to join me to Mass over at Saint John the Baptist's church? I wonder if that'll be the grand place for our wedding, eh?"
    "Again with the matrimony wishes, eh?" 
    Fiona didn't know how to repsond to his invitation to church. With an actual demon living inside of her, Fiona was rather weak to holy places and symbols. She would often recoil at the Sign of The Cross or the Star of David, would feel incredibly uncomfortable upon setting foot in a church, and fall violently ill if she were to ingest sacramental wine and bread. Even touching so much as a bible or getting sprinkled with holy water would cause intense pain. But at the same time, love was a powerful motivator. She;d occasionally forgoe the pain--and the profanity from Calaxanthre--if it meant being with him, but this time she decided to pass.
    "Sorry, Topher darling, but I'll have to decline. I'd love to go and pick out the perfect church for our wedding, but-"
    "Hah! What a load of horse shit," interrupted Cal. "You'll burst into damn flames if you ever take part in a christian wedding."
    "-But, I'm doing an incredibly important errand. Sorry, but I have to pass."
    "Well then, can we at least talk over a pint at Whitelock's Ale House for a wee?"
    "Certainly! I think I'll be done with the chores to meet you there," chirped Fiona.
    "You saucy drunkard," chided Christopher. "Well, I'll meet you at Whitelock's for some stout at fourteen hundred hours, no? I'll be out of mass by then."
    "Right. See you then, dear."
    And with that, Christopher hung up the line.
    "You won't meet him at a church hear the fucking priest repeat the bible, but you'll definitely be there if there's ale to drink till you're flipping piss drunk, huh Fi?" chided Cal.
    "Oh, shut it, you cur," replied Fiona. "You know I'll be hurling into a toilet if I go back to church. You forget what happened to me last year when I went to St. John the Baptist's? Plus, I was doing you a favor by turning down his offer."
    "Oh, how grateful I am that you had to dump your maniacal lover for me," retorted Cal. "I feel so honored that a mortal did something in my steed."
    "Shall I go to church then, you churl?" threatened Fiona.
    The road was rather empty, and so Fiona felt that she could move around the cars more freely, though the occasional lorry made it hard to proceed; most though would often stick to the left lane, as they should so that the faster traffic can move to the right. She finally arrived in the countryside outside of her hometown of York, though nothing remained for her to visit there. Everyone she knew from her days in York were long dead, and a lot of the old buildings from her time were demolished. It was a much different town than what she remembered, so she just went around the large town to her actual desitnation.
    After what felt like a full hour and a half of driving, she finally arrived at Cross Gates, just a few Kilometres away from central Leeds. It was a quiant city with a lot of history, but it certainly was no longer the old place that used to be Fiona's stomping grounds. At least one thing that didn't change much was the ready access to ale, to which she hoped to get a pint of in a bit. She drove down a silent street of to the side, finding an old timey Apothecary and Herbal remedial shop by name of "Magdalynn's Herbal Nutrition". She parked the car off to the side and got out to walk towards the front of the shop. There was a small window with a view of the store inside, and it seemed like an old timey interior with vintage furniture, and when she opened the door with the sound of a bell ringing the smell of herbs wafted up.
    Fiona stepped in, and immediately a creaky voice welcomed her.
    "Ah, Fiona darling!" replied the old lady who was behind the counter. The lady was wearing a formal pink dress and a feather hat, though like Maebh she didn't look terrible old for her actual age. "Maebh has told me everything over the phone. I have the book ready for you."
    "That's wonderful, Miss Magdalynn," replied Fiona.
    She went up to the counter and got the book that the witch brought out title "The Infinite Use of Mandrake."
    "'Ow was the trip to America, Fi?" asked the witch. "I'd be in fitter being around a bunch of americans, much less see what they did and say."
    "It was splenid, Miss Magdalynn. The americans found my accent curious, but they left me alone for the most part."
    "Well, cheers that you still spent a jolly good time over there." But then, the witch felt a sense of dread. "I don't like what the stars have told of late, dear."
    "What did the stars tell to you worry you, madame?" asked Calaxanthre.
    "Ah, Sir Calaxanthre. Forgive me, I had forgotten to address ye," said the healer, much to Cal's pleasure of being called 'sir'. "The stars warn of a reckoning that's to come. I don't think its as serious as Armagedon, but I sense that it is tied to the both of us, Fi."
    Fiona was rather peaked. What could this event be that Magdalynn described?
    "Well, whatever it may be, Miss Magdalynn, I'm not terribly worried. For now, I'm heading to Whitelock's for a pint with some friends."
    "Right. Could be nothing," said the witch, though her body language stilll showed worry. "But I'd still keep an eye out for anything, me lass. I won't be denying the stars outright so far."
    Fiona said her goodbyes and left. Though the warning remained in her head, she carried on to her drive to Commerical Street and the City Centre. She parked her car in a nearby parking lot, paid the toll, and headed into the pub. Being as famous as it was, the place was rather full, though she managed to find an empty stool chair in the front counter. The tavern had been open since the 18th century and had a lot of history and ye olde decore. The decore made Fiona rather torn, since it reminded of her time way back when. She was technically older than the pub where she would have a drink. The bar keep came up to her and asked what she wanted for food and drink, to which she asked for a pint of stout and some fish and chips--a typical british meal.
    Fiona thought back to the warning that Magdalynn gave. The witch was a clairvoyant, though not really a fortune teller. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what will happen, but could give a vivid depiction of the scale and magnitude of the event. It was Magdalynn who predidcted that Fiona would fall madly in love with a man, and here she was waiting for that very gentleman in an aging pub. But the old woman was rarely, if ever, wrong, and Fiona knew to heed her words well. She asked Calaxanthre what he believed in, and what he'd do in this case.
    "In all honesty, I can't but feel that old biddy is pulling our leg," he replied. "But her predictions have been somewhat accurate, like that time she said we were to meet a foul end, and then a dead pheasnt landed on us from being hunted. It's bum landed on our head, so I guess that was a foul end."
    "I see how much you believe in this," noted Fiona to his sarcasm. "But it's something I still can't fully shake off. What if-"
    "Ah Fiona! There you are," said a familiar male voice.
    Fiona turned to look striaght at Topher in a denim jacket and some black slacks. He looked like a dashing lorry driver, his small unkempt beard and locks of brown hair giving a feel of truck driver. She got up and hugged him, kissing him before the two sat down next to each other. In that moment, Fiona received her order of Fish and Chips along with a pint of Imperial Stout beer.
    "I see you've already ordered."
    "Sorry, but I got hungry," responded Fiona. "Anyways, I've got loads to tell you from my trip to the United States."
    Fiona began to recount her stay in San Francisco and all the adventure she had with Maebh. She talked about going south to Disneyland and Seaworld, visiting Alcatraz Island and the Golden Gate bridge, hiking in Yosemite and Death Valley National Parks, and even going to a rock festival in Coachella during summer.
    "Sounds like tons of fun," said Topher. "Too bad I've got a shitload of work, otherwise I'd have gone with you."
    "Well, I had to go because Maebh went, Topher," replied Fiona. "You know that my work has me to go with her whever she goes."
    "Some work you have, Fi," chided Christopher. "Sounds like you're legally bound to do her bidding or something like that."
     Calaxanthre could not help but burst into laughter at the irony, and Fiona could only grimace. If only Topher knew the truth. 
    "Well, I'm just glad you have where to live and a steady job, is all. I say you take a look at some other employment, though."
    "Well, that's what happens when you drop out of Cambridge," joked Fiona. "Work is much harder to come by as a drop out."
    "Like you've every been to Cambridge, you lout," commented Cal.
    "Have you ever thought of going back? I mean, life will be so much better if you went back to study," said Topher. "I guess when we get married you can rely on me for a while, but I suggest you do the things that make you happy, love."
    Fiona was rather torn by this. She never got the chance to do anything in her life, and she would never get the chance. Though she still had plenty of time to study, it wasn't like she could just walk out from servitude with Maebh--she had tried, and failed. Plus, she didn't know how to start. She was in a brand new world, and she didn't know anyone. And the transformations at night into Calaxanthre's form made things even more complicated. If only-
    Fiona began to feel terrible headache suddenly, a pain so bad that it caused her to wince and groan. She rubbed her temple, but it didn't do much.
    "Something wrong, Fi?" said Topher.
    "My 'ead... bugger, I've got a whopping 'eadache, I do." Her ye olde York accent began to slip out from her as she tried to manage the pain.
    "Fiona, something is deathly wrong," said Calaxanthre, though he too seemed to be in pain.
    "What is it, Cal?" she said mentally.
    "Home... we must go home. Mistress Maebh is in danger!"
    The words of Magdalynn rang in Fiona's mind. Whatever was happening, she knew that things were going terribly wrong. She got out from the stool and began to walk away, though not before kissing Chritsopher goodbye.
    "Sorry, Topher, but I got to go. I've got something rather urgent to do."
    "Where do you gotta go so early, Fiona?" complained Christopher. "You just got here."
    "Sorry, dear, but I must. It's very important."
    And with that, she left the ale house.
    Fiona sped off in her Mini Cooper toward the North Yorkshire Moors, but she knew deep down that something was greatly amiss. She felt the pain that Maebh was in even with all he kilometre separating them, and if she died Fiona's life would be forfeit. The prediction from Magdalynn was starting to ring in her head, and even Calaxanthre was forced to admit that there was some truth to what the witch said. The drive was rather long, and felt even longer with the uncomfortable pain that Fiona was in. But when Fiona at last drove to the edge of the Moors, she saw a billowing cloud of smoke climb up from the tree canopy.
    Whatever was going on, Fiona would soon find out as she drove inward. She spoke to Cal these fateful words:
    "Something is wrong, Calaxanthre. Something is gravely wrong..."