Page 370 of Phobia
Madame Laurent was, for lack of a better word, an outcast in our town. When everyone filed into pews for Sunday mass to atone for the sins accrued from Monday through Saturday, Madame Laurent was in her shop grinding herbs for teas and preparing spell bags. Her spirituality came from the earth, not from Rome. Some called her a witch, but she preferred the term “mystic.”
I looked up from the bowl of shimmering purple crystals on the counter, my fingers still caressing their faceted surfaces.
“What Maman doesn’t know will save me from an extra confession during the week.” Even once a week in a box alone with Father Blanchet and his foul breath was more than my stomach could handle.
Madame Laurent shot me a smirk that deepened the wrinkles at the corners of her violet eyes, which were prettier than the amethysts I was fondling.
I had first stumbled into her shop by accident a little over a year ago while searching for the fabric maker that Maman had sent me to purchase supplies from. We’d been in dire need of new bed sheets at the time because of a rampant moth infestation around our property. Little buggers had bored holes into everything inside the house. To my luck, I had confused the directions to the maker’s shop and waltzed into Madame Laurent’s. One whiff of her clove-and-cinnamon brew from the doorway and I’d become a lifelong follower of the silver-haired enigma in front of me.
Madame Laurent knew everything the Bible couldn’t teach, like how to cure menstrual cramps and how to predict the best days to plant crops based on the moon cycle. She was magical, and I desperately wanted to learn her ways.
“Hey, when are you going to teach me how to read those cards that tell you the future?” I pulled my hand away from the crystals and took to sniffing incense sticks nearby. The smoky scent reminded me of Bastien, and I instantly felt my core clench.
I had been nagging Madame Laurent for ages to teach me how to read cards, but I could never stick around long enough to learn before I had to run home so Maman wouldn’t interrogate me over my whereabouts. If she ever found out I was spending time with apagan, as she called them, she’d never let me go to town alone again.
Madame Laurent huffed out an exhale, feigning exasperation. “They’re called tarot cards, and they don’t tell the future. They help you make decisions with matters that preoccupy the mind.”
My mind was certainly preoccupied with all things Bastienlately—specifically the taste of his tongue in my mouth.My first kiss ever.I had always imagined kissing to be a messy, saliva-ridden ordeal. I mean, how did one keep spit from dripping everywhere? And how wasn’t it painful with teeth clanking against each other? Well, now I knew the answers to everything I had always wondered. And I could attest that kissing was sexy as hell. Correction:Bastien was sexy as hell.
The man was an expert with his tongue. I supposed that was to be expected, since he was older than me and probably more experienced. Although, the thought of another woman sucking on his lips made my insides bubble with irritation.
I hadn’t been back to the cemetery for three nights because Maman wanted to sleep in my bed to get away from Papa, who had only just come off his latest drunken bender.
I needed Bastien. My body was going through withdrawal from not being able to touch him. I craved the feel of his big hands framing my face, sending shivers down my spine. If I didn’t get to see him tonight, I was sure I’d burst from yearning.
“Earth to Rosalie.” Madame Laurent’s voice was a quick remedy for my clenched thighs.
“Huh?”
“I was asking you what time you needed to be getting home. It’s already starting to get dark outside.” She nodded over her shoulder to the big, paneled window showcasing a nearly cerulean sky.
“Shit!” I was supposed to be home already. “I have to go!” I grabbed my satchel of carrots and spinach from the counter and threw it over my shoulder.
“Wait!” she shouted. “Make sure you take your herbs with you.” She poked through the sack of goodies that I had picked out earlier, which she had refused to take any money for. I was certain that she just appreciated the company more than the business.
Madame Laurent’s eyebrows narrowed as she peered into the canvas bag. She extracted a small amber vial with a cork stopper and held it out. “Care to explain why you need this?”
I grabbed the vial out of her hand and quickly placed it on the counter. “Oh, um...how did that get in there?”
“Rosalie,” she sang. “Why do you need a love potion?”
“Oh, it’s a love potion? I had no idea.” I could feel pools of sweat forming under my underarms. My palms felt slippery, too. Lying was definitely not my strength.
She fixed her fists on either side of her tiny waist. “I can tell when you’re lying, so you might as well just tell me. Did you meet someone?”
I tipped my line of sight to the ground, a curtain of blonde hair shielding much of my face from view, along with my shame. “Um...maybe.”
I jumped at the sound of her palms slapping together. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Who is he?”
“You wouldn’t know him,” I muttered, hoping to God that a natural disaster would strike at this very moment and free me of this very uncomfortable conversation.
She waved her hand in the air. “I know everyone.” She really did, even though practically none of the townsfolk ever stepped foot in her shop. “Where does he live?”
“I...I don’t know,” I stuttered.
She tilted her head to the side. “You don’t know where he lives? How odd. Well, who are his parents?”
“Um...” My stomach was so jittery that I felt like I would hurl up my lunch. For someone who routinely asked curt questions, I wasn’t faring too well in this interrogation.
