Chapter 1
I took my purple-framed glasses off and rubbed the bridge of my nose. The secondhand kitchen table in the back of the shop was heaped with bills, receipts, past-due notices… and multiple coffee cups. I pulled my dark, curly hair out of its high messy bun and scratched my scalp in frustration. There was a coffee stain on my T-shirt that I would need to scrub out. Joy.
“How goes it?” Nyxa poked her head between the curtains that kept the back area of the shop from prying eyes.
I held up a power shutoff notice and waved it at her.
“Oh boy.” She sighed. I knew she was worried. She was doing everything in her power to help. Nyxa was awesome like that. She was one of the few people I knew who really cared about the people in her life.
She stood there like she had more to say but was measuring how to say it. I sighed and looked around the little back area-slash-living space. It made me smile.
When I picked a place for my shop, my budget had been next to nothing, so every location had its own little charm—meaning problems for Randall and me to fix. Well, for me to fix anyway.
I made sure to include a small living area. Nothing fancy or huge, but enough to feel like home for Oscar and me. This area sat closest to the front. Then there was a small living room, a bathroom down the hall, a hall closet, a pantry, and two bedrooms—small but serviceable—each with their own closet. In truth, I think both bedrooms had been carved out of one larger room.
I had sealed each closet with vigor. Didn’t need any spirits trying to use my shop as a subway.
My original thought had been to use it as a way for Oscar to have a home away from our little house. It was also a fallback plan if things went south with the house. But it ended up serving as an extension of sorts… which was odd.
Nyxa crashed here when things got difficult with her dude. He was hot-tempered, and there were always fireworks without much cause. But she loved him. And she was a lifesaver here.
Nyxa claimed she wasn’t goth, but her collection of black clothing was more substantial than mine, and her taste in music leaned heavily toward goth metal. Eh. She was a great kid, and I was damned lucky to have her help. She had picked up how to make a great deal of the product and had taken off with it. Her love of learning and research rivaled mine—and that was hard to do.
She also had the odd skill of being almost imperceptible, even in combat boots. More than one potential shoplifter had nearly wet themselves when she appeared behind them. It was kind of funny to watch. She never meant to be mean about it. But Nyxa absolutely hated thieves. No clue where it came from, but she was passionate about it. She rarely ever got worked up—except on that topic. Holy Toledo.
She was supposed to be getting a percentage of sales, but since everything had tanked recently, she was basically volunteering for food. I felt horrible because she worked so damned hard. But she understood and kept going. She said she wanted to see the shop succeed, and I appreciated that.
Nyxa had walked into the shop a little before my husband Randall had left, so she knew the history. Oscar often called her Aunt Ixa—when he said it, it sounded like “An Ixa.” It was so cute.
I had originally opened ElseWhere because I saw the need for a more community-minded metaphysical shop in the area when Randall and I moved here. Randall wanted the West Coast due to his days in the Navy. He had always dreamed of living in California. I was a firm Midwesterner, but I figured a change of scenery would be good.
So when we got married, we packed up and headed for the Golden Coast. I figured if it didn’t work out, we could just head back home and go on about our way.
Randall had decided that come hell or high water, we were never coming back to the Midwest again.
I guess we should have made things a little more clear.
Shortly after moving here, I found out about Oscar, and Randall was overjoyed. He had always wanted to be a dad. I had dragged my feet, wanting to be in a better place financially.
Well… as it turned out, Randall’s good mood was short-lived.
Soon he began to be problematic. Things got worse and worse between us as he did less and less around the house, the shop, and with the baby. “Quiet quitting” was the term tossed around for a bit.
Then he decided that my witchy shit was a problem and joined a church out here.
Apparently I could live and let live—but for him it was now mandatory that I do whatever whim caught his fancy.
I said no.
So he left Oscar and me and shacked up with a church girl.
Randall had always had trouble keeping a job. Graduating college hadn’t changed that. I never worried because, as Randall loved to rib me about, I’m a workaholic. I always had either a side business or a full one. I figured I would be able to keep the lights on with a little extra elbow grease.
But I always expected Randall—anybody really—to do their part.
I also hadn’t factored in that Oscar would have such an impact on my ability to work… or that I would want to stay snuggled up with him forever. It’s hard to pry yourself away from your baby.
Well, it is if you’re me.
Randall didn’t like that either.
I had been hurt by his attitude, but it wasn’t like I was going to change. Oscar was firmly a mama’s boy. Randall and he never got along anyway—that was on Randall, not Oscar. I never thought Randall would try to compete with his own infant son.
I even flat out told him, “If you try to compete with Oscar, you’ll be the one who loses. He’s my baby. He’s our son.”
Needless to say, I should have seen the end coming before it did.
Honestly… I was kind of relieved.
Terrified and deeply hurt.
But relieved.
