Very Superstitious

by Delany, Shannon

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kaitlin’s phone begins to ring.

  M.R.C.-Astra

  “I’ve got to take this.”

  She glances over her shoulder to make sure she’s out of earshot, and answers the call as she heads for the stairs. Her tone shifts from gentle to sharp. “Cutting it pretty close. You’d better have some good news for me.”

  “Kaitlin,” Astra says. Her voice is icy. All business. “I’ve PayPal’d the money direct to your account, so we’re square now. Happy?”

  “Happy’s a pretty strong word. As long as the money’s there, I’m satisfied.”

  “Show a little gratitude, girl. We don’t roll out the red carpet treatment for just anyone.”

  “Paying me nine hours late is what you consider red carpet treatment?”

  “Funny. Good thing for you you’re our little child prodigy.”

  Kaitlin enters her bedroom and pulls a pair of jeans from her bureau. “I’m not exactly a child anymore.”

  “You’ll always be the gifted orphan. Even when you’re old and gray.”

  Kaitlin flops onto her bed and lies back against the ample supply of pillows. “If you think I’m still going to be doing this crap when I’m old, you’re out of your mind. And FYI, I’m never going gray.”

  “I don’t care what you do in your shuffleboard years. Go be freakin’ Gandhi if you want, so long as you’re on for tonight.”

  ***

  Kaitlin’s hands curl around the mug of tea Gram made her before heading up to bed. She takes comfort from its warmth, a placebo against the creeping guilt.

  Her gaze fixes on the antique clock on the dining room mantle. 10:52. Time to get my game face on. Twin bronze sphinxes stare serenely down at her from their perch atop the timepiece, a token of her grandfather’s bachelor days working at the Cairo news bureau. He presented the clock to his new bride on a summery September day in nineteen fifty-two. He swapped a big desk for a big life, and never looked back.

  Her thumb flicks across the touchpad on her laptop, bringing the screen to life. With a few familiar clicks, she logs into video chat.

  >>>Connecting to Mystic Readers Network

  The connection opens, and Kaitlin looks out at an elegant dining room.

  “Oh, darlin’, there you are.” Viola Montgomery sweeps into view. She motions off camera with an animated hand. “Gather ‘round everyone.” A martini glass wobbles in her unsteady grip. Her drink spills over, splashing on her dress.

  “Now, Mrs. Montgomery,” Kaitlin scolds, “We’ve talked about the effects of alcohol on psychic energy.”

  Viola holds her thumb and index finger close together in front of her eye. She peeks through the small space. “I’ve only had one teeny sip.” She peers intently into the webcam. “Can you see all right from there? I had Ashley put you up on the credenza.”

  “The view is lovely, Mrs. Montgomery.”

  A striking, dark featured man several decades Viola’s junior steps into view and slips an arm around her ample waist. She blushes and turns to the camera. “Miss Kaitlin, this is Aton. We met at the Friends of the Savannah luncheon today.” She runs her free hand along the nape of his neck. Her fingers slide up into his jet-black hair. “Isn’t he just adorable?”

  Kaitlin’s eyebrows dart up and she nods.

  He smiles into the webcam and speaks with a thick accent. “She spoke highly of your talents. I had to see for myself.”

  Viola puts her drink on the sideboard and claps her hands to get the attention of her guests. “All right, everyone, our diamond anniversary All Souls Day séance is about to begin!” She beams, giddy with excitement. “Please find your place card and have a seat.”

  Kaitlin sips at her tea and people watches as the guests mill around the table and take their time finding their places. Women in gowns and men in tuxedoes smile and speak the language of wealthy gossips, amused and entertained, with a pinch of intrigue.

  Viola leads Aton to a seat next to the head of the table.

  Kaitlin’s screen flickers and goes black.

  “What the hell?” She taps the edge of the screen, and it flickers back to life.

  >>> Disconnected from Mystic Readers Server

  She clicks on the Mystic Readers tab on her browser’s bookmark bar, and drums her fingers as she waits to reconnect.

  HTTP 404- PAGE NOT FOUND

  “Just great.” She hits refresh.

  This page cannot be displayed

  Kaitlin grabs her phone, her attention darting between it and her laptop as she scrolls through her contacts.

  M.R.C-Tech support

  She hits send.

  “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try your call again later. If you feel you’ve reached this message in error, please—”

  Kaitlin curses as she hangs up and tries a different number. It goes straight to voicemail.

  “This is Astra Dubois of Mystic Readers Connection. Please leave a message after the tone and I will return your call promptly. Thank you, and have a blessed day.”

  “Astra,” Kaitlin hisses. “I just got disconnected from Mrs. Montgomery, and now it says the site is down. The tech line isn’t working, either. Call me. Now.”

  Phone in hand, she heads for the living room to check the wireless router. She unplugs and resets the connection, and calls Astra again.

  Voicemail.

  “I don’t know where the hell you are, but I’ve checked my router. There’s no problem on my end. Mrs. Montgomery is probably chewing out the help line by now, assuming she can reach them. Call me.”

  She rounds the corner into the dining room and crashes headlong into something solid. She quickly realizes that particular something is breathing. And moving.

  Kaitlin screams as a towering man of solid build grabs her shoulders in an iron grip. He pushes her against the wall, his face inches from hers. “Shh,” he whispers, putting a finger over her lips. “That will be of no use.” His heavy accent is familiar. The recognition sends ice through her veins.

  With a shaking hand, she tries to dial her phone.

  9-1-

  He snatches the phone from her grasp. “There is no help for you, Miss Kaitlin.” He drops the phone on the floor. Glass crunches as he grinds his heel into the device. “Your scheming has come to an end.”

  An earthquake runs through her body. Her legs go weak, but the man’s tight grip keeps her on her feet. “A-Aton? How … how did you … ”

  She closes her eyes, her mind fighting the reality unfolding before her.

  “One would think,” he growls, “a skilled psychic such as you would have seen this coming.”

  “That’s not how it works,” she whimpers.

  His hands slide down to her arms, his grip tightening. She cries out as a fiery pain engulfs her body, his hands burning her flesh. His breath is hot on her face, his lips inches from her ear. “Tell me, then, Kaitlin Elizabeth Bolstad. How does it work?”

  Tears spill down her cheeks. “I can’t explain it. It’s … how I see things. I hear things other people don’t.”

  He holds up a hand to stop her. “You and I both know what you are.” He drags her by the arm into the living room and tosses her onto the couch.

  She cowers against the cushions, trembling. Her mind races, searching for a foothold, a reason, anything to explain the impossible.

  The lamp on the end table bathes Aton in a soft glow, in stark contrast to his ominous presence. He casually brushes a piece of lint from the lapel of his tuxedo jacket, taking his time before addressing her. “You,” he says, glancing down at his manicured nails, “must learn respect.”

  Kaitlin struggles to find her voice. “How did you get here? I-I saw you on … ” She shakes her head, baffled and terrified in equal measure. “Why me?”

  He stares at her with contempt. “You’ve done this to yourself.”

  “Done what?” Her words come out in a squeal, like air seeping from a balloon.

&n
bsp; Aton reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a coin. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, his arm outstretched.

  Kaitlin is easily able to identify the raised profile on the coin like it was lifted straight out of her History of Macedonia textbook.

  “Alexander the Great?” She wraps her arms around herself. “I-I don’t understand.”

  His eyes narrow. “Even the mighty fall when they stray and insult.”

  Her gaze fixes on the coin. “He died from fever—malaria or something. Over two thousand years ago.”

  Aton takes a step toward her, his eyes alight with fury. “The world may have forgotten me, but I am not gone. I am not weak, and I will not tolerate disrespect.”

  Kaitlin can feel blistering heat coming off of him in waves. She shrinks back against the cushions.

  He flips the coin into the air. It glows and hums as it spins in slow motion and freezes midair. A blinding beam shoots from the coin, filling the room in a bright white cast. Kaitlin is disoriented and unable to see, but hears the shriek of a large, predatory bird. Claws dig into her shoulders as the low hum of the coin rises to a deafening roar.

  ***

  Kaitlin shudders into consciousness. Her breath bounces back against her in impenetrable darkness. Fumbling hands reach out and find cold, flat stone surrounding her, inches away.

  Reality coils around her heart and sends her into a blind panic. Every molecule of her body screams to be freed, but beyond squirming, she can’t move. She wails, primal and animalistic, her throat burning from the effort. The echo of her desperate cries reverberates in the small space, giving her a reminder she doesn’t want of her claustrophobic confines.

  The sound of stone scraping against stone silences her cries. A sliver of light appears to her left and quickly spreads. The lid slides the rest of the way off. She takes deep, grateful gulps of air.

  The menacing face of Aton stares down at her, cutting her hope off at the knees. “It’s time,” he says.

  Rough hands reach in and grab her arms. She thrashes and kicks, fighting in vain against the two men whose strength far outweighs her desperation. She pulls her arms close to her body, straining from the effort of resistance. The silent, expressionless men lift her over the side of what she now realizes is a sarcophagus, and drop her in a heap onto the floor.

  They’ve brought Kaitlin to a large chamber carved from stone. Torches spread throughout light the space in a warm, flickering glow and cast long shadows up the inward-slanting walls. Hieroglyphics adorn the walls in depictions of a man with a falcon’s head riding a boat across the sky.

  Ra, Kaitlin realizes. The sun god.

  She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs. She rocks back and forth, her gaze locked on the floor. Her voice shakes. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.”

  “Rise,” Aton says.

  Kaitlin trembles from head to toe, unable to move. “Please, whatever I’ve done, I-I’m sorry. I just want to go home.”

  “Rise and face judgment,” he commands, the anger swelling in his voice. He grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet.

  Kaitlin watches in stunned silence as his clothes ignite and burn away. Flames lick his flesh, leaving behind only an Egyptian kilt.

  An ankh materializes in his left hand. He measures its heft, smiling, before pressing it to Kaitlin’s forehead. The pain is immediate and blinding. She screams. Her legs go weak, and now-familiar rough hands grab her and hold her steady. Her vision explodes with stars. Electricity courses through her body.

  “Prepare her,” Aton says.

  The rough men drag her back toward the nearest wall. Her arms are pulled behind her back, and she is bound at the elbows with rope. Too disoriented to fight, she is little more than a ragdoll in their hands.

  “On your knees,” one of the men barks. She doesn’t dare resist.

  Her vision slowly returns, and she can see Aton is now seated before her on an ebony throne.

  Her voice is little more than a whisper when she addresses him. “What am I doing here?”

  “Silence,” he orders, his eyes blazing. “It is time for you to listen.” He leans back, his arms casually splayed across the armrests. His mood has swung wildly from fury to near disinterest.

  Kaitlin’s head throbs from the burn and her arms ache from the too-tight binding. Please wake up, she tells herself. She thinks of her soft, warm bed, the big breakfast she wouldn’t eat this morning, everything she took for granted. Her Gram. I’ll do anything. Just get me back home.

  “You are a fraud,” Aton says. “You destroy the lives of others through trickery; you give false hope and phony information for your own financial gain.”

  Kaitlin moans, trembling from head to toe.

  “And worst of all, you use the death of your parents as a selling point.”

  “No.” She gasps for breath. Her heart pounds against her chest in a frantic rhythm.

  “Are you saying your talents are genuine? That you utilize something other than keen intuition to dupe the desperate and lonely out of their savings?”

  She pulls against her restraints. “What do you want from me?”

  Her question is met with stony silence as Aton stares into the air.

  “Fine,” she sobs. “I use my intuition to pay my way through school. And the crappy hand I was dealt when my parents died makes it easier to get sympathy. To get people to trust me. To get them to believe me. Is that what you want to hear?”

  His attention snaps back to her. “And you are disrespectful. When pushing the limits of fate by living a life of deceit, one should not toy with the wrath of gods, no matter how ancient.”

  “The umbrella?” Kaitlin asks, incredulous. Indignation pushes back against her fear. “You’re getting mad about an umbrella?”

  Aton points an accusing finger. “You will respect me!” He stretches his arms out at his sides, leans back, and lets out a roar, terrifying Kaitlin into silence.

  She watches in horror as his head transforms to that of a falcon.

  “It is not for mortals to dictate what is worthy of my wrath,” he booms. His voice echoes off the walls and reverberates throughout the chamber.

  Kaitlin turns her face away, cringing, but with her arms bound, she is unable to hide. “I just want to go home,” she pleads.

  “Say it.” He leans forward on his throne. “Say you are a fraud.”

  “I … ” She shakes her head. Fresh tears well in her eyes.

  “Say it.” His voice is razor sharp, his beak clicking as he speaks.

  “I’m a fraud,” Kaitlin whispers.

  “And disrespectful,” Aton says.

  “And disrespectful.” The tears stream down her face.

  “Now apologize.” He stands and takes a step toward her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Say my name. You should include the name of whom you’ve wronged in an apology, if it is to be considered sincere.” He stands over her, his bare feet touching her knees.

  “I’m sorry, Aton. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  He shakes his falcon head. “You most certainly did.”

  “Please forgive me for my disrespect.”

  “Say my real name. You know it.”

  Kaitlin slumps in surrender. “Please forgive my life of fraud. Please help me see the path of righteousness … Ra.”

  He claps his hands. “Untie her.”

  The two men quickly obey. Ra kneels before her. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushes her hair out of her face. “There,” he says gently. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

  She breaks down, sobbing. She pulls her arms to her chest, making herself as small as possible.

  “Shh,” he says, stroking her cheek. “That’s enough crying. Rise.”

  She leans back and wipes away tears. Hope springs in her heart. “You’re going to take me home?”

  His eyes glimmer with fire. “I’m afraid not.”

  A cobra slither
s across the floor and up Aton’s arm. He strokes the animal as it coils around his wrist. Its black and copper scales bend and undulate as the snake takes in its surroundings, its head darting from side to side. “This is Minkabh.”

  The snake slithers across his shoulders and down his other arm in one fluid motion.

  Kaitlin shrieks and backpedals toward the wall, but the two men behind her block her path of escape. They grab her shoulders and hold her still. With blinding speed, the snake is upon her. She freezes, not daring to so much as breathe as the cobra rears up and flares its hood. It bares its fangs and hisses, darting forward, its snout stopping inches from her face.

  Kaitlin recoils. She squeezes her eyes shut and cries out. “Please,” she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Del-wate,” Ra says.

  The snake strikes. Its fangs sink into the soft flesh between Kaitlin’s neck and collarbone. She cries out at the sensation of white-hot needles plunging into her skin. She falls forward, clutching her head in her hands, her mind and body ablaze.

  “What have you done?” she wails.

  Ra grabs her arm in a vice grip and pulls her to her feet. “You should be thanking me for an honorable death. It is more than you deserve.”

  Kaitlin stumbles. The walls and floor shift around her. Technicolor orbs burst before her eyes. “I … ” her lips move but her words are slow, sluggish. “You need to … ” She shakes her head, trying to clear her muddled mind. “Hospital. I need help.”

  “There is no help. There is only penance,” Ra says. “You have little time left, and you’re wasting it.”

  “Please,” she pants. Her fingers begin to twitch.

  “There is something you need to see.” Ra slips his arm around Kaitlin’s waist and half carries, half drags her to an antechamber at the far end of the room, his two men leading the way.

  This space is undecorated and much smaller, with barely enough room for the three men, Kaitlin, and what awaits.

  Against the back wall is a plain, raised granite slab. Kaitlin’s vision fades in and out, but the sight of the body laid out, waiting for her, is crystal clear. “No!” she screams. She collapses against Ra. “No … no … no … ” she wails, over and over. Each repetition is slower, weaker than the last.