Unlovable

Chapter Eight: Desks & Requests

The town of Oswego was incredibly small, even crater sized by some standards. It lay in a divot, surrounded by oak trees, firs, mountains and immaculately landscaped Victorian homes. Darcie parked her car at the end of Main St. and decided to experience the town on foot as to get a better appreciation for it.

Downtown Oswego ran no longer than a mile in both directions, but luckily had every kind of business imaginable on the strip. Whatever anyone might need, they could find. Lawyers. Doctors. Gift Shops. They even had a very convenient Family Dollar, which she had come to the conclusion was a more recent addition. She passed a few jewelry stores and paused to see the diamonds shimmering in the windows.

Darcie clutched her purse against her side, the Chicagoan in her reeling its head, as she passed the locals who all seemed to be interested in her presence. She supposed in small towns everyone knew everyone, and she was obviously not one of them.

She walked up to a small store front with the word "Antiques" written across the windows in gold, old fashioned script. She peaked through the windows briefly before opening the door and stepping inside.

The musty smell of aged books greeted her immediately and she inhaled deeply. It was a smell she had loved her whole life.

Darcie scanned the cluttered aisles, looking for furniture or art, anything really that could fill up the emptiness in her little cabin. She noticed the desk tucked away in the far right corner and felt a pull toward it.

She ran a hand appreciatively over the faded oak. There was no doubt that the desk had seen better days. A few small scratches were etched into the surface and there was a small chunk of wood taken out of the back. All in all, the desk had character and Darcie instantly adored it. She looked at the price tag and let out a low whistle. While she had $600 handy, it was a little much to spend on a single piece of furniture.

Darcie felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to greet a pair of smiling golden eyes.

*~*~*

Lily watched as the dark haired stranger entered her shop. She peaked over her thin framed glasses, knowing instantly who the girl was. Lily had dreamt about her almost every night since she knew she was coming. She knew her secrets, knew her real name, knew who she was running from and why.

Lily Reynolds had a gift, passed down to her through the generations. She was well known as the town psychic, although she refused to profit from it. This is why she sold antiques instead of fortunes. If Lily was using her abilities, it was to help someone, not to benefit from them.

Darcie held herself well, Lily observed. She was obviously comfortable hiding behind her thick sunglasses and her red paisley scarf. It didn't take an intuitive to realize it was something she did often.

Lily tried to read her a little deeper, but found herself surprised to come up against a thick mental block. She knew then that Darcie was more special then she had originally thought.

Now all Lily had to do was figure out why, and what that meant in regards to her Grandson.

"Bet yer wonderin' why something so damn old costs so much money," Lily said as Darcie inspected the desk more closely.

Darcie smiled and nodded.

"I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind," Darcie answered.

Lily smiled and leaned back against an old dresser.

"This ain't just an ordinary hunk of wood, Ms..?"

Of course Lily knew her name. She just figured it wouldn't be a good idea to let her know she knew. God forbid she frightened the poor girl away on her first day in town.