Genevieve gently blew the dust off the little black book that lay on the shelf of the old bookstore on Rue d'Orchampt, one of the narrowest streets in Paris. She had spent years and the entirety of the $20,000 grant she had received from the University of Cambridge for her Archeology research in her quest for these fragile, weathered pages. This estranged book once belonged to her great-grandmother—the infamous witch of Giverny, a small village on the border of Normandy. She was a famous Jewess in folklore who had been trained in transmutational magic and astral travelling by the Elders of Enoch that had lived in the village for centuries.
During the time of World War II, the Third Reich was enthralled when they heard of her great-grandmother’s powers and raided her small riverside cottage looking for her journal which was said to contain the secrets to immortality and alchemical spells that could transmute anything into gold. However, all they found was a boiling cast-iron pot of potatoes over a smoldering fire and a small child crying in a wicker bassinet, Genevieve’s grandfather. They rampaged the cottage and took the child, raising him as a member of the Third Reich and hiding his identity, hoping that one day his mother would come looking for him so that they could get their hands on the spell book that had been in their family for generations. It didn’t take long for them to realize that Genevieve’s grandfather was magically endowed with psychokinetic powers, which the Third Reich quickly took advantages of. By the time he was 15, he was able to foretell the Allied forces’ airstrikes and where Jewish citizens were hidden by countryfolk in the quaint German villages—he was their most dangerous weapon. It wasn’t until Genevieve became older that she began having dreams of their true origin which led to her obsession with finding the magical journal.
Genevieve opened the book and discovered that it was full of marvelous sigils and spells written in a script more ancient than Sumerian cuneiform.
“So, is it the book you’ve been looking for?”, the bookshop boy with raven hair and azure eyes asked.
“It’s even more than that,” Genevieve replied, “I’m not sure that I’m ready to decipher what I have been seeking for years.”
“That’s where you find magic,” he stated.
“What did you say?”, she seemed puzzled. How did he know what the book contained?
“When we feel least prepared for what we’ve been wanting, and it finally manifests before our eyes, that’s when the magic takes over the mundanity of our lives.” He seemed other-worldly, his eyes shone like sapphires.
“What is your name?” She asked with excitement.
“Follow me.” He motioned to her as he pulled a purple, tattered velvet curtain in the back of the bookshop. There was no hesitancy in her urge to follow the utter stranger into the darkness beyond the curtain.
The passageway became narrower and narrower and the only light that led the way was the flickering of a lone wall mounted oil lamp at the end of the corridor.
He opened a small wooden door and Genevieve beheld a massive room with a large domed painted ceiling beyond the doorway, akin to the Library of Alexandria. Thousands of rolled-up scrolls lined the walls that were close to ten stories high framed by ornate coiling stairwells and ladders all about.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Genevieve,” said the mysterious boy.
“What is this place?” she asked in wonder, “Are we still on Rue d'Orchampt?”
The silhouette of a beautiful woman with long, flowing auburn hair began making her way toward Genevieve.
“Welcome to the Guild of the Magi, Genevieve. We’ve been waiting for you to rejoin us.” She warmly smiled and placed her right hand on Genevieve’s shoulder.
“Rejoin us?”, Genevieve asked in awe.
“Yes, in time, it will all come back to you—and you will once again understand the book and all of its secrets. I will help you regain your knowledge, as I always have. You may now know me as ‘The Witch of Giverny’, but soon you will remember who I truly am.”