??he scent of coffee wafted through the shelves and stacks of worn books. The lowered house lights provided a relaxing, inviting ambiance. Paintings and photography from local artists were displayed on the walls. The old hardwood floors creaked in certain places, but Kelsey didn’t mind. This was home.
??She stood behind the counter as she did every evening. Counting the muffins, rearranging the cookies, preparing numerous coffee orders. Always people watching.
??This time of night was normally when all the college students stopped by and studied until the bookstore closed. Perhaps they liked the accessibility of caffeinated beverages. Or the soft, plush couches and armchairs were more comfortable than their dorm rooms. Or maybe the classical music playing gently in the background was soothing. Spellbound just had that homey feel that transplant students loved.
??As much as Kelsey adored her parents’ store, she couldn’t help her heart from wandering. She craved adventure, travel, stories of her own she could share. Not in an “Oh hey, this would be fun.” kind of way. In the passionate yearning, soul longing, heart captivating way. Someday, she’d leave Spellbound...when her well of excuses dried up.
??One Saturday, as Kelsey was working the closing shift, an older gentleman paid a visit to Spellbound. She noticed him specifically because he carried an intricate walking cane. The handle appeared to be a dragon’s head. There were symbols delicately carved into the wood that she didn’t recognize. Another language, perhaps? Kelsey thought it odd he had such a fancy cane when he clearly wasn’t dependent on it. He strode with an air of importance, urgency even. However, that was only the first peculiar thing to happen that night.
??The strange man stood in the exact center of the shop, glanced from side to side, and struck the ground with his cane twice. Every person in the building immediately stopped their current action--talking, reading, drinking--and rose to their feet. Without another sound, they left Spellbound, single file. Everyone except Kelsey. She was frozen behind the cash register, too perplexed to speak.
??The man smiled at her, revealing perfectly white teeth. “Kelsey Rose Stanford. Age nineteen years, three months and eight days. Brunette, hazel eyes, no extraordinary features. Height five feet and six inches.”
??The blood drained from Kelsey’s face; her palms perspired.
??“Who are you?” she managed to squeak.
“My employer is quite anxious to meet you, Kelsey. We’ve been waiting for you.”