Seymour was expecting to find more of the same thing they’d found at all the other locations—a whole heaping bunch of nothing.
Plus the added bonus of a splitting migraine.
Yay.
“Hello!” the young woman at the counter called out cheerfully. “Welcome to Anna Graham’s!”
She was short, petite, and wearing a black ruffled dress with a poofy layered skirt and a high waist. Her lips, eyes, and nails were all painted black. Her hair was blonde but hot pink at the ends, pulled up into high pigtails beneath a black jeweled crown.
A Disney princess dipped in Tim Burton.
“Hey there.” Seymour tilted his head politely. “How ya’ doin’?”
“Just peachy keen!” she replied. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can help you find!”
“Thanks.” Seymour sighed, dropping his voice to mumble, “If only we knew what the hell we were lookin’ for.”
“It is all right,” Sariel soothed. “I am sure we will know it when we see it.”
“But we have to see it first,” Seymour grumbled. He sighed and took Sariel’s hand, trying to smile. “Hey, at least the scenery is nice.”
Sariel stared around them with a grimace before the compliment registered and he smiled. “Yes. That it is.”
They wandered from aisle to aisle, taking in the many odd baubles and wares, and they even took a peek in a small back room where the tarot reading classes and other witchy type events were held. There were no other customers, zero sign of monster shenanigans, and Seymour was ready to grab a wand and beat himself unconscious with it.
God, the smell.
“So, we need any, uh—” He paused to read one of the bottles beside them. “Frog’s breath? Or can we move on to the next exciting and useless ass location?”
“Do you not wish to ask the employee about your father?” Sariel asked.
“Uh…” Seymour glanced at the young woman, catching her staring right at him.
She smiled and did not look away.
Right, because that wasn’t creepy at all.
“Yeah, no, I’m good.” Seymour nudged Sariel. “Let’s go.”
“But this is an excellent opportunity,” Sariel pointed out. “Why not take it?”
“I just wanna go.”
“Are you afraid of her?”
“What? No!” Seymour dropped his voice to an angry hiss.
“You are certainly acting as if you are afraid of her.”
“Will you stop? She can probably hear you.” Seymour groaned. “Okay, look, fine. I will go fuckin’ ask her. Here we go. This is me askin’ her.”
“But you are not moving?—”
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Seymour forced on a polite smile as he approached the counter. “Hello, ma’am! I was?—”
“Marsha!” she exclaimed brightly. “Marsha Snart.”
“Uh, hi, Marsha.” Seymour really did not understand how she could be this cheerful. The level of sunshine was comparable to Myrna, but there was definitely something off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, so he did his best to smile. “This may seem a bit random, but do you happen to remember a customer by the name of Clancy Carver?”
