Blob by Kateryna Kotsur

The Highest Priestess of the coven gifted Marlena

a gorgeous crystal ball on her twenty-second birthday. “Take good care of yourself, beloved Marlena,” said revered Leah, “take good care, and may this pretty sphere help you with that.” 

To be given such a rare present was a privilege of colossal dimensions–scarcely a hundred witches had ever possessed it in the country, and Marlena was aware of it. The problem was… She never really needed it. She neither knew how the sphere was supposed to be used nor had time to research this topic. You know, Marlena was a green witch, particularly the one who a) never attended extracurriculars on artefactology in Academia, and b) had more than enough on her plate managing her herbal store. 

Yet, although Marlena wasn’t initially prepared to acquire Blob (that’s how she named the artefact), at her disposal, there was more or less normal eyesight and some critical thinking skills. 

Blob was a mysterious guy. Never did it respond to Marlena’s touches. Yet, when her bestie Eva (“Girl, omagat, it’s gettin’ yellow! Dat is crazy, giiiirl! You’re the luckiest!”), her mum (“But indigo… indigo is the colour of familial love?.. Oh! It’s not about slugs! It’s because of you!”) or dad (“My mate Sammy works in the Grand Library, you sure you don’t need anything?”), her neighbour, her former classmate, or her landlord tried, Blob instantly got into chameleon mode. 

Apparently, this guy turned out to be a psychologist–on the contrary to artefactology, whose knowledge remained half-mystery due to the lack of examination, colouristic have been the basics from the first year of studying: every educated witch knew what all those hues mean. 

Well, Blob was a handy one then, and it would have been exceptionally unwise of Marlena if she hadn’t resorted to utilising the ball in the store. Reading one’s mood was always better for picking up a proper plant than wasting precious hours on endless questionnaires.

***

Now, Marlena can’t stop bragging about Blob: every time one asks her about the rare artefact, she eagerly explains its responsibilities and, if the conversation goes smoothly, shares her favourite case. Despite all Marlena’s exasperation towards this client (the ick he gave her wasn’t worth any money), it’s the one of Calandipus. He was her regular customer, a scruffy, unintelligent, constantly enraged man in his late thirties who could not get rid of the iridescent cockroach curse for two years. And the thing was that herbs do not cure it if used in the wrong emotional state–with a negative attitude. 

Nothing could persuade Calandipus that the problem was, in fact, him, not Marlena’s potions until she insisted on using Blob during one appointment. When on six following meetings, after Calandipus’ touching, the sphere consistently turned no other colour than muddy brown, he stopped coming. (Marlena hopes cockroaches did disappear, and it wasn't Calandipus who gave up. Anyway, it’s trivia in this story.)

This Sunday, Marlena has already had nine curious customers enthusiastic about listening to Calandipus. Hopefully, in the near time, she will experience something more thrilling and pleasant–after all, happy-ending tales attract more clients. 

***

The windchimes ring about thirty minutes before the closing time. Marlena stands up from her seat, putting the crocheting aside. “Good evening! What can I he…”  

Marlena feels as if somebody threw the dragon powder at her face when she notices who has entered. The skin is suddenly so hot it must be glowing red. Her hands get clammy immediately, and labels scattered on the counter scream of an urgent need to be neatly piled. 

“Hi!” A man near the doors waves his hand with a dazzling smile and strides towards Marlena. “How it’s going, Marly?” “G-good,” she braces herself to look at him, “it’s good, G-Gideon,” she does speak eloquently when this man is nearby. “And you?” 

Gideon crouches, putting his hands on the counter. Marlena needs water. She can’t get her eyes off Gideon’s face, observing how he throws his hands upwards, how his brows are moving, how his lips are curving with every word, while he informs her of the latest news. 

“Marly?” She returns to reality, realising that Gideon is probably waiting for her reply. Yeah, he's asked something about the sphere. “Blob? I mean, the crystal ball?” Marlena hurries towards the tiny lounge area, where on a coffee table, a piece of velvet covers the artefact. “Here it is!”

Gideon sits down on a sofa slowly, almost cautiously. Marlena does, too, trying not to seem awkwardly stiff. Eventually, she turns her head towards Gideon: there’s no trace of a smile on his face anymore. He stares at Blob with such a concentration as if he’s trying to hypnotise him. “Is everything okay?” “Can I touch it?” the question is so abrupt and hushed that Marlena barely stops herself from panicking. Something is really not OK. “Sure!” her voice almost cracks, but she welcomingly points at the sphere.

Gideon touches the smooth surface only with the tip of his ring finger, yet, Blob bursts with colour. It’s crimson, peachy-orange, ruby-red, pastel-pink, and all the hues from the palette of a beach sunset. 

Marlena’s breath hitches. No. No, haha! Blob must have got tired after a whole day of work! No way these colours are on display! 

Marlena starts shivering. 

No way Blob glows with all these colours… all these colours… these colours of affection? There must be another explanation! She will google it, contact revered Leah, take her colouristics textbooks out and scrutinise the entire chapter “About reds”! 

“Marlena,” Gideon says, making eye contact again, tone gentle and lips slightly curled upwards, “you do know it shows feelings?” She hesitantly hums. “And you do know these are your feelings towards the one who touches it, don’t you?”