Cordelia walks through a fog of patchouli floating out of an incense burner shaped like a dragon. The incense cone sits in an opening in its belly, and smoke pours out of its nostrils and burns hers. The smell gives her a headache, and her nose starts to drip. She wipes her nose with her sweater sleeve, rubs her watery eyes, and looks around for a shelf of books. But this store isn’t separated into sections like a normal shop would be. It’s labyrinthine, with all sorts of things scattered about in alcoves of little scenes like an antique shop. In one corner, a round table is set with a stack of teacups, a bell with a pentagram etched on it, and three books that are the same color but completely different topics. Another corner has a bundle of dried flowers and herbs displayed in a teapot, a half-burned pillar candle, and a tobacco pipe sitting in a shelf. Yet another corner looks like has a stack of books, a few crystals different shades of blue, and a handmade doll. A girl sporting a purple crochet shawl and an abundance of silver jewelry in the shape of stars and moons walks by with an armful of merchandise. I wave her down and say, “Excuse me. Where can I find—“ “You’ll find what you need,” she says, cutting me off. She looks me up and down. “Or it will find you.” She walks away and unloads pieces of merchandise on passing surfaces with open space. Cordelia looks around the different pathway options, none more promising than the others. This was going to be a needle in a haystack. Or a book in an occult shop, apparently. She sighs and heads down a path with a violin and a skull displayed together, feeling lost and frustrated.