Catnip & Curses (The Faerie Files Book 2)

by Emigh Cannaday

  “I don’t have anxiety,” Logan argued.

  “Yeah you do,” Lafayette said, chomping on a leaf of catnip. “You changed your clothes four times before you went to dinner with Elena last night.”

  “That was different.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t have anxiety.”

  “Stress then,” I quickly cut in. “I’m calling him, so shut up for a minute.”

  The phone picked up on the second ring.

  “Patrick Hernandez, how can I help you?”

  “Hey, um . . . I’ve got a friend with some recurring dreams where he’s a baby, but they aren’t memories of his childhood. It’s like they’re someone else’s memories. Is that something you can help with?”

  I waited for the guy to laugh. Instead, I heard a page flipping as though he was opening a day planner.

  “Regressive hypnosis? Absolutely,” he replied in such a calm tone. I might as well have been booking a dentist appointment. “Did you want to come here? Otherwise I do house calls. Those cost more, but they’re more effective.”

  “A house call would be great. We’re in downtown Mariposa. What’s your availability?”

  “I just had a cancellation, so how about two-o-clock? I can text you the details.”

  “That’s perfect! See you soon!”

  After chowing down a stack of chocolate chip pancakes topped with whipped cream, I was on the verge of a food coma. Slumping down onto the bed, I lay on my back and watched as Lafayette rolled around on the floor, high on catnip.

  “Don’t fall asleep,” Logan warned. “The hypnotherapist will be here soon.

  “I’m just closing my eyes for a second.”

  The next thing I remembered was waking up from a deep sleep ten minutes later to the sound of a knock on the door.

  “Elena, wake up. He’s here.”

  Logan glanced over at me from the end of the bed, gave me a nervous look then headed for the door. Jumping off the bed, I sidled up next to him as he opened it.

  The first thing I saw was pink. A whole lot of pink. In fact, I had never seen so much pink on a human being in all my life.

  My eyes fell on pink velvet pants and a pink pair of sneakers. They were so bright I had to squint ever so slightly for fear of being blinded. I needed a pair.

  Lifting my gaze, my eyes fell on a pink floral polo shirt.

  “Hello. You must be Elena,” he said, outstretching a dark tan hand. “I’m Patrick Hernandez.”

  I knew it was rude to stare, but I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was the most fabulous, beautiful figure I’d ever seen. He looked like a human flamingo. A man who loved standing out and looking spectacular. But my observations about him weren’t just coming from his clothes, they were also coming from his aura. I could feel his energy streaming out of him like great big blinding rays of positivity. I could feel his kindness, his joy and passion. Just being near him made me feel recharged.

  “I’m so glad to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand. “Come on in. This is my friend Logan. We’re so happy you're here.”

  If Logan was surprised by Patrick's appearance, he didn’t show it. But then again, he’d seen things a whole lot weirder than some fancy pink clothes.

  “Well, no wonder you’ve been having disturbing dreams, Logan,” he said, walking around the room. He lifted his nose to the air like a bloodhound sniffing out rabbits. “Hotels are notorious for collecting all sorts of disturbing energies. When you think about who stays in them, and why, it overwhelms the brain. There’s so much energy just in this room . . . heartache, misery, death, passion, lust. You name it, and it’s here.”

  He walked over to the window, placed a single ringed hand against the glass then looked over his shoulder at us.

  “Not all from you, of course,” he said. “But from every single person who’s ever slept in this room. Almost everyone leaves some kind of a psychic imprint.”

  Logan, looking perturbed at Patrick, backed away slightly. I knew what he was thinking. Logan may have opened up and become a believer in most things these days, but he still held a healthy skepticism. I watched as he narrowed his eyes at Patrick as though trying to figure out if he was putting on an act or not.

  But I knew he wasn’t. I could feel his presence and his power. It was shining out of him.

  “How long have you been doing this professionally?” I asked.

  Patrick smiled warmly and took a seat at the table, paying no mind to the tweaked-out cat rolling around on the floor. Looking up at both of us, he placed his hands on his lap and crossed his legs.

  “I always knew I had a gift,” he said. “I could always feel things. Psychic residue, I suppose it was called. I could travel in my mind for light years. Could see the stars. I could travel back in time. I could see other dimensions.”

  He turned his gaze to the window and looked out at the bright blue sky.

  “Once I realized not everyone had that gift, I decided to use mine to help people. The inner mind is absolutely fascinating. I went to college. Did the whole psychology thing. Got my master’s degree, but conventional psychology never worked out for me. I just couldn’t do things by the book,” he said, gazing out the window. “Oh! Would you look at that! A rose-throated becard just flew past us!”

  Hoping to add a rarity to his birdwatching list, Lafayette stopped his mindless rolling and made a spastic leap for the window ledge.

  And missed.

  “I’ve only seen them in Cancún!” Patrick went on, adding insult to injury. Lafayette’s tail swished angrily and he bit into a catnip mouse before sulking away.

  Patrick whirled around to look at Logan and me.

  “My form of hypnosis isn’t like anyone else’s. If you’re expecting a nice, casual nap and an easy journey to whatever it is that you’re looking to resolve, you’re not going to find it with me.”

  I nodded at him, liking his style.

  “We don’t do anything the easy way,” I said with a smirk, looking at Logan.

  “No, we really don’t,” Logan agreed with a little half-smile. “I guess you could say we’re pretty open-minded.”

  “Terrific!” beamed Patrick. “Let’s begin.”

  15

  Logan

  “Alright, Logan. Just relax,” Patrick said after instructing me to lay back down on the bed. “Elena mentioned on the phone that you’ve been having some upsetting dreams, but I’d like to hear from you.”

  I tried to relax, but all I could think about was what else Patrick could sense about the place. Could he really read the impression of each person who slept here? Could he feel the tension between Elena and I? Even if he could feel it, that wasn’t the reason why he was here.

  I needed help with that big blue fucking hand.

  “I’ve been having these terrible dreams,” I told him. “But I don’t think they’re just dreams. They’re something else.”

  “Like a premonition?”

  “No, like . . . the opposite of that. More like a memory. I keep seeing myself as a baby . . . except it’s not really me.”

  “Interesting,” he said, crossing his legs and leaning his elbow on his knee as he thought.

  “I worked with a young boy just like this when I was living in Cancún,” he said. “He dreamed all these scenarios that he insisted were memories of his past life.”

  “Yeah, that’s what it feels like. Like a past life. Did that boy ever find out what the dreams meant?”

  “He did! In fact, we took his statements to a local historian and she confirmed it was all true. We even took him to the sites from his dreams. He knew his way around them like the back of his hand.”

  “That’s awesome,” said Elena from the other side of the bed. “Maybe we can do something similar with Logan. It’s just that . . . ”

  She frowned and began picking at nails.

  “It’s just that in Logan’s dreams, he says he’s a little boy named Niklas . . . ”

  “
That could very well be the case,” said Patrick.

  “No, it’s can’t,” said Elena. “Because I knew Niklas. And he isn’t Logan.”

  Patrick shifted his eyes between us for a second.

  “So Logan here is dreaming about being a baby that you once knew? Is that right?”

  Elena nodded.

  “How strange,” said Patrick. “And how exciting. This could be an interesting session.”

  Uncrossing his legs, he leaned over me more and held his hand out in front so it hovered only inches above my chest. Even though the air conditioner was running just fine, I could feel the heat from his hand like he was a radiator.

  “I’m going to have a feel of your energy,” he said as though he was a doctor doing something as routine as checking my temperature. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. I just need to know what your baseline is in case it changes.”

  He lowered his hand ever so slightly and the heat in my chest intensified. It sent a peculiar melting sensation through my body as though he was relaxing each of my muscles one by one.

  “I can feel a lot coming from you,” he said.

  “A lot of what, exactly?”

  “Confusion,” said Patrick. That didn’t exactly take a psychic to figure out, but I nodded.

  “Yeah, confusion,” I agreed. “That’s why you’re here . . . to help me understand why I keep dreaming that I’m a baby.”

  “There’s a sense of displacement, too,” he said, ignoring me. He lowered his hand even more until it was only a fraction of an inch above my chest.

  “Yes, some definite displacement,” he repeated. “I get the feeling that you’re not from here.”

  This guy was starting to get on my nerves.

  “No, I’m not from Mariposa,” I said sarcastically. “That’s why I’m staying in a hotel.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Patrick snapped. “I mean that you’re not from this world. You’re not . . . ”

  He frowned and looked at me with something akin to horror in his eyes.

  “You’re not human.”

  “What the hell?”

  What did that mean; I wasn’t human? I was starting to think this guy was a fake and talking out his ass. Yeah, that had to be it, because the last time I checked, I was most definitely a human.

  I looked up to Elena and saw her purse her lips.What I did not see, was any sense of surprise or shock at what Patrick had just announced. None whatsoever.

  “I think we should begin the session,” he said. “Let’s take you down.”

  “Down?”

  “Into your subconscious. Now relax and close your eyes.”

  “Relax,” whispered Patrick, holding his hand down over my eyes.

  “How am I supposed to relax when you just told me I wasn’t even human?”

  “Shhhh . . . ”

  I felt the heat of his hand as it covered my face. Part of me wanted to resist him. I didn’t feel much like relaxing, but another part of me was reacting to his touch. I felt like I was turning to liquid beneath his hand.

  “That’s right,” he said. “There you go. Just relax. Take a long, deep breath and let your mind wander.”

  I breathed in a deep lungful of air, then blew it out through my mouth.

  “You’re safe,” Patrick whispered. “We’re both here with you. You’re safe and you’re welcome to feel whatever emotions come to the surface. Whatever thoughts you have are just fine, too.”

  His increasingly soft voice was like molten caramel oozing into my ears. It filled my brain and made me sleepy.

  “Okay, now I want you to start counting backwards,” he said. “Starting at three hundred . . . two-hundred and ninety-nine, two-hundred and ninety-eight, two-hundred and ninety-seven . . . ”

  His voice trailed off and I carried on counting backward inside my head.

  Two-hundred and ninety-six. Two-hundred and ninety-five. Two-hundred and ninety-four . . .

  The weight of my body disappeared until I felt as light as a pile of feathers on top of the bed. I was relaxing almost as fast as when I’d drank the Valium laced coffee, except I didn’t feel drunk. I just felt surrounded by sleep.

  His hand still lay across my eyes, infusing me with his warmth. I could feel a golden-white light pushing its way out the palm of his hand and shining its way into my brain.

  The world around me started to disappear until there was nothing but the light in my brain and the heat of Patrick's hand.

  “What do you see?” his voice asked, piercing the brightness.

  “I see light.”

  “And what color is that light?”

  “Palest gold . . . almost white.”

  “Very good. Now take a deep breath.”

  I pulled air into my lungs then let it out again, feeling my muscles melt even more.

  “Alright now, Logan, I want you to imagine that in that bright light there is a staircase. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, I can do that. I see a staircase.”

  “And what does it look like?”

  “It’s made of stone. It’s really old, but it’s well-built. It’s covered in moss.”

  “How do you feel about walking down those stairs?”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Okay, let me know when you reach the bottom step,” he instructed me.

  I guided my imagery towards the staircase until I saw the bottom step appear at my feet. There was nothing around it, just pale golden white light. It looked so real that I could smell the moss on the stone.

  “Where is the staircase going?” asked Patrick.

  “It’s going down . . . it’s leading down into a fluffy white cloud.”

  Slowly, he removed his hand from my head, but the heat of his touch remained for a long moment.

  “I want you to walk down the stairs,” he told me. “How many are there?”

  “Five,” I said. “There are five stairs.”

  “Very good. Now take the first step.”

  I imagined pressing my foot down into the step and felt it land solidly on the stone.

  “With this first step you are reaching a deeper level of comfort, safety and peace,” said Patrick. “And with each step you take you will reach another, deeper level. I’m going to count you down the rest. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Four,” he said. “Take the second step. You are now reaching an even deeper state of peace.”

  As my foot landed on the next step, I felt myself sink even lower into a blissful awareness where the worlds of sleep and wakefulness merged into one peaceful place. I felt nothing but pure calm. I could’ve stayed on this imaginary staircase forever.

  “Three,” said Patrick. “Take the third step, and as you land on it, you’ll reach an even deeper level of comfort.”

  More comfortable than this? I looked down at my feet and saw I was more than halfway down the short staircase and filled with the greatest feeling of warmth and serenity.

  “Two . . . ” said Patrick, guiding me to the next step. “One.”

  I moved to take the final step, but my foot landed on nothing but air. I yelped as I realized nothing existed beyond the staircase.

  “Are you falling?” asked Patrick calmly.

  “Yeah!”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You can fall as far you like.”

  “But I don’t know where I’m going to land!”

  “You’re going to land in the truth,” he said, like I was supposed to know what that felt like. “You are safe and you are free to land in the truth.”

  The light all around me was fading fast now, and soon I was surrounded in darkness. I could barely see in front of me. Then castle walls began to appear in every direction, their crumbling stone bricks enveloping me. I saw flickering candlelight and ivy creeping up the walls. I saw a crib beneath me. I hit the tiny mattress with a thud.

  “Where are you now?” asked Patrick.

  I looked down and saw the baby feet, the stupid fat baby
arms and a blanket bunched up at the bottom of the crib.

  “I’m in a crib,” I said. “The same one from my dreams.”

  “You are not in a dream now. You can move freely.”

  “No, I can’t. I’m a baby.”

  “Just move. Use your mind, not your limbs.”

  I did as he said, and to my surprise found that I didn’t need to move my body at all. All I needed to do was think and I could move.

  “Is this lucid dreaming?” I asked.

  “In a way,” replied Patrick’s voice through the castle walls. “You can move around this space, this truth as much as you need to. This is where you’ll get your answers.”

  I thought of leaving the crib, and to my extreme surprise, I found that I could lift myself up out of the bed and over the wooden bars. I looked down and saw my baby feet dangling beneath me.

  “Go wherever you want,” came Patrick’s voice. From my viewpoint, it sounded like it was coming from the heavens. It was all around me and in my head but also nowhere at all.

  “I don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” I said.

  “Like I said, go wherever you want,” he told me. “There’s no right or wrong. Let your intuition or your curiosity guide you.”

  Floating out of the bedroom, I found myself in a long, candlelit corridor that seemed to go on for miles.

  “Where is your gut telling you to go?” asked Patrick.

  “Down the hall. I hear voices coming from down there.”

  “And who do the voices belong to?”

  “I think they’re coming from my parents. But they’re not my real parents. Just the ones in my dream.”

  “Follow them.”

  I floated down the hall until I saw the flicker of firelight on the wall across from a chamber. Approaching the doorway, I peeked around the corner and saw a large fire roaring in a hearth. In front of it, two figures held each other. I recognized them immediately; Sanne and Niklas.

  “I see my mom,” I said. “She looks worried.”

  “Worried about what?”

  “I don’t know. She’s talking too fast for me to understand. My dad’s trying to comfort her, but she’s really upset about something.”