to normal. He was still vaguely aware of some of the sparkling waterfall-like sensations but they no longer distracted him. He could control this feeling, he realized. That was also very cool.
“Hi, Devin.” Charlotte straightened up from the crate she had been unpacking, brushed off her hands, and walked toward him. “I’m glad you stopped by today.”
She knew, he thought. He felt as if he’d been shoved off-balance. Belatedly he remembered to remove his sunglasses. He reached up and took off the shades with the smooth, deliberate motion that the chief always used. The action bought him a little time to recover.
“Why?” he asked warily.
He should have known that Charlotte had guessed the truth about last night. She was a little weird. The chief was weird, too, but in a different way, and that was okay. The chief was a man and understood stuff. Charlotte, on the other hand, was a woman. He liked her but she made him uneasy. It was as if she could see inside his head or something. That was the main reason he had not ventured into the shop when it was open during the day.
There was another reason why he hadn’t come into the shop, as well. He couldn’t afford to buy any of the cool antiques. He just wanted to hang around them for a while. Shopkeepers didn’t like people who wandered into a store and hung out. They looked too much like shoplifters.
Charlotte smiled. “I came across something I think suits you perfectly. I just unpacked it.” She turned and went back across the room.
He followed cautiously. “My grandma says that your aunt never bothered to unpack most of the stuff that she bought for this shop.”
“No, Aunt Beatrix did not like dealing with customers. In fact, I think it’s safe to say she never quite got the concept of customer service. Makes for a difficult business model.”
“I don’t get it. If she didn’t like to sell her stuff, why was she in the business?”
“Good question. In my family we always said she was eccentric and let it go at that. But between you and me, I think she spent her life searching for something.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did you ever ask her?”
“I did one time, as a matter of fact. She said it was a key. I asked her what it opened. She said it wasn’t created to open a door. It was made to lock something that should never have been opened in the first place.”
“Do you think she ever found it?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad.”
Charlotte stopped, hands on her hips and surveyed a pile of junk on the floor. At least, it looked like junk to him, but he knew that to her they were antiques.
“Let me see,” Charlotte said. “I think I put it next to that old chocolate pot. Yes, there it is.” She stooped down and scooped up a small object.
For a moment she gripped the object in her hand. At the same time she put the fingertips of her other hand on the mirrored pendant she wore. Light sparked on the pendant. He thought he felt a small flash of fresh energy in the atmosphere but it was hard to be certain.
Charlotte opened her hand and held out the object. “Here you go. This feels like you.”
Alarmed, he took a step back. “I never even touched it, I swear it.”
She smiled. “I know, but it’s yours now, if you want it.”
“What do you mean, it feels like me?”
“It just does. Here, take it. See how it feels to you.”
He looked down at the object in her hand. The antique was a flat amber disc about two inches across and half an inch wide. It was engraved with a compass rose. The four points of the compass were set with small gray crystals. He was instantly fascinated.
“Wow,” he breathed. He took the amber compass from her and examined it closely. It felt good in his hand, warm and comfortable, as if it had been made for him. A shiver of awareness hummed through him. “Does it still work?”
“Oh, yes. That’s a genuine Damian Cavalon compass. He was one of the first tunnel explorers.
“Hi, Devin.” Charlotte straightened up from the crate she had been unpacking, brushed off her hands, and walked toward him. “I’m glad you stopped by today.”
She knew, he thought. He felt as if he’d been shoved off-balance. Belatedly he remembered to remove his sunglasses. He reached up and took off the shades with the smooth, deliberate motion that the chief always used. The action bought him a little time to recover.
“Why?” he asked warily.
He should have known that Charlotte had guessed the truth about last night. She was a little weird. The chief was weird, too, but in a different way, and that was okay. The chief was a man and understood stuff. Charlotte, on the other hand, was a woman. He liked her but she made him uneasy. It was as if she could see inside his head or something. That was the main reason he had not ventured into the shop when it was open during the day.
There was another reason why he hadn’t come into the shop, as well. He couldn’t afford to buy any of the cool antiques. He just wanted to hang around them for a while. Shopkeepers didn’t like people who wandered into a store and hung out. They looked too much like shoplifters.
Charlotte smiled. “I came across something I think suits you perfectly. I just unpacked it.” She turned and went back across the room.
He followed cautiously. “My grandma says that your aunt never bothered to unpack most of the stuff that she bought for this shop.”
“No, Aunt Beatrix did not like dealing with customers. In fact, I think it’s safe to say she never quite got the concept of customer service. Makes for a difficult business model.”
“I don’t get it. If she didn’t like to sell her stuff, why was she in the business?”
“Good question. In my family we always said she was eccentric and let it go at that. But between you and me, I think she spent her life searching for something.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did you ever ask her?”
“I did one time, as a matter of fact. She said it was a key. I asked her what it opened. She said it wasn’t created to open a door. It was made to lock something that should never have been opened in the first place.”
“Do you think she ever found it?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad.”
Charlotte stopped, hands on her hips and surveyed a pile of junk on the floor. At least, it looked like junk to him, but he knew that to her they were antiques.
“Let me see,” Charlotte said. “I think I put it next to that old chocolate pot. Yes, there it is.” She stooped down and scooped up a small object.
For a moment she gripped the object in her hand. At the same time she put the fingertips of her other hand on the mirrored pendant she wore. Light sparked on the pendant. He thought he felt a small flash of fresh energy in the atmosphere but it was hard to be certain.
Charlotte opened her hand and held out the object. “Here you go. This feels like you.”
Alarmed, he took a step back. “I never even touched it, I swear it.”
She smiled. “I know, but it’s yours now, if you want it.”
“What do you mean, it feels like me?”
“It just does. Here, take it. See how it feels to you.”
He looked down at the object in her hand. The antique was a flat amber disc about two inches across and half an inch wide. It was engraved with a compass rose. The four points of the compass were set with small gray crystals. He was instantly fascinated.
“Wow,” he breathed. He took the amber compass from her and examined it closely. It felt good in his hand, warm and comfortable, as if it had been made for him. A shiver of awareness hummed through him. “Does it still work?”
“Oh, yes. That’s a genuine Damian Cavalon compass. He was one of the first tunnel explorers.
Similar Books
