Page 38 of The Slug Crystal

I clutch Alex's terrarium closer as we step out of the car, my eyes struggling to process the chaotic scene before us. So much for finding Sarah in some serene spiritual haven.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jake mutters beside me, his hand instinctively finding the small of my back, a protective gesture that's become familiar since our search started in Italy.

Before us stretches what might once have been a peaceful olive grove, now transformed into a carnival of performative spirituality.

White canvas tents dot the landscape, their interiors glowing with strings of fairy lights despite the afternoon sun.

People in flowing linen garments move between them with an affected slowness that seems more about being seen than finding inner peace.

"Well, this is... not what I expected," I say, watching a goat climb onto an abandoned yoga mat and start chewing the corner. "Though I'm not sure what I did expect."

"Instagram spirituality at its finest," Ben observes, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Ten euros says they charge fifteen bucks for that green juice." He nods toward a makeshift stall where a woman with waist-length braids is pouring something alarmingly vibrant into bamboo cups.

Marco adjusts his glasses, taking in the scene with scholarly detachment. "Fascinating. The commercialization of spiritual practices isn't new, of course, but the aesthetic elements here suggest a carefully cultivated authenticity that's paradoxically inauthentic."

"What he said," Luca agrees, sliding his sunglasses down his nose to peer over them. "But I would expect better looking juice. Or maybe some spiritual wine."

A speaker balanced precariously on a tree stump blares what sounds like wind chimes mixed with synthesizers, while a circle of cross-legged attendees half-heartedly chant "Om" with varying degrees of commitment.

Nearby, a man with a top knot demonstrates what appears to be interpretive dance inspired by, according to his enthusiastic narration, "the ancient wisdom of the sea cucumber. "

"Maybe Sarah's deeper in?" Jake suggests, though his tone lacks conviction. "This could just be the... public-facing part."

I want to believe him, but as I scan the grounds, all I see are vendors selling moon crystals and aura photographs, yoga instructors correcting poses with unnecessary touches, and people taking selfies with their eyes closed in faux meditation.

My shoulders slump, the weight of our journey, Venice to Florence to Siena and now Assisi, suddenly feeling like too much for too little.

"We should split up," I suggest, straightening my spine with determination I don't entirely feel. "Cover more ground. Ask about Sarah."

"Good idea," Marco agrees. "I'll approach the meditation circle. Their practice, while performative, suggests they might be longer-term residents rather than tourists."

Ben grins. "I'll take the juice bar. Information flows where refreshments are served."

"I'll check some of the wellness vendors," Luca volunteers. "My cousin dated a woman who was into that stuff. I know the lingo."

Jake meets my eyes. I shake my head. "Take the yoga area?" I suggest noticing several instructors gathered near a large platform.

He hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave my side after my roadside sickness, but nods. "Fine. But stay within sight."

We scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind, each heading toward our designated targets. I approach a stall draped in purple fabric where a woman with elaborate silver rings on every finger arranges crystal pendants on a velvet display.

"Hello," I begin, shifting Alex's terrarium to one arm. "I'm looking for someone, a woman named Sarah DeMarco? American, looks about my age, dark hair? She might have been here recently."

The woman barely glances at me, her attention immediately captured by Alex. "What a fascinating creature," she coos, leaning forward to peer into the glass. "Such an unusual color. Is he your familiar?"

"My—? No, he's just a... pet." The half-truth sticks in my throat. "About Sarah?—"

"You really should consider a protection crystal for his terrarium," she continues as if I hadn't spoken. "I have some lovely, clear quartz that would amplify his spiritual energy."

"That's... thoughtful, but I'm really just trying to find?—"

"Or perhaps some rose quartz to open his heart chakra? Snails are very sensitive to energy vibrations, you know."

I bite back a sigh. "Do you know Sarah DeMarco? She sells crystals too, special ones. Like transformation crystals?"

This finally captures her attention, though not in the way I'd hoped. Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Transformation work is very advanced. Very dangerous in untrained hands. Are you certified in vibrational transmutation?"

"I'm not—I just need to find Sarah. It's important."

She's already reaching beneath her table. "I have some beginner transformation stones. Very safe, very gentle. Only forty euros."

I back away, muttering thanks, and try the next vendor, a bearded man selling hand-carved wooden pendants who turns out to be equally interested in selling me a "snail spirit guide totem" and equally unhelpful regarding Sarah's whereabouts.

Three more attempts yield similar results. By the time I approach a tent labeled Aura Photography & Spirit Consultation, I'm fighting the urge to scream. Inside, a woman with elaborate henna tattoos covering her arms fiddles with an old Polaroid camera modified with colored filters.

"Excuse me," I begin for what feels like the hundredth time. "I'm looking for Sarah DeMarco."

"Thirty euros for an aura reading," she replies without looking up. "Fifty with spirit consultation."

"I don't want a reading. I need information about Sarah DeMarco."

She sighs dramatically. "Information is energy. Energy is exchange. Fifty euros."

I walk out before I say something I'll regret.

The sun has begun its descent toward the horizon by the time we reconvene near the car. One look at the others' faces tells me their efforts have been as fruitless as mine.

"Any luck?" I ask anyway, hope a stubborn ember that refuses to die.

Ben shakes his head. "The juice guy tried to sell me a cleanse program. Fifteen ingredients, fifteen days, fifteen hundred euros."

"The vendors I spoke with were useless," Luca adds. " Though I did learn my aura is apparently 'midnight blue with gold sparkles,' so that's something."

Marco's expression is grim. "The meditation instructor recognized Sarah's name, but claimed spiritual amnesia prevents him from revealing information about other seekers. He did, however, offer to sell me memory-enhancing incense."

Jake rejoins us last, frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw. "Nothing. Though one yoga teacher suggested Sarah might have ascended to the next plane and offered to help me join her for the low price of a weekend tantra workshop."

I laugh despite myself, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "Well, this has been a cosmic waste of time."

Marco places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Not necessarily. We've confirmed she was here, even if these... practitioners... aren't forthcoming with details."

"So, what now?" I ask, looking around at the four men who've somehow become my unlikely support system in this bizarre quest. "Do we just give up? Head back to Florence?"

"It's getting late," Jake points out, glancing at the setting sun. "We should find somewhere to stay for the night. Start fresh tomorrow."

As if on cue, a young man in loose cotton pants approaches, his smile too bright to be entirely natural.

"Welcome, seekers! Will you be joining us for the sacred fire ceremony tonight?

Only twenty euros per person for spiritual cleansing and connection!

Then afterwards, we have cabins to fully allow your spirit to resettle. "

I exchange glances with the others, a silent communication passing between us. What choice do we have? "We'll stay," I tell him, Alex's terrarium heavy in my arms. "But we're looking for information, not spiritual cleansing."

The man's smile doesn't falter. "All who seek shall find," he says with practiced wisdom. "The answers are within you."

Somehow, I doubt that. But as we follow him toward the cabins reserved for overnight guests, I can't help wondering if Sarah felt the same frustration I do now. If, maybe, that's why she left this place as suddenly as she arrived.

It feels as if we're following a ghost across Italy, and I'm beginning to wonder if we'll ever catch up.

Sunday, 5:02PM. Evening settles over the commune like a gauzy veil, softening the day's disappointments into something almost bearable.

The "sacred fire ceremony" turns out to be less mystical ritual and more glorified campfire, with commune members dragging logs into a clearing behind the main buildings.

I perch on a smooth boulder at the edge of the activity, Alex's terrarium secure beside me, watching as our hosts struggle to arrange kindling into something that might eventually catch flame. The fire pit is impressive, at least. It’s a wide stone circle with intricate carvings that might actually be authentic, but the attendees are clearly lacking in basic wilderness skills.

"At this rate, we'll be connecting with ancestral spirits around midnight," Ben mutters, dropping onto the boulder beside me. "Assuming they ever get the fire started."

Jake stands nearby, arms crossed, observing the scene with thinly veiled skepticism.

Marco has somehow found himself in conversation with an elderly commune member who appears to be the only person here with actual knowledge of local history.

Their heads are bent together, Marco nodding occasionally, his scholarly interest piqued despite our surroundings.

Luca paces at the edge of the clearing, watching the fumbling fire preparations with growing impatience. Finally, he throws his hands up.