I saw books, jars of herbs and spices, and a few candles- nothing particularly interesting. It seemed to be more or less a knick-knack shop. ‘I thought you were taking me to an expert, not the Salvation Army,’ I said, hoping to annoy Sarah. It worked. Her eyes narrowed as she twisted her head to glare at me. Her pupils were like the points of twin arrows aimed at my soul. I resisted a shiver. ‘Just keep your mouth shut, and your ears open,’ she commanded. Then she pushed into the shop. I followed, admiring the old-fashioned tinkling of a bell hung over the door. It reminded me of pharmacies in movies from the 50s, and I felt a little like the Beaver. Not that I’d ever seen an episode, way before my time, and Nick-at-Nite was something I was aware of but had no interest in. Once inside, I gave my surroundings a quick looking over. The interior of the shop looked as indecipherable as the exterior, old crap piled on old crap piled on old crappy shelves. Behind a shoddy counter, a. I heard the noisy motor bike like a muffled hammer banging on metal a while before I actually saw it. The snow was falling even more heavily now, with big and soft flakes, and somehow I felt a little warmer. Either that or I was so cold I couldn’t feel the cold any more.Even the wind had died and the thick full flakes kissed the ground around the store, settling thick and even on the road. The sky was full of grey cloud, not a patch of blue anywhere. Although it was still the morning, it was almost as dark as night, the snow glistening in the glow from the electric lights from the store windows. The bike slowed, and turned, parking in front of the store, by the steps leading up to the sidewalk.The rider wore a long leather coat, hat and goggles, his front completely covered in snow. Sudden silence reigned as the noisy engine cut out and he slowly climbed down. Because of the sidecar, he didn’t need to pull the bike onto its stand. Then he carefully made his way over old frozen ruts.
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