Chapter Three
“You are leaving the office early today, and not coming back until tomorrow after ten o’clock,” Sacha announces from in front of my desk.
I struggle to focus my strained eyes on the sandy-blonde haired nonconformist. “What?” I stare at the pile of paperwork on my desk. “You see that, right?”
“We took a vote. It’s two to one, you lose,” Fel adds in a singsong voice.
I spin in my office chair to face Fel. “What is this? My office mates plotting against me?”
Sacha spins my chair back around to face her. “Yes, because you’re stubborn, obviously exhausted, and in serious need of some fresh air. And maybe,” she gasps, “a little fun.”
I cross my arms over my chest, resisting her charm. Half a day off puts me even further behind. “I don’t blame you for being sick of me. I’ve been frazzled recently. There’s a lot on my plate at the moment, and it’s got me feeling snowed.”
“All the more reason to take better care of yourself,” Fel says.
“Let’s go. We’ll hit up New Orleans. How about Café Du Monde, my treat, and your choice of restaurant for dinner,” Sacha urges.
The thought of the puff pastries coated in a layer of powdered sugar makes my mouth water. I can smell the river water, and taste Acme Oyster Company and pralines. Stress eating is an indulgence I can get down with if we’re heading into the city.
“Not even you can resist the lure of chicory coffee and beignets.” Sacha points at me.
My stomach growls loud enough for everyone in the office to hear. Betrayed by my own body.
“Fine,” I concede. The girls cheer, and I laugh. “What would I do without you two?”
“Starve, and possibly harm someone while hangry,” Fel replies sweetly without missing a beat.
“Have I been that big of a witch without a W?” I ask. They exchange a look that makes me cringe. “I’m sorry, you guys.”
“Hey, it happens to all of us. Just let me handle all this.” Fel scoots her chair over, grabs the paperwork in front of me, and wheels back “You two enjoy a day out of the office.”
I throw my hands up. “I surrender.”
“Quickly, Sacha, take her before she changes her mind.” Fel shoos us away with her hand.
“I don’t know if I’m flattered because you care so much, or I’m insulted by how badly you want me out of the office,” I mumble as I gather my things and rise to follow Sacha outside.
“The first one,” Fel cries with a waggle of her fingers.
I climb into the passenger of the aquamarine beast with Sacha and lean back in the seat. With the window down, and the wind blowing through my multi-colored sunset red, orange, and blonde hair, I feel free. I’ve gotten stagnate. I let the weight of the tasks coming down the pipeline toward me pin me in place. I massage my scalp as I inhale the sweet Bayou air.
“Feeling better already, aren’t you?” Sacha asks.
“I didn’t realize how long I’d been cooped up in the office, or some other stuffy room learning this or that. I’ve missed the sun more than I can express.” The rays beam down on my face, and I soak them up like a flower.
“Glad I can be of service.”
“How are you, Sach? I know I’ve been a horrible friend recently. These coronations have me wrapped up tighter than a mummy.”
“You haven’t missed much.” She pauses. “Though, there’s been a recent development on the family front.”
“Good things?” I ask carefully.
“You know, I’m not sure yet. My mom came to the house the other day, totally unannounced, which is very bizarre for her. You know how she is about punctuality and politeness. I think maybe she was afraid I’d tell her not to come if she called and asked me.”
I turn my body toward her. “I bet you’re right. What did your mom say?”
“That she missed me, and she’d spoken with my father. Do you believe that? For once in her life, she stood up for me.” I can hear the amazement in her voice. That was a huge step for her mother.
My heart swells with happiness for my friend. About damn time, too. The Morels are a patriarchal family. Her father calls the shots, and her mother never goes against his final rulings.
“He didn’t admit to any wrong doing on his part, but he agreed that perhaps he’d been hasty and heavy-handed with his response to my refusal of the engagement. Because, of course, disowning me is just a little over the top.” She scowls. “He went so far as to say an unhappy match would hinder the magic of both husband and wife.”
“Coming from your father, that’s practically a heartfelt apology,” I say drolly. The proud, arrogant man was a throwback to a time when men ruled the world and their family without question.
“I know, right? He even asked me to join them for the family holiday. Well, technically Mom did, but you know he had to okay it.”
She’s trying to downplay her excitement, but it’s seeping through every word she speaks. I understand her reason for walking away from her family when they throw down the ultimatum. Arranged marriages are archaic and cruel, and Sacha isn’t built to settle down and be solely a homemaker. Which is exactly what her ex-future husband had been looking for. The whole thing was a mistake. This girl finds adventure wherever she goes. I can’t see her ever fully giving that up. Despite the bad call on her father’s part. Her family had always been close-knit. The separation, while necessary, was hard on her.
“I think you’ve earned your father’s respect.”
Her hands clutch the wheel tighter. “After all this time, do you even think it’s possible? I feel like my entire life has been a contest where I vied desperately for his attention and approval. Him giving either is such a foreign concept at this point, I can’t imagine it.”
“What you did, walking away from your home and inheritance, took guts, Sach. More than most people have. Even if he never says it to your face, trust me he knows, and admires it.”
She flashes a crooked smile. “Thanks, Lou.”
“Anytime.”
“Do you think it’s a trap?”
“The holiday? No. I mean, it’s not as if he can ambush you into a surprise wedding. I think they missed you as much as you missed them, and everyone raised hell until your father figured out a way to relent without losing face.”
She chuckles. “Now there’s an image. All of them giving Dad shit over me. I wish I’d been there to see it.”
“What did you tell your mom about the holiday?”
“That’d I’d think about it, but I needed to check in with my boss.”
I smirk. “I think you should do it, Sach. Family is important. We fight and disagree, but it doesn’t change the connection between us.”
“You’re right. I’m just nervous. After being on my own for a year, I’m not the same woman, and I don’t know how they’re going to react to this version of me.”
“Well, for the record, I love every version of you, but this incarnation is my favorite to date because for the first time you’re truly happy.”
“I won’t go back to being that person constantly concerned about their approval and bound to their rules.”
“Nor should you.”
She gives a shaky laugh. “I needed to hear that. For the first time last year, I felt like I could breathe. I always dreamt of tasting freedom. I figured short of leaving everything I knew behind I would never discover it. They almost brainwash us from the start to follow the rules with the family duty, proper manners, and traditions. There’s beauty and darkness in that.”
“I’ll always be straight with you. Even when it’s not what you want to hear.”
“Can you spare me for two weeks, though?” Worry creeps into her tone.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it work. This is important.”
“Thank you, Lou.”
“Anytime.”
“Now that you’re caught up with me, how are you really? I know you’re tired, but that’s all physical.”
“Oh, we’re diving deep, huh?”
“It’s a nice road trip. We may as well. If you get to check up on my headspace it’s only fair I do the same.”
I sigh. “I don’t know how to answer that question honestly. My emotions are all across the board. Stress doesn’t look pretty on me, and switching gears is a tough job when you’re dealing with two vastly dissimilar groups of people. I don’t want to embarrass anyone or disappoint, and it’s been one test after another one since the announcement went out that I’d be stepping up.”
“I can imagine. What you’re doing is unprecedented. People are going to be jealous and petty as hell.”
“Believe me, I figured that out fast. I thought I’d be used to it dealing with the upper-class witches, but they have nothing on vampires.”
“No?”
“People like to talk about having royal blood. Some of these men and women are royal, and they don’t let anyone forget. There are so many tiny details to remember. Knowing Cristobal and the others are putting their necks on the chopping board for me doesn’t help either.”
“Why? You bring a lot of good things to the table.”
“I’m also a high-risk factor. If I offend enough people, fail to fit in, or turn off enough people, he could lose his standing. I’m not about to let that happen. So, I have to be damn near perfect for them to believe I’m not a subpar creature. Being a witch helps, but some of these vampires would make Death Eaters look like teddy bears.”
“Jesus, Lou. At least you can never doubt his love. He risked everything to be with you. It’s what we all dream about. A soul deep kind of love that you’d sacrifice everything for.” She sighs.
“Is that love?”
“What?”
“Where do you draw a line between obsession and love?”
“Are you doubting his feelings?” she questions, shocked.
“No. I think he loves me as much as he’s able to, or in his way. What concerns me is the fact that it’s not organic. Our connection is otherworldly. Did he have a choice in the matter? I’m his bondmate. Destiny picked me. The universe said I was the one for him and twined our what … souls, consciousness? No one knows. Is that romantic or a matter of chemistry and genes?” And what happens if someday I don’t live up to the hype? I toy with the edge of the seatbelt.
“You’ve thought about this often, haven’t you?”
I nod. “There are times when it’s like a record with a scratch, that won’t stop skipping in my head.” Sacha is the least judgmental person I know. I don’t have to worry about unloading my warped thoughts on her. “You’ve seen Cristobal. He’s powerful, masculine, handsome, and suave. What if I never fit into his world the way he needs me to? There’s no place for him in ours, so where does that leave us?” My mind begins to spin out of control. Once I let the cork pop off the bottle, it’s hell to shove back in.
“Has he said anything to make you feel this way?” Her voice grows icy.
“No. Cristobal doesn’t have to. All our biggest arguments stem from our different ways of thinking. He can’t understand where I’m coming from, and I feel the same way about him.”
“No couple is perfect, Lou.”
“No, but there are times when I understand that we are two different species. And if I push myself to become more like him or the bond changes me, then who am I? What am I?” I’m speaking more to myself, but it feels good to purge.
“Have you talked to him about this, Lou?”
“With all my spare time? No.”
“You can’t keep this bottled up.”
“No, I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.”
“I don’t prescribe to that malarkey. You deserve to be happy.”
“I am. It’s just …” My lower lip trembles. “When I squint, I’m not sure how much I like the picture I’m painted in.”
Reaching across the console, she grabs my hand. “I know you can’t get perspective because you’re in the midst, so let me remind you. You are Louella Heloise Esçhete. My bad ass, loyal, talented, beautiful, and let’s not leave out powerful, best friend. If you weren’t in this one-hundred percent, you wouldn’t have agreed to acknowledge the bond. You left for years, Lou. So, you can say there were other options. You explored them. They didn’t fulfill you. You chose him. That’s important to remember.”
Her words make me smile. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Damn straight. I remember it clearly because it made the elders catch the vapors, your Mémé cackle, and single girls everywhere cry.”
“You are so full of it.” I laugh.
“Hey. I’m sure that is a legitimate story.”
The sour mood lifted, we turn on the 90s station and sing our hearts out the rest of the way.
***
We lapse into silence as she weaves her way through the city traffic and manages to snag a decent parking space.
Out on the sidewalk, my eyes drink in the city. The old buildings possess a rugged charm, and the clusters of people are rich and diverse. From smartly dressed businessmen and women, to eccentrically clothed artists selling paper and performers, the streets are teeming with life. Bright splashes of purple, gold, and green catch my eyes as the city displays its colors proudly. Even the tourists have a charm of their own with their wide-eyed wonder and cameras at the ready. We travel alongside them, catching their contagious enthusiasm, as we view the city with fresh eyes again. I smell Café Du Monde long before I see it. We join the lengthy line of people waiting for their fix and grab a table out front. The classic green umbrella makes me smile and blocks the wicked sun from my face.
“Seeing as how we have the rest of the day to ourselves, are you up for helping me with a little project?”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?” Sacha asks as they deliver our pile of beignets.
“I’m ready for a new hair color. I need to shake things up.” And be in control of something for once.
“What color are you thinking?”
“Pink. I figure it’s about time I mark something off my bucket list and freak out all the uptight elders planning my coronations.”
She barks a laugh. “Well, there’s one way to be passive aggressive.”
“To change and taking back control.” I raise my mug, and she clinks glasses with me.
They city is always lively, but it comes into its own at night. We wander the streets, hunting up treasures as the day slips its skin and night arrives in all its majestic glory. We stop to dance to a jazz band playing in the street. I’m lighter than I’ve been in months. We laugh as we link arms and continue our way back toward the car.
“Do you think you had enough oysters back there? We can always pick up a third order to go.”
“You helped me with those.”
“Just a little bit.” She holds up her thumb and index finger. We are halfway through Jackson square when I feel it. The knowing tug of power.
“Do you?”
“Yeah?” I answer, scanning the area.
“It’s her.” Sacha nods her head toward the slender woman with olive skin, dark hair, and a simple black dress. Seated in a red fold-out chair, she blends in with the others pedaling their wares. There’s no fanfare, only a beautifully drawn chalkboard with a gypsy woman inside a crystal ball, and her prices.
She smiles and waves us over. Her golden bangles click together. Romani.
“Come on. This’ll be fun.” She drags me the three feet to the woman.
Doesn’t she know fate and me are on the outs due to her heavy-handed treatment of my life?
“Hello, my friends. My name is Sabrina. The spirits are anxious to speak with you tonight.”
“How much?” I ask.
“For Louella Esçhete and Sacha Morel, free of charge.”
“Job perks,” Sacha crows.
She flashes a rakish grin full of mischief and knowledge. Clairvoyants have always been a bit spooky to me. They possess a disarming quality. Because not only do they look at you like they see inside your soul, there’s a huge possibility they just might.
Sacha lowers herself into the chair first, and I sit beside her. “What kind of reading would you like?”
“I’ll let you pick,” Sacha says with a shrug.
“You like to go with the flow. Continue that habit. It will take you to places you’ve never dreamed of being before.” She pulls a worn but well-cared for set of cards from a black velvet pouch. The rectangular objects radiate a power all their own.
“These have been in my family for centuries, and they always read true. I use them for my most special clients.” She winks. Slightly faded and dappled around the edges, the beige cards have thinned over time. I hold my breath as she moves the stack forward over her black velvet table cover.
Sacha sucks in her breath when she touches the card.
“They’re saying hello,” Sabrina says. “I want you to cut the deck two times. Good. Now, shuffle the cards, keeping your mind blank, and stop when it feels right.”
Sacha nods and gingerly begins to shuffle them respectfully.
After a minute she stops. Sabrina takes the cards from her, spreads them into a fan, and holds them out. “Pick the three cards that call to you. We are going to do a simple Past, Present, and Future.”
Sacha carefully picks a card off the end, one in the middle, and one to the far right.
Sabrina places them down.
“This will tell us about your past.” She flips the card over to reveal a card with Gabriel blowing his trumpet, and two people standing under him. “The judgment card. In your past, you had a lot of self-doubts. You tried to make yourself fit into a mold you knew wasn’t meant for you. You were out of tune with who you were.” Sabrina turns the card in the center. A hooded Skelton greets us with a grim smile. “Death. The beginning of a cycle is starting. You’ve renewed your spirit and healed long-standing wounds. You know who you are now, and how to play to your strengths and avoid your weaknesses. The universe has been watching you blossom.” The final card is the lovers. Two couples embrace passionately. Sabrina grins. “The Lovers. I see a very powerful union in your future. It will frighten you at first, but trust in the universe and your strength.”
Sacha nods. She turns to me, beaming. “Looks like I’ll be getting a romance of my own soon.” Her eyes are dark diamonds in her face as they sparkle merrily under the lamp light.
“You next.”
I eye the cards nervously.
“No cards I think. Perhaps something a bit more traditional for you.”
She rummages in her purple satchel and comes out with a rectangular length of animal hide. She smooths the supple skin over her tablecloth and reaches back in to produce a red velvet bag. The contents clack together as she moves them about. They call to me.
“Yes, this is a much better fit isn’t it, my dove?”
I stare at her, stunned. She winks. “It’s been a long time since I have thrown the bones. Let’s see if they’ll cooperate. They have a lot to say to you tonight.” She lifts the bag and begins to shake. I feel like the fabrics of fate are rubbing together. She drops bones, shells, trinkets, and curios on to the mat. I swallow to moisten my dry mouth. A golden joker face stands out. She lifts it up. “There’s a trickster on the loose. He hides behind many faces and brings a great danger.” She shudders. “You have to be careful here.” She moves on to a small sterling silver figure. “The swan represents royalty. I think for you, that is self-explanatory, but if you look right beside it, you’ll find this bone which represents the masculine. You’ll rule alongside a loyal partner. Don’t doubt what he would do for you.” It’s like she listened in to our previous conversation. The weight should be lifting, but instead, I feel tossed about on a raft by the universe. “Beside that, you can see a crown, but it’s upside down. You’re conflicted. If you want to be successful, you need to find balance within yourself. Like the canine tooth, which is both dark and light. Each of us has the capacity to do good and evil. Duality is the natural way of things. Its center in this reading, so it’s very important you remember that. The bones have had their say,” she says quietly.
“Thank you, Sabrina” I reach over and squeeze her hand. There are many who feign having the gift, but she is not one of them. We leave the table after tipping her, and I muddle over the things she said.
“Do you feel better?” Sacha asks.
“I’m not sure what I feel. I think fate pretty much told me to sit my ass down, though?”
Sacha laughs. “She did, didn’t she? I always heard she was kind of a bitch.”
“I can’t wait until our roles are reversed,” I mumble.
“Me either, Lou. It’s been a lonely couple of years.”
***
I shove the sunglasses on top of my head as I walk into the mansion. It’s a welcome sight after a few days away and family togetherness. After centuries, the court has mastered the art of giving one another enough space to breathe. I inhale the scent of the bergamot and sage incense Ada constantly burns. I walk inside, greeted by the silence.
“Anyone home?” I ask.
“I’m in the parlor. Join me for tea. I received the labs,” Miles says as I walk into the living room.
“And?” I take a seat beside Miles on the dark gray settee. The silver tea set shines like a treasure. Porcelain cups and saucers with tiny tea spoons are set out, in case someone happened by.
He blinks. “Well, this is a new look?”
“Do you like it?” I run a hand through my flat-ironed, chin-length fuchsia hair.
“I adore it.” He beams. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“Sugar?”
“Two lumps, please.”
“Cream?”
“Just a dash.”
Patiently, I wait as he prepares the brew. There are certain things I’ve grown used to. When it gets real, the tea flows like water in this house. Refusal is seen as an insult, so, I always accept. Settled back with our porcelain cups, we resume our conversation.
“It raised more questions than it answered. The sample is from a human.”
“What? How is that even possible? I mean, you saw the photos from the gravesite. Is it possible there was a witch, and I missed it?”
He shakes his head. “I highly doubt it. Witches have a certain smell.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yuck.”
Miles chuckles. “Not a bad one. Simply distinct. Your magic smells sweeter and more robust, like a wine made from grapes harvested at their peak.”
“I don’t know if I’m fascinated or skeeved out, Miles.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay to be a little of both in this case.”
“I don’t doubt your information, but I’m having a hard time imagining an average Joe causing this much destruction and barely leaving behind a trail.” I cross my ankles and run over a list of reasons an everyday person would need a corpse.
“I could only assume they employed some magical assistance since I found no residue that would suggest explosives or machinery.”
“I didn’t sense any magic.” I mentally re-assess my investigation.
“Perhaps they masked it?” Miles suggests as he refills his cup.
“Nothing’s impossible, but it would take one hell of a powerful witch or maybe a Faerie, who are way too hoity-toity for that kind of dirty work.”
“A lesser Fae fairly called and enslaved wouldn’t have a choice.”
“Yes, but how many humans know how to summon a Faerie these days? And I repeat, what the hell would they want with a corpse?” I swirl the tea in my cup to keep my hands busy.
“Perhaps she was a changeling?” He arches a dark brow.
“Let’s go with your theory.” I salute him with the mug. “What good could she be to them, deceased?”
“They honor their species. Perhaps they wanted to bury her among her own people in their land?”
I wrinkle my nose. “They’re careful. If Faeries crossed over, we would never ever know.”
“Yes. Faeries are far too cunning. Unless their goal was to make mischief?” He poses his question like a query.
I shake my head. “That’d be morbid. Even for them.”
“Are you sure there was nothing was unusual about the victim?”
“Trust me, Miles. We all scoured her records, house, school, and online history. The woman should be instated to sainthood.”
“Hmmm.” He picks up a packet of Jammie Dodgers, opens the wrapper, and shakes two out for me, keeping two for himself. He knows my pension for British sweets. I take a bite of the buttery biscuit with jelly filling and hum my approval.
“Perhaps,” he pauses to chew and swallow, “they were making something?”
I cover my hand with my mouth. “What?” I ask around the cookie.
“The humans. Maybe they needed the parts for a spell or a magical weapon.”
I wash down the cookie with tea. “Short of bringing a monster made of pieced together parts to life, I’d say nay. A hand of glory requires a murder’s hand. Things of that nature tend to come from beings who exude serious darkness, so it doesn’t fit.”
“Or the opposite. Sometimes what’s needed is purity.”
“Then we’d be getting into virgin sacrifices and blood magic. She was dead already. It wouldn’t do any good to take from her.”
“And we’re at an impasse.” Miles sighs. “Perchance it was a random bout of human insanity. People don’t always have a reason for their strange and horrific actions.”
“I’d feel better about leaving it at that if I knew the how.” There’s a riddle I have no idea how even to begin to solve. How does one remove a body from a grave, cause catastrophic damage concentrated in one place, and only leave behind faint footprints and a few drops of blood? What group of people could gain power from that? Is it a cult with some whacked out initiation process?
“Did you run the DNA through the database?”
He sniffs. “Of course I did.” His words are acidic. “Whoever it is has never committed a crime … that they were caught for at any rate.”
I grunt. Another dead end. “Sorry, Miles. I want to get this figured out. I know you’re a pro at what you’re doing.”
He grants me a smile. I am forgiven. “I can tell you the person who bled is a male, more than likely Caucasian. Admittedly, I garnered more information from the prints you took. You’re looking for at least three males. In between the height of five-foot-nine-inches to six feet. They range from anywhere from one-hundred and seventy pounds, to two-hundred. I can tell you the make and model of their shoes, but to summarize two were in a pair of cheap steel-toe boots, and the other in gym shoes.”
“They don’t sound like they were very organized.”
“It wouldn’t appear so. Lucky for us, or we wouldn’t have prints or blood.”
“All we have to go by is three men, possibly tall and lean. At least one Caucasian, and all of an undetermined age?” The list of suspects that fit that description could fill a stadium.
“Indeed,” he says glumly.
“That’s broad as hell, Miles.” My shoulders slump. I feel the resolution of the case slip further away. I want to solve every case, but the truth is, a good chunk of them we can’t. I can show people how to protect themselves from further harm, but tracing the source isn’t an easy task.
“It is now. Later, after we’ve gleaned more information, there may be more we’ve missed. Forensics is a puzzle. You can only get the big picture one piece at a time. This is a patient man’s game.” He sips his tea, pinky up, and I swear he has never been more British. Right now, he’s the equivalent of a vampire Sherlock Holmes. All he needs to complete the look is a pipe, a tweed jacket, and a matching cap. My lips twitch.
“Did I say something amusing?” His puzzled expression is adorable.
“No. Promise me you’ll never change, Miles.”
“Who else could I possibly be?”
“That’s the spirit, old chap,” I say, adopting a British accent as I wink. He pinches his lips together, but the humor in his blue gaze softens his sternness. I finish my tea because to him it’d be blasphemous to do otherwise. “Thank you for looking into this for me.”
“I remain at your disposal. What do you plan to do next?” He brings the cup to his lips.
“Wait. My gut tells me this isn’t the last odd occurrence we’re going to see. Mark my words, this is too weird to be a one-off.” I pat his knee. “Thanks for the cuppa.” I set down my cup and saucer, and ignore the twinge of guilt at not taking the dishware to the sink. I’ve had enough of being berated by my family for doing what they pay good money for servants to take care of. I move toward the stairs intent on a hot bath when intuition tugs me in the opposite direction.
Retracing my footsteps, I head outside to the Moon Garden. The fragrant white blossoms of all shapes and sizes and the running water in the pond soothe me. The silence is energizing. I kick off my flats, and wiggle my toes, admiring the grass and earth beneath me. Grounded, I inhale the fresh air and exhale slowly.
This bricked-in area is a slice of paradise. A calming space to combat the chaos that exists outside the four walls. From its rounded entrance to the water lilies floating in the pond with its mini waterfall effect, and the fresh herbs surrounding the water line, it’s everything I could want in an outside magical space. The knowledge that it was built by Cristobal using the memories of me he’d gathered increases my feelings of sentimentalism. Tilting my head back, I admire the moon. Full and luminous, it calls to me.
There’s power to be gained on a night like this. My core temperature rises and my skin itches. I feel feverish. A low, inaudible hum of power travels up through the soles of my feet. I walk deeper into the garden, opening myself up to what the universe has to tell me. Warded, and spelled, this place is my sanctuary.
I sink onto the grass beside the pond, cross my legs, and inhale. I turn the issues weighing me down into smooth black stones. Mentally, I chuck them into the water and watch the ripples. Not all go so easily. I shed the worries like a snake slips an ill-fitting skin. Clearing my mind is kin to escaping a fog. After a time, I gain true clarity for the first period in days.
With the shroud of uncertainty, stress, and fear lifted, I’m free to connect properly with my surroundings. The moonlight caresses my skin, filling me with strength and calm. I lean back on my elbows, soaking up the rays like a beach bunny settling in to worship the sun. The moon is my goddess of choice, and her cooling tranquility is a blessing. A sudden wind ruffles my newly dyed pink tresses. The brisk breeze is an anomaly in the muggy weather. I sit up.
Nothing that means harm may enter this space. That doesn’t mean a curious spirit can’t. A prickly sensation climbs its way up my spine and down my arms. A lily-white feather floats down in a graceful back and forth motion before landing on my lap. I peer over my shoulder, sensing another presence at play. Hair falls on my face. I tuck the fuchsia strands behind my ears and remain still.
A gentle touch on my cheek brings my head back to the right. The air sparkles. An image flickers in and out of focus. I get the impression of a woman in a cream-colored maxi dress with two tiers of flapper-styled fringe at the bottom and along the bodice. I gain my feet as the being solidifies. Delicate beading and embroidery along the bodice and waistline create a butterfly and floral pattern.
A headband of white daisies around her forehead places her firmly in the 1930s. With her almond-shaped dark eyes, caramel colored-skin, and dark curls framing her slender, oval-shaped face, she’s familiar. I search my memory for her identity as she offers a sweet smile. Gentle waves of affection, peace, and kinship wash over me.
“Alida Esçhete.” This is Mémé’s younger sister. I remember her from old photos in the house.
The spectral nods and waves her hand toward her, signaling me over. I approach cautiously. She reaches out her hand. Energy flows through me. The lush gardens fade. My stomach dips as images spin around me like a carousel. I blink rapidly, trying to stop the polarizing effect throwing me off kilter.
I place a hand on my churning stomach as the scene around me settles. A black and white world surrounds me. Like a ghost, I watch the people move, unable to see me. This is the city of Cypress as it was in the twenties. We move at a moderate pace that allows me to see the changes time has wrought. Old-fashioned cars traverse the roads. Storefronts have large windows that house elaborate displays. Men and women are dressed as if they’re headed to a church service. We end up in a wooded area where a man and a woman stand. Despite the years, I know Mémé instantly.
“Are we not friends?” The voice and the face click. Percival?
“If that were all that lay between us, this wouldn’t be so difficult.” Mémé’s voice wavers.
“Cypress is a small town. There’ll be no avoiding each other. We must take care in public.” Percival sighs. “Tell me what you know.” His voice and his eyes are soft as he leans into her. Alida stands a few feet back, watching them. Silent, yet observant.
“Yes, you’re right. I’m here now for my family. Nothing more. We agreed distance was best.” Mémé clears her throat and holds her head high.
“Of course, family always comes first.” Percival sneers.
“Can you say your lord and his court come second?”
Percival growls. The foreign scowl makes me jerk. “No. But my people aren’t so narrow-minded.”
“We all don’t have the benefit of decades under our belt.”
Points to Mémé.
Alida clears he throat. “We’re not here for this.” Mémé and Percival turn toward her. “This is bigger than a failed romance not meant to be. People are disappearing on both sides.”
Mémé seems to deflate. “Alida’s right.”
“How can I help?” Percival asks, suddenly looking ancient as the fight leaves him.
“Do you know anything about the witches who’ve disappeared?” Mémé questions.
“No.”
“The unease in the witch community is growing. We’ve never been attacked in our hometowns before. I fear what they may do soon.”
“They think this is vamp related then?” he asks.
“It’d be the best bet.”
“If we were the ones causing this, why would our own be affected?” Percival reasons.
“Panic has never bred common sense.”
He grabs her hand. “I will investigate further and see what I can find.”
The scene fades, and we return to the garden.
“You want me to talk to them about the past, don’t you?”
Alida nods. I turn the scene over in my mind. Mémé alluded to having a crush on Percival, but what I saw was much more than that. Perhaps I don’t know my family as well as I thought. Alida was killed in the Reaping, the second wave of witch hunting; no one likes to bring it up. The scars physical, mental, and other run deep. With the ancestors are getting involved, the choice was taken from me. I need to prepare to have an uncomfortable conversation. Alida flickers out of view.
Soon.