"A witch!" Chicky, consummate professional, lit up with the word, eyes bright with questions. "You mean like a bruja?" Papa Leo was a brujo, though Chicky had never seen him do any actual magic, much to her disappointment. But she saw people disappear into his consult room, hand-wringing, tight-mouthed, and come out smiling or dabbing away tears, a waft of incense and Malaguenãs following in their wake, and there had to be something in that.
The woman was still eyeing her expectantly, and Chicky remembered herself with a jolt. "Candles, sorry, yeah! The plain ones are right this way—" She slipped into the aisle, managing by some small miracle neither to jostle the customer in front of her nor the oversized statue of Saint Michael behind her, leading the way further along to a set of shelves neatly arranged with candles in bold, solid colours. "There's seven-day and fourteen-day candles for rituals and altar candles as well. The incense is the next aisle over, we got sticks, cones, powders, resins, you name it."