CHAPTER SEVEN
The safe room was pretty impressive. State of the art. It was equipped to defend against just about anything from tornadoes to body snatchers. That last part addressed Rave’s fear about astral projection, that someone could hurt her while her spirit was away from her body. I think we were probably more secure in that room than we would have been if we accidentally got locked inside Fort Knox. One thing was for sure. She took this stuff seriously.
There was a big overstuffed chair in there along with shelves of candles and curios. I sat on a cushion on the floor with my back to the wall while she sat on the chair.
“I’m going to need some clues as to where to look for your mother, Will. Give me an address. Tell me what the house looks like and what she looks like.”
“I haven’t seen her for a couple of years. So she might have changed her hair. Women do that. But she used to wear it cut to about here.” I made a motion just above my shoulder. “It’s dark brown like mine. At least it was the last time I saw her. She’s average height and weight. Mid-fifties and she hasn’t had any work done, that I know of. 47 Fig Avenue in Fairhope. It’s Sunday afternoon. So she’s probably home.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “Be right back. There’s only one rule. Don’t touch me while I’m gone.”
“What would happen?”
“I might lose the connection. And not get back.”
For some reason that raised the hairs on the back of my neck and I was sorry I’d asked her to do something dangerous for such a frivolous reason.
“Wait!” I practically yelled. “It’s not worth it. I didn’t know there was a possibility of… that.”
“Don’t worry, Will. As long as you don’t touch me, everything will be fine. See you in a few.”
At that she was gone. How did I know she was gone? Because all the light went out of her body. She didn’t exactly look gray and she didn’t exactly look dead, but she definitely didn’t look like anybody was home. The glow that shone from her was missing. Her arms rested on the plush furniture. Her head had dropped so that her chin was against her chest.
It seemed that I could rule out delusion. I wasn’t sure that I could name what was happening, but it was something. There was nothing to do but slump back against the wall and wait.
About five minutes later I heard a whoosh sound. Ravish took in a deep breath, raised her head, and the light came back into her body. Then she laughed out loud.
“Your mother is a hoot, Will. She’s giving some handsome guy, who I’m guessing is your dad, what for about flowers. She wants them to stay where they are. He wants to move them somewhere because they draw bees and the bees are a nuisance.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. “Will I get reception in here?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t be a safe room if you couldn’t call out.”
I thumbed my mother’s phone number and put it on speaker.
“Hello?” she said.
“Mom?”
“Will! Great heavenly days, I can’t believe I’m hearing your voice.” Her excitement quickly switched to concern. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s good, Mom. More than good. I need to ask you something and it’s real important. I know this is a strange question, but I need you to tell me what you’re doing right now, this very minute.”
“Well, if you must know, I’m having a knockdown, drag out argument with your father. He’s moving my peonies to the back fence because he doesn’t like the bees. Ridiculous! Mark Twain said that if there are no bees there is no food and that’s the end of us all.”
“Are you sure that was Mark Twain?”
“No, but I don’t have time to look it up. I’m trying to save my peonies from your lunatic of a father.”
I was watching Rave’s eyes glitter above her smug expression the entire time my mother was talking.
“Mom. I love you. Guess what? I have a girlfriend.”
“No. That’s not possible.”
“Yeah. Live in and everything.”
“You have to bring her home! What’s she like? Can she cook?”
“She’s a marvel in so many ways. Oh, and hey. I’m moving to Wimberley, Texas.”
“What? What happened to acting?”
“Going back to school.”
“Best news I’ve heard in forever.”
“I have to go, but I’ll text you the address.”
“Don’t forget.”
“No. I won’t. Bye.”
“Wait. What’s her name?”
“Rave.”
“Rave. Short for Raven. Lovely. Talk soon.”
I set the phone down. “So you’re the real deal.”
She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “And I’m your live-in girlfriend?”
“What should I have told my mother? That I’m under contract for a year?”
“Good point. Live-in girlfriend is close enough.”
She rose from the chair and stretched her body out, something I could watch again and again without getting tired of it.
“I spent my whole life hoping for proof that the supernatural is real. And here you are.”
“Here I am. Rock you like a hurricane.”
“What?”
“You didn’t ask me what kind of music I like. And considering how much you like music, I find that odd.”
“You’re right. That’s probably the first question I should have asked. So what’s the answer?”
“I like most American music. Not a huge fan of country. I like bands more than karaoke-style pop singers. I guess I’m a rock chick at heart.”
“The era is passing.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But that’s what recorded music is for, right? And there’s some surprisingly good new music even if it’s harder to find than it used to be.”
“Damn Spotify and find-the-singer shows.”
“Hear. Hear.”
“Have you heard Alabama Shakes?”
“No, but I like the name.” I smiled.
“Let’s get out of here. I’m getting claustrophobic.”
She punched in the code and the door opened with a hiss.
“Is that the house you grew up in?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice. Homey.”
“Well, we could tear this thing down. Build two thousand square feet of nice hominess.”
“Would you like that?”
“No, Rave. I’m teasing. Your house is the second best part of this arrangement.”
“I’m thirsty. I always come back thirsty.”
“That can be fixed.”
We got wine coolers and decided to settle in the study. I walked around looking at the books on the shelves while she watched and sipped her drink.
“Tell me about some of the other special talents. So far I know about predicting stock market trends and astral projection.”
“After tonight.”
“Why after tonight?”
“Before you learn any more incriminating stuff, I need to know you’re committed. To me. To our secrets.”
“For a year.”
As soon as I saw the look on her face, I felt a pang of regret for restating the condition, but I needed to make it crystal clear up front. I was committing to a year. No more.
“Yes. For a year,” she repeated.