Rabbit Blood

Chapter 51 - From Bad To Worse

When Leslie reached F̶r̶a̶n̶k̶l̶i̶n̶ and Rosie's Emporium, the metal shutter on the shop exterior was halfway down, and she had to run and knock heavily on the entrance. Luckily, someone inside heard, and the shutter stopped moving, then reversed. Thank God! Leslie thought. That was a close one. She took out her handkerchief: the one she'd kept in a ziploc bag, in either her bra or the inside of her sock, since Hallowe'en night.

Here goes.

Though she entered with a heavier tread than usual, to give the store owner an idea of her whereabouts, the bell ringing over the doorway made Rosie look up regardless.

"Hi," Leslie said, "it's me. You sold me some shoes once."

"Ah yes," Rosie smiled. "Hello there! Sorry about the rolling door - the closer we get to the extermination, the earlier I like to close! And you needn't clomp, sweetpea. I can see your aura."

"Oh," said Leslie, unsure if this was a joke or not. "My aura?"

"Yes. It is orange and brown," said Rosie, beckoning her closer. "Who is manipulating you?" Leslie felt her fur stand on end, and Rosie sat at her desk chair, comfortable in the stunned silence. "I'm sorry to spook you, poppet," she said, "that's merely what the brown indicates. The orange is good. You're the creative sort, sociable when you have to be, and always chasing that something that makes your heart beat faster... even exchanges like this. But that's why you're here, isn't it? To discuss your power?"

"Uh, y-yes. Yes, I am."

"You have it, then?"

Leslie approached more slowly now, with caution. What if her aura advertised the nervousness she now felt? "Here you go," she said, taking out Alastor's handkerchief and sliding it across the desk.

"Thank you," Rosie said as she took it. She frowned. "What is this?"

"I put it in a bag, so you won't have to touch it."

"Put what in a bag?"

"It's his hankie. But, it's not clean. You probably don't want to... Actually, let me wash it. Give it here, I'll just wash it for you."

Rosie's puzzled frown began to clear. "DNA? His?"

"Afraid so. Please don't touch it."

"Ah! Even better. Thank you so much," said Rosie. Then, in a move both decisive and demure, she tucked the bag down the front of her dress. Leslie felt the tiniest bit of comfort, knowing that even destructive overlords were not above storing things in their bras. "It's genuine, of course," Rosie stated. "You know I could have you destroyed for the next seventy years if it wasn't."

"Oh, definitely!" Leslie said with false cheer. "Glad we're on the same page."

"Yes! That's the nice thing about Hell, isn't it? We ladies can cut straight through the grease," Rosie said, and took Leslie's hand. "Ah, you're a furry one."

"Yeah," Leslie huffed, "sadly. There's no way to change my body, is there?"

"Not in the way you'd like!" Rosie laughed. "Now then, your reading. One of my powers is seeing the worth or value in things. Very handy for a seller of antiques! Ah yes, you're easy. You keep it here in the muscle," she mused. "I can tell you're a physical person. Dancing. Moving to your lover's needs."

Leslie shivered. "Dancing," she admitted. "Sure. I teach."

"An outlet for negative emotions," Rosie declared, "and yet, you prefer the old routines. Down here, at least. Hell brings out the anxiety in you. Improvisation is dangerous: to bare your soul accidentally? Unthinkable."