“I’ve been waiting for her,” she says, placing Ronnie’s books into a bag.
Ronnie looks to me with UFO size eyes, mouthing “What the hell?”
“I told you we needed to leave,” I whisper through the side of my closed lips.
“The potion is Dragoste Potion. Love Potion,” the lady continues pushing the vial back in my direction.
“I-I don’t need a love potion,” I respond shaking my head. “Nope, no potion; just these books.” My fight or flight instinct is telling me to run like the wind but my feet are rooted to the floor.
“’Tis different kind of love, yous need. You must have. De’ Mulo shows me yous, yous is zee one zee potion belongs to.” Her broken English is hard to understand as she places the vial in my hand.
Rolling the vial around in my palm, my eyes catch on a shimmer, locking my gaze, a warmth builds from my fingertips up to my elbow, I question dazed, “What is a mule?” Still staring at the bottle, the warmth traveling over my shoulders, settling in my chest.
“A Mulo, child ’tis de spirit of the dead. Ven it speaks, yous listen. Yes, girl?”
I look to Ronnie for help, she shrugs her shoulders and returns her eyes to the bottle I’m still rolling around in my palm.
Setting the bottle back on the counter, “I don’t have the money to buy this,” I say, smiling, though I’m not sure she can see it through the film over her eyes.
“No, girl. No, money. Mulo says yous have zee potion, yous have zee potion. I have one more for yous, wait here,” she commands, grabbing her walker once again and slowing moving to the back of the store.
A warm breeze smelling of roses, skates across my skin bringing a twinkle of chimes in my ears, raising the hairs on my arms and sending a chill along my spine. My hand yearns to hold the bottle again.
“What the fuck, Ronnie. We need to go. Forget the books. Let’s go before she gets back,”
I whisper yell.
Ronnie opens her lips to respond, stopping with her mouth gaping, the frightening gypsy lady is back. Damn, she’s spry for an old lady. I swear she must be pushing a hundred, her skin’s wrinkled like a prune, her hunched posture, she looks so frail and small but utterly terrifying.
“Here is other potion de Mulo say yous need. An Adevăr Potion, truth potion,” she says placing another old looking vial, this one red with black lace, on the counter.
I’m ready to get out of the store, away from this maddening old lady. She wants to give us these potion’s, fine; I’ll indulge her if we can get the hell out of here.
“Alright, we’ll take your potions. What do we owe you for the books?”
“No” she yells. Slamming her hands on the counter, causing both Ronnie and I to jump back. “If yous do not believe, potion’s not work. Yous must believe.”
“I’m not Romany, Ma’am. I don’t believe in magic potions.”
“Yous believe in zee mind, yes? Yous study zee psycho side of zee brain?” she asks. Causing Ronnie to snicker.
How does she know this? Do I know this woman? This is crazy, we need to leave but my feet won’t move toward the door, I’m rooted in place. “Not exactly the ‘psycho’ side, but yes I study the cognitive psychology side of the brain. Why?”
“Believe in zee mind of over matter, belief in magic potion not necessary. Believe in zee possibility zat there is something more powerful zan yous. That there is better for yous. If you believe dis’ then potions vill vork.”
I don’t believe a word of this shit but I want to leave and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get the hell out here. I say what I’m hoping will appease her, “Fine, how do we use them?”
“Ze Dragoste potion is only for yous, Tensanne Craig. Two drops each day in yous mornin’ drink is all yous need. But yous must use every day. Zee truth potion is for both of yous. If yous vant to know if someone is being truthful with yous, add a drop to their drink. If they are dishonest, yous vill know,” she replies with her English and Romany overlapping each other.
“Sometimes, Tensanne Craig, yous think too much and believe too little. Now ’tis time to believe. Yous come see me again, yous will know when zee time is right,” she says placing the vials in my hand, cupping it in both of hers, her skin feeling like tissue paper, thin and fragile, “Just believe, girl. Anything can happen if yous jus’ believe.”
“Puri Daj Esmeralda? Are you in here?” a female voice calls, as a lady makes her way to the counter. The old lady slumping back on her stool. Noticing Ronnie and I she says, “Oh, hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the bell on the door ring. Is there something I can help you with?”
“We were wanting to purchase some books and having an interesting conversation with this lovely lady,” Ronnie says, gesturing to the bag on the counter.
The lady’s dark eyebrows draw to a severe V, her eyes question our sanity, “You were talking to my Grandmother?”
“Yes,” I respond.
“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. My Puri Daj, my grandmother, hasn’t been able to speak since she had a stroke a month ago,” she says glancing from the old lady to us waiting for a response.
I’m not sure what to say. The old lady was talking to us. I look to Esmeralda and she winks one cloudy eye at me. She’s bluffing her family. Unbelievable. I’m not going to be the one to explain to this woman that she is being snowballed by her grandmother. My feet no longer feel like they’re stuck to the floor, it’s time for us to leave.
“Right, well. What do we owe for the books?”
Giving us our total, Ronnie pays for her books. An obscene amount of money for paperbacks that will
