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“I hope you’re not planning on stealing those.” I say in a stern voice as she stuffs a bag of dried herbs into her black leather bag.
Rita looks up. “No, of course not. Gabriel lets me borrow stuff all the time.”
When I don’t leave, she sighs. “God, you can go on back out front. I’m not lyin’, you can ask Gabriel when he gets back.”
I plonk myself down on one of the big beaded cushions and continue watching her. “What’s that you’re taking?” I ask, while folding my arms.
Rita shrugs. “A bit of this, a bit of that.”
“So are you a witch then?” I blurt out.
She turns and looks at me now, and smirks. “Is that supposed to be a put down?”
“Uh no. I just presumed that since Marcel is a warlock, then maybe you’re like him too, especially since you’re here taking a five finger discount on all those potion ingredients.”
She doesn’t even flinch at my accusing her of robbing and being a witch.
“Oh so you aren’t as ignorant as most people. Well done you,” she answers, mildly sarcastic. “But no, technically I’m not a witch, since according to the backwards, arcane rules you’ve gotta be from one of the twelve families to use magic. But I’ve got the ability, same as my mum does, and we practice too. We’re a whole helluva lot better than those elitist snobs, because we work hard for our talent. They think because they’re born into magic that they don’t have to strive for it. That’s why they sit back and rarely ever use it. Complacency makes their powers weak, I’m telling you, if ever a time comes when one of them has to go up against one of us, they won’t know what’s hit them.”
“Who’s “them” and “us?” I ask.
“They are the Marcel Girards of this world, in other words, born into magic. Silver spoon in their mouths. We are those who practice magic, but do not belong to one of the magical families.”
“Oh.” I say, remembering my lecture from Saturday in Ethan’s office. “So, who are these families then?”
Rita pauses a moment. “You’re telling me you know Marcel is a warlock, yet you don’t know who the families are, how does that work?” she tilts her head questioningly.
“I’m extremely new to all of this.” I answer.
“How new?”
“A couple days new.”
Rita lets out a low whistle. “That’s sort of unheard of, why would Marcel tell you what he is just because you’re working for him? He’s had employees before who never knew.”
“It’s complicated, and Marcel wasn’t the one who told me. It was, um, someone else.”
“Gabriel?”
I shake my head.
“Then who?”
I take a second to consider whether to answer her or not, but then I remember that if she knows about Marcel then she must know about the vampires too, plus she is a wannabe witch.
After a moment I say, “A vampire.”
“You’re friends with a vampire? No way, Marcel would never give someone even remotely associated with the vamps a job.”
“Special circumstances, I guess.”
Rita closes the end drawer she’d been looking through. “What kind of special circumstances?” she asks, suddenly interested.
I don’t know why, maybe I’m just in the mood to talk about myself. Or maybe I want an outsider’s perspective, but for some reason I tell Rita the whole story. How I met the vampires. How I met Marcel and Gabriel and their theories about the spell cast on me. The whole “meeting” scenario on Saturday night. Everything. She stands still and listens, and when I’m finished she almost looks flabbergasted.
“Girl, you have had one eventful fortnight.”
“It’s really confusing to be honest. I don’t know what to believe.”
