Michael by Silvana G. Sánchez

Author:Silvana G. Sánchez
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781773575155
Publisher: Naughty Nights Press LLC

CHAPTER 14

Michael

I’m standing in the shop’s doorway, my heart racing with unease. A thrill courses through my veins, instigating me to take Amanda’s hand and rekindle the magic I sensed earlier between us. Sheer bliss shook me to the core back then, but the empath in me sensed something else—that strange pang of knowing someone so full of joy can be simultaneously heavy and troubled.

More than before, I’m determined to uncover her secrets.

Amanda pushes the door open and steps into the room. Cautiously, I follow.

My eyes widen in astonishment as I take in the sight of the peculiar shop. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Every corner of the room is filled with a dizzying assortment of artifacts and trinkets, all vying for my attention. There are odd bottles and jars, strange symbols and sigils painted on the walls, mysterious potions and elixirs crammed into an old bookshelf—each item, more wondrous than the last.

“This is a magic shop,” I utter, my voice low and strained. I thought we were buying cat treats from the store down the road.

“My magic shop,” she adds proudly as she stands in the middle of the room.

Despite how enticed I am with the thought of experiencing something magical, I can’t help but feel a twinge of alertness and disapproval.

“You’re afraid of a little magic, is that it?” she teases as she drops the keys on the credenza.

“Respectful,” I amend, and my tone is dead-serious. I don’t like being here. A clash of darkness and light lays before us, opening doors that are best left closed.

“Look, we’re not staying long,” she assures me. “I’ll just grab the treats and smear them with a bit of my personal hocus pocus. Okay?”

I stand in the middle of the room, trying not to pry but unable to stop myself. I reach out and brush the tarot deck next to the shop keys. My finger slides along the smooth, soft finish of the cards, which look as if they were painted by Monet or one of his contemporaries. I can’t help spreading the cards with a finger and watching their images. Each card has two inscriptions: a short phrase on the back, and a longer phrase on the front. I run my fingers over these inscriptions and find them to be not quite like hieroglyphics, but more like Arabic letters.

“That’s my angel deck,” she offhandedly says.

My lips curl into a faint smile as I look at the card depicting me in my angelic fury. I’m glaring out of the center of the card with righteous rock-hard determination. My sword, the legendary blade that only I can wield, is raised in preparation for the final blow. My long blonde hair flows behind me in windless air as I float above a felled foe. The green and blue background depicts a night sky filled with stars and wispy patches of cream and purple clouds. It has the look of an engraving, something carved into stone, but it’s one of those new shiny cards that has a black border on all four sides.

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