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Entering the glass shop on a whim, Kat found herself in a
kaleidoscope. A full day's worth of sunlight seemed to focus through the
shop's front window and explode as it ricocheted off hundreds of pieces
of blown glass in every conceivable color: deep ocean blues, fire engine
reds, and royal purples to make an emperor envious; spring-grass
greens, lemon-drop yellows, and oranges brighter than any orange in any
fruit stand. Glass bottles, vases, and spheres balanced on shelves. They
hung suspended from the ceiling. They covered every inch of the
hardwood floor save a winding pathway down the middle.
Kat flicked her head from side to side to clear it of the dizzying
spectrum and took a few steps down the glass-edged path. She stepped
cautiously, careful of her balance, browsing the shelves and floor as she
went. Strange, none of the containers were open. Swirling curlicues of
clear glass sealed every opening.
Looking closer, she treasure-hunted for the perfect piece. But every
delicate vessel seemed equally lovely until a shimmer of sunlight glanced
off a violet-tinged yellow bud vase. Its smooth round bottom flowed into
an elegant neck topped by an outward sweep like a flower opening.
Tentatively, she reached out to touch it.
An age-roughened voice interrupted her reverie, demanding, "You
want to buy that one?"
Her hand jerked and almost knocked the vase and several adjacent
spheres to the floor. Frowning at the intrusion that had caused her
reaction, she turned toward it. The voice became no more appealing
when she identified its source: a tiny, hunched old man with five or six
coarse white hairs combed over his speckled scalp and both ears and
nose enough for two his size.
"Oh!" Kat took an involuntary backward step, forgetting for a
moment to be careful. Only luck kept her from crushing something. Her
instant aversion to the man made her sheepish, apologetic. "I'm just
looking," she said. "Did you make them?"
"Don't take fingers to look," he grumped before he answered her
question. He chewed his lips with teeth too big for his mouth and too
white and even to be his own. "Guess I had something to do with it."
"They're beautiful."
"Women like 'em. Too dainty for my likes."
Some people you just couldn't be nice to. Kat turned her back on
the old man and looked more closely at the buttercup yellow slip of glass,
the way the light reflected in iridescent purple glints. Her hand lifted
again, her fingertips aching to hold it, to see if it was as butterfly-light as
it looked. But she tilted her head at the old man before she reached.
"I can pick it up to look at, can't I?" she asked.
"That one's $500." He leered the warning at her. "You still want to,
go ahead."
Five hundred dollars. Ridiculous. She should go. She straightened
her shoulders and made up her mind to do just that. But she couldn't
quite convince her feet to move.
"'Course," the man continued, "That includes the wish."
That tickled her imagination, turned her head. Another look at
the vase did the rest. She gave into temptation and gently lifted it from
the shelf. It weighed no more than a raindrop and was just as cold. She
moved it to and fro, holding it up to the window, making the colors
flicker.
"Each one holds a wish," the man said. Since she'd picked it up in
spite of the price, he'd turned wheedling, obviously thinking to make a
big sale.
But wishes?
She looked up from the vase and met the man's watery eyes. "I'm
sorry. I don't understand."
"I make the glass. My . . . lady friend makes the wishes. Wishes
that'll come true, if you let 'em out."
The vase had seemed empty, but she held it up to the light again
and squinted, thinking maybe there was a slip of paper inside, like a
fortune cookie.
"I don't see anything." Kat shook the vase, gently, but she didn't
hear anything, either.
He made an impolite sound. "Can't see wishes. Or hear 'em."
"Then how do you know it's there?" Her fingers had strayed to the
curled glass stopper filling the vase. It didn't budge.
"Won't open," he said. "Melted on, glass to glass. You have to break
it to get the wish out."
The thought of breaking something so beautiful made her heart
shiver.
"But what's the wish for?" Not that there was such a thing as a
wish in a bottle, a wish that could come true.
"Money, love, success, happiness, such as that, mostly." His
oversized teeth clacked as he spoke.
"Mostly. But not all?"
"Sometimes my lady friend, she's not in as good a mood as other
times. I've seen her wish for illness, for loneliness, for death. But mostly
it's the other. Not many bad ones."
"But how do you know? If they all look empty?" She peered into the
vase again, holding it only a few inches from her eyes.
The man chuckled, a disreputable sound. "You don't. You get what
you get, and if you don't want to know, you just keep the glass whole."
How could such a beautiful, delicate thing, the colors of childhood
sunshine and grape Kool-aid, hold anything evil? Not that she would ever
be willing to destroy it to find out. Of course not.
Still, it made you wonder. What might be in there?
"Would you take $400?" she asked. These little shops were always
willing to bargain.
"Nope. But if you have cash I'd take $450."
She shook her head. "How about a check?"
"Then it's $475."
One last time she considered the vase, wondered if she were crazy
to be spending so much, and convinced herself it was just too beautiful
to pass up. It had nothing to do with the wish. Really.
"Who do I make the check out to?"
"My lady friend handles the accounts. Just make it out to
Pandora."
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