by Stacy Juba
"Dead," Tim Travers finished wearily.
Dawn couldn’t hold her head up, her cheeks, lips and jaw all sinking.
Renee pointed a French-manicured fingernail. "You were there when he got hit. You put a curse on him."
Dawn’s insides liquidated. "It was coincidence. I–"
"Witch. That's what you are. A witch."
Dawn shrank back from the mix of fury and fear in Renee’s voice. No one had ever called her a witch. They'd called her snobbish, quiet and strange, but never a witch.
"I think you’ve been reading too much of The Crucible. I had an awful feeling, so I warned him. I'm sorry, so terribly sorry, that it came true."
"I'm gonna find out the truth, and if you had anything to do with his death–" Renee stopped and blanched, her lip gloss glowing bright in contrast.
"I'm sorry," Dawn murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"Come on," Tim ordered his friends. "Let's get out of here."
Vicky lingered behind, twisting her crumpled tissue. Tousled wisps sprang from the hairclip at the base of her neck and tears streaked her pale face. "You shouldn't apologize. Renee's been awful to you. She'll milk Scott's death for everything she can. Pretty soon, she'll be telling everyone they were engaged. What a joke."
Dawn bent down and pulled a couple books out of her locker. She didn’t deserve Renee’s abuse, but she wasn’t worthy of Vicky’s sympathy, either. "Thanks for sticking up for me the other day."
"It’s okay. I've … I’ve never known anyone our age who died. It makes me sick every time I think about it." Vicky's voice trembled and she broke down into sobs.
Dawn hugged her instinctively, another rush of tears filming her vision. "He was so … alive."
"I know. Why did it have to happen? Why?"
"I don't know," Dawn whispered. "It's not fair."
Vicky rubbed her cheeks with the tissue. She stepped back, sniffing. "Sorry for falling apart on you."
"Don't be. I feel sick, too."
"You're Jeff Magnuson's stepdaughter, aren't you? I worked for him over the summer. He’s really nice."
"He told me about you."
Vicky drew in a shaky breath. "Can I, like, ask you something? How did you know about the accident?"
Dawn rolled her tongue over her rubbery lips. She wanted to tell Vicky so badly, to share the burden, but of course she couldn't. Vicky would never understand.
"Strange things like that happen to everyone, don’t they?" Dawn asked. "Like when letters or e-mails cross, or you’re thinking about someone and they call."
"This wasn't a letter or an e-mail."
"I know, but…"
Vicky surveyed both ends of the corridor and leaned close. "Keep it to yourself. Believe me. If this stuff happens to you often, there are people who shouldn’t find out."
Dawn drifted through the school day, puzzling over Vicky’s warning. She had a lot of free time to wonder about it as most teachers held study halls instead of regular classes. They comforted students in back of the room and ushered kids down to grief counselors. The distraught faculty could have used counseling themselves.
Dawn wanted to disappear third period when Mr. Murray popped The Crucible into the DVD player. Was she imagining it, or were her English classmates looking at her funny? All those stares couldn’t be because of the zit on her chin.
Renee had spread the witch rumor. She knew it.
Between periods, Dawn sought out her stepbrother to see how he was handling the tragedy. She found Ken gazing into the hollow cavity of his locker.
"I guess you heard about Scott," she said tentatively.
Ken turned to her, his eyes red and watery. "It seems so hard to believe, you know? I keep thinking about how we used to play Skee-Ball down the Center. Listen, Dawn, I heard–"
Billy, one of Ken’s hockey friends, paused by the locker. He faltered when he saw Dawn and tugged on his dark hair. "Hey, man, you coming to calculus?" he mumbled, not looking at her.
Ken closed his locker door and tucked his book under his arm. "Yeah, I’m coming. See you, Dawn."
She watched them head down the hall, frowning. Her frown deepened as Ken glanced back at her with pursed lips. That settled it. There must be stories floating around about her premonition.
Tears prickled in Dawn’s eyes. Scott was dead and her classmates thought she was the Wicked Witch of the West. She ducked into the girls' bathroom, not caring that the bell would ring.
She ripped off a paper towel, dabbed her cheeks and stared at her dazed reflection. Dawn couldn’t believe Scott would never again pick teams in gym or banter with Mr. Murray.
Candace Caldwell strode into the bathroom and halted by the sink. Her steady gaze pinned Dawn like a frog under a dissecting knife. Candace shifted, her dangling blue star earrings swinging like pendulums. She touched her matching pendant, the sterling silver chain pressing into her freckled neck.
The silence stretched to thirty seconds. A minute. Dawn squinted back at her, confused. Candace had never shown interest in her before.
"You predicted Scott's death, didn't you?" Candace finally asked.
"I don't know what you've heard, but it's been exaggerated."
"I hope it hasn't. I thought you might be one of us."
"One of who?"
A sly look crossed Candace's doughy face. "I knew Scott would die, too. Meet me on the bleachers after school."
She turned and walked out.
***
Dark clouds marbled the sky as the last bus turned out of the parking lot. Dawn shivered at the top of the metal bleachers. She hoped the rain held off. Down below, the football team warmed up with jumping jacks.
She had left Ken a note on his locker, explaining she was staying after for extra help in chemistry and would catch the late bus. Dawn wanted to feel him out about the rumors, but not enough to miss this meeting.
Candace climbed the steps and a chill licked the hairs on the back of Dawn's neck. Dawn did something she seldom permitted herself to do: she stretched out with her mind, trying to discover what Candace would reveal, but all she picked up was uneasiness.
Dawn straightened. She wasn’t the only one who was nervous.
Candace sat in the row in front of Dawn and extended her legs onto the next bench. Egg-shaped holes severed the knees of her jeans, cut with precision. A black titanium ring glinted on her nose and a smooth green bead shone on her eyebrow.
"Like my piercings?" Candace asked.
Dawn knotted her hands in her lap. At least Renee wasn’t around to see her with Candace. "They’re interesting."
"I’ll bet you're wondering why I picked this spot. I wanted to make sure no one overheard. They wouldn't get it."
"Get what?"
"The sixth sense."
Dawn had never discussed her ability with anyone besides her mother, and had never given it a name. Her mouth dropped open.
"Don't be afraid," Candace said. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I used to think I was the world's biggest loser. Until I met Serina."
"Serina?"
Candace steepled her stubby fingers. "She's my mentor, and she can be yours too. She's an intuitive consultant I've been studying with since she moved to town last spring."
"Intuitive consultant?"
"You know – psychic. Every day after school, Serina works with me and another girl. Her name’s Jamie. She’s a sophomore."
Dawn shook her head to clear it as Vicky’s warning flooded back. There are people who shouldn’t find out. "There's someone else in school who can do this?"
"It's not as unusual as you think. Serina says everyone can develop their psychic senses, but most people deny it in themselves. The ones who can't, well ... they're treated like us."
Dawn digested that explanation, but something else had been bothering her since their talk in the girls' room. "If you knew Scott was going to die, why didn't you warn him?"
"He wouldn't have listened, and the others would have given me a hard time. Like
they did to you. You really ought to meet Serina."
Dawn kicked a patch of dirt on the metal step, spreading it with her shoe. She'd felt alone for so long. But did she really want psychic friends? If Dawn hung around with Candace, her reputation would slide even further down the gutter.
"I called Serina on my cell," Candace said. "She wants me to bring you by this afternoon. Don't worry, she's just like anyone else."
"It's not that. It's–"
"You feel like an ugly duckling and you’re not sure you want to be seen with other ugly ducklings. Right?"
Dawn blushed and couldn’t look Candace in the eye. Boy, did she sound shallow when Candace put it like that. "Not exactly. It’s just that I usually try to hide being psychic. It makes people uncomfortable. It’ll be harder to hide if I’m out there exploring it with other psychics."
"You need to find people you can connect with and who will respect your vibes. If your family is anything like mine, they don’t want to hear about your feelings. Right?" Candace asked.
"Well, yeah."
"When you get a feeling, you’re probably always trying to talk yourself out of it because that’s what your parents want you to do. You doubt yourself. Your mind gets muddled because your intuition says to act on your premonition, and your common sense tells you something else."
Dawn’s pulse fluttered in her wrist. Candace had expressed her own feelings, exactly. What would it be like to get help? Real help? To be herself with no pretending. No lies.
"Serina can make you a swan," Candace said.
Dawn drummed her fingers against the bleacher seat. Candace observed her with a knowing smile. She thinks I’ll say yes. Even though the other kids mocked her, Candace oozed with confidence. If Dawn hung out in her world, maybe Candace’s spunk would rub off on her. It would be a relief not to care what other people thought.
She gulped, pushing aside a stab of fear. "I'll go. Just this once."
Chapter Five
Dawn dug her fingernails into the seatbelt as Candace drove through Covington Center. Maybe she should forget the whole thing. What if she wasn’t good enough for Serina? What if Candace and her friends were into weird stuff? Dawn eyed a pewter dragon dangling from the rearview mirror. Bells tinkled on its curved serpentine tail at every stop light and turn.
Who the heck attached dragons to their mirrors? No one Dawn knew, that was for sure.
"What’s up?" Candace asked.
"I was just noticing how neat your car is," Dawn said. She wasn’t lying, exactly. The Chevy’s spotless interior had surprised her, after riding in Ken’s mess on wheels.
"I have to be neat or my psychic abilities go on the fritz. Organization unclogs the drains in your life. Serina says you need outside order to support inner order."
"Really?" Dawn thought of all the storage baskets and shelves in her bedroom. Had she been acting out that principle subconsciously?
As Candace parked in a driveway, Dawn gaped out the window at the cream cottage she had seen the first day of school. The cottage had spoken to her, sending out warning vibrations. She shouldn’t go in there. She really shouldn’t.
Dawn regretted texting her mother that she was staying for extra help. No one knew who she was with, or where she was.
"This is where Serina lives?" she blurted out.
"Yeah. Why?"
"It gave me bad vibes the first time I passed it."
Candace shrugged. "I wouldn’t worry. You could have been picking up vibrations from the last people who lived here. It could’ve been from Serina, too. She’s had a tough life and sometimes bad memories linger. When you have abilities like ours, it’s easy to jump to conclusions. Serina can teach you to look deeper."
Reluctantly, Dawn closed her car door. Veined yellow leaves stormed down from the birches, gliding across the grass. The wind, the ocean, the smell of salt water, everything seemed magnified.
They trudged up the stone walkway and mounted the porch steps. Dawn examined the hand-painted sign she’d missed from the road: "Psychic Readings Here. Call 555-3990 for appointment."
Candace pressed the doorbell. Shaking off her fears, Dawn pulled a lavender brochure out of a basket on a wicker end table. She skimmed the headings. Serina did tarot, palm readings, meditation sessions and past life regressions.
The door swung open and Dawn blinked at the lanky girl in front of her. She reminded Dawn of a scarecrow, skinny arms and legs hanging out of her clothes.
The girl adjusted her baggy sweater, the fabric slipping down her shoulder. Acne blotches reddened her chin and oily brown hair straggled from a rubber band at the top of her head. "Hi, I'm Jamie. Come on in."
Dawn stepped into a narrow foyer, sniffing the sweet scent of burning incense. A strange sensation overcame her, as if a powerful presence inhabited this house. Dawn grasped the banister, reeling from the impact of whatever invisible force sheathed the air. She gauged how the sensation made her feel. Uncomfortable and a little sad.
Shadows distorted her reflection in a mirror beside the staircase, hollowing her cheeks into skeletal thinness. Tongues of candlelight quivered from the branches of a silver candelabra. Venetian blinds caged the sliding glass door in the adjoining kitchen and shut out the ocean view.
Jamie gestured into the next room with bitten-down fingernails. "We were about to have tea."
Candace pushed aside sheer white curtains and led Dawn into a windowless room. Rainforest sounds backed by classical music played from a stereo.
"This is where Serina meets with clients." Candace nodded at a round table and wicker chairs. Flickering pillar candles towered over astrological charts and a deck of tarot cards draped in black silk.
Dawn checked out the rest of the room. Framed paintings of unicorns, gods and goddesses adorned the walls, their colors dark. Terra cotta ceramic pots, stone bowls and brass kettles lined a bookcase.
"You must be Dawn." The quiet voice came out of nowhere.
Dawn spun back to the curtain. Right away, she sensed that the woman before her perceived things that most people didn’t. Her green and gold flecked eyes knew no limits. White blonde hair cascaded down to her slim waist, straight until curling at the tips. An emerald pendant gleamed around her neck, setting off her burgundy dress. Topaz earrings sparkled in the shadowed light.
She was in her early forties, perhaps. Not a wrinkle lined her smooth face and fragrant perfume engulfed her, smelling of roses.
"Hello, Dawn. Pleasure to meet you. I'm Serina." She held out her hand. Her grip felt soft, but firm.
"I don't know why I'm nervous," Dawn said.
"Don't be. Would you like a cupcake and tea?" Serina waved toward a tray on a small bamboo coffee table. Beside the tray, a miniature fountain gurgled over a bed of smooth pebbles.
Relieved she had a task to occupy her hands, Dawn poured steaming water into a mug, dropped in a mint teabag and added a spoonful of honey. She chose a chocolate frosted cupcake with sprinkles, homemade although Serina didn't seem the Betty Crocker type.
"Why don't you sit down," Serina suggested.
Dawn perched onto the oddest loveseat she had ever seen. Since it had no back, the seat rested against the cool blue wall. Jamie sat cross-legged beside her on a plush cushion. Candace sprawled across a geometric-patterned throw rug and flipped through a hardcover book about meditation.
"Tell us how you first knew you had this gift," Serina said, still standing near the doorway.
Gift? Was it really? Dawn licked her lips. Jamie nodded, encouraging her.
Leave. Leave now. As the words thundered in her head, Dawn fought the overwhelming urge to run. She had promised herself she would give Serina a chance.
"When I was around seven and a half," Dawn said. "I remember waking from a nightmare, sweaty and crying. I asked my mother why there was a fire in the sky and people were screaming. The next morning, we heard 150 people had died in a plane crash."
Jamie's hazel eyes widened. "What did your mom say?"
&nbs
p; "To ignore it and never tell anybody. Later, when I started picking up people's thoughts, she told me I had to stop. But I couldn't. Sometimes, I think my mother’s afraid of me. Other times, she just seems embarrassed." Dawn wished she could take the words back. Why was she sharing personal things with strangers? This wasn’t like her.
Serina lowered herself into a chair that resembled the loveseat, except half the size, and cradled a teacup between her fingertips. "She was right to teach you about being discreet. We live in a society that doesn't trust anything but scientific evidence. Those with psychic abilities are met with superstition, ridicule and cynicism. It’s best to save your advice for those who are open. But if your mother makes you feel ashamed of who you are, then that’s a different story. Is that how you feel?"
You don’t have to answer that, Dawn’s inner voice said. Stop revealing so much to these people. She brushed a few crumbs off her lips, resisting the temptation to reach for a second cupcake. It was just canned frosting, but Dawn longed for more of its delicious sweetness. Her mom hardly ever baked, except for holidays.
Dawn ignored her instincts again, craving Serina’s advice as much as she desired another cupcake. "Yeah, kind of."
"Here’s my advice," Serina said. "Stop caring what your mother thinks. If your abilities make her uncomfortable, don’t discuss them with her. You don’t need her approval or her input. It only gets in the way and makes you unsure. You keep hearing her voice instead of your own."
Dawn rested her teacup onto a saucer. "You really think so?"
"I know because I've been there. I've had my perception since I was a child, too. My father would hit me and say the devil was speaking to me. He thought if he punished me enough, I'd stop getting visions and hearing voices. But as you know, it's not that easy."
"He hit you? That's horrible. My mother would never do that."
"But she’s hurting you in a different way," Serina said. "It's hard when your loved ones want you to be someone else. You must be talented for your abilities to have stuck with you. Everyone has the aptitude for some level of psychic skill, but intuition isn’t nurtured in most families. Children get bad vibes about a person, and their parents tell them to be quiet and stop acting rude. Eventually, most children tune out those thoughts. By the time they get to school, their abilities are gone. Like unused muscles, they weaken."
