The Bane of Light

Witch Salem

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We reached Massachusetts with a car on a wobbling wheels, banged up and dented, all thanks to golden-boy Arobynn. I'm sure someone could fix it up for little to nothing, but I was still unbelievably angry. We had made our way into one of the oldest witch towns of Massachusetts, on a car that was falling apart. What a way to make an entrance.

Salem was notorious for it's witch hangings, but it had an even more prominent nightlife in the mage community. While modern, more ethical witch conventions moved to New York and other mage cities, the ancient and the archaic remained in Salem, along with long outdated and banned practices. Witch Salem was rooted in tradition, while the big cities were urban and progressive.

After passing through the warded gate into Witch Salem, Paris and I had parked the car far from the city center. Though I doubted nobody would bother to steal our beat-up car, I refused to take any risks. My apothecary was past the Salem Bazar- a glorified black market for magical items. Sure, there were some clean, law abiding sellers there, but you'd hardly go to a nightclub to buy a water. Everyone had their purpose of being in the Salem Bazar, me included.

Night had already settled over the land, but it hardly halted the bazar. Something as superficial as the passing of celestial bodies, could hardly stopped the illegal dealings going on withins this crime-infested cess pool. Lanterns and loud noises lit up the cobbled streets, vendors having their products lined out on the tables, row after row.

So far, Paris and I were in the mellow quarters. We hadn't reached the organ sections, where they distributed body parts for spell-casting and charms, or the sacrificial division, yet Paris already looked like he was going to faint. I had forced him to pull his hood up, but he still looked out of place. He looked too healthy, too happy for this twisted place. I, on the other hand, fit right in.

The leering eyes knew me, of course. Everybody did. But they also knew well enough to let me by my business, despite my holier-than-though, cushy background. I was a buyer, before anything. A buyer with an especially heavy money-pouch.

Paris and walked through the food division of the bazar, suspiciously ripe, cursed fruit slayed out on the various stalls. I had warned Paris before hand not to touch anything, but he eyed all the food curiously.

"That's enchanted fruit" He whispered at me in shock. I rolled my eyes at the obviousness of it all. Of course it was.  Why would they be selling regular fruit on a black market? 

Enchanted fruit was forbidden. Ingesting magic was like ingesting chemical waste. While  we were under the illusion of eating ripe, juicy fruits, our body would be absorbing shriveled up, toxic, nutrition-less waste. It was a foolhardy way of making someone sick, or even better, killing them. 

The enchanted fruit market was moved to the black markets, because only ethical, government approved food charms were allowed to be used by mages on their crops. When you had unprofessional amateurs casting whatever they'd like on our food, you had people dying by the thousands from poisoning and what not. Our populations were already thin, we could not afford to loose masses like that.

I swiveled to look around at Paris, but shocked to see he was no where near me. I had just assumed that he was shocked to see it here, not that he'd actually go touch it. Which was what he was exactly doing. The hag behind the bench started screaming.

"Oh for the love of-" I stormed up to him, yanking the hood of his sweatshirt. Paris looked mortified that the wretch was screaming at him. Thats what he gets for touching her enchanted fruit. Other shoppers turned to look at the commotion we were causing, making my skin itch and face go hot.