The shadows were deep in places and the area felt deserted. The abandoned buildings and rubble remains of war-torn streets were already being reclaimed by wild creatures as well as supernatural ones.
Eyes glowed from dark hollows and disappeared in a blink. The wind brought whispered voices, but whether they belonged to her imagination or some fey beings, she didn’t know and wouldn’t risk discovering.
There were other buildings, their doors shut and barred, their interiors darkened. The occult shop stood alone, apart, an inscribed circle painted in red on the concrete sidewalk surrounding it.
The sigils were traditional, simple, so common Aisling thought perhaps they were done for show, for those humans without inherent magic, rather than with the true intention of keeping spectral beings out.
“Can you cross the circle?” she asked.
Her question was greeted with an amused chuckle. “Yes,” Zurael said, proving it by stepping forward and pushing the door open, holding it for her to pass through.
A woman looked up just as a crystal embedded in the forehead of a primitive statuette behind the counter flared red and stayed that way for a long moment before going dark. “Cool,” she said, tugging at a ring pierced through her eyebrow, then rubbing her palm over a shaved, almond-colored head. “That’s never happened before. I’ll have to tell Javier.”
“He’s not here?” Zurael asked.
“No,” she answered, sparing him a quick glance before asking Aisling, “So what are you? You’re not a witch or a sorceress. We get plenty of them in here and the crystal’s never reacted.”
“A shamaness.”
Aisling didn’t know what to think of the woman’s claim that the crystal had reacted to her presence. She moved closer, studied the crude figurine. It reminded her of the artifacts she’d seen in Geneva’s books on ancient history, of something unearthed long ago and created millennia before then, in what was once called the Holy Lands, though in the end those same lands became the birthplace of The Last War.
“You’re the one who has Henri’s house now?” the woman said, drawing Aisling’s attention away from the primitive statuette.
“Yes.”
“I’m Aubrey, Javier’s assistant and apprentice. Shop’s open for a few minutes more. Since you’re new to Oakland, here are the rules. Cash only. If you want to trade services, you have to wait until Javier’s around to negotiate. Candles and supplies are for sale. The books aren’t unless there’s already a duplicate made up.”
She lifted a hand holding a pen. “If you want a book you can pay to have us copy the entire thing; sometimes we do it by hand, other times we do it on a copy machine. You can also buy copies of a page or more. Price varies depending on the book. You take your chances if you try to memorize the information and leave with it. If we catch you copying it yourself, you get a warning the first time; after that you’re banned.”
The pen tilted to point out a collection of books in a glass case at the end of the counter. “Those come out one at a time and have to be looked at right there. They’re spelled and you don’t want to know what’ll happen if you try to leave with one of them.” Aubrey glanced down at the counter, to a page she was copying by hand. “I need to get a little more of this done, otherwise I’d give you a tour of the books. Ask if you have questions.”
Aisling nodded and began exploring. Zurael did the same.
The shop was larger than it had looked from the front, but laid out in a way so whoever was tending it could keep an eye on any visitor. Candles, pentagram jewelry, fetishes, herbs, wands, caldrons and athames-all were available and with plenty to choose from. But it was the sheer number of books on magic and witchcraft that left Aisling both awed and wary.
An entire wall contained a library of handwritten spell journals, individual Book of Shadows that no living witch would have willingly parted with, much less shared for a price or allowed to be copied by someone she didn’t know or trust. Most were old, probably salvaged from homes where entire families had been lost to plague and war.
Aisling turned away from them, saddened by the loss they represented. She joined Zurael at the glassed bookcase and immediately understood the stiffness of his posture, the menace she read in him when their eyes met. Among the texts there were books filled with demon names and rituals for summoning and commanding them, as well as books on Satanism and performing black magic.
A chill slid up Aisling’s spine at the sight of them. “How can you offer these?” she asked, her voice holding the horror and disbelief she felt.
Aubrey looked up from her work. Pierced eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Haven’t you ever been in an occult store before?”
Aisling shook her head. If one existed in the San Joaquin, it was a well-kept secret, even from Geneva, whose sheltering of those with otherworldly gifts was known, though never flaunted.
Aubrey spared a glance at the glassed bookcase. “Javier’s collection is amazing, but it’s nothing compared to the store in San Francisco.” She shrugged. “Selling information isn’t illegal. Nine times out of ten it either doesn’t work for the untrained or it ends up getting them killed. And if it does work, and they get caught doing something they shouldn’t with it, then they’re punished. Believe me, the Church sees to that.”
Aisling couldn’t let the subject drop. “People have disappeared. There have been human sacrifices.”
Aubrey’s hand tightened on her pen. “The police have already been here, several times, asking who looked at the books. We cooperate with them. There’s no guarantee of privacy. Anyone who shops here knows that.” She put her pen down, glanced at the growing dusk and slid off the stool. “I need to close the shop now.”
Zurael said, “Will Javier be here tomorrow?”
“Maybe. He comes and goes.”
Aisling worried about asking further questions and revealing where her true interest in visiting the shop lay, but she couldn’t waste the opportunity. “Do you know anything about men and women who have crosses branded into their skin?”
Aubrey shook her head. “Sounds like they’re religious zealots, maybe members of one of the cults that live outside the city. There’s a place called The Mission at the other end of Oakland, just before The Barrens. Ask there. We don’t get many true believers here.”
“Have you heard of a substance called Ghost?” Aisling asked.
“No. Is it something we should carry here?”
Dread at the possibility made a knot form in Aisling’s stomach. “No, you shouldn’t offer it for sale. Anyone who uses it invites death.”
“You’d be surprised how many customers, especially untalented humans, are turned on by the prospect of dangerous magic.” Aubrey came out from behind the counter and Aisling stopped her with a touch to her wrist.
“What about these symbols?” Aisling used her finger to draw imaginary lines on the countertop.
Aubrey picked up a pen and pulled a sheet from the pad of paper. “Use this.”
Javier’s assistant stiffened when Aisling re-created the branded patterns Elena had traced in tea on the coffee table after the trip to the ghostlands.
“They’re punishment brands for someone caught using magic that’s against the law,” Aubrey said, immediately shifting away from Aisling. “Now I really need to close up and leave.”
“Do you know of anyone who wears these brands?” Aisling asked, but Aubrey was shaking her head no and opening the front door for them to leave before the words were completely out.
“SHE lied about knowing of someone with the brands,” Zurael said after they’d put some distance between themselves and the shop.
“I thought so, too. But we know more than we did.” Aisling slid her hands into the roomy pockets of her work pants to keep from curling one of them around Zurael’s arm as they walked. It worried her that in such a short time his heat and scent had come to represent security. “Tomorrow we can visit The Mission and ask about the man and woman bearing the cross brands. It doesn’t seem likely that religious zealots would frequent places like Sinners or sell something like Ghost.”