Spellbound

The Birthday Present

I make my way down the familiar, dimly lit cobblestone alleyway, trying desperately to erase today's memories. I'm exhausted. Every second replays over in my mind, like a constant knife to the chest. I feel frozen; numb—though I can't be sure if that's from the cold or purely because of the events of the day. I put my hands in the pockets of my coat to be sure—slightly better.

I stop walking when I come to the oldest looking shop in the alleyway. It certainly hasn't aged as gracefully as its neighbours, but it has character; spirit. Ms Marigold—my amazing, though slightly senile boss, blames the lack of interest in books these days. I blame the lack of foot traffic. Ms Marigold never had much interest in bringing her tiny piece of paradise into the twenty-first century, and she had no time for such nonsense as social media, no matter how much I encouraged her.

There's no disputing Marigold's Old Book Shop is one of a kind, or at least, 'Mari old Boo hop' is, since that's now all you can make out from the weather-worn sign. But that's all part of the charm...As are the grime covered windows, the bird droppings, and the cardboard and tape holding the front door together. This is home.

The little bell chimes above me as I cross the threshold into the dusty bookshop. Immediately I'm greeted by lavender incense and peppermint tea wafting through the air. My body begins to thaw and my frozen fingers regain feeling, as I place my coat and bag on the hanger. It's not unusual for Ms Marigold to be tucked away in her office, or upstairs somewhere, since it's not unusual to have any more than three customers, not just at a time but for the whole day. And thats on a good day.

I put on my obscene floral apron, and replace the scattered books back to their places, grateful for the distraction. This place has been a second home to me since I was little, and it hasn't changed much since. The same floral wall paper from the seventies still peaks out from behind bookshelves, the same dusty-red carpet, still stained from where I once spilt a pot of ink, though, the fact anyone still has pots of ink is absurd, and the same old spiralling staircase that leads to Ms Marigold's apartment is still as bright blue as the day I helped paint it. All the same. All chaotically beautiful. This was the place I fell in love with books; books which now litter the ground in stacked heaps, threatening to topple over at even the slightest breeze.

Marigold has always been proud that her store was the first ever to stock an original James Hurst novel, which were nowhere near as popular then as they are today. It's also the only bookshop I can remember selling my favourite book of all time The Dragon's Heart, an anonymously written book about an underground society of magical beings and creatures, where the only way to obtain immortality is by binding your life to the heart of a Dragon. When I was little I used to imagine what my life would be like if I was a Fairy-Princess or a Dragon Rider like the characters in my favourite stories. Life was easier when it was make believe. The Dragon's Heart gave me the escape I desperately craved as a child, and even still now. But, of course, I love my father's books too. The John Badger series isn't quite as thrilling or captivating to me, but it seems to be a hit for kids who love to read about clumsy spies...

I blow the dust from an old book tucked beneath a couch cushion. Most things in this store have a healthy layer or two of dust— "adds character" Ms Marigold says. Not that anything in this store needs help with character, including Ms Marigold, with her grey and blue hair, colourful neck tattoos, and mismatching outfit choices.

"Excuse me—"

The unfamiliar voice startles me, but I quickly brush it off. A woman, so tall her head is only inches from the ceiling, stands before me in a billowing purple gown. Her hair is wrapped up in some kind of silk, and her eyes are heavily lidded with gold, "I'm looking for Ms Marigold," Her accent is thick, but not one I can place, "she's expecting me."