Summoning Sasha

A troubled woman takes a chance on an anonymous letter

 

Sasha sat staring out at the dingy street.  Brightly dressed people moved past in groups of two and three and the sounds from the street carried in through the doors when patrons came and went.  The jingling of a dozen metal bangles signaled the return of the girl in the green smock to refill her coffee for the third time since she had sat down less than an hour earlier.  Absently she turned her watch the black liquid fill the stark white mug before turning back to the street beyond the rain spotted glass storefront.

With all of the troubles she had had of late, she lamented that this moment could not last forever.  Sasha had always been the kind to appreciate the little things in life; those priceless moments that came now and again and made one realize how precious life could truly be before disappearing into the fantastic haze from which they had somehow appeared in the first place.

Her lawyer had told her, earlier in the morning, that if she could not manage to tone down the public displays of magical prowess, she was going to go to jail, one day soon. The thought made her cold and she lifted the warm mug of coffee to her lips, drawing down half the cup in one long swig. If she could have toned it down she would have.  The fact was that she did not completely understand what had been happening in the first place.  She had been a practiced sorcerer since she was eleven and a half years old.  Puberty had ushered in her special talent, and her mother had always been exceptionally ashamed that her daughter possessed what she had called “devil power”. It had been from her aunt that she learned how and when to use her ability. She had never been quite sure whether it was the “wonderful gift” that her aunt made it out to be or the “devil power” her mother insisted it surely was. 

She had never intended to hurt anyone with her gift, she had even found a way to profit from it, writing spells and rituals for those who paid well enough.  She even had an office, in an old building on the run down side of the commercial district. The woman who owned the building came by now and then to be sure she wasn’t summoning demons or sacrificing people in the storage room.  Though she had been assured that Sasha didn’t practice sacrifices, the woman still appeared every few weeks to be certain for herself.

The abrupt rattling of bells on the glass door shook her from her.  A small mundane fellow sauntered in from the rain, struggling with his umbrella, his gaze darting nervously around the small coffee shop.  Their eyes met uneasily before Sasha looked tore her eyes away.  The intensity of glare burned a hole through her psyche and she imagined just then that that was certainly what it must feel like to be the prey.  A power, hot and completely foreign to her filled her and though she did not dare look at him again, she knew the power were coming her direction.

“Sasha Di’Marian?” he asked in a too casual way.

“That depends upon what you want?” she answered dryly. 

The man poked a hand out of his jacket pocket, holding an envelope before her as if he expected her to accept it.  Blankly she dared to meet his gaze, though she made no move to take the proffered envelope.  Several tense moments passed before the man tossed the unopened envelope on the table and left the way he had come, in a tinkling of door bells. 

“Since when did messenger boys leave without a tip?” she mumbled.  She had never been so glad to see anyone go.

She sat looking at the envelope for another entire cup of coffee.  Then, lifting it as if it were glass, she turned it in her hands.  The envelope was a creamy white; the back sealed with a red wax letter A.  Prying the seal open she pulled out a delicately folded piece of paper.  Slowly unfolding the letter her eyes focused on the beautiful red handwritten script. “It’s in your best interest to meet me at 7 p.m. tonight, alone, at Pine and 4th.”  The words sat alone on the page, signed at the bottom with a slanting letter A.

Carefully folding the letter she replaced it in its envelope and stuffed it in her handbag.  The girl with the jingling bangles came to refill her coffee and she let her.  A million thoughts flew through her mind.  She couldn’t remember ever even knowing anyone with the initial A.  So what did this person want with her?  She had had the experience of meeting crazies form time to time.  People who thought she should owe them something just because she was cursed with the ability to cast and conjure.  People thought she was a freak or her power was from the devil had even tried to kill her.  What could elusive A possibly want to talk about?

She realized that she had planned to go without even thinking about it. Gathering up her handbag from the chair beside her and giving one last longing glance to the passers by, Sasha rose, lifting the white ceramic mug to her lips one more time.  She left a tip and enough to pay for her coffee and walked through the door, the distant sound of bells rattling as the door sealed shut behind her.  Whatever happened next, she was almost certain it couldn’t be worse than what had been happening.  No fate was worse than the inability to control the “devil power.”

Author's Note

This story was born from a writing prompt. I'm particularly fond of them, they keep me writing when I'm feeling less than literary! I'm very interested to hear how the flow of the story progressed, also overall reviews about the tale are certainly appreciated.

Reviews

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I think this has the potential to become a lot more. I liked your descriptions of her movements - it was very easy to picture. It seems to leave a lot of questions unanswered, which is fine for a writing prompt if it meets the requirements. As a story, it could use some more detail, such as her appearance and powers. I liked it, though. It was interesting and pulled me in!