Page 61 of The Slug Crystal
Luca steps forward, offering a greeting in rapid Italian that makes the shopkeeper's expression soften fractionally. She responds with a torrent of words I can't follow, occasionally glancing at our group with undisguised curiosity.
"I've explained we're looking for someone," Luca translates, his casual elegance somehow fitting perfectly in this ancient space. "A woman named Sarah DeMarco. American, like you."
I step forward, shifting the terrarium to one arm so I can pull out my phone. "This is her," I say, showing the shopkeeper the picture Ben found on Instagram. "Dark hair, probably about my height. She sells crystals and... other things."
The shopkeeper's eyes spark with recognition, and my heart leaps into my throat. "La strega americana," she says, nodding slowly. "The crystal witch. Yes, I know this one."
"She's been here?" I ask, hope surging through me like an electrical current.
"Many times. She came for special herbs, things difficult tofind." The shopkeeper's English is accented but clear. "Very particular about quality. Very knowledgeable."
Jake moves closer. "When was the last time you saw her?"
The shopkeeper's mouth puckers as if tasting something sour. "Weeks ago. Perhaps a month. She bought vervain, mandrake root, and angelica. Said she was working on something... importante."
My fingers tighten around the terrarium glass. "Did she say where she was going? Or where she was staying?"
"So many questions," the shopkeeper murmurs, eyeing me with renewed suspicion. "What is your interest in Sarah?"
"She's... a friend," I lie, feeling the weight of Alex's terrarium growing heavier by the second. "She sold me something that didn't quite work as expected." I lift the terrarium slightly. "I need her help fixing it."
The shopkeeper's dark eyes move to the glass enclosure, studying the blue snail within. For a moment, I swear Alex stares back at her, his snail body frozen in place as if in recognition.
"Interesting color for a snail," she observes, her tone deceptively casual.
Ben wanders away from our conversation, examining the cluttered shelves with exaggerated interest that I recognize as his way of investigating without drawing attention. Marco follows his lead, moving to the opposite side of the shop, his scholarly demeanor providing perfect cover for his scrutiny.
"Wait," Ben calls suddenly, his voice sharp with discovery. "Look at this."
We turn to find him pointing at a glass display case near the back of the shop. Inside rests a leather-bound journal, its cover worn and stained with age. But what catches my attention, what makes my blood freeze in my veins, is the symbol embossed on its cover. It’s a snail inside a triangle, an exact replica of an image that appeared on the spell page from witchwebshop.
"That's it," I breathe, moving toward the case as if pulled by an invisible thread. "That's the symbol from the website."
The shopkeeper appears beside me, her movements surprisingly swift and silent for someone her age. "You recognize this sign?"
I nod, unable to lie with the evidence of my reaction so clearly written on my face. "It was on the website where I bought the... the thing that didn't work."
She studies me with new interest. "This journal belonged to Sarah. She left it behind when she departed, quite suddenly, I might add."
"Can we look at it?" Jake asks, his voice carefully controlled.
The shopkeeper shakes her head. "It is locked. For display only." She points to a small, ornate clasp securing the journal. "No key was left."
"We could try—" Ben begins, but the shopkeeper's sharp glance cuts him off.
"It is not for sale or for borrowing," she says firmly.
"Where did Sarah go when she left?" Marco asks, rejoining our group. "Did she mention her plans?"
"She was staying at an artist community outside the city," the shopkeeper says after a moment's consideration. "A place for creative souls and those seeking... alternative perspectives." Her tone suggests she doesn't think highly of the kind of alternatives that might be found there.
"Do you have an address?" Luca asks, his charm turned up to maximum wattage as he leans casually against the counter.
The shopkeeper regards him with amused tolerance. "I can tell you how to find it, though it is likely she is no longer there. She left without saying goodbye, which was unlike her. She always paid her respects before journeys."
Ben slides closer to the shopkeeper, his green eyes crinkling with his most disarming smile. "Maybe she mentioned something to you—a future destination, someone she wasmeeting? Anything could help us, and we'd be so grateful." His voice drops to a conspiratorial purr. "I'm sure a woman of your perception notices things others miss."
The flattery earns him a dry chuckle but little else. "Sarah kept her own counsel," the shopkeeper says, unmoved by his charm offensive. "She spoke of ingredients and spells, not itineraries. Always secretive about where she went between visits."
