Love & Omens

by Carrie Pulkinen

  Claire perched on the edge of a table, her gaze flicking between Sydney and Blake before settling on Sean.

  Sydney’s jaw clenched, her muscles working as she ground her teeth. She fisted her hands, crossing and uncrossing her arms impatiently.

  Blake put his hand on the small of Sydney’s back and looked at Sean. “Are you getting anything?”

  “Sometimes it takes a bit for the spirits to warm up. Are there any specific artifacts that seem to cause activity?”

  “The sculpture you were looking at earlier.” Blake nodded at the giant floral statue.

  “I felt some energy coming off of it.” Sean shuffled toward it. “What’s the story?”

  Blake explained the woman’s untimely death at the hands of a jealous husband. “According to the people I got it from, her name was Bernadette.”

  “Names are good.” Sean rested a hand on a flower. “Bernadette, if you’re here, I’d love to talk to you.” He paused, his breath coming out in a rush before he swallowed. “She’s here…in her death state, but…here.”

  Sydney clutched Blake’s arm, and his heart raced. It was one thing to see little blips on an electronic device and occasionally witness things fall, but for a real psychic medium to actually see the ghost haunting his building…that was another thing entirely.

  “Parade?” Sean’s brow furrowed. “She’s asking when the parade is. I don’t think she understands what happened.”

  “You mean she doesn’t know she’s dead? Does that happen to people?” Claire gripped the edge of the table.

  “Sometimes.” Sean tilted his head as if he were listening to something. “Especially when the death is tragic… She said your name, Syd. You know about the parade?”

  “I’m sure I’ve talked about ours. It’s next week.” Her voice sounded strained, like she was holding back tears.

  “I don’t think she’ll hurt anyone,” Sean said. “She’s strong, so she’s capable of shutting doors, knocking things down, but she doesn’t seem to have any sinister motives. She just wants to be in the parade.”

  Blake let out a breath of relief. “So we’re safe here? I didn’t bring in any murderous ghosts?”

  “None that I can see at the moment. Give me a second.” Sean closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths. “Hold on.” He opened his eyes and squinted at something off to the right. “There’s another spirit trying to come through, but I can barely make out her form.

  He stepped toward the empty space he’d been staring at. “Take your time. Try to gather some energy from the atmosphere.”

  The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees, and a static buzzing in the air raised the hairs on the back of Blake’s neck. “Who are you talking to, Sean?”

  He grimaced. “Christ. I think you’ve brought in another victim.” He tilted his head, standing silently as everyone in the room seemed to hold a collective breath. “She’s gone.”

  “Did she say anything?” Sydney gripped Blake’s hand so tightly his fingers ached.

  Sean’s brow pinched. “She tried. It sounded like she might have said, ‘air,’ but I can’t say for sure. Her throat was slit.”

  Claire leaned toward him. “What did she look like?”

  “It was hard to see her clearly. I think she had short, blonde hair. Early twenties maybe.”

  “Do you think she was one of The Axeman’s victims?” Claire asked, her voice thin.

  Sean shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “Is there anything we need to be worried about?” Blake rubbed the back of his neck to chase away the chill.

  “Both of the ghosts were victims,” Sean said. “I don’t sense anything malicious from them, so I don’t think you need to worry. Messing with the lights and moving things is probably an attempt to get your attention.”

  Blake laughed dryly. “It worked.”

  “I’m not sensing anything else, but spirits can hide from the living. If they aren’t attached to the building or an object, they could just not be here right now. But most ghosts are harmless.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, right, guys?” Claire smiled.

  Sydney cast her gaze to the floor.

  Blake stood in front of her, hooking a finger under her chin to gently raise her head. “Hey. Tell me what you saw.”

  She shook her head, clamping her mouth shut.

  “You promised, remember? We can work it out whatever it is.”

  Her jaw trembled as her lips parted. “I saw who was in the coffin. It’s you.”

  His breath hitched, and it took a moment before his body allowed him to drag in any more air. “But it’s a metaphor, right? You said sometimes your visions aren’t literal.”

  She sank into a chair. “This one was literal.” She described what she’d seen. “It’s going to be my fault.”

  “No.” He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her thighs. “C’mon, let’s be reasonable. How could it possibly be your fault?”

  “I don’t know.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “But I heard myself talking to Sean, and I said it was my fault.”

  “Well, your visions don’t always come true, right? You can change what’s going to happen.”

  “Only if I can figure out exactly what needs to happen to elicit the change. And sometimes, even when I know, I can’t affect the outcome, no matter how hard I…or anyone else…tries.” She glanced at Blake before looking over his shoulder.

  He followed her gaze and found Sean standing rigid, the tendons in his neck protruding as he clenched his jaw. Something silent passed between them, a grief so palpable it thickened the air.

  Sean dragged a hand down his face. “Did you try to backtrack to when it’s going to happen?”

  “I did, but you know I can’t force visions like that. They show me what they want to.”

  His expression hardened. “You need to learn control so you can see how it’s going to happen. You need to get help and learn to harness your power.”

  She shook her head. “I saw everything with Courtney, and it didn’t matter. I’m the shittiest clairvoyant ever.”

  “Only because you’re afraid of your gift.” Sean slid a chair next to hers and sank into it.

  “I’m not afraid of it. Maybe I was when I was younger, but now I know it’s just a part of who I am. A curse I have to live with. I’ve done everything I can to embrace it, but it’s hard enough with the ability I have. If I get help, if I unlock any more of this power…I’m not sure I could handle it.”

  Blake took her hand. “Why do you say that? If it’s part of who you are, why couldn’t you handle it?”

  She blew out a hard breath. “I was nine years old when I figured out the premonitions weren’t normal. I talked to my mom about it, and she called my grandma in a panic. After she got off the phone, she told me never to tell anyone about my ability, that it was a family curse, and I should only confide in her when I saw something.”

  Her hand trembled in Blake’s palm. “So, yeah, I was afraid of it when I was a kid, but it didn’t go away. I handle it better now, and I know other people have the ability, but I’ve never sought anyone out. My mom and my closest friends are the only ones who know. It’s not like they have clairvoyant schools or anything.”

  “I know someone who can help you,” Sean said.

  “No one can help me.” The despair in her voice made Blake ache for her.

  Sean’s hands curled into fists. “Look, I don’t think there was anything you could have done differently to change what happened to Courtney, because you saw it all. You did all you could. But, Syd, guilt’s a bitch, believe me. If you don’t try to figure out what’s going to happen to Blake, how will you live with yourself?”

  She dropped her head in her hands, sobbing, and Blake’s heart wrenched. He glared at Sean. “Not cool, man.”

  “No, he’s right.” She sniffled and raised her head. “He knows exactly what it feels like to lose someone you care about.”

  Sean’s posture soft
ened. “It took me years to get over the guilt that I should have done more to save her.”

  “And I put that guilt on you by telling you about it.” Sydney sobbed again.

  “I’m sorry I let you believe that. I’d have felt the guilt whether I knew her death was coming or not. In my grief, I was angry with you for telling me. Hell, I was angry at the world, but knowing…it gave me the chance to appreciate her while she was alive. Now, looking back, I know that I—that we—did everything we could to stop it from happening. Don’t you want to do everything you can to save Blake?”

  Sydney nodded, and Claire, who had been silent during the entire exchange, finally spoke. “Let’s think logically about this. You said you’re to blame in the vision, right? And the paranormal activity here picked up when you did the investigation. Bernadette was killed by a jealous lover, so maybe she’s going to take revenge on Blake, since you two are a couple now.”

  “That’s a stretch.” Blake appreciated her attempt to defuse the situation, but killed by a ghost? He looked at Sean. “Is that even possible?”

  Sean stared across the room. “The ghost looks appalled at the suggestion. She’s shaking her head.”

  Claire crossed her arms. “Well, would you admit to a murder before you even committed it?”

  The overhead lights flickered, and a rush of cold air blasted past Blake before a box cutter on the table next to Claire clattered on the floor. She raised her hands. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Maybe we should move this conversation outside,” Sean said.

  “Right. Come on, Sydney. We’ll figure this out.” Blake tugged her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her, guiding her out the door. As they exited onto the sidewalk, he locked the museum and nodded at a building across the street. “There’s a coffee shop. Let’s grab a table.”

  Sydney clung to his side as they crossed the street and entered through a dark blue wooden door. The rich aromas of coffee and cinnamon tickled his nose as he settled into a chair next to her. Black and white photos of famous French Quarter buildings decorated the walls, and he stared at an image of Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, the oldest bar in the country, until his vision blurred.

  They sat in silence, a sinking sensation forming in his stomach as he thought about what could have happened if someone had been in the way of that box cutter. “Last night, when I went upstairs to turn out the lights, I found a knife on the kitchen counter. I don’t remember leaving it there.”

  Claire’s eyes widened.

  Sydney straightened. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it was out of the block again this morning when you left.” He took her hand beneath the table. “Could Bernadette’s ghost gather enough strength to hurl something like that with enough force to…” He swallowed, unable to finish his sentence.

  Sean rubbed his forehead. “Most of the time, spirits just want to be heard. Her life ended tragically, and while she does seem confused, I don’t…” He let out a hard exhale. “It’s possible. Yes.”

  “What about the other one you saw?” Claire asked.

  “Bernadette disappeared right before the box cutter fell. I assume she focused her energy on moving the object, and that’s why I couldn’t see her when it happened. It’s always possible the other ghost did it, but…” Sean pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “She was weak, but there was something off about her. Like she didn’t belong. She may have drifted in, attracted by Bernadette’s energy. I’m not worried about her.”

  That was easy for Sean to say. He wasn’t the one Sydney saw lying in a coffin. “What are my options here? I’ve got a ghost who likes to move sharp objects and a clairvoyant who’s seen me dead. They must go together, so we’ve got to do something about the ghost.”

  Sean nodded. “It’s your space, so the dead have to do what you say. You can order them to leave and salt the entire building. If all the spirits in there are human, that would force them out.”

  “If the ghosts are physically attached to the artifacts, he wouldn’t be able to order them out, would he?” Sydney put her hand on his thigh beneath the table. “How would that work with the salt?”

  “They’d be forced out of the building, but not very far. And the salt wouldn’t keep them out for long.” Sean raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t see either of the ghosts I encountered today hurting you on purpose, but I suppose accidents do happen.”

  “If I get rid of the artifact she came with, will Bernadette go away?” It made sense. The ghost came into his building with the Mardi Gras sculpture. If he returned it to the owner, or burned the damn thing, the problem would be solved. If the other ghost really had drifted in, attracted to Bernadette’s energy, maybe she’d leave too.

  “She might.” Sydney’s voice was strained. “It depends on if her attachment to the object is physical or emotional. If it’s physical, she’ll have to move with it. If it’s emotional, she can find something—or someone—else to attach herself to. Could you tell when you talked to her?”

  Sean shook his head. “She didn’t follow us here, so that’s a good indication it’s physical. It’s impossible to tell, though, unless she leaves the building.”

  “Okay.” Blake squared his shoulders. “Problem solved. I’ll get rid of the artifact.”

  “If you could somehow put it in a parade, I think the ghost might move on. Her main focus was the parade,” Sean said.

  “I can take it. It’s whimsical enough to fit with my krewe’s theme. I’ll stick it in between some of our flowers, and it will blend right in, but…” Sydney’s eyes tightened. “Blake, I had this vision after we slept together.”

  “Maybe the ghost watched you, and she’s jealous.” Claire raised her brow.

  Sydney shook her head. “I can’t shake the feeling that us being together is the catalyst. I had the first vision a few minutes before Sean broke the news that you’d be joining us. It’s too convenient to be a coincidence.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He refused to let her think the best thing that ever happened to him was the thing that would lead to his death.

  “Yeah, Sydney,” Claire said. “How could sleeping with him cause his death? Unless you’ve got a jealous ex who’s planning to murder him?”

  Sydney sighed, resigned. “I already told you I don’t.”

  “Getting the sculpture out of the museum is a good first step.” Sean typed something on his phone, and Sydney’s buzzed. “I sent you the number for my friend Natasha. She’s a Voodoo priestess, and she might be able to help you develop your gift.”

  “Sean…” Sydney shook her head.

  “At the very least, she can give you a reading. She doesn’t have visions of the future like you do, but she might be able to help you with the here and now.”

  “I think that’s a fantastic idea.” Blake would try anything at this point. “I’ll go with you, let her do a reading for me too. Maybe my death has nothing to do with you. Or maybe it’s another metaphor.”

  “It’s not a metaphor. I can tell. Everything was crystal clear.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’m not going down without a fight.”

  She looked into his eyes, chewing the inside of her cheek before she nodded. “Then let’s fight.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sydney inhaled a breath of chilly air, trying to quell the churning in her gut as she and Blake strolled up Dumaine toward Mambo Voodoo, a combination tourist shop and Voodoo temple. But nothing could relieve the ominous sense of dread pressing on her shoulders, squeezing her chest.

  Claire had been her only savior last night on the tours. Sydney could recite the words without a second thought, but she couldn’t muster the energy to put on the kind of show required to hold the audience’s attention. Claire had stepped up and guided the groups, Sydney only tagging along to give occasional reminders of things she’d forgotten.

  The vision of Blake’s funeral played through her mind on
a constant loop all night, and now, with the afternoon sun dipping toward the horizon, she resolved to do whatever it took to stop the premonition from coming true, no matter the cost.

  “Have you met Natasha before?” Blake’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

  “Sean has called her for help once or twice when he sensed danger with a spirit, but when that happens, he moves us out. I’ve never met her in person.”

  “I guess you’ve never had much need for having your cards read.”

  “Not really, no.” She didn’t need a reading now either. Blake’s death wasn’t a metaphor, and though all she could see was the funeral, she knew, deep in her bones, that she was directly involved. She’d take the sculpture and the ghost out of the museum, but keeping him safe would require so much more.

  “Here we are.” Blake stopped outside the shop and pulled her into a hug. “Everything’s going to be okay, cher. We’ve got this.”

  She leaned into him, letting his masculine scent and the feel of his strong arms embracing her take her away for a moment. Her throat thickened as she held him, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing her tears not to fall.

  Why in heaven’s name would the universe bring this man back to her, only to rip him away when she’d finally opened her heart to him?

  He kissed the top of her head. “Are you ready?”

  “Not really.” She slipped from his embrace, wiping the moisture from her eyes before he could see. “Let’s hear what the Voodoo priestess has to say.”

  “After you.” He tugged the green wooden door open and motioned for her to go inside.

  Incense burned near the entrance, and the calming, woody scents of sandalwood and lotus greeted her senses as she stepped into the store. An assortment of colorful handmade dolls lined one wall, and a rack filled with small bottles of essential oils sat in the corner. She scanned the labels, finding blends meant for good luck, money, and love, but nothing for warding off impending death. If she could just figure out how Blake was going to die, then maybe she’d stand a chance at stopping it.