He Felt Himself Falling Under Her Spell

"What is this? Arabic?" she said, her brow knitting in concentration.

"Yep, Arabic. It's the Necronomicon, the Book of the Dead. There's some fabulous recipes in the back," the witch's voice rose from nowhere at the back of the store. Melvin turned. She stood in a spot where Melvin was sure she hadn't been a second before, but she was a witch. Acting mysterious and popping out of thin air was probably her kind of thing. Her hair was in a long ponytail, flipped over one shoulder, and she wore a black t-shirt with the words "2 Hot 2 Handle" written in white letters across her chest and a pair of torn jean shorts. It was a far cry from the shimmering black dress she had on the last time Melvin had seen her. The witch must have either read his mind or guessed his thoughts from the expression on his face.

"It's casual Friday," she said, catching his eye with a shrug and motioning towards her attire.

"But it's only Wednesday," Bridget said. She put the ancient tome back on the shelf and wiped off her hands on her long brown jacket. The witch smiled, her sharp teeth gleaming.

"Maybe in YOUR reality," she said. She emphasized the word "reality" by placing her hands in the air and turning her fingers into sarcastic quotation marks. She turned towards Melvin.

"How're you feeling, Mel baby?" she asked. Melvin straightened his glasses and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. The longer that Melvin looked at the witch, the more he felt himself falling under her spell. What was it about her? Was it just her breathtaking beauty or was it some magic she was working?

"I've been better," he said.

"Well, let's see if I can't help the healing process along a little bit, shall we?" the witch said, her hands on her hips.