The Crescent Hour ✓

Chapter 25. Spells and Payments

Clara dipped her necklace into her shirt, keeping it out of sight. She smoothened her hair and brushed her clothes. No amount of dry scrubbing could clean her dirt-streaked face but she tried to make herself more presentable lest the black witch found an excuse to hex her.

Tamer tied the rope to a wooden post on the porch. He made Enki sit on the steps. Picking up the iron knocker, he struck the door. The sound reverberated off into the forest. Chiffon curtains drifted out of the windows, swinging back inside when the breeze passed the cottage.

“Take off your shoes,” Tamer said. “She’ll jinx you if you don’t.”

Nodding, Clara bent down to untie the laces. She left her boots on the side of the wall, next to a pot plant. Tamer knocked again. They waited for a minute. Shrugging, he pressed down the hinge, opening the door.

“Helima?” he called.

The living room was painted in fiery red as if it housed a multitude of secrets. There were plush pillows plopped on the couches, sculptures balanced on stands and candles flickering in the corners. The air was suffused with incense. At first glance, it was an ordinary room but there were a few things that stood out.

Clara noticed a black skull moulded as a vase, a bouquet of flowers dipped into the hole on top. Above the fireplace was a mask made of sharp pines so that the wearer’s face looked a giant mouth with teeth. There was a stone tablet next to it, inscribed in blood writings. Like artefacts from a different timeline, the items didn’t fit with the rest of the furnishings.

Tamer stood before a panel of paintings on the wall. “These ones used to give me nightmares.”

She went to observe them. The first one was a painting of a coven of witches garbed in cloaks, dancing in the desert, the red moon shining on the sky. The second had faceless men drinking tea with skeletons and the third one had a black cyclone with screaming skulls destroying a village.

Clara could imagine a little boy staring up at the images, eyes wide with surprise and fingers shaking with fright.

Grim paintings, she thought.

On the table was a plate filled with stacks of unwrapped sweets.

“Chocolate!” she said.

She lifted her hand to pick one then lowered it. She was about to steal from a black witch who for all intents and purposes, might have spiked the sweets with poison.

“Don’t take them,” Tamer said to her.

The chocolate had chips of ground nuts and raisins. Her mouth watered. They looked delicious and tempting. She could almost taste the sweet taste of cocoa on her tongue.

Her craving enflamed, demanding that she devour the goodies.

There were so many of them and she only needed one. The witch wouldn’t tell the difference, would she? When Tamer turned his back to her, Clara snatched one of the sweets, all traces of caution gone out of the window.

A set of short blades flew out of nowhere, heading for her fingers. She jerked her hand back, dropping the chocolate. The blades stabbed the wall, vibrating with the impact.

“Do you know what I do with thieves?” a condescending voice said.

Clara winced. She’d been caught. A woman leant on the doorway, arms held in akimbo. She was old with white hair tumbling down to her waist. A copious amount of powder coated her face, hiding the wrinkles. Her thin lips had been painted crimson, the same shade as her short frilly skirt. She wore a black corset that hugged her lithe frame.