Sacrificia part two

Chapter One

I was restocking the incense, sneezing up a storm every time I touched the patchouli incense when the bell over my door rang and a man walked in.

“Hello,” he called.

“I’ll be right with you,” I called in return. I groaned as my knees popped and I stood up to walk towards the front of Arcane’s Arcane, my store. When I saw the man who had called out I was struck by his magnificence. He looked like he could be a model for designer underwear, but approachable at the same time. He smiled as I approached and I smiled back because I couldn’t help it.

“Hello. Welcome to Arcane’s Arcane. I’m Gabriel Arcane. How can I help you today?” I greeted automatically.

“I’m looking for something special. I’ve tried finding it in every other little boutique and antique store in this dinky town and not found it. Nobody could even find it online and order it for me. Your store is my last stop today. Please help me,” the man practically begged.

“Tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for and maybe I can help you,” I replied.

“It’s a book, written by a man who claimed to be a wizard, in the third century A.D. His name was Mortesque the Grotesque.”

I snorted back a laugh, not only because I’d met Mortesque the Grotesque, whose real name was Mortimer Sandlebottom, but because that I actually had seven copies of his stupid collection collecting dust behind the counter.

“What do you want a copy of that dreck for?” I asked.

“I was told that Mortesque’s work was of the highest caliber when it comes to potions,” the man stated.

“What’s your name, honey?” I asked. I called everyone that when I didn’t know or couldn’t remember his or her name.

“Michael Angelus,” he said.

“The angel Michael. How coincidental that we are both named for archangels. I have all three volumes of Mortesque’s Potions for the Common Wizard. I have seven sets in fact. I don’t know how much good they’ll do you unless you want to grow your nose hair long enough to braid or turn your pet newt in to a frog, a dog, or a mog. I don’t suggest attempting a mog. They’ll eat you out of house and home, literally. Mogs are just fuzzy termites that grow to the size of baby elephants within a week,” I explained as I walked behind the counter and pick up a set of Mortesque’s collection and put it on the counter in front of Michael.

“How is it that you have seven copies and no one else has any, anywhere?” Michael asked.

“I know a few people,” I lied.

“That’s not vague at all,” Michael said sarcastically.

“I’m also very persuasive. Are you sure you want these books? I can recommend several others much better works that actually work.”

“I don’t care if they work. I’m a collector. I have many of the books you already carry. I just need these to add to my collection,” Michael explained.

“Ah, I see. Are there any other rare books that I might have collecting dust around here that you would like?” I asked hoping to make a bigger sale. The Mortesque’s Potions was labeled at $700. It was less than it was worth, considering they were first editions.

“I don’t know. What do you have back there?” Michael asked.

“I have Audubon’s Fantastical Creatures, a first hand colored edition, or twenty. The kids like them but parents aren’t going to shell out $1,000 for something that’s going to get grape jellied. I have a few copies of Why Wizardry Is For You. I have the Journal of Acathla from the fifteenth century, Pope Joan’s Treatise on Witchcraft, and a lot more really. You could give me a list and I can tell you if I have anything on it. Are you going to be in town long?” I asked.

“I only got into town last night. I was thinking I’d stay a few days and see what I could find. I never dreamed I’d find something so quickly.”

“Why did you come to Backwater, if I may ask?” I queried.

“I don’t know. I was driving from Vancouver to Toronto, saw a sign for Backwater and just had to stop.”

“That’s a long drive. You know what’s funny? You’re not the only one who’s ever just stopped in Backwater. That’s how I ended up here. I was just looking for a place to live, saw Backwater on the map and wound up buying this place my first day here. There’s an old saying that all the best stuff ends up in backwater towns. Maybe that’s why the founders named the town Backwater.”

“You own the building?” Michael asked. “You seem a little young to own property. You don’t look to be more than 17.”

“I’m 20 and my family had a lot of money,” I lied automatically. “Are you ready to purchase or would you like to look around some more?” I asked.

“I’d like to look around some more please. This place seems very interesting,” Michael answered. “I’m surprised a town as small as Backwater has a market for a new age store,” he commented,

“I’m surprised too, but my place here does very well. I supply all the local witches, wizards, and other practitioners. I also supply the Buddhist and Franciscan monasteries just outside of town with candles and robes. If I didn’t outright own this building the monasteries would pay my mortgage. As it is most of my customers pay my electric bill and my employees’ salaries,” I said as Michael wandered around the store.

“Do you make a profit?” Michael asked as he picked up one of the goddess candles and put it back.

“A good one. After taxes and reordering stock and paying my bills I put $20,000 in the bank.”

“You only made $20,000 last year? That’s measly,” Michael exclaimed.

“That’s what I put in the bank after all my bills. My store made $120,000. I made $50,000 last year and paid my property taxes, my electric bill, bought food and lived. I also still have family money so I live well. I am probably the only millionaire outside of the logging and real estate companies in Backwater. There are three rich families in Backwater. The Billingslys, who own the real estate company, the Leonards, who own the logging company, and the Pauls, who own the hardware store and Large Equipment Rental Company.”

“Where do you fall on the rich list?” Michael asked. “You made it sound like the Pauls are in last place. Why aren’t they in first?”

“I’m third, just ahead of the Pauls. The Pauls spend a lot of money to maintain everything, and you can only rent so much equipment for so long. If they didn’t also sell lawnmowers and farming equipment they’d be dead broke in a year.”

“Why are they behind you on the rich list?” Michael continued as he smelled a few of the candles and raised an eyebrow at some of my fertility statues.

“Because I keep adding to my wealth and I had a lot of wealth to start with,” I answered snidely. I refused to say how much I actually had. A complete stranger didn’t need to know that I’d amassed fortunes in my 3,472 years. Kings and princes had rewarded me handsomely despite my many objections and refusals when I saved them or their children, or favorite mistresses. One Egyptian pharaoh had mummified me alive and buried me in an amazing tomb with his last wife. The last wife knew me before she died and had her will drawn up to have everything go to me. That’s why the pharaoh had me killed. I scared him nearly to death when I walked into his chambers three days later. He proceeded to give up all of his wife’s wealth and I took it. I played several tricks like that over the years, mostly on evil people. Once I even talked a pope out of the wealth of Rome. He was evil and a sucker for pretty girls. I gave most of the wealth back.

Thinking about my wealth reminded me to check on my bank accounts in the morning. Yes I said accounts. I’m not going to keep all my vast multitudes of money all in one place. That would be plain old dumb. In truth I have 3,000 years of accrued interest. The only groups really richer than me are the Catholic Church and the People’s Republic of China. I mostly pretend to just be well off and down to earth. I’ve never advertised that I could fund the International Space Travel Commission for twenty trips to Pluto and back.

I was getting impatient with Michael Angelus. It was 2:45 in the afternoon. My afternoon rush was about to start and I needed to finish up sorting the incense. Just as I was about to ask if he needed any help, again, he came to the counter with $300 more in merchandise. He carried a cauldron hooked on his arm filled with candles, incense, two chalices, a knife, a wand, and an alter cloth. He just made my day.

I smiled, added the books to the pile and started ringing things up. I wrapped everything up carefully with tissue paper and placed all that I could in the cauldron again as I went. The books and a few of the pillar candles went in a bag and I pushed the sales tax button on my antique register. The final price came up and I looked at Michael.

“Your total comes to $1,075. Will you be paying with cash or check?” I asked.

“Cash, thank you,” Michael answered as he pulled out his wallet. The wallet looked old, really old. I couldn’t be sure but it looked like it was made of dragon skin. Dragons were all but extinct. I had personally seen them hunted down for almost two thousand years, all over the world. No one believed that they still existed. Some people believe that they never existed. I only knew of one breeding pair left and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d run across any trace or mention of any others.

“Your wallet is interesting,” I commented. “Where did you get it?” I asked.

“I’ve had it forever. It was passed down to me from my great grandfather. He told me just before he died that is was very special. It has survived two big fires and me dropping it overboard on a canoe trip just in my lifetime,” Michael said as he handed me three big bills. There were two five hundreds and a hundred dollar bill. I quickly took the money and gave him his change and tried not to giggle like a schoolgirl.

I smiled some more and handed Michael Angelus the cauldron and the bag. “Thank you for shopping at Arcane’s Arcane. Have I nice day. Please come back any time with that list and I’ll see what I have,” I said cheerfully.

Michael walked out of the door, holding it for a couple of girls wearing long black dresses, too much red lipstick and with purple and green highlights in their dark hair. I shoved the money drawer closed with the cash inside and smiled at Veronica Billingsly and Chartreuse Pauls, two of my most regular teenage regulars. Chartreuse had the green highlights, Veronica the purple.

They found refuge in my store to avoid working at either of their parents’ companies, part time. I understood why. They each had three brothers and two sisters and a stupendous amount of cousins, all of whom worked at the Billingslys realty office, the Pauls’ Hardware and Machinery, or the Leonards Logging Company. I expected their third best friend, Morticia Leonard, to show up any minute.

Morticia was an only child, but had seventeen first cousins. Her parents wouldn’t let her work in the family business. She was one of my part time employees. She was always five to ten minutes late for her shift but I let it slide because she was on the track team. I preferred her late and showered to smelly and on time.

As usual Morticia walked in the door at 3:07, plunked her backpack behind the counter, swept her long dyed black hair into a wet ponytail and put on her magnetic nametag. I don’t require my employees to clock in. Firstly I’d fry the machine we’d need for that. Secondly there were three employees and myself. If the four of us couldn’t keep track of the hours I’m sure I’d be out of business by now. Thirdly everybody’s hours, including my own were kind of irregular. I was open six days a week from 9:00 to 1:00 and 2:00 to 9:00. I closed shop at 1:00 because I had to break for lunch. I sometimes didn’t reopen and sometimes I didn’t open the store until 2:00 because I didn’t feel like it. Morticia, Cindy Smith, and Juliet Freis worked whatever shifts they could squeeze in.

Juliet opened when I didn’t feel like it. Cindy closed and lot and Morticia worked the between shifts. Cindy and Morticia only worked four days a week though. I closed the store on Mondays to give myself a day off. Thankfully there were never emergencies of a pagan nature that didn’t involve burned fingers, an allergy attack, or a sliced hand. I also never had someone knock on my door needing emergency blessed candles. Once I’d had someone knock on my door in a bathroom emergency, once for a tow truck in the rain, and once a lady went into labor and needed me to call an ambulance, but never has someone knocked on my door with a pagan related emergency.

Ten of fifteen more bored teenagers and a few preteens who avoided all the stores and hangout spots, besides the Goth Piercing Pagoda, the library, the comic store, and the coffee shop wandered in. All of them were carrying coffee and sticky sweet snacks and plunked down on the couches, chairs, and beanbag chairs scattered around. All the backpacks, coats, and scarves were neatly hung up and placed around the five coat racks I kept for just such a reason.

My store was big. It took up the whole bottom level of my house, except for the kitchen, which I’d closed off when I renovated. I’d even blocked off the front stairs and used it to store books. The only way to get to my living area was a door behind the counter in the back of the store. The door leads to my kitchen and I locked it form either side, depending on the time of day.

Did I mention that my house is on the end of Main Street on the corner of First Avenue? It’s right at the beginning of the residential area. It was the only way I could have it zoned as a business and a residence.

As I walked out from behind the counter to let Morticia take over so I could finish stocking the incense. Veronica Billingsly came up to me and handed me a coffee cup and a cinnamon bun.

“Someone brought in two dozen cinnamon buns from the Espresso Bean. I thought you might like one before they get devastated. I think Mindy brought you a chai tea,” Veronica explained. Mindy was Cindy’s younger sister. They were the Smith daughters. Lindy, short for Lindbergh, was their baby brother. I felt sorry for all three of them. Their father was the town’s Baptist minister. Their mother was a very religious woman. She’d had all three of them baptized five or six times, made them memorize passages from the bible, and wouldn’t let them eat dinner until they’d finished their homework, done all their chores, and said a blessing over the meal.

When Cindy rebelled at 15 and started working for me her mother, Lorentia Mont Batten-Smith had disowned her and kicked her out of the house and Pastor Franklin Roosevelt Smith, her father, let her. Cindy spent two weeks living with Veronica Billingsly and nearly dropped out of school before she finally let me in on the secret.

I closed the store that afternoon and walked straight up to Lorentia Mont Batten-Smith, who was picking up Mindy and Lindy up from school at the time and slapped her in the face. I then proceeded to call her a bitch and told her that if she thought she was a good Christian she’d forgive her daughter, let her move back in, and practice a little tolerance.

She took my advice, and the very next day Cindy moved back in with her parents, was able to complete her freshman year, continue working for me, and she never had to go home for a family dinner if she didn’t want to. Lorentia even let Mindy and Lindy start hanging out after school a couple of days a week. Lorentia came in to pick all three of them up some nights and she’d chat with me. I think it was because I was the first ever brutally honest person she’d ever met. She even bought candles and incense once and a while, even though I charged her full price.

I thanked Veronica for the tea and cinnamon bun and went to sit in the back on the floor with the incense. Mindy came back a couple of minutes later and started helping me. I really do have a lot of volunteers, I thought to myself.

I took a sip of my tea and a bite of my sticky bun and savored them together while Mindy stuffed a handful of patchouli incense sticks in their proper container. I sneezed, swallowed my snack, and waited for my eyes to stop burning when a cloud of patchouli scented dust rose in the air. I heard two or three more people sneeze from the shelves behind me.

“Note: don’t eat food and drink hot beverage while working with things that make you sneeze,” I commented with a sniffle. “I hate patchouli,” I said to Mindy.

“Why do you carry patchouli then?” Mindy asked.

“Because some people like it. Thankfully I only have to mess with the incense once or twice a month. All the other smelly patchouli comes in sealed bottles and jars. Thank you for the chai tea. It’s my favorite,” I said changing the subject.

“I know,” Mindy said. “Nobody ever remembers to bring you anything unless they want something. I just like you and I like hanging out here. Nobody treats me like a little eighth grader or the crazy church people’s kid here, especially you. You treat me like a person.”

“That’s because you are a person,” I stated simply. “It wasn’t that long ago all of us here were measly little eighth-graders. We all know how it feels,” I added as I put the last bunches of incense away. “Do you want to help me clean the crystal balls?” I asked. “It’s fun. We get to roll them around like in that old movie, Labyrinth.”

“That movie is ancient,” Veronica commented as we walked to the case with the crystal balls in it, where she was standing.

“It’s still cool though,” I pointed out.

“Yeah right,” Veronica said sarcastically.

“Have you ever watched it all the way through?” I asked.

“No. It’s too long,” Morticia piped up from behind the register.

“I’ve seen all of you sit through all nine hours of the Lord of the Rings trilogy in one night. Labyrinth is an hour and a half long. It’s shorter than you English class,” I pointed out to all of them.

“How do you know about all these old movies?” Mindy asked.

“I spent a lot of time on the road growing up. My grandmother let me watch movies in the Winnebago. I was also home schooled and never lived anywhere for more than six months until my grandmother died and I moved here.” I half lied. I couldn’t very well tell anyone that I’d seen most of the old movies when they’d come out in theaters and now owned most of them on brmds. (For anyone who doesn’t know what brmds stands for, it stands for Blue Ray Mini Discs. I know I said I didn’t own anything more complicated than a toaster oven but my toaster oven talks to me.)

“You’re really cool. I wish I could move around like you,” Lindy piped up form the edge of the glass counter where I now juggled the crystal balls like David Bowie in Labyrinth. Quite a few people watched in awe as I threw three crystals in the air and caught them in a towel that I twirled magically out of my back pocket.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Veronica asked.

“I spent a couple of years traveling with a circus. My grandmother got hired out as the camp nurse. I watched Labyrinth with the jugglers because I thought it would give them new ideas. It did and they taught me how to do all their tricks. I could even do the trick I just showed you while walking on a moving train and not drop a single ball,” I answered as I set the three dust free crystals back in the case. I ran the towel over the rest, closed the case door and locked it. “Now get on with your homework,” I insisted as I ate the last of my cinnamon bun and drank the last few gulps of my tea.

I had a strict rule that if you were going to hang out and you were in school you had to do some homework while you hung out. Most of them followed that rule. I’d helped more kids ace history and comparative religion in the past two years than I cared to remember. I even helped some kids pass home economics by teaching them basic accounting skills and why you don’t put toadstools next to the shitake mushrooms even if they were in alphabetical order.

“Why don’t you ever let anyone upstairs?” Chartreuse piped up. Chartreuse rarely spoke but when she did she always had something poignant to say, or asked awkward questions.

“Because that’s where I live, sleep, eat, watch old movies, and generally like to be alone,” I said truthfully.

“You really don’t let anyone upstairs?” Veronica asked, continuing the awkward line of conversation.

“No. I let the plumber and the handyman up when I need them and a maid comes up once a week,” I again answered truthfully.

“So you don’t have a boyfriend? Are you gay?” Chartreuse asked. “What about that cute guy that held the door for me and Ronnie on our way in?”

“He was definitely not anything boyfriend like. I’m not gay. I just don’t have a lover at the moment. That man was just a customer. We chatted for a bit. He just got into town last night, is staying at the Blue Water Hotel and came in looking for some very specific things,” I explained.

“You were smiling at him a lot,” Veronica pointed out.

“You’d smile too if you’d just made a $1,000 sale. I can pay my taxes and buy food for a month just from that sale,” I pointed out.

“You certainly know a lot about him for just chatting with him for a few minutes,” Veronica pointed out.

“I know he was looking for specific things because he asked for them. I know that he just got in to town last night because he also told me. He’s staying at the Blue Water because where else would he be staying? Why can’t I chat with customers?”

“It’s perfectly alright for you to chat with customers but you seemed to be smiling an awful lot,” Chartreuse said.

“What? It’s illegal to smile now?” I asked defensively.

“No it’s not. You just don’t do it that often. You’re worse than me and Truce.” Veronica said. The way Veronica and Chartreuse called each other Ronnie and Truce made me want to gag. Morticia was even Ticia when they were all together. But I guess when you’re 17 with names that would get you teased from here to eternity you’d come up with nicknames too. Thank goodness I’d never gone through the teasing thing. Everybody was too afraid of my grandmother and me to tease me much, let alone be my friend.

“I’m allowed to be grouchy and dark. My life has been rough and painful. What’s your problem?” I taunted.

“Being the middle child of one of the three most prominent families in Saskatchewan,” Veronica stated.

“Don’t give me that middle child syndrome bull. I would kill for one brother or sister and you’ve got a bunch of them. I think you like to be all dark and stoic because it pisses your parents off. Now do something useful before I call them and tell them where you disappear to everyday except for Monday,” I teased. The store phone was having issues today, but they didn’t know that.

Morticia went back to work re-alphabetizing the essential oils. Veronica and Chartreuse grabbed rags and glass cleaner and started cleaning the display cases.

Lindy looked up at me like he normally did, his face had a look that was always somewhere between awe and dire need. His mom had died three months ago in a car crash even though she had cancer. Cindy and Mindy were dealing with it as best as they could and their dad was a rock but poor Lindy had no one because he was only eight.

“Can I help you Lindy?” I asked.

“The zipper on my bag is stuck. Can you help me open it?” he asked sheepishly.

“Sure thing,” I said. He ran over and grabbed his beat up, hand-me-down backpack and brought it to me. It’s zipper was metal and always caught on stray threads and bits of paper. I went and got some unscented lamp oil and rubbed it on the zipper and yanked it apart. The zipper gave easily and unexpectedly and I sent Lindy’s book and homework flying everywhere.

“I’m sorry Lindy,” I apologized as the last papers floated to the ground. “I’ll help you clean it up,” I added as I started picking up books and papers. Lindy did the same. As I grabbed my third handful of papers and the boy’s math book I looked over at Lindy and saw it. It was hard to see unless Lindy was bending over but I saw it at the exact moment he bent down to pick up his vocabulary book and spelling test. He had a tattoo, a big one. It covered his whole back from what I could see.

“Veronica,” I called, “Can you finish picking up this mess please?” I asked as I grabbed hold of Lindy’s arm. “Come here Lindy. I need to talk to you. You too Mindy and Cindy,” I said. All three of them followed me to the back deck. I had a screened in porch off the kitchen but most of the rest of the porches on the house were open to the public. I locked the door into the store behind me with my key and looked at the three children. “What the hell is your baby brother doing with a tattoo covering his whole back?” I demanded as I grabbed Lindy’s shirt and lifted it up to show his sisters.

“He was born with it,” Cindy answered. “He’s special. Mom called him ‘our little miracle’. She shouldn’t have even been able to have another kid when she got pregnant with Lindy. Then he was born with the tree on his back. The doctors said it was a sign that he was a mutant. They wanted to take him away and study him but mama wouldn’t let them.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Mindy cried. “He hasn’t shown any powers yet,” she added.

“Yes, I have,” Lindy objected as he pulled away from me. “I can see other mutants, the normal looking ones even. I can even tell what their powers are if I look at them long enough or touch them,” he announced.

I could tell that I went really pale. I knew it. I’d stayed in Backwater too long. It was all over. I’d have to pack up and leave tonight and tell my realtor to put the store on the market.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cindy asked as she knelt down to look Lindy in the face.

“Because I wanted it to be mine for a while. I didn’t want you to treat my any different than you already do too.”

“We knew you would get powers eventually,” Cindy pointed out. “We promised each other and mama that no matter what your powers or when they came that we’d treat you the same as always. You can tell us anything.”

“No I can’t. That would be wrong. I can’t tell you what I see in other mutants. It wouldn’t be fair to them. If they’re trying so hard to hide I have to let them,” Lindy said. I was amazed at how mature he was acting. Most eight year olds wouldn’t understand the concept he’d just explained.

All mutants who came out of the closet had to register as non-human and list any powers they had. It was horrible. They couldn’t and didn’t have any rights and they were usually blamed for anything and everything. They were treated worse than illegal immigrants and sex offenders combined. No wonder Lindy didn’t want to reveal himself or any other mutants. Now Cindy and Mindy would have to be twice as protective of Lindy because as soon as it got out that he was a mutant, especially with his powers, he’d be taken away. His powers would prove invaluable to any government, especially the Mutant Registration Agencies all over the world. He could be forced to identify all mutants and their powers if any of the M.R.A. s got a hold of him.

“Don’t worry,” I said, unlocking the door to back inside. “I wont tell a soul. Can I talk to Lindy for a moment?” I asked Mindy and Cindy. They nodded and left me alone on the porch with Lindy and went back inside.

“Now Lindy, I promised not to tell your secret to anyone. Can you answer me a question?” Lindy nodded. “Can you tell what I am?” I asked in all seriousness.

Lindy nodded again. “You’re special, even for one of us, a mutant. You’re the Merciful, the Sacrificial, the Blessed Right Hand of God,” he said, making the words merciful, sacrificial, and blessed like they should be capitalized. He also said god like he meant the one and only divine God.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“It’s my power. I also saw your wings this past summer at the park, when you wore that green dress. It took me a little longer to figure out what your powers were. I can just tell better now, since you touched my arm.”

“And what exactly to you think my powers are?”

“You die and come back, but not like vampires or zombies. You also heal yourself and others, and you’re also really old, like a pretty painting.”

“Can you explain why I’m old and like a pretty painting? I don’t understand what you mean by that,” I said honestly.

“A painting never changes but it lasts forever, like the Mona Lisa,” Lindy explained. I understood what he meant now and my eyes filled with tears. I’d never been compared to the Mona Lisa before, and in such an innocent and accurate way.

“Thank you Lindy, but I don’t think I’m like the Mona Lisa. I’m more like those French cave paintings, primitive and kind of funny looking,” I joked.

“No. You’re more like those Egyptian goddess carvings I saw at the museum. You’re pretty and exotic and you even have the cuffs like them,” Lindy pointed out.