Page 33 of The Shadows of Excess

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As we navigated the crowded restaurant, Justice placed his hand gently on my lower back, guiding me through the chaos. The warmth of his touch filled me with a sense of comfort and protection. It was a simple gesture, yet it stirred unexpected emotions within me.

Damon joined us at the front door. “I spoke with the waitress. She said she didn’t even notice the coin, except she did remember this guy who came in a few hours ago. He gave her the creeps.”

I frowned, my mind conjuring images of shadowy figures and hidden dangers. “Why? What was it about him?”

Damon’s gaze darted around as if expecting the mysterious figure to emerge from the shadows at any moment. “She couldn’t put her finger on it. Said he was off. His eyes...she said they were cold, empty. Like looking into a void.”

A shiver ran down my spine, and I instinctively moved closer to Justice. The diner, once a haven of normalcy, now felt like a stage set for hidden horrors. The clatter of dishes and the chatter around us seemed distant, as if we were wrapped in an eerie bubble of foreboding.

“The waitress mentioned he kept glancing around like he was searching for something...or someone,” Damon whispered. “He left soon after, but not before dropping that coin.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist. “Do you think he was looking for me?”

Damon held my gaze. “He was looking for all of us.”

I gave him a nice-try smile. He was trying to protect me, but the demon appeared to me, not them.

The air around us seemed to grow colder, and the din of the diner receded into a hushed murmur. It was as if the mere mention of the stranger had cast an evil spell over our surroundings, turning the mundane into something sinister and fraught with hidden threats.

Justice tilted his head. “Sawyer and I saw something outside. We need to be careful and stay together. This thing seems to hunt in isolation.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered, scanning the room one last time. The feeling of being watched, of unseen eyes lingering on us, was palpable. We needed to leave, to step out of this unsettling atmosphere and head back into the light, where at least the dangers were ones we understood.

The three of us stumbled from the dimly lit tavern, our eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh sunlight. The bustling noise of Main Street filled our ears as we stood on the sidewalk, unsure of what to do next.

I shielded my eyes with a hand and squinted.

Justice scanned the parking lot. “I don’t see any shadows. What now?”

Damon’s dark hair was tousled from a night of drinking, but his sharp blue eyes were focused as he pointed down the street. “There’s a psychic shop not too far from here. We have a friend who might be able to help us.”

Justice raised an eyebrow. “A psychic? Are you serious?”

Damon gave him a knowing look. “What, the PMC doesn’t use psychics?”

Justice shook his head. “No, we don’t really believe in that stuff.”

“Well, then, it looks like you’ve been walking down the wrong yellow brick road,” Damon replied with a smirk.

Damon and I led Justice down Main Street. The lively chatter and occasional laughter of the townspeople and tourists filled the air. Despite the ordinary hustle and bustle, a sense of unease clung to me like a second skin. As we approached, I scanned the faces in the crowd, searching for any hint of something more sinister. Still, among the sea of people going about their daily lives, nothing seemed out of place.

Nestled between the antiquated facades of Main Street, The Crystal Oracle stood out, not for its flamboyance but for its understated elegance. The storefront, a tasteful blend of modern and mystical, was adorned with a simple yet elegant sign featuring a crystal ball encircled by ancient runes. Instead of being cluttered with the usual psychic shop paraphernalia, the display window showcased a single, large quartz crystal, its facets catching the sunlight and scattering rainbows across the pavement.

As I pushed open the door, a gentle chime resonated, and I was enveloped by an ambiance more akin to a high-end boutique than a psychic’s den.

Justice glanced at me. “Are you sure we’re in the right shop? This doesn’t look like any psychic shop I’ve been in.”

Damon brushed past him. “You’ve never met Elijah Starweather, either.”

Justice looked around, then inspected the shelves and the artfully arranged glass cases housing an array of crystals. Each piece appeared handpicked for its unique beauty and energy. He studied the walls adorned with tasteful artwork that straddled the line between modern abstract and spiritual symbolism.

I smiled as we approached a small fountain in one corner, its trickling water creating a soothing melody that harmonized beautifully with the soft, ambient music filling the air.

At the back of the store, a woman with an inviting smile greeted us. “Sawyer and Damon, it’s so nice to see you.”

Damon returned her smile with a roguish one. “Pandora, as radiant as ever. Where’s the big man himself?”

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