"I want you to give my boyfriend his money back."

As the raccoon girl kept scanning the crowd for faces, her brow had gradually become more furrowed, and her mouth had slipped open, un-self-consciously. The carnival field was quite dark, even with the electric lights beaming all around, so it was hard to see long-distance. She didn't even realise she had been squinting until she saw some of the stares she'd been getting.
Rose's emotional state had metamorphosed from confusion, to concern, to annoyance, to full-blown anxiety. Socks was not the kind of person to stand someone up on a date… especially not his girlfriend! She called his phone, bouncing on the balls of her footpaws to dissipate some of those pesky anxieties.
It rang once… then twice….
"This is Socks, sorry I can't take your call, leave me a message!"
Rose didn't even bother with a message. Had he seriously sent her to voicemail? It would have taken way longer for the phone to ring out normally…
She shoved her phone back into her purse and breathed slowly.
"Nngh…. it's fine, it's fine, there's probably a reason for that, he's gonna call me back…"
Another few minutes of waiting. The anxiety sublimated back into annoyance, a stronger one than before in fact.

Then… at last, she spotted him, framed, of all things, by a lovestruck pair of snow leopards. She saw them between their bodies as they held hands and gazed into each other's eyes… good for them, but they were in the way!
Socks, the bat-opossum hybrid was stumbling out of a tent. The tent was covered in stars and planets, glittering from the light catching off its shining surfaces.

Socks stopped for a moment to turn over his shoulder and look at the tent one last time, before he faced front and began to stagger again… His movements looked sluggish. Maybe even drunk?
That couldn't have been right. He didn't drink. He told her as much.
…Anxiety crept in, asking her dark, evil questions. Was he lying? What else had he lied about? Why hadn't he answered his phone?
She powered towards him, slithering around the snow leopard couple. Her tail was angled a little too high, and she heard a loud sneeze behind her. She shouted out "Sorry" over her shoulder before she continued on.
She expected him to at least notice her as she approached. But his head was still sort of lolling to and fro, his eyes looking at nothing in particular.
A sharp wave got him to notice her at last. The dopey smile hadn't left his face, and it didn't even grow when he saw her…

"Socks!" she said, trying to contain her frustration with him. "What're you doing here? I was waiting for ages…"
"Oh, I was looking for you," he said, his voice soft and dreamlike - Rose had to really prick her ears just to hear him. "Must've gone to the wrong place…"
… Did she mean he went to the wrong place, or she did? Rose wasn't going to chase that train of thought any further. She didn't want to make the argument worse. She kept her annoyance at bay.
"It's fine… what was going on in there, though? Is that a fortune teller?"
"Kiiinda?" Socks' head bobbed up and down. "She's a priestess… she did a tarot reading and then we talked about… so many things."
…A paranoid jealousy slipped into the back of Rose's head. Had he fallen for this 'priestess'?
No, stupid thought. Rose banished it.
"She helped me realise I was carrying too much with me, and I needed to get rid of my worldly desires…"
"That's… nice? So, uh, how do you feel now…?"
"So nice… especially since she helped me get rid of my useless money…"
"…What's that mean?" Rose frowned. Socks just sort of swayed. "Socks, what does that mean?"
"I gave her a hundred dollars," Socks said, proudly.

"You what?!" Rose couldn't stop herself from snapping and raising her voice. "What were you thinking?!Why would you just give someone that much money because they told you to?!"
"I feel so much lighter, though…" Socks said. This was not like him at all. "That hundred dollars was weighing me down…"
"What, a few banknotes were…?"
Socks was shaking his head with the same sluggishness as his nod.
"No, I did it on the app…"

Okay, this was not like him at all. She smelled something on him - it didn't smell like weed, and she didn't smell alcohol on his breath… it was just incense. But there was still something very obviously wrong going on.
"She's so amazing, hon, you should see for yourself…" Socks murmured.
"I think I might," Rose snarled, shoving right past him and straight into the incense-scented darkness of the tent.

Rose was surprised by how piercing the fox's blue eyes were. Almost as surprised as the fox was to see her barge in. The fox stuffed her phone back underneath her long fortune teller's robes. She brought her paws forward to either side of the crystal ball on the table between her 'customer' and her.
"Ah… welcome, my friend, come in, please… I can see something's troubling you, please come in."
"I want you to give my boyfriend his money back," Rose said. She approached the round table and slammed her hands down on it, bending forward and looming over the charlatan. "I don't know what you did to him, or how, but you scammed him and I'm not going to let that slide!"

The fortune teller smiled coolly back. "I can sense your anger, child. And I can empathise. I can understand the attachment to worldly possessions can bring poisonous emotions upon us…"
"Oh wow, very perceptive!" Rose tutted. "Yeah, when people get scammed, their loved ones get angry! Incredible observation, you're really good at reading-"
"Sit."

Rose's rump was plopped down on the stool in an instant.
The command wasn't a sharp one. But it had slid into her head like a dagger between the ribs, catching her off guard and making her body comply unthinkingly. And since she'd sat down, standing up felt like an awkward thing to try…
"Now, let's see about dealing with that anger," the fox said. "I will purge it from your system. And I'm sure you'll soon feel just as serene and unburdened as your boyfriend out there. And I'll even let you have this one for free…"
"Hmph." Rose crossed her arms defiantly. There was a slight shift in the fox's tone, a more casual one. Interesting. "Alright, hit me."
There was going to be some cheap parlour trick here, she was sure of it. There'd be some sleight of hand, some cold reading, educated guesses that would wow some people, but certainly not her.
"I want you to set that anger you're feeling right now in your mind," the fox said. "Breathe into it. There is nothing wrong with feeling anger and frustration. Send me your energies, and I will channel it into this reading… though I suggest you relax your jaw."
…Oh.
Rose was holding her jaw tightly, her teeth were grinding together…
She relaxed it, and almost instantly, she noticed-
"Your shoulders are relaxing too, that's good. See already what that does? How it makes it easier to handle that swell of emotion… now, let us see what other tools we can use."
"Hnh, okay…" Rose nodded. She peered over the crystal ball, at the movements of the fox's paws. Three cards glided off the top of the deck with just a slight touch, alighting on the mat like flowers.
The fox flipped over the first - a figure lying down, with four swords resting above their head.
"The Four of Swords. Rest, relaxation, yes, yes… this is the theme of the reading. Keep the idea of releasing that anger in the back of your mind…"
Her claws traced along the swords on the card, back and forth. Rose kept her eyes on the hands. Making sure there was no funny business, no extra cards…

The next card was a throbbing heart, pierced with three more blades. Rose winced.
"The Three of Swords, reversed, but don't worry," "You were heartbroken in the past, but now you're very happy with your partner, yes. It can also mean forgiveness… you can forgive his folly."
The fox's claw traced along the swords, inwards towards the heart at the card's centre.
They were nicely manicured, not to mention painted a bright white colour.
…Rose was still keeping a close eye.
The paw shifted to the next card, and so did Rose's stare.
A blindfolded raccoon faced her, holding a sword in each hand, crossed upwards like an upturned pair of garden shears. And… why did the raccoon look like her-?

"The Two of Swords. You're at an impasse, you're stubborn, perhaps, you don't want to allow yourself to relax because you're afraid of what it might bring perhaps… Maybe we need another card."

Rose nodded. She agreed. This was all a little confusing to follow, if she was being honest. She needed to know more. Her mind was having a lot of trouble settling on one detail or another, so maybe the next card would clarify further…

A gleaming, disembodied paw clutched a glittering sword pointed towards the heavens, with a crown floating at its tip like a halo.
What did that mean…
"The Ace of Swords. You're confused, your thoughts are full, and you just need to allow that mind to clear… clear it for me… one more, yes, just one more…?"

"Nhn…" Rose nodded. Her mind was clearing. Just one more. Yes, just one more. Then it would all make sense.
Rose's eyes were already almost closed…
She was faintly aware that she was leaning forward now, almost draped over the crystal ball between them…
The final card was turned over. It depicted raccoon mid-dance, wearing a dress that spiralled holographically with rainbow shades, dazzling Rose, making her blink, and grunt, and…
"The Fool."
The card was snapped onto the table. The fox's other paw cradled Rose's face.
This card represents blankness. Quiet. Sleep. So sleep, poor fool... And rest."

Rose felt her throat press against the glass ball, her body slumped forward onto it, with very little distance to travel.. Her eyelids butterflied shut.
"There, I've convinced you, haven't I?" The fox chuckled. Her tone had shifted, sharpened, but Rose was too relaxed to care. She was convinced. So relaxed. Why had she even been angry in the first place?

"This was free, of course, but I do hope you'll… what's that, you'd like to offer me payment?"
Rose didn't remember saying that. But if the fox said it was true, and the fox was right about everything else… she didn't see any reason not to follow along.
She took out her wallet, and took out banknote after banknote, as bidden.
"That's it. As much as you feel comfortable giving out, as much as you feel I'm worth. But worth doesn't matter, does it… money doesn't matter. It doesn't nourish your mind, it keeps you leashed to the world. So give it over, all of it…"

Rose was already doing so. She emptied her wallet leaf by leaf, placing each new note on the table in a growing, neat little stack.
Each note she removed felt like a weight being lifted, like those little sheets of paper were made of steel.
"There we are…" the fortune teller said. "Now, feel the lightness remaining within you even as you leave…"
The slight inflection on the fox's final word brought Rose to her feet. She glided out of the tent, smiling serenely, only faintly remembering to take her wallet with her and slip it back into her nearly discarded bag.
Socks was waiting for her outside, and he looked just as content and relaxed as he did when she left. The smile widened slightly when he saw her…
"She was really nice…" Rose remarked as she embraced him.
"Told you…" he giggled.
The lovers staggered through the carnival together, moving in tandem like they were in a three legged race, or two drunkards seeking out a taxi….
Though if people looked close, they'd see the stars in their eyes, the tell tale scent of madame's perfume… all the other carnies knew they'd been cleaned out by the fortune teller.
Sela picked up her winnings from the table and counted them, taking her time to leaf through.
"Another 70 dollars… nice."
She grinned. This would cover another few week's worth of botanicals and herbs for her potion brewing hustle. A few more marks like those two, and she'd be set for the next quarter-year.
She settled back with a smile, and waited. If she put out feelers into the 'universe', another mark - no, another lost soul would come to her before long.

 Day 1 - Smoke (SteampunkZappa)

 "Do you think you've figured out what sort of ritual it was used for?"

 The snowy owl peered closer at the brass artefact, surrounded in its nest of unwrapped brown paper. Celia was wearing a mask over her beak, and her brown hair was tied back. Donations to her museum were always welcome, but normally those were small banknotes or little paintings found in attics. Not something like this.
Its main chamber was shaped like an indistinct figure, wrapped in octopus-like tendrils that were pierced with tiny holes(presumably from which the smoke would escape). The figure was reaching upwards, as if it were trying to escape the morass of tendrils beneath it.
It was made of bronze, well-burnished and untarnished, and it almost looked brand new. The indistinctness of the figure seemed to be design, not due to wear and tear.

The owl was examining the censer in her Museum's restoration room, an austere white workspace with sterile workbenches and harsh lights. With her was one Clive, one of her employees - not to mention a close friend of hers. The white cat was an inventor with a keen interest in art and artifacts that had a purpose to them - there were few people Celia trusted more to be an extra pair of eyes.
 Clive noted some bags under Celia's eyes, a slight glaze to her eyes. She looked exhausted. He elected not to pass comment on it.
 
 "It's an impressive piece," Clive said, keeping a respectful distance so as not to crowd Celia. "You must've spent all night poring over this thing."
 "How could I not?" Celia chirped. "Look at it, Clive…"
 "Did a local artist make this?"
 "No, this thing is far older than us," Celia replied, her pace quick and excitable. "Far older than this museum… maybe even this country. If this was made using modern metalworking techniques, it'd be very obvious."
 Clive clicked his tongue. "Begs the question why they got rid of it in the first place. Did the donor tell you why?"
 "No, I didn't even receive a note from them. I had to do a little digging of my own to figure it out."
 "And?"
 "There are similar artifacts like this from a small island off the coast of Galicia. And seeing as those tentacles look like those of an octopus, I think that perhaps this was used for protection for fishermen before they went out to sea."
 
 Clive hadn't taken his eyes off the censer. He focused in on the face in particular. It was smooth, featureless, earless… sort of bulbous too, with a tiny, hooked beak where the snout ought to be. It certainly didn't look like a bird, though… He certainly hadn't seen anything like it, and he'd had his fair share of run ins with the supernatural.
 
 When a little wisp of white slipped out from one of the tendril's holes, then another… for a moment, he thought it was just a trick of the mind, an expectation turned into a hallucination.
 When he blinked, the smoke was gone again. Confirmation, then. It was in his head.
 Although…
 "Do you want to give it a try?" Clive asked. "We might as well use it for its intended purpose before it's put behind glass forever…"
 "You know, I was just thinking that myself," Celia agreed. "Why not?"
 "Really?" Clive wasn't expecting that. Celia was usually way more protective of her museum's possessions… how peculiar. "I mean, I was half-joking, but…"
 "It'd be a shame not to," Celia replied. "I've brought some incense, too."
 
 …She was well-prepared for this.
 She'd buried the lead a little. As part of her research, she had tested the thing out, just to see how the smoke curled and fluted out of each of the little intricate pockmarks in the tentacles.
She needed him to see. He needed to see. It was so important that he saw for himself.
She lit a long match, and slid it gingerly into the bottom of the censer. The distinct cherry colour of the charcoal's smoulder flickered from within.
She removed her mask, and gestured for Clive to do the same.
"Oh, this is exciting," Clive giggled. "Do you think you've figured out what sort of ritual it was used for?"
"Just watch," Celia said. "It'll make sense."
White smoke started to weep upwards from the holes - first little tiny threads, then longer strands, then plumes.
A floral, sweet aroma started to slip into the room.
"It's mint and rosemary with a little anise," she said, idly. "And a little sea salt, if you can catch it…"
Clive hummed, straining his senses to pick up all the tones. It smelled like liqueur, but also of the sea… like some sort of strange potion.

The white smoke curled upwards. An understanding of physics might have made one expect to see it continue towards the ceiling and disperse. But it began to hang in the air, a little lower than that.
The smoke seemed thicker, too, like the curls of vapour within a hookah pipe.
The head of the figure was starting to pour smoke too, a hidden compartment having been forced open.
"What the-" Clive gulped. "Do you see that-?"
"Shhhh," Celia said. "Just watch. And breathe that in.."
As some of the smoke spilled upwards, more spilled downwards like a heavy fog. It washed over the pair. It slid into their noses and bloomed to take up space.
Clive tried not to cough as it tickled his throat… and failed. He tried to wave the fog away from his face, but it seemed to dodge somehow, sliding around his paw before heading straight for his head.
"What the- bloody hell, how much - koff koff - did you put in there?"
"The right amount," Celia said, taking deep draughts of the smoky fog. She was perfectly still, drinking it in without so much as a twitch. "It's wonderful, isn't it… the first time I didn't use quite enough, and She wasn't able to sustain Herself for very long..."
 "The First time?!" Clive asked.
 The look in Celia's eyes was strange. And the way she said She… his brain only registered it as such, but it didn't match the sounds from her mouth. Trying to remember the sound, to piece it together from a beak-reading, made the cough sting a little worse…
"She will be here as long as She wants to be this time," Celia sighed, the expressiveness draining from her face, and her voice. "She will be pleased."
"What do you mean-"
There was a sudden roar, like a wave coming into shore, and a thick gout of smoke hissed out from the bronze lamp. The smoke-tendrils twisted upwards and pooled into a thick, anthropoid form. The smoke swirled within, and a translucent, bubble-like film came over it, giving it shape and containing it. It was taking on the same shape as the figure on the bronze chimney, the one rising out of the tentacles.

This being made of smoke, still attached to the censer, bloomed upwards and loomed over them. The smoke swirled and pooled within it. Two rainbow gleams sat in the middle of its bulbous head, and a pearl-white beak peeked out from the thin membrane holding it together.
The beak opened, and a voice like a rush of cold water, like a finger down the back of the spine, issued forth.
"Hello again, little bird,"  it hissed. "You've brought me another, as bidden. Good…"
"I do as I am bidden, o Meiga…" Celia said, the voice hollow, yet worshipful.
The creature's oil-spill eyes turned towards Clive. The cat felt as though a hand had emerged from the depths of a sea and pulled him inwards by the tail. He was surrounded by the smoke, and it pushed against him, rushed closer like a crashing current.
The rush of the witch's words continued, carrying with them a siren-like chime that made every atom of Clive's body shiver.

"It has been too long since I have been properly venerated, feared, as a Meiga must be. Your voice must rise in praise of me."

Celia took a deep, shuddering breath in, and a thick beakful of the strange fog poured into it. It seeped from her nostrils, wept from her eyes, and she drank it in with her whole body.
 The octopus reached out a long, slender, sharp-clawed hand, and revolved it, curling the fingers upwards. Celia's feet left the floor, buoyed by the ensorcelling smoke - was she levitating, or were the smoke tendrils powerful enough to lift her?
 This was… bad. It was too pleasurable, too potentially addictive… 
 
 "W…wait…" Clive groaned, foolishly opening his mouth and allowing the vapour-smoke to rest on his tongue with a sweet, salty touch. "W-wait- kchkkh…"
 A tendril of smoke-tentacle wrapped around his throat. Its conjured suckers squeezed against his neck and locked in place.
 His throat squeezed, and he coughed. Smoke rushed in like a constricting snake, filling his lungs and stealing his breath… and he too was lifted, up into the air. The smoke's sea-salt and herbal scent invaded deeper, short-cutting to his brain and gripping it in a tight pleasurable embrace.

As he exhaled, smoke belched out of his mouth… along with a twisting wisp of light within, like a lightning strike within a storm cloud. That wisp curled and braided towards the witch's opened mouth.
 "My magic fills the gap your soul leaves behind, little one," the Meiga sang. "And your soul sustains me in turn…"
 
Clive's arms were bound to his side by another gaseous tendril… not that he had anything within arm's length to free himself with. The inventor had no gadgets to save himself with. All he could do was breathe deeper, his lungs losing their need for oxygen and gaining a craving for the Meiga's essence. 
The bird and the cat were brought close together, held up towards the wide open beak. They opened wide. Wisps of sheared soul slipped from their mouths and into the witch's waiting mouth…

Clive felt lighter with each exhale. The space her essence took up made him realise just how empty he had been. How his rational mind, his desire to understand the world and invent new wonders, was that way due to a deficit of belief. A deficit of worship. Though he'd met gods before, he'd never felt a need to worship them.

But now, with the witch lashing his will to hers, taking a part of his soul into herself… it was like he was drawing awe and worship from the smoke's internal caress. His heart was beating faster. The inside of his head was dancing. His body felt like it was glittering and shining, like a treasure… a treasure that he had to offer to his Mistress.

"You offer yourself unto me."
He panted, his mouth opening into a wide, dazed grin.
"I… o-offer myself unto you…"
The smoke no longer stung. Its harsh hot sting turned to a cool, submerging caress.
Smoke and fog continued to pour into the room until it was completely smothered in it. 
At the same time, the owl and the cat's minds were trapped, too - in the glisten of the Meiga's multi-limbed body, in the nebula whirls of her eyes.

 The beak was unsmiling. But the witch's pleasure was tangible; one could taste its sweetness on the smoke. Her tendrils squeezed tighter, weaving and twisting the two thralls into a closer embrace. Their mouths were so close to her beak, and as she opened her mouth wide, she took deeper gulps of the mortals' essences. The light of intelligence and free thought was fading from their eyes, replaced by a thick occluding gout of smoke - first a spiral, then a film, then a full fog that turned their eyes an opaque white.
 "Yes… give more of yourselves, little mortals… You feed me, you sustain me, you give me new life…"
The Meiga's throat bulged as she sucked at the air. As the thick dregs of the mortal's souls disappeared down the witch's throat, she grew in size. She pressed against the ceiling of the room, hunching forward slightly. She grunted with dissatisfaction.
"This place will not be large enough to hold me before too long." She clucked her tongue, coiling her two thralls tighter, and making sure they paid close attention.
"It seems I cannot finish my feed tonight. But tomorrow… you will bring me to your museum and put me on display… to lure more mortals to feed myself upon. Will you do as you are bidden…?"
"Yes, O Meiga…" the two moaned. "We will…"
A new exhibit would be coming to the museum. And its grand opening would be one that none would soon forget…