by Ariella Moon
Mortification scorched my cheeks. Before Uncle Esmun could introduce us, I fled, high heels in hand, my little purse thumping against my hip.
In the hallway, I slipped into my stilettos seconds before more arrivals crowded the narrow corridor. I shouldered past a suburban mom type, who nodded at me, and an older Caucasian woman with cropped gray pixie hair and a perky ski jump nose.
The older woman's warm smile crinkled her eyes. "Hi, kiddo."
"Uh, hello."
A grizzled man sporting an Alientologist hat followed. He pierced me with an intense, appraising look. Straggling in last was a female goth with multiple piercings and an unfortunate choice of hair dye.
Aunt Terra brought up the rear. Seeing me, she paused, searched my eyes, and then clasped my hand. "Walk with me."
She escorted me back under the bright hum of the store's fluorescent lights. No customers. Jett, armed with a spray bottle of turquoise glass cleaner and a paper towel, attacked fingerprints on the display cases. He had taken off his blazer, revealing a tee shirt emblazoned with the words "You mess with me, you mess with the whole trailer park."
"What did your almanac say for today?" Aunt Terra asked.
"Um, let's see." I extracted the little book from my purse and opened it to the page marked with a green ribbon.
December Seven
Moon void of course at 4:11 a.m. Pacific Standard Time
Tarot: Page of Swords
The Collision of Chaos and Civilization. Ready Yourself.
Aunt Terra made a tsking sound.
"What does 'void of course' mean?" I asked.
"Your uncle could give you a better answer, but it refers to the time prior to the moon entering a new astrological sign. When the moon is in transition, it's a bad time to do magic. Things could go much differently than expected, and not in a good way."
I added it to my mental box marked Interesting But Probably Useless Information. "Do you think the chaos refers to my parents?" I asked.
"Maybe." She sounded doubtful. "The Page cards usually refer to a young person. The Page of Swords is someone who may be self-confident and even forceful at times, but is still trying to gain control or stabilize herself.
Gee, I wonder whom she could be talking about. "So the chaos may be internal?"
"Maybe. Could be external, or both."
"Are these entries ever cheerful?"
A smile lit Aunt Terra's face. Mom should smile like that more often. "Do you think we'd give you something filled with doom?"
"So far, I'd have to go with a yes."
Aunt Terra wrapped her arm around my shoulders, making me miss Mom. "Well, we wouldn't, silly girl. The entry probably means new energies are coming into your life. You should focus on getting grounded and being in your power."
My parents had abandoned me at Christmas, and they were probably getting a divorce. I wasn't the least bit grounded or powerful. "Any suggestions on how?"
Aunt Terra glanced toward the back. Even I could sense Uncle Esmun silently willing her to join him so the workshop could begin.
"The store is full of possible paths. See what calls to you." She gave me a lavender-scented hug. "Good luck."
I watched her disappear into the bowels of the store. The New Age CD filling the room with ominous gongs ended. Before Jett could zone in on me with his distractingly curtained glare, I rooted through an onyx bowl of animal totem stones and extracted one. It was blank. I am so lacking in magic, even animals won't have anything to do with me.
"What did you get?" Jett leaned over to check the stone, and his cinnamon breath brushed my cheek.
"Nothing." I dropped the useless rock back into the bowl, where it clattered against the real animal totems. "It was blank."
"Seriously? That's never happened before."
Thanks for making me feel better.
Jett tipped the vessel toward us and fished through it with his finger. He had drawn flames on his knuckles with red ink. A patchwork of hair-thin scars marred the underside of his left wrist.
"Lame." He dismissed the stones with a scowl. "Try the animal totem tarot deck. It's against the wall." He pointed to one of the bookcases near the rear of the store. Then his gaze slid toward the hall leading to the mystery school. "But you should look now before things heat up back there."
A bunch of oddballs walking a spiral? I'm so not worried. I shrugged, as if conjuring up dragons was a natural family occurrence. Which maybe it was.
"Suit yourself." A wounded expression flitted across his face. Guilt crept over me since he had tried to make nice. I took a circuitous path, pausing to look at crystal earrings. I glanced up and caught Jett's stare before he averted his gaze.
I sauntered over to a table draped in gold brocade and trailed my fingers over a bronze Buddha statue. A book about attracting wealth distracted me for a few more seconds, then I ambled toward the basket of tarot decks.
A low drumming reverberated in my chest before registering in my ears. The mural, with its odd perspective, tilted forward as if scooping me up, then angled back. My stomach dive-bombed. I lost feeling in my legs. The drumbeats grew more insistent. My body buzzed as though it were a cell phone set on vibrate. I grabbed the display table to anchor myself and shut my eyes against the shifting floor.
My shoulder blades tingled with imagined wings. Massive wings. The drums burrowed into my brain, changing my DNA. Cool air skimmed my body, and I breathed in deep-water lakes and forbidding mountain summits. My legs became weightless, ready to detach from my body and float away. The huge wings tugged my shoulders. My vision shifted, growing keener. I focused on the distant peaks. Smoke seared my nostrils. My wings ruffled and began to unfold.
Heat encircled me. Cinnamon breath puffed against my cheek. "Hold on!" Jett sounded far away. "I've got you."
Chapter Ten
What a rush. If space flight felt like this, I would so become an astronaut after Columbia.
Jett's wiry arms encircled my waist, and with a whoosh, the floor and mural righted themselves, and I reentered my body. The drums ceased. The tingshaws rang three times. Dazed, I glanced down and wondered if Jett's pulse had hit warp speed beneath his crosshatched scars. Mine careened all over the place. "You can release me now."
"Oh. Sorry." He slid his hands apart and stepped back. I waited for the I told you so. Instead, as I twisted to face him, his fingers plowed through his overgrown bangs.
"You better send down your grounding cords," Jett warned.
I wobbled in my stilettos. "What?"
He caught me by the arm and steadied me. "Open your foot chakras and throw down roots."
I tried to throw him a you're-insane look, but my eyes crossed.
"You have to ground. Hurry. Take off your shoes."
"What is it with you and heels?" I mumbled, sliding my feet out of the stilettos and onto the rough commercial carpet.
"Pretend you're a tree. Imagine roots springing from the bottom of your feet. Send them deep into the earth, so when the drums start up again you'll be safely tethered."
I was pretty sure he was crazy, but I did it anyway. My imaginary roots were halfway to the earth's core when the tingshaws rang again. Mentally, I looped my roots around large boulders deep within the planet.
The wooziness stopped.
Jett stiffened. I realized we were no longer alone. I wasn't sure when the boy with the sandy-blond ponytail had joined us. White light haloed his entire body. He touched my arm and relaxing warmth seeped into my muscles and bones.
"You okay?" he asked.
"She's fine." An edge tinged Jett's voice, like flint striking a sword.
Hello. I can speak for myself.
"Lucky you were there to help." The blond's voice remained smooth and even.
Jett eyed him, disarmed if not exactly charmed.
"Yes, thank you," I said.
Jett rubbed the ink flames on his knuckles.
"Your aunt wanted to check on you herself," the blond told me, "but I
insisted."
"Why?" Jett and I said in unison. We exchanged a surprised look, then focused back on the hunk.
"Because it was my fault you got…sucked in."
"I knew you guys should have waited until the store closed," Jett snapped.
My face burned. Not like a sunburn, but from within, like I radiated light or heat. I rolled my shoulders, trying to dispel the odd pull between my shoulder blades as if wings were trying to sprout or recede.
"What exactly did I get sucked into?"
"The dragon flight pattern." Ponytail expelled a long breath. It sounded like wind rushing between mountaintops. "I never would have cast such a low path had I known you were a Sensitive."
"She's Terra's niece. What did you expect?" Jett sneered.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Back up. Dragon flight pattern?"
"How was I to know they were related?" Ponytail told Jett, ignoring me. He glanced at my Nordic hair, which didn't resemble Mom's or Aunt Terra's. "We were never introduced." Finally, he gave me his full attention and extended his warm, tan, muscular hand. "Thor Grael."
Très Viking. My legs seemed to morph into string cheese. "Ainslie Avalon-Bennett." I wished he'd release another long breath. I wanted to ride the air currents, see the peaks. The pressure between my shoulder blades returned, only this time it felt like something inhumanly tall nudged me from behind.
I definitely glowed.
Thor clasped my hand at least a minute longer than would have been considered proper at Junior Cotillion. The center of his palm pulsed as if transmitting a secret code. I slipped my hand from his grasp.
Thor's attention shifted to a point a few feet above my head. "What?" I asked.
"Nothing." Thor's enigmatic expression didn't jibe with the keen look in his eyes.
A chill shivered down my arms. Maybe something enormous was behind me.
"If you're sure you're all right—"
"I'm fine." I wasn't, but Thor needn't know. I waved him off. "Thanks for checking on me."
Thor threw me a knowing look, as though we shared some private knowledge, and then bowed his head and pressed his hands together in prayer position. He was too tall and broad-shouldered to be a ninja, but he had the bow down.
I returned the gesture, the embodiment of Gong Li. Jett feigned interest in the Buddha statue (at least I thought he was faking), and Thor left as silently as he had arrived. I wished I could call Jazmin or my parents and tell them what had happened.
"Seniors think they are such hot stuff." Jett's lips curled into a snarl. "At least now we know the meaning of the blank totem stone."
I gave an un-cotillion snort. "Yeah. It's an ordinary rock."
"No-o-o." Jett drew out the word. "It's a wish card."
"No way. Why? What do you think I wished for?"
"Duh." His expression totally indicated he thought I was an idiot, which I so am not. Just check my IQ score. "A dragon."
"I did not!" I wasn't that mentally unsound.
"Whatever." He rolled his eyes, boiling my blood, especially since I hadn't lied. If I had drawn a wish card, I would have wished for Sophia's safety or for my parents to love each other again and not get a divorce. Failing that…
"If I had a wish card," I said, "I'd wish to know the future."
Jett flinched. "Why?"
"Because not knowing sucks."
He stared down at his feet. "Haven't you heard? Ignorance is bliss."
"Not for me. I would want advance warning so I could prepare myself."
He studied me long and hard, as if trying to see into my soul. I held his gaze, but shifted from one foot to the other. Jett crossed his arms over his narrow his chest. "Then I guess you did get a wish card."
"How do you figure?"
"Because I can show you the future."
"You're delusional," I told him.
"You sound like my mom."
"A wise woman."
He headed toward the rectangle of waist-high display cases boxing in the cash register.
Like an idiot, I followed him. "Okay, prove it. Show me the future of the next person who walks into the store."
"You're on." Jett used a silver key hung on a cord around his neck to unlock one of the cases.
"Come on," I said as he pulled out a crystal ball nestled on a black satin pillow. "Those things don't work."
"Depends on who uses them." He placed the orb on the workstation below the counter. "If I show you the next customer's future, then you have to buy me lunch tomorrow. Deal?"
"Deal. And if you fail?"
"I won't."
"Well, if you do, then you'll have to buy me a cupcake or something." I figured he couldn't afford a whole meal.
We shook on it. The quick hand squeeze sent erratic sparks shooting up my arm. Jett gasped, a small, barely audible intake of air, and his eyes widened before we both recoiled and stared at the front door. Through the thick glass I spotted a dust-covered jeep drive up. Two guys with military haircuts piled out.
"No." Jett angled his body away, a sick look on his face.
"They're getting out of the car," I taunted, "and heading this way."
"Forget it. Bet's off. They're from the Marine Combat Center."
"So?"
"I don't want to know the future of someone headed off to war."
The first guy at the door couldn't have been older than nineteen or twenty. His hair reminded me of orange sherbet. His eyes were the same sky blue as my chemistry folder. He didn't look smart enough to handle advanced math, much less heavy weaponry.
"I tell you, this place is a trip," the redhead said over his shoulder. "They have all sorts of things your daughter will like."
His friend, a Latino in his late twenties, shouldered in beside him and the two men crossed the threshold together.
The color drained from Jett's face.
The redhead noticed me and jerked his head in a hey-pretty-girl greeting.
I noticed the cross necklace around his friend's neck, the same gold as the guy's wedding band. I flashed on the outdoor art installation someone had created back home. The artist had erected a white wooden cross for every service person killed in Iraq. Volunteers kept adding crosses, and a large sign tracked the ongoing death toll. The memorial took up an entire hillside.
Jett was right. We didn't want to know.
Jett's eyes were closed, and a pained expression twisted his face. His fingertips pressed against the top of the crystal ball, the flame tattoos on his knuckles blood red against his suddenly bone-white skin.
"Jett?"
His brow twitched. In my peripheral vision, the two Marines stopped to examine a collection of pewter dragons and wizards. The redhead picked up one of the small statues and rotated it to get a closer look.
The air pressure became heavy, as if a storm was about to hit. The register area darkened. Before I could freak out, the rest of the store whirled like a brightly lit merry-go-round. The wind chime above Jett's head clanged like a warning bell at a train crossing. The clamor hit some kind of a force field at the edge of the darkness and rippled back.
I covered my ears to muffle the noise. "Jett!"
"Can't — stop — it."
"What?" I started to say, and then I spied the flames raging inside the crystal ball. Something moved within them, like a movie running within a circle of fire. Hands still clasped over my ears, I leaned in for a closer look. Heat seared my face.
It took me a second to recognize the redhead. His brush of orange hair was hidden beneath a camouflage helmet. He had lost his naïve expression and easy smile. He clutched an assault weapon with one hand and signaled to his friend with the other. Their backs were against a sun-bleached wall. Nearby, a body bled in the street.
"Jett!" I clawed at his hand, trying to break his connection to the crystal ball.
It worked. Light flooded the register area, and the store stopped whirling. Oblivious, the two recruits had moved on to a lavender-draped display of glittery fairy dust
and beribboned children's wands.
Jett's fingertips were sunburn-red and painful-looking. He fanned the air while struggling to draw in a breath. My chest constricted. I snatched a small paper bag from under the register and offered it to Jett. He shook his head. The color had leached from his face. He blinked a few times, his eyelashes long and black against his pale skin.
I hyperventilated into the bag. Snap. Whoosh. Snap. Whoosh. It inflated and deflated. My anxiety ebbed. Calmed, I lowered the bag. "You win."
He flashed a pained half-smile. "Victory is hollow." His wild-eyed expression reminded me of some of the teens on the psyche ward. A pang of discomfort shot through me.
I searched my brain for a scientific explanation for what had transpired. I wondered if Professor Mackenzie would know. If only he weren't on an extended sabbatical from Columbia. I doubted he would believe me or be likely to answer a letter from a fifteen-year-old he had never met.
"Liquid sage," Jett gasped. When I stared blankly, he said, "Aromatherapy shelf."
"Oh." I scurried to the wall and located the tester. Liquid Sage. Purification and Protection. My hand hovered in front of the blue bottle. There must be a million germs on it.
"Find it?" His words sounded thin and ragged.
I cringed. Oooh. "Got it!" I grabbed the bottle ran like it was a snake about to bite. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. "Here." I popped the top off the tester and spritzed Jett's fingers. A sharp, woodsy tang filled the air.
Jett's shoulders slumped. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Enough?"
He nodded. I set the bottle on the workspace and replaced the top. I scanned the register area for a bottle of hand sanitizer. Darn. "How did you learn to tweak the space-time continuum?"
"I don't know. It just started happening."
I swallowed hard. "Do you do this often, these fire fortunes?"
Jett shook his head and stared down at his hands.
"I'll tell your mom you aren't delusional."
Jett scrunched up his face. "Thanks, but she wouldn't listen. She's too self-absorbed."
