Bruce expected some hippy-dippy new age music. It had been like that when he went to get his palm read and at the tarot place. But not here. It was different.

There was no music at all. No props. No anything.

Soot black and hollow, the back room was an empty shell. The cinder block walls and concrete floor were painted darker than ink. There was one door, which he stood in, a silhouette. No windows, no vents, not even any electrical outlets.

He’d never seen a magic shop like it. There were no dream-catchers on the walls or dangling crystals on silver chains. No posters showing the different properties of plants and minerals. No furniture, rugs, or tapestries. No incense burners, altars, or braziers. There wasn’t a runestone, prayer wheel or, totem to be seen.

There was nothing.

Nothing but the woman sitting between two candles.

He pointed his gun at her.


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