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“Leave those, dear. Nole and I can put them back,” she tells me, making me smile. She may no longer be undercover, posing as an OAP, but old habits die hard and the term of endearment still slips out, aging her slightly. I thank her quickly for her help, before racing out of the library, eager to start concocting herbal hangover cures. I know just the thing!
***
The shop is blissfully quiet after my hectic morning, and I relish the balance between the two. If it was this dead all day, I’d be climbing the walls by now. I’m itching to get going with making the remedies, but I force myself to spend an hour pottering and doing random jobs. There’s a strange atmosphere in here, so I start by cleansing the space with an aromatherapy and crystal water blend, which I keep in a small spray bottle. I’m not mad keen on the smell of sage, and I know it upsets the breathing patterns of some of my clients, so I tend not to use it. Incense can be overpowering too, so I prefer to smudge with palo santo wood. Today though, I was drawn to Willow’s spray. The woman is a blending wizard! I love every scent combo she makes, and I’m forever sending my clients over to her shop when they ask what the lovely smell is. I let the soothing scent settle around the room while I use my tingsha bells to cleanse the huge variety of crystals that I sell too.
Done, I move on to check stock levels of my herbs and list the crystals I need to order. Unsurprisingly, garnet has been a really popular option in town, but the way I’m seeing love matches get made, I’m thinking people really don’t need it! I’m considering dropping the white howlite and shiva lingams from my stock list; the last thing I want is to be blamed for a Silver Springs baby boom!
Obviously, while I’m ordering, I also get distracted by some super cute diaries that sold out the last time I purchased them. I decide on impulse to throw in a new range of candles based on the chakras too. I have a rainbow obsession. Oh, and I add some birthstone vials and jars too. I have plans for those, I just don’t know what they are yet. I go with my gut; it’s telling me someone will be needing them soon. I just hope that several people end up needing them, because they’re pretty pricey.
Happy to have got some jobs done, I move over to the counter to begin blending. I start by brewing some dandelion root tea with coconut water. Next, I use my quartz infused full moon water to make a simple sugar syrup, setting the intention to cure a hangover. I mix the two solutions together. Then, I add the juice of half a lime and six mint leaves, shaking everything together.
Working on instinct, I decide to add the tiniest drop of white rum, before straining the mixture through a muslin cloth to catch any impurities. Finally, I decant the liquid into a pretty glass bottle with an Amethyst tumble stone in the bottom.
Luckily, tonight is a new moon, so I place the concoction on the windowsill to have a moon bath and to brew. I’m excited to see how it turns out; I’m practically vibrating with excited energy as I clear up.
Something keeps drawing me back to the book in my tote, though. I keep sending surreptitious glances to my bag, eyeing it warily as if its contents might bite me. It’s no good...I sigh and give in. I’ll just read the damn book and see what all the fuss is about. Magnolia certainly spoke highly of it.
I take out the book and check out the cover for the umpteenth time. The first time I saw it, I swear I thought I saw the cover flash to a different image. Now, I can’t stop staring at it. It’s actually so bad, that I can’t believe it’s got a good story inside. I didn’t know people still made romance covers like this. The lavender color with purple flowers and a girl wearing flower underwear makes it look like something from the 90s. And no, not pretty lingerie with flowers on them, but actual panties made of flowers. Imagine the pollen. Imagine the bees. What if one of the guys has hay fever?
Speaking of guys, there’s four of them. One actually has a decent body, but it's ruined by two things: the skinny stem of flowers that too easily cover his tiny package, and the cock-eyed ‘O’ face he’s giving. The others aren’t much better: there’s a long haired 90s lothario sensually sniffing flowers, a scrawny pale geek with weird eyebrows, and a guy hidden in the background who looks quite hot, but is wearing tiny black speedos.
A definite no from me.
It’s not my normal genre, but I’ll give it a go. Once again, the cover tingles and warms under my palm, like there's a ton of magic coming from it..
I open up the first page and begin to read. I’m about three pages in when I get that telltale tingling at the back of my head, right where the top of my neck meets the base of my skull, that tells me I’m about to have a vision.
I place the book down carefully, grabbing a bookmark off the stand on the counter to mark my place. I take a deep breath, but before I can let it out darkness slams into me with the force of a truck, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I open my eyes and blink, and find that I’ve been transported to another time and place. Sometimes my visions happen like this, where I feel physically transported, and other times, I get a wash of colors and images, words and symbols, but I’m vaguely aware of my surroundings as it happens.
Right now, I’m standing in the middle of a beautiful forest. I know that I’ve been here before because I recognize the trees. I still can’t identify their type though. Something is different this time, however. It’s lighter. Dappled sunshine casts playful dancing shadows, creating a peaceful atmosphere. This place has never felt so good. The sun is warm, the breeze gentle. I feel calm, at peace, like I’m home.
A flash of something light-colored darting through the trees has my feet moving of their own accord, trying to follow it. It moves too fast for me, but I think I get glimpses of a tail of some kind. It seems playful. I feel like I’m spinning in circles trying to chase it, running around, only to find myself back exactly where I started, just more out of breath. I laugh, lighthearted and free.
Birdsong fills the air, and I’m fairly sure I can hear running water somewhere in the distance. I wander for a while in search of it, but it proves futile. I give up, a little disappointed not to find it. Since arriving here, it’s the first time I’ve felt something other than bubbly joy.
Why am I here? Why this vision?
I know it has nothing to do with any of my customers, or even someone I haven’t met yet because I always see their faces…so this must be one of the ‘dud’ visions that I get for myself. I can never figure them out, which is probably best, because it would be too easy to become fixated on trying to see my own future. That wouldn’t sit well with me at all.
I breathe deeply, and as I do, a strong, fresh scent washes over me. Why didn’t I notice the scent of the trees before now? Clean, lingering, resinous; slightly smoky with a sweet undertone. I love the soothing, yet refreshing ambience they create. I wish I could identify the trees; they stand tall and majestic—over a hundred feet—growing close together to form a domed canopy. The leaves appear to be long and oval in shape, growing in pairs along a stem with a single pointed leaf at the tip. They’d be ideal for fanning yourself to cool down, I think.
I take one final look around the forest, enjoying the scene before me. Then the tingling starts up again and I know that I only have moments to spare before I’m transported back to the shop. A final flash of pale fur catches the corner of my eye, but when I blink, everything goes dark once again.
Another blink and I’m back in the shop, staring at a collection of petrified wood crystals. Like clouds, I enjoy looking for faces and shapes within their unusual markings, and the one I’m staring at right now looks like a fox.
That was definitely my strangest self-prophecy, but also my favorite to date. I muse for a moment on what it might mean and then bend down to pick up the romance book that I dropped under the counter.
As I do, the cute, jovial little bell above my door chimes unexpectedly and I jump, banging my head on the underside of the desk.
“Ow! Fu—” I yell, just about managing to catch the swear word before it falls from my lips. I try really hard not to swear in front of customers, but there are a few who have become friends that I can be myself around. I glance up with a smile on my face, dropping the book back to the ground, ready to greet whoever is there…but the shop is empty.
That’s strange. Even for me.
I peer through the window, but the street is deserted too. It’s not a particularly windy day, so there’s no reason why the door would have blown open on its own, but then again, I’m used to spirits popping in unannounced. I call out a friendly “welcome” to thin air, just in case I have visitors who don’t want to make themselves known to me yet.
It makes me glad the shop is empty, otherwise I’d seem really crazy, talking to myself. Especially during tourist season when out-of-towners come in for a look around and to buy ‘quaint souvenirs’—their words, not mine. I guess the locals are a little more used to my quirky ways. By now they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid at me talking to myself.
I grab the book again, careful to mind my head this time, and settle back into my chair to continue reading. I may only be a couple of pages in, but I will admit the book is good. Better than I expected. Reading a little more while the jobs wait won’t hurt.
It’s much later when the bell chimes again, and I look up in time to see the door closing. Once again, there’s no-one in the shop. A shiver runs down my spine.
I put down the book, which I’ve really been getting into, and head over to check out the catch. Maybe tomorrow I’ll bring my toolkit in from home, to see if I can fix the door catch if it’s faulty.
Satisfied that it seems to be okay and that I won’t need to do any DIY (phew), I shrug and muse at the number of visitors in spirit who seem to want to stop by today. I feel guilty for neglecting the jobs while I got sucked into that damn book, so I reluctantly go back to pottering around the shop. I whip out a duster and wipe down the shelves, but it’s pretty half-assed.
Noting that I’ve managed to waste—I check my watch—twenty minutes working, I switch the door sign to ‘closed’ and flip the lock. I grab the book and head into my back room; the place where I give readings and client treatments. It has the couch, of course, but also a comfy chair that has my name on it for the rest of the afternoon. I know I could just go home early and read, but I’ve become so absorbed in the story, that I don’t want to wait to read the next bit.
I push past the curtain separating the two rooms and enter my haven. The walls are painted a sky blue, incense burns, and my favorite candle begs me to light it, which I do. I grab a drink from the small galley kitchen that’s behind the treatment room and get ready to settle in for another hour or two’s romance reading. Sounds like a perfect Tuesday to me.
