He winks before climbing out of the car. I watch him jog across the parking lot and run into the store.
Sinking back in my seat, I shut my eyes and offer up a prayer.
“To whatever higher power that’s listening, I pray you help me. Please let my baby live. I don’t care what it costs. Just let her survive.”
The moment I finish my prayer, a loud cracking sound—almost like lightning—draws my attention. In the shopping center beside the grocery store is a new store.
“Where did that come from?” I question out loud.
I’ve lived in Cedarwood all my life. I’ve come to this grocery store a million times and don’t remember this little shop. With little thought, I unbuckle my seat belt and slide out of the car. Iquickly make my way across the parking lot toward the red door of the shop.
The Wanderlust Emporium, the title above the brightly colored door reads. The arched stained-glass window catches my eye. It depicts a man falling from the sky; his white wings look to be losing feathers.
Other than the unique stained glass and the red door, everything else looks normal. It’s like any other glass-front store; however, you can’t see inside from all the antiques blocking the view. Grabbing hold of the peculiar door, I step inside. A bell chimes over my head.
The store is well lit and smells of aromatic perfume. For as cluttered as it looks from the outside windows, it’s clean and neat on the inside.
“Welcome to the Emporium. Look around, see if anything speaks to you,” a short older woman appears out of nowhere and says.
Her large glasses sit on her face, making her almost comical. Her skin is deep brown. Not as dark as Romeo’s but nowhere near as light as my caramel complexion. Her gray hair is braided in two fishtail braids, reminding me of my grandmother. She wore a flower-print dress that touched her ankles. She had a warm presence as if she was familiar.
“Hi,” I say, looking down at the fingers I’m twirling in the hem of my shirt. “I don’t really know why I’m here. I’m not looking for any antiques.”
The older woman smiles. “My dear, no one ever knows what they want until they see it. Look around.”
Her smile is so sincere. I dip my chin as I step onto the first aisle. Shelves reaching from floor to ceiling are crammed with many objects. There are notebooks, clocks, a single pair of gold cat-eyed glasses, a golden chalice inside a dusty box, another box filled with bottles of perfume, and I even spotted necklaces.
I walk through the entire store. However, I didn’t need or want any of this stuff. I head back toward the door but decide to say goodbye to the older woman first. She’s up at the register.
“Sorry,” I say as I approach. “I don’t think anything in here….” I stop.
Behind the shopkeeper, perched on a shelf in a single glass box, is a bronze bell. There is nothing special about the bell. It isn’t covered in jewels or solid gold. It’s just a small bell no bigger than my hand. However, the way I want the bell is crazy.
“The bell,” I say. “How much for the bell?”
The woman frowns. Her dark eyes seem to grow darker. She watches me intently for a few minutes. She stares so long I grow uncomfortable and shift my weight. Finally, she turns and grabs a step stool. Placing the stool down, she steps on it and reaches for the glass box.
When she gets down, she holds on to the box as if she’s reluctant to let it go. She looks at me, then down at the bell, before walking it over to me. She places it on the counter. I immediately pick it up. Up close, I notice the bell isn’t as plain as I thought. Etched into the bronze are weird symbols and words in a foreign language.
“Seven dollars,” the woman says.
I quickly place the bell back down and go into my purse to get the cash. As soon as I hand it over, the woman wraps both her hands around mine. I look into her dark, nearly black eyes.
“Are you sure it’s worth it?”
I quirk my brow.
“What are you talking about?”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Your heart is asking for a debt I’m not sure you want. Is he worth it?”
I gasp, pulling my hand out of her grasp. How does she know there is a man involved? And what does she mean by a debt?
I stare at the older woman. For the first time, I start to feel as if I might be in the presence of something way more than an antique shop owner. My family is originally from New Orleans. I know all about the supernatural. I can almost feel my ancestors telling me to put this bell down and get the hell out of this store.
However, I’m reminded of what’s at stake. If my baby dies, Romeo walks. Assurance wraps around me like a lover’s caress.
Lifting my shoulders, I lock my gaze with hers. “Yes.” I reply.
