Home > Allure of the Vampire King(4)

Allure of the Vampire King(4)
Author: Bella Klaus

“Istabelle,” I shouted. “Please, come down.”

The older woman didn’t answer, and I hoped she wasn’t on the phone to Australia or somewhere like that, arranging another long-distance purchase.

My boss sourced magical stones from all over the world, coming in varying levels of power, but this was the first item we’d received that had ever done something sentient.

I reached into the counter drawer, picked up a pair of wire cutters, and slipped them between two of the heart-shaped stones.

The door opened, and a customer staggered in, clutching her belly. She was thin, wearing a pinstriped pencil suit, indicating that she probably worked in one of the offices nearby. Ropes of greasy blonde hair hung over her pale face, which looked at odds with her smart attire and laptop-sized Louis Vuitton bag.

I shoved the cutters back into the drawer and straightened. “Welcome to the Crystal Shop,” I said in my best shopkeeper voice. “How may I help—”

“Do you have something for upset stomachs?” She held on to a shelf displaying crystal balls, barely able to stand.

“Are you alright?” I walked around the counter, crossed the shop floor, and stared down at the woman’s source of pain.

I couldn’t see magic—only feel it—but the energy radiating from her torso was rough and jagged, reminding me of daggers too blunt and rusty to cut. They weren’t just jutting out of her but moving.

My gaze snapped to the woman’s face, which was contorted with pain. This was a psychic attack.

There was an ethic for healing. If I saw something was wrong with a person, I couldn’t just fix it without their knowledge or consent.

Istabelle taught me that it would be a violation. I had to ask her if she needed help, if she wasn’t a client, bring it up in conversation, and then offer.

Psychic attacks at this level weren’t deliberate. There wasn’t usually a human sitting somewhere with a voodoo doll, sending negative vibes.

A person working in a hostile office where they were the target of malevolent thoughts could find themselves feeling the negativity in their physical body. Attacks like this occurred when the thoughts coalesced into shards of energy too powerful to be ignored.

The woman stared up at me, her eyes wide. “Do you have a natural remedy for stomach aches?”

I guided her to the corner, where two small armchairs were arranged around the shelves of esoteric books. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring over a few items.”

Sometimes, all a crystal required was to be in the presence of the person who needed them to work. Without touching her or placing my hands on her body, I could already tell that her biggest problem was psychic protection and not an upset stomach.

I walked across the room to the trays where we kept the protective crystals and stopped at the ones already polished into pendants.

My fingers lingered over the display. Onyx, obsidian, and black tourmaline. All three had similar properties in that they protected the user from negative energy. While the first two tended to absorb the energy, black tourmaline transmuted it into positive. My instincts guided me to the black tourmaline.

I turned around to take another look at the woman, whose features relaxed. Without thinking too much about it, I let my gaze snap to the basket of smooth pendants and selected one nearly the size of my palm.

“How about this?” I walked back to the woman and placed the pendant over her solar plexus chakra.

Chakras were the body’s energy centers. According to what Istabelle taught me, we had seven, and the solar plexus dealt with weight, self-esteem, and boundaries. It was also the area that most commonly received psychic attacks.

The woman inhaled a deep breath and sighed. “That’s so much better than the antacids they sold me at the chemist. I’ll have to thank my sister for recommending your shop. How much is it?”

Warmth filled my chest. The best part of this job was seeing the difference these crystals could make in a customer’s wellbeing.

We’d have to find a chain long enough for the pendant to hang close to the solar plexus, and a session or two with the sound bath would break up those energy forms. If she was willing, I could teach her ways to protect herself from all the attacks.

“A crystal this size is 29.99,” I replied with a smile.

She reared back, her nose wrinkling. “For a poxy stone?”

My lips formed a tight line. How could I tell her that this particular stone had magical properties that would not only absorb the negativity thrown her way but transform it into something positive?

Comments like that would lead to a barrage of questions demanding proof of magical ability, threatening the exposure of the Supernatural World.

“This particular piece of black tourmaline was sourced from Asia,” I replied.

“Black tourmaline, huh?” She pulled out her smartphone and fired up her eBay app.

After tapping in the name, she huffed. “It says here I can get a large piece for seven pounds, including shipping.”

I raised a shoulder and walked back to the counter, with the crystal in my palm. Istabelle taught me never to argue with customers over our prices. If they couldn’t see or feel the value of our products, well, that was their decision.

The few supernatural customers who came here never balked because they knew what they were buying. Some humans were open to new age and natural healing, but this lady seemed to place more value in material things like her designer accessories than in her health.

She stood and snatched a copy of The Crystal Bible off the shelf. “I can get this cheaper on Amazon, too.”

“Alright.” I pulled out a drawer where we placed crystals that needed cleansing.

Since the black tourmaline pendant had relieved the woman’s pain, we couldn’t sell it to anyone else without removing any traces of her or her attackers’ energies.

With a huff, she threw the book down on the chair and stomped out of the store, bringing in a blast of cool air from outside.

I rested my hands on the counter, watching her stride across the road. With each step she took toward the other side, her posture curled in on itself. Now that she’d left the store’s protective environment, her pain had returned.

The door leading to the apartment opened, and Istabelle poked out her fluffy head. “You called?”

I showed her my wrist. “The delivery just attached itself to me. Can you help me get it off?”

Istabelle’s gray brows drew together. “I didn’t order firestone.”

My gaze dropped to the transparent heart-shaped crystals. “I thought this was citrine.”

She shook her head. “Firestone only takes the appearance of triple-A-grade citrine,” she said in lecture mode. “The difference is its temperature. While citrine is warm, firestone has an absence of heat until activated.”

“How do you activate firestone?” The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them.

What I really wanted to know was how to take off the bracelet, who sent it, and why in the Natural World it had decided to attach itself to me.

Istabelle launched into an explanation of the stone’s immense capacity to store and discharge fire-based energy. There were few magical volcanoes around the world, such as the one beneath the Aegean Sea.

Magical miners used the stones to gather and store fire for warfare. Firestone was one of the reasons why the supernatural communities around the world seldom went to war. Each held an arsenal of stored energy powerful enough to destroy entire cities.

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