Livvy thought about it. “Well, we could call each other in the morning,” she suggested. “If one of us doesn’t answer, then we’ll know there’s a problem.”
Min bobbed her head. It wasn’t a great solution, but at least another shaman stood a chance of helping.
A loud thumping at the door nearly made Min topple her tea. Livvy grabbed the mug just in time, and then they stared at each other as though they’d been caught.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MR. SIDIROV, THE landlord, stood in the doorway. As soon as Livvy saw him, she knew what day it was.
“Rent is overdue,” said Sidirov in his thick Russian accent. “Again.”
He wore a filthy white tank top that matched his dirty jeans. A large wad of keys hung from one of the front belt loops under his protruding belly.
“I’ll bring it by this afternoon,” Livvy said, starting to close the door, embarrassed that Min had to see this.
He put a hand on the door, looked into the room, and saw Min at the table.
“Rent goes up for a roommate.”
“She’s not a roommate,” said Livvy.
“Better not be.”
“I’ll bring it by this afternoon,” Livvy said as she tried the door again.
“You owe two months now,” he said as the door closed.
“This afternoon,” Livvy said as the gap narrowed.
“Better be,” he said as it closed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN THE ALARM went off, Jack was alone in bed. He swished his hand absently over Indra’s side and wondered why she’d gotten up so early. He rolled over and looked at the bathroom door, which was closed. As he waited, the minutes ticked by and he drowsed, until he woke up again and saw from the clock that fifteen minutes had gone by.
He looked at the bathroom door, which was still closed. There was no sound coming from it.
“Indra?” he asked. “Are you okay in there?”
There was no answer. He got out of bed and went over to the door.
“Indra? Are you in there?”
Again, not a sound. He glanced back into the bedroom. Maybe she’d gone downstairs already, he thought, but her robe was on the bed. He knocked on the door.
“Indra, are you in there?”
He tried the knob, which was unlocked.
“I’m coming in,” he called as he pushed the door open.
After only a short distance, it thumped against something. He pushed harder and the door opened more but not all the way. He peered through the gap and saw Indra’s legs stretched out, blocking the entrance.
“Oh my god,” he said, shoving the door, putting his shoulder into it.
“Indra! Are you okay?”
He squeezed through the opening he’d made and saw her lying there. Her head was next to the toilet with vomit everywhere. She was lying in it on her side. He tried turning her over, but there was no room on the bathroom floor. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth hung open.
“Indra!” he shouted. “Indra, wake up!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
AS THE DOOR brushed by it, a small bell at the top of the entrance quivered on its spring and tinkled. Livvy stepped through into the familiar scent of myrrh resin and the flickering light of candles.
After several seconds, her eyes adjusted from the midday glare. The familiar overstocked shelves came into focus. Mamacita’s shop was a crazy cross between a magic shop, a new age bookstore, and an electronics outlet. Livvy headed down the short center aisle to the counter in the back where Mamacita was perched on her stool like usual. She fed a peanut to the large cockatiel in the cage next to her.
“Well, hi baby,” she said in the smooth Southern drawl that always put Livvy at ease. Mamacita gave her a big smile as she looked over her half-glasses. “Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”
Although she had no trace of a Spanish accent, she was Hispanic: the straight dark hair pulled into a large, flat barrette in the back, slightly darker-than-olive skin. It was impossible to tell her age. She might be fifty or she might be ninety. She was plump, which helped with the wrinkles, and her hair coloring–if there was any–was perfect. It might also be possible that she was using a little something in the spirit world to help her along, keep that younger look. Some people swore her shop had been there over sixty years. If a customer needed something of a shaman nature, no matter what, Mamacita had it or could get it–for a price, of course.
Livvy came up to the counter. It had always looked to her more like a judge’s bench than something for a store. Knowing Mamacita, it could have been. The rumors swirled around her like the flakes in a snow globe. Some even said she had been a shaman once–a long time ago. Livvy leaned her elbows on the high counter and looked up at Mamacita.
“It’s good to see you, Mamacita,” she said, smiling. “How you doing?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” she said, taking off her glasses and letting them dangle on the beaded chain. “But you’re not, child. Look at you. When was the last time you slept right?”
“A little while,” said Livvy, wondering if her drawl might be Texan.
“Mmm hmm,” hummed Mamacita, knowingly. “I guess that’s going around.”
Livvy perked up at that. The shop had been on her way and, after Min’s visit, she no longer felt alone in having strange dealings in the Multiverse.
“What do you hear?” Livvy asked.
“Oh, you never visit Mamacita just to say hi, do you,” she said, taking a peanut from a small bowl on the counter.
She scooted the bowl closer to Livvy, and they each worked on prying open a shell.
“Strange doings in the Multiverse is what I hear,” said Mamacita as she popped a peanut in her mouth. “Very strange.”
“Yeah,” said Livvy, looking at her peanut. “Like shamans who can’t wake up from dreams.” She looked up at Mamacita, who was waiting like she had all the time in the world. “Like they’ve been buried under the ground in the Middleworld.”
“Oh, well, I can’t say as I’d quite heard that one yet,” said Mamacita as she reached for another peanut and dropped the old shell on the floor.
“I’ve heard it a couple times,” said Livvy, absently splitting the peanut into halves.
“That right?” said Mamacita as though she wasn’t particularly interested. “You rollin’ with other shamans now?”
Livvy laughed. “Who’s teaching you to talk like that?”
Mamacita chuckled, her laugh quiet, almost shy. Despite the complete lack of a physical resemblance, Mamacita’s laugh reminded Livvy of her mother. Sometimes Livvy wondered what a relationship with her mother would have been like. Usually she found herself thinking along those lines after a visit to Mamacita–visits that often coincided with stressful times in her life.
“I might see more of the outside world than you think,” said Mamacita.
“Uh huh,” said Livvy, smiling briefly. “Anyway, I do happen to know of two shamans, both techno-shamans, who have had the same experience.”
“My, my,” said Mamacita. “Well then, you are getting around. I’d be careful with that.”
“It wasn’t my choice,” said Livvy quickly. “For sure, it wasn’t my choice,” she said, remembering Jack.
“All right, then,” said Mamacita in soothing tones.
Livvy stared down at her peanut, using her thumbnail to split the half in half.
“Well,” said Mamacita, watching her, “I’ve been seeing some jumpy shamans lately. Never seen anything like it.” She put her glasses on to see Livvy’s peanut, then took them off again. “Never. And I’ve been in this business, well, a long time.”
“Long time,” the cockatiel echoed.
“How’s Pete doing?” said Livvy, flipping her peanuts into the cage.
“Coming along nicely,” nodded Mamacita, looking over at the bird.
Pete was short for ‘repeat’. This cockatiel must have been her third or forth. When they died, she simply bought another one
, same breed and color, and gave it the same name. They eventually learned all the same words.
Livvy dusted her hands off as she straightened up.
“I don’t suppose there’s been talk of any kachinas,” began Livvy slowly. “Especially ones that might appear in the real world?”
Mamacita stopped what she was doing.
“No, most definitely not,” she said, all seriousness now. “Is there something you want to tell Mamacita?”
“Tell Mamacita,” said the bird.
Why had Mamacita reacted like that? It wasn’t quite what Livvy had been expecting.
“Nah,” Livvy said. “Just wondering.”
“Mmm hmm,” Mamacita hummed, back to her old self again as she cracked another peanut.
Livvy watched Pete for a few moments and looked back at Mamacita. She wanted to tell her all about the kachina, and Min, and Indra. But even the mention of the kachina had unsettled her and the talk of other shamans had elicited a warning. The last thing she wanted was to upset Mamacita.
“Thanks for the peanut,” Livvy finally said. “And the chit chat.”
“Sure thing, child” said Mamacita as she smiled and shook a peanut at her. “Don’t you be such a stranger.”
“Promise,” said Livvy, smiling, relieved at the familiar patter as she retreated toward the door.
“Livvy, honey?”
Livvy stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and turned around.
“You be extra careful. There’s something wrong right now…” Mamacita said, her voice trailing off. “Anyway, you just be careful.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“IT WON’T GO on sale for thirty days?” asked Livvy.
“Not exactly,” said the ancient man behind the counter as he cleaned the ring. “It’ll be in the front case and people can look at it.” He put it back down on the dusty black velvet board between them. “They can put a hold on it, but I won’t sell it for thirty days.”
Livvy sighed and stared at her mother’s engagement ring as the man filled out her receipt. Even with all the jobs she’d had recently, she wasn’t going to be able to come up with two months rent. It turned her stomach to be selling one of the last heirlooms but the thought of being homeless frightened her. She had slowly, but inevitably, been sinking toward it for some time.
“Yes,” the man was saying, “people are hunting for bargains right now.”
Once upon a time, Livvy had imagined she’d have the diamonds reset or used in a wedding band of her own. The way her life was going, though, a wedding seemed like a remote possibility. When she had been in med school, there had been no shortage of handsome young things who wanted her on their arm–a good-looking and bright young woman on her way to becoming a doctor. Her studies hadn’t allowed for much free time, but she had always been in demand. Now, not so much.
The man slid the receipt across the counter and counted out her cash on top of it.
“That’s eighty dollars,” he said.
Eighty dollars, she thought, for something that had probably cost her father a month’s salary. She felt ashamed for parting with it and for so little money. It was the economy, the man had said. Everybody was dumping jewelry. Bad timing. He hadn’t even looked at the main diamond, except to notice that it was under a carat. The value he’d put on the entire ring was determined simply by weighing it. He used the current value of an ounce of gold to determine the price for the whole thing. It had taken all of three minutes.
She gathered up the money and put it in her front pocket.
“You’ve got thirty days,” he said, picking up the ring.
As she turned to put the receipt in her bag, she felt a sudden pain in her chest, sharp and searing. She put a hand over her heart, pressing down as she involuntarily bent over, and put the other hand on the counter to steady herself. The receipt dropped to the floor as she sucked in a breath with a hissing sound.
The man had disappeared behind the counter, already putting the ring on display in the case between them, and hadn’t noticed.
As suddenly as it started, it was gone. Her mind raced through the symptoms of a heart attack: chest pain, nausea, shortness of breath, a cold sweat. She waited to see if the pain would come back.
“Are you all right?” asked the man from across the counter.
She stooped lower to pick up her receipt and stood up slowly, trying to inhale. As she rose, she could see that he was watching her. With an attempt at a smile, she waved the receipt.
“Bent over too quick, didn’t you?” he said, taking the velvet board and heading toward the back of the shop. “I do that sometimes.”
Gulping air, she pushed away from the counter and made it out to the sidewalk. The bus bench was only a few yards away and empty. As she collapsed there, she rubbed her chest. What had happened? It couldn’t have been a heart attack. She was too young and, although her parents had died in their late forties, there didn’t seem to be a family history of heart disease.
Luckily the bus didn’t arrive for another twenty minutes, allowing her time to recuperate. By the time she boarded, she was almost feeling normal. Taking up her usual place in the back, she checked her phone. It had been unusually silent this afternoon, but now it was going off like crazy. As she was browsing the different news feeds, she received a text from Min.
“Did u feel it?”
“Feel what?” she texted back.
“The chest pain.”
Livvy stared at the message and her pulse started to race.
“Look at this,” said the next text.
There was a web address. She clicked on it and waited a long minute as a video loaded. The web site must have been getting hit from all over. The black screen finally gave way to the beginning of the video. It was clearly a shamanic healing.
The video was low quality–probably from a phone–but Livvy could make out a shaman on her pallet with candles burning in the dimness. Several people were in the room and, as the video panned, she saw the client was lying in a bed. The sound of chanting and drumming came in sporadically, between loud scraping sounds that probably came from the videographer’s fingers.
Then, the video jerked back to the shaman. The people in the room were saying something.
“Yeah, I’m getting it,” said the videographer in a deafening whisper.
As Livvy watched, the video zoomed in on the shaman. Someone seemed to be shining a flashlight on her chest. Without warning, the spotlight erupted into a flame. In seconds, the shaman was on fire, from head to foot, but never moving.
People crossed in front of the video and there were screams, and then the video stopped. Even as Livvy watched, her various news feeds came chiming to life. The video was going viral, spreading through the Internet as fast as people could send a link.
The chest pain, Min had said. Yeah, she’d felt it. She rubbed her chest. It seemed like a lot of shamans had felt it.
Even as she exited at her stop, Livvy couldn’t put down the phone. The video was starting to make the regular news sources. It was being called a hoax. Nobody even knew that shamans existed anymore. There were headlines about spontaneous combustion. Religious nuts claimed to see Satan’s face in the flames and others called it the Holy Spirit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LIVVY WAS REPLAYING the video as she came through the front door and didn’t see the kachina. She jumped when she finally did, nearly dropping the phone.
“Dammit!” she said without thinking.
First her mother’s ring, then the chest pain, then the video, and now this–again.
He stood there, staring at her, implacable. She wanted to run; she wanted to cry, and now she realized she wanted to scream–and probably had wanted to scream all day.
“I have had it with this,” she yelled. “I’ve had enough of you!”
Both the rattle and flute were tucked into the top of his kilt. He reached up a hand and patted the center of his chest.
“Yes, you,” she screamed, shaki
ng.
He reached up his other hand, made a fist, and placed it in the center of his chest under the other hand as though he were clutching something there. Oh gods, not this again, she thought as her shoulders sagged.
“Look, Mr. Twenty-Questions,” she said loudly. “I’m not playing today.” She took off her bag and threw it to the floor. “I don’t know what you want–”
He motioned to her.
“Yeah, I get that, but I’m not into it. You shouldn’t even be possible.”
He pointed to his chest, but Livvy shook her head. Whether she was getting used to seeing the kachina or whether it was time for this day to be over, she didn’t know. All she knew was the tiredness now sinking into her bones.
“All right, look, Tawa–”
He made a small motion on his chest, drawing an imaginary circle there. Then he thumped himself with both hands in the circle. He watched her and waited. Then he repeated the cycle. He drew a circle in the middle of his chest and then slowly rubbed the spot.
Livvy brought her own hand up to her chest.
“The pain,” she said. “What about it?”
He stopped and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Do you know what caused it?”
He beckoned her.
“The Multiverse,” she said.
He beckoned again, waving his hand faster.
Inwardly, Livvy recoiled. Making a vision journey for clients was one thing but making the journey for purposes of your own, well, it wasn’t done. Or, to be more accurate, shamans wouldn’t admit to it. Besides, the last few visits had been strange. She looked at the kachina. He was drawing the circle on his chest again. What did he know?
“Was that shaman really burned alive?”
He nodded his head slowly, and she noticed the singed feathers again.
She’d sensed the truth of it, despite all the rumors about hoaxes on the nets. The chest pain had been bad, but somehow having the kachina confirm it made it even worse.
Olivia Lawson Techno-Shaman Books 1 -3 Page 8
