“Do you regret it now that the choice is off the table?”
Marigold paced the forest floor, kicking leaves as she went. “I don’t know. Maybe. I never felt confident enough that I’d make a good mother. I guess I can’t second-guess myself now.”
A rush of sympathy washed over me when I tried to envision a life without Marley. What if I had reached Marigold’s age without taking the leap? Although I knew children and marriage weren’t for everyone, Marley definitely had been the right choice for me.
“It’s hard to picture you lacking confidence,” I said. Marigold was my drill sergeant and cheerleader combo. She radiated discipline and positive energy.
“Responsibility for another living creature isn’t to be taken lightly,” she replied.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “I was just too young and dumb to know any better when I got pregnant.” In a way, my ignorance had been a blessing.
“I wish I were still young and foolish sometimes,” Marigold said. “Maybe I should’ve been more foolish, but I was never willing to tempt fate, not after Leonora.”
I frowned. “Who’s Leonora?”
“I’m surprised no one’s mentioned her to you. I know how the coven likes to talk.” Marigold shifted her focus to the tree roots pushing up through the ground. “Leonora was my familiar.”
Was. “Did something happen to her?”
Marigold nodded mutely. Oh, no. Whatever happened, it wasn’t good.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, “ I said.
“No, she deserves to be talked about,” Marigold said. “Leonora was the sweetest cat. She liked to sit on the roof at night and watch the stars.” She smiled to herself. “I could always sense her contentment. Our bond was one of the most gratifying experiences of my life.”
Would I describe my bond with Raoul as a gratifying experience? “I guess I’m still getting used to the whole concept.”
Marigold laughed. “I imagine it will take some getting used to. You’re adjusting to the entire paranormal world, not just a raccoon familiar. I grew up knowing what my life would be. Of course, I never expected to lose Leonora at a young age.”
“We never expect to lose loved ones,” I said. “That’s one of the reasons it hits us so hard.”
Marigold bit her lip. “Yes, you would know, wouldn’t you? Leonora became unwell. I’d felt her malaise, even glimpsed the change in her aura, but I dismissed it as a passing illness.”
“But it wasn’t?”
Marigold flicked a tear from the end of her eyelash. “No. It was cancer. By the time I brought her to see the healer, the disease had taken hold. It was my delay that cost sweet Leonora her life.”
“Oh, Marigold, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t blame yourself. Sometimes cancer moves swiftly.”
“This one certainly did,” Marigold agreed. “By the time her aura had darkened, she was already too close to death to be saved.”
“Can healers cure cancer if it’s diagnosed early enough?” I asked.
“Depends on the type,” she replied. “Not always, though. Some paranormals seek treatment in the human world, when it’s required. Magic doesn’t solve every ailment, but you already know that.”
“Do you think you were afraid to have kids because of what happened with Leonora?” I asked.
“Absolutely. It shook my confidence to the core,” she admitted. “I worried about my capability to care for another. To have a life in my hands. Even with Leonora’s ability to communicate, I failed her. She didn’t realize the extent of her disease, and I didn’t detect anything. Imagine an infant in my care. She wouldn’t be able to tell me anything at all.”
Before I could stop myself, I lurched forward and hugged Marigold. “I’m really sorry, Marigold. The loss of a loved one never leaves us.” Some days were easier than others, of course, but grief had a way of weaving itself into the fabric of our lives. Over time, it became white noise—always there, but generally undemanding.
Marigold strangled a cry. “I can’t stand being emotional. Stupid menopause. I prefer to take care to get through my day without floods of tears.”
I released her. “Then we should move on to aura reading. Focus on something else.”
Marigold blew her nose with the handkerchief and shoved it back into her pocket. I hoped she didn’t use it to wipe the sweat off again.
“Aura reading is identifying the energy fields that surround a living creature,” Marigold said. “By identifying the color and type, you can judge one’s mood, health, intent….”
“Intent?”
Marigold cleared her throat, pulling herself together. “Yes, for example, if I’m telling you that I won’t hurt you, but my aura is a brilliant orange or red, then you should be on your guard, ready to protect yourself.”
“Orange or red means someone’s lying?”
“Not necessarily. In my example, it could show anger,” she explained. “So if they’re telling you they won’t hurt you, their words don’t necessarily match their aura.”
“Got it.”
“Each living creature has its own natural aura,” Marigold continued. “Yours is usually a bluish grey.”
“Really?”
“It’ll change, depending on your emotional state or for other reasons, but that’s your basic aura.”
“What’s yours?” I asked.
Marigold met my inquisitive gaze. “You tell me.”
I inhaled sharply and stared at her. “Will a color just appear?”
“You need to focus your will first, same as any magic,” Marigold advised. “Let the universe know that it’s the aura you wish to see.”
“Let the universe know how?” I asked. “With a strongly worded letter?”
Marigold made a face. “Let the desire flow through you.” She squeezed my shoulders. “The desire can’t go anywhere with all this tension. Take a deep breath.” She paused. “A breath that doesn’t sound like you’ve just broken the surface of the water after a deep dive.”
I twitched and jerked my arms in an effort to relax my muscles. Then I focused my will and reached for Marigold’s aura with my mind. At first I felt resistance, as though she were trying to block my attempt, even though I knew she wasn’t. The obstacle was likely my own lack of experience.
A slight breeze passed by, stirring leaves and pollen. I kept my attention on Marigold and was rewarded with a pulse of energy around her. It was fleeting—closer to a sparking silhouette than a true aura—but it lasted long enough for me to discern the color.
“Yellow,” I said.
Marigold beamed. “Excellent work, Ember.”
“Seems appropriate,” I said, “given that your name is Marigold.”
She winked at me. “How do you think I got my name?”
“Really? You had a newborn aura?”
“We enter this world with our auras intact,” she said. “My mother said my aura was undeniable from the moment I appeared.”
“Why did it fizzle so quickly for me?” I asked.
“Like most things, it takes practice,” she said.
“I wish aura readings could help me identify murderers,” I said. Wouldn’t I make the sheriff’s life easy?
Marigold inclined her head. “That’s why you mentioned the opening at the carnival earlier. You’re investigating her murder, aren’t you?”
“I’m writing an article for the paper,” I said. “And I found her body.” I shuddered at the memory.
Marigold moaned. “You need an aura that keeps trouble away. Right now, it seems to have an open door policy.”
“I met with Madame Bovary not long before she died,” I explained. “That’s why I discovered the body. I went back to clarify something she said.”
“Oh, you were unimpressed by her predictions?” Marigold said. “You wouldn’t be the only one.”
“Yes, it sounds like she’d had a handful of complaints in the last year.”
“Complaints by
the wrong customers, it seems. I know Alder was severely displeased.” She whistled. “You don’t want to see him in a state. His regular aura is dark purple, so you can imagine how it looks when he’s angry.”
“Who’s Alder?” I asked.
Marigold looked at me in disbelief. “Who’s Alder? You mean who is the high-ranking Silver Moon wizard that carries the ancient blackthorn staff during all major rites and rituals?”
“That guy’s name is Alder?” I’d always referred to him in my head as Tall Creepy Dude.
“Alder Catalpa-Moss,” she said. “I can’t believe you didn’t know his name. Goodness me. If your aunt heard you just now, she’d need to summon her smelling salts.”
“Or she’d just call Simon for a pillow before her head hit the floor in shock.” I shrugged. “I guess I blocked out his name because he seems…like the kind of guy who hangs out in nightmares and enjoys it.”
Marigold burst into laughter. “Well, I agree that he isn’t the soft and cuddly type, but very few wizards are.”
“My father was.”
The corners of Marigold’s mouth curved slightly. “Yes, he certainly was.”
“He and my aunt are like night and day,” I said.
“One of the reasons they fought so often.”
I pushed thoughts of my father away and tried to concentrate on Alder Catalpa-Moss. “What on earth could Madame Bovary have said to upset him?”
“I don’t know, but whatever she revealed ruffled his feathers.” She shook her head. “The way he was holding his staff at the last leaders meeting, I was worried he might snap it in two. That staff is irreplaceable.”
“Why would he visit a carnival fortune teller in the first place?” I asked. He didn’t strike me as someone who’d enjoy carnival festivities. He’d be the wizard with a handwritten sign, wielding the blackthorn staff like a baseball bat and warning children to keep off his uniformly manicured lawn.
“You’d have to ask him,” Marigold said. “I can’t promise that he’ll tell you, though. He tends to keep to himself.”
“I guess I’ll add him to the list,” I mumbled. As much as I dreaded it, Tall Creepy Dude with an anger management problem seemed worth questioning.
“Let’s see if you can hold the vision of my aura for twenty seconds this time,” Marigold said. Without warning, her arm shot out and she pressed her hand against a nearby tree trunk.
“You okay?” I asked.
Marigold fanned herself. “Menopause is like a sharp kick in the lady parts, and don’t let anybody tell you different.”
“I’ll make a mental note,” I said. A mental note that I hoped to file away for at least another twenty years.
I’d hoped to track down Alder Catalpa-Moss during daylight hours, engaged in a pleasant activity like basket weaving or knitting. Okay, knitting involved pointy needles. Maybe yodeling.
Just my luck, I located the wizard in a clearing in the forest at dusk, in the midst of a ritual that involved fire, the ancient blackthorn staff, black face paint (at least I hoped it was paint), and a very heavy, leather-bound grimoire. Gods help him if I spotted a puppy on a spit. I’d go medieval magic on his creepy butt.
Are you sure about this? Raoul asked. He’d insisted on accompanying me. Although I’d mocked him at the time, now I was grateful for his presence.
Nope, not at all. I approached the scene with caution. I didn’t want to surprise Alder and end up with the tip of his staff lodged in my chest. The wizard appeared to be engrossed in the ritual. A cloud passed in front of the moon, cloaking us in complete darkness, save the flickering embers of the fire. His dark eyes zeroed in on me and a scowl rippled across his angular features.
I gave an awkward wave. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Nice opening, Raoul said. Don’t go swiping right anytime soon. You need practice.
I don’t need to practice, I said. I’m dating the sheriff. Sort of.
Alder’s solemn gaze remained fixed on me. “Are you lost, Yarrow?”
The tension fled my body at the sound of my birth name. “No, I’m looking for you, actually. Iris told me I could find you here.” I didn’t tell the coven High Priestess why I needed to speak to Alder and, thankfully, she didn’t ask. She likely wouldn’t have appreciated my suspicions.
“I’m preparing for the coven’s next ritual,” Alder said. His voice was scratchy, reminding me of the older smokers I knew back in New Jersey.
“Is it a good one?” I asked. Sweet baby Elvis, Raoul was right. My small talk needed a little polishing. Not that I was interested in dating Alder. Right now, I was interested in not being murdered in the woods by him.
Alder straightened and popped the end of his staff into the ground. “They are all good ones, Yarrow. What need do you have for me? Has your aunt sent you with a missive?”
“No,” I said. A chill crept up my spine as the cloud cover dissipated and the moon highlighted Alder’s pale face. Even with streaks of dark face paint, his skin looked almost transparent. Nothing creepy about that. Nope.
“You seem cold,” Alder said. “Step closer to the fire and let it warm you.”
Or cook me. “I’m good right here, thanks.” Raoul wisely stayed out of sight, hidden by the nearby bushes. “I wanted to ask you about your reading with Madame Bovary.”
“Who is Madame Bovary?” he asked.
“The seer from the carnival,” I said.
“Seer isn’t the word I’d use for her,” Alder replied. He waved the staff over the fire, diminishing it. Thanks to the thick clouds streaking the sky, the only remaining light came courtesy of the moon.
“What did she tell you?” I asked.
Alder gripped the blackthorn staff with both hands. “Why is this your concern?”
I stalled. Did I want to reveal he was a potential suspect? No, probably not wise under the present circumstances.
What’s the safe word again? I asked Raoul.
CyndiLauper. One word.
Right. Just checking. I took a step closer to Alder. “I had a negative reading with her last week, and I was wondering if our experiences were similar.”
“Oh? Did she tell you that your mother wasn’t truly your birth mother and that your entire family has been deceiving you for the duration of your life?”
I gulped. “Um, maybe not so similar then.”
“She didn’t stop there,” Alder said, closing the gap between us. He continued to grip the staff in his hand. Without the warmth of the fire, the chill spread from my spine to the rest of my body.
“Did she tell the identity of your real mother?” I asked.
“My mother is my real mother,” Alder said, so angrily that I half expected smoke to puff out of his ears. “There is no secret biological mother.”
“Sometimes mistakes are made…” I began feebly. Why was I willing to argue the point? Shut up, Ember.
Good idea, Raoul interjected.
I shot a nasty look in the direction of the bushes. “Did you tell your mother what Madame Bovary said?”
“At dinner that night,” Alder said. “She was horrified and rightfully so. She couldn’t believe someone would spread such filth and have the nerve to accept payment for it.”
“Is there any chance your mother would have paid the seer a visit to express her unhappiness?” I asked.
“My mother is confined to a nursing home,” Alder said. “I visit her every day, though.”
“Are you her only child?”
His expression softened. “Yes, how did you know?”
“Have you ever had genetic testing done?” I asked. “I mean, I know it might be difficult to accept, but is it possible there’s a grain of truth to what Madame Bovary told you?”
“If you’ve ever seen my mother, you wouldn’t ask that question,” Alder said. “We’re practically twins.”
Yikes. How unfortunate for her.
His dark eyes turned black. “That so-called fortune teller is a con artist. I’ll be glad to see the b
ack end of her and the rest of the carnival. When is the last day? Soon, isn’t it? After the costume ball.”
The wind tugged at my cloak and I wrapped it more tightly around my body. “You know she’s dead, right?”
Alder’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Who?”
“Madame Bovary,” I said. “The fortune teller. She was killed in her tent.”
Alder dropped his staff, his jaw unhinged. He was either the best actor in the world or I was about to die. “Someone killed her?”
“Seems so.”
He took another moment to process the news. “I don’t wish death on anyone. Not when I know what waits to greet us on the other side.”
Now it was my turn to process. “What waits to greet us?”
His dark eyes glazed over. “You are not ready for such glimpses of the universe’s secrets.”
He was probably right, especially if they involved something nasty waiting to greet me after death. “It sounds unpleasant.”
“Death is not for the faint of heart,” he said.
Um, that didn’t quite make sense, but I’d let it pass. The wizard was still in shock over the seer’s death. At least I could rule him out.
“You needn’t worry about your mother,” Alder said.
I froze. “My mother?”
He nodded. “Her death was clean.”
Clean. Such a funny word to use. “That’s…comforting.”
“I knew Lily,” he continued. “Not well—no one seemed to know her well except your father. She didn’t let others in easily.”
That was a personality trait I’d never heard to describe her. “Why not?”
He placed a few large rocks on the remnants of the fire and retrieved his staff. “I can only speculate that she was protecting herself.”
“From what?”
“Pain, loss, grief.” He shrugged. “What do any of us strive to protect ourselves from?”
“Did she have a reason to protect herself?” I asked. Had my mother experienced those emotions at an early age like I had?
“Like I said, I didn’t know her well. She kept herself fairly closed off. It was a miracle that your father managed to break down her wall.”
“He loved her so much,” I said. “He never looked sideways at another woman after she died, not for the rest of his life.”
Magic & Madness Page 14
