where ghosts wander || ONC 2022

chapter two; a missed chance and a less bothersome ghost

It's not that I don't like the city — I just don't really like any of the things that come with it.

The noise, the traffic, the people.

The smog that makes it hard to breathe, the way that magic lingers in the air and clings to my skin; not with a welcoming, fleeting touch the way it does back home, but rather oppressively, as though it doesn't want to let you go again, with a buzzing, staticky feeling that makes the hairs on my neck stand up whenever I leave the tentative shelter of a store.

I do, however, like this one specific building, and the few people that frequent it — or simply stumble in one day by chance.

Rumor around the city says that the shop in the deep alley of the market is very strange. It has no sign and no customers. No one knows when it is there and precious few dare to step inside.

It's a stupid rumor. Just because people don't see anyone stepping inside doesn't mean there aren't any customers, and we actually follow a semi-regular schedule — as long as the house is feeling compliant, of course.

I grin to myself when the shop comes into view. Sure, it's not my absolute passion to be working there, and I'm absolutely not made for customer service, but I do have become rather fond of the house in the last few years. It certainly has its own kind of personality.

The market day is in full swing, though, now that it's nearing midday, and getting through to the shop will be fun. Not.

My gaze gets drawn to someone who's just walked past me — shoulder-length, curly black hair, skin the tone of toffee, in a bright sunflower dress.

Could it be...?

I take a step after them on instinct, her name stuck in my throat, but I'm not looking where I'm going, and the sticky-chilly sensation of walking right through someone shakes me right out of it.

When I look again, the maybe-not-a-stranger has disappeared in the crowd.

I try to contain something that feels suspiciously like disappointment in my chest; I know better than to get my hopes up.

I should know better.

But still, I keep scanning the crowds, looking for a head of messy curls, even as I get myself together and apologize rather on autopilot, "Sorry for knocking you over, I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you alright?"

Silence is the only answer.

I frown, and shake myself out of my daze — and freeze, when I realize what I've done.

Oh, please no.

Not again.

Turning the rather incorporeal ghosts into their "mortal" butterfly forms may be fun and all, but I've already used today's potion, and don't have another in my bag, stupidly optimistic as I was this morning.

Also, I'd really rather not get into yet another fight, not here, right in what feels like the busiest part at the market.

And, in addition to these already very valid points as to why I should really start watching where I'm going, I apparently really was stupid enough to forget the real magical knife at home after recharging it in yesterday's fall equinox moonlight, and all my other knives are useless against the ghosts as long as they're incorporeal, even the magical tattoo knife.