by S. E. Harmon
Yeah, I was familiar with that feeling. “Maybe we’re getting a little offtrack here,” I said slowly.
He barked a short laugh. “No, Detective, I feel like we’ve finally gotten to the root of things. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You don’t have new evidence. You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” He shook his head without waiting for my confirmation or denial. “The final straw was the note on the bathroom mirror that I found after my shower.”
“A note?”
“Just a heart and the letter U.”
“Maybe your girlfriend left it.”
“I live alone.”
“Maybe she stopped by.”
He didn’t bother to entertain my weak-ass excuses. “All those other incidents could be explained away. I told myself it was the product of a fevered imagination, but I didn’t imagine that note.”
I swallowed. “Even if that was true, you don’t have anything to worry about. Joey loved you.”
He went on as if he didn’t hear me. “You need to be careful,” he said flatly. “An angry spirit is nothing to trifle with.”
“I’m not sure why you’re so convinced I’ve been in contact with a ghost.”
“That bracelet.” He looked at the offending piece of jewelry again. “It has Alex engraved on the back of the cross.”
I didn’t even need to look. I could almost feel the letters burning against the flat of my wrist. “And how would you know that?”
“He bought it for me.” He swallowed. “And we buried him with it.”
Spooky business indeed.
*
When I got back in my car, my first order of business was pressing the Max button on the AC. The next was taking off the bracelet and putting it in my glovebox. I suppose I had a new rule for my spooktacular life: never accept jewelry from a dead man.
My phone chimed with a text, and I found a message from Dakota. Sending you a list of the stones you need. You can probably find them at your mother’s store.
Thanks, I texted back.
My phone dinged again. This time he sent me a mad face. Don’t brush me off.
Presumptuous little widget. I’m not, I insisted.
Go get them.
I huffed. I would get to the stones when I got a few seconds of downtime. Right now, I had to chase down a lead. I had to find out more about this Dillon kid. And what about the disgruntled parent, Kenneth Clark? Had he been angry enough to kill the social worker he blamed for taking his kids away?
“You met Alex.” An excited voice came from my right, and I glanced over to see a smiling Joey in the passenger seat. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
“Yeah, he’s a real barrel of laughs.” I put my phone in the cupholder. “Did he kill you?”
“Of course not.” His smile faltered a bit before fading completely. “If I’d wanted you to look into my death, I would’ve asked.”
“What about your mother? You were angry because she didn’t tell you that you were adopted.” I paused. “Maybe your argument went a little further than you anticipated.”
“My mother loved me very much, Detective,” he said softly. “I don’t agree with her decision to keep secrets from me, but it was far too late to change that. I decided not to dwell in the past. I just missed my chance to tell her that.”
“I’d still like to speak to the PI you hired.”
“Rex?” He frowned. “He has nothing to do with any of this. I won’t have you bothering him.”
“What about Dillon? Alex said that Dillon took your special interest in him the wrong way.” I stared at him hard. “Did he? Or is that something we should discuss?”
His eyebrows rose. “Dillon was just a kid. You can’t possibly think….” He shook his head. “You know what? This just confirms my original thought that the past should remain in the past.”
“Well, that’s pretty much the opposite of my life’s motto,” I said a tad flippantly. “I unearth the past with dynamite, if necessary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to BBPD, so I can put a blasting cap under your entire life.”
I reached out to start the car, but he grabbed my arm, freezing me in place. His wispy hand went in and out of my arm and surprise crossed his face. “Oh wow, I did not expect that.”
I pulled back slowly, trying not to look as freaked out as I was. “You and me both.”
“You’re just, so open,” he said, sounding a little amazed. “I’ve never met a medium who’s quite so unguarded.”
I had a feeling I was about to find out why that was an awful thing.
“You want to know what happened with Dillon?” The tone of his voice made me want to say no.
I nodded jerkily. “Tell me.”
“I think I can do better than that,” he whispered. “Let me show you.”
His entire hand disappeared into my arm again. I tried to pull back, but his hold was just too strong. I watched with rising panic as his entire arm disappeared into mine and then his shoulder. It was like he was feeding himself into my body, and no matter how I tried to brush him off, more of him disappeared inside me. Then he wasn’t just touching me, he was all around me, seeping into me in the worst kind of ways.
I started to sweat. It was like someone getting under the covers with you and you scooching over to make room… only the covers were my skin, and there was nowhere for me to go. I tried to say no, but it was like my mouth was suddenly glued shut. Sharing my existence with another being was indescribable. Horrible. Suddenly, I had bigger problems.
A voice exploded in my head. “I thought you loved me!”
When I opened my eyes, I was looking at another man—no, a teenager. He was so close to my face that I stumbled back a little. He was dark-haired, pale-skinned, and a little taller than me. He was at that stage where he hadn’t quite grown into his body yet, all skinny and lanky with big hands and bony, angular shoulders. His features were contorted with anger, his dark brows drawn over equally dark eyes. Was that Joseph standing by a stove?
I looked around and found myself in a kitchen I’d never seen before. Bright yellow wallpaper decorated the walls, and cream-colored mittens hung on a hook near the oven. Maybe I was in Joseph’s mind… or his memories at least.
“Dillon, this is not an appropriate conversation,” Joseph said firmly, pushing eggs around in a skillet. “Now sit down. Breakfast will be up in a few minutes.”
“Who gives a fuck about breakfast?”
“Sit. And I thought we had a conversation about your language?”
Dillon sat and crossed his arms angrily. “I’m not hungry.”
I tried to move my feet, my arms, my anything without success. It was as though my limbs were mired in quicksand. I gave up on trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how I’d gotten there. Instead, I focused on listening, so I’d be able to remember every detail of their conversation. If Joseph could show me who killed him, that would be fan-fucking-tastic—the cherry on top of this weird-ass ghost sundae.
“I happen to know your mother is a low on money this month and food has been a little scarce. She won’t accept any money from me, and this is the best I can do to help out.” Joseph’s jaw was set. “So you’re going to sit here, and you’re going to eat.”
“I don’t have to do anything you say.” Despite his words, Dillon didn’t move from his spot at the table. “You said you loved me and that makes you a liar.”
“I do love you.” Joseph’s mouth was pinched around the corners as he lifted the skillet. I could see the pulse throbbing in his neck as he held back words better left unspoken. “But in a friendship kind of way, almost like the little brother I never had.”
“Joey—”
“Mr. Carr,” he corrected gently as he shook the eggs out onto a plate. He pushed it over to Dillon with a look of regret. “And I think… maybe it’s time you stopped coming over here.”
“You said I had potential. You said you’d never quit on me. And now you’re done with me,” Dillon said fla
tly. He let out a bitter laugh. “You’re just like everyone else in my life.”
“Stop twisting my words. I just think the lines have gotten a little blurred here.”
“Blurred?” Dillon’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I love you. There’s nothing blurred about that.”
“You’re far too young for me.” Joseph’s voice was stern. “You’ve misunderstood my kindness.”
“Did I? Did I misunderstand all these late-night sessions at your house? Did I misunderstand your hand down my pants?”
Joseph stood frozen at the sink. The skillet slipped from his grasp into the soapy water. The humming of the kitchen appliances was the only sound in the room as they stared at one another, combatants locked in a battle to which only they knew the rules.
Joseph opened and closed his eyes rapidly a few times before he let out a deep breath, seemingly getting himself under control. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and serious. “I never touched you in any way. You know that, Dillon. You could ruin my career with allegations like that. Ruin my life, even.”
Dillon’s voice was even colder than his expression. “Maybe that’s the price of playing with someone’s feelings.”
“Hey there.”
A woman’s voice interrupted the thick silence. I glanced around the room, searching for the source, but there was no one else there. Dillon and Joseph were getting a little blurry, their voices lighter. I squinted at the rapidly fading kitchen tableau, feeling fuzzy and disoriented.
“Hey you.”
Reality intruded as someone rapped at my window. The connection between Joseph and I ended so suddenly that I gasped. The overwhelming pressure in my head dissipated as he seeped out of my body. He swayed a little, clearly exhausted, and then faded completely.
“Wait,” I croaked.
There was another rap at the glass, and I turned to see an irritated meter maid. I fumbled for my badge and held it up to the window. Disappointment crossed her face that she wouldn’t be able to write me a ticket and stick it to my forehead.
“You okay?” her voice was muted through the window.
I nodded. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”
She looked like she wanted to question me some more, but one car up, the meter started flashing red. She gleefully marched off toward her new target.
Dakota’s advice to get an amulet of protection no longer seemed bossy or unwarranted. I started the car and headed for my mother’s store.
“I’ll be fine,” I repeated to no one in particular.
Here’s to the power of positive thinking.
Chapter 12
A half hour later, I parallel parked on a side street near Collins Avenue. The store was a couple of blocks away, which made me glad I wore comfortable loafers. It had started to drizzle, a hot sprinkling of rain that made things more humid and did absolutely nothing to cool me off. I didn’t bother with an umbrella, preferring to walk briskly and then shake off like a dog once I got inside. Maybe that was the last vestiges of the kid in me, fighting not to become an adult prepared for any circumstance.
My mother’s wellness store was in a vast converted warehouse in the art district of town. Most of the colorful buildings showcased an art deco style in one form or another, from porthole windows to terrazzo floors. Located near the Delano, she got a lot of traffic from the pedestrian-only promenade nearby.
She’d rented the space in the two-story building for the past twenty years. The owner was an old friend of hers, some guy named Arlo that she’d demonstrated with in their youth. I knew better than to mention anything that even sounded like the word Arlo because she was always ready to pull out those old, yellowing scrapbooks and go on for an hour or five.
Arlo had inherited the building from his father years ago and used the biggest room for his metalwork and the rest he rented to his fellow artsy brethren for practically nothing. My mother’s shop was on the bottom floor, and she used a room upstairs for her art class. Most of her students were brimming with eagerness and creativity, which almost made up for an egregious lack of talent.
My mother was waiting patiently in the doorway as I approached, clad in a billowy white peasant blouse and a flowing yellow skirt. Combined with her gold sandals and a bright yellow scarf holding up her hair in a youthful ponytail, she looked like the human equivalent of sunshine.
She didn’t look remotely surprised to see me. She hugged me before I could even get out a word, her usual scent of lemongrass teasing my nose. “Ugh, you’re wet,” she exclaimed. Despite her words, she didn’t let me go, and I let her squeeze the stuffing out of me. “Where’s Danny?”
“Work,” I said. “Where I should probably be.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not. Your father has a booth at the organic farmers’ market today, and I’m going stir-crazy.”
“What’s he sell—” I shook my head. “You know what? Never mind. It’s probably better if I don’t know the details. Should I even bother asking how you knew I was coming?”
She gave me a final squeeze before she let go. “I felt your spirit in the air.”
Of course she did. I leaned down obediently as she cleansed my aura. After my ghostly activity earlier, I couldn’t judge her too much. My whole family should just get together and do some sort of act—like the Von Trapps, but weird.
“Dakota sent me the list. I also have a few stones in mind that could help.” She plucked a few more things away from my head as I shifted from one foot to the other. “Follow me.”
I trailed behind her as she walked over to the wall with the glass cases. She pulled a key out of her skirt pocket and stuck it in one of the display locks. When it opened, she pulled out a black velvet bag and promptly began rooting around inside.
She pulled out a tear-drop shaped stone the color of honey and dropped it in my palm. “This is one of my strongest stones. Tawny agate.”
“What does it do?”
“It can ward off spirits and different types of magic. It will be the perfect stone for protection. I couldn’t find any tiger’s eye, which would be perfect, but this will do for now.” She went back into the bag again. “Dakota thinks we should pair it with some beryl.”
“What is beryl for?”
“Magical protection mostly.” Her expression brightened. “Oh, and it can also help you find fairies.”
“Fairies?” I scoffed. “Really, Mother.”
“My fault. Let’s stick to the real stuff like ghosts, right?”
My mouth quirked at her dry tone as she put another stone in my hand. It was deep green and oval-shaped. “Point taken. What kind of stone is this?”
“Jade. It’s one of the most powerful stones against psychic and magical attacks. In the right hands, it can amplify your power and counterattack the sender.”
“I’m not Harry Potter,” I said tartly. “Generally, I don’t get into many wizard battles.”
She let out a put-upon sigh. Then, she went back in the bag and pulled out a large, flat medallion. “This magnetite is pretty powerful. How would you feel about wearing something like this?”
“Who am I, Flavor Flav?”
She put it back in the bag and pulled out another stone, this one in the shape of a pentagon. “Any objections to this one?”
I frowned. “Aren’t pentagons evil or something?”
“That’s pentagrams. And no.”
“Still.”
She stared at me without speaking. Her mouth moved silently, and I figured she was counting. She put the pentagon-shaped stone in my palm, and when I opened my mouth, she sent me a warning look. “I’d like you to remember I have another one of you, and I’m willing to make do with just my first-born.”
I closed my mouth and put the stones in my pocket.
One of the other patrons in the store held up a hand, and she bustled off to help. I browsed to pass the time, nosing around the glittering crystals and beautiful stones in the brightly stocked display cases. The depth and variation in color were amazing—
spheres of deep, metallic blue and turquoise, alongside shimmering pink prisms, and white-veined green shards of crystal.
Despite the practical rainforest of vibrant, glittering color before me, I found myself drawn to what was arguably the most boring one. The stone was solid onyx and about the size and shape of a penny. Using the key my mother left, I opened the case and plucked the stone from its velvet nest.
The surface was glossy as though it had been dipped in oil, and it was smooth and cool to the touch. There was a small hole at the top, like it was meant to be worn on a chain. My thumb caught on an inscription on the back. I turned it over and tried to make out the faded letters, but I could only read the first word. Et.
“That’s the one I was looking for.” My mother came up behind me, a thin necklace of braided leather dangling from her hand. She gave me a curious look. “How did you find it?”
The damned thing had all but called out to me, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. “What is it?”
“Black tourmaline.” When she made a beckoning motion with her palm, I placed it in her hand. She began to thread the braided leather through the hole in the stone. “It can protect you from harmful frequencies and create an electric forcefield around your aura. It’s a grounding stone for strength without boundaries or limitations. Psychic debris will bounce off you.”
“That would be nice. Because right now, it’s sort of crashing right through me.”
“It’s a very old, potent stone, Rainstorm. I think it’ll help you connect to the ancient warrior that dwells inside.”
Currently, the only thing dwelling inside was a bowl of Special K, copious amounts of gas station coffee, and a questionable burrito I’d gotten from a food truck. “Err,” I began.
“Open mind, closed mouth,” she reminded me. She gestured for me to bend and placed the necklace over my head. I looked down as it settled around my neck. The cool stone was suddenly quite warm for some reason.