by Ariella Moon
I remembered Dad remarking once in the snarky vice-president-of-a-large investment-firm tone he sometimes used, "I can't believe Esmun meditates for an hour. Where I come from, we call that a nap." Maybe I needed to look for a guy dressed in a saffron toga or yoga pants and a turban. I didn't know. The diversity assembly at school had covered a lot of different race, gender, and religious issues, but somehow skipped pagans, shamans, and light warriors. I'll have to take it up with the dean when I return.
The Bichon, with its, like, six-foot leash, cut me off. I barely caught myself before I tumbled down the escalator. I shot its owners a death glare. The cold wind seeped through my hoodie and scoured my face. I waited for the dog to be wrangled into its owner's arms before I teetered onto the escalator. Maybe I needed to rethink stilettos as travel shoes.
Stepping onto the lower level concourse, I braced for major mortification. Please, I silently prayed, don't let my relatives look like escapees from a Star Trek convention. With dread snowboarding my stomach, I summoned my best Junior Cotillion game face and strode into the meet and greet area, which was blissfully indoors. At least I was out of the wind.
None of the women in the ragtag groups waiting for new arrivals bore even a faint resemblance to my mother. No one held a sign with my name on it. An abandonment shockwave shuddered through my body. Maybe Mom had forgotten to tell Aunt Terra my arrival time. I fought back a rush of hot tears by pressing the cuff of my sweatshirt against my eyes. Mocha eyeliner stained the dove-colored fabric. Great.
The public address system announced we were on high security alert. Remembering Mom had given me Aunt Terra's cell number, I reached for my phone. Reality slammed me and a fresh tsunami of despair constricted my chest and throat. The urge to scrub my hands ricocheted up and down my nerves. I scanned the perimeter walls, searching for a restroom sign, torn between the compulsion to wash and the fear I'd miss my relatives if I disappeared into the bathroom.
"Ainslie?"
I whirled and stared into eyes the same pale blue as my mother's. They were set in a heart-shaped face and framed by bangs and long, windblown raven-and-silver hair. Relief flooded me. "Aunt Terra?"
I was rewarded with a gleeful smile and a tight, lavender-scented embrace.
"So sorry we're late!" she said.
"We always be on Pagan Time," the man beside her said. His melodious accent reminded me of our family vacation in Jamaica two years ago. The noose around my heart loosened. The overhead lights highlighted his nest of short dreadlocks. His black pullover top and faded jeans accentuated his caramel skin and medium build.
"My last client ran late, which made me late, then there was an accident on Vista Chino…" Aunt Terra's voice drifted off as though she had run out of steam.
"But we be here now." Her companion's dark eyes twinkled. "You probably don't remember us."
"Honey, she was three the last time we saw her."
"I be your Uncle Esmun." He flung his arms wide, engulfing me in a quick, incense-cloud hug before he released me. "Let me take your bag."
"Thanks." I shrugged out of my bulging backpack, grateful to unload at least one burden.
"Mercy, girl. What's in here?" He radiated calm and good will. I wished I could bottle it and sprinkle the essence over my parents — and me.
"Textbooks. I have to take makeup finals when I get back." Resentment and self-pity crept into my voice.
"Bummer." He cranked up his invisible Everything-Will-Be-Fine mojo, and the tension seeped out of my shoulders.
"What you be now, a junior?" he asked.
"A sophomore. I'm fifteen."
"Where has the time gone?" Aunt Terra shook her head. Her earrings, alternating clear and purple crystals, swung against her jaw. She appeared perfectly normal, even pretty, dressed in a soft purple blouse and muted floral skirt.
"The important thing is your parents have finally allowed you a visit." Uncle Esmun's eyes rolled heavenward as if his prayers had been answered.
"Thank the Goddess," my aunt added.
I almost forgot Mom and Dad had dumped me on them.
Uncle Esmun shouldered my backpack. Behind him, a blue light flashed and one of the baggage carousels began to move. "Ah, the great beast roars to life. Come, niece, lead us to your luggage!" He raised his arm as if brandishing a sword.
I am so not in Lamorinda anymore.
Chapter Seven
Within seven minutes, we had loaded my designer suitcase into the back seat of an ancient Datsun whose rear bumper was held in place with chicken wire.
"Good thing you're skinny," Aunt Terra said as I squished in beside my luggage. Sand on the floor mats ground beneath my heels. I placed my backpack and handbag on my lap and worked the stained seat belt beneath them.
Seconds later, it seemed, we arrived at the condo, which was so close to the airport I heard jets taking off and landing. Uncle Esmun unlocked a mesh metal door, and we entered a small courtyard. White fairy lights woven through the limbs of a ficus tree cast soft light on the Mexican pavers and four-chair patio set. Water cascaded soothingly over a ceramic urn fountain. Looks normal enough.
Uncle Esmun unlocked the front door and let us in. Once inside, I could tell the place was smaller than the first floor of my house. There were no stairs. None. Not even a front door step. My legs twitched with confusion.
I searched for any signs of shaman or light warrior weirdness. The bronze dragon perched on a painted Asian chest in the small entry appeared normal enough. Even our interior designer might have approved. A dining room and kitchen smaller than my walk-in closet were off to the right. No rattlesnake wands or light sabers on the counter.
"We went with high vibration colors," Aunt Terra explained when she caught me staring at the bright orchid wall-to-wall carpeting in the living room.
"It's cheery." And a far cry from the subdued palette our designer had chosen for the mansion. I had no idea what she meant by "high vibration," but was tempted to don my sunglasses. "I like it."
Aunt Terra's smile reminded me of Mom's before my mental illness had torn through our lives like a derailed hazardous waste transport train.
The two battered black chairs, a curved sofa the color of a mourning dove, and a gray-and-mauve marble coffee table had a worn, consignment store feel. No television, which was a little worrisome. Instead, I spied another altar, assembled at knee level on a sun-bleached bench made of pitted wood. I drifted toward it, breathing in the cinnamon and sandalwood scents emanating from a bird's nest threaded with bright silk strands. A small brass dragon stood before a large amethyst geode. A green glass bowl brimming with colorful stones drew me closer. Two necklaces with odd charms snaked around the bird's nest.
None of it seemed sinister, but I planned to do an Internet image search on the charms later, just in case. Crap. No laptop. A furtive glance about the room revealed no computer. No Christmas tree. No decorations.
"Our bedroom is over there." Aunt Terra gestured toward a bedroom that shared a wall with the living room.
I gave the tall, wooden staff propped beside the doorframe a second glance. A deer and bear had been burned into its peeling bark. Two feathers, one black and one white with spots, had been attached with shiny copper wire. Strange symbols carved into the wood had been rubbed with something red I sure hoped was paint, not blood.
"Here's the guest bath and your room." Aunt Terra led me to a bathroom and bedroom just off the entry. The bedroom had a sliding glass door facing the enclosed entry patio. Wind seeped in along the edges and rattled the screen against the glass. The vertical blinds clattered.
The framed photomontage on the short wall to the left of the sliding glass door caught my eye. "You framed every Christmas card photo of me?"
"Of course we did." Aunt Terra put my suitcase on the nearest twin bed. I glanced at our images reflected in the mirrored closet doors. With my heels, we were the same height, though she appeared more feminine in her long, flowing skirt and crystal bracelets and earrings.
I resembled a teen-celebrity-gone-wrong mug shot. Half of my honey-blond hair appeared to have been torn from its scrunchie by rabid raptors. The rest hung in a limp ponytail between my shoulders. Smeared eyeliner gave my gray eyes a drug addict look. And I was pretty sure I stunk of stale airplane air and jet fuel. I hoped Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun didn't think I was a complete loser.
"Are you hungry?" Aunt Terra asked. "Did you eat before your flight?"
"Mom bought me a burger, so I'm good." I pulled off the scrunchie and slid it onto my wrist. A jet taking off drowned out the bubbling of the fountain outside. My gaze migrated to a small desk to the left of the closet, then above it to an eighteen-inch, arched niche in the wall. It reminded me of the built-in altar in a hotel we had stayed in Mexico City. Instead of a statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, this one contained a red pillar candle, a small glass bowl of clear crystal shards, a dark green, egg-shaped rock, and a small stuffed animal.
"Love the owl." I reached for the finger puppet perched on a bottle of apple green nail polish. "It's my school mascot."
"Owls are associated with the Greek goddess, Athena," Aunt Terra said.
"I know." I slipped the little owlet puppet onto my forefinger and bobbed it up and down. "I attend the Athenian Academy."
"Extremely auspicious." Uncle Esmun strode into the room with the loose grace of a man grooving to an inner beat. A knowing smile passed between he and my aunt.
Aunt Terra nodded. "Indeed."
It all zoomed over my head. Maybe it was a light warrior or shaman thing. Reluctantly, I returned the owlet to its perch.
Aunt Terra moved beside me, her skirts swishing. Light from the ceiling fan glinted off her crystal bracelet as she reached for the desk latch and lowered the drop leaf. "We have a surprise for you." She stepped aside.
Inside the desk were little cubicles filled with gel pens and fairy note cards, and a wrapped gift the size of an address book.
"Open it. It's an early solstice present."
"Made specially for you," Uncle Esmun added. "We've been working on it for months."
The fear and worry strangling my heart eased a bit. "Seriously? For me?"
"Yes!" they said in unison.
I carried the gift to the nearest bed. Inside my brain, my former four-year-old self jumped up and down and screamed, "Presents!" Outwardly, I remained cool and carefully slid my finger beneath the tape and broke the seal. I peeled back the shiny blue paper, embellished with moons and suns, to reveal a little handmade book. An orange sticky note stuck to the cover warned in black permanent marker, "DON'T READ AHEAD!" In smaller print, someone had added in blue ink, "Unless you absolutely have to."
The contradiction paralyzed me.
"Open it," Aunt Terra said.
I folded back the cover to reveal the title page: Ainslie's Almanac.
Aunt Terra plopped beside me on the bed, engulfing me once more in her lavender scent. "We made the cover from rags and scraps of colored paper. That's why it's so stiff and speckled."
Glued to the inside of the cover was a photo I recognized from the Hubble Space Telescope. Amazing points of light hovered in a black sky above churning yellow, orange, and mauve galactic gases. I loved the way the biggest stars burst with white light and emanated slender crosses of rainbow light. Smaller stars shined summer-blue, and the tiniest ones appeared as dots of yellow fringed in red.
"Your aunt be an intuitive tarot reader." Uncle Esmun placed my backpack on the floor beside the desk, then pulled a box of matches from one of the cubby drawers. "And a fine artist. The sketches are her work." With a single strike, the match hissed to life. He lit the candle in the arched niche, then waved his hand to disperse the smoke. The sulfur stench dissipated.
"And I be an astrologer and aura reader, among other fine things."
"So we worked together to create a day planner attuned specially to your birth chart, the phases of the moon, intuitive hints about you—" Aunt Terra glanced at the little owl.
"Et cetera," Uncle Esmun finished.
"Wow. I don't know what to say." Dad and Mom usually gave me gift cards or expensive jewelry. "I've never had a solstice present before."
"Technically it isn't the solstice yet, but we knew you'd need this before—" Uncle Esmun bit off his words and threw Aunt Terra a guilty glance before hanging his head in what seemed like a silent apology.
Several warning bells clanged inside my head.
"Turn to today's page," Aunt Terra suggested.
Heeding the sticky note's foreboding instructions, I carefully flipped to the next page.
December Six
Twelve nights until the Long Nights Moon/Oak Moon
Tarot: The Moon (Major Arcana XVIII)
Is the moonlight true light, or merely a reflection of the sun? Force yourself to journey through the darkness. Part of you must die to be reborn.
"Don't look so worried! It isn't as ominous as it sounds," Aunt Terra assured me. "Think of it this way. The days keep getting shorter, the nights—"
"Or darkness," Uncle Esmun cut in.
Aunt Terra nodded. "The darkness grows longer."
"But you'll get through it," Uncle Esmun promised. "Major Arcana cards indicate work on a deep spiritual level."
If they were referring to my parents ditching me at Christmas, I so did not want to have this conversation. "Thanks," I mumbled.
They stared at me a minute, then exchanged a quick look.
Aunt Terra patted my knee. "We should let you get settled in. Esmun and I are teaching a workshop tomorrow. You can hang out at Spiral Journeys until we're done."
"Spiral Journeys?"
"It's our metaphysical store and little mystery school," she replied.
"What's a mystery school?"
"Mystery schools date back thousand of years. A Master Teacher — usually a priestess, shaman, or light warrior — would pass on secret knowledge to one or more initiates."
Great. Woo-Woo U.
Uncle Esmun threw me a sly look. "Jett will keep you company."
"Who's Jett?"
Uncle Esmun's expression reminded me of Jazmin's when she was the first in our school to get the latest smartphone. "Jett is just a sixteen-year-old kid who works for us."
Aunt Terra's eyes crinkled at the corners. "No one special." She stood up. "We need to get there early to set up. How about we wake you around eight for breakfast?"
"Sure."
"Fresh towels in the guest bathroom," Uncle Esmun said. "Let us know if you need anything else."
I nodded, and they left, closing the bedroom door behind them. After placing the almanac on the bed, I pried the stilettos off my swollen feet and wiggled my toes. I should have been studying for my Chemistry final, but the almanac called to me like a second scoop of double fudge brownie ice cream. I cracked it open, careful to not read ahead. The warning annoyed me. Don't look ahead? What would happen if I did? I contemplated for a moment the kind of revenge an angry light warrior or shaman might exact.
Pass.
Airplane engines ripped the silence. I re-read the passage. Part of you must die to be reborn. Which part?
I could have sworn the almanac knew the answer; it didn't want to tell me.
Fine. I'll ask Jett. Whoever he is.
Chapter Eight
A coyote and a wolf flanked a moonlit path leading to two standing stones. The animals raised their noses to the full moon and opened their mouths. Cloud-like breath slipped past their fangs. The wolf's howls and the coyote's yips pierced my ears, trapping me like blue nets. Guardians. Gatekeepers. Should I flee? Should I summon my courage and dash between them? Should I make myself wake up?
I stared at the moon for guidance. It appeared larger and brighter than normal because it was nearing perigee, the point in its elliptical orbit when it passed closest to the Earth.
Even in my dreams, I am such a nerd.
The standing stones pulsed with ancient power and magic. Their rhythm thrummed in my veins, beckoning me.
I stepped closer, and the wolf and coyote halted their noise and studied me with pale eyes. Unnerved, I glanced at the standing stones.
An orange sticky note had been stuck to one of them. I inched closer and deciphered the warning: "DON'T READ AHEAD!"
I woke with a gasp. Sunlight sliced under the vertical blinds onto the orchid carpet. The owlet puppet stared down at me from its nail polish perch. The almanac rested on the bedside table where I had left it, but the orange note was stuck to my right palm. At least nothing had smote me during the night.
I stared up at the ceiling. Maybe Mom and Dad were getting along better without me. Maybe they wished I had never been born.
An ache pressed on my heart, threatening to suffocate me.
"Ainslie?" Aunt Terra knocked on my door.
I cleared my throat. "Yes?"
"Breakfast time."
"Thanks. I'll be out in a minute."
I held my breath until her footsteps retreated across the entry tile. I sniffed back tears and noticed the smell of bacon drifting under my door. I had totally pegged Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun for vegetarians. Intrigued, I slipped into skinny jeans, a ribbed long-sleeved top, and flip-flops.
A quick stop in the spotless guest bathroom revealed an unwrapped bar of lavender soap made with organic oils. Instead of burning my cracked skin, it caressed and moisturized it. Revived, I headed for the kitchen.
"Morning, Ainslie." Uncle Esmun passed me a plate of French toast, generously dusted with powdered sugar.
"Thanks. Good morning." I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten breakfast with someone. It must have been at Jazmin's.
The dining room table, a low-end veneer Queen Anne reproduction with curving legs and claw feet, had been polished to a dull shine. I pulled out a chair and sat beneath the small overwrought chandelier. I could just picture our interior designer rolling her eyes and saying in her smoker's voice, "It's hideous. I'm afraid I'll break into hives just sitting here." Then she would have rubbed her arms and shivered.
"Organic maple syrup?" Uncle Esmun handed me a tiny ivory pitcher.