Chapter VIII - Changes at the Home for the Homeless!

Chapter VIII

Changes at the Home for the Homeless 

by Faith McCann  

Catsandra walked along the road towards the Home for the Homeless, having left  a sign on the door of the Rag and Bottle Shop.  In spite of the dreary, rainy day, Balthazar, Abramelin and Sir Pip had decided to come along for the walk, and the two furry familiars walked behind her while the little mouse sat upon her shoulder chattering happily in her ear, commenting on the sights as they strolled through town.  

"The air is much more mild, one can feel the warmth of spring on the breeze! The trees, look there Mistress, see, see! The buds are budding!" he was excited as winter could be especially hard for little folk such as he. It was a curious sight the foursome made, as the day was overcast with spits of rain yet a ray of sunshine gleamed down upon the group as they strolled along, following them, as if it were a sunny umbrella sheltering them and only them from the rain! 

She paused in her walk to adjust her wispy thin, silky scarf over her head and shoulders, which provided her small fellow shoulder traveler safe protection from prying eyes as they walked along. They stood and looked ahead of them at their destination, the Home for the Homeless. It looked very different! It positively glowed in the rain! New white paint had been applied to the exterior, new shrubbery had been planted. A young woman was sweeping the sidewalk out front and stopped and stared as Catsandra walked up to the door. The young woman looked at Catsandra, then looked skywards, then her eyes followed the sunbeam down to where it fell upon the tiny band of travelers. She looked very confused. 

"My friends dislike their fur getting wet, it causes unsightly knots, you see." Catsandra nodded as she addressed the sweeper girl, and the girl found herself nodding along with the curious woman, whom she had heard many a magical rumor and story about. My, she didn't look evil or dangerous. She appeared the opposite, in fact. 

"Yes'm, can I assist you?" Feeling braver, the girl wanted to help. The woman looked kind, and she wanted to believe the nicer rumors rather than the nasty ones. Her mother always told her, nasty rumors come from nasty people. Her mother, gone these past three years, bless her soul, has been a very wise woman. She tried to remember her wise words as often as she could.

Catsandra stopped her little troupe. "That's very kind of you. What is your name young lady?" 

"Ada" . . . "um, ma'am" she attempted a half curtsey as if she somehow knew Catsandra was different than most of the folks she encountered. 

Catsandra smiled "It is nice to meet you Ada. These are my friends, Balthazar, Abramelin, and Sir Pip. Can you please direct me to Ms. Shermona if she has arrived yet?" 

"Oh Mother Mona is not quite here yet, I expect her any moment. You can go inside if you want to get out of the .  .  .  rain?" Ada looked up and as if she realized the incongruity of what she was saying, allowed her words to trail off. She herself was already damp, out in the drizzle, but she had a job to do. To sweep the front walk of any debris from the storm the night before. But the lady with the auburn hair and the streak in her hair had not a bit of dampness about her and her companions were dry as well. Hmmm, she would ponder this later. She didn't wish to appear silly or stupid. 

"My dear, know that magic exists all around us. It's as natural and as extraordinary as the sun rising every morning and the moon at night. It takes time to learn of such things, but not knowing does not make one stupid. You have simply not learned of these things, yet!" Catsandra smiled gently at the girl and with a glance at her troupe continued into the building designed to accommodate the less fortunate members of the community. 

Ada's mouth made a little O as her eyes grew wide as she realize she had not said her thoughts aloud and she watched the funny little group jaunt into the Home for the Homeless. Ada then glanced up at the ray of sunshine and started laughing as she realized it was now shining on her and the rain was no longer landing on her! Magic indeed! How lovely to imagine! She felt excited and happy and all bubbly inside. What a wonderful day this is starting off to be! 

*** *** ***

Catsandra walked into the large room that housed the shelter lower floor of the Home for the Homeless. She had noticed a change in the clientele who had frequented the Rag and Bottle Shop and she had learned of a few things she wanted to see for herself.  

She witnessed a heartening sight being played out before her. As weak sunlight gleamed through the window panes she watched as younger men up on ladders were being assisted by others holding the ladders and handing up cleaning supplies as they washed the windows. Women were tending to groups of children in this corner or on the staging area at one end of the great room. Others were sweeping and a bit of a racket was being made as hammering was going on, in the building of an army of wooden pallets placed upon stout legs. On the farthest side of the room, in between the aisles between the new bedding framework were teams laying down thin canvas and filling it with freshly dried soft grasses. Others were folding the canvas over and stitching it up along the sides with hemp threads and long iron needles. 

The attitude was jovial, happy chatter and laughter, jokes and shouts of greetings when another person arrived. Clients of the home would show up, lay their sack of goods from scavenging the town along one wall and pick up a job and join in. The last time Catsandra had stopped by, before Mr. Diffyc had decided to go on a spiritual sabbatical into the woods, he and Mr. Smythe between them had caused such misery to drain through the town, laughter had become a rare thing in these parts. 

A little boy went running past chasing a ball and both Balthazar and Abramelin hissed and backed up, spines arched and a low growl came from one.  Catsandra hissed at them in quick reproach, and they both quieted down. The little boy picked up his ball and looked around at first not seeing anything in their area and then jumped back a bit, startled as he saw Catsandra and the two fuzzy cats and he started to giggle as he saw Sir Pip on her shoulder. Was that little mouse wearing a little jacket and pantaloons? 

"Young one, it is David, yes? Is Mr. Smythe about?" 

"Me? Mr. Smythe? No, he went away! He got all upset one day, tried to use his cane on an old man, and he was stopped, so he got mad and went away. Never to return! The young boy raised his finger in the air and yelled it loudly, reenacting dramatically the scene of Mr. Smythe's departure. He giggled and so did Catsandra. The young boy was very good. He might have a career on the stage one day. 

"Wait. . . he was, stopped, you say? Tell me about that." She knelt down on her knee and looked at him on his level. He felt very important, a special lady kneeling down to speak to him as if he were an important gentleman. 

"Who stopped Mr. Smythe? If Mother Mona is not able to be here always,  who is running this place?" 

"Avi!" The boy leaned in closer and excitedly whispered. "Avi stopped him but good! Took Mr. Smythe's cane and turned it on him! 'Smack! smack! smack!! right on Mr. Smythe's back! Said real loud that they'd be no more mis, um .  .   miss. .  . mistreat.  .  .   . " 

"Mistreatment?" she finished.

Yes, that's it, right! Mistreatments, they'd be no mores mistreatments, of any of us unfortunates in this here Home for the Homeless! Not while Avi is here. He is a real good guy and looks after us well. You will like him. We are doing real good, ma'am" he giggled and dropped his ball ran away after it. 

"Avi? Hmmm, well, well, well, kittens and mouse I would like to meet this Avi. He has done a remarkable job and I would like to know more. Let us find this new one."

*** *** ***

Avi looked down from the upper floor balcony and saw the regal woman who had sailed into the building. He felt as if the room should have had a butler to announce her, but he saw she was totally unconcerned whether anyone noticed her or not. No, he corrected himself, as he watched her he saw how still she stood and just observed.  It was as if she willed everyone not to notice her. Clever witch! He chuckled to himself, he had heard of invisibility spells but had never seen one in practice before. The little boy went running past and then after the boy picked up the ball the air around his visitors shifted and wavered and then he saw the boy notice the woman. Clever indeed he thought. A woman worth his attention. He decided he would like to get to know her. He wondered what brought her to this place, as she certainly did not strike him as needing a place to sleep for the night. 

At that moment Catsandra looked directed up and into Avi's eyes, and his light blue eyes met her green eyes and they sized each other up. Each one thinking the same thing. Who are you? Friend? Foe? Adversary? Comrade? Mere Acquaintance? Only time would tell. Avi knew one thing by this time in his life, everyone had an agenda. Whether it be one that benefitted one or all, helped a few or a lot. But everyone was motivated by something. What was the red haired witch with cats and a mouse as an entourage motivated by .  .  .  and would they be friends or enemies? 

*** *** ***

Catsandra saw the blue eyed man, neither old, nor young but of a reasonable age. He had shoulder length hair of medium brown, and wore a natural linen gentlemen's shirt with slim fitting dark gray dress pants. She could see a gleam of his polished leather boots as they peeked over the landing edge between the railing. She looked down to quickly mask her expression, it couldn't be? How was it possible? She must be too far away, that was it. It was obviously it! 

She proceeded over to the steps that led to the second floor and had a slight smile on her lips as she ascended, one hand lightly trailing on the railing. As she got closer to the new apparent manager of the Home she felt her smile slightly falter. His mind was completely blank. She could not read a thing. But one look into his eyes showed intelligence, amusement and interest. It wasn't possible that he had nothing going on behind those eyes, yet she was unable to pick up the slightest glimmer of a thought. That simply wasn't possible. How could he shield her so completely? Was he a Wizard? 

Greetings, my name is Avi, formally Avigdor, but everyone calls me Avi, pleased to meet you. I know the place looks very different but I'm simply encouraging each person to their highest potential, not a Wizard." 

"Oooh! Uh, Ahem, It is nice to meet you also. I'm Catsandra, owner of the Rag and Bottle Shop. You assist many of my friends, and I had heard of the changes. Avi. This is Balthazar and Abramelin, and Sir Pip. My friends, also." She peered at him and kept her mind blank, but was putting many thoughts on hold for the time being. She needed the focus and attention to detail of mouse magic. Look for the tiniest thing and remember for later. She needn't figure anything out at this time, but simply do reconnaissance. She turned aside to look over the balcony and as she did so she moved away from Avi and whispered, "Be aware My friend, Pip, pay close attention, report back to me later." She heard a muffled squeak in reply. 

She raised her voice so he could hear her, "I see so many changes, all for the better. People gainfully occupied, pleased with their accomplishments, working together as a community, yes, many wonderful changes. Where do you hail from Avi?"

She pushed her mind trying to find a weak spot in his mind, but it was as solid and strong as a rock foundation. 

"Ah, I was a traveler for many years, gaining my education on the road. I guess the answer to your question is I hail from everywhere and nowhere in particular." 

She looked directly at him and thought, 'I know you are being evasive and that you can read my thoughts. Fine! Game on!'  She said aloud for propriety sake  "I'm hearing wonderful things from my friends who frequent the Rag and Bottle shop. The chores they are given here, in exchange for their nightly sleeping places. Better foods, more of it, lower costs for their fees when one can afford to pay a penny or two. I must ask you, why? And how? You, a stranger in these midst's, comes here and proceeds to make a pocket of misery rather than a source of ready income and power for you, instead makes it into opportunities of hope for so many. Why? 

"Firstly the answer lays in how.  I came here, looking for a place to bed down for the night. Ready to pay my four pennies for a room, and witnessed brutality by a man who had the opportunity to make people's lives better with little effort, only needing the desire to want to. Yet he chose to make life more difficult. I chose differently. I met the new Magistrate, Mr. Tanner and he and I have come to an agreement. With a small shift in the community budget a portion for those less fortunate has been diverted to this Home. 

Having those who stay here at night, help with the upkeep, cleaning, repair and maintenance was an easy choice. Everyone wishes to have a purpose to give their lives a sense of meaning. That is the change you sense. But I have heard similar things about you. That you treat your friends at your shop as people to be respected, and you see them. You don't find them invisible as many in society choose to do."

"Mr. Tanner is in agreement", she smiled "and Mother Mona, she also continues to assist?" Why couldn't she hear his thoughts? Not the barest whisper. He nodded watching her cover her discomfort. 

"Why the new bedding units? The one penny sit-ups, two penny hang-overs and four penny coffins have been in use for decades. What made you decide to build new real bedding units? Such concern is never shown to for the less fortunate" 

"Frankly there is something macabre about one laying in a bed shaped like a casket if one is not dead. As far as showing concern for others, it takes very little and the rewards are quite . . . enriching." 

He placed both hands on the railing, and stood easily, overlooking the hustle and bustle from below. Catsandra had always known that harsh times could be made better by people in positions of authority using their power for the benefit of the majority rather than the personal enrichment of a few. How curious he used such a word, enrichment. 

Just then a tantalizing smell wafted up from the cook room below. A savory, meaty, rich and intoxicating smell that had Balthazar and Abramelin purring and rubbing up against her skirts. 

"Ahh, the venison stew smells delicious. I sent a few men into the forest to procure a few deer to feed the multitudes. There will be fresh baked bread and freshly churned butter to go with the stew. We also have fresh milk and honey mead and hops beer as a special treat for those who have been toiling to clean this place all week. I warrant a hearty meal is welcome after a good job, done well." 

"Yes, I agree. This has been accepted by the town council? There will be no changes down the road?" She wanted to feel gratitude but had seldom seen free and untethered acts of generosity, especially towards those least able to repay back in anyway. These people had fallen so low, many by no cause of their own, and she was loath to see them hurt by a schemer looking to line his pockets at their expense. 

She was overlooking the lower floors and saw the people happily chatting, eagerly seating themselves and readying themselves for a much needed and longed for hearty meal. She then realized Avi was silent, she turned to look at him. She could see he had heard her thoughts but she couldn't be worried about hurting his feelings. When it came to comparing the two, hurting his feelings because she didn't know him was far less of a sin than the harm a trickster could do to the homeless. 

"No, no changes. I think we all like things just the way they are. Don't you?" he replied quietly. 

Catsandra suddenly smiled, tilted her head just slightly, blanked her mind completely and looking directly at Avi said "It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Avigdor and I am so pleased at the changes that have happened since your arrival. I need to be getting back to my shop, business awaits."

Suddenly, as she turned there was a caterwauling of meows and mews and the occasional squeak which others simply took to be a few disgruntled pets, but Cat heard them clearly! 

"Can't we stay for some of that venison stew, it sounds delightful!" Abramelin said 

"And smells even better!" Sir Pip piped up

"I'd like to taste some of that freshly churned butter, Mmmm, so delicious!" 

The troupe proceeded down the stairs carefully navigating the stairs, Catsandra holding her skirts carefully, and she hissed a quiet "Keep walking, we need to get back to the shop! Right away! Follow me!" 

As soon as they were outside, the sky had cleared and a weak sun was starting to break through the gloom and haze, they walked a bit down the sidewalk until they got to the park and Catsandra took a sharp right into the park. She walked over to a large spring blossom covered bush higher than she was tall. She walked behind it, and the two cats and mouse on her shoulder were with her. She gave a quick look a round and when she saw no one was looking, she fished into her skirts side pocket and pulled out a small clear crystal ball. It fit into the palm of her hand. 

"Alright everyone, we need to make haste! Let us travel back to the Rag and Bottle shop immediately! Follow me! She secured the scarf around Sir Pip on her shoulders as he held onto her hair tightly in his tiny grasp and the cats scooted under her skirts and stood upon her feet. She looked deep into the crystal ball in her hand and soon a light beam of sparkling lights and smoke swirled around them and then everyone along with the light and smoke rose up and quickly flowed into the crystal ball and for just a single moment the crystal ball hovered in mid air, wavering in the afternoon light, in the park, behind the flowering bush and then with a gentle 'pop' it was gone! 

*** *** *** 

"How could it be so? What was he, that he could read into my mind but completely shield me from his? It's some sort of black magic I tell you!" Catsandra was in a rare mood, one seldom seen unless someone were to do something such as touch something precious of hers without permission! 

"Isn't that what you do, though? But you don't do black magic." Sir Pip squeaked. Catsandra stopped her pacing and the two cats stopped their grooming to stare askance at the little mouse! "It is not at all the same thing! I'm a witch, I'm allowed to do such things. This one though, we simply don't know anything about him. I'm not entirely sure we can trust him. For instance why? He answered how, but he didn't really answer why? What is he getting out of this? We will need to keep a close eye on our friends, and of course I need to work on a better concealment spell to protect my thoughts." 

"In the meantime, you will stay and watch the shop. I am going into the woods to seek out Shermona, I need to speak with her. She can tell if this Avi is friend or foe. I cannot take his word. I need to hear it directly from her. I'll be back soon. Sir Pip, come with me. You'll be my personal assistant in this matter." 

"Yes ma'am, I'm ready to go!" Sir Pip, piped up. The two left and went down the path until it entered the forest, while the two cats dozed on the front porch with one eye open just to be ready. One never knew what might happen. 

*** *** *** 
To be continued  

Next Chapter " Friend or Foe? 

 *** *** *** 

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 

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 

Chapter VI - Into the Woods

Chapter VI 

Into the Woods

by Faith McCann 

Shermona left the Home for the Homeless and walked down the street, crossed the park green and walked down past the town of Castlewick's Center Office building. She noticed a disheveled man standing on the sidewalk standing looking up at the town office building. 

She left the walk and crossed over the unkempt taller grasses bordering the forest. She knew the man had noticed her. He was holding a new canvas bag in his hand, indicative of his new employment. One of the hardest, most difficult jobs anyone could do, she knew, was to become a Rag and Bottle Man. 

She followed a path that winded through the woods, barely visible but to the sharpest eyes that knew it was there. A path frequented by deer, rabbits, and other small animals. She walked casually and relaxed, knowing she had plenty of time to return to her cottage deep in the woods before dusk fell. 

She could feel her soon to be visitor following stealthily behind her. She knew he sought answers to deep questions and he meant her no harm. She was never worried about harm from humans as she was more than adept at protecting herself. 

She sent her awareness out amongst the foliage and received back images and messages from the underbrush. Her follower was 20 paces behind her and there were a few encampments several yards off into the depths of the forest. 

She stood next to a large soft Hemlock tree 

and felt as if she melted into the bark of it's wooden trunk. By simply imagining herself a part of the tree and meaning no harm the spirit of the tree accepted her and the two became partners of a sort for a short while. 

She knew that she was virtually invisible to any human eyes. She stood quietly and watched as small furry creatures scampered by intent on their business looking for food and chasing each other in the natural joy of being alive in the moment. 

She saw Dominic Diffyc come along the path. He followed the barest semblance of the trail which she had trod only a few minutes earlier. He was looking in all directions, having lost sight of her. He stopped in a moment of indecision and looked surprised when he realized the branches on either side of him had crept out and had created a barrier between him and the path in front of him. How! He hadn't seen any obstruction just moments before? Where had the old woman gone? 

He reached down and grasped a dead branch and started to thwack at the branches and thorns as they stopped his progress and as he was engrossed in his task he failed to see the older woman slip through the patches of mottled darks and browns found in the woods as silent as a shadow, until she was away from where he was.  

He finally freed himself of the tangled mess and looked ahead and saw the smoke of a chimney and the side of a small cottage in a tiny glade deep in the woods, right at the end of the path he followed. Being new to this world of magic he failed to see the significance of this occurrence. 

He felt his feet slow as he came closer to the small cottage. Images of ancient fairy tales of witches living in cottages in the woods, shacks made of candy, evil old women who ate children, cast spells and all sorts of terrors flooded back to him from his childhood. What awful tales to regale small children with, he thought as an errant side thought. He stopped and glanced behind him, a bit regretful that he had not thought to leave a trail of breadcrumbs, then shook his head ruefully. He would have eaten any extra bread he came across at this point. He always seemed hungry. How was it the poor and destitute lived this way? How was it that no one in his station in life ever gave any thought to the poor except for the fancy fundraisers around Christmas time, when there were well stocked parties, dinners with platters of hot haunches of beef, savory turkeys, pyramids of roasted vegetables, racks of fresh baked breads .  .  .  No! he must stop! All he thought about these last couple of days was food! What was wrong with him? 'You're hungry!' The evil voice in his head taunted him. 

"Shut up!" He growled aloud. Then feeling foolish, looked around. Thankfully no one was around to hear him. He crept up to the cottage. He looked in a window. He could see the flames of a small fire crackling happily in a simple fireplace. A table set for two but no food visible.  A horn woven out of vines in the center of the table, filled with nuts, fruit, and greens from the forest no doubt. The fire had a large black cauldron hung over it and it was bubbling away. A small grey cat with a white thin stripe down it's nose and white socks was sleeping on a soft armchair near the warm fire. It opened one eye and looked right at him! 

Dominic, silently gasped and quickly pulled away from the window before assuring himself it was only a cat. Or was it? Was anything normal or typical in this new world he found himself in? He had a feeling he already knew the answer to that question. 

Where was she? 'Knock on the door!' his inner voice urged him. 'What have you to be afraid of?' He raised his hand preparing to knock and before he could touch knuckles to wood, he heard the old woman's voice call out. "Enter"  

He slowly opened the wooden door, surprised at how it silently swung open with not the slightest creak for such an old structure. 

He stood inside and then remembering his manners, took his hat off and closed the door behind him. He looked around but couldn't see the old woman, what was her name? The cat was awake and sitting in front of the popping fire in the fireplace, watching him intently, as if the cat itself were the Master of the house. 

It was a tidy, yet simply furnished small cottage. More cozy and complete than the outside led one to believe. The fireplace cast a warm, orange light and illuminated the room. A table with .  .  .  wait! Hadn't it only had two simple place settings just a moment ago when he looked in the windows? Now a full feast was set upon the table. With barely room for a mouse. A platter with meat pasties piled high, steaming as they seeped savory gravy. bowls of roasted potatoes, root vegetables, sweet roasted onions, entire meat pies and dessert pies of cherry, apple and peach! Baskets of bread and cups of freshly churned butter and a pitcher of fresh milk! Milk? Did she own a cow? Surely this was a hallucination from too long without proper food. The porridge from this morning had been barely enough to tide one over from starvation. 

Dominic couldn't help himself, he looked around again and didn't see his hostess so he went to the table and pulled out a chair and sat down. He had never been as rude a guest before but his body, his hunger, his desperation and frustration overtook any sense of etiquette and he grabbed a bread roll and started to eat. 

He felt eyes upon him and he quickly flushed with shame. He placed the half eaten roll down and slowly looked up. He saw her looking at him, not as he expected with derision but with kindness and grace. "Don't ever feel shame for being hungry. Shouldn't I feel shame for having all of this food and only myself to eat it? I was hoping for a visitor this evening. For you see, Dominic I need your help." 

"What was your name again, I am sorry to have forgotten it?" 

"Shermona" she looked at him quizzically, intently as if she was waiting to see if he remembered something important. 

"Shermona. That is a unique name, but not unpleasant, regal somehow."

"Ah, how nice of you to say so. It means holy mountain, in an ancient language of a people far from here."

"Are they your people, these people far from here?" he asked as he picked up the discarded roll and spread butter on it. 

"All people are my people. I learned a very long time ago, to stop calling myself one from this tribe or that tribe. To identify with one culture keeps me separate from all others. To feel separate because of skin color, or eye color or hair color or gender. To do so only keeps myself separate from those I wish to know and wish to learn of. It keeps me from my quest of becoming whole." 

"I wear many amulets, holy relics and talismans on my cords each from different beliefs and religions. To accept others and not see them as separate but as one of the whole. I find it allows one to become whole again. Please help yourself, eat as much as you'd like." 

He looked at her with a furrow to his brow, pondering how a solid, seemingly healthy, able bodied person didn't feel whole? But then again, he wasn't feeling totally together himself. He continued to eat. 

She continued "You are not here to learn about me, but to learn about you. Which maybe a totally different path, which you shall walk. We shall see where it is you are supposed to go." 

"Wait!" He put down the meat pasty he had taken a savory bite out of, gravy juices dripping down his chin. 

"What do you mean? Don't you know? Where it is I am supposed to go?" 

"Where do you want to go?" Shermona asked as she took some vegetables and placed them on her plate. 

"I dearly wish to go back home." Dominic said. 

"And where is your home?" She asked him.

"It is a big house, bigger than all of the others that surround the green in Castlewick. It is made of the finest brick and is three stories high. It has my servants, my possessions, everything I have acquired over the years. But . . . " he paused remembering the last time he was at the green. he remembered the flower garden that occupied the place his house should have been. 

Shermona looked up from her meal as his voice trailed off. 

"But?" She inquired as he fell silent, a perplexed look on his face. 

"I was there yesterday, late afternoon. It was gone. The entire house. Nothing left but a field of flowers. As if it had never been there. No formal gardens, no servants, no fencing, nothing!" he sighed. "I don't know how to explain it, just .  .  . gone." 

"Dominic, listen to me carefully. This is not a trick, nor am I trying to be facetious. What you have described to me is a house. A building. I want you to tell me about your home. For many people, a home is not simply a building. It can consist of many facets, like a diamond. It may indeed be the memories that one has acquired having lived in many houses over a lifetime. Along with memories of many people, some happy, some sad, all worth remembering. Some family, some friends, some special people you choose to allow in your life because they bring something you otherwise would be lacking. In all, a home is found within your heart and it goes with you, wherever you find yourself."

He slowly placed his fork down and silently looked at her, feeling an unfamiliar lump in his throat and tears gather in his eyes. 

"Maybe, I don't know . . . as it is different for everyone, but maybe, the field was empty and filled only with flowers because there was no home there for you to return to, when you went searching. Perhaps that is your quest? To find your home so you can go back and find your house." 

"How?" he whispered, so silently it seemed as if the very wind whispered the word, as it whistled down the chimney. He cleared his throat. 

"How do I do that?" he said louder. 

"How indeed. That, is a very good question. Let us finish our meal and you may help me with some chores around here to pay for your room and board, and we will see if you can find the answer to your question. That is if you are agreeable? Or do you wish to return to the Home for the Homeless and start your new occupation as a Rag and Bottle Man?" 

"No! I. . . un, I mean, I would be pleased to help you, in anyway I may do so. I am grateful for your help also." 

"Good, after you have finished, you may go outside and bring in enough cut wood for the fireplace for the night. please." 

"Yes, ma'am" Dominic finished his delicious meal, and wondered if he could steal away some extra for later. He looked up from his contemplation of the pies and saw her smiling at him and knew she knew his thoughts and just like that, he knew he would not starve. He felt the fight leave him and it was replaced with a desire to learn, truly learn what this wise woman had to teach him. He rose and picking up his plate and utensils went to the wash basin on a sturdy stand in the corner with them. 

Then he put his coat back on, secured his hat firmly and went outside and started to lug armfuls of wood into the cottage and stack them neatly next to the fireplace. 

He finished, and as he was making his way into the cottage for the last time right before nightfall, he took a moment to stop and survey the surrounding forest which crept closer to the little cottage in the glade in the middle of the deepest part of the forest. As dense as the trees were he could look directly up and see the moon starting to appear and stars winking to life in the deep cobalt sky turning to indigo. 

He started to turn to go towards the door and he thought he heard a twig snap in the darkest part of the forest to his back. He froze and swung around, but could see nothing! He held his breath for an interminable amount of time, his eyes scanning the darkness around the cottage and yet could see nothing. He felt as if eyes, hundreds were watching him! Was it simply the feeling of the tiniest bugs watching the human out of boredom? Or was it something more dangerous, something more? 

Not liking the wave of fear and helplessness that flooded over his being he quickly entered the cottage and closed the door behind him, and carefully slid the bolt lock home with no mention to his hostess. He didn't want to scare the old woman. Then he almost laughed aloud! Scare her? Something told him, if anything should be scared, it was whatever lurked in the woods outside of her cottage. 

Dominic put some pieces of wood onto the fire, and at her indication sat across from her in one of the comfortable chairs which flanked the fireplace. They quietly enjoyed the fire for a while without speaking. He then felt he had to ask "How long do you think my training will take?" 

She had taken a seat in a matching chair across from him, but closer to the fireplace. She was crushing up a fragrant mixture of seeds, roots, dried herbs and other unknown items in a small mortar and pestle held in her lap. She seemed to ignore him, then took a small handful of the spices and threw them into the fire. They flared up bright red, whistles, pops and crackles flashed out of the fireplace! The fire died back down and burned a deep purple, she bent down and peered deeply into the purple flames as they hugged the hearth stones. Then she looked up at him with a smile and said "As long as it takes, you may stay here until then. Now, gather up that bundle of clean bedding and bed down on that pallet in the corner. It will be warm enough so close to the fire. 

- - - - 

The next morning Dominic awoke and found the small cottage empty except for the cat slumbering in a sunny patch of golden light coming through one of the window openings. He saw a plate made on the table. A chunk of fresh bread, pieces of a white fleshed, sweet fruit which tasted like a combination between a pear and an apple. But juicier. He wondered how she was able to find such fresh fruit so late in the winter, when the trees were still dormant. He could hear sweet singing outside the cottage. He brought his bread with him and left the cottage. 

Shermona was outside, near a large outdoor bonfire. She had a great iron tripod built around it with an even larger cauldron boiling on the fire. Dominic could swear he smelled soap, but it was somehow a cleaner, fresher smell than the harsh smells of some of the peasant soaps he had purchased for his servants. It smelled as fine as the imported soaps he used himself, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Lavender, rose, lemon all tingled his nose as they floated around him. 

"Good Morning!" She didn't turn but knew he stood behind her watching. 

Feeling like he was somehow eavesdropping, he responded "Good morning" He sat down on a nearby stump. A handy seat he judged. 

He looked into the woods. Suddenly he was unable to think of anything but what was in the woods? More so, was there anything there for him? 

"What's out there?" he asked

She finished stirring the frothing mass and taking out the long heavy stick, placed it aside. 

"Many things. Do you feel drawn to go into the woods deeper? They will call to those who have need of their gifts."

"Gifts?" he looked at her. Why was everything she said like a riddle? 

"Maybe. Maybe I'll simply take a walk. Clear my head. Before I start on any chores you need done." 

She smiled just barely. With a nod, she indicated a path he hadn't noticed before. "Wait. Just a moment." She looked carefully at him, then turned and went back into the cottage. He continued to gaze at the woods. She came out a few minutes later. his new canvas bag now unfolded and stuffed and drawn tight at the top. She hefted it with considerable effort and he knew it weighed a lot. What could she have put into it? 

"I .  .  .  don't understand? I'll only be gone a short time. A mere walk in the woods. I'll be back before noon. What is this?" 

" I know. Just in case. It's always best to be prepared when going into the forest. You will find everything you need, as you search for the answers you seek. And Dominic . . . it is very important, you will come across two different types of fruit bearing trees. Even this time of year. The fruit you ate to break your fast this morning, is the fruit you should eat for sustenance. The other, it looks luscious, red, plump, delicious but be warned. Stay away from that tree, from that fruit. It is best that you not eat of that tree." 

"Is it poisonous?" He looked alarmed. 

"Not to the body, but it can do . . . strange things, perhaps unwanted things . . .  to the mind. I hope to see you again. Be well, Dominic".

 Shermona reached up and as gently as a butterfly alighting on his skin, she grazed his cheek with her hand. She dropped her hand, took a step back, folded her hands and watched him, silently. 

Dominic felt as if he had no other choice. He hefted his now full pack onto his back. He went to the start of the path, looked back at her, quietly watching him. He gave a slight smile, wondering what it was she knew, that she wasn't telling him. He decided then and there he was going to find out. No matter how long it took. He set off into the woods, soon the older woman and her cottage faded amongst the foliage and he faded from view.  

    

 To be continued .  .  .   

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 

Chapter V - Angel or Demon

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. 

--------------

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!" 

--------------

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 

Chapter IV - Entering Hell

Chapter IV

Entering Hell 

by Faith McCann 

Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate stood in his office. He was confused, as he stood before the grand, oversized mirror in his office. Who was the dirty, disheveled man looking back at him? Was this some trick? He suddenly felt hard hands grab his arms and then he was roughly dragged backwards, his heels leaving dirty marks on the carpet. He looked over his shoulder and recognized the security guards who were dragging him back out of his building. "Franklin, Davis! It's me! Me! Your boss! I demand you let me go, now! Let me go, I say! Unhand me!" 

"Haha, we're about to let you go, and we'll be happy to be gone of you. Boss? The Magistrate is our boss. Not a vagrant such as yourself." They looked at one another, and the look they exchanged as they shook their heads was obvious, 'this bloke was out of his mind!' The two guards dragged Dominic to the large fancy carved wooden doors which made up the entrance to the Town's Official Center Building. 

Before he could get more than shocked, flabbergasted sputtering out of his mouth, before it occurred to him that the security guards did not recognize him! Not even in the slightest! He was thrown out onto his back. He was laying there, on the sidewalk. Like a piece of refuse. He was so confused? What was happening? Why was this happening?  He sat up, feeling the anger overtake him. 

Dominic brushed himself off, trying to not take close notice of his threadbare clothing, his ragged and dirty fingernails. He had just had a manicure two days prior, hadn't he? Maybe he was sleeping and this was a dream. Ahh, yes! That's it! It was all a dream!  He would simply go home, go to bed and wake up in the morning and all would be right. That would explain it all! 

He hurried down the sidewalk, a few blocks until he came to the center town green.  It had a large central gazebo placed where wealthy locals could gather to chat while watching their children play in the park. It was a cold day so it was empty of people today. The park was surrounded by several large two and three storied, stately homes, more mansion than cottage. 

He quickened his steps, and crossed the street to cut across the green. A thick fog had settled on the vast green expanse of grass. He didn't notice a quizzical rabbit, nibbling on a blade of grass, enjoying the end of the afternoon sunshine. The rabbit watched Dominic rush past. 

Dominic felt confident with his plan.  He simply needed a rest. A goodnight's sleep and he would awake from this nightmare. He looked through the fog looking for his home. It was the largest, most grand one surrounding the green. There was the big blue house with white trim the Sellers' lived in. Mr. Sellers was the master jeweler in the town. 

The big yellow brick home, a three storied mansion was the home of the Stein brothers. They owned the large food market. The home was a family home which was large enough for both of their wives and children. It was separated into a two sided building allowing for one family to live on each side. His was larger still, being the Magistrate after all .  .  . wait.  .  .  where was it? 

He slowed, until he came to a stop. He slowly turned, around and around, a slowly spinning human top, with wisps of mist floating by. Where was his home? It was a big, three storied, red brick home with shiny black shutters and four entire chimneys on the top! A building that impressive didn't just disappear! or did it?  He slowly turned, the Sellers', the Stein's, and there was the Sulka's, who have the wooden clapboard home, very old and classic. They both serve on the town council, primarily running town events and overseeing the parks and recreation departments. But his home, was .  .  .  gone! 

It should be right between the big blue and the yellow houses. But all that was there was a large brightly colored flower garden. Large wraiths of fog floated by, he waved irritatingly at the mist in front of his face, with little affect. He felt lost, and suddenly, quite lonely. This . . . was all wrong. It had been a very long day. Would it never come to an end? 

He felt exhaustion come over him. His office staff doesn't recognize him. His home and apparently his house staff are gone.  .  .  somewhere? He felt dejected as he walked over to the gazebo, which appeared empty. He ascended the stairs and went to one of the benches and wearily sank down. He put his head in his hands as he let out a deep sigh which seemed to come from his very soul. How will he figure this entire situation out? 

"My goodness. what a deep, soulful sigh!"  a soft melodic voice said. 

His fingers parted and he glanced through the gap they made, and without moving another muscle glanced sideways to see if there was a corporeal person there or some floating devil spirit! He had had about all he could take of the 'woo woo' magical world and a green eyed witch! 

He saw an older woman, with light gray hair, it's considerable length wrapped into a bun on the back her head, with a braid making a crown on the top of her head. She had a light blue wispy shawl wrapped around her, which didn't seem quite warm enough for the chill he knew would be coming. 

She was seated across from him, her dark blue long dress hiding her shoes and her hands were wrapped in dark blue gloves. She looked, somehow 'nun like' though he knew that wasn't quite right. There were no convents for several miles from these parts and the nuns from those distant places never came this far. 

"It's been a .  .  .  difficult day, to say the very least." He didn't wish to bother a complete stranger with his troubles. 

"I know Dominic. It can be very, disconcerting to find oneself drifting through the veils. You will soon get your bearings, then you can focus on the work that needs to be done." 

He had been looking down, his elbows now resting on his knees. Peering at the wooden floor of the small gathering place. At her words he looked up at her, more carefully this time. Very few people called him by his first name. "Wait, do I know you? How do you know my name?' 

She smiled a gentle smile, and just looked at him, knowing that was not the question he needed the answer to. 

"One minute" he started to go over her few words. "Drifting through the veils?, who are you.?" He slowly got up, a look of fear crossing his face. "What do you know?" He backed away from the older woman until he was backed up against the farthest rail of the gazebo. He gripped the railing with both of his hands and felt his mouth go dry. 

"Sit down Dominic. You have nothing to fear from me. My name is Shermona. I am here, taking a brief respite before heading on my way to the Home for the Homeless. I go there as often as I can to give comfort, aid and any help that I can. But right now, you need my help, if only to help you get your balance. You seem to have many questions."

The older woman spoke so calmly, with such understanding in her eyes, and such compassion he had seldom experienced, that he carefully moved away from the railing and slowly made his way to a bench a bit closer to the woman. 

"Do you know what is happening to me? My house is gone! My office staff does not recognize me! It's that witch, at the Rag and Bone shop! She did this to me!! It's a trick, an evil spell I tell you! Can you help me? I'll pay you, I can make you rich." His voice trailed off in a wheedling whine. 

"Are you sure you want to know?" she calmly asked, sitting there as if they were discussing which type of cake to have with their afternoon tea. 

"Of course! I do! Want to know!! Also how I can reverse these evil doings! Can you see this?" He gestured to his threadbare clothing. Holding out his worn, calloused hands, the dirty, torn nails. "Look at what she did to me!"  

Shermona sighed, crossed her fingers in her lap and lowered her head a bit. Was she meditating, he wondered? Doing some magic of her own? He stayed quiet, not wanting to interfere with her mojo or whatever it was called. 

She looked up, with her eyes only, never moving her head, piercing his eyes with hers. He felt a shiver flash down his spine. The look she gave him was implacable and he knew it did not necessarily bode him well. At least, not an easy fix to his situation. 

"It's simple, Dominic. You are exactly where you choose to be." 

"What? I most certainly do not wish to be in this predicament!" 

"Ah, well. we all find ourselves in places, at times, where we are given a choice. You were in charge of this town, it's people. That means all of it's people. This is an opportunity for you to get to know, really understand what the majority of your town's people experience, day to day, who struggle to survive."

"What does that mean? Where is my house?" 

"You have no home, no job, no name but Dominic. All you own is on your body at this time. In your pockets. You will be welcome at the Home for the Homeless, which has suddenly received word that the closing has been rescinded. A very good thing, as you won't be subjected to sleeping out in the bitter cold this night. Do you have any coins on you?" 

"No home, no job? But I am the Magistrate!" 

"Well, not really. Remember that accident that happened a few nights ago, outside of your office? In the street?" 

"Yes, vaguely. my office manager, Ms. Peppercorn, was all teary eyed about vagrant being run down in the street by a horse and carriage. The driver, I heard, was inebriated and shouldn't have been handling any animal. Why? What does that have to do with me?" 

"That incident, was reported about in the local paper. Your generosity was the talk of villages and towns for miles!" She smiled. 

Dominic couldn't remember anything other than the screams from outside his office window and his simpering office manager. What had he done? He frowned at her in concern and a growing fear. 

Shermona handed him a newspaper. Where had she gotten that from? He took it and started to read the story. He read about the drunken horse and carriage driver, the man run down in the street, and the injured man being picked up and brought right away to the local herb woman who was able to treat the broken bones and heal the scrapes and bruises. The man who rescued the injured man was a Mr. Tanner, a rag and bottle man, who happened to be at the right spot, at that very tragic moment. If he hadn't brought the poor man right away to the herb woman, he wouldn't have survived. 

Yet, it was what the article went on to say? That he, Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate, was so humbled by the rag and bottle man's selfish actions to try and save someone he didn't even know in his community, that he awarded the title of honorary Magistrate to the destitute man, for the remainder of the winter months,, along with his salary! WHAT!?  Declaring that he, himself would be taking a much needed vacation, trusting the Magistrates position to the humble, quiet man. 

"How outrageous! I don't remember any of this! I wouldn't do such a thing.  .  .  " his voice faded away. 

"Ah, ah, ah, so it is written and it has now happened. Do you have any coins? For even a Home for the Homeless requires a nightly fee for lodging. A penny, two pennies, four pennies or if you are a traveler passing through town they have some upper rooms, much more, shall we say, luxurious, for a goodly bit more." 

He could tell by her face he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. He stood up, fished in his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins. He quickly did the math in his head, He could possibly afford a private room, if it wasn't too expensive. He was just so exhausted. Nothing was making any sense. If he could only lay his head down, for a night's sleep. This would all work itself out. 

He held out his hand for her inspection. 

"Good, that will do for starters. I'll walk with you. Help you get familiar with your new surroundings." 

Dominic felt suddenly out of his element. He followed the older woman, who walked with a regal gate down the stairs and across the green. He kept her in his sight as he was suddenly afraid she would disappear. He felt as if he had lost everything, he was feeling an urge to keep her close. As if she was the only grip on reality he had. 

They walked to the Home for the Homeless where men, mostly men were gathering outside. Some women and women with children. The older woman was greeted with friendly "hallos" from many. She was obviously adored by many. She reached out and grasped every hand that reached for hers, taking each into her hands for a warm grasp. He noticed she didn't flinch, no matter how dirty, or smelly the hand proffered was. She smiled into each person's eyes and called them by name. He also noticed she was called "Mother Mona" by many. 

She walked him by everyone, taking the time to introduce him to what seemed like hundreds of people. He forgot the names almost as soon as he heard them. He felt embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed.    .  

"Why would you feel shame?" she leaned close and said the words quietly to him, being careful none could hear. 

"Do you not think every man, woman and child here has felt those very feelings? Yet, they spend their time worrying more about survival. It is far more effective an emotion. It motivates one to make the best of every day." 

Shermona brought him to Mr. Smyth. They could see him arrogantly directing the crowds to this direction and that, taking pennies as the throngs passed him, and before they reached him, she whispered one last warning. "He will not recognize you. It will be futile to try and convince him you are the Magistrate. Mr. Smyth has little compassion for the mentally ill. It will be best for you to simply try to make the best of the situation, until your work has been done." 

"What work?" 

"Ssshhh.  Mr. Smyth, I have found another patron for you. This is Dominic. He has some coins. I hope you can find accommodations for him."

"Welcome to the Home for the Homeless, Dominic. We have several options for your consideration, but each one is a nightly fee. The rates range from a penny to ten pennies a night." 

Dominic didn't need to recount his coins to know he had enough for a room for maybe a week, a little more. Hopefully he could convince that evil witch to change his fortune back to where it had been before he met her before he ran out of coins. 

"A room, um please, .  .  .  sir" Simply deferring respect to another stuck in his throat. "Um . . .  food?" 

"Ten pennies first" the Director held his hand out. Once the coins were in his hand, he gave a twisted little grimace that was supposed to be a smile. 

" We offer along with the small pay for the sleeping accommodations, the patrons receive a meager meal of bread and water for morning and a hot vegetable stew at night." 

The staff will be going around soon filling bowls, you can get one for yourself at that side table over there. He gestured to the long side wall. Sit at any of the front tables and enjoy your meal. 

He nodded, unable to give thanks in his current position. He sat at the long table with his steaming bowl of a dark, murky swill that may or may not have contained some type of meat within. He ate and listened and learned that no one was ever brave enough to inquire as to what type of meat it was. He also started to sharpen his mind and pay close attention to the chatter around him. 

He learned if one timed the entire evening event right, one could enter at the right time and be seated far enough back or forward, depending on what direction they tended to start serving the bowls at the end of each row and get the start of a new batch of stew. 

The unfortunate ones could get pottage that had been sitting unheated, with flies and other vermin infesting it overnight, if not longer until it was reheated to a lukewarm sewer of diseased broth. That always made for a painful evening. He saw some, white faced, sweating and with pained expressions barely able to sip from their spoons, looking as if they were going to be sick at any moment. 

He looked around and saw more, it seemed like hundreds. Poor, sick, all without a home, some as young as eight or nine, some as old as ninety. Some women, without spouses, clutching a child or two close, eyeing the strange men suspiciously, but looking at the crusts of bread and weak stew being ladled into the tin bowls with the desire of a lover. 

With a slight turn of his head he saw the line, seemingly endless, coming through the doors. How could so many be so destitute? Whether people remember him or not, this was his town! His town was affluent, prosperous and sought after for people from over the hills to travel to, to relocate, to spend summers going to the festivals, to purchase the fresh vegetables and fruits more plentiful out here than near the cities. Instead all he saw was destitution, he smelled the smell of poverty, or societal neglect from the gathering of unwashed bodies as they started to congregate. No, indeed, the truth of the poor was not kind on the senses of the well to do. 

There were so many. Every face showed pain, misery and a weariness that only hardship could etch onto a face. 

He slowly placed his metal spoon down and found it difficult to swallow, no matter how hungry he was. What was this place? He suddenly had a sharp thought. 

My God, have I entered Hell? 

To be Continued. . . 'Angel or Demon?' 

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. 

 

JAnuary 2022

Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate stood in his office. He was confused, as he stood before the grand, oversized mirror in his office. Who was the dirty, disheveled man looking back at him? Was this some trick? He suddenly felt hard hands grab his arms and then he was roughly dragged backwards, his heels leaving dirty marks on the carpet. He looked over his shoulder and recognized the security guards who were dragging him back out of his building. "Franklin, Davis! It's me! Me! Your boss! I demand you let me go, now! Let me go, I say! Unhand me!" 

"Haha, we're about to let you go, and we'll be happy to be gone of you. Boss? The Magistrate is our boss. Not a vagrant such as yourself." They looked at one another, and the look they exchanged as they shook their heads was obvious, 'this bloke was out of his mind!' The two security guards dragged Dominic to the large fancy carved wooden doors which were the entrance to the Town's Official Center Building. 

Before he could get more than shocked, flabbergasted sputtering out of his mouth, before it occurred to him that the security guards did not recognize him! Not even in the slightest! He was thrown out onto his back, he was laying there, on the sidewalk. Like a piece of refuse. He was so confused? What was happening? Why was this happening?  He sat up, feeling the anger overtake him. 

Dominic brushed himself off, trying to not take close notice of his threadbare clothing, his ragged and dirty fingernails. He had just had a manicure two days prior, hadn't he? Maybe he was sleeping and this was a dream. Ahh, yes! That's it! It was all a dream!  He would simply go home, go to bed and wake up in the morning and all would be right. That would explain it all! He hurried down the sidewalk, a few blocks until he came to the center town green.  It had a large central gazebo placed where wealthy locals could gather to chat while watching their children play in the park. The park was surrounded by several large two and three storied, stately homes, more mansion than cottage. He quickened his steps, and crossed the street to cut across the green. A thick fog had settled on the vast green expanse of grass. He didn't notice a quizzical rabbit, nibbling on a blade of grass, enjoying the end of the afternoon sunshine. The rabbit watched Dominic rush past. 

Dominic felt confident with his plan.  He simply needed a rest. A goodnight's sleep and he would awake from this nightmare. He looked through the fog looking for his home. It was the largest, most grand one surrounding the green. There was the big blue house with white trim the Sellers' lived in. Mr. Sellers was the master jeweler in the town. The big yellow brick home, a three storied mansion was the home of the Weinstein brothers. They owned the large food market. The home was a family home which was large enough for both of their wives and children. It was separated into a two sided building allowing for one family to live on each side. His was larger still, being the Magistrate after all .  .  . wait.  .  .  where was it? He slowed, until he came to a stop. He slowly turned, around and around, a slowly spinning human top, with wisps of mist floating by. Where was his home? It was a big, three storied, red brick home with shiny black shutters and four entire chimneys on the top! A building that impressive didn't just disappear! or did it?  He slowly turned, the Sellers', the Weinstein's, and there was the Sulka's, who have the wooden clapboard home, very old and classic. They both serve on the town council, primarily running town events and overseeing the parks and recreation departments. But his home, was .  .  .  gone! It should be right between the big blue and the yellow houses. But all that was there was a large brightly colored flower garden. Large wraiths of fog floated by, he waved irritatingly at the mist in front of his face, with little affect. He felt lost, and suddenly, quite lonely. This . . . was all wrong. It had been a very long day. Would it never come to an end? 

He felt exhaustion come over him. His office staff doesn't recognize him. His home and apparently his house staff are gone.  .  .  somewhere? He walked over to the gazebo, which appeared empty. He ascended the stairs and went to one of the benches and wearily sank down. He put his head in his hands as he let out a deep sigh which seemed to come from his very soul. How will he figure this entire situation out? 

"My goodness. what a deep, soulful sigh!"  a soft melodic voice said. 

His fingers parted and he glanced through the gap they made, and without moving another muscle glanced sideways to see if there was a corporeal person there or some floating devil spirit! He had had about all he could take of the 'woo woo' magical world and a green eyed witch! 

He saw an older woman, with light gray hair, it's considerable length wrapped into a bun on the back her head, with a braid making a crown on the top of her head. She had a light blue wispy shawl wrapped around her, which didn't seem quite warm enough for the chill he knew would be coming. She was seated across from him, her dark blue long dress hiding her shoes and her hands were wrapped in dark blue gloves. She looked, somehow 'nun like' though he knew that wasn't quite right. There were no convents for several miles  from these parts and the nuns from those distant places never came this far. 

"It's been a .  .  .  difficult day, to say the very least." He didn't wish to bother a complete stranger with his troubles. 

"I know Dominic. It can be very, disconcerting to find oneself drifting through the veils. You will soon get your bearings, then you can focus on the work that needs to be done." 

He had been looking down, his elbows now resting on his knees. Peering at the wooden floor of the small gathering place. At her words he looked up at her, more carefully this time. Very few people called him by his first name. "Wait, do I know you? How do you know my name?' 

She smiled a gentle smile, and just looked at him, knowing that was not the question he needed the answer to. 

"One minute" he started to go over her few words. "Drifting through the veils?, who are you.?" He slowly got up, a look of fear crossing his face. "What do you know?" He backed away from the older woman until he was backed up against the farthest rail of the gazebo. He gripped the railing with both of his hands and felt his mouth go dry. 

"Sit down Dominic. You have nothing to fear from me. My name is Shermona. I am here, taking a brief respite before heading on my way to the Home for the Homeless. I go there as often as I can to give comfort, aid and any help that I can. But right now, you need my help, if only to help you get your balance. You seem to have many questions."

The older woman spoke so calmly, with such understanding in her eyes, and such compassion he had seldom experienced, that he carefully moved away from the railing and slowly made his way to a bench a bit closer to the woman. 

"Do you know what is happening to me? My house is gone! My office staff does not recognize me! It's that witch, at the Rag and Bone shop! She did this to me!! It's a trick, an evil spell I tell you! Can you help me? I'll pay you, I can make you rich." His voice trailed off in a wheedling whine. 

"Are you sure you want to know?" she calmly asked, sitting there as if they were discussing which type of cake to have with their afternoon tea. 

"Of course! I do! Want to know!! And how I can reverse these evil doings! Can you see this?" He gestured to his threadbare clothing. Holding out his worn, calloused hands, the dirty, torn nails. "Look at what she did to me!"  

Shermona sighed, crossed her fingers in her lap and lowered her head a bit. Was she meditating, he wondered? Doing some magic of her own? He stayed quiet, not wanting to interfere with her mojo or whatever it was called. 

She looked up, with her eyes only, never moving her head, piercing his eyes with hers. He felt a shiver flash down his spine. The look she gave him looked implacable and he knew it did not necessarily bode him well. At least, not an easy fix to his situation. 

"It's simple, Dominic. You are exactly where you choose to be." 

"What? I most certainly do not wish to be in this predicament!" 

"Ah, well. we all find ourselves in places, at times, where we are given a choice. You were in charge of this town, it's people. That means all of it's people. This is an opportunity for you to get to know, really understand what the majority of your town's people experience, day to day, simply to survive."

"What does that mean? Where is my house?" 

"You have no home, no job, no name but Dominic. All you own is on your body at this time. In your pockets. You will be welcome at the Home for the Homeless, which has suddenly received word that the closing has been rescinded. A very good thing, as you won't be subjected to sleeping out in the bitter cold this night. Do you have any coins on you?" 

"No home, no job? But I am the Magistrate!" 

"Well, not really. Remember that accident that happened a few nights ago, outside of your office? In the street?" 

"Yes, vaguely. my office manager, Ms. peppercorn, was all teary eyed about some child being run down in the street by a horse and carriage. The driver, I heard, was inebriated and shouldn't have been handling any animal. Why? What does that have to do with me?" 

"That incident, was reported about in the local paper. Your generosity was the talk of villages and towns for miles!" She smiled. 

Dominic couldn't remember anything other than the screams from outside his office window and his simpering office manager. What had he done? 

Shermona handed him a newspaper. Where had she gotten that from? He took it and started to read the story. He read about the drunken horse and carriage driver, the small boy run down in the street, and the boy being picked up and brought right away to the local herb woman who was able to treat the boy's broken bones and heal the scrapes and bruises. He man who rescued the boy was a Mr. Tanner, a rag and bottle man, who happened to be at the right spot, at that very tragic moment. If he hadn't brought the boy right away to the herb woman, he wouldn't have survived. But, what did the article go one to say? That he, Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate, was so humbled by the rag and bottle man's selfish actions to try and save the boy, that he awarded the title of honorary Magistrate to the destitute man, for the remainder of the winter months,, along with his salary! WHAT!?  Declaring that he, himself would be taking a much needed vacation, trusting the Magistrates position to the humble, quiet man. 

"How outrageous! I don't remember any of this! I wouldn't do such a thing.  .  .  " his voice faded away. 

"But, so it is written and it is now done. Do you have any coins? For even a Home for the Homeless requires a nightly fee for lodging. A penny, two pennies, four pennies or if you are a traveler passing through town they have some upper rooms, much more, shall we say, luxurious, for a goodly bit more." 

He could tell by her face he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. He stood up, fished in his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins. He quickly did the math in his head, He could possibly afford a private room, if it wasn't to expensive. He was just so exhausted. Nothing was making any sense. 

He held out his hand for her inspection. 

"Good, that will do for starters. I'll walk with you. Help you get familiar with your new surroundings." 

Dominic felt suddenly out of his element. He followed the older woman, who walked with a regal gate down the stairs and across the green. He kept her in his sight as he was suddenly afraid she would disappear. He felt as if he had lost everything, he was feeling an urge to keep her close. As if she was the only grip on reality he had. 

They walked to the Home for the Homeless where men, mostly men were gathering outside. Some women and women with children. The older woman was greeted with friendly "hallos" from many. She was obviously adored by many. She reached out and grasped every hand that reached for hers, taking each into her hands for a warm grasp. He noticed she didn't flinch, no matter how dirty, or smelly the hand proffered was. She smiled into each person's eyes and called them by name. He also noticed she was called "Mother Mona" by many. 

She walked him by everyone, taking the time to introduce him to what seemed like hundreds of people. He forgot the names almost as soon as he heard them. He felt embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed.  .  .  

"Why would you feel shame?" she leaned close and said the words quietly to him, being careful none could hear. 

"Do you not think every man, woman and child here has felt those very feelings? Yet, they spend their time worrying more about survival. It is far more effective an emotion. It motivates one to make the best of every day." 

Shermona brought him to Mr. Smyth. They could see him arrogantly directing the crowds to this direction and that, taking pennies as the throngs passed him, and before they reached him, she whispered one last warning. "He will not recognize you. It will be futile to try and convince him you are the Magistrate. Mr. Smyth has little compassion for the mentally ill. It will be best for you to simply try to make the best of the situation, until your work has been done." 

"What work?" 

"Ssshhh.  Mr. Smyth, I have found another patron for you. This si Dominic. He has some coins. I hope you can find accommodations for him."

"Welcome to the Home for the Homeless, Dominic. We have several options for your consideration, but each one is a nightly fee. The rates range from a penny to ten pennies a night." 

Dominic didn't need to recount his coins to know he had enough for a room for maybe a week, a little more. Hopefully he could convince that evil witch to change his fortune back to where it had been before he met her before he ran out of coins. 

"A room, um please, .  .  .  sir" Simply deferring respect to another stuck in his throat. "Is it possible to get any food?" 

"Ten pennies first" the Director held his hand out. Once the coins were in his hand, he gave a twisted little grimace that was supposed to be a smile. 

" We offer for the small pay for the sleeping accommodations, the patrons receive a meager meal of bread and water for morning and a watery, but a hot vegetable stew at night." 

The staff will be going around soon filling bowls, you can get one for yourself at that side table over there. He gestured to the long side wall. Sit at any of the front tables and enjoy your meal. 

He nodded, unable to give thanks in his current position. He sat at the long table with his steaming bowl of a dark, murky swill that may or may not have contained some type of meat within. He ate and listened and learned that no one was ever brave enough to inquire as to what type of meat it was. He also started to sharpen his mind and pay close attention to the chatter around him. 

He learned if one timed the entire evening event right, one could enter at the right time and be seated far enough back or forward, depending on what direction they tended to start serving the bowls at the end of each row and get the start of a new batch of stew. The unfortunate ones could get pottage that had been sitting unheated, with flies and other vermin infesting it overnight, if not longer until it was reheated to a lukewarm sewer of diseased broth. That always made for a painful evening. He saw some, white faced, sweating and with pained expressions barely able to sip from their spoons, looking as if they were going to be sick at any moment. 

My God, have I entered Hell?