I finished the row I was working on, gathered the discarded weeds and dumped them on the compost heap. My hands were dirty, despite the garden gloves, and my knees were black. Maybe a shower and some of Gram’s basil-bergamot soap would help me out of my funk. It didn’t mean I wasn’t still mad at Sam and G., but maybe I could be mad at them and be clean and smell good at the same time.
#
Tara was at the counter in the shop when I walked through the door carrying the bag of Gram’s sage smudge bundles. Her face lit up to see me, but she nodded toward the back of the shop, meaning for me to walk back and give the bag to Esme herself. Tara was busy ringing up a sale, so I figured what the heck? I had never been in the back of the shop before. Perhaps it was like the Tardis a little bit – small on the outside, but like the Indiana Jones museum on the inside.
I ducked behind the beaded curtain and to my disappointment saw that it was really just a small room with a door at the back. A few tapestries hung on the walls, and Esme sat in front of one of them, behind an old wooden desk in the corner with a few candles lit and some incense burning. She was writing in a ledger.
“Hi,” I said, uncertainly. I held up the bag. “Gram told me to bring these over to you.”
“Hello, Melody,” she said. “Come on over and have a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I sat in the vacant chair on the other side of Esme’s desk and tried not to appear uncomfortable. I had always known that Gram sold herbs and the like to Esme, but it had never occurred to me before that Gram’s garden had any other purpose besides being seasoning for people’s food. I was just now understanding that people who bought herbs from Esme were not buying them to flavor chili, but for magic. Magic. I hadn’t thought it was anything more than just a grown-up version of playing pretend.
“Now, what can I do for you?” she asked me, closing her ledger and pushing it away.
I held up the bag again. “Stuff from Gram?”
Esme reached for the bag and I handed it across to her, the brown paper rustling as she dumped the contents onto her desk. Sage smudge bundles rolled out, each one bedecked in pretty cotton embroidery thread, colors contrasting gaily against the grayish green of dried leaves. Esme counted them out and then pulled a small envelope from the bottom of the pile and opened it. From across the way, I could recognize Gram’s spare scrawl.
“I see,” said Esme, folding the card and inserting it back into the envelope. “Before I forget, let me give you the money for your grandmother.” She counted out a modest stack of bills and handed them to me. Then she folded her hands and arms across the desk and gave me a deep, penetrating look. “Your grandmother seems to think that you have some questions you might want to ask me.”
“Ah,” I said, my mind racing. “No, I don’t think so.” I shifted in my chair. What does Gram think she knows? I hadn’t told her anything about Matthew.
“Oh come on, Mel,” said Tara from the doorway, her voice soft. “You know that’s not true.”
I turned to look at Tara, and then at Esme again. What did I have to lose? “Ah, I guess. Maybe I, we, do.” I gestured back and forth between myself and Tara. “We found something in my brother’s old garage, and we don’t know what it means.”
“And we’ve seen his ghost,” Tara quickly added. “We even have a couple of recordings of it.”
Esme was looking from one of us to the other, her eyes slightly unfocused. “What did you find?” she asked, snapping her gaze back to the present.
Tara pulled her phone from her pocket and moved to stand beside me. “We found a small bundle of items, here I took some pictures.” She thumbed her phone until her photo gallery was displayed and showed Esme the pictures of the feather and the flowers.
“Was there anything besides this?” she asked.
“Not really, just an old family photo.”
“Oh, and the pyramid,” said Tara. “A little black stone pyramid with some sort of symbol on the bottom. Kind of swirly?”
Esme looked up from Tara’s phone sharply. Putting the phone down on the desk, she turned to dig around in one of her desk drawers. She pulled out a small gray book with a ratty binding and yellowed pages. Flipping through the first half of the book, she stopped on a page and pointed to a small black symbol that looked kind of like a monogram you might see on fancy hotel towels. “Something like this?” she asked, showing the graphic to first Tara and then to me.
“It’s like it, but it’s not the same. Why?” I asked.
Esme pursed her lips for a moment and then shut the book with a snap. “It’s a sigil – a way of marking your intention on an object or a space. I can’t know for certain unless I see the pyramid for myself, but since you say it’s made of black stone, I would assume it’s a sigil of protection… Especially,” she continued, “considering that this dried flower is Angelica – a very powerful and protective herb.” She paused to take a closer look at the feather, frowning as she studied it. “But I have no idea what kind of feather this is. However, the fact that it and the Angelica were included in the bundle along with the pyramid suggests some sort of warding spell.”
Tara’s eyes grew wide, and finally my suspension-bridge of disbelief just utterly collapsed. It was too much; I started to laugh. “What? Why would my brother have a bundle of magic stuff hidden in his garage? I mean, he was a mechanic.”
Esme wasn’t exactly offended, but she did turn just a little frosty. “I’m just answering your questions. I’m sorry if it’s something you aren’t ready to hear. Excuse me. I need to take these smudge sticks and put them out for the customers. Thank you for your help today, Tara. You can go home early.”
Tara socked me in the arm as soon as Esme was out of sight. “Thanks a lot,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I hope I didn’t just lose my job because of you. I told you before, when you talk to Esme you need to be respectful.”
“Whatever, Tara. I came here to deliver something for Gram, not to have my head filled with nonsense.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said, turning over the card Esme had received in the bag from my grandmother. She handed it to me and stared at me while I read it.
The card said “It is time.” That’s it.
Disgusted by the cryptic note and what felt like another betrayal, this time from my grandmother, I stalked out of the room and out of the shop. I could hear Tara rushing to catch up but I didn’t stop. Screw them.
23. SAM
Melody was pissed but I didn’t have time to worry about that. I had a couple of sets to put together before Colton’s brother’s friend’s party tonight, and I needed to bring my A-game. The mysterious Lily from the record store had kept her word and texted me for info on the gig, and I had sent her the address. Presumably, that meant that she was going to be there. Presumably that also meant that she was serious about having a gig she could offer me. If she could really guarantee me a thousand bucks, I could finally afford to buy a crappy car of my own, which meant I could potentially land more gigs and upgrade my rig.
I decided to warm up the crowd with a couple of my old standbys and then slip into a couple of layered tracks. After that, I’d play some trance and some dubstep, and then I would read the mood of the crowd and see which direction to go. I wasn’t fooling myself into thinking I was an undiscovered Tiesto or anything, but I knew I had a certain flair for the dramatic. And if things went well, I had something that would make Lily smile, swoon even, but somehow I didn’t think that a girl like Lily would ever be caught dead swooning for anyone. Fine by me. After being chased by Tara and ignored by Melody for the past year, I could dig a chick like Lily.
I copied the sets I’d just finished to a backup solid state hard drive which had cost me a month’s salary but was totally worth it – super fast, no skips, compact and lightweight. It was one of my favorite additions to my rig.
The phone rang—not my cell phone, but the land line—and I practically jumped. That phone never rang unless it was my mom calling or
a bill collector. I lifted the handset to check the caller ID and saw ANONYMOUS CALLER. Groaning, I answered, hoping that it was Mom.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sammie. Just calling to let you know I won’t be in on Sunday like I originally thought. I had to stay a little longer to close some sales, but it looks like we might be eating steak and lobster this month instead of mac n’ cheese. Don’t be mad, okay?”
“Sure, Mom.” Secretly I was relieved. That gave me an extra few days to clean the house – especially the kitchen. “You at a party? Sounds like you’re at a party.”
“What? Oh, just a business lunch. You know how the clients love to take us out to lunch on the company dime.”
“Yeah. So I’ll see you Tuesday. Sorry I’ve got to run, I have to go to work – I took an extra shift.”
“Oh, sure kiddo. See you Tuesday.”
We hung up and then I punched the nearest wall. Not hard enough to make a hole in the sheetrock, but that’s only because I didn’t feel like having to explain to her why I’d damaged the house. She would pretend not to understand. She would pretend she hadn’t been drinking. She would pretend that me being an ungrateful kid is what drove her to drinking in the first place.
And then just like that, I flipped that little switch inside that let me go from caring too much to not caring at all, and I went back to my room, my music, and my meager wardrobe. Whatever else happened tonight, I was going to look the part. Lily’s comment about my work clothes the other day had stung a little; I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
#
The party was lame. But I kept telling myself that was because the people were lame, and not my music. The lights were too bright, no one cared about my samples or my mixes and the only thing they had to drink was a keg of crappy domestic beer in the corner, which meant I either drank beer or I drank nothing at all. What the hell kind of party didn’t even have soda for the designated drivers? Broke-ass college party, that’s what. Not-very-gently used furniture, posters stuck to the walls with double-sided sticky tape, overly serious guys with beards like billy goats, and stuck-up girls with under-arm hair… if this is what college parties were like, I resolved never to go to any.
So I drank nothing because I wasn’t going to chimp out on my own vow to never spin and drink at the same time. Luckily I had bought a sports drink on the way over and had that with me – blue and salty. Better than nothing.
The beats played on and I took a look around the room. My music seemed to be falling on deaf ears, but I was sure that was at least due to the fact that it was early and the lights were so bright. I took a pause during one of my longer tracks and wandered around the small apartment living room, turning off the overhead lights on the ceiling fan and turning on a lamp in the corner instead. Then I wandered over to the hallway and turned that light off, but turned on the one in the bathroom and let the bathroom door open a crack. There was no help for the kitchen – there were people playing drinking games at the table and it was pretty crowded, but at least the main space of the place had a more mellow mood. I turned to head back to my corner when I spotted Lily by the door.
“Mood lighting. Nice touch.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked, motioning her back to my table. I snuck behind and put my hand on my mouse to make sure the next track was lined up and ready.
“Just long enough to see you strategically turning off lights. That’s a good sign that you know how to read a crowd. We’ll see if they respond. I’m going to get a beer. Want one?” Her gaze was level and her teeth flashed in a slim grin.
I debated. I didn’t want a beer, on the other hand. I wanted that gig she offered and I didn’t want to turn her off since I thought maybe she’d be interested in hanging out. But I didn’t know her well enough to sell myself out yet, so I just shook my head. “Nah, had a late dinner and there’s no room. Maybe later when the party gets going.” Was that too lame?
She cocked her head, shrugged and waded off to get her red plastic cup filled with cheap domestic.
24. MELODY
Gramps and I sat outside in the backyard, starry sky above and a small fire in the terracotta chiminea. His wheelchair was angled so that he could see the chiminea on his right and the fireflies in the herb garden on his left. There weren’t as many this year as there usually were, and I idly wondered why.
“Melodious girl,” he said, his voice crackling from fatigue, “Will you help me with my shoes and my socks? I can’t seem to reach the laces.”
“Sure, Gramps. Are your feet hot?”
He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I want to feel the energy of the earth beneath my feet.”
He pretended to be ticklish while I pulled the brown oxfords off of his feet and gingerly peeled back his socks. He flexed his old toes, the crackling of his joints interspersed with a sigh of contentment. Then he put his feet down, one at a time, in the rich green grass and leaned his head back as if he were enjoying some exotic foot treatment at a spa.
“I miss this, being connected to the earth. But it’s hard for my old bones to get out of the chair and garden like I used to.”
“I know Gramps. I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
He chuckled. “My girl, don’t be sorry. I’ve led a very interesting and fulfilling life.” His gaze wandered across the yard and paused on the clubhouse. “I do miss your brother, though.”
I felt a pang of regret. I almost told Gramps about Matthew’s ghost, but when I opened my mouth to say something about it, I couldn’t get anything out. And there was this sort of pressure against my lips – I may have imagined it – but it was like someone was trying to keep me quiet. The sensation was odd enough that I had stopped listening to Gramps’s rambling until he said my name again.
“I’m sorry, Gramps. My attention wandered for a second. What did you say?”
“I asked you whether you remember what it feels like to go barefoot in the grass. You used to do it all the time when you were small. You never wanted to wear shoes, not even in the winter.”
That made me smile. I did remember that. I would go barefoot everywhere that Mom and Dad let me. “I would say I wanted to feel the earth bubble.”
“That’s right, you did. Do you think you can still feel it?”
I looked sharply at him, but he was leaning back with his eyes closed.
“I don’t know,” I said after a long moment. Was I actually considering the question? A few weeks ago I would have dismissed it out of hand. Could I afford to just dismiss things like that now? No, I didn’t think I could.
“Why don’t you give it a shot? You and me, sitting here together with our feet in the grass. It’s a good night for it.”
It didn’t hurt to humor him. And maybe I was a little bit curious myself about what was happening to me, so I chucked off my Converse sneakers and peeled off the little footie socks I always wore and planted my feet squarely in the grass. I folded my arms over my knees and then after a moment, I decided just to sit crisscross in the grass, bare legs and feet on the ground. And for a long moment all I felt was prickly from the green blades, and cool from the moist earth.
And then, I felt a bubbling sensation, as if tiny little fizzy bubbles were zooming up my skin. Just a little at first, like the buzz in my legs or feet on the verge of falling asleep, a mild vibration. It started in my left calf muscle and spread to my left leg and foot. After another moment, the same buzzing, only slightly less, spread through my right leg and foot. “Holy cow,” I said, not quite believing what I was feeling.
“Just wait,” said Gramps. “It gets better.”
“What do you mean?” I said, but suddenly I knew. The slight buzzing began to increase in frequency and crescendoed. The buzz became more of a wave and it spread from my feet, up my legs, into my rear-end, through my back and shoulder. Suddenly I felt light, like I could float away if I wanted to. My hair got staticky and rose around my head like a halo. “Gramps?” I
said, a catch in my throat. “What’s happening?”
He looked at my wide eyes and chuckled. “You’re completing the circuit, my dear girl. The earth has a flow to it. Anyone can feel it when they are paying attention. For them it feels like a buzz, or a bubbling, like when you were little. But for some, the buzzing takes hold, gets a little faster and when you’re ready, it just flows right through you like you’re a live wire. A part of the circuit.”
I listened to him with half an ear, but the rest of me was overcome with awe. I could feel the energy around my body, and I could feel the frequency of the earth. It had a deep, slow crest and trough to it, like a sine wave. I remembered hearing about that in physics class; my teacher had called it the Schumann Resonance.
I tried to concentrate on the wave and make it spread across me, but it grew fainter, farther away, and it was gone. I was disappointed for a moment and then euphoric. “Holy cow,” I said again, my voice reverent.
“Holy cow, indeed,” said Gramps as he made fists in the grass with his toes. “It gets even better with practice.”
25. SAM
The crowd responded to the change in lighting and music like a cat who’s found a warm spot beneath it’s feet. Guys started leaning in, girls started laughing, it was almost as if they liked each other instead of circling like a pack of hyenas, wary and hungry. I suppose it helped that a crew of hot girls showed up and started dancing in the middle of the living room, but I didn’t mind taking credit for that. A couple of them even checked me out, which was weird, since they were at least two or three years older than I was. Maybe there was a shortage of good-looking guys at college? Could be the only ones they knew had billy goat beards? I turned to look at Lily, who was at that moment studying me with sleepy eyes and a slitted smile.
“You’re pretty good,” she said. And then her eyes slid from my face, down my torso to my crotch and back up again. Her grin widened.
I felt my face flush. “I bet you say that to all the fresh meat,” I said, looking away quickly to switch tracks and also to avoid being even more embarrassed. Apparently I was really out of practice when it came to flirting. I snuck a glance. She was outright grinning now.
A Quarrel Called: Stewards Of The Plane Book 1 Page 8