The Black Cat Coven

Pumpkins Patches:

The Black Cat Coven

by Jess Faulks

"Pumpkin Patches" are standalone stories in the "Pairs of Pumpkins" Universe, a fantasy world of mystery and magic, lived in by anthropomorphic animal folk. They exist in the same world but are independent of the episodes and continuity of that series.

"Patches" stories introduce and follow other characters in the world, who may have some secondary or tertiary connection to the cast and events of the central "Pairs of Pumpkins" plotline, but have yet to intersect with it.

Each is its own, self-contained story, and there is no required order or dependency on the other "Patches" stories.

No homework is required before reading!

Some stories in this series are sexy fantasy or even taboo erotica, but "The Black Cat Coven" is a fairy tale with no major violent or sexual content, beyond an especially curvy protagonist and a handsy kitten.

Consider it rated for Teens and older.

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in an insufferably hot swamp of ancient, towering trees and mossy marshes and built on ground barely hard enough to support a hut, there lived a coven of witches, their children, and many, many pets: black cats, every one of them. Through their village flowed a flood of feral felines who walked on four feet in every corner of the community, with purrs and meows. They were well-fed, cared for, and oblivious to the grander concerns of the world.

Among those feral felines lived a few hundred of their arguably more evolved Folk counterparts, who stood upright on two legs and walked on both their heels and their toes. These feline folk were blessed with opposable thumbs and vocal chords. They would use that gift of speech in their spooky songs, stories and magic, but more often to gossip and complain.

Of the population of black cats that could speak and walk on two legs, the only adolescents and adults in the community were female. The only male folk were under the age of twelve. The community was for witches, their acolytes, children and ferals, as long as they were black-furred felines.

At least until a decade ago, when a robed raccoon wizard from a faraway land visited this homogenous community, and presented them a white-furred fox kit with messy, auburn hair.

"I gift you this daughter. This little fox is potent of blood and wily of heart. She belongs among those who can teach her discipline and focus. Raise her in your mystical ways. She's sharp as a tack, and she'll be the best of you!" he said before disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

Surrounded by the coven and the legion of ferals gathered between their feet, the head witch, Selene, stood with a restrained cough, and waved her hand to dissipate the cloud he left in his wake. She was a gaunt and graceful middle-aged woman, practically a skeleton, with only one golden eye and an eyepatch over the other, with long, curly, peppered grey hair down to her waist.

Selene picked up the child at arm's length and looked it over, then back to where the raccoon once stood.

"You're not the boss of us, raccoon man," she hissed and set down the kit, who only giggled. "Perhaps we shall eat the child?"

They did not eat the child, but in the years that followed, they didn't offer a life much better than that.

The commune of black cats raised the white fox in their witchy ways, perhaps out of some unspoken obligation, perhaps in hopes of a wizard owing them a favor, or perhaps Selene knew something the rest of them didn't. One didn't become the leader of a witch's coven for knowing only the same things as everyone else.

The coven raised her as a witch, with an education in mixing potions, and spells of scrying and seeing. But the young vulpine, whom the raccoon called "Wendaline" and insisted that must remain her name, was not one of them, and they reminded her at every opportunity.

"You're not a cat, and you'll never be one."

"You could never hide in the night with that fur!"

"A fox is nothing more than a dog that aspires to be a cat."

Even the feral cats who roamed the village stayed away from her, and while other girls her age already found their familiars, Wendaline was alone.

As if being a white fox surrounded by black cats wasn't cruel enough, the very air would remind her she didn't belong there, and she would cook in her own dander, most of the year round.

Puberty hit Wendaline like a curse. While her feline peers grew tall and sleek, she grew more out than up until her black robes hung off her like she was hiding a pair of pumpkins beneath them. Her rump was almost big enough to counterbalance her chest, with hips too wide for the arms of some chairs.

The extra mass was all the more insulation and weight to carry in the sweltering heat and humidity, and the poor vixen would sweat and shed like none of the other girls, needing to both bathe and hydrate much more often than any of the felines.

The raccoon's magic was questioned on the regular as the young vixen matured into an awkward, abundant and sometimes smelly hourglass.

"Will this fat little fox ever stop growing?"

"I swear, she's even bigger than yesterday!"

"We'll be rolling you around before long!"And as if being the only white fox among black cats, an arctic fox in a sweltering swamp, and the only voluptuous teen among a community of slinky felines still wasn't enough for her to not fit in, Wendaline discovered that not everything she heard from the people in her vicinity, were things they meant to say aloud.

Yet, she could hear it just the same, and the unfiltered words were even worse.

It was not any magic she'd been taught, and she could not remember when it started, only when she noticed. At first, she could not tell between words and thoughts until she saw a mouth move but in time, she'd learned to hear the difference: words were subject to acoustics, echoes, wind and other irregularities. Thoughts sounded like a small room, even when they were quiet and further away.

She knew what all of them thought of her.

All but the head witch, Selene and the six others in her inner council. Those seven elders only spoke when their mouths were moving.

"You don't belong here, Wendaline." It was the only private conversation she'd had with Selene. It was the night of her birthday when she was still a child, but old enough to understand. "We will raise you as we were asked to do. Perhaps someday, you will find your tribe. But you are not one of us."

Despite her daily suffering, there was some levity in knowing everyone's opinion, even when not a single witch in town liked her. None of them bothered to get to know her. She decided there was nothing she could do but make the best of it. Learn what she could learn until she was old enough to make her own way in the world.

"Someday, I'll find my own tribe," she would tell herself every time it got hard for her.

While none of the witches were kind, two old hags of skin and bones, twin sisters Henna and Hilda, said and thought especially cruel things:

"I'd love to just kick her! Really, really hard!"

"If we tried to drown her, would she float or sink?"

"I want to push her into the mud! Off a cliff! But into mud!"

"She's such a plump little pig. We should roast her on a spit and eat her! With a nice, juicy apple in her mouth!"

Wendaline did her best to avoid them, but that was difficult in such a small community.

One twin was a bit dim and simple in her violence, pushing and tripping her at every opportunity. The other was quite sadistic in her thoughts, but they looked identical. Even their inner monologues had the same voice. She could never tell the two apart, except by the quality of their vocabulary and the creativity of their cruelty.

The twins had a single magic broom they shared between the two of them, static until commanded. It seemed their favorite command was for it to torment the vixen when no one else was looking, and it did so often. She'd been smacked in the face by it after rounding blind corners and tripped by it most every time it rained.

Once it had launched at speed, pointed tip first, right into her stomach, then it flew itself home to their house. Odd as it was to personify a broom, it executed its tasks matter-of-factly, and without gloating or taunting. It was unlike the cruelty that Henna and Hilda would deliver personally.

Without a trusted mentor and not wanting to risk becoming any more of an anomaly, she decided it would be safest to keep this ability to herself and silently tolerate every opinion of everyone around her.

Through the challenge of reaching things she'd developed within the last few years, she discovered a second, secret gift: by focusing on a single small and light object at a time, she could move it with her mind, as a distance beyond her reach. It was easiest to do if she gestured with her arms and fingers, but she could perform simple movements just by staring at a thing. With her eyes closed, it was only an unfocused projection of force, with little practical value.

The young vixen's mantra and her special gifts were her light in the darkness, and she convinced herself a great future lay in wait for her. She was special, and the raccoon had brought her here for a reason. All she had to do was survive until adulthood without being drowned or eaten.

And so she spent much of her time alone, in a sad little mud hut she'd built herself, with a straw roof and plain, extra thick walls to provide some relief from the heat. Cozy as it was, even the feral felines who made themselves at home anywhere and everywhere they pleased stayed away from her hut.

All the witch songs were melancholy at best and macabre at worse, so she would invent her own cheerful tunes to hum, while crafting potions at her bench, training and testing the limits of her ability to lift and move things, and sitting on the floor with a chipped and cloudy, second-hand crystal ball, looking elsewhere for a better life.

Chapter 2

Wendaline was strict and attentive to her duties as a student and member of the community, to not give anyone more reason to dislike her. Without causing trouble and always showing up on time, there was seldom cause for anyone to interrupt her.

Still, she had arranged the hut so that her back was never to the door. A curtain of hanging bells provided an extra layer of protection from being caught using her powers.

One day, she was sitting at her bench, wearing her plain, black robe, and her shoulder-length, auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail to stay out of her face. Dripping sweat as usual, she was testing different combinations of cruelty-free potion ingredients when the curtain of her hut jingled. The vial that had been floating mid-air zipped into her hand before she turned to find that a feral, black and mostly mature kitten had wandered in, a ripped piece of paper in its mouth.

Its tail lifted straight into the air upon seeing her. "Sticks! What a rack!"

Wendaline craned her head aside. Feral cats didn't think in common tongue, with words and phrases. Ferals thought in feelings and needs, with a fidelity that varied by species. She sensed that too, but only in the broad strokes.

Something was quite odd with this cat! She stared for a long moment until it craned its head. Was this a spy? A trick? Or had her familiar finally found her? Whatever it was, it couldn't know what she could do.

"Well, hello there, little kitty."She stood and walked over, then squatted down. The cat rose onto its hind legs, planting paws on her breasts, the paper rustling over her cleavage.

"Sticks, I wish I had hands right now!"

The cat, it seemed, was not only intelligent but spoke with the inner voice of a teenage male. And like every last upright male she'd been told of, it was also a pervert.

Taking its paws between her fingers, she gently set them back on the ground, then took the paper from its mouth.

It was a potion recipe, one she hadn't seen before. Both the paper and the writing looked quite new. "An Elixer of Permanent Charisma," it read. "Are you an outcast? Be adored by your community, even loved with this unique recipe."

"Is she going to go for it?" the cat thought, pushing its paws against the front of her black robe again, kneading one paw then the other.

A thinking, perverted cat? A potion to make people like her? Someone really did think she was stupid. Still, she read down the list of ingredients, all of which she had on her workbench. All but one: the clipping of a black cat's claw.

"Well, that's a common ingredient around here."

In fact, the biggest obstacle to Wendaline's proficiency with potions was her hesitation to use the ones that required cruelty, either in sourcing ingredients or testing on animals. The second biggest was how much her chest got in the way of fine manipulation.

But this recipe was easy.

She looked between the paper and the kitten before lifting him onto her shoulders.

"What a view!" He dipped his head towards her cleavage. "Maybe being a cat isn't so bad!"

What a strange thing for a feral to think! Shouldn't a feral cat be attracted to others like him?

"Okay, let's make the potion that makes people like me," she said and rubbed her hands together, playing along. "Finally, the other witches will accept me!"She tried not to laugh as she spoke, needing to act like she meant it. Someone sent this kitten with this recipe, thinking this must be what she wanted. She would need to stay alert.

"I wonder where this page came from? What a curious thing for a feline to find."

The vixen reached for tiny jars on a rack of ingredients, things she would normally fetch with her mind. Glass rattled as she bumped other jars with her chest, a grumble of a curse escaping her muzzle.

"She's actually going to make the potion!" the cat thought. "I wonder what it does."

What an incredibly suspicious thing for the suspiciously intelligent feline to think. Which witch had sent him?

"I wonder if this came from Henna or Hilda's spell book. Nobody likes them either," she mused aloud.

The cat thought nothing about that. Perhaps he didn't know their names? She brought the ingredients to her workbench, then fetched a fresh glass tube the size of her finger with a matching cork stopper, and a decanter for mixing and measuring. Finally, she grabbed a jar of salt and opened it before returning to her workbench.

"That wasn't on the list," the cat thought. "I wonder what it's for?"

The vixen set down the jar of salt before she sat, only to knock it over with her chest and spill it. "Gosh, I'm such a klutz!" she lamented aloud before scooting down the table instead of cleaning it up.

"I'll get it later. Now, let's see..." She looked over the recipe again.

"C'mon foxy. We haven't got all night."

Was there some urgency?

"Hmmmm, maybe I should just do this tomorrow. I could use a nap."

"No! It has to be tonight!" The cat recoiled, appalled at her suggestion and jumped off and onto the table, tapping the recipe with its paw.

"Gosh, you're smart. Did I finally find my familiar?"

"Sure foxy. Whatever you say."

"I guess I'll get to work."

Wendaline measured and mixed, narrating as she did. The cat remained captivated by her cleavage rising and falling with her slight movements against the edge of the table. There were no adult men in the camp except for the occasional captives or rare lost adventurers, but she knew these were thoughts she should expect from men and older boys. Certainly not feral cats.

She reached over to pet him now and then. "This isn't so bad! I hope whatever this potion does, it doesn't change how she looks!"

Behind him, the line of salt crept from its spilled pile, a white line she pushed with her mind, creeping just beyond the length of his tail to encircle him, a little at a time. Its golden eyes latched onto her chest, having him practically hypnotized.

With all the ingredients mixed in but one, she fetched a pair of scissors and took his paw. "I'll need one of these."The cat recoiled with a screech, pulling it away."Nono, just the tip of a claw!" she assured, and he reluctantly presented it. She brought the scissors to his longest claw.

"Please don't hurt, please don't hurt..."

"I'll try..." Sticking out her tongue to concentrate, the vixen was careful to only get the end before clipping. The kitten sighed in relief and opened his eyes.

Wendaline dropped the claw into the potion, completing the ingredients, then reached over to the pile of salt and took a handful. He opened his eyes just as she let it drizzle from her fingertips, closing the circle around him.

The cat looked down, not sure what had just happened until he tried to step away but couldn't. His head, paws and tail could reach past the ring but attempting to step out failed, as if any ground beyond it deflected his touch. He tried to jump next, but only went straight up, as if inside a glass tube."MREOW!?"He looked at the ring around him, then up to her, gold eyes wide with realization. His tail swished with agitation, and he paced in a circle with a loud "meow!"

She folded her elbows on the bench top and leaned in. "Okay, you little pervert: you're trapped in there until I let you out. So talk."

"What am I supposed to say to that? Do you speak cat, lady? Meow?"

"As a matter of fact, I DO speak cat!"

He straightened out and tilted his head.

"She understands me?!"

"I understand you," she said with a nod. "Do you understand that I'm not going to drink this potion? Or that I'm not falling for this ridiculous setup?"

"She can read my mind!?" His eyes fell back to her chest. "She knows I was..."

"Oh, I know," she interrupted and nudged his muzzle back up to look in her eyes. "Now, tell me who sent you."

"You have to help me, foxy! A pair of witches turned me into a feral and said I needed to bring you this recipe. I was supposed to report back if you didn't drink it. They didn't say what it does, but they told me I'd never be a boy again unless I did what they said. I only have until sunrise before I'll forget who I am and stay a feral forever."

"You were folk? A boy from the village?"

The kitten nodded, his tail lifting again. "Not much younger than you! I've seen you around."

Wendaline narrowed her eyes. "If you help me, I'll do what I can to turn you back."

The cat nodded twice, a curious gesture to see a feral do.

"I'm going to ask you some questions. Blink once for yes, two for no. If you lie, I'll pluck a whisker out. Do you understand?"

The cat nodded again.

"Think of your own name."

"My name is Ash."

"Okay, Ash. Let's start with the obvious: this potion isn't going to make people like me, is it?"

He didn't blink, as he did not know.

"Fine. Well, I don't care if these people don't like me. Of course, they'd think I do. So they wrote this and said to bring it to me?"

One blink.

"The two witches: were they identical twins?"

One blink.

The vixen turned to the potion, sitting unstirred with the tiny claw tip at the bottom. "I guess I should've trapped you before I made the potion, but at least it didn't explode. And nothing in here is poisonous... What do you think, Ash? Do you want to try it?"

Wendaline offered him the vial, and the cat recoiled with a screech.

She relaxed back into her chair with a smile. "Well, there's only one pair of twin sisters in town. I think I need a double dose."

Ash watched as Wendaline repeated the recipe in a second vial. "Eyes up here, Ash," she chastised only twice, but he behaved once he realized that she knew the moment he thought anything else.

The young vixen listened to his silent worries as she focused on the work. He wondered if he'd ever see his mother, siblings, or friends again. As more time passed, he considered what life as a cat would be, and what it would be like to lose himself. Perhaps it would not be so bad, he thought. This time it wasn't him being perverted but being sad. Listening to his thoughts and musings as she worked, she soon realized the life of a boy in a village in a town of witches, without any family and with his friends sent away as they grew older, might be as lonely as hers. At least, his life was, and she reached over to pet him.

The second potion was much faster to prepare, and she took a second clipping from his claws to complete it. Ash offered his paw willingly now but still looked away.

With both potions complete, she scooted out from the bench and back to her ingredients shelf.

"Now what's she doing?" He thought, and she turned to answer, waving one more small jar.

"These potions are going to have a strong taste, but we can hide that with this!"

"More magic?" the cat thought.

Wendaline shook her head. "Cayenne pepper!"

She didn't bother to sit, scooping a teaspoon of the red powder into each potion, then corking them and giving them a swirl and a gentle shake. "You never know when they're volatile!"

Out in the village, the dinner bell rang. "Perfect timing! Let's clean this up later."

Wendaline stuffed one potion into a pouch on her belt, then the other next to it, but the glass rattled as she moved.

"That's not very secure," she declared and took one of the vials. With a shrug, she shoved it down into her cleavage, deep enough to be out of sight.

Hanging from the wall was a leather satchel for collecting ingredients in, and she fetched it. A hand dug in to open it as she approached the table.

"No funny business, Ash. I'm not the one who turned you into a cat but I'm going to buckle it from the outside. You stay still until I let you out. Understood?"

The cat nodded.

"Oh, and one more thing: if you hear me say the word 'kittypaws' I want you to come out and make as much chaos as you can! You help me, and I'll help you. Deal?"

The cat nodded again before Wendaline focused, lifting him in the air with her mind. He squirmed at first, twisting as if falling in place while he drifted over to the bag.

"Sticks, how is she doing that?!"

"I'm a special witch," she said with a wink.

He relaxed before she set him inside and buckled it shut, then folded the recipe up and put it in the satchel's smaller, outer pocket.

"Okay, Ash. It's time for dinner."

Chapter 3

Out in the village square, the dinner line was long, a row of female black cats in black robes lined up for a cauldron of stew. The grown-up witches were served first, then the teen acolytes like her, and last, the little boys and girls of the village.

Wendaline waited in the acolyte line and noticed Henna and Hilda carrying their mismatched porcelain bowls away from the square. Most of the witches ate together, but these two did not.

When they saw the young fox, they glared at her in unison.

"That darn fox didn't take the potion yet!" one of them thought.

"We should've just prepared it for her," the other one whispered. "I doubt she can move her arms enough to do it right."

The pair retired to their home, out of her sight of the center square where dinner was served, but she knew where they lived. Wendaline waited her turn for her food to be served in a bowl made from half a gourd, then carried it straight to Henna and Hilda's.

On arrival, she gave a single knock on the door before opening it and stepping inside. Their hut was several times bigger than hers, with nice plaster walls and wood framing, and a massive stone hearth on the far side of the room.

The interior was cluttered and lived in, with a massive rack of peculiar flora and fauna in jars as potion ingredients, and another shelf of empty jars for future ones. Among all the functional things, the walls, and shelves bore decorations: paintings, curios, and knickknacks with no obvious purpose.

Near the fireplace were stacks of cages and wicker baskets, of varying sizes and shapes. Many of the ones she could see through were empty, but there were a few assorted birds of different brilliant colors, a small dog, an iguana, and a couple of black cats. There were other baskets like these around the village, used for holding smaller and harder-to contain animals, like rodents, newts, snakes, and others for ingredients and experimentation.

Wendaline frowned with a sinking heart. Above the smell of the stew and the hearth, she sensed them like a dull orchestra, each species a different instrumentation but all with some timbre of sadness and fear.

Scanning the room, there were two more animals outside of cages: the twin's familiars. One was a crow sitting on a hanging perch and a particularly ugly, feral black cat with a flat face in front of the hearth, breathing with some difficulty.

Along one of the few bare walls, the dreaded broom lay dormant on a pair of diagonal hooks. Wendaline tensed and scowled at it before turning away.

The twins sat at a small, round table for four, but the two vacant chairs had not moved in some time. Pushed out and used as storage space, they were stacked to nearly the height of the table with books and loose pages.

"Sorry to interrupt!" the vixen said as she walked in, and the two witches jumped from their seats.

The crow squawked its displeasure, and the flat-faced cat hissed.

"What are you doing here!?" one of them barked, seated closer to the window than the other. She could never tell them apart until they started to insult her.

"Are there any manners in that fat little fox head of yours?!" the other one snarled.

"I'm really sorry." Wendaline shrank and shrugged as she approached the table. "I thought you heard me knock! This strange cat showed up in my tent, and it seems it ripped a page from one of your potion books. I thought you would want it back."

Carrying her half-gourd dinner bowl in one hand, she scanned over the two porcelain dishes before the twins, their stew still hot and steaming. Clean, silver spoons were next to both of them. Dinner was always served quite hot and they were letting it cool.

Her free hand reached into the satchel's outer pocket, feeling for the page. Fishing blindly, she felt Ash squirm, but her robe hung loose enough to hide it. Producing the folded paper, she stepped up and offered it to them.

"I've never seen that page before in my life!" The one by the window said. "But it says it's for charisma. Maybe it's a potion to make you less ugly and fat! And less stupid and ugly!"

"How'd she know it was us?!" she thought.

"I don't think that's what charisma means..." Wendaline mused.

"What makes you think it's ours?" spoke the other.

"By what devilry did she trace this back to me?!" is what she thought.

"An Elixir of Charisma is such powerful magic, and everyone in the village loves you two. You're both so skilled and beloved, I figured it must be yours!"

In truth, the twins were not liked much more than she was. They just never noticed.

The twin witches scowled.

"We don't need potions for people to adore us!" the first one, by the window said.

"But of course we could make such a thing with our eyes closed!" the other added. "Did you try?"

"How can she even reach for ingredients past those giant udders!?" the first one laughed while the second stood up. With the witch on her feet, the crow flew from its perch to land on her shoulder.

"I do believe I have one already prepared, as a matter of fact." The tall and thin older female walked over to the shelf of potions, and Wendaline glanced down at her unattended bowl, then over to the seated feline.

"I suppose you can just have it. Everyone has been so unkind to you for being an outsider. It's the least we can do."

"You're so nice! May I eat with you first?"

"Uh, well..." the one still seated considered how to object, looking to her twin as the fox set down her bowl on the table.

"You know how potions sit in an empty stomach." Wendaline helped herself to reach for one of the piles on a chair, her view obscured and awkward for her reach. The front of her chest found the pile before her hands did and pushed the whole thing over, onto the floor.

"Oops!" She recoiled as the cursing witch dove from her seat to gather it up.

"Stupid, fat fox!"

Wendaline stepped back and shrugged with a wince.

The other twin had looked over her shoulder and sighed, shaking her head before turning away, back to the rack of potions. The crow squawked its displeasure before also losing interest while the cat by the fire hadn't even stirred.

Slipping a hand into her robe, the young vixen fetched the first potion from her belt pouch and uncorked it by feel. Bringing it up into her view, she passed it from fingers to mind. It flew out of her hands with a slosh and dumped out into the stew of the witch, gathering the pile from the floor.

The rustling of crisp papers and the witch's mumbling curses masked the glugging of the vial emptying, but Wendaline cleared her throat just to be sure.

Empty, she pulled the vial back into her hand, then tucked it into her belt pouch. One more glance around confirmed that nobody had seen. She started for the second potion, stuffed into her cleavage, but the witch at the wooden rack turned around with a presented vial.

"Here we are: one Potion of Charisma."

The raised hand redirected to pinch her robe and fan it. "So warm in here!" the fox giggled, feeling the sweat bead on her skin beneath her fur. "You really don't need that fire in this weather."

The standing feline narrowed her eyes. "Real witches have cold blood."

The other twin set the papers and books aside, then took to her seat. Her sister returned while Wendaline pulled out the now-cleared chair and squeezed in across from them. Both felines watched her chest bulge against the table with obvious disgust.

The vixen took a napkin, then felt around her robe for her spoon. "Ah, here we are." She presented it, then set it down on the table.

The twin with the potion placed it in front of the young fox with a forced smile before she took her seat. "Whenever you're ready. It will be wonderful for people to finally be nice to you, I'm sure."

"I can't wait to not have to look at that fat little fox anymore!" the slower one thought as she took a spoonful of stew to her mouth, slurping it up.

"Oooh! It's spicy tonight!"

Wendaline studied the witch while restraining any reaction, then gave her own bowl a stir.

"So strange that the cat would bring you a recipe," the other one said. "Perhaps a familiar finally chose you? I know all the other acolytes got theirs years ago. I was beginning to think that all of the cats in the village could smell you weren't one of us."

The vixen shrugged, glancing over the crow but not mentioning it. "I'm sure they can! But I wasn't worried. Things that are meant to be will happen. Maybe I won't find mine till I'm grown and leave this place. Maybe I'll find a cute little white fox, like me!"

The other twin scoffed and shook her head. "A fox familiar? Meow useless would that be!?"

With a twitch of her ears, Wendaline blinked and canted her head curiously. She shrugged then and stirred her stew. "Or maybe a bat? Or an owl? A crow, like yours! Something that could fly, and look out for me? Watch my back?" She paused her stirring and couldn't help but perk a brow. "What fun it'd be to see the world from the air! How free it must feel."

The first witch huffed a laugh, her spoon slipping from her hand and dropping into her bowl with a splash. "Haven't you ever heard the term 'blind as a bat?' A bat can see the world as well as you can see your feet!" With an eye roll and a shake of her head, she dipped down to lap at her dinner.

"Henna!" the other one snapped and smacked her sister along the back of her head. "You stand on two legs. Eat like it!" Hilda was the one who'd fetched the potion; the cruel one. Henna was the dim one, seated by the window. Their positions helped Wendaline to tell them apart.

The dim twin seemed quite unaware of herself. "It's normally so bland!" she declared, lifting her head only a moment to speak, her nose brown with thick stew. "Meow it's delicious! They should make it like this every myight!"

Hilda's eyes grew wide, darting from Wendaline to her twin, before she let her still-clean spoon fall out of her hand. "Henna! You're shrinking!?!"

"What meow?" The twin who was definitely shrinking only glanced up, her hands wrapping around the bowl, showing fingers now short and fat, barely any space between them, with much less knuckle and much more claw.

Hilda reached over for her sister's bowl and ripped it from her hands. In a quick and clumsy gesture, she flung it across the room, spilling stew everywhere. The feline jumped to her two feet and gripped the edge of the table, watching in awe. The crow half leapt, half-flew from her shoulder with a squawk, leaving a few feathers to fall in its wake.

Henna grew smaller and smaller before their eyes now. Arms retracted inside loose sleeves while her torso shrank unevenly, long and thin until it could no longer support her upper body. Falling forward, feral forepaws caught the table top. While her thoughts were still clear and present, she thought only of the deliciousness of the spicy stew.

With fire in her eyes, Hilda turned to Wendaline. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"

Chapter 4

The young vixen scooted out to stand and backed away, outstretching her palms before clenching her fists. "I fed her whatever you were going to feed me! That doesn't look like an Elixir of Charisma!"

As if to punctuate her point, Henna leapt up on the table on all fours and out of her clothes, her transformation now complete into a feral black cat. Much more sleek and handsome than her flat-faced familiar but still greying at the muzzle, she lapped up more of the spilled stew on the table before her sister scooped her up in her arms.

"That's what this was?!" Wendaline gasped. "You were going to turn me into a feral?! Selene is going to hear about this!"

"You'd be lucky to be a cat! People might actually like you if you were!" Hilda stomped while her sister tried to squirm free, reaching for the bowl with outstretched paws.

"Broom: stop her."

Wendaline took another step back before something swatted her rump: the broom! Floating in air, it would not budge, bracing her like a wall.

"Why would you want to turn me into a feral!?"

"It was a Potion of Polymorph, Wendaline. Whatever scrap you add is what you become! Being a cat is the closest you'll ever be to a real witch!" Hilda snarled and reached for the potion on the table but paused. With a wicked grin, she tossed her sister aside, and the feral Henna went to lap up more of the spilled mess.

Hilda took her own stew bowl in both hands.

"Why do you get to be mad?" The young vixen snapped. "You were the ones who tried to trick ME! Just reverse it, like you promised to do with the boy you sent!"

"Reverse it!?" Hilda shook her head and beckoned a finger past her. The broom pushed Wendaline back to the table until its edges dug into her thighs. "What good would the reversible version do?! You really haven't figured out how things work around here, have you?"

Against her side, Ash squirmed in the bag. It seemed he was hearing everything.

"The promising girls become acolytes. The good boys are sent to the next village. But the mediocre children, whom by some oversight you weren't included among, get turned into small, easy-to-feed, space-efficient, non-speaking, unannoying, mouse-chasing, four-legged, feral cats! FOREVER!"

The broom pushed the chair up behind Wendaline, hard enough to knock out her knees and drop her back to sit. Then, it swung around across her lap, holding her in place with tremendous, unseen force to pin her in place.

"So make an antidote!" the fox pleaded. "A counter potion, to polymorph her back into herself! You're a witch, aren't you!?"

"If you'd paid any attention in your classes, you'd know it's not so simple. It can be easily undone, or it can be permanent! If I wanted to change myself, I'd use the temporary version, which is a very different recipe! It could take days or weeks to make a potion to reverse this!

"Henna only has until the next sunrise before she forgets who she was. She's a feral now... forever."

Ash thrashed in his bag at hearing that, but it hung under the table and out of Hilda's sight.

Wendaline scowled, her hand at her side on the satchel to try to steady the concealed cat. "I guess you should've thought of that before you tried to make me drink it."

"Oh, you're going to drink it, Wendaline." Hilda shoved the fox's bowl off the table and to the floor, where Henna's flat-faced familiar finally got up to move, lapping up the second spill of unspiced stew.

With both hands, Hilda shoved her bowl in front of the fox, pushing aside the actual potion with a wobble. "Did you poison the whole village, you little brat?!"

The vixen narrowed her eyes, tail swishing behind her. "Just you two."

The feline's smug self-confidence made her second-guess if she had poisoned both bowls! When she dipped her head down to sniff it, the stew was every bit as bland as usual.

Hilda reached over the table and smacked the back of Wendaline's head, then grabbed a fistful of her hair roughly enough to free her ponytail. Pulling hair between her fingers, she smashed her face into the bowl. "Eat it, cow! Eat it for what you've done!"

With her mouth and nose in her bowl, she gasped for breath at the sides of her muzzle. Under the table, she fumbled with the strap of her satchel, then flipped it open.

With a swing of her arm, she knocked away Hilda's hand and lifted her head, spitting out food as she shouted: "kittypaws!"

Ash sprang out of the bag and dug in his claws to climb Wendaline's side before launching from her chest to leap for Hilda.

The feline witch screamed and flailed in surprise, swatting herself as the howling, hissing boy kitten clawed and bit every part of her he could reach.

Feral Henna finally realized the danger and jumped in to help, chasing Ash all over her flailing sister's body, screeching, and hissing in pursuit. Ash was smaller and sleeker but in the blur, it was hard to tell the difference between the two.

The crow leapt in with fluttering wings, only for one black cat to pounce on it and latch teeth first into its wing.

Clearly, that was Ash.

As it fell with a shriek, he twisted, flinging the wounded bird towards Wendaline.

With the bird mid-air, the vixen slapped it across the room and into one of the wicker baskets, which tipped over and unleashed a wave of chittering, red-eyed white mice, who scurried and scattered to every dark corner of the room.

For a moment, it made her wonder how they sourced so many clean, white mice in a swamp?!

Ash landed on the table and spun around, leaping right back onto Hilda, claws first. Digging in through fabric and flesh, he raced about like she was a tree and he was a squirrel. Henna tried to keep up but she was an older cat pursuing a spry, adolescent kitten.

"Broom! Help!" the feline witch screamed.

The flying broom swooshed to oblige, freeing Wendaline to swarm around Hilda, twirling and spinning to swat at the wily kitten dashing all over her. The older witch was screaming hysterically, and vixen eyes locked onto that wide open mouth...

Wendaline grabbed the potion off the table and uncorked it, then tossed it into the fray, guiding it upright with her mind to tip right at her face, a straight shot at her open, screaming mouth that would pass for a skillful throw.

Just before it reached her muzzle, the brush of the broom smacked the vial out of the air and shattered it on the wall.

Hilda finally caught Ash in both hands. With the black cat squirming in her grip, she threw him across the room towards the fireplace, but her aim was thankfully poor. He crashed into the shelf of empty glass jars instead, then fell to the ground.

"SIT DOWN!" Hilda commanded, frothing with rage and covered in fresh claw marks that her sleek black fur hid. She pulled her sister off her with both hands and set her down hard on the table.

As she did, the broom swooshed around to shove the chair back in behind the vixen, forcing her to sit, then swung back into her lap to pin her again, crushing against her stomach and thighs.

"Now, EAT!"

Wendaline looked over to the shelf of jars, but the room was too cluttered to see the floor beneath it, or what condition Ash had landed in. The fox turned to Hilda with a focused scowl then dipped her head towards her bowl, letting her dark, auburn hair fall free around her face, obscuring it almost completely. She gave her head a shake, letting more of it fall into her face.

Under that curtain of hair, she dipped her muzzle past the bowl, down into her cleavage. Probing teeth found the cork of her own second potion. She dragged it halfway out before she hunched her spine forward. Then, her elbows squeezed together, ballooning out her chest to fill her lap and tighten her cleavage.

The pressure was enough to hold the glass vial in place while she pulled the stopper off with her teeth, then dropped it back into her robe. From there, her elbows pushed back to hold against the broom that restrained her.

Her eyes locked on the open glass tube poking out of her bosom, and she took a gentle grasp of it with her focus.

"EAT! EAT IT UP, YOU LITTLE WHORE!"

Wendaline pictured the shapes of the words coming from Hilda's muzzle, with a latency between her mind and mouth that she could focus on if she tried. In the middle of the last syllable of her screaming, furious, and unoriginal insult, her mouth would be wide open.

That's when Wendaline flung her head up, guiding the vial to fly at full force, straight into Hilda's gaping mouth.

The feline gagged as it hit the back of her throat, dumping its contents down her gullet!

"No!" Hilda choked, then coughed out the glass, shattering on the floor before she fell forward to brace against the table. Furious, hateful eyes glared as she stuck a hooked finger in her mouth to gag herself.

The vixen hoped the full dose wouldn't take as long. In the meantime, the young fox was in danger.

The pair of feral cats, one a former witch and the other, her familiar, only watched in slack-jawed awe for the moment.

Wendaline whipped her attention to the shelf of empty jars, reaching out for a large one with a gesture of her arm, then flinging it across the room to smash into Hilda's face. Glass shattered, and the feline winced and closed her eyes. When they opened, it was with as much wonder as rage.

"Meow did you do that!?"

She went to gag herself again, and Wendaline flung another jar, this one bouncing off her skull with a dull thud. Nothing was coming up.

Henna leapt into action first, landing claws first on her face and trying for her eyes, but the vixen closed them and thrust with her mind, an imprecise and indelicate version of her force, but it was enough to send Henna flying right into her sister's face.

"BROOM! ATTACK!"

Wendaline hooked her ankles around the legs of the chair and hunched forward over the broom in her lap. To her sides, her hands threw out to grip the broomstick. Perhaps she could restrain it?

The animated broom answered that with ease when it launched straight up, smashing her back-first into the ceiling. Mercifully, it was a thatched roof, and the chair fell out from under her.

Without warning and in a gravity-defiant straight line, it smashed her into the wall next, which was not soft at all.

The impact knocked the breath from the vixen and dulled her vision for a moment, the pressure of the broom against her gut pinning her upright against the plaster wall. When it came back into focus, she gasped to see one of the broom's sharp, hanging hooks, a few inches from her head.

"Meow put her in the hearth!"

Wide-eyed, Wendaline squirmed desperately, trying but failing to push it away but for the moment, nothing happened. The broom didn't move for either of them, with no response to the command. Why not? She looked to the fireplace, just big enough that she could be stuffed into it, but her hand brushed over the straw bristles of the broom's brush, her other hand clenching the dry, wood shaft.

"Meow!" Hilda pounded a now-fingerless fist on the table, shrinking faster than her sister had. The twin jumped back up to her side, watching with as much expression as a feral cat could have. "Meow!" she pleaded. "Meowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!"

The final meow was long and pathetic, and at the end of it, Hilda was on all four skinny legs, finally a feral black cat. With a shriek, she charged Wendaline, baring her adorable little fangs. Now, the witch was a much more convenient size.

The fox reached out with her hand and lifted her off the ground with her mind, leaving her running in the air, screeching then flailing to escape.

"Neat little secret I've got! Right, Hilda?!" Wendaline spat. "What are you going to do? Tell on me?!"

Unlike Ash, she never stopped thrashing, twisting and twirling while hanging in the air.

Wendaline guided her to float over to the cages and dropped her in the top one. The lid slapped shut before she whipped her attention to Henna. The other former witch looked back at her at the same moment, her eyes and mouth wide open.

"Mrow?!"

The young vixen reached out with her other hand, lifting from afar, and the cat rose from the table. Henna didn't fight, limp and draped over an invisible arm before she was placed in the cage. The flat-faced familiar ran after her, jumping off the table to the ground, then up onto the pile. Peering inside, it was easy enough to give her a shove to knock her in, then flip the lid shut behind her.

Her body heaved with labored panting. She tried to slump, but the broom held her upright, crushing against the softness of her stomach. It was static, pinned tightly against her, but at least its attacks did not continue.

She surveyed the room, finally still. Only the screeching of angry cats and the crackling fire competed with the sound of her own heavy breaths.

Chapter 5

"Hey Broom: we don't have to keep fighting, do we?" Wendaline struggled to stammer out. "You're crushing me, but your boss is a cat now!"

After a moment, it released some of the pressure, and she took a deep breath of relief, gripping it for support. Curious, blue eyes darted about, considering.

"Broom: let me go."

There was nothing at first. Then it obliged, moving away to release her and floated away on its own, with no acknowledgement of any sort.

Wendaline slid down the wall to sit, several white mice scurrying away from nearby hiding places. She cupped her face in both hands, starting to cry when she heard the clatter of moving glass.

Looking up, the broom had moved to the pile of empty jars, gently sweeping them aside.

"Ash!"

The tears had barely formed when she peeled herself off the floor, holding her sore spine before she rushed over to help. At the pile, she knelt, pushing jars away. A few more white mice scattered until she found the kitten, thankfully still breathing. Golden eyes crept open as she lifted him up to drape him over her shoulder and pet his back.

"I'm sorry we can't change you back, Ash. I'd help if I could."

"I know, Wendaline." The kitten nuzzled his head against her neck. "You might be the only nice person in this village."

"Well, I'm getting out of here just as soon as I'm old enough."

"It sounds like you need a familiar. I'm not really sure what's involved in that but if I am going to forget who I was, I'd be lucky for you to be the one who takes care of me." He stretched as he spoke, and a paw casually landed on the top of her breast. "Even more after we get out of here."

With a laugh, she lifted his paw away and moved him to drape over the back of her neck like a scarf. "You're hired!"

She stood up and turned to the broom then. "What about you? Do you have a broom family back in some broom town?"

The broom twisted back and forth, a single rotation in each direction.

"I guess that's a no?"

It pitched forward and back in the same, singular way, in its best attempt to nod.

"Well, you're free to go if you want, but..." Wendaline paused to consider. "... if a broom needs a witch, then I'm your gal! I promise I'll never order you into a fireplace."

After a moment's hesitation, it scooted across the floor until she could reach it.

"You never liked hurting people for them, did you?"

It didn't move, and Wendaline perked, recoiling slightly.

"Hmmmm. Maybe just not the sucker-punching teenagers?"

With that, the broom shook side to side.

"Okay." She shrugged. "Well, good enough."

Wendaline picked it up and gave it a twirl just before the door to the hut burst open. She backpedaled into the shelf with the empty jars, knocking a few more of them over before she reached out to steady herself on it.

The head witch, Selene, led the charge, the curls of her long, now white hair bouncing dramatically with every step. At her flank poured in the council, six more elder witches. They stopped once they were inside, surveying the scene, then gasping at the mess.

"What's all the commotion!?"

The vixen eyed the weak spot in the thatched roof that her back had dented. "We might need to leave sooner than I thought," she muttered and pushed the broom behind her. It adjusted itself, tucking under her rump and lifting into position.

"What happened in here!? What is the meaning of all of this, Wendaline!?"

"Hilda and Henna tried to trick me into drinking a polymorph potion. They drank it instead."

The vixen lifted a finger to point at the stack of cages. "They're feral cats now."

Selene relaxed with a heavy sigh, glaring at the fox before she walked over to the caged cats and the wounded crow, leaving her cohorts standing in the open doorway.

At the top cage, the head witch leaned in. "I told you two to leave her alone. I know she's not like us, but this one has a fate, and we are not to meddle with that fate. We keep her safe until it's time for her to go. You knew that, but you ignored my commands. And so it is as cats you will stay."

The head witch straightened out and turned back to Wendaline.

With her knees shaking and weak, the fox reached out to adjust her grip on the shelf. Behind her, she felt the broom stiffen its support to hold her upright.

Fox ears flattened over a heavy sigh. "Selene? Is it true that the other ferals were kids before?"

Selene paused, tensing visibly. "The feral cats?"

Wendaline nodded, and Selene unwound with a knowing smile.

"It is true, but not all the children. Good boys go to the next village and come back when we need them. Good girls become witches. But the rest..." She shrugged. "We have standards to maintain."

Wendaline lifted Ash from her shoulders and presented him up to Selene. "Was Ash really one of the bad ones? Or did they change him just to get to me?"

Gliding across the floor to tower over the young vixen, she squinted her single, gold eye then petted the adolescent kitten.

"To be honest?" Her eyes moved to Wendaline's. "He wasn't anything special. I can't turn him back, but maybe he'll do better as your familiar."

"He's going to forget who he is." Wendaline frowned.

Seline reached out to brush the fox's dirty, damp hair back, then licked her fingers and wiped some of the stew from the vixen's muzzle. She placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to her eye level.

"Perform the ritual to bond with him before sunrise. His mind is feral now, and some change is unavoidable, but he'll remember what's important."

The vixen smiled and pulled Ash back into a hug.

Selene stood upright with a warm smile, letting her go. "Henna and Hilda were not weak. I am impressed you came out on top. You may never be one of us, but you're a good witch, Wendaline. I expected nothing less of you."

With that, the head witch turned and walked back to the front door, the council clearing the way for her. She stopped at them and spun around again.

"I see their broom chose you as its new master. You're a lucky girl: it's the best one I've seen. You know, if you wanted, you could move into this place."

The vixen shrugged. "I'll take the ingredients. And maybe one of those bowls and metal spoons, but I like my own hut."

"Suit yourself," she said before reaching over to where a pair of hats hung. The tall feline took one of them and inspected it.

"It's also about time you start wearing one of these." Selene tossed it across the room, its wide brim spinning like a disc.

Wendaline reached out to grab it, but it fell short and landed at her feet.

"Oops!" she said with a shrug and stooped to pick it up, then put it on her head.

The head witch narrowed her golden eye, and a thin smile spread over her sleek, short muzzle.

"It's kind of big," the fox said just before the hat tightened to fit her head perfectly.

"You're starting to act like a real witch, Wendaline," Selene winked then slipped through the council to leave. The rest of them poured out the door to follow her, leaving it open behind them.

Wendaline pushed off the wall and slid off the broomstick, steadying herself with the pile of cages until she came to the one containing the three cats, who hissed in chorus. The crow flapped weakly.

"I guess I should thank you two?"

The broom took off on its own and began to sweep, pushing the wounded crow across the floor, up to her feet. Twisting to look down past her chest, she gave it a nudge with her foot, up onto its stiff bristles

Lifting into the air, the broom moved it to the top of the cage. She opened the lid. It tilted enough for the black bird to roll off and inside before Wendaline shut the lid and latched it.

"I guess you two didn't get to finish your dinner," the vixen shrugged and fetched her bowl of stew from the table, at least what was left of it after having her face shoved in it. She set it down just outside and the gentler of the two, normal cats poked its head through to lap it up.

Wendaline dipped a finger in and tasted it. "It really does need some spice."

The other, normal-looking one hissed and reached through the bars to swipe at her as she stepped back.

The smoosh-faced one joined her former master at the stew bowl, but the last one kept hissing, swiping its claw through the cage towards her.

The vixen withdrew her hand and waved her fingers.

"I'm sure Selene will send someone to take care of you all. Maybe best if it's after sunrise!"

With another heavy sigh, she backed away to inspect the other trapped animals, putting her hands on her hips.

"You're my ingredients now," she mused. Looking to the open door, then back to the cages, she unlatched all but the one with the witches inside.

"Be free, ingredients."

Turning to the baskets, she lifted the lid of one and watched with a wince as the floor of it writhed with inky black snakes. She quickly replaced it. "We'll figure these out later."

"I guess that's it? Just go home?"

She shrugged and started for the door, when the broom waited in the doorway, hovering horizontal to the ground, right about the height of her mid-thigh. Its tip raised slightly, aiming to the sky.

"Oh!" she squeezed her hands together in front of her muzzle, shaking her head with a disbelieving laugh. "Well, I suppose we could take a little detour on the way."

"I don't want to fly on that thing!" Ash's claws dug into her shoulder. "What if you fall and break your neck before sunrise?"

"Kitten up, Ash! We won't be long. Do you want to be a witch's familiar or not?"

"Ahhhh boy. Just don't drop me, okay?"

"I promise," she said, tucking her familiar back in her satchel and latching it. Approaching the doorway, she secured her new hat, then mounted the broom. She leaned forward, taking a tight grip with her hands, elbows, and thighs.

"Okay, broom: let's fly!"

The End