The air seemed to ripple, the ground suddenly uneven beneath her feet, and she reached out for the shelf to steady herself, realizing too late that she’d been quite mistaken in her assessment of the staff at the Cat & Crow. The woman dressed as a witch, wore a costume of artifice that Tara, in her own quest for superficial trappings, had fallen for. The man before her seemedto vibrate, and she was forced to admit she’d been wrong in who the true witch actually was.
“So I will ask you again . . . what is it that you seek, Tara Perez?”
The question sent a ripple up her back and the man’s strange yellow-green eyes held hers without blinking. Whatwasit that she sought? Another tchotchke for her shelf? Black eyeliner and purposefully tattered clothes? Did she just want to cultivate the appearance of being one with the craft, or did she actuallywantit?
“I want my third eye to open,” Tara blurted, the words tripping off her tongue like water from a faucet, unable to be held back any longer. “I want–I want to be a witch. Anactualwitch. I want my mind to slow down so I can focus, and-and for—” She sucked in a breath, steadying herself and pushing back the tears threatening to spill. “I just want some clarity,” she croaked at last, her chest heaving. “I don’t want to feel so empty. I want to feel like I’m out of the fog long enough to see what I’m supposed to do. Who I’m supposed to be.”
She was uncertain how she’d managed to get the words out at all, for the air still seemed to be frozen, sticking in her lungs as the strange man rippled before her, his eyes fixed on hers with a staggering intensity.
“Sacrifice and skill, and those are not things you can buy off one of my shelves. I sense potential in you, Tara Perez. But you are an empty vessel. You must allow yourself to be filled.”
“But . . . I-I just want to find something that will—
“And I just told you it doesn’t work that way,” he snapped. “As I said, skill comes with dedication and practice. Only then can–”
“Then I want to be in-tune with the other side. Every day,” she went on doggedly, interrupting his self-righteous monologuing and ignoring his pursed lips. “I want to be able to feel something outside myself. Can’t I get a spiritual guide or something?”
His head cocked, and for the first time that she could remember, his lips tugged into a genuine smile.
“Like a familiar? One must be singularly gifted or else born into extreme privilege, I’m afraid, and you are neither.” His lips held the ghost of that same smile as he continued. “Thereare, however, things you can buy that will aid in your discovery. If you want to be filled, you must light a beacon, calling forth a ship to your harbor. There is a ritual . . ." His eyes had taken on a yellow gleam, striding past her with purpose. "You won't be able to get everything today, of course. Some of it needs to be specially made, a few things I’ll need to call in for you. A particular incense blend. As I said, there is a witch in the next town who is a talented herbalist, she will need to blend it for you. It would do you good to meet her anyway. The cloth maker sells to me wholesale, you'd never be able to afford her retail prices. We'll have to put that on order, it can take a few weeks . . ."
"Cloth maker?" She asked dumbly, shrugging in confusion.
"Your altar cloth, of course. It comes pre-marked with the appropriate glyphs. It’s a bit of cheating, I think, but it is incredibly handy for those unskilled enough to draw them in themselves. The irony is you had the genuine article right there your whole life, and you never opened your eyes to see, never bothered to learn. Makes no matter now. You'll pay for the privilege of your ignorance though, prepare yourself for that."
She had listened as he rattled off all the things he alleged she would need—the altar cloth, the incense blend. A ceremonial knife, Cardinal candles, and the centerpiece – the ritual candle, placed in the center of the cloth, he told her.
"Why is a bit of cloth so expensive?!" she had squawked as he wrote up the order.
Holt only rolled his eyes.
"Because each is one-of-a-kind and handmade, and if that weren't a good enough reason for you, she is the only creatormaking these cloths. Not just in town, not in our tri-state area. They're theonlyones who make them at all. Anywhere. Do you want to be cheap? Or do you want to be filled?"
She had handed over her credit card without another peep, taking the number for the witch who would contact her once her incense was finished, following him to a wall lined with candles.
“The question, now, is which,” he mused, running the edge of one of his long, black-painted nails over the edge of the shelf. “Wisdom of ancestors? The guidance of the lamp bearer? Perhaps you would do best with calling upon the favor of a minor—”
“Whichever is going to give me the best results without taking a hundred years,” she snapped, suddenly feeling utterly drained from the day. “You know, the way this check-out process is.” Her visit to the shop had been meant to cheer her up, but she only felt worse and had somehow been persuaded to spend an entire paycheck in the process. “You said I’m an empty vessel. So whichever is going to fill me.”
Holt’s head had whipped around, his eyes narrowing for a split second, his lip curling into a sneer . . . before it was replaced with a sharp-edged grin, and his hand moved up the wall several shelves, plucking a fat candle from where it rested.
“Careful what you wish for, Tara Perez. I think this one will do nicely. You'll be filled to your limit and then some.”
