Page 8 of Angels Adore Astrology

She gave him a curious glance, but then she looked away as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Okay.” Seymour frowned.

Wow.

Definitely needed some lessons in customer service.

Seymour busied himself looking over more of the floral displays until the cooler door opened again.

Neil had a large wreath packed with daffodils, greenery, and little white flowers. He carried it to the counter, saying, “Okay, here we go!”

“Wow, okay. It looks great.” Seymour reached for his wallet.

“Yeah? I can get a bigger one.”

“No, this is perfect. Thank you both so much.” Seymour pulled out his credit card. “I really appreciate it.”

“Both?” Neil echoed.

“Wait.” The woman stared right at Seymour. “Can you see me?”

Seymour scoffed. “Of course I can see you. You’re standing right there.”

“Who the hell are you?” Neil demanded. “How can you see her?”

“It should be impossible!” She clutched her hands to her chest.

“What?” Seymour took a step back, laughing nervously. “Are you serious?” He looked between them. “She’s right there.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” The woman waved her hand.

“Uh? Three? No, four.” Seymour huffed. “Stop movin’ your hand around.”

She gasped. “Dear God. He really can see me.”

“Of course I can!” Seymour frowned. “What the hell are y’all on? She’s not a damn ghost. I can see her clear as day.”

“Well, today just got much more interesting,” a new voice drawled.

Seymour glanced over to see a giant dog monster lazily trotting toward him.

It was an absolutely massive beast with black fur and flaming red eyes, and its back was arched up like every Halloween cat in the history of ever. It had some sort of mange because big patches of fur were missing along its torso and chest, and beneath that were chunks of burning orange-red embers like its guts were fresh from the bowels of hell.

“What the fucking fuck? What the fuck isthat?” Seymour lifted the wreath high over his head.

He had no idea what good a bunch of flowers would be against a dog monster, but maybe there was a chance it would be offended by the bright color. He didn’t understand how it had appeared so suddenly, as if right out of thin air, and the chances of it howling and fleeing from daffodils seemed unlikely.

“This is a Flanders.” The dog monster peered at Seymour’s shoes. “Oh! Doc Martens. Not bad.”

“Huh?” Seymour continued to retreat, glancing over at the door.

Shit.

Flanders was between him and escape unless there was an exit inside the greenhouse.

Seymour kept backing up and looking around frantically. “This, this is fuckin’ crazy is what this is. I’m, I’m gonna go on and get now, so?—”

“Wait! Please.” The woman hurried toward him. “We really need to speak with you. There’s no need to flip your lid, sweetie. This is just, well, it’s quite incredible!”