Bad Company (Seven Deadly Sins #1) ✅ Completed

Chapter Three: Wicked Witch of the Mid-West

As I pushed my way through the front door, I was more than a little shocked at what awaited me. The inside was remarkably decent – nothing like the dreary, rat-infested space I’d imagined. Sure, it was a little dark, and somewhat crowded, but other than that it was really pretty nice. 

And for the moment it was also blessedly empty.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, I looked around taking it all in.

A long glass counter with an old fashion register took up the left side of the store front. There wasn't a single fingerprint or dust mote anywhere on the glass case, but the case itself was empty save for a black velvet cloth arranged at the bottom. A half-roll of paper towels and some glass cleaner still stood on the case, as if the person who'd just cleaned it had taken a small break but would be coming right back for it.

Floor to ceiling shelves, each housing dozens of small pots, books, and other paraphernalia decorated each end of the room, while small decorative tables were set up all around, displaying more of the same. At the rear of the store, there was an old-fashion wrought iron staircase that wound up to a second level, where more books and knick-knacks could be seen.

It was definitely a tourist shop considering the amount of shot glasses, salt and pepper shakers, refrigerator magnets, post cards, and other crappy town memorabilia thrown around. But there were other, slightly less tacky items, like handmade jewelry, collectible books, wall art, and even some hand-blown glass pieces.

As I took another step inside, a small bell chimed announcing my arrival. It didn't take long for the cantankerous grumblings of an old person to make its way towards me. I watched as an obviously irrate, stooped woman worked her way down the wrought iron staircase. She glared at me like I was some kind of tax collector.

"Yeah? What the hell do you want?" she croaked.

"Um...I'm looking for Celeste Devillier," I replied, somewhat hesitant of this approaching senior citizen. I was really hoping she was just some crotchety cashier and not a permanent fixture around the place.

The old woman shuffled across the floor. And I don't mean middle-aged old, she was like really old. Her skin looked like something that had been left out in the sun too long - totally washed out and devoid of any natural color. Her silver hair was pulled tight into a bun, though it didn't hide the fact that she was definitely missing more than she had left. She wore an old black dress, faded from hundreds of washes, and her dark brown knee-highs clashed terribly with her grey orthopedic shoes.

She reached into the pocket of her worn dress and pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes. She shook one out and stuck it in her mouth, "And why would you be looking for her missy?" She opened a lighter and waved it front of her face until her cigarette caught.

God, even her fingers looked like something you'd find on a crypt keeper. Please, just let me die before I get that old I thought, hoping whoever controlled such things was actually listening.

As if reading my mind she blew her noxious smoke in my face, probably trying to kill me with her second hand smoke. Coughing and waving the poison gas away from my face, I glared down at her. She only came to my shoulders, probably no more than five feet tall. I wasn't the tallest girl around but I definitely had about half a foot on this old bag.

"Listen lady, do you know where to find her or not?" I snapped losing my patience with the crabby geezer.

Her black eyes gleamed a little in the dark of the store as she took me all in. "Your mama said you were a troublemaker but she never said nothin' 'bout you being dimwitted and ill-mannered to boot." She gave a hearty sigh around her cigarette, "I shoulda figured though. Your mama was about as sharp as a drawer full of spoons at your age, don't figure she turned into some kind of Mensa scholar now. She didn't have no kind of manners neither, so I guess what they say about apples is right." She looked at me and upon seeing the look of total incomprehension on my face she huffed. "That they don't fall far from trees. Dang girl, you really are dumb."

Unbelievable, I was getting dissed by an old bat in orthopedic shoes. "I am not dumb," I said defensively. This woman didn't know the first thing about me. I was a lot of things, but being stupid wasn't one of them.

"Well, you can't be all that smart if you landed yourself here, missy," she replied.

Ouch, she was right about that.

"Whatever. I don't have time for this," I said, turning my back and heading for the door. I'd been in town for fifteen minutes and already all I wanted to do was get the heck out of it.

She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, "All you got is time Eliza Rain, and even that don't last forever. Where you think you're gonna be when your time finally runs out?"

I turned back to look at her. She knew my whole name. No one ever called me by that name except my dad, and even he'd stopped when he'd left us. My mom wanted to call me Rain but my dad had insisted on Eliza after his own mom, so they'd just compromised and picked both. This crotchety hag had to be Aunt Celeste - no one else would've known.

Aunt Celeste made her way over to the counter, leaning against it like she had all the time in the world.

"See the way I figure it, your mama needed a place to send you and I needed me some cheap labor around here. So we made ourselves a little arrangement. Now, you ain't gotta like it, but that's just life sometimes. You can stay here with me, work, go to school, keep yourself out of trouble. In a year or two you can leave with a little money in your pocket and maybe even a diploma. Now, I don't know about that big city where you come from, but around here that sure as hell beats ending up like your mama."

"You don't know anything about her." I was gritting my teeth so hard my jaw was starting to ache.

Aunt Celeste cackled. "The hell I don't. That girl was always trying to fill that hole in her soul with one man or another. Guess she didn't figure your daddy was also trying to fill his own damn hole. All these years and she ain't changed a bit." I felt her eyes run over me in a cool assessment, "But you ain't totally like her. Not yet anyways. You still got a chance of turning into something. That is if you start using that brain I suspect you got and swallow that pride that's just about choking you."

In that instant I truly understood what it was like to hate someone. Really, truly hate a person with every fiber of my being. Aunt Celeste didn't know me. She had no idea what my life had been like. Where did she get off talking about my mom and dad like that?

But what was I going to say? She wasn't wrong.

And that made it so much worse.

I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and let it out slowly, imagining all the hate and anger building inside me leaving with my breath. It was a trick my mom's ex-boyfriend Todd, the yoga instructor, showed me; it didn't always work but at least it helped me a little now.

"Where should I put my stuff?" I asked, trying hard not to sound like I cared about anything she had to say.

Aunt Celeste pointed up the stairs, "Attic. Keep going up 'til you can't no more. Second door on the right is yours. Drop your bag then come back downstairs, you can unpack later. We got work to do."

As I made my way to the wrought iron staircase I could feel Aunt Celeste's eyes on my back every step of the way. I refused to turn around and look back at her.

I didn't have to.

The large mirror hanging on the wall by the stairs reflected her satisfied smirk just fine.