[š A shimmer in the air, like heat waves rising from summer pavement, and words begin to formā¦]
Time moves differently in the Deli. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Never the same for each person, even if they’re standing on the same marble tile.
Some say it’s the centuries of spells laid into the foundations, the generations of wizards and sorcerers, the witches, djinns and hedge mages, the demigods and legendaries leaving little pieces of themselves behind with every footfall across the hallowed ground. Others, that the ancient powers who made this place, who laid the spells along with the foundations, the wards with the mortar, the blessings with the beams, used the last of their godly powers to make the place live. Others still, that it was an accident, that the warp is the leftover of some terrible battle, a tear in the forces of nature. That those who venture behind the counters and into the storerooms beyond the great kitchen, are lost in that tear. That only they know the secrets hidden in the bricks and mortar.
The only truth is that the Deli exists. Its tiny, glass-fronted store never where you expect it, but always where you need it. On a busy city street, in the darkest corner of the meanest neighbourhood, buried in a cliff-face, hidden under a tent. On a boat. Under the sea. The Deli finds you, wherever you are, the rich scent of sausage, honeyed baklava, spiced terrine or warm quiche calling to you from between Christmas shoppers, down alleys or through war-zones. Whatever smell reminds you the most of home, safety or revenge, reaches out and hooks itself in your nose and pulls you along.
You can’t escape it even if you know what it is, what it wants, or what you think it wants.
No one’s ever been able to figure that out eitherāwhat the Deli wantsāanother mystery hidden in the grey-white marble floors, the shiny counter tops and glittering refrigerator fronts. All the scholars can agree on is that it does want something, that there is some grand design, a rhyme and reason to the people it draws through its doors.
[š The teal eye blinks slowly, knowingly. ‘You see? The Deli and Iā¦ we understand each other. Places between places, keepers of connectionsā¦ though I am far more charming, of course. And less obsessed with food.’]
*muffled author sounds of protest*
[š ‘Oh hush, you. You’ll tell them more about the Deli soon enough. For now, let them wonderā¦ And you, reader, if you want to discover more about the Deli, you’ll need Short Bits Volume 5.’]