A woman with cropped blue hair smiled from behind a cash register. “Hi there. How can I help you?”
“We have an appointment with Natasha.” Sydney attempted to return the smile, but the corners of her mouth merely twitched.
The woman ran her finger down the page of an appointment book. “You must be Sydney and Blake?”
“That’s us.” Blake rested a hand on Sydney’s back.
“Through the altar room.” The woman pointed to the right. “You’ll find a set of orange stringed beads hanging in a doorway. Head that way. Natasha is ready for you.”
“Thank you.” Sydney shuffled through the first doorway into a room filled with altars to the various loa or Voodoo spirits. Each one had a colorful flag draped across the dais with an image representing the loa, and an assortment of offerings lay on the altars. Believers had left everything from flowers to rum and tobacco in hopes that the spirits would answer their prayers.
“Are we supposed to make an offering to one of these on our way through?” Blake’s voice was hushed.
“I wouldn’t know which one to honor, would you?” She took his hand and tugged him toward the beaded curtain. “Let’s get this over with.”
Blake held the beads aside and followed Sydney through the door. “Natasha?”
A woman in a long brown skirt and orange tunic rose and drifted toward them. Her black hair was woven into long braids, and her eyes crinkled with her smile. “Come on in, you two. Blake and Sydney, right?”
She nodded.
“Have a seat.” Natasha motioned toward a small, wooden table with three matching chairs. A stack of worn tarot cards lay in the center, and Sydney’s throat tightened.
Coming here was a bad idea. She’d only agreed to do this to appease Blake and Sean, to show them she was doing everything possible to prevent her lover’s impending death. The only thing this session with the priestess would accomplish would be confirming Sydney’s vision…and she didn’t need confirmation. She needed answers.
She sank into a chair next to Blake, and Natasha reached a hand, palm up, toward each of them. Blake rested his palm in Natasha’s hand, but Sydney hesitated. “What did Sean tell you about us?”
“Just that you need some help.” She wiggled her fingers, urging Sydney to put her hand in hers.
Natasha’s palm was warm, and as she closed her fingers around theirs, a chill ran down Sydney’s spine. The priestess shut her eyes and swayed slightly, nodding as if receiving messages from the other side.
“What kind of ability do you have?” Sydney asked.
Natasha shook her head, squeezing her eyes tighter. “You both have the gift of sight. The past and the future blend together well with you, but your present is in turmoil.” She opened her eyes and released their hands, picking up the deck of cards and shuffling them.
“Did Sean tell you that?” Sydney glanced around the spacious room. A set of antique wooden cabinets filled with herb jars stood against one wall, and a line of small burlap dolls occupied the top shelf. Her stomach roiled, and another shiver racked her body. Something about this place gave her the willies. It felt oddly familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time.
Natasha pushed the cards toward Sydney, pausing before passing them to Blake instead. “Sean ain’t told me nothing. Shuffle those.”
Blake mixed up the cards before handing them to Natasha. “Should we tell you what our problem is?”
The priestess turned over three cards, frowning at them. “Let’s see what my spirit guides have to say first. Sometimes the problem ain’t what you think it is.” She dealt two more cards and looked at Sydney. “Your visions have been muddy. Plenty of signs for you to decipher, but you don’t know how. One thing is clear, though…” She looked at Blake and shook her head.
Sydney’s heart sank. This was exactly what she thought would happen. Confirmation that Blake was meant to die. “I know what’s going to happen to him. We need help to stop it.”
“I’m sensing trouble with your relationship. External forces are at play, but also emotions. Jealousy is a tricky beast. There’s uncertainty. A wavering decision dependent on many factors.” She scooped up the cards and stacked them on the table. “Does this make sense to either of you?”
Sydney chewed the inside of her cheek.
“A little bit,” Blake said. “Sydney saw my funeral and heard herself saying my death was her fault.”
Natasha nodded and looked at her. “You need to delve into your vision. Back it up until you see what will end his life. It’s the only way to stop it from happening.”
Sydney blew out a breath and slumped in her chair. “I wish it were that easy. I’ve tried to get more details about the premonition, but I don’t have that kind of control.”
“You never developed your gift. Why?”
She laughed but couldn’t force any humor into it. “It’s a family curse.”
The priestess glowered, holding out her hand again. “You ain’t cursed, child. Give me your hand.”
Sydney cut Blake a sideways glance, and he nodded, encouraging her to comply. She sighed and rested her hand in Natasha’s. “Both my mother and my grandmother were afraid of it. They told me not to—”
“Shh…” Natasha held up a finger. “Give me a minute.” She squeezed her eyes shut, nodding as if receiving another message from the Great Beyond.
Must be nice to have spirit guides telling you what to do. Sydney was clueless.
“You got Creole in your veins. Your ability comes from your Voodoo roots.”
Blake raised his brow, blinking at her, and mouthed the word Voodoo.
“My great-grandfather was Haitian Creole. He died before my grandma was born.”
Natasha tightened her grip on Sydney’s hand. “My guides tell me he was murdered.”
Sydney yanked from her grasp and rubbed her hand on her pants. “Which is why we don’t talk about it.” Her sordid ancestry was nobody’s business.
“What happened?” Blake rested a hand on her leg.
She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. Her family’s history was a dark spot on her lineage she’d prefer to erase. “My mother’s side is a long line of old money. Very prominent New Orleanians who ran several plantations. Her grandmother fell in love and got pregnant when she was sixteen. Her grandfather, who worked on the plantation, disappeared shortly after that.”
“Oh.” Blake cringed.
“It was the thirties; she wasn’t married. It was a huge scandal at the time. Her older sister adopted the baby, my grandma, claiming they got her from an orphanage to explain the mixed race.” Sydney swallowed the lump from her throat. “No one ever talked about it, until I started having premonitions. Then I found out my great-grandfather had psychic abilities, and my great-grandmother’s family was terrified of him. They said he was cursed, and she was forbidden from having contact with him. She didn’t obey, and he died for it.”
Natasha steepled her fingers. “Your great-grandfather wasn’t cursed, and neither are you. You have a gift, and you need to learn how to use it.”
“I don’t want to see the future.” She slammed her hand on the table. “It sucks knowing how things are going to end before they even get started, and when someone is going to die …” She shook her head. “I’ve seen someone’s death once, and I couldn’t stop it from happening. All I could do was warn her.”
The priestess cocked her head, studying Sydney as if she could figure it all out by simply looking at her. “Maybe that’s all you were meant to do.”
“Maybe, but why?” She lifted her hands in the air and dropped them in her lap. “Why put this burden on me?”
“The spirits wouldn’t have blessed you with a gift if there weren’t no purpose. You’re meant to help people. To give ’em the opportunity to help themselves.”
“How can I help Blake? I don’t even know how he’s going to die.” A sob rolled up from her chest when she said the words out loud, and he wrapped an arm around her
shoulders.
“You’re the only one who can help him, child. You have the gift of foresight. Use it.” Natasha rose and sashayed toward the antique cabinets.
“How? Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” Sydney turned in her chair to face the priestess. “I’ve tried meditating on it. Nothing works.”
“Where did you learn to meditate?” Natasha opened a cabinet door and ran her fingers over the assortment of jars.
Sydney leaned into Blake’s side. “The Internet.” Her ears burned from the embarrassment of telling this woman, who probably wrote the book on meditation, that she learned the skill from a couple of YouTube videos. “The first time I saw someone’s death, I did a little bit of research.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Because she died anyway.”
Taking a white candle from a shelf, the priestess pinned her with a pointed gaze. “Do you really want to help him?”
“Of course I do. I don’t want him to die.” How could she even ask such a thing?
Natasha scooped a bunch of dried leaves into a plastic bag and set it and the candle on the table in front of Sydney. “Developing a gift like yours takes time…more than you have. It’s gonna require commitment to do a rush job like this, and even then, you might not break down your walls in time to save him.”
“I’m going to be the reason he dies.” Another sob threatened to bubble from her chest, but she caught it in her throat. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop it from happening.”
He squeezed her shoulder gently. “We’ll do it together. How can I help?”
Natasha leveled a heavy gaze on him, pausing and nodding thoughtfully. “You’re the target. Caught in the crossfires of something sinister.”
“Is it a ghost? I deal in haunted artifacts, and I’m getting rid of one of them that has an attachment. I can liquidate my assets if need be. Anything to ensure Sydney and I have a long, happy life together.”
The priestess smiled sadly. “Try to stay out of trouble. My guides can’t tell me the cause. Too much uncertainty surrounds you.”
“Blake…” They couldn’t have any kind of life together. Not when his was on the line, and she’d be to blame.
“Drink the tea tonight and in the morning,” Natasha said, “and meditate on this candle for thirty minutes each time. Then, I want you to stop by tomorrow at ten for a guided meditation, and we’ll see if we can’t strip away some of your blocks.”
“Thank you. I will.” And in the meantime, she’d take care of the problem the only way she knew how.
“This is good news, right?” Blake zipped his jacket against the chilly air as they stepped onto the sidewalk. A homeless woman sat on a ratty piece of cardboard on the corner, her mangy golden retriever huddled next to her as she shook a jar of coins. Blake dropped a five-dollar bill into the container as they passed before taking Sydney’s hand, stopping her out of the woman’s earshot.
“Hey. Talk to me.”
Her eyes glistened as she glanced at him and looked away. “I can’t. I don’t… I need a minute.” She continued pacing away.
“Sydney.” He jogged to catch up. “Why are you upset? This is good news. If you can unblock your ability or develop it or…whatever…you’ll be able to see what’s supposed to happen and stop it. We should be celebrating.”
“No, Blake.” She whirled to face him. “You don’t get it. Even if I can figure out a way to see what’s going to happen to you, that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to stop it from happening. Maybe I’ll figure out how to see it, and maybe I’ll be able to warn you before it happens, but I can’t actually change the future. You heard Natasha. All I’m meant to do is give you a heads up.”
“And once you do, I’ll take it from there. If you tell me I’m going to choke on a piece of bacon, then I’ll never eat pork again. If I’m going to be run over by a streetcar, I’ll steer clear of the tracks.”
“It’s going to be my fault.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute, but whatever I have to do, I’ll do it.”
She jabbed her fingers into her hair and pulled it at the roots. “Do you mean that? You’ll do whatever I say needs to be done? Because I can’t live another day in this world if you aren’t in it.”
His chest ached at her confession, but when he reached for her, she stepped back. “Of course, Syd. Anything.”
“I’m going to work on my visions. I’ll do what Natasha tells me to do, but in the meantime, the only way I know to keep you alive is for us not to see each other. If we’re not together, I can’t cause your death.”
“No. That’s… No.” He just got her back. He wasn’t about to lose her all over again. “You said it was spring in your vision. Remember? It was warm outside, so it’s not like I’m going to die tomorrow. We have time to figure it out.”
She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “It was cooler this time, and a different time of day. Maybe it was originally going to happen in the spring, but something changed, speeding up the timeline. Our being together has sped it up, so we need to be apart.”
His heart wrenched in his chest. She couldn’t actually think this was a good idea. “If I’m destined to die, I want to spend what little time I have left with you. Don’t let me leave this world brokenhearted.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I won’t let you leave this world at all. Let me do this my way. Give me a week to work on my visions and see if I can figure out what’s going to cause your death. I can’t be with you knowing I’m somehow going to kill you.”
“Sydney, you’re not going to kill me. Survivor’s guilt made you say that to Sean, nothing more.” He took her hand, but she pulled from his grasp.
She set her jaw, a mask of resolve falling over her features. “I’m not taking any chances. I’ll call you when I figure it out.” Turning on her heel, she strode away.
Blake stood alone on the sidewalk until she disappeared around the corner. His legs felt heavy, and he couldn’t force them to move. A mule-drawn buggy stopped on the street in front of him, the driver turning toward the Voodoo shop and weaving an eerie tale about the dark magic intertwined with the mysterious religion.
Nothing about that temple had felt dark or ominous to Blake. The priestess inside had been kind and helpful, her advice promising, whether Sydney believed it or not. As the buggy rolled past, he forced himself to move in the opposite direction.
He knew that stubborn look on Sydney’s face, and he knew better than to argue with her when she’d made up her mind about something. If she wanted space, he’d give it to her.
For a while.
Chapter Fifteen
Sydney spent the next two days thinking of nothing but her vision, drinking Natasha’s bitter tea, meditating, and doing everything the priestess instructed her to do…to no avail. She felt something happen in her mind when she did the exercises, and the tea did help to bring the vision into sharper focus, allowing her to move around in the scene and pick up more details.
She’d gained the ability to travel easily through space within the vision, but not through time. Backtracking to the events that would inevitably lead to the funeral seemed an impossible task, which wasn’t surprising. Her ability was a curse, no matter what the others wanted her to believe, and nothing good ever came from a curse.
Sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the center of her living room, she lit the candle and stared at the flame, holding Blake in her thoughts and concentrating on the flickering light until her vision tunneled into the kaleidoscope of Wonderland.
Every time she meditated on the man, she was dropped into his funeral at the exact same moment she heard herself telling Sean that she was to blame. Frustration gnawed in her gut, and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, as if scrunching up her face might somehow allow her to move backward through time.
She tried backing out of the cemetery, infusing her thoughts with how? and attempting to open her mind to more of Blake’s life…to his death. Like every time she’d
tried to manipulate the goddamn vision, it threw her out, sending her into a void of darkness before she pulled herself back to the present.
She blew out the candle and flopped onto her back, dragging her hands down her face and screaming at the ceiling, “Why the hell would you show me he’s going to die if you aren’t going to give me any hints as to how?”
As usual, the universe didn’t provide an answer.
Two more days went by with the same routine. She had the haunted Mardi Gras sculpture moved into the warehouse with her krewe’s floats. Whether or not the activity in the museum had decreased didn’t matter. Her damn premonition hadn’t changed a bit, so all the worry over the ghosts had been for nothing.
Blake’s life depended on her, so she isolated herself, avoiding the museum—and the man who owned it—as much as possible. She did her scheduled tours, but Claire tagged along on most of them, her casual mentions of Blake cutting into Sydney’s heart until a bloodied pulp was all that remained.
She skipped the weekly lunch meeting to avoid contact with him. At this point, a thousand different scenarios of his death had played through her mind, and she couldn’t chance a single one of them coming true. What if it was something as simple as her distracting him, so he stepped into the street and got hit by a car? It had almost happened before.
Anything was possible, and forcing her will on her visions wasn’t doing a lick of good.
After days of avoiding Blake, yet thinking of him constantly, her true feelings for him had solidified in what was left of her heart. She couldn’t go on like this. Even though she hadn’t laid eyes on the man, his essence was everywhere…on the tips of her friends’ tongues, in the paths she took to avoid running into him, on her tours. She had to try harder.
“This isn’t working.” She dropped into a chair in Natasha’s office and squared her shoulders. “Teach me how to read the cards. My visions aren’t getting me anywhere.”
“Reading tarot ain’t your gift, child. You are making progress.” Natasha handed her another bag of tea leaves and sat across from her.
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