1. The First Day of Fall
I’m not sure why I actually showed up for this job interview. I’m still suspicious that this is some catfishing or kidnapping scheme. Maybe both.
Still, I only stand in front of the shop door for a few seconds before I push my way in. There’s a little jingle that announces me. The interior of the shop is dim and it takes some blinking to understand all the details. Or rather, some of the details.
There’s no way to absorb the space completely because the shop is covered from floor to ceiling with laden shelves. Tables and display cabinets of various sizes create a maze of trinkets and bottles and books. The counter ahead and to my left has a cash register on top that looks like it was pulled straight out of an 1800s Western general store. It sits among small towers showing off crystals fashioned into jewelry. Soft lamps placed around the room give the impression that conversations here are quiet, soft, and secret.
Which is why I almost jump out of my skin when I hear a voice call out from the doorless back room, “Penelope Greaves?”
I push my glasses back up my nose. “Penny Greaves, yes,” I call back.
A head pops into the doorway and I see a chaos of brown and gray curls atop a heart-shaped face. “Lovely to meet you, dear. Take a seat while I finish up here. I’ll be just a minute.”
“O-okay, thank you,” I say hesitantly. I look at the elaborate cuckoo clock behind the counter. My stomach drops. Oh, no, I’m almost fifteen minutes late. I pull my phone out of my back pocket. I could have sworn—
Oh. It’s 12:59pm. The clock must be off.
I step farther into the shop, looking for someplace to wait. I think about browsing the merchandise on the counter when I spot a very comfy-looking armchair opposite the window. I pull my purse close to me and navigate around the tables.
I sink into the chair and sigh in pleasant surprise. I rub my fingers on the soft, deep green upholstery. I lean my head back and can’t resist wiggling deeper into the cushioned back. It’s the perfect size for folding my legs in front of me and journaling or reading. The small side table could fit a mug and a too-big bowl of Cheez-its—
“Penelope?” the woman pipes up again, swirling into the room with a long skirt that defies all the laws of physics by not catching on every breakable thing she passes. “Ah, there you are. Oh, I see you found our cozy corner.”
I stand up hastily. “Yes, it’s great.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it, dear. No one ever uses it.” She smiles at me in a way that I haven’t seen in a long while. It’s an expression that tells me I have her full attention. “I’m Mariel Whittaker.”
Mariel, the owner of Madame Mariel’s Occult Oddities and Apothecary, holds her hand out to me. I shake it lightly. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”
“Of course, of course. Come to the back room. I’ve made us some tea.”
I follow her, not nearly as graceful and exponentially more worried about knocking something over. The back room is full of crates and boxes. There’s a small door that appears to lead to a bathroom and another door that exits to the alley. Mariel perches on a stool by a tiny high table and I settle on the one opposite her.
“Human?” she asks.
I frown. “Beg your pardon?”
“Are you human?” she repeats patiently. “My eyes are going a bit as I age. I used to be able to tell a shifter out of a whole room full of people. Of course, they also have a habit of being delightfully handsome, so who knows if I was relying on talent or my libido?” She winks. “So, are you? Human, that is?”
I nod slowly, flick my gaze around for any hidden cameras trained on my face. Any minute now, someone is going to jump out and make me sign a waiver so they can post my gullibility all over the internet.
“A witch?”
I shake my head no.
“Ah, well then, I have just a few questions for you to see if this job will be a right fit for you.”
She sips her tea and, because I need something to do with my hands, I do the same. It’s delicious. When was the last time I had tea?
After she sets her mug down, she asks, “How familiar are you with magic, fae, witchcraft and arcane arts?”
“Not at all.”
She taps her chin. “And are you available to work evenings?”
“Yes.”
She claps her hands. “Excellent. Can you start tomorrow?”
