Page 9 of Bewitched by the Werewolf (The Bewitching Hour #5)

My breakfast at The Morning Star Cafe isn’t nearly as enlightening as my coffee stop at The Ugly Mug.

But I don’t let that divert my path, next on my list are the local shops.

People love to gossip while they shop. Maybe I can get some information from chatting up a friendly soccer mom or at least listening in on their conversations.

It’s like they believe there’s a magical bubble around them and no one can hear what they’re saying while shopping, but I can very much hear them.

Although I’ve been told I have better hearing than most, something about my genetics and inherited qualities.

Either way it makes my task of snooping for info way easier.

Wandering back the way I came towards the rest of the stores, I stop and inspect each through the window.

A camera and crafts shop that isn’t open yet.

A grocery store already starting to fill with shoppers, and the bar.

Which of course has no windows and is closed, but I look forward to checking out later.

There’s a bakery called Sticky Buns that smells divine.

Why does everything here smell amazing? It’s like they’re pumping it out onto the street the entice people to enter, like main street in Disneyland.

I manage to pass the bakery without being drawn inside.

Next door there’s a bookstore, Tall Tail Books.

What is with the names of shops in this town?

I don’t go into the bookstore; people don’t talk much in bookstores.

It’s kind of like an honorary library, everyone shooshing you if you talk too loudly.

Beyond the bookstore is an empty store front and I stop in front of it to look around.

A woman with short blonde hair carrying a guitar case walks by and I do a double take.

I could swear she looks exactly like the pop star Alexandria.

But that couldn’t be right. Why would a famous pop singer be in Snowberry of all places?

She wouldn’t, so it must just be a local girl who looks like her.

Shaking away the idea of the international pop sensation wandering through town, I resume my inspection of the rest of the shops.

There has to be something more interesting in town where people hang out and are easy to approach and engage in conversation.

Across the street I spot it. Where all ladies like to waste hours and talk without considering who around them is listening, a clothing store.

And right next door is where guys like to hang out and give unwanted advice, a hardware store. Perfect.

Crossing the street I approach Closet Carousel. The store names here are quirky and I wonder if it’s mandatory to name your store something catchy if you want to open one in town. Every place I’ve seen so far, except for the hardware store that just says Hardware , has a cute quirky name.

A tinkling bell chimes overhead as I enter the store.

It’s filled with men’s, women’s, and children’s clothes of all sizes.

Apparently, this is the only place in town to buy clothes.

The store seems to be a weird blend of old and new, yet everything looks pristine.

As if old style clothing were made brand new and hung on the racks for sale like the latest fashion trends.

I guess the residents like a little variety in their choices.

There’s a handful of customers fingering through racks and pulling out items for closer inspection.

Looks normal from an outsider’s point of view.

I know better. Below the layer of cotton and silk there’s a pipeline of information that travels faster than the speed of light.

Gossip. Especially small-town gossip. It wouldn’t surprise me if by tomorrow everyone in town is talking about me.

Which is why I need to get in with them before that happens.

I need them to open up to me, not shun me like a leper.

Strolling around a rack I glance through the items, feigning interest. That is until I come across a lovely black knit sweater.

It’s soft with a slouchy neckline. Looks brand new but feels like a worn in favorite.

There’s no brand label on the inside only the size and care instructions on a plain white tag.

Weird. I check the price tag. Decently priced though.

Might as well blend in, right? What’s the harm in making a few purchases?

I snag the sweater and hang it over my arm. Black is my favorite color.

Making my way around the shop, I pay a little closer attention to the clothing on the racks and shelves while keeping my ears perked for anything of interest. A pair of ladies chat about their teenage daughters and how much time they spend on their cell phones.

Typical. I love the advantage technology has given me in my work, but some people do need to pull their noses out of their devices every now and again.

There aren’t as many people in the shop as I had hoped, which means fewer opportunities to snoop.

But that doesn’t mean this is a complete waste.

I snag a few more items, a black leather belt, black aviators, and—just to treat myself—a fitted black dress that flares softly from the hips and would hit mid-thigh.

Could come in handy at the bar later. Behind the counter in the back is a tall slender woman with long straight black hair that reaches her waist. Her eyes are a startlingly silver grey, a stark contrast to her pitch-black hair.

She’s cool and trendy dressed stylishly in a purple cropped jacket, and vintage band tee tucked into a black and white checkered pencil skirt.

This girl is way too cool for this town.

When she rounds from behind the counter I spot knee high plum colored suede boots.

Oh yeah, way too cool for the Closet Carousel.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” says the pretty black-haired beauty.

Again, with the beautiful people. Must be the lack of smog and plethora of fresh air and nature.

Or something more supernatural in nature.

I take a closer look at the woman in front of me and try to discern anything abnormal about her.

Other than her beauty, which can be natural, she appears to be human.

“Hi. Could I try these on?” I hold up the dress and sweater and give the clerk girl a friendly smile.

“Of course, follow me.” She waves her hand for me to follow and turns towards the back corner of the shop, where I spot three blue curtains covering what I assume are changing rooms. “My name’s Larken, if you need anything. What’s your name?”

“Tess.”

“Nice to meet you, Tess. We also do alterations if something is too large, too small, too long or too short. I also make custom pieces if you’re interested.”

“Really? That’s quite the full service you offer. I can’t even get a pair of pants hemmed in the city.”

“We like to ensure our customers have access to whatever they need. Snowberry is a little remote, if you haven’t noticed.” Larken giggles and sighs, obviously disappointed in the remoteness of the town.

“Not a big fan of small-town remoteness?” I ask, trying to wedge myself on her good side so she might be more open to talking about the town.

If she already dislikes small-town living she may be more inclined to spill the not so sweet tea.

And since I’m not having any luck with the customers maybe I can get some information out of her.

Larken sashays over to a curtain and pulls it back for me, her long purple nails glittering in the overhead light. “It’s not my favorite. Hard to get good materials and labels way out in the sticks. I would kill to get my hands on a real high fashion label brand.”

I enter the fitting room and pull the curtain shut, leaving it open about an inch so I can peek out to watch Larken.

She stands across from my fitting room and leans against a tufted chair set out for the bag carriers waiting on their companions who have to try on everything they see.

I’m more of a don’t-pick-it-up-unless-I’m-going-to-buy-it kinda gal.

The dress and sweater I chose will fit, trying them on is just a formality to get a conversation going.

And it looks like I’ve been successful in my endeavors.

Larken is just the kind of person I want to talk to.

“You seem to have a good variety here. I think I could find an outfit for every decade for the last sixty years out there.”

Larken chuckles. “Yeah, there’s a lot of people in town who like the older styles. Don’t like to change with the times. I’ve tried to get them to move forward with their fashion sense, but they’re stuck in their ways,” she complains.

“Lots of old timers in town then?”

“You can say that,” she snorts.

I haven’t seen a lot of elderly people other than the couple in the RV and they’re not residents. Maybe people are just old at heart. Or maybe they’re really magical shape shifting monsters who live far longer than humans.

“Have you lived in town long?”

“Unfortunately. My whole life.”

“I’ve been considering moving from my tiny apartment in the city. Get out somewhere with a lot of space and away from the hustle and bustle. I think I’m getting tired of city living. Not enough green for me.”

“Well, there’s plenty of that around here. I would give anything to be a city girl. I’m tired of the slow and mellow. I need more excitement in my life.”

I finish slipping on the dress and step out of my fitting room, walking over to the full-length mirror to take a look. It fits perfectly just as I suspected, no surprise. Rotating I check out my ass in my reflection. I look good.

“That looks amazing on you. I have the perfect thing to pair with it. If you don’t mind?”

“Please, pair away. As long as it’s not neon green,” I add because standing out is not my plan.

“Okay, no neon. Got it.”

Larken steps back into the racks of the store and returns a moment later carrying a wide brimmed hat and a pair of tights in a sealed package. She hands over the tights and lifts the hat to my head.

“You look like the type who could pull off sexy goth. The stockings are thigh highs, black lace.” She winks. “You’ve got great legs. Put on some killer heels or boots and you’ll have anyone doing your bidding.”

“Thanks.”

I check out the hat in my reflection. It really does top the outfit, the red of my hair a perfect compliment to the black of the outfit.

“So, what is it about this town you don’t like?

Anything specific? Or weird?” I phrase the questions as casually as possible only stealing glances of her in the mirror, trying not to seem too interested in her answer.

I’m just an everyday customer asking basic casual questions about her town. Completely normal for a out-of-towner.

“Well, having to drive multiple hours to get to a good shopping mall is one. Plus, I want to work in fashion. Can’t do that from the middle of nowhere.

All the important fashion houses are located in cities like New York City, London, and Paris.

Plus, there’s all the tacky town celebrations.

” She rolls her eyes and plucks at my hair positioning it on my shoulder as she speaks.

“Like what?”

She blows a lazy raspberry with her lips and leans back against the mirror inspecting my outfit and me.

“Christmas cookie contests, karaoke night every single week, boxcar racing down main street, seasonal equinox parties in the woods.

Everybody in everybody else's business.” She ticks the items off on her fingers, one by one, then crosses her arms over her chest.

“And the blood moon? I hear there’s lots of people coming into town for that too.”

“Yeah, that too,” she agrees slowly, eyeing me up and down. “Is that why you’re in town?” Her gaze narrows on me and now I feel like I’m the one under the microscope.

“Yeah. I read that being out of the city, in a place where the lights don’t block out the moon, makes for the best viewing of the eclipse. Seemed like a good opportunity to try out small town living. See if it’s worth the hype.”

Larken relaxes and laughs. “It is not worth the hype. Trust me. Take your vaca and then run back. You’ll be bored in a week living out here.”

“Then why do you still live here if it’s so boring?” I ask. My question takes Larken off guard and she drops her gaze to her hands and fiddles with her jacket buttons.

“Oh, you know, family and friends and stuff. But I have plans to leave.”

She seems to perk back up at her plans for the future, but the look is complex and maybe even a little sad. The corners of her lips falling. She quickly shakes it off, her perky retail smile back in place. “Anyways, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Is there anything special going on in town for the eclipse I should know about? I’d love to attend a midnight picnic in the woods or something.”

“You don’t strike me as the picnic type of girl.” Larken smirks at me.

I guess all the black and leather doesn’t exactly scream picnic girl. I shrug and adjust the hat on my head, eyeing my reflection. It does look good on me.

“Never know, midnight picnic in the middle of the dark woods, under a blood red full moon eclipse, seems like the only kind of picnic I would be into.”

“Well, when you say it that way. This would be the perfect outfit for such an occasion.”

“I’ll take it then.”

I change back into my own clothes and Larken rings me up for my purchases.

We part with promises to come back soon.

Larken seems like a good source of information and equally chatty.

Though it doesn’t escape my attention that she avoided answering my question.

My morning hasn’t been completely fruitless though.

I’m learning more and more interesting things about this small unknown town of Snowberry, and I want to know it all. I think it’s time I check out Dottie’s.