“Well, then,” said September. His voice was not especially deep or forceful, but it was rather compelling and tinged with a mysterious accent that may have been German in origin. At least, he hoped it sounded mysterious. “Why don’t we sit down,” he suggested, “and you can tell me a little more about your problem.”
“Oh! Oh, yes, of course!” the woman said, rushing forward. There was a duck-like quality to her gait, which was still surprisingly quick for a woman of her build, and her excessive jewelry jangled discordantly as she walked. She gestured to a table, bare save for a steaming white mug of something or other. It stood in the middle of a room that was almost maze-like as a result of the numerous pieces of eclectic artwork adorning much of the available space near the walls. September walked cautiously, holding his briefcase in front of him so as not to accidentally knock over a cheap wooden sculpture which may or may not have been of some kind of cat. He placed the briefcase on the table, and pulled off his gloves as the woman looked on. Her gaze held more interest than one might have expected given the situation, but then again, the situation wasn’t strictly a normal one.
“Can I take your coat?” the woman asked. “Or your hat?”
“That would be most kind of you,” replied September, removing both articles. His brown hair was streaked with gray in much the same way as his beard, and he ran his fingers through it once to smooth it out. The woman draped September’s overcoat on one of her many sculptures and then placed his fedora on the head of another before hurrying back to the table and sitting down opposite him.
“Now, Mrs. Bennett –” September began as he sat down, but the woman interrupted him.
“Oh, no, call me Moon.” That was a new one, thought September. He cleared his throat quietly.
“Very well, Moon. I understand you’ve been having some problems of the supernatural variety.”
“Oh, I don’t know that I’d call them problems,” the woman laughed. “It’s just something I hope you can fix, is all.”
“I will certainly try,” said September. He opened his briefcase and started removing objects from within it. “While I am preparing, perhaps you can explain things in a little more detail.” He was consciously avoiding the use of the woman’s name, for fear of sounding insincere. She had been listed as Alberta Bennett, a forty-six-year-old waitress from Pacifica, a few miles south of San Francisco. The house had belonged to her ex-husband who had, at least by her telling, left her many years ago when the mystical energy that surrounded her had gotten to be too much for him. Since then, she had been single, although a range of failed romances had marked the time. It was another detail that September would have preferred to ignore, but it was also likely to be his best chance for success with the woman. He continued to pull things from his briefcase, paying little attention to the story he was being told, which was remarkably similar to the one she had offered him on the phone earlier in the week.
“The way I understand it,” September said, jumping in when the woman paused for a breath, “is that you feel there is a malicious entity that is attracted to your power, and that this entity has been driving people away from you.”
“It’s been really terrible,” the woman replied, sounding almost giddy, and not at all like she thought the situation was terrible in the least. “I’ve been on three dates this month, with guys who asked me out at the restaurant. That’s where I work, did I tell you? At a restaurant?”
“You told me,” answered September. “Go on.”
“So, I’ve been on three dates,” the woman said again, “and every time, when I tell them that I’m a witch, the spirit scares them off.”
“I see.” September set a black candle in the center of the table. He had chosen it not so much for its dark color but for its tendency to sputter and crackle predictably while lit. “How, exactly, does this spirit scare these men away?”
“It sneaks into their minds and tells them to avoid me,” the woman responded. She watched with wide eyes as September took a box of matches from the assorted items on the table and lit the candle with a quick and practiced motion. It threw off a light shower of embers before settling into a burn that was more or less steady, punctuated only by the occasional hiss of smoke.
“Why do you think this spirit is doing this to you?” He replaced the matches in his briefcase, then set about arranging the various remaining objects around the candle. There was a tiny pewter pyramid, an ornate metal box, two silver chopsticks and what looked like it might have been an ancient medallion of some kind, but was in fact a buffalo nickel that had been flattened with a hammer. September looked up at the woman over the rims of his glasses. “Moon?” he prompted, still feeling silly.
“Oh, oh, sorry!” she replied, shaking her head quickly. “Yeah, I think he wants me for himself, and he doesn’t like competition.”
“So this spirit is a male, then.”
“Oh, yes!” the woman replied enthusiastically. “Yes, he’s definitely a man. Sometimes he shows himself to me. He’s very handsome, very muscular, and he’s very, very attentive.” She giggled to herself.
“When did he first show up?” asked September hastily. The response came as though he hadn’t said anything at all.
“I’m pretty sure he’s been here for a long time. He might have been here for the Gold Rush, even, but I couldn’t sense him until I started trying to date again. The other women in my coven told me that it would be good for me to have a companion.”
“Do these other women have spirits following them, too?” September thought about reaching for the notebook he kept
