Cold Hands

Witch

I had never actually been to the shop before, but it kind of looked like a kitschy mess. The hand-painted sign over the black door read

THE SEEING EYE

PSYCHIC—PALMS—TAROT

There was a giant neon purple eye in the window, looming over a mannequin in a gothic dress and a table display of a crystal ball, incense sticks, and some books with titles like Hoodoo? You Do!, The Art of Tea Leaves, and So You Wanna Be a Wiccan!

I thanked Chelsea for the ride and went inside.

A bell jingled softly. Just inside the door was one of those annoying bead curtains that I always managed to get tangled up in. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. It was a pretty small store, just a bunch of eclectic paraphernalia organized without any perceivable rhyme or reason, only some of which actually had anything to do with the occult. Pentagram jewelry, voodoo dolls and candles shared shelf space with Buddhas, band t-shirts and cartoon marijuana-leaf bumper stickers. The smell of jasmine was overwhelming.

There was a doorway to another room in the back covered by an embroidered velvet curtain. The front desk had an old-fashioned cash box, and nobody behind it. The sign outside said "open," though, so I waited.

I wandered a bit, looking for something that appeared actually legitimate, but I was unimpressed. Kitschy, touristy junk. I felt a little silly; this was a waste of time. Just because my friends owned a spooky store didn't mean they actually knew anything about real ghosts. The more I thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed.

The curtain in the back parted, and somebody came out, diverting my attention from a display of crystals. "Salome," I said, but it wasn't Salome, or either of her siblings for that matter. It was a tall, bald black man in a baby-blue suit and gold aviators.

"Miles Herbert?" I said. He was the last person I had expected to see in here.

He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise. We seem to run into each other in the oddest of places, don't we?"

I slowly put a crystal back on the shelf. "Yeah, I guess so..."

"What brings you here?" He walked toward me; his posture was tense.

"I could ask you the same thing," I said.

His smile had shifted into something even less nice, more like a snarl, but his tone remained pleasant. "The same thing as you, I suppose. We all wish we had all the answers about death, don't we? Good day."

He sauntered past and left the shop, slamming the door behind him. The bells were left quivering in his wake.

What did he mean, we all wanted answers about death?

"Can I help you?" came a languid voice.

Ephraim had come out from behind the curtain now too, today wearing a tastefully tattered gray tee and spiky boots. He looked tired.

"What did he want from you?" I demanded.

"Haven't you ever heard of doctor/patient confidentiality?"

"You're not a doctor," I said.

Ephraim moved to stand behind the desk, drumming his fingers impatiently. "Miles Herbert is a...regular customer. Now did you come to inquire about the hermetic habits of local business tycoons, or do you actually have a good reason to be bothering me right now?

I considered sticking my tongue out, but decided that would be a little childish. "Is Salome here?" I said.

"No," Ephraim said.