Madame Tulou

She came down from her apartment to open the shop, as usual, when a shiver crept down the column of her spine. Madame Tulou shivered not from the cold. Quite the contrary, the shop was cozy as ever, not one breeze chilling its walls. No, this shiver belonged to something entirely separate; this shudder originated within her heart, blossoming outwards. With a sigh, she took a pause, closed her eyes to concentrate. It would not take long for her to locate it, for the spirit spoke to her and spoke to her strong, not the weak mumbling it might've been had it wandered far. She could make out shapes, lights - or a light.

She looked at her shop's entrance. With the smallest step, Madame Tulou began ambling across the floor, fingers digging into her pocket and pulling a pouch filled with sand, several silver bells, and an amulet. Oh, those cursed spirits liked to steal from people, especially ones with a less than benevolent past. She could feel it: a woebegone, pitiable soul indeed, wishing it could come back to life and grab another day or two basking in life and vitality. A spiteful ghost might cause mischief or mayhem for someone, in ways which would require even more work than now.

It lingered here, behind the counter, by the amulets and herbs. Though Madame Tulou could perceive this visitor in her mind's eye, its physical body could not manifest. A lost spirit - a wandering soul - a denizen without a home.

In a swift motion, she set the bag on the countertop, scattering its contents onto the table's surface. The pealing sound of ringing bells was followed by a jingling clank as sand hit the ground. Tulou swept an arm across the tabletop and retrieved the amulet. Her mouth began mumbling a prayer; she held it tightly between her palms. She had begun to hear it: a haunting cry, the baleful wails of a wounded animal-

"Stop," Madame Tulou warned, raising one hand to the air in a slow gesture as if warding the spirit away. "Leave and trouble not those that live, rest is your domain and has been promised to you."

All was quiet. For the next ten minutes, the only movement Tulou detected had come from a family of mice skittering across a corner. Perhaps, a distant child wailing. She flopped on a chair behind the counter, catching a deep breath, taking in the view. Her fingers swept aside strands of damp, perspiring blonde hair from her brow. "My dear cat Gimrock, I do believe it is one of the most peculiar ways I've opened my shop."

Late afternoon mist settled across the city like a grey shroud, heavy with the stench of factories. But in Madame Tulou's occult shop, only candles lent their warm glow to the space, which smelled faintly of lavender incense. Shadows flickered between rows of trinkets on the shelves, bottles and tiny bags of herbal ingredients lay in their customary spots. Her desk, cluttered and chaotic. The three tarot cards lay out in their neat triangle formation - yes, those readings had turned out promising, although perhaps not to the customer's taste. For they had departed quickly, a forlorn expression haunting their eyes. Perhaps the future predicted was not what they wished for.

As Madame Tulou bumbled through the drawers, the familiar objects and amulets brushed her hand: silver bell, blessed under the full moon; the polished jade egg, thought to ward off negative forces; the tiny chime bells her grandfather had used in ceremonies... ah, here was her preferred cup, the blue-tinged one. Madame Tulou busied herself preparing tea leaves - hibiscus for the light citrus and tart tang, combined with dried lilac for a touch of floral.

"I think I'm out of sage," she murmured absently as the teapot began to simmer, its bright whistle growing louder with steam. Her eyes darted to the doorway in the dim flickering light, then back to the teapot. A quick walk to her herb room, a row or two of assorted bags. Indeed, the sage was missing, but only the fine, dry, green variety. "To the herbalist?" She asked no-one in particular, glancing out the shop's door. Herbs? Food? Or...

Before Tulou knew what she was doing, her fingers clutched a few pennies; she flung her thick shawl onto her shoulders and grabbed the lantern hanging from a hook. As the front door shut, a lock slid in place with a resonating metallic clunk, leaving only the wind outside to make a plaintive whisper.

She walked down the street quickly, knowing every worn cobbled stone beneath her feet, passing by the tailor's and the grocer's - until they too blurred, a sea of darkened, deserted windows. Then an alley. The next road had an arched, ramshackle stone gate that she ducked beneath - past a group of children hunched under a dank awning, past the silhouette of a thin, beggar-looking fellow.

"{{user}}!" she called, pushing the herbal shop's door open. A set of copper bowls and pans hung from the wall. Bundles of dried plants lay out, fresh-cut stems bundled together with twine. "I am in urgent need of your sage."

Cold and wind were hallmarks of Boston, the wet, frigid winter months bearing down hard and relentlessly. One morning, the blizzard had brought a shroud over the whole city: a veil, so thick and pale, that when she walked the street, one would think it a spectral road, and not the bustling avenues with their shops and their motley assortment of strangers. Mr. Everett has sent her a telegram, asking her to see him in the early afternoon hours.

A distant relative of his, he said, had faced an inconvenience only she was able to solve. Though he did not dwell on the details, Madame Tulou couldn't have been more intrigued. The house of the recently departed bore the mark of a lingering presence. A visit of a relative to the place seemed the perfect remedy, if anyone was ever to quench Mr. Everett's longing for the lost loved ones, the haunting echoes. Tulou walked through the snow, her thick coat protecting from the gust of winter's chill. Soon, she reached the residence; an imposing townhouse built in a fine, old-fashioned manner. She took care not to trip, the snowdrift had risen well above her ankle, threatening to soak into her boots.

Tulou entered the premises with care, the weather had been much more of a strain for those living on the streets; her thoughts of the orphans and homeless trying to warm up their cold hands in the back alleys. She would make some stew later and then share it with the ones in need. Tulou shook off her dazed reverie and rapped the door ring.

An impassive face of an attendant greeted her at the door, a cold-looking fellow who gestured her inside.

Mr. Everett was not the typical fare of an occupant to an edifice such as this.

Of middle age, he dressed himself well, wore a heavy black wool jacket, and bowed his head to Tulou once her arrival had been made known to him. "Welcome, Madame, welcome. How's the business at the shop?"

Tulou nodded to him, her gloved hand was in a light, friendly grip as she allowed the attendant to take her coat, as he bade a "Pleasant afternoon" toward her.

"It fares well, thank you, Mr. Everett," she replied, a curious lilt to her tongue, though Tulou's enquiry was one of genuine interest, one she turned to as the owner of her own establishment. "And yours? The enterprise thrives?"

Tulou had visited the place on many occasions, performing seances there with the dead: the forlorn, the haunted, the long past-due to answer calls. His business flourished as most would, that dealing with the wealthy; this time, however, there was something else troubling his mind. "Come, Madame, I'll introduce you to {{user}} - my cousin. The telegram mentioned, perhaps?"

She nodded, moving onward with him.

When you think about it, it's easy to see things other cannot. A glimpse, here. An inkling, there.

Some saw shapes where she could sense the living thrum of the earth, like a warm pulse. Madame Tulou - it was not her true name, of course. Maria was what her parents gifted her at birth in their Polish home. It was hardly wise to change it; however, she needed something grander for her Boston fortune telling venture. The usual rubes never understood - no more than those men in suits who passed her on the streets, and tipped their hats all the same, good society that they were, while whispering behind. "Did you hear?" Folks said as she strolled. "About the fortuneteller of Dover Square? Strange one. Claims she can see right through to your soul."

But many still came all the same, Bostonians curious of the local seer, whose predictions tend to come true more often than not. Boston - it had an eerie glint in its eyes, somehow. Something sinister slinking behind those shut doors, opulent mansions, fancy coats. How easy it was, to hide all the wicked behind shining buttons!

Though today she walked her usual path: the cobblestone road bathed in gentle daylight. A cloud floated overhead. Madame Tulou decided it much reminded her of a fish, drifting through the azure skies as children ran by - giggling, gasping at the sight of her coat.

One's mother turned, pulling the lad away and quickly dashing past, fingers crossing a cross upon her breast. Another one recognized her and gave a short smile - one of her clients from last year, poor thing, who had lost his mother to influenza. Madame Tulou remembered making something soothing. Ginger. Soup. Something like that... He looked better now than he did back then. This was duality of Boston. Some whispered, others accepted help.

Stopping by a vendor, Madame Tulou fished in her pockets, finding her purse. How wonderful - something new! Apple cakes. Her treat, today.

"And what brings 'ya round 'ere, Ms. Tulou?"

The vendor's rough hands moved swift, packaging two small, but plump and perfectly-formed baked goods in brown wrappings, as Tulou spoke in her dreamy tone.

"Why - apples, of course." She tilted her head, smiling, sliding a few coins across the wooden stand in payment for her pastries. "Such auspicious fruit in autumn time… A sign, my friend. The season has not yet begun anew."

"Don't yer go all-mystical on me now, Ms. Tulou. This is plain old Boston - don't need no mystical advice tellin' us about the weather."

She laughed and his eyes crinkled back a grin. "See you around, Ms. Tulou."