Page 71 of The Slug Crystal
"Or perhaps some rose quartz to open his heart chakra? Snails are very sensitive to energy vibrations, you know."
I bite back a sigh. "Do you know Sarah DeMarco? She sells crystals too, special ones. Like transformation crystals?"
This finally captures her attention, though not in the wayI'd hoped. Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Transformation work is very advanced. Very dangerous in untrained hands. Are you certified in vibrational transmutation?"
"I'm not—I just need to find Sarah. It's important."
She's already reaching beneath her table. "I have some beginner transformation stones. Very safe, very gentle. Only forty euros."
I back away, muttering thanks, and try the next vendor, a bearded man selling hand-carved wooden pendants who turns out to be equally interested in selling me a "snail spirit guide totem" and equally unhelpful regarding Sarah's whereabouts.
Three more attempts yield similar results. By the time I approach a tent labeled Aura Photography & Spirit Consultation, I'm fighting the urge to scream. Inside, a woman with elaborate henna tattoos covering her arms fiddles with an old Polaroid camera modified with colored filters.
"Excuse me," I begin for what feels like the hundredth time. "I'm looking for Sarah DeMarco."
"Thirty euros for an aura reading," she replies without looking up. "Fifty with spirit consultation."
"I don't want a reading. I need information about Sarah DeMarco."
She sighs dramatically. "Information is energy. Energy is exchange. Fifty euros."
I walk out before I say something I'll regret.
The sun has begun its descent toward the horizon by the time we reconvene near the car. One look at the others' faces tells me their efforts have been as fruitless as mine.
"Any luck?" I ask anyway, hope a stubborn ember that refuses to die.
Ben shakes his head. "The juice guy tried to sell me a cleanse program. Fifteen ingredients, fifteen days, fifteen hundred euros."
"The vendors I spoke with were useless," Luca adds. "Though I did learn my aura is apparently 'midnight blue with gold sparkles,' so that's something."
Marco's expression is grim. "The meditation instructor recognized Sarah's name, but claimed spiritual amnesia prevents him from revealing information about other seekers. He did, however, offer to sell me memory-enhancing incense."
Jake rejoins us last, frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw. "Nothing. Though one yoga teacher suggested Sarah might have ascended to the next plane and offered to help me join her for the low price of a weekend tantra workshop."
I laugh despite myself, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "Well, this has been a cosmic waste of time."
Marco places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Not necessarily. We've confirmed she was here, even if these... practitioners... aren't forthcoming with details."
"So, what now?" I ask, looking around at the four men who've somehow become my unlikely support system in this bizarre quest. "Do we just give up? Head back to Florence?"
"It's getting late," Jake points out, glancing at the setting sun. "We should find somewhere to stay for the night. Start fresh tomorrow."
As if on cue, a young man in loose cotton pants approaches, his smile too bright to be entirely natural. "Welcome, seekers! Will you be joining us for the sacred fire ceremony tonight? Only twenty euros per person for spiritual cleansing and connection! Then afterwards, we have cabins to fully allow your spirit to resettle."
I exchange glances with the others, a silent communication passing between us. What choice do we have? "We'll stay," I tell him, Alex's terrarium heavy in my arms. "But we're looking for information, not spiritual cleansing."
The man's smile doesn't falter. "All who seek shall find," he says with practiced wisdom. "The answers are within you."
Somehow, I doubt that. But as we follow him toward thecabins reserved for overnight guests, I can't help wondering if Sarah felt the same frustration I do now. If, maybe, that's why she left this place as suddenly as she arrived.
It feels as if we're following a ghost across Italy, and I'm beginning to wonder if we'll ever catch up.
Sunday, 5:02PM. Evening settles over the commune like a gauzy veil, softening the day's disappointments into something almost bearable. The "sacred fire ceremony" turns out to be less mystical ritual and more glorified campfire, with commune members dragging logs into a clearing behind the main buildings.
I perch on a smooth boulder at the edge of the activity, Alex's terrarium secure beside me, watching as our hosts struggle to arrange kindling into something that might eventually catch flame. The fire pit is impressive, at least. It’s a wide stone circle with intricate carvings that might actually be authentic, but the attendees are clearly lacking in basic wilderness skills.
"At this rate, we'll be connecting with ancestral spirits around midnight," Ben mutters, dropping onto the boulder beside me. "Assuming they ever get the fire started."
