Foot Spell

As much as I’m keen on spell-casting, sometimes a line appears that simply cannot be crossed via that path. You know the story, I’m sure: try as you might, you just can’t summon the particular brand of ancestral wisdom needed to conjure a solution without input from a specialist. I’m not too proud to say that my powers have failed me this day, leaving me with no option other than to consult a professional podiatrist.

I’ve done nail fungus banishings before, and even come up with a name for that constellation of spells (the Sweet Feet Suite, if you must know). I’ve even crafted my own toe and shoe pads  – bunion splints, arch supports and the like – from enchanted birch twigs. It’s quite a simple spell, really, although I’ll confess to borrowing the template of my birch twig insoles from a covenmate’s children’s orthotics. Clinics near Cheltenham, it seems, turn up their noses at such DIY remedies as classic birch charms, casting them off as nothing more than old wives’ tales.

What they don’t realise is that there’s a high degree of skill involved in pulling off the enchantment successfully, which many who attempt it don’t manage, so they end up with an unsatisfactory outcome. If done correctly, through, such fixes can be just as effective as clinical podiatry.

Of course, even the most experienced spell-caster can hit a wall and find themselves turning to their local foot health specialist for assistance, which brings me back to the situation at hand. Namely, one of having to not only admit to need the assistance of a muggle to deal with an everyday foot health concern, but to actually go to a podiatrist and name that need in front of everyone.

Naturally, none of the witnesses will think anything of it, although the podiatrist will probably give me that look when I take off my shoes to reveal the coating of powdered hellebore root and crushed hazelnuts I’ve been applying to the affected area under layers of mashed beetle, as per the notes in the grimoire.