Chapter 11

Spellbound Pages Bookshop, Downtown Los Angeles, California, United States

As Gen stepped into the magical bookshop that Mama Jamba had sent her to, she was immediately enveloped by the warm, inviting atmosphere that seemed to transport her back to a past era. The Spellbound Pages Bookshop, according to the placard out front, was built in the 1920s.

It seemed to have maintained its classic charm with ornate wooden shelves, oversized leather chairs and antique floor lamps which cast a soft, golden glow across the room. Sunlight streamed through the large, arched windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air and the colorful spines of countless books that lined the shelves.

Gen marveled at the whimsical touches scattered throughout the shop, from the floating books that seemed to shelve themselves to the enchanted reading nooks that appeared to shift and change as if offering readers an array of options. The air hummed with a subtle, magical energy that Gen couldn't quite place, but it filled her with a sense of wonder and curiosity as she began to study the area around her, not knowing where to start her hunt for moral philosophy books.

Something is going to happen in that bookshop,Emperor said in Gen's head, making her tense.

What is it?She replied, looking up as if expecting the ceiling to cave in. Should I leave?

I don't know what it is, but I feel a powerful surge of energy related to a future event that happens in that place, Emperor answered telepathically. And no, you shouldn't run from whatever it is.

But what if it's something bad?

Things aren't simply good or bad,he replied. And bad things happen to create room for good. So who is to say what any event truly is. Big storms give way to new growth and clear areas for development. As a Rogue Rider, you must see things beyond the veil of simply good and bad. Be like Mama Jamba and see colors that don't exist and know that things are much more than what meets the eye.

Okay, so I stay here and check things out,then, Gen offered, bolstering her resolve.

Absolutely,Emperor answered. And who knows, it might be a very positive event full of love that I'm picking up on.

"For the love of Hemingway!" a male's voice boomed from behind a shelf. "Would you leave me alone about this nonsense? I don't have time for this! I have to put bars on the windows."

Two men materialized from between the stacks of books, neither taking notice of Gen, standing at the front of the shop. One was quite old with white hair and a face full of wrinkles. He was very handsome though and well put together in a button-up shirt, vest and slacks, carrying himself with an air of authority about him.

Trailing behind him and looking just as flustered, was a much younger man. He only had brown hair on the top of his head, the rest of it shaved on the sides. He wore a tiny mustache, curved up on the ends.

That's a handlebar mustache and the guy is known as a hipster in this time period,Emperor offered in her head, helping Gen to make sense of what she was seeing, since he was scrying in her head.

What's a hipster?Gen asked, taking in the guy's strange dress. He was wearing a T-shirt that read, "You Gotta Risk It To Get the Biscuit." His starched, dark blue jeans were rolled up over his ankles like he wanted everyone to see the large tan, leather boots he was wearing.

They are people who are obsessed with vintage styles, indie music and artisanal activities outside the mainstream and pride themselves on their nonconformity,Emperor explained as Gen watched the men move to the front of the bookshop.

Are they like those hippies that all my relatives loathe?Gen asked.

No, hippies advocate peace, love and communal living and often express opposition to mainstream societal norms through their style and choices,he explained.

Gen smirked. Liv describes them doing that which is so uniquely different for the purposes of being an ironic pain in the ass.

That's accurate,Emperor imparted.

"I just think there's an opportunity to expand your offerings," the younger man said in a squeaky voice, continuing to follow the older guy, who looked less than happy about being stalked through the store. "We could sell vinyl records, locally sourced products and offer single-origin coffee."

The other man threw up his hands, continuing to stomp in Gen's direction, but not focused on her. "I own a bookshop, not a hodgepodge store that doesn't know what it sells. And I don't need more merchandise that criminals will break in here and try and steal."

A woman poked her head out from another nearby shelf, her dark rope-like hair falling down over one eye. "Walter, would you not get yourself all worked up? You're going to have a heart attack."

"Yeah, why don't you take a break," a woman's voice rang out from the other side of the sitting area at the front of the Spellbound Pages Bookshop. Gen didn't even see the woman curled up next to a window, her curly, brown hair obscuring her round face. She was sitting on the carpet in front of a row of chairs, like she preferred the hard floor to soft cushions. Scattered all around her were what appeared to be open cookbooks. She pointed to the counter area where the cash register and check out was located on the other side of Gen. "I left you a cup of minestrone soup there."

Walter, who was only a few feet away, turned his head over his shoulder, looking at the woman peeking out from the shelves. "I'm not going to give myself a heart attack." He pointed at the young man beside him now. "Boon is going to do that for me."

The man then gave his attention to the woman sitting on the floor. "And thank you, JoAnne, but I'm not very hungry."

"But I made it myself," the woman said, pouting a little.

"You always make it yourself," the woman with rope-like hair said, striding out into the open area wearing a flowing skirt and a tie-dye shirt. She had this aloof expression on her face, like she cared greatly about one or two things in the world and then really didn't care about all others.

That's a hippie,Emperor said in Gen's head. And those are dreadlocks in her hair. They require a total lack of effort. Meaning the less you do to care for your hair, the better they become.

Gen grimaced. So she doesn't wash her hair?

She probably doesn't wash anything,Emperor replied. And her name is probably Rainn or Autumn or Moonshine.

I'm starting to understand why my family finds hippies annoying,Gen responded, looking around at all the figures who were around her, but none of them paying her much notice, as if she were a ghost.

Just then, as if cued by her thoughts, an actual ghost floated out from between a row of shelves on the far right, next to the window where the woman was curled up on the floor. Although the ghost was opaque, Gen could tell it was a man with dark hair, wearing a suit jacket. In his hand, he held an actual book, which was weird, since Gen didn't think ghosts could carry things. Hell, not until that moment, had she actually ever seen a real ghost, only having heard and read stories about them.

"Why is it that someone keeps putting the psychology books in the self-help sections?" the ghost asked, in a haunting voice.

Walter pointed at the hippie woman. "That's Summer."

"Everything is actually self-help when you think about it," the hippie replied, twirling one of her dreads around her finger.

You called it,Gen said to Emperor in her head.

I told you,he replied.

The ghost glared at Summer. "Stop shelving books. I told you that I'd do it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why don't you move on to the other realm and let me do my job since I'm alive and well!"

Walter sighed as a man wearing a casual uniform breezed into the shop, walking straight by Gen, who remained invisible to all the people in the bookshop. "Here's today's mail." He slid a tidy stack of envelopes onto the counter, next to the cup of steaming hot soup. Then he looked around at the many faces regarding him with indifference. "Are you all bickering, again?"

"It's not bickering," Summer argued. "It's healthy communication."

"It's bickering," the woman on the floor muttered dryly, pointing to the soup with steam issuing up. "And Walter, your soup is going to get cold."

"Let it," Walter muttered, turning and appraising the bank of windows on the left side of the building, behind the counter and cash register area. "I need to take measurements for the security bars."

"Well, hopefully you don't mind if Fran eats your soup," the guy Gen guessed was a postal worker said.

Everyone shot their gazes to the counter, where an orange tabby cat was sitting in front of the cup of steamy soup and sniffing it with a strange expression on its face.

"Oh, shoo, you little beast," Walter said, waving the cat away from the food. "I do plan on eating it. If JoAnne made it, I'll have it. Just give me a minute."

"Well, maybe while you're waiting, you or Summer can help the only actual customer you have in here," the postal man said, thumbing in Gen's direction.

Like she had just materialized for all to see, everyone's attention swiveled straight to her.

"Oh, hey!" Summer bounded forward, a lazy grin on her face. "Can I help you find something? I actually work here." She glared over her shoulder at the ghost still hovering by the front of the bookshelves. "And I'm not dead."

"Right," Gen said, straightening, wondering what event was about to befall this place, predicted by Emperor. "I'm looking for books on moral philosophy." She pulled out the list of required reading that Dwayne Stone had issued her. "I'm looking for quite a few volumes."

The hipster slid in front of Summer, cutting her off. His strange handlebar mustache twitched when he smiled. "Philosophy is my specialty. Why don't I show you where to find what you're looking for?"

Summer balled up her fists and huffed loudly. "Boon, you don't even work here. Why will no one let me do my job?"

"As far as I'm concerned, none of you actually do any work in my bookshop," Walter said, sighing loudly and moving behind the counter.

Gen had so many questions about this place and these people, but also had a feeling that the mystery was just unraveling.