There was a large counter at the back of the store where a woman with thick gray-blonde hair was staring at her phone and frowning. She wore a shapeless linen tunic and had an impressive amount of chunky jewelry on her wrists and neck.
She looked up at the sound of the wind chimes. “Welcome in,” she called. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
Drew thought about asking her if she knew where to find any of that sweet-smelling marijuana she had undoubtedly just been smoking, but decided against it for now.
“Thank you,” he said. “I will!”
He browsed for a second, though he’d never been too interested in the mystical world, and understood less than half of what he was looking at.
He eventually made his way towards the back of the store, where he got the woman’s attention. “Actually, the barista at Dune Grass Roasters sent me here when I asked them about the local ghost tour. They said I’d get a better experience if I asked about it here, instead of going for the official tour.”
The woman nodded sagely and then coughed loudly into her elbow. “Excuse me,” she said. “Marijuana lungs.”
Drew hid a smile.
“Well,” she said. “I’m the wrong person to ask. But one of my clerks should be able to help you.”
“Irma, did you call me a clerk again?” shouted a voice from somewhere in the back of a shop, behind a beaded curtain. It was a young man’s voice. “You’d have to pay me to call me a clerk!” he continued.
Irma rolled her eyes. “One of myvolunteerscan help you,” she said loudly for the benefit of the hidden young man.
The beaded curtain parted like water, and a young man, the one who had been shouting at Irma from the back, stepped through.
Drew didn’t consider himself someone whose breath got taken away easily. He was, for the most part, a levelheaded guy who didn’t let feelings or desire get the best of him. He’d let that happen too recently, and he’d been badly hurt.
The young man who stepped through the curtain took Drew’s breath away.
He was tall and lean, with tan skin and muscles and thick brown hair that was bleached blonde in parts by the sun. He wore an oversized T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, exposing his sculpted shoulders, and black running shorts, and dirty white Converse sneakers. He was probably twenty-five, maybe a little younger.
He kissed Irma on the top of the head. “What are you volunteering my services for?” he asked. His eyes skated over Drew, and Drew shivered internally.
Irma nodded at Drew. “He wants to know about the hauntings. But not the commercial version, the real story.”
Her volunteer immediately lit up. “Really? That’s great. I’d love to show you around.”
“I mean, if you’re just volunteering,” Drew said, “you don’t have to. Or, I can pay you.”
The volunteer waved a hand. “I volunteer because I like to do it. You don’t have to pay. My name is Gabriel, by the way.”
“I’m Drew.”
For a moment, it looked like the volunteer might recognize him. Drew wondered if it was possible. He was an NHL star, a professional athlete, but not the sort of recognizable face of certain other professional athletes. Hockey players’ faces were usually masked by their helmets, and it was usually only the die-hard fans in Boston who might recognize him on the streets. The odds that this random guy in a small town in Orion recognized him were low.
“Well, Drew, do you want a tour of the supernatural in Orion?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes,” Drew said. “I think I do.”
When they were outside, Gabriel pointed at Drew’s half-drunk iced latte. “Did Fox send you?”
“Are they the barista at Dune Grass Roasters?”
“Yep,” Gabriel said. “A good friend of mine. We grew up together.”
“So, you’re from here?” Drew asked. Gabriel led the way as they began to walk around the square.
“Born and raised. Moved away for college, but came back after I graduated.”
Drew wanted to ask why Gabriel had come back, but that seemed like a personal question, so he refrained.
