The Magick Shop Place

Chapter 3: Beth

There was a knock on my shop’s door at 8:45am, 15 minutes before we opened. Rain had dumped all through the night and the morning was no different. A young girl stood before me when I opened the door, she was soaking wet, from the top of her head to her tennis shoes. She was shaking, and despite the downpour, there is no doubt she was crying, tears fell down her cheeks.

“Hi, my name is Beth, I know it’s early, but can I please come in?”

I swung open the door. The frame was worn, and the paint was chipping away, but it was solid with a good weight to it. This house could have been built in the 1930s for all I knew. Beacon Hill is an old city with a lot of old architecture.

“Yes, please come in, and welcome!”

Beth shifted inside, hand on one arm like a timid bird walking with an injured wing. Her hands were pink from the cold and wet from outside. Beth was not dressed for this kind of weather. Just a thin hoodie, tight jeans, and very soaked low-top sneakers.

“Go ahead and take a seat.” I gestured my hand to the living room couch, the living room had been converted to a little lobby. Beth was small built, I would guess about 14 or 15 years old, dark brown eyes with short dark hair.

The walls had small shelves, methodically placed to display my favored crystal balls. They were findings from the biggest rock and gem festival in the country, found in Arizona. The walls in the shop consisted of large tapestries, candles, and statues. They derived from ancient cultures Greece, Egypt, and Norse mythology. Beth seemed to recognize a few of them, others she stopped and gazed out of curiosity. Meanwhile I fetched her a large towel from the other room.

“Thank you so much. I thought the rain would have stopped by now.”

“Please tell me Beth. What brought you to me this morning?”

Her gaze refocused to the floor; she sank deeper into the couch cushions. It was a red and pink plaid couch I discovered about a year ago from my favorite thrift store, ‘Value Village.’ The stores were always clean and properly labeled. But for Beth at the moment, it served as a corner to feel safe in. She was sinking into an upright fetal position, but seeking comfort in a psychic’s shop is a controversial place to go and ask general advice.

“I ran away from an empty apartment.”

I looked at her with my ears open, with kind eyes and waited for her to continue.

“When my dad left my mom, we never saw him again. But she kept leaving the house, smoking drugs with her friends. So, when he left, she started leaving for longer stretches of time. She went from a few days, turned into a week or two.”

Beth took a deep breath, the towel seemed to be helping her warmup.

“It didn’t take long for mom to leave me and my 3 younger siblings behind. You see, we’re all about 2 years apart, myself at 13, then my brother Anthony 11, my sister Cindy 9, and my baby brother Mason, he was 7.” She shifted her position slightly, clearly, she is not one to overshare with strangers. Although so far it was clear she was here for some reason, hoping for answers, some healing or emotional comfort? But her story was not over, and it became difficult to stomach.

“Our mom left on a Sunday morning.” Beths eyes started to mist.” Cindy tried to run after the car. Holding out her hand as if to stop mom from leaving.” Her fists clenched. “But my mom saw her and didn’t even slow down. Not a goodbye, with no warning, and that was the day I was left in charge of my siblings.”

“That was over a year ago, the landlord and neighbors caught on there were no adults in the apartment and just 4 kids living there. So, CPS was called, and all three of my brothers and sister were taken into foster care. But as for me...I ran away.”

I couldn’t tell what my face looked like, but it felt pale. “I should have had coffee this morning “I thought to myself. “What could I possibly do for this girl? Such a devasting childhood, and so unfair!” It’s horrifying, to think of a negligent mother of 4, getting caught up in drugs and just abandoning her children. What’ more evil than that? So shameful. This is only the sort of thing I hear briefly on the news, only to quickly follow up with light-hearted commercials about car insurance, or the latest ant-depressant ad with a long-winded list of side effects. Seeing a victim face to face made it so sickeningly real, I felt sick to my stomach.

“I’ve been a ‘street kid’ ever since, but most recently there has been a creep who is following and harassing me. He’s some nut job that’s been hiding in the alley ways. Then yesterday he grabbed me, but I kicked him in the balls and caught the first bus to get away from him.”

Her eyes were dry now, her feet firmly planted flat on the floor. Her arms were now open, speaking with her hands. “I’m stuck. The only people I know can’t help me; the shelters have been full for over a week now.”

She looked frightened and turned her gaze to me. “And then I saw your sign. I’ve been wandering around in the fog all night. I was scared of every alley, wondering if he could figure out where I went or which bus stop I got off at.”

“I really don’t know what I’m even asking for, I don’t have any money.”

“Okay Beth now hold on.” I honestly knew as little as she did as to what to do from here. “Let’s start by getting you in some dry clothes, I have chamomile tea to help you relax and get a nap in here, rest a while.” I got up and looked back at her,” I have a room upstairs you can use for right now. I have some clothes about your size. I’ll be right back.” I smiled sincerely.

“Thank you so much, what was your name?”

“I’m Lily, and I’m happy to do it Beth.”

My mind was drawing utterly blank as to what to do next but letting her rest for a while is the first thing she really needs. I turned to her once more, “I am an empath you see, someone who listens and can put myself in other people’s shoes. Lost souls are often the kinds of people who find my shop, I believe you found me because you were meant to.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall, “Cynthia should be here anytime, two heads are better than one.” I grabbed Beth some pajama clothes and showed her to the guest room upstairs. I went back down the steps and slipped into the kitchen. “She’s late.” I said to myself. Not that we don’t start picking up any business till about noon. But still. Money has been tight lately and hasn’t been great profit-wise. It’s been enough to pay the mortgage on this place and keep the lights on anyway. Being so slow is beginning to remind me of those lonely days as a small child. To me it feels good to offer kindness to those in need, money, or no money.

Looking back there was a lot of kids we went to school with that had been integrated into foster care. The stories they had were always awful, shameful, and incredibly sad. Most kids in my school had zero interest in homework, schoolwork or frankly, the education we had available to us. A lot of the kids dropped out of high school, plenty of my friends did. Our generation was full of youth who had little to no aspirations or goals for the future. And often there were many of them with broken homes, lucky not to be in foster care.

The tea smelt so nice, such a calming aroma and lovely scent.

“You know there’s nothing you can do to for her.” Startled, I turned to my right. And there was Sydney, looking at me with his deep, dark brown eyes. His hair was slightly long and very curly, he had pointy ears, and he had a big smile when he did.

The kitchen was small, painfully in fact, with one entry from the “main lobby” and then the other that lead straight to the washer and dryer room, they sat side by side. The machines are empty now, partially stemming from putting off doing my laundry. But the house had what we needed, 3 bedrooms upstairs, mine, the guest bedroom, and Cynthia‘s room. I used the guest room as a studio, for my painting and jewelry crafting but it also had a bed. The downstairs holds 2 rooms, one for readings and the other for products we sell. Crystal balls, pendulums, polished stones, books and alike. My artistic talents prove to generate a nice profit at the local farmers market close by. Helps me stock my fridge and make subtle but affective upgrades around the shop.

Cynthia does her fair share around here, constantly stocking our shelves with items we sell. She finds new places to discover crystals, literature, and ingredients for the spell baskets we put together for our clients. She also finds great books on the craft all the time at the used bookstores. I offer tarot readings and genuinely listen to the nature of my clients. In no way do I proclaim to be a replacement for a therapist and certainly not a psychologist. But sometimes people just want a third option, an opinion that might help guide them to some peace of mind. Some may refer to me as a “mind-reader”, but I prefer to think of myself as an “empath with brains.” Most of the time I’m able to help give them hope and provide insight through the cards. And then of course, there’s Sydney. He is a Jinn, or a “genie” he sometimes assists with looking into the people’s future, even if he’s not always very helpful. He isn’t exactly delicate about people. He describes most matters as “trivial” problems. He would sometimes say things like, “People waste such short lives on stupid things. Mortals only have less than a hundred years, and they overwhelm themselves with petty issues like being sad in a relationship or wanting a better ‘job.’”

I turned and gave him a stern look. “People are born into this world to die, hence the human condition being fear.”

No one else knows about Sydney, not even my closest friends, I am the only one who can see him. Our relationship began the same night our coven of four was severed in high school. We were eager adolescents, toying with forces we didn’t understand yet, and suffered because of it. We jumped ahead of ourselves, and because of that, none of us were ever the same. They only knew what they saw, I never revealed where my soul went for the following 6 months.