“She’ll love you in this.” Adele winked. “Trust me.”
She stopped herself from thinking too hard about how hot both Natasha and Gus would look in their matching thongs: his muscular, toned thighs and rippled abs highlighted by a carefully placed package paired with Natasha’s tall, pale, lean form and firm thighs. Adele imagined Natasha’s ass was rather shapely underneath the long, black skirts she wore constantly.
“Take a picture for me,” Adele said as she packaged up the thongs.
“Whatever you say.” Gus blushed.
“You two would look so adorable right here by the till.” Adele patted the counter.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Gus smirked.
“Well, I know you’re kidding. We both know Natasha.”
This caused them both to grin, but again his mirth didn’t reach his eyes. His aura was murky and smoky, as if tornado clouds were brewing. He looked at the clock once more.
“Damn, I’m going to be late,” he said. “Gotta go.”
Adele watched him leave just as Lindsay came into the store. The girl was seventeen and wore her red hair in long braids as if she went to Hogwarts or some other private school. In truth, the girl was in public high school, and she was often mocked for her penchant for braids, white shirts with frilled collars and black kilts. More than once, Adele wondered if the teenager would grow up to marry a man with a taste for naughty little schoolgirls. Or if she would ever dye her carrot-orange hair.
“You’re early,” Adele said.
“I hurried. It’s not that warm out today,” Lindsay replied as she took her coat off and hung it in the storage room.
“No, it’s only March,” Adele said. “In like a lion and out like a lamb?” She sighed. “Maybe this is the lamb and we’ll be wishing all we had was gloomy cold.”
“You’re silly, Adele,” Lindsay said.
“I’m sorry. It’s just a weird saying.”
“I figured that you, of all people, would be used to weird sayings,” Lindsay said as she grabbed a broom and dustpan to sweep the area by the front entrance.
“Yes, I do have buckets of weird sayings, but that was one that always kind of bothered me. I’ve never really noticed it to be true.”
Lindsay swept, scraping up damp clumps of salt and pine needles. “There’s always endless pine needles. It gets on my nerves,” she said as she stopped to manually pick up the more stubborn and wet needles that clung to the floor.
“One of the perks of living in New England,” Adele said.
“Yeah, that and the endless fog.” Lindsay looked wistfully out the window. The girl was right. A late afternoon fog was rolling. Adele wondered if a storm was coming and if it would be rain or snow. This time of year was always a roll of the dice. And with the advent of global warming, the wacky weather patterns weren’t just reserved for spring and fall. Weather was a year-round guessing game. Adele had long ago stopped putting her winter things in storage. Some summer nights were nearly as cold as a February thaw.
“You can see things in the fog,” Adele said as she joined Lindsay at the window. The fog rolled in thick, tumbling clumps, almost like a parade.
“I know that. I saw that Stephen King movie. I think I’ll stay inside.” Lindsay shuddered.
“No, not scary things. Well, maybe sometimes scary. But you can scry in the fog, much like you can in campfire smoke. Try it.”
Lindsay squinted. “It’s going by too fast. I can’t see anything.” She sighed.
Adele continued to look at the fog. She could see people from other centuries walking down the street. The mishmash of styles belied ghosts from various eras. Native Americans walked with a teenage rapper; a woman in a long evening gown strolled with a young lady in a brilliant tube top and pink hot pants.
“There are a lot of ghosts in that fog,” Adele confirmed and returned to her busywork.
Lindsay put away the broom and dustpan and started to tidy up the displays. “Well, there may be ghosts, but I don’t see them. I don’t even know if I want to.”
“I know, sometimes I don’t want to see them either,” Adele said. “I’m lucky it’s not all the time. It has to be something really unusual, like that thick fog, for me to see ghosts. Some of my friends see ghosts all the time.”
“That’s just too creepy for me,” Lindsay said. “I’d rather deal with living people.”
“Me too.”
“It’s hard enough to deal with living people. Let alone all those dead ones.”
“Don’t I know it?”
* * *
Adele was nearly late for her art class. She taught a few times a week at the school a few blocks from the store. Several extracurricular classes were run in the various rooms on a regular basis for the residents of Hermana. Everything from sewing to séances could be learned in the evenings, if someone was willing to teach it.
She hurried in and rushed to set up her easel and organize her tools. Breathless, she turned and looked around the classroom. Silently, she counted heads. Everyone was there. Even Madeleine.
She smiled at Madeleine, her Aquarius friend from Lucy’s circles, then turned to mark down the attendance before she forgot.
The door opened and a tall, muscular, dark-haired man walked in. He stood awkwardly, his blues shining. His jaw was strong, and five-o’clock shadow accented his cheeks and chin.
“I’m—uh, here for the painting class,” he stammered and blushed. Adele grinned at his shyness and rushed toward him.
“Come in. I’m Adele, the teacher.” She showed him to a spot where he could take out one of the easels and set up his supplies. As the man emptied his knapsack, Adele watched him with interest. His aura swirled with magenta and green hues, with a tinge of black threading through it. He had a very young face. His partially grown-in beard gave him a boyishly scruffy look. She guessed he was in his twenties.
Once he had pulled out his gear, Adele returned to the front of the class.
“As you see, we have a new student. Can you tell us a bit about yourself?”
“I’m Devin,” he said and blushed again. “I’m new to Hermana. I’ve always enjoyed painting, and when I heard about this aura painting class, I thought it sounded kind of cool.”
Adele smiled. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“No, not right now,” he said, trying to look busy with his brushes.
“Well, let’s go around the room and introduced ourselves so that Devin feels more at home.”
* * *
After the introductions were finished, Adele resumed the lesson.
“Today we’re going to explore what light and shadow mean to you. There is no right and wrong to this exercise. Just imagine something in your head with light and shadows and try to capture how you feel about it.”
Madeleine sighed loudly. Adele turned to look at her.
“Yes, Madeleine?” Adele asked.
“It’s always about feeling. I just find it so hard sometimes.”
“You’re doing great,” Adele said. “Ever since you came back from your trip to California, you’ve come a long way.”
Madeleine bowed her head. “Thank you. But it’s still hard.”
She shrugged. “Just do your best. That’s all you can do.”
Madeleine set to work putting brush against paper. Adele walked around the room, listening to the sound of paint touching paper, smelling the different scents of the pigments mixed with the cologne and aftershave of her students.
As she paced, she wasn’t really watching what people were doing. Not just yet. She liked to give them a chance to explore what they needed to say. She only walked around in case someone had a question. She found that if she sat down while they worked, they felt less inclined to approach her. Often, she’d study their auras, making mental notes for paintings she would explore in her free time.
At last, more than a half hour had passed and she allowed herself to gaze upon her students’ work. Each painting was a unique rend
ering of light and dark. Some chose people; others chose objects. She stopped at Devin’s easel.
“Oh my,” she said as she stared at his painting. He looked at her anxiously.
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t describe it,” Adele said as a wash of warmth spread over her. The sensation tunneled through her, awakening each and every sense in her body. Happiness bubbled through her veins.
“What is it?” she asked. But as she stared at the painting, it suddenly pulled into focus. It was a landscape. Tall trees with odd-shaped leaves rimmed a large purple meadow. In the distance, magenta mountains loomed higher than the canvas would allow. A pale blue brook was half finished, and rough sketches of people having a picnic on the shore were barely discernable.
“It’s just a place,” Devin said, his eyes growing wide. As he stared at her, a pull tickled at Adele’s stomach and spread out down to her thighs and up across her breasts. The area was warm as her chakras opened wider—for the first time in a long time.
“Who are you?” Adele asked. She stared at his aura; magenta, green, yellow and blue ribbons danced along his head.
“I’m your new student,” he said.
“That’s not really what I meant.” Adele gazed upon the painting once more. The sensuous pull it had on her wrapped around her body, seemingly wanting her to climb inside. It would be fun to go somewhere warm and have a picnic. The people in the picture, as crudely rendered as they were, had no clothes on, so the weather was mild. She imagined the sound of the brook when it was done and could almost feel the soft breeze on her face. Her groin throbbed with anticipation as she stared at the rolling expanse of hills before the mountains.
“Are you okay?” Devin asked.
“Me? Of course,” Adele said, giving her head a shake. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to a new student having such skill on the first day.”
“I’m not a beginner,” Devin said. “I’ve been painting my whole life.”
“It shows. And my, I must say you’re very fast.”
“Sometimes I am. Especially the landscapes. They come so quickly, it’s like I never drew them at all.”
“Almost like you’re channeling,” Adele said. She turned to the rest of the class. “Devin has reminded me of a topic we’ve not discussed in a while. Do all of you know what channeling is?”
Madeleine put up her hand. “It’s when a spirit or force comes through us, as if we’re just a vessel for something else, and as the spirit, we relay a message in some manner.”
“That’s right. Devin goes into a trance when he works, like most of us do. But in his trance, he perhaps is not painting a vision that is his own. There’s a school of thought that believes the arts are resonating on another plane. Only gifted and talented people can tap into this plane. Some people have to work at it, while for others, it just comes naturally, even if they don’t know how they did it.”
“So, how do you get to this plane if you don’t just stumble into it?” Colleen asked.
“Meditation. Spirit guides. You can meditate about finding the answer in a file folder in a filing cabinet in some mighty storage unit in some other dimension. Or for the purposes of this class, you can meditate about painting the answer to your question right here in this room.”
“How do you do it, Devin?” Madeleine asked.
“I’m not sure. Like I said, it just happens.”
“Maybe we can find out how to tap into it and make it even stronger,” Adele said. “Channeling is often something coming from another world into this one. Like a ghost.”
“Or something else,” Madeline said.
“And you would know. Madeleine is a paranormal investigator. She just got back from filming a paranormal reality series in a haunted asylum in California.”
“Did you see any ghosts?” Devin asked.
Madeleine nodded. “Oh yes. There were ghosts there all right.”
“Did you channel anything?” Adele asked.
“Me? Not really. Not like some of the other people in this town do. Channeling is a bit scary for me. I’m having a hard enough time getting in touch with my feelings for a painting class.”
There were chuckles from a few of the students. Madeleine blushed.
“Well, it’s true.”
“I know,” Adele said. “It’s hard when it doesn’t come naturally. I have to say, I’m like Devin. I was pretty much born with a paintbrush in my hand.” She glanced up at the clock. “Well, look at that, class was over a few minutes ago. Let’s get this place organized.”
The students lined up at the sinks to pour out their paints and clean off their brushes. As the students said their good-byes, Madeleine lingered behind.
“Do you want to go for a coffee?” Adele asked her.
“I’d love to.”
* * *
The two women sat at a little table by the window, sipping cups of coffee. The day had melted some of the snow, creating mounds of gray slush along the sidewalks. Getting around Hermana by foot was an arduous task this time of year, and both of them wore very unfashionable but practical knee-high boots.
“Tell me about Jake,” Adele asked. “Is he the one?”
Madeleine sighed and looked out the window. “I like him a lot,” she said. “I wish he didn’t live in California. It’s so far away.”
“Maybe distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll forget about me as time goes on.”
“How can you say that? Didn’t he come up as a surprise for you just the other week?”
“Yes, but how often can he afford to do that? I don’t know how much money he has and if he’s going to run out.”
“I suppose. I guess just take one day at a time and hope for the best.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” Madeleine said.
“So, other than that, what’s he like?”
“He’s cute. He can be bossy, but that’s okay. It’s like a California-TV-type thing, I guess.”
“How about... you know?” Adele whispered, leaning closer.
“Oh, he’s fabulous. I couldn’t ask for a better lover.”
“Cute and good in bed. You go, girl!” Adele laughed.
“Yep, he’s got it all, except he’s not here.”
“It’s always something. At least when you get together, it will always be like a honeymoon.”
“There is that,” Madeleine said.
They drank their coffee in silence.
“How about that new guy, Devin?” Madeleine finally asked.
“What about him?” Adele asked.
“He’s gorgeous,” Madeleine sighed. “And so talented.”
“Isn’t he? I swear, just looking at his paintings made me all hot and bothered,” Adele confessed.
“It’s like he’s painting with pheromones or something. I felt it too,” Madeleine said. “How does that happen?”
“I don’t know. I guess part talent, part technique. Art is such a strange thing.”
“Do you really believe artists channel their art from other planes?”
“I’m not sure where I think creativity comes from. A part of the brain. Another universe. A spirit guide. Maybe it’s a combination of many things.”
“It’s so fascinating. I wish I could figure out to really tap into the creative process to make my own artwork sing.”
“You’re doing very well, Madeleine. The drawings you showed me from your experiences at the asylum really moved me. Some made me feel horror; some made me feel love and lust. You are tapping into something, whether you know it or not.”
Madeleine smiled. “That makes me feel better. I hope you’re not just saying that.”
“You know I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” Adele said. “I believe in trying to examine the process, even if that means sometimes our work isn’t very good. But you seem to be embracing the concepts, and that’s great.”
“Well, let’s toast to my newfound creativity.
” Madeleine lifted her coffee cup. Adele clicked hers against it.
About the Author
Sèphera Girón is the author of 25 books, both fiction and nonfiction, as well as a certified astrologer, tarot reader and numerologist.
She was born in New Orleans and lived just a few doors down from Lee Harvey Oswald for a few months. The Giróns ultimately landed in London, Ontario, where Sèphera grew up until she left for Toronto to attend York University where she received her BA, got married, birthed a couple of sons, got divorced and launched her writing career.
Sèphera’s 25 published books under various names span the horror and romance genres, as well as the metaphysical. Sèphera wrote four books with Leisure Horror: House of Pain, The Birds and the Bees, Borrowed Flesh and Mistress of the Dark. Sèphera’s work with Samhain Horror includes Captured Souls, Flesh Failure, Experiments in Terror and A Penny Saved. She is currently working on the erotic romance/horror 12-part Witch upon a Star series featuring astrological signs and witchcraft.
Sèphera received her certificate in Tarot, Numerology and Astrology from the School of Metaphysical Sciences International. She also has Reiki and Touch for Health certificates. She currently writes a weekly astrological column for RomanceBeat.com.
Sèphera reads tarot and also enjoys going to haunted houses. She’s stayed overnight at the Lizzie Borden House six times, twice at a haunted mansion in California and recently attended a Writers Retreat at the Stanley Hotel in Colorado.
Sèphera lives in Toronto by the lake, where she works as a freelance writer, freelance editor and tarot reader. You can follow her on twitter.com/sephera, youtube.com/sephera, instagram.com/sepheragiron, sephwritter666.blogspot.com and tarotpaths.blogspot.com
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