Chapter VII - A Day at the Rag and Bottle Shop

Chapter VII 

A Day at the Rag and Bottle Shop

by Faith McCann 

Catsandra awoke to a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly as she dressed for her day. The spring was creeping in, with the greening of the grass and the cheerful chirping of the birds. 

She liked her mornings quiet. It allowed her time with her thoughts. As she dressed she enjoyed the feel of the long, silken skirts which lay soft and heavy against her legs. She heard the church bells ringing in the distance and suddenly she felt transported by her memories back to her youth as a novice Priestess being trained in the old ways. They also had bells in the temple where she was trained. 

She appreciated the sound of a well forged bell. She remembered the harsh clank of the old iron bells. Then, when she was barely 12 years old, a caravan of travelers came to her land, from a distant land far from the east. A hot place she was told, where the sun shone always, and strange animals with humps on their backs were the beast of burden. 

Those travelers were expert metal smiths. They showed the Priests and Priestesses of her tribe how to smelt together different metals to create stronger, more refined metals that caused bells to ring with such beauty she believed that the gods would stop and listen, simply to enjoy such a lovely tone.

Smiling at her thoughts, she started her day, as usual, with a cup of hot tea, made from the herbs she herself grew and harvested in her gardens. Combined with some shortbread biscuits and some strawberry jam, she enjoyed one of her favorite breakfasts. 

She was deep in contemplation during her quiet morning hour, listening to the snap and pop of the fireplace in her kitchen when all of a sudden there was a commotion in the front sales room of the Rag and Bottle Shop! She heard hisses and growls and the loud, angry yeowwww from both her familiars and a bell jangled as it was dropped to the ground from the sales counter. 

She slowly stood up, took a deep breath and straightened her long dark blue velvet dress with it's velvet black shrug, readying herself for whatever had the audacity to interrupt the tranquility of her peaceful surroundings, Sir Pip came scurrying into the kitchen. 

"There's trouble Mistress!! Trouble indeed!! Oh come, come quickly!" 

"Relax Pip. No matter, everything will be handled." Sir Pip looked up at her from the table he had scurried up and his eyes got wide as he saw her normally light green eyes turn a dark, green color with sparks of light reflecting off of .  .  .  something!? Ooooh, this was not good for the trouble out in the other room!! He ran down the table leg to keep close, he didn't want to miss a moment. His eyes felt so big, he was afraid they would stay that way! 

Catsandra picked up her tea and strolled through the door from the kitchen into the sales room. The sight which greeted her was not a usual one to be sure. 

Both Balthazar and Abramelin, Catsandra's cat familiars were both on the sales counter yet not with their usual relaxed disinterested attitude. No indeed, they were both standing up on the counter, hair bristling up, tails swishing sharply, ears flattened back against their heads. Hissing filled the air, as they were both doing their best to protect their territory. 

Catsandra came up to the back of the sales counter and she knew her familiars sensed her presence. She saw the cause of their anger halfway across her shop. It's back was to her. It appeared to be a man, his clothing those of a wealthy gentleman, and he was holding a small china cup turning it in the soft lighting as if admiring it. She could tell by his smell he was many things, but human was not one of them. 

"Welcome to the Rag and Bottle Shop. How may I assist you?" she said quietly and calmly, while stroking the back of Abramelin. Balthazar came close and narrowed his eyes waiting for the slightest move towards his mistress. 

Spinning on his heel, he turned and she saw his eyes were almost totally black. She smiled, just slightly as she knew this would be an interesting encounter. 

"Ah, you must be the witch." his voice was nasally, arrogantly dismissive as he attempted to appear gracious but only succeeded in showing his disdain. He continued to hold the small, delicate china cup in his fingers. 

"That china cup is a lovely piece. It comes as part of an entire complete set. Shall I wrap it for you? Perhaps gift box it?" she asked her eyes never wavering from him. 

There was a smash and clatter of broken glass as the cup shattered against the edge of a table and the pieces fell onto the floor, when he casually and deliberately opened his fingers and let the little cup fall. Abramelin and Balthasar hissed and yeowwed again. 

"I think not. The set is incomplete. Unwanted old household trash. I've come here for other reasons." He smiled and she could see the sharpened edges of his canine teeth. They gave his features, which normally would have been handsome on another man, a long straight nose, chiseled jawline, strong chin, instead a sinister look. 

"I deal in antiquities, vintage items. What reasons could have brought you here?" Catsandra didn't even make the slightest breath of notice towards the intruder's destruction of property. 

"Excuse my poor manners. My name is Romanov, Maxwell Romanov. I don't need useless trinkets. I desire something .  .  .  else. Something which will imbue me with the energy that will sustain me and can give me powers I have never had before. I have heard witch's blood is very special in this regard." He looked at her intently. 

"Hahahahaha" Catsandra's laugh was sincere and light with amusement. Even her furry friends stopped their death stares at the evil one and gazed at her incredulously as if she had gone slightly batty! Had she not heard what they had heard? He meant to harm her! Why was she so relaxed, not even nervous. They looked at one another and even Sir Pip ran up the sales counter to protect his magickal mistress, in anyway his tiny self could muster. 

"My blood? You really must be new at this vampiric life! Oh my! Have you ever read anything about witches being bitten by vampires? You are trying to tell me you are a vampire aren't you? Obviously you have not. Read anything about witches and vamps. Any why is that? Because nothing has been written in antiquity regarding vampires interacting with witches, and for good reason." 

She casually walked around the counter and right past him, not even slightly afraid and sat down on a delicate pinpoint embroidered upholstered tea chair. 

She could see the confusion and a litany of emotions flitter across his face as he tried to remember anything he might have read as opposed to rumors he may have heard about this topic. 

"Oh, I see. Someone told you that if you drank the blood of a witch it would somehow empower you. Did you ever think that they were telling you this to perhaps get you to leave them alone and get you on another track? Easily done, I see. Yes, a very young vampire indeed." 

He felt his skin get clammy, as close to a blush of embarrassment as he was capable of considering his .  .  . condition. Why wasn't she scared? Not even the slightest bit nervous or even a little put out! It was quite disconcerting to say the least. What kind of woman was she? His brow furrowed as he considered his predicament. His grand plans of making her his easy victim and gaining power which would make him the king of all creatures of the night seemed to be fading as quickly as the darkness with the sunrise. 

"Creatures of the Night? Is that what you fancy yourself? Hmmm." She raised her forearm and scrutinized her fingernails. 

He looked at her quickly, his eyes shifting. "How .  .  .  ?" 

"Did I know you were thinking those thoughts? Yes, you gained entry by the open sign, thus awarding you an invitation to come in, but don't you doubt for a moment who is in control of this moment, in this place. My place." Her voice only grew quieter, yet more serious. He felt suddenly as if he were the mouse and she .  .  .  the Cat! 

Maxwell, a tall, black haired, pale skinned, gaunt figure, though affluently attired, gave an air of being sickly, striving for that which would give him strength and power. He felt himself grow even paler, if that were possible, as he let her words sink in. He didn't know what was more unnerving. That she spoke with such a calm, refined, an almost disinterested manner. Or that the words she spoke made him feel in some odd, twisted way as if she, and not he were the predator. 

He again glanced at her and found his gaze suddenly locked on hers, for she no longer looked disinterested but was looking directly at him. Her eyes strangely cat like. He again could not shake the feeling of a mouse, a tiny mouse under the paw of a very hungry cat. He swallowed, and moved a few feet away, trying to move around nonchalantly looking at the items she had for sale. A vintage oil lamp here, a leather bound Siddur laying on a beautiful rare curly maple secretary, a silver gemstone encrusted chalice, a pewter encased black mirror. Tables, small chairs, sideboards. An Aladdin's cave of beautiful, unique, interesting, rare and precious items. 

"What did you mean? You do not believe me? About my being a creature of the night? You sound skeptical." 

"No, not skeptical, I simply prefer to be clear in what we label one another. Creatures of the night would be owls, opossums, racoons and bats. You, Sir, would be a creature of darkness, a distinct difference indeed. That is why you were able to walk in here during the day. As you have already discovered some of the legends are simply that, legends and lore with no basis in reality." 

"Why don't you fear me?" he blurted out, walking up to her quickly and reaching out to grab her by her shoulders. Before he could touch her, he felt a sudden burst of. . .  no a force of energy push him back of his heels. Between the energy push that stopped him and the shock of how it felt, he stumbled back several feet until he crashed into a side table. Objects' d'art rattled and clattered against one another and the furry guards on the counter hissed in warning. 

"Why would I fear you? You pose no harm to me. Oh, you mean the threat that you might drink my blood?" she smiled, looking decidedly delighted at the thought. 

She held out her wrist, upright. Her white skin glowing in the dim lighting, almost bluish in color. Delicate and graceful. A silver chain hanging loosely off of it. He looked confused at her offer. 

"Here have a taste. Oh, but I should warn you to be fair. There is legend and lore regarding a vampire drinking the blood of witches, but it somehow never got the press it should have. Much too uninteresting as the other legends you might have heard of vampires.

 You know, turning into bats, sunlight kills them, must sleep in a coffin, garlic and holy water repels them, . . . oh this bit is most decidedly not true or wouldn't everyone be making spaghetti sauce with holy water!" She giggled at her joke. 

She lowered her wrist. 

"You see if you drink of a witch's blood, a real witch, you will reverse the curse and your being will fill with a light and a wellness of being that will bring you back to the land of the living and of mortals. For that is what every undead creature secretly longs for. Probably why you're all so miserable! So, last chance, wish to change back to live a normal but blessed life?" 

She held up her wrist again. He backed away as if she was ready to stab him with a knife.

"No, hmmm, pity. Well, perhaps one day. What else can I do for you?"

He had slowly sidled away and was moving closer to the door. He had suddenly decided that this was not the place he had wished to be. "I think it's time for me to be going. I thank you for your hospitality . . . Oh, and um . .  . I'm sorry about the cup." 

"Cup?" she smiled. 

He looked at the floor and saw no broken shards, no smashed cup. Instead he saw her placing the china cup, in complete repair back upon the side table where he had picked it up from. 

"What? . . . How? . . . Good bye!" He was practically at a run when he went through the door of the Rag and Bottle Shop! The peels of laughter from Catsandra and her familiars could be heard by the passersby who smiled at the sounds of gaiety and laughter from within! 

"Oh my goodness kittens! That was fun! Can you imagine, that poor young man. Imagining himself a vampire. So sad and tragic. There are so many incredible, beautiful things with which to identify with in this world of wonders, to look for an identity in the darkness amongst the dead is sad indeed. I assure you, even the dead do not wish to be identified in such a way. Well, that was fun! Shall we start our day?" 

Catsandra grabbed her broom and some salt to go and sweep off the front porch and prepare the front step for the business of the day. 

The cats went each looking for a swath of sunlight with which to lay in, and Sir Pip stood in surprise at what he had just witnessed. "Maybe I'll go lie down for a bit! Vampires, what could possibly happen next?" he thought! 

Next Chapter: Changes at the Home for the Homeless! 

From the Author:  I hope you are enjoying the story of the Rag and Bottle Shop. If so, please follow my page! 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