47 Dáinn
DáINN
“Okay, here you go.” I hand my first official customer her bag of purchased items, adding, “And can I just say, I think you made an excellent choice pairing the carnelian with the rose quartz? Romantic love is sure to blossom for you soon with such auspicious stones guiding your way.”
Across the counter, the young woman tenses as she takes the bag. “I don’t—” Her blush deepens. “I just thought they were pretty.”
The freckly gentleman standing to her left looks like a mouse caught in the snaring eyes of a snake. His aura pulses with apprehension and confusion. The lust is so obvious between them. Have they not acted on it? Is it possible I’m misreading these signs?
I chuckle to myself. Not likely. “You should be careful with stone-pairing. Cosmic energies abound. When we open ourselves to their possibilities, we might find we get swept away.”
The woman murmurs a nervous “Thanks.”
But her gentleman companion looks to me. “What do the stones mean?”
I smile wide, testing the muscles of this render’s face. “Carnelian is for vitality, confidence, and amplifying one’s sexual desires.”
She turns to him, clearly mortified. “Cody, I had no idea.”
He’s still looking at me. “And the other one?”
“Oh, rose quartz is a lovely little gem,” I reply.
“She speaks of love, trust, and deep emotional connection. Never forget that the stones choose us. I imagine, if you each held one in your upturned palms and looked deep into the eyes of the other . . . well, they don’t call it magic for no reason. ”
Their auras slowly bloom, a pretty mix of blues and greens that twist and curl with budding arousal. My work here is done.
Well, not quite.
As they head for the door, I call out, “I hear there’s a lovely little vista at the south end of the island, near the lighthouse. Very scenic . . . very secluded.”
Their auras flare with shared possibility and I chuckle again.
Now my work is done.
I glance to the not-a-cat, who watched the whole exchange from his spot on the edge of the counter.
He hasn’t let me alone for even a second since the moment Jasper left.
I’ll admit, I’m not used to being the one surveilled.
I don’t care for it. “What? Do you take issue with young love too? You’re a snarly little killjoy. ”
He hisses, flexing his sharp claws.
The bell dings and the old witch finally returns.
“Sorry, dear! I got caught up in a positive whirlwind of gossip. Sadie Miller and Beverly Pratt all but ambushed me outside of the Angelica Theater on my walk back and—ahh—” She shrieks as she finally spies me behind the counter, nearly dropping her little carry tray of coffees. “Sweet Circe—what are you doing here?”
“I work here,” I reply, brightly. I haven’t forgotten her rudeness of last night, but I’m determined to rise above. As a wraith, I’m used to being mistrusted and despised. I know I’ll win Hortense over eventually. In this moment, I’ll simply pretend she doesn’t loathe every inch of me.
Glancing around, she takes in the customers strolling amongst the candles. Then she sweeps forward with a fussy little huff. Setting the tray of coffees on the counter, she leans over, lowering her voice. “You have no business being here now. Don’t make me throw you out, wraith.”
I suppose rising above will have to wait. I rather like the idea of putting this cranky old witch in her place. Crossing my arms over my rendered chest, I stare her down. “You can’t throw me out.”
“Oh, yes, I can. One sharp gust of my wind and I’ll—”
“Jasper hired me,” I say over her. “You don’t like it? Take it up with him when he returns. For now, I’m off to reorganize the books.”
She blinks behind her comically magnified glasses. “Don’t you dare touch those books. Why, I organized them myself!”
“Which is why they are so clearly miscategorized,” I snap. “You’ve placed Chaucer’s Compendium of Classical Creatures in the fiction section when, clearly, it is best suited to history.”
The shop bell dings and a group of young people make their way inside. Two walk up close to the counter, which makes Hortense bluster, clearly annoyed at losing her chance to keep scolding me.
Smiling in triumph, I turn away. “If you need me, I’ll be with Mister Chaucer,” I call brightly over my shoulder.
But I don’t take two steps in the direction of the books before a chill sinks through me. It coils in my chest like a ball of snakes, creeping up to wrap around my throat. “Oh no—”
My rendered hand raises on its own, brushing the column of my neck. No manacle rests there now, but I know this feeling all too well.
No, no, not here.
Hortense and the not-a-cat look to me with wary confusion. “What is it?” says the old witch.
“I—have to go.” Groaning, I stumble along the counter, nearly tipping Birdie’s tray of carefully sorted stones to the floor as I fight to make it around the corner and away from the prying eyes of the mortals.
Pickles follows me into the book room, his yellow eyes wide. Then Hortense is there, her gaze softening somewhat too. “Wraith? What’s wrong with you? What’s happening?”
“She’s—calling me,” I pant, one hand pressed tight over my render’s chest. “Can’t fight it—”
For once, the not-a-cat doesn’t hiss or snarl at me. His soft mew is a question.
“Ahh—I’m sorry!” It’s all I can do to rip the enchanted ring from my finger, transforming into my wraith form right here in the middle of the book room.
“Jumping Jack-o’-lanterns,” the old witch shrieks. “Disappear, you floating fool. Before someone sees you!”
Ludmilla’s iron collar constricts around my throat. The pull is overwhelming. All-consuming. My shadows pool out, clinging to the walls, the shelves—anything to keep me from being forced away.
“Tell us what to do,” says Hortense, concern replacing her annoyance.
I have no idea what I’m fading into. Does Ludmilla know I’m plotting against her? Does she know about Jasper? Oh gods, has she discovered the truth of my Birdie? I can’t lead her to them. I’ll die first. I’ll rot in my cage before I ever betray them or this island. My friends. My future.
“Wraith,” the old witch says again, clearly alarmed.
“She—can’t find this,” I pant on another choked breath. “Can’t know I have it—” I drop the ring, hearing the soft tink tink as it goes rolling along the floor. The last thing I see is the cat trotting over to pick it up in his mouth.
“Give it to Jasper,” I hiss. Maybe he can make use of it. With that, I have no choice. I let the shadows take me, fading me through the void to the side of my mistress.