Clothed in our grief

Chapter Fifty Nine

"The Bookstore has a magic shop?! We should go get our palms read!"
"Maps, please be a little quieter. And it's not a 'Magic store', it's just an extended section of the bookstore."

When Maps had got here, the first thing she saw before even allowing you to ask some things? The bright neon sign that hangs on the door through the glass window that reads "Madame Xanadu's Mysterious Wonders". Grabbing both Damian and yourself by the hand, and again pulling you inside the building that you had just left upon feeling the need to earlier. Part of that was to get Damian alone, but it was more action over brain thinking when you did that.

Being pulled in the bookstore, going from the streets cars and horns albeit quiet during this time of the day, from the cold outdoors. Inside where the warmth is like a blanket. The scent of old books and coffee, and a very faint sound of some acoustic guitar playing over one of the speakers from the cafe. There used to be a jukebox in there, volume always lowered of course. but it was removed after someone played 'Toxic' by Britney Spears eleven times in a row. You have reason to believe it was Tim, when you accidentally gave him decaf instead by mistake.

"Maps-! Slow down, you're going to break something." You exclaimed through a hushed tone, looking over to Damian who had his wrist being gripped just as tight as yours. Visibly uncomfortable, he turned over to share the same expression. Mostly confused, but knowing because after all, this is Maps.

"Possibly my wrist." Damian mutters, stopping in his tracks the moment Maps reaches the tapestry that separates the main Bookstore from Xanadue's small space in the shop. There used to be a door here, but ever since the incident way back when? She's been keeping a purple and magenta tapestry with intricate designs of some female deity that you can't exactly name. Not that you're an expert in any of this stuff, it's just lately you've been reading a lot of books and trying to figure out what that manuscript was about. No such luck, aside from expanding on your Latin just the smallest bit. Even then it's not such a big deal, when it's something anybody can do just by picking up one of the books you read. Some of it's just too confusing for you to even comprehend.

But then it just makes you think about all the things you heard your mother say over the phone that night. Questions like, who is Jason Blood? Who is Johanna Constantine? What is the house of Magic? For all you know, your answers really could be in this room.

The lights are extremely dim, a candle or two are lit. Safely, away from flammable things. considering your mother owns the building, you took a double glance at the flames just for safety measures. As the three of you walked through the pulled away tapestry, a couple chimes gently went off just loud enough for the woman who rents this side of the buildings attention.

Madame Xanadu in all her glory, thick black hair tied off behind her head, loosely having strands hang across over her shoulders. A burgundy ankle length dress with the collar that reaches below her collarbones, a black overlayer of what seemed to mimic a corset and a choker with a dangling pendant that reaches the crevice between her collarbones. She's wearing the usual bronze earrings that make you wonder how heavy they are, and the hair piece that extends to her forehead, letting a couple amethyst beads extend to her hairline, and one in the dead center of her forehead.

"Holy cow." Maps mumbles quietly, inhaling the scent of sage that runs over her sense along with several other herbs in the room. But it's mostly an overwhelming current of sage through the air that leads back to a small metal bowl next to an open window, with a burning smudge stick of white sage.