Hounded

wearing synthetic fibers—and it makes me smile.
    I like to look at people’s auras and see the blues and greens, glowing with health and hopeful of becoming healthier. The people there are bound together, though they do not know it or think of it as such, but it is true: The dirty rust of discontent stands out sorely in Macy’s, or the dull gray of depression, or the angry reds of greed and materialism.
    The young woman at the front of the line when I walked in was a siren of angst and a sense of entitlement denied. She was a slender brunette with her hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a brown velour tracksuit trimmed in turquoise that hugged her shape. She had an aura that was roiling in reds and oranges, broadcasting her desire to go on a major power trip. Maybe she was just having a bad day, but she was kind of killing my groovy hippie buzz, and I couldn’t wait for her to leave so I could surf the spiffy vibe generated by a roomful of iconoclasts.
    As she picked up her order—three coffees to go—and passed me on her way out, I noticed a telltale ripple playing about the wisps of her hair, a buzz of white interference that said this woman had practiced magic successfully. I almost pulled a Shaggy on the spot: Zoinks! Like run, Scoob, it’s a witch! Given the rest of her aura, she probably hadn’t chosen Glinda the Good as her role model. She looked like more of the Double-Double-Toil-and-Trouble type, and the three coffees took on more significance: She might be the maiden in one of those maiden-mother-crone covens.
    Witches and I generally don’t get along. Druids look at the tapestry of nature and try to make sure the weave of it remains strong, reinforcing the binding amongst all living things and sewing up the threads on the edges that fray and unravel. Witches, on the other hand, often punch holes in the tapestry in the pursuit of personal power, making deals with dark, supernatural forces that want nothing more than to see nature perverted and destroyed.
    Since I’m the only real Druid left, the witches are getting away with a lot more than they used to, and I confess I tend to look at them all as guilty until proven innocent, though I realize that’s not very fair of me.
    This witch couldn’t read auras very well, if at all, or she would have shown some sign as she passed me. Aura readers always give me a double take, because mine doesn’t match the twenty-one-year-old redheaded lad that I look like.
    Hey, Oberon, there’s a young woman coming out with three coffees who’s pretty weird , I called in my mind. See what you can smell on her .
    › Am I allowed to sniff her ass? ‹
    Definitely not. You don’t want to do that .
    › All right, but the ass tells you everything you need to know about a person. It’s like that Rosetta stone you were telling me about. Oh, that must be her. ‹ There was a pause, and then he continued, › I couldn’t get a really good whiff since I’m tied up and that coffee is pretty strong, but she smells like fabric softener, lavender soap, and a bunch of stuff from out of your shop. ‹
    I beg your pardon? What stuff from my shop?
    › You know, the plant stuff. ‹
    Which plants?
    › I don’t know, you haven’t taught me their names. I’m not the Druid here, I’m just the Druid’s hound. ‹
    And a most excellent hound you are. I appreciate your help. Can you tell me if the plants you smelled were floral and sweet smelling, or perhaps bitter, maybe earthy?
    › Earthy. Nothing sweet, but nothing nasty either. ‹
    That told me she wasn’t into love potions, and she wasn’t into siccing demons on people or sending plagues and agues either. It meant she probably wasn’t up to anything too dangerous at the moment, and I could ignore her safely. Thank you, Oberon, that’s very interesting. You just earned yourself a sausage .
    › Score! I want bratwurst, but no kraut or mustard this time. I don’t care if it’s Oktoberfest, you just ruin meat when you put pickled cabbage on it. ‹
    It’s a deal. I’ll be out soon, the line’s moving .
    Once I got to the counter, I bought a blue handmade ceramic mug and had the supercrunchy barista, Xypop, fix my San Francisco cappuccino in it. Since I enjoyed saying her name so much, I asked her to get me a few more things ( » Xypop, do you still sell Cosmic Ray’s guide to mountain bike trails? « ) and wound up buying stuff I didn’t need. She even sold me some baked vegan dog biscuits, which I purchased