A Quiet Night At The Witch's Brew B&B

In tonight’s Harry Potter-inspired bedtime story, you are the proprietor of the Witch’s Brew, a humble bed and breakfast in the magical shopping corridor of Surrey Alley. It’s a quiet night at the inn, and most of the patrons who stop in for a bite to eat are other shop-owners from the alley. You catch up with your acquaintances, check in on guests, and savor the slow pace of the off-season.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, Hard Charger by Christian Andersen, Gentle Winds by Ethan Sloan, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Walk the halls of a magical bed and breakfast in this fantasy bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen as attentively as you like,

Knowing that whenever you're ready,

You can let go of the story and surrender to sleep.

If you're still awake as the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a soothing body scan.

In tonight's story,

You are the proprietor of the Witch's Brew,

A humble bed and breakfast in the magical shopping corridor of Surrey Alley.

It's a quiet night at the inn,

And most of the patrons who stop in for a bite to eat are other shop owners from the alley.

You catch up with your acquaintances,

Check in on guests,

And savor this slow pace of the off-season.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I,

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

Christina Rossetti It's been a busy season at the Witch's Brew.

Night after night,

You've had rooms packed with guests,

Nearly selling out all the guest rooms in some instances.

What does tend to happen as you near the start of term at the School of Sorcery,

Some miles north of here,

The inn's location at the doorstep of Surrey Alley,

The magical world's most popular shopping destination,

Makes it the lodging of choice for most families sending their children off to school.

They spend their days milling up and down the alley,

Procuring magical supplies,

First wands,

School robes,

Potions,

Ingredients,

Cauldrons,

And books.

Then they settle in here,

Enjoying supper in the bar room and a nice quiet rest in their chambers upstairs.

This is the routine for weeks on end,

Until school starts,

When things settle into a quieter rhythm.

Many of the local businesses make most of their year's profits between back to school season and the winter holidays,

So they can breathe a sigh of relief when the alley settles down for the fall.

Tonight is one of those quieter nights,

And you're rather thankful for it.

You love the hustle and bustle of the summer,

Surely,

But it's good to slow your pace for once and embrace the magic of an empty hallway,

A quiet conversation,

A leisurely evening.

In fact,

So marked is the difference on these off-season evenings,

That you've given most of your staff time off to recharge.

With a lessened population of guests and patrons,

You can handle most of the inn's operations on your own,

With the assistance of your wand,

That is.

As early evening glitters through the kitchen windows,

You set pots to boil with a wave,

And saucepans to sizzle with a flourish,

Preparing tonight's dinner specials for whatever hungry locals might stumble in from the alley.

It's years now that you've owned this place,

And you've spent a whole lifetime loving it.

It's been in the family as far back as centuries,

With each generation taking over from the last in stewardship.

You know every creaky step on the staircase,

Every minuscule crack in the bathroom tile,

And every pesky little pixie or gnome living in the wardrobes and under the beds,

But none of these seem like faults to you,

Only features that amplify the eccentric charm of this port.

It survives,

Despite its advancing age,

Thanks to a number of powerful enchantments that not only protect it from depreciation,

But keep it concealed from the world of non-magic users.

To them,

It appears as a shabby old building,

Derelict and forgotten on a sorry London side street.

For those initiates of the unseen arts,

However,

The Witch's Brew is a beacon of hospitality,

Warmth and welcome.

It is the threshold of a world too wonderful to be believed by most.

In the absence of your staff,

You've developed a system of accepting and resolving the requests of your patrons.

It's a rather clever system if you do say so yourself,

Given you can't be in two places at once.

A guest in need must merely scribble their behest upon a slip of charmed paper.

The paper then folds itself into neat little airplanes that float their way to you wherever in the numerous corridors of the inn you may be working.

One whizzes into the kitchen presently,

Circling you once before landing in your open palm.

From the guest in room six,

You ask with a smirk,

Your only overnight guest this evening.

The paper airplane elegantly unfolds to reveal a brief line of script.

It seems room six requires fresh towels.

Casting a little halting spell upon the various pots and burners wouldn't want them boiling over in your absence.

You stride over to the linen cupboard,

Wave your wand to levitate a pair of clean,

Fluffy towels and send them zooming up the grand staircase toward room six.

It isn't long before your first dinner guests arrive.

As you expected,

It's only locals tonight,

Shopkeepers and folks who work in Surrey Alley.

Arne,

The kindly owner of the Wild Hunt,

Where witches and wizards can find animal familiars,

Comes in first.

His own familiar is with him as always,

Perched upon his shoulder,

A tiny elf owl,

Ironically named Ymir,

After Norse mythology's Ur Frost Giant.

Arne greets you warmly and takes his usual table by the fire,

And Ymir nestles into the crook of his neck.

It's always amused you how much Arne and Ymir resemble one another.

Other merchants and shopkeepers slowly trickle in.

There's Percival Pell's,

The lead bookseller from Bob and Wheel Books,

A charming shop with the uncanny ability to change its size and scale in accordance with the needs of the consumer.

During the busy holidays and summer rush,

It's a large,

Naturally lit,

Multi-floored literary emporium,

With every new title imaginable,

And an endless section of rare and occult classics.

But in the off-season,

When few curious customers wander into the bookshop,

It shrinks itself down to a small,

More intimate affair,

Crowded with overstuffed bookshelves,

Dimly lit with lamps,

And smelling of old,

Musty pages and aged leather.

The perfect place to lose oneself in the magic and mystery of books.

Tonight,

The bookseller is the very picture of studiousness,

With tweed jacket and elbow pads,

Spectacles perched on the end of his nose,

And a gold watch chain at his waist.

He's brought a hefty tome,

Which is tucked under his arm.

Despite its size,

No doubt it's what he might call a bit of light reading.

And soon in comes Lucan Le Fleur,

The illustrious wandmaker,

With his young apprentice,

Whose name you haven't learned quite yet.

She's a young woman,

Surely just left school,

And only at the beginning of her career journey.

But there's a light and vigor behind her eyes that's rather promising.

This looks to be all you'll get tonight,

Patrons-wise.

You take orders,

Then retreat to the kitchen to make up plates and pour mugs of mead,

Wine,

And water.

Once each guest is served,

And polite conversation has begun across the barroom,

Folks discussing the latest news from their trade,

Wand-making innovations,

Or new book releases that should excite readers,

You remind them to send a note if they need you.

There's lots to do,

Even with few guests,

While you're shorthanded.

Nightly duties at the inn are simple enough,

Though often time-consuming.

Usually a small team of staff members handle all the evening checks for you,

As you do the books.

But back before you inherited the witch's brew,

It was your favorite job,

Moving through the many rooms and corridors of the inn,

Making sure all was in order.

It might sound tedious,

But to you it was always a space in which your imagination could wander and flourish.

You could pretend you were a detective,

Searching for clues to unravel an ancient mystery.

Or you could make a game of how many cobwebs you could clear in under five minutes.

You could even put your stealth skills to the test by trying to carry out all the little tasks without ever being seen,

As if you had the gift of invisibility.

Now it's not so much a game as a meditation.

You know the labyrinthine halls and corridors so well,

You can traverse them without thinking,

Allowing your mind at times to go soft,

Or even completely empty.

A ring of keys jangles at your hip as you climb the aging stairs to the first floor of guest rooms.

The hall stretches long before you,

Lit by warm,

Flickering lamps.

You reach for the keys and select the skeleton key,

Which opens every door in the building.

One by one,

You enter the uninhabited guest rooms to ensure the lights are extinguished and nothing major needs attending to.

In the third room on the left,

You check the wardrobe,

Which is known for the occasional pixie infestation.

Upon opening the doors,

You hear the flutter of tiny wings and a chorus of high-pitched chuckles as the gaggle of little creatures scatter and try to hide in the corners.

The pixies,

All pointed ears and gangly limbs and raggedy green clothing,

Cover their mouths with their hands in a half-hearted attempt to stifle their musical laughter.

But still it peals like tiny bells from the echoey chamber of the wardrobe.

You chuckle to yourself and put on a show of searching the wardrobe for the little folk,

Acting as if you're unable to locate them,

When in fact they're right there in plain sight.

Finally,

With an exaggerated sigh and a smile stretching the corners of your lips,

You begin to close the wardrobe doors.

All right,

You say.

I know you're in there.

There's no one in here tonight,

So you're free to stay.

But next time,

I may not be so hospitable.

This is a game you play most nights.

Truth be told,

You don't really have a problem with the pixies taking up residence in wardrobes or cupboards or wherever.

When shown a modicum of hospitality,

They can actually be quite helpful around the place,

Sweeping up cobwebs and picking up crumbs from the carpet.

But you've had one too many late-night calls from guests about the incessant giggling that keeps them up at night,

So you've had to come to a compromise.

Tonight,

While the room is vacant,

They're doing no harm,

So you're happy to grant them a warm place to sleep.

For all your talk of turning them out into the street on busy nights,

However,

You've always found some place for the tiny folk to stay,

Even if it means letting them buzz about the key cabinet at reception all night.

These are the types of little kindnesses you learned from your grandmother,

The one-time proprietor of the Witch's Brew.

Though the first bricks of the inn were laid before she was even born,

You always think of her as its founder.

It was she who opened the tavern to anyone,

Not just guests of the inn,

And renamed it the Witch's Brew.

She had a vision of the establishment as a pillar of the magical community,

A place to gather in safety,

Comfort,

And good company.

She taught you all kinds of ancient wisdoms,

From the art of cookery to the powerful magic of hospitality.

You remember baking cookies by her side when you were very little.

She had the uncanny ability to bake without keeping time or measuring ingredients.

She just knew it all by heart,

Exactly how much of what to mix in the dough,

Exactly what moment to remove the tray from the oven when the cookies were just right,

Soft in the middle,

And just going golden brown on the edges.

To you,

That seemed a potent form of magic.

It still does,

And you remember,

Too,

That she never turned anyone away,

Human,

Non-human,

Or somewhere in between.

In fact,

She took pride in accommodating all sorts of folks.

She had rooms large enough to suit giants,

And chambers warm enough for the yeti.

She could fill a room with water for the comfort of a mermaid,

Without damaging the carpet,

And all regardless of their means.

If someone needed a roof over their heads,

Be they human or fey,

Or a bite to eat,

Or simply a place to sit and gather their strength,

She always found a way to help.

You try to carry that with you in your work.

Even pesky pixies need a show of kindness and faith,

And even they need a warm place to sleep.

The same is true for the guest in room six,

Which you skip over now on your routine checks.

As you pass the door,

Noting the relative silence of the hallway as you do so,

You wonder if they are hungry at all,

And whether you should send up some food,

Just in case.

But they know how to reach you,

You reflect,

Recalling the paper airplane they sent before.

While most of the rooms in the inn are opened traditionally with a key,

There are a few outliers.

Some are opened by secret spells,

And some by words of power,

And some by more esoteric means yet.

The door to room nine,

For example,

Is hung with a painting of a sphinx,

And can only be opened by answering its riddle.

It's a charming attraction enjoyed by out-of-town guests,

Who are often willing to pay a premium for the novelty,

But come gasping down to reception at all hours,

Insisting they've been locked out,

Stumped by the riddles of the moving,

Talking painting.

Even you,

The building's owner,

Have to answer the smiling sphinx's questions to be granted access for routine maintenance.

But you fancy you've gotten rather good at deciphering its puzzles.

Tonight,

The sphinx is curled up,

Cat-like,

On a crumbling column in her painting.

But she is not asleep,

With one eye open and a syrupy smile curled across her lips.

She has been watching you come down the hall,

Your keys all a-jangle.

Now on your approach,

She picks up her head and stretches her front paws out before her.

Her body is like that of a lioness,

Though her head is of a human woman.

Her riddling smile and knowing eyes always remind you of Mona Lisa.

They betray little of the vast knowledge contained in her mind.

Folded by her side are feathered wings,

Blue and red and gold,

Against her lion's fur.

In the murky background of her painting lies the city of Thebes.

She guards the gates as securely as the room beyond the door.

You greet her with a lowering of your head,

Which she returns.

You state your intent to enter the room,

Only to ensure that it's all in ship shape.

The sphinx opens her mouth and begins her riddle.

I am a creature without flesh,

Without bone,

Without vein,

Without blood,

Without head,

Without feet,

In field,

In forest,

Without hand,

Without foot.

I travel far.

I am as wide as the surface of the earth.

I was here before the flood,

And yet I was not born.

I am known by every living being,

And yet I have never been seen.

Who am I?

You take a deep breath,

As if trying to gather up all the wisdom contained in the building and absorb it into yourself,

Field and forest.

Not born,

Never seen,

But known by everyone.

Wide as the surface of the earth,

As you're pondering the question in your mind,

You take a moment to appreciate the poetry with which the sphinx delivers her puzzling questions.

You close your eyes,

Searching your senses and thoughts for an instinct or an answer.

You picture the globe,

Clouds swirling over a blue surface,

Waves churning in the seas,

Fields of grass and floral meadows,

Waving in the breeze,

Trees with their leaves aflutter,

Wind off the surface of a great lake,

Then it comes to you what creature is as wide as the surface of the earth,

Has no hand,

No foot,

But travels nonetheless,

Is known by all but remains unseen.

You open your eyes and answer confidently,

Wind.

With an impressed air,

The sphinx bows her head again and allows the door to slowly open.

You enter and complete your checks,

All is well within,

And the rest of the rooms are well in order too,

You find.

It's about time you went back down into the bar room to see how your dinner guests are faring.

The atmosphere is jocular,

Despite a settling of sleepiness over the guests who've indulged in tonight's heartiest specials.

It's that lovely haze of contentment that sparkles in a warm room,

Surrounded by friendly acquaintances and nourished by good things to eat.

A few of the guests are curious about dessert,

And you've got a delicious bread pudding already warming in the oven.

Once served,

The wandmaker,

Le Fleur,

Wonders aloud if you'll join them for a nightcap or some tea.

You've been working so hard,

He says,

We've scarcely seen you all summer.

Can't you take a break?

You hesitate,

Thinking of the mess of dishes and pans in the kitchen that need tidying up,

But on seeing the smiling faces of your fellow denizens of Surrey Alley,

You eventually nod and take a seat among them.

The second you sit down,

You feel the weight of exhaustion you've carried throughout the day,

And indeed throughout the season.

With a heavy sigh,

You seem to melt into the chair,

Your muscles relaxing in places you didn't even know you were tensing.

The crackling fire sends waves of warmth in your direction,

Easing you into a state of peace and rest.

The end of the busy season is like a deep exhale,

You think,

A release into the darker half of the year,

Settling into yourself and your surroundings.

You join a conversation already in progress.

The various merchants and craftspeople of Surrey Alley are discussing new developments in magical technique and education that must be accounted for in their businesses.

The School of Sorcery will soon be offering more advanced coursework in alchemy,

For example,

And the bookseller Percival looks forward to seeking out new translations of the Emerald Tablet and other Hermetic volumes.

The wand-making duo,

Master and Apprentice,

On the other hand,

Have challenges to face in their craft.

Le Fleur is an internationally renowned wand-maker,

And each hand-crafted wand contains a magical item or artifact at its core,

Typically gathered from fantastical creatures.

Mermaid Scales,

Unicorn Hair,

And Powdered Horn of Minotaur are popular choices,

And the combination of wood and coir determines the wand's strength and focus.

Hazel wands are good for divination,

And Mermaid Scales amplify the magic of dreams,

So a likewise combination makes for powerful dream sorcery.

But as the modern world becomes increasingly interconnected and wilderness dwindles,

Magical creatures are pressed further and further into hiding.

It's becoming harder,

Le Fleur explains,

For even the most experienced tracker to discover their hiding places.

Arne can speak to this as well,

But here,

Le Fleur's Apprentice has insights to offer,

And she speaks up for the first time.

You learn her name,

Agatha,

And of her ambitious ideas to revolutionize wand-craft.

She believes that the same or greater levels of potency can be achieved in wands without a magical core,

Simply by infusing the wand-making process with the energy of ritual.

Harvesting from trees grown in magically saturated spaces,

Or that absorb water from sacred springs and wells,

Planting new trees with genuine intention.

She lights up as she talks,

And it gives you great pleasure to see how the others,

Some decades her senior,

Seem to be inspired by her ideas.

Here's a young mind with commitment to sustainable change and to making the world even more enchanted.

It's good to see her taken seriously,

Even admired by the older generation.

The evening slips slowly into more casual chat,

No more shop talk.

You learn about the goings-on with everyone's families,

Familiars,

And homesteads,

Where they hope to travel this year.

You're pleased that a space you've made,

Inherited,

Yes,

But still shaped by your influence,

Facilitates such joyful,

Authentic connection between people.

The hearth feels like a gift,

A cherished space of abundance and intimacy,

And soon with side farewells and utterances of gratitude,

The party disbands.

One by one,

The guests depart,

Cheeks rosy and ready for sleep.

You see the last folks off.

An invigorating wind,

Fresh with autumnal chill,

Blows in through the door before you secure it behind them.

You think of the Sphinx's riddle,

About wind as an unseen force that's ever-present,

Always transmitting its own intelligences,

Bringing messages about the changing seasons,

And sweeping on the fragrance of long-forgotten places and moments.

You plan to simply pass through the barroom on your way to the kitchen,

The last guests having left.

But to your surprise,

The room is not empty.

Seated at a table in the corner,

Looking sheepish,

Is a young woman.

It's the guest from room six,

You realize.

This is the best look you've had at her.

When she checked in,

There was a veil draped over her face.

And the moment you handed her the key,

She was off in a flash.

She has long,

White-blonde hair and bright,

Unearthly eyes.

Got hungry?

You ask.

She nods,

Trying to hold back a bashful grin.

Well then,

I can make just about anything you like.

What strikes your fancy?

A few minutes later,

You return from the kitchen with the young lady's request.

She gratefully digs in.

You need anything else?

You know how to find me.

Before you walk away,

You catch a glimpse of a silky something in her hair.

What looks like a white feather,

Sticking out beneath the dresses.

So at last,

You take on the mountain of dishes in the kitchen.

It's made easier by your skill at magic,

Your wand as a helpful accomplice.

But still,

It's a large effort to orchestrate.

The rinsing,

The scrubbing,

The drying,

And the putting away.

It's a ballet of pots,

Saucepans,

Plates,

And bowls.

You hum a little tune to keep up the effort.

When your grandmother used to whistle,

So you've never known the words.

When finally,

The last of the pans has found its graceful way onto its hook.

And the last wine glass chimes delicately into place upon the shelf.

You feel rather pleased with yourself.

You step back out into the dim bar room,

Where the young lady's table now sits empty in the corner,

Her plate clear and gleaming in the firelight.

You wave your wand lazily toward the fireplace,

And the flames hush,

Smolder,

And go out completely.

In the low light that remains from the lamps on the walls,

And the gentle spill of moonglow from the window,

You can see a trail of white feathers,

Shining like drops of snow on the carpet,

Leading up the steps toward room six.

You pick up one of the feathers and twist it between your fingers for a moment.

Turn no one away,

You think.

Human,

Non-human,

Or somewhere in between.

Everyone deserves a place to rest their heads.

And at the thought,

You realize how much you yearn now for such a place.

You bolt the front doors for the night,

Dim the lamps,

And retire to your quarters,

Which lie concealed behind the reception desk.

You've got a window in your room onto the alley between buildings,

Where the moon now slices through with a shimmery light.

All is very quiet.

Even the creaky floorboards beneath your feet seem more hushed than usual.

They're getting used to the slower pace as well.

You wash up in the bathroom and get ready for bed.

Humming that same little tune to yourself,

The one your grandmother used to whistle.

You decide to crack the window a little,

To allow in a gentle breeze.

It has just the faintest edge of a chill in it,

A harbinger of oncoming fall.

And finally,

You climb into bed,

Drawing the covers over you,

Drawing the covers over you snugly.

Your body settles and softens and you close your eyes as the breeze lightly curls around you,

Freshening the room with the scent of summer's end.

You think of the journey the wind takes each night and day,

Wide as the earth and always moving,

Never seen.

It's easy for someone like you to be unseen too,

The makers of comfort and hospitality,

The invisible forces who straighten the bedclothes and prepare the meals.

But tonight you were seen.

You were witnessed and appreciated by your peers.

You were invited to join the merriment,

However quiet it was.

You think of the pixies snoozing in their drawers and cabinets,

The sphinx curled up on her pedestal,

Dreaming up riddles,

The guest in room six,

Finding shelter in a time of transition.

And with a deep,

Audible sigh,

You feel your breath like wind in your body.

You feel connected to everyone who shared this space tonight and everyone who has ever passed through and will pass through in the future.

And you savor the sweetness of this season.

Above all,

You sleep on the edge of a glittering curtain of magic in the space between riddles and spells.

Let your body settle into place,

Softening,

Relaxing,

Becoming as comfortable as possible wherever it is you're resting and trying to let go of whatever happened today,

Whatever may happen tomorrow.

Just be here in the moment.

Notice the little movements your body makes,

Even at its most peaceful point of stillness,

The breath moving through you,

The constant cycle,

The muscles of your face,

The eyes behind your eyelids.

If it feels right,

You can set an intention for sleep.

Don't think too hard about it,

Just allow it to arise naturally.

If you need inspiration,

You might try something like I sleep deeply,

Releasing worry or I wake rested,

Refreshed,

And energized.

Hold your intention,

Repeat it three times in your head,

Feeling it as if it is deeply true,

And then release it as you allow your mind to soften,

Just like your body.

If thoughts rise to your mind,

Simply acknowledge them and let them travel on like wind.

Bring your attention to the right hand,

The fingers of the right hand.

Let them soften,

Releasing tension.

Relax the palm of the right hand,

The back of the hand,

Wrist.

Relax the forearm,

The elbow,

The upper arm,

The right shoulder,

The shoulder blade.

Relax the right side of the chest,

Right side of the waist,

Right side of the belly,

The hip.

Relax the right thigh,

Softening and releasing any tension.

The right knee relaxes,

And the right lower leg softening the muscles.

Relax the right ankle,

The top of the foot,

The heel,

The sole of the foot,

And the toes.

Feel the whole right side of the body,

Softening,

Softening,

Relaxing.

Notice the difference between the right and left sides.

Then move your awareness to the left hand,

The fingers of the left hand.

Relax the fingers,

And the palm,

The back of the hand,

The wrist,

Releasing tension.

The left forearm,

The elbow,

Soften the muscles of the upper arm.

Relax the left shoulder,

And shoulder blade.

Relax the left side of the chest,

The waist.

Soften and release in the left side of the belly,

And the hip,

Releasing tension there.

The left thigh,

Relax the left knee,

The lower leg,

Soften the ankle,

The top of the foot,

The left heel,

The sole of the foot,

And soften and relax in the toes.

Feel the whole left side of the body,

Soft,

Relaxed,

And settled,

Releasing all tension.

Feel both sides of the body together.

Now the breath feeds relaxation throughout the body,

Allowing you to soften even deeper.

Now soften and relax in the muscles of the neck,

The base of the head,

The jaw,

The mouth,

The nose,

The eyes and eyebrows,

Temples,

The forehead,

And the scalp.

Feeling deep relaxation in the whole body,

Fed by the steady,

Natural breath from the soles of the feet to the crown of the head.

Feel how everything is connected,

Within,

And without,

All bound by the unseen movement and exchange of breath,

Wind,

Flowing spirit.

Let the breath be your guide into deep,

Nourishing,

Sleep.

Good night.

Reviews

The Surrey Alley stories are my absolute favourite series. I’d love more! They are all wonderfully imagined and told.

This is another wonderful story with a great reading giving me a good night's sleep.

Love this xx

One of my all-time favorites!

Thank you for this content, I Love it So much!!!!!!

Out like a light. It was lovely

Definitely one of my favorites 🙏🙏🙏

I have been loving your stories! So peaceful and relaxing to listen to 💜

Can’t remember a thing about it, I dropped off so fast!

💌Laurel I really appreciate my walks when you come along with me, narrating your awesome stories. Cheers darling. 😘💐🐱🐱🐨

I love the wizard school tales ,so relaxing and fun . I very enjoyable story to fall asleep to and you voice is so relaxing. Thank you

Love these wizarding world inspired pieces as always.

Great to be back at Surrey Alley love to stay at the Witches brew and thanks for a great night sleep x

Another amazing story. I had gotten woken up in the middle and was able to listen to the body scan relaxation at the end. Really really lovely. Thank you.

Love your work and thanks for harboring my fantasy world