Feathertales

The first of a standalone series of original tales, set around a magical 49-floor shopping-mall, and those that work within it.

Aveline Wishwood has just opened a new bookstore in The Ungodeun Shopping Mall… and things aren’t going quite as smoothly as she’d hope, from burglars to social media scams to baristas on some kind of drug, she soon finds herself more than in over her head.

WORD COUNT: 4.3K
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
AGE RATING: Teen

WARNINGS: Toxic Parents, Attempted Robbery

***

Feathertales was going to be marvellous, decided Aveline.

With hands on her hips – skin as pale as milk, nails painted a pastel shade of pink – she overlooked the setting-up of her new bookstore, watching posters be unravelled by telekinetic worshippers of the magic of Force and admiring the fresh glistening of the new sign above the vast windows. Though most people gave little thought to which fonts suited which businesses best, Aveline and her business partner had been very precise with choosing their own.

They stood out amongst the rest of the shopping mall, whether one lingered on the bottom floor of Wrath magic or the top floor of Air.

And it was perfect: really, truly perfect.

Though she was hardly a smiler, Aveline smiled.

A small smile, but a present one.

And as she peered through the glass, she, too, looked over the neat organisation of the shelves within: books in sections based on the magic they correlated with, from Air to Beasts, all the way to Wrath, and alphabetised within that. The counters were freshly polished, and she had personally overseen which notebooks were prominently on display.

Another perfection.

The floor was mopped to a glistening shine, which it had sorely needed, given this store’s previous owners worshipping Gluttony of all things, despite this floor being focused on the magic of Mind.

The air within smelt fresh, delightfully so, like the skies Aveline explored when there were no humans to spy on her magic. Its smell permeated beyond the front doors, and had already turned a few heads of those opening the other shops on this floor.

Good.

Beside the counter sat a little bell shaped like a feather, ready to alert either of the two owners when someone was in need of their services.

They needed nothing else.

They had everything they needed.

They were perfect.

Everything was perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Feathertales was going to be marvellous, hoped Aveline.

She and her best friend had worked so hard, so incredibly hard, to earn this business without a speck of their parents’ money, and it was going to be worth every single penny spent.

Aveline was certain of that.

She knew a thing or two about lost causes, after all.

“Do you think we’re ready?” asked Aveline, looking to her friend with only a tad bit of uncertainty in her gaze.

Well, perhaps more than that.

But Thalissa could handle the occasional nerve.

Thalissa, too, surveyed the store, slow and careful and silent, before she turned back to Aveline, something firm in her lightning-streaked eyes. “More than ready,” she said, her voice maintaining the power it always held. Her brown hands adjusted her half-braided white curls, as perfect as ever. “Our parents are going to despise this place.”

An odd smugness had joined her words.

Aveline blinked.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Well, perhaps despise was a stretch.

But…

“Why?” she asked, cautious.

Thalissa held Aveline’s gaze, forever unfazed by firm gazes, forever unsullied by the smiles she deemed insignificant. “Because we did this without them, and because their family businesses are no longer ours.”

“We’re free,” said Aveline, as if it were a revelation.

With the smallest of nods, Thalissa echoed with, “we’re free.”

***

Seven people had come in so far…

…and it had been almost an hour.

A mere seven people had come in so far, and two of them hadn’t even bought anything! But that was okay. That was okay!

The Ungodeun Shopping Mall must not have been that busy this easy in the morning… though it was, really, the only place that magic-users could be free from the humans they had to keep in the dark. If you had magic, you were seen there thrice a week at least.

But Feathertales was a new addition to the Mind floor – one of forty-nine floors, for forty-nine magics – and so, there had to be many who simply didn’t know who they were just yet.

That had to be it.

That had to be it.

Whilst Thalissa finished off paperwork in the back, Aveline leant against the side of the counter, using her pocket-mirror to ensure her light hair was perfect and her pale face was unblemished.

It was the seventeenth time she had checked herself in the last half-hour alone, and never did she notice a flaw.

But waiting for boring.

Truly.

Boring. Boring. Boring.

Boring—

“Woah! This place is, like, so dead!”

Aveline jolted, snapping her mirror shut, and allowed her control over breezes to slide it from her fingers, into the bag at her feet. She turned, fixing a smile onto her face—

—only to lay eyes upon a poster being thrust towards her.

Aveline blinked.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Aveline pulled back.

The poster was shoved into Aveline’s hands.

Mimika Chew! Singing at The Theatre tonight!

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then Aveline glanced up from the wrinkled poster, finding her vision filled by the one who had to be Mimika Chew: a pink-skinned woman with black-and-pink curls and the bared teeth of someone who worshipped the magic of Blood: an intimidating magic, to be sure, but not one that Aveline was particularly afeared of.

Another moment passed.

Another two. Another three.

“You should come!” said Mimika brightly. “Can I put a poster in your window? Just in case someone wants to find real entertainment, not the bookish-booky-book type, you know?”

Aveline blinked.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

And she sighed. “If you’re not going to buy a bool please leave.”

Mimika’s brow furrowed, before she huffed.

She cross her arms against her chest. “Make me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said: make me! Are you against blood-drinkers or something? Is that why you’re not interested in real entertainment?”

Aveline’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

Mimika stabbed at her chest with one pointy finger. “I’ll sue you!”

Aveline stared at her. “Do you even know how to?”

“Are you calling me stupid?” screeched Mimika, though it was an oddly-pleasant sound; perhaps she really was some skilled musician, though Aveline no longer cared to hear a word of it.

“Am I?” said Aveline.

For a moment or two, Mimika simply gaped like a fish.

The silence was almost peaceful.

And then Mimika huffed again. “Whatever.”

She twirled on one combat-boot – revealing that they were not the same colour: one pink and one black – then stormed out of the bookstore, though not without sticking the poster on the window on her way out.

It was such a smooth slam that it was almost impressive.

Aveline watched her… and then sighed.

Peeling herself away from the counter, Aveline walked over to the window, pulling off the poster—

—only for Mimika Chew to stop in front of the door, plant both hands on her hips, and start to sing at the top of her lungs: a tune that was, admittedly, quite catchy. She quickly drew in a crowd of onlookers, none of whom having any interest in actually buying a book.

Before Aveline could even begin to figure out what to do about this, Thalissa emerged from the back, holding a spray bottle of water.

***

Aveline needed a break.

And so, she had taken Thalissa’s advice and ventured beyond Feathertales, heading across the Mind floor and reaching the main elevators. Waiting for one that wasn’t too crowded was a challenge, but she managed to find one that only held a nurse covered in thick earth, and Aveline decided that was the best she would get.

She had held her breath the whole time – earth and mud and dirt was the antithesis to what she worshipped – until she was all the way up to the Gluttony floor, where the main restaurants and cafes and other such food-places resided. There, she found The Slumbean.

A small coffee shop stuffed in one corner.

Windows clean and without posters.

The tables looked a little too close-together, but the place was almost empty, as other locations… appeared to be far more popular.

Aveline didn’t know why, but she didn’t question it.

Behind the counter stood two workers, and Aveline decided to take a chance that at least one of them knew how to make a mean hot chocolate: preferably the kind without any blessings or curses, though that was sometimes too much to ask around here.

And so, she pushed the door open, listened to the jingle of the bell, and walked over to the front counter.

“A small hot chocolate, please,” she said. “Mundane, if you can.”

That seemed to snap the half-asleep barista out of their doze.

On their nametag said ‘Rakke’.

With dark, dead eyes, they blinked at her.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Aveline stared back, and then, awkwardly, repeated her order. “A small hot chocolate, please. Mundane, if you can.”

Rakke looked down at the cash register… and then looked to their coworker, who seemed too busy to do anything but eat crumbs off the counter and lick at her salivating lips.

They both looked… high.

Great.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

Aveline was starting to understand why nobody was in here.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Are you… open?” she asked, just as awkward.

And then, finally, Rakke opened their mouth, exposing a pond-green tongue and breaths that smelt of death and the sharp teeth that indicated that maybe they did, in fact, worship magic of Death.

“Yes,” they said. “I’ll do that. Hot chocolate. Mundane. That’ll be…”

Aveline didn’t listen to them.

Wanting to end this conversation quickly, as quickly as possible, she tapped the card-machine with her phone before even hearing the price itself. “Thank you,” she hurried to say.

Rakke nodded, turned, and got to work with the drink.

Still bewildered by the whole thing, Aveline stared at them for a little longer, before she turned, walked to the nearest table on autopilot, and sat down in one of the admittedly-comfortable chairs.

And she watched as Rakke and their co-worker – with a nametag saying Lyrye – talking amongst themselves, under their breath.

She wasn’t entirely sure they were saying words.

Somehow, however, they understood each other.

She watched.

As Rakke, at least, was obviously high.

And as Lyrye was obviously trying very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very hard not to eat the ingredients.

Gluttony magic, Aveline supposed.

They were odd ones, usually.

Aveline waited.

She waited.

And she watched the chaos that she did not trust.

What did they just drop into the milk?

Was that… a tooth?

Aveline stood; she had just needed a break, a small break, from the stress of a new already half-failing career-path, but this seemed to be somewhat… worse. And so, Aveline abandoned the mug being placed upon the counter, before deciding to head back to Feathertales.

***

“Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No! Fuck! No!” chanted Thalissa, which Aveline heard before she saw her, making her silver eyes widen-widen-widen as she picked up the pace.

She sped from the elevators.

She hurried closer.

She hurdled around the corner—

—and spotted Thalissa, wielding a broom and hitting a man atop the head with it, again and again and again.

“You’re not robbing from me, Lucah,” spat Thalissa. “You are not fucking robbing me, especially not after what you did to my kitchen.”

“That! Was! Years! Ago!”

“I don’t care,” said Thalissa. “You’re here to rob me now!”

Hit. Hit. Hit.

“You—bitch—I—wasn’t—”

Thalissa whacked the man on the ass with the broom, shoving him away from Feathertales’ front door, making him stumble, then fall forwards, right onto his knees with a thump.

“I don’t think you know how to read,” spat Thalissa. “Get out of here, Lucah! Go bend over for your boyfriend or whatever.”

Aveline hoped nobody heard that part.

Though many people were watching.

They didn’t really need homophobia allegations, though those would be easily disproven by Thalissa’s lesbian polycule. Thalissa may have regularly denied its existence, but the sweet animal-shelter volunteer, Chrysanthemum, had zero ability at hiding her adoring, puppy-dog eyes.

It was sweet, really.

But Aveline respected Thalissa’s boundaries.

Lucah clambered to his feet, before scurrying away, though not without swearing profusely under his breath.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then Aveline approached Thalissa in a cautious hurry.

“Thalissa—”

“He’s a known criminal,” said Thalissa, her voice flat and her broom still wielded like a weapon. “He works on the Death floor.”

Aveline stared at her. “It sounds like you know him personally.”

“I did,” said Thalissa.

Thalissa did not elaborate.

Aveline furrowed her brow. “Should we…”

“…contact mall security? Sure. Why not.”

“Aveline nodded. “On it.”

***

Apparently, there was nothing mall security could do.

Or, at least, the only on-duty security-guard for this floor was about to finish his shift, so he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it.

Great.

***

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Aveline straightened on the spot, almost knocking into the stack of books that she had placed neatly on the counter, her eyes snapping to the phone that sat to the left of the cash register.

They were getting a call?

They were getting a call!

She scrambled to grab at it, a smile spreading across her features, though more relieved that joyful, in itself. After so long without any customers, any communication with even a scammer was enough to quicken the pace of her thunderous heartbeat.

Picking it up, she looked to the little screen and—

Ring! Ring! Ring!

It was not the work phone that was ringing.

It was her personal phone.

Aveline blinked.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

And then she reached into her pocket, fetching her phone and looking at the screen, dreading who she knew was calling her, though who she hoped wasn’t calling her… and finding it to be exactly, exactly, exactly who she had feared it would be.

Her mother.

Aladie Wishwood.

Aveline’s nose wrinkled.

“Damn it,” she grumbled under her breath, one hand making a fist in the white fabric of her expensive blouse. “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.”

Ring! Ring! Ring!

“Are you going to answer that?” called Thalissa from where she loitered with the Storm-related books – natural disasters, curses, horror novels, and the like – as that was what she worshipped. “It’s your phone, right? Not the work one? I’d call you out for being on your phone on the job, but I’m not, technically, your boss.”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “It’s my mother.”

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

Thalissa stuck her head out. “Want me to get it?”

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Aveline sighed. “No, I should take it.”

“You sure? I can impersonate some doctor, saying that you’re dead and can’t be bothered by their bullshit anymore. Maybe they’ll even spend money that we can use for a vacation.”

“We just started this job,” said Aveline. “We don’t need a vacation.”

A smirk played upon Thalissa’s lips. “Is that a yes?”

Aveline sent her a flat look. “What do you think?”

Thalissa shrugged, and disappeared back between the shelves.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Aveline took a breath…

…and, finally, Aveline accepted the call, holding her phone to her ear. “Yes, mother? Is there something I can do for you?”

“You’re still insistent on working in that shopping mall?”

Her mother’s voice was as sharp and shrill as a bird’s, which was exactly what Aveline had expected. Aladie Wishwood never spoke softly, not unless they were in the company of those she had to impress.

Aveline sighed softly. “Yes, mother.”

“Really?” snapped Aladie.

“Yes, mother.”

“You’re really doing this?” snapped Aladie, her voice a screech, which remained the most-ordinary tone for her to take. “Your father and I could get you a high-paying role alongside us in governmental affairs, and you insist on setting yourself up in a shopping mall?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Are you a fool?”

“No, mother,” was Aveline’s response.

Flat. Dull. Drab.

“Don’t you take that tone with me! You’re not a child anymore. You need to grow up and abandon that rebellious streak of yours.”

Rebellion.

She had never gotten drunk at parties.

But she had read past her bedtime and cared more about literature than anything her parents had offered. She wanted a life dedicated to the written word, not to control, control, control.

Aveline gritted her teeth.

Aladie scoffed. “You know, your friend’s parents are hardly on board with this, either. The four of us are just waiting for you two to get your acts together and join us in—”

Aveline hung up.

“No,” she said to herself. “No. No. No. No, No. No. No.”

Thalissa cheered, and Aveline ignored her.

***

For the rest of the day, the shop remained mostly empty.

Occasionally, they had a patron or two, but…

Mostly empty.

They remained mostly empty.

And boringly so, really.

Who knew starting a new business would be this…

…quiet?

***

@MimikaChew

FOLLOW @FEATHERTALES ON EVERY PLATFORM!

@MimikaChewBackup

Guys OMG I’ve been hacked!!!!!!!

@Seabitch

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@YvilGenius

Omg based

I might visit now

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@OdilindeNoire

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@YvilGenius

#stfuorimtellingmama

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#kys #kys #kys #kys #kys #kys #kys

***

Aveline wasn’t exactly in support of hacking the social-media accounts of various local celebrities, but she had to admit that Thalissa’s extracurriculars had led to multiple teenagers popping into Feathertales after high school had come to a close.

“This is a very efficient organisation system,” said a boy with glasses and cracks in his earth-brown arms, the kinds that came from some sort of magic, not scars from literal wounds. “I like the separation based on magic-equivalent, as that is even more precise than simple genre.”

Aveline, though he wasn’t talking to her, smiled slightly.

It had been her idea.

A teenage girl stood beside him, her ginger plaits flickering with faint flames, her braces exposed from the size of her grin. “Do you think they’ll let me look in the Lust section—”

“No,” called Thalissa, though Aveline had thought she had had headphones on, and to Aveline’s relief.

There were some conversations that were… difficult to have.

Conversations she suddenly realised she was a part of.

The teenage girl pouted, deflating like a beachball. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m not looking into legal persecution,” countered Thalissa.

“Boo!” called the teenager.

Thalissa quirked an eyebrow.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

The teenager lifted her fists. “I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you!” she cheered, though she seemed to be growing merrier, not madder. “I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you! I’ll fight you!”

Though the teenage girl would never have known that the expression Thalissa wore was a smile, Aveline did, and it was enough to warm the heart, even if only by a little.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard, after all.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

***

Aveline was closing up shop.

They had more than made up for the slow morning with the number of teenagers-and-similar that filled the shop after Thalissa had hacked the social-media account of that singer; apparently, Mimika’s target-audience was the mischievous, and even she didn’t seem to care that much, as the spike in popularity went in both ways.

Many books had been sold, many had been reserved, and many more people looked like they would be returning customers.

Had Aveline been the smiling type, her cheeks would have ached from the sheer force of her obvious, radiating joy. Instead, her limbs were energised, and she hummed as she locked, checked, and double-checked the glass front door. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then back again, back again, back again.

Energised, more than anything.

Energised. Energised. Energised.

Energised—

“Hey! You’re the owner, right”?

Aveline jolted, spinning and wielding her key like a weapon, only to find that the one speaking to her was…

…almost cute.

No. Not almost cute.

Cute.

A winning smile sat upon his chiselled face, and his dark skin was speckled with numerous white stars: like tattoos, but more-likely due to whatever magic he had been blessed with.

Maybe she was a fool, but he certainly didn’t seem like a threat.

But Aveline was too smart not to be careful.

“Who are you?” she asked, a tad cautious. “I’m just leaving.”

The man rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m, um, one of the security guys here. I’m new, and my supervisor only really bothered to tell me about this now, but you almost had a robbery, right?”

Aveline blinked.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Oh,” she said, nerves fading, relief growing.

The man cocked his head, and Aveline found him akin to a dog: not quite innocent, but with that kind of friendliness that was expected to be returned. “Wait. I didn’t get the place wrong, did I?”

“No, no,” Aveline hurried to say. “It was us. I just… forgot.”

The man stifled a chuckle, biting his lip as he did so, and Aveline had to admit – silently, to herself and herself alone – that he was, actually, very cute, cuter than most guys she’d met. “You forgot about a robbery?” he said, his voice already teasing.

Aveline’s face warmed.

She shifted on the spot.

“My friend hit him with a broom until he ran away, so I guess it didn’t feel like much of a threat, you know?”

This time, he actually did chuckle, shaking his head as he did so. “Do you still want me to do something about it?”

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

“I… probably should,” admitted Aveline. “But I need to get home.”

The man straightened, before nodding. “Your shift just ended, then?”

Aveline shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

The shopping mall was all-hours, and most of the business within aligned with that. But… well, with two people working there, that wasn’t yet a possibility for Feathertales.

One day, she hoped.

Aveline sighed. “There’s only two of us. The shop has to close.”

“Well, I can walk you to your car, and we can talk about it on the way?” offered the cute security-guard, matching the request with the most winning-smile that Aveline had seen in her life.

Aveline… knew she shouldn’t trust strange men.

But this one seemed… well… cute and kind and actually helpful, and Aveline felt she was a pretty good judge of character. She wanted to trust this guy, but something had to come first.

Aveline stuck out her hand.

“Aveline Wishwood,” she introduced herself as. “Follower of Air.”

Proper introductions were very important.

A moment passed.

Two. Three.

And then the man smiled, taking her by the hand and shaking it. As he did so, he introduced himself as, “Adonis Nightlin. Security guard and follower of Darkness. Is that a yes, then?”