Hilda the wicked witch (2 page)

Hilda had sensed the vehicle approach,
unconsciously. There were many good things about being a witch. As
she stepped onto the hard street, her magical instincts kicked in.
Within the blink of an eye her wand was in her hand and spewed a
stream of protection towards the oncoming metal cart, forcing it to
a halt.

Curious, she walked around the cart. It was like
nothing she had ever seen. No horse in front of it, although there
was a sound coming from the front as if there was a wild animal
housed in it. There was one man inside it, eyes closed. Oh, he was
opening them again. She reached the door and tapped the window with
her wand. The window fell apart, glass bits falling into the man's
lap.

"What is this?", she asked him.

"What? This? It is my car. But you should be
dead! There is no way in hell I could have braked in time to avoid
you."

Hilda frowned. "You are one of the men the King
has sent out to find me and kill me? Even here? Damn." Another tap
of the wand made the door fall out of the car and the seatbelt
evaporate. "Get out of your cart, you foe."

The man started shaking. His day had already
started lousing, sleeping too long, having a fight with the wife.
And now this. "Am I still sleeping?", he asked as he clambered out
of the car. "I must be."

Hilda looked up at the man. "Maybe you are.
Maybe you are not." Then she poked the tip of her wand under the
man's chin, pressing harder than needed. "Now speak. Did King
Herald send you after me? Where are your companions? No way he's
sending one man alone!"

Stewart tried to swallow, but the silver stick
made that very difficult. "I know nothing of King Herald, woman. I
am just trying to get to work."

A lone bicycle rider came through the street.
Taking in the strange scene, he stopped. "Hey, someone having a
problem here?", the man asked as he looked at Hilda and her
threatening pose against the man with the damaged car.

"Communtatus rana," Hilda said, swooshing her
wand at the cyclist for a moment. A second later the wand was under
Stewart's chin again, the bicycle dropped to the ground and from
under the helmet crawled a frog.

Stewart saw it happen, his eyes became large.
"What the fuck are you? A witch?"

Hilda frowned. "He didn't tell you? How sloppy."
Annoyed, she withdrew the wand, leaving a white spot in Stewart's
skin. "This is not getting us anywhere, is it? Okay, just tell me
how Lamador got you here and how he'll get you back, then I can go
that way and leave this crazy place."

"Lamador? Who's that? Your King Herald's
brother?" Stewart was sweating from every pore by now, looking at
the frog that was helplessly crawling about, croaking in
despair.

"Lamador, my stupid foe," Hilda said, tapping
his forehead with the wand to emphasise every syllable, "is King
Herald's sorcerer. And if you don't know that, then they erased
your brain well." She then took four long steps away from the car
and the man. "Aaargh... this is so bad!", she then yelled. "This is
total disrespect to the Wicked Witch, sending such amateurs after
me!" She pointed her wand and drew up the charge.

"Deliquesco!" Nothing happened, except for
Stewart holding his breath.

"Damn it... I hate Latin. Fluxum!" Again,
nothing happened. Hilda's face got an expression that was feared by
the ones that knew her. To Stewart it just looked slightly
amusing.

"Dissolve!" A crackle shot to the car from the
wand, making it and the man leaning against it light up for a
moment.

"It's not working, is it?", Stewart now grinned.
His voice still echoed through the street as he and his car turned
liquid and splashed onto the street.

"It works alright," Hilda grumbled. "English
just takes a few seconds longer." She turned towards the bar.
"Right." She walked off, leaving the frog and its bicycle to take
care of their own trouble.

Bluto lay on the bar, singing a sailor's song
that had more profanities in it per line than anyone would deem
possible. Each line seemed to be a strain on his vocal chords, as
he had to take a healthy swig of the bottle in his hand. After
that, a belch sounded as the intro to the next part of the
lyrics.

His bald head was tattooed with hearts and
anchors. His broad shoulders were barely covered with a sleeveless
leather vest of undetermined colour. His mountainous belly was, for
a change, not hanging over his jeans. As he sang, the spurs he had
on his boots scratched new lines in the bar's surface.

Patrick O'Malley, the owner of the
establishment, was still tied up in his corner. He had wished at
least a dozen of times already that he could just faint and not
witness the downfall of his empire.

Bubba had ripped the green cloth from the pool
table and tied that around his neck. "Hey, guys, ain't I looking
like a fuckin' leprechaun king now?", he laughed, emptying the
bottle of beer and then giving it its first and last flying
lesson.

"Hey, ho, leprechaun king, we follow you and we
do our thing," Julius yelled. He had regained consciousness again
after the expression of affection by Bitch. Who counted one more
bump or black spot when supplied with love?

"Oh, how grand. A party. Can I join?"

The sudden sound of a female voice made even
Bluto look up from his comfortable position on the bar. "Well crap
on me," he muttered. "A plaything."

Hilda took in the pathetic state of the bar and
smiled. This was a good place to be. The few people inside made her
heart swell with pride. This was her kind of style, and she admired
their attire.

Bubba, the cloth still around his bull's neck,
walked up to Hilda and looked her up and down. "Welcome, dear
lady," he mocked, making a bow and extending a hand towards the
bar. "Please join us in our celebration."

Hilda felt even better now. People who
recognised her status and paid proper tribute to that. Regally she
nodded and walked past the big man, who smelled like beer and fried
meat.

The gang watched the slender woman with the long
braids walk to a table that was still upright. There were two
chairs next to it that looked safe also, so she selected one and
sat down. "You can bring me some wine," she said to Bluto, who
stared at her from the bar.

Bluto's mental processes, never the fastest,
failed completely now.

"Hey," Bubba roared, "get up and get the lady
some wine!" His eyes sparkled. This was going to be a lot of fun,
he knew, an afternoon and probably also a night of pleasure.

Bluto grunted something inunderstandable and
hoisted himself off the bar. He rummaged through the bottles and
found something that looked appropriate. Then he located one of the
large beerglasses that still was in one piece. He stared at the
cork in the unopened bottle. For a moment he gazed around,
clueless. Then he solved the situation by hitting the top of the
bottle on the bar, glass giving way.

The contents of the bottle was a bit too much
for the glass to hold, so he resolved that by pouring the remains
down his throat. Bluto picked up the glass and marched over to the
table. Slamming down the glass, spilling quite a lot of the wine,
he said: "Here you go." After peering at Bubba, who was looking how
Bluto would handle this, the fat-bellied man added: "Your
majesty."

"Thank you, dear man. Not there, but getting
closer." Hilda patted Bluto on the wrist as if she was petting a
dog. Then she lifted the large glass and drank half of it down in
one go. That earned her a round of cheers from Bubba's group, and
the leader of the pack yelled that Bluto should open another bottle
for her and keep it at the ready.

Bubba then grabbed the other chair, turned it
around and sat on it, his arms folded over the backrest. "So,
sweetcheeks, where did you come from? Care to play with the big
boys, do you?"

Hilda looked the man up and down. "And you
are?"

Bubba looked around, his boys all laughing along
with him. "I'm Bubba. I run this place."

"Bubba..." Hilda sampled the name. "That does
not sound like a name that terrifies people, I must say."

The laughter stopped. Bubba's first. His already
rather unpleasant face worstened by several degrees. "You are about
to piss me off, woman," he said, grabbing Hilda's wrist. "People
here are terrified of me, and with reason. And you should be
too."

"Kindly take your hand off me, before I make
you." Hilda's tone was cold, her eyes, black as night, seemed to
shoot fire.

Bubba let go of her. "One of them psychology
tricksters, right? Let me show you what we do with psychology
tricksters." He rose and towered over her.

As Hilda was looking up at the big man, he
reached down with a speed that was astonishing for a man his size,
grabbed the witch by the arms and tossed her over his shoulder, her
arms squeezed tightly against her body. She could not reach for her
wand and for several moments was helpless and confused about the
sudden change in atmosphere and situation.

Bubba pranced around, with the witch on his
shoulder. The men and the bikerbabes all laughed loudly, cheering
him as he slapped her behind several times with his large free
hand. "Let's give this bitch a lesson," Bubba yelled. The bulge in
his pants made it obvious what kind of lesson he had in mind.

Hilda had found back to herself by then, which
was unfortunate for Bubba. With a simple spell, she changed the
fabric of her pants that covered her behind into a bed of sharp
needles, each one covered with a rather harmless, yet very painful
poison. Its effect was known to last for several days. She braced
for the moment that he would drop her, which only was seconds
away.

Bubba howled as his hand was pierced by the
plenitude of needles. He yanked his hand free and shook Hilda off
his neck. Before the witch hit the ground, she had her floating
spell in place, hovered for several seconds in which she changed
the needles back to denim, and drifted to the floor, feet
first.

"I told you to take your hand off me, you
brute," she hissed, "but you wouldn't listen! I also told you that
I would make you. There's your proof." She flicked her hand, the
wand appeared. "And now you back off against the wall. All of
you."

Bubba missed most of her words, as his brain
became enveloped by the agony in his hand. Rage grew in the few
spare parts that were not yet affected by the pain and with a roar
that would make a caveman shiver, he threw himself at the woman
with the silver stick. His only desire was to crush her, take her
apart and leave her on the floor as an example that no one should
mess with Bubba. Immense was his surprise when he hung in the air,
suspended, not moving. He was trashing about as if he was in water,
but the action only exerted him. When finally he gave up, panting
and still hanging in the air, the rest of the gang decided that it
was about time to assemble near the wall that the grey haired woman
had pointed at.

Hilda patiently waited until the group had moved
itself. She stepped up to the floating man and gave him a gentle
push, making him slowly revolve around and around. He could not
stop the motion. He could do nothing at all, except watch, listen,
be angry, hurt and float.

Then the witch sat down at the table, drank some
more of the wine and looked at the ruffians again. "What am I going
to do with you," she asked them. "I thought I could use you." Her
finger traced rounds over the rim of the glass. "It looks like I
was mistaken, though.

Patrick O'Malley was glad he had not fainted.
From his stool, gagged and bound, he saw how the small woman toyed
with the motorcycle gang as if they were mice. What a story he
would have to tell. Although... who would believe him? Instead of
insurance money, he suddenly thought, there would be a nice room
waiting for him in the psych ward somewhere, with cushioned walls
and therapy.

Bubba was getting sick of the slow rotations
that he was still in. He tried to talk, but found he couldn't. The
witch looked at him. "No. Not now." She smiled a sly smile.

"Who are you? What you want of us?" Julius took
a risk, he knew, but he had to know.

"I am known," the witch said, "as Grimhilda. I
had hopes for you. To help me get back to my own world. A world
that I understand. But this...", she waved her hand across the
room, "tells me that you are not the quality of material I am
searching for. I'm afraid that quality is a word lost on you
altogether." She shook her head, her braids flopping around slowly.
Then she tucked her wand away.

"Go away. Leave me alone. I do not want to see
you again, do you hear? If you cross my path once more, my wrath
will be upon you!" The volume with which she was speaking had
increased to an intolerable level. Everyone except Hilda clamped
their hands over their ears. The bottles that had survived so far,
all burst and splashed their contents to the floor. The echo of her
voice only slowly ebbed away. "Now go. You have disappointed
me."

Bluto was the first one to take some steps
towards the door. He turned and looked at Bubba. "Coming, boss?",
he asked.

Hilda snipped her fingers. A collar appeared
around Bubba's neck, with a rope attached to it, as a leash. "Here.
You can take him," she said as she handed the rope to Bluto.

In depressed silence, the gang left the bar
called O'Malley's, Bubba sailing after them like a giant and angry
balloon.

Hilda sat down at the table again, as if nothing
had happened. She looked at the wine in the beerglass, and then
mumbled: "That should be far enough." She wiggled her nose.

Out in the street Bubba's levitation ended with
a loud thud and an even louder tirade of curses.

Hilda nodded. That was what she had aimed for.
Then she looked around in the dishevelled bar and her gaze rested
on Patrick O'Malley. "You are clearly not one of them," the witch
said, slowly getting up and approaching the shivering man on the
stool. "You're too clean. Too skinny also." Her wand appeared and
Patrick's ties went away just like that.