Nothing happened. The scent of roses faded slightly, but the air was still cool, still stirred up.
Silence.
After a long moment when nothing more happened, she started to pull to her feet and noticed the yellow object again. Now she was close enough to see that it was a feather—dusty, old and mangled, but a feather nevertheless. It looked as though it was stuck under the wall. Fiona tried to pull it free, but it wouldn’t come.
“What’s the deal?” she asked, inexplicably frustrated. “It’s just a feath—”
A sudden moaning breeze whistled through the shop, and one of the crystal chandeliers began to vibrate. The tinkling, rocking of the ice-like obelisks was at first gentle…then became more insistent, almost as though someone was violently shaking its suspension chain.
Fiona looked up, her stomach wringing inside her. The fringe on one of the lamps ruffled with the gasp of air, and she closed her eyes, cold seeping through her numb body as the chandelier jumped and clinked with more urgency.
What is it?
Maybe it’snotjust a feather…
Her hands icy and her skin clammy, Fiona looked at the feather again and saw there was a narrow space between the wall and the floor. Somehow, through the panic that trundled through her, it registered in her frozen mind that the wall was more uneven than the rest of the shop, and it looked different. She stared at the wall, wondering….
“Is there something behind there?” She spoke aloud to be certain she was heard. “Are you trying to tell me there’s something behind here?”
The wind roared louder, like a small cyclone circling above her and she stifled a small moan, covering her head as glass clinked and shades rattled. The entire room seemed to vibrate with rage and fear, and she was just about to try and make a run for it—to escape—when the wind stopped.
The chandelier quieted.
All was still.
“So,” she said softly, hugging her knees close to her chest and trying to keep her voice steady. “Just to be clear…no need to get loud again, all right? Just…if you’re trying to tell me there’s something behind the wall, could you just—”
The Lamp blinked on.
Her words caught in her throat, and Fiona swallowed hard, tensing. But the Lamp went off again, and the room—the entire shop—was silent and still.
Except for the remnant of roses on the air.
Even the temperature had changed, warming slightly.
“All right, then. Message received.” Fiona looked around, and when all remained silent, she rapped firmly on the wall.
Itsoundedhollow. She thought.
She sat back on her haunches and looked up—not yet brave enough to try and stand. Her heart rate had slowed, but her stomach still felt as though it was on a roller coaster. Her gaze followed the line of the wall, and she realized for the first time that the partition could have been added to enclose the area under the staircase…that same staircase that felt so cold and forbidding on her first day in the shop. It couldn’t be some sort of closet, for there was no door—nor was there any other way to access the area in the shop.
“What was he trying to hide?” She tried that idea aloud to see if there would be any response from whatever it was that made the cool breeze come.
Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona caught a movement behind her, and, stifling a shriek, she twisted around.
Gretchen landed softly on the floor next to her and looked at her with golden-brown eyes that were very knowing. She meowed, then rubbed her head along Fiona’s arm.
Swallowing the heart that had leapt into her throat at the cat’s sudden appearance, Fiona stared down at the introverted feline.
This was the first time the creature had made an overture toward her—usually, Gretchen stayed far out of everyone’s way. Her favorite perch was on the top of the stair railing that led to the small, dusty loft above. There she sat most days, her ink-black tail dangling, its end flicking as though disgruntled with the world.
“You like that idea, do you?” Fiona asked, reaching slowly to scratch Gretchen’s soft head. She felt more relaxed now—the cat was not reacting as though there was any sort of supernatural presence.
But she couldn’t deny that there wassomethinggoing on in this shop.
She gingerly pulled to her feet, ready to duck if something rushed toward her again, and walked, half-stooped, down the hall to the back room of the shop. Perhaps there was some tool she could use to get through the wall.
But in the back, Fiona only found a broom and a toolbox with hammers, screwdrivers, and wrenches much too small to be of any use.
