Max couldn't shake the lingering sensation of the dream as he locked the shop door behind him. Three times he checked the deadbolt, his fingers still tingling with that strange pearl essence. The morning sun caught his skin at odd angles, throwing off prismatic glints that nobody else seemed to notice.
He needed air. He need space to think.
The cobblestone streets of the old district were already bustling with Saturday shoppers by the time he arrived. Normally, Max blended into any crowd. Average height, even with his athletic body could take down man on his size, but still his unremarkable brown hair, the kind of face people forgot seconds after meeting him.
But today, something felt different.
A woman carrying flowers glanced up as he passed, her sentence to her friend trailing off mid-word. Her eyes tracked him longer than normal.
Max tugged his collar higher, uncomfortable. Must be something on my face. He thoughts.
At the produce stand, the elderly vendor's weathered hands trembled slightly as she counted his change. Her fingertips lingered against his palm during the exchange.
"Are you wearing cologne, young man?" she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"No, I—" Max began, but she leaned closer, inhaling deeply.
"It reminds me of something..." Her eyes grew distant. "The summer I met my Giuseppe. The beach at midnight."
Max backed away, mumbling thanks. The woman stood frozen, lost in memory, as the customer behind him cleared his throat impatiently.
Something was happening. Something connected to last night.
He caught his reflection in a shop window. Outwardly, he looked the same. The same faded blue t-shirt, same worn jeans. But his skin carried that subtle luminosity, as though he'd been dusted with the finest mother-of-pearl powder. And now that he was paying attention, the air around him seemed to shimmer slightly, like heat rising from summer pavement.
Three women at the café terrace turned their heads in unison as he passed. One spilled her coffee.
Max quickened his pace, cutting through the crowded center of the market. A busker's melodic guitar notes followed him, somehow sounding more haunting, more resonant in his wake. The musician's eyes widened as Max passed, his fingers faltering on the strings.
"Hey! Excuse me!" A breathy female voice called from behind.
Max kept walking, pretending not to hear.
"Wait, please!"
A hand caught his elbow. Max turned reluctantly to face a young woman. Nineteen or maybe early twenty, dressed in a carefully casual outfit that screamed carefully crafted image. Her perfect makeup couldn't hide the tremble in her lip or the flush spreading across her face.
"I'm sorry, but..." Her voice hitched as she met his eyes. Her hand, still gripping his arm, shook visibly. "I've never done this before. My manager would kill me if she knew I was talking to a stranger, but—"
Max recognized her now from billboard advertisements. One of those trainee idols from the entertainment agency downtown.
"Are you okay?" he asked, trying to gently disengage.
"I don't know." She swayed slightly, pupils dilated. "What is that scent? It's like... like summer rain and first kisses and something I can't—" Her knees buckled.
Max caught her before she hit the ground. People were staring now. A small crowd gathered as the young woman clutched his shirt, trembling against him.
"Someone call an ambulance!" a voice shouted.
"No, I'm fine," the girl murmured, pressing her face against his chest. "Just dizzy. Just want to stay here forever."
Panic flared in Max's chest. This wasn't normal. He carefully transferred the girl to a concerned shopkeeper who'd rushed over, mumbling apologies and backing away.
An older woman with silver-streaked hair watched the commotion from several feet away. As Max turned to leave, their eyes met. Her face flushed deep crimson. She took a step forward and promptly tripped over nothing, sprawling onto the cobblestones.
Max lurched toward her instinctively to help, but a man beside her waved him off with a suspicious glare. "My wife's fine. Move along."
The woman wasn't looking at her husband. She was staring at Max with the stunned expression of someone seeing a ghost, or a miracle.
Max just noticed every strange things today. He silently whisper to himself. It's me. It's coming from me.
Max broke into a run, shoving through the crowded market. Behind him, he heard gasps, whispers, the clatter of dropped items. The scent, or whatever impossible fragrance the goddess had left on him was growing stronger, leaking from his pores with every accelerated heartbeat.
By the time he reached the shop, sweat beaded his forehead. He fumbled with the keys, hands shaking so badly he dropped them twice. Inside, he slammed the door and threw the deadbolt, then sagged against it, breathing hard.
"What's happening to me?" he whispered to the empty shop.
The bell above the door chimed softly, though nothing had touched it. The glass display cases vibrated, sending musical tingles through the quiet space. In the backroom, bottles clinked against each other in harmonic resonance.
"You carry me now." A soothing female voice whispered.
Max whirled around. The whisper seemed to come from everywhere at once. From the ancient floorboards beneath his feet, from the walls, from inside his own skull.
The second whisper is been heard. "Part of me lives within you now, mortal. My essence mingles with yours."
He stumbled to the workbench where the broken ambergris still lay. It appeared ordinary now, just a waxy grayish lump. But when he touched it, his fingertips sank into the surface as though it were mercury.
Max jerked back with a yelp. The substance clung to his fingers, stretching like candy. Where it had touched him, his skin glowed brighter, the pearlescent shine intensifying.
"Perfume begins with the body," the Goddess whispered. "What you create now will carry power. My power."
Max's heart hammered against his ribs. "I haven't agreed to anything."
Laughter rippled through the shop, sending bottles dancing across shelves. "You breathed me in. You've already begun."
The tremor in his hands wouldn't stop. He grabbed a small mirror from the shelf, examined his reflection. His eyes… had they always been that shade? The brown seemed deeper, with flecks of something that caught the light when he moved.
"What do you want from me?" he demanded.
"What I've always wanted from your family. Partnership. Devotion. Creation."
The air thickened around him, heavy with salt and possibilities. Max closed his eyes, remembering his mother bent over this same workbench, explaining how true perfume wasn't just chemistry, it was alchemy. Magic. The transformation of essence into emotion.
"My mother knew, didn't she?" he whispered.
"She was my favorite," the voice confirmed, tinged with something like affection. "She created scents that could heal broken hearts, spark forgotten memories, kindle desire in the coldest souls."
Max opened his eyes. "And the debt? The shop? If I agree, what happens?"
A breeze ruffled his hair, though all windows were closed. "Customers will come. They won't understand why they're drawn here, only that they must have what you create. Your hands now hold the power to bottle dreams, memories, desire itself."
The workbench before him seemed to glow with potential. The dozens of essential oils, the droppers and beakers, the aging bottles of rare extracts his mother had collected, all of it thrummed with new meaning.
"But remember the covenant," the voice warned, growing fainter. "One drop of blood. One bottle of essence. Once a year."
Max stared at his reflection once more. The strange luminosity seemed to pulse with his heartbeat.
"And if I refuse?"
Silence answered him. Then, softly: "You already wear my mark. You've breathed my essence. The choice was made the moment you broke the ambergris."
The bell above the door chimed again, and this time, Max knew it wasn't the goddess.
Someone had found him.