Those Really Cute Flying Monkeys!!!...

"The Merry Meet Murders, ~ Chapter 5...

I ran as fast as I could. After all, our darling James had been knifed! I raced up the front steps. The half-tamed fox, Granny's familiar, Reynardine looked at me impassively from her place on one of the wicker chairs. She yawned, showing a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth and stretching out her elegant black legs. I had no time to scratch her head. Granny's other familiar, the white crow Spirit, cocked his head and gazed at me quizzically with the eye on that side. I dashed into the house, grabbed the phone. The girl on the 911 line said the ambulance would be there in a few minutes. I slid down the wall to the floor, my hand pressed to my chest, gasping. I'd seen the attacker's face, briefly. It WAS Jus Glaser. I was sure of it! Obviously, he'd been thinking to pick up a little extra cash from selling our things at Diddy's Pawn Shop in Royal Oaks, the louse! Sure, he was handsome as a new born colt, but so what? He was the ultimate bad boy, unpredictable and wilder than hell! My sister had been crazy to have him in our house! No doubt he'd given our place a quick scan, eyeballing what he wanted to steal when he knew we'd be in the back of our property celebrating Lammas. Well, if there was a lineup identifying him I'd certainly try to be there. This time when he was convicted he wouldn't just be going to a correctional facility he'd be headed for the big house, hopefully. I could hear the wail of the ambulance siren in the distance. Out the door I dashed and down the steps. Granny was kneeling on the grass next to James. Vesper was standing, looking like she was going to faint. The ambulance pulled up and the paramedics jumped out. In a moment they had James on a stretcher and had lifted him. James eyes were closed. He was very pale and seemed unconscious. We got in the Tracker to follow the ambulance to the hospital. ~ Copyright 2024, by Antoinette Beard.

I'd be afraid to sit in it!!!...

SO Very Cool, ~ decorated with besoms!!!... :)

Some Of My Best Moments... ;)

Give Your Apartment A "Practical Magic" Vibe!!!...

The Magic Of The Temptress & Jolene!!!... ;)

With emerald eyes and long red hair her beauty is beyond compare...

>>> And, the beautiful red haired witch... You can just imagine what the staid and repressive Puritans thought of a gorgeous woman with a lush head of thick, curly flaming red hair and ivory skin with brilliant green, blue or gold eyes!!!...

>>> Tsk-tsk...Redheads are REALLY untrustworthy... :( >>> Whether you’re talking about Eve, Judas Iscariot, or Lilith, there is many an untrustworthy figure portrayed to have red hair. Christianity and popular perception has a big part to play in this and where the beginnings of the idea came from. In particular, Michelangelo’s ‘Temptation and Expulsion of Adam and Eve’ initially portrays Eve as a level-headed brunette before she lures Adam down the road of temptation and damnation, and is then later miraculously depicted as a redhead, seductive and suspicious. Judas Iscariot, famously known for his betrayal of Christ, very much fuels the fire of redheads being deceitful, too. In nearly all depictions of him, his hair colour is noted and commented on as red. This negative connotation goes as far as France, which had a low opinion of gingers back in the 19th century. Their phrase “poil de Judas”, was used as an insult for redheads back then, meaning ‘hair of Judas’. This link between red hair and deceit can also be traced back to the tales of the headstrong and disobedient Lilith, who quarrelled with Adam and seduced men in their sleep. She is regularly portrayed as a bewitching redhead, having mythical and seductive powers to match. ~ From "Ginger Parrot".

Spells & Potions From "Practical Magic"...

In the novel it was lilacs... In the movie it was roses...

Music: From "Practical Magic"...

I have heard it many times... Been accused of it, because I wear horns, BUT... There IS no Devil in witchcraft...

All serious witches know this...

Witch Fashion History...

Mozelle is a clairvoyant in "Eve's Bayou"...

The Opening Scene Of "Practical Magic," ~ Maria's Botched Hanging...

Haunted Texas...

Haunted Ozarks...

Exploring The Horrible Ghosts Of Jamaica...

Knott's Scary Farm 2024...

The Most Disturbing Things Discovered In Forests...

The Truth About The Winchester Mystery House...

WHAT Is It About Roswell, New Mexico???...

The Untold Story The Hell Town, Ohio...

LOVE THIS SONG!!!.. "Kiss By A Rose On A Grave," Sung By Seal....

Halloween With The Addams Family, ~ Complete T.V. Episode...

Morticia Goes To A Psychiatrist, ~ Complete T.V. Episode...

The Addams Family Song...

Wednesday is a delightfully wicked bad seed... I SO admired her revolt...

I like Morticia... I feel she is a kindred spirit....

Heh-heh-heh!!!... LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!... >>>

..."Great Aunt Calpunia, she danced naked in the town square and enslaved a minister. But, we always tell Wedsnesday, college first."

The Herb Rue & A Different Kind Of Rue...

>>> A different kind of rue... The Olden Time version of the traditional folk song: Come all ye fair and tender maidens, that languish in your prime... Beware, beware with your garden fair... Let no man steal your thyme... For when your time is past and gone, he will care no more for you.. And, your garden fair, that bloomed so rare, will be rue, will be rue.

The Original Midnight Margarita Recipe!!!...

The Wizard's Duel From "Sword In The Stone"...

...Between Merlin and Madame Mim...

A Cowan...

Cowan is in Wicca, a non-witch, a person who has not been initiated into the Craft. The word is an old Scottish term for a mason who has learned the trade without serving an apprenticeship. Cowans generally are not allowed to attend circles, or esbats, the regular meetings of covens in which magical work imay be performed. However, cowans may be invited to attend seasonal festivals. ~ From Occult World

From The Broadway Play: "Wicked," ~ The Scene & Song "Defying Gravity"...,

...Love this!!!...

The Merry Meet Murders, ~ Chapter 4...

When the average person discovers you are a witch this question often comes up: "Do you practice 'skyclad'?" Ravenstar coven's answer to that is,--- no, we don't work naked, not ever. In fact, nudity in the Craft does not have ancient roots. It was added in the 1950s. But, you would be surprised at the disappointed looks on faces when we say this, but maybe you wouldn't. Most folks love a scandalous topic. Yes, our coven unanimously agreed that we would wear clothes. There was no vote. There never is. It was simply agreed. Besides, New England has far too cold a climate for skyclad! Gran was bustling about hours before the celebration, from dawn actually, as she usually does for any celebration. Aurielle and I had helped her put together the nine grains with which to bake the Lammmas bread, because Lammas is, traditionally, the first witch's harvest. For the grains we used wheat, rye, barley, millet, flax, rice, corn meal, oats and even ground acorns, ground to flour. Acorns were, of course, the fruit the oak, a very masculine tree, in honor of the consort of the our goddess, stag god, also known as Cernunnos. The goddess was naturally depicted as the huntress, Diana. Our Lammas bread was made with plenty of eggs to bind all those coarse grains together. It was heavy on the wheat and sprinkled with our home-grown crushed sunflower seeds. It also contained black and white raisins. Many of the long and thick loaves were placed on the tables to be sliced and eaten with local whipped butter. The altar was piled high with apples, of course, and had green and purple grapes and many nuts in their shells, walnuts and hazelnuts. There were bottles of juices, rose wine and ale because it's traditional and part of the ritual to have "cakes and ale" afterwards. Things went well. Tall bamboo torches lit the area where the tables had been set. Bouquets of sunflowers were everywhere. White, black, gold, orange, brown and red candles were shoved into empty wine bottles filled with multi-colored sands. They too provided illumination. Many of us were dressed in the flowing robes of our choice. Aurielle wore cream-colored muslin trimmed with chartreuse fabric leaves, with a long macame belt. I was gaudy in crimson, brown and purple silk. Gran wore black satin with her braided silver cord coin belt, silver necklaces and strings of garnets. Bertram was in rust brown, looking like a hunter, but with much gold jewelry, Yolanda in forest green and with her big, gleaming pale green dematoid garnet studded brooch. Maeve was in flaming orange, matching her bright orange hair, and with many jangling charm bracelets on her arms. But, aside from her typical flamboyance and strident voice, which was loud as a air horn and as harsh as if steel wool could talk, she was pretty normal, for her, that is. The other members of the coven were not as spectacularly dressed. Abigail Cummings wore her usual hippie-style vintage bell bottoms, leather fringes and love beads. Dave Svenson wore jeans, but also fur and strips of leather as his Nordic tradition warranted. We made crowns of twisted grape vines and thin branches of green maple leaves, stalks of wheat and bright zinnias for anyone who wanted them to wave about. We dipped silky brushes in silver, gold, light blue and lavender-colored paint and on our faces and bodies painted magical spirals and stars. The women painted their legs. The men painted their chests and backs. I asked James, who showed up after a while, if wanted his chest painted, but he refused with a charming smile on his handsome face. Still, when he came near our huge balfire where it was almost as bright as day and hot as a beach he took off his shirt. The sight of James' magnificent and shining chest, lightly furred with golden hair, was a tremendous charge for me and I went to get him a big, cold mug of ale. I was rewarded with a gentle, casual kiss on the lips which literally took my breath away. James' warm arm went around my waist, briefly. Then, he grinned, took a swig of ale, licked his top lip, laughed, and left to get a plate of food from the banquet tables. I just stood there, stupidly, with my mouth open. Finally, I shook my head, smiling, and went to get a few appetizers to nibble. Yes, although our celebrations are basically only for coven members sometimes very good friends who are sympathetic toward our beliefs, like James, and the coven's close family members are invited. Older children of coven members are always welcome if they are well-behaved, but no crying babies. James said he was very curious about the Craft. He stood apart, mostly, leaning against a tree with a sardonic expression on his face. I knew from the cross around his neck and the saint's medals on the same silver chain that he was a practicing Catholic. But, when we started drumming to raise energy James came forward to beat enthusiastically on my bongos. Aurielle drummed on her Egyptian dombek. I danced very sensually with my vintage castanets and with the zills, or finger cymbals. Gran was at her Nigerian slit drum which could be heard over all other percussion instruments. I danced with Aurielle, around and around the enormous balfire. It was early in the morning, about three o'clock, when Gran, Aurielle and me were cleaning up after it all, carrying the holiday things from the woods to the house, with the help of a smiling, joking and very pleasant James, when we saw a dark figure dart out of the shadows near the front steps. The person was carrying a big canvas sack over his or her shoulder. The moon then appeared from under dark gray clouds revealing the shocked face of Jus Glaser, his dark eyes wide. James dropped the folding chairs he was toting and ran toward him, chasing him into the shadows of the tall trees near road. Then, James let out a sharp cry, his body folded up and dropped instantly to the ground. Aurielle got to him first. She was rolling him to his back when I ran up. I covered my mouth and gasped as I looked down at him. I felt faint, an angry buzzing in my ears. The hilt of a dagger stuck out of James' side, a stain of dark blood seeping rapidly into the ground. James' beautiful face was set in a grimace, but he made no sound. Gran pointed a long finger back toward the house,- "Run, Aurielle! Call 911! Hurry! HURRY! OH, DO HURRY!" Aurielle is a cross country champion at her school. She raced to the house. ~ Copyright 2024, by Antoinette Beard.

Gillian Sings To Her Cat When Casting A Spell...

...From "Bell, Book And Candle"...

Flying Ointment...

What WAS flying ointment REALLY???... >>>

Witchin' in The Kitchen: My Favorite Witchy Snack, ~ Witch's Fingers...

>>> I've made these plenty of times... So easy and fun!... Just get pretzel rods. cover them with green frosting (vanilla frosting that you color with green food coloring) and "glue almonds to the tips for fingernails. 😉

Witchin' In The Kitchen: A Samhain Feast & The Samhain Pooka...

>>> My Samhain Feast... And, it truly WAS a feast, ~ none of this little holiday dinner la-da-da, where only only main dish like turkey is made!... My usual menu for the Samhain Feast, ~ pot roast with carrots, onions, potatoes, and turnips ( I make mine in the crockpot with burgundy wine and fresh basil, fresh dill and fresh oregano), lasagna, mac & cheese, mushroom, vegs & sausage pizza (frozen from the grocer), tossed salad (with lots of black olives), carrot & raisin salad (because it's black and orange), garlic stuffed olives, deviled eggs (because Hades is such a darling!), baked sweet potatoes (because vegs that grow underground are traditional for Samhain), stewed apples (because apples are scared to the Lady, and there are always fresh apples at the Samhain Feast too), garlic bread, pumpernickel bread (because it's black) with cream cheese, chocolate cake and/or dark fudge brownies with chocolate chips, blackberry pie (because it's black and because of the fey, especially the Samhain Phooka, of course; he just loves blackberries!!!), apple cider and/or ginger ale and root beer for the kids, red and rose wine and ale for the adults. Yes, I would be cooking for days!!!... So worth it!!! >>> The Phooka...

>>> Yes... The Great Phooka is an Irish fey (Above is one representation of him. Some say he is horse-like, other say he's like a goat, or like a cat, or a mix of all of them.)

And, then, there are smaller pookas. But, all of pooka-kind just positively love berries. Even though berries may still be on the bushes after Michaelmas (September 29th), it's unwise to pick them, because the pookas piss and spit on them after that time!!!... 😉

The "Charmed" Witches, It was Fun To Watch, ~ BUT...

Mmmm... I KNOW, I KNOW, they were fantastically popular, but I DO have criticisms... >>> UH... >>> If they're so uniquely powerful WHY did they not know it from practically their births? >>> WHY do they have to read spells from a grimore, if they're power is so great?... Any witch who is powerful can make up her/his own spells practically ~ just like THAT! >>> Of course, it's VERY OBVIOUS this T.V. series was created by those who are not witches. The traditional name for a person who is not a witch is a cowan. No, they are NOT muggles. ;) >>>

Those Famous Fiction Witches!!!... ;)

>>> Remember her from "The Craft"?... That wide insane grin...

I do like her monkeys!!!...

She's coloring her lips with a clam... I admire her style, of course...

Remember those three sisters from San Francisco?... I wish I could have seen more of their darling siamese cat...

All I want is a room somewhere...

Tour The Witch House In Beverly Hills...

The owner of the house gives out candy to thousands on Halloween!!!... HOW COOL!!!...

Laurie Cabot: The Official Witch Of Salem...

24 Hours In Salem, Massachusetts..

What REALLY Happened During The Salem Witch Trials...

It's REALLY An Insult!!!...

>>> Etymology and terminology... The most commonly accepted etymology derives warlock from the Old English wǣrloga, which meant "breaker of oaths" or "deceiver". The term came to apply specially to the devil around 1000 AD. In early modern Scots, the word came to refer to the male equivalent of a "witch" (which can be male or female, but has historically been used predominantly for females) The term may have become associated in Scotland with male witches owing to the idea that they had made pacts with Auld Hornie (the devil) and thus had betrayed the Christian faith and broke their baptismal vows or oaths. From this use, the word passed into Romantic literature and ultimately into 20th-century popular culture. A derivation from the Old Norse varð-lokkur, "caller of spirits", has also been suggested, but the Oxford English Dictionary considers this implausible owing to the extreme rarity of the Norse word and because forms without hard -k, which are consistent with the Old English etymology ("traitor"), are attested earlier than forms with a -k. ~ Wikpedia.

A Witch's Garden...

What should be in a witches garden?... My suggestions: ~ Nightshade (woody nightshade or deadly nightshade) ~ Henbane ~ Hellebore ~ Mandrake ~ Thornapple ~ Wolfbane ~ Cinquefoil ~ Basil ~ Rosemary ~ Lavender ~ Oregano ~ Yarrow ~ Roses ~ Sunflowers ~ Violets ~ Purple Clover ~ Tomatoes ~ Pumpkins ~ Catmint ~ Garlic Chives ~ Taragon ~ Bee Balm ~ Primroses ~ Honeysuckles ~ Apple Tree ~ Dandelion ~ Hollyhocks ~ Sweet Peas ~ Raspberries & Blackberries ~ Strawberries ~ Sweet Woodruff ~ Lily-Of-The-Valley ~ Tulips ~ Ground Ivy ~ Plantain ~ Lamb's Ear ~ Sage ~ Mints ~ Foxgloves ~ Snowdrops ~ Mushrooms ~ Hawthorn ~ Squash ~ Rhubarb ~ Pear Tree ~ Chamomile ~ Dill ~ Evening Primrose ~ Purple Coneflower ~ Black-eyed Susan ` Daisies ~ Dahlias ~ Sweet Alyssum ~ Amaranth ~ Marigolds ~ Poke Sallat ~ Moonflower ~ Daffodils ~ Impatiens ~ Horserdish - Asparagus ~ Asters ~ Mums ~ Hydrangeas ` Peonies ~ Wisteria ~ Oriental Poppies ~ Lemon Balm ~ Snapdragons ~ Sourgrass ~ Purslane ~ Queen Anne's Lace ~ Nasturtiums ~ Geraniums ~ Petunias ~ Aujuga ~ Hyacinths ~ Iris ~ Pussywillow ~ Indian Paintbrush ~ Lobelia ~ Delphiniums ~ Elder tree ~ Forsythia ~ Cherry tree ~ Willow tree ~ Oaks ~ Maple tree ~ Yew ~ Thyme ~ Crocus ~ Narcissus >>>

The Merry Meet Murders, ~ Chapter 3...

"Thank you so very much, James," Vesper purred as he opened the back door of the Eldorado for her. James touched the brim of his Greek fisherman's cap in a sassy salute. His thick tawny lashes swept down. His perfect teeth showed in a grin almost to his back molars. The sexy navy-colored cap sat at a jaunty angle on his blond head and the ends of his silvery blond hair brushed the shoulders of his black t-shirt. The cap was slightly reminiscent of part of the chauffeur's uniform that Grandma Marrcine tried to get James to wear, but he absolutely wouldn't. James gravitated to black t-shirts with Gothic designs on them and tight black jeans. He leaned into the red leather front seat of the gleaming Cadillac and picked up the stack of gaudy bowed-tied packages from various boutiques, preparing to carry them to the house. I rolled my eyes skyward as I looked at his shapely little ass. Vesper caught my expression, threw her head back and laughed. Perhaps James knew what we were laughing about. I couldn't see his expression over the packages he balanced as he walked up the pink and white granite path to the front steps. Grandma was coming down those steps, a tall glass of iced tea in her hand, probably Long Island Iced Tea. There was a sprig of fresh mint sticking out of the top of the glass and Grandma had a mischievous look in her eyes. A bit drunky she was, now that I looked closer... And, it was only ten o'clock on a rather damp and dark Saturday morning. The toadstools weren't even burned off our huge front lawn. Grandma Marricine waved dramatically at James. "Take them into the parlor, James. I doubt you can fit any more packages on Vesper's bed. It's still full of shoe boxes from her last trip to Blanchard's. Vesper Darling, are you depressed or something? You've been going shopping even more than you usually do." "Just bored, Gran." "Bored? What? Your flower shop isn't doing well?" "Now really, Gran, you know that orchids and gardenias and seasonal arrangements aren't enough for me." "No, I suppose not. Still you make a good living there." "Gran, you know that nobody in this family has to work!" "True... True." Grandma smiled at Vesper. She was wearing one of her silk galabeyas, a fuchsia and lime green one with a contrasting cobalt blue scarf tied around her hair. Her feet were bare, just the slightest glimpse of turquoise toenails peeking from under her swirling hem. Her good mood was surely because she hadn't yet discovered her unlocked magical room. Had Vesper jimmied the lock or had Grandma simply forgotten to seal the door? I hardly thought that my lazy sister would go to all the trouble of breaking in simply to find a place to screw Jus Glaser. "You girls haven't forgotten that Lammas is three days from now, have you?" "Oh!" Vesper's eyes got big with mock surprise. "Well..." "You had!" Grandma frowned at her. "Really, Vesper, are you a witch, or not?" Vesper got a wild, defiant look on her face. "I AM!" "Don't get snarky with me, young lady. Pull back those hooded Romani eyes of your's. Your father's reckless blood in you... He was sort of a carny, and, I beleive, an Irish traveler too, ~ yes, I think. Corrvina hardly knew him. Then, she was quickly pregnant and he was... The handsome devil was simply gone." I sighed. I'd heard this story many, many times in various versions, all of them probably true. "When is mom getting out of rehab?" "Not for a while, and in that expensive clinic in Bordeau with the designer cabins!" "Mom is better off there. She hates chilly New England. She can't understand why you stay here, Grandma." "The cold is refreshing, so invigorating. I had that new furnace put in last spring. Plus, this old house has a soapstone fireplace in every bedroom and that big black enamel wood-burning stove in the kitchen, the one Conchetta begged me for, plus the Viking electric range! I swear I spoil our cook!' "You love her, Gran." Vesper sighed. "Even though she's a freaking manic about being spotless in the kitchen and she gabbles under her breath all day long, swearing in Spanish." "Yes, I do love her, AND, I love her cooking! Oh, by the way, speaking of cooking,--- the feast... It's my turn to host a holiday so the coven will be coming here for the celebration, no small family thing with just us and Oona and Olive this Lammas." "My evil nine year old horse obsessed twin sisters I can take, Gran. After all, they are OURS." Vesper frowned. "I DO like most of your coven, Gran, but is Maeve coming TOO?" "Yes, yes, she is. She's making her famous whiskey spice cake." "That cake is NOT good enough for me to tolerate Maeve, the Wicked Witch Of The Eastern United States. She's obnoxious. Just because she runs "Morvyn's Roost" in Salem doesn't mean a thing to me." "Well, you have to admit that a bar with a witches boutique and herb shop attached to it IS a novel idea. It's been extremely successful, especially since she got that local band playing there on the weekends. What's the name of it? Hmmm... Yes, ---'Wild Ratchet'. You certainly are there enough when they're playing." "I like their music," Vesper countered. "And, the place is jumping then." "Of course." Grandma smiled. But I scowled, folding my arms on my chest. "I positively hate it that I'm only sixteen! I have no fun!" Grandma hugged me and I was briefly smothered in silk and Parisenne cologne. "You will grow up fast enough, my little Aurielle! Once you reach thirty-five you turn around once or twice, then you're fifty and in your crone years!" "Being older hasn't slowed you down, Gran," Vesper smirked. "Is Paul coming to Lammas too?" Paul was Grandma's longtime lover. She met him years ago at a Witches Rights Rally. He's one of those older guys who has taken care of himself his whole life, so that now in his sixties he was craggy handsome with lots of silver hair usually worn in a supple ponytail or a single braid, like a thick cable, down his back. Paul had a tall v-shaped body with an amazingly defined chest and back and wicked dark green eyes lit with his unique kicky sense of humor. He always reminds me of how Sean Connery looked in Medicine Man. Paul has the same sort of husky deep, musical voice and he always smells faintly and deliciously of old fashioned bay rum. Yeah, Paul Kazakov was a very hot guy, but instead of being a Scot he was Russian, originally from Minsk. I could definitely understand why Grandma adored him. She sighed loudly and dramatically. "No, my sweet Paul won't be coming. He will be in Boston meeting with other contractors considering that big apartment complex near Beechmore Heights. Too bad, too bad..." "Yeah, Gran, too bad." "Well, let's go inside, girls. Conchetta should have lunch ready soon. I suggested chicken enchiladas, Caesar salad and fudge ripple ice cream with cinnamon sugared almonds." "Slushy mango Margaritas, I hope?," Vesper asked. "That can be arranged, I'm sure, Darling." Grandma smiled at Vesper. "Our wonderful homemade root beer for you, Aurielle," she added. "Sure, sure, sure..." I kicked at a twig on the walkway, mildly irritated. "I'm such a child, an 'enfant terrible'. I switched to a French accent. Grandma hugged me. "Not at all, Dear. You're just young and an unpredictable little witch." ~ Copyright 2024, by Antoinette Beard.

Samhain Song, ~ Lisa Theil...

Samhain...

The Wicked Witch Of The West Flies To The Emerald City...

Love her laugh!!!... ;)

Professor Mc Gonagall Transforms From A Cat...

The Kitchen Of The Weasley Burrow, ~ From The Harry Potter Movies...

Some Were Burned Simply Because They Were Beautiful... :(

In Europe witches were burned. In the United States they were hung.

WoW, ~ JUST WOW!!!...

...Journey Of The Witches...

Movie: The Witches...

Taken from the famous Roald Dahl story, THIS is NOT a movie for kids to watch, ~ in my opinion!... I found it very scary and creepy, and I'm a full grown adult, of course! I think it would DEFINITELY give kids nightmares, but it is considered to be a children's story... Get her, Kitty!!!... >>>

Voudon Ceremony...

1958 Hit: Witch Doctor...

1959 Hit: Love Potion # 9...

Top 10 Most Powerful Witches In Movies...

(Another chapter!!!) The Merry Meet Murders, ~ Chapter 2...

Vesper huffed and puffed like an angry dragon, rapidly gathering her clothing from the floor. She snatched up her short silk wrap skirt, the turquoise and banana yellow print one I'd admired for months, and whipped it around her hips, tying it loosely. I stared into her flushed, angry face. "That was Jus Glaser you were,--- you were dallying with!" "So?" "Jus Glaser just got out of Fernais Correctional Institution!" "How would an ever-clueless child like you know that, Aurielle?" "Just because I'm five years younger than you doesn't mean I'm unaware of things, or stupid! I'm sixteen!" Vesper was putting tortoiseshell combs in each side of her hair to hold the silky strands from her face. "Like I said, you're a child, an annoying bratty child." "And, you're a slut!" Her slap to my face was instantaneous. She went through the tiny door and stomped down the stairs. Bastion hurried ahead of her, his immaculate tabby striped tail straight up. I could swear I saw Vesper's bare feet striking sparks as she walked. I blinked, then rubbed my eyes as I followed her down. Yeah, there were definitely tiny orange sparks at the edges of her feet and a glow of orange around her legs up to her calves. Vesper was a kinetic witch. When she was sad it drizzled, ---often. Talk about something that was annoying. But, I wanted to continue the trend of talk about the luscious Jus Glaser. "He was in prison for grand theft auto and assault, you know..." "I know! I know!", Vesper growled. "Still, he's so hot...," I went on just to get her to talk. Vesper stopped on the winding stairs; I slammed into her back. "Oh, you think so, younger sister?" I stuck out my lower lip. "Yeah, I think so. I,---I guess..." Vesper folded her arms over her full breasts, frowning. "You guess..." "He's got a lot of Chippewa. That thick black hair. His skin reminds me of the imported syrup Kiki Dupont orders to make her toffee frappes at Le Dona's." Vesper grinned. "You know I really, really like those in the morning,---in the afternoon, at night..." "You're addicted to them because you add brandy. Are you becoming addicted to Jus too? He's dangerous!" "None of your business what I'm addicted to!" I shrugged. "I suppose not. I'm just a little curious. That's all. It's not like we don't have plenty to ogle right here at the house." I looked down through one of the many windows in the walls. What I saw was not an unusual sight. I'd seen it quite a few times, but I never, ever tired of it. I was looking down at our gardener and chauffeur James taking a shower, using the outdoor shower that was directly under the window. Of course, the shower was enclosed on all four sides by red cedar boards, but not at the top. I could see the round silver metal shower head pouring constant hard streams of water on his pale blond head. As I watched he lifted his arms and massaged the shampoo into his hair, stepping momentarily out of the cascading water. The perfect wet muscles of his broad shoulders and his curving biceps gleamed as he worked up a thick lather. Then, he stepped backwards, put his head back into the water to rinse, his throat enticingly arched, his eyes closed, a blissful expression on his handsome face, as he smoothed his palms over his wet hair. Vesper was leaning over me to get a really good eyeful. "Hmmm... I like him best when he gets out of the shower and he's drying off in the stall, such much better view... Just makes me want to take a ride to town in the Eldorado for a little shopping, so James can carry the packages." She sighed. "I'll ask him, in a bit, after he's dressed." She smiled like a pussycat. "You want to come along, Aurie?" She liked to call me "Aurie" when she was feeling affectionate. I could tell from that that her little angry snit was over. "Sure," I said. ~Copyright 2024, by Antoinette Beard.

The Merry Meet Murders, (A Witches Of Wildcroft Cove Novella) ~ Chapter 1...

1983: >>> I had this twitchy feeling that my Grandma Marrcine's secret room would be unlocked, that fascinating tower room at the apex of our two hundred year old house, which some people jokingly called not a house, but a castle. Don't ask me how I knew that little room was unlocked. Witch blood runs strong in the Cerri family and we all sense things, even the very smallest things, like a door that is carefully sealed each time it's left, but now,---was intriguingly open. You would think living at Wildcroft Cove, a village only fifteen miles from Salem, that we'd have at least part English heritage, but, oh, no,---we are all Italian, and of the Old Ways. Our family is from Tuscany where the sacred tradition of Aradia started, the mysterious goddess leader, the charismatic fourteenth century woman who left behind ancient, and as most think, scandalously lewd and eccentric lessons... My very wealthy red haired ancestor Rosemunda was an infamous beauty, an evil faerie-learned woman, a heartless temptress, who fascinated every man who saw her and who also followed those Old Aradia Ways. This was her country estate house, where she took her elite friends to our circle of standing stones in the woods, the circle surrounded by ancient gnarled oaks. There in the night mists, barely clothed in white gauze, waving her flashing silver athame toward the full moon, Rosemunda would lead the rituals, always accompanied by her black cat, Nessa, who was said to be an immortal spirit attached, for a while, to Rosemunda. I've known these family things since my early childhood. One of the first family things that was my responsibility as the youngest girl child in our matriarchal family was to care for our household guardian, our Befana, to dust and clean the extremely old doll in her niche in the parlor, to give Befana fresh flowers in her dry reddish hair in the Spring and Summer and sharp-scented maple leaves in the Fall and even dried red rose hips from our faerie roses in the Winter, the small white faerie roses that encircled and also grew sixty feet up into our huge Russian mulberry tree. But, now, I continued to climb the spiral staircase to my grandma's tower room, looking up, up, up. Sparkling clear diamond-paned windows cross-hatched with lead were set in the horsehair-plastered walls to let in light. The old stairs creaked every few steps. The railing was beautifully made as was every piece of woodwork in this grand old house. You'd never know unless you looked very closely that it wasn't carved out of one long sinuous length, like a twisted white serpent. I gazed upward, upward, upward... I had wanted for years and years to see the little sequestered tower room where I knew my Grandma Marrcine kept her potions, her exquisite handmade oils, ointments, washes and dusts, those very magical things that she'd created all her adult life for practically every human condition or problem. Grandma Marrcine was in her late sixties, but she still had her hourglass figure and was as spry as an Alpine goat. Her wavy black hair was liberally streaked with silvery iron gray and she had piercing dark gray eyes, eyes the color of cascades of heavy rain running down the nine foot tall windows of our living room. As I climbed and climbed and climbed and climbed, the stairs became not as well-cared for, not even half as meticulously maintained as the rest of the house. Even some of the delicately-formed spindles were missing; the wood was pitted and unpainted. Up and up I went, five stories, until I stood on the landing in front of a narrow pale pink door, a door only a couple of feet wide and about five feet tall. An averaged-sized adult would have to turn sideways and stoop to get through it. I reached out, gently touched the doorknob. The door slammed open as if it was spring-loaded. My beautiful older sister Vesper sat up with a ringing cry from a little brass bed, quickly clutching a white flannel sheet to her breasts. Her long, curly red-gold hair was wild around her face, her goldish brown eyes were as wide and crystalline as a French boudoir doll's. A dark-haired young man of about twenty leaped up from the bed, charged through the door and clattered down the stairs, bare butt, his denim shirt open, it's tails flapping, his muscular chest heaving. His jeans and boxers were on the floor next to the bed. "What the flaming hell are you doing here, Aurielle?," my sister screamed at me. I put my hands on my hips, and leaned forward from my waist, like an angry goose. "And, WHAT were you doing here..., " I shot at her, pointing my arm back toward the open door and the stairs, "...with, ~ WITH HIM?" Bastion, our fluffy, almost black tabby cat, gazed at me from the top of a dresser, his big, unusual orange eyes, the exact color of the meat of a blood orange, curious, alert and amused. --- Copyright by Antoinette Beard/Sorelle Sucere 2021.

Season Of The Witch, ~ Sung By Donovan...

"The Book Of Shadows," By James Reese...

... A positively delicious read!!!... >>>

Alone among the young girls taught by nuns at a convent school in nineteenth-century France, orphaned Herculine has neither wealth nor social connections. When she's accused of being a witch, the shy student is locked up with no hope of escape ... until her rescue by a real witch, the beautiful, mysterious Sebastiana. Swept away to the witch's manor, Herculine will enter a fantastic, erotic world to discover her true nature -- and her destiny -- in this breathtaking, darkly sensual first novel. ~ From The Library Thing. >>> Who was Herculine Barbin?...

>>> From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: Herculine Adélaïde Barbin Born November 8, 1838 Saint-Jean-d'Angély, France Died February, 1868 (aged 29) Paris, France Cause of death Suicide (gas asphyxiation) Other names AbelCamille >>> Notable work Herculine Barbin: Being the Recently Discovered Memoirs of a Nineteenth-century French Hermaphrodite Herculine Adélaïde Barbin, later known as Abel Barbin (November 8, 1838 – February 1868), was a French intersex person who was assigned female at birth and raised in a convent, but was later reclassified as male by a court of law, after an affair and physical examination. She is known for her memoir, Herculine Barbin, which was studied by Michel Foucault. Her birthday is marked as Intersex Day of Remembrance. >>> Early life Most of what is known about Barbin comes from her later memoirs. Barbin was born in Saint-Jean-d'Angély in France in 1838. She was assigned as female and raised as a girl; her family named her Alexina. Her family was poor but she gained a charity scholarship to study in the school of an Ursuline convent. >>> According to her account, she was enamoured of an aristocratic female friend in school. She regarded herself as unattractive but sometimes slipped into her friend's room at night and was sometimes punished for it. Her studies were successful and in 1856, at the age of 17, she was sent to Le Château to study to become a teacher. There, she fell in love with one of her teachers. >>> Puberty Although Barbin was in puberty, she had not begun to menstruate and remained flat chested. The hairs on her cheeks and upper lip were noticeable. In 1857, Barbin received a position as an assistant teacher in a girls' school. She fell in love with another teacher named Sara. Sara's ministrations turned into caresses and they became lovers. Eventually, rumors about their affair began to circulate. Although in poor health her whole life, Barbin began to suffer excruciating pains. When a doctor examined her, he was shocked and asked that she should be sent away from the school, but she stayed. Eventually, the devoutly Catholic Barbin confessed to Jean-François-Anne Landriot, the Bishop of La Rochelle. He asked Barbin's permission to break the confessional silence in order to send for a doctor to examine her. When Dr. Chesnet did so in 1860, he discovered that although Barbin had a small vagina, she had a masculine body type, a very small penis, and testicles inside her body. In 20th-century medical terms, she had male pseudohermaphroditism. >>> Reassignment as male A later legal decision declared officially that Barbin was male. She left her lover and her job, changed her name to Abel Barbin and was briefly mentioned in the press. She moved to Paris where she lived in poverty and wrote her memoirs, reputedly as a part of therapy. In these memoirs, Barbin would use female pronouns when writing about her life prior to sexual redesignation and male pronouns following the declaration. Nevertheless, Barbin clearly regarded herself as punished, and "disinherited", subject to a "ridiculous inquisition". In his commentary to Barbin's memoirs, Michel Foucault presented Barbin as an example of the "happy limbo of a non-identity", but whose masculinity marked her from her contemporaries. Morgan Holmes states that Barbin's own writings showed that she saw herself as an "exceptional female", but female nonetheless. >>> Death In February 1868, the concierge of Barbin's house in rue de l'École-de-Médecine found her dead in her home. She had died by suicide by inhaling gas from her coal gas stove. The memoirs were found beside her bed.

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