It sits at the back of a quiet little courtyard garden.
Tucked away from the gaudier tourists traps that litter the French Quarter, drowning everything in their neon wash of lights. It is a jewel cached behind the sober walls of the townhouses, and it's half hidden facade is only enhanced by the allure of a flash green and the red riotous plants, a brick fountain trickling with it's endless spout of cool water. There’s very little to mark the building’s weathered face, no sign boasting of miracles and hexes, curses to destroy your enemies and potions to bind your true love. In fact, if one blinked they’d miss the wooden sign in the window that read:
The Oak and The Stag:
Proprietor: Elizabeth Solieux- de La Morandière
Open.
The interior boasts a breath of dim coolness, accompanied with a delicate tinkle of chimes when the door opens. The brick pavers at the threshold gives way to glossy wood floors. There’s tidy shelves of books sagging into each other from the cardinal corners, and more plants make their home in the spaces between. There are obligatory candles, incenses and oils. There’s a glass curio cabinet with crystals and tarot decks. But the feel...is less an occult shop as it is your daft old Auntie May’s parlor.
The girl behind the counter is...just that. A girl. Tawny skinned like many of the locals, and dark haired. A frail bird of a creature who looked up and smiled.
“Bienvenue, and namaste. How may I help you?”