The Naughty Witch - Alana Church - ebook

Evanora needs money. A customer needs a fertility potion. But the sexy witch needs a special ingredient - the seed of a virgin man! And when a handsome, born-again Christian comes by, this naughty witch is going to do everything in her sexy powers to get Thomas into her bed - and more! ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ A Christian wizard. It seemed like a bad joke. But, maybe, after, all, he wasn't quite as unique as he feared. He thought about Newton, the brilliant mind behind The Principia, which had lain the foundations for physics for three centuries, but who had also taught himself Hebrew, so he could better understand the floor plans of the Great Temple in Jerusalem, where he hoped to find hints about the date of the Second Coming of Christ. Or Darwin, whose faith had been so sorely tested while he wrote On the Origin of Species that he had essentially tossed the manuscript into a drawer for over a decade, until Alfred Russel Wallace's work in the Malay Archipelago had pushed him to publish. The hour of sunset passed. Having reached an internal truce with himself, he walked out the back door, still dressed in the robe he had brought to the house, half as a joke. Following Evanora's instructions, he let his robe slip off his shoulders as he walked naked down the narrow flight of steps that led into the pool. He ducked down, submerging his nude body in the water. High in the sky, the waxing moon shone down on him, bathing the yard in a thin, silvery light. Emerging, he threw his head back, dashing water from his eyes, blinking as thin streams ran down his face. And then Evanora came out, and he lost all ability for thought. She was naked, and she strode towards him like a queen, like a goddess, like the perfect female form made flesh. Her legs were long and lean, her stomach flat, the fiery patch of hair at her pubis neatly trimmed. Her breasts, which he had seen in tantalizing glimpses throughout the day, were large, high, and firm, and pointed ever-so-slightly upward. Her eyes, shadowed in the dim light, were wise, and her face was serene  a woman who had seen her Goddess and knew that She approved of her. Slowly, gracefully, she stepped down into the pool. When her eyes caught and held his, it was all he could do to hold back an involuntary flinch. There was power there. Power enough to send him reeling, untrained as he was. "Thomas Oberon Winkler. Is it your wish to undergo training as a wizard, to be my apprentice, and to give yourself to the service of the Light?" He swallowed. "It is, Mistress." "By what do you swear?" "By my power. And by my name." She nodded. He lowered his eyes as she cupped her hands, raised them, and poured the gathered water over his head. "Be thou shriven. "Be thou bound. "Be thou sanctified. "Be thou baptized. "Be thou courageous, and honorable, and strong." As the fifth double handful of water trickled away, Thomas blinked, clearing his eyes. All through the ceremony, he had felt the air around them tensing, growing charged as with electricity before a thunderstorm. But the air was still warm and dry, the skies above still clear. He looked at Evanora, and knew that she felt it, too. Her eyes were wide and wild as she gazed at him, her pupils dilated. "Be thou my lover," she whispered, and Thomas saw, to his startlement, that he was erect, only a hairs-width from the pale belly of his mistress. Who put her hands on his shoulders, drew his head down, and kissed him with a skill and passion he could scarcely believe.

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The Naughty Witch

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2018 Alana Church

~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

Modern technology, Evanora Laggan thought resentfully, as her cell phone rang, can be a curse.

She stared at the pile of ingredients piled haphazardly on her kitchen counter, then at her cauldron, which was just coming to a boil.

“Ishtar curse it,” she sighed, then snapped off the heat on the stove with a flick of her wrist. The potion would have to wait. “Evanora Laggan,” she said, answering her phone. “How can I help you?”

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line was female, with a nervous hesitancy which Evanora was used to. When women finally screwed up the courage to call her or to come to her office, it still seemed to take them forever to finally come to the damned point. “Is this Evanora?”

“It is,” she said, keeping her voice friendly and cheerful, while she dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “How can I help you?”

“My name is…well, I saw your ad online,” the voice rambled on. A woman a few years younger than herself, Evanora thought, with a touch of class. She could picture her, an ex-cheerleader with a college degree, in a big house or a tastefully-decorated condo, with all the trappings of the upper class around her. “And…I have to ask. Are you for real?”

“I am a practicing witch,” she replied calmly, suppressing the urge to bite the woman’s head off. Really, Evanora, she chided herself. You need to get laid and work off some of this nervous energy. “My ad lists the services I provide. Which of them are you interested in?”

“Well…” there was a long pause as the woman obviously gathered her courage. “There’s this guy.”

“I don’t do love potions,” she said sharply. “I don’t do anything that takes away someone’s free will.” If another witch even got a hint that she was misusing her powers in such a way, she would find herself stripped of her rank and kicked out of the coven.

“No, no,” the woman said hastily. “Nothing like that! We…we’re in love already. And we’ve been trying to have a baby.”

“Congratulations. So what’s the problem?”

“Mike’s…he’s…he’s having some…trouble.”

“He’s impotent? I can probably help with that.”

“Oh, no. Not impotent. He doesn’t have any trouble there.” A hint of a throaty giggle.

A light dawned, though Evanora was getting tired of supplying more than half of the conversation. “He’s infertile.”

“Yes. I mean, we’ve been trying for months and months. We went to a clinic, and they say there isn’t anything wrong with his…his insides or his sperm count or anything like that. We should be able to make a baby together. But we can’t.” A quaver entered the cultured voice. “We’ve been trying so hard, and we want one so bad. So when I saw your ad online, I thought I could call you. I mean, how could it hurt?”

It could hurt you quite a bit, Evanora thought. She kept her mouth shut though, not wishing to frighten the woman with the unpleasant prices that witches who disdained ethics or morality could extract from innocent and incautious mortals.

Sleeping Beauty, she recalled, had got off easy.

“So you’re looking for a fertility potion,” she said, relieved.

“Yes. Ummm…how much will it cost?”

Your firstborn child. Your husband’s love. A year of your memories. She shivered, fighting back the dark urges within her. “This is a tricky one. It’s going to take a lot of work. With so many alternate methods, thanks to modern science, we don’t get called on for fertility potions that much anymore.” She debated in her head, weighing her financial needs against her desire to help. “Five thousand dollars.”

“Done.” At the instant agreement, with no hesitation or haggling, Evanora felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She probably could have charged twice that. “But I pay half up front, when you deliver the potion. You get the other half when I have a positive pregnancy test.” Ahint of hardness entered the well-modulated voice. “And if I find out you’re trying to slip me a placebo, I’ll take you to court, Miss Laggan.”

“Agreed.” Despite the financial loss, she was pleased to see that the woman was no fool. “Give me a week. Can I reach you at this number?”

“Yes.” A hesitation on the other end of the line. “Will it really take that long?”

“It could take longer,” she warned. “This is magic. And when you talk about a fertility potion, you’re talking about one of the fundamental powers of the universe. I will be trying to help you create a life. This isn’t something you can put together with some crystals, a candle, and a trip to Walmart or Hot Topic.”

“All right.” From the disappointed sound in her voice, Evanora knew that the woman was hoping to drive over right away and have her boyfriend chug the potion down on the spot. Probably had him beside her, hanging on every word she said.

“What’s your name, please? So I know who to ask for when the potion is ready?”

“Oh!” An embarrassed laugh. “I never introduced myself, did I? My name is Marian. Marian Oxford.”

“All right, Miss Oxford. Give me your e-mail address, so I’ll be able to send you an update and let you know about my progress.”

Five thousand dollars, she thought as she hung up the phone. It was a gift from the Goddess, despite the nagging suspicion she could have charged more. The other members of the coven had thought she was crazy when she broke her cover, actually daring to advertise her services as Chicago’s only openly practicing witch. Half of them had predicted that she’d be hounded out of town. The other half thought that she would go broke, since mundane humans wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between her and hundreds of fakes and charlatans who claimed powers they didn’t have.

Neither had happened, yet. Somehow, between word of mouth and the monthly retainer she received from a couple of corporations who thought it might be a good idea to have Chicago’s only practicing witch on call, she was able to get by. Unlike many of her sisters in the coven, she didn’t have to moonlight as a waitress, or swallow her pride and get a booth at a renaissance fair, playing a role in front of hordes of humans who had been raised to see witches as something out of Harry Potter.

She shook her head as she walked into the small room which served as her study. A bookshelf stood against the far wall, jammed to overflowing. She ignored it, moving instead to a heavy wooden chest shoved in a corner. Lifting the lid, she pulled out a heavy book bound in dark leather.

She caressed the black letters, burned into the front cover. A Grammarye of Spells for the Moderne Witch.

The pages were thick parchment, but old and brittle with age. She bit her lip as she turned them carefully, her eyes rapidly scanning over the firm, clean lines of script. The spelling was atrocious, by modern standards, and the grammar practically non-existent. But the instructions were as clear as the summer sky. Getting the spellbook had cost her far more than what she had wanted to pay. But in the absence of, for example, a captive spirit of intellect who could remember all her potions for her, this was the next best choice. There were hundreds of spells and potions in the book, all accurate and uncorrupted by time.

There. Her eyes lit on the heading. A Philtre to Maeke a Man’s Seed Stronge, for the Baring of Children. She closed the tome on her finger and carried it back into the kitchen.

Now. How many ingredients do I have, she thought. And what will I need to acquire? Every potion carried similar characteristics. But potions designed for different results varied wildly. One used for swiftness, for example, would bear little resemblance to one designed to make the drinker invisible. But all of them used the same basic building blocks. A liquid base, then an ingredient for each of the five senses, plus one for the mind. And then the catalyst, some important ingredient which gave it its potency, along with the skill and power of the witch or wizard who was creating it.

On first glance, it didn’t seem too bad. Milk as the base was completely logical. A liquid designed for the nourishment of baby calves, and used by humans all over the world. For sight, green leaves, the color of fertility, carefully shredded. For sound, the laughter of a child. She made a mental note to go to the nearby park to capture one of those. For smell, the spell called for the scent of a child’s skin, but she thought trying to obtain that would be too dangerous. Mothers were so distrusting these days. And not without reason. She jotted down talcum powder as a possible alternative, repressing a wicked urge to replace it with the smell of a freshly-soiled diaper. For taste, she cut out mother’s milk with a shake of her head, and replaced it with baby formula instead. For touch, the fibers of a soft blanket, which could be wrapped around a sleeping child. And for the mind, a birth announcement, burned and crumbled into the potion.

Well, that seems fairly straightforward, she thought. Now, if the catalyst to give the potion its potency was something simple…

But it wasn’t. She gaped at the old book of spells, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“The seed of a manne who has never lain with a woman. For it has Power.”

A virgin. I have to find a virgin and somehow convince him to…to…

To jack off into a test tube, if all else fails. Why so squeamish, Evanora?