Lure

by Brian Rathbone

  Immediately upon entry, Sam felt a sort of magic in the air, and she couldn't quite nail down what it was. It had some of the same feeling that she'd felt at the boardwalk at the Jersey shore. Perhaps there was a certain magic in places where people vacationed and enjoyed themselves, since all the positive energy they brought with them would surely leave a mark over time. In addition to that, though, there was something more, and it seemed as if some of the objects in the shop were in and of themselves magical. The shopkeeper was again absent from the store, which Sam felt extremely odd. Surely he knew there were customers in the store. Closing her eyes, Sam let the feeling guide her, and only opening her eyes enough to see the floor in front of her, she moved until the feeling was so strong she no longer feared she would lose it. Opening her eyes, she saw a case filled with crystal formations, some mounted in jewelry, others integrated into works of art, and some clusters were works of art in and of themselves. It was to these that Sam was drawn. She reached and wrapped her hand around the crystal that hung around her neck. Again, it felt as if it were vibrating.

  "I'm starting to feel like my Aunt Julie," Sam mumbled, not meaning for anyone else to hear, but Shells' hearing was sharp.

  "Oh, man. Now you're starting to scare me. You're not gonna start talking about poo, are you?"

  Sam laughed. "No. I promise. You're safe."

  Just then Sam saw the mysterious man who ran the shop out of the corner of her vision. He stood behind the counter silently watching them, and Sam couldn't quite figure out how he had gotten there. Her hearing was not bad, and she had been listening for any signs of his return, yet there he stood, his face a mask with no emotion showing. Sam was glad they weren't playing poker, yet she recognized that perhaps in a way they were. He knew something and Sam wanted to know what it was.

  "How much is this crystal?" Sam asked, and Shells jumped, obviously not having realized the man had returned, and she jumped again when he moved toward them.

  "Geez, dude. Don't sneak up on me like that. I know jujitsu and you might accidentally get caught up in my mortal weapons." Shells spoke while striking poses and moving her hands in a hypnotic fashion. It was almost convincing. The man's face registered no reaction.

  "How much is this one?" Sam asked again, pointing as best as she could through the glass. The man said nothing and instead just reached his hand inside the case and grabbed the crystal artwork next to the natural cluster Sam had been pointing to. "Not that one. This one." Again the man's hand moved right past the one that Sam wanted. "Back up." Sam said, and the man looked at her. Slowly his hand moved back to the natural cluster and he pointed to it, while raising his eyebrow in question. "Yes. That one." Sam said.

  "Not for sale."

  Looking again at the crystal structure, which resembled the bottom jaw of some ages dead monster that had had purple teeth. Sam thought it might be amethyst, but she couldn't be certain. She tried to remember some of the things her Aunt Julie had said about amethyst and other stones, but it was just a big jumble in her head. Perhaps she should have paid more attention and less time thinking of ways to look bored.

  "If it's not for sale, why is it in the display case?" Shells asked.

  "Good luck," the man said, and Shells snorted. "And magic," the man said, as if driven by anger, Shells' attitude clearly annoying him.

  Laughing, Shells slapped her knee, "Magic! That's a good one."

  "Shut up, Shells," Sam said, and Shells gave her one of those looks as if she had been completely unaware that she was being annoying. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and clamped her jaw shut. Sam knew from experience that she'd be lucky to get another word out of Shells for at least fifteen minutes. It was a good trick, if you knew the buttons to push, and Sam tried not to use it too often, but it did come in handy on occasion. "Why did you want us to leave the first time we came here?" Sam asked before the opportunity was gone.

  The man withdrew his hand from the display and started to turn away.

  "Wait," Sam said. "Don't go. I just want to understand what is going on around here. You know as well as I do that something is going on. Now what is it?" Putting her hand on her hip, Sam's stance made it clear that she wasn't going to leave without answers. It was a skill she had picked up during her time as a cop. Most men did it naturally, but for Sam it was a learned trait. Still, once perfected, she doubted anyone would guess.

  The man kept walking and disappeared through the door leading to the back room.

  "I'm tempted to go in there after him," Sam said. "But I'm not a cop any more. I can't get away with stuff like that now."

  A moment later, she realized she wouldn't have to. The man returned without saying anything, but Sam could see that he cradled something in his hands. He placed a piece of smooth, colored stone on the glass countertop. It looked like no gemstone Sam could identify, and it lacked the symmetry of crystal, this was more like molten rock, only it was translucent. And instead of being a single color, it looked as if the entire rainbow hid within the folds of clear stone.

  "What do you see?" the man asked.

  Looking into the stone, Sam could sense that this was no ordinary stone, though she could find no way to put that feeling into words. "I see a clear stone that looks like it has been melted, and I see colors inside of it."

  "Yeah. That's what I see, too," Shells said, though she made it clear she was speaking to the man and not to Sam.

  The man just looked at them both as if they were not worthy of his time, and after making what Sam thought was a rude noise in his throat, he reached for the stone. Despite her annoyance, Sam's breath caught in her throat. Just as the man's hands closed over the stone, Sam said. "It moved!"

  The man stopped dead, as if her words had turned him to stone. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet Sam's.

  "There's something in there. Isn't there?"

  "It's a soul," the man said, his voice distant and reverent.

  "Oh. That's rich," Shells said, and both Sam and the shopkeeper turned their glares on her. "Fine. Fine. It's a soulstone. How very Diablo II."

  The man looked confused by Shells' remark, but Sam waved it off. "Why have you shown me this? What does the soul have to do with all of this?"

  The man seemed hesitant to answer, but after a moment he said, "It is a warning. This is what happened last time to those who were not lucky enough to get through. There is danger here and you should acknowledge that."

  "Last time? What do you mean by 'last time'?"

  The man looked as if he would answer, but the then the bells on the entrance door made a tinkling sound. A man with tight-cropped hair and dark glasses entered the shop.

  "Not for sale," the man said, and he moved quickly to put the stone back where he had gotten it.

  Even Shells picked up on the cold energy the newcomer wore like body armor.

  "Geez. Is it cold in here, or is it just me?" Shells asked.

  The newcomer pretended to ignore Shells, all the while watching their every move.

  "C'mon," Sam said. "Let's go get some food."

  Shells followed but cast the man a dirty look before leaving. The man tried to appear interested in a piece of Native American artwork, but Sam knew he was watching them leave.

  "You can have it if you'll leave and go back where you came from," she heard the shopkeeper say as the door slid shut behind them.

  Chapter 10

  "I think I saw a bakery down the street. Let's go see if they've got anything good. I could eat a horse right now, especially if it had icing on it!"

  Sam walked alongside Shells scanning the street. Someone was watching her and didn't want her getting information from the locals. It seemed as if Shells had a good point and maybe she was more than a little paranoid. Even after telling herself that a dozen times, the feeling persisted, and Sam chose to remain alert until she could figure out more.

  Shells bounded ahead, seemingly drawn by the smell of baked goods. The smell soon had Sam's stomach growling as well. Inside
waited a quaint counter displaying pastries, cakes, pies, and other alluring bits, all of which seemed far too pretty to eat. That was one of the things that always amazed Sam about bakeries; the artistry of food. For a while she just looked at what these people created and wondered at how they did it. Cooking was, to her, something of a foreign concept.

  "What can I get y'all," said a pretty brunette from behind the counter. The woman's big brown eyes and low neckline were probably popular with the male customers and perhaps some of the female as well. Shells quickly gravitated in her direction.

  "What kind of cake is this?" Shells asked.

  "Butter cream with vanilla icing."

  "Aw, man. I gotta have some of that. Yeah, I'd like a piece," Shells said. "In fact a piece is sounding really good."

  The woman beamed back, and Sam was fairly certain that she hadn't picked up on what Shells was saying. Sam just smiled and ordered a cheese danish. In the front of the bakery, near the front windows sat three tables; just enough seating for a few customers. Three ladies sat at one of the tables, and Sam couldn't help but stare for a moment. One woman looked like a middle-aged housewife, the next was younger and had tattoos covering both arms and up her neck. Her brown hair was pulled up to show as much of her body art as possible; the affect was alluring. Sam caught herself staring a little too long and averted her eyes; she never got a good look at the third woman. When she looked back, the women were staring at her and talking in low voices. Shells grabbed her cake and Sam's danish and moved to the table next to the three ladies. Shells stared a little too long as well.

  Not long after they sat, the woman with the tattoos turned to Sam. "I just have to ask you," she said. "Are either of you psychic?"

  "No," Shells answered for Sam, and it was probably best that she did. Sam was starting to wonder if some of her aunt's abilities had been passed down to her and it had just taken her this long to figure it out. One of the reasons she'd been good as a cop was that her instincts were very often right. Now she wondered if those instincts weren't truly outside the norm.

  "Oh," the woman said, seeming disappointed.

  "Are you in desperate need of a psychic? 'Cause I know this woods woman psychic chick, and she's scary good."

  "No," the tattooed woman said. "It's not that at all. It's just that I'm a psychic, and these two are the fourth and fifth psychics I've run into today, and I thought that maybe you were as well. I get a vibe from you. Especially from you," she said pointing at Sam.

  "OK. That's weird," Shells said. "Is there like a psychic convention going on or something? Maybe one that's not advertised and maybe all of you are just supposed to know to show up." Shells' smile made it very clear that she thought she was being clever.

  The tattooed woman ignored the comment. "You have a strange look on your face," she said to Sam. "You know something don't you?"

  "I think you're right," Sam said, and Shells turned to look at her, a somewhat shocked expression on her face. "There does seem to be something going on, but I don't know what it is."

  "I told you," the tattooed woman said to her companions, and they returned to conversation amongst themselves.

  "This is getting trippy," Shells said. "What the hell is going on around here? Everyone is either a psychic or a jarhead."

  "You noticed," Sam said.

  "How could I not notice? I'll admit that I thought you were crazy at first, but this is getting out of control," Shells said, looking more serious than Sam had seen her in a long time. "Do you think maybe we should bail?"

  "No," Sam said. "We came here to do an investigation, and once the equipment arrives, we're gonna do just that. And we're going to find something, something that explains all of this; that I promise you. And I'm not sure who it is that doesn't want us to do that yet, but we're gonna find that out, too."

  "Man, I didn't sign up for any G.I. Joe bullshit," Shells said. "I'm a lover, baby."

  "I know," Sam said. "Let's get back to the Inn and see if the equipment has arrived yet. I want to make sure we are ready to investigate tonight."

  "Alright, but let me get a slice of that cake to go," Shells strolled up to the counter and leaned in. "Pardon me, beautiful, but could I get another slice of that cake. I do believe it tastes about as good as you look."

  Sam shook her head.

  When they returned to the Inn, Shells said, "I am ready for that massage now."

  Sam was glad that she remembered. Time had flown past, and she would have missed the appointment completely. "Let's go."

  Shells walked a brisk pace, and Sam took a couple faster steps to catch up.

  "There is nothing better than a good massage," Shells said.

  Sam wasn't as certain about the whole thing. Spas and beauty parlors had never been her thing. She was more likely to go hang out in a bar or at the shooting range or riding motorcycles.

  "Once you're naked," Shells said without looking back, "just get under the sheets and then close your eyes and relax. Don't think about stressful stuff, just go to a happy place and let your body relax. I'm telling you, dude. I'm a pro at this and you won't regret it."

  Remaining silent, Sam walked beside her, wondering if she would have a male or female massage therapist, and trying to decide if it mattered or if she had a preference, when they entered the lobby. Standing at the reception desk and talking to Michael was the tattooed woman, and she waved when she saw them. Sam and Shells waved back, and Sam guessed it would not be the last time they crossed paths.

  Lori waited in the spa area, and Shells strutted up to her. "Hey good looking," she said.

  "I hope y'all are good today," Lori said. "I'll just need you to fill out these forms since it is your first time here."

  Sam looked at the form with suspicion at first, but the questions would be mostly useless to anyone but a doctor or massage therapist. Her address wasn't really her address any more, so what did it matter?

  "Your therapists will be right with you," Lori said when Shells handed her the completed form. Sam glanced up to see Shells reviewing the menu of services provided by the spa, and she wondered how Shells would manage to convince Michael to comp whatever it was she wanted next.

  "I don't like the sound of that," Shells said.

  "What's that, dear?" Lori asked.

  Shells perked up at being called 'dear', but she still sounded concerned when she said, "Coffee enema."

  "Very cleansing and stimulating," Lori said.

  "Man, that's gotta make the coffee taste like shit."

  Nearly falling on the floor with laughter, Sam stifled her chuckling when she saw that Lori did not find the humor in it. Fortunately, two women emerged from doors on opposite sides of the hallway and made their way to the front desk. One was petite and slender with a shy and alluring smile. The other was a voluptuous woman with liquid brown eyes and curly brown hair. Shells looked as if her eyes would pop out of her head, and Sam hoped she would behave herself, yet she highly doubted it. If there was anything that Shells had proven incapable of, it was behaving herself. Sam thought that was probably why they got along so well. Behaving meant relinquishing control of your life to the will of others, and that was the thing that frightened Sam most; giving someone else control. Thus it was somewhat difficult to think about getting naked in a strange place and letting someone she didn't know touch her. For a moment she considered backing out.

  "Hi, I'm Stephanie," the petite woman said, and she reached her hand out to Sam. Shaking it more firmly than perhaps was called for, Sam found herself instantly at ease with Stephanie. "What kind of massage are you looking for?"

  "Um. I don't know," Sam admitted. "This is my first massage."

  "A mixture of Swedish with some deep tissue worked in as needed, and maybe finish with some heat," Shells said, and both therapists gave her knowing nods.

  "Yeah. What she said," Sam said.

  "Right this way," Stephanie said, and Sam did as she was told.

  "I'm going to start you face down. Just go
ahead and get yourself ready and I'll be back in a couple minutes," Stephanie said before walking out and closing the door. Soft music played from speakers that Sam couldn't find, and a light mist rolled from a babbling fountain. Still, Sam felt exposed as she undressed and stashed her clothes under the chair that sat next to the fountain. Sliding beneath the sheet and light blanket, Sam did her best to follow Shells' instructions. With a deep breath, she tried to relax.

  A moment later came a light tap at the door.

  "I'm ready," Sam said, and her voice seemed far too loud in the quiet peacefulness the therapists obviously worked hard to create.

  "If the pressure is too much or if you need anything, you just let me know. What's important is that you feel comfortable. This is your space."

  The words sounded strange to Sam. No one had ever told her before that this was her space, and she found it comforting and liberating. When Stephanie's soft touch ran up her now exposed back, Sam nearly moaned. Stephanie's touch felt wonderful, sensual without being sexual; however, Sam found she had to redirect her wandering thoughts a number of times. The fact that her thoughts could wander was a freeing experience. The massage released stress from muscles that Sam hadn't even realized were sore. When Stephanie found a knot, Sam learned the difference between Swedish massage and deep tissue. With a surprising amount of strength, Stephanie pressed down hard on the knot and Sam felt as if she were being stabbed.

  "Take a deep breath and let it relax," Stephanie said. "Imagine it gradually dissolving into nothing."

  Under most other circumstances, Sam would have laughed at those instructions, but all she could do at that moment was draw a shuddering breath and try her best to imagine it dissolving. After what seemed an agonizingly long time, Sam's arm began to move of its own volition, jumping and twitching, and then her shoulder felt as if it were unfolding itself. The pain was nearly gone, and Stephanie just said, "Good," before smoothing out the muscles with long strokes and moving on to other knotted parts of Sam's body.

  "You're a mess," Stephanie said after the sixth knot. "You should consider getting a massage more regularly."