by J. R. Rain
“Really?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“Okay, deal. So, do you wanna know what else is weird about me?”
“Boy, do I.”
She giggled. “You’re funny. Okay, now keep this between us, all right?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’m being serious, Allison. Something like this might, you know, hurt my chances in this town.”
“With looks like yours, kiddo, I doubt it. But my lips are sealed.”
“Oh my God, that was so sweet. Trust me, there are women who are tons prettier than me. Most of the time, I don’t think I’m anywhere close to those other girls.”
I wasn’t sure if she was telling me the truth or telling me what she thought I wanted to hear. But as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I knew the answer was the former. The girl was oblivious to her own good looks.
I wasn’t sure if this made me like her more or less. Either way, she was an easy-to-work-with client. Yeah, I liked her. A lot.
“Well, you’re gorgeous, let’s just settle that right now. And you’re a fine actor, too. Actually, you’re perfect and it’s making me feel less confident about myself. Maybe we should get to the part about you being really, really weird, so that way I can start feeling a little better about myself.”
She laughed. “You’re funny, Allie. Can I call you Allie?”
“Sure, why not. You paid for ten sessions ahead of time, so you can call me whatever you want.”
She laughed again, and then lowered her voice. “Okay, now this is going to sound really out there, you know? But...I think I might be a witch.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” I said.
“Wait, what?”
“I think we need to talk,” I said.
Chapter Nine
“So, how long have you suspected you were a witch?” I asked.
We were both drinking unsweetened tea at The Coffee Bean on Third Street in Beverly Hills.
“Since I was a teenager, I’ve always been interested in anything and everything that had to do with witchcraft. I watched Bewitched, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Charmed, The Witches of Eastwick, Practical Magic, you name it. I watched documentaries, studied Wicca. I thought it was normal to be interested in witchcraft. After all, there are women—and men—who are imbued with special powers. Women who look like you and me.”
“Well, maybe like me,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” I said. “I also have a job as a telephone psychic, but please, go on.”
“Oh, you do?” She paused. “I mean, why wouldn’t you be curious about Wicca? Why not look a little more into it?”
I played devil’s advocate. “Well, many think that witchcraft is evil.”
“Many are wrong. Wicca is an Earth-based religion. They are, if anything, more respectful to life on Planet Earth than many other so-called religions.”
I didn’t want to get into a heated discussion on religion and kept her on track. I said, “So you studied it.”
“I did more than study it, Allie. I practiced it.”
“Oh?”
“And what’s more, I discovered I was damn good at it.”
“Good at being a witch?”
“Right. I sort of had a knack for it.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that when I performed a spell...it generally worked.”
I wasn’t a “kitchen witch,” which was a term that was generally applied to someone who used ingredients and such for their witchcraft. Traditional Wiccans often used various ingredients...and, no, not all that “eye of newt” crap. But real ingredients, some of which could be found in most kitchens. Turned out, I wasn’t very good at that sort of stuff at all. The person who had been good at that was, yes, Samantha Moon. She had, in fact, been the kitchen witch of our happy little trio in her former life.
I asked Ivy to explain more about the spells, and she said, “Easy ones at first. I did beauty spells. You see, I was never very pretty in high school. People used to make fun of me. Of my skin, in particular. I had very bad acne.”
“You would never know it,” I said, studying her, perhaps a little too closely. Dammit, I hoped I wasn’t developing a woman-crush on her. “There are spells for acne?”
“Not necessarily, but you could always create your own.”
“And you created your own spell?”
“It’s easy, really.”
“Sure it is,” I said. “So, what else did you do?”
“Well, I wanted to be taller, too—”
The tea I had been sipping suddenly went down the wrong pipe. As I coughed, I managed to say, “You’re kidding.”
“No,” she said, and gave me that sweet, dimply smile that was often featured on the posters of her many movies...the smile that directors loved to do close-ups on. “I grew three inches.”
I was still coughing in spurts and fits. “Overnight?”
“No, silly. Growing spells don’t work like that. Those take time.”
“Of course they do,” I said. “How silly of me.”
The truth was, I didn’t know much about spellwork. I would, in time, know more, as Millicent was adamant that I become a well-rounded witch. I now had a special cupboard filled with arcane, witchy ingredients. Millicent had overseen the collection of that, and my “spice” rack now boasted such oddities as mugwort and scullcaps and vervain. Yes, vervain, the very stuff that could weaken vampires. Shh, don’t tell Sam. It was a real, witchy ingredient.
But, for now, my main studies had been centered on controlling the growing power within me—power that was being amplified by my association with Samantha Moon.
Last night, Millicent had come to me in my dreams. And in my dreams, she had told me of a third witch. That was why I wasn’t very surprised when Ivy had told me that she was a witch. Was she the destined third of our little triad? It was looking like it.
As the late morning wore on, and as the pretty young actress told me more and more about her remarkable spellwork, I asked, “Have you ever performed spells to, you know, hurt someone?”
“Oh, no. Never.” Then she blushed mightily. “Okay, maybe once.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. It was, I think, the first time in the history of this town that any actor blushed, ever.
“Well, I really liked this guy—”
“Uh-oh,” I said.
She blushed some more. “Well, this was back in my first—and only—semester in college. He was a model and full of himself, but he was also kind of a bad boy, too. I mean, he rode a Harley to college.”
“Nearly irresistible,” I said.
“Tell me about it. Anyway, he had long hair, tattoos, and always knew just what to say. He especially knew how to...” She blushed deeper than ever.
“Turn you on?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Bad boys are good at that...but that’s about all they’re good for.”
“Sounds like you’ve had your own experiences,” said Ivy.
“Trust me,” I said. “Every girl has had their own bad boy experience, and every girl will learn from them, too.”
“Well, I learned plenty from Raul.”
“Raul, huh? Very exotic.”
“Yeah,” she said, sighing a little. “Even his name did it for me.”
“Oh, brother,” I said. “Go on.”
She told me the story. Raul had been a typical bad boy, saying all the right things, looking too cool for school, the works. Why he was in college was still a mystery until Ivy realized he was just there to pick up girls. Well, he’d picked her up, all right, and a few dates later, he’d really laid on the bad-boy charm, and the next thing Ivy knew, she’d found herself in his trailer—yes, trailer—wanting him more than any man she could ever remember wanting.
“He was my first,” she said. She dropped her eyes. Not in shame, but in sadness. “Wasted on that asshole.”
Ivy glanced up at me, and her bright smile returned. “Trust me, it was all my fault. I’ve learned to take full responsibility for all my actions...and for all that I’ve attracted into my life.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How old are you again?”
“Twenty-four.”
“That’s a seriously mature thing to have learned for a twenty-four year old.”
“Well, I wasn’t always like this. I had some lessons to learn first.”
“Let me guess: Raul was the brunt of your lessons?”
She giggled, and continued: “We had sex that one time—one time—and the son-of-a-bitch disappears. And I mean, disappears. He won’t return texts or phone calls. Nothing. I guess I was being a little needy, but, you know, he said all the right things: How much I meant to him, that he wouldn’t hurt me, that he really liked me, that we had something special, blah, blah, blah. Then he fucks me and disappears.”
I said, “Not all men are like that.”
“I know, but I think Raul will seriously think again before de-virginizing another girl...and then splitting.”
“Uh-oh,” I said again.
“Uh-oh is right!”
“You seem, um, proud of what you did to him, Ivy.”
“No, not proud, but certainly not sorry.”
“A woman scorned and all that?” I said.
“Exactly.”
Although there was only one living person that I had a telepathic connection with—Samantha Moon—something interesting was happening with Ivy Tanner, something that finally got my attention: I could almost predict what she was going to say next.
Almost. Not quite.
“Okay,” I said, “what did you do to the poor guy?”
“I shrunk his, you know, junk.”
I looked at her. She looked at me. We stared at each other for a long, long time, and then, we both burst out laughing. That, of course, was exactly what I thought she was going to say.
“You shriveled his wiener?” I asked, gasping for breath.
“So small that he probably never used it again.”
“Never?”
“Well, not unless he got very, very creative—and excited!”
“Holy shit,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Remind me not to mess with you.”
“Well, it’s the only nasty thing I’ve ever done.”
“Is it, um, reversible?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“But you’ve never reversed it?”
“Oh, hell no. Not until he comes crawling back to me with an apology.”
“Does he know you’re responsible?”
“Who the hell knows? I never heard from him again.”
“Maybe he killed himself.”
“No. Last I heard, he was partying harder than ever.”
“And disappointing a lot of women,” I said.
“One can only hope.”
I shook my head and laughed some more. We both finished our teas and sat quietly for a moment.
“So,” I said. “You really are a witch.”
“I think so, yes. Does that surprise you?”
I looked at her some more, and as I did so, I raised my hands slowly. The table, which had been wobbling between us, quit wobbling...and lifted slowly off the ground. It continued to lift, the higher I raised my hands.
I didn’t elevate it so high as to draw a lot of attention. Just enough to get Ivy’s attention. And I had it. Completely.
Her mouth dropped open as she looked at me, then dipped her head under the table, then back up at me.
“Holy shit,” she said.
I nodded and lowered my hands, and the table lowered with them, settling back into place, and still as wobbly as ever.
She said, “You’re a...a...”
“A witch, too?” I offered.
“But...but, you’re a personal trainer and, I think you said, a telephone psychic. I don’t understand all of this.”
I smiled and said, “We have a lot to talk about.”
Chapter Ten
I was in my Spirit Chair.
Everyone needs a Spirit Chair. Or a Prayer Chair. Or a Meditation Chair. Whatever you want to call it. Stick it in the corner of your bedroom, living room, yoga room, basement, attic, garage...just wherever you can find some peace and quiet for about a half an hour.
My Spirit Chair was just an old recliner that was about as comfortable as comfortable gets, which was sometimes a problem. Sometimes, during deep meditations, I tended to nod off. Not a good thing.
Now, it was just after noon, and I had already showered after my session with Ivy...and after our long talk, too. I had a lot to process, including what to do about Billy’s imminent death, his murderous daughter, and his haunted house.
In each hand, I held an object. In my right was a stone that was important to me, a stone I’d collected at Mount Shasta on a recent trip. It had been a trip where I had deeply connected with Mother Earth. In my left hand was a run-of-the-mill crystal that one could find in any New Age shop.
I loosely held both the rock and crystal, my hands in my lap. My legs were crossed as I sat comfortably in the Spirit Chair. Yes, it was also called a Lazy-Boy by those with less imagination.
Anyway, my head naturally lolled forward, my chin lightly pressing against my chest. I knew that the “proper” meditation technique was for my head to be straight. Screw proper, this was more comfortable.
More importantly, it worked.
At least, for me.
If nothing else, it was where I unwound, where I centered myself, and where I found peace in a very stressful world. In fact, right outside my bedroom window was the hustle and bustle of Beverly Hills where big deals were made every day, and spending a lot of money was the norm. Out there, life was stressful.
In here, within my Spirit Chair, was pure bliss.
The crystal and rock were there for a reason, and not because I was into all that woo-woo New Age stuff, although a lot of that woo-woo New Age stuff was kind of fun, too. Whatever it took to connect to Spirit. My thing happened to be the Spirit Chair and meditation. Someone else’s thing might have been a prayer mat, a church, a walk in the woods, a yoga class, or watching Late Night with Jimmy Fallon.
Personally, I liked peace and quiet...and holding crystals. Crystals, for me, tended to raise my energy levels. Or, as Millicent called it, “raising my frequency,” although I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. All I knew was that crystals—and, in particular, the Mount Shasta rock—helped me to connect faster and deeper to the spiritual side of life.
That was what I was doing now.
I closed my eyes and held the stones loosely in my lap, wrapping my fingers around them just enough to have a good grip, but not so tightly that I wasn’t relaxed. It was always a delicate balance to be relaxed enough to commune with the higher energies, but not so relaxed that I found myself snoring softly. Or loudly.
Now, I was determined to stay awake, to truly connect to Spirit; or, in this case, one particular spirit.
A very big spirit.
Mother Earth, in fact.
There was, of course, no guarantee I would make the connection to her, although of late, she had taken an interest in me.
Yes, lucky me.
I took long, slow breaths, breathing in for two beats, and out for one beat. Always longer in than out. Drawing in the breath of life, as many traditions believed—and I thought, accurately—that our breathing connected us to the spirit world. Control of breath, control of thought, control of body...yes, that was the gateway into the unknown.
As always, I had done a small prayer of protection and guidance, letting my intentions be known. And my intentions were to contact peaceful spirits, loving spirits, and, if possible, Mother Earth herself.
In and out, in and out.
Stray thoughts appeared...my new witchy client, killers, blood and death, Russell Crowe’s smile. I lingered on Russell Crowe’s smile..
.then let that go, along with all the other stray thoughts.
I sought complete emptiness.
I sought complete release from this world, so that I could be untethered...and drift into the next.
Time passed. I wasn’t sure how long went by. I didn’t think it had been very long, but I had been wrong before. Sometimes when I thought only minutes had passed, whole hours, in fact, had passed.
Now, I was only vaguely aware of the passage of time. Mostly, I was aware that I’d slipped out of time. Yes, my body was sitting there on the Lazy Boy, experiencing time, but my mind had gone to a place that was both timeless and eternal.
It is peaceful here, although I am not sure where I am. It is peaceful and relaxing and I wonder if I am asleep.
Yet, I was aware of my body, of peace, of easy breathing. I was not snoring lightly, or even loudly. I was breathing easily.
Peace and eternity and timelessness...it was all here, wrapped in something that was beyond what I could comprehend, at least in my physical state. I was still too grounded to know, exactly, what was happening. But that was okay. I was not supposed to know all. That was the message I always received. Leave some mysteries for after Earth. Mysteries were a good thing. The mysterious compelled humans to search and expand and grow and evolve.
Now, I felt another presence nearby, and from this presence emanated a great love...but not just for me...but for all of the world, for all of her world.
The amorphous shapes that had been swirling around me began to take shape, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, and then I found myself sitting on the crest of a massive mountain chain. One crest connected to another peak. On either side was a steep decline. One false step here, and one would fall seemingly forever.
Except, the mountain didn’t quite feel real, or solid. In fact, I could see straight down through it, and down through the many strata of rock and sediment. Down there, I could see something glowing, pulsating, throbbing, alive. It was, I knew, the soul of the mountain itself.
No, I thought, it’s her. It was she who was pulsating and vibrating and crackling everywhere, through rock, dirt, plants, the driest desert, or the richest soil.
She was everywhere.
