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pointed to the door.
    The cu siths vanished into the shop.
    Foster and Aideen swore to me the claims that cu siths were bred to drag fertile human women into fairy mounds to become providers for the Fae were gross exaggerations. Cu siths are supposedly the best guard dogs in history, or so my boarders keep telling me. All the cu siths really seem to guard against is my ability to enter my own store unmolested.
    I wiped my face off on my sleeve and pushed off the ground. Foster and Cara were still laughing when I walked through the back door. Foster was perched on top of the center peak of the ancient grandfather clock the fairies called home, and Cara was laid out on the old Formica table, gasping for breath with her hands on her stomach.
    “Good to see you, too,” I muttered as I dropped the bag of jerky on the table, tripped on the old green cot setup beside the table for god knows what reason, and headed toward the front of the shop to flip the open sign. After unlocking the door and changing the sign, Death’s Door was open for business, and it was open five minutes early for a change.
    Death’s Door is the name of my shop, though most of the locals call it the Double D. It’s in one of my favorite areas in Saint Louis—Main Street, Saint Charles. There’s an old world, small town feel in the air, with cobblestone streets, rows of historical buildings, and small shops of every kind of miscellany. The old brick storefront wasn’t in the main strip; it was actually on the far northern end of Main Street. The shop was within walking distance of the Missouri River, a plethora of restaurants, and a fantastic fudge shop.
    My master had given me the shop as a graduation present of sorts when she left on a mission of her own in years past. She didn’t tell me what she was doing or where she was going, and it was years before I even learned she was still alive. Death’s Door is set up to cater to a mixture of sorcerers, Wiccans, and even a smattering of tourists—carrying everything from texts to spellcraft supplies to crystals and antiquated artifacts.
    My boots thunked on the ancient hardwood floors as I walked down the right aisle on my way back to the register. The aisle was stocked with bundles of feathers, dried plants, cauldrons, and other occult artifacts. The laptop Sam had talked me into getting for the shop sat beside the old register, which sat on a glass counter that doubled as a display case for some of the more expensive items. Old Native American pipes and arrowheads were displayed with a mixture of raw, gray Magrasnetto on display. The Fae knew how to build wards into Magrasnetto, making it invaluable and dangerous. Heated by a summoned flame, Magrasnetto would turn to slag and take on the properties of metal; however, it would still retain the working laid upon it as a stone, creating a nearly unbreakable ward in its new form. I wasn’t supposed to know all the details, but the fairies had told me all about it one night after a bit too much fudge.
    A few of the arrowheads littering the display case were obsidian, made by the Paiute in the Great Basin in northern California. What made them unique were the runes, which closely resembled Nordic runes, etched onto the sides. I only recognized a handful of the archaic symbols.
    Frank was constantly adding a few choice pieces of amber to the case, with prices that boggled my mind. What boggled my mind even more was how regularly they sold. Frank had done some really good things for our sales since he’d been working for me.
    I sat down on the stool behind the counter and pulled out a box of hand-dipped candles. They were slightly uneven and made by a local Wiccan priestess, my customer and friend Ashley. She ground anise seed and blessed thistle into the deep red wax, creating a formidable foundation for a protection spell. I put the candles into overdrive by carving a ring of runes around the base, including Algiz, Gifu, and Uruz. The series of runes