Free Timeless Witch by C. L. Scholey Page A

the pressure as my host tried to expel my body like waste. I was being evicted, and really there is no other way to describe it. Oh, you hear words like ‘the miracle of birth,’ but in actuality you are being defecated into society; that is why they are called ‘humble beginnings.’
    I waited though, with equal amounts of anticipation and dread. Would I have been thrust forward in time, or back? Let me tell you, for one of my kind, it is a death sentence to be reborn in medieval times, or anywhere near Salem. To this day I shudder when a fire is lit, or if I am submersed in water; that was rather a hard lesson to learn.
    I enjoyed 30,000 BC, for the most part, it being a free era, literally, but when one can ride a mammoth, it is worth the hassle of no public facilities, although fur and leather does chafe in an awkward area after a while.
    And AD 5,000? Well, don’t get me started. The choice was, however, never mine. I would go to where the gods deemed my existence the most important. With a cruel twist of fate, it could be Alistair I have been reborn to. The solar gods may accidentally group us together with the foul manipulation of Alistair’s gods. They could unite us in life as we had been united in death.
    He would have me, or at least this frail human body. He would again be uncaring as to the sacredness of the day; he would risk the Keeper’s wrath. All paid the price in some way or another when they broke the law of Halloween. I wondered if he would be forced to forfeit something, as he had been forced to forfeit something he cherished before.
    Would he take the chance? Yes, for he was evil to the core. He could choke the life out of me. And my powers would be too small to do anything except to murmur an incantation, releasing my soul to fly to another host, if I were to have the time. Where again I would flounder in darkness, float in my abyss of despair, thinking only of my greatest foe, Alistair, and my greatest love, Randar.
    The light is blinding, as it always is. The doctor smacks me sharply on my bare behind and I gasp in a great amount of air, and then howl my heated protest. My only comfort is exercising my first minuscule act of retribution. From now on any coffee this barbarian drinks will taste like piss, and I can smile with the thought.
    “It’s a girl!” I hear cried out, as if there were ever any doubt. But, just to be safe, I twist just a tad and check for myself. Yes, all is fine down there, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I gaze around at my surroundings as some nurse swaddles me too tightly and I groan. She hands me to my ‘mother,’ but my real mother has been gone from this planet for at least ten thousand years. She left me to my own devices when my soul mate was created.
    “Babies love to be swaddled,” the nurse croons.
    Ha.
    My new mother looks adoringly into my face and I grimace; she looks like a horse. Ye gods. Thank the heavens no matter who sires me I will have ethereal beauty. Even so, I can’t help but be moved by her loving eyes swiftly filling with tears of joy. It is more than apparent she wants me.
    A tall man moves closer, hovering, and I hold still, waiting to see if he will smash me to the tiles, spilling my brains upon the floor. But the gangly man now holding me, somewhat awkwardly, looks just as pleased as his mate. He plants a sloppy kiss on my forehead and cuddles me tightly to his chest. Good, I was a planned birth; it will make my rule of the roost that much easier.
    It is tiresome to come forth into life, and I feel my heavy lids droop. I am held safely as the man finds his niche and begins to sway gently, while cradling me within his arms. I do not like being swaddled, but for now I will bide my time. I am better when my hands are free of obstruction. I close my eyes and sleep.
    * * * *
    Being an infant must be the most boring thing in the world. I lay with a saggy diaper. Apparently my new parents are either environmentalists or disposable diapers have