by Kat Turner
“Flying through the air. Oh, yes. You are spirit born.”
For the first time, Helen settled back in her seat, her muscles loosening, curious to know more. “Okay, so I’m spirit born. What should I do to save my studio?”
“You must choose a path to proceed on your actualization.”
“Excuse me?”
“To actualize means to coax your abilities to the surface, where you may direct and control them. The power you possess is dormant and churning in your subconscious, so you endured episodes. When witches repress what we do best, we suffer.”
Helen put her hands up, palms facing out. She could accept the idea of having some psychic abilities, but being a witch…the notion stretched the limits of plausibility. “Hold up. I don’t think I’m a witch.”
A shadow passed across Nerissa’s eyes. She leaned forward in her chair, close enough for Helen to smell her rosy perfume. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No. It’s difficult to take in, though.”
“Why? You came to me for help, and I’m showing you how to get what you want. But if you’ve changed your mind about needing money, this can end right here.” Nerissa closed the book with a definitive snap.
“I’m not quite convinced is all. What’s in this for you?”
“When witches practice, our powers enhance each other. Mine will grow in relation to yours. So while I wish to help you because I care about the spiritual health of my coven daughter and want to see the sisterhood come to fruition, I’m also being a teeny bit selfish.”
Outlandish, but what if Nerissa was right? God, the possibilities for turning her life around. She hadn’t taken a chance coming to the witch’s home only to run out when things got strange. No more quitting, no more failure. Time to nut up or shut up.
“Fine. I’m all in. You were saying. Initiation. Spirit element. Smash the patriarchy with our broomsticks. How do I choose a path?”
“Your choices are Right Hand or Left Hand path. The Right Hand path draws from your internal strengths and abilities, in your case latent color magic. Astral projection and remote viewing would also come from marshalling the Right."
“How does color magic work?”
“The expression is unique to the witch. You’d call out to meaningful colors in your life and weave emotional union with them to perform spells.”
“Such as visualizing the color green for money.”
Nerissa shrugged. “If you’re thinking long-term, sure.”
The words “long-term” bounced around in a series of bothersome echoes. Long-term might not suffice. “What’s up with the Left?”
“Left Hand powers originate from outside. Think transferring energy into objects in order to manipulate them, or splitting your psyche so as to exist in two places at once. The Left is potent and capable of producing immediate results, but also volatile and dark.”
A surge of curiosity charged through Helen. She scooted to the edge of her seat. Potent power and speedy results could save L&E before the bank snatched it away and Helen and Lisa trudged out carrying boxes.
Helen had slunk out of many front doors with tears in her eyes. Never again.
She pursed her lips, though, wavering at what volatile and dark might mean. In all likelihood, something bad. Yet depending on inner strengths didn’t seem like the right move, not when one of Helen’s dumb mistakes all but catapulted the studio into the abyss.
“Have you chosen?” Nerissa drummed her fingers on the book’s cover.
Bottom line, she could not afford to wait. “I choose the Left Hand path.”
“There will be a cost.” Nerissa rose and offered Helen the grimoire.
“What is it?” Helen accepted, her arms straining under the book’s weight.
Nerissa walked to a credenza. Jars filled with liquids in a variety of colors cluttered the top. Helen watched with interest as the old lady rummaged in a drawer.
The elder witch returned with a small sack made of black velvet and a jar half full of clear fluid. She handed over the pouch. “Depends on one’s constitution. Could be as trivial as a stomachache.”
Helen took the bag, taking a moment to stroke the silky material. She loosened a string and peered in. Crystals in a rainbow of colors sparkled one after the other as if they communicated. “But it could be worse.”
“Oh, yes.”
“What’s the worst case scenario?”
“If the universe decides the darkness wasn’t yours to take, it might generate a hex as punishment for selecting the wrong magic. Think karma, but magnified tenfold.”
Helen’s insides dropped. “Hold up. I don’t need more trouble. How would I deal with a hex?”
“Read your book. That’s the answer to all of your questions. But first, deploy the crystals. They are sentient and absorbent, and the clear ones are the most pliable and receptive to their witch’s will. Give both clear stones away to good people before you undertake your study, as cultivating others’ energies will refine your powers. Make sure to set a mental intention before gifting this pair of crystals. Done correctly, this means giving each one precise directions. Otherwise, the hex might begin with dark entities latching on to one or both stones. Once demons establish communion, they can possess crystals.”
Yawning, Nerissa thrust the jar at Helen. “Drink this and leave. The Reveal spell I did drained my energy. If I don’t get my nap in, my weakened state could compromise you.”
Though her pulse accelerated, Helen took the container and unscrewed its lid. She chugged, gag reflex lurching as she downed the sour glop. Her eyes watered, and nausea roiled her insides, but she finished the nasty potion. Go big or go home. “So twenty bucks is okay?”
“We’ll settle up down the road.” The old woman’s eyelids fluttered closed as she sagged in her chair. “Study now.”
A rush of pride prompted Helen to straighten her spine. She could be a decent student. Armed with a big book of witchiness and the crystals, she placed her empty jar on a coffee table and sauntered to the front door of the bungalow with her head held high.
The plan: give away two crystals, figure out magic, get L&E solvent, and save her dearest friendship. Doable? Helen smiled and hugged the grimoire to her chest. Hell yeah.
“Sacrificium.” A calm, male voice spoke inside of Helen’s head. An itchy surge of adrenaline shot to her toes. Though she’d never taken Latin, she sure got the gist—sacrifice.
Her hand tensed on the doorknob, and she glanced at Nerissa. “Did you hear that?”
“No!” Nerissa bolted upright. Her mouth dropped, and her eyes stretched wide, but the show of fear in her expression fled as fast as it came.
Helen’s mouth dried. Talk about a bad omen double whammy. “Are you okay?”
Rubbing her temples, the elder looked around the room. “I’m fine. Take care.”
Helen jetted to her Mini Cooper. As she fumbled for her keys, a plume of milky smoke erupted in the recesses of her consciousness, vanishing a second after it arrived. She tried to disregard the inexplicable intrusion. Probably just her magic settling in.
She drove to the Minnesota State Fair, but by the time she squeezed between two cars in a dusty makeshift lot, she hadn’t managed to forget the creepy voice and smoke.
A definitive slam of her door shoved the unsettling events out of her mind, and she strode to the flapping banner marking the entrance to the fairgrounds.
Today belonged in the win column, damn it.
Two
As she approached the row of ticket booths, Helen nabbed Lisa’s number from her contacts and pushed the green phone receiver icon. The fantastic surprise in store would kick off reconciliation. Let the healing commence.
After three rings, Lisa answered with a sigh. “This better be an emergency.”
Helen swiped the foreclosure notice from her purse and crumpled it into a ball, the crunch making a big grin split her face. She chucked the wadded paper into a recycling bin, nailing the shot from five feet away. B
oo-yah, three points for the Hel-ster. “Even better. Dontcha know it, I’m a decent businesswoman after all.”
Lisa laughed without mirth. “I don’t want the details.”
“Yes, you do. Meet me at the fair as soon as you can. I’ll be near the grandstand.”
Helen crossed her fingers. She and Lisa had hung out at the fair every year since the one where they’d bonded over deep-fried chocolate chip cookies while cheating on the austere vegan diet prescribed in yoga teacher training. With any luck, the setting would put Lisa in a mindset conducive to repairing their bond. Convincing her partner to believe the witch news? A bigger challenge. Helen would tackle the whopper when it arose.
“Whatever, fine, I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” Lisa hung up.
High on victory, Helen stepped to a cashier’s window.
An employee with a mullet took her money and pointed back and forth between them. He wore a T-shirt identical to hers. “We’re fan twins. You must be here for the show.”
Hell, yes. She’d put on her Chariotz of Fyre concert shirt, honoring classic hard rock at its finest. Fyre’s biggest-band-in-the-world status had downshifted to encompass the state fair circuit, but Helen and Lisa still adored them without a trace of irony. Long live the New Wave of British heavy metal. “You betcha. Rock and roll completes the state fair experience.”
“I know one of their roadies. Find a girl with pink dreadlocks. Name’s Marley, and tell her Buster said she’d hook you up with backstage passes.”
The universe was showering her with positivity. Even her surroundings radiated optimism. Notes of cotton candy and ride grease perfumed the air. A late August sun relaxed into a long-shadowed afternoon, kissing St. Paul with golden blush. People laughed. Upbeat music blared. Angels in heaven sang the Hallelujah chorus. Best day ever.
Helen gave Buster a giant grin. How long since she’d smiled like this? Weeks? Not since she’d thrown a sleepover potluck at the studio and the community had turned up with blankets, laughter, and scrumptious dishes to share. “I’ll do that, Buster. Thank you.”
He winked. “What can I say? I hook up my peeps.”
Helen set off into the fairgrounds. Squealing children catapulted down an inflatable yellow slide the size of a house, and shrieks belted from a nearby roller coaster looping upside-down.
She wove through packs of people schlepping stuffed animals and enormous cups of fountain pop, making a beeline for the grandstand’s empty bowl of bleacher seats. The crowd thinned, booths giving way to littered grass. As she picked up a plastic bottle and shoved it in an overflowing recycling can, Helen spied three black buses and a semi-tractor trailer behind a row of porta potties.
A young woman, pink dreads swinging, lugged black cases down the big rig’s ramp. Helen rubbed her hands together. Hello, Marley.
One of the bus doors opened with an airy hiss. Two men walked down the steps, and the sight of the taller one caused Helen to freeze.
Holy shit. None other than Brian Shepherd, Fyre front man and legendary silver fox. A ball cap covered his short hair, and aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but she recognized his chiseled, clean-cut jaw from television.
Another guy, balding and with fuzzy caterpillars of sideburns crawling down the sides of his face, handed Brian a small bronze envelope.
Brian stuck the paper square in the pocket of a black leather jacket well-worn enough to look cool.
Damn. Brian was a sight, glowing with the greatness suited to a rock icon. Helen changed course and walked to him. Hey, she was a witch now. Might as well own her inner ferocity. She had to open with a decent line.
“If you are taking requests tonight, I’d love to hear ‘A Thousand Suns.’”
Brian turned to Helen and slid impenetrably dark glasses down his nose. She looked up into turquoise eyes as inviting and enveloping as a dip in the Caribbean Sea. A friendly smile curved his lips, emphasizing deep dimples and high cheekbones belonging on a male model.
“That experimental B-side? I’m impressed, love. Didn’t think anyone but me cared for the track.” He spoke in a velvety English voice quickened with what she swore was relief.
The other man scowled.
Huh. Maybe Brian was relieved to have someone else to talk to besides Mr. Sideburns. In that case, Helen was happy to volunteer as a tribute.
“Are you kidding? Your guitar solo was fit to charm maidens in a mythical forest. The Zeppelin influence was strong. ‘Suns’ got me though final exams.” No lies detected. Rocking out to Fyre saved her broke ass big money in therapy bills during college.
Brian chuckled and pocketed his shades. “You’ve gone and exposed yourself as too young for me, darlin’.”
Eh, whatever. His handsome face bore the lines of a traveling musician’s life and aligned with his age. Probably late forties. He sported the attractive kind of wrinkles, though. Webs at the edges of his eyes, smile brackets highlighting full, sensual lips.
“Are you fishing for a compliment? You rock onstage, and I’m sure fan girls still swoon hard for you. There you go. You’re welcome, Brian Shepherd’s ego. FYI, I’ve been out of college for seven years.”
“Noted. Shall I sign your shirt, or do you have a ticket stub?” Brian pulled a marker from the back pocket of his faded jeans, dropping a quick gaze to her natural double-Ds before reclaiming eye contact.
Tingles glimmered below her waistband. It didn’t bug her when desirable guys noticed her boobs and yoga-sculpted body. Besides, she’d be remiss not to enjoy the rock god’s attentions. Today called for whimsy and fun.
“Sure, but I was actually hoping for a couple of backstage passes.”
Brian yanked the pen cap off with his teeth and lobbed a playful wink her way. His eyes gleamed, evidence of some naughty thought dancing through his head.
She caught his scent, spicy cloves and citrus laced with musky maleness. Whew. Anyone have a personal fan?
“Are you always this assertive, asking for what you want?” He drew the words out, playing up a rumbling baritone somehow made even sexier by the cap impeding his speech. This man was a flirting ninja.
Before she could reply with a resounding yes, the other dude scoffed. “Don’t toy with the groupies like this, Shepherd. Fair Floozies will stick to the tour like dog shit on your heel if you string them along.” Contempt oozed from his nasal, Midwestern cadence.
Helen turned to the mean troll in their midst. Jeez, she was playing. Not like she’d go full groupie and offer to blow Brian for the passes.
She planted her hands on her hips and scowled at Mr. Sideburns, spoiler of fun and wearer of ugly facial hair. “Slut-shaming is rude. And speaking of shit, you mixed too much of it into your metaphor. Epic fail.”
In a lightning-fast move, Brian capped the end of his marker and jabbed a finger in Mr. Sideburns’s chest, towering over him and getting in his face. “I’ve had it with you today. Quit hassling my fans and go make me some money.”
Unable to help herself, Helen stuck her tongue out at the balding jerk. A teeny, kittenish peep.
His face reddened. “Fine. I’m heading to the Wyoming ranch later to square away some details for the Bronze Phase party. Don’t dismiss this, Shepherd. These guys have unorthodox methods, but their results are solid. As you know, you need them more than ever.” Mr. Sideburns stalked off, frowning.
Brian took off his hat and ran a hand through short, chestnut hair highlighted silver. Silver, not gray. A distinction that made perfect sense. But a vibe heavier than sex appeal shaped her impression of the rock star. Sadness lurked in his distant gaze. Her heart swelled with a compulsion to erase the distress from his stare and make him smile again.
“Hey, I hope I didn’t get you in trouble. I meant what I said. I’m a huge fan of yours. Nobody toggles a whammy bar like Brian Shepherd, in my humble opinion.”
He smiled, this one less flirty. But it crinkled the corners of his eyes, so win.
“Thank you. And no worries, I’m the boss around here. I d
o apologize for Joe. I’m sick of him, but I need his connections. Anyway, yes, of course you are invited backstage. Who should I tell my people to put on the guest list?” Tone crisper than before, he replaced his hat, slid the marker behind his ear, and pulled a cell phone from inside of his jacket.
Though bummed to lose their flash of chemistry, she dug this personable, relatable side of Brian. His affable manner put her at ease. No small feat.
“Thank you. Helen Schrader and Lisa Shimizu, please.”
“Which one are you?” A sickle-shaped wrinkle split the left side of his face when he spoke, running from the corner of his eye to the middle of his cheek like a tributary carved by a tear.
“I’m Helen.” The softness in her tone startled her. Tough to play the part of Ms. Jaded around such a nice and disarming guy. Swept up in a budding sense of affection for Brian, she reached in her purse and scooped up the velvet bag of crystals. She took out one of the clear minerals. As the charm caught bits of setting sun, the plated sides glittered. “This is for positive energy. Have a fantastic show, and I hope tension with your staff blows over.”
Brian accepted Helen’s offering, stroking her index finger with his. He slipped the charm in the front pocket of his pants. “Beautiful gift from a beautiful person.”
She laughed and scratched the back of her neck. “You don’t know me.”
Brian pinned Helen with a laser beam stare. “A fact I’d love to change. Find me after the show.”
“I guess this would be the time to tell you I don’t hook up.”
While trying to act the part of the badass stripper chick, Helen had convinced herself she could enjoy casual sex and gotten her heart broken. Hence her policy of informing men right off the bat that one-nighters didn’t work for her.
He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, ghosting a callused fingertip over a sensitive spot near her throat. Tickles of pleasure raced over her skin, making their way between her legs. Warmth pooled in her core. Damn Brian and his rock star superpowers, tempting her neglected body and making her rethink a hookup.