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I really like that.
I’m glad he likes it too.
“Do hurry back,” Odai says when he releases me. “Time not spent fulfilling your wishes, leaves me hungrier for more of you.”
That is such a “well, mark me down as scared and horny” sort of thing to hear that I almost wish for a quickie. But nope! We are downstairs in full view of the windows, and there are things to do. “Since The Magic Shop spooks you so much, maybe I’ll ask while I’m there if The Owner wants to do any joint ventures with Madame Mattie’s.”
“You can try,” Odai says.
He seems so wary again, so cryptic, that I open my mouth, fully ready to ask what the deal is with that place and why he won’t go inside, but since he’s not trying to stop me from going, I figure I maybe don’t want to know.
If an incubus can exist, who knows what else is out there?
The line for Sage is almost out the door this morning, and I sip contentedly from my conjured cup as I make my way across the street. The Magic Shop, as I said, is down the alley behind Cold Stone. I always figured the somewhat hidden location was to add to the ambiance of it being mystical and eerie. It’s otherwise never seemed odd to me.
The red sign is in script like an old fortune teller’s shop, and inside, the smell of old books like ancient library stacks hits me, mixed with incense. I like it here, the smell and feel of the place. It seems larger on the inside, with taller ceilings too. Like, I would swear the building does not go this high, but along the walls, filled with books, are those roller ladders like Belle swung on in Beauty and the Beast.
Despite the high ceilings, it feels cozy, with dimmer lighting, lots of browns and blacks and darker colors, and the aisles in each section are almost too narrow for more than one person at a time. There are several sections besides being a bookstore, including one for crystals, like I lied to Mr. B about for getting the amulet, which is warm as always where it rests beneath my hoodie.
I think the card I found might be from a Tarot deck, so I head toward that section, an area for divination. If I find a matching deck, do I want to buy it? Do I just want to know if it was Mattie’s? I’m not sure, but I start to peruse through the many oracle decks in stock. The traditional Rider Waite, some art deco looking decks, mythology-based ones, even one with only men depicted on any of the cards and a night sky background, but none of them match Mattie’s card.
“May I help you, young one?”
I jump, because I am in the middle of a row, but The Owner is suddenly right next to me. I did not see him head toward me at all. It’s early, and down this aisle, it’s just us, and it could be just us in the entire shop.
I’ve met him before, several times. He sort of dresses like a ring master, or a classic magician, I guess, top hat included. Since he’s mostly in all black, and his hair is black too, it makes his eyes look just as dark, like he doesn’t have pupils. In the past, I attributed his strangeness to eccentricity, a performance like how I pretend to be Mattie, but given Odai’s reaction to this place, I’m left wondering if there is a forked tongue in The Owner’s mouth too.
“Um… I, uh…”
“You are interested in an oracle deck?”
“Maybe? I found this card.” I take it out of my pocket to show it to him. “I was checking if you had a deck that matched it.”
“I see.” He takes it from me using both hands, like it is something weightier than it is or precious. “The High Priestess personified as Persephone has always been a favorite depiction of mine. This is from a very old deck and one of a kind.”
“It’s in such good condition.”
“It is.”
“I guess because it was caught in a tight space without much chance for dust or other degradation to reach it. I found it—”
“At Mad Madame Mattie’s, I presume?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Because you work there, young one. It is not a difficult deduction.”
I relax a little. Just because he’s weird doesn’t mean he’s the reason Odai is afraid of this place. Maybe there’s something in the store that has more power than even The Owner would understand.
He looks at me, and his mouth gives a little twitch, like he heard me think that.
Focus, Jeffrey.
“So, um, I guess I don’t know what I want. Maybe… if you know anything about that card or the deck it came from?”
“I do. Mattie had it commissioned by a local artist. If you look closely in the light, you can see that it is hand-painted.” He turns the front of the card to face me and tilts it.
I can’t tell actually, it’s too perfect, maybe only betraying the barest unevenness of a brush stroke.
