Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  “Why?” She smiled at him challengingly. “Just because the I Ching uses patterns of horizontal lines, and these lines are vertical?”

  “No, that’s not it at all. And you know damn well you’re making no sense when you say things like that.”

  “Are you sure?” She teased, just to watch his face tense.

  “Doll, when it comes to you, I’m not sure about anything.” He studied her in silence for a moment. “But I tell you what. Why don’t you come out and have dinner with me tonight, and we’ll discuss our theories. Maybe you can convince me.”

  “Dinner?” She thought about it for a moment. She was sure there was some reason why she shouldn’t, some sense was nagging at the back of her mind, trying to remind her about something. But whatever it was trying to tell her, she didn’t want to listen.

  “You’re not going to tell me it’s too soon for dinner, too, are you?” he asked as he got up from the chair. He was standing so close now. “Or anything like that?”

  “No, it’s not that. I just—”

  But he had reached out and captured her hands in his, and she was having real trouble remembering how sentences were framed.

  “I can’t stop thinking about that little place down by the beach,” he told her. “The way it looked and sounded last night? I’m dying to go back there.”

  She couldn’t stop thinking about it either. But it wasn’t the food, or the music, or the ambiance she kept remembering. Especially right this minute.

  “It’s on your way home, anyway,” he continued to coax. “Please? You’d be doing me a big favor, you know. I hate to eat alone.”

  And if she hadn’t been struggling with all the intricacies involved in continuing to breathe, without falling down, or if his touch had not been causing a repeat of the same warm, tingling sensations she’d noticed yesterday; if she hadn’t found herself all at once fighting off the impulse to throw herself back into his arms for another kiss, then she would surely have thought before she spoke. And she would never, ever have said, “No, you don’t. You can’t possibly. You do it all the time.”

  But then, she would never have gotten to see him freeze – right there in the middle of Celeste’s dining room – stare at her in silence for a long, long moment, then throw back his head and laugh.

  It was worth it.

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  * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * * *

  “So, have you always been a witch?” Sam asked while they were having dessert. With the light from the hurricane lamp illuminating his face and gleaming off the heavy silver bands he wore at each wrist, he looked more like a wizard than ever.

  Marsha choked on her Mexican coffee. “A what? Oh. Oh, thanks a lot.” She couldn’t help smiling, though. You’re a fine one to talk.

  They had chatted all through dinner, about Candlesticks and I Ching, cycles and waves and patterns. And something called Fibbonaci Numbers, which, as near as Marsha could figure out, was a system of numbers which had been divined by a seventeenth century Italian mathematician, using the dimensions of the Great Pyramid at Giza as his guide.

  “So, tell me, exactly what do the ancient Egyptians have to do with the Stock Market?” she had asked him. Sheesh. And he mocked her for consulting the I Ching?

  “The ancient Egyptians didn’t invent these numbers,” he’d insisted. “They just discovered something that was already there. These are recurring numbers which continually appear in Nature. It’s harmonic. And, like I keep trying to tell you—”

  “No. That’s ridiculous, Sam. The stock market is not a part of nature!”

  “Yes, it is. It’s just people. It’s just ideas that people have. And when enough people act on the same idea, that’s what drives the market up or down.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, Sam. That sounds a little too easy.”

  “It’s not easy at all. To trade the market successfully, you have to figure out what people are going to be thinking, almost before they think it. That’s what good traders do.”

  “You mean they use their intuition?”

  “I don’t know if I’d put it quite that way,” he demurred.

  “No, of course you wouldn’t.” She’d gazed at him in exasperation. Really, the man was impossible. “That’s because you’re the very worst kind of skeptic there is; someone who won’t even accept what your own senses are showing you! Tell me something, are you one of these good traders?” As if she didn’t already know what the answer to that had to be.

  “Yes,” he said, smiling, that same incredibly disarming smile that kept tripping her up. “That’s something else I’m very good at.”

  And so refreshingly humble. “So you’re probably very intuitive, too. I’ll bet you’re one of those people everyone else considers incredibly lucky, never realizing that you’re simply operating from a higher plane of consciousness. Isn’t that so?”

  But of course he hadn’t answered; just smiled again, and changed the subject.

  And now... he had the nerve to call her a witch?

  “No, I wasn’t always... like this. I was involved in a car accident, a long time ago,” she told him. “That was when everything started.”

  He stared at her skeptically. “A car accident? Come on, wasn’t there a movie like that?”

  She shrugged. “Several, I think. What can I tell you? Another case of life imitating art.”

  “Uh-huh. So did you get the whole production then? Tunnels and bright lights and spirit guides? And reunions with dead loved ones in lovely pastoral settings?”

  “I’m afraid so. Except for the whole pastoral scene. What I ended up with was more like a student lounge.”

  “Huh?”

  She laughed at the look of consternation on his face. “Never mind. That’s another story.” One she really didn’t think he was ready to hear. She took another sip of her drink, enjoying the faint caffeine buzz. She rarely drank coffee, but she was a sucker for anything made with Kahlua and heavy cream.

  “So that was it?” He sounded almost disappointed. “One minute you’re normal, and then boom! You run your car into a tree and suddenly you’re channeling Elvis?”

  Normal, huh? As opposed to whatever she was now? She grimaced as she put the mug back down, her appetite for it suddenly gone. “No, not hardly.”

  She was quiet for a moment, remembering the months of excruciating pain that had followed the accident.

  “Well, first of all, there wasn’t a tree. I drove off a cliff out in one of the canyons. Second, it was... a while... before I even remembered having had the visions, or whatever you want to call them, that I had while I was out of body. And third, I think it was almost a year after that before I really began to notice that things looked and felt... different, to me... than they had before. Or that I had, uh, been changed in some pretty fundamental ways. Other than the physical changes, of course. Those were kind of hard not to notice.”

  “What kind of physical changes are we talking about here?” He sounded alarmed. His glance swept over her. “Please. You aren’t gonna tell me you used to be a man or anything like that, are you?”

  Laughter gurgled up her throat; she felt the bleakness inspired by her recollections fade away. “Oh, God, no! It wasn’t anything quite that dramatic. It’s just... well, for one thing, I didn’t used to set off metal detectors every time I walked through them. That’s different. And I have severely reduced peripheral vision now, and huge blind spots and no night vision to speak of, although I suspect that’s at least partly psychological.”

  She paused for just a moment, then shrugged. “That’s why I hate driving at night. Because that’s when it happened. But hey, it’s not all bad. I mean, who knew scarification would become such a big fad? These days I’m looking a whole lot more like a slave to fashion than a freak of nature.”

  “Oh now, don’t try selling me a line like that, doll.” He gazed reproachfully at her over the rim of his coffee mug. “You certainly do no
t look like any kind of freak.”

  “Thanks,” she said, warmed by his obvious sincerity. She’d picked up her own mug again and had it halfway to her lips when she heard herself say, “But you know, you probably should wait until you’ve seen me naked before you decide something like that.” The mug slipped from her fingers. The crash as it hit the table was almost muffled by the explosion of coughing as Sam choked on his coffee.

  “I’m sorry,” Marsha practically moaned in embarrassment as the waiter re-set the table. “I’m really not like this. Not usually, anyway.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sam didn’t believe that for a minute. “Well then, it’s probably just as well you spilled your coffee, because you’ve obviously had enough of whatever that was they put in it.” He shook out a fresh napkin and put it on his lap. “I think we’ll both have some tea now,” he informed the waiter.

  “Kahlua,” she muttered, after the waiter had walked away. “Jeez, you’re right. Of course, that’s probably what did it. Every time I get near the stuff I do something incredibly stupid. Just like – never mind,” she said, shutting up suddenly.

  Sam smiled. “Oh, no you don’t. C’mon, you can’t leave me hanging like that…just like what?” The lady did have great stories, he had to give her that. And he couldn’t wait to hear this one.

  “Uh-uh. No way am I going there with you.” Marsha shook her head. “You already have too low an opinion of my character.”

  “Now, why would you think that?” he asked, tilting his head to one side as he observed her more closely.

  She looked up at him, a small, mocking smile on her face. “Well, don’t you?” Her eyes had that piercing look in them once again, as if she could see straight into his soul.

  “No, not that I was aware of,” he answered stiffly. But he was conscious of an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Was it something she saw in him that made her sound so sad? Or was it herself she was thinking of?

  She studied him for a moment longer before seeming to come to a decision. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I suppose I owe you some kind of explanation.”

  But she didn’t speak right away. Her eyes went wide as she gazed off along the horizon for several minutes.

  “When I was nineteen,” she began at last, “I went to Jamaica for Spring Break. And on my last night there I got very drunk.”

  “On Kahlua?” He smiled, trying to picture the woman across from him as a wild and reckless teenager, but failing in the attempt.

  She returned the smile, a little self-consciously, as if she knew what he was thinking. Which she probably did, he reflected, feeling curiously intrigued by the prospect.

  “On a whole lot of Kahlua,” she admitted. But her smile faded as she continued with her story. “And to make a short story even shorter, nine months later my daughter was born.” She broke off again as the waiter returned with the tea.

  “And that’s why you won’t sleep with me now?” He surprised himself by asking. It made no sense at all, but suddenly he was very certain that was exactly where this was heading. “Because of something that happened – how many years ago?”

  “Nineteen,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her tea. “And yes, I guess, in a way, that’s part of the reason. It was devastating. Not because I got pregnant. I sometimes think that was the only thing that saved me from losing my mind. But because…well, it wasn’t all that long after my accident that this happened. In a way, it was probably the worst possible timing. And I really hadn’t had any experience beforehand to compare it to, but…”

  Her voice trailed off again, and when she continued, it was almost as if she was talking to herself rather than to him. “I was so ignorant about everything back then. So naïve. I had no idea what I was opening myself up to. How could I? Hell, I didn’t even know his name. Well, not his last name, anyway.”

  She stopped suddenly and shook her head, as if to clear it. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about something else, instead?”

  “Sure.” He cast around for another subject. “So tell me.” He gestured at the teacups in front of them both. “Can you read tea leaves, too?”

  “Of course.” She seemed surprised that he’d ask. “I mean, that is pretty much how I make my living these days.”

  It was his turn to be surprised. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. I have a teashop right downtown. The Crone’s Nest. We offer readings, or tea without readings, if you want it. And we also sell tea, and herbs, and some food, and... variety of other things.”

  “So, do you want to read mine?” he asked, while the part of his brain that was supposed to stop him before he said really stupid things like that was still napping. Oh shit! He thought, as it woke up, but by then it was too late, the question was already out there.

  And while he didn’t believe for a minute that she could actually see anything revealing in a teacup, neither did he feel like putting that belief to the test. Not at this point in his life. And definitely not with this particular witch.

  Marsha smiled at him mischievously. “I tell you what, Sam. Let’s see how intuitive you really are. I’ll show you what to do, and you read them. Let’s see what you come up with.” She was almost certain he’d refuse, sure that he’d only asked it as a challenge – to make her prove she could do what she said she could, and while she had no doubts on that front, she was pleasantly surprised when he agreed.

  “Okay,” she said when he had finished all but about a teaspoonful of his tea. “Now, I want you to concentrate on your future as you take your cup in your left hand and swing it in a circle three times, from left to right.”

  She smiled as she watched him comply with her commands. “Okay, now gently turn it over in the saucer, so it can drain for about a minute.”

  “Now what?” He looked just a little bit nervous, and she toyed with the idea of teasing him about that, but decided against it. She didn’t want him to be uncomfortable about this. The realization made her nervous, as well. Why should she care how he felt, when it couldn’t possibly matter to either of them? She’d thought herself inured to derision and doubt. Why should she crave his acceptance so much?

  “Pick it up, and tell me what you see,” she said, speaking casually. But she grounded herself as she said it, and envisioned her energy flowing across the table to mix with his aura, strengthening his intuition with her own. “Look for patterns, or shapes. Or for pictures formed by the tea leaves.”

  “What I see, huh?” He looked into the cup, turned it slowly in his hands, and she could feel the nervousness leave him as he did. His aura glowed just a little bit brighter as he concentrated.

  Excellent.

  “Well, there are some shapes here that look like a flock of birds.” He glanced up at her and smiled, “Kind of like those geese we saw yesterday.”

  “Well, are they birds or geese?” she asked patiently.

  “Does it make a difference?”

  She shrugged. “A little bit. Flying birds are lucky, in general. Geese are a little more specific. They mean success, happiness. Of course, you could just be thinking of the actual geese you saw, too. But since real geese are generally considered to bring luck to the person seeing them, it still works out the same. Anyway, where are they? That makes a difference, too.”

  “Just below the rim.”

  “Okay, so, that’s something that’s close at hand. What else do you see?” she prompted.

  “Uh, well there’s this one leaf here that looks like a crescent moon. What about that?”

  “Also good luck. The moon means prosperity and fortune.” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and increasing the energy flow as she teased, “Gee, maybe you really are as good at trading as you say you are.”

  He smiled. “I don’t need a tea leaf to tell me that, doll. How about a shark?”

  “Ooh.” She bit her lip. “Are you sure it’s a shark? Not just a regular old fish?”

  Eyes narrowed, he peered at the cup for a few moments. “Nope. It’s a
shark, all right.”

  “Hmm. Well, in that case, you may want to be careful going home tonight. Sharks indicate a danger of death. Although, it doesn’t necessarily have to mean a literal death, I suppose. It could just mean a change of some sort. Some kind of ending.”

  “Maybe it has to do with the woman who was killed yesterday?” he asked, sobering suddenly.

  Marsha considered that for a moment. “Do you see anything like crosses, or maybe a coffin shape?” she asked.

  He looked into the cup again. “Nope.”

  “Then I don’t think it’s that. Besides, we’re supposed to be looking at your future, remember? So I think it’s gotta be something that hasn’t occurred yet. But let’s keep going. What else is in there?”

  “You really take this seriously, don’t you?” he asked, a little challengingly. “That shark has you all upset.”

  She squirmed a little. “I just…don’t like frightening people.”

  “Do I look frightened?”

  She had to admit he didn’t. But all the same, “I don’t see you looking for any other pictures, though.”

  “Fine.” He smiled again. “Have it your way. What about a horseshoe?”

  “Oh, that’s a good one. Success, again. Either a successful journey, or a successful marriage, or, well…any kind of partnership, really.”

  “Partners, huh?” He’d rested his chin on his fist, and something about the way he was watching her brought to mind their conversation yesterday, at the nature center. She felt herself blushing. “Are we talking business partners, or something of a more personal nature?” he asked.

  “Oh, any kind really. It’s not that specific.”

  “Uh-huh. What about an angel?”

  “That’s good luck, too.” Good luck in love, actually. But she saw no reason to mention that. They’d already gotten far enough off track with the horseshoe. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t reading her mind as he smiled, a little too knowingly, at her.