Page 109 of The Slug Crystal
The car speeds toward Milan, carrying us toward answers or another dead end. I watch the road ahead, trying to focus on hope instead of fear, on possibility instead of doubt. Beside me, in his glass house, Alex slides methodically across his lettuce leaf, unconcerned with the journey or its destination. I envy his simplicity, his ability to exist fully in the present moment without fear of what comes next.
Ben turns up the radio, Italian pop music filling the car. He drums his fingers on the dashboard in perfect rhythm, occasionally singing along in mangled Italian that makes Marco wince. Luca's hand remains steady in mine, warm and reassuring. And for just a moment, despite everything, the impossibility of our quest, the complications of our relationships, the blue snail who was once my boyfriend, I feel something dangerously close to joy.
The taxi drops us off at the entry of what appears to be an alleyway. Jake takes the lead, winding down the cobbled road ahead, carrying Alex. A narrow storefront appears suddenly between a gelato shop and a boutique selling handmade leather goods, so small I nearly miss it despite Jake's dead stop in the middle of the path.
"Here!" he says, as I pull up short, barely avoiding a collision with his back.
A hand-painted wooden sign swings gently in the summer breeze, the words "Candele di Stella" written in flowing script above a simple star design. My heart climbs into my throat as I stare at the shop. This unremarkable little storefront might hold the key to everything.
"Is that seriously it?" Ben asks, craning his neck for a better view. "It's tiny."
"Size isn't everything, Clark," Luca replies with a smirk. "As I'm sure you're aware."
Marco ignores their banter, already consulting his notebook of questions. "The shop has been in business for fifteen years, according to their website. Family-owned, specializing in hand-poured beeswax candles with essential oil blends."
"How is any of that relevant?" Ben asks.
"Context is always relevant," Marco replies primly, tucking the notebook into his pocket.
Jake's hand finds the small of my back, a gentle pressure that both grounds and propels me forward. The street buzzes with typical Milanese energy, with fashionable locals striding purposefully past tourists who stop to photograph every charming detail. None of them notice our strange procession or the terrarium Jake carries like a fragile treasure.
A small bell chimes as we enter, the sound clear and bright in the hushed interior. The shop is exactly as narrow as it appeared from outside, but extends surprisingly deep, creating a tunnel-like space lined with wooden shelves. Candles in every imaginable shape and color fill the shelves. There are spirals, pillars, and floating candles in jewel tones of amber, emerald, and sapphire, all on the first shelf to my left. The air hangs heavy with scent. There’s pure beeswax underlaid with more complex notes of lavender, sage, cedar, and a spicier scent I can't identify.
The back wall holds dozens of glass jars filled with herbs, dried flowers, and what look like crystal shards. Beneath these, a glass counter displays smaller items. Like pendants, tiny bottles of essential oils, and several other items that remind me painfully of the website selling the crystal kit that started this whole mess.
"Buongiorno!" A woman emerges from a curtained doorway behind the counter, her voice warm and melodic. Silver streaks her dark hair, which is twisted into a simple knot at the nape of her neck. She wears a long apron stainedwith colorful wax drippings, and her hands bear the slight burns and calluses of someone who works daily with hot materials. Her smile is genuine but curious as she takes in our unusual group.
She says something else in rapid Italian, gesturing around her shop with evident pride. I look helplessly at Marco, who steps forward with a polite smile.
"She welcomes us to her shop and asks how she can help," he translates, before responding to her in fluid Italian.
The woman's eyes widen slightly as Marco speaks, her gaze jumping between all of us before settling on Jake, or more specifically, on the terrarium in his arms. She responds with another flood of Italian, her hands moving expressively as she speaks.
"She asks why we've brought a snail into her shop," Marco translates, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I step forward, heart pounding so hard I worry she might hear it. "Please ask her if she knows Sarah DeMarco," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Tell her it's urgent and the snail is related."
Marco translates, adding something that makes the woman's expression shift from confusion to interest. She nods vigorously, speaking again while pointing at the glass jars along the back wall.
"She says yes, she knows Sarah. She carried her crystal kits and special candles until recently," Marco translates. "They were very popular with her customers."
Hope explodes in my chest like fireworks, bright and dazzling. I move closer to the counter, grab Alex's terrarium from Jake, and set it down where the woman can see it clearly.
"This is going to sound crazy," I begin, waiting for Marco to translate. "But this snail... he used to be human. My boyfriend, Alex. He was transformed by one of Sarah's crystal kits." I pause, watching the woman's face for signs of disbeliefor mockery. "We need to find Sarah so she can help us reverse it."
As Marco translates, the woman's expression shifts from polite interest to wide-eyed astonishment. She leans forward, peering intently at Alex through the glass. The blue snail, perhaps sensing her scrutiny, emerges from his shell and extends his antennae toward her.
"Mamma mia," she whispers, clearly requiring no translation. She asks a question, her voice hushed with what sounds like awe.
"She wants to know how long he's been like this," Marco says.
"Almost a month now," I reply, watching as the woman's eyes soften with what appears to be genuine sympathy.
She straightens up, saying something rapid and seemingly apologetic to Marco, her hands making a flying gesture away from her body. My Italian is nonexistent, but something in her tone, in the pitying glance she gives Alex's terrarium, makes my stomach drop before Marco even translates.
"Sarah moved to Bali," he says quietly. "Two weeks ago.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Bali. An island on the literal opposite side of the world. My vision narrows, the colorful candles blurring at the edges as blood rushes in my ears. My knees buckle slightly, and Jake's hand is instantly at my elbow, steadying me.
