It was a Saturday like any other, or so I thought. The rich aroma of my personal slow sun roasted blend of Arabica coffee mildly cut with lightly roasted coca and a hint of fresh vanilla pod was spilling into my office from the stove top percolator in the kitchen. Breathing the pleasant homily smell deeply through my nose as I got up from the desk to pour the finished artesian brew and turn off the gas burner. I check the calendar of jobs in the kitchen, 'nothing booked for today, excellent. I'll have time to tend to my dwarfed coffee and coca trees in the green house' I say to the stud and plaster walls of my lonely remote two bedroom country home. The magpie sitting in the kitchen window turns her head to the side as if to ask "you loosing your mind talking to yourself there friend?" then hops threw the opening onto my bench to peck at the container of homemade crow feed, a mixture of rabbit jerky mixed nuts and dried fruit.
"no I'm not loosing my mind, Katie. just thinking out loud to you" I replied to the inquisitive bird while filling a small stainless steel dog bowl with the feed I make for her. As per our usual ritual I take a small handful of the surprisingly tasty, human safe bird feed and eat it infront of Katie just as I did with the strips of venison jerky I fed her the first day we met.

Thinking back to that day I found her trapped in a live box cage rodent trap left behind by the previous owner. Half starved and bearly just a fledgling the spirited young magpie still had plenty enough fight to peck a few scars into my hands as I rescued her. It took a couple of days but eventually I got her trusting me enough to eat drink and check her over for injuries. She was lucky enough to only have her flight fethers shaved off by the chicken wire used to make the trap and after a few weeks she was flying again. Happy tears flooded my eyes that day seeing her take flight into the hemlock pine in the rabbit infested paddock across from my kitchen window. It was only a week later she returned the favor and rescued me. It was my own stupidity, half way up a Radiatis pruning off some soon to be hazardous branches in all the wrong gear for the job. My sneaker laces come undone and tangle, one hand keeping hold of the tree and the other keeping the chainsaw away from my face I was stranded without a human soul for miles and no cell phone reception to call for help. Katie lands just inches from my face head cocked to one side and an aura that seemed to say "oh alright I'll help you, idiot!" before pecking through the laces cutting my feet free.

Katie sits over the cheep 70s style kitchen table on the back of ugly lino upholstered metal backed chair, nodding to the equally faded and ugly chair opersite her as if telling me to sit with my own breakfast of coffee cigarette and handful of bird feed. You would be forgiven for thinking my wild friend was part human with the body language communication she uses.

Just as I finish lighting my first cigarette of the day when the damn satellite phone rings. Katie squawks in frustration with a tone that suggested she was trying to say "that better be important!" She seems to appreciate our little meal times together sitting in silent companionship as much as I've grown to appreciate her friendship over the past year since buying the little rundown 1950s country homestead.
Carrying my coffee in my left and handful of feed in my right, a Paulmall hanging from my mouth I retrieve the receiver from the desk in the office. "The witches cottage, your speaking with..." "Cut the formalities sister we don't have time Troy was playing in the haunted asylum last night, he's not himself and I keep watching cuts appearing on his arms legs and back." It was my friend Donna, closer than family and two towns over. She was frantic and panicking for her oldest boy in that rebellious teen stage. "S!!! I'm on my way." "thank you" Donna's voice was thick with exorstion desperation and relief help was coming.

By the time I'd gathered up the necessary supplies Katie was sitting on the roof of my beaten up old 1993 Rolla, the brown paper bag of my pre ground coffee hanging from her beak. I unlocked the car and opened the passenger door taking care to fully hand crank the window open for the caring young bird. "Well if you're coming to, I better get your treats aswell" Katie nodded flaped her wings excitedly and took her designated perch on the headrest dropping the bag of coffee on the passenger seat below. I got to the kitchen to notice her bowl was still half full, shooting back the now cold coffee I sighed with a thought of 'that birds too good for me' and grabbed her bowl, feed container and box of Snickers bars for the both of us to share on the road. By the time I'd gotten back to the car Katie had already moved the coffee to the air-conditioned footrest to stay fresh and done her best to spread a tea towel from the back seat incase of accidents. I finished the job she started, placed her bowl of food on the seat and refilled the tin cup in the cup holder with water for the both of us. I start the car and Katie flys out the window and returns with an apple dropping it on my lap as I get to the end of my long dirt driveway just before I get out to open the gate. Smiling at her I take a bite and sit the apple on the dash before getting out to open the gate. By the time I got the car past the cattle stops and closed the gate Katie had already left and returned twice, once for my cigarettes and again for my lighter and was sitting on the gear leaver looking at me with an aura that said "what would you do without me?"

The drive to Donna's would take most people four to five hours... most people don't have a magpie as a friend who hops out to stretch her wings every few K's and knows how to warn you where the speed cameras and traffic police are in advanced. So with no traffic on the road and the best radar dector Snickers bars and crow feed can buy Katie and I cut the jurney down to 2hrs 45minutes. Donna looked both very surprised and very relieved at our early arrival dressing Troy's wounds as quickly as they magically appeared.

The ever intuitive Kate flew past the teen writhing and twitching on the front lawn, through the front door of the house and started squawking loudly from his bedroom. "Can you handle him while I go see what she's found?" Donna nodded tears of motherly concern in her eyes. Troy's bedroom looked like a wild animal had trashed it; claw marks on every wall, his treasured signed Metallica poster in ribbons, glass and plastic debris from a destroyed CRT computer monitor everywhere and blood on every surface. I found Katie squawking under the bed where she was pecking at an antique children's jewelry box trying to push it out from under its hiding place.

I reached out to grab it and my dear friend pecked my hand away making it clear she didn't want me touching it with bear hands. I commandeered a tea towel from Donna's hallway linen closet and tied again, Katie again pecks my hand and towel away, flying out both doors and returned with the fine blessed handwoven silk ritual cloth featuring the Hamsa I always keep in the back seat. Even though this treasured silk cloth gifted by and Indian priest during past travels the box still made my hands itch and shake from the evil energies it was corrupted with. "who's the best bird in the world, you are and you know it, yes you do." I praised Katie for her brilliant help as I brought the cursed box now wrapped in a protective cloth out to where Donna was tending to Troy.

The boy lunged at me and the box like an animal, hitting his mother in the process. Now I don't believe in hitting children but at this time I was not dealing with Troy, I dropped the box hearing it break inside the cloth and kicked the animalistic posesed teen back onto the over grown grass. I hoped less physical harm would be caused by the fall with the grass cushioning, Troy's body just tumble rolled back to its feet and continues the assault more enraged than before. The broken cloth wrapped box starts playing dark depressing tiny notes in the D octaves to the rhythm I recognized as being used for the summons of Debok, an ancient bread of demon said to be worshiped by a tribe of nomads feared by the sumarians in their cuneiform poetry.

Whatever was possessing Troy seemed to get stronger with every passing note. The attacks became more violent, with increasing lethal intensity as I struggled to hold the teen off without causing harm I finally managed to pin the child to the soft grass. "Donna get everything out of my boot and hurry the worse he gets the more likely I am to hurt him by accident."

Dona was thankfully smart enough to grab my hand spun blessed hemp and spider silk rope first, buying us precious minutes with the poor boy tied up for ours and his safety. The broken pieces of the box tipped from the cloth into a brass singing bowl tuned to the key of C major blessed rum hellowed woods pink salt and anointing oils quickly added on top. Katie flys over with my lighter in one tallon and my cigarette packet in her beak.

The Debok possessing Troy trashes against the bindings with increasing desperation as we prepare to burn its cursed object, the ropes cutting into the poor child's flesh. Guilt fills my stomach knowing I can't do anything to prevent the harm the child's vessel had suffered from my own self defense or the necessary restraints. Donna was frozen in fear and motherly concern, staring at her son "Light the damn fire already, there's nothing else you can do!" I yell at her snapping her out of the shock. The animalistic screams that erupted from Troy's vessel were as sickening as they were deafening. Some lady from across the street erupts from her house and runs across the street "Donna ring of black and pink salts now, don't let it him touch you! I'll deal with her!"

I met the concerned citizen half way across the empty road and explained enough of what was going on to calm her down. Katie sitting on my shoulder being a wild animal probably helped my story sound a little more believable, not many people claiming to be witches have such wild pets to back up their story after all. The kind middle aged woman agreed to stay out of my way, held and consoled the distraught Donna as they watched. Troy vomited black tarry goo that traced around the salt circle in tendrils looking for an opening. Best thing about a great loving mother they go over the top with how much salt they use when they draw the ring to protect bystanders and Donna was no different, doesn't stop me always double checking to make sure though.

I took a jar out of one of the bags I'd asked Donna to collect from my car earlier. "Notice the engravings on the bottom and in a ring around the middle? I hand do them during a full moon over eight hours, I can only make one a month and this seems to be my last one. It's been a very busy year" I explained to the the hugging and cry women before placing the open jar over the ring of salt, open side facing into the circle as I continued to drag out the Debok using tobacco smoke, singing bowl and Katie's rhythmic tapping chirping and squawking. I sang to her timing in old languages I don't remember learning yet have always come out naturally in times like these.

Once the Debok was fully inside the jar I sealed it with the lid and lit a candle ontop to hold it closed with blessed wax. Troy was back battered and bruised, emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausted but with it enough to ask "What the F!!!! happened? How did I get home? Why am I tied up? Is Amy ok?" as I untied him and Donna rushed to hug her son.

As it turns out Amy was ok, thank goodness. Given I didn't have anymore capture jars left. This new girlfriend Troy was playing in the asylum with had actually returned Troy home the night before when Troy had originally passed out from pocketing the jewelry box into his bag. I lectured both about playing with fires they don't understand before collapsing from my own exhaustion in Donna's guest room with Katie's wing as an eye mask as she cuddled in. Waking the next morning to find her protectively perched at the foot of the bed defending me from the harmless house cat fluffy. I knew I could never do the work I do without her, my dear friend, familiar and perhaps over protective platonic partner.

Based on true events fictionalised for client privacy. Written in memory of Kate, the magpie who was the most loyal companion a witch could ask for borne??/??/???? died 01/31/2014
© Tinka H Cain