The Good WitchThe Good Witch
            by Blake Linton Wilfong



      Editor's Notes by Blake Linton Wilfong
            "The Good Witch" appeared in the Winter 1998 issue (#38) of Marion 
      Zimmer Bradley's FANTASY Magazine. Readers voted this story a winner in 
      the Cauldron competition, ranking it among the magazine's top 12 that 
year.
            Featuring both Satan and spellcasting, "The Good Witch" is clearly 
      fantasy. But it also qualifies as borderline SF in the scientific 
      description of the way one of the witch's spells is used. Regardless of 
      your preference, it is fun to read.
            I wish to thank Marion Zimmer Bradley for accepting works by unknown 
      authors, and Barb Armata for the beautiful illustration that accompanied 
      my story in print. 


      "Get real."
Sheila Marsh was reviewing patient records in her office when the intercom 
buzzed. It was the receptionist: 
"Dr. Marsh, there's a Mr. Lucifer here to see you." 
Sheila sighed. "Send him in and hold all calls." 
A tall, red figure in a business suit entered. He removed his hat and sunglasses 
to reveal small horns and glowing eyes. 
The Prince of Darkness leaned over Sheila's desk menacingly. "What the blazes do 
you think you're doing?" he bellowed. 
"I'm the president and CEO of Marsh Rehabilitation, Inc.," Sheila answered 
calmly. "I use the 'spell of hatred' you gave me to make addicts hate the drugs 
to which they're addicted. The profits go to charity." 
"You can't do that!" the devil cried. "You're a witch. You're supposed to wear a 
pointy hat, fly around on a broomstick, and be evil!" 
"Get real. This is the 20th century. Besides, our contract doesn't stipulate any 
of those things," Sheila retorted. 
The Devil grunted and pulled a document from his breast pocket. "The contract we 
signed does clearly state that in exchange for the continuing use of one spell, 
you agree to wreak unhappiness and discontent!" 
Sheila removed a file folder from a desk drawer and waved it before Satan's 
nose. "Here are the names and phone numbers of all the physicians and clinics 
that cared for my patients before they came to Marsh Rehabilitation. I can 
assure you, I am making everyone on this list unhappy! They've lost a fortune. 
And the drug lords and pushers are becoming more discontented by the minute." 
Satan turned a darker shade of red and returned the contract to his pocket. His 
next words were ominously quiet and controlled: "You think you're clever, don't 
you? I can't go back on my contract, but I can change which spell I let you use. 
I hereby retract the 'spell of hatred' and give you the 'spell of sickness'. The 
words of the spell are illaroth avagore." He smiled fiendishly. "Just try 
thinking of a way to use that for good deeds!" 
The Devil donned his sunglasses and hat. He left, whistling a melody from Faust. 



Sheila Marsh was examining financial statements in her office when the intercom 
buzzed. It was the receptionist: 
"Dr. Marsh, there's a Mr. Beelzebub here to see you. I--I think he's a singing 
telegram or something." 
Sheila sighed. "Send him in and hold all calls." 
The Prince of Darkness entered and angrily slammed the door behind him. He had 
dispensed with disguises: the horns, glowing eyes, and forked tail were all 
plainly visible. He pounded a taloned fist on Sheila's desk. "What are you doing 
this time?" 
"I'm the president and CEO of Marsh Miracle Cures, Inc.," Sheila answered 
calmly. "I use the 'spell of sickness' you gave me to make my patients' viruses 
and bacteria sick. This enables my patients' own immune systems to overcome 
infections. The technique is similar to the use of antibiotics, but much more 
effective." 
Satan scowled. "No doubt the profits go to charity," he said sarcastically. "No 
doubt the patients' prior physicians are unhappy. And no doubt several major 
manufacturers of antibiotics are becoming more discontented by the minute." 
Sheila nodded. "Good for you! You're learning!" she said brightly. 
"You are clever, Sheila," admitted the Prince of Darkness. "But not clever 
enough. I hereby retract the 'spell of sickness' and give you the 'spell of 
toadmaking'. The words of the spell are bufonis sacaru." The Devil smiled 
devilishly. "All you can do now is turn things into toads. I'll wager you can't 
think of a way to use that spell to do good deeds!" 
"No problem," said Sheila, rising from her chair and pointing a finger at Satan. 
"Bufonis sacaru!" 
Poof! Satan became an unhappy and discontented toad. 
A horned toad, of course. 

       
      Continue
      to Wilfong's "The Star (Centennial)" 
       
      Return
      to the Free Sci-Fi Classics table of contents 
       
      Return
      to The World of The Wondersmith 

Free Sci-Fi Classics
Copyright © 1998-2000 Blake Wilfong
All rights reserved.