Soul Searching

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

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It's a relatively relaxed Sunday afternoon. In such a small, quaint town, it isn't abnormal for the religious to rest on the Holiest day of the week. It's a wonder I even keep the shop open on Sundays considering souls are far and few in between. Barely enough air enters through the squeaky door to keep me alive. But, as my poor excuse of a life keeps mocking back at me, I have no life and the shop is the only thing that really keeps me entertained in this sleepy town.

Like most Sundays in New England – especially in Massachusetts during the early fall –it's a sunny day. The sky is a pretty azure blue and there's an oddly sharp chill in the air. Not for the first time, I thank my lucky stars for my foresight to charm the foundation with a warmth spell. It does wonders during the winter and I don't have to invest in a wood stove or oil. Regardless of the lovely sky, the Protestants are resting and not even the golden leaves can convince them to meander through the cold to buy a few crystals or toadstools.

"Julius," I warn, glaring at the black cat perched on the counter.

He gives me a decidedly unimpressed look and swats the jar. I inhale sharply but I'm too far away to actually grab the glass before it hits the ground with bang. A poof of pink glittery powder explodes and I hiss through my teeth as the cat swings his head around with a satisfied gleam in his eye.

I point a menacing finger at him. "That was my last batch! You know how much I hate making it!"

Julius' tail flicks and I think I see a flicker of vindication in his purple gaze. I narrow my eyes at him and feel a zap of energy flick over my outstretched finger. There is a light fizz of purple that shoots towards Julius, nailing him in the head before he can dodge it.

He yowls angrily and I watch with satisfaction as his hair poofs outrageously, growing into a giant hairball that will hopefully take him hours to groom through. Approximately the same time it will take me to make a new batch of the love position that people jump hurdles to obtain. I don't question – I simply cater to the demands of capitalism.

"Eat that, you little shithead," I shout after him as he tears off the counter and angrily stalks away. I approach the broken glass, sighing at the particles still flying through the air currents. They stick to my skin, but it's easy to ignore the warm patches as they press into my flesh. I'm not looking for love and no potion will convince me otherwise. That's the thing about these gimmicky charms – they don't really work unless you convince yourself beyond doubt. Interestingly enough, it's the gentlemen that seek out the little pink concoction.

It doesn't take long to clean up. By the time I'm done, my hand is pleasantly buzzing. I dump the glass in recycling, sweeping the smaller shards in between the spaces in the floorboards, and take the fine powder into the back. It's safer to dispose where I know it won't mix with anything too dangerous.

I move behind the counter and through the open door. The kitchen is an open, sunlit space that I spend most of my time in. It is lined with dried herbs and interesting looking plants that aren't all from this astral place. A large oak table sits in the middle, big enough for a fully-grown man to sleep on.

And on that table is an irritated little cat that hissing at me. He pauses in licking his paw, teeth bared as I sidle up to the only closed door in the room. The gleaming silver locks catches the light and writhing symbols the size of rice flare at my approach. I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, watching as it melts up my wrist, wriggling into the shape of a bracelet. Distant, dark memories assault me of when this metal was much more dangerous than the simple lock it exists as now.

Julius growls and I throw a nasty look over my shoulder.

"Shut it," I snap. "I told you last night there was no more tuna!"