Nag Champa by Kateryna Udovychenko

The old magic shop was wedged between two cafés, as gloomy as ever.

Frankly speaking, I never liked this place, but for some reason, it lured me in every time I saw it. When I was a boy, Mama often visited it, and she always insisted on taking me with her. Now it stood there just as I remembered it. After all these years away from town, the only thing that had changed about this store was its new neighbouring buildings – they were leaning in on the poor, shaky frame of the dark walls, suffocating it with their concrete weight. The door was open, and the entrance was veiled with a purple curtain. Gently, I parted it and stepped in.

One could say that this was more of a lighting shop rather than an occult one. It was full of vintage floor lamps, lanterns, and chandeliers shining dimly in every crevice. And yet, somehow, the whole room was drowning in shadows. It smelled weird inside, an unpleasant scent masked under tons of perfumes. It wasn’t too bad, so I brushed it off. I made my way past the crowded tables and stalls. I felt like I was twelve again, lost in all this clutter, waiting on my mother. On every horizontal surface, there were all kinds of goods: gleaming crystals, coloured candles, questionable herbs, and unsettling taxidermy. Finally, I reached the cash desk.

There sat the shopkeeper, Mama’s old acquaintance, dressed like one of those professors from a hundred years ago. He had a rather peculiar appearance, with his brass pince-nez, a white beard, and a wickedly receding hairline. He seemed to be in tune with the store – unchanging, ageless, yet as old as the world itself.

‘Greetings, Uncle Popescu,’ said I.

Lost in his book, the man flinched.

‘What! Visitors! Who are you, boy?’ He seemed genuinely surprised.

‘My name’s Adi. Petra Radu’s son.’

‘Oh, be welcome then! I haven’t seen you in a long time,’ he rasped with excitement. ‘Let me treat you with some tea.’

I didn’t object; I hadn’t had a minute to rest since this morning.

‘There, take a seat.’ He gestured at a nearby chair, and I sat down.

He got up, set his book aside and walked towards a chest of drawers to fetch some cups. I looked around. An antique clock was situated near the desk. I recalled how my mother scolded me once for gaping at it instead of saying hello to the man.

‘So, Adi, tell me, how old are you?’ He snapped me out of my thoughts.

‘Soon to be twenty-two.’

‘Ah, so it seems I haven’t seen you in seven years!’ I watched him put his rusty kettle on a stove I never noticed before. I wondered whether he slept in this room as well. ‘Not much changed since then, you know,’ he added. ‘Except your mother stopped visiting me a few months ago.’

‘Really? Why?’ She was a witch and hoped I’d follow her path. When I didn’t, she sent me to live with my relatives and went no contact but kept on with her rituals.

‘No idea,’ he replied with a note of disappointment. I bet she used to be his only customer.

He pulled out a long box from the cup drawer. Not wanting to stare, I turned my gaze away. A few minutes went by, and the kettle started whistling. Soon, the shopkeeper was rushing to me with two cups of tea. He placed them on a small table beside my chair and sat on a nearby stool.

Just as I was about to ask him about the strange box, a rich sweet scent filled my nostrils. Incense. Nag Champa. Mother’s favourite. How didn’t I recognize its package? I wished to never feel that smell again. It reminded me of something I had buried in my mind long ago.

I was fourteen again. I could see Mama standing there – pale like a ghost, dressed in a white gown, shaking, her hair wild. A crown of bones rested on her head. I thought I knew no fear. But as I stared through the open window into the moonlit backyard, chills ran up my spine. Her eyes seemed empty and dead. She was mouthing the same words over and over and over and over.

She dropped to her knees, and that’s when I saw something at her feet. A bloody piece of some animal, wrapped clumsily in a white cloth. I tried not to gag. She was only ten meters away from the window. With bare hands, she started digging a hole in the ground, still repeating incantations. After what felt like ages, she put the poor thing into its shallow grave and threw the dirt over it. I could see its fur and the white cloth beneath the soil. Suddenly, she pulled out incense sticks – as if from nowhere – then drove them deeply into the carcass and lit them with a match. As soon as I felt their sweet burning scent, I ran to my room, choking on my tears.

‘How’s Mama?’

Uncle’s voice cut through me like a blade. I recoiled. The shop snapped back into focus – the jungle of items pressed in on me again. Horrified, I looked into his eyes.

‘What?’

‘Petra, how is she?’

‘She died a few days ago,’ I whispered, a lump in my throat. ‘I came to the town as soon as I got the… message. No name, no return address – just a note saying she was gone.’

My head spun. The flowery smell of incense still clung in the air. I could swear there was a trace of rot beneath it. And somewhere in the far corners of the shop, I think I heard the buzz of flies.

‘Oh, yes,’ the shopkeeper grinned. ‘I know of her death very well.’

My limbs went numb. My eyes jerked to the shadows at the end of the room. Calmly, the man’s sly gaze followed mine.

‘My dear Adi, you haven’t touched your tea yet, have you?’