He always had a ghastly sense of humor, in the sense that he didn’t have any. Quite frankly, I did not have time to waste on him. The clock was ticking, and I was losing with the passing of every minute. Purposefully ignoring him, I moved to my apothecary table. Although I had one cupboard packed with potions, I put the most precious and irreplaceable ingredients in the drawers of this table. Pushing the clutter out of the way, I made some space on the table to put the bottle that Geoffrey handed me. Carefully, I poured a few drops of angel’s tears from the bottle into a wooden bowl.

If angels were not so possessive of their tears, I never would have to deal with Geoffrey. But no, they would not let just about anyone collect their exquisite tears. Especially, not witches and warlocks. Geoffrey, being the opportunist that he was, did not shy away from asking her lover, who was an angel, for a few drops of her tears. Lucky scoundrel! That warlock somehow gets just the right lovers. Co-incidence? I don’t think so. In case you didn’t realize, I hate Geoffrey so very much. As a rule, I despise all warlocks.

And within a few minutes, Megan’s face visibly lit up. First, her eyebrows lifted into the high arch that framed her face beautifully. Then the crow’s feet vanished. One by one, eye bags, fine lines, and wrinkles faded away. Despite her questionable ways, she was my true love — before and after transformations. I loved her soul. While she claimed that witches did not have a soul, I decided it only indicated her lack of spiritual knowledge. Besides, I did not need her approval to believe in an afterlife with her. Perhaps, in our next birth, we would both be lovers. Human lovers.

My daydreaming was cut short by a knock at the door. That was truly odd. Megan did not have any visitors. None at all. She lived a lonely life, and by the look of annoyance on her face, it was clear that she preferred it that way. Instead of heading toward the door, she walked to inspect her appearance in the mirror. “That won’t do,” I heard her whisper. With the snap of her fingers, she changed her sand-stained black dress to a fuchsia pink maxi dress. Apart from the bright color of the dress, everything else about the dress was modest. Its long poofy sleeves and boat neckline screamed boring. Yet, she made it work somehow. Part of her charm, I guess.

Megan eyed the stranger’s six feet tall frame unabashedly. She didn’t have a filter. It was obvious that she liked what she saw. I moved close to her and cleared my throat to break her train of dirty thoughts. My trick worked, and she came out of her musings. She gave me a look, her signature displeased look, that lasted only a few seconds. Then, turning her gaze toward the stranger, she scoffed. “That’s the oldest trick in the book, you know. If you’re lost, ask the pedestrians for directions. You don’t just knock stranger’s doors.”

I like feisty women and defying my father. Those two facts just about sum up my life. The satisfaction that I get by deliberately ignoring his desires keeps my spirits high. Lately, he has been trying to set me up with a bunch of brainless women to uphold our status in society. Or so he says! I have seen him upholding his status. He and his lunatic associates conspired against a little girl, who had lost her mother only a few days back, and unlawfully stripped her of her ranks. I wasn’t even born then, but I have heard the rumors. I believe those rumors with all my heart. He doesn’t deserve the respect that others seem to willingly bestow upon him. Those bottom-feeders wouldn’t blink from killing their own mothers if that could benefit them in some way. Unlike them, I can, and will, think for myself.

So, while he thinks I am meeting prospective brides, whom he has carefully shortlisted for me, I am nowhere near those nincompoops. Never would I ever put me through such a boring endeavor. Besides, I am currently way too intrigued by the witch that I had the pleasure of annoying. Oh yes, I know about witches, warlocks, and celestial beings. Why wouldn’t I? I am one of them. Since I bathe myself in charmed potions, nobody can realize I am a warlock. Not even witches of Megan’s potential. Her meeting with that self-absorbed warlock on the beach was not as confidential as she thought it to be. I saw that moron openly playing with the angel’s tears, and Megan snatching the bottle off his grip. Warlocks, myself included, tend to get carried away. Right then and there, I knew on whom I would like to invest my time.

Obviously, she can’t know that I am a warlock. At least, not yet! First, I’ll have fun taming her free spirit, then if she proved worthy of my company, I would reveal my identity. Something tells me that she doesn’t like warlocks. But, that would change in no time. I don’t know about other warlocks, but no woman in her right mind can resist the charms of this warlock. Clearly, she is a woman and judging by her witty banter, I am sure she is of a sound mind.