Blood Orgy Of The Psychedelic Witch

Chapter 2

The bookstore was unlike anything they were used to. In this one, the shelves moved on their own whenever they felt like it. The whole appeal of this place was the hunt, and they were the reason.

The store was old, musty, and so preposterously filled with shelves and boxes of books that it was almost stifling. Navigating the place was something that took time. To make matters worse, it was more than one story.

The two were upstairs, deep within the bowels of the shop. They had to coerce the shelves for Rose to get to the section she wanted. Steven knew the place well, having shopped there for years. But even for him, finding what Rose wanted proved to be difficult.

They found themselves nestled in a dark corner near the back. The shelves settled around them as Rose cracked open a heaping, ancient tome. The words were in an old form of English, though it seemed to be a reprint of an even older text.

Rose looked over it with an expression of exuberance, something Steven hadn't seen in her in a long time. It made him question whether their relationship would last much longer. He didn't want it to die—but she was reciprocating less, he noticed.

He looked at the descriptions and diagrams. It was like looking at a necronomicon, but lacking the dark threat. The illustrations indicated that it was an instructional manual and educational text on magic.

"I knew you were into the occult," he muttered, "but I had no idea you were this . . . involved." It seemed as if he was seeing a new side of her, something he thought she would have shown if she truly cared about their relationship. The most obscure part of her personality was her obsession with the paranormal.

"That's because I'm not ready to be so open about it, babe. It's hard for someone to properly wrap their head around all of it." She glance over at him in excitement. "But oh I can't wait till you see the lengths I've gone. What power I have!"

He let out a woosh of air. "Yeah, I'm gonna hold off on any opinions for your sake until I know more. This seems deeper than any run-of-the-mill religious fanaticism."

She suddenly looked offended. "Religious fanaticism? Hell no!" She jabbed her finger at the page. "This, for example, probes deep into to the likes of the old gods, not these pansy modern ones," she exclaimed, appartly brushing the displeasing the term off with a wave of her hand. "Don't try to understand it yet. You will, in time."

"Don't worry, I won't. I just wanna drink now if that's okay with you . . . if the shelves'll let us leave," he said as he observed their current entrapment.

"Here. Let me take the lead." She stood confidently up and held the old book out before the shelves. They recoiled and created a path that lead directly to the stairs.

Steven was bewildered. He'd never seen them act so submissive.

He stroked the shelves as they passed by, as if trying to comfort a cowering pet. The way they acted towards them surprised even the owner. The shelves only ever obeyed him to the fullest. Though they were still problematic on occasion.

The two ended up going to a club near the west-end of downtown, in a converted Victorian house. Steven quickly got buzzed and engaged enthusiastically with the drag queen performing onstage. Rose, as usual, was observing from a stool beside one of the wooden pillars that dotted the first floor.

She noticed the queen giving Steven a little too much attention to her liking and got involved. After cooling her down, and now completely embarrassed, Steve decided to take her somewhere else.

He was driving fine despite the numerous drinks consumed. A skill most people wish they had while under the influence. He'd been inebriated by so many substances in his time that this was old hat—his body developed a way of coping because of what he'd put it through. Driving was one thing that kept him stable throughout life, because it takes stability to do so.