She walked into the basement of her mother’s house for the second night. He was there in silence waiting for her. The scene was dank and suburban: An entire wall controlling the air, the garage, the alarm systems.
Pressing several soft cushioned buttons to cool the air, she walked over to him like a lost lamb to her shepherd. The scene was dense with copious amounts of sweet magic mixed with cool artificial air. She gingerly laid out the leaves of seven herbs, pricking them with a knife dipped in annointng oils, making love on top of it.
The third night, she returned to her mother’s basement. Bundles of lavender, thorny myrrh branches, and eucalyptus surrounded a velvet bed alter. There were two other women in the room – all friends – all loved ones. That night she wore a red crushed velvet cropped blouse with loose bouncy velvet pants to match before slipping into the heels he bought her.
The four friends walked into an adjacent room. They sat by a table which had all of these things on it: A sword with an emerald emblem, two long ancient African cooper compasses, silver nuggets and a gold mirror. In his hand, he read from a large book covered with dried flowers. Each passage explaining the importance of the objects. They drank wine, slow-danced and laid on their backs while he read from his book. In a trance she shook herself awake and came to when he slammed the book shut.
Waking up she found herself in her bed next to the other man. A cat cried out and the humming from machinery kept her buzzing brightly.