Before I can respond, he barges past me into the flat. Two other people follow him inside without waiting for an invitation.
The first is a tall woman with long silver hair that cascades down her back like a waterfall. She’s wearing flowing purple robes that shimmer when she moves. Layers upon layers of fabric. She has crystals hanging from her neck and wrists. She looks like she stepped out of a fantasy novel. Or possibly a Renaissance Faire.
The second is a short man with a thick beard streaked with grey. He has multiple piercings in both ears, his nose, and his eyebrow. He’s wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a tee shirt with pentagrams on it.
They all look very serious. Very witchy. Very intimidating.
“Adam, this is my coven,” Felix announces. He gestures to the tall woman with a flourish. “This is Morgana.”
“Blessed be,” says Morgana in a voice that sounds like wind chimes. Soft and musical and completely at odds with how imposing she looks.
Felix points to the bearded man. “And this is Dave.”
“Sup,” says Dave with a casual nod.
I blink. Dave. The witch is called Dave. Not something mystical like Raven or Shadow or Merlin. Just Dave.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, my voice coming out higher than I’d like.
They don’t wait for further pleasantries. Morgana immediately starts pulling crystals out of a large velvet bag. They clink together as she rummages through them. Clear ones, purple ones, pink ones. Some are raw and jagged. Others are smooth and polished.
Dave produces bundles of dried herbs tied with string. They’re various shades of green and brown, tied together with what looks like twine. The smell hits me immediately. Earthy and sharp.
Felix surveys the flat with a critical eye, his gaze sweeping across every corner and surface like he’s assessing a crime scene.
“Right,” he says, all business now. “We need to cleanse and ward every room. Dave, start with the sage. Morgana, set up the crystal grid in the bedroom. I’ll handle the salt barriers.”
They move with practiced efficiency. Like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Like this is just another Tuesday evening activity.
I stand in the middle of my living room, completely lost. My hands hang uselessly at my sides. Should I help? Should I get out of the way? What is the protocol when witches invade your flat?
Dave lights one of the herb bundles with a silver lighter. The end catches fire, and then he blows it out, leaving it smouldering. Smoke immediately starts billowing out, thick and white and pungent. He waves it around the room, muttering something under his breath that sounds like Latin. Or maybe Welsh. I can’t tell.
The smoke alarm goes off.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
“Um,” I say loudly, trying to be heard over the shrill beeping. “The smoke alarm?”
“It’s fine!” Dave shouts over the beeping. He continues waving the smoking bundle around with enthusiasm, completely unbothered by the alarm.
The alarm gets louder. More insistent. The smoke gets thicker, filling the room with a haze. I’m going to get complaints from the neighbours. The old lady downstairs is going to bang on her ceiling with a broom. Or worse, someone is going to call the fire brigade, and they’re going to show up and find me with three witches performing some kind of ritual.
I rush to the kitchen and grab a tea towel. I start waving it frantically under the smoke alarm, trying to disperse the smoke. My arms are already aching.
This is a disaster. This is an absolute disaster.
“Do you have any rose quartz?” Morgana appears in the bedroom doorway, crystals clutched in both hands.
“What?” I shout over the frantically beeping alarm. I’m still waving the tea towel as if my life depends on it.
“Rose quartz! For protection and love energy!”
Love energy? Why do I need love energy?
“I don’t think so!”
“What about amethyst?”
