Chapter One: Meetings At The Magic Box
For Disclaimer and Notes see first chapter.
Chapter One: Meetings At The Magic Box
I woke up around noon and there was no trace of life in the house. I walked into the kitchen and there was a note for me that said everyone was out and just to do whatever I had planned while I was in LA. I took a shower and got dressed and then dug that address out of my knapsack. I headed out into LA in hopes of finding a cabbie to take me to the address…I didn’t find one until I had roamed the streets of LA for a good two hours. Finally, the cabbie dropped me off at the street but I didn’t see the shop that I was looking for. There was a nice restaurant where the magic shop should have been and I was confused. Was it possible that the shop could have moved that quickly? I guessed in LA anything was possible.
I caught sight of someone heading down an alley a few feet away and something told me to follow him. He walked about three-fourths of the way down the dark alley and then headed into the wall on the left. I was intrigued and headed down the alley, cautiously. There it was, three-fourths of the way down the alley, the Magic Box, the shop that I had been searching for. I carefully pushed the door open and a cute little bell sounded to alert others that I had entered. There were several people in the shop, shopping, and then there was an older man up at the counter, just sitting there. I decided he would be my best bet.
“Excuse me,” I said and he looked up at me with interest.
“Can I help you?” He asked me and I immediately picked up on his British accent.
“I am looking for Angel. I was told I could find her here,” I told him and he immediately went on the defensive. Everything changed in that instant. The people who worked in the shop froze and looked at me and they were all tensed, ready for a fight.
“And what makes you thing that this ‘Angel’ is here?” The man asked me. I looked around at the people now staring at me.
“My contacts in Chicago told me she lived here in LA. I have tracked down every other ‘Angel’ in the United States and she is the last on my list. None of the others have been able to answer my questions,” I answered vaguely.
“What questions would those be?” he asked me.
“Why their name was in a letter that my father left to me after he died? Why I was left her name and her picture? Why my father left me a box that I couldn’t open? Those are my questions,” I told him and he nodded slowly.
“Angel isn’t here today. You just missed *him* actually. He left for Europe, for a month, yesterday afternoon. However, perhaps we can answer your questions for you. We are very good friends with Angel and if we can’t answer it then perhaps we could call him later on and ask him for you,” the man suggested to me. I growled in frustration that I had just missed this man.
“Angel is a him?” I asked with a look of disbelief.
“The Angel that is associated with this store is a him. There is no female ‘Angel’ here,” he told me while a beautiful redhead came up behind the counter with the man. She was very powerful; I could feel her power emanating from her from where I stood several feet away.
“Perhaps then I have the wrong person. I don’t think my father would leave me the name of a man,” I told them and turned to leave.
“The picture? It wouldn’t hurt in allowing us to see it,” the redhead called to me after I turned my back.
“Perhaps you are right, perhaps it won’t,” I told them and pulled a picture out of my knapsack and slid it across the counter. They both looked at the picture and then looked up at each other and then back at the picture. The woman picked it up slowly.
“Who is the man in the picture?” She asked me.
“My father and I was assuming the woman was Angel,” I answered.
“This is your father?” the man asked me and the rest of the workers in the store crowded around behind the counter to look at the picture, some of them in shock and disbelief.
“Yes, that’s my father,” I answered a little confused.
“Is he still alive?” a shorter guy with dyed blue hair asked me. I sensed something off about him.
“No, he died about a year ago,” I answered quietly.
“I’m sorry,” the guy answered and then walked away back to the customer he was helping before I walked into the store.
“So can you help me? You know the girl?”
“This picture was taken in 2007, months before he left,” a blonde woman breathed out softly.
“Who left? You knew my Dad?” I asked in shock.
“Gunn’s your Dad right?” the woman responded.
“You called him Gunn? He went by Charles in Chicago,” I answered. “Refused to be called Gunn.”
“Chicago, wow, when he said he needed to get away he wasn’t kidding…he moved across the damn country,” the blonde said sadly. “I’m Amanda, I used to work with your father at Angel Investigations,” she told me and extended her hand to me. I shook it quickly.
“Well you already know I’m Charles’s son, I’m Wesley,” I answered and people drew quick gasp of air.