Chapter V
Angel or Demon
by Faith McCann
"Good Morning House! Good Morning Magickal ones!" Catsandra came down the wide staircase, seeming to bring sunshine with her as she greeted her furry friends, Balthasar and Abramelin. She went over to the larder and came out with some fresh fish. She deftly plated up a couple of plates for her feline magical helpers and then poured out a small bowl of tasty seeds for her smallest friend, Sir Pip.
She placed everyone's dishes on the kitchen table and sat down with her own breakfast. Each jumped onto the table and started to eat, then when she started to plate up her food, pickled herring in a savory cream sauce, a dense thick bagel with fresh unsalted butter, and a bowl of smoked salmon, the cats stopped their munching and looked with keen interest at her banquet.
She smiled happily at them and started to eat, thoroughly enjoying the rich, strong flavors. She rose to put a pot of coffee on the heat of the smoldering embers, banked over to keep warm during the night. With her back to the kitchen table, a large, heavy wooden table made as solid and unmoving as stone, she nonetheless knew, without turning that a strategic, organized mission was underway from both of the cats with one target in mind.
"I wouldn't touch my plate, either of you. That is quite naughty of you both." She smiled as she turned and saw each slinking back to their respective plates, with side glances at her salmon.
"We each have fish, so why do you feel mine is so much better? A matter of the grass being greener? How are your seeds Pip?"
Totally involved with his meal, and not paying attention to the drama unfolding in front of him, he stopped, cheeks bulging, as he crammed as many seeds in his cheek pouches as he could. He knew no one threatened his food, being the only house mouse in residence, but it was just so darn satisfying!!
"Oooph! Mmmm, dewisious, so goowd" he was being polite and after he felt he had been cordial enough went back to his intent mouse focus of giving all his attention to the matter at hand.
"Gentlemen, how is the fish this morning?" She asked the two cats who were already finished and licking their paws and grooming themselves.
"Delicious, and I do say, yours looks very good also. Will you be finishing all of that?" Balthasar stopped licking the fish juice off of his lips to cast an eye at the shimmering salmon, of which he could smell the tantalizing, rich, savory and slightly smoky scent.
"Yes, I will indeed be finishing it. As you both have finished, why don't you open the shop while I have a coffee and put some wax on the fire to melt, as I need to dip some candles today."
The two fuzzy felines jumped off the table and ran into the front of the store. Soon she heard the door bells jangle, and other sounds of opening the shop for business.
"Well Pip, did your mission go as planned? What did you see?"
The tiny mouse, dressed this morning in a burgundy suit with a matching bow tie, finished his mouthful of breakfast, and taking a small sip of warm cider from a tiny mug on the table replied " Very well. The Home for the Homeless is back in business and they have a new patron, a very confused, unhappy patron. I daresay you may receive a visitor today."
"Hmmm, indeed." She glanced at the tiny rodent and continued stirring the wax as it heated and started to liquify. "Oh Pip, your suit is very sharp and dapper this morning."
"Oooh! Thank you!" He tugged at it, and brushed unseen crumbs from the lapels, proud that she had noticed. His fashion sense was of great pride to him.
And so the day started at the Rag and Bottle Shop.
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Dominic Diffyc awoke in a rude bed, with a threadbare blanket barely covering his body still garbed in his worn and dirty clothes. As he opened his eyes he wondered, for a brief beautiful moment what had happened to his luxurious satin pajamas? Had he drunk too much the night before? That seldom happened, that he was so besotted he couldn't dress in his accustomed comfort.
Then his eyes snapped open and he sat straight up! He shook his head, trying to dislodge the nightmare he remembered, only to slowly look around him. He saw a barely furnished room. A rickety chair, a small wooden table barely big enough for one person to put a plate on. A dirty window, with torn, stained curtains which were at one time perhaps a green brocade which allowed weak streams of sunlight to sneak through.
He hung his head in desperation. The nightmare was true. He could hear the noise of the multitude rousing below, the scrapping of benches, the murmuring of morning voices, the occasional screech of laughter from a bawdy serving girl.
He felt his stomach rumble, but a feeling of rage started to rise within him. A white hot anger flashed through his veins and gave him a renewed sense of purpose. He would visit that witch at the Rag and Bottle Shop and put this entire spectacle behind him, forever! he would convince her . . . one way or another.
He left his room and leaned over the railing and looked down over the lower room below. He watched the multitudes of people being ladled bowls of hot porridge, while the ropes were being removed from the 'two penny hangover' benches.
He wondered, at the smiles, the laughter of those whose lives he saw as the blackest of miseries. How could anyone find anything to laugh about in this anti-room of hell?
"Hey Mister. You new to this Hotel of hospitality and graciousness?" A sultry chuckled followed and he smelled a subtle perfume waft past his nose.
Dominic glanced over and saw a 'fancy woman' leaning back against the railing looking quizzically at him. She had red hair, piled high on her head, bright red lips, and was wearing a green gown, which though a bit worn around the edges was clean, nonetheless.
"Um, err," he cleared his throat "Yes, yes I'm, um, new. My name is Dominic."
"Hi Dominic, I'm Dia. We're the lucky ones, staying in the upper rooms."
"Lucky! How can you say such a thing?! Lucky? Living like rats in a cage? You really consider us the lucky ones?!" He looked at her as if she were a halfwit.
"My, my!" Dia smiled with sincere amusement and a touch of sympathy. "You really are new here." She sighed "Look here" putting her gloved hand on his sleeve. "It maybe a new world for you, circumstances out of your usual normal, but take heart dearie. You will adjust. You haven't a choice. We all came from other places, many better than here. But we smile. we laugh. We make the best of our circumstances."
"Why?" he asked incredulously
"Because . . . sometimes", her voice became low and soft, "if one doesn't smile, can no longer find laughter, then there is no way to stave off the tears, the misery, the desolation. Come, Dominic. Let's have some nice hot porridge, it will stiffen your resolve. The new Magistrate has sent word that the food is to no longer have any filth or vermin in it! Now that's a gift as special as any Christmas Day!"
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Dominic came down the sidewalk to the Rag and Bottle Shop. He stopped and looked up at the grand, old Victorian mansion. Old, but well cared for. Fresh paint, new clapboard shingles on the roof. The walk up to the porch freshly swept and pretty colored stones scattered along the sides of the walkway. The snow was melting and the air was mild. Strangely warm for this time of year, and the sky had a strange colorful glimmer to it.
He stopped at the steps leading to the porch, knowing last time he was not able to get past a certain point, almost a foot or two ahead of him. He took a deep breath and saying a silent prayer that the doorknob wouldn't burn his hand he resolutely walked up the steps and grabbed the doorknob, pushed open the door and with a symphony of bells was heralded into the shop.
His senses were suddenly, yet gently surrounded by the pleasant fragrances of incenses and sage smudge, the soft ambient lighting of lit candles in glass shades and the smells of some provocative almost magical aromas. 'Magical', now where did that word come from? Yet, it was the most appropriate.
He saw a fat, fluffy cat sleeping drowsily on the sales counter in the front sales room. Abramelin lifted one eye and meowed in greeting. As determined as he was, as angry as he had felt, he could feel his heightened sense of rage, frustration and confusion about the circumstances of the last couple of days seep out of him as if a tea cup filled to the top, emptied through a hole broken in the bottom.
He started to wander around the shop. He took notice of the antique tables, the padded wingback chairs, the small side tables with small crystal bottles, candy bowls and trinket boxes arrayed on top. He gently caressed a finger along the top of long, deeply polished, dark cherry wood sideboards, ornately carved light wood dressing tables with polished glass mirrors. Many had long rows of black velvet jewelry cases, holding enough semi-precious and costume jewelry to fill a Turkish Bazaar.
"Dominic, I'm very pleased to see you." he heard a soft, pleasant voice behind him. As he turned he saw Catsandra standing behind him wearing a long, purple velvet gown with lace trim.
"Would you like a cookie? and some tea. Come this way." She smiled a kind smile and walked past him to a corner with a small table and two comfortable chairs. She didn't even look at him, but took a seat, as graceful as a cat in her surroundings. She deftly poured the tea into two cups and indicated the chair across from her.
Dominic stood, shifting back and forth on his feet, uncertain. Wanting to yell at her with his unhappiness and displeasure at the change in his life, yet at the same time he felt the energy which was so calm, so tranquil he was loath to suddenly to be the one to bring any adverse change to the atmosphere. He wanted to continue to savor the calm, the quiet, the 'rightness' of the feeling around him.
"Milk? Honey?" She smiled at her private sense of humor. She glanced up at him. He felt awkward standing there and took a comfortable seat. The sharp change again in the energy around him was another small shock. Even the short walk from the Home for the Homeless, he had encountered women clutching their children close and scurrying past him, looking at him fearfully. He had never been looked at with such suspicion in his life. He understood no one recognized him, but he had done nothing to anyone he encountered, or passed on the street, yet they responded to his very presence with trepidation.
"You have always believed 'clothes make the man', in both expense and appearance. So why are you surprise yourself with the realization that some others feel exactly the same about you, as you feel about them?"
"I wish you would stop doing that., No offense intended." he replied as he reached for a butter cookie.
She smiled " Oooh reading your thoughts, yes, I take no offense. It's simply easier at times to get right to the heart of the matter." The two sat, sipped tea and looked at each other.
"Why? Why do you torment me so? My life has changed completely since I met you! Floating in the air in my office. I had almost convinced myself you were a bad, crazy dream. But no! Each day stretches endlessly into this torment and misery. I want my life back!!"
"What have you lost?" she sipped her tea and sat back expectantly. A look of incredulity froze over his face.
"WHAT have I lost? Did I hear you correctly? Everything! My life! Everything that mattered to me! My very existence! No one knows me, my home, my job, my office, my reputation! My life itself is in jeopardy!" he finished his rant, gasping for breath, wanting desperately to throw the precious, tiny china tea cup across the room.
"Hmmm" she stirred her cup. Took a moment to pour another, inquiring of him by a simple raise of her brow if he wanted more. He shook his head.
"Your job, your reputation, your 'fame' in the community, your grand mansion, your fancy office, your adoring staff, these you see as your very life? Ahh, I can see why you chose this path, where you find yourself today, quite clearly now."
"I. . . I didn't choose this. I never wanted any of this. Why does everyone think that I have? YOU did this to me!"
"No one can do anything to another, not when lessons for our soul are in the process of being learned. You, my friend, have chosen this path. You. Now, yes, your mind, your ego, your brain wants the easy way. The life of luxury at the expense of your fellow man. The lifestyle you have lived these many years past. But your higher self, what some call your soul, has chosen to travel this path, for the moment"
"What kind of devil are you?" Dominic growled at her, she was so calm, as if discussing the fairest of weather.
"There is no devil. We each must live according to what feeds our soul, our hearts. Even if we live generous lives we need to be able to feel compassion, kindness, love and acceptance of others. To care about those who have less than us. To appreciate our health, our life. The gift of happiness, joy, ecstasy and passion for life! None of these are evil, or wrong. But somewhere along the line the place of worshipping the rich and famous for nothing other than for being rich and famous has taken precedent over worshipping love, humanity, kindness and joy."
"There can be no joy in the suffering of others. There can be no happiness in working everyday and denying yourself even a social relationship of friendship and companionship. You mention everything about material things. Everything about how others perceive you. But you are here because of how your soul knows you to be. Your soul knows you have a deeper purpose on this earth, and even if you reached the highest station in the land, you can do no good for any of your people if you care more about their feelings for you than you care about their wellbeing."
"Highest station in life? I'm one of the lowliest in this village. I want you to change me back. Make me Magistrate again."
"Dominic" Catsandra gently set her tea cup down on it's dainty plate. "I did not do this to you. There are many mysteries in this world, this universe. There are veils between the worlds, which at times, some of us are blessed to pass between while still in this world. Sometimes angels walk among us, looking just like us, yet helping us along our paths as we need help during the most challenging parts of our lives. It's not as important how one gets here as what one does once one gets here. You are here. What shall you do now?"
"I don't know." Dominic replied softly, the realization that he brought this upon himself somehow growing on him with horror, as he knew he had no idea how to change things back.
He suddenly reached out and grasped her hand. "Please" he implored, "please, how do I deal with this? What do I do? How do I eventually get back to the life I led?"
" Well, Let's see if when you have traveled this part of this path if you wish to go back to the life you led. But this is a start. Take this, it will start you on your way." She placed a folded, clean canvas sack on the table. "This is your sack, if a bag and bottle man's trade is what you will be for now. Bring me anything you find you feel maybe of value. No stolen goods, and I will know. Only those you come across honestly."
Dominic stood up, picked up the sack and started to leave. He turned back. "One more question. How do I find out more about what my soul wants?"
"Listen to it. Try to enjoy your day Dominic. Blessings."
Catsandra sat back and picked up her tea cup as a fat fluffy cat came and hopped onto her lap and settled down, warm and soft.
She heard the bells tinkle as the door opened and then gently closed. She thought about the candles she needed to dip before the day was over.
To be continued . . . with "Into the Woods"
From the Author: I hope you are enjoying the story of the Rag and Bottle Shop. I am enjoying sharing the adventures of Catsandra and her familiars and the community of Castlewick with you. Please feel free to share this blog link to other fans of magical, fantasy fiction.
I write my stories using the inspiration of the incomparable Charles Dickens who wrote and published his work during the 1800's in Great Britain in installments. Mr. Dickens was a strong social critic of industrialization and capitalism, as well as bringing to the public attention the need for social reform. Thank You for reading my work, Faith M. McCann
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