Destined (4 page)

The wizard watched as I feather dusted
and slid the furniture from here, to there, and back again. Bringing my
portable CD player into work with me, I played my favorite music, spinning
across the polished wooden floor in my stocking feet. The besom broom that I
found leaning against the wall in a corner made a good dancing partner.

There was a cobra basket filled with
hand bells like the ones belly dancers use, and small gourds filled with rice
or beans. I shook the gourds and stomped my feet.

I reorganized the energy of the place
while I cleaned and designed the physical space. I exorcised the ghosts of old
thoughts and old tales to make a new spirit flow here, my creation, my hope and
dream.

I was alone most of the day every day,
but didn’t feel lonely. I didn’t think about Lexi or my unhappy past. The anger
and hurt faded away as my new life came into focus. I was still nervous about
making this all work but the more effort I put into it, the clearer my goals
became. I was looking forward, as Mr. Paradis had recommended. I had opened my
mind to change.

I polished the espresso machine and
cleaned the area behind the counter, where I found twenty-four small white cups
and saucers with a set of little spoons that seemed to be solid silver. I found
some silver polish in the pantry and soon they sparkled.

I arranged a group of chairs and small
tables with rugs to define the seating area. The faded fabric that lined the
display windows was replaced with a rich purple felt. Signs made on my computer
at home said, “Opening Soon!” and were propped up against wooden blocks so they
could easily be seen from outside. People who walked by read them curiously and
peered inside.

I worked with very little direction
from my employer, who spent most of his time upstairs in his private world. He
seemed distracted and quite contented to leave me on my own. At the end of the
first Saturday, he handed me a check for the agreed-upon amount, which cleared
through my bank swiftly. I was thrilled and immersed in my job.

The thumping noise I had heard that
first day did not repeat itself, and there were no signs of anyone else living
in the building. I did get the feeling that the shadows of people who had lived
here in the past might still linger. In my mind’s eye, I saw women wearing silk
and pearls, who sipped espresso and laughed as they sat around a small round
table. A little boy dressed in knickers and a cap seemed to run by when I was
unpacking a box of antique toys. I felt welcomed and cozy with these spirits
surrounding me. There was a history of happiness here, and my future customers
would feel it too.

One afternoon I was bringing a tray of
recently washed blue and white Chinese porcelain rice dishes from the kitchen.
I heard my name called and thinking Mr. Paradis wanted me for something, I paused
in the hallway to look up the back stairs. “Emily!” I heard it again.

Just then one of the dishes jumped off
the tray and sailed across the hallway, hitting the basement door and
shattering into a million pieces.

Thinking that I had somehow made this
happen, I cursed my clumsiness and put the tray down on the stairs. A cold
breeze blew in through back door, which was propped open. I shivered and turned
to get the broom and dustpan from the pantry. There on the back porch was a
young Chinese man dressed in black pants and tunic. I heard a giggle and he
looked straight into my eyes, grinning. I realized then that his slippered feet
hovered three or four inches above the floor. It made me feel quite uneasy as
he looked very real, outlined by a faint shimmer of energy against the scene
behind him, opaque and apparently three-dimensional.

“Go!” I whispered urgently, flapping
the dishtowel in my hand at him. When the towel passed right through him, he
instantly disappeared. I caught my breath and blinked carefully. I was alone
again.

 
My hand shaking slightly, I closed the porch door and locked
it. Then I got the broom and dustpan and swept up the broken china, feeling a
little sick to my stomach. This kind of thing had happened before when I was
lucid dreaming, but never in broad daylight when I was fully conscious. It made
me quite uncomfortable, and I wondered who the man was and what he wanted with
me. I worried that my new employer might not be too happy if he knew that his
store manager was hallucinating on the job. Daydreaming about the building’s
past inhabitants was one thing, but a full-body apparition was something else
again.

I picked up the tray and brought it
into the showroom, stacking the rice bowls carefully in the china cabinet next
to a matching tea set. Then I went about my business, relieved that the vision
seemed to have passed. I vowed to try to stay alert and not to let my mind
wander off.

Sometimes this was difficult, since
during those first days of discovery in the curio shop I spent my days in a
perpetual state of bedazzlement. The showroom was a jewel box of delights. To
the left of the street entrance there was a long horizontal glass case. In it
was a wonderful bracelet of Italian cameos carved from volcanic lava stone
which featured famous Renaissance painters, their names inscribed on the backs:
Leonardo, Caravaggio, Botticelli, Donatello and Raphael. It was a collector’s
dream. There were Egyptian scarabs carved from lapis lazuli and moonstones from
India. Old canary diamonds were set in a platinum bow that held the miniature
portrait of a matron long passed in its filigreed clasp.

A relatively modern cash register
stood at the end of the counter, plugged into the wall and apparently
functioning properly. It was empty except for an old Tarot card, the Ace of
Pentacles, and a yellowed scrap of paper which read, “1 Tuna, 1 RB horse w
on’s.” I decided to leave these, for old times’ sake.

I imagined the register clanging as
each sale rang up and started to drift off again into a dream…until a noise
brought me back to earth, and I realized my employer was coming down the stairs
to make one of his infrequent appearances. Standing up straighter, I tried to
look efficient.

He appeared in the sitting room
doorway wearing his habitual attire, a pair of baggy black sweat pants, black
corduroy slippers and a long dark jacket with many pockets, worn over several
layers of shirts in various shades of brown, gray and black. His shaggy white
hair looked as though it had not been cut for several months, and was combed
perhaps weekly.

“Coming along, are we?” he inquired,
pausing in the doorway.

I smiled and nodded, proud of my
accomplishment.

“Everything all right, dear?” He
looked at me sharply, seeming to tune in on something in the atmosphere.

 
“Yes, everything is fine. Ready to finalize pricing and open
the doors!” I was getting used to his mind reading and had grown to expect it. “You
really have some wonderful things here, “ I said, “There’s nothing like it in
town! And, about the Grand Opening…I’d like to send out invitations, to the
neighbors that is. We could make a splash, score points with the local business
community, and possibly get some newspaper coverage. What do you think?”

“A grand idea!” He nodded with
approval. “Very diplomatic. And, of course, we mustn’t forget to invite my
loyal customers.”

I wondered about this, having seen
neither hide nor hair of any customers, except for the man who was leaving on
that first day. I wondered when he would be back. There had been several telephone
calls for Mr. Paradis, all from a man with a smooth baritone voice and a sexy
foreign accent, possibly the same guy.

Another mystery was the fact that the
only books I had found were two piles of used encyclopedias and hardcover
novels starring Cherry Ames, the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew—who originally
drove a “blue roadster,” I discovered. These were now arranged in a low
bookcase in the children’s corner, near a huge puffy beige leather hassock and
some colorful floor pillows.

“You mean, “ I asked, “We should
invite the rare book people?”

He nodded, with a considering look on
his face.

“I do believe it’s time,” he said. He
turned abruptly and flapped his arm, motioning for me to follow.

“Come along upstairs,” he said. “You’d
better get acquainted with the rest of our stock.”

Holding onto the rail, he clambered up
the long, curving staircase. I followed, somewhat skeptical yet hoping for at
least a few literary surprises of a caliber similar to the treasures I had
discovered below. I was very intrigued to see his private rooms, and this was
the first time he had invited me up to the second floor.

As we rose further up the stairs, a
spacious landing appeared at its head. My employer continued down the upstairs
hallway where an open door showed a glimpse of his study, located directly
above the sitting room downstairs. He went past it to the closed door beyond.

Mr. Paradis flung the door open and
revealed a darkened room, which popped into focus when he reached inside and
turned on the overhead lights. A million rectangles of every color of the
rainbow met my amazed eyes. Stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, were
thousands and thousands of books.

He stepped aside in silence and I
entered the room slowly, staring.

Stretching on and on, from the front of
the house to the back, fully as large as the shop room downstairs, were row
after row of loaded bookshelves. The smell was musty, dusty and leathery. I
filled my lungs with it, detecting a sweet hint of sandalwood or cedar.

As I walked down the main corridor, he
clicked on more overhead lights. Some were long fluorescent work lights, some
were elegant antique ceiling fixtures, some merely bare spiral-shaped bulbs
with pull-chains hanging down. Extension cords wove a spider’s web of wires
overhead.

When I reached the end of the long
corridor, I turned. My employer was still standing in the doorway, watching me
with a little smile and the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. I was, once again,
flabbergasted.

“How many?” My voice echoed down the
rows.

“Ten thousand three hundred and
eighty-two,” he declared proudly, folding his hands. “Approximately. At the
moment.” He gestured vaguely. “As I mentioned, they come…and go.”

I swallowed, considering that the
preparations I had thought nearly completed were possibly far from that. My
confidence began to ebb. But then I noticed a small sign made from a pink index
card at the end of the row next to me. It was attached to the side of the
bookshelf with silver duct tape. In faded brown ink, spidery handwriting had
inscribed, “Art History, Ren. - Imp.” Entering the row, I saw that the books
seemed to be arranged alphabetically by author and then title, with all the
spines neatly aligned to the front of the shelves. This was encouraging.

He had quietly shuffled to stand beside
me. His eyes shone with pride, or a touch of obsession.

“Some of the very rare titles are kept
under lock-and-key in my study,” he confided. “Just another hundred or so.”

I nodded, still feeling overwhelmed.
He looked at me anxiously, reading my mood.

“Everything here is quite in hand,” he
said. “No fear. You won’t need to do much to make this room ready for the
public. Just a bit of spit and polish, that’s the ticket!”

“Okay,” I agreed in a small voice.

He patted me on the back as we turned
to exit the room.

“You’re doing a lovely job,” he said
encouragingly. “Just the thing! Keep it up!”

“Thank you,” I replied bashfully. “I’m
enjoying it.”

He closed the library door and we went
into his office. When I entered the room I was glad to see that there was a
computer workstation in the corner, attached to a fat cable connection.

A stone fireplace occupied the far
wall with two armchairs in front of it, a low table between them. A yellow book
was lying spread open on the table, with three unusual brass coins marking the
place. I thought I recognized it as the
I Ching
, an ancient Chinese tool for
divination. I wondered whether he had been using it for fortune telling and was
consumed by curiosity.

Mr. Paradis went to the computer and
leaned over it, tapping a few keys efficiently. The screen lit up and he
flipped through several directories. He showed me his system for tracking
inventory.

“I found a Tarot card in the cash
register,” I mentioned.

“The ace of pentacles?”

“Yes, did you put it there?”

“I did, long ago. It stands for money,
the start of a new business enterprise. It’s there for good luck, to attract
lots of other pentacles!”

“Are you interested in fortune
telling?” I gestured toward the yellow book.

His eyes met mine and looked inside my
head, as he seemed to do so often.

“Looking forward is a very good thing.”
He repeated the words he had said the first day we met. “You know, forewarned
is forearmed. Sometimes we can change our direction and avoid disaster. Other
times it’s useless to try, and our energy is better spent preparing for
trouble.”

“It would be good to know when we’re
going with the grain, and when we’re going against it.” I saw a mental image of
an invisible pattern underneath reality, like a texture.