Bloodstone (Talisman)

by S. E. Akers

  “Whatcha really talkin’ about?” Naomi pried as she capped her drinks and began assembling two foot-longs.

  Charlie cleared his throat. “I’ve been trying to find out why Shiloh has been actin’—”

  “Jumpier than a jack rabbit with a stick up its butt all evenin’?” Naomi interjected without batting an eye as she ladled a gob of chili onto one of the dogs.

  “Exactly!” Charlie concurred as he slapped his hand on his leg and pointed to her.

  “At first I thought it was ’cause she ain’t had a decent break since she clocked in,” Naomi stressed as she reached for some fries, “but I noticed she can’t stop lookin’ out the window and up at the sky.” She shook her head. “Every time I turn around her dang head’s in the clouds.”

  “I’ve noticed it too,” Charlie agreed.

  “I hollered at her a couple of times when her orders were up, and she ’bout hopped right outta her skin. She’s got a big ’ole case of the willies over somethin’,” Naomi noted with a deliberate nod.

  “Well, she has been through an awful lot,” Charlie sighed dramatically.

  “Hey — I’m right here,” I grunted, somewhat offended. I stared back and forth between the two of them, desperately trying to come up with some sort of legitimate reason for my peculiar behavior that would put an end to their psychoanalysis.

  “Is it the holidays comin’ up?” Naomi asked, phrasing it in an enlightening manner. “I know how hard Thanksgiving was on ya. Christmas ain’t gonna be any better what with everythin’ that’s gone on in your life lately. Especially with havin’ to put up with that bitchy mother of yours… No offense.”

  “None taken,” I assured her as a sad, but confirming grin crept across my face while I reflected on my recent holiday-from-Hell.

  Both Naomi and Charlie were well aware of how horrible my Thanksgiving had turned out. I thought in light of my father’s recent passing that my mother, Charlotte, would take over his duties as my sous-chef for our family feast — primarily because she had been under the spell of the amethyst I’d placed in her wine bottle roughly two weeks before the big day. The magic it released had turned her from a heartless, cruel lush into a loving, picture-perfect vision of how I’d always dreamt my mother would be — virtually overnight. Two full weeks without any arguments and to my shock, she even started cooking again! Every evening we ate family dinners that were as equally delicious as the interaction, followed by pleasant chats that stretched all the way to bedtime. She even reinstated “game-night”. Charlotte invited me everywhere she went (which drove my little sister, Chloe, up a wall for the first week). One Saturday, we even loaded up in her Cadillac and drove over to Pipestem to watch the new Reese Witherspoon flick under the stars at the old outdoor theater like when we were little. The sound and picture left little to be desired, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was on Cloud Nine just finally feeling like I was a significant part of my mother’s life. Chloe was even starting to come around. We hadn’t spoken a harsh word to each other in days. But alas, I knew the exact moment when the honeymoon was over — late Wednesday, on the eve of Thanksgiving when I came home from the grocery store with everything we would need for our feast. Charlotte and Chloe were suspiciously huddled around the kitchen table — just like old-times. I had no sooner placed my nine overflowing grocery bags down on the counter when I felt a familiar loathsome-vibe lingering, and not a second later, an icy blast of pure contempt grabbed me by the back of my neck.

  Once its chill had coursed down my spine, I whirled around to confirm the source of my uneasiness. Regrettably, my suspicion was right. The look on Charlotte’s face was colder than the twenty-pound turkey I’d carted home. Chloe’s wasn’t any better, though her eyes conveyed a more triumphant gleam. They didn’t have to say a word. My newfound gift of telepathy, granted to me by the Wand of Adamas, had already filled me in on their nasty thoughts and wishes of ill will.

  Charlotte reveled in dusting off her repertoire of shelved dramatics like a witch who’d just found her long-lost broom. She proclaimed, “I thought we would try something different this year. I don’t want to be reminded that Caiden isn’t here, so I made reservations at Twin Falls to eat Thanksgiving dinner.”

  I clenched my teeth together to catch my mouth before it hit the floor, desperate to downplay my broken-heart (shielding it was futile at this point).

  “They were pretty booked, it being so last minute and all. So, I’m sad to say that they only had one table-for-two left for their four o’clock seating. But don’t worry. We won’t be in your way. We’re leaving in a half-hour. I had them hold us a room in their lodge for the weekend. You’ll have the whole kitchen to yourself.” Then they both pushed their chairs out from underneath our round oak table, shot up out of their seats with their noses in the air, and strutted out of the kitchen like a victorious army off a battlefield. I knew Tanner Grey, the Talisman who reigned over the amethyst, had told me that the stone’s effects would last two weeks at the most (if I was lucky), so I’d been getting ready for this very scenario. But all the mental planning in the world couldn’t prepare me for the overwhelming wave of heartache that surged over me, almost like a flash flood of gloom. Still attempting to shake off her cunningly crafted scheme, I struggled to hold back the tears welling in my eyes when Charlotte popped back into the room.

  “Aw now, Shiloh. We would invite you, but I know how you are about traditions. It’ll be just like last year…for the most part,” she said with an apathetic shrug of her shoulders and a frivolous flick of her brittle, sunflower-yellow locks. “After all, you don’t want to let this food go to waste. And if you get lonely, you can always talk to yourself… You seem to enjoy that.”

  The hint of a devious grin that had been forced onto her Botox-injected face was the last thing I saw before she disappeared from my sight. While the sound of her loud march-like footsteps echoed down the hall, a fleeting thought about dropping another amethyst into her wine raced through my mind, but it faded quickly. I only had one left and without it, I couldn’t talk to Tanner Grey. I’d gotten so fond of our telepathic conversations via “stone”. They were as much a part of my day as sleep, food, and water. I needed them. My sanity craved them, so that was out of the question. Once I’d realized I held an empty bag of tricks, any and all thrill for undertaking the preparations for a big holiday meal were lost, especially since I would be eating for one. The thought of not cooking at all crossed my mind, but assuredly all the food would go to waste. Then there was the idea that a Thanksgiving without Daddy and a meal would feel even worse. With a solemn sigh, I resigned myself to a morning of emotionally hard labor and prepared for a painstaking and dismal holiday.

  I should have taken it as a bad sign when the pumpkin pie I made that night emerged from the oven as runny as a river, but I trudged on, rising the next morning with what ended up being a false sense of hope as I tried my hand at my own feast. It was only an attempt. All of my honed culinary skills I’d acquired over the years fell as flat as my mood when everything I touched turned to crap. If a dish wasn’t too bland, then it was salty enough to declare your mouth the Sahara desert and sent you scrambling for a gallon of water. If something wasn’t undercooked, it was burnt. And how in the heck you can end up with a turkey that’s ass end is scorched, yet still raw in the center is beyond me — but I managed it! I couldn’t have cared less about catching any glimpses of the floats from the Macy’s parade on TV and the thought of watching the WVU Mountaineers play in the Backyard Brawl against Pitt without Daddy cussing at the TV sent my heart crashing down into my stomach. Katie was the only, and I mean only bright spot. However, her belly or brain (or whatever was there) was getting the best of her as she listed over and over all the things her mom would be fixing for their annual dinner. Maybe it was for the best that I’d ruined mine? When it was all said and done, who knows how guilty I would have felt stuffing my gut with turkey and all the trimmings when Katie couldn’t enjoy anything of the sort.
r />   Katie felt bad about my situation and talked me into driving by her house, thinking that she would get to hear her parents’ voices and as a bonus, I would finally get fed. As luck would have it, that plan turned out to be equally depressing. When I arrived, Ron and Julia Stowell were both sitting around their kitchen table in their bathrobes with nothing but a leftover foil casserole container of store-bought lasagna divvyed out on their plates. I never would have dreamed in a million years that Julia “Child” Stowell would ever allow anything that needed reheating to take up space in her freezer, let alone bake it in either of her double-ovens. She was a true gourmet who’d always found whipping up anything from scratch nothing less than pure bliss. I’ve seen this lady churn her own butter for goodness’ sakes! I should have expected as much, what with the supposed loss of their only child. Apparently the only thing that had been stirred up in her kitchen were too many painful memories, so tradition fell by the wayside along with their appetites.

  We didn’t stay long because it bothered Katie so much. I made my exit by informing the Stowells’ that I needed to stop by the rehabilitation center in Gary to visit with Samuel. I didn’t lie. I drove out there to see my surrogate father. He still had a few more weeks before he would be discharged. Thankfully he was recovering from the cave-in at the mine without a hitch, no thanks to Ferrol, the Talisman who had set-off several of his explosive carnelians throughout its main tunnel, almost killing him. Samuel’s surgery to remove his spleen was a success and all of his broken bones were healing nicely. My timing could have been better. I arrived only to be ushered away after ten minutes when they began taking all the patients down to the dining room for their own private feast. That only made my stomach growl more — so much that even Katie griped about hearing it. She begged me to go fill it up with something to make the incessant roaring stop. I couldn’t go to Bea’s house. Beatrix Sutherland, another member of my supernatural clique who’d been filling the role of “Talisman-trainer” and mentor in Tanner Grey’s absence, wasn’t home. One of her longtime friends, Monique Culbert, had whisked her away to Huntington for the day so she could dine with all of her relatives from the Culbert-Trent clan. It was something her dear friend insisted upon every year. Mrs. Culbert couldn’t stand the thought of Beatrix eating all by her lonesome, courtesy of Meals-on-Wheels, and would unfailingly whisk her, eh hmm…“blind” comrade off to her family’s farm for their yearly gathering instead. With nowhere else to go, I ended up at the Sterling Drive-In, where they annually promoted a modest “Turkey-Day” special on their menu. Since I wasn’t scheduled to work, my presence came as a shock to both Charlie and Naomi. But as I glided past them in my noiseless daze to the back of the restaurant and then reemerged donning an apron around my waist and a mopey look on my face, the real reason behind my unexpected appearance became crystal clear. They tried not to make a big deal out of it, but Naomi couldn’t hold back her tears and ended up giving me a soggy, monstrous hug. She locked her arms around my body and clamped down on me like a vice, which forced all of my grueling emotions to come bubbling to the surface.

  Yep… A shitty, shitty holiday, I reflected silently, remembering how crappy I’d felt when she swayed me in her arms.

  “Shi? Shiloh, honey? Are you okay?” Naomi’s voice echoed as I remained locked in my pathetic memory. “SHILOH?” The sassy server’s escalating tenor snapped me right out of my trance.

  “Oh… Sorry, Naomi. I guess I drifted off,” I apologized with a clear focus on the here and now. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind tonight…and there’s something I have to do later,” I stressed.

  “Study?” Charlie questioned. “I figured you wouldn’t be obsessin’ about your grades as much since you got into that fancy school up north.”

  “I don’t think it’s grades, darlin’. Not by the crazy way she’s actin’. If ya ask me, I’d say it’s got somethin’ to do with a boy. A certain boy,” Naomi declared to Charlie with a nudge. The confirming nods they began passing to each other threw my eyes into a sharp roll.

  “Again, y’all — I’m right here.” They may have redirected their stares to acknowledge me, but I knew their verdict regarding my current demeanor had been rendered, and I knew exactly “who” they were referring to. Even after a month, in their minds, apparently I was still nothing more than a grief-stricken, emotional wreck whose head was up my own ass over a daggone boy!

  Ha! Typical… That should remind me to keep my mouth shut!

  Naomi and Charlie had heard about my spin-around-the-floor with Ty Smith at the Homecoming Dance. I guessed their curiosity had been piqued, probably because nothing ever came of it and the by the well-known fact that he was still dating another one of their waitresses, Kara Leighton — a fellow classmate, head cheerleader, the Homecoming Queen, and most notably our school’s resident mean-girl (her wrath mainly directed at me). Granted, I was more than crushed when the stars played their twisted little trick on me, but I thought I’d laid my emotional misfortune to rest, or more accurately, hidden it well. Heck — I mean, I hadn’t checked-out of reality and locked myself up in my room to spend every waking hour rolling around in my bed moaning about it! Was I crushed? Yes. Broken-beyond-repair? Not hardly! Yes, tonight I was full of anxiety, but it wasn’t over my future with “a boy”… More like, a girl.

  Before I could even get a chance to derail the crazy train they’d boarded, Naomi took the liberty of starting its engine.

  “I think you should let her punch-out early,” Naomi hollered back to Charlie as she sashayed off to the rear of the restaurant.

  Instantly, my restless nerves started to relax, soothed by the prospect of an early parole. I could head on up to the cemetery and get tonight’s show over and done with…and then finally, Katie will be back, safe and sound inside her body. When it was all said and done, I opted to shelve my precious pride. I can live with being branded a jilted, lovesick teen for an evening, I noted mentally while I remained silent, not even giving Charlie so much as a hopeful glance.

  “I don’t think so, Shi. We’re really short-staffed,” Charlie replied with a firm, though contrite tone.

  “It’s nothin’ we can’t handle…Sugar-pie,” Naomi insisted from the back room. Charlie’s face began to blush, but his decision remained unwavering.

  “Not a good idea. Management declines,” he fired back professionally to his eavesdropping, sassy fiancé. Unwilling to concede defeat, Naomi reappeared in the doorway, hands behind her back and beaming a guileful smile.

  “Now what kinda thoughtless boss wouldn’t let a hard workin’ gal off her shift a few minutes early when she’s havin’ a rough night? Especially when she’s one of his most dependable and hard workin’ employees?” Naomi cooed strategically as she slunk towards her boss. “There’s only a handful of customers left.” She batted Charlie with her hip. “Before you know it, everyone will be gone and we’ll be…all alone,” Naomi added with a seductive wink. My “professional” boss tried to hide his excitement, but I was well aware of the turned-on twinkle in his eyes.

  “Go on, Shi,” Charlie yielded directly, his aroused gaze never leaving his (for the sake of this argument) “better half”.

  “Maybe that’s her superpower,” Katie giggled telepathically.

  I hadn’t mastered the task of compelling people I shared a strong emotional connection with, but who needs to resort to such trickery with a gal like Naomi in your corner? With his eyes only on his fiancé, Charlie’s gaze narrowed as the corners of his mouth curled into a mischievous smile.

  “Go on, Shi,” Naomi insisted. After planting a quick peck on his cheek, she whipped my purse out from behind her back, and in a rather showy fashion, pranced toward me, waving it like a black and white checkered flag. I had my apron off and order pad in my hands within a second.

  Once we had swapped items, I extended a profound, “Thank you,” to Charlie. Naomi was the proud recipient of a secretive wink and slight chuckle. It seemed that their soon-to-be union would not only r
esult in a name-change for Naomi, but a “pants-change”, rest assured.

  “And go grab ya a coat from the lost and found. I saw ya didn’t have one when ya came in tonight. Again. You’re freezin’ me!” she squawked like a mother hen. “I think there’s a black leather one that’s been back there a couple of weeks. If they ain’t claimed it, they ain’t missin’ it.”

  Seeing how I had Naomi to thank for my early reprieve, I felt obligated to oblige her request. So, I walked back to Charlie’s office and did as I was told. I guessed running around without a coat in December when the temperature was dipping down into twenties did seem kind of odd, but I had a good reason. The diamond’s energy flowing through me radiated enough warmth that I didn’t have to think about being cold. In fact, there had been times over the last few weeks when our school had cranked up the heat so high that the notion of stripping naked at my desk sounded like heaven. Eighteen years old and I have hot flashes! I spotted the jacket in question immediately.

  Oh, perrrfect, I thought as I slipped it on and headed back to the kitchen.

  Charlie about fell in the floor laughing when I reappeared wearing the chrome-studded, black leather biker jacket that had been trimmed with chains and the name, “Mad Dawg”, stitched in red thread down one of its arms.

  “You look like a ‘Mad Dawg’,” Charlie snickered. I’d always been easygoing when it came to a playful ribbing so naturally, I threw my arms in the air and took the liberty of spinning around like a model at the end of a runway so Charlie could see the vicious, “bulldog” patch that adorned the thuggish jacket’s rear. He laughed even harder.