Love & Omens

by Carrie Pulkinen

  Going to this ball with Sydney—the event that ended their relationship last time—was symbolic like she’d said…a sign that their time had finally come. Maybe he’d needed to go to New York. Perhaps they’d both had some growing up to do before their happily ever after could happen.

  And now, the culmination of their journeys had brought them back to the beginning. A fresh start. A chance at forever. However long that may be. He shook his head to chase away the thought. Tonight was about their love; they’d deal with the dreaded premonitions in the morning.

  Sydney’s sundial necklace felt cool against his chest, where it was tucked away inside his tuxedo, but the rest of him burned like a fever. Was it nerves? Excitement? He flipped the switch to turn on the ceiling fan and stepped back to check out his costume.

  A short, slate blue jacket with tails covered his white button-up and dark gray vest, and an antique pocket watch he borrowed from his dad sat tucked inside the vest pocket with a gold chain attached to a buttonhole on the front. He wore matching gray pinstriped pants, and a gray mask and top hat with white ears attached would complete the outfit.

  He grabbed the hat and mask from his dresser and met Claire in the living room. She perched on the edge of a chair, her hot pink stilettos peeking out from her green floor-length gown. A tuft of pink petals surrounded her waist and flowed down her hips, and the top of the dress resembled the stamen of a flower.

  Her pink mask sparkled with glitter that matched her lipstick, and she smiled as he set the hat on his head. “Well, look at you, Mr. Rabbit.”

  “It was the best I could do on short notice. Good thing my mom is friends with a woman who designs costumes for the krewes.” He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Six-thirty. Sydney was always early…

  His heart thrummed. She should have been there already. Slipping the watch into his pocket, he checked the time against his phone. It was correct. No texts from Sydney either.

  Claire rose to her feet, and as if reading his mind, she patted his shoulder and said, “She didn’t have much time to get ready. She’ll be here soon.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure she will.” Claire had just arrived a few minutes before, and even Blake hadn’t been ready yet. Sydney was probably on her way. Texting her now would distract her from driving.

  Claire pulled her phone from her sequined handbag and typed something on the screen. “I promised Sam I’d take lots of pictures.” She stood next to him and held out the phone. “Say Wonderland.”

  He forced a smile as she snapped a photo. His own phone buzzed with an incoming message, and he blew out a breath of relief as Sydney’s name appeared when he swiped at the screen.

  His relief quickly morphed into confusion as he read her message: I’m not coming to the ball. Go ahead without me.

  “What the…?” He squinted at the screen, not believing his eyes.

  Claire leaned against the counter. “Was that Sydney?”

  “She says she not coming.” He typed a reply: What’s going on? Is everything okay?

  Claire’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

  “I’m trying to find out.” He stared at the screen as the three little dots flitted near the bottom, indicating she was typing a reply. Claire’s gaze was heavy, and he glanced toward her, holding up a finger before shuffling into his bedroom.

  His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together, which sent a sharp pain ricocheting through his skull. Sydney’s response was taking entirely too long. He dialed her number and pressed the phone to his ear. It rang four times before going to voicemail. “Hey. Call me back.” He pressed end and watched the dots bouncing on the screen while his insides tied into knots.

  Her reply came through: We’re done, Blake. Don’t call me.

  The room spun, and he put a hand on the dresser to steady himself. They weren’t done. Was she insane?

  He hit the call button again but was greeted with her voicemail. “Dammit, Syd. What’s going on? Did you see something? Talk to me.”

  He mashed the end button and typed another message: We’re NOT done. Not even close. Tell me what you saw. We’ll fix it.

  Claire appeared in the doorway. “Is everything okay?”

  “No,” he barked. “Everything is not okay.”

  “Does this mean we aren’t going to the ball?” Disappointment saturated her voice.

  He let out an irritated grunt. “Apparently Sydney isn’t.”

  His phone buzzed with another message. We can’t fix this. Take Claire to the masquerade. She was looking forward to it.

  He groaned as he typed his reply, deleting and retyping as his fingers, suddenly feeling thicker, mashed the screen. Was it a death vision? Talk to me, please.

  “Why is she doing this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “What is she saying?”

  “She’s breaking up with me. Again.” The three tiny dots bounced on his screen, taunting him.

  “Seriously? Via text? Who does that?” Claire crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look.

  He sighed. “This won’t be the first time.”

  The final message came through: It has nothing to do with death. We’re over. I’m turning off my phone now.

  “No.” He mashed the call button, but it went straight to voicemail. She’d ghosted him right before the masquerade, just like she’d done eight years ago. “Goddammit, Sydney.”

  The urge to hurl his phone into the wall coiled in his muscles, tightening his grip on the device. With a sharp exhale, he shoved it in his pocket and stormed into the living room to snatch his keys from the bowl by the door.

  Claire followed on his heels. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to her house. It’s not ending this way.” He moved for the door, but she caught him by the arm.

  “Wait a minute. Do you even know if she’s at home?”

  “Where else would she be?”

  “I don’t know. At a friend’s house. Her mom’s. Maybe she went to the Mardi Gras warehouse to work on taking apart the float. Maybe she’s at a bar. Who knows?”

  He ground his teeth.

  “Look, you’re upset. The last thing you need to do is get behind the wheel and drive around aimlessly looking for your ex-girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my ex. She saw something, and if she would talk to me, we could work it out. She swore she’d always talk to me.” Why was she doing this? After everything they’d been through… All the promises she’d made…

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” Claire crossed her arms. “She lied.”

  “No.” He shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t. Something spooked her, but there was no reason for them to break up. “She loves me.”

  “Does she?”

  Anger burned white-hot in his chest. “Of course she does.”

  “Okay.” Claire held up her hands. “I believe you. But if she’s this upset about some premonition she had, do you think storming into her house now—if she’s even at home—is the way to get her back?” She rubbed his shoulder. “Let it simmer. Give her time to process whatever it is she saw, and then try talking to her again.”

  She was right. Sydney was strong-willed. Stubborn even. If she didn’t want to talk to him now, forcing her wouldn’t solve anything. “Dammit, Claire. Why do you have to make so much sense?”

  He flopped onto the couch and tossed his hat and keys on the coffee table. What was it about this damn masquerade? It was like fate didn’t want them to attend it together…or he wasn’t meant to attend it at all. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

  Claire perched on the arm of the sofa. “So…I guess this means we aren’t going to the ball either?” She smoothed her hand down the front of her dress and toyed with one of the flower petals.

  “I’m not in the mood for a masquerade.”

  “I understand. Your time would be better spent sulking here at home. I guess I’ll shove this dress in the back of my closet and hope that one day I’ll get
invited to another one…and that dressing like a giant flower will fit with the theme.”

  He sighed and eyed his cousin. Claire had been elated when Sydney told her she was on the guest list. She’d practically bubbled with excitement, calling her mom and begging for money to buy a costume. Now, she sat there, picking at a loose thread on her sequined handbag, her shoulders slumped and looking so…disappointed.

  What good would sitting at home do? If he stayed here alone, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from driving to Sydney’s house, and where would that get him? She needed time to process whatever she saw. He could go there tomorrow, and the next day. And the day after that. Whatever it took to get her to open up and share her visions. To remind her she didn’t have to carry the burden alone.

  Tonight, he needed to stay busy. He settled his mask on his face, tying it at the back of his head, and put on his top hat. “Come on, Claire. Let’s go to the ball.”

  Her entire face lit up. “Really?”

  “Why not? Sitting here isn’t going to bring Sydney back.”

  “Okay.” She took her keys from her purse. “But I’m driving.”

  “I’m not distraught. I can handle a car.”

  “I know, but it’s a ball. There will be an open bar, and I’m not old enough to drink.”

  He laughed. “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I got a fake ID in New York, and it’s super-high quality.” She grinned, tossing her hair behind her back. “I know people.”

  She was smart and pretty, and she used both to her advantage. He hoped he was a responsible-enough adult to be a good influence on her, as long as she didn’t follow in his relationship footsteps. “I think those people are the reason your parents wanted you to move out here.”

  “I’m glad I came.”

  “Me too.” He grabbed his keys, but she snatched them from his hand and tossed them onto the table.

  “I’m driving. You need to let loose and have fun tonight. I promise not to drink.”

  He started to argue, but why should he? He deserved to have some fun. Let someone else be responsible for a change.

  The pink sheen on Sydney’s lips glinted in the bathroom light as she smiled at her reflection. It was hard to believe that, eight years later, she was finally going to the masquerade with Blake.

  While the parade was no doubt the highlight of the year for the krewe, the annual masquerade ball was the grand finale. It was the culmination of everything they’d worked toward all year long, coming together in an exciting, formal extravaganza that rivaled even the super krewes’ parties.

  She’d enjoyed all eight balls she’d attended so far, but every one had been laced with a tinge of sadness. A hollowness in her chest reminding her of the broken heart she’d endured before her induction into the krewe.

  Tonight would be different. Blake would be by her side this time, filling the emptiness, making the night complete. “It’s going to be perfect.” And she planned to enjoy every second of it. If her days were numbered, she might as well make the most of the ones she had left.

  She picked up her blue satin clutch and matching mask and sashayed out the front door. Her feet felt as if they barely touched the ground, her body light with giddy happiness, as she made her way to her car.

  Cranking the engine, she threw it into reverse and eased on the gas. The car thumped as it rolled backward, the wheel pulling to the left against her grip. “What on earth?”

  She scrambled out of the driver’s seat, and her chest deflated like her front tire. “Damn it.” She must have hit a nail on her way home yesterday. Blake had picked her up this morning to take her to the parade, so the hole had all day to leak out the remaining air from the tire.

  She had a spare in the trunk, but she’d have to change out of her gown before she swapped the tires. It would be faster to take an Uber. Reaching across the console, she grabbed her purse and mask and pulled out her phone.

  Nothing happened when she swiped at the screen. She pressed the home button, but the device remained dark. Seriously? She held down the power button, and it dinged, the screen lighting bright white as it turned back on.

  “No wonder I haven’t heard any notifications.”

  It powered up, and an error message lit her screen: No SIM card installed

  “No SIM card?” She tapped on the phone, but the device insisted she put in a card. “I never took it out.”

  A breeze kicked up, blowing her hair across her face and raising goose bumps on her arms. She powered off the phone as she scurried to the front door and slipped into the living room. After a few minutes, she turned the device back on, but the same error message taunted her on the screen.

  When her pocket ripped on the float that afternoon, the phone had taken a tumble, landing face down on the wood with a smack. The screen hadn’t shattered, so she’d assumed it survived the fall. Apparently, it didn’t.

  “Well, what now, Syd?” Without the phone, getting a rideshare was out. She cursed under her breath and opened her laptop. The local cab company had a web-based form, so she could get a ride that way. She’d worry about the phone and the flat tire tomorrow.

  She double-tapped the icon for the web browser and waited for it to pull up the search screen. An error message read: No wi-fi connection.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She opened the control panel and tried to reconnect, but nothing worked.

  She had scoffed at her mother’s insistence that she have a landline in her home for emergencies. It seemed Mother did know best about something.

  She stomped to her bedroom to reset the router, but the damn thing wasn’t even on. Hiking up her dress, she knelt beside the dresser, running her hand along the power cord to pull it out from behind the furniture.

  The cord had been cut.

  It wasn’t frayed or crushed like it had been caught beneath a leg of the dresser. The cut was clean, from a sharp knife or a pair of scissors.

  Her pulse thrummed, and the first hint of adrenaline trickled down her spine. The flat tire. The phone. The wi-fi. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

  She gasped. “My phone.”

  Scrambling to her feet, she rushed into the living room and scooped her phone from the computer desk. She rummaged through the drawer to find a paperclip and shoved the pointed end into the tiny hole on the side of the phone to release the SIM card slot.

  It was empty.

  “Son of a bitch.” She dropped onto the couch and lit the meditation candle. “All right, universe. You tried to show me something earlier. Let’s see it.”

  The flame flickered, and she focused on the orange glow. Her vision tunneled, the blue and gold kaleidoscope pattern closing in like a flash of lightning before she tumbled into Wonderland.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Smile. It’s not the end of the world.” Claire patted Blake’s cheek as they swayed to the music, so he twirled her under his arm to distract her from the annoying gesture.

  The hotel ballroom had an enormous dance floor situated under a massive chandelier dripping with crystals. A jazz band played on a stage at one end of the room, and plush, blue carpet, dotted with tables draped in white linen, surrounded the wooden floor.

  Whimsical ice sculptures shaped like characters from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland stood about the room, spilling out into the lobby, and an open bar and expansive buffet sat at the other end of the space. Greenery, balloons, and papier mâché flowers added to the Wonderland effect.

  What was he thinking coming to a ball with this theme? Everywhere he looked, the decor screamed Sydney.

  Not the end of the world, my ass. “Might as well be.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic. You’ll either get her back, or you won’t. Life will go on either way.”

  “No, it won’t. I love her. I can’t…I don’t want to live without her.” And that was the god’s honest truth. He couldn’t imagine any kind of a future with
out Sydney in it.

  She pressed her lips into a disapproving line. “This is what happens when you get too attached to people. You know what? If she won’t take you back, then screw her. You’ll always have me. We’re…family.”

  He laughed, but he couldn’t force any humor into it. “I appreciate your friendship, and I’m glad you’re here in New Orleans. But you’ve got to realize it’s not the same. Being in love with someone is an entirely different ballgame.”

  A noncommittal sound emanated from her throat as she stepped away from him. “You need a drink. You like whiskey, right?” She dragged him to the edge of the dance floor. “Wait here, and I’ll get you one.”

  “How?”

  “Fake ID, remember?” She turned on her heel and marched toward the bar.

  Blake sighed and checked the time on his pocket watch. Nearly eight p.m. What on earth could Sydney have seen in her vision to make her so upset? He’d thought their deaths were the worst things she could have predicted. Apparently, he was wrong.

  He fished his phone from his pocket and dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail again. “What am I doing?” He needed to find her. She was most likely at home, but if she wasn’t, he’d look for her. He’d spend the entire night driving to every location he could think she might be to find her.

  Claire would be fine without him. She never had trouble making friends, and Eric and Jason were around here somewhere. They could keep an eye on her.

  He scanned the crowd, looking for one of the guys. Claire was still at the bar. He’d find one of his friends, let them know he was leaving, and he could get an Uber back to his place for his car.

  He’d made up his mind just as his gaze landed on the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Sydney stood at the entrance wearing a long blue and white gown, slit up the side to right above her knee. Black patent leather high heels accented her black choker and bracelet, giving her Alice costume a slightly gothic flair.