“I don’t know about you,” the man said with a nudge to Remy’s shoulder, “but there’s a lot of bad energy in here. Aren’t witchy shops supposed to be like, all ‘good vibes and kumbaya, my dude?’ This is definitely the opposite of that.” Witchy shops. As if the Belamour was nothing more than the tourist trap metaphysical stores that littered New Orleans. I was almost insulted.
