by Nina Walker
The door swings open. “Well, are you coming inside or what?”
I scrunch my nose and take in the older lady from last week, the same one I swore I would avoid because I can only assume she’s out to scam me. Her eyes glitter like sapphires as she smiles knowingly. I don’t want her metaphysical mumbo-jumbo or whatever it is she’s offering, but then again, why am I standing here?
“Come.” She reaches out to embrace my hand. Her skin is soft and thin, cold and wrinkled with age, but her touch is oddly relaxing. “We have so much to discuss.”
She leads me inside, flipping the open sign on the glass door to CLOSED and locking it behind us. My natural guardedness is screaming to get the heck out of dodge, but curiosity keeps me from that.
“Is that really necessary?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. “I don’t plan to stay long.”
She shrugs the question off and leads me to the back of the shop to a dark purple door. “Reading In Session” is written across it in bold letters. She pulls it open and inside is a pale lavender box of a room with a couch, two puffy chairs, a little black card table, and one window covered with a bamboo shade.
I’m struck with a feeling that’s not quite déjà vu but close enough. I’ve been in rooms similar to this one before and the experiences never ended well. I can’t go through more pain of false hope, and I’m struck with cold-feet and take a step back. What was I thinking, coming here?
“Sit down, dear,” the woman continues in a calming but firm tone. “I promise I don’t bite.” She winks and then spins around, sitting down and watching me with that same knowing smile from before. “My name is Helen Marnie but I’ve gone by Harmony for sixty-seven years and don’t plan to stop. I’m a woman hellbent on making this earth a better place to live in and when I said I could help you, I meant it. In order for that to happen, you have to be willing to at least sit your butt down in that chair there and hear me out.”
I bite my lip. Something brought me here, didn’t it? I don’t know if it was fate or if I even believe in fate, but all I can think is I ought to at least give this woman a shot. What’s the worst that can happen? I can’t imagine anything could be worse than the incident on Friday night, what with those spirits hounding me until freaking Dean Ashton had to save me. Even if she makes things harder for me in some way, nothing could be worse than that.
I release a deep breath and settle into the center of the cushy brown chair across from her. “All right, Harmony.” I say her name awkwardly, part of me wanting to laugh at the “Helen Marnie” of it all. “How is it exactly that you can help me? Do you even know what’s wrong with me?”
“Of course I know what’s wrong, but it doesn’t have to be considered wrong. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
“Okay…”
“You have eyes for the spirit realm and you don’t know how to manage it. Not that I blame you. It can be a particularly challenging gift.”
I gape at her. I didn’t expect her to hit the nail on the head on her first try. How did she know?
She raises an eyebrow. “How did I know?” Her question mirrors my thought, leaving a trail of goosebumps over my body. “If I told you, I’m not sure you’d believe me. What’s your name, by the way? Are you ready to tell me?”
I sit up a little taller and clear my throat. “I’m Hazel and I’m a haunted girl. But I think you already knew that. So whether or not I’m going to believe you… how about you try me.”
“Well then,” she quips back. “I like a girl with some sass. Okay, what do you want to know?”
“How did you figure out my problem so quickly? Do you see them too?”
The silence spreads between us as she studies me with a knowing gleam in her watery eyes. The mood shifts like afternoon shadows, growing more serious.
“All right then, Hazel, I’ll tell you about me. No, I don’t see the spirit world. What I can see are the paths.”
I blink. “Ehh, the what now?”
She leans forward. “When I meet people, I see many paths laid out in front of them, those future possibilities that could play out in their lives. When I saw you, many possibilities spiraled out in front of you, all involving the future of your spiritual gift. In one of those futures, I was helping you manage it and you were thriving.”
I blink at her. I have no words.
“And that’s how I know you’re going to agree to work here and not at The Roasted Bean.”
I suck in a breath, catching the musty scent of sage mixed with sweet lavender. Part of me wants to latch on to this woman, to make her spill everything that might or might not happen to me. The other part of me wants to run far, far away. She’s probably a crook. She’s probably bad news. But then why the interest in me? How did she know my secret with only one chance look? I try to picture myself working here. But I can’t. It feels too… confrontational. Too real.
“Even if you are the real deal, I’m sorry, but I can’t work here,” I say, my walls growing thick. “No offense, but this isn’t really my kind of place.”
She laughs. It’s a joyful sound and it catches me off guard. “Hazel, my dear, no offense to you but this is exactly your kind of place. And as for what you’d do, I thought that was obvious. You’ll do readings for the shop.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And by readings, you mean?”
“I’ll keep to psychic readings, and you’ll do the mediumship readings.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “You’re crazy! I can’t do that.”
“And why not?”
“Because if I open myself up to the spirits, they won’t leave me alone.” Even as I say it, that long-held hope flares to life. Maybe this lady is the answer to controlling my problem. But what if she’s not, my mind reels, and she makes everything worse?
She nods and a white dreadlock falls over her bony shoulder. Understanding shines in her eyes. Empathy, too. “And are there any spirits in here right now?” she asks kindly. “Go ahead, look around.”
I blink, realization practically slapping me across the face. Kathrine didn’t follow me inside the shop. In fact, none of the spirits did. Something a lot like hope spreads over my entire body. “Wait, how did you do that? Where did they go?”
“I can teach you how to create dedicated safe spaces where only invited spirits can enter. And I can help you protect your person when you’re out and about so that they don’t bother you as much. And in return, you can work for me. How much does that coffee place pay, anyway?”
“The application said $10 an hour plus tips, which are probably pretty decent. They needed someone for ten to fifteen hours a week.”
“You can work here ten to fifteen hours a week instead. I’ll pay you the $10 an hour when you’re on the sales floor but give you half commission for any readings you book. That’s $50 an hour right into your pocket for those. Plus, I’ll teach you anything I can to help you manage your gift, because, Hazel”—her eyes grow soft, shifting from business woman back to compassionate matriarch—“it is a gift. You’re going to do great things with it.”
“I just want to do normal things, to be a normal girl.” I’m overcome by the words and everything they hold.
“Oh posh! No you don’t! Normal is for the birds. You have a big, big life ahead. It’s coming for you whether you’re ready or not, so you might as well get ready.”
I close my eyes for a lingering minute, breathing in the quietness of the room, the solitude of this space. No spirits. No ghosts. It’s downright glorious. I can’t believe what I’m about to agree to, but then again, how could I not? My eyes pop open and I extend my right hand. “Harmony, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have a deal.”
The next few weeks fly by in a blur of classes, work, friends, and studying. Needless to say, I don’t touch another alcoholic beverage, nor do I plan to. But thanks to Harmony, this college thing is going better than I ever hoped for. I’ve made my dorm room a ghost-free zone with large black obsidian stones strategically placed
in the four corners. Now they can’t come in unless I invite them. Hahaha, suckers! That’s never going to happen!
My classes are going splendidly well because I finally have a quiet place to study. I’ve started recording every lecture just in case I get too distracted while in class, but my new obsidian necklace has lessened a lot of the spirit realm’s noise and images. Life is flipping fantastic. Who knew the black stones could be so powerful at blocking the spirits?
Landon and I have been flirting during organic chemistry labs on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I always stop by his work on the way into mine. I’m certain he’s going to ask me out on a real date soon—he asked for my number this afternoon. And even the perpetually grumpy Dean Ashton has inexplicably decided to leave me alone. Guess he gave up on the territorial stuff? The man doesn’t even look at me anymore. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me. Not that I care. Sure, I still want to uncover his big bad secret, but every time I allow my mind to go there, I end up shutting that nonsense down. The possible explanations are too… weird. Which says a lot coming from me.
I finish ringing up a chatty customer, when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Once the customer has left the store and the place is again empty, I slip my phone out and find a waiting text from Landon.
Hi, Gorgeous. How’s work going? Caffeine wearing off yet?
I smile and bite my lip. Ya, I know it’s a stupid pick-up line, but him calling me gorgeous sends a flutter of butterflies scurrying through my chest anyway. Sometimes I am such a girly girl.
I type back. Starting to, but working here is interesting enough to keep me awake. :) How are you?
His reply comes in almost immediately. Still wish you would’ve applied here instead. And I’m doing good. It’s dead here right now. So bored.
...
The three dots on the phone blink for a second before another one of his texts pops up. I’m lonely. Wish you could keep me company.
The butterflies are having an all-out war in my chest now, and I’m considering asking Harmony if I can take my break when she comes bounding in from her back office with the kind of cheeky grin that makes her look twenty years younger. Oh, no. This can’t be good.
“Guess what I just did?” She rushes to put her arm around my shoulders. She smells of her usual sage––not my favorite scent in the world. I hold back a cough, my eyes instantly watering. The stuff sells here by the boatload, so it comes with the territory, but I swear I’m allergic or something.
“What?” I grit my teeth and smile.
“I just booked your first reading! Your customer will be here in five minutes.”
I blink at her, my heart stopping and then furiously catching up to the fear. I knew this was coming. She’s been preparing me on what to do and putting feelers out with her regulars. But I’m not ready.
“You are ready, Hazel.” She lets me go and glides through the store, arms outstretched like this is some kind of “world is your oyster” moment. “Remember what we talked about?” Her watery blue eyes travel up and down me. “You let the customer sit and you invite any spirits of the light to join them and then take it from there. Let them ask questions. Tell them what you see and hear. Simple. The hour will go by in a flash. And if anything weird or uncomfortable happens in there, you’re allowed to end the session early.”
I gulp and nod, forcing my expression to relax. “I’m going to be cool as a cucumber, even if more than five minutes notice would have been nice.”
Harmony only laughs and busies herself with one of the displays. I guess the $50 commission will have to make up for this sudden attack on my nervous system. Harmony’s been saying that it’s only a matter of time before I’m completely booked for these “psychic medium readings” and not able to work on the sales floor anymore. If that happens, I’ll be earning several hundred dollars a week. Maybe even $750 a week if I can work up to the full fifteen sessions. That number is staggering for a girl who grew up in a single parent household and needed a scholarship to be able to attend college without going into serious debt. It’s the kind of money that could go a long way in getting me through veterinary school one day. It’s true what they say, vet school is just as costly as medical school without the fancy BMW waiting ten years down the line. Sigh…
Okay, I can do this. It’s a great opportunity.
The door opens and the little bell chimes. My whole body lights up with nervous energy.
Nevermind, I can’t do this!
I take a steadying breath, once again clearing my face of fear, and look up to find my first customer, a fake smile frozen on my lips. He strides into the shop like he owns the place, like he knows exactly how this day is going to go for him and it’s going to go super well. His scruffy dark hair is curled around his ears and somehow, my own hands twitch, my treacherous fingers wanting to frolic through those silky waves.
What is wrong with me?
My eyes travel down the curve of his arms to where his hands are pushed into the pockets of his jeans. The man is sporting a leather jacket that oozes so much sexiness, it’s completely unfair. I can only pull off the nerdy girl look. Not the “hot librarian fantasy nerd” version. Just the regular one. But it’s his dark eyes, those two black depths, no longer lit by fire, that send an icy shiver over my entire body. The shiver battles with the nerves already there!
He’s no longer the man who knows exactly how this day is going to go, in fact, his expression is saying quite the opposite. But that doesn’t make sense! Dean Ashton is scowling at me, eyes blazen, lip curled, jaw tight, and all I can think is that now would be a good time to quit my new job.
8
Khali
With each passing hour, I shift from chilling numbness to staggering grief. Every small action seems like a mountain of overwhelm that I don’t care to climb. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. Mourning has left every muscle aching and even that isn’t enough to push away the turmoil. And the worst part is that my thoughts of Owen are tainted with guilt for having put him in that vulnerable position in the first place. We shouldn’t have gone out alone unprotected. And we never should have trusted his brother. I always knew Silas wanted to be king, but how could we have underestimated him?
Because after two weeks of hell, I’m beginning to think Silas is going to get away with what he did. He’s the only Dragon Blessed heir left. He’ll get the crown by default.
I stare up at my stone ceiling and force myself to replay what happened; all the tears dried up days ago. Parts of it are hazy. I still don’t know how long it took the guards to find me with Owen’s body. After Silas threatened me and left, I stayed. I stayed and I held my best friend’s body in my arms, sobbing until the rain stopped, the sunrise bled over the horizon and they found us.
I was a babbling mess and they were quick to take me into custody, locking me in my chambers. And I’ve been here ever since. Every time Faros comes in with a meal or to help me bathe or dress, I plead with her to send King Titus and Queen Brysta to come speak with me. They need to know what happened. Why don’t they come? But Faros says they’ve refused to see me and forbidden anyone but her to come in here. I haven’t even received a visit from my mother.
At this point, I’m waiting for my death.
Because why else would Owen’s parents refuse to talk to me if they didn’t believe I was responsible for their son’s murder? If I could just explain what happened, warn them about Silas, then they could punish Silas and protect Bram. He might not have magic, but that doesn’t mean Silas won’t find a reason to end his life too. Besides, perhaps the King and Queen could find it in their hearts to bring Dean back from exile. Surely they could override the law? What good is being a monarch if you can’t do that? If they knew the truth, they’d have to agree that anything would be better than Silas getting away with murdering his twin.
I drift into sleep, exhaustion taking over like a spring mud, thick, heavy, and bitter cold. I sink into it, letting it take me. Anything is better than to be l
eft alone with my thoughts.
Sometime later, I wake to find my mother sitting at the end of the small bed. Her hair and makeup are done perfectly. She wears a black mourning dress. Her eyes are red but she doesn’t look sad. She looks angry.
“What did you do?” she spits out.
I don’t have the energy to entertain her right now. I roll over, pressing my face against the cool stone wall. It smells of winter.
“Khali Elliot, you will talk to me.” She grabs hold of my leg. “What happened? What did you do to Owen?”
I shift to glare up at her, yanking my leg away. “Maybe you should ask your buddy, Silas, about what he did to his twin?” I hiss.
Her eyes widen. Her body stills. I can see her mind is racing as she puts it all together. I don’t know what I expect from her. Shock? Sadness? Anger?
I get none of these. Instead, I find fear on her face.
“Silas must have been provoked,” she says calmly.
“No!” I snap. “Silas killed Owen in cold blood.”
“Shh––” she jumps forward and slams her hand over my mouth. “Don’t you ever speak those words again. That’s treason.”
I want to laugh. To cry. To bite out every angry word I have for her. I do none of those things. She stands, brushing out her skirt, and leaves without a backwards glance.
She doesn’t come to visit me again.
And all I can think about is how much I miss my father. I miss him with every fiber of my being, but he never comes through that locked door, despite how many times I plead with the Gods. He’s still gone from Court, I’m sure. If he were back in our suite at the castle, he would have noticed my absence and upon discovering what had happened to me, demanded an audience. But his missions for the king are so secretive that his travel locations and lengths are left to my imagination. I never have any idea when he’ll return and this latest absence is no different.
