A Scrying Shame

by Donna White Glaser

  She gritted her teeth and turned to the Ten of Wands. Hopes and fears. The card had some guy in a skirt gathering up a bunch of staves and was supposed to show the weight of burdens. Something about character building and responsibility and blah blah blah . . .

  And finally, the last card. Arie stared at the image—a woman in a flowing red robe and crown on a throne. In her right hand, she held up a sword; in her left, a balanced scale. Justice.

  Well, goody.

  And speaking of goodies . . .

  Arie tiptoed past Grumpa’s bedroom. The last thing she wanted was to have to deal with him. Keeping the kitchen light off for the same reason, Arie dug busily in the pantry cupboard, searching for a package of chocolate chip cookies she’d hidden there. The side door creaked open. Before she could reach the light switch, a dark shadowy figure slipped into the house.

  Death, maybe?

  Arie screamed and threw the cookie package at the intruder’s head. The intruder bellowed and flung himself sideways, tripping over the garbage can and landing with a thump. Still screaming, Arie lunged for the light switch, then grabbed a meat tenderizer from the drainer and prepared to defend herself.

  “I knew it! You’re trying to kill me.”

  Grumpa lay sprawled in the middle of a bilious pile of smelly food wrappers, discarded coffee grounds, egg shells, and a half a head of lettuce that had lain forgotten in the vegetable bin of the refrigerator until it reached a state of near-liquefaction.

  “Grumpa?” Arie gasped. She lowered the meat tenderizer. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “What? Are you my mother?” Grumpa struggled to his feet. When Arie rushed to help him, he shook her off.

  “I thought you were in bed. Where on earth have you been?”

  “None of your business, missy. You’re not the boss of me. This is still my house. I can do what I want, when I want.”

  Grumpa stomped away. Bits of eggshell and slimy wilted lettuce clung to his bottom. They plopped on the kitchen floor in his wake. Staring at his scrawny butt made Arie realize he was wearing stiff new jeans and a red-checked Western shirt. What the . . .?

  Before he made it through the door, Arie said, “What on earth are you wearing? And what do you think Mother is going to say when she finds out you’ve been running around town in the middle of the night?”

  Grumpa stiffened and slid to a halt. He turned slowly. His eyes narrowed, and he eyed Arie speculatively.

  “Now, why would you want to go and worry your mother like that?”

  Arie folded her arms across her chest. As always, her boobs kept her crossed arms floating aloft like a Russian Cossack dancer and drained the gesture of impact. She slitted her eyes to make up for it. “Oh, I don’t think she’ll be worried. She’ll be frantic. Of course, she’ll want to know why her eighty-three-year-old father is out roaming the streets instead of asleep in his bed, like everyone thought he was.”

  “Then don’t tell her. It’s none of her business, either.”

  “Are you going to tell her that?” Arie chuckled at the thought.

  Grumpa glared at his granddaughter for several moments, then nodded thoughtfully. “No. I’m not. Of course, if you do, she might have a few questions for you. In fact, I guarantee she’ll want to know how you let your poor old grandpa wander outside all alone in the cold, dark night.”

  Arie scowled. He was good. Better than Brant, even, who had been known to tattle on himself as long as there was any hope of getting Arie in trouble, too.

  “It’s July. It’s not like you’re going to freeze to death.”

  Grumpa wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “Old people get cold really easy. Thin skin, you know? I could probably even work up some goose bumps if I wanted to. Wanna see?”

  Laughing merrily, Grumpa turned and left the room. Arie was pleased to see that he still had an eggshell dangling from his butt.

  But what had that old coot been up to?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Got you a present!” Chandra practically vibrated with excitement. Arie stood aside to let her in, and she danced through the front door.

  “Who’s making that racket?” Grumpa yelled from the kitchen.

  “It’s just Chandra,” Arie yelled back. She grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her to the bedroom, the one oasis of privacy she had left.

  Chandra carried a shopping bag, which she handed to Arie as soon as she shut the door. Arie opened it and extracted a square white box. Something heavy shifted inside with a rustling sound.

  Arie looked up warily.

  “Go on.” Chandra squeezed her hands under her chin and wiggled like a puppy. “You’re going to love it.”

  Uh huh.

  Arie opened the box and pushed tissue paper aside. A ruby eye in the middle of the white paper stared up at her.

  “Eeaaaghhh!” Arie closed her eyes and thrust the box away.

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud. It’s a crystal ball.”

  Chandra pulled it out of its wrappings and shoved it into Arie’s hands.

  Arie peeked at it. When it didn’t blink, she examined it more closely. “Why is it red?”

  “Isn’t that cool? I could have gotten a regular old clear one, but I knew you would like this better.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, you said you were going to experiment and stuff, right? This makes sense.”

  It was beautiful; that much was true. But if she had to use a crystal ball at all, Arie wished Chandra had gotten one of a different color, any other color. The deep, translucent red of the ball looked exactly like a perfectly formed drop of blood.

  Her stomach rolled. She put the ball back in the box.

  Chandra frowned, and a hurt look crept into her kohl-edged eyes. “Aren’t you going to take it for a spin?”

  “I love it,” Arie lied. “I do. Really. I’m getting a headache, though, and I think I’ll try it out later.”

  Chandra sighed and shook her head. The hurt had morphed into exasperation, but she seemed ready to let it slide. This time.

  “Oh, guess what?”

  Arie was afraid to guess, but Chandra didn’t wait for that anyway.

  “I figured out how to set up a meeting with Riann. It’s going to be great.”

  “Great?”

  “Uh huh. I’ve got a plan.”

  “You had a plan last time,” Arie said, thinking of Walynda. “I don’t think I like your plans.”

  “Look, you said you wanted to meet Riann. Now, do you want to or not?”

  Arie sighed. “What exactly am I letting myself in for?”

  “It’s perfect. You’re going to love it.”

  The last time Arie had heard those words, she’d ended up with a red eyeball.

  “What exactly am I going to love?”

  “Let’s just say your newfound gift is going to come in handy. Leave everything to me.”

  After Chandra left, Arie pulled the crystal ball back out. If she was going to make sense of this gift—and for a moment, Arie wasn’t sure whether she meant the ball or her ability—she was going to have to test things out. She sat cross-legged on her bed, holding the crystal ball in front of her.

  She bent over and stared into it. Blinding white light flashed like a disco ball on speed, so fast and so sharp it felt as if it were cutting slices from her brain. Images exploded in between the streaks of light, too chaotic for Arie to make sense of them.

  It was so disorienting, in fact, that she ended up vomiting after each attempt. Finally, after the fourth purge, Arie decided to get rid of the thing. There had to be some other, more dependable way of calling up visions.

  She remembered the stained bootie she’d confiscated from Marissa’s condo.

  After retrieving the garment from her car, Arie spread the paper bag out on the bed in front of her and set the bootie on it. She took a minute to gather herself, then stared at the blood smear on the green material. It shimmered and—

  Flash.

  Loss
sst . . .

  Arie pulled herself out of it. Okay, that worked, but toting around samples of a murder victim’s blood might be problematic. She couldn’t imagine what a friend of Marissa’s would do if Arie pulled out a bootie smeared with the victim’s blood to do a little psychic reading.

  Definitely not cool.

  Arie’s foot had fallen asleep, so she stretched and wiggled it. The movement set the crystal ball rolling. It landed next to the bootie.

  Hmm.

  Arie retrieved the stand and, after sliding the bootie between the stand and the crystal ball, took a deep breath and looked.

  Flash.

  So lossst . . .

  Arie watched the houses grow in size and grandeur as Chandra’s little Ford Fiesta rolled along the winding curves of Lac La Belle Road toward Riann’s lake house. The synthetic fabrics and department store fit of her never-were-in-season clothes started to itch. A hunk of probably-should-add-fancy-highlights brown hair flopped accusingly in her eye, as if scolding Arie for settling for a “cut” instead of forking over the money for a “style.”

  As if fate hadn’t arranged circumstances for maximum discomfort level, Arie thought she saw O’Shea’s sedan pulling out of the driveway as they drew up. She ducked down, clunking her head on the dash. That was gonna hurt.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Did he see me?” Arie asked.

  “Who?”

  “O’Shea. Wasn’t that him?”

  “Oh, fabulous. Now you’re hallucinating on top of seeing things.”

  “Chandra—”

  “Get up. We’re here.” She hauled Arie up from the floor.

  The woman Arie had seen at Marissa’s funeral waited in the doorway of the spectacular waterfront home. She jumped at Arie’s sudden appearance, but she’d recovered her poise by the time they scrambled from the car.

  “Channie,” Riann greeted her old classmate. “How wonderful.”

  Despite having agreed to the appointment, Riann acted as though seeing Chandra was a delightful result of serendipity rather than a previously arranged meeting.

  The home opened into a tiled foyer with a ceiling was so high, Arie knew if she even cleared her throat it would echo. Suddenly, she had a nearly irresistible urge to clear her throat.

  It was official. She had no class.

  Riann peeled herself off Chandra and, hands clasped under her chin, turned to Arie.

  “And you must be Amy! I’m so excited.”

  “It’s Arie, actually.”

  Despite only being six or seven years older than Arie and Chandra, Riann radiated a sleek sophistication that went well with the surroundings. Reddened, overly puffy lips were the only contradiction to her perfectly groomed appearance.

  Collagen injections?

  “Channie told me about your abilities, and how you’d been given a message for me. Richard, my fiancé, says I should be more careful of who I trust, but of course, that goes without saying. It’s not like I’m stupid or anything, right? Besides, if you’re trying to pull a fast one, I’ll know soon enough.”

  A steely glint suddenly knifed its way past the woman’s social smile. It made Arie shiver.

  This was such a stupid idea.

  Arie almost decided to call the whole thing off, but Riann was already leading the way across the foyer and into a white-on-white living room. Arie wondered if Riann had taken decorating tips from Marissa or vice versa. Somehow, she guessed the latter.

  Entering the room felt like floating in a cloud. A small, round wooden table had been set up in front of a white couch. The room would have had a magnificent view of Lac La Belle, except half the room in front of the floor-to-ceiling sliding doors had been blocked off by an elaborate model train display. Multiple lines of train tracks ran between several towns, a mountain range, and wide swathes of farm and forestlands. All these were elevated to waist high on plywood platforms of varying widths and heights. The aisles were big enough to allow someone to walk between.

  “Oh, wow,” Chandra said.

  Riann glanced over. Her swollen lips gave a moue of disdain. “That’s Richard’s.”

  Without further explanation, she slinked her way over to the white couch. She had a way of walking with her hips thrust forward and her body at a slight angle, a runway walk, Arie guessed. Riann had the body for it, too—long and slender—with a mane of rich auburn hair that looked so natural Arie knew it had to be fake.

  Riann sat—no, reclined—on the couch. She patted the space next to her.

  “I hope this is okay. I thought we would be more comfortable here, although the table is a little high. Richard tried to find us a more suitable one but . . .” Her brows furrowed as though the inconvenience of a two-inches-too-high table was deeply troubling.

  Chandra reached into her tote and pulled out the ruby-red sphere and set it up in the middle of the round table. Arie noticed her friend was careful not to dislodge the tiny snippet of bootie they’d placed between the crystal ball and its stand.

  Riann gasped. “How beautiful. What a stunning crystal ball. Where did you get it?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Arie felt her stomach lurch the same way it had when Chandra had first showed her the crystal ball. After working with it for most of the night, Arie had finally reached a tenuous control of her own mind, but it felt fragile.

  Riann squealed with pleasure. “I can’t wait. Let’s get started. What do you need me to do?”

  Arie’s heart thumped hard enough to make her boobs quiver. Her mind went blank. “Uh . . .”

  Riann’s smile slid off her face, and she frowned. Apparently, incoherency was not reassuring.

  Chandra created a diversion by dragging over a footstool—white, of course—to the table and plopping herself down. Her chin barely cleared the tabletop, but what could be seen of her face was smiling.

  “Arie needs a few minutes to get centered,” Chandra explained. “It’s always a little difficult for her to transition from the earthly plane to the other realm. In the meantime, you should prepare yourself as well. Take a couple of deep breaths, and clear your mind. In fact, close your eyes. It’s better that way.”

  Reassured, Riann squeezed her eyes shut. Chandra hitched her eyebrows up and shot Arie a get-your-shit-together glare.

  “Right,” Arie said. “Yes.”

  Chandra rolled her eyes so hard Arie was surprised they didn’t cause a brain hemorrhage.

  Arie cleared her throat and scooted closer to the crystal ball. She took a deep breath and peered into it. For the briefest of moments, nothing happened. Then the color shifted, turning more opaque, and began to slowly writhe and swirl. Arie felt herself being sucked in.

  She mentally wrenched herself away, refusing to fall into the abyss. Clearing her throat again, she said, “I see a woman.”

  “A woman?” Riann’s eyes flew open. “Is it Marissa?”

  “It’s an older woman. She’s not very tall, and she wears her hair . . . uh . . .” Arie waggled her hands above her head to indicate a fancy hairstyle.

  Chandra rolled her eyes again.

  When they’d rehearsed, she and Arie had agreed that mentioning June might establish Arie’s credibility—as long as Kelli wasn’t around, that is. It had seemed like a good idea, but right now, Arie couldn’t remember why. She forged on.

  “She’s talking about flowers,” Arie said. “Roses. Roses and orchids.”

  Riann gasped. “Those were Marissa’s signature flowers. So you are in contact with her.”

  No lie there.

  “That woman,” Riann continued, “must be June. She was Marissa’s wedding coordinator. But why would Marissa be communicating about her? Oh, wait! It’s probably her way of letting me know she’s still with me. I’ve recently started planning my own wedding, not that I would ever use June. I know Marissa was happy with her, but I always thought she was too ridiculous for words. June, that is, not Marissa, of course. She’s so gushy and nicely nice, I could vom
it. And let’s face it. If she had an ounce of self-discipline, she wouldn’t be so fat. After all, if a woman can’t even discipline herself, how on earth is she going to be able to organize a wedding like mine will be?”

  Every plump cell of Arie’s body burned with rage. Under the table, Chandra reached over and squeezed Arie’s knee. Her plump knee.

  “You’re getting married?” Chandra asked. “Would that be this Richard you’ve mentioned?”

  Riann tried to blush, but it emerged as a self-satisfied smirk. “Richard Boyette. You’ve heard of him, right? The financier? Business Daily called him ‘the most ruthless man of the decade.’ He’s absolutely amazing, and he’s such a dear. I hate to say it, but he spoils me terribly.” Her smile turned creamy.

  “That’s wonderful,” Chandra said. “I’m so happy for you. When’s the big day?”

  Riann flashed a glance at the door leading to the hallway. She covered her conspicuously ringless left hand with her right and shrugged.

  “Well, there’s a lot to be decided. I don’t want to rush into anything, and with all that’s happened . . . . What else do you see?”

  Arie reluctantly turned back to the crystal ball. A swirling, like reddened smoke against the sky, rose from the depths. At first, tendrils twisted, but they quickly shifted into a dense, roiling fog. A red fog. And then the fog was inside Arie, inside her mind.

  Flash.

  Lossst. Marissa’s despair flooded Arie’s soul. Or was it Marissa’s soul and Arie’s despair? A ring sparkled. My ring. The solitaire was just as stunning as when Arie—Marissa—had first seen it.

  Flash.

  Back in the bathroom. My skin crawls. Water drips from the faucet, an irritating plink-plink-plink that makes my teeth grind. Cockroaches skitter in the dirty crevices.

  Flash.

  The key. I reach for it. I have to . . .

  Flash.

  Outside now, looking at the old trailer. Time to leave this dump. I have to. Rags hates it as badly as I do. Worse, maybe.

  A new image: a young girl with short-cropped brown hair and piercings in her nose, upper lip, and in an arcing line of her left ear.

  Annie. Her Mudd jeans have holes in the knees that go all the way to her thighs. Rags . . .