Hounded

hastily muttered a binding under my breath to keep all my hairs on my body. Witches could do some pretty heinous stuff with hair, blood, or even nail clippings, and I didn’t know yet if she was friendly or not. Her appearance marked her as nothing more than a trendy college student, however: no black robes or pointy hat, no hairy moles growing on the end of an oversize nose. She had her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, as carefully considered a decision as the makeup applied to her face and the pink gloss on her lips.
    She was wearing a white bebe tank top and a pair of oversize white-rimmed sunglasses. She carried a pink cell phone in one hand along with a jangling key ring. Her tanned, silky legs were bare beyond a pair of turquoise cotton shorts that strained at the boundaries of modesty. Her feet were slipped into a pair of pink flip-flops, her toenails painted pink with golden glitter sparkling in it.
    She took a moment to look around, inspecting the unseen more than the seen, before she turned and strode to my apothecary’s counter. She appeared to be my assumed age, twenty-one or so, but I knew how deceiving appearances could be. I could not tell her true age without more information, but the eyes behind those sunglasses were definitely older than twenty-one: She had seen things that separated her from the young and stupid. Still, she was less than a century old, judging by her aura, because it was still fluid and had none of the telltale markers of the truly old. If she could perceive the bindings around my shop and within them, she knew I was much older than I looked too.
    » Are you the owner of this shop? « she said, approaching my counter.
    » I am. What can I do for you? «
    » You are Atticus O’Sullivan? «
    » Uh-huh. « I nodded once. Someone had told her whom to ask for. I did not put my name on the window.
    » I have heard that you can brew some extraordinary teas. «
    » Well, yeah, I can make you some oolong with an antioxidant booster that’s simply awesome. Would you like a cup of that? «
    » That does sound fabulous, but that’s not the sort of tea I’m talking about. «
    » Oh. Then whatcha lookin’ for? «
    » I need a tea that will … humble a man who is attracted to me. Make me unattractive to him. «
    » What? Wait. You wish to be unattractive? «
    » To this one particular man, yes. Can you brew such a tea? «
    » You want a sort of anti-Viagra, if I’m hearing you right. «
    » You have understood me perfectly. «
    I shrugged. » It oughtta be possible. « She smiled. Her teeth were very white and straight, a toothpaste commercial waiting to happen. » But how did you hear about me? «
    » I am one of Radomila’s coven, « she said, extending her hand to shake. » The youngest, actually. My name is Emilia, but I go by Emily in America. «
    I relaxed a little bit: Radomila and I had a professional and cordial relationship. She was the leader of the Tempe Coven, thirteen witches who actually knew what the hell they were doing. They had a fancier name for themselves than that, but they didn’t advertise it. Radomila was pretty powerful, and I would rather not get on her bad side. Oh, one-on-one I’d probably be able to dispatch her, but then her entire coven would come after me together, and they would chew me up and tell the Morrigan to go suck on it, because they most likely had their own goddess in their corner.
    » Why do you need me, Emily? « I asked, shaking her hand once and knowing she was trying to gauge my power through the contact. That didn’t work too well on Druids. We draw our power from the earth as needed, so she probably felt nothing more than the low-level power I was using to maintain Oberon’s camouflage. It had caused more than one foe to underestimate me, so that was fine by me. I’m not into peacock displays of power. » Isn’t Radomila capable of looking after her own coven anymore? For that matter, you could take care of this problem yourself. You don’t need me. «
    » That is true, « she said. » But Radomila wants no part in the crafting of this particular potion. Neither do I. We require … outside assistance. «
    » And so you came here? I’m just a friendly apothecary who knows that witches are for real. «
    » I pray you do not fence with me. I know full well what you are, Druid. «
    Well. That was putting the cards on the table. I took another look at her aura, which was largely red and tossed about with the desire for power.