The warehouse basement was shrouded in a layer of fog that added to the dim lighting, clouding her sight. Candles flickered to and fro, sending shadows to dance whimsically along the walls. Poorly constructed shelves contained an assortment of objects. They ranged from herbs and spices to the remnants of the dead. A giant black cauldron occupied the center, with chalk pentagrams marked on the floor encircling it. This peculiar residence was home to three—rather old—witches.

"My dear, what's the problem this time?" The question coming from the oldest of the three witches. Her gray hairs falling in milky waves over her shoulders. A black cloak hung loosely from her thin frame. Irene knew her as Agnes.

Her head dropped, heavy from the turmoils that ailed her. A few strands of red hair came forward and found their way into her blinking eyes.

Agnes lifted her head with her bony hands, the touch cold and clammy. She peered down at the old woman, her brown eyes confident in solving Irene's problem. "I'm going to lose him Madam Agnes."

"And why will you lose him? Where in that pretty brain of yours did you invent that idea?"

"Must be having problems in the bedroom," interjected another of the witches. Her wooden teeth showing as she made a throaty laugh that turned into a cough near the end.

"Oh, Madam Blanche that isn't the reason, come on now," replied Thea cheerfully. She moved out of Irene's view, then slid both hands down her sides, resting on her hips. "Don't you see these hips? They come from a Goddess."

"Ho ho ho, that is true," commented a short witch while caressing Irene's thigh.

She bit back a retort before gently pushing Agnes' frail hands away. Switching her gaze, she looked at the third witch—Ester. Her hair balled up into a knotted bun atop her head that bobbed with her steps. "Madam Ester, can you please stop that..." Simultaneously, she shifted backwards into Thea to make her stop her humiliating action.

The three old witches returned to their previous stance. They stood in a row from shortest to tallest, with Agnes in the center. Thea came back to her side, holding her nose with a hand.

"So?" Agnes asked waiting for Irene to continue her explanation of the problem.

Her shoulders dropped from the burden of her heart. She wet her dry lips, getting ready to tell her story. "We're having problems you see, Rickter and I. Every time we speak, it results in a fight. He's forgotten what we use to share; both the hard and easy times. I don't breathe down his neck expecting him to remember any special dates. But when he acts so oblivious, it irritates me. What can I do—to fix this—to make him remember what our love use to be?"

"Oh dear," Agnes replied with sadness reflected in her brown eyes.

Ester covered her mouth forming a criss-cross with her hands. Her eyes widening as far as possible in shock, showing the full whites of her eyes. Her posed petrified as she turned on her toes to face Agnes.

"And that's where you three Madams come in!" Thea intervened while clasping her hands tightly with a large smile.

"I see," Blanche stated as she stroked her chin in thought.

"Sounds like fun!" Ester exclaimed before she started imitating an evil laugh. Her fingertips touching repeatable as she pretended to plot.

"Now, now, you two. If we do this, we do it right," scolded Agnes while wiggling a finger like she was reprimanding a naughty schoolboy.

"Please, nothing too dangerous," Irene pleaded desperately. Her expression forced as she worked to minimize the dangers to her life.

Thea nudged her with a shoulder. "Girl, you need to be willing to go to Hell and back. Don't you want your relationship fixed?"

"She's right my dear," Agnes responded. This time earning Irene the finger wiggle that Ester replicated next to her.

She sighed—a sign of her dissatisfaction. Great, pleading failed. Straightening her shoulders, she presented herself anew with confidence. "Fine," she responded begrudgingly. "How will this work?"