“I’m not sure we’ll be working much anyway,” said Livvy, beginning to lose enthusiasm.
“Yes, I heard there’s trouble.”
“Big trouble,” said Livvy. She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and followed Mamacita to the next aisle and looked down at the ground. “Really big trouble.”
She watched Mamacita move her duster around crystal pyramids of various sizes and colors. Mamacita didn’t say anything.
“Trouble so big,” said Livvy quietly, “one shaman by themselves can’t do anything about it, maybe can’t survive.”
Mamacita stopped. “What kind of talk is that?” she asked.
The cockatiel echoed, “What kind of talk is that?”
“I don’t know,” Livvy muttered.
It had seemed like such a good idea an hour ago. Maybe Mamacita was right.
“Well,” said Mamacita moving behind the counter and stowing the duster. “It’s not really for me to say, you know. I’m just the shopkeeper.”
“Just the shopkeeper,” echoed the cockatiel.
“Did you say you needed some parts?”
Livvy hesitated. If she were only going to repair the one set of goggles, she didn’t need anything and she could save the little bit of money that she had. If she were going to hook the goggles together, she’d need to get a few things. What would be the point though if she couldn’t find someone to help her?
“So, you don’t think there’s any point to seeing if I might not possibly be able to sort of…contact other shamans?” she asked.
Mamacita had the pulse of the shaman world, knew virtually all of them for at least a hundred miles around. She pursed her lips again.
“Well now, I didn’t say that, did I?”
“Really? You think there’s a chance?”
“Seriously, honey,” Mamacita said, “No, I don’t think there’s a chance, but it’s not really for me to say.”
She brought down a small plastic tray of electronic parts from the shelf behind her and put it between them.
“It’s just–if you do try, don’t get your hopes up. The traditions, even though they’re old, they still apply.”
Mamacita picked a few parts out of the tray and set them on the counter.
“Now, I can’t put you in contact with other shamans,” she said, looking over her glasses. “And I’m not just saying I won’t. I’m saying I can’t. I don’t have their phone numbers or addresses. They come here, you see?”
Livvy nodded.
“But the one who can do that,” she said, emphasizing the word by placing the last of the parts on the counter. “Well, you already know him.”
SK, Livvy thought, but immediately shook her head. Of course she’d thought of him but she already knew what he would say. He’d never break with tradition, and he wouldn’t approve of her trying it. His disapproval wasn’t something she wanted to risk–and not just because of the work he provided. He was the only person she trusted, the only person she could really talk to. She knew that he worked with lots of shamans but, even so, she thought maybe she sensed something more from him. She thought of him as a friend–her only other friend besides Min.
“Now don’t be so quick to say no,” said Mamacita, putting the tray away behind her. “There’s more to SK than you might think. He sees what’s happening, same as you.”
She turned back to the counter and paused. Then she picked up a stray pen near the register and put it into a coffee mug that was already stuffed with pens.
“And, it just so happens, he thinks pretty highly of you,” Mamacita said, without looking at her.
Really? Livvy thought. Me?
“Now you didn’t hear that here,” Mamacita intoned.
Livvy could have hugged her. Maybe SK would see it her way. Maybe things would turn around. Smiling, she started to take out her wallet.
“That’s all right, sweetie. You pay next time,” said Mamacita, putting the parts in a small paper bag.
This time, Livvy couldn’t help herself. Without thinking, she came around the end of the counter and, before Mamacita had seen her coming, Livvy hugged her.
“Oh!” said Mamacita, as a little spark jumped between them.
“Thank you, Mamacita,” Livvy said, hugging her fiercely.
Mamacita shook her head but hugged her in return and then patted her back.
“Don’t thank me, child,” she said quietly. “Don’t thank me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
STILL BUOYED FROM her visit with Mamacita and thinking about the next steps, Livvy didn’t see the front door to her apartment until she was nearly standing in front of it. Spray painted on the door was a giant, red, inverted pentagram.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
She looked up and down the hallway, but nobody was there. No evidence of any sort was on the floor or in the vicinity. She didn’t know how they’d done it, but the shaman-haters had obviously figured out where she lived and they’d somehow gotten into the building.
It looked like the paint was still wet. If she hurried, she might be able to get some of it off before the landlord saw it. Checking over her shoulder, she unlocked the door and fetched some cleaning stuff.
Outside again, she looked up and down the hallway and then started to frantically wipe and scrub. The paint hadn’t dried yet and she managed to get some of it off with just the paper towels. When the paper towels stopped being effective, she switched to the cleanser.
Although she’d never get all the paint off, it looked like she was at least going to be able to hide the fact that a pentagram had been painted on the door.
“What happened?” said a voice from close behind her.
Startled, she let out small shriek. When she looked around, she saw the paramedic.
“Sorry!” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”
She took her hand away from her heart and realized that she’d been holding a cleaning pad there, with paint on it.
“Oh no,” she said, trying to wipe the paint off her shirt.
“Look what I’ve made you do,” he said, as he reached down for the paper towels.
He picked them up, ripped off a few sheets, and offered them to her.
“You’ve also got a little paint…”
He pointed to the corner of his own mouth. She took the paper towel he offered and quickly wiped at her face.
“Graffiti?” he asked.
“You could say that,” she said, as she continued to wipe, although what she really wanted to do was go inside and check her face in a mirror.
He looked around at the other doors and the walls in the hallway.
“Graffiti inside? That’s kind of unusual.” He looked back to her. “Anyway, I was in the neighborhood and I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Really?” she asked, stopping in mid-wipe.
He smiled. “Yeah, really.”
She didn’t know what to say. People didn’t usually worry about her.
“I remembered your address,” he offered, breaking the silence. “I waited at the front gate until somebody was leaving.”
“Right,” she said, finally looking away, embarrassed that she’d been staring.
“So,” he said slowly. “How are you doing?”
She focused on the crumpled and dirty paper towels she’d thrown on the ground. “I’m good,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“How’s your head?”
Her hand flew to the back of her head.
“Oh that! You know, I haven’t really noticed it, so I guess it must be okay.”
“Good,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets. “Well then…”
“Would you like to come inside?” she blurted.
“That’d be great,” he said, smiling again.
“Okay,” she said, as she bent over and started grabbing the used towels and cleaning things. “Let me just get this stuff.”
He picked up the cleanser.
“Thanks,” she
said, as she opened the door. “Come on in.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
AS SOON AS they had stepped through the door and Livvy closed it, she realized it’d been awhile since she had cleaned. The kitchen was the worst area and she headed right for it. Half a dozen syrup bottles of various flavors were grouped near the dish rack. She pushed them into a corner.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said, as she grabbed dishes from the counter and put them in the sink.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, as he strolled over to the altar. “Wow, this is quite a collection.”
Before she had realized she was a shaman or had any interest in the shamanic world, she had collected sacred objects and set them up on display. Later she had learned that all shamans create altars, some more elaborate than others. By now, she had hundreds of little things and the altar had multiple levels.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to small black lacquer box.
She came over, opened it, and handed it to him.
“It’s sand from a Tibetan Buddhist mandala. They have a ceremony that lasts a few days where the monks build the mandala, grain by grain, on the floor. It’s enormous when it’s done, fifty feet in diameter. It portrays the life of the Buddha, full of small vignettes and symbols, circles within multicolored circles. Then, on the last day, once it’s completed, it’s destroyed and the sand is blessed and offered to observers.”
He smiled as he looked down at it, tilting the box back and forth.
“Have you been to Tibet?” he asked.
“Ha, no,” she said. “Luckily, the monks travel. This was from a mandala they did at the Natural History Museum a few years ago.”
“It’s nice,” he said, handing it back to her.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked.
“That sounds good.”
As she filled the kettle, he came over to the table.
“Looks like you’re in the middle of a project here.”
She looked at the disassembled goggles. “Just some tinkering,” she said, putting the kettle on the stove.
He nodded.
He had to know that she was a shaman because he’d heard her report to the police. If he’d only suspected before, the altar should have confirmed it, but the goggles might be a different story. Maybe he’d never seen a techno-shaman wearing goggles or didn’t even know that techno-shamans existed. She didn’t say anything more.
“Sit down,” she said, indicating one of the chairs with a box of tea. “Genmai-cha,” she said, showing him the first box, “or raspberry.”
“I’ll have what you’re having,” he answered.
She put a couple of Genmai-cha bags into the two waiting mugs.
“Actually,” he said, as he took a seat, “I’ve been in the neighborhood a lot lately.”
“Oh?” she said, watching his leg muscles work through the dark blue pants as he crossed his ankle over his knee.
“Lots of calls.”
“Lots of calls?” she asked, tilting her head.
“911 calls.”
“Oh,” she said slowly.
“It’s been non-stop,” he said, shaking his head. “Just incredible.”
The kettle started to whistle, forcing her to take her eyes off him. Livvy poured the hot water, brought over the two mugs, and took a seat.
“But I guess you already know that,” he said, taking the mug. “Thanks.”
He moved the tea bag around by the string, and she studied his face while he was looking down. He seemed like he might be Hispanic or maybe Mediterranean, probably about her age, and definitely good looking.
“I think it’s a busy time for us all,” he said.
Us, she thought. She’d never heard anyone in the medical professions include shamans together with themselves. Us. It had a nice sound and he’d made it seem like it was a given. They were both healers, in their own ways.
“Yeah, it has been busy,” she said quietly, nodding. “It’s been difficult too.”
He looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Me?”
“Because if you weren’t all right, I’d want to know,” he said, still looking at her.
She tried to take a sip of tea but inhaled a tiny bit instead. “Thanks,” she managed to get out, coughing.
He sipped his tea, but Livvy noticed that it was an experimental taste. He’d probably never had Genmai-cha before, but he was going to try it anyway. She liked that. He nodded with approval and smiled at her as she realized that she was staring again. She quickly looked down.
“You’ve seen the news?” he asked.
“I don’t know how I can avoid it.”
“True,” he said. “Shamans seem to be taking a pretty bad rap.”
Shamans–it was the first time he’d used the word. Hearing it surprised her. She raised her eyebrows as she brought up the mug.
“I just think it’s a shame,” he ventured.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “And it’s not true. We’re not making people sick.”
“Of course not!” he said. “I wasn’t implying–”
“Oh no,” she said, “I didn’t mean that you–”
“Oh, okay,” he said quickly.
They each took a sip of tea. Content to watch him, she eventually realized that she was burning her tongue. She set the mug down but smiled when she realized he was watching her.
“I have no idea what’s really going on,” he said, finally, “what’s really making people sick, but the emergency rooms are all flooded and a lot of the patients that I run across don’t seem to have a…conventional ailment.”
“Exactly,” said Livvy, as she considered how much to tell him.
It was one thing to know or say that someone was a shaman, but it was a different thing altogether to talk about the Multiverse.
“I’m not fishing for information,” he declared. “I’m really not.”
Livvy put her mug down, still considering.
“Maybe I should go,” he said, putting his mug down too.
“No!” said Livvy.
He stopped and smiled at her.
“I mean I wasn’t thinking that,” she tried.
“Yeah, you were,” he said, still smiling. “That’s all right.” He checked his watch. “But really I should be going.”
He stood up and took the mug to the kitchen as Livvy watched.
“Anyway, I’m glad to see you’re all right,” he said, when he turned around.
“You don’t have to go,” said Livvy, standing up.
“Well, I do actually, but…” He went over to the door. “Maybe I could stop by some other time?”
“You can stop by anytime,” she chirped.
“Thank you for the tea,” he said, opening the door.
She saw the remnants of paint on the door, but the pentagram wasn’t distinguishable anymore. In the short time he’d been here, the vandalism had completely slipped her mind. Seeing it again sobered her. He saw her looking at it.
“It might be a good idea not to go out after dark,” he said.
“I don’t,” she said, shaking her head.
“Good,” he said. “Well, not good, but…well, you know.”
“Yeah,” she said.
He turned to go.
Suddenly, Livvy thought of something. Quickly, she touched her fingers to the doorknob and discharged some static electricity.
“Wait!” she said. He turned around.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh for crying out loud,” he said, coming back. “I’m Joel.”
He held out his hand.
“Joel,” she said, smiling, taking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Joel.”
His grip was gentle, and he held her hand a little longer than was necessary.
“Nice to meet you, Livvy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“YOU CAN’T POSSIBLY be serious,” said SK as they waited for their pancakes.
“I am
totally serious,” said Livvy. “This can work.”
“I don’t care if it can work,” said SK under his breath, looking around. “Now is not the time to get shamans together for the first time ever.”
“So, you think other shamans would be interested?”
“I didn’t say that. You know it’s the unwritten rule.”
“For god’s sake, SK, aren’t we past the rules? How many shamans do you see a day? Two? Three? Has anybody had a normal journey?”
He waved his hand to keep her voice down and looked around to see if anybody had heard. A middle-aged couple looked away.
“And how’s business?” she asked. “Not exactly booming, is it.”
“I’ll get by,” he said.
“Well I won’t.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“I lost a client,” she said quietly. “Tiamat.”
“What?” SK yelled. “You had another encounter with–”
“And I got mugged behind my building.”
“What? Livvy, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now,” she said simply. “I wasn’t hurt, just some kids who wanted to scare the shaman.”
“By all the gods, Livvy,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “You should have called me!”
The waitress arrived with their plates and set them down without saying a word. SK ignored the food.
“We can’t live like this,” said Livvy. “We can’t work safely, and we can’t live safely.”
SK stared hard at her, his mouth working into a grim frown. Finally, he took a deep breath.
“How is getting a bunch of shamans together going to help?”
“I don’t know if it will,” she said honestly. “But what is there to lose at this point? Who is able to carry on by themselves anyway?”
He seemed to be thinking.
“If we get together and we get hooked together, we might be able to pool our power. It might be enough to defeat…you know.”
“Yes, yes,” he said quickly.
“You’re the one in the middle,” she said. “The common point of contact. We all trust you. They’ll only talk to me if it comes through you.”
Olivia Lawson Techno-Shaman Books 1 -3 Page 14
