Page 62 of The Slug Crystal

"Is that seriously it?" Ben asks, craning his neck for a better view. "It's tiny. "

"Size isn't everything, Clark," Luca replies with a smirk. "As I'm sure you're aware."

Marco ignores their banter, already consulting his notebook of questions. "The shop has been in business for fifteen years, according to their website. Family-owned, specializing in hand-poured beeswax candles with essential oil blends."

"How is any of that relevant?" Ben asks.

"Context is always relevant," Marco replies primly, tucking the notebook into his pocket.

Jake's hand finds the small of my back, a gentle pressure that both grounds and propels me forward.

The street buzzes with typical Milanese energy, with fashionable locals striding purposefully past tourists who stop to photograph every charming detail.

None of them notice our strange procession or the terrarium Jake carries like a fragile treasure.

A small bell chimes as we enter, the sound clear and bright in the hushed interior.

The shop is exactly as narrow as it appeared from outside, but extends surprisingly deep, creating a tunnel-like space lined with wooden shelves.

Candles in every imaginable shape and color fill the shelves.

There are spirals, pillars, and floating candles in jewel tones of amber, emerald, and sapphire, all on the first shelf to my left.

The air hangs heavy with scent. There’s pure beeswax underlaid with more complex notes of lavender, sage, cedar, and a spicier scent I can't identify.

The back wall holds dozens of glass jars filled with herbs, dried flowers, and what look like crystal shards.

Beneath these, a glass counter displays smaller items. Like pendants, tiny bottles of essential oils, and several other items that remind me painfully of the website selling the crystal kit that started this whole mess.

"Buongiorno!" A woman emerges from a curtained doorway behind the counter, her voice warm and melodic.

Silver streaks her dark hair, which is twisted into a simple knot at the nape of her neck.

She wears a long apron stained with colorful wax drippings, and her hands bear the slight burns and calluses of someone who works daily with hot materials.

Her smile is genuine but curious as she takes in our unusual group.

She says something else in rapid Italian, gesturing around her shop with evident pride. I look helplessly at Marco, who steps forward with a polite smile.

"She welcomes us to her shop and asks how she can help," he translates, before responding to her in fluid Italian.

The woman's eyes widen slightly as Marco speaks, her gaze jumping between all of us before settling on Jake, or more specifically, on the terrarium in his arms. She responds with another flood of Italian, her hands moving expressively as she speaks.

"She asks why we've brought a snail into her shop," Marco translates, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I step forward, heart pounding so hard I worry she might hear it. "Please ask her if she knows Sarah DeMarco," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Tell her it's urgent and the snail is related."

Marco translates, adding something that makes the woman's expression shift from confusion to interest. She nods vigorously, speaking again while pointing at the glass jars along the back wall.

"She says yes, she knows Sarah. She carried her crystal kits and special candles until recently," Marco translates. "They were very popular with her customers."

Hope explodes in my chest like fireworks, bright and dazzling. I move closer to the counter, grab Alex's terrarium from Jake, and set it down where the woman can see it clearly.

"This is going to sound crazy," I begin, waiting for Marco to translate.

"But this snail... he used to be human. My boyfriend, Alex.

He was transformed by one of Sarah's crystal kits.

" I pause, watching the woman's face for signs of disbelief or mockery.

"We need to find Sarah so she can help us reverse it. "

As Marco translates, the woman's expression shifts from polite interest to wide-eyed astonishment. She leans forward, peering intently at Alex through the glass. The blue snail, perhaps sensing her scrutiny, emerges from his shell and extends his antennae toward her.

"Mamma mia," she whispers, clearly requiring no translation. She asks a question, her voice hushed with what sounds like awe.

"She wants to know how long he's been like this," Marco says.

"Almost a month now," I reply, watching as the woman's eyes soften with what appears to be genuine sympathy.

She straightens up, saying something rapid and seemingly apologetic to Marco, her hands making a flying gesture away from her body. My Italian is nonexistent, but something in her tone, in the pitying glance she gives Alex's terrarium, makes my stomach drop before Marco even translates.

"Sarah moved to Bali," he says quietly. "Two weeks ago.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Bali. An island on the literal opposite side of the world. My vision narrows, the colorful candles blurring at the edges as blood rushes in my ears. My knees buckle slightly, and Jake's hand is instantly at my elbow, steadying me.

"Ask her if she's sure," I manage, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "Maybe it's temporary. Maybe she's coming back."

Marco speaks to the woman again, his scholarly tone gentle but persistent. She shakes her head, speaking at length while making more of those expressive hand gestures. Her gaze keeps returning to Alex, her expression growing increasingly troubled.

"Sarah sold her apartment, closed her Italian business accounts," Marco translates slowly. "The shopkeeper says she spoke of 'finding her true calling' in Bali. Something about a spiritual center where she could develop her gifts without Western constraints."

I grip the edge of the counter, the polished wood cool beneath my trembling fingers. "Did she leave contact information? An address? Anything?"

More rapid Italian, more head shaking.

"No fixed address," Marco says. "Just mentioned a spiritual retreat near Ubud."

I look down at Alex's terrarium, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. The blue snail has retreated into his shell completely, as if sensing the crushing weight of this news. Almost a month of this and I’m already breaking. How can this continue?

"Bali," Ben repeats, sounding stunned. "That's like... the other side of the planet."

"Approximately 12,000 kilometers from Milan," Marco supplies automatically, then winces as he realizes this isn't helpful.

Luca moves closer to the counter, speaking to the woman in his smooth Italian. Unlike Marco's scholarly precision, Luca's approach is all charm and gentle coaxing. The shopkeeper responds warmly to him, her hands fluttering as she speaks.

"She says Sarah mentioned teaching crystal healing at a place called 'The Spiritual Lotus' near Ubud," Luca translates. "No phone number, but she thinks they have a website we can look at."

A fragile thread of hope reappears, thin but present. I cling to it desperately, gathering Alex's terrarium back into my arms. The blue snail remains hidden in his shell, a tiny universe of retreat I suddenly envy with painful intensity.

"Thank you," I tell the shopkeeper, waiting for Marco to translate. "This helps more than you know."

The woman comes around the counter, her eyes soft with compassion.

She takes my free hand between both of hers, speaking in a gentle tone that requires no translation to understand.

Then she reaches into her apron pocket and produces a small candle, pressing it into my palm.

The wax is deep blue. It’s almost exactly the color of Alex's shell.

"For protection on your journey," Marco translates as she speaks. "And to light your way home."

I clutch the candle, overwhelmed by this small kindness from a stranger. The shopkeeper gives my hand one final squeeze before stepping back, her eyes lingering on Alex's terrarium with a mixture of wonder and sorrow.

As we file out of the shop, the little bell chiming our departure, I feel the weight of our new reality settling over us all. Bali. A spiritual retreat with no fixed address. A journey that would take us halfway around the world with no guarantee of success.

The bright Milanese sunshine feels like a mockery after the dim, scented sanctuary of the candle shop. I squint against it, holding Alex's terrarium closer as if I could somehow protect him from this latest setback. The blue candle weighs heavily in my pocket, a talisman of both hope and despair.

Tuesday, 10:47AM. The ride back to the villa feels endless, silence hanging between us like something physical we could touch if we dared.

I stare out the window, watching Milan's urban sprawl give way to the rolling Tuscan countryside.

The blue candle from the shopkeeper presses against my thigh through my pocket, its small weight somehow more substantial than it should be.

In my lap, Alex's terrarium sits steady despite the car's movement, the blue snail still withdrawn completely into his shell.

No one speaks. The radio stays off, the only sounds are the hum of tires against asphalt and the occasional sigh.

They come in waves from Ben, from Marco, and from me.

Luca seems uncharacteristically focused on his phone.

Jake sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch, but he doesn't reach to comfort me as he normally would.

Trees line the highway like sentinels guarding the way back to a place that suddenly feels less like a sanctuary and more like a dead end.

The Italian sun beats down relentlessly, turning the inside of the car into a greenhouse despite the air conditioning.

Or maybe that's just the heat of my anxiety, burning through my skin from the inside out.