A puff of air escaped his chest. James smiled, his eyebrows climbing to greet a lock of hair that had settled on his forehead. “They do if you know what you’re doing.” He watched her looking at the display of crystals -- azurite, citrine, rhodochrosite, quartz -- and wondered if she was a skeptic or was hoping to stash some tiger’s eye into her pocket for personal growth.
“Don’t take that the wrong way.” He searched the items on the counter and picked up a piece of smooth, black stone, raising it between his thumb and forefinger. “A crystal’s like most things in the physical world. This rock, fire, water, a handful of dirt. You can hang it around your neck, you can put it on your nightstand, but it’s a prop until you tell it what to do.”
He gave the second floor a quick look. A rope had been stretched across the threshold, a gold-plated sign dangling from it. ’Restricted Area!’
“When you use what’s up there,” he said, “ You’re the prop.”