Page 70 of The Slug Crystal
I accept the terrarium, examining the blue snail, who is indeed moving about his enclosure with what appears to be complete indifference to the chaos of human emotions swirling around him.
"Thank you," I say simply, knowing the words are inadequate. "All of you."
"Don't thank us yet," Ben says with a grin. "We still have to find your witch and turn your snail boyfriend back into a human. Then things will get really interesting."
I laugh despite myself, clutching Alex's terrarium as we make our way back to the car. The blue snail presses against the glass, as if curious about our destination. "Assisi," I tell him quietly. "And hopefully, Sarah."
As Jake holds the car door open for me, our eyes meet insilent communication, an acknowledgment of what passed between us and a promise of conversations to come. For now, though, the search continues, our strange quintet united in purpose.
"Onward," I say as we settle back into the car, the Tuscan countryside stretching endlessly before us. "Let's find our witch."
17LUMBERJACK SKILLS ARE UNDERRATED
Sunday,2:11PM. The peace commune emerges at the end of a winding dirt road, and my heart sinks faster than a stone in water. This isn't the mystical sanctuary we've been chasing across Italy. It looks like a hipster yoga retreat with commercial undertones.
I clutch Alex's terrarium closer as we step out of the car, my eyes struggling to process the chaotic scene before us. So much for finding Sarah in some serene spiritual haven.
"You've got to be kidding me," Jake mutters beside me, his hand instinctively finding the small of my back, a protective gesture that's become familiar since our search started in Italy.
Before us stretches what might once have been a peaceful olive grove, now transformed into a carnival of performative spirituality. White canvas tents dot the landscape, their interiors glowing with strings of fairy lights despite the afternoon sun. People in flowing linen garments move between them with an affected slowness that seems more about being seen than finding inner peace.
"Well, this is... not what I expected," I say, watching a goatclimb onto an abandoned yoga mat and start chewing the corner. "Though I'm not sure what I did expect."
"Instagram spirituality at its finest," Ben observes, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Ten euros says they charge fifteen bucks for that green juice." He nods toward a makeshift stall where a woman with waist-length braids is pouring something alarmingly vibrant into bamboo cups.
Marco adjusts his glasses, taking in the scene with scholarly detachment. "Fascinating. The commercialization of spiritual practices isn't new, of course, but the aesthetic elements here suggest a carefully cultivated authenticity that's paradoxically inauthentic."
"What he said," Luca agrees, sliding his sunglasses down his nose to peer over them. "But I would expect better looking juice. Or maybe some spiritual wine."
A speaker balanced precariously on a tree stump blares what sounds like wind chimes mixed with synthesizers, while a circle of cross-legged attendees half-heartedly chant "Om" with varying degrees of commitment. Nearby, a man with a top knot demonstrates what appears to be interpretive dance inspired by, according to his enthusiastic narration, "the ancient wisdom of the sea cucumber."
"Maybe Sarah's deeper in?" Jake suggests, though his tone lacks conviction. "This could just be the... public-facing part."
I want to believe him, but as I scan the grounds, all I see are vendors selling moon crystals and aura photographs, yoga instructors correcting poses with unnecessary touches, and people taking selfies with their eyes closed in faux meditation. My shoulders slump, the weight of our journey, Venice to Florence to Siena and now Assisi, suddenly feeling like too much for too little.
"We should split up," I suggest, straightening my spine with determination I don't entirely feel. "Cover more ground. Ask about Sarah."
"Good idea," Marco agrees. "I'll approach the meditationcircle. Their practice, while performative, suggests they might be longer-term residents rather than tourists."
Ben grins. "I'll take the juice bar. Information flows where refreshments are served."
"I'll check some of the wellness vendors," Luca volunteers. "My cousin dated a woman who was into that stuff. I know the lingo."
Jake meets my eyes. I shake my head. "Take the yoga area?" I suggest noticing several instructors gathered near a large platform.
He hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave my side after my roadside sickness, but nods. "Fine. But stay within sight."
We scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind, each heading toward our designated targets. I approach a stall draped in purple fabric where a woman with elaborate silver rings on every finger arranges crystal pendants on a velvet display.
"Hello," I begin, shifting Alex's terrarium to one arm. "I'm looking for someone, a woman named Sarah DeMarco? American, looks about my age, dark hair? She might have been here recently."
The woman barely glances at me, her attention immediately captured by Alex. "What a fascinating creature," she coos, leaning forward to peer into the glass. "Such an unusual color. Is he your familiar?"
"My—? No, he's just a... pet." The half-truth sticks in my throat. "About Sarah?—"
"You really should consider a protection crystal for his terrarium," she continues as if I hadn't spoken. "I have some lovely, clear quartz that would amplify his spiritual energy."
"That's... thoughtful, but I'm really just trying to find?—"
