Author's note:
This is the first story I have written in English. Most readers will quickly notice that English is not my first language. So feel free to improve my story by correcting misspelled words, grammatical errors, etc. One of my problems is not mixing British and American English. Please let me know about any inconsistencies.
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It was quite late when my taxi arrived at the community center. I had expected some costumed children to ring my doorbell, shouting "Trick or Treat" and asking for candy. But with the terrible weather, no little witches or monsters showed up. So I finally decided to go to the party at the community center and ordered a taxi. Ten minutes later we arrived. I paid the cab and hurried through the pouring rain to the front door of the community center.
The Halloween party was in full swing. I found a free hook for my coat and hung it up. Loud music was playing in the hall. Just as I was about to enter the hall, the door opened and a man about my age rushed out. A shrill voice shouted curses after him: Liar... Bastard... Son of a bitch... get lost! More insults followed in a language I didn't understand. And then a shoe flew after him. I just managed to keep my head down.
The door to the hall slammed shut. Inside, the music suddenly stopped. Astonished, I picked up the shoe and examined it. It was a black shoe with a fairly high heel. It had obviously just been worn, for it was still warm.
With the shoe in my hand, I entered the hall. About half the people there were dressed up for the occasion: Devils, various monsters, witches. In the sudden silence, everyone looked around curiously.
In the middle of the dance floor stood the cutest witch I had ever seen. She was putting back on the pointy witch hat she had lost in the quarrel. The black cloak had also come loose, and she fastened it to her chest with a large golden clasp. A long, wide skirt peeked out from under the cloak. It was also black, embroidered with strange silver symbols. The 'witch' wore stockings. She had the second shoe in her hand, ready to throw it at the man's head if he dared to come back. Her big black eyes flashed with fury. With the shoe in my hand, I made my way toward her. "'He's gone! I assume that's your shoe. You can put it back on."
She looked at me with a smile. "Thank you!" The music had started again and people were dancing as before. She pushed her way through the crowd to her table, one shoe in her hand. I followed indecisively, still holding the other shoe. Once at her table, she fell into her chair. I still had her shoe in my hand. I gave it to her and watched as she put both shoes back on. She mumbled something in that unknown language. Meanwhile, I looked at her. She looked really cute. A little stub nose, a smiling mouth, and the biggest black eyes I'd ever seen. Eyes I will never forget. She seemed slim, although I couldn't really tell from the clothes she was wearing. A moment ago she was a raging fury, but now she seemed completely relaxed and content. Black curls spilled out from under her witch hat. Everything about her was black. Only her pale (or pale with makeup?) face provided a strong contrast. I thought of my girlfriend Mariella. Or rather ex-girlfriend, since she had broken up with me a week ago. Mariella was the exact opposite: tall and voluptuous, with flaxen hair and blue eyes. Mariella loved bright candy colors and wore too much makeup for my taste. My thoughts drifted away.
After putting on her shoes and adjusting her cloak, she looked at me intently. "Please forgive my behavior. I think I owe you a drink. In the meantime, sit down!" She pointed to the empty chair that had probably just been occupied by the person she had thrown the shoe at. Then she disappeared toward the bar, and I saw her join the line of people waiting. It would take a while because the line was quite long.
I reviewed the last ten minutes in my mind. I had come to forget my grief about Mariella, then a shoe had almost hit me on the head, and now I was sitting at a table with a charming woman who was obviously single like me.
After a while the 'witch' came back and put a bottle of beer and a glass in front of me. She had brought a glass of wine for herself.
"Thanks again," she said, smiling at me. "My name is Morgaine."
"And I'm Chris," I replied. "Thanks for the beer."
And after a while I asked: "What was the reason for the dispute earlier?"
"The guy lied to me! He said he was single. But he's married with a little boy!" And she added: "No one lies to a witch! Nobody lies to Morgaine!" And then she continued with a smile that could melt stones: "But I hope you will not lie to me!"
"Ask me anything you want! I will answer all your questions truthfully!
Morgaine asked her questions. She was obviously particularly interested in my relationship status. I told her that Mariella had left me and that I was currently single. She was obviously very pleased with that answer. And I was pleased with her interest in me. Maybe the evening would end in her bed?
I don't remember everything we talked about. But I do remember that at one point I asked her what she did for a living.
"Even a witch needs a regular job these days. No witch can survive on magic alone. As for me, I run a small wedding agency," she explained, " I specialized in bringing American women to the Middle East. These rich sheiks are almost greedy for fair-skinned, blonde women. And for the women, such a marriage means a life of luxury. My ancestors are from Baghdad, so I speak a little Arabic. That helps a lot with the matchmaking!"
After a pause, she continued: "Okay, for the women, it's a life in a gilded cage. But that's not my problem."
I wondered if there were really enough women who would get involved in such a deal. But there were certainly many who were tempted by the money. The magic of the ancient Orient may not have much to do with today's reality, but it was certainly still there in many people's minds.
"Did you know that the Koran allows men to have up to four wives?" I shrugged. "I couldn't care less!"
Morgaine looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. Then she added, "The agency gives me plenty of time to work on my magic. And the neighbors don't ask what I do all day."
I was disappointed. So she was one of those esoteric weirdos. I knew that there were thousands of women who called themselves witches. Women who claimed to have a special connection to nature and the universe, who picked herbs at full moon or bathed naked in a lake at the solstice.
"So you're a witch," I said, smiling. "You probably rode your broom all the way here, too."
"Don't be silly!"
So she hadn't gone that far with her comedy, I thought. But then she continued: "In this weather! After two minutes I would have been as wet as a mermaid! But riding a broom on a clear night with a full moon... it's incredible fun!"
"So no broom!" I pretended to be disappointed. But surely you have a wand!"
Morgaine, of course, had noticed that I wasn't taking her seriously. She rummaged in the pockets of her wide, black skirt and then placed a piece of wood on the table.
"Yes, indeed! Here, this is my wand!"
The "wand" looked like the handle of the cooking spoon my grandmother had used for decades to stir soup. Its color was indefinable, and it looked as if it had been in use for centuries. Letters or symbols seemed to have been carved into it, but they were illegible, like the inscriptions on an old, weathered tombstone.
I was about to reach for it when Morgaien warned me: "Don't touch it! It will bring you bad luck!" I withdrew my hand in mock horror. Morgaine had picked up the 'wand' again and was playing with it, lost in thought.
