The shop wasn't that big and I had gone creative and inventive so that I could have more treasures displayed. (I also had a huge photo album style book that showed some of the things I simply didn't have the space to shoe horn into the shop. People did often look through that book and place orders. But it wasn't as instantly vivid and immediate.) I had one of a kind skirts and shawls and blankets hung from the ceiling or spread out against the walls. There were dozens of skinny little many shelved floor to ceiling bookcases tucked everywhere. The effect was exactly like packing 100 pounds of something into a ten pound bag. Most people stopped dead in their tracks the first time they came to my place. You walked through the front door and got slammed by sensory overload with all the color and the different eye catching crafts I'd managed to cram in.
But this wasn't a typical tourist. And it wasn't one of my neighbors. So the whole pause thing was trying to give me a panic attack!
I fought to get my breathing and my heart rate back to normal. I knew the nasty rank smell of fear sweat probably wouldn't give me away. I just hated smelling it on myself even more then I hated smelling it on others. Even breathing through my nose I swear that smell coats my tongue and throat. It always makes me want to throw up.
I reminded myself that it was day time and almost two weeks until the next full moon so I could at least cross two very scarey Others off my list. That still left a lot of lee way. And if this Other was a magic user...
I should probably explain this small little strange thing about myself.
I "see" Others.
I had an imaginary friend when I was ten. I know that's a little old for having an imaginary friend. I knew it even then so I never talked about her. She was a wood sprite. I figured that out years later. She lived in my favorite tree down near the small lake that was part of my family's property.
We had just moved to boondocks Plymouth and there wasn't any one close enough to play with. I would take a book and scramble up into that lovely, easy limbed tree. I loved to read and watch the little lake below me. I wanted to be an actress and I would read out loud. One day a soft little voice demanded that I "read that part again please!"
I looked up to see a tiny little girl with her legs crossed under the fat tree limb, just like mine were, frowning fiercely at the book I held.
"That doesn't make sense!" She complained.
"I know! Isn't it annoying?"
I was still just a child, even though I was reading books that high school kids tried to avoid. The fact that my curious new friend had apparently appeared out of thin air and had skin and curly soft hair the color of tender new spring sprouts didn't bother me.
She was the first Other I met. She was just a child herself, even if she was actually older in real years then any one I knew. We were friends until the hours we spent together became dangerous. For me, not her.
"I can't come any more katt. You shouldn't be able to see me. I know you wouldn't ever hurt us but big people are so stupid. I didn't think you'd even hear me that first time but I was so mad about that dumb poem. I won't forget you katt."
And I never saw my wonderful friend again.
I thought for years after that I must have just been dreaming. Because sometimes I'd fall asleep cradled in the limbs of that tree. And I have always dreamed fantastic.
But then when I was seventeen, on Halloween night, I "saw" a Vampire.
It was the first time I had ever really drank enough to be drunk and I told myself it was just that. I was drunk and I was having some sort of alcohol delirium thing.
But I have seen enough Others since that second time to know that what I see is true. And it's real.
I haven't seen many Others. They are probably this world's smallest minority.
I have seen three Vampires, two shifters, and one other wood sprite.
I don't know why I see them. I don't understand what gave me this talent. I'm not all that out of ordinary special in other ways. I'll admit I do hear a fair bit better then most people. And I can usually "sense" who is coming into my store if it's someone I know.
But I'm not magical as far as I can tell. I'm no one to write stories about. I will admit that being able to "see" what I can is a little something. Hearing better and quicker then dogs do, maybe that's a little something too. But I don't have magic. I can't do anything cool or wicked unusual.
I wish I knew who my father was. Because that something something not "normal" came from him. My birth mother is about as mundane as you can get. But she doesn't know what I need to know. That or she isn't telling me.
I'd love to know just who the hell and what the hell I am.
But right now all I want is for this Other to come into view from where he's hidden by that fucking bookcase! Because he's taking way too long of a pause and I'm about four seconds away from going out through the really expansive window behind me. And even though I do kinda sorta heal quicker then most people it's still going to hurt like a bitch if I have to take that route.
"Hello? I was told that you accept crafts on commission?"
I'm gaping at him and trying to close my mouth but he's got some "serious" glamor going on. I am a damn good business woman but gods above and below he's really drowning me! Suddenly I have this insane urge to suggest he tone his act down because humans aren't ever THAT pretty. Not even the super models that no one really believes are actually human. And then I get it and mentally smack myself. (Give me a break. It's not like I have a huge amount of experience with Others.) It's not glamor. Fuck knows what he looks like to humans that can't "see" Others because I'm not seeing what they would. What I am seeing is what he is. I'm seeing the real him.
And where the hell did I "go" that suddenly he's just there in front of my counter?
He sets a box down in front of me and I can't think of anything else to do but peer down into it.
"Candles? You make candles?"
Oh fuck. I hope if he gets offended it will be because he thinks I'm suggesting making candles is not a manly thing. I know I'm acting like a half wit here. And I really, really, really hope he has enough ego that he made himself look super hot to the normal human eye. Humans get stupid around sexy. That would be a good excuse for my moronic behavior.
He gives me a barely there smile.
Oh my gods above and below now I know exactly what he is. He's Sidthe. And I'm not talking low court half breed mongrel here. He's pure Sidthe, high born and bred! What the fuck is he doing walking into my place? And doesn't that just sound like the start to some stupid, racist joke? You know the type-two Pollacks walk into a bar and...But this isn't a joke and there's nothing funny happening here. I don't think I believe in miracles any more. And I KNOW I stopped praying around the same time the ten pm news showed that Hiroshima like fireball engulfing two cars and my entire family, but please God, please, don't let him realize that I "see."
They have never known that I "see." None of the Others that I came upon happen stance after my few short years with my wood sprite ever had a clue. She warned me I must never let them know. She told me they would kill me if they knew what I could "see". Because my "talent" might be a small thing but apparently it's rare as hell. And the Others don't like humans that have my ability.
We were just two little kids. And we were each the other's secret. We didn't ever really talk about serious things. I read my favorite books to her, and we swam together in our lake. We just played together.
We were only kids.
The one time she was ever anything but a giggling, mischievous little minx was on that last day; during our final minutes. Just before she said good bye for ever. She told me that some part of me was Other but she didn't know how much because I was so mostly human. And she couldn't ask questions because it would put me in danger.
"Don't ever let them know katt. You can't. Keep it a secret and stay safe."
And then she said she'd never forget me and was gone. And she never came back.
I all but lived in that fucking tree for months, crying and begging her to come back. But she never did. I was just a kid and I didn't understand why she wouldn't come back. That was my first agony pain. Losing my family was the second.
Why am I thinking about my little green girl and my momma and my brother and that precious little tornado of a nephew when I have an Other standing barely two feet away from my throat?
And then suddenly I'm thinking, do it, just do it. Open your mouth and tell him you know what he is. It will be quick and it probably won't hurt that much. So just God damn do it! End this fucking travesty of a pretend life. This isn't living because you really don't want to live and you're just going through the motions so fucking DO IT!
"That's really beautiful."
The soft voice that cut into my thoughts almost killed me with a stroke or a heart attack. I followed his eyes and I was trapped back in having to stay living.