“Thank you,” the girl says again, not much louder than before.
“You’re welcome,” the woman says to the girl, and as the sun rises the witch’s path takes her back into the store and the girl’s path takes her somewhere else. The bell above the door chimes over their parting.
Inside, the witch picks up the girl’s mug, its star facing toward her palm. She doesn’t have to read it but she’s curious and mildly concerned with the girl’s well-being, out on the streets alone.
The images come quick and clear, clearer than what is typical for an object held for only a few minutes. More pictures, more people, more places, and more things than should fit in a single girl. Then the witch sees herself. Sees the cardboard moving boxes and the hurricane on the television and the white farmhouse surrounded by trees.
The empty mug falls to the floor, knocking into a table leg but it does not break.
Madame Love Rawlins walks outside, the bell above the door chiming again. She looks first down the quiet street and then around the corner down the alley toward the painted door, not yet dry.
But the girl herself has vanished.
Once there was a merchant who traveled far and wide, selling stars.
This merchant sold all manner of stars. Fallen stars and lost stars and vials of stardust. Delicate pieces of stars strung on fine chains to be worn around necks and spectacular specimens fit to display under glass. Fragments of stars were procured to be given as gifts for lovers. Stardust was purchased to sprinkle at sacred sites or to bake into cakes for spells.
The stars in the merchant’s inventory were carried from place to place in a large sack embroidered with constellations.
The prices for the merchant’s wares were high but often negotiable. Stars could be acquired in exchange for coins or favors or secrets, saved by wishful dreamers in hopes that the star merchant might cross their path.
Occasionally the star merchant traded stars for accommodations or transport while traveling from place to place. Stars were traded for nights spent in inns with company or without.
One dark night on the road the star merchant stopped at a tavern to while away the time before the sun returned. The merchant sat by the fire drinking wine and struck up a conversation with a traveler who was also staying the night at the tavern, though their paths would take them in different directions come morning.
“To Seeking,” the star merchant said as their wine was refilled.
“To Finding,” came the traditional response. “What is it that you sell?” the traveler asked, tilting a cup toward the constellation-covered sack. This was a topic they had not yet discussed.
“Stars,” the star merchant answered. “Would you care to peruse? I shall offer you a discount for being good company. I might even show you the pieces I keep in reserve for distinguished customers.”
“I do not care for stars,” the traveler said.
The merchant laughed. “Everyone wants the stars. Everyone wishes to grasp that which exists out of reach. To hold the extraordinary in their hands and keep the remarkable in their pockets.”
There was a pause here, filled by the crackling of the fire.
“Let me tell you a story,” the traveler said, after the pause.
“Of course,” the star merchant said, gesturing for their wine to be replenished once again.
“Once, very long ago,” the traveler began, “Time fell in love with Fate. Passionately, deeply in love. The stars watched them from the heavens, worrying that the flow of time would be disrupted or the strings of fortune tangled into knots.”
The fire hissed and popped anxiously, punctuating the traveler’s words.
“The stars conspired and separated the two. Afterward they breathed easier. Time continued to flow as it always had, Fate wove together the paths that were meant to intertwine, and eventually Fate and Time found each other again—”
“Of course they did,” the star merchant interrupted. “Fate always gets what Fate wants.”
“Yet the stars would not accept defeat,” the traveler continued. “They pestered the moon with concerns and complaints until she agreed to call upon the parliament of owls.”
Here the star merchant frowned. The parliament of owls was an old myth, invoked as a curse in the land where the merchant had lived as a child, far from this place. Falter on your path and the parliament of owls will come for you. The merchant listened carefully as the tale continued.
“The parliament of owls concluded that one of the elements should be removed. They chose to keep the one they felt more important. The stars rejoiced as Fate was pulled apart. Ripped into pieces by beaks and talons.”
“Did no one try to stop them?” the star merchant asked.
“The moon would have, certainly, had she been there. They chose a night with no moon for the sacrifice. No one dared intervene save for a mouse who took Fate’s heart and kept it safe,” the traveler said, then paused to take a sip of wine. “The owls did not notice the mouse as they feasted. The owl who consumed Fate’s eyes gained great sight and was crowned the Owl King.”