commune with the deep and subtle magic all around us. And so the witch’s road is a day of roaming and collecting, seeing and feeling wherever we go.”
“Okay, if you think this is the best way to get things done,” she said skeptically.
We walked away from the tangled garden of my front yard full of old wisteria and honeysuckle. The sidewalk was buckled from the roots of the old trees that grew down this block. When I’d first bought my house, they had been saplings. Now they were some of the oldest in the city.
“I’ve always liked going on long walks by myself,” Lila said. “I’ve always liked noticing the small changes all around me.”
I nodded. “You are a natural with magic. Continue walking, all your days. In particular, whenever things get hard.”
“Sure thing, boss.” She grinned.
I looked her up and down. She’d grown so much in the last seven years.
So much had changed since the day her mother had first found me and begged me to help her.
----
The door to Morgan’s Ephemera opened to the sound of chimes I had placed on the door. I looked up from where I was tying together bundles of Russian sage. The woman who walked in was not the average confused tourist nor the disaffected gothic teenager. She was a Middle Eastern woman with her hair tied up in a bun and striking eyes. She looked around the room furtively as she walked toward me. There was no one else in the store.
“I need your help,” she said.
“What are you looking for? Herbs? Charms?” I asked mildly, though I sensed she needed something more urgent.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” With a shaking hand, she handed me a ripped-open envelope. On the outside it read, Do not open until — .” The envelope was marked with today’s date. Inside was a slip of paper with one line on it, reading: Take this vial to Morgan le Fay. She will help you with Lila.
“You are her, aren’t you? You are Morgan le Fay? I have some friends… some, unders? That’s how you say it here, yes? They helped me find you. The message in the envelope says you will help? It’s written in my own handwriting, but I don’t remember writing it and I don’t know what it means.” She took a deep breath and stood up straighter. “You will help me.”
I put down the sage and studied this fearful woman who tried to command me. “Where would you like me to start?” I asked, committing to nothing.
She shook her head. “I have no idea.” Her mouth, lined with deep wrinkles of worry, opened a couple of times. No sound came out, as though there was some barrier within her that kept her from talking and perhaps from even knowing what she had to say. Interesting. I guessed there lay some sort of confusion or silencing spell upon her.
“This vial? You brought it with you?” I asked.
“Yes. I have no idea where it came from, or what it’s for, but I’ve taken it with me every time I’ve moved. My daughter, my husband, and I move often. I get these urges, these itches, that it’s time for us to leave, every year or two. It’s not fair on Lila, my daughter. Why am I telling you all this? Only, the note says you will help. I don’t know why I need help, but I feel like I do. Desperately.” She stopped talking as I took the vial from her outstretched hand.
I held the stoppered bottle of liquid up to the light. A viscous amber liquid lay within, flecked with bits of gold. Ever more interesting. I made two quick spells to probe its magical properties, and learned it was a time-limited counter-spell.
It was a slow day in the shop, inside of a slow decade and century. So even though the woman before me wore layers of trouble wrapped around her well-dressed body, I decided to see what this was about. Pandora and I have always liked boxes.
I locked the door and took some time to make and activate an impenetrable spell around us. Next I ordered her to drink the liquid in the vial.
Her hands shook as she scratched off the wax seal and held the edge
Matthew Woodring Stover; George Lucas