Wendy is a witch. She thinks she sounds like the protagonist of a European children’s book. Wendy the Witch, who lives in a little house in the woods. Wendy the Witch, with a little garden in the back. Wendy the witch, who has a little black cat.

That’s really where all the witch stereotypes end. And she’s not even conforming to stereotypes on purpose. The little house in the woods was left to her by some great aunt or other, who was also a witch, and she lives in it because she’s saving up for a deposit, to take to the bank and land a mortgage, all just to afford a house in a nice suburb that’s in walking distance of a school.

Look, if you want property, you gotta start early. And if you want kids, you gotta start really early. And Wendy makes a pretty sweet amount of money, but man, kids are expensive.

And the garden? Well she could bike to the bus stop, bus to the supermarket, then bus back, bike back home and then start dinner, but when one’s a witch with magical powers and the blessing of a Green Thumb, it’s just more practical, and way cheaper, to grow all the things you can and then buy what you can’t at the supermarket. (If you can’t make it, harvest it, or summon it yourself — store bought is fine.)

Irene the cat wasn’t actually a cat. Irene was a witch, taking a sabbatical from her teaching position as a transfiguration professor. As a cat.

Irene, the-face-that-inspired-a-thousand-love-letters.

Wendy thinks that she’s just using ‘I can’t date you I’m literally a cat’ as an excuse to hold off her horde of admirers, but you won’t catch her saying that aloud. Irene had transfigured her into a squirrel once and she still has the urge to stash acorns in the house to prepare for winter. (She found one in the bathroom just last week.)

Wendy doesn’t own a broom. She has a Dyson V7 Origin Cordless Vacuum because she’s at that age now. Where quality cleaning supplies bring joy and keeping the house clean sparks it.

She’s seen people vacuum their cats with a handheld vacuum and she really, really, wants to try it on Irene. She knows it’s an impossible dream, but cat hair is really hard to get off the couch.

Wendy lives with her cousin, Yeri, and her best friend/only pet, Irene. She takes online courses because the local university doesn’t offer any music degrees. She has a Mastery in Herbology, and while selling potions ingredients is a very lucrative business, music is her dream. (Her side business selling other homegrown...greens is even more lucrative, but that’s a story for another day.) She’s good with plants. Magical plants, non-magical plants, vegetables, fruits, magical plant-based beings. Hell, she’s even good with garden variety insects. They’re nature’s little gardeners!

She’s not so good with other insects.

(On the day-that-shall-not-be-named, a cockroach had appeared, and all three of them fled the house. Yeri had performed a banishing ritual from halfway up a tree and they hadn’t seen a cockroach since. Irene had gotten stuck in the same tree and had forbidden them from mentioning the entire event. Under threat of being turned into a cockroach.)

Now, Rituals aren’t really Wendy’s area of expertise. Nobody has ever angered or slighted her so terribly that she had wanted to lay down a curse to torment them and/or their successive generations. She’s never so much as hexed anyone! That’s really more Yeri’s area of interest. The Lukewarm Coffee Curse, the Parking Problem, Dog For Days, those are all curses Yeri can manifest with the snap of a finger. To this day, no matter how much Yeri protests, Wendy believes that she’s been hit with the Almost Lover Drama.

Reaching for the same book on the shelf, accidentally taking each other’s coffee, hands accidentally brushing on a starlit night, locking eyes in a crowded room. Wendy’s experienced it all. That spark of something magical, is always, inevitably, interrupted. By crying babies, by lost dogs, misfired fireworks, by a courier on a bike, and once, by a flashmob that decided to perform Gee in a crowded coffee shop, coloured jeans and all, in order for a dancer to propose to the barista. The barista she had been sharing a moment with. (Cute barista had...declined the proposal which made it awkward for everyone inside Starbucks that day.)

Now if only Yerim would believe her.

“Unnie, your inability to get a girl isn’t a curse. Or a hex. Or a ritual. Or the result of some bored Eldritch being meddling for entertainment. It’s all you.”

And if only Irene would back her. Irene, who’s been there for every interrupted moment, usually rolling her eyes in the background, Irene who’s seen all her failed attempts at romance. Irene who would shift into cat from and comfort her afterwards.

Every time Yeri mentions cursing someone using a ritual, and that girl sure curses a lot, Irene had even implemented a curse jar system, Wendy inevitably steers the conversational ship into the sea of her singleness. Irene would knock the glass off the table every time, but Wendy thinks she’s just being catty.

Turns out, black cars are an omen of bad luck. Even for witches.

Yeri finally cracked this morning. Looking back, Wendy can see all the signs; the maniacal grin, the scent of bergamot lingering around the girls, the sudden disappearance of all animal life around their house, Irene not knocking her glass over, obvious hints that something was up. Like the flashing neon signs in the windows of massage parlours, Wendy had dismissed the hints as normal goingons, and is now suffering for it.

Yeri has magically sealed her into her room, and, even worse, has somehow convinced Irene to go along with it! Wendy tries the door. Magically locked. Tries the window. Magically locked, with Irene sitting outside smugly sunning herself on the windowsill, that traitor. Tries the fireplace. The Floo powder was missing, a note in its place:

Look. I’ve sealed the place and there’s no way you’re getting out, so just make it easy for all of us and perform the ritual. Honestly, this would be easier if you just used a dating app. Sinder, Plenty of Witch, Love Shot. What’s the point of installing wifi in this house if all you do is study and watch baking videos? Anyways, again, on the other side of this page, is simple, super simple, you can’t possibly screw it up simple, no really, it’s impossible, ritual to summon the woman of your dream. Irene-unnie has agreed to supervise you. I’ve keyed the temporary magical wards so that she’ll be able to enter your room in case you accidentally summon a succubus or something. If you’re cool with that just make a peace sign and she’ll leave y’all to it.

Also I’ve temporarily sealed off the wifi in your room, don’t ask me how, it was a very complicated process and I’m gonna write a paper about it, because I’ve somehow become a pioneer in magical sealing for the 21th century? Your phone can still make calls, but really, who are you gonna call? I’ve already messaged your parents and they’re pretty cool with it, Mama Shon wants you to bring whoever you summon to our family night next week btw, she’s says you talk so much but never to girls. (Wow)

Irene-unnie is a cat. So she doesn’t have a phone. I’m on my way to a meeting with my supervisor to discuss incorporating wifi sealing into my paper.

Good luck.

Yeri, who only wants the best for you.

P.S If you summon Ariana Grande, I’m marrying her, sorry.

1. Paint a pentagram with the red stuff in the jar this note is stuck on. You’re not a Ritualist, but pentagrams are Witch 101 so I’m sure you know what to do.

2. At the five points of the pentagram, lay out five objects of value to you.

3. Concentrate on your perfect girl. Personality, appearance, deep love of country music, unnameable kinks, whatever floats your boat.

4. Bite your left thumb until it bleeds, smear the blood onto your right palm the slam it into the centre of the summoning pentagram.

5. Woo the girl of your dreams.

6. No, really, you gotta woo her. This will summon her, but it won’t make her fall in love with you. You can’t use a ritual to make someone fall in love. Well, not today anyways, back in the days of Ye Olde Magike maybe, but that was extremely unethical and we all remember Ethics 101 so, woo her.

7. Take your favourite cousin out for dinner and dessert to thank her for helping you find true love.

The stuff in the jar that Yeri left behind was red, sticky, and had a faint aroma of peaches.

Wendy really hopes that there’s no blood in the mixture because she doesn’t think that it’ll come out of her floorboards and that might affect her positive gearing plans.

Wendy carefully lays out her chosen objects at the points of the pentagram.

1. Manen

2. Her macbook

3. Her favourite gongcha order (grapefruit green tea with 30% sugar, white pearls and a little ice)

4. Her guitar

5. A picture of Yeri, Irene and herself, taken on the eve of Yeri’s high school graduation.

Tonight she’s going to summon the woman of her dreams. Or remain locked in her room forever. She’s pretty sure if she botched the ritual, and she might, Yeri will never let her out. Probably because her Ritualist pride would have her sacrifice Wendy to the patron god of rituals to make up for the insult.

Her room is clean. Well, to be honest, it’s always quite clean, so all she had to do was dust it and place her scattered sheet music into folders according to genre. There’s nothing in her room that her summoned soulmate could possibly take offence to. And if they did, well, they probably weren’t that compatible anyway.

She concentrates on who she wants to summon. Someone nice. Someone kind. Someone who could learn to love me for who I am. Someone that might want to spend the rest of their life with me. Someone, and this is the part that will never make it out of , someone taller than me. Oh and someone that’s currently not doing anything super important and won’t be bothered about being summoned to a house in the middle of the woods where the bus is hourly.

She bites her thumb, smears the blood across her palm and slams it into the centre of the pentagram.

There’s a flash of bright green light.

And then there’s a black cat on her bedroom floor.

Wendy’s jaw drops.

The impossibly smug looking cat raises a paw and knocks her gongcha over.