Nothing Stays Dead in the South

V

The rest of the week passed without incident. I didn’t see any more wolves, Cole sent a thank you fruit basket for letting him crash here the other night, which I was grateful for. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten around to doing any actual shopping. I have mostly been living off of takeout and the few things I had picked up around the city on my way to or from the magic shop. It’s not that I don’t have a way to get more groceries, I do have Ray's old Rolls Royce, but I’m not quite comfortable enough with the city to go driving around on my own just yet.

Miriam just left La Botie Magique, leaving me to close up on my own for the very first time since I started the job a few days ago. While I do feel out of sorts as far as the more “magic” elements go, Miriam assured me that a good portion of her customers are coming in for trinkets, tarot cards, crystal balls, or any of the various oddities stocked on the shelves.

With our location in the quarter, most of the customers that come through the door on any given day are tourists who just want to get a spooky little piece of New Orleans to take home with them. She was kind enough to make me a little quick reference guide for some of the more common herbs and animal parts along with photos and a quick description of where to find them in the store. I was most surprised by the variation of chicken feet she stocked. I’m not sure what the difference is, but I assume that anyone coming into the store for chicken feet would probably have a pretty good idea.

The bell of the door jingled loudly, drawing my attention away from my study guide to find a man advancing towards the counter with purpose. A push forming inside my chest sets me on edge although there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly menacing about the man, aside from his size. He looks like someone that could eat linebackers for breakfast.

“Where’s Mimi?”

The no-nonsense way he asks causes anxiety to bloom in the pit of my stomach. His long brown hair and beard are both unkempt - but not dirty, and I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t like me - although he hasn’t even met me yet.

Finally getting sick of people barking at me in this store instead of treating me like a human being, I mirror his gruffness back to him.

“Out.”

A rough groan of dissent bubbles up from his throat, but his expression holds firm. So does mine.

“When will she be back?”

“In the morning when we open.”

The staring contest between the two of us starts to heat something inside me. I’m not sure if he’s enjoying this verbal sparring as much as I am. Although it’s outside my character to be abrasive, it feels natural to be going toe to toe with him, and I’ll be damned if I let him intimidate me in my own damn shop. Finally, with a deep exhale, he breaks first. Yahtzee.

“I need black sea salt.”

“Black sea salt? Or Black Sea salt?” Miriam stocks sea salt that is black in color. Flashy. It’s volcanic, from some Hawaiin island. People like it because it’s aesthetically beautiful.

The other thing Miram stocks is salt harvested from the Black Sea. Only people who knew what they were looking for are going to ask for the ladder. Miriam specifically told me to ask the question I just asked worded the way that I worded it because anyone worth their salt, no pun intended, would know what I was asking.

He makes a chuff from deep in his throat, seemingly pleased by my question. “Salt from The Black Sea.”

Miriam stocked a huge barrel of the stuff but I had never even heard about it before coming to work here. I haven’t trulyl earned much about the reasons we apparently need a giant barrel of spooky salt, but by volume alone, I have to assume this does something relatively important. She sells it by the pound.

“How much?”

“Five.”

I turn, slinking into the backroom to pull out five bags of salt, and gingerly return them to the customer. Despite the uncomfortable exchange, I can’t deny that I’m exceedingly curious about this new visitor, so I throw out a feeler question to see if I have any hope of cracking that stoney exterior.

“Anything else? Do you want to leave a message for Miriam?”

“Tell her Vehric came by. I’m in need of her services. She knows my number. Have her call me in the morning.”

What a ridiculous name. Isn’t anyone named John or Peter in this town?

“I’ll leave her a note.”

I smiled broadly trying one more time to get him to break and be friendly, but the effort was futile, as he turned on his heel and stalked out - his large moto boots pounding heavy against the floor as he strode to the door. I feel myself exhale once he is gone and the strange pushing in my chest subsides.

“That was a hell of a thing.” I muse aloud to myself, returning back to the backroom to log the salt sale in a book Miriam uses to track the inventory. Once I’m done, I turn to make my way back to the front when I collide with a firm wall of muscle, knocking me back.

Strong arms are the only thing that keeps my ass from hitting the concrete as tattooed hands steady my shoulders and blue eyes stare into mine, causing my heart beat to accelerate. I just now hear the bell from the door ringing through my air alerting me of his entrance. How did he get back here so fast? My confusion must be apparent in my features because Azrael’s lips quirk slightly at his barely contained amusement, but he issues no apology.

The peculiar pull roots inside me, causing me to swallow hard. “How did you get back here? I didn’t even hear you!”

“What did Vehrik buy?”

I furrow my brow at his audacity, pursing my lips. “That’s none of your business.”

I move to step around him, but he quickly maneuvers himself in my path, stopping me from progressing forward. I look up to see him looking down at me. His earlier amusement was abandoned leaving menace in its place.

“I don’t have time for games, Jo. Tell me. Now.” For some reason, his admonishment bruises something inside me, leaving an ache behind. I feel compelled to right the perceived wrong, although I know it really is none of his business.

“Black Sea Salt.”

“How much?”

“Five pounds.”

He makes a sound of acknowledgment which rumbles in his chest.

“Did Mimi give you a limit on how much you can sell to one person?”

The confusion etching my features must be all the answer he needs because he doesn’t wait for me to say anything more before holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger and dipping slightly to look me right in the eye.

“Do not, under any circumstances, sell anyone more than five pounds. Okay?”

My breath hitches at the demand he has no right to make of me, but I can’t seem to find it within me to argue.

“Okay,” I breathe out, barely a whisper. He nods, apparently appeased by my sudden accommodating nature. Turning to leave, he yells over his shoulder, “Chloe and the girls have taken a shine to you. Come by the bar later and I’ll buy you a drink.”

I start walking after him at the mention of Chloe, eager for more information about how this man of mystery is related to my new friend.

“Do you work with Chloe at the bar?”

He turns, facing me momentarily with the slightest smirk painted on his lips. “It’s my bar.”

With that, he left me standing there, mouth agape, wondering what the f**k just happened.