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It wasn’t typical of him to make the sort of offer he had. Though, he knew a few others who did so without a thought. Ambrosius’ decision had been entirely a spur-of-the-moment idea. A rarity for him, as he was usually more methodical about how he ran his business. Money for a single item, no refunds, and no exchanges was the way things were always done.
However, once the thought had come into existence, Ambrosius couldn’t stop it. In fact, he had grown more fond of the idea the more she spoke to him. A curious temptation had found its footing and had taken off before it could properly walk.
“Gwendolyn,” he murmured to himself as his fingers flexed around the handle of his cane. “Let’s see here…”
Beneath the register was a leather-bound book, quill, and ink. Usually, he would make a note of an item leaving his store whenever a patron was checking out, but not this time. Another thing out of the ordinary for him, something he would think of as sloppy. Perhaps he had grown bored of his own habits as well.
Ambrosius set the ledger, quill, and ink onto the register counter in an organized fashion. He opened the book, flipping through until he stopped at the exact page the doll was mentioned. His fingers followed down several lines, past listings of paintings, silver, and vases until he found Lot 145. A matching description was written in the ledger—in his own handwriting, of course. Identical to what he had recited to her prior to making his offer.
“Gwen,” he murmured again as he dipped the quill into the ink well at a leisurely pace. “Gwendolyn A. Gooch—oh, even your name isfunny.”
A funny name for a funny woman, he supposed. Although, Ambrosius couldn’t decide which part of her he had found the most entertaining. There had been so many to choose from. He grinned as he wrote her name, ink spreading across the old paper with every drag of the sharp quill.
She had squirmed beneath his stare, not because of any attraction toward him, but because she had sensedsomething. A part of her recognized that Ambrosius was more than what he appeared, though he knew she could not place it. No one ever did, as he was something of a rarity himself. It was always a fun surprise when someone could recognize him as …different.
The way she presented herself had been interesting, too. While he wasn’t familiar with the local weather, Ambrosius had noted the way the previous day’s customers had been dressed. He was tempted to play with the temperature of the store upon seeing her in her extra garments. Would she have parted with the heavy cardigan or suffered in silence as her body grew hotter and hotter?
It had been laughable, the way she tried to hide herself with a silly work uniform. An insecurity of some kind, he was sure, but even still. A diamond was still a diamond, even if it was rough around the edges. She appeared uneasy with attention ofanykind. Not a fault on its own, but it had made no sense to Ambrosius.
To pullThe Dollcard, one had to be abundantly creative, to the point that it was all they wanted to do or be. But the woman who sat before him had lacked any creative streak that even the most casual artists displayed. What little glimpses of her personality she could have visually shown had been guarded. Even her purse hadn’t carried anything of notice.
He would have thought she was the inverse of the card’s meaning if she hadn’t lost her temper. She had become so animated, soalivethat he found himself charmed by it.He suspected that didn’t happen very often. She appeared to be the type to hide not only her body, but her entire being behind a mask of agreeable compliance. Aship without a sail, bobbing in an endless sea, unaware of the dark depths of her anxiety and pain.
Ambrosius ran his finger over the dried ink of her name before closing the ledger.
What a bothersome way for her to live.
And what good fortune it had been for him.
Just like she recognized something different about him, Ambrosius had noticed something different abouther. He had felt it, beneath her words. The small fractures waiting to break along the surface. More than an insecurity, more than a desire. A delicious scream that wanted so desperately to be released beneath the curated mask of apathy. It was ripe, nearly ready to be plucked and bitten into, but it needed more time.
And, oh, what a bite she had been…
Viscous saliva filled his mouth rapidly as his tongue circled his canine. The memory of that first contact with her lower lip, of the blood that followed after, sent a shiver through him. A sweet-tart flavor with a lingering bitter note to it. Like a peach on the verge of spoiling too soon. So different from the others, both in flavor and consumption. It hadn’t been enough to devour the unseen. The rush tophysicallytaste had overtaken him in the moment.
His hand tightened around the handle of his cane.
It wasn’t everyday Ambrosius came across a soul like hers. Souls in anguish, lost, and tormented? That was just any other Tuesday. But a soul that was trying to devour itself? Ambrosius couldn’t recall the last time he had seen one like it. And how generous of him to haveintervenedon her behalf? Why, he couldn’t let her go to waste. Not when there was a mutually beneficial option right in front of them.
“I suppose it’s all up to you now, my bittersweet,” Ambrosius grinned. “Either way, I have a feeling I’m going toenjoyyou.”
The promise lingered in the air until Ambrosius felt a presence walk up to the front door. A shudder ran through the interior of the antique store, and Ambrosius eyed the room as it shifted. The blue-green paint melted away into nonexistence, revealing ruddy aged brick. The light fixtures rose, exposing metal pipes along the ceiling. Divider walls shifted, cracking as it reformed into an aged, dusty old antique store.
A chime filled the room as the front door opened and a man walked in. He was young, though not painfully so. A white man, who wore a bright yellow beanie, orange glasses, and dark jeans. He peered around the room curiously before meeting Ambrosius’ gaze with a nod.
“Well, good afternoon to you, sir. Thank you so much for visiting our fine establishment. If you have any questions about any particular item—perhaps about the history—feel free to inquire. I’ll just be working here.” Ambrosius gestured to the ledger.
“Thanks,” the man said as he walked past, oblivious to the eyes on him.
The lavish living room display had given way to rows of items that were placed onto unsteady, cheap looking shelving. A design that made the antique store appear more like a shopping market. The man was silent, save for the subtle sound of his shoes squeaking with every step. He roamed down one of the many aisles the Antiquarium had produced, yellow hat appearing and disappearing past large paintings, clocks, and ceramic figurines.
There were all manners of antiques within the Antiquarium, all of which Ambrosius knew like the back of his hand. The man had little use for a typewriter, a bowling ball, a Venetian mask, or a limited print baseball card. Those lots weren’t quite the right fit.
Ambrosius suspected the man had something else in mind. Something that involved sticky fingers, as it were. His suspicion was confirmed when he felt the first igniting touch. A prickle ran along Ambrosius’ skin, a deep press against his wrist. His dark eyes glimmered as he felt the subtle release from his vein.
“Do you need any help finding anything?” he called.
“Um, yeah, do you happen to have any old vinyl?” the man called.