Cloverfield Magic

Chapter 5 - Witchy Woman

Issac is steadying his bike to a practiced but reckless stop as he approaches the crosswalk. His brown eyes stare ahead blankly as his classmates filled up the sidewalk behind him. He speaks a mental word of thanks to his thick sweater as a strong gust of wind bites at his reddening ears and exposed knuckles.

"Issac!" Rowen calls out from behind, squeezing his way through the other students. "Don't ride so fast. I swear, You're going to ride straight into traffic one day."

Pulled from his wandering thoughts, Issac's face lights up in a bright smile as his eyes fall on dark hair and a familiar furrowed brow. "No way. You worry too much, Rowen. If I ever ride into traffic, you better bet that it's on purpose."

Rowen snorts in good humor as the two wait for the crosswalk light to turn green. "I swear you're suicidal sometimes," Rowen bites back.

"Hey!" Issac ribs, "You don't even know where the shop is. Just stay back and follow my lead."

"Yessir," Rowen barks back sarcastically as he lets Issac pull ahead of him - but only barely. The crowd slowly starts to thin as they ride farther and farther from the school, punctuated by an occasional "bye!" and "see you tomorrow!" Eventually, the sidewalk comes to an end and turns into a narrow dirt road carpeted by warm fall foliage and framed by twisting, overgrown trees.

After what seemed to be a good while of biking, a modest brown brick cottage comes into view.

"Is this it?" Rowen questions, hopping off his bike and resting it against the brown brick mortar.

"Yep. This is the tea shop that I found while biking last weekend. I heard they're building a new outdoor mall strip around here, so I'm not sure if it's a new shop or an old shop that's going to get demolished."

Rowen's eyes take stock of the mold and cobwebs under the porch and grumbles, "My bet would be on the latter." Rowen looks briefly at the faded sign above the door and reads in barely legible paint: Witches' Brew.

"I figured you might want to check it out. Obscure, and quirky, just the way you like it." Issac teases.

"Issac, I'm pretty sure no self-respecting spellcaster would call their shop Witches' Brew," Rowen sighs in exasperation, but he couldn't find it in himself to be too irritated. The shop was interesting. He was more surprised that he hasn't stumbled upon the shop himself yet for all the exploring he's done over the years, combing the town for any remnants of his family's history. And for what it's worth, he likes tea. Rowen steps in line with Issac as the two cross the outdoor seating area and into the shop.

Red-tinted sunlight filters through sheer linen curtains, giving everything in the shop a ruddy hue. The dim room was lit with dozens of candles encased within the glass panes and curved metal of antique-looking lanterns. Despite the clearly displayed "OPEN" sign swinging on the door, there was no one at the counter. As the two approach, they notice a bell that looks suspiciously like it was stolen from a hotel concierge. Next to the bell was a sticky note.

Ring for service.

Isaac shoots a look at Rowen who shrugs in response. Then, Issac rings the bell. The clear sound reverberates in overlapping echoes around the empty room. Before Issac could ring the bell again, a strikingly tall woman emerges headfirst through the black cloth partition leading into the backrooms. Her cascade of artificially blue hair is pulled back into a half ponytail, revealing tan skin and near-electric blue eyes. Her blond roots were nearly five inches overgrown, and Issac's eyes widen as he takes in the patchwork of scars on her face that trail down her neck and into the collar of her lavender dress.

"Can I help you?" The woman asks pointedly.

"Uh..." Issac starts eloquently. "We wanted to buy some tea?" The uncertainty must have been prominent in his voice, as the woman levels a judging stare at the two students before turning away and disappearing behind the curtain. Shuffling sounds and a few choice curse words float out from behind the partition before the woman eventually re-emerges, carrying a precariously balanced stack of boxes and a blackened tea kettle.