She smiles warmly. “I do.”
“Monique is a green witch,” Cyrus answers.
A witch? I look the woman up and down, not sure what to think. “What’s a green witch?”
She points to the beautiful greenery that surrounds us. “Think of it as an overactive green thumb.” She motions toward a chair in front of a mirror. “Come. Let’s see what we can do about that hair. Harrison?” she asks my buyer. He answers with a deep laugh. “Yeah, it looks like his work,” she answers, leading me toward the empty chair.
Monique wraps a cape around me, protecting the silk dress from stains as she pours a milky-like substance on my hair. The scent is a mixture of floral and earthy. “What is that?” I ask.
“This is my special concoction. It’s about the only thing that will cut through that cheap dye Harrison uses.”
“In other words, she made it,” Cyrus says.
“Forgive me if this is offensive. Is it a spell?” I ask.
Monique’s sweet laugh fills the room. “Not a spell, dear. A potion.” She massages the liquid into my hair. In the mirror, I can see the red disappearing as soon as the liquid makes contact.
“It’s working,” I declare, watching the progress.
“It is.” She continues working. “What a beautifulcolor your real hair is. I don’t know why that man insists on making everyone a redhead.”
“Because he’s obsessed withher,” Cyrus answers. “So obsessed, he tries to turn every woman into her. When they don’t behave as he wants, he discards them.”
“How much did she cost?” Monique asks.
“Twenty,” Cyrus answers. The witch stops rubbing her potion in my hair and whistles softly.
“Twenty thousand?”
The vampire’s eyes grow larger than before, and he nods with his words. “Twenty thousand.”
“Damn. He’s either getting bolder, or…” She looks at my reflection. “This one’s special.”
“I’m right here,” I remind them. “I can hear you.”
Monique gathers the mass of my hair into her hands, running the last of the liquid through it. “I think that’s all of it. Let’s go wash, shall we?” she asks while pulling me up by my brown locks. I follow her to an oversized sink in the kitchen. “Stick your head under the faucet. A good wash will get whatever remains out.”
Ten minutes later, I’m washed four times and conditioned with something I suspect is another potion. Monique wraps a towel around my head, leading me back to the chair and mirror. After a few perfectly placed curls, she pulls out something I’ve only seen in fashion magazines.
“Is that a handheld hairdryer?” I ask in disbelief.
“It is,” Monique answers. It looks like a misshapengun. She plugs it in, and it roars to life. The amount of air blowing from it feels more like a hurricane than a blow dryer. I watch as she forms and sculpts my hair into the perfect hairstyle. She turns the dryer off and continues to work until it’s perfect.
“Done,” she says, stepping away from me. “What do you think?”
Turning my head in the mirror, I take in every angle. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
She smiles a toothy grin. “My pleasure, mon amour.”
Cyrus holds a hand toward me, helping me climb from the chair. I’m not sure why. I don’t need help standing, but I don’t refuse.
“Payment as usual?” he asks my witchy hairdresser.
“That’s perfect,” she answers.
“It’s already in your account.”
Monique disappears behind a large bush, returning seconds later with a paper bag. “This is what you asked for. Don’t use it all at once.” I stare at the bag, curious what’s inside.
