Bell, Book And Candle... (Part One)

Serena had a small flat in a fairly non-descript, boxy building of an early 40's vintage that was desperately trying to revive the glory days of Art Deco when glamour ruled the feverish little imaginations of all the best and brightest artistic minds the world had to offer. Sadly, its architect failed miserably with his intent of celebrating that era's achievements.

It sat atop one of those impossibly steep hills that blighted the city for those who were unaccustomed to scaling such heights on their daily walkabouts, but the building's seeming inaccessibility and resistance to gravity's pull as it clung tenaciously to its precarious perch is what made it appeal to Serena all the more. Its remote dead end street location not only gave her the feeling she was the only person on the planet, a feeling she relished, but also afforded her one of the most glorious views imaginable outside of Zeus' vista of the world from Mount Olympus.

Here she felt powerful, inviolable... and most importantly, galaxies away from the prying eyes of those whom might otherwise feel compelled  to interrupt the serenity of her inner sanctum with their notions of what most in her society would deem as unreasonable and uncivilized behavior for a charming woman seemingly full of joie de vivre.

They would not be able to understand how her work required her to remove herself from the din of humanity in order to become immersed in a cache of consciousness privy only to the select few born to the vocation.

Over the entrance to her front doorway was an ebony plaque, an heirloom, in which large gilted letters were rather elaborately carved into the antique wood with a calligraphic flourish. The words were written in Euskara, the official name and language of her mountain ancestors from deep in the Pyrenees.  It was her talisman, her touchstone and served as both a conversation piece and a true warning for the few who were "rewarded" with her hospitality.

When pressed for both the meaning of those words by those who were less than astute and the provenance of the unusual piece, Serena would feign ignorance and then embarrassment, waiting to be coaxed into the telling.

Like a frisky kitten with it's trapped prey, she would toy with her victims before enjoying her morsel of meat. She always did like playing with her food before consuming it, but eventually she would reveal the meaning...
Abandon hope all ye who enter here -

By then, of course, it was too late for her guests to leave.

"Dear Dante", she would say cryptically, "never did learn to keep his goddamn mouth shut..."