The Witch and the Hairbrush

by N. S. Howard

Welcome to Elftown, populated by humans, witches and magical creatures, a town that metes out justice to offenders in an unusual manner—corporal punishment in the town square viewed by paid admission.

Beautiful Mijestic lives with her two sisters under her mother’s roof, who takes a stern view of misbehaviour. Lucinda often uses the infamous hairbrush to correct problems, one that Mijestic receives on a regular basis due to her temper and rebellious nature. She and her best friend, a werewolf, often come under the scrutiny of the town police.

On the occasions when she’s broken the law, she is placed in the town square, naked, bound and punished. The Witches Guild forbids witches to be seen in the company of warlocks and when Warlock Lorhan warlock tries seducing Mijestic, she plays a dangerous game to be with the handsome, intriguing man, who has no qualms about placing her over his knee for infractions—like being late for a date. And quite by accident, Mijestic discovers the secret of the town’s existence. Welcome to Elftown.


Chapter One


Mijestic took long strides down the wood plank sidewalk, her high heels making splinters fly with each step. People moved out of her way, recognizing her as a witch. She was not legally allowed to put spells on others without a permit, but there wasn’t any point in risking that technicality. Her entirely black outfit, one of the many Witches’ Guild requirements, identified her as a witch.

In truth, Mijestic didn’t exactly follow the traditional garb for witches. Today, her outfit consisted of stilettos, a mini-skirt with fishnet stockings, lace gloves and a bustier that barely contained her bouncing bosom. Her hat did have a point to it, but it was small with a discrete brim. The black clothes were in contrast to her pale skin, soft blue eyes, and long, fiery red hair. Her youth was also apparent in her maturity, or rather the lack of it. She looked, and acted, like a twenty year old. A twenty-year old brat with a bit of a temper.

She strutted past the window of a brick building, which proclaimed in gold paint and antique lettering, ‘The Government Offices for Permits and Licences’. Just past the window, a wood door stood with an ‘Open’ sign hung in the middle. Mijestic flung open the door and marched past the twin rows of counters standing in the middle of the room. Each counter had paper forms arranged neatly with quill pens secured by strings. She made a straight line for the end of the room where wickets with metal bars separated clerks from the rest of the room.

Paper forms flew in the air as she stormed through. A clerk, dressed in a white shirt and a pinstriped vest, watched her approach and crossed his arms. He was as tall as she was, definitely older looking, but with a calm demeanour. She found his stern face and black hair with grey streaks a bit imposing.

She stopped at his wicket and pointed at a small red blemish on the tip of her nose.

“Do you know what this is?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “It’s an ugly pimple that’s a result of a curse placed on me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That is most unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate!” She began to shout. “I want to know who did this.”

He casually pointed with a finger to a small sign next to wicket that read ‘This office does not tolerate loud, rude or insulting behaviour’.

She looked up at the ceiling, sighed, and lowered her voice. She didn’t want to risk having her name placed before the town Justiciar again for unruly behaviour. “Who filled out the permit to put this curse on me?”

“I regret to inform you that we do not divulge that information.”

Mijestic pounded a fist on the counter. “This is so unfair.”

“I’m sure you’re quite right, madam, but we only process the permits and accept payments for such.”

She spun on her heel and charged out of the office, causing another flurry of paper forms to float in the air.

Mijestic wasn’t sure of her next destination. There were several shops in the town of Elfwind where a person, with the right permit, could have a curse or spell placed. The fees varied, as well as the guarantees for such services. Privacy was assured, although Mijestic knew a bribe, or a threat, could loosen a tongue. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure which shop it would be, if one had been used at all. Even if she took the trouble to purchase a permit, she could cast a spell herself, and there were a good number of magic practitioners who could perform simple spells.

The blemish she woke up with could well disappear on its own, depending on the spell. More likely, she would have to go through the Book of Spells, Potions and Curses to find the correct antidote. What bothered her was that anyone would not think of her in the highest regard, and would actually take the time to put a spell on her. No doubt someone jealous of her good looks, intelligence, good nature and social standing.

She began to walk aimlessly down the sidewalk, trying to think of anyone who didn’t think of her as perfect.

The Witch and the Hairbrush


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