An Acorns Flash Fiction Feature
By: R.C. Capasso
Magda stared at the empty room. “Fitz, where are you?”
The cat was good at hiding, but with her powers Magda had never before failed to sense him. “I really don’t feel like playing today. I’ve got a lot to do.” She set down her basket of herbs, seeds, mushrooms. “It’s going to rain, you know. A good day to brew up some potions.”
The room remained silent.
“It’s not like I’ll ask you to help. Maybe remind me of an ingredient or two. Keep an eye out so nothing boils over.” Really, what was the point of having a familiar if they didn’t take part in your life?
A faint breeze blew a wisp of gray hair into her eyes. A window at the back of the cottage was open.
Magda crossed the cluttered room and peered out into the garden. Fallen leaves were beginning to swirl under the wind that would bring rain at any moment.
“Fitz! See to your needs and get back here. Now!” She was the mistress in this family, after all. The witch, if she wanted to pull rank.
A faint glow at the base of a tree caught her eye, and she squinted. A sign, like a breadcrumb, gesturing to her.
So he’d gone that way. Deeper into the woods? A funny choice to make with a storm brewing. Fitz was particularly ill tempered if his paws got wet.
But he was getting on in years, just as she was. What if he’d wandered farther than he meant to? She wouldn’t want to see him in real discomfort.
Grumbling, she snatched at a thick cloth. If she had to carry the little fool home, that should keep the worst of the rain from soaking him. She also grabbed her own cloak. It was a bit too warm for the moment, but the temperatures would drop quickly in the woods in bad weather. Hardly thinking, she gripped her basket as well. Maybe she’d find a deceased toad or something useful. Never go to the woods empty-handed; that had always been her motto.
She closed the shutters, glanced at the fireplace and instructed it to keep burning steadily and safely, then pulled and latched the door of the cottage behind her.
She went round the back of the house and headed for the faint light, the trace Fitz had left.
She liked the woods. Most of her magic came from it, her power, her assurance. The smell of the loam, enriched with dying leaves from countless years. The feel of bark under her hands, some crinkled and cracked like her own skin, some smooth and almost pulsing with life. The birds that grew quiet at her passing yet sang out before and after her. The vitality in the very air. The hidden wealth so easily revealed to her, the secret strengths and the frank dangers of the natural world. It was as much her home as the small cottage that she had created in a self-indulgent whim. And as a place to hold her supplies and her potions. Every professional needs an office.
The woods were cool and dark under the clouding sky. Personally, she liked a thunderstorm, but Fitz was more a creature of comfort. His whiskers must be twitching by now, the hair raised up on his back. What was he thinking?
She called his name out loud. Surely such communication was not necessary between them, but if he was going to act out in this way, she was going to exert her authority.
“Don’t make me come after you!” she shouted, which was idiotic since she obviously was trailing after the creature.
There was no footpath in the wood, just here and there glowing paw marks tracing Fitz’s passage.
What was he doing? This was no call of nature; he was going somewhere in a straight, purposeful line.
Ordinarily she might have enjoyed the walk, but it was no fun dragging along her cloak, the basket, and the cloth for her renegade familiar as the air grew humid and thick.
The trunk of a massive tree lay fallen before her, and she could imagine its positioning upright, how it used to stand, as a faint memory tickled her mind. If she was right about the direction, and she was never wrong….
Ahead she saw a slight lightening as the trees grew further apart. This must be the south entrance toward…She halted.
At the edge of the clearing Fitz sat on his haunches, smiling at her.
“What are we doing here?” She clutched her cloak to her chest.
“You’re wanted.” The cat’s smooth voice was always maddeningly persuasive.
“No, I’m not.”
Hadn’t been for years. Not since the argument.
Fitz’s voice lowered. “You’re needed.”
She took a step closer, so she could see the cottage through the last trees.
It did not look its best. Why did it appear so neglected?
A large crow dove down from the trees and landed on a stump a foot away from Fitz.
Magda gave it a long look. Birds never do show their age, magical or not.
“Scratch. Good to see you.” She had nothing against the other familiar.
“Please.” The word croaked out. Not an easy one to say, ever.
She took a tighter grip on her basket and headed toward the back door. The two creatures weren’t going to let her just turn and walk away.
She raised her hand to knock. In the old days the door would have swung open before her. Until that last time, years ago, when it slammed in her face. She couldn’t even remember the cause of their quarrel.
Not waiting for an answer, she lifted the latch and stepped into the dark interior of the cottage.
Hilda was sitting in a chair at least. Not prone on her old cot yet. She turned large eyes on her former friend and offered a hesitant smile.
“Right.” Magda thumped the basket onto a table cluttered with smeared dishes, wilted herbs and limp, dirt-covered roots. “Well, I just happen to have what’s needed. Let’s get your fire going again, shall we?”
She glanced to the hearth as a bright red flame sprang up.
A gust of wind battered the door, and Fitz and Scratch sped in through the open window. With a word Magda ordered the shutters to close just as the first heavy drops of rain pounded against them.
But the storm didn’t matter. Fitz was already padding around the cottage, laying claim to its welcome, weaving his spell of belonging, while Scratch perched on a high shelf and watched with bright eyes.
And she, Magda, had all sorts of healing in mind. Incantations, magic herbs and good long talks over hot tea. She was in her old friend’s home and in her life again. Their lives, their paths, wouldn’t be separated any longer.
About the Author:
A lover of all forms of literature, R. C. Capasso writes in a variety of genres, from ghost and horror stories to science fiction, steampunk and even the occasional romance. Flash and short stories have appeared in Bewildering Stories, Zooscape, Teleport Magazine, Spaceports and Spidersilk, Fiction on the Web, The Last Girl’s Club and parABnormal Magazine. Further works have also been published in online and print anthologies including Iron Faerie’s Flights of Fantasy, Red Cape’s A to Z Horror series, The Librarian Reshelved (Air and Nothingness Press), Home Sweet Horror for Black Ink Fiction, Through the Briar Patch for Hollow Oak Press, and Gypsum Sound Tales’ Thuggish Itch.