Page 7 of Shift of Destiny
Moira smiled at the boys. “I really appreciate it. She likes to hide in low spots. She’s small and fluffy white.” She cupped her hands together to indicate the kitten’s size. “Her name is Pandora, and she might come to you if you call softly. Loud noises scare her.”
“What do kittens smell like?” asked the younger boy earnestly.
Moira blinked. “Er, like fur and cream, I think.” She’d seen a small saucer on the desk in the back.
The older boy turned to his brother. “Let’s crawl. We have to think like cats, like Amnon and Nasir.” The boys dropped to their hands and knees and started looking in low shelves.
“She can’t eat us, can she?” asked the younger boy.
“Nah, we’re too big,” the older boy said.
Moira smiled at the whimsical conversation.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the other woman in a day-glow pink top and yellow shorts, "but do you have any geodes?”
Moira wasn’t exactly sure what one was, but it sounded mineral-like. She pointed toward the east wall. “Check near the crystals.”
She retreated behind the sales counter, before more questions revealed her ignorance. Movement flashed in her peripheral vision, and she discovered an ornate mirror hanging near the ceiling that she hadn’t noticed before. When she looked around, she saw Mr. Maxen had strategically placed several other antique mirrors at varying heights, meaning someone standing behind the counter had a good view of most everything in the store. The one that had first caught her eye gave her a view of the books area, and for a moment, some distortion in the old mirror made the balding man look like an upright version of Smeagol from the Hobbit movies, except with shiny gray skin and a long beard, but he looked normal after she blinked.
Uneasily, she wondered if the vision problems she’d been having were a symptom of something more serious, like a brain tumor, causing hallucinations. Maybe she should pick a larger city for her next landing spot, one that had an emergency room in a big hospital. Not that she had money for treatment, but knowing would be better than worrying. If it was terminal, she thought with black humor, maybe Witzer would finally leave her alone.
By the time the adults were ready to buy, the boys had looked in every nook and cranny of the store for the "missing" kitten, who was still safely zonked out in her hatbox bed when Moira went to find Mr. Maxen so he could ring up the sales.
He was just coming from the back, so he handed her the box he was carrying and asked her to put with the others, pointing with his chin toward a hidden storage area under the stairs. He brushed dust off his smoking jacket and went out front.
Moira stacked the box on top, then latched the door to prevent a certain white furball from sneaking in. She gave the sleeping kitten one last, soft stroke, then retrieved her backpack and settled its comforting weight on her shoulders. She checked her appearance in the hall’s slender mirror and smoothed back the curly escapees from her braid. Someday, she’d like to be able to afford to have a professional haircut again, instead of borrowing office scissors.
Maybe she could find a job that kept her out of sight, making it less likely for Witzer’s goons to stumble across her if they happened to come through town. She couldn’t think why they would, but she hadn’t expected they’d find her in Nunn, either.
She envied Chance his graveyard-shift job that was indoors. She made a mental note to ask about a position at the town cemetery. She had experience with both landscaping and tombstone carving from previous short jobs.
The front-door bells tinkled multiple times, signaling several new customers. She was glad that Mr. Maxen’s little shop seemed to be doing well, despite being a couple of blocks off Glade Street where most of the tourist shops and restaurants were. She hoped he’d find the help he obviously needed. She turned to dive through the beads, only to nearly run into Mr. Maxen.
“Oh, you’re leaving, then?” he asked. His expression seemed to say he didn’t know if he liked the idea.
“Yes, I need to find work.” She stuck out her hand. “It was nice meeting you, and if I run into anyone looking for a job like this, I’ll send them your way.”
The front-door bells tinkled again, and a loud voice boomed through the store. “Hello, Iolo! I brought that bus full of tourists I’ve been promising.” The Slavic-accented male voice sounded irrepressibly hearty.
Mr. Maxen rolled his eyes in exasperation, then gave a resigned sigh and caught her gaze. “Ms. Graham, you’re hired.”
Moira blinked. “But you wanted a permanent employee…"
“Apparently not,” he said. At her puzzled look, he added, "You’re here just in time.” He waved toward the front of the store. “I have more customers in here today than I had all last week. Either the Goddess of Life is giving me a cosmic hint, or you bring the store good luck. Either way, it would be foolish to let you get away.”
Moira shifted her weight uneasily. The hint of possessiveness made her uneasy. Witzer claimed she brought him luck, too, and look what kind of trouble that brought. On the other hand, Iolo Maxen seemed sane and kindly, and obviously could use the help. “How about you just hire me for today, and we see how things go?”
“Iolo!" The cheerful-voiced man sounded closer and louder. “Get your ancient bones out here and give your younger and much handsomer friend Sergei a proper welcome!"
Mr. Maxen nodded. “Agreed. Put your pack and jacket under the desk and come out front.”
* * *
Ten hours later, Moira gratefully wallowed in one of the compact stuffed chairs in the store’s book section. Her sorry feet competed with her aching back for the title of most unhappy, but at least the busy day had gone by quickly. She was also grateful that the disconcerting flickering in her vision seemed to have finally tapered off. Sergei’s busload of tourists had been followed by steady stream of customers all day.
Mr. Maxen had been right about the customers knowing what they wanted, and no one seemed to notice or care that she had no idea which gems were supposed to be used for what, or the best chime sequence for achieving astral projection. Some took delight in explaining the antique occult items, and she took delight in selling them. At the end of the day, Mr. Maxen practically had to shove the last stragglers out the door, twenty minutes after the seven o’clock closing time, so he could dim the front lights and set the modern-looking alarm.
Pandora had alternately been playful, curious, and skittish, as was the whim of kittens, and was currently lying on her back, snoozing in the valley of Moira’s thighs. She envied the kitten’s boneless contentment. Not to mention, its full belly. Her own complained about probably missing dinner. She’d only had a couple of pickled eggs for lunch from the gas station a couple of blocks away. Small-town grocery stores usually closed early, and anything but going back to Tinsel’s felt too far to walk. While she’d secretly been hoping to run into insanely hot Chance McKennie, she couldn’t afford to be eating out any more, or starting a relationship with a man who was as rootless as she was. A life on the run was full of little sacrifices.
