Page 2 of Presence

So, instead, I just sigh.

“Yeah, well,” I manage to say. “I’ll entertain you. If you’re a witch, then how about you do something with me? Bewitch me, or something. Cast a spell on me so I can sleep just fine. Give me one of those permanent things instead of the crystals or whatever you slipped under my pillow last time.”

Her eyes light up with excitement.

“Now you’re fucking talking!” she almost yells, slamming the glass onto the table and planting both her manicured hands on its surface. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Let me just check the internet and I’ll get to work.”

At the mention of the internet, my heart starts racing a little. Even such a small exertion feels like it’s sucking the energy out of me.

“I don’t know if the internet is the best place to...” I start, but I can’t finish. When cuts me off, I don’t have the strength to argue.

“Oh, please,” she says. “Where else am I supposed to check? Some ancient magic books that cost thousands of dollars?”

I shut my mouth and look at her, holding my chin in my shaky hands. I’m so tired. It’s not funny anymore. I could just wrap a blanket around myself—or maybe not—and just pass out. Anything would be better than this misery.

But there’s this annoying, responsible voice in my head that nags even when I’m about to lose consciousness. It says that won’t always be here. Her family gave me shelter for two years, but I don’t want to burden them—or her—any longer.

I’ve worked hard to be independent. I started my own web development company at eighteen, and it was doing great… until last year. That’s when my sleep problems began, and I just couldn’t handle as many clients anymore.

The point is, I’ve been self-reliant for years. Emancipated at sixteen, I ran away from my abusive, addict mother and a life with no prospects. I’ve been autonomous ever since.

I need to find a solution to my sleep problem that doesn’t involve depending on anyone but myself. So this witch thing? As long as it doesn’t mean going to the doctor, I’ll give it a shot.

“Eh, whatever.” I close my eyes. The darkness suddenly feels comforting. “Just don’t summon anything.”

“Oh, honey,” she drawls. “I’m pretty sure you’re already haunted anyway.”

“Shut up,” I whisper, my gut twisting as I open my eyes. “Don’t say that.”

The thought of something otherworldly latching onto me and terrorizing me sends a cold sweat over my body. I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it.

Memories of my mother in her white nightgown, standing in the dark and banging her head against the wooden basement doors, flash through my mind. I feel like throwing up.

No, Claire. Your mother was a disturbed woman who took more drugs than hospital patients and drank booze like water. She wasn’t haunted. She was sick.

snaps me back to the present. “Say what you want, but a protection spell is the first thing I’m doing. I’ve been reading up on it, and people swear it works wonders.”

“People?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in confusion. Since when is actually discussing this shit with others? I thought all this occult stuff talk was just a game.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe how many people are deep into witchcraft,” she replies. “I’ve made some friends online. They told me how it all works.”

“Right,” I drawl, leaning back and bringing my feet onto the chair so I can wrap my arms around my knees. It’s hard to keep my head up straight, but I manage. “And you don’t find that suspicious or scary at all...?”

She looks into the distance for a moment, then puckers her lips. “If you mean in a creepy way, then no,” she says after a while. “It’s mostly women, you know.”

I take a deep breath. “You know what? Whatever. Let’s just do this so I can go to sleep. As much as I love talking to you...”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she quips, that excited smile stretching across her pretty face. Her brown skin starts glowing like the happiness she feels is sunlight itself. “Let me get to work, then.”

An hour later, I’m perched on a wooden stool in an herbal shop, a basket on my knees, while goes through her list. We’re here to buy a bunch of herbs, some teas for sleep, and, well... things to burn. As in, light on fire and release smoke kind of burn.

“How many more things are on that list?” I ask, rubbing my stiff fingers against my eyelids, seizing any chance to close my eyes.

“Just one more,” she replies. When I open my eyes, I see her holding packets of dried leaves, rolled and tied with rope. “Sage.”

She gently places the herb into my basket.

For a shop filled with things I never thought would sell well, ‘Esoteric Cat’ is surprisingly spacious. Everything here is in shades of green or brown, with a rich, earthy scent. The aisles are lined with warm wooden shelves and potted plants. Crystals, candles, oils, and other pretty, fragrant items fill the space, though I have no clue what one does with most of them.

---