One too many. And I couldn’t remember last night, either. Both unlikely for a witch.
But my powers were still here. Well, sort of.
And that’s all I remembered.
Not my name, not how I got dressed (or un-dressed) like this. Or where I was.
Helluva hangover, especially for a witch.
The problem was that I didn’t remember anything before I woke up. Nothing. No childhood, no witch training, nothing.
Not even my own name.
I’d been spelled but good. Now I had to figure out if I was still in danger…
(Warning: contains cliffhanger…)
Witch Mystery: Raven – New Fiction Writing by S. H. Marpel
I hate the taste of mixed drinks. Especially the second time.
After I’d used the toilet, several times, and then the sink to clean me and everything else up in that bathroom, I tried to again remember anything about last night.
Or remember anything about any time before I woke up.
Even my own name would be nice.
I studied myself in the mirror. Who was that stranger looking back at me?
At least there were enough cosmetics in that bathroom so I could touch up what I was wearing. And not look as bad as I feel. But looking wasn’t remembering.
Thankfully, my short, one-piece shimmery black thing I was wearing hadn’t wound up any worse than being slept in. Now it’s time to find a purse around here and hoped it had a photo ID that looked like my reflection.
When I opened the bathroom door into the bedroom, I found another surprise waiting for me.
Three foot tall, dressed in a brown tunic, mustard-colored pantaloons, and curly-toed brown shoes. Pointy ears and cute.
“Fairy, gnome, or dwarf?” I asked the creature.
“Nymph. By the name of Trimble.”
“Well, I don’t recall ever meeting a nymph before.” Then I frowned. “Of course, right now I don’t remember anything.”
“Let me guess: you woke up here and (sniff) by the smell in the room, you had quite a party last night. But you don’t know your name or anything, other than you know some witchcraft – just not enough to do anything much with.”
My mouth dropped open, and I closed it. I’m sure my breath wasn’t any good to smell, either. But Trimble was across the room, so that was a personal comment, noting that my hygiene was pushing up the list of need-to-do-next’s.
“How do you know all that about me, and how did you find me?”
He patted the bed spread next to him. “Come, sit down. You may want to before I finish telling my story.”
So I did sit on that bed, but out of his arm’s reach. Then he started rattling off his recent events…
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