No Rest for the Wicked

by Krystal Jane Ruin

  I sit back up. Something cold pinches along the base of my spine. “What?”

  Her full lips press into a thin line. “You need to take this seriously, Tatum. I’m trying to help you. You’re like family to me. But I can only help you insofar as you are willing to help yourself.”

  My throat closes up when I open my mouth to speak. I try to swallow down the cottony lump forming there and can’t.

  “I know you think I don’t get it,” she says, “but I do understand that you’re afraid. Tatum, this is not your fault. Nothing that happened that night is your fault.”

  She’s wrong.

  After the door crashed in, my sister left our shared room to go check on our parents. I was the oldest; it should have been me. But I was afraid of them.

  And this is where I cut my thoughts off. This is where I lost the detective when I tried to tell him what happened. This is where detectives and therapists and psychiatrists all started looking at me like I’m crazy. This is why I was locked up for five years. This is why I have no freedom. This is why I can’t have a bank account with my own name on it.

  “She isn’t going to have the guardianship lifted until she knows that you can take care of yourself.”

  “I can.”

  Skepticism dances across her eyes. “I know you want to be independent, but until we know what really happened that night, don’t you think you’re safer at Tessandra’s than on your own?”

  Her words strike a strange chord—they settle and vibrate under my skin. “Nothing happened!” The words come out with more force than I intended.

  Her eyes widen in alarm. “Your parents and sister are dead.” Her words are slow and measured. “That isn’t nothing.”

  Irritation flares in the center of my chest. The room suddenly feels quite closed in and airless. Panic tangles itself around my neck and squeezes. Her bright eyes try to penetrate through my skull and see into my shielded thoughts. What aren’t you telling me? they seem to say. What aren’t you telling yourself?

  “Can we not do this today,” I say, finding my voice.

  Her face softens a smidge. “Tatum.”

  “Just not today. Next week. I promise I will do whatever you say. And you can even add another session if you want.” I swing my feet to the floor. “Or a double session. Whatever you want.”

  Renali’s lips part in protest.

  “Go help the hateful woman in the lobby. She needs it more than I do.” I rush for the door, yank it open, and slip out before she can stop me.

  I nearly slam the tinted glass door in Emmerick’s face on my way outside.

  “Whoa!” He grips the door with one hand and my arm in the other. “Tatum…” He searches my face with narrowed eyes. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” I rip my arm from his grasp and hurry around him. “Sorry, I can’t talk right now.”

  I look back when I reach the door to the crystal shop. He’s still standing there, door in hand, confusion and worry clouding the bright gray irises of his eyes.

  Chapter Three

  The bell on top of the door jingles loudly and obnoxiously from the force of my entry. Tessandra turns away from the customer she’s helping by the bookshelves and frowns at me. She’s not the only one who sends a glance my way. The small shop is full of people, most of them rather normal looking. Several of them look me over as the jingling quiets down.

  Tessandra excuses herself and moves towards me, her face in hard lines and her long skirts swishing around her ankles. “What are you doing here?” she hisses in my face when she reaches me.

  “It’s our busy season.” I try to inch by her and escape.

  She blocks my path. “Why aren’t you in your session?”

  “She’s backed up. We’re going to do double next week. Or add a week…” My voice trails off and dies down under her hard, burnt-charcoal gaze.

  Her hair is braided and twisted into a thick bun today. She adjusts the ribbon around it, her telltale sign of frustration, and snaps her dark fingers towards the back of the shop. “Kalin is backed up. Send Gretchen out to the front to help me.”

  Nodding, I make quick work in getting to the back. There are four people in the makeshift waiting room, sweltering and fanning themselves with their hands and magazines. My fifteen-year-old cousin is in the far corner plugging a third fan into the power strip. Golden brown hair blows against her face as she sets it to oscillate on the highest setting. She smiles big when she sees me and rushes over to wrap her long arms around my waist. “How are you?” she asks, straightening up and stepping back to look at me.

  “Great.”

  Two heavy curtains hang behind her: a red one, with a sign above it that says MISTRESS FAYE and a purple one under a sign that reads MISTRESS SIERRA. She gestures to the purple one. “Emmerick brought over window units to tide us over until they get the main units outside working again. Charlie said it could be a few hours.”

  I glance around the tiny wood-paneled room. “Who’s next?”

  She points to a blonde woman of about forty sitting by herself in the center of the room next to one of the fans. Wearing sunglasses inside. Lovely.

  Gretchen Romani lowers her voice. “She came in with a hoodie on.”

  The pink monstrosity is now laying across her lap.

  My cousin rubs her hands together. “She wants a palm reading, but the teenagers in the corner want a crystal-ball reading.” Her pale green eyes light up at the thought. “I can’t wait to practice. I’m dying.”

  I stick my head out through the beaded curtain separating the back of the store from the front. “Your mom is kind of busy up there.”

  Gretchen’s face falls.

  “But I’ll come get you when I’m done with the blonde?”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I’ll try.”

  “Please.” She whirls around and fetches the woman in sunglasses while I dive into my hole and take my stool on the other side of a small round table of black wood.

  Under the pulled black shade, the window unit hums against the sill, blowing a refreshing breeze across the circular space and rustling the feathers of the several dream catchers in various sizes along the walls. Teal, red, and white feathers add a nice pop of contrast to the dark gray stone making up the walls and floor of this room.

  Tessandra says the stone has a calming effect on the clients, but I think it freaks them out. A skylight in the ceiling lets in some natural light, and long bulbs flank it on all four sides, offering a sunlight effect when the sky is overcast or dark with night.

  The blonde takes hesitant steps into the room. The dark heels of her pumps strike dull against the floor. With a trembling hand, she pulls the shades from her eyes and makes her way to the small bench in front of me.

  She scans the shelves behind my head and places a crisp ten-dollar bill down on the table. A large glass ball, a few books, and a basket of crystals decorate the old wooden shelves.

  She tries to make eye contact with me and fails. Her eyes fall to her hands. “How does this work?” Her voice is barely above a whisper and almost inaudible against the fans that blow at full speed on the other side of the curtain.

  “Why are you here?” I do my best not to sound or look as bored as I feel.

  She looks over her shoulder—a rather paranoid gesture that causes the corners of my lips to rise. “Um…Do you need my name?”

  “No.”

  She leans in close to the table. “Well…I’m dating this man. We’re going on a trip this weekend. I want…” She swallows hard. “I want to know if continuing this relationship is a good idea.”

  I hold out my hand.

  She tries to look me in the eyes again, and once again, she can’t do it. She lifts a shaky hand and places it palm down on top of mine.

  Suppressing a roll of my eyes, I flip her palm over before it sweats all over my skin. Sure it’s warm in that little room out there, but it’s not that warm. I pluck a tissue from the opened bag by my feet. A st
ray piece of wavy raven hair falls into my eyes, and I blow it off my face. “You don’t mind if I dry this off, do you?”

  The woman flushes. “S-sorry,” she stammers, dipping her head even farther into the cavity of her chest. “I’ve never…never done anything like this before.”

  “Right,” I say slowly. I dab at her drenched and trembling hand. I flick the soiled tissue into the waste basket by the curtained doorway and stare down at the faint lines on her palm. Not that I know how to read them. That’s Kalin’s specialty. My nails rake absentmindedly along the backside of her hand, and she shivers.

  A snort wells up in my throat, and I cough over to the side to cover it.

  Her eyes widen.

  Now that I can see her up close and without the stupid sunglasses, she can’t be more than thirty, maybe thirty-two, but she’s in my stone tent dressed up like an old school teacher. A high-collared red button down, about two sizes too big. An ugly-ass pencil skirt in some drabby-ass shade of gray.

  I start to close my eyes and hesitate. Unlike Renali’s office, this room is filled with light and has few edges for shadows to hide in. With a deep breath, I close my eyes and tap into her energy.

  Her ragged breathing mingles with the air from the window unit.

  “So you want to know if you should continue dating some old guy, huh?” I ask.

  She jumps a little at the sound of my voice. “Huh? Oh, r-right. Yes. We’ve been dating for about a year—”

  Not important.

  “And he’s nice and everything. I just don’t know if he’s the one, you know?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Typical.

  Her future expands before me like a rug being rolled out in an empty room. Vivid colors fill my vision and gentle sounds fill my ears. They’re going camping this weekend.

  Oh, he’s cute! And athletic.

  She’s in the woods with him, dressed far more age appropriately in a pair of calf-length khakis and a bright blue tank. He helps her over some fallen branches. A stream trickles somewhere close behind them, filling the air with music.

  He really likes her. I can see it in his eyes.

  “He’s a little younger than you, right?”

  She gasps. “Yes, he is! How did you…how did you know that? He’s twenty-five. Is that a problem?”

  “No…” Shut up. Her hand is getting moist again. I try to ignore it and press deeper into the vision.

  He drops down to one knee by the stream and pulls a small, velvet box from the pocket of his shorts.

  He’s going to ask her to marry him in the middle of the woods? Who does that? She’ll say yes, of course.

  I probe a little further into the future.

  Three fat babies. Everyone is happy.

  How quaint.

  A few years after the last child is born though, she gets suspicious of the new woman working in his office. She’s gained a little weight. He looks better than ever. His love hasn’t wavered, but her jealousy and accusations are driving a wedge between them. He stays with her anyway, and now they are miserable. They go to therapy. Things get worse. And when the kids are ten, twelve, and fifteen, he finally leaves her. The years of stress have hardened his skin and turned most of his brown locks gray and white.

  She’s disgusting. He deserves better.

  When I open my eyes, she’s finally staring at me, her own eyes wide and glistening with hope and fear.

  “I see a snake bite in your future.”

  Her jaw drops. “Oh my god! I’m—we’re…we were going to go hiking this weekend.”

  “Really?”

  She tries to pull her hand away from mine, and I latch onto her wrist and dig my nails into her sweaty skin.

  “W-what are you doing?”

  “I’m not finished.”

  A shudder rakes down the center of her body.

  “I haven’t answered your question yet.”

  Her shoulders creep up close to her ears. “Oh?”

  I stare at her for a moment. She shrinks away from me. “He wants to ask you to marry him,” I finally say.

  “What?” Her spine straightens at once. “Oh my god, are you serious?”

  “No,” I say, “I just make this crap up as I go. Do you want me to finish?”

  Her thin lips snap shut, and she nods.

  “He wants to ask you. But there’s someone else.”

  “Victoria,” the woman says with conviction.

  A smile plays across my face. “Yes.”

  She lets out a sound of disgust and tries to pull away from me again. I hold onto her slippery skin tighter and reach inside of her brain for an image of this Victoria woman.

  Shiny auburn curls, large blue eyes. Very pretty. Younger than this woman but not by much.

  “I see someone with reddish curls,” I say.

  “That’s her!” She says this so loud it startles me a few inches back on my stool.

  “Yes. Well. He likes her. But you’re…more responsible. So he’s going to pick you. This weekend.”

  “But I’m going to get bitten by a snake.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “What should I do?”

  Perfect. I pinch my lips together to keep from laughing. “If you marry this man, he’ll always wonder if he would have been happier with…Victoria. It will tear your relationship apart.”

  She slumps down in her seat and shakes her head. “Unbelievable. I knew it. He’s been lying to me.”

  “Yes, well. That is all.” I release her wrist.

  She stands up in a huff and slips her sunglasses back on. “Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful.” She gathers up her purse and hoodie and stalks back out into the humid sitting area.

  I scoop my bill into my bag and stand. Stupid. Before I go out and see how the traffic is in the front, I pluck a citrine stone about the size of a quarter out of the basket and hold it tightly in my fist.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus and send ill-intentioned energy into the stone. Nausea, stomach cramps, diarrhea, anything unpleasant and digestion related that I can think of, anything that would mimic food poisoning or a stomach virus.

  The citrine grows hot in my fist. I squeeze it until it starts to burn. Then I grab a small velvet pouch from the zippered portion of my bag and slip the glowing stone inside. I stuff this down the front of my shirt and into my bra. Even through the bag, I can feel the heat of it against my skin. It should be ready in one hour. Just long enough to deal with a few more over-curious patrons and sneak out for a break.

  When I throw back my curtain, the teenagers in the corner jump and then start giggling. Children. Exactly the kind of girls I would have enjoyed pretending to hex in high school—if I had gotten to go.

  Shaking my head, I slide through the beads and check on the traffic out front. The store is still full, but Milly and Cari have shown up for their shifts, so I wave Gretchen back.

  She squeals from behind the counter and passes her customer over to Milly. The twenty-eight year-old winks at me and waves with an arm full of colorful tattoos, the biggest one of a phoenix bursting into flames—definitely my favorite of the bunch. Her other arm is completely bare except for a braided grass bracelet. Her dreads are piled into a bun on top of her head today. It seems some of the heat from the back is escaping into the front of the store. Or it could just be the number of bodies in the room.

  I return the wave and push Gretchen into the back room.

  “Which one of you is here for the reading?” I ask the group of teens. They all exchange glances and then push the one in the middle forward.

  “You’re not old enough to be a psychic,” she says, combing some over-processed multi-colored locks over her shoulder.

  “I’m forty-two,” I say.

  Three sets of eyebrows shoot into the air.

  “No way!”

  “You look so young.”

  “What do you use on your skin?”

  “It’s ten dollars,” I say.

  “Okay.” The gi
rl in front of me digs through her pocket and pulls out a folded bill. “Like, how does this work?”

  I hand the bill to Gretchen and pull back my curtain. “You’ll see.”

  “Ooh,” one of her friends coos. “Don’t die in there.”

  Multi-colored hair girl shoots her friend a dirty look over her shoulder. “Shut your face. It’s not like it’s real or anything.” She throws her head back and waltzes into my corner.

  I pull the large glass ball down from the shelf and set it neatly in the center of the table on its little wooden stand.

  “How can you see anything in that?” The girl frowns down at the faceted ball. When I don’t respond, she sits stiffly on the bench and gives Gretchen a pointed look.

  I toss a dark cloth over the ball and push my cousin onto my stool. Keeping my hands on her shoulders, I tell her to gaze into the ball.

  “Don’t force anything.” I try to keep my voice soothing. “Just breathe and gaze and let your mind clear.”

  After wiping her palms off on her long burgundy skirt, Gretchen picks up the edges of the navy cloth and lifts it just enough to see the ball. “We have to keep the sunlight off of it,” she explains.

  “Shh.”

  “Does she know what she’s doing?” Skepticism lines every corner of the girl’s face.

  “Yes,” I say. “Do you have a question? Is there anything you want to ask of the spirits?” A bubble of laughter fills my throat, and I manage to clear it away and swallow it down before it breaks.

  “Spirits?” The girl chews on her lip and stares at the back of the cloth. “Well…” Like the last woman, she looks over her shoulder to make sure no one is standing there. “Can they hear us out there?”

  “Not really, no,” I say. “And especially not over the fans.” I move over to the little screen by the curtain and push the button beside it. A black-and-white image of the waiting room flashes onto the panel. Her friends are still in the corner, holding a magazine in front of a fan and letting the circulating air flip the pages. So carefree. “Feel better?”

  “Yeah. Thank you.” She goes back to staring at the cloth like there is something interesting printed on the silky square of fabric.

  I move to stand back behind Gretchen. She doesn’t see anything. I can tell by the way she’s twisting her mouth from side to side and glaring.