Sylvia was comfortable under a few blankets on her love seat. She was watching and laughing at one of her favorite shows as the night passed when she felt her phone go off. Patting around at the fluffy coverings, she found her cellphone after a few seconds of searching and read the notification. It was a text from her friend Gwen.
"Hey, girl. You should really come by and visit me at work tonight :)" the message read.
Sylvia smirked to herself and started tapping out a response. Gwen worked at her favorite bar. She was probably bored, or drunk, sneaking shots while tending bar.
"Oh, yeah? But what if I already have plans with my couch?" Sylvia sent and looked back at her TV, keeping her phone in her hand until it buzzed again.
"That's why you need to come here. You won't have any fun at home."
Sylvia rolled her eyes. Another two message came in.
"Plus there's this really Pagan-looking girl here having a good time talking to strangers."
"She's totally your type ;) Big Witch Energy, LOL."
Sylvia raised her eyebrows after reading the text and tilted her head slightly to lean on her hand. Why did she tell Gwen things like that in confidence? But after a moment she looked at the time, not too early, not too late. She could at least stop by the bar for a couple drinks and a chat with Gwen. If witchy girl was still there, hey, maybe they could flirt a bit.
"Okay, fine, a drink and some spells sounds fun :p" she messaged Gwen back, "I'm getting ready, be there soon."
"HA! I knew that would grab your interest," came Gwen's text. "See you! I'll try my best to keep her here ;)"
Sylvia sat up, pushing the blankets back and turned off the TV. She stood and walked over to her mirror. Her hair was still in good shape from the day. She hadn't taken her makeup off yet and she could just touch up. Yeah, fine. This night was happening.
She went to her closet and started to peruse, standing there in her comfy pajama shirt and shorts. Tucking her shoulder length, straight black hair behind her ears, she started pulling probable tops and bottoms from the closet and laid them on her bed. She sifted through the clothes, settling on a gothy-grunge look by combining some blood red leggings, high-waisted black jean shorts, and a dark grey open sided top that would show off a decorative black bra. She pulled on some light boots with a slight heel and hung a silver pendant necklace around her neck. Her hair got a toss and a smoothing before she sat at her vanity desk and fixed her makeup.
Surveying herself in the mirror a last time, Sylvia gathered her essentials into a clutch, threw on a jacket, and left her small apartment.
The bar Gwen worked at, The Central, was literally two blocks away from where Sylvia lived, so she was happy to walk. It was a cool, breezy night. The moon shone brighter than the lamp posts that lined the street. She left her block, moving to the next one down where the small businesses, bars and restaurants started popping up. Approaching The Central, Sylvia could see lines of people both entering and exiting the doorway. It was a busy night for barcrawlers, apparently.
She showed her ID at the door and pressed her way inside through the crowded entrance way. Looking to the main bar, Sylvia spied Gwen turned around, her blonde ponytail flicking to the side as she looked for fresh glasses. The chairs at the bar were all taken, but as Sylvia came in someone was just leaving their seat. She quickly moved to claim it, skidding into the chair just as Gwen turned around and smiled a beaming smile.
"Yes! There you are!" she said, voice loud over the establishment's music.
"Good to be here," Sylvia grinned back.
"Yeah, good to drink here too," said Gwen. "Want your favorite?"
Sylvia nodded, and seconds later, before she even had her jacket off, Gwen scooted her a gin and tonic with lime.
"Busy night," observed Sylvia, scanning the room. She searched through the tables, all full of friends talking, laughing, snacking and drinking.
"And who are you looking for?" Gwen asked slyly. "A certain magic woman perhaps?"
"You were the one who bated me here with that promise." Sylvia playfully snapped back, blushing the tiniest bit. "Did she leave already?"
Gwen just looked to the left of Sylvia, widening her eyes and rolling her lips in as an English accented voice to the side said, "No, she's decided to stay, in fact."
Sylvia turned to see a young woman leaning on the bar next to her. She had short, mousy brown hair, shaved close to the scalp on one side. A thin face with a fine jawline held eyes of pure, pure blue. The girl smirked a coy, half smile and Sylvia saw cute dimples dip in her cheeks. She was petite with a gorgeous figure and was dressed in clothes that looked like they were maybe 40 years too old and threadbare. But she made the thrift store style look cool, intriguing really. One of the sleeves of her button up blouse was torn from the shoulder seam to just above the elbow, perhaps intentionally, perhaps not, exposing her upper arm and the angular lines of a runic tattoo.
"You must be Sylvia. Your friend has told me a lot about you," the woman said, her British accent drawing Sylvia in and making her flush more than she would have normally. "She says you've always wanted to be a Witch."
"Gwen!" said Sylvia, glaring at her friend who was suddenly and conveniently busy behind the bar, "is a bit of an over-sharer."
The young woman raised up a wineglass and took a sip of red wine then set her glass on the counter top and leaned in closer to Sylvia.
"I'm Rochelle," she said, with their elbows bumped together, "and I'd love to hear about it." Sylvia could smell the wine in the glass, or maybe on Rochelle's tongue, floral, deep, sweetly oaken.
"Hear about what?"
"All of it," she said. "You. What you want. Why you want it." Rochelle studied Sylvia's face. "I've got a lot I could tell you," she said. Her fingernail lightly tapped against the side of her glass. "If you mean it."
"Mean what?" asked Sylvia. It was noisy all around them, but they had taken their voices lower. Rochelle continued gazing into Sylvia's eyes, seeming to look past the surface of them, past the turning, working mind that saw out of them and into somewhere more intimate.
Sylvia suddenly shivered, not with cold, but that was the closest sensation she knew to compare the feeling to. She broke eye contact with Rochelle and looked down at the counter. Her hands were giving off the slightest shake as she raised her drink to her lips and took a sip. As she set her glass down, Rochelle put a hand over hers. Her fingers wrapped around Sylvia's palm in reassurance, she felt steadied.
As soon as Sylvia looked back to Rochelle, she was met with a kind smile.
"Do you believe in the Arcane?" Rochelle asked simply.
"I...I..." stuttered Sylvia. What was this? Any other person asking this question she would have dismissed immediately. But there was something about the presence of Rochelle, some uncanny rightness, some truthfulness about her.
"Yes. I believe in it," Sylvia said, scarcely brave enough to admit this to herself, let alone someone she had just met. She didn't think she could keep going. She did though. "I've never seen it. Never seen a person who used it. But I believe in it."
"Ah," whispered Rochelle, smiling wide. She had very white, even teeth. "That's good, Sylvia. That's very good. You just made your first step."
"It takes a lot to admit something like that for the first time," continued Rochelle, "I'm proud of you." She raised her left hand up just above the counter and held it a few inches above the rim of Sylvia's glass. Her right hand was still softly grasping Sylvia's.
"You aren't mistaken," Rochelle said, and flicked her azure eyes to Sylvia's drink. The ice and lime floating inside started moving, swirling around in the glass as Rochelle kept her hand hovering above. Nothing was touching the glass.
Sylvia gasped, watching the spinning in her drink, the green rind of the lime smearing and blurring in her vision as it rounded the glass.
Suddenly, a single, small piece of ice flew up from the others and levitated between their faces. Sylvia studied it intently, then saw that Rochelle was watching her expression. They were only inches apart from one another, leaning in together among the cramped bar. The sliver of ice moved away from Sylvia, toward Rochelle, slowly being attracted to the Witch's lips. Rochelle opened her mouth as the ice approached her and let it come to rest delicately on her pink tongue. She closed her mouth and said nothing, only looking at Sylvia expectantly.
"I want..." began Sylvia, voice trembling, not sure of how to finish her sentence. She wanted so many things at that moment.
"I want to be a Witch," she fiercely whispered to Rochelle.
Rochelle inhaled, smiling as she did. She paused for an intense five seconds, then answered, "Good."
--
For the next hour, Rochelle and Sylvia were locked in conversation. They had moved from the bartop to a small, two person table in one of the side alcoves. Sylvia's questions had come spilling out. Some of Rochelle's answers let Sylvia form a foundation to plant herself on in this newly revealed reality, but some only led to more questions.
As they enjoyed each other's company and a few rounds of drinks, Rochelle was open and eager to share answers about what Witches could do or the different kinds of magic there were to master. She even explained that Sylvia's first move after becoming a Witch should be to join the Coven that Rochelle belonged in. But she wouldn't reply to Sylvia's most pressing question:
"How do I become a Witch?"
"I'm sorry, Sylvia, you wouldn't want me to answer that. There are rules," she said for the third time as Sylvia asked again.
"Rules from the Coven?" Sylvia probed. "Maybe I don't need them if they keep their members from helping me."
