Soul Loss

by Amber Foxx

  Guided by its energy, he carried his paper plate of cake to the archway between the concert space and the coffee shop. Dahlia stood there with Mae, looking at the community bulletin board. He could tell they didn’t hear him come up behind them. No one ever did.

  “You should talk to this guy.” Dahlia pointed to a homemade flyer featuring a man’s staring, bearded face and a list of his accomplishments: astral travel, psychic surgery, soul clearing, chakra balancing, karmic cleansing, inner child work, and contact with ascended masters. “You could write your whole paper from one interview.”

  “Good idea.” Mae tore off a phone number from the fringed bottom of the flyer. “I could be done by the time you’re back from LA and we could go shopping.”

  “Seriously. Life’s too short. But don’t tell anyone where I’m going. Or why.”

  The two women were turned at a slight angle so Jamie could see the prominent curve of Mae’s breasts and Dahlia’s slightly smaller and presumably plastic ones. She didn’t have enough meat on her bones to grow real ones.

  Mae looked around with a start. “How long have you been there?”

  “Years.” Jamie grinned. “Didn’t you feel me?”

  “I kinda did just now.”

  Felt him looking at her titties. Dahlia hadn’t, which was probably proof that hers weren’t real. No sixth sense in them.

  The model regarded the cake the way she might a pile of vomit. “That thing is huge.”

  “Yeah.” Jamie winked. “So’s the cake.” He offered her a forkful. “Open wide.”

  She gave him an eye roll at the innuendo and recoiled from the fork. Scared she’ll catch fat cooties.

  “Jesus.” He—or the spirit—stuck a finger into the cake and put a dab of frosting on Dahlia’s nose. “How in bloody hell am I going to cook for the likes of you?”

  Mae pressed her lips together, but a laugh escaped. Dahlia took a tissue from her purse and wiped her nose, glaring at Jamie. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Dunno. Need to work on your appetite. Can’t waste my cooking on a sheila who won’t eat.” He turned to Mae, aiming the fork at her lips. His words emerged without volition. “Would you lick my utensil?” As she opened her mouth to answer he fed her a bite of cake, and licked the fork after her. “It’ll taste good after it’s been dipped in you.”

  Mae gaped at him and blushed. Jamie shared her embarrassment. He’d topped himself for crassness and knew it, but it wasn’t him. Something had taken him over. He wondered if Mae could tell the difference.

  “I thought you just invited me to dinner.” Dahlia glanced back and forth between Jamie and Mae and altered the shape of her mouth to suggest a smile. “Are you inviting her, too?”

  He took a bite of cake. “Might. I’ve had two pieces of this.” His hand, controlled by the spirit, mimed cupping her little arse in his hand, stopping short of touching her. “Could go for two pieces of that, too.”

  “There are more calories in her ass. You’d better go for mine first.” With a fling of her hair, Dahlia strode off toward her table.

  Jamie let out a little chug of a laugh. “What a bloody stupid joke.”

  “So were yours. What is the matter with you?” Mae asked. “Are you high?”

  “Nah. Jeezus. You think I’d do that?”

  “You’re acting peculiar. I could swear you’re stoned. Have you really had two pieces of cake?”

  He surprised himself by making a snarly face like a Chinese lion-dog statue, bug-eyed and soundlessly roaring, sticking out a tongue full of half chewed cake. Fuck, this spirit is weird. He swallowed. Every other breath, every other heartbeat, he felt normal, which was even stranger than being entirely out of control. The spirit cohabiting with his consciousness didn’t so much suppress him as outvote him. “Yeah.” This felt like the real Jamie answering, but with a touch of the intruder’s humor. “Loved every bite of it. Want to nag me?”

  “Kind of. Did you mean to invite Dahlia for dinner? Like, the three of us?”

  “Fuck. Think I did. Dunno. I’m ...” The spirit giggled, but it sounded as though Jamie did. “I’m possessed.”

  “People do not get possessed.” Mae had that charming pissed-off Southern girl sound, punching the words yet stretching them a little, like taffy right before it snapped. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded, trying to stifle the spirit’s spurts of laughter. His bad language earlier didn’t do much for his credibility in claiming innocence. Mae frowned. Maybe she still believed he was high. “I hope you can keep a lid on it, whatever’s gotten into you. I have to get back to their table. I’m pretending I’m doing my research—not that Jill will let me get a word in, but I’m trying to see if I can connect with Fiona. See if she taught Dahlia. You coming with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  The spirit was willing, even eager, untroubled by Jill or Dahlia. Jamie followed Mae across the room, weaving between tables and admiring her firm rounded bum draped in a yellow knit dress. Now that he’d finally seen and touched every inch of her, she was even more compelling. He could fantasize better.

  Mae interrupted his imaginings. “They don’t know I’m your girlfriend. I thought it might put Jill off, since y’all don’t like each other. Not that they let me talk about myself anyway.”

  “What do they talk about?”

  “Practically nothing. Jill keeps discouraging Fiona, like she shouldn’t waste her energy on me.”

  They reached the table and took seats. Dahlia and Fiona fell silent. Jill wasn’t there. Jamie caught sight of her striding though the coffee shop from the far side, changing direction to keep up her speed when people in less of a hurry got in her way.

  “Wonderful show,” Fiona said to Jamie. “Please tell the other men I said so.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “I love Andrea’s dancing.”

  “Yeah, she’s good. Been taking those classes at the Railyard Center.” Jamie slightly invaded Fiona’s space, elbows on the table sliding toward her, chin on his hands. He cared, but his inner visitor was making him pushy about it, peering at her with unabashed concern. “How are you? You look buggered.”

  “I’m hoping the music does me good,” she said. “I’ve been in kind of a trough.”

  “Still?” He reached over and rubbed her wrist. “What are you doing for it? Seen anybody?”

  Fiona shook her head and made a silencing gesture as Jill arrived.

  “Are you going to recommend a healing for her?” Jill asked, sitting close by Fiona.

  “Nah. Wouldn’t dare.”

  Jill adjusted her necklace and settled her shoulders. “I thought you might have been auditioning as a new shaman.”

  “Me? A sham-an?” Jamie pronounced the first syllable as sham. “Nah. But y’liked that song, then.”

  “From an ethnomusicology perspective, yes. Which I believe is all it merited. It was a good show.”

  “That’s the modern shaman in a nutshell.” Jamie grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Right, Jill? A bloody good show.”

  Jill regarded Jamie like a predator scouting possible prey and deciding it wasn’t worth attacking. She gave him her queenly smile and then drew in close to Dahlia. “Dear, did you ...?” Jill tilted her head slightly toward Jamie.

  Dahlia nodded and slipped the faint corner of a smile at him. Lifting the other end of the implied smile, she shot a glance at Mae.

  “Good.” Jill planted her hands on her thighs and stood. “We should go now. Fiona’s tired.”

  Mae thanked Dahlia for inviting her, gushing in pure Southern excess, impressing Jamie with her unexpected acting skill. “You are such an angel. You’ve already helped me so much in getting started on my research. Fiona, if you change your mind, please call me. And Jill—I know I’m not finished with your books yet, but I’d love to talk with you some more.”

  “Finish reading first.”

  Jill herded her companions away, barely allowing Fiona her soft goodbye. Dahlia, her burgundy lips p
arted, waved with two fingers. She ran the tip of her tongue along her flawless teeth, swung her hair, and strode off ahead of the older women.

  Bloody hell. She’d liked the spirit.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jamie’s eyes were like dark crystals with blazing fires behind them. The poem Kubla Khan, half-remembered from an English class, flashed across Mae’s mind. Something about “his flashing eyes and floating hair” and consuming something magical. Though all he was doing was finishing off his slab of cake and his tank of coffee, Jamie projected three times his normal energy. Even this much sugar and caffeine didn’t explain it. She stroked the top of his hand. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  He lifted the paper plate and licked the final crumbs and frosting off it, his glowing gaze bordering on inexplicable hilarity. Stoned. No, he’d said he wasn’t and she had to believe him. He took his music too seriously to perform under the influence. Smoking would hurt his voice, too, and marijuana’s effects on heart rate could cause panic attacks. He’d never take those risks. So what was wrong with him? Sleep deprivation could make people silly and hungry, and he’d been up late and then woken early. He couldn’t really be possessed. That had to be a joke.

  Unless he’d messed up when he did that song. Called in who-knew-what kind of spirits.

  “Sugar. Talk to me. I’m pretty sure Dahlia thinks you suggested a three-way thing for us—”

  Wendy and Andrea’s arrival cut her off. Wendy grabbed Jamie by the shoulder. “Finally. I’ve been looking for you. You need to talk to this guy from Rolling Stone.”

  The weirdness left him. His normal soft baby seal eyes, not Kubla Khan’s, widened with excitement. “Fuck me dead. Do I get to get richer, and then get my picture—?” He danced a little as he rose, singing an old pop-country song about the cover of Rolling Stone, a subtle yet solid difference in his silliness.

  “Nowhere near the cover. But come on. Even a paragraph is incredible. Meet him before your break is up. He can do the interview after, but I don’t want to lose him.”

  Wendy gave Jamie a push in the middle of his back and apologized to Mae as she hurried him off.

  “No problem.” Mae was grateful. Whatever had been wrong with Jamie, Wendy had knocked it out of him—or seemed to. If he really was possessed, the thing couldn’t have left just because he was being interviewed, could it?

  Andrea set her drink on the table and took the chair Jamie had vacated. “I don’t know if you remember me. Andrea Jones. We met back when Wendy was trying to sign Jamie last summer.”

  “I do.” Mae did her best to drop her worries and be sociable. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Is Jill gone for the night?”

  “Yeah. The whole trio.”

  “Good.” Andrea put down an orange business card with raised turquoise lettering around an image of a woman playing a drum. “I can’t believe she hasn’t given up. She’s been trying to get me to apply to her drum circle ever since Jamie and I went to that training with Fiona.”

  Jill had abruptly left a conversation with Andrea at the edge of the dance floor when Mae and Jamie joined Dahlia and Fiona at their table. “That’s weird. You’re being recruited, but you have to apply?”

  “Apparently. She gave me a new password tonight.” Andrea turned the card over. Something was handwritten on it, too small for Mae to read upside down. “She changes it every few weeks so an applicant won’t let some uninvited person apply. It was hard to keep a straight face when she told me that. I wanted to ask if they had secret decoder rings. She’s making people feel special over nothing.”

  “It must work.”

  “I don’t know how. It costs a fortune to join, and even the application has a fee. And it’s long. She asks for your education, previous shamanic training, previous visionary experiences, and your health history, mental and physical.” Amusement bubbled in Andrea’s voice as she recited the list “Professional skills. Current employment. Religious affiliation if any. Travel experience. Statement of interest. References. You’d think it’s some Ivy League shaman college. It’s crazy that she’s even asking me. I have no background in this stuff besides the energy healing class, and I’ve never traveled other than to move here from Colorado.”

  “What a scam. Jill would still get your application fee even if she didn’t let you in.”

  “She’d let me in. Not that I’m interested, but I think she wants me as a token.” Andrea scooped the froth off her drink with her straw and licked it. “It’s a stereotype that Jill Betts fans are all rich, middle-aged, and white.”

  In Mae’s vision of the workshop, Jamie had griped about Jill’s attention to him and to Kandy as an attempt to look in with the indigenous. “Have you told her you’re not interested?”

  “You talked with her tonight. Did she pay attention to anything you said?”

  “No.” Jill had cut Mae off, ignored her, or mocked her. “But I think she’d already decided she didn’t like me. Jill and Jamie hate each other. I tried not to let on that I’m with him, but she took against me anyway.”

  “It wasn’t because of him.” Andrea finished her drink and giggled. “She thinks I’m Jamie’s girlfriend.”

  “You’re kidding. Because you danced with him?”

  “No, but that probably confirmed it. Fiona must have got the girlfriend idea during the workshop. He wouldn’t practice with anyone but me.” Of course. Trying to hide his gift from the others in the class. “I don’t think it matters that much to Jill, though. She says things like, ‘I realize Jamie wouldn’t support your joining my circle, but it’s very empowering for a woman.’ ”

  “I think it matters. If you joined, she’d kill two birds with one stone. Piss him off and get diversity. No, make that three birds. Jill doesn’t like Dr. Ellerbee. If his son’s girlfriend joined her drum circle, she’d score against him, too.”

  If Mae had told Jill that she was Jamie’s girlfriend, she might have gotten the invitation instead of the snub. She wouldn’t qualify if Jill wanted well-traveled, educated people, but neither would Dahlia. Jill probably looked for low qualifications and selected applicants who wouldn’t question her, who would convince themselves they’d had a spiritual experience or pretend they had, and who would feel grateful to be part of the circle. She might also admit a few people she could use for her own ends, like diversity or revenge. Dahlia would provide the youthful end of the diversity spectrum, and might have passed as a spiritual seeker when she applied, though she was nothing of the sort. Why had she applied? Did she actually think Jill could help her get power?

  The band ascended the stage to a round of applause, and Mwizenge began to introduce the next song. Andrea stood, inviting Mae to dance with her. “If Jill comes back, we can really confuse her.”

  As they made their way toward the dance floor, Jamie waved and grinned, bouncing a little. No sign of being possessed, or whatever had actually been wrong with him. Thank God. That had been strange, even for Jamie.

  Mae danced with Andrea and Wendy for several songs. Jamie left the stage and joined them for a few minutes, drumming and leading them into a kind of line dance. As far as Mae could tell, he was still himself, but the puzzle of what had happened to him earlier nagged at her, undercutting the fun. The puzzle of Jill and Dahlia snagged her mind as well. When Jamie rejoined his band mates onstage, Mae returned to the table to sort out her ideas.

  They were so tangled, she tried drawing them on a napkin to see if any patterns emerged. Bernadette had showed her the epidemiology chart of “the plague” when Mae stopped by to pack an overnight bag, but they hadn’t talked about it much. At the time Mae had felt a greater need to talk about her relationship with Jamie. From what she could remember of the chart, its grid described a pattern but not a cause. Mae wanted to find causes.

  She drew a long line representing Dahlia down the center of the napkin, and double lines connecting to dots along each side, representing people Dahlia interacted with. These lines were pai
rs of arrows indicating the flow back and forth between Dahlia and others. Mae marked them with plus signs for positive energy, minus signs for conflict or negative energy, or little barbs along them for stealing energy,

  Dahlia didn’t have negative energy toward anyone in Santa Fe, but she did toward Naomi, who wanted to direct positive energy toward her daughter. Dahlia stole energy from healers who sent her positive energy, like Azure and Gaia. Dahlia had no energy at all toward most people. She was cool and neutral, except toward Mae. Why, Mae had no idea, but there it was, a weak positive. She drew a plus sign. Dahlia appeared to like her, though it was probably a strategy of some kind. Since she felt sorry for the child Lily, but repelled by what she had become, Mae gave herself a mixed positive-negative line toward Dahlia

  How had Dahlia felt toward the fetus whose image she used in her witchcraft? If she’d wanted him, why would she use him that way? The connecting line from Dahlia to her almost-baby got a question mark on it.

  Kate was the one psychic known to have done a session with Dahlia and come out unharmed. Had her energy toward Dahlia been negative or neutral? This Kate-to-Dahlia line also got question-marked. Mae needed to meet Kate soon and made a note to herself to make an appointment. Kate was signing at the same conference Bernadette was attending. Mae could try to see them both during a break the next day, if they had one long enough. Bernadette had a good clear head and might be helpful in solving this puzzle.

  Mae went back to the lines, this time examining Jill. Jill had positive energy toward Andrea. Andrea didn’t think too highly of Jill, but it wasn’t really conflict or negative energy. In her own snobby way, Jill had positive energy toward Fiona and Dahlia. Negative toward Jamie and his father.

  Jamie had a strong aversion to Dahlia. Except when possessed. Had she done something to him, or had he done that to himself? Could it have been both? He might have opened himself to spirits and then she’d put something in him. Whatever it was seemed to have left, but Mae would have to check him out and make sure. For now, the connecting lines to Dahlia got a minus sign from Jamie’s direction, a plus sign from Dahlia’s, no little barbs—yet—and a huge, troubling question mark. Mae tried not to look at it as she worked on the rest of the puzzle.