The Artist's Alchemy

by Amorette Anderson

  “He was probably just a shifter going through a transition,” I said. “Gordon, it really doesn’t matter what your painting turned out like. I think it’s just the experience of painting that counts. Didn’t it feel good to look at the space between things?”

  “No, it didn’t,” he said.

  “Did you really try it?” I asked him.

  “It’s a waste of time,” he said

  “No, it’s not,” I told him. “This workshop could really change your life. I mean it, Gordon. Magic is real, And if someone with your influence in pop culture starts to use it, that could totally change things here in the Earth Realm. You’re an icon. Maybe magic could become more widely accepted.”

  “I believe in money, and I believe in power,” Gordon said, “But I don’t believe in magic.”

  “Just try it,” I urged him. “Try to bend your paintbrush. I really want to see you at least give it a shot. I don’t like your bad attitude.” Sheesh! The berries were wreaking havoc with my manners. I would have never said that to someone aloud in my usual state, even if it was the truth. My verbal filter would have prevented it.

  He sighed. “Are you always this annoying?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Just today, for the next one hour and forty-nine minutes.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Come on,” I urged him. “Give it a whirl.”

  He chewed his lip, and then slowly lifted his paintbrush. “Just because I want to get rid of you,” he said.

  He stared at the brush. He narrowed his eyes. He wiggled his brows. His hand started to tremble. His race reddened. I could tell he was focusing as hard as he could.

  “Are you focusing on the space?” I asked him. “Not the brush—the space around it.”

  “I’m trying,” he said. “But I can’t concentrate while you’re talking to me.”

  “I’ll shut up,” I told him. Then I zipped my lips.

  I waited with anticipation. I felt sure that if Gordon could just see his brush bend, he’d know that Asti’s teachings had been valuable.

  But the brush remained straight.

  His face became more red. “Bend, why don't you?” he said between clenched teeth. Then he uttered a string of swear words.

  By now, the room was clearing out. Asti called out above the jumble of excited voices. “Don’t forget, we’ll meet back here after lunch! Our next workshop will entail linking poetic verse to our artwork: ‘The Poetry of Form.’ We will each write a poem, and then put images to our verses.”

  “Great,” Gordon said sarcastically as he lowered his brush. “I can’t paint, I can’t work magic, and I won’t be able to write a freaking poem.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said.

  “I hate poetry,” he said. “I can’t write—the words just get mixed up in my head. Always have. I think I’m going to skip that workshop and just go to my room and take a nap.”

  “Naps can be very healing,” I said. “Have you seen Justin lately? I think he was excited to spend some time with you.”

  He didn’t answer me. Instead he picked up his jar of yellow-tinted water and his brush. As he headed toward the front of the room without saying goodbye, I thought about how rude he was. It seemed to me that being famous had really gone to his head. I hoped that if Justin made it big in the music scene, he wouldn't let his ego get so out of control.

  I thought about Justin as I exited along with a crowd of others. What was he doing, heading out to the woods earlier? If he’d seen me, why didn’t he wave me over, or want to say hi? Was he avoiding me, or were we not crossing paths because I was so tied up with finding Robert’s killer?

  I wasn’t sure.

  I sent him a quick text as I walked down the hallway. I waited for a response as I grabbed lunch—careful to avoid conversations with guests as I did so, because I didn’t want to inadvertently offend someone due to my lack of verbal-filter—and then ate it with my witchy sisters. We chatted about the case, and I told them about my conversations with Margie and Asti.

  They agreed that Asti’s innocence was rock solid, seeing as she was hopped up on truth-berry-water at the time she gave it to me. We were all a bit puzzled by Margie’s alibi, seeing as there seemed to be no way to verify it. We decided it would be best to leave her on our suspect list.

  The pasta salad and slice of quiche that I consumed helped to ease some of the hot burning feeling coursing through my veins, but I knew that the truth berry would continue to affect me. As we wrapped up lunch, Cora reminded me that I had five massages booked for the afternoon. The first was due to start in ten minutes.

  I hurried to the spa and ducked into a massage room, happy to be away from possible small-talk situations. With any luck, the first of my clients wouldn’t be too chatty, and I could let the rest of the berry juices wear off before I had to have another conversation.

  I was jonesing to have my verbal filter back.

  Chapter Nine

  As it turned out, I was out of luck.

  My first massage client wanted to talk—a lot. Non-stop. About me.

  I wasn’t in the mood for talking in general, and talking about myself had always been one of my least favorite topics of conversation. But since the truth berry was still working in my system, I had no choice.

  The woman on my massage table was in her early forties, and I could tell her initial comments about the weekend that she was an artist, not a scientist. She had short-cropped blonde hair, a bunch of piercings in her ears, and a silvery-pink scar that ran down one side of her back. She informed me casually that she was a werewoman, and that she’d gotten the scar during a heated argument with another werewolf a few years prior. She didn’t offer up details about the fight, except to say that she still suffered some back pain because of it, even in her human form. She directed me to the points on her back that often felt sore, and then she started asking me questions about myself.

  “So, you must be magical too, Marley,” she said. “What do you practice?”

  “Witchcraft,” I answered as I started rubbing some rosemary-eucalyptus oil onto her shoulders and then down her back as she lay prone on the table.

  As soon as my hands touched her, I felt my dreamcatcher necklace become warm against my skin. The warm sensation felt nice, if puzzling. I didn’t think about it for too long. The truth berry juice had affected my mind. It was hard to hold onto one thought for long.

  I started speaking again. “At least I try to, when I remember,” I said. “I’m an amateur. Just started studying about a year and a half ago; I know I’ve got a lot more to learn.” It was more than I would have told her otherwise, but in my state, I couldn’t help but blabber out details.

  “Wow, you’re really new to all of this,” she said. “Surprising that you were confident enough in your capabilities to open a center like this. What made you do it?”

  I sighed, recalling the fateful vision that had set my adventure with the center into motion. “My familiar, an owl named Skili, led me on a little vision quest earlier this year,” I explained. “I went up into a mountain cave and had a vision of my grandmother. She said it was time for me to take action—she said I was to build the center and offer it up as a place for magical beings who were interested in truth.”

  “Whew...” she gave a low whistle. “That’s a pretty tall order for a witch who only has a year and a half of magic under her belt. How’s it going so far?”

  “The first workshop was a success,” I said. “But I’m afraid this one is going terribly.”

  Yikes. That was my honest summation of the weekend so far. The berry juices were really making me face the truth.

  I went on. “I think it was a mistake to have all of these scientist types and artists together. At first, I thought it was kind of cool—like an opportunity for some much-needed healing to happen. But then Robert was killed, and we don’t know who did it. I hired a few employees last month, and now I suspect them of being involved. I’m wondering if they’re real
ly trustworthy. The whole thing is just one big mess.”

  It really wasn’t like me to complain, especially to a complete stranger during a massage, but I couldn’t help myself. Words just kept tumbling out of my mouth.

  “Then there’s my boyfriend,” I rambled on, “who keeps darting off on mysterious phone calls and seems to be avoiding me. And this guy who’s here to present an award to him for a songwriting contest is a real jerk.”

  “Wow, that sounds really rough,” she said. “That’s funny, whenever I see you, you look so calm and composed. I’d never have guessed you were dealing with all of that.”

  “Really?” I said. “That’s cool. Thanks.”

  “Sure,” she said. “And for what it’s worth—even though it was a bit shocking to hear that Robert was killed, it hasn’t ruined my experience here or anything.”

  “No?” I said.

  “Nope, not at all,” she said. “In fact, it seems very fitting, seeing as this center is reputed as one that offers deep healing, not just superficial stuff. Seems to me that science and art has been at odds for centuries, and it’s time to heal that rift. When you made that speech about it last night, it really hit home for me. Maybe Robert’s death is an opportunity for us all to do that healing work.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me about that. I was starting to lose sight of that perspective.”

  “That’s surprising,” she said. “I thought for sure you were constantly aware of all of this. You seem to have a very healing energy about you...” She sighed with pleasure as I finally felt the knot I’d been working on release.

  I ran my hands over the spot several times with a medium pressure, and felt the muscles lengthen under my touch. She went on. “I’ve felt it from others before, but never as strong as I get it from you. I’m guessing you have a lineage of healers in your family?”

  “I think so,” I said. “Apparently my grandmother had some healing capabilities, and so did my mother. They both wanted to start this healing center, but neither of them actually did it. The duty was passed on to me.”

  “What stopped them from doing the work?”

  “Temptation, I think,” I said. “Neither of them liked the feeling of struggle. They left the Earth Realm and went for long stays at the Lazy S Inn, instead of doing their work here on Earth.”

  “Ah, the Lazy S Inn,” the werewoman said with a laugh. “I had a friend who stayed there once. She booked a room for three days, and ended up staying for three years.”

  I stepped aside to put more massage oil on my hands and instructed her to turn over. She flipped under the blanket so that she was lying on her back, and I moved down to her feet. I lifted the blanket up so it was draped over her knees, and then I started working on her right foot.

  My fingers moved naturally to one particular point on the pad of her foot, just below her big toe. I applied a firm pressure. I felt my hands start to heat up.

  I’ve noticed, when doing massage work, that I feel a great deal of energy when my hands are on another being’s feet. I’m not sure where the energy comes from, but I usually feel guided to push on certain points and hold my hands there for quite a while.

  I usually lose track of time and feel energy swirling through me. Sometimes I’ll sense old, stale grief that I can drain, and other times I’ll feel heavy guilt, anger, or emotional pain.

  As often happens, the werewoman on my massage table started to cry softly as I applied steady pressure. I didn’t try to understand what was happening, I just let it happen. After a little while her sobbing and shaking stopped. I moved my hands down to her heel.

  “Wow, I feel so much lighter,” she said when my work on her feet wrapped up and I moved my hands to her ankles and calves. “Was that reflexology or something?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I just do what feels natural.”

  “You really are a healer,” she said in awe.

  Her words made me feel good. I sensed that it was true—I had a gift that I was only just beginning to explore.

  “So you were saying that your grandma and your mom liked to stay at the Lazy S,” the woman said. “Have you ever visited?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Think you will?” she asked.

  “I want to,” I said, without even thinking. My words rang through the room, and shocked me. I wanted to visit the Lazy S Inn?

  I felt my mouth open again, and I started to speak involuntarily. “It would be so much easier than dealing with all of the problems here. Sometimes I feel like my life is one big problem factory. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I know that when I face my challenges, I get stronger, and I like that. But it’s still exhausting sometimes. I wonder what it would be like just to give it all up...”

  “I hear you,” she said. “So what’s keeping you here?”

  “My friends,” I said. “I really love them. And Justin... I love him, too. And this center. I want it to succeed.”

  “I think you could do a lot of good with this center,” she said. “The magical universe really needed a place like this. I, for one, am really glad that you opened. I’ll definitely be back. I’ll bring some girlfriends next time, too. Do you ever rent out the whole place for private parties? My friend Sasha is always looking for places to...”

  She launched into a long monologue about her friend Sasha’s growing following, and how they were looking for a place to stay for werewomen full moon ceremonies. I said I’d think about it.

  We wrapped up the session and I gave her some instructions for self care throughout the afternoon. I recommended a soak in the mud baths, lots of water, and rest if she needed it. We’d done some deep healing—I could feel it in my bones. I warned her that she might feel drained, and that she should take a nap if she felt the urge.

  She thanked me profusely, which felt nice.

  Two o’clock came and went, with no sign of my next client. When I saw the double doors at the end of the long dimly lit hallway open up, I expected to see a magical being walk through and head my way. But instead of my next client, I caught sight of Skili’s short, white, feathered form as she waddled through the doorway. She took flight and landed on my shoulder.

  “I have news,” Skili said.

  “I’m due to give another massage any minute now,” I told her. “Seems that they’re running late. What’ s up?”

  “You’re not going to like this,” Skili said.

  I bit my lip, waiting anxiously for more.

  She went on. “I overheard part of Justin’s phone conversation. You know—the secretive one he was having out in the woods this morning?”

  “Oh yeah... ?” I said nervously.

  “He was talking to—”

  I tuned out from Skili’s message abruptly as I saw my client step through the doors at the end of the hall. He was an overweight man with a stiff, crooked gait. I could tell right away that he was going to be a tough guy to have on my table.

  “I’ve gotta run,” I transmitted to Skili. “Let’s connect back up when I’m done with my massage work, at five. Let’s meet up in the lobby; I have to set up for tonight’s dance.”

  I didn’t wait for her response. I felt a fuzzy awareness at the edges of my mind, indicating that she was transmitting something, but I didn’t feel into the words. Instead I smiled at the approaching man.

  “You must be Clint!” I said aloud to the man. “Great to see you. Let’s get you settled in so that we can get started.”

  I beckoned him toward one of the massage rooms. “I’m really looking forward to doing some massage work for you today! How have you been feeling?”

  He started listing a litany of complaints, from tight shoulders to a sore knee, and I listened patiently.

  “Well,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I think you’re in the right place. Let’s get you straightened out. This is going to be fun.”

  That was not true.

  Trying to work out the knots and kinks in this large
man's muscles was going to be one heck of a chore. Sure, it would be rewarding, but definitely not “fun.” I was very, very happy that the truth berries had finally worn off.

  Chapter Ten

  It was 5:15 by the time I finished up my last massage of the afternoon. I bid goodbye to my client and then went about tidying the studio. I was magically refilling a bottle of oil when I heard a familiar splat splat splat outside in the hallway. I finished filling the glass bottle in my hands, put the cap on, and then stepped out into the hall just in time to see Geoff pause before the communal mud bath room. As was often the case, Margie was right behind him, swiftly swiping up his muddy prints.

  “Geoff! Margie!” I called. They turned to me, both with bright smiles.

  “Miss Marley!” Geoff said in his low, gurgly voice. “How’s it going?”

  “Good, good,” I said as I eyed him, looking for signs of nervousness. It was tough to judge, seeing as he was made of mud, and simply had a hole for a mouth and two indents for eyes.

  “How about you guys?” I asked. I turned my gaze to Margie. She was busily swiping an already clean section of floor. She didn’t meet my gaze as she said, “I just finished up a few afternoon messages. Then I met up with Geoff here just a few minutes ago. He won’t tell me what he’s been up to all afternoon.” She said this last part with great emphasis. Then she looked up at her mud-monster coworker. “Isn't that right, Geoff?”

  He opened and closed his mouth a few times. His “lips” made smacking sounds each time they touched. Finally he said, “Just been up to some stuff, that’s all.”

  “You’ve been up to ‘stuff’ an awful lot this weekend,” Margie said.

  I could see what she was trying to point out. I gave her a quick nod of understanding, and then said. “Margie, think you could go check on the lobby? Dinner is going to start soon, and I’m hoping everything is set up for the guests.”