by Trinity Crow
“Beyond our reality, energy seems to change. Earthly loyalties or social restraints are gone. Historically, water, specifically running water, is a barrier that evil cannot cross. When you summon from the beyond, hostile energies are halted and cannot cross…” she paused, "without assistance.”
Against my better judgment, I looked at Sayre.
“From the beyond…” she mouthed and waved her arms wildly above her head. I glared at her and hurriedly looked away before she actually made me laugh.
Chloe, with her head back and her eyes closed, had missed all this. Now she straightened and stared full at me.
“They cannot cross…” she repeated with heavy emphasis, “without your assistance.” Her judging eyes and attitude were too much and I tipped over into eff off.
“Look,” I snapped, “I don’t want to be a master of the dark arts or the freaking light arts, for that matter! I never wanted this and there is no way I would purposely summon freaking EVIL! I actually plan to live in running water after this enlightening evening!”
Now Sayre did laugh and loudly. Was that girl ever serious? She didn’t seem drunk. I sighed.
“Okay,” said Chloe, taken aback. She held up her hands defensively. “I don’t know you, so I can get over-cautious, and the other night…” She shuddered.
“What other night?” I said confused.
“When you sent that sending packing,” Sayre informed me bluntly. “You made a few ripples among the haints and hexes crowd.”
I looked over at Aren for some kind of explanation.
She smiled at me and shook her head. “I mentioned the spirit world is like a spider web or maybe a pond.” She tilted her head, considering.
“Go with pond.” Sayre advised, full of unwanted wisdom, “Honey Chile's not much for the creep factor.”
“Well, actions cause ripples, like Sayre said, and when you are connected to that pond, that energy, you sense the disturbance.”
This held my attention for a second. “Can you tell by the ripples if it's good energy or bad?”
Three heads nodded in unison.
“And the other night…”
“It was forceful, insistent…full of raw power,” Chloe said, “but had no signature.”
I didn't bother asking her, just swung my head in Aren's direction.
“Most people carry a signature, light energy or dark. Some, like our friend Rosa, is a two-handed worker. She works with both energies but only for good.”
Who decided good? I wondered briefly but decided to leave the Zen contemplation for later.
“Well, signature or not, I have no intention of working evil or working at all. I just want to go back to normal.”
“ I don't know you, so I'll have to take you at your word.” Chloe's tone and face were doubtful.
“Aren knows me,” I said before I thought, and it made me full stop. Aren didn’t know me, nobody knew me.
“I know enough,” Aren said quietly, smiling in that crazy, light the whole world up way she had.
“Stop that,” I told her, meaning reading my mind, but she just kept smiling.
“Yes.” Chloe said, “That’s why I said okay. If Aren approves…”
“So,” I asked cautiously, “why would anyone need to call from over there? Not the obvious evildoers…”
Chloe cleared her throat “ Most religious beliefs call upon departed spirits as a source of help.”
I was confused, trying to picture a religion of spooky stuff.
“Saints are dead people.” Sayre offered helpfully “Angels are spirits.”
Chloe nodded her braided head “In Voodoo tradition, the spirits are called the loa and they have great powers over the events in this world.”
“Wait, calling on saints and angels is the same as Voodoo loa?” I asked in disbelief.
“Basically yes, but the skill of the caller and the intent varies as greatly as the belief,” Chloe put in as she studied me. Something about that question made her wary. And I remembered she was Voodoo influenced or based or whatever.
“Most “prayers” aren’t answered,” Sayre explained, her tone was cynical.
I nodded my head and gave her a wry look. We'd both had experiences with a deaf god.
“And some are answered by beings pretending to be something else,” Chloe said darkly.
“So, what about protection?”
I was pretty surprised that the older women deferred to Sayre.
“Protection begins with self-awareness. There is some truth to like attracts like. Which may be why I am so good at protections.” She smiled smugly, looking up through her red tipped bangs. “I mean, my basic nature is to be upbeat, cheery and optimistic. I don’t have much of a dark side.”
Chloe snorted. Surprised, I glanced at her, but she shook her head at me and motioned for me to attend Sayre.
“The literature is massive on herbs and gemstones and protective properties of plants, colors, scents or oils. But the strongest protections are in your mind. Your beliefs. The more unshakable they are, the safer you are. If you are raised to believe that rosemary and St. John’s wort will stop evil and you believe that, nine times out of ten, it will.”
“And the tenth time?” I asked, sarcastically.
“Sometimes there is someone close to you who doesn't believe, or who has a dark energy that lets something through. Once fully into our world, these forces are stronger and can affect you through others. For many people, it is as easy as telling them, this works. And they believe it. When Aren makes amulets, she puts the energy of her belief into the object to help support the belief of the wearer. We were raised that certain herbs and metals and gems have properties and we believe. It’s part of who we are.”
I thought of Mrs. Evers saying how people will fight to hold on to their beliefs, such as the ones they held about slaves, and how these beliefs shaped a person.
“You don’t believe in that sort of thing,” Sayre said, her face went from honest and open to slack and shuttered.
Chloe moved restlessly in her chair.
“It could make you a dangerous gate, open to any who come, except that you believe utterly in yourself. And that is your protection. You will be a keeper of the gate.’” Sayre’s eyes were half closed “You have no belief in this world, or in the people of this world, but you will not fail yourself. You are grounded to the ground.”
I stared at her, suspicious of her swami trance act.
“Like a Honda?” I asked sweetly
Her eyes popped open, “Grrrrounded to the ground.” She growled and laughed hysterically.
“Well,” she said finally, wiping her eyes, “you are. Grounded. I know you can feel it. Or you will by the time we make you more aware!” Her eyes were full of teasing, but it was with me and not at me, so I didn’t care. I looked around the room at the women sitting there. I hadn't expected to find this when I came for answers. My hand found the tea cup and I leaned back, ready to listen.
Chapter 18
That night, after my dinner, tater tot nachos, a recipe from foster sister, Karenna, I picked a spot and sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor. I was determined to try a few of these beginner exercises and start gaining a measure of control and protection. The book said to pick a safe or neutral spot. My kitchen was where I felt safest and also most in control. Besides, it was close to the outside door in case I found the need to use the backup plan, aka run like hell. Now as I sat there, I realized trying to run from spirits was a pretty ridiculous idea. I could hear Aren-in-my-head say "Actual harm is rare," but that meant still possible, right? I had read the book a couple of times and had chosen to practice centering and regulating my breathing. They suggested a cleansing ritual, one that involved burning some perfectly good sage leaves. It was a stretch for me. I guess my practical side thought there were limits. Or in other words, sensible approaches vs flat out nutjobbery. Still, if these exercises made me more aware of what was out there, it would help me avoid it.
"Was I paying attention?" Aren had asked me that first day. No, I guess not. First, because I thought it was a bunch of hogwash, and then I was not in the mood for 'this is your life' spook style. I couldn’t deny there was something real (or unreal) and whether I wanted it or not, I was going to have to deal with it. And, like everything else in my life, I wanted to have control and this was a start. No summoning, no casting, just breathing and centering. Easy, enough. I opened the book to the intuition building page, using my foot to hold it open.
"Focus inward to center your thoughts," the first step read. I closed my eyes, resting my hands on my legs and began the breathing exercises. Inhale for the count of five, hold the breath for the count of ten, exhale, count of five. I mental sighed, I could do this. And by do this, I meant take this seriously. I sat there and breathed, tried to focus inward, though I wasn't sure what the hell that was. Time seemed to stretch and I was impossibly bored as nothing happened. Though I wasn't sure what I expected to happen. At some point, I stopped being bored and everything became peaceful and kind of dreamy.
My heart rate slowed down, and I could feel every hair on my skin respond to the air around me. I relaxed a little more, thinking about how I used the tiniest tendril of my senses on the material at the thrift shop. I tried this now, just to sense the aura of the house. It felt blank, not welcoming or unhappy, nothing. Was I doing it wrong? I opened a little more and met a bland beige nothingness. Irritation prickled that it wouldn't let me sense and I pushed against it and smiled a bit as I felt my spidey sense slip through.
Within seconds, an uneasiness began to swallow me, like when you sink down into a tub of hot water and it closes over your skin…but not soothing. Not soothing in the least. It was like awareness pressing from every side. Only, it wasn't my own awareness, but more the air was aware of me.
Feel the book had said, but that didn't seem like such a good idea at the moment. I didn’t feel afraid exactly, I felt wary, alert on edge, Something…something was there. Something that I had been invisible to until I opened a door and revealed myself. Something that would be happier if I were not there. Smell. I sniffed experimentally and, even in my unease, felt the tug of a smile.
Did ghosts have B.O.?
No scent, not of roses, not of anger, not of decay from beyond the grave. I stifled a laugh. My irreverence seemed to lighten the air a bit and I told myself sternly to be more serious. I exhaled and inhaled to the counts, and the creep factor returned stronger this time. It was the eeriest sensation as if my skin were seeing for me. Was this how blind people felt? I decided I had had enough and pulled back. At least, I tried to, but things weren't working the way I wanted them to. My panic level started to climb, and every exposed inch was screaming warnings at me. Suddenly, my body flashed icy cold, and then went clammy with sweat.
What the hell? I swallowed hard. I should have waited for Aren.
Suddenly I was terrified to open my eyes. A memory flashed back to me with amazing clarity, myself as a little kid alone in the dark terrified, afraid to open my eyes and all around me the whisper of other lives against my skin. I couldn't believe I had forgotten those tortured nights.
My head swam and I was barely breathing, unwilling to let the tainted air into my lungs, petrified at what I might breathe in with it. Where was all that fucking control? My thoughts were everywhere in a scatter of fear and panic. I tried desperately to center and feel in control. Beside my ear, something breathed, and I cringed, hearing myself whimper. The taste of salt on my lips. Was I crying?
Corky, I thought, but the idea of him was faint and far away. My skin twitched and shivered, trying to crawl off my bones and away from the invading air. Someone sighed, fanning a breath across my face. Startled, I inhaled a quick breath of shock. Hands grasped the sides of my mouth, pulling the skin wide. I gagged as something, no, someone, a presence…a stream of feeling and sensations, tried to force its way into my mouth and down my throat. I slammed my teeth together, biting the edge of my lip, the pain bright and sharp. A foul taste seeped across my tongue and I could feel spit running out the corners of my mouth and down my chin as we fought for control of my body. A tongue lapped up the sides of my neck and chin, slick and hungry. I knew it was blood from my lip, not spit and I was feeding whatever this thing was. Fear burst red and white through my consciousness and my body shook uncontrollably as I lost the fight for my sanity. I was going to die, there was no one to help me. Just like when I was a little girl. Just like before when the monsters came and no one believed me. From impossibly far away, I heard a single bark and with it another memory, sitting in a tree, a warm head on my leg, safety, trust…
"Corky!” I screamed inside my head.
His barks rolled thunderous, from behind the door. Around me, the air was thick with longing and jealousy. My eyelids turned red. Hands stroked the exposed skin of my arms, as my teeth chattered in my head. I fought, needing to breathe, frantic not to inhale. The force pressed against me, squirming in desperation. The barking grew louder, my eardrums pulsing with their intensity. I heard a slamming sound and knew the stair door was banging against its frame, wham, Wham, WHAM!
Push it away, I thought, push it away. I don’t want this! I DON’T WANT THIS!! The last thought was a mental scream, and I shoved with every ounce of myself, pushing away the entity, calling to Corky, casting for him. A stream of energy burst from me, leaving me collapsed and shaking. What had I just done?
A loud bang filled the air as the stair door slammed open, bursting the lock. I screamed out loud, forgetting not to open my mouth. The floor shook as something pounded down the hallway. I surged to my feet, prepared to die fighting. I shrieked loudly as I was knocked to the floor in a tangle of muscle and warm dog flesh. It was Corky and he was alive.
Chapter 19
I was weeping and gasping, but the air was breathable again. Slowly, my eyes opened to see if it was true. Only, the sunshine was so bright, I had to close them again. Shocked, I realized it was morning…and late morning by the amount of light. Squinting, I looked around to make sure it was really okay. My arms were full of dog, Corky. As we sat in the pool of sunshine, he nibbled a spot on his hind leg, unconcerned about the fact that all the rules had just been broken. I patted his head carefully and then fell across his neck, my tears mixing with his spit. He used his rough tongue to clean us up and I froze all over again at the feel of his warmth. It was true.
He was warm which, Holy Crap, meant he was alive. Real. I had a lap full of warm, wiggly dog and there was way too much dog slobber for this to not be happening. I looked at the wet marks on my shorts where he had drooled. What the hell had I done? Then just as quick, I knew I didn't care. I hugged him fiercely and he squirmed, trying to reach my face with his tongue.
“Easy,” I said, my voice coming out in a croak.
Corky barked and bounded out my lap. He ran to the kitchen door and began scratching and whining to go out. My muscles protested as I tried to stand up. I had been locked cross-legged the entire night and every inch of me was aching. I settled for a half wiggle, half crawl to the door and turned the knob. It never occurred to me not to let him out. There was a certainty inside me that the decisions Corky made were always going to be right. The kitchen door swung inward letting sunlight and Sayre fall inside.
“What the hell?” I gaped at her and the load of crap spread out on the top of the landing. Candles, scarves, a questionable looking knife, and a bottle of wine. Sayre lunged forward and wrapped her arms around me and hugged me in a death grip.
“What the hell is right!” she snapped, her face twisted. “What the hell happened last night and what the hell were you thinking and what the hell are you screwing around with?”
I stiffened as she pulled me closer. I don’t let people touch me. People never touch me. Why was she touching me? I wanted her to let me go. This was not okay. Sayre stroked the top of my head.
“I couldn’t get in,” she sniffled. “I was so scared for you. Damn it, what
the hell?” Her body shook with her crying…crying for me.
Every aching muscle should have been screaming in protest, instead, I suddenly felt so sleepy and so safe. Then I stiffened, terrified I might cry or else hug her back. I looked up and saw Corky watching me.
Help…
He padded over and wedged his big head between us and woofed. Sayre pulled back in surprise.
“When did you get a dog?” she sniffled, and then her eyes widened. “Good Gaia! Is that him? Is that the ghost dog? Is the ghost dog touching me?”
I nodded, worried she was going to explode the way her eyes were bugging out of her head.
“Cool!" she breathed and stooped down to greet him. “Hey there, buddy. What's shaking in the spirit world?” She gave me a bug-eyed look. "Kind of solid for a ghost dog."
I ignored this. I didn't want to get into the how and why just yet. Corky woofed and tugged the tail of my shirt, backing up.
“I think he wants breakfast,” I said, feeling the unreality of the whole situation crash down on me.
“Yeah? Well, me too,” said Sayre, still pissed with me. “And you have some talking to do."
I looked over at her. She shook her head at my expression.
“You don’t get it, do you? The whole supernatural community felt whatever happened here last night. Aren had everybody doing protective chants and circles, but,” Sayre paused and looked thoughtful, “I think only two people in this town could pinpoint it…unless they were too afraid to come here.”
You…?” I said
“And whoever lives in that house.” Sayre looked grim.
“My landlady?” I asked, surprised. No way was granny involved with hoodoo!
Sayre shrugged. “There were candles and protections by your door when I got here last night and besides, I could feel the energy humming out of that place.”
“You’ve been here all night?” I asked, stupidly. My brain was reeling. How much did Mrs. Evers know and why had she never said anything? Was she behind the sendings or the blue paint? Or was there someone else living in the big house?