I wake up in the morning after what feels like the longest, most continuous night of sleep I’ve ever gotten. I don’t remember even flinching awake to the sound of a passing truck.
Gus and I need to figure out a better plan of approach, so while he’s getting himself ready and eating breakfast I decide to pop into the library to do some research. They have a bank of computers, so I log into my email. I have one message:
To: sallymetfairy@prodigy.net
From: m-bakersfield@earthlink.net
Subject: re: re: RE: hermatic order of owl
Hi Sally,
It sounds like you might be looking for me? I’ve heard from a few people who’ve mentioned some strangers in town asking about me. You didn’t leave a phone number or anything so I don’t know how else to contact you. But if you want to talk in person, you can find me most days at Perfect Harmony Books. My partner owns the shop and is usually at the front desk.
I’m happy to help, Sally, just ask.
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I poke around the ‘net to try and find more information on the vortices, but nothing comes up. I pull up the Mapquest directions for Perfect Harmony Books and print them out. It’s just on the other side of town. I guess it’s time we figure out exactly what Melinda is up to here.
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Perfect Harmony Books is exactly what you picture when you picture a New Age book store. It smells like candles, dust, and unidentified scent. Gus starts sneezing immediately after walking in, and motions for me to continue as he exits back onto the street, handkerchief glued deeply on his face.
The shop is too full of things, from books to bags, the entire shop seems ready to explode out onto the street. Each shelf is held together by small handwritten notes describing each section, with crude drawings and colorful border around the notes to attract your attention. The cash register is tucked away in the corner of the store behind a glass case filled with rocks.
Behind the register is a short woman who is dressed the part. Her bundle of red curly hair lays on top of her head in mounds, while her thick square-shaped glasses give her the look of an ancient oracle. She eyes me suspiciously as I walk up to the counter.
“Hi, is Melinda here?”
“And who are you?”
“Oh, sorry, my name is Sally, I’ve been speaking with Melinda on the computer.”
The clerk pauses a minute, considering me before turning to leave without comment.
I stroll through the store as I wait. Based on the spines, there are at least 400 different books outlining 400 different religions–or at least spiritual practices–on the shelves. I pick one up called URANTIA. On the back of the book it reads:
The URANTIA Book is a uniquely inspiring publication that provides the reader with the universal viewpoint that fully harmonizes religion, philosophy and contemporary science. The world over, people have discovered URANTIA as a book that leaves a profound impact on them and their spiritual GROWTH.
I’ve never understand why New Age books tend to use italics so recklessly, but it’s a style thing that somehow manages to show up everywhere.
I hear the crinkle of a beaded curtain behind me and a large, joyful looking woman with a shock of grey hair and a brightly adorned purple dress comes through. She smiles the largest smile I’ve ever seen, and moves in to hug me.
“You must be Sally,” she says, engulfing me entirely, like an octopus wrapping around a ship’s anchor.
“Hemmmeelo,” I manage, through the suffocating hug.
“Why don’t come back to my little office and we’ll chat.”
