Witches as in what witch trials sought to prosecute were essentially nonexistent. In the witch-hunting hysteria, many of the accused had done nothing wrong whatsoever. But there did exist people of both genders who practiced magic. But they didn't necessarily see themselves as doing so, or as being anything other than good Christians. Black magic did in fact exist though, and by that we mean magic which requests the intercession of demons or the devil, i.e turning away from God and Christianity (yet within a Christian framework). However it was nowhere near as common as witchcraft trials would lead one to assume - since those almost always ended up with accusations of pacts with the devil. (Which itself came from the early medieval myth of Theophilus)

As said, magic was by no means limited to women. But women's ability to defend themselves was limited by their gender. In recent decades the view that witch hunts were in much a war on women has gained a lot of currency. It was not always that way; both accusations of demonic pacts (rather than just heterodox beliefs) and the targeting of women increased towards the end of the Middle Ages, particularly the last half of he 15th century, with the publication of the Malleus Maleficarum. To quote Kieckhefer:

earlier literature had seldom singled women out as specifically inclined toward witchcraft, but the Malleus and later texts routinely did so. In the courts, too, there was an increasing tendency to single out women for prosecution. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries women outnumbered men by about two to one as defendants in the witch trials; in the later fifteenth century the difference seems to have become more pronounced, and in following centuries it was greater still.

The rise of the witch had little to do with changes in actual magical practices. But as said,such practices were indeed common. In English terms there were "white witches" and "cunning men" in just about every village in the 17th century. Even the puritans of New England leading the famous witch trials there were no exception from practicing some forms of folk-magic.

It's not so clear cut what magic is though. Not to the accusers either (even among the Puritans; see e.g. Godbeer's book). First, it is a practice that intersected a number of diciplines such as folk medicine, religion and science (which at the time would include alchemy and astrology, which in themselves have a lot of magic). To lift an example from Kieckhefer, who speaks about a medieval German handbook thusly:

It contains instructions for almost every aspect of running a household. It tells how to prepare leather, make soap or ink, wash clothes, and catch fish. Intermingled with such advice are medical prescriptions for human and animal disease. Claiming the authority of Aristotle and other learned men of antiquity, the compiler tells how to diagnose and treat fevers, ailments of the eyes, and other medical problems. Further added to this potpourri are prayers, blessings, and conjurations. Medieval people who assembled this and other such manuals would never have thought of themselves as magicians, but the book at hand contains elements of what we can call magic.

It recommends taking the leaves of a particular plant as a remedy for "fever of all sorts"; this in itself would count as science, or as folk medicine, rather than magic. Before using these leaves, one is supposed to write certain Latin words on them to invoke the power of the Holy Trinity, and then one is to say the Lord's Prayer and other prayers over them; this in itself would count as religion. There is no scientific or religious reason, however, for repeating this procedure before sunrise on three consecutive mornings. By adding this requirement the author enhances the power of science and religion with that of magic.

Second, it is not always clear to people where the borders were crossed between these things; many Medieval people would believe holy water would have curative or protective properties. On its face this isn't really against Christianity, but from the Church's point of view, the belief that the water would have a power of its own outside of ritual context is in error. But could you blame the average person for not understanding the finer points of theology?

Third, it's not as simple either as this just being a matter of education, where magic was a 'low' sort of folkloric version of Christianity for the masses while the elites were instructed in the pure faith. Because there was influence in the opposite direction as well, where the church took impression from popular rituals, and some educated intellectuals sought to work folk-magic into their esoteric theoretical frameworks (whether we're talking astrology, alchemy, hermeticism, kabbalah or the various mixtures of them that existed).

In the Counter-Reformation, the Catholic church started to take a harsher stand against magic, "to consolidate its monopoly over supernatural forces" (Eamon). Which certainly is a contributing factor to the rise of early modern witch-trials, but it's not the whole story because leading counter-reformation figures such as Francisco Suárez (1548-1617) didn't believe in such a monopoly. To quote Copenhaver:

Father Suárez, champion of the Counter-Reformation, agrees that some causes and effects are "most occult and must be traced to some power of a higher order,... a wondrous and occult power ... assisted perhaps by some special and connatural celestial influence." Suárez distinguishes natural magic based on occult qualities from superstitious magic that relies on evil spirits. Although curiosity about magic may lead to superstition and sin, natural magic is not wrong in itself.

To try to summarize; magic in 17th century Europe was widely practiced, but an extremely broad and eclectic set of practices, some or all of which were disapproved of by the churches, but depending on who you asked within the church. You cannot really make a neat distinction into "white" (or "natural") magic and "black" (or demonic) magic. For starters that leaves out Christian magic that was not demonic but not orthodox. For instance, believing that church-bells had protective powers and therefore putting filings from one on a wound would help it heal. That was in the Middle Ages; by the 17th century taking church-bell filings was now part of a supposed demonic ritual in Sweden where women would throw them into a lake and say "as these filings will never return to the bell again, so may my soul never come to heaven". There's no evidence the latter was ever really done; instead it's an example of how the focus shift of the witch hunt towards finding pacts with the devil everywhere.

Black magic did exist though; There are grimoires (books of magic) and other evidence (that aren't from inquisitions) of actual black magic too, invocations where it is Satan, Belzebub and Baal that are called upon rather than (say) Saint Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. But by and large most magic was done by Christians who viewed themselves as Christians doing rituals which in some sense were based on Christianity but which were heterodox according to the church.

Actual paganism wasn't really part of the witch-hunting in most of Europe though. (although some pagan magical practices were carried over, in Christianized forms. The Merseburg charms for instance) In fact, in Sweden where the Sámi (Laplanders) were largely still pagan and converted over the course of the 17th century, only one (or at most two) Sámi were executed in that century for practicing their native religion. Contrast that with over a dozen Swedes executed for converting to Catholicism and over 300 executed in witch trials in the same time period. So in a respect they were more patient and tolerant with actual pagans than with Christians who got out of line.

Richard Godbeer, The Devil's Dominion: Magic and Religion in Early New England, Cambridge 1992

Richard Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages, 2nd ed, Cambridge, 2014

Brian P. Copenhaver Magic in Western Culture: From Antiquity to the Enlightenment, Cambridge, 2015

William Eamon, From the secrets of nature to public knowledge. in David Lindberg and Robert S Westman (eds), Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolution, Cambridge, 1990