A Scripta

Rosie snarled and slammed the mug back down on the bar again. "Men!" She looked up at Sam, the bartender. Sam merely smiled and drew her another beer. A woman quietly sidled up next to her and laid money on the bar. "I'll buy," she said.

"Whatever," Rosie replied angrily.

The woman chuckled. "Men, indeed," she replied. She sipped her own drink. "You can live without them, you know."

Rosie turned to the woman. She wore a black motorcycle jacket and had black hair with purple hilights. She wore tights with a pair of motorcycle boots. "Oh, let me guess," Rosie said haughtingly.

The woman laughed. "Of course, I make it obvious. Makes it a lot easier if people know where I'm coming from. My name is Shawn."

Rosie took the offered hand. "Rosie."

"Good to meet you. Care to talk about it?"

Rosie shrugged. "The usual. Guy says he loves me, gives me gifts, promises to marry me, then takes off." She stared at the mug. "Probably someone tiny, cute, pretty, and skinny."

"You're cute and pretty."

Rosie looked at her. "So I'm batting .500."

"Some people don't like skinny girls, either."

Rosie snorted. "I've heard that before."

"Would you like to be skinny?"

"Oh, no, that probably means I have to give up my soul."

"No, not really. There is a catch. No soul-loss required."

"Become a lesbian? Get raped?"

Shawn gave her an incredulous look. "No. It's a potion that one of my covenmates made, especially made for people just like you, who have been burned by their men." Shawn took a pull from her mug. "It's simple, really. You get to look as beautiful as you want, and all you need to do is hook a man and do to him what was done to you." Shawn smiled. "Ever mind the rule of three."

"What's that?"

"Whatever has been done to you will be returned to you thricefold. Very old Pagan law which, if we can choose to do it ourselves, we might as well, right? Why let the universe do it if we can make the universe bend to our will? That's what magic is, after all."

"Who says?"

"A bunch of old farts, dead now, but we like a few things they said. That's just a few. Interested?"

Rosie put the mug down. "I don't think so."

Shawn slipped a black business card under Rosie's hand anyway. "Just in case."

Rosie got up from the bar, leaving the card there. She turned her back on the woman and headed out the door, stumbling out of the elevator and almost tripping into the stairs. She straightened, didn't know how the hell she got home to her basement apartment. She fell face first onto her bed and fell asleep quickly.

The next morning she woke up, and after coming out of the bathroom, she looked at something lying on her bed, as if placed there by a gentle hand.

It was a black business card.