Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 70779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I had inherited both the Shop—Madam Callahan’s Magic Supply—as well as the small apartment directly behind it when Pop-pop died. But I’d been living with him and taking care of him before that—I had grown up there as a child and had moved back in after my divorce. Shortly after I moved back, Pop-pop got sick and I had to be there to nurse him, so I never got around to finding my own place.
Now there didn’t seem to be any point in moving—unless I had to, which unfortunately seemed like a distinct possibility. The rent is really high on anyplace in the French Quarter and we had been getting fewer tourists lately, ever since the beignet café beside us went bust.
I missed the café for more than just the tourists it had drawn—if you’ve never had beignets, they’re these little pillowy pieces of fried dough that are usually tossed in powdered sugar. They are horrible for you and taste absolutely amazing. I used to have them for breakfast along with a big cup of chicory coffee—the café’s other specialty—every morning. Now there was nothing to do but grab a protein bar and make myself a coffee in my Keurig.
I sipped it as I made my way out into the store and turned the sign in the front door from CLOSED to OPEN. I unlocked the door and then took a look around the shop, making sure everything was presentable.
We had quite an eclectic mixture of things for sale but I tried to keep it all neat. There were the souvenirs of course—a collection of coasters, t-shirts, magnets, and mugs with voodoo skulls and variations of “New Orleans” or “The Big Easy” printed on them. There was also a display of Annie B’s chewy pralines and assorted caramels from the Royal Praline Company as well as some “Red-hot Slap you Mama” hot sauce.
These were the kinds of things that tourists came in to buy. We kept the real stuff—the supplies that magical practitioners came in for—behind the counter.
I had a huge stock of dried herbs—the kind you can’t get at the grocery store—as well as various crystals in all shapes and sizes. There were also candles—some that had been blessed and some that had been cursed—vials of holy water, feathers, hand-carved wands, tarot card decks, and everything else you could think of.
We also had quite a library including books on Wicca, White Magic, Black Magic, Voodoo practices, Mindful Meditation, Astral Projection, Divination, Clairvoyance, Telepathy, and every other mystical subject you could possibly dream up—and a few most people probably had no idea even existed.
I didn’t believe any of them, of course. Pop-pop’s claim that he had magic power and that I would someday too, only went so far with me. I guess I’m kind of a natural skeptic—though of course I would never tell that to any of the customers that came into the Emporium looking for supplies. Usually I do my best to look mysterious and just ring them up and send them on their way.
Satisfied that the shop was in order, I went through the back room and into the tiny kitchen to make another cup of coffee. I kept telling myself I was going to cut back and then not doing it. What can I say? Coffee is a weakness and a necessity all rolled into one for me.
I was just adding way too much cream and sugar to my second cup and contemplating raiding the display of chewy pralines—Annie B’s makes the best—when I heard the front door jingle and hurried footsteps running into the front of the shop.
“Hello?”
I put down my coffee and came back to stand behind the counter. There was a young boy, around eleven or twelve, looking around with wide, panicked eyes. He looked like he might have some Creole in him—his skin was light brown and he had a riot of curly black hair.
“Hey, are you okay?” I asked him. “Are you lost?”
He looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear.
“Please help me, lady! They say I took some stuff, but I didn’t—I swear!”
“Who’s ‘they?’” I asked but at that moment, I heard a familiar voice right outside.
“In there—little fucker went in there!” the voice said.
The sound sent a cold shiver right down my back
“Come back here—come on!” I motioned to the trembling boy.
At first he seemed frozen to the spot, but then he rushed behind the counter where I was standing.
“Good, now get down.” I put a hand on top of his curly head and gave him a little shove. “Get down and don’t move and don’t say a word,” I ordered him. “I’ll do my best to get rid of them.”
The boy nodded quickly and ducked down just as the bell jangled and the front door opened yet again.