“Girls, we’re ready for the tour!" (Patreon)

Rebecca called, after getting up and leading me out of the lodge. "Get to your places, just like we rehearsed!”

"You had them rehearse?" I asked uneasily. "Even though you had no idea when I would arrive?"

"Well, of course," Rebecca grinned smugly as the student witches scurried around the clearing. "I had every previous coven rehearse a presentation, just in case. We had to be ready at a moment’s notice. I should have had some butterflies on standby for this. You can never go wrong with butterflies. They’re traditional."

They actually weren't traditional as far as I knew, but instead of saying anything, I silently followed Rebecca across the clearing to where Basil was fussing with a large bubbling cauldron.

"This is our alchemy and potion station," Rebecca explained as Basil energetically stirred the pot. "It’s not as impressive as the standard elven alchemy kit, but at least it fits the traditional witchy aesthetic and suits our needs well enough."

“Bubble, bubble foil and rubble," Basil cackled theatrically. "Rasheth burn and boilth bubble.

Rabbit thkating on a lake,

In the cauldron boil and bake.

Eye of thpud and toe of leek,

Thtool will thoften, jutht don’t peek.

Rub thith thlop on your bee thting,

You’ll feel comfy ath a king.

Charm for healing on the double,

Like a jell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double, rathor thtubble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Cool it with thome herbal mud,

Then the balm will thoothe ya good.”

I raised my eyebrow but said nothing, since it was obvious the poor femme had memorized and rehearsed this nonsense.

"Healing balms and herbal remedies," Rebecca grinned proudly. "They are our biggest money makers. Old Farmer Brownsly-Smith will pay good money for anything that can help with his bunions. Our wares are quite popular at the farmer’s market. Come, let's continue the tour."

She led me back into the shack where she had been resting, and directed me to a corner with a chair and some shelves adorned with a very modest collection of books. Harriet was seated in the chair and pretending to read a book.

“Ah, hello, my lord," she said suavely, almost managing not to gasp from having dashed in here from outside a few seconds ago. "I was just reading up on a fascinating subject: Destiny. To be specific, the practical applications of divining a person’s destiny through uniquely shaped scars. Now, if I may have your attention for just a moment, I’ll show you my scar and demonstrate what it means…”

“Harriet, we talked about this," Rebecca remonstrated. "Stop trying to show your scar to every new person you meet.”

Destiny reading with scars? That pseudo-magickal nonsense was debunked generations ago! However, I held my tongue, so as not spoil Rebecca’s tour.

Rebecca took me back outside and around behind the shack, where Fiona was seated on the ground and pretending to meditate while holding a cheap crystal in each hand.

“Ooooooom… Ooooooom…" she solemnly intoned. "Ancestors guide meeeeeeee…” Then she struck the crystals violently against her head with a loud, hollow BONK.

“Fiona…" Rebecca sighed. "You don’t actually need to hit yourself in the head to meditate.”

"But if I hit hard enough, I can see the stars!" Fiona insisted, swaying, with her eyes still closed. "I'm expediting the process!"

“I think her nose is bleeding,” I observed, with slight concern.

"She's fine," Rebecca declared, pulling my sleeve and guiding me away from Fiona and toward what looked like an ancient barrow hidden beneath a large stone. “This is Burnside’s armory. We don’t have much trouble with witch-hunters anymore, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

Burnside suddenly popped out of the barrow, brandishing a long filleting knife.

"I make sure to keep all my blades extry sharp," she announced gleefully. "I’ll get these gals a-carvin' folk like harvest punkins eventually."

"Stick to what we rehearsed" Rebecca hissed. "That wasn’t in the script!"

"Didn’t read no durn script," Burnside sniffed. "An' if we wanna impress Adler we oughta show 'im what we really got, stead o that phony show what's only good fer flim-flammin' lowfolk."

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(credit is due to Typeandkey who has been writing the main bulk of these updates for a while)