Page 15 of The Lost Empress

It seemed to have maintained its classic charm with ornate wooden shelves, oversized leather chairs and antique floor lamps which cast a soft, golden glow across the room. Sunlight streamed through the large, arched windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air and the colorful spines of countless books that lined the shelves.

Gen marveled at the whimsical touches scattered throughout the shop, from the floating books that seemed to shelve themselves to the enchanted reading nooks that appeared to shift and change as if offering readers an array of options. The air hummed with a subtle, magical energy that Gen couldn’t quite place, but it filled her with a sense of wonder and curiosity as she began to study the area around her, not knowing where to start her hunt for moral philosophy books.

Something is going to happen in that bookshop, Emperor said in Gen’s head, making her tense.

What is it? She replied, looking up as if expecting the ceiling to cave in. Should I leave?

I don’t know what it is, but I feel a powerful surge of energy related to a future event that happens in that place, Emperor answered telepathically. And no, you shouldn’t run from whatever it is.

But what if it’s something bad?

Things aren’t simply good or bad, he replied. And bad things happen to create room for good. So who is to say what any event truly is. Big storms give way to new growth and clear areas for development. As a Rogue Rider, you must see things beyond the veil of simply good and bad. Be like Mama Jamba and see colors that don’t exist and know that things are much more than what meets the eye.

Okay, so I stay here and check things out, then, Gen offered, bolstering her resolve.

Absolutely, Emperor answered. And who knows, it might be a very positive event full of love that I’m picking up on.

“For the love of Hemingway!” a male’s voice boomed from behind a shelf. “Would you leave me alone about this nonsense? I don’t have time for this! I have to put bars on the windows.”

Two men materialized from between the stacks of books, neither taking notice of Gen, standing at the front of the shop. One was quite old with white hair and a face full of wrinkles. He was very handsome though and well put together in a button-up shirt, vest and slacks, carrying himself with an air of authority about him.

Trailing behind him and looking just as flustered, was a much younger man. He only had brown hair on the top of his head, the rest of it shaved on the sides. He wore a tiny mustache, curved up on the ends.

That’s a handlebar mustache and the guy is known as a hipster in this time period, Emperor offered in her head, helping Gen to make sense of what she was seeing, since he was scrying in her head.

What’s a hipster? Gen asked, taking in the guy’s strange dress. He was wearing a T-shirt that read, “You Gotta Risk It To Get the Biscuit.” His starched, dark blue jeans were rolled up over his ankles like he wanted everyone to see the large tan, leather boots he was wearing.

They are people who are obsessed with vintage styles, indie music and artisanal activities outside the mainstream and pride themselves on their nonconformity, Emperor explained as Gen watched the men move to the front of the bookshop.

Are they like those hippies that all my relatives loathe? Gen asked.

No, hippies advocate peace, love and communal living and often express opposition to mainstream societal norms through their style and choices, he explained.

Gen smirked. Liv describes them doing that which is so uniquely different for the purposes of being an ironic pain in the ass.

That’s accurate, Emperor imparted.

“I just think there’s an opportunity to expand your offerings,” the younger man said in a squeaky voice, continuing to follow the older guy, who looked less than happy about being stalked through the store. “We could sell vinyl records, locally sourced products and offer single-origin coffee.”

The other man threw up his hands, continuing to stomp in Gen’s direction, but not focused on her. “I own a bookshop, not a hodgepodge store that doesn’t know what it sells. And I don’t need more merchandise that criminals will break in here and try and steal.”

A woman poked her head out from another nearby shelf, her dark rope-like hair falling down over one eye. “Walter, would you not get yourself all worked up? You’re going to have a heart attack.”

“Yeah, why don’t you take a break,” a woman’s voice rang out from the other side of the sitting area at the front of the Spellbound Pages Bookshop. Gen didn’t even see the woman curled up next to a window, her curly, brown hair obscuring her round face. She was sitting on the carpet in front of a row of chairs, like she preferred the hard floor to soft cushions. Scattered all around her were what appeared to be open cookbooks. She pointed to the counter area where the cash register and check out was located on the other side of Gen. “I left you a cup of minestrone soup there.”

Walter, who was only a few feet away, turned his head over his shoulder, looking at the woman peeking out from the shelves. “I’m not going to give myself a heart attack.” He pointed at the young man beside him now. “Boon is going to do that for me.”

The man then gave his attention to the woman sitting on the floor. “And thank you, JoAnne, but I’m not very hungry.”

“But I made it myself,” the woman said, pouting a little.

“You always make it yourself,” the woman with rope-like hair said, striding out into the open area wearing a flowing skirt and a tie-dye shirt. She had this aloof expression on her face, like she cared greatly about one or two things in the world and then really didn’t care about all others.

That’s a hippie, Emperor said in Gen’s head. And those are dreadlocks in her hair. They require a total lack of effort. Meaning the less you do to care for your hair, the better they become.

Gen grimaced. So she doesn’t wash her hair?

She probably doesn’t wash anything, Emperor replied. And her name is probably Rainn or Autumn or Moonshine.

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