Smoke and Mirrors (Alastor X Reader)

Chapter Three

"You called for me after your little scandal, didn't you sugar?"

"Again I did not intend to," Alastor interjected. "But yes. That was about two weeks after the ordeal."

"Whom were you actually trying to conjure?" You wondered. Your nimble fingers tapping rhythmically on the fabric of the sofa you sat on. "If my memory serves, I believe you vaguely mentioned something about worship, would that have something to do with it?"

"Your memory serves correctly, dear. I'm a practitioner of voodou." He answered. His eyes fixed on a small crackling fire within the stone fireplace of his den. You watched as the image of flames reflected in his sunset colored eyes, they seemed to glint and sparkle in the otherwise dim light.

"Oh, now ain't that somethin'," you marveled, sitting up in your seat. Handing over a bottle of mead over to the brunette after taking a hearty swig. "I haven't met many voodou practitioners in my time."

"It's not a common practice," he confirmed with a nod. His nimble fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, his index digit grazing your own for only a second. Warm. Quite warm in contrast to the frosted glass he reached for. "And for a reason; it's quite sacred. I learned from my mother, she learned from her mother when she was brought here; so on."

"Interesting." You hummed. Watching as Alastor brought the bottle to his lips and tilted the glass upward; the whiteish yellow colored liquid greeting his tastebuds. "I'll admit, I feel rather invasive for popping up in what was supposed to be a sacred rite or summons."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Twas a mishap on my part, mademoiselle. You needn't feel that way."

"Easier said than done." You said with a gentle, sympathetic smile.

"Would you like to see the room I practice in?" He asked. You felt your brows raise in a sense of minor surprise. "Granted you've been in it before but I figure you were more preoccupied with our conversation at the time."

"You'd allow me that?"

"Why not?" He hummed with a light shrug. The mortal standing up from the sofa and set the bottle onto a small glass coffee table before offering you a hand. Placing your hand upon his own he gently helped you rise to your feet. "So long as you promise to be respectful."

"Of course." You assured him with sincerity.

Your hand still in his he began to lead you out of the den and made a left down the hallway. You passed a couple of doors before stopping at a door on the left.

Raising his left hand he raised it slightly above his head and knocked slowly on the door three times.

"May I ask why you knock?" You asked without malice.

"I always knock," he answered pleasantly as he reached down for the knob. "It's a ritual gesture I've grown accustomed to doing. Lets the spirits know we're coming." He added with a chuckle. "Let's them know that we know they're there; it's out of respect. I knock three times going in, and three times going out. Entrer, ma chérie."

He pushed open the door and gestured for you to enter. As you looked into the dark room, almost as if on cue the room seemed to come alive as each and every visible candle lit as if from out of nowhere. Taking a step forward, you crossed the threshold of the room.

Before you at the very far end of the room right next to the window was a long table and a large altar throughout the entirety of it; the wooden furniture sheathed by a white cloth, and atop was a large assortment of wooden statues, dolls, flowers. Not to mention the sea of candles in between. There was something to catch the eye at every turn, the longer you looked.