Page 102 of Such Sharp Teeth

There’s no indication the shop is open except for the fact the door is unlocked. Inside, it smells intensely of incense. There are barrels of crystals, packets of herbs. Bookshelves. Candles and jars and jewelry and small statues.

“Hello?” I ask.

A figure appears. A bearded man with big eyes and long hair wearing jeans and a thick wool sweater. He’s not what I was anticipating.

“Welcome,” he says, giving me a warm smile as he steps behind the counter. “May I help you?”

That is the question.

“Uhh . . .” I probably should have come up with a plan of action here. “Just looking, thanks.”

He nods.

I wander around the store. I check the bookshelves for anything werewolf related but most of the books are about witchcraft. Not sure a spell would be of any use.

The man’s eyes follow me as I browse, like a constant tapping at my shoulder.

“How did you find us?” he asks.

“Internet.”

“And there’s nothing specific you’re looking for?”

“Um . . .”

“I’m a practicing psychic. I have thirty-three years of experience. I know it can be difficult for people to talk about the paranormal. This is a space where you will not be judged. Whatever it is that you are dealing with, I assure you, I’ve seen it all.”

“How psychic are you?” I ask. “Do I need to tell you . . . ?”

He gives me another warm smile. “You are quite blocked. Not open.”

“Right.”

He steps out from behind the counter and waves me over to the crystals. “Black tourmaline. Black tourmaline and pyrite. For protection. To combat negativity.”

“Oh. Cool. Yeah, thanks. Um, do you have any werewolf stuff?”

He turns to me, the smile vanishing from his face.

“Like werewolf information. Or treatments? Possible cures? I’m doing research. On werewolves. For a, um, podcast.”

“Werewolves?” he asks. He seems offended.

Have to admit, not the reaction I was hoping for.

“Yeah.”

He leans back, presses his fingertips together. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“I’m afraid we do not carry any fantasy literature. We specialize in true phenomena, the spiritual realm. Monsters are for the movies.”

Part of me is flustered, dismayed. And part of me isn’t the least bit surprised. Of course. Of course this guy doesn’t believe in werewolves, doesn’t think they exist. What I am, what happened to me, in his eyes is fiction. He can’t fathom. He’d need proof. And even if I gave it to him, if I showed him the video, would that be enough?

And if it was, if I were to convince this stranger, if I were to expose my darkest secret in hopes of getting help, who’s to say he could help me? Who’s to say he’d be willing?

“Right. Of course,” I say. “Sorry to bother you. Thanks for your time.”

“I believe we do have dried Aconitum petals. Also referred to as monkshood, wolfsbane. If you’re interested. The petals are meant to be kept in a satchel underneath one’s bed for those who are wary of adversaries, who may want to keep their enemies close or have their foes reveal themselves.”