**Contains Mature content**
Spell of a Woman
Life had once been defined by linears and absolutes. That all changed when magic returned to the world. I’m not talking about card tricks magic. I mean fireballs, lightning, and the accursed illusions of witches.
In the midst of the social chaos that followed, the city formed the Metropolitan Magic Control Department (MMCD) to keep magical creatures from disrupting modern life. That’s where I came in. I seek out witches and prosecute the wicked.
“She’s dangerous!” bellowed bristle-haired Mr. Powell. He adjusted his carpenter’s tool belt. “All them witches are!”
“We’re scared!” shrieked the portly Mrs. Blausch in her pink house slippers.
Looking through binoculars at the suspect’s house, I saw vibrant colors with flowers and trees growing everywhere. “Her house looks nice.”
“Don’t be fooled by that illusion, Detective,” said Blausch. “Sometimes she drops it, and we see it’s true form. It’s full of dead trees and bones lay everywhere.”
“Folks, it isn’t against the law to be a witch.”
“What about this?” said Powell, holding up a toad. “Poor Billy Watkins. He was going to college!”
I looked carefully into the eyes of Blausch and Powell. I said, “Alright, I’ll check it out.”
The colors of everything around her house were brilliant. I saw a bright blue water pump before her vivid orange wall beside impossibly green grass. Flowers bloomed from every plant in a riot of color. I knocked on the door, and she opened it immediately. Bright red hair hung in curls to her waist, framing a heart-shaped face of perfect, porcelain skin. Her lips were like the bloom of a rose and her eyes were like sapphires. “Come in Detective Duncan,” she said, and walked away from the door, hips swaying gently.
Oh, she was a powerful witch alright. Could someone be so sultry, so perfect, without magical assistance? I knew I was in danger of falling to a powerful spell. Undeterred, I entered her house anyway. “Afternoon, Miss Anders.”
She spoke confidently, like a woman in control. “Call me, Heather.”
“Heather. I’m investigating the disappearance of Billy Watkins.”
She leaned against the wall, hips thrust forward. She spread her legs slightly and lifted her dress, exposing herself. “Perhaps you’ll find him here.”
This is how they get you. A spell alone isn’t enough to really hook someone. The release of human desire is the final spell component. Even knowing this, I couldn’t help myself, and I fell to my knees before her, drinking in the Honeysuckle and Pine scent of her. She held my hair, pulling me to her as she moaned. She had me, and I didn’t care.
I zipped up my pants and sat at her table with settings for coffee. As she collected the coffee pot in the kitchen, I squirted buttermilk from my bottle into the creamer. Common Buttermilk has the effect of temporarily canceling a witch’s powers. All MMCD officers keep some handy. Spell or not, I could still think.
She poured the coffee and mixed some creamer in. She took a sip and spluttered. She coughed and gagged. As I watched her reactions, I pulled my cell phone and called the station.
“Did you shoot her?” said Powell.
“Is she dead?” said Blausch.
As police officers gathered, I said, “No, but I know what happened.” Without warning, I squirted buttermilk into their faces. They spluttered and their illusions dropped immediately. The two withered and leathery hags dropped to their knees and officers placed them in handcuffs. I picked up the toad and handed it to another officer. “Take Mr. Watkins to the Spell Reversals.”
“I can see through illusions. I’m a witch,” I said.
“So you knew about them right away,” said Heather, gratefully drinking coffee sans buttermilk.
“Yep. But witches aren’t illegal. I still needed to investigate you. I realized immediately you can’t cast transmutation spells.” I paused. “How did you know I’d come?”
“Friends in the department. They arranged it.”
Her eyes were moist. “I saw you once. I fell for you…hard.”
“You were pretty forward.”
She looked away shyly. “The attraction is, overwhelming.”
“When I saw you, I felt the same.”
“Then why the buttermilk in my coffee?” She poked me. “It tasted awful!”
“I could tell you were a powerful witch and you’re so, amazing, to me. I had to be sure that feeling was real. Not attraction via magic.”
I took her hand, and kissed it. “It was a spell alright, but not magic. It was the Spell of a Woman.”
Every week, The Speakeasy draws writers from everywhere to compete for the best flash fiction (750 words max) by popular vote. This week, the prompt requires the story begins with the sentence, “Life had once been defined by linears and absolutes,” and must include a reference to the image below. Join us and write for fun and badges on your blog here: http://www.yeahwrite.me/speakeasy/151-open/