Magic (or trouble) is in the Air

This story was written for What Pegman Saw, a delightful writing practice started by K. Rawson where the writer has 150 words to write a story from beginning to end. Thanks, K!

 

Raised Catholic, Angela could barely believe she was wandering the aisles of Sonora Market looking for – what?
Voodoo magic? Mysticism? She wasn’t sure.
At last, she found the table of colorful plastic figurines she’d been searching for all morning.
“Santisima Muerte will always be there for you.” Grandma Sophia had said these words hundreds of times.
“Black Muerte for cursing rituals. White Muerte for spiritual cleansing. Red for love. In times of trouble, go to the Santisima.”
Of course, Grandma was a bit of a kook. The entire village knew that. On the other hand, Angela needed help. No matter which Muerte granted it. Black? White? Red? Who cared. Shrugging one shoulder, Angela scooped one of each on top of the magic soap, holy water spray and dried skunk bunched together at the bottom of her bag.
Tonight Roberto would either fall in love with her, or he would die.

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