Exposure

by Kathy Reichs

  “Oh, shoot!” Ella winced. “I forgot to stop by the office. My mother had to drop off my shin guards.” She slid her fries over to Hi. “Enjoy. They’re hot, which you apparently like.”

  “Got that right. Hot hot hot!” Hi awkwardly shoved another fry into his mouth.

  “Okay, wow.” Ella gathered her things, then brushed my cheek with a kiss. “Later, Tor.” Shouldering her bag, she hurried from the cafeteria.

  A loud thunk drew my attention back to the table.

  Hi’s forehead was resting on his tray. “Tell me that wasn’t as bad as I think.”

  “Worse,” Shelton said. “So, so much worse.”

  The head rose, then thunked back down. “I don’t remember parts. I think I lost time.”

  I patted his shoulder. “That’s probably for the best.”

  “Such.” Thunk. “A.” Thunk. “Dumbass.” Thunk.

  Shelton laughed nervously. “See? That’s why I don’t talk.”

  Hi’s face shot up. “Tell her I have brain seizures. A serious medical condition. Or that I have an evil twin who sometimes takes my place, but can’t talk for crap.”

  “Got it,” I promised. His head dropped once more.

  Shelton changed the subject. “So what’s our next move?”

  I thought a moment. So many balls in the air.

  Chance. Karsten. Ben. But I had no ideas for any of them.

  Those people aren’t in danger. The twins surely are.

  “We check out Old Man Serpent,” I said. “Let’s find out who he is, and why his card was on Lucy Gable’s bed.”

  Hi lifted his head halfway. Squinted at me. Nodded.

  “Okay.” Shelton stroked his chin in thought. “How?”

  “A quick fact-finding trip.” I downed the last of my Diet Coke.

  “And I think I know just the place.”

  I skidded to a stop beside a weathered purple rowhouse.

  The boys were a few seconds behind, Hi on his skinny Schwinn ten-speed and Shelton pedaling a mud-covered black BMX. Dismounting, I walked my Trek across the gravel lot to a rusty rack at the side of the building.

  Bike secured, I checked the rainbow-colored sign hanging out over Center Street.

  Fairy Dust Bookstore and Gifts. This was the place.

  Folly Beach is the closest population center to Morris Island. The only community on Folly Island, the sleepy little hamlet has a two-street downtown made up of surf shops, boutiques, restaurants, and bars. Monopoly-like houses line the remainder of the island, a haven for laid-back vacationers seeking cheap vacation rentals and peace and quiet. The atmosphere is very chill—nobody moves too fast in Folly Beach.

  The Morris bridge connects to Folly, whose police department has nominal jurisdiction over our remote neighborhood. Not that those bozos ever cross to our side. They prefer we look after ourselves.

  But we Morris Islanders venture over quite a bit. Folly Beach has the closest grocery store, post office, and takeout pizza. But in all my trips, I’d never stepped inside Fairy Dust.

  I’d persuaded Shelton and Hi that a visit there might do some good. Truthfully, I didn’t really know. Returning home, we’d ditched our uniforms and biked over, the ride taking less than twenty minutes.

  The store’s front door was painted red and had a tarnished brass knob. The posted hours were Monday–Thursday, from noon to four, which gave me an idea about the owner. Not exactly a breakneck schedule.

  Hi scanned white lettering stenciled on the shop window. “Tarot readings? Belly dancing instruction? Why Tory, it’s not even my birthday!”

  “Paganism 101.” Shelton was frowning at a list of classes taped to the door. “Chakra Balancing. Reiki. Spiritual Counseling. What the hell kinda bookstore is this?”

  “New Age.” I pulled out my iPhone and read the store’s online description. “Fairy Dust is a metaphysical ritual supply store for both pagans and non-pagans alike.”

  “Pagans?” Shelton tugged his earlobe. “You’re talking about witchcraft. Do not like.”

  “Relax,” Hi said. “These are the granola kind of witches. The ones that make herbal tea, and smoke clove cigarettes. I bet we find some killer crystals in there.”

  “It’s a Wicca store,” I said, “but the website claims they also have an astrology section. Those are my best guesses for ID-ing our toga-wearing pal. You got a better idea?”

  Shelton shook his head. “Spells, though? Dancing in the woods at midnight? Creepy.”

  “Quit whining, wuss.” Hi pointed. “This place can’t be dangerous. They take Visa.”

  “Only one way to find out.” I pulled open the door and stepped inside.

  The tinkle of wind chimes announced our entry. The shop was long and narrow, with wooden shelves lining both walls. Every inch was packed with mysterious items. Books filled the left side of the store, grouped by subject matter—moon phases, dream studies, botany and horticulture, Druidism, the Sacred Wheel. Some designations, like Gaelic Polytheistic Tribalism, I couldn’t even follow.

  The opposite wall was like a hippie version of Bath and Body Works. Candles. Oils. Incense. Spiritual washes and cleansing waters. Even bags of feathers. Deeper into the store was an eclectic selection of items. An assortment of small cauldrons. Mortar-and-pestle sets. Hundreds of different crystals. Dried herbs. Crushed minerals. Tarot cards. Ouija boards. Rune stones. Hundreds of other things I couldn’t peg. The place was certainly interesting.

  Astrological items were in back, beside a circular wooden table covered in red felt and flanked by matching chairs. Beyond, a black curtain blocked off the rear of the building.

  “This place is a tourist trap,” Hi said. “You can get most of this stuff at an Indian casino.”

  “It still gives me the willies.” Shelton tapped a cloth package hanging from an iron hook. “I’ve never heard of Bat’s Heart Root, but I don’t want it near me.”

  I was admiring a crushed-velvet star chart when the curtain parted. A young, brown-haired woman emerged. She had gray eyes, a small mouth, and wore an old-fashioned green dress that fell past her knees. She considered us a moment before approaching.

  “You three looking for something specific?” Her voice was surprisingly melodious.

  “Any sacrificial knives?” Hi raised an index finger. “Nothing too fancy, and I’ll need a solid, no-slip grip. Me and the coven have some goats lined up for Saturday’s bonfire.”

  I could’ve kicked him. I think I tried. Fortunately, the woman laughed.

  “A comedian, eh?” she said dryly. “I do have some new knife-ware, actually, but for chopping herbs, not blood sacrifice. That’s one of the many myths about witches that simply isn’t truth. Wiccans respect the sanctity of all life. Animals are part of the same natural cycle as humans. I won’t even eat one. My name is Clara. How about telling me what it is you’re looking for?”

  I slipped the photocopy from my pocket and handed it over. “We’d like to learn about this symbol.”

  Clara glanced at the page. Her eyes widened slightly. Then she looked up, subjecting the three of us to an entirely new level of scrutiny.

  “You recognize the figure.” I didn’t phrase it as a question.

  “Of course.” Clara’s free hand rose, fluttered aimlessly, as if she was unsure what to say next. For some reason, I thought she might ask us to leave.

  I broke out my “earnest” face. “Any guidance you could provide would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Yes. Certainly.” Clara gave her head a slight shake. “Please, sit. I’ll grab more chairs.”

  She slipped behind the curtain and was gone.

  “She got weird,” Hi whispered. “But looking at this shop, that’s not much of a shocker.”

  I nodded. Something about Snake Man had set Clara on edge.

  “Of course she’s being cra
zy—she’s a witch, man!” Shelton face was pinched. “We need to get gone, before she comes back with her broom.”

  Fabric swished. Clara emerged carrying a pair of folding chairs.

  “May I ask your names?”

  We each took a seat as Clara placed the photocopy on the felt.

  “Tory Brennan. These two are Hi and Shelton.”

  Clara nodded with each name. “This isn’t a tarot reading, or a fortune-telling session, but I think that, under the circumstances, the same rates will apply. Forty dollars, please.”

  “Forty doll—”

  I kicked Hi under the table. “No problem.”

  I nodded to Shelton. Grumbling, he dug out his wallet and forked over two twenties. Virals funds. We let Shelton be the bank.

  “Excellent.” The bills disappeared into the folds of Clara’s dress. “So. What would you like to know?”

  My finger tapped the paper. “Who is this guy?”

  “That is Ophiuchus, thirteenth symbol of the zodiac.”

  “Hold up, lady.” Hi gave her a sideways look. “As a proud Aries, I know there are only twelve zodiac signs.”

  “Incorrect,” Clara replied, with some amusement. “And, FYI, you’re likely not an Aries, though it’s understandable how you’ve gotten it wrong your whole life. Most people have.”

  Hi sat up straight. “Excuse me?”

  Clara adopted a lecturing tone. “Ophiuchus is one of thirteen constellations that cross the ecliptic at the celestial equator and, therefore, has been called the thirteenth sign of the zodiac.” She cocked her head slightly. “That’s not quite right, as it confuses signs with constellations, but it’s basically accurate.”

  I scratched the back of my head. “I’m not following.”

  “Let’s start with the basics,” Clara said. “The ecliptic is an imaginary line that marks the path of our sun through the sky. It’s mathematically predictable, in relation to the earth’s orbit.”

  “Okay.” I understood that.

  “Now, imagine every star in the heavens as part of a great dome surrounding our planet. That’s known as the celestial sphere. As the sun travels through our sky, astrologers pay attention to where it is in relation to the sphere. Specifically, they mark which constellations the sun passes directly through.”

  “You lost me,” Shelton admitted.

  Clara thought a moment. “Close your eyes. All of you.”

  After a few skeptical looks, we complied.

  “Imagine you’re riding a carousel. On horses, you swing in circles around the ride’s central pillar. Watch the pillar a moment, then look past it, focusing on what appears behind it as you spin. A roller coaster. A ticket booth. A cotton candy stand. As you rotate, the scene changes until you complete the circuit and begin again. Now, replace the horses with planet Earth, the pillar with our sun, and the amusement park with the stars.”

  “I think I get it.” Hi opened his eyes. “Because our planet is always spinning around the sun, the stars we see behind it change, depending on where we are in the Earth’s orbit.”

  “Perfectly said.” Clara spread her hands. “And that’s how the zodiac constellations were determined.”

  “How did they pick?” Shelton asked. “Aren’t there lots of constellations?”

  “But only a handful through which the sun directly passes,” she explained. “Twelve were selected as the tropical zodiac, which is the version most people are familiar with.”

  “You said people confuse signs with constellations,” I stated. “What did you mean?”

  “The current zodiac signs are a mathematically equal, twelve-way division of the ecliptic, aligned with the seasons. The dates for each have been set in stone. The constellations, however, are unequal in size, and based on the actual positions of the stars. They generally don’t coincide with their signs anymore. For example, the constellation of Aquarius now largely corresponds to the sign of Pisces. This is because the time of year when the sun passes through Aquarius has slowly changed over the centuries, from when the ancient Greeks and Babylonians originally developed the zodiac. But the sign Aquarius has remained fixed to certain dates.”

  Shelton glanced at me askance. I didn’t get it either.

  Clara smiled. “Simply put, the dates for zodiac signs are no longer properly aligned with their constellations. The whole system is off-kilter.”

  Hi was wide-eyed. “Lady, you just blew my mind. You’re saying I might not be an Aries? What? My birthday is this weekend! I’ve got all this ram crap at my house. My planet is Mars. My element is fire. It all fits!”

  “Sorry, kid.” Her eyes flicked to a giant star chart on the wall. “Next week, you said? Turns out you’re really a Pisces.”

  “Pisces!?” Hiram’s hands flew up. “A damn fish? No freaking way!”

  “Tell me about the snake man.” I wanted to get the meeting back on track.

  “Ophiuchus is a sad story,” Clara replied. “He was omitted from the tropical zodiac centuries ago, but remains in the heavens, and continues to hold sway. He occupies most of the days currently assigned to Sagittarius.”

  “Hold up.” Shelton stared at Clara over the rim of his glasses. “I’m a Sagittarius.”

  “Birthdate?”

  “November thirtieth.”

  Clara chuckled. “My dear boy, you are an Ophiuchan!”

  “Am not,” Shelton shot back, hugging his sides. “I hate snakes. Ask anyone.”

  “Sorry, dear. But the sun rises in Ophiuchus from November twenty-ninth to December seventeenth.”

  “That’s one opinion.” Shelton snatched off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. “I’m gonna need a discount double-check on this stuff.”

  I waved for Clara’s attention. “Ophiuchus?”

  She turned to me. “The classical form of Ophiuchus is described by Manilius in his poem Astronomica: ‘He holds apart the serpent, which with its mighty spirals and twisted body encircles his own, so that he may untie its knots and back that winds in loops. But, bending its supple neck, the serpent looks back and returns: and the other’s hands slide over the loosened coils.’ Their struggle will last forever, since man and serpent have equal power.”

  “Wait.” Hi finger-jabbed the table. “Just stop. Before I accept that my entire life has been a lie, explain to me exactly how I’m not a freaking Aries.”

  Clara folded her hands on the table. “Slight changes in the Earth’s wobbly orbit, over millennia, mean that our planet is no longer aligned to the stars in the same position as when the zodiac table was first conceived. In some cases the dates are nearly a month off, and that’s not including those poor souls like Shelton, whose sign is rightly Ophiuchus, the thirteen symbol.”

  “Allegedly,” Shelton snapped.

  “Does Obama know about this?” Hi demanded, hands gripping his head. “How could this be true and everyone not know it? Am I speaking with a crazy woman?”

  “This isn’t groundbreaking,” Clara replied. “It’s two-thousand-year-old information to astronomers, and one of the reasons they mock astrology. But the ancient tropical zodiac has never been changed. People have grown attached to their incorrect signs.”

  “Not incorrect!” Hi insisted. “I’m an Aries. Everything about me screams Aries. I like diamonds. I live for the thrill of the moment. I’m adventurous, active, and outgoing. It all fits.”

  “No need to get worked up.” Clara reached under the table, retrieved a handout, and slid it over to Hi. “Take this, if you’d like to learn more. The zodiac’s configuration has always been somewhat arbitrary. Constellations have shifted many times over the centuries, as has the sun’s path through them, allowing for a wider range of signs than just twelve, or even thirteen. Ophiuchus was only excluded to begin with because the ancient Babylonians liked the symmetry of twelve astrological signs.”

 
; Hi looked to me, then Shelton. “I do not like this. My sign is my sign. It’s not variable!”

  “You’re not the one stuck with the snake dude,” Shelton groaned.

  “Tell us more about Ophiuchus himself,” I asked. “Specifically.”

  Clara glanced at the ceiling in thought. “The ‘Serpent Bearer’ appears in forms of sidereal astrology, which calculates the zodiac by using fixed stars instead of the celestial equator, showing the sun’s true position against the constellations. This is very popular in Japan, where Ophiuchus is known as Hebitsukai-Za.”

  “Oh, snap!” Shelton sat forward. “I’ve heard of this dude. He’s in Final Fantasy Legend!”

  Blank stares from me and Clara.

  “A video game series,” Shelton explained. “From Japan. Hi knows. It’s big.”

  Hi waved away Shelton’s comment. “This whole meeting is under protest.”

  “However,” Clara continued, “even mainstream sidereal astrology—which includes Hindu and sun-sign astrology—still use the traditional twelve-sign zodiac. Correctly realigned, of course, but dividing the heavens into twelve equal parts, rather than using constellational boundaries. Therefore, even those systems do not regard Ophiuchus as a true sign. But the sun rises in him every winter. That’s a fact.”

  “If Ophiuchus was a thirteenth sign,” I asked, “what would the associated characteristics be? What would it mean to have him as your zodiac symbol?”

  Shelton huffed loudly, but I could tell he was paying attention.

  “That’s harder to answer. The Serpent Bearer has been excluded for millennia, and isn’t regularly interpreted.” She tapped her lip in thought. “Also known as Serpentarius, Ophiuchus has an affinity with snakes, obviously, and is said to offer protection from poisons. He’s been associated with doctors and healers, likely because of the similarity between poison and medicine.”

  “Don’t like snakes,” Shelton grumbled. “Though Serpentarius sounds kind of awesome.”

  Clara flared a brow. “An Ophiuchan seeks wisdom and knowledge, has a flamboyant fashion sense, and usually doesn’t reject authority. Twelve is the lucky number. They make great architects, have large families, and leave home at an early age. That’s about all I can tell you.”