One way ticket through Hell, and back.....again.

Diary of an Occult Resolution Assistant - February

This is an unedited short story by Chris Norgate. no part of it should be reproduced, copied or used in anyway, except a small part in a literary review, without express written permission by the author. 

 

 

Tuesday 12th February

08:00

Whilst packing my case to return to Xanthic’s country estate to continue my studies in my craft, I received a text so cryptic I had no choice but to abandon my plans and return to the small antique and rare book shop in town.

OMG SHOP STK! COME QWIK

I knew Xanthic was local, he would have been my first choice to call when trouble walks by, so I felt a mixture of pride and confusion to be contacted instead of him. I quickly changed my long heavy skirt for a pair of jeans, jumped on my old bone cruncher of a bike and sped off through the Wintery afternoon sleet.

My employer was the owner of the place we called the dust farm but the customers knew as Mr Xanthic’s Antiques and Books. It is a place where anything could be bought or sold if the price was right and most of the trading done there was in information. As Mr Xanthic, to the customers at least, always said, Information is the grease that lubricates the world. Without it you run dry and seize up, you can never have too much and the Tax man can never see its value. My duties often involved gaining as much information as I could from the streets and the small collections of unnatural creatures that forge an existence there. I say unnatural but the longer I work for Xanthic the more I think it is us that do not really belong on this world.

The ride to the shop was unpleasant due to the persistent rain and abhorrent due to the uncourteous car drivers clogging the saturated roads. When I reached the door I left my bike leaned up against the front. For all the crime in the city no one had ever even touched it let alone ride off with it. I did think it was some arcane protection or ward, rune or glyph of protection written around the site but a small part of me thinks it could be because my bike is so old and heavy that even a desperate thief would turn their head for better opportunities elsewhere.

There was a noise from inside which sent a burst of shivering cold, not associated with the weather, down my spine alerting me to danger. I burst through raising my hands ready for a fight, forming a protection spell, or more accurately all I currently could recall of one, to hold any wrong-doer not respecting the politeness the shop demands. The spell was not required, not in the way I intended. There, menacing Samantha with it's exposed teeth and low growl, was an irritated hair covered creature.

“Do something Valey.” Samantha pleaded from the precarious sanctuary of the countertop.

I stepped forward and lowered the spell over the growling thing which stared straight for a second and then settled down to play quietly as if it were a young pup with a new toy.

“What is that thing?” I asked of Samantha who had been running the shop for Xanthic as a part of a deal to escape the small village she had grown up in. She was bound into the employment by her mother who insisted Xanthic look after her daughter and keep her safe as she could not bere it if anything were to happen to her again after her last misadventure whose extent her mother did not even remotely know of.

Xanthic and I had found her living in the river on Xanthic’s estate last Summer, after she had been befuddled by promises of what she could become by an old witch called Mary’s false words. She may now be considered unfortunate as she was now something different from what she was born, something she had not wanted by anyone but she had learned to live with brilliantly. The only downside was she always had about her the faint aroma of fish.

“It’s a dog. You can tell that by its four legs and bark. Now help me down will you, it was hard enough scrabbling up here in high heels let along getting down without falling on my arse.”

I knew enough not to push her further, she was clearly under a modicum of stress right now.

“I can see it’s a dog, but what is it doing here?”

Samantha explained what had happened and although she covered some areas more than once and others only in part, I managed to understand the gist of what had transpired.

“Xanthic’s going to kill me.” Samantha wailed once I had made her a mug of tea and she was sat in the small staff room.

“He won’t kill you, Sam. Not unless you’re severely allergic to sarcasm. Tell me one more time, in strict order, what happened and we’ll come up with some kind of plan to solve this one before Xanthic finds out.”

“Finds out what?”

The voice made both of us leave our chairs as we turned to see Xanthic leaning nonchalantly against the door frame.

“Please, tell Valentine again the little tail as to why I have an expanding puddle of warm and unpleasant smelling water on my antique carpet.” he said.

“Just because it is unbelievably old does not make it an antique.” I replied having a good idea what Xanthic was illuding too and trying to formulate a way of saying no matter how bad the water it’ll still go someway to making it cleaner. But we were in enough trouble as it was without beginning a war of one-liners or puns.

“It was all my fault, Sir. This poor boy came in with such a sorry story to tell. All he had was his dog and an opportunity for a job and a roof above his head but he couldn’t take the dog with him. He asked if I could take care of it for the interview as there were no other people he thought he could trust and before I could think of a reply he said he had to go, gave me the bit of string the dog was tied too and left. I just gave the poor skinny thing some water and half my sandwich and it seemed content to sleep next to the radiator. I just got back with trying to move the dust from one side of the shop to the other, when this man in a suit came in. I thought he was here to sell something as he came straight to the counter without browsing. He had seen the dog through the window and was gushing over it as if it were the best in show at Crufts. He asked if the dog was mine and would pay £500 for it. I didn’t know what to say so I just said the dog wasn’t mine and I was just looking after it. He said he would leave his card and to give it to the owner as he would be willing to pay anything to make his wife happy by owning one. Then he made an excuse and left before I knew what was going on.” Samantha stopped and sipped her tea. I thought she was taking a break to catch her breath but now I believe she took the opportunity to cover her mouth so we couldn’t see the next few sentences escape her lips.

“Then the boy was back, he must have almost bumped into the man out in the street, so I tried to tell him about the offer but he was so full of tears that he wouldn’t listen. He cried that he could have the job, three hot meals a day and a warm bed too. But the dog had to go or it was all off. He said he was so hungry and had no choice left. He said he would have to take the dog to the river and...and...well they both wouldn’t walk away from it. I felt so sorry for him that it was now I told him he could sell the dog, not just end its life and go to his new place knowing the dog was well looked after in a loving home and have a pocket full of money to start him off on his new life. He thanked me and I tried to pass over the card the man left but he said he had no phone and now no more time. So, I thought I was doing something good and gave him the money and he left the dog.”

Xanthic paused. He cast an eye over at the filthy window. “It’s easier to see through the wall.” he mumbled under his breath before continuing in a stronger tone. “How much did you give him?”

“The £500 of course.” Samantha replied.

“You gave him the full price? You could have tried to give him a fifty and I’m sure he would have taken it.” Xanthic added sagely.

“But the man offered £500 and I didn’t want to make the boys life any harder than it is.”

“I think his life is going to get real hard whatever you do.” he said. “Let me have that card. Have you tried to call it?”

Samantha handed over the thin slip of paper, to my eye it was no more than a cut rectangle with simple printed black ink on one side.

“No, as soon as the boy was gone the dog seemed to get agitated and started barking and growling at me. It chased me up onto the countertop and all I could do was text for help. Are you going to call the number, get the money back?”

Xanthic hummed whilst rotating the card between his fingers. “I very much doubt you’ll get through to this gentleman. I think you’ve been taken in by a not very smart team of con artists. And the fact you gave much more than they would have settled for is probably making them laugh louder and harder than ever about this little score.”

“How do you know?” I asked, “People get into trouble all the time and pawn their belongings.”

“It’s a con of great pedigree, well known amongst those who make it their business to know but I haven’t seen it for a very long time, not with a dog. These days it’s all bitcoin or online secrets. That and the number on the card has twelve digits not the more standard eleven. So even if you did try to call it, it would never connect.”

Xanthic wandered back into the shop and I could hear him talking to the dog as if it were a disobedient child. I thought of following him but Samantha reached out and held my arm.

“Please stay.” she said filling up with tears. “I feel so bloody stupid .Please don’t think me a complete moron over this.”

I patted her hand and re-took my seat. “I can’t think of you as anything less than you are. You always see the best in people in spite of, or even because of what had happened to you, you always look for the best and see it. I know what Xanthic would say about looking for the silver lining that’s never there but I know I would wish more were like you and I were a little more forgiving myself.”

I cuddled her and felt her heave deeply and then the first of the tears splashed on my shoulder and soaked into the clothing on my back.

10:15

When I could leave Samantha, who had thrown herself into the cleaning and tidying of the back room of the shop - a task I had never dredged up enough courage or stamina to even begin. There are plates so old with encrusted food some of them contained fossilized predecessors of the common housefly - Hearing an unusual sound I edged into the shop. I was faced with the spectacle of Xanthic sat in the old leather chair, where he would sit for many a happy hour with an old book upon his lap. Today though there was no book just the scruffy bag of bones that Samantha had paid handsomely for being made a fuss of as it were royalty.

Xanthic stopped his baby talking nonsense as I approached and pretended he had been chastising the animal for events inconsequential or imaginary in a bid to reassert his authority. It wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I have a task for you.” Xanthic said not looking up from the dog. “I want you to pop to the trinket shop at the end of George Street and pick up a handful of cheap and cheerful rings. Diamond or as close to it as you can get for a fiver or less each or anything that shines a brighter red than a vicar in a stripclub when a parishoner walks in. Then come straight back here. No, scratch that, go to M&S and get me two prime steaks, I’ll do them for tea.”

“Thanks Boss,” I said with anticipation over a hearty meal but I was quickly informed the meat was for him and the dog.

10:35

I set out on my errands. Xanthic had even made me a list so I wouldn’t forget the two simple tasks. Bloody cheek. I hate to admit it but moments out in the storm I had forgotten why I was out there. I folded up my collar against the heavy wind which drove the lashing of sleet into my face and neck as if they were slashes of steel. The steak was first on my list not only because M&S was much closer but it offered me a temporary respite from the weather. I was tempted to shop around and use the outing as a perk but thought better of it when I turned around a few price tags and remembered Xanthic had forgot to pay me again this month. It was not that he couldn’t afford it, although he rarely allowed any of his stock items to leave the shop he always had enough cash, jewelry and other methods of payment floating around the place in lieu of his other services to human and Otherkind. He was just very forgetful when it came to day to day things such as the washing up which seemed to happen to other people other than him and I’m sure he thinks the laundry is done by magical fairies who collect the dirty clothes, wash them and return them folded to his drawers under the cover of darkness. He especially had a blind spot for the weekly bins. I would hear him swear loudly as the bin lorry drove past after he forgot it was bin day. I can clearly see in my mind’s eye the look on the bin men's faces as their truck broke down just down the road as Xanthic running out with his black sack. The truck would only restart after they accepted it. On one occasion, when they didn’t want to empty our late bin and laughed as they drove away, slid backwards up the slight incline of the road until they were parked perfectly outside the shop with Xanthic stood, crossed armed, next to our bin. Since then I’ve seen them disappear into our small backyard, collect the bin, empty it and put it back without disturbing us. Who says our Council Tax is wasted?

The walk to the pawn shop, lovingly entitled with the propritors name I.C.U Cumming, was a hellish trek through the worsening day. All natural light had been excluded as the pitiless grey clouds descended and rolled ominously close. The rain was needles of torture as they struck any exposed skin I couldn’t hide from them.

There was one other in the shop, a simply dressed woman of an age and description I can now not recall as she was so nondescript. She finalised her business with the elderly woman behind the counter, who was extremely descript. She had more visible contour lines across her face than a map of Scafell Pike.

I quickly looked, trying to find my goal amongst the glitter, shine and tat on the trays of jewelry. It was hard to see through the ancient glass cases or locate anything within my meager budget. All this while under the hawkish stare of the shopkeep.

“Can I help you, Dear?” enquired the elderly lady from the safety of a security booth on the side of the shop. All the cases and displays were easily viewable from the front but only accessible from the rear where she had complete dominance.

“I’m looking for some cheap rings. You know, all sparkle but no dazzle.” I answered with a smile.

“Are you with the theatre too, Dear?”

It was a strange question and I answered honestly adding a slight untruth that I was looking for a gift for a young niece before asking why she asked.

“Don’t mind me, Dear. Just we’ve sold all our cheap things to a group of actors putting on some kind of play. That was the girl collecting all I could get from across my contacts. They really wanted everyone to be richly decorated on the stage. So I’m really sorry but if you want something you’re going to have to look in the trays closer to me. They’re more expensive but each is of much better quality.”

I made a theatre of my own, slowly moving up and down the trays of assorted gold and silver and….other metals not usually associated with jewelry but nevertheless pressed into fashionable or pseudo-occult shapes. Then I thanked the woman and walked back out into the squalid afternoon murk.

**

“I cannot say I am pleased, but you did your best. Now go and get out of those wet things and get yourself warm.” Xanthic told me when I passed over to him the steak but not the rings. I asked him if he were cross and did he want me to go back out to look for more elsewhere but he told me no, that I had already been more helpful than I knew. Then he asked me something I could not answer. “Did you see any posters for any new street theatre or amature shows?”

I answered negatively, saying my head was down trying to keep it out of the storm and saw nothing other than my own wet feet splashing through cheerless puddles.

“Shame,” said Xanthic, “I had a sudden fancy to see that play but if I’m right we will all be witness to a carefully staged production before the week is out.”

I left to get dry not understanding Xanthic’s words, but then again, I rarely did.

Friday 15th February

09:20

It was a few days later, the weather outside had changed unexpectedly for the better and we were experiencing some very unseasonal pleasantness. I had been asked to remain here instead of returning to Fernum, the  place I’m constantly considering my true home. I was at first a little put out on this, not just because of the missed time to enhance my study of witchcraft and the other things I could be learning Melody, God knows I need it, or the interaction I sorely miss with the Akelarre. Now the city has sprung out with the energy of the warming sun with markets, people on the street, casual drinking and a buzz of what will, in a month or three be back with us, I was glad I had stayed.

Xanthic was also being very close with his thoughts, which meant he was planning something and that usually meant excitement of its own and lessons to be learnt by all involved.

I was out, on normal duties, which is amusing in itself as they are far from normal compared to everything I had ever done in my previous employed experience.

I had played with the idea of wearing lighter clothes, more suited to the unseasonal warmth than the true February murk. I regretted not going with my gut as my trip around the usual haunts - and I do mean haunts - of the more friendly or talkative Others had brought me out in a thick sweat.

I was in the Market, not an actual market lined with stalls of fresh veg, clothes or mobile phones with the promise of unlocking any phone in five minutes no matter what state it was in or its current ownership status. This market was for items you would never even conceive of seeing along the High Street, even the internet would struggle to bring up the things found here in abundance. Friendly, as a word it’s underrated but if you came here with good intentions the word would infuse within you and you’ll feel taller and more confident. The Market was normally filled with elderly gentlemen waging deep and deadly combat with their opposite over a chessboard or benches of equally aged women knitting and gossiping as they watched the world go by. I loved it here as everyone had a polite word to say or advice for the young girl who followed that young fool of a demon. They gave her their time freely - as long as they were getting something in return or could go over ancient memories of their youth or better times - and I would listened to all the nuggets of information they spoke even if most of it was unintelligible or from a time long past. She also knew they were not what they seemed in their ancient bodies of wrinkled flesh and over washed baggy clothes. They were the Others, born of another place and world which just coincidentally happened to be this one too. Their aura’s played music to me, soft tunes that mirrored their feelings and intentions. I still do not know why I can hear this music when I am near those that were not mortal born and they do not even seem to notice it emanate from them. I’m just thankful that when they do talk me into a chessboard combat or a domino duel to the death - or packet of chocolate biscuits - that when one of them were planning a decisive move their tune picked up tempo and I could plan for a change of fortunes or, if I thought they would tell me more of the underground whispers of what was happening amongst their kind, I would lose with good grace and give a warm cuddle to the victor.

Today was different, they already had mortal entertainment. A man, a human man, was sat staring intently over a chessboard. Opposite him sat a much younger man. Their game was in its infancy and had the appearance of being slow and methodical. They were both dressed seasonally in thick coats and wide hats to shield them from any downpour real or expected. I couldn’t see anymore about them other than their gloveless white hands as they moved their pieces.

“What’s the catch?” asked the younger of the two “I mean, there has to be some risk involved.”

“That’s the beauty of it all. There is no risk, not for you in the slightest. Whatsmore, if you pay in cash before tonight’s deadline I can get you in for the next round. Oh, before I forget.” the man passed over a brown envelope, it was a simple slide under the table designed to be unseen by all those around but he was clumsy, knocking the board with his action and pretty much every head that wasn’t already watching were now doing so. The envelope was opened along its flap and the young man’s hand slipped inside. He withdrew it a moment later and between his fingers was a thick wad of twenty pound notes. There could easily have been three or four hundred pounds stuffed into it. The money was pushed back in albeit a little slower than I would have in similar circumstances. The younger man then erupted with hushed praise for the older man and his foolproof money making scheme.

“I can’t believe it, but it’s true. I give you cash and you do your flippy floppy trading deals and return it two days later two or three fold. You have to tell me how it’s done! I mean more than just cutting out the tax man and knowing the way markets are going to go before trading starts.”

“You know I can’t, there’s far more involved than just I and it has to remain secret from my employers and traders. It’s only a pity we cannot source more cash to put in for bigger gains.”

The younger man sat back in his seat and placed the envelope securely into his inner chest pocket. I’ll get you more cash later. I don’t know how but I know it works. You are an honest man and I’ll get every penny I can for you by next Monday.”

“You’ll get two or three times your stake, guaranteed. The more in, the greater the dividends out.” finished the older of the pair.

With that finished and the game far from over, the younger man stood up, shook the older one’s hand and walked away. The older man sat there whistling merrily to himself whilst replacing the pieces onto their positions. The empty seat was taken by a much more senior appearing figure of a man, although I knew it was a man only skin deep. He was called Emit and was a kindly soul - if he had one - scraping a living from buying and selling small items or undertaking small tasks. He was by no means a rich man but he got by. He mumbled a few words of introduction and apologised for overhearing their conversation today and that of their one yesterday. He had with him some of his own money, his savings from a lifetime of hard work and toil. It numbered only a scant few hundred pounds and was mostly in low denomination notes and coins.

The real man said he should not apologise for listening to his business as it was fortuitous that he had. He promised he would, in a week, return with the original stake and its interest. He said he would call by tomorrow incase anyone else wanted to join him in the deal and to show his faith in the system the gentleman handed over a few sheets of card.

“They are shares in the stock.” he said, “They are worth far more than your stake but not as much as the profit you’ll make. I’ll take them back once the deal is done, it shows I trust you.”

With that, the man placed his finger on his king and knocked it over flat and left with Emit’s life savings. There was a buzz of conversation, I heard snippets of words floating on the breeze asking if they should invest, what could go wrong? We’ve seen it, it has to be true, doesn’t it? Times are hard, extra money would help around the barrow.

I thanked those I had been talking to for their information on the great snail smuggling caper and the gossip that the Queen of Shade Mountain was looking for a husband, the fifth this year alone and then gave them the cupcakes I had baked earlier. They thanked me for my gift freely given and I started to walk back to the shop and a cup of Xanthic’s devilishly fine hand ground coffee.

**  14:15

When I arrived back I thought I had walked into the wrong shop. I withdrew by stepping backwards and looked up. No, the sign advertising this was Mr Xanthic’s Occult Bookshop - amongst other things - was there but the inside wasn’t. The usual free standing displays, mannequins adorned with armour or holding ancient weapons and stands of rare tat  - just because it’s old or there are only a few left in existence does not mean it isn’t tat - were all banished to the far corners. In the much increased free space was a legion of leaping hounds of all shapes, sizes, colours and creeds. I was shocked into stupification right up until the moment one little jack russel tried to become close friends with my left boot.

“Ah, Valentine. Thank you very much.” he said as I interrupted the circus and told him of my mornings work. He asked me to put the kettle on and to get something to eat saying I would be needed here a few more days and then be allowed to go back to Fernum. I asked the only question that I had going through my mind. No, that was a lie, I asked the first of two questions as I already knew the answer to the second, who was going to tidy up all of this.

“Do you know they just lock them up in small cages for a week or two and then…” Xanthic paused and looked around as if he had a secret that he didn’t want the canine ears to hear. “It’s not true that all dogs go to Heaven but these ones will, after a much longer and happier life out of the bastille.”

Xanthic called something in a language that my throat could not reproduce even if my ears could have fully heard it and the dogs all seemed to be more interested taking their ease than, as previously so important to them, scratching, biting, fornicating, watering or dripping long strands of almost solid saliva on the shop fittings or my leg.

There was a moment of inactivity and I was inclined to walk towards a chair when suddenly, catching me off guard, Xanthic swung his frame from his own chair and lept up as if a starter pistol had fired. He sounded his delight and fled the room as if it were on fire being trailed by a sea of bounding fur and barking. A surge of pure chaos ended in silence and stillness, I honestly wish I could say all the creatures had left but not all, they had left their musty, unwashed stench.

**  17:00

I busied myself with replacing everything that could be replaced and repairing all those things that hadn’t survived intact. I brushed the dust, mopped the puddles and with grimaced face and triple gloved hands picked up stuff I should not have to write about here. Samantha, someone who had gone through much more than anyone else I knew, someone who had suffered and survived and was now a lively and friendly young woman whose heart encompasses everyone and everything. She even loved that dog who had her attempting to be the first human to fly unaided. But she could not cope with the more organic problems facing the small shopkeeper in the current day and age. She had left to gather supplies as we both knew we were not going to be leaving on time again tonight. I told her she didn’t have to, it was a foul day as the rain had once again descended with liquid rage, but she wanted to try and make amends Although I didn’t think she had anything to be forgiven for, knowing that if I were in the shop that day it would have been me as the proud owner of a stray mongrel instead of her, she felt a bellyful of guilt over the incident.

“Dogs love me.” Samantha had replied when I told her this and added that I would have had a better start to my canine owning life. “But I think more for lunch.”

I finished my tasks, or as many as I was prepared to do without having some kind of refueling and if not a hot meal then a luke-warm takeout from anywhere open in the torrid night would do. There is a spot in front by the counter that was in the middle of the stream of warm air emanating from the ancient heating ducts in the wall and here was where I sat waiting for Samantha to return before locking the door for the night. Xanthic had his own way of getting into the shop when the door was locked. He never had a key of his own, not like the heavy oversized one for the door of Fernum, his - and by extent my - house in the country. He never needed a key, the shop seemed to open when he approached but for Samantha, she needed to be let in.

At a quarter past the hour I got up and turned off the lights to dissuade any potential rush on customers desperate on buying rare texts or ancient ceramic tiles from the decorated floor of long crumbled temples. None had been in all week but on a night like this anyone could use an excuse of browsing the dusty relics as a reason to avoid drowning as they walked home.

“You’re out of luck, Sam.” I said as I placed the key in the lock. “You’re going to have to knock to escape the rain.”

A thud on the door startled me and if I had not stepped back out of fright I would have been hit by it opening at speed. A young woman or it could have been a very pretty young man burst in. At first I thought they were a desperate client of Xanthic’s in desperate need but as there were no aura-sonus, the music that plays from the soul - or absence of it with some - of the Others that live in this world with us mere mortals, that I hear when they draw near.

Her clothes were black. Black boots, black trousers, a large puffed black jacket and topped by a black baseball cap. All were emblazoned with the logo of a white van and WE DELIVER sewn across it at.

“Hello.” said the girl, with a voice so soft and sugary that I was left in no doubt of her sex - O.K some doubt this is a very cosmopolitan city. “I have a delivery, are you.”

The delivery girl made an effort to locate a name on the label that was stuck on the side of the box facing me.

“Sam.” I offered seeing the name on the side.

“Yes, Sam. Are you Sam? I need a signature.”

I said I was not but a close friend, was that enough? It was met with a smile and a nod. I signed but the girl didn’t immediately handover the small parcel.

“I’m sorry.” she said grasping the parcel tight. “It appears there is a customs charge levied against this. It has it written here, jewelry imported from Africa. Oooh, is it diamonds?” asked the delivery girl excitedly. “Only £50, bargain really considering the weight of this.” She let me have the parcel now and she was true to her word, it was as heavy as a brick.

“£50? I don’t think I have that much on me but Samantha will be back soon, If you wait I’m sure she’ll pay for her parcel.”

“Sorry. I’m on the clock and I really have to go to the next drop. If you can’t pay then I’m afraid I’ll have to take this back to the depot where it will simply just sit around for a few weeks and then be sent back to the sender and there will be a much larger export tax followed by a waste of your time and money.”

The courier saw me in my indecision and as if to make my mind up for me went to take the parcel back from my hand but I moved it out of her way and said.

“O.K, I think I have a little extra in my purse. Wait here.”

I went to my purse but not feeling all that comfortable with this stranger I locked the door to the small staff area before taking my bag out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet where we also kept the tea boat. I returned less than half a minute later and the shop was empty, the door was open and I carefully approached cursing the fact I was too slow and have now cost Samantha money, time and the disappointment of not receiving her package. My heart relaxed when I saw her standing just outside the door.

“Not too late am I?” I asked and she smiled.

“Almost,” came the reply. “I’ve just had the boss on my back trying to get me to finish so he can lock up the depot.”

I knew how she felt and empathised with her plight. I handed over the money and reached into my pocket for a pen with which to sign a docket or slip but there was none presented. Instead the girl smiled, casually tossed the parcel to me and walked away with determination, presumably to get to somewhere more hospitable than the average British evening mid-Winter.

Putting the parcel on the desk I cursed myself for not locking the door behind me as the small bell sounded once more.

“We’re closed.” I called out to the unseen person entering behind me.

“I should hope so too.” it was Xanthic’s voice and he had returned, without his pack of dogs I am glad to say, although not entirely. Our singular friend, the mongrel from this morning fussed around him like a teenage boy around his first girlfriend. “Is that something for me?”

He had seen the parcel I had just placed upon the counter and had made towards it. “I’m expecting some rare African needle darts for a client and they should be here soon...oh, I see it’s for Sam.” he said with disappointment. “I wondered why I couldn’t smell Aziza dust. Was this hand delivered?”

Xanthic’s tone changed, more focused on knowing the provenance of the parcel.

“It was, Yes. Just now. You must have seen the delivery van drive off as you two were almost on top of each other.” I replied and he said he had not, nor saw any van leaving the area. I put it down to mixed up timings and thought nothing of it until he asked me something I kicked myself for not noticing earlier.

“I assume it was a friend of hers that dropped it off. I only ask as there is only one word on this box, and that’s Sam’s name scribbled on in black marker.”

I looked at the box and yes, there is was, Sam’s name snakily written on a white stuck on label.

“No,” I said chastising myself as the penny started to drop. “It was a courier who dropped it off. It needed a little extra postage or tax or something but I guess it was worth it as whatever Sam has ordered is as heavy as a brick.”

Xanthic smiled at me caringly. “I think a little of Sam’s good nature is rubbing off on you Valley. And I am sure whatever is in that box weighs exactly the same as a brick.”

It got me then, in that moment when Xanthic looked upon my kindly, as if I had been shot with an cannon fired by a kindly grandmother. I had been taken in by a confidence trick as old as the hills, as old as bones fossilised under them and as old as format to TV talent contests.  As old as the desire of one man to take something of value from another for practically nothing in return. I broke open the thin sellotape fastening the lip of the box down with my nail and lifted the lid. A London brick sat there in all its red, brick shaped oblong glory.

“It used to be a pig in a poke.” commented Xanthic. “Or a cat in a sack. Someone would have a prize pig and offer to sell it to you in the market for an outrageously low price, usually with a sob story attached saying they were desperate for money as Mother needed medicine or the Lord of the land needed his tax. But when you got home with your prized pig, either for breeding or for the pot or both once one jo had been accomplished, you’ll find nothing but a very angry cat waiting to scratch your hand off to make its escape. These days they dispense with showing you what you’re getting for the promise of something valuable inside a box. Don’t feel too bad, I’ll make you do that later. I assume it was the same gang that got to our little Sammy earlier, knew her name and watched for when she left hoping some colleague would pick up the tab for her.”

I was crestfallen. I had fallen through the floor and down a deep pitch pit and wanted to scream out my frustration so the universe knew where it stood but instead said in low sorrowful words. “I’m so sorry, I thought I was doing it for the best.”

Then I remembered who we were or more to the point, who my employer  - a real life, God’s honest demon incarnate - was and changed my mood. “We’ve got to get even with them, Xanthic. Can’t you do anything to get our money back. Hell, do something to get a lot more back so we can escape this weather and sit on a hot beach for a couple of weeks somewhere with a pool and topless hunky waiters?”

“I would love to but they are laying a generous covering of soot over their souls all by themselves and that is, as you know, pretty much the whole point  why I am here. More to that, why I am tolerated to remain on this Earth. I need to have had a small influence over individual’s souls when they drop below, otherwise I get audited by those who believe they are senior to me.  Xanthic paused as I smashed against the asperous dirt at the bottom of the pit growing in my stomach. He placed his hand across his mouth as if trying to hold back words in contrary to his motives but you cannot hold back nature, especially if you knew it was going to be fun. “Karma is a wonderful thing, what goes around comes around and it has a habit of turning up when least expected. Don’t worry yourself anymore, they will stumble on their journey before you fall any deeper”

“Karma, is that all you can offer up? It’s just so unfair, that people like that can get away with it.” I commented feeling aggrieved such  I had not felt since Martina, the prettiest girl in the school won both the lead in the school play and the guy I, and pretty much everyone else, fancied.

“Neither is a zebra’s bum. Not fair, it’s black and white...It’s a play on words...fair as in light haired. O.K just forget it.” said Xanthic having to explain his little joke after he saw my confused face and even I could feel my eyebrows knot with trying to work it out. To be honest I still don’t understand it. “Go get the Jag and we’ll go home.”

“What about Sam?” I asked knowing she was still out there in the wilds.

“What about me?” we turned but only I seemed to be mildly surprised at her sudden appearance.

“Nothing, nothing at all, young Susan. We’re just going home. Thank you for all your efforts today, I see you have a bag of chips, if you can wait till we get back please allow me to prepare a little something to accompany them.”

She ignored the wrong name, the joke long since forgiven. Then we exchanged glances knowing Xanthic’s culinary skills were not to be passed up lightly, they were devilishly sublime.

We looked at each other as our tastebuds expanded and we salivated to the memory of past culinary delights. “Shotgun.” we called together and giggled, uplifted from my wallows and Sam’s fresh drenching from the storm’s liquid ice.

***  17:56

The short journey back to the house was an education. I had been squashed into one of the seats  - you have to call them that because they had leather upholstery and seat belt fixings but matchbox may have been a better description - in the rear of the car. How could it be that a vehicle that makes you feel so strong and empowered sat within its front seats could, in equal measure, compress such feelings whilst amplify your inadequacies? But I can’t blame the car, it was who was chosen to sit in the front passenger seat that had me irked.

“Want a chip?” asked Sam scrunched up next to me with her knees up around her chest. The question was met with a bark from the front.

“No one is to dare to give Formund a chip, do you hear me?” insisted Xanthic tuning around. “There will be no slobber on this leather, I barely tolerate you two shedding skin cells. ”

We knew better than to question that tone from the boss even if we didn’t take it too seriously, but the four footed hound obviously didn’t grasp the situation. Xanthic almost crashed as Formund tried to jump into the back with us and the chips.