The work of a Witch wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t this Magickal experience that the movies made it out to be. It was hard and sweat inducing. It was dishing out spices, mixing oils, and creating some sort of science experiment. It was the mixing of Intention Oils, and then combining them with the mixed spices. It was the creation of sigils, funneling meaning into every part that you create. It was the incantation to your deity - and whatever that deity required from you. It was an extension of self, and it was lonely. Some Witches had a coven, but unless you all followed the same beliefs, participating in such a practice was near impossible. Charl had ensured that we all knew we weren’t a coven. We were a business. And, in some ways I liked that more. It allowed me to package my outlook on what I did in a way that made sense in my parent’s financial world, and this one.
Dimitri stared at me with disdain as I asked him for a bottle of olive oil. It wasn’t enough that I had only just stopped shivering, but now I needed to endure Dimitri on top of the foreboding reading and Solomon’s unexpected visit. I would have fetched it myself if I thought I could get away with tinkering in his kitchen. Instead I had to suffer the man’s odious glare as I explained that I needed some more olive oil for this ritual and could he just get it for me.
I wasn’t here to make friends. Dimitri didn’t have to like me. All I had to do was give these people Magickal protection. In just a few weeks, I would be heading back home, and I needed to make sure that both my client and Charl were happy.
I had fourteen white candles out. Fourteen. That was my entire stock of white candles that I came here with - not that I couldn’t buy more, it was just that I hadn’t expected to use them all in one go. But this house was large, and a cleansing and protection ritual of this nature would require all points to be covered, not to mention the four separate candles I intended to use for Dimitri and Arlo’s bracelets and reflection spells. Leaving the house without Magickal protection would be akin to leaving them unarmed. With a Voodoo Witch hellbent on their demise, Ihad to push through my exhaustion and just get the damn place protected.
Dimitri walked back into my room carrying a bottle of olive oil. He carried it as if me using it for Magickal purposes was contaminating in some way. Urgh. I hated this guy.
His trademark scowl ever present as he stomped through my room. What did the men in his organisation think of that constant scowl? Did they fear him? Probably. But the women at the burlesque club kept casting furtive glances his way. I tried not to notice - not that I wanted Dimitri per se, but it was difficult to not compare myself to the women who seemed to have curves in all the right places and were confident enough in themselves to dance burlesque. The experience was completely sensual and damn alluring. Their entire performance had been captivating, and yet even with that scowl, the women pursued him, welcoming Dimitri in all his glorious danger.
He wore his scowl as a shield, although it hadn’t been enough to stem Sergei and his band of followers in their pseudo rebellion against Dimitri’s business.
He held the bottle of olive oil away from his body, finally, stretching it towards me, handing it off in a way that would have left an ordinary bystander assume that Dimitri simply had an issue with olive oil itself. We both knew that wasn’t the case - it was me and my Magick that he took issue with.
Jackass.
“Do you want to move to the dining room?” He sounded hesitant when he spoke, and when I glanced up at him, his eyes were glazed over as he took my setup in with fascination.
My pink briefcase had been flung open, the candles, Intention Oils, herbs, and spices, were all on display for anyone in my room to see. My travelling altar, with all the additional items I may require for a number of different spells. Because a Witch could never be too prepared. And thank fuck I even had fourteen candles in the breifcase because anything short of that simply wouldn’t do - not in a place this size.
“No thanks,” I said as I exhaled, the night’s events quickly catching up with me, “I kind of feel comfortable here.”
He grunted by way of reply, watching me place each candle on a small, carefully laid out plate. Twelve plates for twelve candles - I set two of the candles aside specifically for Dimitri and Arlo, making the total number of candles in use fourteen, and truthfully, I still doubted whether it would be enough.
Dimitri’s eyes flared as I pulled out a small pocket knife. As I flicked it open, I knew that even he would appreciate its blade. It was long, thin, and curved inwards, a type of hybrid between a hunting knife and a standard pocket knife. And, it was perfect for inscribing sigils on any candle.
Leaning over the tapered candle, I placed just the right amount of pressure on the blade, carving in protection sigils deep into the wax. Once I was satisfied, I blew across the sigil, infusing it with protection through my very breath. The carved out wax fell to the ground as if it too understood that it offered no real value, not any longer.
Dimitri - to his credit - did not say a word.
Using the vanity, I dipped a small paintbrush into a small ramekin filled with olive oil. The light from above hit the surface of the oil, making it look golden. The vanity’s counter was splattered with various sized containers, each one overflowing with a different herb or spice. The combination of scents was intoxicatingly overwhelming, heady in a way that few things I had encountered were.
The candles were delicately spread out across the floor, and I imagined that if anyone walked into the room, they would automatically assume I was conducting a seance, or something equally bone chilling.
Exhaling, I stilled my shaking fingers and dragged the paintbrush down the long tapered candle before me, repeating the process as I rotated the candle minisculely each time to ensure that no surface of the wax wasn’t lathered in olive oil. I meticulously and painstakingly repeated the same process on each and every candle.
I made quick work as I stirred in some crushed garlic with cayenne pepper, adding black pepper to the mix with a dash of rosemary, and crushed basil. Each herb and spice held different properties for protection. Magickal protection. Spiritual Protection. Protection of the material. Psychic protection. And, physical protection.
Some of the herbs overlapped with others, serving to simply enhance their different properties, whilst others were good for only one type of protection, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Satisfied with the first twelve candles, I moved on to the two remaining candles. I inscribed Dimitri and Arlo’s names, along with a protection sigil on each, labelling them in accordance - one for each of them. I followed the same, laborious process of coating the remaining candles with olive oil, and once my prep work was done, I cast the mix of herbs and spices over all the candles. The oil ensured that they stuck to the wax, filling the deep grooves of the sigils, and Arlo and Dimitri’s names.
Standing back to examine my work, I cast a furtive glance towards Dimitri to see his reaction. His jaw was slack as he took in my movements. I pushed the candles together, lining them up in two neat rows of six.
As an afterthought, I quickly shuffled back to the bed, flipping open my pink briefcase that housed my travelling altar, and pulled out a small bag of instant coffee.
“Coffee?” Dimitri seemed flabbergasted. I was sure this entire experience wasn’t something he would easily forget.
“It’s to ensure that the spells work almost instantaneously,” I grinned up at him, “get it?” I added, “Instant coffee for instantaneous results.”
No giggle. No smile. No response. Just his masked blank expression that made me want to throttle him.
I don’t know what I had been expecting, Dimitri hadn't shown an ounce of kindness - humanity even - so why had I been expecting him to grin along with me? All he had shown up to date was a large dose of doubt - aimed at me and my abilities.
Refusing to allow Dimitri to hinder me or throw me off course when it came to conducting these spells, I simply straightened my shoulders and continued to work.
I walked over to my case, still flung open on my bed, and began pulling out an array of gemstones and beads. Sifting through them, picking out the ones that I needed - the ones that called to me - I returned, my right hand filled with mostly black obsidian beads as they spilled through my knuckles. A glint of silver shimmered through the darkness - I had chosen one moonstone for each of them. Ignoring Dimitri entirely, I sank down on the floor, and threaded the obsidian beads through an elastic string, the white, reflective moonstone sitting as the connecting piece. The bracelet came together easily, all darkness and protection with that sliver of light to balance it all. It somehow seemed fitting for these men. I worked in absolute silence, until eventually, I had to speak to Dimitri once more.