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Mother threw a fit when we took away her cauldron and animal bits from her apothecary. She had blood oozing out of my ears, which I let drip into the cauldron. She swore about all the things she'd do to someone who crossed a witch, and the ways she'd find new rats and bats, and ewe guts. If Puddles wasn't her familiar, I'm sure she'd have cannibalized her for ingredients too. But the nurse , Angela, who keeps calling me a good boy instead of Marko, comes by once a week to reapply the bandages to mother's legs, and my mother still manages to keep some curses in store. It's odd. She can't read a clock anymore, but she still can utter, word-perfect, a flesh-eating curse faster than most people these days can... well, read a clock.

Angela is the only nurse who's stayed. She drops by my office to be uncursed, on the days where I'm too busy to supervise mother. Sometimes when Angela shows up to the house, just as tough, cheery, and uncursed as the last time she came to help my mother, my mother will remember. From a note, perhaps that she scrawled somewhere in her calendar. I've found these kinds of notes. She'll read it and astral project till she finds me and put a minor curse on me, for uncursing Angela. Those are good days, when she's mostly clear, and getting up to mischief. But she's gotten lost in the astral plain before, and it is not easy to track someone down there.

I do it, because I moved in with her and she's my mother, but it was no simple task. Angela had called, panicked for the first time. She's familiar with witches, coming from the old country and all, but usually mother gets back from astral projection fairly quickly. We got her back, but that day hurt. It was a nice, good day, the next time I felt her reach from the astral realm, and dump cold water over my astral head. My own patient was shocked by the way I froze up suddenly. I excused myself, hoping I wouldn't have to hunt her down again and saw her astral form gleefully swooping away, following a trail of cut hair she had left for herself, just in case.

A few months later Angela called again. Concerned in that stern, inconvenienced manner of hers.

"Two weeks now, in a row, no curses. Docile like sheep."

"Thanks, Angela, I'll look into it."

"Witches, they don't like this. It's not good for her. She will do something herself."

"Thanks, Angela."

"Okay, I know you are good boy, you will do something."

"Take care of yourself, Angela."

There was nothing I could do. The corridors of her mind were falling apart, and she was doing her best to leap between them, but the moments of lucidity were coming less and less frequently. She was upset a lot of the time, not angry or mischevious but lost. Like a child, in a way. I never thought I'd miss the curses, the frustration of having to undo another one, untangle the web of them before. But I did. Because they were a part of her.

"Marko," she said, on one of her lucid days.

"Yes, mama?"

"Don't make me do it myself. I'll curse you worse than anything I've done if you do."

"Are you ready?"

"No," she said. "But I never will be. Make it peaceful. When I lose myself in there again, I don't want to wake up."

"I love you, mama," I said.

"Mmmm." she said. "A witch's love never dies."

She opened her arms to me.

When I nodded off watching her favourite TV show, puddles on my lap, she made hair grow out of every part of my body until I looked like a Sasquatch. And for my part, when I woke before her, I soothed every ache in her body, felt her breathing easy, and invited her soul to move on. She did feel ready to go. I think it was a relief for both of us.

Once, when she had a particularly bad hair day, a young woman who passed her in the street couldn't help but giggle at her flyaway locks. She whispered a few words under her breath, and and kept on walking past the tittering girl. The next day, the girl awoke to find her hair -- all of it -- had fallen out.

Yet, when I was small, I was running down the flagstone path through her garden, and I tripped and fell, and skinned my knees. She appeared from thin air, scooped me up in her arms, and whispered soothing words that stopped my bleeding and made my pain vanish.

She's bad-tempered, and petty, and sometimes even cruel. But she can also be warm, and kind, and loving.

She's the dreaded Baba Zorah, Witch of the Southern Plains. But she's also my mother.

Now that I've grown, and she has grown older, I feel that responsibility that all good sons feel, to look after their aging mother. You might think that a powerful witch can care for herself, but a witches magic is a visceral thing, and though it oft grows stronger with age, so too does the toll it takes on the witches stamina. She couldn't hex away an entire determined mob bearing torches and pitchforks before she grew too weary to cast spells, yet she courted the danger of inciting one almost constantly.

Fortunately, I inherited some of her power, and since my father also had magic of some sort -- though she steadfastly refuses to tell me his name, much less what sort of practitioner he was -- my native strength is a match for hers.

I have therefore taken on the role of her adversary, at least in the popular imagination. When the feared Baba Zorah afflicts the people with her curses, they call upon the aid of wise Vedmak Alexei, the White Warlock of the Plains -- never suspecting the latter is the former's son.

What makes it tricky is that, as I mentioned, our magic is closely tied to our bodies. Because of this, the methods one uses to directly break a spell generally cause it to rebound upon the witch that cast it. Naturally, I wouldn't do that -- she's my mom.

So how do I help her victims? Well, there are two basic types: curses of deprivation, and curses of excess.

Take the unfortunate woman who giggled at my mother's hair, for example. Mother's curse deprived her of hair. So, I cursed her to have excessive hair. Now, though she is technically twice-accursed, the young lady is for all intents and purposes normal, because the curses cancel each other out.

Recently, however, Baba Zorah had stepped up her assaults on the villagers. Despite her age, she still gets around quickly in her flying mortar and pestle, such that even the illustrious Vedmak Alexei has trouble keeping up. It was time that I paid her a visit.

As I approached her cottage, she appeared outside it in a puff of smoke.

"Ho! Vedmak!" mother called, glowering down at me from where she floated in her mortar a few feet off the ground. "You approach the home of a Vedma without announcing yourself? Did no one ever teach you manners?"

"I approach the house of my mother, where my welcome may be presumed, I trust." I said, drily.

She made a show of squinting at me. "Oh! It's you, Alexei. I could have sworn it was this arrogant young Vedmak I've heard tell of, who keeps meddling with those I've fairly cursed."

"Fairly?" I scoffed. "Mom, you've abandoned even the pretense of having a reason to curse people! Maid Silva in Nogradan just said 'hello' to you, and you made her nose fall off!"

"The very nose that she turned up at me when she said it! As though your poor mother were a piece of trash!" she retorted, hotly.

"She has an upturned nose! Her whole family does!"

"She had an upturned nose," she said, smugly.

"Has!" I snapped. "I cursed her with an 'extra' nose, this morning."

Mother threw up her hands in consternation. "Where is your respect? Your gratitude? I raised you all by myself, have you forgotten? And even if I were not your mother, this is professional discourtesy, at least! What has gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into me?" I exclaimed. "You were always capricious and liked to cause trouble, but lately it's like you're begging for a mob to burn you at the stake!"

"I'd like to see them try!" she hissed.

"I wouldn't!" I roared, angrily, bringing her up short. "Because if they tried, I'd burn them before they got within a mile of here! I'd hate myself forever, for hurting decent people who were just trying to protect themselves, but I would do it!"

Mother stared at me, her mouth half agape. My words had stunned her, if only for a moment. But she recovered quickly, and smoothed her skirts.

"So, my son. You have developed an affection for the small folk around you, I see." she said, as she regained her usual tone and manner. "If you wish so fervently to spare them from my anger, then let us settle the matter with a bargain."

I frowned suspiciously. Mother herself had taught me how perilous such bargains could be.

"What sort of bargain?"

"I will forswear all cursing, poisoning, and any other harmful magic against the people of these lands." she said.

That wording shocked me. She'd left herself virtually no wiggle room. What could she want bad enough to give up her favorite hobby?

"And in exchange...?" I asked, cautiously.

"Your firstborn child." she said, firmly.

I paled at her words. There were some potent magics that could only be worked with an infant as the focus. All of them were monstrous, and I wouldn't have thought my mother, even at her worst, would be capable of them.

She must have seen my reaction on my face, because she quickly added "No, not for a spell, boy! I will swear to that much."

"Then why would you want my child? Do you honestly want to take care of a newborn, at your age?" I demanded.

"I am not as old as all that! And why I want it is my own concern!" she snapped. Then she looked away, seeming slightly embarrassed. "Anyway, I wasn't thinking I would take care of it all the time."

"What does that mean?" I asked, a raising an eyebrow.

"You know -- sometimes I would visit the child, and sometimes the child would visit me? Like that." Mother explained.

"What are you..." I began, and then my eyes widened, as I finally understood.

"Has this all been because you want a grandchild?" I exclaimed.

"Well, grandchildren, ideally." Mother said. "But I didn't want to rush you."

"Didn't want to rush me?" I cried. "With all the chaos you've been causing, you've kept me too busy for much more than an occasional dalliance, never mind settling down with a wife, and now you want a grandchild?"

"A miscalculation on my part -- I was trying to bring you to the table, so to speak, but by the Divine, these people are so annoying." she said, with a shrug. "Now do you want to bargain, or not?"

I scowled at her for a long moment, but she just looked back impassively, waiting for my reply.

"I get a year and a day to find a bride." I said, finally. "I'm not going to tie myself to the first woman I see just to get a child on her."

Mother scoffed, but waved her hand in assent. "Oh, fine, if you must."

"And," I added, jabbing a finger at her. "You have to tell me who my father is."

It was her turn to scowl. "I'll tell you where he lives, and what he does. Take it or leave it."

"Deal." I said

"So mote it be."

"So mote it be!"

"Your sire lives in the capitol city of Amberholm. He's a court jester." Mother said, as soon as the deal was struck.

I blinked. "A court jester? But you said he had powerful magic! What kind of Vedmak works as a court jester?"

She replied with a wicked grin. "Oh, you want to know more? Well, I will doubtless want more grandbabies. Talk to me after you've delivered on our first agreement, and perhaps we can bargain again."

Oh, I want a whole novel of this. Or at least enough for the narrator to meet his father and whatever woman can stand up to a mother-in-law like Zorah.

Amazing!!! Thanks for your story, you have a great way with words. Lots of emotions. Nothing more dangerous than a witch with dementia

Thanks so much! If you haven't read the other take on the prompt by u/SilasCrane, you should; it's awesome!

This would make some good commentary about reversing generational trauma…

Feline ears flickered back and forth then swiveled towards me before flattening in disgust. That wasn't all. Soft black velvet fur, two catspaws and clawed hands with pink palms.

They didn't really seem to be a cat. It was true though that they seemed to have gotten all of the best parts. Their delicate features and petite frame were accentuated not obscured and she was moving with more grace than before.

"Oh uh you've got airplane ears. Cute by the way. So you are feeling uncertain about this right?" Maybe a little uneasy?"

I was guessing based off the book about cat behaviour that I had read earlier that morning. It seemed I was correct because of the way her eyes widened.

"You sick bastard! I'm a freak now and I'm furry and you know what the worst part is? Everyone can see exactly what I'm feeling! Anyone with a cat suddenly knows everything about me!"

I hastily stepped back as her face contorted into a snarling hissing expression of rage. This exposed her rough sandpaper tongue and canines which were of course much more menacing on a human face by virtue of being much larger. For heavens sake it was like a vampire! She pulled out her tongue for emphasis and forced my hand to it

"Dob Ub feelb howb rouffhh dis is? Feh it!"

She pulled away recoiling in disgust at some mysterious flavour only known to cats her head rolling back and about on her shoulders. She protested still gagging; with tears in her eyes.

"You know whats really, really the worst? I can taste whatever that was but sugar? Sugar is completely gone! How am I supposed to bake cakes for a living when cats can't taste sweetness? Blegh! My tongue is all wrong! Its rough and useless!"

I felt sick to my stomach. It was just like my mother to take someones livelihood because of... well it could be anything! It was becoming impossible to get any more information because of the way she was carrying on.

"Thats not even the worst part. I'm actually deathly allergic to chocolate, raisins, onions, garlic, chives and coffee all kinds of things. I haven't felt well since I got out of the hospital for a triple allergic reaction. I can't even drink. Have you ever seen a drunk cat?"

My heart clenched. Did she say triple allergic reaction? Even worse now that I thought about it I couldn't ever remember seeing a cat partake in alcohol. I'd seen them eating kitty bars, bits of meat, yogurt, butter. There were so many videos of cats on the internet. With a sinking feeling I realized I'd never seen a tipsy cat. Why was that? Why!

This young woman was twenty like me but instead of living at home with all the time in the world she clearly worked hard. The bake shop below her townhome was her passion. Flour dust and scattered cookware were everywhere. The smell of rising yeast and the delicious scent of warming chocolate filled the cramped room. Too late I spotted a complicated looking rolling pin.

"Fix me!"

The rolling pin swung towards my braced arms but changed course midair to smack into my midsection.

"Uff! Ugh! Wait let me explain!"

I reached for the rolling pin but she flipped backwards like some sort of gymnast sending her bright pink phone flying out of her apron. What was she supposed to be? Kitty Softpaws?

I groaned: "Unnngh..."

"How dare you call me cute! I look goth or whatever because she made me a tux- did I just do a freaking flip?"

Dryly I noted that she had. Oogh. But I was saved because just then a group of asian tourists and their teenage daughters strolled by.

"Look its a catgirl cafe! Please?"

"Please! Look its a genuine cafe but here in the US! "

There was an older looking man with a bold white suit and red tie that these girls were speaking to. They pointed at the bakery and talked in rapid-fire Japanese. Woozily I sat down on a stool and quietly spoke an incantation. Out of a pocket dimension constructed beyond the bounds of the material plane powdered catnip poured into my palm.

You see there was one other thing about cats besides allergies and agility and those telegraphed expressions. They could only pay attention to moving things. Staying as still as I was her attention was fixed on the group of energetic young girls and their fathers. I was also sure that an independent bakery owner couldn't possibly pass on foreign customers with plenty of money for tips and an appetite for Scandinavian pastry.

She couldn't see me and that was my cue to get out of here before someone got hurt. Like me. I would be the one getting hurt. Unnecesarily too since I'd been trying to help!

I yelled: "Magic Powder Attack! Flinging the pile of crushed catnip right into her face

Her eyes went wide and her face relaxed as she slid down from the counter. With a slight note of panic tinging her voice she murmured.

"Didja... did you jus-"

Right then the tourists burst into the shop. The two fathers throwing the doors open for their daughters and exclaiming in delighted Japanese at the wide variety of pastries. The girls rushed over to her pulling out phones. There you go! That was a niche market and an opportunity!

You see I wasn't nearly talented enough to undo a complicated artifice of sorcery of the kind my mother was so fond of. I was more into tricks.

The next few weeks were rough for her. The local newspaper proclaimed that Local Woman Receives International Acclaim For Cat Costume. After a letter I sent her anonymously she started streaming games. She started to like it when people pet her and scratched her chin. Which I thought was strange but said something about cats.

I had a certain power over luck that made these things work. I just wish my mother wasn't so damn disturbing! I mean allergies are no joke. Sheesh...