by Amber Foxx
“Dahlia has been an extraordinary student.”
Mae offered Jill the lock of hair. “Then you’ll want this back. Or should I return it to Dahlia?”
Jill snatched the hair. “Of course not.”
“You should let me check and see if she hurt you with it.”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s only a symbol.” Jill crushed the hair in her fist. “Asserting herself against the power of the mother and the crone. She couldn’t do anything with it.”
“Nothing that would make you faint? She could have sent those little arrowheads—”
“There are no such things. Like the doctor said—it was stress.” Jill lowered herself into a front row seat and jammed the hair into her pocket. Mae faced her, leaning her back against the edge of the stage. Jill said, “I haven’t addressed a crowd this size in years.”
Probably not since Kandy died.
In the back of the lecture hall, Kate and the doctor were leaving by the main exit as Fiona came in. Her jeans bagged on her hips and thighs, and her face still sagged from her rapid weight loss, but her steps had a new strength, and her posture a new vigor.
Mae offered again to check Jill’s condition. Jill pressed her lips together and stared above Mae’s head. Fiona reached the front row and sat angled toward Jill on the arm of the adjacent seat. “You look terrible. What happened?”
“Could be anything. Stress, standing too long, didn’t breathe right—”
Mae interrupted. “She passed out when Dahlia did this witchy thing, like she was gonna put a curse on her with a lock of her hair. Dahlia stopped as soon as she started, but I don’t know if she checked her swing soon enough.”
Fiona said, “I tried to tell you—”
“We’re not talking about it in front of this young woman.” Jill slashed a cold glance at Mae. “If she won’t have the grace to leave us, we should get going. This is all ridiculous. Dahlia was doing that as a ritual. She wasn’t actually cursing anyone.”
Mae asked, “If you don’t believe all this stuff is real, why didn’t you answer Kate’s question straight out? And why did you tell Dahlia you used your power to kill Kandy?”
“I did no such—”
“She did,” Fiona said. “Like some stupid gangster wannabe kid, boasting that he shot people.” She stood and spoke to Jill with a force just short of shouting. “You think I couldn’t see you turning into an idiot over her? Pretending you were some kind of shaman-witch if that’s what she wanted you to be? Teaching her those rituals? Of course Dahlia dear, I’m great and dangerous. I warned you what I thought she’d done with my trainings—but you’d give her anything she asked for, if you could get her into your bed.”
“I needed her for my book. I wasn’t seducing her.”
“Not successfully. But you tried. God, Jill, I could stand the men, they came and went and they weren’t your students, but—”
“I think we’d better go. I feel well enough to walk, and this young lady has no business hearing our quarrels.”
“You’re right. We should stop fighting,” Fiona said, and Jill relaxed back into her seat. “It would only hurt me more, and I’ve put up with enough.” Fiona walked back up the aisle and out the door.
Jamie was right. Dahlia had learned to use power from Fiona and had turned it evil with ceremonies she learned from Jill, even though Jill didn’t have the power to use them herself.
“You meddling, prying bitch.” Jill started to stand and sank back down, apparently faint again. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“Me? I’m not the one that hurt you. Dahlia could be trying to capture the power of a death, especially if she thinks it’s a powerful shaman dying—”
Leaning her head on one hand, Jill held up the other in a signal to stop. “She can’t really do any of that.”
“She almost killed Jamie’s cat.”
“Dahlia?” Jill looked genuinely shocked. “She just lost her parents. She’s been wounded by death. She wouldn’t kill.”
“Her name is Lily Petersen, and she’s a model, not some poor orphan. That lady who was chasing you down is her alive-and-well mama. Dahlia lied to you and everybody else so they’d teach her things or try to heal her. She never had those migraines or any of those problems. She was in New York and LA making money.”
Jill growled, “I’ll kill her.”
She tried to rise but lost her balance. Mae caught her. “She might have tried to kill you. Lie down. Please. Let me check you out.”
Jill jerked away, her heavy necklace slamming against her chest. “You want me to trust Jamie Ellerbee’s girlfriend? If you really have any power, you’re probably going to do what you say Dahlia did.”
“I am not. I can do what Mary Kay does, and what Fiona does.”
Jill wobbled. “Then get them.”
Mae guided her to the floor before she fell. “Mary Kay’s not here. She was one of Dahlia’s victims. And I don’t think Fiona’s gonna come back and help you.”
“So why would you?”
“Same reason that doctor did. I’m a healer. It’s what I do.”
“The doctor said I’m fine.”
“And to get a checkup. She couldn’t exactly diagnose witchcraft, could she? This is the check-up.”
Jill’s eyes widened, wild with fear for a moment, then she closed them. “Fine. Do it. You won’t find anything.”
Mae took her crystals from her purse and dumped the contents of the pouch into her hand, not taking time to choose. Her other hand holding Jill’s, she closed her eyes, slowed her breathing and tried to still her mind. She had practiced daily while she’d been home, but with Jill’s impatience and resentment pushing at her, and her own aversion to Jill battling the healing impulse, Mae struggled.
To her surprise, when she finally was able to sense Jill’s inner body, Granma’s hands came in again. Why for Jill, and not Mary Kay? Bewildered, Mae watched Rhoda-Sue Outlaw Jackson’s fingers explore a semipermeable Jill in whom Mae saw both the internal physical structure and the energy body. Granma prodded around and found a torn place in Jill’s energy near the base of the skull. It was like a hole in a window screen made by a cat’s claw.
While her grandmother held the torn place, Mae looked for anything physical that might be causing the weakness. A clot in the brain, a tumor, anything abnormal in the inner ears, malfunctions in the nerves or muscles. Nothing looked amiss. It had to be the rip in her fabric. Mae refocused on the place Granma held, and to her surprise, saw her let go—without fixing it. A breeze came through the hole, a small, slow leak in Jill’s life force.
You want me to work on that, Granma?
No, honey. I came in to stop you
But Granma—
I’m sorry, but this ain’t ours to fix. It stays. It won’t kill her.
Granma Jackson vanished. Mae tried on her own to adjust the little tear in Jill’s energy, but nothing happened.
“I’m sorry.” Mae released Jill’s hand. “There’s nothing wrong with your body, but there’s like a little chi leak, where Dahlia started to attack you. She just nicked you, but my guide says I can’t fix it. That we’re not supposed to.”
Jill propped up on her elbows. “What? That’s absurd. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Sorry. Neither have I. Maybe if you take it easy you’ll be all right. You can keep trying some other healers.”
Jill got to her knees, and Mae helped her into a seat. “Lovely. Jill Betts weak and disabled, crawling from healer to healer. I’m sure that will do wonders for my reputation.”
Jill’s reputation should already be down a notch locally after letting a skeptic into her drum circle, and nationally as the negative publicity from the day’s events spread. In her weakened condition, she probably wouldn’t have the strength to keep going against all that. The book might never get finished. She might have to retire. Mae didn’t have it in her to rejoice over suffering, even Jill’s, but she couldn’t help feeling there was a karmic fitness
to what had happened.
Mae asked, “You need a ride home?”
“What? With you?” Jill took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. “Miguel? What—oh for God’s sake, forget about that book.” Tapping her foot, she listened for barely a second. “It seems that I have to lie down.” She sighed. “Yes, I thought you’d like that. Come get me.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Vishnu and Shanti, the kirtan singers, asked Jamie to stay onstage to sing their first song with them. Inundated with an excess of light and energy, he wanted to say no, but sharing his voice was part of his job. The couple sparkled like a fireworks display as they began the vibrant call-and-response in Sanskrit. Jamie managed to improvise around the melody, but he had to close his eyes. Even then, he felt the singers’ souls as a double undulation. The effect made him feel slightly ill, as if he were on a roller coaster ride.
When the song ended, he left the stage and sat in the front row. As soon as he could get his bearings, he’d need to try to find a quiet place and shut his visions down. The people surrounding him sang along with the next song, rocking with the rhythm, their souls mingling in an aurora that swayed with them. Jamie looked down at the dirt. It felt more alive than it ought to, but at least it held still.
Heather ran up and crouched in front of him. Her inner light vibrated like a small motor. She whispered urgently, “Jill passed out at the end of her talk.”
His soul vision dimmed to a lower wattage. “Good. Hope she hit her fucking head.”
“Jamie—”
“Sorry.”
“Kate’s been trying to reach you. Dahlia did something witchy and Jill fainted. Hilda says the angels are back and she doesn’t know what to do about it. What’s going on?”
“Fuck me dead.” He led Heather away from the sing-along. “Mae did it.” After Dahlia fucked with Jill. Not Naomi, Jill. He was happier about it than a decent human being ought to be, but he couldn’t help it.
“Did what?”
Jamie hugged Heather as hard as he wanted to squeeze Mae. “Unwitched Dahlia.” His joy over Mae’s success quickly flattened. Hilda had been returned to a spirit-swamped state, with no idea how to get out of it.
Heather wriggled out of the hug. “What are you talking about?”
The board and its advisors had kept the secret well. She was clueless. “Tell you later. After I talk to Kate.”
“You’d better.” Heather’s fast-idling glow skipped and stuttered. “You owe me something after you ruined Jill for me.”
Heather excused herself to see to other business. Jamie couldn’t regret that he’d ruined Jill for her. He looked down at his bracelet. If Kandy had lived to tell her own story, Jill would have been discredited years ago. The auras of the kirtan singers and the crowd pushed at him like a swarm of beach balls borne on thick waves of light, crashing up against his sudden sadness. Time to slip away and close the inner door.
Before he could take half a step, a cool, limp hand touched his arm. He jerked around. Dahlia. Her hair was shorter, rippling out from under a hat that matched her pale gold dress and dainty sandals. She took off her sunglasses and started to speak, then stopped.
Something was different about her, and it wasn’t the hair. She didn’t feel like a zombie anymore. Her soul was still cold, but in a sad, gray way like the tail end of winter. Like Boston in March. He’d gone there with his parents years ago and had been depressed by the heavy sky and the crusty black ice protruding from the curbs after the snow had melted. Dahlia’s energy was like that, except in one place. Behind her sternum sat something like a single green pea. It made no sense, but it was how he saw her. Boston dirt ice and a green pea. Nothing else.
“Did you see it?” she asked finally.
“No—it’s left you.”
“What do you mean?”
Mentioning it made him shiver. “The owl.”
“What about ... the other?”
“Mm. Dunno. Can’t tell if that’s you or some bit of him. Little green spot, though, something healthy.”
It was her turn to shiver. “I hope he’s gone.”
She looked Jamie over. He felt her attention pause at his belly and then snag on his braided beard, or maybe his chin, before meeting his eyes. “So you really are a shaman.”
“Sort of. Bloody incompetent one.”
“Is that cat your power animal or not? Mae said it isn’t.”
“He’s my friend.” Jamie slid his hands into his pockets. “That was bad, what you did to him, y’know. He’s a good little bloke and you really hurt him.”
Dahlia sat on the edge of the nearest bench. “I never thought you’d be so emotional about it.”
“Jeezus. You ever feel anything?”
She shook her head, pinching her shoulders in toward her chest.
“You got upset when I talked about your parents.”
Her face showed nothing, but the dirt ice energy contracted, like a bizarre rigid jellyfish that had been poked.
Jamie kept his voice soft, the way he would when talking to an animal. “Bet ya—up in the attic, packed in a box, there’s a little Lily with a heart.”
She jumped to her feet, color flushing her almost inanimate face. “That is so stupid.”
Something moved him to grasp her in a bear hug. She was so delicate, he felt he was overpowering her with his size, his heat, and his strength, but it didn’t stop him. He wasn’t hurting her. She made a small, incoherent noise and began to tremble. He let loose the full force of whatever moved through him. It wasn’t possible for him to love her, yet this power did.
She wept, and some chips of the dirt ice fractured into him, sharp, heavy, and painful. It hurt enough that he shed a few tears with her, and the ice chips melted. Relieved, Jamie let go of her, took a wadded bandana from his jeans pocket—the thing he’d used to wipe the sweat off his face when he danced—and handed it to her. She slightly scrunched her nose, blew it, and then turned to drop his bandana in a nearby trash can.
“Want to go see your dad?” he asked. “We’ve got a few minutes before he’s on. It’d make his day.”
She took a compact from her purse and checked her face in the mirror. Her eye makeup was smudged. “I need to fix myself up first. And my mother had better not be there. Or Daddy’s cat.”
“Can’t promise about your Mum, but I’ll take care of the cat.” If he sent Harold and Lily out for a walk, he could sit alone with Cara, give her a touch-up, and close his visions.
They started toward the classroom buildings. Lily put her sunglasses back on and walked at a distance that discouraged conversation. Compared to Cara, she’d been hard to heal. Jamie had barely made a dent in Lily. He thought of referring her to Gorman but changed his mind. She could find her own shrink. She might not be a zombie vampire anymore, but he still didn’t like the idea of running into her in the waiting room.
*****
Mae was amazed to find some open space in the middle of a fourth-row bench, just in time for Harold’s performance. After introducing Harold, Jamie stepped aside, fidgeting with his bracelet while the audience cheered and clapped at Harold’s entrance.
The applause eased off. Harold thanked the crowd for their reception and began to give some background on his choice of songs. He wrapped up his introductory talk with, “A special hey to Mae Martin, my fellow hillbilly,” and launched into an upbeat gospel tune, with Jamie in the background playing hand drums. Jamie looked tired, though it was something only Mae would notice about the set of his shoulders, the limited scope of his smile. She hadn’t had a chance to be with him all day, or even to talk on the phone other than to leave messages. I love you. I’m proud of you. You helped me more than you know.
Lily made her way past the people on Mae’s right. Even though there was more room on that side, she stepped over Mae’s legs and squeezed her petite backside into a nonexistent space to Mae’s left, without excusing herself to the person she was shoving. “What was Daddy talking about? Y
ou know him?”
“Sure. Met him through Jamie.” Mae slid a little to her right. “Let’s scoot over some, give those folks some room.”
“Not too much. I’m making sure Mother can’t sit with me.”
Naomi danced up the row, waving her hands in I-got-the-spirit finger-wiggles. She plopped beside Mae and talked across her. “This is so exciting, isn’t it, Lily? All of us here.”
Lily shrugged and averted her eyes to watch Harold.
Naomi asked Mae, “Was Jill all right? I didn’t hear any ambulances.”
Mae hesitated, not sure how much she should explain. “The doctor didn’t find anything.”
“Good. I can’t wait to tell everyone at home I heard a preview of that book. That was one lucky young lady that got to study with her that way.”
Lily told Naomi to stop talking and gave Mae an elbow in the side. In a way Mae was grateful. She liked Harold and didn’t want to be rude to him, or to miss another note of his performance. His rough-edged voice was perfect for the songs. It sounded lived in, like he’d seen enough hard times to appreciate a blessing.
Lily opened her purse and took out a tiny object like a miniature test tube filled with pale gold liquid. She reached across Mae and handed it to Naomi.
“Jeteuse. Free sample.” So much for being quiet while her father was singing. “The designer bottles aren’t coming out until the marketing blitz.”
I hope that’s really perfume and not Lily’s pee.
Naomi mouthed an ostentatiously silent thank you and blew Lily a kiss, beaming as if some free bit of swag was a generous gift. The girl withdrew to hide behind Mae.
Harold invited Jamie to sing with him on the next song. Looking a little dazed, he joined Harold at the mic, gave him a nod and a partial smile, and they began to sing a cappella.
“No matter how far in sins you fall
Your loving God forgives them all
Like the prodigal son, like the prodigal son, like the prodigal son.”
As he harmonized, Jamie brightened, but not all the way. Mae sensed the clouds in him, and could see him working at being happy. After he’d shared his story and his song for Kandy, Mae had momentarily imagined he’d be healed in some deep, miraculous way, but of course he wasn’t. He’d taken a big step, but there were many more to go.
