by Jules Barker
Nate gestured past her. “I’m actually here for Miss Amelia.”
For the second time that day, Laurel felt her chin drop. He wanted to speak to Gran? And why didn’t he say so while they were walking? “You could have told me you were coming here,” she muttered.
“Yeah. But you’ve always been fun to tease,” he said, one corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. He passed her and approached Gran at the counter. “How are you today, Miss Amelia?”
“Fine, just fine! You got my voice message?” Gran held up the can of toffees to Nate, who shook his head.
Leaning his forearms on the counter, he said, “I can start work in a couple weeks, depending on what you need done and if we need to special order anything.”
“Wait, what?” Laurel felt like she’d stepped into an alternate reality. “What are you two doing? What work?”
Nate looked between her and Gran. “She doesn’t know?”
Gran tossed him a look before turning to Laurel. “Lars,” she said, using the family nickname, “I’ve decided I’m using some of my savings to finally fix up that little cottage of yours. It’s a done deal and you can’t stop me. You work hard and deserve a place that doesn’t howl when the wind blows.”
Laurel felt the flush rise up her neck to her cheeks. “It’s not that bad, Gran,” she said, casting a glance at Nate. “But it does need sprucing and I just made extra money––” she paused, careful with her words around Nate, “appraising antiques for Arturo. I was already planning to hire out a few things.”
Gran grinned. “Then it’s settled. With both our money, we’ll be able to add some finishing touches! Nate, you’re coming over Saturday for dinner to discuss the details.”
It was Nate’s turn to be flustered. He looked back and forth between them. “That’s alright, Miss Amelia. No need to feed me just because––”
“Nonsense!” Gran cut him off. She slid down from the tall stool and walked around the counter, the top of her four inch poof of gray hair barely reaching the middle of Nate’s chest. She looked up at him and placed a hand on his bicep. “You’re coming for dinner before we get down to business. You’re an old friend of Simon and I practically watched you grow up. You owe me some gossip before I let you earn my money with all your hard work.”
She smiled beatifically, squeezed his bicep for good measure, and winked at Laurel. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to enjoy the rest of my chapter at home.” She picked up her can of toffee and her book and ambled out the door.
Nate stared after Gran and his grin slowly grew. When it was large enough to be framed by two wide dimples, Laurel felt her insides melt. She cleared her throat. “Well. There’s no arguing with Gran, I suppose.” She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
Nate laughed. “No, there never was, was there?” Suddenly his eyes shifted past Laurel. Before she could wonder why, Nate lunged forward to her side and grabbed someone trying to get past.
It was a young boy, probably only eight or nine, now squirming in Nate’s grip. He flailed his legs. “Let me go!”
Nate pulled the boy closer. “Calm down, kid. I’ll let you go as soon as you give back what you’re stealing.”
“I wasn’t stealing, I was—” One glance at Nate and the boy paused.
Laurel crouched down to get a better look at the boy. Dark, messy hair over dark, downcast eyes that wouldn’t look straight back at her.
“Fine!” he said. He shoved something—a carved wooden nymph—at Laurel so hard that she lost her balance and fell back on her butt. Nate let go of the kid to grab Laurel and the boy tore out the door and down the street.
Laurel sat on the ground, reeling from a strong wave of emotions. As the boy had thrust the figure at her, his watch had grazed her arm and it’s residual emotional energy surged through her. She caught flashes of sobbing, heartache tinged with loneliness, and a consuming fear that stabbed at her chest.
“Are you okay?” Nate’s concerned gaze brought Laurel back to the moment.
She inhaled deeply and took his hand to pull herself up. Releasing her breath to a count of four, Laurel nodded. “Yup. Just fine.”
“Did you even know he was in here? You should have cameras installed. Do you get much theft?” Already Nate was looking around the store, as if deciding the best placement for surveillance.
“I have cameras. You’ll see them if you look closely. The monitor is in the office.” Laurel walked to the front door and rested her hand on the jamb, staring in the direction the boy had run. “You can’t see in all the rooms from the front counter, but usually you at least know someone is in here if you’re the one working.”
She was still looking down the street, dazed from the encounter and the emotional surge, when Nate leaned against the doorjamb near her and examined her carefully. “You sure you’re okay, Laurel? You look upset.”
“No, I’m okay. Really. I just––feel like I’ve seen that boy somewhere before.” She broke off and looked at Nate, pulling up a chipper smile to counteract his concern. “I’m not worried about a little boy trying to steal a ten dollar item, Nate. He seems harmless. I seem to recall two other boys who had a rash of shoplifting one long summer…”
Nate ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Laurel’s smile became real. Maybe the perk of being older and on equal footing was that she could finally tease him instead of always being on the other end.
Feeling more charitable, she swiped down the front of her dress as if wiping off dust. “Back to work for me.”
Nate picked up the hint. “Ah. I’ll see you Saturday.” He paused halfway down the walk. “And Laurel…”
“Yeah?”
“We should talk sometime.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and stared at her a moment before ducking his head and leaving.
Laurel frowned. Just like that she was back to uncertainty about where they stood. She’d better recenter herself tonight; she could only imagine what Nate wanted to talk about.
3
New Moon, New Me
Laurel wheeled her bike to the back of the cottage and leaned it against the porch. Grabbing her bag from the basket, she walked up three steps and flopped down on the rattan love seat she kept strewn with pillows and throws. Ah. Bliss.
She’d only had to work a few hours before Heidi came to do the evening shift. Heidi was always scheduled for the evening shifts on full and new moon nights, although Laurel never told her the reason. The ride back home (and walk, since beach cruisers were not meant for hills) had left Laurel with a familiar burn in her thighs.
Laurel kicked off her shoes, letting her feet dangle over the edge of the sofa. The view from the back porch was stunning. A steep drop to a small family beach and then miles and miles of ocean stretching south and west. Sunsets were spectacular.
The front of the property overlooked a sloping hill down to the city itself. Shaped like a crescent moon, the island featured a calm bay with a dock for the ferry, Rainbow Beach with its famous multi-colored sand, and a town built around attracting tourists to the “so-called” magical island. A large mountain on the west side shielded the city and hosted the famous Moonstone Spring. Laurel loved the view of the town at night, when the lights twinkled like stars reflected in the ocean.
She was lucky to share this property with Gran. It had been in the family for generations, since the first of the Penwythe women settled on the island. The white Victorian home had withstood time itself and the little guest cottage perched on the ridge next to it, like a friendly puppy. Laurel had grown up in the big house with her parents, brother, and Gran. Now the one-bedroom cottage that used to be used as her mother’s studio was Laurel’s, creaky floors and all. She loved every inch of it.
Stretching, she hauled herself up. She’d better say goodbye before Gran left for Book Club and make a quick dinner so she’d have time to prepare for the new moon.
She crossed the lawn barefoot and reached the back of the house right as Gran closed the door.
Gran hitched the strap of her large purse higher on her shoulder. “Yes. Betty Lou has a doctor appointment in the morning on the mainland and doesn’t want to stay up past nine. We’re having an early dinner at Crowthorne’s as if we’re old people.” Gran rolled her eyes heavily.
Laurel laughed.
As much as Gran made fun of growing old, she really enjoyed the freedoms of age like eating early, saying what you pleased, and reading “bodice rippers” if she felt like it. Gran would never really grow old. She reminded Laurel of those black and white posters of children sitting on a step blowing a pink bubble. Eternally young.
Laurel followed Gran out to her red PT Cruiser. “Gran, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yes, Sugar?”
“It’s about Nate. And the cottage.”
Gran sat down behind the wheel, dug in her purse and pulled out a mauve lipstick, which she applied in the visor mirror. “Mm-hmm. What’s wrong?” Two mauve lips smacked together and Gran looked up at Laurel. “Is it the money?”
“You know I can’t take it, Gran.”
“Stuff and nonsense!”
“No, you have a limited income and deserve to have a little fun with your savings. Like your Alaska cruise.”
“Dear. Listen closely.” Gran leaned out the window of the car. Or rather, she tried to but barely reached tall enough to lean her chest on it. “I’m an old woman. I get to do what makes me happy and what makes me happy is helping you.”
“But––”
“No, no, don’t start. You work hard at the store and I get the benefit of splitting the profit. I have plenty for the little fun I want. Plus, Ellen’s son used his premonition to win a free trip and you know how mad she gets when he uses it for personal gain. She gave the free trip to me which means I can pass on the benefit to you! Besides, fixing up the cottage is an investment in the property.” Gran tapped the side of her nose and winked.
Laurel felt herself giving in. “I already had a few basic repairs in mind. Maybe I could also get a porch swing, and a new vanity in the bathroom…?”
“Atta girl. Plus it will be nice to help out Nate with some extra work, and it’s certainly not going to hurt our eyes, either.”
“Gran!”
“Now step back. I can’t be late or Betty Lou won’t let me hear the end of it.”
Laurel watched Gran back around and zip down the hill toward town. She sure loved her spunky granny.
Laurel walked back to her cottage, dreaming of the improvements she wanted and which to prioritize. While she ate a quick dinner of leftover pasta and a salad, she decided fixing the front porch stairs and the front door so it would finally open again should be top of the list. Caulking the windows, which she could do herself but hadn’t gotten around to, could be lower on the list. There was so much that could go in-between.
At the moment, she needed to focus on tonight’s cleansing. It was a monthly ritual she enjoyed––clearing out her mind and heart along with her physical space also helped her clear out residual emotional energy she picked up from using magic over time.
As the sun set, Laurel began to clean her house. She vacuumed the rugs and swept the floor in the open living room and kitchen area. She tidied the pile of clothes in her bedroom and the heap of shoes by the back door and fluffed the pastel pillows on her big, white couch. She emptied the garbage and stacked papers in the back room barely big enough to be used as her office. Cleaning her space was an important part of cleansing her spirit.
After, she lit candles in the bathroom all around her large, clawfoot bathtub. A decent-sized bath had been her priority before even moving in. And not for magical reasons; she just loved a good soak. The fact that water was an especially good purifier was a bonus. After pouring her honey lavender milk bath, Laurel slipped into the silky water and imagined the stress and worry slipping away, melting in the warmth as her muscles eased.
While she soaked, she sifted through her feelings. Some emotions she identified as her own. The regular, tedious stresses of being a business owner. Ordinary concern for Gran, who was getting older and not wanting to slow down. Missing her brother Simon and his family and hoping to see her new niece soon. Sharp and surprising longing for her mother, even eight years later. Most of her family had left her one way or another, and Laurel was lonely.
Ah. That was it. Lonely. Putting a word to it helped something shift into place inside her, both helpful but also sad at the same time. At least she was used to doing things alone.
Her mind flitted to Nate, helping with repairs on the cottage. One less thing she’d have to do on her own. She really would appreciate the help. He’d take care of the hard stuff, she’d take him ice cold lemonade when he got hot and sweaty and… nope. Not going there, brain. Laurel bumped the back of her head against the tub. If anything, Nate wouldn’t even notice she was around.
Finally, an hour after sunset, Laurel left the house with her supplies, wrapped in a pillowy cardigan over a long, white nightgown.
She saw lights on upstairs in the big house and knew that Gran was back and doing her own version of a cleansing in her room. Each Gifted person had his or her own spiritual practice, though the principles remained the same. But for Gran, whose gift was always knowing which way was North, it wasn’t as critical as it was for Laurel. Gifted people who were instruments themselves took on a lot more residual energies than those who used tools outside of themselves. One might need to cleanse their tools, but Laurel had to cleanse herself.
And this month it was particularly needed. Especially if she was going to handle Nate being around more in the near future.
As Laurel carried a basket with her supplies out to the far edge of the dark lawn, her lantern cast a glow in the dark night. Here at the edge of the island up on the low ridge, only her cottage and Gran’s house were visible from the back yard. She thought back to some of the work she’d done this month.
First, readings for Arturo. They weren’t usually difficult, but they required focus and energy. Every man-made object absorbed the emotional energy of the people around it. Different materials absorbed more than others, and it built up in layers, like the rings of a tree. Depending on the age of the object, Laurel might have to delve further back in the layers before finding the information she sought.
It was like mentally swimming through thick water. Waves of emotions undulated around her, with sounds and visions coming like ripples. Names, repeated phrases, and intense events would come to her using any of her five senses. This concentrated work allowed her to probe back through the accumulated energy of the object to get back to its origins. This was particularly useful for antiques as she could identify the owner, maker, and year of creation for most pieces.
But every time she did the work, wisps of the emotions clung to her like a thin film of oil. They muddled her own emotions and interfered with her other readings if she didn’t take care of them. If left too long, her magical energy could get blocked and interfere with her mental and physical health as well. Her monthly cleansing at the new moon would help her release it.
Surges, like what had happened with the shoplifting boy earlier, were in some ways worse. If an object had been around intense emotion within the last day or two, it would carry that like a tidal wave ready to sweep her under unsuspectingly. Sometimes she didn’t even need to touch the object but just be within reach of its pull. This was why Laurel avoided crowds, preferred certain locations more than others, and avoided touching unknown objects. A surge was hard to protect against. She could filter out the regular pull of objects she touched, similar to filtering bright sunlight by squinting, but surges were stronger and took her by surprise.
Once Laurel reached the far edge of the lawn, where it turned into wild vegetation and scree that tumbled down the hill to the ocean below, she spread out the jean quilt she used for picnics. Nearby sat a stone crock she and Gran left out year-round to collect rainwater. La
urel lit and covered candles at each of the four directional corners of the blanket with the lantern by her side in the center.
Pulling a small bundle of herbs out of her basket along with a marble mortar and pestle, she sat and began to grind them.
Light for clarity. Water for purity. Stone for balance. Herbs for calm and harmony and neutrality.
As Laurel ground the herbs, she thought of the other magical readings she did in the last month. Arturo’s antiques, the Lost & Found bin at the community center, the collar of the labradoodle lost at the park, the belt Aunt Patty had mailed her to check up on a man she met on an online dating site… the list went on. The surges that took her by surprise came to mind also, including the young boy from that afternoon.
Scooping half of the ground herbs in her hands, Laurel stood. She inhaled the salty ocean air deep into her lungs. Then, cupping her hands before her, she blew the herbs and gave them to the air, returning a portion of her efforts back to the earth in thanks. They swirled and tumbled around her before disappearing down the cliff into the darkness beyond.
The other half of the herbs she poured into a small copper bowl and, carefully using a small twig from a nearby bush, she lit them on fire. While they quickly burned out, she held her arms in the smoke as if bathing them in it. Then she rubbed the soot onto her hands to draw the emotional residue from her body down into them.
Taking a pitcher of rainwater from the crock, she slowly poured it over her hands, one at a time, feeling the cold water slip between her fingers and wash off the soot and the clinging emotions with it. As the cloudy water pooled back into the copper bowl, Laurel felt herself expand, like lungs able to breathe deeply again.
Laurel picked up the bowl and padded quietly to the foot of the sycamore tree that stood between her house and Gran’s. A strong tree, roots deep in the earth and branches reaching into the heavens, it sheltered and protected them. She poured the clouded water at the base of the tree, letting it sink into the soil.
