The overwhelming scent of rotten eggs fills the car, and I groan and cover my nose with my shirt. I glare at Hoot, who couldn’t give two shits about the ass bombs he keeps dropping. I have the sneaking suspicion that he was adopted and returned because of the Bog of Eternal Stench that lives in his ass and not the mellow way he has about him. Gagging, I quickly roll down my window to combat the reek. So much for pretty curls today. I’d rather sport a lion’s mane at this point than breathe through the noxious fumes my familiar likes to bestow upon me. My eyes start to water, and I fan the air in front of my face to help dilute the smell.
“Couldn’t have crop dusted me back at the shelter and warned me about what I’d be dealing with before I bonded my soul to yours?” I grump as I wipe the fetor-induced tears from my eyes. He gives a snort that I swear feels like a you’re stuck with me now, witch.
Shaking my head, I turn the fan in the car to high in an effort to help dissipate the stink trying to settle into my upholstery. I steer into the parking lot of my grandmother’s shop and take it in as I pull slowly into the spot marked with a sign that reads Owner. Melancholy seeps into me as I turn off my car. I take a moment to stare at what used to be Grammy Ruby’s place, knowing that as soon as I walk through the front doors, it all becomes mine.
Hoot is tight on my heels as I step out of my car and reverently stand in front of the whitewashed brick building that houses the metaphysical shop on the ground floor and an apartment above. I’m supposed to move in here, but the thought of taking over my Grammy’s home so soon makes me feel uneasy. So I don’t plan on actually doing that until my apartment catches onto the whole dog thing and kicks me out, leaving me with no choice. The building is old and charming, but it’s been taken care of and kept up. It sits on the end of a cozy small-town-feel kind of street with other quaint shops speckled here and there.
We get a steady trickle of tourists because we’re not too far away from Salem. Hotels and B and Bs are occasionally cheaper here, so a lot of visitors like to stay and make the drive or ferry ride over to visit the more exciting cities next to us here in Marblehead. I have the option to pick up shop and move anywhere I want, but I just can’t picture wanting to be anywhere but here. The trees, the ocean, the Massachusetts accent, what more could a girl need.
It’s weird how much has changed in the last day, and yet this place looks the same. I don’t know what I expected when I was driving over here; I thought it would feel different maybe, but strangely it feels like it always did to me. Grammy Ruby was a minimalist and didn’t like change. I know it won’t take long to clear her things from both spaces and take them over with mine, but it feels wrong. I know the bones will forever connect me to her, but I’ll miss her immensely. Packing up her life isn’t going to feel good. I know she was ready to go, but selfishly I wasn’t ready. I’m still not.
The closing of my car door echoes around the empty street as I prepare myself for the next task at hand. The shop’s name, The Eye, sits white and pristine above a fig-colored awning. The large windows bordering the front doors announce Psychic Readings in text so large that it’s readable from the two-lane street as you drive by. There’s a sacred geometric shape stenciled in the background that looks like a large flower, but if you study it closely, you’ll see that each line of the drawing is composed of a bone. I finger the skeleton key on my keyring that opens the shop, batting away the feelings of inadequacy and intimidation.
I can do this. I can honor the call of my ancestors.
I steel myself and grumble internally to stop stalling. No amount of standing out here and staring or reminiscing is going to change the fact that I’m the line’s Osteomancer now. I need to stop focusing on how hard this is going to be or how bad I’ll feel about it and find a way to make it work. With that, I straighten my spine and walk confidently to the front of the shop. I slip the key into its partnering lock, and with a snick, open the doors to the rest of my life.
Incense, sage, and verbena greet me as I step into the sunshine streaked space. My gaze roams over the different stones and crystals on display, either for sale or positioned in the shop for some other purpose. Dried herbs and other bottled ingredients take up a whole wall to my left, housed on rustic wood shelves that could use a good dusting. A saffron-hued curtain separates the main part of the shop from the area where Grammy Ruby liked to do her readings. I breathe it all in, and for the first time since the bones appeared on my dining room table, I feel a little hopeful.
Each generation of Osteomancer makes a shop their own, moving, updating and tweaking things as they see fit. Sometimes they come in and overhaul everything, sometimes they change nothing. I’ve been here mere seconds, and already I can envision iron and glass shelves, blond hardwood on the ground, and a sleek neutral color palette with a warm inviting feel. Massive cushions should be positioned around the place for customers to relax on while they page through magic books or pick out their next tarot deck. I picture potions and tinctures packaged in modern glass bottles, with my family’s sigil pressed into wax on the seal. I may not be ready for all the magic and mayhem that comes with this new title, but the redecorating, I can definitely handle.
I step past the rows of shelves in the middle of the shop and step through the curtain that leads to the reading area. I immediately imagine antique barn-style doors to close off and separate the space instead. Light streams through the sheer curtains and settles on a large round ebony table that sits in the middle of the room. I won’t be the one to remove it as it’s been a fixture in my family’s shop for more generations than I could count. I make a note to get some colorful armchairs for this area and to look at some textured wallpaper options. I want a cozier vibe back here as opposed to the ominous feel it has now with all the dark purple and black. It’s time to bring this psychic crap into the twenty-first century.
The wood of the stairs groans under my weight as I start up the flight that leads to the apartment above the shop. A familiar tinkling sound of the chimes above the front door reaches me, and instead of going up, I turn on the spot and rush back down.
Shit. I must have forgotten to lock the doors.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” I announce as I burst through the saffron-colored curtain and rush toward the front of the shop to intercept whoever just walked in.
“We’ll be open in a couple months…” I continue, but when I exit the potions aisle and turn toward the front door, I smack right into a large, hard chest.
An oomph escapes me, and I stumble back, ricocheting off a wall of pure muscle. Large hands grab me by my shoulders and keep me from ass-planting myself on the linoleum floor. I press my palms against man pecs to steady myself, and then I look up. And up. And then up a little more before finally settling my gaze on what is probably the most attractive face I’ve ever seen.
I just body checked Joe Jonas’s hotter, beefier, and more masculine looking older brother. Creamy olive skin, hair the color of rich freshly ground coffee, a five o’clock shadow I want to lick off his perfectly angled jaw. The man’s bright moss-green eyes look me over, and I’m so close to him I can take in the small ring of gold that circles his pupils. He has a scar that starts a couple inches above his left eyebrow and slashes down his face, stopping just under his cheek. The large scar does nothing to take away from his overall gorgeousness. If anything, it adds a more feral vibe that I suspect any red-blooded woman would find utterly irresistible.