Chapter Eight

Enid stood in front of her cauldron, stirring the potion as it turned a dark red. Smoke, whose shape hinted the outline of a heart, rose up from the cauldron. The smell of fresh parchment paper and freshly baked bread tingled her nostrils. The simple love potion would smell different to each person depending on there individual preference. 'It’s almost done' she thought.  It is far easier to convince a man to do what you want if they believed they loved you. Of course, no one would be falling in love with her.

She remembered her youth, when her hair had been long, thick and golden blond, instead of greasy gray; when her skin was milky white and soft, instead of bumpy and green. It was the price she paid for her power and she rarely regretted that. What did she need beauty for? She wasn’t after love, she was after power.

Besides, she hated men; the way they leered at you, the way they grunted and rutted over you like a PIG! It had been almost unbearable to conceive Tristan, and she was glad that she didn’t have to lie with a man ever again. She had dabbled in relationships with women, but they just gave her a headache. No, the love potion wasn’t for her, it was for Bridget. She was a rare, true beauty; the potion would just be icing on the cake.

Bridget was sure to whine and complain about having to go on this trip, but Enid needed her this time. The Scurrying mirror had showed her nothing of what was happening in that house, so they would need a spy. Bridget’s beauty and charm would do the trick, and with the potion no one would deny her. The only question was which brother would succumb to her charms.

Enid's memory went to when she had first found the girl, frail, thin and dirty, hiding in the forest. Her gray eyes blackened; tears streaked down her dirty face. She remembered bending down and looking into those smoky eyes and feeling the power. The little girl was a witch.

She brought her back to the castle. She nursed her frail body, covered in cuts and bruises. Less obvious, but more severe damage was discovered, as she cleaned the girl up. Bridget had been reluctant to talk about these wounds, but eventually Enid discovered where they came from. Rage filled Enid when she discovered Bridget's father had replaced the wife he had beaten to death with his little girl; used her small body as a punching bag and to fulfill his physical needs.

Enid cared for the girl, taking her as a daughter. She had desired a child to raise, to teach and pass all her knowledge to.  For this she endured the process of conception and hoped for a girl. She got Tristan instead. Male babies turned to boys, boys turned into Men. She hated men. So she raised Bridget as her daughter and treated Tristan as a slave.

She taught both to use their powers. She praised Bridget when she did well, encouraged her when she struggled. Her gift was unique and rare, but not necessarily powerful; yet she wanted the girl feel special and entitled. She also encouraged her playful, but cruel, nature towards Tristan.

Tristan she beat and belittled. She had chosen the father because of his gift and it had passed to the boy. He had tremendous power but she diminished its potency with every harsh word, every strike. She made him feel inferior, weak, but he was neither of those things. His power was strong. Tristan believed Enid had learned to block his influence, but what she had done was make him stop trying. His confidence had been nonexistent, until Cordelia.

She was still angry at herself for killing the witch. 'If she would have controlled her temper'. Enid shook her head; 'Then Tristan would be with the another woman and he would never have met the Creation girl.' She should have remembered that one often finds one's destiny in the path they take to avoid it. Her temper at having Tristan and Cordelia alter her plans got the better of her and now the Prophecy was that much closer to coming true because of it. It irked her that Tristan had stood up to her. His confidence undermined Enid’s efforts. She wanted him to think he was weak and worthless. She couldn’t afford him realizing he was actually very strong and very powerful. That’s why she had done what she did. That is why she was in this perilous situation.
 “Damn!” she exclaimed as a black cloud emitted from the cauldron. Enid’s anger at her error poured into the brew. Now she would have to start over.

Enid prepared her ingredients again as Bridget teleported into the room.

“What are you making?” Bridget asked, walking towards the cauldron. She looked over the lip and smelled the black, oozing liquid and scrunched up her nose. The thick goo smelled like burnt flesh.

“It’s a love potion!” Enid responded, squeezing the necessary juice from ripe, red strawberries.

Potions weren’t her forte, but Bridget doubted that mixture would make anyone fall in love, much less keep their lunch down.

“Who’s the unlucky guy?” she teased, walking away from the putrid brew.

“It’s not for me, it’s for you” she corrected, tearing the rose petals from it's stalk.

“I don’t need love potions Enid. I don’t have any problems with men” she stated as she sauntered around the room, enjoying the fragrance of the fresh rosemary and thyme Enid was now chopping.

“I need you go come with me to get Tristan. We are leaving tonight" Enid said, making sure her ginseng root was cut into nine equal pieces. "Go get ready."

“But I just found a new pet!” whined. She hated to travel.

 “Blast you and your pets! Get rid of it and get ready to leave!”

“You never let me have any fun” Bridget pouted.

“We leave tonight Bridget, be ready!” With a flick of her wrist the black ooze was replaced with clean water.

“Very well.” Bridget sighed. “Will he come home this time?” she asked as she tried to sound nonchalant.

“He will, once I kill the girl and her family” Enid responded, adding the necessary ingredients to the boiling water.

Bridget smiled to herself, excited about Tristan's ensuing return. “It will be nice to have him home again." Bridget peered over the rim of the cauldron, enjoying the aroma of the air after it rains. She also picked up an earthy smell that reminded her of Tristan. "It’s been ages since we’ve gotten to play together.”

Enid just grunted. She knew exactly what Bridget meant by play together. “We’re leaving as soon as this potion cools, go get rid of that pet and get ready.”

“As you wish" she said, as she teleported out of the room.

Bridget popped into her bedroom and smiled. Tristan was coming home. He had been a naughty boy running off with that witch.  She walked to the armoire and opened it up. She squished her face trying to decide what she would need during the trip. She never knew what to pack. With a flick of her wrist all her clothes were put into her travel trunk.
'He would have to be punished'  she thought as she packed her face paint, lotions and salts, all necessary ingredients for seduction. She would enjoy that; reminding Tristan that he was her toy, that his body was for her pleasure alone.

The first time she saw Tristan she was ten years old and very afraid of men. Enid had saved her from her father, a man who thought it was okay to use his daughter up after he had used up her mother.
A dark look passed over her face. She had gotten her revenge a couple years before. She didn’t know what possessed her to find the man she used to call her father, but she remembered the night she walked into the pub and saw him again. She was expecting to be afraid of the big man with the big hands that beat and groped her as a child, but all she felt was hate. She left all fear in that room in the Inn where she made sure he would be unable to perform any manly duty ever again. No longer would any man have control over her. Those demons had been exercised and she now used her body and her magical gift to take control over men.

But Tristan was not like her father, he was different. 

Enid had told her Tristan was there to do what ever she wanted. All she had to do was ask and it was Tristan’s job to do it. But she didn’t seem to have to ask him for anything. He automatically cleaned her room, made her food, etcetera, so she stayed away from him. She was timid around him at first, afraid to be left alone with him.

Enid, however, was overly cruel to him. Nothing he did was ever good enough and she beat him mercilessly. At first, she felt sorry for Tristan, she remembered the pain she endured under her father’s hand. She asked Enid why she had to hurt him, 

“If they don’t learn their place Bridget, they turn into men like your father. Tristan needs to know who’s in charge.”

It was a lesson she learned well. 

Bridget spent the next eight years abusing him. She wasn’t allowed to use her power to turn him, but she made his life Hell. Suddenly her room wasn’t clean enough. She toppled over clean linens and clothes he had neatly folded. She threw food at him that was perfectly fine and told him it wasn’t hot enough. When she tormented Tristan she felt powerful and in control. For the first time in her life she wasn’t afraid.

On her eighteenth birthday she walked in the forest, running her fingers over the new satin dress Enid had given her. She liked pretty things.  She bent down to smell the iris' pushing through the thick grass when she heard strange sounds coming from the trees ahead. She crept closer, keeping herself hidden. She was prepared to teach the trespassers a lesson when she saw Tristan and a local girl near the bank of the river.She immediately recognized what Tristan was doing to the girl. Anger and shame consumed her as memories scrolled through her brain. She relived all the horrific acts her father had perpetrated. 
He hadn’t been beaten enough! He still didn't know who was in charge! He was a cruel man after all. He was hurting that poor girl and needed to be stopped.
'I'll  turn him into a cockroach and squish him!' Surely Enid wouldn't be upset if she used her powers on him this once. She would understand he had to die for what he was doing. She stormed across the field and stopped short when the girl made a sound that Bridget didn’t recognize. It wasn’t a noise of pain, and if Bridget didn’t know any better she would say the girl was actually enjoying it.
She sat and watched them, no longer certain of what to do.
Soft words uttered in hushed tones; she couldn’t look away.  The couple kissed, caressed each other; her face flushed and her body began to tingle. Tristan continued his steady rocking; a pressure formed in her belly. Suddenly the girl cried out; she could hear Tristan's low grunts as he limply fell on top of her, burying his face in the girls golden locks.

That's when it all began. It was then that Bridget decided she wanted to feel what the girl had felt. It was her birthday after all. She slowly rose, quietly walked back towards the castle as she formulated her plan. She would have Tristan in her bed that very night.
That was a pleasant memory, but Bridget decided to save it for later. She had to get things ready for her trip, and she had to deal with her new pet. When her things were packed Bridget walked up the winding stairs towards the room where she kept her pet. With a flick of her wand, the old, rusty lock clicked and the door creaked opened. She closed the door completely before she turned her attention to the naked man hanging from the ceiling.

She’d found this one drinking in the local pub; watched in the shadows as he bragged to his buddies about the way he reminded his stupid wench back home that she couldn’t cook, couldn’t clean properly, and that she was his property to do with as he saw fit. It was when he made a punching motion, slamming his fist into his open palm that Bridget knew he’d be her next pet. It wasn’t hard to convince him to follow her home, and before he knew it, he was strung up like a Christmas goose.

The welts from there initial encounter burned red on his back. The vision sent a small tremor of excitement through her. She circled in front of him as she scrapped her finger nails around his shoulders and down the length of his chest. 

“Have you been a good pet while I was away?”

“Y...y...y...es Mistress”
She smiled, glad he had remembered the first lesson and how to properly address her. She ran her fingers down further over his endowment. The man’s reaction was immediate.

“Did I say you could become aroused pet?”

“N...n...no Mistress, I’m…”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence. She flicked her wand and a rat lay where the man once stood.

She watched it scurry away, looking for somewhere to hide. Slowly she walked up to it and pressed the heel of her shoe on its head. She heard the satisfying squish as its head burst open and its brain stained the stone of the floor.

“Too bad, she said as she wiped the matter off her shoe. "We could have had lots of fun together.”