by P. G. Forte
Marsha had been barely twenty years old, struggling to deal with both a new baby and the sudden emergence of psychic powers she could neither control nor understand, when Celeste appeared in her life. Serene and compassionate, Celeste was possessed of a wisdom that far exceeded her years. She had been the answer to all Marsha’s prayers, providing guidance and encouragement, as well as free child care for her daughter, Jasmine.
“Re-evaluating a belief system.”
The cards were a recent obsession, and so far her readings with them had been wildly inaccurate. Which, considering that they had also been unremittingly alarming and grim, was not necessarily a bad thing.
“The need for greater attunement.”
Despite being a life-long practitioner of Wicca, Celeste was surprisingly diffident about her own abilities. She’d always been unquestioningly enthusiastic about Marsha’s, however, and now Marsha was all too happy to return the favor. If Celeste felt she needed to spend all her spare time practicing with the tarot instead of going with her real strength, which was reading tea leaves, she’d get no complaint from her.
“Nurturing. A deep and total love.”
The other two women at the table were relative newcomers to the town. Ginny Hartman and Heather Finch ran the local bookstore. As fellow small business owners, they and Marsha often found themselves on the same side of the many debates that seemed to spring up with tiresome regularity during City Council meetings. But there was more than business or politics that drew them together. Heather had a wry, ready with that resonated with Marsha’s own appreciation for life’s little absurdities. And Ginny’s warm, comforting presence was a balm for any emotional ache she might have.
“A rite of passage.”
“Is Jasmine excited about her bike trip?” Heather inquired, vigorously stirring several spoonfuls of sugar into her latte. “When do they leave?”
“Monday morning.” Marsha tried vainly to suppress the feeling of panic that gripped her every time the subject of her eighteen-year-old daughter’s cross-country bike trip was mentioned. “And you would not believe the amount of gear she has to have.”
Ginny’s brown eyes were warm with understanding. She reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “She’ll be okay, Marsha. And so will you.”
“Unresolved issues.”
“Oh, I know,” Marsha agreed. “It’s ridiculous for me to feel this way. The boys are spending the entire summer in England with Alex, and I’m handling that okay. But this thing with Jasmine is really throwing me.”
“It’s probably because she’s never been away from home before,” Lucy suggested reasonably. “You’re just not used to the idea yet.”
“Roots in the distant past.”
“Well, I’d better get used to it, huh? Before she leaves for college in September.”
“A mysterious disappearance. Or, possibly, a re-appearance?”
Ginny turned to Lucy. “Speaking of trips, did your cousin ever get things straightened out about the camping trip next week?”
Lucy ran a piece of lemon rind around the edge of her espresso cup and scowled. “Of course not. His ex-wife just happened to forget it was his week to have Kate when she made arrangements to take her to visit her folks. Mandy was so upset I—”
“An unexpected death.”
Silence descended around the table. Celeste looked up, seemingly surprised to find the others staring at her. “What?”
“Celeste, really. An unexpected death?” Lucy snapped. “You think you could maybe enlighten the rest of us?”
Celeste just smiled. “Lucy, you know I’m not that good at this yet. It’s still all impressions. Very vague impressions.”
More silence.
Celeste sighed. “Okay. Let me see what else I can get.”
Hooking a stray strand of silver-blond hair back behind her ear, she turned over a few more cards and studied them earnestly. “Hmm. Well okay, see, there are several women. Or possibly just female archetypes. This one here is an especially young woman; maybe still a girl. These cards all point to a transition of some sort. I suppose it doesn’t have to be an actual death; but some form of ending or transformation is definitely indicated.”
She looked up and eyed them all solemnly. “Where it gets confusing is here. See this?” She pointed, first at one of the cards, and then at another. “It’s obviously still in the future, but this indicates that there is definitely a link with similar events that occurred in the past.”
Marsha shifted restlessly as a sudden awareness made her skin crawl. All week long she’d had this nagging sense of incompletion, and now—
“What?” Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “This mean something to you?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Marsha shook her head slowly. “I think it just reminded me of a dream I had last night. It’s gone again. I really should be more consistent about writing them down.”
“Yeah. You always say that, Marsha. But then you never do.” Lucy smiled wryly. “Celeste, let’s see those cards again.”
While her friends pored over the cards on the table, Marsha lapsed into thought. She could not account for the sense of unease that had been hounding her these last few days. It didn’t seem to be connected to her children. True, her sons were spending the summer with their dad, but no matter how she felt about that situation, she knew the boys would be fine. Just as she knew there wasn’t any real reason to be worried about Jasmine.
And it was unlikely her teashop was the source of the problem. Business was good. She looked around her, noting with satisfaction that most of the tables on the terrace were filled. Business was very good. She had taken a gamble opening this place four years ago with the money she received as part of her divorce settlement. Alex had hit the roof when he heard about it. But then, the divorce had been his idea. He should have figured his resistance would only make her more determined to go forward with her plans.
In any event, the gamble had paid off. The Crone’s Nest had become a Mecca for the legions of tired shoppers who trekked along Oberon’s Main Street, asking for nothing more than a quaint place to stop for coffee or afternoon tea, or even just a chance to rest their feet.
More than a tearoom, the shop was also gaining an unimpeachable reputation for carrying the very best in crystals and incense, ceremonial robes, jewelry, amulets, statues, books; and anything that fell roughly into the category that Marsha had chosen to term ‘Wicca-ware.’
Or, as Alex put it, weird, bloody overpriced, new-age magic crap.
Marsha and Celeste handled the day-to-day running of the business, as well as giving tealeaf readings on request. Lucy provided most of the herbs, scented oils, soaps and candles they sold. Marsha loved the symbolism inherent in their triumvirate. They were like the three fates. Or the three witches in Macbeth. Or, even more importantly, the three aspects of the Goddess – Maiden, Mother and Crone.
But if it wasn’t her family, her business or her friends she was worried about, what was at the root of this recurring frisson of unease?
“Who are you sending over to the nursery tomorrow to help Robyn harvest the herbs for the festival?” Lucy leaned across the table to ask, interrupting Marsha’s thoughts.
“I was thinking of sending Maya,” she replied, transferring her attention back to her friend with some difficulty. “She hasn’t had much experience, but I know she and Robyn are friends. Unless Celeste wants to go?”
Celeste carefully slipped her cards into their little red velvet bag. “Oh, I don’t care, sweetie. Whatever you decide is fine with me. Right now, I see we’re getting busy. If you ladies will excuse me, I need to go to work.”
“How is Robyn these days?” Ginny asked. “It must be awfully hard on her. She’s out in that big house all by herself now, isn’t she?”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t suppose coming home and finding your landlady dead could ever be easy. And I know she and Caroline had gotten close. But she seems to be handling it okay. It’s just too bad the other
kids who share the house had already left for summer break.”
“Not really by herself, is she?” Heather grumbled. “She’s got all of those damn animals to take care of. I hear that place has gotten to be a real zoo.”
“But she has no other people out there with her,” Ginny insisted quietly. “It makes a big difference, Heather; you know it does. Anyway, I’m glad the new owner will be here soon. It will be nice for Robyn to have some real company.”
With her teacup midway to her lips, Marsha froze. A cold, coiling sensation twisted knots in her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucy turn an apprehensive glare on Ginny.
“What new owner?” Lucy asked, her voice ominously soft.
“Caroline’s step-daughter,” Ginny replied, oblivious to the spiking tension Marsha could sense flaring like an electrical storm through Lucy’s aura. “At least, that’s what I heard.”
Lucy’s voice was barely audible. “Oh. No. Way.”
Ginny looked at her in surprise. “Why, yes, dear. I think so.” She turned to Heather. “Who was telling me about it? Heather, do you remember?”
“Nope. Your sources are always a mystery to me.”
“Apparently she’s coming up from LA this week to deal with the estate. As far as I understand, the plan is for her to stay in the house while she’s here.”
Marsha studied Lucy’s sullen expression. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” Lucy turned on her, a dangerous light gleaming in her eyes. “What do you think? You know what this means.”
“Yeah.” Marsha knew her smile held little humor. “I know. Scout’s coming home.”
“Hey, what is this?” Heather demanded. “Scout who? What’re you guys talking about?”
Marsha sighed and took a sip of tea. Damn, it’s cold. She got the attention of a passing waitress and ordered a fresh pot of jasmine tea before she answered Heather’s questions. “We’re talking about Caroline’s step-daughter. Scout Patterson. Lucy and I went to school with her. We were friends.”
Heather’s flint blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Friends, huh? So, why is it neither of you are looking all that friendly at the moment?”
“Really, Heather,” Ginny admonished. “If they don’t want to talk about it—”
“Oh, hey, you know, it’s not like it was a big deal or anything,” Lucy muttered sarcastically. “Just because Marsha and I ended up getting expelled from high school thanks to our friend.”
Heather’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I see. So, with friends like that, et cetera, et cetera, huh?”
“Look,” Marsha felt obliged to point out, “if we’re going to be honest, it wasn’t really all Scout’s fault. We weren’t exactly angels either. Lucy forgot to mention the reason why we were expelled. As my mother still reminds me on a semi-regular basis, we were the only students in the history of Our Lady of the Angels High School to ever be expelled for cheating.”
“Well, I know I’m shocked,” Heather said.
Marsha grinned at Heather. “Yeah, you look it. It was pretty damn useless trying to explain that we hadn’t exactly thought of it as cheating, you know? It was just supposed to have been an experiment with hypnosis.”
“An experiment? Oh, jeez. I can’t wait to hear this one.”
Marsha’s mood turned serious as she remembered. “No, really. Scout was a great subject for hypnosis. She’d go into a deep trance almost instantaneously. And while she was under, she seemed to be able to access all sorts of psychic abilities. Things like astral projection, time travel, precognition – you name it, she could do it. It was wild.”
“Yeah, but what was really important,” Lucy cut in, a trace of her usual good humor resurfacing for just an instant, “Was that while she was in a trance, she’d also give us the answers to our math tests. For a while, we even got her to do our homework for us.”
“Well, that sounds tres manipulative,” Ginny murmured. “And weren’t you even the slightest bit concerned about that?”
Lucy’s smile disappeared again. “Aw, hell Ginny, we were only sixteen . And good Catholic schoolgirls, at that. What did we know from the law of threefold-return back then? Plus, it was math.”
Heather chuckled. “Oh, right. Stupid of us. All’s fair in love, war, and math.”
Marsha couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“So what went wrong?” Heather asked as she lifted her cup to her lips. “I mean, it sounds like you guys had it made.”
Marsha sighed. “You don’t know how many times I’ve asked myself that same question. But shortly after Scout found out what we were up to, the information we were receiving from her started to get faulty.”
“What she means is, Scout lied,” Lucy snapped. “Which really shouldn’t have surprised any of us who knew her.”
“Bullshit. You can’t lie under hypnosis.” Heather was emphatic. “Everyone knows that.”
“I’m not so sure, actually.” Ginny shook her head. “It seems to me I was reading somewhere that it’s not always the case. Of course, it would probably take a strong motivation.”
“Yeah, or a really good imagination,” Marsha added. “And Scout certainly had that.”
Lucy scowled. “Imagination, my ass. The girl was a compulsive liar. Either that, or an out-and-out schizophrenic. I’m still not sure which.”
“And now she’s coming back.” Ginny’s tone was pensive as she fidgeted with the empty cup she’d picked up from the table.
“Some fun reunion you guys are gonna have, huh?” Heather shook her head. “It’ll be an interesting time, that’s for sure.”
Lucy sighed. “Interesting. Yeah. Not quite the word I had in mind. Isn’t there a Chinese proverb like that? May you live in interesting times, or something?”
“Yes, exactly,” Heather replied. “Only it’s not a proverb, hon. It’s a curse.” She jumped as Ginny dropped the cup she had been holding. “Although, I guess ‘no use crying over spilt milk’ would be more apropos,” she said, turning to her partner with a wry smile.
“Sorry about that, Marsha,” Ginny said, her voice more clipped than usual.
Marsha smiled reassuringly. “Not a problem. No use crying over spilled tea leaves, either.” But she felt another frisson sizzle along her nerves. She glanced around uneasily.
“A curse. How perfect,” Lucy muttered.
“Now, that’s not like breaking a mirror, is it?” Heather teased Ginny. “You know, seven years of bad luck?”
“No,” Ginny said firmly. “In fact, I think it’s the reverse.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” Marsha replied, trying to shake off the vague anxiety that nagged at the edges of her mind. “Because I have a feeling we’re gonna need all the good luck we can get.”
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Two
* * * *
When Scout left Los Angeles late that morning, she’d headed North, taking Route Five over the Grapevine and up through the San Joaquin Valley. She’d turned off Five an hour or so past Bakersfield, and headed southwest on one of the leisurely winding roads that snake through part of the Los Padres National Forest. Then north again when she hit Route One, California’s Pacific Coast Highway.
Now, as the sun was sinking into the waters of San Bartolo Bay, she left the coast road at Milagro Beach and headed east.
Her heart beat just a little more quickly as she took in the once familiar sights, glowing like molten gold in the evening sun. Fields lush with artichokes, garlic and strawberries segued into elegant vineyards where ancient-seeming stone buildings rose majestically above acres of carefully tended vines.
Softly rolling hills covered in tall yellow grass and dotted with dark, mysteriously twisted live oaks gradually replaced the Monterey cypresses that clung to the verdant coastal cliffs, which were, in turn, replaced by narrow, winding streets where quaint Arts and Crafts cottages and Mediterranean bungalows half buried in bougainvillea stood side by side with elegant
Victorians and sprawling ranch-style houses.
Before her memories had a chance to emerge, her mind – with an ease born of long years of habit – adroitly steered itself away. Bypassing any connection that might trigger the grief and guilt that had once nearly overwhelmed her; detouring around any thought that could lead to those areas of her heart where loss and loneliness still crouched like a wounded child.
Twilight had just begun to gather in pools of amethyst as she drove through the streets of her old neighborhood and pulled, at long last, into the elegant, circular drive.
Someone had taken her spot.
Annoyance flashed through her as she parked the Mustang behind the shiny black Montero arrogantly angled below the front steps. She quickly suppressed her reaction. It hadn’t been her parking spot for years. And, even when it was, she’d had to share – both the space, and the silver Honda Civic she’d driven – with Lisa.
Lisa?
For an instant, she felt an irrational surge of something very like hope, but she knew better than to give in to anything so treacherous. Whoever the car in the drive belonged to, it almost certainly wasn’t her step-sister’s.
She sat for a few moments, quietly reacquainting herself with every detail of the imposing yellow Victorian she had once called home. Her gaze caressed the lovingly preserved wood siding and gingerbread trim, the little round tower room rising above the gray-slate roof, the front porch, the bow windows; the white picket fence overgrown with wild Wood’s roses.
Caroline’s house.
It had changed so little since the day that she and her father had moved into it. She had to fight back the sensation that she could just walk through the front door and find the intervening years had been erased.
With a sigh, Scout wrenched her eyes away from the house and reached for her bag. The envelope Caroline’s lawyer had sent her contained a set of keys, directions, even a map. As if she would ever need directions to find her way back here! Why, for the last few years, she’d felt like one of those migrating birds – the ones with the little magnetic particles in their heads. No matter where she traveled, she had always known exactly where she was in the world in relation to Oberon. Or maybe she was more like a salmon. She could probably have driven here today blindfolded, navigating by scent alone.
