One, a decrepit old hag, stooped and shrunken with age, was tottering, mumbling and humming, contorting her swarthy face. The one sitting furthest away appeared to be barely a girl. Feverish eyes shone in her pale, plain, somewhat vulpine face. Her tangled hair was being kept in relative order by a garland of verbena and clover.

The most important of them sat in pride of place. The bona femina. The one whom the three girls had come to see. Tall, stout, wearing a pointed, black felt hat under which flame-red hair tumbled onto her shoulders in luxuriant waves. A scarf of green wool was wrapped around the witch’s neck.

“My thumbs are pricking,” muttered the swarthy old woman. “My thumbs are pricking, which means—”

“Shut up, Jagna,” said the one in the hat, quietening her down and then raising eyes the colour of molten tin towards the petitioners. “Welcome, girls. What brings you here? Don’t say anything, let me guess. Unwanted pregnancies? No, I think not. Nor do you look to me sick; quite the opposite, I would say you all appear to be extremely hale and hearty. So it must be love! We are in love, but the love object is far away and unavailable, but moving further and further away and becoming more and more unavailable. Have I guessed right?”

The freckled Euphemia of Baruth was the first to eagerly and energetically nod. The first and the only one. Under the gaze of the red-headed witch, Elencza lowered her eyes, struck by a sudden conviction that it had been quite senseless, totally unnecessary and awfully foolish to come. As for Electra, she didn’t even twitch, but stared vacantly into the fire.

“Did I guess right or not?” muttered the red-headed witch. “Per Bacco! It remains to be seen. Eliszka, toss brushwood onto the fire and herbs into the cauldron. Jagna, behave.”

The swarthy one shoved a fist into her mouth to stifle a burp.

“And you will receive what you ask for,” said the bona femina, bright eyes fixed on the girls. “Each in turn. Each one individually.

By the power of the Sun and the power of the Moon

By the power of sign and power of rune

Eia!

“Bubble, bubble, cauldron, and in it deadly nightshade, monkshood and henbane. Lower your head, Euphemia of Baruth. Breathe in the steam.