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been absolutely no help, working silently on some kind of doll in her shadowy corner rather than lifting a finger to help me.
    I walk over to her and squint into the dim light, watching as she deftly moves a needle in and out of the doll’s side. The eyes and mouth have been replaced by black, crisscrossed x-marks. “That’s not a gift for your niece, is it?” I ask cautiously.
    “No, it’s for Noel.”
    “Noel? As in your ex-boyfriend Noel? What does he want with a doll?”
    “The doll isn’t for him,” she says, her eyes focused sinisterly on her threadwork. “It’s for me.”
    “I don’t get it.”
    Amber rises from her seat and hands me the doll. It’s incredibly detailed. The doll’s wearing a tiny black and white Slayer t-shirt, skinny black jeans, and little painted on Converse shoes. Red spiky hair is sewn into its scalp and there’re little silver balls protruding from the ears. “Amber,” I whisper, following behind her, “is this a voodoo doll?”
    Amber, favoring me with a smile she generally reserves to celebrate other people’s pain, takes the doll from my hands and makes her way to the counter.
    “Does it work?”
    “Oh, it works.” She smirks.
    I wouldn’t normally give any credence to Amber’s ‘ withcraftery ,’ but there might be something to this voodoo doll business. I saw Noel recently and the guy looked bad, and that’s really saying something for a guy whose normal appearance might be described as vampire-on-heroin chic.
    “How does it work?” I ask.
    “Well, it helps if you design the voodoo doll with some of the same characteristics of the person you want to curse. The more accurate the depiction the better. Once the doll is made, you need to perform a ritual to bind its spirit with that of your victim. Then the pain comes.” She says this in such a way, I swear you would think she was a kid talking about what Santa brought her for Christmas.
    “Sounds real…nice.” Note to self: never, ever piss off Amber lest you find yourself with unexplained injuries the next day.
    “I can make one for Tim if you like,” she offers.
    Does it make me a terrible person that I don’t shrug off this offer immediately? I may not want the guy dead, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see his balls squished a little bit.
    “Um, I think I’m good, for now.”
    Amber examines the Noel voodoo doll closely, adjusting his miniature t-shirt just so before unexpectedly and quite viciously smacking it against the counter. Her face is alight in pleasure.
    I leave Amber to her black magic and head back into the stockroom, dialing my mom’s number on the way. My mom moved to Scottsdale, Arizona, about five years ago when she was offered a store manager position with Chico’s. What can I say? The lady’s got style. She viewed the move as a fresh start and, God bless her, she’s taken on a whole host of new hobbies to keep her active and enable her to meet new friends. I hate sounding clichéd, but my mom is sort of my hero. I mean, she’s like Rosie the Riveter for twenty-first century single women. She doesn’t need a man to make her happy; she is woman, hear her roar.
    “ Helloooo !” she sings into the phone.
    “Hi, Mama, it’s me.”
    “Oh Ellie ! Listen honey, I am so glad you called even if it did take you practically two weeks. Now first things first, how are you doing, sweetie, you know, since the big breakup? You know how I don’t like to speak ill of people but that boy is S-C-U-M, Ellie. I don’t like to say it, but there it is. I hope you see this as the lucky break it was. I never thought that relationship was going to work, and it just goes to show what I know. Now, I know you don’t like to hear this, Ellie, but you really need to be more selective about who you’re giving your heart to. You only get so many chances, young lady.”
    Sigh. Ten seconds into the conversation and I’ve already been scolded, presented with disapproval, and reminded that I