Chapter 1
The Kitchen Sink Occultist is built into the first floor of a forest-green Victorian in San Francisco. Its exterior is decorated with florals carved from wood and painted gold. Inside, a collection of crystals sit on display in the shop's bay window along with a handful of mismatched animal bones - bleached - and polished stones carved with sigils. Books on mythology and astrology fill the shelves next to decks of tarot cards, pendulums, and sachets of dried herbs. A lit candle fills the space with the scent of orange blossoms.
“I thought it would add to the witchy ambiance," Jordan says.
Jordan San Sobal, the owner of the Occultist, is a Filipino man. He's fit but not extremely muscular. His skin is a rich terracotta, and today, he is clean shaven. If asked, Jordan would describe his style as professional. Others may call it ‘beige’ and ‘I didn’t notice’.
The older Filipino woman across the counter responds, “Very mysterious.”
Her name is Annette Canto. Annette owns the diner, The Waffle Skillet, across the street from the Occultist. Every Thursday, after the lunch-rush, she comes in with two slices of pie. (“They've been out since yesterday, and you know how much I hate to throw away food.”) Jordan brews a pot of tea, serves everything up on dishes, and for an hour, the two of them chat.
“By the way, did you hear about Rena?” Anita asks.
“Rena…she works at the small grocery store on the corner?” Jordan says.
“Yes, that's her! Apparently, she lost her charm bracelet the other day when she was wrapping up her shift.”
“That's terrible.”
“I wouldn't normally mention it, but,” the older woman leans in and whispers, “since you found Jay's keys and my little Fluffy when she ran away….”
“Of course I'll take a look around and see if I can find it,” Jordan says earnestly. “What does it look like?”
Annette beams. “I knew I could count on you, our own local PI. Rena sent pictures to my phone, I just need to figure out how to…. ”
With the picture of the bracelet sent, Anita gets up to leave. Jordan helps her into her coat.
“I know it's been a few years,” Anita says, “but how are you holding up?”
Jordan puts on a smile. “Oh, you know. It doesn't get easier, but you get used to it.”
Anita pats his hand. “I know. When my husband, Benjamin, passed, I was a wreck every year on the anniversary of his death. If you need to talk to someone about it, I'm always across the street.”
Jordan can feel those terrible memories start to surface.
It takes effort to push them down, but he eventually responds with the truth, “I'm better than before.”
Anita puts a hand on his arm and gives a gentle squeeze. “When are you going to start dating again?”
Jordan starts several sentences before settling on, “How do you know I'm not dating anyone?”
Anita's eyes travel the length of him in from his hair, mussed from Jordan running his hands through it one too many times looking at the store’s budget, to his new, orthopedic shoes, taking brief stops at the bags under his eyes and the razor nicks on his chin. Her arched eyebrow is the only answer she gives him.
In a gentler tone, she says, “I know that what you and Derek had was special which is why I don't think he’d hold it against you if you started dating again.”
“I…”
“You're 30. I just think it'd be a shame if you closed yourself off to the possibility.”
“I…won't,” then with false conviction, “I promise I'll definitely think about considering it.”
Anita leaves the store shaking her head.
Behind Jordan, a deep ethereal voice - the same voice he fell in love with all those years ago - teases, “Already lining up my replacement? What happened to ‘in sickness, in health, and when one of you turns into a ghost’?”
