Last night’s pain returned. Resolutely, Skye pushed away the memory. She pulled her waist-length red hair into a ponytail and sized up the job. The room was dark and damp, with only a single window high up on the back wall that was grated with black, iron burglar bars, and coated with a nasty gray film from years of neglect. A one-inch thick grime had settled on nearly every object and trash was strewn everywhere. Boxes of crystals and bottles of essential oils lay next to unalphabetized books. She scowled; clearly there was no system in place.
She set to work sweeping the floor first, so as not to trip on some fallen object. The only thing in the world she enjoyed more than making crystal jewelry was getting things in order. Better make that her third favorite thing. Hanging out with Tanner was the best, even if he just thought of her as Michael’s little sister.
The radio broadcast was good company and she listened for Tanner’s name, hoping he would get a chance to play. She pictured him sitting on the sideline, helmet in hand, waiting to be called in. He’d be decked out in his pads and uniform, sweaty from a pregame workout, and his dark hair would be slightly damp and curling on the ends.
She slipped into a favorite daydream where he rose from the bench and scanned the bleachers for her in the crowd. They made eye contact and then Tanner would throw down his helmet and run up the aisle where she waited, realizing he was madly in love . . .
What the heck was this crap laying on the floor? She scowled at the huge, dried-up insect carcasses in the dustpan and threw them in a wastebasket. Major icky. The room looked like it had never been swept. A perfect breeding ground for mice. She swept up another dustpan load and checked to see if there were any mouse droppings. Whew, none. That was a relief at least.
She started tossing the mess, but looked again at the oversized carcasses wondering what kind of insects had died down here. They were fairly large, about three or four inches, and had wings.
A faint green glow sputtered for an instant in the dustpan. Skye stared harder. The glow had vanished, but the remaining dust had iridescent sparkles that glittered in the faint light. The room was eerily silent, the radio off. Now that was weird. A cold draft chilled her back and she glanced over her shoulder, uneasy and jumpy.
It struck her that she was totally alone in the basement and probably no one upstairs would even hear her if she screamed.
Get real. The batteries were shot in that old radio and had finally died. These insects were probably . . . dragonflies.
At first glance, yes, but closer examination showed a larger body, almost human-like. No, it had to be dragonflies. Odd for October, but there was no telling the last time the storeroom had been cleaned, if ever. For sure, it hadn’t been in the few weeks she’d been working here.
And she had imagined the green glow. Really, it was probably like a floater or something in her eyes. She’d think of something else and stay busy. Claribel would be so surprised when she came downstairs and saw how much cleaner it was.
Skye smiled, remembering her strange job interview with Claribel. Her woman’s first question had been to ask her astrological sign.
Pisces.
Then Skye had to write out her full name, ‘Skye Violet Watters’, on a blank sheet of paper so Claribel could analyze her penmanship and do a numerological reading. She only asked one question, but it was a doozie. “Are you a witch?”
Skye had stumbled on the answer. “I guess . . . technically . . . I would have to say yes. I mean, my mom is one.”
“Technically?” Claribel raised an eyebrow and her lips twitched in amusement.
“I’m not a very good one,” she’d admitted. “I was raised in The Craft but I’ve never done a spell that went the way it was supposed to.”
“The goddesses have a mind of their own and usually it all works out for the best,” Claribel said, seemingly unconcerned with the confessed failure.
What a wonderful contrast to her mother’s icy disapproval. Skye had rushed in to redeem herself. “But I absolutely love crystals. I design jewelry based on a person’s energy and needs.”
Skye pulled out the design sketchbook she’d brought with her, and Claribel flipped through the pages, nodding in satisfaction. “You have a great talent.”
She’d noticed Claribel’s unusual thumb ring: it looked like a moon or planet orb set atop a band of titanium. Tiny obsidian circles formed craters and random chips of moonstone cast tiny flecks of light on the dark metal.
Claribel never looked up from the sketchbook, but said, “The ring – it was a gift from my late husband.”
“It’s very unique.” Skye wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. A bit large and gaudy for her taste. Maybe it was the kind of piece that grew on you because it was given by a loved one.
She jumped when the sketchbook slammed shut. “You’re hired,” Claribel said. “The fairies like you.”
“Uhm . . . great.” Fairies? Well, a job was a job. And working at The Green Fairy would be a training ground for learning more about matching crystals to customer needs. Not to mention she needed the money.