Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Voodoo Dolls 2

   Amy waved goodbye to Carla as the young, short goth-girl bounced out the
doorway of the strange curio store, The Hypnotic Shoppe.  Carla was still
in her zip up exercise suit from working out at the college.  Her short
blonde hair was dark with a recent shower, and the overpowering fragrance
of peach wafted from her.  She stood at the counter by the door, cursing as
she yanked on the black high-back stool.  A foot had lodged in a small hole
in the flooring and with a sudden release, Carla and stool hit the back
wall.

   "Shit," Carla exclaimed while brushing her hair back over her ears.  She
plopped the stool by the front window, and the cash register.  She liked to
watch people walk down the street, or drive along.  People in cars seem
ignorant of being watched, and sometimes put on a show.  Some curse their
bosses, some rehears the breaking up of their relationships, and some laugh
or sing along to the radio.  If she had to sit in this quiet, strange shop
from six to eleven in the evening, she may as well be entertained.

   Sauntering up the road, from the left, came Wendy.  Slowly stepping with
an exaggerated swagger, swinging her small clutch purse, she seemed to be
prowling.  She met everyone's gaze, talked to everyone she passed.  Her
usual bounce and bop were gone, now replaced with the practiced street walk
of a professional streetwalker.  Her ponytail blew around in the wind,
whipping at Wendy's burgundy button up shirt and white corduroy skirt. 
Carla found herself watching in part shock, part awe, as her friend and
presently her boss, stepped up to the heavy wooden door of her place.

   She tugged with one hand, but the swollen old door didn't budge, nor
ever had to such a half-hearted attempt.  Wendy tossed her head back into
the wind and laughed.  Then with both hands she jolted the door open, bells
on the doorknob jangling.  She swung her small blue and pink clutch into
the store first, then stepped up onto the old wood planking with a long
slow approach, letting her skirt settle high onto her thigh before stepping
in.

   "Wendy are you insane?  What the Hell's gotten into you?  You're gonna
get arrested for walking like that!" Carla laughed.  Wendy usually gave
Carla the voice of reason routine, now it was reversed, and it didn't feel
right to the coarse and streetwise Carla.

   "When you got dees' body, you gotta walk like you own de world ain't dat
so, um,, Carla?" Wendy posed with her hands on her hips, hip kinked to the
left.  Her eyes narrowed slightly, and then opened with a predatory gaze.
The strangely acting Wendy stepped slowly around the counter filled with
old junk amulets, dozens of copper and glass necklaces, and Celtic rings in
silver.  She ran her left index finger along the counter top as if she had
never done it before.

   "You got secret thoughts `bout you an' me.  Secret spicy thoughts you
almos' tol' her once, at dat college theater party, din't you, girl?"
Wendy's wrinkled burgundy shirt was four inches from Carla's zip up Adidas
jacket.  Wendy leaned against the counter on her left, and placed her right
hand on her own hip.  Her eyes wandered over her own chest, skirt, legs,
and back up Carla's.  She smiled knowingly and wrinkled her nose with a
smile.

   "What's gotten into you,, what do you mean?" Carla blushed but didn't
move, as she stood in front of the stool.

   "Momma Wendy knows dees tings." She said in a quiet bedroom voice.

   The door burst open and ushered by the stiff cool breeze, in stepped the
figure of an affluent business woman, in a long black leather and mink
coat. Carla hopped quickly up into the stool, as the customer approached
the counter.  Carla looked down, averting her eyes in the hopes the
customer wouldn't notice her deep mottled blush.  Carla's eyebrows wrinkled
as she noticed a small necklace.  Made of black beads, it had small brass
discs every couple inches and a large brass disk as the centerpiece, with a
green stone centered in it.  The green stone glowed powerfully, as Wendy's
corduroy-covered thighs pressed against the glass cabinet, less than an
inch from it.

   "Wendy, hi I'm Charlotte, we spoke on the phone.  Those episodes are
getting worse, and I understand you are familiar with someone who may be
responsible?" She seemed to be accusing, but simultaneously pleading for
help.  A strange, amused smile crept over the young ballet tutor.

   "Come in chil', make you some tea.  Let's see wat ol' Wendy can do for
you."