The Witch's Patron

Chapter 8

The room in which Noori found herself was probably quite spacious, but was hard to tell. Nearly every available surface was a mess with clutter. In a way, it reminded her of home.

Taking a few cautious steps inside, Noori paused to take in her surroundings. The room was warm with the light of countless candles of all shapes and sizes burning simultaneously. The air hung with the smell of wax and fire smoke mixed with paint thinner. Pots and jars lined shelves and tables and were filled with colourful substances that Noori assumed to be paint. Wooden frames and rolls of canvas were propped in corners and up against the walls, which were covered floor to ceiling in artwork.

Noori craned her neck to gaze upward. The walls rose into a towering cathedral ceiling. Wooden stairs started to her left and wound their way up and around the room until they reached a platform that jutted out just beneath a stunning domed skylight.

It was all so fantastic that Noori briefly forgot that it was completely impossible. What she was seeing with her own eyes could not possibly exist in the building she had just stepped into.

"What in the world..." she murmured, turning slowly on the spot.

"If you're planning to stay, the least you could do is close the door," came a voice, calm and steady from somewhere in the mess.

Noori spun with a gasp. Poking out from behind a large easel was the face of a woman who looked only a few years older than Noori herself. Propped on her forehead like some poor excuse for a crown was a set of the most unusual spectacles Noori had ever seen.

"The door?" the woman spoke again, nodding her head in the direction of the gaping entryway.

"Oh!" Noori snapped out of her daze. "Sorry, of course."

She gave the great wooden door a shove and it swung closed, clicking loudly into place. Suddenly the studio felt so quiet. When Noori turned, the woman had disappeared back behind her canvas.

"Hello?" Noori called out, wondering belatedly if there was a certain etiquette to greeting a witch.

"You don't need to announce yourself, I already know you're here," the woman replied, not bothering to look away from her work this time.

"Right," Noori shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm looking for the art witch."

"Of course you are," said the woman. "Why else would you be here?"

Noori's sense of wonder was quickly replaced with indignation. "Well, you don't need to be rude about it! I worked really hard to find this place. I'm trying to state my purpose but you won't even so much as look at me."

A pronounced sigh came from behind the canvas. Out shot the face again, at which Noori blinked in surprise. The woman had pulled her spectacles down. They covered half her face; large brass-framed lenses that obscured her eyes completely and shimmered in the candlelight like a pair of prisms.

"I'm not being rude, I'm working," the woman snapped back. If she was aware of how peculiar she looked, she certainly didn't seem to mind. "If you want to speak with me, come over where I can see you. If I stop now I'll lose it."

Too curious to argue, Noori did as she was told. She picked her way carefully across the room and rounded the easel to find the woman seated upon stool, a brush in one hand and at the ready. In her other hand she held a well-used pallet. At first, Noori thought the pallet was empty. But then the woman shifted and the light caught on a blob of shimmering, nearly translucent paste. The woman stared through her spectacles at a blank canvas.

"Drat," the she hissed. "It's gone."

"What's gone?" Noori asked. The stranger's odd behavior was making her feel uneasy. "Your painting?"