by Amber Foxx
While Stan was helping Jamie load his instruments, Addie Ellerbee introduced her husband’s colleagues at Eight Northern Pueblos College. Bernadette Pena, professor of Health Sciences, was a slim Native American woman in her late forties with strong features and perfect posture, and Alan Pacheco, professor of Fine Art and Design, was a short, stocky Native man of a similar age, whose gentle, round face was made striking by bright brown eyes under thick black brows.
The waiter asked for the group’s orders. Alan and Bernadette ordered tea and coffee. As Stan and Jamie came in, Addie called out, “Stanley, who’s driving?”
Stan indicated himself. Addie ordered beer for herself and Jamie, iced tea for Stan, and several light snacks from the appetizer menu. “Food’s for all of you.”
Jamie sat beside her and stopped the server, adding a vegan soy-cheese pizza to the order. “Jamie.” Addie sounded both exasperated and fond.
“Mum.” Jamie mocked the nagging tone and gave her a quick side-hug.
Bernadette opened a briefcase, took a folder out, and handed it to Jamie. “This is the article on assessing the effectiveness of energy healers.”
“I’m looking forward to getting this assessment set up,” Kate said, forcing herself into a better mood. “I want to be the first to get credentialed.”
“That’s impressive,” said Dr. Pena. “A lot of psychics and healers would duck if they saw that coming.”
“Thanks for the article.” Jamie opened the folder and scanned its contents. He let it fall shut. “No point in it now, though.”
“It was your idea,” Kate snapped. “We can still do it eventually.”
“But that’s not why we’re here.”
“I know. Who’s running this meeting? I’m still the director.”
Jamie flexed his right fingers a few times and then flicked at the edge of the folder.
“If no one minds,” Bernadette said, “I think I should run it.”
Kate conceded. It would keep her and Jamie from biting each other’s heads off.
The waiter delivered drinks and left. Jamie took a long guzzle of beer, followed by a stifled belch and a mumbled apology. Kate felt her neck stiffen. Will he ever run out of ways to annoy me?
Bernadette set up her laptop. “First, can everyone commit not to share this discussion unless we all agree on including another party? The size of this group and the relationships you have should give you enough options for bouncing ideas off someone.” No one objected. “I have a list of questions I want to ask you. I hope you’ll bear with me and answer them even if you think you’ve already figured things out.” She typed something. “First: Names of all the confirmed victims of this power loss.”
“We can’t confirm it with people who won’t tell us anything.” Kate must have sounded impatient, because Tim began rubbing her back, a signal to chill. “They just say they’re not working.”
“We’ll make two categories, confirmed and suspected.”
Hilda looked around the group and gripped the edge of the table. “It’s happened to other people?”
Jamie stopped short of another gulp of beer, spilling a slosh. “It happened to you?”
“After I met Dahlia.”
“Jesus.” He drank, set the mug down, took the pink card out of his pocket and bent it back and forth, frowning at it. “You feel her do it?”
“No. We talked a long time when she bought one of my prints. About spirituality and feelings and art—it all seemed normal.”
“I’m only trying to list the victims now, not the cause.” Bernadette said. “Hilda, confirmed. Who else?”
“Azure Skye and Ximena Castillo,” Jamie said. “Confirmed by Azure. Gaia Greene, confirmed by her husband. And he said Dahlia did it to her.”
“We’re not assigning a cause yet.”
He jammed the card back in his pocket. “I already told you how she did it. Jesus.”
Stan raised his hand an inch off the table in a leveling gesture and made eye contact with his son. A silent exchange took place between them, something that made Jamie be quiet.
“Are those all the confirmed cases?” Bernadette asked.
When the waiter arrived with the snacks, Jamie asked for a pitcher and more mugs. Kate objected, saying that this wasn’t a party, but Jamie flashed a smile. “No worries.”
The group helped themselves to a few nibbles, quiet until the blue-haired young man was gone.
“That’s all the cases we know for sure,” Kate said. “But Fiona McCloud and Mary Kay Dieffenbacher have both declined to be in the fair and say they’re not working. Fiona looks like hell.”
Jamie added, “And hangs out with fucking Dahlia and Jill Betts.”
“I know you think it’s Dahlia,” Bernadette said, “but we need a time frame to confirm that it’s only her. We also need to know if anyone exposed to her in a similar way is unaffected. If there’s a pattern, it might tell us something about how we can stop this.”
“If you can tell who hasn't got it you can’t tell how—bloody hell, all the fucking quacks don’t have it, they’re signing up—how does that— Look, it’s her. I know. I can—” Jamie cut himself off, dipped a pita chip into hummus. “Never mind.”
Kate didn’t want to never mind. What had he stopped himself from saying? Did he know something he wasn’t sharing? Of course, if she asked him now, he would talk with his mouth full—
“Time frame?” Bernadette prodded.
Kate brought her attention back. “As far as I know everyone was working this winter. I had some Reiki sessions with Fiona in February, and Azure did that TV show around then.”
Stan added, “I did a follow-up with one of Ximena’s clients for my research in early March. He’d been to see her just recently.”
Bernadette nodded and typed. “Hilda?”
Hilda’s voice cracked. “I lost the angels last week.”
Kate put a hand on Hilda’s. Compassionate eyes on her, Bernadette waited. The artist didn’t break down. Relieved, Kate withdrew. She cared, and yet the touch had felt awkward. She said, “Gaia lost her powers this week.”
“What about Mary Kay?” Bernadette asked. “Does anyone know?”
No one had an answer. They paused as the waiter delivered the pizza, the pitcher of beer, and a clutch of mugs, and left. No one except Jamie moved to pour, and all declined his offer to serve them pizza. He refilled his own mug, looking a little confused. Kate almost felt sorry for him. He’d been trying to be generous like his mother had been, but he was socially clueless. If they’d wanted beer, they’d have ordered it.
“All right,” Bernadette said. “So far we have the picture of these losses being recent, no earlier than March. Can you confirm that Dahlia was here all that time?”
“Yeah.” Jamie fidgeted with one of the extra mugs. “Saw her in March. She was new then. Didn’t know the Pilates studio was up over Yoga Space. Came in the wrong door.”
“She could have been a new student then. It doesn’t mean she was new in town.”
“Yeah, she was. She’s Lily Petersen. Harold’s daughter. She’s a model. He says that’s when she stopped getting in touch, when she did a shoot here.” He took a bite of pizza, started to talk through it, stopped and swallowed. “And her mum told her to study with Jill. It all fits.”
Study with Jill. It did fit.
“So we know her time frame. Do we know if all the affected people had contact with her? Hilda and Gaia did. Fiona still does. Who else?”
“Healers and psychics normally keep some confidentiality about their clients,” Kate said. “I think Mary Kay would only tell the doctors who share referrals with her.”
Stan nodded. “Ximena would only share clients’ names with their permission.”
“Gaia told her husband,” Jamie said.
Kate asked. “Even the name?”
“Nah. But he figured it out from her appointment calendar.”
Bernadette held a hand up. “Let’s get back on track. So far we
don’t have clear proof that Dahlia is the direct cause for everyone. We have a working hypothesis that it’s her, but only two confirmed exposures with loss of powers following. Do you know of any healers or psychics who’ve been around her who are unaffected?”
“Me,” Kate said. “I’ve done other readings since hers and I’m fine. And Jill Betts is okay, too, as far as I can tell. Does anyone know if she’s still having her drum circle?”
Alan dipped a pita chip into the hummus and held it poised until he finished talking. “Unfortunately, yes. I know an artist who lives in Jill’s neighborhood. She says she can hear them, every Sunday night.”
Kate said, “I’ve been thinking Jill might have taught Dahlia.”
Stan Ellerbee set his tea down with a wet thud. “If Jill weren’t such a fraud, I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“I get why nobody likes her, but why do you think she’s a fraud?”
Silence. Alan and the Ellerbees exchanged glances. Kate turned to Hilda. “You used to go to her workshops—”
Addie cut in. “This family has a bad history with Jill Betts.”
Kate said, “I still need to know—”
“Bloody hell, Stan’s an expert on shamans. You think he can’t tell she’s a charlatan?” Addie’s eyes burned. “A few years back he mentioned Jill in an article, and he wasn’t being flippant or anything, he was writing seriously about this neo-shamanism fluff, and he said—how’d you put it, love?”
Stan quoted himself. “ ‘Simplified and decontextualized versions of cultural practices have been promulgated by such people as pop shamanizer and former anthropologist Jill Betts.’ ”
“That’s dead-on. He didn’t call her names or anything.” Addie surveyed the group with an air of authority that expected agreement. “It’s what she does and who she is.”
Kate could picture Jill bridling at it. A scholar like Dr. Ellerbee probably felt obligated to undercut work like Jill’s, but Jill wouldn’t like being described this way. According to the bio on her website, she’d started out as a scholar herself.
“She called me and asked me to put a retraction in the next issue of the journal that published it,” Stan said. “Which showed me she at least still read anthropology journals—if someone told her that her name was mentioned. I said I saw no need for retraction, since I hadn’t said anything false. She retaliated.”
“She took it out on Jamie.” Addie sounded as fierce as if the attack had been just yesterday.
Jamie’s voice grew tight. “Mum, let it rest. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I wasn’t going to, love. Just that Jill—”
“Drop it.” Jamie took another long drink and stared down at the table. “Everyone. Drop it.”
Alan whispered to Bernadette, “We really should.”
Kate didn’t want to, but Bernadette complied. “Of course. We’ll set Jill aside for now. Next question. Does anyone with power show signs of acquiring more?”
“Not that I know of,” Kate said. “How could I tell?”
“The signs might be subtle. I can only speak for my people, but Apache witches—and I hate talking about this—don’t show off their power. They might go out in the forms of animals, but you don’t usually see them doing it. You can only tell they’re witches by what happens around them.”
Was this true about all witches? No one thought Jill had power. The plague happened around her, but not to her. Could she be the white owl in Dahlia’s crystal ball reading, going out in the form of an animal?
Tim surprised Kate by speaking up. “I don’t know if this is a sign of power or some freak force, but Dahlia screws up electricity.” He scooped a handful of edamame from the bowl in the middle of the table, popped one into his mouth.
“Dahlia?” Jamie’s eyes widened.
Tim chewed and swallowed. “All the time. Real pain in the ass. She lives in my apartment complex and keeps having me come over to see what’s happening. There’s never anything I can explain, but her lights cut off or burn out a lot, and her small appliances burn out the motors, or shoot sparks.”
Bernadette typed a few notes. “Does anyone seem to have any other kind of power?
Jamie drew lines in the condensation on his mug. “My stuff turns on. Fuck. Don’t look at me like I’m the bloody plague. It’s Dahlia. Lily. Jesus. You can stop the fucking detective work. She sent this fetus image into Gaia to steal her power.”
“A fetus?” Kate remembered the abortion or miscarriage in Dahlia’s reading.
“Yeah. At first Gaia thought it was one of her babies she lost.”
Bernadette asked, “How did Dahlia go about it? Did she have to be in the same room? In contact?”
“Yeah.” Jamie drank. “She went in as a client. Told Gaia her parents were dead so she’d try to heal her.”
Hilda said, “She told me about that, too. I felt so sad for her.”
Bernadette frowned at Jamie. “But you just said her father—”
“Yeah. It’s a lie. They’re both alive, and worried. She won’t speak to ’em. They started to have Mae do some psychic stuff to check up on her.”
A psychic Kate had never heard of. “Who’s Mae?”
Bernadette gave Jamie a mischievous little smile. “His girlfriend.”
“Does she work around here?”
“No,” Bernadette said, “She lives in Truth or Consequences. She’s going to College of Rio Grande in Las Cruces. She’s not working as a healer now as far as I know, though she should be. I knew her back when I was teaching at Coastal Virginia University in Norfolk. She did a demo in one of my alternative medicine classes and I got to know her quite well. Even as a beginner, she had some extraordinary skills.” She typed a few more notes. “There. I think I have something we can work with.”
She turned her laptop to face Kate. It showed a simple four-cell grid. In the first block, affected (or presumed affected) and exposed, were Fiona, Gaia and Hilda. In the second block, unaffected and exposed, was Kate. In the third block, unaffected and unexposed, was Mae. The fourth block, affected and unexposed, was empty. Below the grid were Ximena and Azure and Mary Kay, noted as affected (or presumed), exposure unknown.
“The only pattern I see so far is that the losses fit in with Dahlia’s arrival in Santa Fe, and that everyone affected is famous. They’ve written books, been on TV, or in Ximena’s case been the subject of some published scholarly studies. Kate, you’re none of the above. Competent, but not known beyond your local clients. Mae is unknown in a similar way.”
“Saw someone else yesterday that’s like that,” Jamie said. “Andrea Jones. She did some training with Fiona in March. Had her do a little work on me and she’s fine. And she’s never met Dahlia.”
Bernadette turned the computer back, typed, and showed the document to Kate again. Andrea was now in the box with Mae.
“Never heard of her,” Kate said.
“That’s the point.” Bernadette tapped on her chart. “If we’re looking for a motive, it would seem to be the desire to take down everyone famous.”
Kate noticed one name missing. “Except Jill.”
“According to the Ellerbees,” Bernadette said, “she has no power to lose.”
“That anyone can see. She might be using Dahlia to knock out the competition.”
“Maybe. Would Dahlia do it on her own, if she thought it would make Jill look good?”
Kate considered what she’d seen of that relationship. As far as she could tell, Jill was more enamored of Dahlia than the other way around. “I don’t think so. If she’s doing it for Jill, it’s because Jill told her to.”
“It might not be about Jill’s competition,” Tim said. “Dahlia might be hacking famous people because she can’t tell who else has power.”
“Possibly.” Bernadette gazed into a point in space above Kate’s head, eyes narrowed, thoughtful. “But Dahlia’s a model. Why would she want to take these healers’ power?”
Tim put his arm around Kate. “Yo
u’d need a psychic to figure it out.”
She mentally reviewed Dahlia’s reading. “I think I did.” Strength, the Hierophant, the Tower. Cold intelligence. The abortion or miscarriage. The white owl, Dahlia hitch-hiking, and the car driving into a cliff. “It wasn’t clear to me what everything meant, but I think it was to her. She thought I was so good, she wanted to study with me.”
Bernadette took her computer back and made another note. “So she did know you had power. Even though you’re not famous.”
“Only because I proved it. She thought I was a fake at first.”
Hilda sat up straighter, a new light in her eyes. “We need someone who won’t let Dahlia know they have power at all. Undercover. Not exactly a spy, but someone secret, who could heal us and stop Dahlia. Kate, could the fair pay for someone to do that?”
“I’ll have to check the budget.”
Hilda’s wounded look shamed Kate. There would be no fair to budget if they didn’t do this. Kate owed it to the affected healers and psychics to do anything she could to help them. She also owed it to Hilda as her sponsor. Kate amended, “I’m sure we can cover it. But they’d have to hide their abilities even from the people they were healing. If Fiona knew, she might tell Dahlia.”
“That’s true,” Bernadette said. “Our healer would have to hide her identity from anyone outside this group. We still don’t know who taught Dahlia, or if she’s the only source of the plague.” She typed in silence for a while. “I have someone in mind. You should make a clear contract for her. What you need from her, what she’ll be paid, and a deadline if you have one.” She looked up. “Who does she go to if she has questions?”
“Me, I suppose,” Kate said. “Though it might be better for her sake if it’s not someone associated with the healers or the fair. The last thing we need is her being the next victim.”
Bernadette turned to Jamie. “I’m thinking about Mae. You could be her contact and it would be natural. It wouldn’t give her away.”
He swallowed, dropped a pizza crust onto a pile of them on his plate, and wiped his mouth. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong? She’s not known in Santa Fe, is she?”
