Hekate Bodega

Cassandra was wracked with night terrors for the third night in a row when she decided on a midnight journey to the corner store. She was in desperate need of sweet treats and something to help her sleep. According to the directions on her phone, Hekate Bodega is just a five-minute trek from her apartment building and open 24 hours, 7 days a week, except for August 13 and November 16. While it may be the witching hour, the city is teeming. Honking cars, bright lights, and giant adverts displayed on LED screens brighten the skies. People of all kinds were milling about the streets, her fellow insomniacs and late-night club-goers returning home, bumping shoulders in crosswalks. Cassandra accidentally clips someone, stumbles, and receives a startling glare in return. She shivers from anxiety and continues on her journey, looking at her feet to avoid eye contact with the masses that she abhors.

Just 2 more minutes. One more block and then across the street.

The corner store wasn’t anything special; in fact, it looked quite run-down. The neon OPEN sign flickers in bursts of three; the windows foggy and grimy from years of inadequate cleaning, and through them Cassandra could see an amalgamation of wares stuffed haphazardly from floor to ceiling. She enters through the glass door, triggering the jingle of small bells.

“Welcome to Hekate Bodega. Let me know if there’s anything you’re looking for,” says a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, in a lazy drawl. She sits behind a register with some lit candles and figurines decorating the counter. Her platinum hair is plaited into two long braids, and her face is adorned with various piercings. None of which is as jarring as her bright emerald eyes, framed in thick kohl and lengthy, voluminous lashes. She had the countenance of a bored employee, but beneath her jaded aura, she exudes an intuitive omniscience as if she is aware of everything and everyone. In her hands, a chain of keys, long, chipped black nails fiddling with gold, silver, and rusted copper. She swings the chain in threes before stopping to thumb through all of them like a piano. Two large dobermans sit on either side of the door as Cassandra walks in, lifting their heads to pass judgment on the late-night patron. She flashes a soft smile at them and meanders into the stacks of various trinkets, goods, and food. Magic prickles Cassandra’s skin, and she knows that she cannot simply grab whatever she wants. The items here come with costs and a severe list of consequences. She finds the aisle of sweets and gingerly passes her fingers over the different candies and treats shoved into metal shelves. Her eyes land on a chocolate bar wrapped in black foil, and her hand begins to wrap around it before the woman behind the counter clears her throat.

“That’s not what you need. Try the Valeriana Bites. They’re cookie dough balls dipped in dark chocolate. Great for headaches, sleep disorders, and anxiety. Tastes just like raw cookie dough.” Cassandra freezes in place and pulls her hand back slowly.

How did she know what I needed?

“I can tell what everyone who comes in here needs, babes, and I can smell the insomnia on you,” she sniffs the air. “Musk, black cherries, and rotting roses. It’s very distinct. I’d be careful, though; the Valeriana Bites can be a bit strong,” says the cashier so casually that it’s eerie. But she can’t help but believe the young woman and her honeyed voice. She finds the Valeriana Bites sitting two rows above the chocolate bar, nestled between Fun Size Mint Chocos and Elfwort Lozenges.

“You could probably get away with some Sour Patch Chamaie-Melons too,” her voice appears right behind her as she reaches below for a bag of the sour candies. Cassandra can’t help but jump a little at her sudden presence and whirls her head around. She looks different now. The young woman from before is now slightly older, teetering towards her early forties. Fine crow’s feet and smoky brown eye shadow have replaced the kohl eyeliner, and her plaits have come loose into long, wavy locks. She stands only a few inches from her, and at this distance, Cassandra can see swirling rings of gold around her irises. She holds the candy in front of her, and Cassandra tentatively takes them into her hand.

“Really, you should let me help. I’m quite well-versed in my wares, and what others may be seeking.” Cassandra feels a shiver down her spine from the overpowering foresight once more and nods, signaling her acquiescence. The woman, whom she can only assume is the owner, Hekate herself, grins widely and takes her hand gently, leading her towards the section of drinks and draughts. She strokes her chin with her empty hand and hums in thought as she studies the drinks in front of her, picking one up every few seconds to read the label, before putting it back, until she hands one labeled ‘Ginger-Poppy Syrup’ and then again, when she finds ‘Asclepieia Ambrosya’.

“There! That should do the trick,” she exclaims proudly. “If you’re interested, I have some charmed earplugs that play string jazz or consecrated bubble bath soaps that aid in nightmare relief,” Hekate says, her eyes gazing at her knowingly. Cassandra, stunned, doesn’t respond for a few heartbeats.

“A bubble bath sounds nice, I guess.”

“Wonderful! Go ahead and set your stuff on the counter; I have to fetch the soaps from my back stock, and I will meet you there.” She walks away, disappearing into the back of the store, while Cassandra moves towards the register. Before long, the woman returns, this time much more aged; light crow’s feet have evolved into various wrinkles lining her face, her hair more frizzy and shaggy, even her gait now hobbled and slow. She sits back onto the stool behind the counter and sets down a bottle of soap labeled ‘Sacred Spring Purifying Bubbles’ next to the candies and drinks.

“Well, I am glad we were able to gather some remedies for your ailments, my dear,” Hekate states, an ancient cadence in her voice. As she scans the plethora of items, Cassandra stares in wonder at the ever-changing woman before her.

“That’ll be 3,067 drachmas - sorry, 10 dollars and 50 cents. Old habits die hard, as you young ones say.”

“Um. Ok…” She fishes a 10-dollar bill from a ragged wallet and musters a quarter and 5 nickels for her.

“Thank you so much, deary. I hope you get some much-needed rest. The visions should abate for a short while, but I recommend returning when your supplies run low. I can concoct a longer-lasting elixir for you next time, with a little time to prepare.” Despite the bizarre nature of the entire interaction, Cassandra believes her, that her nightmares will be soothed for the next few nights, and that sleep may be easier to achieve than before. She gathers her purchase and walks out the door, the dobermans almost nodding their heads at her as the sounds of tinkling bells and clacking keys echo behind her. Turning around to look back inside from the street, the younger woman stares back at her suggestively, and she can only conclude that Hekate Bodega has acquired a new regular visitor.