Welcome to Enchantments

My powder-blue International Harvester rumbles along the two-lane highway beneath a canopy of pine trees. Sunlight flashes through the branches in long golden bands. Normally I enjoy drives like this. Give me an open road, a cup of gas-station coffee, and nowhere to be for a few hours and I am perfectly content.

Today, however, I keep glancing at the ridiculous piece of paper sitting on the passenger seat for free salon makeover. I still cannot believe I am considering this. The cream-colored certificate sits atop the envelope it arrived in, both of them looking far too expensive for junk mail.

Gold script curls across the page. Congratulations! You have won a complimentary styling package. I snort. "Yeah, right." The truck growls over a pothole. The thing should have gone straight into the trash.

Instead it somehow survived three days on my dashboard. Then another day on the dinette table inside the Airstream. Then another on the kitchen counter. Now here I am driving toward the address. I tell myself it is curiosity, or maybe boredom. Maybe the fact that I have spent the last several weeks sleeping in campgrounds and hunting monsters.

Maybe a small part of me simply wants to feel normal for a couple of hours. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. That ship sailed a long time ago. I glance into the rearview mirror and study the woman staring back at me. Dark curls spill over the collar of my caramel leather jacket, unruly from too many long nights.

My icy blue eyes look tired, though not nearly as tired as they probably should after everything that has happened lately. The face looking back at me is familiar. There is a little road dust on my cheeks and a faint shadow beneath my eyes from another restless night. A few stubborn split ends frame my face, and my hair could definitely use some attention.

The past few months have been busy. Monster hunting, detective work, and staying alive tend to take priority over salon appointments. I tilt my head slightly, examining the damage. Honestly, it could be worse. I have walked away from haunted churches, serial killers, cultists, and things that should not exist. A few split ends are hardly a crisis.

Still, there is something appealing about the idea of spending a few hours doing something normal for a change. No mysteries. No corpses. No ancient evil lurking in a basement somewhere. Just a haircut, a little pampering, and a brief reminder that I am allowed to be a woman instead of a survivor every second of every day.

The thought almost makes me laugh. Almost. I roll my eyes.."One haircut. Maybe a manicure. Then we go back to punching werewolves.".The truck continues down the road. A few miles later the trees begin to thin. The GPS guides me toward the edge of a small town I have never heard of before. The businesses become stranger the farther I drive.

Old brick storefronts line both sides of the street as I roll slowly through town. Antique shops crowd the corners, their dusty display windows filled with clocks, porcelain dolls, and furniture older than most states. A bookstore sits halfway down the block with faded lettering on the glass and enough dust on the windows to make it look abandoned.

Next door, a florist has turned the sidewalk into a riot of color, flowers spilling from wooden planters and hanging baskets. A little farther along, a tea room occupies a converted Victorian house, complete with lace curtains and a hand-painted sign swaying gently in the breeze. The entire town feels oddly untouched by time, as though it exists a few decades removed from the rest of the world.

It is charming in the way old places often are, which is exactly why every instinct I possess tells me something is probably wrong with it. The kind of place that feels frozen twenty years behind the rest of the world. Then I see it, Enchantments Salon and Spa..The building stands at the end of the block beneath an ornate wrought-iron sign.

It looks less like a salon and more like a Victorian mansion someone converted into a business. Flower boxes overflow with crimson blossoms. A painted sign hangs above the entrance. The place is beautiful. .I pull into a parking space across the street and kill the engine.

Silence settles over the cab. The certificate waits on the passenger seat. The salon waits across the road. For a moment I consider putting the truck back into gear, driving away, and never thinking about this place again.

Instead I grab the envelope. "You're being paranoid," I tell myself. I step out of the truck. The afternoon air is warm. My boots strike the pavement as I cross the street. The bell above the salon door jingles softly when I push it open. Warm air washes over me, smelling of lavender, vanilla and something floral I cannot identify.

Polished wood gleams beneath the lights. Rows of mirrors stretch along the walls. Everything looks expensive. A woman behind the front desk smiles as I enter. "Miss James?" I stop. My stomach tightens. I never told anyone I was coming. The woman's smile widens. "Welcome to Enchantments."