Treasury of Fairy Tales

The Magic Words

The Magic Words

Nina Boyd

Once upon a time, there was a witch who lived on the edge of a small forest. She made a living by selling charms and potions to the occasional villager who wandered her way. 

The problem was, she was not a very good witch. The villagers didn't know the difference, but sometimes, when people who dwelled in the forest and had more magical wherewithal came calling, she suffered terrible embarrassment at not being able to create even the simplest of spells for them. 

She dreaded these days, but another part of her, the part that refused to give up on her craft even when her own parents told her she would never amount to anything, kept on trying. 

She often stayed up late into the night, studying spell books by candlelight and making potion after potion. Some turned out horribly and she had to bury them behind her cottage--it wouldn't be safe to dump them out inside. 

One day, the inevitable knock at her door came. She opened it to find a dark eyed man standing there.  

"What can I do for you?" she asked, already worried that her lackluster skills wouldn't be up to his request. 

"I need a love potion," he said through a deep breath, as though he'd rehearsed this statement. 

Inwardly, she deflated. Of course, the hardest potion to make. She eyed her prospective customer. He was handsomer than most, and she wondered what had made him resort to magic to find love. 

"As you wish," she said aloud. "It will take three days' time." 

"And the payment?" he asked, reaching for a pouch hung at his side. 

"Ten gold coins," she said, trying to suppress the guilt she felt. Well, maybe she'd get the potion right this time. Meanwhile, she had to eat, just like everyone else. 

The man pulled out the money and handed it to her. "I'll return in three days," he said. 

The witch closed the door and turned to her spell table. She dropped the coins into a small, jeweled box and opened her spell book to a well-worn page. She sighed as she poured over the ingredients, which she had by now nearly memorized. 

Still, she dutifully checked and double checked her supplies: that she had white blossoms instead of yellow, whether the apple seeds were exactly the right size, and if she had enough sunlight streaming in through the window over her cauldron. 

Then she set to work. The first round of ingredients she could assemble today. The rest, should she get that far, would have to wait. The spell took three days mostly because it required three days of sunlight shining over it. 

The witch glanced out the window and saw the man in the distance, rounding a bend on the path. 

He had been quite handsome. 

She sighed and tried to focus on the spell, tried not to worry that it would all come out wrong. 

After several hours, she had done all she could do, and went outside to sweep her porch. That was all this broom was good for these days, anyhow. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to fly it. 

The porch was covered with tiny leaves and seeds from the trees that lined her walkway. All witches had gardens, of course, and hers was the finest. Although her spells almost never worked out, she could grow things better than anyone. 

Meanwhile, the man had reached the village and stopped off at the tavern for a drink. Happy couples seemed to surround him everywhere he looked, and he was the only one alone.