Page 62 of The Slug Crystal
"But the community," I press. "You can tell us how to find it?"
She nods, moving to a small desk where she scratches directions onto a scrap of paper. "Follow this road out of the city. Look for the gates with painted vines. You cannot miss it."
As she hands me the paper, her fingers brush mine, and a static shock jumps between us. Her eyes meet mine, dark and knowing.
"Be careful what you seek, young one," she says softly. "Sometimes the path to undoing leads somewhere unexpected."
I swallow hard, nodding my thanks as I tuck the paper into my pocket. As we turn to leave, my gaze lingers on the journal behind glass, the snail symbol seeming to watch me as we file out of the shop.
The bell jingles once more as the door closes behind us, and I emerge into the Florentine sunlight feeling both closer to and further from our goal than when we entered.
Saturday, 11:46AM. The artist community materializes at the end of a dusty gravel road like a fever dream—a collection of mismatched cabins splashed with murals in colors so vibrant they almost hurt my eyes. Twisted metal sculptures rise from the earth between buildings, their abstract forms reaching toward the cloudless Tuscan sky. I step out of our rented car,Alex's terrarium cradled against my chest, hope fluttering cautiously in my stomach. Sarah was here. Maybe, just maybe, someone knows where she went.
"It's like Burning Man had a baby with a Tuscan vineyard," Ben observes, shielding his eyes against the midday sun. His hair is tousled from the car ride, the breeze further disheveling it as he surveys our surroundings.
Several artists work in the open air. There’s a woman welding metal with sparks cascading around her like falling stars, and a shirtless man painting directly onto a cabin wall, his back a canvas of intricate tattoos. No one pays us much attention as we approach, as if strangers wandering in from the outside world is a common occurrence here.
"We should split up," Jake suggests, his practical nature asserting itself. "Cover more ground. Ask about Sarah." His blue eyes scan the commune with tactical precision, already mapping out search zones.
"Good idea," Luca agrees. "I'll take the north side." He gestures to a cluster of cabins half-hidden by olive trees. His confidence makes the simple act of volunteering seem like a generous favor.
Marco adjusts his glasses, squinting against the sun. "I'll speak with the sculptors. They seem to have established a central workspace that might function as a communal gathering point."
"I'll charm the painters," Ben volunteers with a wink. "They always know the gossip."
"I'll just..." I begin, but Jake cuts in.
"I'll go with Emma," he says, the protective note in his voice unmistakable. After a moment of awkward silence, he adds, "Or we can divide the eastern cabins between us."
"I'll be fine on my own," I assure him, though his concern warms me. "Let's meet back here in thirty minutes?"
We scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind, each heading toward different sections of the commune. I follow a narrowpath between cabins, Alex's terrarium a familiar weight against my ribs. The blue snail seems unbothered by the jarring movement, exploring his glass home with leisurely curiosity.
The first artist I approach, a woman creating intricate mandala patterns on recycled wood, remembers Sarah immediately.
"The crystal witch," she says, nodding. "Beautiful energy. She helped balance my root chakra." The woman's hands don't stop working as she speaks, adding dots of white paint with methodical precision. "Left about three weeks ago. Very suddenly."
"Did she say where she was going?" I ask, the question becoming a familiar refrain.
"That's the thing," the woman says, finally looking up from her work. "She never mentioned leaving. Then one morning, poof, gone. Her cabin cleaned out, no note, nothing."
I thank her and move on, hearing variations of the same story from three more artists. Sarah was here, Sarah was respected, Sarah disappeared without warning. Each time, hope rises and falls in my chest like a bird unable to sustain flight.
By the time we reconvene, the sun has shifted in the sky, casting longer shadows across the commune. One look at the others' faces tells me they've had no better luck than I have.
"She left without telling anyone where she was going," Ben confirms, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"But she was definitely here until about three weeks ago," Marco adds. "Several residents mentioned she was working on some special project. Something that required rare ingredients."
"The herbs from the shop in Florence," Jake says, connecting the dots.
Luca leans against a nearby sculpture, his casual posturebelying the intensity in his eyes. "One woman told me Sarah received a phone call the day before she left. Said she seemed agitated afterward."
"Did she hear what it was about?" I ask, clutching at this thin thread of information.
Luca shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no. Just that Sarah kept saying 'It's too soon' and 'I'm not ready.'"
I turn away from the group, frustration bubbling up like a pot about to boil over. We keep finding breadcrumbs, but they lead nowhere. I pace between two cabins, gripping Alex's terrarium so tightly my knuckles turn white.
