Of Stars and Darkness
an excerpt

The young woman stared up at the faded sign above the door, her eyebrows furrowed together in thought.
She was an earnest sort, of average height with a lean build that would have made her look taller than she really was if she didn’t wear baggy clothes that concealed her figure. Though she was only seventeen years old, her demeanor made her seem as if she couldn’t possibly be as young as she looked. Her heart-shaped face was pretty, though not remarkably so. She had large, serious brown eyes and a delicate mouth. Her soft brown curls were trimmed neatly to hang just above her shoulders, framing her freckled face in a becoming, if ordinary, way.
Her name, however, was Eleanor Brighton, and this was not ordinary. The Brightons were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Smithfield, numbering among its founders in the 1800s. In fact, only the original Smith family itself was older, and Eleanor was related to them by way of her maternal grandmother, anyway. There were actually quite a few things about Eleanor Brighton that were not typical of someone of her family, but the most important one at the moment was that she was looking for a job for the summer. This was something that young women in her family just did not do, but Eleanor didn’t particularly care about that. She looked up again at the sign.
Miss Mallory’s Shoppe of Wonders.
She had been standing there staring at the sign for a good ten minutes now, trying vainly to peer beyond the dusty glass to see what lay within. The faded Help Wanted sign had been what caught her attention, but the name of the little shop had seemed so strange that she wanted to try and figure it out first.
Shoppe of Wonders? she thought. Why, what on earth could they be selling? Of course, in this part of town, it could be anything. The Flower District had been the height of fashion in the Victorian era, but its beauty was fading like the exotic blooms that had been sold there. The once bright paints were cracked and peeling, the woodwork faded, the facades crumbling. Most of the stores were home to vendors of the struggling bohemian-type now, havens for vintage clothing and new age lore, several tattoo parlors, and one or two shadier establishments that Eleanor did not wish to contemplate.
Miss Mallory’s Shoppe of Wonders had nothing to recommend it over any of the other stores except for the “Help Wanted” sign. The storefront was small, the door set into a deep alcove. It was easy to walk right past it, if you didn’t know it was there. It was sandwiched in between a run-down tavern and a rather bright little pastry shop. It was the stairs that decided her—Though they were cracked in places, they had been swept clean, and the wood of the doorframe was polished. It was hard to see into the shop, but that was because the glass was tinted dark, not because it was dirty. Having made up her mind, Eleanor squared her shoulders, walked up the stairs, and pulled the door open. A silvery bell tinkled merrily above the door, and she stepped inside.
She was met by a flight of stairs leading up, which explained why she hadn’t been able to see much through the door. The stair-well was lit by sconces on the wall, and an enormous ginger tabby sprawled across one of the steps, washing his face.
“Excuse me,” Eleanor said to the cat as she stepped over it to go up the stairs. The cat stopped washing for a moment to look at her, then went back to his bath. Eleanor climbed the stairs slowly, bracing herself for another on-the-spot interview.
The truth was that her job hunting had not gone well. No one could understand why one of the illustrious Brightons would be looking for a job of any kind, particularly someone her age. One person had even looked at her application and asked her if it was some kind of joke. Lord knew she didn’t need any money. Her applications had met with disbelief and even contempt, to the point where she was thinking about lying about her last name. Of course, such a charade would never last long, and things probably wouldn’t go well when the falsehood was discovered, so she had to find someone who would hire her despite the family she came from.
All this was running through her head as she reached the top of the stairs and entered the store proper. She stopped to look around, and found herself staring.
Her first impression was that she didn’t know where to look. The store was full of shelves and odd corners, every one of them stashed with a strange variety of odds and ends. To her immediate right was a shelf that held music boxes, a silver tea set, a set of chessmen without a board, and several boxes carved with what looked like some sort of monstrous bird. In front of her was a table covered with all manner of candlesticks (Was that one cast in the shape of an armadillo?) and another tea set, this one made of painted porcelain. The shop seemed to contain a little bit of everything, from jewelry to books to furniture to clothing to everything in-between. Wonders, indeed.
“Hello, there, Miss. How may I help you?” The woman seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Eleanor found herself staring once more. The shopkeeper was quite striking. She had the palest skin the girl had ever seen—The only hint of color to her skin was the faintest blush of pink in her cheeks and the rosy-mauve bloom of her lips. She was tall and slender, with a narrow, oval face and sharp, sculpted features. Her eyes were large and deep blue, closer to violet, really. Thick, glossy black hair was gathered in an elaborate pile on the back of her head, and tiny silver ornaments were strung throughout the gorgeous locks. Her indigo dress was of an odd, antique cut. It was long sleeved and flowed to the floor. Though the style was demure, the cut of the dress was tailored close to her body in a pleasing way. Dainty, old-fashioned boots that buttoned up the sides peeked out from beneath the dress.
“Miss?” said the woman patiently.
“Oh! Forgive me!” said Eleanor, embarrassed. “It’s just—I’ve never been in here before, and there’s quite a bit to take in—“
The woman smiled. “Of course, Miss. Most of my patrons react in such a way on their first visit. Was there something you were looking for?” The woman had a faint accent (British? Irish? What was it?), lending a musical lilt to her words.
“Um, actually, I came in to speak to someone about the Help Wanted sign in the window.”
“Help wanted? Really?” A bemused smile flitted across the woman’s face, and she lifted an eyebrow.
“If the position isn’t open anymore, I understand…”
“Oh, that’s not it at all. Come right in, please.” The woman gestured Eleanor further into the store, revealing more shelves and a large wood counter with a glass top. Behind the counter were yet more shelves, and on top of it was a register that looked like it was an antique itself. The shopkeeper walked behind the counter, fishing in a cabinet beneath the register. “I’m sure I must have an application in here somewhere…”
The woman’s behavior seemed odd to Eleanor. “So you haven’t had that many applicants, then?” she asked.
The woman straightened up, a piece of paper in hand. “Not a single one,” she said cheerfully. She slid the application across the counter and laid an antique fountain pen next to it. Then she leaned her elbows on the counter, fingers steepled in front of her. “Now, what kind of job were you looking for?”
“Well, anything, really. I’m off school for the summer, so my schedule is fairly open. To be honest, I’ve never had a job before, but I’m willing to try just about anything.” It was a horrible way to begin an interview, but something about the strange woman seemed to pull the words from her.
“Well, I can’t pay very much—Minimum wage, I’m afraid. As my assistant, I would require you here promptly at nine every morning, except Sundays. We’re closed Sundays. Oh, and I can’t really give a specific end time, since it would depend on what needs doing day to day. We do close early on Wednesdays for appointments with my suppliers.”
“That sounds fine, really,” said Eleanor, hoping her desperation didn’t show. “As long as I’m off by five each day.”
“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem,” said the woman. “Can you start tomorrow?”
“Shouldn’t I fill this out first?” asked Eleanor, puzzled.
The woman laughed. The sound was like a bell, a wondrous tone that filled the room. “I suppose so! I can’t say I’ve had anyone else show any interest in working for me, though. Finish that up, and consider yourself hired! I’m Miss Mallory.”
“Eleanor Brighton,” the girl said, mentally crossing her fingers.
“Such a mouthful of a name!” said Miss Mallory. “Would you mind terribly if I called you Ellie? You’re far too young to be an Eleanor.”
“Um, Ellie is fine…” Eleanor’s eyebrows were slowly making their way up to her hairline. What had she gotten herself into? Didn’t the woman know who the Brightons were? Or did she honestly not care? I suppose it doesn’t matter, Eleanor thought. After all, no one else even considered hiring me… She looked around once more at the vast array of trinkets and doodads and every other sort of thing.
Wonders, indeed…she thought again as she gave a bemused wave to the smiling Miss Mallory and made her way back to the stairs in a sort of daze. At least an antique shop would be considered an acceptable kind of shop for her to work in, she supposed, though her mother wouldn’t be happy to find out that her daughter had lowered herself to the position of a shopkeeper’s assistant.

The large ginger tabby watched the young woman leave the store before turning to go up the stairs. He moved quietly but with purpose into the shop, being careful to walk in the exact center of the narrow aisles.
“Watch that tea set, it’s particularly fragile,” Miss Mallory said without looking up from the jewelry she was sorting on the counter.
“I’m being careful,” said the cat in a deep voice, his tone grumpy. “Are you sure about this, Mal? An assistant? One might thing you’d gone mad.”
“Well, it wasn’t my idea,” the woman said cheerily, turning to look at the cat. “And you know it doesn’t do to argue, Leander.”
“And how do you expect to hide what we are? What this place is? The child is no idiot, Mal, she’s going to figure out there’s something odd about this shop pretty quickly.”
“I thought she was quite a sweet little thing. She’s very shy, though. I tend to think that she’ll be far too polite to ask questions at first, if she suspects anything.”
“When she suspects, you mean,” the cat grumped, settling himself carefully in the center of a large open space near a clothes rack and tucking his feet beneath him.
“So pessimistic, Leander!” Mallory said, laughing. “The poor girl’s very naïve. I doubt we have much to worry about. Everything happens for a reason in this place, as you know full well.”
“I still say it’s a bad idea.”
“I’m sure it will be just fine, there‘s nothing to worry about.” Mallory walked over to the cat and leaned over to scratch his ears and chin. “Buck up, dear one, everything will be all right.”
“Well, it will so long as you keep scratching right…there…” the cat mumbled, his eyes drifting closed. Miss Mallory’s smile was broad, and her laughter rang through the shop like bells.