Celtic Curiosity

Spellbound Books - Westminster - London

Built-in wooden shelves filled with books on various metaphysical and occult topics, as well as mythology, line the royal blue walls. The shelves are divided by openings to the left and right, and of course directly across from the entrance where the counter is.

To the right of the entrance is an area that is separated from the shop with a blue and white beaded curtain. Behind the curtain is a seating area, focused around a large round table that is covered with a white crocheted cloth. Atop the table is a small crystal ball, around which a pattern of tarot cards can typically be found. Surrounding the table are several antique armchairs, and a deep blue Victorian style couch. Against the wall are a few shorter bookshelves with various crystals and items.

To the left of the entrance is a vastly open area. Several glass counters can be found, housing silver and pewter jewelry, decorated with a variety of stones and crystals. The window display for the shop can also be found here, a more traditional "occult" set up, with pewter chalices, glass skulls, and crystal balls.

Directly across from the entrance is a wooden counter that holds an old fashioned, non-digital cash register. The wall behind the counter is a small shelf filled with jars of odd-colored powders, and tinctures, as well as clear, labeled jars stuffed with every herb imaginable, as well as contorted roots. The front of the counter is typically strewn with fliers for events going on in London, as well as events and sales going on in the shop.


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Corrie Wade

Spellbound Books is generally a fairly quiet location, given that it caters to a niche clientele. As always there are a few stragglers — those interested in the art of witchcraft, those who practice Wicca, those who are interested in all things New-Agey or Supernatural. It seems to be keeping the clerk on duty busy enough. Too busy to notice a regular customer entering the shop.


Corrie peeks her head into the shop, looking around for the proprietor. "Glyn? I just wanted to let you know…" That's when she realizes that Glynis is not in the shop this afternoon, and that the shop actually has patrons. "Never mind," she mutters beneath her breath. "I'll just leave a note."


Wade is one of those patrons. His work leads him occasionally to places like this, places where he can find books and trinkets, things to work with when it comes time to making the magic. It takes more effort for him, after all. So today he's in, having arrived not long before the woman visiting.

He's got a few books tucked under an arm, one that he's leafing through. Something about Celtic mythology, with a lot of pretty designs and very small text. What might stand out more is that he's kind of in the way. More than that, he's magic. Maybe not the man himself, but definitely something he has on him. More than one something, probably.

"You know the woman that runs this place?" He asks that when Corrie speaks the name, peeking over the rims of square glasses.


"Glynis Davies is an old family friend," Corrie replies easily enough. Her eyes, for the moment, are kept downward staring at the counter. Or perhaps rather the book that Wade happens to be holding.

"Celtic mythology? Interested more in the religion, or the folklore?" Noting the designs that span the book's cover, she seems to grin. It's one of the ones that Dumnonia uses frequently. Circle knots — unity, happiness, health, prosperity.

Adjusting her handbag on her shoulder, she unzips it and pulls out a notepad and a pen. Leaning against the counter, she scrawls a quick note and tucks it under the old-fashioned register.


Wade's eyes flicker down toward the book, up again. "I heard her name. I wanted to speak with her, but-" A small shrug to indicate the problem. "I wait, for now." A few pages are flipped through, the text closed with a press of his palm.

"A little of both right now. Until I narrow a few things down." There's a small smile when he clarifies, something that sets a droll sort of amusement on his face. "I'm leaning more toward the folklore at the moment. It's not one of my best subjects, so I thought I'd get a bit of help."


In essence, the note just let's Glynis know that Corrie gave this address to someone else for access to the Undercity so that the woman is not surprised when a professor winds up arriving. If he winds up arriving.

"I'm sure she'll be around soon, unless she's out on business." Council business, that is. "If I weren't worried that it would distract him, I could introduce you to a friend of mine. He's quite interested in the folklore himself. Knows a great deal, but he's in the middle of signing a contract." Still, her eyes don't drift upward at all.


"Unfortunately I'm a patient man. I can wait awhile longer, and we'll see if she comes. If not." Another small roll of shoulders. A few books are slanted back into place in the process, finding their empty homes with hollow thumbs from the bookcases.

"What's his name?" That's offered once he's finished, eyes peeking back up at the woman again. "And what's he signing?" Idle curiously as the man winds back among the books, fingers still keeping the foremost pinched between them.


"Tristan Pryce." Corrie glances around for the clerk, sees that she's busy with two teenagers and rolls her eyes. Thank goodness she doesn't have to deal with that any longer — unless she counts her new client.

"Recording contract, actually, and it's about bloody time at that." Dumnonia, her pride and joy. The band she's been with since its inception. She can't think of anyone (or anyones as the case actually is) who are more deserving of the contract.

"You know, I've not seen you in the shop before. Just find it?"


"Oh." He seems almost disappointed with the name and explanation, as if he'd been expecting to recognize whatever she had to offer. "Musician? I wasn't sure." Pause. "You know, a contract for someone who'd shop here," He makes a amused little bob back and forth, as if she'll be able to piece together whatever he means by the rest.

Then on to the question. "No, haven't been in. There's another little place I like, but there's an issue there." A dismissive wag of his fingers with that. "So, I'm here. I guess you're a preferred customer, though." A short smile ticks at his lips. "You're not an eccentric, are you?"


"Mmhm. Lead singer of Dumnonia. They're a Celtic rock band." Corrie is in the process of putting her pen away, instead she pulls out one of her business cards and jots the band name down on the back of it, offering it out to him. "I doubt he's actually been here though. He's a bit of an odd duck, my Tristan, but he does know quite a bit."

It's not that what he's trying for is lost on her. It's just that she's not willing to give any further information.

"Glynis likely has one of the best shops in the city. Though I do suppose that all depends on what you are looking for." The pen is finally dropped back into her handbag and she shrugs. "As I said, she's a family friend." She actually used to babysit quite a few of the Kavanaugh girls.


The card is pinched carefully between Wade's fingers, brought up to his nose to examine. "Corrie Kavanaugh." The name is read off, flicker of pale eyes up at the woman. A nod after, and a polite smile. "Wade Sumter." And then the card is tucked away, folded into a pocket.

"You don't know anything about the folklore, do you? Since your man is busy, and we don't generally need things quite as festive as a band in my line of work." A thin thread of humor in that. "Not until the very end, anyway."


"My man?"

Corrie cannot help the wide grin that spreads upon her lips, or the laughter that bubbles up. "Hardly. I've known him for too bloody long to be involved with him." At least at this point in the game. "He's my best mate is all. I represent the band in a public relations sense, and partial manager until they got a contract."

While her eyes have not yet looked up at the man, she considers the books. "A little more than the average would, but I'm far from being a scholar on Celtic histories. What was it you were looking to find out?"


"Ah." A lopsided grin in return. "Makes sense, then. The longer you know someone the more intolerable they become." It's a joke, probably. At least, it brings a little puff of laughter to the man's lips.

"Spirits." He clarifies soon enough, arcs the book a few inches higher into the air. "Dead people. Sluagh, maybe." Dead sinners, ghosts who steal souls on their deathbed. Or, so it goes. "I'm narrowing it down a bit. Monsters is more or less the broad category."


"Sluagh?" Corrie furrows her brow a bit, falling silent as she contemplates the information. "Interested in ghosts?"

Sluagh, though, aren't just ghosts. They're more like very destructive poltergeists. The redhead frowns, and glances at the book. "Best to keep West-facing windows closed if that's what you're looking at. They steal the souls of the innocent in flocks and droves, apparently. Why that particular topic?"


"West facing?" Probably something he hadn't read that part quite yet. There's just a small nod, the impression that it's been filed away for later use. "I'm interested." He settles on that. "I like to keep abreast of things that might sneak into my house and steal my metaphysical body parts."

A longer pause, and he adds, "But. You do know a little, right? You might be able to help with a few questions?" Pause. "When there's time."


"West facing," Corrie replies easily enough. There is another glance at the books, and then a small clearing of her throat. "Afraid of the wee things that go bump in the night?" That seems to amuse her a great deal. To think of someone close to her age that is afraid of ghosts.

"I know a little. I can tell you what those symbols mean, perhaps a bit about the Bansidhe… the fae, a few of the deities in their polytheistic pantheon." Glancing at a clock on the back wall, she ponders the time. "I've got to meet a client at half past the hour, though you've got my number if you ever want to go for tea and a chat."


"And I have to keep waiting. I might stamp my foot a bit and make impatient noises, I haven't decided." The words are absent, another glimpse down at the text, back up at Corrie again. When he does focus there's a broader smile, like he's sharing a joke. "It's good to be afraid." Fingers pinch to indicate just a tiny amount. "Just a little."

"For tea." He agrees after a second more, takes a smooth step further back among the books. "I'll give you a call. Nice meeting you, Ms. Kavanaugh."


"Bollocks. It's not good to be afraid of anything." Then why isn't she bothering to look the man in the eyes? Seems someone may have her own particular brand of fears.

"You may want a copy of the Dictionary of Celtic Myth and Legend," Corrie offers as an afterthought. "If nothing else, it'll be quite definitive with the extrapolations on the myths. I've seen a copy laying around Tristan's flat." It obviously must be an important book if she recalls seeing it. "I wish you luck with the clerk. I've no doubt that those two girls will be keeping the young woman busy for quite a while."

There is a glance at the register, then around the shop once more. "Suppose it won't hurt a thing if I ring you through."

She'll just add a bit on the note to Glynis about it so that she can double-check the register later.

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