Broomsticks
There wasn't a lady in my graduating class who skipped out on Broomsticks. Nobody ever forgot the little ones who came off the street, hunched over as if trying to erase themselves from the world, and you were the only light in the middle of a deep, dark, tumbling sea.
Claire Belfast, Mistress Witch, Estelle's House of Magic
Broomsticks coexisted with a tiny Pagan shop off a quiet stop of Chicago's Red Line. For most visitors the space contained bog-standard occult supplies: ritual books, incense, candles, even a shop cat named Lily who made friends with every new patron in the store. But if the stars were smiling on you, and you were tuned into the woven fabrics of magic that pulsed just out of sight, you'd find yourself at the premier magick shop of Chicago, where the needy could find the services of an actual, real-life Witch for a decent price. For some, magic existed only in the realm of fantasy and fiction, a comforting illusion to indulge in during childhood or a curiosity to be dismissed by skeptics. For others, it was a quiet, unseen thread that connected them to something greater, something just beyond the grasp of ordinary senses. The line between reality and belief was thin, and for those like Aria, it wasn't a question of faith—it was simply a matter of knowing. For Aria, on the other hand, this was just a work study gig for college. Salma offered constant shifts that respected her class schedule, with plenty of time to study for her Colonial-era Magic class, and on occasion she'd get to tweak the hell out of a bewildered stoner that stumbled through the veil to find themselves lost in a world beyond their own reality. Win-win for everyone, really.
But when the teen walked into the store; wearing a thrift-store androgynous top, hoodie, girl jeans, and a conveniently-not-quite-a-purse shoulder bag; Aria definitely took notice. It was in the way they shuffled through the store, head tilted to ratty rugs that covered distressed wood floors and dust-covered poultices on the bottommost shelves. It was in the way their arms crossed tight over the body, the way they jumped when floorboards creaked under their feet, the way they hugged the walls when they walked. Always on edge, ready to bolt at the slightest hint of disapproval. They ran their fingers over racks of potions and scrolls that promised good luck, beauty, treasure from trash, and all of them may as well have been pearls before swine, for all the teen cared.
Aria's eyes lit up as the kid moved toward the counter. Six weeks of work at Broomsticks, mostly spent watching dust collect in the corners, was about to pay off. She closed her textbook with an audible snap that echoed off the hardwood walls. She beamed as the kid jumped and yelped at the sound.
"Welcome to Broomsticks! We have all the answers you seek, child. Just relax and let me get to work - don't worry about a thing!"
The teen jumped, looked to the door. "I'm sorry," they said, voice trembling. "I was looking for a different shop. I'll go."
Aria shook her head. "You found what you needed, child. Sit tight." She reached under the counter, rustled through her bag, and produced a tiny wooden keychain charm in the shape of a Witch hat. Two taps on the brim and a black, leather pointed hat erupted from the keychain. She took a moment to fit it on her head before she continued to look the kid down.
"Now, child. Let me have a look--oh! You look like someone who wants to disappear. No surprise, given that you found this place."
The teen shrugged the hoodie higher up on their shoulders. Aria swept a lock of brown hair under her hat, walked out from behind the old, ornate wooden shop counter, all smiles, and reached out her hands. She thought, briefly, about what her parents would have made of all this: their darling boy in a jet black shift dress and Witch hat talking to a kid lost in their own gender so that they could be set on the right path. They'd have screamed and moaned, probably. Maybe even called on the local churches to protest.
Good thing she cut contact two years ago, in any case.
"My name's Aria. What's yours?"
"Charlie." It came out in a whisper. The kid couldn't have been older than fifteen, but the weariness in their hazel eyes suggested an old soul with too much to think about.
"Don't worry. Nobody's going to hurt you here. Come over to the table and have a seat."
"You don't know that," Charlie said. Their body tensed, eyes focused on the door.
"I do, actually. I'll prove it."
Aria walked to the door. Outside, two women in yoga pants and sipping on bubble tea pointed to things through the storefront window. They laughed to a joke only they could hear and Charlie shrank away from their glare.
Charlie's pulse quickened as they glanced between Aria and the door, nerves twisting in their gut. Was this a trap? Had they misjudged this place? Then, before Charlie could get any more freaked out, Aria started banging on the door. She screamed: "Hey, yuppie scum! There's two people in here about to talk about gender feels!"
The ladies sipped their tea and walked on, oblivious. Aria walked back toward the table as Charlie stared, jaw agape. "Relax! Most people see a little Pagan store here when they walk past. Nice folks, all told, and their cat is the sweetest thing. You get to Broomsticks for two reasons: one, you're so altered on drugs or alcohol that you forget how to stay in the bounds of reality; or two, you're one of Estelle's Children."
"Estelle's Children?"
Aria shrugged. "In tune with magic, I mean."
Charlie shook their head. "So this store is the real deal."
"Magic as heck," Aria said with a smile. She slid out two chairs from a low-slung wooden table at the rear of the shop. The walls flanked her with the accouterments of Witches of old: broomsticks, wands, fungi, the occasional brown bottle of something strange; and to really send the message home Aria willed the lights to dim, candles to light. "Real Magic. Real Witches. Charlie, come have a seat."
Charlie marched over to the table and took a seat - they always did, once she started doing magic in front of them. She took a seat on the chair closest to the wall and produced a small cosmetic mirror from a drawer behind the counter.
"I thought magic wasn't real," Charlie said.
"I get that a lot," Aria said with a chuckle. She pushed the mirror toward Charlie; they diverted their eyes the second their face came into view. "You look like you're on the verge of a gender meltdown, if I can be so bold."
"How did you know?"
"I've worn that look," Aria said, shrugging. "Pretty shirt hiding under a big, baggy hoodie; jeans that you can excuse as 'they look better on me than boy jeans.' Shaggy hair that just so happens to look good under that girly headband. Someone told you that you shouldn't dress femme. Maybe they ridiculed you. Maybe they punished you. But you can't face it straight on - not out here, where the public can see you! If I was a betting woman I'd say that bag on your shoulder has the dress that made you realize you aren't who you thought you were. Something... hmm. Something practical. A sundress, probably. Down-to-earth enough that you feel less like a drag queen and more like the girl next door. Something that made you believe you could actually be a girl."
Charlie pressed the bag closer to their body and blushed.
"And that one's not magic, dear. That's just years of experience talking. I know that look. I know what you need."
They slipped the shoulder bag onto the back of a chair and slinked deeper into their seat. "You're not a cop, I'm guessing."
"Runaway?"
Charlie nodded. Aria nodded and waved a finger in the air. A clamor started in the back room of Broomsticks as a sentient pair of oven mitts went about brewing tea and making sandwiches. Her guest jumped at the noise, but Aria calmed Charlie with a wink. "Snacks," she said, smiling. "I figured you may be hungry."
"I... uh." Charlie's face flushed. "Thanks. None of this is going to turn me into, like, a frog or anything, right?"
Aria shrugged. "Only if you want it to."
"I came here on Amtrak," she continued. "I told a friend I wanted to be a girl and, well, it got back to Mom. She was furious. Wanted to send me to a camp to 'make me better.' I didn't know what to do so I just headed to Boystown. Figured it'd be the safest place for a weirdo like me, you know?"
"A lot of kids believe that." It was a story common in the community; some downstater kid realizes they'll never fit in with their hometown, and they are left with limited options. Suicide, the closet, or start over in the one place every queer kid in Illinois knows accepts people like them. "It's amazing how pain makes you make crazy decisions like that."
Charlie nodded. "There weren't any beds at The Crib. I figured I'd hang out in the common room until they kicked me out but then this older lady told me to come here. Said I'd know when to get off the train and where to find the place, and... and I did."
Aria smiled. "Estelle is a peach."
Charlie's eyes widened. "So... so she's like you?"
"Like us, Charlie. Grew up hiding our dresses in the deepest parts of our closet. All that separates us is time in transition."
"But aren't you a Witch?"
Aria winked at them. "It's just time in transition, Charlie. Are you okay with Charlie? And is it okay if I use they/them for you?"
Charlie nodded so hard that their hair flopped in front of their eyes.
"Charlie is a nice name," Aria said. "And it's okay not to know who you are from time to time."
It was at that point the oven gloves flew from the back of the room. Between them, a tea tray filled with finger sandwiches and a fresh pot of hot tea. To her credit Charlie didn't make much noise about the magical kitchen crew past thanking the gloves before they flew back to clean up.
Charlie fell into the food. Aria took the opportunity to pull out the mirror and face it in their direction. When the teen looked up they were faced with their own reflection, and the sight sent them ducking under the table.
Aria gave them time to recover before tapping on the mirror's frame and pushing it closer. "When you look in this mirror, what do you see?"
"Myself."
"Who is that?"
They stuffed another bite of sandwich in their mouth and talked around it. "I see a failure of a boy. I'm... I'm not sure what I am, really. Big chin, Adam's apple the size of a small nectarine, bushy eyebrows. But it's like... like the person in that mirror isn't me?"
Aria produced a small vial from her pocket. "Drink this and try again."
Their eyes went wide. "Is this a magic potion?"
Aria shrugged. "This mirror shows anyone who gazes upon it their truest self. The potion helps facilitate that. So go on: drink, and look again."
Charlie gulped down the vial without hesitation, a strange warmth spreading from their chest to their fingertips, like sunlight breaking through a storm. They stared into the mirror like a person possessed. Second by second their face began to light up with intense, unbridled joy. Then laughter came: first as a chuckle, then a giggle, until they were howling with joyous, hand-on-forehead, disbelieving laughter.
They picked up the mirror to get a better look at themself. "I see a beautiful person. I'm wearing this darling red sundress and my hair is up in a high ponytail. I'm not sure if I'm a boy or a girl, but it almost doesn't matter. It's just... just me there.
"Dear god, this is the first time I've seen myself. Ever." They put down the mirror and looked Aria with wide eyes. "What in the heck was in that potion?"
Aria let the question hang on the air for a while. Charlie leaned in, eyes growing wider. They'd been poisoned! Cursed! This was how it all ended, right here in this dingy shop, and nobody would know how their life had ended--
Then, before Charlie could work into a full panic, Aria let out a laugh. "Relax! It's sugar water, dear. Nothing changed. You weren't letting yourself see what was actually in the mirror. And it's... this won't be an overnight thing, okay? It's like watching a car crash in reverse and in slow motion at the same time. But I think I can help you."
"But what if my parents find me?"
"They may," Aria said, shrugging. "If you have a phone they bought then they may have already started tracking your movements. Police help, sometimes. And you don't deserve to feel unsafe at home, either; you deserve to feel respected, safe, and loved.
"Listen. If I were you - and I'm not you - I'd figure out some way to make it work at home. Hide in the closet for a few more years. Make a plan. Take a summer job and save up cash. The second you turn eighteen you give 'em the finger and sign up for classes at Salma."
"Salma?"
"Witching school," Aria said. Then she reached for Charlie's forehead, pressed a thumb between her eyes, and pushed through the veil that covered their eyes. It parted and the pair were floating past reality, galaxies swirling past them like grains of sand in an ocean, and as they floated a long, unbroken tapestry of glowing blue light rose up to embrace them both. Charlie was there, red sundress and high ponytail and all, and her body swirled with magical energy that swirled between fingertips, pulsed with each heartbeat.
"I'm a Witch."
"Welcome to the Sisterhood," Aria said, and then released her thumb from Charlie's forehead. As quickly as it began, it ended; their bodies released from the Loom below like stones from a slingshot. Galaxies flew past them beyond the speed of light; Broomsticks rebuilt itself around them one piece of wood at a time; and in the middle of it all Charlie found themselves unwinding back into their real-world body, hoodie and all.
Charlie sat at the table, arms outstretched to keep their balance, dazed. Charlie sat still for a moment, their breath uneven as they processed everything. The enormity of it all—the magic, the mirror, the realization—settled in their chest like a slow-burning ember. Aria gave them space, then pushed away, walked to the counter, and produced a small bag decorated with white, pink, and blue ribbons. She placed it on the table in front of Cassie and began pulling out trinkets: a wooden keychain hat, a "so you're trans" brochure, resources for therapy, a twenty-ounce bottle of pink potion, and a leather-bound spellbook entitled "Fundamentals of Magic."
"I can't take you any further, Charlie. We may want to help but harboring runaways is still against the law. But this will help. Read the books. Take a teaspoon of the potion each day. If you run out you can make more - the spell is in your book and only uses pantry staples. And if your parents ever take this away from you, well, I'll make sure there are copies of everything in your Citadel."
"My Citadel?"
"Your little plot of land outside of reality," Aria said. She stood from the table and offered a hand to Charlie. Together they walked to the back of the store, where a single glowing door stood out against dust-covered boxes in a storage closet. "You can always escape there if you close your eyes and imagine the door in your mind.
"We'll be neighbors there; feel free to knock on the big, rainbow door after you settle in; I'll be there and ready to help. I love doing makeovers, too, if that's something that interests you."
Aria didn't need an answer for that; Charlie's beaming smile spoke volumes.
"And again, you're probably going to get found. Child Protective Services might get involved. But this Citadel, these tools, this gift… they should help you fight back. And the second you get your feet, and your eighteenth birthday comes around, well, you run to us."
"I don't know what to say,"
Aria put a finger to Charlie's lips. "Eighteenth birthday, Charlie. Calculate the number and burn it into your heart. Remember your truth. Retreat to your Citadel when you need to. I'll always be right next door when you arrive, ready to talk. But for now, you plan is to survive. Understand me?"
They nodded. Aria pointed them toward the door and they walked to it. Their hand was on the handle when they turned back to ask one last question.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Lady Estelle, dear. Same lady who talked to you at The Crib tonight did that for me five years ago. She's done that for most everyone I know at Salma. Soon, when you find your feet in this world, you'll do the same thing.
"There is no 'why' to any of this, dear. Only 'must.' Nobody else is gonna save people like us. It has to be us, the people who grew up with dresses hidden in their closet, watching each other's backs."
Aria cracked the door, her heart swelling with quiet pride as she watched Charlie stand taller than before, the weight of uncertainty lifting from their shoulders. Dim candlelight bled into Broomsticks as she stepped through to a brand new world where magic was real and nothing could be taken for granted. I waved to them, all smiles, as the weight of their past lifted from their shoulders. All the doubt, the fear, the sensation of being wrong for this world: gone the instant she laid eyes on her true self. Broomsticks may not be good for much but Aria could at least offer the family motto as Charlie saw themself - truly, completely saw themself - for the first time.
"The cryin's over, child. Welcome to the Sisterhood. Pass it on."
"I will."
And with that, Charlie opened the door on her new life.