“Can I help you?” Meinwen Jones, proprietor of Rites of Passage looked up as the gentleman entered.
He looked around the shop before speaking, giving her the impression he was incognito and she was tempted to tug his false beard. He coughed politely, waving away smoke from the incense she’d lit in honour of Loki.
The gentleman leaned forward. “Do you do curses?” he whispered.
Meinwen drew back. “What sort of curse?” she said. “I don’t cast them but I could probably find the ingredients for one.”
“For the right customer,” she said.
“What sort of customer?”
“Generous ones,” she said, pushing a charity box to the front of the counter. “Ones I like. What curse do you want, and to whom?” He pulled out a book which fell open on a page entitled “Wilting.” Meinwen scowled. “Black magic?”
“It’s not for me,” the man said. “A friend of mine is having trouble.”
“Upon whom is it to be cast?” she asked.
“His wife’s lover,” he said. “I have his handkerchief…”
Meinwen smiled. “Perhaps I could find the ingredients...”
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