Who We Have Become Clip One Draft One

Hesta lounged in Her chair, watching the people pass before her. They amused her, with their constant interplay of emotions and desires.

They made her jealous sometimes, too.

But that wasn't important. Really.

She sipped her coffee and eyed a young man as he hurried past, glancing at his watch. Now he was delicious. Shaggy, caramel colored hair, muscles shaping his suit jacket, and fine, worn jeans.... Mmm.

-~-

Cander could have kicked himself. How had he possibly forgotten this meeting? He never forgot things, let alone important conferences that determined the success of his current business ventures.

Where was the office anyways? Argh!

Boo-dum da daah da dum...

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, still hurrying through the mall.

"Alexander Charday speaking. How may I help you?"

"Cander!" A feminine voice squealed. "Sweetie pie! I gotsa question for you."

He just barely restrained himself from groaning aloud.

"Not now, Avalonlea." He finally spotted a discreet sign pointing to the office. He'd only be right on time, but at least he wouldn't be late.

"Are you mad at me?" The phone whined.

"No, I'm not mad, I'm busy. I'll talk to you later. Buh-bye." He clicked the phone shut and strode up to the receptionist.

"M. Charday," she acknowledged coolly. "M. Augustin will see you now."

He smiled at her as he pushed through the door next to her desk.

"Thank you, Claire. You look gorgeous today, by the way."

He heard her giggle as he turned to face his potential business partner.

"Ah, M. Charday," the frenchman greeted him, proffering his hand to shake.

"M. Augustin. Comment allez-vous? (How are you?)" Cander responded, minding his manners.

"Très bien. Et vous? (Very well. And you?)"

"Le méme chose. (The same.)"

Cander settled in a chair opposite the mall owner.

"Let's talk."

"Indeed." Cander produced a file folder from his briefcase, placing it on the desk. "Here is my proposal. You give me three hundred square feet and I will open a magick shop, bringing the wizarding community into your mall, along with traffic from other dimensions, galaxies, and magickal communities, along with your standard pagans. The shop should preferably be located nowhere near the food court, but not in a corner of the mall, either."

"Why's that?" Augustin asked.

"Because we want it to be in such a location that our customers don't have to spend forever hunting us down, but out of the way of the ignorant masses who may be offended."

The older man nodded sagely, stroking his chin.

"How will this possible offense benefit my mall?"

"The new customers my shop will be bringing in are generally wealthy people who don't mind spending the money they make on quality items. The labels you offer will appeal to them, and they will buy a lot. This increase in profits will, in turn, attract a wider variety of upscale brands to your mall."

The man hmmed and flipped open the folder, studying the products that Cander had decided to offer.

"Nothing for satanists?"

"None! Of course not!" The wizard didn't bother to keep the affront out of his tone.

"Hmm...."

"You will, of course," the young man continued, calm restored, "have to consider my offer carefully. I would be delighted were you to accept, as I chose your mall for the venture because of your fine reputation for class along with your proximity to several large non-magickal cities with large magickal populations. However, yours is not the only such establishment in this country."

"He'll take your deal, of course," a new voice answered, cold and feminine.

Cander stood, and turned slowly to face her.

"Three thousand dollars a month for space 6B. It's three spaces down from the Starbucks, and well away from either Hot Topic or Hollister. You have three months to remodel as it pleases you," the woman continued, unabashed by the businessman's scrutiny. "That is at your own expense, of course. Then the store opens. What will you call it?"

"Honest Magick," he replied, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Try Honest Living instead," she commanded. "That better captures the store's relevance to the every-day."

He nodded.

She was gorgeous, with honey for skin, tiger's eye gems for irises, and spun maple for hair. She was tall and leggy, sharp-boned and sharp-tongued. She could easily compose either nightmares or dreams.

"Merci, Hesta," Augustin's voice punctured his reverie, the testy tones sharp to the ear. "Je peux parler pour moi. (I can speak for myself.)"

"De rien. (You're welcome.)" She didn't even glance from the young Charday's gaze.

"Merci, Mlle. Augustin, M. Augustin." Cander finally spoke. "I look forward to our continued business relationship." He picked up his briefcase, shook hands with the father and then the daughter. Her hand was cold but strong in his. "Au revoir."

He left, not entirely sure what had just occurred.

-~-

Hesta watched him go, and she smiled. He was an interesting one. Observing him on a day to day basis would be a treat.

"Tu as fait ça parce que... (You did this because...)" her father supplied, resignation coloring the tone. He had long ago given up any attempt to control the woman, though it still rankled when she interfered with his business affairs.

"J'ai fait ça parce qu'il a un bon idée (I did it because he had a good idea)," she mocked, turning to face him. "And father..." she perched in the chair the visitor had just vacated. "It's okay to speak English in America."

"It's vulgar!" He snapped, tugging his beard for emphasis. "C'est impoli et penible! Mais... si vous désirez, ma fille. (It's rude and tiresome! But... if you desire, my daughter.)"

She drummed her fingers on her knee.

"What made your business instinct kick in, Danielle?" He sighed. "I mean, Hesta."

The golden girl's lips curled, though whether the resulting expression was a smile or a smirk was debatable.

"He has connections, Father. Did you see the briefcase? Corlondi leather, made and sold exclusively in Glorbixon. It's ridiculously expensive and Corlondi will only sell to the upper crust of city society. Our boy, Monsieur...?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Charday. M. Alexander Charday," the man supplied cautiously.

"Right." That smile-smirk again. "M. Charday has a briefcase made of Corlondi leather, which I should point out is near impossible to counterfeit convincingly. That makes him a member of one of Glorbixon's key families." Hesta settled back in the chair.

"Whoooo...." Augustin whistled. "Merci beaucoup. Tu es très brilliante, ma belle fille. Brilliante."

She tossed her hair, and the smile was finally obvious.

"De rien."