The Witch's Market Read Free Page B

it was scary. But I didn’t want to alarm my little sister.
    She looked worried anyway. “You think it’s bad luck?”
    â€œI’m sure whoever sent this wants to make me feel uncomfortable.”
    â€œI’m so sorry, Eileen. Who would want to do that?”
    â€œI don’t know. Someone must be trying to send me a message.”
    â€œWhat’s the message?”
    â€œI don’t know, but it can’t be anything pleasant.”
    Maybe, I thought to myself, I really have to become a witch to fight the unknown, evil force that might be coming my way.

2
    Signs from Heaven
    W hen Brenda and I reentered the living room, people were still chattering about my “supernatural” power.
    Then Ivan brought up the question I had to avoid. “What’s that gift you and Brenda are so mysterious about?”
    â€œIt’s a cookbook for my birthday,” I lied.
    He didn’t inquire further. He was pretty tipsy by this point.
    Ivan planted a kiss on my forehead, then looked around proudly at the other guests. “See? Eileen is a witch! She’s awesome. Impossible to find another girl like her, right?”
    I could smell alcohol from Ivan’s breath, mingled with his expensive cologne. Would he still want me if I really was a witch with supernatural powers? But he didn’t look scared.
    â€œEileen, how did you do that?” Timothy asked suspiciously.
    I smiled. “Nothing special. It was just a coincidence.”
    No one seemed to believe me, so I added, “If we really pay attention, we notice coincidences happen all the time. But some are more than coincidences . . . synchronicities.”
    John made a face. “Then how do you explain my third string breaking?”
    â€œI asked you to play the ‘Spider’s Dance’ because it’s fast and the third string would be plucked aggressively. So it broke, as I’d hoped.”
    He didn’t look convinced.
    â€œYou think I really possess this kind of power?” I asked, wondering myself.
    â€œMaybe. I did pull very hard on the third string, though,” said John. But he still didn’t look convinced.
    I was so preoccupied with this strange event that the rest of the evening was a blur. I talked with people without knowing what I said and ate without savoring the food. What occupied my mind was my suddenly acquired “supernatural” power and the bizarre birthday gift, the small skull. Long ago, my mother had told me that after my previous life I was supposed to descend into hell, but instead I had fallen into this life.
    Mother always joked that I must have been a hungry ghost before I reincarnated into this world because the day I was born, according to the Chinese calendar, is when the Gate of Hell is opened. This is done out of compassion for all of the ghosts, who are allowed to enter the yang world for a brief stroll. But all the ghosts must return to hell before midnight. Mother said that because I liked to eat so much I was still looking for the next meal, well past midnight, and missed the chance to go back to the yin sphere. So I’d been stuck as a human. Anyway, here I was. Maybe because I’d been born at the edge between yin and yang, I was half witch and half human. Yin and yang mean “female” and “male,” but also the world of the living, full of strong yang energy, and the world of the dead, teeming with yin spirits.
    Mother also told me that when I was little, some ghosts followed me around. One pinched me when I was not paying attention, another knocked down my rice bowl when I was about to eat, yet another tripped me when I was trying to learn to walk. Apparently, they didn’t want me to grow up but instead come back to the other world—hell. But I grew up anyway because my parents always kept lots of cash and change with them to donate whenever we ran into monks or nuns. This was to generate merit for me so the Buddha would