Ugh, and I remembered seeing Alex outside Dave’s shop. The new guy in town suddenly knew exactly where the Wicca crowd hung out…? He was mysterious to the point of suspicious.
But otherwise, nothing stuck out to me.
And then, the nightmares. I’d woken three times, but despite that, it felt like one long-run on bad dream that had lasted the entire night. Giant dogs, like the kind Aunt Kiwi had framed around her house, chasing me through a landscape that kept morphing and changing. Faces appeared, trying to help me. Some strangers, some familiar. Dave. Bernard. Mirabelle.
Alex.
His appearance was the strangest. At the sight of him, I stopped running and let the dogs catch me, all so I could be with him.
Pathetic.
Obviously, my poor choices in dreamland were what had given me a headache. And now here I was, stuck in English class with a migraine that Aspirin couldn’t touch. My notebook was out, ready to take notes, but my professor had deviated a while back when someone had asked a question about the reading material. Instead, I doodled in the margins while a debate swirled around me about the universality of Folktales. Someone mentioned the Big Bad Wolf.
The guy in front of me, Cooper, a jock with an ego even bigger than his lifted truck, smiled wide and rubbed his hands together. “My favorite story. He eats the pretty girl for breakfast.”
And with that, my theory had just been realized: men really were animals.
Professor Day scowled when she overheard him then sighed like it wasn’t worth it. “Class dismissed,” she said and I got out of there.
Oracle was quiet when I arrived. The door creaked and the bell overhead rang but otherwise, nothing. I made my way to the back and by the time I reached the register, I heard a whirring coming from Mirabelle’s office.
At least the place wasn’t full of cats this time. I was glad to have learned they’d all been placed somewhere safe after leaving here. Although, I wondered what would be next.
Granny stretched her front paws and blinked at me from the rug as I made my way into the back rooms.
Meow.
Granny obviously agreed.
“Samantha.” Mirabelle looked up and the frown she wore startled me.
She always did that—somehow just knew it was me no matter how silently I tried moving. Once, I tried crawling in so she couldn’t see me approach over her desk. She still knew. But today, there was a note of uncertainty in her voice that wasn’t usually there.
“What is it?” I asked, instantly concerned. Mirabelle was perpetually bright. It took a lot for that frown to appear.
She waved me in and I shuffled close, peering down at the spread of the Tarot cards in front of her. It was all gibberish to me, although the artwork was beautiful.
“The cards…” Mirabelle murmured and then before I could ask, she swept them abruptly off the desk and into her hands. She gathered and stuck them in with the rest of the deck she still held and began rigorously shuffling.
“What about the cards?” I asked. A strange knot had formed in my stomach and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know.
I shook that off. They were just cards with pretty pictures on them. I didn’t believe in Tarot.
“Never mind. Did something happen last night?” she asked, and I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“When you went to see Dave,” she prompted.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so, I…” I scrunched my face, trying to remember but it still felt fuzzy just like it had this morning.
“Dave called me last night,” she said slowly, watching me carefully. “Sam, what do you remember about your time there?”
“Dave took me back to his office and gave me that vial. I left it on your desk before heading home.” I shrugged. “What’s this about?”
Mirabelle stared at me. “That’s all?”
“I saw Alex when I left. That out-of-towner who wants to meet with you,” I said, frustrated with her cryptic attitude. “What’s going on? Did something happen after I left?”
“No.” Mirabelle sat back and pressed her lips together, picking up the cards again. She made a show of shuffling thoroughly and when she was done, she held them out to me. “Choose three,” she said.
“Oh, no this isn’t my thing,” I began, shaking my head and backing away. Mirabelle had tried to get me to do a reading, but I always managed to evade. The cards made me nervous, as did anything she deemed mystical. Therapy, I always insisted. That’s what Kiwi had sent me here for. Not that it was helping.
“Samantha.” Mirabelle simply waited, cards outstretched. Clearly, I wasn’t off the hook until I did it.
“Fine,” I muttered on an exhale. “This better not be how you plan to figure out what’s wrong with me,” I muttered.
“It’s not,” she assured me but I could tell there was something she wasn’t saying.
I sighed. “Three?”
She nodded and fanned the cards out between her hands. Slowly, I chose three cards, laying each one face-down on the cluttered space between us. When I was done, I stood back, strangely put off by the feel of the cards on my fingertips.
“These three cards,” Mirabelle said as she lined them all up side by side between us, “Represent past, present, and future. One will tell the story of where you come from, another the story of where you are now, and the last will be a portent of the path to come.”
I shuddered, wondering why her voice had gone so deep and dramatic. Like she was reciting for a crowd of people. Show-off, I wanted to mutter. But I kept my mouth shut. This whole thing made me feel weird.
But then the serious façade fell away and she grinned. “That’s my show voice. Do you like it?”
“Uh. Yeah, it’s very… showy. This is just for fun, right?”
“Of course,” she said, waving her hands dismissively.
While Mirabelle reached for the first card, I rubbed my hands together absently. In the doorway, Granny meowed again and I looked over, trying to decipher the sound.
“Oy!” Mirabelle’s gasp had me whipping around.
“What?” I demanded.
“See for yourself,” Mirabelle said in a resigned tone that made even less sense to me than it usually did.
I leaned over and stopped short when I saw the three cards I’d chosen. This time, rather than appreciate the artwork, I studied their names. The Magician, The Fool, and Death all stared back at me.
“Every time,” Mirabelle said then. “I’ve drawn and shuffled and drawn again. It’s these every time.” She looked up at me accusingly, eyes narrowed, as if it were somehow my fault.
“Well, don’t look at me. Your cards are broken or something,” I said.
The Death card was like a blaring siren on the desk between us and I desperately wanted to ask about it but I didn’t. To do so would only negate my entire argument.
“I was drawing for you,” she said.
The knot in my stomach tightened and enlarged. “Me?” I stared back at her. “I told you, Mirabelle, I like working for you but this stuff… Tarot, magic—” I tried keeping the skepticism out of my voice but it got caught on that word every time, “is not something I’m into. Besides, I thought you said this was just for fun.”
Mirabelle blinked. “I lied,” she said simply.
I glared at her and started to get up.
“You have something inside you, Samantha,” Mirabelle said, “Whether you’re ready to face it or not. I can feel it.”
“It’s called anxiety,” I said, letting the sarcasm coat my fear. She could feel it? Since when? She’d never said anything to be before. What else could she feel?
“It’s not,” she said, shaking her head.
I waited for her to say more but she didn’t. She looked back at me expectantly—clearly wanting me to ask first. “All right, I’ll bite,” I said, sinking back down into the chair. “What is it you feel?”
“Your aura,” she began and then her gaze went a little unfocused and
I knew she was doing that intuitive “seeing” thing she did on paying clients. I bit back a sarcastic reply about her cataracts and medicinal-grade marijuana as a psychic superpower.
“Your aura,” she said again a moment later, “is not stable.”
I sighed. “Not helping, Mirabelle.”
“Your aura is blocked,” she said more decisively now. “I don’t know what sort of trauma happened but something is blocking … everything. You have so much that I…” She licked her lips and her shoulders suddenly sagged in such an abrupt way that I forgot all about auras and magical blocks and rushed to get her a bottle of water. “Oh,” she finished.
“Here,” I said, uncapping it and holding it out for her. “Drink this.”
She did. I waited.
When she was done, she smiled up at me sadly. “It is true that you have forgotten,” she said quietly.
“What did I forget?” I asked, on the edge of my seat. Literally.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. But the reading wants to be heard. All of it just wants to be heard.”
“All of what?” I asked.
“The universe. The goddess.” She gestured to the cards, still holding the cup of water in her other hand. “I know you don’t believe in this, but that doesn’t make it less true. The cards cannot break, Sam. But you can. And only you can fix it.”
My heart thudded at her words. My palms went slick and cold and I could only stare back at her, fear caught in my throat. Her icy blue eyes pierced me and I knew—without needing to ask or being able to deny it—that Mirabelle knew things. About me. About the world. About those cards.
Broken. She’d said it herself. I was broken.
“Mirabelle… I’ve tried but… I can’t remember,” I whispered in a strangled voice. “And everything else is getting worse.”
Mirabelle gathered the spread of cards and returned them to the pile, her movements slow, as if she’d been defeated by them somehow. She didn’t draw again or ask me to. “Are you still taking that Eleuthero?” she asked.
“Every day,” I assured her.
“Do it twice a day then,” she said.
“All right.”
Broken. I couldn’t stop hearing the word. And I knew it wasn’t wrong. I was broken. I just couldn’t remember why.
Neither of us spoke. Granny sat dutifully by my feet, tail twitching. Beside us, the fan whirred. I shifted, trying to think of something to say that would smooth things over.
The distant ring of the store’s bell broke the silence.
“I guess I better get out front,” I said quietly before hurrying out. Mirabelle let me go without a word and my head swam with the reading I’d just endured.
I rounded the corner, pasting on a fake smile for whatever customer waited. When I saw who it was, my smile fell.
Alex straightened from where he’d been leaning against the glass. His brow rose at my expression. “Is this a bad time?” he asked. “You look…”
My eyes narrowed. “I look what?” I asked, marching closer but stopping three feet from the glass counter that separated us. Even irritated, my fear limited me.
Meow.
I looked down to find Granny rubbing herself along my pant leg. She looked up and hissed at Alex—slightly comforting me.
“Distraught,” he said finally, catching me off guard.
I whipped up to look at him, even more pissed at the fact that he’d nailed it. “I’m not distraught,” I said, taking care to fix my expression into something that felt more like the old Sam. Calculating, cool, and sure.
“And the other night?” he asked, one brow rising in a sexy sort of challenge.
I crossed my arms. “What about it?”
“Sam, I’m sorry about the reading, but there’s something else we should—” Mirabelle broke off as she rounded the corner and spotted Alex standing nearby. “Oh. Hello.”
Nice. Cover blown. Five points for distraught.
“Mirabelle?” he said, approaching her and extending a tanned arm.
“You must be Alex,” she said, taking his hand.
The moment their palms touched, Mirabelle jumped. “Oh!” She jerked her hand away and looked at Alex with wide eyes.
Before I could decipher what had just happened. Her gaze swung over to include me. Inside her expression I saw it all again: Shock. Accusation. Confusion. Just like the way she’d looked at me when she’d turned over my cards.
“You two know each other?” Mirabelle asked.
“No,” I said but there went the strange knot in my stomach again.
Alex didn’t turn to look at me. “We’re getting acquainted,” he said quietly to Mirabelle. “Edie Godfrey sent me.”
Something passed between them. I couldn’t see Alex’s face but I had to fight the urge to walk over and punch his shoulder.
Finally Mirabelle nodded. “What you’re asking of me… what makes you think I can give it to you?” she asked.
He looked mildly surprised she seemed to already know but recovered quickly. “I don’t know if you can,” he admitted and his voice changed to something more vulnerable. Honest. He hesitated and then added in an almost pleading tone, “You’re the last on my list. If you can’t help, no one can.”
Mirabelle’s gaze softened. She laid a hand on his arm, but I noticed she didn’t let her skin touch his again. “Come on back,” she said and they both disappeared into her office. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone.
For the next hour, I cleaned.
I didn’t want to clean. In fact, I detested it. But there was nothing else to do in the empty store. And if I didn’t keep moving, I was positive I’d end up eavesdropping outside Mirabelle’s office. An attempt made not-so-sneaky when the woman had an uncanny skill for sensing me in that exact spot.
I desperately wanted to know what Alex and Mirabelle were talking about in there.
The sound of boots pulled me away from the window, a bottle of glass cleaner in one hand and a used paper towel in the other. When I spotted Alex, I stayed where I was. He wore a stormy expression that held enough grit and promises of violence to intimidate a small army. And he was aiming it all at me.
The sunlight streaming onto my right cheek suddenly felt cold. My palms went slick and the bottle of glass cleaner slipped free, thudding onto the floor at my feet. I crouched to grab it, glad for a reason to look away from him. The boots clomped toward me as I knelt. My pulse thudded in my ears and when I stood, Alex was right in front of me.
“Oh.” I jumped back. Deliberately, he leaned in beside my hair and sniffed. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Smelling you,” he said as if it were normal.
“And is that your move? You just go around smelling people?”
“Only when they smell … like you do,” he said with a frown that left me at least mostly convinced he wasn’t complimenting me. “All along I thought it was just in the store…” he muttered.
“What was in the store?” I asked, mystified yet already pissed.
“Nothing. You smell,” he said offhandedly and my eyes widened.
“Go to hell.” I tried stepping around him but he blocked my path.
My heart rate kicked into high gear, beating on my ribs like a drum. I considered screaming for Mirabelle but my voice wouldn’t work. My brain was broken. The cards were broken. Everything was broken.
“I didn’t meant it like that,” he said, frustrated although he had no reason to be. He was the asshole here. “You smell very nice,” he added and gave me a funny look that might have been an attempt to smile if he were really capable.
Behind Alex, movement caught my eye. I looked up to see Mirabelle standing in the doorway, arms folded, eyes sparkling. She didn’t look put off in the least to see her latest customer looming over me next to the meditation CD’s.
Alex must have sensed her too because he exhaled and lowered his shoulders. He seemed to grow smaller in front of me until we were suddenly close to the same height ag
ain. Still, my hands gripped the bottle of cleaner too tight. And my voice wouldn’t work.
I smelled nice?
“I’ll see you later,” he said finally and shoved past me on his way out.
The bell dinged in his wake and I whirled on Mirabelle, eyes tearing up before I could stop them. I blinked but it only produced more moisture. A hot tear rolled down my cheek—the traitor—and Mirabelle’s smile finally faded.
“Oh, Samantha.” She closed the distance and gathered me into her arms in a hug. “Don’t cry,” she said, smoothing my hair—which only made me cry harder.
“He wanted to scare me on purpose. He was angry,” I managed when the flow of tears had slowed. I pulled back enough to look at her, uncaring how I must look. Mirabelle’s expression was strictly compassion, no pity. Looking at her, letting her see me this way felt safe. “What did I do to him?” I asked.
“He was angry about his reading. That I couldn’t help him in the way he wanted me to,” she explained gently.
“And that is my fault how?” I shot back, sniffling.
“None of this is your fault. He’s … not used to relying on anyone else for his answers.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” I pressed.
“Alex is complex although he likes to see problems and solutions as all very simple. When they’re not, he doesn’t know what to do with himself—or his manners. He’s just … lost.” Mirabelle’s blue eyes flashed once and then softened again. In that split second, I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. Something mystical probably. But just like with the cards, I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
Alex was lost.
I was broken.
And I was beginning to think there was nothing anyone else could do to help us.
Chapter Thirteen
Alex
The rocking chair creaked as I pushed lightly with my toe. A breeze snaked around my bare ankles, winding underneath the exposed edges of my shirt. It was cold, but inside, I was numb and warm.
Remembrance: (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 1) Page 7