Chapter 11: None of Your Beeswax
Geillis Goodmoon stood in the candle aisle of the natural foods store, breathing in the sweet, honeyed scent of beeswax.
Every time she came across a display of candles – tapers, chunky pillars, those cute little tealights – she had to stop and sniff.
She did that with incense, too. There was just something so evocative about the heady fragrance of honey – and amber, sandalwood and myrrh. The lazy curl of smoke from a candle or joss sticks was so meditative. A witch could even tell things from how a flame flared or the smoke wafted.
Geillis closed her eyes. She pictured great halls and lofty cathedrals, their flagstone floors well-worn and aglow with the light of a thousand votives. Frankincense perfuming dark niches. Iron sconces making thick stone walls flicker.
Dragon’s blood and trade winds and the Silk Road.
Perfume of the ancients.
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“The Grimoire of Geillis Goodmoon” series & Geillis Goodmoon character © 2019 Valerie J. Barrett. All rights reserved.