"Don't you give me that look," I sigh, fixing Lucifuge Rofocat with a baleful glower. "I swear, she only fainted at the very end, and I made sure she gave you a catnip mouse for dealing with the noise. It's not my fault she wandered in looking for a read on garden herbs and happened to leave reasonably filled."

Morning Star Books' resident mousecatcher just stares back, ears twitching slightly and a look of utter disdain on his tiny face. You'd think that he'd be at least a little cowed by the Prince of Darkness giving him the stink-eye, but I suppose cats believe themselves to be above anything on two legs, no matter how darkly majestic or smelling slightly of well-worn pages and strawberry-scented lube.

Hmph.

The silver bell at the entrance tinkles cheerfully, and my sole employee and eye lock eyes again, before he leaps up into the stacks. Disappeared until dinner, I'm sure, my mind helpfully supplies, and I adjust my tie, absentmindedly flicking a loose thread off in a shower of sparks before stepping out from the storeroom. The voluminous stacks stretching into a dark and dimly orange abyss in the back notwithstanding, it's an ordinary enough establishment, I like to think. Bedroom above, a pleasantly cozy kitchen and reading nook, a few nicely-appointed pentacles scattered about behind doors that only appear when you look at them the right way, and, of course, an enticingly bright selection of tomes sparkling out from the other side of ornate glass windows: all the makings of the sort of place the sort of human with a particularly interesting soul might happen upon. Never mind the fact that, should they turn back, the traffic outside would seem to pass by without ever quite noticing the sign advertising the shop's presence.

I had an Italian friend of mine do the ad copy. Quite good, I like to think, though he'd done a thing or two for me before when it came to branding.

Like all the customers who find their way inside, I can see a spark of something turning over in the center of your ideas, a sinuous turn of telltale white filament wrapped around the strands of thought. Perfect. I'm grinning already when I wave from behind the counter, fixing you with a grin.

"Don't mind the mess!" I call, beaming. "We just got a new shipment of anatomy books; if that happens to be your thing, they're over there in the corner, but I apologize immensely; alphabetizing will have to wait until the weekend. You know how it is."

I can see your eyes wandering over the spines studding the shelves, alighting on a cover tastefully canted away from the rest here and there, wrought iron stands displaying a few choice selections. Nothing you'd find anywhere else, I always pride myself on, and the hint of recognition I spy when the pages fluttering tantalizingly in a draft catch your gaze makes me smile even brighter.

"Do you read German? That one's excellent if you do, although I'm biased; a friend of mine actually wrote it. Great doctor but even better at parties, I always thought."

I'm behind you, now, a soft caress of air the only sign of movement. Human figures adorn the cover of the book your fingertips are drawn to tracing, a dozen studies in liquid black ink that seems to shimmer slowly, the angles of the lettering bringing to mind intersections and motion aplenty.

Everyone always has a way of finding what they came here for, I've found, whether it's the perfect volume to complete their collection, or simply a smile and a nod on splayed and tattered scarlet sheets in a pleasantly exhausted afterglow. Anything to knock the tightly-knit course of one's life just ever so slightly askew, enough to needle that other bastard's habit of planning things out ad infinitum.

But you, I can tell... Perhaps the book isn't quite your taste, and I can see the white thread slowly turning to crimson as the illustrations draw you in, bodies twisting and arching spiraling across the pages. There's a heat simmering around you, now, and a faint glimmer of warm yellow in my eyes, like a pleasant fire, and I wink, extending a hand.

"Pleased to meet you," I nod. "I apologize if I get ahead of myself, but it's always lovely to see someone who's going to come here for the first time."

This tale is a bit of an exercise just to knock the cobwebs loose, I'm afraid, more than anything, although if mischievous assignations in comfortable sheets and pentacle-slathered stacks happen to be your thing, I'm sure I can dig up a few candles and pop the cork on a black glass bottle of lube.

As always, I'm up for many things and have a much harder time controlling my rambles when I'm writing onto a page instead of to someone else, so please don't feel like you can't stick a hand out and toss a friendly wave my way. Even if you'll only spend a moment in my bookstore, I'm happy to hear from you all.