Innocent Ride

by Robertson, Alethea

  INNOCENT RIDE

  Alethea Robertson

  INNOCENT RIDE

  Copyright © 2016 Alethea Robertson

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, and events portrayed in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author, except for the use of quotations in book reviews and articles.

  Edited by Phoenix Bunke

  Cover Design and Book Interior by The Book Khaleesi

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

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  Chapter 1

  THE PLACE WAS nothing like I expected, though I hadn’t been entirely sure what would be here, especially after driving that long, dilapidated road through murky wetlands. Maybe a dark, creaky structure surrounded by a swampy moat full of alligators and giant, slimy insects. If I didn’t know I was in Kansas, I would have guessed the south. Once through the marsh, though, I found myself driving through a sea of prairie grass, peppered with old homes and decaying barns. A mile or two later, the witch’s house was in front of me.

  It was nestled in the center of a few acres bordered by the cut of the lawn and hued by the sparkling sun. I parked my little pink bug in the circle driveway, between an ancient willow tree and the wraparound porch. Perfectly ordered wildflowers and bushes of tiny indigo buds swayed in the breeze. A black cat guarded the bench swing. I was beginning to question if the woman I was looking for was even home when the oversized door creaked open. On the other side of the threshold, a plump, enchanting lady greeted me with a welcoming smile, her short golden hair tucked barely behind her ears.

  “Ms. Hunts.” I stretched my hand out for a shake. She looked at it, waved the air between us, and wrapped her pudgy arms around me, patting my back as if we’d known each other for years.

  “Delighted, Candace. Please, call me Alice. Come in,” she said. A crystal chandelier dazzled the vaulted foyer. The warm aroma of baked apple awakened my senses. “Hope you like apple cookies,” she said.

  I wasn’t hungry, but I couldn’t be rude. “Never tried them. Sounds yummy.”

  “Cats don’t bother you, do they?” Alice locked the door behind me just as the oak grandfather clock tolled the hour chime. As if on cue, a playful cat with a black mask and tail meowed, massaging itself with my legs.

  “Oh, I love cats.” I rubbed behind its ears, then followed Alice around the fanning wooden staircase and down an arched hall. The dining room was bright, centered around an elaborate oak table with a matching china cabinet. The house was fancy in an ordinary way, with a hidden charm that I hadn’t felt until I was inside.

  “I bet you drink green tea.” Alice winked.

  “Yes.” How could she know something like that?

  “Your chart says health is important to you,” she said, as though she’d read my mind. “The apple cookies are sugar-free.” She puffed her chest proudly and I tried not to look guilty. Healthy or not, sugar held a sweet power over me. I thought it best not to tell her. Alice’s head cocked, as if she heard something. Then she shook it. “Have a seat. I’ve been looking at your chart all morning and I already like you!”

  As the witch excused herself to get tea and cookies, her eyebrows wrinkled, and I got the impression she was battling thoughts in her mind. She vanished behind a squeaky swinging door.

  A zodiac wheel covered the top of a sheet of paper on the table. Candace Elle Stone was printed at the top left corner, followed by the time, place, and date of my birth. And something else I couldn’t make out. I reached for the page, but a large orange cat with a fair amount of attitude decided to make it his bed. I sank into my seat.

  It almost seemed too ordinary, using a piece of paper with a computer-printed image to tell somebody the secrets of their stars, but I figured Alice knew what she was doing. I mean, she wasn’t just an astrologer. In fact, that wasn’t even what she was known for. But I wasn’t here for one of her famous spells.

  Across from me, a picture window overlooked an elaborate garden bathing in the failing sun. The masked cat darted across a path toward the house just as Alice returned with a silver tray of tea and cookies, gliding into her chair. Apple and cinnamon perfumed the room like a spell to charm my sudden hunger, and I eagerly bit into a cookie, then practically devoured the whole thing, as if I hadn’t eaten in a week. These were too sweet to be sugar-free.

  “Mmmm, these are delicious. What’s in them?”

  “I make them with fresh homegrown apples. It’s an ancient family recipe.” Alice didn’t eat anything, but seemed content to watch me. I couldn’t remember seeing an apple tree outside. But then, I hadn’t seen the garden either, until I was seated in front of it.

  “How many cats do you have?” I asked through a mouthful of cookie, my greedy eyes scouting for the next bite.

  “Seven.” She launched into a passionate description of their personalities and talents. I listened through my incessant munching. “Murray doesn’t like me to share his gift. Isn’t that right, Murray?” She set the orange cat on the floor, stroking his arched back along the way. Murray leapt to the top of the china cabinet behind Alice, perching himself beneath a plant.

  As Alice briefly scanned the paper, I wondered if she lived alone. She hadn’t mentioned a husband and her ring finger was bare. Her eyes flashed to me. They were a soft, ancient sapphire, though her skin gleamed with ageless beauty.

  Alice began: “Some things in your chart will seem strange to you. That’s because this is a birth chart, which means it spans your lifetime. You haven’t discovered some things about yourself yet.” She dismissed that puzzling statement with a wave. “So! I’m just dying to tell you!” She nearly bounced in her seat.

  I scooted closer and forced myself to put the last cookie back. It was difficult; the cookie seemed stronger than my meager will, its sweetness my drug, my lover, luring me to it with its seductive promises. But my curiosity won over, and I finally set the cookie on the tray next to the masked cat—her name was Pretty Kitty—that had just joined us. As soon as I noticed the cat, she stood on her hind legs clapping her paws.

  “She wants to play,” Alice said, probably noticing my astonishment. “She was raised by a dog.” She tossed a toy mouse and Pretty Kitty chased it and carried it back to Alice. “Pretty Kitty, Mama’s busy now.” The cat whined like a scolded puppy. Then she ran out of the room. I felt my jaw drop, but shook it off. Pen in hand, I scooted to the edge of my chair.

  “Don’t remember what we talked about on the phone,” Alice continued, “but I told you I’d studied astrology in India, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I learned some things that American astrologers don’t understand. One of those things is the vertex. Easiest way put, whatever’s in your vertex is going to happen and there’s no way around it.” She leaned forward and l
owered her voice, and I thought for the first time that we might not be alone in this great big house. Murray fixed his glare on me. “The vertex is complicated. I’ll simplify it for you. You believe in destiny?”

  I nodded, of course. “I believe my desire is my destiny.” Which is why I knew I was going to heal the world one gut at a time.

  “That’s right. Sometimes our desires…we don’t even know we have. You see, most of the stuff in your birth chart is to guide you. You have choices. Think of the chart as a weather report. It can tell you when it is most likely to rain. And you have the option to take an umbrella out or stay in. Or walk in the rain. Other things in your chart are inevitable. They are your destiny—what you came to his planet for. Your meager ego can fight them, but the spirit always wins over. Your vertex will reveal the inevitable. ’Course, it’s all up to you.” She sighed, probably frustrated by my obvious confusion.

  “So…I have the choice?” I asked. Of course, I had the choice. This wasn’t the middle ages.

  “Yes dear. You must follow your heart. Like you said, your destiny is your desire. You’ve already made the choice. Now it’s time to experience it. The vertex brings you magical encounters to lead you to your heart’s deepest desire.” She was on the edge of her chair.

  I couldn’t stop my feet from tapping the floor. Magical, she’d said…I liked the sound of that, though I had no idea what she meant. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

  She shook her head, her eyes still glued to the paper. “What I’ve been dying to tell you—” Her eyes flashed to me, then back to the paper. “Oh. OH. OH. Looks like this has been in effect for a while. Are you already in love?”

  My feet stopped. The grandfather clock struck half past the hour. I shuddered. “In love?” I asked. “Um…what’s my vertex?”

  “That’s what I’ve been dying to tell you! It’s your happily-ever-after.”

  “It’s not related to…health…or something?” That was my deepest desire—to heal the cause of unnecessary diseases born in the gut. A noble desire, I thought. Shouldn’t my purpose come with some kind of work, anyway? Like maybe healing the sick or aiding victims or somehow, in some way, making the world a better place? Something…less selfish than love?

  Alice suppressed a chuckle.

  I suddenly felt the need to guard my thoughts.

  She erected her posture. “A-hem. The fairy tale is your vertex. It’s your destiny!” She smiled, pleased with her finding. Her eyes wouldn’t leave the page, her hand fanning the air.

  “So...” Confusion clouded my words. “That means…uh…is that my purpose? To be in love?”

  Alice chuckled and waved her hand dismissively.

  “Purpose?” She shook her head, still laughing, preoccupied with some lines on the page her painted nails were tracing. “I see marriage within the next couple of years,” she insisted. Marriage? Okay, I could handle falling in love, but getting married? That was something else entirely. She must have seen something in my expression, because after careful study she added, “Don’t worry. It will be happy. And magical.”

  There was that word again...

  Outside the window two cats scowled at each other, as if in a heated argument. Then Pretty Kitty sauntered between them. She followed one toward the house. The other cat darted across the garden into the distant swaying grasses.

  “You know,” Alice said. “I think it’s someone you already know…hmm…or maybe you’ll meet him soon. I can’t tell. But, I don’t think it’s who you expect. Be careful who you choose. Things aren’t always as they appear.”

  The orange cat plopped onto the table, as if to punctuate Alice’s last statement. I couldn’t think of anyone I knew.

  “Look.” Her finger tapped a symbol resembling a devil’s fork. I nodded obediently. “This planet in your eleventh house means you’re easily deceived. Especially by those you love. You have a tendency to see people through rose-colored glasses, don’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Pay attention to your intuition.” Alice clapped her hands, and, with that, she was done with the deepest pocket of my heart.

  “Oh, one more thing, child, I think you ought to know.”

  “Yes?”

  “Many of your deaths in previous lives were very…unusual. And unexpected. I wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks if I were you.”

  Chapter 2

  I COULD NOT get my vertex out of my mind the entire ride to work the next day, even with the clear blue skyline to distract me. It had been the rainiest, stormiest end-of-summer in all my memory in Kansas, and possibly the longest, now that I was single. Yesterday had been the first ounce of sun all week, just a sliver through the thick, gray cloud cover. A sliver of hope, like the possibility of meeting my true prince charming…or already knowing him and falling in love with a friend. If it was someone I worked with, I couldn’t imagine who that could be…

  I savored the warm rays today because Kansas weather changed more often than my best friend, Carrie Brown, changed boyfriends. When I arrived, the mob was already trudging across the drenched pavement, zombie-like and morose. I parked at the edge of the lot and stepped in with the herd. Two by two, we filed into the building, chugged up the stairs to the second floor, and fanned out to swarm the various entrances of the floor-wide labyrinth of cubicles. I smiled at Carrie walking next to me. She rolled her eyes.

  The two of us maneuvered the partitioned maze to our cubicles, which were across the narrow hall from each other’s. We booted our computers and headed to the break room together for our morning fuel. After a few percolating minutes, the coffee let us know it was ready. Carrie filled her mug, adding a little cream and enough sugar to cover a village in a blanket of dust. I filled my mug with hot water, adding the usual teabag.

  “Did you have your appointment yesterday?” she whispered, quoting the air with her ornately manicured fingers. No one else was in the room but us. Tight curls shortened Carrie’s long, golden flow and I wondered how much time she invested in front of the mirror every morning—not that it mattered. She would be beautiful with or without all that prep. She blinked, expectant. Mascara highlighted her pupils, making the blue in her eyes appear deep and surreal. Her skin was fair and flawless.

  I nodded.

  “You can’t actually believe in this predestined, fairy-fancied stuff,” she insisted, waving the air. “I mean, it’s not like it’s real magic, not that there is such a thing.” But her voice lacked conviction.

  I frowned. We’d had this conversation before. “People say that Alice can make things happen. That’s magic as far as I can tell. But that’s not why I saw her.”

  “I know.”

  “This lady is the best astrologer in the country. What she says happens.”

  “Okay, what did she tell you?”

  “Ladies.” The familiar voice boomed into the room, followed by the body belonging to it. Pete was the tallest man in the building, a once-athletic guy with a giant, round belly, a thick jaw, and a sluggish gait. He pulled a two-liter of Diet Coke from the fridge and started filling his big-gulp.

  “Hey, Pete,” Carrie and I said in unison.

  “There you are!” Oliver sprang into the room demanding everyone’s attention. I half expected him to bow. All three of us turned his way. Oliver was twenty-six years old with a face younger than mine, and the office loved to tease him about it. On his last birthday, a group of us had decorated his cubicle with baby bottles and pacifiers. He basked in the attention. He lived alone. He wasn’t married, and had no family. No hobbies that anyone knew of, other than keeping track of everyone else’s business. His jet-black hair gelled neatly to the side. The usual collared shirt was pink today, and held perfectly in place by a navy blue V-neck sweater-vest.

  “There’s who?” Carrie asked.

  “Jeez, Ollie! You still wearing that purse?” Pete said, pulling out a seat and working his bottom into it.

  “Pete, for your information, it’s a shoulder bag. My fanny pack’s
at the cleaners.”

  “It’s turquoise. You’re wearing a turquoise purse,” Pete insisted.

  “Men are wearing them like crazy in New York.”

  “Did no one tell you we’re in Kansas?”

  Oliver was indignant for a second. Then, as if someone had turned on a light behind his bright, green eyes, he sang, “Speaking of Kansas! Look what I just got!” He whipped out his phone and started scrolling through pictures. Then he displayed his screen like a proud father. We leaned in to see a small dog wearing a pink bow. “Her name’s Porsche! Isn’t she the cutest?”

  Everybody mumbled something resembling “cute” or “sweet.”

  Pete furrowed his brows. “That’s not the same kind of dog as—”

  “Yep!” Oliver said. “Same as Dorothy’s. Only mine’s cuter.” A youthful smile stretched his cheeks.

  Pete shook his head. That’s when our supervisor, Sally, walked in and the atmosphere solidified into ice strong enough to freeze us into our positions. For a long minute, the only breathing came from the coffee pot. Sally seemed oblivious to anyone in the room, even her husband, who didn’t dare slurp his soda.

  Pete and his wife had met a decade ago, here at the call center. They’d fallen in love like it was a fairy-tale romance. She was older than he was, and he had been stuck in a miserable, dead-end relationship. But they didn’t let anything get in the way of their true love. Now they’d been married nine years. It was hard to imagine the ice queen, as Oliver likes to call her, in a fairy-tale romance. Yet it was a fairy tale I never tired of hearing.

  I imagined how great it would be to fall in love with someone I worked with. We could ride to work together, have lunches together, and flirt with each other throughout the day. But love wasn’t likely with anyone here, no matter what Alice had said. I sighed.

  As Sally marched out, the room breathed again, and Robbie Curtis swooped in, mug in hand. He was wearing a leather jacket. A strange thing to be wearing in the heat of summer, I thought, as he shrugged out of it and draped it over a chair. His snap-button shirt hung loose around his broad shoulders. His hair was…tousled, as if windblown, instead of combed down and flat like usual. He was tall, slender, and unassuming, with a trail of freckles draped across his nose. And there was a boyish cuteness about him, not that I’d ever really noticed.