The White Raven

by Carrie D. Miller

  She scoffs and continues her questioning. “Were you born like this? I mean, did you always have this kind of power?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t remember much of my first life, so I can’t say for sure if I was born with it, but I believe I was. And I’ve had a great many years to develop it. As I go from life to life, I get stronger with practice. I’ve learned many, many things on my own by experimenting. Some were harsh lessons.” I turn away, not wanting to remember. “There have been a few occasions where I had a little guidance. A shaman or healer who wasn’t too envious or fearful of me has imparted their wisdom, although none could help me with my curse.”

  “You don’t remember your first life? That’s odd since you remember all the others.”

  “I remember bits and pieces. Flashes of smiling faces with blonde hair, a green landscape, but that’s about it. It’s probably because it was simply uneventful and boring. I’ve never tried to remember or look back.”

  Another hmm leaves her lips, and she’s staring off behind me again.

  “I saw the white raven in your memory.”

  My eyes widen. “Really? I don’t recall his presence there at all.”

  “Yeah, he was there. Up to the right on a window ledge, above the pharmacy sign, when Patricia was at the intersection. It was hard to see him with the sun glare, but it was definitely him.”

  It’s my turn to hmm. “Why do you think he doesn’t show himself to me? I’ve asked myself this question for lifetimes.”

  “I dunno, it’s weird.” She’s fiddling with the talisman on one of her many necklaces. The dark crimson stone is the size of a walnut, with naturally terminated edges of black, affixed to a long black cord with pure silver wire that is now blackened with age. As she rubs the stone with her fingers, it smolders deep within. She calls this pendant Black Fire, for in the dark the stone looks predominately black but its heart glows red when light shines upon it. She uses the stone to help her focus when in trance. Her face is passive, the lines on her forehead are smoother, relaxed, and her eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

  “Ravens themselves are messengers from the other side. It’s said that white ravens carry secret knowledge. When a white raven shows himself to a witch, it means that the secret knowledge is of dire importance.”

  Jo is quiet for several minutes. My palms are sweating, but I feel a sudden chill pass over me. I want to prod her to continue but bite my lip instead.

  “He is always with you,” she finally continues, talisman clutched in her fist. “You two have a connection. Something deep and long-standing.”

  “Why doesn’t he show himself to me?” I can’t help myself. My heart pounds in my chest.

  She shakes her head slowly. He is behind me now, his call fills the air. I whirl around. “Come to me!” I jump up from the chaise and rush to the edge of the roof. But it’s no use. All I hear is the flapping of large wings in retreat. I smack my palms on the coping and the sting shoots up my arms.

  This gets Jo’s attention and she releases her grip on the talisman, blinking rapidly and inhaling deeply.

  “Is he the reason for my curse? Is he my jailer?” I’ve often thought this: that this bird is my guard, keeping a watchful eye on my sentence from afar. Cowardly and cruel.

  She comes to me and puts her arm around my waist. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t know.” She feels my anxiety, the heat coming off my body, and gives me a squeeze.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders and lean my head on top of hers.

  “I chased him once for what seemed like miles,” I say, remembering a life when I was twelve, running through the forest under the bright moonlight in nothing but my nightdress. My determination to catch up to him was thwarted by the many gnarled and twisted branches that snatched at my dress, making me feel like the forest itself was trying to stop me.

  She pulls me back to the shade of the pergola. We resume our places on the lounges. Neither one of us speaks for a long time. Jo is fiddling with her talisman again, staring down at the coffee table where she’s placed her glass. The edges of the crystal capture the sunlight within its geometric cuts and reflect cheerfully on the stone.

  “What do you know about your curse?” The abrupt break in the silence startles me.

  “Not really much more than I’ve already said. I live, I die, I come back, I remember.”

  “Even after all this time? I mean, isn’t there a Spirit or ghost or some other entity in the Veil that knows anything that would help?”

  I snort. “You’d be surprised just how unhelpful ghosts and Spirits are. I have tried conversing with the entities within the Veil. They speak only when they wish and no amount of screaming and begging will help. I think they regard me as an outsider who has somehow managed to infiltrate the Veil.”

  “Huh.” Jo’s brain is working. “That’s a clue in itself, I think.”

  “I never thought about it that way.” My conversations with those who travel in the Veil have led only to frustration. However, looking back now with different eyes, I see that they did indeed skirt around me and keep their distance.

  “What’s it like in there?” Jo almost whispers.

  “Lonely,” I blurt out. Floating aimlessly through an endless sea of grays and blacks, left alone to wander and wonder, is a lonely existence indeed.

  “I’m sorry.” Jo’s face turns sad. I know she wants to ask me more about it but doesn’t.

  “At first, I didn’t know what it was or what was happening,” I say without thinking, remembering my first experience entering the Veil. “It was dark and there was no sound or smell, nothing. Beings of white Spirit were moving around me so fast. They would slow to gawk at me and then veer away quickly. I was terrified.” I shudder at the memory. “I didn’t know what to do or where to go, or what here even was. I was certain I was dead but I didn’t remember dying. I called for my mother and father, I cried, I ran—or flew rather—and I begged for help as the Spirits shied around me. It was quite terrible.”

  Jo’s eyes have gone big, and I realize I’ve scared her in speaking so badly about the afterlife.

  “Oh, no!” I scoot down to the end of the chaise. “It won’t be like that for you, I promise! Really. I’ve watched Spirits enter and be greeted by guides or be surrounded by the Spirits of loved ones long passed.” I squeeze her knee and her face relaxes a bit. “Which makes me think you are right about them shying away from me being a clue. I never saw that happen to any other Spirit. It’s like I don’t belong there.”

  Jo nods and pats my hand. “I wonder if my Nana will be there,” she says, sighing.

  “Spirits typically don’t retain the emotional baggage from their lives. There are exceptions, obviously, but I don’t see why she wouldn’t come unless she’s moved on to a different plane.”

  Jo considers this a moment, then murmurs an agreement. She leans forward and puts her hands on either side of my face. “What you’ve gone through, what you have experienced, breaks my heart.” Her eyes fill with tears, and I put my hands atop hers. “I am so sorry.” Her tears fall freely.

  I put my arms around her and hug her tight. The embrace of a friend such as she, such as I’ve never known, brings a lump to my throat, and I find myself misty-eyed as well.

  “It has taken me a long time not to dwell on what has happened to me and even longer not to be made bitter by it.” This is a partial lie because I am bitter, but I try not to think about it. “And to be completely honest,” I pull away so that she can see the sincerity in my face, “this life—moving to Salem, deciding to open a shop, you, and Sylvia—has made me the happiest I’ve ever been. I could never have imagined I would have this life, this happiness. And you are a big part of that.”

  Jo bursts into fresh tears and pulls me tight. Her sobs turn into soft laughter as she rocks us side to side.

  The sharp cry of a raven pulls us out of our comforting embrace. Jo seems a little embarrassed.

  “Let’s go see what my daughter is up to dow
nstairs. I’ll bet she’s got all the new ritual candles burning at once, the little pyro.”

  6

  The shipment that arrived last week has been unpacked and set out on display. I am going through the inventory list again to make sure I’ve not forgotten anything. I’m too focused on checking the candle varieties to hear someone coming onto the porch. The bells jingle as the door opens, and I turn to greet my first customers of the day with a welcoming smile. It falls at the sight that greets me.

  Being shoved through the door by his upper arm is an angry teenaged boy guided by an even angrier man. A handsome angry man. I’m glad I put a little effort into my appearance today. However, a great deal of hostility is radiating off them both. Jo and Sylvia have stopped their respective puttering and are also admiring the man. Sylvia’s eyes widen as she recognizes the boy, but she says nothing.

  The man quickly scans the store and locks eyes with me. A flash of surprise takes over his face, and he seems to have lost the words he had ready to use. He swallows and takes another step forward. “Excuse me, ma’am, are you the manager?”

  “I am the owner, yes.” I clasp my hands in front of me.

  Tightening his grip on the boy’s arm, the man thrusts him towards me. “My nephew has something he wants to return.”

  “Oh?” The young man has my full attention.

  The boy doesn’t meet my gaze; the floor seems to hold greater interest. Instead, his hand shoots out and in his open palm is an Eye of Horus pendant. With a sharp inhale, I snatch it from his fingers. He’s not purchased it. I know exactly what is sold in my shop each day.

  I glare down at the boy and take a few steps towards him. “Why, you little son of a—”

  “Easy,” interrupts Jo from across the room. She’s giving me her reproachful eye, punctuated by hands on hips. The man’s hard eyes are on me also, but I ignore him.

  I turn the valuable and delicate pendant over in my hands to check for damage. I march over to the case where I placed it only last week. The blue velvet cushion that the pendant should be on is bare except for the indentation where it had lain.

  “Sylvia, did this young man purchase this pendant?” My question is pointless, but I want to make him squirm.

  “Nope.” Sylvia holds her chin high. “I remember him and his buddy, though. They came in a few days ago. I think you were over at Mom’s.”

  The man stands with his arms folded tightly across his chest, glaring at this nephew. “I’m sorry about this, ma’am.” He jabs the boy with his elbow. “You need to say something, Will.”

  Will buries his hands deep in the front pockets of his jeans. His ‘sorry’ is barely audible.

  “You sound really sorry.” His attitude infuriates me further. Hands on hips, I take another step towards the boy. “So, William Jacobs, you and Kyle Crandall decided that stealing from a witch was a good idea?” At hearing his name and that of his friend, his head snaps up at me, eyes wide.

  The man, taken aback, unfolds his arms and addresses me. “You know my nephew?”

  “I do not.” I place the pendant carefully on the counter. “But I do know that it was his idea to come to my shop and Kyle’s idea to distract Sylvia here with a little bit of flirting while your nephew lifted something.”

  Sylvia jaw drops, and she stares at the boy who’s now gone red in the face.

  “So that was a trick?” She doesn’t hide the hurt on her face. “Kyle doesn’t really want to go out with me?”

  Will lets out a derisive snort. “Kyle doesn’t do fat asses.” That remark earns a snarl from me and a smack on the back of his head from the man. Will stumbles forward, glowering at his uncle.

  Sylvia’s face falls. Her eyes well up and heat fills her cheeks. Sylvia may be big-boned with a round face, but ‘fat’ does not apply. Children today are as cruel as ever.

  “Now that’s enough out of you! You apologize right now.” He grabs Will’s arm again, a vein pulsing at his temple.

  “Not likely.” Will jerks away from his uncle and stomps out the front door. The man stares in disbelief, jaw clenched and neck muscles constricted, as his nephew marches down the steps.

  I am too livid to speak.

  Get back here.

  The boy lurches to a halt in mid step. Confusion twisting his face, Will turns around and comes back through the front door. His uncle takes a step towards him, but I touch his arm. Standing so close, I feel the man’s body heat and smell the faint aroma of bergamot and sandalwood. Will slams the door, irate and shocked by whatever has propelled him back into my shop.

  “You are a nasty little prick, William Jacobs.” I sense the uncle’s eyes on me again, but he says nothing. “Come here,” I point to the floor before me. Jo moves towards us.

  I’m fine, Jo. I won’t hurt him.

  Her eyebrows go up and she stops, hovering just behind him.

  I find his feeble attempt to fight against my will humorous. His defiant face glistens with sweat, and he is breathing rapidly through his nose, with fists clenched at his sides.

  He frowns but cannot help turning his head to Sylvia. “I am sorry for what I said, Sylvia.” His jaw is working hard against the words. His uncle’s mouth drops open. Sylvia straightens but remains silent. Knowing her, if she spoke now it would be nothing but colorful expletives involving sexual acts he could perform upon himself.

  “Give me your hand.” His hand shoots out, palm up. I take it, and he watches helplessly as I make slow circles on his palm with my thumb.

  “The next time you wish to steal something, William Jacobs, you will think better of it.” A small flame sparks into his palm and he yelps, jerking his hand back instinctively. I allow it. The uncle stares, uncertain of what he’s seen. Sylvia doesn’t conceal her smirk.

  This will last for as long as you hold that anger, boy. Will’s mouth falls open at hearing words in his head. His face hardens, and he glares up at me. My lip curls, enjoying the turmoil raging behind his eyes.

  “Unless there is something else your uncle wants from you, you may leave.” I drop my control over him.

  Will shudders at the release and stumbles slightly. His blustering is now gone, replaced by fear. He bolts for the door and hits the yard in a dead run.

  “You have got to tell me how you did that,” the man says, staring open-mouthed at his fleeing nephew. “My kid would never…” He doesn’t finish and shakes his head.

  I turn on my heel. My attempts to withhold my temper are failing. I need to get away before I say something I’ll regret. I know everyone’s eyes are following me as I stalk up the stairs. Maggie is at my heels, tail up and ears perked.

  As I round the top of the stairs out of sight, I have to stop and take several calming breaths. Why am I so angry over this? Maggie moves beside me and sits. Her head tilted, she lets out a concerned whine.

  I wipe the tiny beads of sweat from my forehead and lean against the wall. Suddenly exhausted, I slide to the floor. Maggie whines again and lays her head beside me. I smile at her loving eyes. Her tail swishes gently back and forth.

  Hearing movement downstairs, I close my eyes, taking in the scene with my Sight.

  “Well, uh…okay.” The man looks around awkwardly and rubs his hands together. “I guess I’m done here. Have a good day, ladies.” He nods to Jo and Sylvia and heads for the door.

  “Don’t mind Aven,” Jo says, stepping forward. “She’s very protective of her shop.”

  “That’s understandable. Nobody likes their stuff stolen.” He glances around the store with an appraising eye. “Especially by a prick teenager,” he says under his breath then looks at Sylvia. “I am really sorry for what he said to you. He’s been a real handful since his dad went to Afghanistan, but that’s no excuse, I know. He will definitely be grounded for this.” He clicks his tongue. “If I had done any of this when I was his age, my ass would have been red for a week.”

  Sylvia gives him a weak smile and then busies herself behind the counter.

  Jo
laughs in agreement. “Same here. It’s totally different nowadays.”

  “Yeah, and not really for the better, if you ask me.” He extends his hand to Jo. “I’m Calvin, by the way. Cal. Cal Jacobs.”

  “Josephine Riddle, Jo for short. I live right over there. And this is my daughter, Sylvia.” He nods to Sylvia and says hello. “I’ve got a little business myself but nothing like this. I mostly do readings and spirit communication.”

  Cal laughs then stops himself at Jo’s expression.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. I just don’t believe in any of that.”

  “Quite all right.” Jo waves away his comment. “Some people simply have a lack of vision.” She smirks at Cal who chuckles and continues towards the door.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you two even though it was like this.” He looks up at the stairs and opens his mouth. He swallows his words and turns away.

  Both women watch him walk down the cobblestone pathway to the gate.

  “Nice butt,” Jo mutters to herself, smiling fondly.

  “Mother!”

  “What? I ain’t dead.” She throws her daughter a look and starts up the stairs.

  She gets to the top and notices me on the floor with Maggie. She pulls over a chair from the kitchen table and sits beside me.

  She’s staring down at me with mock censure.

  “Well, well, well,” she says, exhaling loudly, arms crossed over her chest. “Seems you aren’t all powerful then.”

  “I never said I was.” I turn away with my nose in the air. Maggie is looking back and forth between me and Jo, her head still on the floor.

  “Hell,” she snorts.

  “What are you snorting at?” I slide myself up the wall. “Want a sandwich?”

  “No, thanks.” She gets up and returns the chair to the table. “I’m going to ask that guy out to lunch.”

  “Seriously?” I turn around and receive the raised eyebrow. “I mean, good for you!” I quickly turn back around and busy myself with sandwich making. “You could do with a little cougaring.”