Thrift Store Trolls, page 21
part #1 of Flea Market Magic Series
She pulled out her beautiful oak wand, brought the glorious twig up to her lips and whispered to it—so low even I couldn’t hear. Then she placed the wand on the dashboard underneath the rearview mirror. The wand shimmied as a gust of cinnamon swept through the car. Then like a dial on a compass, the wand swayed to the right, pointing south.
“Southward we go then, my love,” she sang to the wand.
I quirked a smile.
We drove south along the Parkway, back toward South Toms River. Flea markets, stores, and shops dotted our path. A majority of them, like Elizabeth’s Finer Things and McCormick’s Antiques, belonged to humans. The wand continued to navigate us to keep going. More shops appeared, including a truck stop and Dollar Mart. I wanted to ask her if we’d have to go all the way to Boston, but the wand suddenly jerked to the right.
“There’s something that way?” I asked.
“You better believe it. Hold on.”
We almost passed a tiny store off a shopping complex, but Brenna pulled hard to the right to hit the next exit off the Parkway. The car’s tires shrieked on the sharp curve, but we managed to veer onto a street that led us back to the shop.
Once we arrived, I peered closer, having passed this place countless times. Yet I’d never noticed this shop. Wouldn’t I have raided this joint during one of my shopping binges? The rest of the shopping center was nondescript. Just another outlet on the Parkway. The outside was updated with a fresh coat of clay-colored beige and sandstone added an upscale touch to the walkway between the stores. A few cars filled the lot in front of a coffee spot and floral shop, but there weren’t any cars near the dated storefront at the far end.
I picked up my phone and searched for the address for the shop in question. “1692. 1694. 1696. And...” I squinted. “1701.” I harrumphed. “An odd-numbered shop on the even side of the road.”
“Odd indeed,” Brenna said with a cheesy grin. “The place is enchanted.”
“How come I never saw it before?”
“Some places aren’t meant to be found unless you seek them.”
I nodded, recalling how the zmee had said something similar about the Huldrefolk bells.
We got out of the car, and I said, “Bill’s gonna be irked we got more competition down the street.”
“There will always be competition on well-travelled roads,” she replied. “Vendors go where they find the customers.”
I nodded. Recalling what Mevelyn had said about the fairy path having the same effect.
The storefront was barely as wide as my stretched-out arms. Chipped red bricks lined the walls of a single-story building with a cornerstone that was too faded to read. Brenna opened the heavy wooden door, causing the bells attached to ring. A thick haze of bergamot and lavender crossed my nose. What kind of place was this?
I stepped into the shop and paused on the threshold, my breath caught in my lungs.
“Whoa,” I murmured as I took in a shop full of feathers. Next to the door, five-foot-long obsidian feathers were arranged in a fan-like formation for display. The sunshine’s rays hit the feathers and the light speckled across the floor.
The store wasn’t well lit, but a few lamps here and there illuminated the space. Beyond the entrance, other shelves held more feathers, each individual one placed on a wooden stand to prop up the merchandise. I took in everything in awe. Every color imaginable filled the shop: jade-green feathers, rainbow, another dotted with black to burnt-orange.
A highlighted, white-hot feather in a small display case smoldered and wisps of smoke rose from the top. While to my right, another feather in a small, gilded cage wiggled about as if still attached to its owner.
Should I have called this place a “feathery?”
“C’mon, Nat!” Brenna urged me from deeper in the store. “What you want is back here.”
I weaved around the circular display case in the middle of the store to head toward the back. More tall shelves gave the shop a maze-like feel as I passed by zebra-striped feathers and others that glowed with an unnatural radium green. (Were those radioactive?)
“Where are you?” I called.
“Keep going.” She chuckled.
Beyond the point that any normal store should’ve ended, I finally reached the sales counter in the back. The counter was covered in a stone surface, polished so that it gleamed. Above the counter, a shiny metal sign read: Gray Folk Feathers. There wasn’t much room for a cash register—there wasn’t one—with all the clutter of small boxes, wrapping materials, and stacks of papers. Behind the counter, a spindly gentleman, with large, caved-in eyes and wide shoulders stared back at me. His clean-shaven face shimmered from a glamour and a shiver passed over me as light gray feathers danced behind the magical mask.
Beyond him, a single doorway headed into blackness.
“Natalya, this is Oswald, the shop clerk.” Brenna leaned against the corner as if she’d spent the last couple of hours chatting away with him.
Probably did with an establishment as big as this one.
“She’s shorter than I expected,” Oswald said in a reed-thin voice. “How can someone so tall on the inside be so insignificant on the outside?”
My eyebrow rose. If this dude wanted repeat business, he needed to work on his customer service skills.
“Like I told you a bit ago, Nat is looking for a power source. A relic.”
He nodded sagely and shuffled to the right, then he stooped and reached for something below the counter. His glamour weakened and the creature behind the counter resembled a human-sized griffin. The bird’s black beak fluttered, making a faint click-clack sound. When Oswald caught me staring too closely, his obsidian eyes narrowed in my direction.
I really needed to mind my own business.
“Here’s three possibilities you might like.” The griffin arranged three feathers in front of two piles of rolled-up parchment.
The peacock feather on the far left appeared ordinary and insignificant, but a peculiar odor of fermented seafood wafted from it. I turned to the one in the middle, an iridescent, curved feather from a quetzal. Blots of a brilliant ultramarine formed a gradient to a tip with flecks of yellow and green. I had to tear my gaze away from the large feather to take in the third—a tiny one from a black hummingbird wing with streaks of dark-green and brown. The minuscule feather could fit in the middle of my palm.
“How much for the small one?” I asked. I could stick it in my pocket and be done with it.
“Overpriced and powerful. Good choice.” Oswald named a price with too many zeros and I managed to keep a straight face.
I even glanced at Brenna and she shrugged.
“Do you know how much I get paid—never mind. How about the one that doesn’t smell like fish left out too long?” I asked Oswald.
“That one is more reasonably priced at a hundred dollars!” he said proudly.
Sure, reasonable in an alternate universe where I could print cold hard cash.
“I’ll take the quetzal feather, then.” Might as well resign myself to curbing my compulsive shopping habits anyway. An emptier pocketbook helped.
To my surprise, the griffin rang up my order using a smartphone with a credit card dongle attached. He offered to put the feather in a knapsack, but I declined.
As I picked up the vibrant quetzal feather, my purchase briefly zapped me with a static electricity charge.
“Will it always do that?” I asked him.
“Yes, you should get used to that. The best tools aren’t the easiest to use.”
“Umm, okay.”
We left the store and emerged outside to a bright afternoon sun.
“Wow, he’s a peach,” I couldn’t resist saying.
Brenna said, “The Gray Feather Folk never lie—which also means they say the first thing on their mind.”
“Maybe that’s why the parking lot’s so empty.” I snorted. “He should hire some goblins and trolls as clerks. Most of my customers don’t appreciate honesty.”
“So you’ve got your power source now,” Brenna said. “What’s next?”
My small smile spread wider, and the feather in my hand shimmered under the summer sun. “We round up the troops and go basilisk hunting.”
Chapter 28
A humid breeze fanned my face as I slid into Brenna’s hot car. Icy fear sliced through me. I’d be facing the Basilisk King soon.
The prospects of not facing him alone still didn’t lessen my fears. I would have to confront him again, and he’d probably be pissed.
“Do you want me to ask Nick to come help?” she asked.
“Not unless you know he’s free. Nick has done enough for the pack.” I rubbed the top of my phone, considering what I could do. Asking the pack for help wouldn’t be easy.
“The power of the pack lies in its members working together,” Thorn had said. He was right. I had to reach out and gather the people who made me want to fight harder. Be stronger.
And if they couldn’t stand with me, I’d still stand with them if the time came.
After my little trip with Brenna to fetch the quetzal feather, I needed her help to make a couple more trips around town. Even with Sedgewick trailing after me in his car.
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Brenna asked. “I could curse him with poison oak on his privates. He’ll be too busy scratching his balls to pay you any mind.”
I shuddered, then said with as much seriousness as I could, “He might come in handy later. Let him play the enforcer for now.”
We stopped at Archie’s to warn Jake and Harold. The place was still under construction from the car crash.
“We’re going to draw the Basilisk King out and corner him,” I told Jake.
He listened to my plan then replied, “Just let me know where you need me to be and I’ll be there.”
Even Harold gave me a thumbs-up from the kitchen. I was grateful for their support.
I stopped at a couple more houses to face the pack members. A few didn’t give me a warm welcome and others didn’t answer the door when they spotted the warlock spying on me from his car. Sedgewick boldly waved to one family and they shut the door in my face.
So be it.
I still asked Brenna to take me from one house to the next.
“What does Sedgewick expect you to do?” Brenna asked, clearly more irritated by his presence than I was.
“He smells that we’re planning a confrontation. He wants to keep the peace and I respect that,” I said.
“So why doesn’t he come right out and stop you?”
“He’ll only do that if I show my hand, but the thing is, this card game hasn’t started yet.”
Some folks weren’t home, so I stopped at a popular hangout, the Last Mark Bar and Grill off Dover Road. The likelihood of finding a couple pack members enjoying happy hour was high.
The parking lot was semi-full, typical for a Friday afternoon.
I hurried inside and ignored the bad smells. Underneath the layer of cheesy fries and over-cooked hot winds, this place was like any other tavern you’d encounter. Customers sat and drank at a long bar in the middle. Along the sides in the no-smoking area, not that it was really no-smoking since smoke spread everywhere, a werewolf here and there ate dinner at the small tables.
I scanned the crowd and spotted pack members. Many worked at the local mill. I walked past the bar and paused, seeing Rex and his younger brother Melvin in a booth in the back. Only Melvin sipped from a half-empty glass of beer.
“Hey, Rex!” Winston the owner sneered at him from behind the bar. “I’m not paying you on weekends to sit on your ass!”
With a glum expression, Rex slid out of the booth and headed behind the bar.
Even over the classic rock music, I could hear Winston chastising Rex. “You said you’re low on cash and gotta take care of your own. Then act like it and scrub them toilets before the band comes at eight.”
Damn, that was harsh.
The other patrons ignored the words, but the shame floating off Rex even hit me, too. I sighed and retreated. Was Rex’s foul attitude due to his family’s plight? I had no idea they were in bad shape. The pack took care of its own, but I knew Rex would never accept our charity.
He’d rather vent his frustrations on the rest of us.
By midafternoon, I finished notifying pack members and Brenna took me back to The Bends. I had one last person to contact on my list. The phone rang twice before the call went through.
“Hey, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Jocelyn said. “What’s up?” The sounds of customers around her faded as she moved to a quieter location.
“The pack will be making a move on the Basilisk King. Out of courtesy, I wanted you to know so you’ll stay indoors. Also, you should batten down the hatches since there might be basilisks running around.”
“Hmmm. How soon is this going down?” she asked.
“Tonight. Tomorrow. This guy isn’t reliable—but we’ll do everything we can to clean house tonight.”
“Understood. We’ll lock up tight then.”
Jocelyn ended the call, then Brenna and I headed to the back dock of The Bends. A few pack members had showed up.
I greeted everyone. “Everything good?”
They nodded and their hesitation bounced against my skull. Time to rally the troops.
“Like Thorn told you in the group text,” I said, “the Basilisk King will be coming to this spot. We’re gathering the pack to end this tonight. Any questions?”
No one had any so Brenna and I headed inside. The rest of the Stravinskys waited inside The Bends. Grandma sat in one of the work chairs, knitting a pair of pink, child-size mittens while Aggie sat at her feet.
I approached them. “Any problems?”
“There’s been nothing all day,” Aggie reported. “Just Bill complaining about your grandma waving at the customers.”
I chuckled.
Aggie drew her errant hair back into a ponytail. “I thought it was cute. Who doesn’t want free adoration?”
“Apparently, not Bill.” I glanced around, not seeing my mate. “Where’s Thorn?”
“He’s outside. Grandma wanted some fresh air so he wanted to be a sentry. Now he’s running the perimeter to see if he can spot that bastard first.”
A swallow got stuck in my throat. “I don’t believe we’ll see the Basilisk King coming, but the best defense is a good offense.”
The afternoon turned to evening. Soon, the sun dipped below the horizon and the employees left. Not long after, Bill waltzed into the back office.
“I should be charging you folks to mill about on my property,” he belted out. “One of my chairs is broken.”
“It was broken already, Bill,” I groaned.
He stood in the middle of the room, and everyone ignored him. “Now it’s even more broken.”
“You deal with this every day?” Brenna mouthed to me.
I shrugged half-heartedly and left the back office. This time, I found Thorn in the backyard. A large tawny wolf faced the trees, his gaze focused on any movement in the forest beyond the market. I strolled to him and sat. A breeze rustled the trees and Thorn’s fur swayed with the wind. If our enemies weren’t chasing after us, today would’ve been a great day for a picnic. I leaned against him and he did the same.
After Thorn disappeared five years ago, I was left alone, but eventually, he did return and now we faced mortal danger again.
“Are we doing the right thing?” I whispered.
He chuffed in response and nudged me with his nose.
“I wish I was as confident as you are.” I took a deep breath, and pressed my face to his flank to inhale everything that was him. He was alive and I’d fight the Basilisk King a thousand times to make sure he stayed that way.
The shadows deepened, and I left his side to head to the dock. Erica joined me there.
“You okay?” I whispered to her.
“No,” she admitted, “I won’t be okay for a long time, but I’m better than I could be.”
I drew a deep sigh. “I wish I knew when that bastard is gonna make an appearance,” I whispered.
“You and me both. I gotta pee sooner or later.”
I laughed and the sound felt good, almost making me forget that we were waiting for someone who was quite likely going to try to kill us.
After a while, the clock ticked past eight o’clock. The others chatted in hushed voices in the back office while we stared into the deepening gloom. Would the Basilisk King unleash his minions in hordes? Would they surround us like before or draw us out with a trunk? It was hard not to dwell on all the possible ways things could go badly.
My nerves skittered back and forth between settled and frayed. The Stravinskys grew louder, their laughter over Aunt Olga losing a hand of bridge filtering to the dock where I sat with my back against the wall.
The goblin blade lay near my feet, silent and unmoving. I brushed my fingertips from one end to the other. Now that I had an idea of what I’d face, hopefully, I wouldn’t drain the feather and kill myself in the process.
Suddenly, Grandma Lasovskaya appeared on the dock. Mom trailed after her along with Dad and Aggie.
“What’s she doing?” I asked.
“She said she wanted some fresh air.” Mom clasped her hands together with worry.
Others clustered onto the dock as Grandma shuffled up to me. “May I borrow the feather?” she asked.
“Umm, sure.” How did she know I had it? Could she sense it? And most importantly, why did she want it?
I plucked the feather from underneath my blouse. With my feather in hand, she ambled down the steps and headed to the backyard. Thorn immediately rose from his guarding spot and trotted over to her. He circled her twice and whimpered.
She gently rubbed the top of his massive head. “You’ve done well,” she said gently in Russian.
All around me, others held their breath, while Mom lingered on the staircase.
