Delia-1

The dead grass didn't dare crunch beneath my feet. I strode confidently. There was a certain sensuous sway to my hips, my back so straight that it curved inwards, thrusting out my breasts. I took measured breaths and assumed I was being watched by the very trees themselves. The world was awash in light from the full moon. The last night of the full moon, to be exact. The world teetered on the edge of the moon's power, pregnant with magic, and the darker and slightly more restful period during the moon's waning and subsequent waxing. The trees whispered to me, drinking in that power. The dead things beneath my feet murmured and shivered. Everything from dead leaves to human corpses centuries old, they were ever and always aware. And they felt what was happening tonight stronger than anything they had felt before.

A humid summer breeze curled around my legs, drifting through the light material of my blouse and skirt to tickle my belly and thighs. It spoke as well. Everything had something to say. I stopped and glanced over my left shoulder at the moon. She was plump and golden like a ripe peach. You love this, don't you? I thought. My eyes drank in her light until they were full and I had to close them. I felt a shudder deep down in my core. My little drop of magic threw itself against the walls of its fleshy prison, seeking a way out. With each bounce and shiver it grew, and grew, and grew, until I could barely suppress it. I had to bite my lip until it bled before I could keep walking. The power was... intoxicating. It wanted me to be free, to run and fly and swim until I had my freedom and could just be me. But I couldn't do that. I had a task at hand and people would die if I didn't.


Why was everything just so blasted difficult?


-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Let's back up a couple weeks. I want you to be well caught-up with my current situation. Two weeks ago, I had only a drop of Magic. Just a single, tiny drop. Barely there. I couldn't call down lightning. I couldn't predict the future with any regularity or skill. I couldn't brew the potions that put hair on a bald man's head and Vivre in his pants. I couldn't even ride a broomstick or a magic carpet.


~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I took a deep breath, inhaling the spicy scent of Rosemary from my little cauldron. It was making a potion for protection. A single drop ensconced in a vile and worn around the neck would ward off minor negative influences. I reached for the sage on my spice rack. I glanced up, squinting at the labels on the variously sized jars. "Will?" I called. He was probably around. "What happened to the sage?"
"You used it up in that chicken dish last Tuesday and failed to restock." Will drifted out of the hallway that lead into the back rooms where I stored things. He looked especially sickly that day and stopped just short of where the sunlight filtering through the shop windows hit the floor. He was tall and a natty dresser in slacks, dress-shirt, and vest. He kept his springy dark hair short and neatly combed back from a sharp widow's peak that accented a thin, angular face. "And Caruso ate your sage plant earlier this morning."
"What!" I rounded on my tuxedo-wearing cat. He flicked his tail in barest acknowledgement at his name. "You were gorging on the leftover rat spleen from last night! How could you possibly still be hungry?"

But the little turd ignored me, asleep on the glass counter warmed by the sun. I made a noise of frustration, shoving my wispy bangs out of my face. "Now what?"
"Attend to your customer, perchance?" Will suggested politely. I finally noticed the middle-aged woman standing nervously in the middle of the shop, eyes glued to me and my potion-making.

"Oh, sorry. How may I help you?" I asked politely, sitting a little straighter on my stool. The woman's eyes flickered to Will, unsure.
"I will go... 'make lunch'." Will said as tactfully as he possibly could, sliding like an oily shadow into the depths of the back storage rooms. The woman watched him go uneasily, her hands white-knuckled on the strap of her purse. Caruso yawned, opening his mouth wide to reveal white fangs and a pink tongue. The movement drew the woman's gaze. I gave my cat a scratch and he leapt down from the counter, the front door opening with a tinkle to let him out.

"May I help you?" I asked again. I cocked my head, fixing a friendly smile to my face.
"You... you read fortunes, right?" The woman was turning red from embarrassment at being in such an establishment.
"That's right. Tarot, tea leaves, palmistry, whatever you like." I answered promptly. She shuffled a bit closer.
"What's that?" she demanded, staring hard at the protective potion-in-progress. It was giving off green steam.
"Just a little something. Would you like me to read your fortune?" I offered, pulling a battered stack of Tarot cards out of my apron pocket. "Please, have a seat." I beckoned to the stool at the end of the counter. "Come on." I snapped at it, beckoning harder. It didn't budge. "Okay fine." I got up and tugged the stool to the middle of the counter, right across from mine.

"Are you ready to begin?"

My customer gingerly sat down on the stool, still looking around at my shop. She didn't answer, and then I saw the silver cross dangling from around her neck. No wonder Will had decided to go. And no wonder she looked so uncomfortable here. "I don't get my powers from the Devil." I told her. She jumped, having been staring intently at a gargoyle statue on the wall behind me. "Magic isn't evil by nature. It's how you use it. Tarot cards are definitely White Magic."
"I don't need my fortune told." The woman said harshly. I noticed how well-dressed she was in a pastel suit and Hermes scarf. But she looked... stressed, maybe not quite as well-to-do as her clothes as her clothes made her out to be. I saw her running her thumb constantly over her platinum wedding band as if making sure it was still there.

I leaned forward, dropping my voice down to a whisper. "Are you worried that your husband is being unfaithful?"
"Of course not!" she snapped, but her cheeks blazed even brighter. Silence.
"Are your rings part of a set?" I asked again in a gentle tone. "Is your husband's exactly like yours?"
"Yes." The woman said, not looking at me.
"May I see your ring?"

She shot me a look of pure venom. "What? Why?"
"Worrying about your husband is unhealthy. It ages a woman before her time." I explained. "May I see your ring to put your mind at rest? You came to me for help, after all. I'm sure your friends told you not to worry but you still did. You still wear the crucifix but you're here in a shop that could be considered blasphemous. You want an objective point of view. May I see your ring?"

She slid it off, her hands shaking. She set it set on the glass counter without looking at it. I picked it up, holding it up to the light. It was a pretty thing, studded with expensive diamonds in a sophisticated design. I closed my eyes, holding the ring in both hands. I clenched my teeth, reaching for that tiny drop of magic that was nestled deep inside of me. Using magic was difficult, but not impossible. I just didn't have much and therefore I couldn't do much, either.

"Show me." I whispered. I grabbed a tiny thread of magic and twisted it, molding it with my will into what I wanted it to be. The ring had been warm from being on my customer's hand. But, even clasped between my hot little fingers, it grew cold as ice. I had my answer.

"It's... grown cold." I said quietly, sliding the ring across the counter.
"Meaning?"
"It's weak. I mean, what your ring symbolizes. The ring is a physical manifestation of what it stands for and..." I looked up. My client looked like she was about to start screaming. "What it stands for is dead."
"My ring... stands for my marriage." Her voice was deadly calm. I looked down again, hunching my shoulders against the inevitable explosion.
"Nnngh..." was all I said.
"What are you trying to say?" She shrieked, jumping up and knocking over the stool. Her face was bloodless compared to the shamed blush from before. "That my marriage is dead? Is that it? Is THAT what you're trying to tell me you little... you little hussy! You... you witch! I will sue you!" She stormed out of my shop, knocking crystal balls off of the display. I had to dive over the counter to save a priceless glass figurine before the force of my client's magic could smash it pieces on the floor, having jostled it from its shelf.

"She will be back." Will sauntered in, a book in one hand. "She will brood over it for a week or so then confront her husband. If he refuses the charges, they will argue because she will know intuitively that he is lying. He will become careless in his affair and then his wife will find out and leave him. Then she will be back in here to thank you."
"I doubt it. She'll try to besmirch me. It's a small town." I pointed out, propping my face on my hands and my elbows on the counter. "Occult Antiques and Charms will be over and done with."
"She won't mention you. She is too shamed by her suspicions that she won't tell her happily married friends. Besides, she must be from out of town. This town is too small to support a Stepford Wife."
"You scare me sometimes," I remarked dryly, picking up the fallen stool. "Oh, the paint chipped." I traced my finger along the green vines twined around the legs. I squinted hard at the biggest chip. "Fix," I ordered, yanking on my power.

The chip disappeared as if it never was. "There. Now you listen to me." I set it upright and placed a pot of Impatiens upon it. I wasn't expecting anymore advice-seekers that day.

"Delia?"
"Mmhmm?"
"Your potion is burning." I spun around, seeing my cauldron bubbling over onto the counter. It would take forever to scrub the gunk off of the glass.
"Pox!"