Witches' Whimsy

Oberon's Arrival

The hum of energy in the shop seemed to sharpen as the sound of measured footsteps echoed outside the front door. Lia glanced at Willow, who was seated on a stool with Bramble curled in her lap, the ferret's glowing fur dimmed in unease. Shadowpaw perched on the counter, his tail swishing back and forth like a metronome of impatience.

The knock at the door was deliberate, not loud, but somehow commanding. Lia rose to her feet, adjusting the dagger at her side. She moved to the door, taking a steadying breath before opening it.

Oberon Wildewood stood on the threshold, looking every bit the mysterious fae scholar. His tailored charcoal-gray coat shimmered faintly with woven enchantments, the cuffs trimmed in intricate silver thread that caught the faint light. His sharp features—high cheekbones, angular jaw, and aquiline nose—seemed carved from stone, but it was his eyes that always unnerved Lia. Piercing green, flecked with gold, they seemed to see through everything, including the lies you told yourself.

"Miss Winchester," he said, his voice smooth and clipped, like a blade slicing through silk. "I take it this is urgent."

"Would I call you back so soon if it wasn't?" Lia stepped aside to let him in, closing and locking the door behind him. She liked the big fae, she really did but he had been on a bit of an extended vacation for months. He only worked in the shop on an as needed basis, usually by appointment. 

Oberon's gaze swept the room, landing on Willow, who gave him a brief nod, and then on the box, still resting on the table. His expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "I see. That's... troubling."

"Troubling how?" Shadowpaw asked, leaping from the counter to a chair near the table.

Oberon ignored the familiar for a moment, removing his gloves with precise movements before approaching the box. He studied it, not touching it, his hands clasped behind his back.

Willow cleared her throat. "We've already figured out it's old magic. Alive, but not sentient. It went quiet about twenty minutes ago, which is... unnerving, to say the least."

Oberon glanced at her, his gaze cool. "A fair observation, Miss Overton. And correct. This is indeed alive, in a sense. A fragment of something much larger. And it's listening."

The tension in the room spiked. Lia's hand tightened around the back of a chair. "Listening to what?"

"Anything. Everything." He waved a hand vaguely. Oberon's lips pressed into a thin line. "You were wise to call me. Mishandling an artifact like this could have... catastrophic consequences."

Bramble poked his head up from Willow's lap. "Catastrophic? Great. I love how you fae always use words like that. Makes us regular folk feel real safe."

Oberon's gaze flicked to the ferret, his expression unreadable. "I see you have once again brought your infamous lunch thief along with you. Did he bring this cursed item in?"

Bramble puffed out his chest, though his voice betrayed his nerves. "Yeah, well, I get around. Doesn't mean I like boxes that think, though." Willow lightly stroked her fingers across his furry little head and down his back, frowning at Oberon.

Shadowpaw snorted. "Infamous? For what, napping and being a pocket ornament?"

"Oh, shut up, you pompous furball," Bramble shot back.

"Enough," Lia interjected, cutting off the bickering before it could escalate. "Oberon, what do we do with it? Is it dangerous?"

"Everything is dangerous in the right—or wrong—context," Oberon replied, leaning closer to the box. He murmured something in a language Lia didn't recognize, his voice low and melodic. The runes etched into the box's surface began to glow faintly, their patterns shifting like liquid light.